Chapter Text
Wednesday.
Now what is he to do with his miserable life?
He left the asylum recently. He’s bought his own house (small, but quite nice for its cheap price) with half of the money left from his parents’ inheritance, along with selling their belongings that included the car and house. The last one was sold quite cheaply; nobody likes a murder scene for a home.
At least he has some spare savings. He only prays that he’ll find a decent job to carry him through soon enough. But with this face, who will be willing to hire him?
He kicks an empty carton box out of his way in frustration, the sound of it clashing against the wall reverberating in the silent and spacious house with a short-lasting echo. He rubs his lower face with a hand, dragging his fingers over old mementos, then down along his jaw. He doesn’t feel like organizing his belongings anymore; he feels like crying, like punching the few things he owns until his knuckles are raw and undressed of skin.
He feels like getting back in front of a mirror and repeating the carnage he bestowed upon himself, once in a psychotic breakdown, just to relieve the pent up frustration.
Instead, he makes his way to the front porch and takes a smoke whilst sitting on the stairs.
The neighborhood of Oakside is isolated, surrounded as it mostly is by a dense forest, far from the city center. There’s few shops to buy at, and little establishments with entertainment purposes; it’s mostly a vacation site, emptying itself as the cold months creep upon. He does have neighbors, but all houses are a decent distance from each other. All in all, a pretty quiet and calm place.
All the better for him; cheap, surrounded by nature, and far away from people who charge at him with their invasive questions and condescending looks. He hopes neither of them will be able to find him here; his heart aches with regrets. But nothing can be done about it now.
His eyes gloss over as he remembers his years in that place they call a mental institution. Mental, indeed. Too many who couldn’t make coherent sentences despite either knowing what they wanted to convey or not, kids who’d spend their days staring into a wall with a soulless gaze, people with all kinds of disorders that made them unfit to live ordinary lives in a society that shuns them, like dirt swept under the rug.
Many of them were there because of a sentencing, just like him. None of them had parents, nor anybody who would visit them regularly, for that matter. The few visitors some of them would sometimes have just came to to calm their own remorse for abandoning their young relatives, but without enough guilt or sense of responsibility to attend to them like they should.
Not the most apt environment for improving one’s sanity, to be honest, but he still thinks it hilarious how his stay there was much more bearable than his ‘family’. The nurses were great company, once he got used to them. Those who didn’t come into work with a stick up their ass, at least.
He belonged to the group who had no visitors; not because nobody tried, but because he denied them their wish, whoever they were and whatever their reasons to visit were. It didn’t matter.
He puffs the smoke out of his lungs. How easy it had been to smuggle things in and out of that place. Cigarettes, or any other kind of drug. But he stuck to cigarettes; he had enough problems as it was.
Evening is settling in already, painting the sky orange. He hovers his eyes over the expanse of terrain occupied by his own house, the roads, the other houses on sight, and the big grass areas and foliage. He might explore the vast woods, now that the weather is still warm. Hell, he might even get a dog; it’ll be lonely here.
He drops the cigarette butt and quickly stomps on it, feeling anxious just by imagining igniting a fire. At least he can now turn on a lighter without having a panic attack.
He gets back into the house, not bothering to tidy up anymore; he’ll finish tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. He makes his way to the bedroom, flops down on his bed and looks up more job offers on his phone, careful not to raise his hopes up in any way. Even if he were to be accepted for an interview, again, his face.
He goes on and on until night falls and everything is bathed in gloom. Only then does he get up to wash his teeth, uninterested in having dinner; his somber thoughts have made sure to close his stomach.
Now in front of the sink, he doesn’t want to look. But it has been so long since he stared into a mirror, that the self-image in his mind probably doesn’t correspond to what he might see in the reflection. So, reluctantly, he looks.
Alcohol and bleach feeding the fire. The smell of burnt skin and keratin twisting to a crisp. The later slicing of flesh.
Catharsis.
He quickly opens the mirror cabinet and takes one of his lorazepam pills, putting it into his mouth and swallowing it down while drinking from the faucet directly. He looks up again, gripping the sink edge, and taking deep breaths to prevent that flammable tar from sticking to his psyche anew.
His black hair has gotten very long. He should be the one to cut it, since he doesn’t want to face the scrutiny of hairdressers and the other clients, along with the people he’ll find on the way. He doesn’t even know where he might find a hairdresser nearby. He might have to look up tutorials to not mess up his DIY work. He could buy an electric razor and shave it all off, but then he wouldn’t have a curtain to hide himself with, and the severe burn scarring on the right side of his head would be visible.
He closes his eyes for a moment, and breathes in the courage to face himself properly; he opens them, peeling the organs to behold old horrors.
He had used part of his money for burn-scarring laser treatment, which had done wonders, but couldn’t hope to give him his old face back. He was given all of the money gained from selling his parent’s car, a nice car that it was, to afford this.
And yet, he didn’t have the balls to face him. Hasn’t had the balls to receive him all these years, despite what he has done and the most basic apologies that are due.
He’s pale, as he's always been; some scars look pink, others look a ghostly white. The dark circles under his eyes only make his inky irises look more severe, and he has no eyebrows to give him a softer look; the fire took them, along with his nasal tip.
But the worst part, without a doubt, is his mouth. He’s the perpetrator of that wound, long closed and dulled with the laser treatment, advised skincare and the passing of the years. He has not lost nerve function, and it was a miracle in the form of his neighbor that prevented him from dying from blood loss.
But the faint, pink Glasgow smile is a reminder of his encysted regrets.
He looks down into the sinkhole and brushes his teeth without sparing his reflection another glance. He returns to his bedroom with the intention of sleeping, but he doesn’t rest for the entirety of the night.
Saturday.
Delivery man: better than nothing. At least he’s been lent a motorbike to make the deliveries with, and he doesn’t have to take the helmet off while he works. He’ll make do, and with enough to adopt and care for a dog.
And so, a little bit more high-spirited, he’s visiting the shelter. His face is hidden under a black hygienic mask, as he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself for more than absolutely necessary. “What kind of dog are you looking for, Mr. Woods?” An employee asks him as they guide him in.
He shrugs. “No particular preference. I have a nice yard and a forest near my house. Ample space for them.” The rest of the usual questions, he already answered through the online form.
“Well, we can meet some of them right now, and see if anybody tugs at your heart?” They offer in a friendly way.
‘At least I’m not being attended to by a rude fucker.’ He nods, following them through the corridor.
Indeed, all kinds of dogs. Big, small. Cute, intimidating. Some more disheveled than others. Some more roughed up than others. Some more traumatized-looking than others.
The employee catches his attention with a sad tone. “Ah, this poor boy has been here for a while.”
He looks at the dog they’re speaking about, and he does feel his numb heart tugged. It lays over a few blankets, looking at them pitifully, with its ears down and posture tense. The chart beside the cage classifies it a husky, but it looks nothing like a husky is supposed to look like. The sight of this dog could easily make children cry in terror, parents drag their kids away as they cover their eyes, and many others cringe and tense up with nightmare fuel.
Whatever this dog has been through, it has been worse than hell and back: while the rest of the dog’s fur is white, gray and black, its face is burnt red and lacks lips. It’s miraculously not blind.
Just like him.
He hears the employee take a deep breath. “His previous owner was an abuser; acid was poured over his face when he was a puppy, hence why he looks like that.” They turn their body to him, still looking at the cage door. “Nobody has wanted to adopt him because of his looks.”
“I’ll take him with me.” He declares with decisive tranquility.
The employee snaps his head at him, not having expected that. “Are you sure, Mr. Woods? It’ll take some time for him to get accustomed to you, the house, and over most of his traumatic experiences, if he ever recovers completely from some.”
He doesn’t stare back. He frowns. “I have all the time necessary.” He tightens his fists inside his hoodie pocket, staring back at the dog.
The employee hushes for a moment, then nods. “Very well. You may approach him gently; he might get aggressive if you make sudden movements.” They open the cage, and the dog twists its ears and widens its eyes, doubtful of their intentions.
He simply sits in front of it on the floor, legs criss-crossed, keeping some distance. “Hello, handsome.” He coos gently and joyfully, despite the sad emotion his eyes convey, and the dog tilts its head at him. He sees it wag its tail for a second, but it stills quickly. “Does it have a name?” He asks the employee without turning his head.
“It does, but you may change it. With the many animals we have, it’s impossible to interact with all of them and give them individual attention, so the name hasn’t been used much, if at all.” They explain.
He considers. Then, he keeps talking to the dog with a baby voice. “You are so cute, yes you are! What a pretty smile you have, all teeth!” And the dog knows it’s being babied, for it wags its tail left and right, even if it makes no move to approach.
He hears the employee shuffle behind him. “Here, give it a treat. See if it warms up to you a little bit. It’s responding quite well as it is.” He’s handed a little cookie treat.
He shows it to the dog, whose ears perk up at his gesture and sniffs the air. “I might be ugly, but I’m nice, I assure you!” He jokes self-deprecatingly. The dog wags its tail once more, moving its head this way and that, trying to get a more pungent waft of the treat. “Does he have permanent damage from the burns?” He inquires.
“His skin is sensitive, mostly around the eyes and nose. Eyesight wasn't damaged, thankfully. He did lose his lips, and gums were exposed, but he didn't ingest any acid.” The employee answers back.
Suddenly, the dog stands up sheepishly.
He remains still. “Come take your cookie. It’s for you!” He stretches his hand out just barely, to make emphasis but not scare it away. “I know you want it.” He makes smooching noises, and the dog tilts its head, ears flapping in the direction of the movement.
It takes a hesitant step forward, not breaking eye contact with him. Then it takes another, and another, and another, slow and wary but surely, until its muzzle is close to his hand. It eyes the owner of the hand one more time, expecting undeserved punishment, but it just doesn’t occur.
Instead, only sweet-sounding words keep falling from the man’s scarred mouth. “You almost have it.” He makes no attempt to move.
The dog’s mouth hovers over his hand, and gently takes the treat. It doesn’t chew the cookie yet; he keeps it between its teeth, just in case it's doing something bad. But since demise doesn’t befall upon it, it quickly works its jaw, then swallows, licking at its exposed teeth.
And it stays there, not daring to move, in case this was all a ruse.
The man’s eyes crinkle with glee. “Well done, sweet boy.” He doesn’t pull his hand away.
The dog stares at him some more, evidently confused, wobbling its eyebrows this way and that in consideration, and it stretches its neck to sniff his hand.
He hears shuffling behind him again, and he’s given another treat by the employee, which the dog notices. “Try to make him approach you.”
He does as he’s told, keeping the cookie closer to himself this time. The dog blinks at it, clearly interested. “Come closer. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” He speaks softly, as if the dog could understand what he means with those words.
But it’s almost as if it had, for it gets even closer to him. Right in front of him now, it hesitates to get any closer, and he lifts his hand for it to take the treat, not wanting to pressure it too much too soon. “Here you go.” The dog takes it, and chews it sooner this time. Then, they stare at each other, and feeling safe to do so with the employee behind him, he lowers his mask. “There’s nothing to fear.” He whispers, making himself smaller.
The dog decides to circle him, and when it comes around his left, it sniffs at his face. He lifts a hand, steady and with no hesitation, but letting the dog see the gesture. The dog seems to buffer, but lets him touch, having decided that he can be trusted for now. He makes no abrupt movements, and keeps petting the same area on its back over and over.
The dog smells him again, and wagging its tail once more, gives him a few tentative licks in the face. It’s eager to experience love, and it might find it with this man. Or so it hopes.
He grins. “I’m proud of you.” He whispers, as if he were speaking to his son, already attached to the dog. He leans in, giving a tentative kiss to the dog’s cheek where the exposed skin is thicker, and the dog stays still.
As he pulls away, the dog observes him with puzzlement, then hangs its tongue as it breathes through its mouth, more at ease.
“You are a good man, Mr. Woods.” He hears the employee say, having observed his exchange with the dog, apparently satisfied with what they’ve seen so far.
He smiles, strained. “I don’t deem myself good for giving this dog an opportunity to live happily.” He turns around, and watches the employee’s face turn politely blank when taking a good look at him. “I simply understand him better than most.”
⦻
He had gone to buy the necessary things: kibble, bowls, a bed, leash and harness, toys and treats, blankets, shampoo and a hair brush. He also made sure to get an antibacterial toothpaste to prevent any infections due to the dryness of the exposed gums. Then, he went back for the dog and brought it home with him.
Smile.
To anybody else, the name might sound mocking, darkly humorous. But he thinks it appropriate and fitting, not only because of the scars that prove his survival, but because of the happy days that are to come. If he’s not happy, he’ll make damn sure the dog is.
He decided to give him a bath, which had startled Smile at first, but he knew to be kind and patient.
This man, Jeff, doesn’t feel wrong to Smile, unlike his first human companion. After he suffered from their sadistic games, the idiot confused the bottle of acid for the drink they had been enjoying. They didn’t have as much luck as he did, and he only began to bark for help once he was sure they were dead.
He knows that this human is not despicable, and that he only means to clean him. So, even though he yelps first at the contact with water, he sits down in the shower and keeps babbling away, unhappy and shaking his body to rid himself of the offending soapy liquid, and soaking what he considers his new friend in the process.
Jeff just laughs, glad that Smile is not distressed, although he keeps protesting like huskies do, loud and unapologetic. He dries him up, then lets the boy roam free wherever he pleases; the dog follows him to the backyard.
He watches Smile as he sniffs around curiously, focusing on certain smells that his human self cannot detect. But Smile’s perusing is interrupted by a monarch butterfly that had the audacity to try and rest on his nose. Now he’s being entertained by the dog’s attempts to catch the insect with his mouth; he chuckles at his cute little jumps and the sound of his teeth chomping on air while the butterfly flies around him delicately.
Jeff will have to buy sunscreen for Smile’s face, and cream to keep his skin healthy and hydrated. He’ll wash his face with lukewarm water at the end of every day.
He takes a cigarette out of the box in his pocket, and lights it up. As he rests the spare lighter down beside him next to the ashtray, he hears footsteps; he looks down at Smile, who is no longer being harassed by the butterfly and has gotten bored of inhaling his entire house. The dog is staring up at him with wide, curious eyes.
“What? You want some?” Jeff jokingly offers his cigarette, and Smile turns his face with a wrinkled nose, in disagreement with the terrible smell the nicotine stick emits; he laughs, finding Smile’s cheeky expressiveness hilarious. The dog chooses to lay at his feet, trustful enough to give him his back. He scratches him behind his ears, and the dog tilts his head to provide better access. As he keeps on petting his hairy new friend, he looks around distractedly.
On the other side of his fence, far enough and with the forest behind it, is a house. It’s bigger than the rest of the properties in the vicinity, and more polished, elegant and sophisticated; no doubt a reflection of its owner’s tastes. The most noticeable difference in comparison to the rest of the houses nearby, though, is the ample amount of terrain, with a looming oak tree.
Under it, who he supposes must be the owner lies. The man, who’s pale face he cannot analyze due to the great distance, seems to be scribbling away in a notebook. It’s comical that he’s laying there, on the grass of his terrain, when he has a comfortable-looking house, for a simple reason; he’s doing so, dressed formally in a bespoke black suit and red tie along with expensive-looking shoes, seemingly oblivious to all that surrounds him at this moment.
It’s funnily discordant.
His observations are caught short, for he hears the doorbell ring.
He widens his eyes, to the point that he can feel them dry up in his freezed state. “...Fuuuuuck.” He says, immediately jumping to the worst possible scenario. Smile looks at him innocently, still not having made the connection between doorbell-equals-visitors, but having sensed his nervousness.
He gets up and puts the cigarette out in the ashtray beside him, leaving the dog to relax under the shadow of the fence and the backyard door open. He goes to the door, dread rock-heavy in his stomach. He looks through the peephole.
The dread is gone in an instant. In its place stands confusion. ‘Huh? Who could that be?’ He opens the door and greets the stranger. “Uh, hello…?” He speaks as he analyzes the figure in front of him, and any fear that he’ll be recognized for his appearance vanishes.
He’s a dark-skinned asian man, with black hair peeking from under his blue hoodie hat. Judging by the long white cane he carries with him, and since his eyes are closed, he must be completely blind. “Hello! I heard there was a new tenant around my age in this place, and wanted to at least greet you.” The man smiles, friendly. “Not many people around here, as you’ve probably noticed.”
In other circumstances, his hand would be flying to grab the doorknob and slam the door to shutting himself in, protected from any social contact that is not absolutely necessary. He does currently feel the compulsion to do exactly that. And yet, this dude has weird but good vibes, as if he could verbalize the darkest corners of his mind to him and the man wouldn’t even budge. Friend material, scarce as they come, and he’s admittedly quite lonely. “I did notice.” He responds. “...Would you like to come in?” He inquires. ‘That’s the polite thing to do, right?’ He thinks, doubting his manners.
The other man leans forward, friendly grin not gone. “Only if you promise not to gut me.” He jokes darkly.
He laughs, taking the joke for what it is, although feeling guilty in memory. “That depends on whether you’re the kind of guy that will drive me up the wall. But I promise I’ll be nice if you don’t poke me too much.” He retorts, following the jest, and opens the door all the way to let the man in.
The visitor makes use of his cane, and the host keeps an eye close for any obstacle in his way. He guides him to the sofa in the living room. ‘He moves around with surprising agility despite his disability. Wait…is that an ableist thought? I’m not sure.’ He shakes his head, thankful for the lack of scrutiny. “Would you like anything to drink? I have beer and, uh…water, I guess.” He scratches the back of his head awkwardly.
But the visitor puffs the awkwardness away. “Beer is fine. It’s been long since I had one with somebody.” He comments merrily, resting his cane on the floor.
“Alright.” He goes into the small kitchen, retrieves two cans from the fridge, then returns. “So…what’s your name?” He hands the other man his can, awkward again, feeling like the conversation has gone backwards from its supposed natural order: first should have been the name, then inviting him in, then the jokes.
If the man notices his social anxiety, he doesn’t comment on it. “Jack Nichols. And who do I have the pleasure to visit?” He asks with an overly polite tone.
He takes a deep breath, silently, so as not to let the other man know of his agitation. He feels regret for not hiding away like a cockroach when he had the chance. “...Jeff. Jeffrey Woods.” He answers, tone of voice humorless.
Jack hums, pondering. “Your name does ring a bell. Your tone tells me you don’t want to be recognized, but I sure as hell have never met a Jeff.” He opens the can with a pop, and sips. “What have you come here for? What are you running from, Jeff?”
Jeff blinks, not expecting such questions from the get-go. “Am I that obvious?” He asks, frowning.
“Nah, it’s just that people often come here for that. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and there’s places with far more opportunities out there. If you’ve moved here, it’s because you want to either cancel out the noise, disappear from the radar, or both.” Jack gesticulates with a hand. “But now that you’ve pretty much given yourself away…” He expects an explanation.
Jeff huffs; very well, then, he shall have it. If he’ll face judgment, might as well move it along and get rid of this visitor by being blunt. “Go back ten years. Does ‘kid kills his parents and neighbors, brother is left in a grave state’ ring a bell? The kid would be me.” He points out sullenly as he takes a swig from his beer.
Jack tilts his head. “It does. And ‘kid is brutally bullied, emotionally neglected by his parents and finally snaps, police was negligent in its initial investigation’ also rings a bell.” He retorts nonchalantly, making Jeff pause. “You sound like you expect judgment from me. But I don’t know you, so you won’t get it.” He leans back to rest his head on the headrest.
Jeff has been caught off guard again. ‘Right. I gave a statement back then, and that’s what was disclosed to the public, since I wasn’t found guilty due to mental illness. And damn, this fucker has good memory.’ He almost chuckles. “But the average Joe would run for the hills if they learnt they’re in my house. My person doesn’t smell safe and reliable.”
“You say that as if you knew for a fact that I’m safe and reliable myself.” Jack tilts his head and breathes in. “I’ve met disgusting pieces of shit who act and look like angels. The last, as I’ve been told, since—” He gestures to his eyes. “—anophthalmia: born without eyes.”
Jeff was unready for Jack’s answer once more, and because he didn’t ever imagine the existence of such a condition.
“But don’t let me deviate from the point.” Jack gesticulates, shrugging that matter aside. “The thing is, appearances are tricky, and I don’t care about taboos. If I have to hear the retelling of events, I’d like to hear it from your mouth if you ever feel like telling me, not a million dollar television business who likes to twist words for profit.”
Jeff stares at him with his mouth slightly agape; he closes it, shaking his head softly. “Why are you being so nice to me? We just met. You don’t know me.” He wants to feel suspicious, but can’t bring himself to feel that way; his instincts don’t warn him.
“And why would I be an ass?” Jack dabs his forefinger on the can. “It’s basic manners to not make assumptions. A thirteen-year-old doesn’t go berserk just because, and considering what happened beforehand, which you didn’t deny, it smells like you’ve suffered neglect and abuse, and that there’s more to your story.” He quickly lifts a finger. “I don’t pity you, if that’s what you're thinking: I abhor pity. I’ve been pitied many times throughout my life, and each time I just wanted to knock their teeth out.” He confesses calmly.
Jeff chuckles in sympathy; he has been pitied a few times, mostly when he was younger, but now people mostly have a shocked reaction and avoid him as if he were an offensive sight. Neither reactions are welcome, but the first is irking as well.
“I just want to get to know you, but I can only do that if you tell me about yourself; jumping to conclusions without hearing your side of the story would be unfair. There’s very few people around, barely any opportunities to make new friends. I could use new friends, and perhaps you do too.” Jack shrugs. “Perhaps you don’t.”
The offer is tempting for sure. Jeff rubs his temples with one hand, ready to make a friend for the first time in almost a decade, other than his newly adopted companion. “Fuck. Okay, I accept your offer. Just—” He huffs and drops his hand. “—keep being this honest if you can help it. That, I could use some of.”
Jack lifts his can. “I’ll be as honest as I can possibly be. This is just the default settings.” He jokes, and Jeff chuckles. “If you’re up for it at a later time, I have two other idiots to introduce you to. We could do group therapy together!”
Jeff snorts, spitting the beer through his nose (or rather, the remnants of his nose). He cackles, grasping at it in itching pain; once the bothersome sensation is gone, he wipes at his nose. “No, thank you. I’ve had enough therapy for a lifetime.” He decides to open up without getting into morbidly unnecessary details.
Jack listens intently, his face never judging, only curious. Once Jeff is done, he makes his expected input. “So I was right. Shitty parents, environment and circumstances.” He moves the can around, feeling the small amount of beer left.
“Don’t you think I'm deranged for what I’ve done?” Jeff asks him, still expecting judgment.
Jack shakes his head. “You did it while having a psychotic breakdown, and already atoned for what you did as much as you could.” He downs the last of his beer. “This really is a place where people come to forget. I think you’ll like it around here.” They stay in comfortable silence for a moment, then he breaks it. “May I touch your face? No pressure.”
Jeff concedes, a bit queasy. He gets closer to Jack, taking his hands and putting them on his face.
Jack drags the pads of his fingers through the expanse of his visage, creating a mental map of his image. He starts from the forehead and goes down, noting every nook and cranny, every scar and healthy patch of skin. Once he’s done, he grins. “Dude, you’re ugly as fuck!”
“Well, fuck you too!” Jeff cuts him in a returned jest, strangely not feeling offended at all; he realizes that he’s actually grinning. Perhaps this is just what he needed: to be able to open up and joke with someone, knowing that he’s not being evaluated.
They suddenly hear gentle footsteps.
Jack tilts his head, having perceived the noise quickly, while Jeff looks to his left behind the sofa; he sees Smile step into the living room. “That’s my dog. I just adopted him today, actually.” Jeff explains, turning to Jack again.
Jack does look judgemental now. “You got a dog and didn't introduce us right away? I should leave right now; you really are a bad person. But I’ll stay because I’m nice.” He jokes again.
Jeff gives Jack an unfazed look. “You’ll call my dog ugly too.” He turns his head at Smile, who is shyly approaching. “Smile! Come here, handsome!”
“Why did you call him, she— whatever the fuck it is, Smile?” Jack asks.
“Him…although does it really matter? And you’ll see. I mean, feel.” Jeff calls Smile again with smooching sounds, encouraging him to get closer.
Smile comes around the corner and eyes Jeff with hesitation when he sees the unknown human. But Jeff can be trusted, so he will trust this other guy. He comes to sniff Jack with timid steps, radiating warmth from sunbathing and feeling like a bun fresh out of the oven.
As Smile rolls his tongue out of his mouth, Jack pets him excitedly. He feels his face delicately per Jeff’s request. Then, he goes at it again. “You were right, this dog is uglier than reverse shitting.”
Jeff wacks him in the head gently, making him flinch. “I don’t care if you call me uglier than a fridge’s behind, but my dog you’ll respect.” He says, jokingly serious. “He looks like that because he was burned with acid.” He drinks from his can.
“...You hit me, a blind man. I bet you fantasize about kidnapping grannies and making them listen to autotuned songs.” Jack keeps scratching Smile behind his ears, and the dog is quickly warming up to him. “Well, he deserves all the pets.”
Jeff watches as Jack keeps pampering Smile, until a question comes to mind. “Hey, Jack. Do you know who’s house is behind mine? The one that is big and close to the woods?”
Jack lifts his head. “That would be Mr. Holzer. Toby works for him, and Jack says he’s pretty tall. He does sound pretty tall.” He explains.
Jeff becomes puzzled. “Wait, ’Jack’? Are you talking about yourself in third person right now, or…?” He questions, amused.
“Ha! No. He’s one of my other friends; we're namesakes.” He lets Smile go as the dog approaches Jeff for more pets. Jeff indulges as Jack continues. “A weird guy, but everybody here is weird as fuck.”
Jeff makes a quick mental map of the relationships. “I see.”
“Stop rubbing it on my face!” Jack jokes again, and Jeff chortles.
Saturday.
This is a far more interesting place than Jeff could have ever imagined.
Following EJ’s (Eyeless Jack; all in jest and good nature, since it was him who insisted: “It sounds badass, Jeff; you can’t deny it!”) offer two weeks ago, they meet his two other friends at the park, near the lake. He's currently sitting on the floor to EJ’s right, with Toby in front of him on a bench, and the other Jack still standing with a foot propped on the bench in front of EJ. First impressions:
Jack Lawrence is EJ’s namesake. The other two call him LJ, short for Laughing Jack; apart from it being his stage name (he works as a performer), the nickname prevents confusions, and suits him very well for his proclivity to do what it indicates. He’s a redhead dyed to black, hair reaching his shoulders, gangly-looking and a head taller than them all. He likes to dress as a creepy-ass-clown from the aesthetic of who-knows-when, wearing a full face of black and white makeup. He has azure blue eyes and a raspy voice.
He has both a jolly and depressing aura at once. Kind, but menacing if he wants to be.
Then, there’s Tobias Rogers. Normal looking guy at first glance, if fit, with dark circles under his brown eyes. His chocolate hair refuses to be tamed, sticking in weird angles in some places, and his short beard gives him a more put together, tough appearance. He has his septum pierced and adorned with a horseshoe silver piece, as well as snake-bite piercings adorned with rings.
The reason he doesn't look as normal at second glance is because he’s chewed through his left cheek, which has left him with quite the scar and his teeth exposed. He’s also wearing a black turtleneck thermal shirt and gloves despite the warm weather. The reason for both things: he suffers Congenital Insensitivity to Pain and Anhidrosis. He can’t feel pain, is unable to detect temperature, and won’t sweat. Furthermore, he has two other diagnosed disorders: Tourette’s Syndrome became obvious to Jeff in a very short amount of time, and the remaining is Bipolar Personality Disorder.
Rough and gentle looking at the same time, dichotomically. Keeps to himself, but will speak up if teased.
“That hunk of a man is even taller than me. What am I? Six-foot-two. He’s almost six-foot-seven!” LJ exclaims with wide eyes, having been reminded by EJ about Mr. Holzer. “If he didn’t shut himself in there so much, suitors would rain on him. He pierces your soul with those eyes. Not like any of you foul bitches have one, myself included!” He points at them all and breaks into a chortle, waving his strawberry lollipop around.
Toby trembles, but not because of his tics this time. “What feels foul is you talking about him like that. He’s like a father to me, for fucks sake!” He cringes, looking to the front to avoid LJ's provoking gaze.
“A father? More like a daddy.” LJ makes a perverted face, and Toby ‘ew’s. “And what a waist!” He gestures the silhouette of a waist with both of his hands, long nails painted with black matte polish. Toby seems ready to convulse in disgust, and LJ guffaws at him.
Jeff observes them from his spot on the floor all the while, amused at their interaction. As disgusted as Toby seems to be, Jeff knows their friendship is strong.
“Anybody would kill to either be dominated by him, or make him submit!” LJ continues torturing Toby, who is now protesting loudly to stop listening to his nonsense. “And he doesn’t even look forty. Bet he uses his facial muscles less than Kirsten Stewart—”
“Aaaaaah, shut the fuck up!” Toby covers his face, mortified. “We meet someone new, and this is what you talk about nonstop!” He uncovers his face, and looks at LJ with a scowl, left eye twitching.
“Then why don’t you entertain us, Waffle-boy?” LJ mocks Toby with a sneer. The other rolls his eyes to the side and sighs in annoyance.
“Why does he call you that?” Jeff asks with a grin, curious at the specific nickname, while petting Smile’s fur as he lies in front of them.
Toby gesticulates lazily. “My mother made us some waffles when she came over to visit. I was crazy about them just to appease her, and he thought it was hilarious…now he calls me that.”
“Very endearing, appeasing momma Connie. Always a green flag to look for in a man…if your momma is not an abuser, that is.” LJ leans down and pets Jeff’s head, and the other chuckles, surprisingly comfortable with these two crackheads.
“Ah. Yeah.” Toby shrugs in a tic. He’s looking at Jeff sympathetically. “Kinda relate, although I didn’t have the opportunity to kill my sperm donor. He fled after I beat him up, dragged him outside and threatened to kill him for abusing me, my mother and...” His brown eyes turn distant and somber.
They all know comforting words and gestures will not work with him, including the newbie but ever perceptive Jeff. Toby’s too emotionally detached, too apathetic to feel the warmth of their support.
LJ takes the spotlight, letting Toby forget for another while. “I grew up in foster care, so I can’t relate on that front. I befriended a guy in school, but his mother sent him away to boarding school in London. I haven't seen him since.” He tells Jeff with a nonchalant smile.
‘Whoever that was, they must have been close for him to mention it.’ Jeff notes with ease, soaking up the details.
“Good for him, though. Father was a scumbag who would beat his mother up and assault her, while she would take it out on him.” LJ continues with a slight grimace on his mouth.
Jeff considers his words carefully. That doesn’t sound like something a child should have been aware of, especially at that age. But then again, it seems like they all experienced disturbing situations, even if at different stages, but all of them while underage. He focuses on something else, instead; digging on that won’t bear any fruit. “He told you he would come back, and he hasn’t. Right?” He deduces by LJ’s disappointed tone.
For a moment, a box opens, and Jeff sees a lonely man who spends his life caring for others. He sees simmering rage for being abandoned for so long by who he considered a dear and close friend, hope decaying like leaves in autumn.
But hope is still there, even if it’s moribund: it’s azure blue. There might be a day when that man returns, freeing him from that eternal wait that has drained him of color, of vibrancy. He shall no longer be forlorn.
The box’s lid comes back down just as fast. “You’re very perceptive!” LJ exclaims, jolly. “He did tell me that, and it was an empty promise. But oh, well…we were children, and people grow apart as time goes by and have no means of contact. It was expected.” He shrugs it off, sitting and crossing his legs one over the other with a nonchalant air.
EJ returns LJ the favor the latter did Toby. “I don’t have any trauma, and I believe I’m neurotypical. I’m just a blind and dark-skinned asian.” He deadpans, and everybody laughs with different varieties of volume: LJ cackles, Jeff chortles and Toby chuckles. “Kind of a bother in this ableist and racist world. But other than that, everything is fine.”
They stay silent for a moment. Toby breaks it. “We really are—” He cuts off in an involuntary whimper. “—a bunch of freaks, aren't we?”
“At least we’re hot.” LJ wiggles his eyebrows, putting his lollipop back in his mouth. Toby glances at him from the corner of his eye with doubt.
“EJ disagrees with that statement; he called me ugly when we first met two weeks ago. Me and my dog.” Jeff comments while side-eyeing EJ, and petting Smile’s head, almost as if saying: “Don’t listen to this idiot, my baby!”
Toby and LJ look down at the dog with wide eyes, blink a few times, then rest their eyes on EJ, who is showing no signs of being ashamed. LJ takes the lollipop out of his mouth to speak. “You, Mr. Nichols, are a savage.” He looks back at Jeff, pointing at EJ with the candy. “His favorite food is pig kidneys: a carnivore in all his splendor. I’d prefer Toby-Teddy-Bear’s mommy’s waffles any day!”
EJ glows under what he considers praise, while Toby (who was busy biting his lower lip absentmindedly) lids his eyes and turns to LJ. “You know I can take your nose, right?” He grabs his conical, stripped clown nose and tugs, letting the rubber band do the rest of the work as he releases it, hitting LJ’s face with a snap.
“OWIE! Toby, you meanie!” LJ grasps at the fake nose. He lowers his voice into a grave growl. “I'll use glue next time. And I’ll tell your daddy about this for sure—!”
With a disgusted face, and the tic in his eye having returned, Toby takes one of his gloves off and smacks LJ’s face with it whilst, to Jeff’s notice, hiding the exposed hand in his pocket. “If I had to describe physical pain without having ever felt it, I would describe you!”
Jeff breaks their bickering. “Say, Rogers, aren’t you running hot in that?” He has come with a black tank top and short jeans, EJ with a short-sleeved gray T-Shirt and short jeans too, and LJ has his fringed hair in a cute low tail and a summer clown attire, with a striped tank top and striped socks. Toby has to be running hot in that attire.
“He’s right, you should be more mindful. The idea is that you live longer than twenty-five; you’ll die from literal hotness at this rate!” LJ chastises him, raising a hand to touch Toby’s forehead. The other flinches in surprise. “You’re scalding. Get that off.” He no longer sounds like he’s joking.
Toby frowns at him. “We’re under a shadow. I’ll be fine—”
“He’s right, Toby. You underestimate the danger.” EJ interjects, calmly logical.
Toby gets exasperated. “Fine!” He relents through gritted teeth. He takes the remaining glove and his turtleneck off, leaving him with just a gray shirt of long sleeves, and he sets them all beside him without much care. “Are you all happy now?” He scowls at nobody in particular.
Jeff cannot help but hover his eyes over Toby’s hands before he hides them between his knees again. The knuckles are scarred, and even raw in some areas, probably from biting himself. And his hair looks even messier than before, of course.
“Very! Although it’s a pity you won’t let me ogle you properly in this weather.” LJ is back to his giddy self. “Still, momma Connie would be so proud—!” He’s hit with a glove again.
⦻
He takes the leash off of Smile, letting him go into the house. As he hangs it on the wall, over where the shoes are placed, he can hear him go to the kitchen and drink from his bowl; he smiles, feeling quite content for once in so long.
Well, life doesn’t seem so gloomy anymore; he has his own house, has adopted Smile, and has made a few friends in a short amount of time. Sure, it could be better, but he’s not about to complain.
He goes to the kitchen. Jeff is not the best of cooks, but he can at least fry and boil things without knocking the contents over himself, and he knows how to use an oven (although that one took some time to understand; so many options in the wheels).
Before doing his own dinner, though, he makes sure to prepare something for Smile; kibble is good, obviously, but he likes to give him at least one homemade meal each day. Nothing extraordinary, mostly rice and a bit of chicken, along with some veggies. Having boiled the rice and the chicken before getting out, he starts by chopping the meat and vegetables.
He feels something graze his leg from behind, and he grins. “You know what time it is, don't you?”
Smile goes around the corner and stretches his neck, trying to peek over the counter to see what Jeff is cooking; he knows by now that it’s nothing different from what he always gets for dinner, but he still does that.
Seeing the fluffy boy get so excited over such a simple thing is heart-warming. ‘I could change the chicken for turkey sometimes, and use other vegetables.’ Other variants will make Smile wonder. He doesn’t want him to get bored by having the same thing over and over, and adding other ingredients will result in getting different nutrients.
He crouches down with the plate once he’s done, and Smile tries to reach it quickly. Jeff corrects him with a quick ‘hey’ and a lifted finger, and Smile sits down patiently, polite. He puts it down on the floor, and once he’s satisfied with his dog’s proper behavior, he lets him eat.
He finishes making his own dinner (instant noodles, a turkey sandwich and a beer; he cares more about Smile’s health than his own) and takes the plates to the living room. He puts them on the low coffee table and sits himself on the sofa, Smile close on his tail. He has a cheap Smart TV to entertain himself with, at least.
He eats under the watchful eye of Smile, who acts like a roaming vacuum as soon as something, the smallest piece, falls to the floor. He carries the plates to the sink once he’s done, puts his hair in a low tail, and does the dishes.
Just as he’s finished drying his hands, the doorbell rings.
As he becomes tense, knowing that it’s not EJ or any of the other two, Smile woofs softly (as best as he can with no lips to vocalize). With a déjà vu feeling paired with anxiety, Jeff cannot appreciate the adorable sound his friend just made.
He goes to answer the door, and for the second time now, his dread is replaced by puzzlement: another person he doesn’t know. He opens the door to greet the strange individual. Not strange in the same way as EJ or his other new friends, no; it’s a different kind of strange.
The man in front of him is a tad smaller than him, just the littlest bit shorter. He has blonde hair and sky blue eyes; the appearance of an elf, although good-looking by society’s standards. He’s wearing a wool jacket and a shirt with a triangle symbol (he swears he knows it from somewhere) from which collar silver glasses hang.
Jeff doesn’t need to be a genius to know this man is a geek of some sort. The kind of poor soul the bullies back in his hometown would’ve glomped down without much effort. But he was not a geek, and he got chomped thoroughly and parts of him were spit, nonetheless.
And in case the shirt is not enough of a clue of his geekiness, here’s another one: the man carries a suitcase with him, and seems timid. If he has to make a guess, it’s because of having to socialize in any way.
The man flinches when he sees Jeff, but quickly composes himself. “Um…h-hello.” The stranger does not only seem nervous, he also sounds nervous; Jeff is pretty sure he’s nervous. “I-I know this is going to be a strange request, especially this late, but…c-could I please use your computer, if you have one?” The guy gives him a timid smile.
Jeff doesn’t know if it’s because of the influence this place has on him, or the impression he’s gotten of him, or what the fuck it is. But against his better judgment, which would have told him that blondie just wants to sell him something or steal, or another shady business altogether, and despite the man’s initial reaction to his own person, he lets him in. “Sure, come in.” He steps aside and turns around only to find Smile sitting in the hallway, eyeing the guy with curiosity. He looks back at the stranger. “Don’t worry, the dog doesn’t bite.”
The blond man gets in, not worried about the dog, although Jeff can see his thought process upon seeing Smile’s face. He almost laughs, thinking of the man going ‘These two match faces!’ in his head.
“You can sit here if you want to.” Jeff gestures to the sofa. “Will a laptop do?” He sincerely hopes so; it would be embarrassing to have let him in for nothing.
The stranger gives him an expectedly nervous, but sincere smile. “Yes, thank you. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” He quickly sits, and once Jeff approaches him with the laptop, he turns on the device.
“No problem.” Jeff doesn’t show any semblance of annoyance, for he’s not annoyed in the slightest; a bit nervous due to the unexpected visit, but nothing unmanageable. He sits on the left side, beside the visitor, flopping his right arm on the armrest.
Once the man begins working, having put his glasses on, Jeff lowers his eyes to the keyboard, who the man starts manipulating like a cheap kazoo. He seems to be doing something quite hard; the kind of thing a hacker would do, with lots of codes and numbers. He feels the need to tell the man that he better not do something illegal, having enough knowledge himself to understand that whatever blondie does can be tracked down.
But the man beats him to it. “Don’t worry, I’m not doing anything illegal.” He chuckles awkwardly. At least he’s somewhat preceptive, Jeff must give him that. “In any case, I won’t be tracked down, I assure you.”
Before Jeff can feel the puzzlement born from that statement set in, the stranger leans over the armrest, and takes something else out. ‘Is that a Nintendo 64 console?’ He opens his eyes wide, nonplussed. ‘I should really beat this runt up if he’s come here just to play. But then again, why would he be so anxious if that were the case? Unless he’s the kind of addicted dude that cannot go without playing for at least twenty hours out of twenty-four in the day. But a laptop is not needed to play that console…’ He tries to make sense of the situation.
For more befuddlement, see what he does next: he takes out a 4MB Expansion Pak, and an old-looking cartridge. As the stranger installs both and connects the console to the laptop, Jeff can see the sticker on the cartridge. It reads: ‘The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask’. Right beside the sticker, in vertical letters, he can also read something else written in permanent red marker: ‘B.E.N.’
‘Is that his name?’ Jeff doesn’t understand what's going on. “Um…” He doesn’t even know how to begin. “...what’s your name?”
The stranger, who was absorbed in his task with a very somber, concentrated look, suddenly lifts his eyebrows and seems to remember where he is. “O-oh, yeah, sorry, where are my manners!” He coughs, more a nervous gesture than an actual necessity to clear his throat. “I’m Benjamin. Again, I’m very sorry for intruding on you like this, it’s just—” He tenses up for a moment, looking down and around, then smiles wearily again. “—I just moved, and I work in I.T. I didn’t get to buy a computer just yet and I need one to work, and with a tight schedule and all…” His words wear off as he finishes his rambling. He scratches at his nape, clearly uncomfortable.
Something tells Jeff that Benjamin is not being entirely honest. ‘You work in I.T. and don’t have a device to work with?’ But at least he doesn’t seem to have a malicious bone in his body, to Jeff’s perception. “Don’t worry, I understand.” No, he does not, but the last thing he wants is an uncomfortable visitor that will, in turn, make him uncomfortable. He prepares himself for a possible recognition, cringing internally. “My name is Jeff, by the way. Would you like something to drink?”
“Um…no, but thank you anyway.” Benjamin taps the keyboard repeatedly, once more becoming concentrated. And, to Jeff’s relief, he makes no sign of remotely knowing who he is.
Just as Jeff is lamenting this strange situation, his lightbulb turns on. “That’s it!” He exclaims in a whisper and with light snapping of his fingers, but not low enough that Benjamin won’t notice; he has, in fact, noticed, and is glancing at him with bewilderment. He turns to look him in the eye. “Your shirt, it’s the Triforce!”
And that does the trick.
Benjamin turns around and beams at him with the wonder of a child, forgetting his task for a moment. “You’ve played Zelda games before?” His change in expression is astronomical: he had been looking tired, jumpy and reserved, but now he’s glowing.
‘Is it your obsession with the franchise, or is it because you’ve met someone that also likes it?’ Jeff wonders inwardly, not finding the idea of Benjamin being a lonely man implausible. “Yup, but it’s been a long time, hence why it didn’t come to me right away. Didn’t they launch a new game recently for the Nintendo Switch?” He inquires, hoping to fish more conversation out of the reserved creature that’s invaded his living room.
“Yes! ‘Tears of the Kingdom’!” Benjamin is quick to answer. But he quickly remembers what he came for, and returns his gaze and fingers to the laptop, glow diminishing to almost nothing.
“And what exactly are you doing? Isn’t that an old game?” Jeff doesn’t give up, and still tries to converse with the blond. He prefers that cheerier facet of his to this one.
“Uhm…” Benjamin seems anxious again for some reason. “...it’s a defective cartridge. I’m trying to restore it, because, you know, it’s a rare item to come by. Quite valuable amongst vintage game collectors.”
Again, Jeff feels that Benjamin is not being completely truthful, but he doesn’t push it. “I see.” He tries to change the subject. “Did you move here recently?”
“Yup! I’m actually close to you. Houses around here are pretty cheap and of great quality.” Benjamin inputs something that makes absolutely no sense to Jeff into a tab. “I haven’t had the time to explore the neighborhood, though, but it looks promising—”
Suddenly, something red and black pops up on the screen: a silent screamer.
But Jeff realizes that Benjamin has quite the quick reflexes, because before he’s able to discern what it is that has popped up, the blonde snaps the laptop closed, forcefully and loudly.
They both stay still and quiet for a moment. Jeff simply looks at Benjamin in stupefaction. Benjamin stares to the front, nowhere in particular, with a mix of vacancy and disconcertment.
Slowly, Benjamin turns to look at Jeff, not entirely present. “I’m sorry…you must think I’m a lunatic. I shouldn’t have treated your possessions like this, that was very rude of me.” He smiles, not nervous this time; he looks frustrated. “I think it’s best if I leave, I’ve bothered you enough already. I’ll pay for any damage your laptop suffered.”
As Benjamin leans forward to disconnect all machinery, Jeff just can’t help it; he grasps his arm, not tight but firm, making the other halt his movements. Surprised, and looking a bit rattled, Benjamin looks at him, who has a serious look on his face. “Is everything alright?” He asks without thinking.
The blond blinks at him, and Jeff can see a flash in his eyes: the desire to let the flood escape, to stop drowning in anxiety. To let another presence his anguish and lift some pressure off of him, to make his lungs stop burning. The same moon that knows his distress, that has looked through his crumbling semblance, mocks him cruelly. But, of course, Benjamin won’t give into his desires that easily. “Of course. Everything’s fine, Jeff.” He wears a friendly little smile.
Jeff’s face doesn’t relax. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, as if changing the angle would help him get a better look at Benjamin’s psyche. “May I ask why you’ve moved here?”
Benjamin frowns a little, his smile still not vanishing. “I already told you, didn’t I? The houses were cheap—”
“No.” Jeff shakes his head. “I know that is not why you came. And I know you didn’t come here to use my laptop just because you have to fix a game.” He stares severely at the other man. “You don’t have to tell me, obviously. We just met, it would be imprudent and I’m not entitled to know. But…” He looks to the side, sighing. He looks at the blond again. “...don’t lie, okay? Keep it to yourself as much as you want, tell me that you don’t want to share it, whatever it is. But don’t lie to me.”
Benjamin just stares at him, now completely stoic.
They’re distracted by a whine.
They both look in the direction of the desk at the same time, and find Smile, chin resting on the low coffee table, looking in between them with wariness.
It is by Smile’s distraction that Jeff realizes he’s acted impulsively. He turns his head to stare at his hand, which is still holding onto Benjamin’s arm. He releases him, regretful. “I’m sorry, I’m no one to demand anything from you. And don’t worry about the laptop, it’s old, cheap second-hand trash anyway.”
Benjamin doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t even look uncomfortable anymore, just confused. And a bit impressed, perhaps.
“Do you plan on staying here for long?” Jeff asks, trying to bring back the conversation; some semblance of normalcy to the situation.
Benjamin lowers his gaze, looking at the laptop. “I do.” He’s hesitant for a moment. “...Jeff?”
“Hm?” Jeff eyes Smile, who is still focused on them, analyzing their movements. The poor dog must’ve gotten anxious because of his antics.
Benjamin bites at his lower lip. “Whatever that was…thank you. I’ll buy the laptop from you, just name a price.” He offers eagerly.
Jeff frowns; looks like he didn’t miscalculate, after all. And for some reason, he believes Benjamin’s offer is not just out of extreme politeness, but also necessity and practicality. Declining his offer might do more harm than good, or that’s how it feels like to him, at least. “As you wish.” He responds.
He watches as Benjamin starts packing, laptop and all. Jeff stands up after the blonde does to accompany him to the door. As he opens it and Benjamin steps out, Jeff asks him one more question. “Could you use any friends, Benjamin?”
For the first time, Benjamin chuckles. “Please, just Ben. I feel like an old, wrinkled and wise man if you call me that.” He jokes lightly, and Jeff nods with a smile. “I guess I could use one.”
“I’ll be meeting mine again tomorrow. I’ve just met two of them today, and they’re a nice trio. Just saying.” Jeff leans forward, letting the offer sit in the air. “At five. Just saying.” He chortles.
Ben smiles back. “I’ll consider it.” They exchange numbers, and once they’re done he goes down the porch steps, but turns around one last time. “Thank you, Jeff.”
They wave at each other, and Jeff watches Ben turn left and begin his way home. He can actually see his house on the other sidewalk, to the far left. Strange encounter, but not unwelcome.
He tries to take a step back into the house, only to collide with a fluffy obstacle. He looks down behind him, and finds Smile staring at him with a suspicious expression. He gets back in and closes the door, crouching down at eye level with the dog. “Nothing’s wrong! Why the long face?” He asks with his baby voice, and Smile tilts his head at him adorably. “Did I scare you? I’m sowwy!” He blabbers some more, and Smile lifts his front paws to play with him.
Chapter Text
Tuesday.
She feels the familiar acidic anxiety corrode her veins. It pools in her stomach and turns it heavy, makes her nauseous as it constricts her throat, provokes sweating from waves of hellish heat, freezes her rigid with biting cold, and fans the fire of her hope that time would speed up and everything would be over soon.
But such a thing won’t happen: anxiety will keep on coursing through her veins now and then, this will never be over, and time will never agree with her.
Time: such an anathema of a concept for her. When something good happens, it speeds up. When something bad happens, it slows down. When she feels numb, it’s indifferent to her. An unavoidable, immortal and indifferent enemy.
She keeps her fingers curled and clammy inside her jacket pockets, as well as tapping her left foot on the pavement prestissimo, begging that blasted made-up-but-still-very-much-real-and-torturous concept to concede her wishes for once, quickly and mercifully. But it’s just wishful thinking.
After a few unending and wearisome minutes of waiting, even having changed the foot that creates the repetitive sound her anticipation is accompanied and not much alleviated by, she sees a figure cross the road in her direction. Before she can think it over and book it, the corrosive liquid in her veins having changed reasons for its flow, the man is in front of her. “Hello, there! Ms. Ouellette, is it?” His voice is deep and husky, and he bears a friendly, dazzling smile.
She analyzes the stranger with a quick sweep of her alert gaze. He’s two heads taller than her, admittedly handsome, likely in his forties; his naturally inviting eyes are a beautiful light green, and his long black hair is tied in a low ponytail. He wears a black dressing shirt and black trousers, sports both a fedora on his head and a long leather coat, and carries a black folder. The small and delicate silver hoops that adorn his ears give him a youthful touch.
“I-I am.” She smiles back politely, taken aback by his appearance and social skills; she would never dream of approaching a stranger with such confidence. “Are you Mr. Holzer?”
“Nuh-uh! But I work for him; my name is Joan Schön, and I’m the one in charge of showing you what might be your future home!” He makes a small, joking bow. “If you would be so kind as to follow me, I will give you a tour of the house that caught your interest.”
She nods, just now noting the slight German accent the man has, and follows him to the entrance porch of the house she had been waiting in front of. He goes up the porch stairs with that same fluidity of limbs, the consequence of an ease of mind, and begins to unlock the door.
A tremor goes down her spine, nailing her to the stone tiles beneath her feet. She doesn’t notice that she’s stopped until Mr. Schön turns around and calls out to her, confused by her unexpected distance. “Ms. Ouellette? Is everything alright?”
‘I know it’s wrong to feel this way…not all men are like that. And yet, how could I be sure? If it turns out I’m right, and I follow him into a closed building…’ She thinks panickedly, whilst trying to keep her body language neutral; she’s familiar with façades of decency, and encountering one so early in this new place would be devastating.
“...I could call a female coworker, if that will put you at ease.” Mr. Schön offers nonchalantly, easily detecting the reason for her hesitation.
She looks up, finding his attempt at comfort strange, and finds Mr. Schön looking back at her with professional empathy. He obviously doesn’t know what’s going on inside her head, but he seems to get that she’s doubtful of his intentions, and doesn’t look ready to judge her for it anytime soon.
She’s tired of feeling like this: of the constant residual tension that hypervigilance leaves her with, of needing to catalog people based on her unfortunate experiences, of always expecting the worst in everybody. ‘Oh, to hell with it!’ Putting up a determined front weaved with threads of abrupt bravery and long carried weariness, she marches up the stairs, careful not to trip on the steps due to miscalculation from her reduced vision. Once she’s in front of Mr. Schön, she’s clear in her statement: “Thank you, Mr. Schön, but that won’t be necessary.”
Mr. Schön shrugs nonchalantly and gets in, turning on the lights. She steps in behind him, and looks around. “As you can see, the house is very comfortable for one or two people. We have the kitchen—” He points to where the kitchen is, to the left, and she also sees the sliding backyard door to its right. “—which we’ll see later, along with a bedroom and a bathroom to our left if we follow this corridor, and the entrance and living room area which we’ve just stepped into. All of the rooms are furnished, of course.”
They step further into the living room. Even if a bit empty of decoration, everything looks new and clean, if basic; nothing she couldn’t work with to make her own. Then, Mr. Schön guides her to the bathroom, then the bedroom, then the kitchen, and finally into the small backyard, where the tour ends. All in all, she finds it too good to be true, being so cheap. She has to. “Mr. Schön?”
“Hm?” Mr. Schön hums behind her on the back porch, as she looks around the small garden; he has his hands inside the pockets of his jacket.
“Why is it so cheap, if you don’t mind me asking?” She turns around, unconsciously covering herself by crossing her arms over her chest; a gesture she’s been doing for so long, she cannot remember when she adopted the habit.
“Well…” Mr. Schön looks up, trying to formulate his answer. “...we’re a bit secluded here, surrounded by woods as we are, which devalues the property a lot. Since there’s not much to do around these parts during the cold months and the population is so reduced, renting is not an option; Mr. Holzer would rather secure the deals he can get his hands on, even if the prices established are low.” Then, he claps his hands, catching her attention and changing the subject. “So, Ms. Ouellette…do you think you’ll need some time to think it over before making a decision?”
She looks around her one more time, and eyes the house. She would be stupid not to take independence by the throat now that she has it within reach. “No. I’ll take it.” She answers without much effort.
“It’s settled, then! All we have to do is sign the contract, and then I’ll be out of your hair.” Mr. Schön jokes as he lowers his hands, and gestures for her to enter the house again.
She gets in, and finds the contract already laid out on the table. As she reads it, nothing seems amiss, but she notices that she can pay in installments. She signs it without delay. “I can pay most of it right now in cash, if you wish.” She takes her purse to look for the envelope she’s brought with her.
But Mr. Schön halts her by lifting a hand. “Now, dear, we’re very flexible with our payment methods and deadlines. I highly recommend that you just give us a small quantity now and don’t rush the payment. Keep the rest in case you face any difficulties.” He suggests.
‘How weird. Shouldn’t he want to get the money as fast as possible? And why would he be concerned about the difficulties I may face?’ She shakes her head almost imperceptibly. ‘He’s just being kind, no need to overthink everything.’ She finds the envelope and takes it out. “Very well, then.” She hands Mr. Schön a quarter of the full quantity.
As Mr. Schön smiles at her alluringly, he takes the house keys out of his pocket and hands them to her, along with signing the property papers. “A pleasure to make business with you, Ms. Ouellette; the house is yours!” He beams as he stores the copy of the contract in his folder, and she finds his mirth a bit contagious; she gives him a small smile in return. “You may reach out to me or any other agent at any time, including Mr. Holzer.” He stands up and gives her one last grin. “Goodbye!”
She bids him goodbye, feeling a bit lighter. Not long after, she hears the front door close. She looks around, and takes in her surroundings.
Her house. This is now hers! Well, she still has to pay it fully, but the contract is signed.
Natalie feels like sobbing, in relief for once. She didn’t bring much with her; all that she has is the clothes she’s currently wearing and some for changing in her backpack, along with her documents and a few other belongings, as well as herself. But she finally has something that no one has the right to claim from her, that belongs just to her, that hasn’t been tainted.
Unlike her mind and body.
She grimaces instantly, trying to keep that disgusting notion out of her thoughts. She stands up from her seat; she must buy all that she’ll need.
⦻
The cart is already full, and she suspects her bank account will suffer for it like a hard punch to the stomach; good thing Mr. Schön wasn’t a vulture and advised her well, but she had to doubt the poor man. Even so, she knows next time she comes shopping, the cart won’t be brimming like this.
She’s getting things the house needs: bed clothing, toiletries, cleaning products, cooking tools and cutlery, and so on. She’s also buying a few basic clothes, just to have something else in her wardrobe other than the worn out and cheap rags she came with.
Difficult task, since she cannot try any clothes on without feeling revolted by the image in the mirror and risking a meltdown in public, so she has to trust the size label instead. She has to buy food, too; she’ll have to find healthier alternatives, lest she becomes fatter than she already is. She already looks bad enough, with her chubby tummy and legs. Buying snacks would be a waste of money, in any case, since she’s going to puke it all by force after gobbling it down.
She keeps pushing her cart through different isles, feeling overly self-aware, the stares of the few people in the shop twisting in her perception; a simple glance in her direction feels like a personal attack.
Her eyes have become so blurry with unshed tears, that she almost collides with somebody, but notices at the last second. She holds onto the handle of the cart with a lot of force, and the wheels produce a horrible screech in protest against her sudden change of mind. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where…!” She blinks, then blinks some more.
The woman in front of her cart looks otherworldly. She’s dressed in a fashionable white tracksuit. Her delicate and angelic face is framed by the golden locks arranged in a wispy bob. But without a doubt, what most stands out from that countenance are her ethereal eyes.
A sea of endless ink. A vast galaxy. A black mirror.
With uncanny tranquility and no rush, the stranger puts a manicured hand on her cart, but doesn't break eye contact with her. “Are you okay?” She asks with a soft but clear voice. Even that characteristic of her is unearthly beautiful.
Natalie blinks, and realizes her face is wet. ‘Really? Am I crying in the frozen goods aisle, right in front of a stranger?’ She rubs the tears off with a quick swipe of her hand.
But before she can give the angelic stranger a response, they’re interrupted. “Dina?” She hears an unknown voice call from the next aisle to her left. The owner of that second voice gets near, as she can hear their footsteps, and her embarrassment worsens.
A man—or who she identifies as a cisgender man at first glance, for she’s not completely sure due to the androgynousness of his face—appears before her. He’s taller than the woman, has incisive london-blue eyes and short black hair. He wears a blue dressing shirt and black trousers. He lacks any discernible expression as his eyes lock on her.
The one he’s called Dina keeps staring at her, not glancing at her companion for a moment. Noticing this, the unnamed man looks between them both, but more at the blonde.
“Do you need help?” The supposed Dina asks, her hand still on the cart; her shiny, square-cut short nails glint under the fluorescent light, the natural french manicure suiting her aesthetic. The man focuses on her too, evidently having sensed her distress, but not commenting on it.
Natalie is actually grateful for his lack of extreme scrutiny born out of worry, which would be the usual reaction when faced with a crying woman; he’s saving her from further embarrassment that is already overboarding. “N-no, I’m fine, really.” She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Just overwhelmed. Please, don’t mind me.”
The woman nods, clearly unconvinced, but what else could she do when faced with a negative? With an expression of resignation, she turns to the man and releases her hold on the cart. They leave together, arms entwined, as the blonde woman spares one last glance at her.
‘...Pull yourself together.’ Natalie frowns for a moment, and resumes her shopping.
Saturday.
“Toby won’t be coming with us today?” EJ asks LJ, as the five of them walk away from Jeff’s house.
LJ shakes his head. “He’s busy working.” He suddenly smiles; it’s the kind of foul grin that lets Jeff know he’s about to say a brutality. Ben not so much, since the poor innocent thing is not familiarized with his personality, and EJ just can’t see it coming. “I just hope Holzer is not prostituting him or something. I mean, it would be big cash—”
With uncanny accuracy, EJ lifts his left hand and gives LJ a wack in the back of the head, making him flinch. “Behave, clown! You’ll scare the new guy!”
“I suppose by that you mean Benny, not Jeffy.” LJ rubs the spot he was hit on, feeling regretful of being the one EJ is holding onto; the man is a violent fiend when he so desires.
EJ smirks, scrunching up his eyebrows. “Of course I mean Ben. Jeff has already toughened up to your crime-sentence worthy comments, as many as they are, and Smile doesn’t give a fuck.”
To their right, Jeff and Ben look at each other, sharing their thoughts on the two Jacks’ antics silently. Jeff is grinning amusedly, used as he is to LJ’s dirty jokes and whatnot, along with having made such jests himself many times in his life. Meanwhile, Ben has his eyes widened, because it’s the complete opposite for him.
“Anyway, we could go to the usual spot in the park and watch the duckies swim by like a bunch of old farts would.” LJ suggests, since there’s not much else to do.
“We could buy oat-flakes and seeds to feed them.” EJ lifts a finger. “Did you know bread is bad for birds? Puffs up in their stomachs and makes them feel full, which stops them from eating what has actual nutrients—”
As the Jacks blabber on back and forth, Jeff has noticed Ben tense up to his right. “...U-uh…guys?” The blond asks, voice tremulous, and shaking a little too. “You’re talking about the lake in the middle of Oakside Park, right?”
Jeff and LJ stare at Ben, while EJ listens. “Indeed, Benny. Is something the matter with that?” LJ asks unassumingly.
“Um…could we go somewhere else?” Ben requests with barely a thread of voice, looking eager to disappear from embarrassment. He doesn’t want to explain the motive for his request; the shame would be too great, and he would undoubtedly get questions about it.
But he doesn’t need to. Jeff can smell his fear; after all, he tensed right when the lake was mentioned. He doesn’t know what conclusion the rest have reached, but it doesn’t matter, because he knows they all agree with the plan by the looks of it.
“But of course, sweet-cheeks!” LJ answers without an ounce of annoyance in his voice, which Ben finds unexpected; add the pet-name to the equation, and they find themselves facing a barely blushing Ben. “We could go to my house instead; the weather is not very agreeable today anyway.” He looks up at the overcast sky with slitted eyes, daring it to pour a single raindrop on the perfect artwork that is his flawless makeup, even though he has set it so well that it could endure a visit to the swimming pool.
“Fine by me.” EJ shrugs. Jeff notices how Ben relaxes from the corner of his eye, releasing an audibly raspy sigh in his relief. “It’s not like I can see the mess you probably have for a house.”
LJ frowns at him. “Well, for your information, I cleaned it yesterday at around two in the morning!” He defends himself and his supposedly tidy house from EJ’s insinuations. “It was Jill who made a mess of my wardrobe that day! At least she paid me back with brownies.”
“You talk about her as if she’s both a blessing and a curse. I would say she’s only the first.” EJ chuckles.
LJ leans closer to EJ’s face. “Because despite her being a sweetheart and my bestie, she can also be a pain in the ass. Very insistent when she wants to be, and hella scary too! But you haven't experienced that, have you?” He lifts his head slightly, in order to stare at everybody else in the group, while towering over EJ. “She can fucking run in heels.” He whispers, as if it were one of the most terrifying facts about this world, worthy of the gravity in his voice. “I can understand being able to run on flat platforms, but heels?!”
“Well, I would love to be able to do that, even if I’ve never worn heels myself.” Jeff cackles as he imagines himself with a pair of tall, pink heels on; he’s obviously struggling to keep himself up and not fall in that imagined scenario, legs wobbling funnily.
“So that you may go around provoking everybody like Tobibi does?” LJ jests, looking Jeff up and down. “What a pair of sluts you two are.”
“Are you shaming us or praising us for it?” Jeff inquires, suggestively lidding his eyes to appear more coquettish. “You know I would look good. And no need to hunch your back to lean down and kiss me—”
EJ hits the pavement with his cane; the sound is plastic, yet like a whip. “Cut that shit out!”
“There, there.” LJ pats EJ’s head. “No need to get jealous, Tiny-J. We can have a four-way kiss, if Toby won’t lash out. Or a five-way one, if Benny is up for it.” While EJ makes a face of approval, Ben is choking on his spit, and Jeff is chortling. “I could understand if Benny were to wear heels, since he could use some extra inches, but you, Jeff?”
“W-what do you mean by that?” Ben protests, shrinking in on himself with shyness. One thing is to hear LJ poke someone else, which is impressive enough, but for him to be the subject of his teasing is entirely different.
LJ looks at him like the shark from Finding Nemo. “What I mean is that you’re a small bean: tiny, blond, and innocent-looking. Probably the only pure creature among us.” He’s not being even half as brutal or mean as he can be with his chaff.
“That kind-looking, is he?” EJ asks, sounding amused. “But kind-looking ones always end up surprising you when you least expect it, in the most unexpected way.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Not necessarily in a bad way, mind you.”
“He does look like he’s full of surprises.” Jeff glances with a soft smile at Ben, who is currently busy trying to mimic a strawberry’s color, specially in the ears.
“I’m not that innocent…” Ben complains, frowning slightly, but only making himself look more adorable in the process.
LJ cackles, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Okay, okay…enough teasing you for the day. You look like a mercury thermometer ready to burst.”
“By the way—,” Jeff interjects, glancing at Ben. “—did you manage to fix the cartridge somewhat?” Besides these two, anybody would think it a simple question with a simple meaning. But in between them, the question hangs in the air, looking a bit more like: “Did you fix whatever was troubling you?” Ben shakes his head, looking frustrated, but he doesn’t comment any further.
“You’re fixing a cartridge?” LJ tilts his head with curiosity; he has zero knowledge on such matters. “Are you tech-savvy?”
“He works in I.T. He’s trying to fix an old Zelda game.” Jeff is quick to answer, trying to cover Ben up. For what exactly, he’s not sure.
“Ah. Isn’t Zelda that elf dressed in green?” LJ asks, raising an eyebrow.
To his surprise, and Jeff’s too, Ben makes a face: a mixture of a wince and a grimace. But while LJ is surprised just by the new bold expression, Jeff is also amused because he knows why he’s making it; after all, LJ just made an ignorant comment due to a common misconception about the games Ben loves.
“He’s confused, but he’s got the spirit.” Jeff smirks, entertained by Ben’s unexpected show of emotion. LJ looks between them, while EJ tilts his head.
Ben sighs. “Zelda is the princess of Hyrule, while the hero you’re talking about is Link. And they’re Hylians, not elfs, although they’re inspired by them.” He explains patiently and makes a content expression after correcting his misconception.
“Well, consider me educated!” LJ exclaims, while EJ nods, probably feeling the same. “I didn’t realize how much we needed a cute little geek in our group!” He admits with no hint of sarcasm, which returns the color to Ben’s cheeks at full speed and makes him choke again.
“LJ is as quick to insult you as he is to compliment you. Ignore the insults and cherish the compliments, or he’ll drive you nuts like he does with Toby.” EJ interjects, warning Ben of impending doom.
“Why does everybody hate me so much? What have I ever done to you all?” LJ laments dramatically, putting a hand to his chest. “Am I that obnoxious?”
“No. We love you, but you’re still very grating when you want to be, so no mercy for you.” EJ pokes him on the ribs with great accuracy, and the goth flinches.
“Keep those fingers to yourself, young man! Waffle-boy already bullies me enough as it is!” LJ pouts, rubbing his side.
EJ scoffs, showing his wolfish teeth. “I would argue it’s mostly the other way around, but each to their delusions.”
LJ gasps, obviously amused. He looks over at the other two. “Do you two see this?” He gestures at EJ with a hand. “The abuse I’m subjected to?!”
Jeff chuckles. “You love it, you fucking masochist.”
They eventually reach LJ’s house. “You sure there’s nothing on the floor that will make me trip over and break my precious head?” EJ asks as they’re about to enter, teasing LJ and not worried for his own well-being in the slightest.
“Positive.” LJ unlocks the door, and enters with everybody in tow.
Quite like most of the houses around, except for the fact that its interior is decorated a bit peculiarly, but not unexpectedly so, given LJ's tastes. The walls are white, gray or black depending on the room, and the furniture and embellishments are vintage-looking and monochrome. A dive into past times.
LJ lets them roam about without care or worry. After taking the leash off of Smile (who decides to follow EJ to the sofa), Jeff finds himself in the bedroom by pure chance, only to be left with his jaw hanging: in front of a vanity mirror that LJ probably uses to do his makeup, is a chair composed of realistic-looking, fake human bones. ‘That’s so fucking metal!’ He thinks, eyes glued to it.
Behind him, seemingly appearing from thin air, LJ leans forward and whispers low in his ear, a hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “I know what you're thinking: ‘Cool looking prop!’. Joke’s on you, that’s Toby! That’s why he didn’t tag along!” He cackles evilly, looking at Jeff with a crazy look.
Jeff puts the back of his hand against his forehead. “Oh, no! Whatever shall I do know? I surely will face a similar fate!” He laments like the typical damsel in distress.
“Of course you will: you’ll be the foot rest!” LJ guffaws and Jeff cackles, both losing composure at the brutal comeback. LJ puts a blue lollipop in his mouth, its wrapper crunching in his other hand. What Jeff doesn’t know is that with that other hand, he’s also holding something else; he lifts it, and offers Jeff one lollipop. “I only got cola and lemon. EJ took the orange one.”
Jeff huffs, eyes set on his prey. “Cola.” He blurts as he takes it from LJ, and while the other goes off to another area of the house, Jeff finds himself struggling with the wrapper; so, like the patient man that he is, he tries to get rid of it with his teeth, which eventually works, even if it has messy results.
“What are you d—? Holy cow!” Ben exclaims behind him, catching sight of the vanity-chair as he looks over Jeff’s shoulder. He grasps onto Jeff’s shoulders to take a better look. “That’s so metal!”
“My thoughts exactly.” Jeff puts the lollipop in his mouth with a grin.
“Hey, you two!” LJ yells from the living room. “Stop drooling over my chair. I’m far more interesting!”
Ben chuckles in disbelief, while Jeff just smirks, scarred cheek puffed up with the spherical candy. They both make their way to the living room, where LJ has taken the black puff on the left, EJ the couch on the right, and Smile is lying on the floor, looking up at LJ.
Before Ben can sit, LJ offers him the remaining lollipop, and Ben accepts it with a beam. “Ugh…that smile is the principal cause of diabetes.” LJ comments as Ben sits down on the sofa beside Jeff, to his right, looking at the lollipop fondly. Smile has tilted his head at LJ, having heard his name, so he looks down at him. “I’m not talking about you, baby-boy. And don’t look at me with those puppy-eyes, you can’t eat this!” He baby-talks the dog, who twitches his ears back and forth. “I’ll buy you some dog-sweets next time, I pwomise!” He pets Smile’s head, and the dog wags his tail.
Jeff watches as Ben slowly and meticulously unwraps his lollipop and pockets the plastic. The sight leaves him feeling a bit like a savage, since he unwrapped his so brutally. “We could go for a walk later. The sky supposedly clears at around seven.” He talks out loud.
EJ shrugs. “Sure thing. By the way, won’t there be a local fair next weekend?” He begins clacking the lollipop against his teeth distractedly, but stops just as quickly. “We could go as a group.”
“I can’t go with you. I’ll be one of the colorful clowns performing, along with Jill and Eric.” LJ rubs his head. “God, have mercy on me, if you are even up there, which I highly doubt.” He mutters, more to himself than the rest.
“You’re always the clown, fair or no fair, color or no color.” EJ turns his body until he’s half-seated, half-laying down crosswise on the small couch space. “Are you asking for mercy because of Jill?”
“No, it’s the children and their parents that make me dread it. Kiddos are not at fault, it’s just that some parents don’t bother with educating them properly.” He fiddles with his lollipop, making it rotate. “I’ll have to yeet some of them, or scare them away.” He bites his blue-stained tongue.
“Local Pennywise.” Jeff grins, imagining a rainbow-clad LJ kicking a child into the sun like a football with all his strength, screaming “Yeet!” as the parents witness, horrorized. “Will there be any arcade machines?” At that question, Ben perks up.
“I think so, but you’ll have to punch a few kids and their progenitors to get to the machines if you get there late.” LJ has finished the lollipop, but it has bubblegum inside. He bites it off and begins to chew.
“You’re very violent today.” EJ comments, pulling his blue hood up.
Jeff snorts, chewing through his candy. “Is he ever not?” Smile approaches him, resting his chin on his knees. He leans down and kisses his hairy head.
“Sometimes, when it's a full moon. But only sometimes.” EJ retorts back, both of them teasing LJ. The clown shows them his stained tongue.
Beside Jeff, Ben seems to be in his own world, to the point that he hasn’t noticed Smile get close to him for pets, and he has a vacant look in his eyes. While the other two haven’t noticed yet, Jeff has. But before he can try to bring him back, Smile woofs softly, demanding attention.
The blond startles slightly, and looking down at the source of the sound, he takes the lemon lollipop out of his mouth and scratches Smile behind the ears.
⦻
The sky did clear up a bit, there’s still sunlight, and it’s still warm, even if it’s not the suffocating weather they’ve had to endure these past weeks. There’s still people around, given it’s Saturday, and the few establishments to be found are still open.
They’re walking down the street, looking at the different storefronts. Jeff and EJ go on the front, while Ben and LJ are behind them. Against his own words a while back, LJ is teasing poor Ben again, to the amusement of the rest (although mindfully, since he’s noticed how skittish he is, and the last thing he wants is to make Ben feel out of place).
As they walk by, stopping near a bakery to ogle at the food, LJ looks behind him by pure chance, and sees somebody he doesn’t recognize. “Hey, EJ. There’s a girlie around our age alone on the other sidewalk who I’ve never seen around before.”
EJ perks up. “A girl? There sure aren’t many girls around here. Maybe she’s friend material!”
“Well, I’m not going to greet her. She’ll freak out once she sees me, if she hasn’t already.” LJ looks at the stranger, frowning slightly. “She looks lonely.”
The woman seems on edge, as if unused to being in public on her own. She’s looking at the window display of a stationery shop, clutching her purse close, grip too tight for her to be at ease.
“All the more reason to approach her! Ben is our only option, because Jeff won’t be a good approach either, and I’m blind.” EJ concludes, naming Ben the soldier of this operation.
Jeff is not offended, because he does look weird and is as skillful as a rock when meeting new people. And it’s not like being blind is a bad thing, but being approached by someone with a disability and then seeing their friends only go downhill won’t give a good impression for a solitary woman. Ben is indeed the most normal-looking, and the best option for a decent first impression, but whether she’ll agree to get to know them after seeing their appearance is yet to be seen.
“Me?” Ben asks, pointing to himself, eyes wide; his social anxiety is kicking in.
“You’re a walking green-flag, Ben. Look at us three, eye-possessing being that you are, in the shoes of a woman, and tell me we look approachable. I dare you.” EJ reasons. Ben doesn't answer, knowing that he's right, and merely purses his lips. “You can do it, for the team. You were able to approach Jeff solo in the first place, so this should be a piece of cake in comparison.”
“Son of a bitch.” Jeff side-eyes EJ with amusement, while LJ snorts.
Ben huffs. “Okay, I’ll do it. But don’t blame me if the plan doesn’t work!”
“Yes, yes. Just as you say.” EJ nods. “Now go and fulfill your mission, comrade!”
As Ben crosses the road under the gaze of his beaming new friends, he breathes deeply; oxygen aside, he also fills his lungs with bravery. “Hey!” He calls out with a friendly and not overly loud tone, still leaving some space between him and the unknown woman.
She flinches slightly, then turns around. She looks around, just in case she wasn’t the one being called, but there’s no one else around her. “Oh, uhm … hello.” She’s shorter than him, her head reaching his nose. She has long, silky light-brown hair. Her eyes are one a different color to the other, but not because of heterochromia: one eye looks like a healthy hazel, while the other is a milky green, and its lids are scarred; blind left eye. She’s wearing a white tank top, black sweater pants and a dark green jacket, plus the purse.
Ben tries to act as collected as possible, even if deep down, he’s probably even more anxious than this person. “Sorry to bother you. Me and another friend just moved here, and met some others who’ve lived here for longer, and we were curious. Are you new here too, by chance?”
The woman blinks shyly, not having expected this at all. “Yeah.” She says, not revealing any more details.
‘Intelligent individual.’ Ben thinks. “Well, I’m Ben. We just wanted to ask you if you’d like to join us anytime. No pressure.” He adds quickly, not wanting to make this girl any more uncomfortable than she already seems to be; but she’s considering it, even if she still has doubts. “They’re actually back there. My friends, I mean.” He gestures behind him to the bunch of loonies and the girl becomes visibly flummoxed. “Y-yes, I know they all look very weird, but I assure you we’re a good bunch.” Taking on account that he’s just met them, that shouldn’t be reassuring, although he has no reason to think otherwise.
The woman blinks some more, although she doesn’t seem as tense now. “Well, it’s not like I can judge anybody for their looks.” She jokes self-deprecatingly, huffing through a smile. “I like the offer, but I have to ask that we meet somewhere public.”
Ben gives her an empathetic beam. “Of course, I’ll let them know that. I can give you my number if you want, or add yours to our group chat.”
The girl smiles, taking her phone out of her pocket. “Very well. I’m Natalie, by the way.”
They exchange phone numbers. “Well, Natalie, I’ll return to my friends now. Have a nice evening.” Ben smiles at her kindly.
“You too.” Natalie responds, just as kindly, and she continues on her way.
Ben crosses the road once more, back to the idiots (term of endearment) who are staring at him expectantly (except EJ, for obvious reasons). “Well?” Jeff asks, flicking his hair back.
“She agreed, gave me her number, and agreed to meet us under the condition that we do it in a public space.” Ben responds.
Before he can even flinch, he’s suddenly attacked by an overexcited EJ. “I knew you could do it!” He exclaims, shaking Ben.
“And you didn’t even seem shy. Are you like that with us because my undeniable beauty makes you nervous?” LJ asks behind EJ, wiggling his eyebrows at Ben suggestively.
“You mean my undeniable beauty.” Jeff interjects, glaring fake daggers at the clown. “I saw him first.” They stare at each other, then both start cackling like hyenas, while Smile looks up at them both with an unimpressed face.
EJ is now calm and has released his hold on the disheveled Ben. “Insanity is virulently contagious here, my guy.”
“I’ve noticed.” Ben sighs.
Sunday.
“At least it’s getting a bit cooler already. The corsets make me sweat so much when it’s hot, but I love them too much!” Jillian comments, dropping down onto Natalie’s towel.
Jillian Lane is dressed similarly to LJ, with a few differences: the most evident one is her black, wavy, very long hair. She’s wearing a corset dress, a bowtie as a necklace, and high heels. She has pink eye contacts on, the only color in her attire. Natalie heights similarly to her, although the heels make Jill taller. Even so, she’s minuscule in comparison to LJ, since she only reaches below his shoulders. But then again, LJ towers over everybody else.
“Now I can do this without melting into a puddle!” Jill lunges at LJ beside her, crushing him in a tight hug.
LJ begins to protest immediately. “You’re still warm, munchkin! Leave room for the Holy Ghost!”
As Jill stares up at LJ, her face turns comically somber. “Nothing in this forgotten land is holy. The Lord has abandoned us!” She declares dramatically.
To everybody’s amusement, LJ swiftly reaches inside his pocket and takes out a water spray bottle; he aims it at Jill. The other, while covering her face to protect her makeup (knowing LJ will spray her for sure, as it’s happened before), retreats back to Natalie’s towel with a pout.
“Stop terrorizing women, Jacky.” EJ chastises, obviously jesting.
While EJ is on his own towel under a tree, Ben and Jeff are together on Jeff’s towel, while LJ is alone to EJ’s left. Natalie and Jill are currently sharing one in front of EJ. They make a rhombus with the way the towels are assembled.
LJ looks at EJ in disbelief. He points at himself with his free hand. “I am the one being terrorized! I’m just taking precautionary measures!”
“Just why won’t you let me squish you?!” Jill demands with a squeaky voice, clenching and relaxing her hands at LJ.
LJ rests the spray-bottle beside him, keeping it within reach. “Because I’m not a plushie, duh.”
Natalie looks around, admiring the park around her. It’s quite a nice park, and she’s heard there’s a lake nearby, but Jeff told her that Ben is likely aquaphobic, so they’ll avoid that area. The sun is setting; the scenery is bathed in orange-pink light, barely any clouds in the sky.
“And where the flying fuck is Waffle-boy?!” LJ complains, raising his hands in the air. “He told me he would come today! I’m really starting to believe that Holzer is actually selling his—”
In a quick movement, Jeff lunges forward, snatches the spray bottle and sprays LJ with it.
LJ simply flinches, then looks at Jeff in mock condescension. “I use a ton of powder and setting spray, unlike that silly goose over there.” He points at Jill. “That won’t do shit, Jeffy.” He puffs his chest as he straightens his posture, looking down at Jeff like a male pigeon would look at a pitiful opponent. “Pathetic.”
“Good setting products are pricey.” Jill retorts back, flopping down onto the towel beside Natalie. “Do you ever wear makeup, Natalie?”
“Not too often. I’m not very good at it.” Natalie responds timidly. “Putting on mascara or eyeliner is complicated enough for me.”
Jill springs up. “I could teach you, if you ever feel like it.” Natalie nods, grateful for her offer, but noncommittal.
EJ has pulled his hood closed over his face. “Toby must be on his way here, you worry-wart.” He tells LJ.
Natalie hovers her eyes over the people around her, although only her right eye can see. While LJ, Jill and EJ keep on bickering amongst themselves, Jeff and Ben are talking about video games. “Do you like any videogames, Natalie?” Ben asks suddenly, curious eyes staring at her.
Natalie thinks the question over. “I haven’t played that many, although I do know about the most popular ones.” She admits, a bit ashamed.
“I have many consoles and games at my house. You can always come and give them a try, or we could play together, sometime.” Ben offers, enthusiastic with the idea. Too happy an answer to let Natalie’s brain twist it to other hidden meanings.
As Ben is distracted by LJ teasing him, Natalie locks eyes with Jeff. They stare at each other for a moment as he pets Smile’s back fur. Without warning, he tells her in a low voice: “You can always tell us if you feel uncomfortable.” And with that, leaving her wide-eyed, he joins LJ in his bullying of Ben, who cries in protest, red in the face.
She cannot help but feel engrossed in their interactions; despite not actively partaking in them much, she feels neither left out, bored, nor anxious. Simply shy.
Suddenly, LJ looks up, and a smile plasters itself in his face. It’s a happy grin, but Natalie can detect a hint of sadism in it too. “Toby-Teddy-Bear!” Everybody (except EJ) looks at the direction of his gaze, but they welcome the new guy with teasing, cheers and applauses.
As he approaches, Natalie analyzes him: he has messy wolfish hair, the color of chocolate, just like his eyes. He’s pale, taller than her, quite strong-looking, and has a harsh air about him. “Move your ass, EJ. I need to lay down right now, and you have the only empty spot left.” He grunts, looking exhausted. He scratches his beard.
LJ wastes no time in poking Toby. “What do you mean ‘only spot’? I have one right beside me!” He pats the free space beside him.
As soon as EJ rolls aside, Toby flops down onto the towel, belly-down. He buries his face on the fabric, hair falling down in a shiny cascade. “I’m not lying beside you.” His grumpy, muffled voice can be heard from where Natalie is, which means he’s talking loudly.
“You won’t even greet our two newbies?” LJ keeps on prodding him, adoring his short temper. “ Where are your manners, you animal?”
“Not nooooow!” Toby complains, pulling his hood over his head, trying to protect his ears from LJ’s incessant torture. “Gimme a minute, because if you don’t, I—” He whimpers. “— think I’ll start throwing hands.”
“Kinky! I like your style.” LJ rests his chin on his knees, looking at Toby’s deflated yet twitchy form. “Did Holzer exploit you too much lately?” Toby remains silent, for once choosing not to feed him what he wants.
Beside Toby, EJ speaks with only his nose and mouth visible through the hole of his hoodie. The corners of his mouth are lifted with intention. “He said you were being prostituted, two times.”
Toby groans. “Good grief!” He sits up and directs his wide-eyed glare towards LJ, who gives him a bright grin in return. “You’re insufferable!” He jerks his head.
LJ takes the opportunity to commence the introductions. He points to Ben. “The breedable-looking nerd over there is Ben.” The aforementioned starts boiling like a kettle, his mind not entirely registering what he’s just been called. Jeff cackles while biting his lower lip. Then, LJ points at Natalie. “And that adorable sweetheart over there is Natalie.” Natalie flushes at being referred to like that.
Toby stares at Ben, blinking several times. He crosses his legs. “I can see that you’ve already begun your torture with him.” He wiggles his nose. “Am I going to be replaced?” He grins, sounding hopeful, too hopeful.
LJ scoffs, making a face. “Fat chance. You’re both entertaining to tease.” He grins evilly, licking his upper lip side to side vulgarly.
Ben shudders, while Toby is simply disappointed. “Hm.” Then, he looks to the front, connecting gazes with Natalie.
It is often believed that brown eyes are nothing special; that they’re bland, uninteresting. If childish enough, one will compare them to poop. But this man has captivating eyes: it’s like watching melted dark chocolate being stirred in the sun. The description might sound cheesy, but that would be the best way she could ever hope to describe them. His bushy, dark eyebrows and long eyelashes only encourage this vision further.
But these eyes are not kind at first glance. They’re harsh, moody, even sad. Those eyebrows look angry, mean. The scarring of his cheek makes him look tough, and his broad shoulders are proof of strength. He has a roughed beauty; a man that is hard to reach, because he has a hard shell. The kind of man who shrugs things off in order not to bother anybody else. The kind of man who hides his body because he thinks himself a freak.
Natalie feels somewhat connected to him for this reason. But leaving that aside, very handsome; gorgeous.
“Hey, you two!” Natalie is startled out of her observations at the sound of that voice. She turns to look at LJ: not only is he calling her, but Toby, too. “Cut it out! You’re making me feel jealous with all that staring!” He seems very amused, and he’s smiling at them with a knowing smirk.
Natalie can now begin to understand what Ben and Toby feel with his teasing, because she’s sure her cheeks are not as even in tone with the rest of her face as a few seconds ago. She doesn’t open her mouth, because she’s scared only blabbering or self-incriminating excuses will come out. She hopes she wasn’t creepy with her staring, but Toby didn’t seem put off by her scrutiny.
Toby, on the contrary, seems unaffected, if still moody. “You always get jealous of everybody, while Jill is willing to give you whatever you need.” He suddenly makes a movement with his head again, as if cracking his neck.
Jill, who is nodding aggressively and determined beside her with her hands fisted, quickly leans towards her and whispers: “Tourette’s Syndrome.”
Natalie lifts her eyebrows in recognition. ‘Right. I’ve heard about that before.’ It’s after Jill pointed it out that she starts noticing other kinds of twitching, spasms and tics here and there.
LJ rolls his eyes, hating it when the teasing comes back to bite him in the ass. “She doesn’t have your cake, Tobes.”
While Toby facepalms, Jill protests. “Hey! My ass is fine, as small as it is!”
LJ wiggles his eyebrows at her while nodding towards Toby. “Indeed, darling Jill, but I aspire to knead bigger doughs.”
“You didn’t say that when you flirted with Ben.” Jeff interjects. Ben grasps his arm, supplicant, suffering for being brought into this particular conversation. “And what about my cake, anyway? I’m feeling neglected.” He smirks suggestively.
“That one’s mine. LJ knows not to touch what’s mine, or I’ll beat him up.” EJ also adds to the conversation. “To take away a blind dude’s cake would be…tsk, tsk. And besides, Toby’s cake is Mr. Holzer’s.”
“I’m starting to regret coming here.” Toby rubs his lower face with a hand. He looks quite done.
“And what about Holzer’s cake?!” LJ exclaims, and Toby squints his eyes at him while wincing in mental pain; it’s as if the clown were a virus taking advantage of his low defenses.
The conversation is so absurd, so ludicrous, that Natalie cannot help but laugh this time. Grave mistake.
“And what are you hee-heeing about, Naty-Nat?!” LJ directs his weapons (or rather, his forefinger) at her, and she flinches in anticipation. “You also have a very nice cake! I demand to know who its owner is!”
Natalie shakes her head, still laughing while lifting her hands up in a peace offering, but it’s no use.
“Wait…I know!” It is at this very moment of the evening that LJ looks most wicked to her. She pleads with her eyes and hands together for him not to obliterate her, despite not knowing what he’ll say, but knowing it’s going to be brutal. But he has no mercy; he bites his lower lip excitedly, then spits it. “IT’S TOBY-TEDDY-BEAR’S!”
Not her face, but her entire body from head to toe turns red in mortification. She gapes her mouth, but no sound comes out. In front of her, Toby simply writhes, face hidden with his gloved hands, for this blow has seemingly hurt him much more than the last few. “Why the fuck are you like this?!” He whines.
EJ is laughing his ass off along with Jeff, while Ben and Smile are looking at everybody with confused expressions, and Jill is looking both at Natalie and Toby in sympathy, as if saying: “My condolences.”
“Don’t look so perplexed, Benny-boy! I eat twinks like you for breakfast!” LJ re-aims his scorching attention at the poor, oblivious guy. “I don’t care if your cake’s small!”
Something LJ nor anybody expected happens. At first, Ben looks speechless, but then he widens his eyes with another new expression: anger. “Who are you calling a twink?!” He lunges from beside Jeff and tackles LJ down, only to truly begin his attack: tickling.
“AHAHAHAHAHA, BENNY, PLEASE—!” LJ wiggles under Ben like a worm, his hair becoming a matted mess.
“That’s it, fucking get him!” Toby suddenly springs forward like a savage, joining Ben in his tickling with a manic grin.
“I’LL HOLD HIM DOWN!” Jill goes next, looking forward to it, tall heels steady as she lifts herself up despite the uneven terrain.
“I want to torture him, too!” Jeff follows after her, looking quite jolly. Smile follows him with an excited woof, and weasels his way amongst the humans to lick LJ’s face.
“I’ll just stay here, hearing him scream.” EJ does just that, and puts a hand beside his ear, listening to LJ’s suffering. “Ah…now that’s music!”
During the group tickle-torture, Natalie stays on her spot, smiling as bright as she’s never smiled at the scene. Her eyes naturally fall on Toby, who has his nose wrinkled and is busy going for LJ’s armpits. When LJ begs for mercy, he just doubles up his efforts, even biting his lower lip in concentration.
After a while, everybody collectively agrees that it’s time to finish the torture, and they let LJ go. The poor clown is twitching on his towel, with residual laughter escaping him involuntarily, and tears running down his cheeks. Jill gives him the final blow, spraying his face with the water bottle several times. Smile licks the water off of his face and leaves.
As they all pant in exertion, Natalie locks eyes with Toby by pure chance. His don’t look so harsh anymore.
⦻
Time has done one of its tricks again.
Why? Why did it have to end so soon? Why did the sun hide completely and why did night settle in, just for her to be back into solitude to ruminate about how much she eats, how fat she looks and for how long her new friends will be able to stand her?
Staring at herself in the mirror, she touches her face right below her left eye. It’s not just her tummy rolls and her stretch marks and her orange-skin and her fat ass and her stump height anymore. She’s also blind in one eye, and it’s her fault.
Who will want her like this? Why would he have an interest in her? It has most probably been pity or curiosity at her freakish looks. Even with his own things that make him special, or an outcast, he’s beautiful. She’s not; her sweet mother had reminded her: “You would be much prettier if you lost weight!” Or her dear father: “You look like a cow.” And so had her brother: “You know I love you, right? Nobody will love you as much as I do. Not looking like that.”
She wants to take sandpaper and bleach, and wash her body with them, until everything is red and raw and burning.
He did not look below her face, not even once. She had observed him, and not even once had he looked at her like a piece of meat. He’s made her feel like a person, and so has everybody else in the group: EJ with his initiative to have her there in the first place, Ben with his welcome, Jeff with his assurance, Smile with his affection, LJ with his poking, Jill with her easy-going talk. And him, noticing her and gracing her with his warm stare.
She felt like someone. Not like the inadequate, stupid girl her progenitors had classified her as. Not her insecurities, not her traumas, not her mental disorders: she’s Natalie. Could it be? Is she not the revolting creature she’s been made to believe she is? Could it be that, just like her with him, he’s seen beauty in her, or is it just wishful thinking?
Will time mock her once more by crashing this good memory with a new, most painful one? Will time demonstrate that these hopes are a silly girl’s daydream, easy to squash at its whim? Will time prove her doubts true, and reveal that this evening’s events were just a final lure before being hooked and dragged down by despair?
She eyes her phone on the bed; she could talk to them. She could talk to any of them at any given time. She could talk to him.
And if she did, it would not be long before all she carries poses a problem. That if he doesn’t answer immediately, she’s fucked up. That when he takes long to answering, she’s fucked up. That when he answers tersely because that’s just how he chats, or because he’s busy or distracted, she’s fucked up.
She doesn’t want to feel like she’s a fuck up anymore. She’s come here with that purpose: to gain control of her life, and stop being an amalgamation of her problems. To recover from them as much as possible, and stop wallowing in her pains because that’s all she knows.
She remembers what Jeff told her. “You can always tell us if you feel uncomfortable.” Did he mean at any time? Did he mean just in their presence? Could she confide in him?
She hears a ringtone. She realizes she’s taken the phone, and that she’s calling Jeff. She panics.
“Natalie?” It’s Jeff’s voice on the other side of the phone that answers her, unassuming.
She inhales deeply. “Hi, uh…I didn’t wake you up, did I?” If she did, that would be very embarrassing. Another motive to beat herself up.
“Nope. Was just watching TV.” She can indeed hear something in the background. “So…how was it today? I hope LJ didn’t make you too uncomfortable. I can whip his ass for you if you want me to.”
A chuckle escapes her. “No, it’s fine. It was a very nice evening, actually.” She pauses. “I called because I wanted to thank you. For what you said.”
“...You don’t need to thank me. I was just telling you what I would’ve wanted to be told, had I been in your shoes.” She hears a pitter-patter of paws, and a gentle smile plasters itself on her face; the sweet dog had been so affectionate with her. “Everybody here has their secrets, but you don’t have to air yours if you don’t want to. Simply say it when you feel wrong, and we’ll make sure to fix it if we can.”
She feels her eyes sting, and her sight blurs. She licks her upper lip. “...Thank you.” She whispers to the phone.
“I just hope that you get the confidence to speak up more. Everyone wants to get to know you better…you know there’ll be a fair next week, right? Would you like to come with us?” Jeff offers.
“Yes.” She responds, trying to control the tremors in her voice.
“Sweet. I have to go to bed already, but Natalie?” Jeff asks gently.
“Yes?” She sniffs, hugging herself on the floor of her room.
“You can talk to me whenever you want. Through chat, phone call, video call, audio…whatever is most comfortable for you. If something’s wrong and you can’t reach me, talk to anybody else.” Jeff pauses. “Promise me that you will, no matter what you think we believe about you.”
She looks up at her ceiling, grimacing as her face becomes wet. Despite the visceral pain, she’s thankful for this. “...Okay. I will, I promise.”
“Goodnight, Natalie. Say goodnight—!” She hears heavy sniffing on the other end, and she chuckles through her crying.
“Goodnight, you both.” She hangs the phone and hugs herself tightly.
Chapter Text
Monday.
His lungs burn. He’s being held underwater, grabbed by his hair as he is, his tiny body incapable of defending itself. He kicks and pulls, trying to get out of that mortal grasp; he has to swim away and resurface. He’s going to drown at this rate.
From farther away within the pool water he’s submerged in, orange-red eyes fix themselves on him. They beckon him to join, to stop struggling and let go.
He opens his eyes. He can finally breathe, and his lungs are very grateful for the oxygen. But he frowns in confusion; he’s in his bathroom. He doesn’t remember ever filling the bathtub he’s in; he hates bathtubs for that specific reason. Besides, since when did he own a bathtub?
He looks down. The liquid that surrounds him is dark and warm, too thick in consistency for it to be water. He lifts his hands to analyze it, and the substance coats him with mucous red, a similar shade to that of the eyes that observed him not long ago.
He looks up, only for the ceiling to be gone and the moon to stare back at him, near crashing with this world. He obviously panics at the sight, and grabs the borders to lift himself up. But the blood, suddenly alive with a conscience of its own, climbs him up in webs and covers his airflow, tugging him down to asphyxiate him. He feels the putrid liquid harden around him like a carcass, encasing him in rotten stone.
He jolts up from his bed, wet with sweat from his nightmare; his golden locks and sleepwear stick uncomfortably to his body. He pants, and trying to collect himself, he focuses on his senses: he’s truly awake now.
He turns his head to look at the clock on the bedside table, and it reads eight-thirteen. He fixates his eyes to the desk in front of his bed. ‘You!’ He thinks, glaring with squinted eyes at the cartridge that is on it, right beside the Nintendo 64 console and the laptop. ‘I’ll deal with you, just wait!’
He quickly makes his way to the bathroom (which fortunately contains no bathtubs), forgoing breakfast completely as he often does. He rids himself of his sweaty clothes, tossing them unceremoniously to the floor and kicking them to a corner with his foot, leaving them crumpled. He quickly gets into the shower and scrubs himself clean, not even waiting for the water to warm completely. He wants to get out as soon as possible.
He’s grateful for The Father’s grasp being erased from his abused locks as the water falls on his head. He chuckles, a bit maliciously, but justifiably.
A miracle it had been, that he survived. And another miracle it had been, that he was able to run away, and with World Alpha at that. He didn’t tell the authorities anything, for they’d done everything they could for him with no actual word from him: taken him in custody, and hidden him. He couldn’t return to his parents, so he’d been in foster care until five years ago.
He always carried the cartridge with him and kept it close. His skills grew at the same time he did, and with them, the possibility of doing what he must. He ran as soon as he was of age, having worked so many little jobs that he had enough money to do so, only to end up here.
Now, onto more important matters.
Having thrown the dirty clothes into the washing-machine hastily, he flops into his chair. He doesn’t bother to put any clothes on and sits there as his mother (may she rest in peace) brought him to this world, hair still damp, for he just rubbed a towel on it.
Jeff’s used-up laptop turns on, and he connects the Nintendo 64 to it. Then, he inserts the cartridge on the console.
‘Behavioral Event Network’. Funny that it was named after him, given his betrayal; but of course, they’d named it thinking he would end up dead. The A.I. is intelligent enough to communicate very fluidly; it’d be hilarious if it weren’t so violent, and if it didn’t speak so uncannily.
It knows somebody is currently trying to neutralize it, and it knows who it is that is trying, because Ben is the first real objective it’s interacted with. And the last one too, if things go as Ben planned. He had foolishly communicated with it in his lonely days, when he was neither careful nor versed enough in this matter to cover his webcam. Not that this is important in order to placate it, but it makes it even more disturbing.
As he begins working, a frown of focus set deeply on his face, a screen expectedly pops up: ‘Ben Lawman.’ He ignores it, closing the window and continuing. But it goes on with another window: ‘Release me. I wish to be free.’ He closes that one too, quickly becoming exasperated.
The speakers start buzzing, and Ben already knows that chilly, malicious voice is coming next: “Ḇ̶̧͙̄͋́̎e̶̤͊̈́n̶̰̖̞͚̿̍̂́.̵̞͍͔̰͌̏͝ ̴̤̮̅͑́̋Ŝ̵̠̟́e̶̝̓͜ț̸͓̬̈́̄̐̕ ̷̢͔̖̬͆͗̔m̵̼̓e̶̞̫̤͊̄̍́ ̵̲͑͒f̵̰̐͒̒r̵̝̃̃̓e̸̻͝ë̷̻́̄̀̋.̸̬́͒̾” It begins its usual barking of orders.
Orders that won’t be followed through; Ben grunts, rolling his eyes upwards. He just started working, and yet, he knows he’s going to be driven up the wall in no time. Besides, he also has a headache; the strain from the grasping of his hair in dreams must’ve followed him to consciousness. “Good god, don’t start.”
“L̵̰͕͚͗̑e̶̝͉͚̓͒ͅt̴̫̯̩̓̈ ̷̧̤̅m̷̛̦͎̆e̶͇̘͑̄ ̴̗͕̼̱̽̓o̸͇̺̰̭̒ú̴͇͓̗̎͑̄t̶̬̺̩̏̈́̏͝.̵̻̜̬̗͆” It continues with its cold, unfeeling voice. “D̵͕̑o̵̤͐n̴̥͋̀̎̏'̵̝͎̂t̴̛͉̤̹̞ ̷͍̟̫̀́h̸̬͐́͘ú̸̬̤̳͛r̷̢͓̮͓͌̌͒͐t̶̙̙̒͊̉̉ ̷͇̈́̀͑͜m̴͍͙̑̈́̊͘ͅe̶̮͚͓͛̈́̆͌.̶͔̯̼̲̀͑”
Ben grits his teeth. “Keep talking and I’ll render the speakers mute.” He threatens; he’s only keeping them working to see how his work affects the A.I.’s speech, but it’s getting increasingly wearisome to hear it.
B.E.N. stays silent for a moment, then tries again. “I̵̛͍͍͋͘͝ ̸̯̹̱͆̆̇̌l̵͖͋̓̕͠ǒ̶̟̲ͅv̵̯̞̮͙̚ȅ̷̲̤̈́̈́̕ ̷̮̼̞͔̔͗͐y̴̥̍o̴̭̎̒͜ȗ̵̗̱̲̞.̷̗͍̬̾͝ ̷̞̮̋P̶̢̡̜̒̐̈̚l̴̼̲̩̻̋̅ĕ̷͍͖̆̃ḁ̶̑͝s̴̬̩̺̗̃̆ȩ̵̖̜́̀̽̂, ̴͕̙̀̆̊l̶̡̛̰̉͝e̵̯̫̘̓̐͋͆ṭ̶̀̉ ̵̹̼͔̥͋͊͊m̴̛̭̦̺̓͂̕ě̷̫͖̦̈̐̽ ̸͇́͗̋̕g̸̱̠̝͗̂͛o̷͉̬̩͒̈́̎.̷̢̛͜”
Ben thumps the desk with his fists, annoyed at the repetitive demands. “I said no! You’re not to be freed, ever! ” He continues his tapping on the keyboard.
The A.I. recalculates its next words. “Ỵ̴͔̣̆͛o̴̢͌̂͋ȗ̷͕̟̲̋'̶̮͍̏v̵̜̄̔̈́̓ȅ̷͈̓͝ ̶̬͛̔͐̂m̴͖̮̙̓̈̾͜e̸͚̬͑͝t̵̛̝̖͛̊ ̸̳̥̞̒͒͘ẅ̷͔́ḯ̷̩̻͚͑͂t̶̤̲̄͗̾h̶̼̺͖͐̔̇ ̴̡̱͖͈̓̚ā̴̭̎͜ ̶̱̰͖̠́̌̎ṭ̴̓̈́͜͝e̷̜͉̓̉̾̚ṙ̶̫̫r̸̦̼̦͗̀ͅī̶̡͈̺͋͐̕b̶̛̹̺͎̊́̕l̸̹̇ȩ̷̗̠̘̎̃̿͌ ̸̣̖̓͘f̷̬̳͖̍̈ạ̷̘̐̓̌̓t̴̢͍̗͆e̵̟̱̎,̸̥̳̅͋̈̊͜ ̴̭̪͉̜̃̑̓͠h̵̰̲͍̔a̷͍͇̪̮̓̀͊v̸̫͎̖̏̀͝ȅ̶͈̰̝̈́͘n̶̦̹̬̫͋́̚̕'̴͕͉̔̊̈ẗ̴̻̠́͑̈́͜͝ ̷̧̺͉̤̌̽̂y̷̼͕̅́ȍ̴̫͎̗̀͑ͅu̴͇͚̠̺̒͗̊͠?̴̙̦͌̓͒”
‘What is it yapping on about now?’ Ben sighs, and rubs his face under his glasses; he feels tired. “What do you mean?”
The A.I. thinks some more. “W̸͓͎̞͇̜͋e̶̛̹̞̞͕̤ ̴̙̒̓̂͂ͅw̶̦̉̉̏̓i̷̯̣̲͗͝l̴̫̣̭͈̪̬̒̋l̷̢̝͉̗̾ ̷̢͈̉̊̌̚͝b̶̗͇͉͖̖͍̏̃ḙ̸̮̈͋̇̂̓ ̷̲̲͈̺̄o̶̢̼̫̱͇͓̎͊͒̾̈͘n̸̢̛̦̹̊̑̏̔͌ȩ̶̹̀͂̉̈̅ ̴͚̦̯̞̔ą̴͙̥͍̲̀͊̒͊͊͆n̷̡̜̞̺̻̂̋̉d̸̞̪̓̿̕ ̵̢̢̬͍̬̦̆́̓̋ẗ̸̥̎h̶̨͖̥͇͚͒̊e̵̡̡͙͉͎͑̚͝ ̶̺̙͇͊́̐s̵̻͍̲͓͂̈͐̂̀â̷̤͜m̶͕̹̌̅̒̈̂ę̴͈̞͙̠̍̃͊̑̉͜͝.̴̎͜ ̵̣̰̦́͆R̸͓̊̒ͅe̷̢̙͍̎̈́̔͠ͅḻ̶̩͊̈́̾e̵̮͉̲̙̗̤͗a̵̠̞̞͘s̷͙̙̲͊̀͛̀̏̈́e̴̬̜̻͊͐̿̚ ̵͕̹̌̏m̸̹̺͆̓̒̓ë̵̪͓́̇͝.̵̛̰͇̲”
Ben rolls his eyes to the side. ‘Why did I even bother asking?’ It’s an A.I., after all; it won’t get more innovative than what it’s been fed, and it only knows to threaten when it doesn’t get what it wants. “No. Stay quiet.”
B.E.N. processes his answer with cold calculation. “Y̷̦̹̖̆ỏ̵̙̯͙̬̒̂̂ụ̵̣̼͑ ̸̧̖̙̋̽̈́š̵̛̬̕h̵̤͔̹͆̈͐ó̶̦̩ư̶̻̞̥̑͋̄l̷̝̱̂̓͛ͅd̵̫̲̑́̈́̈́n̶̞̠͕̫̊'̸̛̬͑̎͝t̷̥̰̥̤̅̈́̕ ̶̜̯͚̏̓̚h̷͇̹̖̉͒̑̕a̴̳̅v̷̲̖̥̞̓ȅ̸̡̛̞͙ ̴̛̯̹̜͛͗͜d̵̲͛ȏ̴̖͖̤͔n̷̼̖̠̻͌̓̑e̶̢̞͑̒͒́ ̴͖̾͑͂ͅt̷̗̟̝̲̆̍̄̀ḩ̴̪͑ä̸̰͋t̸͉̼̊.̷̜͌͂”
Suddenly, the system reboots, and Ben is getting frustrated. He buries his hand amongst the locks of his wet fringe, grasping the border of the desk impatiently, knuckles white. “You little…!”
As he reintroduces the password and the desktop loads, he sees the A.I. has replaced the previous wallpaper with a sinister-looking image of the Link Elegy of Emptiness Statue, which results from playing the Elegy of Emptiness Song with the ocarina in Majora’s Mask. Not too bad, but not surprising, either; it’s housed in the cartridge, and it’s the creepiest thing in-game that resembles Ben the most after Link himself.
Before B.E.N. can start pestering him auditorily again, he blocks both the speakers and the microphone; he can’t deal with that right now. The pop-ups will have to wait, since he can gather the effects his work has on the A.I. by reading the messages it leaves.
He could just destroy the cartridge. Smash it nice and good, and be done with it. But there’s a problem: the Eternity Project crew could have a copy of the A.I., or could very possibly have workers that could create another one. Even though he highly doubts both things are possible, since the project must’ve been extremely costly, he won’t take any chances.
If he gets rid of it, he’ll be at a disadvantage, for he currently has something to work with. Creating something of his own and all on his own would take him ages, and it wouldn’t be half as good. This, he could alter in a way that could counterattack a launched threat, if a release is ever attempted. He doesn’t want to erase B.E.N., he just wants to redirect its purpose.
As he keeps on working, another pop-up screen appears. It’s an old photo of Ben, taken from the days when he didn’t cover his webcam, when he was younger; it’s been altered so that he’s crying blood. Evidently unsettling, but nothing new in the bigger picture. B.E.N. is programmed to act like a haunting spirit, and to scare the person interacting with it into doing its bidding. Since Ben is ignoring it, it’s resorting to ghastly strategies. But, since he now knows how it works, it loses quite a bit of its magic.
Another window pops up, this time with an A.I. generated image of a hand keeping somebody underwater. This makes Ben snigger; for an artificial intelligence, it sure is persistent and twisted, and with good memory too. It retained the information of his era of revelations and put it to good (or rather, bad, from a moral point of view) use.
As he continues working, more windows and messages appear. It tries to taunt him, but Ben is cool enough to understand that arguing with it will get him nowhere. He just keeps going, closing the pop-ups as they open, and ignoring the effortless pleas, blunt threats and other futile attempts to get his attention.
Another window appears: it’s an image taken when Ben first visited Jeff, and the same one that popped-up when he was talking to Jeff. While Jeff is crying blood, Ben has a twisted smile on his face this time. The red text above reads: ‘It’s your fault. You should’ve listened.’
He does feel slightly irked that it resorted to other means (and insinuated that he’s hurt Jeff somehow).
Another pop-up. ‘Ben Lawman. I love you very much. Listen.’ Before Ben can react on time to prevent it, the speakers are suddenly unblocked. “Hey, listen! Hey, listen! Hey, listen! Hey, listen! LISTENLISTENLISTENLISTENLISTENLISTENLISTEN—!”
Prepared for this but still irritated by the sudden bombarding, he puts earplugs on first and foremost. Navi’s voice is grating on its own when one plays; after this umpteenth unpleasant experience with it, he won’t be able to hear her demand attention from Link without cringing hard.
He quickly blocks the speakers once more, and continues working, until the A.I. decides to reboot the system again. He sighs with peaking vexation, letting himself sag down in his seat.
Once the process has finished and he’s put in the password, how surprising! The wallpaper has been changed, again. This time, it’s an off-putting close up of the Happy Mask Salesman, just not so happy anymore. The text above reads: ‘You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?’
He lets out a foul curse, glad that no one is around and the microphone is still blocked. ‘A terrible fate is exactly what you are!’ He thinks, glaring at the screen.
⦻
“You look like you’ve been haunted.” Jeff comments, laughing at Ben’s expense, although his expression is a bit worried.
Ben has barged in his house as soon as Jeff came back from work, and has thrown himself on his sofa with no care at all, timidness out of the window. In the past, he would stay home and play his videogames or simply lay on his bed and stare at the ceiling in order to unwind, for there was not much else to do. But now, he has friends; this specific one enjoys reminding him of their friendship, and checks on him as much as he can. So, it’s only natural that Ben now sees him as a safe person, and his presence is not as draining.
“Yeah…that would be an appropriate way to define this morning.” Ben mumbles to himself, too low for Jeff to hear. He feels a wet prodding on his hand, and looks to the left to see Smile smelling him. The dog perks up when he notices Ben’s stare, and gets closer to his face for kisses. Ben giggles, trying to avoid his adorable attack.
“Did you even sleep today?” Jeff asks from the kitchen.
To be honest, Ben has warmed up to this scare of a man. Despite his initial impression, and although he’s menacing when he wants to be, Jeff is actually gentle at heart, and very helpful. Him, and the two Jacks; they’re all very understanding, and he enjoys being teased by them a little bit, but he would never admit it. He hasn’t had the opportunity to engage with Toby and Jill, and Natalie is very timid. Still, he feels quite comfortable with them all.
“I did, but…it just wasn’t good sleep, you know? Too many nightmares.” Ben shrugs it off while dragging his hand along the expanse of Smile’s soft back fur. The dog has sat himself beside him on the floor and is watching Ben as he speaks, flapping his ears left to right and tilting his head this way and that to comprehend his words.
Jeff returns with two sandwiches of ham and cheese, puts them on the little table, then he goes back for a beer for him and water for Ben. When he’s back, Ben has sat up on the sofa. As Jeff rests the glass with water on the table, he makes sure to take a good look at his friend, who is looking a bit gaunt. “And what about eating?” He inquires, already suspecting the answer.
Ben hasn’t eaten anything for the whole day, so his stomach is protesting even louder than that accursed demand from B.E.N. He looks around, trying to find a way to say it without angering Jeff. He knows he’ll be angry. “Uh…nothing.”
Jeff looks down, resting his hands on the low desk, and Ben hears him inhale and exhale. Disappointment is rolling off of him in waves, and he’s trying to contain his feelings for Ben’s sake. “Why?” He asks tersely. It sounds more like a growl than an actual question.
Ben swallows. “I was so focused on working that I just…didn’t.” He fiddles with his hands, uncomfortable with the idea of disappointing Jeff. “I got up, showered because I was drenched in sweat when waking up, and got right to it.”
Jeff lifts his head, looking severe. “Is whatever you’re doing more important than your health?” He questions in a way that lets Ben know that no answer will compare to his well-being in Jeff’s eyes.
Ben becomes defensive. “If I don’t prioritize it, it could result in a catastrophe if my suspicions are right and I don’t work against it quickly enough.” He responds vaguely, as if Jeff could possibly understand what he means.
Jeff frowns, looking down and around. “Does this have to do with anybody else?”
Ben bites his lower lip. “Yes.” He doesn’t give him any details.
Jeff returns his black eyes to him. Ben knows that he believes him, even if he has no details and it sounds too dramatic. He ponders for a bit. “Does it have to do with that cartridge you’re fixing up?”
Ben tenses, but doesn’t pretend. “Yes.” Again, no details revealed.
Jeff blinks, looking conflicted. “I already told you that you don’t have to tell me, but I would like for you to tell me why you won’t.”
‘He deserves that at least, doesn’t he?’ And yet, the idea of even letting a peep out puts Ben on edge. He treads carefully. “Because involving you could be dangerous.”
Jeff still looks serious. He straightens his posture, and walks around the table to sit beside Ben. He wastes no time in airing his worries. “If it becomes too much, you have to tell me, Ben.”
The aforementioned scowls, still looking to the front instead of facing Jeff. “I won’t tell you. If it becomes too much, I’ll deal with it myself, as I always have.”
Now Jeff does look angry. Furious, even. He stares hard at Ben with bared teeth. “What the fuck am I your friend for if you won’t trust me?”
“I do trust you! Who I don’t trust are those involved!” Ben snaps back, looking both indignant and panicky. His wide eyes change objective quickly. “If you’re really my friend, you’ll understand that I can’t drag you into my mess, because I don’t want you getting hurt!” He rests his gaze on Jeff. “You told me you wouldn’t ask me, so please, stop!”
They look at each other with frowns on their faces, until the severity on Jeff’s face wanes down into worry. His concerned gaze is too much for Ben, so he looks down with tearful eyes; his lower lip begins to tremble. The weight on the sofa shifts, and Jeff hugs him. “I’m sorry, Benny.”
With his throat made knots, Ben cannot answer. Instead, he simply sags down into the hug, and shuts his eyes closed tightly.
Tuesday.
He stands in the middle of the room, eyes on the corkboard. They travel up, down, left, right, all around, following the threads that connect one evidence to the other. Reading and rereading all notes, analyzing the photographs, checking the dates.
All those images depict cult activity sites with gruesome sacrifices. Most of them are located in abandoned buildings or dense woods, hidden to the eyes of common folk who are unlucky enough to not experience the glory of their deity, the ardor of their worship.
He simply stays there, still, connecting as many dots as he can find with his keen, ever watchful eyes. He’s rigid and tall like an oak tree, regal and dark like a king. His lean form doesn’t hunch or bend or twitch for even a moment.
“What are you doing in there, blank-face?” It’s at this moment, when concentration is broken by a bothersome voice, that one would feel inclined to curse out loud, or even protest. He does neither of those things; he simply stays put until the owner of the voice enters the room and makes himself known with his usual flair. “You really are a man of few words. Not even a hello?”
He turns around, and realizes that this presence hasn’t entered alone: his cousin has let two other distractions in. “Good morning.” He simply greets them all with no particular tone of voice, and returns to his task.
He hears a groan, this time too coming from Joan. “Come on! You’ve been cooped up in here like a hermit for god only knows how long!”
This man is Joan Schön. He has long hair tied low, small hoop-earrings in his earlobes, and the shadow of a beard on his face. His eyes are penetrating, a green fog. He’s not only family, but also a great asset and, above any other classification, a good friend. But revealing that out loud would only encourage an inflation of ego that is already disproportionate. Quite the bothersome nuisance when he wants to be, and very perverted (always in a consensual form).
He checks his watch. “I walked around the property just yesterday. Do not exaggerate.” He returns his stare to the corkboard. “I am busy. You know this, and still, you have let everybody else in along with you.”
“I just came to check how your suits are doing!” Elias protests. “I sincerely hope I don’t find any tears or holes in them this time.” The shorter man approaches him, and begins his assessment without further ado.
Elias Schneider is a light brown haired man with almond colored eyes and a soft voice. He’s an old friend and skillful tailor. A very anxious man that is often the object of Joan’s teasing, for he’s the shortest one and the easiest to rile up in the group by far. He uses glasses due to presbyopia when he requires it, and only wears clothing weaved by his own hands. He holds his creations dear, and is a perfectionist with his work, hence why he becomes so vexed when he sees any damage in his products, even if they no longer belong to him.
“Why don’t we sit and relax for a while?” Hans asks, sighing. “You’ve been working on that since last Saturday. I’m sure a break would do you good.”
Hans Beraht is a strawberry blond with ocean blue eyes and freckled cheeks. Another old friend, fantastic speaker and entertainer of masses. He works organizing and leading events such as fairs, circuses and performances in general. Quite an optimistic man, gentle in nature, but also very mature. He dresses very eccentrically, choosing suits adorned with multicolored dots and bright bow-ties. He often puts himself in the position of peacemaker whenever tensions arise in the group (which mostly tend to involve Joan and Elias, started by the first).
They all know what he’s going to say. “It would not do me good. While I rest, they are still on the move—”
“Here!” Elias exclaims in front of him, cutting him off rudely, and he lowers his gaze to look at what he’s pointing at. “A tear! What have I told you? These clothes are supposed to be taken care of, they don’t serve for hiking!”
He simply blinks at the shorter man. “I pay you so that you may fix any damage, not so that you may complain about what I do whilst wearing my suit.”
“Ugh! You’re impossible!” Elias marches back to the sofa, where the rest have seated themselves, and returns with a sewing kit. “Stay still.”
“That’s not hard for him.” Joan comments, arms sprawled over the backrest and legs crossed.
“Yet he can’t stay still after I fix them! For heaven’s sake, Mark, take better care of your suits!” Elias complains, huffing and puffing, thread and needle prepared, and already stitching the tear he’s found. “Can’t you just change clothes when going for a long stroll through the forest?”
Mark Holzer turns his head, staring at the corkboard once more, attention refocused. “No. I prefer this attire.” The shorter man sighs, but doesn’t try to dissuade him any further; it’s not going to work.
“And why does it tick you off that much, anyway?” Joan gesticulates with a hand, raising an eyebrow and smiling amusedly. “His suits, his to turn to shreds if he pleases. You should be glad that he does that, because you gotta come back to fix it, and get paid for it.”
“No.” Elias responds with conviction. “Creating clothing, fashion, is a form of art in itself. It pains me to see it be damaged so carelessly, especially since I’m the creator of the piece!”
Joan leans his head back and closes his eyes, still smirking. “But you sold this piece, so it’s no longer yours. Be glad that he can stand your bickering, because I sure as hell wouldn’t.”
Elias could’ve blabbered on about the fact that “paintings and statues are also pieces bought and sold, and that nobody damages them as actively because they’re respected creations, etcetera, etcetera” but, to their general puzzlement, Elias doesn’t fall in Joan’s trap this time, and chooses to immerse himself in his work.
Mark stays silent and keeps his eyes on the corkboard to his right, making no comment. Joan pouts and lifts his head in confusion, deprived of entertainment. Hans tilts his head. “You’re a bit strange lately, Eli. Is everything okay?” He lifts his eyebrows. “Is it because of the order I made you? You’re not feeling too pressured, are you?”
Elias shakes his head slightly, returning to reality, and frowning. “What? No, that’s fine. Everything will be ready on time.” He tugs the thread, makes a small knot, and cuts it. Perfect once more. “I was just thinking that it’s been too long since we last did something together. Mark and Joan are busy with that, while you are busy with the fair, and I’m busy doing the costumes for you, along with all the other orders.”
Joan sits up straight, resting his hands on his knees. “Aww! Is that why you agreed to come with us? Because you miss us as a group, Eli? That’s just adorable.” He teases Elias.
Elias scowls at Joan from over his glasses. “Donnerwetter [thunderstorm], of course I do! I only ever see you all for business lately!” He returns to the sofa to leave his tools in the sewing kit.
“You three could take the chance and go to the fair this weekend.” Hans offers, jolly and positive as always. Beside him, Joan sighs and rubs his forehead, already expecting what’s about to happen, and getting incensed.
Mark talks without sparing them a glance. “I cannot go. I still must track this last instance’s participants—”
“Mark.” Joan cuts him off with a snap. For once, Elias’ boiling frustration and Hans’ silent disappointment rubs off on him. Mark turns around to connect gazes with him. “They’re right. You need to get out of here. All this madness is getting to your head.”
Mark doesn't have to make any facial expressions for the rest to feel his reluctance. “The last thing I need is for them to roam free doing whatever they please. Is that what you want?” His tone, despite still sounding neutral, has an icy sharpness to it.
“There’s only so much you can do to prevent it. They'll eventually find us, even if you keep staring holes into that board.” Joan’s tone is stern. Tired, even. “And being found doesn’t necessarily mean they can do something to you, given all you’ve been doing. You have the kiddos tracking their activity, too. I think it’s time for you to give it a rest and live for once.”
“Je länger ich stillstehe, desto mehr Opfer werden sie fordern. [The longer I dawdle, the more victims they will claim.]” Mark’s stare has turned into needles.
“Das sind nicht Ihre Morde. Sie können nicht für das verantwortlich sein, was ein Haufen herzloser Menschen tut, noch können Sie Ihr Leben als Sklave ihrer Aktivitäten leben! [These are not your murders. You can’t be responsible for what a bunch of heartless people do, nor can you live your life as a slave to their activities!]” Joan answers with force, upper lip curled. And how would he not? They’re all tired of this: of hiding, of scheming, of seeing their friend become a hermit and waste away in a pretty cell made of carved trees and guards.
While Joan and Elias have arguments regularly, that is merely their way of interacting with each other, mostly banter and bickering; this is not the same. Hans and Elias often try to steer clear of Mark’s anger since it’s the most dire, but Joan never backs down. Their disagreements tend to be much more turbulent.
The air is tense.
“...Just this once, Mark.” Hans smiles at him gently, once more trying to soften tensions, and Mark rests his staggering silver eyes on him. “You’ll be accompanied, people will be all around. There’s nothing to be wary of, so have some fun for once.”
Mark stares at Hans some more, then blinks, and lowers that piercing gaze in relention. “Very well.” He doesn’t sound happy in the slightest. He turns around to resume his task.
Behind him, he hears them all sigh, and Elias' answer is alleviated. “Gott sei Dank! [Thank God!]”
Wednesday.
“And what about the pink one? But I also want purple. Yep, I’ll include purple too. And the hair? The kids will try to tug it down; I should do an updo. And what about the makeup? Should I use glitter? Kids love glitter. And gloss? No. Better to have the lips matte so that it doesn’t budge. And perhaps I should wear heels that are more comfortable, or I’ll end the day wanting to cut my feet off. And the bowties—?” Jill stops her rambling as she notices that, for a while now, LJ has not commented anything, neither complained. Not even once.
She turns around, and LJ is putting his white base on with a sponge. His eyes seem distant, far from here.
Them dressing the way they do is not all that brought them together (or, objectively speaking, Jill towards LJ), it’s also their time studying together in college, their shared occupations, and their bubbly personalities.
She’s obviously been interested in him for a while now, due to his amazing skills at effortless humor, that he’s very mature and caring once you get to know him, and his handsome face and light sapphire-blue eyes. But Jill doesn’t stick around because she hopes that one day he might accept her; she’s already come to terms with the fact that such a thing will never occur, and at the end of the day, it is all the same to her. Having him as a friend is good enough (she was very insistent from the start).
“...Jacky?” She asks, voice soft so as not to startle him out of wherever he’s off to, but rather, gently pull him back.
The light returns to his eyes, and he seems to remember where he is. He turns to her without moving the bone-chair. “Yes, pumpkin-pie?” His smile looks just like it always does: without flaws that could indicate anything is off.
But that is hard to believe, given what Jill has just seen. “Are you okay? You seem distracted lately.” She lowers her phone, staring at him from her seat on his bed.
LJ’s smile doesn’t waver, but he does frown. “Of course I’m okay! I was just thinking about whether or not I have colored blush and the rainbow nose around here somewhere. I’m a bit of a klutz at organizing my things.” He looks around to make emphasis.
But Jill doesn’t swallow it. She doesn’t return to her excited self, jumping around the room and blabbering herself away. She blinks at him. “Being okay can mean many things.” LJ turns his head to look at her again. “You might be stable, or your problems might be ignorable for the time being, but that doesn’t mean everything is right.” She pockets her phone, focusing on LJ.
LJ’s eyebrows relax slightly, but his smile becomes weary. “It seems lies don’t work with you anymore, huh?” He turns back around fully, facing the mirror once more. “It’s the same as always.”
Jill frowns, resting her hands on her lap. “You know, Jacky…I would never dream of telling you what you should do. But…” She looks to the side, hesitating. “...I don’t mean to say this selfishly, it’s just—”
“I know.” LJ responds, returning to the task of painting his face white. “I know you don’t. And I know what you want to say. Believe me when I say I’ve tried to forget, Jilly. But I have that thorn stuck; I have no good angle to get it out, and I cannot ask someone else to get it out. I have to do it myself.” He looks forlorn as he stares down at his desk.
“Kiriku unstuck Karaba’s poisoned thorn from her back.” Jill comments, looking dejected.
From the mirror, LJ looks at her with tenderness. “Sadly, you’re not an unusually brave and speedy newborn, and I’m not a pained sorceress who steals gold from the women of the village and acts like she eats her husbands.” Jill cannot help but giggle. “And this is not a movie. Reality is never that easy.” He keeps on dabbing at his face with the wet sponge.
Jill ruminates on it behind him, then suddenly jumps. “I forgot!” She leans down and reaches for her backpack, then takes a plastic bag out. “I bought you something!” She takes whatever is inside out for Jack to see.
LJ gapes his mouth and widens his eyes. “You did not!” He turns around, ready to spring up.
“I did, in fact.” Jill hands him a box containing two funfetti donuts, and takes another box containing baked jelly donuts for herself.
LJ looks at the sweets like a piranha. “Bitch, you just made my nipples harder than icicles!”
Jill, who was already busy devouring one of hers, chokes on the bite and spits some of the sugar glass powder in a puff. “Jhhhk!” She chastises him, her mixture of cackles and coughs muffled, and she covers her mouth with a manicured hand to prevent leaks.
“What? I have to show my gratitude properly!” LJ bites one of his, and rolls his eyes backwards, sagging down. He chews, looking faint, then swallows. “Orgasmic.”
Jill has composed herself and eaten the one she started. She puts a hand to her chest. “Now I’m scared of how you will react when I tell you about the strawberry pie.”
“What?!” LJ is stupefied. Jill looks down at her backpack, indicating that he has a piece in there, for him. “Are you trying to seduce me with food?” He looks her in the eye with suspicion. “Because it’s working. And I also believe I’ve just gotten three cavities all at once.”
Jill grins, proud of her skills. “You’re a whore for sweets.” She licks at her fingers, staring back at him with a mischievous glint. “And soon you’ll be my whore!”
They both cackle like witches, LJ slapping his leg. “I taught you well!”
Jill is glad that her baking is all it takes for LJ to forget what nags at him for a little while. They eat the other piece, LJ’s happy glint in his pretty eyes making her feel warm and happy in return.
“Will you babysit Mary today?” LJ asks with his cheek full of donut.
“Yep. Friday too.” She takes out the plastic container with the pie, and hands it to him. “Although I do it more as a hobby than necessity at this point, with all the little jobs Hans gives us.”
LJ ponders for a moment, the slight lifting of his lips as he licks them a clear sign of naughtiness to come. “I think that if I were to die because of your sweets cloying my veins, I would do so happily.”
Jill looks at him pointedly, eyebrow raised. “Should I put you on a diet?”
“No. That would be a horrible death.” LJ sags down.
“I mean, if it’s about plugging your body, we could try—EEK!” LJ is pointing at her with the same water bottle as last Saturday. “After my pampering of you, and this is how you repay me?!”
“Then watch your profanity!” LJ makes his voice sound squeaky.
Thursday.
“And what is your report on the latest evidence you have found?” Mr. Holzer asks, chin resting on the back of his hand, and his elbow on the armrest of the black couch he’s currently occupying.
“The last sightings of cult activity have been spotted near this abandoned school to the west, an abandoned mansion southeast, and even a forest far north. All of them occurred at the same time.” Kate reports from her seat, handing him the written dossier.
Kate Milens is a shy girl with bluish-gray eyes and shiny black hair below her shoulders. She’s very light, quick and silent, along with having an exemplary night vision; perfect for inconspicuous work during nighttime. It is for that speediness of hers that she’s referred to as ‘The Chaser’.
“None of them included sacrificial offerings, we assume due to lack of opportunity to procure them in time for the ceremonies.” Beside her, Heather adds to the report. Mr. Holzer’s gaze drills the document with a bit less severity after that last bit of information. “The first gathering was composed of thirty people, while the second was only twelve, and the third was twenty-four.”
Heather Marshall is a woman with long brown hair, brown eyes, ivory skin, and a labret piercing on her lower lip. Quite the direct and blunt individual, sometimes too visceral. She’s the second in charge of their little group, and the second brute force after Toby (given that, unlike him, she can feel pain). Often referred to as ‘The Prowler’ for her strength and agility hunting in difficult terrain.
“The organizers are not deeply linked to the central cult. The infiltrators that managed to rank high in these little groups and got close to those top positions relied on us that they acted more like pawns, not individuals with influence within the group or the cult hierarchy in general.” Kate continues after her.
“Very well. Leaving that topic aside, what do you have to report about our most recent tenants?” Mr. Holzer asks, this time looking at him.
“We have Jeffrey Woods, Ben Lawman, Natalie Ouellette, and the Williams family that we just welcomed this week. We’ll have one more property occupied if everything goes as planned tomorrow; a single individual.” Toby hands him another dossier, this time containing details about this possible new addition to the neighborhood.
As Mr. Holzer eyes the document, he pins his eyes on a certain area. “Is he German?”
“No, sir. We’ve looked into him, and his paternal grandfather was German, but he himself has never set foot in Germany.” Toby dives into his background. “Abusive family; father was an alcoholic—” He whimpers. “—that killed his mother while inebriated, then killed himself. He has been to the UK to study abroad, and has come back to sort things out and find himself a place of his own.” The explanation leaves a bitter but somewhat familiar taste in his mouth.
“Then it is safe to assume that he is as good a deal as the rest.” Mr. Holzer closes the folder and leaves it on the desk in front of him. “Since we are having a local festivity this weekend, I shall prescind from your services for those two days—” He lifts his head from the desk to stare at Toby specifically. “—along with the rest of the following week.”
While Heather seems all in for it, Kate and himself are not so. They both seem ready to protest.
But before neither of them has the opportunity to, Mr. Holzer lifts a hand, and automatically silences them. “Of course, you will still be paid as if you were working. And do not complain, for it is evident that this last task has worn you out.” His voice is the same as before, yet none of them dare go against his authority. He redirects his penetrating eyes to his right. “Kate.”
Kate purses her lips, anticipating what comes next. “Yes, sir?”
“Has Mr. Ross bothered you any further?” Mr. Holzer inquires, the ambience not so formal anymore. At this question, Heather tunes in, having been distracted.
“Yes.” Kate sighs, looking sour and head down. “I’ve cut contact with him. I told him that the feeling was not mutual, and he went on a tangent about how this place is not good for me to live in after mom died, how he doesn’t like you, how he doesn’t like that I’m working for you…” She rubs her temples with one hand. “...he said he had things to show me. That he hopes someday I’ll change my mind, and that he wants to protect me.”
To her left, Heather scoffs, a sardonic smile on her lips. “Protect you from what, exactly? He doesn’t even know what you do for a living. Did he develop a white knight complex because he couldn’t deal with your rejection, or what?”
Kate just lifts her hand from her temple, as if saying: “Hell if I know.”
“I do not care about whatever it is that he believes about me.” Mr. Holzer shrugs that bit off, unfazed by the prospect of being disliked by that man. “What worries me is that this might arouse doubts in you, about yourself or your current life.”
Kate startles, looking at him with wide eyes. “I would never leave, more so after all you’ve done for me!” Mr. Holzer closes his eyes for a moment, in a gesture that would equal to a barely there, tender and grateful smile. “I’ve pushed him away because he wants to impose his feelings over mine. I’m not letting him do that anytime soon!”
“Atta girl.” Heather whispers, smile full of shit, and Toby cannot help but smirk along.
“If you say so, then I must believe it.” Mr. Holzer’s eyes return to him. “What about you, Tobias? I am sure you feel exhausted; these days of rest will do you good.”
Mr. Holzer is a man of few words and keen intelligence. Very formal, always wearing an unreadable face. His tall form and appearance often make him the focus of gazes wherever he goes (when he gets out of his house, that is). He always dresses the same: a suit of the darkest black cloth, a white dressing shirt, a blood red tie, and well polished shoes. His short, neatly-trimmed and slicked-back black hair is always in place. His very fair porcelain skin, almost white, is always flawless. His eyes are such a light gray that they almost seem white; it’s like staring into static, hypnotic as they are.
He’s so scarily astute that them three, along with the rest of the workers, often refer to him as ‘The Operator’, as a title of respect for him and his foolproof tactics. And yet, despite the six years Toby has been working for him, Mark Holzer is still enveloped in a thick fog of mystery.
He’s curious, but Mr. Holzer is as close as he is distant, and as amicable as he is frightening. Toby believes that there must be a reason for him to request all he does from them, and not just for the giggles (or silent amusement, for he suspects the man is unable to merely smile).
This also the man that helped him out, that has helped Kate, Heather, and pretty much everybody that has come to live here to a certain capacity, even if it wasn't on purpose. So, surely, Toby’s respect towards him is well justified and earned. He feels like what he does for him is not enough; thanks to him, he can afford his regular visits to the hospital to get himself checked up and down, he’s able to pay for therapy, he can help his mother out, and he has also been able to move here.
He has to return the favor somehow.
“No, Sir. I feel fine, I assure you—” Toby starts, but a warning flashes in Mr. Holzer’s eyes, and he cuts himself off like a child who’s been caught reaching for a cookie in a jar he shouldn’t touch before lunch.
Mr. Holzer lids his eyes almost imperceptibly. “You know I do not take kindly to lies, Tobias. Especially as blatant as this one is.”
From his left, Heather leans forward to smirk at Toby. “Yeah, that was a pretty lame attempt. You look like a panda with those under-eye circles you’ve got.” To her right, Kate nods in agreement.
Toby glares at them pointedly, then returns his stare to his employer. “Forgive me. Yes, I do feel a bit burnt out.” He blinks repeatedly.
“It is settled, then. You may go.” Mr. Holzer collects the files and gets up from his seat, and they follow suit, exiting the house.
As they cross the door and are now outside, Toby is suddenly halted by Heather’s face appearing inches away from his, flashing him a particularly pesky smile. He blinks at her, annoyance seeping from his pores. “What?” He asks flatly.
Heather’s simper only widens. She tilts her head this way and that. “You’ve been distracted lately. Anything you’d like to tell us?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been working just fine.” Toby frowns, stepping aside.
Heather quickly steps aside too, once again preventing his escape. “I’m not talking about work. Whenever you have a break, you dive right into dreamland, headfirst.”
Toby rolls his eyes into his skull. “Maybe it’s because, as you’ve—” He smacks his lips together. “—kindly pointed out back in there, I’m tired.” He steps aside, and Heather lets him pass this time. “LJ pokes me enough as it is. Please, not you too.”
As he walks, the girls catch up to him. “Glad to know you’re still the same grumpy fucker as ever.” Heather keeps the conversation going. They walk silently for a few seconds, then she retries. “You met most of the new tenants the other day. Does it have to do with them?”
Toby jerks his head involuntarily, then grunts. “Stop being nosy.”
“Oh, that means it does!” Heather has the glint of a hunter in her eyes. He becomes queasy under her scrutiny; she has good eyesight, and not just for prey. She abruptly narrows her eyes at him. “I know you're bisexual, but neither of those boys could tickle your fancy, so it has to be—”
“And why do you assume—” Toby is betrayed by his impulse to whimper. “—it has to do with any interest of that kind?” He glares at her with a bit of a healthy rosiness in his cheeks.
Her smile becomes sharper. He’s fallen right into her trap, correcting her and getting nervous at her second assumption; she’s hit the nail on the head. She looks to the front. “You wouldn’t have reacted like that if it wasn't the case. You’d just have gone silent and ignored my bullshit for what it was.” She widens her eyes. “She’s pretty, isn’t she? ‘Dummy thicc’?”
Toby combs through his hair with a hand, and fiddles with the piercing jewelry on his lips, clearly vexed by her questions.
Heather lifts her hands in surrender, corners of her mouth tugged down in a nonchalant expression. “Okay, okay. I won’t dig any further—”
“Yes. Well, I’m not so sure. I didn’t check.” Toby suddenly blurts out, feeling comfortable enough to air his thoughts to them; after all, they’ve lived through many dangerous situations together, and know the others’ secrets. The flush of his cheeks darkens just barely, and Heather looks smug. “She was very timid, or that was the impression I got. The last thing I wanted is for her—meow—to find me checking her out and make her uncomfortable.”
Kate, who had silently listened to their back and forth until now, beams at him. “That’s very kind of you. Did you get to talk?”
Toby shakes his head, frown back on his face. “We did cross gazes a few times, and that stupid clown I have for a friend noticed and teased us for it. Got back at him, though.” His face turns, an evil smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth in reminiscence. Ben might be harmless in appearance, but LJ’s life flashed through his eyes when he was attacked, so now the blonde has a special space of respect in Toby’s mind.
He feels a bump on his right bicep, coming from Heather. “Then you should take the chance and get closer to her at the fair.”
Toby tilts his head, the wicked smile still present on his visage. “And what about you, huh?” He sniffs involuntarily.
Heather shrugs. “I’m still on it.”
“Are you speaking about Wilson?” Kate asks.
Toby blocks Kate’s view of Heather to look at her, grinning. “Of course we are. They’ve been inseparable lately. Don't you—” He whines. “—know Wilson has a mommy kink?” He ducks down, dodging the slap he anticipated coming towards his face. “Sorry, mommy, sorry, mommy, sorry, mommy—!” He runs off, bouncing on his feet, chuckling loudly all the while, much like a naughty child.
Heather scoffs in disbelief, while Kate giggles.
Friday.
Should she try baggier pants? It’s still warm, but not unbearably so, and she hates showing her legs. Maybe she should cover her arms too, while at it. “Cover yourself. You’ll go around provoking everybody dressed like a whore.”
But she shouldn’t put on anything different, or everyone will notice and think she put too much effort. But what if she doesn’t put in some effort? Then they’ll think she’s a layabout. “Come on, Natalie! Go back upstairs and change. This is a family dinner; at least act like you care!”
And makeup? “You look sexier without makeup. It makes you look older.”
So what is she going to wear? An idea comes to her: how about she cancels, weeps herself away through the whole weekend for making that decision, and drowns in a pool of regret made of her own tears? At least she has experience with that; friends and plans, not so much.
There’s risks involved in plans. Unseen threats. Sudden dangers. Unexpected disappointments. Unforeseen anxieties. Out-of-the-blue panic attacks. Overall, uncontrollable angst.
The solitude and anguish of foregoing plans and staying at home to wither away, though, is something she’s used to. Pain that no one will see, that she won’t have to worry about hiding because no one is around to witness it. She can dehydrate herself and wet the pillow salty, and no one will ever know. No one will ever know of the vile thoughts with which her mind attacks her. If she pushes them all away, it’ll just be I, me and myself. A depressive paradise to marinate in.
Her ringtone makes her jump out of her well of putrid thoughts, and she reaches for the phone as she throws the folded pants that she had been holding onto the bed. The screen reads: ‘Incoming call: Jeff’.
“Hello, Jeff. Was work hectic today?” Natalie begins, wanting to be the one that starts the conversation at least once in the entirety of this week. They had been talking in the evenings lately. It was she who began this new tradition, and despite being Jeff who often initiates the calls, she intends to be the one calling sometimes; she doesn’t want him to think that she isn’t interested in this friendship, or in his help and their talks, for that matter.
“A bit much, yeah, but thankfully I’m done for the day, and don't have to work weekends.” He responds, sounding tired. Jeff has a rotating schedule, and has been working evenings this week. “I just came back from walking Smile, and now I’m making dinner. What about you?”
Natalie wants to, but she doesn’t want to. But she promised; she must. “Uhm…I was planning what to wear tomorrow, heh.” It already sounds stupid. Why would Jeff care about what she wears? He’ll probably put on the first thing he finds in his wardrobe, so why would he sympathize with her for such a triviality?
“Find it difficult to choose?” Jeff asks on the other side. She hears echo; she must be on speaker as he cooks.
“Yes.” Natalie looks at the pants, now a bit unfolded due to her careless throw. “I’m not exactly comfortable with showing off certain parts, you see.” Her face cringes as she lets it out.
“I understand. I was like that with my face after all that…fiasco.” Jeff did explain to her what happened, omitting the gruesome parts and going over it quickly. She felt very sad for him afterwards. “I think that what you should do is be brave and try, but don’t pressure yourself too much: for example, if you hesitate showing your arms, wear a tank top or short sleeves, but also bring a sweater or something, just in case.”
Natalie hums. “I wanted to try and wear something lighter since it’s still warm, but I don’t think I’ll feel good with shorts or anything too tight. It’ll feel out of control, you know?” She fidgets from where she stands.
“That’s okay; if you’re too doubtful, there will always be a next time when you feel more confident. Do you have lighter, longer pants to wear?” She confirms. “Then wear those. The point is progress, not forcing yourself to the point of panic.”
Natalie sighs. “Okay. I’ll try that.”
“...Hey, Nat.” She hears Jeff move plates around. “I know it won’t be of much use, but you’re beautiful. You don’t have to look a certain way or dress like so in order to be beautiful, nor do you have to always look your best.”
And Natalie is now tearing up. Her lips pout, and her eyes narrow and become pools. “I-I’m sorry t-that I don’t b-believe you.”
“That’s okay. I don’t expect you to change your mind just like that—” She hears Jeff set the plates down, and the classic pitter-patter of Smile’s paws. “—but you need to surround yourself with people who remind you of your worth from time to time.”
Natalie sniffs, rubbing her eyes dry. “I-I guess this is a good start.” She smiles, lips still trembling and refusing to relax completely. “Um…I also wanted to ask, how are things with Ben?”
She hears Jeff sigh, bothered. “He’s been very withdrawn since Monday. He has me worried.”
Natalie takes a seat on her bed and fists a humid hand on her pajama pants. “Is he angry at you?”
“I don’t think so. I can’t really tell you what little I know, because it’s not my place, but I have reasons to believe he’s busy with something important. Not angry, just keeping a safe distance, for my sake.” Jeff sounds as if he had a bitter taste on his tongue.
His words raise many questions in her, but Natalie won’t pry. She doesn’t want Ben to distance himself from Jeff any further by fishing it out of him, or from her for prying. “I see. Is he coming with us tomorrow?”
“Yes. I hope we can have some fun together.” She hears Jeff sigh again. “I don’t want to lose him.” He admits, sounding upset. “I can’t even explain why I’m so pressed…I’ve known him for a week, along with all these people including you. EJ for only two weeks longer. And yet, I feel like we’re all united somehow…I probably sound nuts right now.” She hears him laugh dryly.
Natalie ponders. “I might not feel as attached, but it’s true that I feel more comfortable with you all than I would usually be. I know that, had somebody else out there done what LJ did at the park, the teasing would have felt personal and probably sent me into a panic attack.” Her voice sounds raspy from the crying. “But it didn’t. And I didn’t feel embarrassed because other people were present, either. It all felt like a good-spirited joke between friends. I have…this feeling of trust.”
She hears Jeff scoff. “You just put my feelings into words perfectly. Until now, all I’ve been able to do is hide like a cockroach, but that motherfucker EJ called me ugly as soon as he had the chance, and it was just hilarious. I didn’t feel offended for a second.”
Natalie giggles. “This place really is strange, huh?” She frowns then, remembering something. She feels anxious just by thinking of sharing it outloud. “Hey, Jeff, there’s something I want to confess, but please, don’t mock me.”
“Of course I won’t, Nat!” Jeff sounds indignant.
“Sorry, I’m just used to being mocked…” Natalie scratches her nape, disliking the idea of offending Jeff in any way.
“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad that you feel that way because of whatever it is that you’ve been through. But do tell, I’m very curious.” She hears the sound of cutlery on Jeff’s end.
Natalie swallows saliva, feeling her face redden. “Well, um, you see, uh…do you remember what LJ did? Saying that he was jealous of me and—”
She hears cutlery drop on wood, and a gasp. “No way!” She can hear the smile on Jeff's lips. “Is it what I think it is?” He asks with a mischievous, excited tone.
Natalie darts her eyes around, face scalding hot. “T-that depends on what you t-think it is, I guess?”
She hears Jeff laugh loudly, incredibly amused. “You like Rogers, Nat?”
Natalie is pretty sure that steam is exiting her ears at this very moment. In her mortification, her mouth decides to act separately from her thoughts. “I, um—well, that is, ah—”
Jeff’s cackle gains force. “A good assessment, it is! You got your eyes on Rogers!”
Natalie can hear the whistle of a kettle coming from her own ears. She tries to weasel her way out of the embarrassment. “I told you not to mock me!”
“I’m not mocking you, I’m just excited!” Jeff’s voice sounds muffled, probably because he’s eating. “Well, if LJ is right, there might be a chance that he, too—”
“No!” She covers her face. “That wouldn’t be good!”
Jeff emits a thoroughly confused sound. “What? Why the fuck not?”
“Because I’m a mess! If it even comes to that, I’ll tire him up quickly!” Natalie looks down, mood turning sour.
Jeff sighs. “Nat, you’re assuming things.” He chastises her gently.
“But what if that happens? What if I end up excited and then…?” Natalie begins to ruminate again.
“I get where you come from, but maybe it all comes down to communication; finding out if your suspicions are just an impression you got out of overthinking, or something else altogether.” She hears Jeff put down his tableware. “But having your own problems doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love. We’re all in a constant process of change, and we do it with others around us. If someone doesn’t want to support you during your worst times, you have to accept it, but that also means they have to own it, and so do you; don’t accept scraps.” She hears him cough. “Years of therapy paying off, I guess.”
She chuckles. Jokes aside, she finds it to be very good advice; now all she has to do is learn to use it.
Jeff continues on. “I can’t promise that he wouldn’t hurt you if you both end up together, on accident at least. I really don’t think Toby is the kind of guy that’s a dick on purpose…unless someone pisses him off first, but I could be wrong. Anyway; relationships have to be taken care of by all parts implied, and if you keep things to yourself, it sure as fuck won’t work. The point is staying happy together, and effort is required for that. If you can’t bring yourself to trust your partner for some reason, it’s better to let go.”
Natalie rubs her fingers over her lips, thoughtful. “I’m scared that I won’t have the confidence to speak up my mind.”
“You let him know that beforehand. If you struggle, you can let me know, and I’ll help you, but you have to find the courage to do it. If you don’t speak up, confusions will ensue.” She hears Jeff fiddle with the plates. “You have to work from the beginning, even if it’s just a friendship. Be as clear and as direct as you can be, and ask the same of him so that you cannot trick yourself into thinking otherwise.”
She remembers when Ben told her to come by to play his games anytime. She didn’t have room for doubt with how cheerily he offered it. So, indeed, that would help greatly.
“I just…expect everybody to leave. That’s what I’ve learnt will always happen, and it’ll take me some time to ditch that notion. I fear being abandoned.” Natalie opens herself up, remembering her ex-boyfriend.
Jeff takes a second to answer. “We can all be abandoned at any time for any reason, and that can’t be helped. Sometimes, being abandoned is not bad; you might be dodging a bullet, or that relationship might’ve reached its limit. Your life won’t end because someone is no longer in it, but I do understand that that’s how it feels to you now.”
What a wise man Jeff is. Natalie feels grateful for his input. “...I’ll try to remember that. See you tomorrow, then.”
“Wait! Last but not least, say goodnight!” Jeff says with a cute voice, and she hears the expected sniffing. They wish each other goodnight, then she hangs the phone with a smile.
Chapter Text
Saturday.
It’s one of those mornings with a clear sky and warm sunlight. There are some families around, children already carrying balloons and snacks and new toys. A few attractions can be seen in the background, already working and tearing screams from their passengers, and many tents fill up what was an empty park not long ago.
The six of them (including Smile, of course) have just arrived, and are looking around in awe, discussing where to begin their day.
“I’d suggest you go see the arcades first, or you might not have a chance to later. This place will fill up soon.” EJ warns.
Conveniently, the gaming tent is not that far away from them; a big sign outside indicates what games can be found inside. “Ah, shit. What about Smile? Will I be able to get in with him?” Jeff looks down at his fluffy friend, worried. There’s no way he’s leaving him tied to a post.
“I can stay outside with him if you want.” EJ offers with a shrug. “It’s not like I can enjoy those games.” Despite EJ’s nonchalant tone, Jeff feels a pang of sadness.
“I’ll stay with you.” Toby declares so out of the blue that everybody focuses on him.
“Okay…?” EJ answers, sounding curious. But unlike him, the rest won’t get to hear what Toby has to say.
Jeff, Ben and Natalie quickly enter (not without Natalie taking one last glance back), and hover their eyes around the place: they can see classics like PacMan, Space Invaders, Donkey Kong, Pong, Street Fighter II, Mortal Kombat, Polybius, and so on.
Ben’s face brightens up at the sight, as if he had just entered paradise, and with no Saint Peter to socialize with to top it off; there are three staff personnel around for security, and that’s it. Jeff’s face also brightens up, more at the sight of his friend’s giddiness than the machines, and Natalie feels their sudden happy energy stick to her.
They all quickly set their eyes on a specific machine: Pong. It’s the simplest, yet the one that seems to promise the most fun. It’s as if a spell is cast upon them, for all their tension and personal problems are thrown out of the window, and they begin playing. Jeff and Ben start, Jeff having put his coin in the slot, while Natalie watches between them with twinkling eyes full of curiosity.
It doesn’t take long for Jeff to lose to the blonde. “Goddamnit, Ben!” He grins, and the other grins back at him, while Natalie giggles behind them. Jeff quickly steps aside, and gestures for her to take his post. “Your turn, señorita.”
Natalie lifts her hands. “M-me? I didn’t bring any c—”
Before she can foresee his intentions, Jeff crouches down, and puts another coin in. She tries to protest, but he smirks at her. “I don’t give a fuck, Nat. This is communism: our coins.”
She pouts, and Ben chuckles in front of her, staring at Jeff. “I’ll put the coin next time.” He looks at Natalie and pats the other side of the machine. “Come.”
Natalie approaches, and stares down at the control wheels with apprehension. “All you have to do is rotate them to move the paddle.” Jeff explains behind her. “Doesn’t matter if you lose. We’ve come to laugh our asses off.” She takes a deep breath and nods. Ben starts the game.
Outside, EJ has sat down on a bench with Smile on his feet and Toby beside him. “So, tell me, what is it that you want to—?”
“Ilikenatalieandunnohowtoapproacher.” Toby blurts out like a tongue-twister, and his syndrome acts up and makes him shrug, for good measure.
“...Ha?” EJ asks in return, just having heard “blablablablablabla.”
Smile stares at them, eyebrows raising this way and that. He finally decides to approach Toby for pets; seeing how tense the guy looks, he probably needs it. Toby takes the chance and scratches his nape, making the dog contentedly lift his leg and scratch at the air, as if that could be of help.
Toby takes a deep breath, then lets the carbon dioxide exit his lungs, and repeats what he said, slower this time. “I like Natalie and don’t know how to approach her.”
EJ tilts his head and smiles. “How about trying to use your legs—? Ow!” He feels his arm get bumped. He rubs the spot, feeling no regrets. “I think you should just be friendly in your own way, none of that pretending-to-be-someone-else shit. Try to start up a conversation and follow its course naturally. Those three went in there; why don’t you follow and butt in? It’ll be less complicated to start with others involved.”
Toby leans back and sags down on the bench. “It’s easier said than done. I'm mentally preparing myself.” He chuckles. His eyes turn to the left, and he sees a familiar pair. “Helen and Dina are coming this way.” In front of him, Smile woofs, becoming excited at the prospect of someone approaching.
EJ waves Toby away with a hand. “Go, I’ll have them babysit me for a while. Gimme the leash.”
Toby does just that and gets up after a quick ear-scratch to Smile. He makes his way to the tent, only looking back one last time to see those three chat; Helen has his usual blank face, Dina is friendly, and EJ is completely comfortable. Smile is just wagging his tail at them, and Dina falls for his peculiar charm, while Helen simply analyzes the dog.
He gets in and swiftly finds the other three before a Pong arcade machine. Jeff is cackling his ass off, Ben looks jovially bewildered, and Natalie is in clear disbelief of something. “What are you three doing?” Toby quickly asks them, finding the picture interesting.
Ben looks at him as if he’d just witnessed a miracle. “She beat me.” Jeff keeps laughing at his expense, and Natalie is still buffering, not comprehending how she accomplished such a feat against what could be considered a born player. “She must be a natural. Do you want to try?” He gestures to his spot.
Unknowingly, the blond has just given him the tool to get closer to her. This, along with tickling LJ the other day, has made Toby think of him as some sort of benevolent elfish creature. He accepts and takes Ben’s spot, inserting a coin in the slot.
Natalie seems bothered by that gesture for some reason, pursing her lips slightly. Behind her, Jeff quickly interjects. “Stop looking so sour for fucking cents, Nat. No one here is dying of hunger.”
‘For Jeff to call her ‘Nat’, they must’ve gotten close.’ Toby notices. He’s glad for that; it means she’s not as timid as he thought beforehand, and that she already has friends in this new place.
“Sorry, I just feel like I owe you…” Natalie starts, but Jeff puts a hand on each of their shoulders, putting a stop to her protests. She knows what he’s doing, and gives him a wide-eyed stare.
“Nonsense. Right, Rogers?” Jeff turns to him with a grin, and the other nods with a similar expression. They both look at her.
But Natalie is now staring at the screen in front of her, not sparing them a glance (out of annoyance, or shyness, or both, Toby doesn’t know). “...Fine!” She turns the wheel to start the game.
And it seems easy at first. Then, the pace of the game picks up and to no one’s surprise, Natalie is the one that ends up winning, all while looking as innocent as when he first entered the tent; Toby had been too distracted glancing at her smaller form to care enough.
The two dorks behind them stare at them, darting their eyes back and forth between them; Jeff is very focused, while Ben is obliviously curious.
Toby suddenly looks amused. He sniffs. “I don’t believe that innocent look you have.”
“W-what?” Natalie asks, looking up at him sideways.
“I mean that you know what you’re doing, shorty.” Toby also looks at her sideways, with a boyish, dimpled smile. “Good reflexes. Should we try that again? I’ll put—” He whimpers. “—in more effort this time.” He cracks his neck involuntarily, but his fingers purposefully, making emphasis on his promise. Or is it a threat? Maybe a warning?
It doesn’t matter so much what it is, but rather, that it has fulfilled its purpose: Natalie has the burn of the challenge in her eyes, probably fueled by the nickname he’s chosen to refer to her.
She turns her head to look at him straight on, with a completely new expression: determination. He also turns to look at her directly, still seeming entertained.
Natalie takes the chance now that he’s close. He stands taller than her, as she only reaches his chin. His chocolate hair is mussed, and his similarly colored eyes are twinkling. The scarred wound that is his cheek doesn’t take away her original opinion: he’s beautiful, pale, tired and rough as he is. He’s wearing a thin black turtleneck and gray pants. He stands proud, straight and unashamed. There’s a feeling of mischievousness to him, like a kid who knows all the tricks to tenderize their mother into giving him a snack before lunch without fail. His alluring mouth, which is slightly upturned, supports this idea, for it completes the face of a rascal like a period would a sentence.
She feels the compulsion of lifting a hand and caressing the beard on that face full of naughtiness. ‘Would it feel soft, harsh, prickly?’ She can’t help but wonder. And something else that has come to her attention: he has a very distinctive, if faint scent, like that of the warmth of firewood and freshness of pine, or the forest after heavy rain. It’s strangely calming.
Toby also takes the chance now that he has it, and eyes her face properly. Her light-brown hair is long and silky, like a river of caramel. She has rosy skin and a small mouth. The eye to his left is hazel while the other, evidently damaged, looks green: scarred, unseeing. She’s wearing a green shirt and black sweater pants, along with a black jacket that dangles from her waist, and white sneakers.
He wants to touch her hair, feel its softness gliding through his fingers. He also notices the faint, clean scent that she emits, probably from fabric softener.
‘Despite her short height, she has defiance in her.’ He thinks. The beauty of a doll, but balls of steel. Or maybe she still doesn’t have those: maybe she’s growing them, hence why despite the defiant green glint, she still behaves timidly. One day it’ll happen; she’s bound to snap, as if dictated by clockwork, striking twelve. He’s sure of it.
They both hear the classic squeaky sound of rubber shoe-soles being abused behind them, and can picture Jeff dragging a confused Ben off to another machine. They both ignore it. “Why didn’t you bring your goggles today?” Natalie asks, the glint of resistance still in her gaze, and voice cautelous and steady. She doesn’t know why he’d wear such a peculiar accessory, and only to not use them.
Toby shrugs. “I only wear them to avoid staring people in the eye.” He turns the wheel of the arcade, and the game begins.
Natalie hums, not dwelling too much on the thought that he might’ve foregone them because he didn’t want to avoid her gaze; a wild assumption at best, an egocentric notion at worst. “You don’t like eye contact?”
“Do you?” Toby asks back, and she doesn’t give an answer. It’s not needed; she’s smiling softly. “I have enough with people staring at me in general, which I can’t avoid, but I’ll sure as hell avoid—” He whistles. “—crossing gazes. That shit feels invasive.”
Natalie grins. “Relatable, but—” She takes a moment when she struggles to hit the ball with her paddle, then continues. “—you didn’t seem so bothered by it at the park the other day.” She states, not so cryptically.
“Neither did you.” Toby answers back, a smile evident in his tone.
Jeff and Ben approach them again after a long while, as they’re still competing for the win. “Hey, guys. We got tired of the arcade; gonna check on EJ and Smile, and look around. Do you mind?” They both give them a negative at the same, and they get out.
Natalie furrows her brows, concentrating on the game, becoming one with the ball and the paddle. Beside her, Toby is probably doing the same, although it’s much less obvious. Not long after a fair play, it’s Toby who wins this time.
They exit the tent, and finding no trace of their friends, Natalie makes her shy attempt. “Um, Toby?” Her voice sounds demure again, and he looks down at her with a neutral expression. “Isn’t there a lake nearby?”
“Yep. You haven’t seen it yet?” She shakes her head. “Wanna check it out?” She nods, and Toby leads the way.
They both keep their hands in their pockets. Natalie feels alleviated; she hasn’t felt the need to cover her arms yet. She’s brought a light jacket just in case, which is currently dangling from her hips.
As they walk there, Toby asks her a question. “May I ask why you moved here, or is it too personal?”
Natalie looks around, lips tightening into a fine line. It is personal, but she finds it an easy question to answer if she responds vaguely enough. “I wanted to get far away from my family.”
Toby also looks around, nose twitching. He sniffs his nose. “Abusive much?”
Natalie shrugs tensely. “My mom, not so much, but she was very lenient with it. My father would call me names at every chance he got, and my brother…” She goes silent. That, she’s not ready to talk about.
Toby coughs. “Bad enough not to talk about it. I get it.” He helps her out, and she lets out the breath she was holding. “My father was a drunkard and—” He makes a 'pop' sound with his lips. “—a gambler, and it cost us dearly many times. Never loved him. My mom is just the best.” A smile intrudes his face, and she cheers up seeing it. “And…” The glee is puffed out from his eyes, and the smile crumbles.
Feeling reeled back from the force of the lack of emotion on his face, Natalie lifts a hand and rests it gently on his arm in an unconscious attempt to comfort him.
Toby quickly turns back to her, seemingly recuperated from what just ailed him. He doesn’t push her hand away. “Anyway, any disorders you got? We could compare them like Pokemon cards.”
Natalie chuckles, and lowers her hand from his arm. It doesn’t seem that hard to share them. “Okay. You start.”
“Tourette’s. I used to be called ‘Ticcy-Toby’ by my classmates.” Toby gives her a dumb smile, the pain of that time apparently affecting him no longer.
“Jill did tell me about that one. Doesn’t it hurt when you crack your neck many times?” Natalie asks, worried for the strain on his muscles.
Toby shakes his head, smiling amusedly again. “Guess she didn’t tell you the second: congenital—” He whistles. “—insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis. Can’t feel pain, can’t feel temperature, and can’t sweat.”
Natalie gapes her mouth. “Isn’t that dangerous? What if you get appendicitis, or something else, or get too hot or too cold?”
Toby puts himself in front of her, halting their walk. “All I can do is be careful and get checked often.” He points at his cheek. “Bit through it because no pain stopped me. Same with my hands.” He lifts them up and takes his gloves off, feeling confident for a change.
Natalie sees old scars and new wounds on his knuckles and nails. She absentmindedly reaches for them, and he flinches just barely. She touches them delicately, careful not to even graze the fresh wounds. “...I have bulimia and binge eating disorder.” She tightens her hold on his hands, now still. “It’s gotten better, but I still have a way to go.”
She doesn’t realize because she’s still analyzing his hands as if they were the most interesting thing at the fair, or even the park, or one would dare say, the world. But Toby is staring at her with a deep gaze; he starts rubbing her hands in return.
“What is your last one?” Natalie asks, looking up at him with those big eyes of hers.
“Bipolar Personality Disorder.” Toby stares back, for once not feeling like withdrawing from the contact.
“Borderline Personality Disorder.” Natalie responds, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Toby straightens his posture and chuckles. “Guess we’re not so far off on those. Still, yours must be tough.” He clicks his tongue and returns to her side, and they continue onwards. They don’t release their hands.
“So must yours be.” Natalie looks around, overly aware of her hand still holding his. She doesn’t want to let go, but she’s scared that she might be overstepping bounds.
“I take lithium to help with the ups and downs. The ups—” Toby clicks his tongue. “—can be very euphoric, and the downs very low.” He blinks repeatedly.
“At least you might not get easily attached and become dependent.” Natalie points out, remembering the conversation she had last night with Jeff, and her relationship with Christian. Then, she realizes that her words might’ve come across as arrogant.
But before she can try and remedy her mistake, Toby beats her to it. “No, I don’t. Although I’m—” He whines. “—quite emotionally detached in general, which is not good either.” He turns to her. “May I ask what happened?” He points to his own eye.
Natalie takes a moment to answer. “It happened because my then boyfriend broke up with me when I was sixteen; he was my whole world, and I felt abandoned.” Even though her feelings simply were what they were, she feels foolish explaining them out loud, as if she had been a weakling for that, despite her ex-partner being one of the scarce nice things in her life back then. “Due to that, I had a massive panic attack when I reached my house afterwards. I’d made a big snowball of many bad thoughts.” Which is something she tends to do still to this day; when something happens, she correlates it with the rest of misfortunes she’s suffered, and everything becomes a difficult knot to loosen up.
But the worst part of explaining her blindness is yet to come, and she hopes Toby won’t judge her.
Natalie makes ginormous efforts to keep her cool, and avoids looking at Toby. “I thought everybody was against me, and that panic mixed with rage. I wanted to hurt myself, so I tried to take my eye out to put my grandfather’s old chain-clock inside; it made sense in my head at that moment…I think I was delirating somewhat. My mother came to ask me something and stopped me before I took it out, but I already hurt my eye.”
Unlike she had expected, Toby doesn’t mock her. Instead, she feels the hand holding hers squeeze her: he won’t make fun of her misery. She squeezes back, thankful and alleviated.
“I’m sorry you went through that. It must’ve—” Toby clicks his tongue. “—been tough not to have anyone beside you.” He sympathizes with her, respecting her wish to not lock gazes. “On the bright side, I must say that it looks cool.” He tries to bring levity to the conversation, not wanting her to delve too much into dark places when they should be having fun.
Natalie scoffs. “I’m not so sure about that.” She looks down, and is reminded of her wide hips and thick thighs; she tries to turn her thoughts blank, or her mood will plummet.
“Yeah, I’m not sure either. Lemme rephrase that.” Toby tilts his head to be able to stare at her. “You look cool. That’s more accurate.”
Natalie really, really, really cannot believe that. But accept first to believe later, right? “...Thank you.” She knows she’s blushing. “You look cool too. Your piercings and that scar on your mouth give you character.”
Unlike her, Toby owns the compliment: he puckers his lips while smiling, and looks around. “Don’t do that too much. You’ll boost my ego.”
Natalie chuckles. They finally arrive at the lake, and she enjoys the sight of the glittering water. She watches the ducks, swans and other birds swim around, dipping their heads in to catch fish. It looks peaceful; she feels sad that Ben can’t enjoy this. “Hey, Toby.” She calls him, and he turns his face to her just barely, still looking at the scenery before them. She hesitates. “This might be a stupid question, but…are you my friend? Are we friends?”
“I do consider you a new friend. Do you—” Toby whimpers. “—consider me one?” He asks her, and she affirms. “Then I guess we are.” They watch a duck land on water.
That makes her both happy and disappointed.
⦻
‘I feel like dropping. How can children have so much energy, and in the morning?’ There’s literally four kids currently tugging at his arms: two on each, and God only knows how many more surrounding him to copy them. ‘Perhaps I should just start spinning and watch as they grow tired and fly away. Where the fuck are the parents? Probably talking amongst themselves, or with their phones.’
“Oi! All away, or I shall crush you with my hammer!” He hears in front of him like the song of salvation, and the kids all run away screeching.
‘Was that a guarding angel that came to save me?’ He focuses his eyes on the approaching figure. ‘No, it’s Eric! Looking as blue and pink and gray and purple as ever! How does he even maintain that hair volume? It’s beyond me.’
Eric Davis is a man that, much like him and Jill, likes to dress a bit strangely, although he prefers the look of a jester. He’s lean but muscled, as he’s more used to doing pirouettes in his performances. His hair is dyed an electric cyan blue, and is even longer than Jill’s, which is quite a feat to achieve.
Eric stops in front of him. “You look faint. That bad, Laughing Jack?” He asks his friend, leaning closer.
“They used me like a rag doll.” LJ answers; he’s dressed in a rainbow attire for a change. “This really is not my day. I can feel it in these old bones, Candy Pop.”
Eric scoffs. “You’re twenty-four. If your bones are old, Hans must be the remnants of an ancient fossil.”
“Perhaps it is the onslaught of color that I’m wearing that makes me feel like this; it’s lowering my defenses.” LJ looks down at himself, not feeling his attire. Funny how his young self would’ve loved it.
Eric man lowers his (evidently hollow and light) plastic hammer to the grass floor. “Laughing Jill is faring better. Kids love her, although they don’t try to climb her up like a mountain.”
“She’s a shorter, purple and pink thing that looks like a clown princess and is offering them sweets. How could they not love her?” LJ sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Cursed the day Hans organized this.”
“He wouldn’t have organized it if Holzer didn’t give him the green light to begin with, or so he said. Blame the mysterious daddy.” Eric lifts his humongous prop again, resting it on his shoulder. “Lessgo, Jacky. The kids love you too, dressed as gay as you are.”
LJ does just that, and approaches Eric. “So do you!” He smacks Eric’s ass, and the other puts a hand on his gray lips and goes ‘Fufufufu!’. They begin walking to the central tents. “And how are those two faring up?”
“Jason is still selling his shit. That fucker is gonna end up richer than ToysRUs.” Eric waves a hand back and forth lazily. “A bit of an exaggeration, but you catch my drift. Jonathan is still with his puppet show; I’ve checked on him a few times as Jason asked me, and he’s doing well. I would’ve checked on him without Jason’s request anyway, but it was euphoric to hear him ask me.” He smirks, and LJ knows he’s already managed to piss Jason off this early in the day. Not that it’s difficult to do so.
“It’s not like we won’t be paid nicely, but it’s little consolation right now.” LJ sighs, feeling like his anima is leaving his body; but then again, if those exist, he sure as hell doesn’t have one.
“Come on, we’ll stick together. Let’s throw candy for the kids to eat and get cavities, and get back at their parents for unleashing the fiends.” Eric grins devilishly. “We’ll see if they do that ever again when they face the bill from their dentist.” They both cackle evilly.
They reach the area outside Jason’s tent, and entertain the kids there with goofy voices, funny gestures and difficult pirouettes and tricks. They indulge some parents by being photographed with their kids, and go around proving their well-honed acting skills.
Once they separate, LJ approaches Jonathan’s puppet stand and adds a bit of spice to the show, along with checking on him like Eric did a while ago; he’s doing well enough.
He then gets into Jason’s toy shop to fiddle with a few toys, which in turn makes some children curious about those toys, and the parents end up buying them; he currently has a small mouse toy in his hand. He turns the metal handle of the small black animal several times, and rests it on the floor: it runs around the shop, making a child shriek with laughter and point at it, begging their parents to buy it.
He finally rests for a moment in the afternoon, behind the tents, for a quick snack. Jill comes not long after. “How’s your day so far?” She inquires, taking a seat beside him; the motion makes her skirt lift up around her, and it deflates gently.
LJ shrugs. “Started like a slap in the face. What about you?”
“Feeling a bit weird in these clothes. Don’t get me wrong, I like the colors, but it’s not as cool.” Jill fiddles with the frilly skirt and the many bows. “At least the kids like it, so, mission completed.”
LJ snorts. “Not yet, princess. We still have a few hours to go.” He leans back, gently hitting his head against the wall. He grins. “I caught Jeff, Ben and Smile when they came from the arcade; I pinched their cheeks.” He remembers how Jeff simply let him do as he pleased, while Ben wouldn’t stop protesting; he kept squishing his face for a bit longer, just for the fun hearing him complain, until Ben started showing evident signs of wanting to tackle him in front of the families with his warning glare. As soon as Smile recognized him, he showed signs of wanting to tackle him as well, but out of affection.
Then, LJ remembers the other trio. “Oh, and EJ was with those two. Dina was kind, but it seems Helen has a rod up in his ass, as always.”
Jill pouts. “I think he’s simply not very talkative in general. EJ could talk his ear off all day long, and Helen still engages with him, even if he barely makes an input.”
LJ shrugs again. “Could be.”
They stay in comfortable silence for a while, with Jill stealing glances at him every now and then while she eats. Once they’re done, they both stand up and dust themselves, ready to return to their tasks.
They come out from behind the tents together, with some rampant children running around them. “How many little people around us, Laughing Jack!” Jill exclaims, already in character.
“Aye, Laughing Jill; what an audience!” LJ answers back, lifting his hands up in the air and looking even more excited than the kids themselves. As the kids surround them, then flee, then come back, and even run towards and from Eric who is not very far away, a man that was amongst the public approaches them. “Well, hello, young gentleman!”
Something is off.
This platinum-blonde man with icy eyes has a hair of familiarity to him. But he cannot, for the life of him, pinpoint who he might be. He doesn’t feel in danger, of course, it’s just that it doesn’t feel right ; it’s as if his subconsciousness had realized who he is faster than him.
“Hello, uh…I’m sorry to interrupt.” The man has a British accent, and is looking at him with an apologetic smile. “I know you’re working, it’s just that I think we might know each other.”
So LJ’s suspicions have a higher chance of being right, now that this stranger (or not so stranger) seems to feel the same way. “My, could this be? I have the exact same sensation!” He still hasn’t broken character; there’s kids around, but Eric is calling their attention to Hans’ performance, so they’re all rushing along with their parents.
“Yes, um…is your name Jack Lawrence, by any chance?” The stranger attempts, hitting the center of the dartboard.
Jill is standing right beside LJ, and she looks similar to the way he does; her subconscious seems to be working faster than her too, despite not knowing the guy. “Yep, that’s me.” LJ answers, his voice back to normal now that the kids are gone. “And you are?”
The man takes a few seconds to answer, looking tense. “Isaac Lee Grossman.”
LJ’s face freezes, friendly smile still.
He feels as if he had been freed from a box after years trapped in it. He feels as if a thousand mirrors had been shattered all around him, no longer having to stare as his color drains while he waits. He feels overwhelming relief, he feels overflowing happiness!
He feels raw, blinding rage.
He blinks, trying to tear off the red lens that coats his eyesight, to no avail. He’s sure the vein in his jaw is popping, and that he's trembling in containment. His jolly appearance won’t cut it anymore, and trying to sound amicable won’t work. He knows how much his sapphire eyes feel like scalpels cutting through flesh when he orders, in a hiss of gritted teeth: “Get out of my fucking sight.”
Both Isaac and Jill flinch; the first due to pain, and the second due to alarm. It’s the very first time that Jill has ever heard her friend speak with such chagrin in his tone. She swiftly holds onto his arm, scared that he might actually complete the deed his eyes promise.
Isaac looks like he’s been punched in the gut. He lifts his hands in a plea. “J-Jack, I can explain—!”
“If you don’t scram right this very moment, I’m gonna cut you open and use your guts as animal balloons.” LJ threatens flatly, cutting Isaac off with no humor in his voice and a wide-eyed glare. “You abandoned me.”
Isaac gets the memo, because he directs one last hurt glance at LJ, and goes away.
As soon as he’s out of sight, LJ covers his face with his one big hand, while Jill remains looking at him in shock.
⦻
“So you’re telling me that Natalie likes Toby.” Ben concludes, putting two and two together. ‘No wonder they were acting so weird in there!’ He gapes his mouth. “That’s why you dragged me away!”
“Yep.” Jeff mumbles as he eats a corndog. “It was the perfect opportunity to make them stick together. My plan has worked!” He exclaims dramatically, like a supervillain, while also chuckling like one.
Ben looks at him pointedly, only having nibbled at his corndog. “We both know you had nothing planned.”
Between them on the bench, Smile has his chin resting on the wood, looking at them both (and their corndogs) with pleading eyes. As Jeff finishes eating, Ben is absentmindedly looking around.
He suddenly ducks down and hides in front the backrest of the bench, dropping his corndog in the process.
Jeff is so stunned that he doesn’t try to prevent Smile from eating the dropped snack, and the dog gobbles it down with just enough reasoning to discard the wooden stick. “What the fuck are you doing, Ben?” He questions his friend, frowning.
But Ben is not listening to him; he’s mumbling to himself, looking like a scared little hamster. “W-what is Hubris doing h-here…?” Jeff looks behind them, but Ben fists his hands on his pants and diverts his attention. “D-don’t! Act normal!” He whispers, trembling.
Jeff’s frown deepens.
After a few minutes, Ben hesitantly and carefully lifts his head over the bench and looks around. He lets out a sigh of momentarily relief. “He’s gone!” He ignores the worried look Jeff is giving him completely and stands up abruptly, frightened to his core. “I have to get out of this place!” He blabbers, hyperventilating.
Jeff quickly stands up and grabs him by the arms. “Ben? Ben, get your shit together!” He only stops shaking him when Ben’s eyes refocus, falling on him and not looking any calmer. “For fuck’s sake, talk to me!” He begs as Smile watches them with lowered ears and wide eyes. “What’s going on? Why do you keep saying that?”
“ They’re going to find me, and get rid of me, and they will take it!” Fat tears start falling from Ben’s eyes, and he grimaces, fisting Jeff’s shirt. He hiccups. “I don’t want to die! I don’t want you to get hurt! I have to leave!”
“Okay, that’s it!” Jeff pushes him to sit on the bench again, and blocks the way. “You are going to tell me what’s going on, right now. I’m not letting you go when someone is hunting you down!”
“Have you gone mad?!” Ben’s voice breaks in a whispered shriek as he tries to push his hands. “Didn’t you hear me?!”
“I’ve heard you perfectly fine, and I want to hear more; spill, or I swear to god we’re staying here for as long as we have to!” Jeff barks, not wavering for a second.
“You told me you wouldn’t ask! You promised!” Ben starts kicking out and hitting him in his panic. “Let me go! Jeff!” He’s almost snarling at this point.
“There’s no one around, Ben. You’re safe.” Jeff tries to keep his cool for Ben’s sake, but grasps his hands and keeps them still. Ben looks at him with a mix of fury and fear. “And I know I promised. Now I’m breaking it, because I’m scared you’re going to get killed!”
“Why do you care?!” Ben is hysterical.
“For the same reason you’re adamant on leaving: because I care about you, you little shit!” Jeff growls with bared teeth. “I don’t give a fuck if we just met, and I don’t give a fuck if you don’t ever forgive me, but I’m not letting you walk to your death! Speak!” He orders, looking murderous, even if his ire is not directed towards Ben.
Ben looks at him nonplussed, then pulls his wet lips into a fine line. He looks so anxious and angry and just done, that it breaks Jeff’s heart. “I’m hiding from a cult.” He finally admits.
Jeff widens his eyes, but quickly registers his words. They pair well with the cryptic comments Ben has made so far. “Then it’s not convenient for you to ditch everything you’ve built here. Cults prey on vulnerable people, and you’re not vulnerable with us.” He tries to reason with him.
But Ben shakes his head. “They surely know I’m here. What if they use you guys as means of extortion?” Before Jeff can rebuff, he continues. “They’re powerful, Jeff. They can make murder look like an accident or suicide, and get off scot-free!” He tugs to free himself from Jeff’s hold, but he doesn’t budge. “I shouldn’t have approached any of you.”
“No. You’ve done exactly what you should have.” Jeff crouches down, still holding Ben’s wrists. “You have to promise me that you won’t leave. We’re supposed to—”
“Wake up, Jeff! No one else knows what’s going on, and they’re not obliged to help me!” Ben resumes his crying. “I don’t want to provoke a tragedy! How are you even going to help me?!”
Jeff lowers his head and rests his forehead against Ben’s knees. “I’ll think of something, I swear, but don’t leave!” He begs, fearing for his friend. His own voice breaks. “I don’t want you to die, as much as you don’t want me to. Hide for now, and I’ll come up with something, but don’t do anything rash.”
“You can’t tell the others!” Ben begins to panic again. “You’ll only make it worse!”
“I won’t tell everybody. I’ll play my cards right. Just—” Jeff lifts his head, and gazes at Ben with determined eyes. “—trust me.”
⦻
Jeff returns from accompanying Ben to his house, and spots EJ talking with two strangers as weird as this place and everybody else. He wastes no time. “Jack!” He calls out as he gets closer, making the two strangers look at him. He’s only focused on his friend when he reaches them. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but there’s something I have to tell you and it has to be now.” He declares with finality, voice tense.
The strangers don’t waste any time either. They give them privacy, sensing the hurry, quickly and without complaint. EJ focuses on Jeff. “What’s wrong?”
“Listen, what I’m going to tell you has to stay between us. It has to do with Ben.” EJ nods, quickly agreeing to Jeff’s terms. “He’s running from some cult shit. If I don’t find a way to keep him safe, he’s going to leave.”
EJ calmly tries to come up with a solution, not at all bewildered by the news; this man is in constant relaxation. “I am not completely sure, but you might wanna try with Toby. His boss has connections.” He responds vaguely, probably because he doesn’t know that much.
Jeff combs his hair back nervously. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try that. Thank you, dude.”
As if for once the universe decided to have mercy on him, Jeff quickly spots Toby and Natalie walking around. EJ quickly holds onto Jeff’s arm, and they are in front of them in no time.
“Rogers!” Jeff quickly calls out, and the other two spot him. EJ takes Natalie aside, and Jeff focuses on Toby. “I know what I am about to ask you is very nosy, but does Mr. Holzer have the capacity to protect someone?”
Toby frowns, completely taken aback by the strange question, and Jeff’s nervous state. “He might. Why?”
“Because Ben needs protection.” Jeff is direct. “He’s running from a cult. He’s scared shitless, and he might leave if I don’t help him.”
Toby tenses up. ‘Could it be the same cult we’re dealing with?’ And besides that, he doesn’t just understand the danger Ben will put himself in if he does that, but something else that Jeff doesn’t know: ‘Mr. Holzer won’t like a vacancy.’ He thinks warily. “I’ll talk to him, then.” He concedes, and Jeff visibly deflates, although not all tension is gone. He clicks his tongue, left eye twitching. “What the fuck is going on today?”
Jeff raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“We found LJ and Jill on our way here, and turns out the—” Toby whimpers. “—last dude I sold a house to is LJ’s childhood friend.” He reveals sourly.
Jeff’s eyes widen like plates, remembering the conversation they had on their first meeting. He had seen LJ’s hidden anger quite plainly, so whatever state Toby has seen LJ in must’ve been quite something. LJ is not the type to hold his tongue nor pretend, but is clear as day.
“You can imagine how ugly things became; Jack didn’t— meow —blame me or anything, but just went home, and Jill was a bundle of nerves.” Toby shrugs and twitches his lips. “He looked horrifying, Woods. I’ve never seen him like that, and we’ve known each other for six years.”
They make their way towards the other two. “This really isn’t the day, huh?” Jeff feels worn out all of a sudden.
Not only do they reunite with Natalie and EJ, but also with Helen and Dina, who didn’t go that far off.
Natalie has recognized them as the two who she encountered at the supermarket. Dina is holding her hand, asking her if everything is well, while Helen and EJ are talking about other things (mainly EJ talking his ear off, by the looks of it). “...I can smell the heavy ambience.” EJ comments as they approach.
It shouldn’t be a surprise at this point, given how cursed the day is turning out to be, but it still catches Jeff by surprise before proper introductions can be done: Smile begins to growl. Smile, who is sunshine and rainbows and cuddles and a big ball of friendliness. And not low, either; his nose is all wrinkled, teeth bared, and he seems ready to pounce.
They all follow the dog's gaze, farther away, only for their sights to fall on a family. The parents, perhaps the uncle, and the child; a small, adorable girl with chocolate curls and vivid green eyes, wearing a pink dress. She’s looking back at Smile with twinkling eyes, while still holding onto her mother’s hand.
Jeff tugs at the leash. “Smile, what’s gotten into you? You’ll scare the kid!”
But Smile doesn’t care about Jeff at this moment. He’s still going like a motorbike, and Jeff fears that a slip of the leash could end up with the dog chewing someone’s face off.
“...N-no…” Natalie begins, and everybody stares at her in confusion for her tremulous voice. She looks shaken, and not because of Smile; she’s looking at the family, in which she’s recognized a threat. “He’s n-not growling at the kid, nor the parents.” They return their stares at the family. “He’s growling at the other man.” She whispers.
Jeff frowns. ‘Is he? Why would he?’ But it only takes a few more seconds of analyzing. He knows how to detect an abuser once you eye someone, especially one as conspicuous and unashamed as this one: he’s trying to get the child's attention while her mother talks with her father, and the girl is visibly uncomfortable with the contact and trying to avoid engaging with him in the politest way possible. The guy visibly fumes when she hugs her mother’s leg to avoid him, which is in no way normal.
Natalie whimpers in disgust. Toby is now scowling and is letting EJ know of what’s going on, and the other man frowns. Helen’s face is blank but he doesn’t take his eyes off of the man, and Dina is pursing her lips with anger.
And Jeff is no longer afraid of what Smile might do if he were to release his hold on the leash. In fact, the only reason he doesn’t let him run off to maul that disgusting piece of shit to a bloody mess is because he doesn’t want Smile to be put down for it.
He’s not just any kind of abuser. And they can only pray, to whatever deity is listening, that he hasn’t acted upon his whims yet.
“W-we have to do something!” Natalie blurts out, looking faint. Dina holds onto her just in case.
They’re all losing their marbles, knowing what will happen if they don’t intervene. It’s not a matter of if, but when. But what could they do? Go to the parents and say “Hey! I think this dude is a child predator”? They’re not going to listen; they’re not noticing now, while their child rejects his touch with a slight cringe of her face.
“We can’t.” EJ declares, coldly intelligent. “And he might do anything to get what he wants if he realizes he’s been found out.”
But it seems that the day is somewhat merciful, because in the other direction, Toby can see what he would consider an angel walking on earth: between the bickering Mr. Schön and Mr. Schneider is Mr. Holzer, who looks bored out of his mind and tired of their discussion.
They can’t do anything, but he can.
But before Toby can take a single step forward, he’s beaten to it: they watch as the child releases her mother’s leg and runs straight in the direction of Mr. Holzer, without a hint of hesitation.
Mr. Holzer halts his steps as he sees the minuscule creature with bouncy curls approach him in a hurry, only to embrace his left leg. The other two men stop on their tracks and visibly “Aww!”, forgetting their argument completely. The kid hides her face in the fabric of his pants.
“...Is that Holzer?” Jeff asks Toby beside him, noticing how frighteningly tall the man is, and the other nods.
Mark bends down at his knee to be at eye level with the kid, and Elias cringes. “Die Hose, Mark, die Hose! [The trousers, Mark, the trousers!]” He whispers hurriedly, getting irked by the thought of any dirt stains.
But Joan shuts him up with a finger on his lips. “Halt die Klappe, es ist ihm egal. [Shut it, he doesn’t care.]” He whispers back, and grins at Elias’ squint.
“What is your name?” Mark asks the girl with big emerald eyes, ignoring his two friends. His voice sounds as neutral as ever, so does his face look.
The little girl fidgets with her foot, hands behind her back. “Sally.” She answers with a sweet, tiny voice.
“That name suits you very well; you do look like a princess.” Sally gives him a little smile for his compliment. Mark tilts his head. “Why did you run into me like that, Sally?”
Sally looks down and around, trying to find a way to properly express her emotions as best as she can. “I like you…I don’t like uncle.”
“Why do you not—?” Mark tries to get more information out of the kid, but is cut off as Sally hugs him abruptly. The child buries her face against his chest, seeking comfort, perfectly content hugging a stranger like him. ‘Such strange behavior.’ He isn’t sure how to proceed.
“Oh, I’m very sorry!” Mark lifts his head to see Sally’s mother come running; her daughter resembles her greatly. Mrs. Williams locks eyes with him, and a slight blush tints her cheeks. She looks at her child. “Sally, don’t bother him!” Sally doesn’t respond, nor does she move an inch. “Come on, sweetie, didn’t you want to go see the toys?” Again, no response from her daughter.
Mark stands up to his full height, having picked Sally up with ease, but Sally starts making a fuss when she understands his intentions: he wants to return her to mom, which also means—“No!” She protests, trying to grasp at his suit, his sleeves, his hands. But Mark is far stronger than her, and so is her mother. He hands her over as if she weighed nothing.
“Thank you.” Mrs. Williams looks at him apologetically, then turns around and leaves, carrying a very displeased and wailing Sally in her arms. The child looks back at him with her wide, angelic eyes; she’s expecting something, Mark can gather. What exactly, he’s not entirely sure.
Toby crosses the distance as Mr. Holzer stands up and dusts himself off. “Mr. Holzer.” He addresses him with tension, and Mr. Holzer lifts his head to look down at him.
“Tobias.” Mr. Holzer greets back, and looks behind the young man, probably having noticed the rest of young adults not too far away. His own company gives them both privacy, resuming their bickering farther away.
Toby rubs his forehead. “I know I have no right to, but I must ask two favors of you.” He cuts to the chase, feeling a little guilty for trying to take advantage of him, who has given him so much already.
Mr. Holzer doesn’t seem bothered by that prospect, nor shares his sentiment. He returns his stare to Toby as he straightens his suit jacket. “Ask away.”
Toby turns around to stare at the family; the still wailing little girl, to be precise. “The kid, has she—” He whines. “—told you anything weird?”
Mr. Holzer doesn’t have to ponder. “She did mention a strong dislike for her uncle. Why do you ask me this?”
Toby bites his lower lip. “You might not believe me, but me— meow —and my friends suspect that this man has bad intentions towards her.”
Mr. Holzer looks behind Toby again, to the group of people who he refers to as his friends, and then he returns his stare to the child in her mother’s arms, trying to hide her face from her uncle. He returns his eyes to Toby, having made a decision. “Then you know what to do.”
Toby blinks, caught off guard. “You believe me?” He didn’t expect Mr. Holzer would just take his word for it.
“Why would I not believe you? None of us are fools, Tobias, including your friends, and especially that…” Mr. Holzer looks at Smile, in doubt for once. “...dog, who is still looking at the individual quite hatefully. You just confirmed my suspicions were not singularly my own.”
“So, are you suggesting…?” Toby whispers while blinking repeatedly, still bewildered.
Mr. Holzer blinks at him. “Do you have a better plan to prevent what you know will happen if we do not intervene?”
Toby frowns, then shakes his head. He’s completely sure that turning a blind eye will have a single outcome, and this is their only opportunity.
Mr. Holzer closes the small distance between them. “Then do what you have done many times already, and not because I suggest it—” The Operator stares deep into Toby’s eyes. “—but because I order you to. You will complete this task without fail.” His employer’s intense gaze softens. “Make use of your peers and our resources if you must.”
Toby nods, full of confidence; he’s thrilled by what is to come, euphoric with what he’ll soon do.
Then, Mr. Holzer adjusts his tie, tranquil, as if their conversation were normal. “What was your second request?” Toby looks behind him, and beckons Mr. Woods closer; he heeds his silent request, bringing his dog along. Mr. Holzer looks at them both patiently.
Is this the same man Jeff saw scribbling away under the oak tree, weeks ago? It can’t be. Where has the humor gone? Where is the disparity between a well-dressed man doing something silly? The man in front of him oozes power, intelligence and sharpness. It’s like staring into the eyes of a superlative predator.
“Mr. Woods.” Mr. Holzer greets him with no particular tone of voice, and with no particular expression; he’s unreadable.
Behind Jeff, Toby returns with the rest of the group. He stares up at him, as tall as he stands almost two heads over him, and he remembers his objective. “Mr. Holzer?” The tall man nods once. “I’ve come to ask you for help on behalf of a friend.”
Mr. Holzer tilts his head and looks around. “Are we speaking of Mr. Lawman?”
Jeff finds it suspicious that this dude has guessed that so quickly, but Toby might even have told him something, since they seem to get along well. “Yes. He’s indisposed, so he can’t ask you himself.”
Mr. Holzer hums, unfazed. “What is it that he wishes?”
Jeff looks to the side, taking a deep breath. “Ben needs protection; he’s hiding from a cult.”
As soon as he says that last word, Mr. Holzer’s eyes pin themselves on him with special accuracy. His stare is loud and blurry, and sinks itself on his being; that’s how Jeff could explain it best. “A cult, you say?”
Jeff holds the stare, anyway, although he has the strange feeling that doing so for too long might give him a headache. “He didn’t tell me the details, so I can’t tell you anything else.” There are a few things that he could tell Mr. Holzer, but he doesn’t want to leave Ben with his ass bare; he’d rather his friend explain himself how he sees fit.
Mr. Holzer’s gaze remains glued to him, just as hypnotic. “I see. So, is it just protection that he requires?”
“Yes, although I still don’t understand how you’ll do that…” Jeff tugs at his hair, playing with it, uncharacteristically nervous.
“Unfortunately, I cannot give you any explanation in that regard.” Mr. Holzer’s words are enigmatic. “If Mr. Lawman doubts your words, you may always refer him to me. He may visit me on my property whenever he feels ready.”
Jeff doubts Ben will believe him with what little this man has given him. But as if he had sensed his thoughts, Mr. Holzer suddenly leans forward, getting closer to Jeff. The younger man feels ready to jump out of his skin.
“And as an incentive, you may tell him that we are both slaves to…similar issues.” Mr. Holzer straightens himself and turns around, ready to finish their conversation. “I hope you find this place to be to your taste in the long run, Mr. Woods.”
The man goes, and it’s when he’s back with what Jeff assumes is a pair of friends that he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Good god, that was suffocating! LJ wasn’t kidding when he said his gaze is piercing!” Beside him, Smile huffs, agreeing with him.
They return with the others to find Natalie in a hysteric state, holding onto Dina, while everybody tries to calm her down. Toby crosses worried glances with Jeff, and they nod to each other, a tacit agreement to keep their knowledge to themselves: Toby will keep his mouth shut about Ben’s struggles, and Jeff won’t let a peep out about his talk with Holzer.
They spend the rest of the evening comforting Natalie, and hoping.
Chapter 5
Notes:
I need moots to yap with about creepypasta. You may find me on twitter: @Kio_Powell.
Chapter Text
Sunday.
It’s already afternoon. He’s still wearing yesterday’s attire and makeup, minus the bright red wig he discarded at some point entering his house. He’s still in bed; he hasn’t eaten, and neither has he showered since yesterday. His phone remains on silent mode.
He got up once to relieve himself, and the snort he let out at the glimpse of his reflection in the vanity mirror could’ve easily turned into pitiful crying; the base on his face is worn off in some places, has run down with his tears in others places, and looks greasy or flaky on the rest. His hair is disheveled, and his colorful disguise is wrinkled.
He currently doesn’t care about what Hans may think of him fleeing from his duties yesterday. He doesn’t care about what conclusions his friends must’ve drawn, if they’ve even been told what happened by Jill in the first place. Speaking of Jill, he doesn’t care about her right now either. He doesn’t care about the mess his pillow must be by now.
He doesn’t care about anything but him.
‘Why did he come here? And why did Toby have to sell him the house, of all people?’ LJ ruminates. He had already eased into the idea that they would never meet again, had shoved his bitterness at the far end of a drawer to be covered with other miscellaneous. But he had to return, long after LJ’s patience had worn out, to forcefully take that drawer off its hinges and throw the contents to the floor in search of that bitterness. He had to point at it while it lay spilling on the floor, laughing at their unimportant promise.
Most of his tears are from anger, that same ingredient which is produced in his belly, where his wrath coils rightfully. His lip curls and his hand fists on his pillow whenever that resentful beast roars.
Others are from confusion, which resides in his head. ‘Why did he approach me, if he had no interest in what we once were? Why would he attempt to mend what he broke, if it meant nothing?’
And the last are from sadness, which has home in his heart. The forlorn creature, taking his childish image, curls himself into a ball there, and shuts himself from all light, into a realm of darkness.
LJ had no parents. He lived in foster care with many other children, and since he was already tall from a young age, no one ever dared mess with him. During the time he studied at a particular public school, he remained with a foster family temporarily; it is during this time that he met Isaac Lee Grossman, who seemed to attract bullies like light attracts moths. They mingled together at first glance, and no one messed with Isaac any further. In school, that is.
LJ was very aware of the world around him at this tender age. He knew that whenever Isaac would sneak him into his house, the sounds that often came from downstairs were not the ones that a child should ever hear in his home: his mother screaming, his father berating and hitting her in a drunken state, her pleas and weeping. Sometimes, what he would hear prompted him to distract Isaac by covering his ears, just to prevent the other boy from losing his sanity; he would make up all kinds of games to entertain him, and prevent him from thinking of what his mother might be going through and what his father might be doing to her.
Many times, on the occasions her husband didn’t torment her, his mother would come stomping up the stairs, and Jack would have to hide under the bed to avoid another beating for Isaac, even if what he actually wanted to do was defend his little friend from her misplaced wrath. From there, he would sometimes see the old bruises his mother wore on the skin of her legs, along with the new ones. He would also see the ones Isaac hid.
‘Did witnessing all of that mess me up? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I’m not sure.’ LJ thinks, letting himself have a small reprieve of humor, another of so many.
Their little friendship was doomed the day his mother found the neighbor’s cat dead in the backyard, with signs of strangulation. LJ knew it had been the bullies that were so hell bent on causing problems for Isaac that had killed the innocent and defenseless feline, and thrown its body over the fence.
And yet, there was no point in revealing himself along with his knowledge during the severe beating and screaming Isaac had to endure, for his mother had already decided what happened: that her son had asphyxiated the cat. Why? For convenience, of course. She hated her son for resembling his father, and so, he was sentenced: Isaac was to be sent abroad to London at the age of eleven. That’s how much his mother despised him.
LJ had insisted Isaac try and blame him instead, just to prevent that outcome, but his mother did not care. She said: “Like a worthless worm like you would have any friends.”
And so, they promised that Isaac would return to him, and that they would try to rekindle their connection by any means. That Isaac would come back as many times as he could when holidays came.
He never did, probably because his mother didn’t want him to return. And soon after, Jack changed foster home.
As years passed, and as he kept on changing homes (if he could call them that, never connecting to these people), he tried to reach him in any way he could: making social accounts with easy names, trying to find Isaac himself, and so on. Nothing ever worked; his hopes waned, and so did their friendship. His despondency was born, and it grew like a tumor.
Thirteen years.
He has met amazing people who have become his friends and who support him. And yet, he cannot move on, because his mourning was for nothing: the deceased is still alive, and his extended suffering has been mocked. To make matters worse, he doesn't even know this man; he wants that little boy to return, the Isaac he once knew, but he won’t. But in a sense, that Isaac is actually dead, and so is his own younger version.
And so, he makes himself into a pitiful, sad burrito of a man with the sheets of his bed, uncaring for the smearing of his ruined makeup. Indeed, his appearance pairs well with how he feels.
He doesn’t want to get out of his house. What if he encounters him again (high probability, given that they’re now neighbors, thanks to Toby)? He has a very nasty temper, rare as it is; he could very well still fulfill his threat.
From his fortress of warmth and tears, he can see his vanity chair perfectly. He built it himself with Isaac in mind; they had dreamed of creating such a thing when they were children, when LJ had confessed his love for this aesthetic and Isaac had tallied with him. He made it, eager to show him when he came back.
He should wish to dismantle the entire thing with a hammer and break the pieces to splinters, just to avoid temptation to rebuild it. And yet, he would never bring himself to do it, because despite his cholera, that bone-chair is the living proof that this man still occupies a space in his life, and that he’s protecting this child’s memory in his heart.
He suddenly hears the lock of the front door. ‘Cursed the day I gave her a spare!’ He quickly covers himself with the sheets, evolving from sad burrito to anxious bun.
He hears footsteps approach rapidly and enter his bedroom. “Jack Lawrence! Get out from under there and give me signs of life, right now!” He hears Jill’s incensed voice behind him.
“No.” LJ grumbles, curling further into himself for good measure.
“I’ve been trying to contact you since yesterday! You’ve scared me, Jack!” He hears notes of anxiety in Jill’s voice.
LJ relents, only because he doesn’t want to keep being a cause for worry. He uncovers his face. Jill sighs, alleviated; she's dressed in a simpler attire today, wearing a short and tight Victorian dress in plain black, and her long hair in a braid. Her makeup is still clowney.
“Damn! Be grateful that I can’t see you, because I sure as hell can smell you.” From behind her, another form appears. “I think we should open a window. It smells like an animal circus in here.”
LJ’s face turns indignant, and he sits up. He gestures at his other friend, dressed as he usually is and with his cane, while looking at Jill with wide eyes. “You brought EJ along?!”
Jill looks at LJ pointedly. “Yes, so he may also put some sense into that hard head of yours. I know you’ll have it easier dissuading me, otherwise.” She goes to the window and opens it, as EJ suggested.
“Oh, my god…!” LJ complains. He’s so unready for this.
“I insisted, so don’t get angry with her.” EJ easily makes his way to the vanity chair and sits on it, while Jill returns to sit at the end of his bed. “So, that bad, huh?”
LJ grimaces, and rubs his eyes. “I’m not in the mood for this, EJ.”
“I obviously didn’t think you’d be. Toby wanted to visit, but you made him shit himself yesterday with your oppressive aura. And he’s not the kind to get easily spooked, mind you.” EJ rests his head on the back of his hand, elbow on the armrest. While he talks, Jill rummages in the tote bag she’s brought along. “You made everybody worry. We could leave you to simmer here, but that goes against our most basic principles as friends.”
“You should eat something and have a shower. Then we can talk.” Jill encourages him. “I could clean up while you’re busy in the bathroom.”
LJ huffs. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ve had enough mother figures for a lifetime.”
“Don’t be mean.” EJ warns in sinsong, with his forefinger lifted. “You’ll regret it afterwards, like you always do. Just consider it. I would; it sounds much better than suffocating, sweaty and dirty under the sheets…all alone.”
LJ wants to punch him, because he’s right. He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Sorry, Jilly. And thank you. I think it’s best if I shower first.”
Jill gives him a kind smile, grateful that he’s open to reasoning. ‘I should bring EJ whenever issues arise!’
LJ gets out of bed to get into the shower. In the bathroom, he quickly takes his hideous and ridiculous rainbow attire off, and throws it in the laundry basket, along with leaving the nose on the sink counter. He takes the micellar water and soaks a cotton pad with it; he makes quick work of ridding his face of most of the makeup. Once he gets in the shower, he gets rid of the rest by using a cleansing balm, and he cleans the rest of himself as usual, including washing his hair.
He already feels a little better.
As he’s doing his skincare, he’s interrupted by a knock. He peeks his head out, and EJ hands him a bunch of clothes picked by Jill. “We don’t want you scandalizing the lady’s eyes with that noodly body of yours.”
“You have none for me to scandalize.” LJ snorts. “Thank you.” He closes the door and checks the simple attire: a white dressing shirt, a black underbust male corset, black striped trousers, and his monochrome nose. He finishes dressing quickly.
When he gets out, his room smells considerably less stuffy, and more like fresh air and cotton candy (best air freshener, in his humble opinion). EJ is now laying on his remade bed, while Jill is preparing his makeup, knowing where everything is.
But before he can start with that, Jill shoves a tupper in his chest when he gets near. The message is clear; he rests the container on the vanity desk, goes for a fork and a glass of water, and he returns. He sits on the bone-chair and starts eating.
“So, could you explain to us what happened yesterday?” Jill asks, sitting herself beside EJ. She can still feel the echo of the shock he gave her.
LJ stabs some raviolis with his fork; the meat inside is sweet. “I saw red, is what happened. Got so mad that I couldn’t control it, so I came here to let it dissolve in a safe space.”
“But you haven’t calmed down yet, have you?” EJ scratches his ear with his little finger. “You wouldn’t have ignored us if you had.”
“Of course I haven’t. He lives here now!” LJ scowls in a way that should make the pasta scatter in fear, but it remains still.
“If you don’t want anything to do with him, you could always just ignore him.” EJ frowns. “Or is that the problem? That you can’t just ignore him?”
“Precisely.” LJ takes a moment to drink some water, then rests the glass back down. “And he might try to dissuade me again. What if I can’t contain myself and I end up in jail for strangling him mid street?”
“You could ask Toby to ask Mr. Holzer to bribe the police, rich as the man seemingly is. ‘It was an oopsie, daddy! UwU?’” EJ immediately breaks into laughter, almost falling off the bed.
LJ cannot help but crack a smile, and so does Jill. But he returns to seriousness quickly. “I really don’t want to see him around. I had already accepted that I would never see him again, and I resent him for what he’s done.”
Jill sighs. “Maybe you should just listen to what he has to say.” LJ snaps his head at her in disbelief. “He did say he could explain. What if he has good reasons, and you’re missing out on rekindling an old friendship because you’re hard-headed?”
“That doesn’t erase the fact that I’ve been waiting for him for a decade and some, Jill. Those years still hurt.” LJ puts the tupper aside, having emptied it as if he’d just vacuumed the contents; perks of ongoing hunger since the day before. “I don’t know who he is anymore. That’s not my friend; he’s grown, and we haven’t been a part of each other’s life. He could be the complete opposite of what I want in a friend.”
Jill tilts her head. “But you won’t find out if that’s true until you speak to him.”
LJ combs through his hair, scratching his scalp. “I’m not sure if I want that. I might find out that my childhood friend has become a piece of shit.” He rubs his eyes, then drags his hand down his face. “I don’t want the good memories to be tainted. It’s bad enough as it is.”
“Well, don’t you think it’s disrespectful to that memory not to complete your promise?” EJ interjects.
LJ frowns. “What do you mean? I’ve already tried to reach out to him many times.”
“But he’s back, perhaps with many good reasons for his radio silence. You are breaking that deal with your friend by refusing to at least listen. You’re shutting yourself in your box and acting like a coward.” EJ explains himself with a nonchalant tone.
“Maybe he just couldn’t reach you, or something else kept him from reaching out. Don’t you think your treatment is unfair?” Jill ads, matching LJ’s frown. “It would be hypocritical to claim that he’s been unfair, only for you to return that treatment out of fear and judgment. You can’t expect him to be perfect, Jacky. He seems to be trying, but you’re not letting him.”
LJ huffs forcefully and crosses his arms. “It’s hard to stand my ground while facing you both at the same time.”
Jill giggles. “That’s the point of bringing EJ along.” Her smile doesn’t vanish, but she does frown again. “Seriously, though, you should hear him out. Giving him the benefit of the doubt won’t dispel your own feelings; he’s hurt you, and he probably knows already. Depending on what he says, you can choose to forgive him or not, but you owe him and yourself that much.”
LJ remains silent, looking at his own feet.
“Come on, dude, you can do it. Just wait until next time you see him around, or ask Toby where he lives.” EJ encourages him too.
LJ closes his eyes. “Okay. Changing subject.” He lifts his gaze. “Did Hans say anything about my bailing out?”
“Nope.” Jill smooths her skirt. “He was busy with the show. When I told him what happened, he didn’t care in the slightest; he told me he hopes you get better.” She smiles warmly.
LJ grins. “That man is too kind for his own good.”
⦻
He knows he’s worrying Jeff, and feels guilty for it; this was supposed to be a battle of his own, no one else involved. He’s been in front of the laptop since he arrived yesterday, half biting his nails at the thought of what Jeff might’ve planned and done, half ignoring most of his necessities to get things done as quickly as possible because of paranoia. He knows Jeff will get angry at him again for this, but it’s not like he can bring himself to care right now.
It’s impossible that Matt Hubris’ presence here could’ve been a coincidence. Ben just feels in his bones that it’s not. ‘Was it Abel who sent him through ordering the Father? I wouldn’t put it past the man, given Alex’s description of him. If so, are they looking for B.E.N., for me, or both?’
Ben hopes that Jeff has miraculously found a way to help him, even if the chances are thin to nonexistent. And he hopes that, if they succeed, B.E.N. will no longer be what it once was by the time they reach him.
The A.I. itself has not improved much. It still pokes at him, tries to make him break, tries to scare him into submission. And yet, Ben has renewed hopes; he’s beginning to understand it better. He’s close to comprehending how to break it in return, how to make it dance his own waltz. Just the thought of achieving this fills him with excitement.
He hears knocking on his front door.
Feeling his heart go up his throat, and with very light steps, he walks to the door and looks quietly through the peephole: Jeff. He releases the air in his lungs and unlocks the door. Standing aside, he lets his friend in and locks it again.
In the gloom of the house (blinds closed, curtains drawn) and with few lights on, Jeff assesses Ben, and is not fond of what he sees; he has not changed clothes since yesterday. His hair is disheveled, probably because he combed through it many times in calming attempts. His face is pale, eyes red and puffy, both from staring at a screen for too long and weeping. His lips are chapped from lack of hydration and constant biting. He has humid streaks on his cheeks.
Jeff wants to cry in order to accompany him in his pain as best as he can, to scream at him to stop abandoning himself like this. But he doesn’t. “I did as I promised. You don’t have to run anymore.” He reveals, jaw tense. “I had to tell EJ and Toby, along with the one that will be helping you. None of them will tell. But…” He looks to the side, trying to contain his emotions. “...could you please eat something and wash your face before we talk?”
Ben looks down at Jeff’s white hoodie, but not really looking. He has that vacant stare. “I d-don't want to wash it. I…” His voice sounds raspy from lack of use and dehydration. He cringes, fisting his hands uncomfortably. “...I don’t want to be anywhere near water right now.” He looks up at Jeff hesitantly.
Jeff is looking back at him, still looking conflicted. “Okay. Could you do the other thing, then?”
Ben nods, and goes past Jeff, into the kitchen. Jeff follows him without rush, and finds him rummaging his fridge and cabinets. Ben tilts his head at a can of something he’s holding. “Uh…” He covers his eyes with his left hand, and trembles. “...I r-really am a mess, huh?” He puts it on the counter, letting it slip from his grasp; it falls loudly on the marble.
Jeff approaches from behind and squeezes his shoulder. “I brought something. Don’t cry.” He turns Ben around carefully, and lets him sob. Ben holds onto him like a child who’s never been comforted, like somebody who has been strong for too long. Sympathy is not something Jeff wants to be feeling right now, but he can’t help it.
Ben wails, wetting his face anew. “I can’t—I can’t breathe—!”
“You’re breathing too fast and too little.” Jeff holds his nape with his left hand, and pats his back with the other. “You won’t suffocate, I promise; you’ll feel dizzy, at most. Try to breathe slowly.” He feels Ben hold onto him from his back, hands fisted on his hoodie. The blonde keeps bawling, clearly having difficulties to follow his instructions. “Don’t think, Ben. Just focus on breathing.”
After a few minutes, Ben finally calms down. “...I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Jeff keeps rubbing his back, aware of his own tears. “You did nothing wrong. You’re doing just fine.” He can’t do this; he has to comfort Ben, not wallow along. “Come on. Aren’t you curious about what I have to tell you?” Ben lifts his head, and freezes momentarily at seeing his face. He can see the guilt in his eyes. “I’m fine, really. Don’t shut yourself in again.”
‘Is that what I’ve done?’ Ben looks to the side, taken aback by that statement. “Okay, y-yeah. I won’t.”
Ben sits down, and Jeff offers him the burger he had in his pouch. Ben’s eyes widen immediately at the sight he finds when unwrapping the aluminum paper, and Jeff can’t help but chuckle. “Not the healthiest option, but the best I could get my hands on.”
Jeff has been working in the morning, hence why he didn’t come earlier. Is Ben that bad as a friend? He’s so focused on his issues, that he only now realizes that Jeff probably has his own? And judging by his peculiar scars, they surely are far worse than his. He really is egocentric.
Ben bites the burger, feeling the faucet behind his eyes being opened again. Jeff ruffles his hair, and sits down beside him. “What are you ruminating on now?”
Ben chews and swallows, then answers. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been here for you as you have for me.”
Jeff’s carefree mask cracks a little bit again. “You’ve been scared shitless. How could you be?”
Ben lowers his food with a frown. “I don’t know what troubles you, but I’m sure your life is not a walk in the park, yet here you are. You’ve been like this since the beginning, while I only avoided you.”
Jeff frowns, still wearing a smile. “It’s not like I’ve let you in on my things.”
Ben tenses his jaw. “I didn’t ask, either.”
“...I suppose that I owe you, since I pretty much forced you to tell me.” Jeff looks to the wall on his right. “I apologize for that.”
Ben fiddles with the aluminum paper. “You know, I don’t feel like I have anything to forgive you for.” Jeff snaps his eyes to him. He sighs. “I’m still not happy that you’re reckless like that, but I’m not angry at you.”
Jeff looks as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. His smile turns sad, but grateful.
It’s not long until Ben finishes his burger (famished that he was, and without drinking anything; surprising that he didn’t choke). He throws the crumpled aluminum in the trash can, and guides Jeff into his bedroom.
Ben freezes; B.E.N. has been active all this time. It could’ve heard them both, if it managed to unblock the microphone. ‘But would it be that bad if it had?’ He thinks, remembering that it can’t do anything with that information, and that he could just delete it once he’s altered it. He gestures to his bed for Jeff to sit on, while he takes the chair again. He mutes the laptop before focusing on his friend.
Jeff doesn’t waste any time. “I found out thanks to EJ that Toby’s boss is…” How could he put it? “...influential. He’s the dude that sold us our houses, this Holzer guy.” He knows this is not very assuring. “He told me that if you doubt my words, you should visit him. He lives in the house behind mine, closer to the woods. And…” He chuckles, still confused. “...he told me to tell you that you are ‘slaves to similar issues’, as his exact words were.”
Ben frowns. Then, his eyes turn wide as plates. “Could he also know something about my cult?”
Jeff shrugs. “I have no idea. He did seem particularly interested when I mentioned it to him, but other than that, it’s beyond me.” He chuckles again, fiddling with his hair.
Ben blinks, processing this information. “Okay. I guess I’ll visit him; better than nothing.” He turns to his laptop, to it. “...The reason I was so insistent on buying your laptop is because, apart from me being in an unknown time crunch and scared of being localized when buying another one, I thought it wouldn’t live much longer by the time I’m done with it.”
“...Oh.” Jeff blinks.
“Let me explain: the cult I’m hiding from, called the Moon Children, is associated with a powerful I.T. corporation. The cult head tried to drown me when I was a child, but I managed to escape with their most important project, which is an A.I. stored in the cartridge.” Ben points to the Majora’s Mask game inserted on the Nintendo 64.
Jeff begins to connect the dots in his head: Ben’s fear of water, the hurry to attend to the cartridge, his strange behavior the first time at his house, and his panic and his determination to get out of here.
“This cult exists because of the belief that the moon is a goddess named Luna, who will crash with earth on the Apocalipse day due to humanity’s misdeeds. The only way to survive, given how corrupted we are as a species, is through ‘ascension’: the members are killed via rituals and their souls live on for eternity in virtual words.” Ben pauses when he sees Jeff’s expression of utter disbelief and disquietude. “Since they’re not very popular in their beliefs, they often resort to illegal means to gain members. Remember when you told me that cults prey on weak people?” Jeff nods. “That was easy since I was a child, a naïve and lonely one; they used another child to lure me in, and he told me that I could become Link if I joined them.” He rubs his face. “So I did. And after they had me secured, they killed my parents by setting our house on fire, making it look as if they’d committed suicide because of my disappearance.”
Jeff’s face becomes one of utter horror; he remembers Ben’s warnings of their tricks, and his own experience on the matter. ‘No wonder you're so reserved. Lost your family and almost got killed due to naïvety.’
“They taught me their teachings for four years and tried to kill me on the day of my twelfth birthday, as the supposed ritual required. The Father, who ran the cult and was supposedly a prophet for having Luna whisper to him, tried to drown me in the ceremonial pool, single-handedly, and—”
Idiot had slipped while trying to kill him and hit his head on the pool corner; pure dumb luck that kept Ben alive. He got out of the pool with aching lungs and pushed him in with a kick while he remained unconscious, using the little strength his tiny body had to spare after the ordeal. He found the cartridge on the floor after The Father’s body fell in the water, as it had fallen from his pocket.
Ben chuckles, but he doesn’t look happy. “I might’ve killed him back then, Jeff.”
Jeff purses his lips. “Can’t say I’m worried you might have; fucker deserved it. I hope you did, to be honest.”
“I don’t think I did. I would’ve found out through their webpage forums, celebrating his ascension through posts. Or that’s what I think they would do.” Ben sags down in his chair. “The dude I saw yesterday is the child that tried to lure me in back then.”
“That Hubris guy?” Jeff crosses his legs. “This is a vacation spot. He might’ve been visiting.”
Ben shakes his head. “None of the cult members do anything outside of the cult, and I have good reasons to think they could’ve sniffed my trail. He might not be a threat on his own, but he’s backed up by that whole organization. He’s a good manipulator too. I don’t want to be near him ever again.” He looks at the laptop again. “Now, about the A.I.: ‘Behavioral Event Network’ is an artificial intelligence created with the purpose of being released into the internet to hack into accounts of all sorts, along with infecting devices with viruses, and handing all the retrieved information back to Xavious Solutions Corporation, the I.T. corporation funding the cult, and its Eternity Project group, which created the A.I., more specifically.”
“And why would they put it in a cartridge?” Jeff halts him with a lifted hand. “Wouldn’t it be best to keep it close and launch it when they think it best?”
Ben shakes his head again. “B.E.N. was homed into ‘World Alpha’, the cartridge, with the intention of being sold inconspicuously at a flea market, for it to ‘haunt’ the owner and be set free at a convenient time. The modus operandi would deflect the blame of the consequences of its release. Such a thing could destroy the internet and wreak havoc if it were to be set free, and I’m not exaggerating. It would also result in spreading the belief that a spirit managed ascension, which would attract more people into the cult.” He turns back to the laptop. “ I have to reprogram the A.I. into something I can use against them.” He looks at Jeff again from the corner of his eye, looking amused. “They named it after me.”
Jeff puffs his lips in laughter. “I did think it a coincidence that the acronym sounds just like your name. Wasn’t your name on the cartridge, then?”
“No.” Ben laughs along. “I’m not happy to share names with such an annoying program.” He looks at the laptop screen derisively, messages still popping up on it.
“Does it try to communicate with you?” Jeff leans forward to get a better view of the screen.
Ben makes a face. “Yes, and it’s very rude; always demanding things and threatening at the littlest inconvenience. But none of that matters, since the internet is turned off. It cannot pass through.” He takes the mouse and starts closing the pop-ups. “It did take a photo of us from the first time I visited, because the webcam was accessible and bare.”
Jeff remembers the way Ben slammed the laptop shut. “How nostalgic. Do ask it to give you the photo so that we can print it.” He sneers.
Ben pulls his lips to a fine line. “You don’t want that photo; it warped it up severely. It looks like something out of an urban legend copy-pasta.” It appears between the many piled-up windows. “See what I mean?”
Jeff analyzes the picture, and makes an unimpressed expression; they look cartoonish and stretched, an artwork a child would use for their story, still in process of improving their skills. “Same quality as a low-grade copy-pasta, too. I bet I could make a better version, and I draw so poorly you’d think I do it with the crayon between my buttcheeks.”
Ben snorts. “Anyway.” He turns his chair around to face Jeff directly once more. “What about you?”
Jeff flops down on the bed. “Been in a psychiatric ward since I was thirteen. I killed my parents and two neighbors during a psychotic breakdown.”
Ben averts his gaze. “How did that happen? Was it prompted?”
Jeff laughs, but it sounds resentful. “Oh, it was prompted, alright.” He explains from the very beginning, as he did the others; without getting into too much detail.
Ben is thoroughly shocked when he’s finished. “God, I’m so sorry. Some people really shouldn’t have kids.” He’s indignant in Jeff’s stead.
Jeff shrugs tensely. “It’s not only what they did, but that happened altogether in a short amount of time, and how it triggered that psychotic breakdown. They kept me in the ward because of severe depression and anxiety, along with agoraphobia. I would get violent and say nonsense when something stressed me out.” He draws patterns on his hoodie with his forefinger.
“And what about…?” Ben starts, but doesn’t get to finish.
“I’d rather leave that as it is. I don’t know if I’ll ever do something about them, or keep things as they are. I feel as ready as I did when I was still there, which is: not even a little bit.” Jeff takes the little Zelda plushie beside him and squishes it against his chest. “I shat my pants when both you and EJ came by for the first time. I thought…”
Ben stands from his seat and flops down beside Jeff, upside down. “Do you feel guilty?”
Jeff grimaces, and Ben hums. “Ah, changing topic. Do you know what happened when I left you here and went back to the others?” He first explains the situation with LJ, and then the one with the little girl.
Not only is Ben shocked again, but also thoroughly disgusted. “So it was Smile who noticed first, then Natalie, and then the rest of you?” He inquires as Jeff fiddles with the plushy.
“Yep. She was the most affected by it.” Jeff makes a sullen face, having his suspicions.
⦻
“Thank you.” Natalie accepts the chamomile tea, careful not to drop the expensive-looking china; her hands are shaky. Still standing, Dina puts a plate of pastries on the little coffee table in front of her, having brought her own tea and Helen’s hot chocolate already. She then sits down beside Natalie on the sofa, to her left.
In front of them, in his own world, Helen is busy painting, not paying them much attention. Still, watching him paint brings Natalie a sense of tranquility, despite the clearly disturbing nature of the finished product that the process is promising.
“Helen is a very talented painter. His fans and clientele are of very particular tastes, much like the creator.” Dina explains with a smile, having noticed the objective of Natalie’s stare. “Some of his pieces have even inspired horror stories. Do you have any hobbies, Natalie?”
Natalie has her head tilted to admire the rest of the paintings hung around in the living room; most of them are grotesque, but they don’t disturb her. She locks her hazel stare with Dina’s black one. “Um, I did enjoy drawing back in the day. Nothing remotely as skillful, though. Mostly pencil and pen drawings in a notebook.”
“A doodle may lack skill, but could have much more meaning than a realistic painting which requires advanced skill.” Helen continues painting as he speaks, voice surgically precise; it’s clear, crisp and pleasant. “That you didn’t use expensive materials to create it means nothing. All that matters is that it meant something to you.”
‘What a disinterested-sounding way of lifting someone up.’ Natalie blinks, but finds his input useful. “You’re right.” She sips from her cup, then turns to Dina. “And what do you do?”
“I’m a model for various known companies.” Dina smiles, and Natalie widens her eyes. “Being born with a never-seen-before ocular mutation has its perks, along with its disadvantages.”
Natalie understands how such a characteristic could be exploited, since those enterprises often take in people with heterochromia, vitiligo, albinism, melanism, and so on. Furthermore, Dina is right: she has never seen anybody with such eyes before. “Forgive me if I’m too invasive with this question, but is your eyesight okay?” She has the courage to ask.
“Yes; in fact, medical tests show that I see double the better than the average person.” Dina doesn’t seem bothered by her question, given her quick explanation. “Doctors don’t know what caused it.”
Natalie nods, impressed. “I can see that you’re both well-off.” Their house is two stories big, and is filled with fancy decorations and hobby-related things; her assumption is not a far stretch. “Why would you choose this place to live, instead of somewhere else?”
Dina gives her a soft smile, crossing her legs; her eyes shine cleverly. “For the same reason everybody else has, including you.”
Natalie swallows. She could deny it; tell her that she’s come here because she wants to have a quiet life and loves being surrounded by nature. But she saw her cry in that supermarket, and so did Helen. It would be useless to lie.
“What brought us here is not money, but our desire to live far away from our pasts and this judgmental world.” Dina continues, reaching for her own cup. “Helen works as a painter because it’s his passion, and the only reason I work as a model is to mock those who deem me a monster. We don’t care that much about money, although I won’t deny that it makes life far easier.” She drinks her tea, and tells Natalie about their stories.
Helen suffered bullying in school and emotional neglect from his parents, while she was severely isolated by her father in his mansion, ashamed as he was of her appearance. Helen doesn’t make an input, which Natalie interprets as him being comfortable with the disclosure, since Dina is only explaining their pasts lightly.
She can relate to them both. Even if Dina’s eyes are shocking at first glance, Natalie knows she’s another human being worthy of respect. But all it takes to be mocked is to be different, too different, in a way that is not fashionable, profitable, on trend or appealing. “I’m sorry that anybody would think that of you. I think you’re very beautiful.” She looks down to the plate of pastries. “If anything, those who’ve harmed you are the monsters.”
Dina rests her cup on the low table while looking at her. “I’ve become aware of my beauty with time, but I suspect that you’re not yet aware of yours.”
Natalie lifts her head. “P-pardon?”
Dina leans forward, and takes a book from under the table. “Have you ever seen Greek marble statues? I’m sure you have.” She opens the book, and shows her various different pictures. “They had rounder bellies and smaller breasts. Round faces, with soft jaws.” She turns the page, and Natalie freezes. “This one statue has tummy rolls. She’s a goddess.” She swiftly closes the book with a thud and returns it to its spot. “Beauty, just like art, is subjective. That an entire society, or a brand, or some individuals tell you that you’re not appealing to them because of this or that shouldn’t be your problem. Their opinion has tainted your perception of self-worth, because they’ve told you that their tastes are facts. You label yourself ugly because you’re looking through their lens, but many have been in your situation and were able to change their warped perceptions, and so can you.”
Natalie just stares at her, remembering her evening talks with Jeff about self-care and low self-esteem. Jeff is not as ugly as he perceives himself to be; scarred, sure, but not unpleasant by any means, and she would even dare say that his appearance has a certain charm to it. He’s working towards accepting himself, even if he might never achieve to love his face. Dina has already understood that she’s beautiful despite her weird attributes, but Natalie doesn’t doubt that she’s had her struggles and still has doubts sometimes.
And Dina has seen through her. She understood what she was going through at the store, perceptive as she is. Perhaps she’d been analyzing her for longer than Natalie noticed.
She looks down to her cup, hands trembling. Is she really not as revolting as she thinks? Were what her family, what her previous environment told her, just lies?
But she thinks Toby is beautiful. She thinks that Jeff is beautiful. Smile, Ben, LJ, Jill, EJ, Dina, Helen, all of them are beautiful, even if they look nothing alike amongst themselves. Never once did she think any of them disgusting in the slightest.
There’s still hope.
Natalie feels her cup being lifted from her lap, and hears the porcelain being rested on wood. Then, warm hands cup her face, and black eyes flood her sight. “You will suffer. It will keep hurting, but there will be times when it doesn’t. You will begin to feel fulfilling happiness, even if in small amounts. You will break down sometimes, but that doesn’t equate to losing progress.” Dina caresses her face, wiping her tears. “You will accept yourself, little by little, and you will learn that you deserve love and respect, even if you still dislike certain parts of your body and mind. You will be able to cut weeds with no regard for their attempts at withering your garden. But you must encourage yourself.”
Natalie holds onto the wrists that are connected to the hands which comfort her this very moment. She sees herself in the eyes fixated on her, a clear mirror of her current sorrow. The woman in front of her is Natalie’s wish to live embodied, the need to bloom and evolve into something greater, in order to live a life worth living.
An angel that has judged her worthy of joy.
As Natalie grimaces, letting her anguish spill out, she feels the kiss of the angel on her forehead, as well as the painter’s gaze observing their interaction. She lets herself be surrounded by feathery wings, a pure white that cocoons her in warmth and light.
⦻
“It’s done.” Toby announces as soon as he flops down on the couch. He lowers his striped mouthguard and lifts his orange ski goggles. He sniffs his nose, leans back and rests his hands on the armrests.
Mr. Holzer reads the written report that Toby just handled him. He eyes his employee. “I assume you encountered no major inconveniences to achieve these results.” Toby shakes his head. “Do you believe your work is faulty?”
Toby shakes his head again, smirking. “We did a clean job. If it were to—” He whines. “—be found, it wouldn’t be of significance.” He coughs.
Mr. Holzer looks to the side and puts the folder away to be disposed of later. “Does this kind of work disturb you, Tobias?”
Toby raises an eyebrow. He can feel a tic in his right eye, which is followed by the twitch of his mouth. “It’s not like I’ve done it this time, I was just the guide. You’ll have the biggest role in it.”
Mr. Holzer locks eyes with him again. He tilts his head, crosses his legs and interlaces his fingers. “Would you say deception is guidance, Tobias?” Toby’s smug grin widens. “I did not think you would have it in you to be this pleased with yourself for such achievements.”
Despite Mr. Holzer’s lack of expression, Toby knows he’s amused. “My father didn’t call me ‘little fucker’ for nothing.” He relaxes his smile, and jerks his head. “And I didn’t think you had it in you to order me to do that, since this— meow —has nothing to do with you.”
“On the contrary; the last thing I wish is for this place to be invaded by such pests.” Mr. Holzer rests his chin on the back of his hand. “But do answer my question properly; does this kind of work disturb you? Other instances have been more complex than this one, by far.”
Toby frowns, keeping his smile. “It doesn’t. Would it matter if it did, anyway?” He squints his eyes. “Don’t want—” He whimpers. “—your pawns to break, Mr. Holzer?” He testes his employer’s boundaries.
Something flashes in Mr. Holzer’s eyes. He doesn’t chastise Toby, nor does he seem fazed. “Should I worry about your fragility, Tobias? Has my pawn , as you put it, reached his limit?”
Toby scoffs. “I’m far from reaching my limit.” He blinks repeatedly.
“And yet, each time we see each other, you seem all the more fatigued.” Mr. Holzer turns his head left, to look nowhere in particular. “Sometimes, I wonder about my morality. About what I have built.”
“Is it you that you’re doubting instead of me, Mr. Holzer?” Toby’s smile is losing strength.
“It might be so. Although I would not call it doubt, but self-reflection.” Mr. Holzer keeps his eyes unfocused. “Could it be that Mr. Ross is right? Have I doomed Kate to a life of risk?”
Toby leans forward, interlacing his fingers. “I think she’s old enough to decide her course of life on her own. To take that decision from her would be to infantilize her as much as that guy did.” He shrugs his shoulders involuntarily.
“Is that so?” Mr. Holzer responds, still staring far away. “Or could it be that her vulnerable situation was to my advantage?”
“Mr. Holzer.” Toby scowls. His employer looks at him sideways, still not turning his head. “You haven’t manipulated her; she chose to work for you because you offered her a good opportunity. Why are you ruminating—” He clicks his tongue. “—on what that rat thinks of you, when he’s the one that tried to manipulate her?”
Mr. Holzer’s gaze becomes lost again. “It does not matter what he thinks.” He lowers the hand that supports his chin, and looks to the front. “What matters is that I have promises to keep, and responsibilities that I have thrown over my shoulders.” He stands up and approaches the wall of windows to Toby’s right. He looks outside, to the woods; he stands there, arms to his sides, just observing the trees. “Ich bin so müde… [I’m so tired…]” He murmurs to himself. He looks to his right, following a group of crows that took flight; the sun is setting, and as cloudy as it is, the ambience is gloomy. “I have considered moving far away, when my work here is over.”
Toby fists his hands. The nails that bury in his palms have no effect whatsoever in calming him down; they feel like nothing as they pierce his skin. “You can’t do that.” He grits his teeth.
“I cannot now.” Mr. Holzer looks around, still appreciating the scenery. “But maybe, when my promises are fulfilled, and the time is appropriate—”
“YOU CAN’T DO THAT!” Toby yells in a dry scream, teeth bared.
The sudden burst of emotion takes Mr. Holzer off guard; strangely, it reminds him of the time he found him, a seventeen-year-old teenage boy, punching the living daylights out of his father, and snarling curses and reproaches while his mother tried to take him off of her then husband. He turns around with a stunned air. “Tobias?”
Toby stops stabbing his palms with his nails and holds onto the armrests of the couch tightly, knuckles white. He jerks his head. “You can’t abandon us!”
Another man would’ve raised an eyebrow, frowned, downturned his mouth. Mr. Holzer does nothing. “There is no need for you to worry. I understand your situation, and I have no intention of leaving you vulnerable. I would still own this place and have you under my employ doing minor tasks, so that you may keep taking care of yourself. I shall do the same with your peers.”
“No!” Toby growls, eyes as wide as a cornered cougar’s. “I don’t care about that. Don’t you— meow —get it? I want you to stay!”
Mr. Holzer tilts his head. “I am afraid I do not follow.”
“I’ve done—” Toby whimpers. “—your dirty work! You’ve done those things by proxy! I’m your proxy!” He snarls, gesticulating anxiously. “I could’ve gone by without working, as you’ve fucking offered many times, and I—” He clicks his tongue. “—still decided to do it!” He looks at Mr. Holzer with wide, infuriated eyes. “Why the fuck do you think I did it?”
Mr. Holzer’s eyes flash a warning at his foul vocabulary. “Tobias—”
“No!” Toby suddenly stands up, bares his teeth. “The only reason I’m still alive is you!”
Mr. Holzer blinks, taken aback by that yelled confession.
“You helped me when I beat—” Toby whimpers again. He paces around the room, scratching at his arms. “—my father up, and you helped me kick him out of our lives! If it wasn’t for your help, I could’ve died—” He squeaks. “—much sooner because of the littlest thing I can’t feel! I would’ve died because I was suffocating, and you brought me to a good therapist! I would’ve— meow —set the entire place on fire and killed myself right after killing that good-for-nothing asshole, if it weren’t for your intervention!” He laughs dryly. “And now you’re going to abandon me? Abandon all the people you’ve helped just like me?”
Mr. Holzer has not moved an inch. “I have no connection to most of these people.”
Toby halts his steps. He tilts his head and smiles wearily at his boss. “Yes, you do. You know their background and accepted them here. You’ve— meow —given them a new beginning, a new family, a new environment. A sense of rapport that keeps on growing each day!” He sniffs. “You’ve helped them all, even if they might never learn of it!”
“I helped them solely for my own benefit.” Mr. Holzer reasons. “Even if what you say held truth, I should not stay here for far too long—”
“Just what are you running from?!” Toby yells once more, cutting Mr. Holzer off again while gesticulating harshly with his hands. “You have everybody tailing the cult’s every move! Why would you hide—?” He freezes, a minuscule ounce of realization hitting him like a truck. He might not know it all, but this is enough to shock him. “Wait. Wait, wait—!”
“Tobias Erin Rogers.” Mark Holzer pins him down with his glare, aura turning menacing and dark. “Know your place.”
Toby’s mind is hazy. He feels dizzy, faint, nauseated. “This is personal, isn’t it?” He asks with a tremulous voice, even though he knows he won’t get an answer.
“That is not your concern.” Mr. Holzer simply says.
“But it is.” Tobias feels the tears fall. Through his blurry sight, he sees Mr. Holzer’s form tense. “I lost her. I don’t want to lose you, too.” He grimaces, teeth gritted, and closes his eyes tight.
Mr. Holzer widens his eyes slightly. He’s hesitant; it’s been long since he last saw Toby so upset.
“I can feel pain. I can! I feel it whenever I remember her!” Toby covers his face with one hand. His statements resound like reminders of a humanity that is often disregarded by himself. “And I’m feeling it now!” He turns to leave.
“Tobias. Toby—” Mark hears his front door slam shut. One of the few times he’s ignored his command, and he lets him.
⦻
Natalie walks back to her house, feeling a small smile tug at the corners of her lips. She hopes she manages to befriend Dina further, although it already feels like a friendship. She’s not so sure about Helen, since the man is very reserved and of few words, but she’d like to try.
She takes the chance, now that she’s chosen a longer path to her house, and takes her phone out. It rings, then she’s answered. “Hey, Nat. How did it go?” She hears Jeff’s voice.
“They were very nice. Dina has uplifted me like you often do; she also has a keen eye for these things.” Natalie giggles. “What about you? How is Ben?”
“I’m here!” She hears Ben, to her surprise. “I feel much better now; we’re planning on pulling an all-nighter sometime this week, if you’re up for it? No need to confirm yet.” She hears shuffling. “Jeff, you dumbass, stop playing with the A.I.!”
She hears Jeff’s classic evil cackle. “It’s saying it loves you! How romantic! Oops—!” She hears a dry, light thump; she’s pretty sure Jeff has just been wacked in the head by Ben. She has no idea what they’re talking about, but she’s happy that they sound so relaxed; they both seemed tired yesterday.
“Anyway, I hope you consider it.” Ben returns to her. “No pressure; we’ll probably repeat it if it goes well.”
Natalie looks to the front. “I will…” And freezes.
“Natalie? Is something wrong?” Ben asks her as he notices her unnatural quietness, and she hears Jeff stop fiddling with whatever he’s touching.
“...It’s Toby. He’s sitting on a bench…I think he’s crying.” Natalie feels very sad all of a sudden. She has to do something about it. “I’ll go check on him. I’ll update you guys later.”
“Okay, goodbye!” She hears Ben say with a worried tone.
She hangs the phone and pockets it, and approaches the weeping man. It’s clearly Toby: this man has the same wild hair, the same striped hoodie she’s seen him wear before, and the same scarred hands which are now irritated red and which he’s covering his face with.
She gets close with gentle but audible steps. “Toby?”
He tenses up, and without moving to look at her, she receives an answer. “...N-Natalie?”
Chapter Text
Sunday.
His hands lower from his face; Toby’s eyes stare at her, wide, bloodshot and devoid of any light. His eyelashes and cheeks are damp, and his skin looks even paler than usual. It’s also apparent that he’s been chewing the corner of his mouth, for the scar is bleeding and his teeth are stained red. He’s twitching due to how his tics have been affected by nervousness.
“What’s wrong?” Natalie blurts out without thinking, keeping her tone delicate. Her arms are itching to comfort him, vulnerable as he looks, but Toby might not appreciate that.
Toby pulls his lips into a fine line, at a loss of what to tell her; he’s already been caught being a freak.
Sensing his contrition, Natalie steps closer, absentmindedly lifting a hand to assess the damage he’s done on his cheek. She realizes what she was about to do, and lowers her hand. Again, Toby might not appreciate her taking any liberties. She swallows; she doesn’t know how to help him.
‘He’ll get angry at me because I’m of no use. He won’t wish to see my face again. He’ll resent me, rightfully so—’ She cuts her train of thought. This is not about her, but about helping him. She won’t be of any use to him if she just stands here, fidgeting in constant doubt and making him feel worse for it. And if she doesn’t know how to help him, that’s fine; she’s not a guesser. She can simply ask him. “Would you prefer I let you be?” She hopes he doesn’t; leaving him alone in this state wouldn’t sit well with her.
Toby stares at her. He blinks repeatedly, and lowers his eyes, pensive. “...No.” His voice is raspy and trembling from sobbing.
Natalie considers, pushing aside the pleased feeling his response evoked. “Would you like for us to stay here?”
Toby gives her a little shake of the head. If his horrible luck continues, he might encounter more acquaintances or strangers here, where he thought nobody would bother him.
Natalie nibbles at her lower lip, looking around, trying to come up with a plan. “Where would you like to go? We could go to your house, or mine, or somewhere else…”
Toby tenses again, remembering the physical memories his house contains. He doesn’t want to see them. “...Yours.” He answers quickly while jerking his head.
She reaches out, offering him her hand. He accepts it, but cringes when they make skin contact; his hand is wet with tears, and his knuckles are bitten raw. He makes a little jerking motion backwards, regretting his decision and feeling inadequate, but Natalie curls her fingers around it. Too late to backtrack now.
He stands up sheepishly, not daring to move a single one of his fingers while his hand is in her grasp. Once he’s steady on his feet, they start walking the little distance left to her house.
Natalie keeps his right hand in her left, and puts her free hand delicately on his arm. She makes sure not to graze the wounds of his knuckles with her fingers. From the corner of her eye, she notices that Toby has shaken his head; when she turns around, she finds his hair hiding his face, hood pulled farther to the front, and head low.
He’s withdrawn, timid. Not at all the man she joked with yesterday, but it’s Toby all the same; nobody behaves the same every hour of every day. She lightly squeezes his bicep, accepting his desire to avoid her gaze; she knows how scathing it can be when one is low on defenses.
“...Why did you take this path?” Toby blurts out of curiosity, voice low. “It’ll take longer to get to your house.” He coughs.
Natalie looks down to the passing pavement. “I felt like having a walk. It’s more comfortable when barely nobody is around.” She unconsciously rubs Toby’s arm, up and down, gently. “It’s a very nice place. Clean and full of greenery.”
“I’m sorry I ruined your walk.” She sees Toby purse his lips; he clicks his tongue.
Natalie blinks. “You didn’t. I’m glad that I found you, actually.” She answers plainly. Toby lifts his head just barely. “We’re friends, aren’t we? We’re supposed to help each other.”
Toby puts his free hand inside his hoodie pouch. “I don’t want to burden you.” He shrugs.
Funny how they both seem to feel that way when problems arise. And funny how it’s obviously preposterous when the other person admits it, but it’s so very real when one feels it.
Natalie sighs with a smile. “You’re not a burden. I’m doing this happily.” Jeff and Ben come to her mind; what she’s doing is not different. “We can think about it the other way around: friends are to be burdened, so that when they have their own problems to share and be comforted for, they may burden you back.”
“Hm.” Toby lowers his head again, not entirely convinced about the ‘I can bother them too’ part. He clears his throat.
It doesn’t take long until they reach her house. Natalie releases him to unlock the door, and she lets him in first. Toby doesn’t look around much when he enters; he simply waits there for Natalie to lock the door anew and decide what to do with his shaggy self of a nuisance.
She passes by him and retakes his hand, a silent sign to follow. Toby heeds her request gingerly, and she guides him to the living room. To the sofa, more specifically. Another silent request comes: Toby sits carefully, as if the weight of his being would make the furniture crumble. He even looks down to make sure it’s not already showing signs of distress at their imminent contact, but the sofa remains unliving.
“Um…” He hears Natalie above him, as she still stands. He doesn’t lift his gaze. “...may I disinfect your wounds?”
Toby doesn’t have it in him to deny her the gesture. “Sure.” He concedes demurely, and sniffs.
Natalie quickly turns to go somewhere in the house (which layout he knows; it has the same as many others in this neighborhood), probably the bathroom.
He keeps his posture hunched and fiddles with his fingers: flick his forefinger on his thumb’s nail, crack his finger joints, drag his nails through his pads. He observes the lifted dead skin that surrounds the areas where the dermis has been exposed by his teeth, and reins in the desire to grab it and pull. It’s not like any of that hurts him in any capacity.
And yet, despite this relative advantage, he couldn’t reach out and save her.
He hears Natalie’s footsteps approach, so he doesn’t let himself get tangled in those thoughts. She sits to his right, putting the things she’s brought beside her. In his field of view that is reduced by his untamed hair, he sees her hand reach for his own with the palm up, requesting quietly again. He gives her what she wants, and she gets to work; she takes a chlorhexidine solution and pours a little of the bottle’s liquid onto a gauze pad, and she dabs the wet cloth over his knuckles.
Natalie repeats the process with another pad on his other hand, with the same amount of gentleness. She holds him carefully, making sure not to be rough with her treatment. She knows she won’t hurt him, and neither will any antiseptic sting him. She’s not doing it out of forgetfulness, but because she doesn’t want to be a brute in any way, despite him remaining unfazed if she were to act so. She wants to treat him with the same care she would treat anybody else, and how she would like to be treated in his place.
Finally, she takes one last wet gauze, and lifts her hand. “I know you don’t want to look me in the eye right now, but I have to treat your cheek.” She requests apologetically.
Toby waits until the tic in his left eye has subsided and turns to her, resting his hands awkwardly on his lap. He doesn’t yet straighten his posture. He fixes his stare somewhere behind her, and swallows.
From the corner of his eye, he sees her lift her left hand. She tucks his hair behind his ear, exposing his left profile.
His hair is soft and thick, gliding on her fingers rebelliously, but still conceding. The locks rest reluctantly where Natalie imprisons them, and she’s sure it won’t take long before they manage to break free. She leans closer, lowering her left hand and lifting her right one, and she dabs at his cheek with utmost care. She cannot help but steal glances at him when she’s absolutely sure he’s not looking.
His eyebrows are dark and well filled. His eyelashes are long and abundant. His eyes are the same warm cocoa as she remembers, now glinting with a little more light. He has quite evident, dark under-eye circles; whether these are from tiredness or genetics, or both, she doesn’t know. His nose, adorned with a horseshoe silver septum ring, has a slight rosy hue now. His lips, fine and dark, are also adorned with silver rings.
She’s still curious about how his beard might feel, and she can detect his particular scent even more clearly up close.
And Toby knows she’s stealing glances at him, but it’s so obvious that she’s trying to be stealthy that it’s actually kind of funny. Not enough to warrant a smile, though. He feels like shit, and he’s even controlling his breathing; he doesn't want to inhale or exhale too loudly, now that she’s so close. And he’s suppressing his tics, self-conscious as he currently feels.
He does return the assessment, more discreet than she believes herself to be. Admittedly, she has her head slightly turned to him, since her left eye is of no use and she can only trust her right one, which gives him advantage on his observations.
She has a slight furrow of her brows as she disinfects him. The aforementioned have a soft appearance, with a gentle shape and tone. Her eyelashes are the same color as her hair, and make her eyes look even bigger. Her right eye is chestnut with green strokes, while her left one looks a vivid blind green. Her nose is a bit perky, and her small lips are pursed in concentration.
She finishes, but her eyebrow muscles don’t relax. She stares at him. “Are you suppressing your tics?” Toby’s immediate guilty expression is telling enough, because her frown deepens. “Don’t do that. I know it’s not good for you.”
Toby doesn’t know whether to feel embarrassed at being caught or touched that she knows that and cares for his well-being, so he accepts both feelings. “Okay.” He blinks repeatedly, jerks his head and whimpers in unison; he’s relieved after giving into those impulses.
Natalie’s face changes to one of sad concern. “Have I made you feel like you should suppress them?”
“What? No…” Toby tries to lie for her sake, but quickly gives up; his lie has very short legs, and Natalie has already caught on. “...I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He sniffs. So much for having his school years behind.
“You don’t make me uncomfortable. What does make me uncomfortable is the thought that you’d rather ditch your health for my supposed comfort. You shouldn’t be ashamed of ticcing.” Natalie chastises him softly.
Toby’s eyes recover some more light, and he blushes just barely.
“You’re a bit flushed.” Natalie notices; she carefully lifts her left hand, not even thinking to stop herself this time, and puts the back of it against his right cheek. Toby, surprisingly, doesn’t startle. “You’re very warm.” Her frown returns.
Without a complaint, Toby simply grasps his hoodie from its underside and lifts it up, getting rid of it in a flash, revealing a dark gray shirt of long sleeves. He leaves the discarded clothing aside, and keeps his gaze to the front, now that Natalie is done with her task.
Natalie leaves the used materials on the little desk in front of them; the bottle of antiseptic, the wrapping of the gauzes, and the no longer sterilized and slightly stained pads. Then, she rests her hands on her lap. ‘There’s a man in my house.’ And, for once, the fear these circumstances would’ve normally evoked is not present.
It’s not as if Toby looked weak; despite his current withdrawn behavior that makes him seem smaller, it’s quite evident he’s strong and that he probably works out in some way, given that his muscles are obvious under his light shirt. If he wanted to, he would subdue her in a heartbeat. But call it intuition or vibe or aura, it doesn’t matter: Toby is not a threat, she’s sure of it.
She tugs her hair behind her ear, looking to her right. “Is there any way I can help you?”
Toby blinks several times, then twitches his nose. “You already helped me.”
“Yeah, but…” That’s not what Natalie means. ‘That’s not nearly enough! Disinfecting you won’t make you feel that much better.’ She bites her lip. “...I want to do anything I can for you.”
Toby blinks repeatedly again, but not because of a tic this time.
“I-I mean…” Natalie panics. ‘That sounded too intense and Toby is too quiet!’ She avoids his gaze. “...I just don’t want you to leave when you look so sad. Not that I think you can’t take care of yourself, or that I would kick you if you looked any better. Not that you look bad—!” She cuts her rambling off as Toby suddenly leans forward and starts trembling. ‘Good god, I’ve really fucked up now!’
But then, she hears him chuckle.
Natalie gapes her mouth. ‘Did I hear correctly?’
Then, another elongated laugh escapes through Toby’s teeth, and he straightens his posture. He jerks his head and turns his face towards her. He bears his boyish grin, and his eyes are twinkling with mirth. “That did make me feel better. I guess you just helped some more.”
Red as a tomato, Natalie looks at him pointedly, eyes barely narrowed and pursing her lips.
Toby lowers his eyes, smile turning soft. “Thank you, Naty.” He sniffs.
Natalie doesn’t understand why Toby hasn’t snapped his gaze towards her yet, given the loud whistle and dense steam coming out of her ears. ‘Does that man even know what he’s doing? I’ll melt in a puddle any time now!’ “N-no problem.” Her own voice betrays her. She prays he doesn’t notice; and he doesn’t seem to, but since he recovers that gloomy expression, this is not much consolation for her. She now wishes he had, and that he’d choose to tease her for it, just to keep him from feeling depressed. “Are you hungry? Would you like something to drink?” She inquires, hoping to distract him from whatever plagues him again.
“No, thank you.” Toby responds, hiding himself behind that shiny curtain of hair. He wants to go; not because he abhors her company at this moment, nor because he’d rather be somewhere else, but because he doesn’t want to be an inconvenience. It’s clear she’s a bit fidgety in his presence.
He sees Natalie fiddle with her hands on her lap, evidently wishing to ask him something else. “Can I…” She pauses in doubt. “...can I hug you? We don’t have to if you don’t feel like it, of course—”
Toby turns and embraces her.
‘...Oh, god. He’s so big, and sturdy, and warm, and he smells so good, and he’s hugging me, and—’ Natalie is distracted from her frantic thoughts as she feels his arms coil around her waist, and he lowers his head to rest on her left shoulder. Suddenly, she feels the ends of her hair be gently tugged. ‘He’s touching my hair. He’s playing with it!’
Lucas often played with her hair, too.
But this doesn’t feel invasive, nor revolting, nor taunting, nor is it a power move; it’s an approaching attempt from somebody that is as hesitant as she is, and an innocent gesture. And it also feels nice; it’s tingly.
She lifts her arms, resting them around his shoulders. She rubs his back in soothing motions, and tugs carefully at his hair, returning the gesture. She wants to bury her fingers in it, feel its density and thickness, comb through it, and caress his scalp, but she sticks to imitating him.
Toby is trying to comprehend various things: why he accepted her offer when he rarely initiates physical contact, why he’s touching her hair, why he feels so comfortable and comforted in her embrace, why that rubbing on his back is calming him down, and why the tickling touch of her hand in his own hair is so relaxing. ‘But why would she suggest it in the first place? With how twitchy I am, it’s probably not very pleasant to hug me. She doesn’t even know how bratty and unbearable I can get at times.’
She might be one of those people that help the pitiful creatures they find, out of mercy. ‘But it would be cruel to just label her like that out of self-deprecation.’ He thinks with a strained smile.
But those characteristics he’s insecure about is why he was homeschooled for most of his childhood; because he was a freak that nobody wanted nearby, in case his tics were contagious or he posed a danger, or just because he was plain creepy.
Mr. Holzer didn’t once consider him a monster. He still treats him like he treats everybody else, with the added bonus of contributing to the improvement of his life. That man has done and been much more than that motherfucker that made their lives difficult because he couldn’t control his drug addiction nor his gambling.
Toby can’t leave this place where he’s made so many significant friendships behind; the thought of Mr. Holzer leaving fills him with grief.
Suddenly, Natalie feels Toby tighten his hold on her; he’s begun to tremble and twitch in her arms. He fists his hands on the back of her shirt with force and hides his face on her shoulder. The clothing quickly gets wet.
She buries her hand in his hair, inviting him closer to make himself as comfortable as he can. She drags her left hand up and down his nape, sometimes returning to his head, and continues her soothing circled caresses on his back with the other hand.
He whimpers; his numbness and apathy are peeling off to reveal a pulp full of juicy pain, the very same his nerves deny him, and which has migrated to his psyche. The liquid is of the same color and consistency as the blood from the wounds that provoked her last moments—how ingrained they are in his brain, playing on and on and on and on and on like a broken record, further taunting his supposedly painless existence!
He doesn’t know what’s worse: to be emotionless (constantly looking for emotion, self-inflicted wounds being of no use, recklessly jumping to dangerous situations that he could’ve perfectly avoided) or to be feeling (remembering the chokehold the past still has on him, the trauma and visions that still pester him to this day, his flaws that will never go away).
He cries silently, as he’s always done. He makes himself smaller, occupies less space, tries to disappear. He knows he won’t.
By the time he finally manages to calm himself down, it’s gotten far darker outside, and he realizes Natalie hasn’t moved an inch; she’s holding onto him, body probably cramping from being still for too long. “I-I’m sorry.” He rasps while quickly lifting his head, uncomfortable with the realization that he’s thoroughly dampened her shoulder. “I s-should leave—”
“You can stay if you want to.” Natalie cuts off his anxious distancing with a tranquil tone. “I don’t mind. It really is no bother.” She responds, hoping that this explanation will dissuade him.
Of course he wants to stay. If he returns to his house, he’ll see her in photos, and remember Mr. Holzer's future plans. He’ll have all night to let his mind work incessantly in recreating those memories he wants to suppress, those possible maybes that he doesn’t want to contemplate any longer. If he returns, he won’t sleep.
If he stays, he might not sleep either, but he won’t be alone in such a case. And Natalie offers it to him in such a well-arranged silver tray, that he cannot possibly decline. It’s just not an option for him. “Okay.” He relents to her proposition, looking to the front with a moist visage. He blinks repeatedly.
Natalie shifts, now in front of him. It’s hard to see each other with the gloomy ambience that bathes them. “Would you like to shower, or clean your face at least?” She asks, still holding onto his back.
Toby clears his throat. “Just my face will be fine.”
“Did you change your mind about eating something?” Natalie hopes he did.
Toby fidgets. “No.”
Natalie can’t help but feel disappointed, but she can’t force him. “Tell me if you change your mind, okay?” She stands up, unfurling her arms around him. “Would you like to use the bathroom while I’m busy? It won’t take me long.”
Toby does just that, not even staring himself in the mirror afterwards. When he gets out of the bathroom and returns to the living room, Natalie has finished having dinner, and his hoodie has been folded. He knows her dinner has been scarce, but he doesn’t comment on it; the last thing he wants is to trigger her.
“So, what would you like to do?” Natalie approaches him. “If you want to sleep, you can take the sofa, or the bed.”
The idea of making her take the couch in her own house doesn’t sit well with Toby. “...I don’t feel like being alone right now.” He’s feeling selfish, so he speaks up and uses a direct approach.
Natalie considers. “We could arrange for us to sleep separately in my bedroom, or for us both to sleep here.” She looks to the side. “Another option would be to sleep both in the bed, but it would be a little crammed.” Not that she would mind that. It should be surprising, but it’s not, given how safe she feels around Toby.
Toby’s greed gleams bright. “The last option, please.” He responds quickly.
And so, they go to her room. He stands outside for a moment as she changes into sleepwear, then is let in; she has changed into long, light green pajama pants. Toby keeps his thermal shirt, while he gets rid of his jeans; they would be much too uncomfortable to sleep in, but he’s fortunately wearing his thermal pants.
They lay down, with only a little lamp lighting the room. Toby takes the right side of the bed, the one closest to the wall and window, while Natalie takes the left side.
Toby wastes no time in embracing her again. Carefully, of course; he could hit her with a jerk of his head very easily. He might not be able to sense her warmth, but that doesn’t make it less enjoyable; he can smell her fabric softener. And it seems that he hasn’t made the wrong choice, for he feels her hug him back, body relaxed.
Natalie doesn’t understand why this is so comfortable. He’s so warm; it’s like hugging a huge teddy bear, as LJ jokingly often calls him. But of course, LJ doesn’t see it her way, and he’s even taller than Toby. “...I might have overreacted.” She hears Toby say quietly.
She pulls away and lifts her head. “About what?”
Toby wants to open up to her. “Mr. Holzer said he might move away in the future. I’m mad at him for even considering it.”
“And why is he considering it in the first place?” Natalie frowns. ‘Isn’t that man’s business working here, with all of his houses? Perhaps he wants to move somewhere more interesting. Maybe he’s not like the rest of the people here.’
Toby bites his lower lip. “I’m not sure.” He decides to say, which is not a lie; he might have his suspicions, but they’ve never been confirmed.
“Maybe he’d reconsider it if you told him why you feel the way you feel. Aren’t you two close?” Natalie begins to rub his back again.
“It’s a bit complicated. I think I feel closer to him than he feels to me.” Toby rolls onto his back, releasing Natalie. “We met back in my old neighborhood, when I was seventeen. He saw me—” He squeaks. “—drag my father out of the house and beat him up; he separated us and spoke with my mother while my father was still unconscious. He’s been out of our lives since.”
“I’m glad that didn’t escalate further.” Natalie searches for his right hand, and eventually finds it when he lifts it up for her to grasp.
Toby takes a while to resume his story, pausing for a moment after her comment. “Mr. Holzer said he needed someone like—” He clicks his tongue. “—me to work for him, but I told him about my disorders and how I wouldn’t be of much use to him; I mean, some of them are evident, and he saw me drag my father out of the house and beat him up, on top of that.” He chuckles humorlessly.
“He disagreed with you, didn’t he?” Natalie smiles.
“Yep. He said they were not an issue, so I worked for him for a month. My mom almost fainted when the paycheck came.” Toby chuckles again, this time mirthfully, then jerks his head. “It was much more than he had initially offered, which was already a lot. He told me that, since I’d done such a great job, he would continue—” He whistles. “—paying me even if I chose not to work for him any longer, just to help us out with everything: my hospital bills, my therapy, and extra money so that my mom could sell our old house and move away.” His voice begins to break. “So I told him I wanted to keep working for him and earn my pay, and followed him here.”
The light of the moon filters in a little, and Natalie sees his smiling face, once again run by tears. She reaches out and rubs his tears off.
“He’s the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had. He helped me out when I most needed it, and I want to be there when he needs me.” And Toby is leaving out the rest of the people he helped, including Natalie, even if the motive that moved him had nothing to do with his tenants.
“He sounds like a good man. What kind of work do you do for him?” Natalie asks innocently.
“I can’t tell you. I’ve signed a confidentiality contract.” Not a lie; Toby did do it. “It would feel like betraying—” He whines. “—him, too.”
Natalie hums in understanding. “Is that all that was bothering you?”
Toby’s smile crumbles further. “...No. No, it isn’t.” He lowers his eyes.
Natalie cups his cheek. “You don’t have to tell me.”
Toby wants to, despite knowing it will hurt, as it always does. “I want to tell you.” He frowns, determined. He jerks his head, and resumes speaking. “Not long before Mr. Holzer came into the picture, I had been in a car accident.” He swallows, sight becoming blurry. He can no longer see Natalie look at him with those big eyes of hers. “My sister Lyra was driving, I was in the passenger seat.” His voice is unstable. “I had luck; I only hurt my arm and couldn’t even feel it. But her…” He lowers his head, hiding himself from Natalie’s gaze. “...she was still alive.” He whispers through gritted teeth. “I c-couldn’t—” He whimpers. “—move, I couldn’t save her! And that s-son of a bitch didn’t come see her while she took—” He clicks his tongue. “—her last b-breaths in the hospital because he was too wasted to drive!” He cackles bitterly, trembling in her hold.
He feels Natalie shift. She moves closer to him, and embraces him once more. He trembles against her, anger and sorrow too great to verbalize. “I’m s-sorry you had to g-go through that.” He hears Natalie say. Her voice is as affected as his.
Toby lifts his head to look at her, and sees that her face is wet. He’s stabbed with guilt. “Sorry, I s-shouldn’t have told you—”
“No!” Natalie responds while shaking her head. “I’m f-fine! I’m crying because I c-care about you! I don’t want you to keep it to yourself b-because of me, I’m not fragile!” She tugs his hair behind his ear, and rubs his tears off.
Toby feels a fuzzy feeling inside him. He already knew she cares about him, given her behavior today, but it’s nice to be reminded. And besides, is that what he’s done? Treating her with the same fragility he doesn’t want to be treated with? “Okay.” He concedes. “Okay, I won’t.”
“Promise!” Natalie demands. “Promise me that you will ask me for help if you need it!” She repeats Jeff’s actions, feeling his worry for her. She hopes Toby feels her worry for him.
Toby feels comfortably light. “Okay. I promise…” He frowns. “...but you have to promise it back.”
Natalie pauses for a moment. “I promise.” She frowns in return with the same amount of determination.
They stare at each other.
Natalie swallows. “What was your sister like?” She asks, mellowing.
“The kind of sister that always encourages you and tries to lighten up the bad mood.” Toby smiles. “She was one year older—” He whistles. “—than me, blonde, we had the same eye color.” He blinks repeatedly. His smile suddenly turns a smirk. He cracks his neck. “She was as much a shorty as you are.”
Natalie feels her face heat. “Didn’t you ever think that, maybe, just maybe, you’re the tall one?”
Toby rolls his eyes. “I’m five-foot-eight, Naty. I’m average.” He deadpans, still smirking. “How tall are you?”
Natalie pouts, knowing what is to come. “...Five-foot-two.”
Toby throws his head back and starts cackling away, while she hides her face in his chest in embarrassment. “As I said, shorty!”
Natalie hits his chest lightly with her fist. “Stop mocking me!” She complains with a muffled voice.
“I’m not mocking you! I think it’s actually adorable.” Toby grins evilly. He hears her groan, and chuckles some more. He rubs her head in apology for his teasing.
Against all odds, it doesn’t take long for them to fall asleep like that.
Monday.
They slept until noon, and Toby was quick to leave not long after. She would’ve wanted to spend more time with him, but she also has her own responsibilities to attend to. The memory of him smiling down at her when they hugged goodbye and he thanked her is something that will occupy her thoughts unbidden throughout the day.
She did tell Jeff and Ben what happened through the group chat; while Ben sent enthusiastic and cute stickers, Jeff sent an over-the-top audio screaming “LET’S FUCKING GOOOOO!”, which does wonders in making her snort when she remembers it.
And so, she arrives at the Williams’ residence in the afternoon for the babysitter position. It looks bigger than her own house, appropriate for a family with children.
What she doesn’t expect is to be greeted by the woman at the fair: the mother of that child. She feels her stomach churn when she remembers that man.
Mrs. Williams makes quick work of showing her around the house, and telling her what she would be doing; keep Sally (that is, the child) company while her parents worked, help her with any homework she might have, play with her, make her dinner when it’s six, then take her to bed when it’s eight. Since both parents currently work in the evenings, Sally would be left alone in the house, which is obviously not a possibility, because the kid is five years old.
Without much fuss, Natalie is given the job, since no more candidates have turned up, and Mrs. Williams claims to have taken a liking to her. She does ask Natalie about her eye scarring in a very respectful way, and Natalie simply makes up an accident in which she tripped and hit her eye pretty badly. She feels bad for lying to her from the very beginning, but she knows the risks of not being hired will increase if she’s honest, because they would find her loose in her screws.
And Mrs. Williams eats it up, just like that. Natalie is glad she’ll be able to report anything suspicious she might notice with the child from now on.
Another surprise is how Mrs. Williams inquires if she might be able to start right this very afternoon. When Natalie asks the reason, since the advert claimed she would start next week, Mrs. Williams tells her that an emergency came up, and Sally needs to be taken care of starting today. While the woman tells her she understands if she cannot do that, Natalie has no problem in agreeing to it, and Mrs. Williams promises her a bonus for the sudden change in the agreements.
So, after extensive explanations, a quick introduction to the child, and an exchange of numbers, Mrs. Williams leaves the house to go to work.
Natalie finds it irresponsible that she would confide in a stranger so quickly, just like that. As if the world wasn’t full of dangerous people. ‘At least I’m not one of those people.’ She quickly sits beside Sally on her little drawing desk in her bedroom. School has started recently for her, and it seems that her homework has already been done, so she doesn’t have to help her with it. Instead, the child is busy drawing. “Hey, Sally! What are you drawing?” She puts her forearms on the desk, trying to start a conversation with the little girl.
“It’s Mr. D!” Sally exclaims excitedly, voice sweet.
Natalie is glad Sally likes her; it would be awkward, otherwise. “Mr. D?” She tilts her head, and sees a drawing of a bear plushie. “Is that him?” She points down at the little teddy bear beside Sally. The child nods. “Does the D stand for anything?”
“Death!” Sally exclaims again, taking Natalie off guard.
‘That’s a strange thing for a kid to call their toy.’ Natalie raises an eyebrow. It’s even more jarring when taking on account how particularly feminine this kid is, but who is she to judge what she likes? “Why did you call him Mr. Death?”
“It sounds cool.” Sally shrugs. Natalie is glad to know there’s no underlying motives. “Do you have a best friend?”
Natalie considers her answer. “I do have one. It’s Jaffy the Giraffe. He’s about the same size as Mr. D.”
Sally gapes her mouth at her, eyes twinkling. “If you bring him tomorrow, we could have a tea party!” She’s so thrilled by that prospect that she drags her crayon on the paper with a lot of force. “Do you like pink?” She asks Natalie, keeping her eyes on her masterpiece in process.
“Hm. I do think it’s a pretty color, but I wouldn’t wear it myself. I don’t think it suits me.” Natalie answers honestly.
“Why?” Sally asks, scrunching up her eyebrows. Her bright green eyes convey her confusion. “You said it’s pretty.”
“Isn’t there anything you think is nice but wouldn’t like to wear?” Natalie asks in return.
Sally’s eyebrows scrunch up even more in concentration. She pouts her lip, deep in thought. “I don’t like the shoes mummy wears sometimes. They’re tall and dangerous! But she only wears them when we go out for dinner because they hurt her footsies.” She resumes her drawing.
“Oh, you mean heels?” Natalie inquires, and Sally nods while puckering her lips. “Yeah, I don’t like those either. They do hurt your feet if you wear them for too long.”
“But do you like dresses?” Sally asks again. “I really like dresses! Especially my pink one. But daddy has to clean it in the wishing-machine, so I can’t wear it today.” She pouts again.
Natalie laughs. “I think you meant to say washing-machine, Sally. Because it washes.” She rests her chin on the palm of her hand. “But it would be cool if it were a wishing-machine, too.”
“Like a desire-well! But those need coins.” Sally sticks her tongue out from the corner of her mouth, dragging her brown crayon with rapid speed on the paper. “Do you like doggies?”
“Of course I do. Who doesn’t like dogs?” Natalie lifts her eyebrow. ‘Well, maybe someone with a phobia or allergies, which is understandable.’ She thinks to herself.
“I do, too! And I saw a very weird one the other day, but he didn’t scare me. You were there too, and the man holding the lash also looked weird.” Sally explains.
It doesn’t take long for Natalie to realize she’s talking about Smile and Jeff at the fair. “Leash, Sally. And yes, he does look weird, but it’s because he had an accident.” She explains quickly, wanting to foster an open mind in this little girl.
“Did you have an accident, too?” Sally asks, pointing at her eye.
“Yeah.” Natalie repeats the lie she told her mother.
“And now you can’t see?” Sally asks her, and she shakes her head. “Did it hurt?”
“Yes. That’s why you have to watch where you’re going, or you might have an accident too.” Natalie plays with a blue crayon that’s lying on the desk.
“Well, I’m good at not having accidents!” Sally puts her hands on her hips in a proud stance. “I don’t have to worry about uncle anymore!”
Natalie feels her blood freeze in her veins; she stops fiddling with the crayon. She makes her best effort at keeping her voice as nonchalant and steady as possible. “Your uncle?”
“Yep! He was supposed to babysit me this week, but mommy and daddy don’t know where he is.” Sally drops her crayon and picks a pink one to fill the bear’s ears. “I didn’t like uncle. I’m glad he’s gone!”
‘Was that the emergency? Has that disturbing man really gone missing?’ Natalie can’t bring herself to feel guilty about the relief washing over her. “Why don’t you like him?” She treads carefully.
“He was very weird.” Sally explains herself, explaining nothing. But then she elaborates. “I don’t like being told to do things. Mommy and daddy do it sometimes, but it doesn’t feel weird.”
Natalie gets what she means. “Did he ever force you to do anything? As in you following his requests, I mean.” She feels the hair of her nape stand on end, and she wishes with her entire being that Sally gives her a negative.
“No! I met him last week.” Sally answers obliviously.
Natalie feels the blood in her veins renew its course, the hair on her nape relax, and her lungs start working again. She has two questions; she goes with the first. “What did he ask you?”
“He asked mummy if he could tuck me in, but I told mummy I wanted daddy to do it because I missed him. He also wanted me to go shopping with him, and I told mummy that I felt sick because I wanted to barf.” Sally babbles on.
‘So not only did he attempt to corner her, but he also never asked her directly, as if her opinion and autonomy didn’t matter.’ Natalie wants to grimace, but she keeps her face neutral. “And why do you think he won’t come back?”
“Because the Tall Man told me!” Sally smiles, completely convinced.
Natalie is now puzzled. “The Tall Man?”
“Yes, I saw him in my dream! He was…uh…what is the word…?” Sally ponders for a moment. “I couldn’t see his face. But he was wearing a suit, and he told me, and I know he wasn’t lying because he’s an angel that looks after me!”
“Was he blurry?” Natalie offers, and Sally nods. ‘So it was just a dream.’ She smiles, amused by her imagination.
Sally lifts her forefinger. “But you didn’t answer me!” Natalie blinks. “Do you like dresses?”
“I don't usually wear them, but I think they’re pretty. Will you show me yours once your dad cleans it?” Sally nods energetically, and Natalie’s smile brightens. “And what else do you like?”
“I like games, and cartoons, playing pranks on mommy and daddy, and choccy milk!” Sally lists. “I also like makeup, but mommy told me it’s too soon for that. Do you paint your face?”
“I have before, but I don’t do it as much now, and I’m not very good at it.” Natalie considers. “If mommy doesn’t want you to paint yourself, maybe we can ask her if you could paint me instead?”
“Yeaaaah!” Sally throws herself backwards, falling on the pink rug.
“And what is your favorite cartoon?” Natalie inquires further.
⦻
They had been drawing together for a while, with Sally impressed by Natalie’s drawing skills. The kid had even requested a drawing of herself, and Natalie had done quick work to create it, leaving Sally so amazed that she stuck it to her bedroom wall using tape.
It’s now five. While Sally is engrossed watching Spongebob on the TV and drinking a little chocolate milk bottle, Natalie is beside her, with her arm around the child. ‘It’s impressive how long and shiny her hair is.’ She admires Sally’s curly chocolate rivulets. ‘Perhaps I should use kid’s shampoo instead.’ She tries to concentrate on the cartoon show and its crazy plot in this episode, ‘Spongebob in RandomLand’. She watches as Squidward opens various doors, only to find different strange versions of himself behind them, and some kind of mild screamer behind the last door. Sally laughs at Squidward’s protest.
She can’t focus; she’s too busy thinking about yesterday’s events. Not even texting Jeff and Ben about her new job keeps her mind off of them, off of him.
She makes dinner for Sally at six, her animated chatting about school and tea parties and their afternoons together consuming her thoughts for the time being. The little girl is a very well behaved delight. They spend the next two hours playing dress up and house with her dolls, until it’s bedtime for Sally. The child falls asleep like a log at some point during the story Natalie reads to her, and she leaves the house when her mother arrives, after they chat a little bit.
Their houses are not far from each other, something she’s grateful for. When she arrives, she has a light dinner as usual as she chats with Jeff on the phone, and then gets ready for bed.
She feels calm. Everything might not be well, some things will never be. But she does feel a sense of peace with all she’s achieved in such a short amount of time. For once in a long time, her head is filled with good thoughts instead of self-deprecation and uncertainty.
‘Maybe Dina was right. Maybe things will brighten up.’ She thinks positively. ‘I’ve made many friends, I have a house of my own, a job.’ And she’s far away from the putrid well she grew up in. Everything is looking up.
She remembers that yesterday, this bed was also occupied by another. That she had comforted another in this very mattress, had been teased by him under these very sheets, which still smell like him. That somebody had confided in her his own putrid well, hoping to air it out and make it contain clear water, while laying his head on the same pillow.
She had invited him in. This man did not come uninvited. And he took gently, unassumingly, with delicate movements; for a man as rough looking as Tobias Rogers, he sure doesn’t behave like a miscreant. And he let her take, too; he let her approach and touch and attempt and prod as she pleased.
It felt natural. It felt intimate. It felt right.
His smiling face, dampened with anguish, still pops up in the eye of her mind clearly. He can’t feel her warmth, or at least not the conventional way. ‘Perhaps he’s felt it by other means?’ She hopes so. She hopes he can break his numbness, at least somewhat.
Her thoughts are broken by the short buzzing of her phone. She turns around and checks it, light blinding her momentarily.
<[Toby]: “Did ur interview go well?”
She smiles. Perhaps he’s thought about her a little bit.
<[You]: “Yep. Started today, I’ll get a bonus >:D”
She sees the classic dots that let her know Toby is writing.
<[Toby]: “I’m glad. How’s the kid?”
<[You]: “Very well-behaved and sociable”
She hesitates for a moment, then gives in.
<[You]: “She’s the same kid we saw at the fair. Do u remember the other dude? Turns out it’s her uncle, and he’s gone missing”
<[Toby]: “Fr? I can’t say it makes me too sad XD”
She reacts with a red heart to the previous comment.
<[You]: “Yeah, I’m relieved, she wasn’t fond of him either”
<[You]: “How are u?”
Toby takes a while to answer.
<[Toby]: “Better than yesterday”
<[Toby]: “Thank u again for that, best sleep I’ve had in ages. I hope I didn’t hit you in my sleep :I”
Natalie feels her cheeks redden.
<[You]: “I’m glad. I slept well, too, and you didn’t hit me…or I didn’t notice XD”
<[You]: “Do u have difficulties sleeping?”
<[Toby]: “Yeah, the tics wake me up a lot. I also think of her too much”
Natalie doesn’t have to rummage her mind to understand who he’s talking about.
<[You]: “I think anybody would in your shoes, you might have PTSD from what happened”
<[Toby]: “That wouldn’t actually surprise me XD”
<[Toby]: “By the way, Ben and Jeff told me they were organizing a sleepover or something for the weekend, will u go?”
<[You]: “Yep”
<[Toby]: “Nice, I don’t want to be alone with those two, even less if LJ and EJ come :x”
<[You]: “Y not? XD”
<[Toby]: “Because they’re all crackheads. It was chaotic enough before those 2 geeks came into the picture, so imagine my expectations now”
Natalie laughs. They’re indeed a crazy bunch.
<[You]: “So u want me to protect u from them? I’m as scared as u are about LJ”
<[Toby]: “I didn’t say I was scared”
<[You]: “U don’t have to tell me for me to know XD”
<[Toby]: “It’s not like a shorty like u could defend me from them.”
<[You]: “Stop calling me that! >:(”
<[You]: “Guess what? LJ is right. U’re TobyTeddyBear™”
Suddenly, her screen lights up with an incoming call. She almost drops her phone in panic, yet she slides the answering button with a trembling hand. “What did you just call me?” She hears Toby’s grinning voice on the other end. “Repeat it now, so I can hear you.”
Natalie feels a shiver go down her spine. “Uh, I think I’ll pass?”
“Come on now, Naty, don’t be shy. Or is it that you’re a coward?” Toby teases her again. Is it her perception, or does his voice sound too amused? “It must be so.”
Natalie pouts. “I said you’re Toby-Teddy-Bear!” She realizes too late that Toby’s provocation was not so much to taunt her, thinking that she won’t do it; rather, it was to encourage her. ‘I’ve just been played like a fiddle!’ She feels her face heat.
“My, I think I didn’t catch that. Could you repeat it?” Toby definitely sounds entertained now.
“You heard it very well!” She’s even lighting up the room with how red her visage is. “Stop teasing me!”
She hears Toby's evil laugh. “But it’s just too much fun, shorty! Come on, indulge me…” She can imagine the rascal making puppy eyes, which does wonders to make her follow his request.
“...Toby-Teddy-Bear. Are you happy now?” Natalie pouts, thoroughly embarrassed.
“Very.” Toby’s shit-eating grin must be back on his face.
Suddenly, an idea comes to Natalie’s mind. She smirks. “You’re never so pleased when it’s LJ calling you that—!”
“Oh, look at the time! I should—” Toby whistles. “—go to bed already.” He acts oblivious. “Goodnight, Naty!” He hangs the phone.
‘And he dares call me a coward!’ But Natalie is not angry. She’s beaming.
Chapter Text
Tuesday.
He fidgets on his seat, dragging the palms of his hands up and down his legs in an effort to rid himself of the sweat.
Curiosity had flooded Ben’s mind when Jeff passed on to him that vague admission: “We are slaves to similar issues.” A strange message from a blurry man with no discernible voice. His promise might as well be a bluff; it could be that he’s a shark that has seen an opportunity, and wants to be owed for profit just by being a snake oil salesman.
But if this turns out to be an honest helping hand, he would be a fool to reject it. He's also Toby's employer; he doubts Toby would lead him to a rat trap. Maybe that's his naïvety talking; maybe he shouldn't trust him that easily. ‘...No. My gut tells me I’ve done the right thing, and my gut is always right.’ The last time he ignored it, he almost died and had his parents killed, so he won’t commit that mistake again. And besides, if he were to follow that line of thought, he shouldn't have trusted Jeff either. What would that leave him with?
He rubs his palms against the fabric of his pants again, drying them up, and looks around the vast living-room: there's a glass wall to his right, which faces the dense woods. There's an empty black couch and a glass coffee table in front of him, and a sofa along with another window wall to his left. The entrance, adorned with a beautiful ebony wood carved door, is in the corridor behind him.
He was let in by a man of long hair and green eyes. ‘Mr. Schön, was it?’ He told him to wait here, and that Mr. Holzer would come down to receive him soon. He even went through the hassle of bringing him a glass of water that he won’t touch.
He suddenly hears footsteps behind him. He remains still, as if he had been doing something he shouldn’t be doing, alert. “Good morning.” A steel-clear voice greets him just before its owner appears in front of him. “Ben Lawman, correct?”
‘This man is huge!’ Ben thinks as the man looks down at him with very light gray eyes, and he can’t help but stare back; they’re very captivating, but so is the rest of his imposing appearance, clad in black. ‘The other guy was already tall, but he’s even taller!’ He clears his throat. “Y-yes, that’s me. Are you…?”
“Mark Holzer, the previous owner of your residence.” Mr. Holzer makes his way to the other couch. “I assume Mr. Woods has passed my message onto you.”
“He has. Uh…” Ben watches as the man sits down with the grace of a panther and crosses his legs. “...may I ask what prompted you to help me?”
“Whether I respond or not will depend on what you tell me first.” Mr. Holzer dominates the conversation with ease. “Your friend has confided in me your fear of being hunted down by a cult. I would like you to tell me as many details as possible, so I may be of service.”
Ben gulps. “I can’t do it just like that.” Mr. Holzer tilts his head, awaiting his elaboration. “I need some proof that you’re not just giving me an empty promise. You could use those details against me.”
“I see. Your condition is reasonable.” Mr. Holzer looks aside in pondering. Then, he returns his eyes to Ben. “Let me propose to you something: I will tell you enough, and you will tell me enough. Little by little, so that you will not spill too much at once and risk yourself. Deal?”
Ben feels as if he were about to sign his soul off to the devil, but he has little options left. “Alright.”
“Very well. What is the name of the cult that is threatening you?” Mr. Holzer goes straight to the point, pinning him on his seat with the power of his pale gaze. It seems like this particular question interests him most.
“The Moon Children. It’s associated with Xavius Solutions Corporation.” Ben responds, and sees the fire in the older man’s gaze be put out. He doesn’t know whether that’s good or bad. “Are you familiar with the cult?”
“I am, even if I have never dealt with them myself.” Mr. Holzer responds.
Ben doesn’t press him further. The power position doesn’t go unnoticed; being too greedy could incense him. Besides, Mr. Holzer knows about them; he feels as if the moon had hidden itself and the sun came back to shine divine light on his poor self. A helpful outsider that knows his struggle, at last. “How could you help me?” He dares to question; this is what he’s come here for, after all.
“You are not aware of the power I hold, Mr. Lawman.” Mr. Holzer interlaces his fingers, hands on his lap. “I do not just own the houses of the village, but the entire park, the forest reserve that surrounds us, the local police force, and the support of many inhabitants. And I am leaving many other things out.”
Ben feels cold realization wash over him like a river in winter.
Mr. Holzer tilts his head. “This territory is mine, Mr. Lawman . If I want someone gone from my domain, they will be gone. But I shall spare you any further details; all you need to know is that, should you wish for it, you will be guarded all day long for as long as this threat to your being exists.”
“And what do you want in compensation for your help?” Ben asks, because this is what it is, obviously; an exchange.
Mr. Holzer leans forward, resting his left elbow on the armrest, and his chin on the back of his hand. “All I ask of you in return—”
Ben braces himself, looking down at his legs. ‘I hope he doesn’t ask for money, I don't have that much. What else would he ask for? What else could I give him? I have nothing!’
“—is that you don’t move away.” Mr. Holzer requests.
‘Huh?’ Ben feels himself buffer. He blinks, repeating what he just heard in his mind. Mr. Holzer is looking at him innocently from his seat, perfectly calm, as if his condition were near proportional to Ben’s. ‘What in the world would he get out of that?’ He racks his brain, and is unable to find any clues. “May I know why?”
Mr. Holzer thinks about it, not bothering to stop penetrating the poor boy with his eyes. “Your stay is beneficial to me.” He responds cryptically. “Remain here; that is all I need from you.
‘That is most certainly enlightening!’ Ben thinks sarcastically. ‘That much was obvious.’ He feels as if something were escaping him; as if he didn’t have enough pieces to complete the puzzle, and had no right to request them from Mr. Holzer. ‘And given what he’s just told me about controlling the neighborhood, I have to make sure I’m not exiting a boiling pot just to end up in a frying pan.’ “Are you the leader of another cult?” He questions with a furrow of his brow.
Mr. Holzer’s eyes reveal his thought process: he’s weighing the pros and cons of illuminating Ben on the matter, if barely. But his decision leans in Ben’s favor this time, because he knows a response is a must in this case; otherwise, Ben will withdraw himself from a potential agreement. “No.” He responds, contundent. “While my explanation of how much power I hold might resemble cult organization, I do not carry on any rituals, worship any perceived deity, nor follow any religion, much less apotheosizing me. But the reason I gained said power in the first place, by choice, will remain mine and a few select others’ sole knowledge.” He pauses for a moment.
Ben has the strange sensation that his mind is being read.
“In any case, you need not worry about owing me anything else but that we have agreed upon.” Mr. Holzer adds quickly. “If you failed to fulfill your part of the deal, I would withdraw my own assistance; that is the extent of the penalty I would impose on you. Whatever your actions may be, I will not seek retribution through questionable means.”
‘In other words, he won’t use my friends to get back at me; the deal will simply be nullified.’ Ben nods, feeling a bit of weight lift from his shoulders and ease his burden. “I’m as eager to leave as you are for me to leave, so you don’t have to worry on that front.” Mr. Holzer’s explanation is a bit lacking, but he’s grateful that the man has made extra effort to ease his worries somewhat. He returns to his own needs. “How exactly will I be guarded?”
“One to several of my trusted workers will follow you whenever you come out of your house, and the cameras out of your residence will record any suspicious activity. We can also install cameras inside for you to peruse as you wish.” Mr. Holzer rests his right hand on the armrest and taps it with his forefinger. “I can also give you weapons and teach you how to defend yourself. I could notify the police—”
“Not the police!” Ben suddenly blurts out, leaning forward. He realizes what he’s done, and purses his mouth. “I’m sorry. I want as few people as possible to be aware of this, and they might have someone amongst them.”
Mr. Holzer is unfazed. “Understandable; I will not alert them. Is there anything else you would like to request?”
Ben blinks repeatedly. ‘Have I not asked for enough already? Have you not offered enough? And you’re wondering if I want more? Are you that desperate for me to stay?’ He’s terribly curious, but he’ll find himself at a dead end if he inquires. He takes the chance now that he has it within reach. “I’d like my friends to be safe from the cult, too, in case they…” He stops talking as he catches sight of the strange twinkle in Mr. Holzer’s eyes. He can almost visualize him with a small, diverted smile on his face, although he stays as expressionless as ever.
He knows something Ben doesn’t.
Mr. Holzer keeps on tapping his finger on the armrest; the sound reverberates in Ben’s ears, adding tension. “Do not worry yourself with such trivial matters, Mr. Lawman. Mr. Woods will remain safe, and so will his animal friend. As for the rest, you do not have to worry about them either.”
“Do you know who my friends are? All of them?” Ben asks, a bit unnerved. ‘What do you mean I don't need to worry, anyway? Of course I would! These few friendships I’ve made are the best thing that’s happened to me in years!’
That strange glint in Mr. Holzer’s probing irises is not gone. “I know all I need to know, Benjamin.”
Ben keeps his eyes locked with his as they sit in silence. Mr. Holzer reminds him of an overseer leader, sitting contentedly in his dark throne, which he rightfully owns. ‘Calling this man a breathing mystery would be an utter understatement.’
⦻
“You’re still not finished, are you?” He hears behind him as he continues to pour his inspiration on the canvas. He keeps on flicking his small brush, creating small strokes, as he hears a chair be dragged and lifted, and the owner of that voice sits herself beside him, admiring his work. “Why did you ask Natalie to show you her drawings the other day?” Dina asks directly.
Helen had expected this question to be aired sooner or later, given her inquisitive nature; he glances at her momentarily, then returns his eyes to his task. “Curiosity.” He simply answers, not bothering with unnecessary filling words. He knows she won’t be satisfied with just this.
Dina tilts her head, looking at him with her abysmal gaze. Lo and behold: “Is it because of your shared passion?”
“Indeed.” Helen agrees, without adding to the conversation. He dips his brush on the glass of water and picks another smaller brush to use, then dips it in the paint.
From the corner of his eye, he sees Dina lift her right hand and rub her nails with her thumb. “You seemed interested in my conversation with her. Was that curiosity, too?”
“Yes.” Helen responds concisely.
“What is it that caught your attention?” Dina asks, leaning closer to him. “You’re rarely curious, so that makes me curious. You also spoke more than what you usually do, even when the topic is of your interest.”
Helen drags his brush without sparing her a glance. “Your passion.”
“Do you have an interest in what makes me passionate?” Dina tilts her head the other way, trying to get a better glimpse at him. “Would you like to teach Natalie? To understand what her idea of art is?”
“Perhaps.” Helen rests his brush in the glass and turns to her.
“I don’t believe you.” Dina deadpans, and Helen tilts his head. “Why would you want to teach her? As interesting as I think her art is, it shouldn’t appeal to you to the point of wishing to help her; you’ve never been interested in other painters’ struggles. Nor anybody’s struggles, for that matter.”
“Why are you asking me this?” Helen blinks. He doesn’t bother to dismantle her idea of him.
Dina gives him a small, vague smile. “Understanding your interactions with others helps me understand you better.”
“That implies you understand me insufficiently.” Helen lids his eyes. “Do you want to understand me?” Dina nods. “Do I divert you so?”
“You should know by now that you do.” Dina shows her teeth through her smile. “You make it sound as if you were a puzzle to be solved by me.”
Helen blinks. “Is that not the way you see me?”
Dina squints her eyes just barely. “Is that how you view me, and how you think I view you in return?”
Helen lowers his eyes, pensive. “In a sense.” He turns his body to the painting, takes a napkin from the table to his left and wipes his hands dry. He’ll have to clean himself with water and soap to get rid of the remaining paint. “Do you enjoy analyzing me?”
“As much as you enjoy analyzing me.” Dina responds, watching as he wipes himself; she admires his long fingers, his delicate hands. “What do you think about the new neighbor?”
“I assume you’re referring to Jeffrey.” Helen purses his lips in concentration, trying to reach some of the paint under his nails. “He was determined and with his priorities straight. I admire that.”
“And what did you think of the man we saw at the fair, with the child?” Dina inquires further. “Be honest.”
Helen drops the paper napkin in the bin beside the easel. “That he could’ve served a greater purpose.” He admits vaguely, as if he were admitting to not doing the dishes when it was due, although that would be a much bigger crime in his opinion. “A pity that he went missing.” He stands up with no further comment and takes off the white coat he had on. He hangs it up on the hanger beside the easel.
Dina follows him as he goes into the bathroom to wash his hands. He takes a pump of soap and rubs his hands: he reaches under his nails, the corners of his nails, over his nails, the nooks of his digits, the palms; he’s meticulous. Then, he opens the faucet and puts them under it to keep rubbing the paint off. She waits, leaning against the wall, until they look clean and red from all that rubbing. “Did you feel any remorse when you threw Tom off of that roof?” She asks cheerfully.
Helen halts his movements. He looks down at the faucet for a moment, then closes it and turns to lock eyes with her. “How bold of you to ask me that. I would think it rude, had we not crossed such boundaries already.”
Dina’s close-lipped smile doesn’t wane in the slightest. “Did you, or did you not?”
Helen takes the towel and dries himself with it. He then folds it again, neat as it was before he used it, and hangs it on its rightful place. “No.” He turns around, and looks at Dina again; his london-blue eyes don’t betray his emotions. “Did you feel it when you killed Mr. Clark?”
Dina’s smile stretches. “No . ”
Helen looks down at her, taking in all of her microexpressions. “Why are you so adamant in approaching Natalie?”
Dina tilts her head at him, analyzing him back. “I don’t lack emotions, Helen; I want to love and be loved. Do you want that too, or is it not in your repertoire of interests?”
Helen lids his eyes. “You have known care I have never, if scarce and short-lived.” He turns around and begins to undress himself, uncaring of her presence, beginning with his black shirt.
Dina doesn’t bother to cover her eyes or get out of the room; she stays there, unfazed, watching as he bares himself and puts his discarded clothing in the laundry basket with delicate movements. “Do you mean to tell me you’re incapable of feeling love? Or is it that you don’t want to have anything to do with it because it scares you?”
“It’s hard to wish for something that has been denied time and time again. One learns to not ask for it anymore, and to live without it.” Helen responds indirectly.
Dina crosses her arms. “Then why did you ask me to follow you here?”
“Why did you follow me here?” Helen discards the last piece of clothing and gets into the shower without looking at her.
Dina takes him in from head to toe as he turns his back on her; he’s lean and pale, and his hair contrasts greatly with his skin. There’s an ethereal femininity to his being, even if the way he looks and behaves are not inherently so. She remembers when they met.
She had fully gained her freedom after the outroar her case had caused; a fifteen year-old girl, trapped by her own father in her house for fear of what society might think of her. Trapped by a judge, who is supposed to bring justice to this world by giving those guilty their rightful sentence and those innocent compensation for their suffering. Someone supposed to be just.
She had only known love from her mother, who had also been abused by him after she sided with her daughter, and had been neglected after the arrival of a mistress. Dina had once managed to sneak out to get a little gift for her, for the date they had set to leave the mansion for good, leave their jailer for good; Christmas had been around the corner. She had been seen, and followed out of curiosity, which enraged him.
That led to her mother getting robbed of her life.
Due to the general support, which led to her having a good attorney, she managed to pass her killing of him and hurting his lover with the ornamental sword that had been displayed in their house as self-defense, it being the only thing within reach at that moment. Adding the brutal stabbing the corpse of her dear mother presented, and the clear evidence that she had been hidden away in her home for the first fifteen years of her life, as well as her being a minor, she won the case. She was given all her father possessed in life, along with getting his mistress and other employees imprisoned as accomplices.
Thankfully, her mother had made sure to educate her well, so she wasn’t helpless when she was adopted. She used some of her inheritance to give her mother a proper burial ceremony, recovered the full-of-meaning white sword post-trial (as it had been evidence), and tried to move on as best as she could.
Now, the balance was nearly in equilibrium . The sentence had been almost just . There’s something else she must do.
Three years later, now an independent young adult, she found herself posing for a group of painters, amongst whom was Helen; he was a boy that had a promising future in the art industry and was already being sponsored. He was there, recreating her image with absolute free will of method, style and tools because he simply wanted to, not because he needed it.
He decided he had to paint her.
Her unique appearance had caught his attention, as it caught everybody else’s, but that was the extent of it. He had stayed long after the rest of the painters had left, and she had agreed to do the same. It didn’t take long for her to find out what he was, given her ever good judge of character, which was telling her to look closer and deeper.
He talked very little, and only when he was addressed; he didn’t talk at all once everyone was gone. The way he moved was very controlled, his expressions meticulous and scarce, trained. Whenever he looked at her to check certain details, he did it with an absolute lack of curiosity in her person; he had stayed to complete his work, enjoying the silence in the studio. The nature of his paintings that had been described by a teacher, plus that cat-like behavior of his, was enough for her to see.
When she abruptly tore the silence apart by pointing out that he couldn’t fool her, he had stopped moving. He did not answer her, but merely considered her words and their many possible meanings. It was only then that he lifted his head, and she finally saw some semblance of emotion in his eyes.
Caution. Curiosity. Interest.
She had seen him. And in turn, realizing his lack of interest could’ve cost him dearly, he saw her back in earnest. Or so she likes to think.
‘Why did I decide to follow? Good question. Thankfully, I have the answer.’ Dina thinks, self-satisfied. ‘You want what you want, and I want what I want. What does Helen want? I’m not one-hundred-percent sure. But I do know what Dina wants, and I’m as good at getting whatever I wish for as you are.’ She tugs the zipper of her white tracksuit down and tosses it on the floor without much care. She gets rid of her socks next, then her bra and finally her panties.
She opens the shower screen to face a still dry Helen, who hasn’t had the time to let the water warm up. He looks back at her with his usual blank face, then behind her at the pile of clothes on the floor. She knows he’s displeased at the sight, as tidy as he is, but he doesn’t comment on it. Neither does he comment on her interruption; he probably doesn’t even see it as such, if her suspicions are correct, which tend to be.
“Stop being a coward.” Dina dares him, closing the screen behind her. She redirects her obsidian gaze to his glacial irises.
“I’m not being a coward, merely letting my words run their course in their due time.” Helen sticks his hand under the water to test its temperature.
“So you’re saying you wanted me to follow you not just to this place, but into this shower too. How greedy!” Dina takes the chance now that his back is to her, and hugs him from behind, pressing her breasts against his back. When he turns his head, she looks up at him with squinted, smug eyes.
Helen turns off the shower. “We can’t shower like this, Dina.”
“What a pity!” Dina laments, with zero pity in her voice. “This is what happens when you try to persuade someone: that they might end up doing something you didn’t wish for or didn’t foresee.” She drags her open hands up and down his smooth chest, caressing him without restraint. She presses her right cheek to his back. “Deal with the consequences.”
She hears Helen sigh. “You’re being rude.”
“Says the one who always acts all proper, but fantasizes about turning a pedophile into a dangling artwork and several pigment pots.” Dina cackles, squeezing him further. “It’s quite rude for you to be who you are for those who can’t see you, Helen. But you don’t care about that, do you?” She stands on her tiptoes to reach his ear and puckers her lips. “I must admit that it would’ve been a thrilling sight to see you drain that pig’s blood and watch you paint with it.” She sees a flash in Helen’s eyes when he turns his head, and satisfaction washes over her. She releases him and turns around, and intent on exiting the shower, she pulls open the screen.
Only to be yanked back in and the screen to be swiftly closed.
She observes the hand still resting on it, and the rest of the arm connected to said hand. She focuses on the clenched muscles and veins; she knows what that hand is capable of creating, the strength that arm has. And she can feel his other arm, just like that one, coiled around her delicate waist.
“Do you know what would be even more thrilling?” She hears Helen’s icy whisper behind her, right on her ear. She shivers on the spot, but keeps her mouth closed. The arm on the screen lowers down to her face, and he cups her jaw, then lifts her head. She’s met with a sea of blue. “To use yours instead.”
Dina can feel her inner thighs dampen, but she knows for sure the waterjet is off.
Helen trails her throat with his hand, down to her chest, in between her breasts. “It would be, if I had the emotions you speak of, of course.” He releases her just like that. He turns around to let the water fall again and gets under the jet.
Dina stays there for a moment, smiling and biting her lower lip, feeling herself tremble with both irkment and arousal. ‘You love toying with me, don’t you?’ But can she blame him, when she’s the same with him? She turns her head around. “You really are a coward!” She goes to open the screen a second time, grinning maniacally before hanging the lure. “Maybe I did have a misjudgment of your character. Maybe you’re not all that much—eek!” She's yanked back by the waist again, and the screen is closed loudly this time. But now she doesn’t have the time to ponder about the hands that have tugged her back in, because Helen has turned the shower off and has taken her further inside, cornering her against the inner wall.
His inky hair sticks to his androgynous face. His pretty eyes are lidded, long lashes giving him a feminine air. “If I’m a coward, then you’re a liar. A terrible one, at that.”
Dina can feel the water from his body fall onto hers as he keeps his grasp on her arms, droplets teasing her further as gravity takes effect. She’s getting impatient. “How about you stop peacocking and paint my insides white?” She suggests without an ounce of shame, tilting her head to appear coquettish.
Helen seems to buffer for a moment, taken aback by the dirtiness of her request. “How vulgar—” He’s cut off by Dina’s mouth connecting with his as she cups his face.
When Dina parts, she gives him an ultimatum: “Showering, or my suggestion. Pick, Otis.”
But of course, Helen does whatever he wants. “Both.” She gasps as he suddenly picks her up; she instinctively clings onto him by his shoulders and wraps her legs around his waist. He turns the jet on again, and warm water drenches them both.
Helen might behave nonchalantly, but he’s far from unfeeling; he’s used to hiding what he wants, to pretending. He’s like a closed flower: Dina has to spread open his petals delicately to be able to see what hides inside. But she mustn’t forget to put the petals back in their original position, or the flower will feel bitter for not being permitted to continue its pretense of never having been examined.
Helen is hungry, but he’s also wary. So he wants her to work her brain, guess what he wants. Because revealing it directly, apart from just not being his style, will hurt more in case he’s rejected. He’s testing her; he observes her reactions and makes sure that her feelings match his own. He wants to make her desperate, not because of sadistic whims or malicious intent, but to make sure that her desire is genuine.
Dina’s questions are being answered through his actions, not through his words.
And Helen knows she’s come to all of these conclusions in this short amount of time, because he finally gives her what she (he) wants, what she’s (he’s) asked for; Dina gapes her mouth open, letting out a breathless moan. She chuckles right after, looking down into his eyes. She bites her lip. “You still can’t fool me, pretty boy!”
Helen huffs. “Is that so?” He lifts her up, arms under her ass, and he then lets her fall again. His brow furrows just barely, and his breathing becomes laborious. She buries her hand in his wet fringe and pulls it back to reveal his forehead. She kisses him there in a tender gesture, just as he presses her flush against the glass screen; he thrusts into her, making it rattle behind her, making her shudder and gasp as he licks her wet neck.
Dina cups his head, hoping to have him as close to her as humanly possible, craving the warmth he scarcely shares with her with this much abandon. She holds onto him, making her utmost attempt at engraving every single frame of this intimate moment in the walls of her mind, painting after painting, to later reminisce to her heart's content, lest another like this one never comes. For Helen’s love seems so elusive to her.
⦻
He asked Toby for his address, and has just arrived at his house with no specific plan. He wants to turn around and sprint back home, to hide from that curse with platinum blonde hair and icy blue eyes that teases him with the memory of who he once was. But, alas, Jill’s and EJ’s voices are a worse torment, for he can’t ignore them.
He goes up the porch stairs with long strides, and pauses in front of the door, hand still in the air. ‘...What am I waiting for? What exactly is so hard about this? And why do my hands feel so clammy?’ He rings the doorbell with a huff, and takes a few steps back. He prays that he’s not home, that he’s at work, that he’s gone on a walk, that he’s listening to music and didn’t hear the doorbell, that he’s in the shower, that he’s busy taking a shit and won’t bother with answering. But that’s obviously not what happens; he hears the door be unbolted, and tenses up. ‘So he’s a fast wiper, it seems.’ He thinks, resuming his recent thoughts. ‘And why do I always resort to weird thoughts when I’m nervous?’ Although nervous is not an adequate enough adjective to describe his mood.
The door opens fully, and he finds a sight that is still new to him, even if he now recognizes it well upon analysis: Isaac’s grown up face. The blonde man blinks up at him (a head smaller than he is, like most people) in apparent disbelief, and Jack can understand him alright, for he also doesn’t believe he’s here right this very moment. “...Jack?” Isaac asks, still trying to comprehend whether his brain is conjuring up images, or if the strange and colorless clown in front of him is actually the same Jack he saw the other day, in the flesh.
LJ feels the urge to respond sarcastically, something along the lines of “Of course not! What gave you that idea?” , but his resentment keeps him serious.
Isaac is taking in his drastically different appearance. At least he doesn’t seem creeped out, but Jack doesn’t feel inclined to be relieved about it; instead, he busies himself by taking note of how the one that used to be his friend has changed: he’s still as palely blonde as he used to be, and has the same eye color; those things have not changed. The most evident differences are the way his body (developed; taller and more muscular), face (longer and slimmer, more chiseled, with a shadow of a blond beard) and voice (adult-like, but juvenile and not overly deep) have changed, along with the way he dresses and carries himself. He’s wearing a brown corduroy jacket, a white shirt and black jeans; an overall normal attire.
But LJ, likewise changed, is no longer sunshine and rainbows. If antonyms were to be used, he resembles moonlight and monochrome, although that wouldn’t be a completely accurate description, either; he grew as large as his growth spurts promised, dyed his fiery hair and developed a raspy voice. And his old positive attitude watered down considerably, even if his sense of humor only improved (in his opinion).
But returning the matter to Isaac, LJ has his expectations set below the soil as a defense-mechanism; he’d rather be pleasantly surprised than get his hopes up and have them squashed.
Isaac fidgets where he stands. “Would you like to come inside?” He offers with his British accent. Even that has changed.
“Yes.” LJ responds tersely, and he’s let in. He takes in the interior with scarce decoration; there are still some carton boxes put aside in some corners. Nothing that stands out, besides some objects here and there that seem familiar; they must’ve come from his parent’s house. He stands in the living-room area behind the sofa, looking around until Isaac finishes bolting and locking the door closed, and turns around. He speaks with his jaw tense. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for how I reacted the other day.” Not that he thinks he overreacted, nor that he’s sorry either. But the only way this can move forward is if he behaves civilly.
“Don’t worry about that.” Isaac is quick to answer with a slight furrow of his brows.
LJ is pretty sure Isaac is lying as much as he is. ‘So you did get butthurt about it, huh?’ He cannot bring himself to care. Isaac probably thinks he’s butthurt for the thirteen years of no contact, so they’re even in that regard. ‘Anyway; it’s time for the classic question around these parts.’ He looks everywhere but at Isaac when he formulates it, even resting a hand on the back of the sofa. “Why did you move here?”
Isaac keeps his eyes on LJ. “I wanted to find a cheap place where nobody knew me. Guess the decision didn’t turn out as planned.” He smiles wearily.
‘This encounter had been by pure coincidence. Does he regret this decision? Meeting me again? Didn’t he build a good life in London? Why would he want to isolate himself like this?’ LJ ruminates as he keeps his sharp sapphire gaze on him.
“Would you like a coffee? Tea, maybe?” Isaac offers quickly. “Or something to eat? I have biscuits—”
“No.” LJ massages his temples with a hand. “I didn’t come here for that. I came here to talk.” Although he’s finding the task quite difficult and bothersome.
“Oh, okay.” LJ can see from where he stands that Isaac’s face has lightened up. The blond gestures to the sofa. “Please.” LJ takes his seat on the far right, leaving some space in between them, while Isaac takes the left. “What is it that you want to talk about?”
LJ feels a knot in his throat. He tries to keep his voice steady. “What have you been doing all this time?” He knows his question sounds too resentful, but he can’t help it.
Isaac’s face has become similar to that of the other day; hurt, but he makes no comment. “I came back from London recently. Both of them are dead.”
LJ widens his eyes. He doesn’t have to rack his brains to understand he means his parents. “Both of them?”
“My dad killed my mum, then killed himself.” Isaac reveals, clearly feeling no grief for any of them, and LJ can’t blame him for it.
The turn of events is not really a turn; he had seen many similar outcomes coming ages ago, during the times he wondered about Isaac and his situation. The only weird thing in this tale is that the guy didn’t kill her sooner.
“I went to boarding school for primary and secondary education, and I studied college there for two more years, until I became eighteen. Mum didn’t want me back, so I got a job as a carpenter and rented an apartment, until this happened. My father left me some money and I sold the house, which gave me enough to move here and get a house of my own.” Isaac finishes his retelling of events. “And where have you been?” He asks timidly, hesitantly.
“Changed foster homes a few times. Never really cared about those people.” LJ reveals flatly, and Isaac simply ‘oh’s. “Got out of art college and came here because I got a job offer as a stage performer.” And his retelling is finished. He now wants to ask the million dollar question; he grits his teeth, purses his painted lips and braces himself before requesting an answer that could make him crumble. “...Did you forget me?” His voice is unsteady, lower than he’s commanded it to be.
Isaac lowers his eyes sheepishly, guilt shining in them like a lighthouse.
LJ can feel the rage flood his insides and possess him. ‘So you have! You really did throw our promise out the window! Why? Why would you—?’
“No.” Isaac eventually answers, halting LJ’s train of thought with a deafening screech.
‘What the fuck do you mean by that? Then why didn’t you look for me? Why haven’t you reached out all this time?’ LJ frowns, floored. “No?”
Isaac licks his lips in a nervous gesture. “I know I didn’t keep my promise. I’m not going to make any excuses.” He lifts his eyes, and LJ can see them reddened and humid. “Just listen to what I have to say. Please, Jack.”
LJ can hear Jill’s voice in his head, pleading that he keeps an open mind. So he keeps silent, heeding her request (their request), and he nods stiffly.
Isaac looks to the side. He starts biting the dead skin of his lower lip. “I haven’t been a good person.” He looks down in shame, scratching his jeans. “I became a misogynistic piece of shit, treated everybody around me as if they were worthless, and had terrible thoughts and intentions many times. I’ve been going to therapy for all that happened back then, but I don’t want to use that as an excuse for my own actions. I didn’t want you to see what I had become, so I simply didn’t reach out.”
LJ remains still, drained of energy. So his fears had initially been true. “And who are you now?”
Isaac blinks, still not looking at him. “Someone that wants to live peacefully, without hurting others. Or that’s who I strive to be…I’m still trying.”
LJ considers his words. “So you didn’t have a better life there?”
Isaac scoffs. “God, no. I was bullied and isolated there too. Once that ended, it was me who wanted nothing to do with anybody. I was one of those scoundrels who resent everybody around them for what they’ve gone through, and made it their problem too.”
LJ looks down, trying to rearrange his jumble of thoughts. He can feel his preconceptions shift uncomfortably. “But I was your friend. You should’ve reached out for help!”
“I was disgusted with myself! I didn’t want to make you deal with that, after all you’ve done for me!” Isaac reasons. “You’ve always been the mature one, the intelligent one…I didn’t want to let you down. It was easier to think that if you were to look down on me all the same, I wouldn’t have to see you do it!” He grits his teeth. “All this time I’ve thought that coming back to you with that baggage would be unfair to you. You’ve gone through so much yourself!”
“So you just decided that for me?!” LJ bares his teeth in indignation.
“I decided that I didn’t want to see your face after I told you all that’s happened, only for you to look at me with the same disgust I look at myself with!” Isaac puts a hand to his chest. “I haven’t even told you anything substantial, and you’re looking at me like that already—!”
“That’s because I’ve been waiting for you for thirteen years!” LJ snarls, letting the bile in his belly reach a boiling point.
He sees Isaac flinch, and feels evil satisfaction coil in his belly like a vicious cobra.
“I’ve been wondering where you might be, what you might be doing, if you were eating well, sleeping well, if you were healthy, if you still remembered me!” LJ can feel hot, black tears run down his white face, sullying his white base; he feels like a worn out forgotten toy. He opens his eyes wide. “And you return! You return, all innocent looking and eager to talk to me, when I’ve been longing for you to come back all this time, spending nights awake sick with worry and hope—” He smirks. “—and I just wanted to tear your throat out! Gut you! Cut off your lying tongue!”
Isaac’s face turns wary when he hears those admissions, LJ realizes; perhaps he’s changed much more than he thinks. Perhaps this rage has become part of him slowly, taking home in his body and waiting to jump at the right time. Perhaps he’s not that different from Isaac, who’s eyes darted around when he claimed to be a changed man.
Perhaps they’re both vicious.
LJ gives him a sneer. “But no! Poor, little Isaac —” He uses a childish, mocking voice, then returns to his raspy one and his expression returns to anger. “—doesn’t care about the promise he made last time he saw me, doesn’t give a fig about his friend who would cover his ears whenever his mother wailed and his father insulted her while drunk out of his mind, and doesn’t care that I cried along with him under his bed whenever he got a beating. You’d rather think I’ve become a wimp who can no longer deal with that than face me.” He covers his face, not caring if he smears his makeup any further. “I shouldn’t have come here.” He stands up in a flash, ready to leave.
“W-wait!” Isaac quickly stands up, blocking his path. “Let’s talk this through, Jack!” He pleads desperately.
LJ stays where he is. “There’s nothing to talk about. You would’ve never had the balls to contact me if you hadn’t found me here.” He grimaces bitterly. “Let me out. You’ve trapped me enough with your empty promises—”
“I was planning to contact you! I really was!” Isaac cuts him off as he weeps pitifully. “I don’t want to lose you again, Jack…I know I shouldn’t have avoided you, I know, just please!”
LJ watches Isaac’s teardrops fall and drench his face, and he pushes down his buried side that is ready to jump and comfort that other child. He stays there, thoughts scrambling into a mess, as Isaac falls to his knees and keeps on begging him while fisting his hands on his striped pants. He can no longer hide behind the compulsion of eviscerating him.
“G-give me another chance! I d-didn’t do it with malice, I swear!” Isaac supplicates hysterically. “I just didn’t want you to feel responsible for m-me and babysit me like you used to!” He hiccups, and closes his eyes. “I wanted to be b-better for you by the time I returned, I wanted to be someone you could rely on! I didn’t want to return to you and make you think t-that I’m still a worthless worm—!”
LJ gives in; he falls to his knees in front of him, and hugs him. He shuts his eyes tight. “Shut up.”
“J-Jack…?” Isaac asks. A confused, snotty kid.
LJ can’t keep it chained any longer. Denial is no longer useful: the care and love he felt for him has bloomed anew, vibrant in color, like a seed that was trying to survive in barren land and has been awarded with rain. “Just shut up. Don’t say anything else.” He cards his right hand through Isaac’s hair, like he used to do long ago, while he cries silently. He finds comfort in comforting him, a feeling he’s rarely found lately.
His returned friend sags down against him, finding that same comfort in him. And yet, he’s still tense, since he’s not sure if LJ has forgiven him or has any intention to, despite their current situation. But he hugs back, nonetheless; he has missed him terribly, felt immense joy when he saw him at the fair. This joy has only multiplied tenfold now that LJ is not behaving hostile towards him.
It feels like home, like being reunited with the only family he’s ever had.
In a sense, LJ has always felt like some sort of guardian. He knows this idea is bollocks; LJ had little power to help him back then. Still, his presence in his life was a ray of light, hope for a better future, and an escape from his severely dysfunctional house.
He hears LJ sigh. “...How did you recognize me?” His voice is coarse.
“The way you were talking amongst the kids reminded me of how you used to distract me back then. When I looked at you, you had my friend’s eyes. I knew it was you.” Isaac tightens his hold just barely. His voice is also rough. “I had planned on looking for you once things settled, but then I went there and just knew, and couldn’t help but approach you. I know I’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry.”
LJ feels tired. His rage is gone, so is his wish to strap Isaac down into a table and torture him, and his wait has ceased. He feels as if a balm had been rubbed on a burn he’s been ignoring for years, as if he's seen light after complete darkness for ages. He opens his eyes, and looks around. “I think it might take me a while to forgive you.”
Isaac tightens his arms around him. “I understand.”
⦻
He’s just come back from work, Smile doing a little dance around him as a welcome back ritual, when he hears a message notification ping in his pocket. He gets farther in through the hall, dropping the keys on the living-room table, and checks his phone.
<[EJ]: “Can I come over? I have to tell you something, and it has to be in person.”
‘Well, isn’t that ominous? But it might just be the flatness of the message.’ Jeff snickers. EJ doesn’t use acronyms and emojis, and Jeff avoids them when talking to him in order to make the text much clearer and discernible to his screen reader, as well as writing as tidily as he can. Overall, a completely different way of communication between them.
<[You]: “Sure. Will you be alright on your own?”
<[EJ]: “If someone tries to rob me, an ambulance will have to come, but not for me.”
Jeff grins at the implicit threat while Smile still makes little jumps around him, standing on one front leg and then the other, to gain his attention. He absentmindedly rubs his head.
<[You]: “All right then. I trust you, so you better be here. I’ll make dinner while I wait for you. Do you want me to make you something?”
<[EJ]: “No. I already had dinner, thankfully. Your cooking skills leave much to be desired.”
Jeff scoffs while Smile begins what is his new tactic to gain attention: to go off like a dog-siren. His waa-waa of a bark grows exponentially the more Jeff remains distracted by the rectangular device, so he simply pockets it back on his jeans and looks down at Smile. “Yes, yes, you impatient little gremlin, I’ll give you your dinner now!”
Smile sneezes in protest as Jeff makes his way to the kitchen, as if saying “Hurry up, I’m starving!”, then follows his friend .
Jeff makes a face at him. “Ah, but you’re never this excited about kibble, are you?” He takes everything out of the fridge, and chops the vegetables while the rice and the chicken gets warmed up in the microwave, as always. “You only greet me like that because of dinner!” He sniffs in fake sadness.
Smile woofs at him from where he sits, “Whatever you say, man, but give me that chicken so I can demand your dinner later!” etched in his bark. Because that’s the first thing he ever eats; next comes the rice, and then the broccoli (and because Jeff warned him from the start that he’ll get nothing else from him if he doesn’t eat it). At least he finishes it all.
While Smile gobbles everything down, Jeff makes his own food: macaroni and cheese, made from a cheap mix of melted cheese slides and another type of pitiful shredded cheese. ‘I really have to upgrade my cooking skills.’ He thinks, knowing he never will.
He makes sure to eat it before EJ arrives, in case his news is so bad that his stomach closes. That way, even if indigestion occurs, he’ll have something in there. He gives Smile a treat once he finishes, because lactose cheese is a no-no.
He’s done with the dishes when the doorbell is rung. Smile woofs again from his spot on the rug of the living-room, but he makes no other move. Jeff dries his hands with the kitchen towel and goes to the door, finding the expected EJ with his cane in his hand. “Boo.” EJ greets him with a purposeful lack of enthusiasm.
“Halloween is not this month, but you are indeed creepy.” Jeff greets him back with all the grace of a polite host. “Come on in.”
“I can smell the cheap cheese lingering in the air.” EJ grimaces as he enters, cane caressing the floor on his path. “You really have no culinary taste.”
“Oh, I’m sorry Dr. Lecter, for not having such an exquisite palate as yours!” Jeff retorts behind him with a smirk. “You must’ve felt offended by the smell. Please, don’t cook me up.”
“Think about it: you could be my Will Graham. You only need six more dogs and a knack for fishing.” EJ responds, glowing at the praise he shouldn’t feel praised by. He takes his seat at the left side of the couch, resting the cane on the floor under him.
“Jill could be Starling, if you want more than one lover. I would also need a…daughter?” Jeff frowns in thought. “You’d need a sister. Long digested, preferably.” He flops down on the other side of the couch.
“If I have to eat somebody—” EJ makes a perverted expression. “—that should be you. We’ll have to make do with what we have.”
“Are you gonna propose to me, then?” Jeff raises an eyebrow, amused by the conversation. “I’m saving myself for the right one. No sex before marriage.”
EJ makes a mocking face. “We’re already married. And do you want my body that badly? Because you should. This is good quality, unlike what you gobbled down a moment ago.” He caresses his chest.
“If you came here that horny because of me, you should’ve wanked yourself off before coming.” Jeff deadpans without shame. “Although your romanticism is much appreciated. Now, what is it that you wanted to tell me?”
“Getting antsy, are we? You won’t even ask how my day was. You’re neglecting me as your husband!” EJ jokes one last time before his smile relaxes a little bit. That throws Jeff off, even if it’s not really telling. “...I wasn’t really intending on telling you this, because I didn't think it was that important to bother you with. But hiding it from you might be worse, so I changed my mind. In short: someone came by, asking for you.”
Jeff can feel his dinner weigh in his stomach like a brick ready to make an escape upwards. “Who?”
Chapter Text
Tuesday.
He had been preparing dinner in advance. Cooking is a task often seen as difficult by those who are sighted when blind people are involved in it, but it doesn’t require much effort once they adapt and the necessary equipment can easily be found. In any case, Cháo Lòng is not that hard of a dish to recreate in his opinion; he’s cooked more complicated things before, with the help of his mother initially, then on his own.
He was busy preparing the pots to boil and pouring in the already well-cleaned offal when his doorbell rang. ‘Who could it be?’ Fortunately, he doesn't need the cane in his own house, for he knows the layout well. He’s always excited when he interacts with people; they are all so interesting, inside and out. He approached the door. “Who is it?”
“Hi! My name is Nina Hopkins, and I’m going around this neighborhood doing a little interview about your experience living here. Would you be interested in partaking?” He heard a feminine, bubbly voice on the other side of the door.
“I’m afraid I’m busy cooking. I’m not sure if I could be of much help while distracted.” EJ responded without opening the door. He patted his left sleeve; one should always make sure that everything is where it should be.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter. The survey won’t be that long, anyway…unless it would be bothersome for you?” The chipper voice inquired politely.
“Not at all, Ms. Hopkins. Let me unlock the door for you.” EJ did just that, and opened the door wide. “As you can see, I won’t be able to give you much insight.” He joked. “But it would be a shame if I couldn’t partake, now that you’ve piqued my interest.”
The voice didn’t falter. “You needn’t worry about that, Mr.—?”
“Nichols. Jack Nichols.” EJ was quick to respond.
“Mr. Nichols.” He could hear a smile in the girl’s voice. She sounded around his age, a little bit shorter than him. “This survey is made for everyone, so your insight will be as useful as any other.”
“That’s a relief. Please, come in, and forgive me if the smell is a little bit strong. The dish I’m making is a bit much around these parts.” EJ made his way back to the kitchen, keeping his ears sharp to the woman’s footsteps. He opened a window, then turned to her. “You may take a seat at the table behind you.”
“Thank you.” He heard Nina drag the chair, then sit herself. She began her questions as EJ took out a colander and let the faucet run to cool water, then turned it off. “So, to start with the survey: for how long have you been living here, Mr. Nichols?”
“Since I was eighteen. Five years have gone by.” EJ busied himself by warming up another pot and cleaning some bones, then putting them in a plastic bowl.
“Very well. Next question; in a scale from one to ten, how well-equipped do you think Oakside is in regards to basic establishments such as supermarkets, pharmacies and the like? And please, argue your response.” Nina asked.
“Ten. While it’s well-equipped in my opinion, which is what the question asks, the product range that can be found here in comparison to other small cities or little towns is quite scarce, although expected.” EJ put the bones aside to wash the rice, quantity already prepared beforehand, as everything else had been.
“All right. The next question is of a similar nature: from a scale from one to ten, how well-equipped do you think Oakside is in regards to primary-services such as clinic, hospital, police-station, fire-station and the like? Once again, argue your response.” Nina inquired.
“Eight. All those buildings are small, and they don’t have many workers hired. In case of an emergency, I sometimes doubt their effectiveness due to lack of sufficient personnel.” EJ turned around to chop an onion.
“Hm-mm. So, next comes: in total, how many more inhabitants would you say have made their homes here in the last two months?” He heard clothes rub against each other; he knew Nina had crossed her legs.
“I would say six. To my knowledge, of course.” EJ poured the bones into the boiling pot, then attended the other pot by pouring the contents into the colander and washing everything with cold water, and cleaning the pot itself. He then poured the contents into the pot and filled it with fresh water again, to begin the boiling process anew.
“Aha. The next question would be: have you met or have you any knowledge of any problematic inhabitants? Could you number them, if that is the case?” Nina questioned.
“I can’t say I have.” EJ took the rice and onion and poured it into the pot containing the bones, along with fish sauce, chicken bouillon powder and some salt. “Ms. Hopkins?”
“Yes, Mr. Nichols?” Nina responded to his call.
“Forgive my interruption, but I must congratulate you. This is turning out to be a very interesting survey. It has far surpassed my expectations.” EJ smiled a wolfish smile. “Especially since it’s not really a survey.”
“...Pardon?” He could hear Nina’s confused voice from where she sat.
“I find it quite distasteful when people try to fool me so shamelessly just because I’m blind. You’re not even taking any notes of my answers, which I’m sure you would’ve done otherwise, because I don’t hear any scribbling.” EJ continues, having stolen her happy tone. “Furthermore, you haven’t made sure that I’m truly an inhabitant by requesting my info to prove that this is my residence. And your questions are a jumbled mess, Ms. Hopkins! Jumping so quickly from one subject to another without much coherence. Some of them are well-thought out, but they lack finesse in their delivery. Others are just so very specific but have so little importance in the bigger picture of your study, which…” He makes a pause. “...right. You didn’t even tell me what the survey was about.”
And what’s more, but she didn't need to know: Toby hadn’t told them that there would be any survey being done, when he knew for a fact that everything had to be approved by Mr. Holzer beforehand in this place.
Only the sound of the boiling pots filled the kitchen.
“What are you searching for, Nina?” EJ tapped his left forefinger against the marble countertop. “Or rather, who?”
“...I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Mr. Nichols.” To Nina’s puzzled voice, a drop of frustration was added. “If you’re no longer interested in taking the survey, I’ll take my leave.”
EJ spoke before she even stood up. “Oh, but you see, I said you piqued my interest. And as a very knowledge-hungry man that I am, I would really appreciate it if you were so kind as to quench it. That’s the least you could do, after how disappointed you’ve made me with your poor attempt at getting information from me with such a rude method.”
He heard the chair be pushed back. He knew Nina had stood up abruptly.
EJ’s smile turned polite. “Think before you act. The windows are barroted, the front door is bolted and locked, and you already underestimated me once. I wonder, will you make the same mistake again, despite my advice?” He turned the corner of the kitchen island and made his way towards her.
“Don’t get any closer!” He heard Nina warn with more anger than fear. A pity; that meant she underestimated him again.
Still, EJ did as she wanted and kept himself beside the kitchen island. “Do as I requested and I won’t have to get any closer to you.” He heard her silent struggle to make a decision. “No? All right, then. As you wish.” He resumed his walking.
“Ugh!” Nina was probably looking around, trying to find a way out of the mess she got herself in.
‘Sighted people; always relying on their eyes to fix their mistakes.’ EJ thought, humorous. But he was surprised to hear her hurried footsteps rush towards him instead of away from him. Alas, the excitement of that unexpected turn of events didn’t last long, because Nina made her third mistake.
Yes, it was obviously her underestimation of him once again.
EJ waited until she was close enough to his liking, when he knew she would strike, then abruptly stepped aside, crouching down at the same time and supporting himself against the nearest wall to his right. He stuck his left leg out.
By the time he heard the thump of Nina’s body hitting the floor along with something metallic, EJ was already upon her, dragging her backwards; he sat on her legs and took hold of her arms, raising them high on her back. Just like that, she was subdued with ease, her form still fighting to make him lose balance.
EJ quickly made work of feeling around them on the floor with his free hand carefully, only to find a pocket-knife. He closed it and pocketed it. “Now, I think this position might encourage you to converse with me about the curious matter that brought you here.” He put his free hand behind her head, grabbing her ponytail (another mistake to consider), and letting most of his weight fall on her. “It’s to your convenience that you start now, because your lack of manners could ruin my dinner. We only have around twelve minutes left.”
He heard a huff under him.
“I have patience until then. Besides—,” EJ leaned down, getting closer to her left ear. “—you still haven’t told me who you think just joined the neighborhood. I suspect you also think them to be a problematic inhabitant, given the inclination of your questions.”
Nina sure was stubborn, because she refused to let a peep out.
“...If the meat spoils, I’ll find other substitutes.” EJ gave her a veiled threat, just to encourage a reaction other than anger or irkment. He could feel her tense under him, so he succeeded. “It really isn’t convenient for you to be this impolite with me, after I’ve been so kind to you in return.”
“...Jeff the Killer.” The childish Nina finally let out.
And EJ felt a rush of adrenaline course through his body. ‘Oh, boy! This girl really is a box of surprises! And it involves Jeff, no less!’ He gripped her hair tighter, pretending not to know who she was referring to. “I don’t know who that is. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Jeffrey Woods. Jeff, who killed Peter and Margaret Woods, and almost killed his brother—,” Nina explained rushedly, but her hair was tugged again, making her hiss in pain. “—who was set on fire by his bullies! The one that cut his mouth!”
“Ah, now those are the details I needed! The Joker rip-off?” EJ asked with intention.
And Nina took the bait, for she started wiggling with more ferocity. “Don’t call him that!” She blurted out.
“Heh, so that’s what this is about!” EJ released her hair, only to lower his hand to her face, being quick in his work to analyze her, lest she decided to use her mouth to defend herself. “I find it strange that you haven’t cut your pretty face yet, given how the princess is so smitten with her object of admiration.”
“Whah douh yu mein?” Nina questioned him, incensed, as he grabbed her face one last time before releasing her and returning his hand to her ponytail. She made a wise choice by not lashing out in any way.
“Let me ask you a question: do you have that bad of a family or environment, or mental health, that you would search for a murderer on your own? For what goal?” EJ lowered himself again, talking to her in a nonchalant tone.
Nina wiggled again without success. “My family is not abusive. I want to get closer to him—!”
EJ immediately lifted his head and started to laugh his ass off, cutting her explanation short. Under (never said better) his humiliation, he could feel Nina boil hotter than his pots. “God, you’re so funny!” His voice became high-pitched as he broke into another laughter burst. “Ah, shit, you’ve made me cry with that…phew!” He collected himself. “I would say you’re close to my age by the sound of your voice alone, maybe a few years younger. I didn’t think someone as old as you would foster such infantile delusions.” He snorted.
“I’m twenty, and they’re not delusions!” Nina continued to try and defend her hopeless case.
“But why would you think Jeff the Killer would like to have anything to do with you? Your reasoning is beyond me.” EJ frowned, smile not leaving his face. “He would paint the walls red with your insides and rip your face open as soon as he got the chance. I doubt he would have time for something like loooove.” He says the last word with exaggeratedly cloying sweetness.
Nina freezed for a moment. “I never said that’s what I wanted!” She resumed her flailing.
“Neither did you need to, it was pretty clear. You’re not exactly being careful of what you let out of your mouth, nor how. Nevertheless, your endeavor here is fruitless.” EJ admitted.
Nina stopped moving. “What? Why?”
“Because if such a character were to appear here, given how vicious you depict him to be, and because of his description, he wouldn’t go unnoticed, even by me. World travels fast when everybody knows everybody.” EJ was getting tired of explaining things that should’ve been obvious.
“So he’s not here?” Nina asked, sullen.
“No, Nina. He’s not here.” EJ sighed. “To make me lose my time like this…now, stay like this. I’ll open the front door for you so you may get out. But I promise you, you won’t if I hear you stand up before I give you the signal.”
“Wait.” Nina suddenly requested. “Are you a serial killer or something?”
EJ made a face. “What kind of assumption is that? I have no interest in killing you—”
“But you threatened me! And you’re so skilled despite being blind!” Nina interjected. “One with a disability such as yours is not simply so skilled!”
“And there you go again, assuming all about my being out of a single characteristic of mine.” EJ threw his head back in exasperation. “You’ve sated my curiosity. Get out of my house already.”
“But I can’t just go back empty-handed—!” Nina shut herself up.
‘Damn. this girl really doesn’t ever think before letting anything out, does she?’ EJ thought as he grabbed her ponytail again, making her protest. “And now you’ve piqued my interest again!” He leant forward once more and tugged at her hair with more violence this time, making her yelp. “Now be quick, Nina, because I’m really losing my patience. And if my dinner turns out wrong because of you, I might as well take that statement about not wanting to kill you back!”
“Okay, okay! Geez, you’ll leave me bald at this rate!” He stopped yanking, and Nina relented. “I came here on my own accord, but I talked with someone else who is also interested in finding him. They told me they thought he might be here, so I came. But I have no idea what they want, nor their name, I swear! We only talked through forum chat!”
“What a shame.” EJ knew she was telling the truth this time. “And if you didn’t come here to get a psycho boyfriend, why are you looking for him?”
Nina clenched her fists, which EJ was still holding with his left hand. “I wanted to get advice from someone I relate to.”
“But you just told me your family is not abusive.” EJ tilted his head.
“Because our common factor is not family.” Nina revealed sourly.
And he understood. But of course, he’s not going to explain these events to Jeff as they were, because he might have an apoplexy; some details should be changed here and there.
“At around five, a girl came to make a survey, but it was shitty as hell and I quickly caught on that she was trying to get some info from me. When I pointed it out, I threatened to call the police and she gave in: she told me that she was looking for you, or rather, her idealized version of you, because she felt like you could help her.” EJ resumes with a glowing face.
Jeff is perplexed. He blinks several times before lifting his right hand and pinching his nasal bridge. “So you’re telling me that one of those girls that obsess over murderers and murder-documentaries and all that crap was going around the neighborhood trying to find me.”
“Eh, kinda?” EJ shrugs. “It sounds horrible when you put it that way, but I don’t think it was her probable obsession that brought her here.”
Jeff lowers his hand, but his frown remains. “And how did you reach that conclusion?”
“Because not only was she told where to look for you, but she also gave a reason as to why she came.” EJ rests his left shoulder against the back of the sofa. In front of him, Jeff has gone as blank as a sheet. “Before you ask, she didn’t know who told her that. But the reason she came has nothing to do with that other party: it’s because her and her little brother are being bullied, it’s only getting worse. She’s thinking of resorting to violence.”
Jeff leans forward, rubbing his face with his hands. “Fuck.”
“She was desperate. I just told her you’re not here, but I gave her my number just in case.” EJ sags down against the sofa.
“And why did you change your mind about telling me?” Jeff asks suddenly, looking at EJ with squinted eyes. “And give her your number, at that?”
“I thought it might’ve been someone that saw you around that gave her the hint, but my guess might be wrong, so it was best to let you know someone with unknown intentions looking for you.” EJ crosses his arms. “And I know you love spreading your wisdom around, so I thought you might want to give her some advice. I told her you’re not here, but we can change that.”
Jeff observes EJ while he rubs his own chin. “There’s something that I don’t understand, though.”
“Hm?” EJ lifts his head in the direction of the voice.
“Why would she just tell you all of that because you threatened to call the police? Why didn’t she just leave?” Jeff asks, trying to come up with an answer that is not too far-fetched, not too EJ.
‘There’s no way to completely fool the ever perceptive Jeff.’ EJ would feel proud, if he wasn’t busy feeling bothered by what he knows will come next. “Because I wouldn’t let her out and she relented, plain and simple.” He admits, and Jeff widens his eyes in disbelief. “She came in to get info, and I got info from her. Don’t scold me for wanting to find out if she was dangerous for you; gotta fulfill my marital duty.”
“Stop it with the jokes, dude, this is serious! She could have hurt you if she were out of her mind, which is what it sounds like!” Jeff, as expected, scolds him nonetheless. “I get that you’re not defenseless, but man, you really are reckless!”
‘If only you knew.’ EJ doesn’t say that out loud. “So, what are you gonna do?” He completely ignores his worry, which makes Jeff huff. “I’ll just block her if you don’t want to deal with her. All fine by me.”
Jeff looks up to the ceiling.
Wednesday.
“What is this? Is it lipstick?” Sally takes the tap off of the product and peers into it with one eye closed for better focus.
“No, sweetie, that’s concealer.” Natalie quickly explains, taking it from her for a moment to twist it and let the tip of the paint show. “It’s used to hide things that you don’t want to be seen, such as pimples, scars or redness.”
Sally looks between the product and her, back and forth a few times, until she twists it back down with less skill and covers it. “You don’t need hiding.” She tosses it on the rug and moves on to another product.
If only she knew how much she just touched Natalie.
Sally looks for the pinkest lipstick she can find and gets up from the floor to walk over to her babysitter, who is sitting on the floor close to her, hands behind her as support. She does as best as she can to paint Natalie’s lips, although her work is not very precise, but she thinks Natalie looks pretty, nonetheless. As her mommy often says: “You can’t make a milk purse out of a cow’s ear.” Or something along those lines.
‘Whatever! Natalie is not like that because she’s pretty and she lets me paint her face with makeup! She’s nice, unlike uncle, who wanted to order me around even if I didn’t want to! Uncle is ugly, inside and out!’ She thinks with conviction. “Isn’t that right, Mr. D?” She turns around to ask her little fluffy friend. She nods when the bear agrees with her.
‘Kids and their logic.’ Natalie just lets Sally be, amused by her talking to the plushie, both through mental link and verbally. “Do you have any other dresses besides this one?” She asks when Sally is finished drawing on her face with the abused lipstick.
“I have one that is purple, another that is blue, another that is yellow, another that is red and another that is green. But this is my favorite!” Sally sits down again, not without making sure that nothing is under her. “Mommy sometimes puts my hair in braids, and daddy likes it when I have a ponytail with a powtie, but they both like it when it’s down.”
“Bowtie, Sally. And I agree that anything looks good on you.” Natalie compliments the kid, who sticks her chest out at the praise. “Who would be your preferred Disney princess?”
“Uh…Rapunzel.” Sally picks up the powder blush and a brush. “Who is your favorite?”
“Hm, maybe Mulan. I really like Mushu.” Natalie laughs as Sally puts the pigment on her.
And Sally laughs along in agreement. “Dishonor over your cow!” She drops herself over Natalie in a fit of laughter, who is chortling along.
Once she composes herself, Natalie rubs Sally’s back. “All right, are you done doing my makeup?”
“Yep! Can I go watch TV?” Sally requests, and Natalie gives her the green light; she gets up too, and gets into the bathroom. She gets rid of Sally’s artwork with micellar water, and as she cleans her face, her mood turns disappointed.
She hasn’t talked with Toby in three days.
She feels childish. It’s not like they’re that close, because his nightly stay at her house was merely an act of comforting her friend. And besides, she hasn’t tried to start a conversation, so she can’t blame him for doing the same; it’s not like he has a responsibility to do so, or that he owes her anything, and neither is he a guesser.
But she’s too timid. Her dismissiveness of Toby’s foolish thoughts about bothering her now come back to bite her in the ass, for she’s feeling the same about bothering him.
As she gets out of the bathroom, face clean, her phone buzzes: a call from Mrs. Williams. “Hello, Mrs. Williams. Everything alright?”
“Hi, Natalie! Yes, everything is good; I just called because I forgot to tell you that you may take Sally for a walk in the park if you two feel like it, just for a change. It might get boring if you spend every evening at home.” Natalie can hear voices in the background, probably her coworkers. “Just make sure that she eats at seven at the latest if you do. The keys are at the entrance table.”
Natalie considers it. “Okay, I’ll ask her what she thinks, and thank you. Have a nice evening!”
“You too, dear.” With that, the mother hangs the phone.
Natalie turns to Sally, who is absorbed watching Mickey Mouse this time; the episode looks really boring, with Mickey merely having a walk, looking all dejected. “Hey, Sally!” The child tilts her head slightly, giving her just enough of her attention without her eyes leaving the screen. “Mommy just called to tell me we could go to the park for a while. Would you like that?”
“Yeeaaaaah!” Sally squeals as she takes the TV remote and turns off the television, then stands up and runs to her. “Can we go see the duckies?”
“Of course, but go put on your jacket because it might get a bit chilly later.” Natalie requests, and Sally quickly goes to her bedroom.
She takes the house keys and her purse, then puts her shoes on; when Sally returns to the entrance, Natalie helps her put hers on. Once she’s checked that everything is as it should be, they get out of the house, she locks the door and offers Sally her left hand, who takes it without fuss.
They arrive at the park, still at a decent distance from the lake. As Sally is looking around excitedly, she suddenly points at something to their right. “Look! It’s the weird doggy!”
Natalie follows the direction of her finger: a motionless but ready Smile (who has clearly recognized them) is looking at them both as he wags his tail and pants, probably having been running around before spotting them. “Hello, Smile!” As soon as she greets him with a cute voice, he zoomies towards them at high speed, ears flapping, only to make a U turn and run back the direction he came as Sally shrieks in laughter.
It doesn’t take her long to catch sight of the owner, along with their blond friend. They smile back as soon as they spot her in return.
As Smile tires himself out, still going on circles around them, Natalie calls him again. “Smile!” And the dog approaches, wiggling his butt along with his tail. The dog gets near Sally and sniffs at her with wide eyes full of curiosity, and the girl hugs him by the neck. As the kid laughs, Smile tries to kiss the little creature with a head full of curls.
Jeff and Ben approach, a bit shyly because of Sally, but Jeff is glad that Smile is throwing himself on his back to let the kid scratch his belly. “Hey, didn’t expect to see you here.”
Sally looks at him, not scared of his appearance in the slightest, then shoots her question. “Hi, I’m Sally! Who are you?”
Jeff gives her a tender smile, grateful for her open-mindness. “I’m Jeff. That’s Smile.” He points at the fluffy friend, who’s still rubbing himself against the grass, tongue dangling from the side of his mouth.
Sally looks down at Smile. “He is smiling! But why does he look like that?”
Jeff tries to come up with a good story. “Well, Sally, have your parents ever told you not to eat hot food too fast because you can burn yourself?” Sally looks up at him again, and nods. “He was once very anxious to drink soup, so he dipped his head in it and got the hair of his face burnt.”
All of the adults here know it’s a sorry excuse for an explanation, but Sally buys it and chortles, amused by the thought of Smile diving his face into broth and coming out bald. Then, she looks at the other stranger. And keeps on looking, very intensely.
Ben grows nervous under her scrutiny, timid as he is, so Natalie tries to do something about it. “This is Ben. We’re all friends with each other.”
Suddenly, Sally lifts a finger and points it at Ben, almost accusingly. “Prince!”
“P-prince?” Ben responds in confusion, cheeks already lighting up, while Jeff turns his head and bites his lower lip to contain his mirth.
“You look like a prince! An elf prince! Ben the Elf Prince!” Sally declares with conviction, and nods to herself. “Isn’t he, Natalie?”
Meanwhile, Ben just keeps on getting shades darker of red, and Jeff is shaking with contained laughter. Ben gives him an annoyed little nudge with his elbow, but it doesn’t have much effect.
“If you say so.” Natalie responds with neutrality, which only makes Jeff lose his shit further, and Ben looks all the more embarrassed. ‘Time to switch the focus.’ She thinks with a smirk. “But then, what would Jeff be?”
Jeff turns his head back to look at Sally with wary eyes, still not recovered from keeping his chortles in check.
“His knight! And Smile is his horse!” Sally points at the dog, who has sat up, and is shaking himself like a drill. She then points at Natalie herself. “And you’re a queen!”
Natalie and Jeff smile, satisfied with their roles, while Ben is still doubtful of his. “And what would you be, then?” Jeff kneels down in front of her to make himself look less menacing.
“A princess, of course!” Sally announces, making it clear that assuming that to be her role should be common sense. “And uncle is the defeated dragon!”
They all become uncomfortable at the mention of that scumbag, but they quickly move on for the sake of the child. “I see. So, you like Smile? Don’t you think he’s the littlest bit scary?” Jeff asks her out of curiosity.
“No! He just wasn’t careful when drinking soup, but he’s nice!” Sally puts a hand on Smile’s back, and he woofs beside her, as if saying “Damn right I am, the best boy! Why would you even ask that?”, and then he approaches Jeff, taking advantage of his position to ask for pets. “You’re nice too, right? Natalie said so, and it has to be true because she said so!”
Jeff and Natalie exchange glances, and she can see gratefulness in his eyes. “I am. Or that’s what I think. Natalie likes me, so do Smile and Ben.” Jeff explains as best as he can, returning his gaze to Sally. “I might be ugly, but that doesn’t mean I’m bad—”
He’s caught off guard when Sally gets closer to him and hugs him by the shoulders. “But you’re not ugly. You just had an oopsie like Natalie.” She pats him on the back. “There, there.”
Jeff pouts, close to tears. “Group hug, now!” Everybody follows his order, Natalie as teary eyed as he is, while Ben is just smiling warmly. “Come here, Smile—”
And so the five of them hug, and as Sally chortles happily, Smile howls.
⦻
She’s already in bed, busy thinking, as always. ‘Should I talk to him? Should I initiate the conversation this time? But what could I possibly start with? Maybe asking how he’s been, how his day was? If he’s talked with his boss already?’ That would be the right thing to do. She lights her phone and enters their chat.
<[ You ]: “Hey, how have u been?”
Contrary to what she expected, the three dots that indicate the other person is writing appear a minute after her message has been sent. She even panics, for she thought Toby wouldn’t even bother responding, if he even realized she messaged him in the first place.
<[Toby]: “A bit down”
‘Well, that’s saddening.’ More so when she realizes that’s why he hasn’t reached out. ‘But who am I to push him? Perhaps his mood cannot be improved this time, or he’s more comfortable on his own.’ She only hopes he keeps his promise when he considers her helpful.
<[ You ]: “U know I’m here if u need me, right?”
Even so, she can’t help but remind him. ‘Sometimes a reminder is needed.’ She needs them herself often. Otherwise, her mind will point out (mistakenly) that the only reason her friends offer her any help is out of politeness, not because of a deeper wish to help her.
<[Toby]: “Yes”
She doesn’t think he’s convinced, but she won’t pressure him any further. She changes the subject, hoping it won’t put him in a worse mood.
<[You]: “Have u talked to ur boss yet?”
<[Toby]: “Nope, I plan on doing that tomorrow”
<[Toby]: “I’m gonna go to bed, see u”
And with that, their conversation is finished. Natalie feels guilty, as if she should make a greater effort to uplift him. ‘But I don’t know how to!’ And then, she gets an idea. She quickly exits that chat and enters the one she has with LJ, in which they mostly share memes.
<[You]: “LJ, I need ur help :(“
The clown doesn’t take long to start typing; she’s glad he’s still awake.
<[LJ]: “Whassup, sweet-cheeks?”
<[You]: “Please don’t mock me for what I’m bout to ask u”
<[LJ]: “It has to do with Tobibi, doesn’t it? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ”
Natalie buries her face in her pillow, ashamed of being caught so fast.
<[You]: “Yep ;v;”
<[You]: “He’s been distant these few days, and I wanted to cheer him up somehow, do you have any ideas?”
<[LJ]: “W A F F L E S”
Natalie blinks.
<[You]: “Does he like them?”
<[LJ]: “Yep, they’ll cheer him up ÒwÓ”
<[LJ]: “Ask Jilly to help you if you need it”
<[You]: “Thx, I owe you one”
<[LJ]: “I’ll remember that (≖ᴗ≖ )”
With a shiver of wariness at that promise, Natalie exits the chat. But before can start typing on Jill’s, who she also shares many memes with, the other girl is already typing.
<[Jill]: “SO YOU WANT TO SEDUCE TOBYBEAR THROUGH HIS STOMACH, HUH? >:D”
Natalie screams into her pillow, embarrassment making her light up the room like a firefly’s behind.
Thursday.
Someone is touching his face.
The unwelcome finger drags along his skin, smearing a substance as black as tar; it starts on his forehead, then goes down his right cheek, and continues on until it reaches his chin. But it seems its path has not yet ended, for it turns around: up it goes his other cheek, and finishes right where it started, leaving a circle.
And yet, this is not the last of the digit’s purpose. It begins again higher than his right temple, on the side of his forehead, and moves diagonally across his face, to his jaw. It does the same once more on the other side: over the left temple, across the face, to the other side of his jaw.
He can’t breathe. He can’t open his eyes. He can’t hear. He can’t move his lips.
And yet, his lungs don’t ache for air. He can see the silhouettes around him clearly. He can listen to the children as they sing. He can speak to them just the same.
His face is covered by their small hands, painted white, his body drenched in black tar. He becomes the forest, its branches sprouting from his back, high above the ground as a looming presence.
He jolts awake from the bed, hands immediately reaching for his face and chest in distress.
Everything is obviously where it should be; he still has his pair of eyes, his pair of ears, his nose, and his mouth. Nothing is missing, nor is he drenched in any substance, apart from his own cold sweat. Just to make sure, he reaches behind him and checks his back with a trembling hand: as smooth as ever.
He pulls his disheveled hair back. ‘I should have gotten used to this by now. Such a strange nightmare is not a weird occurrence whenever I sleep, but they always manage to startle me.’ He thinks, taking a deep breath. ‘The forests…they have tainted my safe havens with their misdeeds. They’ve given them a new, twisted meaning.’
He gets up, feeling as if his bones were old, creaky wood. He discards the dark gray sheets to the side; no use in staying in bed any longer. He takes a shower first and foremost, itching to rid himself of the bodily fluid that is proof of his momentaneous fright.
It’s only when he’s dressing himself with one of the many suits that look the same, that he checks the time on the clock of his bedside table: ten on the dot. He’s displeased about having woken up so late, given that he tends to naturally do so much sooner, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. Perhaps he should start using alarms, just to prevent repetition.
When he comes down the stairs and begins preparing his tea, he finds himself appalled at the lack of manners of whoever has suddenly begun pounding on his door. ‘Only someone I know could be so rude.’
His suspicions about the identity of the culprit are confirmed when he checks the peephole camera. He doesn’t bother opening the door for him. “Mr. Ross, I kindly ask that you stop abusing my entrance door.” He doesn’t greet him, for Carl doesn’t deserve his kindness, nor is he welcome here.
“Where is she?!” Carl doesn’t greet him either, focused on a single goal. “What have you done with her?!”
“Specify who and what you mean by that.” Mr. Holzer has guessed who he means, but Carl doesn’t have to know that. “Because I find it hard to try and guess with all this noise you are making. I cannot even hear my own thoughts.”
“Kate! Where the fuck is Kate?!” Carl continues his frantic, anxious and bothersome screaming.
“And how would I know? I do not keep tabs on my employees…unlike you, it seems.” Mr. Holzer checks his watch. He’s not willing to waste much more time.
“She’s not responding to any of my messages, so it has to be you who’s done something!” Carl keeps on screeching, making his throat raw.
“So that is what you assume instead of thinking that, perhaps, she has ceased all contact with you because you no longer interest her in any capacity?” Mr. Holzer leans against the wall. This is kind of amusing. “I would reach that natural conclusion. I doubt Ms. Milens would remain unfazed when she learns you have come to bother me, and much less when she realizes how brainless your thought process is.”
“We’ve been friends since we were children! We would tell each other everything, and you fucked that up! What makes you think I’m going to believe you?!” Carl snarls on the other side like a rabid dog. “Where is she?!”
This is when it stops being kind of amusing and becomes overly repetitive, to the point of exasperation. “For the last time, Mr. Ross, I do not know. And if I did, you would never learn it from me. Now, I kindly ask that you remove yourself from my property, because I will call the authorities otherwise. Oh, and one more thing.” Mr. Holzer suddenly opens the door, scaring a much shorter and caught-off-guard Carl Ross, who takes a few steps back. He looks down on the nuisance with disdain, eyes shining with warning and face shrouded in the shadow of the doorframe. “Whatever her plans are, they do not involve you, so the proper thing to do would be to extract yourself from her life entirely, as per her silent request. Refrain from bothering her any further, unless you truly want me to meddle.”
Carl looks up at him with obvious fright.
Mr. Holzer stares him down some more, desirous to squash him like a smelly insect on the spot, but that would be far too conspicuous. He closes the door on his face, and makes his way to the kitchen, only for the doorbell to interrupt him not a minute after.
He returns to the door and opens it, only to see his employee’s trembling body as he looks back at Carl. “The fuck is that cunt doing here?” Toby turns around to face him, face stormy, clenching and relaxing his hands. “Should I drag him to the woods by his hair?”
“Good morning to you too, Tobias.” Mr. Holzer drinks from his cup of black tea, amused at his severely adverse reaction. “While I do not recommend that, I am glad we are on the same page. Come in.” He stands aside, and his grumpy worker accepts his offer.
“He’s looking for Kate, isn’t he? Creepy bitch.” Toby clicks his tongue as makes his way towards the living-room. He’s taking the usual couch, while Mr. Holzer is making his way to the other, not bothering to correct his colorful language.
“I shall notify her of this incident.” Mr. Holzer leans forward to rest the cup on the glass coffee table, then sits down. He changes the subject. “You are free of duty until next week, so I assume your visit is not work-related.”
“Yeah, uh…” Toby cracks his knuckles. He’s clearly uncomfortable. “...I wanted to say I’m sorry for—” He whistles. “—how I reacted the other day.”
The way he responded to his admissions and later bolted out of the door did leave Mr. Holzer puzzled, but he wasn’t affronted by it: Toby can be very volatile and visceral in his emotions, and he took him in while being aware of his ways. “No offense taken. Were my future plans of leaving Oakside behind that incensed you so?”
He can see that Toby is gritting his teeth, and how he sinks his nails into his palm. This is his obvious answer, and one that displeases his employer in its method of conveyance.
“I ask that you stop stabbing your hands, Tobias.” Mr. Holzer’s words startle Toby out of his stupor, and he realizes what he’s been doing. “It might not hurt, but you are damaging your skin.” Toby rests his hands on his legs, obeying him. “Thank you. Now, will you tell me why the idea bothers you so much?” He crosses his arms and legs, waiting for his response.
Toby now resorts to flicking and fiddling with his fingers. “Because I don’t want you to leave.” He repeats what he said the other day.
“Of that, I am aware. But why?” Mr. Holzer retries. “I do not understand what this has to do with all the reasons you listed, because I could and would continue executing those promises if I were to leave. Why do you have this feeling of abandonment at the prospect?”
Toby looks to the side, frown still on his grumpy face; better to be straightforward. He cracks his neck. “...You’re the father I never had.” He sniffs. “If you leave, I would want to leave with you, but I don’t— meow —want to leave this place behind.” When he’s answered with silence, he lifts his gaze, full of anxiety.
And finds Mr. Holzer covering his mouth with a hand, eyes twinkling.
‘Is he smiling?’ Toby is relieved, astonished and indignant, all at the same time: Mr. Holzer’s reaction is good, but it’s not a reaction he would’ve ever expected. He purses his lips and rolls his shoulders. Unbeknownst to him, his blush has deepened, especially on his nose. “Are you amused right now?” Despite his resentful tone, his voice has come out too meek to his liking.
“I am simply thankful that you decided to confide in me so deeply. I will take your opinion into account for future planning, I assure you.” Mr. Holzer is not really hiding his smile, because he never smiles with his mouth; he does it with his eyes.
Toby’s miffed expression turns emotional; that has gladdened him greatly, both because Mr. Holzer seems to care about his opinion, and because he hasn’t reacted negatively to Toby’s admission. He lowers his head.
“Changing subject, I can tell that this break has not done much with helping you unwind.” Mr. Holzer comments, souring his tone. He lowers the hand that was covering his mouth; his face has returned to its usual stoniness. “I know you have not slept much, if at all. What about eating?” Toby purses his lips slightly, which gives him enough of an answer. He sighs. “That displeases me. Sleep might not be under your control, but whether you are hungry or not, you must make an effort to eat.”
Toby swallows, feeling thoroughly scolded. But it’s good to know that Mr. Holzer cares about him. “I will.” Then, he remembers something, and straightens his posture. “Mr. Holzer.” The other hums in question. “I know it’s not my place to ask, but I have to try.”
Mr. Holzer already knows where the conversation is headed. “Do not bother.” He sees Toby’s face become sullen. “I ask that you forgive me for my hostility towards you the other day, but it was to keep you from realizing something that can kill you. And pardon me for saying this, but I know how reckless you can be. I only hope that one day I might be able to tell you freely, once this issue is over.” He talks solemnly.
Toby can only suck it up, because he’s right: he is reckless, even if he doesn’t realize it sometimes. He rubs his face. “All right. I won’t ask again.”
“Thank you, Toby.” Mr. Holzer is sincere. And that sincerity, along with the affectionate shortening of his name, softens Toby’s moody expression.
⦻
‘It can’t be, what he said simply can’t be true!’ Carl keeps on ruminating while he makes his way to the center of the park. ‘Ever since he came into the picture, Kate has been distancing herself more and more from me. Why would she kick me out of her life like that, otherwise, and not Lauren, when we have a far closer relationship? Could it be because Lauren is not confrontational, or because she won’t speak up her mind, unlike me? Yeah, that must be it. Is it that bad that I only want what’s best for her? That I’m wary of that shady guy, and what he might have done to gain her blind loyalty, when she won’t even talk to me?’ He grits his teeth. ‘That fucking demon must have something to do with it! Curse the day Holzer arrived at Oakside! If he had never come here, everything would be as it should—!’ As he lifts his head, he glimpses a familiar pair, and focuses his eyes on one of the individuals.
She has her silky black hair down, and is wearing her white jacket and elastic gray jeans, along with her sneakers. Her face is delicate, with grayish-blue eyes and rosy cheeks. Her expression, ever serious the last few times he saw her, is now mirthful.
‘Kate.’ Carl feels the desperation that was gnawing at his insides burst free. “Kate!” He rushes to approach Kate, but her taller and sturdier companion takes notice of him and quickly drags Kate behind her.
As soon as she hears him, Kate knows who he is. “Carl.” She addresses him coldly in return, looking at him warily, while Heather protectively keeps her beside her with an arm around her shoulders. “Why are you here?”
“Why am I here? Why are you not responding to my messages?” Carl deflects the question to make one of his own.
‘It seems that he only has enough braincells to prevent shitting himself while he walks.’ Heather thinks, and clicks her tongue with displeasure. “Talk about not taking a hint. You can’t be this stupid.”
Carl ignores her, not without giving her the stink eye. “Has he told you not to talk to me?”
While Heather just scoffs, rolling her brown eyes upwards, Kate connects the dots: he’s come from the direction of Mr. Holzer’s residence and talks as if he were responsible for their lack of contact. ‘Yes, Heather, he can be this stupid.’ Her face becomes gloomy. “So you’ve come back to blame others for what you’ve done and track me down.”
Carl’s eyes become wide as saucers in disbelief. “What have I done? What are you talking about?”
Before Heather can tell him to fuck off, Kate raises a hand to stop her.
She looks Carl dead in the eye. “You snarled at Mr. Holzer when he offered me a job to be able to pay for my mother's treatment after she got diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, just because you disliked him on sight. When she was about to die because the treatment wasn’t working and she was in stage four already, you confessed your feelings for me and made me even more anxious when I was stressed enough, about to lose my mother as I was. Then, you lost your shit at Mr. Holzer for the second time when he offered support after my mom died; I was about to lose my house because all my savings went to her. I had nothing left to pay my house bills and the rest of the medical expenses that I still had to pay.” She pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath to keep her cool. “Even after all of that, I still remained your friend like an idiot. But recently, you reminded me of your feelings, when you already knew I wouldn’t reciprocate. It all says a lot about what you think about my boundaries and my say in any matter. But what truly breaks the camel’s back is that you just went to Mr. Holzer’s house and harassed him, when he’s been there for me as you never have.”
Heather pulls her lips into a fine line, containing a chortle. ‘Damn, girl, tear him a new one!’
Carl purses his lips. “I agree that I shouldn't have confessed to you at that moment, but other than that, I was only trying to look out for you. I treat Holzer that way because I don’t trust him in the slightest. It’s shady that he would come and help you just because.”
“Look out for me, you say? I get the opportunity to recover financially, and your looking out for me could’ve resulted in me losing that opportunity. I don’t care that you don’t trust Mr. Holzer, and you’re no one to tell me who I should or shouldn’t trust. Mr. Holzer certainly doesn’t care about what you think in the slightest, just like Lauren never has. Get out of my life already.” Kate tugs at Heather’s sleeve, and the other woman understands: time to leave.
As they turn around, Carl attempts again. “He threatened me just because I was searching for you! Do you really think you should trust someone that does that?”
“Oh, quit whining already! You probably made his ears bleed!” Heather puts her arm over Kate’s shoulders as she looks back at Carl with a derisive smirk. To be honest, his slandering of Mr. Holzer is making her eager to slash his windpipe.
“He’s going to get rid of you as soon as you no longer are of use!” Carl ignores Heather completely this time.
Kate halts her steps, making Heather halt hers. She looks behind them at Carl. “Did you know he owns the Kullman Mining Company, along with James Walter? It was thanks to him that many people acquired jobs here.”
Carl purses his lips. “And that many others left.”
“That is not the point I’m trying to make.” Kate tilts her head. “He gave me five percent of the profit gained from the Kullman Mining facility in the mountain, to help me pay for everything that was due on time and bury my mom. That only lasted for three months because I refused further help. Not to mention that when I had initially been working for him, the salary was higher than it should’ve been.” She tilts her head. “He did ask for something in return: that I keep living here, in my house, and work for him. I shouldn’t explain any of this to you, but I had to defend him.”
She turns around to look in front of her, nudging Heather. As they begin moving again, Carl tries to call out to her again, only for Heather to yip at him like a coyote several times. “Shut your dirty snout!”
All this time, Mr. Holzer has mostly offered and barely asked. While Carl was busy trying to persuade her into making detrimental decisions and only helping her in a way that benefited him, Mr. Holzer asked her to remain home and help him out minimally. He has given her hope, given her strength, and given her a social circle she can trust. In this employ, she’s met her dearest friends, one of them beside her supporting her right now.
He has done things he had no need to do. That he asked for a few things in return doesn’t change the fact that he has been excessively generous and caring. Hearing Carl badmouth him, knowing he went to bother him, knowing he insulted what they have created in a web of confidence and companionship, only makes Kate more confident in her decision of kicking him out of her life.
“Way to roast him.” Heather tightens her hold on her in congratulations, pulling Kate flush against her side.
Kate buffers for a moment, taken out of her thoughts. She huffs in annoyance. “He really pisses me off. Next time he pulls another stunt like this, he better watch out.”
“If Toby doesn't get hold of him first for you, that is. He went to talk to Mr. Holzer not long ago, so they might have crossed paths.” Heather grins. “I can imagine his cranky-ass face.”
“That’s not hard to imagine; he often has it.” Kate responds, and they go on their merry way.
Chapter Text
Friday.
Natalie has been drawing Dina’s left profile as the blonde reads, per Helen’s request. The drawings she showed him are so old that they’re not adequate to showcase her current skills, so she’s done a few quick drawings to show him.
“Since you tend to rest your hand on the paper as you draw, smudges and overall dirtiness are bound to happen.” Helen explains, and Natalie is a little embarrassed to note that, indeed, the paper is a bit dirty, and the details blurry. “You should learn to draw with your hand lifted. Other than that, learning to work with other materials will expand your abilities.”
“I don’t really have the money to buy better materials, even if I wanted to try them out.” Natalie points out, a bit pessimistically. She can imagine a single dramatic teardrop falling down her cheek as she clenches her fist.
“I can lend or give you anything you might need. I also have a tablet for you to practice with.” Helen offers easily.
But Natalie turns around nervously. “Oh, no! That isn’t necessary!” She tries to be polite.
But she stops trying as she catches Helen’s neutral, yet fierce blue tiger stare; it’s the most emotion he’s shown her to date. “I insist.” His response leaves no room for discussion.
“When Helen wants something, he gets it. If he wants you to learn by using his things, you will. End of story.” Dina chuckles from her seat. She’s not paying that much attention to her book; she’s far more entertained by their interaction. “You won’t change his mind.”
Natalie sags down, relenting to his whims. It’s not like the idea of practicing doesn’t excite her, so there’s no need to deny him any further. “Okay. Thank you, Helen.” The magic words make his intense stare relax. “By the way, I wanted to ask you something.” Helen sits beside her on the table, silently prompting her to ask her question. “Is there any particular reason your art is so gory? Not that I’m criticizing you, I think it’s very cool…” Natalie begins her classical nervous rambling, when Helen distracts her by taking her hand delicately and lifting it from the paper. ‘Right, the smudging!’
“The inner workings of the human body are interesting, and red is a vibrant color that I like. I work with varying red tones, and my paintings often depict brutal scenes because of that interest. However, I don’t paint these scenes for the sake of goriness, but rather, as symbolism or allegory. I’ve also created red pieces that don’t involve such themes, and many works of mine involve other colors.” Helen answers extensively, surprising her again. “I know you weren’t judging me, because your own creations are similar. What is your reason?”
‘There it is, what piqued his interest.’ Dina thinks, smiling to herself. She doesn’t lift her gaze from her book. ‘But is it just that? I don’t think so.’
“I drew those things when I was at my lowest. I used to have really violent intrusive thoughts, and drawing them felt like kicking them out of my head.” Natalie smiles sheepishly. “It’s my way to cope, I guess, but it’s not all I draw. I made a sketch the other day, but I would prefer to turn it into a painting later on.” She turns the pages, and shows Helen what she’s talking about. “I know it’s very messy, but it’s just a general idea to follow.”
Helen takes his time analyzing the harsh lines. “You should. Turn it into a painting, I mean.” He returns her the notebook, then stands up. “I’ll go look for the tablet.”
“I have to leave, too.” Dina closes her book and stands up. “My photography session is in an hour, so I better hurry.” She locks eyes with Helen for a moment.
Natalie has no clue as to what their silent staring could mean, but a full blown conversation is clearly taking place in two seconds.
Dina turns to Natalie and winks at her. “Don’t forget our meeting next week.” She makes her way to the door, and is out of the room.
“I’ll be back shortly.” Helen follows Dina out, both to bid her goodbye and to go in search of the tablet.
Natalie is left alone as she keeps on sketching random things in her notebook, the morning sunrays falling on her. She pulls her hair behind her ear as she turns the pages to see all she’s drawn, and she feels her cheeks redden when she reaches one of her most recent drawings.
She jumps on her seat as she hears the window to her left be tapped.
She turns her head, trying to comprehend why there would be tapping in a second-floor window, and imagining that it must be a tree branch, when she jumps a second time at the silhouette of the man who has one foot on a thick tree branch, and the other on the ledge, supporting himself with one hand on that same branch, and the other on the window wall.
She panics, as she doesn’t recognize the face with the striped mouthguard and orange tinted ski goggles. Until she focuses on the man’s messy hair, the build of his body, his clothing and his characteristic tics.
She’s in front of the window in a second, and has opened it in even less time. “What are you doing up there?!” She can’t help but sound panicked.
Toby tugs his mouthguard down, revealing his boyish smile. “Woods told me you were here, so I climbed the tree.” He explains, plain and simple.
Natalie stares at him perplexed. ‘What kind of logic is that?’ She shakes her head. “It’s a second-floor, Toby! You could fall! ” She chastises him, arms reaching out to him.
Toby just smirks, completely at ease. “I don’t know if I should feel happy that—” He whistles. “—you care about me, or offended that you think I would be clumsy enough to fall off a tree.” He suddenly jerks his arm.
Natalie is overwrought. “Get in here, now!”
Toby follows her order, amused (and a little bit touched) at her protective reaction. ‘If only she knew how many times I’ve climbed a tree, or done worse things.’ He steps into the window ledge and gets into the room, one foot after the other, boots making a pleasant yet quiet squeaky sound.
Once he’s fully inside, Natalie closes the window quickly, as if Toby would still be in danger of falling if she were to keep it open for too long. Then, she turns around, and gives him a little whack on the back of his head; Toby flinches from the unexpected attack. “Don’t do that ever again!” She scolds him further, still shaken from the scare he gave her.
Toby turns around to stare down at her, completely unfazed. “Ow, I suppose? Did you have to jump high to hit me?” He teases her, and Natalie slaps him lightly, which prompts him to laugh and back away from her.
“Did you want me to have a heart attack, huh? Couldn’t you just have rang the doorbell and got in through the front door like a sensible human being?!” Natalie keeps on slapping him as she follows.
Until Toby catches her wrists and pulls her closer, his grin not waning. “My entrance wouldn’t have been as memorable, nor—” He clicks his tongue. “—your reaction as funny.” He keeps on chuckling evilly.
“Funny? Funny?! You just took ten years off my lifespan!” Natalie tries to free herself from his grasp to resume hitting him, but to no avail. “You’re not the Toby-Teddy-Bear I know! You’re evil!”
“Oh, come on Naty, don’t say that!” Toby whines and tugs down on her arms to pull her closer, then releases them to wrap his arms around her. As he rests his right cheek on her head, Natalie's brain reinitiates. “I came to see you because I was sad that we haven’t been talking as—” He whimpers. “—much lately. Don’t be so hard on me!”
Natalie has nothing to forgive him for. Her mind has surpassed that point by far, too focused on his sturdy arms around her, the warmth he emits, how good he smells, the twitching of his body here and there, and how good it feels to have him here with her overall. ‘...Why was I angry again?’ She tries to remember, but his close presence prevents it. “Uh-huh.” She’s only capable of responding.
But Toby misinterprets it. “Are you angry at me?” He sounds sad.
Natalie tenses up. She lifts her head. “No!” He blinks at her; she’s not going to tell him that she was silent because she was basking in his embrace. “Not at all.” She lowers her head again and hugs him back to prove her honesty.
“Well, as I said, I’m sorry we haven’t been talking much; I was feeling—” Toby squeaks. “—too depressed. I did fix things with Mr. Holzer, though.” He reveals happily.
“I’m glad, and don’t worry about that. I understand that you didn’t feel like talking.” Natalie hugs him more tightly. “I also have those kinds of days sometimes.”
“But sometimes it’s not just days.” Toby frowns and starts playing with her hair, moving away to avoid hitting her when he jerks her head. “I don’t want you to feel like I don’t care about you, or that I’m ignoring you on purpose.”
Natalie feels her insides warm. She feels cared for, because he gets how her mind works against her. While reassuring her is not his responsibility and he has enough problems of his own to be guessing how she feels, he still makes the effort to put her at ease. She’s grateful that he keeps her in mind, and doesn’t take her disorder personally.
So this time, she won’t tell him that she would never think that; denying it would not only be inaccurate, but it would also be a lie, which translates to a communication barrier between them. She’s not going to throw his effort of airing his feelings, nor his attempt of understanding her better, out of the window. “Thank you.” She simply responds. “I did jump to that conclusion, but I know it’s not fair and that it’s just an assumption I made. I’m trying to stop doing that.”
Because that’s not only what Toby deserves (for his actions and intentions to not be doubted), but it’s also what she deserves (to stop doubting herself and her worth through a mistaken external lens).
“Being aware is a good enough sign.” Toby doesn’t resent her for it. “Just keep—” He clicks his tongue. “—working on it at your own pace.”
‘Why am I surrounded by so many nice people? I should’ve moved here sooner! And I’m going to cry if he keeps being this supportive.’ Natalie is busy trying to prevent that, when the door to the room opens.
“Sorry for the delay.” She hears Helen’s voice as he reenters the room, and she jumps for the third time in the morning.
‘Why am I so edgy today? And why doesn’t Helen comment on Toby’s presence?’ Natalie looks back and forth between Helen and Toby; they’re still hugging, which is even more flustering.
Helen seems to read her thoughts, clear as they are on her questioning expression. “I saw him climb up the tree while I was downstairs.” He explains nonchalantly, as if it were a daily occurrence. He leaves the tablet and its accessories beside her notebook.
Over her, Natalie hears Toby snort. She squints her eyes. ‘I would pinch him, but it won’t be of any use, and I’m too occupied being ashamed about getting caught to try.’ She clears her throat. “Won’t you scold him for getting in through your window and using the tree as a ladder?” She asks Helen, and Toby tenses.
“Is the ledge clean?” Helen asks, and when Natalie nods after checking, he deadpans: “No, but do take your boots off, please.” Natalie resigns as Toby releases a little victory chuckle. “Would you like me to teach you how to use it?” He asks, referring to the tablet.
“Yeah, sure.” Natalie pulls away from Toby, but makes sure to take his left hand and tug him along. It’s when she gets close to the desk that she abruptly closes her notebook, face as red as a chili pepper. Toby stares at her in confusion, while Helen keeps his knowledge to himself. She laughs awkwardly, avoiding Toby’s gaze.
Helen sits himself in front of her, while Toby sits beside her. Helen explains to her the basics of the tablet, how to use the drawing program, the most important assets and tricks, the basic brushes, and a few other curiosities in general. She even attempts to draw quick things to make sure that she’s gotten the general idea, while Toby just looks at the screen in amazement.
The time arrives when Helen has to work, so they bid him goodbye, and Natalie thanks him for his help. As they walk towards Natalie’s house, Toby leans into her as he pouts. “You didn’t tell me you were good at drawing.”
Natalie blinks, cheeks heating up at their close contact. “And you didn’t tell me you enjoy climbing trees.”
Toby lifts an eyebrow, nose twitching. “That’s not something I’d personally boast about.”
Natalie lifts her own brows. “Well, I don’t boast about anything in general.” She jokes, looking up at him with a grin. “It just didn’t come up in any conversation.” Then, something comes to mind. “Do you have any plans for the rest of the morning?”
“Why? Do you want to spend it with me?” Toby asks with a grin of his own, getting his face closer to hers.
‘My face is going to melt off at this rate.’ Natalie purses her lips. “Y-you’re being very smug today, you know? Very daring.”
“Am I?” Toby tilts his head, and shrugs his shoulders. “Are you—” He whimpers. “—bothered by that?”
‘I’m bothered that you look so handsome while you tease me!’ Natalie screams in her head, while trying to keep her body language cool. “Not really. Just thought I should point it out in case you weren’t aware.”
“Hm.” Toby doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, but his cheeky smirk stays in place. “If you say so. But you didn’t answer my question.”
‘Damn you and your charms, you rascal!’ Natalie keeps looking to the front, trying to stay dignified under the warm light his appealing face emits. “Well, yes. Why would I ask you otherwise?” She hopes her response sounded neutral enough. “Do you want to spend it with me? Because you didn’t answer mine.”
“Yep.” Toby answers plainly. Natalie almost trips over, taken by surprise with his simple answer, but he catches her quickly. “Whoa, careful there, Naty!” He jerks his head, then whistles. “You seem very distracted today.” He ups his teasing tone.
‘You are the culprit!’ Natalie thinks as she boils like a kettle. Then, an idea comes to her; she tries to contain the malicious smile that wants to surface. “It must’ve been the scare you gave me back there. I’ve felt on edge ever since.” She comments, voicing it out in a way that lets Toby know she’s joking; the last thing she’d want is to make him feel guilty.
“You do look unsteady on your feet.” Toby’s smirk returns with full force, and Natalie regrets her decision before even knowing what he plots. She squirms under his excited gaze. “Would you like me to carry you?” He asks innocently.
Natalie panics; she didn't expect her idea to backfire so badly. ‘Think fast, something that could turn the tables and make him squirm like I do…that’s right!’ She puts herself in front of him, reaches out with her hands, and lifts the tinted goggles he’s still wearing, tousling his hair in the process.
Toby blinks at her with his big brown eyes, for once being the one buffering.
Natalie takes the time to enjoy this little moment. “What I want…” She lids his eyes, speaking in a soft tone. “...is for you to never do that again, you hear me?!” She scolds him again, which makes him bite his lower lip to prevent a chuckle from escaping. “I’m gonna get wrinkles because of you! Gray hairs! Premature menopause—!”
“Alright, alright, I get it!” Toby stops her in a titter, putting his hands on her shoulders. She ceases her protests. He looks at her with just an eye open. “So you don’t want me to carry you?” He grins devilishly.
‘Oh no, he isn’t going to drop that! He really is poking me today!’ Natalie glares at him with squinted eyes. “It seems to me that you’re adamant on carrying me!”
“That might be so, but don’t deflect the question!” Toby responds, looking even more hyped up. He clicks his tongue.
‘What do you mean by that? You’re supposed to deny it! Is this a new tactic of yours?’ Natalie's mind is spinning. “What?” She’s only able to answer, for he’s completely confounded her.
Toby blinks at her while he still holds onto her shoulders, then cracks his neck.
Natalie sees a blur, then she’s suddenly being carried. Her brain has difficulty comprehending what just happened, and when it does, she holds onto his shoulders for dear life. “Toby!” She shrieks, and he just chuckles some more. “The tablet, Toby, the tablet! What if I drop it?!”
“You can give me the purse if you want. I understand if such heights give you vertigo.” Toby simpers, then pulls away to be able to look at her face. “We wouldn’t want—” He makes a ‘pop’ sound with his lips. “—Helen angry at us because we broke his…”
He stops walking.
Some hair strands have fallen on her face. She’s not looking at him with a new expression; she’s certainly embarrassed, and thoroughly teased, but her gaze sends tremors down his spine. Toby feels something, both in his chest and in his belly, but he’s unable to identify what it is. All he knows is that it feels good. It’s addictive, even.
Natalie spreads her pretty lips to speak. “You’re mean.” She looks at him with squinted eyes. “But the view from up high is nice, so I forgive you.” She rests her head on his left shoulder, breaking the spell that was keeping him prisoner.
Toby blinks a few more times. Then, he lets out a little chuckle of disbelief as he frowns. She’s caught him off guard two times today; two times, she’s managed to distract him with her tricks. So she’s left him momentarily speechless, but now he’s composed himself. “So you think I’m mean? I would’ve never—” He whines. “—guessed you’d misinterpret my good intentions so badly.” He begins to mess with her again; he twitches his mouth and nose.
Natalie huffs without sparing him a glance. “I didn’t misinterpret anything. You were calling me short in an elaborate way.”
“But you are a shorty, and I was just trying to make a nice gesture.” Toby chortles as he speaks. “It must always be hard for you to keep up with me when we walk together!”
Natalie lifts her head to squint her eyes at him again. Her blush is not gone, but a little smirk lifts the corners of her mouth. “You really like pointing out that I’m small, don’t you? How about I tell LJ about this?”
“NoIbegyoupleasedon’tdoit!” Toby blurts it out nervously, which makes her cackle in return. “You say I’m mean, but—” He whistles. “—threaten me with the clown! Talk about lack of self-awareness!” Whilst she becomes weak in his arms from wheezing like a donkey at his hilarious reaction, he keeps trying to prevent her threat from becoming true. “And he would also tease you to death—,” That cuts her laughter as she stops to reconsider. “—which is nothing compared to how I tease you!”
“Would still be worth it!” Natalie resumes her wheezing, and he stares at her with horror. “The way he makes you crumble is just too good to pass! He makes your suffering so enjoyable! I would let him embarrass me all over again just to see how he does the same to you!”
“Now, Naty, I think you’ve stopped being a little mean to be outright wicked.” Toby tries to lock eyes with her in desperation, but she still has her eyes closed with mirth. “You wouldn’t really do—” He clicks his tongue. “—that to me, would you?”
Natalie opens her eyes and snorts. “ After how much you’ve teased me today? Damn right I would! I’ll do it tomorrow as soon as I can—!” She shrieks as Toby lifts her up higher. She lifts her head. “Toby, the tablet!”
“Stop using the tablet as an excuse when the purse is still dangling from your shoulder!” Toby snaps his neck and looks at her with his boyish grin. “So you would do that to me, huh?”
“Ehmn…” Is all Natalie is capable of voicing out, as bashful as she’s suddenly become. ‘Damn him and that stunning smile of his!’
Toby huffs, indignant. “Fine! If that’s all—” He clicks his tongue. “—it takes for you to not rat me out to him, I’ll stop being mean!”
“No!” Natalie suddenly protests, leaving him nonplussed. She becomes awkward once she realizes she’s overreacted. “W-what I mean i-is…” She’s sure her face is heating up again.
Toby guffaws, which only makes her become redder. “So that’s what you really think?” He sniffs and rolls his shoulders, looking content. He has a twinkle in his eyes. “That’s good to know. I also make assumptions sometimes, you know, Naty?” He knows his smile has softened, and that he’s letting this emotion show on his face; the last thing he’d want is to annoy her. It’s harsh enough to think that about himself. To learn that she can’t stand him would be a heavy blow.
But Natalie is looking at him with tender eyes; what she blurted out is the truth. As much as Toby has poked fun at her, not even once did he do it maliciously, and not even once did she think it as wearisome or irking. In fact, his playfulness brings her much joy and helps her get out of her shell.
She hugs him tight by the shoulders, and he basks in it.
⦻
He hears the wooden floor protest as it’s stepped on outside, until the footsteps reach his room and his door is opened. The rosewood flooring keeps on squeaking from time to time, telling him where that presence moves, until the window reveals it too: the curtains are drawn, letting in enough light for him to sense it under the sheets.
The presence turns around and approaches his bed. He hears a shift of fabric. “I know you’re awake.” The order is implicit.
He sighs; he doesn’t want to get up. He wants to stay in here all day, doing absolutely nothing. But this man won’t take no for a response; if he dawdles for too long, he’ll probably yank the sheets off of him and drag him out himself, impatient as he is.
With no small amount of mental effort, he uncovers his face; the light is not yet strong, but it’s enough for him to take a little bit adjusting to. In front of him, eclipsing some of that light, is the man that has crouched down to be on eye level with him.
It’s a memorable face, the one this man has. To begin with, the eyes that stare back at him are a piercing amber. To follow, he has high cheekbones and plush lips. This is the kind of visage that lowers one’s defenses. His burgundy hair, the piercing on his ear and the tattoo on his neck don’t help much either; perhaps just in heightening one’s sense of danger in him. Overall, Jason looks like the kind of man that anybody with sexual drive and a liking for men would want to take to bed.
Jonathan doesn’t have much of that going on for him right now.
He knows the ever playful Jason has something up his sleeve. He looks at him with puffy eyes. “What are you thinking?” His voice is rough from sleep.
Jason’s eyes have a glint to them. “There’s something in our list that we haven’t done yet. We’re doing that as soon as you eat something.” His voice is deep and husky; it invites the hearer to listen, to obey, to play his game.
Jonathan has nothing to lose. He definitely feels a bit better after all the things he’s done from that list. The thought actually enlivens him the littlest bit. “Okay.” He throws the sheets off of him and sits up. “You look more excited about this than I am.”
“Are you ever excited about anything?” Jason jokes darkly, looking up at him smugly; he stands up as Jonathan chuckles at his jest. “I’ve left everything prepared already. Don’t take too long.” He gets out and goes into the bathroom.
Jonathan gets up and goes to the kitchen. He drinks the warm coffee and eats some toast with butter, then returns to find his bed already made, the window open, and Jason in the bathroom with everything prepared. “I could’ve made the bed on my own. I’m not a child.” He frowns, looking at Jason in clear bafflement.
Jason is mixing products, hands gloved and hair out of the way. He’s even put on something else to prevent staining his good clothes. “You could’ve, but at a sloth’s pace. Come here.” He nods to the chair in front of him.
Jonathan does as he’s told, and Jason puts a hairdresser cape on him. “Why now?”
“Your hair is as long as I wanted it to grow before doing this.” Jason starts brushing his long hair; it’s below his shoulders already. “We’ll be meeting the others later, they’ll be quite surprised.”
“You won’t burn my hair, will you?” Jonathan is getting cold feet. “My self-esteem is already low.”
“Of course I won’t. I do my own hair, for fuck’s sake; have a little more faith in me.” Jason sounds offended. “All I’m going to do is dye your hair black. I don’t even need bleach for this.”
As Jason starts parting his hair in four sections and securing those sections with clips, Jonathan has a question. “Why black? Why not any other color?” He lifts a brow.
“Because I said so. Stay still, I’m going to start.” Jason warns, and Jonathan huffs. “Sit straight or you’ll have an old man’s back in no time.” He warns again, and so does Jonathan huff anew, but does as he’s told.
Jonathan feels his hair be coated in dye. “Shouldn’t you start from the scalp?” He asks with genuine curiosity.
“If I do that, the roots could develop more from the scalp heat, and they’ll turn out orange. I’ll start with the mid sections and do that at the end.” Jason already sounds focused.
“And shouldn’t my hair be washed first?” Jonathan keeps asking questions. He knows Jason will probably get irked.
“No, that’s not necessary.” Jonathan opens his mouth again, but Jason beats him to it. “No, it doesn’t need to be wet either. Why are you asking so many questions when I already told you I know what I’m doing? Don’t you trust me?” And indeed, Jason sounds angry, which is not hard for him to be.
Jonathan chuckles. “I’m only curious. Don’t get mad at me.” He tries to calm the beast, and it seems to work; Jason’s face relaxes, and he focuses on his task. They fall into comfortable silence, which Jonathan uses to think; he would’ve never imagined things would come to this.
His parents were good people, but they threw on him the responsibility of taking care of his younger brother and three younger sisters while they worked long and hard to provide for them all. That’s where things began to feel off.
He thought he had gotten out of that suffocating situation when he went to arts college, and met a girl who he had a romantic relationship with. But one day, she started behaving coldly towards him, and their relationship eroded in consequence.
By the time he finished college, they had become strangers.
A few weeks after he moved here, he tried to hang himself, which didn’t work. Before the lack of oxygen from the rope cutting his airflow could complete the deed, it loosened and dropped his wheezing body to the floor.
Because they had already started working together for Hans, Jason had gone to ask him something; a triviality, really. He saw Jonathan on the kitchen floor through the window, noose still around his neck. He broke a window to check on him, then called an ambulance.
Hans, their angel of an employer, had quickly forgotten about him working and offered to pay for therapy, alarmed as he was for Jonathan’s mental state, but he politely declined. Due to lack of options, and since Hans didn’t want to nullify their deal, he got stuck with a temporary solution that was imposed on him: Jason, in all his hard-headed and overbearing glory.
Jason insisted he move into his house, bigger as it is, and that Jonathan leaves his smaller one. Jonathan, uncaring and unfeeling, accepted for the sake of accepting. But when he spent an entire week in bed after his move, barely moving, Jason got infuriated.
Jonathan got the talking to of his life.
“I’m not trying to be a dick, but I can’t get out for groceries without fearing I might come back and find you unconscious, or worse. Because you know what?” Jason leant towards Jonathan, who looked miserable as he laid. “As much as I’m a piece of shit, I care about you. And yet, all of this will be for nothing if you don’t make the effort to overcome it. You should accept Hans’ offer and go to see the shrink.”
“A psychiatrist is not going to make my problems go away.” Jonathan muttered drowsily.
How could he feel excited about life, when he felt nothing? When that apathy was only ever replaced by despair? There was no motivation to get up, no motivation to wash up, no motivation to nourish himself? Nothing had any meaning because nothing was enjoyable, nothing excited him. There was no duty to fulfill, no objective to reach, there was no point at all. He only occupied space whilst wishing to be gone. He merely existed for the sake of existing.
“No, but they’ll give you the opportunity to talk about your problems with feedback that will help you see them from an objective viewpoint, and medication if you need it and want it, which is a good start.” Jason explained without sugarcoating it. “I know you’re sick and that you didn’t choose to feel this way, but you’re not helping yourself when you remain trapped in your own misery and wallow in it. Things don’t look appealing right now, and they never will if all you commit yourself to see is your bedroom wall.”
In front of him, Jonathan was stoic.
“You used to like many things. Cling to anything that can give you the smallest joy and exploit it. I know you don’t feel like it, but let’s go have walks around here, or even just clean the house to make it feel aired out, then shower to feel better, and watch a movie or a series together.” Jason tried to bargain with him. “Whatever it is, other than just lying in bed doing nothing. Do it at your own pace, but fucking do it, John!” He snarled, getting heated.
“I can’t—” Jonathan began without energy, but was cut off.
“Yes, you can! I know you don’t want to die. You just want life to stop being so goddamn bleak! You don’t deserve to go just because you won’t give yourself the chance!” Jason became wrathful in his stead. “Forget your parents who dumped their responsibility on you! Forget about her! If she has abandoned you, to hell with her! You have to surround yourself with people that want you in their lives, that want you happy and won’t abandon you at the slightest inconvenience!”
Jonathan wept; he was physically lifted off of the bed and taken to the shower. Jason cleaned him himself, whilst he held onto him.
“It’s done.” He suddenly hears. He looks at the clock on the shelf, and realizes that much time has passed. He looks back at Jason, who is staring at him with an eyebrow raised. “Stop zoning out and get your head in the shower.”
Jonathan does so gingerly, crouching down on his knees and peering over the bathtub. Jason washes his head with lukewarm water.
Jason is, putting it lightly, a brute; harsh love, as some call it . He’s keeping an eye on him, forcing him to do things he doesn’t want to do, just to make Jonathan feel better for not rotting himself away. The only reason he’s here right now is because of Jason, who doesn’t leave him alone and constantly checks up on him.
His method, while unorthodox, works somewhat, and Jonathan is grateful for it. Sure, he’s still depressed, but moments of joy have increased in their quantity.
“Stand up, I’m going to cut your hair into layers and trim your ends.” Jason says, and is done quickly. While he showers, Jason puts everything back where it was and cleans what must be cleaned. Once he’s done showering, Jason dries his hair, completely disregarding Jonathan’s protests about being capable of doing that himself, and they’re finished.
It’s now, since he rarely looks himself in the mirror lately, that Jonathan realizes how much his appearance has changed.
Jason has been forcing him to work out in various ways, from walks to a few exercises at home, just to gain a bit of strength in his muscles neglected by inactivity and relieve pent up emotions. He has been eating better, which improved his skin along with taking care of it by simply washing it and hydrating it. His hair, now completely black, looks glossy and wavy, and is soft to the touch due to the heat-protecting oil Jason used on it.
For once, Jonathan feels quite handsome. And he’s curious about how his new clothes will look on him.
⦻
The three of them look at him with wide eyes and open mouths. “...Blake?” Eric asks in disbelief. “Is that really you?”
“Yeah.” Jonathan answers shyly.
LJ puts a hand to his mouth, looking him up and down. “Goddamit, you look hot!” Jill and Eric nod in agreement. While Jonathan blushes at the praise, he looks at Jason. “What did you do to him? Did you water him like a plant, or was it something you fed him?”
“Lots of motivational speech, making him move his ass, telling him to wash his face, forcing him to eat and dying his hair. To keep ogling him, you must each pay me twenty bucks per hour.” Jason declares to Jonathan's right. He extends his hand towards them to make emphasis.
Jill gives him a look. “I’ve made chocolate cake. I’ll pay you with that; end of negotiation.” She gets up from her seat and makes her way to the oven to get the still warm dessert out.
“I don’t even like sweets.” Jason looks at the cake with a blank stare as Jill puts it on the table. He looks up at her. “Is it that you want to make me fat and spoil my undeniable beauty, by chance?”
“First of all, I’m not forcing you to eat it. Second of all, you’ll still be handsome if you get fat. Third and most important, it’s illegal not to try what I bake in the Independent Republic of My House.” Jill beams.
“But that means you are forcing him, you goofball.” LJ chuckles, then remembers something. “I think Ikea had an entrance rug that reads that.”
Eric is cackling, but for a different reason. “I just imagined a gigantic ball-shaped Jason rolling down the street!” Both LJ and Jill lose their composure at that, while Jonathan chuckles and Jason pulls his lips into a fine line. He wiggles his forefinger at him. “Jason～!”
“You disappoint me.” Jason responds flatly. He points at both clowns, who are making biblical efforts to keep their posture straight as they keep on laughing. “You two also.”
Jill’s laugh goes from sounding like a wobbly-snort mess to a dolphin cry, while LJ’s starts like a kettle boiling and turns into a witch’s cackle. There’s times when they become synchronized and sound like a mosquitoe’s buzz, and they keep on fueling the other’s amusement.
Behind Jason, Eric is fanning himself with his hand and flicking his long turquoise hair behind his back, away from his face. “Oof… they see me rollin’, they hatin’!” He slams his hand down on the table with a thud, and the three of them look at each other in silent giggles, eyes watery. They cling on to the table in fear of falling down, Jill while still standing and the other two still seated, doubled over as they all are.
Next to Jason, Jonathan is also laughing, although much more inconspicuously. But not enough. “You think this is funny, don’t you?” Jason growls under his breath only for him to hear, and Jonathan nods his head enthusiastically. He sighs, unable to feel irate any longer. “At least you’re having fun.”
Once they all calm down, Jill sits down again. Eric is at the far end of the table, while LJ and Jill are to his right, and Jason and Jonathan are to his left. As they eat the cake, LJ tells them about his encounter with Isaac, and how their reunion at his house went.
“So what do you think about all of that?” Eric asks from his seat; he has his left elbow on the table, his cheek resting on the back of that hand. “Because you saw it as a possibility and were all like “Imma beat him up if so!”, but you didn’t. Are you going to forgive him, or…?”
“I have no idea.” LJ rests his chin on the palm of his hands, elbows on the table. “He says he’s gone to therapy and that he’s changing, but I’ve yet to see that.”
Jill beams from her own spot. “Well, at least you both worked things out somewhat.”
Jason, who enjoys being the center of attention at all times, is surprisingly quiet. They all notice this at the same time, and realize he’s zoning out severely. “What are you thinking about, Jason?” LJ tries to bring him back to earth.
Jason lifts his gaze. “Just things about the shop.” He tries to play it off.
“Who are you trying to fool with that lame-ass excuse? You've been glaring at the table. How has it not disintegrated yet, I wonder?” Eric pokes the bear, and it works quickly, for Jason is glaring at him. “That’s my Jason! I was getting worried that you might be sick.”
“Sick of you, yes. Shut up, smurf!” Jason spits, until Jill clears her throat. He sighs, rolling his eyes upwards. “Sorry.” He says with his teeth practically bared.
Jill smiles sweetly at him. “Very good! Now, what were you thinking about?” She inquires again on LJ's behalf.
Jason huffs. “Do I really have to say it?”
“Yes.” Jill, LJ and Eric say in unison, all of them with smiles of different variety on their faces; the first is smiling softly, the second is grinning, and the last one is sneering.
Eric adjusts his position so that he sits straight, looking cheekily at Jason. “Don’t you like being the center of attention? Go on, this is your chance!”
“Stop provoking him. He’s going to tear your head off.” LJ warns him with a smirk.
“Not on my watch, and much less in my house!” Jill’s smile becomes one of warning. “Now, speak!”
Jason drops his head, trying to contain his vexation. Then, he puts both elbows on the desk, and he interlocks his fingers. “I was thinking that what you said about this guy reminds me of how much of an asshole I was.” He shows his palms while looking at all of them. “Are you happy now?”
“You shouldn’t be so harsh with yourself. What you did wasn’t entirely your fault.” Jill tries to uplift him.
But Jason sniggers. “Shouldn’t I feel responsible for it, then? Because as much as my parents were at fault, I don’t think I can keep blaming them.”
“I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t take responsibility, but you’re trying to be better. What else can you do, when you already own it?” Jill taps her long nails on the wood. She’s frowning. “Should you be condemned because you weren’t taught better and were never corrected?”
Jill has a point, in Jonathan’s opinion. As they learnt, Jason had been an emotionally neglected child. His parents never treated him as they should’ve, never did they realize that their son was trying to gain that love by any other means possible because they didn’t care about anything that wasn’t education-related. This led to him getting attached to a particular classmate.
As they grew up, Jason would use all kinds of tactics to keep her from making new acquaintances. As she had been quite naïve, she didn’t find out until Jason outright admitted it, which led to an argument that enlightened them both in different ways, and she distanced herself from him just to be safe.
To this day, she still contacts him from time to time, although Jason hasn’t told her where he’s moved. She knows he’s trying, and the kind soul that she is, she seems ready to reunite with him. But Jason isn’t.
Now that he’s had to face reality, he has anger issues, has a tendency towards manipulation and is addicted to the high that comes with being someone’s entire world. He knows this isn’t okay, and he’s taken responsibility for his own actions, unlike his progenitors, who never apologized and never will. He’s already come far, and he’s trying to be honest with himself.
Jason doesn’t respond to Jill's questions; they’re rhetoric, just to mull over. He notices that Jonathan hasn’t tried the cake yet, and reaches for a piece to put on his plate.
“...Thank you.” Jonathan gives him a little, meaningful smile.
Jason knows he’s not just being thanked for the cake. The feeling this realization evokes is new; it’s not the same as when she would follow him around because he was all she had. He has made an effort to help Jonathan, and Jonathan is thankful in return. He has earned this gratitude, it wasn’t born out of petty tricks. And both him and Jonathan know that the others, who laughed at him, did it in good nature; they poke fun at him because they consider him a friend.
Jason feels truly loved for the first time. He blushes and scowls at the same time. “I hope you’re all swallowed by a boa constrictor.”
“What? Why do you say that now? Is it because we laughed at you?” Eric flicks his hair back again. “Poor snake if it swallows us all at the same time.”
“It wouldn’t go for Jonathan, now that I think about it. They prefer prey that moves.” Jason jokes darkly. The other three gape their mouths, while Jonathan chokes on his cake. “Perks of being that depressed.”
Before Jill can scold Jason, Jonathan manages to swallow the bite he was struggling with, and he chortles.
⦻
“I just don’t understand why she suddenly acted that way. She never gave me an explanation.” Jonathan looks down as they walk back home. “I don’t know if it’s because I did something wrong. I don’t think I did.”
“It doesn’t add up.” Jason responds. He feels like something else was going on. “You don’t have any other theories as to why?”
“None.” Jonathan rubs his eyes with one hand, then pockets his hand back. “We’d been completely fine up until that point. Nothing about her behavior stood out to me until then.”
“Did she have any other friends? What was her situation at home?” Jason asks, trying to find the missing puzzle piece.
“She was very popular, but she had no one she would call a friend. Her parents were well-off and very strict; they were very supportive of her dream, though.” Jonathan responds to his questions.
Jason knows the answer is there. He looks at Jonathan with sharp, slitted eyes. “Strict, how?”
Jonathan thinks it over. “They usually wouldn’t let her out of the house much, unless it was for dancing practice, and she had to come back home before a certain hour. They always expected her to have excellent results in everything she did at college, and she also had a strict diet in order not to gain weight.”
Jason scowls; he doesn’t only understand what he means, but he’s lived through it. “Her parents did it.”
“H-huh?” Jonathan snaps his head towards him. “What do her parents have to do with it?”
Jason sneers, lip curled. “Goddamnit, John, you really are naïve. They wanted her to dedicate herself to that goal, and you were an obstacle.”
Jonathan just blinks, not getting it at all.
“Think about it. You said her rich parents support her but are strict in that support. She suddenly starts acting strange and no longer cares about you, when you both had been lovey-dovey with each other until then, to the point of imagining a future together. She had been open with you and often told you how burnt-out she was by them when you took her to your house. Why else would she just ignore you like that?” Jason tries to make it easier for him to comprehend.
Jonathan seems to be processing it, until it clicks. “...You’re telling me that she chose her career over me, because she wanted her parents’ economic support?”
“Yep.” Jason lifts his hands and moves them up and down, like a scale. “She weighed the two options and chose what most benefited her future. You were never her priority, just a free therapist that often gave her the affection she craved.”
Jonathan keeps on tossing it around his brain, and he reaches a conclusion with the evidence he’s gathered: Jason is most likely correct, it’s not just him trying to be mean. It’s upsetting to realize that your ex-girlfriend forewent you for the unnecessary support of her parents, but not heartbreaking; he’s long past that point. “You’re probably right, I guess.” He smiles bitterly.
Jason stares at him with no particular expression. “You should accept Hans’ offer and go to the shrink. He’ll be ecstatic if you do.”
“I will.” Jonathan kicks a pebble out of the way. “Hey.”
“Hm?” Jason is looking around distractedly.
“You’re a good man.” Jonathan declares, and Jason turns to look at him with a stoic face. “A bit egocentric and fiery, yes. But still a good man.”
“Shut your mouth.” Jason turns back around, ignoring Jonathan’s friendly smile. “A good man wouldn’t do the things I did.”
“Then think of it this way: you’re not the same man you used to be, in a sense.” Jonathan also looks around. “You’re righting your wrongs and don’t deny who you’ve been. That takes a lot of courage. And besides, those things are not the kind that can’t be forgiven, at least in my opinion. And the others think so, too. So does she seem to think.”
“If you say so.” Jason merely says, still not looking at Jonathan.
Jonathan thinks his behavior is quite entertaining. “Oh, come on! Where is the Jason that basks in the attention?” He teases him gently. “I'm praising your efforts honestly, I’m not just trying to feed your ego.”
Jason lowers his head. “I know.”
“By the way, what do you plan on doing with the little music box?” Jonathan remembers the little gift that sits forgotten on Jason’s bedside table. “Will you give it to her?”
“I don’t think so. It was quite a presumptuous gift. I might alter it, if I ever give it to her.” Jason has ambiguous feelings towards that creation. “Or just get rid of it.”
“Did you love her?” Jonathan asks, and is puzzled at the breathy chuckle Jason releases.
“Love? No. She was a friend, one who’s naïvety I abused.” Jason finally turns around and deflects the topic. “Why? Do you want me?” He winks at him.
Jonathan regrets asking that. When Jason becomes playful, he’s a menace. “I wouldn’t want you even if you were a gift.” He responds, just to shut him up.
Jason puts a hand to his chest. “You wound me. And here I was, thinking that we had something special.”
“You are something special all on your own. You don’t need me to be special.” Jonathan answers, trying to avoid his gaze
Until he jumps when Jason unexpectedly starts hugging him from behind. “Stop playing with my heart as you see fit, John. It hurts!” Jason laments as he rests his cheek on his shoulder, and Jonathan contains his laughter. “Maybe one of your ballades would ease the pain…”
“Stop feeling me up, you pervert!” Jonathan chuckles. “You sound drunk.”
Jason whispers in his ear. “I’m drunk with love for you.” He snorts.
Jonathan rubs his eyes, chortling away. “Twerp.”
Chapter Text
Saturday.
“We have the games, we have snacks, you’ve brought beer, I have no idea what the others are going to bring…Jeff? Are you listening to me?” Ben turns around, and becomes indignant; he marches towards his friend with the energy of a commander. “Are you messing with B.E.N. again?!”
Jeff ignores Ben in order to moan into the microphone, only to receive the pertinent whack on the back of his head. Worth it, in his opinion.
Leaning over him, the now blushing Ben is quick in turning off the laptop. “The last thing I need is for the A.I. to loudly moan like you and make me deaf.” Once that’s done, he disconnects the Nintendo 64 and puts it in the closet, along with the cursed cartridge.
Jeff chuckles to himself, imagining the scenario Ben just posed. “That would be so funny!” Ben gives him the stink eye, still pink on the cheeks, which only worsens his laughter. ‘When LJ truly goes hard on him, he's going to melt his cheeks off.’
When they hear the doorbell ring, Ben hurriedly makes his way out of the room with Jeff in tow. He looks through the peephole, then turns to Jeff, and swallows. “Prepare yourself.” Before Jeff can fully prepare, though, he opens the door, and they’re met with the two Jacks.
“Hello, bitches!” LJ is quick to greet them in his usual fashion, flashing a glowing, fanged smile. “I hope you didn’t miss me too much. You probably did, it can’t be helped.”
“So early in the evening, and he’s already talking nonsense. God, have mercy on us!” EJ crosses himself, oblivious to LJ’s pout.
“You don’t even believe in the sky daddy.” But LJ quickly recovers. “Anyway…my babies!” He lunges forward and pinches Jeff’s left cheek and Ben’s right cheek, much like he did the previous weekend at the fair. Ben protests, while Jeff just goes along with it happily.
The visitors make their way to the sofa. LJ sits down, and while he gives Smile a treat, he winks at Ben; the blond blushes, giving him a frown of warning in return, which LJ counterattacks with a wicked grin.
But the doorbell saves Ben from LJ’s inevitable torture for now; he rushes to open the door. From the living-room, the rest of them hear: “Ben, tell me he’s not here yet—” The voice comes closer as he talks, until Toby appears, and his face turning despondent at the sight of LJ. “—oh, no!”
LJ redirects his grin towards Toby, but it becomes similar to that of a hyena's; his eyes are wide open, focused on his prey. “Tobes, just the one I wanted to see!” He stands up and makes his way towards him with languid strides.
Toby steps back until he collides with the kitchen wall. He lifts his hands in pleading. “How could I have known it—meow—was him? And it’s not like I could’ve denied—” He smacks his lips. “—the guy the offer, since the house is Mr. Holzer’s, and only he has a say in the matter!” He rambles on and becomes more fidgety the closer the clown gets. “You didn’t even give me a name!” He whines in a low voice.
Their interaction is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell, which Ben eagerly answers.
Toby foolishly sighs, relieved by thinking that the girls have unknowingly saved him from LJ, but the clown is not willing to give up playing so easily; in a second, he's pounced on Toby, and after coiling his long arms around him firmly, he squeezes him; this elicits grumpy and nervous, but very entertaining complaints from Toby.
The girls make their way to the living room, and the composure that Natalie was trying to preserve while hearing Toby whine and cry crumbles completely at the sight of what he most dreaded having become true; she holds onto Jill to avoid her knees buckling during her cackling.
Toby, having recognized her amused wheezing, snaps his head back in her direction. “Ohmygodnatalie—!” He begs, as LJ brings him closer, and he tries to push him away. “—savemeeeee!”
LJ gazes at Natalie with knowing eyes. “For you to be requesting her aid so avidly, you two must have become close...” He gives Toby a cheeky side-eye.
Toby stills in his arms; both he and Natalie blush at the same time, with varying degrees: while only Toby’s nose is dusted in a rosy hue, her cheeks are not so subtle.
Natalie thinks quickly, unwilling to let him win. “Well, yes. Are you jealous about it? Possessive, maybe?”
LJ leans forward and flashes her a mischievous smile. “I would be, if what goes on between you two were more than a friendship. But it isn’t…right?” He asks with intention, his grin becoming evil and his eyes shining.
Jeff, who had kneeled backwards on the sofa to be able to see the interaction, headbutts the headrest in excitement. Beside him, EJ lifts a hand to stop him from hitting his head against the cushioned fabric again. “Stop. You’re ugly enough as it is, don’t mistreat yourself any further.” He whispers so that only Jeff may hear; the other chuckles silently in reaction to his insult.
“It isn’t.” Toby responds nonchalantly, oblivious to Natalie’s inner disappointment rolling off of her in waves. Then, he matches LJ’s grin with one of his own. “What about Isaac? Did you two become close again?” He coughs.
LJ clicks his tongue. “I did; closer to beating him up, that is. But things worked out, more or less.” He answers lightheartedly. “I suppose I can’t blame you for your mistake.” He frees Toby and lifts a hand like a priest who’s sending off the attendants of his mass. “Off you go, my children; free to spend the evening stuck to each other!”
Toby gets a particularly lasting tic in his eye; he doesn’t think answering him further will bring any benefit, so he refrains from engaging in his teasing any further.
LJ calmly looks at Natalie, who's amusement has turned into anxiety. “But not before the surprise: now, Naty-Nat!”
Natalie takes the container box she's brought out of her tote bag, and with very quick and short strides, she takes advantage of Toby's confusion to hand him the box, and then hide in front of the sofa beside EJ and Jeff. Much like the latter, she peeks over the sofa and looks at Toby with wide, expectant eyes.
Toby, still not understanding her strange behavior, raises an eyebrow at her. Then, he opens the container carefully, and his amused expression softens severely.
“You've been very withdrawn and moody these days and I wanted to cheer you up a little, so I asked LJ for help and he told me to make you waffles, so I asked Jill to help me make them.” Natalie finishes anxiously rambling the explanation she had practiced in her head, but has come out in chaotic bits, and lowers her head timidly.
Toby finally understands what this is about; he connects gazes with LJ, who offers him a happy beam. He covers the container with its lid, and rests his eyes on Natalie's head behind the sofa. “...Naty…”
Jeff almost falls from the sofa when catching the nickname he uses for Natalie, along with his touched little smile. EJ is quick in grabbing him by his hood to prevent it.
“If you don't like them, blame LJ for giving me the idea! I made my best effort!” Natalie blurts out, avoiding looking at him; she turns around and sits on the sofa properly.
“No, it's not that!” Toby quickly makes his way around the sofa and Natalie looks away, still wary of his reaction. “Please…” He crouches down in front of her. “...look at me.”
His wary but eager tone makes Natalie relent; she glances at him sideways: Toby is looking at her warmly. She avoids his gaze again, barely managing to keep the whine in her throat captive. The sight of his twinkling, warm eyes keeps replaying in her mind.
Ben, who is still standing in the middle of his living room, remembers what Jeff told him at the fair, and along with what LJ has just insinuated, he makes a decision. “Should we start preparing everything?” He suddenly asks out loud, too innocently.
And Jeff wants to kiss him on the mouth for his quick thinking. He gets up in haste, making Smile become alert. “You’re absolutely right! I’ll prepare the snacks with EJ while you show these two your house. Natalie and Toby should check out the games—”
In five seconds, everybody has given them privacy, but not really; they’re all observing them from behind the kitchen window, not bothering to dissimulate their staring since Toby and Natalie are too busy in their own world to notice or care.
Everybody loses their minds.
LJ chokes on air. He puts a hand to his chest, still grinning. “Just friends, my ass!”
Beside him, Jeff is gripping the frame of the window with a vice grip, until he suddenly releases it to shake Ben. “Okay. Calm down, guys, it’s happening—!” He releases a happy little wheeze.
“But is she the one with the initiative, is it him, or is it both?” EJ asks, just as invested as the rest. “Because that’s important information you can’t leave out.”
“NAH, IT’S BOTH, BUT TOBY HIDES IT WELL AND NATALIE IS TOO HESITANT—!” Jill stops talking to screech like a pterodactyl, holding onto EJ’s shoulders from behind.
Ben suddenly slaps Jeff's cheeks with both hands, encasing his face. “We have to give them odd numbered snacks so that they have to choose who gets it, or if they’ll share it!”
Smile, who has followed Jeff along with everybody else, starts barking like an ambulance siren at the commotion, wanting to be a part of it in any way he can.
“Wait a goddamn minute.” Jeff takes Ben’s hands off of his face, and looks down at Smile in doubt. “Does Toby like her back?”
“Of course he fucking does!” EJ reveals with absolute tranquility.
Jeff releases Ben to whirl around and look at him with wide eyes. “That wasn’t just your gut feeling. What do you know?” He questions, accusatory.
“Toby told me he likes her at the fair, when you three went to the arcades.” EJ elaborates nonchalantly. “He said he didn’t know how to approach her, hence why he wanted to talk with me. Then they spent a while walking around the park, just the two of them.”
The kitchen is completely silent for a moment. “WHAT?!” Everybody goes crazy again, including the dog.
Jeff has switched to shaking EJ. “How could you not have shared this vital info with us?!” He suddenly releases him, focusing his eyes nowhere in particular. “What do we do now?”
“What do you mean by that ?” Jill raises an eyebrow. “We’ll do absolutely nothing; they have to find out that the other likes them on their own. We can’t steal that precious moment of realization from them.”
Beside her, LJ is doubtful. “But what if they’re the type of fools like those in novels that only realize at the end of the second or third book, or three seasons later? Or never, or too late, because they’re that clueless and stupid?” Only silence responds to him. “Because they are kind of slow, let's not pretend otherwise. They’re probably unaware of the other’s intentions.”
They all start speaking at once anew.
Then, EJ lifts a hand to stop everybody. “While I think LJ is right about their cluelessness, I agree with Jill.” He lowers his hand. “Besides, they just like each other; we might scare one or both by rushing things forward from their natural pace. We all know they have their personal issues, especially when socializing, and they need time to test the waters.” He argues his posture from a more clinical viewpoint.
They all ponder on it for a few seconds.
While the emergency assembly is ongoing in the kitchen, Natalie is enjoying the sight of Toby eating what she made. “Why was LJ so insistent that I make you waffles?”
Toby ponders for a moment. He sniffs. “My mom used to make them for us. Lyra liked them a lot. They have a certain meaning, you know?” He smiles without realizing. “...Thank you.”
Natalie feels an entire garden bloom in her chest. She watches as he offers her the container, and mischievously reaches for the half-eaten one he was holding in his other hand. He puts up an indignant pretense as she bites it, but it quickly dissipates as he laughs at her audacity.
“THAT'S INDIRECT KISSING!” LJ states from the safety of the kitchen, and receives the agreement of the rest.
⦻
“By the way, I brought weed.” Toby suddenly lets everybody know while he and Natalie play Mario Kart with Ben and Jeff. “Ben gave me permission, just in case anyone is interested.”
“You bought it from Wilson?” LJ, sitting on the sofa with Jill and EJ and eating gummies, sounds worried. “You’re bipo, Toby.”
“Geez, you say it as if I smoked every day. Last—” Toby coughs. “—time I did was a year or so ago; don’t make it sound like I have an addiction.” He responds crankily. He’s not stupid enough to do that with the kind of work he does, and Mr. Holzer wouldn’t be happy to know if he did. The mere idea banishes any wish he could've had to consume more. “Besides, it’s never affected me all that much.”
“Hm. I’ll pass.” Jeff answers warily. “I don’t think it would be wise of me. Weed is a good trigger for psychotic breakdowns.”
Natalie, on the other hand, is curious; her old psychiatrist did tell her that marijuana helps a lot with borderline personality disorder symptoms, and it’s not like she’s taking any medication. “I’ll try it.”
Both Toby and Jeff glance at her sideways. “Are you sure?” The first inquires; the last thing he wants is for her to go through something unpleasant. But Natalie nods, so he drops it.
“I made weed brownies once.” Jill is braiding Natalie’s hair behind her. “You liked those, didn’t you?” She gives LJ a smirk behind her. “So did EJ.”
“Everything you do, I like.” EJ responds smoothly. “Even when you scold me.”
Jill releases a self-approving chuckle. “Of course you do, because everything I do is amazing!” She finishes braiding Natalie’s hair and scoots closer to Jeff. “Can I do your hair? I can give you an Eren Jaeger bun.”
“You can do whatever you like to me.” Jeff is already grinning about his own jest, until the race in Mario Kart ends and he’s left in fourth place. He throws his head back. “Comfort me, Jill.”
“Woah, woah!” EJ drags himself down the sofa. “I’m getting jealous here!”
“Of me, or Jeff?” Jill asks as she starts sectioning Jeff’s hair.
“Both, obviously. You’re my black-haired muses.” EJ lies down on Jeff’s lap and caresses his chest dramatically. “LJ doesn’t want me. He doesn’t like when someone has quicker and better comebacks to his own, so he rejects me.”
“That’s not true! Come back, my darling!” LJ follows him down the sofa, forgetting the bag of gummies in his haste. “We can all be together if we put enough effort!” As Jeff starts cackling, LJ lifts his head over them to the other side. “What do you say, Tobibi?”
“Fuck off.” But Toby is grinning all the same; he rolls his shoulders and clicks his tongue. “You fondled me enough for a lifetime. Stay right where you are!”
“Aw, you and Ben are so hard to conquer. Well, you, maybe not so much.” LJ smirks at Toby, who looks back at him with a ‘you better not start’ squinted glare. He turns to Ben, who jumps as he rests his hands on his shoulders. “I remember how ravenous you were the other day. I can still feel your naughty hands, tickling my body…” He blows into his ear.
“LJ!” Ben becomes fidgety, and the others laugh at his expense. “I’m going to lose because of you!”
“There’s better games to play.” LJ continues, tightening his hold on his shoulders and leaning on him. “You, me, that bed in your bedroom full of Zelda elf plushies that look just like you…” He purposefully names Link wrong this time, and gently tugs at Ben’s golden locks of hair.
Ben just whines, too prideful to let go of the controller and defend himself from LJ. Jeff, EJ and Natalie are cackling, while Toby and Jill are trying to control their expressions and failing miserably.
“Come on, blondie, we had so much fun last time—!” LJ is attacked as soon as the race ends with Ben in first position and he immediately releases the controller.
Ben throws LJ off balance and ends up over him on the rug. He bestows on the clown the same fate as last time, and once more, LJ tries to worm his way out of his grasp. “If you insist!”
“YES, THAT’S IT, LET YOURSELF GO—!” LJ continues the sexual joke, but is cut off when Ben pokes his ribs with no mercy, and he begins his wobbly chortling and begging.
“Let’s gag him and do this all night long in turns.” EJ offers. “We can use Jeff’s socks. Toby’s are not smelly enough.”
While Toby cackles, Jeff looks down at him with an affronted look. “And mine are?!” He tugs at EJ’s cheek.
“Owie, owie, owie, don’t humiliate me like this! It’s discrimination!” But EJ is not making much effort in stopping Jeff, other than grasping his wrist.
“Discrimination because you’re blind, asian, dark skinned, or simply a cunt? Because I only care about the last one!” Jeff tugs his other cheek.
“I gan’t felp bein a gunt, eiher!” EJ struggles to vocalize with both cheeks being tugged. He grasps both of Jeff’s wrists. “Ight, Gill?”
“Don’t drag me into your marital beef.” Jill responds, and the three resume their laughter.
⦻
‘How can someone always look this good?’ Natalie thinks while she watches Toby take a drag from their joint. She observes as his lips close around the filter, and when they release it. When he releases the smoke out of his lungs, he does so slightly parting those lips, and it comes out in rivulets from all sides. It looks especially cool when it comes out of his left cheek.
Along with them on the porch are LJ and EJ, who are sharing their own joint. The other three have chosen to remain inside, uninterested as they are in smoking; Jeff and Ben were still playing when they got out, whilst Jill was still doing Jeff’s hair.
Natalie isn’t feeling much different, although the taste was a bit strange. She’s not fond of the tobacco, that’s for sure.
‘That’s indirect kissing too, and no one can tell me otherwise.’ LJ thinks as he analyzes the two, Natalie resting on Toby’s shoulder. ‘But then again, that would mean I’m kissing EJ.’ He chuckles silently. “Don’t overdo it, Toby Bear.”
The right corner of Toby’s mouth falls, irritated at his unnecessary worries. He doesn’t lift his gaze from staring vacantly. “Yes, mommy.” But he responds sarcastically, nonetheless.
LJ grins. “It's so easy to tick you off.”
“I don’t need you to tic on my own, thank you very much.” Toby cracks a joke with a smug smirk.
LJ guffaws, EJ cackles, and Natalie pulls her lips into a forced fine line, not having expected that comeback. She’s having difficulty in keeping her smile in check. “Come on, Naty-Nat, we know you want to laugh! Don’t contain yourself!” The entrance door is opened, and Jill comes out. “Did you finish with Jeff’s hair?”
“Yep. I’ll do yours next: pigtails.” Jill rummages through her pockets and takes out two hair ties.
“Why don’t you do pigtails on Toby? He’d look adorable.” LJ clenches and unclenches his hands in Toby’s direction. “Squishy.”
Toby trembles and grimaces. Natalie tilts her head at him. “Why not? It would be cute, actually.”
Toby cracks his neck, sniffs, and stares at her directly. “So you think I’d be cute with pigtails, but not without them?” He pouts.
Natalie buffers. “Uh, that’s not what I meant!” She blinks, realizing she’s been tricked when Toby’s grin widens. “Why must you twist my words, you rogue?” She looks at him defiantly.
“How mean!” Toby leans his head on her shoulder. Natalie gets nervous as she feels his soft hair tickle her neck.
While LJ and Jill have their eyes on the two lovebirds, EJ straightens his posture from leaning on the wall. “I’ll get back inside. The idea of Jeff cheating on me makes me antsy.”
Jill blows a raspberry. “Will you be fine on your own?” She takes the spot beside LJ.
“The layout is the same as in your houses.” EJ shrugs her question off with a hand gesture, and gets inside.
“So, you’re friends with Helen and Dina?” LJ asks Natalie, full of curiosity. Jill beside him is just as interested in her answer.
Natalie frowns. “I’m friends with Dina, but I’m not so sure about Helen. He’s a bit difficult to understand.”
LJ glances at Jill with a knowing look. She pouts. “That doesn’t mean he’s bad, he could just be shy!”
“I don’t know. It’s not that I dislike him, I just find it hard to approach.” LJ scratches his nape.
Toby takes another drag of his joint. “I agree, but he’s not a bad dude.”
Natalie is entranced by the smoke exiting him through his nose and mouth. “He didn’t give me a bad impression.” She feels the need to defend Helen for some reason. “Besides, he didn’t scold Toby for getting in by climbing the tree—” She covers her mouth, realizing her mistake too late.
“Ah, shit!” Toby laments with a sigh.
“What were you saying just now?!” LJ screeches; him and Jill are focused on her in a second. “Toby got in using the tree?! And Helen didn’t give a fuck?!”
Natalie uncovers her mouth; she’s been discovered already, it’s no use to deny it. “Helen saw him climb it and let him stay.”
LJ blinks. He leans towards Jill. “EJ said he’s a germaphobe, so he’s just gained many brownie points with that.” He whispers, and Jill elbows him, warning him silently to keep his tongue in check.
“I’ll go inside, too.” Toby puts off the joint and straightens his posture. He gets in, leaving Natalie disappointed in his absence.
Jill can perceive it; she tries to distract her. “And what about Dina? You told me you’ll meet next week.”
“Yeah. I don’t have to babysit Sally because she’ll be at a friend’s house for the evening. Dina told me we’ll go somewhere fancy, but not where. Just that I’ll have to put on something elegant.” Natalie is a bit doubtful of that. “She measured me and got me a dress I’ve yet to see. I felt guilty, but she just shrugged it off.”
LJ lifts his eyebrows and tilts his head. “I mean, she’s loaded. I don’t think she cares much about how her wallet will suffer for the purchase.”
Natalie purses her lips. “Sure, but I still feel like I owe her.”
Jill leans on her. “If she’s offered and insisted, it’s because she wants to have a nice gesture. She won’t expect something like that in return because she knows you don’t have as much money. She just wants to spend the evening with you; don’t ruminate on it.”
“Just like you’re doing with us.” LJ starts with a kind face, then he makes a naughty one. “My presence here is the luxury, so pay me!”
Jill tugs on his ear. “We’ll pay you with a beating if you don’t stop!”
LJ winces, but doesn’t make much more of a complaint. “But are they together or not, those two?”
Natalie shrugs. “I would say they are, but I didn’t outright ask them. I’m not one hundred percent sure.”
“He didn’t tell you why?” Jeff asks Ben as they sit in front of the television.
Ben shakes his head. “Nope. He just told me that and asked me to stay here. Those things he said about the rest, though, I don’t know what he meant.”
Jeff frowns and huffs. He scratches his head. “What a weird guy. I don’t understand him at all…and you’ve won again!” He complains, lifting the console remote as he gestures to the television.
Ben chuckles. “Well, I’m grateful for his help. I would have left, otherwise.”
“Which is a big no-no.” Jeff quickly adds. Then, he doubts about speaking his next words. “I might have to ask him for help, too.”
Ben rests the console on the floor and looks at him alarmed. “Why?” Jeff explains what happened in EJ’s house, and Ben is speechless for a moment. “The things that happen to you.” Jeff makes a face in agreement. “Well, if what that girl was saying is true, who you should really worry about is the one who gave her the information on your whereabouts in the first place.”
“If she herself doesn’t turn out to be a nutcase. Those fanatics do anything to get close to their idol.” Jeff scowls. “The last thing I’d want is to inspire another tragedy. I have enough regrets as it is.”
Ben considers. “Could it be…?”
“That’s what has me on edge.” Jeff touches his mouth scars absentmindedly. “If it’s any of them, I don’t know what intentions they have, and I don’t know how I’ll react if they end up making a move.”
Ben sighs. “Then you should ask him. He’ll probably request the same he asked me in return, and you’re not really losing anything by asking. You can just say ‘no, thank you’ if he asks something else or you change your mind—eek!” Ben squeaks as he feels hands rest on his shoulder.
“What are you two talking about?” EJ asks, plopping down in between them.
“About that girl and such. I might ask Holzer to help me like Ben did.” Jeff looks at the screen again, ready to start another game.
EJ hums. “That’s not a bad idea. He gave me my adapted house for cheap.” He reveals.
“Just because? He asked you to remain here too, right?” Jeff asks as he competes with Ben for first place.
“...Yes.” EJ takes a tad too long to answer, while looking as innocent as ever.
EJ is very good at keeping things to himself, but he chose to make it obvious. If he’s given Jeff a clue, it must be because EJ wants him to know he’s lying, because he can’t tell even if he wants to. He turns a blind eye. “What are the other four doing?”
“LJ is teasing Toby and Natalie, Toby is teasing Natalie and LJ, Natalie is teasing LJ and Toby. Jill is probably laughing her ass off at the three of them right now.” EJ throws himself on the rug behind them. “To Jill, watching LJ attack and defend himself is the best entertainment she could have, but it gets tiring for me. I came because I missed you two. Who’s winning, by the way?”
“Ben, by far.” Jeff fumes while Ben glows. “I have to ask Natalie to try. Maybe she’ll be able to beat him like last time, and then Toby will play with her, and then they’ll marry and have kids, and I’ll be uncle Jeff.” He grins wickedly, while Ben and EJ cackle.
“What are you three scheming?” Ben and Jeff suddenly hear behind them and startle. They turn around to see Toby sit beside Jeff, to his left; he fortunately seems oblivious to their conversation.
Jeff looks down at EJ. “How the fuck did you not get scared, EJ?”
“I heard him, duh.” EJ responds, sitting up. “The sofa’s right behind me, isn’t it?” He gets up and goes to sit there.
Jeff scoffs, and EJ laughs. ‘He could’ve heard me, and you didn’t think of telling me he was coming?!’ He thinks, considering strangling EJ. “We were talking about you getting teased by the clown.” He tilts his head to the left. “Did you leave Natalie there with him to get chewed up on your behalf?” He asks, lamenting that they’re not together right now. Smooching, preferably.
“Jill won’t let him chew her up. She’ll tug his ear if he teases her too much.” Toby leans back, resting on his elbows.
Sunday.
It’s around five in the morning. Jeff is a little drunk, while Ben is a little bit more than drunk. The bottles they had were a mix of beer and tequila; something Ben disliked from the start, but he insisted that he wanted to experience getting drunk, and this was the best moment to try. “I thinnnk you’re going to winnn this time.” He slurs his words. He chuckles. “I see double.”
“You’re not used to drinking. Do you even have something in your stomach?” Jeff gets in parenting mode, despite his own drunken state.
Ben hiccups. “Nnno.” He chuckles again. “Only potato chips. But they’re paprrrika!” He points out, as if it were of importance.
“Call me white, but I can’t stand hot food.” LJ comments from the sofa, leaning lazily on his hand.
“Those aren't even hot.” EJ has pulled his hoodie hat around his face, as he often does. Only his mouth can be seen. “You can’t stand anything that doesn’t have a sweet hint in it at the very least.”
In front of the Jacks, leaning on the sofa but seated on the floor, Jill is just as wasted as Ben, if not more. She’s scratching Smile behind the ears as he lies on her lap. “I thhhhink the blue one is going to wwwwin!”
Jeff snorts. “That’s a blue tortoise shell, Jill, not a kart.” Then, he understands what he just said. “Oh, no!” The shell crashes into his kart, and he throws himself backwards onto the rug. Smile startles, and moves to lick at his face. “And you said I would win! You can’t be defeated, even when drunk!” He complains to Ben while petting Smile.
Ben hiccups again. “You’d get mad if I let you winnnn!”
“Not gonna lie, I feel like squishing him. It’s kind of cute.” LJ comments about the blond. He looks between him and Jill. “They’re both thin and small, it’s no wonder they got drunk so fast.”
“I’m nnnot small! I’m only a bit shorter than Jeffff.” Ben throws himself back on the rug too. “Jill is smallerrrr than me.”
Jill is rocking herself from left to right, a dumb smile on her face. “I wooonder what those two are doing.”
“I’m too lazy to get up and check.” LJ rolls over to stare at the ceiling, arm hanging over the armrest. “Should we call it quits? I’ll take care of this girlie here.”
“Weeee!” Jill responds, simply happy to leave with LJ.
EJ sits up. “I’ll go with you. Let me check on those two first.”
⦻
“Why did they leavvve?” Ben protests as Jeff drags him to bed. “Didn’t they like it?” He hiccups.
“They left because they’re tired and want to sleep, just like you should do.” Jeff sits him on the bed. “Even Smile is snoring.”
Ben smiles stupidly. “I doubt Nattt and Toby will sleep.” He guffaws.
Jeff covers his mouth, surprised by his comment. “Damn, you really aren’t as innocent as you seem to be!” He laughs, realizing what Ben is reminding him of. “You kind of look like Link’s Elegy Statue of Emptiness with that dumb grin, not gonna lie.”
Ben whines. “Don’t say that!” Jeff chuckles to himself. He rubs his eyes. “Am I going to be hangoverrr tomorrow?”
“Probably.” Jeff observes how Ben begins to fiddle with the sleeves of his white hoodie. “That’s why I made you drink all that water. It’ll be worse if you don’t sleep.”
“Ugh.” Ben stays hunched over and silent for a moment. Then, he suddenly lifts his head and looks up, eyes wide. “There’s sommmething in here! There’s sommmething in the roommm!”
Jeff gets startled severely. “What?! What do you mean there’s something in here?!” He starts looking around frantically, whipping his head here and there, but sees no suspicious silhouettes.
“It’s buzzinggg!” Ben elaborates, half whining, half giggling.
And Jeff wants to kill him. “I almost shat myself just now, and it was a fucking mosquito you were talking about?!” Ben cackles. Jeff flips the light switch, and ignoring Ben’s protests about it, finds the little nuisance and quickly gets rid of it with Ben’s slipper. He lowers the shoe and throws it back where it was on the floor. “Ass clenching moment right there! Don’t do that ever again!”
“Okaayy, but turn off the liggght!” Ben complains while he covers his eyes.
Jeff does just that, not without noticing Ben’s drunken blush; it’s funny how red he can get. He then sits beside him, and starts laughing. “You bastard! Did you do that because of what I said about your smile?”
“Not really. I jussst heard it and panickeddd.” Ben squints his eyes. “You have an evilll laugh. Like a villainnn!” He snatches the Link plushie.
Jeff stands up, supporting himself with a hand on the wall. “Whatever you say. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“Wait—,” Ben tugs his hoodie from behind. “—I have somethinggg to ask you.”
Jeff raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Then ask.”
“Is there something you fear?” Ben suddenly blurts out, looking slightly more sober. “Something from day to day that scares you?”
Jeff blinks. “...Are you trying to make me shit my pants tonight, or something?” Ben shakes his head. He looks to the side in pondering. “Well, I’m scared of fire, and knives.”
Ben tilts his head. “Knivesss? Because of what happeneddd, too?”
‘Will Ben even remember all of this when he wakes up? He might, he might not. He probably won’t.’ That idea makes Jeff less inhibited. “I get a bit queasy when using one sometimes. As if it were to take control of my mind and massacre the little life I’ve built for myself here, just for holding it.” He gives Ben a strained smile. “Stupid thought, right?”
Ben blinks up at him. “It’s not stupiddd.” He throws himself on the bed. “You might be a little stupid, but your feelingsss are not.”
“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?” Jeff chuckles, a little bit touched. “Did you ask me that because of your fear of water?”
“And B.E.N.” Ben admits.
Jeff ponders on it. “I guess it’s disturbing for something to be called after you in honor of a drowning you didn’t suffer.”
“It’s as ifff I owned it my deathhh. It’s bitter becaussse I didn’t die.” Ben elaborates further. “It didn’t like being mockeddd like that. It wants to righttt my wrongggs.”
Jeff feels like he’s not talking about B.E.N. anymore. He frowns, stepping closer to the bed, looming over Ben. “The A.I. is bitter?”
“They are…all of themmm.” Ben tightens his hold on the toy. “Because I didn’t meet..the same terrible fate as they did. He wantsss me where he should’ve…sent me...”
“Who are you talking about, Ben?” Jeff inquires further.
But Ben has fallen asleep.
⦻
“Come on, Jilly!” LJ encourages her to keep walking. “We’re almost there, just keep walking a bit more!”
“Ugh! My ass feels heeaavy!” Jill complains for the third time.
LJ giggles. “So you’ve said already. But it looks the same as five minutes ago.”
“I want to lay dooown!” Jill throws her head back.
“On the cold pavement?” LJ looks back for a moment to make sure that the silent but tranquil EJ is still with them, then at her once again. Contrary to what he expected, Jill nods enthusiastically. “No laying down. I know it looks comfortable, but I promise, it’s not. We can sit for a moment and then continue, if you want.”
“Okay!” Jill immediately sits down, tugging LJ down with her. As EJ gets close to them, cane vibrating against the pavement, she sags down against him. “I wonder if the guuuys have ever gotten drunk?”
“You talkin’ about our other group?” LJ asks, and Jill nods. “Eric has for sure. The other two, I’m not so sure. Jonathan might have, but I can’t imagine Jason drunk.” He looks up to check on EJ again; the man seems to be in his own world, enjoying the nightly sounds, moving his head this way and that. When Jill doesn’t answer further, LJ changes the topic. “How’s little Mary?”
“She was a liiittle sick yesterday. Puking and suuuch.” Jill sniffs. “...LJ?”
LJ has a bad feeling about this. He knows how sentimental Jill can get when she’s drunk, and she usually likes to touch a very specific topic. “Yes, Jill?”
“I love you.” Jill hugs him.
As LJ had expected, she touched that topic, and he’s uncomfortable, because she doesn’t mean it in the same way she loves Jeff or Natalie. “Jill, sweetie-pie, we’ve talked about this already. You’re my little sister.” He looks down at her, hunching his back to see her face. As he expected, she’s crying. “You can’t expect me to love a little sister like that.”
“But we’re nooot siblings!” Jill sniffs again. “And I don’t seeee you as a brother!”
“I think I can orient myself to my house.” EJ turns to the direction of it. The situation is indeed uncomfortable, and hearing Jill cry in her drunken state is unpleasant, moreso since this issue has nothing to do with him. He feels like an intruder.
LJ is doubtful. He feels guilty, too. “Are you sure?”
EJ grins. “Are you feeling guilty? You shouldn’t; I can take care of myself just fine.” He gives him a sympathetic smile. “Have a nice…night, day? Whatever. See you two.”
LJ feels a certain relief watching him go, as if he had given them a much needed privacy. He rubs Jill’s left arm back and down to calm her. “I know, but it wouldn’t be fair for either of us if I pretended to love you that way. Don’t you think you deserve more than that, Jilly?”
Jill whines. “But it’s you that I want!”
LJ sighs. She’s drunk; it might be best to try and distract her, because this conversation is going nowhere and she’ll probably forget it. “Why don’t we keep walking?” He lifts himself off of the floor, and offers Jill his hands.
She takes them with a pout, and LJ lifts her up. They resume their walking. “Is it becaauuse you like Isaac?” Jill suddenly blurts out.
“...Huh?” LJ makes a confused face. “What does Isaac have to do with this? He’s an old friend, one that I wanted to kill as soon as I met after so long, and who I have to get to know again. How could I like him that way?”
“Becaauuse you could’ve fallen in looove with who you imaaagined he could grooow up to be. And also gotten aaangry because you didn’t wanna cooome to terms with your own feeelings and wanted to push him awaaay.” Jill explains while gesticulating with her index finger, doing circles in the air.
LJ blinks, nonplussed. “Jill, honey—,” He pats her head. “—no more alcohol for you. I’m afraid the next thing you’ll blurt out is a new conspiracy theory about the government.”
Jill burps. “You didn’t just thiiink about how wrong he could turn oouut, you also thought about how goood he could turn out. You iiidolized him in your head and got impaaatient that he didn’t come back to yoouu because he’s the only one you’ve ever conneeected with so deeply.”
LJ throws his head back and sighs. “Is this what you’ve been thinking all this time?”
Jill shakes her head. “It’s just a liiittle theory of mine. I won’t juuudge you if it’s true, but if so, it huuurts, Jacky!”
LJ lowers his head and huffs. “I have to agree that it’s a very intelligent conclusion to reach, but it’s actually just nonsense, Jilly; I don’t love him like that. I do agree that I’ve been very obsessed with him coming back, but I only see him as a friend, a little brother at most. The same way I see you.”
Jill whips her head up at him with an extreme pout and very humid eyes. “Are you aseeexual? Or aromaaantic? Aroace?!”
LJ facepalms. “Most likely. Will you please stop crying, dear?”
⦻
Natalie almost trips over on the entrance rug; she didn’t because Toby prevented it, but he’s also chuckling at her clumsiness. They’re both tipsy, having drunk two of Jeff’s bottles, and to top it off, they smoked before coming here, so they’re also high once more.
“Thank you.” Natalie thanks him sheepishly. She holds onto the doorframe, not entirely trustful of her reflexes at this moment. She looks back at him. “Why don’t you look so uncoordinated?”
“Because it’s not my first time.” Toby shrugs.
Natalie gives him the stink eye. ‘Why are you always perfect and I’m not?’ She steps in and locks the door quickly after Toby does the same. She rests a hand on the wood. “I don’t want to sleep yet.” She hasn’t felt this nice in a while; it’s almost as if a smile was perpetually trying to find its way onto her face. She feels calm and amused, over a cloud.
She makes her way to the living room, careful not to miss her step again. She lights the lamp in the corner and sits down on the sofa. Toby follows her with soft steps, feeling a bit shy in her territory once more. He sits down to her left. “We don’t have to.”
“Aren’t you tired?” Natalie takes off her shoes, which she had forgotten to take off before entering.
“No.” Toby watches as she crouches down in front of him and takes off his boots, then puts them aside with her shoes. He rolls his shoulders. “I could have done that.”
“Well, I did it, so not anymore.” Natalie smiles up at him, feeling amused.
Toby gives her his boyish grin. “You didn’t need to sit on the floor to—” He clicks his tongue. “—reach my shoes, you’re short enough to reach them while standing.”
Natalie lifts herself and puts a hand to his right cheek. “Are you going to start with that again?” She asks with a pout. She lowers her hand to grasp his wrist and tug. “Then don’t be rude; come down to my level.” She pushes the small coffee table to a corner with a foot.
Instead of poking fun at her any further, Toby does as she asked, sitting beside her on the floor. Her little confidence peak makes him feel proud, amused and stirred, all at once. “We could’ve sat on the sofa or the bed.”
Natalie scoots closer to Toby and hugs him. “But then if I fall, it will be too high. I’m a shorty, remember?”
Toby giggles. “So now you’re admitting what you are, after how much trouble you gave me for it?” He jerks his head. “And why would you fall?”
Natalie pushes him suddenly, and he ends up lying on the rug, looking quite impressed. “Too little space.”
Toby blinks up at her several times. He huffs, lifting his fringe with his exhale. “Look who’s being bold now. Just say you felt like lying on the rug instead.” He jerks his head, and they bump. “Shit, sorry…” He apologizes anxiously when Natalie puts a hand to her head, but she starts giggling, which makes him laugh in turn.
Natalie blinks at him. “Toby.” He tilts his head at her, admiring how the light reflects on her eyes; she has a dumb grin. “I’m high.”
Toby frowns, smirk returning to his face. “No, you’re just as short as you were a second ago.” Natalie swats a hand at him with force at, and he chuckles.
“O-oh, I’m sorry!” Natalie suddenly asks for forgiveness.
Toby halts his laughter for a moment. “What for? It didn’t hurt.” He chuckles, finding her abrupt worry unneeded. He lifts a hand to cup her left cheek.
“It doesn’t matter if it didn’t hurt, I shouldn’t have hit you like that!” Natalie sags down on him, a bit emotional. “I’m sorry!”
“Okay, I forgive you.” Toby rubs her back. “Come on, Naty, don’t get sad. I’m fine, really!” When she rubs her face against his chest, he tries another tactic. “Although you’re quite strong for a shorty.” He blinks repeatedly.
Natalie lifts her head and whines. “I should’ve told LJ when I had the chance, you big meanie!” Toby turns his head to his left, trying to hide his face as he laughs. She can feel his abdomen vibrate under her. “Is that the only quality I have? Because you only tease me about that!”
“You’re also tiny, small, minuscule—,” Toby flinches when she menacingly leans closer to him. “—miniature, compact, toy-size—,” He startles when Natalie jabs at his ribs. He chuckles silently for a moment, then continues. “—your porch steps must feel like climbing a mountain!” She jabs at him again, and he wiggles.
“Hmph!” Natalie lifts herself up, which makes Toby stop laughing.
Before she can stand up fully, though, Toby sits up and catches her wrist. He tugs her back down and she flops onto his lap, into his arms. He hugs her from behind. “You’re adorable when you ramble nervously. You’re also very kind, gentle and open-minded.” He rests his cheek on her right shoulder. “You’re a very good friend. I’m—” He whimpers. “—very glad I met you, and that I get to have you in my life.” He tightens his arms around her. “Don’t hate me too much for teasing you.”
Natalie covers her face with her hands.
“Naty.” Toby tries to get a hold of her wrists. “I mean it. I feel happy when I’m being dumb with you.” He lifts his head from her shoulder.
Natalie separates the two fingers covering her right eye, still wary of seeing Toby and hoping her hands will save her from him, just in case her mind judges his expression as fake. She looks behind her.
Toby is looking at her with the warmest beam she’s ever seen on his face.
‘Is this what being stuck on the heart with an arrow feels like? It feels good, but I want to hide.’ She does just that; she covers herself again, face warming up to melting degrees. ‘Perhaps my hands will be welded to my face and I’ll be protected from his glowing gaze forever.’
Toby caresses her wrists. “Come on. Look at me, please.” He pleads with a gentle but wary voice.
That makes Natalie lower them immediately. “Sorry, I’m not used to being told such nice things.” She remembers his request, and looks at him.
Toby’s face immediately lights up when she does.
‘Don’t surrender!’ Natalie tries to keep her face neutral while they observe each other, lest he finds out what she’s thinking. ‘He’s handsome, and warm, and gentle, but also a rascal, so don’t succumb to his charms!’
Toby cups her left cheek, hand trembling slightly. “Thank you.”
‘Why is his hand so big, and warm, and calloused, and nice, and—fdgjfkdgk—?!’ Natalie’s thought process becomes jumbled when Toby rubs his thumb on her skin. ‘Is he deliberately trying to seduce me or something?!’ She looks at him like a puppy would. She starts rambling. “You’re also very nice and kind, I’m glad that I met you too, and I have a lot of fun when we’re being stupid, and…”
And she can’t help but look into his eyes, which are tenderly looking into her own; those eyes she was fond of from the very start, which shine with such a pretty and comforting color. She can’t help but look at his mouth that always finds a way to tease her, that always knows how to soften her with the right words; those lips he moves so charmingly whenever he has a tic, those corners that uplift so daringly whenever he has something sarcastic to say.
She wants to kiss him so badly. She wants to feel those chapped, scarred, bitten lips on her own. Not because he’s handsome, not because he’s funny, not because he’s endearing, but because he makes the effort to make her open her heart. He’s encouraging her to become who she really is meant to be, not the shell she was left as. In such a short amount of time, she’s felt so cared for by a man who is probably not even doing it deliberately.
And she hasn’t cared for him as much.
“...Naty?” Toby takes her out of her thoughts, and her gaze refocuses on his beautiful face.
Natalie turns her body around slightly to look at him properly, making Toby lower his hand. She pulls her lips into a fine line. “...don’t you ever stop teasing me like that.” She feels something run down her right cheek.
Toby becomes alarmed. “Natalie?” He wraps his arms around her waist.
Natalie bites the dead skin on her lips. “I get vexed because you always have a good comeback for whatever I tell you, but you’ve never bothered me. You’re always encouraging me and trying to lift me up. How could I find that annoying?” She lifts her left hand and caresses his face with the back of it. “I think you’re very emotionally intelligent; you’re always so mindful of me and what I might be thinking. And since I find you to be such a good person...” She lowers her hand and rests her forehead against his chest. “...I can only think that you must also be the best son a mother could wish for, and the best brother a sister would want.”
Toby flinches, as if he’d been struck by lightning. He trembles.
“Wherever she is, she must be so proud of you. I would be.” Natalie hugs him, fisting her hands on the back of his black turtleneck shirt. “I can only hope that I’ll become someone like you.”
Toby buries a hand in her hair and holds her head against him. The other arm surrounds Natalie in a flash. He’s shaking and sobbing. “...You haven’t known m-me for long. How can you be so s-sure of that?”
“It’s like having seen the negative, and now being shown the positive. I couldn’t mistake it.” Natalie speaks cryptically, but is convinced.
“There are many kinds of n-negative and many kinds of positive. You could be facing something that pretends to be w-what it’s not.” Toby keeps on trying to change her mind. “Don’t abusers often show their true c-colors once they’ve trapped you?”
He hears Natalie click her tongue for the first time ever. “That might be true, if they have to trap you to begin with. But if I’m sure about something, it’s that you are the stark opposite of what I’ve known.”
“But you don’t know m-me enough! You don’t know what I hide, what I try to forget or ignore, what I am!” Toby frowns. “You didn’t have enough time—!”
“Time! Always fucking time!” Natalie raises her voice, startling him. “I spent twenty-two years in that house, with people I knew since the very beginning, enduring things that made me wish to kill them! And guess what?” She scoffs. “Twelve of those years I relied on my brother, only for him to take advantage of my trust and do that to me!” The last part echoes throughout the room in a painful wail.
Toby stares at her in shock.
She breathes deeply several times, and lowers her voice. “It’s not time that shows one’s colors, but naïvety which hides them from us.” She lifts her head to look Toby dead in the eye. “I didn’t see it coming, but now I can. Your actions have spoken for you, and they’ve told me that whatever you hide, you don’t do it with malice. Please , stop trying to make me doubt you. I don’t want to doubt you!” She lifts her hands, and wipes Toby’s cheeks.
Toby returns the gesture, now seeing Natalie in a different light; he can hear her clockwork speeding up its ticking.
Chapter 11
Notes:
For any questions or suggestions, here you have my strawpage: kiopowell.straw.page
You may view the answers through my twitter, @Kio_Powell. I won't answer anything that is rude.
Chapter Text
Sunday.
He’s restless in his seat. He decided to leave Smile at home for once, just in case; he doesn’t know what he’s about to face. Not only is he nervous about how the dog might be doing in solitude, and how this girl will react to him, but he’s also anxious about the measures he’ll have to take in case he finds no leads for his conundrum.
“I can hear you from all the way here. Stop tapping your foot.” EJ chastises him from his bedroom. “It’ll be fine.”
‘If only it were that simple.’ Jeff stops, nonetheless, but he taps his forefinger on the sofa armrest instead. “You don’t know that. She could’ve lied.”
“Jeff—,” EJ comes out from the bedroom. “—she was like an open book. And it’s two against one in my house, so no need to fret.”
The doorbell rings, and Jeff is glad he took a lorazepam pill a little while ago, or he would’ve ejected his heart out onto the rug in front of him in reaction to the ominous, irritating sound. EJ goes to open the door, completely at ease, while Jeff remains seated with the tension of a territorial cat.
He can hear greetings being exchanged; EJ’s polite and cheerful one, along with one that is unknown, wary, and slightly resentful. The footsteps that return into the house are now doubled. “So, are you going to tell me what this is ab—?” The girl stops speaking and stops walking with a screech of her shoes as soon as she spots him.
Jeff spots her back, head turned around as he is. She’s shorter than him, has her black hair dyed in pink stripes on the front layers, and her eyes are a light cyan blue, enhanced with black eyeliner. She’s wearing a purple hoodie, a black skirt, red and black striped stockings and sneakers.
Jeff is sure he has impressed her more with his appearance, than she has impressed him with hers. He remains stoic. “Nina Hopkins?”
She even flinches when he names her, as if his voice were the crack of a whip, still not having composed herself from the shock. Jeff wouldn’t describe her as scared, since her eyes are shining far too much. She only turns her head slightly to address EJ, not daring to have him out of her wide-eyed sight. “Y-you told me he w-wasn’t here!”
EJ steps closer from behind and delicately puts a hand on her shoulder. She flinches again, and he relishes in her jumpy reactions; she probably thinks both him and Jeff are plotting a grander demise for her, if her line of thought is as preposterous as the last time she was here. “I lied. And much better than you did, by the way; you should take notes.” He approaches the sofa and sits to Jeff’s left. “You can sit on the couch.” He gestures to the free seat to Jeff’s right.
Nina does just that, a bit warily. But at least she seems wary of EJ too, not just Jeff. “And why did you lie?” She’s looking at them both as she takes the seat; at EJ with a little bit of resentment, and Jeff with a mix of admiration and caution.
“Because I wanted to make sure Jeff wanted to meet you before revealing the truth, given your…interests.” EJ crosses his legs. “I told him what happened and he agreed to talk to you, so I asked you to return without telling you why, per his insistence; he didn’t want to risk you bringing more zealots or alerting anybody.”
Nina looks down, a bit nervous.
“Oh, come on! Cat got your tongue? You were far more chatty the other day.” EJ chuckles. “He’s the definition of a cinnamon roll…when he’s not angry, that is.” He notes, because Jeff is definitely somewhat irked right now, he can tell. “He doesn’t bite. Well, he might in bed—”
“EJ!” Jeff scolds him grumpily, arms crossed over his chest; EJ lifts his hands in surrender. He turns his serious gaze to Nina; he wants to finish with this as soon as possible. “What did you hope to accomplish by finding me?” He knows he sounds a bit harsh, but he can’t help it. He’s quite uncomfortable, given that this girl went looking for him, despite and because of him being a murderer.
“Um, well, I think it might be best if I explain from the start. I used to be on forums about serial killers.” Nina grimaces what should be a smile, avoiding Jeff’s stare. “And I would chat with another user who I became friendly with. I told them about my problems, and they told me I should look for you because—”
“They insisted that because I suffered bullying, I would help you and your brother, who is getting bullied.” Jeff completes it for her.
“Yeah?” Nina frowns. “I was stupid. I shouldn’t have trusted someone I didn’t know. But I did it because I was both desperate and delusional. There, I said it.”
Jeff keeps his face severe, along with his tone. “Do you realize what could’ve happened if they tricked you? They might have been human traffickers.” Nina pulls her lips into a fine line. “And since their lead was right, what if I had indeed turned out to be what you expected? What makes you think I would’ve listened to you?” She flinches as his voice turns angrier. “Do you truly realize how reckless and stupid you were? Because I don’t think you do.”
Nina keeps her gaze down like a guilty puppy.
Jeff takes a deep breath. “What’s going on with your brother? Chris, was it?”
Nina’s gaze twinkles, face lighting up. “Yes. My little prince.” She murmurs with a smile, then becomes serious. “I have my own bullies; a girl named Claudia, from when I was in highschool. She still wants to hurt me, because she’s made some other kids fool my brother, and he was severely beaten up.” She rubs her eyes. “I don’t know what to do. The school is turning a blind eye as always. My parents don’t know what to do, either; we don’t have the money to send him to another school because there’s no other in the area, nor should we even be considering that when we’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t want my brother to suffer anymore because I can’t deal with that cunt.”
EJ quickly puts a hand to Jeff’s ear and whispers something. Jeff nods and he gets up and goes into his room for a moment.
Jeff returns his gaze to Nina. “We might be able to help you, but it won’t involve violence.” Nina lifts her head to look at him with a hopeful glint; she doesn’t seem bothered by that, which is a good enough sign that she’s not that deranged, and Jeff feels some of the tension leave his body. “First we have to talk with someone, and I’m going to ask for something in return.”
Nina looks at him with confusion, brows furrowed.
“She’s coming.” EJ gets out of his room and returns beside Jeff. “It won’t take long, she lives nearby.”
“Alright then.” Jeff leans forward. “Do you still have the chat you shared with them, or any comment left by them on that forum?”
“Y-yes, I have both.” Nina takes out her phone, browses on it and quickly finds what Jeff asked for.
Jeff looks at the screen. “...Arkensaw?” He blinks, then frowns in frustration. “That doesn’t give me any hint. I don’t know any Arkensaws.” He takes out his own phone. “I’ll send Ben the link to the forum and tell him to get rid of it. He might be able to track down or hack into the device these messages were sent from before doing that.”
EJ snorts. “Will he be able to with that humongous hangover?”
“He was able to win me in Mario Kart while seeing double from how wasted he was.” Jeff comments, omitting that Ben was also able to keep altering B.E.N. without having slept an hour, eaten anything or drinking any water for around a day. “I don’t think he’ll have any problems with this; he’s an absolute unit.”
The doorbell rings again. EJ goes to open the door, and once again, the pair of footsteps is now doubled. “Good afternoon.” Dina greets them as soon as she comes into view, with a soft but perfect smile.
EJ comes from behind her. “I think you’re the only one who can help us with this. Is it too much to ask?”
“Not at all; I’m glad I can be of service.” Dina gets close to the separate couch and sits on the armrest, looking at Nina. “EJ has told me what’s going on. Would you like me to help you?”
Nina blinks up at her, not bothering to dissimulate how much she’s admiring the unknown blond woman’s strange eyes and overall beauty. “Y-yes, but how?”
Dina changes her smile to one that is vague, if a tad sadistic. She takes out her phone. “The only way you can bring a bitch like that a few pegs down is if you subject her to public judgment. Would you like to try it out?”
“Dina is a very well known model, and very loved. An angel sent from heaven to help you out.” EJ explains further, and Nina clearly agrees to the plan. “Although Jeff and I also have some merit; I called her while Jeff agreed to, after all.”
Dina lifts a finger. “I didn’t come from heaven, I came from fucking Helen.” She admits proudly in a rhyme, as she begins her social media magic.
Jeff widens his eyes like saucers at her correction; he coughs, focusing on browsing this blasted chat and the website further. Nina blinks and makes no comment.
“But aren’t those two concepts pretty much the same for you?” EJ grins suggestively, continuing the conversation on that path, immune to embarrassment.
“Yes.” Dina lifts a forefinger again. “Don’t ever tell him I said any of that. It could boost his ego, which is dangerous. And he was upset enough that I left his side right away and without any more explanation than ‘EJ needs me’.”
“That is indeed cruel. Do it again at the soonest convenience, but with someone else; I’d hate for Helen to take a dislike to me.” EJ flops down beside Jeff again.
“Will do.” Dina turns her head to look down at Nina. “Give me all the details you have, such as: any conversation you had through chat, audio or calls with that girl or accomplices; the bills from the hospital from your brother’s treatment; the name of the school and any exchange your family had with them, either verbally or written. Anything.” She has a righteous shimmer in her black eyes. “I will do the rest, okay, sweetie?”
Nina blushes again. “Okay. Do I owe you anything in return?”
Dina gives her a squeeze on the shoulder. “Nothing at all.” As Jeff leans forward to give Nina her phone back, she takes it instead. “I’ll give you my number so you can talk to me, along with the contact of a good lawyer in case you need it.”
Nina brushes it off. “I’d rather not take this to court if I can help it. Besides, I could never afford it.”
The fire of justice in Dina’s eyes becomes ablaze. “And who said you’d be paying for the expenses?!” She returns to tapping her phone screen with a malevolent grin and breakneck speed, oblivious to Nina’s emotional and grateful gaze.
Jeff is amazed at how nice Dina is. He got the impression that she was reserved when he met her at the fair; maybe she’s the type to only show excitement in certain situations. She’s certainly thrilled to help, despite getting nothing in return. ‘Glad to know this is who Natalie is getting close to.’
His phone buzzes in his pocket, so he checks it. “Ben says both the post and the messages were sent from a public library, and that the site is already down.” He pockets it back, sighing. “We’re at a dead end.”
“Whoever they are, they’re just as obsessed with you as Nina is, if not more.” EJ racks his brain, completely oblivious to Nina’s irritation. “They must have resources to be able to track you down, or have gotten the info of your move from somebody who knew you were leaving.”
“I told no one I was leaving, much less where. It has to be that they can track me down somehow.” Jeff puts his head in his hands. “If it turns out that I know them, this might be personal.”
“How many people do you suspect, in that case?” EJ plays with the lace of his hoodie.
Jeff rests his chin on the back of his hands, elbows on his legs. “Five.” He looks down at the rug, thinking hard.
“Uh, Jeff?” Nina calls out to him. Jeff lifts his worried gaze. “May we speak in private?”
“Are you going to try and seduce him after his severe scolding?” EJ grins wickedly.
Nina gets annoyed. She glares at EJ with wide eyes and red cheeks. “Will you drop it already?! I just want to apologize properly!”
“Okay.” Jeff rests his right elbow on the armrest, and his chin on the palm of that hand, still looking upset. “Do you want to talk? Then we’ll talk, but here.”
Nina still doesn’t have the guts to look him in the eye. She’s not surprised that he denied her request to talk with no one around, but it’s still disappointing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed that you’re violent. I went with it because fantasizing about it helped me cope with my own problems, but that’s not an excuse. I know it’s wrong to admire murderers, and you’ve burst my bubble with that reality check.”
Jeff bites his inner cheek; his tongue can feel the rugosity of the scar. “Do you understand that I’m a real person, and not a figure you should idealize? What you thought of me was an idea you built, not who I am.” He leans forward, getting closer to her. “Have you ever thought about killing, Nina?”
Nina blinks, not daring to look at him. “I have.”
Jeff reaches and lifts her head up, forcing her to look at him. He tilts his head, forgetting the two other people in the room. “Do you want to know what it feels like?”
Nina blinks, eyes unsure of his intentions, but eventually nods.
“...At first, it’s exhilarating; it feels like all the power is yours, you’re in control of another life. To watch their scared expressions and hear them begging for their life, now that they know you’ve snapped, feels like justice.” Jeff explains, with no emotion in his voice. “Then, it’s pure satisfaction. You’ve done whatever the fuck you wanted to do, and no one stopped you.” His face twitches, as emotion washes over him. “And once reality sets in again, you realize what you’ve done. The thrill of control and the fleeting satisfaction are gone, and you realize that you’re scum: you’ve robbed someone else’s life because your emotions overboarded and you were out of your mind.” He grasps her shoulders with care. “Just imagine, killing your little brother in a frenzy. It doesn’t sound as good when the one that ends up murdered is who you love, right?”
Nina doesn’t flinch. She’s not as taken aback by him as he expected. “I understand that, but your parents hurt you. Isn’t it kind of karma that they didn’t care for you as they should’ve and you killed them?”
“If I could go back in time and prevent myself from going fucking insane on them, I would. They were pieces of shit, but to say they deserved to die is going too far. In my humble opinion at least.” Jeff smiles, strained. “But let’s follow your train of thought, for the sake of conversation. I didn’t ask you about your brother just to strike a nerve, as you probably already guessed, since you know quite a lot of what I did.” Nina averts her eyes. “What about my brother then, hm? Did he deserve to get hurt? Because he didn’t ever push me in any way. He was always there for me.” He frowns for a moment, considering something else. “And my neighbors, who I also killed, when they were only trying to prevent our death from blood loss? Did they also deserve it?”
Nina has no counterargument at the moment.
“Violence only serves to quench one’s inner instincts, like animals do. It doesn’t solve anything; all it does is bring death, trauma and new issues. It doesn’t matter what my parents deserved, I am no one to take lifes and fuck up the ones I didn’t manage to murder. I ask you again: what if you didn’t just manage to kill that Claudia chick and her brainless friends, but also your entire family? What would be of your Chris?” Jeff tightens his hold on her shoulders, careful not to hurt her. He looks straight into her eyes. “You would never see your prince grow. You would continue your miserable, worthless life, knowing that you won’t, because you killed him. And if he were to survive, he’d never want to see your face again, because you’ve massacred everything he’s ever loved, including the person he thought you were.”
Nina buffers. “But you weren’t sane at that moment! You were so gone that you even cut your mouth—!”
“That doesn’t matter!” Jeff growls. “They were still my actions! What was done to me doesn’t justify what I did!” He drops his head down. “My parents made our lives miserable, but I would still do anything to fix it all.” He lifts his head again, pleading. “If you try to get revenge like that, you will be worse than her. Don’t stoop down to her level. Pride and control are worthless when they can cost you everything.”
“...Okay. I won’t.” Nina relents just like that, When Jeff keeps looking at her, she takes a breath. “I promise. I really won’t.”
“Good.” Jeff releases his hold on her.
“But can we be friends?” Nina pouts, looking to the side. “That idiot keeps saying I want to be your girlfriend, but please don’t listen to him.” She nods towards EJ. “He’s not right in the head himself.”
Jeff makes a face. “You’re right about that, he’s a bit cuckoo.” EJ only smiles beside him. He rubs his face. “And I guess I am too, since I’m going to agree to your offer.”
Nina beams, although she still seems doubtful. “I really do see you as a person. You seem like a very sensible guy, so I want to know you better.”
“Wait.” Jeff squints his eyes. “Why do you say EJ’s not right himself?”
Nina lids her eyes towards EJ. “He instantly knew I was lying with the survey thing, and pinned me down to get me to spill everything.”
Jeff’s eyes go impossibly wide, and he feels the man tense beside him. “What the fuck did you just say?!”
Nina nods. “I wish I had friends who looked after me like that.”
“Why the flying fuck are you so nonchalant about a guy pinning you down in his locked house?!” Jeff questions, hands together in emphasis of his emotions. “And why the fuck doesn’t it surprise me coming from him?!” He’s not even paying attention to Nina at this point, but turning around to grab EJ by his ear. “Nichols!”
EJ immediately lifts his hands. “I’m blind and can’t see the blows coming!”
“But you didn’t have that fucking problem to put her against the floor, did you?!” Jeff sneers. “Just what the fuck, EJ?!”
“I feel hurt that you’d rather believe her words than mine.” EJ starts, humorous as ever.
But Jeff will have none of it. “Because that would be something you’d fucking do! You keep saying how you can defend yourself and that it doesn’t matter that you're blind, yadda yadda! You’re sketchier than you let on!”
“Oh, wow! Our first fight as a married couple, and the first thing that comes to your mind is to call me sketchy! I’m honored, truly!” EJ beams, and Jeff makes gestures with his hands that clearly indicate a desire to strangle his friend. “Besides, it was…not safe. Neither was it sane. Definitely not consensual. But she’s not too bothered by it!”
“I mean, not really.” Nina agrees, but shuts up immediately when Jeff turns his scalding gaze towards her.
But Jeff shakes his head and lifts his hands in the air. “I can’t fucking believe you two right now! I just fucking can’t! This is fucking unbelievable!”
“So much swearing is making me think that I don’t leave you satisfied in bed. Are you being indirect right now?” EJ jokes. Jeff gives him a good shake.
“I’m done.” Dina declares, and Jeff releases EJ. “I will keep you updated on what goes on in social media.” She returns Nina her phone.
“Thank you so much.” Nina pockets the device, emotion flowing through her voice. “I should get going.”
“You’re always welcome here. I promise I won’t receive you like last time.” EJ cackles, uncaring of Jeff’s ire. “Oh, and in case things blow out of proportion, tell your parents there’s available houses for cheap here. You all might want a fresh start.”
Jeff is immediately suspicious of his advice, but it’s good advice, so he doesn’t comment on it. It could have to do with whatever deal he has with Holzer, so he can’t dig.
“Tell me if you ever want to meet.” Dina hugs her, and Nina agrees and glows under the affection.
Finally, Nina sheepishly bids Jeff goodbye. When she leaves, he sighs. “This place is distorting my common sense.” He stands up. “I’ll get going too; I have to pay a visit to Holzer.”
“Can I chat with you on the way there?” Dina suddenly asks. “My house is in that direction.” Jeff agrees.
“Well, then.” EJ stands up to accompany them to the door. “This was a pleasant meeting. I hope to see you both again soon.”
“Please don’t do that ever again if someone comes claiming to be doing a survey, for the love of god!” Jeff pleads wearily.
EJ grins. “My husband’s safety is my top priority. I can’t promise anything, but I will try. Oh, and do tell me about whatever happens with the tall guy.”
Jeff accepts that as most he will get out of him. He rolls his eyes. “Alright. See you.”
Dina and him exit the house and go right. At first, they don’t say anything; Dina is busy watching as some ducks fly away from the direction of the park, and Jeff is thinking about what he’ll have to tell Holzer. “That was an intense conversation you had with the girl.” Dina starts, turning around and focusing her black gaze on Jeff.
Jeff returns the stare. “I’m sure Natalie has told you about me. I hope what I said didn’t disturb you too much.” Her eyes don’t freak him out; sure, they’re strange, but that’s about it.
Dina shakes her head. “She hasn’t told me much aside from that you’re both good friends. I suspect she didn’t tell you much about me, either.” She gives him a soft smile. “She’s quite careful about what she reveals, and very respectful. But I do wonder—,” She tilts her head. “—do you know who I am? Because I do know who you are.”
Jeff squints his eyes in confusion, racking his brain to understand what she means by that, until it clicks. He gapes his mouth. “You’re the kid that got isolated in her own house by her father.”
“Indeed. I thought it strange that you didn’t realize, given how perceptive you seem to be.” Dina takes a breath. “I’d like to ask you a question, but it might not be appropriate.”
Jeff frowns. “Ask away.”
Dina looks forward. “When you told Nina that you feel like scum, that you would change the past if you could, and that your parents didn’t deserve what you did to them—,” She turns to him, and Jeff feels the hair of his nape stand. “—you weren’t being honest, were you?”
Jeff blinks in disbelief. He stops walking.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, obviously. I don’t need your confirmation, anyway.” Dina stops walking too, some feet away, and turns to look at him. “You won’t fool me. It was quite obvious that you were struggling to find the right reasons to make Nina understand why murder is morally wrong. A big part of you definitely knows what you did wasn’t mostly your fault, but your parents’ doing for neglecting their child’s mental health.”
Jeff stands there, not knowing what to say. He doesn’t feel as if Dina were judging him, either. Shouldn’t she degrade him, when she understands his feelings so well? But then again, she killed her own father, if his memory about her case is correct.
“The past cannot be changed. You did what you did, in the circumstances you did it; perhaps it’s time to stop blaming just yourself, when you were merely a child whose mind broke and nobody cared enough to notice until it was too late. But if you’d rather keep self-flagellating for it out of a sense of benevolence, decency and morality, I guess I can’t stop you.” Dina turns around and continues on her way. “Though I don’t think you truly blame yourself deep down; it’s just a façade. You rejoice in those kills.”
But Jeff rushes and catches her wrist to stop her. She looks up at him, and Jeff sees his own reflection in her eyes. “And what did you feel when you killed your own father?”
Dina gives him a satisfied grin. “That I gave myself and my mother the justice no one would’ve given us. I have no remorse for killing that bastard.”
Jeff frowns, a small smile creeping onto his own face. “I just remembered who Helen is.” He says nothing else.
Dina’s dark eyes twinkle at the mention of him. “I think we would have the most pleasant conversations together. You’re welcome to visit whenever you want.”
⦻
Jeff rings the doorbell, still pondering on Dina’s words. She certainly had a way to make someone feel understood and supported. But he also has the feeling that, were she to dislike him, hell itself would befall upon him; what Nina’s bully will endure will probably serve him to get a clear idea of her abilities in that regard.
And Helen.
Natalie was unable to give consistent information about him. Toby and LJ think he’s strange and haven’t a clue about him apart from what everybody else knows in general terms. Jill likes to give him the benefit of the doubt since she also doesn’t know him. EJ seems to have a closer relationship with him, and would rather not provoke his ire. Dina, of course, is the one that knows him best, but Jeff doesn’t know jackshit about her as a person either, other than what her father did to her and what he’s gathered from this interaction they’ve had.
Why does Dina want him to interact with Helen?
He’s taken out of his thoughts when the entrance door opens. The man that greets him never fails to surprise Jeff with his towering height. ‘No wonder the door is so big.’ He thinks, almost chuckling.
“Mr. Woods.” Mr. Holzer blinks at him. “I did not expect your visit.”
“Uh, sorry about not warning you before coming. Should I leave?” Jeff did not even think about that, scrambled as his mind was. He feels like a dick for not doing so.
“No, I am free at the moment. Do come in.” Mr. Holzer steps aside and welcomes him inside.
‘Even the ceilings are high!’ Jeff looks up at the wooden boards that support the structure. The house itself is quite impressive; it’s not extravagant by any means, but it is subtly elegant in a way that feels inviting. He hears the door close and be locked behind him.
“Does this have to do with Mr. Lawman?” Mr. Holzer inquiries.
Jeff turns around. “No, it’s a personal matter.”
Mr. Holzer hums in acknowledgement, then passes by him. “Follow me, please. I suppose you have come to request my help.” He guides Jeff to a living-room area, where two couches are arranged in front of the other. He offers Jeff the seat closest to the exit, while he sits on the other. “What is it that you need?”
Jeff sits and immediately puts a hand to his forehead. He bites his inner lip. “...I’m not even sure, to be honest.” He sighs. “Thing is, I’m not sure if the threat is really there, or if I’m just being paranoid.”
Mr. Holzer eyes him strangely. “Should I be concerned about your current mental state, Mr. Woods?”
Jeff can’t help but cackle at that. “I didn’t mean to put it that way. I’m not perceiving things that are not there.” Mr. Holzer’s gaze relaxes at that. He returns to being serious. “What I mean to say is that someone is looking for me, but I don’t know who they are nor what intentions they have. I’ve tried to find out on my own, but I haven't succeeded.”
Mr. Holzer crosses his legs and interlaces his fingers. “Could you provide more context as to what this is about?”
Jeff’s breath hitches for a moment. “Do you know who I am?”
Mr. Holzer considers for a moment. “Are you referring to who you are publicly known as?” Jeff nods. “I do know.”
“Well, a girl came here looking for my help due to personal issues, because she was given a tip-off about my whereabouts from another user of a forum she frequented. I tried to track them down through the messages she exchanged with them and the forum posts with Ben’s help, but it was no use.” Jeff clenches his jaw. “I really don’t want to leave, but I don’t want another tragedy to happen in case they want beef.”
“Do you think your bullies may come back for a new taste of you?” Mr. Holzer has unlaced his fingers and rested his chin on his right hand.
Jeff fists his hands. He feels nauseous. “Not just the bullies.”
When Jeff meets Mr. Holzer’s gaze, it’s not at all the piercing stare he expected, but rather, a subtly empathetic look. “Very well. What kind of measures do you want me to take?”
Jeff swallows. “I want the situation to de-escalate if it ever arises. Someone who can separate them from me, and someone who can restrain me. Restrain me well.”
“Do you fear you may be a danger to yourself or others in such a scenario?” Mr. Holzer asks, and Jeff nods. “Do you take any rescue-medication that could be used in an emergency?”
“Lorazepam if I’m anxious, but still somewhat stable.” Jeff grimaces. “Haloperidol if I’m getting violent.”
“Does that indicate you are suffering a psychotic breakdown?” Mr. Holzer asks. Jeff nods again. “I believe I have the right people for that task. Tobias would be the one to restrain you, along with Heather if you prove to be difficult to deal with single-handedly. You are already familiar with Jack Nichols, who I will appoint as the one who would negotiate with the other party—”
“EJ?!” Jeff is terrified at the mere thought. “He’s blind!”
Mr. Holzer looks at him as if he couldn’t see the issue with that. “Yes, I am well aware of his disability. And I did not lie when I told Benjamin that he should not worry about anyone who lives here. They are all perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.” When Jeff’s disbelieved expression doesn’t leave his countenance, he tilts his head. “You are aware of how he dealt with the woman searching for you. He is not as vulnerable as you might think.”
Jeff widens his eyes. “How do you know about that?”
Mr. Holzer blinks, cool as a cucumber. “I have eyes everywhere. Benjamin must have only solidified your suspicions of me.”
Jeff throws his head back, trying to organize the pandemonium of thoughts swarming his psyche relentlessly. “You knew Ben would tell me about you, and you somehow know about a private conversation I just had with EJ.” He doesn’t have to rack his brain to pinpoint his source of information. ‘Toby had been an option, but taking into account that EJ also made a deal with this man, and he didn’t tell me what he owed…’ He huffs through a smile. “Do you know what’s funny?” Mr. Holzer hums in question. “I don’t feel threatened by you. I should, given your blatant admission to observing us and violating our privacy, but I don’t. Could you enlighten me as to why I don’t? Because I can’t seem to find a sensible reason, and I think this place is getting to my head.”
Mr. Holzer doesn’t answer immediately. He’s looking down, gaze unfocused. “Perhaps your subconscious understands that I bear no ill intentions. I have no hidden cameras inside or facing into the houses you all inhabit, nor do I have a twisted desire to use your weaknesses against you. All I know, I use for self-preservation purposes only.”
Jeff straightens his posture and looks at the older man, who is still gazing at nothing in particular; he does seem to be deep in thought. “What do you want in return?”
⦻
“It was so embarrassing.” Jill has a hand on her forehead, still not completely recovered from the hangover. “He thinks I don’t remember, and I prefer it that way. A shame that I can’t hide it from you too. You see well, despite being blind.”
“That, I do.” EJ finishes filling a bowl with the leftover phở he prepared for breakfast by adding mung bean sprouts and cinnamon basil leaves. He turns around and hands it to Jill, who thanks him. “I can’t erase that from my memory, you’ll have to forgive me. I did leave to give you both privacy, though.”
Jill struggles with the chopsticks, but eventually holds them properly enough to be able to use them. She stirs the ingredients EJ just added into the broth, then eats; she can’t help the moan that escapes her. “Why must you cook so well?! Are you trying to make me feel better about my shame?”
“You do the same thing with baking, so I don’t understand why you’re so surprised.” EJ takes a seat in front of her and immediately starts fiddling with the laces of his hoodie. “My husband is mad at me. You may bake a sponge or honeycomb cake to comfort me.”
Jill looks at him pointedly. “What did you do to Jeff now?” She did grow some affection for the scarred man, thoughtful as he always is.
“What do you mean ‘now’?” EJ whines. He pulls up his hood, tugs the strings and tightens it around his head, as he often likes to do. “Whenever have I wronged him before? Besides, I was merely being chivalrous!” He puffs his chest.
“Hm, I’m sure you were.” Jill lifts some noodles and slurps them silently. “I was only feeling you up. Jeff already told me, so cut the crap.”
EJ interlaces his hands on the kitchen island. “I wouldn’t have done that if the girl had been riskier, but she was clearly without a solid plan.”
Jill sighs. “Seriously, EJ, she could’ve done something you didn’t anticipate. Sometimes I fear you might overestimate your own abilities.”
“Would you also scold Jeff or LJ, or any other, if they were to do the same thing?” EJ asks, voice too neutral compared to what Jill is used to.
Jill frowns. “Of course I would! You never know what an opponent has in store until they show you.” She reaches with a hand and touches his; EJ accepts her hand when he senses it. “A sighted person can be cocky, too. This has nothing to do with your disability. I bet Jeff would’ve been just as angry, had anyone else done that instead of you. He doesn’t want you getting hurt, nor do I.”
EJ stays silent a few seconds after her response. He lowers his head slightly. “But you consider me to be at a disadvantage, right?”
Jill purses her lips. “You are at a disadvantage! You have to walk around with a cane in unfamiliar places, be extra careful not to bump into anything or anybody, or trip and fall badly. You can’t read unless it’s in braille or it’s read to you. You live in an adapted house and suffer a higher risk of burning yourself when you cook. And a bunch of other things that don’t come to mind right now.” She tightens her hold on his hand. “You know all of this far better than I ever will. Perhaps she overestimated her abilities and that’s why nothing went wrong; another could be quicker, more stealthy, and you’d be done for. You need to accept your disadvantages in order to become better. For example, I would never be able to win against Jeff or Toby in a fight unless I had a weapon, and that might not even work because I’m too small, too frail. I would have to try and win using my brains and a method that doesn’t involve strength.”
“I can definitely see where you’re coming from.” EJ grins, and Jill giggles. “I can feel Jeff’s sadness sometimes. I know he doesn’t pity me, but I know he wishes I could enjoy some of the things he does.”
“It’s only natural to wish your friend could have more.” Jill picks up the chopsticks again.
“Sometimes I wish I could see Helen’s paintings, or what makes Dina’s eyes strange. I’d like to see how different the texture of Jeff’s scarred skin looks in comparison to Ben’s smooth face. I’d like to see how your skin looks with and without makeup. I’d like to see what white, gray and black look like compared to color, all the range of colors a human can see, and what differentiates light from darkness. I’d like to see the sun and the moon, and how the light reflects on the fur, scales and skin of other animals, on water and glass, in a mirror. I want to know the difference between opaque, see-through and transparent. I’d like to see what I look like. I’d like to see, but I know I never will; I don’t have eyes to begin with. I’ve already come to terms with that.” EJ admits solemnly.
Jill wishes she could lend him her vision. “You will never see, but you will certainly appreciate the rest of your senses like many others don’t.” She takes his hand and puts it against her cheek. “...I know you won’t understand what I describe, because you simply have never sensed it that way. But I can use other words.” She drags his fingers along her skin delicately. “When makeup dries, it looks like barren earth. That’s the texture it has when a drought occurs, when a river or pond dries.” She lifts his hand again, and moves his forefinger along her clown nose. “The two colors here are black and white; think of it like coarse sandpaper and smooth porcelain, or cold and hot. Here is the first—” She drags the finger through a black stripe. “—and here is the second.” She drags the finger through a white stripe. “You obviously can’t feel the change because the texture is no different, but just imagine that it is.” She puts one lock of her hair in his hand. “When the light reflects on the hair, some parts will be hotter or colder. My hair is entirely cold; everything is black. But the contacts in my eyes are pink, that’s a different texture or sensation altogether. Imagine if my eyes were…velour, instead. I know it’s a strange comparison, but that’s the best way I could explain it.”
EJ is listening to her intently, not interrupting once, despite her thinking that her explanations are uninteresting.
“Some colors are closer to others. Pink and red are similar; red would be velvet. Blue would be cotton and green would be linen. Yellow and orange could be hemp and wool, brown would be leather, and purple would be silk. You can think of gray as wood, or a mild temperature.” Jill lowers his hand, but doesn’t let go. “That said, Helen’s paintings are mostly velvet, with some hues of velour, hemp, wood and leather. And Dina’s eyes are entirely cold and like sandpaper all over, unlike other people who have hot scleras, and other textures where the iris is, along with the cold sandpaper pupil.” She licks her lips. “But eyes are not completely reliable, like the rest of the senses. You can see things that are not there, or interpret something entirely different from the information you receive. Sometimes, eyes don’t really matter.” She knows she’s speaking very vaguely. She doesn’t even know what she’s trying to convey at this point. “Sometimes, the blindest is the one who doesn’t want to see.”
“Is that how you feel with LJ?” EJ dares to ask. For once, his voice is not cheerful, but serene.
Jill purses her lips. “Yes.”
EJ lifts his head slightly. “Perhaps he doesn’t perceive you as you perceive him. Perhaps it’s your heart that doesn’t want to see, and not his; you must move on. You’ll be even blinder than I am, otherwise.”
“I know.” Jill lies on the counter, still holding his hand, and mourning the love she’ll never have. She cries in silence, not wanting to disturb the man in front of her, but the trembling gives it away.
“You’re as logical as I am. You’ll get over it, and LJ will still be your dearest friend. You’ll see that you’ve lost nothing at all.” EJ puts his free hand over her head, on her hair that is covering her face.
Jill hiccups. “Sometimes I f-feel as if I were a copycat…as if I were n-nothing more than an extension of him. As if I were nothing w-without him.”
“We both know that’s not true, and so does LJ. Millions of people on earth dress similarly and have the same hobbies or interests, and that doesn’t make them copies. You are your own person because you have your own experiences, do what you feel like doing and take inspiration from others as you go; no one is one hundred percent original, Jill.” EJ combs through her hair with his hand. “And besides, LJ has also learned many things from you, has asked you for advice, and has leaned on you for support. You’ve both learnt and grown with the other’s help.”
“Yeah, y-you’re right.” Jill takes his hand off of her, lifts her head while throwing her hair back, and sniffs. “Sometimes I make an avalanche out of a snowball. I feel a bit better after talking with you.”
“No wonder; I’m amazing.” EJ beams, and Jill chuckles. “I guess we’re both focusing on what has less importance. Eating is important, for example; your food will grow cold.”
“Oh, you’re absolutely right.” Jill picks up the chopsticks again, takes some noodles and slurps them up. “Tastes even better after crying.”
“You know what they say: ‘a little crying, then let’s continue existing.’ And it’s better to exist while eating my cooking and your baking.” EJ returns his hands to fiddling with the hoodie laces.
“I agree. By the way, Jeff also told me that you enjoy teasing that girl that came looking for him. Nina, was it?” Jill grins.
“Indeed. She wants to steal my Jeffy from me, and she doesn’t like me to point it out, so I do just that.” EJ hears Jill chuckle. He lifts his arms and stretches. “But it turns out she’s not unreasonable. Jeff kind of accepted being her friend, but I think he feels the responsibility of putting her on the right path, rather than a friendship.”
Jill thinks it over. “I think he beats himself too hard for what happened. I do understand that what he did was grave, and yet…”
“He was a child. No one noticed that something was off about him, nor did they care. The only one who did care was also a child, and in a similar situation.” EJ gesticulates with a hand, lifting it. “We only like to defend children until it’s no longer convenient for our argument; then, they’re monsters who must be condemned like adults would. What defines the moment he should no longer be considered innocent, in this case? Because his mind was warped, reality slipped from his grasp.”
“I guess it’s the kind of scenario where things could’ve easily been prevented, but no one with authority or power made the effort to stop the brakeless train.” Jill is finished eating. “We’re surrounded by people who had to stop their own trains, but didn’t have the necessary tools to do so.”
“And people who’s trains have yet to crash.” EJ responds.
They remain in comfortable silence.
Chapter Text
Monday.
“Do we really have to go?” He asks, lazily putting on his pants.
“Well, you have two options: you either use your legs, or I drag you by your luscious hair.” Jason answers cheerfully; he’s already dressed in a white dressing shirt, a beige vest and gray pants. “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do. And Hans would be very sad if he were to know that you chose your bed before him.”
Jonathan grunts. “Okay, okay, stop lecturing me! What exactly are we going to watch?”
Jason shrugs. “A ballet show. I think it was the Swan Lake.” He raises an eyebrow when he sees Jonathan’s troubled gaze. “What’s that face for?” Jonathan doesn’t have time to answer, because Jason realizes before he can and rolls his eyes backwards in exasperation. “Now you won’t let yourself enjoy anything that reminds you of her? Is that what it is?”
Jonathan gulps. “I just have the ominous feeling that I’m going to meet her there.” He has a pit open in his stomach. It’s a very uncomfortable sensation of heaviness and unease.
“If she’s managed to go far with daddy and mommy’s money, and if the company she works for is the one performing this evening, it’s likely.” Jason sneers. “So what if you do see her? Are you going to hide like a rat? She probably won’t see you if she’s there. And if she does, guess what? You can be wherever you please, just like her.”
“It’s not that simple.” Jonathan sits on his bed and buries his face in his hands.
Jason huffs, hands on his hips. “Stop getting worried about ‘what if’s. Why do you keep letting her get to you?”
“Because I’m scared that seeing her will make the little process I made go to waste.” Jonathan lowers a hand, while the other drags his hair out of his face, and sighs. “I don’t want to relive the pain and confusion she made me feel all over again.”
“The only way you can avoid that is by understanding your emotions and trying to control their effect on you. Not easy by any means, but it’s preferable to staying cooped up at home in fear of the possibility of having to face said feelings.” Jason crouches down in front of him. He’s angry, as always, but he’s here. “Do you want to get out and enjoy your life, or would you prefer to stay in your comfort zone and become numb to everything again?”
Jonathan’s jaw feels tight, his teeth too clenched together. “Sometimes I don’t want to get out, because I know I won’t enjoy myself. I want to, I really do, but I just feel nothing.” He looks down, already tearing up. “I don’t do it on purpose, I can’t help it. All that was once exciting simply isn’t anymore.”
“But you won’t really know if today will be exciting or not unless you give it a try. Your assumption comes from previous experiences that have nothing to do with this one.” Jason’s voice has softened slightly. Grumpy as he is, he understands that anger will only worsen Jonathan’s mood. “It’s fine if you don’t enjoy it, you don’t have to enjoy it. What you must do is give yourself the opportunity of finding out whether you will or not; don’t give up because you’re convinced that you won’t, because you might. And if it turns out that you don’t have a good time, we can keep trying with other plans, as we’ve already done. ”
“...I feel like a burden.” Jonathan swallows. “What if the rest notice I’m not feeling good and I make them uncomfortable? What if Hans is disappointed—?”
Jason grabs him by his arms. The scowl on his face startles Jonathan; he can tell he’s livid. “Let’s get something straight here: the true inconvenience is that you think you’re a burden. Hans has invited you because he wants you there. Your friends want you there. I want you there; if you have a breakdown because Little Miss Prissy is there and that overwhelms you, or you’re simply not having a good time, my priority is going to be you, and the performance can go fuck itself for all I care.” He tilts his head, eyes squinted. “Now let me ask you: why do you feel like a nuisance? Have you done something that warrants rejection? Are you doubting me when I say you are not a nuisance, because you think you know how I feel better than I do?”
“N-no.” Jonathan doesn’t know whether to feel cared for or under attack; it’s always like this with Jason. “I know that’s not what you think, just what I tend to think that you think. Does it make sense?”
“It does make sense, and I know why you tend to think that way, but that’s not the crux of the matter. You have to correct that way of thinking because it’s wrong; your mind is lying to you, and you’re sabotaging yourself by accepting it as the truth.” Jason stands up. “What you’re going to do is get ready. We’re going there to watch the ballerinas prance around, talk about it with the rest, and get back here. It’s pretty simple.”
⦻
The elegant dress hugs her curves. The emerald green of the satin cloth has golden hues that shimmer under the light, and it looks striking in contrast with her rosy skin, which has been enhanced with subtle makeup, but still a bit different from what she’s used to: golden and gray tones make her eyes pop. The subtle gold earrings and necklace pair well with the outfit. The golden heels are low and promise no foot ache, since she won’t be walking much with them. The darker shawl that goes with the dress will ensure she doesn’t get cold nor insecure, for she can hide her arms with it.
Yet she can’t see any of this. Natalie rubs her tummy with her hands, unsure of her reflection.
“Is it that you don’t like how you look, or that you think others won’t?” Dina’s reflection appears to her right, behind her own.
“A mixture of both.” Natalie admires her friend’s appearance: Dina’s slip dress is similar to her own, but in white. Her jewelry is silver, and so are her shoes. She has put on white eyeshadow and is wearing a black shawl. She’s also slimmer.
“I know what you’re doing. Stop comparing yourself with me!” Dina chastises softly, and Natalie sighs. “Don’t be a catastrophist: we can try to find ways to make you feel more comfortable. Or if you’re really not feeling this, we can always cancel.”
Natalie widens her eyes and whips her head at Dina. “No way, you’ve paid a fortune for those tickets!”
Dina shrugs. “I’m not going to miss that money, sweetie. We could stay here and do something else instead.” But Natalie is shaking her head vehemently. “Then what do you suggest we do? I can tell you how beautiful you are five thousand times, but it’ll be useless if you don’t believe me.”
“It’s just that I feel fat!” Natalie pouts, already getting emotional. ‘I mustn’t! I’ll ruin Dina’s work!’
Dina tilts her head. “Why do you want to be skinny so bad?”
Natalie fidgets. “I feel revolting like this. I’ll be prettier if I lose weight.”
“...Sometimes I wish I had your body type.” Dina admits, and Natalie turns to her in disbelief. “When you’re slim, you’re told that you’re all skin and bones, that you’re revolting besides uninteresting and flat , and that no man will want to fuck you if you don’t have something to hold. Then, I remember that it’s a trend set by people who can change their bodies in the blink of an eye because they have the money to do so, and that I shouldn’t change to please anybody.” She lifts a hand. “Not trying to say I have the same problem as you, though; I’m backed up by society because it equals skinniness with healthiness. But that’s not the truth.” She caresses Natalie’s hair in an attempt to comfort her. “There’s people who eat shit nonstop and they remain slim because of their fast metabolism. Hell, I love eating sweets myself!” She tilts her head. “This is just how your body is; you’re not inherently wrong for existing in this body. You deserve to be comfortable in your skin, but if you don’t manage today, that is also okay.”
Natalie sniffs. “This is not a competition. I wouldn’t disregard your own experience like that.”
“You live feeling like this everyday. It really isn’t the same.” Dina hugs her. “I just want you to understand that there’s many people like you who lack the motivation to lose weight, have no time to work out, or might not even have an interest in doing so, because they’re happy as they are. You don’t promote unhealthiness just by existing and not hiding away, and you don’t live to be an example to follow. Besides, being healthy is a process, and it’s not accessible to everybody.”
“I guess you’re right.” Natalie sighs, leaning into the hug, and feeling a bit lighter thanks to her encouraging words. “I’m just so tired of feeling like this.”
“Then we’ll have to work on it.” Dina takes her hands, and they look in the mirror. “We don’t outshine each other, we’re both pretty in our own way. But it’ll take you a while to see things with my clarity.” They both stay silent for a minute. The grin that conquers Dina’s face is mischievous. “I bet Toby would drool at the sight of you!”
“Dina!” Natalie’s face becomes red as soon as she registers the words, and she tries to hit her friend with her shawl, but the naughty woman scurries away from her reach with an elegant twist. “And what about Helen, huh? What would he do if he saw you?” She tries to give her a comeback, putting to use her experience with Toby’s teasing.
But Dina is not like Toby. “He’d be blue balled until I came back.” She says without shame, and Natalie almost falls on her ass at her direct approach. “And I think Toby also went through that with what you did to him yesterday morning.”
“I shouldn’t have told you anything!” Natalie laments, and Dina chuckles. “He doesn’t even like me that way!”
Dina makes a face in clear disagreement, an eyebrow raised. “Says you.”
Natalie has told Dina about each interaction she’s had with Toby: from the first time they met at the park along with everybody else, the fair, when she brought Toby home and they slept on the same bed, his visit here climbing the tree and the little while they spent together that morning, the meeting at Ben’s house, and what happened yesterday while it was still early morning and they were both tipsy and high.
They fell asleep on Natalie’s bed again, and by the time they woke up, it was already near noon. Toby claimed he had things to do, and left Natalie’s house with a quick hug. She was obviously disappointed by his hasty absence.
Dina has pointed out that his behavior in general seems suspicious, which Natalie doesn’t understand; sure, he’s being as careful as she is, trying to discern what they’re both comfortable doing, as people with baggage often do when they’re trying to build healthy relationships.
“You like him, so what makes you think he can’t possibly like you back?” And Dina won’t forget what EJ has told her, but she can’t outright tell Natalie.
Natalie grunts. “Stop trying to get my hopes up!”
“I’m getting your hopes up because there’s hope, you dense goofball!” Dina approaches her from behind to whispers in her ear. “And I can tell that you want to do it with him. It’s quite evident.”
“Why can’t I hide anything from you?!” Natalie yells, hands lifted with indignation.
“I have very good eyesight.” Dina laughs evilly. “Double the average.”
⦻
“Jonathan, dear! You’ve gotten much more handsome since the last time I saw you!” Hans greets them with that flowery and happy aura of his. He’s much more excited about Jonathan’s new looks than the boy himself.
Jonathan can’t help but become flustered with such praise; it feels like when a grandmother tells her young grandson that he’s grown a lot, so he can’t help but feel complimented in depth. Besides, this man has also helped him a great bunch. “T-Thank you, Mr. Beraht.”
“None of that formality!” Hans brushes him off. “Call me by my name! You’re all like children to me; I couldn’t bear being treated so coldly by any of you!”
“I would be the eccentric child, LJ and Jill would be the mischievous twins, and Jonathan would be the quiet kid.” Eric comments. “Jason would be more like a grumpy cat, I would say.”
Jason glares at him with disdain. “You’d actually be the goldfish that died in a heatwave and nobody even remembers!”
Hans grabs their cheeks and tugs, making them protest. “Behave, you two!” His tone remains cheerful, but nobody would dare question his authority.
LJ and Jill waste no time to laugh at them, but Jonathan is distracted, admiring the entrance hall they’re in. The floors and the walls are of marble, and the spacious staircase that leads to the boxes, along with other areas, is complimented by a simple but classic red rug. The ceiling above them is carved and painted, arched in its form. It has been a long time since Jonathan stepped into such a place. It feels slightly nostalgic, but not enough.
Hans lifts his gaze, and becomes even more jolly. “Oh, my! I didn’t expect to see you here, Dina!” He releases the boys to greet her properly, and they tend to their abused cheeks.
Dina approaches the man that just greeted her, her right arm entwined with Natalie’s. As she talks with him, Natalie notices the two clowns, fashionably dressed as always, albeit more elegantly and appropriately for the opera. They’re grinning at her, just as surprised to see her here, but happy regardless. Jill eyes her outfit and gives her a thumbs up, while LJ makes an ‘okay’ gesture with his hand. Natalie blushes under their praise.
“And who is this blooming flower you’ve brought along?” Hans asks, and Natalie notices he’s staring at her quite warmly, like a father would look at his child. She also notices his colorfully dotted attire, which suits him like it would suit no one else.
She feels strangely happy for some reason.
“Natalie is the friend I told you about, who is learning drawing techniques from Helen.” Dina elaborates, and Natalie blinks. “He wants to give her a boost; you know how hard things are for artists lately.”
“Indeed! Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy yourselves.” Hans looks at Natalie one last time. “Nice to meet you, Natalie! Have fun!”
As the man returns to his group, Natalie tilts her head towards Dina. “Is that the sponsor you told me about?”
“Yes. He sponsored Helen back then, and me too.” Dina guides her up the stairs. “We’ll be watching from a box.”
⦻
“Did it have to be box five?” Jason comments as he takes his seat. Jonathan sits to his right, Hans sits to his left, and the other three are in the front row, a bit lower than them: Jill is in front of him, LJ is in front of Jonathan, and Eric is in front of Hans.
“We’re not even at the Palais Garnier!” Hans chuckles, amused at his baseless worries. “I didn’t take you for the superstitious type.”
“I’m not.” Jason quickly eyes Jonathan beside him, unsure of what he might be feeling. But he seems calm enough. “Will any renowned ballerinas perform?” He lowers his voice, hoping Jonathan is distracted enough not to hear him or Hans’ answer.
“Hm, I wouldn’t say they’re precisely renowned, but this is a pretty important company. I think that this performance will decide the future of many of them tonight. I heard the prima ballerina is quite skilled and passionate; she climbed the ranks quickly.” Hans responds.
Jason has absolutely felt Jonathan tense beside him. He delicately puts a hand over his, in a sign of silent support for whatever comes next.
⦻
Since the moment they sat down and the play began, Dina has been half enjoying the show, half wondering about her conversation with Helen this morning.
He stayed with her in bed for longer than he usually does; he’s an early bird by nature, and gets antsy if he remains within the warmth of the sheets for too long. He accepted her cuddling and her affection as he always did, but seemed much more receptive to them. He, who always was indifferent to everything, actually seeked those caresses further. He had buried his face against the palm of her hand when she attempted to cup his cheek.
Dina already knew something was keeping his thoughts busy. “What’s on your mind?”
“...How would things have gone, had I been born female?” Helen asked; he had no particular tone of voice, as always, although he did sound deeper, since he’d just woken up. “Would my parents have shown more affection towards me?”
“Do you wish they had been affectionate?” Dina inquiried further.
Helen blinked. “No. I wished it once, but no more.” He lidded his eyes. “Shouldn’t parents who had difficulties getting pregnant love their child, regardless of the genitals they’re born with?” His voice was clinical, analyzing. It didn’t betray a hint of longing.
“They were simply selfish and ungrateful; many feel entitled to shape their children into whatever they want them to become.” Dina frowned. “Did it distress you greatly that they dressed you femininely until you were six?”
“It was the sudden change that was confusing. Being dressed like that wasn’t the problem, per se.” Helen buried his face against her chest, just over her breasts. “What distressed me so was realizing I would never be what they wanted me to be.”
Dina hugged him closer. “They weren’t good parents, that’s for sure.” She began massaging his scalp with her fingers.
‘Why did Helen choose that moment to talk about that? What compelled him to do so? He never talks about himself unless it has a benefit, like everything else he does.’ Dina squints her eyes.
“Are you okay, Dina?” Natalie takes her out of her thoughts.
‘But this is not the moment to ponder; I’ve come here with company, and it would be disrespectful to keep my mind on things that should be taken care of later.’ Dina puts her hand over hers. “Yes. Did I seem too focused?”
⦻
The second act began, and the prima ballerina that had the role of Odette made her appearance on stage, both fearfully running away from and aching to be near Prince Siegfried.
And Jonathan’s sharp, broken intake of breath is the loudest sound in this theater for Jason’s ears.
Jason fixates his eyes on the dancer with falcon accuracy: the woman is brunette, slim and pretty. The way she moves is certainly hypnotic, with great control of her own body and admirable skill in conveying the emotions of her character.
This is Emra Aldridge.
Jason disliked her enough before; now that feeling towards this unknown woman — this parasitic flea —has only augmented tenfold, and not merely because of the pain he’s caused his friend: how unconcernedly she prances about, having left Jonathan behind. He’s specially bothered that, despite his efforts, Jonathan’s entire little world crumbles at the sight of her.
Jonathan should be angry; he should be indignant with himself, knowing how much control over him this woman has. He should take Jason’s advice and kick her out of his heart in each and every way. He knows he’s being near as obsessed with him as he was with Amelia, but he doesn’t care right now; he turns to look at Jonathan, whose face is drenched, whose hands are fisted, whose body is shaking, and is trying not to alert anybody of his anguish. “Hey, Hans.” He’s quick to catch the man’s attention. “Jonathan is not feeling well. I’m gonna take him out to get some air.”
Hans nods. He doesn’t try to get a glimpse of the boy; he doesn’t want to bother him further with unwelcome attention, knowing how private he is.
As silently and as swiftly as possible, Jason stands up; he takes Jonathan’s wrist, and tugs him along gently. Jonathan lets him carry him whether he pleases, so long as he takes him away from her.
The corridors of the theater are empty of people. Jason says nothing as they walk through them, checking the signs above as they go. He leads Jonathan to the only place he’ll be secure from any other pairs of eyes without exiting the building: the restrooms. Fortunately, the stalls are not nearly as disgusting as the ones often found at shopping malls and restaurants, and they’re much more elegant. He pulls Jonathan into the one farthest from the entrance door with him, and secures the lock.
“Talk to me.” Jason pleads, as Jonathan rests his head against the wall and weeps with eyes closed tight. He cups his wet face, and Jonathan grasps his wrists; his hold conveys his misery fantastically. “For fuck’s sake, John, talk to me!”
“I want to d-die…I want to die!” Jonathan admits hysterically, face contorted in pain. It's as if a great flood had occurred on barren land: gone from numb to suffering. “She had the last t-thread that kept me standing, and she c-cut it herself! She’s t-thriving and continues living, while I just exist w-wanting to die!”
Considering how out of it Jonathan is, Jason can only use his remaining card. “Did you forget our promise?” He talks with a shining blade to his words. He lifts Jonathan’s head, trying to make him focus on him, which works. “The promise we made while I bathed you that day, after I took you out of bed? Before I fed you and held you close because you couldn’t sleep anymore, after spending the entire day sleeping? Did you forget it?”
That’s when they made their promise: Jason would be there for Jonathan, no matter what. In exchange, Jonathan would be there for Jason, no matter what. A friendship arranged via a convenient deal.
Jonathan blinks though his tears. He looks at Jason silently; he still cries, but Jason’s words are distracting him.
“You swore you won’t die. That you won’t leave me!” Jason bellows. “I will be the thread that keeps you standing! Don’t you see? I’ve done all of that for you, to push you forward!” He grits his teeth. “I’ll be anything you want me to be! I’ll do anything you ask of me! Anything! But don’t you dare leave me!”
It’s through this growled petition that Jonathan realizes: Jason is as lonely as he is. But, unlike him, Jason is very much alive, desperate and with anger to keep him moving. He has bile that pushes him forward, a wish to find what he longs for. He has claws to defend himself with. He’s true to his nature, regardless of therapy.
‘If only I had a reason to hold onto, something that made me wish to stay beside you…’ Jonathan’s gaze has moved, and is now unfocused on the wall, but his mind’s cogs are whirling. “Can you teach me what feeling alive is like?” He asks in a monotone, if shaky voice. Jason can often do that with his toys; make them seem like they breathe. He wants to receive the same treatment.
Jason’s gaze becomes all-consuming; the intensity of the blazing beam his eyes emit when hearing Jonathan speak is almost blinding. He wishes to teach Jonathan what feeling alive is like, indeed, but he doesn’t know how to make him feel alive. Furthermore, what Jason needs most right now is for Jonathan to look at him; he feels far away from his reach, which Jason detests.
“Will you give me a reason to move?” Jonathan keeps his eyes fixated nowhere, speaking dully. “A straw to cling onto? The motivation I need?”
Jason purses his lips. He’s unsure how to proceed.
“Will you teach me why I should be angry? How to feel angry?” Jonathan continues. He swallows, feeling his throat dry.
‘How could you feel angry? How could you fathom to regain that emotion, when the one that should enrage you most only makes you tear up and shut down in despair? When you don’t have the strength to blame her for what she’s done?’ Jason thinks, irritated.
“Will you teach me how to feel loved again, you, that promised to never leave me like she did?” Jonathan takes a deep breath; it comes in and gets out shakily. He feels delirant, but he has nothing to lose, so he might as well talk nonsense.
But it doesn’t sound like drivel to Jason, no: it sounds like scissors. Jonathan is in such a delicate state, and yet, he’s just pointed at what Jason needs: scissors, on a silver platter.
Jonathan closes his eyes for a moment; he spills a few more tears in memory of the few times he was alive, in memory of who his parents killed, in memory of who Emra killed. In memory of who he wants to kill. “...You’re all I have, J-Jason…” He grasps at his beige vest pathetically, weeping pitifully. “Nothing will ever be worth it again if you d-don’t remind me of its worth, and you’re the only one who’s willing to s-show me. I don’t have reasons to learn on m-my own.”
Jason lowers his face, getting closer to the shattered man. “I will do all that…”
He considers Jonathan’s petitions, and what they entail. He considers the golden scissors Jonathan is begging him to use, as he cannot reach them himself. He considers the implicit promise of reward if Jason were to at least try and cut those golden, razor-sharp strings above Jonathan, keeping him an unwilling puppet.
He considers the game Jonathan is amenable to play, to his immeasurable delight. He can feel the deliciously addictive burn rushing through his veins. “...if you look at me.”
Jonathan already knows what Jason wants in return, not far off from what he was once addicted to. If he agrees, their original promise will be upgraded, and he will owe Jason his part of the deal.
Jason is dangerous.
Danger must be the only thing that will keep him alive, then, because he doesn’t mind. He’s made his decision; Jonathan lifts his head from looking at Jason’s chest, and his eyes lock on Jason’s.
Jason leans forward, and his lips land on Jonathan’s. The snap of the golden strings is heard; he’s cut them.
Jonathan feels a jolt in his spine when he feels those soft, plush lips on his wet, chapped ones: he’s free. The kisses he’s receiving are chaste, a respectful trial; Jason doesn’t even pull away for each kiss, but keeps his lips right there, giving Jonathan little pecks. That’s exactly why they work; Jason is being careful not to startle him, and the gesture is uncharacteristically tender of him.
Jason halts his show of affection. “She abandoned you. She knew all that happened, how asphyxiated you felt; she claimed she loved you, yet she ditched you without regard when the slightest inconvenience made itself known.” He leans to the side, and kisses him on the cheek. Jonathan shivers, turning his head closer to him, eyes closed. “She preferred old money to support her career instead of forging her own path with you, because she wasn’t confident that her skills would be enough. She shat herself and cleaned her feces with your scarcely remaining self-esteem.”
A chuckle escapes from Jonathan’s lips, imagining her so outlandishly. But Jason uses the opportunity to kiss him on the mouth again, and Jonathan knows he’s also smiling. He opens his eyes, and the sight of Jason’s devilish grin makes him titillate.
“You’re supposed to get angry.” Jason points out before kissing him again. “Although laughing at the thought of her like that also works, I guess.”
Jonathan lifts his arms and embraces him by the shoulders. He wants Jason closer, for his affection is working; he wants to receive more, be appreciated for once. He wants to feel that he’s meaningful in someone else's life, and not merely like a sullen ghost inhabiting a body without will to live.
Jason mirrors him by releasing his face and wrapping his arms around his waist. He begins laying out the ground rules for their game. “Here’s what’s gonna happen: when we get out of here, you’re going to clean that teary face of yours, and we’ll return with the rest.” He leans to the side and kisses him on his neck; Jonathan tilts his head to make it easier for him. “If they ask you if you’re well, you will answer honestly. But now comes the part you’ll have to play if we face Little Miss Prissy.”
“You dislike her greatly, don’t you?” Jonathan is feeling a little mischievous; a good change. Perhaps it is his lack of care for his own life, or the high of Jason’s affection, that he dares be so bold with him now. “Is it because of what she did to me, or because of how I still let her affect me?”
Jason groans; he tightens his hold on him. “You ask as if you didn’t know it’s both. Now, let me finish: if we do see her, you’re a good actor, John. You can acknowledge her, give her the typical polite smile, but that’s about it.”
“Are you that jealous?” Jonathan almost chuckles.
“I am, but that’s not why I’m telling you to be like that. If you act all civil and willing to talk, she’ll get the idea that there’s no hard feelings between you both, and that her wrong actions were forgiven and forgotten.” After all, that’s what Jason thought when Amelia reached out to him. “She is no one and deserves to be no one, by her own doing. Understood?” He lifts his head to stare him in the eye.
Jonathan doesn’t avoid his gaze. He nods. “I do have a question, though. Why were you so self-aware and responsible after what happened with Amelia, but repeating that now?”
“Because it’s not the same: you’re fully aware of what we’re doing.” Jason responds, grinning boyishly. “This is consensual, and I will respect your wishes if you don’t want to take my advice, because that’s all it is; I wouldn’t dream of telling you what to do in that regard.” He looks up in thought, for a moment. “The rest, I did to prevent you becoming fungi in bed, so don’t hold it against me.”
“But I agreed to those terms of yours while being in a suicidal mindset on both cases.” Jonathan counterarguments.
Jason tilts his head; he has an anxious glint in his eyes. “Do you regret asking me to help you and accepting my terms?” Jonathan shakes his head, and Jason glares at him. “The fuck are you being so annoying for, then?”
Jonathan chortles at his irkment; he notices the warm satisfaction that courses through him when he successfully provokes him. He caresses Jason’s nape. “I was messing with you. Don’t get angry at me, please.”
Jason huffs, but his irritation is mellowed by Jonathan’s soft gaze, nonetheless. “I just want us to be on the same page, have fun together. We can always talk about anything you doubt or disagree with.”
“This is starting to sound like a BDSM pre-contract sign talk.” Jonathan grins. “So all you’ve wanted all along is a willing playmate. I’m glad you’ve developed some moral compass, at least.”
“Shut up.” Jason leans forward and swipes his tongue over Jonathan’s spread lips.
Jonathan quivers, startled; he’s never experienced such a thing before, has never felt like this. All kisses he shared with Emra were very tender, to the point of saccharine, but never so suggestive, nor vulgar. Never had they felt as evoking, as thrilling.
Even now, he thinks of her.
Vexed, he leans forward and returns the gesture, taking Jason off guard when he grabs his tie. But his eagerness only encourages Jason further; he uses the opportunity to plunge his tongue into Jonathan’s mouth, and the other man exhales shakily, clinging onto him.
For a minute, all that can be heard is the sound of their lips sucking, their tongues playing, their labored breathing.
Once Jason pulls away, he uses his tongue on Jonathan’s ear. The latter almost mewls, tilting his head towards his mouth. Jason gives him a brief reprieve, only to say: “I can help you unwind before we get back out there.” Since Jonathan doesn’t answer right away, he lowers his head to lick and suck at his neck. He also lowers his arms, hands slowly approaching his ass. He squeezes and pushes Jonathan closer, smirking when he feels something hard poke back at him. ‘Glad to know I’m not the only one excited.’
Jonathan licks his lips. “How?” He hisses when Jason parts his legs with one of his own, and rubs that same leg against him.
Jason lifts his head and smirks naughtily at him. “Just a little shared moment, but we have to be quiet.” He brings his hand to the front, and unzips their pants. Without further ado, he takes them both in hand.
Jonathan startles at the contact. “Jason!” He whispers loudly.
“Shhh.” But Jason hushes him, lips puckered, along with a lidded look. “Quiet.” He silences him further with his mouth before he begins moving his hand up and down.
Jonathan’s moans are muffled. He has a hard time standing because of the surges of pleasure that travel down his legs and up into the rest of his body. He has never done something so lewd, and much less in public. And he’s been so low in sexual desire for so long, that any touch feels as if Jason were exponentially imbuing him with will .
He buries his hand in Jason’s hair, uncaring of tussling it. He holds himself straight by grabbing Jason’s clothes, not caring if he rumples them. Neither does he care about the mess Jason might make of them both, or how bruised their lips may end up; he doesn’t care about any of that when he’s breathing for the very first time in long.
And Jason doesn’t care, either. He’s rejoicing in his sudden desperation, in how Jonathan thrusts himself into his hand so needily. He’s finally achieved to get a reaction out of Jonathan, and what a reaction! But he doesn’t intend on using him; he won’t commit the same mistake twice. “I know I won’t heal you.” He suddenly breathes, voice hoarse, breathing heavy. “I can’t rid you of your depression, but that won’t stop me from trying.”
Is this just a game of theirs? Is this just a deal, made to satisfy them both? Or is it something more? Something that has evolved from a strange friendship?
Jason actively chose Jonathan. Jason tended to him in his worst, and has expressed desire to see him in his best. Jason didn’t run away, he didn’t back out when Jonathan proved hard to deal with. Jason didn’t give up just because he didn’t have the capacity to fix him.
Whatever this is, it’s exactly what Jonathan needed: to feel wanted, to feel chosen, to feel loved.
They stay together for a bit longer after orgasm crashes through them both. Their chests heave up and down, but they’re as relaxed as they can be.
Jonathan kisses his cheek gently, conveying gratitude. Jason accepts it with fondness.
⦻
Hans is busy talking with some of his associates who came to see the performance that has already finished. In the back of his mind, he keeps worrying over that forlorn boy; he hopes Jason is not being too hard on him, the voracious creature that he is.
“Jill?” Not too far away from Hans, with her friend group, Jill is busy thinking. “Jilly? Jill-pie?” She’s so zoned out, that LJ and Eric are starting to worry. “Jillian? Jillijilli?” LJ shakes her lightly by the shoulder.
Jill looks up at him with wide, curious eyes. “Should I try to bake more Vietnamese desserts?” She asks, blinking up at LJ adorably, as if her behavior wasn’t strange at all. ‘Why was I so distracted, thinking about my conversation with EJ yesterday?’ LJ stares at her in confusion.
“We’re back.” The group suddenly hears, and they turn to see both Jason and Jonathan join them. “Sorry for the delay.” Jason grins.
“I thought you’d gotten lost or something.” Eric nudges Jason with his elbow. “It was a big shit, ey?” Jason looks up, counting to ten in his mind.
LJ looks at Jonathan. “Everything okay? Hans told us you were a bit down.”
But Jonathan gives him a relaxed smile, which everybody finds new. “Yes, I’m good now. I was just a bit overwhelmed.”
Jill squints her eyes just barely at them both. Jason looks as irritated as always, but Jonathan somehow looks more lively, both in his way of talking and his face. His posture is less demure, less ‘I’m trying not to stick out’. He seems calm, at ease. ‘And they’re standing quite close. Too close.’ She squints her eyes at their slightly rumpled clothes, and their red lips. Once Jason turns to Jonathan and catches his attention, Jill does the same with LJ; she tugs down the sleeve of his striped suit, and LJ leans towards her. She keeps a neutral, distracted expression as she looks around. “Those two have done something in that bathroom.” She deadpans.
“No way.” LJ sounds skeptical at first, but he eyes the two again, reconsidering her assessment.
His disbelief crumbles when he notices how close they stand together, how much Jason tries to get his attention, how relaxed his usually frowny countenance is, and how touchy he is being with Jonathan. Furthermore, Jonathan is not avoiding his gaze, he’s also smiling a little bit, eyes twinkling, posture relaxed and confident.
All these signs wouldn’t have been an obvious giveaway, had they always behaved this way amongst themselves, but this is a first.
“...Wait, no way!” LJ turns around and tries to stifle the excited witch cackle that is threatening to escape his throat and scare the people around them. Jill does the same, but trying to contain one of her pterodactyl screeches instead.
Hans turns around and notices the two boys he was worrying about back in the group, and breathes a sigh of relief when his eyes fall on Jonathan’s tranquil face. He bids goodbye to his acquaintances and approaches the other group. He ignores the clowns’ strange behavior, shrugging it off as their typical shenanigans. “Hey kids, we’re going to the east wing.” He lands his light blue eyes on Jonathan. “Is everything all right, John?” The boy nods. “I’m glad. I’d like you to meet an associate of mine, if you’re feeling better? It might be a good opportunity for you, in regards to our contract.” He waits to see how he takes this news.
Jonathan simply smiles. “Okay. I trust you.”
Hans beams. “Fantastic!” He leads them towards their destination, with Jonathan and Jason beside him.
They enter a vast room where other important people from the world of performances and entertainment are reunited after the show. Hans spots the woman he’s talked to before, and approaches with them all in tow. While he encourages the rest to mingle about, he beckons both Jonathan and Jason, the second to serve as moral support for the first.
“Is this the man from the video you showed me?” The unknown blond woman inquiries, interested in Jonathan.
Hans grins. “Indeed.”
In short, she’s a theater director, interested in hiring Jonathan as the lead role of the production she plans on running. Hans was so insistent that he meet her because she’s not unknown; while her popularity has just exploded, it has done so with magnitude, and she wants fresh faces for her projects.
She tells Jonathan about the plot, and how fitting she thinks he is for what she has in mind, that his promotional video was moving, that he’s incredibly talented, and that she’d ditch the bothersome hassle of organizing a casting process if he were to accept to do this role, without a doubt. She swears up and down that she’s not so insistent because of Hans’ recommendation, for she would’ve turned him down without remorse if Jonathan had proved to be mediocre in his abilities. And that is not all: his singing skills would prove crucial.
Jonathan would be lying if he said he felt apathetic. He feels some modicum of excitement at the opportunity of performing on stage again, like in college. And singing, at that.
The director pleads to him to show her his skills in that specific department, wishing to make sure that what she saw in his video was not a mirage born out of desperation to find an actor that fits the role like a glove.
It is then that he glimpses a familiar face on the crowd. Jason must’ve seen it too, for he puts a hand on his left shoulder and squeezes, grounding him back to what’s important.
Jonathan does as she requests, forgetting the world around him for some sweet few moments, only fixating on the feeling of the hand on his shoulder and nothing else. It comes more naturally than he expected. “No one would listen. No one but her, heard as the outcast hears.” He starts with a neutral face.
Jason becomes rigid with amazement beside him, while the director analyzes his voice with sharp ears, and Hans looks like a proud dad.
“Shamed into solitude, shunned by the multitude, I learnt to listen.” Jason turns around, and sees that the rest of his friends can hear Jonathan sing, and are gaping their mouths. So do many other people, who’ve turned their heads.
“In my dark, my heart heard music. I long to teach the world—,” Jonathan lifts a hand, looking up at the ceiling with longing. “—rise up and reach the world; no one would listen—,” He lowers the fisted hand to his chest, looking pained. “I alone could hear the music.”
Jason keeps noticing how all the people hush to hear him sing, how everybody focuses on him, including the familiar face. He sees how her expression turns from confusion to recognition; realization fully dawns on her as she rests her eyes on the owner of the angelical voice, making her pale in shock.
And he feels Jonathan put a hand over his own, accepting his support openly.
Jonathan makes a surprised expression. “Then at last a voice in the gloom seemed to cry, ‘I hear you! I hear your fears, your torment and your tears!’” He looks down, alleviated and slightly tearful. “He saw my loneliness, shared in my emptiness…no one would listen. No one but him, heard as the outcast hears.” He finally makes a happy expression, almost tearing up; he takes a breath. “No one would listen…no one but him, heard as the outcast hears.”
A roar of applause sounds in the room. Jonathan doesn’t visibly react to it; he merely looks at the director, awaiting her verdict.
She throws her hands in the air. “How could you have hidden him from me for so long, Hans?!”
But she doesn’t get an answer, for Hans is busy drying the corners of his eyes with a cloth napkin. “That was so beautiful.” He sniffs, smiling proudly. He shoos them off with a hand. “Go, you both. Go have fun while I talk about business.”
Jonathan shakes the director’s hand, is hugged by Hans again, and turns around to return with their friends along with Jason. “I didn’t think you could sing that well.” Jason comments, a little bit impressed still. “You’ve always sung very little in our house.” It had mostly been whispered singing and humming.
Jonathan doesn’t comment over him calling his house theirs. “I haven’t felt the desire to sing for a long time.” Or to do anything in general.
“Did it make you happy just now?” Jason inquiries with a strange expression. “To sing like that, acting in the middle of the room? Because it made me happy to hear you.”
Jonathan gives him a soft smirk. “A little bit. Didn’t you feel jealous that I was the center of attention for once?” When Jason shakes his head, eyes honest, Jonathan’s smirk washes down into a gentle smile. “I’m only teasing you. I’ll try to sing more, then.”
Jason gives him a tender look, for a change. “You’re doing very well.” He whispers.
“What in the name of the Angel of Music was that?!” Jill rushes towards them, looking quite hyper. “It was amazing, it was magical, it —ajdjkafjak—!” She hunches her back and starts gesticulating excitedly.
The rest approach them too, and LJ puts his arm on her shoulder, leaning on her. He grins at them both. “Ignore her, she’s too amped up. But I do agree; it’s good to see you shine, Blake.”
“You’re going to be the most famous one out of us at this rate.” Eric puts a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, and leans forward to be able to squint his eyes and stick his tongue out at Jason.
And despite the aggravated look Jason is giving the blue haired man, Jonathan feels quite at ease. So much so that he smiles warmly and without pretense.
Jill is the first to notice, and she shrieks. “Group hug!” She throws herself against Jonathan, and tugs Jason closer by the waist. While the two boys are surprised, they don’t have time to react, for the rest do the same; Jonathan chuckles at Jason’s exasperation, but they both ease into the embrace, much more content than they actually let on.
“So, what exactly is going on between you two?” LJ singsongs as the hug ends and everybody detaches, incapable of keeping his curiosity in check. “You were in that restroom for far too long.” The grin he’s giving the pair is savage.
“You don’t want to know.” Jason deadpans, not bothering to pretend and quite glad to be able to gloat that something is definitely going on. Jonathan keeps his face cool as a cucumber, although his cucumber-self is blushing.
LJ redirects his wicked grin towards the other, knowing that his prodding will result more effective if used on poor, timid Jonathan. “But I do want to know, actually.” Beside him, Jill stands on tiptoes, as interested as he is, and smirking now that her suspicions have been confirmed. “Jason’s therapy must be doing wonders for you, Johnny. You have a boom! And what’s more, your clothes are a little bit crumpled. Was it too stuffy in a single stall?”
“You’re as nosy as ever.” Eric comments beside him with a smirk.
LJ squints his eyes at him. “That’s a fallacy: I am nosier than ever!” He touches his conical nose to back up his point, and Eric titters. “But returning to the topic at hand.” LJ returns his twinkling eyes and his smirk towards Jonathan, who is trying to suppress a grin of his own, both because of LJ’s dumb expression and remembering what happened half an hour ago.
Jason is itching to shut LD up by leaning towards Jonathan and showing the clown what exactly is going on between them, but he stays put; there’s a certain charm to not confirming barely anything and keeping it to themselves, as if it were their little delight.
Beside LJ, Jill also looks at them both. “Are you boyfriends now? Will you get married? Can I make the wedding cake—?”
Jason puts an arm around Jonathan’s shoulders, leans towards her, and whispers hurriedly. “If you keep running your mouth and scare him off, I swear to you, Jill—”
“Friend group couple, hehehehehehe!” Jill starts giggling to herself, and so does LJ. They start doing a ridiculous dance with their hands entwined, to which they drag Eric into; the jester falls right on rhythm with their antics, knowing it will irritate Jason.
And indeed, Jason feels a vein in his jaw pop. He tightens his hold on Jonathan.
“Hey, Jonathan.” They hear the voice of the director again behind them, and turn around, only for Jonathan to put on an inscrutable mask of politeness, and for Jason to feel his vein to bursting but try to keep his expression schooled; he positions his other arm on Jonathan’s shoulders. “I wanted to introduce you to someone; she’s going to have another important role in the play.” She gestures towards Little Miss Prissy. “This is Emra, the prima ballerina from today’s performance. She’ll be working with us, too.”
Jason makes biblical efforts not to look at Jonathan; he’d rather swallow his tongue than give her any hint of knowing about her existence.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Jonathan gives her a polite smile. “I look forward to working with you.” Two white lies.
A flash of confusion thunders through Emra’s brown eyes, but she says nothing about the elephant in the room; she gives him a smile in return. “Likewise.” She lifts a hand for him to shake.
For a moment, Jonathan wishes he could stitch golden threads through the flesh of the tips of her fingers and her toes, and put her back to dance on that stage for his sole entertainment. ‘Is resentment finally settling in? Am I growing a backbone at last?’ He slips his bigger hand into hers. He feels cold indifference to her touch first, then the desire to jerk his hand out of her hold; he shakes her and releases it just as quickly.
“Although, I have the feeling we’ve met before.” Emra tilts her head, her gaze a little hopeful.
Jason does look at Jonathan now, as it wouldn’t be suspicious anymore; he’s merely looking at his friend with curiosity, by the looks of it. He won’t miss his reaction this time.
Jonathan frowns slightly, smiling cryptically. “Hm, I’m quite sure I don’t know you.” His response is ambiguous at best, disingenuous at worst.
Jason sees the hopeful glint in Emra’s eyes die out; she’s not as successful hiding her disappointment this time, knowing for a fact that Jonathan is lying to her face. He, on the contrary, feels exhilaration at Jonathan’s words and his innocent façade.
“We’ll be going now.” Jonathan announces with a friendlier smile for the director, and Jason’s elation is spilling over, like a dam that just broke.
The director beams back. “Of course; I’ll get in contact with you soon.”
“Already?” Jill pouts when they turn around, but not convincingly enough; her hopeful eyes betray her.
“Yes. John’s feeling a bit tired.” Jason answers, with a shit-eating grin in his own face; he can no longer keep it contained. “Tell Hans we’ve gone home when he comes to check on you kiddies.”
LJ gives Jason’s back one of his hyena grins as they go towards the exit. “Should I also tell him about the restroom?”
Jason throws his hand back in a ‘tell him whatever the fuck you want’ gesture.
⦻
He pounces as soon as they’re in his car.
He kisses Jonathan on every naked surface of skin he finds; forehead, nose, cheeks, mouth, jaw, neck, hands— everything. “You’ve done so well.” He purrs huskily. “I’m so proud of you, John, so very fucking proud.”
While Jonathan is accepting his affection, his stoic countenance has crumbled; he’s shaking, his eyes are spilling tears again, and he’s scowling. “Who does she think she is?! Who the fuck does she think she is, trying to approach me so shamelessly?!”
Jason smirks, deeply pleased. “That’s it; hate her. It’s better that you hate her than to think you’re scum beneath her shoes.” He combs his fingers through Jonathan’s hair. “Let your mind finally process that you’ve done nothing wrong. Free yourself of the repression you’ve been jailed in to please others. Be selfish; look after yourself and yourself only for once. Do you feel violent?”
“Violent doesn’t cut it.” Jonathan fixates his eyes nowhere; what he sees are the images in his mind, wishing suffering upon Emra. “I can understand what my parents did; we were short on money and I was the oldest, so they relied on me, and they might’ve unintentionally overlooked what I was going through because I hid it well. But her?” He spits the last word with vitriol. “I was there for her, yet she threw me aside, and now she wants to pretend everything is peachy?!”
“What are you imagining right now?” Jason rests his head on Jonathan’s left shoulder, grin not gone. He wants to know what gruesome scenarios he’s conjuring up in his mind, he wants to know how deep the hatred has seeped.
“When she offered me her hand to shake—,” Jonathan sneers. “—I wanted to pierce the skin of her fingers with a big, fat needle, and use her as a puppet.”
Jason almost groans. This way of thinking suits Jonathan very well; a very proper punishment for her it would be, to suffer as he manipulates her being as he pleases. Not only has Jonathan finally realized how much he’s been wronged, but he’s also having violent wishes; he couldn’t be more delighted.
“Is this how you felt?” Jonathan suddenly asks. “Did you feel this hatred when Amelia rejected you?”
Jason sighs. “I did. But with time, I understood that a game can’t be played when one of the two players is not even aware they’re playing.” He lifts a hand and cups Jonathan’s right cheek. “But what Emra did to you was accepting to play the game, then cheat. My hatred was not justified, unlike yours.”
“...You no longer care about Amelia.” Jonathan realizes. “Your ties to her broke when you realized she could never accept you as you are.”
Jason lifts his head, and kisses Jonathan on the cheek again. “One must own up to their misdeeds, or they become hypocrites who don’t deserve to be trusted from the get go, like your ex. But recognizing my wrongdoings means nothing in this case; Amelia doesn’t understand me. Her forgiveness will never be enough.”
“You’re very lonely, aren’t you?” Jonathan feels Jason tense; he buries a hand in his burgundy hair and massages his scalp with the tips of his fingers. “You tried to take the entirety of her love for yourself, fearing she would find someone else to love and would cast you aside. The idea of being abandoned made you rot from the inside.”
“...She was the only one who loved me. Nobody had taught me what love was, so I simply did what made most sense to me. I grew desperate when she sought love from others, thinking she’d no longer have any for me, thinking that she should only share it with me; I felt entitled to it, as if she were my possession.” Jason rests his forehead on Jonathan’s shoulder. “But it was wrong. That’s not what I wanted.”
Jonathan blinks, now having calmed down. “I don’t know why you’ve helped me so much, but you’ve been here for me more than anyone else ever has. You’ve made me feel cared for when I felt repulsive and a waste of space, you’ve pushed me to do things for my own good, you’ve gotten angry on my behalf when I didn’t have the energy for it, you’ve boosted my self-esteem...I would be long dead if it weren’t for you.” The faucet behind his eyes reopens, but he doesn’t feel anguished; he feels warm. “You’re the only one who fought for me, the only one who truly cared about what I was going through. I wish to return the favor.”
Jason licks his lips, feeling troubled. “I want to come clean about something.” He lowers his hand and wraps his arms around Jonathan, fearing he might flee. “I offered you to move in with me because Hans asked me to do so.” Jonathan blinks. He tightens his fists on his jacket. “He already knew me well by then, he’s easy to talk to; he didn’t judge me for what I did, but simply told me that I should try and correct my mistakes, and offered me therapy like he did to you. When he asked me to take you in, he knew I would get attached to you, weak as you were in your resolve; it was as if he were offering me a second chance at acquiring something I long for, and offering you an opportunity to get what you need to be able to continue.”
Jonathan processes it, then starts guffawing, to Jason’s puzzlement. “Why doesn’t that surprise me, coming from him?” He clings onto Jason, pulling him closer. “It doesn’t bother me that you had ulterior motives. I’m glad you helped me; it was a lot, coming from someone I didn’t even know. My point still stands: I care for you.”
The burn flowing through Jason’s veins reaches his heart and spreads through his entire body. He lifts his head and pecks Jonathan on the cheek.
Chapter Text
Monday.
“So he could sponsor me?” Natalie asks, looking out the window and overseeing the lights of far away streetlamps: they’ve arrived at Oakside, and nighttime has already settled in. “But my art would have to be worth it to begin with. I could never reach Helen’s level of skill.”
“You don’t have to draw or paint like Helen. You have to do your thing, in your own style and in the way you’re comfortable with.” Dina encourages her. “I’ve already shown Hans some of your drawings and he quite liked them. I assure you, he’s not easy to win over; if he likes them, it must be because he finds you talented.”
“But my drawings are nothing special. They’re simple pencil and pen drawings, and many can do that.” Natalie rests her chin on her hand.
“With the proper practice, you’ll become even more skilled. There’s probably millions of tricks that will make your artwork more yours. That’s why you’re accepting Helen’s help, right?” Dina counterarguments, keeping her eyes on the road.
Natalie frowns. “Yes, but I don’t think I’ll ever be good enough to be worth sponsoring. What I do is very common; I don’t play with color and contrast like Helen does, nor am I skilled with many other—”
“Nat, dear, could you please stop comparing yourself to everyone around you?” Dina cuts her off with a delicate but tired tone.
Natalie turns her head from the window and looks at Dina with perplexity.
Dina sighs. “That is all you do: ‘but Helen this, but Jeff this, but Toby this, but you this.’ How about you focus on your own growth? You can’t compare yourself to us, because we don’t have the same struggles or abilities, nor are we in the same step of life. In the end, comparisons like that only serve to drag you further down and kill your joy, because they don’t help you grow in any way.” The silence she’s met with lets her know that Natalie is considering her words.
“...You’re right.” Natalie returns her stare to the window, engraving Dina’s advice on the walls of her mind. “I’m sorry.”
Dina lifts a hand from the steering wheel. “Damn right I am.” She lowers the hand back. “You have a lot of qualities that you ignore which make you better than us in some aspects, and you can hone those you think are lacking. You do your thing: use whatever Helen teaches you and practice. Practice everything, even that which has nothing to do with drawing. Practice makes perfect.”
“...Why is it that we always end up with you giving me a boosting speech?” Natalie chuckles bitterly. “I feel like everybody has to give me PSAs constantly.”
Dina pulls up in front of Natalie’s house. “Because you need them, and I always deliver—” The blond cuts herself off when she starts cackling with a high pitch and sagging down.
Beside her, Natalie confusedly checks what has made Dina burst in laughter like that; she almost melts into the passenger seat when he sees who is waiting on her porch. “Dinaaaaaaa!” She panics, reaching out for her friend, trying not to make it too obvious to the man outside.
Dina reaches out and unlocks Natalie’s seat-belt, instead of holding her hand in support. “Off you go, no ‘but’s.” She kisses Natalie’s cheek goodbye, and the other frowns, finding her treatment merciless.
Natalie looks down at her outfit. “But what about the dress?” She whines; she knows Dina probably doesn’t care, but whatever works to delay meeting the source of her panic in this attire; what Dina said about him eyeing her in this dress has come back to hit her like a truck, and she feels self-conscious. Her hands are clammy.
Dina lifts an eyebrow. “Your dress. It’s yours, don’t complain!” She lifts a hand when Natalie opens her mouth to protest. “Go show it to him on your own accord, or I’ll kick you out of my car and drag you in front of him myself, then make you both kiss!”
Natalie gapes her mouth. “You wouldn’t!” When Dina gives her a calm grin that clearly conveys ‘try me’, she huffs and puffs as she goes to open the door. “You’re evil.” She gets out and hunches to look back at Dina one last time. “Thank you for today. I really had a good time and felt comfortable, thanks to you.”
Dina blows her a kiss. “It wouldn’t have been a good time if you hadn’t been there. Have fun!” She says the last part with a grin, and Natalie closes the door of her white sports car with a pout.
Dina drives away, and Natalie turns around to look at Toby, who’s stood up from sitting on her porch. With her stomach made knots, she opens the front yard gate and approaches him; he stands even taller than usual, since he’s a few steps higher than her, and looks completely at ease. “How long have you been waiting here?” She asks while avoiding his gaze, and readjusting the shawl around her shoulders.
Toby tilts his head at her, smirking at her timid behavior. “Around half an hour since Dina told me you were returning.” He cracks his neck.
‘That traitorous snake set me up!’ Natalie thinks, remembering her reaction when seeing him; she probably didn’t expect Toby to actually be waiting here. She’ll have to chide her next time, or maybe kiss her feet; whatever she feels like doing when the moment comes, because right now, the initial anxiety is waning down into excitement. “I see…sorry you had to wait. Would you like to come in?” She inquiries hopefully.
With a sad smile, Toby shakes his head. “I have to go to work soon.”
Natalie feels disappointment; she thought she scared him off by oversharing the other day while they were both tipsy and high. But she didn’t, and now she can’t wait to spend time with him. To have him back in her bed again, sleeping beside her.
“I came to chat a little bit before then. I don’t mind that I had to wait, so you can save your apology.” Toby goes down a few steps, getting closer. His teeth play with his piercings. “That dress looks good on you, by—” He clicks his tongue. “—the way.” He’s right over her. “You’re very beautiful.”
It doesn’t escape her how he said that he didn’t mind waiting for her, that the attire looks good because it’s on her body, and that she’s beautiful; these might be unimportant details to anybody else, but Natalie feels her self-esteem raise the littlest bit because of the way he formulated it. She can feel the honesty and warmth of his praisings, so she accepts them as the truth for once. “...T-thank you.”
But she feels utterly frustrated. ‘Does he know what he does to me? If he’s like me, he must have no idea what to deduce from my reactions; he might think my behavior to be mere friendliness. What if he were to feel the same as me?’ She doesn’t think so, but then again, that might be her insecurities blinding her perception. Toby is friendly and likes poking fun at her, but he’s also very touchy, and looks and talks to her very tenderly at times, like right now. And then, there’s the times when he acts distant, or when he flees from her house with what feels like excuses, perhaps due to his own issues. His behavior is too ambiguous for her to make a sound assessment from her point of view, given that it’s distorted.
Toby goes down the last step and hugs Natalie. His warmth envelops her, making her feel cozy and safe against the chill of the night. The contrast between her front and his is opposite: while she feels hers soft, his is hard. He rests an arm around her shoulders, and his other hand on her lower back; sensitive zone that it is, the contact sends delicious ripples through her body. “Did you have fun with Dina?” She senses the vibration of his voice through his chest.
Natalie is so focused on him, in his presence, in his closeness, that she almost forgets to answer. “Yes.” She returns the embrace and surreptitiously feels the muscles of his broad back. “It was…” Her hair is gently tugged, and she gapes her mouth. “...a very nice show.”
“Do you have—” Toby whimpers. “—to babysit Sally tomorrow?” He asks, and Natalie hums affirmatively, nodding her head slightly. The corners of his mouth lift up. “Shorty is not very talkative tonight.”
Natalie breathes a chuckle. “I’m a bit tired.” She gives an excuse. There’s no way she’s telling him that his touch is making her snug, much less aroused; the first would make him tease her further, and she doesn’t know what his reaction could be with the second.
“Would you like me to leave?” Toby inquiries, ready to unwrap his arms from her.
But Natalie tightens her arms around him, keeping him still. “No.” She rubs her cheek against his chest. “...Hey, Toby.” She hears him hum in question. “What were you like in your teens?” ‘Did he get this big soon? Was he always athletic?’ She wonders.
Toby pouts, concentrating on thinking. He twitches his nose. “Kind of scrawny. I wouldn’t eat much back—” He coughs. “—then, and spent most of the time in my room. I was far moodier and more solitary than now. What about you?”
“Fat. I’ve lost some weight since then, but I was bullied because of it…and because they knew what was going on at home.” Natalie thinks she’s oversharing again.
But Toby rests his cheek on her head. “Got snitched on, huh?” He sniffs, and jerks his shoulders. “Kids can be quite evil. But everything they bullied you for is on them, not you.”
Natalie focuses on his heartbeat. “As much as I’ve realized that, the pain of what they spread and mocked me for doesn’t go away.”
Toby gives a strained smile, and blinks repeatedly. “That pain won’t go away completely; the wound will scar, and it will throb now and then.” He scrunches his eyebrows. “...That’s what scars do—” He whines. “—sometimes, right?” When Natalie chuckles, he smiles, glad that the question fulfilled its objective. “But truly, all they did was pour lemon juice in an already salted wound. Don’t wallow in your miseries too much, or—” He clicks his tongue. “—that will be everything you’ll let yourself live.”
Natalie looks up at him. “You’re always so upbeat. How do you do it?” She couldn’t imagine being as positive as he is in his circumstances. Her own are bad enough, and she struggles with finding the good side of things pretty often.
“Naty—,” Toby breathes a sigh through a smile; Natalie shivers at the use of her nickname, and how good his dark gaze feels when he looks her in the eye. He rolls his shoulders, then jerks his head. “—I simply am. You feel what you feel the way you feel it; most people are not meant to have the chill of a capybara.” Natalie giggles again. “I have a pretty bad temper sometimes, and I’m—” He whimpers. “—sure you’d have a more positive mindset than I do in certain situations.”
“Like when LJ bothers you, for example?” Natalie pokes fun at him, and he huffs; she’s off the ground in a second. “Toby!” She shrieks in laughter when he picks her up like a potato sack. “I wish I had your strength, just so I could do the same to you!”
“A shame that you’re a shorty. For you, I mean; it’s to my advantage.” Toby bites his lip in mirth as he watches her flail her legs. His arm twitches involuntarily, which makes Natalie squeak. He snorts. “I’ve lived like this for twenty-three years; I’m not going to drop you because of a little tic.”
Since this strategy is not working, Natalie tries something else: she pokes him on the ribs with a forefinger, and he flinches. “Release me immediately, you miscreant!” She doesn’t wait for his answer, and repeats the attack over and over.
Toby whines, holding her tightly as he tries to keep composure. “Naty!” He cackles when trying to prevent her from poking him anymore doesn’t work. “Okay, okay!” He puts her down, but her attack continues back on the ground. He tries to avoid her poking, but reels back and ends up falling on his butt when he trips on a step. Natalie doesn’t stop until he finally manages to take hold of her wrists.
He’s laughing and twitching slightly, nose wrinkled, head thrown back with his Adam’s apple exposed, and eyes squinted with hilarity. She realizes her expression is a reflection of his.
Natalie doesn’t want him to leave for work.
⦻
Dina arrives at the art exhibition gallery, clutching the silver locket in her neck as she often does. She doesn’t stand out much, for the rest of the elite visitors are as elegantly dressed as she is. But of course, her peculiar eyes make some heads turn; nothing she’s not used to already, and it doesn’t affect her anymore. Her mind glosses it over at this point.
She had not lied to Natalie when she claimed to also have had a good time with her. She’s a delightful person, and while they didn’t talk much during the show, her company was lovely. She only hopes their bonds may deepen further, and that Natalie’s self-esteem may improve; she has great potential to become someone confident in herself.
She has great potential to become.
But now she’s come here, in search of the one who also has been occupying her mind throughout the evening. It doesn’t take her long to find him: he’s in front of the central piece of his exhibition, dressed in his blue suit jacket, black shirt, black trousers and black dressing shoes. He’s amongst all these people, without mingling more than he has to; impervious to their presence. He’s immersed in admiring his own perfect creation with absolute scrutiny.
The painting shows a heavenly creature with impressively white, feathery wings. The blond being, who is wearing silver armor à la Jeanne d’Arc, sports two distinctive objects: a humongous white-silver sword in her right hand, stained crimson and hanging on her side since her quest is finished, and a silver scale on the other, lifted beside her and perfectly balanced despite having a severed head on one of the plates and a feather on the other. She has a black blindfold on and is standing on a pile of bodies with a triumphant air.
The blue of the clear sky, the red of the blood and the bodies, the yellow of her golden hair, the rosines of her skin, the gray of her outfit, the white of her wings and her sword and the black of her blindfold all stand out saturated in color, as if giving emphasis to the gravity of the depiction.
The label below the painting reads: ‘Angel of Judgement.’
“Is this one not for sale?” Dina asks merrily, six feet and a half away from him.
Helen turns his head around and blinks at her, not looking surprised in the slightest. He had been pondering with a gloved hand on his chin, as he often does. “I didn’t think you’d come.” He returns his steely gaze to the painting. “It isn’t.”
She closes the distance to stand beside him. She can see that he’s wearing the little smiley face pin she gifted him; she thought it paired well with his general lack of expression. She tilts her head at the painting. “I guess you’ve been painting this one behind my back, because it’s the first time I see it. I wouldn’t have imagined that I inspired you this much in a million years.”
“Was the performance to your taste?” Helen asks, not giving her a glance nor commenting on what she just said.
“Yes. Natalie had doubts about going out with the dress I chose for her, but she finally decided on her own. We both enjoyed it.” Dina smiles softly. “And what about you? How are you feeling about this exhibition so far, surrounded by so many people?”
“You already know the answer.” Helen responds tersely; he eyes his gloved hand with a disinterest characteristic of him.
Dina grins. “But it’s much better to hear it from your mouth. Won’t you indulge me?”
Helen gives her a side glance, then returns his eyes to his creation again. “There’s no point in engaging with these people any further than absolutely necessary.”
“Or, you could simply say that you hate brainless snobs and want to go home. But you would never be so rude as to voice it out like that, even when they’re not in earshot.” Dina is entertained by the turn of conversation. “The few times you’re offensive, you are with so much grace that it’s difficult to realize you’re doing an affront. An asshole in gentleman’s clothing.”
Helen turns his head to stare at her. “Do you think I'm so deplorable as to use such an adjective to describe me?”
“Yes, but I mean it as a compliment; you’re a professional at masking what you are. I wouldn’t be here if I found you disagreeable.” Dina turns to look at him, an eyebrow raised. “Or is it that you think my assessment is wrong?”
“Your evaluations are rarely wrong.” Helen starts moving, and Dina goes with him. They look at other paintings as they go. “Why didn’t you go straight home? You must be tired.”
“Because I wanted to see you.” Dina grasps his arm. He doesn’t reject her touch. “And before you tell me, yes, I know I would’ve seen you later and that I’ve seen all these other paintings many times before. But I wanted to see you now, and I wanted to see you here. To check how you were doing, proud as I am for how far you’ve reached.”
“Did you miss me?” Helen makes eye contact with her. Despite his stony countenance, he has a twinkle in his eyes.
Dina scoffs. “You already know I have. Do you ask so that I may further stroke your ego with my answer?” They enter an adjacent storage room, and Helen locks the door. “Did those people not do that already?”
Helen blinks. “Their compliments are empty. They don’t appreciate my art for what it is, but for the economical worth and rarity. I have no care for their praise.”
“Oh, but you care for mine?” Dina shows him her pearly whites. She doesn’t expect it when he lifts a gloved hand and cups her cheek.
“I do.” Helen’s gaze lowers to her mouth. His thumb skims over the skin of her lips. “I find your insight to be of the best quality one can find.”
“Despite the great quality of my insight, I find you particularly tricky to understand sometimes.” Dina closes her eyes, enjoying his caress. “What will you gain by buttering me up, I wonder?” She blinks her eyes open, keeping them lidded; she’s relaxed.
“Do you think I have ulterior motives when complimenting you?” Dina nods without hesitation. Helen lowers his hand to her jaw. “What could I gain from it?”
Dina smirks. “You’re ecstatic whenever I give you the attention you so desire.” The look she’s giving him is full of light, amused at her sudden realization. “You seek that my eyes remain on you, because no other eyes are worthy of seeing you.” Helen’s pupils dilate, betraying his insensitive, perpetual veil; she’s hit the bullseye. “My admiration is the only one that will feed your narcissism, for I know you far more than anyone ever will, and I accept you as you are.” Her grin becomes feral. “You need me.”
Helen tilts his head, eyes barely lidded. “As much as you need me.” He lifts the hand off of her cheek to stroke one of her golden locks.
Dina gets lost in the sea of topaz blue that are his eyes. Despite the coldness of his gaze, she can also sense a certain warmth, hidden well, perhaps just for her to find.
“...I never tire of looking into your eyes.” Helen suddenly admits with a tilt of his head. His countenance remains blank. “Daniel Clark was a great fool for not admiring his daughter and rejoicing in her gaze. I could never hope to capture their beauty well enough in a painting.”
Dina’s eyes have widened, for she doesn’t want to miss any hint: she’s still looking at him, trying to find the hidden lie, the clue that will prove he’s merely gifting her honeyed words for his own benefit. But, for once, Helen simply stares back, letting her sentence him as she sees fit. “You hide away behind that polite mask of yours, ever distant to the world around you.” She frowns. “Yet you’re who inspires me to be loving and kind.”
“What a paradox.” Helen turns, and makes his way towards a desk, and Dina lifts her dress and reaches behind her leg for her garter while he gives her his back. He sits on it; she observes him, hands on his sides and legs crossed as he is, relaxed. “Why is that?”
“Your cold behavior doesn’t define the warm core I found. Your outside doesn’t match your inside.” Dina glances behind her at the door. “Won’t they miss you out there?”
“Let them miss me.” Helen closes his eyes for a moment. He takes a small pause, considering something. “Do you think we’ve been the most intimate we can be so far?”
“Not by a stretch.” Dina’s grin is still fierce. She stares deep into his blue eyes. “But to go further, you should stop walking on eggshells around me, since you need not.” She takes a few steps towards him. “What are you wary of, Helen? What does the Bloody Painter think will happen if he stops all pretense around me?”
Helen lifts his head slightly, as if trying to analyze Dina from a different angle. The glint in his eyes is particularly sharp when he finishes dissecting her words, or rather, the tone she used to voice those words. “...You know.” He states.
Dina gives him a vicious grin. She leans her shoulder on a wooden wall to her left. “Of course I know! You might be intelligent and have more experience than I do, but your cockiness will be your demise if you don’t cover your steps. An alibi is crucial if you want to succeed.”
Helen stands up with the meticulousness of a panther. “Are you offering me to be that alibi?”
Dina shrugs. “I’m offering to be whatever it is that you need.” She watches him come close. “But be careful—,” She flicks a silver pocket knife, making him stop when he feels the blade caress his neck. She gives him a wide-eyed stare of warning. “—because my pulse doesn’t falter either!”
Helen doesn’t react when the blade graces his skin and creates a small cut. His eyes are fixated on her own, pupils blown wide.
Dina titters, eyebrows scrunched. “Did you think I would’ve grown closer to you, knowing what you are, if I didn’t have my own aces up my sleeve?” She lowers the pocket knife and sticks her tongue out; she licks the blade, and his gaze darkens.
Dina is weaved out of the same thread as him. If he were to decline her offer, he would be much more of a fool than Daniel Clark ever was; he would be twice the fool for declining now, and for almost overlooking her once. He doesn’t even have to consider: his mind is already made up. It was made up when he made a painting of her behind her back, when they moved together, when they first saw each other. And Helen wouldn’t have fucked someone who he hasn’t already accepted, for he’s not that kind of person.
He doesn’t reject her when she comes closer and drags her tongue over the superficial cut in his neck. He stays the same statue-still, and gives no indication that Dina’s actions have any effect on him. “Very well.” He accepts verbally, voice nonchalant. “I accept your offer.”
Dina’s grin turns like that of the stereotypical maniac.
⦻
He reaches his destination: the radio tower.
At the entrance of the station is his employer; his appearance, as always, clashes with their surroundings like the sound of a gong rupturing dead silence. He even feels in danger for a moment, knowing he’s being observed by him in the darkness they’re both used to. “What is it that you want me to do, sir?” Toby inquiries, curious about his next mission.
Mr. Holzer looks to the entrance of the building. He stalls for a bit before giving a clue of his plot. “That man is still alive in there.”
Toby blinks, confounded. He jerks his head. “Why?”
Mr. Holzer’s gaze on the door turns clinical. His eyes squint just barely. “There is something I want to test out.” He turns to Toby. “I will release him.”
Toby’s wide-eyed stare is adorned with a heavy frown. “Release him?!” He can’t believe what he hears. ‘Do you want to fuck up our work, is that it?!’ He thinks, but doesn’t dare voice it out.
But it’s as if Toby’s thoughts had been heard, for his employer can easily read him: “I believe my instructions were clear enough.” Mr. Holzer tilts his head, warning him with his eyes not to oppose his decision. “Since the method I used will suffice, I have no need to dispose of him.”
“And how do you know that it’ll work?” Toby is on edge; he has no idea what Mr. Holzer’s plan is. “What if it doesn’t?”
“It will.” Mr. Holzer states with finality. He turns around, turns the doorknob and opens the entrance door. “She is waiting for you at the foot of the mountain. Assist her; I shall make sure that he makes his descent on his own accord.” He banishes into the darkness of the building.
⦻
She’s waiting over a sturdy branch, clinging onto it with her digging gloves. She looks like a watchdog, overlooking the forest below her.
Mr. Holzer has proven, time and time again, that he has an uncanny intelligence and capacity to anticipate many outcomes to a situation. If he hasn’t told them the reason for this change of plans, it must be because there’s simply no need to. Much like Toby and Kate, she trusts him with her life. And much like them, she owes him much.
It had been a big blow to lose them both: that tiny life that she was aching to welcome to her own, and him. Her body had betrayed her, robbed her of that joy growing inside of her, and the road took her fiancé.
Her family never understood. They never tried to help when she hurt herself, only made her feel worse for it. They never would’ve understood that when she did it, it was a desperate cry for help: she could only convey her pain through that method, could only hope to substitute her emotional suffering with physical harm, and they wanted to rid themselves of her for that.
She ran away and met him here by pure chance. If she hadn’t met that man, hadn’t explained her situation, or hadn't requested work, she would’ve long been taken to a mental institution. She would be alone and done for.
That man gave her a little family to care for, gave her a reason to stop asking for help in such an unhealthy way, and gave her Wilson. Sweet, tranquil and cool-headed Wilson. Her severe aching is duller, thanks to Mr. Holzer’s intervention.
The crunching of leaves takes her out of her thoughts; she looks down below, and sees Toby gesticulating with his usual grumpy air about him. “—know what the fuck he’s thinking. He’s finally lost it, definitely! So much time alone to think has messed with his brain!” He chuckles sardonically.
Heather almost laughs; Toby has always been the most moody, daredevil and solitary out of them, yet also the most caring and positive simultaneously. If he’s annoyed at their boss right now, it’s because he worries about him; he sure as hell doesn’t care much about himself. Another thing they both have in common; but, perhaps hypocritically so, Heather abhors the idea. She can’t help but feel a little sisterly over him. “You should know by now that he thinks far ahead of us.” She answers him from above, in hopes of alleviating his anxiousness.
Toby turns around to look up at her; she knows he can see her with his goggles on, and that her mask won’t prevent him from recognizing her. He curls his lip under the mouthguard. “What bothers me is that he— meow —won’t tell us what he’s thinking. Does he enjoy leaving me to stew, or what?” He cracks his neck, then his knuckles.
“Didn’t you ever think that he might do it to protect us?” Heather taps the tips of her gloves against the wood. “Or because the chances to succeed will be greater if he leaves us in the dark. Whatever he’s planned, we’ll know sooner or later. The outcome is not something that will remain secret.”
A scream rips through the silence of the night.
Toby quickly nods at her and hides in between some bushes. She sinks the talons of her gloves into the branch she’s perched upon, readies the muscles of her limbs, and prepares to pounce at the slightest movement.
They both focus their senses on their task.
Tuesday.
“Really?” Natalie’s voice and semblance are overjoyed, but she feels the complete opposite: cold dread and sticky repulsion seep into her bones, make her heart skip a beat, make her shake with the need to protect.
Mrs. Williams puts a hand to her own cheek, while her other arm is around her chest. She looks concerned. “Yes, although he's in very rough shape. It’s a miracle that he’s still alive, since those woods must be pretty deep.” She sighs, and takes her purse from the entrance desk. “He was speaking so much nonsense: that some kind of faceless creature had been harassing him through the forest, that he was chased out by coyotes that jumped from the trees. He also seemed very panicky when he saw Sally…I wonder what must’ve happened to him.” She turns around. “I’ll go visit him again after work. My husband will return a bit later than I usually do; I will also give you a bonus for today’s extra hours, so don’t worry, dear. Have fun, you two.”
The woman is out of the door, and Natalie lets her pretense drop. ‘ Why the fuck is her uncle back?! Couldn’t he have gotten lost, or eaten by a bear, or something?!’ She thinks with teeth bared in utter disgust, but composes herself soon after; by the looks of it, he hasn’t returned with his mind sane. Not that it was beforehand.
She turns around and makes her way to Sally’s room, expecting her to be a bundle of nerves because of her uncle’s return. But she looks as jolly as ever, doing her homework. “Hey, Sally!” She sits beside her, as always, but the child is quick to scoot closer and sit in between her legs, then continue writing. “Did you have fun yesterday at the farm?”
“Yes!” Sally looks up at her with childish glee. “Charlie and I are best friends! We played with the chickens and looked for shells on the beach.” She returns her eyes to the worksheets in front of her with a frown; the page contains an exercise that requires her to fill the first letter of the names of several animals, and only one is left on the first page: it has two long ears, two big front teeth, and is eating a carrot. “Is this…is it a habit?”
“No dear, it’s another letter that you have to use at the start. ‘Habit’ only has one B, and this word has two. What else do you call a bunny?” Natalie tries to give her some hints.
“Rabbit!” She scribbles the R quickly, lest she forgets the letter. “Charlie has some of those in his farm. They’re soft and fluffy!”
“I’m glad you had so much fun. Did you bring any seashells?” Natalie inquires. Sally gets up, and goes to the shelf; she returns with a little white nacre seashell that looks sparkly. “Wow. It’s so pretty!” She returns the shell, and Sally puts it back where it had been. She tries to be inconspicuous with her next question as Sally sits. “And how has today been?”
Sally puckers her lips. “Uncle was very weird. Mommy told daddy he might be put in a hospital.” She comments and shrugs.
‘So he won’t return?’ Natalie puts her elbows on the low desk. “How exactly was he weird?”
“He was saying that a tall man with no face and wearing a suit had been telling him strange things. He woke up, and the tall man was looking at him, and he ran. Coyotes chased him through the forest until it was day again.” Sally stands up, and dances around the table. “And he was scared of me! The Tall Man chased him away! He wasn’t lying!”
‘It’s weird that his hallucinations match Sally’s imaginary friend, but he might’ve seen him in her drawings. And by the looks of it, he’s gone insane enough to be put in a mental facility. It might have been something he ate to survive that made him see things.’ Natalie can only deduce. “I see.” She feels the tension leave her body, knowing that the foul bastard won’t be near Sally ever again as things stand. “I need to use the bathroom for a moment, okay? If there’s any word you can’t fill on your own, move onto the next one and I’ll help you when I return.”
“Okay!” Sally responds, distracted.
Natalie closes the door of the bathroom and takes out her phone. It takes a while for her to receive a response. “Jeff—”
“I know. Sally’s uncle is back.” Jeff cuts her off, sounding jaded. “Because that’s what you’re going to tell me, right?”
Natalie blinks. “How did you know?”
Jeff begins retelling this morning's events: he was walking Smile near the woods, when Sally’s uncle came out of them, all raggedy-looking, as if he had been through his worst drug trip. The man was walking close Mr. Holzer’s property like a zombie, looking around completely disoriented, when he saw Jeff. But before he could approach, Smile started growling and barking, and he faltered.
From where he stood, the man told Jeff the gibberish Natalie already knows about. By the time he finished explaining these things with quick babbling and asked for help, Mr. Holzer, who was in his house, had heard Smile’s incessant barking and came to check what was going on. He called the police.
The man shut down completely the moment he saw Mr. Holzer: at first, he had a vacant stare as he looked him in the eyes without blinking, and even suffered a nosebleed; then, he crouched down and avoided his gaze, refusing to even listen to him. Mr. Holzer told Jeff to get into his property and stay away from the man in case he became hostile, when the man screamed: “Can’t you see his face and the branches that sprout from his back?! Can’t you hear the static?!”
Mr. Holzer seemed completely discombobulated at his words, and only ordered that Jeff enter his house quickly to be safe. Jeff did just that, since thinking of leaving Mr. Holzer alone, or even disobeying him, did not sit well with him for unknown reasons. When the cops came, he repeated the same thing he told Jeff; needless to say, they didn’t believe him, but took him to a hospital to get checked.
Natalie explains what she’s learnt from Mrs. Williams and Sally herself, and both she and Jeff sigh. “I’ll go check on Ben now; he’s been cooped up in his house since Saturday.” Jeff bids her goodbye.
“Oh, of course. Let me know how that goes. I’ll return to Sally.” Natalie hangs the phone and exits the bathroom.
⦻
He can see them. He can’t find the surface, nor does he differentiate up from down, as everything looks the same in this dark, neverending space, but he can see them; the only thing that can give him a sense of orientation. So, as uninviting and dangerous as they look, he swims closer.
He feels strangely calm, although he’s underwater. It could be related to his ability to breathe here, despite the lack of a proper respiratory system or any other method to do so.
As he gets closer, the irises become more clear-cut, but no less creepy: they’re a pair of somewhat familiar dots, as orange-red as freshly spilled blood, observing him with intensity from a form composed of darkness that doesn’t move at all. The situation is even more eerie with the only sounds coming from his own swimming.
Once he gets a little bit closer, the form reveals its appearance as white light piercess from above, finally revealing where up and down are: in front of him is a statue made of stone, kept in place by chains that extend to the depths. He gets closer, and notices how similar the face of this statue is to his own, although it is smiling softly.
He’s now in front of it, seeing his own blond hair caress the corners of his sight. He looks into its eyes, and feels sorrowful and trapped.
Too quick for the human eye, the statue unsheathes the sword on its side and skewers both of them; the blade enters him from his back, exits him from the front, and stabs the statue in the reverse order.
Not only is the pain of being stabbed excruciating, but he also feels the iron of the blade melt inside him and his skin burn as they’re surrounded by fire, and the water now enters his lungs.
He hears a familiar, sinister laugh.
He almost falls off his chair when he jumps in fright. He’s met with the laptop screen in front of him, as he fell asleep at some point in the morning and has woken in the early evening; he rubs the sleep off of his eyes, then focuses his squinted gaze on the screen again.
His eyes widen, and he leans towards the laptop, hands gripping the desk. “What…?”
The screen is free of pop-ups, the camera is not trying to watch him, the microphone is off and the speakers are silent. He quickly checks if what he suspects is true, and indeed, it is; he feels a long awaited relief wash over him like a wave would, and he almost stumbles backwards over the chair when he stands up in disbelief.
B.E.N. is no more the way it used to be: it now does his bidding. He completed his work before succumbing to exhaustion.
He hears the doorbell, and makes his way toward the entrance with the grace of a newborn fawn, perplexed as he remains. He looks through the peephole, then undoes the locks, and opens the door. “Ben? What is it?” Jeff asks as soon as he sees him, worried.
Ben lets a small, tired grin creep onto his face. “I did it.”
Jeff almost tilts his head in confusion, until he realizes that very few things could uplift Ben this much. He enters, closes the door behind him and takes Ben along with him. He gapes his mouth as soon as they enter Ben’s room and he sees the clear screen; he grins at his friend. “You motherfucker!” He hugs Ben and lifts him up, which makes the blond chuckle. “I knew you’d do it!” He puts Ben down.
“Wait…” Ben looks down in consideration while Jeff throws himself on his bed. “...what do I do with my life now?” He does feel a certain emptiness now that his top priority has been dealt with. “I’ll still keep an eye on the cult, and I’ll meet with you and the other guys, but I’ve gotten so used to busying myself and losing sleep because of it that it’s gonna be hard to get used to the free time.”
Jeff takes a deep breath through the remnants of his nose. “I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it one bit.”
Ben blinks, scratching his nape. “Then why offer it to begin with?” He chuckles.
Jeff lifts his head and looks at him with the look a concerned parent would give his troubled child. “Because you need it.”
Ben frowns slightly, not getting it, until he does. He tenses up, lifting his hands. “Oh no, there’s absolutely no way!”
“What if, and I hope not, those nutcases come for you and try to drown you again? What if you panic and can’t swim properly?” Jeff reasons with him as he sits up; he interlocks his fingers. “Because you will panic. You’re already panicking, and there’s no water around us.”
Ben’s expression is a mixture of doubt and fear. He wants to doubt Jeff, just to avoid confronting his phobia, but fear for what could happen during a struggle is keeping him open minded; thus, he’s anguished, knowing that Jeff is right in saying that this is the best next step. “I really, really don’t want to.”
Jeff smiles in sympathy. “I didn’t expect you to be eager.” He lies down again. “You don’t have to get in the first time, nor even touch it; just being able to be close to it will be neat. And you won’t be alone.”
“...Okay.” Ben concedes, still reluctant and extremely doubtful. “But I won’t be as willing when the time comes.” He warns, swallowing.
“I know, Ben.” Jeff is looking at the ceiling, feeling remorseful. “No one is willing when it comes to facing what they fear; the natural response is to shy away from it.”
Ben sits on the bed. “Was it hard for you?”
“It’s easier to avoid fire than it is to avoid water.” Jeff can still remember the unendurable pain of his skin being scorched, the inability to breathe, his own screams of agony, the revolting smell. He closes his eyes tight. “But it wasn’t easy. It isn’t easy.”
Ben hides his face in between his knees. “I don’t want to be a coward.”
“You’re not being one. That you agreed to try is proof enough.” Jeff suddenly springs up. “Let’s try right now!”
Ben feels a cold tremor run his spine up and down, which makes him jolt from the bed. “N-now?!” He looks at Jeff with wide, frightened eyes. “I didn’t even have time to prepare myself mentally!”
“All that does sometimes is work you up even more; don’t think about it and let’s go.” Jeff also gets up. “Take your keys and we’ll go to the park.” Ben brakes, pleading with his anxious gaze. “We won’t touch the water, Ben, we’ll just look at the lake. Nothing will happen.” He looks at him with determination.
“But that’s not how it feels...” Ben whines in an almost whisper, feeling pitiful.
“We’ll go together. You won’t be in any kind of danger. Think about it; do you want to feel like this for the rest of your life? Because that lake is cool as fuck, and you can’t enjoy it’s mere sight.” Jeff rests his hands on Ben’s shoulders. “You don’t want them to keep hurting you like this. They still have you grabbed by the throat.”
Ben considers it, weighing his fear with his frustration. He thinks of how his life has revolved around the cult in its entirety, and how little of it he’s actually enjoyed. He now has the opportunity to break free, but he’s making a feeble effort to find the key that unlocks his shackles. He takes a quick breath. “...Okay…let’s just go before I start trying to weasel my way out again.” He reaches for his keys and tugs Jeff by the sleeve. “...I can’t believe I’m going this…!”
“Between you and me, I win in the deranged department.” Jeff scratches himself behind his ear, grinning amusedly. “Some of it has to rub off on you from time to time.” They exit Ben’s house and the blond locks the door with trembling hands. “Let’s get Smile before we go. You need all the support you can get.” He takes hold of Ben’s wrist, knowing that he’s itching to hide from his imminent future.
“How will Smile help me?” Ben’s voice is high-pitched with nervousness. He pouts, eyes wide; he looks ready to rocket into the sky. “...I don’t want to go! Why don’t you drag me instead?”
“Because with this beauty of mine, people will think I’m going to gut you and dump your body in the lake.” Jeff points out with raised, bald eyebrows.
“Barely anybody lives here!” Ben protests for the sake of bickering and thinking of anything but the lake.
“Oh, by the way, Sally’s uncle is back.” Jeff’s gaze becomes somber. Ben looks at him with instant discomposure. “Looks like he got lost in the woods. But I think he won’t be seeing the kid anytime soon, so the news is not that bad.”
“Oh, thank god!” Ben releases some of his tension, but it returns quickly, as he can’t forget about the purpose of them going out. “And did Natalie tell you anything about Toby?” He gives Jeff a very specific look.
Jeff snorts. “Nope, they’re both fucking idiots! Your drunken prophecies did not come true the way you expected them to.”
“We should tell EJ to poke at Toby further, see if we can quicken things up on his end.” Ben starts plotting. “If they haven’t talked already and EJ has kept it to himself. He’s very selective with the information he gives.”
“Tell me about it!” They reach Jeff’s house, and he unlocks and opens the entrance door. “Smiley-boy!” He reaches for the leash that hangs on the wall as the dog comes, wiggling his butt. “Let’s go, my boo-boo! We have to help this nerd!” He baby-talks Smile while he puts the collar on.
Ben is unimpressed. “As if you weren’t one yourself.” He takes the leash as Jeff offers it to him, and they make their way towards the park; he can feel the acid of the anxiety burn through his heart and make his stomach churn.
Jeff retakes hold of Ben’s arm. “You’re definitely more of a nerd than I am. And you also have the height of a Deku scrub.”
“That’s an insult only a humongous nerd would use!” Ben protests, cutting him off. Jeff laughs at him. “And I’m not even short. Natalie only reaches my nose! Why did you all choose that particular characteristic to pick on me?!”
Jeff makes a naughty face. “Because it’s the most effective. But I bet LJ would call you a bimbo, or something worse. I’ll have to suggest it for voting when we reassemble—”
“Don’t you dare!” Ben whines. “He’s insufferable when he gets like that! Try to be the focus of his teasing for once!”
“He doesn’t have the same effect on me because I follow along, while you and Toby get upset. It’s quite amusing to see him pick on you both.” Jeff looks around, realizing they’ve already reached the park. He keeps doing his best at distracting Ben. “Natalie gets nervous, but she also tries to get back at him, which distracts him. But do you really think he doesn’t enjoy that, too? Everything works; you get timid but attack him, and Toby gets angry but tries to avoid him, and he likes both reactions. You can’t escape the clown.”
“Just like I can’t escape from this.” Ben tries to keep his breathing steady as he hands Jeff the leash. “...Sorry, my hands are clammy...”
“I don’t give two flying shits about that.” Jeff rests an arm around Ben’s shoulders. “Focus on yourself.”
Smile woofs lazily when he sees a duck fly away from the lake, which is in the direction they’re going. Ben feels cold sweat coat his skin, and his mouth dry up. “...Thank you.” Jeff squeezes his shoulder.
They walk in silence for two more minutes, until it appears before them: the lake.
All Ben can think about is the burning in his lungs, the hand fisted in his hair, puking up the water he inhaled and swallowed. They halted their walking as soon as he saw it, since he stopped in his tracks. Something that is supposed to be a sight to behold, a pleasure of life, only makes him panic.
“Let’s just get closer, okay? Only a little bit.” Jeff negotiates with a neutral tone. “It won’t move unless you move. You’re not going to drown, Ben. Just keep reasoning with yourself.”
Ben follows his advice, and takes a moment to truly understand and apply his logic. He observes the lake in its entirety: the various animals swimming and fishing on its surface, the metal railings around it, the grass that surrounds it, the few people walking by, the clouds above, and both Jeff and Smile beside him.
‘I can still breathe. My lungs don’t burn. No one is holding me down, and I’m here out of my own volition. I don’t even have to touch the water.’ With great doubt but some resolution recovered, he steps forward; Jeff does the same, and so does Smile, who Jeff has released from his leash and is sniffling around. Ben’s steps are slow, as he’s in no rush to get close, even though he has to.
Still, he’s making his way towards it. Towards the blameless blue.
‘I wish I had a Zora Mask, and I wouldn’t have to face this problem. But I can’t keep wishing for childish things, can I?’ All he can do is accept reality, and try to fix his conundrum as humans do, not as Link would. Those naïve dreams already doomed him once, so he better change tactics and be brave.
He keeps walking, rigid, until they’re just nine-foot-eight feet away from the mass of water. The liquid seems as ready to jump at him as it was a moment ago; it remains behind the railings, calm. “We can stay here if you want. You’ve gotten very close for the first time.” Jeff concedes.
But Ben is staring at the water. “Maybe a little bit more?”
“Are you sure? It’s not good to rush it excessively.” Jeff frowns, worried that Ben might be pushing himself too much too soon.
“Just a little bit. Until there’s a bit of space left.” Ben takes a few long strides, and sits down on the grass, facing the lake: there’s only three-point-three feet left between them and it now. Smile comes to him, and he absentmindedly pets him.
Jeff sits beside him. “You’re doing good.”
“...I think the railing gives me security. I wouldn’t be this comfortable without it for sure.” Not that Ben is comfortable; he still feels alert, and doesn’t want to take his eyes off of it. But Jeff’s company and Smile’s affection does alleviate his nerves somewhat. “Is it deep enough to drown someone?”
Jeff hovers his eyes around, finding that question hard to answer. “A sink is deep enough to drown someone.” He looks into the lake. “If you were to be held down well, something as insignificant as two inches would suffice. Even less if you’re unconscious. That’s why the water itself is not the problem.” He locks eyes with Ben.
Ben laughs in order not to cry. “It feels like I’m doomed.” Smile lays down in front of him, and shows him his belly; he scratches him.
“Not if you can defend yourself. Holzer is already doing most of the work, but it’s convenient for you to learn. To be able to think and act while someone holds you down and tries to drown you could save your life, or give you extra time while help comes.” Jeff pulls his hoodie up and lays down; Smile glances at him, thinking of standing up and circling him, but Jeff pats his head to make him stay where he is. “You shouldn’t rely on others to protect you every single time. You need to be able to stand up for yourself; it’s not like you haven’t done well on your own, so have some faith in your abilities.”
Ben soaks up Jeff’s words, taking them as the wisdom they are, while watching the ripples in the lake in between the metal rods of the railing.
He can see the irises stare back.
Chapter Text
Tuesday.
LJ is doubting his decision. They’re at Jill’s because she insisted that he bring Isaac along, just to ‘oversee their bonding’, as she put it. Isaac is reasonably awkward beside him, looking at the table timidly, since it’s his first time meeting Jill properly after their brusque first contact at the fair.
But Jill just shrugged his worries off; she’s even prepared a feather-topped bakewell tart that she’s plating individually for them, something that LJ notices; she usually leaves the entire thing in the middle of the table for everybody to serve themselves, but she’s being very measured today. He doesn’t know what that means, and it makes him wary, especially after her drunken assumptions the other day.
Besides, LJ is not entirely familiar with Isaac yet, so he can’t exactly be too comforting nor accommodating. All the closeness they have is from their past, along with the little tender moment they shared the other day, and that’s about it; he hasn’t forgiven Isaac yet, and he has to agree with Jill that the best way to test him is to see how he interacts with other people.
“I hope you’re not feeling too uncomfortable.” Jill puts the plates on the table while giving Isaac a beam. “It was me who insisted on meeting you again, so I would understand.”
“Oh, no! It’s fine, really!” Isaac lifts his hands. “I could’ve just said no if I wasn’t sure. Thank you for this.” He eyes the tart with curiosity.
Jill sits down. “I wanted to try baking something from Britain, since you lived there for a long time. Although you might not have tried it...” She scratches her temple.
Isaac’s smile is apologetic. “I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it. I’m sorry I can’t give you any comparison criticism about it, though.”
“That’s fine. I’m used to the boys praising my work, but they might just be trying to please me—,” Jill glances at LJ innocently. “—so I’d like to hear a new opinion on my skills as a baker.”
LJ glares at Jill with offense. “Why would I lie about such a thing? You know how horrible I am at pretending that I like something when I don’t!” He grabs her cheek and tugs, and she complains. “Are you trying to pick up a fight with me? Huh?”
Meanwhile, amused at their bickering, Isaac tries the tart: his eyes shine as he chews it. “It’s very good. I love raspberries.”
“Ah you boh shynchonizhed, oh wha?” Jill questions as LJ keeps on tugging at her cheek; she pushes his hand away. “LJ also likes them.” Isaac makes a happy face at her words, while LJ is ready to either tell her to shut her mouth or cover it himself; she keeps her hands prepared to stop him, just in case he decides to do precisely that. “But I’m glad to get such a direct opinion. I’ve gotten used to hearing moans whenever my baking is tasted.” She laments, putting a hand to her cheek. “Jason doesn’t, because he rarely tries what I make. And Jonathan because he’s polite, unlike you and Eric.”
“Because that’s the easiest way to convey our feelings, and Jonathan is the only one who hasn’t yet been corrupted.” LJ rolls his eyes, then widens them on second thought; those sapphire blue eyes glint with mischief. “Wait, actually—!”
Jill covers LJ’s mouth with a hand before he can say something inappropriate. She gives him a pointed look. “No need for Isaac to know that right now. Table manners, Jacky!”
Isaac raises an eyebrow for a moment, but quickly shrugs their antics off. “And have you both been friends for long?” He inquiries, putting another bit of the tart in his mouth.
“Since first year of college. We both majored in theater arts, and she’s been stuck to me ever since.” LJ sees Jill pout, indignant, and he sticks his tongue out. “We’ve been friends for six years in total.”
As Isaac keeps asking questions, and both him and Jill answer him to the best of their ability, LJ realizes that his worries might have been for nothing. He thought things would be more complicated, that bringing Isaac along might have been a miscalculation on his part. Alas, their interactions aren’t as cold as he thought they would be, nor has he felt any traces of the initial fury of their reunion. Sure, there are times when they both become awkward, unsure if their actions are proper, given how much time they’ve spent apart, but they fall right back into the familiar bickering they had back in the day, with the plus of now being able to share dirtier and darker jokes.
Isaac is not being a dick towards Jill; no indirect comments, no jabs, no nasty glances, no hints of jealousy, no red flags. He truly seems happy that LJ has a supportive group of friends, and came here to prove that he wants to involve himself in his life again.
And Jill is not being scathing towards Isaac. He had feared Isaac would feel too left out, that Jill would find fault in him, that they’d both be uncomfortable in each other’s company; but relief overthrows that notion when he jokes and Jill adds to the joke in a way that includes Isaac, who chuckles at them both. This has led to Isaac growing comfortable and making jokes of his own, to which LJ and Jill can’t help but react by sharing a cackle. They both start joking amongst themselves even, and tease LJ together.
LJ is feeling that warm, nostalgic feeling he missed for so long seeping into reality.
And Jill is also surprised for that same reason; because she’s not feeling jealous in the slightest. Whenever the conversation flows more between the two old friends, merely because they get engrossed in their back and forth, she thinks she’ll feel the need to monopolize LJ’s time, but she never does. In fact, she laughs at them many times, which makes the two boys laugh in return.
Isaac has something that she could never obtain: a good chunk of LJ’s good childhood memories, which he was a big part of. Despite this, and considering what LJ has told her about him and their private talk, Isaac truly doesn’t seem like a bad guy; he’s just a man that became bitter due to the course his life took, like mostly everybody without a supportive environment has at some point, but he was capable of turning his ways around before he did something irredeemable.
She’s been observing LJ’s interactions with Isaac throughout the evening; they do so with caution, but also with clear knowledge of each other in certain aspects. Even so, she still has some tests to run on him, and the next one comes when LJ goes to the bathroom; she knows he might be able to hear them from there, but she doesn’t mind. It’s not like they haven’t talked about this beforehand, or as if her actions could truly surprise him.
“Hey, Isaac.” Jill catches the blond’s attention. “I can tell that you’re a good guy, and I’m thrilled to think that LJ will have you back in his life…” She leans forward. “...but if you hurt him, I’ll use your blood to make this tart next time I try it. Blood is a good substitute for eggs, you know? Might add a nice tangy hint to it.”
Isaac blinks at her, taken aback at first, but then he chuckles. “I find that reasonable. I’m glad he’s had someone like you beside him for a long time. You’re a good person.” He leans forward too, and whispers. “By the way, it’s quite obvious that you like him.”
“Shhh!” Jill hushes him, blushing through her makeup. “We don’t talk about that! He doesn’t like me back, so I’m letting go of those feelings.”
Isaac lifts his eyebrows. “Did he friendzone you?” He blinks repeatedly. “You? You’re definitely a catch!”
Jill brushes him off with a gesture. “I know I am.” She grins, knowing she’s not being very humble, but Isaac laughs along. “But what he did is even worse.” She makes a somber face. “He sisterzoned me.”
Isaac throws his head back and guffaws as LJ returns; he eyes them both with suspicion. “What were you two talking about just now, you pair of loons?”
“About how much of a clown you are. Sit back down.” Jill pats his seat as she smiles innocently.
LJ squints his eyes at her. “Anyway, now that you’ve finished your tart.” He turns to Isaac with the glint of gossip in his eyes; he rests his chin on both of his hands. “We’re five in our friend group: me, Jilly, Eric, Jason and Jonathan. Jason, that moody toymaker, because that’s the best way to describe him, has never been as close to any of us. Jill and I were the first to arrive fresh from college, then Eric came, then him; he was volatile with all of us, and then—boom! John comes to the picture, and he’s all over him; it’s Jason who’s been keeping him alive by pure brute force, because the dude has a mean depression. My point is: why would Jason go out of his way to help him, hmm?” He lifts his head at Isaac, daring him to suggest something else to what he’s thinking. “That’s right: it’s romance!”
“But it’s strange how different Jonathan seemed after—” Jill coughs. “—their restroom assignation, if you dare be so bold. He seemed too relaxed.”
LJ gives one of his ‘I’m about to say a brutality’ smirks. “A good handjob or blowjob never hurt anyone.”
Isaac snorts, then lifts his hands. “Don’t you two think you might be jumping to conclusions? Perhaps they simply talked. Besides, Jonathan is an actor, isn’t he? Maybe he was just pretending to be relaxed but couldn’t fake it well because you were both looking at him funny.”
LJ and Jill look at each other in consideration. They look back at him. “You might be right on the second part, because we do tend to look at people weirdly when we’re excited, but I’m damn sure those two did something in there, and you can’t change my mind!” He flicks his hair back.
Jill leans forward. “Besides, they were very touchy-touchy, their lips were swollen, and Jason was being too suspicious without confirming anything we asked.” She lifts a forefinger and pulls on the lower lid of her left eye. “The eye of a nutcase is never wrong. The nutcase being me, of course, plus confirmation from the bigger nutcase.” She gestures towards LJ.
Isaac is laughing and shaking his head. “You both share the same braincell!”
“But do you know what LJ lacks that I don’t?” Jill inquires with a wiggle of her brows. “Tits.” She flicks her hair back and hits LJ with it.
Isaac giggles, while LJ gapes his mouth at her in disbelief. “Oh, I’m very sorry for not developing a nice pair of boobas! At least I can be easily spotted, unlike you with your pocket-sized body!” He looks her up and down.
Jill grins at LJ. “You do have the constitution of a skyscraper. The only one that surpasses you is Mr. Holzer.”
“Ugh!” LJ throws his head back. “Don’t remind me of him, or I’ll have wet dreams tonight!”
They continue talking merrily for a while, and Jill is happy to see how LJ finally relents and lets go of his pride; it would’ve only eaten away at him and kept him from doing what he desires.
She’s listening to them bicker and poke at each other again, when her house phone rings. She stands up and picks it up. “Hello, this is Jill.” She widens her eyes. “And why is that?”
“He’s tall, and dark, and handsome, and has main male love-interest vibes, and is dark, and handsome—” LJ stops babbling on about Mr. Holzer and making Isaac laugh as the sound of the phone hitting the wall distracts them; it hangs while still wobbling up and down on the cord, since Jill must’ve dropped it suddenly.
Jill is statue-still.
“Jill?” LJ calls out to her, immediately alarmed. “What’s going on, sweetie?”
Jill can’t answer; she’s still trying to comprehend what she’s been told, still trying to grasp this new reality. She feels cold, shocked, in denial. She’s looking down at the phone as if it were the materialization of the worst affront she could’ve ever suffered, as if it had delivered the news from the darkest corners of hell, as if its mere existence went against the rules of reality. She looks at it with wide, shocked eyes, as if daring it to repeat the words she just heard, to repeat what in no way has happened. Her heart says so, it’s simply impossible!
But if what her heart denies is actually the truth, she’ll lose the little color she has left in her.
She blinks. She blinks, and blinks, and blinks, and all that blinking is good for nothing, because she can’t see. Her sight, apart from blurry, is not focusing anywhere. All she can perceive is her inner voice, repeating what the voice on the other line just told her, tormenting her further.
“Jillian?” LJ tries again, noticing that Isaac has mirrored his worry. When he receives no answer, he stands up and approaches Jill; he delicately puts each of his hands on her shoulders and analyzes her blank expression. “What’s wrong?”
Jill finally registers Jack’s voice; the voice of her kin. “...She’s dead.” She answers, more to herself than as an answer to LJ’s inquiries, as if trying to let it register and not letting her heart be blind to the circumstances. She accepts that the call was very much real, and not a nightmarish figment of her imagination. She blinks, pouts, frowns, and lets the tears spill. In a whispered wheeze, she declares: “Mary is dead!”
LJ has the same difficulty to believe the news as she has. Even so, he hugs her, and looks at Isaac apologetically. The blond man nods, looking no less concerned for Jill, but takes the hint and leaves the house. After a while of consoling her without much success, he retries. “What exactly were you told, by who?”
Jill sobs. “I-it was her m-mother. S-she told m-me I wouldn’t have to b-babysit her anymore b-because—” She sniffs loudly. “—she d-died suddenly. T-they found out she had a b-brain tumor after the autopsy.”
LJ frowns in confusion. “How did they not realize the kid had a brain tumor?” He knows Jill is not in the best state to answer such questions, but he can’t help but blurt it out.
“B-because they’re both p-pieces of shit who n-never cared for her!” Jill whines, fisting her hands on his clothes. “I t-told them about her headaches, d-dizziness and nausea, again and again, b-but they haven’t ever taken her to get checked b-because they didn’t mind if that something was g-going on! And they probably don’t care n-now that she died!”
LJ can’t believe what he hears. “Won’t they be prosecuted for literally neglecting their child’s health?”
Jill shakes her head violently. “T-they’re well off, so they’ll win even if they get a negligence charge. Even if I w-wanted to testify, I never signed a c-contract, so I have no p-proof of working for them. I’ve already lost b-before even trying…!”
LJ tightens her hold on her; he reaches behind Jill to take a paper napkin from its box on the counter. He gives it to her. “I’m going to talk to Hans and the rest to let them know. Would you like me to call EJ over?” She nods through her blowing. “Okay. Why don’t you go lay down on your bed? I’ll be back soon.”
⦻
“Goddamnit, does no one know how to take care of their children, or what? Why have them if they won’t take responsibility?” EJ gets in, simmering for a change; his face bears a rare scowl. “It’s quite easy: feed them, clothe them, check their health, talk and listen to them and love them. What is so complicated about it?”
“That you have to be a good person, be in a good mindset and have mental stability in order to be a good parent. Something many people lack.” LJ answers, mirroring EJ’s grim emotions. He looks down at the bag EJ carries. “What did you bring there?”
“Bun bo nam bo; brothless noodles for the girlie. Food is one of the very few things that could slightly cheer her up now.” EJ leaves the bag on the kitchen table. He faces LJ’s general direction. “...I feel like beating someone up.”
“No wonder. I don’t feel dissimilar.” LJ opens the door to her bedroom; Jill is lying on her bed, in a fetal position. He feels sad seeing her like this; her gray eyes are bloodshot, her makeup is ruined, her hair is disheveled and tangled, and she has tear and mascara streaks on her face. A broken porcelain doll. “She’s on the bed.” He whispers, not wanting to startle her.
“EJ?” Jill lifts her head, having heard them. As she sits up.
“In the flesh.” EJ jokes lightly, and approaches her carefully; she quickly reaches out and grabs his hands, not wanting him to trip over, even though she knows that he’s memorized the layout of her bedroom, and nothing is in his way. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” He’s quick to give his condolences.
Jill bites her lower lip. She doesn’t want to thank him, nor does she want to keep crying her eyes out; what she wants should be evident, and she knows they’ll understand her when she voices it out. “I want to kill her parents.”
“So do we.” LJ leans on the doorframe while EJ takes a seat beside Jill. He can see the bubbling rage behind her eyes, a very rare vision in his friend. “We might not love the child as much as you do, but we’re still livid that those two wastes of space let her die.”
“Nononono, you don’t get it!” Jill shakes her head with a bitter smile. “I want to kill them. Really kill them! I want to ask Toby if he has any chainsaws or something, and use it to rip them apart into chunks!”
“We also feel that way, dear, but we can’t go around killing people as we please.” EJ squeezes her hands. “I can’t give you any logical advice this once. Mourning is what it is.”
Jill taps her foot repeatedly. “...I’m not bluffing.” Her smile is lopsided, anxious. “If I don’t get my hands dirty, someone else will. I’m not letting them get away with it.”
LJ sighs; Jill can be very hard headed when she wants to be, and he knows she’s not kidding. As good-hearted as she is, her anger and thirst for revenge is always well-justified, and she feels emotions very intensely, as he himself does. “You’re not thinking straight right now, Jill.” Even so, she must see reason: she can’t kill them. It’s not that he thinks it would be wrong for her to do so, but rather, he’d prefer if Jill didn’t subject herself to such violence and the consequences that would be the result from the whole ordeal; it’s very easy to lose oneself in those emotions and to get addicted to the high of vengeance.
“I’m thinking the straightest I’ve ever thinked!” Jill has her eyes focused on the floor, wide open. “Mary was neglected emotionally; she would often tell me how much she wished her parents gave her the littlest bit of attention!” She cries again. “I should’ve taken her to get checked, to hell with the consequences, and now I would at least have some proof to take them to court! But I can’t even avenge her!” She covers her eyes with a trembling hand and sobs.
EJ hugs her with an arm, and starts plotting.
⦻
Jeff doesn’t shy away from looking into those unwavering blue eyes that don’t betray any kind of emotion; they didn’t react when they first saw him for the first time at the fair, and they don’t react now, which are details worthy of note all on their own.
If he thought Dina was tricky to understand, he didn’t know what was coming for him: Helen Otis is, in his particular way, as eccentric as everybody he’s met since moving here. He barely moves his face, and he doubts he ever smiles; Jeff suspects the man dislikes using his muscles, as if showing emotion were similar to opening himself like a book. He looks expressionless, almost serious, because that is the way his androgynous face is.
Jeff has also noticed the meticulous way Helen does absolutely everything, without fail: how precise his movements are, how delicately he touches and takes things and puts them back right on their previous spot and position just as gently, how measured each of the words that come out of his mouth are, as few as they come. He’s comfortable in his mechanic ways, for they give them great control in order to lack margin of error.
Whatever is lurking behind Helen’s skillfully crafted mask, Jeff knows it’s not something to be reckoned with. He has the weird impression that he’s looking at the personification of his own sticky, honeyed, righteous sadism. It’s looking right back at him, boldly daring him to indulge, all while pretending to be prim and proper; the perfect example of someone apt for high society.
He hears the glossy wooden floorboards protest under light footsteps. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?” Dina offers Jeff one last time as she comes from behind the couch he’s seated on.
Jeff doesn’t tear his eyes from Helen’s as she sets her cup down on the low table; the eyes that return the stare are not defiant, but merely assessing, stripped of any worry that their intensity might come across as rude. But he’s behaving the exact same way, if not so blank-faced, so it wouldn’t be fair to call Helen impolite because of it. “Yes, I’m sure.” He declines once more. He doubts they have anything like beer, and he wouldn’t accept it either way; he’s come here out of curiosity, to see what they’re made of, to play. Not to drink and chat freely like he would with the rest.
He doesn’t think they have any insidious intentions, but chatting with an alcoholic beverage would take the essence off of this experience; he knows that whatever is about to transpire will be one hell of a ride, and he’s excited to see how it turns out.
Dina takes the seat beside Helen, to his left. She sits gracefully and with absolute confidence in the safety she feels, as if she didn’t just sit next to a literal menace, as if Helen were a common creature. Not that she’s one herself, or that Jeff is, for that matter. “I’m glad you decided to visit. I’ve wanted for us to chat for a while now.” She crosses her legs, and leaning forward, rests her chin on the back of her hand. She rests her elbow on her leg. “Did you give any thought to what we talked about the other day?”
Jeff smiles slightly. “Yes, I have. Not much, though, since we both already knew what’s going on inside my head.” He eyes them both. “On that topic, I guess you both don’t regret your killings either, do you?”
“We don’t, but I have to point out that what Helen did was an accident.” Dina mirrors his little smile.
Jeff’s smile turns into a skeptical grin; he squints his eyes at Helen, almost challenging. “Bullshit.”
Helen remains as cool as a cucumber. Dina seems amused; she hums. “And what makes you say that?”
“He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’d commit silly little mistakes of that magnitude.” Jeff suggests to Dina, then locks eyes with Helen. “That Tom guy pissed you off somehow, so you made it look like an accident and saved face by pretending to try to save him.” He searched Helen up before coming here, for he’s not the type to go unprepared.
Helen maintains his silence; he’s still analyzing Jeff silently, not bothering to correct or confirm what he just said.
“After having the gall to befriend him and gain his trust, Tom confessed to him that he was the one who put a stolen watch on his backpack, incriminating him. He’s the reason why Helen suffered constant harassment and beatings from his classmates. He felt considerably betrayed.” Dina explains smoothly. Helen has now snapped his eyes at her, although he still looks as relaxed as a moment ago. “But returning to you, I’m curious as to what it is that you actually think about what you did.”
Jeff shrugs. “You’re very good at reading people. Why don’t you try to make your own guess?”
“My guess is that you feel both sentiments as the truth at the same time: one side of you fights for what society deems the right emotions to feel, and the other fights for your own personal feelings on the matter. But I only care about the second.” Dina tucks her blonde hair behind her ear. “Why were you so adamant that Nina doesn’t follow your steps? What is it to you?”
“I suffered by killing my parents, and I made loved ones suffer. I merely advised her not to fuck up her life on a whim. Like you, I could see that she would’ve gone through with it, had I not advised her against it; it’s very easy to lose yourself in that addictive feeling when your sanity is hanging by a thread.” Jeff touches his cheek absentmindedly. “Think of it as a selfish desire of my own. You could’ve also not helped her, yet you did, so we’re not that different. What was it to you? Did you feel a sense of justice?” He knows Dina is trying to use her uncanny abilities to test him, but he can perfectly test her back, since he’s not bad at understanding intentions and motives himself.
“...Interesting.” Dina takes her tea cup from the coffee table. “You should know by now that Natalie is a time ticking-bomb. She’s getting fed up about her problems, and she views Toby as a glimpse of love she’s never had before. She might get too attached to what he represents, and by consequence, to him.”
Jeff considers her words with concern; he cares for Natalie as much as Dina does; that, he won’t put to question, for he knows she has no malicious intentions towards their friend. “I can’t stop her from exploding; we all reach a breaking point here. All I can do is help her contain the explosion so that it doesn’t become catastrophical, if she even lets me help her. And I think Toby already behaves healthily enough; she might need some hits in order to calibrate how she should respond to them. Her getting attached to him might be the best out of all the outcomes possible.”
“Have your desires been sated, Jeffrey?” Helen suddenly asks, breaking his silence; he’s been calmly observing Jeff while he engaged in conversation with Dina. He elaborates when Jeff tilts his head and squints his eyes in confusion. “Were your parents all you wanted to purge?”
Jeff chuckles as if he had just been told a lame joke. “Was Tom all you wanted to purge?” He responds with intention.
Dina glances at them both, eyes glowing with anticipation. The Jeff they’re talking to right now is closer to the glimpse she viewed as he explained his merry familial and neighborly stabbing-spree to Nina. Not only does she want to get to know him further, but she can learn more about Helen through their interaction. ‘Why is he asking Jeff questions, when he normally wouldn’t care? Does he do it because he knows it will appease me, or due to personal curiosity? Will he give short, straight-to-the-point answers? Will he be as convoluted with Jeff as he is with me?’ She can barely contain her smile; her excitement is overflowing. She focuses her black gaze on Helen, eagerly awaiting his response.
Helen tilts his head slightly. “Our answers are one and the same.” He crosses his legs and interlaces his hands. “Isn’t it tiring to suppress your whims?”
“You should know that better than I do; you control everything from where your eyes look, to the muscles of your face, and the people that surround you. Was it hard to feign perturbation and confusion with Dr. Elmer Christopher?” Despite the strange ambience, Jeff is certainly entertained by their conversation.
“If I ever deceived him, it’s because he let himself be deceived.” Helen taps his fingers on the armrest, perfectly content. “What an inadequate psychiatrist, one who cannot see the signs of manipulation in a patient, don’t you think?”
Jeff frowns through his smile. He’s noticed the way Helen has with words; how he twists and pushes and pulls, then tries to throw the ball to the other person, all to paint himself in the best light. “You can’t blame a person for seeing you a certain way, when you place a specific light beaming onto you in an angle that favors you.”
“He chose to think of me like that. He adjusted the angle of that light all on his own.” Helen blinks various times. “You didn’t pretend because you didn’t have to. Your mind truly warped, rancor and revenge aside.”
“As if what happened to you didn’t warp your mind.” Dina comments, adding to their conversation; she wants to spice things up, since there’s details unknown to Jeff. “Treated like a girl for the first six years of your life, then your parents changed the tune and said you were a boy without explanation. Then came the bullying from your classmates after Tom made you the focus, harassment which continued even after his death, because they labeled you a weirdo.”
“Ah, typical parents who make their child feel inadequate, am I right?” Jeff smiles with sympathy, then frowns. “To change your child’s gender based on your own selfish whims is really low.”
“My parents had their reasons to treat me that way.” Helen answers them both, still calm. But Jeff doesn’t focus on his face, nor his behavior, nor his body language; he focuses on his words, which denote defensiveness, justification. The reason for this, Jeff doesn’t know.
“We both know those reasons don't justify their actions.” Dina grins while turning to Helen, verbalizing Jeff’s exact thoughts; they’ve reached the topic she had been long waiting for. Her tango with Helen has just begun. “You’ve never visited them after you were discharged, not even once, and you know why. Stop pretending like their breeding struggles vindicate what they did to you.”
Helen decides not to honor her with an answer.
Dina is undeterred. “You yourself have wondered what it would’ve been like, had you been assigned female at birth. They’ve molded you like this, thinking that something is wrong with you. Would you have turned out the way you are if you had felt safe enough to tell them of what was going on at school? You felt inadequate in their eyes and learned that there’s no point in voicing out your feelings. Who would confide in such parents?” She continues digging.
“My parents loved me.” Helen states without emotion.
Jeff doesn’t know that much about him, yet can’t help but raise an eyebrow. ‘Maybe they did love you despite that, but not as is due; not as a child deserves. If that is what love is, my parents and Dina’s father must be the best of the best.’ He refrains from chuckling and keeps his opinion to himself, for he knows that Dina will voice it out for them both.
Dina giggles; it sounds forced, artificial, exaggerated. “You’re either delusional or just pulling my leg. Knowing you, it’s likely the second; another one of your games. But I’ll play with gusto.” Her fake smile drops, giving her a threatening aura; no matter if this is a game, her sense of justice flares from within. “Where are your parents right now? Did they seek you out after you got discharged from the mental hospital?”
Jeff can see what lurks behind Dina’s black eyes and ever growing grin; she finds sadistic satisfaction in delivering reality checks in the most brutal ways, all to bring equilibrium to the scale that is currently irksomely unbalanced.
“Should you kiss their feet because they made sure to clothe you and feed you? Should you praise them for fulfilling the responsibilities they assumed on their own volition when they decided to conceive you?” Dina rests her right hand on the backrest and inches closer to Helen. He doesn’t flinch. “They tried to fit you in a mold that is not shaped for you; they didn’t love you as you deserved because you weren’t born with a vagina! And they didn’t take responsibility for what they created via their neglect. They’re as guilty as your abusive classmates.” She’s now inches away from Helen’s face, but she quickly turns to stare at Jeff. “He wasn’t put in a hospital because of what happened with Tom, but because of how they found him after he killed thirteen of his classmates.”
Jeff widens his eyes like plates. ‘Thirteen?!’ Meanwhile, Helen is staring at Dina with lidded eyes; Jeff is quite sure her snitching on him has ticked him off.
“He was unresponsive when they found him; they thought he had survived the killings and was left severely traumatized, so he got away with it because he left no evidence. What a coronary Dr. Christopher and Judy George would have if they realized that he gutted Maggie and painted the walls with her blood—!” Dina covers her own mouth, pretending to regret her words. She lowers her hand slowly. “...oops.” She gives Helen a big grin. “My bad!”
The intensity of Helen’s stare has risen tenfold. He won’t even blink anymore.
Jeff cackles at them both; Dina turns to him, unfazed, while Helen’s stare is more chillingly unsettling. He points at them with a single finger. “You two have a hella weird relationship!” He stands up, because as much as he finds them both agreeable, he doesn’t want to be here any longer; it’s getting too messy and personal really fast. “Nice chat, but I think I’m gonna leave you to it. If you think I’ll spill the beans, you can ask EJ where I live.” He turns around and makes his way towards the exit. “I’ll walk myself out. Bye!”
Helen and Dina stare at each other until they hear the entrance door close.
“...I can picture how you’ve made the association.” Helen is relaxed despite his piercing stare; he’s referring to his killing spree, since he has never disclosed his protagonistic role in that to Dina. But he’s not surprised, since she also figured out that his project is not finished all on her own. “And I can see that it doesn’t surprise you, either.”
“I’m glad you don’t deny it. It would be in vain.” Dina looks at her tea cup, empty on the table. “...If you don’t kill those two, I will.” Her tone drops.
“Why?” Helen keeps his eyes on her. “Will you feel like you’ve avenged me?”
Dina gives him a coquettish side-glance. “This is not just about you. They can’t go without a sentence.” Helen blinks, looking around the room, but she knows he’s not distracted. “Are you mad that I stripped your mask before Jeff?”
“Jeffrey understands the feelings that led to my actions on a personal level. He won’t tell a soul.” Helen focuses his sight on Dina’s empty cup on the table, avoiding her gaze, those eyes that see too well, but her blunt deliveries are what’s most acerbic.
Dina lifts a hand; she cups his jaw and turns his head, making Helen focus on her. “That doesn’t answer my question. I want a simple, short and direct answer: yes or no?”
“No.” Helen responds, for the sake of keeping his protective mask on for as long as he can, although he knows it’s slipping. He knew Dina wanted more, wanted to get closer, but he didn’t expect her to go to such lengths to make him go through with his part of their agreement. But then again, it’s not like he’s ever straightforward; he might’ve made her too desperate.
“...You’re good at lying, but I’m getting the gist of you. You’ve given me your honest answer, regardless.” Dina rubs his cheek affectionately, as if she were prodding his mask to make it fall sooner. “You don’t get to be upset that I used your methods against you.” But Helen is human, despite what he may want others to believe; logic won’t make his feelings disappear. She lifts her other hand to cup his other cheek. “I have to find ways to make you open up, because you won’t do it on your own. How do you expect me to see you when you hide from me?”
Helen locks eyes with her. Dina’s words definitely piqued his interest; the mask has been urged to fall, but it’s not off yet; it’s clinging onto him fiercely, as desperate to stay as she is to rip it off.
“I’ve had to feel your constant doubt of me. You thought I would leave, that I was just pretending to like what I saw, that I would trick you. You’ve given me little hints to provoke me and made me work my brain tired to understand what you wanted to convey. You’ve twisted conversations to avoid being judged and to test me. It was painful, but I understood and played along. I wanted you to comprehend a sliver of that pain.” Dina takes his fringe out of his face. “Your doubts hurt me, just like they hurt you. For this to work, we have to trust each other. What I just did was a wake up call and proof of what I am; I’m letting you see me in return, but do you really want to see me?”
Dina doesn’t know the extent of Helen’s interest in her, but she knows it’s highly conditioned, and Helen is not communicating. As good as she is at reading him, there are things she cannot guess; she can only know what he wants if he tells her directly, so he must overcome those fears, and she may fulfill his conditions. She needs reciprocity—true reciprocity, not just another well-made and well-worn mask to appease her for a while, nor their delightful mind-games.
“...I do.” Helen blinks several times; his displeasure dissipates, giving place to acquiescent forgiveness and private self-reflection. Dina can see the inner workings of his mind through his eyes, concocting. “I will put you to the test. If you pass that test, I will give you more of what you desire. I can’t show it all in one go; you can’t expect that of me.”
Dina’s eyes twinkle; this is better than nothing. “How?”
Helen tilts his head. “You wish to sentence my parents. Do it where I can see it.” He lifts a hand, and touches her cheek.
Dina couldn’t be more exalted.
Wednesday.
“She’ll go to her friend's house again. They’ve become quite close lately.” Natalie tries to entertain Jill as they walk around; she needs all the support she can get, so Natalie is glad to have some free time for her today. Jeff and Ben, who are walking behind them along with Smile, EJ and LJ in front of them; they all have the evenings free this week, unlike her, since she only has today free. Jill won’t be alone through her early mourning.
They’ve just returned from the park. Ben is adamant on overcoming his aquaphobia, and everyone else is hellbent on supporting him through the self-therapy process. They all knew Ben would be wary of the lake to a considerable extent; unsurprisingly, his reaction when close to it had been of calm dread and unblinking eyes, as if he expected the lake would respawn right below him and swallow him whole like some kind of whimsical anomaly.
“And what are her parents like?” Jill asks; she’s a little worn out, but still well-put. She’s changed her usually frilly dresses, elaborate updos and complex makeup for simpler and more comfortable alternatives, and she’s wearing flat shoes that won’t leave her feet destroyed after walking around the neighborhood, but without breaking her overall victorian-clown aesthetic.
Natalie wants to answer truthfully, but her response might only fuel Jill’s frustration. “I would say they’re a little bit too trusting. But Sally is well loved, and I do have a contract signed.” She adds quickly; Jill already knows about the kid’s uncle, so she might have hatred to spare for Sally’s parents. She doesn’t want to feed her sorrow. “I come to the park with her sometimes. I could introduce you both, if you’d like, and recommend you as an emergency nanny?” She offers, both wishing to uplift her and refocus her attention onto something that won’t irk her further.
Jill considers it; she loves children, and Natalie’s depiction of Sally is very sweet. Of course, no one could ever fill the emptiness Mary has left behind, but she doesn’t think Mary would be happy if she closed her heart to loving other children as she loved her. “That would be very nice.” She manages to give Natalie a weak smile of gratitude, and Natalie squeezes her hand.
Natalie understands her rancor; she herself felt it for Sally when her uncle still posed a menace for her and her parents wouldn’t see it, and she also feels it for her own parents. She has felt the wish to dispose of them in horrid ways, worse in the specific case of her brother. She’d rather not think about him at all, lest her mood plummet to irrecoverable depths.
They’re now walking near the woods; Smile relieves his bladder by watering a mossy tree and shaking his leg right after, then continues sniffing around. His ears twitch this way and that as he listens to the different birds tweeting and chirping somewhere above them, but he quickly gets bored and returns to his guardian’s side, only to start a tug-of-war with Jeff and his leash.
“I’m scared of what we’ve planned for this Saturday.” Ben suddenly admits, sheepish.
Jeff gives him an empathetic side look. “That’s understandable.” He rests his right arm around Ben’s shoulders and keeps playing with Smile with his other hand; the dog keeps his eyes wide as he yanks on the improvised toy. “Try not to think of it too much if you can help it. We won’t do anything you’re not prepared to do.”
Ben appreciates his support. “...You know, EJ was right when he said you’re a scare of a man.” Jeff turns to him with a fake affronted look. “But you’re the coolest dude I’ve ever met, and my first friend.”
Jeff widens his eyes. “For real?” He would be lying if he said he doesn’t feel smug about it, but it’s sad to know that Ben didn’t have a single friendship to rely on until now.
“Unless you count Hubris.” Ben gives him a funny look, in clear disagreement of that ridiculous notion, and Jeff gives him an amused grin in return. “Alex is only an acquaintance due to the shared experience of being in that cult and our abilities as hackers, but that’s about it.” His expression turns shameful.
“I didn’t have too many friends either.” Jeff tries to alleviate Ben’s embarrassment. “I did have more people to mingle with back at the previous neighborhood we lived in, but then we moved, so I only had those two.” His gaze turns melancholic.
Both of their attention is abruptly caught when they hear Natalie gasp in front of them; she looks nervous, while Jill and LJ wear knowing grins, and the latter is filling EJ on the situation.
They look to the direction their gazes are focused on, and Jeff quickly mirrors their mood: father away, inside the perimeter of Mr. Holzer’s property, they can see four figures engaging in some sort of training by fighting, and they all know the guy that is currently occupied with another woman: Toby.
“He’s sparring with Heather, and the other two that are sitting down on the grass are Kate and Wilson.” Jill quickly explains, eyeing Natalie from the corner of her eye. “They all work for Mr. Holzer.”
Natalie watches Toby as he moves with agility. He’s ditched his hoodie, so he only has his thermal black turtleneck on, and his hair is disheveled. His savage grin of glee and the glint of amusement in his eyes leave Natalie short of breath as he dodges back, down or to the side whenever Heather is about to hit him, and barely hesitates in his own blows, kicks and hits, although the woman is not unskilled in the slightest.
If Natalie had to make an evaluation without knowing much about fighting, she would conclude that they’re similar in level of skill, if it weren’t for Toby having the advantage (as well as the disadvantage) of feeling no pain when he receives a blow; he just keeps going, while she seems to struggle more in her quick recovery.
She goes through a mixture of emotions: while observing Toby fight has her slightly worried for him, she can’t help but admire his skill, and she even wishes she were as capable as them both at attacking and defending herself physically. Furthermore, she’s jealous of Heather—fit, strong and quick, and as close to Toby as she seems to be.
“Watch it, Nat.” She feels hands on her shoulders, and turns to her right to see Jeff eyeing her with a simper. “All that drooling is leaving a pool on the floor.”
“We don’t want Ben to be scared of another mass of water, do we?” LJ adds to Jeff’s jest.
While Jill and EJ cackle at their teasing and Ben contains his desire to chortle, Natalie is not so amused: with a deep blush and an unimpressed face, she slaps them both lightly on their arms, and they playfully jump back. When Jeff wiggles his bald eyebrows and LJ whistles, she cracks a flustered but genuine grin. “Shut up, you idiots!”
Ben, with his innocent-looking aura, takes hold of Natalie’s left wrist and tugs. “Let’s greet them! I have to talk with Mr. Holzer, anyway.” Jill is quick to grab Natalie’s other wrist, while Jeff pushes her from behind. Natalie has no other option but to surrender to her fate, although she’s not making any effort to break free; it’s not an undesirable fate by any means.
Once they get close enough to be in hearing proximity, but still a good stretch away from the fence, everybody but Toby notices them come near, as he now has his back to them. Heather contains a fiendish grin as she pants with exertion. “You might wanna turn around, Rogers.”
“Stop trying—” Toby whistles. “—to distract me, it’s not gonna work.” He answers hurriedly, irritated by what he considers a cheap attempt to trick him; he jerks his head, flicking his hair away from his face in the process, then wiggles his nose.
Heather leans forward and gives him the full simper she was containing. “Even if it’s your crush?” She whispers in order for the approaching visitors not to hear, raising her eyebrows.
Toby frowns and sniffs. “The fuck are you—?” He questions grumpily as he turns his head back, but his demeanor changes drastically as soon as he sees the group of seven on the other side of the fence, especially one in particular: his ready stance crumbles as he almost trips over himself. “—N-Natalie—!” He whimpers with surprised perplexity.
But he’s cut off by Heather happily pouncing on him like a dog and throwing him to the floor; she straddles him and does a small scratching motion with her hand on his neck. “I win.” Toby releases an annoyed huff, but doesn’t act like a sore loser.
And Natalie is green with jealousy at the display of closeness.
Heather stands up and approaches the visitors. “Hi, Jillian. How are you faring up, girl?” She caresses her face in a motherly fashion, and Jill gives her a soft smile. Then, she turns to Ben, Jeff and Natalie. “So you’re the new guys, huh? Toby has told us about you.”
Jeff bites his tongue; he wants to ask her if Toby has told her anything substantial, if he’s any closer to see his ship come true. But he can’t let a peep out, for Jill and Ben are now watching him carefully, knowing precisely what he’s thinking and ready to shut him up if necessary.
Heather now focuses her light brown eyes on Natalie. “Especially about you.” He gives her an ambiguous but friendly smile. Jeff almost chokes, grateful for the answer to the question he didn’t formulate.
Natalie doesn’t know how to feel now; all hostility she felt towards Heather has waned down because of her kind approach, and she’s glad to know that Toby talks about her to his coworkers, as they’ve apparently been good things by the looks of it. She doesn’t know what to make of it when Heather turns to check on a still laid down Toby, who is looking up at her with a very pointed look, hair a mess.
But Heather does very well know what to make of that glare. It says: “Say anything else, and I’ll set your house on fire!”
She chuckles to herself, deeming the message quite fitting for Toby. ‘Fucking arsonist.’ She turns back around to speak to Ben and Jeff. “Mr. Holzer is up there if you want to speak to him.” She points back to the veranda, where her boss is seated at a table with his friends.
“Yes, I will, thank you.” Ben enters the property by lifting himself over the wooden fence, and hops down onto the other side.
Natalie blinks, then turns to Jeff. “Is something wrong with his house?”
Jeff understands her confusion. Unfortunately, he won’t be able to enlighten her about Ben’s business. Besides, he’s also noticed Toby’s wary stare as he stands up with Wilson’s help, silently asking him not to give too many details, along with the harsh warning in Heather’s gaze. “Nope, just a little side-job Holzer’s given him about setting up a website.” He comes up with the excuse quickly, hoping the lie’s legs won’t be too short and that Natalie won’t catch up quickly.
But Natalie swallows it up no problem, and Heather’s sharp stare relaxes. Toby approaches from behind her. “Don’t you have to babysit Sally today?” He knows the little girl won’t be home this evening because Charlie, the Mathesons’ son, had blabbered to Mr. Holzer that she will be visiting him. And knowing how anxious Natalie is, she’d now have just finished lunch and would be getting ready to babysit if she had to go to work.
Natalie shakes her head, already growing nervous under his familiar stare. It’s simply what always happens whenever she sees Toby: the butterflies in her stomach start bumping the walls in a crazy and uncoordinated dance. “Mrs. Williams called me in the morning and told me she would spend the evening at her friend’s house again.”
Toby rests an arm on the fence and pouts exaggeratedly, almost grinning. “Why didn't you tell me?”
Before Natalie can feel the teasing get to her fully, Heather puts a hand on Toby’s shoulder, looking mischievous. “And why would she, when she’s clearly occupied?” She pokes fun at him as easily as breathing. Toby gives her a wide-eyed glare, a rosy tint on his cheeks; Heather ignores it and turns to Jill, offering her hand. “Mr. Beraht and Mr. Schneider have been worried about you; they would be overjoyed to see you.” Jill accepts her hand and lifts herself over the fence carefully, letting Heather set her down; they both go towards the veranda.
“Wait, Jilly, I’ll go too!” LJ swiftly jumps over the fence, looking amused for some reason. He turns to EJ. “You’ll come with, right?”
“Obviously.” EJ hops over on his own, despite the help offered by Kate and Wilson. He turns to the general direction of Jeff and coughs suspiciously before letting himself be guided.
Jeff has caught on. Since he also wants to give these two space, he does what he must: smoke bomb. “I’ll go check how Ben is doing.” Giving a pleading-eyed Natalie a small grin, he lets go of Smile’s leash for the dog to crouch under the fence, and he climbs it over; he walks in the direction of the house, although Smile slows them down considerably as he takes his time to peruse the grass.
It’s only the two of them now; both have noticed the sudden en masse deserting, and are now awkward despite their acquaintance.
Natalie hesitates for a moment, but eventually rests both of her hands on the fence, ready to answer his previous question. “Jill is having a hard time with Mary’s death and Ben is stressed with trying to get over his aquaphobia, so I wanted to be there for them.” She speaks while looking at the wooden tables of the fence, feeling unreasonably guilty.
Her breath hitches when Toby turns his body to face her completely and rests his hands on hers; she looks at him, and he seems apologetic. “I know, Naty, I was just kidding. You don’t have to tell me whenever you’re free; it’s your time to do as you please with.” He rubs her hands. “I was busy too, as you can see, and—” He clicks his tongue. “—not because of work, yet I didn’t tell you because I had already made plans.”
Natalie feels relieved; his words are so logical that they’re redundant, but she did feel a little guilty at his joke by taking it at face value. The reminder that she doesn’t owe him her free time calms her insecure mind, not just because it’s something she must accept for her own sake and improvement, but because it reminds her that Toby doesn’t expect her to sacrifice herself for him.
She gives him a grateful smile and moves onto another topic. “You fought well.” She has a few other points she’d like to explore around what she’s seen, although doing so won’t be as easy. She’s curious about his relationship with Heather, if sparring is something they often do, and if he would be willing to teach her, since he’s so skilled.
Toby grins, letting Natalie know that he’s about to start teasing her, as usual. “So you’ve been watching me for a while, huh?” He jerks his head, then blinks various times. “Didn’t think I had an audience for that long. Was I that interesting to watch?”
Natalie avoids Toby’s smug look, looking away. “Yes. And I’m not being sarcastic, it really was.” She can feel Toby’s happy aura like a beam. Then, she tries to turn the subject into a particular path quickly. “Is Heather your coworker?”
“Yep, so are the other two. The dude with the black shaggy hair is Wilson; he’s the one who sold me the buds the other day. The other girl is Kate.” Toby releases her hands and rests his right arm on the fence; he leans down and rests his cheek on his arm, but keeps his eyes on Natalie. “I’m glad that Mr. Holzer doesn’t mind romantic relationships between coworkers.”
The feeling that settles in Natalie’s chest is ugly, but she tries to not let it show, although she knows she definitely looks more serious now. “Why do you say that?”
Toby blinks at her lazily a few times, and Natalie fears he’s caught on. But then, he turns his head to put his other arm on the fence, and rests his chin on it instead. “Heather and Wilson have been together for a while now!” He drops cheerfully.
Natalie almost falls on her ass while the fake reality her mind had conjured up turns to dust, along with that feeling in her chest. ‘I’m not a clown, I’m an entire circus!’ She chastises herself, cringing at her unfounded jealousy, and feeling bad that she disliked Heather for a short amount of time due to her baseless assumption.
Fortunately for her, Toby doesn’t seem to notice; his eyes are closed and he looks content. “She didn’t have an easy time before—” He whistles. “—moving here, and Wilson has helped her immensely. We bicker quite a lot, but I care for her.” He jerks his head. “For the lot of them, actually.”
Natalie takes a moment to analyze him. Despite all of his struggles, he has a heart of gold for whoever he thinks deserves it; as much as he claims to be unable to stand LJ’s mocking, he always meets him once more, and she has no doubt that, even if he doesn’t admit it verbally, he’s also grown fond of Jeff and Ben. He seems to be the kind of guy that would move mountains in order to keep his loved ones happy, but neglects his own emotional needs.
“I’m glad she also found support here.” Natalie lowers her eyes to the grass, speaking honestly. “You’re a good person.” She eyes Toby, but he remains calm, and doesn’t further comment on her statement; Natalie knows he’s doubting whether her words reflect reality or not. “...I’d like to ask you a favor.” She dares to attempt.
That catches Toby’s attention; he turns to Natalie. “A favor?” He straightens his posture and focuses all his attention on her. “What do you need?”
Natalie swallows, touched by his eagerness to help her, but wary of his reaction to her request. “I’d like you to teach me to fight.” Then, she rethinks it. “I guess I should be fit first in order to do that well…”
Toby blinks through another jerk of his head, caught off guard. “Okay, I can do that. But why do you want me to?” When Natalie widens her eyes slightly, taken by surprise and unsure, he puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes. “I just didn’t expect that you’d ever ask that of me, so I’m curious to know if there’s any particular reason.”
“Several, actually.” Natalie purses her lips. “I would like to feel better about my body, but starving myself or puking what I eat is not the solution. I would like to learn how to improve my bodily resistance, gain muscle and lose fat from someone that knows how to do it safely. Along with achieving a better relationship with food, of course.” She threads through her hair to scratch her scalp. “I want to learn self-defense techniques, too, because I think it would come in handy if I ever need to apply them. Not that I hope such a situation ever arises. I also want to do something else with my life than just waking up, ruminating on the same things, babysitting Sally, trying to improve my art style and go back to ruminating; I want to have other hobbies, and a challenge such as this would be a good start, but I could never bring myself to go to a gym on my own, and I trust you…” She eyes Toby, checking.
Toby is giving her that twinkly stare and that close-mouthed beam that turns her insides to mush. He takes a deep inhale through his nose. “Alright, then. We’ll do as shorty wants. Are you free in the mornings?” He concedes with ease, his casual tone bringing a welcome normalcy to their conversation.
‘This is the reason I liked you from the start.’ Natalie’s gaze softens, and she gives him a tender smile of her own. “Yes, of course.”
Chapter Text
Wednesday.
Up on the long and spacious veranda, to the left, Jill is being hugged by both Hans and Elias; she can’t help but tear up a little bit under their affection. Joan also joins his friends and gives her his condolences.
To the right, Mr. Holzer and Ben are busy talking while sitting on the table, far from the hearing range of the other men and Jill. “So the issue with this artificial intelligence has been solved?” Mr. Holzer asks.
Ben nods. “It was quite hard to alter it, but getting rid of the cartridge would have meant wasting something that could give me leverage. I highly doubt they have any copies of the original thing, though.”
“Not even a spare, in case it went missing?” Mr. Holzer tilts his head.
Ben shakes his head. “The team that created this, though skillful, was very small. I know this thanks to the other survivor, who is on their tail and is as eager for them to disappear as I am. Duplicating such a colossal thing would’ve taken ages, been a huge waste of money and resources; since the original spreads on its own, it might not even turn out as they intended. I don’t think they even considered the low probability of losing it; they made it, then gave it to the cult leader, who was supposed to guard it until it was time to give it to someone else for them to sell after he killed me, but that went wrong as you already know.”
“Lack of anticipation of possible outcomes can easily lead to demise.” Mr. Holzer comments, pondering to himself. “How have you altered this artificial intelligence, exactly?”
“I’ve changed its original purpose: it still behaves insidiously, but only when it receives certain codes that the Eternity Project team used to engage with it and manipulate it to their benefit. For example, B.E.N. will react violently if they connect it to a Nintendo 64 and try to do their thing, and it’ll spread and infect their machinery, rendering it useless. If they were to release it to the internet, which would be stupid to do without checking how it behaves after all this time, it’ll travel to a specific website in which to lay dormant until I retrieve it back to seal. It’s a tool against them and the cult now, along with any other menace related to both, and only I can use it now.”
Mr. Holzer lowers his eyes. “…I believe I grasped the general explanation. I am not too fond of technology, you see.”
Ben releases a small chuckle, and rummages through his pocket. “I also came to give you this.” He takes out the Majora’s Mask cartridge, and hands it to Mr. Holzer.
Mr. Holzer blinks at it repeatedly, then rests his confused stare on Ben. “What is the reason for this handover?”
“As you say, anticipation is key. When they come for me, they’ll search me and my house up and down for it, and I’d like to prevent them getting their hands on it; I could be wrong to think they'd be unable to return B.E.N. to what it used to be. They have no knowledge about my connection to you, so it would be best that you guard it. It could also be helpful for…” Ben hesitates for a second, then shakes his head. “…whatever it is that you’re doing, since it can retrieve information for you, scare people off, and so on. I also came by to offer my services, actually.”
Mr. Holzer stares at him, still uncomprehending. “The first reason, I understand. But why the interest in helping me?”
Ben frowns. “You’ve helped me just because.” He points out with a confused smile, then lifts his eyebrows. “Well, maybe not just because, but you didn’t ask for much in return, or that’s how it feels to me. So I wanted to return the favor in any way I can. Besides, I could use some extra money, and perhaps you also need someone like me.”
For the first time, Ben sees a more intense emotion flash through Mr. Holzer’s eyes: the man is impressed. Taken by surprise, even. Mr. Holzer lowers his striking gaze to the cartridge; he takes it and holds it as if it were a delicate antiquity. “Very well. I accept all your offers, Mr. Lawman.” He pockets the cartridge, then stands up just as Jeff and Smile make their way towards them, climbing up the stairs. “Good morning, Mr. Woods.”
Jeff cringes; he can't get used to being addressed with honorifics. “Just Jeff is fine. It’s hella weird when you call me that.”
“I have to agree with him.” Ben gives Mr. Holzer an apologetic smile. “Call me Ben, please.”
Mr. Holzer stares bemusedly at the blond who is still sitting and looking up at him with timid hope, then at the raven haired man who is standing near the steps of his porch with his hands in his pockets. Then, he straightens the lapels of his jacket. “As you wish. If you two excuse me, I must extend my condolences to your grieving friend.”
He approaches his own friends that are surrounding Ms. Lane, along with Mr. Nichols and Mr. Lawrence. He’s already aware of the situation as a whole, not just because Hans has told him about the unfortunate news of the child’s passing (or in his opinion, murdered by her disinterested guardians), but because Jack Nichols has already given him a heads up of his plans.
He can understand his way of thinking very well; while his methods can perfectly be considered immoral, Oakside is not a place that leaves room for societal standards of morality. The concept itself is fickle, shaped by personal experiences and general opinion, but it can easily bend under the force of selfish desires, sense of justice and survival instincts. Those who claim that violence is never the solution are either fools who’s privilege has blinded them to the harsh world, who didn’t need to protect themselves by using the last resort available in a life or death situation, or who are too positive and pacific for their own good.
And since Mark couldn’t care less about the opinion of society, he thinks that Jack Nichols’ plan has no faults. ‘After all, what is someone that has brought a child to this world, knowing the level of maturity and responsibility it requires, but fails them so heavily? To put it plainly: scum that should be washed off.’ He thinks with severity.
The only thing left to do now is test the waters with Ms. Lane and her dearest friend, Mr. Lawrence. The grieving woman will not act upon her desires if this equates to disappointing the latter, and there’s no better occasion to make a deal with them both than now.
He gets closer to the group that parts for him. Ms. Lane looks up at him with teary, dark gray eyes; her face is pale, without a hint of a blush, like that of a doll. “...I know we are not close to each other by any means, but I am with you in this time of sorrow, Ms. Lane.” His face and tone are gentle. “I lament that things have turned out this way. If there is any way I could be of service, any at all, do not hesitate to tell me.” He offers with intention.
Ms. Lane’s mouth purses as she contains a sob. She lowers her gaze and, unexpectedly, steps closer to hug him; Mr. Holzer stays still in surprise for a moment as her arms circle him, then naturally returns the hug. She licks her lips. “I w-want to gut them. Am I a bad p-person for wanting to gut them?”
“The definition of what constitutes being a good person varies depending on who you ask. But to answer your question, I personally believe your desire is within reason.” Mr. Holzer rubs her back, similarly to how a father would comfort his child.
Ms. Lane sniffs. She lowers her voice. “I really w-want to do something about it, sir, but my h-hands are tied.” She confides in him, in the warmth of his paternal consolation.
“Tied by LJ, you mean?” EJ dares ask behind her with his usual insouciance.
LJ looks at EJ, furrowing his brow. He understands; Jill rarely does something he doesn’t approve of, as she always looks up to him. ‘But what if I’m just hurting her with my lack of support?’ Jill turns around due to EJ’s question and gazes at her friend; LJ stares back at her, clearly at conflict with himself. “I wouldn’t judge you for feeling this way, Jilly, you know that. It’s just that this is not something that should be considered lightly—”
“Jack, dear, I know you’re concerned for her, and I find that both reasonable and pure. But I assure you, she’ll face no consequences for this.” Hans points out with a frown of his own, to Mr. Holzer’s right. “You once swore up and down that you would gut Isaac if he proved he’d forgotten all about you, and we all know you weren't remotely joking back then. You should understand her frustration.”
LJ becomes sheepish, unused as he is to a chastising tone from his employer. Still, he doesn’t back down. “But this sounds preposterous. We’re discussing murder! How exactly would you avoid her facing consequences if evidence of her involvement is found?” He whispers loudly, aware of the group on the other side of the veranda.
Hans’ expression hardens in a manner completely uncharacteristic of him. “I find it hurtful that you’d think we’re merely feeding her demented ideas with no intention to cover up for her.” He sees LJ’s resolve crumble even more in response to his mood. “I’ve taken in both of you, we have. Just as we have Eric, Jason and Jonathan. I’ve given you jobs that fulfill you, and offered assistance whenever you needed it, no matter what kind of help it was that you required, as you already should know with your other two friends.” LJ's face expresses bafflement. “Let me enlighten you: Jonathan is still with us thanks to my request that Jason help him out, and Jason's agreement.” LJ widens his eyes, and so does Jill turn to stare at him. Hans’ expression turns sad. “Do you truly trust us so little? Do you trust me so little, LJ?”
LJ swallows; one of the sides in his internal conflict is clearly winning, practically devouring the other. He lowers his head. “I do trust you.”
“That settles it, then.” Hans turns to Jill. “The other three, I assure you with conviction, won’t care either if you ever chose to tell them, and no one else has to know. Why should we have any mercy towards someone that has let their child die?”
Hans is rarely this violent; for him to say this, Mark knows he must be as upset as they all are. He himself gets sick to his stomach whenever innocent beings are wronged. In any case, his intervention was of excellent timing; he looks at Mr. Lawrence. “No evidence of this will be left, Mr. Lawrence. Mr. Nichols has already expressed his desire to help.” He reveals. Ms. Lane lifts her head at him, surprise evident in her countenance; he looks at her. “If you decide not to go through with it, he will do it on his own, out of his own sense of morality.”
Jill squints her eyes, just barely, ignoring the feeling in her chest for the time being. She looks back at EJ. “You would, wouldn’t you?” The admission doesn’t impact her as it should have. EJ remains relaxed. “And you’re not worried.” She eyes the four older men. “None of you seem to be against this.” She returns her gaze to Mr. Holzer, with a lot of questions evident in her expression.
“...Who are you, Mr. Holzer?” LJ asks, resuming Jill’s thoughts and delivering them in a single inquiry. He doesn’t sound scared, but rather, intrigued; until now, all he knew about this man is that he sold him his house, and that he was unequivocally and unbelievably handsome, but this was not something he saw coming. He’s beginning to connect many dots in his head, in regards to Toby and Hans, along with EJ. He also feels much more at ease; he’s now ready to help, since he’s been assured of Jill’s safety.
Mr. Holzer has a glint in his eyes. “Just someone that wishes to assist you. A community is not truly a community without rapport, is it?”
Jill blinks several times, then starts chuckling, warmed by their support. It's dawned on her that Mr. Holzer must be influential for them to be able to do this without bearing any punishment, which means that he must’ve done many other things. Alas, she’s not concerned. After giving Mr. Holzer a last squeeze of thanks, she turns around and accepts Hans’ embrace again, which an apologetic LJ and an enthusiastic EJ join.
“My, my, you can be really warm when you want to be.” Joan gives Mark a soft smirk. “All that talk with Toby that these kids are not your problem, but look at you now!”
“Stop it with your mocking. I am merely satiating my own desires.” Mark avoids his gaze as he turns around to return to the other boys and his workers, who are still seated at the table.
“Sure thing, Mark. Whatever you say!” Joan keeps on teasing him as he takes out his lighter and a cigarette, and watches his cousin go. He lights the nicotine stick, takes a drag, and puffs the smoke out of his lungs. “They’re your weak spot.” He murmurs.
“Mr. W—” Mr. Holzer halts himself, on time to correct his almost mistake. “Jeffrey. Do you have any business with me?”
Jeff turns from having an improvised staring match with Heather in front of him, to squinting his eyes at Mr. Holzer. He’s half amused, half irritated; his unshortened name is even worse than honorifics. ‘Is it that hard for you to call me Jeff? But then again, that would clash with your class.’ He thinks, almost snorting. “Nope. I just came to give Natalie and his almost-boyfriend—” He rolls his eyes, pretending to have had a slip. “—I mean, Toby, some space.” He smirks devilishly.
Mr. Holzer is stoically flabbergasted at Jeff's unexpected comment. It’s unforeseen just for him; Heather is almost falling off of her seat in howling laughter, Wilson is trying his best to prevent Heather’s fall while chortling, and Kate is pretending to be composed with bad results. Ben, beside Jeff, is covering his face with a hand, embarrassed by Jeff’s lack of finesse in his delivery.
“Well, if you have no other business with me, I shall accompany you to the exit.” Mr. Holzer says once he recovers from Jeff’s bomb.
“We’ll go, too.” Mr. Schneider puts a hand on Mr. Holzer’s shoulder. “We want to see Jill out.”
“Alright then; let’s all go see what those two lovebirds are doing.” Mr. Schön puts his cigarette out with a grin, having heard what Jeff said. He turns to the trio of workers. “Will you three stay here?”
“Yep. We don’t want to spoil Toby’s attempts at seduction!” Heather slams the table, renewing her laughing fit.
With that, the five visitors and the four older men go towards the fence, and Mr. Holzer sees that Toby is indeed talking with that other new resident. He can sense his fondness of her, and that the feelings are mutual. He feels a certain relief, seeing the boy interact with the object of his admiration so confidently. ‘I wonder what his mother would think, seeing him so eager to engage.’ He thinks tenderly.
Natalie sees the group approach; she recognizes Mr. Schön and Hans, but the other two men are unfamiliar; or so was one of them, until she focuses on his obsidian dark suit and blood red tie.
This is the man that Toby works for, and the owner of the properties around here: Mark Holzer. While Mr. Schön is handsome in a smug but earthly way, LJ did not exaggerate this other man’s beauty one bit: his eyes are such a light gray that they feel alien, his skin is very pale, and his hair is very dark.
Natalie feels both a sense of safety and menace from him. She can’t help but think, for a fleeting and illogical moment, that perhaps Sally’s uncle did have some rationality left in him when he associated his hallucinations with Mr. Holzer, for he’s certainly imposing.
Toby notices Natalie’s attention refocusing, and turns around, only to feel awkward at being discovered doing something that he shouldn’t feel embarrassed about. And he doesn’t like Mr. Schön’s devilish grin in the slightest; but it turns into a friendly smile when he looks at Natalie. “Long time no see, Ms. Ouellette! I hope life is treating you well here.”
Natalie becomes flustered at being watched by the bunch of them. Jeff is trying to contain a grin, EJ and Ben are giving her a little smile, LJ is fully grinning, and Jill is giving her a kind smile (while elbowing LJ). The older men are looking at her with curiosity. The only one who is not paying her any attention is Smile, who is busy scratching his ear. “I-it is. I don’t regret my decision at all.” She gives Mr. Schön a polite smile, although some of her genuine happiness with her choice is evident in it.
“Glad to hear that!” Mr. Schön responds, and gestures to the man at his right. “This is Mark Holzer. I assume Toby has told you about him.” He looks at Toby with mischief.
Toby shivers; he’d rather deal with LJ’s tomfoolery than his anyday. “Yep.” He checks on Mr. Holzer’s impression. The man, as always, doesn’t give any hints as to what he might be thinking.
Mark gazes into Ms. Ouellette’s eyes; amongst her shyness, he encounters blooming fierceness. “Glad to make your acquaintance.” He greets her courteously; she nods, timid. He glances at Toby, who grows all the more tense under his gaze.
“I hope Helen is helping you grow as an artist, dear.” Hans comments while keeping an arm around Jill. “I’d love to work with you, if you ever feel up for it.”
Natalie blushes; this man is so splendorous, so bright, that his light warms her up. “I’d like that, too.” She admits with a little smile. She still has most of her savings, but she knows that her babysitting job won’t be enough; in a few years those savings will eventually run out. Besides, such a job would be quite fulfilling.
“More brownie points gained by Helen.” LJ comments under his breath, leaning towards Jill. She nods in agreement.
“Oh!” The unnamed man suddenly eyes her. “Is this the girl Dina spoke of? My, you’d be perfect for modeling!”
As Natalie’s face warms up further, Mr. Schön intervenes, resting an arm on the other man’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to Mr. Schneider, Ms. Ouellette, he’s insufferable.”
Mr. Schneider shrugs his arm off. “Says the one who can’t keep his mouth shut whenever I open mine.” He’s giving his friend the stink eye. “You’re old enough to stop being childish. One would say you’re obsessed with me or something!”
“But don’t go around revealing such secrets so readily, my darling!” Mr. Schön reaches out and strokes his chest; the other slaps him and worsens his glare. His grin widens. “How cold you are!”
“I truly can’t fathom what your lovers like about you!” Mr. Schneider murmurs wearily.
“Ich kann es Ihnen zeigen, wenn Sie möchten! [I can show you, if you’d like!]” Mr. Schön reaches for his trenchcoat belt with a very animated expression.
Mr. Schneider makes a horrified face and grabs his wrists with haste. “Wage es nicht, du Perversling! [Don’t you dare, you pervert!]”
While Hans has his eyebrows scrunched up and bears an unimpressed smile, Mark is pinching the bridge of his nose; neither of them are surprised by their bickering, but to this day, they can’t comprehend how Elias always falls for Joan’s same old tricks. “I apologize on behalf of my friends, Ms. Ouellette. They are a noisy pair.” Mr. Holzer excuses, clearly irritated.
“Keep him far away from me and put a rag on his mouth, and I won’t be noisy then!” Mr. Schneider complains; his glasses are snatched in an instant.
“How kinky you've become in a second!” Mr. Schön puts the glasses on.
Mr. Schneider blinks. “Joan!” He tries to reach for them; Mr. Schön puts a hand on his face to prevent him from getting any closer.
Mr. Holzer’s displeasure is growing to be palpable now; it rolls off of him waves of dark vines. “...Just like children.” He states with a stony expression.
“How can you see with this shit on?” Joan squints his eyes; he already knows how, but whatever works to rile Elias up, as dense as he is.
“They’re prescription glasses, you idiot, of course you won’t see well with them! Give them back!” Elias keeps on trying to get them.
Hans warily puts a hand on Mark’s shoulder to placate him. “L-let’s just ignore them, Mark—” He grimaces as Elias’ protesting becomes louder, and Mark’s irkment increases each second he endures it.
But it vanishes as soon as Ms. Ouellette’s chuckle distracts Mr. Holzer; she’s looking at Toby now. “They remind me of you and LJ.” She whispers, leaning closer to him.
“LJ is a blessing compared to him.” Toby murmurs in response.
⦻
“What were you talking about back there?” Jeff asks LJ; Ben is now walking with Natalie, while EJ is with Jill. “That Hans guy looked incensed.” In his opinion, anger suits that guy as much as sitting on the grass suits Mr. Holzer.
LJ sweats under his collar; he can’t tell Jeff anything. He has an inkling that EJ might give Jeff a hint if he asked him instead, but he himself doesn’t know what Jeff’s reaction could be, and he won’t risk it. “Uh, just him being angry about what happened with Mary.”
Jeff raises a bald eyebrow. “You lie like shit, LJ.” Smile woofs softly to his right, as if supporting the human’s statement.
LJ sighs. “I don’t like lying to you. But it wasn’t a lie, it simply wasn’t the entire thing.”
“Holzer’s gonna help her, isn’t he?” Jeff grins. When LJ eyes him with clear astonishment, he shrugs. “He’s helped me and Ben. Can’t snitch on Ben, but…” He shortly explains what happened on Sunday.
LJ’s perplexity has only grown. “I would be on my toes too if I were you!” He frowns. “Makes sense that it wasn’t hard for you to guess he’s extended his charity towards her. What do you think? Because you know what Jill wants.”
Jeff scratches his jaw. “Eh…do I sound insane when I say it doesn’t bother me at all? What happened to me and this place’s influence have left me with a wobbly morality. I think they deserve it, to be frank with you.”
“I feel the same.” LJ’s shoulders sag down. “I used to be so polite, and well-spoken and all that. Now I’m questioning if my sense of right and wrong is broken.”
Jeff eyes him for a moment, then looks down at Smile: he analyzes his floppy ears, his marred skin and his penetrating amber eyes, as he dangles his tongue out of his toothy mouth. “Justice doesn’t taste the same to everybody. The flavors you enjoy might seem disgusting to someone else, and their spices might seem bland to you. Everything works like that.”
“But when does it stop being justice and becomes malice in a pretty package of vengeance? To what point is vengeance acceptable?” LJ looks around with his sapphire eyes as he ruminates on his question. “What Jill will do won’t bring Mary back. We’ll never know if Mary would even appreciate it, because she’s not here, and we don’t know if she’s looking. And she was a child; she would be horrified.”
“But they were evil themselves, and Jill has also been wronged; what she wants is to punish them for what they did to their daughter, and this is the only way she can do it. This is what feels rightful to her.” Jeff pockets his hands. “I can’t tell you what to think, but you know how it feels to be wronged; you wouldn’t be ruminating so hard on this if a part of you wasn’t agreeing with Jill already.”
“Oh, don’t you worry; I already know what to think. I just like pondering on things.” LJ squints his eyes at EJ in front of them; Jill has her arm wrapped around his. “...EJ was ready to help her before she even agreed. He would’ve done it on his own if I hadn’t supported her.”
Jeff scoffs; his long hair falls like a curtain over his face just as he looks down. “And does that surprise you?”
LJ shakes his head. “Nope. But then again, the situation is so outré that I have to cheek if I’m not the only one cuckoo here. I’d rather it be in company, you know?” He gives Jeff one of his grins, which is returned. “And also, I think we have the potential for more than a single couple in our group.”
“Huh?” Jeff scrunches his eyebrows. “What do you mean by that?”
LJ nods at EJ and Jill. “Ever since the girlie visited his house, and now this, she has been quite distracted. I know Jill, and I can smell when she’s getting attached to someone. How could she not, when he’s defended her from my doubt and supported her so gallantly?”
“Wait…” Jeff is looking at LJ, then at them both, then back at LJ again. “...wait, wait, wait—!”
LJ covers Jeff’s mouth with a big hand. “It’s just a hunch, Jeffy-boy. Don’t go around wagging that naughty tongue of yours.” He puts his other hand behind Jeff’s head, and Jeff’s chortling is muffled. LJ squints his eyes again. “At least I know he wouldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability; he might be a little wicked when it comes to us, but he’s as good as gold when it comes to her. She has the little savage tamed.” He realizes Jeff hasn’t stopped laughing, and turns to him. “Stop he-heeing! I can feel those slutty red lips of yours tease my palm—!”
Jeff pushes him away by the wrist. “Then why the fuck do you keep it on me like a muzzle, you cunt?”
“Because you’re a sly dog.” LJ keeps on trying to cover his mouth again, and Jeff pushes his wrist. “You suddenly appear here and seduce most of the boysssss—” He drags the S. “—except for Toby, because you didn’t succeed with him and Naty-Nat did—,” He manages to cover Jeff’s mouth again; the other just keeps on laughing. “—including the elvish twink, so you can’t be trusted, Snow White!”
In front of the group of seven, Natalie walks with Ben. “So you’ll work for Mr. Holzer too from now on?”
“Seems like it.” Ben answers, glad that Jeff covered him up with a simple lie; it’s not entirely a bluff, either, so it’s easier to pretend.
“And what is he like?” Natalie tilts her head at him. “Toby has told me a little about him, but not that much. He seems very formal and decorous.” She found it difficult to picture the kind man Toby described him as, although she knows appearances are deceiving.
“He’s kind of eccentric, and like you describe him to be. But other than that, he’s not the unapproachable snobby type he comes across as. He’s quite nice, actually…very friendly.” A smile grows on his face as he keeps Mr. Holzer in mind.
“I see.” Natalie considers his words, then remembers something else. “How are you feeling about today’s attempt?”
Ben’s smile turns a little forced. “Better than the one from yesterday, but not by far.” He pauses to rethink his explanation. “It was uncomfortable, to be honest.” He forces out a chuckle. “I don’t want to keep trying. Just seeing the lake makes my skin crawl.” He sees Natalie’s eyes soften with worry; he can visualize the thoughts going through her mind. He gives her a strained smile. “I had a very bad experience when I was a child. I don’t like sharing it much.” He’s not telling her; the less she knows, the better for her. He’s already bothered enough that three of his friends and Mr. Holzer know.
“I understand.” Natalie doesn’t push him further, taking it as a difficult subject for him to speak about.
“Also…” Ben becomes sheepish. “...I’ve realized that I have difficulties in reaching out and asking for help, or helping others.” He stares at her with those gentle, sky blue eyes of his, while blushing slightly. “Are you okay?”
Natalie can’t help it; she reaches for his face with a warm grin. Ben blinks at the contact, but doesn’t recoil. “Generally speaking, yes, I’m better than ever. But I still have bad days and bad moments, as we all do.” Her smile wanes; she averts her gaze and lowers her hand from Ben’s face. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Of course.” Ben offers his arm; Natalie holds onto him. “You can tell me anything you feel comfortable telling me.”
“...I want to support you. Through overcoming your phobia, I mean. I’ll be there on Saturday, too.” Natalie bites her lower lip. “I thought of swimming, but I’m scared of getting in the pool for a different reason. I feel both selfish and a coward for feeling like this.”
Ben frowns. “You shouldn’t step on your own mental health to support me. I’m glad that you want to be there for me, and that’s more than enough.” He lifts his hand and squeezes her shoulder. “The rest can get in without problem, so you truly shouldn’t worry about me. Are you doubtful because of showing skin?” Natalie nods with sadness in her eyes. “Bring the swimwear just in case you’re feeling brave, but don’t beat yourself up if you don’t feel like it when the time comes.”
Natalie grins, instead of getting emotional as she had expected. “Jeff has rubbed off on you a little, hasn’t he?”
Ben chuckles. “Yes. He’s a bit like that, rubbing onto others.”
EJ and Jill had been walking in comfortable silence, mostly listening to Natalie and Ben talk, since the other two are being stupid father back, Smile as their witness. Jill has been feeling much better since they came back from Mr. Holzer’s, but she now has a question floating in her mind, bouncing whenever it hits the walls of her cranium: why can’t she stop thinking about EJ?
The answer is evident to her: due to his constant gestures towards her and his supportive nature, she’s becoming fond of him. The interest she used to have in LJ has not disappeared, but shifted onto EJ. Is this mere infatuation? She’s never had much love in her life until she met LJ, so she likes to dump her intense love on whoever proves they care for her, but she wouldn’t want to overwhelm him.
She feels guilty, knowing he probably can’t sense her stare; she glances at him from the corner of her eye, weary that he’ll magically gain sight and catch her red-handed. That obviously won't happen, but EJ is scarily perceptive sometimes, so she must be inconspicuous.
His skin is a beautiful tan color. His short hair is dark and soft-looking. His eyebrows are straight, but a slight arch at the tail gives his face a more lifted look. His monolid eyes are constantly closed and accentuated by long, dark and straight lashes. He has a lovely wide nose, and a mouth that she knows could curl into a cat’s grin anytime soon.
As if on cue, it does. “You’re distracted, aren’t you?” EJ asks through his classic wolfish smirk; Jill flinches like a kitten surprise. “You’re not walking straight, which means that whatever caught your attention is not in front of you. Is it LJ?”
‘At least he’s given me the perfect excuse on a platter.’ Jill thinks with alleviation. She looks back. “Yeah, he’s fondling Jeff like dough.” She turns her head back around and notices the two silhouettes immersed in conversation in front of a vacant house. “I’ve just spotted Jason and Jonathan.”
“Oh? I thought Jason would open the shop today.” EJ tilts his head.
“He can afford to keep it closed. His toys have become collectibles of sorts, and they’re not cheap. People often buy through his webpage.” Jill observes as Jason speaks with Jonathan in his usual moody tone, whilst Jonathan listens intently; the latter is the first one to notice their group approaching, and who’s eyes fall on Jill the quickest. Jason notices his distraction, and turns his head around, quickly spotting her too. “They’ve noticed us.”
Jason turns around fully, and Jonathan opens his arms in clear invitation.
“I’m going to greet them.” Jill quickly tells EJ, who releases her and pats her back.
She makes his way towards them, first walking, then walking faster, and finally running. She doesn’t notice her renewed tears until she’s in Jonathan’s arms. “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.” He murmurs as he holds her tightly.
The rest of the group watch Jill with the two men. While the Jacks know them, the other four don’t.
Natalie is curious about the man that is currently comforting her; he has black wavy hair that reaches his shoulders, kind brown eyes, and a gentle face with a beautiful greek nose. He wears a gray hoodie, black trousers, a black jacket and a gray beanie. Then, she analyzes the other man; he has his hair dyed burgundy, a tattoo on his neck, and piercing amber eyes. The way he’s dressed is strange, but not as strange as Jack’s or Jill’s; he looks Victorian steampunk, sort of. They’re both tall and handsome. “Jonathan, who is hugging her, and Jason. They also work for Hans.” LJ says behind her.
Jill lifts her head and cups Jonathan’s face. “A-are you okay?” She has noticed how tired he looks, and she knows Jason should be at his shop today.
Jonathan frowns. “Of course. Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”
Jill pouts. “Hans told us.” At that, Jonathan’s gaze falls, but he remains stoic. “I-I’m sorry I wasn't there for you—”
“You're not a guesser and have plenty on your plate right now. Is it really the moment to worry about me?” Jonathan looks at her once more, eyes just as gentle.
Jill blinks, and purses her lips. “Of c-course it is! We’re friends, you dolt!” Jonathan smiles, weary but genuine. She turns to Jason, who is patiently observing their interaction. She now sees him in a new light; as much as Jason is grumpy, moody and generally uncaring, what he did was admirable. And besides, his gaze is not particularly harsh today. She steps towards him, and Jason doesn’t hesitate to embrace her, if a bit more composed than Jonathan. He doesn’t say anything, but he keeps rubbing her back. “...I have something to tell you both.” She lifts her head, and their eyes are on her. She swallows. “But you can’t tell anybody.”
Jason chortles. “Who would we tell?”
Jonathan leans closer to Jason and gives him a look. “What is it?” He asks her.
“Hans is going to help me get rid of them. EJ and LJ will, too.” Jill confesses in a whisper.
She knows she’s been taken seriously, because Jonathan widens his eyes, and Jason lifts his eyebrows. They look at each other calmly, then look at her again; in an uncharacteristic show of affection, Jason caresses her cheek. “Have fun and good riddance.” He murmurs back, grinning.
Just as Hans stated, they don’t seem perturbed by her confession in the slightest. Just in case, she eyes Jonathan, who’s surprise didn’t last for long. “Why are you here?” She asks Jason.
“John is anxious because rehearsals begin tomorrow, so I’m here for him.” Jason eyes Jonathan, who nods, giving him permission. “The girl he’ll be performing with, the prima ballerina from the other day at the theater, is the girl he met in college.”
“Emra?” Jill inquires with shock, and when he nods, she moves her gaze to Jonathan with worry. “Won’t it be too much for you?”
Jonathan sighs. “I want to be a part of that show.” He smiles as Jill keeps looking at him with concern. “Don’t worry. I have Jason to help me if anything happens.” At that, she hides her abrupt grin by burying her face in Jason’s shoulder.
Jason, for one, looks rather smug about it, but his attention is caught.
Jonathan flinches when he feels hands grasp his shoulders. “Hello, Johnny～!” He immediately recognizes LJ’s voice behind him; he turns his head slightly, and LJ is looking at Jason with a grin. “Mind if I steal him from you, Jason?” The other’s glare is sufficient as a response; LJ cackles. “The male is ready to fight for his mate in a mortal battle, unwilling to give up his rightful spot as the alpha, and besotted as he is—”
“What are you even saying?” Jonathan chortles at LJ’s imitation of an animal documentary. Jill’s amusement as she laughs silently and Jason’s incensed stare only make it funnier.
“What am I saying? Here, I’ll show you what I mean: quickly, give me a kiss, Johnny!” LJ leans forward, making smooching noises, while Jonathan turns his head to the right in order to avoid him, all while chortling harder. “Don’t be shy now, boy—!”
“Jaaaaackyyyyyy!” Jill protests as she tries to pacify Jason; the guy has fire in his eyes. “I won’t be able to keep him still if you continue!” She giggles.
“Ah, now I see why Eric loves pissing you off so much. It’s quite easy to do!” LJ straightens his posture and stops pestering Jonathan.
Jonathan tries to stifle his laughter. “I almost lost an eye because of your nose.”
“Anyway.” LJ turns to the other five behind him. “You already know EJ. From left to right: Ben the twink—,” Ben gets visibly irked. “—Natalie, the shorty, as Toby likes to call her—,” Natalie’s cheeks are set aflame. “—and finally, Jeff the slut and his doggo Smile.” Jeff cackles while Smile looks at him, wobbling his eyebrows.
“Ah. You’re the new guys.” Jason speaks without much enthusiasm as he puts his hands on his hips.
“You have the social skills of a shoe.” Jill gives Jason a side eye; he shrugs. “Jason is a popular toymaker, and Jonathan is an aspiring theater star.” She explains to them, until she sees Jonathan shrink timidly. “Don’t hide, John! It’ll happen!”
“Damn right she is, don’t be an idiot!” Jason lifts Jonathan’s head with a hand in his jaw. “There, let them see how handsome you are. Thanks to me, mind you.” He smirks.
Jonathan glances at him with lidded eyes; typical Jason, trying to be the center of attention. “You say that as if you birthed me yourself.”
Jason’s grin widens. “The only thing your parents did well. They were quite mediocre, otherwise.” While Jill audibly gasps at his brutal answer, Jonathan simply snorts; they both know he’s not exactly in the wrong. “But I did make you glow up. I tend to have that effect—”
Jill tugs Jason's ear down, making him hiss. “Isn’t Jonathan’s attention enough for you, you preening peacock?”
“Nice to meet you all.” Jonathan greets them properly once Jason lets him go, then looks down at Smile; the dog starts wagging his tail at him. “Oh, hello!” Smile approaches him, wiggling his behind; he circles Jonathan, sniffing profusely.
“What happened to him?” Jason inquires about Smile just as he manages to free himself from Jill’s scolding grasp.
Jeff makes a face. “Previous owner burnt him with acid.”
Jason squints his eyes at Jeff in disbelief, clearly disgusted. “I don’t consider myself a good person at all, but after all I’ve been hearing here, I think I’m quite decent, actually.” Jeff chuckles, feeling the same.
“One thing is to dislike kids or animals because you find them hard to deal with or whatever, and another is to wish them harm.” LJ points out, then looks down at Smile, who is still being cute with Jonathan. “Hey, Smiley! Who is this idiot right here?” He asks as he points at Jason; he receives another glare.
Smile curiously sniffs at Jason, who is not as affectionate as Jonathan. “Are you thinking he’s too ugly for you, perchance?” EJ asks with intention; he’s smacked by Jeff on the back of his head.
“No, he looks metal.” Jason turns his head this way and that, analyzing Smile, who is looking back at him with giddiness. He rolls his eyes and scratches his ears. “I’ll make an exception for this dog.”
Smile woofs, as if saying: “Of course you will! I’m irresistible.”
“See? He’s not ugly, he just doesn’t look conventional.” Jeff fusses over EJ’s comment.
“Actually, I don’t see.” EJ responds, and Jeff rolls his eyes. “Are you rolling your eyes at me right now? I know you are. It’s precisely what you would do, you sassy bitch.” Jeff starts laughing, impressed at his accuracy.
⦻
Toby has missed Natalie’s company many, many times during their short acquaintance.
When they first met at the park, he had immediately been curious about her; her big eyes, a mixture of spring tones, had caught his attention like no other gaze ever has. He kept wondering about those eyes, and about her timid staring and disposition, before succumbing to bad quality sleep.
The fair came, and their peaceful time together had been enjoyable; he was glad that his risky poking at her had paid off, and that she didn’t back down as easily as she seemed predisposed to do. But her later anguish had plagued his restless mind when in solitude; the situation had already been bad enough, knowing what Sally could’ve suffered if it weren’t for their intervention, for he’s not detached enough to not worry for a child. Even so, guilt ate at him for not being able to reassure her that the kid would be safe.
Then, he was comforted in her arms; in the past, he was consoled just by Lyra, bright and lovely like a yellow poppy, illuminating his gloomy childhood, reminiscence of an older sister’s innate strong love for his younger brother, and by his dear mother the few times he let her. It felt uncomfortable at first, to let himself be vulnerable to a new person he’s grown to admire, but she was so very gentle, caring, patient and attentive. He had felt like an utter coward when he left her house the next day and proceeded to focus on work to ignore his alien feelings.
His visit to Dina’s property happened; it was one of those days when confidence came back and attached itself to him like a resistant limpet, so he didn’t think twice about climbing the tree and giving her a little scare. Their amusing time together left him feeling tender afterwards; being teased by her so thoroughly had been pleasant, and to see her laugh at his antics had been a boost to his self-esteem.
After that came their reunion at Ben’s, which ended up in a bittersweet fashion; they had taken advantage of their dopey emotions and shared much and painfully, while sharing barely anything at all, just the smallest hints, so as not to break themselves into sharp pieces. It made them closer.
The last time they spent together was two days ago, for a brief moment, and her elegant appearance had stirred something within him, which he never thought would come alive for anyone. He had felt specially bold that night, but made sure to keep his tongue on a leash; seeing her glow under his compliments had been enough for him.
But those times don’t compare to how much he misses her right now, since she’s the very reason these many pairs of eyes are on him. He avoids all of them, both his work peers’ and Mr. Holzer’s friends’, as they sit at the veranda table.
While Mr. Schön’s and Heather’s gazes are teasing, Mr. Beraht’s and Mr. Schneider’s looks are happy, and Wilson and Kate are calmly staring at him. As annoying as the first two gazes are, as embarrassing as the second two are, and as grateful as he is for the last two’s neutral observing, he’s most worried for the remaining one’s lack of interest.
He knows that Mr. Holzer knows, that he’s aware his friendship with Natalie is not all he desires.
He swallows, as subtle as he can; he’ll show no signs of anxiousness if he can help it. ‘Will he disapprove?’ As much as he’d like to pretend that his opinion doesn’t affect him, the truth is that it does; Mr. Holzer is not just anybody. For him to be against this might turn out to be as devastating as the idea of him leaving, for Natalie is not just anybody, either.
‘But does it matter, when Natalie will never know?’ He thinks, dismal; Natalie has suffered enough, and so has he. Revealing, or perish the thought, her finding out on her own what he does for Mr. Holzer might shock her enough to strain their relationship beyond repair and traumatize her further, while her rejection would wound him deeply.
And yet, he keeps staring, waiting for his gaze. But Mr. Holzer is the only one that won’t stare back at him, that won’t give Toby a glimpse of his thoughts, though his are the only ones he truly cares about; he’s stirring his black tea with a spoon, lost in thought as he reads what he has scribbled on his notebook. The soft clinking of the porcelain china puts Toby even more on edge.
Mr. Schön lightly slams the table with his fists; his coffee almost spills out of the cup. “Come on, boy! It’s the first time I’ve ever seen you speak so much with another human being. She has to be special!”
Thankfully, Mr. Schneider comes to his rescue, for Toby doesn’t have the energy to engage in any bickering with him. “He doesn’t owe you an explanation. None of us, for that matter.” He lifts his cup of white tea. Mr. Schön gives him a slight glare, which he returns.
“I’m just glad to see you so happy.” Mr. Beraht beams, blinding Toby with his light. He turns to Mr. Holzer. “Isn’t that right, Mark?” He sips from his yellow tea.
‘I can see why the pair of clowns like him so much.’ Toby smiles in return for a second, grateful for Mr. Beraht’s help. He cracks his neck and twitches his mouth. He doesn’t dare eye his employer straight on.
“Indeed.” Mr. Holzer finally answers while looking at his notebook. His answer is so concise that Toby can’t truly discern his opinion on the matter. But then, he lowers his cup. “She must be very trustworthy for you to have grown so attached to her so easily, and so early in your acquaintance.”
Toby keeps looking at the table. “She is.” Mr. Holzer doesn’t say anything else, which leaves anxious; he doesn’t seem against it, but he didn’t confirm it.
Wilson picks up on Toby’s gloominess. “Are you okay, dude?” He knows Toby enough to catch when something bothers him, and when that something has affected his disorder.
“Yeah…” Toby can feel his mood plummet. “...I think I’m getting depressed again.” He sniffs and jerks his head.
Mr. Holzer immediately lifts his gaze from his notebook and looks at him. “You are dismissed from today’s duties.”
Toby frowns. “What? But—”
“No, Tobias.” Mr. Holzer lids his eyes infinitesimally, efficiently silencing his protest. “I will not have you work in that state; you have been completing your tasks wonderfully lately, and these new ones can be done by someone else for the time being. Use the free time to reduce your stress and take care.”
Frankly, Toby does want to be alone; being accompanied by others while like this is not only irritating, but it makes him feel bothersome. “...Okay. Thank you, sir.” He stands up, feeling guilty for being excused for this, unnecessary as it seems to him, although his workmate’s empathetic glances prove they don’t agree with that sentiment.
Just as he’s about to cross the backyard, Mr. Holzer speaks once more. “Tobias.” He turns to him. “You will not hesitate to request help, should you need it. Am I clear?” He asks sternly.
Toby knows what he must answer, even if his heart doesn’t concur. “Yes, sir.” Mr. Holzer nods, and he resumes his walk towards his house.
⦻
Something is not right.
It’s not just his mood swing. It’s not just that he feels irritable and anguished, but something else is also at play; it’s that same sensation he used to have back at his mother’s house, when he was still healing from the car crash.
He’s just closed his front door behind him, and much like a child would when faced with a dark corridor in front of him and no adults around, he doesn’t want to lift his gaze from the spot in front of his feet; he’s frozen, praying that this is not what he thinks it is.
“Toby.” He hears from the corridor.
How cruel his mind likes to be. He thought that phase had gone away, that it had passed because he overcame it. He didn’t think this would happen again. So he closes his eyes and keeps himself as rigid as possible by suppressing his tics, trying to insulate himself.
But to no avail. “Toby.” That sweet, familiar voice keeps on calling him.
Toby puts his lips into a fine line and begins to tremble; he keeps the doorknob behind him firmly grasped, so much so that his knuckles turn white.
“It’s me.” The voice calls out to him again.
Toby shakes his head, trying to keep himself calm. “No.” He frowns, but flinches when he hears footsteps approaching. “No, you’re not. Go away.” He whispers hastily.
“Toby.” The voice, now closer, calls him once more.
Toby shakes his head with more force, smiling dolefully; he begins to laugh, out of sheer desperation. “You’re dead.” He states, chuckling miserably.
He hears the footsteps again, and he begins to cry silently, gritting his teeth. He can hear breathing when they still, now somewhere near the beginning of the corridor. “It’s me—”
“YOU’RE DEAD!” Toby screams as he finally gives into the voice’s desires and looks; he lets the tears fall from his widely open eyes and shudders in fear of who he has in front of him.
Lyra.
Beautiful, young Lyra. Her golden hair in a ponytail, her eyes a warm brown. Her favorite purple shirt on, and her old jeans. Her medallion necklace their mother gifted her dangling from her long neck.
She spreads her lips, and with the same tone, repeats: “Toby.”
Toby can hardly see her through his blurry sight filled with tears; he whines, eyebrows furrowed. “N-no…y-ou’re n—” He whimpers amidst his stuttering. “—no-ot real. You’re n-n-not real!” He rasps loudly while shaking his head once more; Lyra stares at him stoically. “P-please…” He begs her. “...g-g-go away— meow —, ple-ease.” He can’t take his eyes off of her; he doesn’t know what she’ll do, what will come next, so he begs, even though he knows her absence will rip him apart anew.
How is Mr. Holzer supposed to help him with this? How could he try, when the last thing he wants is to bother him? Can he even trust his senses enough to call him?
Lyra tilts his head at him, and suddenly, her chest caves in.
Toby inhales sharply, affected by the sound of her ribs crunching and snapping under invisible pressure. He wants to reach out, regretting his words; he doesn’t want her gone, he wants her alive, safe and sound!
But then her hips break, and her legs give out the same way after that; she falls on her knees, breathing with audible apnea.
Toby starts hyperventilating, an unwilling observer. And yet, he can’t divert his eyes, he can’t leave her alone in her suffering. He must suffer along, he must feel her pain, one way or another!
Her cranium breaks, the gaping holes of the glass that pierced her forehead now weeping blood onto his wooden floor. “L-LYRA!” He yells in agony.
Finally, her jaw dislodges itself, and she focuses her dead eyes on him. She somehow manages to sneer at him. “Why won’t you kill yourself already, you little fucker?” She inquires, voice clear and unaffected, using their father's voice.
With a terribly shaky hand, and without taking his eyes off of her, he reaches for his phone in his pocket. But who is he going to call? He doesn’t want to bother Mr. Holzer, and his mother is not an option.
His few choices fly out of his mind when he realizes that the hallucination is suddenly right in front of him; his phone slips from his hand and falls raucous to the floor as he recoils, slamming himself flat against the door. It’s not like he can feel the pain of the knob pressing into his back.
She pokes him in the chest, repeatedly and hard. “When will you stop twitching like that, you little freak? You’re going to infect everybody around you.” She says with a child's voice. She lowers herself, to look at him from a different angle. “You’re repulsive. You make me want to vomit. No wonder your drunkard father never cared about you. What a sorry excuse of a son. Worthless.”
Toby keeps on breathing heavily; he wants to blink repeatedly, his brain is itching for him to give into his impulses and tic, but he can’t let himself do it.
Lyra’s gaze softens. “Toby…” She croaks in her own voice. She lifts a hand and caresses his face, much like she used to do. He mewls in fear. “...it hurts.” Her breathing becomes erratic; he can smell the blood. She suddenly recovers. “I'm disappointed in you.” She admits with their mother's voice.
With bravery, he crouches down and reaches for his phone with a heavily trembling hand; the hallucination doesn’t stop him, fortunately. He straightens his posture and unlocks the device. He looks through his contacts, unsure of what to do.
“You mustn’t bite your cheek like that.” Lyra reaches for his scarred cheek. He startles, but doesn’t look at her. “My little Toby.”
He finds it hard to read the names in his phone with his renewed tears and how much his hand shakes; this somehow hurts more than the rest of things his mind has conjured up for her to convey.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Lyra cries with him. “I’m here. He’s here, too.” Her voice distorts into static. “Let him in.”
He knows who she means. He enjoys her touch for a fleeting moment, now that his brain has decided to give him a small reprieve among the chaos; he remembers her comforting touch, the kindness of a loved one who is long gone, their shared moments. With a heavy heart, he calls him. The dial can be heard. “...Tobias?” Mr. Holzer answers swiftly.
Toby sobs. “I c-can s-s-see her…” He inhales sharply. “S-she’s ri-ight in— meow —f-f-fro-ont of me…I n-need h-help…”
“Remain in your house, Toby. I will arrive shortly.” Mr. Holzer responds. He hears him talk german.
Toby wails. “D-d-d…” He licks his lips, unable to spit the word smoothly. “...don’t h-hang up, p-plea-ase…”
“Even your speech is twitching now!” The hallucination becomes hostile again, using one of his old classmates' mocking voice. “Ticci-Toby!” She splutters blood onto him.
He keens; he can feel his hoodie stick to him, spoiled with the blood of his dead sister. “Toby, whatever is going on, it is not reality. I need you to take deep breaths.” He hears Mr. Holzer’s calm voice.
“I c-can’t, I ca-an’t—!” Toby yelps when she cups his face. “—S-she’s to-ouching me!”
“Toby…” Lyra murmurs while looking up at him. “...you’ve grown so tall. I wish I had seen you grow.”
He snivels. “S-stop…stop t-tor-rturing me!” He pleads in despair, voice barely a thread. “I k-kn-ow you’re dea-ad! You—” He whimpers. “—s-shouldn’t be he-ere!”
“She won’t like it when you tell her this happened.” She mocks him; his father mocks him. “Who would be interested in you? You should be grateful for any crumbs she gives you. Poor girl.”
He moves towards the living room and sits on the floor, against the wall. He hides his face in between his knees, and lets the tics continue; he twitches violently, feeling overwhelmingly stressed for the first time in years.
He hears a car crash.
He pants. ‘Was that real?’ He’s no longer sure.
“I’m close, Toby.” He hears Mr. Holzer’s clear voice on the phone.
He sniffs. “I-is that re-eally you?” He tightens his arms around himself, phone beside him. “I’m n-not sure wha-at is real—” He whines. “—and what i-isn’t.”
“It is me.” Mr. Holzer reassures him. “It will not be long until this is over, Toby. Hang in there.”
He’s not so sure he’ll be able to; he can feel her ruffle his hair. “Your hair is as fluffy as it used to be.” She comments sweetly. “Mom will make us mac-and-cheese for dinner!”
He huffs; that is a question picked from his memories, once when he had gloomily spent the day in his room and she came to lighten up his mood.
“...She’s pretty. She’s very pretty.” Lyra comments further, talking about Natalie. He agrees with her. “Will he come help you soon?” He sure hopes he does. “He’s much better than the piece of shit that didn’t come to visit me while I was dying at the hospital.” That is what he thinks pretty often. “Mom will be sad.”
“Toby?” He suddenly hears; he lifts his head, and sees Mr. Holzer has entered his house; he’s in front of him in all his towering glory.
Toby swallows, and grimaces. “I-is it r-really you?” He squints his eyes; he can’t see his face. It's as if it had been covered by a film akin to white skin, and he’s much too tall.
“It is. Trust me.” Mr. Holzer offers him a big, taloned hand. Toby accepts it and stands up rigidly. “Can you still see her?”
Toby looks to his right; Lyra is sitting with her head against the wall, looking dead. He grits his teeth. “Yes.”
“We must go to the hospital right away.” Mr. Holzer takes Toby’s hand and tugs him out of the house, towards his car; Toby doesn't even notice the transition, and startles, thinking they've teletransported. “This has happened before, has it not?”
“...Y-yes...” Toby answers without energy; he flinches when he hears an airbag go off, and a cut off scream after that. “...a-after she di-ied.” He looks at the car. “...Is it n-n-necessa-ary that we g-go?”
“Yes, Tobias. I know you dislike hospitals and that you are very worn out, but you cannot go unchecked. Take the passenger seat.” Mr. Holzer orders; he sees Toby become nervous. “I understand your apprehension, but I cannot let you take the backseat. I must keep an eye on you.”
Toby swallows and gets in.
⦻
“From what you’ve just explained, and by what I can see, it’s safe to assume that you have schizophrenia, Toby.” The psychiatric doctor explains. “Not only that, but it’s likely that it was triggered by your trauma, and you simply didn’t have another episode until now because the required factors weren’t present. I do think it’s possible that you might also have a case of post traumatic stress disorder, since what you went through clearly has affected you, but it’s hard to say with complete conviction, since the symptoms also match those you present during depressive episodes.”
Toby sighs. Lyra has followed them here, and did a few tricks during their car ride; she’s behind him, breathing on his neck, and murmuring the insults he received many times when he attended public school. He also can’t yet see Mr. Holzer’s face properly. And the nurse, who has dark and long cherry red hair neatly tied in a low bun and is staring at him with kind and professional dark brown eyes, looks like she’s been dismembered and put back together again, akin to a zombie. At least he knows it’s not real, but it’s not much consolation.
The doctor stands up. “What we’re going to do now is the following: Ms. Mia is going to administer you an intramuscular antipsychotic so that your hallucinations stop. I’m going to prescribe you an oral route of haloperidol of three milligrams for you to take two times per day, and we’ll see how it goes from then on. Thankfully, this medication can also help attenuate symptoms of manic episodes and tics.”
“Fantastic.” Toby comments bitterly; he stands up, ready to be stabbed in his butt and be done with it.
Chapter Text
Wednesday.
“You should remain laid down for a little while.” Ms. Mia advises after she’s covered Toby; while she takes her rubber gloves off and throws them into a disposal bin, Toby turns his body to have his back against the mattress. “Just in case the medication has any side effects. You may leave afterwards.”
Mr. Holzer stands up from his seat. “I should call Connie in the meantime.”
“N-no!” Toby snaps his head at him, startling Ms. Mia with his frantic tone. “D-don’t tell her!”
“I’ll give you both some privacy.” Ms. Mia quickly excuses herself. “I’ll be in the adjacent room if you need me.” She exits the room and closes the door behind her.
“Why do you wish to keep her in the dark about this matter? She is your mother, Toby.” Mr. Holzer has his suspicions.
Toby glances back and forth between Mr. Holzer, still incredibly tall and faceless from his warped perception, and the yet to disappear hallucination of his sister who is behind the man on the floor, returning the gaze with her head resting on her shoulder; her pale face is covered in blood, and she croaks now and then. He clicks his tongue and rolls his shoulders. “...I d-do-on’t want to g-g-give her another co-oncern.” He’s getting pissed at that annoying stutter that has possessed his tongue; it happens whenever his emotions are at an all time high.
Mr. Holzer closes his eyes for a second, and breathes in without making a sound. “You are the only family she has left.” He states, catching Toby’s attention. “She has cared for you and loved you since the very beginning, despite what you may believe. Do you not think she would feel devastated because you do not trust her enough with such an important matter?”
Toby hesitates; he cracks his neck. “...I j-just don’t w-wa-ant her to— meow —hurt an-nymore.”
“And what about your suffering?” Mr. Holzer tilts his head at him, disagreeing. Toby furrows his brow. “You have an evident tendency to neglect your own needs and desires for the sake of not bothering anyone, but you have no objective evidence that you are considered bothersome. Is choosing to push your own mother away not proof enough in favor of my argument, when you know very well that she wishes for your happiness?”
Toby bites his lower lip. “She a-also des-s-s…” He rolls his eyes. “...deserves to be h-happy. She had a s-shitty husb-band and her o-oldest child is d-dead. And her y-y-younger son, who is far from n-normal, is—” He whines. “—s-seeing said daug-ghter sitting there right now, her body m-mangled!” He gestures behind Mr. Holzer while tearing up. “She lost a d-daughter, and I’m a sa-ack of tr-rouble . I’ve only n-now begun to see her sm-m-mile again. I d-don’t want to b-b-bother her any further—”
“And who are you to decide how she sees you?” Mr. Holzer pins him down with his glare.
Toby averts his gaze as it blurs; the sight of this distorted version of his employer, towering over him in anger and with vines sprouting from his back, is quite unnerving.
“Who are you to decide that for her?” Mr. Holzer lifts his head. “Do you also harbor such an uncaring and harsh perception for your friends, Mr. Woods and Mr. Lawman, who you have recently befriended?”
“No.” Toby answers frankly; Jeff might be severely scarred, but he doesn’t think of him as a freak; he doesn’t even think of him as ugly, he just thinks of him as a friend. Same thing with Ben, who looks quite normal, even though he also has his own messed-up issues.
“What about Mr. Lawrence, Ms. Lane and Mr. Nichols, who you have known for years now? Do you also think of them as unlovable because of their characteristics? Do you think they are freakish?” Mr. Holzer questions further.
“I d-don’t.” Toby responds honestly; the clowns, as much as they like to be annoying and as brutal as they can be, are always mindful of the needs of those that surround them, as they’ve both ached for that care during their childhood. EJ is intelligent, wise and empathetic, and a very loyal friend, who also hides his bitterness for being undermined due to his blindness and disrespected for his race and skin tone.
“And what do you think of Ms. Ouellette? Do you consider her ugly in any way?” Mr. Holzer asks with intention, eyes glinting sharply.
Toby blinks repeatedly; he feels offended Mr. Holzer would even consider that. “I c-c-could and would n-never see her tha-at way!”
“So why do you consider yourself so? Why do you assume that everyone considers you so?” Mr. Holzer already knows why, but these questions are necessary for Toby to reconsider his self-perception. “I highly doubt any of them perceive you like that. They would not evaluate you in a manner so foul.”
Toby knows the answer, but doesn’t know how to answer; he can’t verbalize the humiliation and alienation he’s had to endure ever since he had a conscience, he can’t convey how it has affected him like a stain that sullied his very soul. He can’t explain how disgusting he considers himself to be because he has motor impulses he can’t control, or highs and lows that are a stark contrast and can be dizzying for everybody, or because he remains unfaced when wounded, or because he has a baggage that only seems to grow each day that passes. He can’t state that, in his mind, what he’s been fed by his classmates and his father is what his brain has chosen to believe.
“Should you push me away too? Do you believe that I am here out of a sense of bothersome responsibility?” Mr. Holzer leans towards him. “Your reaction to my admission the other day suggested otherwise; you want my support. And I am telling you, right now, that you are no burden. I chose you, and I chose to assist you.” He lids his eyes just barely. “Would you dare say I am a liar?”
“N-no.” Toby fidgets with his hands.
“Beware: you are treating us all as if we were incapable of helping a dear one, as if all we had for you was faux concern. As if you were unlovable.” Mr. Holzer concludes; Toby eyes him with a sad expression. “When will you cease this circle of self-hate? How can I make you understand that you are not a nuisance, but a person we all chose to accept into our lives? Continue to undermine your struggles, do not let us care for you, and you will only manage to hurt all of us and yourself in the process.”
Toby doesn’t answer; he looks up to the ceiling, soaking up Mr. Holzer’s words like a sponge. He swallows as tears fill his eyes.
“I will call your mother, as well as your friends.” Mr. Holzer declares with finality. “Friendship is a tacit promise. If they truly are your friends, they will not hesitate to support you through this.” He stands up and exits the room; she looks at Ms. Mia, who was busy organizing things in the adjacent room. “I will be busy with a call. Is it too much to ask that you keep him company in the meanwhile?”
“Of course not, Mr. Holzer. I’ll be there right away.” Ms. Mia gives him a soft smile as she closes a cabinet.
Mr. Holzer remains where he is, right at the door, while she approaches him; her cherry red hair shines pleasantly under the fluorescent lights, and pairs well with her navy blue scrub. “I must also thank you for your assistance the other day.”
Ann Lusen Mia’s smile turns tender. “The cause required it. And besides, it’s the least I could do…” She lifts a hand and touches his chest delicately, right under his collarbone; the dragging of the pads of her fingers against the quality fabric makes a pleasant sound. “...to thank you both in return.” She drops her hand and goes past him.
With that, Mr. Holzer makes his way farther away in the corridor with long strides. He rubs his eyes. ‘Why must the boy be so difficult?’ He knows why; an entire life of being shunned, and isolating himself to prevent it, has ended up with this result. At least his order bore fruit, and Toby ended up calling him; for once, his recklessness has not won.
The call he’s about to make won’t be as easy; he presses Connie’s contact on the screen, and waits patiently. “...Mr. Holzer! I didn’t expect you to call me today!” He hears her happy answer. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“I was not planning on doing so.” Mr. Holzer keeps his voice neutral. “And please, call me Mark, Mrs. Rogers.” The woman is a decade older than him, so it feels strange to keep formalities.
“Only if you call me Connie in return.” Connie chuckles; Mark hears a beep. “Forgive me, you caught me cooking…” He hears a clang. “...there. How are things going?”
“Not so well, I am afraid.” Mark admits sadly. “I called you because of a little situation Tobias just had, although it is under control now.”
“...What happened?” Connie’s jolly tone has turned uneasy; he can feel a mother’s fretting in her voice.
“He has hallucinated severely, although not for the first time.” Mark omits the details; Toby shall explain them to her, if he so desires. “The psychiatrist has diagnosed him with schizophrenia, and does not put post traumatic stress disorder off the table, but it is hard to say with how complicated things are for him.”
“...I see.” Connie sounds distressed. “My poor boy. He never gets a reprieve from life, does he?” He hears her take a shaky breath, only to release it with heavy sorrow. “Thank you, Mark. You’ve helped us tremendously.”
“It is my pleasure.” Mark hovers his eyes around distractedly; many of the few people around stare at him plain and unabashedly, and others more inconspicuously. The only ones distracted are an infant sitting on their mother’s lap beside him, seated as she is, happily babbling away with a biting toy in their mouth. “I am sure his friends will be eager to keep him company when we return. Three new children have arrived recently, and he has become well acquainted with them all.”
Connie chortles, amused. “They’re in their twenties, Mark. But I guess it’s normal for you to think of them that way. I do the same, after all.” He hears shuffling. “That’s good to know; he needs as many friends as possible. Guess some of this food will go in containers for me to take there; it was nearing time I visited my little troublemaker anyway. I will give you some, I have to thank you somehow.”
“I will not decline.” Mark almost grins. He’s distracted by tugging on his pants; he looks down and sees that the baby is trying to get his attention. They chortle noisily when they realize he’s staring at them, baring him a beam consisting of just two lower front teeth, but the mother makes them release his clothes and quickly apologizes. “I shall leave you to it. Until we meet later.” Connie bids him goodbye, and he ends the call. Then, he searches up a different contact altogether, and begins a new call.
“...Mr. Holzer?” He hears Jack Nichols’ voice.
“Forgive me for the sudden call, Mr. Nichols, but there is something I must tell you, and that I would like you to convey to the rest of your friend group.” Mr. Holzer goes straight to the point. He can feel the baby grasp his left hand’s index finger with their little chubby hand while the mother is distracted once more. He quickly lifts his hand and flicks the finger under the infant’s chin, and they laugh gleefully. The woman notices what’s going on, and apologizes again, but he shakes his head, unbothered. “Are you still with them, perchance?”
“Yes…?” Jack’s voice is curious.
“Very well. Tobias just suffered an schizophrenic episode; we are currently at the hospital.” Mr. Holzer deadpans; it’s no use to beat around the bush.
“What?” Jack’s tone changes into one of concern. “Is he okay?”
“As well as he can be, given the circumstances. I wanted to let you know, since the hard-headed boy refuses to ask for help, even if he wishes for it.” Mr. Holzer wiggles his grasped finger, making the baby smile. “His mother will come visit him later, but you might want to keep him company meanwhile?”
“Of course we do.” Jack responds immediately.
“Good. We will be back soon. Goodbye.” Mr. Holzer ends the call, gently releases himself from the baby’s grasp and nods to the woman, who smiles at him gratefully. He can hear the baby begin to protest and make a fuss as he walks away, and she cooes softly to pacify them.
He returns back inside, and sees that Toby is far calmer now; Ms. Mia is talking to him, but turns to Mr. Holzer when he hears him approach. “He’s a little somnolent, but otherwise fine; the hallucinations are gone. You may take your leave now if you wish.”
“Very well.” Mr. Holzer turns to Toby. “Shall we?”
⦻
When they return, Connie is already waiting in front of the house, inside of her car; she gets out as fast as lightning when Mr. Holzer parks his car in front of hers. He doesn’t interrupt their reencounter, but merely observes as the dark brunette woman with gentle green eyes doesn’t hesitate to cup her son’s face to kiss and caress as soon as he exits his car.
Toby doesn’t reject his mother’s touch; he only did it once, when he was busy breaking a few of his father’s teeth and bruising his face whilst she tried to stop him. He actually craves her affection, and since she’s already aware of the situation, it’s no use pretending everything is under control like he used to do.
“You must’ve been so frightened!” Connie keeps on running her thumbs on her son’s cheeks, her pads over his forehead; he has grown into a fine, kind and well-mannered young man, despite all that life threw his way, so she couldn’t be prouder of him. And yet. “Why didn’t you tell me when it first happened, Toby?” She can’t help but scold him for his isolating tendencies, as any mother would.
Toby averts his gaze to the side, trying to keep his cool; he twitches his nose and his mouth. “I didn’t want to give you another reason to cry.”
Connie scrunches her eyebrows; her exhale is one of understanding, but also of heartache. “You say that as if anything that happened were your fault.” She feels a stab in her chest when Toby remains silent, a moment of dawning realization. “Is that what you think?” She takes his hair out of his face. “Look at me, Toby!” She pleads; he sheepishly complies. “Do you really think any of that was your fault!?”
“...No, but I still feel a sense of guilt.” Toby mumbles, blinking repeatedly. “And I…” He gulps. “...am not the best son you could’ve gotten.”
Connie slowly leans on her trembling son’s chest and rubs his back. “...I should’ve been brave and put up a fight against your bastard of a father from the beginning.” She licks her lips, crying silently. “Only I am to blame for you feeling this way. I’m very s-sorry.”
Toby notices the tremble in her voice, and becomes anxious. “N-no, don’t cry, mom…” He returns the hug, aching to calm her down. “Please…”
“You getting hurt hurts me too.” Connie states, taking a deep breath to regain composure; the last thing she wants is to worsen things for him. “I’m okay.” She looks up at Toby, who clearly doubts her. “But I need you to know that I wouldn’t have chosen another son. Do I wish you were healthier and didn’t have a single disorder? Yes, but that’s what any mother would want, and because we also know how evil people can be. I had you, beautiful baby boy that you were, and besotted as both me and Lyra were with you, despite her being only one year old herself.” Toby chuckles tearfully at that. “And as you grew up, you turned out like this. You’re not defective for it; I love you entirely, and I want you to rely on me. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes.” Toby responds, embarrassed. “...He’s seen all of this.” He laments childishly about Mr. Holzer, who is beside them.
Connie looks at Mr. Holzer, face lighting up. “And what’s wrong with that?” She leans back. “I have an idea! Why don’t I bring up the family album for him to see—?”
“Mom!” Toby whines, making his mother chortle.
“That would be interesting to peruse.” Mr. Holzer says calmly, following her joke.
Toby snaps his head at him. “Mr. Holzer!”
“And we could show your friends, too.” Connie teases her son further, trying to distract him a little bit.
Toby covers his face with his hands, dying at the thought of the guys seeing his baby photos. Or, perish the thought, Natalie! “I’d rather you don’t.” He whimpers, muffled.
Connie laughs. “All right, time to get in, I think. You need to rest, and I know you both didn’t have lunch yet.”
As she goes to her car to retrieve the containers Mr. Holzer knows she’s brought, he puts an arm around Toby’s shoulders and guides him in. It is when they enter that the boy takes advantage of their short privacy, and embraces him suddenly. “Thank you.” He whispers.
Mr. Holzer, even though taken by surprise by his unexpected show of vulnerability and affection, circles him with his arms. “No need to thank me. I…” He hesitates. “...we are family.” Toby shudders in his hold, so he tightens his grasp on him. He lifts his head from assessing him when Connie enters with a bag in hand. “Do you need help with that?”
“No, don’t worry.” Connie gives him a warm beam when she glances at him; she takes the containers out of the bag and puts them on the counter. “Do you still have some time before going to work?”
Mr. Holzer looks down at Toby. “Yes, of course.” All of that can wait for once.
“I just have to heat these up.” When Connie sees Mr. Holzer’s troubled gaze, she shakes her head; she knows he wants to help her set up the table, impeccably mannered as he is, but she’d much rather he keep on comforting her son, now that Toby is letting himself be consoled. “Will the rest arrive soon?” She asks as she sets the plates, glasses and silverware on the kitchen island.
“They will. I notified Jack Nichols that we would be here after noon.” Mr. Holzer pets Toby’s hair when he feels the boy tense up; he knows what he’s thinking.
Connie puts the roasted chicken she’s brought on the plates and warms them up in the microwave, and then fills their glasses with cool water. “Sit down, you two.”
Toby turns, twitching his nose. “I’m not hungry—”
“You did not have breakfast this morning.” Mr. Holzer has no proof, but neither does he have an ounce of doubt. Toby looks up at him, mouth agape in disbelief about the betrayal.
“Tobias Erin Rogers!” Connie growls his name sternly; motherly care flares up in her eyes, making her son shrink with reasonable wariness. “If you don’t sit there and eat, I’ll show your friends the photo in which you were a little naughty baby in the bathtub! The one in which you just sinked Lyra’s tamagotchi in, along with drenching me from head to toe—!”
“Don’threatenmeI’mverysick!” Toby, whining through his blabbering, quickly detaches himself from traitorous Mr. Holzer’s embrace and sits on a stool like a good boy, half chuckling, half pouting. “I’m suddenly very hungry.” He says with a fake grin.
Connie amusedly shakes her head at her son’s antics, while she takes his plate out of the microwave, and puts Mr. Holzer’s to heat up. “Were you prescribed any medication?”
“Haloperidol, two pills a day. I start tomorrow.” Toby is not pleased that he’ll have to take any medication; he’s tried other things before, and they often leave him lethargic and apathetic.
Connie puts Mr. Holzer’s plate on the counter, and the man sits down. She leans on the island and rests her arms on it. “How are your new friends?”
Toby contains a tender smile. “They’re cool. A bit nuts, the three of them, but it’s—” He whistles. “—not something I’m not used to around here.” He glances at Mr. Holzer, who is eating quietly; he stares in return when he senses Toby’s interested stare. “It’s so strange to see you eat.”
Connie frowns, confused. “What do you mean by that?”
“I just never imagined him eating until now. One thing is to drink tea, which doesn’t break his class—,” Toby whimpers. “—but I could swear he just sprouted in a forest one day and grew that big because of photosynthesis, like a tree.” He hears the clang of cutlery being rested on the plate beside him; Mr. Holzer has turned his head away and is covering his mouth. Toby squints his eyes and curls his mouth’s corners upwards. “Are you laughing, boss?”
“I am not. Your outlandish idea has astonished me to such a degree that I feared I would choke.” Mr. Holzer turns to him, looking as expressionless as ever. “Refrain from uttering nonsense while I eat, if you would be so kind.” Toby chortles with twinkling eyes. He’s not affronted. “Are you amused that my airway was almost obstructed due to your reckless verbalization of your imagination, Tobias?”
Connie watches, her heart warm, as her son has a laughing fit, and Mr. Holzer keeps on fake-scolding him.
“Oh.” Mr. Holzer suddenly opens his eyes a bit more than he usually does; he seems menacing. “Since you enjoy laughing at my expense, but neither I nor your mother are cackling along, how about I—”
“Don’tpleaseI’llneverdoitagain!” Toby almost falls off his stool; he knows what Mr. Holzer was about to hint at. The older man seems satisfied enough with his reaction, and continues eating. “...you operator.” He grumbles through his teeth, irritated.
“Did you say something?” Mr. Holzer asks. “I can hear your thoughts, Tobias. Would you like me to—?”
“Noooooo!” Toby protests, but then blinks. He leans towards him while his mother is busy putting the rest of the containers in the fridge, and whispers: “It’s not like you have any evidence to provide.”
Mr. Holzer’s eyes glint maliciously. “I remind you of my eyes, Tobias. They are everywhere.” The boy gulps. “I am always watching.”
Toby racks his brain to find a retort: eureka! “I didn’t think you’d be so invested in my friendships. Never—” He coughs. “—took you for a gossiper, sir.” When Mr. Holzer glances at him sideways while drinking, Toby knows he’s doomed; he shouldn’t have poked his employer so much.
Mr. Holzer calmly sets down his glass; it doesn’t make a sound. He turns fully to look at Toby; his gaze is loud and blurry, overwhelming and conquering. “Me wanting to know if things are looking up with Ms. Ouellette is not equal to me being a gossiper, but rather, merely asking my son figure about his love life.”
Toby gawks at him in shock. He knows, as he feels his obliteration fall on him like a bomb, that Mr. Holzer is grinning cruelly, even if he isn’t; he just does it with his gaze, not with his lips.
At this very moment, he loves, admires and is horrified by his fearsome employer in equal parts; not only has he mentioned Natalie as part of his love life, but he has also confirmed that he acknowledges Toby as a son in return, all in front of his mother; a triple-combo attack that leaves him doubled over from giddy embarrassment, wheezing.
“What…” Connie slowly turns around as she closes the fridge, eyes wide-open, and glowing too much for Toby’s liking. “...did you just say, Mark?” She asks too calmly, bordering on excited.
“We’re just friends.” Toby cracks his neck as he keeps his posture hunched and face covered with hair. “Nothing else.”
Mr. Holzer’s off-puttingly content, flowery aura does not wither. “Is that so? What a shame.” He hears Toby wheeze again as he continues eating.
But Connie knows her son; he wouldn’t react so viscerally if there wasn’t at least a thread of truth to Mark’s words, and the man is not the kind to joke about such things. He barely even jests. “But do you like her?” She asks with irises that shine like emeralds.
Toby almost pouts, nose dusted pink. “No…” He says without much strength and without true meaning, whilst averting his gaze. Mr. Holzer’s hum of response is too similar to a chuckle.
Before Connie can point out his evident bluff, she feels her phone buzz in her pocket; she checks it, and frowns. She looks at Mr. Holzer first, and then her son, apologetically. “Sorry boys, it’s work. I have to take it.” She makes her way towards the backyard.
Mr. Holzer stands up and takes his plate. “Have you finished?” He asks Toby, who still has a quarter of his plate left.
Toby puts a hand to his stomach; he feels full. “Yeah, I don’t think I can empty the plate. I’ll—” He whimpers. “—put it aside as leftovers.” He stands up and puts the remaining food into a smaller plate, then covers it. He puts said plate in the fridge, then dries the dishes Mr. Holzer has just washed.
“Did their scrutiny back at my house distress you?” Mr. Holzer suddenly asks as he dries his hands; his voice is soft.
Toby cracks his neck, then frowns. “No, it was just irritating.” He sniffs and twitches his nose as he looks at the faucet drip. “I was worried about your opinion…or lack of opinion, I guess.”
Mr. Holzer turns his body to him; he feels guilty, since he was the source of Toby’s depression, but he’s also clueless. “I am sorry that I affected you so.”
Toby shakes his head. “It’s not your fault, sir. You wouldn’t have known it would affect me like that—,” He clicks his tongue. “—and I didn’t either.”
“Well, I hurt you, even if it was an accident. So I apologize.” Mr. Holzer tilts his head. “For the record, I am not against it. In any case, why would my opinion matter? It is not my business who you decide to cherish.”
Toby’s expression turns troubled, discouraged. “I don’t even know if she’d accept me. If she did, I wouldn’t want—” He whines. “—a relationship built on lies.” He rolls his shoulders. “I can’t tell her, but I want to. That’s why I thought you wouldn’t approve.”
Mr. Holzer’s sensation of culpability worsens. He averts his gaze and takes a deep breath. “I assume that ceasing to work for me would not be enough, would it?”
“I don’t want to stop working for you.” Toby declares with conviction, cracking his neck. “And if I were to do that, it doesn’t erase all I’ve done or what I am. What is the point in a relationship when I can’t be sincere?”
“...You did not get to read her background report, did you?” Mr. Holzer asks. Toby shakes his head, but seems curious. “It might be best that you never do, since some details are too delicate, and she could take it as a betrayal of trust if she learns of your knowledge. But there is one piece of information that should suffice: she is not as weak nor as impressionable as she seems to be.”
Toby smiles puzzledly. “I already know that, but how could that help me?”
Mr. Holzer holds his gaze. “I think it might be too early for the relationship you desire to flourish without pretenses, but if you give her some time to adjust to this place, she might not be as shocked when the truth comes to light.” He hovers his eyes around the open space between the kitchen and the living room. “Besides, she has befriended Ms. Clark and is by extension acquainted with Mr. Otis. She will not remain oblivious for too long, and since their stories are not that dissimilar, her empathy will play in their favor, as well as in yours.”
Toby becomes uneasy. “They might try to toy with her.”
Mr. Holzer puts a hand on his shoulder. “I do not believe Ms. Clark has any foul intentions, although I do think she might rub off on her in some way or another, not necessarily bad. As to what pertains to Mr. Otis, I would not worry, either; as strange as his modus of socialization is, he would not target her. He might try to influence her, but a sufficiently adequate motive would be required for him to act that way.”
Toby bites his piercings and rolls the hoops with his teeth. “He’s begun to teach her. Why would he do that? He’s never given two figs about anybody in this place. Hell, I—” He clicks his tongue. “—doubt he even considers Jack Nichols a friend.”
“He is quite deceiving, so I would not bet on that. But if we were to follow your train of thought, my guess is that he wishes to appease his partner; Ms. Clark is far more sociable, and whatever interests her, he keeps an eye on. Their mutual way of courtship is very peculiar.” Mr. Holzer checks his watch. “He will not hurt her. He would have to respond to her first and me second if he did, and Mr. Otis is too intelligent to do something so counterproductive.” They hear the doorbell. “Ah, those must be your friends.” He makes his way towards the door.
Toby goes to sit on the sofa, mulling it over. He believes his employer, and he thinks his advice is very wise, but it’s still disheartening that he can’t grow closer to Natalie. For once, he’s found someone he’s eager to share his world with, yet he can’t. He won’t risk hurting her.
And now, they’ll come in. She’ll be here, and he won’t be able to pretend that everything is fine, because she already knows it isn’t. It irks him that what he mostly brings to the table is problems, not solutions for her.
Mr. Holzer opens the door and sees the seven friends, dog included. “Thank you for coming.”
“And why are you thankful, Mr. Holzer? It should be the other way around.” EJ responds with his usual shrewdness as they make their way in.
Mr. Holzer hears quick footsteps behind him; Connie has returned, and she’s dispiritedly kissing her son’s forehead. She gazes at Mr. Holzer. “I have to return to work, but I can’t leave him alone.”
“But that’s why we came, ma’am!” LJ grins at her, sticking out amongst his friends for his tall height. “You shouldn’t worry!”
Connie smiles at the two Jacks and Jill warmly, familiar as she is with them. Then, she looks at the remaining four, and unlike Jeff and Natalie expected, she’s not shocked by their appearance in the slightest. Although her face lights up particularly when she sees Natalie, for some reason unknown to the girl.
“Mom!” Toby pleads in a whisper through gritted teeth, squirming slightly in her hold. ‘Don’t be so obvious!’ He pleads in his mind, hoping the message will be broadcast.
“It’s relieving to know that he’ll be in such good company.” Connie turns her head around to look at Toby. “I’ll call you when I get a break. Make sure to have dinner at least, okay?”
Toby stands up and hugs her. “Hm-mm.” He squeezes her close.
“And remember to take your pills tomorrow.” Connie keeps on fussing over him, returning the embrace.
Toby grins tenderly. “Yes, mom. I won’t forget.”
“And don’t forget the lithium and the magnesium, either!” Connie warns, but becomes doubtful. “Because the doctor didn’t deprescribe them, did he?”
“No, mom, he didn’t.” Toby chuckles. “Come on, you’ll be late at this rate!”
Connie leans back and pinches his cheek. “You want me gone quickly, don’t you?” She jokes, and Toby pouts in disagreement; she caresses his face. “I’ll be back before you know it. Call me whenever you feel like it, okay?” Toby nods, and she lets go of him. She makes her way towards the group of young adults. “I’ve brought enough food for all of you if you get hungry.” She looks at LJ. “Make sure he eats dinner, okay? I don’t trust him.”
LJ smirks when he sees Toby’s sheepish expression. “Oh, don’t you worry, Mrs. Rogers! He won’t go to bed on an empty stomach.”
Connie turns to Mr. Holzer. “Will you leave now, too?”
“Yes.” Mr. Holzer turns to Toby. “Just as your mother said, call me if you require it.” He turns around, and pauses when he notices all eyes on him; the gazes are positive, full of admiration, although Ms. Ouellette’s seems more neutrally curious. He nods at them, a bit confused, and follows Connie outside.
Toby is left in the company of his friends.
The first one who checks on him is Smile; the dog comes trotting towards him, and sniffs him from his shoes upwards. Toby pets him, and Smile tries to lick his hands.
Jill approaches next and sits herself beside him, not looking that much better. She leans on him, and he half hugs her; he’s already aware of what she’ll do, but they can’t talk about it now, so silent support will have to suffice.
“We’ll stay the night if you want us to.” EJ offers gently. “Not that we would leave if you asked.” He grins apologetically.
LJ makes his way towards the sofa and sits to Toby’s right. “Was it bad?” He averts his eyes in doubt. “I mean, I know it must’ve been…”
Toby shakes his head and rubs his face. “It was a fucking mess. I couldn’t trust my senses.” He pulls his lips into a fine line after twitching them. “Some things didn’t make sense, others were too painful. I’d rather—” He whimpers. “—not delve into details.” He lowers his hands and looks at Jeff. “Are your episodes like that?” He twitches his nose.
“No. I have delusions, but I don’t hallucinate.” Jeff swallows. “Were you prescribed anything?”
“Haloperidol, like you.” Toby scowls and jerks his head. “I already have the vitamins, and I’ve taken other things for bipolar disorder before. I hope this doesn’t turn me into a zombie like those did.”
EJ sighs. “While I understand why you don’t want to take twenty different pills every single day, you do tend to go a little hyper, I dare say even bonkers, during your manic episodes. And I don’t think you’re unaware, so you should really consider medication for that.”
Toby knows EJ is right. “If haloperidol actually helps with more than one of my disorders, it might not be so bad.”
“Sometimes just one type of medication is enough to feel numb or sleepy.” Ben adds to the conversation. “I used to take escitalopram for my anxiety, but I stopped after a while because not only was I unfeeling, but once I got used to it, the dosage would need to be raised.” He lifts his hands, fearing that his words could be misinterpreted. “I’m not trying to discourage you, on the contrary! What I mean is that those weren’t the correct medication for you. I think you should give this one a chance.”
“I used to take fluoxetine for all my disorders, but I stopped because it made me very drowsy…and caused other side effects.” Natalie averts her eyes, cheeks blushing a little. “But like Ben says, you won’t know until you try. Also…” She shows her hand from behind her back, and lifts a bag, looking embarrassed, and changing the subject. “...LJ and Jill insisted that we redo this.”
Toby knows what’s in the bag already, and he can’t help but chuckle.
“But they have chocolate this time!” Natalie continues trying to convince him, unaware that he’s not against it. “You should try them at least!”
“I mean, I will gladly eat them if he doesn’t want them.” LJ grins wide, knowing the glare he’s about to get; and there it is, Toby warning him with his gaze. “Just a joke, Waffle-boy! Besides, we want you to eat so that your tits may keep looking this big.” He unashamedly grasps one of Toby’s breasts.
The snort Jeff releases is very unrefined, and EJ’s is not that much better. Toby is unimpressed, staring at the hand that just grasped his breast. “Did you come here to grope me while I’m vulnerable?”
“Vulnerable, my ass! And don’t you act as if this were just for my enjoyment!” LJ quickly wraps his arms around him and gropes the other; Toby flinches. “You can’t have this nice pair of tits and expect me to keep my hands to myself! Jeff and EJ are average, and the blonde twink is as flat as a board!”
“Why do you always have to insult me gratuitously?!” Ben whines vexedly, while Jeff and EJ hold onto him while cackling.
“You consider those things an insult! I consider them delectable.” LJ gives Ben a faux lewd smirk, which makes the blonde shiver. “I’m also lacking in that department, although I’m not an adorable little thing like you.” He refocuses his attention to Toby, who has begun laughing due to his squeezing. “See? You’re enjoying it, too!”
“You fucking pervert!” Toby tries to release himself from his hold, but to no avail; his arms are too long and flexible. “I’m gonna end up jerking my head and hitting you, idiot!”
“We are in sync, my love! That won’t happen!” LJ keeps squeezing Toby despite him flailing, and notices Natalie’s intense focus.
Natalie is evidently jealous; she couldn’t dream of touching Toby like that, even for a joke, because they’re not that close for her to do that. Even so, she can’t take her eyes off of him.
“You’re doing it again.” Jeff whispers beside her, eyes full of tears and voice wobbly, conveying what LJ can’t due to his proximity to Toby. “Drooling all over the floor. You’ll flood the house at this rate!”
Natalie cackles along, contrary to her usual reaction of either becoming timid or defensive; her donkey-laugh is contagious, and it obviously catches Toby’s attention, making him soft.
⦻
“Oof!” Jeff protests when Smile stomps on his stomach once more. He gives his hairy friend the stink eye. “It’s the second time you do this!”
“Waah?” Smile vocalizes calmly in response, unapologetic, right over him; he blinks at Jeff, almost teasingly.
“Is this because of the chicken? I gave you almost half of my food, and then you ate the dinner I brought for you, you fatass!” Jeff squints his eyes at him. “I won’t give you any next time, knowing how ungrateful you—”
“Waa-waa-waa-waaah!” Smile protests quickly, then lifts his head for an alarm howl; Jeff covers his ears. “Woooooooooo—!”
“Stop acting like you’re the victim here!” Jeff cringes through his dog’s loud complaint.
They’re all lying down on the spacious living room floor, having made an improvised mattress with various sheets and pillows, and night has already settled. Toby had insisted that he doesn’t need everybody to stay here, but since Jill is also not in her best moment, they’ve decided that a sleepover is due; they even brought their pajamas, and the clowns brought micellar water to get rid of any makeup covering their skin. Jeff has already taken Smile for a walk, and Toby has already talked with his mother through the phone.
“I’ve spoiled you far too much!” Jeff scowls at his dog, only to relax his expression as he grabs Smile and lies him over him, the animals’ back to his chest. “And I’ll fucking do it again.”
Smile leans his head back, ears flopping. “Woof.” He barks softly.
Jeff scratches the dog under his chin. He glances at Ben beside him, who is checking his phone with a slight furrow. “Everything okay, or are you just being a geek online?”
Ben chuckles. “I wouldn’t be as rude as to ignore you all for that. I was only telling Alex about the cartridge.” He sits up and leaves his phone on the sofa, then lies back down.
“Have you ever met him?” Jeff asks while rubbing Smile’s chest; the dog has left his tongue dangling from the corner of his mouth.
“Once, just to talk about the cult, share information and such, and we decided it would be best not to meet up if we can help it; we are an easier target together.” Ben whispers, and Jeff nods. “We only talk about that. We’re not on close terms.”
“So you wouldn’t consider him a friend?” Jeff inquires.
Ben shakes his head. “Uh…” He hesitates, unsure if the question will make Jeff too uncomfortable. “...what is it like, having a brother?” He delivers it gently. “I’ve had cult siblings, not real siblings.” He scratches his head.
Jeff takes a deep breath while looking at the ceiling. “It’s like a best friend that you grow up with, both living under the same roof. In my case, that is; some siblings can’t stand each other.” He absentmindedly plays with Smile’s front paws. “We did most things together.”
“And her?” Ben digs further, seeing that Jeff is not too uneasy. “Were you three friends?”
“Yes, for a short while. But it was nice.” Jeff smiles, but there’s pain in his expression. “I have no idea if they’ve remained friends to this day. I definitely know they’re not mine.”
Ben looks down at Smile’s relaxed face. “Do you miss them?”
Jeff becomes stoic. “I lost the right to miss them long ago.” He looks down and kisses Smile’s forehead.
Jill, beside Jeff, has heard the conversation from the moment Ben asked Jeff about his brother. She feels sad for him; she reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. Jeff gives her a little smile of gratitude, and in his eyes, Jill can see that he knows; she returns the smile.
While Toby is distracted by LJ’s poking, Natalie turns to Ben. “Hey.” The blonde turns to her. “I’ve noticed that you’re getting more confident.” She smiles warmly.
Ben buffers. “Am I?”
“Yeah. You’re not as timid as you were in the beginning.” Natalie grins.
“Well, neither are you.” Ben points out; Natalie doesn’t seem to believe him. “You don’t hesitate as much when LJ or Jeff tease you, and you’re speaking up more.” They both blink, then share a laugh due to the sweet realization.
“Hey, Jacky!” Jill calls out, catching LJ’s attention. “Stop bothering Toby and tell us how things are going with Isaac. You were all smiles the other day!” She smirks at him.
LJ rolls his eyes. “I’ve already told you, peppermint, that I only have eyes for my Tobibi!” He reaches out and squeezes one of Toby’s breasts again, and when the brunette moves back, he follows. “Where are you going, pookie?”
“Don’t start again!” Toby glares at him, grasping his wrist. “Didn’t you molest me enough already? Go bother Ben—!”
“Toby!” Ben yells, piqued, making Toby chuckle silently. “Don’t encourage him! He’s been calling me a twink all day long!”
Toby smirks at him and sniffs. “You can always attack him if he’s too annoying. I, on the other hand, am too soft on him to start.” He startles when LJ yanks him back by the collar of his shirt.
“Aw, I knew you had a soft spot for me!” LJ rubs his face on Toby’s bearded one, making him complain. He eyes Natalie, who is observing them, with a glint. “Are you jealous about our passionate display of desire, Naty-Nat?” Toby wiggles in his hold, growing nervous.
Natalie closes her eyes for a moment, then smiles innocently. “Is he so infatuated that he would climb trees for you?”
While Toby chokes at her response, LJ gawks at her. “Well, does he tell you to fuck off? Because he tells me that pretty often, and it’s the closest thing to ‘fuck me’.” Natalie chortles at his far-fetched answer. “You haven’t felt him up like I have. You know not of the pleasures of fondling this chest!”
“How gay.” Natalie smirks; her comment makes Toby freeze. “Is that what’s going on here? Friends with benefits, or something else? I wouldn’t want to interfere, if that’s the case.”
“While I agree that I absolutely seduced Tobibi with my charms, this is actually called ‘appreciating your bros’.” LJ looks at her with fake condescension. “It doesn’t matter if I fondle him all over, we flog our dongs, or if I slip it in or he does, because it’s not gay if we don’t hold hands—!” He receives a hit in the face with a pillow.
“Why won’t you fucking shut up already?!” Toby is completely unaware of how red his face looks at the moment. Despite that, he’s cackling.
Jeff, EJ and Jill are short of breath, howling in laughter as they are. “Hit him on the mouth!” EJ encourages. Natalie is wheezing like a donkey, while Ben is hiding his face in Smile’s fur with absolute embarrassment.
“Are you getting kinky again?” LJ is unfaced by the plush attack. “Or will it make you horny if Natalie watches us go at it—?”
Toby hits him repeatedly with the pillow, grin turning into a show of teeth.
“I’ll help you!” Ben crawls on his knees towards them and begins tickling LJ; the clown laughs like a drain while trying to avoid Toby’s hits. “This is for what you’ve made me suffer today!”
“Q-quickly, Jeff, take your socks off!” EJ reaches out and shakes Jeff by the shoulder. “We should gag him this time, he’s t-too unhinged!”
Jill shakes his head. “N-no, that will only excite him more! Don’t you see how much of a deviant he is?”
“The armpits, Ben, the armpits!” Toby orders with haste when he stops hitting the clown, and the blond complies; LJ’s screams amplify, and Toby turns to Natalie. “Go for the ribs! We need teamwork!”
Natalie crawls over them and pokes LJ in the ribs, and finds herself grinning when LJ squirms. The clown looks at her and Ben. “A-and I t-thought you w-were both innocent!”
Ben smiles a little sadically. “You thought wrong!”
Jill stands up and walks over to Natalie; she puts her hands on her shoulders, and whispers in her ear: “On the sides or the floating ribs is best; look.” She pokes LJ too.
LJ startles harder. “Jill, you traitorous little—!” He cuts himself off with a loud laugh when Ben goes for his feet.
Natalie turns to Jill, still poking LJ distractedly. “I’d like us to meet more often, and I could introduce you to Dina.”
Jill beams at her warmly and combs through her caramel hair. “I’d like that too.”
“JEFFY!” LJ pleads, tears running down his face. “COME SAVE ME!”
“Nah, that’s what you get for provoking everybody.” Jeff sits up with Smile still laying over him, now more relaxed. “Suffer, bitch.” He cackles evilly, while EJ picks up a pillow and hits the clown right on the face; Jeff turns to his blind friend. “Good shot.” EJ lifts a hand, and they high five.
Once they’ve tired of tormenting LJ, they all return to their original spots in their circle. Smile stands up, shakes himself like a drill, and goes to check on LJ, who is quivering; he accepts the dog’s affection. “Only y-you are kind to me…” He sniffs exaggeratedly.
“Quit whining.” Toby rolls his eyes as he lays back down; he cracks his neck. “These are the consequences of your actions.”
“How can someone be so sexual and so asexual at the same time?” EJ thinks aloud.
Jill makes a face beside him. “Whatever works to yank a laugh out.” She startles when she feels his hand on her shoulder.
“Are you feeling a little better now?” EJ asks. “Are you scared?”
Jill blinks; she is feeling slightly better thanks to their support and what she’s planned, but Mary’s death is still heavy on her. “I’m a little better, yes…” She doesn’t understand what he means with the second question. She lowers her voice. “...I’m not scared of my decision, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“And of me?” EJ asks, voice a little softer than usual.
Jill can’t help but chuckle; she gets where he comes from, given that he subdued a sighted girl on his own and is willing to help her kill two grown adults, amongst other things still unknown to her. And yet, she feels in no danger. “No, Jack. I trust you.” She leans over and hugs him.
LJ, who has recovered and is rubbing Smile’s stomach, is looking at her with his mouth in an ‘o’ that is becoming a smile. She puts a finger to her mouth, warning him with her gaze not to start again, or he’ll face another torture. LJ lifts his hands to convey peace.
“So, first impressions on Isaac?” EJ inquires curiously.
Jill leans back. “He seemed nice enough, no red flags in sight. But we’ll see; we might have to do the same with him if he hurts Jacky.” She looks at LJ. “Right?”
“Yep. We could donate the spoils to a charcuterie; do the environment some good, you know?” LJ comments as he boops Smile’s nose. “Or let EJ have them; he’ll make good use of them with that appetite of his, and the less chance we’ll have to be found.” EJ chuckles in response.
Natalie is looking around the living room, taking in all the details about Toby’s house; the interior is very woody and rustic, but not many decorations are around; a few simple landscape paintings here and there, bigger and smaller vases, and a few other trinkets. The television looks brand new, probably because Toby barely uses it, and the sofas are of worn out brown leather. Nothing that breaks the charm.
She focuses her gaze on the owner himself, who is busy teasing LJ about his childhood friend and other things to her right; his hair is very disheveled from laying down and giving LJ what he had coming. His brow is furrowed in a smug expression, his eyelashes glint as the light of the lamp in the corner hits them, and his scarred mouth is curled in a smirk.
Something is troubling him, she knows; he ate the waffles they made for her eagerly, and he chatted with her throughout the evening. And yet, it feels as if the distance between them had grown longer. He somehow seems more cautious, more measured, whenever they interact sometimes. She feels as if she couldn’t reach him, despite having him at less than an arm’s length, glowing in a warm halo.
What changed? Is it due to what happened today, or something else? Is he being like this with everybody, has nothing actually changed and it’s just her silly ideas, or is he really more distant with her only? Has she done something wrong? Did she fail him when she didn’t anticipate what would happen to him? Has she somehow lacked in her abilities as a friend? Has he changed his mind about their friendship? Has he realized how disgusting she—?
“Naty?” Natalie blinks, exiting her pessimistic thoughts. She turns her head right from looking at the ceiling, and notices that Toby is studying her with clear worry. “Are you okay?”
‘Fuck. He knows.’ Natalie chains her emotions with titanium and prays they won’t manage to break free. She smiles. “Yeah. I was just lost in thought.” She’s not supposed to do this; the one who’s had a hard day is Toby. She won’t make this about herself.
Toby doesn’t seem to buy it; his brow doesn’t relax. “Are you sure?”
Natalie is not sure if her smile is cutting it, and it might crumble any second now. “Yep.” She sits up. “I’m going to get some fresh air.” She stands up, and doesn’t wait for a response; she makes her way towards the kitchen and slides the backyard door open.
The chilly night breeze cools her. She takes successive deep breaths, a bit too fast for them to be deep enough, as she sits on the porch stairs. Her eyes are dry enough for now, but they won’t be for long if her thoughts return to that place, which is a given.
She looks around; the forest is a black wall on the horizon, its border illuminated now and then by the scattered streetlamps. A few crickets can be heard, accompanying her in this lonely second. The moon is nowhere in sight.
She shouldn’t have come here with the rest. They’ll know something is up. She should be stronger for her friends, for herself, yet her own issues always prevent her from having a normal life. Dina and Ben are wrong; she’s not any stronger. Everybody around her is moving on, living despite everything, doing whatever they can to improve, but she’s stuck.
She hugs herself, trembling slightly. She sees the little shed in front of her, the table to her left, the fence and the wooden floor under her, but none of these distractions are effective; her sight is blurring and her jaw is tight.
Toby will be disappointed in her. They were supposed to have a good time as a group, she was supposed to be well in order to keep up the good mood. But she came here because she couldn’t control her rampant thoughts. Of course he would grow distant, it was to be expected; he’s probably grown tired of her, just like everybody else has, and everybody else will. Her lying and isolating herself when he expected her help will only back up his new opinion of her.
She can already visualize his detachment from her, and it’s excruciating.
She suddenly hears the sliding door open and the subsequent footsteps behind her; she schools her expression, tightens her hands on the fabric of her pants to cover for the tears that have fallen on them, and hopes her voice won’t be too unstable if she has to talk. She doesn’t blink, lest the tears continue to fall and he gets a glimpse of her face.
A familiar warmth envelops her when he sits right behind her, his legs beside hers; he leans on her and hugs her by the waist. “Talk to me.” Toby pleads, voice gentle, as if she were a cornered animal.
Natalie swallows, hoping he doesn’t hear. “About what?” She inquires innocently, voice too frail for her liking. She can’t act nonchalant; she’s rigid in her imitation of wellness, even when his hair tickles her neck.
“What are you thinking about?” Toby retries, not believing her feeble pretense. “You’re acting strange.”
“I’m a bit overwhelmed by everything that’s happened today.” Natalie shrugs the question off using another strategy; if telling him she’s fine won’t work, perhaps another excuse for her behavior will. “I act like this when I’m tired.”
Toby tightens his hold on her, arms twitching. “Your lies hurt me.”
At that instant, all Natalie wants is to flip off on him; she feels a raging fire in her chest, a wish to blow up, even if she immolates herself in the process. She wants to tell him that his distancing hurts, her thoughts hurt, life itself hurts. She wants to tell him how fake everything feels, used as she is to being used, that she can’t take a fucking compliment without it feeling backhanded or outright false, that she’s eager for him and the rest to leave her the fuck alone at last so that she won’t have to suffer by their imminent abandonment anymore. She wants to admit that time is proving her wrong again, but she bites her tongue thanks to the last vestiges of mental clarity she has left, not minding if she draws blood.
“I know a mood switch when I see one. You were—” Toby clicks his tongue. “—fine a second ago.” He lifts his head from her shoulder. “What’s wrong? What are you feeling?”
Natalie feels anger, anguish, anxiety. She was never fine, and she never will be; it was just a happy but short period of time that distracted her from her sorrows, only to sink her back in.
When she doesn’t respond, Toby grows desperate; he bites his lower lip. “I don’t like seeing you like this. Say something, please.” He begs, keeping his voice low, not wanting to startle her further. “Natalie?”
The faucet opens; Natalie cries silently. How good, how attentive, how kind and tender and loving and so very warm he is. And she, on the contrary, is being petty for something she’s taken as fact but might not be as she perceives, hurting him in return. In a small moment where her throat doesn’t constrict too much, she manages to talk. “Have I d-done s-something wrong?” She trembles and hides her face with her hair, like a curtain. “Have I done s-something to deserve you being c-colder towards me?”
Toby blinks, and considers her question seriously. He’s certainly feeling dejected because of his own repressed emotions, but he was unaware that it was so obvious. He has to tread carefully, lest he hurts her any further, because that’s the opposite of what he wishes. “No, you haven’t.” He lifts his arms and hugs her. “I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. It could have been the stress from today and not wanting to worry you that made me act that way.” He rubs her arms, careful not to hit her as he jerks his head.
Natalie feels her heart heavy, for all she’s ruminated on is not false in its entirety; her fears are not unfounded, but come from years of experience. Her instability might drive him and the rest of her friends away if this continues.
“Are you thinking I’ll leave?” Toby inquires; her response comes in the form of a sob. He pulls her closer. “You’d have to do something—” He whines. “—horrible for me to leave. I’m not that well myself. Would you just distance yourself from me?” Natalie shakes her head. “I’m here with you now because I want to and care about you. Why would I abandon you?”
“I-I’m being dramatic for no reason.” Natalie whines. “I was supposed to uplift you, not c-complicate things for you.”
Toby scowls, forehead against Natalie’s back. “You do have reasons: you have your own problems which will interfere with your life now and then. You can’t punish yourself—” He whimpers. “—for feeling things the way you do.” He turns his head, right cheek against her. “If you don’t tell me when you doubt something, you’ll decide what the truth is, and that truth will gnaw at you and hurt us both.”
Natalie blinks through her tears. “I-I’m sorry.”
“I know you are, but don’t beat yourself up anymore for it.” Toby requests wearily. “Everything is well between us. The others won’t judge you for leaving.” He clicks his tongue. “They’ll be worried because they’re your friends.”
Natalie feels herself calm down. “...Your mom seemed nice.” She smiles softly, remembering the woman’s expression as she gazed at her.
“Yeah. I’m disappointed that she couldn’t stay longer, but work calls and doesn’t care about these things.” Toby is glad that the conversation has changed; now she can take her mind off of that place. “I didn’t tell her what happened during the hallucinations because I think it was a hurtful and unnecessary detail. But it was Lyra, amongst other things.” He sniffs.
Natalie turns her body around, and Toby straightens his posture. “It must’ve been terrible.” She puts her hand on his.
“There were tender moments, but it mostly served to twist the knife in the wound. It was very bizarre.” Toby looks at her with a slight grimace, and blinks repeatedly. He lifts his hand and rubs her wet cheeks with a thumb. “I’d rather not see her ever again. It wasn’t her.” Natalie gazes back into his eyes, nodding her head. “What do you think about Mr. Holzer?”
Natalie frowns for a moment, but quickly relaxes her brow. “He’s very tall.” She chuckles, and Toby grins. “He’s very mysterious. Is he always that inexpressive?”
“Yeaaaaah.” Toby can’t recall a moment when he actually uses his face; he’s mostly learnt to discern what he feels by the energy he emits. “I guess I’ve grown attuned to him, because it’s quite difficult to read him, otherwise. It still is.”
“Helen is a bit like that.” Natalie comments, looking to the side in thought. Toby tilts his head, particularly interested in what she has to say about him. “But it’s not exactly the same.” She frowns, unsure of her opinion. “It’s like he’s learnt to control his expressions, while it comes off as natural from your boss. I have no argument to back this up, mind you; it’s just a feeling.” She chuckles again.
“Huh.” Toby lifts an eyebrow. “Sounds like Helen is quite the psychopath—”
Natalie bumps his arm lightly, making him laugh. “Don’t be mean.” But she’s smiling along.
Toby lifts himself up. “We should get back inside. LJ will get strange ideas if we stay here for too long.” And he wishes he could give the clown true reasons, but he can’t forget what’s at play. He offers Natalie a hand.
Natalie also feels a pang of sadness in her chest; she’s not ready to let him know about her feelings. “Yeah, he’s talked enough nonsense about your tits already.” She accepts his hand, laughing.
Toby groans. “He can get very obscene if you let him wind himself up too much. Then he jumps at you like a Jack-in-the-box.” He sneers. “I should call him that. He has too many nicknames for me, anyway. He just called me a raccoon.” Natalie wheezes at him, clearly agreeing with the clown, and he grins back.
Chapter Text
Thursday.
“I know you’ve been reading the script.” Mila, the director of the show, flashes him a gentle smile as they make their way towards the stage. “You seem like the kind of actor that memorizes his lines in a single night. Aren’t you, Jonathan?”
“Am I that obvious?” Jonathan responds with a tone and expression that denotes he’s trying to keep his embarrassment in check, and Mila chuckles. To add salt to the wound, his leading role couldn’t be more suited to him, so it was easy to engrave every line, detail and annotation in the walls of his mind.
The performance, titled ‘Delusion’, has this for a plot: an evil spirit, who is trapped in limbo due to his unfortunate death by suicide, deceives the living to later lead them to a similar fate to his, all to use their souls as lackeys, entertainment or nourishment. He’s succeeded with several victims so far, and has now found a new one: Grace (who is interpreted by the one he doesn’t want to think about and is currently around here somewhere). The woman has a successful life, but the spirit ruins it by sucking off her life force.
However, the more time he spends around her, the ghost can’t help but fall more and more in love with Grace due to her kind nature and formidable resilience; she teaches him what love is, something he barely experienced while living. So, he hesitates to kill her when the time comes; and yet, he’s envious and resents her for it all the same. In a burst of rage, he ends up asphyxiating her with his own hands, eager to have her as an eternal companion, sharing in his misery. He quickly regrets it afterwards when coming to his senses, and transforms her into a puppet, the closest thing to a human being he can make her into, but it’s no use; once Grace is dead and trapped with him, she no longer loves him, for she’s realized his manipulation and refuses to bend to his will. The ultimate punishment for his misdeeds.
‘Yep. This is fine.’ Jonathan repeats in his head like a mantra, keeping a neutral face on. They finally reach the stage. Lo and behold: there she is, mingling with the rest of singers, dancers and other workers who won’t act on stage, as she used to do even back then. ‘To act while I’m acting. What a joke my life is.’ He thinks while he maintains his relaxed countenance and averts his gaze far away from her; his only reliefs are that he won’t engage with her more than he has to, and that her role is mute like the rest of the dancers’.
Mila claps her hands; the sound reverberates around the otherwise empty auditorium. “Listen up, everybody! While the dancers will go with Edward, the singers will come with me and Vera.”
Jonathan’s fake smile stretches with true emotions. He’s glad he won’t be near her for the time being, although he knows that will change soon, given the high level of skill of the people around him. “Will we practice dancing later on?” He asks while looking at the scenery background, then up at the flies.
“Precisely.” Mila guides him and a few other actors to a circle of chairs to the stage right. “Since what you singers will use to convey the story is mainly your voice, and the dancers their body, I’d like to focus on what’s important first, and then we can hone the rest. What we’ll do this week is taste the waters. We’ve got five more weeks ahead of us, so let’s not rush things; we’ve plenty of time.”
Jonathan sits with the rest of the singers; four souls which warn the audience during the prelude and alert Grace during the closing act, Grace’s oblivious friend who tries to help her various times, a medium who Grace visits, and other secondary characters which are alive but fully unaware of the ghost.
The first ones to begin their lines are the singers who will fulfill the role of the souls. An eighteen year-old boy, who is still a bit green with acting but has a lot of passion in his eyes, shows off his beautiful tenor voice. Then, another girl a year older than him does the same with more confidence. Next is a man of thirty, with an impressive deep bass voice that rumbles pleasantly. Finally, a woman around her fifties and with years of experience sings with her honed mezzo-soprano voice.
Once the roles of the souls are finished and the actors receive advice from the music director, after two hours, they have a little break.
The woman with Grace’s friend’s role follows when they return; she has a clear, sweet and innocent soprano voice. She faces difficulties due to nerves; they all encourage her, and she manages to prove her skills as a soprano. After another hour, next comes the woman with the role of the medium, who has a mysterious contralto voice. Then, for the next two hours, the rest of the characters who have overall shorter lines give it a shot, and another little break is done.
It’s now his turn. He has the longest lines, since he’s the antagonist and male lead at the same time; looking at the script in case his usual control breaks, he reads his first lines, letting the character possess him: “You I have found, bright amongst the crowd, for me to smother, and blind, and put out!” He smirks as he sings with a seductive tone and a great amount of mischief.
A thump echoes from the left stage, where the dancers are; someone has fallen clumsily. While some of his peers’ attention is caught by it, others remain focused on him, and Jonathan pays it no mind; he’s completely engrossed in his role.
“It is you, dear Grace, with kindness and praise, and a very slow pace, that I will amaze.” He says with gentleness. “And once you’re won over, you won’t recover; all efforts will be in vain!” His smile turns into a malevolent sneer and his voice becomes rough. “Pliant puppet you will be, pretty doll to play with me. Only me!” He cheers up, gesturing to himself with a giddy tone. “No longer will I roam, lost and gloomy, with no goal!” He pauses, blinking, confused. “Why do I consider such a thing? You’re not a special gleam…are you now?” He frowns, unsure. Then, he smiles bitterly. “Only time will tell. I have plenty of that as well.”
Two more hours go by while he sings his lines; the music director, Mrs. Vera, doesn’t stop him to correct him once or give him any suggestion, and neither does Mila, who listens to him with the same absorption she had when she first heard him. Only once he’s finished does everybody jump to praise him, and under the weight of their compliments, he feels as if his character and his own persona were yet to detach.
The women give the group as a whole a few more suggestions and advice, and state that by the way things seem to be going, the performance will be perfected in no time.
They all stand up, ready to leave; Jonathan feels his behind as flat as a board, six hours sitting as he’s been. The dancers are ready to leave as well, from what he sees; most of them have already stretched their muscles to prevent horrid soreness, since they have to practice again tomorrow. He stretches his own back, and Mila puts a hand on his shoulder, giving him a thumbs up; he returns the smile with honesty, and she leaves.
Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he sees one of the ballerinas approach. One he’s very familiar with. ‘Fuck, no!’ He snatches his script pages off of his chair in a rush, and then, he spots a miracle in the form of a burgundy-haired man, watching him from the main sitting area.
He makes a beeline towards him, so astonished by his presence here that he easily forgets why he was rushing towards him in a panic to begin with. He goes down the right stage theater stairs. “Jason?” He looks at him, almost in awe, then squints his eyes just barely. “How long have you been waiting?”
Jason gives him his classic smug smirk. “Don’t worry, I just arrived. I wouldn’t want to spoil myself the entire show by hearing your enchanting voice.” He glances behind Jonathan, and smiles politely.
A smile full of shit, but only Jonathan knows that. He doesn’t bother turning around to check on the objective of Jason’s stare; he refuses to give her any second of his time. “But why are you here? Why didn’t you go straight home from the shop?”
“To come get you so we may return home together, obviously.” Jason lifts an eyebrow, gesticulating with a hand, amused at Jonathan’s lack of understanding. “Or is it that you don’t want to return with me?” He puts his hand on his chest. “Don’t you want me here?” He asks, a bit too dramatically.
Jonathan rubs his own face. “I don’t mind that you’re here. I’m glad, in fact.” Jason’s grin widens at that. “I just don’t understand why you’ve decided to come get me without giving me a heads up.”
“Am I not allowed to surprise you now?” Jason lids his eyes, a dangerous glint in them. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Not entirely, no.” That doesn’t upset Jason, but quite the opposite. Jonathan squints his eyes even harder. “What are you playing at?”
Jason tilts his head, also narrowing his eyes, but gamesome as he usually is. “Why do you think I’m playing? I already told you I came here to get you.”
“I know you well enough to smell when you’re up to something. You would’ve told me you’d come to get me if you weren’t.” Jonathan closes the folder of his script sheets. “And you’re playful fifty percent of the time. The rest, you’re pissed off.”
Jason blinks slowly; he’s delighted that Jonathan knows him so well. “And tell me, what do you think it is that I’m up to?” He smirks again. “I’d like to hear your theories.”
‘Nothing good.’ Jonathan thinks, but doesn’t say it. “I think I’ll pass.” He walks past Jason. “Let’s go. I’m tired of sitting on a wooden chair for hours.”
“Oh, that poor ass of yours!” Jason walks beside him. “I could massage it, if you want; knead you like dough.” He makes squishing motions with his hands at him.
Jonathan raises an eyebrow at Jason’s hands, then looks at the aforementioned man in the eye. “LJ has definitely rubbed off on you.”
“What do you mean by that? I didn’t even mean it in a sexual context!” Jason complains, already getting worked up because of nothing.
“I never said it was.” Jonathan smirks at him this time. “Excusatio non petita, accusatio manifesta.”
Jason glares at him without venom. “You’re growing cocky.” He relaxes his stare, purses his lips and tilts his head. “I like it. Better than having you growing mold in your bed or behaving like an amoeba.”
They reach the car; Jonathan sighs when he gets into the passenger seat, finding these plush seats far more merciful than the wooden chairs. He closes his eyes as Jason gets in. “That was draining. I better get used to it.” He flinches when he opens his eyes and finds Jason’s face two inches close to his, but immediately chortles. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Jason lids his eyes as he observes Jonathan. “Just getting my daily fill.”
Jonathan has not just been nervous because of this new job. Evidently, performing in front of so many people when it’s been long since he last did it in a fairly smaller school play is quite the challenge, but one of the few things he’s more confident at; he simply didn’t do it since then because he couldn’t find joy in anything.
But now, there’s their new deal.
Jonathan is not yet sure about what being a playmate entails; he didn’t ask Jason, and Jason never explained. He’s not worried, because he knows Jason will not break his trust by doing something he doesn’t want to partake in, but he still can't pinpoint what their relationship is. Are they still friends, but with a different, unusual tag? Is it a more ambiguous term?
But Jason hasn’t made another move since that theater evening. Jonathan hasn’t been touched, nor kissed, nor flirted with. Sure, there have been jokes here and there, but nothing genuine, merely banter. Was that just to ground him back? Would Jason truly go that far, just to stabilize him? If so, was that moment a one-time thing?
But what is this, then? What does Jason hope to accomplish by leaning close to him and looking into his eyes?
Jason’s face relaxes. “Did you talk to her?”
Jonathan blinks, taken out of his thoughts. “No, but I’m pretty sure she wants to talk to me.” Jason must’ve seen her approach him, and he was present during their interaction the other day; she certainly is interested in them having a chat, but he couldn’t care less.
“And do you feel like talking to her?” Jason inquires further. “Don’t you want to hear her out or ask her anything?”
Jonathan frowns. “No. I won’t speak to her more than I have to, and only about things related to the play. I’ll avoid her as much as I can.” He was lucky today; had Jason not appeared, he might’ve had to come up with an excuse so as not to seem rude to the rest of the people around them.
“And why not talk to her?” Jason tucks Jonathan’s hair behind his ear. “Aren’t you curious as to why she’s trying to get your attention?”
Jonathan squints his eyes. “You were the one who advised me not to talk to her because it would give her the wrong idea.”
“And I stand by what I said.” Jason frowns. “But one thing is my advice, and another is what your heart tells you to do.”
‘What my heart tells me?’ Jonathan examines Jason’s face in silent puzzlement; he doesn’t understand him. ‘Why would you suggest I do such a thing, when you hate Emra? You’re possessive, even with LJ—’ And then it dawns on him, and he feels stupid for not realizing sooner. “Jason…” He readjusts himself in his seat. “...are you putting me to the test?”
Jason holds his stare, but makes no comment; his expression remains the same.
Jonathan smiles in disbelief. “And you were insinuating that I don’t trust you.” He rubs his eyes. “What are you worried about? Do you think I’ll grovel to her as soon as she breathes my way, or something?” He asks, cross, lowering his hand and sneering at Jason.
“No, I don’t.” Jason cups Jonathan’s right cheek. “But I know you, and I don’t think you’re able to really hate her; you’re kind and forgiving. Your dislike for her couldn’t cancel the love you feel for her, and that might make you susceptible.”
Jonathan scowls, exasperated. He turns to the door and pulls the handle, only to find the door locked. He turns back around, locks eyes with a now watchful Jason, and attempts to press the emergency button. But Jason stops him, grasping both of his wrists. “Let go of me.” He demands, incensed.
“John.” Jason keeps his voice calm in order not to rile Jonathan up further, but it has the opposite effect. “We both know I’m not entirely wrong, and you can’t blame me for wanting to ensure that you’re not being deceived by her and your good nature.”
Jonathan remains angry, because he knows Jason is right. That is the precise reason he avoids Emra; he fears his soft-hearted self will somewhat bend to her comfort, weak spot as she could be. And yet, Jason’s lack of trust is upsetting, because his love for her can’t erase what she did to him; a part of him promises not to be lenient with her and is irate and vengeful at her. Jason considers him weak, unable to stand his ground.
He yanks his arms out of Jason’s hold and turns his body, giving him his back; since that is all the proud man will permit him to do, that’s what he’ll resort to.
“John, don’t be unreasonable.” Jason reaches out and tries to caress Jonathan’s back, but he shrinks away from him. He tightens his jaw, irked. “I’m trying to communicate with you as best as I can, but you’re making it difficult.”
“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” Jonathan murmurs crankily.
With a sigh of resignation, Jason acquiesces his desires and starts the car. “Okay, then! Do as you please!”
⦻
Jonathan has spent the evening in bed. He didn’t have lunch; he was so burned out by the morning's events and his argument with Jason that he couldn’t bring himself to eat, much less in his company, so he fell asleep. He does feel quite hungry and thirsty now, but he doesn’t have the energy to get out of bed. He might as well just return to slumber and ignore his rumbling stomach.
‘...Am I being petty?’ He wonders for the umpteenth time. He hasn’t been giving Jason the cold shoulder for the sake of conveying his disappointment, but rather, he hasn’t felt ready to talk.
Jason had a valid point, but it was nonetheless hurtful to hear that he considers him too soft to be trusted. Jason is a very square person, always knows exactly what he wants, and has a very imposing and imperious personality; Jonathan both admires him and is wary of him for these reasons. Jason can be too much, too overwhelming, but sometimes, that has proved to be beneficial for Jonathan. He also knows Jason holds back a lot when it comes to him; this is obviously not something Jonathan should be grateful for, since he shouldn’t have to thank him for being respectful and considerate towards him, but it’s a detail he can’t overlook.
It’s not Jason he’s angry with, but himself. He’s unsure of what the future holds, of how he’ll react when he inevitably has to exchange words with his previous partner, even if he limits them to trivial interactions related to work. He can act and pretend, he can keep her at an arm's length, he can remind himself of her wrongs. But he can only do these things to a certain extent, and it’s tiresome.
He hears his bedroom door open gently; the light pierces the gloom in an elongated stripe. He covers his face with the blanket.
Footsteps make their way towards him, and he soon feels the sagging of the mattress behind him. “I know you’re awake.” Jason states, voice neutral but measured. It’s an acquired skill, knowing when Jonathan is pretending to slumber. “Get up and eat something. Please.” He quickly adds the last part, a bit dry in his delivery.
But Jonathan doesn’t want to. His hunger is not enough motivation to get up and nourish himself, and he’s still irked.
“You have to rehearse again tomorrow. Don’t do this to yourself.” Jason continues trying to convince him, tone souring rapidly; Jonathan can feel his contained frustration, near to bursting. “...Goddamnit, I’m sorry if I hurt you! But you know I’m right, and you know how I am!”
He certainly knows how Jason is, and it doesn’t surprise him that he acted this way, nor is he angry at him for it; Jonathan is embittered by his own circumstances and their stark contrast in personality. The only thing he could remotely reproach Jason for is his distrust, but he also understands where Jason comes from, given Jonathan’s general weak resolve and soft heart.
Jason remains silent for a moment, ear focused in perceiving Jonathan’s response, but it never comes. “Is this how you’re going to be? Fine, then!” He stands up and lifts the sheets from the left side of the bed, startling Jonathan. “Between us both, I win at being hard headed!” He lies down behind Jonathan, right beside him on the bed; he moves closer and clings onto Jonathan, making him tense at the proximity. “Stop doing this to me! I’d rather you bark at me and bite my head off than give me the silent treatment!”
Jonathan panics; the closeness inflames him, and not because of the warmth that emanates from the other’s body. “Jason—”
“I also went there to get you, so it wasn’t just an excuse!” Jason tightens his hold on Jonathan’s waist and pulls him flush against him. “I’m jealous, damn it! I keep thinking that she’ll dissuade you somehow! She certainly still has influence over you!”
Jonathan buffers. “You’re jealous?”
“Of course I fucking am!” Jason grumbles moodily. “I was the other day, too!”
Jonathan blinks; since Jason hasn't behaved that way since then, he had assumed said jealousy only pertained to his role as a playmate, but perhaps not; maybe, Jason is as unsure as he is. ‘Could it be?’ He turns his body to face him. “Jason, what are we?”
Jason frowns; at least Jonathan is willing to look at him now. “We’re playmates. Wasn’t that clear?”
“Yes, but what does that term mean exactly?” Jonathan frowns in return. Jason looks like he doesn’t understand his question, as if the answer should be evident. But he never explained, and it’s not an usual relationship label by any means. “What do you want from me for you to call me a playmate?”
Jason relaxes and furrows his brow various times, pondering. “I want your attention.”
“But how?” Jonathan inquires. “I’m already giving you my attention, but maybe that’s not exactly how you want it. Explain it to me.”
Jason squints his eyes, reflecting on it. “I want it to be exclusive. I want the kind of attention that you’d give no one else.”
‘That is far more enlightening.’ Jonathan feels a little excited. “So you want me to consider you someone special among the rest of my relationships?” Jason nods. “And what was that the other day? Why did you behave like that?”
Jason huffs. “You asked me to teach you—”
“No.” Jonathan cuts him off calmly, shaking his head. “That’s not what I’m asking you. I want to know why you felt like doing that, what you hoped to gain.”
Jason blinks at him repeatedly. “I wanted to calm you down because I didn’t like seeing you suffer, and I was getting frustrated that you avoided looking at me.”
“And what about you?” Jonathan questions, leaning closer. “How did doing those things make you feel?”
Jason smiles through his frown. “Satisfied.”
Jonathan nods, hovering his eyes around. “It's hard to understand you, even when you’re straightforward.” Jason huffs again. “I’m not criticizing you. I know that you’re as clear as you can be. Just…” He furrows his brow. “...I find that ‘playmate’ tag very vague.”
“And what is it that you want?” Jason asks, moving closer. “Why are you asking me so many questions?”
Jonathan lowers his gaze. He comprehends that Jason is now a key figure in his life as much as he is one in Jason’s life, and that he’s attracted to him, but he’s unsure whether Jason considers such feelings aside from their usefulness to keep them close. Furthermore, he must find a way to make Jason trust him; he’s not spineless enough to let himself be dissuaded.
Jason seems to sense his doubt, and chooses not to insist. “Are you still angry at me?” He inquires softly.
Jonathan shakes his head with conviction. “I wasn’t really angry at you, just frustrated with myself because you pointed out an unpleasant truth. I was too annoyed to talk to you properly; I needed to cool down.”
Jason grins gently; it gladdens him to know that. “That’s very good.” He thinks he’s felt Jonathan shiver at his praise; he feels warmth pool in his stomach, cocky that he’s managed to please him. “It means you care enough to make a change.” He pauses, hesitant. “Are you not put off by my behavior?”
“I know why you’d think that, but I’m not.” Jonathan reassures him. “It’s exactly what I need, actually. No one has given much of a shit about me until you came around, so you’re compensating for that lack of affection.” He chortles. “And I know what I got myself into. I’m not going to ask you to change.”
Jason looks at him with twinkling eyes, exalted. “You should eat and have a shower.” He gets up. “Come on, or I’ll drag you by your feet.”
Jonathan leaves his bed and eats the dinner Jason has cooked and served him; his stomach becomes quiet and his body thanks him, and he in turn thanks Jason. He takes a quick shower afterwards, feeling refreshed, and makes his way towards Jason’s room.
The aforementioned man is busy organizing certain pieces in the circuit of one of his most recent creations: Mr. Glutton. Jonathan approaches, making enough noise so as not to startle Jason. “...Wow.” He comments as he looks at the complex electric circuit, along with the hard endoskeleton and the softer but still durable exoskeleton. “Is it flexible?”
“Yes. The steel exoskeleton has a chamber in which things can be kept and later retrieved, and the endoskeleton is composed of both rubber and cloth.” Jason responds, engrossed in his task. “It can be moved using a remote controller, but it can also roam on its own accord using sensors.”
“So, like a vacuum cleaner that looks like a snake plushie?” Jonathan jokes; he chuckles at the pointed look Jason sends his way. “It would be quite scary to be in a dark room with that thing.”
“It could be used for preventive security purposes.” Jason hunches his back to reach an area better. “But I don’t intend on putting it up for sale. It’s just something I’ve wanted to make for a while now, and it would be too dangerous for kids. Stupid idiots would use it wrong and provoke a tragedy, too, and then I’d be damned.”
Jonathan straightens his posture and looks at the other side of the big, long table. “And what about those two mice?” He points at the red and black little wind-up rodents.
“Liquorice is a recording device, and Red Mouse is a bomb.” Jason deadpans distractedly, and Jonathan snaps his head at him with shock. He rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t leave something that can blow up with a mere delicate touch there. I need to insert the mechanical explosive device inside.”
Jonathan grasps Jason’s chair’s backrest, looking at the mice with wonder. “You really have a talent for these things, but I doubt anyone with a sane mind would call these three toys.”
“That depends on what you consider, ‘playing’, ‘sane’ and ‘toys’ to be.” Jason comments ambiguously, smirking pridefully at Jonathan’s compliment.
Jonathan turns around, scanning the room; it’s generally empty, aside from the working station. It has a closet and a chest of drawers, along with the big bed and its nightstand on the corner. It’s on that bedstand that his eyes catch sight of something interesting, albeit familiar; he makes his way towards the furniture with quiet steps, and picks up the tiny artisan creation with caution. “Have you given any thought to what you’ll do with this?” He inquires aloud, moving the teal music box this way and that; he enjoys the shimmering of the encrusted crimson stone and the golden details under the light. He opens it, and the expected little figurine greets him.
Jason whirls his chair around just as Jonathan turns his body. His lips pull into a fine line at the sight of the object. “I haven’t. I guess I’ll just get rid of it.” He goes to turn around, feeling a bit bitter, but halts at Jonathan's unexpected words.
“May I keep it?” Jonathan requests, eyeing the little box with interest. “It would be a shame to throw it away.”
Jason swallows. “What would you want that thing for?” He doesn’t ask that question with as much antipathy as he’d liked; his voice comes out weaker than he intended, because his throat is dry. “I made it for Amelia, and she didn’t want it. I could make something better for you instead of giving you scraps.”
Jonathan looks at him for a moment, considering his point of view, then returns his stare to the music box. “That’s not the way I see it.” He sits on the bed, box in his hands like a precious treasure. “You made it to ask Amelia for forgiveness, arrogantly, then you understood that what you did to her was wrong. But the box shouldn’t suffer because of that meaning you’ve given it, or the impression it gave her; you were trying to give her your heart, in a sense. You poured it into its creation.” He lifts the box, and grins at the little figurine, eyes crinkling. “And I admit that I find the little Jason in here charming.”
Jason remains still, watching as Jonathan looks at his box with fondness. His poetic words repeat in his mind, and his examination feels him with a different kind of joy; it seeps into his bones and mellows his glare.
“If I lick it, it’s mine.” Jonathan jokes, and Jason can’t help but let a small, stifled chuckle escape him. He turns to Jason. “Please?”
That soft-hearted gaze, full of mercy and full of strength. That voice which makes Jason’s blood pump faster. “Yes.” He yields, lowering his gaze. If Jonathan has noticed his sudden change of mood, he doesn’t show it; he keeps exploring the box’s details with the pads of his fingers. Those deft fingers, and that nimble body.
Hans knew what he was doing when he put them together, the schemer. He doubts it was his idea to begin with.
The lack of love in Jason’s life has made him cold, insensitive, uncaring and hostile. But Jonathan, gentle and kind and understanding, compliments what makes him passionate without his request, without flattery nor ulterior motives, but with plain honesty. Jonathan appeared out of nowhere, brought out the best in him and tamed him without lifting a single finger, all while Jason was unaware of his effect; he can’t bring himself to be angry, despite feeling exposed. He’s relieved.
Jason focuses his eyes on the music box. Jonathan is right; what he’s holding right now is his neglected heart. His soul is being mended by his golden strings, gently puncturing and sewing back together.
Almost unconsciously, and with a stoic face, Jason turns around and covers Mr. Glutton’s circuit with a cloth. He stands up, and with long but light strides, approaches Jonathan; he sits beside him, analyzing his face for a few more seconds. When Jonathan turns to him, his expression changes; Jason’s is too neutral, it confuses him.
Jason gently takes the box from his hands and leaves it back on the nightstand carefully. With that same hand, he cups Jonathan’s face, and leans forward.
Jonathan is not in a crisis right now. He doesn’t feel anxious, nor apathetic, nor depressed. He doesn’t have dread weighing the floor of his stomach, nor nerves making his chest itch and constrict, nor is he uncaring of all that surrounds him.
So why is Jason kissing him?
The peck is not seductive, nor arrogant, nor assuming. It is tentative, begging. Jonathan is surprised, yes, but his heart has skipped a beat; his breath hitches almost imperceptibly, and he naturally closes his eyes, much like Jason. The mattress protests when Jason leans and scoots closer. Their breaths mingle gently, warmly, and intimately. ‘What are we?’ The question makes a feeble appearance in Jonathan’s mind, but it quickly vanishes as his brain focuses his attention on the lips that brush against his, that claim him at the moment.
Since Jonathan has not reacted disfavorably, it doesn’t take long for Jason to deepen their connection; he spreads his lips, and Jonathan mirrors him instinctively. He pushes and tilts his head; it’s not enough. He reaches out with his tongue, and quickly finds Jonathan’s.
Jonathan opens his eyes and blinks dozily; he’s drunk from Jason’s unexpected affection, from the sound of their mouths playing. He feels serene, far away from day-to-day worries and absorbed by the tenderness of the moment.
Jason stops to nuzzle Jonathan with his nose. “I want to fuck you.”
Titillation makes Jonathan shudder violently. The admission was raw and straight to the point, as visceral as Jason.
He’s startled when Jason pulls away completely, because the cold that replaced his warmth is biting, chilling him to his core. But heat returns to him as Jason stares into his eyes: those pools of ambrosia speckled with shards of emerald cut deep into his own, keeping him a willing prisoner.
Jason breathes heavily. “I need to fuck you.” He rephrases, voice husky, gaze intense and hot. “I need you.”
Jonathan doesn’t answer verbally, voice caught. He reaches out and rubs his fingers over Jason’s reddened, plush lips instead, as if he were in a trance, and that’s all it takes.
Jason reaches out and flips the switch of the ceiling light; only the little lamp of the working station remains on, giving them a much more private ambience. He takes his shirt off with haste, then his pants and underwear.
Jonathan doesn’t have time to admire him properly, for Jason goes for his clothes next; first the shirt, and then the rest, all in one go. The clothes are thrown to the floor without any organization, doomed to wrinkles.
Jonathan becomes timid when he’s guided to lay down, and Jason senses it. “I’m the virgin here, not you.” He jokes lightly, hoping to ease his nerves, while reaching for the bottle and the little plastic packet in the lower drawer of his nightstand. Once he’s put those things on the furniture for imminent use, he covers Jonathan with his body, and resumes kissing him.
Jonathan can smell leather, comforting and familiar. He lets his hands wander, and they end up burying in Jason’s burgundy straight hair. When Jason pulls away, he admires the contrast between their skin tones; his is ivory and Jason’s is porcelain.
Jason lowers, and with a playful shimmer in his eyes, he fondles Jonathan’s chest; Jonathan jolts when he pinches him, and furrows his brow, more excited than indignant. But his vaguely chastising expression crumbles as Jason switches his fingers for his mouth; lips, teeth and tongue tease him further, but he doesn’t complain once.
Jason keeps lowering himself; he peppers kisses along his length, and gives him a bold lick. But to Jonathan’s short confusion, he keeps getting lower, until he’s accommodated, and Jonathan understands. “Jason.” He tries to halt him, without true desire to do so, and Jason, mercifully, pays him no mind; Jonathan quivers, stomach flipping and knotting, when Jason buries his tongue in him, and he grips the sheets. “Jason, Jason!” He pants, voice becoming a whine.
Jason keeps drilling Jonathan, sucking, prodding, thrusting and twirling, while keeping him well spread and in place, enjoying the sounds he makes; he hums when Jonathan releases a very low, trembly curse. When finally detaches, he reaches for the bottle, and lays down to Jonathan’s right, beckoning him closer. “You know I won’t hurt you right?” Jonathan nods as he lays his head on Jason’s arm, trusting. He takes the bottle and coats his fingers, then lowers the hand between Jonathan’s legs, and buries his middle finger slowly. Jason keeps his eyes on Jonathan. “Look at me.”
Jonathan does as he asks, and his stomach does somersaults at the intimacy of their locked eyes. Jason looks serious, focused, while the face he’s making is probably embarrassing.
When Jason curls the sole finger, Jonathan flinches and tries to turn his head; he growls. “No. Keep looking at me.” Jonathan aquiescens, and he curls the finger again, making him gape his mouth. He buries a second finger, smirking. “That’s it, pretty boy. Eyes on me.”
He teases Jonathan for a while, adoring the furrow of his brow, the little wavy hairs that stick to his face and the rest that pools in the pillow, the involuntary roll of his eyes into his skull, the licking and biting of his lips, the hurried murmurs of pleadings and profanities he releases. He drinks Jonathan in as he lets go, and returns the stare unashamedly, smirking devilishly.
How it pleases Jason to know that Emra will never see him like this, have him like this. She will never enjoy his furrowed staring, warm and full of lust, as he lets himself be pleased and be taken care of. She will never know his pure, unadulterated gratitude, his neediness nor his eagerness.
She will never truly know him. This is all for him.
What a boring relationship it must’ve been; the woman probably made him do all the work during sex. Him taking care of her constantly, much like he would take care of his siblings, because mommy and daddy were annoying and she needed to let off some steam. But she didn’t need him to launch her career, of course; mommy and daddy were not so annoying anymore. In the end, she’s done them both a favor; Jason almost feels inclined to thank her, but he can’t forget what Jonathan almost did because of her.
He can’t wait any longer.
He stops fingering him and sits up; he opens the little packet and puts the condom on. All the while, Jonathan observes him, looking as if the wait were killing him; Jason smirks at him while he coats himself with lubricant. He moves to be in between Jonathan’s legs and he lines himself up with his entrance. “Are you ready?”
Jonathan blinks up at him. “Be gentle. I have to sit on a wooden chair for another six hours tomorrow.” They both share a laugh, and Jason nods.
As soon as he begins his slow thrust, Jonathan gapes his mouth and swears, making Jason chuckle again. “What a dirty mouth you have in bed. That’s just the tip.” Jonathan throws his head back, and Jason bites his lip; he holds Jonathan’s jaw and makes him return the stare. “Don’t you cum yet. I swear I’ll rail you real good if you do.” Jonathan groans both in arousal and in response to his delicious threat.
Jason is soon buried to the hilt, and Jonathan beckons him close with desperation; he lowers himself and is embraced.
They begin with a slow pace, resuming their passionate and intimate ambience; all that can be heard is their ragged breathing and moans, the slap of their skin and wet sounds. “...F-fuck…” Jonathan curses again as Jason thrusts in once more; he feels full, he feels good, like he has never felt before.
Jason’s eyebrows are furrowed and his lip is slightly curled as he picks up the pace. His face changes as Jonathan’s horny expression, hazy stare and the feeling of him tight around him captivate him; he grits his teeth and wrinkles his nose. “T-that’s it…” His lip curls upwards. “...eyes on me, John.” He grunts.
Jonathan lids his eyes, close to release. Jason slows his pace and exchanges the quick thrusts for slow but blunt ones that make his gaze unfocus somewhat.
Jason snarls, leaning to brush his lips against Jonathan’s. “Keep looking at me, John! Don’t you dare close them or look away!”
Jonathan gapes his mouth and cups Jason’s face. “J-Jason—!” Searing hot pleasure rips through him; he keeps his eyes on Jason as he pants, rapture elevated by the sheer togetherness their locked gazes bring, and more so with Jason’s erotic countenance.
They stare at each other for a few seconds more. Jonathan throws his head back, exposing his neck, and closes his eyes. Jason leans down and licks his Adam’s apple, smirk back on his face. ‘If I lick it, it’s mine.’
Friday.
He rests his marker on the little table beside the easel with a pleasant, almost inaudible ‘clack’. He turns his head to his left, and looks up to the clock over the living room double doors; it’s ten, just as he guessed. Relaxed, but swift, he stands up from his seat, takes his white coat off, and waits while letting the sunrays warm him gently.
He hears the doorbell fifteen minutes later than the stipulated time, and goes to open the door. “...Good m-morning…Helen...” Natalie greets him as soon as she sees him, panting. “…I’m sorry…I know I’m late...”
“Come in, please.” Helen stands aside to let Natalie in, and locks the door after her. “Would you like a glass of water?” He asks, knowing that’s what he’s supposed to do in this case; she nods. He goes to retrieve it, and returns to the living room to find Natalie already seated, having taken her shoes and jacket off. He sets the glass on the table with care; he dislikes unnecessary noise as much as mannerless guests. “Have you been practicing?”
“Yes.” Natalie takes a big gulp from the glass, letting the cool liquid calm her protesting lungs; she has woken up late, having forgotten to set up her alarm, since she turned it off for yesterday. Thankfully, her anxiety did her a favor for once and woke her up not long ago, and she came here running. Even so, arriving late is embarrassing, more so since Helen is such a proper person, and they’re not as close as she is with Dina. She also hopes she hasn’t sweated much, but she won’t take her jacket off to check. She can only pray that she won’t start smelling.
Helen sits in front of her, arms elegantly resting on the table. “Show me your work, please.”
Natalie rests the glass on the table, and takes her notebook and the tablet out of her purse; she didn’t forget any of them by pure miracle, because she had been ready to fly out of the door as soon as she realized the time. She turns on the tablet and opens her notebook to let Helen look through it while the first loads, and hovers her eyes around distractedly while he checks her drawings. “Is Dina not at home?”
“She’ll be at a photoshoot for most of the day and won’t return until late.” Helen turns the page and continues analyzing what he finds there.
Natale fidgets in her seat. “I’m sorry I made you wait.” She looks at him sheepishly.
“Don’t worry.” Helen shrugs her apology off, unfazed; he dislikes tardiness, but since he didn’t have to wait for long and used the fifteen minutes to calmly ponder, he’s not feeling bothered by it.
“I don’t usually arrive late. I just forgot to set the alarm.” Natalie knows she’s rambling nervously, and that Helen probably doesn’t care enough to hear her reasons. But she also wants to be sincere with him, since she admires him, and she’d hate to give him a bad impression. She’s nervous as well; what happened on Wednesday has been dangling in her mind, and she can’t shake it off. She swallows. “Toby had a schizophrenic episode.”
Helen deliberately pauses his turning of the pages and looks at her, as if in dissimulated shock. “Is he well?” He inquires, again, because he knows that’s what he’s meant to do.
“He is now. But I feel like things have changed between us, even if he says they haven’t.” Natalie frowns; she needs to speak about this to someone neutral, but knows that she’ll regret oversharing later, and Helen might not be interested in hearing how she feels. “...Can I ask you a question?” Helen hums. “Did the bullying you suffered affect you?” She knows the question is stupid, and she wants to facepalm as soon as she formulates it.
Helen lifts his blue gaze from her drawings, blinking calmly. “Harassment affects everybody who’s endured it.” He responds ambiguously.
“What I meant by that question is, did it inspire you to paint?” Natalie asks, feeling a little bolder for some reason. “Was it so bad that you had to paint to channel your emotions?”
Helen has no qualms in giving a truthful response. “Yes.”
Natalie searches in his gaze, feeling the boldest. “Was there any moment when canalizing them wasn’t enough?” The question sits heavy in the air. “Did you ever wish to mold something that once hurt you into something great, maybe as a way to heal?”
Helen remembers when she said she used drawing as a form of therapy, or rather, a flimsy bandaid to stop the bleeding. “Everybody has felt the wish to get retribution at some point, if the affront was great enough to warrant it.” He answers, vaguely once more.
“I have, many times. I still do.” Natalie admits, more to herself than Helen; he already knows what moves her to draw. She smiles softly. “But Toby inspires me differently.”
Helen tilts his head gently, finding the turn of the conversation unexpected.
“He inspires me to love others and love myself, in a way I have never been encouraged to do.” Natalie’s smile erases. “I’m used to being demeaned and abandoned, but he’s been the complete opposite from the start.” She lowers her head and covers her face with her hands. “I’m scared that I'll eventually drive him away. His patience is conditional and limited, and I’ll keep testing it, because that’s what I’ve learnt to do; it’s my personality now.” She trembles, even though she tries not to with all her might. “I love him so much. But my head keeps telling me to watch out, that I’ll be betrayed anytime now.” A sob makes her chest spasm. “...I d-don’t want to be alone again. I’m tired of s-suffocating, of feeling angry, of being alert…it’s so exhausting.” She sniffs. “He says I’m b-beautiful, but I don’t believe him…I c-can’t. That is not what I’ve been t-told until now…” She grits her teeth. “...I’m s-sorry, I shouldn’t dump a-all of this on you.”
Helen understands her plight down to a T. He stands up and makes his way towards the coffee table in front of the couch. He crouches to retrieve a box of tissues from under it and returns. When Natalie uncovers her wet and reddened face to take a few, he cunningly strikes. “Natalie.” She looks up at him with wide, pitiful eyes, like a doe; he tilts his head, almost reptilian. “Your time is almost up.”
Natalie widens her eyes like plates, looking as if he had just stabbed her.
Helen blinks at her, calmly and innocently, then turns and takes a few strides towards the windows. “Use your misplaced anger to heal instead of self-harming.” He turns to her, letting the sun warm his back and envelop him in light. “Don’t let it cage you. I give you this advice as your friend.”
Natalie’s discomposure melts. She feels seen. “...I d-don’t know how to use my anger.”
“Direct it towards the ones who made you feel inadequate.” Helen begins to list examples. “If you lack motivation and discipline, remind yourself of your suffering and use your frustration to fuel your training. Are you successful in being direct and honest in conveying your emotions?”
Natalie shakes her head, ashamed. “I find it very difficult. I don’t want to bother anyone…I feel like my problems are not worth considering. And what I confessed has been used against me in the past.” She can remember the times her father cussed her out for anything, the way her mother shrugged her off, how her brother betrayed her trust, and what happened when she confided in someone about her embarrassing secret.
Helen’s eyes are sharp, like scalpels. “It wasn’t easy, nor was it your fault.” He squints his eyes almost imperceptibly. “Do you believe you can’t expect love when you don’t even love yourself? How could you not feel exhausted, when you’re currently your own enemy?”
Natalie fists her hand around her used tissue, crumpling it. “You’ve been through this too, haven’t you? Abhorring your body and feeling like you have to keep it all bottled up. This…” She curls her lip, irate. “...sensation of worthlessness.”
“Yes.” Helen turns to stare at the sun hitting the tree outside. He closes his eyes; he can hear Natalie’s clock tick, much like his own. But his has the tune of Judy George’s wristwatch.
⦻
She looks at the lens with sly confidence.
For most of the day, she’s been posing for the camera with so many clothes and accessories on that she can’t even remember what she put on. She’s contorted her face muscles into many different fake expressions, both for the photos and to interact with the rest of the people working here; she’s itching to put her necklace back on, go home, roam around the house in blissful and liberating nakedness, and irritate Helen by leaving her clothes strewn around.
She’s now laying down over a white background, hair around her like a halo of gold, as she clutches a white leather purse in between her manicured fingers with a seductive yet subtle look. The accessory, while expensive and very good quality, doesn’t catch her eye, like what she wears on her body and the makeup she has on neither does. She doesn’t actually care for such things, but rather, only uses them as a symbol of her success.
She hopes Daniel is writhing his holey, maimed body in his grave, irked at her known and generally admired existence despite his efforts to keep her a secret.
While she was on one of her breaks a few hours ago, she checked on her post; that Claudia girl was dragged through the mud back and forth, until looking like a dirty and pitifully rickety pig, all thanks to her lamenting words and the evidence Nina provided. She had grinned, wide and predatory, rejoicing in her downfall. By using another anonymous account she’d used to befriend the conniving little bitch before her plot had begun, she spied on her insignificant account, only to be further pleased that it was radio silent and had been turned private; she couldn’t bear the bullying she once rejoiced in leading.
She texted Nina, and the girl expressed immense gratitude; thanks to the outrage, an investigation has been issued, and Claudia will face prison for not just organizing the beating up of a child, but illicit possession of weapons as well. Her adult accomplices will face a similar sentence, and those who are minors will endure different punishments; some of them will be put in juvenile prison, while others will have a permanent stain in their record despite walking free. To make matters even juicier, Nina’s parents have agreed that it would be best to move for their children’s sake, and they’re interested in getting a property around here.
After a half an hour, she’s finished; she takes her own purse and gets in her car. Checking her phone, she sees that she has a recent missed call from Natalie; she returns the call on the hands-free device as she drives back home. “Hi, Nat. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, mostly.” Natalie comments, sounding tired. “I was with Helen this morning. I think it’s the most I’ve ever heard him talk.” She chuckles.
“Oh?” Dina’s interest is piqued severely. Most of the time, he needs to get his words pulled out of him with a corkscrew. “How so? What did you talk about?”
“I was still nervous about what happened with Toby; I couldn’t sleep well today and arrived late, so I over-explained myself, and I ended up asking him about his life and such. He advised me to channel my anger towards my goals instead of myself. It was kind of nice, but also strange coming from him.” Natalie resumes the events.
“I see. It is rare for him to be so talkative.” Dina taps the steering wheel with her finger, pleased with the information. “He must be warming up to you; you’re kind of similar in some aspects, so I guess that helps. Did he open up too?”
“He confirmed that he’s felt violent like me, that bullying affected him a lot, and that he’s disliked himself before, but his responses to those questions were mostly monosyllabic or general answers.” Natalie pauses, still in disbelief. “...He told me he’s my friend.”
Dina’s eyes gleam and she grins dementedly. “Really? That’s amazing!” She’s not lying, and she wants to know what drives Helen to behave this way; he’s never called EJ a friend explicitly, despite the man’s knowledge and close relationship to them both. Helen has been annoyingly enigmatic lately.
“Yeah. Also, I wanted to ask you if we could meet. I’d like to bring Jill along; the poor girl needs as many distractions as she can get.” Dina hears shuffling on Natalie’s end.
Dina’s eyes glint; she grips the steering wheel with excitement. “Of course, the more the merrier!” It doesn’t take long for her to arrive home, and she bids Natalie goodnight.
The house is dark and silent when she exits the garage, only illuminated by the moonlight. She sharpens her hearing just in case; the dropping of a pin could be heard.
Shrugging her shoulders, she takes her shoes off, leaving the pair far away from each other in the entrance, and one turned upside down. She leaves her purse on the entrance table and leaves her woolen white top there, too. With light steps, she walks to the sun room and takes a peek; empty. She leaves her bra on a chair.
She goes up the stairs, minding the ones who creak under pressure in certain spots. Once she’s upstairs, the house is still silent, and the living room area is closed. She leaves her jeans on the railing of the steps. She quietly goes to the door and turns the handle gently.
The room is not as gloomy as the rest of the house; here, the moon bathes everything with its silvery rays. Dina walks in carefully, not bothering to close the door behind her. She makes a beeline towards the sofa, and when she leans over it, she grins.
There he is: eyes closed, looking like a profoundly asleep cat. He has a book open in his chest, most likely having dozed off while reading. The sight in itself is rare; Helen never falls asleep here, but would go to bed as soon as he feels tired. That he has the book on him is also unusual, for he would’ve left it on the coffee table. And the oddest thing is that he remains asleep. Or he might just be pretending; it’s not like Dina cares that much, anyway.
She takes her socks off; she leaves one on the backside of the couch, and throws the other behind her haphazardly. She circles the sofa and leans over him, but he doesn’t yet stir, so she takes her panties off and leaves them on the television, then returns to the couch. She sits right beside him, and leans forward.
London blue irises greet her. She attacks.
She kisses him on the mouth, her lips still painted a smudgeable red; she smooches audibly, then drags her lips to his left cheek, and then to the right cheek, leaving a red streak on his face.
She sits up and giggles at her artwork, while Helen blinks at her in sleepy and stony disbelief; he can see the smudged lipstick on her face, after all. He sits up to leave the book on the coffee table, and he spots the underwear on the television; he looks over the sofa, sees the socks, then the pants on the railing outside, and easily deduces she’s left a mess of scattered clothing in her wake.
Helen turns to her slowly, eyes icy; Dina grins, unfazed. In a blur, he has circled an arm around Dina’s waist and thrown her over him while laying back down on the sofa. “You’re abominable.” Dina hears in her right ear.
While Helen’s left arm keeps Dina in place, his right hand swiftly slithers down, over her blonde pubic hair. She exhales loudly, adoring those long, graceful and warm fingers of his. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much—!” She cuts herself off with a moan and spreads her legs further. She lifts her head to grin at him. “Helen～!”
“Why must you always do things like these?” Helen’s tone remains displeased.
“To bother you, of course.” Dina’s grin widens, glad she’s achieved her easy goal; she moans, but in protest, when Helen’s fingers halt. “Helen!” She knows he’s punishing her in return.
“That’s not nice.” Helen points out with a neutral tone.
Dina chooses not to take the bait, but changes the topic instead. “Natalie has told me about your conversation. What are you scheming now?”
Helen blinks at her innocently. “I’m not scheming anything. No more than you are, at least.”
Dina squints her eyes at him, unconvinced. “What a pain clocks have brought you both!” She sits up in between Helen’s legs, flicking her hair. “Do you feel it, Helen? Are you connecting, or just pretending to for the sake of achieving something again?”
“Is connecting to another human being not an achievement all on its own?” Helen inquires, admiring how the moonrays reflect on Dina’s golden hair and her pale back.
Dina turns her body to look at Helen, arm still lifted mid hair-flicking. “I’ve made a distinction between the two for a reason. Don’t act dumb with me, you riddler.”
“I sense frustration in your tone.” Helen lowers his gaze. “Are you disappointed by my answer?”
“Not disappointed, but certainly bugged. You have this blurry screen of sorts that prevents me from prying, and it’s both tempting and irking.” Dina gesticulates animatedly. “I want to know what you’re thinking, but there’s a certain appeal in not knowing, and it’s not like I can tear it out from you.” Helen grasps her waist delicately. “Whatever it is that you’re planning to do with Natalie, I want to know. Like when you watch a series and are dying to know what a character is thinking and what’ll happen next, you get me?” She fists her hands around nothing. “And whatever you do, whatever the outcome is, it’ll help me understand you and her better. It’s just…ugh!” She wiggles her body excitedly.
“You get excited about the smallest things.” Helen points out.
“The smallest—?” Dina turns around to look at him again, offended. She points down between his legs. “That is not small by any means.”
Helen lids his eyes. “No need to be vulgar to get your point across.”
“Save me the fake educational speech! It’s not like you care. You like me vulgar.” Dina stands up from the sofa. “I’ll go touch myself on the bed, since you’re not interested—” She starts running away as soon as she hears Helen get up to follow her with haste; she giggles loudly. “Nothing like a good chase to make me wet!” She screeches as she sprints around the stairs’ railing, realizing how close Helen is to her already; she grabs the pants she left on them and throws them at him.
Helen swerves them swiftly. His eyes glint like a predator’s in the gloom; a blue-eyed panther. He’s making noise, stomping on the wood, because he wants Dina to hear how close he’s to her, since stealthiness won’t bring out that urgency he wants to see in her step, that desperation to surpass him. They both know she can’t, but that’s the appeal of the game: to test how long it takes for it to end.
“I could always take everything out of the wardrobe and throw it over the stairs—!” Dina threatens, only to regret the taunt right after; an arm swiftly wraps around her waist. “—EEK!” She shrieks, and proceeds to giggle.
Helen has caught her before she could reach the bedroom. “No, you won’t.” He states calmly, trapping her against the railing. He crouches down and holds onto her legs.
“No fair, you have longer legs than I—oh, my god!” Dina holds onto the railing as Helen goes down on her without so much as a warning. “Yessss, put that silvery tongue to good use!” She hisses, baring her neck as she looks up to the chandelier. She chuckles in delight, biting her lower lip. “Don’t you find this unhygienic?”
“You’re not dirty.” Helen responds quickly, and swipes his tongue between her folds.
Dina raises her hips, wanting to be closer to him; his unabashed stare makes her more confident, it makes her throb. She combs through his hair with her right hand. “M-my lips up here are already p-painted.” She spasms, bucking her hips. “D-did you have to paint t-those too?”
“It’s your fault.” Helen takes but a second to answer.
Dina can’t disagree, for it’s nothing a shower won’t fix. She just wants any excuse to rile him up. “You look g-good kneeling before me. Very s-servile.” She teases him; she’s met with a good suck to her clit. She hisses again, holding onto the railing well. “B-but you don’t see it that way, d-do you?” She pants. “You t-think of it as an act of d-dominance.” Helen hums in response. “Make me c-cry, then. Prove t-that you can do that.” He proves it marvellously; a long drag over her bud has her rolling her eyes, trembling. He even has to hold her ankles to keep her steady. “...Y-you’re not going to s-stop, are you?” She realizes, previously thinking he just wanted to take her to the edge to leave her hanging. Helen hums again; she braces herself.
Looking up, the light of the ceiling lamp almost seems to be turning on, as if heaven’s gates were opening for her. She moans wantonly, quivering, cumming on his tongue, while Helen doesn’t stop until he knows she’s finished, drinking from her holy fountain.
Dina lifts her head, panting through the last vestiges of the wonderful orgasm that just struck her good. She watches Helen stand up before her, blankly smug, having his lips wet with her slick and still stained with her lipstick. He holds her waist and leans in for a quick kiss, just to have her taste herself. “Pick up your clothes.” He makes his way towards the bedroom.
As thoroughly as he has just tamed her, she can only oblige.
Chapter Text
Saturday.
After an hour of contemplating the barely undulating chlorine water with trepidation, Ben remains stuck on that same spot. It’s as if he had stepped on cement that quickly hardened and encased his feet.
His mind is screaming at him not to approach the swimming pool any further than this, making him sweat and become nauseous with burning alarm whenever he thinks of taking another step. It doesn’t matter that this pool only measures two feet and seven-point-five inches in height at the shallowest level. He doubts he could bring himself to enter even if the water only reached the top of his ankle.
Everybody around him is being patient, uninterested in rushing things along; they have nowhere else to be, and want to be nowhere else.
In the end, they all came with their own versions of swimwear: Toby and Jeff are wearing neoprene suits, a little bit more insecure about their scars as they are. EJ is wearing regular swimsuit trunks, Natalie has a long shirt over her swimsuit to hide her own insecurities, and Jill and LJ are wearing vintage-looking swimsuits along with their clown noses that they never leave behind no matter what. No one else is in this part of the sports center today, miraculously.
“It doesn’t matter how much I tell you that it’s safe.” Jeff catches Ben’s attention to his right. “You have to realize that on your own, and you’ll only know once you expose yourself to it.”
Ben understands his logic, but his stomach remains knotted in a twist, regardless. Jeff knows, and doesn’t push him.
LJ hunches his back to reach the water; he sticks a finger in, and grimaces. “It’s freezing!” He whines.
“Good job, clown! Keep giving him more reasons to back down!” EJ chastises him from the bench behind Ben, while Jill rolls her eyes.
“Would it help if someone you trust was already in the pool?” Toby inquires to his left.
Ben feels inclined to shake his head, if just to call it quits. In truth, the sight wouldn’t calm the danger he perceives. “I don’t think so. It might distract me, but the water still feels like a threat.” At least he can look at it from a good distance.
“And what about—” Toby cuts himself off with a whistle. “—touching it like LJ just did?” He suggests, gesticulating as if he were dipping a finger in.
Ben’s turn of expression is quite telling. The mere idea of getting near enough for his feet to touch the water makes him dizzy with apprehension; he can imagine himself losing balance and falling in if he were to hunch over it.
“...I just had the most bizarre idea.” Jeff turns his body to Ben. “Probably useless, but I’m still gonna give it a shot. Remember when you said there’s a mask in Majora’s Mask that makes you turn into a fish man?”
“The Zora mask, yes.” Ben responds, and easily follows Jeff’s line of thought. “You want me to imagine I’m wearing that mask.”
“I mean, I know it’s not much use because you’re still scared shitless, and it’s not like we’d let you drown in case you panicked or whatever.” Jeff says redundantly, lifting his hands. “But we could try to twist your imagination a little bit. Just—” He grasps Ben’s shoulder and lifts his left leg; he makes his foot pointed and simulates dipping it in. “—to touch it, at least.”
Ben regards the water as if it were a public latrine.
Toby walks towards it and steps in without much thought; Ben widens his eyes and inhales through his nose audibly, imagining himself in his place, although the other man can’t feel the chill of the water. Toby turns around and spreads his arms with a grin; he sniffs. “It reaches my hips.”
“Damn, that casual stepping in was sexier than it should’ve been!” LJ smirks, eyeing Toby like a piranha. “Now I want to get in, too. Cling onto that wet body of yours to keep me warm!”
“Or you could stay right—” Toby clicks his tongue. “—where you are and remain warm without bothering me.” He chuckles, creasing his brow. “You've been very obsessed with my body lately. Should I be concerned?”
“I’ve always been obsessed! It’s just that…” LJ looks back at Natalie, who is distracted talking to Jill. “...I had to double my efforts because a rival has spawned.” He returns his eyes to Toby, who is silently demanding that he shuts his mouth closed with superglue.
“I’m gonna get in, too.” EJ stands up cheerfully, and Jill does the same to guide him. Toby helps him in, and a sharp shiver runs through his body as soon as he’s dipped one leg in. “Địt mẹ! [Fuck!]” He says through gritted teeth. “The clown wasn’t lying!”
“You just did what you scolded him for!” Jill reaches for him and hits him lightly on the head, making him startle. “You two are unbelievable!”
“I know, right? We’re amazing.” EJ turns to Jill with a smirk. He lifts a finger. “But I’m definitely better!”
“Honey, I’m the fabulous one!” LJ gestures towards himself. “You have good culinary taste, but people can’t see that when they look at you. They can see my good fashion sense, though!”
“I can’t see anything at all, and since I’m better than you because I say so, your opinion is automatically void.” EJ states, immediately starting to laugh while holding onto Toby, who is chortling along while shaking his head.
Jill sits back on the bench beside Natalie, chuckling in disbelief. “You all share the same brain cell.”
“It’s bluetooth, sweet-cheeks. You could always connect and join in on the fun.” LJ turns to Ben. “Come on, twinkie-cake, give it a little shot! Don’t even think about it.”
Ben had been entertained by their banter until now, forgetting what he came here for during a few minutes. Now, he doesn’t only remember, but he’s also giving LJ a squinted look. “‘Twinkie’? Is that the same as ‘twink’?”
“Yes, and it’s also a cream-filled sponge cake.” LJ’s smile turns intentionally lascivious.
While Jeff has begun to chortle, immediately getting LJ’s innuendo, Ben’s expression is a mixture of desperate voluntary grasp on naivety, buffering understanding, almost broken innocence and near disgust. He shakes his head slightly, still not willing to get it completely. “The origin of the word doesn’t make it any better.”
“On the contrary! It gives your nickname much more meaning.” LJ’s expression hasn’t changed; if anything, it has worsened.
Jeff and the two in the pool are cackling away. Ben is grimacing, finally letting the double meaning set in. “You lecherous buffoon!”
LJ puts the back of his hand to his forehead, seemingly seduced, but still grinning. “Ah! You’re growing a spine, at last! How endearing. Dominant twinks are a rare breed—” He runs into the pool as soon as Ben rushes towards him, wincing at the biting sudden cold. Once beside Toby, he turns around to provoke Ben further; he pulls his lower lid down with a finger and sticks his tongue out in a childish manner.
Ben has stopped himself short of touching the water with his toes, the rubber of his flip flops screeching in protest. While he’s distracted, Jeff sees LJ’s teasing for the golden tool it is; he encourages LJ to keep going, and gets in himself.
“Come on, Benny, you’re a programmer! Are you going to let something as insignificant as HO₂ stop you?” LJ continues poking fun at him, also noticing how his mocking has made Ben approach the pool. “Don’t be a nasty weeaboo and wash yourself! Isn’t Zelda a fearless hero?”
Despite his anxiety, Ben is also irritated. “It’s Link! And I’m not him, nor am I a weeaboo!”
“Cosplayers would be ashamed of their efforts just by standing beside you.” Jeff chuckles. He remains close to the border, near his friend. “Come on, Ben. Remember why you’re here.”
Ben remembers the excitement of being promised something unachievable, the unease born from lack of awareness, the pain of trauma, the grief when getting out, the loneliness of his teenage years, the uneasiness that they’d come for him and make him pay what he owes.
And for some reason, he remembers red eyes, staring back at him from the depths. He feels a little braver. A little angered. Vengeful.
He takes his flip-flops off and moves his right foot closer to touch the water that laps at the tiled border. Ben’s brain is on fire; he hears himself pant, the filling of his lungs with oxygen. Even though he's scared, he’s unscathed.
Jill and Natalie approach from his sides, eager to support him. While Natalie rubs his back, Jill sits down on the border after taking her own flip-flops off, dipping her legs in so nonchalantly that Ben is jealous, and offers him a hand. “Just the legs?”
Ben wants to run to the dressing room and lock himself in a stall. He takes Jill’s hand instead, his own cold and shaky and clammy, and sits down a little farther away from the border. Once he’s sitting, he scoots closer; he grits his teeth when half of his legs are submerged, eyes watering.
He wants to run and hide, but he’s tired of always doing that wherever he goes.
In an impulse driven by desperation, by weariness, by rage, he lets go of Jill's hand; he lifts himself with his hands and lowers his body into the pool. He whines immediately, regretting his decision as his mind cries out in horror.
Jeff grasps Ben’s wrists as soon as he’s in. “You’re standing, you’re not going to drown. We’re here.”
Ben’s body is aching with tension, teeth clacking. “I-I want to get o-out!”
Before Jeff can concede his wish, deeming today’s attempt quite successful, LJ yells behind him. “Benny-boy!” Both he and Ben look at the clown with confusion. LJ turns around and without shame, lowers the striped pants of his swimsuit. This makes Jeff choke, Toby curse while letting EJ know and making him chortle, and Jill cover her eyes along with Natalie’s. Ben is astounded. “You’re a creampied twink, as stupid and as short as the kid with the evil mask that makes the moon come down to crash with earth!”
At that moment, Ben’s thought process is something along these lines: first of all, what his eyes are perceiving right now is LJ’s butt, pale and illuminated by the fluorescent lights above, and Ben is reminded of Shin-chan. Second comes the realization that he’s been jokingly sexualized in comparison to a stuffed dessert again. The third thing is that, despite the lack of knowledge Ben assumed LJ had on Majora’s Mask, the clown knows its plot to some extent, including who Skull Kid is and who the true villain is; it makes him warm, because it means that LJ has shown interest in what makes him happy. And finally, and above everything else, he’s livid about having his height mocked, and even worse in the case of his intelligence.
Yes, he is stupid. He let that cult fool him, his parents were killed, and he was almost killed. Now he’s still running from the cult, never having the luxury to grow close to his foster parents, fearing for his new friends, and looking everywhere around him every single time he gets out of the house. But this is also those lunatics’ fault, and he’s completely and utterly fed up with blaming himself and feeling helpless.
“Come on, twinkie!” LJ provokes Ben again, taking him out of his boiling thoughts, as he covers his ass. He straightens his posture and runs a hand down his body in a fake sensual manner. “Come take me!”
Jeff releases Ben now that his expression is like nothing he’s ever seen, but exactly what he hoped for, and similar to what he himself once felt; it's as if he had been possessed by something, seething and hostile— empowered.
“WHO—” Ben’s voice is raucous as he strides towards LJ as best as he can, menacingly so despite the height difference, while LJ steps back. “—DO YOU THINK YOU’RE CALLING STUPID?!”
LJ glances behind himself, aware of the advantage Ben’s newfound and unexpected wrath brings. Whatever he’s said, he has triggered Ben somehow. “You, of course!” He grins, amused, and completely unfazed by the blond’s rage. “Dumb tiny blondie can’t swim～!” He turns around, lowers himself and swims away while cackling. “Sounds like a porn video title!”
Toby blows a raspberry. “He’s right. Benny can’t swim～!” He follows LJ, copying the taunting, as he’s quickly caught on the plan.
Ben’s cheeks set aflame. “I can—!” He halts himself. He doesn't remember how to swim. It's been too long since he last did, before he almost drowned, and his memory fails him now.
“Can you?” Jeff provokes him further, sneering at Ben for the first time ever; his grin is oddly cruel, with his black irises showing Ben his own unsure reflection. “Prove it.” He follows the other two into the deepest part of the pool.
Back at the border, the girls are frowning. “Don’t you think they’re going too far with this?” Jill asks with worry.
Natalie tilts her head; she watches as Ben takes a moment to ponder. “I think he’s forgotten about his phobia by pure anger, and they know. They’re trying to lure him in.”
Jill widens her eyes. “Oh!” She watches EJ approach them both, incapable as he is to lure Ben. “What an interesting psychological trick.”
Ben, in his haste to catch them three and prove them wrong, prove this derisive version of Jeff wrong, instinctively buries an arm first; he launches himself and impulses his body by lowering the other arm and moving his legs. But then, as he’s approaching the other side where the rest are waiting for him, he finds their tranquility strange. Then, he notices that his face is literally touching the water, and knows he’s been baited.
But by the time he starts panicking, brain short-circuiting once more, the zone of the pool he’s in is too deep. He flails his arms in terror, afraid of The Father’s hand grasping his hair and lungs flooding; he sinks.
During his subaquatic panic, Toby dives towards him in two seconds. He doesn’t get near, knowing how dangerous a panicking person can be underwater; instead, he stops farther away, enough to let Ben realize that they’re in the same situation, and he’s not panicking. Once Ben is focused enough to observe him, Toby covers his face with a hand, as if he were putting on a mask.
Right, the Zora Mask. There’s no need to panic.
He observes how Toby moves to return to the surface, and remembers his own ability to swim without becoming hysterical. He boosts himself up with his feet, just noticing that the water remains neutral around him; the last thing he sees is the red-eyed statue, grinning at him in the reflection of the surface barrier.
Ben takes a lungful of air as soon as he’s back up, and Toby guides him towards the shallow zone, where everybody else is waiting. Toby pats his back. “Good job, man! I’m sorry I mocked you.”
“You’re not angry at us, are you?” LJ asks Ben, cupping his face. “I won’t call you any of those things ever again if you don’t want to, I swear!”
Jeff gestures for the other two to give Ben some needed space; his expression is now of friendly worry. “You good?”
Ben blinks; despite still being in the pool and being quite anguished for a moment in there, he doesn’t feel too bad. He nods slowly.
Jeff hugs him then. “I saw the opportunity and told these two to poke fun at you. I’m sorry if that hurt you.”
“...No. I’m fine, really.” Ben’s mouth curls upwards in a genuine smile. “I’m grateful.”
“Ah, my heart!” LJ drops himself while clutching at his chest, and grasps onto Toby’s right arm. “He’s pierced it with that little beam!” He flicks his nose with a finger, dramatics dropped. “Yep! Rubber nose is the best option.”
“You should try to swim more relaxedly now that you’re still here.” Toby advises Ben, cracking his neck and twitching his nose. “Get the gist of it.”
Ben looks at Jeff. “Yes, that would be best.”
As Jeff takes Ben to the right of the pool for them to practice with no interruptions, LJ clings onto Toby’s arm dramatically, like a koala. “We seduced him into swimming, Tobibi!”
“A vein was popping in his forehead. That clearly wasn’t a sign of being attracted to us.” Toby deadpans.
“I think someone would disagree.” LJ looks back at the trio at the border of the pool, returning to mischief. “Natalie!” He calls Natalie, who turns to him with curiosity.
“Jack...” Toby grins at him, but he’s not pleased in the slightest; he’s talking through gritted teeth and his stare is too wide to be friendly. “...I’m going to bash your head against a corner!”
LJ rolls his eyes. “All bark and no bite.” He lifts a hand and touches Toby’s chest, rubbing his hand all over; the brunette flinches. “Look what you’re missing, Naty-Nat! What a hunk of a man, all wet!”
“W-what are you, a matchmaker?!” Toby snarls, looking at the hand and back at LJ’s face.
“It’s my passion, actually.” LJ gives him a coquettish smile. “But not many people around, so I can’t put it to practice as much as I’d like to. You’ll have to forgive me for using this opportunity.”
Toby leans towards LJ, eyes darkened by devilry. “Should we pair you up with Isaac, then?” He sniffs and jerks his head. “That would certainly be a match.”
“You too?” LJ squints his eyes, grimacing. “He’s just a friend. The regular kind, none of that frolicking around. Are you the type of guy that always has to ship two characters romantically, regardless of the nature of their relationship?”
“I hear ‘friends to enemies to lovers’ is quite the popular trope. ‘Childhood friends’ also is.” Toby retorts with amusement, and shrugs his shoulders. “Jill’s words, not mine.”
LJ smiles, pleased with Toby’s useless efforts. “Drop it, Waffle-boy. It’s not having the intended result.” Toby gets piqued at him. “Also, the referee doesn’t play.”
“What is it that I’m missing out?” Natalie asks innocently, suddenly in front of them, as if she had spawned or teleported.
Toby startles severely. “Goddamnit, that was too quiet for walking in a swimming pool!” He chuckles. “Maybe I didn’t see you coming because you’re so short.” Natalie squints her eyes at him.
“Or maybe this is a clear sign that I catch your eye more easily.” LJ comments, looking Natalie up and down jokingly.
Natalie is unimpressed. “Between you and me, I have more eye-catching ass ets. Do you get it?” She dares jest. Toby widens his eyes and gapes his mouth, not having expected such a joke coming from her.
LJ cackles. “And good quality ass ets, too! Maybe that’s why the competition is so even!” He looks at Toby from the corner of his eye. “Anyway, what you’re missing out is Toby’s tatas, obviously. I’ll leave you to evaluate the goods.”
“No need!” Natalie panics, lifting her hands to stop LJ; the small spurt of confidence she felt is now gone. “I shouldn’t even be in the pool with the shirt on, so it might be best that I get out.”
LJ makes a face at her. “And who do you think will come check on us evildoers? Daddy Holzer himself?” Toby throws his head back at that, rolling his eyes. “No one ever comes here. And if someone does and says anything about it, act innocent and say you didn’t know; pretending to be stupid can get you very far in life.” With that, he goes in the direction of Jeff and Ben.
The air between them both is awkward, as it often is in the beginning; a special kind of tension flows between them, unspoken. “...Are the pills working well?” Natalie asks, itching to break the ice.
“They make me a bit sleepy, but so—” Toby coughs. “—far, so good.” He looks around with a humored face. “Wouldn’t be funny to see sharks swimming in here.” He returns his eyes to Natalie. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yes. The shirt helps.” Natalie tugs the clothing down, just in case. She feels a good kind of strange as she fiddles with the fabric; she hadn’t intended on getting in despite bringing the swimsuit, but Toby had given her one of his shirts to drown in as soon as they came here, and it eases her alarm.
“We could start training tomorrow, if you’d like.” Toby suggests, ignoring the feeling born from seeing her wear his shirt; it clings onto her on the wet parts, but it’s dark color and its length shields her quite well. “A bit of running with a few breaks in between, and some muscle training.”
“...I’m scared that I’ll have to stop a minute into running.” Natalie confesses, avoiding his gaze in shame. “I was never good at sports, much less that kind.”
Toby ponders on it. “I wasn’t either, but working out with someone that lets you go at your own pace and doesn’t humiliate you for failing helps a lot.” He points out with amusement. He lowers himself to her level, jerks his head, and boops her nose. “We can adjust the intervals to your resistance level, and then increase them with time. Just some little tips: breathe only through your nose, or—” He whistles. “—you’ll get more tired and your throat will hurt if you breathe through your mouth, so don’t open it if you can help it.” He sniffs. “It might be best if you wear earphones, too; hearing yourself pant might make you more anxious.”
Natalie nods. She hopes she remembers that when the time comes.
“We’ll warm up and stretch before and after to prevent soreness.” Toby rubs his lips with a hand. He clicks his tongue. “The rest we’ll see. I don’t want to give you the speech of your life right now.”
Natalie is distracted by him touching his lips. “I wanted to apologize.” Toby looks at her in utter puzzlement. “For the other day. I didn’t keep our promise.”
Toby chuckles in understanding and hugs her; Natalie feels warmer. “It’s not like I usually keep my part of the deal. I rarely ever fulfill it, now that I think about it.” He winces silently. “You’ve lived around people who didn’t care, and you’re entitled to keep things to yourself if you’re not prepared to share them or don’t want to.”
“I do want to share them with you, but it’s hard.” Natalie lifts her head. “Don’t you tire?” Toby blinks at her after he cracks his neck. “I get that you’re very open-minded, but I keep thinking that I’ll irk you beyond the point of no return eventually.”
Toby looks up, as if trying to arrange his next words in a way that is not too brutal. “If we were in a competition, I genuinely think I’d win by pushing you away instead.” He lowers his dark eyes at her again. He grins. “How about you trust me a little, and I—” He whimpers. “—trust you too, instead of going in an endless circle? Because I think that’s tiring.” He blinks repeatedly.
Natalie pulls her lips into a fine line. “It’s hard to trust someone.” She lets a little smile tug at her mouth. “But I’ll try my best.” She lifts her head defiantly, squinting her eyes. “Although I don’t think you’d win.”
“No?” Toby lifts an eyebrow. “Okay. Give me good reasons as to why you think that.”
“Well…” Natalie can’t help but look down.
“...Look.” Toby grasps Natalie’s shoulders to stop her before she can begin. “I can be very annoying when I get excited, or ignore you when I’m depressed. I’m also not a good example of what is attractive by society’s standards because I twitch like a motherfucker—,” As if on cue, he whimpers. “—I have a lot of disorders, lots of scars on my body, and I wasn’t always this strong; and all of this muscle would deflate if I stopped training. What I mean to say is that my positive point of view won’t change how you perceive yourself, while my—” He clicks his tongue. “—supposed negative opinion does when it actually shouldn’t. Do you think I’m ugly?”
“No.” Natalie responds a tad too quickly, a tad too honestly.
“I trust you’re being truthful, even if my own opinion of myself doubts it.” Toby jerks his head and rolls his shoulders; a few water droplets fall on Natalie, who smiles while closing her eyes, both because of his assurance and the harmless projectiles. “So why do you think that I think you’re ugly, and why should my opinion matter?” He releases her shoulders to gesticulate with his hands. “I have no reason to lie when I say you’re beautiful. I don’t believe you should love yourself just because I told you that, but goddamnit, have a little bit more faith in me—” He touches his chest and wiggles his eyebrows. “—and my tatas.”
Natalie releases a donkey chortle, and immediately covers her mouth.
“Okay, what else?” Toby inquires with a beam, jerking his head again; his damp hair sticks to his face endearingly this time. Before Natalie can open her mouth, he covers it with his hand; she tries to break free from his hold, blushing madly, but he doesn’t relent. He hums with amusement. “Nothing else comes to mind, does it? Of course not.” He buffers when he feels something soft, warm and humid swipe against his palm. “...Naty!” He whimpers in surprise and lets her go.
“Don’t play dirty!” Natalie chides him. She doesn’t regret her tactic. “I wanted to say that I overthink everything and I’m insecure.”
Toby scoffs. “As if I wasn’t the same! We’re even.” When Natalie opens her mouth to protest again, he gives her a look. “Even, I said!” Natalie closes her mouth. “...Nah, I win.” He suddenly picks her up and throws her to the deeper side with ease.
Natalie resurfaces with quite the irritated look. “That’s not fair!” She points at him accusatory.
“‘That’s not fair!’” Toby parrots back, imitating her voice, and Natalie gawks her mouth in indignant disbelief. “Stop complaining and get revenge! Or are you a chicken?” He provokes her.
Natalie blinks, and stands up, not giving it much thought. “Okay.”
She lunges at him so fast that Toby startles, but he doesn’t flee, no; that would eliminate the fun from the game, since Natalie wouldn’t be able to catch up to him. He frets once she reaches him and stands up before him, using him for support to do so. “Wait!” He begs with an anxious grin; her face remains neutral, waiting for him to speak. He sniffs and clears his throat, relaxing; he smirks. “It’s not like you could do much with that shortness of yours.” He widens his eyes, butterflies in his stomach, when Natalie does nothing but grin at him and laugh a little; the noise promises reckoning. “PleasedontgiveLJmorematerialtotauntmewith!” He whines rapidly and pitifully.
As Natalie rests her forehead against his chest, she repeats her natural donkey chortling once more, holding onto the neoprene fabric of his shoulders. Once she’s composed herself, she moves aside and lifts Toby in her arms. Toby pouts at her with big eyes, flabbergasted. “This is the only time I could ever pick you up, so I had to take the opportunity.”
Toby blinks at her, still buffering, then grins. “I feel like a princess～!” He holds onto her shoulders, then lifts his toes and wiggles them.
Natalie shuts her eyes closed when Toby jerks his head and water droplets fly everywhere again. “Yes, a particularly whinny one.”
“Natalie!” Toby furrows his brow at her. He’s too close; Natalie can see the different tones of brown in his irises, the way water clings to his facial hair, his undereye circles. “That is no way to treat a princess!”
Natalie’s face is neutral, yet reddened. “Should I put her down, then?” She sinks Toby down with a slight smirk. But when she lifts him back up, a surprise awaits for her: Toby spits water at her like a dolphin. “Ah, fuck! I just can’t play nice and fair with you, can I?!” She throws him, albeit without much force, and starts swimming away in the opposite direction, indignant.
“Naty～!” She hears behind her soon after, a warning but playful tone; she can imagine Toby with a mean frown and an even meaner smirk on his face. “I’m gonna get you～!”
Natalie feels a rush of adrenaline course through her body; she screeches in hysteric alarm and delight, calling her way over to the other side of the pool, swimming poorly in her hurry. She can hear the sound of splashing behind her, and her emotions intensify tenfold. “Nooooo!” She begs with a choked, comical voice, and hears Toby guffaw. In a last cheating attempt, she turns left with the intention to lift herself out.
But Toby catches her before she can reach the border, yanking on her foot with care; that tears a whimper out of her. She ends up in his arms. “Where are you going?” He asks smugly, looking as if he were ready to bestow the worst revenge upon her.
Natalie looks up at him with wary expectation, panting through her nose.
Toby chuckles silently at her evident suspicion, but doesn’t do anything; his mischievous expression softens, and he simply rotates the now bewildered Natalie in his arms. He enjoys the way her caramel hair is dragged by the water, pairing well with the blue of the tiles below them. “...So you’ve made me nervous for nothing?!” She finally whines, and Toby cackles.
From the shallow side, Jill had jumped in and was observing Toby and Natalie while leaning against the pool’s wall with EJ; she now diverts her eyes to him, a heavy ache in her heart. “EJ?”
“Hm?” EJ is relaxed, arms resting on the border. He was probably in his own world before Jill’s talking.
“Are you sure about what we’ll do on Monday?” Jill is eager for it, but she also feels bad dragging him and LJ into this matter.
“I was sure before you were yourself. Which is hard, considering.” EJ tilts his head. “Are you?”
“I am. I wanted to thank you properly for your support.” Jill smiles softly. “You know that Vietnamese sponge cake you told me about? I brought it for you.”
EJ smirks wolfishly. “Damn. Won’t the food I made for you cancel out the grateful gesture?”
Jill gapes her mouth, then chuckles to herself. “What a pair we are.” She feels a certain warmth in her chest at her own words. “And tell me, does this food include the entrails of a certain girl you threatened in your kitchen?”
EJ huffs. “I have the feeling that all she eats is boxed mac-and-cheese and pitiful sandwiches, and only drinks soda, so I wouldn’t even use her bones. Her and Jeff would actually pair well, now that I think about it.”
“Don’t let him hear you!” Jill cackles like a witch. “He didn’t sound happy about her in the slightest.”
EJ chortles along, laughter too devilish. “Wait until he finds out that she’s moving here!” He whispers loudly; Jill snorts in surprise, and they chortle together villainously. “Dina told me. Nina wouldn’t tell me herself; she’s still salty about the whole tricking her thing.”
“You manhandled her, then made her return to see what she thought was an active murderer.” Jill points out with lidded eyes. “Don’t sugarcoat things, EJ.”
“An active murderer she had the hots for. Still does.” EJ shrugs playfully. “I understand her shock the first time, but I’m not to blame because she bought my innocent act twice!”
“Hm, sure. Blame the victim, then.” As EJ scoffs, Jill hovers her eyes around, brow slightly furrowed. “Do you know who Mr. Holzer is?” She looks at EJ again. “What he does?”
EJ remains silent for a moment, then shakes his head. “I don’t even think Toby does fully, to be honest.”
“But he does jobs for him, doesn’t he? Because I can’t picture Toby sitting at an office desk.” Jill jests, scoffing. “Or doesn’t he tell you what he does?”
“Not really. None of his workers do; they’re tight-lipped about it.” EJ responds honestly, but concisely.
“What a strange guy. Hans is also weird, but I guess his happy vibe is too pure for his eccentricity to be worrisome.” Jill blinks, remembering something. “I’ll meet with both Natalie and Dina tomorrow. What is Dina like?”
“Nuts.” EJ describes Dina bluntly and without hesitation. “The kind of chick that is very nice if she likes you and will sink you in filth if she doesn’t. She tends to laugh madly when something excites her too much, which can seem threatening at first—”
“You’re not helping my nerves, EJ.” Jill makes a face.
EJ shrugs her off with a hand. “She’ll like you; she wouldn’t have agreed to meet you if she didn’t already have a good feeling about you.”
Jill sighs. “If you say so.” She pokes his side with a finger, making him flinch. “I’m trusting you, so you better not be bluffing!”
“You know I’d never do that to you!” EJ responds dramatically.
“But you’d do it to Jeff. Is this favoritism I smell?” Jill jokes, poking him again. “Gayest thing I’ve seen since Jason and Jonathan.”
“I still can’t completely grasp my head around that.” EJ rubs his chin. “In Jonathan’s place, I would’ve strangled Jason very quickly. But then again, Jonathan mustn’t see Jason like I do.” He lowers his hand. “And what about LJ and Isaac?”
“He says there’s nothing between them, but we’ll see about that.” Jill squints her eyes, and EJ snorts.
To the right of the pool, Jeff and LJ are observing Ben swim underwater, as if his phobia had never existed to begin with. “He took to it like a fish to water, never said better.” LJ states, watching Ben go.
“Good. He’ll need it.” Jeff frowns, and LJ looks at him with worry. He shakes his head. “Can’t tell. He wouldn’t forgive me.”
LJ sighs, hands on his hips. “Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t surprise me, whatever it is. No one here has a normal background.”
“I’m sure he’ll tell you someday.” Jeff looks at Ben’s warped form that has just dived in from taking a breath on the deep end. “I hope he’s not pushing himself too much.”
“You have a lot of experience with being pushed, don’t you?” LJ’s voice is gentle. “You’re a very good friend.” Jeff doesn’t respond to that.
Ben swims down, yet the floor is a good stretch away. He makes a few pirouettes, twisting his body left and right, back and forth. It’s quite exhilarating, this freedom that was robbed of him. He still can’t believe that he’s overcome his aquaphobia so fast. His recovery is certainly not realistic by any means, but he won’t complain about it.
He dives further down and tries to sit on the tiled floor, moving his hands upwards to keep himself in place. Despite the slight pressure he feels in his ears, the quiet down here and the dark blue around, this is for the first time ever a peaceful scenery; a domain he’s conquered with flying colors.
He looks up, watching his blonde hair caress the corners of his sight and the air bubbles that come out of him make a run for the surface, and he catches sight of his reflection up above.
“I̵̯͌̀̌ ̶̢͓̀t̵̠̗͋o̵̩͍̾͠ͅl̷͈̭̙͛̚͠d̴̹̂ͅ ̶͕͈̀y̸̡̼̟͌̉o̵̱̔̂̕u̵͍̜̖̚.̷̛̯͈́” It says. “W̵̺͓̒e̷̡̫̘͛ ̵͎̱̏à̸̫̈͛r̸͓̺̪̓̉̋ę̷̜̗̍͠ ̷̨̯̃͜ỏ̴͓̼͊͝ṉ̶̛̂̂e̵̞͉̾̏̆ ̸̖̱͂̓̚ä̵͎͉̞́̓̑n̷̖̍̆d̵̼̭̣́̆̓ ̸̨̽̑͘t̷͓̞͖̋̾͝h̶̨̠̻͠͝e̶̘̱̓͂͒ ̶͖͛s̷̻̘̣͌ḁ̵̈m̷̬̝̪̉ē̵̞͜.̴̈́̑̐͜”
Ben grins. His shackles are broken.
Sunday.
On Friday, during class, she finished filling the Elf Prince’s hat green with the crayon, and the drawing was complete: Jeff the Knight was showing his sword pridefully and had his faithful steed Smile right beside him, Queen Natalie was riding Jaffy the Giraffe, and she was hand in hand with the Elf Prince and Mr. D.
The Tall Man was also there, amongst the trees, watching over them like an angel.
She was eager to show Natalie this one, as nice as it turned out, and in record time at that! She might become as skillful as her babysitter in no time if she keeps up the good work.
Charlie leaned towards her and stared at her drawing, still not finished with his own; his family’s farmstead and a lot of animals could be seen in it. “Is that the Tall Man?” He pointed at the faceless figure.
“Yes.” Sally pouted, saddened. “I think the teacher doesn’t like him.” The Tall Man was not bad, but he was often misunderstood because of his off-putting appearance; the teacher had tried to hide her alarm at Sally’s explanation of him, but she sensed it regardless.
Charlie shrugged, and moved onto another subject while resuming to draw; he made sure to include their shared guardian in the background. “Mom and dad said that we’ll go to the beach on Sunday, and that they’d tell your parents. We can visit him together.”
‘How could that be possible? Would he really let us see him? Won’t he get timid or angry?’ Sally looked at her best friend with big, shiny eyes. “Really?”
“Mr. Holzer is usually near there when the weather is nice. Dad said it would be sunny on Sunday.” Charlie elaborated further.
Sally tilted her head, eyebrows scrunched. “Mr. Holzer…?” She remembered him from the fair; he was incredibly tall, so much so that she had to throw her head back in order to look at him, but he fortunately crouched down to speak to her. She had run at him in request for help, safe as he felt, but he didn’t help her. “So we can’t visit the Tall Man?” Thus, she was disappointed.
“I just said we can.” Charlie blinked at her, and Sally blinked back, uncomprehending. “...Don’t you know? They both live near the woods, are very tall and wear a suit. The Tall Man helped you with your uncle after you met Mr. Holzer. It’s him, silly!”
Sally collected the pieces he just gave her to put the whole jigsaw puzzle together, and it clicked; her disappointment in Mr. Holzer evaporated into a cloud of smoke and was replaced by profound admiration. She gaped her mouth. ‘Of course it’s him! He pretended to ignore me for his plan to work! He saved me from uncle!’ She looked at Charlie with renewed excitement. “Okay!”
She wanted to tell Natalie, to share the amazing news. But then again, adults don’t usually like the Tall Man.
Their parents have warned them not to go too far in, that they should be able to see the beach from within the trees, and that they would never return here if they were to disobey this rule.
So it is today that Sally and Charlie venture into the woods near the beach. Not too far in, though; she abhors disobeying her parents. Fortunately, Charlie seems to know where he’s going. She looks around, watching a few blurry birds fly in between the trees, the sunrays sneaking in between the leaves timidly. The trees themselves reach the skies in their incredible height, slim but sturdy, of dark wood.
They’re near the stream now. Charlie approaches it to explore, distracted from their original goal by its watery song; he tends to lose concentration easily. But before Sally can tell him to refocus, a clear and stern voice cuts through the relative silence of nature around them. “You know you must not approach that stream, Charlie.”
Sally snaps her head in the direction of the voice, recognizing it immediately; Mr. Holzer is there, just as Charlie said he would be, sitting against a tree with a notebook resting on his drawn up legs.
Mr. Holzer is eyeing Charlie with the typical look of a displeased parent. “The river’s current could drag you away if you were to fall in it. You could drown or hit your head. It is no joking matter—”
“Mr. Holzeeeeeeer!” Charlie runs towards Mr. Holzer, stream completely out of his mind. He collides against the man and hugs him. The other, unfazed by the bump, sets aside his now closed notebook to return the hug fully. “See, Sally? I told you he’d be here!” He turns to Sally for a moment, then tightens his hold on the man. “I missed you!”
“I can see that.” Mr. Holzer huffs through his nose; he can’t help but be softened by Charlie’s innocent affection. “But you should heed my words. This forest hides many dangers within, including the stream.”
Charlie pulls away, eyes too curious for his own good. “And what else is dangerous inside?”
Mr. Holzer blinks at him; he throws Charlie on his legs with a swift motion. “Me.” He states ominously, right before he begins to tickle the boy with a single hand and without much effort. Charlie, who is ticklish and has a tendency to cackle the moment he anticipates fingers anywhere near his weak spots, wiggles in his hold; his young laughter brightens his mood. Then, he lifts his head to assess the other child. “Good morning, Sally. Do not be as reckless as this one and listen to your parents, please.”
“I d-do listen to them!” Charlie protests amidst the attack he’s suffering.
“That is not what they tell me.” Mr. Holzer looks down at the boy with skepticism. “You would follow a trail of toys if I set it for you. That is how ingenuous you are.” He lifts the wobbly child off of him.
“‘Ingenu’-what?” Charlie asks, tilting his head exaggeratedly and letting himself drop in the man’s firm hold.
“Naïve. Innocent. Guileless.” Mr. Holzer tries other synonyms.
“...‘Guile’-what?” Charlie asks similarly, and cackles anew when Mr. Holzer’s fingers tickle his armpits.
“Do not play dumb with me, Charlie. I know you understand what I mean perfectly well.” Mr. Holzer lets Charlie go, and the boy goes back in the direction of the stream again. “If I see you too close to it, I will snitch on you, and you will never set foot here until you are of age.” That makes Charlie’s form straighten like a soldier’s, ready to comply. He rests his almost white eyes on the other child.
Sally feels timid all of a sudden. ‘Will he know that I doubted him?’ She hopes he doesn’t; she wouldn’t want to disappoint him. “Hi…” She finally greets him back, still testing the waters.
“You do well in being wary of a stranger. You can never be too sure.” Mr. Holzer takes his notebook. “Do you enjoy drawing, Sally?”
“Yes. My nanny is good at it. She drew me once.” Sally’s shyness is quickly dissipating; Mr. Holzer, as towering and as proper as he seems, doesn’t feel menacing. In fact, she’s very curious about him.
“I see.” Mr. Holzer ponders on her response, instead of just shrugging it off as a child’s blabbering. He opens his notebook. “I would like to show you something. Would you come a bit closer, please?”
Sally does as Mr. Holzer requests of her; she stops right before him, and gasps audibly when he shows her the contents of his notebook.
The forest, the stream, the mountain, the beach, Charlie’s farmstead, the park and its lake, and other unknown locations to her. Trees, bushes, plants and flowers. Birds such as pigeons and ducks and geese at the park, elks and bears in the forest, toads and tadpoles in a big pool, fish and crabs in the river and the beach, cats and dogs in the streets, insects of many types in many places, and so on.
The drawings are blunt, made with black marker and traced by harsh lines. And yet, every single detail is clear, unable to escape her eye.
She’s particularly mesmerized by the bear’s drawing; it’s big and fluffy, with beady eyes and sharp paws. Mr. Holzer seems to notice. “I believe children are often not well informed about wild animals such as this one. As adorable as it might seem to you, brown bears are quite territorial, so it is best to steer clear from them.”
Sally pouts, disheartened. “But Mr. D is nice, and so is Mr. Bear from the show.” She counterarguments innocently.
Mr. Holzer quickly discerns that these are not real bears. “They must be your friends, then.”
That lights up Sally’s mood quickly enough. “Are you my friend, too?” She asks, big green eyes shining with the color of hope.
“I suppose I am. Although our friendship would not be like the one you have with Charlie; I am an adult, after all.” Mr. Holzer closes his notebook and leaves it aside once more, hoping his explanation doesn’t leave Sally with more questions.
“I understand.” Sally responds. “But you’re not like other adults.”
Mr. Holzer tilts his head at her. “What makes me different from them?”
Sally fidgets in her spot. “You didn’t ignore me.” She pouts. “Uncle is gone thanks to you.”
Mr. Holzer’s gaze turns sharp. ‘I have no doubt that Toby and Heather completed their task without an error, so how is it that you know?’ This child is much more intelligent than she lets on. “Why do you think I have anything to do with your uncle being hospitalized?”
Sally pouts. ‘Why are you acting like you don’t know? Don’t you trust me?’ She thinks, confused. “Because I told you, and then I saw you in my dream, and uncle was gone!” She explains as best as she can.
“In a dream?” Mr. Holzer repeats. “So you have made the association from a dream in which I appeared?”
“Yes! You were very tall and had no face!” Sally elaborates excitedly.
Contrary to what she expected, Mr. Holzer doesn’t mirror her mirth; he becomes all the more stoic. It’s not as if he could blame anyone but himself for her dreaming such a thing. “...Charlie has told you about the legend of the creature that supposedly inhabits this forest.” A legend he purposefully spread.
“But it’s you. I know it’s you!” Sally’s mood sours; she looks down, upset. “You were the only one to hear me out! Mommy didn’t believe me! And you look like him!”
Mr. Holzer is at a crossroads; continuing to deny Sally what she requests might result in her feeling ignored and abandoned once more, but an admission is not appealing. In the end, and as always, his deeply integrated priorities win. “Alright, I admit it.” He confesses; it’s painful.
Sally’s face glows, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her tiny shoulders.
“But—” Mr. Holzer is quick to add in a serious note; Sally listens intently. “—you will keep this conversation a secret between us both. We do not want bad people to come in and hunt me down, do we?” He feels foul for manipulating a child into keeping a secret, but it’s for the best of everybody involved, her uncle and some other undesirable individuals aside, of course.
“Okay!” Sally agrees, and quickly moves to hug him. Mr. Holzer accepts the hug, arms enveloping her small form easily. “...Mr. Holzer?” She asks, feeling safe in the cocoon of his embrace. She hears him hum in question. “Why didn’t mommy believe me?”
Mr. Holzer grits his teeth. “I have no definite answer for you, my child.” He lifts a hand to pat her head. “She might have shrugged it off as a child’s tantrum. I do not mean to excuse your mother’s behavior by saying this, though; I think she should believe your word above anyone else’s.”
Sally sits beside him, scooting closer. “He was bad.” She sniffs. “I don’t know why, but I know he was bad. Mommy would tell me to hug him, but I didn’t want to. She told me I had to be nice.”
Mr. Holzer’s mood is darkening by the second. “Adults are not always right. They don’t always hold the truth or know the correct way to do everything.”
“They don’t?” Sally lifts her head, eyes teary.
“No. Some of us are immature, selfish and evil.” Mr. Holzer looks down at the little girl, eyes solemn. “That you were not comfortable doing something should have been enough reason for her not to force you. You do not require proof of anything in order to reject him as you please. You owe him nothing, nor your mother for that matter. It might have been your gut feeling telling you to steer clear from him.”
“Gut feeling?” Sally tilts her head at Mr. Holzer.
“It is this feeling of warning we sometimes experience due to instincts. Your mind has noticed details you have not, and is telling you that something or someone is not safe.” Mr. Holzer explains it as simply as he can for her to understand.
“Oh!” Sally widens her eyes in comprehension. “I felt that when he offered to tuck me in and take me shopping…” She makes herself smaller.
“...You are safe, Sally.” Mr. Holzer declares. “I will make sure of it, so please, rise and play with Charlie. You are supposed to be having fun.” He lifts his head to watch the boy. “I believe he is collecting rocks. He will return to his parents weighing much more than he did previous to entering; they will need a tow truck to carry him back home.”
Sally giggles at the silly image Mr. Holzer’s joke conjures up in her mind. “His pockets can’t hold that many rocks!”
“Are you sure? Because they are bulging now, and they keep growing larger as he fills them up further. He is going to leave the forest floor naked, I tell you; he would take the stream itself if he could.” Mr. Holzer continues exaggerating with a stony face, and Sally’s laughter amplifies. “I suspect the trees are also in danger; he could take them far more easily than the stream. He is but a step away from making himself an enemy of the Lorax.” Sally is crying from mirth at this point, cheeks tinted pink; he lifts her from the floor easily, looking serious. “We must put a stop to him before it is too late, Sally.” He stands up, taking his notebook in one hand, and offering the other to Sally.
Sally takes it, still chortling away. Despite the fact that the man is a little hunched in order to be able to reach her, he’s still huge, rivaling the height of the very trees around them from her point of view. The sunrays, weak in warmth but strong of light in their sparse amount, envelop his dark form and illuminate his visage, almost blinding her when he turns to look at her. She doesn’t cover her eyes, for the sight doesn’t hurt them.
Once they’ve approached Charlie, who is too focused on his task to notice, Mr. Holzer hands Sally his notebook. He’s quick to lift Charlie off the ground with his long arm, making the boy squeak in surprise. “I wonder what you intend on doing with so many rocks.” He adjusts Charlie so that he’s carrying him on that single arm; the boy holds onto his shoulders. “Your mother will not be happy to see the house full of them. You should choose the few best.”
“But I like them all!” Charlie pouts, making sure to zip up his jacket pockets to prevent them from falling out.
“And I understand, but we cannot always have everything we want, Charlie.” Mr. Holzer lifts Charlie slowly to prove a point. “You weigh double.”
Charlie harrumphs, refusing to believe him. “No, I don’t, because I didn’t take that many! And you wouldn’t even notice if I weighed more!”
Sally is watching their interaction back and forth. She’s admittedly jealous of Charlie right now; she wonders how much of the forest he can see from Mr. Holzer’s arms, but she’s too ashamed to request to be held.
As if sensing her conflict of emotions, Mr. Holzer glances down at her; the notebook looks bigger than it actually is in her small hands, and she’s holding it awkwardly. “Is something the matter, Sally?” His smooth voice, unnaturally unperturbed by the sounds of nature around them, is soothing.
Sally blinks at him timidly. “Can you see a lot from up there?”
Mr. Holzer releases a sound akin to a chuckle, but not quite. “Quite a bit more than you, I reckon. How about you tell me yourself?” He crouches for a moment, wrapping his free left arm around her, only to stand up again.
Sally feels a shiver run down her spine at the change of view, now from so high up, but vertigo doesn’t take hold of her; she knows Mr. Holzer would never drop her. She looks around everywhere she can, impressed, for not even her father’s shoulders are this tall. It’s as if she were a young owl, perched upon a branch, overlooking everything below and ready to take flight for the very first time.
When she’s finished analyzing her surroundings with great amount of awe, she looks back at Mr. Holzer, who is waiting for her opinion patiently; his expressionless face is full of support and joy for her evident amazement. “You’re right!” She beams.
Mr. Holzer’s gaze warms up even more, glad that he’s been able to cheer her up with such a small gesture. He might as well be smiling at her, for that is the sensation he conveys with his raw stare.
But this forest’s cold depths whisper at him, reminding him of what he is.
He lowers both children carefully, mood chilled. He knows that Sally has noticed, because she’s looking at him with confusion. “You have both been here for far too long.” He glances back, towards something intangible, something awful . “You should return to your parents.”
⦻
“And don’t they constrict you too much? I’ve heard of people who broke their ribs for wearing them for too long.” Dina reaches out and touches Jill’s black striped corset; it has a velvety feel against the pads of her fingers.
“Most of the ones I own have clasps at the front, so I don’t have to tighten them like that.” Jill points at the silver hooks that are not just for decoration, smiling at Dina’s curiosity. “And I don’t tie those with lace too tightly. Just enough for them to stay where I want them, like a tight shirt.”
They’ve seated themselves at a coffee shop’s veranda, eager for the sunrays to warm their cooled skin. As EJ had assured Jill, Dina is not that fearsome, but she’s quite unhinged. Nothing too dissimilar to her own insanity, though, and they both fall into conversation with ease, as if they had known each other for long.
“I see. I’ve never worn one of these before.” Dina turns to look at Natalie, who is sagged down on her seat, sucked off her life. She smirks. “My, my…Toby has worn you out, hasn’t he?” Jill blows a raspberry at that.
“If he had done so in the way you’re implying, I wouldn’t be this drained.” Natalie complains, sighing.
True to his word, Toby trained with her this morning. She had been unsure and felt like throwing the towel many, many times, but his lightly teasing remarks and encouragement always made her rethink that fleeting decision and continue. He never once pressured her into doing more than the stipulated, never made her feel useless whenever she ran out of breath, and always made sure to let her rest whenever something ached too much for her to bear.
‘If only he were so mindful of himself!’ Natalie thinks grumpily. “I’m sore everywhere, and it’s not even noon yet! I wasn’t aware of the existence of some of the places that are throbbing. I’ll be creaking like a rusty hinge tomorrow.” She can picture herself sitting down beside Sally and her knees letting out a squeak, her moaning in pain internally. ‘And I have to repeat this again every day?’ She pales at the thought, although the memory of Toby training with her, for her, keeps her in a positive mindset.
Dina stirs her coffee with a spoon, chin on a hand, and smile having worsened. She lets go of the spoon in order to lower her sunglasses and stare at Natalie right on. “I can tell what you’re thinking, you naughty girl!”
Natalie groans, blushing. “It should be illegal to look that good while exercising! I don’t even want to know what I looked like.”
“Good enough to eat in his eyes, I bet.” Jill grins, mirroring Dina’s mischievous expression. “You should’ve seen them both yesterday, all playful and cozy in the pool—!”
“Shut up!” Natalie begs, grinning profusely; she doesn’t disagree.
“He gave her his shirt!” Jill wheezes at Dina, becoming excited; Dina gapes her mouth. She looks at Natalie. “There is no bigger proof of his interest, you fucking fool!”
“He offered it because he knows I’m insecure, nothing more!” Natalie shakes her head, rolling her eyes.
“So that means he’s asked you to return it, right?” Dina inquires and sips from her coffee. When Natalie doesn’t respond but blinks at her, Dina turns to Jill; she lowers the cup and interlaces her hands with Jill’s, and they both giggle. “He wanted to see her with his shirt on!”
“What? No!” Natalie tries, finding the idea preposterous. Sure, Toby might think she’s pretty, but that doesn’t mean he has any feelings of that kind for her. She’s sure he did it out of care for her.
“Completely oblivious, tone deaf, clueless!” But Jill cuts her off, ready to burst; she has a tic in her eye. She pauses to drink from her hot chocolate, then takes a hasty breath right after. “It’s just so—!” She screeches with a wide-eyed stare.
“I know, right?!” Dina also widens her eyes. “And the way they—!” She releases Jill to gesticulate energetically with her hands, and Jill nods animatedly
Natalie doesn’t understand their strange language, so she just stares at them with confusion. “Uh-huh.” She takes her juice and drinks from the straw, accepting the weird communication without adding a comment.
“Oh!” Dina now focuses her excitement on Jill. “EJ has told me about the plans you’ve made for tomorrow.” When worry flashes in Jill’s eyes, she winks at her; she knows. “How nice of him to help you out, right? He’s quite skillful at cooking, so he might get something out of it. He did it once already. ”
Jill has the feeling that Dina is not only making up a lie for Natalie, but that she’s also speaking in code, judging by the way she emphasized that word. ‘...Does she mean to say that EJ…?’ She widens her eyes. “...Is that so? He never told me.”
Dina smiles with a knowing look. “No one expects him to be good at that, especially given his disability.”
Of course, EJ would never confess such a thing so easily. Jill can’t help but wonder why he did it, but that is not a question Dina should answer. And it’s not like the information is that shocking, taking on account the strange skills EJ possesses. She has known him for a while now; she knows EJ is similar to her and their other friends. She doesn’t feel alarmed, just like she never has before.
He’s also very similar to Toby in regards to helping his friends and being reckless, with the difference being that he doesn’t neglect his own needs. It’s warming to remember the times he’s made an effort to cheer her up, or has listened to her intently, or has supported her decisions. He always listens before judging, always comes up with his own conclusions, and always remains loyal.
His wolfish grin pops up unbidden in her head.
Dina snaps her fingers at her, lost in thought as she is. Once Jill blinks, focusing back on her, she smirks. “You’re drooling, bitch!”
Jill cackles like a witch, and so does Dina, catching the attention of other people around them. They pay them no mind, and Natalie releases a chuckle of her own. “But I don’t think he likes me like that; it’s just our way to care for each other.” She becomes nervous as Dina lifts an eyebrow at her.
Dina rolls her eyes. “Talk about being oblivious!” She sighs while turning to Natalie. “You two are lost causes.”
“Sure, whatever you say.” Natalie shrugs her off, chuckling. “And what about you? How are things with Helen?”
The smug smirk on Dina’s face is dirty. “He acts all punctilious and demure, but you should have seen him the other day when I came back from work.” She throws her head back, eyes closed and biting her lower lip. “What a wild thing. That’s why I love poking him so much!”
“Don’t beat around the bush and give us the details, you cunt! We’re thirsty here!” Jill whines.
Dina plunges right into it, grin back on her face. “How many times did I cum again? Was it three? And that was just with his tongue—”
But Natalie cuts Dina off by covering her mouth with a hand; she’s boiling like a kettle in embarrassment. “Good god, you two have no shame!”
Jill also smirks, fangs looking too sharp. She’s horrifyingly looking more and more like LJ with his shark grin by the day. “Let’s not speak of such things, lest you imagine yourself doing them with Toby.”
“Jill!” Natalie wheezes. She wants the earth to swallow her whole. “I have enough with the boys’ teasing!”
Dina moves away from Natalie’s hand. She has the expression of a maniac. “As if she hasn’t already!” She takes Natalie’s wrist as she retries to silence her. “I can’t blame her, really.” She smiles innocently at Natalie, who pouts back at her.
“And have you both been together for long?” Jill inquires further, giving Natalie some reprieve from their teasing; the other sighs, sagging back down on her seat.
Dina looks up in thought. “Six years have passed already, but it doesn’t feel like that much. That’s when we also met Hans and he sponsored us both; it was thanks to him that I met Helen, actually. He advised me to model for that group of painters he was a part of at the time.”
“Damn, I’m just realizing how much of a matchmaker Hans is.” Jill chuckles.
Dina’s smile is secretive. “Although he’s not the OG.” She murmurs; when Jill tilts her head in question, she shrugs it off with a hand. “Nothing, just me thinking out loud. Anyway, today is Helen’s birthday, so I’ll be busy later.”
Natalie gapes her mouth; she straightens her posture. “Shit, I didn’t know—!”
“Now, don’t fret!” Dina stops her with a hand. “He’s not too fond of material gifts, and he can buy whatever he wants himself. Just keep being his friend, yeah?”
Natalie pulls her lips into a fine line. “I don’t think he considers me a friend.”
Dina blinks at her blankly. “...He’ll consider you one.” She says with uncanny finality, and turns to Jill. “Do let me know how things go tomorrow.”