Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It feels a bit like living on borrowed time, those final weeks of summer between his birthday and being packed up and shipped off to France. His mother double, triple, quadruple checks his luggage against the list the school has sent. His father takes him with him on the most mundane of errands, chats about his own time away from family, and even agrees to take him to see the new zombie film without his mother’s knowledge.

It's the most time he’s spent singularly with his father in months and he can’t shake the feeling that this is only because he’s leaving. He knows it isn’t. He knows his father loves him (and the Harpies for some strange, unknown reason). He knows that his father has to travel for work and can be gone for long stretches of time. Nevertheless, he can’t help feeling a tiny bit grateful for the ridiculous punishment his parents have inflicted on him.

His sisters are a different matter all together though.

Adele and Pauline are already at university so it isn’t as much of an adjustment with them. They only see each other on holidays anyway. Louise is still giving him the silent treatment and really, that’s just unfair. It’s not his fault Aleks liked him more. Marie stomps her way into his room, throwing open the door much-too-early and brandishing a measuring tape like she’s about to start renovations whether he’s there or not. He bellows for his parents and doesn’t stop yelling until they assure him his room is still his and confiscate the measuring tape from Marie. Elisabeth rolls her eyes at the outbursts and complains her plans had to be changed because of his indiscretions, like usual.

But the night before he leaves his mother makes his favorite meal. His father plays the radio softly. Pauline and Adele come home with sweets from the bakery in Oslo that he loves. Elisabeth pulls out the cards while Marie clears the dishes away. Louise still doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t immediately disappear upstairs either.

Odd can’t remember the last time they all crowded around the table, playing cards and talking smack about each other. Marie is terrible at cards, has always been terrible at cards, will probably always be terrible at cards. She whines and pouts and Elisabeth snorts soda through her nose laughing at Marie’s disgruntled face. His father talks of Italy, of stuffy summer afternoons under hot lights on stage. His mother’s fingers are stained blue, green, and purple where they wrap around her cards. The colors catch his eyes. Pauline steals the last of the cake from his plate, grins as she stuffs it in her mouth and Adele laughs and laughs at his outraged expression.

After, when they’ve all gone to bed and Odd is laying in the attic with his suitcases piled up neatly at the foot of his bed, the door creaks open. He expects it to be Pauline. Maybe Adele. He’s surprised to see Louise, standing there in the open doorway, silhouetted by the light from the landing below.

“Lou?” he asks.

Louise startles, jerks at the door handle she’s still holding. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“Can’t,” he admits.

“Yeah,” she agrees. She steps into the room, letting the door swing partially shut behind her. He shifts in bed, watches as she pads soundlessly across the room. “Move.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” He rolls his eyes, shifts over toward the window. Louise climbs into bed next to him, her bony elbows hit him in the ribs and he grunts. “Comfortable?”

“Shut-up,” she orders. She lays there, presses shoulder-to-shoulder with him. They’re getting too big to lay like this. “Are you scared?”

“About school?” He snorts. “It’s school, Lou. Norway, France, doesn’t matter. School is school.”

“No, you idiot. About France.”

“Jeeze, Elphaba, it’s not like I’m going to space or another dimension or anything. It’ll be fun.”

“Are you mad at me?”

He twists his head to stare incredulously at her profile. “I thought you were mad at me. You’ve barely spoken to me in weeks!”

“I am mad at you.”

He sighs heavily. He can feel a headache beginning to pulse at his temples. It’s where he always gets one when he has to talk to Louise for prolonged amounts of time. “I’m lost.”

She jabs him with her bony elbow on purpose this time. “I’m so, so mad at you, Odd.”

“Look, it was just a-”

“I know what it was. And that’s not it.” She’s staring at the ceiling and he’s horrified to see her eyes shining in the light spilling through the window. “I don’t care about Aleks. I liked him. I liked him a lot. But I don’t care. He was just a boy. But you? What you did?” She twists away then, back to him. “How am I ever supposed to trust you again, Odd? You’re so stupid. Do you ever even think? And now this? I am so mad at you.”

Odd falls silent, studies the blue t-shirt his sister’s wearing. He and Louise have always fought like cats and dogs, have spent their lives trying to one-up the other. He’d thought this was just another one of those things. He shifts, presses his forehead between her shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry, Lou.”

Louise heaves a sigh, back relaxing slightly. “Just…don’t be a jerk there, okay? They won’t forgive you as easily.”

He smirks, pokes at one of her kidneys. “So, you have forgiven me.”

“It’s a work in progress.”

//

The morning is a flurry of activity. He’s woken by his father knocking loudly before swinging the door open. Kiwi races in, leaps on his bed to nose at his face until he gets up. “C’mon, cucciolo, your mother has breakfast ready. Hurry up.”

Louise has disappeared sometime while he was sleeping. Odd stumbles downstairs in his pajamas, Kiwi yipping and jumping at his legs. He knows the dog knows something’s up. He’d spent all of yesterday sniffing the bags. Kiwi’s brilliant, there’s no way he wouldn’t notice all the packing.

His sisters are scattered around the house. He can hear Marie singing obnoxiously from the bathroom, Elisabeth and Adele arguing loudly over whatever is on the television. Pauline and their mother are banging about in the kitchen amid delicious smells that make Odd’s mouth water. His mother looks up, catches sight of him lingering in the doorway.

“Good, you’re up. Come get your breakfast. We’re running late.”

“Eat up, little brother,” Pauline says, placing a plate piled high with food in front of him. “Might be your last good meal for a while.”

“Pauline,” their mother admonishes.

Odd doubts that’s true. He’s looking forward to trying French food – real French food. He digs into his breakfast while their mother hollers for his sisters to come eat. The eggs are perfect, the rolls slightly burned but filled with fresh butter. Odd hums as he eats, slips bits of sausage to Kiwi while his mother is distracted with his sisters.

He catches sight, between Marie reaching for the juice and Adele toppling the butter dish with her elbow, of Louise and his father carrying his bags out to the car. Louise has a grim look on her face and Odd uses the commotion his sisters caused to whisk Kiwi away from the fallen butter and follow Louise and his father to the car.

“Mamma says to come eat,” he tells her.

“I will,” she says. She pushes her blonde hair out of her face, looks at where Kiwi is squirming in his arms, whining his unhappiness at being taken away from his unexpected treat. “He’s going to miss you.”

Odd squeezes the dog closer. “Me too.”

“No dogs at school, cucciolo,” his father instructs. He slams the door shut to the back of the car, dusts the dirt off his hands and onto his jeans. “Come on you two, don’t dawdle.” He ruffles both their hair as he passes, stomping up the two steps to the front porch.

“You’ll take care of him, right?” Odd asks. “Marie can’t even keep a plant alive.”

Louise shrugs. “I won’t let him starve,” she agrees. She folds her arms over her chest, nods to the car. “All your things are packed up,” she states. “Except the duffle you’re bringing on the plane. That’s still up in your room.” Her eyes drop to the dog. “Make sure you check it before leaving. Kiwi was nosing around it earlier, don’t want him to accidentally get in it.”

Odd tilts his head slightly, meets his sister’s green eyes. “I might actually miss you, Elphaba.”

Louise snorts. She shoves him as she heads back to the house. “I’m sure you’ll find other victims to torture.”

The front door opens and their mother’s head sticks out. “Odd, what are you doing? Get in here and get ready. You’re leaving in twenty minutes!”

Odd trails his sister into the house, ducks his mother’s reach, and takes the stairs two-at-a-time. If he hurries, he’s sure he can rearrange his duffle bag into a perfect Kiwi-nest before his mother hunts him down.

. . … . .

“We’ll keep in touch,” he says. His voice is steadier, surer than he feels. He leans against the railing on her porch and stares at the darkening sky. Of course it looks like rain. His life is just one cliché after another these days.

“Will we?” Sam questions. She leans against him, but she’s staring down at the overgrown flowerbeds. Her hair hangs in her face, lit by the setting sun and shadowed by the incoming clouds.

“C’mon, Sammy. You know we will.”

Sam reaches out, links her fingers with his. “I’m going to miss you.”

Odd swallows, hard and fast. He stares at the clouds until he doesn’t feel like he’s going to cry, that his voice isn’t going to break. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

He glances at her, sees the smile curving her mouth. She lifts her head, looks at him with eyebrows raised. “Yeah? The great Odd Della Robbia’s going to miss someone?”

“I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.” She leans in, kisses him sweeter than she ever has. It tastes like thank you and goodbye, feels like love and could-have-been.

//

The first time had hurt. He’d suspected it would. But the second time? Having Sam pop back into his life, vibrant and smiling, self-assured in a way she’d only pretended to be before? It was like getting shot by one of XANA’s hornets: quick, sudden, and out of nowhere.

“I’m living in Paris now,” she says. Her legs dangle from the platform they’re seated on, feet bouncing with a dull ring against the metal support column. Odd sits next to her on the sun-warmed playground equipment, feels the chill of a night breeze ruffling his hair, caressing his face. Sam is right there, yet she feels as far away as the moon smirking down at them with a Cheshire cat smile. “It’s cool. I like the city.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

Sam hooks her arms through the guard fence, hums a little. “I’ve met some cool people there.”

“Yeah?” he repeats. She gives him a look at that, eyebrow raised and lips pursed. “I mean, that’s cool. Awesome. Are they…?” He stops himself before he can say something stupid.

“They’re good people,” she replies. “My cousin got me a job at a tattoo parlor, doing reception work.” She laughs a little at that, tucks her hair behind her ear. “It’s under the table, of course.”

Odd raises his eyebrows. “Ah, yes, that sounds like a pillar of society right there.”

Sam elbows him, hard enough that he actually wheezes a bit. “Don’t be an ass,” she laughs. “They are good people. And I like having some cash to spend. Anyway, Sean says once I’m old enough he’ll actually hire me on.” She nudges him again, this time lightly. “You ever want a tattoo or piercing, hit me up. I can probably get you a deal.”

Odd snorts. “Yeah, no, I don’t think I’d suit tattoos.”

Sam half-turns, drawing her leg up and studying him. Odd can feel his pulse pick up as her eyes slide over him. “Oh, I don’t know,” she hums. “I’m sure you could pull it off.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Sam sighs, returns to her previous position, except she’s shifted closer. Odd can feel her present and real and so close it feels like a dream. She rests her head on his shoulder. “You alright?”

“Just great, Sammy.”

“Good,” she says. “I worry about you.”

Odd wraps an arm around her, rests his chin on the top of her head. “No need. I’m brilliant.”

“And so humble,” she laughs.

They sit there, quietly listening to the occasional car pass on the main road, the sounds of nightbirds and insects, the slow creak of the swings in the wind.

“I missed you,” Sam says, voice soft. “But I’m happy that I left.”

Odd swallows, tightens his grip on her shoulders. “Me too,” he admits.

. . … . .

He’s the one who shows Aelita the movie that starts it all. Ulrich scoffs and calls it dumb (and he’s not wrong, but it’s a classic and his best friend needs to show some respect, honestly). Jeremie simply blinks and asks what it’s about. Yumi laughs and mentions loving it when she was younger, which makes her sound ancient. He needs to talk to her about that.

The point, there was a point, is that he’s the one who watches it with Aelita. They lounge on her bed in the dorms, eat crisps out of a greasy bag, and he laughs and laughs.

It reminds him of home. It reminds him of his sisters and late nights crowded in the living room watching stupid “teen” movies and eating too many sweets. Of Marie staring starstruck at whoever the male lead of the week was and Pauline rolling her eyes and Elisabeth complaining loudly anytime he got up and blocked the screen while getting snacks. He hadn’t felt homesick, not for over a year, but laying in Aelita’s room, laughing and commenting on the film, he suddenly, painfully, shockingly missed his sisters. It was horrifying.

Also, he didn’t think she’d take the movie seriously.

Here they are, though, seated in the most lopsided circle he’s seen since his primary school art classes. It’s late, later than they should be out and he can foresee a long week of detention in his future when Jim catches them sneaking back in. Ulrich’s foot rests against his as they lean against one of the oversized support columns, shoulders brushing occasionally as they share a bag of crisps. Yumi sprawls across from them, hair shadow-dark in the dim light and eyes fathomless like one of the fey creatures in his grandmother’s stories. Aelita sits between them, legs crossed and smile bright as the sunken sun while Jeremie looks prim and tired at Yumi’s side.

Odd kind of wants to paint them, capture this moment of peace and actual frivolity. No monsters. No XANA. No lectures or prying eyes. Just him and the gang. As close to relaxed as he’s seen them in months. He snorts, digs a hand into the crisps bag and ignores Ulrich’s raised eyebrows. No need for his best friend to realize just how sentimental he’s gotten.

“Dare,” Yumi drawls, slow and contemplative like she’s weighing the weight of the world with her words.

Aelita hums, smile turning sharp like one of Ulrich’s blades. “I dare you to let Odd text someone on your contact list.”

Yumi’s eyes widen and Odd can’t help the smile. “That’s not fair,” she protests. “He could say anything.”

“That’s the daring part,” Aelita replies.

Odd can’t refrain from winking at Yumi. “Don’t worry, Yumers, I’ll be gentle.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that.” She tosses the phone at him though. He catches it, only fumbling slightly, and elbows Ulrich to stop him from sniggering. “Just don’t send anything explicit to Hiroki or my parents will kill me.”

“Please, he’s a child,” Odd tuts. He shifts a little to the side, flips the phone open and hums thoughtfully as he scrolls through her contact list. There are names he recognizes, names he sees and hears around campus every day, and there are names he has no knowledge of. Names with odd consonant-vowel combinations.

So many options, so many possibilities. Odd can’t quite suppress his grin.

//

“Don’t I have a say in this?” Ulrich protests.

“Insinuating I’m a bad kisser?” he asks. He keeps his voice light, joking, eyebrows doing a little dance. But he looks at Aelita. “Is this really the worst you can do? I don’t really think Ulrich equals Pauline.”

“Then consider it a favor if you think I could have made it worse.”

He bites back the I know you could have made it worse. He doesn’t need to give her ideas. Clearly, she already has plenty of bad ones without him contributing further.

Aelita raises one eyebrow, smirk in place. She looks so much like Louise that he can’t resist the sudden flare-up of stubborn pride and stupidity. He rolls his eyes, turns toward Ulrich and leans in, kissing him. It’s a simple press of lips against lips. Ulrich’s are warm, the bottom one slightly chapped from where he always bites it when stressed.

It’s supposed to be chaste.

It’s supposed to be funny.

Ulrich presses back, just slightly enough that Odd’s questioning his sanity. He can feel Ulrich’s warm breath against his cheek, the pressure of where their mouths connect, the heat of Ulrich’s knee pressed uncomfortably against Odd’s shin. Ulrich pulls back almost immediately. Almost. Odd stares at him, tries to read the expression on his best friend’s face.

His face is red, flushed with heat or embarrassment, maybe both. But he doesn’t shy away from meeting Odd’s eyes and Odd can’t help but smile. The last thing he’d need is for things to get awkward between them. They were just getting back to normal after the whole Bas Revelation.

“See?” he asks. “Not that bad, right? Princess needs to work on her revenge.” He laughs and it’s not his usual one, but it’s good enough, all things considered. Ulrich offers him his own slight smile, shakes his head. His cheeks are still flushed, but he leans against the support pillar once more and Odd will take it. “Okay, okay, my turn now. Let’s see who would be a good victim, er, contestant? Einstein!”

Ulrich shifts next to him, getting comfortable on the hard concrete floor. Odd thinks it’s pretty useless, his own ass went numb an hour and twenty questions ago. But he can feel the press of Ulrich’s shoulder against his arm.

It’s the first time he’s really wondered what it’d feel like across his shoulders instead.

//

“Look, about the game,” Odd says, voice low in the dark. He sees Ulrich shift in his bed, half-turning to look at him in the murky light. “The truth or dare game,” he clarifies. In case Ulrich forgot.

“The one you put Aelita up to?”

“I didn’t put Princess up to it,” he protests. He twists on his mattress, feels his legs tangle in the covers. “I just. I didn’t put her up to anything,” he repeats.

There’s a swath of light from the security lamp outside their window. It cuts through the blinds and just barely illuminates Ulrich’s face. “It’s alright, Odd,” Ulrich sighs. He has his eyes closed already, clearly settling in to sleep even though he hasn’t put his earplugs in yet.

“Yeah?” Odd can’t stop from asking. “I mean, I know it is. I just wanted to make sure nothing was weird. Between us. In case, you know, in case it was. Or is. Something with tenses.”

“Odd, go to sleep before you ramble yourself to death,” Ulrich mutters.

Odd sighs, flops back so that he’s staring up at the ceiling instead. Instead of looking across the room at his roommate, relaxed and languid three feet away. Instead of closing his eyes and feeling the press of a chapped bottom lip against his own. Instead of imagining the feel of a warm arm heavy across his shoulders.

“You’d tell me, right? If, if something bothered you? You wouldn’t go all silent like you did with Yumi?” He winces at the comparison. Because there isn’t a comparison. There shouldn’t be a comparison. It isn’t like that. Yumi is his ex and Odd is his best friend. And his imagination will realize that soon enough.

Ulrich’s bed squeaks as he shifts, and now he’s propping himself up on an elbow. Odd imagines he can see him squinting through the gloom. He runs his fingers over Kiwi’s warm fur and wills his mouth to shut-up.

“Odd,” Ulrich says, voice soft. “It was a game. Ai drank a lot of champagne. It’s fine.”

Odd presses his lips together. Doesn’t point out that Aelita only had half a glass of the pilfered champagne. If this is what Ulrich’s using to rationalize it…well, Odd doesn’t quite know what it means, but he does know he should let sleeping dogs lie and all that nonsense. “It doesn’t bother you? Really?”

“No. You’re,” he pauses, yawns, “my best friend. It was a game. It’s fine.” Ulrich falls back onto his pillow with another rustling noise. “I didn’t think it’d bother you.” And there it is. The secretive, guarded tone Ulrich gets when he’s pretending something isn’t bothering him. The tone that never fails to make Odd want to prod him with a stick to get him talking. A long stick that will keep him safely out of the line of fire. Odd isn’t sure what to do with it now that he hears it.

“It doesn’t.” Ulrich snorts from across the room. Odd can feel his face flush. “It doesn’t,” he reiterates. “I just. I didn’t want things to be weird. Between us. Because of the game. Because of…”

“You said you never checked me out.” Ulrich says the words carefully, like he’s weighing the impact of each one first. Like he isn’t sure he wants to hear Odd’s response.

Odd did not say that. Odd vividly remembers changing the subject so that he wouldn’t have to say anything. He wouldn’t lie about that. But he also doesn’t want to tell the truth about it either. “There’s a difference between hypothetically checking someone out and kissing them, Nature Boy.” He pauses and Kiwi noses at his arm until he resumes petting him. “Why wouldn’t it bother me?”

“You like guys.”

“Just because I like guys doesn’t mean I don’t have standards,” he hisses.

“Since when?”

He grabs one of Kiwi’s toys from under the bed and throws it at Ulrich. The angle is awkward and it goes a bit wild, hits Ulrich in the chest instead of the shoulder. He hears Ulrich grunt at the impact.

“I don’t know why I bother,” he mutters.

He twists onto his side, curves around Kiwi and faces the wall stubbornly. But that’s somehow worse. He imagines he can feel Ulrich’s eyes on his back, boring into the spot just below his shoulder blades. He rolls over again, twists so he’s facing Ulrich’s bed and his legs are hopelessly tangled in his covers. Kiwi heaves a sigh, moves from his spot to the foot of the bed, as far as he can get from Odd’s flailing limbs. Ulrich has rolled onto his back, one arm tucked behind his head and neon green earplugs in place. His chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths and Odd can see a strip of skin from where his shirt has ridden up. Odd’s mouth is dry, dry, dry and he has never hated himself more.

It’s a long night.

. . … . .

Odd somehow miraculously gets them both back to Kadic in one piece. Odd’s mentally patting himself on the back for not tripping over any branches or twigs or shoelaces, or dropping Ulrich in that mud puddle from the morning’s rainstorm. There must be a higher power out there in the universe who is taking pity on him because they even manage to avoid Jim’s curfew check. Ulrich stumbles and shuffles along, arm heavy over Odd’s shoulders but not in the good way. Not in the way that’s haunted his memory since the stupid truth or dare game three months ago.

He drops Ulrich on his bed. His best friend lays there in a graceless heap before he pushes himself up with a groan, rubbing his face. “I need a shower.”

“You need to lay down before you knock yourself out.” The words come out sharper than he means them to, but he’s angry. He’s frustrated. He’s worried. He scrubs his hands over his own face. “Dritt, Ulrich. What were you thinking?”

“Pretty sure I covered that out there,” Ulrich mumbles. He sounds more sober now, at least. Odd doesn’t know if he should trust it though. Ulrich’s always been good at keeping secrets and this, it turns out, is no different.

He can feel the energy coiled in him, can feel it spark like electricity in his veins. He wants to run. He wants to hit something, someone. He takes deep breaths, sits on his own bed and stares at his mess of a roommate. Ulrich looks like shit. Dark circles and pale skin, dirty fingernails and guilty shoulders. Odd sits on his hands so he doesn’t physically reach out to him. That won’t end well. For either of them.

“It is not your fault,” he states.

He tries to sound like he means it, because he does. He does. Annie’s accident was just another XANA attack, another notch on the bedpost of victories against an overly zealous AI, another reason why they need to shut Lyoko down once and for all. He stares at Ulrich’s slouched shoulders, remembers the way they’d heaved in relief when Annie’d been found, alive, the way they’d slanted tense and controlled in the face of his father’s anger, the inward curl when his mother had pressed a hand to his back.

Ulrich rolls onto his bed, contorts himself enough to look at Odd. And Odd? He breaks. He breaks like Einstein anytime Princess bats her long lashes at him. Like Yumi when they screw up. Like Ulrich so clearly has already. He crosses the room, climbs into bed next to his best friend and wraps him up in a tight embrace. Ulrich curls into him, face pressed to his collarbone and shoulders shaking beneath Odd’s arms.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeats. “Annie’ll be fine. It’s not your fault.” He whispers the words against Ulrich’s temple, presses them into Ulrich’s back with each circle he rubs into the tense muscles. He can feel his shirt sticking to him, knows Ulrich’s crying, but he doesn’t say anything and neither does Ulrich.

It’s not what he wants, not even close to what he wants, but it’s the first time he’s felt peaceful in months and what does that say about him? Odd doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to even poke that self-revelation with a thirty-yard pole.

The problem, and there are so many he doesn’t even know where this ranks on the list, is that now he’s stuck here. Ulrich’s clinging to him like he’s drowning and Odd’s some type of life preserver which is laughable really. The whole thing is laughable, except Odd’s not laughing, not even smiling. His heart is beating so hard he knows Ulrich would hear it if he were more himself and less this shell. His pulse is practically singing and his stomach is doing acrobatic flips that belong in Cirque du Soleil.

“What you’re doing,” he pauses, sorts through his words carefully. “It’s not helping. It can’t help.”

“’m not doin’ anything,” Ulrich mutters. He’s shifting, withdrawing like usual, withdrawing like he hasn’t done since they were thirteen and Odd wants to bite his tongue. “I just wanted to forget. I just want…” He trails off, lips brushing Odd’s collarbone from where his shirt has slipped. Odd’s not sure if it’s intentional. He’s not sure if Ulrich even knows what he’s doing.

He wraps his arms tighter around his best friend, holds him close so he can’t hide away. “Forgetting won’t solve anything,” he states, voice steady. “We just gotta kick XANA’s digital ass once and for all.”

The words startle a laugh out of Ulrich. He sighs, shifts again though this time it’s to press closer, face buried in the crook of Odd’s neck. Odd plans tactical retreats in his head because he knows Ulrich won’t be happy with their position in the morning.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “You’re right.”

“Surprisingly often as it so happens,” Odd replies cheerfully. “You just gotta listen to me more.”

“Mmhm.”

Odd can feel the moment Ulrich succumbs to exhaustion and whatever alcohol is still coursing through his veins. The other boy goes boneless like a sack of flour. Odd lays still, feels the steady brush of warm air as Ulrich breathes into his neck. He lays there, staring into the dark, counting heartbeats and refusing to let himself fall asleep. One of them should remember this.

//

Aelita’s bleary eyed and still dressed in her pajamas when she opens her door. There’s a pillow crease on her cheek and her hair sticks out at odd angles. It would be cute, Odd thinks, if he wasn’t in the middle of an existential crisis.

“What?” she asks, blinking at him.

Odd pushes past her into the room, collapses on the rumpled covers of her bed, and stares at Florian the Ugly. The koala stares back at him with luminous pink eyes and Odd can’t help but snort as he stares at it. Aelita closes the door slowly, rubs a hand over her face, and sighs heavily.

“Did you at least bring sugar?” she questions. “I feel like I’m going to need some kind of sugar for whatever this is.”

“What? I can’t pay an early morning visit to my favorite cousin?” he asks, voice bright and chipper.

“Odd,” Aelita states, voice flat and arms crossed over her chest. “It’s six in the morning. Kiwi isn’t even up yet.”

“You don’t know that,” he protests. “Maybe Kiwi had a nightmare.”

“Of you going insane?” she questions. She crosses the room, climbs into bed next to him and nudges him until she can pull her quilt up around her. “I thought you didn’t like Florian.”

“He’s growing on me.”

“You can’t have him.” Aelita shifts closer, rests her head against his shoulder and yawns loudly. “Alright, what is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Odd, the sun is barely up. I have not had any form of caffeine or sugar. I can’t be held responsible for maiming you with Florian if you don’t explain.”

Odd stares at the top of her head incredulously. “We’ve been a terrible influence on you.”

“What happened with Ulrich?”

“Ulrich?” He will die before admitting his voice went up half an octave. He will let Louise set him up on a blind date. He’ll kiss Sissi. “What about him?”

Aelita sighs the sigh of those who have all of life’s troubles thrust upon them. It’s really unfair. “I can’t imagine any other reason you’d leave your nice warm bed in…” she trails off. She sits up so suddenly she almost clips Odd in the jaw. He squawks, flailing a bit, and maybe hits her with the psychedelic koala on accident as he jerks away from her. “Odd.” She’s staring at him with the serious eyebrows, the ones he knows she learned from Yumi or Ulrich. Maybe Einstein. He has too many serious friends.

Her fingers snap in front of his face, chipped orange nail polish inches form his nose. “What?” he demands.

“Are those yesterday’s clothes? The ones you wore at the hospital?”

“No,” he lies.

“Oh, Odd, what did you do?” And now it’s the sad eyes. The ones Kiwi gives him when he says there’s no more peanut butter. The one that always makes him rush out to buy more.

“I may have made a miscalculation,” he allows, scrubbing a hand over his face and flopping back into her two hundred pillows.

“You were…” she pauses, cheeks pink, “you were safe, right?”

“What?” His face reddens and he does hit her with Florian the Eyesore. “Yes,” he hisses, scandalized. “And no. It wasn’t. I didn’t sleep with anyone.” Which is true literally and figuratively because Odd most definitely Did Not Sleep last night. It may help explain his mental state now, actually. “I just. Dritt.”

He can feel Aelita sitting there judging him. It does nothing to calm his nerves. After a moment, Aelita reaches out, runs a hand through his hair and pats his shoulder reassuringly. “Alright,” she says. “So, what was this miscalculation?”

Odd wonders if there’s any possible way he can get out of this with his dignity still intact. He doesn’t think so. Aelita is persistent like that. He runs a finger over Florian’s neon purple fur. “You know what, never mind. I’m good. You’re good, right?” Aelita’s eyebrows have disappeared beneath her bedhead hair. “You were absolutely right. I should’ve brought sugar for you. We should rectify that with a trip into town. Get some crepes or pastries. You’re looking a bit peckish.”

“Odd.” Aelita heaves a sigh, reaches up to adjust the lopsided bun on her head. “What did you do?”

He sighs. His body feels heavy suddenly, like when you hold your breath at the bottom of the pool for too long. “Nothing,” he says. It’s the most honest he’s been in weeks, he thinks. “I didn’t do anything.”

Aelita studies him silently, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her head tilts slightly, eyebrows drawn together like he’s a puzzle piece or equation she’s trying to figure out. Hah. He’d love to see her calculations. “What did you want to do?”

“Everything.” It comes out on a sigh, pulled from him unwillingly. He looks away from Aelita’s sympathetic gaze, stares at Florian’s luminous and crazed pink eyes instead.

Aelita heaves a sigh, gets up from the bed. “Alright,” she says. “Turn around so I can get dressed. Then sugar. You’re paying.”

“’Course,” he agrees. He turns to face the collage of pictures she has taped to the wall. He stares at the pictures of his friends, eyes catching on a photo of Yumi and Jeremie in Einstein’s room, smiling. He doesn’t know the context, but they look happy.

“Ready,” Aelita says.

“Yeah,” Odd answers her non-question. He drops the koala, stands and offers her a smile and an arm. Aelita loops her arm through his, tugs him tight to her side.

“Crepes will make it better,” Aelita says, voice soft. “They always help me.” He’s not sure if that’s true, but he’s willing to try.

. . … . .

Ingrid Johansson is gorgeous.

She has cornsilk blonde hair and midsummer blue eyes. She wears pale pink lip gloss that tastes like raspberries when he kisses her. She smiles at him with dimples, kisses him all sweet-sour, like the vepsebol candies he buys by the case to bring with him to France. It has the taste of strawberries, fresh and sweet off the vine, but coated in some type of sour powder that leaves the tastebuds reeling and wanting.

And he wants.

He wants so much.

They’re at Tor’s party while his parents are out of town visiting his sister. There’s music and alcohol and Odd has a headache that may be from either of those or from the way Ingrid is sitting in his lap, her arms draped around his neck and her mouth warm and insistent against his. It could be from the way Aleks Nilsen is staring at him from the other side of the room, one hand wrapped around a bottle of beer and the other on a pretty red head’s hip.

Aleks seeks him out later, when Ingrid excuses herself to the bathroom and Odd finds himself in Tor’s room with no clear reason on why he should be in his childhood friend’s bedroom. Except, well, there’s a reason they say old habits die hard.

“Haven’t seen you all summer,” Aleks notes. He leans against the half-open door while Odd inspects Tor’s fish tank.

“Yeah, did some family visits,” he comments. He stands up, slides his hands into his pockets and lets his gaze drag involuntarily over Aleks. He’s filled out, shoulders broad and arms nicely muscled. His dark blonde hair is sun-streaked gold and longer than Odd remembers. “How’ve you been? I saw you with Olga earlier.”

“I saw you with Ingrid,” Aleks counters. He pushes off from the door, the movement swinging it open further until it bounces lightly off the wall and starts to close. Odd watches it, watches Aleks, and raises his eyebrows. “How long’s that been going on?”

“Few weeks. Summer fling. Bit of fun,” he replies. Bit of fun, bit of distraction, bit of desperation.

“As long as it’s nothing serious,” Aleks murmurs. He leans in, brushes his mouth against Odd’s and Odd lets him.

Lets him press him against Tor’s saltwater fish tank. Enjoys the way the light refracting through the water plays on Aleks’s features. He reaches up, tangles a hand in Aleks’s hair and pulls him closer. With his eyes closed he can pretend. He can pretend he isn’t losing his mind, isn’t thinking about things he’s kept buried and hidden for years. It’s easier than with Ingrid.

Aleks’s hands are at his hips, fingers sneakily sliding beneath his shirt, caressing the skin above the waistband of his jeans. “I’ve missed you,” Aleks sighs.

And Odd wants. He wants so much, but he still slides his hands from Aleks’s shaggy hair, presses them to his chest. He doesn’t focus on the feeling of the muscles beneath his palms, doesn’t note how the heat is radiating off of Aleks’s body against his. The way it would be so easy to let himself slip. No one would even need to know. Aleks dips his head, presses a kiss to Odd’s jaw, right beneath his ear.

“What’s wrong? You’re usually up for it.”

“Ingrid’s waiting.”

Aleks steps back, head tilted. He eyes Odd curiously. “Thought it was a bit of fun.”

“It is.”

He sees the slow grin spread across Aleks’s face then. “Ah,” is all he says though. His hazel eyes are bright, brighter than Odd would like. “Maybe next time then.”

“Maybe,” Odd agrees.

He leaves Aleks fixing his hair and rejoins the party. Ingrid sidles up to him, lips freshly glossed and pouting. She loops her arms around his neck, presses against him full body. “Where were you?” she questions.

“Catching up with an old friend,” he replies. He slides a hand down her back, presses it to the dip there to pull her closer. “Now, where were we?”

Ingrid laughs, dimples showing, pushes and pushes until his back hits a wall. He doesn’t protest when she moves in closer, kisses him with those sour-sweet kisses that leave him thirsty for something more. It’s just a bit of fun, nothing serious.

. . … . .

“Come here.”

“What are you doing?” Aelita asks, eyebrow raised in a scarily accurate imitation of one of Yumi’s disapproving looks.

“Just come here.”

Aelita rolls her eyes but takes his hand, laughs as he pulls her to her feet and spins her around in the narrow space between the two beds. Jeremie glances over from where he’s busy doing Einstein-y things and Odd catches Ulrich’s amused look from where he’s sprawled across his bed. Aelita falls into step with him, humming along to the song on the radio. They do a kind of quick-step-shuffle and he grins as she laughs again.

He looks over as Jeremie laughs. “What?”

“You two look ridiculous,” Jeremie replies, but he’s smiling. Odd’s pretty sure that’s because of Aelita, but he’ll take it. Jeremie always looks too serious when it comes to fun things.

He raises an eyebrow challengingly. “Oh yeah, you gonna show us your skills, Einstein?”

“What?” Jeremie asks, looking startled.

Aelita laughs, spinning out of Odd’s grasp to reach for Jeremie’s hand. Her hair has come loose from the ponytail she’d put in earlier and it falls into her face. Odd exchanges an amused smile and eye roll with Ulrich as Jeremie sits there staring at Aelita open-mouthed.

“Come on, Jeremie,” she says, voice sweet.

“Yeah, let’s see your moves, Jer!”

Jeremie shoots Ulrich a betrayed look before getting to his feet. He steps around a loose pair of cleats, taking Aelita’s hand. Odd flops back onto the bed, elbowing Ulrich until he makes room for him, and settles in for the show.

“You’ve got this, Jeremie,” Yumi encourages. She’s seated on the edge of the bed, on Ulrich’s other side, with one leg tucked up under her.

Odd catches Jeremie’s eyeroll and he can’t quite suppress the smile he exchanges with Ulrich. It’s not that he thinks Einstein will be terrible, but well…the guy’s never been the most athletically inclined. Or coordinated.

It comes as a complete shock when Jeremie effortlessly whisks Aelita into a surprisingly smooth waltz. The movements are abbreviated, the steps tightly controlled in the narrow space of the dorm room, but Aelita’s grinning brightly as Jeremie twirls her by the desks. Yumi claps and whistles when Jeremie, Einstein of all people, dips Aelita.

“Where did you learn to dance?” Aelita questions, face flushed and smile wide.

Jeremie returns her to standing, his own face slightly pink. Odd can’t tell if it’s the exertion or embarrassment. He adjusts his glasses, tugs at the sleeves of his sweater. “My mother,” he replies after a moment. He averts his gaze, stares at Ulrich’s computer. “She loved to dance.”

“You’re going to knock their socks off at that wedding,” Yumi says, smile toeing the line of being strained.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t. Dance, I mean.”

“What?” Odd asks. He nods at where Aelita is tying her hair back up out of her face. “You gonna let Princess dance with strangers?”

Jeremie’s face flushes darker. “I mean, she can, if she wants…”

“C’mon, Jer,” Ulrich says.

He pushes up from the bed, clasps Jeremie’s shoulder briefly, head bowed to the other boy’s. Odd doesn’t catch what he says, not fully. But he sees the way Aelita’s eyes sadden, hears the word mother. He can guess. Jeremie nods, swallows once, hard, and then steps away once more. Yumi reaches out, squeezes Jeremie’s hand gently and offers him a smile.

It’s much too maudlin for Odd’s tastes. Seeing as how Ulrich’s already standing, he kicks lightly at Yumi. “Your turn, Yumers. See if you and Nature Boy can best Princess and Einstein.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no-”

“Come on, it’ll be fun to see him fall on his face.”

“Then you dance with him.”

“I do have coordination,” Ulrich protests.

“Sure, running around a field.” He leans back against the wall, grins at his best friend, and ignores the corner of the room where Aelita and Jeremie are talking quietly, heads bent together. “C’mon, Nature Boy. I bet you 10 euros you’ll trip over your own feet.” He smirks. “Five that you’ll trip over Yumi’s.”

Ulrich raises an eyebrow. “Why less for Yumi’s?”

“I trust she’s got sense enough to move out of the way.”

“Thanks?” Yumi questions.

She gets up though and the spectacle of Ulrich tripping over his own feet and causing them both to crash in a graceless heap to the floor, overturning Odd’s desk chair in the process, causes Odd to double over cackling. He catches Jeremie’s amused smile and Aelita’s hand covering her laughter as Ulrich and Yumi try to untangle themselves from the unfortunate chair casualty.

It distracts Jeremie from himself and earns Odd 10 euros. His plans are awesome.

. . … . .

The days after Delmas’s death feel empty. Like deep winter, when everything’s hibernated and all you see is black and white. Sissi is quiet, withdrawn and haunted looking. Her face has taken on the bone white appearance of Marie’s porcelain dolls and it haunts his nightmares.

She takes to sleeping in their room, those first few days, curled up around Kiwi in Ulrich’s bed. He hears the whispers of the students; sees the way they look at her first with sympathy then with a cruel smirk and the snide allusions to just whose bed she’s sharing. Sissi disregards all the comments, walking around in one of her father’s old cardigans and sweatpants.

Odd enters the room on more than one occasion to find Sissi sitting, head resting on Ulrich’s shoulder, and the two murmuring quietly. The room is heavy with grief, heavy with memories and loss, and it crawls beneath Odd’s skin. It burrows there, like an itch he can’t reach, until he’s ready to tear off his own skin or scream because no one else is.

And then, on the eighth day, Sissi goes back to normal. Like she’d only given herself a week to mourn. She’s back to her own room, back to her usual questionable fashion choices. She wears too much blush to cover the pale skin and enough concealer that she should probably invest in the company at this point. She’s loud and brutal, has no filter and tears Milly to shreds over an article that leaves the younger girl in tears.

“She’s lashing out,” Ulrich says, voice resigned. “She did this…before.”

Odd wonders at before, at what other loss they’d experienced together. “Her mom?” he guesses.

Ulrich is quiet for a moment before nodding. “That was worse,” he says finally. He pushes off the wall, crosses the courtyard to pull Sissi away from Milly. Odd watches them head toward the gym.

“You alright?” he asks Milly.

“I get that her dad died,” Milly sniffs, wiping at her face with a too-long sleeve, “but she’s a bitch.”

“Strong word,” he notes. Odd kneels, helps her collect the newspapers Sissi had scattered. “Give it time, kiddo. She’ll revert to her usual charming self in no time.”

Milly stares at him, mouth open. “Charming?”

Odd shrugs. “When she wants to be.”

Milly just shakes her head, taking the newspapers from him. “And I thought Ulrich was crazy for liking her. You’re just as bad.”

“I don’t like Sissi,” he protests.

Milly just stares at him, unconvinced. Odd rolls his eyes. So much for trying to be helpful.

//

“Come on,” he says.

Sissi glances up from where she’s sitting in the shade of the gym. “What do you want?”

“Food,” he answers honestly. It seems to throw her. She sits there, head tilted to the side and expression confused. “You know, sustenance? Noodles, pastries, burgers? Delicious food?”

“I know what food is, Della Robbia, I’m not an idiot.”

“Never said you were, Your Evilness.” Sissi glowers, but he just inclines his head toward town. “C’mon,” he repeats. “I know you skipped breakfast.”

Sissi hesitates before dropping the grass she had been playing with in her hand. “Fine,” she agrees.

//

Odd orders one of everything off the menu. He may regret it, but he feels like they may need the time and pastries are never a bad idea. Or, well, rarely a bad idea. Occasionally a bad idea. He doesn’t think they’re a bad idea in this case at any rate which is the important part.

Sissi stares as dish after dish is placed on their table. “You aren’t seriously going to eat all of that.”

“You’re just jealous because you ordered a croissant. One measly croissant. Now you want to eat all this delicious food.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” He takes a large bite of the napoleon placed closest to him. “Mmmm.”

“Stop making sex noises with your food. It’s disturbing.”

“Hey, I can’t help it if I have good taste and yours is boring.”

“I must be out of my mind,” she sighs. She slouches back into her chair. “Not as insane as Ulrich apparently is if those are the noises you two make when you,” she trails off, waves a hand meaningfully.

Odd sniffs. “Please, you wish you could hear those noises.”

“I really, really don’t,” she counters. He squawks as she reaches across the table to pick up a fruit tart. “Don’t start,” she warns. “You owe me for even picturing it.”

He can’t resist throwing a smirk and suggestive eyebrow waggle in her direction. “I’m sure you’ll love the mental images. Should I paint you a better picture? Maybe with positions?”

“Della Robbia!” He can see the twitch to her mouth though, the smile she’s trying desperately to suppress. “Ulrich would murder you.”

“Maybe,” he agrees. But he doesn’t think so, not really. Would he be happy? Absolutely not. Would he appreciate Odd getting Sissi to smile? Yeah, probably. “But you’d have to tell him, and I don’t think you’d do that.”

Sissi presses her mouth into a thin line before taking a bite of the tart and humming appreciatively. “I know what you’re doing. You aren’t subtle.”

“So everyone tells me.” He finishes the napoleon, moves on to the chocolate opera. “Trust me, all I want are some nice pastries. No ulterior motives to be found.”

“Of course not,” she agrees. She picks a raspberry off, licks the custard from it before eating it. It’s kind of hot and he wants to scorch that thought straight from his brain right this instant. “He liked you, y’know?”

“Ulrich?”

“My father.” She has a faraway look in her eyes again, like she’s remembering past conversations. He’d never imagined Sissi or Delmas talking about him. “He thought you needed more challenges to curb your more destructive talents.”

“Artistic,” he corrects. “I just wanted to liven everything up.”

“You bought him a whoopee cushion.”

Odd grins. “Yup! Thought it’d liven up his boring meetings.”

Sissi smiles then, it’s small and private, like it snuck out without her realizing. “He used it on the director of the board. Had it under the cushion when he came in and sat down for their quarterly conference. He couldn’t stop laughing when he told me about it.”

Odd blinks, surprised. “I didn’t think he’d use it,” he admits.

“He loved practical jokes. He loved to laugh.” Odd sits there, watches the tears slide down Sissi’s face as she reaches for another of his pastries.

“He hid it pretty well. You’d think he’d give me fewer detentions if he was appreciative of my efforts.”

Sissi offers him a sly smile, dabs at her eyes with the edge of the napkin. “Oh, those were for getting caught. He couldn’t stand a job half-done.”

“Half-done?” he protests. “Some of those took weeks to plan!”

“And you still couldn’t get them perfect,” she tsks, eyes sharp with mirth and sarcasm. Odd rolls his eyes. He really should stop trying to be nice. It never gets him anywhere.

. . … . .

“Are you supposed to be here?” Yumi questions, eyebrows raising as she blocks the doorway.

Odd rolls his eyes. “I’m not the one marrying her.” He pushes past Yumi gently, ignoring her own eyeroll. The room is empty and Odd turns to Yumi with his head tilted in question. Yumi points to a closed door next to an oversized wardrobe and Odd nods. He leans against the wall, surveys Yumi and lets out a low whistle. “Look at you. You clean up nice.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she mutters. But there’s a pink tinge to her cheeks that wasn’t there when he arrived and Odd grins. “You’ve seen me dressed up before.”

“Yeah, but that was ages ago. And you always wore black.” His grin widens as Yumi’s face pulls into another grimace. “At least it isn’t pink.”

“Thank God for small mercies,” she mutters. She takes a seat on the bed, careful not to wrinkle the pale lavender skirt of her dress. “You actually look presentable for once.”

“Hey, I know I clean up nice.” He nods to the closed door. “How is she?”

Yumi shrugs a bare shoulder. “Happy. Nervous. She refuses to eat and has cried at least three times this morning.” She reaches up to fix a pin in her hair. “How’s Jeremie?”

“A nervous wreck.” He grins. “He’s reciting the periodic table of elements to calm himself down. I left Ulrich to deal with him.”

Yumi’s eyebrows raise. “And you think that was a good idea?”

Odd wanders over to the table by the window, peruses the fruits and cheeses laid out on it. He pops a grape in his mouth. “Not my problem,” he sing-songs. “If Ulrich strangles Einstein with his tie that’s on him. He can explain to my family why they flew all the way here for a funeral.”

Yumi sighs heavily. “I’ll go check on them,” she states. She swats Odd in the back of the head as she passes. “Don’t eat everything, they’re for Aelita.”

“No promises,” he replies. He grins at her, pops another grape in his mouth and bites down. “Have fun. Text if you need body bags.”

Yumi closes the door louder than necessary and Odd wanders over to the bathroom door. He raps his knuckles against it four times, rat-a-tat-tat style. “C’mon, Princess,” he calls. “Open up. I don’t want to have to pick a lock on your wedding day.”

“And what if I was naked?” Aelita’s voice carries. There’s amusement in it, so she probably isn’t crying again. Odd hopes.

Odd fishes in his pocket for a bobby pin he’d plucked off one of his sisters earlier. “I’d say that’d be quite a statement for walking down the aisle.” He pauses, hand on the door handle. “Einstein probably would die.”

The door swings open suddenly and Odd loses his footing, stumbling slightly as he releases the handle. Aelita stands on the other side in a pink fuzzy robe and bunny slippers. She eyes the bobby pin in his hand with one perfectly arched eyebrow. “You were seriously going to pick the lock?”

“I’m nothing if not honest.” He pauses, returning the pin to his pocket. One never knows when it could come in handy. “And concerned. Did I mention concerned?”

“And ridiculous,” Aelita sighs. She brushes past him into the main room again, bellyflops onto the bed and rests her chin on her folded arms.

“I think you mean awesome,” he corrects. He settles onto the bed next to her, disregarding the creases he’s no doubt putting into his suit. He nudges her lightly. “T-minus one hour. You can still run.”

She snorts, twists slightly to look at him. “Should I run?”

He pauses then, flounders under her steady gaze. “Do you want to?” he asks, genuinely curious.

It’s been three years since Kadic, three years since Odd wasn’t sure if Aelita would cut her losses and run because lets face it, they all knew Jeremie would never be the one to walk away. Three years since Aelita had crawled into his bed, head heavy on his collarbone and voice rough with tears, and told him she was giving up Sciences Po while he’d rubbed her back and reassured her Jeremie would understand.

“No,” she sighs. She fiddles with the ring on her finger, twists it slowly one way and then the other. “I don’t.” A strand of pink hair has come loose and Odd shifts, reaches over to brush it back behind her ear. “But what if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?”

“You are more than enough, Princess. Einstein loves you but if you’re second-guessing this-”

“I’m not,” she repeats. She takes a breath, heavy and close to tears. Odd shifts closer then, wraps an arm around her and tugs her carefully over until her head is pillowed on his shoulder once more. “I’m just scared to mess this up.”

“You’re not gonna mess it up,” he tells her. “My suit though? Definitely.”

Aelita hiccups a laugh, shoves away from him with an eye roll. But she sits up and her face is dry. Odd will count it as a win. “I don’t know who will be more upset,” he continues, “my mother or Lou? Maybe Pauline. She’s the one who insisted I ironed it wrong and redid it this morning. They’ll lecture you all night.”

Aelita snorts, shoves him so that he falls easily back onto the mattress. “Please,” she laughs. “We both know they’ll think you snuck off with Ulrich.”

Odd heaves a sigh, folds his arms behind his head. “Exactly. My reputation’s being tarnished for being the awesome person I am. I am so selfless.”

“You are a menace.” She gets up and he rolls over, watches as she wanders over to the table by the window and nibbles at a piece of cheese.

“Yes, but a menace with an escape plan. Just in case.”

Aelita throws a strawberry at him.

//

He’d been surprised at first when Aelita had told him the wedding would be in France. He’d half-expected it to be in Norway and he isn’t sure why. Aelita’s life has always been here, in France, no matter what they’d claimed otherwise.

Odd’s never really thought of where Einstein’d grown up – part of him had always imagined he had simply stepped into the world as the dorky twelve-year-old he’d met at Kadic. If he’d thought about it, he doesn’t know if he’d have imagined something so rural and picturesque. Odd can’t imagine Jeremie here.

Regardless, northeastern France is pretty. The hills are rolling and there are farmlands and vineyards for miles around. The buildings are stone, the air crisp and cool even at this time of year. Jeremie had offered a weak laugh when Odd’d mentioned it earlier, made a comment under his breath about it being “one of the only nice days.”

Yumi returns twenty minutes before they’re supposed to head to the town hall. He and Aelita are still lounging on the bed, Aelita in her fuzzy robe and fresh make-up, Odd sans suit jacket and shoes, and they’re eating plates piled high with pastries and fruit. Aelita is laughing over one of Odd’s stories and Odd feels a pang when Yumi steps into the room, hands resting on her hips as she surveys them.

“Out,” she orders.

“Rude!” he protests.

“How’s Jeremie?” Aelita asks.

“He’s feeling better,” Yumi replies, voice softening. She frowns at Odd. “She has to get dressed. Get out.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. He leans over, presses a kiss to Aelita’s cheek and steals the last apple pastry from the plate. “See you in ten, Princess.”

Aelita hums.

Odd collects his suit jacket and shoes, pauses when Yumi grabs his arm as he’s walking out the door. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“Anytime,” he replies. “Good luck turning that mess into a princess,” he adds, voice louder.

“Odd!” Aelita shrieks, laughing.

Odd takes his cue, ducks out the door and pauses in the hallway to pull his shoes back on. He’s hopping on one foot, trying not to drop his jacket or fall, when he hears a soft snort. “You look like you’re sneaking out of a house of ill-repute.”

“Ill-repute?” he repeats, delighted and scandalized. He looks up at where Lou’s leaning against the wall next to the stairs. “Have I suddenly time-traveled back to the 19^th century? Is Jane Austen around? I’m totally the dashing love interest with a tragic past and heart of gold, aren’t I?”

“Shut-up,” she replies, voice fond. “We all know you’re the comic relief.” He notes she doesn’t offer to help though, and sticks his tongue out at her. “Is Aelita ready?”

“Yumi’s working her magic now.” Louise nods, snorts as he has to catch himself on the windowsill so he doesn’t topple head first into the potted plant. Who even puts potted plants in hallways? People who enjoy chaos, that’s who. “Are you just going to stand there?”

“Oh yes,” she says, voice chipper. “It’s better than listening to Ulrich and Mark discuss sports.”

Odd glances up sharply, nearly falling again. “Ulrich left Jeremie?”

“His father’s with him. Don’t worry, he isn’t running. Are you ready yet?” Lou tosses her blonde hair back, eyes him disdainfully. “You take longer than a girl to get ready.”

“Excuse me?” he demands. He gets the shoe on finally and stands to glare at her. Louise has the gall to smile innocently at him. “Why are you so happy anyway? Did you get in the champagne already?”

“Of course.”

She turns on her heel, heading down the stairs to the lobby and Odd trails behind her. He does his best to straighten his shirt and tie, runs a hand through his hair to get it into some semblance of order. His family has taken over the small hotel and they’re all gathered in the foyer. Odd can pick out some of Jeremie’s family as well – he recognizes his cousin at least – amid the chaos of blonde heads.

“Aelita’s almost ready,” Lou announces, voice loud over the cacophony.

“Good, then we should head out,” a woman Odd thinks is Jeremie’s aunt says. “Where is Jeremie? And Michel?”

“I’ll get them,” the cousin says, disappearing through a side door before anyone can say anything.

Louise leaves him at the stairs, disappearing in the direction of Mark-the-new-boyfriend no doubt. Odd debates on following her since that’s apparently where Ulrich is, but he catches sight of his mother making a beeline for him and freezes like a deer in the headlights.

“Odd,” she sighs. She reaches up to smooth his collar. “I asked you to behave, for one day.”

“I didn’t,” he protests, which just sounds wrong. “I mean, I did. I did behave. This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Of course it isn’t,” she says, mouth twitching wryly.

“Aelita needed a shoulder and I had a perfectly good one to offer.” He rolls his shoulder forward. “See, tear stains and everything.”

His mother looks up at him, blue-grey eyes steady and sincere. “Is she alright?”

“Yeah, Mamma, she’s perfect. Just nerves.”

His mother hums, pats his cheek. “Maybe your father is right and you have grown up.”

“Hey!” he protests.

//

Odd’s been to a couple of weddings – friends in Scotland, cousins in Italy, and Adele and Elisabeth’s in Norway – but this is his first French one. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect, especially when Aelita and Jeremie had said it would be small, that they weren’t doing the big all-night party typically associated with weddings. Honestly, he was a bit disappointed at that. But he gets it.

The courthouse is charming. They’re in a mid-sized room with windows flung open and looking over the gardens and a small courtyard area. There are pale pink and purple flowers and draped fabrics hanging on the walls and a long table at the front of the room. Odd peeks his head in, watches the guests finding seats, greeting each other with kisses to the cheeks and soft French. He finds he’s missed the language more than he’d thought.

He hears a squeal, turns to see Ulrich spinning Astrid in a lopsided circle. His niece squeals again, arms outstretched and babbling in Norwegian. Behind her, he spots Jeremie and Mr. Belpois. He plasters a smile on, crosses the cobblestone courtyard they’re standing in and claps Jeremie roughly on the shoulder. “Ready, Einstein?”

“I think I may be sick.”

“Just aim for Yumi instead of Aelita. Trust me,” Odd advises. Jeremie stares at him balefully, but his father snorts a laugh.

“Sound advice,” Michel Belpois states. “You should listen to your friend. You wouldn’t want to upset your new bride.”

Jeremie looks a bit green around the cheeks, pale with dark smudges beneath his glasses. Odd wonders if he should offer him concealer for those. He could probably steal some off Marie. “You’re going to be fine, Einstein,” he says, voice pitched low and serious. “You’ve got this.”

“You’re sure she didn’t agree out of pity?”

“Jeremie.” He grabs the blonde by the elbow, tows him away from Mr. Belpois’s curious expression. “You know Aelita, has she ever done anything she didn’t want to out of pity?” Jeremie looks uncertain, like he’s trying to mentally review nine years of material to find one occasion to prove Odd wrong. Odd shakes him a little. “She loves you, idiot.”

Jeremie nods, still looking a little dazed. He reaches up, adjusts his glasses. “You’re right,” he agrees. “Of course, you’re right.”

“Usually am.” He nudges Jeremie gently. “C’mon, Einstein, you’ve got this. Just think happy thoughts, say yes when asked, and aim for Yumi.”

“…Thanks.”

The mayor’s secretary appears then, ushering them all into formation. The courtyard feels empty suddenly and Odd watches as Jeremie and his father take up position near the open door. Jeremie’s father reaches out, smooths down the lapels of Jeremie’s suit, rests his hands on Jeremie’s shoulders. Whatever he says seems to work, Jeremie stands straighter than Odd has seen him all weekend. He and his father enter the townhall.

Odd watches as the secretary wrangles the four small children – his niece and three of Jeremie’s cousins – into some semblance of order. They march in, Astrid with her blonde curls loose and wild from her impromptu helicopter spin with Ulrich. Odd’s sure Adele’s having a fit inside. He wanders over to the carpark, knocks on the window of the nearest car.

“C’mon Princess, show time.”

There’s a pause and then the door opens and Aelita clambers out. She shakes out the bottom of her gown and Odd feels his breath catch looking at her. She’s wearing his mother’s old veil, the one Adele and Elisabeth had both worn in their weddings, and her gown is simple, off the shoulder, with something that looks like lace along the bodice.

“Alright,” she announces. “I’m ready.”

She looks it too. Her shoulders are squared, her chin lifted. She looks like a princess, he thinks. “Yeah, you are,” he agrees. He offers a bow, extends his arm to her. She laughs, slips her arm around his. “Let’s get you married, yeah?”

“That’s the plan,” she agrees.

They cross the carpark and he sees the secretary frantically waving at them from the door. Aelita’s fingers tighten around his forearm.

“Thank you,” she says, voice soft. “For doing this.”

“My pleasure, Princess.”

They step into the room in town hall and it shouldn’t be overwhelming, but suddenly Odd wonders if he’s going to pull an Einstein and be the one puking. Everyone is gathered there, watching as he and Aelita step through the door. Of course, he’s just the arm candy, Aelita’s the main attraction here. But he can sense their stares, can see the way his mother wipes at her eyes and the way his father smiles proudly. He can see Jeremie staring at Aelita like she’s his entire world.

And it’s not that he wants that. Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t. He likes what he has. But he has to wonder, has too much time to think it over as they walk the short aisle up to where Jeremie is waiting, Yumi at his side as one of his witnesses and the cousin as the other. It’d felt a bit like a weird pseudo-divorce when Aelita and Einstein had called them all up, had explained witnesses and how they loved them all but they’d had to make a choice on who stood on which side. Odd had laughed, had joked that now they knew who the favorites were.

He doesn’t quite feel like joking now though. Ulrich is at the other end of the room, on Aelita’s side as one of her witnesses. Odd will join him after his duty as bridal walking stick is done. Ulrich’s staring at them, face soft with a smile Odd’s so rarely seen on his face and Odd’s traitorous stomach does another somersault. Aelita’s fingers clutch at him as though she can sense it. Or maybe this is a signal to make their escape. They never did choose a code word, which may have been an oversight.

They stop in front of the mayor, in front of Jeremie and everyone else in the room. Odd answers the mayor’s question, voice steady, and then leans in, presses a kiss to Aelita’s veiled cheek. He steps back, takes his place next to Ulrich as the mayor, donned up in his red-white-and-blue sash begins speaking. He feels Ulrich, warm and solid and so close, listens to the speech, and watches the way two of his closest friends stare at each other like this is it. Like this is final. Like they’ve just shut down XANA again. Like this is what they’d been fighting for even back then.

//

The reception is held at a family friend’s vineyard. The late afternoon light fades and fairy lights replace it with soft light and loud music. Champagne flows freely, bottle after bottle being brought up from the cellar and poured into glass after glass. Aelita’s cheeks are flushed pale pink, eyes shining with happiness and the fizz from the drinks. Jeremie looks looser than he’s seen him in years. Shoulders relaxed, grin soppy and smitten as he stares at Aelita like she’s his entire world.

Odd leans against the stone wall of the house, watches the people milling about the patio and dance floor. He sips at his third glass of really excellent champagne and can’t repress the smile stealing across his face at the sight of Jeremie spinning Aelita on the dance floor. Marie bounces on her toes, whistling and hollering like she’s at one of Elisabeth’s games instead of a wedding. His sisters are wild animals.

“Here you are,” Elisabeth says. Her hair is tied back in a sleek ponytail and he can see the bruises on her shins from her recent game. “Mamma was looking for you.”

“Oh?” he asks.

“She’s concerned you’re pulling some prank, says you’ve been too quiet lately.” Odd snorts. “Pappa said maybe you’d grown up.”

He snorts louder at that.

“We didn’t believe him either.” Elisabeth offers him a wicked smile in return, clinks her own glass against his. “So, what’s up?”

“Nothing, just thinking.”

“That’s never a good thing,” Elisabeth states, voice dry.

“Never,” he agrees.

His gaze skims the tables lined around the dance floor, sees Pauline sitting with Adele and Jakob, his eldest sister’s stomach swollen with her second pregnancy. Yumi has joined Jeremie and Aelita on the dance floor, Sean on the sidelines talking with Jeremie’s cousin. He hears Astrid’s voice above the others. His niece is laughing her head off, squealing above the adult voices and music. Odd follows the sound, sees Ulrich dancing with her toward the side of the dance floor, out of the way of the adults. Astrid doesn’t seem to care, staring up at Ulrich with a look of adoration.

“Ah.”

“Ah, what?”

“Nothing.” Elisabeth raises her glass, sips and makes a face. She’s never been a fan of drinks that fizz.

“Clearly it’s something.”

“Clearly.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re deliberately obtuse.”

“I am not.”

“It means blind.”

“I know what it means, Lisa.”

“Of course you do.” She pats his cheek in the most condescending manner ever before crossing the patio to Ulrich and Astrid.

Odd hmphs, downs the rest of his glass, and watches as Elisabeth effortlessly swings Astrid up onto her hip, dipping her down when she starts to pout. A moment later, Ulrich’s at his side, hair disheveled and missing his jacket. Odd hums appreciatively as Ulrich holds out a small plate with petit fours.

“And this is why you’re my favorite,” he comments.

“Uh-huh,” Ulrich replies. He crosses his arms, forearms bare from where he’s rolled his sleeves up, and leans against the wall next to Odd. “Why are you acting like a gargoyle over here? Did you fight with Louise again?”

“No,” he grumbles. He pops a petit four in his mouth, hums happily at the taste of Grand Marnier and orange.

“Yumi?”

Odd snorts. “No,” he repeats. “I’m not being a gargoyle.”

“You kind of are,” Ulrich replies, nudging him lightly with his shoulder.

Odd rolls his eyes, sets the glass of champagne and dessert plate on the garden wall next to him and focuses on the way Aelita shines on the dance floor. He can’t repress a smile, watching the way she kisses Jeremie.

“Are you sulking because I’m Astrid’s favorite?” Ulrich replies. Odd doesn’t even have to look at him to know he’s smiling. He can hear the smug grin in his voice.

“Psh,” he mutters. “Keep telling yourself that.” He leans into Ulrich’s shoulder though, enjoys the solid line of warmth against the chill settling into the evening air. “They look happy. Princess and Einstein.”

“They should.” Ulrich steals one of the petit fours and Odd only briefly contemplates fighting him for it. “You aren’t sulking because Jer’s happy, are you?”

“No.” Odd elbows him sharply. “I was just observing.”

Ulrich falls silent. Odd can feel him watching, but he ignores it, searches the crowd until he spots his parents on the dance floor, swaying like a couple of uncoordinated teenagers to a slow song. It’s embarrassing. Next to him, Ulrich shifts, slides an arm around Odd’s waist.

“I’m still surprised Jer knows how to dance,” he says, voice amused.

“You’re just jealous. You’re terrible.”

“Astrid disagrees.”

“Astrid is four. She thinks boogers are a delicacy. I don’t know if I’d trust her taste.”

Ulrich huffs a laugh, hooks a finger into Odd’s beltloops and tugs him around to face him. Before Odd can continue, Ulrich pulls him closer, kisses him. It’s cliché, it is the biggest cliché of Odd’s entire life, probably, but he feels himself melt. He’d be embarrassed, but he’s done a lot of embarrassing things that Ulrich’s stuck around for.

“We…could,” Ulrich says, breath warm and heavy. He has one hand on Odd’s waist, the other cradling his jaw. “If you wanted. If that was something you wanted. We could.”

Odd stares at him, tries to calm his heart and his stomach and the blood thump-thumping through his body like an electric current. He meets Ulrich’s hesitant gaze, notes the flush on the tips of his ears and his cheekbones, the nervous way he swallows. He shifts his gaze, half-turns to look at the dance floor and the happy couple in the center of it.

He turns back, loops his arm around Ulrich’s neck. “I’m good,” he says, voice firm and steady and sure, “right where we are.”

Ulrich nods, once and decisive, and kisses him hard enough to bruise. It feels like a promise.

“C’mon, Nature Boy, let’s see if you can dance better than a toddler.”