Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Something about the cold, brisk air comforted you– maybe because, unlike summer or spring, the air had a sort of magic to it. The wind made your nose run, bit your cheeks, and played with your hair as you clung to your sweater, thankful at least you wore that, but even then, it still gnawed at your bare feet and legs as you walked around, waiting for your mother to calm down. 

It always happened like this: She drank. You fought. You got kicked out. Sometimes, for a few minutes, other times, for a few hours, and always, you came back, like a mangy stray cat. Sometimes, you just wished you could walk out of that damned house and into the night and never look back. Especially on autumn nights like these, ones where you passed all the bright, and slightly tacky, Halloween decorations that littered your neighborhood. The smiling pumpkins and rattling skeletons amongst the witches and vampires made you smile. Even if, like right now, you didn’t want to. Your cheeks felt sticky from tears, and your chest burned like a hot coal in a fire pit.  It wasn’t fair. You hated being treated like trash, hated always having to give, and give and give, without ever getting anything back. Each day, you sprinkled a bit of your heart into her morning coffee, and all she did in response was dump it out, say it was too bitter, and ask you to make her another cup.
But you stayed anyway. Stayed for the mom who once, just once ran her fingers through your hair instead of pulling it. You stayed for the mother who hummed a nonsensical lullaby to you when you were small. Stayed despite there being a tiny part of you that wanted to leave.

Even if you did leave, you had nowhere to go. No friends, no family, and, most importantly, no money either. Sure, you had a part time job (nothing else was available, and still wasn’t, honestly) but all your checks went to the rent, necessities, and maybe an occasional treat here or there.
Stubbornly, you wiped your eyes, trying to ignore the dark, deep pit growing inside you. You hated that feeling of clawing at the crumbling edge and barely holding on, of being in the middle of a stormy, chaotic sea and clinging to a piece of driftwood as the waves rolled over you. You always got that feeling whenever you thought of the circumstances life handed you, and no matter how optimistic  or how strong you tried to be, the feeling always came back and swallowed you whole.

Continuing to blink away your tears, you stopped underneath a tree, shivering underneath the giant's arms. Anyone in their right mind would want to go home, but the tree comforted you. Moss and vines grew up its thick, old body, and its branches bowed slightly to the weight of its age and foliage, and you weren’t the only one taking shelter, either. An owl sat with you– he looked like a barn owl of some sort, but there was something off about him. Something lonely. Your heart ached. Another shiver coursed through you as you hugged yourself, and you sniffed, willing the dreadful tears to go away. Your lip quivered, shoulders shaking like a dam reaching its limit. You wouldn’t cry. You wouldn’t!
A small whimper escaped you, catching the creature’s attention. You froze, heart pounding.  Maybe it was the way the air blew, or the way the trees shook around you, but your eyes widened as you looked into his eyes– they were so oddly human, so full of emotion that seemed similar to yours. The tears you held back flew down your cheeks in hot shameful rivers as you looked at him, unable to hold them back anymore. You sunk to the cold and hard unforgiving sidewalk, letting it all wash over you.

Look at you! Crying at the sight of an owl, thinking it could feel your pain. You know it’s the night, playing tricks on you, you know it’s the wind and your dumb ass imagination, but you couldn’t help it as you stared, taking in the sight of the creature. You noticed how it's beautiful eyes caught the light around you, and realized it's pupils were two different sizes. You wondered what it saw when it looked at you. What did it notice? Did it see the tears in your eyes? Did it care? Why did you care if it did?

A pair of stark headlights pulled your gaze away. You recognized  the car. With a sigh, you pulled yourself up, turning to the owl once more as you wiped away your tears,
“Wish me luck.” you said, “I’ll need it.”

Wiping your wet knees, you wished the night would wrap you up like a magician’s cape and make you disappear, even if just for a moment. Taking a deep breath, you gathered yourself, throwing back your shoulders and lifting your chin up. You had to be strong, no matter how much it hurt. You had to be. You had to hold onto the edge even though the darkness clawed at your legs and threatened to drag you down. The car pulled up in front of you, and you opened the door, the hairs in the back of your neck raising as the owl watched you. You turned towards it, eyes meeting once again. Then, with a weak smile, you gave it a pathetic wave and slammed the door. 

You didn’t notice it following you as your mother drove off. You didn’t notice it flying after you as you guided your stumbling mother towards your home. You could smell the alcohol on her breath, so heavy and sour you felt that if you breathed it in, you’d drown. You opened the door, closing it behind you as you took your mom to her bedroom. You tucked her in, fluffed up her pillows, and went to your room, ignoring the crumbled up beer cans on the floor. 

That’s when you noticed it, the owl perched outside your window, tapping at the glass.
You tilted your head, and in turn, the owl did the same. A smile rose on your lips, a soft ray of sunshine through thick, thunderous clouds. The owl’s heart fluttered. You made your way to the window and opened it up, smiling growing wider, pure wonder in your eyes.
“Did.. are you– you’re the same owl from before, right?” You asked, letting the poor bird in, “You must be soaked to the bone, poor thing.”

The owl entered, shaking the water off its wings as it took in its surroundings as you continued to talk,
“I can get you a towel, if you’d like. It’s the least I could do since you cheered me up, you precious thing! Imagine, following me home. You must be really lonely. If you’re really quiet, and swear to not cause any ruckus, then I can let you stay here for the night. It's cold and wet out there, and you don't wanna get sick! Anyway, I need company, so what do you say?”
It nodded, much to your wondrous joy. It couldn’t help but take in the sight of your eyes lighting up at such a simple gesture. No one had ever looked at him like that before.
“Alright! I’ll take that as a yes! I’ll be right back, Mr. Owl– wait, are you a mister?” you asked.
Another nod from the bird, and more delight from you.
“Well, Mr. Owl, if you’re really good, I promise I’ll bring you a tootsie pop,” you joked, chuckling as you went towards your door, opening it quietly, peeking around, before stepping out.

You definitely caught the owl’s attention. He couldn't help but wonder if you saw in his eyes what he saw in yours. That’s the only reason he agreed to stay, anyway, and you offered him water, and a warmth. You clearly knew how to treat company. You also seemed.. Interesting. He was just curious. He certainly didn’t think about those tear filled eyes, or that sweet smile that came to your face when you noticed him at your window. Certainly not. He needed somewhere to rest for the night, and was too tired from a day of flying to go back to his kingdom, that was all. Nothing more.

Soon, you came back with a towel, a glass of water, and a chopped up apple.
“I know it’s not much,” you said, using your foot to close the door, “But it’s all I got. I don’t feel like catching an insect for you, so I hope you like this. If not, I’ll eat it.”
Wrapping the towel around him, you dried him till his feathers fluffed up, much to his chagrin. You grinned– you never knew an owl could look angry, and honestly, it was cute!
“You’re adorable.” You cooed, petting his head softly, before grabbing the fruit and water, giving it to him, “I never knew an owl could be so cute.”

He really liked being called cute. He also liked being pet, and fed. The little nest of fluffy blankets you made warmed him, he knew the cold couldn’t affect him the way it did your kind, but still, being warm was quite… nice. He settled in, listening to you as you talked.

“I’ve never seen an owl like you before, you must be different from all the others, huh? Something special, maybe?” You ask, a playful grin on your lips as you got up from the bed, going to your drawer, “Well, Mr. Owl, you may be special, but that doesn’t mean you can look at me while I change. Turn around.” Another laugh escaped you when he did, and you thanked him, before changing out of your sweater and pajama shorts, putting on something warmer instead.

After putting on some socks, you turned towards him, telling him he could look now. You couldn’t help but laugh at this sweet, but strange, owl. You wondered if, somehow, you got blessed with a guardian angel, but quickly dismissed the motion. None of that fairy tale stuff tonight!
You made your way to the bed and grabbed the unused blankets and snuggled into them. A sigh escaped your lips as you took in your room, the soft lighting, the rain on the window, and a strange owl by your side, it really seemed like a strange story.

“You wanna watch a movie together?” You asked, ready for a distraction from your thoughts  as you grabbed your phone, laying down next to the owl, putting the plate and small bowl you laid out for him earlier aside.
“I’m thinking either Paranorman, or Coraline… or maybe my favorite movie.   It’s the perfect season for them and all. Especially since it’s Halloween– well, almost, anyway.”
You didn’t wait for his reply, and quickly decided to watch your favorite movie, showing it to the bird. You could tell he was fascinated by the moving pictures on your small screen. It made you smile, even if smiling was hard, but watching an owl watch a movie.. Well that definitely made it worth it. It was way too cute! You snuggled next to him, letting the soft rain and pure exhaustion you felt drag you into dreamland.

Chapter Text

The sun shyly peeked over the city as the moon hung in the sky like a crystal pendant, shimmering against the fluffy, lavender clouds. The owl perched on your window sill, taking it in for a moment, before tapping at the glass persistently, dragging you out of your slumber.

“Alright, Alright, I’m coming..” You groaned, stretching out of bed and rushing towards the window and opening it, “There.. You can go now, but come back. It was nice watching a movie with you.”
You looked at him sadly as he perched on your window sill, before petting his small head,
“It’s okay if you don’t,” you added, “Not a lot of people stay around, at least for me, and you get used to being lonely.. But it would be nice if you did come back. I’d even catch bugs for you if you did. Even though I hate bugs.”

Did he understand you? Or were you crazy?
He seemed to consider your offer, before nodding, which, despite him leaving, made you give him a sleepy smile in return.
“Well, I’ll take that as a yes, or I could take that as a sign that I’m finally losing my sanity, talking to an owl and all– but, I like to be an optimist, so, see you soon, Mr. Owl.”

You leaned over and kissed his small head, before watching him fly off, heart aching as the morning air filled your room. The hole inside you opened as the chill slithered around the floor and clawed at your feet. There wasn’t a small, soft owl to distract you from the shadows dancing around your walls, there wasn’t a potential fairy tale to pull you away. No, this was reality. You just.. housed a weird owl, is all. He wasn’t secretly a wizard, a witch, or warlock. He wasn’t secretly a cursed prince or a king from a far off land. He was just an owl.
Your hand grabbed the top of the window, closing it with a sigh and locking it shut. You pulled in the curtains, rushing to your bed and throwing the fluffy covers over your head, shivering as the ice filled your veins. 

The owl flew over your neighborhood, where night still gripped the corners of houses, clinging to the shadows as the sun came up, filling the sky with clouds the color of roses and egg yolks. The town silently watched him fly, wings catching the breeze as he made his way towards the horizon, disappearing.
The vast sky of the labyrinth, the color of faded orange peels and old photos, surrounded him now. He took it all in as he glided towards his castle, landing in his bedroom through an open window. He shook himself and pruned his feathers. Another shake caused him to expand and stretch, small feathers falling from his hair like passing clouds, he dusted his shoulders as he got used to having hands again. He hated getting wet as an owl. His feathers always weighed him down, and the cold bit at his frail, hollow bones. He always waited out the rain, unlike last night, when he stayed with you. Watching the thing he had always heard humans talk about (a movie)  was oddly fascinating, even though it reminded him of his crystals. And the fact that he also got praise for simply existing wasn’t too bad either.

In fact, he.. Had never gotten praise before. Or affection. He liked it. It felt nice being appreciated by someone who wasn’t a goblin for once. He ignored the little voice in his head warning him to stay away. He’d only go back for one night. And he wouldn’t be getting attached! He wasn’t going to give his heart away without a single thought. He had a kingdom to run. He had no time for love. None. It didn’t matter that his heart fluttered as he got ready for the day. It didn’t matter that his cheeks glowed a soft shade of pink when he thought of you kissing his forehead. He was only going back for himself, and only going back because of your kindness. He couldn’t let your deed go unpaid, and he wanted more praise. Nothing else, nothing more. 

The day melted as you two worked, hours swirling by as Jareth took care of his kingdom, settling trade disputes, keeping the goblins in check, and making sure to keep his labyrinth tidy.  As he ruled his subjects, you checked out rude old ladies and weird, creepy men. You did your job, even though you hated it. 

Finally though, finally, your shift ended. You shot off like a rocket, hopping onto your bike. Your legs pumped the pedals as you rode home, sailing down the quiet streets of your neighborhood, wondering about your little owl friend. Would he remember you? Would he watch another movie? Would he be an anime fan? Where the hell was he from, anyway?
Questions scattered around your brain like the dried leaves littering the sidewalks. You had to know what that owl was about! You had to know! You had to know if.. Maybe, just maybe there was a bigger world out there, one you didn’t know about. One full of far off kings and fairies and goblins. One where, maybe, just maybe there could be a place for you. One where you could have a life, far away from your mother. 

A sunset cloaked the sky in ruby reds, swirling a cape of violet clouds and mandarin wisps around the landscape. Stopping to catch your breath and watch the sight, you wondered if Mr. Owl liked sunsets. Did owls even see sunsets? Or did they see sunrises? Or what if they only saw the moon rising? You couldn’t imagine a life without a sunset, and you especially couldn’t imagine one without a sunrise. Sunrises, whenever you stayed up late enough to see them, always reminded you that there was a better future out there. Panting, you took it all in, letting the questions and uncertainty wash over you, letting the thoughts dissipate into soft seafoam as you took a moment to breathe. Then you saw him, perched on the same tree from yesterday. You smiled, before riding over. 

“Is that you, Mr. Owl?” You asked, looking up at him, cheeks still flushed from your bike ride.
The owl looked down at you, before spreading his wings and gliding to your bike, settling into the basket at the front. 
“Well, that answers that, then! Were you enjoying the sunset too, you lovely thing?” you cooed, petting his head, “I love sunsets. They’re so pretty. Don’t you think so?”
He nodded, letting out a soft coo. You couldn’t help but look at him in pure wonder, your eyes shining underneath the light of the fading sun.
“You really are wonderful,” you said, not noticing him melting underneath your praise, “I’ve never met an owl like you before. And I’m glad you can enjoy sunsets. It’d suck to live in a world without them. Although you looked really lonely enjoying it all by yourself. We should try and watch one together, tomorrow, if you decide to come back again, that is.”
With that little sentence, Jareth already knew he was coming back.

He ignored every warning against it. Ignored the alarm ringing in his head as he let you take him to your home. That’s how the routine started. Simply because he agreed to watch a sunset with you the next day, and honestly, what kind of king would he be if he didn’t keep his word?

Jareth twisted and turned the globe in his fingers, watching, waiting.
When would you get back from work, anyway? He was tired of waiting. He wanted to see you again. Not because he enjoyed your company or anything.. alright, he did. He did enjoy your company, but only because your lap was so warm, and your antics made him laugh. He loved hearing you sing-song and dance around when your mother wasn’t home, loved getting to know you as you talked to him over the past few weeks, and he especially loved the smile you gave him whenever you saw him. It reminded him of warm milk mixed with cinnamon and honey. He wanted to see it again, especially as he watched you laugh with a coworker. He couldn’t help the frown on his lips. He wanted to laugh with you. He wanted to be there with you, mostly due to the goblins flocking around him like a bunch of annoying seagulls. Yes, he was the Goblin king, and they do make wonderful minions, but still.. It got exhausting being surrounded by constant, irritating squawking and yelling. Now, he wouldn’t mind you, his sweet, (Y/N) being here though.
The thought of you slumping over his lap like a cat crossed his mind. His heart flickered in his chest like a pink spark as his mind wondered. You sitting on the arm of his throne, cooing over him, playing with his blonde locks, admiring his eyes.. He blinked. Oh no, he wasn’t having those thoughts! Not those thoughts!  No, no, no! He wasn’t having those feelings. They were.. Inconvenient, and stupid! Nothing good ever came of them. They always ended in rejection, always ended up with him on his knees, picking up the glass pieces no matter how much he cut his fingers. But..  his eyes flicked back to the glass globe, seeing you laugh and cheer as you looked at the clock, making his stomach twist delightfully. He couldn’t help the chuckle that left his lips as you ran to clock out, before dashing to your bike. You wonderful little thing! So cute, so sweet, so tantalizing, like a peach. He wanted to devour and swallow you whole. He wanted all your sweetness to himself. 

“What are ya laughin’ at, yer majesty?” A goblin asks, snapping him out of his lovesick daze.
Jareth sneered, standing up, “Nothing, you fool,” He holds in the urge to kick the creature aside as he walks to the window, “I’m off for the night.”
“Again, sire?”
The Goblin King’s eyebrow twitches in annoyance, “Yes, again. I have.. Important business. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Then, with a swish of his cape, he flew out the window, and disappeared into the mouth of the horizon, melting  into the clouds and  diving into the neighborhood you lived in. He soon found your (favorite color) bike sailing through the streets as you laughed. The breeze tangled it’s fingers through your gorgeous locks as the chilly air kissed your cheeks. His heart squeezed. Oh goodness.. He.. what in the world was wrong with him? He shook off the feeling, landing on a branch of the nearest tree, letting out a loud shriek to get your attention. You shrieked back, pumping the breaks. You looked up at him, a scowl on your face. 

“You scared the shit out of me!” You called, “Honestly, you’re lucky you’re so cute! Even though you’re picky for an owl! I managed to get more fruit for you yesterday, you spoiled thing!”
He puffed out his feathers, huffing as he turned away from you. He wasn’t a spoiled thing.
You rolled your eyes, a grin on your features, “I’ll let you pick out the movie tonight if you come down, Mr. Owl.” you cooed, purring softly, tugging at his heart with your sweet words, “Won’t you come down for me? Or do you want to sit out here all night, huddling against the cold? I wouldn’t mind.. I mean, I’ll have all the blankets to myself, and all the snacks I got too.”
He turned his head towards you, a spark of joy bursting in his chest as you laughed, leaning against the handle bars as you looked at him fondly, head tilted playfully. Had anyone ever looked at him that way, he wondered? With pure, unabashed joy? He couldn't recall a single moment where someone had, but here you were, doing it so easily, so freely, that it almost made him feel greedy. You hadn't asked for a single thing in return. He had taken so much, and yet, here you were, giving more. 

“Oh, sweet, sweet thing, won’t you come down for me?” you cooed again, unaware of his thoughts, “I know you want to, don’t you? Don’t you want some snacks and a warm place to sleep? And it’s Halloween night, too, silly bird! Don’t you know that those rambunctious trick-or-treaters will be out?”

He debated on continuing to pout. He quite liked your teasing. Being cooed over was.. Nice. Nothing more. Your cooing didn’t make him flush underneath his feathers, it didn’t make him want to melt into your touch. It didn’t. It was nice, nothing more. He only wanted you to look at him fondly, and coo over him, but only because it was nice. It didn't mean anything to him, not really. Not at all. Even though, really, he knew that was a lie.

“Well, I guess since you don’t wanna come, bye!” You called, before launching on your bike again with a push, leaving him in the dust. 
He screamed angrily, flying after you. How dare you leave him! You couldn’t leave him! He demanded you stop, and once you did, he gave you more angry noises in return, settling into the basket of your bike, looking like a pouting child. His feathers ruffled as your laughter rang like a wind chime in summer, going straight to his heart.

“So I guess you changed your mind, then.” you said, grinning, noticing the kids flocking out of doors around you, witches and ghosts, wizards and princesses, “Come on, let’s go, cutie. We have the house to ourselves for the weekend!”

You pushed on, breathing in the cool air as you rode towards your home, feeling a sense of complete and utter freedom. You loved having the house to yourself. Loved the quiet. Loved the sun shining through the living room windows as you enjoyed a cup of coffee, or tea. You and Jareth watched children giggle around you, parents pulling out glow sticks and phones as they chased after the little mischief makers. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling an odd nostalgia for it all. You stopped going trick-or-treating years ago, since your mom had managed to ruin your favorite holiday by getting into a fight with you over having a last minute costume. You still celebrated, though, just in your own way. She had already taken so much from you, and you couldn’t let her take away the joy of watching a spooky movie or reading a spooky book during a chilly autumn night. 

You saw kids point at your little friend, but ignored it, determined to go home before the shadowy memories hunting you chased you down. Your mother had ruined so many holidays, Christmas, Thanksgiving.. Cinco De Mayo, even Mother 's day! You shook your head, pushing the sadness away, along with the inky anger that came with it. Using the last of your energy, you pedaled as fast as your legs could go, before letting the bike sail you the rest of the way home. 

After getting off your bike, you parked it, chaining it up and scooping up the white fluff ball. You snuggled him, letting out a soft sigh. You really did miss trick-or-treating. Or.. well, you missed the innocence that came with it. You missed the lack of knowledge that came with being a kid. You missed thinking your mom was the prettiest princess in the world, missed looking up to her, and believing the promises she kept. You missed having a full, and complete heart. You missed a life where you didn’t have to cling to the torn, beating muscle inside your chest, before tearing off more to give it to her. Grabbing your keys, another sigh left your lips as you sought refuge in the empty house, hoping that none of the neighborhood kids saw you enter. You locked the door, made sure the windows and curtains were closed, and then turned on the TV in the living room, putting the owl down and tossing the remote aside.

You changed into your PJ’s in your bedroom, grabbing the bag of candy you hid away in the process. Then, you threw the bag of popcorn in the microwave, showed your feathery friend your owl themed socks, and covered the couch in fluffy blankets. After making him a little nest, you chopped him up some fruit, grabbed your popcorn, and settled in, eyes shining in delight as your favorite spooky movie started playing. Turning to the little owl, you let him peck fruit from your fingers, unable to help it as you fawned over him.

Jareth quite liked this. A lot. Way too much, in fact. Your presence reminded him of warm apples sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, and your voice sounded like a comforting, playful lullaby. He never knew a night could be so peaceful, that he could feel so safe. This must be a dream, of some kind, or had he been bewitched by a witch? You continued to pet his head gently, before looking down at him.
“Are you tired, poor thing?” you asked softly, looking at him so warmly he felt like he might burst, “You are, aren’t you? All that flying and working.. poor Mr. Owl.. you can sleep, if you want. I won’t mind.”

He looked up at you, shaking his head, refusing. He couldn’t fall asleep! He had just gotten here! He hadn’t been sleeping well these past few weeks, having to go from one world to the next, but it was all worth it. Especially when you smiled at him. He kept his eyes open, remembering the fact that you said he’d pick out a movie. Although the one playing was quite nice, and honestly, he could always pick one out tomorrow and.. Oh.. you found the spot on his head that made him utterly melt. His shoulders melted, eyes being dragged further and further down.
“There you go, it’s okay, you can sleep. I’m just happy you’re here.” You said, “You always make my day– or well, I guess, night, when you come around. So the least I can do is let you get some shut eye, and don’t worry, you can always pick a movie tomorrow, and eat some more fruit.. And maybe even go to the bookstore with me.. Oh and we can even buy clearance Halloween candy..”

Your gentle, excited rambling turned into background noise as he melted into your side, letting the long day he had wash away as sleep overcame him. 

Jareth had an odd dream.
You were there, sitting next to him, relaxing on his throne with a pout on your lips.
“What’s wrong, darling?” He asked softly, turning towards you.
You turned to him, eyebrows furrowed, “You know what I’d really like?”
“What?”
“A new book! I haven’t had one in ages.” You said, exasperated, before slumping into the throne, arms crossed. A book appeared in his hand. Where did that come from?
“How does this one sound?” He asked softly, handing the red covered book next to you. He grinned as your eyebrows raised, interest piqued.
“The Labyrinth?” You mused, before taking it from his hands, “It’s not too long, but it looks good.” You kissed his cheek before snuggling into his shoulder, curling up into his side like a purring cat, “It better be, or it’s your head.”
Laughter escaped his lips, “You’re lucky I’m so fond of you, or it’d be yours, you wicked little thing. Now read your book and tell me if you like it, I don’t like you going without. I can’t have you pouting like that, no matter how adorable it is.”

He watched as a smile made its way across your lips. You rolled your eyes, before opening your book, letting out one more playful remark,
“Well I’m not the only one who’s adorable when they pout, dear.” you cooed, before sinking into the book. 

Then the dream faded, melted into another. A ball room, surrounded by books. Almost as if his brain was telling him something.
What was it trying to say?
"Use your words", the books said, voices high and low, squeaky yet soft, "Use your words!"
In fact, they sounded like.. Goblins, now that he thought of it. He walked closer to the shelves, his eyes catching that red book again. That cursed book. He had stolen it back once.. She rejected him. He hid it somewhere. He couldn’t throw it away. His heart wouldn’t let him. He picked up the damned book, tempted to throw it, till it opened in his hands. Your name was there, on the pages, and you wished yourself away. You stayed with him, in the Labyrinth. He let his mind soak in the words, before his eyes widened–

He awoke with a gasp, knowing how he’d repay your kindness.

Chapter Text

Jareth couldn’t sleep. The idea of whisking you away slithered along the edges of his mind, preventing him from closing his eyes again. He hadn’t been sleeping well, traveling back and forth was utterly exhausting. So, wouldn't it be better if you stayed with him? You’d have the world at your fingertips, every whim would be met with a sweep of his gloved hand. In return, he’d have you waking up by his side every morning, where he’d watch the sunlight tease your eyes awake as he runs his fingers through your hair and peppers your cheeks with kisses. His heart fluttered at the gentle thought, feathers ruffling as he realized he’d have to come to terms with the truth– that he’d fallen for you, or at the very least was falling for you.

 He never met someone who gave to him so freely. You asked for nothing except his company. Just his simple presence made you happy. Not even his goblins smiled at him that much!
It still surprised him every time he visited you, the smile you held on your face despite it all, and he crumpled in your hands because of it. You didn’t even know how much power you had over him. It almost scared him how all you had to do was look at him and tell his mood. It was thrilling, yet terrifying, how you reduced the elusive Goblin King to an open, transparent book. What scared him even more was the fact that you cared about him. You always asked if he was alright, or how his day went, and even though he couldn’t speak, it went a long way– those words chipped at the shell that he created around his heart. The fact that you cared, the fact that you still gave him a kind smile despite the fact that your mother constantly shouted and insulted you fascinated and confused him to no end. 

He had become the one entrapped, the one allured, by simple smiles and simple gifts, and although he’d given nothing in return, you still wanted his company. He wanted more than sitting by your side– he wanted conversation, and laughter, and he wanted you, within the walls of his labyrinth. For now, though, the closest he could get to that was perching on the arm of the couch above you, it gave him the perfect view of you waking up. The sunlight streamed in through a gap in the curtains, flowing like water, creating a small puddle of golden light around your bed head, turning your sleeping form into a dreamy painting. A groan escaped you as the sun hit your face with full force, and he couldn’t help the owlish chuckle that escaped him as your eyebrows scrunched up. You looked so cute, he mused, as you grumpily opened your eyes and looked up at him.

“Were you watching me sleep?”
He nodded.
“...That’s creepy, man.” You grumbled, “But you’re an owl, so I’ll let it pass.. And I’ll forgive you, but only if you go to the bookstore with me.”

Well, he couldn’t say no to that. 

You loved days like these, the sky the bright color of a blue raspberry popsicle, and a sun so yellow that it looked like a fresh, ripe lemon. You breathed in the air as you leisurely rode through the neighborhood, smelling distant campfires and crunchy leaves, tinted with just a bit of dampness from the rain of days before. The birds chirped around you, their songs bright bursts of color across the fiery landscape.

Mornings like these made you thankful that you hadn’t sunk into that deep, dark hole that always surrounded you. You felt grateful that your lungs took in air and that your heart still pounded. Moments like these, despite everything, made you feel like it was okay. You had your wallet, your purse, your keys, and your little owly friend nestled in the basket of your bike. You had things to be grateful for, and really, that’s what you had to cling on to. The fact that you had strong legs, feet, hands and eyes. The fact that you could see all the blissful nature around you as it burst into life before you.  You watched the owl take in the scenery with you, his glassy orbs reflecting the landscape. You wondered if he thought it was beautiful like you did, wondering what he saw. You wanted to ask, but you didn’t want to break the soft silence. You wanted to stay like this, listening to the birds, the wind in the trees and the passing of an occasional car. You just wanted to listen, to breathe. 

Gliding down the streets, you went further out from the neighborhood, and into  town. The old brick buildings filled with personality always comforted you, especially this time of year. Red haired trees cradled your favorite antique shop, cascading crooked shadows onto the cluttered windows. You longingly looked inside as you rode past, before passing the movie theater and small café that huddled together against the cold. You smelled coffee and popcorn, and couldn’t help the smile on your face as a gust flew through, playfully shifting the leaves on the ground and rattling the branches of the trees.

You couldn’t help the loneliness that rode beside you, though.
You knew you should be grateful, but seeing groups of people out and about this early in the morning, smiling and laughing, made your heart ache. You had Mr. Owl, yes, but you knew you needed more than an animal sidekick. It was greedy to want more than you could ever have, but still, having someone to lean on and talk to would be nice. Finally, like a lighthouse in the fog, the bookstore came into view, and you breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that you could always escape these thoughts with a good book.

Slowing down, you got off your bike, before turning to the owl, asking, “You wanna come inside?”
The owl looked up at you, shaking his head. 

“Well, alright.. As long as you’ll be okay. Guard my bike, alright?” You then leaned over, kissed his forehead, and entered the store, leaving Jareth alone. 

He looked around, making sure the streets were empty before he glided to the ground, wings glimmering like starlight as a gust of wind coursed through his feathers. With a flash, he stretched, wings melting into arms and hands, and talons molding into legs and feet. He took in his form in the reflection of the window, wondering if it was a bit much. Self consciously, he played with his hair a bit, noticing the flush in his cheeks as he took a deep breath. He knew he’d do it, that he’d happily give you this book and more, but his nerves nibbled at his insides like an aggressive cat. To think, a mere human girl made him nervous.. Oh, who was he kidding? You were no mere girl. You were a woman, a kind one, at that. You helped whoever you could, gave so much, and now he, the pathetic Goblin king, was desperately trying to give you a gift, while trying to be as suave as possible about it. He straightened his shoulders, and opened the door, going inside.

The windows molded sunbeams into squares of light across the floor. He took in the wooden bookshelves that towered above him, each filled to the brim with books, a mixture of hardcovers and paperbacks. He noticed the few plants the shop had, vines that tripped and rippled over baskets, perfectly content. Timidly, he looked around, his heart stopping as he spotted you contemplating over a book and flipping it over, reading the back. He couldn’t help but watch the light play with your hair, creating small rings of fire. You opened the novel you picked, your eyes traveling over the pages, before you scowled and put it back. He had to hold in his laughter as he leaned against a bookshelf, wondering if he ought to be swooning for you so publicly, or if he should tone it down, but then, you looked at him. 

You weren’t sure if you were going crazy, or if that hot guy was really checking you out.

You hadn’t noticed him when you first entered, but now, looking through the clearance section of the bookstore, you couldn’t help but notice him looking at you. His eyes seemed so.. Familiar, yet somehow new. Your heart skipped a beat as you looked into them, mismatched pupils, dazzling colors, framed by strong, vibrant makeup.
He was really fucking hot.
Was he checking you out, or just staring? Did you have a stain on your shirt? Or your pants? You looked down, and checked– no, you didn’t. You changed into your favorite sweater and pair of jeans (the ones that always made your ass look good) this morning, so….Maybe you were going crazy!

There was no way that man was checking you out! You hid behind a shelf and peeked from behind it, watching him. Heat gathered at your cheeks as you realized that he was still looking at you, sending butterflies gathering inside your stomach. He was very attractive.. And if he wanted to flirt you wouldn’t mind.. You shook your head. Nope. Nope. You were being a creep! And the dude probably just spaced out, thinking about the books he was gonna buy! Nothing else. Taking a deep breath to calm your pounding heart, you went back to your perusing. You really, really loved this place, and you weren’t gonna let some man (no matter how hot he was) interrupt your sacred time. The bookstore was your secret garden. One where words grew like inky flowers and books bloomed open underneath the light of a reader’s eye. That’s why you never told your mom about it, because her presence would sap away the magic and stain it. This bookstore would turn from a garden into a graveyard of shame, where your mother would scold you for spending your money on fairy tales. This shop that smelled of new and old books that brimmed with possibility, was the one place where you felt free. You pushed those thoughts aside, though, and picked up a book from the clearance section, reading it over.

Which reminded the lovesick Goblin King of his mission. The book. Right. He made sure you weren’t watching as he drew a square in the air, summoning the tome from the confines of his closet, where he had thrown it years earlier. The air shimmered, twinkling like light dancing across water as magic gathered, before compacting into a solid object. He smiled, caressing the worn crimson cover that clearly bore the signs of age. He traced the gold lettering with a gloved hand, before gently tucking the book away in his cape and letting himself bask in your presence once more.
He found you beautiful. He couldn’t describe your beauty. He couldn’t decide if you reminded him of the sun shining through the clouds, or if your features were more akin to the rain scattering underneath the light of a full moon. He could say that you were simply enchanting, especially your eyes.. But words like enchanting, or bewitching, or dazzling, felt too insignificant to describe your beauty. The way you smiled as you eagerly leaned into the book you picked up, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you read,  made his insides twist delightfully, and he gripped the worn copy of The Labyrinth, taking a deep breath to steady his pounding heart. How on earth was he going to approach you? Should he just recommend the book, and then give it to you? Drop it and hope that you pick it up?

You beat him to the chase. You couldn’t ignore him any longer, damn it!
Slamming your book shut, you turned to him, a slight scowl on your face as you approached, you stopped in front of him, and his stomach twisted. You placed a hand on your hip, sizing him up, before asking,
“Why do you keep looking at me? Are you checking me out?”
“I–” his cheeks exploded into a bright red, and he cleared his throat, “I was admiring your beauty, is all.”
Your eyebrows raised, “I’m flattered.” You said, giggling nervously, “And anyway, I think you’re pretty hot too. I- I mean.. I really like your outfit, and your makeup too.”

….He didn’t expect you to be so blunt. What is he supposed to say in response to that?

“I– well, thank you.” He responds, cringing inwardly, “I like your outfit too. Your sweater is quite nice.”
“It’s my favorite..” your eyes then lit up in curiosity, peering at the book in his hand and pointing to it, “What’s that?”
Jareth smirked, “This? Oh, it’s just an old book I’m looking to give away..” he looked at it, unable to help the giddy feeling inside him, “..but I haven’t found anyone interested in it. I’ve had it for years, and.. I’m looking for the right person to give it to. It’s no ordinary book, and it’s for no ordinary person, either.” 
He spun the book on the edge of his fingers, trying to tempt you into wanting it. He watched as you gasped, curiosity bubbling behind your eyes.

“Well…” You replied, “I don’t think I’m ordinary.. And I’d definitely take care of your book, and cherish it, I’ll pay you for it–”
He interrupted you with a wave of his gloved hand, “Nonsense. I’ll give it to you free of charge. You seem like the right sort of woman for this book, don’t you think?”

You nodded, taking the book in your hands, and tucked it into your purse, but before you could thank the stranger, he was gone.
Maybe you were going crazy, after reading all those stories.. Or maybe he was just really fast? Or.. maybe.. He was magical or something. You shook your head at the thought, before browing a bit more and going to the cash register with the book you picked up and paying for it, still thinking about the strange man. He seemed so familiar somehow, but you couldn’t quite place it. You exited the cozy shop, boarding your bike and chuckling at the sleeping owl. You placed your purse and purchase next to him, kissing his forehead again before you took off, heading to the café to get you and your sleepy friend a sweet treat. 

After that, you headed home, already giddy at the thought of changing into your pajamas again and reading your new books. Especially the one that the mysterious man gave you. He said it wasn’t ordinary, and you couldn’t help it as your head filled with glorious day dreams. Was it magic, you wondered? Would it transport you to another world, literally? Or was it just really, really good? You knew it would be the latter, but still, you imagined opening it and being sucked into another world as you rode back home, pedaling a bit faster than usual. You didn’t even take the time to enjoy the beautiful scenery around you, too enraptured by the tantalizing possibilities. 

When you arrived home, you chained up your bike and picked up the sleeping owl. He must be exhausted. He’d been more tired lately, you noticed, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest. He probably needed to go south for the winter, or something. Did owls have flocks? Did they migrate? You’d have to look that up later, but for now, you focused on cradling him to your chest and gathering your things, before unlocking the door and going inside, glad to be home. 

You placed your avian friend amongst the pile of blankets from last night, wishing you thought of getting clearance candy while you were out. It was probably too soon for that, anyway. You went to your room, changed into your pajamas, and grabbed the red book out of your purse. You read the title– The Labyrinth, and cracked it open, taking in the smell of yellowing pages and ages before. The black ink was faded, and the type face looked old too. You flipped past the title page, looking at the copyright page– only to find nothing. No ISBN number, no summary, or that weird disclaimer books always had, nothing. You then looked at the next page, blinking in surprise as you realized that the book just… started.
That was weird, right?
Didn’t books usually have dedications, or quotes, or other things? This had nothing. It just started. Just like that. Now you were more than curious, a bit confused, but still curious. Did that man write this book? Was he a mysterious writer, living in a decrypted, luxurious mansion? Was he a ghost? Did you receive a book from a ghost? No way, right?

Shrugging those thoughts off, you settled into the couch, taking the blankets that Mr. Owl didn’t hog and wrapping them around you. You then turn on the TV, putting on some peaceful background noise and diving head first into your book as you munch on the pastry you got from the café.

The book entranced you from the first page, as you read its beginning– Once upon a time, it already comforted you. You settled further into your seat on the couch, and tuck your legs close as you begin to read the story.
It was about a princess, or at least someone similar. It seemed like an old, familiar fairytale, the type you always gravitated to, whether subconsciously or consciously, because they reflected your life so vividly.  Except, you weren’t brave, or determined, or even beautiful, like the main character. In fact, her sheer will to survive despite her circumstances attracted the illustrious Goblin King, who sent his goblins to gather her brother (as she wished) and whisk him away to the Labyrinth.

You didn’t notice your small friend opening his eyes, looking at you sleepily. Did you enjoy the book? Was it enough, he wondered, to tempt you, lure you? Was it enough to make you stay?

Your heart pounded as the King in the story made his grand entrance, and for some odd reason, you imagined him as the man from the bookstore. You couldn’t help but be attracted to the supposed villain of the story. The way he held himself, his confidence, the outfits he wore, and the way he was willing to do everything for someone he loved, seemed like a fantasy come true. The girl, though, was determined to go home, and faced the hardships and trials of the labyrinth, before confronting the Goblin King.
You groaned as you read the ending. She left! She left! Why would she leave?! She was abused! And being hurt! And sure, she might be some princess or whatever, but she was still being treated like a slave! She was being offered everything– her freedom, her escape! From her abusive household, and even though the “fear me” part left a bad taste in your mouth, the rest seemed like a good deal. The thought of someone loving you that much made your heart ache.. No one would ever love you like that.

You turned to your friend, noticing that he was awake,  “Can you believe she left him? I can’t! Why would she leave him?! The Goblin King is really hot, and he treated her like a queen!”  you turned back to the book, sighing as you reached the last page, reading the conclusion, “I would’ve stayed. He seemed nice.”

You closed the book with a sigh, shoulders sagging as the remnants of the story floated within your mind, squeezing your heart so much it made your chest hurt– You wished you could go there, to the Labyrinth. Even if it was dangerous, and scary, you knew that you’d love it, because being surrounded by monsters and bogs of stench seemed way better than your situation right now. Facing monsters and war seemed far better than walking on glass eggshells and having to take the stash of beer cans out from underneath the sink and haul them to the trash. You hugged the book to your chest, knowing that the thoughts running around your head were stupid. You stopped wishing on stars and looking for fairies hidden within the branches of the trees a long time ago. Stopped believing in all of that a long, long time ago, no matter how much you wanted it to be real. Goblin Kings didn’t exist, and if they did, they certainly wouldn’t want to whisk you away. You were a nobody, unloveable, and that’s the truth you had to face. It was the only way you could make sense of your mother’s mistreatment– you were wrong, you were ugly, you deserved it, and that was that. 

“Alright,” you sighed, blinking away the far off look in your eyes, “Enough about the Goblin King, even though he seems really, really hot. I mean.. If he was single, I don’t think he’d be attracted to me, but damn, I wouldn’t mind him whisking me away.”

You didn’t notice said king’s feathers ruffling as you said those words. His heart pounded underneath his plumage, and he looked at you, surprised. You seemed to sense this, and turned to him.

“What? He’s hot! And seems nice, and he whisked away the baby because like.. she wished for it! So.. I dunno. Seems pretty nice to me. I want someone to whisk me away, but I know that’s silly.” You said, getting up from the couch and stretching, trying to ignore the ache blooming in your chest.

Even on days like this, that ache, dark and all consuming, gnawed at your heart like a violent creature. Laying in your bed and daydreaming about the Goblin King seemed tempting, especially as the thoughts from earlier in the day scratched at the edges of your brain. You were alone, no one was coming to save you. This was your life– taking care of your mother, bearing the burden of her pain. You were her daughter, her eldest daughter, her only daughter, it was your job to carry the weight like how Atlas carried the world on his shoulders. No one else would love you, no one else could, or ever would. There was no reason to! You couldn’t do anything right, just like your mother said.
You felt that hole, that loneliness, growing around you, expanding– an open maw ready to consume you, swallow you whole and let you sink into the dark pit of its stomach.

You looked towards your bedroom, the bed becoming increasingly tantalizing. You noticed how dark it was getting outside. You had woken up early, you deserved a nap. Anything, to make this feeling swirling and growing around you go away.  You walked to your bedroom, hearing the flap of wings close behind as the owl followed. You’d been reading for hours, and just got back from a bike ride, too. You deserved a nap. You needed a nap. Anything to make the darkness clawing up your throat go away. You always tried to be optimistic, to be happy, to fucking survive. You weren’t living, just.. Surviving, like a desperate, scared animal clawing at the edge of a crumbling cliff.
You climbed into bed and tucked yourself in, trying not to let that cold feeling wash over you as your thoughts darkened. Nothing. Nothing. You were nothing. No one was coming for you, but you couldn’t even save yourself, because it seemed like no matter how hard you tried to get away from this place, you couldn’t gather the energy to crawl towards the open door. You held the little red book to your chest like a teddy bear, taking comfort in the worn cover. Your friend waddled over to you, tilting his head as you sighed.

“You know..” You said softly, snuggling into the pillow, “I wouldn’t mind if the Goblin King took me away. He seems nice. I wouldn’t fear him, though. I’m tired of being afraid..” you looked at the bird, before opening a spot in the blankets up, “Come cuddle with me. I’m cold.”

Sleep slowly drifted over you like a worn blanket, as the owl nuzzled himself against your chest, almost as if he was trying to read you, somehow.
“Don’t worry about me..” you said softly, sleepily, “I’m fine. Just a bit tired after the bike ride, is all.”

You took comfort in the warm creature beside you, eyes closing as you let yourself sink into the bed, knowing it was better than sinking into the pit inside you.

Chapter Text

Darkness. No noise. No sight. No smell. Nothing, except you. You couldn’t tell where your feet or hands were, yet, somehow, instinct pulled you forward. 

You heard something in the distance. Your heart skipped a beat.  You heard the noise again. You walked faster, hands stretching out in front of you, shaking as the noise grew, it reminded you of slithering snakes and blades dragging across stone. You ran, panic clawing up your throat and heart slamming against your chest like a caged bird. Your fingers clawed for any surface, for some form of escape. Nothing, there was nothing. Nothing except you and the darkness and the strange monster hunting you, nothing except you and the darkness and the fear and the– Light. 

A light in the distance. A soft path, leading the way, coming from somewhere.. through something.. Through a door! Your ears filled with the sounds behind you, it rattles like brittle bones. You don’t stop, you couldn’t. You’d lose the door. The darkness around you filled with the monster behind you. You clung to the lifeline in the distance, keeping it in sight as your feet pounded into the ground. You had to get to that door. You had to. It was so, so close! 

The presence now loomed above you like a tidal wave, you felt it. You heard it, rustling and sliding. It was going to get you. You were going to die. It was going to swallow you whole. There would be no escape. But the door was so close! You were almost there! Almost there! You reach the door, grabbing blindly, and when brushed against the cold knob, you grab it, rushing inside. You turned towards the opening, expecting some creature to come out, but there was only an inky blackness. The door slammed shut. 

Your eyes adjusted to the light around you, vision starting to fill with an all too familiar place. The bookstore. You sighed in relief and looked down, seeing.. water?
You stood up, panting from your run, and looked around, noticing the whole store was slightly submerged. What looked like water reached above your ankles, but as you looked down at your bare feet, you realized they weren’t wet. In fact.. You weren’t wet, despite landing on the floor earlier. You looked around, noting that the strange liquid wasn’t a liquid at all, but light, slipping in from holes in the roof and the cracks in the windows,  the color of fresh lemonade. 

That was weird, right?

Shrugging it off, you began to explore, taking in the vines trailing across the floor, swaying in the glowing current surrounding you. You heard gentle splashes while you walked and your hand trailed over the worn spines of the bookshelf beside you. You were safe. The darkness couldn’t get you here. You took in the shining titles of all the books, before deciding to look for one book in particular, The Labyrinth.
You wanted to read it again. The Goblin King comforted you, despite being the antagonist of the story. His confidence and charisma plucked at your heart. You knew it was silly, falling head over heels for another fairytale character, but here you were.

The next shelf appeared, and you read through each title, even crouching down to see if it was at the bottom shelf. It wasn’t. Frowning, you wandered deeper into the bookish maze, unable to help your frustration. Why was it so hard to find? It was just a book! The bookshelves multiplied, making you groan. There was no way you were gonna find that book now!
You continued, and paperbacks floated around you like water lilies. Some bookstacks acted like cliffs at sea, waves of light ebbing and flowing and others acted like coral reefs, bent into cylinders filled with ridges and little inky blobs of fish swam through them.
How did you not notice that before? 

You wanted to investigate, but you wanted to find the book even more. You wanted to escape the darkness that hunted you down earlier, and something told you that book would help you. You peered out from a corner, expecting to find more bookshelves, but found a person instead. A man, wearing riding boots and a black cape, his hands on his hips as he looked around.
What was he doing here?

You approached him, “Excuse me? I need help finding a book.”
He turned towards you, blonde hair and cape swaying with his movements, light splashing around his feet, scattering like broken diamonds as he spoke,
“I was wondering when you’d come. I’ve been waiting. Is this what you’re looking for?”

He plucked a red book out of the air, twirling it in his hand before facing it towards you, a grin on his lips. He watched you gasp happily, trying to reach for the book, only for him to pluck it away from your grasp. 

“Hey!” You cried, still trying to reach for it.
He laughed, “Now, now, I’ll give it to you, dearest, but I want to know– did you like my book?”

You crossed your arms in response, upturning your nose, not wanting to play his games, whatever they were.

“I want to know what you thought of the Goblin King!” He said, “And then, I’ll give it to you.”
You scowled up at him, “I thought he was hot. There. Now, if you please–”
“What else?”
“What do you mean, what else?”
The man looked at you, and your heart fluttered as you noticed his fanged smile. His eyes glistened playfully, shining like stars on a clear night as he spoke, “You heard me, what else?”
You groaned, “Okay! I thought he was sweet, too, but why are you asking me all this? You’re not him secretly fishing for compliments, are you?”

Your teaser froze in his tracks, his eyes widening, “Of.. of course not! I’d do no such thing!”
You glared at him through narrowed eyes, hands on your hips, “Yes you are! You have the black cape, the outfit, and the really tight pants! It’s not nice to tease people! If you want compliments, just ask for them! Now give me my book!”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Uh, duh! I just told you! Now give me the book, before I kick you.” You said, “I’m not scared of you.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes!” You stomped your foot in frustration, sending droplets everywhere.
He grabbed your chin, smooshing your cheeks a bit, “You really are a strange one, then,” he mused, “No wonder why you’ve captured my heart. But wouldn’t you rather have me instead of this old thing?”

He waved the book with his free hand, eyebrows raised as he looked at you.

“Have you?”
“You’re a clever girl, you know what I mean, don’t you, pretty one?”
“...Have you instead of the book?”
“Yes! All you  need to do is just wish for it, wish for my goblins to take you, and you will have me and my love.”
“Love? But.. this is just a dream, isn’t it?”
“But it doesn’t have to be!” The king argued, not allowing you to look away from his gaze, “ Just use your words. Wish for it, and I’ll whisk you away before you can blink, (Y/n.)”

You looked at him skeptically, shaking your head, “I’m stupid. I’m ugly. I don’t deserve love, no matter how much a tiny part of myself screams at me, telling me I do.” 

“Hey!”  A squeaky voice shrieked.
You huffed, rolling your misty eyes, “See? She’s screaming right now, trying to tell me otherwise!”

The king looked down, eyes widening in surprise as he saw a tiny version of you, barely five inches tall, swimming in the luminous tide, screaming at the top of her lungs. He let go of your chin, picking her up, cupping her in his hand and cradling her to his chest. Wonder shone in his eyes, and a soft smile caressed his lips as he spoke,

‘“Well, I agree with her. She thinks you deserve better, and as do I. You really are wonderful, yet somehow you cannot see that! Look at this beautiful place you created while you slept! You made this! You! Not I!  And you know, deep down, that you deserve better, yet you deny it. But I’m as stubborn as you, if not more so. I’ll wait, and I’ll visit you every night, in your dreams, until you face the truth. I’ll wait for your wish, and when you come to my Labyrinth, I’ll be waiting with open arms. All you have to do is wish for it, just wish for it, and you will rule by my side.”

You clenched your jaw, crossing your arms as tears continued pooling in your eyes like hot oil.
This was just a dream. He wasn’t the Goblin King, he was the guy you met at the bookstore. Magic didn’t exist. A world where someone could love you– actually, legitimately love you, didn’t exist. You ignored his longing gaze, even when  his gloved hand gently went to your cheek, wiping away a tear as it escaped.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said, “No matter how long it takes. But remember what I said– use your words, (Y/n.) And remember that, once you use them, you cannot take them back.” 

His words brushed against your ears like feathers, and then, actual feathers caressed your ear. You heard the flapping of wings and turned around, watching the shelf behind you compress into a window– your window. Your curtains flapped in the breeze as the glass opened, an all too familiar owl flying out, and you saw an orange hazy sky in the distance, seeming to call to you...

You woke up.
His words still floated behind your sleepy eyes. You noticed how cold the room was, and shivered, pulling your blankets around you. You curled into a ball, closing your eyes again, trying to ignore what the Goblin King said. As if you deserved better, as if you deserved love. As if a world where you could be loved existed!  You turned over, a sigh leaving your lips as you stared up at the ceiling, feeling like something was missing. You sat up, looking for the owl who usually woke up with you before flying off. He wasn’t there. A chill filled the room, and you looked towards the window, gasping as the curtains flapped in the breeze. 

Your owl was no ordinary owl, was he?

Chapter Text

Jareth’s throne comforted him as he sat in it. He wanted you. You gave without even asking for anything, well, that wasn’t true. You asked for him. You enjoyed his presence. You weren’t scared of him like his goblins, nor angry or horrified of him like the runners. You smiled when he came around, instead of scowling, sneering, or crying. You always liked seeing him. You liked him. Had anyone liked him before? The thought of someone liking him comforted, yet terrified him all at once. Allured yet disgusted him. His lips pursed in thought, eyebrows crinkling as he stared off into the distance, before his ears perked up, hearing a voice.

“I need to talk to you!” a tiny voice yelled.
Jareth looked around. Was a goblin playing a prank on him?
“Show yourself!” he demanded, standing up, “If you do so now, I’ll consider being merciful!”
“Down here!” 

He looked down, cheeks burning as he looked at the tiny version of you, who balanced on the curve of his throne. He wanted to kick himself for taking something from a dream. How could he have been so absentminded? Here he was, trying to give you something, but he took something instead! His brow twitched in annoyance as he begrudgingly looked down at this tiny version of you. So small.. His cheeks started to flush, and cute, too.

“Help me!” tiny you demanded, hands on her hips.

He raised a brow, before picking her up by the collar of your (or her?) shirt. He rested her on the palm of his hand. She looked into his eyes, determination on her face, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the night he first met you. She held herself the same way you did, shoulders back and chin up. It made his heart flutter, seeing a version of you like this, so small yet so strong at the same time. You utterly commanded his heart. You held it in his palms like a baby bird, and how he longed to do the same to yours.

“Help me.” She said again.
“I was already planning on helping you, ” he replied, “And I need to worry about getting you back to where you belong.”
“Promise me you’ll help. I used to be bigger, but everyday, I’m shrinking! Please.. I’m desperate. Everyday I’m dying. And I know there’ll be a day where I can escape, but won’t be able to, because I’ll be gone.”
“My kind don’t make promises.”
“Please?”

His jaw set, and he sighed as he looked at her. He couldn’t say no. Not when she was like this. He hated seeing her reduced to begging. It was unqueenly. She shouldn’t have to beg him for help, she shouldn’t even have to be desperate, but she was. He could see it.

“I promise. Now go back to where you belong before I change my mind.”
Not letting your mini-self thank him as he sent her back to your subconscious with a wave of his hand. He shook his head. Dreams had a lot more power than humans gave them credit for. They could break ships, turn hearts into stone.. Your dreams certainly could. He couldn’t help but remember the bookshop, filled to the brim with puddles of amber colored light. You created that. Not him. Inky blobs that turned into strange sea creatures before his very eyes, and the coral tomes that still mesmerized him as he thought of them. Was it wrong that he wanted you close, even though he just visited you? The dream you two shared wasn’t the most beautiful thing about his night, the sights he experienced were overshadowed by your beauty, of course. He wanted to see you sass him again. He quite liked it. He wanted to see your eyes light up, he wanted.. You. Completely, fully, utterly. No matter how hard he tried to pull himself away from those thoughts over the past month, he couldn’t. Loving you was as easy as watching a sunset, as calming as a winter’s night, and as comforting as an old blanket.

“You do it!” a voice hissed.
“No, you!” Another replied.
“Well, I won’t do it!”
“He’ll throw us into the bog!”

Jareth rolled his eyes, of course his subjects would bother him so early in the morning. He couldn’t have one moment of quiet, could he?

“And just what are you planning to do?” Jareth asked, eyeing the two goblins who stood at the entrance of the throne room menacingly. How dare they interrupt his reverie? What on earth could be so important that it couldn’t wait? He couldn’t help but smirk as he walked over to them, towering over the two creatures as they quivered beneath his piercing gaze.

“Well?” Jareth asked, hands on his hips as he waited for an explanation.
One, the color of dried snot, gulped, “N-nothing your majesty!”
The other one, a tan one, spoke up, “We wanted to speak to you! Everyone is worried about you and wants to know if you’re alright! You’ve been making a lot of trips lately.. And you’re always smiling.. But always worried, too! It’s almost like you’re in love!”

Jareth crossed his arms as he glared at them. He was a king. No one needed to worry about him. Did he get a bit tired, going between two worlds? Perhaps. Did he worry? Maybe, but he didn’t need his subjects knowing that. Or, it’d be all chaos– goblins stumbling over each other in order to appease their king, and while the sentiment was nice, there was no logic behind it. The goblins needed leadership, and care, in order to be useful. Was he in love? His cheeks blazed as he thought of you, heart fluttering. Perhaps. Perhaps he was. But no one needed to know.

“I’m fine you fools! Now get out of my sight before I throw you into the bog!”
The two goblins stood there, clinging to each other, wide eyed.
“Well? Go! Before I change my mind!”
They nodded, scurrying off like terrified rats down the hall, not even sparing him a glance.

If anything, they should be worried about their future queen. Not him. He wasn’t tired, or sleepy. Not at all. He only liked sleeping by your side, and he had noticed his tiredness decreasing more and more as he visited you. It really was strange. He almost felt like his old self again. As if he was regaining something he had lost. He sat upon his throne with a sigh, grabbing a crystal, debating on whether or not he should watch you, or continue to ponder his feelings. The latter seemed boring, and so, he gazed upon the orb, smiling as he watched you hum to yourself, washing the dishes.

Soapy bubbles became illuminated underneath the morning’s glow as you washed a plate, sudsy hands scrubbing at a stubborn stain. Your brows crinkled in thought, mind flooded with the images of the vivid dream you had last night. It was so weird, yet wonderful, too. You added the plate to the drying rack, still thinking as you washed your mother’s favorite cup.
Your brain twisted and turned the dream like a rubix cube, examining it from every angle. It couldn’t be real, it was just a dream, but.. The window. It was open this morning. You probably opened it in your sleep. But even that seemed impossible. Maybe you were starting to lose touch with reality? Maybe that mental break that you had felt coming for years and years was finally here? None of it made sense!

  The Goblin King said to wish yourself away. To wish for the goblins to take you away. So, if you did it right now.. Would that mean.. What would that mean? That you’d leave your home, your family, behind? Even though your mom treated you terribly, you couldn’t help but think of your younger brother. Sure, he moved out to live with a rich relative, but still.  You had to be his bigger sister. You practically raised him, after all. You loved him more than your mom, but still, he’d gone and grown up without you, he was old enough to take care of himself, wasn’t he?  You bit your lip, heart pounding, maybe you should say the words, just to see what would happen.

You took a deep breath, “I wish–”
You shrieked as the door opened behind you, the glass slipped from your hands as your mom stepped in. You held a hand to your chest, feeling your legs turn to jello as you faced her. Your heart leapt up your throat. Your stomach started to twist and your body tensed as you watched her, all thoughts of wishes forgotten.

“M-mom! You scared me!” You said, hoping your voice wouldn’t betray you.
You tried to step in front of the glass shards, not even caring if you cut your foot. You clenched your hands nervously, wondering which would be better– the cold, angry silent treatment, or the harsh words that minced you? You looked at her, she seemed in a good mood. Maybe it would be the silent treatment.

“What was that?” Your mother asked.
“I-I well.. A glass broke, that's all! But I’ll get you another one!”
Her brow raised, “Why would you get me another one?”
You gulped. You wanted to run. You knew you needed to run.

“It was your favorite glass..” You said softly, holding your hands together so they didn’t shake, “I-I’m really sorry, mom.. I promise, I’ll get you another one!”
She threw her purse into the ground, slamming the door behind her. You flinched, shrinking into yourself.

“It’s always, sorry mom!” She yelled, “You always break my shit!”
“It was an accident..” You mumbled, starting to feel your eyes burn with tears, “I’m really sorry, mom..”
“Always fucking breaking my shit!” she yelled again, “Fucking always. I can’t have anything around here, can I?”

To think, everything had been peaceful, and quiet, and wonderful, and now, it was this. You were used to it, though. You bit your lip harder, staring at a spot on the ground, letting her get it all out of her system. She never treated your brother like this. It was always you, but you were the older one, the stronger one, so you took it. You took her words and swallowed them down like bitter medicine, no matter how much they stung.

“And to think I fucking got you something, you fucking spoiled brat! And while I was gone you couldn’t keep the house clean?”
“I was gonna clean it later..”
“Yeah fucking right. Here’s your gift!” she then threw a plastic bag at you, hard. You flinched as it hit you. It landed on your feet as she continued yelling, “And you better fucking clean! I’m so fucking tired of this house being a god damn mess!”

She retreated to her room, slamming the door behind her. You blinked away tears, knowing she’d apologize later. That’s how it always happened. You knew she never meant it, but you still accepted her sorries anyway. You really didn’t have a choice. You bent down to the ground to retrieve your gift, unveiling a candy bar. At least the sugar would comfort you. You’d eat it while you read The Labyrinth again.

 Stubbornly, you rubbed your eyes, staring at the broken cup with a sigh, and like a puppet on strings, you began to pick up the pieces. A hiss escaped your lips as a shard cut you. Dropping it, you looked down at your hand, tears pressing against your eyes like molten lava, threatening to burst through. Standing up, you grabbed a napkin, cleaning up the bloody river that gathered in your palm. You looked at the sink, knowing you should wash the cut, but you knew better. You sniffed, before putting your uninjured hand over your lips, trying to quiet your whimpers. You needed to stay quiet, especially with your mom in a mood. After wrapping your finger in a makeshift bandage, you swept up the rest of the glass, dumping it in the trash and tackling the living room.

No sense of accomplishment filled you now. A gray, moldy sludge rested inside your stomach, coating your throat and tongue. So pathetic. You couldn’t even stand up for yourself. You couldn’t even hold your head high, and give her a piece of your mind, but then again, whenever you did, you were forced out. How many nights had you wondered where you were gonna sleep? How many times had you been scared that someone would kidnap you, or worse? Too many times to count. Numbly, you folded up the blankets and picked up the candy wrappers you’d left, wishing that someone cared if you got hurt, and not the kind of caring that your mom gave. You longed for a sweeter care. A care, where, if you got hurt, someone would tend to you and ask if you were okay, instead of treating your wound with annoyance.

With a clean living room, you made your way towards the only safe haven within your house– your room. Quickly, you tiptoed, making sure to not make any noise as you opened the door, holding the knob a certain way so it wouldn’t click as it closed behind you. You wiped away the tears that leaked from your eyes, before noticing a certain red book on the corner of your bed. Had you left it there before? You shrugged, too exhausted to care about book placements, and clambered onto your bed, cracking the book open as you hunkered down.

The world melted, your dreary bedroom fading into the captivating world of The Labyrinth, your tears dried as the Goblin King entered, and although you knew you were supposed to hate him, you couldn’t. He was dazzling– or, at the very least you imagined him so. The book described him as otherworldly, with pale skin that had an unearthly shimmer, and hair so blonde it shone like gold and his gaze so unwavering it made your heart flutter reading about it. You wished he was real. Being turned into a goblin seemed better than..  this. You knew he wasn’t real though, although.. The window.. You shook your head, dismissing the fantasy, and focused on reading your book.

You read chapter after chapter like a starving man, eyes hungrily grabbing onto every word, heart devouring the story whole. Page followed page, the hours melting away. A beginning turned into a middle, and a middle turned into an end, which turned into a last page.. Or, at least it should’ve.
Was that page there yesterday? Your fingers traced the words, eyebrows furrowing as you noticed a slightly different font, but with the all too familiar words,
“Once upon a time..” you read out loud, “There was a young prince who had captured the love of the Goblin King.. what the fuck? This wasn’t here yesterday.”

You really were losing it. You shut the book and put it down. You were finally fucking losing it. You glanced down at the novel, before opening it up again, flipping through it and noticing the page was still there. Should you keep reading? Should you stop?
The book, the man, the dream, the owl, the window.. All of it seemed to be stacking up in your mind, evidence lining up and–
“No.” You said, snapping yourself out of it, “No. I’m just going crazy. That's all. Nothing else. Magic doesn’t exist.. And I need to throw this book away and never think of it again! It’s filling my head with nonsense.”

Throwing the blankets aside, you jumped out of your bed and grabbed the book, stomping towards the trash can. You stopped. You couldn’t do it. You loved the book too much to throw it away! The Goblin King and his Labyrinth captivated you. You wanted to go there! You wanted to see the fairies, dwarves, monsters and goblins that lived there! You wanted to try and figure out the King’s puzzles and games, you wanted to beat him fair and square before kissing him on his lips and– woah, okay, slow down, (Y/n.) Chill out.
With another look towards the trash, you sighed, going back to your bed with the book in your hands. You opened it, going to where you left off, reading a story of a prince who, after a lover’s quarrel, wished his lover away. Of course, he went through the labyrinth, and still rejected the goblin king. You couldn’t help but feel your heart break as you read the end. The poor Goblin King.. he still tried to find love despite his heart being broken. He seemed.. Lonely. Maybe you were relating to him a little too much.

Then another story appeared. You looked at the book, turning it upside down and shaking it, was this some kind of magic trick? You traced the spine with your finger, investigated the cover, turned it forwards, backwards and sideways, but found nothing. You had two options– you could close it forever, forget about the dreams and go back to your life, or you could continue reading, and find out what was going on. The second one was much more tantalizing. The fact that a mystery unfolded right before you, that reality and fantasy clashed, that all logic seemed illogical, fascinated you to no end. You glared at the mysterious piece of literature, lips pursed in thought. Oh, fuck it. You shrugged, before diving in again.

So, another story began. You spent your whole day reading, trying not to laugh too loudly or cry too much at the stories you read. Each one had a special place in your heart– from the sister who wished her brother away, to the prince who wished away his lover, all the way to the girl who wished her dog away. Each story filled you with golden light, making you smile. You forgot about the cut on your finger. You forgot about your mother, and instead traveled and traversed the walls of the labyrinth, meeting horned beasts, centaurs, mermaids, nymphs, and so many other creatures. Some lived in the labyrinth, and others ran it, trying to get back the thing they wished away. Others failed, while others succeeded. You read about children being turned into goblins, and what happened to them after. You read about how the Goblin King gave away newly formed goblins to those who had earned the right to be their parents. You couldn’t believe such a place existed, where unwanted things could be wanted.

You wanted to go there even more. The book wouldn’t leave your mind as you closed it again,
Rubbing your eyes. It had been weird reading all those stories at once, but exhilarating too. You traveled from the super distant past to a story that (at least from what you read) sounded like it took place in the eighties. Your stomach grumbled, but you ignored it, even though you knew your mom was cooking dinner, since you could smell it through the door. You looked down at the cut on your hand, unwrapping the bloody tissue and chucking it into the trash. You blew on the wound with a sigh. You childishly wanted the Goblin King to kiss it better. Your cheeks blazed at the thought. You really were going crazy, weren’t you? You looked at your window, faintly wondering where your owl friend was. It was barely dark outside– that strange glow between day and night filled your room as you faintly thought about him. He’d be there soon, you figured.. And he’d wake you up too.

Pans. On the stove. Hot, boiling, overflowing. Your hand clutched a wooden spoon. Your heart pounded. The stove in front of you gets bigger, more burners and pots popping up like flaming daisies. You have to make dinner. You have to serve it to someone– but who? The hairs on the back of your neck stand up.  Something is behind you. You turn. Darkness. Nothing but darkness. It wanted dinner. It was hungry. You were afraid it was going to eat you and swallow you whole. 

“I-It’s coming!” You stuttered, voice cracking with nerves, “I promise. Just wait!”

The kitchen filled with overwhelming heat. Grease sizzled and snapped at your exposed skin. Steam curled its wispy claws into your sweaty brow, and tendrils of smoke invaded the air. You could feel the darkness slowly engulfing the room. It inched closer. The sour acidic smell of alcohol invaded your nose and you smelt your mother’s perfume. The darkness starts to rasp, demanding to be fed. A scream wanted to escape your throat, but you couldn’t scream. Your knees clacked against each other like broken plates. Terror clutched you like a doll in its iron fist. The blackness seeped around the room and collected around you. Your throat tightens. You couldn’t  breathe. The smoke, the steam, the smell, it was all too much.

Then, you heard a tap at the window. A smile broke out across your face. It was a familiar tap. You turned towards the noise, and an owl appeared behind the glass. You ran, reaching the window. You try to undo the latch. The window won’t unlock. The darkness turns towards you, a wolf stalking a terrified rabbit. You pound at the glass, and your lungs desperately grab for air. You were trapped. You couldn’t escape. You were alone. No one was helping you.
Then you heard a knock.
Then you saw a door.
Your hand grasps the knob, desperately turning it. Goosebumps liter your skin as fresh air hits you. The door slammed behind you as you stepped out. It felt safer outside, somehow, even amongst the chilly wind and bitter cold. You look around your front yard, the moon hangs like a pearl amongst the stars, trees sway in the wind, branches cutting against the indigo sky. It was peaceful, different from the chaotic kitchen you were in earlier. You walked forward, unafraid.

“Mr. Owl?” you called, “Where are you?”

“Mr. Owl?” You called again, starting to feel dewy grass caress your feet. The blades shone like diamond encrusted jades underneath the moonlight. You opened the gate to your yard, walking out into your neighborhood, “Mr. Owl? Where are you?”

You stopped near a familiar tree, feeling vines, thick like ropes, underneath your fingers. Moss crawls up the sides, emeralds underneath an inky sky. Your eyes wander up, before noticing an owl– a white patch of starlight underneath the scattered shadows of the branches.

“There you are! I was looking for you! I wanted to thank you for helping me!” You said, “Sorry I couldn’t let you inside, I know it’s cold out here, but it’s way safer out here than in there. Trust me!”  You looked up at him, hands on your hips, before you tilted your head, “How come you’re up there, anyway? You were by my window a minute ago..”
The owl tilted his head in response, and you grinned.

“You really are wonderful! Let me climb up there so I can be with you! Bear with me, though, I’ve never climbed a tree before… but I’ll meet you up there!”

None of the branches were high enough where you could reach, but the vines were. Grabbing one of them, you start to climb up, not noticing the owl’s eyes widen. The brisk night empowered you, despite its gratuitous chilly claws threatening to take hold of you. Your bare feet dug into the bark, every move made with certainty and care. The owl makes a noise, but you continue, foot after foot, not daring to look down. If you had, you’d have noticed the grass climbing alongside you, the green blades growing rapidly underneath the night sky, rippling like waves in the wind.
You focus on climbing, losing sight of the owl. You look back towards the spot where he was and gasp at the  familiar man sitting there, glimmering like stardust. He wears a white puffy shirt, a fitted black vest, and gray pants. Leaves as crisp and as fresh as red apples, fall around him, landing on the grass, before sinking. You tilt your head as he looks at you– his eyes piercing your soul. He reaches a hand towards you, but you ignore his help, climbing up the tree all by yourself. 

“If you’re not careful, you’ll fall, precious.” He said softly, his cheeks burning at how tender he sounded, “I don’t want you getting hurt.”
You rolled your eyes, “I’m fine! Anyway–” you sat down next to him, “There’s something in your hair, I’ll get it out for you.”
The king froze as you reached over, plucking a white feather from his locks.
A feather?

“Consider it a gift.”
“A gift?”
“I don’t need to explain what a gift is, do I?”
You roll your eyes, “I know what a gift is. I’m just confused, my owl friend was just here.. And now you’re here.. It almost seems like you and him are connected. But this is just a dream, so that’s silly..”
“But I am real.” He said, “As real as you.”
You shook your head, “No you’re not. I know this is a dream and nothing else. Grass doesn’t grow this tall in real life--” you gestured to the grass that now surrounded you, before noticing something in the distance and gasping, “Hey.. is that– That’s the park I used to take my brother to!”

You stood up and grabbed his hand, the branch beneath you widening and flattening, becoming a bridge. It branched out as you walked among the sea of grass. You couldn’t help the gasp of wonder that left your lips as you noticed the rooftops peeking out amongst the tall blades. The park grew closer into view, a floating island, and you happily ran towards it, going towards the swings.

“Swing with me!” You demanded as you sat on a swing.
“You really shouldn’t boss a king around, you know.”
You looked at him, a pout on your lips, “Do you really want me to wish myself away, so I can be the Goblin Queen?”
“Yes! I do, desperately, in fact–”
“Then you better start treating me like royalty and do as I say. Now, swing!”

He laughed at your audacity, before going along with what you wanted, gently swinging with you  amongst the sea of grass. His eyes then wandered to you, before noticing your finger. He stopped. 

“What happened to your hand?” He asked, even though he knew too well. He had seen it himself.
“Oh.. I dropped a glass and got a cut,” you shrugged, “No big deal.”
“It’s a very big deal! I can’t have you getting injured. Give me your hand.”
You shook your head, “It’s fine.”
“(Y/n)?”
“Yes?”
“Who am I?”
“The Goblin King, but I don’t see what that has to do–”
“Then don’t defy me and give me your hand,” he held out his hand, and you noticed he wore a black leather glove, “Now.”
You frowned, “Only if you say please.”
He frowned, “Fine. Please give me your hand, dearest.”

You smiled, happily obliging, letting him examine your wound, before he gently pulled out a roll of bandages and ointment. "You're lucky I don't steal it," he muttered. You looked at him, confused, especially when he placed the balm on your cut. Your skin buzzed and stomach flipped as he gently tended to you, care clearly in his eyes. He wrapped the bandages around your finger, before gently kissing it.

“There. Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Your cheeks blazed, and you pulled away, staring at your finger. You shook your head, heart fluttering in your chest. But it was a good flutter. An exciting one. Your eyes brimmed with tears as you wondered if anyone had ever treated you so gently, before. 

You blinked away the water works that threatened to come, “I– um.” Shouldn't you thank him? Why weren't the words coming? Why was it so overwhelming?
“Is something wrong, dearest?” he asked, his voice as soft and smooth as velvet.

You shook your head, despite your quivering lip. He was so gentle, and sweet, despite his teasing. He looked like he actually cared, especially when he lifted up your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His gentle, gentle gaze. Had anyone ever looked at you so gently before? Were you going crazy? A tear slipped out from your eye, and he wiped it with his thumb. You wanted to wake up, now. This was too scary. His gentleness was a quivering knife, his kindness a vast, and unexplored ocean. Your mind flashed back to the darkness. It seemed safer than this. Much safer. This was the unknown, the terrifying, yet exhilarating unknown. 

“Don’t cry, sweet one.” he cooed, “A pretty thing like you shouldn’t cry as much as you do.. Or live in as much fear as you do. Come with me, to my labyrinth, to my kingdom, and stay with me.”
“I-I can’t,” you croaked, hearing the grass starting to rustle behind you, “I-I have.. Responsibilities. I have to stay with my family. My mom, my brother.. They need me.”
He raised a brow, “The mother who terrifies you constantly, who yells at you over a cup, who makes her clean her messes, and a brother who barely talks to you.. That’s what you want? Look at what I’m offering you!”

The blades twisted together, and you heard cracking around you. The greenery turned into glimmering stone walls, and the sky melted into a dusty orange. You now stood, in the middle of the labyrinth. The hot wind thawed your chilled nose and ears, and the gravel beneath you bit at your feet. You couldn’t help but look around in wonder, it was beautiful. Everything seemed to sparkle– magic, maybe? Something else? There was a certain electricity in the air, as if the maze itself was calling to you.

“Look at this, you could rule over it. You could have whatever you wanted. All of it, at the edge of your fingertips.. All you would have to do is love me, fear me–”
“ I refuse to do that.” You said, crossing your arms, “To fear you. But I’d love you, fully and utterly, but you’re not real. You don’t have a name, or a favorite color, or even a favorite movie. You don’t age, you don’t grow. You’re just a fairy tale.”
“Is that what you think?” He asked, “I am real. As real as you. And I do have a name, and a favorite color, although I haven’t watched enough movies to pick a favorite. I’m no fairy tale, (Y/n.) I won’t ask you then, to fear me.. Only to love me, and I will be your slave. I would move the stars every night just to make you happy, if you let me. Wish for it, wish for my goblins to take you away, and every want and desire will be yours.”

You ignored his words. He didn’t mean them. This wasn’t real. Even though the bandage on your finger felt real, and the way he made you feel did, too. His touch, his gaze, his passion.. It all felt real.

“Even if you were real..” You finally said, “You’d have no reason to want me.”
“I have plenty of things I love about you, I have plenty of reasons to want you by my side. I adore you. Your smile, your sweetness, and you were kind to me. You still are. You don’t fear me. Your will is just as strong as mine, even though life constantly beats you. I can’t help but admire you.”

You looked at him skeptically, eyeing him, trying to catch him in a lie, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t find a hidden smirk. Longing showed in his eyes, and that scared you. He looked at you lovingly, longingly, and that terrified you, but you wanted to melt into him too. You wanted to run into his arms and wish yourself away, but you couldn’t. You didn’t deserve to be happy, as simple as that.

“You are quite stubborn.” The king said, pulling you close, sadness in his eyes, “ I adore that about you, but wouldn’t it be easier,  to stay with me, and let me love you?”
You can’t reply, so instead, you set your jaw,  leaning into his chest, feeling the cool metal of his necklace caress your cheek.
“I won’t give up on you.” He said, “You were kind to me, and the least I can do is repay that, by giving you a better life.”
Your eyebrows furrow, “Kind? What did I do?”
He smirks, “Look at the feather in your hand when you wake up, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“What?”

You gasp as you wake up, sitting up right in your bed. Your body feels hot, sweaty, and sticky, like you’ve been outside. You scramble to turn on the lamp beside you, before gasping, seeing a feather in your hand, and a bandage wrapped around your finger. 

Chapter Text

Mama needs a little girl to land on,
Mama needs a little girl to fall in her arms.
-Virtuous Cycle, Jack Stauber
(From the short film, “OPAL”)

I craved so much, and yet I kept on waiting,
One glance, one touch, And I just kept on waiting.

And when it came, it came with strings,
So I’ll keep waiting in the wings
-Waiting in the Wings (reprise), Eden Espinosa
(From Tangled the Series) 

Rain fell and scattered, shattering like glass, creating crystal puddles on the silvery, empty parking lot. A heavy sigh left your lips like a cloud of cold smoke, and you shivered underneath the awning you stood under. You glanced down at your phone, looking at the time. She was supposed to be here ten minutes ago.  She said she would be here after you got off. You called again. Nothing.

The last bit of sun faded into the horizon, and night seeped in, spreading inky blacks and stormy purples across the sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lighting followed, splintering across the horizon. You looked inside the store you worked at, debating whether or not an umbrella was worth it. It wasn’t. It’s not like you had the money for one anyway.

You just couldn’t believe you actually believed her this time. She promised she would pick you up, and sure, she never kept a promise, but still. She was your mom. She was all you had left now. It hurt to think about the fact that someone you loved so much could leave you, but you understood why your brother left. He had a chance, and he took it, but he was still your baby brother. Even if you two never talked again, or never saw each other again, you still loved him. Loved the little boy who clung to your feet whenever you tried to leave for school,  who cried when roughhousing got too rough, and you loved him when he begged you to rewatch his favorite movie for the hundredth time. You wished you could call him, but you understood why he didn’t want to talk to you or your mom anymore. He had a good life now.. He got to move out a few years ago, since you finally convinced your relatives that he should live with them. They had the room, and the money, while you and your mom didn’t. You, on the other hand, could manage, you’d been an adult by then anyway, and they saw no point in helping you because of that.

You were managing now, despite the fact you may or may not be going insane. The feather the crossed your mind, and you plucked it out of your pocket, twirling it in your fingers, watching it shine underneath the glow of artificial lights. Its color reminded you of freshly fallen snow. The feather wouldn’t leave you alone. Not literally. It didn’t follow you around like a haunted doll, it just.. Bothered you, wiggling around in your brain like a slimy worm and eating all logical explanations you came up with like a maggot. Magic. Legit fucking magic was happening to you, but even then, that didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem real. You stroked the feather fondly, eyes widening at the blonde hair tangled within. Hope glimmered softly within your chest– maybe you could wish yourself away. After all these years, this was your escape! 

But that was just a fantasy, right?

 Although, that didn’t explain the fact that you woke up with a bandage on your cut finger, and that you found peach scented lip gloss on it. Nor did it explain the open window from the other day, nor the book, and the man who gave it to you! There was no way he could really be the Goblin King, it just seemed impossible! But people don’t just disappear from bookstores like that! Books don’t magically grow pages! Dreams don’t all of a sudden become haunted with a singular character– not your dreams, anyway, but still.. It couldn’t be magic, could it? But then again.. The feather, the window, the owl, everything.. It all seemed to be adding up, right?
You shook your head, you didn’t have time to get caught up in questions. There wasn’t magic. Goblin Kings didn’t exist. The downpour was getting worse. This was reality– reality was this: no one was going to help you. And your mother wasn’t coming. You’d have to walk home.

You looked at your phone again, still hoping, but of course, there was nothing. You’d been waiting out here for twenty minutes now. She wasn’t coming. You stuffed it into your pocket. Of course you didn’t bring a jacket– you believed her! No wonder why you dreamed of the Goblin King being in love with you! You were still gullible enough, as a grown woman, to believe that your mom was going to come and pick you up after work. What a fucking joke! You needed to go home. You pushed the feather into your pocket, scolding yourself for believing in fantasies, scolding yourself for carrying it around all day, trying to convince yourself that your owl, your sweet little owl, was somehow a king. Yeah fucking right. 

You stepped out into the rain, gasping as droplets hit you like knives of ice. Reality was as hard and as heavy as the storm beating against your skin, and as cruel and wicked as the wind whipping your damp hair.

You just had to get home.  Where you could close your eyes and forget it all– forget the burning in your chest, the hollowness in your stomach, and forget about how you always swallowed those feelings in order to be a good daughter. You just had to get home. It was warm there. You could go to sleep and forget it all. Stubbornly, you placed one foot in front of the other and broke out into a run. You reached the end of the parking lot, and looked across the street. Home was a twenty minute walk away. You just had to go twenty minutes. That was all. Just twenty minutes. Then you’d be home. Then you’d curl up under your covers and close your eyes, and let yourself enter a world where someone actually fucking wanted you. Even if said world was just in your dreams. Even if said world was just a fantasy, there was no harm in indulging in it, just a bit. 

Your eyes burned, and you looked up at the sky, gulping in the night air like a lifeline. Curling up seemed so tempting. Letting the rain wash over you seemed much easier than running home in the middle of a fucking storm. But you were close. You were close. You could make it.
You shoved your fists over your eyes and rubbed them angrily. You had feet, legs, and you weren’t dying! You were alive! Goosebumps prickled your skin, the hairs of your neck stood on edge, and you could feel your heart, pounding like a drum in your chest. You were going to go home. That’s all you had to focus on. You couldn’t focus on the fact that the frigid air burned your throat, or that your hands and feet were starting to go numb, or even that your eyes continued to water. Just cross the street and go home. That’s all you had to do.  Shoving your drenched hair out of your face, you ran across the street, ignoring the rain. ignoring the tears, ignoring it all. You just had to get home.
That’s all you had to do. 

You didn’t have to think about your mother, or the Goblin King, or your job. Just get home. Get home. Get. Home. 

You ran across sidewalks, and turned corners. Just keep running, that’s all you had to do. You weren’t scared of the dark or what lurked in the shadows. You weren’t freezing. You were brave. And you knew you were so, so close. Just had to keep running. Just had to keep fucking running. Your feet pounded into puddles, adding to the wetness on your skin, and your lungs hurt, a hitch forming on your side as you panted. You were so close. So close. 

Your neighborhood came into view, welcoming you with its fence-like arms and cookie cutter houses. Inky branches shook and shed leaves, bending towards the will of the wild storm. The wind cut into like a frosted razor, and you tucked your arms close, shivering, finally letting yourself slow down. You were so close. You could take a little break. One little break. You saw a familiar tree in the distance, and went towards it, settling underneath the giant’s comforting arms as you blinked away the tears again, catching your breath. Your mom didn’t remember you. 

 But! It was okay! There was no reason to cry! None, and you weren’t going to! Despite the fact that your eyes stung, and your heart squeezed in your chest, ready to pop like an overfilled water balloon. You were okay. You just needed to get home. Although.. An umbrella would be nice.. Or even a shoulder to cry on.. But you didn’t need anyone. You didn’t. You could take care of yourself. You’d been doing it ever since you were a kid. You were okay. You really were okay. You weren’t soaking wet, your nose wasn’t running, you definitely weren’t shivering! You were okay! You still had your hands, and your eyes, and everything was okay. 

Everything was okay. 

This was all okay. 

You smiled, yeah. You were okay. You were gonna be fine.

A gentle coo made you look up. You couldn’t even bring yourself to greet the friendly owl. If you did, you'd shatter like a glass being thrown against a wall. You weren’t okay. You were soaking wet, your nose was running, and you were fucking shivering! Your lips started quivering, and you whimpered, desperately trying to blink away the tears. No one cared. Your mother didn’t care. No one did . 

Another coo came from him, and you collapsed, landing on the wet grass. No one cared. No one. You could curl up and succumb to the cold, and you’d be all over the fucking news, but no one would actually care, except in your fantasies, of course. 

The bird flew right to the wet ground, settling by your side, another soft coo slipping from him, and it wrapped you up like warm blankets after a long day in the snow. It sounded like (and you knew you were going crazy now) like he was asking what was wrong.
He looked so worried, over you. He was worried about you. He seemed to care about you. The fuck up. The screw up. The girl who got tossed aside like garbage, no matter how hard she tried or what she did. His soft gaze broke you, and your tears poured out, as loud as the storm thrashing around you. You didn’t deserve this! You’d done nothing to deserve it! Nothing! The only thing you did was burden people by simply existing, and now, you were doing that to this poor fucking owl! What was wrong with you? You needed to apologize. You couldn’t lose him. You couldn’t! You needed to apologize! You were being so fucking selfish! He was cold, he was wet, why were you crying? You had no reason to cry! None! 

“I-I’m sorry I–,” you sobbed, “I- I’m s-so, so sorry!”

You hated the thought of this sweetheart coming all this way for you, only for you to bawl your eyes out like a baby! Sobbing, sniveling, so worthless . No wonder why you were constantly yelled at! No wonder why your mother left you out here! And how could he look at you like that? How could an owl look like that? So worried? What was wrong with you? You were being selfish! He shouldn’t worry about you– owls weren’t supposed to worry! They were supposed to.. Do owl things! You deserved to be left out in the cold, but he was like an alluring, glowing match in the darkness, and you were so desperate for his glow.  You didn’t want him to leave. You needed to stop being selfish. He was wet and cold too! He didn’t deserve to be out here!

“I-I’m not g-gonna cry! I’m so sorry! I just–  I’m so stupid! Th-this is all my fault!  I- didn’t bring an umbrella– I-I’m so stupid! I just– I just wish I had an umbrella! I-I just.. I Just..”
You wiped your eyes again, trying to stop, only for more to burst out. 

You had to get it together! Be the strong one! Even though it was all too much– being forgotten about, always being alone, constantly taking care of your mom, the fact you might be going crazy! Talking to an owl, thinking he could understand you, the guy from the bookstore, the book that grew pages, your finger, the window. No one cared, no one cared and you were finally fucking losing your mind!  You were a boat in a sea full of  knots, trying to keep yourself afloat, while trying to stop the strings from dragging you down further. It was all too much. All of it, like wave after wave, crashing down. 

“I-I just w-wish.. I just wish somebody cared! I w-wish I had an umbrella– y-you don’t deserve to get wet! I even wish the Goblin King was h-here right now! E-even though he’s not r-real! I just– I don’t–” you cried even harder, barely able to breathe as sobs wracked your body. 

Then, softly, you heard the flutter of feathers, and the sound of crunching leaves, and a pair of riding boots appeared before your eyes. 

“Not real, am I?” a voice asked, as soft as velvet,  “Then what do you call this, hm?”

A gloved hand grabbed your chin, gently lifting it up. The Goblin King kneeled before you, dressed in a rusty red shirt and a collared cape that seemed to be made from star-filled nights. He shone like moonlight, his blonde hair glittered like gold, and his eyes reminded you of diamonds covered in frost. Your heart skipped a beat, he was being.. So gentle. So kind. You didn’t deserve it. A soft whimper left you, and more tears slipped out, he wiped them away.

“I even brought an umbrella, as you have wished, of course.” 

He placed an elegant umbrella in your hands, you gripped the gold handle, noticing a tiny sun hanging from it, which matched the earrings he wore. He looked down at you, that gentle look still in his eyes. It was so warm, so comforting. You wanted more. You wanted to dramatically collapse into his arms and cry into his chest. You were so greedy, so selfish! You didn’t deserve comfort.. But it was.. So nice. His touch was so, so nice. His gloved hand warmed your frozen cheek, and although you slightly flinched when another one joined it, you desperately leaned into his touch. Selfish. 

 “Thank you. I-I didn’t mean to cry. I’m r-really sorry–”
He shushed you “You have no need to apologize to me. You have done nothing wrong. In fact, you’re the one deserving of an apology.”
“I– I am? But.. she’s my mom.”
“She’s certainly no mother! Leaving you out here, alone, in the rain. You could get sick, or worse! And you certainly will get sick if you stay out here a moment longer!”

He pulled his hands away (much to your regret), and helped you stand up with ease. He unclasped his cape, and wrapped it around you, before tucking your hair behind your ears with a fond smile. You were just crying your eyes out, and he wasn’t.. Mad? 

“There. That’s better. Now, let’s get you home.” 

“I don’t get it– Why.. Why are you being so nice to me? Aren’t you annoyed? Angry? I mean, I did all that crying and ruined your night! A-and now your cape is wet–”
“Annoyed? Mad? Ruining my night? Why on earth would you think that?”
“I– well.. I mean, Look at me, I'm soaked and crying!”
“As you should be! In  fact, you should be more upset! I think the bog would be much too gentle. My dungeon is empty, say the words, dearest.”
“But.. she’s my mom! She’s given me so much– A roof over my head, food.. Clothes..”
“That’s a lie and we both know it. She’s given you the bare minimum. Children need more than that. They need love, and care. She hasn’t given that to you, has she? She’s hurt you, over and over again with her cruel words, yet you insist on saying you deserve her cruelty, when you’ve done nothing but be a good, caring daughter.”

You didn’t want to admit that he was right. Because what would that mean? What would it mean to admit that you didn’t deserve it?  What would it mean to admit that your mother’s love came with strings and certain conditions, and even then, those terms always became blurred and illegible?

“You don’t have to face the truth alone, precious, I’d love you. I’d adore you, give you the life you deserve.”
“Why? I mean..  It doesn’t make sense– I can’t do anything right! I’m annoying–”
“For someone as clever as you, that’s the most absurd thing I’ve heard you say.” Jareth said, “You do plenty right! And I’m not going to let you continue to talk to yourself like that!”
“Like what?”
“You read books. You give wonderful kisses..” his gloved hands cradled your face again, and you swore you saw his cheeks flush, “You’ve made me laugh more times than I can count. You always make me smile. If you wish, I could write a whole book dedicated to everything I admire about you, precious, just say the words.”
“You.. admire me?”
“Of course I do.”

You tried not to blush too much as he looked at you as if you were the brightest star in the sky. You also tried not to frown as he pulled away again, now standing beside you underneath the umbrella. His words wrapped around you like a hug, cradling your heart. He liked you. He thought you were admirable, but you weren't. He, on the other hand, was.

“W-well.. I admire you too.”
“You do?”
You wearily smile, “Of course. You’re sweet, and.. I’ve read all those stories about you. I know you’re the Goblin King, but really, you’re just a dramatic nerd. And I like that.”
“A nerd?” his nose wrinkled, “ Is that an insult?”
You laughed, and raised a brow,  “Did I say it was?”
He looked at you skeptically, “You’re lucky I like you. I should throw you into the bog for calling me that.”
“And if you did, I’d drag you in with me.”
“You’re supposed to be scared of the bog! Not threatening me with it!”
“You threaten everyone with the bog!”
“It’s scary!”
“It makes you smell forever, I know, I’ve read the book, Goblin King! I read it twice, in fact. I’ve read all about the runners of your labyrinth–”
“How do you know I call them that?”
“The book. I’ve read a lot about you, like how you give newly formed goblins to those who can’t have children, or how you demanded a chicken coup be built for the first chicken wished away. Which you named after yourself. It told me that wished away pets get new homes. And that you have an affinity for owls. I’ve read about monsters, dwarves, fairies, and mermaids– but I want to know more! It’s so.. interesting!”
“Aren’t you scared of them? You should be! Don’t you know how dangerous my labyrinth is?”
“I’m not scared. I’m curious. Especially about you.” you replied, wiping away the last remaining tears, “I think you’re the least scariest, but most fascinating thing about it.” 

Jareth’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if your words were brave, or foolish. You really were a fascinating thing– he wanted to open you up like an ancient book and study you. He had never met someone who hid so much, yet so little. Those beautiful, glowing orbs gave away your heart without you even noticing. That’s why he had come to you, those eyes gave you away the moment you started walking, and he saw your tears brewing through his crystal. He couldn’t help but watch you (he was worried! He never worried about anyone before! ) and he couldn’t help but come to you. He wanted to run to you for the rest of his life, yet a part of him, a childish boy, wanted to run from you. Wanted to run from the pure admiration and love he felt, but he couldn’t, not when you looked up at him like that. He could see it all, the tears that still shone on your cheeks, the sadness that still lingered around your edges, and the crinkles that formed at the corners of your eyes, along with the admiration that came from them. He couldn’t help but smile with you, especially as you wrapped your arm around his, pulling him close. You brave, precious thing!  He was supposed to do that! 

“ I figured that if I were in the Labyrinth we’d be having a nice adventure together.” You say, unsure of how to interpret his silence, “So if any monsters came near us, we’d protect each other and look out for one another!”

You wanted to protect him? 

“You really aren’t scared of me? Of my kingdom?”
“Should I be? I’d be safe as long as I use common sense and have you by my side. I like having you around. Anyway, I’ve seen scarier things in my life than a couple of goblins and their king. If anything, you’re just a fucking theater nerd.”
“That’s the second time you’ve called me a nerd tonight. The bog is looking a bit empty..”
“We could make a kingdom there, then! I’d be the queen of stench, and you’d be the king! Or, we could enjoy this nice walk together.”
“It’s pouring out. And freezing. You’re soaked to the bone. I’d say it’s anything but nice.”
“I still think it’s still nice. Especially with you here,” you huddle closer, “And I like being close, don’t you?”
“Well.. yes. I rather enjoy it.”
“Then let’s keep walking. And take the long route. I don’t wanna go home just yet.”
“You’ll catch your death out here! I’m not going to let you freeze! And although I cannot get sick, my shirt is starting to get wet. You know I don’t like being cold and wet!”
“Alright, then, wuss-puss!”
“I’m not a wuss-puss.”

You rolled your eyes, and laughed as he pouted. Your laughter rang like a bell in his ears, and even though you called him a “wuss-puss”, he still enjoyed it. What would your laughter be like, he wondered, echoing down the halls of his castle? What would it be like to be teased by you everyday? What would it be like to tease you back? What would it be like, to see you like this, as carefree as a sparrow in spring, as unabashed as a rose blooming in summer? If only you could see how you shone underneath the streetlights, if only you could see your own smile– oh, how he loved your smile. Oh, how he wanted you. 

“Come to my labyrinth. Stay with me.” He said, “Just use your words.”
“I don’t even know your name! I don’t know anything about you. Like your favorite color, or whether you like sunrises or sunsets! Or if you like coffee or tea. I’d need to get to know you first before deciding to wish myself away.”

You were so stubborn, so persistent! Why couldn’t you just come with him? Why couldn’t you just let him rule you, love you? He’d be dedicated to you, body and soul! But.. he liked you like this. Liked the teasing, and the smile you gave, so clear and bright. He’d give you anything just to have it everyday, your smile– but his name? Names weren’t meant to be given away foolishly! Yet you had done so, telling him your name with a smile on your face a day or two after he first saw you. You had shown him your name, with its faults and all, so why couldn’t he do the same?

What would you do with his name once you had it? How would you treat it? How would you see his name when you found all of the jagged letters that created it? It felt as if he was winding a jack in the box, his hand gripping the crank, listening to the playful music. Maybe you would cherish his name, sing it softly every night and write poems about it. Or maybe, you would throw it into a rumbling fire. 

“Do you really want to know my name?”
“Yes. I do. I want to know your name– I want to know all about you. You want me to travel with you to the labyrinth, and to wish myself away, and become goblin queen. So let me know your name. It’s the least you could do.”
“In your dreams. I’ll give it to you there. My name.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
“I’ll see you then?”
“Of course.” 

A fond smile catches your eyes, a glimmering match in the darkness. He leaned into your cheek, kissing it gently, and you felt the slight stickiness of lip-gloss on your skin. It smelt like peaches. You couldn’t help your smile. 

“Then I’ll see you soon.” he says, briefly intertwining his hand with yours, squeezing it before letting it go.

The wind shrieks, his cape billows around you, and you now stand in your front yard.. There was no more warmth, only you, the cold wind, and your front door a few feet away. You rested your hand on your cheek, a timid spark in your chest. Someone wanted you. Loved you.
Or, at least, that’s what he said, and you knew more often than not people said sweet words without ever meaning them. No matter how sincere he sounded, you couldn’t trust him. 

You went inside, wanting to untangle all these complicated feelings underneath the warmth of your blankets.

“Mom?” You called, “I’m home!” 

Music crept into your ears. You dripped water onto the floor. You’d have to clean all that up later. You smelt alcohol. Beer cans overflowed in the trash, beer cans on the floor. 24 ounces each. Her favorite. It was the equivalent of three cups per can.
Of course she got drunk and forgot you. 

Of course. But you hadn’t forgotten her.
She was your mom. You loved her. You had to make sure she was okay, despite the tensing of your shoulders, and the frightened snake curling in your stomach.

“Mom?” You called again, placing the umbrella aside and taking off your shoes, setting them by the door.

You walked towards her room, and entered slowly. You had to be careful. You ignored  the voice inside you telling you to hide. You had to make sure she was okay. That was all. She was still your mom. What if she got hurt? Or worse? It would be your fault. You were her daughter– you had to look after her.

“Mom?” you asked timidly, “Are you in here?”

The smell was stronger now. You wanted to gag. You hated the smell of cheap beer. Your heart pounded, and images of the dream you had last night flashed in your mind– the darkness, the smell of her perfume, the overwhelming terror. You swallowed it down. She was your mom. You loved her, despite the fact that she was sprawled out on the floor, and surrounded by cans, you noticed a puddle coming from one of them. You sighed.
She hiccupped, and her head swayed to the music. She had that smile on her face– the one she always got when she was like this. You never knew if you hated her when she was an angry drunk, or when she was a sweet one. Her words always came with a sharpness, an edge, and her kindness was a ticking bomb. One minute, she could be as happy as a kite, and the next– boom! An explosion. 

“Mom?” You asked, kneeling beside her, “Why are you on the floor?”
She turned towards you, blinking in confusion, “(Y/n?) What.. Wh-what are you doing? You’re.. getting me wet.”
“I’m sorry.. I– you just– You forgot to pick me up.”
“What..?”
“You forgot to pick me up from work, so I had to walk in the rain.”
“Ohhh.. oh yeah! I was supposed to, wasn’t I?” she laughed, “You–  Wh-what the hell a-are you wearing?”

You touched the cape, feeling the soft fabric. It reminded you of velvet, but softer, somehow. You realized it smelled like.. The rain, and peppermint, and oddly enough, cloves. Spicy, but somehow sweet. Just like in the dream you had last night. 

“I– it’s a cape. Um. It was on clearance at work. I needed something to cover myself up. Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
“I-I don’t need your help ,” she slurred, “I-I can get up.. I just.. Wanna.. Relax.. Lemme relax! You never let me relax.. I always have to do everything..”

A flame rose in you then. She left you in the rain, and she was the one complaining? You had to pick up all her shit and she was the one complaining? You had to clean up the fucking spilled beer on her bedroom floor, you had to clean the house, wash the dishes– and she was complaining? You shouldn’t be angry. You didn’t deserve to be upset. You were her daughter, and she was your mom, and she had done so much! She raised you, all by herself. But.. you were still pissed off. You were still angry. She was your mother, and she left you alone out in the cold. Left you out in the rain. She could help herself.

“Fine. Then you can stay there.” You said, getting up, “Since I never do anything.”
“W-wait– don’t! Y-you can’t leave me!” she reached towards you,  “D-don’t.. D-don’t.. leave me.. You always take  good care of me, baby. M-mommy’s sorry. Mommy didn’t mean it.” 

You looked down at her. She was still your mom. You loved her. 

You sighed, “Let’s get you to bed, mom.”

You grabbed one of her arms, and helped her up. She stumbled, but you let her lean on your shoulder, guiding her to her bed, sitting her down and tucking her underneath the covers.  You wished she would tuck you in. No matter how childish or stupid that was. You wanted your mom. You wanted the mom who made you cookies, and who bought you a pretty doll for Christmas. Not this.  

“My baby..” your mom cooed, reaching up and stroking your cheek, prying you from your thoughts,  “sweet.. Baby.. you... You’re always gonna take care of me? You’ll never leave me, r-right?”

 You didn’t want this for the rest of your life. You were so tired of this. There was no room for you to exist, you were the carrier– she placed her sadness and anger on your shoulders, and you dragged it around with you, to the point where you couldn’t tell where her pain began and where yours ended. But she was your mom. She was your mom. 

She grabbed your wrist, and pulled you close. You smelled the alcohol on her breath. Felt it digging into your nose, scampering down your lungs. You tried to pull away, but she kept a firm grip. Her fingers dug into your skin. A whimper left you as she left crescent moons in your flesh. You loved your mom, you loved your mom. But you didn’t want this for the rest of your life! But she was your mom! 

“R-right, baby? Mo-mommy’s done so much for you.. Put a roof over your head.. Gave you clothes.. P-put up with all y-your fucking bullshit!” she laughed, “r-remember wh-when you cried.. And told me y-you wanted to die? I-I had to put up with that...”

You felt like a cornered, rabid dog. You wanted to whimper, scream and flee, but you couldn’t. She held you tight, and you knew you had nowhere to go. Her grip tightened. Her eyebrows furrowed. Her anger rumbled like the lighting outside. 

“You better n-not think of fucking leaving me..” she growled, before cackling, “N-not like you ever could! Y-you can’t do shit without me! Y-you’re so.. Fu-fucking helpless.. S-so worthless..”
“I-I’m sorry. I-I promise.” 

She raised her hand, and you flinched, trying not to freeze as she patted your cheek, “I know, baby.. My sweet baby..” her eyes started to droop, “I-I love you.. So much. My baby girl.. Stay with me. D-don’t leave.. P-promise me, baby.”

Something was brewing in your chest, boiling in your stomach, a thick, red acid. You tucked your free hand behind the cape, and crossed your fingers. You were so selfish. So, so selfish, but it felt good.

“I promise, mom.” You said, “Now go to bed, okay?” 

She smiled sleepily. Her grip softened, and it slipped, her hand landing on the bed. Was it wrong you liked her saying that? That you liked her calling you sweet? You liked being loved by her, even though her love made you feel like a desperate rat inside a shrinking cage, but the acid inside you was getting hotter. You wanted to yell, you wanted to scream. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. A small part of you boiled and rattled like an overheated tea kettle, ready to explode, ready to pop. It wasn’t fair, it said. It wasn’t right!

“I love you..” she cooed, her eyes finally closing.
“I love you too, mom.”

You tucked the blanket around her closer, fluffing up her pillow again, before staring at the puddle of beer on the floor, you needed to clean it. And the beer cans. And the trash. And the dishes. And the puddles you left all over the house. But it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. You were tired! You were cold! You– you needed to calm down. Push it down, push down the acid inside you, push down that burning fire. You had to do what needed to be done. 

 You stood up and went towards the door, going to get the mop. It was time to clean this all up, but the small part of you, a lot  louder than yesterday, said you shouldn’t have to. You wanted to push it down. You wanted it to shut up. You really, really did. But it wouldn’t. You touched your cheek again, you clutched the cape around your shoulders, and looked at the umbrella. There was warmth, gentleness, and softness, being given to you. There was a kind glance, and a fond laughter, and a playfulness you hadn’t felt in years being offered. There seemed to be a sort of love you never felt before, one that didn’t come with ever-changing rules, or regulations, or impossible expectations, but even then, that seemed silly. You dreamed of that sort of love a long time ago, but learned that you didn’t get it. You didn’t get that sort of love, no matter what you did– no matter if you smiled, cried, cleaned, cooked, no matter what you did. You didn’t get love. You got your mother’s love. Scraps of it, shards of it, and you hoarded it, no matter how much it hurt.
This seemed so different, the love being offered. It seemed to tempt you, like how the enchanted forest tempted red riding hood, like how treasure lost in the deep tempted mermaids, or how the cold wind tempted a girl to find the snow queen.  It called, and desperately, you wanted to answer, but.. This was reality, right? This wasn’t a fantasy, right? 

You looked at the mess, that was reality! You’d get yelled at tomorrow if you didn’t clean it. You sighed and grabbed the mop, going to her bedroom to clean up the beer as she slept. This was your job– you’d been doing it all your life, taking care of her, letting her lean on your shoulder,  but you couldn’t help the thoughts that haunted you. 

Maybe, the Goblin King loving you was real. Maybe, his offer of taking you away from this place was genuine, maybe his love didn’t come with unforeseeable consequences and devastation. 

Maybe.. He would adore you. 

And maybe, just maybe, you deserved better. 

The labyrinth was patient. Even though it didn’t like to be. Waiting was a hard game to play. Love was an even harder challenge– every move had to be calculated with precision, care,  every strategy needed to be whittled and carved into perfection. So it could wait. But it didn’t have to be helpless, it had its own magic! Although, the maze couldn’t help but be surprised, you read all the stories so fast! Even going so far as to finish the last one this morning.  But still, you wanted more! You greedy thing– almost as greedy as the king who ruled it! Well, it could give you more, it still had plenty of stories to tell, ones that weren’t about its runners, but about the subjects of the labyrinth, and most importantly, ones that were about the Goblin King. 

Chapter Text

OKAY, SO CHAPTERS 7-10 HAVE BEEN BOTHERING ME. WHAT CAN I SAY, I AM A PERFECTIONIST, AND I REALIZED THAT A LOT OF THE STUFF THAT HAPPENED IN THOSE CHAPTERS JUST FELT RUSHED AND OVER ALL I WASN'T REALLY SATISIFIED WITH THEM.
SO.. YEAH. I WILL BE REWRITING THOSE CHAPTERS AGAIN AND COBBLING THINGS TOGETHER, AND I REALIZED I NEED TO SPEND MORE TIME WITH JARETH AS A CHARACTER AS WELL. YOU GUYS CAN KILL ME IT'S OKAY (JUST PLEASE, IF YOU DO, MAKE SURE YOU PUT MY BODY SOMEWHERE IT CAN BE FOUND!)
Ok, but seriously. I do want to make this fic the best I can, and I will say it's a MAJOR work in progress. Forgive me!
But yeah, that's all I wanted to say!

Chapter Text

Raindrops dripped down the windshield and the wipers flicked them away with a soft hiss. Tires whispered faintly as you drove– nothing held you back. It was just you, the radio, and the sound of the rain. You breathed a sigh, fingers tapping the wheel. This felt real. Familiar. A little pine tree hung from the rearview mirror. Hadn’t your mom had that? Hadn’t your mom had this car when you were a kid? Hadn’t you named her something silly? Betsy?
You used to rub the dashboard whenever the motor wouldn’t start, and now one hand crept forward, doing the same, like a rider encouraging a horse to keep going. Something– or was it someone? Was chasing you. Something, someone, who you held onto so tight that it hurt. Someone you didn’t know how to get away from.

A suitcase and a pile of books blocked the view of the rear window. Turning, you shoved them down, cringing as the books fell. Someone was chasing you. Something was chasing you.
You looked at the street behind you, watching the rain coat it silver.
There was no one.

You let out the breath you were holding and continued driving. Cookie cutter houses surrounded you, a collage of brick and wood. Have you lived in this neighborhood before? It felt familiar, yet unfamiliar too. Hadn’t you lived in that robin’s egg house, when you were small? It was wide, surrounded by bushes, and you stopped the car. Things had been better then. You had a dog. Your brother was small. You took care of him.
You shook your head. It wasn’t time to reminisce.
Reaching for the shift, you wondered why your stomach felt like you’d swallowed a cup of vinegar, hot and spiky. Your heart felt like that too. You looked in the rearview mirror. Nothing. No one. You were okay.

Another familiar house, no, an apartment complex caught your eye. You moved there when mom couldn’t afford the rent of the last place. You always moved. Always ran with nowhere to go. Your brother was in that weird stage between a toddler and a kid when you lived in that apartment. You took care of him. Nothing was wrong, even though your mom slept a lot, and invited too many strange men into the house. You remembered her asking you to take care of him, telling you to never trust anyone but her. She said that no one would want you, or love you.

You should go back.
You don’t know how to survive without her. No one would love you like she did. Holding onto her is like.. An instinct you can’t adapt out of. What would happen if you did let go? Would you have somewhere to run to? She was half taught recipes and a water stained scrapbook. She was childhood memories you longed to know, ones that hid beneath a torn photo album. Your family had always been poor, but they kept going, and wasn’t your mom a testament to that? Her hard working hands always dried out because she cleaned houses for a living, but she put lotion on them anyway. She raised you and your brother on broken promises and half taught dreams. She was like a flowery bomb going off, especially when she turned up the radio and laughed like nothing mattered.
She was a coin, too. One you flipped in the air, hoping you did something good for once, even though more often than not you were always a troublemaker in her eyes, the lazy one, the one who never did enough. And what would happen anyway, if you did let go? If you ran and had somewhere to run to?
But you had nowhere to go. That was the worst part. No family wanted you. It was a miracle your uncle took in your brother in. He said that you were grown. That you caused too much trouble. So without your brother, you didn’t see the point anymore.

You should go back. There was nowhere to go. No one to turn to.

Your hand reached for the stick, ready to hit it in reverse, until a knock made you freeze. Your heart picked up as you looked towards the passenger window. Behind the foggy glass of the empty passenger seat, stood a stark figure fading into view. His eyes caught you like a fish on a hook, and you had to stop yourself from drowning in them. They seemed to be promising something, begging you to do something, and then his eyebrows scrunched up. His lips, shiny from lip gloss, formed into a scowl. Another knock.

“Let me in!”

Blinking, you leaned over, opening the door.

“I hate getting wet!” he cried, pushing himself in, crossing his arms, “What on earth is it, with you and rain? I demand you make it stop!”
“I didn’t cause this! Why are you glaring at me like I did?”
He ignored you, “First I find you bawling your eyes out like a little puppy left out in a storm, then I find you here, driving in the rain! Now, I demand you make it stop!”
“I didn’t cause this!”
“Isn’t this your absurd dream? Do you know how dreadful it is, to deal with frizz? Do you know how long it takes to style my hair? Do my makeup?”
““Do you get frizzy hair?” you asked, unable to help the smile on your lips.
“I ought to curse you with frizzy hair for the rest of your life for asking!” he then looked you over, “Did you get wet? Are you cold?”
“No, but for someone who’s complaining about getting wet, I find it ironic that you’ve left the door open.”

He rolls his eyes, sends you a look, and then shuts it. A chuckle escapes you as he grumbles underneath his breath. Shaking your head, you turn a knob and crank up the heater, the smell of warm air transporting you to the winter mornings your mom would take you to the bus stop and wait with you. She’d tell you how her grandmother always made coffee during winter, and dipped her bread into it. If you got lucky, she’d even smile as you two listened to the early morning talk shows on the radio, watching the sky paint itself awake. It was normal, then. Everything was okay. You were angry for no reason, and she was your hardworking mom who always took care of you and your brother, too stubborn to let the bit of family she had help.

“There. Happy?” he asks, “Now where is a mirror?”
“You don’t need one, but you need to buckle up.”
“What?”
“Buckle up. You know, put on your seat belt.”
“What on earth is a seatbelt?”

You stared at him, and you couldn’t help it– you laughed. What did he think of that, and how come he talked to you so normally? You were reminded of those moments again, the ones you got with your mom, or sometimes with people, when you managed to open up. They were the moments you didn't feel like a bug that deserved to be squished. Right now, you were dreaming, because he wasn’t rolling his eyes at your laughter, nor was he hissing at you to be quiet. This had to be just a dream. He had to be. That's why you felt so normal, so human.

“Why do I need to know what a seatbelt is? And you’re lucky I like you laughing, or I’d make it so that you could never laugh again.”
Rolling your eyes, you leaned over, “I can’t believe you know what a car is, but not a seatbelt.”
“If this is some way to trap me–”
Your response was you grabbing the strap, wrapping it around him, “Why would I trap you?”
“Why wouldn’t you? Humans like to do that to creatures like me. Either that, or curse my existence.”

With a click, you finished. That sounded familiar, somehow.
What had you said, and done yesterday? Because in that dream, he kissed your finger and bandaged it, wiping away tears and murmuring sweet words that grew inside you like timid dandelions. His hands had been warm, his touch impossible, but you wanted more. More of a life where that treatment was normal, kindness rewarded. Where paying attention to how someone liked their coffee mattered. This moment, wrapped up in the lull of the rain, the purr of the engine, and soft breathing felt like that.
You wondered if anyone had ever done that to him before.

“No. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.”
“Do you lie? You couldn't trap me if you tried, but curse me, perhaps you would..?"
You shook your head, “No! But-- Are you.. Are you really real? Y-you can’t be. You shouldn’t be. I stopped believing in all that a long, long time ago.”
“Of course I am.”
“So.. you comforted me, and.. And you really walked me home in the rain? Y-you actually walked me home and..”
“Of course I did.” he replied, observing you, “And I will do it again. Come away with me, and you will not have to fear me. I will give you your dreams, whatever you wish and whatever you desire. As long as you obey me, as long as you do what I say, I will be your slave.”

You stopped, cheeks flushing as you remembered him kissing your cheek. Oh, goodness.. Oh.. why was your heart pounding? Why did that scare you? The fact that someone could look at you and want to do that? In your imagination, it was easier to believe. Comfort came without conditions and love without cost, but in reality nothing was free. Love wasn’t someone holding an umbrella above your head, or coming to your aid, it was you doing that. It was you watching your heart get ripped out and consumed like a fresh apple, or a glare digging into your neck and a hand refusing to let go. It was a voice, one that never said you were nothing, that never said you were stupid, but you knew that’s what it thought. Nothing came for free. That was the real world, wasn’t it? But this was a dream. A dream where the Goblin King existed, and was real! Someone who was older than the fog that coated the ground during autumn mornings, and as magical as humid summer nights was paying attention to you. Praising you. It felt selfish to want that, to want more, but you did.
But nothing came for free. You knew that.

“Well? What do you say?” he asked.
“It sounds tempting,” you reply, “But..”
“But what? Does it not tempt you? Why not come? What holds you back? Your mother? Your brother? Your fear?”

You shrugged, watching the raindrops fall down the windshield and collect, before dropping into a puddle. Why did he want you? It didn’t make sense. Why was he here? Why did he ask for obedience, why did he ask to rule over you? So different from the book, yet similar too. You wondered if all his life he’d been only known as the Goblin King, and never by his name. Is that how he wanted you to know him, as just the Goblin King?

“You barely know me.” you responded, “So why do you want me so bad?”
“I know your favorite color. You are stubborn, in a strange way. You like to stay up late, reading by the lamp light. During movie nights you gorge yourself silly on snacks. I know that when you go to your job, you always try to make people laugh. I have learned much about you, just by simply watching. And I rarely watch humans, little thing. So does that not make you special?”

You felt your eyebrows furrowing as you scrambled for an answer, and some feeling in your gut told you to wait. You knew how to do that. To wait. Wait for your mom to go to her job, or wait for her to take a weekend trip to her friend’s place. (She’s been doing that a lot, lately, and you couldn’t tell if she was getting worse, or better.) Something in you just tells you to wait. That here you could be stubborn. Something tells you that you could draw lines in the dirt, and demand they not be crossed.

“You know big things. General things. But what about the small things? Or, what about the pieces of myself that I’ve barely shown to anyone except you? You’ve only caught a glimpse of me.”
“Then, come with me, and I shall see you fully.”
“I don’t know you. I don’t know your name. I don’t know anything about you, but you expect me to get up and leave? How do I know you're safe? How do I know that this isn’t a trick?”
“Must you question my kindness?”
“Yes I have to. Do you know what it’s like to be hurt over and over? Then, you think they’ll stop. Because they’re nice to you, because she– they– they say they love you, that they’re sorry, that they’re proud of you. They stop for a while and you think it’s finally over until it isn’t.”

Your eyes burned, and you swallowed down the lump in your throat. It was easier that way, to swallow down the tears, because crying was a pressure cooker. One that burst open to reveal snot, overheated cheeks and red eyes. Crying was your mom looking at you and calling you ugly, and you looking in the mirror, agreeing.

“I know what it’s like to be hurt. But not like that. You humans can be such cruel and selfish creatures, but why do you not want to come with me? Tell me, and I shall fix it.”
Stubbornly, you rubbed your eyes, “It’s not that I don’t want to come with you. I– I don’t even know your name. I don’t know if you’re safe. Tell me your name.”
"Names are important. Scared. They hold power.”
“I know that. So tell me yours. Or you can leave. I know how to take care of myself.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. And if you’re real– if you really love me as you claim, if you really believe that I deserve better, or whatever, then you’ll tell me your name. Tell me you're safe.”
“Was the umbrella, the cape, and my mere presence not enough to convince you? Or my words?”

You took a deep breath, before shaking your head. How could you not believe this? You’d been the type of person to scare yourself silly imagining monsters hiding underneath your bed. Shit, you scared yourself tonight, walking in the rain, wondering if someone would hurt you, or worse! This though? This powerful king shuffling things around, saying you deserved better, and offering you somewhere to go, and someone to run to?
A part of you, small and stubborn, wanted to believe. A small part of you believed that you deserved better. That you could be safe, and have a life where your wounds wouldn’t be met with salt, but bandages. He’d done that, hadn’t he? Did he want that too? Why were you waiting then, what was telling you to wait?
If he didn’t want a life where softness and warmth were normal, why had he kept coming back? He could’ve cursed, demanded and dragged, but he hadn’t. Did he want a life where someone knew him, where someone cooed over and gently reassured him? If he didn’t want that, if he hadn’t, then why did he keep coming? Why was he here? Why had he asked you to fear him? Why did he now ask for you to obey him? Wasn’t love spliced with that? Wasn’t love getting on your knees, cracking open your ribcage, and letting someone put their pain there? Wasn’t love always chasing, and chasing, hoping someone wouldn’t hurt you? If it was, why did it hurt so much?

Why were you asking these questions again? You used to ask this stuff all the time. When your brother was there, weak and naïve, undeserving of hurt. Maybe you were naïve then too. Then, weren’t anymore. You were hard as nails and the one who had to run far ahead of him so he didn’t get hurt. The one who shielded his eyes while you got to see all of her. You realized you couldn’t hurt him like she hurt you. In movies and books, siblings fought but took care of each other. In movies and fairytales, love was soft. Never harsh and ugly. It was a promise of exploration, of protection, and two equally powerful people who saw each other fully but loved each other nonetheless. Sometimes you made mistakes. Sometimes you said harsh words and scolded him, but you still loved him. You apologized. You meant it. Did that make you like her, even though you ran ahead of him to take the damage so he would only get poked instead of bruised?

“No.” you said, “They weren’t.”
“Then, what would it truly take to prove it to you? Tell me. I shall do it. What would it take to take you away? What do you wish for?”

What did you wish for? Maybe a sink without too many dirty dishes. A sturdy table. A sturdy chair. Nice cups and nice plates. Those were small wishes, casual ones.
The real ones, the ones you told a little owl who perched on your window, were scarier. A life where you didn’t question what you deserved. Where no one walked over you. Where you had power. Where you were like Sarah, and the others before her, where you used your voice and it mattered. Oh, and plants, or maybe a cat and some goldfish would be nice.
But wishes came with prices– stories told you that. The Labyrinth was a prime example, wasn’t it? You looked into the rearview mirror, catching your shimmering eyes, before noticing a wave in the distance behind you. It seemed to choke everything, grasping at the trees with metallic claws made of water, choking the silver streets. It made you want to run. To step on the gas pedal and drive till the tires wore out. You turned your head towards the back again– nothing. No one. You breathed.

“Tell me, (Y/n.) And it shall be yours.”

His voice was like a warm bed on a cold winter’s night, and you wanted to melt into it, sink, but you knew better. You knew how hard it was to get out of bed some days.
You didn’t want to be left out in the rain again. Defenseless and helpless. Cold and shivering like a stray puppy begging to be loved.

“Then, tell me your name.”
“Stubborn, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Tell me your name.”
“I am offering you everything you could ever ask for! Everything!”

This was important, wasn’t it? His name was important. Did he live in a world where names had power, where words meant something? You clutched the wheel, you took a deep breath. You could be stubborn too.

“Tell me your name.” you demanded.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. You let your words stain the air. Your words meant something, and.. and this was a dream, wasn't it? It was your dream, wasn’t it? That’s what he had said.
Turning a corner, branches kissed the windshield, their dripping leaves encouraging you forward. This felt familiar. Hadn't you tried to run away before? You tried for college. She wouldn't even let you apply, and without her cooperation, how could you? That had been years ago, but it still upset you. It was a miracle you got to apply for a job, but even that had taken time. You had gently built this semblance of a life, through wadding yourself up like a piece of used paper. It was a life, where you had moments in the bookstore, or riding your bike, and you were content with those moments, the ones you greedily hoarded.
This was your life, so this felt wrong.

Talking to him, wanting to escape, felt wrong. 

His gaze pierced into you like a blade slicing skin, and what could he see? Could he see that you forgot that you weren’t supposed to be stubborn, that you weren’t supposed to fight back, that you were supposed to be small, and meek, with a hand over your mouth? You forgot to be your mother’s daughter, your brother’s big sister, the cashier at your job, and you remembered to be (Y/n). As simple as that. You loved his visits as an owl, because the world was full of clashing noise and confusing scribbles, but he was a rock in the middle of a pond, letting you remember who you were when you weren’t scared.
You liked that you didn’t fear him, and you couldn't bring yourself to, not even now as he stared at you, There was something too human about him, and now, seeing him like this made that feeling tenfold. Bogs of eternal stench were child’s play, especially compared to your life, but that couldn’t be right, could it?
She was your mom. She hurt you, sometimes– this was all so twisting, like a maze you couldn’t figure out, like a never ending loop. Being here, and having someone listen, made you want to open the car door and kick him out. To scream and yell that it didn’t hurt, being left out in the rain, being yelled at, being her punching bag, didn't hurt! 

“Ask me something else.” he responded, eyebrows scrunched together, “I doubt you truly want to know my name. That you truly want to know me. Let me whisk you away, and your life will be a dream, (Y/n.)”

You had to have deserved everything. You had to.
But he wasn't telling you to shut up. He wasn't saying your questions were dumb, or that people preferred it when you were quiet.  Why wasn’t he dragging you down, why wasn’t he snapping at you? Why wasn’t he making the whole world shake because of how stubborn and stupid you were? The air around him was prickly, and his arms were crossed, too, but something in you– curious, and determined, wanted his name, something in you couldn't kick him out of the car, out in the rain, because being with him didn't hurt. 

“No.” You said again, “I want your name.”
“I shall not give it to you.”

Your brows furrowed. That felt important, somehow. Familiar. Like a long forgotten story you had read once upon a time. Names, names, being given, being taken. Control, power, obedience. He lived underground. He ruled goblins. He was– you knew the word, what was that stupid word? Old stories you read, old stories you loved. Perched there, on a mental bookshelf, covered in cobwebs. Those stories, the ones taken from the school library, weren't important. What you had now was– you had stories about him. What did you remember? Being stubborn. Being determined. His name was important, but you didn’t want to own it.

“I don’t want you to give it to me. I want to know it.”

Then, you turned to him, thinking about earlier tonight. You teased, and hadn’t that teasing given you valuable information? It helped you realize that someone could like being close to you, it helped you see that your teasing was met with a challenge, and you liked it. So tease him again. Get him to reveal his name.

“I want to know your name! But if you can’t tell me, then I guess I should just confirm what type of bird you are.”
“Pardon?”
“Well, I thought you were an owl but, I guess you’re just a chicken. My mistake.”
“Excuse– excuse me?! How dare you!”
“Then tell me your name. Or I’ll just have to keep calling you Mr. Chicken.”
“Oh! How dare you! I’m throwing you into the bog! No, worse! Worse than the bog! A dungeon full of spiders!”
“I heard spiders are actually really good to eat. And they sell scorpion lollipops too! I’d like to try one, Mr. Chicken!"

His eye twitched. You met his gaze. This moment held no fear. Even as you took the luxury of tracing the curve of his nose and cheekbone, the way he crossed his arms. He was expressive, even with his silence, even as an owl. His feathers ruffled when upset, he squawked and demanded, pouted like a toddler. His eyes had been the things that got you– stark and brilliant, as black as night in some light, but in others, as blue as a summer’s glade. You had never seen an owl with eyes like that. Looking at him now, turning towards the window, you almost wanted to pet his head and tell him he shouldn’t be scared of you knowing his name. What could you do with it? You were just a nobody.

“Do you really want to know my name?”

His voice snapped you out of your reverie, and before you could reply, he spoke again.

“I won’t ask again, so you better answer. Or I’ll never let you know it.” He said.
“Yes. Yes I do want to know your name, Goblin King.”

Another beat of silence, filled with the radio and the whisper of the wind.

“My name is Jareth.”
You smiled, “Jareth. I like it.”

Jareth fell silent again. He couldn’t help but think this was so strange. He’d never done this before, talking to someone he liked. It was always a challenge, two people sitting at the table of love and arm wrestling. It was him, always learning and watching, but no one ever doing the same in return. He was admired, like art kept behind glass walls at museums, but nothing more. Doing this, telling you his name, made his own heart thunder, because what would you think, or say, once you saw him as he truly was?
He should trick you. It’d be easier, if you didn’t know his name, or know him as nothing more than the Goblin King. It’d be safer to keep himself a secret. It’d be easier if you didn’t know that he loved to lay on the grass, sometimes, when no one was looking, and watch the sky pass by. It’d be easier if you didn’t know that sometimes, he went to his favorite place within the labyrinth, dipping his toes into the water, chuckling as fish nibbled at his feet. It was very unkinglike.
So why did he want you to still know those things? Was it because you had been that way first? Singing sweet dillies as you cleaned, serving him a glass of iced tea and bursting into giggles when he drank it, before scolding him and telling him not to die? Frankly, he was used to the opposite. Runners never liked him, only admired. Looked at him across a ballroom with wonder in their eyes, and then, by the end, he was reduced to a disgusting little bug.
Though, you never scowled, sneered, glared or cowered.
You weren’t supposed to coddle him, or tell him to come closer. He wasn’t supposed to see that sad look you got in your eyes sometimes, when your mother– your own mother, hurt you. He wasn’t supposed to be angry at the fact you feared her, he was supposed to like it. To use it to his advantage, it’s how the runners, the goblins, always saw him, and it was all he knew.

He just couldn’t.
A part of him, selfish and cruel, wanted you to look at him the way you did her– beautiful eyes wide in fear as you huddled against a corner. Weak, fragile, something he was supposed to relish and love. He was the Goblin King, fearful, selfish, it was his duty, it was his role.
He just forgot about that with you.
He enjoyed your smile, he enjoyed you looking up at him softly, the wind blowing your hair as your eyes met his, “You look lonely up there.” You said, and those words made him come back again, because for a moment, he wasn’t a cruel king surrounded by idiotic goblins, but a lonely owl who let a mere human invite him to enjoy a sunset together.

“What else can I know about you, Jareth? Tell me more.” You demanded, and your demand wasn’t an open greedy mouth, but a hand opened wide.

Certainly determined, weren’t you?
He’d seen that the first night he stumbled upon you underneath the curtain of rain. Your eyes had been a cracked mirror. You looked so soft, like a flower in the midst of hail. He could’ve taken you then, tricks and talons abound, aiming straight for your heart, but he didn’t. Because humans were similar to labyrinths– full of twists, turns and upside down contradictions. Tears, and sadness, those were signs of weakness, were they not?
Though with you, looking up, holding your head high, wiping your tears.. He questioned that notion. So he followed, and he watched, before coming in. He needed somewhere warm to stay anyway, and if you declined his offer, cursing you wouldn’t be too hard.
Then you smiled when he tapped at your window. Then you giggled. Then you somehow made him feel weak with the way you talked to him. You didn’t speak to him as his goblins did, going head over heels to please because they feared the wrath of their king. Every act of sweetness, from chopping up fruit for him, taking him to the bookstore, letting him sleep in your lap, complimenting him and more was all because you wanted to. How could he not long for you, when knowing that? How could he not want to whisk you away, to hoard you, so he could never lose the one person whose eyes lit up when he came? He couldn’t reveal that. It’d be him, being too soft and you, being the one to stand before him and say those damned words.

“That is all for tonight.” he uttered, “I will say nothing more.”
“What? Why?”
“What? Are you deaf?”

You glared at him.

“Well? Are you? Shall I get you a little horn for your ear? I said that is all.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about!”
“A horn? Like a trumpet?”
“No, no! And don’t laugh! It’s something you humans use!”

You gave him a look, saying nothing as you snickered.

“Well, before your silly laughter interrupted, I was saying that.. That will be all the questions I shall answer tonight.”
“Why?”
“No more questions.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” you replied, “And.. you know what? Why shouldn’t I ask questions? I want to know why you comforted me, listened to me, and walked me home. I want to know why.. Why are you being so kind to me? No one has before.”

Jareth shifted. He didn’t know how to answer, or if he should. Humans were cruel selfish creatures who took the normalcy of everyday life– the gentle lull of accompanying laughter and the comfort of a full stomach while sitting at a dinner table, for granted.
So why didn’t you?
Why didn’t you shoo him away, dismiss him, learn some lesson as those others did? Why did you not make him crumble? He ought to leave before you could. It’d be easier. Easier if you just rejected him now, he’d finally resolve himself to his fate, the one where he ruled the Underground, forever alone, but the part of him that tucked away flowers for hope of one day giving them to someone, couldn’t bring himself to.

“I just..” you whispered, “I don’t get it. What did I do?”

He watched as light scattered across your face like a dancing mirage, red hues, the yellow of street lights, and the whispers of the night highlighted your beauty. What could he say? He loved the beautiful ones, he loved the stubborn ones– and humanity never seemed to realize that beauty was as complicated as the language of the trees, yet as steadfast as the flowers that grew beneath them. Most of all, he loved the kind ones, because he had never known it before, and it was a mystery. He didn’t mean the kind acts that some did, where they gave offers in exchange for babes, or curses, or farmwork. Where they gave only to open their greedy mouths and demand. No, he meant the other kindness– the one of a poor girl opening up a window, ushering him inside, but giving him a choice to do so. You hadn’t told stories about him, hadn’t demanded he come, you just asked, asked, kept asking. That is what you had done, and here you were, still asking. With you kindness was sweetness, honey on the tongue, and there was no consequence to it. None. You invited him close, close, closer, sharing your warmth, rolling your eyes, and your laughter pulled at his heart like a puppet on strings.

“I don’t deserve that. Kindness. Compassion. Love. I mean– or…. maybe? I do but.. that’s just impossible. It’s impossible for someone to love me, because I’m nothing. I deserve to be yelled at, I deserved to be hurt. I’m such a horrible person, you know? That’s why I don’t get it.”

Why did that sound so familiar, like a lonely echo amongst the mountains, begging to be answered? Why did he want to keep coming, to prove you wrong? Was it to prove his own thoughts wrong, or because you didn’t scream that it was unfair? He wanted you to scream. To be ungrateful. To scowl, and curse, instead of sitting underneath a tree, apologizing to him.
You had done nothing to him. You were the one, huddling and alone, shivering as you held back tears. He didn’t like that. You had no reason to apologize, and it was a waste of one anyway.

“I shall keep coming.” Jareth said, “I told you I would.”

Is this how sleeping beauty felt as she stood near the spindle that condemned her to sleep? Was that needle as enchanting as your strength? Was it as piercing as your soft look of surprise? What would you do, anyway? If he kept coming? What would you think? He was the Goblin King, and he never let anyone make him feel powerless, but that was a lie.

That last human had made him powerless. The love he had for her had reduced him to nothing. That’s what love always was– walls crumbling around you, a true form being revealed, a song being sung, and then nothing. Nothing but words being said, the same ones you would probably say, once you realized it like the others had.

“You don’t mean that,” your voice cracked with tears, and you cleared your throat, “You don’t have to lie.”
“I’m not. I don’t lie. Lies are the cheapest of tricks. It’s why you humans always tell them, to each other, and yourselves.”

Were you lying to yourself? Were his words true? If Goblin Kings– no, if Jareth, actually existed, then could that life you always imagined exist too? Tapping your fingers against the steering wheel, you thought. All those feelings, the ones you ignored and pushed aside brimmed to the surface. Your foot gently pressed the brake, and you stopped at a train track, watching the rail guards slowly drop down, the red lights warning you not to cross like a troll on a bridge.

“If what you say is true, then come tomorrow. I have another night shift,” you continued, trying to stop that feeling coming again, the one where your heart clenched your throat so tight you couldn’t breathe, “I don’t like walking home alone at night. It’s scary.”

It was hard to admit that. It was even harder to control the hairs on your neck. Something was close. Peering behind your shoulder, you breathed. Nothing. No one. It was alright. It was okay. You’d just been imagining things, like always.
You were safe. You loved night drives. The ones where no one needed you, and you were your mom’s daughter– a silly gullible kid, a cringey preteen, a sarcastic teen and then.. An adult. One who listened to late night talk shows as the humid breeze came in, carrying the chirping of crickets and the swish of passing cars. You were safe. An old familiar song played on the radio, something from the eighties, and you and your mom used to sing it to each other all the time when you were little. You remembered, being small, voice squeaky and confidence wide, singing at the top of your lungs.

“Then, I shall.” Jareth replied, before glaring at the radio, turning the knob, “You should get better music taste.”
You let out a laugh, smacking his hand as he turned the knob.

It was okay. You were okay. No one was chasing after you. No one. You looked back again.
Why did this feel so familiar? Like love?
Was something close? Your stomach tightened in a thick knot, but you kept still.
No, no, you weren’t scared. You shouldn’t be. You focused on the road again. You wanted to run, hide, cry, go somewhere safe. A library. A bookstore. The park. Somewhere far off and lonely, because people weren’t safe. People were cruel and greedy, but weren’t books made by people? Parks, gardens, dinner tables and shoes, all were made by people. Books taught you that.

It was just– you felt it, something. Something.
You looked over your shoulder again.
You saw it. It turned the silver streets into inky smoke, breathing death into the dripping trees. It told you not to trust anyone, that no one would love you. It was a ditch, a mouth, open wide, bearing jagged teeth that looked like paint strokes made from burnt glass. It was your secret to keep, and your burden to bear. Stories had roles, and this was yours. Your story. Your life. There was nothing you could do about it.

“This is how this works, correct?”
You snap out of it at the sound of Jareth’s voice, “Huh?”
“This.. radio! It works like this, you turn the knob and some music comes on. But I don’t like this music.”
“My mom and I used to listen to this all the time, when I was little.” You murmured softly, “We’d sing this song to each other all the time.”
“Well, while I’m not the biggest fan, if you like it, that’s fine.”
The radio buzzed. It played her music. Her songs. Her favorite radio station. Your heart leapt up your throat. You gripped the steering wheel, you took a long, deep breath. Why were you shaking again? Was it getting closer? Go fast, faster. What were you thinking? What were you doing? Forgetting. Being selfish. Not doing your part, carrying your weight– being insignificant and lazy and not doing enough! Never doing enough!

“Though..” Jareth said, “All I hear now is static, don’t you?”

The radio crackled. The music fizzled out. Static. Popping. Dicing and chopping. Cracking, clacking, something slithering and crawling. Her perfume filled the air, and you could smell the beer she drank, smell her sweat. The music that came out now wasn’t even music, it was the sound of crushing beer cans, of a bruised heart beating.

“It’s nothing,” you replied.

The trees became patches of ink against the night sky, and the rain seemed more threatening than luring now. Lighting flashed, and welcoming branches turned into hands pulling at the car.

“I can hear your heartbeat from a mile away. We are in your dream. Why are you scared? Are you having a nightmare?”
“N-no! I mean– this is just a bad dream! It’s nothing!”
He gave you a look, raising a brow, “What’s that phrase I’ve heard before? Oh– yes! I shall believe that when pigs fly. Look at you, sweet thing, shaking like a leaf.”

You looked towards him, and that gentle look was too much. You wanted to push him out, leave him alone in the rain, let him go back to his goblins, let him rule them alone. Stop imagining, stop pretending that things will get better, that there’s hope, that the world is a peach that should be bitten into, enjoyed.
He was looking at you so gently. So sweetly. You looked over your shoulder again, wanting to whimper at the thing behind you. Dark and dangerous, a mouth yet a river, nothing but everything at once.

You took a deep breath, you looked at him again. You made your choice.

“Say this is a nightmare. What do I do?”
“Simple, wake up.”
“But– how?” you looked around taking everything in.

This car was too real, this world was too real, too aware. You were a rat on a slick sewer wall just trying to hold on, just trying to get through it by comforting yourself, saying there was a future.

“Just wake up, (Y/n.) You’ll be alright.”

His hand reached and touched your shoulder, and you jumped. You wanted to stop the car and jump into the wave, but his touch was warm. You wanted it. That wave, that darkness was frostbite and bare feet dipped into icy water. It was waking up in the middle of the night to check the locks, and grabbing a blanket to tuck your mom in, because she passed out on the couch again. This though, his touch, his concern, was a life where you didn’t question sweet words or wait for kind touches to be turned into slaps.

“This is your dream, you can wake up.” Jareth said.

You thought about his words. About your own words. This was your dream. You could wake up. You could wake up. This was your life. You could have the life you wanted, couldn’t you?

That seemed impossible.

But this was your dream, and you could wake up.

“Okay. I can– okay.” You pulled your hand back, “You might wanna cover your ears.”
“What?”

With all your might, you slammed on the horn.

Chapter Text

Gasping, you placed a hand on your beating heart. The remnants of the dream slowly faded in and out, the night and its events coming in pieces. A car, the rain. An umbrella, the cape. Cold, alone, and crying. Warmth, comfort. 

Your heart pounded even more. You walked close to someone and wanted it to last longer. You didn’t feel that nervous tension you always felt around people, but then as soon as you opened the door to your small home, it came back to you, crashing like pieces of glass. You cleaned the living room without arguing, mopped up the wet floor, and even started a load of laundry. Then, you sat on the couch, falling asleep after it all. 

Rubbing your eyes, you got up and noticed something. The book. It rested on the arm of the couch, as tempting as Snow White’s apple. The washer beeped in the distance, and with one more wary look, you went to the small laundry room. Flicking on the light, you approached the washer. Maybe you were going crazy. Maybe you were going insane. 

But that couldn’t be it. 

You lifted the top, and there it was– the cape, shimmering and sparkling like a thousand starts. Pulling it out, you remembered the feather in your pocket, before cringing as you realized you hadn’t changed clothes.  (Gross, (Y/n!) Absolutely gross.)

Shaking your head, you placed the rest of the clothes in the dryer, before making your way to your room. Shaking out the cape, you examined it, trying not to get too caught up in the finery. It sparkled underneath the small lamp you had left on, and you grabbed a hanger, hanging it to dry. Then, finally, you changed into your pajamas. 

Now, where was that umbrella? 

It leaned against the closet, dripping onto the floor. Hadn’t you placed it near the front door? Wait. You shouldn’t worry about that. There was a load of laundry to be done, and you– and you.. What? You walked home after a busy day. What else did you need to do but sleep? 

Read. That’s what you needed to do. Turning towards your bed, the book caught your eye again. Had you left it open? You finished Sarah’s story this morning, that you had remembered. You’d been so caught up in the wonder and magic of it all, you let your guard down. You were filled with magic, and the world wasn’t a loud, scary place filled with hurt, but something more. Then your mom offered to take you to work since it was raining. Maybe you’d been too flustered, too happy, and too excited about finishing the book, because you let her. The both of you drove in the comforting silence of the storm, before starting to talk. Like mother’s and daughter’s from books and movies– juicy work gossip, laughter, you telling a joke that got her riled up. And her, her giving you a smile that only she could give you. 

You believed her when she dropped you off, telling you she’d be there. For a moment, she was your mom. She wasn’t the drunk who lived in your house, or the monster you searched for in every corner around the world. She was your mom. She was the one who got you Matilda, for Christmas after you had begged and begged for her to get it for you. She was the one who gave you money for a book fair after a bad fight. She was your mom, the one who fed you dreams on a silver spoon when you were small. She was your mom, and the word was something wonderful, somewhere where you could believe in promises.  

Then all that dropped away as you waited.

 You weren’t her daughter anymore. She wasn’t your mom. You were the one who picked herself up, dusted herself off and ran home. So maybe you should stop this. Close the book. Forget the fluttering pages that called to your heart like a beckoning finger. Forget how he talked to you, and how you let yourself believe in whispers among the trees and in impossible owls. Picking up the book, you sat on the bed. 

You sat on the bed. You could lose sleep and never think about him or the labyrinth again. You could do that. It’d be easy.

But, he comforted you. 

Why? What had you done to deserve it? Why did he come in, and hold an umbrella over your head? 

Why was he here? Saying you deserved more, deserved better? 

Was it because you opened your window and let him in? Was it because you let him ride your bike? Was it because you teased him, or because you cared? And you couldn’t help but care, because he looked so.. What? Because he looked like he’d been through so much, all alone.

 You remembered that night, and even though it was only a month ago, it felt like a lifetime. That night where he came tapping at your window, and he looked like the world was threatening to take him by the shoulders and drag him down. You couldn’t help yourself. You let him in. 

And you did it again the next day, when you saw him perched up there on a tree branch, watching the sunset, a dark silhouette against the watercolor sky. Why did you? Why did you keep doing it? Letting him in and holding you closer? Has anyone done that for him? Just talked to him and treated him like a person? 

The book in your hands fluttered. 

What was it saying? What were you doing? Why did you have all these stories, and why, even though you had never read them before, did they feel so familiar? Like something you’d gone through, again and again? Leaning over the ancient tome, you let the smell of old pages envelop you. You’d read somewhere that it was caused by glue, ink, and paper breaking down. That smell was the smell of childhood, the one you spent huddled in the library with books as you watched other kids your age talk with their friends. Laughing, giggling, so carefree. So unhurt. You used to wonder why they didn’t have bags underneath their eyes like you did. You’d always turn away though, from the sight, telling yourself you didn’t need friends. Telling yourself that the world wasn’t a trustworthy place, because that’s what your mom had told you. 

Books cast off at thrift stores and book swaps cradled your thoughts then. Those stories of friends going on quests, of fighting evil, were like lanterns at sea, guiding you to safer shores. Those stories were like.. Holes, in a dark and empty tower, holes that let in sunshine and the sounds of the birds outside. Stories said good people existed. That the world wasn’t always cruel– and that trust could be given, because love was strong and powerful. The book in your hands reminded you of that.  

Shaking your head, you dragged yourself from the depths of memory lane, taking in details you didn’t notice before. Softly faded letters, pages that yellowed around the edges, the old typeface. How come the Goblin King– no, Jareth, how come he insisted there was only one story anyway? Clearly, there was more! Thumbing through the pages, you saw familiar lines–  Once Upon a Time, there was a prince who had captured the love of the Goblin King. 

You flipped past that one, and read the beginning of another, Once Upon a Time, in a kingdom that is too old to be remembered, yet too young to be forgotten, there lived a baker, his wife, and their dog, in a small house, in a small village. They had done nothing to capture the attention of the Goblin King, except, wish their dog away. 

What were you thinking? You kept flipping, not even reading anymore. Your brain felt like tangled knots, as if it was trying to make a connection somehow. If Jareth really offered everything that they wanted, why did they keep rejecting him? 

….Maybe because of the threats? But they were so.. So childish!  Bogs of stench, dungeons of spiders! Your mom on the other hand was a ticking time bomb who threatened to beat you, kick you out, or worse! Sometimes she did, but you learned how to navigate it like the back of your hand.  It was easy, learning how the air stilled, or listening to the sound of a door unlocking. Learning her footsteps. 

Weren’t you just being overdramatic? She was your mom. Your family. All you had left after your brother moved out. You knew he was better off, but it still hurt. Hurt knowing you were never enough– smart enough, good enough, to be welcomed into a warm home. One where all you had to worry about is whether your uncle was grouchy or not. You still loved him, and your cousins, even though they gossiped about you sometimes, telling you how ungrateful you were for your mom. She raised you alone, she always worked hard, and kept a roof over you and your brother’s heads. 

But these stories just seemed familiar, somehow. 

Runners always cursed at him, or hurt him. Did he do it back? Yes! It’s why you admired him! The way he met an insult with a carefully crafted quip or a magic flick of his finger was amazing! You used to do that. Not sick goblins on someone, but stand up for yourself when your brother was around. Maybe he knew what it was like, to have someone strike first, but when he struck back he was the monster. 

Jareth could be lying. He did give a girl an enchanted peach to lure her to a ball to make her stay with him forever. And he did a lot of morally questionable things too but.. Why would he lie? That’s what didn’t make sense. Why would he spend all this time, and effort, going to your dreams to lie? That didn’t make sense either.

So, what was he offering then? 

Could you really just leave? 

No. No, there was no way. was your mom. She was your family. She had gone through so much, a childhood where her mom hurt her. A childhood that was filled with worse than yelling and screaming. You always had food on the table, unlike she had. She rarely hit you, unlike her mom. Didn’t you owe her for everything? For giving birth to you, for providing you with a roof over your head? So what were you doing, asking for more, wanting more? Weren’t you being greedy, selfish? You didn’t know. You didn’t know. Was it wrong that you wanted more than she could give you? Was it wrong that you wanted to go back to sleep and find him again? Just to see, just to ask more questions? 

The gentle tick of the clock on your bedroom wall reminded you how late it was, but you didn’t mind. Nights had always been the time where you picked up the frayed edges of your life and huddled for warmth. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. You found comfort in the ocean blue glow of the TV screen, or in the river-like warmth of the small lamp you owned. During those times, the moon shone in through the curtains, and your mom wasn’t there to demand you to shut them. Moonlight nurtured your dreams, and underneath the cover of the night, hope was a blooming flower that refused to die.Hope didn’t get you anywhere. Day dreams wasted reality. 

Though, here you were, doing it again. Dreaming. 

Dreaming of a life where trust could be placed for safekeeping and never worried over. Where anger didn’t flood a whole house. You always dreamed of it, hadn’t you? You just locked those dreams somewhere safe whenever you were around people. Now though, there was someone who was agreeing with you, telling you your dreams could be reality. That though, that was too scary. Too much. Too foreign. You knew this, this small room with its shabby bookshelf filled with fifty cent knick knacks and your unmade bed. The old quilt that covered it, barred with scars from sewing attempts, was almost as old as you were. The stuffed animals were even older. Life here was shaky, but the art found at garage sales and the frayed rug on the floor grounded you somehow. This was still a life, wasn’t it? 

Even if it felt like you lived in a tin house next to a railroad track. Even if paychecks slipped through your fingers like water. Even if your hands always dug into your wallet, your purse, searching for spare change so you could buy a carton of milk. Life was just filled with hands, always searching and grasping for something.  Hands that dug into your skin and dragged you close, close, closer, demanding you to sink to a bottom you couldn’t get out of. Those hands were never yours, but they whispered gentle things sometimes, as they ate your insides. 

Another tick reminded you of the time. You sighed. What would it feel like, to not live this life? What would it feel like, to not always have that hole inside you, or that darkness chasing you?

Shifting, you cringed as the springs creaked. Scooting further into the blankets, you snuggled underneath the quilt, looking at the book again. It was clearly magic. You flipped to the first story, the one you had read with the company of a certain owl, who then turned out to be a certain king. Maybe you were too harsh on the girl in the story. She wished her brother away in an act of desperation, and went to the labyrinth to reclaim him. Had she been scared when she was at the end? Did she wonder if she could stay? Or, did she just want to go home? 

Maybe the thought of leaving to her was like.. Walking barefoot in the cold at night. Chilling, bone biting, but vibrant, too. Filled with the fear of glass cutting her feet, hypothermia and with winter’s magic. Maybe the thought of leaving had just been so beaten out of her, so pushed to the side, that she went back. Or maybe you were just overthinking things, like always.

You looked at the first page, tracing the line, Once Upon a time.. 

Stories that started like that always made you smile. Maybe because your mom bought you a book of fairy tales once, to make up for leaving you home alone one night. You loved it, despite the gaudy and childish illustrations.  That purple cover still appeared on the edges of your memories sometimes, especially when she yelled at you. Loving her and being here hurt, but what if going with him was worse? What if he was being nice now, only to reveal his true colors? You barely knew him! It'd taken your stubbornness to get him to tell you his name. What did you know about him? His favorite color was royal blue. He liked owls (he had to! Why else would he turn into one?) He was a handsome charmer with a decadent fashion sense– wait. Hold on. Off topic! Don’t think about that aspect of him because you aren’t gonna let his good looks charm you too much even though they are starting to get to you and– NO!

Stop that and focus. You took a deep breath. What else did you know?
The book showed you he was a romantic. Throwing balls for those he loved and turning the world upside down! So that meant he was passionate, too, right? But at the same time, he also kept taunting the runners through the labyrinth, joking how they wouldn’t win, that had been his mistake with Sarah, and the others who won. 

Maybe you were clever or something. 

It was like gathering ropes, or even fish nets, but finding them all tangled in knots. All your life you’d been told the same thing, even if it wasn’t said out loud– that you were lucky you had what you had. That you shouldn’t want more, and even if you did want that, you weren’t going to get it. So why was he doing that, why was he grabbing that fake dollhouse you made from cardboard and fuzzy memories and turning it upside down? Why was he saying that you deserved more than a dollhouse where the furniture was made from tin cans and plastic scraps? He was the goblin king, someone who had it all. A kingdom full of goblins who worshiped and adored him, a kingdom that was filled with magical creatures and things beyond your comprehension. So why, why was he saying all that? 

Was it a trick? 

Was it a lie?

Why did you still want to believe in him, after everything, after all the broken promises your mother left, after all the tears? 

Gripping the book in your hands, you let out a deep breath, running fingers through your hair. You bit your lip. You were going to figure this out. You were going to get to know him, to see if what he said was true. If that didn’t work, if he didn’t mean his words, then you weren’t meant to have a life outside of this. You nodded. Okay. That was your decision. 

Leaning your head against the pillow, the clock ticked again. You sighed and closed your eyes. 

The air smelled like spring– flowers, dried dirt, and cut grass. A breeze, humid and cool, caressed your cheeks. Walls surrounded you, and you realized that a certain king showed you this familiar place. Yet, an unfamiliar voice called your name. It sounded as old as the moon and as young as a sunrise. Your hand traced the glittering walls as you followed it. 

You stopped underneath a tree. It seemed like the tree had been grand once, hallowed out blooms collected at the ends of its withered branches. 

“Do you know what you’re doing?” the voice asked. 

You placed a hand on the trunk, noticing the crumbling bark, “I think so.” 

“You know, I don’t usually say anything, nor do I usually do anything. But I love romances. So does he. Though he won’t admit it.” 

“Who are you?” you asked, looking around,  “Why are you talking to me?” 

“Does it matter? Perhaps, I am him. Perhaps, I am you. Maybe I am nothing and everything, or I’m just bored. Maybe I want him to be happy, or maybe I am a selfish creature who longs for something new.” 

Moss grew on the wall around, and you could’ve sworn there were cracks there, just beneath the surface. You blinked, and they were gone. 

“But I will take credit where credit is due,” the voice purred, “I was the one who gave you those stories. The ones he longs to forget. I know you like stories, don’t you?” 

“Of course! But why did you give them to me?” 

A tree branch above you tapped its finger like branches against the edge of a wall. 

“You ask a lot of questions.” 

The labyrinth watched you. It never spoke, but it once had, when the king was young. When he wasn’t broken-hearted. Back then, it didn’t hunger. Back then it didn’t pine. Now, though, every sunrise rose the same, bleaching the sky with honey hues as it highlighted the crumbling walls. Every moonset sunk the same, exposing hidden corners that sagged like a king’s weary shoulders. He grew attached so easily. Always wishing those humans a soft goodbye with a flutter of his owly wings and despite how he held his head high, the labyrinth felt the lonely nights. With every human, he sang less and less, retreating to stony silences. He rarely danced, retreating to monotone stillness. New ideas, new paths, used to bloom like the dusky pink flowers that littered its gates. They were more connected, the labyrinth and him, but now it seemed he had more walls than it did. So, why did it care?
Because he used to listen. The ruler before him had been order and tight walls, spaces without gaps and tricks. Then, like that– it was all over. Chaos, growth, like a wild weed, and the Goblin King, unlike the others before him, had loved it. How could it not love him in return then? With his blue eyes and wicked grin? The labyrinth knew it was many things, an impossible task, a connected pathway, mischief, life, and peaches, but it was not loving. It was selfish. Making him happy made it happy, that’s why it cared. 

“Well I can’t help it,” you said, “I need to ask questions.” 

“What will I get for giving you an answer?” 

“Another question.” 

Its walls shook. Just a bit. A stone tumbled, falling to the ground, and you turned towards the noise. More peals of giggles, and the walls warbled, shaking like stiff jello. Feisty one, weren't you? 

“Is that all you have to offer?” It asked.
“Yes. I won’t give you anything else.” you crossed your arms, “So tell me, why give me the stories?”

Silence. Birdsong flew into your ears. It sounded like standing by a window and wanting to share the morning with someone. A sigh brought you back. The branches above you tapped against the nearby wall. 

“I ought to curse you, or worse, have the goblins drag you to my depths for asking so many questions. Why ask, why want to know? Come with him, be with him. Why do you need to know why?”

You crossed your arms, “Why shouldn’t I? Tell me. Won’t you?”

The voice reminded you of a cat. That was the only way you could explain it. The way it teased and growled, trying to play with you like a mouse, but this was your dream. 

“Why should I tell you? Let him give you the world on a silver platter, let him adore you, worship you, all he asks is for obedience, all he asks is to rule you, and is that not enough?” 

“You should tell me because…” your brow furrowed. 

Why should it tell you? You had nothing to offer. Except words, except answers and questions. Here, what you said mattered. Here, this was your dream again, wasn’t it? It was yours. Yours. 

“Because this is my dream, and I may become the future goblin queen, so don’t you think it would be best to have insurance for the future?” 

“I beg your pardon?”
“Think about it,” you said, “You can answer the questions now, with your own free will, or I could become your ruler and force you to do so.”

Was that right? Did you think that through right? That didn’t feel right.

“Could you?” 

“No. No I couldn’t. Because I know what it’s like, to be forced to do something. I wouldn’t do that to you. That’s not fair.” 

“My rulers have forced me to do many things, it would not be the first time.” 

You looked at the ground, at your bare feet. You stayed silent, listening to the sound of the wind, and the rattling of the branches. 

“But he didn’t force me. No straight lines or solid ridges with him. Perhaps, he was too young to. To him, I was the tiger that walked by his side, but now, he doesn’t care. Why did I give you those stories? Maybe because I grew tired of the same ending for my Goblin King. Maybe because I grew tired of sad eyes hidden beneath a masquerade mask, of lonely wistful sighs whispered into gardens, maybe I am tired of seeing him with a broken heart, because he has done much for me. Even though he has been neglecting me.” 

You touched the wall again, this time stroking it like an old cat that needed a friend. You couldn’t tell this voice what Jareth had done during your short time together. Even if he was an owl a big chunk of the time, you felt the most vulnerable. How could you explain how nice it felt, to have someone to talk to, even if he responded with chirps and coos? He let you bring him close, he kept coming, but that was as an owl. You hoped to keep trusting him, to finally have somewhere to run to. 

“I don’t want to force you, or hurt you to do anything.” you whispered softly, “And I don’t want to hurt him either.” 

“You humans always hurt him.” 

“And humans have always hurt me. So, how do I know I can trust him? How does he know he can trust me?”

That hurts to say. Why does it hurt? Why do you care? You shouldn’t. All your life you’ve been told to never trust, to never love, because the world is cruel and full of people who will hurt you. She told you to trust her, to love her, but there, in your bedroom, where darkness lingered despite the open curtains and open windows, you loved the world. You couldn’t help it. 

Was it because it was a dream that you could admit it? There were no bowed heads here. Your neck didn’t ache, your chest wasn’t tense, but instead, it felt like a door was opening inside you.  

You wanted to be whatever this was, whoever you were right now. 

"Is that so?" The labyrinth asked, knowing if it had a face, it'd be scowling, "All those humans love to hurt him. What makes.you any different?"

You paused, “...I don’t want to hurt him. He’s the Goblin King, and it’s not right that he was treated like a monster. He was taking away people that got wished away.” 

“He isn’t all goody goody.” 

“I.. I dunno. Maybe I know what it’s like to have the whole world see you as the worst of the worst, and not even give you a chance. Maybe I know what it’s like to live to impossible expectations and never have them met. Maybe I know what it’s like, to have to push everyone away. Maybe I’m a fool, and an idiot who always sees the good in people, even though the world is horrible. Maybe I’m silly and dumb, for hoping. For dreaming, in a life where I know I shouldn’t.” 

Why did you sound so much like him, yet so different? He was so much like them, those stupid humans. Those powerless humans. Those strong humans who, with a few words, reduced the labyrinth to nothing but a fantasy. Make believe. 

“Maybe that’s what he likes about you,” the labyrinth replied, “or maybe I’m something you’ve made up, aren’t I?” 

“I don’t think you are. And I don’t think he is either.” 

“What do I care what you think? I care about him. About his tired eyes, about how he is starting to change. That is what I care about.” 

Branches rattled, leaves grew, but you ignored them all. Was this real? Or just a dream? Or something in between, like all dreams are? Aren’t dreams just echoes of reality that go unheard when one is awake?

“Is he starting to change?” 

The voice laughed, “Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe he is further crumbling because of that one human, because of all the humans that came before her. Maybe he will one day topple over and you will be stuck there, in that pathetic world, with no one by your side.” 

More laughter. The walls shook, the ground gurgled like a river. You leaned against the wall. This was your dream. And you weren’t going to let this voice boss you around. You clenched your fists, you took a deep breath. 

“Stop with the maybes. Find another word.” 

The laughter stopped. 

You swallowed. You didn’t know what you were doing, or what you were going into. 

“Or.. perhaps,” you said, “perhaps he won’t crumble. He’s strong, isn’t he?”

“Be careful with your words, they have power.” 

“But it’s true,” you argued, “I think he’s strong– all that heartbreak, all those years alone! People rejected him.. And rejected him no matter what he did!  I know he’s the Goblin King, but he’s more there, too, isn’t he?”

Wind circled around you like a prowling predator, like a wrestler playfully stalking at the beginning of a match. It smirked as the hairs on your neck startled, and you felt it, in the way the air shifted, and how, now, it smelled of black pepper. 

“Is he?” 

“Yes. Yes he is. He’s Jareth, the little owl who came to see me. He listened to me. He gave me something back without even realizing it. I.. before he came, I never looked forward to anything. The future was just that, the future.”

It listened. 

“Everyday was just a day.” you whispered softly, “It was just the same. Work and home, home and work, but then.. He came. I started remembering what it was like to dream. I’m still remembering, even though it scares me.” 

Dreams. Dreams. Goblins whispering about him fiddling with his crystals. Some swore they heard him humming down the hall as he walked. Though, of course, many goblins said those were just rumors. The labyrinth knew better. It heard his wings fluttering as he took off to the mortal realm, it felt his smile as he slept at night. It saw those dreams– of scattering darkness, of light like water, and they sat there, melting into those stony walls. The king onced dreamed. The one before him did not. That fool was silent. Now, everything was silent again, but this silence was different. It wasn’t stiff, or orderly, but instead, it was the sound of a wall crumbling, or of stones eroding in the rain. Maybe it had dreams. Maybe it didn’t. Could labyrinths ever dream? Or were they just silent pathways that ate themselves like snakes? 

A tree shimmered, shedding leaves, and it watched you. It knew how the king watched you. He got attached so easily, to people, to stories– it was as if his heart was too greedy to not want to consume love whole. He dreamed of it, the love that was a gust of wind blowing a door wide open. He dreamed of letting someone, just someone, see him as he was, a human thing. Soft, squishy and easy to break. He dreamed of it, even though he was too cowardly to admit it, always resorting to the same tricks and the same games. 

You wanted the same thing too, didn’t you? You dreamed of it, even though you were too cowardly to admit it– resorting to silences and a head that constantly stared at the ground. 

It wondered why it even cared. Why should it? It couldn’t help it. It loved its king, as all good kingdoms do. And it liked challenges. Why wouldn’t it? Challenges are just labyrinths in disguise, both are as tricky as foxes, quick like rabbits and as wild as goblins. Yet, both are soft too, like wishes cast out in the dark. So, what was wrong with this challenge? It didn’t want to hear another goodbye that left him alone, his head held high as tears rolled down his cheeks. 

“What do I care,” it asked, “For days that are just like other days? I have lived far longer than you ever have, and I shall continue to do so, girl. I have no use for time. Why should I care? Why should I hope that this time, he won’t be alone all over again? Hm? You humans are always the same– selfish, arrogant, and vain creatures.”

“Isn’t he all those things?” 

“Perhaps, but he is my king. I love him. We all do. We fear and obey him, and he is bound to us because of that, but you humans…. You rebel, you break his rules, yet he loves you in a way he cannot love me nor his subjects. That love makes him happy, but then..” 

“Then what?” you ask softly, “Tell me.” 

“...I want him to be happy. I don’t want him to be lonely. I don’t know if you’re worthy, or if you will even matter, in the end. Perhaps a new king will come, or maybe, he’ll rule alone forever. Maybe you’ll find your way out, or you’ll be stuck forever too. You’re both in the same pit, just in different dirt.” 

A wind blew behind you. Noises flooded you then– familiar, yet new too. Mixed with the static of the radio, you could’ve sworn you heard yourself crying. You heard the opening of a closet door, the shuffling of blankets, your head laying down on a pillow. You recognized your own sighs, sniffles, and then– screaming. So much screaming. You begging. You smelled her perfume. Felt the beer now climbing up your throat. You swore you would never drink. A shadow pulled at your foot, hands clawed up your legs. 

“Different dirt indeed.” the voice murmured, “and isn’t it strange?” 

You fell to your knees. You grabbed your throat. Something was consuming you. 

“Still the same pit, the same hole, but filled with different things. Yet you two grew so differently.” 

You couldn’t breathe. 

“But why do I care? Why should I?”

You needed to breathe. 

You needed to breathe. 

Something came crawling up your arm, and the ground beneath you opened. A hand dragged you down. 

 You awoke to someone shaking you, standing above your bed. Calling your name. It sounded familiar, real, but far off and distant. 

“(Y/n)? (Y/n)? Wake up!”
“Mom?” you croaked, sitting up, panting, “wh-what? Are you– I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?” 

“Oh I don’t care about that! You had a nightmare! You okay?” 

There she was. The hand that pulled at your heart. 

She grabbed your shoulders, “(Y/n)? Are you alright?”

You nodded, “I’m fine, mom.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. Yeah I’m okay.” 

Why did she care now? Your stomach twisted, and that feeling came back. The one you had in your dream. Your heart felt like it was in a cage, and you almost wanted to wish yourself away there and then. To let it be over. But you could barely believe in maybe. You stiffened as she grabbed your shoulders, bringing you close. She smelt like alcohol. She rubbed your back. You stiffened. You pushed her away. 

“Let’s get you back to bed, mom.” you said softly, climbing out of bed, “And I’m gonna take a shower, too.” 

She scowled at you, arms crossed, and you could tell she was still a bit buzzed. 

“What? Don’t you wanna go to sleep?” you asked. 

“Why.. why’d you push me away, huh?” 

You looked at her, crossing your arms, “I pushed you away because it’s too soon to be up. Let’s get you to bed, mom. Aren’t you sleepy? I know you wanna go back to sleep, right?” 

How come you hadn’t pushed Jareth away?

Your mom grunted, “Fine.. but don’t complain about.. Nothin!” 

“I won’t, mom.” you replied softly, “I didn’t complain earlier, did I? Now come on.” 

“Wh-why would you.. complain?” 

You held your tongue, grabbing her arm, and lifting her from the bed, letting her lean on your shoulder again as you guided her back to her room. You noticed the sun starting to rise, and you sighed. You wished all the questions and answers within you would just stop for a moment. Opening her door, you sat her on the mattress, gently tucking her in. 

“So.. fucking ungrateful, you know that? E-everything I do.. Done it all for you! H-how come.. You always treat me like that, huh? A-always push me away? Y-you should talk to me! I-it’s not fair!” 

You bit your lip. Jareth's words were in your chest, now. Ringing. There was only maybe now, like a wave pool, pushing and purring, demanding to be known. Maybe you deserved better. You just had to see, is all. Your mom closed her eyes, and you sighed, before getting out of her room, closing the door behind you. You just had to wait, because sometimes, if you don’t look, the ground will crumble beneath you without a trace.

Chapter Text

Ever since you were small, the night had been a comforting friend. Especially autumn nights like these, where the leaves shivered in anticipation and magic. The events of last night flickered in your mind again, the way he gently spoke to you, and the way you forgot how you were supposed to speak. You weren’t supposed to talk back, you weren’t supposed to purse your lips and roll your eyes– you weren’t even supposed to laugh! But you did. 

You giggled, and teased, you acted so sillily human. 

It’d been even sillier to ask him to come and walk you home. 

Why did you do it? Why would he even care? And why were you staring out into the parking lot with a mop in your hands, hoping? You needed to get back to work. He couldn’t really be coming. It’d been just a dream, and dreams never mattered. 

So why did he act like yours were magical, wondrous things? 
They were just dreams. And this was reality.
Reality was you needed to be prepared to walk yourself home, and not let your imagination run silly. No more tears, or wasted time on crying. 
Though– what would it be like, to not have to be prepared all the time? 

What would it be like, to have tears and have someone wipe them away?
What would a world where mistakes didn’t end up with the ground crumbling beneath you be like?

Stupid dreams, ugly fantasies, crawling along the edges, glimmering ultramarine and seafoam blue. Moments like these, where the store you worked at was empty, and all you had for company were quiet clothing racks, tacky home décor, and ridiculously priced shampoo, invited imagination. Going to the bookstore, riding your bike, or having those quiet mornings made your dreams brim to the surface, just like bubbles. During those times, when the sun shyly peeked through the trees, and the birds woke the air up with their songs, you could dream of anything. You could be anything, but those were just daydreams. Daydreams filled with a small apartment, a window full of with potted plants, a library card, a nice job.. A home that was quiet, and never smelled like beer, but instead of your favorite candles. 

A place where.. Where you were safe. 

There was no way he was offering that. 

Declarations of love? Saying he loved you? Saying he wished to repay your kindness? No, no, that world didn’t exist. How many times had your mom said she loved you? How many times had she said she appreciated you? Wasn’t your life filled with a trail of her broken promises? How many times had she promised no more sketchy neighborhoods, or a fridge filled with food? How many? But you wanted to believe, anyway. But you didn’t want to be left out in the rain again. 

Not again. 

Still, despite all that, some part of you was here. Hoping. He did always find you after work when he was just an owl, but that was different. He was just an owl, then. You got to talk, and talk. You got to forget about the weight on your shoulders, or about how no one liked it when you spoke. You forgot to not get too close to anyone, and showed him your favorite movies as he settled into your lap, cooing over him gently. You cooed over a FREAKING GOBLIN KING! And now said king wanted to whisk you away. 

Why? How come? What had you done to deserve all that? It just didn’t make sense! And maybe you did deserve better and– no, no! You shook your head, it couldn’t even be a maybe. You pushed your thoughts away, and took a deep breath, looking towards the parking lot. All his words could be lies. Just something to lure you in like a gingerbread house in the middle of the woods, before revealing the hungry witch inside. 

Really, all you had done was give him food, and company but.. You thought back to the stories in the book. How he gave, and gave, bending over backwards, living to impossible expectations, but still ending up in a world similar to yours. No wait. No. Your world wasn’t like that! You had a job, a family! Just like everyone else, and everything was okay. Your mom could be worse, it was a miracle she was still letting you live with her. You were an adult, she could have kicked you out, the moment you turned eighteen and– you clenched the mop in your hands. 

Sometimes, she made you feel like you were trapped in a castle, forced to watch the world go by. You watched people make friends, watched them smile, and read about families fixing the cracks, before wrapping themselves in each other, holding on tight, promising to never let go. 

That was your world, wasn’t it? 

Or really, was your world getting left out in the rain? Or waking up in the middle of the night from a dream turned nightmare, and having to push her away as you pretended that it didn’t bother you? How much of this morning had you spent, sitting alone, thinking about it? Over, and over again? The darkness that smelled just like her, that played her favorite songs, that turned into static, into noise– talking, a voice that never let you speak and always left you alone, even when it said it loved you. The same one that promised to pick you up after work and left you in the rain. 

You wondered if he was used to getting left out too. Who defended him, when no one was there? 

A white stark flew across your vision, and you gasped, drawn from your reverie. The mop fell from your hands as you rushed outside. The brisk breeze greeted you, blowing your hair as you frantically looked around the parking lot. Hoping, hoping, hoping and– and there he was! Settling into the basket of your bike, making a small noise as he saw you. After a glance inside, you ran to your bike, heart hammering as you looked into his eyes. 

“It’s you,” you breathed, leaning down, “Y-you came! Wait. It.. it is you, right? Y-you aren’t just a regular owl and I’m going crazy and finally having a mental break down and–” 

The air sparkled. The wind blew harder, causing leaves to scatter around you. His feathers puffed up, and he took to the air, wings stretching, feathers melting into skin, morphing like light. His deep dark eyes melted, fading into familiar blue ones, and the hair on his head followed, sprouting from his head like golden lines. 

There he stood. Right in front of you. 

As real as you, dressed in puffy ruffled sleeves and an indigo vest that sparkled light stars. His pants were definitely too tight and– woah, (Y/n), do not go there! Focus, girl! Not on his– up! Look up, damn it!

He placed a gloved hand on his hip, “Like what you see?”
You cleared your throat, shaking your head, “Wait– I mean– yes? Wait. I can’t believe you’re here, that's all!”
He pursed his lips, “I keep my word.”
“I-I can see that. Um, there’s a few more minutes until I get off. I– don’t get too cold and I’ll get you a snack afterwards, since you’re waiting for me.”
“I don’t need anything.”
“I gotta go back inside.”
“Wait, truly, I don’t–”
"Byeee!” 

You rushed off, swearing you heard him scoff as you did. You pinched yourself as you entered. You glanced at the clock. You needed to hurry the fuck up and get this done! Anyway, you were going to get him something. You needed somewhere to just sit, and think, and figure this all out! Because why did you feel like you had so much in common with him? What did that voice mean, when it said it wanted things to end differently for him? 

And why, why on earth did you want things to end differently for you too? 

Work was work, and you were happy to be off. Your manager locked the door behind her, before turning towards you. 

"Do you need a ride?” she asked softly.
You shook your head, “Nah. Thank you though.” 

You knew your mom would have a fit if you accepted, and anyway, exercise was always good, wasn’t it? 

“You sure?”
You nodded again, “Yeah, and anyway, I’m gonna go to a little coffee place nearby with someone.” 

You looked towards the parking lot, a frown crossing your lips. Where’d he go? You shook your head. He was just here, wasn’t he? Your manager gave you an unsure glance before nodding and walking off, hopping into her car and driving away. Sighing, you popped your umbrella open, and there he was– stroking the basket of your bike fondly. 

“Jareth?”
He turned towards you, “Hello.”
“Where’d you go?”
“I hid behind the tree, it’s not my fault you’re blind.” he replied. 
“You’re still here.” 
“Of course. I would not lie about walking you home. It’d be a silly thing to lie about.” 
Your eyebrows furrowed, “Can you lie?”
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” he shrugged, “Now then. It is time to walk you home.”
“Oh, wait! Not yet! I’ll get you something for the trouble!”
“What? No! That is unnecessary. I demand to take you home as soon as possible.” 

You walked over to him, and stood beneath the cover of the tree, wait. How did your bike get under here, anyway? Wasn’t it chained to a pole earlier? You know what? Not important. You crossed your arms. Wait, he moved your bike, didn’t he? Did you forget to chain it up or did he use some magic? Not important! What you needed was to go home, but you didn’t want to, not yet, at least. 

“As soon as possible?” you asked.
“Yes. As soon as possible.”
“So, not immediately, then?”
“Yes, immediately!”
“Well… I can’t go home yet.”
"What? Why on earth not?”
“I’m hungry! Are you gonna let me starve?” you placed a hand on your chest, “And, there’s a place nearby that gives out free food if you come near closing time!”
“I said I would walk you home. Not that I would eat with you.”
“It’s on the way,” you raised your brows, wiggling them a bit, “Aren’t you hungry? You always were when you visited! Aren’t you cold, freezing? Don’t you want something to warm you up?” 

Jareth crossed his arms, and looked at you. You wiggled your brows. He frowned. You smiled. His frown deepened. He couldn’t let you do this to him. No. He was taking you home, even though something warm to drink did sound nice. No one had ever offered him one before, and he wanted to know what it was like to drink tea with somebody. It was something he often read about in books. He knew drinking tea with goblins wasn’t the same. Probably because they tended to wreck his fine china. 

“And you know, I wouldn’t mind something to drink! The drinks are cheap!”
He sighed, “(Y/n), come now–”
“You should just shush and let someone buy you a warm drink and a snack–”
“You’re getting those snacks for free! And why do you insist on doing this, anyway? Would it not be easier to just let me walk you home and forget the rest?” 

Why did you? 

Because he was giving you choices. Because he wasn’t forcing you to go with him. Because right now, your mother was a far off villain in a far off story, and it was only the two of you, and the puddles of rain that littered the parking lot. He hadn’t realized that you did deserve everything that happened to you and that the maybe he gave you yesterday was spun sugar, and could break at any moment. Though, you wanted it to last. You wanted this little moment that was like a snow globe, to last. A small part of you wanted to see if that maybe would turn into something more sturdy than a pleasant wispy day dream. 

“Well,” you said, “It’s because I like you. And I think we should spend more ti–”
“You like me?” he asked, eyes widening, before he shook his head, “Wait, wait. I knew that. Yes.”
You raised a brow, “Of course I like you. And anyway, I always gave you food whenever you visited.”
“Mostly apples.”
“Do you not like them?”
“Peaches are my favorite.”
You gasped, “This place has peach tea!”
"Peach tea?” he asked, narrowing his eyes, “There’s such a thing?”
You nodded, “Yeah! But.. well, if you want to take me home immediately, then that’s okay. Even though you seem like a real peach fan– I mean, you wore peach lip gloss the other day, and you’re wearing a peachy blush right now, aren’t you? And I imagine, as a big fan of peaches, you’d love to try some peach tea, wouldn’t you? Unless.. You don’t really like peaches?”
“I don’t like them! I–” his cheeks flushed, and he cleared his throat, “I love them, but that’s not the point. Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“Oh? But I wasn’t flattering you, although that blush you’re wearing is flattering.” 

Jareth froze, and you grinned, tilting your head. He touched his cheek. 

“You’re very stubborn! I do mean it– flattering me won’t get you anywhere!"
“It won’t?” 

Silence. Then a huff. 

“Fine!” Jareth exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air,  "We– we shall go! But only because I want to try the tea! Nothing else!”
You cheered, before giggling, “Alright, let’s go!”
“Ah, ah ah–” he wagged a finger in your face, “You must agree to go home afterwards. And stop being so stubborn.”
“I’ll agree to go home, but only after we eat, deal?”
“Yes yes!” he agreed, waving you off “I don’t get why you want to go! It’s silly.”
You shrugged, before going to your bike and unchaining it,  “Maybe, but I don’t know.. I want to spend time with you. Hasn’t anyone wanted to do that before?” 

Has anyone ever wanted to? Memories reached through his mind like a fog, and he grasped at them like fragile straws. He caught something– a time where someone leaned over him, and she smiled. The world was new, and he wasn’t a Goblin King. Just a simple babe filled with gurgles and laughter. Then, he was the Goblin King. A trickster, a thief. He could steal away any beautiful maid or handsome lad, but they never stayed. No matter what he did. Even if he granted wishes, or gave out adventures, it was never enough. He was always the same at the end, a fantastical villain who didn’t deserve love. 

“No. I suppose not.” he replied, continuing to walk.
You struggled to catch up, “Well, I know the feeling. I want to spend time with you, and get to know you.”
“Why?”
You shrugged again, “Why not? Wouldn’t you want to get to know the Goblin King who’s asking to whisk you away?”

This is why he wanted to take you, here and now, so you’d never know, so you’d never see him as they all did at the end– powerless, weak and  pathetic. It was fine when the first runner said it, the second, third, fourth.. Even the fifth.. He couldn’t tell when it started to have an effect on him, those words. He couldn’t tell when they rendered him a silly, and lonely king, who only knew how to play games. Yet, this wasn’t a game, but a hand stretching out and asking to be held.That’s why his cheeks started to burn as you looked at him. Why he preened in front of the mirror before coming, remembering how nice it was to admire himself. 

“Is that all you truly ask of me?” 
"Mm.. well I’d ask for more, but I think I’d overwhelm you,” you chuckled, “You already seem overwhelmed at the prospect of us talking, you know.” 

He sent you a look. 

“What? It’s true.”
“Well I’m not overwhelmed!”
You grinned, “Okay.”
"I’m not.”
“Alright.”
“Truly, I am not.”
“At this point, you’re trying to convince yourself more than me, Jareth.” 
“I suppose I ought to let you walk alone.” 

You gave him a look, before starting to walk faster than him. He followed, swearing he could’ve seen a look of pride on your face as his boots clicked against the pavement. He couldn't let you walk alone. He wouldn’t allow it. 

“I thought you were gonna let me walk home alone?” 
“I want peach tea.” 
A smirk, “If you say so.” 

You still weren’t telling him to leave. That didn’t make sense. None of this did. You asked him to come, and now walked beside him as you crossed the road, before taking a different turn than usual. He saw buildings in the distance, and briefly recognized them from the trip to the bookstore. You’d been so happy to go, and he’d been so happy to go with you. 
He wanted to keep feeling that, that little happiness, that warmth, and how desperately a part of him wanted to snatch you away, but he couldn’t do it. Maybe because choices had been robbed from you so many times before, or perhaps, it was because he wanted you to keep choosing him. You wouldn’t choose him if he forced you, would you? Would your soft humming turn into silence, or would the sound of his voice make the color seep from your cheeks? Didn’t your mother do that to you? It’d been easy to notice, really. 

That’s why he never understood families. He still didn’t understand them– but he knew they weren’t like yours. Goblins could be as stupid as dirt and rough around the edges, but they loved each other dreadfully. Sometimes, when they were bustling and hustling, he watched them. How they loved each other, stood by each other, defended each other. Sometimes he felt a prick in his chest that tasted like jealousy. Especially as he wondered what it would be like, to be loved like that. 
Just like how you loved your family like that. Though, he knew human families were nothing like goblin ones, but more akin to clay pots. A little squiggly, crooked, but still whole. Whenever cracks formed, everyone came together, looked at it, and admitted they needed to fix it. 

That’s how it ended with the last one. She apologized to her baby brother, became closer with that “wicked” stepmother, and left him in the dust. And the one before– what had they wished away? He could barely remember, now.. Oh! It was a child of somesort. But that runner too admitted their wrongs, though they never left his labyrinth. He almost felt bad, as he watched them cry. Of course, he turned the siblings into goblins, giving them a little cottage to live in. He only did that because he couldn’t stand their tears. Nothing more. 

Yet somehow, looking at you, he knew that if you wished your mother away, you’d still love her. Even though loving her was like holding a family portrait with burning hands. How could he not feel his heart pinch at that?  When you’d been so kind to him? Seeing you hurt, crying, and just wishing for something so simple made him feel like your heart reflected his in some strange way. 

You grabbed his arm, and chained your bike before opening a glass door. He raised a brow at the music that greeted his ears– then the smell of coffee hit him. It wasn’t bad, per say, but strong. Tacky signs praising coffee beat at his eyes, although the still lives of flowers and mugs were quite nice, albeit still tacky. Bookshelves rested against the walls, surrounded by tables and chairs, some cleverly placed to hide scuffed wooden floors, while others highlighted the aged wood. Everything seemed a bit aged, but he knew it couldn’t be that old. You dragged him to the cash register like a doll before he could ogle further, and ordered the peach tea. 

It better be worth it. 

His eyes felt a bit insulted. 

Not quite, but still. You shouldn’t drag him around like that! Or be so casually affectionate! 

“Are you alright?” you asked.
“I’m fine.” 

With that, you ordered it and you both waited at a nearby table. Even if he didn’t like the rain outside, and he had to admit that the decor was very on theme, he still liked… this . The way your shoulders melted as you looked out the window, and the way you glowed so strangely, like a small ember in the middle of a dying hearth. It almost frightened him, and he knew you could easily break his heart. He knew that heartbreak would lurk in his lungs, invade his ribcage, and join the rest of the pain he hid within his chest. 

The same pain that strained his magic. 

The same pain that rendered him powerless. No, no. He wasn’t weak! He stopped visiting this realm because humans were all the same– greedy, open mouthed monsters who always demanded more! And he never cried, he never demanded more than he needed. 

Never. 

He was a wall, he was chaos, nothing and everything at once. But here you sat, and here you glowed, and he wondered how on earth you could do that, despite it all. Hurt lingered around your edges like a tea-stained glass, and he wondered– oh, he wondered, how it would feel like to be that little owl again. To just be that owl. The one you comforted and cooed over, the one you teased. He wanted you to keep treating him like that. No, no. He wanted more than that. Wanted you to gently open that little door, and see everything that frightened him to death. Open the door, so he could dance, sing, and laugh again– be powerful, again! 

Yet what would happen if you rejected him anyway, and said those dreadful words? What would happen if your eyes grew wide with fear, if you saw him as a monster? He’d never get back up again. Then, that would just reveal the truth, wouldn’t it? That he was nothing but a vile, lonely goblin king whose only company were his luxuries. That no one would ever love him enough to transverse a labyrinth, nor would anyone care enough to do the opposite of what he offered. To disobey, to bend against his will, to fight back, and here, you’d already done that. Someone yelling about an order being ready pulled him out of his thoughts, and he turned towards the noise. You got up from the table and came back with two drinks and a small paper bag. He wrinkled his nose. 

“Is that– is that ice?”
You rolled your eyes, “Yes.”
He eyed the cup, “Why on earth would you have tea with ice?”

You sat across from him again, and plopped the drink in front of him. 

“Jareth?”
“Yes?”
“Drink the drink.”
“It’s poison. I shall die.”
“Jareth?”
“Yes?”
"Just drink the drink. It’s not poison. And you’re not going to die. I’m too attached to you to let you, so you better drink it.”
Jareth leaned back into his seat, sighing, “Oh.. I don’t know..” he murmured, unable to help a small smirk on his face, “What do I get out of it?”
In response, you reached across the table, grabbing it,  “Well, if you don’t want it, I’ll drink it–”
He stopped you, “Now, I didn’t say that! Here. Give it here!” He took it back, staring at the straw and bits of peaches within the cup like eggs from another planet,  “If it’s terrible I’ll kidnap you.” 

You just smirked, happily sipping your drink as you watched him try it.  His eyes widened. This– this was good! It was delicious! What on earth?! Cold tea is a sin! An abomination– but, why, it was perfect!

“Sooo?”
“So what?”
“Was I right?”
He turned away from the drink, nose held high, “No.”
“Oh? I wasn’t? Then I’ll take the drink then.” you said, before reaching your hand out, making a “gimme” motion, “Give it to me.” 

Jareth held the drink to his chest. He wasn’t letting this go. It was divine. It even had bits of peaches in it! And even though it wasn’t the best, and it wasn’t warm, he quite liked it! It was different, and new, but he still liked it! When was the last time he had discovered something? When was the last time something went off course, or off kilter? He wasn’t sure. His life within the castle had become routine. 

“You said I would get a warm drink. It is cold.”
“So.. you don’t want it?”
“I didn’t say that. You gave it to me. It’d be a shame to waste it.” 

You raised your brows, before nodding. He watched your smile wiggle and stretch against a smirk as you sipped your tea.

“Don’t laugh.” Jareth demanded. 

You laughed anyway. 

He scoffed, “If you keep laughing, I will–”
You giggled more, now. 

“You know what?! Perhaps, I’ll turn you into a toad! And there’ll be no true love’s kiss to save you!”
You grinned, “Your threats aren’t very original, Jareth.”
He gasped, placing a hand on his chest,  “O-original? My– MY THREATS AREN’T–”
You slammed a hand over his mouth, and smiled at the people around you, and hissed, “Keep your voice down!”

You turned towards everyone, gently apologizing, before sending him a look. He raised a brow, saying something. 

“What?” you asked. 

He pointed to your hand. 

“Oh.” you removed it.
“My threats aren’t original? The bog is a wonderful threat!” he whisper-hissed, before slamming the table, “To everyone except you !”

You just bit your lip, trying not to laugh. 

“You know what I ought to do?” he continued, “I ought to turn you into a poisonous mushroom! I’d leave your conscience intact, and even give you the option of true love’s kiss saving you! But you’d be a mushroom! Yes! And no one would be able to save you!” 

He grinned evilly, and you couldn’t help but grin back. 

“That’s very creative, sire.” you replied, before clapping, “And it’s a very good threat.” 

Jareth clenched his jaw. He glared at you. 

“If you don’t shush,” he placed his elbow on the table, pointing at you, “ I will do it, (Y/n.) I’m very tempted.”

Why on earth was he letting you do all this, anyway? 

Well, he knew, didn’t he? Though he’d never admit it. 

Just like how he’d never admit that he never threw that pesky little dwarf into the bog. He was a good gardener, and tended to the labyrinth! It wasn’t as if he was touched by the fact that the little coward held his head high when Jareth found him after that girl went home. It wasn’t as if he was impressed by how dedicated he was, oh no. It wasn’t that. Not at all. He simply got too lazy to do it that day, and the next one…. And soon, after that, he was forgotten. 

You then leaned across the table, catching his attention, and your eyes sparkled playfully. 

“May I at least eat first? Before you turn me into a mushroom?” you asked, “I’m really hungry.”
“Then I suppose you ought to shut up and eat, before I do!”
You nodded, “Of course.”
“What on earth are you laughing at? You should be cowering in fear!” he leaned closer to you, “You should be shaking, begging me to not hurt you! Yet you aren’t! You are laughing at me! The Goblin King!” 
Your smile widened, and after a few more giggles, you looked into his eyes, “You know you don’t scare me right?” 

He stared at you. Those words sparked strangely in his chest, and a sweet fluttering erupted from the sparks. His cheeks flushed. What a fool he was, letting you speak to him fondly, letting you smile at him. What an idiot he was, to keep coming back. Not even his goblins acted like this. How many times had they bent over backwards to please him, or cowered as he walked by? Didn’t they love him? Wasn’t that what love was?
Though, he liked this better than being cowered at. It felt nice, being cared for, in a way that just wasn’t a human dreaming about a king fulfilling their fantasies. No. That was a stupid thought. He knew what love was. He wasn’t an idiot. 

“Do you want me to be scared of you?” you asked, “Is that why you keep coming? Is that why you keep threatening me?”

Damn you and your damn eyes. How your gaze held him then, and how you cared– why, he could see it! The way your eyebrows crinkled, the way your eyes became gentle hands that held him like a glass flower. 

“Or,” you breathed, “Are you somehow scared of me?” 

He froze. You tilted your head. 

He crossed his arms, looking you over. He laughed. 

“Don’t be foolish! Why on earth would I be scared of you? You can’t even hurt a fly! You let me in without a second thought! You were kind to me! And I didn’t even do anything to deserve it! So, pray tell, why on earth would I be scared of a kind little human?” 

You kept looking at him, so sweetly, and softly, before pulling your gaze away, and looking at the cup in front of you. 

“I’m not used to people being kind to me either.” you replied, “But.. I dunno. You really don’t scare me at all. And you shouldn’t even try. I like you because you don’t.”
“You shouldn’t like me at all! Though I am flattered.” 
“But I do. You’re the sweet owl who came to my window, and you’re also the person who did everything he could for someone he loved.”
“Didn’t you see how I tricked all those poor little humans? How I threatened them? How I scared them?” 
Your smile formed into a tight line, before morphing into a frown, “You did trick all those people, but didn’t they wish someone away? Shouldn’t they have to work to get someone they love back? Shouldn’t they have to prove that they actually love that person instead of just– of just.. Hurting them over and over again and then blaming them for getting hurt?” 

Your jaw clenched as you clutched the cup in front of you tighter. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but your eyes seemed misty. 

“And–” you took a deep breath, “And maybe all those stories felt familiar. Maybe I know what it’s like to jump, and jump, but never be able to reach someone’s expectations. Maybe I know what it’s like to turn the world upside down for someone, only to have them look at you like you’re a monster.”
“I’m sure you have no idea what that feels like.” Jareth replied curtly, “You’re only human, after all.” he then sighed, now resting his chin on his hand, “And we didn’t come here to chat, did we? Weren’t you the one who dragged me out here to eat and have a warm drink? Which, by the way, isn't even warm!” 

He grabbed the cup, shaking it dramatically in your face. 

Foolish little human. Bearing your heart out like that. What would he do with it? What could he do with it? Take it in his hands, and crush it. Tear it to bits and pieces, and see if you’d still be kind then? But, you kept.. Arguing with him. Resisting him. Or, no, that wasn’t it. He couldn’t boss you around, simply because you wouldn’t let him. 

And why on earth did he like that? 

“Well, yeah..” you muttered, “But you know eating is social and–”
“And? And? Eat! Eat!”
“Fine! And don't be rude." you grumbled, grabbing a cookie out of the bag, before holding it in front of his face and shaking it. 

He smirked. Good. He nodded in satisfaction. You did as he said and– why on earth were you shaking that bag in his face? What were you doing?

“What?”
“You too!” 

He stared.

You shook the bag harder. 

He felt his eyebrow twitch. He knew a challenge. He was going to win! It’d been ages, since he’d been challenged. You kept shaking the bag. 

Before, finally, you put down your cookie, crossed your arms, and upturned your nose. 

“What are you doing?”
“I won’t eat unless you do,” you replied, “Aren’t you hungry? I’m hungry, but I don’t like eating alone. So you should eat with me! We always ate together when you were an owl, so we should do it now.” 

He groaned, rolling his eyes. He heard you stifle a chuckle. 

“And if I refuse?” 

Your eyes shifted around nervously. 

“Well? What have you got?”
“Um.. well.. Uh.. oh! I won’t eat if you refuse, and then we’ll keep staying here. You did say we have to go as soon as possible, but–” you gasped, “But I said I’d only go home after we ate, and you agreed and we made a deal!”
“I-I  did not say we had a deal.”
“But, you agreed to the deal. Hey,” you beamed, “Maybe I am clever after all!” 

More glaring. He despised your guts! Maybe if he glared, you’d go back on the deal. His eyebrow twitched, especially as you kept your arms crossed. He wanted to place you on a spike! No, throw you into a bog! Turn you into a mushroom! Although, he'd be a very pathetic mushroom, he wasn't that strong. Didn't he used to be stronger? Didn't he used to have power? 

“Well,” you sighed, “I guess I’ll never go home. I’ll be stuck here forever, now.” 

With that, he sent daggers in the air. He grabbed a cookie from the bag, and you picked yours back up, grinning like a cat who caught a mouse. 

Honestly, wouldn’t it have been better if he just walked you home and left? He shouldn’t even have talked to you! Being feared was easier than this.  Having goblins apologize for nothing, yet bask in his presence was easier! 

Though, when those humans came to his labyrinth, challenging him and refusing to obey, he got a taste of something new. A taste of a feeling that wasn’t as bitter as old wine and shadowy rooms, and being here with you tasted like that feeling, but it was softer, and less spiker going down. You casually sat in front of him, and you were still smirking as you ate. You practically glowed, and even though he’d eaten a cookie before, and drank tea (never iced, of course) he never.. Never what? He’d never been treated like this before! Compassion was just a wielded blade to be used at any moment– good deeds were used for opportunity, gratitude was an admittance of debt, especially with his kind. Yet with you, he just showed up none of that existed. 

It felt.. nice. 

A small hiccup caught his attention, and he looked up. He raised a brow. 

“What? Did you eat too fast?” he asked.
“I–” another hiccup, you cleared your throat, “I was really hungry.”
He tried not to smile too much, “Oh come now, you surely didn’t eat that fast–” 

You hiccuped again. 

He had to stop himself from laughing, “Just.. oh… hold your breath or something, I’m sure it’ll go away.” 

You nodded, took a gulp of air, and held your breath. 

You looked so ridiculous! 

Puffed up cheeks and nose held. He thought back to his silly train of thought. Him thinking he could be anything more than the Goblin King, and how you gave him that opportunity to be.. To be what? Soft? Pathetic? Powerless? Was that it? Is that what you had done? Or was it your eyes, and the way you looked at him, that seemed to just call out to him in a strange and silly way?
He didn’t like those thoughts.
What use were they? Goblins were not soft, palatable creatures! They stole, plundered, and it was his duty to control them! He supposed– oh, he knew he got jealous! Of those humans, with their families, and their love, and how ungrateful they could be! How even he, when he loved, and loved, was never appreciated! It wasn’t as if he watched you and you went through the same thing! It wasn’t as if he emphasized with you, felt some form of compassion, and it wasn’t as if he was ready to run and leave you to rot before you realized that! But then, at the same time– at the same, stupidly, little time, he didn’t want to run. 

He knew himself. He was cruel, selfish, even. But with you, he forgot. In your little gaze he was precious, and sweet,  but still, desperately, he needed to grab this moment.  He needed to grasp the sound of the cracking thunder outside, snatch the lighting starting to trace the sky, and hoard it. There weren’t any goblins here, gratuitously complimenting him and the glitter on his cheeks for hopes of favors. There was no labyrinth, either. It was far away. There wasn’t an empty bed, or a lone throne, or a library that only responded to inquiries with echoes, but you. You, still holding your breath.  He wondered if when you let go of the breath you were holding, if this little bubble would burst. If it would all vanish, and if he’d wake up– surrounded by glimmering trinkets and downy filled blankets, only the memory of this dream comforting him. 

“You know, I don’t think your hiccups are going away.” he clipped, “And you look well.. Like a fool.” 

You let out the breath you were holding, and tried to quietly gasp for air. 

“I could scare them away. I’ve read that’s what you’re supposed to do.” 
You rolled your eyes, “Ha, ha.”
He glowered, “Eat before I decide to do so.”
"Well, I think they’re gone.” you laughed. 

You both nestled back into silence. Honestly, it’d be better if you were just with him in the labyrinth! He’d spoil you rotten with gifts and trinkets, do anything and he could, so that you wouldn’t and couldn’t  leave! You shook the cookie bag in front of him and he grabbed another one. He liked being given things. Not just silly things, so he could grant a wish for a goblin, or a human, but simply just because. 

“I don’t understand why on earth you wish to spend time here, when you could be within my labyrinth, spoiled rotten?”
You took a deep breath, “Because I want to know why. Because I want to spend time with someone without having to be scared. And I like spending time with you. That’s why– and I told you, in my dream, I just want.. I want to be safe. I don’t need anything more.
A dramatic sigh fell from his lips as he rolled his eyes, “Honestly, the things you put me through! You are quite lucky I tolerate this, (Y/n). Although in my labyrinth, it might be another story.” 

You gave him a look. 

“What?”
“That’s the silliest thing I’ve heard you say!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“If you don’t like being here with me, you can leave, even though I don't want you to. If you don’t like talking to me, you can tell me to shut up. But you haven’t done those things. So why should things be different in the labyrinth?”
"Please, what do you know? Maybe I’m tricking you, maybe I plan to make you a servant and–” 
You pointed a finger at him, “Then do it. But the thing is–”
“Yes?”
You paused, face contorting in thought, “The thing is you’ve never done this before with anyone, have you? You never treated the runners like this, even though you said you loved them. You never talked to them and just..”
“And just what? Since you’re so clever?” 

You kept looking at him then. He watched your eyes trace him. Observe him. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. 

“Maybe all those other runners just treated you like.. A villain, and maybe that’s why you did what you did in return,” you whispered, before looking towards the window, “I know what it’s like to– wait, what am I saying? She’s my mom.” 

You laughed bitterly, biting your lip, before blowing out air. 

You placed your cheek on your hand, looking towards the window.

Did you know what it was like? He had a feeling you knew how to love with an open wound, to try and beckon someone close despite your bleeding hands. Sitting in front of you, he realized he thought of those foolish thoughts again. The ones that made him peek into your life, and get closer. The ones that made him fly back to you, because he wondered why on earth you smiled so much, unlike him. He wasn’t supposed to care, but he did. Even if it scared him, what scared him even more was the change happening, the slow sprout he felt growing inside his chest. The one that threatens, absolutely threatens to crumble him to bits. The sprout wasn't a simple love song, or magic so weak it felt tired, but a magic he had before he was broken. A magic that was unlimited, unconstrained by hurt or anger. 

What would happen if he felt that again? And what on earth would he do if you still crumbled him like the rest? 

“..I wonder,” you said softly, “if that’s what all my dreams are about. Or maybe even the reason why those stories appeared.” 

“Attention guests!” 

You both startled, turning towards the source of the voice– a cashier, standing behind the register. 

“We close in fifteen minutes!” she called, “you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!”
“Crap.” you muttered, “Alright, let’s go.”
“Why?”
“Jareth.”
"I’ve told you my name, don't abuse it.”
“Look, you never stay past closing! It’s inconsiderate! Come on.”

He sighed, watching you stand up, sweep away your crumbs, before gathering your things. You then reached over before cleaning his side of the table as well, and chugged down your tea. He frowned. He crossed his arms. 

“I don’t see why we’re in a rush–”
You gave him a look, “Look, you try staying thirty minutes over because someone refused to leave! I thought– hey, aren’t manners important to you? I mean, you’ve been hospitable to every guest you’ve had within your home, haven’t you?”
“Many of them are more like captives,” Jareth muttered, “But yes.”
“Then you should understand where I’m coming from!” you stood beside him now, “So hurry!” 

He sneered at you, and you kept giving him that look. 

You rolled your eyes, “Okay. Let me try this. Imagine if you were that cashier lady. And imagine you were ready to go home, but some people are refusing to leave!” 

He glowered at the glass of tea in front of him, imagining it. His nose scrunched up, his lips formed into a scowl. 

“Fine!” he said, exasperated “But not because you told me to!” 

He quickly (yet elegantly) drank his tea before unceremoniously (yet kingly) stuffing his face with a cookie. 

“There. Happy?”
“Very!” you replied, “Now, come on.”
“I don’t want to. This seat is comfortable.”
"Jareth.”
“Yes?”
“Let’s go. Now.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m about to if you don’t get off that chair!”

His lips cracked into a smile, and he placed a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, hands on your hips.
"You!” he snickered, “Let’s go. You look as if you’re going to burst a vein!”  

You led him to the door, wished the staff a good night, and apologized for staying so late, before grabbing your umbrellas on the way out. Once outside, you unfurled yours, still holding Jareth’s. He basked underneath the cover of your umbrella as you unchained your bike, and as you stepped forward, he followed. 

Why did he let you take him to that silly little café?
Would he have let any of the others he loved do that? No, he wouldn’t have, but that was because they were always so gut wrenchingly cruel! Going through his labyrinth, having that wonderful adventure, and then ripping his heart out! Anyway, it wasn’t his fault they wished someone away, and it was like you said– shouldn’t they have to prove their worth? So of course he used tricks and magic to get what he wanted, but who could blame him? Though, how on earth could he be the Goblin King when he didn’t even understand what he was up against? Were you even challenging him at all? 

No. That couldn’t be it. Though, it seemed like it. 

Just in a softer way, a gentler way, and still, that made him long to disappear from view as you led the way home, but the smile you held– just for him, anchored him to you.

Chapter Text

Bookshelves surrounded you, expanding and blending into the ocean of a sky. Gray clouds scattered across the sleepy horizon, stained with the warm glow of a setting sun. Woods hovered in the distance, beckoning you. They felt familiar somehow. Like a collage from story books you read when you were small. You stepped forward. Old leaves, tanned with age, crunched underneath your sneakers. The smell of pine tickled your nose, and branches rustled softly within the wind. Your heartbeat picked up. 

What was out there? 

Was it okay to find out?
Wanting, wishing, all of that was easier before your brother left. It was easier to want, to wish, when you have someone small to protect. When that small person– who isn’t so small anymore, looks at you and cries because you stood up to your mom again. 

Then he left. 

Then you were shown how much no one cared. 

How no one wanted to help you. 

How no one wanted better for you. 

So there was nothing out there, but foolish dreams and crazy stories that were just fairytales. You looked at the bookshelf closest to you, filled to the brim with stories you weren’t supposed to want, before looking to the woods. 

Could you really go? 

No. No. 

You couldn’t. 

And why would you want to? Everything was fine, everything was okay. 

Your gaze traveled up, and ropey vines climbed up the dark shelf, cascading leaves a curtain of green tear drops. Ancient brown tomes blended into the wood, except for one. 

A red leatherbound one. 

You shouldn’t reach for that one. You shouldn’t want that story. The sort of story where someone would choose you. 

Didn’t you still want to be your mom’s daughter? 

But she left you out in the rain. 

She blamed you for it. 

She blamed you for it. 

He didn’t. 

You looked at the book. Just close it, just forget it. 

Though, your heart was starting to pound, like the feeling you got whenever you entered an unknown copse of trees. You couldn’t forget this– whatever this was, you couldn’t go back to living in a world where you didn’t even have a maybe. 

Your hand reached upwards, fingers trembling, and you grabbed it. It popped open in your palm, pages whizzing by. Once upon a time wove itself with declarations of love that intertwined with songs and adventures. They all sounded so familiar. Always ending the same, because even after giving and giving it all, the Goblin King still ended up on a lone throne, surrounded by goblins. Your heart squeezed at that thought, and you couldn’t help but wonder if anyone ever comforted him when he was alone? Or, was he like you, finding a lonely corner to sit in and having to patch himself up? Is that what you saw in his eyes that night? Is that what you kept seeing? Is that why you were chasing after him? 

The pages stopped. You looked down, a stark white page. Hadn’t the others been aged? Words formed, brimming on the surface, before popping into view. 

“This story starts differently from the others.” you read, “Because it starts with an argument on a rainy night.” 

Rustling caught your attention. You turned towards the noise. Peaceful, restless trees with leaves that hung like ripe apples and sparkling sunshine. Nothing more, except the dark green of the conifers. You turned back to the book. 

“An argument between a loving daughter, and a not so loving mother.” 

That was it. Nothing else.

What the hell did that mean? 

You looked towards the other books on the shelf, only to find the vines from earlier slowly choking them from view. Your gaze turned away from the bookshelf, from the woods, only to find a familiar neighborhood, filled with houses that moved and flickered against your vision like blocks of sand. Those houses never existed, did they? 

Those homes were never homes, were they? 

They were all you knew, the homes you tried to make out of construction paper and glitter glue, hissing as you got paper cuts. 

You looked over your shoulder, towards the woods. 

You looked at the book in your hands. 

Did he know what that feeling was like? Of making the best of it? 

You turned away from the houses. 

You walked forward. 

Birdsong hit your ears. Soft, cooing and comforting. The limbs of the trees cocooned you and the moon now rose within your vision, sucking away the gray dusk. A cool wind howled a gentle call, and your response was walking further in, letting it consume you. 

Sometimes, you forgot how wonderful the world was, and how beautiful it could be. 

Sometimes, when you told your mom you found something beautiful, she told you it was ugly. 

What would she think of this? 

Maybe you should go back? 

You looked behind you, only to find the path covered by branches and thorny vines. A rattle made you hold the book close. 

It was so, so dark. 

Moonbeams barely wove themselves through the slits of the trees. What was that noise? 

More rattling. Bad rattling. A rattling that hurts– a cackling? A cackle. You couldn’t smell the pine anymore. No, you smelled something else– too much, too much! Be brave, be brave. You sucked in a breath, and raised the book in your hands. 

“I-I– I have a book! And I’m not afraid to use it!”
A scoff, “You’re going to threaten me now?” 

The noises stopped. Now, you only heard the tame branches tapping against each other, and the rustling leaves. You breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Where are you?”
“Come find me.” 

You frowned, blowing a strand of air out of your face. Your hands landed on your hips as you scanned the trees, crossing your arms. 

“Tell me where you are.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do! Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“An overdramatic dork?” 

He scoffed, “A dork? A-a dork?! If you’re going to insult me so, then perhaps I shouldn’t whisk you away! But I’ll forgive you if you promise to obey me, love me, do as I say! And I shall be your slave!” 

“Why on earth do you want me, anyway? Nobody does!” 

You heard branches creak near you and turned towards the noise. 

“Well, I want you. Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Didn’t you yourself say that you’d gladly let me whisk you away? If you did not mean those words, then what else have you not meant?” 

“That– that isn’t fair and you know it! And–” you started to follow his voice, “And how would you feel if you were.. Always hurt and told that no one wanted you, and then all of a sudden, someone does? Wouldn’t you be scared?” 

You looked around, you squinted. You still couldn’t see him. 

“Wouldn’t you want that person, the one who was offering to be by your side, the one who was saying that they wanted you, to be patient?” 

“I have been patient!”
“How many times have you visited me, Jareth?” 

“Quite a few!”
“Then you can keep coming.” you replied bluntly, “Or, if you don’t want to, then you can leave. I know how to handle people leaving. I mean, my brother left, that’s true, but before that. My friends would leave me, my family.. So, again, I can handle it. But..” 

“But what?” 

“But.. I don’t know, I don’t want you to leave.” 

Now you stopped, arms at your sides. Your heart seemed to want to crack your chest open with how fast it pounded. You clenched your fists. Should you have said that? Usually, when you said things like that– soft things, vulnerable things, it always ends badly. 

A sigh nearby alerted you, “Well, I’ve gotten too attached to let you go now.” 

You breathed, “But– what did I do?”
A scoff, “I thought you were clever, but forget that, won’t you? Just let me have you. I’ll give you everything you could ever dream of, whatever you wish–” 

You started walking again, “Have me?” 

“Yes. Have you.” 

You grinned. There he was. Stopping beneath a tree, you looked up. He stared straight at you, eyes wide like a startled owl. If he had feathers, they’d be poofed up. You laughed. 

“You found me!” he cried, smiling, before he cleared his throat, “Took you long enough.” 

He stood up, and jumped down, landing in front of you. The black vest he wore glimmered with the silvery moonlight, and you soon realized it was embroidered with golden roses. Of course, he wore his typical tight pants and frilly shirt, along with high heeled boots. 

“Well? Don’t spend the whole night staring, now.” 

“I– well…” 

He raised a brow, “After all that thinking, I’m sure you have a response. Usually, I don’t care to listen,” he leaned against the tree, “But you’re a pretty, sweet thing, and have a pretty little voice, so tell me.” 

You couldn’t help the flush on your cheeks, but you took a deep breath.He didn’t react badly when you told him you didn’t want him to leave. So.. maybe you could say more? You had to try. 

“My mom demands so much of me, that I don’t have much left to give.” you looked down at the ground, focusing on the roots of a nearby tree, “I know I shouldn’t feel like that, because I’m her daughter. But with you.. I dunno. I feel different, and I don’t want to lose that.” 

You watched him. Why did you say that? Clutching your hands, you kept watching him. Should you have said that? Was it okay, to admit that, or did it put you in danger? Was that the wrong thing to say? He was frowning, crossing his arms, but maybe.. You didn’t know, there was something there, soft. 

“Are you saying you will not come with me?” he asked gently, looking at you. 

Your heart squeezed. You looked away from him, towards where you had just come from, before looking towards him again. He looked like a small owl then, so fragile and small, like a breeze could break him. Did he even realize that, as he looked at you? Could this be apart of an act? Though, you wanted to keep seeing him this way, and you wanted to be seen that way too, to be soft, to be putty, and know that it was all alright. 

Wasn’t that such a silly dream to have? 

“I’m not ready to go yet.” you replied. 

He looked away, towards the ground. 

You walked closer to him, looking up at him, before learning beside him. He froze. 

“But that doesn’t mean that I want you to leave.” oh god, your heart was ready to burst out of your chest, “I want you to keep coming. I want to spend more time with you.” 

Why was this scarier than the darkness? Than living in a world where you walked on glass and learned to look around every corner? 

He looked at you, “Why?” 

“Because..” you fiddled with your fingers, you bit your lip, “because..you didn’t yell at me when I cried. You didn’t demand I come with you. You asked,” you turned to him now, “And you let me take you places. So, why don’t you just keep doing that?” 

“It’d be easier if I could whisk you away, here and now.” 

You put your hands on your hips, “Well, I heard you like challenges anyway.” 

He raised a brow, “You’re testing your luck.” 

He still seemed a bit upset, and honestly, he was pouting like a toddler. It was adorable, but also overdramatic too. 

“Jareth, why don’t we go somewhere you like?” 

“What?” 

“Let’s go somewhere you like!” 

“I–” Jareth stumbled, eyes wide, “No.” 

“Why not?”
“Because. It is foolish.” he pulled his wrist away, and crossed his arms, nose up in the air, “And there’s no point.” 

“That’s not foolish! Let’s go somewhere you like.” 

No.” 

You huffed, “Fine.” 

Your nose scrunched. What could you do? You’d been choosing where to go every time you met... How could you get him to– your eyes widened. Oh! You remembered! When he was an owl, he didn’t like it when you threatened to leave him in response to his pouting! That was it! 

You turned away from him, nose in the air, and started walking. 

“Hey! Stop!” 

You grinned. You heard him running to catch up to you. 

“Where are you going?” he asked, walking beside you, “I demand to know.”
You shrugged.
He scowled, “What? Are you not talking to me because I won’t take you to my favorite place?” 

You only responded with a glance.

When was the last time you’d played like this? Maybe with your brother, before he started to grow up. He wasn’t as bad as your mom, but sometimes, he could say hurtful things. You still loved him beyond grief though. How could you not? You’d taken care of him! Sometimes, you swore that in your fuzzy memories, you remembered holding him close and comforting him as a baby. Even though your mom called you crazy for remembering those things. You used to sneak him food from school when he was a toddler. 

You’d never been like this before, without the expectation of taking care of someone. Your smile grew. You walked faster. 

“(Y/n), I demand to know where you’re going!” he cried again, exasperated. 

You just sent him another glance. 

“Honestly, will you torture me so? I could leave you! Right now, in fact!” 

He could, couldn’t he? And you knew your heart would break, but you’d learn how to flip that switch again. How to stop wondering, and how to stop dreaming. But you wouldn’t be able to stop hoping, and sometimes, hope lingered between a truth and a lie.

“Talk to me,” he demanded. 

Did the Goblin King,  Jareth, ever get hopeful? Was he hopeful right now? 

You stopped walking now. 

He stopped behind you. His lips twisted. 

“Fine!” he stomped his foot, “I won’t leave!” 

You looked towards him. 

“And I’ll take you to my favorite place! But you better stop looking so sad and pathetic.” 

“What?”
“You heard me! You look like a kitten who got left out in the rain, I don’t.. I don’t like it.” 

You looked at him, and he watched your thoughtful frown turn into a wide smile. 

“Come along!” he started to walk briskly, “Don’t dilly dally with that wide grin on your face!” 

“I’m coming!” 

“Here,” he extended his arm, “So you don’t get lost.” 

You hooked your arm in his, and let him lead the way. 

The woods around you faded. The brisk air turned dry. The birdsong melted into the sound of the wind and crumbling stone. Sand gently whispered beneath your feet as you continued to walk, and you noticed how the moonlight lit the way. Crooked branches cascaded into view, growing from walls around you, and they collected starlight like raindrops. When was the last time you’d been so close to someone without being scared? How come he didn’t scare you? Was it just because despite all the glamor– the dramatic makeup that reached past his brows, the cheekbones that seemed to cut the air, and the gratuitous threats, he was just an owl in your eyes? Or, no, it wasn’t that, but it was too. Some odd in-between you weren’t quite sure of. 

The breeze carried the sound of water. Water? In this desert? But then again, the labyrinth wasn’t all desert, was it? It was just as multifaceted as any person. You wanted to explore it. 

“Where are we going?” you asked. 

“To.. one of my favorite places,” he looked at you through the corner of his eye, “Unless you want to turn back?” 

You shook your head. The air smelled of flowers and damp earth and the sound of water got louder. When you were younger, you used to love discovering things. Discovering the world through books, because back then, the world was full of questions. Ones you could find the answers to through books, and that feeling, of searching through an answer, of looking through the bookshelves of a library for just the right book, burned within you. 

“Well,” you muttered, “I just hope you aren’t planning to drown me.” 

He sent you a look, “I would never do that! But you better not tell a soul what I’m going to show you, or  then I will !” 

You gave him a look of your own as he stopped. Dead thorns and branches created a wall in front of you. Jareth set his hand out, and a gasp left your lips as the foliage slid away, revealing ancient stone. The glittery rock melted like water underneath his silent command, revealing a large tree.  Delicate peach blossoms covered its branches, but what got you was the water. The way the stars scattered across its surface like crushed diamonds, and how the breeze created ripples, making it look like moving glass. Grass tickled your ankles as Jareth pulled you in.  

Everything slithered back into place behind you, shielding you both. Time didn’t exist, and a small petal fell from the branches, kissing the water gently. 

“What do you think?” 

His voice snapped you out of your reverie, “Wh-what? I– oh, oh.. It’s beautiful.” 

He scoffed, “After all your begging, that’s all you have to say? You read books, don’t you? Be more descriptive than that.” 

Now it was your turn to scoff, you chuckled, before going quiet. You listened to the rustling of the trees, and took your gaze up towards the moon. It decorated the world with airy lacelike light, and you realized something. No one had ever really asked what you thought before. 

In fact, no one had ever asked what you even wanted. If you expressed that, you were always punished somehow. Grounded from books or TV, forced to give an apology you didn’t mean. 

“No one’s really asked me what I’ve thought before.” you said softly, letting out a sigh. You purse your lips. 

Was he looking at you? It felt like it. Did he think you were silly, now? You ventured a peek. No, he wasn’t looking at you like an idiot. It was another look, a strange one. Like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve. You tilted your head. 

Well, no one had ever tried to solve you before, no one had ever tried to care. It was a new feeling, just like how this was a new place. One that you realized was filled with peach trees. The fruit hung from the branches like lanterns, and desperately, you wanted to pluck one from the branch and eat it. Though, something told you not to take a bite. Maybe you read that in a story once. 

“Well, I’d like to know. Tell me.” 

You took a deep breath, “It’s just like time stood still for a moment, it almost feels like.. I’m in a snowglobe, or a little bubble, but not in a bad way.” 

A feeling there. Like an instinct. A want to keep talking. 

“Sometimes, I feel like I’m in a bubble, away from all the people, watching them live their lives. Girls my age have moms who love them, dads who exist within their lives. Or sometimes, I just see people, being people, and wish I was like that.” 

Something about those words felt important. That this moment was him, in his own strange way, was him begging you to come closer without even meaning to. Maybe he lived in his own little world too, one where he wasn’t treated like a person. Maybe he, just like you, wanted to share that. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? It had to be. Or it could all be a trick, a curse, like in the stories you used to read when you were small. 

After a moment of thought, he seemed pleased  with your answer, and before you could ask him a question, he pulled away from you. 

“I suppose I ought to give you a tour.” he said, head held high as his shoes left a trail in the fresh dirt. 

Hadn’t this been sand, a moment ago? You shrugged. 

“Come, don’t dilly dally. We don’t have all night!” 

You rushed to catch up, “It’s not my fault you have long legs. What are you going to show me?” 

He glared at you, “Just a spot.” 

“Isn’t this your favorite place?”
“Do you ever stop asking questions?” 

“Answer mine, and I’ll answer yours.” 

He sighed, “Alright. I just plan to show you somewhere I go when I wish to get away from the goblins, they never look here. It’s quite amusing to see them panic with my crystal.” 

“Why do you hide from the goblins?” 

He tsked, “Ah, ah, ah! We agreed to a deal, fulfill your part.” 

“You’re really weird with deals,” you muttered, “But okay. Let’s see– the answer is no. Now tell me why you hide from the goblins.”
“Give me something.”

“Like what?” 

He stopped walking, put a hand underneath your chin, smirking. You noticed a forest of trees behind him, looming in the distance. 

“What have you to give?” 

You thought, “I could give you.. Another cookie. Tomorrow. And a trip to the thrift store. How about that?” 

His eyebrows furrowed, “What on earth is a thrift store?”
“You know, where you buy used clothes.. Knick knacks.” 

His nose crinkled, “No.” 

“I could give you..” 

You had to be careful. Think. What did you have to give? Clearly, he liked talking to you. He also liked talking in general, now that you thought of it. Though, he reminded you of one of an old grumpy cat. What did you have? Just your voice. He liked listening to you. 

“I could give you a pleasant conversation,” you offered. 

He tilted his head, “Perhaps. It’s tempting.” he placed a finger on his chin, “Or give me yourself, and be done with it.” 

That didn’t seem right, “Well.. oh! How about I give you a nice cup of peach tea? You clearly liked it.” 

He thought. He rolled his eyes, and sighed, “Alright, I’ll answer your question. I hide from the little beasties because they exhaust me. Now give me your hand.” 

You clutched your hand to your chest.
“Not literally. I have no use for it. I have to guide you through this part.”  

Where was he taking you? Was this a trap? 

You’d just have to find out. You took his hand, and he took the lead, pulling you along. The ground became a bit bumpy and uneven. Was this real? It felt like it. Or, maybe, it was just some odd inbetween, like all dreams are. You squeezed the hand you held, feeling the warm leather there. This was the same hand that had wiped your tears, and wrapped up your finger, but those actions being genuine couldn’t be possible, could it? 

Branches started to crowd the sky above you, weaving into each other and creating an arch. Their roots burst through the ground, and your heart started to pound. Why was it so quiet, now? Should you say anything? You pulled yourself closer to him. Would something jump out of the shadows to get you? Were you being too soft, too vulnerable, too much? What would happen, when you got too caught up in this, and you forgot how to build walls, or how to be alone? A pop echoed in the distance. You smelled a familiar perfume, but Jareth stopped. The moon melted those thoughts away. 

“Alright, here.” he said, stopping at a low hanging tree and a small river. 

You noticed it wasn’t blooming like the other ones, but instead, it hung with spanish moss. It glimmered gently, and you let your hand land on the bark, roughened with age. 

“I like to sit here.” Jareth continued, “They never think to look here.” 

You turned to him, “Really?”
“Of course. They think I can’t tread a forest in heels.” 

You chuckled, “Well, I can see why you like it here, it’s so peaceful..” you looked at a low hanging branch, “hey, do you ever sit on that branch and dip your toes in the water?” 

Jareth knitted his arms, “It’d be foolish to do that.” 

You reached down and wiggled out of your socks and sneakers, before clamoring onto the branch, kicking the water gently. Here, everything settled. How come you weren’t thinking about tomorrow, or the day after? Why weren’t you wondering about your mom, or your brother, or what you did and didn’t do? You took a deep breath. You listened to the sound of night birds, to the wind rippling the water. 

“And it’s unkingly too.” Jareth added, “Dipping your toes in the water.” 

“So?” 

“What do you mean, So?” 

“I mean So What? This is a dream, isn’t it?” 

He sent you a look, “Your point being?”
You sighed, “Forget about all that for a minute, and have some fun doofus.” 

“Don’t ever call me a “doofus” again, you buffoon.” 

You couldn’t help it– you laughed, and he glared at you as snorts and giggles escaped you. 

It felt– like bubbles, like soda pop and candy eaten with a friend. 

“Okay. But still, there’s no one here. And I won’t say anything, will you?” you raised a brow.
His eyebrows knitted, “I won’t..”
“And you know what’s really unkingly?” 

“What?” 

You stretched out your feet and wiggled your toes, “This!” 

A smile crossed his lips, “Alright. But you better not tell a soul.” 

“I won’t, don’t worry.” 

He looked around. Once, twice, three times, before he kicked his feet in the air. His shoes flew off and landed perfectly next to yours, far away from the water. Along with his socks. He had surprisingly small feet, but you couldn’t focus on that, because now he sat next to you and dipped a toe in the water. 

“Hey Jareth?” 

“Hm?”
“Why do you want to have me? And why do you want me to come with you?” 

He frowned, “Must you ask why? You ask a lot of questions. Perhaps I should ask some of my own. Such as, why were you even kind to me in the first place? Did you know what I was, who I am?” 

You shook your head, “N-no! No I didn’t!” 

“Oh, you didn’t? And why should I believe you? Why did you keep welcoming me? No one, no one has ever been kind to me without something in return! It is the way the world works! When someone does something for you, you must do the same in return, but why.. Why on earth were you so gentle with me, even when you were not being treated as such?”

“I– because– I–” 

You thought back to that night. The night you met him. 

It had started with an argument. A simple one. Just a scoff at the beer cans. She got the big ones again, 24 ounces. Actually, she got three of those, and when you divided that into cups? It was nine cups of beer. A month or so before, she said she’d quit because your brother got taken away. A part of you believed it. Believed that she’d finally, fucking finally go over the moon for the son she always loved and adored. 

Of course she was full of shit. Of course she was lying. Of course. And you were so angry– you felt it, in your gut, boiling over, attacking your stomach. You remembered how your throat clenched as you stood over a pot of macaroni, listening to her talk about going to the store. 

“Mom,” you growled, “you’re drunk. You can’t drive.” 

“Of course I can fuckin drive! What? You think you’re so smart?” 

“Mom– don’t drive, okay? I’ll walk to the store, tell me what you want.” 

“No, you’re not fucking walking to the store! I-I’m going to the store! You always have to have an attitude! Do you think you can tell me what to fucking do, huh?! You think you’re special? Is that it? You think anyone fucking cares about you? Is that what you think? Huh?” 

You turned off the stove. You slammed down the wooden spoon on the counter. You couldn’t remember what you said, the words were blurry, like a drawing viewed through a foggy window. Your temper burst.

“You always do this! It’s your fault he left, you know that?! All your fucking fault!” you screamed, “You always do this! Always!” 

The anger was too much, and it wasn’t right. You shouldn’t have been angry. You shouldn’t have been mad– and you were bursting out the door, away from the hot air inside the house, and out, out into the cold comforting night. You walked, and kept walking, bare feet collecting raindrops. The anger simmered, boiled down, and the stupid warbly tears came out. You just kept on walking, walking, walking. Crying, crying, crying. Wishing and wishing. 

Then you saw him, and saw something in him that you couldn’t explain. 

Then he came to your window. And he was cold, he was in the rain. Was he okay? Was he cold? Was he lonely, too? Did anyone care about the poor owl, tap, tapping at your window? Did anyone care? 

“Because? Because what, hm?” 

“Because…” 

Did anyone care at all? What had that owl thought? Why was he tapping? Why?

“Because I wanted to.” you said softly.

“Is that it?” 

You nodded, before bringing your arms close to you, “I didn’t want you to be alone, and now that I think about it, I didn’t want to be alone either. Then.. you kept coming, and now you’re a Goblin King, offering to whisk me away.” 

“Does that bother you?” 

“No. I just don’t get it. I don’t get why you’d want a nobody like me.” 

He frowned, “Nobody? You’re (Y/n). You were kind to me, for no reason at all.” 

“I’m not the best company,” you argued, “And I’m sure that there’d be others who’d be kind to you, wouldn’t there?”

“Do you know how those others treat me? Surely you do, don’t you? Since you claim that the book has so many stories.” 

“But–”
“But I want you.” Jareth replied, “What are those others? Simple humans. Drops in the ocean, when compared to you, a drop of water in the desert.” 

No one had ever talked about you like that before. You were replaceable, in your job, in your home– there was always something better. You shouldn’t believe in words, or promises, but you couldn’t help it, because that tiny part of you, the stubborn one, the one you couldn’t get rid of, believed in him. Just a bit. Just a little. 

“Maybe that’s why I’ve impacted you so much, but I doubt you truly love me.” 

He turned to you now, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “Of course I do.” 

“But you barely know me, and I barely know you.” 

“We can get to know each other within the labyrinth. Don’t you love it here?” 

“I do, but.. But I don’t want you to promise me something, and I believe you, and I’m left alone.”

Jareth eyed you wearily. 

“I could just leave you now.” he muttered, glaring at the water, “And leave you to rot.” 

You flinched, “You could. And you’d just prove me right.” 

His eyebrows furrowed, his lips twisted. This was his out. He could leave. You were giving him an out, opening a door! He could go. 

He’d have no one to talk to again. Alone, again, but he could find another. Couldn’t he? 

Though would those others ever understand, or even try to? He loved you and wasn’t love fast, dangerous and willing to be twisted? Wasn’t love offering yourself to someone? Then, how come it seemed to hurt you, and it seemed to hurt him too? 

“I know how to survive,” your eyebrows twisted, before softening, “And I bet you do too, don’t you?” 

Jareth felt his scowl melt. Why on earth was he listening to you, anyway? Why did it feel like you were speaking to something that had never been spoken to before, a part of him that had rarely been acknowledged? 

“But,” you continued, “I don’t want to survive anymore. I don’t want to lose all of this..” 

What on earth were you thinking? He looked into your eyes, two reflective pools that collected the moonlight like threads of magic. You weren’t a goblin apologizing, or a cowering child, begging him to bring back their sibling. You were something else, reminding him of someone who reached the end of his maze, head held high, and said those words. The dreadful words that still haunted him. Powerless, weak and nothing but a story. 

That’s what those words reduced him to. 

“And for once, I have a maybe. For once I have someone.. And if you think I’m going to let you run away like a coward, well I won’t.” 

Your insolence! How he should punish you! How he should curse you! No, whisk you away, here and now! 

But you wouldn’t tease him anymore, if he did.
You wouldn’t challenge, or push, wish to know about him. 

You wouldn’t cherish him, and despite his best attempts to tell himself that he didn’t need to be cherished, that his goblins were enough, and that he needed for nothing, he liked being cherished. 

“Most would use this as the perfect opportunity to shoo me off.” he quipped.

You crossed your arms, “Well I’m not doing that.”

“You should.” he replied, “You should do that. Do as I say, little human.” 

“No.”

“I should drag you into the bottom of the ocean!” 

“And you’re coming with me if you do!” you pointed at him, “And stop threatening me. It won’t work!” 

Jareth sighed, his eyebrow twitched. You smiled. He glared. A chortle left your lips. He stared, slack jawed. Your chuckles turned to giggles, and he couldn’t let you laugh at him any longer. 

“Why on earth are you giggling, hm?” 

The corners of your mouth twitched, and you continued laughing, “I dunno! I think– Well, I’m not scared of you at all! You’re too sweet to be scared of!” 

“ What? ”
Now he started laughing, “Sweet? Me? Surely, you jest! I am the Goblin King! I am cruel, and wicked and–” 

“Then how come you let me befriend you?” 

“You know nothing!” Jareth replied. 

“Jareth,” you said softly, “I’m not a dummy.”

He glared at you. He clenched his jaw. He kicked the water. 

“W-well who even said we were friends, or companions?”
You blinked, “So you’re telling me you came here, and talked to me, told me you loved me though you barely know me– and we aren’t even friends?” 

Jareth opened his mouth, then he closed it, his lips forming a firm line. 

“Has anyone been your friend before?” you asked, eyes soft. 

He turned away from you. 

“Well, we’re friends now.” you persisted, “And that’s a good way to start, don’t you think?” 

He looked at you, “I suppose.” 

This was different from before. There was a feeling of something brimming, deeper, stronger, than anything he’d ever felt. He wanted to have you, but he wanted more than that too. He wanted you to choose him, and to never stop choosing him. He wanted you to keep drawing out his affections, because despite the fact you started all of this, he wasn’t going to let you end it. 

He wasn’t going to end it either. 

He knew you shouldn’t care, that he should want to end this, but you smiled despite the fact you had no one to smile for. Treated people kindly, spoke with care. Even when many didn’t do the same. No one comforted you, but after stressful days, you opened the window, and comforted him. He shouldn’t care, but he did. Perhaps because he knew the feeling of quivering lips too well, or he was a sentimental fool putting his heart on the line because he read too many books while listening to too many wishes, and despite the fact he was a king, he wished. 

He didn’t even know why he clung to wishes, despite his best efforts. He couldn’t forget his wants, even though he busied himself making treaties between rival goblin gangs, throwing random festivals, or getting the goblins drunk and throwing a party or two. Though it still felt that there was just.. A crack, deep within him, one that hurt. One he wished to hide. 

You caught his attention by shifting, leaning your cheek on the palm of your hand. 

“Since we’re friends, we should celebrate somehow.” 

“Oh? What should we do?”

“Hm.. I dunno.. Perhaps you can show me another place like this tomorrow night?”
“Perhaps. What do I get out of it?”
“I’ll get you more peach tea.” 

“Hmm..” he put a finger to his chin, tilting his head playfully, “I don’t know.. The tea wasn’t that delicious.” 

“But it was, wasn’t it?” 

“Alright, I’ll show you somewhere else, then. But only if you get me peach tea.” 

You nodded, “Alright.” 

Shadows curled. Snake skin. Broken bones. The sound of wailing. Alone. Someone lost in the rain, casting out a reaching hand, desperately grabbing onto air. Nothing and no one. Fairytales lost and long forgotten, hidden beneath a broken ribcage. 

Run, little rabbit, run. 

No. No. You wanted this to last a little longer. It was your dream. He said so. And words were great things, grand things– because just one simple phrase could change an entire paragraph, just like how a letter could change a sentence. 

“I don’t want this to end just yet.” you said softly, “I’m not ready to wake up.” 

Then don’t wake up just yet. It’s that simple.” 

You nodded, “Then I’ll stay a little longer. But.. would you really take me to the labyrinth?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
You paused, “...Because all my life I’ve had my mom say the same things you did. That she loves me, that we’ll have it better. But she never keeps those promises..” 

Rattling. Rattling coming back. 

No. You wanted this to last. You wanted this to be real, more than a dream! More than something you thought about as you survived work, or something you imagined as you went to bed. Something real. Something genuine. 

“ I want to live in a world where I know that if I get caught in the rain, someone will come with an umbrella.” 

You looked at him. He wanted that too, didn’t he? That’s why he kept coming back, that’s why he was here, visiting your dreams, asking you to come with him. 

“You want that too, don’t you, Jareth?” 

“Why on earth would I want that? I have everything.” 

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, because even after everything you do, you’re still all alone. That’s not fair. That’s not right.” 

“What did you say?” 

“I–” 

A splash. You looked to the water beneath you, and saw a book. You hadn’t even realized it disappeared until now. It opened to that same page. This was all so strange, new– like an overwhelming tidal wave. You looked at the book in the water, watching words wiggle, just out of view. 

“I said it’s not fair that you’re left alone.” 

How dare you look at him like that? So soft, so compassionate? As if he was someone worthy of such? He gripped the branch beneath him. Please! As if you truly meant what you said. As if you really cared– but you and those damn eyes, looking at him like that. As if he was more than a king. How dare you care, how dare you treat him that way? How dare you say that it wasn’t right, nor fair, when you were just like him? 

“What of you then?” 

“What about me?” 

“Is it right,” he leaned close to you, “Is it fair that you’re left alone too?” 

You looked down at the water and kicked it pathetically. What ran through your mind? What did you long to say? He was going to hear you say it, whether you liked it or not. 

“Is it?” he pressed. 

“It’s what I’m used to.” 

“As am I. Yet here you are, telling me I shouldn’t be. So. is it fair?” 

You pressed your lips into a thin line, and then shook your head. 

“It’s better than you saying that you deserve it.” he cooed softly, tucking a strand away from your face, “So it’s a start.” 

The dream faded, and the leaves came through, water rippled, darkness cascaded, and a voice called off in the distance. The air smelled like pepper and old paper, and felt like the promise of autumn. 

You opened your eyes. The sun shone in through the window. You turned over and cuddled into your pillow, yawning. You had work off today, didn’t you? 

Birds twittered outside, you heard the wind rustle the trees. You felt such a strange feeling, one you weren’t used to. Calm, soft, and warm. Had he given you that? Or did you somehow make it? You yawned, stretching. 

Hey wait. Didn’t you have to get Jareth peach tea?

Chapter Text

All your life you lived in a doll house. One made from used cereal boxes, and the scraps of old board games bought at goodwill. In that dollhouse, everything was articulate chaos. That was just life. A life where sometimes, you made your mom laugh, or a life where sometimes it felt like everything was okay, and that you were just too sensitive. Exaggerating. Because the both of you laughed together, and she told you about her favorite movie, and you remembered it, even though she didn’t remember yours.

 Now though, underneath that thought, there was a maybe. And maybes meant danger, because maybes are like hands that flip over the dollhouse, pouring all the cheap dolls on the floor. And maybes point out that the dolls weren’t dolls at all, but just pieces of paper you drew faces on. 

Maybes became more dangerous when you admitted they were certainties. Certainties meant giving up what little you had for a chance– just a chance of better. 

You sighed, shoving the clothes aside as you rifled through your closet. It was cloudy again, although it looked like the sun might come out. A sweater tickled the edges of your fingers, and you grabbed it. It was old, from a thrift store, but you didn’t mind. You got it before your brother moved, and you remembered walking down the aisles, until he pointed it out. You recalled how the store smelt a bit dusty, a bit old, but you didn’t mind. You’d been in highschool then, and all you had wanted was to stay in the small house your mom found with some help from relatives. It seemed like she was doing better. Maybe you just wanted everything to be okay. You still did. 

She hated the sweater– said it looked tacky, old, worn, but you liked those sorts of things, maybe because you liked the thought of taking something abandoned and giving it a home. After you ignored her, she glared at you, rolling her eyes as you gathered change to buy it. It’d only been a dollar. She still hated it. 

Just like how to seemed she hated every inch of you, somehow. Clothes, and hair, body and mind– but at the same time, she loved you, right? Feeding you, clothing you, keeping a roof over your head. 

Though.. She didn’t let you try for college. It was a miracle you got a job. 

Everything was okay. 

Stable, sort of. 

Your fingers tightened around the sleeve of the sweater. 

Last night, in your dream, you agreed with him that it wasn’t fair. 

After a pause, you put on the sweater. It was like what he said. It was a start. 

You decided you needed a walk. Breathing in and out, your purse swung at your side as the chilly air tickled your nose. Peeks of the blue sky scattered across the cloudy gray horizon. Last night’s dream popped into your mind. 

You agreed that it wasn’t fair. 

You didn’t say it. Because if you said it, that would mean betraying her. It would mean that you weren’t hers, anymore. It would mean that you weren’t her daughter, or your brother’s sister. It would mean taking those sepia colored memories of playing in the rain, or listening to her favorite songs, or drawing her pictures, and realizing that they weren’t enough anymore. 

You even agreed that the dreams were yours. 

Not the results of magic, but yours. 

Dreams where you could demand a life without fear, dreams where you weren’t someone to walk over, and dreams where.. Where you could run, and run, and run, and someone would be there, waiting. 

Why, why on earth did that scare you? 

Why, why, did it excite you, too? 

Neighboring houses surrounded you as you continued your walk, noticing the odd remnants of Halloween decor, but mostly, people were skipping fall entirely and decorating for Christmas. All of your life, you wanted to be in those sorts of houses. Watching movies, having sleepovers, having friends. Instead of just watching the kids around you talking about their parents, about their lives, and wondering why you couldn’t have that, wondering why you had to do things alone. You stopped in front of one, before realizing that you were underneath that tree again. The one you first met him in. Rough bark tickled your fingertips as you looked up, and there, amongst the tawny brown and fading autumn leaves, he perched. 

He lit up. 

Your heart pounded, your chest ached. 

Your stomach curled, and fluttered. 

“I.. I still can’t believe you keep coming,” you said softly, “I- I’m surprised you aren’t tired of me, yet.” 

If you’d seen things from his eyes, you’d have seen how the shy sunlight made your eyes sparkle, or you’d have noticed just how soft you were, in that moment. Soft enough for his talons to dig into you, rip you to pieces, but he couldn’t. Because you weren’t this way with your mother, or your coworkers, and that thought– the thought that he was safety, made his heart race. It made him feel just as soft, if not softer. 

“I never thought someone would care about me.” 

A sound came out of him then, his big eyes wide. 

“What? You seemed surprised!” you laughed, “I know I am. But come on, I said I’d get you peach tea, didn’t I?” 

He nodded. 

“Well, come on. You can either ride on my shoulder or walk.” 

Fluttering down, he landed on your shoulder, making sure his talons didn’t scratch. Your lips curled, and you softly pet his head. He realized he was content, just to be here, with you, and he’d never felt that before. Never. 

“You’re so lazy..” you muttered.

He looked around, indignant, before letting out an angry squawk. 

“Alright then.” you said, eyes wide, “I hear you.”

He glared at you for a moment, before playing with your hair. 

“I forgive you too. You don’t need to be loud around me, you know that right?”

He turned away, a chirp leaving him.

You chuckled, “Good. Don’t forget it.”

With that, you began your walk, and Jareth kept playing with your hair, letting himself be this– small, tiny, vulnerable, easy to kill and easy to wreck. Just as you had been, without even realizing it. 

After a while of you talking his head off to whatever crossed your mind, you arrived at the coffee shop. You looked at him. 

“Okay, now you gotta be a person or whatever.” 

He let out a sad noise. 

“Pretty please?”

He looked at you, and let out the owl equivalent of a sigh before transforming. Luckily, the streets were empty. You tried not to bask in the fact that he did that for you. Although, as his feet landed on the ground, he stumbled. You caught him. 

“Are you alright?” 

He pulled away, “I’m fine.” 

“Alright..” you murmured, “But come on, you look like you need to sit a bit.”

“Is that an insult?”
“An observation, and you can make up for screeching in my ear!” you placed a hand on your hip, “Or maybe I could screech in yours and we can call it even?”

“Inside it is.” 

Opening the door,  you let him lead the way, before following. Of course, it went as it did yesterday, you ordered, you waited, until your drinks were ready, and you went to get them. Presenting Jareth with his first before settling with the cup of coffee you got. It was payday, and you could manage a little bit of a treat before you had to give your mom the rest. Sometimes, you had some left over, but mostly.. 

You shook your head. You weren’t gonna think about that now. Instead, you eyed Jareth, who currently crossed his arms and leaned into his chair, frowning. 

He looked up at you, “There’s only two ice cubes.” 

You looked at his drink, “Is it cold?” 

His nose scrunched, “I suppose.”

“Then drink it.”  

“You oughtn't boss me around so.” 

“You let me,” you countered, shifting in your chair, almost mocking his position, “So it’s not my fault.” 

Another dramatic sigh, “Yes, because apparently threatening to throw you into the ocean, or into the bog of stench, doesn’t affect you. You sit there as if it’s the most normal thing in the world!"

You leaned over the table, "Those are the kind of threats I'd use against my baby brother when he was being annoying!"

His jaw dropped. He stared at you. 

"Are– are you saying my threats are childish?"

You raised your brows,  "You said it. Not me." you then sipped your coffee. 

"You're very brave to say such things. Usually others would cower before me!" He went silent, before adding, "Or sometimes, others surprise me." 

“How?” you asked, head tilted. 

 “They just do, is all.”

You frowned, “Yeah, but how?” 

“Do you stop asking questions?”

“No. I told you I like asking them. And if you’re really all that serious about whisking me away, then answer."

He rolled his eyes. You glared at him. You crossed your arms. He never should’ve made that stupid promise. Perhaps, he ought to rearrange time? No, no, he couldn’t do that. It’d been so long since he’d done that. But then again, it’d been so long since he visited, so long since he transformed and showed his powers! 

“You know,” you snapped him out of those thoughts, “I bet those runners surprised you. They were brave.” 

“What are you betting?”

“Nothing. I know I’m right. What is there to bet?”

You leaned Your chin on your hands, looking at him. 

“But, I do have something else I can bet.”
“Oh?” 

"There's this park I like. It reminds me of one I used to take my brother to. Go there with me if I'm right."

"Oh? And if you're wrong?"

"More tea?"

"Tempting, but no. I see what I want right in front of me," his eyes sparkled like shards of broken glass. 

You took a deep breath, "Alright.." you bit your lip, before shaking your head, "Nevermind. You’re no fun.” 

He frowned, “I’m plenty fun,” he waved at you, “I can’t believe you’d insult me.”

You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t insult you!” 

“Yes, you did! Now you must make a bet with me, to make up for your grievance.” 

You bit your lip. You fidgeted with your hands. 

“If you know that you’re already right, then it couldn’t hurt,” he offered.

You sighed, “I was just going to say.. That I bet.. I'm surprising you right now, aren't I?" 

You watched him. No reaction, only his eyebrows rising. 

“Oh? How so?”

“Because.. I think.. Just like me, you aren’t used to people treating you like a person, are you?” 

Now his eyes widened. He gripped the cup. You smiled. 

He huffed, and shook his head,  “I simply can’t go to the park.” 

“Why?”

He looked down, "I'm in heels."

“Then you can just turn into an owl and I’ll carry you. That simple.”

Jareth frowned. It’d been ages since he had truly challenged himself. He couldn’t quite explain his magic– magic isn’t explained– but, he usually visited you as an owl, and now, he was doing it as well, himself, before transporting back to the underground. A task like that wouldn’t have affected him that much in the past but.. It was complicated now.
He’d been told those words too many times. They affected him, now. Or, maybe it wasn’t that that affected him so, maybe there was more. More he was too scared to say, or admit, for the fear that you– so brave and kind, who looked at him with shimmering eyes, would turn your gaze into one that spoke of nothing. 

“Jareth? It’s alright if you don’t want to go.” 

No. He couldn’t let you know what he was. He couldn’t let you know that he crumbled when the pain caught up. All the years of being alone, surrounded by goblins, all the time, trying to shush the ache. Because kings don’t ache. Kings don’t hurt, even though he knew his heart like the back of his hand, and his heart was as soft as an owl's feathers. 

“I agreed. Though, I just need a moment.” 

“If you want, we can switch shoes.” 

His face scrunched, he stopped, “ No.” 

“Hey, my feet don’t stink!”

“I’m not sharing shoes!” he stuck out his foot from underneath the table, showing off a classic black heeled boot, “These are my favorite.” 

You showed him your ratty sneaker, and looked between the shoes, “...You know, I can see why you don’t want to switch!”

You laughed before going back to sipping whatever drink you got. Of course, you didn’t think to get him something so nice. Only a drink with two ice cubes! He liked it when you both had the same drink. Sighing, he looked at his boots again. He dressed up so nicely today, his usual puffed sleeve shirt, but this time, black, with an elegant burgundy vest. Of course it was embroidered, and honestly, this wasn’t the type of outfit you wear to go walking. He eyed your sweater, and deemed it inappropriate for this weather. You’d catch a chill and die! 

“I don’t see why you wish to go to the park, it’s chilly! You humans get so cold and sick! I’m surprised you haven’t died off yet!” 

“Well, that’s a whole history lesson we don’t need to get into,” you replied, “And as for why I want to go, it just….it’s a nice day,” you leaned your cheek on your hand, looking out the window, “The kind of one where you go on a walk and for a moment, you forget about everything. And the roof isn’t crashing down, but instead, it’s autumn, and Christmas is coming… but for now, it’s fall, and the leaves are pretty. And the air is chilly, and that’s all that matters.”

You looked at him for a moment. He wished you’d stop doing that, looking at him like that. Observing him. Taking him in, reducing him to something even he didn’t recognize. 

“Haven’t you ever wanted that?” you asked.

He grabbed his cup, shook it around, and sipped. It was a dream. One he had always wanted. How humans took for granted moments like these, soft and quiet, and how you found them amongst the chaos of your life, he could never tell, but he admired you for it. Admired how you challenged him without a maze, or little traps that he created. Though, he still avoided giving too much. Revealing too much. 

 A terrible noise came from his cup. He looked down. It was empty. 

You looked at him, “I’m not buying you another one.” 

“But, it’s gone!”
“I said I’d get you a peach tea. And don’t you start pouting, there’s still ice in there, it’ll melt down and you can drink that.” 

“Watered down tea is preposterous! What do you have there, anyway?” 

“Coffee.” 

He stared at the cup. 

“You drink that?”
“Yes.”

“It’s for commoners!”

“Jareth.”

“Yes?”
“You need to take a good hard look at the person you’re sitting across from now.”

“You’re not common, so it doesn’t count! As far as I know, you’re quite unusual.” he shook his cup again, frowning at the rattling ice, “I can’t believe I finished it all.” 

You shook your head, “It’s alright. I’d get you a coffee since they’re cheap, and the sugar and creamer are free, but, well…. Since you don’t like it, you won’t get it.” 

“I should spite you.”

You hummed in response, taking a sip of your coffee, happy and content. 

“If you get me another tea, I’ll let you take me to the park.” 

You tapped your chin. 

He brightened. 

“Yeah, no.” 

He deflated.

“And we’re going anyway. I know you want to, don’t you?” 

His nostrils flared, he crossed his legs underneath the table, “What gives you that idea?” 

“Your eyes lit up when I mentioned it, dork.” 

“D-dork?”

“So, are we going?” 

“You called me a dork.”

“We’re going?” 

“You called me a dork !” 

You grinned, getting up and offering him your hand, “We’re going.” 

He looked at you. He looked at your hand, and with a dramatic sigh, and a dramatic glare, he took it. How soft your fingers were, how warm, how they threatened to melt his heart, and how you were already doing that. You threw both of the cups into the trash can at the front, before dragging him outside. 

“I don't get why you don't just transform into an owl, I'd carry you."

"I don't get why you must insist on dragging me out here."

“You either walk, or I carry you. You’re such a baby!”

He crossed his arms, “Fine.” he stuck up his nose, “I’m walking.” 

He wailed as he walked behind you, and your shoulders shook as you held back laughter. 

You stopped at the entrance to the park, hands on your hips, “If you don’t want to walk, you can just sit on the ground.” 

He gasped, "The ground?" 

"Yes, the ground."

"You're horrible!" He cried, a hand on his chest, “absolutely atrocious! I can't believe you said that!"

"What? You've never sat on the ground before?"

"No." He crossed his arms, "I have not."

"Oh, well, try it for me one day. But those are your options.” you eyed him, he looked.. You didn’t know, but you didn’t like it, “Hey, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

A part of him wanted to keep staying the same king he always was. Who was just a silly villain within a silly story.  His goblins only loved him as such, his subjects only loved him as such, and saw him as such. That’s all he was, really.
Though that wasn’t true and you knew it. You had power over him, and didn’t even realize it. Most loved him when it was the opposite. 

“Jareth?” 

“Yes?” 

“Are you alright?”

His cheeks flushed, “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. Here, there’s a bench over there.” you said softly, before leaning the way, and he let you. 

You sat down first, and he glared at you. 

“You take me to the park to sit?”

“Jareth.”

His breath hitched when you said his name. 

“You’ve been complaining about walking, so sit down with me.” you patted the empty spot beside you.
With a huff, he sat. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you whispered softly. 

“I am fine. Stop asking me that.”

You frowned, “Fine, but if you aren’t you should tell me.” 

How could he explain himself? What was he supposed to say, or do? Proclamations were easier. Gifts, dreams, but this– what you asked for without even realizing it, was much harder. 

Your eyes kept looking at him, and he could feel his heart starting to pound. So soft, so steady, so gentle.. He could almost melt into your eyes. No one, oh, no one had ever looked at him like that before. What would happen, when you realized he wasn’t as grand or as powerful as he used to be? What would happen, when you saw his insides– dreadful, bruised, and cracked? 

No one could love that. No one could ever wish to comfort him during deep, lonely nights, or let him rest his head on their shoulder. 

“We’ll sit here for a bit.” you finally said, “I’m tired too. My dreams are really creeping me out.”

“I know,” he retorted, “because I visited them! Tell me, is it not enough? Must I do more to convince you? Tell me what to do, and I will do it–” 

“Woah–” you stopped him, “Hold on– Jareth. You.. I.. just keep coming. That’s all I need. That’s all I want.” 

He stopped. His shoulders drooped. 

“And it’s okay if you don’t want to, or need to take a break–” you added, only for him to shake his head. 

“I’m going to keep coming.” 

This is what he wanted. This, right here. Talking, peeling back layers of skin, gently exposing each other, but he had exposed himself before, oh so many times, yet here he was, doing it again. Yet here, it was different, because you were doing it too. 

A leaf fell fluttering down, he breathed.  His hands curled in his lap. No desperation, no wanting, but something soft, something steady. 

What if he got too used to this? 

What if he got too content? 

What then, when you looked at him, beyond the Goblin King, beyond the magic– what would you think of him then?

You turned to him, “Jareth?” 

“Yes?”
“ Are you alright?” 

“I am fine.” 

“You don’t seem alright.”

“I am.” 

“Alright.” you turned back to the leaves, seeming to debate on something, before looking at him again, “But if you weren’t.. I’d help you.” 

“What? I– oh, I don’t need help.” 

You nodded, “But if you did, I’d help you.” 

“Why? What would you expect in return?” 

You raised a brow. 

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Nothing at all?”

“Nothing.” you said, “Why? Are you used to always having to do something to get someone to help you?”

His eyes widened, he turned away, leaning into the bench, “It’s just how my kind works, I suppose.”

That sounded familiar too. You just couldn’t remember why. Maybe you should be more cautious, hadn’t you read stories with people just like him? 

You were used to getting tricked, and for just once, you wanted to live in a world where that didn’t happen. Because in that world, everything that happened to you would be your fault. Because you cried, screamed, and hoped. 

Jareth sighed, “Why would you want to help me, anyway?”

“Because.” 

“Why?”

“Well, because you’re the owl who came to my window. You reminded me of magic."

"I am not noble, (Y/n)."

You bit your lip, "I'm not either, Jareth."

What did you mean by that? Hadn't you been so noble, so kind, always putting a smile whenever he came? Always cooing over him, treating him gently? It’s what made you stand out amongst the sea of people. It's why he sat next to you, letting you ask. Letting you be here. You let him be here too. You let him ask too.

Did he even know what love was? Did he truly care? If you thanked him, he could leave! It'd be easier! To think, when he first got this silly idea, he wasn’t so scared, hesitant. Ready to whisk you away, ready to put you somewhere and let you be spoiled.
Then he saw your poor heart, shattered as you cried, and just wished for someone to care. 

Then he’d shown you his secret place, and you both basked underneath the moonlight. He let himself dip his toes into the water, he let himself be. 

That was so valuable to him.
He wanted to hoard it, that moment,and all the moments you both shared. He wanted to hoard you. It’d be so easy, especially if you just wished yourself away here and now! You’d have your dreams, whatever you wanted, and you wouldn’t have to ask if he was alright. Instead, you’d never meet his eye, just like his goblins did. 

To think, just earlier he awoke to the noises of them chattering in the village and cleaning up the night market, only to be replaced by those who frolicked in the village during the day. It’d been such a strange feeling to wake up to a usual sight. 

It’d been even stranger to realize that he wasn’t surrounded by moonlight, or a soft breeze, but sparkling trinkets, overpiled curtains, and the things he stuffed into a corner of his room and never spoke of. Though, he swore he’d get to them one day. It’d been otherworldly to arise from his bed and sit in front of his golden framed mirror, and watch his reflection get ready for the day. He felt like a ridiculous child in a story book, stopping to admit that they weren’t quite the same anymore. He wasn’t the Jareth who wished to show someone that place, anymore, but the one who did. 

Though, he was still alone, surrounded by goblins, who had loved ones. Still alone, without anyone by his side. 

“Jareth..” 

There it was, his name again. Your voice gentle, yet hesitant. 

“Yes?” 

“Will you still come tonight?”
“Of course.” 

Your eyes glimmered, “Will you show me somewhere else you like?” 

“Perhaps.” 

“You really should. I’d like to see it.” 

There it was, your heart, right there out in the open. 

He never knew there could be so much strength in that. 

He watched you watch the autumn leaves through the corner of his eye, and he couldn’t help it. His heart fluttered. 

After a few hours, you finally went home. Jareth perched on your shoulder again, and you gently pet his head as you stood at your front gate. You bit your lip.

“Make sure you eat when you get back.” you said, “I mean it.” 

He let out a noise.
“Eat cause I said so.” 

He surrendered, nodding.  

With another pet, you sent him on his way, before taking a deep breath. You almost wanted to call him back, but you knew how to handle it. Taking a deep breath, you fished the keys out of your purse, only to see your mom opening the door. 

“Where have you been all day?” 

You shrugged, “Just around, mom. At the park.”

She sighed, “I was worried.” 

She stepped closer. You tried not to look into her eyes. 

Pushing and pulling, eager and wondering, anxious and scared. Comforting and soft, harsh like knives, darkness and light. 

“You should’ve told me where you’d be heading off!” she smiled, and you froze as she cradled your cheeks, “But it’s alright. You hungry?” 

Your stomach growled, you nodded. 

See? She could be nice, sometimes. 

You followed her inside like an obedient puppy, your heartbeat starting to slow. Everything was okay. You were just crazy, right? 

Right?

After dinner, you went to your room, flipping through The Labyrinth. 

You closed the book. Your lips pursed in thought. What was that voice in your dreams? Flopping down on your back, you frowned. Why did it think you were going to hurt Jareth? Was it because that’s how all the stories ended? 

They didn’t talk about how he felt afterwards but.. 

“(Y/n!)”

You gasped and sat up. 

“Yes?” 

“Come ere!”

Clutching the book like a teddy bear, you opened the door, peering outside the crack like a scared doe. You took a deep breath. You walked to the living room.

“Go get me another beer.” she muttered, before picking up the remote and changing the TV. 

To think, this was your sanctuary when she was gone. With a sigh, you quietly snuck to the kitchen, and grabbed one from the fridge. The need to go, and go, to run away, popped into your chest. The nightmares you’d been having boomed in your chest. Darkness. The sounds of a beer can opening, even her perfume.

You looked at her.
She was your mom.
But you admitted it wasn’t fair.

Shaking your head, you walked to the couch, and the words lingered, too scared to be said, but a question popped out instead. 

“Hey mom?” 

“Hm?” 

She was hazy, not angry. 

“What if like.. Some goblins came to take me away? What would you do?” 

She laughed, swaying a bit as she sat, “I dunno.. Are they coming to take you away?” 

You stopped in front of the couch, you looked at her. 

Were they really coming to take you away? He said just wish, and they would, but you.. You weren’t extraordinary, you weren’t beautiful, you were selfish. It was your job to take care of your mom, to make sure everything was okay, and you couldn’t even do that right. You weren’t supposed to be too loud, you weren’t supposed to talk back.
But you did, today. You laughed. You told him to keep coming. 

You weren’t supposed to need, or want, anybody. 

Or was that just a lie you told yourself so you’d stop hurting?

If a Goblin King needed love, needed companionship, then… what about you? 

Your mom shifted, eyeing you, “You know, when you were a kid, you believed in that stuff,” she chuckled, and leaned forward for the can, and you gave it to her, , “I-I remember you loved Disney movies. You used to look for fairies.. Tell me the silliest things.. How come you don’t do that anymore?” 

You shrugged. 

“God, you used to talk to me!” she cried, “But all you do is sit there.. Do nothing.. I remember you asked me to read to you once.."

Your fists clenched. Yeah, you had asked for her to read to you once, when you were a kid. You’d been small, chubby, and bright eyed, back then. Love wasn’t complicated, fairies existed in the garden, and if you stayed up late enough, you could wish on a shooting star. Bitterness coated your tongue as you remembered the one and only time you asked her to read to you. It’d been nighttime, the TV was on, casting blue. A book rested against your thighs, and you leaned on her shoulder, asking her to read to you. She was so warm, and you wouldn’t have minded sleeping there, as long as you fell asleep to her voice. She finished the first few sentences, before looking at you. 

Can I stop now? She asked.
Yeah, you mumbled, nodding, and grabbed  the book from her grasp.

Back then, you wanted her to read to you like the moms on TV. A part of you still held onto that, but now, with Jareth, you realized how much holding onto that was like holding onto burning, broken glass. 

“What happened to my little girl?” she muttered, sighing dramatically, “I love you so much, but it’s never enough, is it?” 

You sighed, “Mom, I’m gonna go to bed.” 

“Yeah, all you do is stay in your damn room all day..” 

“Night, mom.” 

You closed the door behind you, and rushed to bed. You weren't remembering. You weren't remembering how you did trust her, how you did talk to her, how you did and did and did and did– Your hand gripped the doorknob behind you. Your chest heaved.

Don't remember that. No point in it. Everything was okay. Everything was alright.

The book rested on the corner of your bed. 

You’d been a kid, once, one who believed in magic and happily ever after. You were an adult now, you believed in roles and places. Dreams were just dreams. Goblin Kings just existed in story books.

That wasn’t true at all, and you knew it. 

You grabbed the book, and sat on your bed. 

You were an adult, now, and you believed that Jareth would come into your dreams again. He came today, he came yesterday. You shouldn’t, couldn’t, trust him. 

Yet, you fell asleep clutching the book anyway. 

Chapter Text

A winding hall, a winding house. 

Your hand trailed down the wall, bathed in dusty blue light. Whispers lingered in the shadows, and picture frames highlighted the walls. You stopped at one. There you were, with your mom, straddling your brother in the middle. You all were smaller, happy. 

Your mom used to be good then. 

She didn't hurt you. She never did. That was just.. something you made up and… and.. but, she did hurt you. That tiny , stubborn part of you knew that. Because you read enough stories to know that families aren't supposed to look like yours did, right?

“What do you want?” 

That voice. It felt like a hand ruffling your insides. It called to the small part of yourself that your mom hated. The part you hated. 

Shaking your head, you continued down the long hall, more pictures coating your vision. Your mom patching up your knee after a bad scrape, her braiding her hair and kneeling down to tie your shoes. She was a piece of you, in your blood and running through your veins. Scraping by alone, without any help from your dad, and with little help from extended family. If they did help, it mostly went to your brother. Your childhood memories were coated with shady apartments and houses, before you finally settled down where you lived now. You had a few years with your brother there, until.. Well, you didn’t want to think about that. 

You just owed her. Owed her for burdening her, for making her angry, for ruining her life. You were in debt– a debt you never knew you could have, because in stories, mother’s never asked to be paid. Because with your brother, she never asked to be paid.

Stopping at a window, you watched the silvery walls that lingered outside, square stains against the lightning sky. The sun peeked over the horizon like a curious child, its light reaching out like hands ready to seize the day. You turned away from the sight, your eyes meeting with a picture. The same one from earlier– everyone was happy. Your mom was sober, and you were glowing, and your brother was older, but still smiling. He wasn’t off with some relatives, growing up without you. 

You got to take care of him like a big sister should. You got a family, like normal people did. 

Would it have been like that, if you hadn’t asked you relatives to take him in? If you hadn’t threatened to call the cops? It seemed so juvenile, stupid, to still want that. 

Didn’t you still want that? 

Maybe, if mom got better, if she actually tried and– and what? 

When did she try? Was it when she went off to rehab, dropping you off with some family, leaving you hurt and confused, only to come back months later and start drinking again? Did she try when she went “cold turkey”? Did she try when you begged? Did she try, when you were thirteen, and bawling your eyes out, asking her to stop? 

Did she try, when your brother became a heart broken pre-teen who did the same? 

Did she try when she left you out there in the rain? 

You hadn’t realized your eyes wandered back to the window till you turned to the picture again– only to find it gone. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

You blinked. 

What did you want? 

So many things, too many things, things that were just out of reach. Wants were just wants. Just as words were just words, and dreams just dreams, but with him.. 

“What do you want?” the voice asked again, fluttering like the autumn wind. 

“I–” you stumbled, and your heart started to race, and you couldn’t, or didn’t, have the right way to explain, “I just–”
“Yes? Spit it out! Say it!” 

“I shouldn’t.” you whispered back. 

You heard a groan of frustration. It shook the walls around you. 

You bit your lip and closed your mouth. Your hand flew to your chest. Be thankful for the roof over your head, be happy that your mom isn’t always drunk. Stop wishing for more, but you couldn't, because you kept dreaming. Though dreams and wishes are synonyms, they aren't quite the same. Wished are frail, breakable. Momentary things whispered before blowing on a dandelion, or cried out when seeing a shooting star.

But dreams? 

Dreams can't be so easily killed. 

 You knew that, because for all of your life, you dreamed. Dreamed while rocking your little brother, shushing him in the dark as he cried, and you kept dreaming while in school. Before graduation, everything seemed possible– college, apartments, a life. But then.. You graduated, and you were still stuck next to your mom in the passenger seat, begging her to get off the road while she drove drunk. 

No more apartments, no more college, just trying to get by in a small town, with a part time job, but still, underneath all those moments, as the years since high school passed, there was a heartbeat, a pulse, and blood brimming, saying: There has to be better. There has to. 

There has to.

A knock. 

You stood, silent. 

Another knock. 

Where was it coming from?

You walked down the hall. 

The knocking continued, echoing, and you noticed that the whispers turned to murmurs, barely heard. 

A door. 

The knocking came from behind it. 

You grabbed the knob. You hesitated. 

The shadows around you brimmed, festered, and popped. Sizzling like grease, streaming like steam, coming in like a flood. Your heart pitter- pattered like a frantic rabbit, and you felt like a lost bunny, frozen in the dark. 

What did you want? A dream. A dream of a world without that darkness. 

A dream. A dream where you were a person, instead of a shoulder to cry on, or a band-aid, or a punching bag. Why were your hands shaking? Why was your heart pounding? You knew those shadows, you knew that darkness, but this was your dream. Yours. 

Slowly, you opened the door. Everything silenced. 

Light cut in, and.. And it was just Jareth. And the sunrise behind him. 

“Where shall I take you?” he smiled, offering out his hand, “Far away, perhaps?” 

Far away. Was that somewhere you could go? 

 Jareth tilted his head, stretching his hand out further, and you noticed how he wore no gloves. His fingers were long, delicate, and you lifted your hand, lingering. 

No one ever tried for you before. Yet here he was. 

You grasped his hand, and he grinned, eyes sparkling like glass. What did he hide behind those eyes? What did he hide beneath the glamor of it all? In all those stories, he was the Goblin King– elegantly dressed, head always held high, voice commanding, yet here, he spoke so softly.  

In all those stories, he was never trusted, and you could see why– you weren’t an idiot– being drugged by a peach, or running through a maze to get to your baby brother wasn’t exactly love.

You knew that, but still, you couldn’t help but remember how he turned all those wished away children into goblins, erasing the memories of their previous lives so they wouldn't suffer.

“Would you like to go far away?” His voice was like a call, a pull to your heart, “Or are you going to keep testing me?” he asked, and you noticed just how sharp his teeth were. 

He was powerful. He loomed above you. He could hurt you. At any moment, he could. In the stories, he took up the halls of the labyrinth with his shadow, kicked goblins around with ease, but despite that, despite all those images in the book, what you remembered most was the image of him sitting alone on his throne. 

No, no– what you remembered most was something that didn’t even happen in the book. What you remembered most was him tapping at your window, asking to be let in. That’s what you remembered. 

So, could he really be so merciless, so cruel? 

“I..” your voice was soft, timid, “I would like to go far away.. But..” 

“Yes?”

What could you believe? Yourself, the stories? The stories that said more? The stories that gave you brief glances into his humanity? The interactions that did the same? But then, those interactions were clouded with something– mystery. Him keeping you at arms length. 

“You don’t trust me all that much, do you?” 

His eyes widened, “I beg your pardon?” 

“You.. you’re scared– you dodge my questions. I have to wrestle for answers.”

“I don’t let my heart out that easily, unlike you.” he looked away from you, his mouth a firm line, “And look what that has done to you.” 

You gripped his hand. You let go. 

You set your jaw. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.
“You let me in, let me get attached, that’s what it means.” 

“Yes. I did.” you replied, “And– and you’re here. So that must mean something.” 

“You sound so sure.”
“I am! And– and don’t you want the same thing I do? Don’t you want someone to know you as you are, for who you are? You wouldn’t be here if that wasn’t true, right?” 

What was he, always in those stories?
Big, scary, imposing and wide– but at the same time, he was a lonely man singing to a babe, trying to comfort him, a lover singing a promise, trying to be loved. 

Those stories said he was just the Goblin King, but they hinted he was more too. 

It was like.. How you always told stories about yourself. 

How you were quiet– shoulders hunched, head down. How you were your mother’s daughter, brother’s sister and nothing else. How you didn’t deserve to be angry, instead, deserving to be hurt for even thinking it was unfair. 

Here though? Here, you couldn’t do that. 

Here, you were (Y/n), and you looked Jareth– the Goblin King, with inconsiderable power, in the eye. How come? What was so different now? Was it because you let him in first? Or.. no.. what did all the others do? They ran away. But you.. You.. 

Your gaze went towards your hand. You extended it towards him. You let him in first. And kept doing that. So, if you had to keep teasing him for answers– fine. If you had to keep searching– fine. Because here, you could let yourself do something as selfish as get to know someone. He stared at your hand, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Are you scared?” you cooed softly, lips pulling up as you offered your hand,  “I wouldn’t blame you if you were.” 

He glared at your palm. 

“I’m not scared.” he clipped. 

“Then don’t dodge my questions.” 

He gave you a look, scanning you, his cheeks flushing as he realized he liked you much better like this. So sweet, and determined, he couldn’t help but sink, just a little. 

“Well,” he mused, sounding like a bored cat, “You only sleep eight hours.. So I suppose I shall take your hand.” 

In response, you laughed, before he grasped your hand. You let him lead the way, and the door, the house, the darkness, all melted away. The breeze caressed your cheeks, and you smelled the morning dew in the air. The walls that had once been in the distance came closer, and now towered before you. Your eyes turned towards Jareth as he stopped. Underneath the orange light of the rising sun, you watched his cheeks flush and the light play with his hair. 

“Not many come here often.” he paused, looking around, “And.. this is somewhere I go..” 

You tilted your head, before looking at the door in front of you, noticing it was overgrown with vines. A knob peeked through the dark green leaves, sparkling a dull gold. The doorframe, you realized, was carved with stone, and decorated with goblins and leaves. Turning towards him, you watched him look at the ground, still so alluring, but there was something underneath that. Whatever it was, you wanted a peek. 

“Then, will you show me?” you asked gently.

This was somewhere special. Like the park you showed him in your dream– the one you used to go to with your brother, before you and your mom started moving left and right. Or was it like the bookstore? Somewhere you discovered in order to survive? What did he survive, what did he endure? 

“Do.. Do you really wish to see?” 

“Yes.” 

Jareth reached over, grabbing the knob. A gasp left you as the door opened, letting the sounds of twittering birds and rustling leaves overtake you. His grip on your hand tightened as he led you inside, closing the door behind you. Crowded vines covered the walls in various shades of green, and white flowers bloomed amongst them. Grass tickled your bare ankles, and you noticed a stone path unraveling beneath your feet, covered in moss. A stone bench stood in the middle of the garden, and he guided you towards it. The both of you sat side by side, surrounded by bursts of ruffled orange flowers, rivets of red petals, and yellow bulbs. 

“Well, what.. What do you think?”
You turned to him, “You must really like flowers.” 

He scowled, “Is that it? Because.. then so help me– I’ll kick you out!” 

“So help me,” you mocked, before chuckling, “I’ll drag myself back here and make you show me around! But that struggle would ruin your pretty makeup and get mud all over your shoes!” you raised a brow, a grin tilting your lips, "And we know you hate to get dirty, don't we?"

Jareth crosses his arms, glaring at the ground. Especially as you kept laughing. He realized it was the longest he heard you laugh. It sounded so light, carefree, and it wasn’t forced like the laughter of his goblins. 

“Stop laughing! It’s a special privilege to be here– not many are allowed! All except the gardener, who’s currently on thin ice!” 

“Why?” 

“Because he was brave! Helping a human girl through the labyrinth!” he snapped, noting how your shoulders shook as you held back laughter, “That stupid dwarf, whatever his name was..” 

A gardener helping a human.. A dwarf? That sounded familiar. Oh! Sarah’s story! That was it! Though, you couldn’t really focus on the revelation, because Jareth continued to complain, and you couldn’t help it– more peals escaped you. Childish, light, and silly. 

“You’re a fool to laugh at me. A bit brave,” he gave you a look of playful contempt, “But still a fool.” 

“So, am I on thin ice, then?” 

"Perhaps." He sneered.

You burst again, throwing your head back as snorts escaped you. He didn't understand what was SO funny! Catching your breath, you gazed at him, head tilted. 

"Well, then you're on thin ice too, aren't you?" 

 “Excuse me?” 

 “I dunno, Jareth, you’re pretty brave, or at least I think so, anyway.” 

He cackled, “Me? Brave? Do you really think I’m that noble?” 

“I don’t think you’re noble, I said brave. You told me I show my heart too easily, but here you are, doing the same, and not even realizing it.” 

Jareth’s face burned. His heart raced. Just like that! Just like that, you reduced him to something else! He wasn’t brave! He didn’t get to be! He was nothing, nothing but the Goblin King! A grandiose, magical being who commanded a room with a single glare! How he should show you his cruelty– how he should show you just what he could be! It’d be easier to cling to that image, it’d be easier to ignore just how much those words made him swell with a foolish warmth. 

You called him brave. 

You even called him sweet, once. 

If you kept speaking like that.. He might believe you. 

If he believes you, then he'd cling to your words. It'd be so much easier to cling to the daydream of finding someone amongst the dreamers of the humans, than it would be to believe you. Though, he never did find anyone amongst those starry eyed admirers. 

Was it because he granted their wishes, or perhaps, because he tricked them? Yet, he never tricked you. He had no reason. There was no reason to antagonize, or push. If you had done something, perhaps declined to let him inside during a rainy night, then he'd have a reason. 

His heart beat faster as he thought of that. His heart couldn't handle going back to the world he once knew, nor could his magic. For how could he go back to being just a Goblin King, when you kept calling his name so sweetly? 

Goblin King weren't kind, nor were they brave. Perhaps Jareth was.  

“Do you really think that? That I am brave?” he mumbled,  cringing at how boyish, how silly, he sounded. 

“Yes. I do. Maybe–” you stopped, looking down at your feet, “You speak your mind, and never let others boss you around. I think that’s quite brave. And you.. And you being here, despite how scared you are, that’s brave too.” 

You shrugged awkwardly, before looking around. The moment faded into silence, and he let himself look at you. Why on earth did the corners of your eyes crinkle, as if you knew a secret he didn’t? Why on earth did he value such a sweet and fragile smile? 

“I wonder what this garden is like, in real life.” 

He turned to you, watching you kick the ground. You seemed.. you seemed to feel just as he did. That comforted him. 

“Be careful with your words, (Y/n). Use them wisely.” he replied, ignoring the way his heart ignited, “If you say that, then I shall believe you. Then I shall keep coming.” 

You bit your lip, carefully measuring your words, "And if you say things like that, and keep coming, I might start to believe you.” 

Those words shot him right in the chest without even realizing it. 

“But..” you continued, “I don’t– Why do you keep coming?” 

How on earth was he supposed to answer? Where could he start? 

With how you treated him at his most vulnerable with decency? Despite the fact you’d been crying moments before, or how you held him– a gruesome barn owl, with claws and talons, so gently? How could he explain he liked those small moments, where he got to watch you bustle around the house, talking your head off, laughing and joking with him? How, where could he even start? With how he watched you through his crystal, and saw himself? And perhaps, maybe, wanted to stop seeing that image of you, alone? 

How maybe he stopped wanting to be alone after all this time? 

If you found all that out, what would you think of him then? Weak, pathetic, imperfect? Yet, he almost wanted.. Oh– no, no! He didn’t. Truly, he didn’t. He cleared his throat, sending you a casual glance. 

“Well, I suppose because you started it.” He stated,  “And you gave me no reason to treat you cruelly, nor poorly.”

"Well.. why would I? You haven't hurt me. You don't deserve that."

He looked at you. 

"Do you truly mean that?"

"You aren't the greatest. But that doesn't mean you're the worst, either. You've tricked.people, but you had a reason. Maybe.. maybe I'm too soft, but you did all those things, made runners go through all those obstacles, to prove that they were sorry. And.. you know, you did more too."

"Did I?"

You nodded, and pieces clicked together. 

The way Sarah grew throughout her story, or the way the prince learned to be less selfish, how one child journeying throughout the labyrinth learned to depend on others, and so many more. In all those stories, something was lost– fantasies exchanged for adulthood. 

You used to have fantasies before your brother moved away. Fantasies of better. Of more. Of being rescued. You used to have fantasies before that, too. Memories plopped in like raindrops, scattering across the rooftop of your mind– the things you used to dream of. Of having someone care, of having someone try. 

But no one cared, but no one helped you. 

That’s why you loved the Goblin King when you read about him, it’s why you couldn’t be afraid of him, but it wasn’t just that. You knew how to stretch yourself beyond belief for an ounce of love. 

It wasn’t fair to him. Someone who protected abandoned things, who did his job, it wasn’t fair to someone who treated you so kindly. He didn’t deserve that– to be alone– and if he didn’t deserve that, then maybe you didn’t either. Then maybe… if he was more than a king, if he was Jareth.. If he was a person, then maybe you were too. 

Jareth leaned towards you. You turned towards him, flushing at how close he was, feeling that fluttery warm feeling in your chest. Everything was so strange, and wonderful, but you didn't know what to think. What to say, or even what to do. He scrunched up his face, before poking your forehead. You blinked.

"What else did I do?" He demanded, "I demand–"

"Stop demanding things.” 

You both looked at each other, and the wind blew through. 

"Will you tell me?"

"What's the magic word?"

"Now you're at your limit."

"Magic. Word."

You kept staring at him.

Groaning, he rolled his eyes, "Please?"

You grinned.

The stories rattled through your mind again, twisting like a labyrinth. The baker and his wife learned to work together to find the dog that they wished away. A mother learning to let her daughter grow up, and so many more. Growth, change– quests and endings. Endings that left him alone. 

“You..” you bit your lip, staring at the silvery buttons of his shirt, “You gave them a chance to change for someone they loved. You made them prove that they were worthy of getting who they wished away back– and.. And I know that I’d love for someone to do that or me. Change. Try.” 

Had you even realized what you had done? What he was? What he felt inside him? Hope and something else, magic and something new? Oh, how it scared him, how weak he was, how fragile. 

“Is there something you wish to change?” he asked softly, looking into your eyes, watching them sparkle like the stars within the universe. 

You nodded. 

“What is it?” 

He leaned closer to you now, and his hair caressed your cheek. He could feel how warm you were, and he noticed how your eyebrows knitted, as if too afraid to say. How could you, the one who told him to stop demanding things, who asked if he was alright, be scared? 

“What do you wish to change?” he asked again, “Will you tell me? Please?” 

 “I shouldn’t–” 

He frowned, “Forget what you should and shouldn’t. This is a dream, remember? Your dream.” 

“I shouldn’t.. Because that’s the way things are. I’m treated the way I am because I’m horrible. Spoiled. Ungrateful.” 

What were you saying? How could you say that? Look at what you turned him into! Your words, your actions, weren’t bribes, or tugs to get him to look at you! They were just.. There! Words that meant something, words that turned him into more than an alluring image in the distance! 

Yet, he hated the words you said. Horrible? Where? Spoiled? Where? Ungrateful? Where? 

“Why on earth should you be grateful?” he asked, his voice hard, “Why? After all you have done, should you be grateful ? You sit there, say it is unfair, that it isn't right for me, but the fact you can’t do it for yourself astounds me!” 

You startled, fidgeting. He wanted you to stop fidgeting! Tease him, fight him, roll your eyes and cross your arms! Don’t start acting like a goblin now, or a foolish child clinging to a fantasy! Pester him, play with him, and ask him if he’s tired! 

“It’s just– I dunno..”

“Then say something you do know.” he replied curtly, “I demand you to stop–”
“Well, you should stop demanding!” your face scrunched, “And you know what? I’m tired of demands! I like it when you ask!” 

He tried to hide his grin, “Then, may I ask that you stop being so.. That?” he gestured towards you vaguely, “Don’t start being so scared now." 

Jareth leaned away, and tried to casually look around, trying to not let you see just what you had done. He didn’t want you to see the questions that floated in his mind– what if he told you what you did to him? What if he told you that he was tired? No. He was the Goblin King– who ruled alone, who controlled his kingdom using fear. Simple threats were easy solutions to uprisings and such. Hanging a goblin upside down over a bog for a few hours worked wonders! 

“You– you really don’t want me to be scared of you?” 

He bit his lip, feeling the frown forming there, before he simply nodded. 

“Really?” 

He rolled his eyes, “Yes. That is what I want. Now, what do you want?” 

That voice asked you that. And now, he was asking you that again. 

You let the question sink in. 

What did you want? 

What you wanted, who you were– those things never mattered before. 

“What do I want?” you asked. 

“Yes. What do you want?” 

When you were a child, wants were easy. A new doll, a new book, to sleep after a long day. When you were a teenager, they grew more complicated. A shoulder to lean on, someone to cry to, someone who would save you. 

As an adult, you saw the consequences of those wants– relying on someone left you alone in the rain, or burying yourself in a book. Asking for comfort meant waiting for another blow, and you realized people only cared when you were afraid. 

When he first came into your dreams, he asked you to fear him, but you told him you wouldn’t. 

It was the first time someone listened.

So, did your words really matter? Weren't words just words and wants just wants? Weren't you just you? 

A nobody, a nothing, but he was reaching over, cradling your chin in his hand, and looking at you so softly. His gaze made you into someone.  

“(Y/n)?” he took your chin, “Tell– Please, tell me.” 

Someone who got to be close to someone else. 

“What if–”
Your voice caught him, and he turned to you. 

“You– you– said–” you struggled more, clenching your fists, looking up at the sky, “what if I just wanted… this?"

He eyed you. He frowned.

How you looked at him, eyes saying something he couldn’t understand. How your shoulders huddled to your ears, as if you were  ready for a blow at any moment. Is this how you always lived? Within a darkness that created no light? Oh– oh no, no. You created your own, didn’t you? You just didn’t realize how valuable that was, you didn’t realize how valuable you were. 

But, would he still value you, if you rejected him? Would he put you somewhere safe, if you hated him? 

Why on earth was he thinking like that? Foolish.
Seeing you hesitate, watching you put the right words together as not to upset him, made his stomach feel like a vat of viscous slime. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like feeling as if he was split into two children tugging on the same piece of fabric. Go away and never come back, Jareth– no, stay, see how this ends, Jareth– No, trap you and make sure you never escape but– didn’t your mother already do that, and who was he but– 

Why on earth was he thinking about that? Foolish, foolish.  

Would he let you stay with him, within his realm, if you did not obey? If you were ruled over? He needed to stop asking questions. To stop wondering. Though, if he kept coming, and if this feeling of growth and wonder– beauty and magic, kept growing, what would he do? Would he trap you? He had to, didn’t he? 

He couldn’t let you break his heart. 

You scooted closer to him. He let you. Goodness, why did he let you? You oughtn't be so close, yet here you were. Close, close, closer. If he tried, he could crumble your heart. He really could. If he tried. He just didn’t have a reason. All he wanted you to do was keep coming close, close, closer. You looked just as scared as he did. His heart was pounding so, so fast. 

What was he supposed to do, with you so close? With no control? Without the ballrooms to cage you, or the trinkets to hold you captive? 

Did you see that a part of him wanted to live in a world without tricks, or bribes? Where someone treated him just as you did– for no reason at all.

“I–” your voice cracked, “Will you.. Will you keep coming, even after what I said?” 

Just as scared. Just as scared as him. He wanted this. He wanted this. 

“I will.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course.” 

Your eyes sparkled, and you smiled, big and wide, “So.. where do you wanna go tomorrow? 

He raised a brow, “You’re excited to see me already?”

You shrugged, “Maybe, maybe not.” you paused, gaze steady, “I just want you to keep coming.” 

How could he say no, when your heart was right there, out in the open? He almost admired you for that. How your eyes showed what you were thinking, how you sometimes couldn’t help but express your thoughts through your expressions. So open, so bright, so beautiful. 

Jareth turned away, towards the fountain. 

“The park was quite nice. Let’s go again.”

You smiled, your eyes sparkled, “Alright.”

After work, the first thing you saw was a white owl perched on a branch. His feathers stuck out amongst the crisp, red leaves, and you rushed to him, happily letting him park in the basket of your bike. Sunshine coated the world like honey, warming your cheeks as you rose to the park. 

Could life really be like this? 

A breeze flew through, and leaves fell down like shooting stars around you as you cruised down the streets. Once upon a time, you told your brother that if he caught a leaf before it hit the ground, he could wish on it. You breathed in the crisp air, listening to the chirping of the birds as they congregated in the sky, wondering where to fly south this year. 

Could life really be like this? 

So soft, and peaceful? 

You wanted life to be like this. 

Passing by buildings, you soon descended into the neighborhood, before turning into the park, letting your bike sail on the trail that ran through it. Sometimes, you came here when your mom wasn’t home. It wasn’t said, but you could tell she never liked you going out. She never liked you being alone, or going anywhere without her. A part of you understood, but sometimes.. You just felt trapped. Like there was no escape– you glanced down at Jareth. Except, now there was a chance of one. It was scary, that thought. 

Panting, you stopped the bike, and Jareth looked up at you, letting out a noise. 

“I need to catch my breath,” you replied, “Especially because there’s a hill up ahead.” 

His eyes widen. 

You bit back laughter, “Oh it won’t be too bad. Here,” you slipped off your coat, and wrapped him in it, “There. Now you can’t be too scared.” 

He sent you a look, eyes narrowed. 

“It’ll be fun. Or.. are you really just a wuss-puss?”

He shrieked. 

“Okay! Okay! You’re not a wuss-puss!” you started to climb on your bike, but thought better of it, instead, you walked a head, pushing it up the incline. 

Once you reached the top, you looked down at him, smirking.

“I hope you’re ready.” 

He looked down the hill. He looked at you, shaking his head. 

You climbed back on your bike, and pushed it down the hill, squealing as it sped down. Jareth squawked, shrieked, before finally starting to laugh– in his own weird owly way– with you. 

Could life really be this wonderful? 

The wind pulled your hair back, and kissed your cheeks in cold, brisk, kisses, and you were just going to burst! No– expand! Leaves crunched underneath the wheels, and you realized you hadn’t giggled this loudly in years! You hadn’t been this loud in years! 

You shouldn’t be! 

But who else was here to hear you, except a little owl who was just as loud? 

Slowing down, you stopped, and looked at him. He glared at you, feathers ruffled, and turned away. 

“Are you upset?”
He sent you a look over his shoulder. 

“Oh Jareth–” you rested your elbows on the bars of the bike, and he kept pouting, “Are you alright?” 

He let out a noise.

“I know you’re not that mad, right? Wasn’t that fun?” 

He upturned his beak. 

“I know it was– that’s the most fun I’ve had in ages!” you whispered excitedly, “Do you wanna go again? If you turn into your human form, or whatever you turn into, then you can drive my bike!” 

He shuffled a bit, and you kept petting his head. Seeing him so small just made.. It made a warm feeling bloom in your chest. What was it, anyway? Why were the only sounds you heard the noises of the birds, the rustling of the trees, and gathering of the leaves? 

No yelling. 

No screaming. 

No grease popping, radio playing, bones cracking. No beer can opening, nails digging– just this. 

The warmth of feathers blooming underneath your fingers, and the softness of his tired gaze. His shoulders seemed a bit droopy, and he looked so.. Tired. Hadn’t he been that way lately? Was it your fault? Your stomach pinched, and that feeling you just had became spiked with something else. 

“Or.. we could find somewhere to sit for a while?” you murmured, keeping your voice soft.

Jareth eyed you, before he nodded. 

“I never knew you could be so demanding, your majesty.” 

He made a noise in reply. 

You know what this reminded you of? Those times you had with your brother. Where the both of you sat at home together, and teased each other, but it was somehow better. Whatever this was, and maybe you were being selfish, asking him to keep coming. Slowly, you rode your bike to a nearby bench, picking him up in your arms before parking it on the grass. Cradling him, you sat down. 

If you started to ask too much, would this all vanish? Or, would you wake up to find out it’d been just a silly dream? But it was real. You still had the feather, and the umbrella and cape. You still had the book. Setting him in your lap, you shook your head, before running your fingers through his feathers. 

He was warm, small, and tired. Was it silly you wanted to give him what you didn’t have? The dreams you’d been having for the past week were like.. Well, a dream! And even before that, those few weeks during October where you spent time with him, watching spooky movies throughout the month, enjoying the soft rain together, were a dream too. You felt him settle into your lap, closing his eyes. Looking at him like that, so vulnerable  despite his talons and claws, made you want more. It made you want to admit things that you weren’t ready to admit. It made you want to wish a wish that you shouldn’t want. 

Wishes were dangerous. And you knew that. But.. but goodness, you didn’t know. You needed to snap out of it. 

You fingers stopped, and Jareth plopped an eye open, before taking a digit into his beak, urging you to continue. When you did, he happily sighed, , despite the fact his heart pounded within his chest. How on earth could you be so gentle? Treating him as if he was something precious? 

When was the last time someone treated him like this? The goblins could be kind, yes, but usually, that was in order to gain something– his attention, his affection, and approval. 

Had he ever been treated like this? If he had, he couldn’t remember. Perhaps, it was before all the beginnings, all the endings, before he became a Goblin King, or maybe, it was during the time before he decided his ending. Wait, he decided? He never decided his ending! He said what he said and he pledged what he pledged! Yet, they decided to run off anyway, it wasn’t his fault. 

Though your knitted brows and clutched knuckles flashed through his mind. The way you struggled to tell him what you wanted, eyes glued to the ground and– no, no! No. You had to obey. You had to. 

No one had ever done this before. No one. 

A soft sigh caught his attention, and he turned towards you. Your eyebrows furrowed deep in thought. What troubled you? He wanted you to smile, because your smile made him want to smile too. He  bumped his head against your fingers, snapping you out of your little reverie, and you sent him a smile. He closed his eyes once more, and you chuckled, continuing to pet him again. 

There were no beginnings, no endings, or stories left to be told. Just a moment, one that wasn’t a day dream, or a fantasy, but instead as real as the sunshine that warmed his feathers. 

The two of you spent a few hours like that, and the goblins, and mothers, were far away, some distant fairy tale. 

Of course, nothing lasted. 

That's just how things worked. 

You got yelled at for coming home so late, and you were too scared to stand up for yourself. Too scared to say anything. Instead, you just took it, before scurrying off to your room to go to sleep, escaping within your dreams. 

The moon was a beacon, guiding you forward.

Your chest burned-- why were you so upset, so angry?   Why did it feel so unfair? It was like that night you first found him all over again, or all those times you argued back. You learned that it never mattered. Standing up for yourself, saying something, fighting back. 

Because no one cared. No one listened. 

You found yourself in the woods again, and stomped through the cold. The moonlight  highlighted the walls in the distance. Something hissed, and something spattered, but you were so angry. So tired. You wanted someone to run to. 

He appeared. You noticed eyebags beneath his eyes, a weariness around his shoulders, and before you would ask what was wrong, he turned to you. 

"Why are you still there?" He asked softly.

You looked down at the ground, you shrugged. Small, cowardly, afraid. Undeserving. Especially after having such a wonderful day together. She just had to ruin it– or no, you did by making some comment and– you flinched when he cradled your cheek, before looking up at him. 

This wasn’t you. You weren’t someone worthy of such warm hands, of such a soft gaze. This wasn’t you, someone who got to be valued. 

"Surely, you still don't think you deserve that."  

“I–” your lip quivered, but you twisted it into a firm line, before shrugging. 

Your mom just yelled at you. It’s what happened. Sometimes, a few days would pass, and she wouldn’t yell. Maybe she’d scold you, say a mean word or two, but it was normal. It was okay. It’s just how things worked, it’s just how you were. Worthless, nobody, nothing. A thing to be used and hurt. 

“Do you really think you deserve such cruelty?” he edged closer to you, his gaze like a gentle pair of hands holding you, “Because if you did, then tell me why you asked me to keep coming. Tell me why I promised I would help you.”

You didn’t know. You wanted to curl up and cover your ears, because you couldn’t explain yourself. It was like you tried to grip at who you were and who you weren’t with slippery, oily fingers. It was like you couldn’t hold onto either part. 

You told yourself you stopped dreaming when your brother left, but you kept wishing. Wishing, and hoping– and aren’t hopes just stronger versions of wishes that last a little longer? Hoping for a better family, hoping for your mom to finally see you. 

It's just that, hopes have this habit of interlocking with wishes, and wishes have this habit of being impossible. Like how you wished  to go back to the dumb kid who didn’t question her. You wished to go back to that little girl who called herself silly for wishing for a fairy godmother, but a wish lingered right there, on the tip of your tongue. Though now you were just a dumb adult, clutching at the ripped pages of her life, trying to keep them together. 

Because if you let go of the pieces, would all the moments you had together disappear? Would the feeling of his hand on your cheek, or the moments at the park, bookstore, and café, all crumble away, revealing that it was just a trick? Would him wiping away your tears, and even kissing your cheek, turn out to be a ploy? 

What would you do, if you lost the only person– or, being similar to one– that comforted you? 

Then, at the same time, that tiny part of you hoped. That tiny part of you was louder than it’d first been, more demanding, and it wanted to selfishly wish to be whisked away, and it wanted to selfishly believe that someone would care. 

It’s just that you had to be careful. 

"What happens if I wish myself away? How do I know I'm not hopping into another.. into another place like the one I'm at now?"

“Do you not trust me?” he whispered softly. 

“I want to,” you murmured, “But it’s like you said yesterday, look at what that’s done to me.” 

You gestured towards yourself, before looking down at the ground. He’d go now, and take back his words and leave you to rot. Just like you deserved. You could barely stand up for yourself, barely do anything, barely admit that it wasn’t fair– and even that admission was a weak shake of your head. Helpless, helpless, helpless– stupid, stupid, stupid. This is why you got hurt, this is why the world closed up on you and no one helped you, because you weren’t worth it.

“What has it done to you?” he asked gently, “Because.. Because I am looking at you, (Y/n), and I see you so differently than you see yourself. Yet, we are on the same boat– you said so yourself. We ought.. We ought to be scared together, don’t you agree?” 

Jareth tilted his head as you stared at him, wide eyed, like a deer in headlights. He watched you take a breath, fidgeting.

“Aren’t.. Aren’t you upset?” you whispered anxiously, “Don’t.. Don’t you want.. Don’t you want to hurt me?”

“No.” he replied, and his heart squeezed when you flinched as he tucked a stray hair behind your ear, he frowned. 

You were breaking his heart. Cracking it within your fingers. Stop being wide eyed, stop being small, don’t do that to him– not after being so brave and bold. 

“(Y/n).” he paused, and cradled your face, squishing your cheeks, “Don’t you start.. Don’t– you.. You  stop that!” 

“Stop what?” you asked. 

“Doing that! Acting like– don’t. Not after– don’t you dare start acting like that now!” he begged, voice still gentle, soft, “Not after I have trusted you a little, I swear.. I will not hurt you. I cannot hurt you.” 

Your reaction told him everything– and what kind of world had you lived in, where even that seemed impossible? Oh, to keep you in a world where you believed those words, in a world where you’d be nothing but happy. Living in a perfect bubble where he wouldn’t wouldn’t worry about you, where you wouldn’t fret, and you’d have all those wonderful dreams, but not him. 

Wouldn’t that be perfect? 

“Do you really mean that?” you whispered softly.

He nodded, “Yes. Yes I do.”

You eyed him warily, before taking a deep breath, “Then.. I’ll believe you. Will you show me somewhere else you like?” 

“Alright. But stop looking like that. I don’t like it.” 

He offered his arm, and you took it. Let him lead you away, let him have you, let him hoard you– please! Yet, why, oh why, was his heart aching at the mere thought? Why, oh why, did he ask if he was going to lose you if he did so? Why, why, why? He never cared about those things before! But here you were, so fragile– so tempting, yet so hard to break. Yet here you were, doing the things he couldn’t do. How on earth did you do it? 

Deeper into the woods, deeper, and you held on tight to him. Still scared, still fragile. Trees cascaded his vision, and he couldn’t help but.. But what? Admire it all. While he had some form of influence on your dreams by being here, and showing you his hiding spots, it was you who still created everything else. 

His boot hit a tree root, and he stumbled forward, but you caught him before he fell. 

"Are you alright?"

Jareth cleared his throat, "I'm alright. Come.” 

“Where are we going?”
“Well, I must get back at you somehow.” 

“What?” 

The trees faded, the grass and dead leaves melted away into sand, and walls surrounded you. He stopped at a patch of vines, before pushing them aside, revealing a rocky alcove. Spiderwebs shone in the moonlight, hanging onto the branches of the trees and crevices of the stones. Dead shrubs lingered, and you realized just how big, expansive, the labyrinth was. Some childish part of you wanted to explore it. 

If only you saw Jareth smirking as you lead the way in. A black bird landed on a tree above you, letting out a caw. Your heartbeat picked up. The noises of the night faded. You looked upwards, noticing the black birds fill the bare, skinny branches one by one. Behind you, Jareth let out a screech, and you screamed as the ravens flew towards you, their feathers caressing you, but not leaving a mark on your skin. 

The birds landed on the wall behind him.

“It’s what you get for scaring me earlier!” he exclaimed, laughing. 

He grinned as your eyebrow twitched, as your nostrils flared– there was his human! 

“Now, come on.” 

You crossed your arms. 

He rolled his eyes, “Oh come, come come! I know you want to, don’t you. Don’t upturn your nose now.” 

“Is that all you came to show me, a murder?”
“A flock of ravens is called an unkindness, dearest,” he chided, “Not a murder.” 

“Well I’m attempted to show you a murder for what you just pulled!” your scowl deepened as his shoulders hook. 

As his chuckles became soft laughter, you turned towards him, watching him. You know, you’d never seen him laugh like that before. What was different about it? Was it because it was a fond laugh, or.. Was it because it was so imperfect, so human? 

A feeling burbled in your chest, warm and comforting, like a blanket around your shoulders. A small snort escaped you before you joined in, offering him your arm and he grinned as he took it. 

“You know, there are many treasures within my labyrinth.” he mused, peeking at you through the corner of his eye, “And I cannot show them all to you.” 

“Show me as many as you can.” you replied. 

Jareth’s eyes shone gently, and while he didn’t answer, you still saw the corner of his lips pulling into a smile. You two kept walking, passing rocks, shrubbery, walls and odd buildings, before arriving at a crumbling wall. Standing before it, you traced a crack with your finger, taking note of a crow landing above you. 

“Don’t worry about this wall,” he murmured, “It hasn’t been worth fixing for a while. Although, it does make a wonderful perch for stargazing.” 

“Are you sure it’s not for your birdy stalkers?” 

“What?” 

You pointed upwards. His head followed. 

“No, it isn’t. Can a bird just not perch somewhere to rest?” 

“With all the birds I’ve met? I don’t think so.” 

“What– have you met more magical birds than me?” 

“No.” 

He sent you a look. Perhaps he ought to let you get on the wall yourself?  Why, you weren’t even looking at him, anymore, instead taking in your surroundings, as if trying to memorize every pathway. With that thought, he placed a foot on the wall, and started to walk upwards. 

That caught your attention. 

“What are you doing?” you asked. 

He gazed down at you, “Walking. You?” 

“Standing. Help me up!” 

“I shall think about it.” he paused, a finger on his chin. A moment of silence passed between the two of you, until he spoke again, “I have thought about it.” 

“So, you’ll help me?” 

“No.” 

Jareth continued walking up, seeing you glare at him. It wasn’t.. A bad glare, nor a hurtful one. It was playful, and you both knew it. He stopped when he was halfway up, looking down at you, only to find you looking around, and then placing a foot on the wall. He raised a brow. What, did you think you could climb up like he did? Ah.. you couldn’t. Just like he thought. Though.. He was feeling a little bad, leaving you all alone down there… What if you got too lonely without him? Or cold? Oh! What if you got hurt? Humans get hurt easily, don’t they? 

“I’m going to get you!” you wailed angrily, huffing. 

“Are you?” he asked, continuing his walk. 

“Yes! Yes I am!” you jumped in frustration, before looking around again. You groaned in frustration. 

Until you noticed a vine, growing from the other side of the wall. It slithered down like a snake, unfurling leaves, and you could’ve sworn you smelled pepper in the air, and heard the noise of a fluttering book. You looked down, and there it was– The Labyrinth, familiar stories fluttered by your eyes, once upon a times, happily ever afters, adventures and journeys, you even glanced at that beginning from the other day. The story that started with an argument, unlike all the others, but past that page, there was nothing but words flashing in and out of sight. Grabbing the vine, you set off on your climb, pulling yourself up the wall. Jareth sat on top, mouth agape, before he frowned like a toddler. Rolling his eyes, he helped you up, and the both of you sat side by side, on the sturdy part of the wall. 

“Look up.” Jareth said softly. 

You did, and gasped at the stars. 

Birds twittered around you, and the air smelled like spring, and autumn, and some odd in-between, and your heart swelled. The stars….. You never knew there could be so many! They were like crystals, scattered in the deep, dark waters of the sky, or pieces of glass against a vast void. Jareth leaned close to you, and you realized you didn’t want this to end like the other stories. 

“What’s.. What’s your favorite constellation?” you asked softly. 

He smiled, “Come with me, and I shall tell you. Use the words– wish yourself away, here and now.” 

You bit your lip, and swung your legs, “Then tell me what’ll happen, once I wish myself away.” 

“You’ll live wonderfully,” he murmured, “You’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted.” 

That felt wrong somehow. You knew that couldn’t be real, could it? Everything you ever wanted. What did that even mean? Did that mean you’d have a family, a place to call home, or did it mean something else?

Jareth looked at you, waiting. Guilt coiled in your stomach as he sighed. Of course you had to ruin the moment, of course you had to make him feel that way, of course, of course, of course. An apology lingered on your lips, but some instinct told you not to apologize. 

“I shall wait. Though I am not the most patient.” he said, looking up at the sky, feeling a heavy burning in his gut, he didn’t want you to look like that again, so unsure. What on earth was wrong with him? He shook his head, before pointing at a star, “Do you see that one?” 

You followed his gaze, before scooting close to him. You nodded. 

“That’s the head of Hercules.. It’s named rasalgethi,” he said, before beginning to trace a shape,  connecting it to another star, “And then.. there’s his head.. His shoulder, and in his left hand, he holds a club while standing upon the corpses of his enemies.” 

He noticed you smile, and couldn’t help but feel a little happy himself. 

“Is that your favorite?”

“Oh no, I’ll show you that one, when you come. But here, look north, and you can see Draco.” 

So, Jareth traced the stars, and you rested your head on his shoulder, listening to his soft voice. The wind was cold, just a little chilly, but you didn’t mind. He was warm, and he felt.. Safe. 

For some reason, that was even scarier than him being unsafe. 

Rustling. A voice.

“What do you want?” it whispered, rattling like the leaves, “What do you want?” 

What did you want?

This. This, you wanted this. 

With a gasp, you woke up to the birds twittering outside your window, and those words lingering on your mind.

Chapter Text

Sunlight streamed in through a gap in the blinds, and you wanted to go back. To go back to sleep, to go back to being…. Whatever that version of you was. Sighing, you grabbed your phone to check your schedule, and realized you had the day off. Everything felt impossible to keep track now. A few days ago felt like a lifetime and.. And you weren’t you anymore, but you were too, weren’t you? 

A small part of you tugged, stretched, and yearned, while another was content. Content to stay. Content to be. It was happy to look at a hall of pictures and look at all the happy ones. It was happy to look at all of your memories, and only remember the good ones. It was happy to blame the person who hurt you. Though you weren’t happy. You were ungrateful, spoiled, and wanting. 

Yawning, you took a deep breath, rising from the bed, still covered in the T-shirt you wore to sleep. Walking towards the closet, you opened it, revealing the sparkling cape, so blue it was almost black, it sparkled like a starlit sky, even in the daylight. The dreams you’d been having lingered behind you like blue ghosts, whispering. The wanting sparked. That feeling sparked.  Like you had something. Like you had the impossibility of a life outside of this small town was possible. A life away from this house filled with barred cages and the remnants of your past mistakes. 

Maybe you never should’ve asked your relatives for help. Maybe things would’ve been better, if you never spoke up or– or what? Kept fooling yourself with those pictures. The one in the dream the day before, filled with scraped knees and hello kitty band aids. Fake fairy wings and princess costumes. A mom who held your face while helping you with your Halloween makeup. 

How could you not want that anymore? 

Fingering the cloak, you felt how warm it was. How soft. A gentle feeling fluttered in your chest, one that reminded you of a blanket fresh out the dryer. Jareth looked at you. He was real– more real than those childhood memories you clung to, the ones tinged with spilled apple juice and purple crayons. He wasn’t a fantasy made from glitter glue and craft paper, nor was he a fairy tale born from words and ink. 

That night, when he comforted you, had been real, genuine. 

Last night, when you let your head lean on his shoulder, and listened to him ramble about the stars, that had been genuine too. More genuine than the kiss on the cheek he’d given you on that rainy night and more genuine than your mother’s promises. With that thought, you grabbed the cape. 

The words lingered on your tongue, burning right there, but just beyond the door, you heard the front door close, the jinling of keys, and the flickering of the TV. Then, softly, you heard the hiss of a beer can opening. 

The words fizzled out. 

Nothing lasted in this house. That’s just how it happened. Milk ran out before the end of the week, or bread was quickly eaten. Any moment of happiness was akin to a bug that needed to be crushed. 

Staring at the kettle, you watched the water start to simmer as the dishes from breakfast lingered in the sink, soaking. 

“What are you doing up so early?” she asked. 

You shrugged, “I just woke up, is all.” 

“Yeah, you’ve been doing that lately.. Woke me up the other night.” 

“Sorry.” you muttered. 

The water got hotter. 

She was drinking. 

Of course, she was drinking. 

Clenching your fists, you felt something inside you boil. You wanted something. You wanted out– and shouldn’t you just swallow it all down, let it burn you alive? That’s who you were, right? 

Jareth telling you that it was your dream popped into your mind. How you woke up from a nightmare, just by honking a horn. How you– yes, you– demanding a GOBLIN KING, to push you on a swing set! He held your chin, he cooed over your wounds, he said he’d wait for you until you saw the truth. 

Then.. then.. You said you didn’t want to be afraid.

You told him to keep coming. 

You stubbornly dragged him to the cafe. You rolled your eyes and laughed at a Goblin King! You said that you’d love him, fully and truly, but he’d just been a fairytale then. Fairy tales don’t have favorite colors, or secret gardens. Fairy tales don’t know of the stars, nor offer you a life where you weren’t curled up like a little mouse, nibbling on crumbs as you hid away. Jareth wasn’t a fairy tale anymore, and neither.. And neither was any of this. 

Because it didn’t start with Once Upon A Time. 

It started with something boiling deep inside you. 

Turning off the stove, you watched the water boil. 

Bubbles burned to the surface, popping. The water kept boiling. The TV kept running. 

You heard another hiss, and a crack, and maybe even a gulp. With a glance at your phone, you noted how early it was. A little before noon. It was too early. Especially for one of the 24 ounce cans she always drank. Three cups of beer in one can. Her preferred brand. Sometimes, if she was feeling special, she’d get a six pack. Or sometimes, your family members would give her bottles of beer. 

She never tried to resist the temptation. 

The water was still boiling. 

She never tried . 

Opening the cabinet, you took out a tea bag, plopping it into one of your favorite mugs. After that, you poured in the hot water. Just go back to your room, (Y/n). Go back to that crooked bookshelf and old books, go back to those stuffed animals and small lamps. Don’t make a scene– no, but, the story– the story you saw in your dream started with a scene. It started with an argument. With anger. With boiling, boiling, boiling! 

Stepping out the kitchen, you forgot to grab your mug as you watched her. Still drinking, getting to that awkward point where she’d become affectionate, begging to hug you and cuddle you, and love you! Then, after that, she’d get worse, and worse, until she was pushing you away and demanding you to shut up. 

Shaking your head, you scrambled to your sanctuary, picking up  The Labyrinth as you entered. Opening the book  and sitting on your bed, you bit your lip. Was that new beginning here? Was it just a dream? But.. your dreams had an effect, didn’t they? You still had the feather, resting on your bookshelf. It glittered, momentarily, as if knowing you were paying attention to it. 

Then, you began flipping, reading the familiar beginning, before flipping to the very end. Every story was the same. Jareth falling on love or growing attached, and then finding a way to get the object of his affection within the labyrinth. They always ended with him alone. Your fingers grazed the pages, soft and warm– comforting. 

That’s what Jareth felt like too. 

A sigh left you as you flipped again, reading the words,  Once Upon a Time, there was a baker and his wife, who the Goblin King admired. 

Scanning the page, you realized it was the story of the baker and his wife who went through the labyrinth to rescue their dog. It was cute, sweet, but it still started the same.

You flipped to the ending of that one. You read it, The Goblin King let them go. It'd been fun, sweet even, to have two challengers! To think, two people could be so connected that they could make the same wish– the Goblin King’s heart squeezed, as he sat there alone, surrounded by never ending stairs. Wasn’t it foolish, to wish for a love so strong that it could survive a labyrinth? 

There was no happily ever after.

It just ended. Hadn’t you thought that was weird, when you first read the book? Then again, you were the type who, when given a book that you really liked, could stay up till dawn to finish a book. You’d been too spellbound to even consider the details. To even consider if the stories might be true– you didn’t even consider the magic. 

You just thought about it. 

Now though? It existed. It was as real as the trees shedding their leaves outside, as the blanket wrapped around your shoulders, and the cape hanging in your closet. Your world had never been magical, it was filled with shadows and frantic glances, with closed mouths and tears wiped away by your own hands. 

Though now, it was filled with magic. With Goblin Kings and wrestling for introductions, with running from darkness and finding light, with hope and trust– but should you? 

Did you have a choice? 

You didn’t want this anymore. Leaning back, you closed your eyes, and let your mind recall how he helped you, how he came when you wished for it, and.. And how you had to at least try, because now, there was wanting, but doing? The doing scared you. 

What if he turned you into a goblin? 

What if this was a complicated trick to force you into slavery? 

Didn’t his kind do that? Why couldn’t he just.. take you there? 

“It’s too early for you to be asleep.” 

That voice again. When did you fall asleep? Darkness. Darkness surrounded you. You couldn’t see. Closing your eyes, you let yourself follow the voice, stumbling. When Jareth entered your dreams, the darkness lingered, hissing. 

Why did it surround you now? 

Just keep walking. Don’t think. This was your dream. You wanted it to last. You wanted the darkness to go away. You wanted to run to a world where it didn’t exist anymore, but that couldn’t be possible. No matter what he told you, no matter what he said, because it was always there, lingering. 

“What are you doing here, hm?” 

Dirt. You felt dirt, and little rocks pricked your bare feet. Opening your eyes, you realized the sun was shining in the blue sky, highlighting the vines that grew on the walls around you. Making the whole world sparkle. The air smelled like pepper, and other things too– trees, old stone and something else you couldn’t name. Walls surrounded you, and you noticed tiny little cracks. Why would the labyrinth have cracks? 

“What are you doing here?” the voice asked again, “What are you waiting for?”

The breeze bristled like an angry cat, scattering dead leaves and sand. It rattled the branches of the trees that peeked over the walls around you, and you.. And you realized you weren’t even sure why you were here. Or why you were waiting. As you looked around to gather your thoughts, things peeked in and out of your vision– lavender flowers, scattered branches, a peach cast aside, but everytime you strove to look at them, they disappeared. 

Why did this landscape seem just as unsure as you did? Pictures fluttered by, you caught your brother smiling in one, your mother smiling in one, but those pictures were replaced by pots of grease, by the sound of a voice so familiar it made you hurt to breathe. Yet, you walked towards the stone walls, and let your palm caress the sparkling brick. It crumbled, just a bit, landing on the ground before you. 

Why would it do that? 

“You should just decide already.” it sounded– well, it sounded a bit like a she, sounded….. Anxious, “Look at what you’re doing– making him weak! Making him more.. Oh, I don’t know! I don’t know what to do!” 

Above you, a pair of branches twiddled, like nervous hands. Rocks waddled like anxious ducks, and you wondered how such a powerful thing could be anxious. Pulling away the wall, you tilted your head to listen. 

“He was already worse for wear before he met you! Humans– humans! Always breaking his heart! And you– I bet you’re going to do it too, aren’t you?” 

“Do what?” you asked softly, as if you were coaxing a stray kitten. 

“Hurt him! Hurt him all over again! I don’t want to lose him! I– well I–” it stopped, a bird nearby shook its head, before flying off, “Why am I even talking to you? It’s not like you care!” 

“But I do,” you argued, “I do care.” 

“Why?” 

Why did you? 

Because Jareth loved the labyrinth, but that wasn’t really it. It was because.. Because it made you happy. Reading all those stories, it felt like you were.. You somehow. Like you were whole, and every time you entered the labyrinth within your dreams, it was that same feeling. Wholeness. 

“Because I like you.” you finally replied, arms crossed, “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“The Goblin King doesn’t seem to like me much. Yet, I don’t want to lose him either. I loathed the last one.” 

Now you turned away from the wall, and let yourself walk ahead, “Last one? Last what?” 

“King! King! I don’t want MY Goblin King to end up like him! But then.. With you, he acts how he should, but also shouldn’t be.” 

Of course the voice didn’t speak in straight lines. Of course it was a riddle, but you wondered why the labyrinth hated the last king so much. What did he do, what was he? 

“That old king, who was he?” 

“Too orderly! No chaos, no fun!” it blurted, “No– I can’t explain it! But there was only one way to be, and if you weren’t that way, you’d be off! With my Goblin King, it’s not like that anymore..” 

A pause, and you could feel its thoughts in the air– like, a waiting, a wanting, that fizzled in and out, it vibrated around you. 

“He listened. He cared. My Goblin King–” 

“Jareth.” you said. 

“Yes. Him. But it wasn’t just that, This Goblin King–” 

“Jareth.” 

“Yes!” it paused for a long, long moment, and you briefly felt eyes on you, or as if someone was watching, looking around, you realized you were alone as it continued, “But he let’s us be us. My Goblin King.. he used to throw festivals, write treaties, do all these lovely things, until he didn’t. He doesn’t sing, dance, or have fun anymore. I miss his voice.” 

You stayed silent. You knew silence made people talk. That listening was important. The way someone’s footsteps sounded indicated how they felt, a cough could distinguish one person from the next, and even the way the wind blew could tell the weather. 

“He used to listen to me. We’d always make such fun traps together– oubliettes and holes filled with hands.. Then.. he got his  heart broken, over and over again, and stopped listening. But with you.. He does.” 

“That doesn’t.. That doesn’t seem fair. I bet.. It’s really lonely, isn’t it?”

“Yes! Yes!” it desperately cried, “And oh– I’m desperately tired! I have to create mazes to keep the goblins from thieving, I have to patch the cracks that have appeared, but it’s hard! I’m only a labyrinth! I can’t do it alone. I want him to be happy. To be the Goblin King again. I want us to use our magic together, like we used to.” 

The labyrinth needed help. 

That was obvious. 

It also wanted to protect Jareth, even though.. She only called him The Goblin King. Why did that feel important? As if.. It was a clue to some big puzzle you needed to solve? But what on earth could you do? You were just a dreamer, and you weren’t even certain if you deserved better. You were still waiting for Jareth to realize what you were– pathetic. 

Pathetic. 

“But.. but what can I do?” you asked. 

“Easy! Wish yourself away! I know that’ll make him happy! I hate him being said. He’s the Goblin King! Goblin Kings aren’t sad– they sing songs and dance, and don’t mope about in bed dreaming about love. They’re too busy stopping goblins from stealing things!” 

That didn’t feel right. 

How restricting was being a Goblin King, anyway? Is that why Jareth valued your company? Because you didn’t ask him to be that? You just.. Well, you just wanted him to be the person who you felt safe with. The one who pointed out the constellations, who brought an umbrella while you got caught in the rain, and who didn’t laugh at your tears. 

Who decided what Goblin Kings could and couldn’t be, anyway? That…. That sounded silly. Like an outdated fairytale that needed fixing. 

"Hey!" A tiny voice cried.

You looked, and there she was, that tiny little part of you. Except, she wasn’t five inches anymore, but more like.. Almost knee length. Which was kind of creepy and scared the shit out of you, but besides the point. Crossing her arms, she scowled.  What was she, that part of you? Who was she? Were you her, and she you? Were you both– the scared child and the adult? 

Finally, she spoke.

"Why do I have to wish myself away?" 

"That's how it works." the labyrinth replied. 

"Don't argue back.." you added, "don't overthink it, please. that's how you ruin things.."

"Why can't I just step into a fairy circle, or why can't I just find an entrance? Why does he want me to wish myself away so badly? Why can't he just whisk me away?"

"There are rules."

"Are there?" The voice insisted, "or are my fears of being tricked true? How do you expect me to go, when he won't give me answers?"

You didn’t want to think of that. It was too much. Dealing with your mom, and the guilt, because you were her daughter– but it hurt so much being her daughter, but you loved her! You loved her! 

He knew what that felt like. To love someone so much that you’d give them everything, everything they desired– slavery and obedience, elegant balls and enchanted peaches, whatever they wished. You couldn’t lose that. You needed that, because when you saw him, in all those stories, loving and loving, you couldn’t help but think it wasn’t right.  

"Maybe, you should search for the answers." The voice clipped, "And wish yourself away. Because there are rules, there are always ways to escape, if need be. Surely, you know that."

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you crossed your arms. Seeing him made that tiny part of you feel seen.

“You clearly want me,” your voice was soft, but sure, “For some odd reason– you showed me those stories. Within each, people only knew about the first one. No one references the prince, or the baker and his wife, the mother who wished away her daughter.. And all the others. That means something. That means I’m different somehow.” 

Was that you speaking? It was! Maybe.. Maybe you were brave, like Jareth said. Your mini version looked up at you approvingly, nodding. You realized that she only really showed up when you dreamed, and.. Wait. You couldn’t think of that right now. The stories. Think of those. 

"I– the book. I saw a new story that  starts differently.. how come?"

"For someone he claims is clever, you're very daft." the labyrinth replied, and a flower nearby crossed its leaves, holding up its bud as she spoke. 

Rolling your eyes, you noticed your mini walking around, before sitting on the ground, thinking with you. 

“The story starts with an argument.. And it starts . and it starts with me, walking in the rain.. until I stumble upon a little owl, who seemed just as lonely as me."

You heard the flapping of pages, and realized that tiny part of you was gone, replaced by the book. It fluttered, until blank pages appeared, revealing words.

"..he was just as lonely as me." You said again, "and he's still alone, surrounded by goblins who treat him more as a king than a person."

You tasted something, on your lips, and words lingered.

"Why don't we go?" Your small voice asked, “Even if we don’t trust it?”
“What if we end up somewhere worse?” you replied, wringing your hands, “What then?” 

“What if we end up somewhere better? And it’s like that voice said– we can escape, can’t we?” 

What were you going to do?

Could you really go? 

Would you lose the silence you had with him? All the dreams you’d been having weaved themselves like a tapestry across your mind, midnight threads of the swingset, ambrosia colored ones for the falling light– and through them all, there was a black one. A dark one. One you kept running from, even amongst the enjoyment. Though, as he kept visiting, the darkness slowly faded into a murmur. Until tonight, because even now, you could hear it, slithering and hissing, threatening to swallow you whole. 

“Hurry up and decide.” the voice demanded, before a soft breeze carried through, brushing your hair aside, carrying the fading voice with it, “Just look at him.. Look at him!” 

“What are you doing here? 

Gasping, you turned towards him, shaking your head. 

He frowned, stalking towards you, and your heart pounded, “I-I– it’s just–” 

“Are you alright?” 

“I don’t..I don’t know..” 

Then, you looked up at him. He wore a simple white top, a pair of tight pants, and high heeled boots. No glitz, no glamor, just someone who had bags underneath his eyes and seemed just as scared and frightened as you. His blue eyes pierced into yours, so beautiful, so soft, so human and lonely. 

“ Why do you stay?” 

You looked at the ground. How could you explain it?

“Do you like being yelled at?” he stepped towards you, “Should I do the same?” 

He flinched as your eyes widened in horror. Frantically, you shook your head. He reached towards you, but you flinched, and his eyes softened in a way you’d never seen before. 

“(Y/n),” his voice was soft, “Please.. No, I shall never yell at you.” 

You gave him a wary look, holding yourself, hunching your shoulders, “I could understand if you wanted to–” 

“No.” he said again, “No. You don’t know what you have done, what you are doing to me– and you– you– you don’t deserve that. You never did. Even if you broke a glass, or made a mistake, you would never deserve to live the way you do.”

Your shoulders fell, and you looked at him, still a bit wary, but still open, still trusting. 

“Don’t fear me, never fear me. Please– never fear me.” 

You couldn’t help but feel that feeling again– the one that had made the darkness fade away. Want, want, wanting. A hand pulling him closer, a curiosity that had so many questions and not enough answers. 

“What.. what about everything else you said?” you asked softly, “About– doing as you said, about.. Obeying you? About you being my slave?” 

His eyebrows furrowed, “Do you not want that?” 

You thought back. How your mom yelled at you for doing everything wrong. The dishes, the sweeping, even the laundry. But she’d never tell you what you did wrong. Just somehow, you did something wrong. How you never listened to her exactly right. How you never did anything exactly right. 

If you were really going to escape, really going to go, then you wanted to go to a place where you didn’t obey, where you weren’t ruled over, trapped in a corner, cowering and afraid, but that’s all you were good for. Wasn’t it? 

You woke up to your chest heaving, and to the sound of another beer can, opening. 

All your life you knew stories were capable of odd things. They filled you with ideas, turned your world upside down, and made you dream. Your gaze lingered on the book, and you thought of everything that’d been happening. 

The dreams. The visits. 

Someone telling you a different story. Giving you a different start. If some random stranger on the street asked you to tell them about yourself before all this, probably would’ve started it with the words– I’m  (Y/n), and I live with my mom. I love her to bits and pieces. 

But now? 

Where would you even start?

A part of you, the one that you grew from stories like Matilda, Cinderella, and Beauty and the Beast, was like a heartbeat now. Loud, but still fragile. But there. And pounding, desperate to get out. The part of you that looked at an owl and somehow saw humanity. The most recent dream with that mysterious voice flickered across your mind– and your revelation too, the story didn’t start with the Goblin King watching someone within the distance, but with you , finding him. 

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and you looked towards the window. Days ago, the words he had told you seemed like.. You couldn’t describe it, but they seemed like the childish wishes you’d make with your brother when your mom slept. Unreal, untrue, and unsure. But now? 

They were real. They had power. 

Your stomach burned. 

Clamp it down, (y/n). 

(But.. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t right !) 

Clamp it down. Clamp it down. 

Deep breath in, and deep breath out. 

Past your door, you heard another beer can hiss. 

The radio flickered on. 

It was okay. Everything was okay. 

(She was drinking! How long had she been drinking?! You looked outside, and realized it was noon. To think, just yesterday, everything had been fine. Lovely. You watched the stars and now– and now? Now you here, curled up in your room. Alone.) 

Didn’t she know how much you loved her?. You stood up. You went to the door, listening to the noises outside your room.

This was how it always started. 

With the hiss of a beer can opening, with the sound of your heart squeezing. 

Slowly, you opened the door, and walked out to the sight of her sprawled out on the couch. She was your mom. You loved her, admired her, sometimes– she cleaned houses for a living, managed all the money in the house. She could be so friendly, to strangers, to family members, and friends, but  it came to you? 

That was a different story. 

“Wha..what are you glaring at?” 

“You’re drunk.” 

“Yeah, and you’ve been fucking sleeping all day.” she muttered, and you flinched as she opened another can, before taking a sip, “So I don’t think.. You have room to judge.” 

"I don't understand why you're drinking. After what happened."

That thing you'd been avoiding. 

It’d been your fault your relatives took your brother in. You called them, threatening to report her, report them as she drove drunk. You remembered the car swerving, and you remembered sitting in the front seat, clutching your brother’s hand– and why hadn’t you been thinking about it? Thinking about how.. How.. How what? How scared you’d been. How alone. And how you had to be the brave one, and hold your brother’s hand, before calling that number. Why didn’t you call the cops then? Was it because you were too scared, because you loved her? Or simply because she told you that no one would help you? 

That no one cared. 

Didn’t she tell you that? 

"What the fuck did you say?"

"You heard me."

She scoffed, "Look at you– it's your fault!"

"How is it my fault?” 

How long had you been ignoring that? Ignoring the anger, ignoring the lies, ignoring everything? How long had you been deprived of softness, of care? Of nights spent underneath the stars and days at the park and discovering secret gardens? 

"Don't talk to me like that, little girl. "

"I'm not.. I'm not a little girl anymore!” 

"What? You think you're grown? Think you can go places without telling me? Huh? You barely do shit around here! I do it all! What do you do?! Clean sometimes? Go to work? That's it! And you don't even go to college!"