Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The evening emerged at the Mushroom Kingdom with the half moon rising atop the night sky as the magnificent castle shimmered like the stars. The masked ball had begun upon the presence of its hostess, Princess Peach. Extinguished guests, including those from the kingdom and beyond, gathered to celebrate the festivity. The castle crystallized the white and pink porcelain ground of the ballroom and its pastel walls. Numerous vases stood in each corner filled with fresh roses to scent the entire room. The mural of Peach’s self-portrait whilst the ceiling had angels and cupids crowded themselves from the clouds to watch below a night of enjoyment. Violin strings echoed loudly across the room, creating an elegant vibe through guests’ ears as they waltzed at the center. Everything dressed accordingly, beautifully designed for the spring season as everyone wore colorful masks to give an anonymous touch to each other’s presence.

Daisy stood at the sidelines once she arrived; Peach was still welcoming more company at her throne with Toadsworth at her right side. Richter was arriving late, having promised to share a dance with the Princess of Sarasaland. Single beardless young men eyed on the headstrong ruler dressed in yellow champagne gown with a mask and perfumed in daisies. The first bachelor to bravely approach her was the well-built and handsome Sir Langdon Olson. It was his third dance after Lady Williams and wandered for a new one, catching the sight of Daisy as soon as she entered. Fixing his mustache in interest, he held his hand out to her as a silent request for a dance. She curtseyed, accepting him as her first and without hesitation, he encircled his hand to her waist, guiding her to the floor.

 “Thou look lovely tonight, my lady. You’ve come at a good time,” he complimented with an endearing smile to charm the young princess.

As he led her into the crowd of dancers, Daisy rested her hand onto his shoulder and her feet in orange slippers swiftly and rhythmically moved in tune to the music.  She was the precise belle of the ball and a fair dancer—Peach is just as an equal of course. Looking over the man’s shoulder, she took notice of Princess Rosalina, with a golden Luma beside her, and Waluigi who had been courting her for months. Dressed in a purple suit with a Harley quin design mask, the tall man offers a bouquet of white carnations as his latest gift for the princess of Galaxies. Although Daisy knows she will reject him once again, she can tell that the maiden had been slowly giving in to his advances. He might’ve been a boastful, ill-tempered man who’s no stranger to cheating but it may be his comical and nonsensical nature that seem to enchant her. If Wario was able to catch a dame like Mona, then there was a chance for Waluigi. At another area, she caught the sight of Cranky Kong sitting at a comfortable couch, observing Donkey Kong, his grandson, and Diddy Kong, his great-grandson, feasting on a table of goodies. He simply shrugged and helped himself with a banana.

Nearby, she saw the Mario brothers and the Belmonts together. Mario was wearing his usual red themed outfit with a black bow tie and his trademark hat replaced with a golden roman styled mask. Luigi, however, surprised her, considering he wasn’t in a green tailored outfit. Instead, he favored a white one with a crown of Orange Blossoms adorned on his head and rose gold crystal mask. Simon had a more knightly appearance, wearing a red armor decorated with yellow engravings and pearls, shoulder plates, black trousers, long boots and iron gloves. His Venetian mask gave an ancient form to the famous vampire hunter. Richter wore his aristocratic uniform with brown gloves and a Venetian mask, like Simon except blue and silver, to match the color scheme. Never would she have thought he’d put those clothes again.

Observing that Daisy was staring at a certain direction outside of the crowd, the man asked, “Where do you want to be taken?”

“There, please,” Daisy answered, pointing to where her friends are.

And Olson began waltzing with measured steps towards her friends, cruising through the crowd while saying, Excuse us or pardon us. Steering through a sea of lace, tulle, and ribbon, he carefully had Daisy take sharp rounds so that her slim ankles were exposed to view and her train floated out like a dandelion dancing in a windy valley. The bachelor bowed, set his suit straight and gave Daisy his arm to conduct her to Mario and the others before departing. Up close, Mario presented himself like the hero he was praised in the Mushroom Kingdom meanwhile Luigi was a fragile wallflower, commenting his usual status as his brother’s shadow. Richter, concealing his disdain of his outfit, greeted the princess with a kiss on her hand.

“I thought you wouldn’t make it,” Daisy said.

“Sorry, princess. There was a last-minute call from Simon I had to take care of,” Richter explained, glancing over at the blonde man who rolled his eyes.

“The party looks amazing. She really outdone herself,” Mario complimented the scenery.

“Just wait until the fireworks,” Daisy anticipated. She had donated additional fireworks from her kingdom in preparation for the upcoming show.

“I’m happy you’re feeling relaxed,” said Princess Peach as she approached the group. She was dressed in a cherry pink Off the Shoulder gown, her sunshine hair tied up in a bun and her tiara upgraded to a Cartier fashion. Her mask had a fluffy pink feather on the left side which didn’t shy away her blue eyes.

“Did you finish greeting the guests already?” Luigi asked.

“For a while after chatting with Queen Bean and Prince Peasley. I figured giving Toadsworth some personal time to catch up with Lady Lima,” Peach spoke.

“Well, to get things started,” Mario said, fixing his bow tie before extending his hand to the Princess of the Mushroom Kingdom. “Shall we dance, your highness?”

“Of course,” Peach smiled, painting rosy tint on her cheeks as she took the eldest brother hand. The group watched them descend into the dance floor with other dancers shifting to the side to make a pathway for the couple.

“Speaking of which,” Daisy cleared her throat to get the young Belmont’s attention. Richter only smirked, allowing the Princess of Sarasaland to haul him towards the crowd. Luigi couldn’t help but chuckle; she was waiting for this moment to come since the ceremony was announced.

“Would you like to dance, Luigi?” Simon asked.

“Oh, um, sure,” the youngest Mario brother responded.

Approaching the castle not far away, a steampunk wagon trailed from the direction the Dark Lands hailed from. It was as menacing as the shadows and unpleasant as the black volcanos that erupt ashes and hot lava. Driving the carriage was a Koopa soldier in a copper and yellow uniform with a top hat useful to disclose his identity. Inside, it contained Bowser, the King of Koopas, bearing a costume reminiscent of a character from Edgar Allan Poe, a red and black suit and his mask was that of a fire demon ram menacing as his size and he wore it well. Next to him was Kamek, his right-hand man and most trusted advisor. Smart and resourceful, his plague doctor costume seemed fitting to complement his boss as well as his wizardry abilities. Two other Koopas who had joined them were outfitted in black and red joker complete with white masks adorned in spades and clover designs.

It wasn’t at all surprising that Bowser received an invitation regardless of how many times he kidnapped the kingdom’s monarch and his battles with Mario, usually ending in defeat. Princess Peach was a forgiving individual, too pure to hold onto grudges and all the King could do was pity her bad judgement of character. Of course, he was going to take advantage of this situation, planning a siege in the kingdom to capture the Princess and the castle’s Super Star. Especially when that pestering Mario humiliated him by sending him below the pool of lava during their fight.

“Are you feeling ill, your majesty?” Kamek asked. He was a short man compared to the gigantic royal, fixing his round glasses as he held his staff down like a cane. “You have been quiet throughout the travel.”

“I’m fine,” Bowser reassured his assistant. He wasn’t much concerned of the heroic Mario or the Belmonts, despite having researched about the latter’s exploits. In honesty, it was these kinds of parties he detested, boring and tedious. Even if he wasn’t the most liked individual in the planet, he wouldn’t bother conjuring festivities like these. Though it wouldn’t hurt to look at the fireworks, reminding him of his son who was happily dreaming at the hour.

“Every soldier is stationed outside the perimeter of the castle. They would strike at your command, your highness.”  

The other Koopas nodded obediently whether it was for fear or because they genuinely felt that way for their boss.

“Perfect,” he said as he stared out the window to see the castle up ahead. Past him was an everlasting field which surrounds the kingdom. In daylight, it looked like an ocean of green driving its waves at whoever walks down the dirt trails to the castle. But at night, when Bowser witnessed it, it was as if he was staring at the actual sea in a beachside. Each tree they crossed by was a silhouette running across to keep up with the speed of the wagon.

Once the carriage stopped at the entrance of the castle, Bowser was the first to exit after clearing his throat and fixing his mask. With Kamek and the other two following him, Bowser showed the guard his invitation who was overseeing any incoming guests and proceeded to enter the ballroom. The other guards in the hallways were struck with fear and distress, knowing that the King of Koopas was at their presence. His hair, short and sleek at the time, red as the fire in his breath, muscled which shaped his arms and abs through his clothes. His humanlike features blend with green scales of a dragon with his curved, ivory horns blending well with his mask and pointy long ears decorated in black earrings.

When they started walking down the stairs, Bowser inspected the surroundings quietly for signs of Mario, whom he caught mingling with the Princess and the Bean royal family. Richter Belmont, the youngest of the vampire hunter family, was with Princess Daisy and Rosalina by the entrees section. He couldn’t make out where Simon was, signaling to Kamek to keep a close watch on that one. As soon as the duo merged with the crowd, they departed without trying to create commotion. Although Bowser’s reputation was far well known, with guests avoiding his attendance, showing the same exact concern as the guards have. In silence and blending, he watched the dancers waltzing with the music and listened to spectators beside him wallow with gossip or comments to pass the time.

Among the dancers, as Bowser distinguished, was a young man donning a white suit with silver trim. Orange Blossoms roses filled a crown on his head with a mask to veil his identity. The fiery haired King was out of breath with his heated pointy ears flourished in pink hues and his tan skin scorching regardless of being in extreme body heat a hundred percent. His heart scatters its echoes across his body to stare at the man’s attributes that spoke higher than the brighter heavens and more glorious than the chandelier. His stomach bursts monarchs freed from spider webs—long forgotten and wished only to fly—and the color of moonlight kissed the man’s porcelain skin. His brown hair and impressive mustache interweaved with the crown appeared him to be of a royal figure like the princesses. The young man’s sapphire eyes noted his admirer; his fluttering eyelashes unveiled like curtains and Bowser greeted him with a gentle smile only saved for his son. The young man’s dancing partner was Simon Belmont, swaying with him across the floor. The white prince’s patience measured the flow of the river and ballerina’s feet touched the surface with ease.

“Who is he? The one wearing in white?” Bowser asked a wealthy gentleman next to him.

“I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry,” the gentleman shrugged.

To not be recognized in a crowd, let alone in Peach’s domain, Bowser scoffed at the notion that the prince’s identity could remain a mystery until one could be courageous enough to ask for it. But what was he thinking? His mind was at a lost from his goal when cupid shot his arrow, enhancing the desire brewing in his garnet eyes. For swear in sight, he ne’er saw true beauty ‘til this night.  

Unfortunately, Mario spotted Bowser, already suspecting it was the King of Koopas under the garments. The peace inside Bowser dissipated as he shuffled back into hiding but never releasing his glare from the plumber. Kamek, at a different location, observed the interaction between the two enemies. Although he wouldn’t act without the King’s wishes, it was his parental intuition kicking in. He would do the same for Bowser Jr. Still, it was the King’s plan to draw the main hero’s attention and all he needed to do was get the Belmonts.

At the same time, Mario scurried over to the Princess who was tending to other guests at the entrée section. “Don’t panic but Bowser is here,” he whispered to her.

“Bowser?” Peach turned around for a moment. She saw the man camouflaging in each corner of the ballroom. “I know that. I invited him here. Why? Do you think he’s up to no good?”

“He’s always up to no good.” Mario knew his nemesis too well during their encounters in the past. He wasn’t going to judge Peach for inviting him, but he was willing to judge Bowser for taking advantage of her goodwill.  “Maybe he’s using this opportunity to kidnap you and steal the star.”

“Has he hurt any of the guests?”

“Not yet.”

“Then we mustn’t act rationally if he hasn’t done anything. Stand down.”

“Alright but I’ll keep my guard up just in case. I’ll make sure the others know too.”

Concurrently, Luigi, after the dance was over, loosens up a bit by resting against a white pillar. Exhaling, he thought it best to distance himself from his friends before joining them. He saw Daisy had enough energy to dance some more with Richter while Simon excused himself for the moment. He appeared bothered, having caught Kamek in the audience without Luigi’s knowledge, and vanished on him after the dance. Mario was elsewhere, either socializing with Peach or to almost anyone who was praising his position as the kingdom’s mighty hero. Yet, the young brother’s mind was set on a particular gallant among the crowd whom he caught exchanging glances with throughout his dance. His heart couldn’t help but stop, it wasn’t petrifying—the man’s mask appeared demonic—but entrancing to see a pair of blood red eyes hiding such haunting beauty. There was something different about him, perhaps he knew him somewhere but cannot remember how and when. He was as tall as Simon, tender in the way he bowed at the same time carry the manifestation of war and death. Part of him wished to know the man’s name before he could start swooning into his giant hands. If he’d be married, his love life would be embedded inside a casket.

“Do you have enough strength for one more waltz?” came in a deep voice behind him. Somehow, Luigi figured it was him.

“Oh! I-I-I don’t know,” Luigi feigned timidity to coy his potential suitor, twiddling his fingers together. “I was thinking of saving it with someone else. Someone I saw while I was dancing.”

“How ironic,” his suitor smirked. “I had hoped to dance with a young man whom I watched graciously at the dance floor. One who outshines even the royal of this castle.”

Luigi’s breath was held hostage; to overthrow Peach’s alluring feature was impossible but this man was unafraid to say such things. He turned around cautiously to see a black gloved hand held out to him. 

“What say you now? Do I have your permission?” The man appeared much taller than far away which should’ve intimidated Luigi. But the man’s warmth and attractiveness say otherwise, convincing the young Mario brother to give his hand. The Red Death took him out to the dance floor in the middle of a waltz without disrupting it. Surprising Luigi was the mystery man’s left hand enfolding his waist, pulling him close where he could feel his body heat searing like lava, as the other one held his hand. It worried Luigi a lot which the Red Death noticed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You move so fast that I forgot how to dance,” chuckled Luigi nervously.

“You danced with your previous partner easily.”

“I know but for some reason, I’ve got stage fright.” The feeling was different as Simon was a good friend but with Red Death, there was intimacy overwhelming the green plumber.

“It’s fine,” the Red Death proceeded with the first steps, helping Luigi remember. “I’ll slow down if you like as long as you follow my lead.”

“I can do that,” Luigi reassured himself, repeating it in his head as an endless cycle as the Red Death guided him across the floor fairly. The man made each gliding step simple, avoiding the possibility of pressuring the prince. When he twirled him, an invisible skirt drawn to Luigi had blossoms furnished blowing about from the trees. The green plumber tried his best not to feel lightheaded with the man’s enigmatic gaze soothing his worries. Up close, a strong mixture of cologne and a nostalgic scent brushed up to his nose, tempting him to draw close to the man’s neck. But his fear to do so in public prevents him, causing a stiff in his body as the Red Death noted.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered to Luigi’s ear. The words vibrated through the canal, bringing him comfort and security. Red Death’s eyes—Bowser’s eyes—wandered towards Richter who was notified by Mario about the King’s attendance. Suspicious eyes glared upon him, but the Red Death ignored it, heartening Luigi, “We’re ethereal to the world.”

Once the dance was over, the audience clapped. Bowser and Luigi—without knowing one’s identity—didn’t pay attention towards their surroundings. The man’s words were wise and true, no one seemed to notice them together even as their hands continued to be linked. Bowser drew near Luigi, making him gasp as he whispered to his ear, “Meet me at the garden in fifteen minutes.” Just before Luigi could say anything else, the man straightens his tie and walked off, leaving the Italian speechless. For a moment, he thought he would be bold to kiss him in front of everyone but maybe, he would save it for later. Luigi flushed at the thought of it but had to quickly brush it off prior to meeting up with his friends.

It was Daisy whom Luigi had told his excuse once his fifteen minutes are up, admitting he was going to step outside for a breather. He didn’t like lying to her, something he was terrible at doing but deep down, he wanted to see his suitor again. This wasn’t like him, he wondered to himself. From one dance, Luigi was immediately mesmerized and determined to see him again. If the man wasn’t going to set up the rendezvous, he would; this was an opportunity to try something new for a change. He hardly ever talked to people outside his social circle, always shy and fumbled with his words. Mario was far amicable and no matter how much Luigi tried, he failed to make friends of his own. He was afraid of thinking the Red Death could be pulling a prank on him. The waltz was one thing but having a conversation is something challenging for the green plumber. Sincerity is key and while Luigi was overtaken by the man’s words, actions spoke louder than that.

He sneaked out through the backdoor where it leads to the gardens of the castle. A cool chill breezed upon his skin and hair as Luigi wandered across the red rose bushes aligned like a hedge. Fireflies twinkled like fairies for the atmosphere and lanterns to keep Luigi company. A lovely fountain stationed at the center poured water out like diamonds in a dark mine. Other guests were strolling in the area, sometimes with their respectable partners to share the twilight with. He breathed deeply, staring up at the night sky which gave an ethereal glow. The fireworks show would be starting soon, and he only hoped to be back in time to rejoin the others to watch it.

At an outskirt distant from the garden’s grounds, where trees populated the vicinity, Luigi was lost and ashamed that his doubts were becoming true. He stopped at a grand tree, ancient when he touched the bark but had health to grow green leaves. The fireflies were faint with the darkness overruling the area. Dismay ensues inside his heart; he may have handled haunted mansions before, but the darkness lingered in his fear. He rested against the wooden trunk, giving his feet some peace before planning to return. Until he heard footsteps emerging from the right, startling him to see Red Death standing in front the grandeur of the woods.

Luigi sighed in relief, “I thought you forgot.” He found his speech tumbling on his balance of words.

“Likewise. I thought you were scared by our dance. I apologized if I did,” the mystery man responded. During his wait time, the mystery man—Bowser—had to shoo off his hidden army to other locations. Some of them concealed among the bushes and tree branches, ready to protect their King.   

“Oh no,” Luigi shook his head. “You were a great dancer.”

“So were you.”

“Me? No.” Luigi was left scratching his head in embarrassment though taking in the compliment. “I mean, I’ve done it before. Heh, I don’t know why I acted silly.”

“There’s no need to beat yourself about it. After all, no one took notice.”

“That’s true.”

Bowser took a moment to collect himself as he walked towards Luigi. “So, what country do you rule?”

“Country?”

“Is your kingdom far away or a neighbor to the Mushroom Kingdom?”

“Oh! I’m not a prince,” Luigi said.

“Wait, you’re not?” Bowser’s eyes widened a bit as he examined the white “prince” once more. Completely fooled, though, he might as well be one in his eyes.

“No. I’m just a resident here in Mushroom Kingdom.”

 “If that’s not the case, are you a Lord or a Marquis?”

“Never mind what I am.” All those titles made Luigi feel inferior about his life as a plumber. He loved his job—the princesses were aware of it—but he wasn’t sure if any other royal member would.

“Are you ashamed of who you are?”

“Not really. Well, would you laugh if I said my work relies on fixing something?”

Red Death shrugged, “Depends on what you do?”

“I-I’m a plumber,” Luigi squeaked, grimacing on how the King would react. To his amaze, the King only replied, “Hmm. Alright.”

“You’re fine with it?”

“Sure. I don’t think I’ve met a plumber personally.” Except one, fumed the King, thinking back at the meddling Mario and his wimpy brother.  

“What about you? Are you a royal?”

“A King” the Red Death said. “But I don’t want to bring up politics in a meeting like this. It ruins the beauty of a masquerade ball. The anonymity and enigma of hiding one’s identity.”

“I kind of figured seeing you look like someone of great importance.”

“As do you for someone who fixes water pipes.”

Luigi smiles, shyly kicking but tried to be discreet about the cherry color perfuming his cheeks. Anyone hardly acknowledged Luigi’s input, always seeing him as a specter on the sidelines. Luigi didn’t take it personally; after all, Mario was the bravest and strongest while he was the baby of the two. Regardless, he only found ways to help his brother.  “No, I’m not that important.  I’m just someone who wants to have a good time and live life the fullest.”

“And are you?” Bowser smirked.

“Yes, I am…” Luigi paused when he stared up at the scarlet orbs turning from war to lust. His large body cloaking him against the tree as Luigi shuddered, clutching his bowtie. His heart pounded, loud enough for his ears to listen to and his cheeks burned than ever before. He wasn’t sure if he was petrified of where this may lead or that someone might barge in unexpectedly.

“Don’t be afraid,” Bowser repeated his words from the dance. It also soothed his own skittish behavior, ready to implode.

With that, the King of Koopas sealed Luigi with a kiss, hands on the plumber’s shoulder to slither onto his waist. He was fragile compared to him, easy to break and his untamed nails scratching every inch of him. Luigi however hummed in delight, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck to deepen it. He felt lightweight, hardly touching the ground as the man lifted him in his arms and his right foot raised sweetly.

And then, a booming noise crackled in the night sky. Staring up, the lovebirds discovered the first rounds of fireworks shooting up high. Red, yellow, blue, and green; some shaped as rings, flowers, and hearts, they were the paintings of the evening. They were awestruck by their beauty as they were with each other; Bowser staring up at his flower who gazed upon the bright lights. “Beautiful,” Bowser gasped, making Luigi look at him endearingly. Their lips locked once again but with confidence as Luigi held his face with his hands. Luigi had forgotten about his brother and friends, focusing on only his desire for this man. Leading up to this moment, his floral crown prospered, and everything felt like a dream. One they both wished to never wake up from.

“Luigi!”

Daisy’s voice was eclipsed by the ecstatic sound of the fireworks above her. When Mario showed concern about his brother’s whereabouts, she offered to search for him along with Richter. Because Bowser was present, his big brother’s instinct rose to a milestone, attempting to keep his little brother close to him. But of course, being a hero of Mushroom Kingdom meant having a lot of admirers, so it was difficult to keep track on where he was. Right when the fireworks show was starting was when the panicked older brother realized his brother was absent. Daisy figured he had vanished into the gardens but couldn’t picture him venturing further. Richter busied himself searching east while she searched up north.

“Luigi!” she called again.

Stepping into the borders between the woods and the castle’s gardens, Daisy stumbled upon a sight she never thought she’d see: Luigi making out with Bowser himself. She covered her mouth in astonishment as her heart shrieked. She remained stiff as a board, unsure of what to do. She looked around to see if Richter was present, knowing the vampire hunter wouldn’t hesitate to battle the King of Koopas. And Peach made it clear not to create any problems.

“Hey! Where are you?!” Daisy called out when any sparks no longer flared in the sky. Her voice reached the ears of both Luigi and his mystery man, causing the two to separate quickly. The green plumber fixed his crooked mask as well as strands of his brown hair when she approached him while the King stepped to the side.

“Your brother’s been looking for you. We gotta go,” she said. The Princess of Sarasaland exchanged rapid glances to the giant man who straighten awkwardly. Daisy quickly grabbed Luigi’s hand and dragged him back in the direction to the castle. Luigi simultaneously stared back at his mystery man who paused for several seconds before pursuing the two. All of it was cut short and Bowser wanted more; he declared to himself that he never wanted to be part.

It wasn’t long for Daisy to reunite with Richter and the three made their way towards the steps of the porch where Peach, Mario and Simon were waiting for them. All other guests were carefully escorted back inside; the party was finally over.  Bowser meanwhile stood by the bottom two steps of the stairs, quietly watching the other man welcomed by the kingdom’s heroes and princess. They didn’t notice him especially Mario who’s only attention was on the Koopa King’s white flower. However, he managed to catch their conversations, listening to bold words such as “Luigi” and “brother” transmitted into his mind. It made him think of all his confrontations with the red pipsqueak, recalling that he was always accompanied by another. One dressed in green, slightly taller than the hero and with an L on his hat….

Bowser’s eyes widened, gluing his eyes towards the man he kissed namely Luigi. No! It can’t be him!! Bowser thought, raising his mask in disbelief. Defeated, he suspended and sighed, taking slight backward steps away. He planned to meet up with Kamek and the other two soldiers to delay the attack. For tonight, his life is his foe’s debt.

As for Luigi, before Bowser would vanish from sight, he looked back at Red Death for one last time. His heart still lingered for him, wondering when they would ever see each other again. If it may be the last, Luigi removed his mask, unveiling his identity to his mystery man. Unbeknownst to the others, Daisy sneaked over, whispering to him, “That’s Bowser, the King of Koopas. The man you kissed is our enemy.” She wasn’t upset but she had to warn her friend of what’s to come.

Watching his mystery man named Bowser disappear, Luigi’s heart sank, figuring he might’ve known as well. Feeling the sudden tug from his brother, Luigi then followed his older brother inside the castle. His fingertips discreetly touched the surface of his lips, continuously feeling the aftermath of the kiss. Prodigious birth of love it was to him, that he must love a loathed enemy.

“Are you sure, your hideousness?” stammered Kamek once the carriage traveled out of the kingdom’s premises, finding itself in the road to the Dark Lands. Bowser stepped out of the vehicle, passing the mask to his second in command to feel the cold evening wind brushing into his garnet spiky locks. He figured Kamek was growing suspicious after having him call off the attack on the castle though thankfully, it was never about what had occurred between him and Luigi. He didn’t blame him; by now, they should’ve taken the princess and many other guests hostage while Mario would’ve gone on another adventure to save them.

He turned to him replying, “Don’t question my command. I only want to travel alone. Just make sure my son is still asleep, the castle secured and don’t wait up. I should be home then.”

Kamek was slightly skeptical but nonetheless granted his Lordship’s wishes, saying, “Very well, your Evilness. Be careful.”

As soon as he shuts the door, the carriage soon started to move up ahead, leaving him in the roadside as he watches it disappear. He wasn’t ready to head home, knowing he wouldn’t sleep a wink after everything that happened. Bowser tucked his coat and traced back into the direction of the Mushroom Kingdom.

The Mushroom Forest were in the outside boundaries of the kingdom, with the plant as high as a sequoia tree. They were the resources of the powered mushrooms—ranging from the classic red to the rare green ones—though there were inedible ones lurking around. Biddybuds, traveling in groups, and bramballs who moved nonchalantly like slinkies resided in these parts. At the evening, however, the creatures camouflaged when they sleep with the Biddybuds resting among boulders and the tall bramballs standing still in whatever spot they remained. From afar, they were shaped like small hills among the forest. It could be the atmosphere, but Bowser almost felt tiny in comparison, staring above the giant plants. In the dark, they were towers almost reaching for the sea of stars above.

It didn’t matter, though, feeling the effect of the kiss lingering upon his lips. Sweetened and rich like melted gold, it marked a link between him and the green plumber. Ghostly remnants of Luigi’s skin stuck to his hands, missing the delicate body he embraced. He slipped his hands onto his pockets, soon feeling a smooth texture by his fingertips. He pulled it out to unveil a rose plucked from the castle’s garden back at the party. He had forgotten to give it to Luigi before they shared their first kiss. His heart fluttered, a sensational overflow of cupid’s pink lemonade washing him up until he was drowning with love.  

“Why?” Bowser wondered woefully. “Why of all things did it have to be you?” And yet, no sign of regret ever signaled in his words; Bowser wasn’t the kind to dismiss anything he didn’t lament upon.

Suddenly, Bowser heard some rustling coming from the left, prompting him to hide behind one of the mushrooms. A light was seen at a close distance; Bowser’s first thought was a patrolling guard from the castle. Normally, they were wouldn’t astray in these parts of the kingdom—this place was considered feral—so he had to start thinking of an escape plan without getting noticed.

Thankfully, it wasn’t a Toad but someone he didn’t imagine coming across again. It was his prince, seeing Luigi emerge in his view. It was his love. Unlike Bowser, he had replaced his ball outfit for his comfortable sleeping robe and pine green slippers. His signature hat was absent, displaying his short brown hair and carrying a flashlight with him to guide him through the dark forest. It wasn’t the place he necessarily wouldn’t like to venture alone, however, just by staring at his distress, that was the least of his concern.

Luigi hopped on top of one of the mushrooms, nearby a ledge where the whole view of the kingdom displayed. The full moon in the background behind the high tops of Peach’s castle glistened into his sapphire eyes and he was lost in his troubles. Bowser sneaked behind, trying not to scare the young plumber and went to another mushroom bark that had the perfect view of Luigi.

The green Mario brother sat down, hugging his legs close to his chest and sighed in hopelessness, “Why are you Bowser? Why of all names did you have to be Bowser?”

The Bowser he knew was an evil tyrant who wanted nothing more than to conquer lands and have Princess Peach as his Queen. Easily tempered and destructive, him and Mario had been on each other’s necks since they resided here. And while Luigi couldn’t forget his encounters with the menacing King, it felt different meeting him in a distinguished celebration. Even if it was a masquerade party, the Koopa King was unrecognizable. He was serene, elegant, adjectives he wouldn’t describe him. A romantic, treating him gently no less and it made Luigi wonder if he was ever like that behind closed doors. It was nice, he blushed but sighed, knowing he was behaving for someone else he didn’t know. And the worst part of it was Luigi was falling in love.

“Why couldn’t you be someone else? Another king from some unknown land? Instead of an enemy, a friend,” he shuddered. Luigi had no doubt Bowser would try to forget about everything that happened between them. Moved on and continued to plan for another attack, maybe he would go after him for ridiculing him.

A nervous look grew on his face as he pondered, “Would it be selfish of me to ask him to abandon it all? Because if we were to go back to the way things were, I don’t think I would’ve.” Although Luigi was reminded of his brother, Mario. His best friend and twin by birth; he couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning him. He knew his older brother would react negatively about his newfound romance with his enemy.

Crushed by that reality, Luigi shook his head and grieved, “I guess it’s never meant to be.”

“What’s not meant to be?”

Luigi squeaked, turning around to see Bowser surface from his hiding spot and walking towards him. The distance was apparent, and the hesitance grew between them to close the gap. Stammering, Luigi stood up and covered his mouth while his reddened cheeks blossomed. He only hoped the evening’s shadows enfolded them.

“H-H-How much did you hear all of that?” Luigi stuttered.

“All of it,” Bowser replied.

Luigi briefly glanced at the man’s red wine eyes, soft and calm, gazing at his cobalt blue ones. “Are…” he paused, lowering his hands but still clasped together. “Are you upset? Because I don’t blame you if you are. I’m sorry. W-What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I wanted to see you again,” Bowser answered.

“B-But this is all Mushroom Kingdom territory. If you were caught…”

“You think Princess Peach’s guards would ever strike at me with their pesky spears? They can hardly stand in the same room as me unless I was shrunk to a size of a peanut,” the King scoffed.

“I'm more concerned about my brother. He’d try and kill you.”

“I’m not,” Bowser jeered, taking extra steps towards the younger Mario brother. “He’d probably still think I’m here for Peach.”

“Even more reason for you to go for your own safety.”

“And leave me unsatisfied? Never.”

Bowser then presented the rose to Luigi who blushingly smiled and took the rose gently. He was admiring the flower’s beauty whilst the King admired the beauty of the young man in front of him.

“Did you mean it? Everything you said?” Bowser asked.

Luigi looked up from the rose to the Koopa King. His mind processed from the reflective thoughts plaguing him. His smile faltered, turning away from the concerned Bowser.

“Do you regret it?” Bowser then asked.

Luigi shook his head.

“Then? Why are you holding back?”

Luigi, twirling the rose clockwise by the stem, replied, “Because if I look at you, I’m going to lose all sense of reason.”

Bowser exhaled through his nose, sympathizing Luigi’s conflict as he was in the same position. Instead of gloating about his successful raid, he was here, gently pleading, “Luigi, look at me.”

He shifted his index finger under Luigi’s chin, lifting him to meet his gaze. Part of him thought he was crying but was faced with a rubescent face burning like the temperate lava. His blue eyes glistened with love, seducing Bowser into complimenting, “You’re so beautiful.”

Luigi didn’t know what to say or even had anything to say as his lips contacted Bowser’s. His heart jumped, his whole body numbed, and feelings resurfaced from the party. Bowser’s eyes were closed, experiencing everything all over again. While still snuggling his hand around Luigi’s waist, his other hand caressed Luigi’s cheek and his thumb smoothing the skin. Luigi, giving in, submerged his fingers inside the man’s vermillion hair. Bowser’s lips then trailed onto the young man’s cheek and into his neck. Luigi shuddered; the King was careful with his kisses, attempting not to terrify the green plumber.

“Be mine,” Bowser supplicated through each passing kiss.

“Yes,” Luigi said. As Bowser stopped the chain of kisses, the star-crossed lovers stared at each other again with love and content. “As long as you’re also mine, I will be yours.”

            The King was too lovestruck to respond, bushing his fingers upon Luigi’s face, stroking his cheek. Oh, blesséd, blesséd night, he wanted to say.

            “Bowser, we can’t continue. Not tonight,” Luigi continued, holding the man’s hand while smiling.

            “How about tomorrow night? Right here,” Bowser suggested. “It’ll be better.”

            Luigi couldn’t stop smiling—the more he gave him his love, the more he had for both are infinite—and stole another kiss.

            “One more before I leave,” Bowser requested.

            Luigi obliged and gave the King another one but this time, Bowser snuck his tongue inside with tease. Luigi jolted and moaned, blushing harder than before. Bowser chuckled as they pulled back with a lightheaded Luigi gasping for breath.

            “I-I’m sorry,” he apologized.

            “Don’t worry about it,” Bowser said. “Will you be alright traveling home on you own?”

            Luigi nodded, having known his way around the woods since becoming a resident in the kingdom. He then gave Bowser a peck on the cheek. “Goodnight, Bowser. Stai attento.”

            “Goodnight, love.”

            Bowser waited as Luigi soon walked towards the direction he came. He glanced at him one last time before turning on his flashlight and departing down the trail to the kingdom. Filled with glee and passion, Bowser snuck out of Mushroom Forest, anticipated for the next evening to come quickly than soon.

Chapter Text

It was already midnight and Jim normally would’ve gone to bed by ten. Instead, he was lighting two scented candles in his bedroom, the only things brightening the darkened room. Wearing only his bathrobe—having stepped out of a shower—and leaving very little to the imagination, his teeth were cleaned with an addition of Listerine freshening his breath. Seconds counting on the clock brought an echoing flare to the red candles as Jim rested on the bedside. The door was opened by a smidge, the darkness peeking through as the young pie maker endlessly stared upon it. His little sister, Sadie, slept soundly in the living room, listening to her peaceful snores and smile, dreaming of running through the plains like a small jackrabbit. Free from problems unlike her brother who reminded himself that Phil was coming over. The man clearly wanted to exhume forbidden steam, sharing no intimacy towards the widowed man. When he told him, Jim returned the mutual feeling even though he was a terrible liar. It hurt him but he’d been hurt many times in the past. It gets difficult to differentiate which caused the heavy damage. 

Jim exited his room, gently closing his sister’s door and wait in the kitchen. Having taken one of his candles, his troublesome emotions momentarily evaporated when smelling the cinnamon perfuming him. He tended to live an emotionally detached life–regardless of his kind and mild-mannered nature–and found himself to be unremarkable. Phil Burbank on the other hand was a remarkable man albeit feared and highly enigmatic despite his wealthy status. His brother, George, ached for societal norms and company but Phil loved the isolation among land and beasts with the only gentry being his vocabulary and business intellect. Still, it puzzled him how Phil chose him instead of his own ranch hands who were always with him. Or any male prostitute available for his service. His first impression on him happened infamously when he humiliated his baking as women’s play and burned a cigarette stub on top of his pie. Customers adored Jim’s pies, one of the best in the county and while he had some detractors, this was by far the worst. 

A soft knock interrupted his tranquility, making his eyes blink and a silent gasp escape his breath. It wasn’t loud enough to wake Sadie–she was a deep sleeper–and Jim sighed before approaching the back door. Attempting not to make any sounds, he opened to see Phil standing straight and tall with his hat tipped a bit lower to hide his eyes. Behind him, his horse was tied to a tree, calm and collected by his owner. Sealing his collar tight from his robe, the young pie maker moved to the side to allow the man into his home. 

“You can remove the boots here, Mr. Burbank,” Jim whispered though they fell on deaf ears as Phil proceeded to the kitchen, keeping his filthy boots. Jim didn’t waste on repeating himself; the night was rich, and Phil had planned on not staying long. 

Jim guided the cowboy through the house, candle in hand and their footsteps ghosting the atmosphere. Phil’s boots, contrast to Jim’s soft bare feet, were heavy against the wooden floor and silver spurs jingled to each step. Unsettling creaks haunted Jim into seeing his own home as a gothic manor on a lonesome hill, away from everybody else while the cold winds howling behind the walls were the horde of apparitions creeping among them. The startled man quietly reached for Phil’s hand for security, but the ruthless rancher repulsed the gesture, yanking his hand away. Phil wasn’t the kind of man to accept apologies, yet Jim couldn’t help thinking of saying it to him. 

Jim shuts the door once both men enter the bedroom. Phil stood near the drawer, distancing himself physically and from looking at the pie maker behind him. The cinnamon smell overflowed the entire room, giving it a nice fireplace warmth as Jim settled his candle beside the others. At a corner of his left eye, the young man halted to see Phil Burbank steadily stripping away his shirt. His angular shoulders nude with moderate biceps and a sharp backbone to shape his posture. The man oversaw the labor work at his ranch so of course, he built his muscles through chopping wood, handling cattle, crafting rope and fences, etc. At forty years old, he’s healthy despite the hard smoker he was. His hair slicked back, brown, and oily when he removed his hat, mirrored the stench he lived for while his rugged beard described the wildlife he endured. It’s almost impossible that a walking pigsty like Phil had once lived in high society; it was something that had to be seen to be believed.  

Turning around, Jim twiddled his thumbs in fret, biting his lips as he stuttered, “W-What do you want me to do, Mr. Burbank?” His shoulders stiffened, raising them up close to his ears all the while shying his eyes away. Phil, however, didn’t respond as he kicked his boots off. Hesitantly, Ned then asked, “Do you want me to take off my robe and sit on the bed? Should I keep it on? Or..?”

He stopped upon seeing the sight of Phil’s dirty socks standing close to him. His pants were still on and the silent breathing reminiscent of an animal growl crawled into Jim’s ears. He slowly lifted his glance to meet the rancher’s glare. Day blue was the color, bright in contrast to the dark themed clothes he wore. They were intimidating like the brutal winter storms, causing frost bites to whomever comes in his direction, boundaries be damned. But for Jim, he reminded him of the sea. Beautifully bountiful where anger can create turbulent tsunamis while underneath a full moon, it breathes in tranquility until the dawn brightens its surface with shiny diamonds. Jim felt the man’s rough hands climb onto the right of his jawline with his thumb solely caressing his jaw and cheek. They weren’t at all gentle, dried from all the hard work without gloves and marked in mud, dirt, and bloody scabs he only mended with a cloth. Strangely, they were warm like a bonfire at a campsite. Safe and strong, they could turn against him, burning his skin until ashes remained. 

“On your knees,” Phil commanded, whispering to Jim’s ear. 

The other man shuddered, heart stopped and cheeks growing hot, glanced at the rancher. But without question, he did as he was told and lowered himself at a level where his view was met with Phil’s crotch. Through the candlelight, he noted the faintest shape of Phil’s hardened cock piercing through the fabric. 

“Get to it,” Phil urged rudely. Jim widened his eyes, staring up at the cowboy who kept his glare on him. “And mind the teeth.”

The young man hesitated, frozen in place and unable to comprehend the man’s request. Phil, on the other hand, grumbled, “You don’t know how to do it. Giving head?”

“Oh, uh, yes, of course,” Jim lied. 

His trembling hands reached for the hems of the brown overalls, pulling them down. A tiny gasp escaped his throat when the erection popped out and proud, his lips running dry as he bit them hard. His heart pounded fast and his nerves building upon his stomach; the anticipation was frightening. Burbank wasn’t much help, judging him silently even as he started to feel the hot breath from Jim’s mouth. The tongue coated its saliva alongside the slightest sign of pre cum leaking from the cock. The young man couldn’t stop his cheeks from heating violently with the tip of the ears turning into the color of the candles. He was afraid to open his eyes, attempting to keep the cock in place while the pain on his knees pestered him. A low moan creeped out of Phil’s voice, discouraging his passion to be loud and clear. He flinched a bit, feeling a set of teeth briefly touching his hardened cock. 

“I said mind the teeth,” Phil scowled, gripping the back of Jim’s brunette hair. “Goddamn Nancy.”

Jim’s whole body continued to tremble and his moans were silent sobs as his sight became blurred through the tears. Phil, already aware of Jim’s inexperience, yanked the young man cautiously, removing his dick from the mouth. Jim gasped for air, coughing while a mixture of saliva and pre-cum lightly drooled from his lips. 

“Burn out those candles,” Phil said, before removing his overalls. His naked legs, exposed with thick body hair, and firm butt at Jim’s view. “I hate the smell.” His imperious nose, hawk-like, made an arch upwards in disgust when he said this. The pie maker struggled to lift himself up, grabbing the rail of his bed for support. All the weight pressuring his knees were released and his legs became as light as a dandelion. 

“But how will I see you?” Jim asked while wiping the residue from his mouth. 

“Does it matter?” Phil answered without looking at the young pie maker. The words pierced through Jim like millions of glass shards after his first attempt at a blowjob. 

Untying his robe’s knot, the young man proceeded to blow the fire out one by one as the shadows gradually swallowed every aspect of the room. The night over casted everything and the moonlight substitutes Jim’s satisfaction but he still felt blind from seeing his surroundings. Phil’s hands harshly tugged his robe by the back collar, startling the young man before the latter found himself slammed face down on his bed. 

“Phil…” Jim gasped. 

“Don’t…” Phil reprimanded, dragging the dressing gown off and tossed it to the side. Despite the black atmosphere, his eyes wandered aimlessly at the shape of the young man. Even though the man was part of the woman’s world in his baking, he was quite built. His skin soft as a pillow as his rough hands searched him by the fingertips. His bare ass, round, and his legs somewhat feminine, pulling him towards him while opening them wide. Jim meanwhile experienced a chill cooling his nude body and listened to the rancher spit on his hand to create lube for his cock. It made him ill at ease, completely forgetting to ask him if he was clean or not. 

“Try not to make a sound,” Phil ordered. 

Jim diligently does so, allowing the other man to lift his ass to meet with his cock. Expecting the worst, he squeezed the bed sheets tightly. 

“Phil…” he cried softly. 

Whether the eldest Burbank heard him or not, it didn’t matter. He wasted no time in trying to position himself at Jim’s entrance as his cock dives into the hole. A broken cry yelped from Jim’s voice, arching his back, and stiffening his grip. His eyes clenched shut, allowing more tears to shed and his mind overflowing without focus. Phil, in a low groan, straddled his fingers to imprint his soft skin, granting him harsh bruises by the next day. 

“It hurts…” Jim sobbed quietly, trying not to be loud. He opened his eyes faintly and shifted his head behind. “Phil…it hurts…” 

“Don’t…” Phil chastised the same word, tempted to clamp one of his hands to shut the young man’s mouth. “Unless you wanna cause a stir.”

The rancher continued thrusting his hips and their skins colliding against each other while the bedpost bumps on the wall. As for Jim, it was painful than the last, yet it wasn’t rape. There was a hint of sensation flaming within his core, given by his trembling legs already on the brink of fatigue and his heart beating fast as a sailfish. However, his naiveness shrinks him to his inner childhood fear. To be surrounded in pitch black, Jim wouldn’t do such a thing when he was five. He expected his mother to come and comfort him, reassuring that he was safe no matter what. He remembered the lullaby rocking him to sleep as she cradled him in her arms. 

Alas, his mother has since passed away and Jim could only listen to Phil’s grunts behind him. He soon felt his own cock, teasingly stroked by one of Phil’s hands, leaking pre cum and on the verge of releasing more. “Phil…. I’m coming…” Jim pleaded, and a moan increasingly escaped his voice.

The rancher however covered his mouth with an open hand and his mouth drawing close to his right ear, grunting, “Don’t you dare…” 

Jim whimpered, shuddered at the same time the cum poured out. The clear liquid stained the bed sheets underneath with some of the residue stuck in between his legs. His entire body, loose like noodles, exhausted as he felt Phil pulled out of him, tumbling atop of the bed. He panted, pink cheeks flushed and never minding the man above turning him over to face him. Phil proceeded to masturbate, finishing with a low groan and his semen spurting towards Jim’s lower stomach. The man almost lost his balance, finding his steps before oppositely landing beside Jim. 

The two rested for a period, never talking nor looking at each other. Either way, Jim was too afraid to look at Phil, contemplating on what had occurred. He wasn’t sure what to make of it; it was rough and painful, wincing at a sting aching the lower level of his spine. It scared him a little and the night provided no consolation for him, chilled by the cold weather roaring outside. He had a fairy tale-like portrait of his first time; a passionate moment filled with love and adoration especially with the one he loves. It ached his heart, pressing the surface of his lips with his fingers where the gaudy moans came from. He didn’t at all sound like himself and he felt repulsed thinking of it. Quivering incredibly, tears fled from his eyes but silenced his mouth, preventing any sound to provoke the sleeping rancher. In all his past misery, this was the most painful. 

Chapter Text

Christmas soon fell on Gotham and Joker laid his eyes on a local party happening at the rich and grand Wayne Enterprise, the powerful building in the city. Feeling the lack of laughter and music energy, he couldn't help but want to crash there. He also heard that Harvey Dent was the special guest, so it piqued his interest in committing a little public murder as tonight’s entertainment. Or to lure Batman out of the cave and reveal his identity like he wanted. He found it ironic that while his realm of chaos roamed around the city, there was still time in the world for positivity. Rounding up his group, Joker examined his neatly stacked weaponry, ranging from knives, hand grenades to guns on the table. With his purple gloved hand, he poked at every single one, picking whichever he wanted to use. Before putting his things away in a crate, he spotted one that he hid away from anyone in the world. Two shirts, blue and white, neatly tucked within each other. He picked it up and felt its tough and old texture. Dried blood stained on the blue shirt sleeve and while bringing to his nose, he could still imagine smelling the sweet stench of cigarettes and snow. 

****

            It’s been about five years since Jack’s passing on a tragic and horrible note. His lil’ darlin’ Jack. Energetic, joyous, and full of hope were met with flashes of blood, hatred and pain left on a dead body found on the road. He never saw it but can picture the sorrow in those beautiful oceanic eyes he loved so much. His sunny smile drifting away to the night, never to rise again. The news through the phone echoed in the ears of Ennis Del Mar and his entire world ceased to exist. Ennis was a man fearing to expose his true nature. His true desire of having Jack as his own. In a society where he's been taught to detest queers, having to witness a nightmare sight when he was young, he pushed Jack away along with a future brighter than the one he made for himself. 

            I wish I knew how to quit you, Jack cried, turning away in anger, and betrayed after 20 years of being together. 

            Ennis wished he would've taken some extra time to stay with him. Hold him, kiss him and being able to say that he loved him repeatedly. Even when he couldn't find the words to say it.

However, after Jack’s death, Ennis began to grow unstable. Increasingly hot tempered, heartless and above all, insane. He knew Jack got killed by the tire iron and not by a road accident as his widowed wife explained to him. Or how the newspaper had covered the story. He spent a year trying to find his lover’s murderers, dropping all contacts with his daughters. He eventually received a tip from a local waitress at a diner he was eating at. Having to heard them talking about the incident in detail and attempted to inform police about it yet no action against them took place. 

            “Poor man,” the waitress told him. “I do pray that justice is served.”

            “Yeah,” Ennis nodded. “I wish for that too.”

            The tip led him to a bar a couple miles away from the ranch he used to work at. Hunter’s Pond, where the waitress said that the three men religiously go there at about eight o’clock. Despite that the bar wasn’t busy, Ennis kept at a steady mood, spending the evening chugging down six bottles of beer, smoking every single cigarette in his pack while tempting his finger on the gun hiding within his coat. The jukebox nearby the pool table was playing Slim Whitman’s Indian Love Call, with his long yodel echoing the bar. He had his cowboy hat tipped over his face as he rested against his chair. Sitting across his table were three men, almost about his age, huddling among themselves as if they were a secret cult. Ennis began to eavesdrop on their conversation, talking about their jobs, children and cheating on their wives. Just when his hope was about to be lost, his attention was brought back by his love’s name, Jack Twist. 

            “Ya don't think they gonna find out?” one asked. 

            “Naw,” another shakes his head. “There were no witnesses, and the police don't seem to bother. Nobody’s gonna care for that faggot anyways.” 

            “Yeah. I kind of wanna keep fuckin’ him,” the other said. “Cried like a sissy girl but moaned like a whore when I shoved my dick up his ass.” Ennis silently growled upon hearing this, rage boiling inside like a sizzling volcano ready to explode.

            “I guess. If you compare him to one.”

            “Got what he deserved.”

            “As long as nothin’ comes up, we’ll be fine on getting away with it.”

            Everything that spewed out of their mouths were disgusting to Ennis’s ears. He had already imagined the horrific scene. Ripping out his clothes after bludgeoning him, detaining his weak body and the painful yelps that Jack cried out meanwhile coughing out blood from his mouth. Tears smearing down his face as his cries became louder and louder, ringing Ennis’s mind. Unable to control himself, Ennis abruptly stood up, startling the three men in the process. He pulled out his gun and shot all three of them to the head. A waitress screamed, other customers and the bartender took cover under the table. But their fears were ignored by the continuous blare from his gun as he shot the dead bodies until the pistol ran out of bullets. Everything turned silent, except for Slim Whitman, with the enraged man staring down at the massive blood spilling on the ground. His hands were trembling and took a deep breath. His eyes shifted only to the waitress who was hiding under the billiard table and took out some cash, leaving them near the empty bottles before leaving. 

            Ennis wasn't sure how fast he was driving his truck, but it didn't matter anyway. He wasn't going to return for there was no reason to. Jack’s murderers are killed but Jack will never return to his arms. The witnesses are surely calling the police by now and he’d be a wanted man. He had briefly stopped by his small trailer, packed his things onto his truck before driving on. Just before he could travel to the outer boundaries of the location, he hit the brakes, stopping at a sight he never knew he would cross again. Brokeback Mountain. The place where his memories with Jack stayed. A sanctuary for their love. In the night, it was very beautiful. The glittered stars in the sky created a nostalgic touch of their summertime, short but a worthwhile experience.  

“Jack, I swear….” a teary-eyed Ennis Del Mar whispered even though Jack had never promised him anything and was himself not the swearing kind. Ennis hopped back into his truck and drove ahead to a newer future. 

            Arriving at a dark city named Gotham, Ennis had to adapt to the new lifestyle. For instance, his clothes were attracting attention, so he had to dispose them, purchasing decent clothing meanwhile keeping his cowboy hat in a box alongside the two shirts and postcard of Brokeback Mountain. He had to lose his accent, making a city style accent and his hair grew a bit. To keep his profile low, Ennis switched his name to the only one he could think of: Jack. Unfortunately, due to the change in his personality, it was rather difficult for him to find a job or keep one without making any death threats to coworkers or bosses themselves. Without having enough money to sustain himself, he turned to petty crimes such as stealing from stores and people’s pockets. 

            Eventually, he earned a job working under the Carl Grissom’s mob after attempting to steal from one of his men. He oversaw dispatching the mob into certain groups across the city, giving executions to traitors and elaborating plans on stealing the money from banks and from other rivals. The others look up to him as a second leader to the mob though he never led the group once. He received the title “second in command” after winning Grissom’s trust. 

He had a short affair with Grissom’s young mistress, Alicia Hunt, a Vogue magazine model. Beautiful and vain, she wasn't a bad lover but wasn't the best one. Nights with her were rather boring for Ennis and while her massages were decent, it wasn't enough to make him happy. Her kisses weren't like Jack’s.

            Grissom heard of a new substance in works at the Ace Chemical plant according to a corrupt police lieutenant, Max Eckhardt, and became interested in obtaining such powerful acid bath against his foes. “I’d like you to handle this operation personally,” Grissom said which peaked a bored Ennis’s interest. 

            “Me?” He was fiddling with a deck of cards and flipped one for him to look at. The Joker cards. At this time, Alicia had come back from shopping and walked over to Grissom’s chambers, giving a quick look at Ennis. 

            “Jack, you’re someone that I trust. You are my number one guy,” complimented Grissom despite having to discover about the affair earlier. 

            Ennis never been inside of the plant which appeared terrifying with the lack of lighting, excessive smoke blocking every path and heating the air, and the gigantic acid bathtub that stood out from the rest. But there was a beauty and mystery about it, reminiscent of Brokeback Mountain, that he felt comfortable in being with.

            “Let's get what we need and get out of here,” Ennis ordered. 

            From behind, Max Eckhardt, under the orders of Grissom, secretly pulled out his gun and aimed at Ennis. 

            “Freeze!” shouted a voice and bullets flew across, hitting a couple of members. A group of police officers, led by Commissioner Loeb and officer James Gordon, barged into the scene looking for Ennis, or Jack, and arrest him for past felony crimes. 

            “Shit! It's the cops!” one of them cursed. 

            Ennis, aside from seeing cops, turned to see Eckhardt pointing his gun at him. That son of a bitch, Ennis frowned. Bullets continued to fly, Ennis ducked as he shouted, “Fall back!” He immediately shot Eckhardt twice in the chest, killing him before seeing the cops running at his direction. He ran upstairs to the control machine, pulling down every single lever, spun every gas tank to further increase the steam of the factory and causing the machine to break down. He noticed police shadows from the smoke and with a nearby ax hanging on the wall, he cracked opened a tank, releasing hot liquid to the ground before making his escape.

            Reaching towards the top, after running up many staircases, Ennis took cover, holding his gun as he looked from the exit to the police officers along with Loeb rushing throughout the area, capturing a couple of Ennis’s men. Once he saw Loeb alone, he stood up and took aim at the defenseless commissioner. 

            Suddenly, a shadow emerged gliding towards him and knocked the gun away from his hand. Ennis turned to see a man dressed in black with a symbol of a bat marked on his chest. He grabbed him by the shirt and picked him up. Ennis gasped, “Jesus!” The cape crusader glared at him even though the darkness covered his eyes. Ennis felt a sudden fear chilling down his spine, imagining himself about to get beaten by the tire iron. 

            “Let him go!” one of Ennis’s men shouted, pointing the gun to Loeb’s head. “Or I'll shoot Loeb!” 

            The vigilante, having his stare fixed on Ennis, lowered him to the ground. Ennis’s growing fear had vanquished, seeing that some violence has regulations even when they’re doing it for good and not working for the police. He made a devilish smirk and reached for his gun but right before he could shoot, the vigilante disappeared. Ennis looked around to find him while the goon yelled, “Come on, Jack, let’s go!”

            Ennis ignored him, still trying to find the mysterious figure until he felt his presence behind him. He turned around and shot him, but the vigilante blocked it, ricocheting to one of the pipes and striking on Ennis’s cheek. He grimaced and lost his balance, tumbling over the rail where he clung on for dear life. Ennis glanced down at the giant acid tub boiling while the vigilante grabbed hold of his hand. A situation between life or death, Ennis saw it as a chance to reunite with Jack in the afterlife or how they thought of it as the “Pentecost”. I'm coming, Jack, my little darling, he thought. He lets go and fell into the tank where it was soon dumped into the sewers of Gotham. 

            Sadly, Ennis found himself plummeting back into Earth, a torture act of not being able to join his little darling, by getting out of the acidic water. Still bleeding from the burns eating his face, Ennis secluded himself deep and searched for a surgeon willing to fix his face. He sat for five hours, bandaged for two until the surgeon unraveled the bandages from his face. Ennis, impatient to see the results, shoved the surgeon’s hand away and quickly took off the bandages. 

            “Mirror…” he replied, in a low tone.

            The surgeon only stood there in shock.

            “Mirror!” 

            The surgeon reached for a small mirror, giving it to his patient. Through the reflection, Ennis stared at the white paint, green hair and the ruby lips which hid the scars made on both ends of his mouth. He was speechless, finding it completely unrecognizable. So, this is my punishment, he thought. 

            “You must understand that the nerves were completely unnerved, sir,” the surgeon tried to explain. 

            Ennis suddenly started to chuckle. He felt the need to and smashed the mirror to the ground, scaring the surgeon. 

            “You see what I have to work here.”

            Ennis brushed the man away, walking to the exit laughing hysterically. 

            A storm brewed in the night when Grissom celebrated his small victory. He and a sleeping Alicia were in bed as he looked over a newspaper detailing on Jack’s death. He drank a cup of whiskey peacefully with a single light on. He heard a door open, raising his head up to see a figure staring at him. “Who the hell are you?” Grissom asked. 

            “Your number one guy,” the response came.

            “Ah, Jack, it’s you.” He made a nervous laugh. “I thought you were dead.”

            “Dead? I wished.” His footsteps created an echo across the room, chilling the mob boss’s skin who placed the cup to the side and tried to reach for his gun. 

            “Don't bother doing that,” Ennis responded, clicking his gun. 

            Grissom paused. 

            “You set me up over a woman. A woman! By the way, she's a very deep sleeper isn’t she?” He made a tiny snicker.

            Grissom turned to Alicia’s bedside, and he turned on the light from her bedside. He gasped at the sight of his dead mistress sliced by the throat and a petrifying Glasgow smile on her lips.

            “She was horrified to see me alive, but I wanted her to be happy.”

            “Let me explain,” Grissom said, standing up from his bed. “I didn't mean to set you up. Look, how about we make a deal? Eh, Jack?”

            “Jack is dead.” And so was Ennis. “You can call me Joker.” He revealed his image to Grissom who shook in fear. He immediately went for his gun and Joker shot his boss by the back consecutively as he laughed. 

            He escaped, camouflaged himself within the city. Every single block he walked into, he examined the entire location from listening to the police sirens blaring at the distance to the news capturing the story of the vigilante he met, Batman. Batman thought Joker. Has a nice ring to it. He started to view Gotham as a boring city, desperate for a bit of chaos which he was willing to give it to her. He became fascinated with Batman, viewing him as a completion of his existing destruction and his reason to keep on murdering. Despite his own desire to kill him. Joker grew cunning, coercing some of his own goons to kill each other during a robbery for a chance of the money. Though he ended up with the money and get away truck. He sent out a video threat, torturing a Batman Imposter to death and demanding for the real one to come up and show his real identity. 

Still, he had the little old him who has enough time to treasure his little darling. 

****

            “Hey, boss,” a goon called him out, snapping him out of daydreaming. “We’re ready.”

Irritated, Joker shot the goon dead before folding the shirts away into his purple coat. “This is why I hate interruptions,” he grumbled, stepping over the body before leaving the room. 

            As they drove towards Wayne Enterprise, his first executions took effect: bombing Judge Surrillo, who presided over the mob trial, away in her car and poisoning Commissioner Gillian B. Loeb’s drink with acid. Getting out of the vehicle, his goons took care of the security guards on duty, making way for Joker to pass through. One guard, injured by a shot wound to the shoulder, Joker kept alive. “I need directions to the party room,” he grinned, holding a gun to his forehead. He took out the badge from the pocket and roughly placed it on the guard’s hand. “And make it quick. You don't want to make the guests waiting.” 

            The scared guard nodded and immediately took Joker and his goons to the elevator meanwhile some had stayed to make sure nobody goes in and goes out. He stood in front of them, trembling when he heard the loaded guns and Joker humming a little tune silently. Approaching to the room, Joker grinned, “Made it.” He shoved the officer to the side before firing his gun to the ceiling, bringing silence to the crowd. Taking first few steps into the party room, his goons followed behind pointing their guns at the crowd. 

            “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Joker said as he took a shish kabob from the food table. “We are tonight’s entertainment.” He took a bite and continued with his mouth full. “We only have one question, where is Harvey Dent?” 

            Not one single word from the guests spoke. 

            Joker aimed his gun at a group of women before snatching one of the champagne glasses, spilling some on the ground and tasting whatever’s left on the glass. “Do you know where Harvey is?” he asked, briefly grabbing a woman’s arm who flinched and backed away. 

            “Do you know where Harvey is?” He then asked a man. “I need to talk to him about something. Just something little, huh?” 

            The man didn't say a word leaving Joker to silently respond, “No.” He then turned to an older male guest. “Do you know where Harvey is? You know, I'll settle for his loved ones.” 

            “We’re not intimidated by thugs!” The guest frowned. 

            “You know, you remind me of my father.” Joker responded, grabbing him at knifepoint. “I hated my father!” 

            “Aw, you shouldn't threaten the elderly like that,” a male’s voice came from behind. 

            Joker turned around to see a slim man wearing a blue velvet suit with a red tie, different from the rest in the crowd, brown hair slicked back, his blue wide eyes and grin unpleasant as his. He looked familiar, very familiar to Joker’s eyes. The prince of crime lets go of the old man to approach young one. 

            The young man then shrugged, “He’s trying to be like Harvey Dent before he passes on so why don't you let him be young again?” 

            Joker didn't say a word, coming close to the young man. He felt an immediate madness surrounding the man’s aura, but a hint of sweetness sparked on his vibrant eyes. Like snow. No, he thought. It can’t be him. He circled around him, examining his appearance and the young man’s eyes remained on him. 

            The young man snickered, “Why are you circling for? Were you a vulture in another life?” 

            The audience looked at each other.

            “No but you…. remind me of my little darling wife.”

            “Oh?” The young man raised an eyebrow.

            “Beautiful, like you.”

            “I'm flattered…”

            “Who tells me,” Joker interrupted. “I worry too much, who tells me I ought to smile more, who gambles and gets in deep with the sharks.” He licks his lips as he continued, “One day, they carve her face. We had no money for surgeries. She can't take it. I just wanted her to see her smile again, hmm? I just want her to know that I don't care about the scars. So…” He paused to grab the young man’s face while touching his face with his blade. “I stick a razor in my mouth and do this…” He lightly touched the tip of the blade from the left side of his mouth to his cheekbone, nicking a small cut. Blood streamed down like tears. The young man though never made a tiny whimper. “To myself. And you know what? She can’t stand the sight of me! She leaves. Now, I see the funny side. Now I'm always smiling.”

            “You poor, poor man,” whispered the young man in a sarcastic tone. “Did you ever find her again?”

            Joker paused, leaning closer to the young man. “Funny you asked because I did see her again lying on a road. Still happy and beautiful.”

            The man’s growing grin suddenly disappeared. “I'm not sure whether you want to kill me or kiss me. Seems tempting but I lost my interest,” he sneered. He pushed the criminal away. Joker, a man dedicated to violence, laughed, “A little fight in you. I like that.”

            “Then you’re gonna love me,” a dark voice interfered. 

            Batman suddenly appeared and started to dispatch Joker’s goons. The young man backed away into the crowd while the fighting took place. Joker, fixated on Batman, waited for a moment, allowing his goons to attack him. Just when Batman was busy with three, Joker jumped in, with a knife on his shoes, kicking and stabbing Batman. The vigilante shoved Joker aside, easily making the clown to grab a gun and a person among the crowd at. Rachel Dawes, Harvey Dent’s girlfriend. 

            “Drop the gun,” Batman said. 

            “Oh, sure, you just take off your little mask and show us all who you really are,” smirked Joker, shooting the window behind him and leaned Rachel out in the open. 

            “Let her go.”

            “Very poor choice of words,” he chuckled, releasing Rachel, and leaving Batman to save her. Joker quickly made his escape, and the young man was the only one to watch him leave. 

****

            The young man, named Lou Bloom, avoided getting in touch with the news reporters who were scrambling to get inside detail of the horrific event. As well as policemen and the ambulance who were arriving at the scene by sneaking through the back. He went to his red Dodge Challenger parked a block away from the building and got inside. After buckling his seat belt, he adjusted his car mirror, revealing a shadow sitting in the back seat. Lou, unfazed by the surprise, replied, “So I take it you want to kill me right?”

            “I need a ride,” Joker requested. 

            “Are you that desperate to see me? Aren't you supposed to chase Batman and Harvey Dent?”

            He pulled a pistol, pointing behind his head. “Don't take it personal. You’re lucky I didn't choose to kill you and take your car.”

            Lou started the engine while asking, “Where to then?”

            “To…” Joker grunted as he moved from the back to the passenger seat. He still pointed his gun at him. “Gotham Harbor.” 

            As soon as Joker sat comfortably, Lou drove his car out of the spot and in a calming speed throughout the city. There was silence between the two while the police scanner updated on recent crime scenes aside from the Christmas party incident. Snowflakes started to fall from the sky, shining the bright lights of Gotham and the wreaths decorated on each post standing on every block. At a stoplight, Lou turned off his scanner and turned on the radio, playing Christmas music but never raising the volume. His eyes shifted quickly to look at the Joker who kept his eyes on him. 

            “Don’t you just love the holiday season?” Lou attempted to break their silence once the stoplight turned green. “I do. It’s fast, energetic but calming at the same time. There’s never a moment when you can’t enjoy it, but I could care less of the actual season. It’s the most high rated time for deaths. Many people die of suicides or car accidents, but I guess because of the pressure and getting gifts to their loved ones. Which I think it’s silly, but I think it’s fine. I don’t normally get gifts, but they come to me because that’s how I get my business done. Like my motto which is if you want to win the lottery, you must make the money to buy a ticket.”

Joker, being in a mind of his own, touched the fabric of the red tie. “I don’t like it. Take it off.”

            “I’m driving.”

            “Take it off.” 

            Reluctantly and carefully, Lou took off his tie, tossing it in the back. 

            “Stop the car,” Joker then demanded.

            “What?”

            “STOP.THE.CAR.”

            Luckily, the next stoplight was red, and Lou hit the brakes, turning around to see him. “Put the car on parking.”

            “In the middle of the road? You’re crazy.”

            “I’m not.” His piercing voice stabbed right into Lou’s ears. “I’m not.”

            Lou pulled the lever to parking still staring at the road. “Look at me,” Joker asked, never lowered his gun and their eyes soon met. Lou stared deep into Joker’s terrifying glare and his scars painted in red. His messy green hair complemented the white color painted on his face. Despite the light, the darkness conquered most of the man’s image, creating a sense of terror within him. He should be afraid, but he found it pretty. As for Joker, he saw how the red light revealed a nature in Lou Bloom. A man who flirted with him, a psychopath, in public and never showed any fear. The cut he left on him further darkened his image though there was beauty accompanying the snow outside. Something he had seen and loved before.

            “I like that endearment. Little darling,” Lou said. “It reminds me of someone who used to call me that.” 

            “An old date?”

            “Maybe but I forgotten how he sounded like.”

            There was a brief pause as the stoplight turned green. 

            “Before you decide to kill me in this spot or at the harbor, can you say it for me please? I want that to be the last time I hear it.”

            Lou then rested against his car seat, staring at the Joker as the clown began to say, “Little darling.”

            Lou just smiled when the words hit him like a Cupid’s arrow piercing his heart, “Again.” 

            “Little darling.”

            “Again.”

            “Little darling.”

            “One more time.”

            “Little darling.”

            The snowflakes stopped, leaving very little on the streets and the radio began to play Eartha Kitt’s Santa Baby. The two ignored the truck honking from behind in anger as the light switched to red. 

            “Thanks,” Lou said, turning to the road. 

            A harsh tap on Lou’s window drove his attention to an angry trucker. He rolled down the window, move his head to where the man can't see Joker and put on a perfect and fake friendly smile. “Can I help you?”

            “Yeah, why don't you just move your fucking car when the lights turned green?! Dipshit!”

            “Oh, I'm sorry, sir,” Lou replied. 

            “Sorry’s not gonna cut it, faggot!” He gripped his chin and moved it to the side. But before he could continue, a bullet struck to his neck. Blood squirted out, touching Lou’s face and the man begun to choke. He released Lou while falling backwards and covering the wound, fighting for life. Lou turned from the dying man to the Joker, who pulled the trigger. 

            “Change of plans,” Joker said, putting his gun away. “Drive to the Ace Chemical plant.”

            Without hesitation, when the light turned green, Lou drove to the right and straight ahead.

            Neatly placing his things on the side, Lou looked below the giant green acid tank where he felt the steam heating his face and the smoke blinding his sight. The lights created the green color that served as the atmosphere of the entire building. The moon from the window ceilings was vague from the frozen temperature. Joker in the meantime pulled out the two shirts, separating them which is something he nor Ennis had done before. He held onto the white shirt and approached to Lou with the blue one. 

            “Take off your shirt and coat,” Joker asked, tossing the blue shirt to him. 

            Lou gracefully removed his coat and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing several scars imprinted on his thin body. The shirt was a little big on him but warm compared to his other ones. Joker stepped back a bit to look at Lou as a whole, holding him by the shoulders. 

            “Do you want to know what really happened to my little darling wife?” he then asked.

Lou nodded.

            “My wife was different than most wives. She was wild, exhilarating, fun, nothing like I was, and I loved her. Even when it was hard for me to show it. But what society didn't like about her was that she was too different. So, what they did to her was they beat her to a bloody pulp and threw her body away like trash. Every part of her I loved killed.” His gloved hand touched his right clean cheek and imagined seeing a dead Jack again. His blue eyes wide opened and blood smearing all over his face. “I was so angry I tracked down those who murdered her and shot them one by one. But that could never get her back. My little darling wife. I kept my name even though I was dragged down to the grave when she died.” He raised the white plain shirt and hung it around him as a coat. “I still love her and...” His smile grew wide. “I feel like she's coming back to me.” He then dragged Lou down with him, making a gigantic impact into the acidic liquid. 

****

Two years in a coma….

            Jack Twist woke up in a hospital in a state of shock. Nurses restrained him calmly as his doctor informed of the drastic measures they had to put him through. His legs were injured but have a great possible chance of walking in three months. Thirty stitches were made to the body, including to the broken nose, head and face and a castration was performed because of the mutilation of his penis. Lureen made sure her father would approve the operation so that her husband may live despite his refusal. Jack was taken home in a wheelchair where he remained in a weak state until he could recover. 

            “Today marks the second anniversary of the Hunter’s Pond massacre,” a news reporter spoke on TV which Jack was watching in the morning while Lureen was fixing him breakfast. They first shown the actual pictures of the three victims, all male. 

            “You like that, don't you queer?” A man asked a wounded Jack as his friends held him down on the grass after beating him up with the tire iron. Blood dripped down on his head, nose, and mouth. His hand harshly gripped onto Jack’s crotch, making him shriek in pain. 

            “Horny faggot! You’re hard, huh. You really do like that.” 

            He unbuckled Jack’s belt and pulled down his pants, exposing his penis. “Well, well, for a guy, you have nice legs. They look like a whore’s legs.” 

            He started to pull down his pants and Jack, frightened, tried to pull away but the gang’s grasp was too strong against his weakened state. He moved close to Jack, shoving his dick up his ass. Jack screamed until one of them stuffed a cloth onto his mouth. The fragile man shed tears and muffled, fighting to close his eyes as the man grabbed his chin to turn to him. 

            “Don't make him come yet,” said the other, struggling to unbuckle his belt fast with one hand. “I wanna do him too.” 

            “Police are still skeptical about the whereabouts of the perpetrator who committed this act of murder.” 

            The screen revealed the sketch of the killer provided by the waitress who witnessed the act. An image flashed into Jack’s broken mind, a man with golden brown hair, tan hat, and serious brown eyes. He looked deep into the sketch, seeing that the murderer looked familiar. Lureen, standing at the doorway watching the news, bit her lip and spoke, “You know, a friend called to me while you were in a coma.”

            “Oh, really?” Jack said, without any emotion or looking at her. “Who was it?”

Lureen paused. “Lashawn Malone. She wanted to know if you were okay.” She lied, it was Ennis who called her about the postcard she returned to him and stamped “deceased”. Unable to shake the fact that her husband may have been cheating on her for a man. 

            “That's nice.”

            Lureen quickly changed the channel as soon as she gave her husband the breakfast tray.

            Everything stayed the same. Lureen had work with her father and Bobby kept going to school, but Jack just wasn't. He stayed at the same spot, not saying much and not paying attention around him. He rarely ate his food which had him lose twenty pounds. His clothes didn't fit him, Lureen had to buy some that did, and his hair grew a little bit. He started having a keen interest in the news, particularly the night ones where he witnessed to violent crimes occurring in Texas or in a different state. Blood, ambulance lights flashing and painful grimaces, his own experience with violence as ran his fingers to the scar on his head. 

            “What are we gonna do with him?” One of the three men asked, looking down at a wasted Jack, faced down on the ground. A combination of cum and blood spilled down his legs and dirt. His voice cracked and coughing from all the blood he was swallowing. No one had come to save him. Another flipped him over to look at his dick and grinned. He took out a hunting knife from his pocket and knelt in front of Jack.  

            “How about a goodbye present from us?” 

            He gripped on the dick and slowly sliced it off. Jack could only cry out for help as blood stained over his shirt and skin meanwhile the other came forth with the tire iron and knocked his head with it. 

            As soon as three months passed, Jack was walking and the first he did was getting rid of the mustache. He kept his hair, slicking it to perfection with gel. He appeared more unhealthy as days passed, having wide eyes, an unpleasant smile that haunted his own son and the tendency to clean everything in the house. Yelling at Bobby whenever he wore muddy shoes around the house and Lureen for moving things to different locations. He started stealing things secretly including a bicycle which he traded for a camcorder, using to videotape animals becoming road killed. He also grew unsociable, refusing to attend anything Lureen pulls him into. 

            “What is your problem with people, Jack?” she scowled at him when they went home early from a dinner party. Jack, after being insulted by her friend’s husband, stabbed his hand with a knife. “When you resolve a problem, you don’t commit violence.”

            Jack stared out the window, not looking at his wife, asked, “What if my problem is that I don’t understand people but that I don’t like them?”

            She tossed her bag to the bed and sat on a seat in front of a mirror. “I don’t understand you at all, Jack Twist. I don’t know what’s wrong with you.” Her fingers massaged her forehead in frustration. 

            “Nothing is wrong with me.”

            Lureen glared at him through the mirror. “Get out. I don’t want to see you.” 

            Jack, without putting up a plea to stay, left his wife alone. 

            Driving through the night, Jack breathed in and out from the breeze blowing to his face. The moon shining above was along with the stars covered by incoming clouds. But it's not so much of the environment but the dark vibe that made him feel like a predator. A coyote wandering for food from a live or dead prey that stood in his path as a token for hard work and survival. Parked on a cliff side where he could see the entire town, Jack began to think about the man in his flashbacks. Still unrecognizable, by name and face, but couldn't help feeling very happy whenever he appeared. Like he was someone very precious to him that he had loved holding onto. 

            I wonder who he is, Jack thought. And if he's out there, is he thinking about me? 

            “Where were you last night?” Lureen asked while getting ready for work one morning. “I had to ask my father to drive Bobby to school.”

            “Out. I needed to get some fresh air,” Jack responded, cutting up a piece of bacon from his breakfast plate. “Made me get into my senses about the dinner party. I’m sorry about that.”

            “It’s okay.” Lureen was silent for a moment. “Where did you go?”

            “Just around town. Sometimes to the farmlands.” Jack poked on the yolk of the egg with his knife.

            “Why didn’t you tell me you went out?”

            “Because I didn’t want to make you worry about where I go. I promise you that I haven't done anything that I wouldn't do.” His knife pierced through the yolk and ripped out an entrance, releasing the yellow liquid as he spun it. 

            Lureen walked over to her husband, putting her hands on his cheeks. She placed a kiss on his forehead and smiled weakly, “I'm glad that you’re getting better. I really worry of you.” 

            She kissed his on the lips before heading off to the door. “I'll see you until dinner, darlin’.”

            Jack suddenly spoke up, “Say that again.”

            “What?”

            “What you said. The last word.”

            “Darlin’?” 

            Jack remained silent. “Thank you.” 

            “Bye, Jack,” she then said, closing the door behind her. 

            Jack sat in silence, listening to the word repeated down the halls of his ear. Darlin’. A very pretty word with a nice tone. Jack closed his eyes to allow it to warm his heart as if it was whispered into his ear. But he felt that someone had said it to him before like the person really meant to say it just for him. 

            “I don't know what I should do with him,” Lureen said to her father during work.

            “Divorce him!” her father told her. “He’s getting worse. He’s been skipping work since he was able to walk.” 

            “I don’t know. Maybe have him go to work with you tomorrow. That would further improve his health.”

            Her father, for the sake of his daughter, grudgingly brought Jack to work where he was completely lost. He expressed no intention of getting the job done, scared half of the workers, playing with his camcorder and criticizes the workforce as being “so weak that a farmer’s tractor could swipe them off like crops in a field”.

            “I’ve had it with you, Twist,” his father-in-law scorned at him in his office at lunch break. “Lureen gives pity to you but that won’t mean I will.”

            “Why do your care so much of my well-being?” Jack said calmly. “I heard from Lureen that you didn’t want to pay for my operation.”

            “Because she begged me to. She loves you.” L.D. next gave him the usual stink eye. “And stop judging my company and workers. Hell, as if you will ever know how to run a company.”

            Jack sighed, “You know, this morning, I made myself a new motto and it’s if you wanna win the lottery, you must make the money to buy a ticket. It has a good tone to it, right?”  

            “Like I give a…”

            “So, I was thinking about that, and I feel like these guys aren’t making enough money to buy those tickets. Sure, they may be nice fellas but they’re not great workers. If I were you, I would fire the useless ones and find better ones who are not only willing to socialize but work hard.” 

            “You can't tell me what I can or can't do.”

            “Calm down, I'm only giving my opinion.”

            “Opinion? Criticizing? I don't care. I don't wanna hear anythin’ from you, freak.”

            Jack only gave a smile that was slowly diminishing. “I never understood why you hated me. I tried to be a good son in law to you and a dedicated husband to a loving wife. That bothered me for about twenty years, and I wanted to know why.” 

            Jack got up from his seat and stood beside an uncomfortable L.D. “Is it because I can’t be a good member of the family? You could’ve said no and have me die. You always wanted to get rid of me.” He placed a hand on the desk and lowered his focus, staring at him coldly. “But I think you hate me because you loved me. Staring at me like how you used to stare at your wife.”

            “What the devil’s name are you sayin’, Twist?” 

            “I never liked you, L.D. Really, I thought you were hideous and old for my taste.” He sat down on his lap, putting his hands on his chest. “And I wondered how your workers here are gonna react when they see us like this. See your hard dick pressing onto mine and your arms holding me.” He pulled L.D’s arms and wrapped it around his waist. “I bet they’ll quit and get the tire iron on you. They won’t do it to me because what I’ll tell them is that you tried to rape me.” He pressed a small kiss onto the older man’s lips and grinned, “Unless you call me darlin’, I might be alright with keeping this a secret.”

            “Sick faggot,” grumbled L.D, shoving him off to the ground. He grabbed Jack by the shirt and punched him in the face. Jack fought back by pushing him off with his foot and struggled to shake him off. 

            “That’s the reason why I hated you. Because you were nothin’ but a whoreson faggot.” He pulled Jack by the legs and continued to punch him in the face. Jack, finding an old Salesman award sitting on his desk, grabbed it and struck it upon his head with force, knocking his father-in-law down to the ground. Standing up, Jack looked at an unconscious L.D. lying face down on the carpet floor with blood staining the white color.

            He sat back in his chair and exhaled, “Thanks for telling me, pops.” 

            He remained in the room for the entire day, poking at the body with his shoe, excusing his “absence” to the rest of the coworkers, wiped off the blood marks on the trophy, stealing his wallet from his pocket or videotaping him with his camcorder. 

            When realizing that his father-in-law wasn’t going to wake up, he called for an ambulance. Lureen heard about what had happened and drove all the way to the hospital to see her dad and husband. Jack received small stitches on his nose meanwhile a devastated  Lureen received news that her dad was in critical condition due to brain damage. 

            A calm Jack sat in the car, resting his back against his seat, and looked at his camcorder, silently rewatching the video. He had planted the evidence on a worker before calling the police to make an arrest. He then turned to a teary-eyed Lureen walking towards the car and getting without turning on the car. The couple sat in silence, not daring to look at each other in the eye while the video played different incidents Jack had been watching. 

            “I’m sorry about L.D.” Jack apologized. 

            “Did you hit him in the head?” Lureen croaked.

            Jack looked at his wife and then at the camcorder video. “Yeah.”

            “Why?”

            “I felt like it. I thought it was because he was getting on my nerves, but I don’t think so.”

            “And you framed someone for attacking him?”

            “Yeah.” 

            Lureen finally cracked, putting her head on the steering wheel, and sobbed, “What the hell is wrong with you?! I put my life to see you again and all I get is nothing but a monster! If it’s not for your queer image, it’s this!”

            “I don’t know,” Jack replied in a low tone silent to her ears.

            Once she finished crying, she didn’t raise her head but said, “I want you to leave and never come back. I’ll tell Bobby that you disappeared, and I’ll make sure he won’t remember you.”

Jack, without a word to say, got out of the car and walked ahead into the night, not looking back at her cries of anger. 

            Jack boarded onto a bus using L.D.’s money, driving up to a city called Gotham where he found himself a job as a stringer, shooting a video on the graphic crimes of the city including those that center on the caped crusader Batman. He earned a good amount of money to buy a red Dodge Challenger that was fast enough to head to a crime scene before the cops arrive and a camera to capture better quality videos. His image as Jack Twist began to disappear, creating a new name for himself, Louis Bloom. 

            He loved the city. Big, loud, and full of destructive parts, it became home for him. He never missed Texas or thought about going back there. He didn’t think so much about Lureen, Bobby or if L.D. had survived his injuries. Though the endearment, Darlin’, continued to ring in his head. He had one-night stands with a couple of dates, mostly men, and had them call him Darlin’ but none seem to capture the handsome image and rough tone that captured his heart.

            Lou was at home when the dead Batman dummy was hung beside the mayor’s office window. He watched the video found on the body sent by the Joker and couldn’t help but feel attached by the madness of the killer. He appeared different than the ones caught by Batman, an attraction boiling inside him. And his voice. Wild and frightening as they sent chills down to his bones. When the Christmas party was planned at the Wayne Enterprise with Harvey Dent as the guest of honor, Lou knew that the Joker would strike there since Dent is Gotham’s prized white knight, so he needed to find a way to get inside. He figured that businesspeople would attend, most of those alliances with Bruce Wayne, the richest man in the city. Luckily, he was able to lure the owner of a bank operation at a bar by seducing him and sedating him with a powerful drug to knock him out. 

            Dressed in a blue velvet suit, red tie and a digital camera hidden in his coat pocket, Lou entered the party with the invitation in hand. He felt bored being around with people and sickened by the amount of praise people had given to Harvey Dent. He spent his time looking at his watch to see when will the Joker show up. If his theory is proven correctly. 

            Right when it seemed like forever, Lou planned on abandoning the party until he heard a gunshot fired to the air, scaring the crowd, and moving to the side to let the intruder in. Lou saw that it was Joker and quickly took out his camera, shooting the scene from the back. However, as he recorded the Joker, demanding to know where Harvey Dent was, the images flashed into his head, showing him the same man from the wanted sketch as well as a deep voice echoing in his mind, Little Darlin’ and calling his real name. Lou blinked as he lowered the camera, feeling a tiny jump in his heart. He stared at the impatient criminal, haunting the guests with his appearance and his cheeks started to lightly blush. What is this feeling? This strange feeling that I have seen him before But where? And how? And why do I feel for him this way? Lou thought. He put the camera away in his pocket and moved through the crowd to get a better look.

****

            Lou emerged from the acid bath, breathing, and coughing out for oxygen. He was covered in the warm liquid, unable to see or feel anything in his surroundings. He imagined being on the verge of drowning in the middle of the ocean. Suddenly, he felt someone carrying him bridal style and Lou struggled to free himself. 

            “Don't worry,” came in Joker’s distant chuckle. “I got ya.” 

            “What? Wha…?”

            “Put your arms shoulders.”

            Lou felt his hands touching Joker’s chest and shoulders. 

            “Open your eyes.” 

            Lou slowly opened his eyes, blinking to try not to blind himself, to see a blurry vision of the Joker fading away. He squinted to fix his sight and the image morphed into the same man again. “Little darling,” came in the voice. “My little darling.” Lou’s cold heart started to beat fast as his focus began to grow clearer. “Ennis?” he exhaled and widened his eyes to see the Joker holding him. His heart jumped and his hand touched the clown’s cheek. He was on the verge of tears, giving a warm smile. “Ennis?” 

            “Jack fucking Twist,” Joker smirked. 

            Their lips were pressed together, hard, and embracing tightly. “Ennis,” sobbed Jack after pulling their kiss apart, smudging his lips with the red paint. “After all these years, I thought I wouldn't find you again.”

            “You’re taking the words right out of my mouth.” 

            “But what happened to you?”

            “This place.” Ennis looked up at the ceiling of the empty plant. The color of the shirts stained the bath, combining the two together. “Is what made me what I am. It’s what'll make you, little darling, and us. Like how Brokeback Mountain did.”

            Jack smiled, slightly laughing. Ennis glanced down at his lover and grinned, “Ennis and Jack had their story told. Now it's ours.” 

            Jack Twist, now Louis Bloom, pulled Ennis Del Mar, now Joker, for another kiss. When their lips parted, they both started to laugh maniacally which echoed throughout the building and this very Christmas night.

Chapter Text

The City of Townsville is rather nice and peaceful, full of hardworking, kind, and friendly people in both the city and suburban homes. They are nonetheless average and normal people who have average lives, and they like it that way. But what makes this place different from any other city is that it's home to the most famous and crime fighting heroines that the people of Townsville admire and adore, The Powerpuff Girls, who vowed to protect the city from the forces of evil. But on this day, the girls who live in a suburban house with their scientist father, Professor Utonium, have one other task instead of fighting and that is school. Well, they had graduated from their kindergarten school, Pokey Oaks, now heading to elementary school and Utonium had transferred to a new position in the city. Although it seems normal for them—balancing between school and superhero work—soon enough something will change.

 It was fall and the leaves were beautifully changed from green to red, yellow, and orange colors. The temperature had changed from a hot summer to autumn chill, almost close to winter. It was also the season where school began. For the Powerpuff girls, this was the start of their third-grade year in elementary school. With their backpack set for class, Utonium prepared breakfast and lunch for his three girls while they were brushing their hair or dressing up in their famous clothes. They headed downstairs to eat their breakfast while their dad was fixing his best black tie, putting on a gray hat and grabbing the suitcase. He went to the girls and gave them each a kiss on the head and the three said simultaneously, "Bye Professor. Have a good day." 

"Have a good day at school," Professor said to them as he went to the door. "I'll see you when you get home." When he closed the door, the girls had finished their breakfast. They took their lunch bag and backpack, and they flew out of the house. 

The elementary school, Einstein Elementary School, is a couple of blocks away from the Pokey Oaks Kindergarten and is a tad bigger than the kindergarten building. Two story tall platinum building with an extended playground that has a huge outfield big enough for a gym class. The girls arrived there just a couple minutes before the bell rings, good enough for them to get to their class. Luckily they were in the same class together so finding their assigned locker wouldn't be any different since their lockers were right next to each other. They opened their lockers to put their stuff inside and take out what is necessary for class. Blossom took some time and organized it; Bubbles not only organized it but decorated it with cute stickers of furry animals and hearts and Buttercup merely just stuffed her things in there.

When she struggled to close her locker, Bubbles asked her sisters, "What do you think we would learn in third grade?"

"I don't know," Buttercup replied as she managed to close the locker shut at last. "Probably the same thing we learned from second grade."

"I hope we can still color," Bubbles said. "I brought my crayons."

"Who knows?" Blossom added. "And besides, this is a new school year which means new stuff."

When she closed her locker and right before she could join her sisters into the classroom, she spotted a kid walking down the hallway with his backpack ready and set. He was wearing laboratory clothes with purple gloves, black boots, shiny glasses, and tangerine hair. He kind of reminds her of her dad so the first thing that she could automatically know about this boy was that he loved science and was intelligent. Blossom couldn't keep her eyes off him as she watched him enter a classroom right across from hers which was a fourth-grade class.

It wasn't until Buttercup interrupted, "Blossom." Blossom shook her head and blinked her eyes as she turned to her sister who was standing on the doorway. "Aren't you coming?" Blossom nodded and when she and her sister got into the classroom, the bell had rung.

Just as the end of the school day had passed by, kids were already exhausted after a long day of stuffing their heads with extensive knowledge. Before they were released from school, the students were to report to the assembly that took place in the gym. During the assembly, the principal and vice principal were discussing what to expect from students, goals, and achievements; topics students are already familiar with. Students were bored and wished they'd get out of it and one of those was Buttercup. For Bubbles, it was a good time to finish coloring a picture she had been drawing since lunch. Blossom didn't mind at all; it was for the new first graders who entered the school.

As their principal began speaking, Buttercup complained while sitting in a lazy position, "Oh boy. The same old thing."

Blossom simply sighed as she secretly didn't want to listen to the speech again but didn't want to be rude at the same time. She looked at the other side of the bleachers where mostly all the big kids were sitting, and she suddenly spotted the same kid again. He caught her attention once more as she became more intrigued by the book he was reading which was about the many laws of physics. Physics? Physics was a higher science level in high school. So how could a fourth grader read a book on such a hard topic? Just how intelligent is this kid? Bubbles finished her drawing and showed it to her sisters whispering, "Look. It's a cute little bear." Buttercup simply rolled her eyes, but Blossom kept her attention on the kid. Bubbles noticed and she poked her sister to get her attention but still, Blossom didn't turn to her. Buttercup too noticed it and it seemed strange that Blossom would ignore Bubbles. She waved her hand in front of Blossom's face and then snapped her fingers.

            "Hello, earth to Blossom," Buttercup called to her. Bubbles looked at her eyes for a second and then trailed it as to where she was looking at. More likely as she spotted the boy across from them.

Puzzled, she asked her sister, "Do you know him, Blossom?"

Blossom quickly snapped out of it, and she turned to Bubbles, stating, "Whom?" 

"That kid over there," Bubbles pointed over to the boy. Blossom shook her head denying, "No, I wasn't. I was looking at the clock."

"The clock is over there, Blossom," Buttercup corrected and she pointed to the left of the clock on the wall. Blossom blushed with embarrassment and tried to come up with something fast like, "Oh! I didn't know the clock was there." Her sisters weren't buying it though as Bubbles giggled to Buttercup, "I think Blossom has a crush."

Buttercup rolled her eyes again scoffing, "Oh brother." 

"He's not my crush," Blossom contested. "I don't even know who he is." 

"Then why are you showing googly eyes at him?" Buttercup asked.

"What googly eyes? I wasn't showing him any googly eyes. I was just looking at the book he was reading." 

"Yeah, sure," Buttercup replied. 

"I'm serious," Blossom said.  

"Maybe after this, you should talk to him," Bubbles suggested. Blossom immediately shook her head with still reddened cheeks on her face. "No. Why should I?" Bubbles giggled, she never saw or imagined that Blossom, the leader and the responsible one in the group, would blush over a boy. As for Buttercup, she thinks it's gross as she felt sick in the stomach. 

 After the assembly, the girls got down from the bleachers and headed toward the exit. As they were heading there, Blossom took notice of the boy again who was still reading his book of physics while avoiding anything that stood in his way amazingly. However, she noticed that his backpack was open and when he bumped into a kid, a paperback book fell from the bag. She ran towards it and picked it up. It was a copy of H.G. Wells classic The Time Machine, a book not normally found in a fourth grader’s library. Blossom had heard of it and had always meant to read it.

She spotted the boy who was already at the door, and she ran behind him shouting, "Hey! You dropped this!" But with so many kids rushing to get out, she couldn't get near him, and the noises were loud, it's doubtful that the boy would hear her. So, Blossom flew out of the crowd and flew towards the door hoping to catch him. When she got outside, she looked around to see where he was, but he wasn't found anywhere. 

"Blossom," Bubbles called out and Blossom turned to see her sisters flying towards her. "Where were you going? We thought we lost you." 

"Um..." She hid the book within her other books and replied, "I just wanted to get out of there." 

"Ok," Bubbles smiled. "I thought you went out and forgot about us."

"Or maybe she wanted to see that guy again," Buttercup jeered.

"No, I didn't," Blossom argued. 

"You did?" Bubbles smiled. Blossom shook her head, and they flew out of the school area. While flying home, Blossom looked at the novel and opened it a bit to see something written on the first page in pencil: This book belongs to Dexter. Dexter thought Blossom. So that's his name. I need to return this to him tomorrow. They arrived home just in time before the Professor came back from his first day of work.

The next day, the girls arrived at school early as usual, and it was the perfect time for Blossom to give the book back to the kid. Though it was going to be hard as some kids arrived at school either by bus or their parents drove them out to school considering which kid prefers the transportation. Among the cars driving up was a 1986 Ford station wagon, colored green, which was typical for any nuclear family living in Townsville. Blossom noticed the same boy from yesterday hopping out of the vehicle alongside a tall blonde girl with a pink ballet outfit. Presumably his sister, thought Blossom, without a doubt.

Bubbles whispered to her, "Blossom, it's your boyfriend." 

"No, he's not," Blossom remarked.

As the boy fixed his glasses, he heard his mother saying, “Have a good day, kids. I’ll pick you up after school.”

"Bye, mom,” the tall girl said in a valley girl accent. The boy echoed the same, but his voice wasn’t as high as his sister’s.

When he got inside the building, Blossom ran up behind him calling his name, "Dexter?"

"Yes, that is my name," the boy responded. "Don't wear it out." He turned to see Blossom holding onto his book with her big pink eyes looking at him. Though he had seen big eyed girls before, hers weren't the scary kind. They looked rather adorable instead. "Um, hello," the boy replied awkwardly.

"Hi," Blossom said and she held out the book to him saying, "You accidentally dropped this yesterday." He grabbed the book and looked at it. He looked back at Blossom thanking, "Oh! Thank you." It was an awkward moment for the two but when the bell rang, Blossom immediately said, "Well, bye." She flew off quickly leaving Dexter rather speechless and puzzled as he walked to his classroom.

Blossom was a tad embarrassed as to what she did back there. It was a quiet moment but nonetheless awkward. She's used to talking to people but for some reason, she couldn't speak up to him. She couldn't stop thinking about it throughout the class. The bell rang for recess and when all the children went outside to play in the playground, Blossom, to clear her head a bit, wanted to first stop by the library to pick out some books about learning Chinese culture or just literature. When she got inside, she looked at the language section and picked up a red book on how to speak Chinese Mandarin. When she was heading to the fiction novels area, Blossom looked at the poetry section and pulled out a poetry book of sonnets and sestinas. However, before going to check out, she saw that in one of the tables near the computers was Dexter with a huge stack of ten books next to him. Blossom, as she didn't expect to find him here, was puzzled. This was recess and he's spending it here in the library reading and doing homework. While she checked out her books, Blossom noticed two boys walking towards Dexter and it didn't seem like a pleasant visit as she saw them jeering and laughing at him. Dexter tries not to let their mockery bother him as he had a couple of bullies in the past. But for Blossom, being a superhero means being a good role model for her fellow peers and being a bystander isn't a good option. 

Once her books had been checked out, she walked over to the two boys and snapped at them, "Hey, leave him alone. What is your big deal?"

"It's none of your business," one of the boys snarled at her.

"Well, now it is," she argued. "And it's not nice for you to treat him badly especially if you don't know him any better." 

"Actually, we do," the other boys corrected, considering that the two boys are in the same class as Dexter. "He's a four eyes dork who has a dumb accent.”

"What's wrong with that?" Blossom contested. 

"It's okay," Dexter replied while fixing his glasses.” They’re not worth it." 

"Yeah," the other boy told his friend. "And besides, they're waiting for us outside." 

"Okay," the boy said, and he pointed at Dexter. "You're lucky today went off easy, Dorkster. Next time it's not going to be." It looked like a threat, but Dexter wasn't afraid.

Blossom was glaring at the boys as they walked out of the library. Dexter looked at Blossom and said, "You didn't have to do that."

Blossom turned to him and remarked, "Well, thankfully I did. Who knows what those bullies would do?"

"I'm not really bothered by it," Dexter said. "They're always the same." 

"It bothers me, though. I don't really like it when kids get bullied. That's not how the Powerpuff code works."

"Huh?" Dexter gave Blossom a puzzled look as she then explained while sitting down in the seat in front of him. "You see, me and my sisters are superheroes. We save Townsville from bad guys and bring justice to evil." 

"Right," Dexter said, still giving a confused expression. 

"It's true," Blossom replied. "We have superpowers. They were given on the day our dad created us." 

"Wait, your dad is a scientist?" 

"Yep, and while he was trying to create us, he accidentally added Chemical X. Just like that, me and my sisters were born." 

"Hmph," Dexter doubted as he shut his books. "I find that scientifically impossible."

"What?" Blossom scoffed but not too loudly. "I just saved you from bullies and here you are judging me."

"I believe in reality. Not fiction." 

"I'll even prove it to you. After school, I'll show you." However, before they could settle in on a date, her two sisters rushed into the library panting as Blossom asked, "What's wrong?"

"The mayor just called," Bubbles hurried. "There's a monster destroying Townsville."

"A...monster?" Dexter was dumbfounded when he saw that her sisters were floating.

"Oh no," Blossom said and she stood out of her chair. "Let's roll." 

The three girls flew out of the door and a bewildered Dexter got out from his chair and followed them out of the school. From the entrance of the school, he could see them flying across the suburbs to the city. Now he was fully intrigued, and he pressed a button from his backpack, igniting a jet pack. He flew over to the city following the girls and as he flew further, he started seeing a lot of people running in the opposite direction, hearing screams of terror. There were many car crashes and chunks of building parts were destroyed or, correctly, bitten off.

Suddenly, Dexter stopped to see a gigantic blue monster chewing off a piece of a skyscraper along with the Powerpuff Girls trying to beat him. Watching every tactic in defeating the monster, Dexter could see that the monster must be hungry and is only paying attention to the things that attract it, things that are right in front of it. And the girls are nowhere near close to defeating it as mostly it moves from one place to another. Dexter brainstormed on a plan of his own and luckily he saw a huge pile of iron poles strapped onto a piece of rope and an ice cream statue unharmed. Brilliant, thought Dexter and he flew over to the ice cream statue.

 However, while he was trying to carve out the statue with his laser he hid in his pocket, the monsters eyed him, gloating at something that would be delightful to eat. He stomped his way behind Dexter and at first, the girls thought that they were going to eat another building, but Blossom noticed that the monster wasn't looking at a building. It was looking at someone else as she realized that "someone" is Dexter  and she gasped, screaming out, "Dexter, look out!" Dexter looked behind and chomp! The monster has eaten him along with the ice cream statue. 

"You let him go!" Blossom angrily yelled and she flew towards the monster along with her sisters who were flying right behind her. When she got closer to the monster, she held her powerful fist and punched the monster right in the face. Bubbles and Buttercup followed by punching the monster right in the guts weakening it. All three girls, together, formed a straight line and with their big blow, they aimed at the monster and pow! It knocked him down easily, making him spit out Dexter. 

"Ah!" Dexter screamed as he was falling to the ground. Blossom flew and grabbed Dexter carrying him safely to the ground.

"Are you okay?" Blossom asked and Dexter, with reddened cheeks on his face, stuttered, "Y-Yeah..." She carried him back to school with Bubbles giggling and Buttercup rolling her eyes with disgust. 

 It was the end of the school day and Blossom, and her sisters were about to head home until Dexter ran up to Blossom panting and stopping her as he called out, "Wait!" He stopped right in front of her, and she turned to him as he tried to catch a breath. When Dexter took a deep exhale, he straightened himself perfectly, fixing his glasses and clearing his throat.

"I wanted to thank you for saving me," Dexter replied. "And I'm sorry that I was wrong about you." 

"It's okay," Blossom answered. "You weren't the first one that doubted us. And you're welcome." She gave him a smile stating, "That's what heroes are for, right?" 

"Right," Dexter agreed.

"Come on, Blossom," Buttercup urged. "We gotta go before Professor gets home." Dexter suddenly hears a beep behind him, and he sees his mother’s car parked near the school. His sister already inside and shouting, “Come on, Dexter!”

He looked back at Blossom and said, "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Okay, bye," Blossom said and the two parted from the school. 

       It may seem the beginning of a beautiful friendship, but little did they know that soon, very soon, as their adventures begin, there may be something there that wasn't there before.

Chapter Text

The long drive from the Sanctuary to Negan’s complex was silent, tiresome and a string of anxiety building up. The night’s frozen air blew on my long hair and chilled down my porcelain skin through the opened window of his car. The full moon was glowing among the thousands of stars that twinkle in the sky, the colors of my short wedding dress and white high-top converse. Simon was willing to be the chauffeur in driving the Lincoln town car. I could tell just by touching Negan’s sweaty hand in the middle seat between us that he was getting nervous too. Funny, a man who had about eight wives was getting cold feet after tying the knot with someone young like me. His other hand caressed Lucille, his barbed wire baseball bat, whom he never left without. With each stoplight the car stopped and crossed, a small inch of my heartbeat loud for my ears to listen to. I rested my head into his dark navy suit, smelling the mixture of hard cologne and the number of cigars to mask his hard-boiled masculinity. But to me, it was his hidden kindness that kept me loving him for two secret years as his strong arm pulled me close in a loving embrace.

            Negan has the audacity to announce an immediate wedding ceremony at the strip club, the Sanctuary, he owned when we reunited. While we only occupied the mermaid room, it felt a little odd to be surrounded with hookers, some of whom used to be Negan’s “wives” presented for his sexual needs. I think it’s settled at this point that they would be free to screw around with other men, seeing a couple sitting on laps of several members of the Saviors. He was rich enough to obtain a church for our wedding but we both knew we wanted to keep it as private as possible, so he had Arat and Simon went to fetch a priest to marry us. The “wives” showered me with makeup—red lipstick, powder and curling my eyelashes with mascara—and white heart shaped patch for my left eye, a short beach wedding dress and a daisy floral crown meanwhile Negan changed into his best suit. As the ceremony began, I never released Negan’s hands once after Dwight walked me down the aisle. He wasn’t hesitant to say I do, going as far as to immediately say it after the priest finished speaking. I wasn’t at all either; I was willing to spend the rest of my life with a man who, despite being older than me, could take care of me better than my own dad.

            The after party was fun, drinking and listening to loud music drumming in my ears. Red and purple lights blared as the Saviors enjoyed the ladies pole dancing on stage. I tried my hand at it, strutting across the stage in my wedding dress while I kicked off my shoes. The girls gave several tips and secrets for performance and with a history of gymnastics under my belt, I lifted myself up against the pole and twirled around mid-air. Whistles and cheers brewed but my eyes were glued to my newly wedded husband who smirked as smoke from his cigar fumed out of his mouth. My heart jumped, regardless of being out of breath, and smiled in return; seeing him impressed was something I deeply craved out of him. For the most part, I stayed in his company who never left me out of his sight as he held me while I sat on his lap. It was my intention that we left early than late but I knew once we headed out of the club, our wedding night had begun.

            “Night, boss,” Simon said distantly as Negan exited the parked car first and I immediately went after, refusing to let go of his hand. Negan made a faint wave before we headed inside.

            The penthouse apartment was casual, rich, and private as he was a man who wouldn’t let his business bother with his personal life. It was one of the tallest buildings in the city, fifteen feet tall, and his room rested on the top floor. The lights seemed to be much brighter, blinding my eye. I hid it behind my hair as I embraced my newlywed husband close. The silence continued as we took the elevator, listening to the vague music playing in the background. I didn’t look up to him, but his hand calmly soothed my waist and guided my through the aisle once it reached the level. His room was located at the end of the hallway and once he opened it, he turned on the dim lights revealing a mahogany room with brown satin couches, porcelain wood floor tile, a large flat screen television and a gigantic view of the entire city. I remembered when I first stepped inside, it was a huge pigsty littered with empty alcohol bottles, cigar butts and women’s thongs and bras hanging on any furniture. I kept my mother’s old habit and cleaned every single material and made some adjustments to the household. That included the kitchen—which was the worst—and the bedroom.

            The bed was a king-sized bed for both of us; blue velvet bed sheets with a caramel faux fur as a throw in decoration. I stared at it and everything in this room, from the closed curtains to the red lamp nearby the bed. I was making sure that all was kept in place meanwhile I listened to Negan shut the door behind him. He began to remove segments of his suit, beginning with his tie, and tossing them to the chair beside the drawer and Lucille. I made an awkward posture, lowering my head in shame as I stared down at my skirt and shoes. While closing my thin legs together, I wiped off the sweat moistening the palms of my hands discreetly. Normally I wasn’t hesitant to get in bed with Negan to cuddle but it doesn’t feel the same now that we’re married. Although I had always planned on losing it to someone special—and in this wedding occasion—the immediate thought brought me to faint a little. Negan was there to catch me, resting me on a pillow while he sat near me. He only had his white V-neck undershirt and pants, having already removed his shoes. He exhaled deeply through his nose and looked at me. My cheeks burned bright red, and I knew he could see that regardless of my hair’s effort to cover it up. He reached out and shifted a piece of my hair behind my ear, revealing my sole best eye. His hand then shifted to soften my flat breasts and stomach, feeling the lace texture of my wedding dress.

            “God,” he said. “You look fucking beautiful.”

            Usually, I like to take his compliments in generosity, but I couldn’t find the words to say it. Neither of us made a move even while he reassured, “Hey, we don’t have to do this. We can cuddle if you’d like but I ain’t gonna pressure you. You know that, right?”

             Negan and I pleasured each other with hand jobs and oral sex but never anal…yet. Even though he had committed many atrocities, he never made any force on me. Negan himself hated rapists; had always viewed them as the degenerate filth of the city.

            Silence overruled us once again as he guided me to lie on the bed and him on the other side, hooking his arm around me. “If you’re tired,” he muttered, drifting to sleep. “Just turn off the lights.” I looked over at the clock, realizing it was barely midnight since we’ve left the Sanctuary. My thoughts rested on the Saviors who were probably still celebrating, beginning to wonder if the big boss was finally screwing his little wife and making some jokes about it. Not that I don’t mind, those guys were funny in their own way. But I started to remember some advice one of the dancers gave me before leaving the club.

            Negan may be the boss of the Saviors, she said. But you let him know that you’re the one who takes control in the bed. You’re his pretty baby and what the pretty baby needs is his daddy’s attention.

            Tonight, I am solely his attention and his alone. The spirit convinced me to decorate the lamp with my floral crown and turning off the lights. I turned to the other side, facing the sleeping Negan with his arm still around my waist. In the darkness, I relied on my hands to touch his salt and peppered hair and rough beard as I moved closer to kiss him. His beard itched my chin, slightly tasting the alcohol and cigar smoke stuck in his breath. I trailed my kisses from his lips to his cheek before I nuzzled into his neck. It didn’t take him long to notice my catch, sensing his big slithering hand gently squeezing my butt.

            “You pervert,” I snickered.

            “It’s not my fault you have a nice ass,” he smirked.

            I removed my shoes with my feet, shoving them away to the floor while he kissed me. He snaked another hand to join the other in holding my waist, sneaking his leg in between mine. His thighs sliding under my crotch to feel my boner; I was hard in no time. I then led his hands to the back of my wedding dress, helping him unzip it while I unbuckled his belt. He then slowly slipped my dress off with his thumbs rubbing on my nipples and flat chest. His growing energy pushed him on top of me and turned back on the light to reveal a horny teenager silently begging him to continue. What he didn’t expect was the surprise gift I presented to him.

            “White panties, huh?” he raised an eyebrow, staring down at the laced underwear the hookers gave me. He tossed the dress away, leaving me almost naked and vulnerable.

            “You don’t like it?” I teased the older man.

            “Nah, I do,” he responded, sinking lower to meet me. “It makes you look adorable and hot.”

            He grinned like a predator catching its prey as he brought his lips to one of my nipples and licked them. I shuddered and sighed, caressing his hair with my fingers. Inches of his teeth briefly bit them, making me gasp before he proceeded to give the same treatment to the other nipple. It felt like I was feeding him anything inside me, encouraging it by opened my legs for him to settle in between. He soon traveled his kisses to my stomach, tickling me into giggles as he stripped my panties to see my hardened cock ready for him to suck on. I was suddenly tensed; we done this before, but it never ceases to leave me at his mercy. Listening to his deep chuckle shivered me to the heart until I felt his hot breath steamed my cock and his tongue teasing the tip. I moaned, arching my back as I gripped onto the pillow to help secrete my exploding lust.

            “Ah! Negan…Negan, oh god!”

            “That’s it, pretty baby. Make those noises for daddy.” The slurping noises ensued into my ears as I held his hair with one hand to sink him deeper.

            I wasn’t sure how many people were awake or how many would be annoyed that an older man was banging his teenage bride. I recalled the last time he took me like this that a neighbor pounded at our door one night. An irritated Negan stepped by the doorway with death in his eyes and holding Lucille as his scythe, terrifying the man to the core. He didn’t dare try filing a complaint or even the police after that.

            Without a warning, I felt a finger sunk inside of my hole, making me squirm and gasp. Knowing where to hit my prostate, I moaned a little loud, rubbing my nipples with my fingers. A pop sound came as Negan released his mouth from my cock and I looked down at him smirking devilishly as he added another finger.

            “Negan,” I cried, already feeling my cheeks burning. “Negan, please…”

            “Yeah, kid?”

            “I’m ready I really am.”

            “You sure?”

            “Yes,” I nodded. “I want to come with your cock inside of me.”

            “Alright.”

            Pulling out carefully, he sucked off my essence from his two fingers before taking off his shirt, revealing his hairy chest and manly daddy abs, and his pants to unveil his thick cock. Hard and strong, it made my heart jump and ache, wanting it already to fuck me.

            “But I wanna do something first,” he added.

            I immediately knew what he wanted to do, guarding my eyepatch with my hand. This was always something I feared showing him. I had told him how I lost it to an old abusive boyfriend back in high school. When I wanted to break up with him, he tried to kill me with a gun. It landed me in the hospital for a week while my dad arrested him. I try not to show it to anyone—it’s a constant reminder of the hell I went through—and just staring at it in the mirror disgusts me.

            “Please,” the older man pleaded.

            My blue eye stared at his worried look; a rare moment of his compassion bloomed. He could hurt anyone that stood in his way, but he couldn’t to me. I married this man for trust and love. I moved my hand away, motioning my groom to take it off himself. With ease, he slowly unraveled the patch to see the dark socket with dried blood and layers of its core. I felt horrified, shedding a tiny tear down my eye and turned my head sideways in shame.

            “Hey, hey,” Negan eased as he shifted my attention back to him. With a thumb, he wiped away the tear while also soothing my distress. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Sh, sh, sh, sh. Carl, baby, don’t think about it,” he said and gave me another kiss. “You’re beautiful.”

            I gave him a softened smile, taking his true words at heart and scooted over to one of the drawers beside our bed. I pulled out a bottle of lube and passed it to Negan. “Please,” I said.

            His eyes darken with passion, taking the lube bottle from my hand ready to fulfill my command. Applying some of the gel on his hand, he tossed the bottle to the side and massaged his cock while I positioned myself for him. Everything building up to this when he lifted both of my legs to wrap around his waist. He lightly shoved his cock inside and I couldn’t help but moan loudly. My hands quickly latched onto his shoulders for support as he held my back like a protective shield.

            “Easy, kid. I got you.”

            “I know,” I whispered. “I know.” It hurt, but by god, I’d lie if I said it didn’t feel good.

Negan made easy thrusts and I did the best I could to open my eye to look at him. The number of moans became music for his ears as our sloppy kisses had his tongue dominating mine and sharing his breaths with mine. The red lipstick was already smudged on our lips staining a tiny portion of his beard and my chin.

“Ah! Faster!”

 I smothered his face within my chest, having him listen to my jack rabbit heart thumping for him. His teeth made its way to bite my neckline. It didn’t take too long for me to come—having to feel the pressure intensifying—spreading my semen between us.

“Sorry,” I mumbled in disappointment, tears welling over my eye. I only heard him laugh. I wanted him to come as well.

Before he could do anything else, I rolled over fast so that I sat on top with his cock still in contact within my entrance. My shocked husband smirked, “You surprise me, kid. I like that about you.” He held his soft grip onto my thighs as my hands ran down on his chest. I started rolling my body on top of his, doing a lap dance on his cock. Negan made a deep moan and grasped my hand for balance while another stroke on mine. He next looped an arm around me to pull himself up where our lips could almost touch. My limbs started to quake and my breathing shook; I was going to come again.

“Wait for me, sweetheart,” Negan reminded me, locking my lips for another sloppy kiss. Sweat dripped out of my hair locks and a fire burned inside me, I needed to explode.

“Please tell me you’re close,” I moaned.

“I’m close, baby,” he grunted. “Hell, I’m there.”

Negan pushed himself to thrust faster with none of us breaking eye contact; at the same time, we both came. He rested his back on the bed and I on his chest. His breathing heaved heavily, and his heartbeat sizzled down.

“Christ,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. “One of these days, I’m gonna have a heart attack while fucking you.”

“Calm down, old man,” I teased. “At least you won’t have to wake up with a painful sting in your ass.”

He smacked my butt, not too harshly, and rubbed it as he looked at me. “Did you like that?”

“Yeah,” I smiled, and we both kissed. Negan had turned off the lights once I drifted to sleep. 

*****

Two years later…..

I sat on a chair with a bowl full of chocolate covered strawberries sitting on my hands while a tied-up man sat, bloodied, and beaten, underneath the bright light. I’ve been craving them even though I wasn’t a huge fan of them which had been affecting my weight a little. I carried Lucille in my hands by the handle, touching her spikes at the tip of my shoes. Despite that he wouldn’t let me—especially when none of his enemies know that I’m his lover—I was willing to try and help him, no matter if I had to watch certain executions or punishments. Recently, there was a mole discovered by Simon among his squad when he caught him taking pictures during the packaging process. A red colored powder that the Saviors were selling all over the state, Walkers as the streets dubbed them because the minds shut down after taking a hit and you won't even remember until the effect is over. It’s said to increase your blood pressure and heart pulse, you become “alive” for the party. As a result, there was a war between the west and east coast of the city. My Negan, who conquered most of west coast, stole pieces of east coast where my dad patrolled the Walking Dead task force who’s willing to tear down his empire.

While Negan was talking with Simon and Dwight on the side, I quickly got out of my seat and grabbed my water bottle on the ground, leaving Lucille unattended. I knew the man personally; he was an old friend of his father’s, Leon Basset. My dad always says he wasn’t the brightest, but he was good at babysitting. Holding the opened bottle like a delicate China vase, I walked over to the tortured man who was staring at the ground, letting the blood drip on the ground. Once he saw my shadow standing over his, he looked up revealing his bruised face and fresh scabs on his head and cheekbones. I held out the plastic bottle to him, but he looked hesitant.

“It’s just water,” I said. “No poison, scout’s honor.”

He reached his mouth as I steadily poured onto his mouth. I stepped back once he drank it whole leaving some blood leaking inside. He looked at me, staring down at my Vans to my white Lana Del Rey shirt, short blue jeans, my eyepatch, and my dad’s old sheriff hat. (I never brought myself to get rid of it.) I felt that he had something to say but didn’t once I turn my back on him. I didn't want him to recognize, not when he's on the brink of death. I quickly made my way back to my chair before Negan would come up to me, asking, “She’s already thirsty, ain’t she?” 

“Yeah,” I smiled, handing Lucille over to him. I looked at him through my eyelashes. He was donning his infamous black leather jacket, scarlet scarf, blue jeans, and dark boots. Negan pressed a kiss on my cheek, feeling a slight burn from his beard. I looked as he walked over to the battered police officer with intimidation. Leon Basset was terrified upon seeing Lucille lightly swinging as Negan whistled a high tune. 

“Now, if you’re not going to tell me about Rick the Prick,” he said while looking at the barbed wire on his bat. “There’s going to be consequences and Lucille here loves consequences.”

“Fuck you,” Leon whimpered. “Fuck you! He’s going to kill you! I swear he will!”

Negan ignored his rants, only laughing at the fact that Leon was bawling like a baby. I was beginning to feel sorry for him, seeing the fear in his eyes. He had pissed his pants which reeked the entire warehouse. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it fast you won’t even realize you’re dead,” Negan said, harshly patting his shoulder. Leon grimaced the pain of his muscle. “Take it like a man and quit cryin’.” 

His eyes shifted towards me; mercy rained over his tears--so he had recognized me a little. I wanted to avoid the view of the man who once babysat me, but this was something I must watch. Negan raised his bat and roughly swung it across the man’s face, echoing a crack in the man’s skull. It tipped over the chair to the floor and his eyes still focused on me; I thought I heard a croak in his voice, but it was overshadowed by Negan’s ongoing bashing to the head. Liquidated blood smudged everything, and Leon Basset was no longer recognizable to me. Pieces of flesh were stuck to the barbed wire as it flung around to the walls, ground, and my skin. 

On the Lincoln town car, I rested my head against the door, staring out the car window while Dwight drove us to our complex. Simon stayed behind to call in Eugene Porter to clean up everything and for Arat to deliver the dead body to my dad. The west coast was sunny, and the city was busy as always, crossing streets like the clouds in the sky. The air was chilly; springtime in the city was cold even though the sunshine was warm enough. I glanced back at the dried bloodied Lucille; he removed the pieces of flesh from the barbed wire. The unfazed look on his face spooked me a bit but I noted the disappointment mixed into the expression. I was relieved because Negan doesn’t know that Rick was my father, and it was best if he wasn’t mentioned at all. The window was opened, letting out the smoke he puffed out from the cigar and his hand massaging between my legs. We hadn’t had a lot of sex after our marriage mostly because he had been busy with his work as businessman and underground dealer and that we’ve been fighting these days. He’d kick himself out of the apartment and not return until the very next day.

I had been feeling a little sick during the mornings, taking frequent trips to the toilet and having extreme headaches. The arguments are due to the mood swings, constantly getting mad and crying the next. I’ve also been getting extremely tired during the day and that’s largely because of my trouble sleeping; it could be for my swollen nipples pestering me. 

I felt his hand stroking my legs in comfort to ease his distress. I didn’t look at him, only shifting my eye at his warm thumb drawing circled on my thighs. I held his hand to intertwine my fingers with his, closing it. He brought my hand onto his lips and kissed it, pulling my attention to him.

“I’m gonna be out a little early than usual,” he tells me. “Wanna head out for dinner tonight?”

“Okay,” I nodded.

The vehicle stopped right up front of the apartment and I gave him a quick peck on the cheek. When I got out of the car, Negan’s hand groped my butt. Flustered, I faintly brushed his hand off.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he laughed before closing the door.

I made a tiny smile; he was trying to cheer me up. I’m not sure whether he thinks I was still angry about last night. I had been suspecting that he might’ve been cheating on me to one of his wives or found himself a brand new one. He claimed he wasn’t and that the phone number on a post it notes on his office was the number of his business partner. But since he had been visiting the Sanctuary, I wasn’t too sure whether to trust him or not.

With no one else to talk to while staying at the apartment, I turned to Dwight’s wife, Sherry who was happy to stop by for a visit when I texted her to come over. She was one of the few people I could easily confess my recent troubles with Negan considering she was one of his “wives” and all. She still wore the black dress which complimented her dark hair and heels. She had a maternal aura, reminding me of my deceased mother and my childhood. We sat right at the living room where I told her everything that had been going on between me and Negan. From the recent fights we’ve been getting into to the current problems concerning my body and mood swings.

“When did it all happen?” she asked.

“A couple weeks ago,” I said.

A moment of silence overwhelmed with Sherry processing everything that I have told her. “I’m aware of experiencing the fear of marriage and lack of commitment. Knowing Negan, this is something that's returning to him but it's new to you because you’re young.”

“He’s been trying to cheer me up and I wanna smile for him, but I can’t.”

“Dwight does that with me whenever our relationship feels on the downside. That’s how I know he doesn’t want to give up on our relationship.”

“I think I might be overreacting.”

“There’s no shame in that. Sometimes I fear for something like that since I’m not too involved in the business. Dwight doesn’t let me of course and Negan’s like that with you but you don’t have to blame yourself for thinking that way.”

“I don’t know. I mean, I get that he’s a busy man but sometimes with whatever I do or act with him, I constantly get upset. I don’t put my trust with him like I did when I married him, and I’m nervous he’ll get bored of me.” I hugged my legs close to my chest, displaying my insecurities to her who went over to the long couch where I sat to comfort me.

“He wouldn’t,” she said. “Based on what Dwight has been telling me, he rarely stepped foot on the Sanctuary like he used to. Negan mostly has him, Arat or Simon take care of it. His drinking has been heavily, I’ll admit, but he’s attempting to cut loose especially for you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” She gave me a warm smile. “Now, about the symptoms that you’ve been getting, you’re thinking you might be pregnant again?”

I paused. “I think so.”

“And I’m assuming that you still haven’t told Negan about the miscarriage.”

The word, miscarriage, haunted me to last year when I had taken coke from time to time in the past. I wasn’t an addict because I had only done it with Negan for an exhilarating night. I was met with the blood trickling between my legs when I was showering. I didn’t know why I didn’t call Negan who was at work, but I called Sherry instead. She took me to see Doctor Carson where he told me I had a miscarriage; I was unaware that I was only several weeks pregnant. I hated myself and fell into a deep depression. I told both Doctor Carson and Sherry not to reveal it to anybody, not even to Negan, as Sherry told him that I was in the hospital following a collapse. However, I never was able to find a way to approach it to him.

“The best option we can do is go and buy a pregnancy test from the pharmacy store. There’s one not too far from here.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think that’d be best.”

The anxiety carried with me as we exited out of the apartment building, and it wasn’t because of the possibility of being pregnant but the higher chances of Negan leaving me. Despite keeping the miscarriage from him, Negan never mentioned about raising a family. He had told me once about Lucille, the original one. They couldn’t conceive a child despite her efforts on trying. The last attempt ultimately killed her leaving her in his memory by naming his deadly weapon after her. He rarely brought it up so I suppose he could be afraid of losing me. Then again, if I did give birth to his child, would that just sink him down from his business and image? Would he leave me for someone who wouldn’t be in his way? How could I be any used to him once my stomach will become swollen with the baby inside?

As for me, I wanted to have a baby. Ever since Judith was born, I was happy to carry her everywhere with me in spite that she wasn’t biologically my sister. I treated her as my own and just the thought of settling down seemed joyful.

But Negan’s not me.

He didn’t come from a normal family; he never knew his true father and his mother was a prostitute who brought various men home and introduced them as his “father”. He was bullied in school to the point when he fought back, stabbing one of his bullies in the eye with a pencil. He wasn’t just a businessman; he dealt with the criminal underworld and is wanted criminal himself. Already used to ultraviolence and learning about the harsh reality of the world. I’m not there yet; I may have seen how he tortured people, but I haven’t experienced everything yet. And I wasn’t willing to if I really was pregnant.

The pharmacy store stood on a corner of the street, just two blocks away from the apartment building. The atmosphere was filtered with scent of peppermint oil from vial the owner had and its lights were overshadowed by the bright sun. The boring music in the speakers did not help in soothing me while Sherry and I looked at the many brands of pregnancy tests which were in between a section of baby diapers and tampons. I let her pick the right brand while I try to look away for the moment to a little makeup area of the store. Foundations, lipstick, and mascaras; I took one which was red lipstick. An edgier color than the one I wore for my wedding.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” chuckled a voice. A voice of a rat as I cringed over to see Philip Blake, a mayor candidate rivaling Ezekiel. A traitor against my dad, he was the main reason my mother and Shane were murdered. While I am one too--I don’t want my husband to go in jail--I still respect my dad’s job as sheriff. The unfortunate smile brought a chill down my spine like his patched left eye. 

“Hey,” I gave him a fake smile.

“Are you here for….”

None of your business. “Just looking around,” I responded.

“Oh yeah?”

I nodded.

I turned away from him to avoid his uncomfortable stare and clasping the lipstick close into my hands. His eyes slowly shifted up and down, gazing at my body—particularly my legs—like he was admiring a painting.

He cleared his throat, “How’s your father doing?”

“Better than ever,” I replied without glancing at him. Part of me knew he wanted that.

“And your sister? What about Miss Michonne? Is she a fair replacement?”

“They’re both good.” Maintaining my composure, I tried not to let his comments instigate me.

I suddenly felt Sherry’s presence as she walked up to me, holding the pregnancy test kit. “Here. This one will do.”

Philipp glanced briefly to Sherry, noticeably to the pink box, as he cleared his throat, “Is that a…?”

“None of your business,” I immediately cracked. Both Sherry and, mostly, Blake was taken aback, holding his hands up but then simply smirked, “Well, congratulations.”

I grabbed my friend by the wrist and we both walked away from him without saying goodbye to him. I wanted to pressure the cashier to pick up the pace. Sherry, bless her, didn’t try to mention the man to me throughout our afternoon.

The night shifted by sooner once Sherry left; I paid the Lyft as my debt to her. Finding a cup to urinate on and taking out the test kit from the drawer, I went to the bathroom and washed my hands thoroughly. The rushing warm seemed too hot for my shuddering hands and the ripped noises, opening the pregnancy box echoed in the secluded bathroom. I read the instructions quietly; I didn't want to speak up, saying them out loud would only terrify me more. It was a simple yet awkward process: I let the test absorb the yellow liquid and let it sit for five minutes on a clean counter. Starting the timer, I’ve tried to keep my mind off the ticking countdown by occupying myself with cleaning the room, putting on the clothes for the day and fixing myself some breakfast. 

It was only when the timer rung did I ignore the bell and simply headed over to the bathroom. I took a deep breath before looking at the results. It was bolded in dark capitalized letters: 

POSITIVE. 

A turbulent wave of mixed emotions rushed through my head and flushed into my heart. I couldn’t hold back the tears though as I sank down on the ground and leaned my back behind the wall. I covered my mouth and the waterfall of tears shed down. I was happy that I was going to be a parent but the chances of being a single parent was going to be extremely high. How was I ever going to reveal this to Negan? To my dad if he ever finds out that I was alive? 

After I showered, I quickly texted Sherry about the results before hiding the polished product in my pocket. I put on a red striped long-sleeved shirt with brown jeans and casual white rivet shoes. I sprayed a bit of Negan’s cologne and put on my eyepatch. I stared down at the crimson lipstick that I ended up buying alongside the test kit and contemplated whether I would put it on. Tonight, was my moment with Negan alone and while I wanted to break the news, I wanted to also strive towards a romantic direction with him without building any conflict whatsoever.

Just as I outlined my lips with the crimson color, the door opened by the living room.

“Carl?” whistled Negan.

“In the bathroom,” I responded.

I listened to his footstep approaching down the hallway and as soon as I finished putting on my lipstick, I saw him through the mirror’s reflection eyeing on me from behind.

“Damn,” he smirked, leaning against the doorway. I couldn’t help but blush as Negan walked up and held him from behind. “I know we got dinner tonight, but I think I wanna have my way with you in bed.” He whispered through my ear as he nipped it bringing a tidal erotic wave down my body.

“I haven’t eaten yet,” I reminded him. It was about four or five hours since I last eaten lunch with Sherry.

He pressed a kiss on my cheek and took note of my crimson lipstick. “Say,” he added. “That color looks different on you. I like it.” He snaked his right arm under my shirt where his hand reached out of the collar and into my lips. I sucked on his fingers, and he moved my head to where he could see me and kissed me. I wanted more but he stopped.

“Let me change and we’ll get going.”

Negan gave me another kiss as he freed his arm from my shirt and walked away to the bedroom. I smiled in relief to mask the anxiety rushing down my spine; I only hoped that the night goes on as planned.

On his 1969 white Ford mustang, Negan drove us to one of my favorite restaurants in the city where he made a private reservation up on the top floor. It was a complete view, like on the apartment, of the entire city which was one of my favorite things about the place. From the lighted skyscrapers like Christmas in spring to the far-out distance where the beach is located. Another thing was the food which sadly, I needed to avoid eating my favorite food; salmon caramelized in honey and sliced shallots with cooked asparagus on the side. And Negan noticed that set of change when I ordered something lighter like a salad.

“You okay?” he spoke with his mouth full of steak.

“No, I’m fine,” I lied. “I wanted to try something….different.”

Once I took a bite out of the spinach, I asked, “How was work?”

“Boring as hell,” he said. “And a disappointment.”

“Uh oh,” I said. “What happened?”

“Three of our sales crashed.” He imitated an explosion. “Bombed all because a crazy bitch can’t do her job.”

He meant Jadis who on some account, like the Governor, wasn’t a trustworthy person. She was silent, distant, and scary; I had met her only once and the unemotionally gaze in her eyes still terrifies me. Simon never liked her, but her group was the only one who could transfer the supplies over to the east coast without running into trouble with my dad.

“Gregory’s giving me some bullshit excuse of not doing his job correctly,” he grumbled. “Shitting his pants about Rick catching up to our business ever since the mole’s been caught.” He harshly sliced a piece of the steak, and I gulped harshly down on my drink. “I’ll be ready when his own balls are ready. That pussy is gonna deal with Lucille if he isn’t following my rules.” 

To calm him down, my feet, underneath the table, touched his and rubbed his shin through his grey pants. 

“To put off the sappy sob story, what’d you do the entire day?” he asked as he sipped the red wine down his throat.

“Nothing much. Just went out with Sherry.”

“Really?” It piqued his interest. “What’d you two do?”

“Out really,” I said, playing around with the spinach leaves. “Going to different shops and all.” Despite leaving out the fact that I bought a pregnancy kit, we not only spent lunch together, but I did go out buying a couple of t-shirts and some suits for him to wear. “It’s a little tiresome being stuck at home. Why couldn’t you have called me? I could’ve done something while you were out.” 

“I wish,” Negan said. “You’re smart and badass but I couldn’t let you deal with pussies and asshats.” 

“I’ve been around with those pussies and asshats. I can deal with them as much as you can.”

Negan grinned, “I know you do.” He sliced the steak quick like a samurai sword. “I’ll get Simon over to patrol Gregory tomorrow, make sure he gets his shit together.”

I only nodded. Negan then pulled something out of his pocket. It was a black leather case and slid it across the table to me. “But before I forget, I bought this for you on the way back.”

I opened it to reveal and golden chain necklace with a rose pendant. I gasped, “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” I took it out from the box and Negan never broke contact, munching on his food while I tried on the jewelry.

“I love it even more on you,” he smiled, and I blushed.

It was nice finally seeing my Negan smile at me again and I could see it was reciprocated. Which made it all difficult to try and bring up the matter, but he had to know. He must. And it all started to build up when he saw how my smile slowly started to dissipate.

“Carl, baby, what’s the matter?” he asked.

“Negan,” I began but I started to feel the words escaping me. “I…I need to tell you something that I’ve been hiding for a long while.”

Negan’s attention was a mixture of worry and concern; the last thing he wanted to hear was that something horrendous happened to me.

“Negan…” I almost caught my breath. “I-I’m pregnant.”

The whole world suddenly stopped; every sound muted out of existence with our focus on each other being a central point. I trembled, seeing how Negan’s astonished expression could mean that he was appalled and dismayed. A little tear started to water in my eye as I tried to comfort him by placing my hand onto his, not wanting him to leave. Not wanting him to express disappointment in me.

“Negan,” I cried softly. “Please, listen to the rest. I found out before you came home. And I wasn’t sure if you were ready to have children. I even wasn’t sure before when I got pregnant the first time, but I lost it weeks later.”

Hurt dwelled into my Negan’s eyes as my own drooped down like wilted flowers. Droplets of tears poured down onto my shirt, moistening the texture. “I told Sherry to lie to you when I was in the hospital that day. I didn’t want you to find out but please, don’t be mad at her. I’m sorry.”

Then, I heard a chair shifted backwards and while my first thought was Negan leaving, I saw a pair of his shoes standing before me. Taking both of my hands, I gasped when he lifted me up my feet and pulled me into a hug.

“Carl,” he spoke. “Thanks for telling me this.”

“Negan?”

“When Sherry called me from the hospital, I was afraid of losing another person I loved to death. Whatever I was doing that day, I ignored it all because my mind was on you and I’m not much of a praying guy but goddamn, I prayed like hell to make sure I got to see you the next day. Baby boy, if only I knew what you were going through, maybe I wouldn’t have put you through so much shit.”

My heart settled upon hearing his confession. Everything pouring out filtered me with joy and content; I was again safe in his arms as I silently sobbed in his arms. Negan pressed loving kisses on my brown hair, assuaging my worries but to also make up for all that we missed which was each other.

“Hey,” Negan soon said, lifting my chin up to look at him. His thumb whisking away the tear apparent in my cheek as a smile warmed into his lips. “So, is it true? We’re going to be a family? 

I nodded, smiling widely. “Yes, love, we are.”

Chapter Text

Silence hangs in the air, deafening us as we sat in my 1978 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. We’d been driving around for hours until I decided to stop for what seems like the first time since my old man bought me the fucked-up car for my fifteen birthday. Probably the closest thing of kindness I ever got from that piece of shit. As I pulled into a dirt road of the forest, I can almost hear the engine sighing in relief. Summer was about to begin—school’s finally out of my system—and by now the leaves were green and apparent. Spring was cleared out until the next year, replacing the cold with heat meanwhile the impending winter was waiting for the time to start counting down.

            This all started since the year I was forced to give Stuttering Bill a free pass because his brother got killed getting struck by a vehicle. We saw each other as often as we could, and when we were too busy hanging out with our crowd—his loser club and my Bowers gang—we resorted to night visits when I would climb up to his bedroom after his folks had gone to bed. While we cuddled in bed, we pillow talked our way through the night, talking about random shit or how our day went. Then he started ignoring me, never returning my calls, and mostly stayed with his friends as an excuse, I got worried. Worried to the point that I went to his house one time when his parents were gone, banging on the door because I knew Bill fucking Denbrough was in the house. It’s fucking surprising how none of our families and friends—shit, even the whole town—knew about this even after a few close calls.

            “So,” I speak. “What do you wanna tell me?”

            His lips remain sealed together by an invisible bond. I follow his gaze through the window to an audience of trees surrounding the perimeter of the forest. No car traveled this far into the area, and no one was passing by, bearing witness to our little secret. We were alone and tiny against a valley of nature. “I remember w-w-when I was young,” he started, depression seeping from his voice. “B-B-Before Georgie, I didn’t need to w-w-worry about a thing. W-W-We only knew what w-w-we were told, and it b-b-because we were only t-t-told what our parents wanted us to know.”

            “What are you getting at, Billy?”

            “G-Georgie didn’t know anything,” Bill ignores my comment. “C-Call it ignorance, innocence, whatever. A-All I know is that it’s bliss. He never got to know a-anything about s-s-stress, or trauma, until something or s-s-someone changes that.”

            “Talk to me. I don’t understand whatever the fuck you said or had anything to do with calling me at six in the morning. Why you had me driving around for four fucking hours and why we’re now sitting in the middle of the woods.”

            “Henry!” he shrieks, his voice cracking halfway through. “Please! P-Please…” He begs me, whimpering quietly.

            “Please, what?” I demanded, as gently as I can. “You’re scaring me, Denbrough! That’s why I agreed to come with you. That’s why I sat here, for four hours, in silence, waiting for you to say a single fucking word! For fuck’s sake, Billy!”

            He glanced at me, eyes puffy, and it was noticeable that he didn’t get much sleep. There are tears just beyond the horizon of his eyelids.

            “Henry…” he pauses, head snapping the other direction. His hands rush to wipe away the tears spilling down his cheeks.

            His back heaves as he lets it all out. All the emotions he’s bottled up in the last week, and longer. Those emotions that he has wanted to hide from me. From his parents. From his friends. From anyone that looked for them.

            I unbuckle my seatbelt, scooting closer to him, and slowly place my arm across his back. He lets me, so I wrap my other arm around him and pull him towards my chest.

            “Bill,” I start again. I try to be as soothing as possible but because I live with an alcoholic, abusive father, I was the last person to comfort someone. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

            We remain in that position for several minutes, his head resting on my chest. The cold teas seep straight through my red shirt, giving me chills. I run my hands through his brown hair.

            After letting it out, he says, barely audible, “I want to break up.”

            I pause, sinking the five words into my mind set as my eyes widen. Betrayal at its course, I was hoping he didn’t mean what he just said.

            “Henry, I-I want to break up,” he sobs. “I-I c-c-can’t do this anymore. W-W-We’re not good for each other and I-I-I hate the way you m-m-make me feel.”

            I try to remember the last time we met up which was a month ago. We met up at a lake where he and his friends hang out. It was the usual stuff; talking, making out, sometimes sex but something went wrong. I don’t recall a lot, only that there was an argument, and we must’ve wrestled.

            “Henry, p-p-please don’t be mad. I-I-I love you, but I c-c-can’t…” he continues to babble through his tears. “H-H-Henry….”

            I release my arms from the embrace, instead lifting his face to meet with my eyes. His greenwood eyes are watered in tears, his cheeks burning red as his eyes and nose, and he was breathing into my face. I casually sniffed the fresh mint crystallizing out of his mouth.  It hurts me to see him this way, feeling the drops moistening my palms and thumbs. I pull him for a kiss on his fruit punch lips, closing my eyes to capture the sensation I have with him. To show I wasn’t mad at him, but I was upset.

            “It’s okay,” I appease him. “It’s okay.”

            Bill droops his eyes like a wilting flower, his long eyelashes dampen in water while I gave him another kiss. When we part, I then ask him, “Do you want me to drop you back to your house?”

            Bill shakes his head. “N-N-No, I need to w-w-walk.”

            “Okay,” I nod, finally releasing him from my hands.

            He shifts away from me, near the door as he opened the car door and slammed it shut when he steps outside.

            I watch him enter the forest without a single glance back at me. I follow him, body, and soul, walk away from me. I started taking his breakup confession like a pill, swallowing every single tear and word spilled out of him. It desperately searches to cure the ache crushing my cheated heart and stomach but all I think about is how beautiful Bill looked crying.

            Opening the glove compartment, through the complete stash of cigarettes and gay porn magazines, I reach for my knife. A Lightning OTF knife, Patrick had given it to me as a gift from his collection. I stare at it, flickering the blade out and glance at the direction Bill has gone.

            Listening to the birds up high when I exit the vehicle, the wind starts to howl into my golden mullet and drying away Bill’s tears wetting my shirt. I quickly run to the direction where Bill walked towards, knowing he didn’t travel far enough.

            Hours began ticking by the longer I stare up at the changing skies. The blue color was starting to grow dark as the sun sets in the right side of the horizon. Summer cools its heat a bit, allowing the cold to chill my bare-naked arms and scare off the mosquitoes pestering me. The tall trees stand like dark towers as the growing night outline their shapes. Other sounds clearing the atmosphere littered in my ears like it was a soundtrack playing in the radio of my car. A lone star sits in the middle, right in front my view, twinkling and begging for me to catch it. It reminds me of the same one I saw from Bill’s window when I laid on his bed. My grip sore from breaking his neck while my palms burned from slapping his face and moistened from getting it licked by him when I tried to shut him up.

            Dragging a smoke from my cigarette, I’m starting to remember what happened at the lake. Bill said the exact same words he told me today and when I snuck into his bedroom. Crying and trying to apologize, I angrily wrestled him to the ground. He tried to fight back to defend himself, attempting to push me off him. Bill wasn’t much of a fighter—seeing even today was shit—so I latched onto a sturdy rock nearby and struck him in the head several times until he was unrecognizable, and my anger died off.

            Blowing, taking a quick glance over my bloodied fingers, the fumes from my mouth, I notice I never let go of my knife. Clutching it like my life depends on it, I raise it to replace the star from sight. The vermillion staining the blade was completely dry along with the handle, the color’s hardly noticeable in my shirt. Without a bother to clean it, I switched the knife off and tucked it inside my pocket. I buckle my belt, zip the fly close and sat up, never standing from the running I did, before tossing the cigarette away.

            I look at Bill who lay near me, legs and arms spread out like a starfish. His shirt, white with navy blue long sleeves, was marked in vermillion stains by the chest and stomach areas. His jeans, on the level of his knees, pulled along with his white underwear. A small mixture of semen and blood pour out between his legs with some soaking the dirt below. His neck’s skin torn and stretched as his head turn to my direction. His beautiful and betrayed green eyes, wide and unresponsive, stare at me as faint tears stream down his cheeks. More blood leaked out of his mouth as the rest splatter across his skin, clothes, and nearby leaves from the forest. This is worse than the previous times, I admit.

            Nonchalantly, I sigh, returning to the remnant of the sun, “Hey, wake up. You’re missing out a nice sunset.”

            I hear a shuffle coming from his legs, fingers dig the soil deep in his nails. A small groan escapes his mouth as he lifts himself carefully. The pain still linger, cough spits the scarlet liquid out and trying to breathe. His stiff body try to reassemble his movement, pulls his pants up while his vision, at first misty, starts to clear up. It’s a process, seen it all when a car struck both him and little Georgie the day the latter bit the dust. Chasing sailing boats on a curb stream on a rainy afternoon and all of a sudden, both crushed underneath the tires with the eldest trying to protect the small one. 

            “I-I’m sorry….” he whispers.  

            “Just don’t do it again,” I glance over to him, our eyes meet with Bill shrinking himself like a punished dog.

            “I-I w-won’t,” he quietly whimpers.

            I soon rest my hand on top of his, touching the shivering vibration responding from his fear. He fidgets but never releasing his hand away nor looks aways; no matter how much he wants to. I exhume my tension, tug the stuttering kid by the collar of his dirty shirt and kissed his bloodied mouth.  Tasting the vermillion with my tongue, making him moan, it was like strawberry sweet jam.

After we pull apart,  a little smirk paints on my lips. “I’m glad.”  

Chapter Text

The crystal chandelier shined above the ballroom, glittering the polished black and white checkered floor and enlightened the rich mahogany wallpaper. Numerous vases stood in each corner filled with white lilies. Portraits floated above them, each a landscape about the beachside, forest or an oceanic valley with flowers. Violin strings echoed loudly across the room, creating an elegant vibe. All dressed in colorful clothing against the morgue atmosphere of the entire manor, the chamber was the sole location  where they complement well. They were enjoying their evening withing the Phantomhive estate currently ruled by Lord Ciel Phantomhive, the young heir and only child of the previous head. Most young ladies were invited as their desire for his heart was desperate. Others could say the old money built within the ancient walls piled in their favor. Despite this and a successful toy and candy company, Funtom Corporation, many suspicious rumors regarding a house fire which snatched the patriarch and his wife away circulated and how it accumulated with his brief disappearance. Many assumed the symbol behind Lord Phantomhive’s red velvet ribbon bearing around his neck was the mysterious key, but it’s left debated.

            Moka Akashiya was a wallflower among the crowd. She had rich pink curls and was dressed in a light lavender gown. A dark purple silk ribbon wrapped around her waist and a white rose pinned in the back of her half ponytail. Her hands nervously clasped together nervously as she tried to smile for her urging father who dragged her out of her isolated atmosphere. Standing in a spot where the entire ballroom was at their view, Moka was never interested in going to these kinds of events. She was a shy one, never wanting to dance in front of others and turning down gentlemen who were keen about her shallowness. Her sisters were already twirling with other eligible bachelors on the dance floor, making her feel the odd one out of the three.

            “Moka,” her mother pondered in concern. “Why can’t you be like your sisters?”

            “I can’t dance, father,” young Moka replied.

            “Nonsense, of course you can.”

            “It’s true.”

            “You can’t stay like this forever, my dear. You need to go out and dance. Socialize for once. It stresses me that you don’t try.”

            Moka sighed deeply. There was no use arguing with her mother. Her droopy eyes lowered to the ground, staring at her white heels tapping together.

            “Pardon me,” came in a voice. “May I have this dance?”

            Moka glanced up to see a young man smiling warmly at her. His hair was blend of gray tinged and blue-black, eyes peacock blue, creamy white skin, and faint rosy lips. He wore a blue suit with a dark bowtie and an equally dark glove held out only for her. Yet, she never noticed it as her jade green eyes were glued to him. He wasn’t any ordinary gentleman; the notable red velvet ribbon around his neck was visible and her mother greeted him as if she recited, “Lord Phantomhive. What a surprise!”

            “Lady Akasha,” he stated, bowing to the lady with poise. “Is she…?”

            “My daughter, yes. Moka.”

            “Moka.” He repeated her name as he looked at her by means for her invitation.

            “Um,” Moka hesitated while her hand was slowly giving up. She looked to her mother, who made a smile at her, mouthing the word, “Yes.” She returned to the patient young Lord and gestured an accepting smile to him. Moka took his gloved hand—her mother making silent claps of eagerness as her daughter walked towards the dance floor with the young heir.

            Ciel led her to the center of the floor and Moka began to feel butterflies flying desperately in her stomach to free themselves. The other dancers stopped upon seeing the head of the household and excused the whole stage for them alone. Among them were Moka’s sisters who were surprised to see that the rich gentleman would be dancing with her, the least likely candidate as a dancing partner. Moka felt her cheeks burning and her heart beating at the speed of a blackbuck. While Phantomhive softly placed his hand onto her waist, she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable from the many stares on the crowd.

            “Is there something wrong, Ms. Akashiya?” he asked politely.

            “I’m sorry, Lord Phantomhive, but I can’t dance.” Moka whispered as her breath was caught in her chest. The young Lord was short compared to her stature, but the oppression was tall enough to reach the ceiling. “And everyone is watching.”

            But then, Ciel simply held onto her hand, putting it on his shoulder and it drew her attention back to her. “Focus on the dance, Ms. Akashiya. Don’t let their stare frighten you.”

            Moka’s cheeks began to blush into a red color and their hands held together. Once the violins began to play, the enigmatic cavalier led the maiden around the floor gracefully. Ciel made each gliding step simple for her, to avoid pressuring her. When he twirled her, her dress flowed like clematis on a windy summer valley before he caught her. Ava tried her best not to look at the audience but mystifying gaze in Ciel’s eyes pulled her worries away. Upon close contact, the sweetened smell of the company’s chocolate rushed into her nose, but she dared not to break the boundaries between the two. Ciel felt the tension stiffening her body and smoothly rubbed her waist as a smile painted his lips. Something inside of Moka suggested Lord Phantomhive wasn’t a person who smiled a lot, and it suddenly brought her comfort and security.

            When the dance was over, the audience clapped. Her mother and envious sisters clapped as well, but Moka paid no attention to them. She only gazed upon Ciel who kissed her hand, his boyish smile still present. When the orchestra played another song for the upcoming dance, Ciel, continuing to hold her hand, said to Moka, “Come with me.” He lightly pulled her through the crowd and into a red curtain where the light couldn’t capture the dark.

            Ciel Phantomhive led Moka to the manor’s beautiful garden located in the backyard where his favorite white roses grow upon the populating the premises. The moonlight provided its shine on them as if they too were the stars of the skies. The emerald leaves from trees danced swiftly in the cool wind. The gothic manor itself stood tall and beautiful, reminding anyone who saw that it stayed strong after the predecessor’s rule. Surrounded in a mist-covered forest at dawn, the entire premises was margined with ruins and rubble of stone, outlined by a great quantity of bushes and trees. He let go of her hand, having her walk independently into the grass. She was amazed by the grandiose beauty and her smile gave it away when she looked to Phantomhive. His hand showed her to a pastel white bend rested underneath one of the trees, insisting they sit after a whole waltz tired their feet. Once they sat down, her hands nested on her lap and while Ciel looked upon the outline of the manor, she looked over to see him. He was handsome indeed—young based on anyone’s surprise—and she bashfully turned away when he noted her.

            “You danced wonderfully,” she then commented, briefly looking at him. “Thank you very much.”

            “If it’s any consideration, you were the better one. I felt a slight stumble in my footing.”

            “Really?” She looked astonished. “I thought you were amazing, Lord Phantomhive.”

            “Please, Ciel, now that we’re alone,” he smiled. “And thank you.” Moka bashfully giggled for the first time.

            Throughout their time together, Moka listened to the young Lord talk of his childhood. Having grown up with equally wealthy parents, his father was a chivalrous and courteous businessman who was admired by the servants of the household. Respected and acknowledged anyone he came across with whether it’d be an associate or not. His mother was a kind and beautiful woman, albeit strict when it comes to discipline and fragile for her asthma which Ciel carried. Although his father mentored him around the estate, his passion for the toy and candy company was his personal dream. It was his wish to spread sweetness and joy to everyone across the globe not just in England, having also delved in food and music to keep its business flourished with the times.

            But one thing seemed to bother Moka, eyeing on the red ribbon collared on his neck. As a matter of fact, it was a color out of place for a young man who likened blue. Ciel noticed, touching the ribbon by the tips of his fingers as he explained, “One fact about my mother was that she wore red so when she perished alongside my father, I wear it in her memory.”

            “Oh. And you never take it off?” Moka asked.

            “Never,” he shook his head.

            “It’s just that people in town mention something suspicious about it. Along with the devastating fire that killed your parents.”

            “People will assume whatever they do not understand and take it as facts. I don’t suppose you are often the target of such things.”

            “Actually,” she paused for moment as a solemn grew upon her face. “Most think I’m strange because I’m shy and others are attracted to my looks rather than getting to know me.” She twirled a pink curl with her index finger; her hair being one of the most bizarre as the public views it. It was common for alluring women to be blonde, black or a brunette but pink? It shares the same discrimination as a ginger haired lady.

            “It’s a shame then,” Ciel responded. “For not recognizing you before. And your hair is unique and stands out. I’d say it suits you.”

            “Thank you. I think you look nice with your red ribbon.”

            Ciel smiled warmly, seeing the pink tint flushing back into her cheeks. Except they were as bright as a fresh apple. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I can’t stop blushing.” She covered them with her hands, attempting to cool them off, but Ciel removed them, holding her hands preciously.

            “You don’t have to apologize for anything. It’s natural.”

            Their eyes were locked in contact and Moka began to feel her heart boiling in heat. Her soft breaths exhaled as Ciel’s lips moved closer to hers. His hands snaked from her hands to her arms, gently squeezing the,. She was supposed to feel fear, but she didn’t. She could’ve pushed him away, but she couldn’t. She chose not to. Moka allowed him to kiss her on the lips just as he allowed her to touch his frozen cheeks.

            When their lips parted, Ciel gave her a pleading look when he suddenly knelt on the ground with his hands returning to hold hers. “Moka Akashiya, if I may have the honor of asking your hand in marriage. For you are indeed the most beautiful and gracious maiden the world could ask for.” Moka looked down at him, speechless and contemplating this proposal. He was kind, generous and perhaps the only gentleman she had ever talked to. She felt comfortable being with him and the rumors surrounding him were false. Imaginative and pure exaggeration.

            Moka nodded, “Of course. I will.”

            Lord Ciel Phantomhive and Moka Akashiya were married the next few days after the ball. Her mother was proud of her, tearful when the vows were exchanged. Her sisters were happy as well that their beloved sister was finally with someone she could share the rest of her life with. Albeit her eldest believed, whispering among them, she should’ve fared better. While they were walking out of the chapel, Moka saw that some of the folks in town gave her a despairing look, mainly the jealous young ladies who glared at her as the carriage rode around. She managed to ignore them without acknowledging the anguish clouding over her newly wedded husband.

            On the night of their honeymoon, Moka settled in the manor where she was escorted inside. The carpet on the staircase was bright red to contrast the white walled interior of the main floor. The golden trim outlined the majesty as the equally golden lit candles enlightened in the ceilings. She touched the pastel rails while Ciel ushered her up the stairs. She was taken to his bedroom and much to her surprise, when the fire burned the candles of the room, it was different from what she expected. The entire room was lavender blue with shades of white that included the bedsheets. There wasn’t a slight of red anywhere in the room. Moka sat down on the bed while her husband settled the candle on the furniture near the bedpost. She was feeling nervous as her stomach churned and twisted. She bit her lip until her beloved approached her but rather than the boyish charm she fell for, he looked serious. Melancholic and distressed.

            “Dear husband,” Moka puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

            “Moka,” Ciel responded. “There’s something I must tell you.” His icy hands reached for hers. “There is a secret I kept for most of my life after my parents’ deaths and only you now that we’re married.”

            He had his wife stand up only for him to move spaces from her. Moka was confused when the young Lord elucidated, “When this manor burned to ablaze with my parents in its grasps, I was whisked away by a group of satanic cultists.” He stopped to makes sure his wife had her full attention on him and she was. “For days and weeks, I endured in their captivity through torture and misery until I was nothing more but a lifeless body without hope. Forever ruining any chances, I could have for companionship and a family. They buried me underneath the earth after a failed ritual.” Moka gave a baffing look after the last few words.

            “But the underworld they tried to summon realized I couldn’t stay at my own gravestone,” he continued while his hand reached out for the ribbon. “I dug my way out of it and fought back with the one thing they could give me. Fear.”

            He snatched the ribbon off. Moka’s eyes widened to see a hideous red scab running across his neck. Her hand covered her mouth in shock. Ciel studied the ribbon on his hand and answered, “This ribbon was white when I wore it, never associating it with my mother. She always wore lavender all her life.” Ciel dropped the ribbon on the carpet, staring at it with disgust and the worried Moka began to tremble but walked closer to her husband step by step. “The amount of blood coming out stained it to the color that sickens me. I despise it with all my soul if I possessed such thing.” His head looked up and to Moka’s horror, his skin deteriorated piece by piece and his legs losing its balance to stand. She immediately fainted beside the decaying eyes of a skeleton.

Chapter Text

“I have a confession to make,” the Knight of the Round Table admitted one evening. Octavius and Theodore Roosevelt sat close to him at a bench where the Roman and Western dioramas were on display. It was during the month where exhibits from the London museum were temporarily displayed in New York. The British man clasped his hands together, nervously twiddling his thumbs while a small gulp escaped his throat. “I…I have fallen in love with his majesty, Ahkmenrah.” His whisper was soft to have his companions listen as several other exhibits passed by nonchalantly.

            Both the Roman General and the President smirked in joy; they were already aware of the attraction. Octavius figured, seeing when on the British man’s first visit New York, he firstly eyed on the young Pharoah during the party. Ahkmenrah did after all bond with him throughout his stay at London with his parents, so he had forgiven the redeemed knight. Teddy Roosevelt on the other hand took a while until his girlfriend, Sacagawea, mentioned it one time while they cruised through the museum in his trusty steed. Noticing how Lancelot had expressed his fondness; it seemed like Ahkmenrah had become his Guinevere.

            “What drew you to the conclusion?” Octavius still asked.

            “Ever since I became his guard. For months, as I helped him get adjusted to his life in London, I couldn’t help but be taken in by his spirit. His kindness and goodwill. His curiosity. He learned quickly but he still wanted my company regardless.” There was so much more he wanted to compliment about Ahkmenrah but all he could do was sigh. The mere image of the young pharaoh plagued his mind and heart with love. “But I do not know how to express it,” Lancelot continued. “Coming out of a fantasy, I can’t really say if I was the real me, I would know what to do. But I’m not. So, I ask both of your advice and assistance. How should I do it?”

            Octavius cleared his throat, “Approach it with honor and gentry. You are a knight, built by courage and strength, so present yourself as what you are. You had been his loyal guard so tell him a vow to convey your love for him.”

            “Did you do that for Jedediah when you wooed him?” Lancelot asked.

            “Of course.” The Roman blushed simply thinking about it. “It’ll work, especially for his royal highness.”

            “If I may,” Roosevelt added. “I’d want to give him a gift. A bouquet of flowers more likely. I might’ve not given some to Sacagawea in the beginning. I was rather shy to act upon it, but I did on her birthday when I asked Larry about the date. You should ask him to get you some before the sun rises. Ask him for roses. The red type to display your affections.”

            “Very well. I shall fulfill my duties as Knight of the Round Table and royal guard for the pharaoh.”

            When the next evening arrived, Lancelot spent a couple of hours prepping himself in the men’s bathroom. He had his armor polished, complete with a royal blue cape, trimmed and brushed. Outside, there was a party bash happening at the museum’s great hall, listening to the loud music from the second floor. Taking deep breaths, he paced left and right as he muttered his vows quietly. Walls have ears and the only one worthy of hearing his words was Ahkmenrah’s. He gazed on the mirror, attempting to pretend that he was talking to his king. His king, it repeats in his mind. A title solely referred to Arthur, King of Camelot, but chose to serve as the Queen’s knight in shiny armor. His body and soul, all dedicated to her, even when their infidelity was exposed, and the kingdom betrayed. Although they were tales, the stains were difficult to rub off.

However, Lancelot was then brought back into the image of the Egyptian beauty residing in the Egyptology department. The one whom life was almost taken away by his foolishness. The one who was willing to accept his apologies and allowed him to be a part of his company. The pharaoh managed to befriend a couple of the exhibits even the Xiangliu, the most hostile creature in the museum. There was no doubt in his mind the pharaoh had searched into the Arthurian legend during their time together. He winced at the thought of him finding out about the royal affair even though he would never betray him for as long as he served him.

He recalled how Ahkmenrah’s mother figured out his feelings before they were transferred to New York, hailing him while her husband and son were overlooking the tablet. She was a beautiful woman, graceful—something Ahkmenrah took from her—and forgiving, knowing she soothed her husband’s concerns when Lancelot became her son’s guard. They had taken a stroll across the Egyptology display.

“You will take care of him while he’s there, yes?” she said as their conversation went.

“With all my heart, I promise you.” Lancelot reassured her.

She later commented, “You know, I’m very pleased my son has someone he could trust. I know he misses his old friends and he’s very anxious on seeing them again.”

“I am as well.” At the time, however, Lancelot was a little worried on visiting a whole new location.

            “Tell me, do you like him? My son?”

            “I’m grateful for his leniency and his friendship. He’s good-natured and everyone likes him.”

            “Yes, but do you?” She emphasized the last word, echoing within the British knight. It made him hesitant a bit, speaking to the Queen on such taboo subjects he wished not to repeat.

            “I do….as a companion,” Lancelot spoke safely and professionally.

            “Well, Ahkmenrah speaks highly of you. There wasn’t a moment when he couldn’t talk of anything else besides you. To be frank, I find it wholesome. And while his father may be protective, I think he admits how much Ahkmenrah loves your company. So, you have our consent.”

            At this point, Lancelot lowered his guard, baffled by this revelation as the Queen gave a warm smile. Teasing maybe as she noted the British man’s eyes filtered with love. Perhaps he could be eternally thankful that a royal family was willing to allow him to pursue such relationship. It’s just a matter of how and when.

When he finally stepped out of the bathroom, Lancelot heard a voice calling out his name. It was Larry, appearing at the staircase with a bouquet of flowers. “Ah!” Lancelot said, scurrying towards the night guard. “Thank you very much.”

“Sorry,” Larry explained. “There weren’t any roses in the shop I went to. So, the florist insisted making the bouquet out of different flowers.”

“They’re perfect. How much time is left?”

Larry checked his watch, “About three hours until dawn.”

“Great timing,” exhaled Lancelot in relief.

Larry paused for a moment, staring at how the British knight glossed over the flowers with admiration and adoration. In fact, he didn’t tell him specifically why he needed them—except maybe for decorating purposes—but he figured. He might’ve been a fool to his eyes, but he wasn’t oblivious. “You know,” Larry said. “Sacagawea told me Ahk is still in the Egypt wing,” he spoke.

“Hm?” Lancelot looked up at him. “Oh! Is he really?” He attempted to hide his romantics, keeping his charade up as his royal guard. “Well, then, I must see to it that he can be escorted downstairs safely.”

Before Lancelot walks off, Larry calls out to him, “Hey, Lancelot!”

The British knight turns around to the night guard who continued, “Just be yourself. He’s already spent several months with you.”

Lancelot simply smiled, slightly nodded, and ran off with the flowers in hand.

His metallic fingertips faintly brushed the petals from the Blush roses meanwhile sniffing the Sweet Williams popping alongside the Cornflowers and Honeysuckle as he stood in front of the gates. Two tall Anubis statues protecting the shrine stared down at him, armed in golden spears. Across the hallway, Lancelot spotted the pharaoh examining the golden tablet, laced in golden trim and jewelry to enrich his dark skin. He took one nervous gulp, tightened his grip on the bouquet and proceeded to walk with caution and determination. Straightening himself professionally, he used his bravado to hide his insecurity while the sound of his armor clanked upon the hard floor. His presence was painfully aware by the Anubis statues who continued to glance his every move. He warily tipped to them—they were already used to his presence—lightly in gratitude before walking towards the Royal Tomb.

Stopping at a certain gap, Lancelot took a brief exhale through the nose and cleared his throat. Ahkmenrah was pulled away from the tablet, his brown eyes meeting the British man’s blue ones. His smile was welcoming and warm as the sun, making the knight’s heart skip a beat. His hands were clasped in front; Lancelot only wished he were gloves for them. He was at a loss of words, literally, already forgetting why he arrived in the first place.

“My,” Ahkmenrah commented. “Those are beautiful flowers, Lancelot.”

His voice! Rich and young like the blooming lotus flower decorating the River Nile. Lancelot’s weakened legs finally kneeled as he presented the bouquet out for the Pharaoh. “For you, my King. These are for you,” he blurted.

“Thank you.” The young Pharaoh was touched by the gift but before anything could be done, it was Lancelot’s moment to spark everything.

“Please forgive me if I cross the boundaries between King and knight but I must profess. I love you. I love you, my King. I am hopelessly in love with you. For the first time in my life, since being in your company, you’ve made me feel real. With the whole world as my oyster, I can finally have purpose to be my own person. But in my heart, I am still a knight defined with honor, courage, and strength. So, I pledge my mind, body, and soul, to be yours for as long as this museum holds up. Even if we are separated, I will venture across ocean and land to find you. Allow me to continue to not only be your knight but as your partner.”

Now it was Ahkmenrah’s turn to be speechless. Red blush blossomed in his cheeks as his heart continued to beat as loud as Lancelot’s after delivering his vow. Unbeknownst to them, Larry, and few of the other exhibits—including the Anubis statues—were watching the scene closely with awe right outside the gate.

The young Pharaoh soon approached his knight in shiny armor, taking the bouquet and the man’s hand. He helped him up to his feet with Lancelot feeling a bit lightheaded. “And I,” continued Ahkmenrah. “Will pledge my mind, body, and soul, to be yours for as long as this museum stands. I will venture through great lengths to make sure you are at my side. I accept you if only you take my heart which beats for you.”

Lancelot smiled fondly, never needing to answer—they both knew it—and the two kissed. Ahkmenrah wrapped his arms around his knight’s neck as Lancelot, holding him by the waist, lifts him up easily. An applause was heard in the background, causing their lips to pull apart and look in the direction where their friends stood. However, even as Lancelot gently puts him down, they never left each other’s embrace.

“Oh, come on!” Jedediah exclaimed. “It was super obvious!”

The lovers looked at each other, smiling while Akhmenrah shrugged, pulling his knight for another kiss. It prompted another cheer from their friends.

“Alright everybody,” shouted Larry. “We got a big party waiting for us downstairs. The night’s not gonna last forever.”

As the group headed downstairs, Lancelot asked his lover, “Shall we?”

“You don’t have to ask,” Ahkmenrah smirked.

As they went downstairs to join the party, the couple was holding each other’s hands, hearts and souls which illuminated the evening sky.

Chapter Text

            Staring up at the night sky, the stars reminded Jacob of sugar cubes. Bright and powdery, they would sprinkle down, and people below waited for them to pop into their mouths. They’d be either sweet or sour, good or a bad dream. The half-moon illuminated at the direction Jacob glanced from the dark alleyway in a shanty neighborhood. It looked beautiful; with a bruised right eye and blood staining in his left eye, he can confirm that it was. In the background, cars cruised on like roaming coyotes without care while sirens wailed loud echoes across to give the place a voice. A singular or two lamps didn’t help much to brighten the scenery, still giving a dangerous vibe for anyone foolish enough to cross this path alone. Jacob sat on the hard ground; legs pulled close to his chest as his back collided against the brick wall. Trash bins aligned nearby stench in his direction, but he could hardly smell anything. His nasal canal wasn’t broken but the nostrils were bloodied, tasting some of the crimson leaking towards his lips. His brown hair slightly burned, feeling his scalp hot and strands violated by ghostly hands, smelling of alcohol spit. His backpack was tossed nearby; he could only wonder if the stuff inside wasn't crushed.

            Though told to look away, Jacob listened to the violent growls coming from the right direction as he watched Joe bashing his attacker with a hammer in rage and brutality. He pictured those raw green eyes filtered in pitch black, no sign of regret to enlighten him. It still scared the boy no matter how many times he’d witness him in this state. He has seen violence, whether it had to do with stuff he saw on TV or in school, so it was simple to pretend he was untainted by such a topic.

All that happened was he witnessed the man threatening a hooker on his way to Joe’s house. The hooker was young and blonde, probably inexperienced as she was quickly intimidated when he cornered her against the wall. Based on their argument, he was upset with her flirting with another man, insulting her tight cut out twist dress, stilettos, and cherry lipstick. He was dressed in a beige overcoat, covering a dark button up shirt with blue jeans and brown loafers. Based on the dirt blonde side part and cool shades, he had a comfortable lifestyle but a terrible alcoholic hygiene. The young boy listened to the slurred words escaping his mouth and the jealous rage blinding him. The terrified hooker glanced over at Jacob, violet eyes widened, leading the man to stare right at him. The boy had become her scapegoat, an eventual witness and apparently, it convinced the man to turn his attention on him. Forgetting his escort, he stormed towards the young boy leaving her open to freedom without a second thought. At this point, Jacob had texted Joe he was nearby, capitalizing the words—in their language, it meant there was trouble.

At first, it was daunting; he blocked Jacob’s attempt to flee with his menacing breaths puffing out an alcoholic stench. Jacob grimaced, disgusted from the lecherous comments as he felt the man’s hand sneaking into his waist. Of course, he kicked him in the shin, trying to make a run for it. A childish move, noted the brute, who caught up to him quickly and pulled him by the arm and shoved him towards the wall. He slapped the boy across the face, burning the mark on his cheek bone. Jacob spat on his face, cursing him, “Get the fuck off me!” before swinging his backpack as a defensive weapon. Upset, the man yanked the bag away and tossed it towards the trash cans. He punched the boy, swearing “fucking brat” and landed another blow in the stomach. Jacob mutters quiet “no’s” as he beats the man with closed fists like a typical damsel in a 1950’s horror. He screamed weakly, calling for Joe, prompting the man to grip onto his neck.

“Shut up,” the man growled. “Unless you want me to break your throat.”

Jacob dug his nails onto the man’s hands, small scratches drawing a little amount of blood but not making an impact. Instead, a smirk paints on the man’s mouth as if an idea grew into his sick mind. “Better yet,” he proceeded, dragging the boy to his knees, and exchanging his grip from the neck to the hair. Jacob’s stomach hurled at the thought of getting his mouth violated by a low life. “How about using that pretty mouth to good use? You’ll be a good substitute, right?”

Unzipping his pants with his free hand, he released his hardened cock from the entrance of his underwear. The warmth of the shaft as well as the tip patted against Jacob’s burned cheek and before the boy could scream, the man shoved the cock into his mouth.

“Such a good boy. Take it like a whore,” groaned the man, grasping the boy’s brown hair to keep him steady. Jacob’s eyes were closed shut, choking and almost ready to vomit; he surely wished the man could’ve broken his neck at this point. He attempted to imagine sucking Joe’s dick but that would be a horrible comparison. In his figment of expectation, the experience would’ve been better.

Angered, the boy bites the man’s penis, drawing mild blood and causing the man to shriek. Pulling it out of Jacob, he wailed while his hand tended the injured cock. “Stupid bitch!” he furiously spat. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

He landed another punch at the boy, causing him to collapse to the hard ground. Jacob had a feeling it was going to get worse but thankfully, the blunt sound of a hammer crushing the man’s skull was divine intervention.

Latching to his backpack, Jacob’s legs were like noodles, using the walls to guide him up. Joe hadn’t stopped pummeling at the exact spot. “Joe, Joe, he’s gone,” Jacob only spoke but his voice was low compared to Joe’s savagery. He limped towards the angry man without fear, reaching out to touch his shoulder, repeating, “It’s okay.” The older man stopped, hyperventilating, and only staring at the blood oatmeal remains of the attacker. He glanced up at the young boy who nodded softly, reassuring him that it was over. He was okay, they both were.

Joe soon dumped the body at a nearby trash bin along with the hammer, sandwiching it with other garbage bags. Jacob kept watch, making sure no bystander witnessed the crime. Either way, it was a tenebrous neighborhood; hardly anyone crossed here and snitched. Jacob clutched onto the dead man’s belongings such as wallets, keys, watch and broken sunglasses. He peered through the wallet, obtaining its cash, photo ID and credit cards, things Jacob hungrily stashed into his pocket. From behind, Joe took Jacob’s backpack, hanging it around his arm before lifting the boy up in a bridal fashion.

“Am I hurting you?” his dear friend asked softly. It’s still unbelievable that a man could first be a murderous beast and then a tender soul.

Jacob shook his head.

Once the man walked, the boy soon rested his cheek onto the man’s chest. He listened to the man’s beating heart, rhythmically resonating to a little melody Joe was humming. With him, Jacob always felt safe and comfortable.

“50…49…48…47…46…45…44”

Turning on the bathroom sink, Joe washed his hand to remove the blood drenching his fingernails. He hums quietly to “A You’re Adorable”, a song his mother loved to sing, while watching the crimson liquid drained away. Any leftover he rinsed out or rubbed it away by the fingertips. Images from his FBI years flashed into his mind as he stared at the endless water running. The meat locker opened in a dark room with a flashlight guiding him and a team to a hoard of dead teenage girls. Cramped inside like dolls, some of their eyes and mouths opened as if life betrayed and allowed them to die young. He couldn’t remember his reaction except felt his heart stop, time stood still as he eavesdropped on a fellow rookie grimacing at the scene. Faint cries breathed out but never looked away. He only imagined what the parents would’ve thought once the news broke, how they failed at their roles and why it happened to their daughters. What did they do to end up in a horrible state? Especially committed by people who didn’t know who they were other than livestock for their trafficking business. 

“Joe?”

Jacob’s voice drew Joe’s mind away, prompting him to turn off the faucet and caught a glimpse of the boy. The band aid kit sat on the bed next to Jacob who was stripped out of his clothes, saved for the underwear and socks. The scarlet plasmas were wiped away, covered the spots with band aids and an ice pack Jacob used to carefully pat the bruise in his eye.

Exiting out of the bathroom after turning off the lights, Joe remembered about the backpack and fetched it from the living room. Jacob didn’t move a muscle, waiting for the older man to return with his stuff. He settled the bag on the right side of Jacob, unzipped and pulled out his pajamas which the boy collected.

“Thanks…” Jacob paused. “I think I’m gonna use the bathroom a bit.”

Joe only nodded. He was fixated on his dear friend’s injuries especially the hematoma bruise discoloration on his stomach. He felt a strain rushing throughout his body, a silent rage building as he pictured the attacker. He wished he was alive so that he could kill him again and again; to Joe, one time wasn’t enough.

“Joe?” Joe felt his friend’s hand holding onto his cold ones. He was looking up at him with concern, aware of the violent shades clouding the man’s vision. “Are you okay?”

Joe nodded one more time, consoling the boy’s hand and giving out a faint smile before stepping out, taking Jacob’s backpack with him.

“43…42…41…40…39…38…37…36…35”

Joe had disposed of his own clothes, replacing them with a simple white undershirt and gray pajama pants, and dunked them in a plastic bag. He planned to burn them once the boy was settled and rested. In the living room, the TV was tuned to CNN news, broadcasting the latest headline. A six-year-old intentionally shot his own teacher with his mother’s gun following an altercation. A single round fired—a sound echoing inside Joe’s mind—injuring the teacher although none of the other students in the classroom were hurt. She survived but the condition was unknown meanwhile the young shooter was apprehended. School was closed for two days, and an investigation was underway. The world was shocked, but Joe remembered years back when he first heard about a black boy shooting a classmate of his. Fatal, unfortunately, and the boy’s parents were blamed for neglect as he was put into foster care.

The gunshot echoed once more and this time, he recalled bare feet on the dirt. This time, he was serving military time and gave a chocolate bar to a hungry little boy craving for something sweet. A fence divided the two, his eyes stared on an innocent pair of clay brown eyes. Nearby soldiers didn’t witness the genuine moment as Joe watched the boy take off. Just then, another boy who was significantly larger approached the little one. No words were exchanged except a gun went off; the little boy was massacred, and his killer snatched the candy away. Joe remained silent, only gazing at the dead body who was cheated out of life because of food.  

 Straighten up!

Joe immediately did as his father told him, staring at a blue fish tank in front of him. A giant spill of gore stained the glass but the small fishes swimming through didn’t take notice. He admired the peaceful community, the diversity of each kind and the decorations to color the atmosphere. That is until he noted an eye spying on him through the fish tank. It startled him, standing up to see a young girl on the other side of the aquarium. Brown pigtails, lipstick red as the blood stain and impressive noir eyelashes, her rosy cheeks tinted to make her shine with the enlightened blue tank. She smiled, silently greeting the older man regardless of the grim situation. A hint of chastity brewed, and Joe wasn’t quite sure what to do; she was a potential witness but was a child. Perhaps she was another victim in the house, considering the revealing clothes—consisting of a red bikini bra and jeans—she was wearing. He was already thinking of rescuing her although she was surprisingly clean of bite and hand marks. He began to echo her movements as both of their hands touched the glass surface.

“Jacob!” came a panicked cry from a friend who interrupted their moment. A young black girl around the same age as her friend wearing a cat costume. She didn’t notice Joe, more concerned of the gory mess he had caused. “Jacob! Let’s get outta here!” she cried, dragging him out of the bathroom while the girl named Jacob however continued to stare back at Joe. Even though Joe shouldn’t, he felt compelled to pursue by rushing to see him off. He didn’t exit but rather kept his eyes on the window, watching Jacob and his friend disappear into the streets on Halloween night.

“34…33…32…31…30…29…28…27…26…25…24”

The pizza delivery arrived and after paying, he took the box onto the kitchen counter. Returning to the couch in the living room, Joe unzipped the backpack after settling it on the coffee table. Jacob had pulled his clothes out beforehand so all that was left was a plastic bag carrying a white VHS tape. A label at the center of the tape was written in red crayon, Jacob’s All-Time Favorites. Checking for damages, it was unscathed considering how Jacob hit his attacker with it. It could be, as Joe examined, because of the clothes protecting it. The boy wanted to show him his cartoons since the man owned a cassette player. It belonged to his mom where she used to play home videos—when there wasn’t any violence—and Psycho, her favorite movie.

“The pizza is here,” Joe said, knocking on the bathroom’s door.

“You can go ahead,” Jacob said. “I’ll be right out.”

It’s fine. I’m not that hungry, Joe thought before returning to the living room.

“23…22…21…20…19…18…17”

Jacob was quick and as soon as he got out, he grabbed a plate to pick up two slices of pizza. He wore a dark Lana Del Rey shirt, large enough to cover the shorts, and expose his thinly bruised legs. His over the calf socks were black, comfortable for this setting. The older man had switched to the TCM channel, airing Baby Doll to where Carroll Baker, in a baby doll nightgown and sleeping in a crib, is being spied on by her on screen creepy husband through a peephole. Jacob snuggled beside his friend, taking a bite out of the pizza.

His mouth full of food, Jacob said, “We can watch them now if you want.”

Joe looked over at the boy, smiled faintly, signaling permission for his friend to remove the VHS tape from the plastic bag. He walked over to the cassette player and inserted the tape while Joe flipped to a blue blank screen. As the cassette player began to work, Jacob rushed back into the same spot.

The first of this collection of videos was one of his favorite cartoon shorts from one of his favorite mascots, Hello Kitty. It was from an old anime show she starred in, and Jacob was only four, remembering how his father would join him when it aired. The episode was its rendition of Cinderella and while they had one with Snow White, his favorite princess, this one was special. The standout being the evening at the palace where Hello Kitty, as the titular fairy tale icon, arrived the belle of the ball. Her cute rose gown caught the eyes of everyone especially the handsome Prince—albeit he wasn’t Daniel Star. Regardless, they made an adorable couple that convinced Jacob of the idea of meeting his Prince Charming one day.

The first happened at a neighbor’s barbecue in the middle of July. and a bored Jacob only had a small bite out of his burger while sitting on one of the tables. His father was a well-respected district attorney and his mother a childcare worker, so they were constantly thrown into the social circles of the community. He was a shy child, something he carried with him as he grew up, and interacting with other kids wasn’t something he was good at. However, there was a young man who was as lonesome as him. He was fresh out of college, blonde with his school emblem stamped on the center of his shirt. Blue jeaned and canvas shoes, his blue fair eyes gaze on the little boy. His charming smile wooed Jacob, returning the friendly glance. Jacob’s parents were conversing with acquaintances and friends while other kids chased each other or played games that were set up. Nobody except the college student noticed Jacob eating alone on a picnic table or when he slipped out to head for the bathroom.

The college guy appeared in front of the door as soon as he got out, gently spooking the child. He was as good-looking up front as he was afar with a countertenor voice and quite muscular arms. He swooned him over to one of the rooms, a bedroom, away from the commotion. Jacob felt special, with the young man handing him a cool soda which he drank it whole nonchalantly and was complimented immensely. It was almost like he was falling in love, or it could be that the spiked lemonade confused him. He didn’t get far, only manhandling Jacob’s small chest before being thwarted by the kid’s father who had been trying to search for him.

Then there was Ben Rifkin, a former classmate of Jacob. As the boy described, the popular kid was full of himself as lots of girls were interested in him and made various enemies at school. When he first saw him, Jacob admittedly thought his fellow peer was alluring. He was healthy, approachable; he had once daydreamed that they were the hottest couple in school, holding hands and sharing the first kiss in secret. But that was before the bullying happened, when Ben had noted the times Jacob was staring at him during math class, resulting with the former shoving him by the lockers during passing periods. It escalated further when Ben cornered Jacob at a staircase. Spitting homophobic slurs in his face, he almost choked him, leaving a mark in Jacob’s neck which he hid from his parents. The rape threat whispered by Ben changed Jacob to soon fantasize about killing him. It was just a shame that he was too late, coming across his dead body in the park on his way to school one day.

That was also when he received his first kiss by Ben’s killer who soon chased Jacob around the park. Jacob didn’t remember the man clearly but only that he wore a black trench coat and his brown hair freshly slicked back. He didn’t look like he was from town either. As he was easily tackled, he was forced to stare at life and death swinging back and forth like a pendulum. Strangely, he wasn’t scared despite looking at the knife ready to plunge into his chest just like how Ben was murdered. He felt he had already experienced whatever he went through, but he did think about his parents and how much he’ll miss them. Fate played its course as instead of meeting a bloody end, the killer ended giving him a kiss, harsh and cruel. Nothing else came out of it and he let him go—Jacob never saw the man again.

Lastly came in Joe whom he snuggled with as they continued to watch the next cartoon, The Sea Prince and the Fire Child. Tall, broad, and old enough to be his father, Jacob was immediately entranced upon seeing him that fateful Halloween evening. Anyone’s words could say that there wasn’t much in terms of the sum of his parts, but Jacob concurred. There was a haunting beauty in the man as if he was a drifting shadow. His bushy beard discoloration his dark hair with silver, matching the overcast color in his clothes and cap that covers his hair bun. The predatory shades in his eyes weren’t menacing but broken; clearly the man had something to do with the dead body found in the living room. And while he should’ve been afraid, Jacob knew the man never planned on hurting him. Hell, he could’ve done it in the blink of an eye but how Prince Sirius looked at Princess Malta was the same for Joe and him.

Taking the man’s hand, Jacob wrapped his arm around him as he continued to watch the movie. He rested his head on Joe’s lap while his fingers intertwined with the older man’s. Pulling them to his chest, he noticed the keloid scars imprinting parts of his arm. Watching the Fire and Water clans force the prince and princess apart, Jacob couldn’t fathom about his situation with Joe. His parents don’t know about Joe—if they did, his father would’ve put out an arrest on him. His mother scolds him, making sure he will never see Joe again. Jacob texted them, lying that he was over at Sarah’s place. She covers for him not to arouse any suspicion, but god knows how long she will break. The boy soon looked up at the older man who was glued to the screen, shifting his body forward carefully. His youthful heart pumped softly as he brought the dry hand onto his lips where he kissed faintly.

“Joe?” Jacob breathed. “When I get older, can I be your princess?”

Joe didn’t reply, not even looking at the boy below him, choosing to ignore the innocent confessions blurting out.

“You can be my knight in shiny armor,” Jacob continued, smiling a bit. He was finally picturing a scenario in which the world was built out of ethereal aesthetics. He was as old as twenty, dressed in a rosy gown just like Hello Kitty and ready to step out of his father’s castle. Joe arrived on a dark horse, armored in ebony and silver, and holding his hand out for Jacob. Without hesitation, the princess takes it and the two start to ride away into the sunset to whatever place they considered their kingdom.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” interrupted Joe, burning the context away like a destroyed film frame.

“I do,” Jacob responded, unhurt and confident. “Because I’m in love with you.”

“Don’t say that” Joe simply says.

“It’s true. I really do. I wanna stay with you.”

“Don’t.”

And that was the end; Jacob knew not to pressure further. Disappointed, Jacob returned to the movie. Princess Malta, devastated by the death of Prince Sirius, carries him with her to the depths of the sea where she dies. The war between fire and water vanquished through the lovers’ end as their dead bodies are then lifted to the stars where their souls flourished and overlook the land. Jacob remembered the first time he cried while watching it—his mother hugging him in comfort—for he sympathized with their roles as star crossed lovers. Forever in love but can never truly be together. Now, he empathized, seeing how the gap between him and Joe was huge and being from two very different worlds. Perhaps it was inevitable for them to never rule their own castle. Regardless, Jacob’s youthful heart continued to beat with hope even while his weary eyes soon conquered his vision. His eyelids drifted, blinking several times as he whispered and yawned, “I do.”

“16…15…14…13…12…”

As the next cartoon played, Joe noticed how heavy the boy’s body was. He was asleep, listening to the faint snores and tucking himself as if an imaginary blanket covered him. The older man stared down to see his hand still clasped upon the boy’s, making no attempt to remove it. With his free hand, he shifted a couple of hair strands covering the bruised injury to brush it behind his ear. Even underneath the damage done to him, he was still delicate as a porcelain doll. Deep down, he cared for Jacob; the few people in his life who knew about the world he lived in and never judged him for a single second. Although he wished he never did. The kind of danger he experiences while on the job were filled with connections and they wouldn’t hesitate to destroy everything close to him. It’s what happened to his mother and several of his associates and their families. The last people he wanted on the death list were Jacob and the kid’s parents.

Chirin’s Bell played and the titular character was prancing around the beautiful green valley of his home. The little bell rang softly like heaven to match his fluffy wool. His loving mother cared and protected him, reminding the older man of his own mother. She was dainty, both voice and figure, and beautiful as can be. He must wonder how she ever met his father—more yet how she fell in love with him. Though she recalled those romantic years where he used to give her flowers and they used to walk down at the park. He was very kind and gentle, as she described him, once upon a time. His hands always warm like fire which comforted her in harsh times. She remembered how much her mother warned her about him, but she ignored them, relying on what the heart wants.

But of course, everything changes when the true colors start to stain the image. His father indulged himself with alcohol and cigarettes, never bothering helping his mother raise Joe as a baby. She excused his behavior as trauma during his time as a Marine, but Joe concurred. In fact, Joe recalled the first time he’s met his father’s rage was during the nighttime. Joe was only four and hardly could sleep because he feared of the monsters potentially hiding underneath his bed. He crept outside of his bed to head into the living room where he witnessed his father hitting his mother. Blood marked on his knuckles, red as his angry face as he tossed his mother to the hard kitchen floor. She sustained injuries from the face and forehead while she attempted to cover her mouth with her hand. Joe guessed she wanted to prevent any screams letting out. Tears spilled over her eyes and her whole body trembled as his father stripped down his pants, proceeding to rape her. The terrified Joe then escaped to his room without exposing himself and climbed back to bed. He cowered under the sheets and covered his ears; at that point, the monster wasn’t under the bed but the man his mother married.

His father didn’t start to abuse him until he was six years old, when his father introduced him to the hammer. Yanking him to the ground, the patriarch would start to intimidate him. He’d circle around him like a vulture, forcing the boy to strip until he was in his underwear. The hammer appeared heavy, but his father held it with brutality and care—the only time he ever does. His mother was on the ground, bruised and unconscious, nearby. Joe, though his head was lowered, glanced briefly at the weapon of choice, and tried his best not to feel afraid. He wanted to be brave for his mother, but the stench of fear rose to his father’s nostrils.

Straighten up!

His father commanded but Joe wouldn’t dare. He didn’t want to try to stare at a man who was supposed to be a loving father and husband. A role model on being a good man bounded by strength and wisdom. But all Joe got out of him were bruises, blood, and danger. It came to the point where the bed wasn’t good enough to hide away from the misery. His parents’ closet housed several clothing plastic bags used to stash his father’s Marine uniform and some were freely kept hanging. Joe would sneak underneath and suffocate himself by putting it over his face. Hyperventilating and recoiling, it was a routine for most of Joe’s life up until his father’s death from a cardiac arrest.

“11…10…09…08….07…”

            Chirin loses his mother to the villainous wolf, Woe, meanwhile the rest of the flock witness the grief at play. The baby crying over her dead body without a consolation and in turn, the cries of sorrow turned into vengeance. Innocence lost as he turned to the fence, beyond the mountains to seek the very wolf and become a strong predator to kill his enemy. Joe then excuses himself as he carefully sets the sleeping Jacob down on the couch. He settles a pillow to cushion his head and snuck out of the living room, allowing Chirin to continue his tragic journey. Joe traveled to his bedroom, turning on the sole light next to the bedpost. It was a simple space with minimal clothing hung on his closet and jade green bedsheets only fleshing out. Edges of the room covered in ebony shadows, limiting the light from the lamp.

The older man soon pulled out a revolver stashed inside the small drawer. A .357 Magnum with golden bullets loaded inside when Joe checked. Alongside the weapon sat an envelope with Jacob’s name imprinted on the center and settled it near the lamp. He laid down on the bed and sighed. The television’s noise was heard from the living room as he listened to the little sheep attempting to convince Woe to train him. However, the man’s mind drifted from the present as he stared at the ceiling. Edges of the room charcoaled with shadows, limiting the light from the lamp. Every sound grew inaudible in his reach and his eyes never blinking. He breathed in and out one last time before aiming the gun barrel under his chin and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered across the lamp, walls, ceiling, bed, and the letter. His eyes remained opened and his body stiff and empty.

Joe had always pictured heaven as an endless dark space levitating him away. Snowflake stars twinkling around to match the millions of souls roaming like he was. No path needed as direction was no longer necessary; he could travel wherever he wanted to go. He wondered if his mother would be found along the way. Would she be happy to see him? Will she be living in a lovely cottage perfumed in dandelions and roses? Will he find her alone or with his father? For the better, he had hoped for the former as  heaven was the place to get away from the troubles. He had wished that for her upon giving her a water burial the day she died.

The man begun to imagine Jacob discovering his body. The boy would try to wake him up, telling him that the next movie was on. When Joe won’t reply, he’ll start to weep, constantly calling Joe’s name and tried not to believe his best friend was gone. He’ll find the letter and read those parting words out loud. As much as he won’t like it, the boy will understand that Joe wanted to part like this. He glanced down, thinking of the expected but instead, he caught Jacob staring up at him. Not in the clothes he wore, just a glow and rosy gown like Hello Kitty and clear pixie wings like Malta, the fire child. His eyes closed, sleeping peacefully, and waiting for someone to wake him up. He looked like a fairy tale princess trapped in a black void whilst Joe was beginning to embrace it. He looked up once again to the boundless abyss above him, tempted to continually search for his mother.

Returning to Jacob, he realized the boy was slowly floating away from him. Joe hesitates; he was ready to leave him but seeing a broken princess disappear forever, a knight weeps for eternity. A beating heart mirrored across the oblivion around him, it was his own. The gentle care he carried for Jacob continued to linger and despite being a drifting soul, he could never forget. Empowered by this feeling, Joe hovered below and scurried as fast as he could, reaching his hand out to grab Jacob. The closer he got, the brighter Jacob was becoming, enlightening Joe as he touched the boy’s hand. To his relief, they were still warm.

“Joe?”

Joe’s eyes finally blinked but never removing his view of the ceiling. He exhaled through the nose but could feel the cold surface of the gun pressuring his under chin. Aspects of the light showed parts of Jacob’s face as he looked down at him sympathetically. The envelope was torn open, and Jacob held the letter close to him. Joe caught a faint tear swelling down the boy’s eyes and lifted his hand up to hold his face. With his thumb, he wiped the tear away while softening the skin, convincing himself that he was alive. Jacob sniffed and proceeded to remove the gun from Joe, returning it to its usual spot. He then joined the older man in bed where he nestled his head on top of Joe’s chest and pulled the man into a soft embrace. He never releases the letter, clenching it in his fingers and Joe felt a tremble vibrating the boy’s body.  It hurt Joe, beginning to hear Jacob crying softly and hugged him closely.

I’m sorry, Joe wanted to say to Jacob, but his dried voice refused to let anything spill out. Rather several tears rolled down his cheek as he continued to listen to Jacob’s sorrows, something he hadn’t done in a long time.

 From afar, Chirin laments upon becoming a lonesome monster, his melodic bells whispering amongst the wintery mountains and was never heard from again.

“06…05…04…03…02…01”        

Chapter Text

Tim Laughlin knew his love for men stemmed from watching Gone with the Wind when he was eight years old. His sister, Maggie, while she prayed like a saint, often rebelled behind the family’s back. She enjoyed going to the movies and it was the day when the epic historical romance hit the screens. One afternoon, Maggie took Tim to a packed theatre room up by the balcony level. With their popcorn and drink settled, they and the rest of the audience silenced once the movie started playing. Both children’s eyes were glued to the screen as the story entailed a tale of survival, love, and war. However, a particular individual made his presence known to the women, including Maggie, in the crowd: Rhett Butler. A cynical, charming but mocking philanderer who proved to have no honor except to those he considered true gentlemen and ladies. Hair as dark as a raven’s feather, sophisticated eyes, and a mischievous smile while he antagonizes the main character. Tim felt his cheeks burning bright any time the man made his appearance on the screen.

            At first, Tim believed it was because he wanted to be like him but afterwards, he imagined himself as Vivien Leigh’s Scarlett O’Hara whenever she was in Rhett Butler’s arms.  

            However, it wasn’t further explored until Tim was eleven years old when he was invited to a birthday party. A game of hide and seek commenced and he hid in one of the bedrooms upstairs. Crawling under the bed, Tim discovered some physique magazines stacked together. It was the parents’ bedroom, so he was wondering if these belonged to the patriarch or if the matriarch concealed a mortal sin from her marriage. They were a series of shirtless men with muscled bodies in athletic poses and were typically young and attractive. Tim peered through several of them as he remained quiet as a church mouse, flipping the pages where different types of men presented themselves. One caught his attention in the form of a dark-haired man with iris blue eyes and skin like warm fresh milk modeling with a weight in hand. He only wore an underwear to expose his flexing thighs and his abs were strong. Tim’s face heated up the longer he gazed the photo, quickly ripping the picture as soon as he heard his sister’s voice from the hallway. Once he returns home, in the middle of night after prayer, he often took hours admiring the picture.

            Once puberty hits, it became increasingly difficult to understand his situation. Graduating high school at the top of his class and went on to study at Fordham University. Although he was the sweetest gentleman in his classes, he hardly grew any friends nor attended some of the gatherings outside of school. Much less attracted any lady who crossed his paths while walking down the hallways. No matter how many times he was encouraged by his family or himself, he can never enjoy the company of the opposite sex. It came to a point where gravity pulled bullies to him who poked fun about how Tim couldn’t keep a girl or how his cherry didn’t pop yet. The only times he ever attended after school activities centered around the neighboring Catholic church every Sunday which became his peaceful sanctuary. 

But the most important moment in his life happened during his second year, belonging to the YRC, where he met Father Gallagher who was his faculty advisor and the Catholic priest of the nearby church. The man wasn’t older than him, mid twenty-five compared to a nineteen-year-old Tim Laughlin, but his position made it seem so. The two bonded over their love for the church, meeting up after school and weekends and helping Tim out with schoolwork. He even allowed the young pupil to refer to him by his first name, Bob, when they were alone. Then, one evening, when Tim decided to visit him during a choir performance, Father Gallagher dragged him to his study room where the young student experienced his first kiss and touch. The priest took him by the desk whilst the music shielded their intimacy but not the scandal from the eyes of God.

“Bob, do you believe God would forgive us for what we’d done?” Tim asked afterwards.

The priest turned to him and spoke, “God would forgive us, my son, but I can never forgive God for making me who I am.”

Even as they continued their affair, his words haunted Tim throughout his time at Fordham University. Sadly, when graduation arrived, Tim received word that Father Gallagher was transferring to a different Catholic university. He only feared if the school found out about them but accordingly, it was entirely free will. He had hoped on encountering him as soon as he could, but the man vanished before he had to chance without saying goodbye.

With a political science and history degree in his belt, Tim was ready to turn his attention to politics and earn a place in the government society. He became invested in McCarthy’s cause in stopping communism and bringing the Cold War to an end. Admittedly, the man’s tactics were rough, but Tim was determined to make sure the atomic bomb doesn’t land in the US. He helped in electoral parties whilst interning in the mailroom at the Star. Fortunately, his skills caught the attention of Miss Jean Kerr who hired him on as a junior assistant with writing duties. When finding a place to stay, he found a rental room at a simple condo several blocks from his job.

 When it came to relationships, after Father Gallagher’s departure, Tim didn’t try to pursue his sexual awakening, accepting it as a phase and continued focusing on attending Sunday Mass and working. Tim was well acquainted with a young lady, Mary Johnson, who worked as a secretary for an official at the State Department. Kind, sweet, and considerate, despite their opposite views, they were willing to share lunches together and bond over their attraction to the same sex.

“I was wondering,” Mary asked. “If you’d like to come to the Lily Century on tonight.”

Tim was in the middle of drinking a cup of milk when he listened to her invitation. It was lunch at a restaurant on a Friday afternoon. The two met up after Tim attended morning Mass and sat in the corner beside a wide view window of the streets. The winter weather breezed in with a high percent chance of snow fall and Christmas was around the corner. The restaurant, much like the city, was filtered with holiday décor from the garland adorning the staircase to the red and silver ornaments in the ceiling. The atmosphere of joy surrounds it even with the dark times clouding above. The Lavender Scare continues to reign its terror alongside McCarthyism; suppose the Americans believed the queers endorse the Russians and Atomic Bombs. It was either that or continuously facing discrimination among society for alienating the norms. But places like the Lily Century served as a sanctuary, allowing them to experience freedom for once.

“I’m bringing some friends too. It’ll be fun,” she added.  

“Oh, I don’t know. It all depends on how busy work will be,” Tim said.

“I’m not sure if you’re being sincere or building an excuse. Because if it’s the latter, then you’re a horrible liar.”

It wasn’t the first time Mary had tried to get Tim to come to social events. These kinds of outings like lunch or shopping were nice and kept their image alive but sometimes, she hated hiding her identity. She was careful—they both are—but she felt most at peace holding another woman in her arms. If they continue posing themselves as a couple, then they were in the clear.

“She and McCarthy knows you’re diligent. You turn your work in on time,” she continued. The way she pronounced the infamous senator’s name was how Tim described as “a knife puncturing a piece of flesh”. She starts to gather the pasta with her fork. “Is your landlady starting to suspect?”

“Not that I know of,” Tim spoke.

“Then?”

 “To be honest,” he sighed. “I’ve never been to those kinds of places. And I guess you can say I am nervous on doing so. It doesn’t have anything to do with religion but on a personal level.”

“You’re never going to know unless you try,” she reassured him.

“I don’t know,” Tim said.

“Think about it. You’ve worked hard in the past few months. You deserve to have some fun. Who knows? You might meet someone there.” Tim caught a coy smirk in her red lipstick.

“I don’t believe in carnal lust, Mary. It’s a mortal sin.”

“I didn’t say you did, Tim. But I think you’ll find someone who cares about you.”

The brunette reached for her purse to pull out a flyer and handed it over to her friend. “It would mean the world to me if you came.”

After lunch, a trial commenced in the court room where an Italian worker was recently accused of being a Russian sympathizer. McCarthy, alongside Roy Cohn and his lackey, David Schine, oversaw the situation with Roy Cohn brutally questioning the poor man. Tim had the chance to enter the courtroom with a water pitcher to fill in the glasses. It was the first time he had ever stepped foot inside and the tension terrified him to the core though he tried not to show it. While he tended, Tim listened to the man cracking in fear as Cohn grilled him. In honesty, Tim wasn’t a fan of Roy Cohn and David Schine. Despite the two siding with McCarthy, they were mostly kept to themselves and often schemed for their own benefits. Cohn was scary and rude, lacking the sympathy about the accused’s deceased mother, leaving Tim disgusted.

 “His mother died,” Tim said to Miss Kerr when he returned to his desk. “Couldn’t he at least be compassionate?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Miss Kerr frowned. “You wouldn’t dare console with a traitor?”

“Of course not, ma’am,” Tim shook his head. “I just think maybe they should’ve reconsidered…”

“Reconsidered?” she scoffed, then focused her attention on the file in her hands. “They had the right to assume the worst. For all we know, he could’ve used her death as a coverup to rendezvous with the Russians.”

Tim was bittered throughout the whole work hour, walking down the steps from the building. It was around eight o’clock in the evening when Tim left the office. Miss Kerr had a few extra assignments for him that forced him to stay for an extra hour than usual. Part of him believed she was tensed about the comment he made. It was one of the things he didn’t like about the job no matter how much he respected McCarthy. Because at the end of the day, these were ordinary folks living out their lives in the cities and suburbs of Washington D.C. And with what happened to Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, Tim couldn’t help but give condolences to their children.

 Tim thought about Mary’s invitation to the night club when he glanced at the flyer pulled out of his work bag. The name of the club was titled in rich cursive followed another, A Christmas Twilight. It was an evening event filled with holiday joy and cheer. A performance by drag queens alongside a jazz band was included so there will be some dancing. It’ll be packed for sure and judging from the hour of the evening, it’ll be difficult to get inside. He could picture Mary and her friends attending the party and enjoying themselves with him tagging along. Dressed for the occasion, he ignores about everyday troubles as he indulges in the drinks and festivities. That it IF he decides on going.

One stop he needed to go was at an antiquarian bookstore called A.Z. FELL & CO.  The shop resided four blocks away from the government building and across a flower store. With the front exterior painted in rich mahogany and two pillars by the entry, the name and description printed in fine gold letters. It is a charming and quaint establishment, known for its historic and objet d’art aesthetic. It was built in the 1800’s which peaked Tim’s interest about the building when he first stepped foot in it. Luckily, it was still open when he arrived, exploring the beautiful interior. It was filtered in autumn color palettes such as the orange walls, red rugs, golden chairs, and brown couches. Several Christmas decorations added flare into the atmosphere with the Christmas tree stationed at a corner. Bookshelves took over most of the rooms, stacked next to each other and littered with books and several artifacts dating far back to ancient times. It was owned by a British fellow named Mr. Fell who was generous in allowing Tim to borrow some of the books if he returned them in proper condition.

The door had a little bell attached to the top, signaling its owner of its last customer of the evening. “Coming,” came in a posh British accent.

Tim was pulling out a book on Roman mythology from his bag without realizing the flyer falling to the ground. Soon, Mr. Fell approached to the front desk with a pleasant smile. He wore his typical old-fashioned outfit, complete with a bowtie, brown suit, and Oxfords. The man hardly changed his clothes so there were days when Tim thought he was wearing the same one every single day. Nearby his desk, Frederic Chopin plays in a gramophone to color its peaceful atmosphere.

“Ah, Mr. Laughlin! Good evening,” Mr. Fell welcomed.

“I’m sorry for coming in late,” Tim apologized as he hands the book to the middle-aged man. “But I needed to drop this one off.”

“You finished it already?”

“I couldn’t put it down. Thank you for the recommendation.”

“Are you planning to take another? I insist.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t.”

“Please. It is the holiday season.”

Tim, not wanting to put much resistance to a kind man, consented and walked over to one of the bookshelves in the lounge. Meanwhile, Mr. Fell went to the front door to switch his sign from OPEN to CLOSED. If there was only one customer he’d allow to spend a few hours after closing time, it would be Tim.

“Has work been busy?” Mr. Fell asked.

“Very,” Tim responded as he eyed on the books. “Ms. Kerr wanted everything done before the holidays. I was planning to stop by in the morning, but she needed me in the office early.”

“Oh. Either way, it wasn’t too occupied over here. Some came and went but I suppose they occupied themselves with last minute Christmas shopping.”

“You don’t think people will try to buy someone a gift from here?” Tim kind of knew the answer due to being a regular. He noticed how Mr. Fell never tried to advertise his books, finding ways to keep people from purchasing them. They are signed first editions so they must cost a fortune to have. One must wonder how he manages to pay the bills.

“Not at all. I don’t think,” Mr. Fell shook his head.

“That’s a shame. History is a beauty.” Tim eyed on a particular book of the original copy of Charles Perrault’s fairy tales, already translated by Mr. Fell. Pulling it out, it was white hardcover book with blue imprint titling the front cover. “Are you planning to celebrate the holidays with your roommate?”

Despite the numerous of times, he stepped into the shop, Tim was the only patron who knew about Mr. Fell’s roommate. Not that he had seen him—having hardly stepped foot when the store was active—but he recalled sometimes Mr. Fell having private conversations with him. According to the store owner, he was his cousin from his mother’s side planning to stay with him for a couple of months.

“Oh yes,” Mr. Fell replied. Unbeknownst to Tim, the middle-aged shop keeper blushed as red as the scarlet rug. Then, he noticed a flyer on the ground and goes to pick it up.

“How is he by the way? I’m assuming he’s asleep upstairs.”

“No, he went out for a while. He should be back soon.” Mr. Fell noticed a flyer on the ground and goes to pick it up. “And you? Are you off to see relatives?”

“Yeah, I’m planning to pack when I get home. I’m staying over there until the new year.”

Mr. Fell, with his eyes glued to the paper, figured its advertisement was from a gay club. How droll! He thought, reminding him of memories at the Gentlemen’s club. Their holiday ceremonies were the loudest with music, dancing, and enough liquor to filter the atmosphere. The only thing he was stunned about were the fornications that happened behind closed doors.

“I think I’m going to borrow this one,” Tim said and when he turned around, he gasped seeing the shopkeeper with the flyer. He rushed to snatch the piece of paper from his hands. “I’m sorry,” the young man apologized. “I thought….I wasn’t hoping anyone would….”

“Not at all,” Mr. Fell responded. “Is this something you’re planning to attend? It looks like it’s happening today.”

“I don’t know,” sighed Tim. “I just got out of work, and I don’t think I could.”  

“So, you intended on going?”

“I….A good friend invited me and….it looks fun.”

“What’s the hurt in that? You should try it out.”

“But I don’t have anything to wear.”

Mr. Fell paused for a moment to ponder before elaborating, “I do have an outfit I haven’t worn in a long while. Perhaps I can hold onto this book, and I’ll lend you the suit for tonight.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, Mr. Fell. But I can’t accept.”

“I insist,” Mr. Fell repeated. “Come.”

Mr. Fell escorted Tim up the black spiral staircase which led to the second floor of the building. Much like the first floor, some of the areas were occupied with books. What made it different was Mr. Fell’s bedroom located in between those rooms. It was a vintage styled room colored in pure white as a Christmas dove. A Queen Metal bed frame resided against the wall where a good window view of the city was a lovely sight. The furniture was neatly stacked and evenly placed with several crochet designs ornamenting the surface tops. Tim stood by the doorway when Mr. Fell entered the room while the middle-aged man rushed towards the cabinet to pull out a lovely suit secreted in the cleaners bag. The lamp captured the bright essence of the suit, silver like the agate geodes with a white bow tie and a cornflower blue vest. White shoes accompanied it when Mr. Fell took them out alongside a swan themed mask.

He sets them neatly on the bed as he explained, “When I was in a small town in Italy, I discovered this suit in a lonesome tailor shop at a corner. It was said to be made by moonlight skin though it loses its beauty at midnight. This should be suitable for your festivity.”

“You’re too kind,” Tim responded. “But I don’t think it’s going to fit.”

“Nonsense, it will. One of its unique traits is that it could fit whoever tries it on.”

Mr. Fell then took Tim’s things and walked towards the door. “I’ll hail for a cab while you change.”

He left abruptly without letting Tim speak, closing the door behind him. The young man was left with the outfit patiently waiting for him to make a choice. He felt conflicted, knowing that he’ll end up committing a mortal sin not by entering a gay club but entering knowing he’ll encounter someone there. Someone like Father Gallagher perhaps. But the other side tells him that Mary will be there with friends and he’ll be able to socialize more than ever.. After all, it wouldn’t be bad to do something different for a change.

Mr. Fell caught Tim walking down the staircase several minutes later. He smiled upon seeing the young man suited beautiful in the outfit even as he fixed the bow tie and mask which forced him to hide his glasses on his breast pocket. Strangely, with the mask, his vision remained clear without a blur in sight. Tim felt different wearing the outfit, having examined himself at the bedroom’s mirror and looking at Mr. Fell’s reaction, it’s certainly positive. He couldn’t help but bashfully smile a little bit.

“I told you it will fit,” Mr. Fell reassured. “Now you shall go to the party.”

A horn beeped outside the building, creating a nervous streak within Tim. He took a deep breath and glanced at Mr. Fell, thanking, “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Happy to help,” Mr. Fell smiled. “You best get going.”

“But what about…?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got your things.”

“I promise I won’t stay out too long. I’ll come back at midnight.”

“Very well. Now, go on and have fun.”

Tim smiled and nodded. He exited the building to meet a black 1926 Bentley vehicle parked right up front. Even though the taxi topper was on top, it was slightly strange for Tim to witness one dated from the rest. Still, he shrugged it off and entered the vehicle.

“Where to, sir?” the driver had a thick Scottish accent, surprising Tim. He wore a dark hat covering the vermillion hair to match the equally dark outfit. He fixed the rear-view mirror to focus his attention on the young man, revealing the round dark sunglasses.

“Um, The Lily Century, please,” Tim instructed.

The Scottish man only nodded and presumed to drive away from the bookstore.

The evening in the city springs for the winter season. The atmosphere of Christmas surrounds it with angels rushing by, metaphorically releasing the stars to rain upon the sky. The chilly draught was worse in the evening, even while the car’s heater attempts to warm him up, as parts of the window were misty. It has been generous though with the moon shining bright as the heavy dark clouds bloomed. Traffic was surprisingly light for a Friday evening, save for the red light stops along the way. Tim, through the cloudy windows, caught sight of several stores shimmering extra hours before closing times. Fashion on display for any woman or man to have, toys bestowing themselves for children as well as or any restaurants opened for business. A movie theatre was airing To ease the boredom, he outlined a heart with his finger and filling the shape in. At one stop, a movie theatre was currently showing a John Wayne movie along with a French-Italian drama film. Nothing amusing as the last time he went to see one with Mary was Roman Holiday with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn.

The car parked right in front of Lily Century where Tim was driven from his peaceful montage to look at the driver stating, “We’re here.”

“Thank you very much,” Tim spoke while taking out some money from his wallet.

“Free of charge,” the Scottish driver insisted. “My cousin’s Mr. Fell after all.”

Ah, that’s what he looks like. “Regardless, good sir. Take it.”

“No, no. It’s alright. But just a reminder,” he paused to look up at the rear-view mirror. “I will be here when you’re ready to leave.”

“How?”

“I can always tell, and before you know it, I’ll be here in a jiffy.”

“Okay. I’ll be here until midnight.”

“Got it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Tim exited out of the vehicle to notice an L-shaped staircase leading him below the street. He figured most clubs were obscure due to their debauchery and loud music even more so if the queer community were to occupy the occasion. Tim felt hesitant trying to step in, glancing behind him to see the taxi gone from sight. No turning back now, he took a deep breath and latched onto the rail; he must enjoy the evening while it is young.

Tim knocked on the door once he felt the warmth settled in, shutting the entrance door behind him. A golden lamp lit above his head like a bright sun to vibrate the chartreuse wallpaper. From the other side, he could hear the loud jazz music playing. Laughter and cheers howl from the audience enlightened the mood but tensed Tim a little. Being in political events wasn’t the same so he was in unknown territory, but it was alright. All he needed to do was find Mary and her friends and getting to know the latter.

The sliding peephole from the door in front unveiled a pair of eyes staring at him for a moment before shutting itself. The locks were unlatched, and the door opens, revealing a brawn gentleman wearing a black Venetian mask. He was intimidating, part of a bouncer’s job, even in a mellow voice, he asked, “Anyone followed you?”

“No, sir,” Tim responded.

Unaware, for Tim, the bouncer was rather entranced by the young man’s appearance. He stepped to the side for Tim to enter the premises. “Just make sure if the police come by you get out of here.”

“I will,” Tim nodded.

With that, the young man entered the premises, to meet the exhilarating energy radiating the club. Golden like the heavy bars inside a safe, the flooring was rich mahogany patterned with maple brown. The seats, circular lounge chairs, occupied by the masquerade party members who were entranced by the music and drinks. The bar was packed as the bartenders were fixing up drinks left and right as the waiters were crossing the crowded sea. The jazz band were on stage with illuminating snowy lights outlining their presence alongside the vivid music swooning the party goers on the dance floor. It was unique, as Tim noticed, because all the attendees were integrated in a society still believing in segregation. Men and women, regardless of color, enjoying themselves in harmony through alcohol, music, and each other; romantically or not. They’ve all shared the same problems, unable to reveal their true selves in public and could only rely in clubs like these to express it. Tim was relieved to see an amount of empathy flourishing the environment.

While Tim found himself lost in the soiree jungle, he also couldn’t help but observe the number of eyes staring at him. Single men of any age and color, behind their masks, piqued with interest on a lone wanderer who arrived recently. They were waiting on their chances for an uncomfortable Tim who still trying to find Mary.

“You look lost, dear,” a tender feminine voice echoed behind him.

Spooked, Tim turned to see a trans woman dressed in a black sequin glamour gown with an elegant Mardi gras mask to match. Blonde hair with sultry green eyes and make up sweetened in pink. Her lipstick enriched her smile as she was the first welcoming presence for the young man. Some of his admirers turned away as soon as the woman stepped in though there could be others who found her undeniably handsome. 

“First time here darling?” she then asked.

“Um, yes.” Tim fixed his swan themed mask. “I just arrived. You see, I’m trying to find someone.”

“Everyone here is. It’s a party after all. My name is Kitten.”

“Tim Laughlin, miss.”

“A gentleman, are you now? I like you already. Come, you need to sit with us.”

“Us?” Tim pondered.

Kitten soon dragged the young man through the crowd, traveling without trying to shove. However, Kitten was above to do that, sweeping a pair making out while dancing. Tim apologized for her bluntness before following her.

The woman led Tim to a booth right up the balcony level of the club. It carried the scenic view of the dance floor located near the rails and spacious for a large party. There he noticed two women—a blonde and a brunette—sitting together with a dainty brown-haired man and a taller strawberry blonde one: the latter smoking a cigarette. Several drinks were spread on the table along with an icy bucket of champagne. The strawberry blonde, wearing a simple dark tuxedo with golden mask, was the only one to notice them approaching the table. Past the cigarette vapor, he gave a loving smile to the woman when the two arrived.

“Everyone, this is Tim Laughlin,” she introduced the young man to her group. She then returned to Tim who shook hands with the following, “Tim, this is my boyfriend, Peter. That’s Patrick, and that’s Carol with her partner, Therese.”

“Nice to meet you,” Therese spoke. Even if she spoke loudly, she was as serene as a church mouse. Rather petite and young compared to the older and glamorous Carol.  
            “Charmed,” said Patrick in his authentic British accent. His own mask sat beside his glass of scotch, already pestered on wearing it around. “I like the suit.”

Tim settled in beside Therese meanwhile Kitten, right next to her lover, poured two glasses of champagne. She hands one over to the new guest at their table. Tim wasn’t much of booze—always disciplined on drinking milk—but he will take it from time to time.

“Are Mary and Caroline still in the bathroom?” Patrick asked Kitten, awakening an attention on Tim.

Kitten, after sipping her drink, made an exaggerated gasp before replying, “Goodness gracious, the music was hypnotizing not to ignore I completely forgot why I was there. I’m sure they’re alright.”

“Wait, Mary?” Tim specified the name again, glancing at Kitten.

“Our friend, Mary, and her girlfriend went to the bathroom a couple minutes ago,” Patrick elucidated. “Some of us already got back from dancing.”

“Mary? I know her,” Tim replied. “She’s a good friend of mine.”

“No wonder your name sounded familiar,” Carol added. “She talked about you before. She wasn’t sure if you were coming.”

“Yeah, I was trying to look for her.”

Before the conversation would go further, Kitten and Peter caught the sight of their missing friends coming to the table.

“Sorry,” Mary apologized. “The bathroom was crammed. We weren’t sure if we were advancing.”

Tim looked up to see his friend holding hands with another woman. She appeared more alive than she usually was. Her blue cocktail dress shimmered her brown curls and the red lipstick popped out like cherries on the tree. The other woman had shorter hair, slightly shorter than the former, donning a polka dot red swing dress. They were adorable together, Tim admitted to himself, who couldn’t help but smile upon seeing them.

“Who’s this?” Caroline asked.

“I believe this is the friend you mentioned earlier,” Peter responded.

Mary gasped, “Tim? Oh my god, you came! You look stunning!” She turned to her girlfriend, continuing, “Caroline, this is my friend, Tim.”

“Pleased to finally meet you,” Caroline replied as she joined in the seating. “Your suit looks great. Where’d you get it?”

            “An associate loaned it to me,” Tim answered.

            For the remainder of the hour, Tim had a couple drinks while listening to the conversations among the group. He got to know each of their stories; how Carol and Therese met while the former was getting divorced, Patrick’s business trips to Europe as a museum curator, and Peter and Kitten visiting from the United Kingdom. It felt nice to have people to socialize with, especially when he hardly grew up with a lot of friends. Though he had to keep an eye on the time, often asking Peter for his watch; if he wasn’t so strained on the hour, he would’ve lasted forever with his new friends. When it came to dancing, he sat like a wallflower watching couples like Peter, Kitten, Carol, and Therese at the dance floor or even Patrick with Caroline when it came to the upbeat jazz music. Tim tried his hand, inviting Mary before Kitten, and at some point, a couple of men kindly requested him for a waltz. However, they never went anywhere—one tried to kiss Tim—but the young man’s hesitation drew him away. Even in sanctuary, Tim was reserved about expressing himself.

            “A Dream in Roses for you,” the waiter arrived with an elegant drink. It was the color of cloud nine, draped in a single rose petal and settled on top of a napkin. Aside from Tim, the only other witness was Patrick.  

            “Oh?” reacted Tim upon seeing such seductive drink. “But I didn’t order…”

            “This, good sir, came from a handsome man sitting by the bar.”

            Intrigued and curious, Tim, alongside Patrick, quickly glanced below the ground level. Over at the packed bar, amongst the potential suitors, Tim’s eyes were caught by a pair of cool blue eyes gazing at him. He was a tall gentleman, hair black as his evening tuxedo to match his phantom mask. He was fit, Tim wondered if he did military service, and casually drinks his whiskey. Tim’s heart suddenly stopped; from a distance, he found himself drawn to him, albeit shyly. The man was magnetic and stood out from the crowd while being the color of shadows. It reminded him of how Scarlett O’Hara first laid eyes on Rhett Butler; how long he had admired her without her noticing. Tim’s flushed cheeks bloomed from the rest of his white outfit even while he returned to the waiter to thank him. However, he was soon met with a folded note next to the drink. When unveiling it, written in the black cursive, Next song. An invitation to a dance as Tim suggested, glancing back towards the bar only to find the man gone. Tim’s stomach swarmed in butterflies, sighing back to the note before hiding it in his breast pocket.

            “Best catch him before I do,” commented Patrick as he sipped his champagne glass, making Tim blush harder. When the rest but Peter and Kitten returned, neither man brought up about it, only that Tim ordered himself a new drink from the menu.

            As the next song began to play, it was Tim’s turn to excuse himself from the table. He mentioned to Mary that he’ll head to the restroom. It was a terrible lie, but he was surprised she took it well. He wouldn’t it be surprised if sooner or later, she and the others might catch him dancing with his mysterious suitor. Walking down the stairs, the lights above began to dim a little whilst the ones on the stage brightened. Clapping was heard when a drag queen, African American, walked across the stage to reach for the microphone stand. Dressed in a black Dior couture, she took a bow as she prepped for her number. Tim, standing in the middle of the dance floor, looked at the stage as every single guest was even to those who were ready to dance. He glanced left and right, hoping to find the man who sent him the note, meanwhile he stepped out of the way for upcoming dancers. The singer soon croons:

            Hold me close and hold me fast

            The magic spell you cast

            This is la vie en rose.

            When you kiss me heaven sighs

            And though I close my eyes

            I see la vie en rose.

            Watching the couples swooning by Tim quietly denied other men who asked him. He patiently waited for the enigmatic man to arrive. It almost felt like prom again when he was part of organizing the event, allowing to come without a partner. He remembered sitting like a shrinking violet at one point when the ballad played for the king and queen of prom. It felt romantic, the way the light shined bright above them and their crowns adorning on their heads. He didn’t think much about being royalty but the thought of waltzing with someone was wonderful. The past dances he had during the night were fun and enjoyable, but something told him this one was going to be special. His beating heart anticipated for it and a baritone voice echoed on his left side.

            “Sorry to keep you waiting,” came in the voice. Tim looked to see the man up close with him. He was more handsome, demonstrating a strong jaw and icy blue eyes. He was older than Tim with a smooth torso and grin which softened for the younger man.

            “First impression fell a bit short,” teased Tim, kind of borrowing Kitten’s way of approaching men.  

            “I’m going to have to make it up then.” The man held his hand out for Tim. “Shall we?”

            Tim smiled and took the man’s hand before the two danced amongst the soiree. The man’s strong hands, one placed upon his waist and the other clasped onto his own, were as cold as the season itself. He guided him while never removing his gaze from the white swan. Tim too felt lost in the man’s eyes, shuddering upon the hand softening his waistline. The excellent cologne brushed into his nose, placing Tim in a dreamlike trance. He wasn’t sure if his friends were observing the scene—Peter and Kitten were dancing among the floor—and for once, it didn’t matter to him. 

            I thought that love was just a word

            They sang about in songs I heard

            It took your kisses to reveal

            That I was wrong, and love is real.

            Hold me close and hold me fast

            The magic spell you cast

            This is la vie en rose

“Why?” Tim asked. He shouldn’t but he needed to.

            “Hm?” puzzled his admirer.

            “Why did you ask me?”

            “Is being romantic a crime?” The man smirked.

            “N-Not at all,” Tim blushed—the man’s charming smile pierced through his heart—before composing himself. “But I find it bold for those who ask me directly.”

            “I’m a man of the shadows.”

            “You don’t seem the type to be nervous.”

            “Down, boy.” Tim shuddered quietly at the last word and the man continued, “As they say, love at first sight is possible, but it pays to take a second look.”

            “Oh? A-And what drew you in?”

            “Each dance you took outshines anybody in this room. Don’t tell me the amount of people staring at you didn’t bathe your beauty.”

“So, you have noticed…when I came in?”

“Yes. I did. And you know what?”

“What?”

            The man directed Tim to look up and the young man took a glimpsed upwards to see a mistletoe adorned above them. A tiny gasp escaped his breath as he returned to the man. The minimal light helped hide the red blush rendering his cheeks and song concealing his beating heart.

            “How?”

            “Since the first dance. You play hard to get but in truth, I think you’re breaking.”

            That would be mortal sin, thought Tim but the words evaporated from his mouth, only relying on his gentle hand placed on the man’s chest. It acted like a barrier, enabling the man from drawing his lips close to his.  

            And when you speak, heaven sings from above

            Every day words seem to turn into love songs

            Give your heart and soul to me

            And life will always be

            La vie en rose

            As the audience gave her an applause, Tim froze as they stopped. Their hands were still clasped together while a hesitation rose on the young man. The phantom does nothing—Tim never gave permission—though a growing desire still looms. Before the next song resumed, Tim found his hand lowering from the man’s chest and a soft, yet seductive grin grew on the phantom’s lips.

            The two were in the context of the club, hidden from the crowd as Tim was driven to a corner. The phantom seized his mouth with a lustful kiss, his tongue dominating Tim’s. His strong hands handling his waist, gravitating their bodies together in such limited space. He successfully trapped him in a web of temptation, making Tim melt with every ghostly touch he gave him. The man’s lips swiftly moved to Tim’s neck, making the latter gasp and shift his head to the side. His eyes closed, taking in the beguiling sensation build from the dance. His fingers grasping onto the ebony hair, attempting to pull the man’s attention back to him. Their lips met again; this time, Tim allowed himself to savor the whiskey drink.

He soon felt one of the phantom’s hands sneaking onto his pants and cupping his hardened erection felt on the pants.

“Wait,” Tim sighed through the kiss. “We can’t. Not here.”

“No one will notice,” the phantom reassures him.

“But…”

“It’s only us. Nobody else.”

With the music enthusiastically playing and distracting the audience, they were indeed in their own world. The phantom comforted Tim with a kiss before proceeding to unzip his pants. All things considered, to prep, he raised his palm close to Tim’s lips.

“Spit,” he commanded the lubricant replacement. His blue eyes darkened in lust, paralyzing Tim as he failed to comprehend the demand. “I said, spit.”

Tim spat on his palm, unsure if it was enough, before the man sneaked the moistened hand inside Tim’s pants. Tim gasped when his cock was held, failing to control the volume of his voice. The phantom threw his lips to silence it, leaving Tim to moan as the former proceeded to stroke it. His heart was beating fast, his cheeks burned much bright than ever, and the heat dwelled all over his body. Their lips part but somehow close, an urge balanced between the two men.

“Who’s my boy?” the phantom commented.

“I-I am…” whimpered Tim.

“Who’s my boy?” the man repeated, tormenting the submissive Tim.

“I am. I am.”

The phantom muffled Tim’s voice with another kiss as the strokes increased its speed. Tim’s heart as loud as the band’s drum and his grip tightened on the man’s shoulder. Once their kiss broke, Tim’s voice escaped, drawing his breath but also the pleasure of the phantom’s teeth sinking on the side of his neck. An eternal marking of property—not even Father Gallagher dared committed such act—like a vampire conquering its prey. Both men took breaths, especially Tim, with the phantom still holding his gaze at the bite he’s made on the white swan.

“You drew a lot,” he said as he pulled his hand out. Tim groaned when the man licked away whatever substance was left. “Guess it’s been a long while for you, Skippy.”

“Who’s Skippy?” Tim asked.

“That’s what I’m going to call you.”

“Why?”

“It really suits you. Like the mask.”

Tim blushingly smiled as he zipped up his pants. However, something popped into his head for a moment. Something very important and it echoes at the back of his mind. He then asked the gentleman, “What time is it?”

The phantom checked his watch, “Eleven fifty-eight.”

Tim gasped; eyes widened as he remembered the promise he made for Mr. Fell.

“What is it?” the phantom asked.

“I’m sorry. I-I need to go.”

“What’s your hurry?” The phantom grabbed Tim’s arm to prevent the latter from leaving. “The night’s still young.”

“I must. Please, I must go.” Tim then ripped the grip away and their eyes glued to each other. “Thank you and good night.”

The white swan turned around and dashed through the crowd. He thought about finding Mary and the others, bidding them a good night and leave but then again, midnight crept upon the watches. He wondered if Peter and Kitten—or even Patrick for the matter—told the others that he snuck off with the phantom. He knew Mary would be upset so he had hoped by tomorrow, he can find Mary and apologize for his sudden disappearance.

Finally, outside, Tim walked up the stairs while switching his mask for his glasses. Unaware that once he reached for his spectacles, the mask was whisked off from his hand and landed on one of the stairs below. He caught the taxi vehicle stationed right up front; the driver kept his word and Tim jumped inside. Once the car drove off, Tim thought he heard a voice calling out from the stairwell, but it was too late to react.

Tim believed he heard a nightingale singing upon his window. Normally, it would be impossible considering they populated in Africa and parts around Europe but in his mind, it perfectly captured the event of last night. It was a lovely event; one he would treasure in his memories. Meeting new people like Mary’s friends—rest assured he will be well acquainted with them—and dancing throughout the evening to vibrant music. Dancing, the word resonated within his mind as he opened his eyes to the morning spark. The window veils were clear and white with small flowers decorating the texture. The shadows reminding him of the phantom were absent instead restored as a new day. He recalled he didn’t bother looking behind when he scurried out of the building. Part of him wasn’t sure if he was too blunt on leaving the man yet the reality sets in. For a man like the phantom, one night is enough; the two hardly knew each other. It brought Tim back to Father Gallagher—God only knows where he is—and their evening sessions at the church. He believed, as God could forgive them, they could’ve been something more. At the end, it was solely a fling; nothing more and nothing less.

It was an hour before nine, enough for Tim to clean himself up for work. However, he noted the clock was a Boulle type mostly recognized in France. An expensive item: it would’ve cost an arm and a leg. It made Tim realize—reaching for his glasses—that he was in Mr. Fell’s bedroom as soon as he discovered that he was asleep in the white bedsheets. Getting out, he was no longer in his white suit but a night gown. His work clothes were hung near the closet and his briefcase sat on the chair by the vanity desk. He tried to remember how everything played out as soon as he returned from the party. He didn’t drink a lot, but his energy did decrease; he still could’ve managed to walk home. Unless Mr. Fell’s generosity convinced him to sleep in his bed, Tim needed to figure a way to repay the man.

The young man, freshened and dressed in his work outfit, headed downstairs to find the building unoccupied. Mr. Fell still hasn’t opened the store and Tim wanted to at least bid him a good morning before he left. As he discovered his shoes by the doorway, Tim heard some noises coming from the study room. He figured it might be Mr. Fell examining some new material for his shop. Tim crept over to where the sounds were present only to find a scandalous moment. Mr. Fell was in the arms of another man, delivering small, dreamy moans and his eyes closed to embrace the sweet intimacy. The man, embracing him from behind, drew kisses on the short man’s neck and purred upon contact with his skin. He looked familiar—red haired with dark rimmed sunglasses and lanky build—all dressed in a dark outfit. The cousin! Of course, Tim realized it was obvious how connected he was with Mr. Fell. But as a lover? He was completely different from Mr. Fell, not that Tim judged, but opposites build attraction, so they say. The window blinds were shut, aware how dangerous their affair was, but were unafraid of demonstrating their love. The way the lanky man whispered sweet somethings to the antique owner, making the latter smile in warmth. Tim admittedly felt profound; if only he found someone who was willing in a time like this.

Tim returned to the main room, pretending he didn’t witness anything as he put on his shoes. He cleared his throat and called out, “Mr. Fell? I’ll be heading out.”

The minimal voices were heard but Tim tried not to acknowledge it, figuring it was Mr. Fell reassuring his lover. He then spotted the owner powerwalking to his direction. “Mr. Laughlin! Good morning.”

“Morning, Mr. Fell. I just wanted to say thank you for everything before I left.”

“Of course, Mr. Laughlin. It’s the least I can do.”

Tim smiled before grabbing his coat and hat from the rack. Mr. Fell went to unlock the door as the young man spoke, “Happy Holidays, Mr. Fell.”

“You too, Mr. Laughlin.”

“Where were you, Tim?” asked Mary upon running into her in the government building. She had a concerned look in her eyes as the duo walked through the hallways. Her voice was kept at a minimal volume where only she and him could listen. “Kitten says Peter saw you leave in hustle without saying goodbye.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim apologized. “I didn’t mean to make you all worried. I had to leave early.”

“You could’ve said something beforehand.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Her glance softened a bit as she said, “I was worried. We tried to look for you. Especially because Patrick told us you were probably with a mysterious admirer.”

Tim’s eyes widened; although he figured, it was somehow still surprising she found out. “Um, yes. I was.”

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t think I ever will.”

“Why? He never told you his name.”

“No, he didn’t, and I didn’t tell him mine.” Tim decided to leave out the nickname sentiment the man gave him. She didn’t need to know that part. “What’s important is that we had a fun time last night. We can do it next time and I won’t leave in a hurry. I promise.”

“Okay,” smiled Mary. “I’m going to need to ask Kitten though. She was the one who found the club.”

“Ms. Johnson.”

A baritone voice called her name from behind, prompting the two to see someone Tim didn’t think he’d run into again. It was the phantom from the party, without the mask of course. He wore a navy-blue suit with a maroon tie, hanging his coat on one arm and his briefcase on another hand. He was still handsome as he remembered him with a welcoming smirk. If his heart was pounding like last night, it was noticeable by Tim’s confound expression.

“Good morning, Mr. Fuller,” Mary greeted. “I was on my way to the office.”

“I presume you were.” He was talking to Mary while his gaze was glued to a nervous Tim.

“Mr. Fuller, this is Tim Laughlin,” Mary spoke. “Mr. Laughlin, this is my superior, Hawkins Fuller.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Tim reminded his manners and held his hand out to greet his friend’s employer.

“The pleasure is mine,” Hawkins replied, shaking hands with Tim. They were still cold. “You are working under Senator McCarthy’s supervision, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Tim nodded. “A junior assistant.”

“How’s the job treating you?”

“Very well. Thank you.”

A moment of silence passed between the two—Mary observed—before Tim spoke to his friend, “I must be going or else I’m late.” He quickly glanced to Hawkins. “It was nice knowing you, sir.”

The man simply nodded, and Tim took his leave. He exhaled, releasing a shudder  aching his entire body. He never thought he would experience it all from last night. He tried not to look back but part of him could feel the man’s blue eyes staring at him.

Job went on as usually as Tim continued attending the court where Senator McCarthy, Roy Cohn and David Schine grilled the Italian worker. Except unlike yesterday, in attendance as well was Senator Wesley Smith, one of Senator McCarthy’s greatest adversaries. He was part of the Democratic party and a huge sympathizer of the Russians. He was quick to ask appropriate questions to the man while holding up his own against the big trio. Tim, albeit on different stances on communism, respected Senator Smith and knew he was a man of good authority. Once he filled up Roy Cohn’s glass, among the spectators and reporters, Tim spotted Hawkins Fuller in attendance. Remaining calm and collected, Tim pretended not to acknowledge his presence especially during a workplace. He proceeded to the exit but to only notice his piercing blue eyes silently greeting him. A faint smirk made Tim’s heart jump and departed the court room discreetly.

To learn more about Mr. Hawkins Fuller, Tim, during his breaks, lounged his knowledge into the biographical register. Being a part of Senator Smith’s supporters and closest ally, he was able to understand why he was in the room. He also looked up the man’s education at Penn State, was at one point an excellent tennis player as well as serving under the military during World War II. He worked in the State Department in the Bureau of Congressional Relations for the last two years. Tim observed one of Hawk in his military outfit as if he was an Adonis statue in a museum. Debonair and respected by peers and superiors, there was something deep about him alluring Tim. It could be due to his seniority, whether it was professionally or sexually. Even though he was nervous on meeting him anywhere in the building, he liked to think maybe whatever they did last night would continue. Regardless of the silent courting, the man probably hasn’t figured out about Tim’s identity but if he did, he wouldn’t dare try. He knew the consequences and with a single status, any woman would’ve dreamed to have him as a husband.

Tim’s shift ended at around eight and bids good night to Jean Kerr who was planning an evening out with Senator McCarthy once he finished a meeting with Roy Cohn. Tim took note of a growing relationship between the two, coming from work associates to potentially romantic partners. While Tim looked up to him, she was significantly the most supportive, given how long she worked under him. He just never expected there would be any mutual attractions at all.

Another aspect he didn’t expect was the snowfall tonight, occurring right when he got out. He had planned to walk home, albeit cold outside, but the wind blew wildly than yesterday. He could call for a cab, but another staff had taken one parked up front. Catching a second one would mean walking through the streets a couple of blocks down. It’s too late for a bus ride as the one stationed nearby had already passed its stop. Tim rubbed his hands together in attempt to warm them before tucking one in his coat pocket. Just then, a vehicle pulled close to where Tim stood without the young man noticing it.

 “Mr. Laughlin,” came in the familiar voice. Tim was surprised when he spotted the car whose window was lowered.

“Evening, Mr. Fuller,” Tim responded as he attempted to avoid Hawk’s beautiful eyes.

“Heading home already?”

“Yes, I am. I’m planning to catch a taxi on my way out.”

“It’s going to take a while for you to catch one. Can I give you a lift?”

“No,” Tim squeaked loud for their ears but not enough to reach outside of their conversation. Hawk was quite left stunned, making the younger man feel remorse. “I’m sorry. Thank you for offering.”

“Please, Mr. Laughlin. To save your time from the weather.”

As much as Tim tried to convince himself that Hawkins Fuller wouldn’t be interested in him, he couldn’t help but be drawn to him. It’s clear he was inevitably in his mind and after all that research, there was so much more he wanted to know of him. Tim simply nodded, prompting the older man to unlock the passenger door.

“Where do you live?” Hawk asked as he moved the car.

“North of here. Right when you reach the stoplight, take a right.”

Throughout the drive, it remained silent between the two. For Tim, he’d like to keep it that way. When I fall in Love by Doris Day and her voice resonates the beautiful evening and snowflakes falling like shooting stars. It felt too appropriate, with Tim tempted to glance over at Mr. Fuller. His blueberry eyes appeared vibrant crossing any streetlights and headlights from other cars passing by. His neckline was clean, smooth jawline to sculpt his alluring face. Tim’s heart slowly builds its beat as he maintained his composure.

“Do you normally get involve in the proceedings?” Hawkins asked, his eyes still on the road.

“Oh, not a lot. Ms. Kerr is usually in charge of that and I’m mostly in the office. I volunteered to do so.”

“You don’t sound pleasant.”

“Admittedly, I don’t really enjoy it.”

“No one does.”

“But the threat of communism is real, Mr. Fuller. If nothing is done, Stalin’s plan for world domination is nigh.”

The car soon stopped at a red light, pulling Hawkins’ attention towards the young man. “I’m attentive to whomever works under Senator McCarthy, how did I miss you?” asked Hawkins.

“I’ve started working under the senator for several months now as a junior assistant,” Tim responded. “I’ve gotten involved in his election which caught Ms. Kerr’s attention.”

“You’re determined to make a world a better place,” smirked Hawkins.

“Are you making fun of me, Mr. Fuller?”

“Down, boy.” Internal shudders vibrated across Tim’s body, recalling the pet name from last night. “As a matter of fact, I’m intrigued. It’s not everyday anyone involves themselves in politics for a noble cause.”

Tim thought of thanking him—it was a nice compliment—but that would make his blushing cheeks far noticeable. The car proceeds and Tim directs the older man to drive two blocks and then left. “As you have too, for a war hero.”

“So, you’ve known about me.” It wasn’t a question but a sign of interest.

“I looked you up in the biographical register. You served during World War II and was closely affiliated with Senator Smith. I suppose it was through him you were able to find a job in the government. But also studying at Penn state with a political degree increased the chances of hiring you.”

“Did you memorize all of my entry?”

“I need to have some knowledge on my colleagues.”

“How did you know Mary?”

“She and I became close friends since I started working here. She’s very nice.”

“And a hard worker.”

The address was nearby but it seemed like an eternity. Not that Tim complained, this was the closest to talking to his mysterious phantom. Tim then presumed, “You were at the court room supporting Senator Smith. He’s a noble man and I respect that.”

“I owe him my life,” Hawkins spoke. “And I need to keep my news up to date.”

“I see.”

The car soon drove up to Tim’s apartment and parked beside the staircase. Unbuckling his seatbelt, Tim thanked, “Thank you, Mr. Fuller.”

“Please, Hawk,” Mr. Fuller replied.

“Hawk.”

“Before you leave, give me your number. You know in case I hear of anything in the making the world safe for democracy department.”

Tim opened his briefcase to snatch a small shred of paper and pencil. Jotting his pencil, he noted his phone number before passing it to Hawk.

“Drive safely,” Tim said as he got out of the car. “And happy holidays, Hawk.”

“Take care of yourself.”

Tim smiled warmly before going up the stairs to his home. Opening the door, he looked behind one last time, just to meet Hawk’s charming smile before going inside. As for Hawk, while he settled in to drive home, he went for the glove compartment for a cigarette. Popping it open, his hand grabbed the white mask beside the box. Swan themed and elegant, he picked it up at the club after pursuing the belle of the club. It wasn’t normal for Hawk to pine over someone he solely met—he habitually fucks and moves on—but the swan remained stuck to his memory. Struck by his beauty and grace, Hawk had been distracted from his usual activities at work to try and figure out his identity. But now, there was no question about it;  Tim Laughlin was his beautiful boy. His Skippy. 

            Putting his cigarette box and lighter into his coat pocket, Hawk shifted his car to the sidewalk across the apartment and parked. He knew he had some business to work on the evening but those can wait. He needed to return a lost item as he exited his vehicle.

Chapter Text

The blue sky stood radiant on a summer’s day, more vibrant than usual. Not a speck of clouds dusting the scenery, dismissing any chances of rain or any dreary event. The trees and buildings followed by flashing out their style like they were strutting the fashion runaway. Texture, color, and shape; things to behold for its audience. The golden star above and an island of the wild yonder glistened and too blinding to discreet its core. However, unlike its rival, it’s untouched and makes it presence known. Its rays scorch the summertime, adding more heat to the atmosphere. Whether it may be the grass or the sidewalk, the cinders burn every touch displayed at its view. The reflection on the pool surface creates blankets of diamonds as the lapis lazuli air gives the clear liquid its cast. It was soon disturbed by an intruder entering the premises, resonating ripples across the horizon. Hiding his eyes behind a pair of amber sunglasses, Khan Noonien Singh protects his vision from the ludicrous vibrancy but distracts himself by staring at the intruder.

            Resting on a bench with only a white shirt, top two unbuttoned, and dark trunks without shoes, Khan enjoyed a book on Botticelli paintings alongside his isolation and nature’s soundtrack tuning into his ears. The gushing water, wind rustling towards the trees, and the birds singing their summer melodies, it all happened in the backyard of the Perlman’s summer home. Admittedly, at first, he wasn’t fond of the season; disliked the sunshine and preferred the days when dreadful storms conquered. It wasn’t because he compared himself to the winter, but he had accepted the evenings where the enigma roamed. The darkness which blinded his heart for so long without an inch of sparkling stars to decorate. Instead, the ebony clouds embracing his judgment while the heartless nightmares crawl into his dreams. He surrounded himself with shadows all his life that he wasn’t sure how to mingle with the light. It was like a stranger he saw many times but never had the intention of getting to know. Solely embracing the war and bloodshed like ice and snow of a harsh winter.

            It had been three weeks since Khan Noonien Singh became an apprentice to Anchise, an old gardener for the Perlman estate. It was a lovely villa, build with ancient light brown walls, vines entangled and ornamented, red bricked rooftop and a garden full of peaches, pomegranates, and cherries. It was a safe place for a meditation of a sort, natural rivers swooning from the mountains, and with a small town residing nearby, it felt like a good place to settle. Additionally, it was refreshing for Khan to see how some precincts continue the vintage culture rather than the new technology. It helped remind him of the period he was born in before being cryonically frozen for three hundred years. And given his rogue status from the eyes of Starfleet, the location was perfect, far from their jurisdiction.

The father was an archaeology professor and an eccentric fellow hailing from a humble origin. When Khan first met him in a bookshop, Mr. Perlman was willing to allow the man to stay at the villa. He taught Khan the artifacts found on ocean and earth, from statues to vases with art implemented on the surface. The mother was a translator, reserved and observant. Her voice was as gentle as a feather when he listened to her translate books written in various languages, including those long forgotten. She helped the maid, Mafalda, harvest fruits from the garden. Khan, from time to time, assisted the women when it comes to large amounts.

And then, there was the son.

Elio, as Khan captured his name, was their only child. At age seventeen, he had brown curls, enchanting skin like the milky way and the shape of his body thin as the stems of a white lily. His lips colored by thousands of poppies where he spoke such intelligent vocabulary like his parents. The boy was quiet and studious, burying himself in his music sheets which he played on the piano or guitar. He reads a collection of poetry, romantic fiction, and philosophy from his father’s library. Yet a hint of pubescent purity uncovered in his jade green eyes. He was willing to mingle with his peers in the town, either swimming on the river or going out on night clubs. Khan met the boy upon arriving at the villa when he caught him sitting on the bench. Reading and plucking grapes out of the fruit bowl in front of him, their eyes met briefly. The boy smiled before returning to his novel. Summer was his spotlight, casting the winter away into the distance.

For the most part, Khan was occupied with his duties as an apprentice and kept his distance from the young Perlman. There were days, however, when the two talked and they were about any subject that came into their minds. Elio hardly ventured out of the village and listened to folks who had gone to the cities. Khan explained the kind of material and culture that astray the natural beauty surrounding the atmosphere. Buildings were sleek, transportations included spaceships, technologies were extremely necessary, and how it became anyone’s dream to become an explorer for Starfleet. Khan did his best not to bring up the organization; it only brought a distasteful reminder of how much exploitative they can be. Besides, it meant nothing and could’ve ruined a beautiful moment.

Elio swam upon the pool, an abandoned trough, swiftly like a mermaid. Water dripped down from his curls and washed his skin; several droplets stuck to him like embellished crystals. When he rose up, his hands wandered around his body and slicked his moistened hair. His Jewish necklace caught on his lips, playfully nibbling on it before it slid down to his neck. Comparing to the paintings from Botticelli, he was one of their angels brought to life by Pygmalion. Khan found it difficult to focus on admiring art when he noted a pair of legs kicking out from the surface. Discreetly his eyes followed the young boy who pulled himself off and sat on the ledge. His blue trunks drenched as he reached for a towel to dry himself. For once, Khan felt intimidated but not because he hadn’t felt intimacy in a long time. It was because of how much was binding him towards the boy. Much like Gustav von Aschenbach to the young Tadzio, Khan couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

Whenever Khan had to fulfill tasks for Anchise—requiring him to visit the town—the superhuman took every opportunity to make sure it coincides with Elio’s travel. With his feet like a ballerina’s and sensuality of the heated atmosphere, Elio strolled down the street. A cigarette puffed smoke from his mouth, his backpack carrying his belongings and dark sunglasses to protect his eyes from the sun. His bike trailed alongside him as he pulled it, parking it beside a store or café he’d stop by. Sometimes, he ran into a close friend, Marzia, and spend hours in a conversation. Strangely, Khan’s jealousy wasn’t influenced by the girl’s presence but rather the older men eyeing on the beautiful boy. The brash kinds who weren’t hesitant on taking advantage of the young boy. At any spot or corner, the superhuman listened to the vulgarity ranging from puttano or prosituto. One pissed Khan off by suggesting, “Pensi che sia stato deflorato?”  However, Elio remained oblivious—but not entirely—as a hostile Khan became a looming threat to his rivals, terrifying them with warnings of imminent death if they should lay a hand on Elio Perlman.

“Are you enjoying the book?” Elio suddenly asked, pulling Khan’s focus back to the present. He looked up from the visual novel to stare at the teenager resting on the stones. The towel was underneath to cushion his skin from the hot surface, facing up the bright sky. He puts on a pair of dark sunglasses to protect his eyes from the shining sun.

“I am,” Khan fixed his throat. “A bit.”

“Is it getting boring?”

“No. As a matter of fact, it’s interesting.”

“Like?”

“Early Renaissance in Italian art portray the human body in a realistic and dramatic detail. The body is perfectly modeled and explicit, not minding the nudity. But the muscle is thorough along with the facial expressions. The background is hardly the focal point unless interconnected with the humans. It must be. People are more interested in what is laid out in front.”

“I suppose but I understand it more if it was a statue. The seasons, locations, and features are recognized and help define the mood of the painting.”

“I concur when it comes to Botticelli. He relied on the grace of his models and the hues outlining the painting were paler, giving more of a linear element in the figurines.”

            Elio smirked, “And you said you never visited an art museum in your life.”

            “Your father’s teachings were informative.”

            A pause shifted on; Elio quickly glanced to the man whose eyes were on the book. “The picture, for example, what does it tell you?” he asked.

Khan stared below at the portrait of St. Sebastian, a saint and martyr executed for converting his fellow Roman soldiers to Christianity. Hands strapped to a wooden pole; the man was stripped to a white loincloth, leaving little to the imagination. Arrows shot by his executioners impaled segments of his body, blood dripping out as the scenery translates his despair. Although the man remained dignified and calm, never ruining his beauty and clarifying his lack of regret.

“Humiliation, anguish,” Khan replied. “But most of all, sensual.”

The man shuts the book, putting his entire focus on the boy who continued to sunbathe. Sitting up, he tossed the item on the chair before walking towards Elio. Looking below, he admired the young boy’s position, blocking the golden light and emerged as a shadow. The boy was a statue…no, Saint Sebastian himself. Freed by Irene of Rome and laid on display for all to see a survivor of a vicious punishment. However, Khan only admired the alluring attributes presented to him. He knelt for a close view, angling the traces of minimal muscle found on the boy’s body. Hair on the skin behaved like peach fuzz, shaping the smooth texture altogether. The chest raising high and low, measuring the boy’s breathing. His nipples, small but delicious, appealed to Khan’s tongue as the lips were for the mouth. Reaching with his fingertips, he softens the shape of those pink lips. Soft as pillows, Elio opened his mouth slightly to give Khan more access to his mouth albeit playfully. His tongue faintly licking the man’s fingers as a gasp escaped. A voice of an angel, it enticed Khan even more.

The man removed his fingers and instead, gently trapped Elio by placing his hands on either end. Temptation brewed and the warmth of the season encouraged it. Elio was encouraging it, never questioning, or bothering to run away. The boy was no fool; he was aware of Khan’s growing interest in him and vice versa. Khan wasn’t willing to show it yet.

Instead, his lips land a kiss on the boy’s neck. He wanted to start there, and Elio moved his head to expose the nape on the neck to his admirer. Khan savored the leftover water silking the skin and avoided using his teeth. He didn’t dare try to place a marking on the boy, no matter the temptation. He raised his lips onto the boy’s ear, whispering, “Put your hands behind your back.”

Elio obliged, sneaking his hands away from view. A faint smile grew on his delicious lips but not yet, Khan reminded himself. He bookmarked the trail onto the collar bone, going towards the breastbone aligning upon his chest. Beginning with the right nipple, he took it whole. Welcoming it, he traced it around with his tongue; first licking the areola and sucking it. Elio squirmed, delivering small gasps; Khan spoke, “Keep still.” He soon preceded to give the left one the equal treatment.

“Khan…” Elio moaned.

Khan seemingly ignores him as his kisses ran down his stomach. Tickling him around the belly button, Elio giggles which made Khan’s heart jump. The laughs turned into moans—the bird’s music upon the tree of sex—once Khan reached for his shorts, housing his hardened cock. Outlining the bump, Khan pressed onto the surface with small kisses.

“Khan…”  

The superhuman smirked, concealing the building desire beginning to erupt inside of him. Listening to the boy’s desperate plea to be liberated, to be ravaged and spent every lingering thread of his purity. Khan had captured him under his spell.

“Not yet,” he spoke.

Finally, using his hands, Khan ripped away the boy’s trousers, revealing his cock impatiently waiting to be teased. Luscious like a delicious fruit with its juice milking out of its tip, Khan smirked, and an increasing hunger rumbled inside of him as he discarded the shorts onto the pool. Elio’s cheeks reddened like the pomegranates of the garden, embarrassed of exposing his depravity to the man in front. He broke the rule and cowered his face with his hands, turning away from Khan. A flower reverting himself to a bud.

“Elio,” Khan called his name. “If you don’t like it, tell me to stop.”

“Don’t stop,” Elio replied.

“You must look at me and tell me the truth.”

Elio shook his head faintly. Khan lets go of the trousers and leaned towards his beautiful boy. He doesn’t try to force the boy to remove his hands as a concerned look grew on his face.

“Elio?” Khan pleaded. “I never intended to shame you.”

“I know,” he sighed. “It’s just that I have been admiring you since you got here. I knew you have been following me each time I had gone into town. But I had been seeing you while you were with Anchise. I fucked myself in my bedroom, thinking of ways I wanted you to take me. To kiss me and hold me in your arms. It’s all fantasy so it’s overwhelming to feel it coming true.”

Khan was astounded listening to this confession but the reason being he wasn’t alone in that line of thinking. He only wondered how long and how much of it he remained oblivious.

“Thank you for telling me this,” Khan responded. “Now shall we begin?”

Elio paused for a minute before his hands moved away from his face, taking his sunglasses off in the process. He lifted himself a bit to meet with Khan; the gap between them heavily anticipates roping the equal intimacy together. The Ganymede of Italy, Khan thought. Perhaps even more beautiful than Zeus’s favorite, transforming the golden drink into an envious green like the boy’s eyes.

“Kiss me,” Elio commanded.

Khan closed the space, relishing on Elio’s rosy lips. Sweet and soft like heaven, it humbled his heart and soul. He held the teen’s cheek to bring the kiss deeper. It was everything Khan could’ve imagined about the Perlman boy. When their lips parted, the two gazed for a moment—Elio giving his permission—as Khan inserted two fingers into Elio’s mouth. Without guessing, Elio sucked on it, moaning silently as he coated the fingers in his saliva. Once Khan pulled out, Elio returned to his position, closing his eyes when meeting the sun.

“I used my fingers,” Elio admitted. “I sometimes would steal your shirt just so I can carry your scent. But I tried not to smudge it even though part of me wanted you to see my markings.”

Khan meanwhile spread Elio’s legs wide enough for him to rest in between. For his hands that is, as his saliva coated fingers kindly tempted Elio’s hole. Drawing circular motions and massaging it, Elio’s moans steadily grew as well as his breaths. Without hesitation, Khan inserted the two fingers inside of him, keeping his attention upon the squirming teenager.

“Such perversion,” Khan grinned. “What else have you done?”

“I-I…” Elio moaned, feeling the fingers pulling in and out of his hole. Not to mention Khan’s tongue licking Elio’s right ear. “I pretended not to notice you when you take off your shirt. Or when I accidentally stepped in the bathroom while you were showering.”

“Accidentally? Or intentionally?

“I-Intentionally.”

Khan couldn’t stop grinning, getting turned on by this revelation. His hardened cock, through the fabric of his trunks, rubbed against Elio’s. The boy’s hole soon began to swallow Khan’s finger the deeper the submersion was. It reminded him of the time he discovered Elio skinny-dipping on the lake. Presenting himself in the way he was and discarded his shorts on the shore beside his backpack, shoes, and bicycle. Behind a nearby tree, Khan masturbated in silence; however, he wasn’t willing to share that memory.

Elio’s back curved, Khan lowered his attention to his nipples while his fingers pressured on. Elio tried to decrease the volume of his moans, not wanting to attract any attention from the villa’s residents. Khan assisted by kissing him, silencing the noise no matter how much he wanted to hear his voice.

“Khan, I need to come. I’m gonna come,” moaned Elio through the kiss.

“How soon?”

“I’m close.”

“Perfect.” Khan paused and released his fingers from Elio’s hole. The dampened sound of the cum soaked in his fingers mixed with Elio’s breaths echoed between the two. Before Elio had time to process, Khan lifted his legs up and folded him to where his knees met his shoulders. Elio’s summer eyes widened, watching the superhuman place his hands onto his ass. His thumbs pulled the cheeks apart to unveil the wet hole where he shoved his tongue within like a slithering snake. Khan rapidly licked the remnants of an impending mount of rich cream ready to escape. It was like drinking the peach juice he had for breakfast except richer and bliss. Elio reached ecstasy, trapping his mouth with his hands, and coming at last. His cock spilled some in his stomach meanwhile Khan gathered the rest, basking it all like a kitten drinking a whole milk bowl. Elio exhaled, taking everything in and Khan gestured one final kiss to the hole before lowering his legs gently. He seized the rest of the semen with his tongue, tasting everything belonging to Elio.

Exhausted, Khan nestled beside Elio whose only strength weighed on the kisses he delivered to the older man. The boy shimmied his hands onto the man’s chest, cuddling with him and resting his head on the man’s collar.

Khan stared below to his trunks, raising the waistband of the fabric and chuckled, “I came as well.”

Digging his hand into his shorts, he lubricated his palm with his semen. Lifting it up carefully, he brings it to Elio. “Taste it,” he offered.

Elio groaned as he licked Khan’s semen from the hand, tasting a part of Khan. He was like a beggar given a plate of food and gobbled it all as if his life depended on it. Khan smiled upon seeing the corrupted youth as he raised him by the chin. The boy’s eyelashes flapped like a butterfly’s wing, his cheeks intensely flushed, his lips moistened in his cum, and as Khan checked below, hard again.

“I want to continue this in your bedroom. Will you let me carry you?” Khan insisted.

“Yes please,” Elio replied.

Khan sealed the approval with a kiss, tugging the towel underneath as he carried Elio bridal style. Elio hid his face onto the man’s chest, giving small kisses of worship and pleas. He covered the boy’s cock with the towel as no one shall see it but himself and walks towards the house. The summer breeze howled from behind, prompting the Botticelli novel to open its bookmarked page, Saint Sebastian.  

Chapter Text

The only thing Ahkmenrah loved about Egypt was the beautiful sunset surfacing over the horizon of the barren land. It was as pink as the jewels in the family’s bountiful treasure, gold as the sea of grains, and grand as the pyramids where the sun displayed its final hour of glory. The impending night hovers in the background like a gigantic blanket steadily covering any inch of nature’s light. He had always thought the night was blue, quite darker than the daylight but far decorated with the twinkling stars shining above like sugar cubes and the full moon brilliant to be the midnight’s sun. However, for tonight, there were hardly any sight of stars or the moon but instead dark clouds spreading alongside it. Save for the torches burning outside where each soldier stood his post. Instead of blue, the evening grew pitch black as the statue of Anubis who howled for the dead. It was an unfortunate color, dare say an oracle from the gods. He couldn’t have any comfort from the cold wind chilling his skin; no emotion as it remains silent and heartless for nightmares to crawl into Ahkmenrah’s dreams. The young pharaoh prayed for Bes and Tutu as the shadows lurked around anxiously waiting for Ahkmenrah to embrace them as they are.

            Ahkmenrah woke up to the sudden sounds of his door opened by a crack. The white doors, powerful and grand, were breached by a small gap easy enough for one individual to pass. He gasped, sitting up from his bed and clutched the white silk sheets. His deshret sat on a pedestal beside his bed while his usekh, cloth belt and shawl cape hung nearby, leaving him vulnerable with only his shendyt. His two pet cats, Nefertiti and Nile, were sleeping close to him in their own bed. Part of him believed one of his servants briefly came in or that his father was sent a soldier to guard the interior of his son’s bedroom. He knew his father can be overprotective and by telling him of the omen only increased his concerns. However, he would’ve heard voices reassuring his safety, convincing him to return to his slumber. He heard nothing but the evening wind and it elevated his distress.

            Getting out of bed, Ahkmenrah proceeded towards the doors while still holding onto the sheets like a security blanket. The young pharaoh peeked outside his door, checking to see for any suspicious activity. The hallways were strangely dark, without a single torch lit and heavily relying on the moonlight gleaming outside. He was hoping to at least receive a notice from a guard, but nothing came. It should’ve concerned him but for some reason, Ahkmenrah thought nothing of it before closing the door. A sigh escaped from his breath, releasing the tension writhing his muscles and mind. He had hoped to go back to bed and rest up for the following dawn to another fulfilling day.

            At least that was what he thought before experiencing a sharp pain jerking his back. He gasped in agony, grimacing but his voice was silenced upon feeling a hand in his mouth. Something was pulled out of him—it felt excruciatingly painful somehow—and was sheathed again into another part of his back. Ahkmenrah yelped, his hands scrunched and pounded on the door to try make an alternative sound. Pulled away from potential salvation, the weakened pharaoh was tossed to the ground. Grunting, Ahkmenrah turned around to see a familiar shadow emerging towards the white light with a sword, the murder weapon, drenched in his blood.

            “Pathetic! Father was wrong about choosing you as ruler of Egypt! Look at you! Still a child!” scowled the figure, unveiling to be none other than Kahmunrah, his older brother. Technically, half-brother, being born from one of his father’s mistresses.

            “K-K-Kahmunrah?” croaked Ahkmenrah. “B-But why?”

            “Isn’t it obvious? The throne belonged to me until you stole my birth right!” At first, he was the successor to ruling Egypt before the Queen gave birth to Ahkmenrah when his older brother turned five. Either way, father never approved of Kahmunrah’s arrogant behavior.

            “You’re insane!” cried Ahkmenrah.

            “May be so but I’m doing a favor for the gods.”

            As the sadistic elder brother sauntered towards the helpless Ahkmenrah, the latter attempted to evade from the monstrous traitor. This incredibly jealous-riddled brother who, from the remained of his life, was eclipsed by the young pharaoh’s greatness. Receiving the people’s respect, his parents’ love, and spotlight, Kahmunrah’s hatred turned to a murder scheme. Ahkmenrah, while crawling away, tried to scream out for help. For guards, for his parents—even if it meant it would be the last time he would see them. Unfortunately, his murderer latched onto his mouth, gripping tightly as he pulled him towards the bed. The younger brother feebly hit Kahmunrah, experiencing blood loss pouring out of his back and his frail muscles dying out.

When pinned upon his bed, Ahkmenrah felt tears streaming down his cheeks as terror dragged his entire body. His heart wrenched by this betrayal not because he wasn’t expecting it but because deep down, he wanted to get along with Kahmunrah. He wasn’t oblivious by how much the latter hated him yet his naiveness believed the two could’ve made Egypt prosperous. He thought of his parents, the hopeless image of being separated by death even with the gift of the golden tablet in his possession. Strangely, at age seventeen, he felt like he had experienced everything and willingly faced Osiris in the afterlife as the crook and flail ornamented in his tomb.

“Farewell, brother,” Kahmunrah replied, and his dagger sank deep into the dying young pharaoh.

****

Ahkmenrah gasped, opening his eyes to a vision of eternal darkness. His hands slamming against the hard interior of his sarcophagus and his chest heaving in and out. Although the waking hour was over, remnants of nightfall prevailed to give him life. young pharaoh attempted to lift the lid, but it wouldn’t stir; he began to panic.

“Larry! Mother! Father! Help!” screamed Ahkmenrah. However, he seemed to forget that he was in London after his visiting tour in New York was over. He had forgotten that Tilly locked the sarcophagus after she and Lancelot escorted him back to his chambers. She still couldn’t grasp about his claustrophobia, let alone the fact that he couldn’t get out on his own. Soon enough, the fear further increased as tears streamed below his eyes like rainfall.

“Help! Please!” he continued to cry. “Somebody, please!”

Through the constant bangs he inflicted on the coffin, Ahkmenrah turned his head to the left and repeatedly cried for aid. It only reminded him of the dark days in New York when he remained trapped while everyone else had their freedom to roam around the hallways. They were lied to by the previous security guards that he was a dangerous and ruthless artifact. He remembered how much distress he felt before Larry and his son released him.

“Help! Help! Please!”

Just then, metallic noises clanged from the outer perimeter and drew closer to his casket. Ahkmenrah’s heart jump, not because someone answered his pleas but because he knew exactly who it was. Without hesitation, the lid began to shake and shifted off for Ahkmenrah to be greeted by the museum’s lights. Ahkmenrah sat up and gasped, relieved from the stuffy environment and welcomed back the outside air. His hands firmly gripped the outline of his casket, his body stiffened with terror and black droplets of his ruined eyeliner dripped below.

“My King! Are you alright?” a handsome British voice asked the frightened pharaoh.

Ahkmenrah glanced to his left to meet Lancelot’s worried expression. His helmet tossed to the side nearby as the man slightly drew breaths through his nose. It was obvious he ran from the Arthurian exhibit over to his. He could’ve come up with a quip, but his blank mind melted away the words from his mouth. For now, he was glad his knight had come as he embraced him. Ahkmenrah sobbed, hiding his face upon the pauldron while Lancelot comforted him. He pressed a kiss on the Egyptian’s hair before resting his chin on top and his steel gauntlets softened his lover’s warm body.

“I’m sorry, Lancelot. I…I…” Ahkmenrah wept.

“You mustn’t apologize, love. I heard your voice and came as fast as I could,” Lancelot responded. “It’s all right.”  

“I…I dreamt about my death.”

Lancelot gazed down at his distressed pharaoh who continued to cover his face from his knight. “I saw everything,” Ahkmenrah continued. “Felt everything. How scared I was, knowing I wouldn’t see mother and father again and seeing the hatred my brother had on me.”

Lancelot remembered asking Larry about Ahkmenrah’s family line, bringing up Kahmunrah whom the latter met at the Smithsonian. The self-centered and entitled royal was the black sheep of the family, wanted absolute power and was responsible for trying to take over the world by stealing the tablet. Although Larry reassured the knight that the cursed pharaoh was casted forever in the underworld, it gave more reason for Lancelot to keep his guard up and protect Ahkmenrah at all cost.

“He killed me. Kahmunrah. It was in the middle of night, and I tried to escape. But I was so terrified. The stab wounds, the blood, everything. I can’t. The whole memory is still stuck in my head.”

Witnessing Ahkmenrah crumbling in such distress, Lancelot’s heart ached. The young pharaoh was kind, true and sarcastic at times; he couldn’t imagine how someone so dastardly could harm him.

“My King,” Lancelot soothed the Egyptian teenager. “Ahkmenrah.”

His hands gently held the pharaoh’s face, raising his attention upon the British man’s azure eyes. His dark eyeliner was smudged with tears, Lancelot’s thumb wiped them away; Ahkmenrah felt slightly embarrassed to have his lover see his ruined make up. He attempted to look away but was convinced otherwise when Lancelot spoke, “Please.” His knight gave him a kiss, softened his weakened heart as a floral-colored blush warmed his cheeks. His fingers entangled onto Lancelot's golden hair meanwhile the knight's hands moved from his face to softly squeezing his shoulders. If the time limit wasn’t a problem, they would’ve had no problem remaining in each other’s arms.

Once their lips parted, Lancelot proceeded, “It was a nightmare. But all of that will never happened to you. Not while I’m here.”

“I’m just worried about Kahmunrah finding his way here and trying to steal the tablet. He’ll destroy father, mother, and you. That is something I cannot bear.”

“My King, do you remember my vow? I pledged my mind, body, and soul to you for as long as I remain in your company. If Kahmunrah somehow escaped the underworld and dares to step foot in this museum, I will make sure he doesn’t harm you and your family. I will protect you with all my might.”

Ahkmenrah smiled gracefully but hesitation continued to brew.

“But if you feel you cannot rest peacefully until the evening,” Lancelot then added.  “I shall be right here.”

“But what about..?”

“Don’t worry about me. I am your knight, and I shall always be by your side.”

Lancelot pressed a gentle kiss on Ahkmenrah’s lips, calming the latter’s worries. Their forehead touched and the tip of their noses pecking each other; it was everything the young pharaoh needed to get by. His brown eyes soon glanced behind his lover, noticing a speck of dawn rising upon the window. The knight, never needing to look back, obliged, “One more kiss before we sleep.” Ahkmenrah gave his knight the last kiss before he comfortably returned to his sarcophagus. The two lovers exchanged glances as Lancelot said, “I love you, my King.”

“I love you too, my knight,” smiled Ahkmenrah, closing his eyes as Lancelot closes the lid.

Camelot’s greatest knight put on his helmet and stood up right next to his lover’s sarcophagus. Pulling out his sword, Lancelot got into a guarding position just as the glowing sunrise began to hit the floors of the museum. Warm and bright, Lancelot returned to his wax state with the final thought being about his beloved Ahkmenrah.

When the museum opened, everyone but Tilly were curious as to how a medieval knight landed beside an Egyptian tomb.