Tales from the Garden

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Daffodil Dreams (Coral Island fanfic, current wip)

Right?

They laid on their bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was early morning, and he’d had another sleepless night. No dreams, no nightmares. Just a whole lot of nothing, like usual. He shifted on the bed and looked around his room, studying the things that belonged to him.

Or that he thought belonged to him. When Jericho had found him, he was sixteen and walking through the hot Colorado summer heat, no shoes and only a pair of sweats on. When he tried to think harder, squeezing his eyes shut until the blackness behind his eyes made him dizzy, he could only remember the heat, the pain on the bottom of his feet, and how dry their mouth felt.

Nothing before that.

Seven sighed, sitting up and draping his legs over the side of the bed. They ran a hand over their face, scrubbing the remnants of sleep away. They looked around the room again. There was a TV and a video game console. He liked playing games, especially those long ones with a story and a sole purpose.

Has he always enjoyed that? He seemed to just click while playing those kinds of games, as if muscle memory had taken over.

He bounced his leg anxiously. Seven had an insane photographic memory and keen eye for detail, always had since he was found. Why was it that he could remember the way people’s fucking shoes were laced but he couldn’t remember anything before the burning asphalt tore up his feet and the unforgiving sun charred his skin?

They looked at the many rings they wore. Rings that were gifted by their brothers, or their friends, and one ring in particular that he had in his pocket when he was found. It was a thick gold band with a large blue gem inlaid in it. Very gaudy and tacky looking, to be honest.

He rubbed his thumb over it, as if it were a crystal ball that would reveal his memories. Where did he get it? Why did he have it? Why was he keeping it, all these years later?

In ten years, he still had no fucking idea who he was. Why did he insist on being called Seven, instead of Abel? How did he even know his name was Abel? What did the name Seven mean to him?

Their mind was swirling around and around with question after question and driving him absolutely fucking insane. He fisted his hair and rocked forward, squeezing his eyes shut. “Come on, just remember. Remember, damn it! Remember,” he mumbled to himself.

He didn’t know how long he’d been like that before he heard a familiar voice calling out to him. “Seven?”

They sat up quickly, blue eyes wide as they met Whisper’s. “W-Whisper,” he greeted awkwardly.

She pushed his door open and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning her hip against the door frame as she looked at him in concern. Her head tilted slightly, those lavender strands of hers following the movement. “What, uh, whatcha up to, buddy?” she asked carefully.

His heart felt a jolt of pain at the worry in her eyes, even if her face was carefully schooled into that friendly neutral expression she always wore. Even when they were dating, she walked on eggshells like this around him. It made him feel bad, and also miss her—no, we’re not thinking about that again.

“Just… having a rough morning,” he said, looking down at his hands.

“Thinking too hard again?” she walked in, her boots making a soft thudding noise against the wooden floors. She sat down next to him on his bed. Even though they had broken up amicably, the two of them were still quite close.

“Yeah, I just…” Seven trailed off with a heavy sigh. “It’s been so long, Whisper, I don’t… I still feel… lost.”

Whisper frowned at him a bit, reaching out to rub his back in a soothing manner. “Have you ever thought about just… letting it go?” her voice was soft, the way she knew how he liked when he needed comfort.

They nodded dejectedly, “I can’t. It just doesn’t make sense. Why can I remember everything else but that?”

“Maybe it’s your brain’s way of protecting you, Sev,” she offered. “Maybe what was ‘before’ is too much right now. Maybe someday you’ll know.”

He was quiet for a moment. What if that were true? What if their past was so horribly awful and terrifying that his brain just didn’t want him to remember? What could be worse than the things they’ve done for the club already?

Seven thought about his revolver, his blue eyes traveling to the handgun on his nightstand. How were they so good at shooting, anyway? They were almost as good as Whisper herself, who was a deadshot at fifty yards for a moving target. Was it something trained into him? Did he have to survive some type of incomprehensible horrors before he wound up in Lone River?

What if he was actually some kind of super dangerous person? What if he ran away from a facility that was training him to be some sort of mercenary?

No, that was stupid. Now their mind was just making up silly fantasies.

… Right?

He shook his head. “What if it’s not? What if it’s just some stupid thing? What if I actually had a family who loved me and they just lost me?” he looked at her, his eyes pleading for that to be the truth.

Whisper pressed her lips together, the pain she felt for them obvious in her own mismatched eyes. “Sweetie,” she brushed her hand against his cheek. “Stop doing this to yourself. You’re killin’ me, seeing you like this.”

Seven suddenly pulled her into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around her petite frame. “I’m so scared, Sierra,” they mumbled, using her real name. “I’m so tired of being scared. I don’t dream. I don’t have nightmares. There’s nothing there.”

The idea that he was entirely a blank slate was probably even more terrifying than whatever trauma he could conjure up. At least bad memories were still memories.

Whisper held him closely as well, “I know.” She didn’t know what else to tell him.

This was something he had to figure out on his own. She couldn’t give them back their memories. She couldn’t piece things together for him. And she knew that, and it killed her, too. Even if they were just friends now, that… that loneliness and isolation he placed upon himself hurt her.

He let her go after a moment, leaning back on his bed. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll try to work on it.”

“It’s fine,” she said, patting his knee. “I need to get going. Just wanted to check on you.”

The door to the hotel room opened as Link stepped through with one of his friends and co-workers, Anna. Their laughter echoed in the large suite as the both of them dumped their belongings onto one of the tables and sat on the couch. As they both settled in, pulling their phones out and checking their influencer accounts, Link looked up and studied her face for a moment.

“He didn’t like… touch you inappropriately, right?” he asked.

Anna looked up and shook her head, “No, he wasn’t handsy at least.”

That made him feel better. While Anna was a model just like him, she was more of the ‘girl next door’, Plain Jane type. He felt awful for even thinking that, but she was beautiful in that way. Meanwhile, he was considered the very definition of ‘pretty boy’, with his blond hair and baby blue eyes and perfect skin.

He stretched out and sank into the couch, letting the silence settle between them. They always shared a room when they were going to be shooting in the same city. It was a way to keep themselves safe, and also not to get too lonely while away from their respective hometowns. One of his tattooed hands reached up to brush through his golden locks as he checked his messages.

He had thousands of DMs from creepy men wanting to get to know him. They were all purely based on the pictures he posted, and the music he shared. That same disjointed feeling settled into him.

wow ur hot let’s hook up

hey baby

why don’t you come to my flat?

such a pretty face deserves to be-

He didn’t finish reading that particular message. By now, his blocked section in his settings held almost the same number of followers he had, which were approaching a million. Even without his influencer status, people tended to recognize him because he had modeled for several large and popular clothing store brands. His face was in every city.

He only became more popular when he started modeling for makeup brands. He was always used as a testament to how well a foundation could provide coverage, given his heavily tattooed body. Link reached up to fiddle with one of his Dahlia piercings, sighing.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Anna glanced at him over her phone.

“Nothing, just… god, I am so tired of all these jerks in my DMs trying to hit on me,” he frowned.

“Any good ones?” she snickered softly.

He rolled his eyes, “Oh, just the usual. ‘You’re hot’, ‘let’s hook up’, ‘I know what that pretty face can be used for’.”

Anna faked a gag, “How do you handle it?” she asked.

“Block,” he snorted. “Instantly. Then just move on from it, I guess.”

“Yeah, but it’s gotta be eating away at you,” she said this in a thoughtless way, her eyes returning to her own phone. “I don’t even get nearly as many messages as you.”

Link clenched his jaw a bit. While he liked rooming with Anna, she… had a tendency to be catty like that. He suddenly wasn’t in the mood to sit in the shared space with her anymore, “I’m gonna shower and probably head down to the lounge. See what’s up.”

“Cool. Call me if you need help or something. I’ll be up for a few hours yet,” she waved him off.

Link walked to his room and closed the door, leaning against it. He tossed his phone on the dresser and headed to his bathroom, turning on the water in the large walk-in shower. Steam filled the room as he slowly undressed. He looked at himself in the mirror, leaning in close to examine his face.

Still perfect.

S t i l l p r e t t y.

With a scowl, he turned away and walked into the shower, wincing at first for how hot the water was, but then he relaxed. Twenty minutes later, he was out and putting on a new set of clothes. A pair of well-fitted dark blue jeans, a black mesh shirt, and a teal plaid flannel buttoned up halfway. He dug through his little bag of jewelry, pulling out a silver chain to wear around his neck. He also put on some rings; they helped if he had to defend himself from any ‘touchers’.

He walked back to the bathroom and combed out his hair, leaving it to air dry. Once he was finished, he put his boots back on, grabbed the switchblade he always carried, and made sure he had his phone and wallet. He left the hotel suite and headed down to the lounge where there was a bar and people to mingle with if he was so inclined.

It was busy, of course. It was Friday night at an expensive resort hotel after all. He waded through throngs of bodies pressing close to each other, the sound of music thumping against his sensitive eardrums. He located the bar and moved to an emptier side of it, sitting on the stool and leaning forward with his arms on the bar top.

It didn’t take long before the bartender came around, asking him what he’d like to drink. “Whiskey and ginger ale,” he said. He was feeling a little more down than usual tonight.

As the bartender moved away to make his drink, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw notifications for several new DMs. His full lips pursed together before he scoffed quietly and shoved the device back into his pocket. He wasn’t in the mood.

Once his drink was in front of him, he wrapped his slender hands around the glass, looking at the amber liquid inside. He took a slow drink, feeling the burn and fizz from the carbonation slide down his throat. His eyes were downcast as he tried not to focus on that disjointed feeling again.

Feeling like the whole world only saw him as eye candy. Someone spoiled with good looks and money to do whatever he wanted with. Someone who had no personality aside from pretty.

When all of it was far from the truth. So far he sometimes wondered what it would be like to reveal everything to the public. How he had been left on his father’s doorstep as a newborn and never knew his mother.

How his father had trained him in the art of combat using knives of different shapes and sizes. Crafting him into the perfect little killer he wanted him to be.

And how, after all that training, his father had abandoned him as well at fourteen. Leaving Lincoln Hayes to struggle to survive and to channel that training in order to get what he wanted and take care of himself.

He scoffed again, shaking his head, and took a larger drink this time.

“Oof, bad night, love?”

The familiar voice made him sit up straight and turn around with wide eyes. Behind him was a tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair that curled down around his neck. He had a hint of stubble on his face and kind brown eyes. “Ray,” he blinked. “What are you doing here?”

The man chuckled and walked forward to take a seat next to him, intentionally brushing his shoulder against the blond’s. “In town on business,” he said simply. “I know you like this chain of hotels, so I thought I’d stop by, see if you were here.”

“Oh…” Link turned back to looking down at the glass in his hands.

Ray was an affluent businessman who owned a chain of niche boutiques meant for the wealthy. They’d met when Ray hired Link for a modeling gig and became close during and after the shoot. They weren’t exactly a couple, but they weren’t… not a couple, either. It confused Link, but he didn’t want to trouble the older man with labels and questions.

He didn’t want to be that person.

Ray’s arm wrapped around Link, his hand rubbing the spot between his shoulder blades where he knew Link carried a lot of his stress. “Talk to me, love,” he said in that gentle but rumbling tone of his. “What’s going on?”

“I just… I don’t know. I’m wondering if modeling is even worth it anymore,” he admitted quietly.

“Why do you feel that way?” his friend—lover?—asked.

Link took another drink of his whiskey, thinking about it. “I feel like anyone who meets me just sees the ‘model’ and not ‘me’,” he stated, “and it… I don’t know. I sound like a child, but it hurts my feelings, you know? I’m not just a model…”

“You’re so much more than that,” Ray finished for him. He pulled the younger man against his side in a half-embrace, brushing his fingers through those soft golden tresses. “It’s not my place to say whether or not you should continue your work, but if you’re not finding joy in it anymore… then maybe it’s time for you to take a step back and re-evaluate what you want from yourself and out of life.”

He took in Ray’s words, his head resting against his shoulder, grateful for the comfort and attention he was giving him. If there was anyone in the world that he missed most when he was traveling to modeling jobs, it was Ray. The older man was always there for him when he was around, and not just in a physical way.

“… Thanks,” he murmured, “you always just show up and know what to say.”

“It helps when you always post about what city you’ll be working in,” Ray chuckled again, and the sound made Link close his eyes and wish he could wrap himself up in it.

“Stalker,” he mumbled.

Ray continued stroking his hair, a soft look on his face with a hint of amusement. “Only for you, love,” he murmured, turning to kiss the top of his head sweetly. “Would you like to come up to my room? Spend tonight with me.”

Link pulled away and looked at him, studying his face for a few seconds. “Are you just going to leave again in the morning like last time?” he knew he sounded like a spoiled brat, but he couldn’t help the way he wanted Ray to stay. Even if it was only temporary.

Ray moved his hand to pinch his cheek playfully, “Are you missing me that much?”

“Sugar, I miss you the moment you start walking away,” Link pouted, turning his face away.

“Hm,” Ray hummed, dropping his hand. He tilted his head, looking over Link’s sour expression. “Why don’t you leave with me? Accompany me on some business trips. Take a little break from all this. While you’re away, you can think more about what you want to do.”

Link looked at him in shock, his blue eyes widening. “Y-you mean that? Y-you want me… with you?” his tone was almost whisper-soft.

Ray smiled at him, nodded. “Guess I’ve been missing you just as much, love,” he reached for Link’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Link had to bite the inside of his lip to keep it from trembling. He looked away as his eyes became watery and gave a little nod, “… Yeah. I would love to join you.”

“Then it’s settled. We’ll collect your things from your room in the morning,” Ray got off the stool and gently pulled Link to his feet. “Come on, let’s get comfortable and watch a movie or something. Just relax tonight, okay?”

Verity’s shrill voice carried through the corridor, ringing in the ears of the housemaids as she shouted at her older sister. Ariadne flinched and sighed softly from the sitting room just a few feet away from the main hall where her sisters were arguing. She was the middle one of the three of them, the beautiful and sought after Greywind sisters from House Greywind. A family name as old as time itself and the very definition of “old money family”.

The short woman stood up, pulling the velvet purple cloak tight around her shoulders again and setting down her book. Just one evening of quiet is all I asked for… her thoughts were bitter as she went to find her sisters.

Nova was standing with her hand on her hip, her other hand holding a bag high out of Verity’s reach. Nova’s impressive height was something she used to her advantage often. Verity’s face was flushed red in anger and she looked like a petulant child throwing a tantrum, the way she was stomping her foot and crossing her arms.

When her gray eyes spotted Ariadne’s form, she stomped over and grabbed her older sister’s wrist and tugged on it, pointing at Nova. “Ariii,” Verity whined, using her doe-like eyes to plead with the short woman. “Nova stole my new clutch.”

“I did not!” Nova said fiercely. “I just bought this one, today.”

“Since when have you ever had a lick of fashion sense?!” Verity shot back.

Ariadne wanted to smack both of them upside the head for being so loud and disruptive. They knew better. It was quiet hours in the manor, for their father suffered chronic migraines in the evening. “Both of you knock it off, now!” she snapped quietly.

Both sisters straightened up and looked at her with apologetic expressions. “Sorry,” Nova mumbled, looking down and fidgeting with the zipper on the bag.

“Yeah, me too,” Verity said, letting go of her arm and sighing.

Ariadne ushered them both to sit on the couch, herself taking a seat between them. “Verity, when was the last time you saw your purse?” she asked.

“A week ago when I went out with that Scarsbee man,” Verity said, brushing back her short pale blue hair. “I came home and went to my room and left it on my vanity table and haven’t been able to find it ever since.”

Ariadne turned to Nova then, whose long indigo waves were drawn like a curtain around her features. “Nova, do you have the receipt for the bag you bought today?”

“Of course I do,” she snorted, opening the bag and pulling out a slip of white paper. She handed it to the middle sister, who looked it over.

“Mm, yeah, Verity,” she showed the receipt to her. “The date of sale is listed as today. This bag isn’t yours.”

Verity’s gray eyes squinted at the receipt, as if trying to find hints of forgery or tampering. Then she let out a long-suffering groan and fell back against the couch. “Okay, fine! But that still doesn’t solve my issue.”

“Your issue is that you’re a lawless spoiled brat,” Nova muttered, earning herself a painful nudge in the ribs by Ariadne.

“Enough, both of you. Nova, why don’t you go find something to do? I’ll help Ver find her purse.”

“Fine by me. Oh, and when you have the time, could you call the Dorsby house and let him know I’m not attending his banquet tonight?” Nova stood, pulling her own black cloak around herself and walking away without another word.

Ariadne reached up and rubbed her temple for a few seconds before turning to her younger sister. “Come on, let’s go to your room.”

…

“I’ve looked everywhere, Ari, it’s just not here!” Verity was whining again a few minutes later as she threw herself on her bed.

Ariadne ignored the younger woman’s whining and searched the area where her vanity table sat. “If you let the maids come in here, you’d be more organized and could find things better,” she chided. “Look at this mess on the table. You’re wasting makeup by letting it spill out everywhere!”

Verity just hugged a cylindrical pillow and pouted.

The middle sister’s keen yellow eyes swept over the surface, her hands picking through the items, checking behind and underneath things. When it was clear that the bag wasn’t in the heaping pile of feminine products, she checked the drawer. She thought it was ironic how clean and spotless the empty drawer was compared to the surface of the vanity.

She stood back a moment, planting her hands on her hips and glancing around the area. Her eye caught the glint of a gold chain slung over the mirror and disappeared behind it. As she walked up to it, she thought she’d caught a glimpse of a pair of glowing purple eyes in the mirror, hiding in the shadows of Verity’s bed canopy. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards and when she blinked, the eyes were gone.

Ariadne grabbed the thick gold chain, pulling it off the mirror. Lo and behold, on the other end of it was the exact bag the woman had been looking for. With one hand remaining on her hip, she turned and gave her sister a look. “It’s been here the whole time, Ver,” she said.

Verity’s face flushed in embarrassment, her pout lingering as her gray eyes flicked away. “Guess I forgot I changed the strap…” she mumbled.

Ari sighed and rolled her eyes, slinging the bag forward and tossing it onto the bed. “Use your brain next time. You know you’re not supposed to get Nova all worked up like that,” she chastised. “Come to me if you need help.”

Verity finally sat up on the bed and held the purse in her hands, fiddling with the zipper. Despite how often her sisters were at each other’s throats, the resemblance between them was plain as day to anyone else but them. It still shocked Ariadne when Verity would display the same little quirks Nova often had.

“Yeah, okay,” she said. “I’m sorry I made a scene.”

Ariadne’s expression softened. She walked over to the young woman and reached out with slender fingers, preening her hair and brushing it to the side. Something she always did out of habit, ever since they were young. She was the middle sister, the one that had to look after her younger sister since Nova made it very clear she wasn’t going to. But Nova had always been that way, and not in a selfish sense. She just couldn’t care for other people as well as Ariadne did.

And that was fine with Ari. She loved taking care of and helping her sisters, even if it was mentally and sometimes physically exhausting, always having to be the middle woman, the messenger, the one that smoothed things over. “Don’t worry about it,” she pulled her hand away. “I need to go take care of Nova’s thing now.”

“You’re always so helpful, you know?” Verity’s fond tone carried out the door after Ariadne had left.

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

“Yes… Mr. Dorsby? Good evening,” Ariadne stood at the manor’s house phone, twirling her finger around the chord. Her parents were always fond of vintage aesthetics and this rotary phone that still worked even now, in 2024, was a favorite item of theirs. “It’s Ariadne Greywind from House Greywind calling.”

“Ah, Miss Greywind. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” Mr. Dorsby was a middle-aged man with average looks and a wealth that almost rivaled theirs.

“I regret to inform you that Nova will not be attending your banquet this evening,” she said. “She’s down with an illness tonight.”

There was a heavy sigh that breathed in her ear, and she knew what was coming next. “What a shame… I was looking forward to having one of the prestigious Greywind daughters. I even bragged about it to my friends, you know. I planned a wonderful evening for her.”

Ariadne’s lower eyelid twitched, and she pursed her lips. “I do sincerely apologize, Mr. Dorsby. Perhaps-“

“Say, are you doing anything tonight?” he asked suddenly.

She slumped against the wall, “… I am not.”

“Why don’t you come in her place? You said you’re Ariadne, right? The middle daughter?”

“Yes, that’s correct, Mr. Dorsby.”

“Join me. I’ll have my driver come pick you up in, oh, say… Two hours? Is that plenty of time for you to get ready, Miss Greywind?” Dorsby’s voice sounded delighted.

Ariadne pinched the bridge of her nose, “That’s plenty of time. Thank you, Mr. Dorsby. I’ll see you in two hours’ time, then.”

“See you soon, dear.”

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

It was almost midnight by the time Ariadne was walking back up to House Greywind, her feet throbbing with pain and smelling like expensive colognes and cigar smoke. The banquet had been… alright, if not a bit stuffy. Many influential men and women were in attendance, and Ariadne herself was seated next to Mr. Dorsby the entire night. He had gotten loose-lipped and flattering with every scotch he drank as the night went on, but he was thirty years her senior.

She did her duties as best as she could, avoiding casual touches and questions with hidden implications. Not just from Mr. Dorsby, but from a whole slew of “eligible” bachelors that were in attendance. At the end of the night, when Dorsby had bid her farewell, he had expressed his appreciation for her attendance and apologized if anyone had made her uncomfortable, including himself.

Overall, it had been a good time, she thought. Not that she wanted to repeat the experience anytime soon, but she was glad she went in Nova’s place now. Nova wouldn’t have been able to stand so many people sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at a long table. At least with Ariadne there, she could continue to keep House Greywind’s reputation to high standards with her maturity and grace.

Once she was in her bedroom, she kicked off the heels that had been pinching her feet all night. She undressed completely and pulled on a pair of soft cotton pajamas. Ariadne sat at her vanity and removed the makeup she had applied earlier. Staring at herself in the mirror, with every swipe of the makeup wipe, she revealed pale patches that starkly contrasted her otherwise warm brown tone.

It’s not that she was ashamed of them, no. She only covered them up with makeup to avoid being stared at and being asked question after question of what afflicted her. It was Dorsby’s banquet, after all. Not Ariadne’s.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she told herself as she continued cleaning her face, frowning.

A little while later, she had turned out the lights and settled into her large plush bed, her yellow eyes glancing out her window. She could see a strip of night sky just barely, and she focused on that as her eyelids became heavier and heavier.

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

Some few minutes after she’d fallen asleep, she was woken up abruptly by feeling a presence plop onto her side and stomach, covering her legs as well. “Ari,” a voice whispered like smoke, wrapping around her and pulling her out of sleep. “Wake up, I’m lonely.”

Ariadne groaned and reached up to rub her eyes, shifting to lay on her back. The presence on top of her practically purred and laid its head on her soft stomach area. “Viktor?” she mumbled, blinking several times.

Those glowing purple eyes gazed up at her in an almost innocent manner, before flashing a set of pearly pointed teeth. “Mornin’, starshine,” he said.

She could see his tail lazily flicking back and forth beyond the purple horns on his head. Her hand went up to stroke through his dark tresses at the top of his head, being careful to not touch his horns. The action was instinctual at this point, since she’d done it so many nights before. “You couldn’t let me sleep a little longer?” she huffed quietly.

The demon pouted a little, “I was bored.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile on her lips, “You’re so troublesome, you know that?”

“Mm, I could be more troublesome if it’ll make you feel better,” he teased, lifting his head off her stomach and resting his cheek against one of his fists. He watched her expressions with those striking violet eyes of his.

“Don’t you dare,” she scolded lightly, a soft laugh escaping her.

He grinned again before speaking, “So, where’d you go tonight? I tried to follow but I lost the car you were in.”

His tail whipped through the air, smacking against the bed with a thump, indicating his frustration. Viktor had gotten… quite attached to her in the months after she’d finally caught him trying to torment her like a pest. He didn’t like not knowing where she was, or when she left her house.

Ariadne tugged on a strand of his hair lightly, making him pout again. “I went to a banquet in Nova’s place,” she explained. “I didn’t get home until a little while ago.”

He wrinkled his nose in distaste, folding his hands over her stomach and resting his chin on them. His eyes looked away. “No wonder you smell funny,” he grumbled, still clearly displeased.

“I smell fine,” she protested, “I was too tired to bathe tonight.”

“Why couldn’t Nova go? Or that little brat of yours,” he huffed.

“Because Nova can’t handle large crowds, and that little brat—“ she tugged on his hair again, “—would probably embarrass us.”

“You’re always doing something to help out your sisters,” he looked at her then, his expression rather serious. “When do you ever do anything for yourself?”

Ariadne hummed softly. Her eyes traced over the similar light patches on his own skin. He had been the only one she’d ever seen like herself before. Maybe that was part of the reason she put up with his presence. After all, not many people would welcome a demon to come back every night. “I don’t know,” she admitted after a few beats.

Viktor’s tail lashed again, angrier this time. “You’re going to burn out one of these days, you know? And who’s going to help you, then?”

She opened her mouth to speak but no words came. Instead, she sighed and looked away. “I’m fine…” she didn’t even sound convincing.

Her hand was still playing with his hair, and his tail came up to wrap around her wrist, pulling her hand away. He pinned it to the bed as he suddenly lifted himself up onto his hands, hovering over her now, his face just above hers. “You’re not fine,” he murmured. “I can see it in your face. You’re tired and wearing thin.”

She clenched her jaw for a moment, before relaxing and meeting his eyes once more. “I’ll… try to not be…” she trailed off again, struggling to find a suitable word.

“A pushover? A doormat?”

Her eyes narrowed before she rolled them, “Compliant.”

Viktor hummed thoughtfully in response, settling his taller frame on top of hers. His clawed hand came up to brush through her hair as he looked down at her, only inches away from her. “I can find other ways for you to fill that… need to ‘comply’, as you put it,” he teased, his other hand stroking her cheek with his thumb.

Ariadne laughed softly, her face heating up with his implication, “You’re too much sometimes.”

He placed a soft kiss on her chin, trailing them along her jawline. She let out a relaxed sigh this time, a soft hum of her own emitting from her lips. “On the contrary,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose against her cheek, taking in her sweet scent of jasmine and shea butter. “I like to think I’m just what you need, my little lamb.”

“Little lamb?”

“Mm. Because you can’t stop sacrificing yourself for those ungrateful sisters of yours.”

“… and here I thought you were just being cute.”

Another wicked grin from him as he lifted his head and nuzzled his nose against hers. “I’m also being that,” he added.

His tail had let her wrist go finally, and Ariadne drew her arms up, wrapping them around his neck. She pulled him closer in an embrace, hiding her face against his shoulder. “I promise I’ll try harder to be less of a pushover,” she whispered, her tone almost vulnerable.

“Sweet lamb,” he crooned softly, and suddenly he had her pulled against his side, laying on his back with her nestled into him. “I’ll take care of you since you can’t be bothered to do it yourself.”

“How do you make that sound so sweet and infuriating at the same time?” she huffed as she snuggled up to him more, almost clinging onto him at this point.

“It’s just one of my charms, darling,” he pressed his lips to her forehead. “Sleep now.”

People can’t survive long without water, right? It can’t have been that long.

He gasped as a new shock of pain surged through his shoulders and down his spine; the side effects of being strung up like skinned cattle in a meat locker. He could no longer feel his hands that were chained above his head. His toes were bloodied from scraping against the concrete, and his calf muscles burned with the strain of trying to ease the pain in his shoulders and upper arms.

If he let himself hang there, he was bound to dislocate something. He whimpered and groaned, the rattle of chains in the damp darkness ringing through his very soul. He couldn’t even tell if his eyes were open anymore.

He could smell the mustiness in the basement. Like a rotten, mildew-y smell, sickeningly sweet in all the wrong ways. All he could hear was the soft drip…

Drip…

Drip…

… of some pipe leaking somewhere in the basement.

H I S basement.

The thought of the man he’d once called love brought an aching sensation to the pit of his stomach. It could have also been from the strain of hanging there day after day. How long has it been now?

He couldn’t see any light, nor hear any clock. Just the sound of the drops of water echoing out. Beating against his ears like he was a bat honing in on every tiny sound. There was no telling how long he’d been down here.

He didn’t remember what made H I M so mad in the first place. What did he do wrong? Where did it go so horribly wrong?

He knew where.

That night, at the park.

Va-

“No,” he croaked, swallowing and choking. The inability to even have that one relief sent him into a coughing spasm that clenched sore muscles and jostled him around on the chain.

He tried to still himself. If he made too much noise, then H E would stomp down the stairs and show him what it meant to be quiet. The coughing had also tugged at the ragged raw flesh of his back that had been split open by that fucking bamboo cane.

The same one he picked out for H I M on their first Christmas.

He let out a soft noise, and he couldn’t tell if it was a cry or a whimper or a scoff.

He wasn’t usually this aware. H E made sure to keep him hovering between reality and a high that he’d wished he never knew in the first place.

It was odd.

Something wasn’t right.

Drip…

Drip…

Drip…

A violent chill ran through him, causing the chains to rattle again. He tried to lift his head to give himself some relief from the burning tug of pain that was going from the back of his head down to his tailbone. There was a roaring in his ears that wouldn’t go away. His dull eyes were burning now, too.

Was he crying?

He didn’t know.

…

Something made him jostle suddenly, rattling the chains again and eliciting a pained cry from his arid throat. What? Why was he-? Did he pass out?

What woke him?

He blinked a few times, or at least he thought he did. He couldn’t tell anymore. It was like a fucked up sensory tank, being in complete blackness, no light or air movement aside from his own shallow pained breaths. Something was happening, he could feel it.

The roaring he heard earlier was gone. Instead, he could hear heavy thuds walking above him.

Clunk…

Clunk…

Clunk…

Every step rained down dust on his skin, making him itchy. Making the gaping wounds on his back protest loudly.

Suddenly-

“Cyprian? Cy, where the fuck are you, man?”

No- it couldn’t be.

Could it?

His breath stopped and he tried to still the slight clinking of the chains, willing himself to focus. He’d had audio hallucinations before, hell even visual ones. There was no way that his brother-

“Cyprian?!”

Cyprian’s breath left him in a rush and he cried out, “Cyrus! Cy—“

He could only manage that much before he was coughing again. Whatever strength he had hidden away, whatever reserve of defiance and rebellion he kept within himself, he channeled it now.

He let out a loud noise- a cry, a shout, a guttural wail, he wasn’t sure but he certainly bellowed it out loud enough for his brother to hear. The thudding he heard earlier—heavy boots on wooden floors as he realized now—suddenly became chaotic as whoever was above him frantically searched for a way below.

A rush of air washed over him as the door on top of the stairs opened. His eyes squinted at the light filtering in. He could hear more than one person quickly descending down into this eighth gate of hell he occupied. He was immediately blinded by a fluorescent light when one of the people flicked on the switch. Cyprian made a noise of discomfort, squeezing his eyes shut and hanging his head. He had no strength anymore to hold himself up.

“Sweet fuckin’ Mary-“

A gruff voice, familiar and vague, cried out.

He could only imagine what he looked like. “Everyone out ‘cept me and Jericho!” Cyrus’ voice barked out loudly as he approached his little brother.

More steps retreated to the upper floor again. Cyprian couldn’t do much but continue to hang there. He hadn’t realized the small noises of pain he was making, noises that shot through Cyrus’ heart and brought tears to his eyes. Tears he didn’t bother hiding as he fumbled around to find something to cover the young man with.

“Jericho, see if you c-can find some fuckin’ b-bolt cutters or somethin,” Cyrus mumbled as he located an old sheet. He approached Cyprian with it and wrapped it around his waist, covering him modestly. “Jesus, little brother… what the fuck happened?”

Cyrus’ whisper fell on deaf ears because Cyprian was once again unconscious. It took a few minutes, but soon he was holding Cyprian’s body, careful of the wounds on his back—the very ones that made him want to throw up, cry, and burn every fucking building in this city down.

A throat-ripping scream was pulled from Cyprian as he was brought back to consciousness from the sheer pain of his arms falling limply to his sides. It was the last thing the three men in the room heard as once again, he fell unconscious.

…

If there was anything that Cyprian really remembered that day, almost two years ago now, it was that as he fell into his brother’s arms for the first time in six years, a sense of relief washed over him. Not because he was finally free, finally rescued.