THE HEIR

NICK ALPHONSUS

ABOUT | INTERVIEW | THREADS | NAVI

Nick is a water attuned, meridiumer who has been on the island for approximately 2 years now. An exploration in what happens when MLM means both the shady pyramid schemes & men loving men (this is both serious and a joke). Though he is this, his story is about what the weight of a legacy can do to someone, and precisely what lengths he may or may not go to preserving – or destroying it.

Madi found Nick on the beach, near his home and headed right over. If this was happening in the real world, she’d probably have a notebook in hand with a long list, but alas, Madi learned how to go without notebooks while there was a shortage of paper and now that the bridge offered them a lot wider variety of options, she just didn’t seek them out anymore.

But she still had a list, nonetheless.

“Niiiiick, just the man I was looking for. Hi. Hello. Hey. I have found several options for locations,” Madi jumped right into the important topics, not even waiting for the polite chitchats to happen first. “I know it’s the South Beach so the options are limited but I definitely think there are some good winner potentials among the options. And I also put together a basket of a bunch of different flowers,” she held the basket up that she’s been holding onto all this time, “and I figured we could just try different combinations, see what could work and what could fit your and Mik’s vibes the best.”

“Hey, hey, hey. Locations?” Nick hummed, stretching back in one lithe motion to rest his elbows on the scorching sand. He’d imposed a little bit of self-restraint. Just a little, so he didn’t burn through all the nicotine he’d recovered but nonetheless the impending nuptials had added a new stress. Where else to forget his woes but stretched out pretending the island was a beach resort. “Oh, that’s cute.” And, more to the point it was a little something that Nick could actually bring to the table. Thus far Mik had largely taken charge of everything. Partly out of sheer excitement on his behalf.

what are you the god of

Art Deco

“That’s your entertainment now, pissing off Carla?  She’s our top-milker on the farm; watch she don’t piss in your milk, bruv.”  Nick was being so blasé, and all Emre could think of was Vin - unpredictable, chaotic Vin, giving ‘zero fucks’ as Iyaz liked to say. Funny, how Emre was so orderly in his brutality.  He was never a rebel, didn’t buy into anarchism.  He conformed to a life of shottin’ and thuggery; even vicious criminality had structure.

A work ethic that translated to the farm on Meridium, and possibly partly why Tomas had taken to him.  Good worker might’ve sounded so dull to the likes of Nick/Vin, but to Emre it insulated his permanently frayed, electric nerves.  Emre was seeing that chaos in Nick now.  Left over from Vin, or something else?

It was surreal strolling together in public. No secrecy, dark encounters.  Emre relished the discomfort of it, for now.  Nick seemed amenable, which was surprising. Maybe…maybe Nick felt it too.  

“What d’you mean then.  You mean Vin?  Bruv, what’s there to hide about that,” Emre asked, a little confused.  He snorted at a memory he found rather fond, than disturbing.  Not like - “Not like the snogging our bloody fakes did innit.  That can deffo stay in the bin…”  An implied agreement, after they’d taken lax turns beating on each other on the sea stairs.  Speaking of,  “How’s your ribs? All healed up?”  

A smirk, and a hazarded guess,  “Mik a non-smoker, is he?  Was you sneaking about behind his back?”  Emre tutted.  “Naughty Nick.”

But at Nick’s question, it was down to business. And Emre even looked a little apologetic at the tease over the cigarette.  He paused them at their destination - a few paces from the distillery.  

“I wanted to, erm, thank you.  When I was trapped in that floodwater, under the machine.  You didn’t have to save me…for loads of reasons.  That was honestly your chance to be rid of me, if I’m honest. But erm…”  Emre’s brows drew together, making him look perplexed.

Like even he wasn’t even sure this was a good move. He wasn’t.  But he had to try anyway.  “Erm…right. Bismillah. I wanted to ask - was you, erm.  Interested in…in working?  On the farm?  There’s a job opening, like.  It’s - “  Emre motioned towards the distillery.  “- is all chemistry innit.  And you got no experience.  And lily-soft hands, I’d imagine.  But - it’s here, you’re well clever and can learn quick, and I thought to ask you first.  So. Right. Say ‘fuck no’ if you’d like, I’m not bothered.  But - you got first choice.”

Nick shrugged, careless over what Carla thought of him, or otherwise. “Well I won’t be drinking milk then.” Which was no great upset to him. Top-milker, it sounded absurd to him as if somehow, somewhere, there was a Bottom milker too. The reality of that Nick didn’t care to dwell on. He let himself be swept up instead in the absurdity of walking in step with Emre. Who seemed…confused? Surprised? That Nick wanted to put the time melding to rest. “About that…” Nick huffed. “Yeah, no the snogging can stay in the bin.” In the bin…an echo of the high-pitched idiom that Jojo used to pitch back at him. Nick hadn’t scratched that ache in a long time. Except Emre delivered it…with a certain boyish swagger, that was entirely antithesis to her and thus killed the want regardless.

Nick chewed on his bottom lip, if Emre was obtuse enough, or ignorant enough, not to understand. Then Nick wouldn’t disturb that for the sake of explaining why his younger self failed to conform to one binary or the other. Then, as if Emre was aiming for a long-haul strike by individually knocking down each pin, he had a follow up question. “Mmmph…yeah, all healed up back to diving again. You…fine? Yeah?”

This really was an awkward territory, but the remark over bad habits brought back an old smile. Nick snorted, and shook his head. “No he used to smoke but he did the good thing and quit, he was happy I quit for a while.” 9 months of zero fucking fun. “Social smoker mind you.” Just so happened that social tended to bleed out more and more into daily, as and when needed, and occasionally like a chimney. This was absolutely, most definitely, still awkward territory. Nonetheless, the slight smile stretched out into a self-satisfied smirk. “If our bodies are preserved from time of arrival, and I’m going to spend all eternity on this island with you. I think I deserve a fag.”

All this and Emre still managed to surprise him. They’d come to a stop, Nick only just vaguely recognising where they were, but all his attention was devout on Emre. Emre thanking him for saving his life. Emre looking as if he was amping up for something. Bloody fucking Emre. Everything else he could deal with, brush under the carpet, apply a liberally blasé attitude and circumnavigate the whole ordeal. This was different.

Nick stared, first at Emre and then distillery, finally somewhere between them both. “You want…” He turned back to him fully, brows compressing together as Nick tried to make sense of it. The remnants of a conversation on the porch of the high house replayed distantly, but more poignantly a rehashed mountain excursion—- Nick surmised that booze was more needed, more loved, than fucking maps. “Yeah.”

“I’ll do it, you realise I had three successful drinks based companies, right?” The exaggeration rolled easily off his tongue, not a lie per say but given Nick had never been involved in any day to day, a stretch of the truth. When reality had been, throw cash and wait for the returns. It wasn’t hard to stoke his ego, Nick glanced over at Emre but didn’t wait for him. Slipping into the distillery, “last I saw of this place it was fucked.”

“Well shit…finally this island is looking a little less boring.” There’s an incentive, yes, and a challenge in it too. Part in part he doesn’t want to say no because Emre was gunning for him to refuse, to admit he was weak and incompetent—-of which Nick was proudly neither.

Civil partnerships? Now that definitely sounded gay. Mik scoffed and rolled his eyes, trying to hide how unsettled he was by Vin’s intense stare. He had the height advantage, there was nothing to be intimidated by.

Vin sneered ‘normal’ like it was a slur, bleach that leeched the colour out of everything. Mik kept his arms crossed tight across his chest as Vin went on, and on. Obnoxiously, outrageously camp and proud. It made Mik so mad. Vin thought they were better than him because… what? He dressed like a radioactive spill in fishnets and spikes? Why did they have to be so loud about it? What gave them the right to be so ostentatious and comfortable? “I’d rather be normal than a freak like you,” Mik hissed, fizzing with hormone-heightened emotions. “At least people actually like me. At least I have friends who would tell me that I look like some shitty circus clown. I don’t even know who the fuck you are, maybe I just like, deleted the fucking weirdo from my memories.”

“Just an F-Y-I, I’m not some pussy virgin like you,” Mik sniped at Vin, his crowning achievement of Year 11. But it would definitely be lame to boast about how Ruby Woodard gave him a blowjob in the changing rooms when he was supposed to be resting a sore hamstring. “You know what, I am a nice guy.” That’s why he wasn’t throttling Vin right here and now. That and… he didn’t really beat people up. Even when Vin made his blood boil from toxic, sickly sticky  jealous-anger. “Maybe you should go see someone,” he said, as if there was something wrong with Vin in their head. All condescending slow, over-enunciation of words.

Vin shrugged, apathetic to Mik’s whining about being normal. “Sweetie I am a freak. At least have the balls to insult me properly, instead of these half assed half baked comebacks. Good for you sunny boy!” Vin was curtailed by Mik’s rabid excitement at spewing some fairly basic insults. Really? Mik couldn’t come up with something more creative. “Ugh, god sweetie you keep telling yourself that. But you’re shitting on me for existing. And uh, hello, I’m gorgeous. I bet I get more pussy than you do and being frankly honest, do you even know how to make a woman cum? Jesus you act like you’re still in fucking school, grow up Mikey-boy the world has moved on from secondary delights.”

“See someone?” They asked, their laughter high and surprised. “Oh right because being a queer tranny is a disease right? Double whammy of disorder! Sweetie if you haven’t already clocked I’m an out and proud transsexual.” Vin, shimmied up to Mik who towered over them, yes, but Vin liked the challenge. Certainly wouldn’t back down, and if anything, Vin had a taste for stirring up trouble. “Go on sweetheart I know you’re just gagging on my big dick to insult me.” Small pause for Vin to survey him, as if eyeing him up for his potential. He did look a little different, but Vin was half-sure that was the remnants of last nights outing. “I’ve always found the boys that shout up the loudest about fearing the queer like it up their ass the hardest. That you —-”

Wren had put aside any of her weird feelings towards marriage for Nick’s sake if only because his talk of polygamy and “open” marriages really made her think about her parents relationship differently. Not to mention that she had never actually experienced a wedding before, so being part of one was an exciting new experience for her.

This made Nick’s appearance on the farm immediately put her brain into wedding mode. Obviously that was what he was here for, right? He probably wasn’t coming to ask her if he can brush out the water buffalo’s hair for her. “Hmmm, I don’t know if I have that much time on my hands. What could you possibly need that takes longer than a second?” she teased, putting down the brush as she listened to Nick’s request. The word hunting did make her raise a brow at him, curious about what kind of hunting he meant. Surely Nick wasn’t interested in hunting for food.

“Go on…” she urged for more, only to let out a laugh when the hunting he was referring to was for clothes. Hey, at least she was right that it was wedding related! “You’re telling me you don’t want to get married in swim shorts? What else are you gonna wear around here?” Though it did make her wonder what her parents wore. They couldn’t possibly have anything more than just their normal clothes available to them.

With a pat on the buffalos back, Wren made her way over to take Nick’s arm as he offered it to her. Clearly he already had an idea of where he was going to find something to his liking. “Uh, to be honest, probably not much. I don’t think I’ve ever had to break into someone’s place to enter. Are you gonna get us in trouble before your wedding, what is going on?”

👑

The fluffy looking beast of a cow she was with, was kinda cute. Nonetheless Nick kept his distance not eager to get involved, or stink of animal. And no way was the beast going to shit on his open toes. He scoffed at her remark, a sly smile coming about. “Babes I can think of a thing or two that’ll need longer than a second.” He’s mostly teasing. Mostly. “Shit, no you’re right tacky swimshorts are in fashion! Mission over!”

Nick looped his arm through hers, and started to tug her away from the beast. “We’re going on a hunt for a suit. Yes I know it’s hot as balls, am I going to sweat to death but it’s okay. The after party—reception can be swimsuits. And I happen to have some intel on where to find one. Trouble? Who? Me? Never.” Nick smirked, dipping into an over the top inflectional he hadn’t for a long time.

Where Vin was flighty, Kaz looked for opportunity. To get laid, get high, in whatever order. Being strung along wasn’t his thing. If they had something ‘way better than weed’, then why the shell games? The flamboyant club kid looked like fun. Might be all mouth, and that mouth could be used in better ways.

So if they didn’t stop stalling, Kaz would bail in the next minute. Find someone else– but there was no one else. There was emptiness of a field which began to eerily solidify around him. Depressingly sober too and it needed to change quick. No music in the air. No hint of arrivals by the sound of a car door closing in the distance. 

Why couldn’t he remember how he ended up there? Depends what you have, Vin teased. Back to that, yet Kaz turned the volume up on a smile. “I’ve got plenty, we’ll see how much you can take.” Definitely not talking about drugs then. 

The younger version of Kaz had no name for his sexuality. He didn’t announce it, even as Fiona prodded him. Experimental, tentative, perhaps not even gelled yet. At first glance, just another straight boy. When it was revealed he was down for anything or anyone, sometimes the Vins of the world turned subby and sweet. Rubbed on Kaz like a cat in heat. Lost in a party, Kaz could disappear, do what he wanted away from prying eyes. Another hungry ghost in a sea of anonymous bodies.

He parted his lips to perfection for the club kid’s thumb as Kaz’s hand simultaneously reached across, other arm still looped around Vin’s shoulders. Fingers dug into the tightest pocket imaginable and tugged Vin closer. Yep. He felt a little baggie in there, they weren’t lying. “As long as you’ve got this, we don’t need to talk so much, yeah?” Another way to say, stop fucking around with my time and let’s get going.

But two angry white men charged with nothing but malice in their eyes– yeah, not good, fuck that. Don’t you fucking lose me! Oops, he did lose Vin in the field. Saving his own ass took prominence above all. Kaz needed to get an eye on the guys who looked ready to bash them simply for existing. “Shhh! Damn man, keep quiet.” he shushed Vin from nearby, hidden in wide stalks and leaves before he ducked out. 

Kaz hefted a couple of rocks in his hands. Distraction or protection, whatever was necessary. As he watched their fruitless searching, they vanished. Literally, there one second and gone the next. 

The growth in the field melted again into the ground. Vin was easily found again– all Kaz had to do was follow the Nelly Furtado. Splayed out like an angel in the snow (or dirt, as it were). “Trying to get us murdered? Fucking loud as hell.”  Kaz barely finished the sentence before the transformation back into his old and present self occurred. Any laced smiles faded. Arms crossed over a bare chest, built bigger from years of island physicality. The satin and suggestive finish to his voice dulled into emotionless again. He blinked, head tilted to the side to consider Vin on the ground. “Think you should keep the pink hair.” 

Of all the places they’d sprawled themselves across this wasn’t the least comfortable. That would have to go to Andrew’s cosy little cabin on the back of his yacht. Like fuck you spend all that money? And for what? A bed that feels like lying on rocks. Disgusting. Needless to say Vin hadn’t bothered to answer his texts since last summer, and eventually he’d gotten the hint. Everything was infinitely better when your married it up with something to break up the mundane. In this instance Vin was sugary high, and grinning into the sun.

Didn’t take long for him to be found, their fun for the evening reappearing like a pretty guardian angel above him. Except the kind of guardian angel that did no guarding, and ditched you at the first shot. Vin giggled at being told they were loud, and then stuck their tongue out at him. “Fuck if I care. I’ll ruin those big boys too.” They said, in a delirious sing-song.

Initially, ignorant to the shift in demeanour. “Oh! Babes the pink is on the out. I’m going to be a toxic green siren for Halloween.” Vin pushed themselves up, and shifted to move back in close to him. But before Vin could take much more than a half step—-

Time melded forwards, youth paving way into an older Nick sans pink hair. Not without a garish hit of colour but the sun-faded orange swim shorts didn’t have the same vividness as Vin’s fluorescent choices. “Shit…” If he was hoping that his past habits might pave the way for an afternoon of fun, Nick was left with the dregs of what felt like the morning after. Craggy, and zapped of the power to process another round of time somersaulting. Nick whispered. “Fuck me.” And peeled away, after just about managing a–- “ciao.”

tw: homophobic language

Mik didn’t like being shirtless in front of Vin, it made him feel vulnerable, like Vin had cyborg eyes and could see right through to his skeleton. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, frowning a storm at Vin, careful to keep his distance. Vin was entirely too friendly, too knowing. It made his skin crawl. Mik decided to bolster his confusion with bravado, see if that would aid him here. “You having a laugh mate?” Mik asked Vin with an arrogant jut of his chin, about him having a Nick. He didn’t even know a Nick, well, not really know. There were Nicks at school, he guessed, but it wasn’t like he was out snogging them. And a fiancé too. “Gays can’t even get married,” he sneered, though that didn’t make him feel any better. His fingers dug uncomfortably into his biceps. Where the hell was his rugby shirt?

Vin, reached around in his pockets, maybe he was looking for a smoke? Or a phone, he looked like a twat who’d have a flip phone, all bedazzled with a thousand charms. Mik was saving up for a Nokia brick; he was sick of missing his mates’ invitations to parties. Mik wished he had one now, so he could call a cab and get the hell away from Vin, who wanted to know if Mik recognised him. “Why the hell would I recognise you?” Mik asked derisively, with a pointed look up and down at Vin’s… costume. “I think I would remember you,” he scoffed.

Vin called him a queer, and Mik flinched, blood racing to his head as Vin cooed and asked after his lucky boy, his dirty little secrets. “I already told you!” Mik shouted, defensive and mad. “I’m not a fucking queer!” he hissed, relishing the fact that he could tower over Vin. (Thank you last summer’s growth spurt.) “I’m a normal guy, I’m not… prancing around like a science fiction faggot. I don’t have any dirty little secrets, you creep. Why don’t you just leave me alone? Or… tell me how the hell I can get out of here.”

Evidently, Vin had gotten it wrong, not a little wrong, very wrong. Unless the bravado was all chatter which it very well could be. Mik was looking at him as if Vin was the very scourge of the earth. A wanton plague that if he dared to get too close to then, he too would succumb. Vin shrugged, “pretty sure civil partnerships are a thing but, y’know whatever. Pedantic details honey! I don’t care no-one is ever putting a ring on my finger. Girl or boy, or neither.” Vin tilted their chin upwards, trying not to disappear under Mik’s haughty stare. Maybe they’d misremembered him. It wasn’t like they’d ever really talked at school, but he’d seemed like a decent guy. The kind that just fell into that crowd.

Besides literally two seconds ago Mik had been fine with everything, he’d been positively radiant to Vin’s touch. So what the fuck had changed? Because out came the usual spiel as if Mik was chundering between rounds of sambuca. “Normal? Fucking hell! Yeah where’s your bloody polo shirt? Jesus fuck being normal, boring, at least I’m interesting sweetie. God can forgive a little faggotry when you do it in style.” There was no way in hell they were going to cower to Mik, just because he was puffing out his chest like a peacock. “Y’know I thought you were sooooo fucking cool, or at least maybe nice? But you’re just as shitty as the rest of them, huh? Golden boy Mik just another prick who can’t get his dick wet.”

There he was.  Not that Emre Akbar was actively looking for Nick Alphonsus, that would be overboard for both of them.  But he was…on the lookout?  If they ran into each other, like.  An impromptu opportunity, rather than a planned encounter.

After all, maybe Nick could oh-so easily forget Vin, but Emre couldn’t.  Or rather, Emre didn’t want to forget that bizarre little peacock.

Nick, when Emre spotted him, looked nothing like Vin.  Nick oozed a permanent desultory sulk, right down to his clothing.  No bright fake textiles and platforms tottering about.  The very picture of ‘don’t look at me’ whereas Vin had been ‘See Me and Piss Off if You Can’t Handle It’.

And Emre (both the elder and youth), surprised himself with realizing which version of Alphonsus he liked better.

So there Nick was - causing trouble for a couple of the farm hands at the ovens.  Carla looked particularly unimpressed, and she charged past her friend to get in Nick’s face, accusations of Nick doing it on purpose already flying out of her mouth.

But Emre liked to think Nick started the show for him, and…well that was rather lovely of him, wasn’t it?  Little troublemaker, all for Emre.  He bustled forward.

“Oy yoy, wagwan, Carla darling?  Our Nick’s just making a bit of steam innit.  Steamed fish cooks better than roasted.  Looking out for your health and all, this one,”  Emre said, clapping Nick on the back.  He snatched the fag from Nick’s fingers before it was finished and took a drag - menthol, fucking hell - and gave it back with a grimace.

“Emre, I’m not your ‘darling’.  And Nick can take his steam and shove it.  Useless prick,”  Carla groused, but it was all words as her own friend pat her back and murmured things like ‘he’s not worth it’ and ‘men are the worst’ to Carla.

“Fish can wait,”  Emre said, his grip firmer on Nick’s shoulder to face him.  “Right.  Can we take a walk for a chat, bruv?  We’re chatting yeah?” Preferably away from Carla, who had gone back to poking at her food in the oven.

👑

Nick shrugged at the woman, who currently was flying off her handle, and within spitting distance—delightful. He wiped spittle from his cheek without comment. Knowing full well nothing could be said without inflaming the situation more. Maybe this is what he needed. A sharp jolt from a stranger in the absence of an anonymous hookup. Because the latter was fucking impossible on an island where everyone knew each other. It was like living in a dainty little village.

Apparently, Emre hadn’t just been passing by. Nick watched momentarily dumbstruck  as Emre bustled in, not to side with Ms. Gobby. But…him? Apparently at the cost of his cigarette because Emre pinched it like they were friends having a midnight break from the dance floor. This was all…overly familiar. For a brief fleeting moment Nick didn’t question it. Partly because the woman was spitting more insults, and Nick was smug knowing he’d won. “For your health.” He reiterated, particularly pleased with himself as he leant down to scoop up the now empty water bottle.

“Walk and talk, sure why not.” Nick countered, glib in the presence of others, and maybe just a little curious. Chatting with Emre was usually a furtive affair, as if they needed a blanket of darkness to blind them both from what had come before. Nick certainly couldn’t forget. But memories were muddling lately, time warping had thrown them all for a loop. Nick ducked out of Emre’s grip, talking was one thing, acting like they were old friends was another.

Nick mindlessly walked in step, away from the fires and his make believe fish. The menthol hadn't burnt to the quick but Nick was done, in the presence of Emre he waited until they crossed paths with a stone to stub and discard. “Hey, that was fun. Nothing like disrupting the peace for a little mid morning entertainment. Did you…want to speak about something in particular…? I don’t think it’s a good idea to dwell on our meet-up from before, yeah?” Nick slanted to stand weighted to one hip, arms folded over his chest now they were far enough away from the ovens.

“Probably best to leave that in the past, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go blabbing too.” How much had Emre really clocked onto anyway? 

With the light falling onto his face, the other man looked strangely familiar; but even within his short stay on Meridium, Yasuf had become wildly aware of the tricks this island liked to play on it’s islanders minds. The person could be a distant memory, a brief glimpse, anything really, but at the moment, Yasuf had no idea who they were. “Hm,” Yasuf replied, lost in confusion and questioning his serenity, “Not quite sure, lad.” Then, he paused right in his tracks, halfway onto the clearing. The accent. The way to talk. The eyes, the - “No fucking way, bruv.”

To say that he looked flabbergasted would have been underestimated, Yasuf was standing there, mouth open, staring at … Rick. Richard. Yeah, this guy was Rick, whom he’d met sometime back at College, and had some .. some  experiences with. Then, those weird group projects. “Uh. No. Don’t think we’ve met.” Back during College, Yasuf’s hair had been shorter, he’d been more buff, more on drugs, more of a mess (questionable). “Maybe like, at the beach.” Yasuf’s smile is little convincing - he’s too surprised that out of all possible people, Rick is here. Or was it Chick? Flick? Mick?

“I’m mostly walking around searching.”, he admitted then, maybe Mick would be a help, “I’m looking for someone. This woman, Japanese, my age? She’s called Sara, if that helps. Dark hair, short, normal figure, I’d say, maybe a bit buffer than average? No glasses, piercings or tattoos.” Maybe she’s injured, or maybe she’s dead, he wanted to add, but he let it be. No need to share on that.

“You lost, too, mate?”

👑

There seemed to be…a moment? Nick canted his head in a slow arch considering the bloke. He was easy on the eyes, so maybe they had met before. Then again, guessing ages on the island was like pissing into the wind. Pointless, and reckless. He shrugged, coming about to the conclusion that either way it didn’t matter. Maybe at the beach. Singular, either it’s a slip up or he’s new, too new to know about the islands sad politics and past. “Looking for someone? You probably aren’t going to find them out here…”

There’s a familiar cadence in his speech. An old faded memory of the very same feverish surprise at having landed together, because who’d have thought they were coursemates. Shagging someone on freshers week usually didn’t have much in the way of a follow up, but rightfully it had been amusing. Shit, he didn’t even know his name, frankly Nick had done a good job of scouring most of his coursemates from memory. Nick made no effort in his endeavours to look the man up and down, it was him. Just a little older (then so was he).

“No babes, not lost.” Nick said, the tiniest hitch of an old twang coming through. “Trying to escape humidity in here is high as shit. And I’m not supposed to be smoking but…” The wedding was closing in, albeit they’d not formally set a date given the lack of a calendar. The age fuckery had thrown him for another loop. The only solace was his souvenir from the whole trip, which unfortunately happened to be a packet of fucking slim menthols. It was better than nothing. Just another thing to add to the long list of—-what were you thinking, if he ever got the opportunity to speak to his younger self.

Admittedly, this was the last place he wanted to be right now. Watching the flames of the farm’s oven dance and lick around the edges. It really wasn’t part of his frequent flyer’s path. The one that wound him around the farm as much as possible, avoiding it at all costs. Nick brought the cigarette to his lips, a sweet little Brucie Bonus from being somersaulted through the ages. It was busy enough, and far enough from the forge, that his chances of getting caught were slim. Nick smiled at two disgruntled islanders that for the life of him, he had no idea who they were. Farm grunts? Menthol smouldering as he gave them a little wave, but instead caught the eye of someone else.

Fucking kidding me. Nick dropped his hand, and returned to being petulant about the food, or rather the lacking of a certain something. Mik’s excitement for their nuptials was ever-growing, Nick was almost positive he’d accidentally overheard him talking about a dance routine. God forbid. Nick was firmly happy to leave those days behind. He knocked off the cap to his water bottle, and knocked the whole thing in the direction of the fire. Nick stopped it from rolling any further with his foot. The steam rising off, to the disappointment of those manning it, afforded him the respite he needed to take one last drag. “Thanks mate.”

‘The fuck––-’

“Hey, hey, hey.” It wasn’t as if she was particularly hard to find, Nick didn’t have to traipse far to find her. Nonetheless he was glad he didn’t have to circumnavigate the farm for another loop. That was enough of that for today. “I need to borrow you, you got a sec? Okay actually, full honesty and disclosure it’ll probably be longer than that.” Nick added a theatrical hand flip to the entire greeting, because apparently even though Wren hadn’t been exposed to his personal hell of age somersaulting, he was bringing it back anyway. Well, wouldn’t it be nice to feel half as young and playing dumb again.

“We’re going hunting.” But not the ugly kind, that required tasteless camo and men compensating with ill-advised gun purchases. “I was going to do the polite shtick of if you’re free, but Mik’s turning into a rabid puppy. I told him we couldn’t cement any plans until I had at least one outfit that wasn’t based around swimming, and beaching. You’re an official groomswoman now,” Nick smiled, earnest and somewhat exaggerated. “C’mon.” He offered out his arm to her. “What do you know about breaking and enterring?”

Mik couldn’t help but smile as Nic-Vin pointed out how weird it was to suggest his fiance’s name, and then in the same breath call him naughty. He leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the pure energy that Vin was giving him, even if they looked like they’d just come back from a night out. “Hey, it’s a good name, what can I say,” Mik said, another humble brag. He’d been the one to suggest it to Nick in the first place, after all.

And hey, Mik still had it, enough pull to get Vin to give him a look over that made a shiver trail down his back. “Maybe I’m a naughty boy,” Mik teased Vin back, leaning forward now as he pawed at Vin. “And a big queer.” Though he would have never said so, back when Vin would have thought of him as the great Mik.

Because he wasn’t queer. Mik wasn’t a gay. He wasn’t. 

Boys could tell when other boys were fit, wasn’t it? It wasn’t gay to look in the mirror and know that you suited that polo shirt. It wasn’t gay to go hard on strength and conditioning days because you wanted to get your quads to pop like Tony Elliott, who had the most muscular thighs on the team. It wasn’t gay to get a thrill crowding around Darren’s locker, pressing close to everyone as Darren showed off the magazine he’d managed to nab from his dad’s Escort collection. Mik wasn’t gay, and he definitely did not want to have anything to do with the person who screamed queer who sat themselves next to him.

“N-No, no… no,” Mik stuttered out as Vin placed their hand on his knee, well he wasn’t going to have any of that! Mik shoved their hand away and wheeled out of his chair, shaking his head rapidly back and forth. “None of that now, mate. I… You must be confused, right, cause I wouldn’t…” he wouldn’t be the sort of person that someone like Vin would want to tire out. Mik didn’t want that, obviously. “I think you must be confused, yeah? I ain’t your little Nicky, yeah? I don’t…” He gestured to Vin. 

And a big queer. Well, Vin could work with that as if it wasn’t already obvious in the way Mik was devouring them with his gaze. His hands. Vin was utterly tempted, and almost certainly going to climb right into his lap. Because why not? When given the opportunity to ride a handsome man into oblivion, it was rude to refuse. Although Vin had a sinking suspicion that Mik flew the other way. Naughty boy, and all. It was all going so well, until a flip switched in Mik. There was no other way to describe it. The teasing, the flirting, dropped, and for a moment he looked onwards blankly. Maybe it was a moment of self doubt, but all the warmth leeched out of Mik. Maybe he looked a little different? Vin attempted to rub the raging ache out of their temples, but it was fruitless.

In return, Vin got the full brunt of adolescent youth, and stupidity. They blinked, and leaned forwards against the table as Mik jumped up like he’d been shocked. “Sweetie you were the one who has a Nick. Your fiancé?” Though up until five minutes ago Mik had been utterly willing to fool around, evidently not strictly committed. Vin couldn’t blame him. They would rather die than be caught having a boyfriend, or a girlfriend. God to think. “Well never mind. If you don’t want to fuck around I'm not going to make you!” Vin slipped free of the table, peering in and around an array of boxes underneath. Odd bits and pieces held within. “I mean…I’m not the one not wearing a wedding ring and hitting on strangers, y’know.”

@nickalphonsus​ / what is past is prologue (the jungle)

Back in Israel, there had always been an airplane to cling to; or a helicopter, and when he’d just started rising up in ranks, rarely a fighter jet. On Meridium, with his beloved safe haven out of metal shattered and open for everyone to enter, he often found himself trailing off, taking new paths and exploring what apparently now was his forever home. Yasuf was lacking something, and though he always tried to convince himself that no, it wasn’t Sara, he was coming closer and closer to the day of acceptance, and in the back of his mind, he did not like that.

What he hadn’t expected when he woke up on the beach a few days ago, was re-meeting so many of his old acquaintances from London, Seattle, all over the world, really. It felt strange to him, the way that everyone seemed to be connected in a way. Likely, he would never figure this place out.

So lost in thought about his past and his present, Yasuf never noticed leaving the designated trails and entering more rural areas of the island. Around his feet, wind and gusts swayed some sand against his legs, and he wiped it away with a few simple movements of his hands. From one second to the other, he noticed he wasn’t alone - there were footsteps in the earth he had bowed down to, newly uncovered by plants. And with that realization, he also noticed where he was - at good kilometer away from the beach, caught somewhere in the jungle. Was this the ‘Labyrinth’ this one woman had been talking about?

“Who’s there?”

The one silver lining out of this all, was the weight lifted off of Nick’s shoulders. No longer did he feel as if at any given moment spontaneous and fitful sleep would be upon him. What had felt like a delirious daydream two days, sleeping the whole night, was now plentiful. Nick had been unable to dredge himself out of bed, but it was worth it in the end. He’d skirted around the edge of the farm with the intent of eating, something that hadn’t really appealed much in the last few weeks of being drained of all life and energy. But Mik was starting to pound on about the benefits of good food and how the kitchen was half the battle of being healthy. More girlboss slogans than Nick could dare to keep up with. There was merit in it, Nick knew. But in the end he curved off down an unknown path content to diverge.

It wasn’t unknown, not totally, but Nick skirted closer to the other side of the island, or even the river that cut through the middle of it. Going deep into the jungle wasn’t an enjoyable experience, except Nick was starting to spontaneously feel out the humidity. Fat lot of good that was doing him though. In the midst of it all Nick could even have this moment alone. Who the fuck–– Nick stopped short, squinting at the figure through the trees. Who looked more lost than he was. “Hey mate, don’t mean no harm just going for a wander.” Then under his breath, scant for the other to hear he muttered. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Nick came through into the clearing, surrounded on all sides by trees that scooped out most of the light. Thick dense ferns revelled in the damp shade that Nick toed aside with his flipflop to come closer. “You alright?” There was a familiarity about him, distant, Nick canted his head. “Lost or just out here for fun? Shit I thought I knew where I was.” Nick stared over the man’s shoulder, into the abyss of the jungle. No path to be seen. His gaze fell back to the stranger-not-stranger. 

“Where is it?” He repeated, scowl turned deep. “If you’re just gonna fuck around, forget it.” Kaz physically changed but attitude the same. A second ago someone was firing up a joint. Someone… else. And he certainly wasn’t standing in the middle of a field, and. Damn. Maybe he didn’t need to smoke out after all. 

“You’ve seen Fiona? I’ve lost her…” Who had also been headed in his direction with a solo cup in each hand. Now, nowhere to be found. Must’ve found someone to hook up with. They never left the other stranded so he wasn’t too worried. To Kaz’s ears, cute was condescending. Whatever, he wasn’t the one teetering around on stilts for the sake of fashion. 

But– this person had no clue where they were either? 

It mattered less as they smiled with the tease of something better, Kaz’s attention drawn to alluring fingers on a pocket. Those club kids always had the good shit. Which if Kaz hoped they might share, he needed to be a bit more congenial. 

The harsher expression melted by a wicked grin. An intentional drop of his gaze with a sudden renewed interest in everything offered in front of him. All the way down to the tips of those outrageous shoes and back up again. “Bet you got a few ‘better’ things, hm?” Kaz held the eye contact without bothering to glance down at his own clothes. “Depends on where I’m going. Who I’m with.”  

Just you and me. “I don’t mind keeping it that way.” Kaz had a more discreet look around. No one. Not a damn person in sight. “Ah, spontaneous. I like it.” He casually hooked an arm around their neck, friendlier by the minute, as if they’d known each other for more than five minutes. It also provided cover if someone did pop up unexpectedly.

They questioned the accent, which seemed preposterous. Kaz assumed they were the out of towner, not himself. “Seattle, where else. You?” Hardly mattered, the only thing of importance was whatever they’d pull out of their pocket. Which they took their sweet time about.

Kaz heard a commotion and glanced over a shoulder. A pile of wood and rot behind them took the place of a building he swore had been standing a few minutes before. No kick up of dust, however a couple of guys appeared on the side of the collapsed heap scratching their heads. 

Then, they saw him. One worked an ax out of a short stump by a stack of firewood. The other wrenched up a smaller log. Both began a slow walk towards them that turned into a march. Broad shoulders leaned forward for momentum in the way his father would when Kaz particularly pissed him off. 

“Uhm… shit. Hey. How fast can you run in those shoes. People coming and– we need to take off.” Kaz already released the hang on his party friend, ready to sprint. A tall field of crops nearby looked helpful enough to get lost in. “Over there, come on.” Better hoped they could run like the wind because Kaz wasn’t saving anyone, no matter what kind of drugs they had on them.

What was so wrong with fucking around? Vin gave a slight careless shrug of his shoulders at the mention of a Fiona. He definitely didn’t know a Fiona, or did he? Everyone blended together after a while. Whoever he was though, he didn’t seem all that interested. Had the sort of resting bitch face that Vin found improbably hard to read and therefore impatiently disinterested. They had a hunger that was short-lived. Interests changing on the fly. Vin would’ve peeled away, found someone else because there would always be someone else. Fuck if he knew where he was, but hey, it didn’t matter where plenty of queers to go round.

This was all first and foremost their line of action, mindless measures, but that all melted away. Vin smirked as they got precisely what they’d wanted. The cig had burned down to the filter, ugh, distracted again by pretty boys. They flicked it carelessly it had mostly burnt out what harm could it do to a little patch of already burnt out grass? For good measure Vin squashed it beneath their heel. Just so the party pooper police didn’t come after them. “Maybe, depends what you have babes.” They purred, with an incandescent smile. The bottle of fizz really had done wonders.

“I don’t mind a party,” they said, spying that they weren’t totally alone. They’d meeted out the stranger’s ploy, by putting a hand to his chest. “We can share can’t we?” Vin said, with a graze of their thumb against the stranger-from-Seattle’s lip. Surely they couldn’t be reprimanded for a detour to the club. “Shoes off?” They repeated, aghast at the idea, but a peek in the direction Kaz was looking offered all the impetus Vin needed. They’d seen those faces before, not literally babes, but the spirit of hungry men ready to exude their macho performance of masculinity. “Oh shit!” Getting out of the shoes was no easy task, but they’d perfected the art of undressing. Vin sprinted barefoot behind their new friendly stranger, tugging him into the field with one hand looped into his, for now.

“Don’t you fucking lose me!” They were not going to face off the mob alone. Been there done that, Vin wasn’t tempted by a second round of looking ugly for a week. Faux leather shorts probably weren’t the choice for an unplanned bout of athleticism. They’d let go, somewhere deep into the field of crops, and now seemingly alone Vin shuddered to a stop. “Fuck!” This was not it. They were dangerously close to chundering. “This…” They huffed, doubled over to catch their breath momentarily. “Be…good time to reappear mysterious boy.” Then they could finish the rest of the song, ideally away from the angry lumberjacks.

“Oh my fucking god.” They ran a hand over their buzzed crop of pink hair, dyed courtesy of Lulu. Stranded. Abandoned. Totally alone! What the actual fuck! Vin didn’t even have shit on him, no phone, fuck knows where that went. Not a payphone in sight. They were going to die in this fucking field. Vin shimmied out their last solace that they could enjoy the rest of the night, alone or not. Laying flat out on their back having swallowed the little yellow date to euphoria they watched the crops bend to the wind. They giggled, bored in the company of their own thoughts they soft sang to the field. “Promiscuous boy, wherever you are I'm all alone, and it's you that I want...” 

Vin seemed to take the oddness in stride better than Emre did; likely because, in Emre’s opinion anyway, Vin was already a bit of an odd-duck.  What was one more strange thing to happen, to a peacock like Vin?  So the shock hadn’t quite worn off yet when Vin planted a pert, warm kiss against Emre’s cheek.  And for the pleasure of playing hero and getting a kiss for a reward, it was only instinct tempting Emre to loop an arm around Vin’s waist, lovely damsel in this fantastical, fake construct where Emre could play goodlad, bestlad.  

But Vin wisely danced away, before Emre’s fingers could rest on Vin’s slim hipbone (and then realize his hand was holding Vin close and react badly because he had to, not because he wanted to), and Emre pretended he hadn’t made any move at all.  He just stared around with extreme interest at his surroundings - anywhere but Vin and their laugh and their light teasing that sounded more like bantz than insults.  No cheeky chav retort from Emre -

- because a rush of vertigo forced him to shut his eyes, centre himself and take a breath before turning to face Vin…and seeing Nick.

Emre looked down at himself, startled solely because he was no longer in army togs, and his mind was slow to catch up to reality.  

“Fuck me…” Emre whispered, as the headache rushed against his brow like a tide, the aches and pains of a 40-year old sore back, injured shoulder, all of it. The bloody waswasah haunting the corners of his mind, laughign and mocking him with one name over and over:  Vin, Vin, Vin.

“Vin? Nick.  But you was…Vin.”  Emre blinked at Nick, suddenly so exhausted he felt like he could drop asleep right there.  Not that he’d actually succeed at sleep; insomnia was a nightmare since the trees.  Instead Emre just sagged against a tree, and kneaded the heels of his palms against his eyes.  “Fuck, man.  Fucking hell.  What’s it like. When is this going to bloody end.”  Looking up at Nick, Emre asked with a hollow, dreading hope.

“You remember, yeah?  Tell me you remember all - all - all that.”  The youth, the high-key hostility and brazen stupidity, the lively flourish of not knowing each other, a starting point that did not go sideways.  Saving each other’s lives with no regrets. ‘Please let him remember too,’ Emre thought, for reasons he couldn’t quite yet discern.

It was an assault for the eyes, but on reflection and a hand raked through his hair Nick realised just how much he’d missed the shorn off locks. Buzzed down to the quick. Maybe that wasn’t all he missed. There was a difference, a swell, but it had happened steadily. Incremental changes away from the man he’d been, and for what? Nick blinked and downturned his gaze, Emre was as blinkered as he was. A small token, putting them onto some form of even keel, but despite this Nick wanted a purge. At least with the dupes memories had been hazy. Sketchily drawn out for them, in patches and haphazard illumination.

“I remember…” There’s not the usual bite too it, or snap or even the offhand shortness that Nick usually liberally applied when in the presence of Emre. Well fuck. Should it be any surprise that when dialled back to a fresh start this would be the spiralling point. Nick tilted his head back, eyes closed for a moment as if this would be his salvation. He wasn’t sure he wanted to forget, but admitting otherwise felt like damnation.

Nick toed the ground with one edge of a flipflop, a far cry from the platforms he’d loved all the way back then. “It doesn’t end, does it?” The sort of pessimistic view that he hadn’t held when he’d been young and foolish, or maybe he had. But fuelled into a feverish and hedonistic self-sabotage that Nick had spun into a positive. Somehow Emre, despite flaws, hadn’t come across egregiously awful. Which Nick surmised as being the worst of all to come out of this. That Emre even young, brash and misinformed, ‘wasn’t he still all those things’ (almost), could melt into easy banter. Maybe even –

“Yeah, I’ll go fix up that shed. If it’s still fucked.”