#dioskouroi

Your heart leaps at the inquiry, and you glance over to see his cheeky smile and fan of lashes, his eyes remaining on the open notebook.

As classes have settled in you’ve found that you both have a perfect slot of time nestled between lectures for a quick lunch  break, and the café down the hall from your lecture has been calling your name since its delicious smell first wafted past you.

Okay, you write back, to which he doodles you a smiley face.

☽ ✩ ☾

You find a cozy corner with a booth and big table, sliding your bag off your shoulder and onto the plush leather, its aroma mixing with the delicious smell of coffee.

“I’m gonna go order, what would you like?” Josh asks as he heads for the counter.

“Um…” you ponder, face flushing as you panic to think of something. “I’ve never gotten coffee from a shop before, we’re a strictly tea household. What do you usually get?”

Josh smiles, clearly endeared by your strangeness to the concept. 

“I usually get a caffé ristretto or espresso, but they’re a bit strong if you’re not used to the taste,” he explains. “How about just a latte? Coffee and milk?”

You grin, nodding your head eagerly. “That sounds perfect.”

He nods, then walks over to the girl standing behind the counter to order. You can tell by his mannerisms and how a blushed smile instantly rosies her cheeks that he’s charming her, though their words are not in earshot. You hear her giggle as she hands him his receipt, and a tight, antsy feeling arises in your stomach that you recognize as jealousy.

He’s like that with everyone, you tell yourself. Why be jealous?

But the feeling ceases to fade, and it isn’t until his head turns back towards you, the girl following his gaze, that you snap out of it, giving them an anxious, awkward wave.

“She’s never had coffee from a shop before, isn’t that crazy?” you’re finally able to hear him say, followed by another bout of the barista’s swooning giggles.

You shake your head at him amusedly as he carefully carries the drinks back to your table, moving your books aside so he can set them down.

“Here you go,” he says, setting the two cups down before taking his seat.

You admire the frothy rose decorated on top of yours, the way you always see it illustrated. 

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile, the sweet, creamy smell hitting your nose. “It’s so pretty I almost don’t want to drink it. What do I owe you?”

He holds up a hand, waving it at you dismissively as he takes his first sip. “Don’t worry about it, please. I’m only interested in hearing about this dream of yours. What happened?”

Your chest leaps at the reminder of the purpose of this meeting, keeping you from the chance to argue further about the money. You take a sip of your latte, finding it as comforting and wonderful as it smells, even though it nearly burns your tongue.

“Right – it’s, um, it’s really intense,” you warn, adjusting yourself in your seat. “And so, so vivid – to the point where it feels real.”

Josh sits back as he sips his coffee, his eyes above the brim of the cup set on you.

“So I start off in a forest, and my chest feels tight, as if I've just been running. Some kind of grand force is luring me to this meadow past all the trees, and a deep voice is coming from somewhere around me, speaking in a language I don’t know — I think it might be Latin? And when I make it to the meadow, there’s a huge fire in the middle that’s completely stagnant, not growing or moving, the flames just stay in place. And in front of the fire –”

You pause, trying once again to comprehend the faces of the figures you have seen so many times at this point, but ultimately blanking.

“There’s a boy sitting, his legs folded, literally inches away from the flames. His mouth moves to the words I’m hearing above me, but the voice is way too loud to be coming from just him alone. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but it’s so loud and powerful I feel it shaking in my chest. He starts pleading for me to help with something, and a second later another boy comes from inside the flames.”

Your breathing has picked up, the recount of the imagery so intense it’s sending you into a near panic attack, your eyes trained to the table.

“Hey, It’s okay,” you hear Josh speak softly, lifting his hand to squeeze the top of yours comfortingly. “You don’t have to continue if it stresses you too much.”

You squeeze back, flinching when you feel something cold pressing into your hand. You let go to see a black ring looped around Josh’s middle finger, and suddenly the image from your dream flashes in your mind.

“That’s funny,” you smile, a bit of anxiety lifting away as you pull Josh’s hand to your face to inspect the ring further, to which he looks confused. “Your ring— the boy from the dream had one on, the second one that was in the fire. In fact I think it was on the same exact finger. What is it?”

“Obsidian,” he says, looking a bit melancholy. “It was my brother’s, he gave it to me right before he was taken.”

You remember registering the stone in your subconscious, and the whole exchange is feeling like a strange blast of deja vu.

“Is there any meaning behind it being on your middle finger?” you ask.

“No,” he grins, twisting the ring with his thumb. “It’s just the only finger it fits on. I only wear it when I’m especially missing him, I’m afraid it’ll twist off and I’ll lose it. It’s funny that it made it into your dream, though. Our minds have an interesting way of saving little details of our lives.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy,” you add, shaking your head. “I’ve never had such vivid dreams before, like could they mean anything?”

”Yeah, definitely,” he says, pondering to himself for a moment. “The fire and the figures could represent a multitude of things; your anxieties and any obstacles holding you back, your emotions, literally anything. It’s hard to pinpoint which is which, but regardless it sounds like you’re going through a lot. I’m sorry these dreams are causing you so much stress, I wish I could help.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, honing in on the sensation of his thumb against the top of your hand to keep you calm. “Thank you for listening, I appreciate it.”

You know it’s odd to feel so close to someone so quickly, but it feels like you’ve known Josh for years, like you’ve been best friends since you were little and taken on this life together. Maybe it’s because you’ve never really had a friend before, but you feel like you could trust him with anything. Every other man you’ve come in contact with since your freedom has had this deep violet aura around them, even when they’ve been perfectly nice, your intuition telling you that they reek with danger, and to tread lightly around them, to not let them know too much. But you haven’t had that voice with Josh, not for a single second. His aura is bright yellow, tinged with tendrils of red and orange. Friendly, adventurous, thoughtful, considerate, well-grounded, that’s him. He’s your safe space in this new world that you’re still trying to figure out.

“Do you like it?” Josh finally asks, pulling his hand from you to point at your coffee cup, breaking you out of the near trance you fell under.

“Oh,” you blush. “Yeah, I do. It’s delicious.” 

You take a larger gulp now that it’s not as hot, its sweet bitterness coating your tongue.

Your notice Josh begin to sift through his book bag and decide to go back to your own studying, grabbing the moleskin you had taken out while you waited for the coffee. To your dismay, you open its pages to find only a few nonsense lines written, along with some mindless doodles sketched in the margins. You glance over at Josh’s notebook, seeing them filled from top to bottom. He has impressively neat handwriting, and even drew diagrams and pictures to illustrate each subject.

“Well, shit,” you curse quietly to yourself.

“Can I copy yours?”

“Go right ahead,” he replies, sliding it over with a grin.

You briefly reflect on the fact that you have not noticed Josh pick up his pencil once in the three classes you’ve had with him thus far, but you decide to ignore it, doing your best at copying what he has written.

An hour later, you’ve given up on the copying and gone to simply taking photos of his pages, your eyes tired and stomach grumbling.

“I think this is good for now, I should get home,” you tell Josh, flipping your notebook closed and slapping your pen down on its cover.

“Sweet,” he replies, shutting the book he was reading. “Any exciting plans for the night?” 

You realize it’s Friday, and that the unfortunate answer for you is no.

“I’ll probably just stay home with my aunt, maybe watch a movie,” you shrug, zipping up your bag and slumping it over your shoulder.

“Well, wanna go to a party instead?” he asks, and you freeze at the word party, an anxious knot immediately forming in your chest.

You look up to see him standing above you, grinning from ear to ear.

“Josh you know I-”

“Oh come on,” he urges as you stand up and push your chair in. “It’s a casual affair, at a friend of mine’s house right off campus. Starts at ten, you can be home by midnight…”

You roll your eyes even though the way he pitches his voice at the end of his sentence makes a smile pull at your lip, and you know his convincing is already winning you over.

“I’ll have to sneak out, and I’ve never done that before,” you say, your voice mousy and innocent.

“So?” he quips, giving you a light push on your shoulder. “You’ve had a lot of firsts lately, what’s one more?”

You sigh, worrying your lip.

“She’s a light sleeper,” you point out. “Though…”

You think of the bundle of valerian root you saw in the kitchen cupboard recently, enough to knock out an army.

“Though…” Josh repeats as he follows you closely as you both exit the cafe.

“Okay, I’ll see,” you blush, flattered that he’s so adamant about your attendance. “Just send me the address.”

“Already sent,” he smiles, just as your phone pings with his text.

“See you at eleven?” he calls as he begins to part ways to his last class upstairs, with you on your way to your lab building across campus.

“See you,” you grin, your head ringing with nervous anticipation with how this night will play out.

☽ ✩ ☾

“So her memory is catching up to us,” Jake says after his brother explained the events of the day, his face half illuminated in an orange glow. “She didn’t question you any more about the ring?”

“No,” Josh shakes his head, tapping his thumb against the hard band. “I don’t think she’s suspicious of any of that yet, it’s still just a dream to her.”

“Well, that’s good,” Jake sighs, laying back down in his cot. “Let her figure it out herself.”

It’s silent for a moment except for the crackling of the fire , the conversation coming to a lull.

“We’re going to a party tonight,” Josh mentions through a modest smirk, and he can see his brother perk up with interest. “Oh really?”

“Mm-hmm. I’ve been to a few already, just to familiarize myself with the culture of the academy. It’s not a lavish jamboree like we’re used to, but mortals like to have fun too— plenty of spirits, plenty of vices. Princess should have a ball.”

“Well, don’t get too ahead of yourself,” Jake quips, flashing a toothy grin that Josh hasn’t seen in a regrettably long time. “She’s never even drank before, has she?”

“Nothing to this extent,” Josh admits. “But don’t worry, I’ll keep her safe. I promise.”

☽ ✩ ☾

It wasn’t easy — of course, tonight was the night your aunt wasn’t in the mood for a cup of her evening tea, a steep of soothing herbs that always has her in bed by 9 o’clock sharp. 

“I think I’m going to stay up and knit,” she says to your dismay as you put the pot of water to boil. “It’s getting cold soon, and when I pulled the heavy quilts from the attic earlier today I found that the moths had eaten them to shreds — isn’t that a shame? Must have forgotten the mothballs when I stored them in the spring. Well, I can’t afford brand new ones from Mrs. Mabel this year, I have some yarn to make our own. Would you like to help?”

You purse your lips, tapping your nail anxiously at the edge of the metal stove. “No thanks, not tonight. I have a lot of homework.”

You turn to open the cupboard, slipping the bundle of valerian in your palm as you sift through the carefully labeled tea boxes. 

“I’m still going to make some tea, though. How about black, if you’re wanting to stay up late?” You ask, your heart pounding anxiously for her response.

“Hmm, I suppose with some honey and milk,” she nods before heaving her knitting basket onto the dining table.

“Great,” you grin, relieved she was convinced, lifting the lid to dip the bag into the heavy pot.

You glance back to see your aunt already working vigorously at her needles, making sure she's distracted before slipping the valerian bundle in with the rest of the brew. Caffeinated tea and a heaping of sedative herbs — not your best plan, but you’re hoping for a decent outcome. If anything the reactions will cancel out, and she’ll only softly doze off instead of knock out for days.

A few minutes later and you pour the dark steaming liquid into two cups, one for yourself that you’re preparing to leave untouched on your bedside table, along with splashes of milk and stirs of honey. Your aunt takes her mug gladly, and you revel at the sight of her taking a few hearty gulps.

“Delicious,” she hums, blowing on the steam. “Remind me to get more of this blend at the market.”

“I’ll put it on the list,” you smile as you grab your mug and head towards the stairs.

“Well, I’ll probably be up here the rest of the night,” you call over your shoulder as you make your way over to the stairs, stepping carefully stepping over Lazlo who lounges in his usual spot on the first step. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight my love!” you hear her call back. “I hope you dream sweetly tonight  — none of that nightmare nonsense.”

You smile at her wish, though you know you won't have to worry about that for a while as you make it down the hall and swiftly your door behind you, clanking the mug on the nightstand before rushing into your closet.

“Casual affair…” you repeat Josh’s words to yourself as you sift through your closet.

You decide on a pair of black jeans and a white cable knit sweater, an outfit that allows you to have full agility among the obstacles you’re about to face. After touching up your makeup and stuffing your phone and keys in your back pockets, you pace around your room nervously until the clock is closer to ten. At 9:45 you pull on your denim jacket and heavy black boots and trek quietly to the window that sits in the middle of the far wall of your room.

“Okay,” you sigh to yourself, unlatching its lock and pushing it open, the cold air quickly wafting in.

You take one last glance behind you for good measure, before stepping your foot through the windowsill and landing on the rough surface of roof shingles. You hold the top of the windowsill to steadily pull yourself through, crouching down to slide the window shut once you’ve made it through. 

“Easy,” you praise yourself, before realizing the next part is the most treacherous; sliding down the incline to reach its edge.

You sit on your haunches with your legs outstretched in front of you, your hands bent behind you for leverage as you carefully scoot yourself to the edge. It takes maybe a minute at most to get down, even though it feels like an eternity with the gravelly shingles digging into your palms. You panic once you make it to the edge and feel hesitant to jump in such an awkward position. With no other choice, you flip your body around in one swift move, your knees sinking into the wet mass of leaves stuck in your gutter as you prepare to jump.

“Fuck me,” you curse at the icy wetness hitting your skin, pushing them past the edge one by one, your hands now gripping the edge of the gutter as your body dangles along the nearly 8 foot drop.

You don’t even let yourself think too much about letting go, you just do it, bending your knees to break the impact of your boots hitting the soft grass.

You spring up to standing, giving yourself a moment to catch your breath and dust the dirt and debris off yourself before quietly scurrying to your truck, avoiding walking in front of any of your front windows to the best of your ability.

In a blur you make it inside the truck, shutting its door with the lightest slam. It isn’t until you make it to the main road that you let out a sigh of relief, your first escape mission a success.

Before you know it, the tire of your truck skimming the edge of the curb designated the address Josh had sent. You nervously attempt to parallel park, settling on a good enough job in your book, with your right front tire perhaps sticking out a bit for others' likings.

You switch off the ignition and hop out, your breath clouding in the damp cold air that clings to your skin. Your boots scuff against the pavement as you walk up to the respective door, your heart clambering in your chest.

I’m here, you text Josh, too nervous to enter and be greeted by stranger’s faces. A second later, you hear it open, Josh appearing with his eyes heavy and glossed pink, his smile as white as ever.

“Welcome!” he greets, pulling you into a hug.

He smells like something earthy but unfamiliar, the scent sticking to his breath when he continues to speak as you pull away.

“Come in, would you like a drink?”

You feel a pleasant shiver go down your spine. You`ve never been offered a drink, save for the glass of birthday wine.

“I would love one,” you smile, following him down a dark, barren hallway.

The hall leads to a living room, lit only by a string of fairy lights and a lamp in the far corner that glows a deep, dark orange. In the center sits a well-worn leather couch where two couples lounge, a boy and girl chatting on one end, and two boys making out at the other. A few more people are splayed amongst the room, some standing in a little group while chatting and sipping from their red plastic cups, a few others sat around the round bohemian rug that lays in front of the couch, their legs tucked under the glass coffee table on top of it.

“Attention, everyone,” Josh announces, his voice seeming to carry over the others with ease and quiet them instantly.

He introduces you to the group, making sure to mention how this is your first year at Acaber, and does his best to rattle off the names of everyone else, though the nerves of having so many eyes on you prevents you from registering most of them. They all seem very nice, welcoming you with a cheers of their cups.

“Drinks are this way,” he informs, ushering you towards what you soon find in the kitchen.

An array of sodas and juices in colorful bottles are splayed out along one of the countertops, basically all of which you have never tried before as your aunt has an unofficial ban on any artificial products at home. Along the opposite counter is a similar sight, though you recognize their ornate glass bottles as being full of liquor. 

“What’s your drink of choice?” Josh asks, grabbing a red cup from a stack by the sink.

“I have no idea,” you laugh, a bit overwhelmed by all of the options. “I guess whatever you’re having.”

“Right, right,” he says, clearly recalling your lack of experience in the matter. “Well this is just whiskey, and I am positive you will not like it.”

“Oh please,” you quip, taking the cup from him. “I liked the coffee, I can like this too.”

“Alright,” he laughs, an amused smile spread on your lips. “Suit yourself.”

You don’t hesitate to tilt the cup to your lips, the shallow pool of dark liquid pouring into your mouth. Immediately, it stings your nostrils, and it tastes as if you dipped one of the caramel bon bons you get from the shop on the square, except covered in gasoline.

“Agh!” you wince, shoving the cup back to Josh. “That’s awful.“

“I told you,” he giggles. “I don’t say that to be pretentious, it’s just not normally a baby’s first booze kind of drink.”

“I’m sorry,” you blush, feeling a warmth blossom in your throat and chest. “It feels good though.”

“Hell yeah it does,” he says, walking over to the soda counter with your cup. 

“Here, something simple and sweet — rum and Coke.”

He pours a few glugs of Coca-Cola, the pale fizz nearly pouring over the rim, before carrying the cup to the other side, plucking a tall clear bottle with a white cap, the name Bacardi in big letters atop its label. He swirls the mixture in the cup as he walks it over to you, extending it to you with a proud smile.

“Cheers.”

You clink plastic cups, hesitating this time as the drink drips past your lips.

“Mmm,” you hum, your eyes lighting up as you take in the sparkly sweet gulp. “That’s good, like candy.”

Josh hums at your comment, clearly amused.

“You’ve never had a sugar high like this before, kid,” he quips, giving you a wink. 

The pet name catches you off guard, along with how easily it slips off his lips, lacquered with an inflection you’ve never heard from him before.

“Are you high?” you ask, the question blurting out once you notice how his eyes are practically gleaming with a sheen of pink.

He acts offended, placing a defensive hand to his chest.

“Now, I know you’re new to all this,” he says, stepping closer to you. “But surely you know not to ask something so patronizing. How dare you think I’m under the influence.”

He speaks in a cadence as if he’s performing a dramatic acting role, raising his hands to dramatize every other word.

You simply stare at him a moment, unsure of what to say or if you’ve truly offended him, until he bursts into a bout of laughter, his giggles filling you with warm relief.

“I’m just kidding,” he says, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “I’m fucking stoned.”

“Oh,” you chuckle back, trying to ignore the fact that he glanced at your lips the moment he learned into your shoulder. “Well I’ve never been stoned before either, but maybe that’ll change too.”

“It will,” he nods with blissfully shut eyes, tapping your shoulder once more before letting go. “Not tonight, but it will.”

“Why not tonight?” you ask as you follow him back into the living room, which has somehow doubled in capacity in just the short period of time you were in the kitchen.

“One vice at a time,” he calls over his shoulder, before slouching onto the couch that’s now half vacant, the two boys still perfectly comfortable lapping at each other's faces.

You try not to be rude but can’t help but look over at them for a second, glancing back at Josh with raised eyebrows.

He gestures to you to lean closer even though you’re still standing, so you simply hover over him, with him looking up at you through heavy lashes.

“Grey and Everett,” he says as he nods to them. “They’re in their own world, we’re used to it. Why condemn the act of love? It’s beautiful and natural.”

You nod back, trying to normalize it yourself. Sure, he has a point.

“So is this all we do?” you ask, stepping back to glance around the ever-filling room. “We just sit around and talk and drink, and…kiss?”

“Sure!” Josh exclaims, suddenly pushing himself back off the couch and raising his hands in the air. “Relishing life's luxuries while we’re young and still have some brain cells to lose. Speaking of — want a shot?”

You ponder the daring request for a moment, glancing down to see that your cup is already almost empty

“Alright,” you say, before finishing off the rest. “Let’s do it.”

☽ ✩ ☾

Much to your delight, you find that you love tequila shots. Dressed with salt and a lime, it’s a delicious mix of sweet, salty, and heat, the burn of the liquor hitting your throat making your cheeks flush and limbs feel loose. You’ve had three so far, and even though Josh is proud of your natural ability to shoot the liquor right down your throat, he warns you to pace yourself.

“It feels great right now,” he says into your ear, yelling over the noise of the room that’s now nearly filled to capacity. “But it hurts in the morning.”

You’re both standing in the corner of the room by a tall potted fiddle leaf, having a brief conversation earlier about how well it appears to be taken care of. It’s a quarter to one, and you have no plans to go home anytime soon. You’re relieved every time you check your phone and don’t have a thread of calls and messages from your aunt, hopefully proving your sleep tea concoction to be a success.

“I want to dance,” you blurt, your limbs tingling with the desire to move.

Josh raises his eyebrows, before promptly setting down his drink on the floor. 

“Say less,” he says, before grabbing your wrist and pushing into the crowd.

You don’t know the song that’s playing, but the beat makes your body vibrate. You’ve never danced outside of the comfort of your bedroom, and you’d be self conscious if it weren’t for the liquid courage currently surging through your veins. You rock your hips side to side, your arms raised and wrists twisting to the rhythm. Your eyes are closed, soaking in the moment when you feel a gentle hand on the small of your back. You open your eyes to Josh, a grin spread in his face as he gently grabs at your waist to pull you closer to him. Your arms fall to land atop his shoulders and his forearm slinks across the small of your back, the pads of his fingers pressed into the plush side of your waist as you both rock to the rhythm. No words are shared, not that they could be even heard over the music, but you share a different kind of nonverbal communication between your bodies that feels deeply intimate. Touching him is electric, your body buzzing with every squeeze he gives to your hips. 

You can’t help but press yourself even closer into him, practically grinding into him as your fingers slide up the nape of his neck before raking through his mess of curls. You feel Josh lean in as your eyes once again shut for a moment, but they shoot open with a gasp when you feel his wet lips against the side of your neck. You instantly melt, the sensation incredible, and you feel a pulse somewhere deep within your core. He pulls away for just a moment before finding a different spot, the next kiss coming with a suction that makes the spot sting deliciously. You tug gently at the roots of his curls signaling you like it, and you swear you feel him smile, the skin below his lips vibrating at the frequency of his muffled chuckle.

He pulls away, lifting his head to look you in the face, his lips pink and swollen. You marvel at them for a moment before glancing up to see his eyes admiring your own lips, and you know what is to come next. You both lean in, your lips barely grazing when a loud banging comes from the entryway and bright beams of light come shining in through the entrance windows.

“Shit, not again,” you hear Josh curse among other distressed voices in the room, many of the people around you retreating into deeper rooms within the house.

Though the bright light and authoritative voices coming from behind the door are threatening, you recognize that you aren’t as concerned as you maybe should be, giggling to nothing in particular as you cling onto Josh’s arm.

“C’mon,” he tells you right as the music turns off, and you stumble behind him as he leads the way past the kitchen and into another darker room, still having your arm gripped around tightly to his bicep.

After a few moments in the pitch black, simply trusting Josh keeps you from slamming into a table or other obstacle, you make it to another door, its curtained window glowing a moonlit violet. He twists the knob slowly, the wood creaking as the door leaves its frame, and you see his silhouette motion for you to walk through.

“Shhh,” he scolds as you begin to giggle once the two of you cross the yard into a small patch of woods behind the house. “They’ll be here for a bit, we have to wait it out.”

You both stop at the trunk of one of the larger trees, Josh leaning against it as he observes the direction you both just came from.

“I’m cold,” you complain with a slurred, pouty voice as you rub your hands together frantically, having ditched your jacket inside at some point.

“Here,” Josh says, before grabbing your hands and folding them together.

He then proceeds to place them to his lips, inhaling deep breath before blowing it between your palms to warm them. You can’t help but let out a loud cackle at the gesture, and Josh suddenly pulls you forward and into him.

“You can’t do that,” he says, trying to be serious even though a laugh grazes his voice. “They might come outside, or the neighbors will call in another noise complaint on top of the one they’ve already clearly made.”

“I’m sorry,” you blush, your whole body weight leaning against him and the tree.

“How are you so warm?” you ask, feeling his hands that still remain wrapped around yours. “It’s like you’re by a fire, not standing in 20 degree weather.”

He shrugs, letting his thumbs brush against the tops of your hands.

“I’m warm bodied, I guess.”

You both continue to stand there for a few minutes, ducking around the other side of the thick tree once you hear the back door open and flashlights shine across the yard. Eventually the sound of their cruiser doors slamming shut echos from the other side of the house, their headlights casting across the front line of trees as they drive away. Josh holds out a patient finger for a few more beats to make sure the coast is clear before he relaxes himself with a sigh.

“Alright,” he says, looping your arm around his. “Let’s get you home.”

☽ ✩ ☾

You don’t remember how you ended up perfectly tucked under the covers of your bed, or when you changed into your pajamas, but it’s the state you find yourself in once you awake the next morning. You groan at the first throb of a pounding headache, squinting as you reach for where you left your mug of tea the night before even though cold tea is the last thing you wanted to drink. Your eyes open when your hand wraps around a tall glass instead, realizing it’s fully filled with water. You look over to see a bottle of ibuprofen sitting beside it, two pills already sitting on its lid.

You struggle to sit up higher to grab the pills and swallow them down with several big gulps of water, looking around your room, trying your hardest to recall the majority of your night. It comes back in bits and pieces; the tequila shots, the dancing, Josh’s hands on your hips and his lips on your neck. You put your hand to the spot that’s still lingering with a soft ache, the skin raised and sensitive, and you feel your cheeks flush thinking about how good his touch felt. You never understood how a pain could feel pleasurable, but this was it, and you can’t help but push on the fragile skin to feel the sting just a bit more. 

Your memory is completely black after a blurry image of you in the woods, shivering and pressed closely into Josh as he waited for the police to leave. Your heart lurches at the fact that you couldn’t have possibly driven yourself home, and you fly out of bed to get a look outside your window that faces the driveway, pulling the curtains open even though the stark brightness blinds you for a moment.

To your deep relief you find that your truck is parked in the exact spot it’s always in, sitting right behind your aunt’s old buggy that she rarely touches.

The mystery of how you ended up home, and if Aunt Edith caught you and you’re grounded for eternity still stands, and your anxiety crawls right back into your stomach as you reach for your phone to text Josh.

Luckily his name is already in the thread of notifications once you turn it on, and you anxiously click it.

Call me when you wake up, his text says.

Everything is okay.

You dial his number, your heart still pounding as the ringer beeps.

“Good morning, princess,” you hear him smile through the phone, and you blush at the pet name, though your anxiety doesn’t give you much time to acknowledge it any further.

“Everything’s alright?” you ask, still not convinced. “Aunt Edith didn’t wake up, you-?”

“Yes, everything is totally fine,” he assures with a chuckle. ”Never heard a thing from your aunt, the house was silent except for a few stumbles and giggles coming from you. You were very adamant to do your skincare and change into comfy clothes.”

You blush deeper, too embarrassed to ask if he helped you in any way.

“But my car?” you decide to ask instead, walking back over to the window to look at it once more. “How-?”

“I had some friends help,” he explains. “They were sober and drove us and the car home. Everything is alright, okay? You made it home without a hitch.”

“Okay,” you say, letting out the breath you realize you’ve been holding.

The line goes quiet for a second before he speaks again. “So did you have a good time? Did you need the pain meds this morning?”

“I did, and yes,” you reply, cracking a smile and fiddling nervously with the hem of your sleep shirt. “It was amazing — everything I could’ve hoped for, but perhaps minus the headache. Did you enjoy it?”

“Hell yeah,” he says. “Best night I’ve had in a while.”

He pauses again, and you can hear him inhale before he speaks. 

“Is—uh, is your neck alright? I’m sorry if I got a little—“

“No, it’s fine,” you laugh, your whole body buzzing at the fact that he remembered what had happened. “I actually haven’t even looked at it…”

You walk over to your mirror and lift the phone from your ear momentarily to get a glimpse of it, your eyes widening at the deep red splotch stained onto your neck. You press your fingertip into it again, the red specks of broken blood vessels disappearing for a brief second with the pressure, before returning a deeper purple once it’s removed.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say back into the phone, a bit shocked by how dark and obvious it is.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, and you can hear the concern in his voice. 

“No it doesn’t, don’t worry. It’s a bit noticeable, but I have some arnica flower,” you assure him, having used it for a scrape you got in the garden a few months ago. “Please Josh, don’t worry about it.”

You admire the rest of yourself in the mirror, and how sexy it feels to have a reminder of the night before, even though you’re going to have to hide it before you even leave your room.

“It felt good,” you think to yourself, and you don’t realize you’ve said it out loud until you hear Josh huff a laugh into the receiver.

“Tequila makes everything feel good,” he quips, and you want to ask him to elaborate when you hear the steps of the staircase down to the hall creak with your aunt’s heavy footsteps.

“Shit, I have to go, I’ll talk to you later,” you tell him quickly before ending the call, shutting your curtains and running back to your bed.

You’re fully nestled under the covers with your head turned from the door as it begins to creak open.

“You’re sleeping in late,” you hear Aunt Edith say, and you act as though she’s awoken you, letting out a sleepy yawn and stretch.

“Stayed up really late studying,” you tell her, sitting up as she hands you a cup of tea. “Got it all done so I can enjoy the rest of my weekend.”

“Oh, you have plans?” she asks, walking over to fully open your curtains, the bright white light shining in.

“Well, not particularly,” you say before taking a sip of tea. “We’re due for a farmer’s market trip, aren’t we? The vintage booth I really like is there today, and I’d like a few more sweaters for school.”

“We can do that,” your aunt replies, smiling at you.

She looks cheerier than normal, her round face glowy.

“Did you have a nice night?” you ask her, pulling your legs out of the covers and slipping on your house shoes.

“I did, got sleepy by around ten so I abandoned my knit—“ she begins, but stops suddenly when you lean over to set your tea down on your nightstand.

“Oh no, honey,” she says, suddenly sounding deeply concerned. “What happened to your neck?”

Your blood runs cold, completely forgetting to hide your neck from her even though you were just discussing its state moments ago. You try your best to play dumb, giving her a questioning look.

“What do you mean?” you ask, your hand grabbing for the front of your throat rather than the side.

“No, over here,” she says, before going over to you to get a better look herself. “You have an awful bruise, go look in the mirror.”

You furrow your brow, walking over to the mirror and letting out a gasp.

“I have no idea,” you try your best to fib, staring at the wound wide-eyed through the mirror. “I had a dry patch there yesterday and I was itching it, I guess I scratched it raw.”

“Well, let me go get you something to soothe it, some aloe,” she says, rushing to the door. “Go to the bathroom and rinse it with some warm water.

“Okay,” you call back, getting up from your bed to meet your aunt in the kitchen. “I have arnica flowers in the cabinet, that may help too!”

You smile as you walk to your door, proud of yourself getting away with something so salacious.

Just as you’re about to walk through the doorway, you notice a tiny flicker of light coming from atop the dresser to your right. You focus on the source, and between a vase of dried bouquet of roses and a rabbit figurine you see a small tea light, its wick burning a deep auburn flame. Your face drops to a confused frown, and you walk over to it. The wax below the wick is fully melted and halfway evaporated, meaning it must have been lit hours ago. You glance around your room as if you’ll find any hints why or how it was lit, because surely your aunt did not do it — she always scolds you for leaving candles burning for more than a few hours. When you ultimately find nothing, you decide to simply extinguish the flame, dabbing the pad of your index finger on your tongue and snuffing it, the flame vanishing in an instant. You rub the smooth ash between your fingertip and thumb as you set the candle back down, staring at the tepid pool of amber liquid for a beat more before turning and continuing to descend down the hall.

☽ ✩ ☾

Her skin tasted so sweet, like cherry wine sucked between his teeth. She lingered on his lips for hours after he left her, after he switched a matchstick from his back pocket and ignited a cluster of brambles, her lapse in consciousness blinding her from asking any questions as to why he’s starting a fire in the middle of the woods. With a whisper of a spell, they were transported from the woods to the closest flame she had to her house, a barrel fire in a homeless commune a few blocks away. He was amused by the looks of bewilderment the vagrants gave him when they emerged from the flames, but he paid them no mind, hitching her over his shoulder and trekking the rest of the way on foot.

After managing to get up her roof and back through the window of her bedroom, he rested her limp body gently onto her bed, not a single creak coming from its wooden frame. He stood up and took a moment to the room, breathing in her scent, having waited so long to finally be in this house. He walked over to the opposite side of her room where a long cabinet sat against the wall, and it took him no time to find a candle among her assortment of trinkets and treasures atop it, a small tea light that gave him just enough time for his pyromancy.

Lighting it with another match from his book, Josh grabs the candle and carefully walks over to her bedside. He meditates in his intentions for a moment before taking a deep breath, shutting his eyes, and waving the flame once over the top of her body. When his eyes open, she’s in a cotton t-shirt and sweatpants, her feet bare. He shuffles back over to the cabinet and delicately sifts through its drawers, finding a pair of wool socks that he gently pulls up to her ankles. He then lifts her body from the bed to pull back the thick blankets, nestling her in the crevice of the sheets and tucking them under her chin. 

He didn’t want to leave yet, and decided to take the time to remove the darkness around her eyes and her rosied cheeks himself, grabbing a tissue and pot of lavender balm from her nightstand. Dipping the fine paper into the thick substance, he gently rubbed her face clean, the smell of the flower sweetening the air. She looked beautiful when she slept, her chest gently rising and falling with steady breaths, her eyelids dancing with dreams she’d surely forget in the morning because he wasn’t there to let her remember.

He left her room an hour later, leaving the candle lit to continue admiring her from a distance, the flame remaining a gateway between his reality and hers.

Now he watches as she scurries out of bed, and how frantic she is to call him.

“Everything is fine,” he assures as she worries her lip, glancing out her window at the truck once more.

It wasn’t an easy feat — he’d never driven a vehicle before, taking the flaming route to wherever he needed in the mortal world, but he managed to get it there all in one piece and without any suspicions from others on the road.

He knows she liked it, but he asks concerned questions about her neck anyway. He melts at her parapraxis, a smile curving his lips as he watches her study herself in the mirror. 

He had to do it — to tease her into the idea of deviance. He’s known of deities who force their power unto their quarries, who thrust their phallus and abuse their power in favor of a selfish gain, but he’s vowed to never be like them. She will be seduced, as no enchantress of vestal virginity has ever been successful in her sorcery, but it will be by her own volition. It’s already painful enough that he’s had to avoid the real reason for his presence in her life thus far, any more pain and he’ll simply have to admit himself to the gates of hell, joining his brother to burn for eternity.

To his delight, her warden falls for her endearing performance of pretending to be unaware of the mark. He chuckles at the faux look of shock and horror she puts on, catching the flash of pride in her smile when she’s at once left alone.