#dweetwrites

Ace lets out an undignified noise and unceremoniously shoves Felix away from him.

“Whoa, hold your horses,” Ace says. His voice sounds more breathless than he anticipated and his lips tingle in an unfamiliar way, probably from Felix's stubble.

“Sorry, I didn’t—” Felix says in a rush. His face is flushed and he reaches out his hand, before cringing and lowering it again awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I’m moving too fast.”

Ace blinks. Too fast? Is there some part of bro code that Ace missed, where friendship eventually leads to shoving a tongue down your best bro’s throat?

“I just got excited,” Felix continues rambling. “I had no idea you felt the same way.”

This time, Ace is sure that they’re having two completely different conversations.

“Come again?” Ace says.

“The letter you wrote me,” Felix says. “I know you’ve been flirting, but I never thought that you'd want something more,” Felix keeps going, then smiles and lets out a small sigh. “I'm so relieved.”

“Uh… Are you talking about the note I left you?” Ace asks.

Felix nods. “Yes, the love letter.”

Love letter!? Felix read Ace’s half-assed, completely platonic mess of bullet points and somehow got the idea that it was a love letter!?

“But it was just a list,” Ace explains. “I didn't mean anything by it.”

Felix frowns. “A list about…all the reasons you find me attractive?”

“Yeah!” Ace says. See, Felix gets it after all.

Felix’s frown gives way for a pointed stare, like he’s waiting for Ace to figure out the punchline of some inside joke. Ace should have added that to the list: Is handsome even when he’s looking at me like I’m a complete idiot.

The silence stretches on, until Ace feels compelled to speak.

“I’m not gay,” Ace explains.

Felix is quiet for a few more seconds, then simply asks, “Are you sure?”

Ace physically recoils at the question. Nobody has ever been absurd enough to question his sexuality before. Has Felix missed all the times he’s sung praises for the female body or flirted with nearly every single woman in camp? He just asked Kate for a kiss, for crying out loud!

Well, Felix is a little sheltered after all. Ace can’t really blame him for not picking up on obvious sexual tension in front of him.

Ace chuckles and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Only you could ask me something like that.”

“Only you could make me ask something like that,” Felix mutters, then shoves a piece of paper at Ace. “Read your lett—your list again, and then we can talk.”

Ace rolls his eyes but grabs the paper nonetheless. “Fine.” The list will only prove Ace’s point, and even if he doesn’t specifically want to humiliate Felix, it’ll be satisfying to point out all the concrete evidence of why he’s wrong.

The list reads,

Why Felix is the hottest person in the realm and it's not even a competition

By Ace Visconti

A face probably carved by the gods themselves

Pretty eyes

Great hair

Intelligence is sexy

Hot German accent

Fantastic ass

Takes care of his body, just the right amount of muscles

Best dressed person in every trial

Very sweet, would bring you water and a snack after fucking your brains out

Amazing artist, could draw you like one of his French girls

Marriage material

Blushes cutely

Adorable when he geeks out about houses

Suit kink, anyone?

Dry humor, makes me laugh

Listens to me ramble

Easy to be around

Anyone would be lucky to be with him

Ace's face gets progressively warmer with each line he reads. While making the list, he just jotted down whatever sprang to his mind without giving it a second thought. But now he can maybe, sort of, just barely, understand how Felix could have got the wrong idea.

“No, see, you’ve got it all wrong,” Ace explains.

Felix crosses his arms. “How so?”

“I was just stating objective facts, it doesn't mean anything,” Ace protests, waving the list pointedly. “Everyone’s always talking about how hot and amazing you are!”

“Really?” Felix says. “I’ve never heard someone comment anything even remotely like that. So who, exactly, is saying those things?”

What on earth is he on about? Ace can recall a hundred conversations at the campfire that drifted from trial talk or gossip to how stunning Felix looked in his newest suit or how important his quiet confidence was to the group morale.

Granted, Ace can’t remember specifically which of the four dozen people brought up the topic of Felix’s hotness over the years. Except…

“Well…me,” Ace finally says.

Felix merely raises an eyebrow in lieu of saying anything.

“I'm not gay!” Ace repeats. “And neither are you, for that matter!”

“Nobody is questioning your attraction to women,” Felix says patiently. “And I’m bisexual.”

Something strange flips in Ace’s belly at this revelation and he promptly ignores it.

“Well, good for you! I’m not!” Ace exclaims, his volume rising.

“Then why did you kiss me back?” Felix demands.

“Reflex!”

“For several minutes!?”

“I don't know!” Ace says, throwing his hands up in frustration. “It's been a long time since anyone kissed me and—and it's not my fault you smell nice!”

“I…smell nice?” Felix repeats.

“Yeah!” Ace says. “So it’s your fault.”

Felix stares at him incredulously, his mouth even hanging open a little. Ace stands his ground, meeting Felix’s eyes and puffing up his chest.

“You are, by far, the dumbest person I've ever fallen for,” Felix eventually says.

------

The man was tall. He was muscular and tattooed, with silver hair and a calcularing stare, standing in the middle of the survivor campsite with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His leather jacket creaked from the movement, bulging biceps straining the material.

"Ace," Élodie said, grabbing his arm firmly. "We need your help."

Ace felt a smirk forming. "He's for me? Oh, Élodie, you shouldn't have."

Strangely enough, the new guy neither laughed nor sneered at Ace's remark. In fact, he didn't react in any way whatsoever, which was a little unnerving.

"Not the time," Élodie hissed. "He just got here, and he only speaks Italian. Please tell me you weren't lying when you bragged about being fluent in seven languages?"

Oh; that would explain the mild panic of his friends and utter indifference to Ace's charms from the stranger.

"Italian?" Ace grinned and shook off the woman's hold. "Say no more!"

He sauntered up to the new guy—shoving the medkit in a clueless Dwight's arms as he passed—and put on his friendliest smile.

"Ciao, stranger," Ace said, effortlessly switching to one of the four—not seven—languages he spoke. "I heard you could use some assistance?"

The scowl finally disappeared from that handsome face as the man perked up in recognition.

"I would be much obliged," Mr. sex-on-legs said.

And that was how Ace was roped in to play translator between the rest of the group and their newest arrival.

The man introduced himself as Vittorio Toscano: because of course, even his name was attractive.

Vittorio had apparently been wandering the fog a long time before finding his way here. This was only validated by the fact that he didn't seem at all phased when Ace—at the others' insistence—went over the basic “sorry you were kidnapped by some Lovecraftian god and are now gonna be hunted for sport for its amusement.”

"That doesn't exactly surprise me," Vittorio said. "After the things the fog has shown me…well, I concluded as much."

Ace should probably have been more curious about the…fog visions, or connections to the Entity, or whatever else Zarina and the others were screaming in his ear about once he translated that piece of information for them.

But he had a hunch. And after a lifetime of relying on it to survive, Ace's intuition was usually pretty good.

"So where exactly are you from? Before you got taken?" Ace asked.

"Gordega, Italy," Vittorio said. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry. I used to be a well-read man and be better at languages, but after so long, most of the knowledge has faded."

"Hey, I'm not complaining. Any of these people would tell you there's little I enjoy as much as running my mouth—and now there's actually someone who listens!"

"Nevertheless, I appreciate the help." Vittorio glanced around at the group still gathered around them, patiently waiting for new information. "So ask away. I know you all have questions."

"Yeah, speaking of…" Ace said. "When are you from?"

Vittorio smiled ruefully. "1391."

Though Ace had suspected it was coming, the admission still took him by surprise. Here this man was, looking like he’d jumped right out of some modern alternative fashion spread, casually telling Ace that he was actually over six hundred years old.

And the weirdest part was that Ace believed him.

"What? What did he say?" Meg bounced restlessly in her seat. 

Because Ace being stunned speechless was actually a little worrying, all things considered. He didn't even know how to begin to convince the others of Vittorio's past.

"Thirteen…" Jonah spoke up. "The 14th century!?"

But fortunately, Ace didn't need to. Because while Italian and Spanish were different languages, there were enough similarities for certain math nerds to understand numbers.

"What!?" Élodie exclaimed, then looked at Ace for confirmation.

"Yeah, uh," Ace said. "Our new friend seems to be of the vintage variety."

That was when the arguing started again.

And after the shouting matches were done, when Yui was glaring at Vittorio and ordering Ace to “tell him we don't trust him”…

Ace only smiled at the new survivor and said, "She says she's jealous of your stylish outfit."

Vittorio huffed a dry chuckle. "Is that so?"

Ace was happy to learn that sarcasm apparently existed in the 1300's.

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

Unsurprisingly, Ace ended up talking to Vittorio a lot over the next few days.

Yes, there was the shared language. Yes, Vittorio was ridiculously attractive. Yes, everyone was still harassing Ace about using their new time capsule friend to find out more about the Entity and the fog.

But more than that, this was the most interesting thing to happen in the entire six years Ace had been stuck here.

The others weren't thrilled that Ace used most of his time simply getting to know the guy, whether that was blabbering on about his family's Italian roots or bugging Vittorio for fashion advice.

"So you picked up all the accessories in the fog too?" Ace asked. "Pierced your own ears, cut your hair, the whole thing? Damn, and here I've had the same haircut for six years."

"I suppose I could try a different style," Vittorio said, fiddling with one of his necklaces. "Maybe the jewelry and neckline is too much for someone of your time?"

"Don't you dare change anything," Ace said. "Have you seen some of the atrocities the others wear? You'll be dressing like an elf or rocking fedoras if you try to copy us."

Vittorio huffed out an almost-laugh at that. Tactfully, he didn't comment on Ace's flamingo sweater.

"What about you?" Vittorio asked.

"What about me?" Ace grinned. "I mean, my uncontested status as a fashion icon notwithstanding…"

"You seem content to talk about the past," Vittorio said. "But I'm curious about the future. What was your life like before the Entity?"

Ace's smile only widened. "Tell me, my friend, did you have poker in 1300?"

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

It was easy to befriend Vittorio. 

Ace never would have guessed someone from that era to be so open-minded when even people in the 21st century had plenty of prejudices.

But Vittorio was happy to prove him wrong. It was amazing how easily he kept up with Ace's banter and picked up on concepts previously foreign him. Ace chalked some of it up to the man's calm disposition and interesting life both before and after falling into the Entity's clutches, but more than anything, Vittorio was just that goddamn smart.

Still, six centuries in the fog didn't come without baggage.

"I've seen them," Vittorio said one day, his voice quiet and eyes distant. 

He was staring at a group of girls sorting bandages: Claudette was giggling and Yui was rolling her eyes while Nea talked animatedly with her hands and messed up the bandages.

"Yeah?" Ace asked. "In trials? You've met them before?"

"In the visions," Vittorio clarified.

Because apparently, that was a thing. This group of survivors wasn't the first one Vittorio had come across, though the timeline and his memories were hazy.

But in between centuries of sporadic trials, Vittorio had spent most of his time wandering the fog, not confined to a campfire like the rest of them. He'd told Ace that he used to be obsessed with people called the watchers—or observers, or something—so Ace supposed it made sense that he'd been on his way to becoming one.

"I saw one of the girls get chased by sirens and flashing lights," Vittorio said, still looking at the trio. "And one crying on her birthday, before her father made her smile again. And the Japanese one I saw in the future, far away, and she was killing…she killed them all."

Vittorio's eyes were starting to look vacant. But it was only when the tattoo on his neck started glowing that Ace decided to intervene.

"Hey," Ace said, putting a hand on Vittorio's shoulder. "It's okay. Parallel universe, right? No biggie."

"You're right,'' Vittorio said. When he looked back at Yui, he seemed a little more relaxed. "I've seen how she is. She values loyalty above all else; she's not a murderer."

Suddenly, Ace almost wanted to ask if Vittorio had seen him in any visions.

"I never wanted this," Vittorio continued, so quietly Ace didn't know if it was meant for him to hear. "All I ever wanted was peace. To help the world."

"I don't think world peace is a one man job," Ace joked. "But it's a nice sentiment."

Vittorio's smile was melancholy. "At least I can try to make things better here and help as much as I can."

Coming from anyone else, Ace would have rolled his eyes and asked Dwight to calm down with the team-building speeches. But this was a man who had been doing this for hundreds of years and, somehow, still kept on hoping and earnestly helping others.

"Well," Ace said. "You're at least helping by keeping me entertained. And trust me, that's more important than you'd think. There've been flashlight duels and misuse of murky reagents—and a few explosions—when I got bored."

It probably wasn't the kind of world-saving heroics Vittorio was aiming for, but this time, his smile was genuine enough to reach his eyes.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised."

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

Trials came and went and Vittorio settled more firmly into their group dynamic.

It was strange, having a new teammate who wasn't exactly new. Vittorio had more experience in trials than most of them combined, and after the initial hiccups—mostly consisting of Chinese cursing and “Stop wasting gen efficiency, you fucking fossil!”—Vittorio proved to be a valuable asset against any killer.

"Watch out!" Vittorio hissed, suddenly pulling Ace away from the generator they were working on.

Ace stumbled after him, shooting a confused glance over his shoulder to where the green orb of the Knight's phantom passed their generator by probably forty feet.

"It's okay," Ace said. "He missed the gen. We can keep working."

"No," Vittorio insisted. "That's the jailer. He's an expert at tracking."

Ace dubiously watched as the phantom phased into existence far from the generator. He immediately started down the path his master had determined for him, not even looking at the generator…

Until he came across Ace's muddy footprints from before.

Ace watched the guard change course and follow the trail to the generator. He peered behind the machine and looked around, and Ace was suddenly very glad for Vittorio's foresight to quietly sneak them away. Because the guard found nothing and returned to his path, and Ace avoided what would otherwise have been a nasty burn from that branding iron.

"Huh," Ace said. "That was pretty impressive foresight, not gonna lie."

Vittorio huffed. "One of the few good things to come from being acquainted with Tarhos and his followers, I suppose." 

"Oh, right," Ace said. "I forgot you used to know these guys."

It was bizarre to think that Vittorio was from the same time as the killer with platemail armor. While Vittorio had been seeking knowledge all these centuries, the Knight had apparently been content with slicing people up with his little posse.

"Come, now," Vittorio said. "It should be safe."

Vittorio nudged him back towards the generator and only then did Ace realize that he'd been holding onto Ace's arm this entire time.

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

"Must've been lonely, all those centuries on your own," Ace said over a game of cards. "And here I thought a few years of celibacy was bad."

"It never felt like hundreds of years for me," Vittorio said. "But time does pass differently here."

"Still, there's gotta be more interesting stuff for you to do than hang around an old geezer like me."

Vittorio snorted. "If you're old, that would make me ancient."

"Doesn't stop Kate and Jane from checking you out," Ace said. "And unless your monk training required a chastity vow or something, I'm pretty sure body language is universal."

Ace waggled his eyebrows and threw in a wink for good measure. If Vittorio was offended by his matchmaking attempt, he at least didn't show it.

"I'm a philosopher, not a monk," Vittorio explained patiently. "Regardless, I always valued intellectual compatibility above all else. Which is difficult to achieve if there's no way to even communicate."

Ace shoved down the disappointment. If he'd been entertaining any sort of romantic-slash-sexual angle with Vittorio, those thoughts were definitely dwindling with the requirement of intellectual compatibility.

"Damn, it's a shame Claud doesn't speak Italian," Ace said. "She's wicked smart. You'd probably get on great."

Vittorio hummed and adjusted the cards in his hands. "I mostly gave up on romance after my first and last bed partner turned on me and now kills me on a daily basis."

Ace's brain did the equivalent of a record screech. "What!?"

"Tarhos," Vittorio said, his face neutral like he was discussing the weather. "I told you, he used to be my bodyguard—among other things."

Ace could only stare at his friend and try not to gape like a fish as he pieced together this new information.

Logically, Ace knew that same-sex attraction had existed since the dawn of time—hello, ancient Greece—but he never actually expected Vittorio would be interested in men; or at the very least, not admit it so casually.

"You're shitting me, right?" Ace said.

Vittorio gave a one-shoulder shrug. "There's nothing for me to gain by lying."

As he said it, Vittorio met Ace's eyes with something akin to a smirk.

"Speaking of, were you planning on putting back those two extra cards you took last round?" Vittorio asked. "Because I may not know much about this game, but I'm almost certain that's against the rules."

And Ace could only laugh somewhat hysterically before attempting to explain his little card maneuver as a legitimate strategy, all the while recovering from the absolute whiplash of the last few minutes.

Because, yes, Ace still found Vittorio hot: that little fact hadn't changed just because they were friends now. Vittorio still looked like someone had taken David's muscles, Felix's face and Jeff's rugged charm and mashed them into Ace's ultimate wet dream.

But he never thought anything would come of it. The guy was from a completely different time, was only talking to Ace because that was his only option for company, and had probably seen enough shit for a hundred lifetimes.

And now, he was learning that there might be a chance after all?

No matter how small that chance was, Ace had to take it.

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

"So, I've been meaning to ask," Ace said a few days later.

Vittorio paused in stocking a toolbox, immediately giving Ace his full attention. "Yes?"

And looking at that handsome face and those deep green eyes staring so earnestly into Ace's own…

Ace chickened out. 

"What's that tattoo on your neck?" Ace asked. "The one that lights up like a glowstick when you go all…observer-y."

"Oh." Was Ace imagining it, or did Vittorio sound disappointed? "It's… well, it's probably easiest if I show you."

With that, Vittorio shrugged out of his jacket and reached for the hem of his shirt, and Ace only had enough mental capacity to swallow an embarrassing noise. He glanced around in alarm: they were right by the campfire, with a dozen or so people milling about and Christ, anyone could see the impromptu strip show!

Someone gasped across the campsite and when Ace finally turned to look, he almost wanted to do the same.

Vittorio was covered in tattoos. From his neckline all the way down to his waist, tattoos in various shapes and colors took up the majority of his muscular torso. Most of them were symbols or writing Ace couldn't understand—but then again, he didn't know what he expected from a medieval philosopher.

"How…?" Ace managed to get out.

"I did most of these by myself," Vittorio said. He brushed over a row of what looked like runes on his forearm. "When I was locked in the dungeon, I marked myself with every ancient symbol and passage I could remember. It's how I got the Entity's attention, and what lets me channel energy in trials."

For the second time in just a few days, Ace was rendered speechless. He had seen Vittorio use some sort of portals on generators, but other than Feng's complaints, none of the survivors had been keen to learn more about it.

The longer they were silent, the more Ace could feel people staring. Some of the others were already whispering, but in the end, only one person dared to approach.

"Hi," Mikaela said, finally snapping Ace out of it.

"Hello, beautiful!" Ace's poor, frazzled brain automatically resorted to flirting.

"Those symbols…" Mikaela reached her hand out, hovering above Vittorio's chest. "Can I…?"

Ace had half a mind to tell her to get her own half-naked, medieval hunk. But before he could, the woman's hand started glowing.

"Whoa," Ace said. "Easy there, Red."

"Ask him to channel the power," Mikaela said. "There's—I can feel the potential of the magic, but I can't reach it."

"Reach what?" Ace said. He trusted Mikaela, he really did, but if there was a chance of her witchiness hurting Vittorio… "What are you doing?"

It was an unnerving sight, seeing Vittorio's tattoos and Mikaela's hand both glow the same unnatural blue. The lights were pulsing in tandem, almost like a heartbeat, but Vittorio only watched the sight curiously.

"There's so much knowledge in his magic," Mikaela said. "We just need to unlock it."

"Ace?" Vittorio asked. He still looked as calm as ever. "What is she saying?"

Ace swallowed and stamped down on his own worry-slash-jealousy.

"She said to channel your magic—uh, like when you're doing the observer thing, I guess." Ace frowned. "But you don't have to."

Vittorio looked back at Mikaela, and then he nodded.

"Good," Mikaela said. "I'll try to amplify the magic. Ready?"

"Now, hold on just a minute—" Ace tried.

"It's alright," Vittorio said. "I want to try this."

Ace sighed and stepped back, giving the duo some space.

"I swear, if you break him…" he told Mikaela.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Please just stay out of the way."

And that was apparently all the warning Ace got, because as Vittorio closed his eyes, the glow that resulted from his and Mikaela's shared magicking was bright enough to nearly blind him.

Ace shielded his eyes from the flash of light and heard many curses and yelps as others did the same.

"What the fuck!?" Nea exclaimed.

"Ugh, my eyes!" Steve complained.

"Is everyone okay?" Jane asked. "Mikaela? Vittorio?"

"We're fine," said a familiar deep voice.

A very familiar voice that was no longer speaking in Italian.

Ace blinked the light from his eyes, only to see his friends seemingly unharmed—save for the fact that Vittorio's eyes were glowing blue.

"I assume it worked?" Mikaela asked.

Vittorio smiled. "I'd say so, yes."

Ace could only gape stupidly. From everything he had expected Mikaela's little spiritual session to include, making Vittorio a fluent English-speaker wasn't part of it.

The others cheered and swarmed the man, now free to talk to him without Ace's interference, and Ace's heart sank to his stomach.

He should have been happy for his friend. This would make things much easier in trials and do wonders for the survivors as a team, not to mention vastly improve Vittorio's quality of life since he was no longer restricted to one person as his entire social circle.

So why was Ace so disappointed?

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

A few hours later, footsteps approached Ace at the edge of camp—where he was absolutely not sulking away from the group, thankyouverymuch—and it was a small surprise to see Vittorio flop down next to him. 

Ace glanced over. Vittorio was usually more graceful, but this time he just sort of…crumpled to the ground, heaving a sigh as he dragged a hand down his face.

Clearly, he wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, but they both knew it had to be done.

Instead of friend-dumping Ace, however, Vittorio merely propped one of his arms up on a nearby log and looked at Ace with a smile: a small, tired smile, but a smile nonetheless. 

“Ciao,” Vittorio said.

Ace just stared at him. The way Vittorio was leaning against the log, arm casually draped over it with the rest of his body on display and an easy smile on his face made him look like something out of the magazines Ace used to steal and hide under his pillow when he was a teenager, until his father found them and…

Yeah, okay, not going there.

“How's it going?” Ace asked.

Vittorio frowned. “Why are you speaking English?”

Ace shrugged. “No use trying to talk in code when everyone’s gonna understand every word you say regardless.” He averted his eyes and kicked at a pebble on the ground. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you get back to them? I’m sure they’re all dying to talk to you.”

It wasn’t a lie: he could feel several pairs of eyes lingering on them and probably anxiously awaiting their turn to talk to Vittorio.

Vittorio huffed. “Have you considered the possibility that maybe I don’t want to speak to thirty people at once?”

When Ace’s response was only a skeptical look, he continued, “The magic requires conscious effort to keep active and getting to know this many new people at once is exhausting. I’d much rather keep it to short intervals and spend the rest of my time with you.”

Ace couldn’t stop the smile from creeping up on his face. Switching back to their shared language, he said, "Well, in that case, I guess I'm all yours.”

It was seemingly just another cheesy line and, hopefully, Vittorio wouldn’t realize how much Ace truly meant it.

Vittorio just frowned, then said softly, “I saw you, you know.”

“I wasn’t moping,” Ace reflexively lied.

Vittorio huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head in what seemed like fond exasperation—his default mood when it came to being around Ace, really.

“In a vision,” Vittorio clarified.

“What, just now?” Ace asked.

“No,” Vittorio said. “A very long time ago. It was from one of your stories: the one where you challenged the female fighter for a bet. It’s one of the first visions I remember having in the fog.”

“Oh,” Ace said, then promptly cleared his throat as realization set in. “Damn, that's the memory you saw? I've had more glamorous moments in my life, you know.”

At least it wasn't Ace’s secret gay porn stash or any of the numerous loan sharks threatening him.

“I wasn’t sure it was you at first,” Vittorio kept going. “It was such a long time ago and I didn’t remember all the details; I didn’t know much about the future back then. And even when I thought I recognized you, you didn’t seem at all like a violent person. I assumed it could have been…” he trailed off.

“A dark universe?” Ace suggested.

“Yes. But after getting to know you and learning how reckless you are, not to mention your stupidly proud smile whenever you tell the story—”

“Hey! It's a good story!”

Vittorio smiled. “I can see that it was definitely you.”

“Well, yeah.” Ace cleared his throat and averted his eyes from the sincere smile. “I’m glad you remembered. I think?”

“It’s strange,” Vittorio continued, “how much calmer I felt as soon as I recognized you when I first came to this campfire. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner—that was dishonest of me.”

“Uh, no, it’s all good,” Ace said. “It was probably a confusing situation. It’s not like you could have known you’d stay with our gang for this long.”

“That’s not true,” Vittorio protested gently. “Arriving here was different from all the other places I’ve come across in the fog. It feels like I know these people.” 

He cast a glance over the survivor campsite where everyone had mostly returned to their usual tasks of sorting items and talking shit about killers. 

Vittorio looked back up to meet Ace’s eyes and said, “Like after centuries of wandering, I’ve finally found the place where I belong.”

Ace kept telling himself it didn’t mean anything.

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

Ace sighed and clutched the apology medkit in his hand.

He and Vittorio had had their first fight. The Deathslinger had been a little too happy to focus his attention on the new survivor and Ace had the brilliant idea to take a couple harpoons to the chest to buy Vittorio at least a few seconds to make distance from the killer.

Unfortunately, it had ended in all of them dead. And after Jane lectured Ace's ear off about ignoring generators, Vittorio had actually raised his voice for the first time and yelled at Ace for intervening in his trial.

And maybe Ace had snapped something vaguely sarcastic back, and that hadn't gone over well, and eventually Vittorio's kind eyes had hardened into a glare and he'd stormed off.

Thus, the apology medkit.

Ace eventually found Vittorio in the woods surrounding the campfire, standing by a small lake and looking out over the still water.

"Hey," Ace said, then hurried to add, "Don't worry, I come bearing gifts."

He held out the medkit. Vittorio simply stared down at it.

Then, Vittorio sighed and dragged a hand down his own face. "I'm sorry."

Ace blinked stupidly. "Uh, I'm pretty sure that's my line."

"I haven't lost my temper like that since…I don't even remember."

Since Vittorio didn’t seem interested in his bribe—ahem, peace offering—Ace made the executive decision to toss the medkit on the ground.

"Well," Ace said. "I am pretty good at getting on people's nerves."

Vittorio smiled at him. "You're also very good at calming people down."

Ace shrugged. "Eh, jury’s still out on that one. Still, I’m sorry too."

"Don't be. You…your actions made me realize something."

Ace swallowed the automatic quip of “That I'm a dumbass?” and forced himself to be serious for once in his life.

"Yeah?" he asked.

Vittorio hesitated, then took a pointed step closer, making Ace realize just how much distance there had been between them. Assuming Vittorio was pissed at him, Ace had unconsciously kept him at arm’s length—but that didn’t seem to sit well with either of them.

Because now that Ace thought about it, Vittorio always seemed to hover in Ace’s space. He’d brush a hand over Ace’s back when passing him, sit close enough that their knees bumped when they relaxed by the campfire, and lean on Ace’s shoulder for support while he wheezed at Ace’s jokes that he swore he didn’t find funny. 

Ace had simply assumed it was a cultural thing: Mediterranean people and Latin Americans were both a little touchy-feely. But now he was starting to question the seemingly platonic gestures.

Vittorio’s brow furrowed while he studied Ace—probably concerned about the fact that Ace had gone a good two minutes without so much as a joke or sarcastic eyebrow raise—before he finally spoke.

“I’m not very good at this sort of thing,” Vittorio admitted. “I’m not sure how to be any clearer, and you are impossible to read…” he trailed off and fidgeted, actually appearing uncertain.

That was on opening if Ace ever saw one.

“Like I said the other day.” Ace grinned and took a step closer. “Body language.”

He tilted his head up and gently grabbed a handful of Vittorio’s shirt to pull him closer, giving the man his best seductive smile.

…Except instead of sweeping Ace off his feet and kissing him silly, Vittorio’s eyes went wide and he froze completely under Ace’s touch.

Ace immediately pushed himself off. “Shit. My bad!” He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture he desperately hoped looked casual. “I read that completely wrong. Sorry about that.”

Ace could almost physically feel the hit his confidence was taking from the rejection. He really had to stop thinking with his dick before he ruined what had become one of the best friendships he’d ever had.

A warm hand grabbed Ace’s wrist and stopped him from fretting with his hair.

Vittorio was smiling, his eyes now fond. “You just took me by surprise.” He huffed. “Apparently, things have changed somewhat in the last six centuries.”

Ace’s smile returned. “Oh yeah? Was kissing about a date twenty type of thing?” he bantered along. “You never thought to peep on those kinds of things in the future?”

“I can't exactly choose what visions I see,” Vittorio protested, though his face pinked as he blushed.

It was a pretty blush and Ace wanted about fifty more of it, please and thank you.

“Then maybe you should show me how you did it in the olden days,” Ace challenged with a wicked smirk.

In response, Vittorio raised their joined hands to his mouth—all the while keeping eye contact—and gently kissed the inside of Ace’s wrist.

“Oh.” Ace’s voice cracked on the word but dammit, that was really nice.

“Would you believe me,” Vittorio said, lowering their hands to properly intertwine their fingers, “if I said that things were much more crude back then than they are now?”

Ace perked up. “Really now?”

Vittorio chuckled at his obvious eagerness. “But this isn't the 1300st century,” he continued, cupping Ace’s jaw with his other hand. “And I can adapt.”

“In my humble opinion, it sounds like a compromise would be in order—”

Vittorio decided to shut him up with a kiss and Ace’s witty response—along with most of his coherent thoughts—promptly fizzled out into nothing.

Vittorio’s beard rasped pleasantly against Ace’s own and, wow, Ace was really kissing someone who hadn’t been kissed in several hundred years. No matter how much Vittorio had tried to play off his need for intimacy, he was clearly desperate for this and very much into it, his lips a little sloppy and his hand tightly clutching Ace’s.

It was flattering, really.

Ace was completely on board and gave as good as he got, clinging to Vittorio’s jacket and standing up on the balls of his feet to press even closer, kiss even harder. He experimentally flicked his tongue over Vittorio’s bottom lip and his effort earned him a quiet moan that shot straight to his groin.

When Vittorio finally pulled away, his breathing was heavier and he was blushing in earnest, pink coloring his cheeks all the way to his ears.

It made him look somehow even more handsome than usual.

Vittorio smiled down at Ace. “That was nice,” he murmured softly.

“Worth waiting six centuries for?” Ace quipped.

Vittorio laughed and warm pride spread through Ace’s body. Vittorio looked so utterly happy here, in this moment of quiet closeness and shared jokes, and Ace wanted to keep making him smile and laugh and blush for many years to come.

Vittorio leaned back down, then murmured against Ace’s lips. “Worth every single year.”

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

It was easy after that.

Ace strolled back into camp after a trial and found Vittorio propped up against one of the logs, his legs sprawled out on the ground in that effortlessly attractive way he always carried himself. He held a book with some weird symbols carved on the cover—one of Mikaela's spell tomes, if Ace had to guess—and his eyes were glowing blue as he translated the text in his mind's eye or whatever.

Ace immediately flopped down next to him with a dramatic sigh, leaning into Vittorio’s side and letting his head rest on a muscular shoulder.

“Damn, your friend really had it out for me,” Ace complained. “That assassin phantom, the one who can outrun us? Somehow always managed to find me when I was injured. I want to file a harassment complaint.”

Vittorio hummed in acknowledgement and the corner of his mouth quirked up. He kept reading but snaked his hand around Ace’s shoulders and gently massaged the spot where Ace had been repeatedly pierced through with a meat hook.

Ace sighed happily and leaned into the touch, his eyes sliding shut as he relaxed from the soft affection.

He could hear murmurs around the campfire: some people had been quite surprised about this turn of events when they shared the news, others had said "told you so", and a few thousand bloodpoints had even exchanged hands.

Ace tuned them all out but he knew people were staring. Here Ace was, casually leaning against his gorgeous, 600-something-old boyfriend, one who was currently glowing blue and magically translating a foreign language, and who would periodically get visions of the future or alternate dimensions.

Yeah, it was a little weird.

There was a laugh from behind them and Ace perked up in anticipation of the newest gossip, but slumped back down in defeat once he heard Élodie go on in French.

“Did you know that Élodie and the architect are dating?” Vittorio asked.

Ace gawked at him. “What?!”

“For quite some time now, apparently,” Vittorio said, still seemingly engrossed in his book but apparently eavesdropping at the same time. “Hm. It's a wonder nobody has noticed.”

“You can…you've learned to…” Ace stammered.

“Translate any language, yes.” Vittorio turned to him and smirked. “Do you think I should tell the others?”

So, maybe his boyfriend had a few voyeuristic tendencies Ace probably should be concerned about.

But then again, Ace was a huge gossip, so maybe it was meant to be.

“Oh hell no.” Ace grinned and leaned closer, draping himself against Vittorio’s side. “This is our little secret and we'll reveal it when they least expect it. Like one of those times when Feng is cursing me out in Mandarin, you can interrupt her with ‘Actually, Ace's mother is a lovely woman, and secondly I'm not about to let him shove a whole flashlight up his—’”

“Alright, alright.” Vittorio chuckled, nudging Ace to shut him up. He lowered his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Our secret.”

Ace’s heart soared and he didn’t even hesitate before pulling Vittorio into a kiss in full view of the others.

"—And I made them think it was just a dream," Ace said. "As far as anyone is concerned, I was never there."

There was a thoughtful hum and Ace felt pride surge through him. That was practically high praise where his master was concerned.

His master: Vittorio Toscano, lord of demons, king of hell. With his striking white hair, glowing blue eyes and a muscular body carved with ancient dark magic, he had a presence that could make even the most powerful demon cower in fear.

In comparison, Ace was just a lowly incubus, but Vittorio’s fondness for him was undeniable. Even if Ace’s big mouth and mischievous streak regularly got him into trouble, he was said to be the only one to ever have coaxed a smile out of their serious lord.

And the only one in six hundred years to be allowed into his bed.

"And the others?" Vittorio demanded.

"The doctor,” Ace hurried to continue. "Was easily swayed by the succubus you sent. It's almost like he was just looking for an excuse to kill all those people."

Vittorio hummed again. “Good work.”

Ace’s lips drew up in a smug smile of a job well done. He’d just gotten back from a five-year reconnaissance assignment and although that was almost nothing in a demon's lifespan, he'd still missed Vittorio something fierce and wasn’t about to disappoint him.

And Vittorio had clearly missed him too, seeing as he'd been kind enough to let Ace climb into his lap and ride him on his throne while Ace reported his findings.

“What else?” Vittorio prompted. 

He ran a hand down Ace's naked back where he was straddling him in reverse. It was a heady feeling, being completely nude and exposed to the room while Vittorio was still fully clothed with only his pants unbuttoned the bare minimum.

“Sable got summoned by some cute little unsuspecting witch,” Ace obediently informed. “And now she’s wreaking havoc in the town of Greenville with her pet abomination.”

Ace shuddered involuntarily. Sable was one of his favorite colleagues—she had a dry wit and a laid-back attitude to her work—but the cursed alien something following her around like a lost puppy always made Ace’s skin crawl.

"Not according to plan, but I’ll allow it," Vittorio said, infuriatingly unbothered by Ace literally bouncing on his cock. "And the rest of the mission?”

Before Ace could reply, Vittorio’s hips bucked up to meet his and Ace’s train of thought fizzled out as he swallowed back a moan. 

"Ace," Vittorio warned, gripping both of Ace's hips firmly enough that his claws threatened to break the skin.

“The…the agent.” Ace hesitated. “I’ve visited him about a dozen times, but he hasn’t caved in yet,” he rambled nervously. “Apparently, some people are just reluctant to commit war crimes even when they’ve had their brain sucked out through their dick. Who knew?”

Vittorio’s thrusts stilled completely and Ace could almost physically feel the disapproval radiating off of him.

And then, to add insult to injury, Vittorio asked, "Do I need to send Adriana?"

"No!" Ace exclaimed, then immediately went quiet and bowed his head in embarrassment.

Vittorio only chuckled: he knew full well how much Ace hated Adriana. She was a disgrace of a succubus, having none of the finesse required and her seduction tactics boiling down to nothing but a war of attrition.

"I can handle it," Ace insisted. “You know I can. Remember the priestess?”

“I do.” Vittorio thrust up into Ace demandingly, causing Ace to groan and dutifully start up a rhythm again.

“Because of me, she spread the plague to thousands of people,” Ace bragged. “Nobody else got through to her. Just me.”

He smirked remembering that incident. He’d been a new incubus, still with only nubs for horns and the demon lord not even knowing he existed. But once all the other incubi and succubi had given up on the mission, Ace had defied a higher demon’s orders and ventured out to seduce the difficult priestess anyway.

That had gotten his master’s attention for sure; doubly so when Ace’s gamble had actually paid off.

“That was hundreds of years ago,” Vittorio said. “Perhaps you need a replacement.”

“I don’t!” Ace hurried to protest. “You know I don’t, I’m so much better than that bitch Adriana.”

Jealousy reared its ugly head as Ace imagined the succubus replacing not only his assignment but also his spot in Vittorio’s bed.

“I’ll show you,” Ace decided. 

He braced himself on the throne’s armrests and started riding Vittorio in earnest, fucking himself down on his master’s cock and tightening around him in the way that always drove him wild.

“Ace…” Vittorio’s voice was low with warning.

“I’ll handle the agent, and you’ll get your war.” Ace’s voice was breathless from exertion and arousal alike. “I’ll hypnotize him, or speak Spanish again; whatever it takes, I can do it.”

“Fine,” Vittorio grit out. "You get one more chance and then—fuck, just like that.”

Ace yelped when Vittorio grabbed him by the hips and roughly thrust into him. He gave Ace no time to adjust before setting a relentless pace and spearing Ace with his cock over and over, the rough fabric of his pants dragging against Ace’s bare cheeks.

“Yes,” Ace panted, hanging onto the armrests for dear life. “Yes, fuck, give it to me!”

Vittorio kept using his body as he pleased. Ace only whimpered and took whatever he was given, but his incubus heart purred with satisfaction, knowing he brought his lord pleasure the way nobody else was allowed to.

“Please,” Ace begged. “Fuck me, use me, fucking wreck me.”

Vittorio grunted and only a few thrusts later buried himself as deep as he could get, a low groan punching out of him. Ace’s breath hitched as Vittorio pulsed and emptied inside of him, his claws finally sinking into Ace’s hips and drawing blood.

“Thank you,” Ace sobbed. “Thank you, that was so good, you’re amazing.”

Vittorio didn’t reply: he only sighed and relaxed back into his seat, still buried balls-deep inside Ace.

"Master?" Ace pleaded hesitantly, his own cock hard and throbbing. “Can I come? I’m so close, please, fuck…”

"Settle down, pet," Vittorio interrupted. "I'm not done with you yet."

Fingers slippery with Ace's blood moved up to his waist, lifting him just enough that Vittorio could fuck up into him again.

Ace whined at the trickle of wetness leaking out of him each time Vittorio bottomed out: this was already the second time he’d finished inside Ace, and after the rough pounding and added sting of the gashes on his hips, Ace was high-strung and desperate for release.

Yet he didn't entertain for one second to reach down and finish himself off. Instead, Ace just picked up where he left off, riding Vittorio’s cock at the pace that the demon lord set.

Vittorio would decide when Ace came—or if he came at all.

“Fuck,” Ace whimpered, his legs trembling. “You feel so good.”

Vittorio purred approvingly. “Not quite the same as with the humans, hm?”

“No,” Ace said vehemently. “No, never.”

When Ace slept with humans, he was always the one in control. Even when he was the one getting fucked against the nearest surface by some repressed Catholic priest who finally gave into his lust, Ace was the one who had orchestrated the whole thing and could use his magic to get away whenever he wanted.

This was nothing like that. Vittorio owned not only Ace’s body, but also his heart. Ace didn’t remember much of his human life: he’d supposedly signed away his soul in a contract with some demon in exchange for unnatural luck at the card tables, and now his entire existence belonged to Vittorio.

Ace would do it again in a heartbeat.

Messing with dumb humans was entertaining enough but more importantly than that, he got to enjoy the company of the most remarkable man he’d met in the entirety of his life and afterlife. Ace was fully aware that if Vittorio wanted to, he could have him killed or tortured with nothing more than a flick of his wrist—yet he chose to keep Ace right here by his side, inflicting only the best kind of pain in addition to mind-blowing pleasure.

“Only you,” Ace gasped. “Only you make me feel like this, you’re…I love you.”

“I know you do,” Vittorio said, his lips ghosting over the skin on Ace’s shoulder. “And there isn’t a single demon in hell who doesn’t know that you’re mine.”

Without warning, he bit down on Ace’s shoulder, his sharp fangs easily piercing the skin and making Ace shout brokenly into the throne room.

Out of the corner of his eye, his swimming vision dimly registered movement. The large room had emptied considerably as soon as Ace sauntered in through the door, but lesser demons still scurried about, continuing with their duties in tidying the room and serving their master.

The narcissistic part of Ace reveled in being watched: for everyone to see that out of tens of thousands of demons, their king had chosen him. They used to have more of an audience in the past, but after a small “incident”—where a nasty dream demon took the display as an invitation to point out that there were much more attractive incubi available, only to promptly got beheaded as Vittorio opened a portal and sliced his neck with nothing more than a thought—it had become a silent understanding for most of the other demons to scamper whenever Ace and their lord were in the same room.

Ace locked eyes with Vittorio’s right-hand man, Tarhos, standing at the bottom of the steps in front of the throne and awaiting orders. Ace grinned slyly and Tarhos’ eye twitched, the only sign that he was irritated.

Ace knew he was jealous as sin and had worked tirelessly to try to take Ace's place for hundreds of years. Tarhos had known and faithfully served Vittorio for over a millenia, and Ace wasn't sure what had been between them before he came into the picture. But now?

Vittorio only had eyes for Ace.

“I’m yours,” Ace said, then moaned obscenely—just to further annoy Tarhos—as Vittorio’s teeth sank deeper into his skin. “Only yours, my lord—please, let me come?”

“No.” Vittorio finally pulled off and lapped up a rivulet of blood that spilled from the bite mark on Ace’s shoulder. “You didn’t finish your report.”

Ace swallowed a frustrated groan but knew better than to voice his annoyance. Even if he had more privileges than other demons, Vittorio still demanded results from him just like anyone else.

He panted through the pleasure-pain and racked his brain for where he previously ended off.

"I handled Jigsaw's protégé," Ace remembered. "She should turn on her mentor any day now."

"Good. And Azarov?”

Ace laughed. “Azarov? Are you kidding me? I barely needed to say the word ‘blowjob’ and he was ready to crush people alive.”

Vittorio hummed in approval, then pushed at Ace’s lower back, urging him to pick up the pace.

"Continue,” he commanded.

"And—and the nurse you wanted," Ace gasped, working his body up and down Vittorio’s cock with renewed vigor. "It helped that you had Carnifex kill her husband, but no incubus or succubus has been able to get into her bed. She's still grieving."

"Sentimental humans," Vittorio scoffed. "I'll send an archdemon to her asylum to poison her mind rather than her body."

"I still don't understand why you want her," Ace said. "She's a nobody—shit!"

Ace gasped as his head was jerked back by his horns, forcing his back into a painful arch.

"It is not your job to question my decisions," Vittorio snarled, the claws of his free hand brutally digging into the lacerations he'd previously made.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry!"

Just because Ace could usually get away with mouthing off didn’t mean he was immune to punishment.

"You should be," Vittorio said, but thankfully released Ace's horns.

Ace didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

"Anything else?" Vittorio demanded.

Ace panted to catch his breath. One of Vittorio’s claws was still teasing at the wound on his hip in a thoroughly distracting way.

“That little cult has been sniffing around,” Ace remembered. “The Imperiatti. They trapped an incubus and cut his horns, but he managed to escape.”

Vittorio grunted in annoyance.

"I could deal with the leader," Ace quickly suggested, wanting to help his master. "He's…German, I think, Janos something—"

"No," Vittorio snapped. "If they're going after incubi, you aren't going anywhere near them."

"I'm not dumb enough to be caught in some trap!" Ace protested.

"And I said NO!"

Vittorio's voice boomed in the room, making every servant freeze and leaving Ace's ears ringing as he tensed and held his breath. He'd stepped out of line again, and now he would get punished, and what if Vittorio didn't want him anymore?

Suddenly there was a blunt pressure against Ace’s hole, and before he could protest Vittorio shoved two fingers into Ace beside his cock, his still dripping come barely enough to ease the way. He was merciful enough to have retracted his claws, but it still made Ace shudder and whine as his body struggled to adjust to the stretch.

"Talk back to me one more time," Vittorio snarled against his neck, "and you're getting my fist next."

Ace should have found the threat horrifying: even if an incubus' body could withstand significantly more than a human's or even other demon's, it had its limits and this was definitely one of them.

But instead, Ace's traitorous dick twitched happily and he couldn't quite suppress his moan at the thought.

Vittorio huffed something resembling a laugh. "Except you'd only like that, wouldn't you?”

"Yes," Ace babbled, "yes, please, I'm sorry, I'll take anything you give me, I—"

"I know you will," Vittorio rumbled, and it sounded almost fond. 

Vittorio’s hand ventured from Ace's hip to his groin and Ace's breath caught in his throat when a finger trailed up his rock-hard cock, the sharp point of Vittorio’s claw dragging against the sensitive skin.

Ace both hoped and feared that it would draw blood.

"There's a reason you're my favorite," Vittorio praised.

Ace's entire body felt aflame, lit up at the rare words of affection. He was pretty sure that if Vittorio ever wanted to, Ace could come from his words alone.

And then Vittorio shoved a third finger into Ace and roughly curled them against his prostate, murmuring, "Such a perfect little slut."

Ace came with a scream, every muscle in his body tensing as brutal pleasure surged through him, his untouched cock twitching and releasing into the air.

Vittorio’s hand pushed on Ace's chest and held him in place as Ace rode out his orgasm, his cock hard and unyielding inside Ace’s spasming body.

Once Ace came down from the high, he collapsed back and against Vittorio’s muscular chest. His breathing was heavy and his body still trembled from the aftershocks.

And because Ace was his favorite, Vittorio only tightened his embrace and didn't punish Ace for coming without permission. Ace winced as the fingers were pulled out of his now-loose hole, but sighed in content when Vittorio’s hand snaked around his torso and lips briefly pressed against the bite mark on his shoulder still lazily oozing blood.

"Thank you, master," Ace murmured, turning his head to nuzzle against Vittorio's bearded jaw.

Vittorio hummed, letting Ace cuddle up to him while he petted Ace’s chest and stomach. This was a side of him nobody else could lure out, but every time Ace was good and made him proud, he’d allow Ace to indulge in the soft intimacy of the afterglow.

Feeling even more daring than usual, Ace craned his neck and placed a small kiss onto Vittorio’s blood-covered lips. Predictably, the demon lord didn’t reciprocate—he’d never show vulnerability in front of an audience like this—but Ace felt a thrill nonetheless.

When Ace pulled away, Vittorio grabbed him by the back of his head to keep him in place, his eyes locking with Ace’s.

“Naughty little incubus,” Vittorio murmured. “What am I going to do with you?”

Ace smirked lazily and leaned into the rough grip. “Keep me around and fuck me whenever you want?”

Vittorio’s pretty glowing eyes narrowed: a look that would have every other demon begging for their lives, but that only made Ace feel smug for visibly getting under his skin.

Ace’s smugness was short-lived, however, when Vittorio coldly said, “Very bold words from someone who made a mess on their master.”

Ace's gaze snapped down and dread pooled cold in his gut as he saw what he’d feared: the white streaks of his release dripping from Vittorio’s clothed thigh down onto the blood red carpet in front of his throne.

Because Vittorio could let it slide that Ace had come without permission. But it was unforgivable that Ace had come on him without permission.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry—I'll clean it up!" Ace scrambled to get up, but Vittorio’s firm grip kept him trapped in place.

"No. You're staying right here," Vittorio said, then snapped, "Clean it!"

A servant immediately scurried to kneel before the throne, his shaking hands carefully wiping their master's pants with a rag before moving to the carpet. Tarhos was scowling at Ace in earnest now, his gauntlets creaking as he gripped the hilt of his sword more firmly.

Meanwhile, Vittorio hovered his hand over Ace's spent dick and a blue glyph appeared midair. The glyph glowed, and Ace bit back a sob as energy flowed through his body and made his cock rapidly swell back to full hardness.

Once the servant left and Vittorio was satisfied with Ace's erection, he shoved Ace back upright to straddle his cock. 

“Again,” Vittorio commanded.

Despite the exhaustion and the oversensitivity riding the edge of pain and pleasure, Ace only grinned and braced his shaking hands back on the armrests.

“Eh, I’ve flown in worse,” Zarina piped up from the co-pilot seat. Based on the fact that she had her feet propped up on the dashboard and was leaning back in her chair, she didn’t seem to be doing much of said piloting.

“See?” Ace told Élodie, then added with a grin, “If you’re so peeved about my plane, why don’t you ask your sugar daddy to buy us a shiny private jet instead?”

Zarina snorted while Élodie merely glared down at Ace.

“You refer to Felix as that one more time and I’m ejecting your seat,” she threatened.

Ace gasped. “But then who’s going to fly you all over Europe to do your Scooby gang shit? I’m not letting just anyone touch my plane, you know.”

“You’ll hopefully be a pancake on the ground, so I don’t think you have much say in the matter,” Élodie countered.

“Human pancake. Yum,” Sable offered. She was sitting in the back of the plane, busy with painting her already black nails even blacker regardless of the bumpy ride.

Zarina sighed before turning to look back at Haddie. “How’s the map coming along?”

“Good,” Haddie said. She waved the thin folder with the Imperiatti insignia that contained their information on the case. “It should only take a day to investigate the site and talk to all the witnesses. It’s a small island.”

“Should we split up?” Zarina asked.

“Dibs on the witnesses!” Ace hollered. “I’ve heard Maltese women are stunning.”

“Me and Haddie should go to the site to investigate,” Élodie said. “I brought my archaeology kit just in case.”

“I’m coming with you,” Sable said. Nobody protested: keeping Sable away from people was usually the way to go if they wanted their witnesses to not shit their pants from fear.

“I’ll go with Ace,” Zarina said, fiddling with her voice recorder. “And Vittorio?”

Haddie glanced at the man in question. Vittorio didn’t even appear to have heard the question; he sat completely silent on the seat opposite of Haddie, staring intently at the floor. His face was ashen and he desperately clutched the Lidl plastic bag they’d acquired on their pre-flight shopping trip in Coburg.

Considering this was his first time ever flying and he’d chosen to do it with Ace as his pilot, he was doing remarkably well.

“You okay?” Haddie asked, nudging Vittorio’s shoe with her own.

He looked up and gave her a shaky smile. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“You didn’t have to come,” Zarina said. 

“I will have to get used to flying sooner or later,” Vittorio said with determination. “The Imperiatti works all over the world and I don’t want to be hindered by this should my help be required somewhere.”

“You could have stayed in Germany with Ursula.” Ace’s head popped into view as he leaned to look back at them. “She sure seemed interested in getting intimately acquaintanced with you and your…knowledge.” The sentence was accompanied by the wagging of eyebrows.

Haddie rolled her eyes while Vittorio grimaced: from nausea or the innuendo was anyone’s guess.

“She’s a very capable woman, but I don’t see how that’s relevant—” Vittorio started.

“Air pocket,” Zarina abruptly cut him off. 

A split second later, Haddie’s stomach dropped as the plane jumped and tilted to the left, before Ace grabbed the controls with a curse and righted their course.

Vittorio squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed a few times before rasping, “Can you please focus on flying?”

“I am!” Ace protested. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Vittorio’s already having a hard time,” Haddie said. “So keep the plane steady unless you want projectile vomit all over your ‘baby’.”

Élodie visibly cringed. “Eugh, please, no puking.”

“Speak for yourself, I love puke,” Sable said. Somehow, her nail polish bottle and drying nails were still completely unscathed.

Élodie stared at her. “Remind me why we brought you along again?”

Sable responded with a sickly sweet smile. “Because I’m not going to get spooked by lawn furniture and run away screaming like a little bitch.”

“I told you, the canopy curtain looked like the Nurse from where I was standing!” Ace protested.

“Yeah, it probably did,” Haddie hurried to defuse. “And I sensed some weird energies in the area. I most likely would have been startled too.”

“Exactly!” Ace said.

Élodie looked at Haddie with a raised eyebrow, but Haddie just shrugged. She really didn’t want to hear more of Ace’s excuses about the sun in his eyes, or how he was just running away to get help, or “Felix’s girlfriend told me the manor is haunted, so of course the Nurse could appear at the garden party!” when the reality was most likely a few too many German beers.

“Maybe it did look like the Nurse,” Sable conceded, then grinned wickedly and added, “if you’re a little bitch.”

Ace let go of the flight controls to turn and point at Sable, eyes narrowing as he snapped, “Okay, listen here you fucking brat—”

“Fly the goddamn plane!” Haddie, Élodie and Zarina yelled almost in unison.

In the end, they made it to Malta relatively unscathed. Haddie successfully marked all their destinations on her map of the island, Élodie secured all their bags, Sable finished painting her nails, Zarina radioed the airport and got them permission to land, Ace got them back onto solid ground with most of the plane’s rusty landing gear still intact, and Vittorio only puked once into his bag.

The others were grumbling about the rough flight and even rougher landing as they exited the plane, but Haddie was smiling as she felt the familiar adrenaline rush of an unsolved mystery. Now, they only had to figure out if the rumors of shadowy figures lurking in the woods were an urban legend that got out of hand, or something more sinister like a paranormal occurrence or the Black Vale trying to regroup after the Entity’s defeat.

She’d never tell the Imperiatti, but she actually hoped it was one of the latter. Returning to normal life after years in the Entity’s clutches hadn’t gone well for her—and based on the ragtag group of fellow survivors who had eagerly volunteered their help for the trip, she wasn’t the only one still craving the thrill of danger.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

Yoichi’s very first trial against the Trickster had already stood out—in that the killer refused to leave a chase or the hook ever since he’d first spotted Yoichi. After Yoichi's sacrifice, the others had been sympathetic and claimed that some killers liked to pick on new arrivals because they made easier targets.

The second time Yoichi faced the killer, he already had a good two dozen other trials under his belt. The Trickster had indeed focused his efforts only on killing Yoichi, but this time, Yoichi put up a fight.

He ran around the rickety shack for what had to be minutes, just like Meg had taught him. The killer got visibly agitated and instead of throwing knives, he’d started throwing insults in what Yoichi would later find out were Korean.

When the gates opened, Yoichi died on his second hook while the killer glared at him, a lit totem crackling right beside him. At the campfire, he got a few high-fives from his teammates for his good chase, but most were confused as to why the Trickster had forfeited the entire match just for one kill.

The third time Yoichi heard the familiar humming at the start of a trial, he was tempted to throw himself up on a hook just to save them both the trouble.

As Yoichi was once again hoisted up onto a meat hook after a respectable chase and the killer proceeded to take two steps back and stand there glaring at him, Yoichi finally had enough.

He couldn’t tell what prompted him to strike up conversation. Yoichi had never been particularly sociable, nor was he very confident in his English skills despite regularly using it to communicate with international colleagues. Maybe his time spent in the realm—and being forced to speak the language if he wanted to coordinate with his team in trials and not be an outcast at the campfire—had made it easier.

Still hanging limply from the hook, Yoichi raised his gaze to meet the killer’s.

“What do you have against me?” Yoichi asked.

The Trickster’s scowl faltered as he recoiled in surprise. Were survivors not supposed to talk in trials? Did the killer even understand English? It wasn't as if Yoichi knew Korean.

Then, the Trickster raised his nose in the air and pivoted gracefully on his heel, pointedly turning away from Yoichi’s hook.

“The stupid commoner thinks he's allowed to address a celebrity like me!” the killer loudly stated in perfectly fluent English.

Yoichi tried to mask his surprise; he hadn’t really expected to receive a reply.

“Ah… my mistake,” Yoichi tried.

The Trickster scoffed. “If the idiot insists on talking, maybe he should apologize,” he sneered over his shoulder.

Yoichi frowned, looking down at the numerous lacerations covering his body and the meat hook brutally piercing his shoulder. Objectively, he was not the one who was owed an apology in this situation.

Yet he’d clearly offended the killer somehow, and good manners dictated he should at least express some remorse. Maybe that would stop the killer from targeting him in the future.

“I’m sorry,” Yoichi said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The Trickster still wasn’t looking at him, but at least he wasn’t insulting Yoichi more.

“I’m…not entirely sure what I did wrong,” Yoichi admitted. “But if you tell me, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Isn’t it obvious!?” the Trickster snapped, turning to point his baseball bat accusingly in Yoichi’s direction. “You are copying my style!” the killer yelled, clearly agitated.

Confused, Yoichi looked the killer up and down. The Trickster had pastel pink hair and even pinker striped pants, and his bare chest was framed by the dramatic yellow jacket. His outfit couldn’t be further from Yoichi's modest turtleneck and trousers. The thought that Yoichi had been mimicking the killer’s look was absolutely absurd, as the Trickster’s look was clearly tailored for showmanship while Yoichi’s outfit was meant for sea fare on the stormy coast of Scotland. He was even wearing his raincoat, for crying out loud—

Oh. His bright yellow raincoat.

“I'm really sorry about the jacket,” Yoichi said. “Unfortunately, this is the only outfit the Entity has given me. I didn’t mean to offend, Mister…ahm…”

The killer sniffed. “Hak Ji-Woon. The world's number one idol that only an idiot wouldn’t recognize.”

“Mr. Hak,” Yoichi said, then yelped as the Entity's claws descended on him from the hook. Through the struggle, he managed to grit out, “As you have probably noticed, fashion isn't exactly my strong suit.”

“No shit,” the killer snarked. “Your outfit is hideous and its mere existence is an insult to my brand.” His nose scrunched in disgust. “You look like…like some sort of deformed bumblebee!”

The insult caught Yoichi so off guard that his grip slipped on the Entity's spidery limb and he was subsequently impaled and sent back to the campfire.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

But apparently the Trickster had accepted his apology, because after that trial, he didn’t kill Yoichi again.

Oh, sure, he knifed Yoichi and smacked him around with his baseball bat—occasionally insulting his outfit or mistakes in the chase while he was at it—and most trials where he faced the killer, Yoichi still ended up on a hook.

But he was never hooked more than twice. And even if all of his teammates were killed, the hatch always remained open and waiting for Yoichi: sometimes with the killer standing near it and twirling a knife like he was bored, looking up at Yoichi only to snark, “Took you long enough.”

So when Yoichi some time later received a brand new outfit from the Entity, he immediately changed into it as a token of good faith. Even if Mr. Hak seemed to be making amends for their violent first encounters in his own way, Yoichi was keen to remove the point of contempt from the equation entirely.

Thus, the jacket had to go.

But when Yoichi next faced the Trickster in a trial, the killer took one look at him and then promptly pretended to gag.

“What?” Yoichi asked, looking down to make sure he was still wearing the blue jacket and cargo shorts. “What’s wrong?”

Mr. Hak looked him up and down, his face twisting in disgust. “Switch back to the other outfit. Immediately.”

Yoichi frowned. “But you said you didn't want my jacket to be associated with you—”

“Just put it on!” the killer yelled, his face suddenly reddening.

Yoichi raised his hands in surrender; Mr. Hak had to be really angry to flush like that.

“Okay,” Yoichi said. “I’ll do it right after this trial. I swear.”

The killer huffed and stomped off, and Yoichi didn’t see him for the remainder of the trial or even when he made his way to the hatch.

And at the campfire, switching from the itchy beanie and impractical shorts back to his favorite turtleneck and comfortable woolen trousers, Yoichi smiled to himself as he tugged on the controversial yellow jacket.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

Trials came and went and each time Yoichi faced the Trickster, the killer seemed to tolerate his presence more and more. The insults started sounding more like banter, and sometimes, Yoichi stayed behind at the hatch or in an exit gate to talk to the killer about things that didn’t revolve around Yoichi getting mindgamed at that pallet or Meg getting an “undeserved” flashlight save.

And Yoichi found out that despite all of their differences, Mr. Hak was quite good company.

He was flamboyant and charming, with a sharp wit and even sharper tongue, but when it started being used less for insults and more for humor and random tidbits about himself, Yoichi was intrigued. The killer may not have supernatural powers, but the scenes he painted with his words about flashing lights and music and stadiums full of people were just as captivating.

He also did not appreciate being called Mr. Hak, and since Yoichi felt a little strange calling an acquaintance by their stage name, he’d hesitantly started calling the killer by his first name. Ji-Woon had yet to protest, but he also still addressed Yoichi mostly as “idiot” or “hey, you,” so Yoichi wasn’t entirely sure where they stood.

Until one of their hatch conversations, when Ji-Woon invited him to hang out in Shelter Woods after the trial.

Yoichi wasn't even nervous to accept; he’d seen a group of other survivors frequent Glenvale for poker night with the Deathslinger and some of their younger teammates visit the Legion at the ski lodge—in gatherings that Yoichi was pretty sure involved marijuana, but would never tell the others because that would not fly with Tapp or Jane—and all of them always came back unharmed.

Well. Except that one time Ace apparently cheated in poker and got harpooned for his efforts, but even Felix said he’d deserved it.

Regardless, survivors spending time with killers wasn’t completely unheard of, and since the Trickster hadn’t killed Yoichi in a trial in ages, why would he do so outside of them?

Yoichi was smiling as he walked through the fog to the campfire. He wasn’t entirely sure what his hang-out with the killer would entail, but since Ji-Woon had mentioned something about practicing singing, Yoichi guessed that they were going to be focusing on their own things and merely coexisting in the same space.

All too happy to get away from the endless chatter at the campfire, Yoichi grabbed a book loaned from Adam and strode into the woods in search of his new friend.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

Ji-Woon was a very good singer.

His melodious voice made for a pleasant background noise as Yoichi leaned against the big tree in Shelter Woods and read his book. He’d heard the killer hum in trials, sure, but using his full vocal range and volume to sing entire songs was completely different. Ji-Woon was both talented and clearly devoted to his craft; he probably practiced like this regularly.

Yoichi had lost count of how many songs they’d gone through, but he was making good progress in his book and would soon be able to return it to Adam. He didn’t mind spending the time reading for as long as Ji-Woon wanted to practice; interrupting felt rude, and he enjoyed this casual way of spending time together.

It was a little strange how Ji-Woon’s singing seemed to get progressively louder the longer he kept going. He even started incorporating some dance moves to his routine, once sashaying right past Yoichi, his flowing jacket nearly smacking Yoichi in the face.

Yoichi promptly apologized and moved to the other side of the tree so he wouldn’t get in the way.

But that seemed to be the end of Ji-Woon’s practice, and after ending the chorus on a high note, he circled around to Yoichi’s spot, staring down at him expectantly.

It was the first bit of silence in what had to be hours.

Yoichi smiled up at his friend. “You’re very good at singing.”

Ji-Woon scoffed. “Naturally.” He crossed his arms, not breaking the eye contact.

He was probably expecting a more thorough appraisal than “good.” Sadly, Yoichi was practically tone deaf and his musical knowledge was sorely lacking. He wouldn’t be able to provide that kind of support for his friend.

He did, however, know who could.

"Have you heard Kate sing?" Yoichi asked, already thinking of how the two could bond over their shared hobby; maybe Ji-Woon would want to invite her along next time. "She's really good."

Ji-Woon’s expression suddenly darkened before he huffed and whipped around, nose in the air as he walked away.

Yoichi shrugged; the killer had probably been called into a trial, as they’d been out here for quite some time. Yoichi stayed to read a few more pages before making his way back to the survivor campsite.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

The following trial, Yoichi took the initiative to approach Ji-Woon.

The opportunity presented itself at the beginning of the match, when the killer caught one of his teammates and Kindred told Yoichi that he was standing resolutely in front of the hook smacking said teammate with his bat.

During the last few months Yoichi had learned that—save for those first few trials with the jacket fiasco—Ji-Woon rarely stayed around hooked survivors, especially with five generators still up. But based on the distinctly Ace Visconti -like screams echoing from the direction of the hook, Yoichi could make an educated guess that perhaps this instance of camping was partly self-inflicted.

Figuring Ji-Woon had some time to chat while he watched Ace progress to his death, Yoichi made his way over.

"Ji-Woon," Yoichi spoke up.

The killer’s weapon froze mid-air and he visibly perked up, turning to look at Yoichi.

"Yes?" Ji-Woon asked.

"Ooh, on a first-name basis already?" Ace asked with a grin, showing bloodied teeth.

That earned him another brutal thwack from the Trickster's baseball bat, and the ensuing scream stopped the gambler's remarks at least momentarily. Yoichi winced in sympathy; he’d never understand what some of the more experienced survivors got out of taunting the killers.

“Anyway,” Yoichi said, trying to ignore the grotesque display. “I just wanted to ask you…”

Ji-Woon eagerly turned back to face him, and…was he smiling?

Wow, he must have really enjoyed hitting Ace.

“Do you have any information about the killer that came with me?” Yoichi asked.

Ji-Woon’s smile faltered. “What?”

“I was investigating Sadako's case before I was taken by the Entity,” Yoichi explained. “I don’t know if you’ve met her, but if you’ve seen or heard anything about her, or her powers, I’d greatly appreciate it if you told me.”

Ji-Woon stared at Yoichi with a perplexed expression. Yoichi almost repeated himself, but for whatever reason, Ace chose that moment to start laughing—at least until he screamed again, this time from a hit from the bladed side of the killer’s weapon.

“I don't,” Ji-Woon practically snarled, his teeth clenched.

“Oh,” Yoichi said, deflating a little from disappointment. “That's okay. But if you come across something in the future, feel free to tell me.”

“Mm-hmm,” the killer said.

An awkward silence settled over them.

"Hey kid, you gonna pull me down, or…?" Ace asked, now struggling against the Entity’s claws.

Yoichi looked between Ace and the now clearly agitated Ji-Woon.

"Maybe next time," Yoichi decided.

Ji-Woon smiled, but this time there was nothing friendly about it. “Good choice.”

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

After that incident, the killer seemed angry with Yoichi for the next few trials.

He no longer stayed to chat with Yoichi after the match was done and he barely said anything during their chases. He also kept wearing all sorts of ridiculous outfits—from streetwear to some kind of cupid cosplay—that Yoichi didn’t even know he owned. Why had Ji-Woon worn the yellow coat for so long if he hated how much it resembled Yoichi’s?

Yoichi’s suspicions were confirmed during one particular trial, when his teammates let him progress to his second hook and Ji-Woon pointedly avoided him for the remainder of the match.

After hearing the sound of the hatch opening and thus notifying him that he was the last one alive, Yoichi was a little hesitant to look for his once-guaranteed escape, not knowing how the killer’s foul mood would reflect on the mercy Yoichi had started taking for granted.

Yoichi saw no sign of Ji-Woon as he made his way through the trial grounds, but eventually, he did find the hatch.

And promptly froze in pure terror.

Laying in a neat triangle around the open hatch were the corpses of his three teammates. All of their bodies were full of countless lacerations and had the Trickster’s autographed photo pinned to their lifeless chests with a throwing knife.

Yoichi could count on one hand the times he’d seen Ji-Woon use his mori. He didn’t know exactly what had prompted this, but the message was clear: Yoichi had wronged him, and now the other survivors would pay.

Yoichi carefully stepped over Kate’s corpse, but then paused once he got a closer look at the photograph stuck to her body.

That wasn’t Ji-Woon’s autograph.

Confused, Yoichi crouched to look closer at the other photos. All of them were written in Hangul, yet every message was different and noticeably longer than the three characters of Hak Ji-Woon.

Yoichi whispered gentle apologies to his dead friends as he pried the blood-stained photos from their remains for further investigation. He still wasn’t sure what he had done to upset the killer, but he knew he needed to apologize.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

After racking his brain for a suitable apology, Yoichi decided to push his luck and invite Ji-Woon to the carnival in Father Campbell’s Chapel. He had fond memories of their previous hangout and hoped that Ji-Woon could be enticed to come along with the promise of stale popcorn, a target practice board for his throwing knives, and the lack of smelling clowns (Yoichi definitely owed the Deathslinger a favor for agreeing to invite the killer to that week’s poker night).

Yoichi practically had a whole apology speech ready for Ji-Woon, but in the end, he only got out the words, “Would you like to go to the carnival in the chapel with me after this tr—”, before the killer butted in with a surprisingly enthusiastic yet exasperated, “God, yes, finally!”

This time, it was Yoichi who got to the location first. He hadn’t brought a book or anything, since there were plenty of games and activities for them to try together.

He ended up waiting for quite some time, and just as he was starting to think that maybe the killer had only been messing with him and wasn’t about to show up, a knife whizzed by his ear and hit the target practice board several meters behind him.

Smiling, Yoichi turned in the direction that the knife had come from. Ji-Woon was strolling up to him with a cocky swagger, twirling another knife around his finger.

Strangely enough, the killer had chosen to dress in his regular outfit again. He’d probably gotten tired of the feathery abominations he’d worn for the last couple of trials.

“Nice throw,” Yoichi said in lieu of a greeting.

Ji-Woon smirked. “You’ve seen nothing yet.”

And that was how Yoichi found himself spectating as the killer threw dagger after dagger at the target board, nailing the bullseye nearly every time. Yoichi was both surprised and impressed: Ji-Woon’s accuracy in an actual trial was far from this good. Hitting moving targets was obviously much more difficult.

Hopefully he wouldn’t want to practice on Yoichi.

Yoichi waited patiently for Ji-Woon to finish his practice so they could move on to the other carnival activities, or if he'd at least ask if Yoichi wanted a turn with the knives. But after what had to be nearly an hour passed and the killer showed no signs of stopping, Yoichi realized that Ji-Woon probably came along just to actually practice instead of spending time with him.

Swallowing his disappointment, Yoichi quietly backed away and tried to find something else to do. He should have brought another book.

Yoichi traversed the small carnival and curiously observed his surroundings. Since this wasn’t a trial, there were no generators or hooks in sight and the area was probably some of the most welcoming looking realms Yoichi had visited. If it wasn’t inhabited by one of the most sadistic killers in the Entity’s roster, Yoichi imagined it would be one of the go-to hangout spots for survivors.

After failing to get the popcorn cart working and getting a strange reading from the fortune telling machine—“Love is right around the corner,” what a nonsensical thing to even consider in this realm of violence and death—Yoichi stumbled across the three-eyed horse the other survivors sometimes talked about.

“Oh!” Yoichi exclaimed, caught off guard by the animal that he’d started to assume was just a campfire story. “You must be Maurice.”

Maurice’s third eye blinked and it tilted its head curiously. The horse looked injured as it laid in the grass next to the Clown’s wagon and seemed to be partially blind in its other two eyes.

His biologist’s heart not able to resist researching such an interesting specimen, Yoichi pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and sat down next to the horse to study it.

He lost track of time as he observed and jotted down things about the horse’s docile behavior and physical differences to its counterparts outside of the Entity’s realm. When Yoichi heard a loud clearing of a throat from behind him, he was in the middle of petting the horse’s coarse mane.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ji-Woon’s voice demanded.

Yoichi slowly turned around so as not to spook the animal. “Oh, Ji-Woon! I kind of lost track of time. Did you finish your target practice?”

“Prac—!? I don’t need practice!” Ji-Woon raised his voice, his face twisting in anger.

Maurice neighed unhappily and Yoichi hurried to soothe the animal. “Shhh. Everything’s alright.”

“Why are you touching it?” Ji-Woon said.

“Because Maurice is very friendly,” Yoichi said. “Do you want to pet him?”

“Ugh, no!” Ji-Woon shouted, physically recoiling. “It’s rotten and disgusting!”

Yoichi frowned. “No, he’s not.”

It was obvious Ji-Woon didn’t like animals—Yoichi had come across the sentiment many times, especially when it came to marine fauna that was deemed ugly by the general population.

“You don’t have to be near him,” Yoichi said. “I’ll just finish my notes and find you later.”

Ji-Woon didn’t reply, and when Yoichi turned back to look at him, he was already gone.

Something in Yoichi’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. Ji-Woon had probably been called to a trial again, but he could have at least said goodbye.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

When they met the following day in a trial, Ji-Woon still seemed a little…off.

He was missing his knives and seemed to tank every pallet stun with his face, all the while Nea and Steve easily got off blinds on him with their flashlights.

After the generators were done in record time and all of his teammates escaped without having given a single hook, Yoichi approached his friend.

“Are you feeling alright?” Yoichi asked. “You must be tired from all that target practice yesterday.”

“It's not that!” the killer snapped, then paused and visibly cringed.

“Is it the reason why you left so suddenly last night?” Yoichi prodded.

Ji-Woon huffed a small laugh. “Probably. Say, would you meet me after the trial in Haddonfield?"

“Oh! Sure,” Yoichi agreed easily.

It seemed like Ji-Woon wasn’t upset with him after all. Yoichi’s chest felt warm with newfound hope as he jogged into the open exit gate and set to navigate the fog to Lampkin Lane.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

“Watch your step,” Ji-Woon said, his hands on Yoichi’s shoulders pulling lightly. 

“Is this really necessary?” Yoichi asked as he hesitantly stepped up on the small ledge. He’d been blindfolded with a feather boa as soon as he arrived in Haddonfield—Ji-Woon claiming it would ruin the surprise otherwise—and had to resort to the killer leading him by his shoulders.

“Well, I could not warn you about the stairs and watch you faceplant like that time in Ormond…” Ji-Woon said.

“I've never heard you laugh as much as then.”

“I've never seen anyone trip over their own feet like that.”

“There was ice,” Yoichi mumbled, spitting some feathers from his mouth.

Ji-Woon chuckled, before squeezing Yoichi’s shoulder. “Door,” he warned.

Yoichi reached out in front of himself to feel for the doorframe and walk through without bumping into the wall.

And that was when Ji-Woon pulled them to a stop.

“We're here!” Ji-Woon declared. “You can look now.”

Yoichi pushed up his makeshift blindfold and looked around. They were on the bottom floor of one of the residential houses lining Lampkin Lane in what must have once been a living room. 

The usual, annoyingly flickering light was gone, and when Yoichi looked up he could see a small kitchen knife embedded into the ceiling where the faulty light bulb should be. To avoid the room being pitch black, a fire barrel had been placed in one of the corners—a terrible fire hazard, really, as the wallpaper could easily ignite. Still, the fire crackled pleasantly and cast a warm orange glow over the room.

The worn loveseat in the middle of the room Yoichi could vaguely recognize from trials. But rather than simply make an obstacle in front of one of the window vaults, it had been turned and was now facing…

“Sadako's TV!” Yoichi exclaimed, hurrying closer to inspect the item.

This was the first time he’d been able to look at one of these things outside of a trial, as they seemed impossible to find no matter how many realms Yoichi looked in. Now he could finally learn more about the onryō who killed his parents!

“I can't believe you remembered!” Yoichi looked over his shoulder to smile at Ji-Woon. “This is great!”

Ji-Woon was standing perfectly still, watching Yoichi with one hand frozen mid-air.

“You…like it?” Ji-Woon asked.

“Yes!” Yoichi said, turning back to the TV. “I can't wait to show this to Haddie and Élodie! They know so much about the occult, and if we combine our knowledge…I should go get them right now!”

As Yoichi got to his feet, he heard a loud crunching sound from behind him. Confused, he glanced at Ji-Woon, only to find him still standing rigid in the doorway. The killer was clenching his jaw and his hand trembled where it had been shoved into his jacket pocket. Tension radiated from him even across the room, and Yoichi couldn’t understand why—oh.

Ji-Woon was obviously scared of ghosts.

That was why he’d been so reluctant to talk about Sadako and acted secretive about finding this TV. Yoichi didn’t blame him in the slightest; an onryō could make even the most hardened skeptics terrified beyond belief.

Yoichi felt awful. Ji-Woon had been so brave for him, yet Yoichi had ignored his friend’s discomfort and immediately poked the hornet’s nest, risking an angry Sadako showing up.

“It's okay,” Yoichi said gently. “You don't have to stay.”

“Yes, you've made that extremely clear,” Ji-Woon grit out between clenched teeth.

With that, the killer turned on his heel and hurried away, ignoring Yoichi's hasty, "Thank you, again!"

With Ji-Woon now out of harm’s way, Yoichi returned to inspect the TV set some more. It was identical to those found in trials, a CRT tube on a small stand and a VCR player on top, though it looked a little bulkier than usual...hold on.

Yoichi frowned and leaned closer to the VCR player, noticing that there were two of them stacked on top of each other. The bottom one was smaller, however, and only had a thin slot in the middle, along with a power and eject button.

"A DVD player?" Yoichi wondered out loud.

This was strange. Sadako was known for her VHS tapes, and if she was starting to upgrade to more modern technology…Who knew how long before the curse was spread virally on the internet, endangering millions?

Yoichi hurried to his feet and set off to retrieve Haddie and Élodie so they could get to the bottom of this. He walked out of the house and into the driveway, stepping around a parked car—

And heard that same crunch from before coming from underneath his shoe.

Lifting his foot revealed a DVD disk shattered into pieces on the ground. Beside it layed a single red rose, trampled and half-dead.

Yoichi mentally shook himself and kept walking. He could ponder the items later—now, he was on a mission.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

After Haddonfield, Ji-Woon avoided him like the plague.

It took Yoichi a few trials to catch onto that fact, but when the killer didn’t show up for their usual hatch bantering for the tenth time in a row, Yoichi knew something was wrong.

But this time, Ji-Woon didn’t even want to hear his apologies. Yoichi’s questions fell on deaf ears, and that was if he even saw the killer in the first place. Some of the other survivors claimed he’d started using a perk that got rid of the usual pounding heartbeats whenever a killer approached a survivor.

It was obvious that Ji-Woon went to great lengths to avoid Yoichi. And maybe if things were different, Yoichi would have given him the space he so desperately craved. 

But somewhere along the line Ji-Woon had become Yoichi’s closest friend. And despite the cold shoulder, he was still letting Yoichi escape through the hatch every time, proving that on some level, he still cared. Yoichi just didn’t know how to get through to him.

Maybe it was time to ask for outside help.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

At the campfire, Yoichi made a beeline to his target.

The so-called Old Man Group—which Yoichi always found an unfitting name, since Felix wasn't that old and the group also consisted of Jane and Yun-Jin—were gathered in their usual spot playing cards. Jane was talking to the group and making Ash howl with laughter, but Yoichi forced himself to interrupt the conversation.

“Ace,” Yoichi said, causing the gambler to perk up and several skeptical glances to be shot Yoichi's way. “Do you know why Mr. Hak is avoiding me?”

“Oh, it's back to Mr. Hak, huh?” Ace raised an eyebrow. “I didn't know you guys were having a lovers'—ow!"

Ace frowned at Felix sitting beside him and rubbed at his arm where he’d apparently been pinched by the architect. Felix simply stared at Ace with his mouth pressed into a thin line, obviously not pleased with what his partner had been about to say.

“Are you talking about the Trickster?” Yun-Jin butted in from the other side of the group.

“Ah…yes,” Yoichi said, turning to face her. He cleared his throat; he knew the two had an unpleasant history and wasn’t quite sure what the woman thought about his friendship with the man who ruined her life. “We…usually spend time together at the end of a trial or meet up after one, but he hasn't showed up in a long time,” Yoichi explained. “I was wondering if someone knew why he might be upset with me.”

Yun-Jin's collected expression of cutthroat producer didn’t falter even as she stared at Yoichi long enough to make him fidget nervously.

Then, she looked around the group, and several small things happened in quick succession.

Ace grinned and winked at Yin-Jin before Felix sighed and nodded. Bill lit a cigarette, grumbling that he "needs a fucking smoke" while Ash merely looked around in confusion.

And finally, Jane placed a hand on Yin-Jin's shoulder and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Yun-Jin’s eyes widened and she proceeded to look Yoichi up and down, as if only now seeing him for the first time.

“Really?” Yun-Jin said. ”Him?”

Yoichi should probably have been offended, but her comment didn’t sound mean-spirited—just genuinely surprised.

“Ahm…” Yoichi faltered. “Can someone tell me what is going on?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bill muttered somewhere behind him, not helping in the slightest.

Jane looked at Yun-Jin. “Did you want me to…?”

"No, this should come from me," Yun-Jin said.

"Ms. Lee?" Yoichi asked. “Is something wrong?”

Yun-Jin took a pointed breath. "Hak Ji-Woon is a narcissistic psychopath who lacks any empathy whatsoever," she stated matter-of-factly. "If he voluntarily spends time with you without trying to murder you, it means he's practically in love with you."

Yoichi blinked. "What?"

Her gaze sharpened. "He's been peacocking for you, hasn't he?"

"Peacocking?" Yoichi repeated with a frown. "I wouldn't say that."

"Really?" Yun-Jin prodded. "No singing until your ears bleed? Prettying himself up? Bragging about his fame and showing off twenty different knife tricks?"

Sure, there had been the singing and target practice, and Ji-Woon did go through that strange phase where he wore all sorts of ridiculous outfits. He also regularly talked about his success, but it wasn’t like he was doing any of it to impress Yoichi.

"Sometimes he wanted to practice his skills and invited me along for company,” Yoichi explained.

“Mierda, you're so oblivious you'd think he used Hex: Plaything,” Ace commented.

“No, I just think you've got it all wrong,” Yoichi said. “We are just friends—if even that anymore.” Suddenly, he remembered he actually had tangible evidence of the killer’s anger. “He even left me these to threaten me after an argument!”

Yoichi fished out the three worn photographs from his back pocket and handed them to Yun-Jin. He’d completely forgotten about them until now, as he'd very quickly made up with Ji-Woon after finding them.

Yun-Jin’s eyes flitted over the writing on the photos, before she looked up at Yoichi with an unimpressed stare.

“And this was when he was angry at you?” she asked.

“Yes!” Yoichi nodded. “What, ah…What do they say?”

Yun-Jin held up the first picture. "For my bumblebee," she read completely deadpan before picking up the next one. "They wronged you, so I killed them." Then, "With love, Hak Ji-Woon."

The rest of the group had gone deadly silent and Yoichi felt their stares boring into his back.

“…Oh,” he simply said, finally understanding what had happened.

Ji-Woon had moried Yoichi’s three teammates because they didn't rescue him from the hook on time. What Yoichi had assumed to be a threat was simply the killer looking out for Yoichi in his own, strange way. 

But why leave the photos and not just talk to him? It was as confusing as their last get-together in Haddonfield, when Ji-Woon had left behind a broken DVD after leading Yoichi to the house with the TV and cozy fire like it was…

Like it was a date.

Realization washed over Yoichi like a cold wave: their meeting in Haddonfield was supposed to be a movie date. Ji-Woon was the one who had set up the TV and mood lighting and brought a movie, and Yoichi had completely ruined the evening with his paranormal obsession.

Just like he had at the carnival by abandoning Ji-Woon to pet the horse. And in the woods where Ji-Woon practically serenaded him and Yoichi just buried his nose in a book. Crap, how many signals had Yoichi missed in the last few months?

“Oh,” Yoichi said, feeling a flush creep up his neck.

"Sheesh, no wonder he's been avoiding you," Ash said, apparently having reached the same conclusion. "Dude probably thinks he got hyper-friendzoned."

"I didn't know," Yoichi half-heartedly protested.

“Then it seems you have an angry idol to appease," Yun-Jin said. She was smiling, a tiny quirk of her lips that was barely noticeable.

“You, ah…You don't mind?” Yoichi asked.

Yun-Jin shrugged. “You're the only one he's ever let this close. Who knows, maybe you'll be a good influence on him."

“I'll try my best,” Yoichi promised, carefully folding the pictures back into his pocket. “Thank you.”

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

The next time he met Ji-Woon, the killer was unsurprisingly still avoiding him, even at the cost of his own success in the trial. He practically ran away every time he spotted Yoichi, instead searching for his teammates on the other side of the map. Yoichi almost missed those very first trials when he had the killer’s undivided attention—even if said attention had been nothing but negative.

Ji-Woon was being very stubborn about ignoring him. Fortunately, Yoichi could be just as bull-headed when he set his mind on something.

He eventually managed to corner Ji-Woon in the shack. While the killer was grabbing more daggers from a locker, Yoichi sneaked closer. And when Ji-Woon turned around and Yoichi stood right in front of him, he actually jumped a little and hissed a surprised curse in his native tongue.

“Ji-Woon…” Yoichi started.

“What the fuck!?” Ji-Woon snarled. “Move!”

The killer tried to sidestep, but Yoichi followed the movement, effectively blocking him.

“Ji-Woon, listen—”

“What the hell are you even doing here!?” Ji-Woon demanded, but he still wasn’t raising his weapon. “Take a fucking hint and go play with your little friends!”

“Please, just listen to me,” Yoichi tried.

“Oh that’s rich, coming from you!” Ji-Woon yelled. “You made it really fucking clear that you don’t give a single shit—”

Realizing he wasn’t going to get a word in anytime soon, Yoichi did something that was either a stroke of genius or colossally stupid depending on the outcome:

He shoved Ji-Woon back against the locker and kissed him.

Ji-Woon froze completely. His mouth was still half-open from whatever insult he’d been in the middle of spewing and Yoichi took full advantage of his surprise, gently kissing him to convey all the words he didn’t get a chance to say.

Then, for a moment, Ji-Woon started kissing back, and Yoichi felt so happy—

Until Ji-Woon seemed to remember himself and pushed Yoichi away with his Entity-granted strength, sending Yoichi tumbling gracelessly onto the shack’s floor.

“You dare to touch me!?” Ji-Woon bristled, glaring down at him.

“I’m sorry—” Yoichi started.

Ji-Woon didn’t even seem to be listening. “I'll have you know my fans would have paid thousands just for a handshake—”

“I'm sorry I ignored you on our dates!” Yoichi interrupted, loud enough to echo in the small space.

Ji-Woon instantly went quiet: either at the apology or just the fact that Yoichi had actually raised his voice.

Yoichi scrambled to push himself up on his elbows. “I didn't realize you were…that you wanted…” he fumbled through the words while he still had the opportunity to speak. “In my defense, I didn’t realize that they were dates. I never thought you'd go for a commoner like me.”

“Not in a million years,” Ji-Woon huffed. “But…there's nothing common about you, so…”

Ji-Woon turned his head to stare firmly into a wall and, wow, that was definitely a blush on his cheeks. Had he been this flustered every time he looked away from Yoichi?

The thought made Yoichi smile and his heart beat faster in his chest.

"I feel the same way about you," Yoichi said. "I know I can be a little…dense—"

"A little!?" Ji-Woon exclaimed, head whipping back to half-glare down at him. "Even the stupid gambler knew for months!"

Yoichi cleared his throat. "Yes, well, they don't exactly teach you flirting in the biology curriculum," he said.

"No shit,'' Ji woon said, rolling his eyes. "But…they also don't teach it in the idol programs."

Yoichi guessed that was the closest they would get to admitting they both kind of sucked at this.

"I think it would be easiest if you just say what you want in the future," Yoichi said. “Since I think we’ve established that I suck at reading hints.”

"Fine," Ji-Woon said, then shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable with voicing whatever was on his mind. "...You may kiss me more."

Yoichi chuckled and finally got back up on his feet, eagerly leaning into Ji-Woon’s space for another kiss.

This time, Ji-Woon reciprocated readily, and Yoichi’s knees felt a little weak again when the killer cupped his cheek. Ji-Woon’s lips were unbelievably soft as they moved languidly against Yoichi’s own, and when a teasing tongue flicked over his top lip, Yoichi felt goosebumps rising on his skin.

Yoichi wanted to get closer, to hold him and kiss him for as long as he could, but he didn’t know if he was allowed to. 

He pulled away just enough to murmur, "Can I touch you?" against Ji-Woon's lips, hands hovering awkwardly over his hips.

Ji-Woon huffed something that sounded suspiciously like "idiot" before the strong arms that just pushed Yoichi away now pulled him closer, making him nearly trip over his feet.

Yoichi grabbed fistfuls of Ji-Woon’s yellow jacket to steady himself, accidentally deepening the kiss and earning a soft moan from his friend.

Well. Probably more than just a friend, at this point.

They didn’t separate until the exit gates screeched open and the gong signaling the end game collapse rang out over the trial grounds.

When Yoichi pulled away, Ji-Woon was beautifully flushed and panting softly, still leaning against the locker for support. Yoichi imagined he looked much the same.

Yoichi bit his lip, already missing the warmth of Ji-Woon’s kisses. “So…where do you want to go from here?” he managed to ask.

Ji-Woon rolled his eyes. “Well first, we need to find you some chapstick. Do you know how dry your lips are?”

Yoichi huffed a surprised laugh and Ji-Woon smiled too.

Ji-Woon led Yoichi to an exit gate and complained about improper skin care the entire time there. But he kept smiling and his hand rubbed soothing patterns over Yoichi’s back while they walked, and in the exit gate he still leaned in for one last kiss despite Yoichi’s tragically chapped lips.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

“Oh, Yoichi! Hello!” Claudette greeted him when he got back to the campfire. She was sitting on a log at the edge of the camp huddled with Jake, a half-stocked toolbox open between them. “Did you have a good trial?” she asked.

Yoichi only then realized that he was still smiling.

“Yes!” Yoichi said, surprising even himself with how happy he sounded. “I…really did.”

Claudette smiled warmly and even Jake's perpetual scowl seemed to soften for a moment. 

“I'm so glad to hear that,” Claudette said.

It was no secret that some of the veteran survivors often worried about the new arrivals. Most of them had since moved on to Haddie—since she was their newest addition after Yoichi—but people like Claudette often still check in on him, and he truly appreciated their concern.

Yoichi’s smile softened and he nodded politely. “Thank you.”

He turned back in the direction of the fire, aiming to leave the two to their task and join the larger group. But as he did so, Yoichi heard a loud snort followed by Claudette's gasp.

Yoichi quickly pivoted back around. “What happened?”

Gone was Claudette’s friendly smile as she stared at Yoichi’s chest in horror. Meanwhile, Jake was…smirking?

"Nea!" Claudette suddenly got up on her feet with a shout, stomping off toward the campfire. "Did you tag Yoichi's jacket!?"

"What!? No way!" Nea's voice could be heard from further away. "Just Feng's a few days ago!"

"You bitch, I knew that was you!" Feng Min's high-pitched squeal answered.

As a small commotion broke out among the three women, Yoichi slowly removed his raincoat to check for signs of vandalism. Looking over the garment did, indeed, reveal large writing done on the back of the jacket with a thick black marker.

In Hangul.

Jake snorted again, then pretended to cough into his hand.

“Do you know what it says?” Yoichi asked.

Jake seemed to be trying very hard to keep his face neutral as he said, “Property of Hak Ji-Woon.”

Yoichi's face flamed hot as he stared at the jacket. Now that Jake had said it, he could vaguely recognize the sloppily written symbols of Ji-Woon’s name. But this hadn’t been there before the trial, and who would even have put it there? Nea and the others didn't know Korean, and Ji-Woon definitely didn't ask Yoichi to turn around to sign his jacket. He wouldn't even have had the chance to, with the way they were busy kissing like teenagers for the entire trial.

…Except when they walked to the exit and Yoichi could feel Ji-Woon’s dexterous hand running in nonsensical patterns over his back. Apparently with the marker he always kept on him for autographs.

“Yoichi, I am so sorry,” Claudette said, coming up beside him. “I'll help you wash it off. And if it's permanent marker, I have some solvent—”

“No,” Yoichi found himself saying. He pulled the jacket tighter to himself and smiled. “I like it.”

Claudette looked confused as Yoichi put the jacket back on and walked away to join the group. He gathered a few curious glances, but everyone was mostly still preoccupied with Nea and Feng Min's argument to pay him much mind. 

Yun-Jin later joined the group and only reacted with a small huff and an eye roll after getting a look at the writing. But since neither her nor Jake made any further comments, the incident was quickly forgotten.