#johnlip

PHILLIP: Phillip had maybe accidentally on purpose come out to the whole town on Twitter.

After the initial wave of adrenaline wore off, Phillip sat on the couch and let the sheer terror sink over him.

Fuck. What had he done?

Never mind the people on Twitter congratulating him. Never mind the kind words from friends and acquaintances and hell, even strangers. Phillip knew he messed up. He shouldn’t have done it like this. He shouldn’t have done it like this, because Tom and John should’ve been the first to know.

But maybe that’s the reason he did it like this. Because he was so terrified of what Tom and John would say, so terrified that they would kick him out of the house, so terrified that even though they’d all turned their backs upon their families, there was still some trace of their fathers in them. 

Might as well do it in style, ey?

Phillip was restless. Tom and John would not be home for another hour or so. Phillip decided that the best way to break this news would be over a meal. They’d both be hungry, yeah? It was dinner time. And instead of ordering a pizza, Phillip set to work. And by set to work, he boiled some water and put some pasta in it and when he looked at the can of sauce, he didn’t really know what to do with it so he dumped it into a tupperware and put it in the microwave till it sizzzled and bubbled and left quite a mess. But it was warm and that was all that mattered and he thought maybe he’d fry a few strips of bacon to go with it.

By the time Tom and John had come home, the smoke alarm had gone off.

“It’s fine!” Phillip yelped from the kitchen. “The thing’s just sensitive — hang on, sit down, I made a proper dinner.” He stuck his head out of the little window that opened from the kitchen and gestured to the round table, which he had already set out with plates and forks and glasses. 

THOMAS: Thomas was completely unawares of any angst that Phil was having. He didn’t get on Twitter much, especially after the whole debacle with Annie. While he had post alerts for both John and Phil, he wasn’t actually logged in on his phone after everything that had happened. There was a peacefulness to being online that Tom was enjoying. The last thing he needed was people commenting on his life. He knew it was a disaster, thank you. 

The day was ordinary. He went to work, he got home, stopping at the Qins to pick up Levi and thank Ting-Ting for having watched him. Tom was chatting with her on the porch, when he heard the fire alarm at his house going off. 

“Should probably go see what that’s about,” Tom sighed, saying his goodbyes to Ting-Ting. 

As he crossed back over the yard, John pulled up and hopped out. They raised their eyebrows at each other, but didn’t say anything. 

“What the bloody hell?” Tom asked, going over to a window and opening it a crack. There wasn’t too much smoke, more just the heat of the oven, but Christ. He went over to the fire alarm, shrugging out of his jacket and waving it underneath it, baby in the other hand, who had started to cry at the piercing noise. 

After a moment, it stopped and Tom huffed a breath, bouncing Levi on his hip before going to put him in his high chair. 

“Who said you were allowed to cook, eh?” Tom glanced at John with a tired half-smile. 

JOHN: John found twitter to be full of people not worth his time and gossip which only lead to more drama he didn’t need. After all, people like Annie flocked to twitter and instagram and whatever for their news and thoughts and to be brainwashed. Why did he need a twitter? One of the lads had made one for him way back but he never really scrolled or got to retweeting or whatever. Pretty sure he deleted the app off his phone.

The blonde had just walked up the drive when the alarm went off and his instinct took over immediately. Phillip had fucked the coffee maker again or left the oven on or put plastic on the stove top while it was still hot. His muscles all seized and he was about to spring towards the door, laptop bag flung behind him, eyebrows up as he glanced at Tom and hastened his way up to the house, about to have a shout at Phillip when he walked into just a mildly hot kitchen with nothing actively on fire.

He immediately deflated, “An edible proper dinner?” His one eyebrow raised. “Where did you order it from? Did it come with heating instructions?” He looked confused at this whole situation and looked towards the table, an immediate thought popping into his head, “What did ya do, lad? Please tell me we don’t have another puppy situation.”

PHILLIP: Well, this could be going better.

It also could be going a lot worse, Phillip reminded himself. 

He stood behind the table, placing his hands on the back of one of the chairs. Of course John would think he got someone knocked up. Which, okay, given the house’s track record seemed plausible. (Or John could’ve actually been referring to Gilly — in which case, c’mon, she was spayed now!) 

“Oh, no, nothing like that, don’t worry,” Phillip said quickly. “It’s, uh… it’s actually good news.”

Was it? Phillip certainly thought so. Except, maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was terrified by all of this. Maybe he was stalling. Maybe he’d get everyone to sit down and eat dinner and then when they were clearing the plates he would make up a lie about what this whole thing was — he got a poem published! He no longer had chlamydia! He was getting a promotion to head barista! 

Maybe he should do that. It might be easier. 

But he looked at John and Tom and little squirming Levi and — 

Well, he wanted them to know. He didn’t want to hide. 

“I do have something I want to tell you,” said Phillip. And he swallowed the bitter taste in the back of his mouth and kept his gaze on them. “And — this is very hard for me and I wanted to do it right, because you mean a lot to me. I… I’m bisexual.” He looked away now. “Meaning, I like men. And women. I still like women too, don’t get me wrong. I just — I understand if you two need some time to process that, but… I can’t hide this part of me any longer.  And I wanted you two to know.”

And then he spread his arms out, waving his hands.

“Uh. Well, that’s it! Let’s dig in!”

THOMAS: Tom was glad he wasn’t holding the bairn, because he was damn near sure he would’ve dropped him at Phil’s announcement.

For a moment, he just stared at him like he’d grown another head. Or shed his skin. That was what it felt like. Like suddenly Tom was looking at an entirely different person. He felt like his entire life was being rewritten, again. Maybe that was dramatic, but Tom didn’t know how else to feel. No one, in his entire life, had ever come out to him. He’d known queer people, obviously. And he didn’t have a problem with them (except that gay men made him slightly uncomfortable, and lesbians were just a bit confusing…and that was as far as his understanding of the whole thing went.) His boss was a lesbian! She was very nice.

But Phil was his childhood friend. They’d known each other their whole lives. From the cradle. They’d never had secrets from one another. Phil and John were always the first ones to know about everything in Tom’s life, and the same had always been true for them too. Or, at least, Tom had thought it was. 

Phil was telling them now, though, that--this had always been the case? This--bisexual thing? Or…had it just happened? 

Tom didn’t know what to say, but he did know what to do. Whenever Tom was worried or didn’t know what to do in a social situation, he always looked to John. Followed him. Copied him. Ever since they’d all been young. 

That was what he did now, after fiddling with buckling Levi into his highchair. He looked at John, waiting for him to say something. To do something. To tell Tom what to say and do too. 

JOHN: At the ‘don’t worry’ John relaxed a bit. Last thing they needed was another puppy or child or responsibility. But really, what had Phillip done? Stolen something? Small compared to the things they’d carried out in the name of the Order. 

Bisexual.

The word rang through his head and he blinked. He felt the gaze of Thomas fall on him, as if he were to set the tone of this whole thing. As if his opinion was the start of everything. And well–he really didn’t know what to think. Of course he was still Phillip, but now he was Phillip who kissed and shagged men as much as he did women. 

As the cogs whirred in his brain and the pieces all rearranged themselves, flipping back and forth through memories and facts he knew about his best mate. Oddly, it sort of clicked and made sense. 

“Huh. Don’t know why we didn’t see it before. I mean, you do enjoy a fair bit of pegging which is always a little bit of a knock to heterosexuality.” He crossed his arms, sizing up his mate, “Yeah. I can see it. Can’t you, Tom? Anyways, you shouldn’t hide things from your mates. You know we accept you and love you, even if you do shag men.”

He had nothing against the gays, wasn’t his style or preference, but that wasn’t to say it was a wrong preference to have. 

“I’m more concerned with what you’ve done to this dinner, actually. I might not be as accepting of it if you’ve ruined another appliance.”

PHILLIP: There was a long pause and for a moment, Phillip feared the worst. 

Because they could yell at him. Or worse — they could icily regard him and tell him to be out of the house by dawn. That’s how the conversation would’ve gone had he told his parents, probably. Well, his father at least. And certainly John’s father. 

His heart hammered. He felt dizzy, like his knees might buckle at any moment, but he held back the urge to blurt out that it was all a joke, that he was just messing with them, because he knew as painful as these next few moments would be, the alternative would sting far, far more.

And then John made a joke. Or, at least as close as a joke as John Smith could possibly make. Phillip blinked. He let out a breath. His shoulders shook a little.

“I —” He thought about everything he could say, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out. He blinked and there were tears. He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head and trying to hide any crying. 

“I promise it’s not that bad — it’s edible,” he managed to choke out. He sucked in a breath, blinking and composing himself. “And if it isn’t, I’ll order a pizza. On me.” 

THOMAS: Phil was near crying and John was making uncomfortable sex jokes--a desperate cry for help, if you asked Tom. And Tom just stood there. Quiet. Unable to think of anything at all to say. Which was probably for the best, because if he did, he’d fuck it up. Tom wasn’t good at emotions. At conversations where you shared your feelings and tried to talk things through. 

Not to mention…he still had no idea how he felt about all of this. He was reeling a bit. His entire world view shifted, once again. After the third or fourth time, you’d think you’d get used to something like that but didn’t really seem to work out that way. It should be fine. It would be fine but Tom had a lot of questions that he didn’t think he wanted to know the answers to. 

How long had he felt this way? How many times had they cracked jokes and made him uncomfortable? He wasn’t dating a bloke, was he? Why hadn’t he told them earlier? 

These questions just sat in his chest. 

So, he just pressed his lips into a little nod when John nudged him. 

Levi cooed and Tom looked down at his son, giving him a little bit more of a genuine smile, running his hand over the baby’s head. His brow furrowed a bit in thought. What would happen when Levi grew up? Would he like blokes? Tom’d admit he’d be a bit disappointed. Potentially have no idea what to say to him about it. But…at least he’d have his Uncle Phil. And Tom would still love him. 

Tom still loved Phil too. ‘Course he did. He just--needed to get used to it probably. Like if Phil had shaved his head. 

Phillip Knightley This was not the first Order wedding where Phillip was in the party, but by god he hoped it would be the last.

Actually, he knew that would not happen. He knew that when John and Thomas both got married (because they would get married, because they were good little Order boys who listened to their families — and who were also the only sons in their lines and therefore did not have as much leeway as Phillip himself with his three older brothers), he would be standing proudly at their sides, lifting his glass up to give a silly speech. He hoped that process might be all the more enjoyable, because by god Paul was obnoxious.

“Ah, there you are Phillip.”

Before Phillip could grab another drink at the bar, his father waved him over. His father, who was sitting now with John’s father and John’s family in general. Phillip met John’s eyes, giving him a bit of an Oh God what have they planned now look and was reminded of the one summer their families thought it would be character building to chuck Phil, John, and Tom in the middle of the woods with a tent and not much else. They were eight at the time.

“Hello Father,” he said, bowing his head. “Mr. Smith, John, Georgiana.”

“Sit, sit, Phillip. We have some exciting news for you.”

Oh God thought Phillip with a groan, but he smiled and grabbed a chair.

John Smith John hadn't been there for the entire conversation. He'd been conversing with the other families, chatting up certain families with single daughters as his mother and father would have wanted for him. He and his father had barely spoken a word since he'd gotten to the wedding other than a passing pleasantry. John did get a bit of a kick out of seeing Phillip up there all formal and serious after they'd been living together in Swynlake for a year and Phillip was anything but.

Regardless, he saw that his father and Mr. Knightley were having some sort of conversation, which usually meant something about the Order and he felt that he should go and see if he could be of service.

"Well, I think we've come up with the best idea yet. We can only become stronger from this. Don't you think, Georgiana?" His father Francis Smith looked over to his sister and she just smiled in her polite sort of way and put on a face that John knew all too well. She was serving the Order in some fashion.

"Oh yes, Father. I think it's quite inspired." John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. She always had been the favorite no matter how hard he'd tried.

"What's so inspiring if I may ask?" He made himself known, and sat himself near the men at the head of the table.

John's mother looked at him (it was warmer than the look he got from his father and not as mocking as the amused expression he got from Georgiana), "Well, John, it's not exactly polite of you to eavesdrop, however, I think we should wait until all parties are present to make an announcement. It's their future, after all."

The blonde took his seat brow furrowed, trying to parse out what they were talking about. Who was the other party? Was there something happening between their families? It wasn't as if Phil had a sibling John could marry so it couldn't be that. He looked over to his best mate and then the two partriarchs. And then it clicked into place. Oh God no.

Phillip Knightley Phillip, meanwhile, had not the slightest idea what Mr. Smith could mean. He was itching to get back to the party — hey, it might be a stuffy wedding, but at least there was alcohol, right? He had almost zoned out of the conversation, nodding along with whatever the hell his father was saying.

“Phillip, I think you’ll be quite pleased with this match — “

Oh? Was John getting married? Perhaps to one of Phillip’s many cousins? Well, that sucked for John, but he knew it would be a weight off his mate’s shoulders —

“-- Georgiana is a wonderful young lady. She reminds me of Ingrid — remember how much you fancied Ingrid?”

Why was his father comparing Georgiana to Ingrid? Phillip raised an eyebrow, looking from his father to John, then to Georgiana, who fluttered her eyelashes at him and —

“Wait — “

“So it’s settled then, yes?” Hubert Knightley clapped Phillip on the back of the shoulder. “The Smith and Knightley families will be joined at last when Phillip and Georgiana wed next spring!”

“Sorry what.”

“Phillip, darling, don’t make your father repeat himself.” This was his mother, waltzing over and reaching to touch Phillip on the cheek. “We’ve all agreed this is the best match! It takes a weight off your shoulders, certainly. I know how stressful it’s been seeing your brothers successfully marry off. And you and John will be brothers!”

John Smith It was all unfolding before him. He could see the players all making their moves and he could do nothing about it. Phillip got that certain glazed look. One would mistake it for him concentrating on something or being drunk but really he'd tuned out whoever was talking and was drifting.

Georgiana practically preened under the compliments and praise, "Well, seeing as John hasn't decided on a match yet, why not let the second oldest have a chance?" It was a backhanded shot at him. The thing about Georgiana was that she new how to perform for his parents even better than he did. She said everything right, and did everything right. It was a pity she'd been born a girl or she'd be a prime member of the Order. But deep down, John knew marrying Phillip made her skin prickle. It was far worse than any random match as they had themselves quite a history of conflict. But she still performed her duties as a dutiful daughter without faltering at the table.

"Right, brothers." John looked over to Phillip, his expression neither happy nor sad because there was an anger boiling deep inside him that he had to freeze before he made a scene. But when he thought about all he knew about Phillip and then Phillip with his sisters, it burned. It wasn't that John didn't love Phillip, certainly he thought of him already as a brother. But the thought of Georgiana matched into marrying him--well, that was unacceptable.

"John, the least you could do is congratulate the lucky couple. Georgiana is making up for a great deal of your shortcomings in the social arenas." Francis Smith stated, quirking a brow at his son. John prickled further. He was used to his father not approving of him and being disappointed, but for him to blame this match on him, because John hadn't married yet, that was almost too much, even for him.

He took in a breath, though he didn't look mad, his eyes were icy when they landed on his mate. "Congratulations."

Phillip Knightley Oh come the fuck on.

Now John's face was perfectly poised and polite, but Phillip knew him. He knew that look in John's eyes, where the sky blue shifted from clear skies to the iciness before a winter storm.

Do you think I'm happy with this? He wanted to yell at John, but his mum was grasping his arm and cooing over Georgiana, so he just offered John a small, strained smile.

"Well, we certainly make a beautiful pair, don't we?" Phillip winked at Georgiana, trying to make the best of this situation. Truth was, it made him feel a little queasy since he'd never wanted to even think of John's little sister in this way. But she was pretty and from what Phillip knew of her, this was probably about duty and honor so maybe she wasn't expecting him to be in love with her.

He flicked his eyes to John again.

"Wow welcome to the family, Johnny boy!"

He has to play the fool here, for if Phillip thought about this for more than a passing second he'd feel crushed by the chokehold his family had around him. His mother's grip on his shoulder grew tighter, her nails curling around his suit jacket like they were the talons of a great beast.

"I'm so happy to welcome another daughter into our home."

John Smith It didn't matter that it wasn't Phillip's fault. Phillip was just the only person he could turn his gaze to which wouldn't get him immediately in trouble with his family. He had to keep his composed appearance, especially at a gathering like this.

Unfortunately, Georgiana knew how to press her brother's buttons and stood up to cross over towards Phillip and his mother, "Yes, we certainly do, Phillip." She reached to gently touch Phillip on his other shoulder as turned to Phil's mother and smiled warmly at her, "Oh yes, it'll be lovely to have so many more men to call my brother and another set of influential and prestigious parents, of course."

John was splintering inside. This was his fault. His little sister was to be married off because he hadn't lived up to expectations. "It'll be quite the merging of families."

"Wait who's merging?" John's youngest sister, Elizabeth, popped out from the dance floor where she was undoubtedly flirting with every available suitor and committing to none, wide smile on her face, "Not you Johnny, of course." He gave her a look but it was hard for him to channel the same intensity he gave Phil. She was his baby sister after all. "But has someone finally wrangled Phillip Knightley?"

"It's truly wonderful, Elizabeth. Georgiana and Phillip are to be married. A perfect match, I'd say. Look at the two of them. They'll look lovely for their photos." John's mother gushed over the pair with an excited smile.

John just really wanted to punch something.

Henry Charming Henry glanced at this exchange from across the room and thought awww how nice.

Phillip Knightley Phillip wanted to scream. He hated himself for wanting to scream. He did not even know why he wanted to scream -- hadn't he known this was his fate? Hadn't this loomed over him like the sword of Damocles? Wasn't this actually preferable, because Georgiana would harbor no illusions that he loved her, because he'd be part of John's family, because all he'd really need to do was become a glorified sperm donor?

It all made him sick.

But he smiled anyway, looking warmly at Georgiana. If Phillip Knightley was anything, it was a good actor -- always putting on a show, a performance, live, seven days a week, 24 hours a day!

"Well, we need a toast, don't we!" said Phillip. "John -- let's head ask the waiters and see if we can't get a round of champagne over here."

Without waiting for an answer, he wriggled himself out of his mother and Georgiana's grasp and swung an arm around John, ushering him towards the kitchens.

John Smith John tried to not show how irritated he was right now. He fought the setting of his jaw, the twitch in his eye, the unabashed contempt and glare also trying to come from his eyes. But Georgiana always knew when he was on the brink of exploding and being that she liked to play up how devoted she was to the Order, she knew just how to press his buttons. As soon as her hand touched Phillip, John's hand clenched the napkin on the table.

Phillip had however taken note of John's growing ire and gave him an out. He stood up quickly, "Right. A toast to the lovely couple."

He was ushered towards the kitchens and as soon as the rounded the corner out of sight of the table and most of the wedding, John grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be a decorative vase and slammed it against the wall, shattering it, pieces flying and scattering along the wall. They wouldn't miss it. It was just a prop to fill out an alcove.

"I--" He couldn't form sentences, all he saw was red. "You--" His normally icy glare of contempt was aflame with rage. He grit his teeth, "Phillip."

Phillip Knightley The shattered ceramic nearly hit the side of his face, but Phillip remained rooted on the spot. He look at John, his own eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. He felt his heart clench, almost like it was choking him --

It was one thing that he was trapped in this arrangement. It was another that John was mad at him.

"Do you honestly think I want this, mate?" Phillip threw his hands in the air. "They sprung this on me the same as they sprung it on you -- " His voice started to shake, which made him flustered and he tore his eyes away from John. "-- we're all just their fucking chess pieces in whatever bloody high society Order marriage game they're playing, you know this. I have just as much say in this as you do."

John Smith John didn't want to listen to Phillip's explanations or excuses or reasons. He was just well pissed off. Completely filled with contempt and rage at his family. At how they'd made him look in front of Phil's family as well. But he heard bits and pieces of Phillip's words all the same.

He clenched his jaw, his hand this time the next thing to slam against the wall, but he wasn't an idiot, he didn't punch it and break his fingers or something ridiculous like that. He just pounded on the wall one last time before he spun around to Phillip, "I cannot fucking believe them. Did you see my father's bloody face? So god damn proud of Georgiana like she'd had some hand in this and she played right along!" He threw his hands up in the air, "She doesn't want to marry you, Phillip! She's disliked you since childhood and thought she was better than Thomas as well. But somehow I get to be made look like the fucking laughing stock of the family because ole Johnny can't find himself a girl to marry so why not let his younger sister show him how it's done." He let out noise of exasperation, "It's bloody demoralizing."

He heard footsteps coming down the hallway and he immediately snapped back to himself, smoothing his hair back and straightening himself out to give a small smile to the woman passing by before sighing, "Philly boy." He stepped forward and tugged at the lapels of his mate's jacket. "I'm not mad at you, okay? I just--I wish I could say I cannot believe they've gone and done this, but I can't. I should've seen it coming. I should've been two steps ahead of this and figured out a way to head it off at the pass, but I didn't and now we've got this mess on top of all of our other issues concerning this clusterfuck of a mission."

Phillip Knightley I'm not mad at you

That was the only thing Phillip needed to hear. John said a whole host of other things, raging and fuming and hitting the wall. But that was the only one that mattered.

John grabbed Phil's jacket and Phillip felt something choke up in his throat. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't say anything. He just looked at John's hand on his lapel and part of him wanted to catch John's fingers and give them a squeeze and tell him it was going to be okay and that they would figure this out and that if anyone was gonna figure this out it would be John --

He didn't do that, of course. He just flicked his eyes to John's steely blue gaze and he gave a single nod.

"If I do have to go through with this," he said. "I'll be good to her. I promise you that, Johnny."

John Smith John didn’t want to think about Phil going through with this. He didn’t want to think about how he’d have to deal with their wedding preparations and how he’d been a groomsman for this wedding and put on a happy face like everything was fine. He’d do it and he’d be good at it, but it would be like a 1,000 tiny paper cuts inside as he was once again reminded that he was a disappointment and his sister and best mate would have to pay for it.

I.

The first time Phillip sees John — really sees John — they are sixteen. It is summer and they are in the middle of training.

Phillip falls on his ass in the mud. Somewhere in the distance Tommy laughs a little, but John laughs louder, tossing his head back. He’s been serious all day, so hearing him explode in laughter is a welcome relief to Phillip. 

A sobering phone call in the morning set John in a stern mood (he did not respond when Phillip asked about it, brushing off the questions, but Phil had heard snippets of “expectations” and “legacy” and “failure” amongst other things). But now his face splits into laughter, blue eyes glimmering.

“That wouldn’t have happened if you’d listened to me,” he says to Phillip, trying to keep his voice stern.

Phil looks up at John, the sun behind him, illuminating his golden hair like some sort of halo. Out of the three of them, it’s John who’s always looked most like a knight out of a fairy tale — John with his perfect posture, his golden hair, his sky-blue eyes, his perfect lips. Tommy is perhaps their noble-hearted prince, but John is the one who reaches a hand out to Phillip and pulls him up now.

Phillip does not understand why he wants their hands to linger. It is a thought that strikes him in this moment, though in the next, he’s grabbed his sword again, an easy laugh coming to his lips. It is a thought he folds up and hides away, though there will be nights where he can’t sleep – nights where John is in the room next to his – where it slithers out from the dark recesses where he’s stashed it and he entertains this impossible fantasy.

But now – now Phillip just smiles. John looks away.

II.

Phillip sees John across the ballroom.

It’s not the first dance they’ve gone to – nor will it be the last – but this is one of the first where they’re primed and ready to be picked apart by the eligible Order ladies. The men might carry the swords, but the ladies of the Order are fearsome hunters of their own accord.

Phil knows John has been worrying about this event for weeks.

Phillip is a fourth son, expendable. John is an oldest son, the only son. Words come easily to Phillip and he spins them like a web – pretty words, sultry words, funny words. They do not come as easily to John. It is not something he acknowledges out loud, but Phillip knows.

It’s not just that John has to talk to a girl – he has to make a good match, carry on the family legacy. No ordinary girl will do.

Phillip sees this all on John’s face now and in a moment, is across the ballroom, clapping his hand on John’s shoulder.

“It’s easy,” he says, leaning so that his words just grace John’s ear. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

John turns slightly so that they are facing each other for a moment.

“If I bring you near any girl, they’ll slap you.”

“Exactly,” says Phil. He squeezes John’s shoulder. They’ve both cleaned up for this, shaven a little, dabbed cologne on, slicked their hair back. Phillip doesn’t like how it looks on himself. He also doesn’t think it suits John, which is funny because John probably prefers being dressed up. But Phil’s favorite John is a disheveled John – John just woken up, his hair a mess, his beard scruffy, his mouth a little gaped in surprise.

Phillip stops himself before he can entertain that thought more. He nods. “Look – just remember, the bigger an idiot I look like, the better you will.”

“Right.”

“Shall we?” Phillip would pretend to extend an arm, as if it were John he were leading onto the dance floor, as if they were here to dance together and not instead find other partners. But he knows how that would look, even as a joke. So, he just cocks his head towards the dancefloor, his eyes on John’s.

Phillip smiles. John looks away.

III. 

Phillip sees John in the forest and immediately, he lets out a sigh of relief.

The hunting party they are with got separated, dashed apart by a dragon on the loose. Not just a dragon, but a mother dragon and her brood of children. They were only expecting the one.

“Oh, thank God.” Phil dashes across the clearing. He would embrace John, but he stops just short of his friend, sucking in a breath and running a hand through his hair. John looks relieved too, Phillip thinks, though there is still worry etched on his face. There is always worry etched on John’s face and now it is for the dragon, the creature lurking in the woods.

Phillip is not worried, though, because he’s found John and if he’s with John then it will all be okay. He looks into John’s eyes now and he doesn’t feel fear – just relief. For a second, the worry on John’s face passes, his eyes softening a moment. He opens his mouth, as if he is about to say something, but just shakes his head instead.

Phillip smiles. Someone shouts in the distance. John looks away.

IV. 

Phillip sees John across the pub and raises his pint.

Before Tom and John go off to the Navy, the three of them have a drink. Just like old times, just like before. One last time before they go off to sea and Phillip, who’s never really had sealegs or a family tradition of military, will be left behind.

He knows he shouldn’t think of it this way. After all, back when his own father and Tom and John’s were their ages, they went through the same thing. It made our bond stronger, says Phillip’s father, usually when the three men were drunk. (There is a hole there now, where Tom’s father once stood.)

At one point, John steps away and it’s just Tommy and Phil. Tom has maybe had too much to drink and he confesses that he’s worried. Phil pats him on the back, and he spins pretty words – the adventures they’ll have, the places they’ll see. He’s never been one for the sea, but he tells a pretty tale of the ocean, of the blue horizon beyond.

He talks and it is now when he catches John’s eyes as he returns. Phillip thinks of that blue horizon he’s just spun up for Tommy, of chasing it forever and knowing it is never something he’ll ever be able to have.

Phillip smiles at John. John sits down and looks at Tom.

V. 

Phillip sees John the day he gets engaged and he feels his heart shatter.

He tries to tell himself this is because the nature of their friendship will change, but he knows that’s not the entire truth. When Tommy got engaged just last month, he cheered and whooped and got all three of them drunk as hell.

Is it just because he’s being left behind?

Deep inside, he knows this isn’t true. Deep inside, he knows that it’s different. Deep inside, he knows that nothing would change if he told John, if he confessed to him that there is a reason he can’t make himself fall in love with any girl, that there is nothing more beautiful than John blinking away sleep in the early morning, that he’s dreamed of kissing John’s lips since they were sixteen years old.

But he cannot say any of this, because even if John loved him back – even with that impossibility – John is an only son and John must get married.

At the celebration, Phillip gives a rousing speech, then throws his arm around John.

Phillip smiles. John looks back at the crowd, at his fiancée.

(VI.)

The day John Francis Fitzwilliam Smith gets married, he is not nervous.

That could be because he is not in love.

She is a pretty girl his father picked out for him, an Order daughter who is a bit younger than him, but he cannot be picky. She is sweet and dutiful and beautiful. They will have plenty of children and the Smith name will live on.

He is sure she will look very beautiful when she walks down the aisle in a moment.

But now, at the altar, he waits. He glances slightly behind, catching Phillip’s eye.

Phillip, his best man. Phillip, who was on time for this event for once in his life. Phillip, who’s nowhere near close to getting married; Phillip, who jokes he’ll just bounce between Tom and John’s places for the rest of his life; Phillip, whose hair is messy now, but that’s alright because John prefers it this way –

He looks at Phillip. There is something sad in his eyes, even though he smiles. John knows Phillip’s smiles. He knows how big they are, how he crinkles his eyes and tosses his head back. This time, his eyes don’t narrow. If anything, the blue looks even more faded.

Something about this makes John want to turn around fully. To grab Phillip by the shoulder. To tell him it’s going to  be okay, that he’s not losing John really, that everything will be the same –

But it won’t be the same. John knows this. He will marry his wife and Phillip will give a great toast and slowly – like their fathers before them – they’ll turn to their families first, eventually meeting up a couple of times a year.

The thought of that has never bothered him till this moment.

He’s not even sure why it does.

Something wells up in his chest.

“Phil – “

“You’ll do great, Johnny,” says Phil, reaching to pat him on the shoulder.

PHILLIP:

For one brief terrifying moment, Phillip saw his sister’s body animated — suspended like it was a living thing, but black and burned and charred. He felt like he might vomit. He couldn’t even make it to the closet where his weapons were, before his stomach violently lurched and he nearly doubled over.

But the body dropped to the ground. And for a split second, Phillip saw a slim, red haired figure of a girl, before it vanished into a pixie form and a snarling shadow chased it out —

At least the mara and whatever the hell the other thing was were gone.

The body was still there. The flames still caught on his bedsheets and curtains.

“Fuck, fuck,” Phil muttered, trying to get a hold of himself. He staggered, leaning on the side of the wall. It was getting hotter by the second. Phil was trying to think straight, but all he could think about was the charred corpse on the floor. He swallowed, coughing slightly, then banged his fist on the wall. 

“Tom! John! Wake up ya knuckleheads, serious actual emergency for once here!” 

THOMAS:

Tom was a frightfully light sleeper on a good day. And recently: he hadn’t been having very many good days. His dreams were plagued with shadows and the crackle of flames in his ears from a fire he couldn’t see nor put out. The past several nights, he’d woken up in a cold sweat after only a few hours and not gone back to sleep.

Tonight was different.

Tonight, Tom woke up to Phil’s shouts, followed shortly by the blare of a fire alarm and Gilly barking. He jerked out of bed, his feet tangling in the sheets, falling to the floor. He came down hard on his knee, but barely noticed, grabbing his sword from where it was hidden near the door and tore down the hallway. It was only the training drilled into him that had him reach for the handle with the back of his hand. 

The metal was hot, but not burning, so he turned the handle and threw his shoulder against the door. It burst open, thick smoke billowing out. Tom instinctively reached to cover his nose with his shirt--only to realize he was shirtless.

His wide eyes took in the room for a moment, not even noticing the body. He was too focused on the bloody flames.

“Christ, Philly!” he cursed, and then sprung into action, ripping the sheets off the bed and throwing them over the worst of the fire. 

JOHN:

John wasn’t exactly a deep sleeper but by no means was he as light as Tom. He’d manage to sleep through a girl or two Phil brought home, but once they got louder, well, the headphones and/or earplugs came out of the dresser drawer. 

On this night, however, they hadn’t had any guests as far as John knew. So when there was a commotion, John instantly knew there had to be something wrong and something was in danger. Luckily, John really prepared for the worst and in taking care of these two cads, there was hardly anything he wasn’t prepared for.

Or so he thought.

At the yelling of not one, but two of his roommates and the fire alarm, John clambered towards the shouts in only his underwear ready to assess whatever thing they were about to get to with a calm and collected--

“Jesus Christ, Phillip!” He shouted, leaping to help Tom with putting out the fire, trying to find towels or anything to smother the flames,  “You couldn’t just leave burning shit downstairs in the kitchen?! What did you do? Fall asleep smoking again?!”

The thing was that John very much knew this wasn’t just a fire caused by burnt food or weed because once they really stood there in the wreckage, all that was left was the smell of death and burnt hair. 

“What happened?”

PHILLIP: 

Phil was frozen. Phil leaned one shoulder on the side of the wall, watching as Tom rushed in, followed shortly by John. Thank God the two of them had the sense to start to smother the flames with Phil’s sheets, because Phil was frozen. 

That was a lie; Phil wasn’t entirely frozen. Phil’s knees buckled for a moment. Phillip heard them shout his name — something about smoking, something about burning food — and Phillip knew that was probably justified, because he’d definitely set the fire alarm off a handful of times while doing stupid shit.

“I — “ He managed to stand up. He swallowed, trying to keep it together. “It was a mara,” he shouted. He grit his teeth. He had to help. Tom and John couldn’t clean up his messes. This was his burden. He grabbed one of his pillows off the bed, tossing it on the flames. 

“A bloody nightmare fairy! Though — there was something else. I don’t know what the hell it was, but it pulled the fucking dream out. It was fire.” His voice caught. “And Rosie. Rosie — she’s — it’s not her. It’s not her.”

He staggered backwards again, closing his eyes as though in pain, and refused to look at the floor. 

“Christ, I don’t remember learning about this shit. Aren’t fairies supposed to be easy to deal with? There was definitely something else. Some fucking shadow thing. Made the mara lose control. Fuck. Fuck.” He kicked the side of the bed, for no apparent reason.  

THOMAS:

The heat of the flames stung at Tom’s skin surprisingly sharp. He had forgotten, in the midst of being a firefighter and all the insulated, protective gear that came with that--how quick a fire’s bite could be. He was sweating in moments as the flames licked up Phil’s curtains, devouring them hungrily. When John burst into the room, but body of flame flickered toward him but as soon as he jumped in to help, the three of them managed to smother them into submission. 

But not without Phil shouting about maras and nightmares and Rosie? 

Tom turned his head to look at his friend as he retreated from the blaze, his face pale and eyes wide, far off. As if he was still dreaming. All at once, his body jerked again and he was kicking things and cursing. Behind Tom, the flare of the fire died down somewhat, stray flames still flickering.

They still smoldered and popped, and Tom was sure if they so much as breathed on them, they were going to roar to life once more.

The three stood in an uneasy silence for a moment. 

What did this have to do with Rosie?

Tom glanced around the room, catching John’s gaze for a moment, before looking for anything else to put out the last bit of flames. His gaze fell to Gilly, who was sniffing at a shadow on the floor. Tom took a step closer. “Gill, what--”

He reeled back the next second as he registered what the lump was in the half-light. Though, Tom didn’t see Rosie in the charred remains. He saw the two people he couldn’t save from the fire. He saw Cole. Tom sucked in a sharp breath as he stumbled back, feeling lightheaded. He bumped into the dresser, rattling it.

“What--how? What--” 

JOHN:

Well this was certainly not what he had planned to be doing this evening. John didn’t look at the remains, because well, it was a charred body, plain as day. He did however look at how shaken up his two mates were, and it seemed like it was time to start to put things together. But first, they needed to get rid of this. John stepped into his leadership role.

He went through what he’d filed away in the back of his mind on what he’d learned from old chalkboards and books at the Order, “Mara’s feed off of your fears. It’s the basic principle. Whatever that thing is, is what you desperately don’t want to see. We’ve got to get rid of it. Both of you get dressed and we’ll dispose of this thing before it has time to do something else worse to your psyche.” He walked to Tom, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “It’s not what it seems, Tommy. C’mon handsome lad, we’ll need your strength, I’ll make sure it’s good and tied up so you won’t have to look at it.” He looked to Tom and Phil, “Either of you.” 

With that he walked off towards his room to put some clothes on and his boots before returning with some of the spare linens that they weren’t using to drape over the body. He didn’t look at the thing really, he could feel a mass and a shape to it, a body certainly but he wouldn’t look or peak underneath what it was. Luckily, Gilly disliked John enough to keep away as he worked trying to secure the sheets around the dream-now-reality body so neither of his mates would have to face what they’d seen.

The one thing eating at him though was the shadow that Phil mentioned. What could it be? “Phillip?” He said, not looking up from his task, “You said a shadow followed the mara out? Made her lose control? What sort of thing has that kind of power?” He furrowed his brows, really more thinking out loud than anything. A demon maybe? But what would a demon want with a mara? “Are you sure it made her lose control and it wasn’t like they were working together?”

PHILLIP:

Phillip didn’t know why John had chased him out of his own room to get dressed.

Well, okay he did. It was to get a grip. To save face. To take a moment — both him and Tommy, who looked quite shaken right now — and gather themselves.

So Phil left. Phil followed Tom into his room and side-by-side they rifled through Tom’s drawers in silence. Underneath the smell of the laundry detergent they all used, Tom’s clothes smelled like, well, Tom.  Something about that was comforting. It was a scent that wasn’t fire, a scent that reminded him of childhood summers by the lake and wrestling on the shore and riding horseback.

Phil slipped the shirt on. He counted to ten. He took a deep breath. He headed back into the room, Tommy right behind him. 

John had made good work already, tying up the body in Phil’s now burned sheets. Phil’s gaze immediately fixated on it. He only looked away when John said his name.

“It attacked her,” he said. He didn’t know why he called the mara a her — it was a creature. A dark creature of the night. 

(It had just been a girl; just Rosie’s age). 

“In the dream,” he explained. “She was...the mara was Rosie. Then all of a sudden, the shadow came. She screamed — but it wasn’t Rosie’s scream. It was… different.” 

He knew Rosie’s screams very well.

Phillip ran a hand through his hair, slumping a bit on his desk.

“Christ. I don’t know — maybe a demon? What else can enter dreams like that? Must be a demon then. Who the hell knows what it wants? More power? Maybe it just freshly escaped and a human host won’t do.” He groaned. “I can’t believe on top of every-bloody-thing else, we’ve got a fucking demon on the loose.” 

THOMAS:

John’s steady, encyclopedic voice helped Tom get his head on straight. It was a familiar sound. Soothing, like the rush of the ocean in that it was constant. The words’ meaning more or less washed right over Tom, but he clung to the sound like a buoy in a churning sea. The clap on the shoulder knocked him out of his stupor and he hopped into action, leading Phil down the hallway.

He kept sneaking glances at his friend as they dressed. His face was ashen and drawn, looking more reserved that Tom had seen Phil in a while. Yeah, sometimes, they both sat down on the couch ‘round this time of night, watching shit telly, and Tom knew that there were things Phil didn’t want to say. Just like he knew that Phil knew there were things Tom didn’t want to say. This was different, however. Phil seemed withdrawn. Smaller, almost, like they were teenagers again. He hadn’t looked that way...since…

Tom thought about the body on the ground and then, John’s words sunk under his skin. Mara. Nightmare. Worst fears. 

As they headed back down the hall, Tom gripped at Phil’s shoulder, squeezing once. 

When Phil mentioned Rosie’s name, Tom didn’t flinch. It only confirmed his suspicions. That was what had Phil looking like he’d seen a ghost. It made Tom’s fists curl at his side and he’d never wished more that demons were creatures you could just bloody punch into a pulp. If that was the case, it wouldn’t stand a chance against Tom.

Instead, he just knelt down by the body. Rosie’s body. Except it wasn’t Rosie. It couldn’t be. Rosie had been dead for almost ten years. It wasn’t Rosie, it was just a nightmare. In the shape of Rosie. Gently, he scooped it up into his arms, so that Phil wouldn’t have to. It was light as a feather, so it didn’t burden Tom. Much. 

“Well, there’s nothing for it now,” he told them with a determined set to his jaw. “We’ve got to take care of this, before anyone sees. Phil, you should stay here.” His gaze softened somewhat as he looked at his friend. “John and I will handle this.” 

JOHN:

A demon.

A demon and a mara. Odd that they’d be teaming up. Then again, it wasn’t exactly a beneficial relationship to the mara was it? It interrupted it. It was manipulating it. His brows furrowed in thought as he tried to figure out what this could be. Had a mara made some kind of demon pact? He couldn’t imagine why other than some demons were power hungry and maras were sort of like that in their craving of nightmares and power over others. 

At Tom’s words, John looked at him and nodded resolutely. “Yes, Thomas and I will handle it, Phillip.” He looked to his still worse for wear mate. “You should make some tea, well, drink a monster I suppose, or take a hot shower or something, clear your head of whatever that mara was trying to twist out of you.” John walked over to his mate, putting his hand gently on your shoulder, “The important thing is that it didn’t win. It got nothing from you and is most likely out there starving or something. Good riddance, I hope the demon disposed of it. Certainly narrow our targets down in this town.”

He looked back to Thomas who was holding whatever thing had come from the nightmare and spoke, “Now then, the next course of action would be where to dispose of it. No one’s going to be looking for something that doesn’t exist, but I’d hardly like to dig up our own lawn. It would draw too much attention to us, well, more than we already have.” He walked towards the door, “Perhaps the lake? Weigh it down and sink it to the depths?”

PHILLIP:

Phillip was trying to compose himself. It wasn’t working very well. He leaned his head back so it hit the wall, listening to Tom and John take care of everything. 

His jaw ticked slightly as they discussed plans. He felt like a burden. Couldn’t even handle a fucking nightmare where nothing was real. He was just a sham of  Prince, held together by family name, beautifully spun words, and the deeds of his friends. 

He ran his hand down his face, exhaling loudly, still slumped, as he gave a small shake of his head at something John had just said. 

“It had red hair,” said Phil. “The mara. I saw that much before it slipped through the window. It’s still out there somewhere. Though, I guess not as big a problem as a fucking demon.”

He looked at his friends now — Tom, carrying the wrapped body, and John standing next to him at the door — and opened his mouth to say something else. Nothing came out. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, only that, well, he was thankful that they were there with him now. Something about that made him feel deeply shameful. He turned his head away.

“I’ll go shower off this soot,” he said, giving them a two-fingered salute, as they walked out of his bedroom.

THOMAS:

John’s voice was soothing. It wasn’t often that either of them saw Phil so shaken. Even in the dim light from the hallway and the moon, Tom could tell he was ashen and pale. He had this glazed over look in his eye. Even though he was looking at Tom and John, Tom knew he wasn’t. Not really. It concerned him, but John talking, going step by step, that helped.

Tom wanted to take a shower too. His shoulder was already aching from the weight of this dream-body in his arms. He hated how real it felt. It was the darkest kind of magic and he was not above its influence. 

He didn’t know what to say to Phil, so he was glad for John and his direction.

After they walked out of the room, the both of them changed into running clothes--dark and nondescript. Then, they laid the body in the back seat of the car they all shared, drove to the lake, parking in the parking lot there. They carried it and two shovels as deep into the woods as they could manage whilst getting back home in a timely manner. They dug a grave deep enough to not be shallow. They laid a stone over it. By the time they headed back to the car, it was almost six am, and the first runners of the day were arriving. It was easier than it should have been and it made a shiver go up Tom’s spine.