#oc blanche

“You are so, so cute.” You can see his fingers twitch as he brings them close to his face, as if itching to touch you. But he refrained from doing so. To which you were appreciative of. 

Leveret opened his mouth to say something, but something behind you caught his eye, causing that smile to turn into a shocked frown. Before you could even turn around to see what had upset him so much, he gripped onto your arm tightly and yanked you behind him, as he protectively shielded you from whatever threat just literally manifested out of thin air. 

You heard a deafening slam of a door, more like it swung open so hard that the handle made a hole in the drywall. Poking your head from Leveret’s frame, your blood ran cold upon seeing the last person you wanted to lay your eyes on.

“(name)!” Cyprus barked; you could see that he’s positively furious. Not entirely at you for escaping, but the fact that another man is touching you- as evidenced by the fact that he’s scowling at Leveret. 

“I’m giving you three seconds to get the fuck away from my woman.” You winced at that guttural growl directed towards the man who did your makeup and was nothing but kind to you. “I’m not playing, I’ll bash your fucking head in.”

“Cyprus, being aggressive isn’t going to solve anything.” Leveret tried to diffuse the situation, calmly yet assertively. He still refused to expose you to the potential danger in the room. “Let’s talk. Like adults.” 

“One.” You felt chills down your spine as you watched Cyprus rolling his shoulders and wrists, as if warming up for a fight.

Leveret said nothing, his eyes occasionally darted around to check for any exits, but they’re mostly trained on the threat in front of him and you.

“Two.” Cyprus continued with the countdown, cracking his knuckles while rolling his neck. You cowered behind Leveret, fingers tightly gripping onto his sweater, which made your abhorrent admirer’s blood boil. 

“There are better ways to approach this, Cyprus.” A last attempt to get through to him peacefully fell on deaf ears. It appears Leveret already knew what was coming, as he shifted his stance to a slightly more defensive one.

“Three!” The hook Cyprus threw was so fast, so powerful, that it appeared as an incomprehensible blur. But Leveret was faster, as he managed to dodge it in time fluidly. Instinctively, you scurried to the furthest corner of the room and sought refuge under a desk.

This position gave you a good vantage point, though, as you could see both men fighting in full, clear view. 

It's not exactly a fair battle, though. Leveret is constantly on the defence and Cyprus on the offence. Leveret encapsulated grace and elegance, while Cyprus- pure vicious ferality and combat skill. The way the two of them moved was mesmerising, hypnotising, and almost soothing to watch, if not for the fact that someone was getting badly injured today. It was as if you were watching a well-choreographed action sequence fitting for a movie.

Leveret periodically glanced in your direction, checking up on you while distracting Cyprus. It doesn’t really seem like he’s too focused on not getting his skull caved in by the professional boxer; you note that he’s constantly scanning the area, as if expecting something to appear or happen.  

His hazel eyes suddenly lit up when he spotted it: a door. This time, it appeared to be a slightly weathered wooden door with a tarnished brass lever handle. It came into existence quite close to where you’re hiding.

Cyprus whipped his head towards the door too, noticing its sudden appearance. Leveret immediately scythed his foot low across the floor, taking Cyprus’s balance with it and sending him crashing down. He had to act fast while his opponent was temporarily incapacitated, and so, Leveret did.

He advanced towards you, grabbed your arm, and swung the door open simultaneously. A reassuring smile adorned his face when your worried eyes met his.

“See you soon, my darling. I love you.” Leveret briefly kissed you on the forehead before shoving you through the portal. Before he slammed the door shut, you caught a glimpse of Cyprus getting up on his feet, mid-lunge towards Leveret. 

And now, you find yourself back in darkness again. Except, this time, you’re in a way tighter space. Much stiffer, coarser, and claustrophobia-inducing. You felt your panic when you realised whatever is surrounding you is naturally closing in, pressing against your face and restricting your breathing. Your hands claw their way through the mysterious medium, which begins to feel more and more like damp potting soil scraping against your skin. 

Every muscle in your body is activated to dig through it, your fingers, your feet, your knees… you were running out of air. Like a mole, you tunneled upward until you felt the dirt around you became looser and easier to push away. Even then, you kept going, and eventually light reached your eyes. Your fist broke through the surface, letting rays of light shine into the hole, you then squeezed yourself through the tight opening, popping out of your burrows- flinging soil everywhere. The surprised yelp when you emerged didn’t go unnoticed though. 

Brushing the dirt off your eyes and hair, you came face-to-face with a man with the kindest, bluest, downturned eyes in the world. Clad in gardening gear that does poorly to hide his interesting fashion choice of wearing a cravat while tending to his plants, he covered his mouth in shock. There were specks of brown and black in his long, tight curls of grey. You felt a little guilty for accidentally spraying soil all over him, but you desperately needed to breathe- absolutely no time to waste.

“(name)!” He lets out a shaky exclamation, dropping his shovel onto the ground with a clatter. 

This must be Blanche. Through his voice and face alone, you can tell that he is warm and intensely nurturing. But you don’t trust him yet, so you try to retreat into the dirt and hope that there’s a door down there somewhere leading to an empty bathroom you can use. As soon as you tried to dig back down, though, you found yourself standing at the bottom of the terracotta pot.

And so, you allowed yourself to be helped. Blanche pulled you out of the anomalous receptacle and quickly dusted you off the best he could.

“My dove, wh- how…” He stammered incessantly, unable to truly formulate any meaningful question to ask you. In the end, he decided to seal his lips shut and focus on cleaning you up the best he could. 

You and he were silent as he took his time processing what had happened. Neither of you had to vocalise anything, though. Your stomach did the work by gurgling loudly.

Pity and heartache were written all over his face. He picked a few tangerines from a nearby tree. You noted how short this plant is and how much fruit it bore. Blanche then rinsed his hands and the citrus with running water from a garden hose. 

“You haven't had anything to eat for the whole day, have you?” He peeled the tangerines and fed you their juicy, orange flesh. Too hungry to think of anything else, you ate straight from his hands.

It was the sweetest, most succulent tangerine you ever had the honour of tasting. 

“My poor starlight…” His heart wrenched painfully in empathy as he watched you devour the measly meal. 

And it would be like this for a while: Blanche hand feeding you his fresh produce, including a couple of tomatoes, various berries and more tangerines, you gladly throwing them into the hatch while still covered in dirt.

You slowed your scarfing, to which Blanche correctly deduced that you're getting full. He decided it would be an appropriate time to start getting answers. But it seems like he already noticed something strange about you.

“Do you remember what brought you here?” He asked, with an air of caution around his words.

You shook your head. 

“Do you… remember me?” He asked with great hesitance, already knowing the answer based on your body language and circumstance he's finding himself in, but not wanting to confirm it.

You, of course, shook your head again. This time, you didn't brace yourself for some shitstorm, though. Blanche seems reasonable enough. And he seems like a sweet, harmless, frail old man. It would be a lie that you didn't feel an ounce of guilt upon seeing his crestfallen expression and the welling of tears in his eyes.

Blanche took a moment to compose himself before taking a deep breath and… reintroducing himself.

“My name is Blanche.” He swallowed stiffly before continuing. “I was your best friend… well, I'd like to think I still am.”

Best friend? That's definitely interesting. 

Blanche blinked his tears away and smiled sadly.

“Mr Mansion tends to facilitate interactions between guests living in him.” He explained. 

“Doors appear and reappear seemingly at random. Sometimes trapping us into a room, sometimes freeing us from it, sometimes forcing us to talk to each other. But I know it isn't just done so all willy-nilly.” Blanche sighed, his eyes seeking yours.

“I just… I didn't think Mr Mansion could be this cruel…” He muttered under his breath, frowning. 

You said nothing and just stared at him. After a straight minute of silence, Blanche laughed out of bitterness.

“He has done something with your ability to talk, too. Oh, I'm so sorry you have to go through this, my dove. Mr Mansion shouldn't have brought you into this…” He wiped more soil away from your eyes using his thumb.

Mr Mansion? So this is all controlled by a single entity? It seems like Blanche knew a lot more about… everything. You wish you could discuss it with him, but curse your damn malfunctioning vocal cords.

Frustrated, you started vocalising. Predictably, in uncivilised shouts and yells. 

Yet, Blanche isn't fazed at all. He smiles, and it's full of pity and sadness. It's as if he's fully expecting this.

“I know you have a trillion questions about whatever nonsense is going on, dearie. I do too.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I believe… we will receive the answers we rightfully deserve in due time. Please don’t fill that sweet head of yours with worry, we will be quite alright.”

You actually felt… assured. It’s probably because you also felt heard and understood. Plus, Blanche is the only one who isn’t weird so far. Not pushy, not delusional, doesn’t demand your love back, and doesn’t assume that you’ll see him as a haven. Obviously, he is hurt by your supposed loss of memory, but he handles his emotions well. 

A door faded into existence. A dark, mahogany door with pristine handles and locks. It stole your attention, and Blanche’s the same. 

“Ah…” He mumbled. “I guess Mr Mansion think it’s time for you to meet Mr Yves.”

You snapped your head to him. How does he know that? Maybe it’s also a lucky guess, but how did he come to that conclusion?

Sensing your confusion, Blanche explained himself, 

“That is a replica of the door to Mr Yves’s office. I’m sure it will lead to him, or at least, to the place he appears the most.” 

You hesitated, you don’t know this “Mr Yves” guy. The only interaction you had with him was so brief, you don’t know what to make of it. Hell, odds are, he could be worse than Cyprus!

You looked back at Blanche and shook your head. You don’t want to leave him, the only sane member so far! 

You gripped onto his sleeves, pointing at him and then to yourself, then to the door. Trying to get your request for him to come with you. Blanche simply knelt to meet your eyes. 

“Mr Mansion doesn’t want me to come with you, my flower.” He explained compassionately. “The door is… five sizes too small for me. It’s perfect for you, but I’ll need to be whittled down to a peg to fit!” 

You looked back at the door. He’s right, it’s way too small for him, but you should be able to go through it with no issue. It’s nauseating how insanely confusing the spatiality of this reality is. 

But regardless, you’re still worried about what lies behind that door. So you refused to part from Blanche and shook your head.

“Oh, my poor sweetheart…” He cooed, smoothing your dirt-laden hair. “I know you’re scared, but there is no reason to be.”

He massaged soothing circles on your arm with his thumbs. “Mr Yves is a clever man. He was the first one to figure out Mr Mansion’s most basic motivations and made accurate predictions no one could ever have thought of. He is a bright scientist through and through- you will find his office filled with books, eagerly offering their knowledge to anyone interested in expanding their reservoir. There will be comfy chairs to sink into, much better than the pebbles under your feet.”

Still not fully convinced, you shook your head. You’re scared.

“I promise, pinkie promise that Mr Yves will be kind. He had never once been horribly mean to any of us. He is the most capable of us all, and in many ways, he is the leader and lighthouse in this dark, terrifying world of uncertainty.” He brought his little finger up for you to hook your finger around it. To seal the deal.

“I have the utmost confidence that he will explain everything better. He would know what to do; he always does. He will help you, my darling dear. And I know that, because I know you are someone special to him too.” 

You gulped, well. He did drive a few convincing points into your brain. You took a deep breath and exhaled, completing his pinkie promise. But before you made a move, you pointed at the tangerines. You don’t know if you’ll have the chance to eat when you walk through that door. 

Immediately understanding what you want, Blanche encouraged you to go ahead, “Take as much as you need, my garden is fertile and fruits and vegetables are plentiful!”

You did a small bow of the head to thank him as you went ahead to collect the fruits. Blanche also helped you harvest other crops for you to snack on.

But really, you’re actually just stalling for time. You don’t know what to expect from Yves. You would definitely feel much more comfortable if Blanche were there with you.

"Where else did he touch you, hm?" he asked, tucking a hand under your gown and letting his calloused digits roam around your bare back. You scream and thrash, trying to get his paws off you, but he won't budge. Cyprus continued with his invasive touches and verbal grilling.

"Did he... touch you here?" You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes when he sensually traced the curve of your rear. One may think that he must be enjoying tormenting you like this, but when you glanced at his face, he appeared to be more... troubled. Specifically, pissed. You don't know if that anger is directed at you, Montgomery, or the circumstance at hand. 

“Or… here?” His hands slid down to your thighs, groping them as he went. Cyprus is inching closer and closer to your privates. A pathetic, sad whimper escapes your lips as you try to push him away, but to no avail.

Cyprus may be an asshole, but at least he is a decently perceptive asshole. He definitely picked up on your body language and other nonverbal cues that you do not want to be touched in this way. So, without you explicitly telling him what you’re truly feeling through the watery eyes, squirming and whining, he gave you a proposition that you almost cannot refuse.

“You want me to stop, princess?” He gave you a half smirk while brushing the tip of his nose against the side of your face. “Then, give me a kiss.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes and lips shut as you tried to pull away from him. 

“No deal?” He cooed condescendingly. “Fine by me.” Cyprus, being the bastard he is, hooked a finger around the band of your inner shorts. You began shouting again, as you know that he’s trying to pull them away.

At this point, you’re bawling your eyes out. Overwhelmed, violated, and exhausted, you let your tears just flow. You were hoping that your severe distress would buy you some sympathy from this horrible man. But you were afforded the opposite. 

You were rendered frozen when you felt the familiar drag of a wet tongue against your cheek. Cyprus is not letting any of that go to waste; he kept licking like a fervent dog. 

“Aw, you crybaby. I'll stop when you kiss me. You know that.” He repeated the conditions and snickered against your damp skin.

Finally, you pecked him on the cheek. Unfortunately, though, Cyprus doesn’t seem to be satisfied with a mere gesture of innocent affection, as is evident by his hands still on you like glue.

“On the lips, baby.” He puckered dramatically and made loud, obnoxious, smooching noises. 

You hesitated greatly, but his roaming hands accelerated your decision-making process. You closed your eyes and leaned into him, letting your lips meet his. You can only hope that the time passes and he keeps to his word, leaving you alone.

He relished it and deepened the kiss. Cyprus, against the initial agreement, slipped his tongue into your mouth, leaving no corners unexplored. Your jaw felt strained, as everything about this man is much larger than you. Your orifice felt full as his tongue inadvertently pried your mouth open with its size. It absolutely didn’t help that it felt like it had a life of its own, wriggling and sliding everywhere.

After what felt like an eternity, he decided that you’re probably struggling to breathe, so he parted himself away from you. Albeit in displeasure.

You panted as your eyes trained themselves onto the string of saliva connecting you and him. Cyprus is completely unaffected; it’s like he has Olympic swimmer levels of breathing abilities. The bastard smiles triumphantly and licks the spit away, only then you realize how freakishly long his tongue is, and you couldn’t believe all of that fits into your mouth without choking you to death.

“That's a good girl.” He whispered into your ear while petting your hair. You shuddered when he pressed a kiss on the shell of it. But you were grateful that he didn’t do anything worse.

Ultimately, he did honour his end of the bargain. Cyprus stopped with his violating touches, but he then forced you to cuddle with him on the bed. You’re still facing him, but at least now your eye level is on his broad chest. He rests his chin on the crown of your head. 

He strokes your hair rhythmically, and after a while, you calmed down enough not to feel like you’re about to pop from extreme pressure. Cyprus occasionally dips down to sniff you deeply, while mumbling about how good you always smelled.

He lets out a sigh before speaking. “...It was so fucking hard to get you to accept that you’re my girl.” 

You didn’t let out a peep. Not like you could say anything of meaning, anyway.

“You were always so shy. It was like pulling teeth to get you out of your shell.” He rubbed a few strands of your hair between his fingers. “Always on that damn phone, hiding from the world, hiding from me…” Cyprus paused for a bit before snorting at himself.

“You made me sound like I’m some old fart, always nagging you to put that thing down.” He droned on, taking a huge whiff of you as he ended his statement. You felt your pulse quicken again when he tightened his hold on you.

“...You’re so important to me, more than you think.” He continued, his adams apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. 

“You’re the only thing that got me to quit decades of smoking.” He said it in a way that was so melancholic yet reverent. Swirls of conflicting emotions swam through his head as he, too, processed what he had just told you.

Another sigh left him. After that, the room was silent again for the next few minutes. This allows the weight of his last words to sink in, to let you simmer in the realization that you are, without a doubt, the only thing that seems to matter to Cyprus.

He suddenly let out an exasperated groan, then his hands disappeared from their original position and to a place where you didn’t expect.

You whined incoherently when he pinched your cheeks firmly, pulling on them until your upper teeth got exposed. “It was so fucking hard to get you to love me. It took us damn years to get there. Blood, sweat and tears, and now we are back to square-fucking-one.” He hissed through gritted teeth, increasing pressure on your flesh out of frustration. But he doesn’t do it to the extent that it actually injures you; it definitely does feel like he’s using this as a punishment somehow.

You felt relief wash over you when he released your face. He kissed the spots he pinched, probably in an effort to soothe them.

“But… I’m more than happy to do it all over again. Because I know it will be worth it in the end.” He whispered, smiling throughout, His grey eyes glimmering with hope and sadness. “No one can ever make you feel good as I do. I’ll make sure of that. I’ll fucking make sure of that.” Cyprus proceeded to bring his soft lips against the side of your neck.

You sat up and started yelling again, trying to get the hell away from him. Cyprus simply sat up too, now at the edge of the bed. He then effortlessly grabbed and fitted you snugly on his lap. 

Your legs circle his waist, hands on his strong shoulders to support your balance, while his built arms act like a backrest. He craned his head up to look you square in the eyes.

Neither of you spoke; you’re warily looking at him while he stares up like a lovesick fool with half-lidded eyes. Without his glasses, they looked much more intense. You were looking everywhere except him. He continued observing you without saying a single word, his hand making its way to your arm. Cyprus proceeds to massage soothing circles on your skin.

“What is my girl thinking about, hm?” Cyprus cooed sweetly at you. When he received no response, he started bouncing you on his thighs. You felt something uncomfortably stiff under you, prodding dangerously close to your privates in every bounce.

Of course, you panicked and started bark-shouting again. This time, though, Cyprus doesn’t flinch, unlike the first time you freaked out similarly.

“Ah, is that right, baby?” He tilted his head in faux innocence. “You enjoyed my kisses?” A teasing smirk made its way to his stupidly handsome face. You didn’t miss the way his scar slightly warped around his upper lip.

You shook your head and tried to communicate no, but alas, your mysterious disability simply allowed you to exclaim forcefully in short incomprehensible syllables.

“You think I'm handsome? Aw, thank you, pretty girl.” He continued with this imaginary conversation of his as if it were reality. This caused some sort of a feedback loop, where you’re misrepresented, unheard, distressed or ignored, you respond in more meaningless shouting. Cyprus then used that as ammo again.

“You have eyes for me and me only? Of course, I know that. I never doubted you for a second.”

“You think Montgomery is ugly and gross? And you're glad that I was there to protect you? Oh, baby, you know I'll always be there for you.”

“You want that motherfucker dead?” 

You felt your blood run cold. You don’t think Montgomery is dead yet, just heavily injured, seeing how he was crammed into that cabinet. But you do not doubt in your heart that Cyprus is fully capable of killing a man. Or multiple men. 

“Of course, I'll do anything for my girl.” He spoke in a tone that was patronising and infantilising.

You frantically shook your head and hands, desperately trying to convey that’s not what you want. But you then, once again, fell into his very obvious trap.

“You love me? Aw. I love you too.”

Cyprus laughs heartily, while you stayed completely silent now. 

He just laughs when you stay completely silent

“That was a good talk, princess.” His laughter eventually died down and was replaced with a dreamy sigh. 

“Only you can make me happy.” He pressed a kiss on your collarbone. “Remember that.”

Then, unexpectedly, your stomach grumbled. It was loud enough for you and him to hear, and you swear you could even hear it echo back to you from the corners of the room.

He pulled away to inspect your face. “Did you have anything to eat so far?” 

You shook your head. In response, his smile turned into a concerned frown. Cyprus looked troubled upon realising that there were no doors in sight. 

He then gently nudged you off him, back onto the bed. Cyprus got up and pecked you on the forehead before beginning to look around the area. Probably for exits or something for you to eat. He inspected the walls, running his hands against them to feel for any hidden entrances. 

Looks like he found none, as he proceeds to look out of the window. Cyprus then dug his fingers into the frame and tried to pry it open.

While he’s busy figuring out a solution, you feel something cold and metallic press against your arm. You jolted and turned around to see a door right behind you. Its brass doorknob was what was touching you.

You switched your attention to Cyprus and to the door. He seems occupied enough.

You bit your tongue as you tried your best to open the door quietly. But your luck ran out when the hinges creaked loudly, making Cyprus snap his head back at you.

Fuck, no time to waste! You swung the door open and jumped in. Not caring what you’re going to be landing on, as long as you shut it behind you and he can’t get to you for now. 

Not a second too soon, Cyprus’s lunging figure and his shouts disappeared when you slammed it shut.

However, you are now in a pitch-dark enclosed box with soft material all around. Its textures are consistent with wool or cotton fabric. Well, you’re grateful for whatever these are, you assume that they’re clothes. They broke your fall when you made that escape. 

You then ran your hands around the walls, to notice that there doesn’t seem to be a clear exit. No grooves or ridges to tell you that a doorway is present.

You lean against a wall and start to panic, fearing that you might end up dying in here from suffocation. The air is getting a little thicker from consuming the oxygen, and you think that this mysterious place is airtight, too. So you might be running out of air soon if you can’t find a way out.

So you resorted to wailing and hitting your fist on the four surface. Ramming against a wall using your shoulder. Suddenly, light floods your enclosure and the wall you were leaning on gives way to nothingness. You felt gravity doing its job, and you were thrown off balance. You screamed when you felt yourself falling.

But before you could get a fatal head injury, you were caught by a pair of arms. Not as muscular as Cyprus or even Montgomery’s. They’re a lot leaner, but sturdy nonetheless.

A loud gasp reaches your ears before you can recover from your disorientation.

“(name)?” A voice, masculine, called out.

He helped you to your feet, holding you steady by your arms as you started to make sense of your environment again. 

You’re staring at a face so beautiful, yet so different from the first two men you encountered. He has upper-back length, midnight black hair with a healthy sheen, styled in a lush, curly blowout. Gorgeous hazel eyes were framed with lashes delicately mascara’ed, he’s gaping at you, in disbelief that you’re real, physical, tangible. His charm is a lot more leaning to that of a high-end magazine model, with high cheekbones, clear skin, and a distinct beauty mark on his right cheek. Much more feminine, much more gentle.

His copper eyebrows were knitted together in worry as he began to perform a checkup on you, involving some touches to your face. A very familiar and invasive experience. So you started to shout, scream, squirm and hyperventilate from the stress.

He jolted in shock. His first instinct was to let go of you completely; his perfectly manicured, slender fingers released you. He held his hands up in the air, showing that he’s not holding anything dangerous. And you took this chance to quickly scramble to the other side of the room, the furthest corner from this new stranger.

You cowered, shielded yourself with your arms and trembled. Fearing what this stranger has in store for you.

He seems to be surprised and hurt that you ran away. However, out of all the men you met today, he appeared to be the most sensitive and considerate to your energy and emotions.

“Oh darling, it's okay…” The stranger knelt, folding his hands neatly on his lap. 

You slowly recovered from your terror, breathing stabilised, and you decided to take a clearer look at the new person. Zero hostility, none of Cyprus’s creepiness and Montgomery’s delusion. A comforting smile graced itself on his face, a Duchenne one with genuine wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.  

“You’re safe, I won't hurt you.” He says in a gentle, soft croon. The stranger slowly extended his arms out for you to approach.

You took note of how he’s wearing a white, fuzzy turtleneck sweater. A section of his hair was held up by a ribbon band tied up in a specific knot, which looked like bunny ears from an angle. You shook your head, refusing to move. Fearing that it may be a trap, you're also out-touched and overstimulated today by literal strangers.

The man dropped his hands to his side, disappointedly.

“Well… I'll be right here whenever you're ready.” He said and stood up, gathering the clothes that had fallen alongside you earlier.

Silence blanketed the two of you. No new doors in sight, the curtains were drawn, so you couldn’t tell if there was still daylight outside. The only noise you hear is your own breathing and the shuffling while the stranger picks his clothes back up and hangs them back in place. 

Eventually, everything was tidied. Without sparing you a glance, the stranger took a seat right in front of his vanity. He picked something up and started skillfully applying it to his lips, using the large mirror as a guide.

You stood up, a bit wobbly and began to cautiously approach him. The stranger watched from the corner of his eye and turned to you. He smiled at you, still holding the lipstick. The packaging looks expensive, with a glossy, black finish and a shiny golden base. There is a distinct logo on it, but you don’t think you recognise the brand.

“Yes?” He spoke, eagerly waiting for your next response.

You pointed at his lipstick. 

“Would you like to use it, dear?” He asked, drawing a sheet from his facial tissue box and wiping the top of it. 

You nodded. After that, he gladly handed it to you. A small gasp escaped his lips when you began pressing the lipstick against his mirror.

“Oh, sweetie, that's-” He grimaced as you destroyed his expensive makeup, somewhat crushing the shape of the creamy pigment as you tried to write something on the mirror. You were a little annoyed that the lipstick was sheer, so you needed more force to make whatever you’re writing look legible.

You wrote, “who r u”. Not bothering with the grammar, punctuation or spelling. As long as he understands.

This stunned him for a bit; he darted his eyes between you and his soiled mirror. Searching your face for any indication that this may be a prank on him. But he found none, and you were truly lost.

He appeared frozen in time, his brain rifling through the memories of whatever he had witnessed over the past few days. Connecting all the dots and perhaps even realising the reason why Yves shed tears after randomly appearing in the middle of the living room through a door-portal.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Leveret.” He lets out a shaky breath, his smile looks strained and somewhat wavering as if he's trying not to weep. You don't know if it's because you couldn't remember him, or if it's due to his ruined lipstick.

You tried to write again with the same lipstick, but took it away from your hands. Leveret then stood up, walked to a nearby drawer. He then retrieved a simple writing pad and a fancy fountain pen for you to use. This is much better, you can now communicate effectively!

While you’re writing your thoughts out, Leveret tries his best to salvage his lipstick by shaping it back with a metal cosmetic spatula. He did so while sitting down in the chair.

Once you’re done, you present the sentence: “was i ur lover” to him.

He took another breath and let out a nervous giggle. You didn’t miss the way his eye twitched a little.

“Yes.” He choked out. “And… I'm assuming you have no recollection of anything about that?”

You nodded. He seems like the sanest so far. The most intelligent one, too.

He looked away briefly before adding: “You're still mine, dear.”

You were slightly taken aback by his words, to which he decided to clarify, “My lover, I mean.”

There was a beat of silence before either of you could think of another question to ask. In the meantime, Leveret wrung his hands anxiously, biting his bottom lip as he contemplated.

Finally, he found one first.

“My sweet, why did you ask if you were my lover?”

You furiously scribbled on the paper: “Everybody says I was their lover”

“Oh? Who is “everybody”?” He pressed on, but not with any pressure. Just out of sheer curiosity.

You presented the names,  “Monty + Cyprus”. You admittedly did not know how to spell Montgomery’s name.

His eyes widened at the sight of their names. For a moment, his eyes turned dull and glazed over, but they returned to concern for you 

“Is that so, darling?” You nodded. Leveret opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it again. He stared into the distance for a moment, his hands continued to fidget as he thought about what to say or do next.

 “I can't imagine how scary it must be dealing with them.” He had the most sympathetic tone, and it felt weirdly validating to hear him say that without him molesting you in some way. “Are you alright, dear?”  

You absentmindedly nodded while looking around for another door to appear. You found none.

He sighed, “Whatever shall I do with you…?” Leveret quietly mumbled against the palm of his hand as he propped his head up against the desk of his vanity. 

He longingly watches you explore his spacious bedroom, decorated in deep reds, pinks, whites, and silver accents. You stared at his circular bed, understanding that Leveret has a very specific aesthetic that you don’t think is very common. Interestingly, he has another seat shaped like a stiletto heel. 

“...there are five of us in this mansion.”

You whipped towards him, interested in what he had to say.

“It's just Blanche and…” He lets out a defeated, exhausted and dreadful sigh before continuing, “...Yves left for you to meet.” 

Yves… you remember him as someone kind of eerie. But he doesn't seem to share a reality with you. He asked you for your name, and he just doesn’t give you the impression that he will treat you like how the first two men treated you. Did you even share a reality with him?

It appears that Leveret doesn’t look forward to the moment when you and Yves meet, though. You wonder why.

Now it's just one more of these men left, and you don't know what to expect.

You wrote down, “who is blanch”

He chuckled at your misspelling. “There's an “e” at the end of his name… He is a kind… gentleman. Old-fashioned, I would say.”

You then wrote, “is he like cyprus”

Leveret seems to catch on the implications, his eyes widening at your question. “Heavens! No. No, no, not at all. Blanche is nice, and Cyprus is… well. I'm sure you didn't have the best experience with him, seeing how frightened you were when you arrived.”

You then wrote, “how u know I was with Cyprus before u”

He lets out a laugh, with a manicured hand gingerly covering his mouth. “A lucky guess, darling.”

Then you wrote, “was i Blanche n Yves’s lover too”.

His eyes scanned through your words and were soon filled with despair, as he accepted the fact that he would most likely need to fight the others to have you rightfully in his arms.

“Perhaps, if they too, followed the trend you’re experiencing. Oh, you've found yourself in such a predicament, darling.” He laughed bitterly as he shook his head.

You looked around again, no doors in sight. He monitors you in silence as you head to his closet again, opening it and hoping it will lead somewhere else. Not that you find being with Leveret is unpleasant. But you just don’t like being in one place for too long, especially with people who are adamant that you’re their lover. You’re really craving to be alone right now.

Alas, the closet door doesn’t lead anywhere. It’s just full of clothes.

You exhaled in exasperation. Looks like you’ll just need to wait.

You sat on his fluffy rug cross-legged and just decompressed. But you're not fooling Leveret; he knows you're bored and waiting for an exit.

"Darling." He called you, which brought your attention to him again.

"Would you like a makeover? I have makeup in your shade." He smiled invitingly. Leveret also presented his eyeshadow palettes with neutrals, glitters, and brights alike.

You rubbed your chin in contemplation.

A small smile graced his lips, a slight tilt of the head while he waited for you to talk about your jewelry even more. You guessed that he sensed your painful awkwardness, so he began to speak instead. He brought your attention to the necklace that he took so much interest in, it’s made of clear glass beads with golden accents.

“It’s like sparkling raindrops adorning my neck… how lovely!” The man continued adoring your work, pushing his long, lush hair away from his shoulders to make space for the accessory. “It would be wonderful to carry a little weather around. How much would I owe you to adopt this darling piece?”

Everything about him screams the 19th century. From his cravat to his coats and even to his cane. He opened his leather Gladstone bag, revealing what you saw was an assorted array of items, including an unfinished crochet project. Well, it looks like there are several unfinished artistic endeavours of different media. You think you saw a tube of acrylic paint in there somewhere among the fluff of yarn and crochet hooks.

Of course, anything to do with crafts piques your interest! The nervousness from earlier evaporated, and you started to ask about his handiwork. 

The stranger appeared surprised, very much taken aback that someone was actually taking an interest in him. But it was a welcome surprise nonetheless. 

“Ah, this silly thing?” He pulled out the work in progress you were interested in. It looked complex, with numerous other colours weaving together to make what seemed like a plush. You told him that it looks amazing; it must have taken him quite a while to do.

He chuckled and bashfully looked away for a moment. “Oh, you flatter me so.” He placed it on the stall table. “On my way to this market, I saw the plumpest, happiest bird. Blissfully perched itself on a branch. I thought to myself, ‘I must capture its likeness!’ I have paint, but alas, no canvas. So, today, the yarn is both my paint and canvas! Can you imagine the joy I had in my heart when the bus driver stopped long enough at the traffic lights, long enough for me to capture its beauty with the walnut in my head I call a brain?” 

You were shocked. Was he skilled enough to crochet a near hyperrealistic bird in the time it takes to ride a bus here? That was incredible. You expressed your astonishment at his talent and were secretly incredibly intrigued at how he carries himself. Such whimsy, such breeze in his character.

He tried to laugh away the blush on his face, opting to fan his face for a bit before introducing himself. “My name is Blanche, may I have the pleasure of knowing yours?” 

You introduced yourself and brought your hand up for him to shake. He did accept it, but instead of a shake, it was more of a warm, affectionate rub on the back of your palm with a thumb. He did so naturally, so respectfully, that you didn’t register it as something out of the social norm.

You felt yourself feeling giddy when he dropped some obscure fun fact about your name. You don’t really know what the hell he’s talking about, but you like what you’re hearing so far.

“Would you like to learn how to crochet? In case the only means of capturing the comeliness of a tiny, fluffy friend is a ball of yarn and a crochet hook?” You see that his fingers tighten around the handle of his cane as he anticipates your answer.

Absolutely yes. You invited him to sit next to you, enthusiastic to learn a new technique. You were a little worried about his mobility, seeing that he’s struggling a little to move around, needing to adopt a snail’s pace. Nonetheless, Blanche eventually sat down on another folding chair you brought with you. Poor guy, though. He’s just so comically tall that his knees are practically level with his chest as he tries to make himself comfortable. 

Loops, stitches, tension, single, double, triple… You get to learn everything there is to learn from the master. The afternoon goes by quicker than you first experienced it; laughter filled the air between you and him. Incessant chattering because Blanche is just so enjoyable to talk to, a lot of your interests intersect with his!

Fun always speeds things up, and before you know it, the sun is ready to retire, and the area becomes sparser and sparser. It’s time to pack up.

You didn’t make a sale. But you made something much better. A friend.

Blanche was stuffing his items back into his spacious bag as you offered him the necklace he was interested in. His face lit up at the sight of it. He then rummaged through his bag again, presumably to fetch his wallet.

The shock on his face was incredibly visible when you told him that it was on the house.

“Are… you sure? It’s a precious piece of artwork, I’d hate for it to go underappreciated…” You nodded, telling him that it was a token of your appreciation for teaching you crochet and giving you a great day.

He let out a shaky sigh as he smiled gratefully, clasping his hands together and bringing it close to his chest. “Oh, you’re such a sweetheart.” 

“But, I’m afraid I cannot accept it without…” He pulled out the crochet hook he was using earlier. “...giving you something equally dear in return.”

And so, equivalent exchange it is. He gets the necklace, you get a new (actually, very well-loved and well-used) crochet hook.

“Take good care of Mr. Four-O for me. He was my favourite, the most helpful, hardy and loyal of all. I’m sure he will be your favourite in no time too!” He laughed, more so at himself. Blanche presented Mr. Four-O (a 4.0mm crochet hook) to you with both hands, like gracing you with a sword still in its scabbard. 

You felt like you wanted to bite him. Out of cuteness, aggression, of course. You have never met anyone as whimsical as Blanche, and you felt like you had struck gold. 

So, it was no surprise that you kept in contact with Blanche. A shame that he doesn’t really know how to work the modern phone, but he does voice calls just fine. You and he clicked so well that you somehow managed to find yourself braving through the forest just to visit him. 

It's not like his forest was creepy or scary, quite the contrary, actually. It's well lit, so green, and the dirt path was so distinct, almost like something out of a fairy tale. It's just that you belong to a generation that doesn't touch a lot of grass, and this is almost considered an anomaly with how often you're traversing through the greenery just to get to his cozy cottage home.

He wanted to travel to your place instead, feeling bad that it always seemed like you're the only one putting in the effort to meet up. But you insisted that he stay put, since he's really old and frail (you assume), and you're much younger and energetic. It's only right for you to make the trek instead of him. Plus, you get to rummage through his box of Joy and Jolly as much as you want!

To make up for your effort, Blanche would bake and cook. So much that you don't really spend on groceries or eating out anymore. Your fridge will always be stocked with Blanche's best fresh produce and delicious home-cooked meals. It's definitely a blessing for your skinny artist's wallet to have Blanche foot some of your expenses.

Blanche is fucking grandma-coded. Especially the acts of service parts. For instance, you had a hole in your daily bag, and the strap is falling apart. You refuse to throw this bag away because the bag will feel sad. So you just bear with it, too busy to mend its injuries.

But one day, you just… found your bag fully repaired. Obviously, it doesn't look brand new. The hole was patched up with a rustic sewn-on heart-shaped piece of cloth, and the strap has its own charming embroidered flair to it- an embroidered bee, and small letters that said: “bee-lieve in yourself!”

No doubt, this is Blanche's work. The whimsiness is just oozing through the patchwork.

He never asked for recognition or praise for it. When you brought it up to thank him, he was a little confused at the start, but he happily accepted your gratitude. It appears that he kind of forgot he had done such a loving gesture for you. The woes of being older, you guess.

Regardless of his age, you couldn't help but develop some deeper feelings for him. He's incredibly sweet and considerate, he keeps you fed, you feel loved, seen and appreciated around him at all times. Who wouldn't fall for such a gentleman like him? Only a fool wouldn't.

At first, perhaps you tried to swallow your feelings and try to keep this friendship as platonic as possible. It's nearly damn impossible when you and Blanche felt comfortable enough to hug and hold each other idly. Your fingers would tangle themselves in his hair while he would tenderly stroke your crown.

It became completely impossible when he started kissing you on the forehead goodbye while wishing you safe travels. You knew he didn't mean anything nefarious by those pecks, you knew Blanche just saw it as an affectionate gesture, reserved for his closest (and only) friend: you.

But by gods, you wanted something more. The unrequited love was eating you from the inside out; you must express it in the only way you know how: through your crafts.

And so, you put in the work. You plan to complete a project so time and labour-intensive that it will consume you. You felt bad for what you’re about to do, but you do so anyway. 

Your biggest sin, in your opinion, was lying to Blanche about why you can’t visit him as often. You told him that your university, work, and other obligations have increased. And so, you’re completely occupied. And he totally can’t visit you either. But you’re sure that this was all going to be worth it at the end. 

Even though your heart shattered into a million pieces when you broke the news to him, he was taking an apple pie out of the oven while you did so. You could never forget that crestfallen face as he sadly set the pie on the windowsill to cool. The soft “oh” that escaped his lips felt like a guilt-laden dagger through your chest. Blanche was still a good sport about it, though. He was encouraging you, smiling through the disappointment as he expressed how he believes in you. Blanche then reminded that he’s always there to help out, to stock your fridge, and his doors are always open for you.

Anytime you feel overwhelmed or need to escape the world, his cottage is your safe refuge. No questions asked. 

And so, you were dead set on making a coat for Blanche. It’s a daunting task, especially since you need a lot of materials in the first place to just cover his towering frame. You only have estimates of his measurements, too, and an extrapolation of what style he likes, based on his 19th century aesthetic. 

It took you weeks to research, collect materials and plan out your final act. You still visit Blanche, but compared to before taking on this project, it’s few and far between. Each visit leaves Blanche a little more desperate for your presence than the last, even stooping so low to offer to do your “coursework” for you- just so you could spend a couple more minutes with him. But alas, you must trudge on. You must complete that coat and give it to him. Even if he rejects you, at least you showed Blanche how much you loved him through your work. 

Time ticks by, and the coat is getting closer and closer to completion. You were so engrossed in Blanche’s gift that you missed the news that your actual lecturers had gone missing for days without a trace. You only got to know about it after hearing there was an extension on some assignments, much to your relief and discomfort. You didn’t get on social media much, so you didn’t see the missing persons posts of your employers, either. No wonder you were supervised by a completely different face when you went in for your shifts.

The seasons turned, and the leaves started shrivelling up until there was nothing left. Frost was in the air, and white dusted atop roofs and vehicles alike. It’s winter, and just in time. After sleepless nights, painful fingertips, strained eyes, hunched, aching backs, the coat- and your ultimate love confession is complete. 

You excitedly called up Blanche to set up a meeting time, date and place. Your friend returned the enthusiasm by immediately picking up and agreeing.

At a park, where it should mimic those romantic wintry scenes when you finally confess your undying love to him. It’s not too far from his place, so it wouldn’t be too much of a hassle for Blanche to travel by himself. 

And it seems like it was no problem at all, when you arrived, five minutes earlier than the agreed time, Blanche was already there. You watch him sitting down on a bench, feeding the pigeons with… you’re not sure what it is that he’s tossing. It doesn’t look like bread or chips.

You walked up to him, and he beamed, the brightest he has ever grinned. He missed you so much.

Blanche stood up, forgetting about his strange pigeon feed on the ground, opening up his arms for you to fall in. But instead, you presented a gift bag. 

“F-for me?” He stammered, surprised yet mildly disappointed that you didn’t hug him in the biting cold. You nodded and told him that you made it.

You explained what it was and your entire work process as he gently pulled it out of the bag. Blanche inspected it, all wide-eyed and shocked. He unfolded it and gasped upon realizing what it was. 

You nervously wrung your hands as his eyes scanned it. Eventually, Blanche puts it on, letting the warmth accumulate from his body and from his throbbing heart. The fur felt soft against his skin, and the heavy weight of it grounded him. It’s absolutely amazing. He ran his fingers against the stitches and folds, admiring your handiwork and keen eye for details. 

You began panicking when pearls of tears started escaping his deep blues. You began apologizing, afraid that you may have offended him to the point of crying somehow. Blanche shut that all down by pulling you into a tight, protective hug. 

“Y-you shouldn’t have…” He stuttered between sniffles. You sank into him, missing his scent and basking in the heat. 

Blanche then cupped your cheeks and left a grateful kiss on your forehead. “Oh, you’re just so precious...” He cooed. 

You were about to rejoice at his acceptance, until you remembered…

You haven’t told him the significance of this coat yet. 

“You are truly wonderful. Caring and sweet, what more can I ask for from a dear friend?” He smiled, wiping his tears away. “My one and only friend.” 

Blanche almost caught your smile dropping, but it was hidden when he enveloped you in the confession coat too. He buttoned it up, just enough to reach your neck. He then giggled, wrapping his arms around you and rocking side to side. “I’m like a mama penguin, you’re the baby one burrowing in my cozy, fuzzy brood pouch–”

You interrupted his rambling by abruptly blurting out your confession in plain language, nothing can be misconstrued, it’s all laid out clearly and directly, and blunt. You talk about how you wanted to be romantic partners, to grow old, to- whatever! You just want to be with Blanche, but not in just a platonic way, something more, something much more intimate. Fuck it, might as well tell him how much you want him carnally, right? Yeah, you just let it all out. You just need it all expelled out of your system once and for all. 

By the end, you were panting and heaving over how much you spoke. You stared at Blanche, his lips were parted, and both eyebrows raised in shock.

You were about to hang up your hat after a long while of silence and Blanche being frozen in place- probably due to the chill, too. But the fact that Blanche’s face is turning ten shades redder, you could even say it’s comparable to the tomatoes he grows in his garden. Now, there’s a radiant glow in his face that’s probably burning hot enough to melt any snowflakes in a 5-inch radius.

He awkwardly coughed into his fist and… “I-I accept.”

Huh?

You were taken aback when he started crying again. Now, liquid rushed out of his eyes much quicker and more than before. “I ruined it, didn’t I? Oh, I-I’m so sorry, I love you! I truly do, I want to be with you, I-” He paused and gulped before letting out an anguished sob. “I’m so sorry! I-I’m just terrified that I-I mishandled this so badly that y-you’re retracting your confession! Please, give me another chance!” 

You were pretty horrified when he got on his knees and begged. His cane clattered onto the ground as he held onto you for support instead. 

You had to comfort him as he had a nervous breakdown in front of you. Assuring him that you’re happy that he returned the feelings and that you want to move forward as a couple. That seems to console Blanche enough for him to get up. You needed to help him because he was a little wobbly.

You and he sat on the bench, surrounded by pigeons minding their own business. You rested your head on his chest, having the coat wrapped around you two. Blanche took a few minutes to recover from his panic attack before speaking again.

“I… I’m old.” 

Confused, you turned to look at him. Tears of worry threaten to spill from his eyes again as his lower lip trembles.

“I… know I’m s-selfish because I love you too much to let go. But… you’re so young, so youthful and full of vitality. You wouldn’t want a lousy old man like me as a romantic partner, would you?” He avoided your eyes in shame.

Age gap be damned, you do not give a shit. And you made it extremely clear to Blanche. You love him for who he is, and the world can fuck itself if they have anything to say about your relationship with him.

“Oh, my darling…” He failed to contain his tears. Blanche then held you tight. 

“Thank you…” He whispered into your shoulder. “You make my dull, wearisome life all bright. What have I done to deserve such a blessing?”

You stayed silent, comforting him. 

“Whatever it was, I’m simply glad I did it.” You can feel him smile.

You didn't want to stress him out further, so you didn't tell him you're getting that damn tooth pulled today. Maybe it wasn't the best idea, because after that whole ordeal, you're a little too loopy from the anaesthesia to head back home by yourself.

You guess that's what the lobbies are for. You managed to stumble out of the room and sit your ass down on the chairs. Everyone can't be fucked over your presence; they're all too busy doing their own things or ignoring the kid that's been screaming through their tooth extraction for the past 10 minutes.

You struggled to keep your eyes open, and you can barely feel your jaw, but you're uncomfortable, aware of the gauze in your mouth soaking up the blood. Assignments be damned, you're going to have a nice, long nap when you get back home. The only problem is getting back.

You groan, shifting in your seat. Doesn't hurt to doze off here, right?

You barely registered the hand tenderly rubbing your back; it was only when the salt-and-pepper curls began to obscure your view that you realised that someone was doting on you.

"Oh, dear. You looked like you were stung by a swarm of angry bees..." Blanche knit his brows in concern, his voice full of pity and empathy for you, and he gently caressed your awfully swollen cheeks with the back of his fingers.

"My poor, darling dove. You must be exhausted from today." He bent down, giving you a kiss on the crown of your head. Your affectionate friend raked his naturally long fingernails against your hair.

Finally, a source of comfort in this sterile room. You whined, trying to express that you're having a hard time. But he merely hushed you, not wanting you to add more strain to your jaw.

"Let's leave this cold, wretched place, my sweet. Let's go to the most wonderful, most cozy, most comforting place in the world: my humble cottage." He softly urged you to stand up, supporting you by the shoulders and arms as you were still terribly wobbly. Thanks to the drugs, you didn't notice that Blanche isn't using his cane like usual.

"We can spend the rest of the day going through the 'box of Jolly and Joy', sipping on a warm cup of tea, bundled up in fluffy blankets. Doesn't that sound lovely, my dear?"

You nodded and tried to mimic his wide, charming smile, but it slightly pushed the gauze out of your mouth.

"Aww... my poor flower..." He cooed, tilting his head to the side and clutching his pearls (cravat), feeling his heart painfully squeezing at the sight of you in such a state. Blanche was internally kicking himself; if it wasn't for the frail-old-man facade that he keeps up, he would have carried you on his hip. You are obviously in no shape to move around by yourself like this!

He will need to settle on having you lean against him instead, stumbling out of the building. You were incoherently mumbling and groaning out of discomfort, and Blanche entertained them by humming intermittently, as if agreeing to whatever gibberish was coming through your lips.

You may be a bit out of it, but you were sober enough to realise that Blanche is walking you to a car, a damn unique one. Boxy, rust-red body, silver accents with rectangular headlights. It's beautiful, a car from the 80's, and it's considerably well-maintained with its shiny coat of paint and seemingly brand new tyres.

He opened the door to the passenger's side, and you slipped right in. Sinking into the leather seats while your eyes scanned around the interior. Luxury, polished wood trims, a thin steering wheel, handles to wind the windows up or down, and a cassette player. It's impressive how there doesn't seem to be a speck of dust, especially since you knew Blanche hadn't driven in years. Maybe even decades, because of a particularly traumatic car crash incident.

You felt bad. Did he somehow overcome his fear just to pick you up? It doesn't look like he was very confident in his rusty skills, his hands a little trembling as he shifted gears and pressed his feet onto the pedals. He sure drove like someone who was 80 years old in the 80's.

The ride was silent; he neither put on a catchy tune on his player or strike up conversations. You think that he must be putting all his concentration into not turning this car into squashed metal. Looking behind, you saw that there was a line of cars trailing him; it was a single lane, so they couldn't overtake him.

Eventually, you two reached the familiar greenery of the forest.

You started getting a little teary-eyed, and this, of course, didn't go unnoticed by your companion.

"What's wrong, my flower?" He asked when he stopped right in front of his property, not bothering to park it properly in his garage. He would rather tend to you first. Blanche's large hands enveloped yours, and he brought his lips to your knuckles and gave them a kiss as you tried to blink your tears away. "Are you hurt?" He pressed the back of his hand against your forehead to check your temperature. Blanche noted that it's a little elevated.

You shook your head and tried your best to express your appreciation for him, rambling on about how he didn't need to drive for your sake. But it was quickly shut down by Blanche.

"Oh, hush. You're a million times more important to me than a silly... trivial, fear of a crash that happened eons ago. You are in no state to walk, and I am not letting you wait for a bus that only comes once in a blue moon." He unbuckled your seatbelt and got out of the car, not before switching the engine off.

Blanche went to your side of the car and opened the door for you. Like the gentleman he is, he held his hand out for you to use as a crutch.

"Careful now, watch your step for those pesky pebbles." He muttered, wrapping his arm around your waist as he led you to the entrance of his home.

After what felt like an eternity, your ass parked itself onto Blanche's impossibly soft fabric sofa. Only then did you feel entirely safe to switch the lights off to your brain.

Completely failing to realize that you have never told Blanche where you were in the first place.

---

You were awakened by a cool, damp touch on your forehead. Cracking your eyes open, you were met with the sight of Blanche pressing a moist towel against your skin to lower your temperature. The room was dim, and you could feel the bedding under you. The deep lines on his face suggest that he's even more worried now. You do note that the gauze feels very different in your mouth now, much drier than before... did he change it when you were unconscious?

"How are you feeling, my darling?" He whispered, removing the towel from your head and dunking it into a basin with clean water.

You said that you felt groggy, and--

Your stomach completed the sentence for you by growling loudly. You're hungry as hell.

The heartache he felt for your miserable state was nearly unbearable. If he were a tad bit more dramatic, he thinks he would pass out from the overwhelm.

"Ah, I expected as much. Please wait for a few minutes. I will fetch you something delicious to eat." He got up and hurried downstairs. Blanche went as fast as he could, which is almost faster than a snail's pace. You're appreciative of him, though. You know that he's not exactly the fittest or youngest person around, but he's giving it all to care for you.

You closed your eyes, feeling warm all around. You wonder if it's just the warmth of being loved, or if it's actually a fever. You would like to believe it's the former.

Some shuffling woke you up. Pulling your eyelids open, you saw Blanche holding a plate of....

"A nice, comforting serving of my famous butterscotch pudding!" He sat down on the edge of the bed. "--And a healthy scoop of vanilla ice cream."

The white from the ice cream is starting to blend with the butterscotch sauce as it melts from the heat of the dessert. It made your mouth water a bit; the gauze soaked up the spit.

"Say, 'Ahh, ' my light." You did as you were told, and Blanche delicately took out the absorbent material from your mouth.

"Thank you, Mister Dental Gauze. You've done an amazing job serving my beloved. You may now retire." You couldn't help but chuckle a bit at his whimsical nature as he disposed of it into a trashcan nearby.

You began digging in, but you noticed that Blanche looked a little disappointed. You didn't press him on it because you knew that look. It's because you didn't ask him to spoonfeed you. Although you're weakened, you're still an able-bodied adult. There is no need for your friend to treat you as if you were paralyzed from the neck down.

The texture was amazing, and the coldness from his homemade vanilla ice cream was a relief to your toothache. You began singing praises about his cooking, as usual. It never fails to heat his face up, even though you would compliment him every time he cooks something up, very frequently.

"I am happy that you like it, my dove." He rubbed your arm up and down, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"As usual, my secret ingredient is... love!" He exclaimed before fluttering kisses onto your face. His lips were cooler than your skin, adding to the sweetness of it all.

Eventually, the scene simmered down to Blanche lovingly watching you eat in silence. There is nothing to be said, nothing to be done.

There are no doors, at least, not yet. Montgomery elaborated: "I'm sorry, sweetheart, the house does what it wants. Sometimes, we're stuck in our rooms the whole day. The doors only appearin' when nature calls."

As if on cue, you realised that you should probably use the bathroom soon... and a door appeared right in front of you and Montgomery's bewildered eyes. No extravagant appearance like a magician's trick, it just somehow faded into existence.

The door then creaked open to reveal a bathroom, more aligned with the design of the hallway. Modernly tiled yet quaint with a mini vase on the cistern, holding some flowers. It seems like the toilet roll has been refilled recently.

You slipped out of Montgomery's grasp and entered through the doorway, shuddering at the feeling of cold ceramic under your bare feet.

Before you could shut the door and give yourself much needed privacy, however, Montgomery held the door open.

"W-wait. Don't close it, I don't know where this crazy house is going to spit you out." He stared you down with pleading eyes.

You shot him back an incredulous look and shook your head.

"Sweetheart, we're married. Ain't nothing to be shy about." He reasoned, expecting you to agree. "We leave the bathroom door open all the time, it don't matter what we do in there."

Nope, you are not having it. You are not letting a stranger watch you piss. You gently pushed him away from the doorway, ignoring his whines and protests. In the end, you managed to shut the door without sacrificing any of the strange man's fingers.

Finally, you let out a breath of relief. You took this time to reflect on what you knew of the inhabitants and what your next strategy is.

Sitting on the toilet bowl like The Thinker as you went ahead and do your personal business, you closed your eyes and let the cogs in your head turn. What is your goal?

Is it to retrieve your 'old' life? Or is it to just adapt? Or start over entirely? You may not know Montgomery that well yet, but you have a feeling that he isn't your first choice for a competent husband.

Hell, do you even have an established life? For all you know, you could just be a doppelganger and Montgomery is just a desperate, heartbroken man who's willing to delude himself to numb the pain of being in such an unfamiliar situation.

You should head back to... wherever you'll end up next. Your bladder is empty, your head is cleared, hands washed and toilet flushed, time to get out.

Grabbing the brass doorknob with intricately carved designs, you twisted it and pushed the door open to step out of the bathroom.

Carpet. Your soles are touching carpet.

You whipped your head up to see that you're no longer in the charming, southern, antiquity of Montgomery's bedroom. But in an entirely different area.

With an entirely different inhabitant as well.

This room truly reflects its owner: aged, ripped, and crooked posters of competitive fighters almost smother the off white walls, a simple metal bedframe pressed in the corner with messy sheets, and the sound of fists slamming against a well-used punching bag bounced off the walls.

It didn't take long for the stranger to notice you. His grey irises zeroed in on you as he held his arms out, mid-practice. You absolutely didn't miss how his tank top reveals a clear impression of his built body and how his messy, short hair framed his face perfectly.

You froze as he straightened his stance, furrowed his eyebrows, and squinted at you. He picked up a pair of glasses from a nearby table and set them on the bridge of his nose.

"Princess?" He said. With a voice so deep you can feel it buzzing in your chest. You made no moves.

There was an air of confusion and joy around him as he appeared to recognize who you are. The corners of his lips curled up into a smile as he opened his strong arms wide for you. Peals of his happy laughter reached your ears as the corners of his eyes crinkled with genuine glee.

"I missed you so fucking much!" He began taking a couple of steps forward, making you jolt in surprise. "Come here, pretty girl."

You shook your head at his coos, withdrawing away from the man who easily towers over you and beyond.

He paused dead in his tracks when he picked up on the glaringly obvious hostility in your behaviour. His smile faltered, his eyes widened, and his arms slowly lowered back to his sides. You tried discreetly yet frantically searching for the handle of the door behind you, but you ultimately found that it had disappeared.

You had no way of escaping now.

"What's the matter with you? Why are you backing away from me?" The warmth of his voice noticeably seeped away, replaced with something more stern yet desperate. The man tentatively brought his arms back up to try to capture you in a hug. But you quickly dodged his attempts and tried to voice your disagreement.

Only to vocalise single syllable yells. Amusingly, loud enough to make such a menacing-looking person like the stranger flinch momentarily.

"What the fuck...?" He muttered under his breath as he observed you seemingly experiencing a panic attack, with incoherent shouting and gesturing thrown into the mix. You were either trying to tell him that you have no idea who he is, that you are scared of him, that you're as confused as he is, or a mixture of all three.

Perhaps it worked, he lowered his arms back to his sides and simply eyed you up and down, not bothering to advance any further.

Both of you seared holes into each other's eyes as if being entered in an involuntary eye contact competition. Your lips are sealed, and so was his; the only difference is that you can see he's starting to frown at the predicament.

You looked around for any doors. While doing so, you decided to create a greater buffer distance between you and the threat. The additional movement must have activated something in the stranger, as he suddenly shot his arm out to grab you by the wrist.

You didn't even have time to scream, pry his hands away, or even realise what was happening before your other wrist was captured too. His immense height casts a dark shadow over you as you struggle, thrash, and scream for your life. He, unfairly so, did not budge. Not at all, as if you're just an ant to him.

"Stop." He barked.

You felt your back hit the wall. The stranger has caged you between himself and it with his arms. His command was authoritative enough to shake you to your core and listen. It was as if you were instantly tranquilized by his voice, but you were simply paralysed in fear.

You looked away from him, eyes darting around to see any opening to escape.

"Look at me."

You refused to. And in response, he grabbed you by the jaw. Although not using excessive force, the stranger did so quite firmly that your lips were puckered out.

He turned your head to him, and you were faced with the most intense pair of stormy eyes gazing upon your trembling self. You whimpered in fear as you tried to gently claw his fingers away from your face.

The stranger has paid your squirming no mind, instead choosing to inspect you in his mildly invasive way. Turning your head left and right, up and down, then softly pulling your eyelids up or down, with the same treatment done to your lips, exposing your teeth and gums.

You started yelling midway, but your recalcitrance was quickly corrected by a brief, sharp, aggressive hissing snap of the breath from the stranger.

After you think he's satisfied with his inspection, silence hung heavy on both of you. The stranger barely blinked, and you're struggling to breathe out of anxiety.

All that tension was then broken by the man giving you an unexpected peck on the lips.

You splutter, and he unexpectedly loosens his hold on you. This allows you to dart away to the furthest end of the room. Cautiously watching him from a distance, you see that he wore a face of annoyance with a hint of hurt swirling in it.

He exasperately ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.

"We worked past this crap. Why are you acting all mean towards me again?" Despite his biting words, you can feel that he's concerned and worried for you.

"...acting all scared, more like." He continued, but in a mumble.

This standoff lasted for a few more seconds before he began slowly circling you like an apex predator. You appreciate the fact that he's trying to make himself look less intimidating by softening his gaze and rounding his shoulders. But nothing works to make him appear harmless in your eyes.

"You know I would never hurt you, baby." He sighed when you ran away from him at the faintest sign that he was going to get closer.

"...You knew that..." He spoke once more, more gently now. His voice was wavering, laden with pain and heartbreak.

You snapped your head at the sound of a door opening. More like, swinging open. The stranger brought his attention to the visitor in his room.

"There you are, sugar! Don't just wander through these doors without me! I told you, I won't know where you'll be spat out once you close 'em!" You had never felt this much relief for his presence before. Montgomery looked absolutely frazzled, with his hair messier than before.

You ran into his arms, to which he promptly wrapped around your smaller form. Before Montgomery could say anything further or even acknowledge the other person in the room--

"Get your fuckass hands off her!" In large strides, the stranger closed the distance between him and your temporary protector. His fists were clenched, and you can see him tightening his jaw in bubbling anger.

You cowered in fear, while Montgomery stumbled a bit out of surprise. The other man was getting all up in Montgomery's face and wasn't showing any signs of benevolence.

Worming out of your ally's hold, you retreated behind him, hoping that Montgomery could be your shield for now. This earned a shocked look from the stranger, which was rapidly replaced by a furious one towards his rival.

"Hey, wha- back off! This is (name), my spouse!" Although the countryman flinched a little at the stranger's harsh tone, he stood his ground and gave him a firm shove on the chest. The stranger remains immovable.

"Yours?! The fuck are you talking about, asshole?! She's mine!" Like a rabid canine, the stranger bared his teeth at Montgomery as he raised the volume of his voice once again.

Bewildered, your temporary protector matched his energy in his rebuttal, "Cyprus, What are you talking about?! They're-"

"I'll fucking kill you, Montgomery." The growl from the stranger, who you now know as Cyprus, was guttural, full of hatred. So much vitriol that you didn't know was possible to fit in just five words. You watched Cyprus raise his fist, ready to strike.

But it came to a grinding halt when you took the initiative to put yourself between the two men. Cyprus parted his lips in surprise, and soon came the pain, visibly written all over his handsome, yet intimidating face. Cyprus looked betrayed and unbelievably hurt that you chose to defend the other person. You almost felt bad about it.

"Why..." Cyprus lets out a shaky whisper directed to you as he loosens his stance.

"Listen, I don't know what stunt this damn house is pulling on us now. But this is my spouse, my (name)! They can't speak, and they can't remember a god damn thing!" Montgomery positioned himself in front of you again, having a hand to protectively push your body against his.

And then, silence. Not for a short while either.

No one dared to move or say anything else. Montgomery's breath was still a little erratic from the adrenaline rush, yours were bated, and Cyprus's countenance turned utterly unreadable.

Eventually, a door appeared nearby. Weirdly though, it's smaller than a standard one. You don't think any of the men could fit through it comfortably. You don't think you can even go through it without crawling on your hands and knees.

Montgomery saw that too, and with gentle pushes, he ushered you away. "Let's go, sweetheart."

It was a mistake for both you and Montgomery to turn your backs on Cyprus, hoping that it would reduce his aggression.

Instead, Cyprus's arm shot out to clamp down on yours. He yanked you behind him and gave Montgomery a bullying shove in the chest.

"What are-!"

A sickening crack reaches your ears as Cyprus's knuckles collide against Montgomery's face. The first punch thrown was so powerful that it almost flung the victim's body away, luckily, he kept his balance, albeit wobbly, and while groaning in pain.

Montgomery didn't get a chance to recover from the hit or even finish his groan before Cyprus swung his leg and slammed it on his stomach, expelling the air and some mucus out of Montgomery's lungs.

The experienced fighter then dug his fingers around his weaker opponent's neck, dragging him like a rag doll as he made his way to the door.

Cyprus then pulled the door open so harshly that you thought that it was going to fly out from its hinges.

For a second, you saw a glimpse of cutlery and some kitchen appliances through that "door".

It was a portal to a cabinet.

You were shouting and yelling upon realizing what Cyprus is about to do. But in the end, you were powerless to stop.

The fighter managed to cram a fully grown man who tends to construction sites for a living, a man who isn't too far off in height from him, into an opening the size of a small moving box. It took Cyprus four to five forceful shoves to even get any part of Montgomery through the hole.

Cyprus then resorted to ramming Montgomery with his shoulder to try and hammer the poor man in. Each time, you heard a crack, louder than the last, as Montgomery was folded like careless laundry to fit through the hole.

The air was filled with your panicked screaming, Cyprus's concentrated grunts, the crunches from Montgomery back, and the creaking of the door hinges.

You couldn't take it, so you shut your eyes and cower in fear. Hoping that once that demon is done, he wouldn't notice your existence.

You refused to see the final scene, but you definitely heard a massive thud followed by the door slamming shut. Cyprus has succeeded in probably turning Montgomery into ground meat.

You heard him pant as he tried to calm down from all those explosive emotions he felt before.

"(Name)!" He barked.

You shivered, but you brought your head up to face him.

And the look on his face was terrifying. He was positively glowering in rage, with some veins visibly throbbing on his forehead.

But it wasn't directed at you. No, never at you.

There was a stray tear that beaded out of his eye, which he promptly wiped away. Cyprus then fixed his glasses before parting his lips to speak.

"You are going to fucking remember me." He moved closer. His tone was now cold and controlled. But he can never truly hide the hurt, especially in what he said next: