#patton angst

Scrunching his eyes against the light coming in from around the curtains, he took in his surroundings. Plushies taking up half the bed, cute posters of cartoon animals on the walls, fairy lights and a pin board which could not physically fit any more photos on it. If this was Patton’s room, it was exactly how he would have imagined it. One question remained - how the actual fuck did he get here?

His vision was so blurry. Had he drank last night? His mind quickly concocted a story - he’d been out with his friends and had a bit too much, even for him, Patton had been in the library until the early hours, because of course he had, they’d bumped into each other on the street and he’d decided oh-so-kindly that Remus was in such a bad state that he couldn’t possibly let him go home alone, not even if it was entirely his own fault for drinking so sinfully excessively, and oh-so-generously gave up his own bed and oh-so-saintly spent the night on the sofa… yeah, right. If Patton had seen him that drunk, he’d probably give that disapproving expression, that little frown, almost a pout, and sarcastically wish him luck getting home. Or cross the street and ignore him altogether. And, besides, Remus now remembered he actually went to bed early last night, thank you very much, in his own bed after submitting an assignment at the last minute. What the fuck. What the fuck was going on.

The fatal moment of understanding came a few seconds later, when his eyes fell on a small wall-mounted mirror in the far corner of the room. He had to move slightly to be able to see himself. Or rather, see that he was not himself. Not his frame, much smaller and leaner. Not his hair, much thicker and curlier. Definitely not his pyjamas. What kind of crazy person wore a hoodie to sleep in April? The same psychopath who sets an alarm for 7am, of course. Patton Hart.

What the actual fuck. After few seconds of rummaging around, he discovered where those thick, round glasses were kept and put them on, returning to the mirror. Wow. Patton had bad bedhead.

Stumbling back in disbelief, he nearly tripped over something. He picked up a small rabbit plushie with pale blue clothes which looked very old and very loved. The poor bunny had obviously been in Remus’s… Patton’s arms when he woke up, and was thrown carelessly across the room in the commotion of turning off the alarm. He put it carefully back on the bed and sat beside it, bouncing his leg in agitation, trying to work out what the fuck to do.

—

When Patton awoke to silence, he didn’t even open his eyes. He squeezed them shut tighter, knowing he needed as much sleep as possible before his alarm. Something smelt a little off. Kind of smelt like… could you dream smells? Why would he be dreaming about… Patton didn’t know, he was too tired, he turned over and drifted back off to sleep…

——

What the fuck should he do?! Remus doubted there was any useful advice online about this, though he was tempted to add it to Patton’s search history anyway, for him to find later. Perhaps he should search for some other things too… he grinned to himself, thinking of how Patton would squirm as he tried to explain. Should he prank call people from Patton’s number? Switch around all his contacts? Take over his perfectly curated Instagram? The possibilities were endless.

But when he picked up Patton’s phone, the sound of beads jangling, his lock screen lit up and Remus actually focused on the picture. It was Patton and Roman on the beach that was a thirty minute drive from their college, hugging each other and both grinning from ear to ear. Suddenly he didn’t feel like meddling anymore.

Remus sighed heavily. He should probably get Patton ready for whatever the fuck he thought he needed to be awake at 7am for. He made his way over to the desk where Patton’s laptop sat, hoping to be able to access his calendar without a password. On the chair, he noticed some clothes neatly folded, ready for the day. Oh yeah. Getting dressed might be a good idea.

A blue polo shirt and brown cargos, his signature grey cat hoodie as the April mornings were still definitively chilly. Typical Patton. But not being in control of one’s own body was a special occasion! And, Remus believed, this called for a special outfit. He rifled through Patton’s wardrobe and quickly found what he was looking for. A knit jumper, the exact blue of Patton’s eyes. He wore it to Roman’s plays, to the Christmas party, in the beach trip photo - clearly it was one of his favourites. He paired it with some embroidered jeans which, in Remus’ humble opinion, suited Patton perfectly. He dressed quickly, keeping his eyes closed as much as possible. He admired his outfit choice in the mirror, wearing also a mischievous grin that looked entirely out of place on Patton’s face. What could he add to this ensemble? He could give the perfect boy a tattoo. Or a piercing… actually, Patton had mentioned wanting his ears pierced but not being allowed, something about heart problems, maybe killing the little guy was a step too far.

Now, to sort out that bedhead, because even someone as utterly careless as Remus wouldn’t let him leave the house looking like that. Patton’s hair was just as soft as it looked. He probably had a seventeen-step hair routine. Probably learnt it from Roman. Remus hoped that whatever this fuckery was wouldn’t last, because Lord knew he was unable to maintain that kind of bullshit, but he still hated the thought of Patton’s lovely curls being sad and uncared for.

——

Patton opened his eyes again, this time feeling slightly more awake. Immediately after sitting up and rubbing his eyes he realised three things almost at the exact same time:

1. This was not his room.

2. He could see perfectly without glasses on.

3. His feet were way too far away from him.

Had he been changed in the night? This was some seriously Alice-in-Wonderland shit. Could this be his room? Had his roommates snuck in while he slept and somehow managed to change all his decorations? Including hang a massive progress pride flag on the wall? He had to take that down - his mother was coming to visit this weekend and if she knew he was … Patton froze. He’d stood up in a panic and began to pace and the floor was so far away. He ran a hand through his hair and it didn’t feel right, the hand or the hair. What was happening? Who had done this to him? He searched his unfamiliar surroundings for a mirror but couldn’t find even a little one, finally he grabbed the phone on the bedside table and scrambled to get the camera open and what he saw made him want to scream but he slapped a hand to his mouth just in time.

At least it was a face he recognised. The moustache, the remains of yesterday’s eyeliner not properly removed, Patton had never seen those bright, overconfident green eyes full of fear before.

Nothing could ever have prepared him to look at his reflection and see the face of Remus Kingsley staring back at him. The last face he wanted to see.

No… no, it couldn’t be! This had to be a nightmare!

———

Remus was so good at this shit. He’d managed to get access to Patton’s timetable, had scrawled the day’s activities, times and locations on a piece of paper he could refer to later, fed Patton some jam on toast for breakfast (what kind of university student was affording fucking Crofters?), brushed his teeth, packed his bag including his lunch (pre-prepared the night before in a tupperware he recognised as it was Roman’s originally), and set off towards campus. And still running ahead of schedule! What did Patton think he needed all this time for in the morning?

There were only a few people in the lecture room when he got there, one of them being that nerd in the blue tie - shit, what was his fucking name?

“Salutations, Patton.”

Shit shit shit, Remus had seen this guy before, Pat brought him along to Roman’s party, he left early, what was his name what was his name what was his

“Patton? Are you quite alright?”

Logan! That was his name!

“Yeah Logan, I’m good.” Remus leant back in his chair. He was amazing at this.

The other man’s eyes narrowed behind his square glasses. Shit. That didn’t sound like Patton at all, did it? Remus fought the urge to turn around and walk out right then and there. He hadn’t realised, and definitely should have, that the day on campus would be the world’s most soul-sucking 9-5, involving Remus having to act his ass off to convince students and professors alike that he was the real Patton. The star student, the helpful classmate and responsible, caring friend, not some impostor who for some unknown reason had been cursed Freaky Friday style to live Patton’s Perfect Life! Except it was Tuesday.

“Are you certain?” Logan asked, eyebrows raised in concern. “Not to imply you are willingly communicating a falsehood,” he added quickly.

Remus cleared his throat. Here went nothing.

“Yeah, kiddo, sorry! Just a teensy bit tired today. This semester is really taking it out of me. Don’t you worry about me, though!”

A big smile, dimples and all, sealed the deal. Give him a fucking Oscar already.

“Yes, the workload is elevated compared to previous semesters. Is it the essay you’re struggling with?”

“Gosh, well, it’s just… it’s everything, really! I’ve started the essay, but I’m not sure my points are really what the professors are looking for, and the lectures are so tough at the moment. Who knew psychology could be so… mind-boggling, am I right?”

Got a pun in there, perfect. Make way, Janus, there was a new Master of Deception in town! Except Remus knew he couldn’t get away with being vague, Logan was about to ask him technical questions about psychology which he, an art student, was in no way equipped to answer, and was about to announce he needed the bathroom when he was saved by the arrival of someone else into their conversation. He had no trouble remembering Virgil’s name, no mistaking that purple hoodie and dark eyeshadow, but the wordplay he used to remember it was a pun he doubted Patton would make.

“Hiya, Virge, how are you today?” A little wave, surely even Roman would praise these acting choices.

“Oh, you know, the usual.” They smirked as he took their seat next to Patton.

Did he greet his friends every day with all the enthusiasm of a tumblr text post from 2013?Remus fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Good morning, Virgil,” came Logan’s voice. “Patton was just expressing his anxieties about our academic work as of late.”

“Pat, if you’re anxious, that says a lot about how the rest of us should be feeling.”

“I don’t think that’s true, kiddo! I’m sure you’re doing great!” Remus patted Virgil’s shoulder. Patton seemed like the kind of guy to be affectionate with his friends, but it still felt weird for Remus to do it, and from the way Virgil tensed, he definitely noticed something was off.

“But there is no shame in not doing great, I’m sure you know this, Patton. Is it anything I can help with? We could go over the material together, or I could come with you to speak to Professor Sanders, I’m sure he’d be happy to offer you any support you -“

Fuck, how was Remus supposed to know that one throwaway comment about being tired would lead to the fucking Spanish Inquisition? Pat’s friends clearly fucking worshipped him.

“Logan, I’m fine, I promise!” Wait no fuck shit that came out too angry. He swore he even saw Logan flinch a little. Thank god the lecture was starting. End scene or whatever.

He tried to write down everything the Sanders guy said, but he talked way too fucking fast, and Remus’ mind quickly began to wander. Why had Logan been so concerned the moment Patton mentioned being a little bit tired? By the end he was hardly writing anything down. He hoped Logan and Virgil wouldn’t notice that either.

———

Patton was nearly twenty minutes into a panic attack and Virgil’s breathing exercises were doing absolutely nothing to help. Tears streamed down his face as he stifled his shallow, gasping breaths. Thank goodness he was an expert in how to have a breakdown quietly.

Why had this happened to him? What was happening to his body? What should he do? What should he do? What should he do what should he do what should he

His eyes fell on a pair of nearly-destroyed black headphones on the shelf and he was happy to discover they connected to Remus’s Spotify on his phone automatically. He dreaded to think what Remus usually listened to, he was only looking for one thing, the only thing that was certain to calm him down.

Remus would know someone had messed with his account, but Patton didn’t care as he finally found something like calm when the Steven Universe soundtrack filled his ears. He sat with his eyes closed, listening to Pearl’s wisdom about how real strength came from within, but he snapped back to his senses when a song, still from season one, gave him more clarity than he’d had all morning.

“I’ve never seen you look like this before

Isn’t it nice to find yourself somewhere different?

Why don’t you just let yourself just be whoever you are?”

Remus would probably call it a stupid kids’ show. But Steven was always there for Patton, somehow always had the right advice for him.

Patton then decided that he was going to live Remus’s life as well as he possibly could. Focus on what he could actually control. He could not control what was happening to his own body in the meantime. And, besides, ignorance was probably bliss. Right? Right. He could deal with it later. He could deal with everything. But the prospect of some time free from his responsibilities? To see what someone else’s life was like? Sue him, he was more than a little tempted.

So. What should he do?

No, seriously, what did Remus do all day?

Patton realised how little he knew about his best friend’s brother. He was an art student? But Patton probably could have guessed that anyway from the abstract painting which sat on an easel in the corner of the room. A swirling mixture of foresty shades of green. It was pretty, though Patton didn’t claim to understand it at all. He didn’t dare touch Remus’s masterpiece. It was probably for his end of semester grade. In fact, just being in the same room as it made him a little nervous. Maybe he should get outside.

What did Remus do all day? He still hadn’t answered the question. He rode a bike? It was his method of transportation, but maybe he rode it for fun sometimes as well? It sounded fun to Patton, anyway.

Before he knew it he was wearing Remus’s green helmet and speeding towards town, down the hill way too fast, God knows he could never do this in his own body. He laughed way too loud and didn’t care who heard him, it was sort of nice to feel so free for once.

That feeling didn’t last long before he was struck by a horrible realisation. What if he met himself, met Remus while in the busy town centre? Would Remus yell at him for messing with his stuff?

Would he think to go there? Patton’s anxiety was somewhat placated by the fact that he had never seen Remus emerge before lunchtime, the other man had probably shut off the 7am alarm and gone straight back to sleep. But, just to be safe, Patton decided to head somewhere quieter. He decided to take Remus to one of his favourite spots, a trail through the woods he was convinced only he knew about.

————

By the end of the day, Remus was aching practically everywhere from the waist down, in ways he thought only old people could ache. It had started to creep up slowly before lunch, he could almost ignore it until it got louder and louder as Remus practically dragged Patton’s aching body from class to class, barely possessing the energy to keep up his acting.

Was Patton sick? Hurt? He felt Patton‘s left hip grind against its socket with every step he took back towards the house, hoping he remembered the way. This couldn’t be normal. And yet Pat had never mentioned it in all the time they’d spent together. Which was a fair amount, given Patton’s best friend was Remus’s brother. Maybe Patton just didn’t want Remus to get to know him well.

Remus arrived back at Patton’s house starving but almost in too much pain to continue standing. The pain was dull and throbbing and unlike anything he had ever felt before. Was this how Patton felt every day when he got home? And then had to cook and do chores and study and do volunteer work and hang out with friends and do all the other things that were necessitated by being Mister Perfect? Remus didn’t know if he even had the strength to make it back up the stairs to Patton’s room.

————

Patton couldn’t believe how much energy he still had when he arrived back at the house. He’d ran around the woods, climbed trees, seen bunnies and deer and luckily spent hours without encountering another human being, without anyone having any expectations of him, as Remus or as himself. And this had taken seemingly no toll on Remus’s body. No aches and pains, no exhaustion, literally nothing. Apart from the fact he was now very, very hungry.

What did Remus have to cook with… which stuff in the kitchen was even his… suddenly, ordering food seemed very tempting. As long as he kept it as cheap as possible, he hoped Remus wouldn’t mind a small hit to his bank account, and luckily Face ID was working. Patton supposed Apple had never accounted for circumstances such as these.

As he sat on the green sheets, eating pizza and hugging his knees in a way Remus had probably never sat before in his life, Patton had been aware for a while that, after his joy ride over the hills of town and through the woods, poor Remus did stink just a little bit. He had been diligently avoiding Remus’ roommates but even more diligently avoiding, if he possibly could, the need to shower, although he was not sure how much longer this could reasonably last.

Patton prayed that whatever this was would be over again tomorrow morning, as suddenly and bizarrely as it had started. For all it creaked and ached, He wanted his own body back. Needed his own life back. Patton had spent the entire day assuming Remus was in his body, trying to dispel anxieties about what he couldn’t control, but then the thought occurred to him that he had no real reason to believe his assumption was true. Perhaps his body was still lying empty and vacant in his bed, like Reese Witherspoon in that movie he and Roman watched… Just Like Heaven, was that its name? But then where was Remus? Was his spirit restlessly wandering the city? Could he be a ghost if neither of them were dead? No, because then he would definitely have come to haunt Patton by now, even when in his own body one of Remus’s favourite hobbies was giving Patton a fright.

He supposed that was the only explanation, then. Remus had been living Patton’s life all day, and was definitely doing a horrible job of it. He would have to explain his absence - Remus wouldn’t have managed to get him to class on time, couldn’t do all the studying he had planned for that day. Remus didn’t even know it was routine to kiss every one of his plushies before bed, Hoppy (his childhood rabbit) last. If Remus was really in his body… Patton sighed. He was probably strong enough to deal with the pain. He had probably laughed it off like it was nothing and gone to the gym or something and would brag about it next time they saw each other. He was probably using Hoppy as a ping-pong ball.

—————

The pain improved a little as Remus sat down on Patton’s bed, next to the old rabbit again. He’d found an ample supply of medication in Patton’s room, but he had no idea about dosage and didn’t dare put any drugs into a body that wasn’t his. But Remus did not doubt that at least some of these Patton probably needed to take daily, and maybe this neglect was why all these aches had grown throughout the day. If he texted his own phone, would Patton respond? He would probably freak out, he was probably meant to take some of these in the morning, maybe some at lunch… Remus, quickly going in the direction of in-too-much-pain-to-think-straight eventually found paracetamol. Surely Patton couldn’t begrudge him for taking some of that. What if Patton woke up back in his own body tomorrow and he was still in this much pain, or even more, because of Remus’ carelessness? He needed to give poor Patton some dinner as well. But standing up to cook would only tire Pat’s body out even more so Remus did not feel up to doing that. Ordering pizza seemed like the best option, even if it would cost some of Patton’s money. From what Remus had seen today, all his nice clothes, the latest iPad and even a couple of designer perfumes, Mister Rich Boy would probably be fine.

With the pizza and paracetamol thoroughly consumed, Remus now felt very sleepy. When he was just on the verge of sleep he remembered something. He grabbed the rabbit and hugged it to his chest, wanting Patton to have his childhood toy close if they swapped back in the morning.

He didn’t set an alarm though. He’d decided Patton deserved a lie-in. And he didn’t want another rude awakening if he was still in Patton’s body come the morning.

—————

The next day, Patton opened his eyes incredibly slowly, almost afraid of what he might see.

Blue bedsheets. Fairy lights on the walls. Something soft pressed against his cheek… Hoppy!

Patton jumped out of bed and continued to jump for joy, hugging and kissing Hoppy, whom he never ever wanted to be apart from ever again.

He shuffled over to his bedroom mirror to confirm… yep, he was himself again! That horrible trick, whatever it was, was over!

He grabbed his phone, filled with extra willingness to take on the day, to repair what damages had been done, and was greeted with no less than seventeen missed calls from Virgil.

Upon calling back, his friend picked up after two rings.

“Pat! Pat, are you ok? You weren’t in class this morning, we’re really worried.”

Just… just this morning? Patton glanced at the time. 12:17pm. Jesus. Remus had obviously neglected to set his alarm, but… Virgil wasn’t asking where Patton was yesterday? Only today? Did Remus actually make it to class? He must have acted strange, that must be why Virgil sounded so worried, but this was way more than he’d expected of the man he sometimes thought must be nocturnal.

“Pat? You alright, bud?”

For a very brief moment, Patton thought about telling him the truth. Would anyone believe him? Would Logan? Would Roman?

“I’m fine, Virgil! Just overslept! I’ll be there this afternoon, don’t you worry, kiddo!”

No. No, he wouldn’t be mentioning it to anyone.

——————

They didn’t meet until over a week later. Patton did that thing where he very obviously clocked Remus then very deliberately moved to the other side of the street. He knew he’d left his room a mess but come on. Did Patton seriously not want to talk about Freaky Tuesday?

“Pat! Patton!” He called across the street, waving frantically.

“Oh! Hello!” Patton said, accompanied by the most forced smile Remus had ever seen. He hoped Patton hadn’t been forced to act much on that fateful day, because clearly he was fucking awful at it.

“How have you been?” Remus asked pointedly.

“I’ve been good! What about you?” somehow Patton’s smile was even more false than before.

“You’ve been good?” Remus cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah!”

“You’ve been good and normal?”

“Mm-hm!”

“Normal and not weird?”

“Nope!”

“Nothing weird happened to you lately?”

“Nuh-uh!” But Patton was looking at the floor now.

“Not even last Tuesday?”

“Umm…”

“AH-HA! So it did happen to you too!” he almost shrieked.

“Remus, keep your voice down! Yeah, it did, but it seems to be back to normal now! So… it’s all okay? I’ll see you later?” He turned to go.

Remus sighed, defeated.

“Was it really that bad to be me for a day?”

Patton stopped in his tracks, paused for a long moment and finally said,

“No, actually. I rode your bike.”

Remus smiled. “I could tell you’d moved it.”

Another awkward silence. Remus forced himself to ask the question that had been eating at his mind for nine days.

“Pat… and you don’t have to answer this…”

Patton already felt the colour rise to his cheeks.

“By the end of the day, I felt like… is that normal for you?”

“Some days, yeah.”

“I… I could never tell.”

Patton shrugged.

“You don’t have to hide it, you know. Does it hurt right now?”

“Not really, but I can feel it starting to.”

“Please go home and rest.”

“Yeah, I think I’m actually gonna. Being you taught me I need rest days sometimes. If I try and push through it makes it ten times worse.”

Being Patton had taught Remus some valuable lessons, too. But his heart broke as he realised that being in Remus’ body had maybe given Patton one of the first pain-free days of his life.

“Ok. That sounds like a good idea.”

Remus clearly wasn’t wanted here. He turned to leave, and was just contemplating what he should eat for dinner when he heard Patton’s voice call after him.

“Re, wait!”

He turned around just in time for Patton to practically run into him. Oh, wait - this was a hug? Patton was hugging him?

“I’m sorry,” he said into Remus’ shirt.

“What for?”

“For acting like a real…” Patton visibly struggled to find a word “…b-hole towards you! I thought you’d be careless in my body. But… I got to class the next day and no one asked me where I’d been. You didn’t trigger a bad flare-up. I woke up hugging Hoppy! You… actually looked after me! If anyone was careless, it was me!”

“You rode around on my bike and ordered pizza? Pat, were they really the most careless things you could think of to do? Sounds like an average day in my life! Do you think you should’ve worked on my painting? Wanted to feel productive, Patty?”

“No, of course not, I wouldn’t dream of -“

“Yeah, correct answer! In fact, if you’d touched it I would’ve bashed your little head in with that spike ball prop thing from Roman’s show!”

Patton looked completely horrified.

“Joking! Pat, of course I’m joking, don’t look like that!”

“Sorry!”

“And stop apologising so fucking much! I don’t even work on the painting every day, only when I feel inspired. Some days I just… do nothing! Sounds like you needed a rest day, too. Like you actually had fun, even by my standards! Well… apart from the going to sleep early. And sober. But other than that, sounds like we both did what the other would normally do. Sounds like… actually, we know each other pretty well.”

He thought of suggesting that they should get to know each other better some time, but maybe he’d save that for when Patton wasn’t having a flare-up.

Tentatively, Remus’ hand found Patton’s curls, even softer than he remembered. Patton’s little sigh was all the answer he needed for right now.

Maybe all of this had been for a reason.

She supposed if she was going to leave she should probably find her spectacles. Which, paradoxically, would prove difficult without her spectacles…

Though she put on a brave face for work, having familiarised herself with every inch of the theatre and the stage where she performed each night, Patton’s eyesight really was incredibly poor. Her father had ensured she has a good pair of spectacles, she had enough inheritance money to replace them when it was necessary, but even as a dancer she had never been allowed to wear them to perform. In the pre-stage rush that evening she’d misplaced them. As she flitted about her dressing room in panic, walking into furniture, clumsily running her hands over the surfaces, hoping to feel the familiar cold metal frames, her Angel spoke again.

“Patton, mon ange, I think you’ll find what you’re looking for is to your left …”

She briefly cast her head in that direction, catching sight of the blurred outline of a figure, a reflection in dark clothing that was distinctly not her own.

She did a double take, her head snapping back to the mirror to confirm what she thought she’d just seen. A soft laugh, not unkind. She knew her Angel well enough to understand that she was not laughing out of amusement at Patton’s shock. The gentle tone reassured her that she was safe.

“Ma chérie, don’t be afraid. But come closer and look at me in your mirror.”

Frozen in place, unable to tear her eyes from the mirror. Could her Angel now control her movements as well as speaking in her head? Patton inched closer, unsure whether it was of her own free will or some supernatural force guiding her towards the spectre, the draw of the unknown, the temptation of the almost-familiar.

She could nearly reach out and touch the glass, having completely given in to the pull, now close enough to discern that the figure was much taller than she, dressed in a long dark cloak. Patton noticed the pallor of the face, an almost unnatural shade of white, and was drawn to the gloved hand because it was… pointing somewhere?

“What?” she asked, whispered so Roman would not hear. But her Angel, if that was really who was in the mirror, gave no reply.

She supposed the only thing to do was to go where she was being ushered, the sparsely-populated bookshelf in the corner. Evidently Signora Virgil Giudicelli hadn’t been a big reader, and given that Patton’s residence here was only temporary she had been reluctant to fill it with her own books. She wondered why the figure had led her over here when in the corner of her eye she caught a glint that was unmistakably metal. And she suddenly remembered leaving her spectacles here, hours before, putting them out of the way after she kept accidentally knocking them on the floor.

Almost exclaiming her thanks before she stopped herself with a hand to her mouth, remembering Roman, she darted back to the mirror to show her gratitude with a relieved smile. And at that moment Patton finally clearly saw the visage of her Angel.

Or… half of it, for she wore a white theatrical mask covering almost the entire left side of her face. Her left eye still clearly visible though, a pale green to contrast the hazelnut brown of the eye on her unmasked side. Unfrightened, more curious than anything about why her Angel felt the need to hide her face when she was so little seen by people, Patton’s dark eyes held the mismatched gaze of her mentor. Still smiling, wanting to return the favour of reassuring her, silently coaxing her to speak again.

But she merely raised the hand that had been pointing at the bookshelf, as she reached towards Patton it passed through the glass, crossing from whatever realm her Angel was in, for Patton had considered this a lot and had often thought that she must be otherworldly, hence why she could never be seen, but now she was in Patton’s world. Or her right hand was.

Would Patton be able to touch it? Or would her hand pass straight through her Angel’s ghostly form, like she had so often read in stories. Perhaps a more sensible person would have thought of the thousands of reasons not to take this mysterious figure’s hand. Not Patton, though, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to deplore it, for other thoughts came into her head faster. She was dying to test if she actually could. Determine if her Angel was really real, if Emile had been wrong to talk to her so. And, if she did exist, this was the chance to finally know her tutor better. Or even at all. An opportunity to properly thank her could not be wasted, after everything Patton’s Angel had done for her, every kind word, every gentle critique, every hour spent in the secret room under the theatre, singing back and forth to one another.

Having moved tentatively at first, Patton closed the last of the distance between her hand and her Angel’s with determination. The shock of how cold she was sent a shiver through Patton, thought it was incredibly warm in the theatre. Though unnaturally cold, there was unmistakable solidity in her grip. She was real.

Her hold was firm, but not so firm that Patton could not easily let go, though that was the last thing she wanted to do. She took a slight step backwards, coaxing her Angel out of the mirror. An arm surfaced, then another as Patton reached out to hold her other hand, willing her to overcome her fear and take the final step that would bring them together at last, a sort of leap of faith. Her head was the last thing to cross over, as soon as she was tête à tête with Patton she smiled down at her, soft and subtle. The curly head of her protégée did not even reach her shoulder level. Patton’s smile almost reached her eyes as she finally looked upon the person who had taught her to sing, who had given her everything.

Her hair was a glossy, chestnut brown, pulled back in a very unfeminine style. Patton concluded that she must be wearing a gentleman’s attire as it was all incredibly loose-fitting on her, especially the long, black cloak which almost reached the ground. Her shirt billowed around her and she wore a waistcoat but no tie, or perhaps a small cravat was hidden under her capelet, which completely drowned her shoulders. Patton suddenly became aware of how she had been staring, taking in every aspect of the person she had spent so long with, but never actually set eyes on.

After a few seconds she stopped herself, realising how rude she must seem, how uncomfortable she must be making her mentor, she settled her darting gaze back to meet her eyes, still smiling, signifying that her staring had not caused offence. For the past week she had forced herself to become accustomed to expressions of adoration from people barely known to her, but no one had ever, ever looked at Patton like that before. The unbearable warmth of the theatre always reached its peak right after the show as the audience filed out - that must be why her face suddenly flushed.

Patton finally broke their eye contact, struggling to think of something to say, wondering why her Angel hadn’t spoken yet - she always knew just the right words. And there was no need for her to be reduced to a voice in her head anymore, they could finally talk as Patton always dreamed.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Patton managed to whisper, slowly swinging both their arms to fill the silence that followed. But in the way of response, her mentor simply let go of one of her hands, keeping that just-firm-enough grip on the other to lead her towards an old rug in the corner of the room that Patton didn’t dare touch. Her Angel carelessly cast aside this antique, disturbing a very large quantity of dust, and though the rug had been flung away from them, some still settled on the pristine white costume Patton was wearing. She accidentally inhaled some and fought the urge to cough. Because that would be rude. And would ruin her singing voice for the two shows she had to perform tomorrow.

She’d been so distracted by this that it took her several seconds to notice what was hidden under the rug - a wooden trapdoor that had been there goodness knows how long. Although Patton imagined the long line of lead sopranos who had used this dressing room before her, and could hardly blame them for wanting to escape this place. Her companion edged the door open slowly, but not slow enough to prevent the old wood from creaking.

“Patton, are you alright in there?”

Her mentor jumped, turning to Patton with panicked eyes. She’d completely forgotten about Roman. Suffice to say she felt completely silly for wondering why her Angel was not speaking. A question in her mismatched eyes - how to proceed, was it too dangerous? Patton responded with a finger to her lips and a determined nod down at the trapdoor. Past the point of no return now, she simply had to see where it led.

The other woman continued opening the door, impossibly slower than before. Patton was greeted with complete darkness, unable to see what lay below. Once this was accomplished, with complete confidence her mentor jumped down, and landed so her head and shoulders were just poking out, and she was an unusually tall lady. At the slightest showing of hesitation from Patton, her Angel opened her arms, an invitation.

“Ma Chérie, don’t be afraid.”

The exact same tone as earlier, when she had appeared in the mirror. But her lips didn’t move. Had she spoken again in Patton’s head? Or had she imagined it? Whatever was true, she was already lifting Patton down the trapdoor, not letting go of her left hand once she was on solid ground. She continued leading her through the darkened corridor, quickly evolving into a maze of passages dimly lit by the lantern she was holding in the other hand, which Patton swore she did not have when they were in the dressing room.

Patton often grew restless and wandered the theatre, but not even she had seen any of this before. She knew she should’ve realised a lot sooner that they were not in the Opéra Populaire anymore, though she could not pinpoint the exact moment when they left. For years she had worked, practised, eaten, slept, lived here and hardly ever got the opportunity to leave, a fact her Angel knew well. Perhaps she was leading them to some place where the air was cool, far from the stifling pressures of the theatre, where they’d be able to see the sky. She cursed herself for revelling in the liberation.

Their pace quickened, moving so fast her Angel’s cape billowed out behind her. At some point the ground beneath had changed from soft, rotting wood to squelching mud.

Her almost-too-white costume was getting ruined, no matter how carefully she tried to tread. When questioned about how it would happened she would inevitably have to fabricate some sort of story, maybe now the seamstress would make her something to wear which made her look a little less like a wedding cake, she thought before she could stop herself.

‘Who are you?’ she questioned, her heart rate quickening.

‘Finally myself,’ some deep part of her retorted.

Even though she was sure they were now far from anywhere anyone could hear them, all the time her Angel did not speak a word. Not even when they came to a vast lake which seemed to completely block their path, but apparently she had a solution for that too. A little way along the edge of the water she had a small rowing boat, inviting Patton on board.

The lake was unbelievably clear. Though the sewage-filled river Seine, the only other body of water she had ever really seen, truly set a poor standard. Leaning over the edge of the boat, as far as she dared, she could see her reflection perfectly. And she truly saw herself for the first time in several days. She had glanced in the dressing room mirror before every show to check her makeup and hair were perfect, though it was incredibly windswept now, but that was hardly shocking. But the extent of the run-down, tired, hollow look in her eyes was not something she had expected, though she perhaps should have. In growing used to seeing herself in grand costumes, she had slowly stopped recognising herself.

She tore her eyes from her own reflection, not liking the thoughts it stirred up, and gazed up at her Angel instead. The boat afforded a different view of her, Patton sat behind her while she stood, strong arms rowing them to goodness knows where. Perhaps when they finally arrived they would sing together and talk all night and, if she asked nicely, once they had become properly acquainted, maybe she would let Patton remove her mask, finally see her Angel’s face. Patton was determined that there was nothing that could be hidden under there that could make her dislike someone who had been so kind to her. Though there was something she had remembered while on this long journey. Something she had tried to put off thinking about for as long as possible, but it kept clawing its way back into her mind.

She recalled being told of such a mask before, knew exactly where she’d heard it - the girls’ dormitory, late one night after rehearsal. All the young dancers awake past their bedtime, gathered around Signora Virgil Giudicelli, who was telling scary stories. One in particular made them squeal and hide behind their bedsheets - the legend of the Phantom of the Opera. And she could not deny that her Angel matched the exact description of those who claimed to have seen him.

When the voice first spoke in her head, all those years ago, she had briefly thought it could be the Phantom who it belonged to - she hadn’t heard it until she came here after all. But she had quickly discounted it. Virgil, and the owners (who had been here far longer than her) referred to a man. But the voice Patton had been hearing all these years was distinctly that of a lady. Inside her mind, Patton could not reconcile the Phantom and her Angel as one and the same. Nothing made sense, and just as she was giving up hope of making it make sense, she felt a sudden jolt as the boat hit land. They’d arrived.

It was not exactly the destination Patton had hoped for.

———

“Pat? Patton?” He was about to pound his fist against the door before he held himself back.

“That scary ballet lady did say she might have fallen asleep in there,” he muttered to himself. “Suppose I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Roman’s footsteps faded away, the candle in the empty dressing room having been extinguished by a sudden, supernatural rush of cold air.

“What? Uh– me? Why, I’d never—” Roman struggled around an excuse, but it wouldn’t pass his lips. He sighed, smiling sheepishly. “It’s nothing harmful,” he settled on.

V hummed, unimpressed.

“C’mon, V,  Ro has finally done something interesting for once,” Remus whined, reaching over his seat to throw an arm around V’s shoulders. V genuinely hissed in response. “Maybe he’s even gotten the stick out of his ass! Don’t ruin this for me.”

Roman shook his head, amused, as Remus and his consort began to bicker like they always did. A hand tapped his shoulder while he took a sip of his tea.

“Nothing harmful, you say?” L whispered, so only Roman could hear. “Then I imagine this has nothing to do with your merchant boy, has it, Florian?”

Roman choked. He put down his teacup, clearing his throat.

“The ball is for the people,” he said, firmly, to the three of them. It wasn’t a lie, really. “That sort of celebration shouldn’t be reserved only for the Court, and if I am to choose a consort, I’d hope to give all folk equal opportunity. I can’t do that if I only mingle with the Gentry.”

V tapped against the table, sighing. “I suppose I can get behind that.”

As he took the tea tray away, L shot him a knowing smile. Roman averted his eyes. Truth be told, he had no clue what were the chances that this plan would work. But… he needed to try. He had to act now, or else Cinder might just slip from his fingers forever.

Roman couldn’t let that happen, not without at least making his feelings known.

—♡—

Patton carefully balanced the sash around his shoulders as he strode through the corridor — stitching throughout the hemline to keep the fabric from fraying, all with one hand. He looped the thread at the end and drove the needle through the light blue cloth to tie it into a finishing knot. Pulling the knot tight, he snapped the leftover thread with his teeth. There it was. Patton smiled. He had the luck to snag an old suit at the market for a bargain, and after days of relentless work fixing it up, all that was left for him to do was add the final touches.

As he reached the attic stairs, Jaq came scampering down the banister and lept right over to Patton’s shoulder.

“Hi, buddy,” Patton said, scratching the little mouse’s head with his finger. “Aren’t you excited today, huh?”

Jaq bumped up against his palm with a chirp, drawing a giggle from him. Patton climbed up the stairs with a pep in his step.

“Well, I know I am,” he said, booping Jaq’s snout. He leaned down and whispered, voice barely containing his enthusiasm. “Today’s the day of the Ball, finally!”

Even though it should’ve occupied his mind, working diligently on his suit for the past few days hadn’t discouraged any of the mounting excitement he felt. As he pinned swathes of fabric into place, he found himself daydreaming more often than not, imagining the palace and the ballroom and the glittering lights so vividly it felt as if he was there. And now, he wanted nothing more than to rush to his mannequin and dive back into sewing all the remaining details until time passed just a little faster.

As he reached the top of the stairs, humming a little tune under his breath, he unlocked the door that led into the attic and walked in.

Only to freeze on the spot. Jaq ducked under his sash, trembling.

The Faerie stood by his makeshift wire mannequin, right in the middle of his room, her back to the door. Sunlight streamed between the open blinds, lighting up the dust in the air. Boxes and old furniture surrounded every corner of the space. Her long golden hair swayed as she turned to face him, a toothy grin splitting her lips. Her eyes widened, a little wild.

“Oh, hello there, dear,” She crooned, swinging her hip to the side, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Patton swallowed and squared his shoulders. He gave her a pleasant smile, bowing slightly. “Good afternoon, miss.”

Jaq managed to dart into his pouch undetected. Patton relaxed slightly but kept the perfect posture. It was okay. He could handle this.

The Faerie sauntered towards him. “I only came to the attic to pay a visit to my little darling,” she cooed, her hand coming up to pinch Patton’s cheek. He held back a wince. “I did not expect to find such a beautiful little ensemble here.”

“Ah, well,” Patton chuckled nervously, taking a subtle step back. “It’s just a new project…”

“I see that!” The Faerie said with a delighted clap. She tilted her head to look at his suit, clasping her hands together. “Oh, you are such a talented little thing, aren’t you? Made yourself an elegant little suit and everything. What sort of fabric did you use? I don’t believe I’ve seen this blue kind around here,” She circled around him and tugged at his sash. Patton shifted his weight. “Oh, but I shouldn’t question that, you are one natural scavenger, aren’t you?”

Patton bit the inside of his cheek as she parted from his side and strode back to the mannequin. She lifted a sleeve and ran her fingers over the silver fringe on the hem.

“Oh, I can only wish I had such a captivating outfit,” The Faerie lamented, flicking a tassel. “Especially today. I’m attending a ball, in the Royal Palace, if you can believe me,” she said, glancing at Patton as she dropped the sleeve. “The little princelet’s latest endeavor. I refused the invitation, at first, and when I changed my mind I thought that surely I must’ve missed my chance, but wouldn’t you know what I found…”

The Faerie reached into her pocket and flicked up an envelope, smiling. The parchment had been folded in half, its corners marked by ashen fingertips.

Patton’s heart sank.

“An invite. Wasn’t it just my luck I encountered it amidst your things?” The Faerie said, with the same cadence of someone who’d apologize as they willingly pushed you off a cliff. “Of course, I haven’t the slightest idea about how it would’ve gotten in your hands.”

She slinked behind the dress form, laying her hand on the garment’s shoulders.

“After all, who in their right mind would invite a puny little human to the Royal Ball?” Her nails dug into the seam that connected the sleeve to the armhole — and with an innocent flutter of her eyelashes, she yanked. The thread snapped, and the sleeve tumbled down to the floor, mercilessly torn from its body piece. The Faerie dodged it as she walked away, not sparing it another glance. “That’d be ridiculous.”

Patton shuffled wordlessly toward the dress form, eyes wide in disbelief. He touched the ripped seam, a gash through the outfit he’d spent hours mending. The fabric frayed under his fingertips.

It wouldn’t be difficult to fix. He could patch it up, sew the sleeve back on, maybe even in time for the ball. A wave of sorrow rose in Patton’s throat, and he clutched his fingers around the suit’s lapel.

But that didn’t matter, did it?

A hand brushed against his lower back and trailed up his spine, settling on his shoulders. “But, of course, that isn’t the only thing I found tracking your scraps of thread,” The Faerie whispered — her voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Her fingers rose to press against the curve of his throat, impossibly cold. “You’ve been keeping secrets, haven’t you, my little apprentice?”

He stared at her, helpless, as she detached from his side and slid over to the attic door. The Faerie twisted the handle, glancing back at him without a hint of her usual false delight.

“Follow me.”

Patton did so, hands trembling and hopelessly confused. She left no room to argue in her tone of voice. The stairs creaked beneath his feet with each step he took. The Faerie did not say another word as she guided him through the manor, and it made it all the worse.

It was when they rounded the main stairwell that he understood. They came to a stop there, and his chest caved in. Jaq squirmed inside his pouch, as if sensing his distress, and Patton prayed it wouldn’t try to escape. If it was caught, there wasn’t a thing he could say now that would save it. The Faerie gestured to the hollow space under the stairway, her piercing gaze trained on Patton.

“Come on then, it’s unlocked,” she said, drumming the tips of her fingers against the wall. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve hidden under there, hm?”

Patton stood there, feet rooted to the ground, for a moment too long, and The Faerie cocked her head to the side, hair falling over one of her eyes. She raised an eyebrow.

“Or do you expect me to crouch?”

Panic spiked in his chest and sent him into motion. Patton bent down and slipped under the stairs at her command. He lowered to his knees and planted his hands against the small, wooden door melded to the wall, his legs shaking. It opened for him with a click. He didn’t have the chance to thank the house. With a shuddering breath, he reached inside, past the door. 

One by one, he drew all his things out of the crawlspace. 

The burrow wasn’t empty by any means, but most of his collection, the human items he kept, had been steadily replaced by traded goods. Glass cups of all shapes. Drops of potions in flasks. Gems, crystals, coins. Charms and jars, little silver boxes. Much less fabric, now that he’d sewn his suit. His shoulders slumped as he lined them up on the floorboards. Patton tried to find comfort in the monotonous repetition of organizing, to admire the beauty of them at least one last time, but he couldn’t. He felt as if on the edge of a pier, like one harsh wind could shove him into the sea.

When Patton was done, he placed his hands on his lap, waiting for the storm.

He heard The Faerie approach him, “Say, dear, are you a thief?”

Patton clutched the ragged fabric of his pants. “No, miss.”

“Have you stolen these items?”

“I haven—”

“Then how else did you get your hands on them?” A pause. “Why, if you’ve been here cooped up at the manor, as you so often complain, I don’t see how you could’ve acquired all this treasure. Unless, of course—”

She droned on. Twisting her words, circling a conclusion the both of them knew she’d already come to — for no other reason other than to see him struggle, to keep the upper hand even when she already had him in her grasp. Prolonging the inevitable, like she always did. The Faerie paced behind Patton as she spoke, her voice growing louder with every passing second. Her shoes clicked against the hardwood floor, again and again in a cacophony of noise. His hands tightened into fists, nails digging into his palms, and it was all too much, too much for him, he had to—

“They’re for you!” Patton cried out, gasping.

“…For me?”

He kept his eyes firmly on the crevices between the floorboards, chin quivering. That was it. It would be now, or never. 

“I want to make a deal.”

Her feet clicked audibly as she stopped behind him. The Faerie was silent for a moment, and then she spoke. “Get up then, dear,” she said. “We don’t speak of deals on our knees, it’s undignified.”

Patton scampered away from under the staircase, careful to dodge the things set out of the crawlspace. The Faerie made way for him, and when he chanced a proper glance at her, she seemed… intrigued. Curiosity had taken the place of cold steel in her eyes. A dangerous, fickle, sliver of hope sparked in his heart.

“Well, then,” she said, flicking her hand, “What is it that you want?”

“I want to trade these,” Patton said, as level as he could make it. He looked at her straight on, hoping to muster up an image of confidence he didn’t truly feel, “F-For my name back.”

The Faerie hummed, and Patton held his breath as she elegantly curved down to pick up a blown glass goblet. She examined it, and then, for a moment that seemed to last years, she trailed her finger down its stem, which had been expertly sculpted into the shape of a flower.

With a tilt of her head and a cruel quirk of her lips, she slackened her grip. The goblet fell, shattering into a thousand little shards of glass on impact.

Patton thought his heart might’ve done the same.

She began to laugh. High, strident, piercing cackles that made Patton’s head ring. Her shoulders shook with it, lips wrenching into a smile as sharp as a blade. A thunderous crash split through the air, followed by several more. Patton’s hands flew up to his mouth, and he watched in growing horror as more and more glass smashed against the floor — as potions spilled from cracked lids and metal boxes clanged and busted open. All that he’d worked for all these years, crushed beneath her heel.

“Your name, is it?” The Faerie growled, laughter twisting into a snarl. “So you’ve been scheming behind my back, in my own manor? Playing games?” Her voice dropped into something low and dangerous. “You’ll find I can play games too, darling—”

She stalked forward, eyes glinting silver.

“—It’s a lot scarier when you’re the pawn.”

Another glass crashed and shattered before him. The shards flew too close to his feet for comfort. Patton flinched and jerked away, chest heaving with shallow breaths. His vision swirled with fear, and he fought not to stumble.

“You were just hoping to scurry away like a little mouse, weren’t you?” She spat out the words with disgust and an edge of fury, as she backed Patton into a corner. The Faerie towered over him, casting him into shadow. “Very well — but I’m not letting that happen.”

Her hand slammed his shoulder against the wall. Pain struck him like a lightning bolt, and he didn’t manage to slip away before The Faerie leaned much closer, crowding Patton until she could whisper right into his ear.

“I made you, Patton Holloway,” she said, cold and unforgiving. Her magic sizzled around him like a brand. It wrapped ribbons around him, ones that would always land him right there — in her grasp. “If you need that reminder. There’s no repaying that.”

She pressed the heel of her palm harder into the divet between his shoulder blade and his collarbone. Patton hissed through his teeth.

“You gave me your name. And if I have anything to do with it, you will never have it back,” With one last shove, The Faerie backed away. She sent him one last glance as she walked off. “You are forbidden from leaving this manor. Clean this up. If I have to look at it for a second longer, there will be far worse coming your way.”

Patton listened in, perfectly motionless, as her footsteps echoed down the corridor and then slowly faded away. Blinking through his blurry vision, he slid down the wall and onto his knees, as slack as a rag doll tossed onto the floor. Something wriggled near his hip, inside his pouch, and then small paws planted themselves in the side of his thigh. Jaq.

…Jaq was trying to comfort him, weren't they?

The little mouse had to be just as frightened, after that display, and still, there they were.

Patton wished he could return that kindness, and yet, he couldn’t quite find the strength to move. It was as if strings, taut and thin enough to dig into his skin, pinned him into place. And he could struggle, he could writhe, but it wouldn’t set him loose. A thousand knots bound his limbs down — far too many for him to ever untie. It’d been silly of him to think he could. He’d been stuck ever since he’d set foot in Fairyland, even if he’d never wanted to believe it.

He tried. He tried to do things the way of the fae. Strike a deal, offer a bargain. He did everything right, and where was he now? Once again cowering for comfort next to that rickety, old staircase.

After taking a deep breath, Patton willed himself out of his daze and crawled forward, dodging past the scattering of broken things across the floor — with luck, no stray shard of glass caught onto his skin. Chewing on his lip, Patton reached inside the crawlspace and slipped his fingers under a familiar loose tile. Knocking it astray revealed a tiny cardboard box, wrapped by the cord of a glittering, enchanted necklace. Still hidden. Intact.

The only things Patton had left.

A sob tore through his throat — a miserable, wounded cry — and as he cradled the box close to his chest, Patton crumbled. All at once, grief barreled through him like a tidal wave. Tears he could not keep at bay dripped past the end of his nose, soaking his sleeves as he curled tighter into himself. He shut his eyes tightly.

For what might’ve been the first time in his life, Patton couldn’t find it in him to believe.

—♡—

What he hadn’t noticed, however, so lost in sorrow, was that a single teardrop had rolled down his cheek and past his jaw — and that, sparkling, it fell right atop the citrine pendant of his necklace.

And so the yellow jewel began to glimmer, low at first and then brighter and brighter, until the hollow space under the stairs had been bathed in a warm, comforting light. It outshone even the sunset glow that covered the corridor.

The steady click of a shepherd’s crook, sharp against the hardwood floor, echoed down the hallway, too faint for Patton to hear it. It grew a bit louder, until it abruptly stopped. By then, the light had simmered down completely, and Patton had yet to notice anything amiss. Until…

—♡—

“Are you under there, mhi-naistdh?”

That voice, honey-coated, soft, and so achingly familiar, knocked Patton out of his stupor. The spark of magic behind that name tugged at his heart. He lifted his head, blinking through tears, certain that his ears must’ve been playing a trick on him. When he turned around, it became clear that if it had been a trick, it involved much more than just his hearing.

A broom bobbed and danced its way across the floor, all on its own, as if tugged around by an invisible string. In wide motions, it swept the broken remains of Patton’s collection into a dustpan, cleaning it up… for him. Just outside the staircase, behind the broom, stood a pair of legs, dressed in sleek black trousers. The towering figure bent down to meet him, and Patton’s eyes drifted up to find the glow of emerald scales and bright yellow eyes, shadowed by the brim of a hat.

“Dee,” Patton whispered. After rubbing his eyes and wiping away the remaining wetness in his cheeks, he glanced up again, surprised to find the image had not at all budged. “I– I must be seeing things…”

He had to. It… it must’ve been his mind’s way of softening the blow. The thought wasn’t very comforting, but what other explanation did he have?

“It’s no daydream, I’m afraid,” drawled Deceit. Leaning his weight onto his shepherd’s crook, he stretched his hand for Patton to take. Hesitant, Patton obliged. “I can’t be that charming, can I?”

In one effortless, strong pull, he brought Patton to his feet. Warmth bled through Deceit’s yellow glove as he guided Patton away from the staircase, his touch firm and… undeniably real. Patton’s eyes widened, and he wrenched his hand away.

“Wh– Dee, what are you doing?” Patton hissed out. His shoulders tensed, more so when Deceit paid no mind to the warning in his voice — simply humming as he shooed the floating broom away from the hallway. Patton shoved down the urge to drag him away and hide him, fearful of the eyes that might catch the other there. He swallowed dry, adjusting his hold on the cardboard box still in his arms. “H-how did you get here?”

With a smirk pulling on his lips, Dee tipped his hat back. “You needed aid,” he said, with a shrug of his shoulders, “So here I am.”

“Just like that?” Patton asked, raising an eyebrow. Something tugged at his pant leg, followed soon after by a high-pitched squeak. Patton curved down to cup Jaq in his palm, and with a little scritch behind their ear for good measure, he placed them on his shoulder. “That doesn’t make any sense, you know that.”

“Good things often don’t, Cinders,” Dee mused, drumming his fingers against the heel of his shepherd’s crook. He turned back to Patton. “…But I do suppose you deserve an explanation.”

His eyes flitted around the corridor.

“Perhaps away from prying ears…,” Dee said, offering his arm. “What do you say?”

As soon as Patton grabbed Deceit’s elbow, the world swirled in a burst of color and light. Before he knew it, he’d stumbled out somewhere far off from the corridor, or anywhere inside the manor for that matter. Patton took a step back, taking in his surroundings with awe. Grass tickled his skin where his trouser hem didn’t quite reach his ankles. A faintly starry, still-darkening sky stretched out above him, and he could spot the porch only a few feet away.

Deceit had, in a single instant, brought them to the garden.

“Now how on earth did you do that?”

Deceit snapped his glove on his wrist, stretching out his fingers. “Trade secrets ought to be kept under wraps, don't you think?” When Patton leveled him with a stern look, he huffed out a laugh. “Alright, alright. Let’s just say, it so happens that my magic is at its strongest tonight,” Dee waved his hand around, “I’ve received a… boost, of sorts.”

“A boost?” Patton asked. Jaq wriggled on his shoulder, restless, and he petted their head to soothe them. “Why?”

Dee turned to him, and with a gentle hand, he brushed Patton’s hair away from his eyes. Patton leaned into his touch.

“So that I can finally help you, mhi-naistdh.”

His expression had been pulled into that bittersweet, pinched look, a furrow in his brow. Patton frowned. “…But you have helped me before,” he said, gently, “Tons of times, Dee.”

“Life has dealt you a truly terrible hand, little one. And still, from the sidelines, I’ve seen you grow into an outstanding young man. All the credit for that goes to you. I… I did what I could, kept you out of major trouble, but it has never been enough. But now, now you’ve called for me. Not with your words, but with your heart,” Dee pointed to Patton’s chest, with a smile as soft as a handmade quilt. “How cruel would I have to be to ignore my godson.”

Patton blinked. “Your… godson?”

“Yes,” Deceit said, “Mhi-naistdh, godchild. It’s a bit of a rough translation, but I find it works well enough.”

“Wait, so that means—” Patton said, his head reeling, “—that you’re my Fairy God…father? L-like in the stories?”

“If you wish to call it that,” Dee chuckled, “It means that I’ve taken it upon myself to look after you. I’ve taken you under my wing, so to speak. And that bond, that magic, it has granted me the power to bring a dream of yours to life — but only when you need it most. When the time is right and not a second earlier.”

“And… and that time is-”

“Tonight, yes,” Dee confirmed, resting his chin over the crown of his shepherd’s crook. He lowered his voice to a whisper, a hint of mischief in his yellow eyes. “I’ve heard through the grapevine they’re expecting you up there in the Royal Palace, isn’t that so?”

The memory of the torn sleeve, tossed carelessly on the floor, flashed in his mind. He shook his head.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly, um—” Patton laughed, though it rang rather hollow, “—I don’t have an invitation, not anymore.”

“Well, that is easily solved, isn’t it?” Deceit hummed. He reached inside his heavy black cloak and slid something into Patton’s hand. “I’ve never been much of the partying type, if you’ll believe it.”

Patton unwrapped the parchment to reveal the royal crest stamped into golden wax right in the middle fold. He gaped. An invite, one that would work as well as any other.

“I-I still don’t have a way to get there,” he argued, more to tamp down the excitement that threatened to spark in his chest, than anything else. Patton slipped the invitation into his pocket. “I couldn’t get a ride on a carriage now.”

“You couldn’t?” Dee raised an eyebrow. He motioned his head to the side, toward the fenced plot where The Faerie grew her plants and flowers. “Do you see that vegetable patch over there?”

Confused, Patton nodded.

“That pumpkin in the middle looks enough like a carriage, wouldn’t you say?”

Patton opened his mouth to contest that claim, but it promptly clicked shut when the pumpkin in question, the biggest of the lot, creaked, loud enough for them to hear it, and rolled out of the vegetable patch. All by itself. The pumpkin simply skipped and hopped out of the white fence, using its leaves and stems as bouncy springs. Its orange shell glittered and then, in a spark of light, it burst — growing bigger and bigger. The stems stretched and curled around it, in the perfect shape of wheels. In less than a minute, the pumpkin had shifted into a sparkling blue carriage, unlike a pumpkin in everything but its silhouette.

He brought a hand to his lips. It seemed the sort of thing to come straight out of a fairy tale storybook! Moonlight sparkled in the carriage’s golden accents, joined by the silver glow of the small, crystal lamp that served as its guide light, so beautiful and bright it looked like a dream. It felt like a dream — but it was right there before his eyes. Patton couldn’t help but giggle, and it was as if all the enthusiasm he’d lost throughout the evening came rushing back to him in a flurry. 

“Oh, oh that’s beautiful!”

“Well, it is my work, after all,” Dee circled around his shepherd’s crook, a smirk on his lips. “Now, there’s only one detail missing. How about we fix up your suit, hm?”

Patton nodded fervently, which earned him a chuckle from Deceit, who reached for the little box tucked under his arm. Patton let him take it.

“Although, if you don’t mind,” Dee said, as he unwrapped the necklace and handed the box back to Patton. “I’ll make a few… modifications — nothing that’d clash with your vision, of course.”

Closing his palm around the jewel, Deceit pressed it to his chest and his eyes began to glow. Now, Patton had never really understood the spells Dee muttered when casting a glamour, but he certainly recognized these were… different. Some words were familiar, yes, but others didn’t match any he’d ever heard! When Deceit was finished, he beckoned Patton closer, fixing the necklace over Patton’s neck and letting the citrine pendant settle against his throat.

“Dí laothani,” Dee said, tying the cord into a knot, and as soon as he uttered those words, what could only be described as pure, sparkling magic flooded Patton’s senses — unlike anything he’d felt with the glamour before. He gasped and stumbled back, vision filled with colorful sparks.

Ribbons of glowing, glittering light coiled around his body, and it was as if a million stars spun all around him. His skin tingled with the effect of the glamour, as it threaded its way across his features, casting the illusion of fae. Jaq squeaked next to him, and when he glanced over to them, they’d been lifted right off his shoulder, squirming as they floated in a bubble of magic. All that light shifted into swathes and swathes of fabric, weaving together and pinning into place. The light blue of his original suit had been tinged in a sheen of silver, shimmering. Lace and delicate crystal drops added the final touch to his collar and shoulders. When Patton stretched out his hand, a satin white glove crept up to his wrist, the same on the other side.

Patches of cloth floated up and skipped in circles around him, followed by a trail of string, and when he caught a proper glimpse, he recognized, in silver thread, his own embroidery. Stars, skies, flowers, and vines. They fastened to his torso, stitching together in panels to form his waistcoat. His bright blue sash, the one he’d been working on that day, tied itself around his waist. Perfectly tailored trousers draped over his legs and braided cords linked each crystal button of his coat. Patton clapped, unable to contain his delight, and in a swirl of motion his jacket stretched and fanned out behind him like a silver cape.

He spun, giggling and so, so happy it felt like he’d burst with joy — the train of his jacket danced right along with him, in a big show of sparkling magic. When his feet hit the ground again, his worn-down shoes transformed into white leather button boots, with low heels made of glass, which were surprisingly sturdy, too. A cravat wrapped around his neck, and Jaq was safely lowered back onto his shoulder. Patton twirled again, smiling so wide his cheeks ached.

“You look stunning, mhi-naistdh,” Deceit said, a fond look in his eyes as he leaned against his staff. “Just one more thing.”

He drew something from under his cloak, and carefully, he clipped it onto the lapel of Patton’s jacket. A long white feather, with a small blue jewel glued to its quill.

“A boutonniere,” Patton whispered. He tugged at the cuff of his sleeves, feeling the intricate lace under his fingertips. “This is like a dream come true.” 

“Yes, but like all dreams, I’m afraid it cannot last forever,” Dee said, “I’ll only be able to hold this spell for a few hours — at the last stroke of midnight, it’ll begin to fade away. Not the fae glamour, but the rest of the illusion, including the one that’ll keep her eyes away from you, so be careful. Your necklace will glow when it’s time.”

“Alright,” Patton said, “I can deal with that, I think.”

“Wonderful,” Dee walked up behind him and began to nudge him in the carriage’s direction. Patton laughed, but let the other guide him to the door, “Well, go on, then! You don’t want to be too late, do you?”

Patton opened the door and stepped inside, glancing back at him. “You know, I can’t exactly drive myself there, Dee.”

“Hm. You’re right,” Deceit muttered, perking up when Jaq suddenly chirped. “What was that, little mouse?”

Patton snorted as he watched Dee cup a hand around his ear and lean closer to hear Jaq “speak”. Deceit hummed as if sincerely considering their contribution.

When he looked back at Patton, he smirked. “How do you feel about adding a little more magic to this evening, mhi-naistdh?”

-

Song of the chapter: Suffering by Amélie Farren

The breeze still carried a touch of winter in it, but the sun, as bright as ever, warmed his skin. He fixed the handkerchief over his head and grinned, unable to hide his giddiness as he watched over the yard. Oh, how he’d looked forward to this.

The morning of the second day of spring — very specific, he knew, but dear to him anyway. The quiet freedom and the lovely weather, together, made for the most peaceful hours of the year. Patton would make the most of this little moment while it lasted. He had stayed cooped up in the manor for way too long — but if seeing this came at the end of it, he guessed he could deal with it.

The seasons changed in Fairyland as they might’ve anywhere else, but a little bit of magic went a long way. Some things came gradually, of course, like the thawing of snow and the adorable little critters that had just begun to leave their burrows, but others came more as a burst of colors in the equinox. You wouldn’t miss it even if you didn’t have the date marked. Flowers already sprouted in between the tiles and bricks in the walls, and they bloomed high in the yard, too, wildflowers bridging the way from the garden to the trees.

Everything just… glowed. And for a moment Patton could imagine running off, losing himself in colorful fields and just living.

He tapped his fingers against the banister of the railing, smoothing out the wood-carved details with his touch, and closed his eyes. For a moment he let himself walk into that fantasy, of wind in his hair and grass under his feet. And then he reeled himself back in, stepping away from the porch with a small smile. Patton knocked at the door first, then entered.

…Lively would never really be a word he’d use to describe the manor, but it did look better already. With spring sunshine streaming through the windows, even the patterned furniture didn’t look so stuffy. Patton made to step into the common room, but before he could, a small carpet unrolled itself in front of him. Sheepishly, he toed the dirt off his shoes on it and then lightly patted the doorway as acknowledgment.

It would do no good to track muck into the house, he was the one who’d have to clean it all over again after!

Now properly inside, Patton’s eyes flitted over the room. Maybe he should… check, yes, if everything was in order. His gaze fell to the floor, not a speck of dust showed in the dark wooden boards. Check. All vases were upright and watered. Check. And the shelves and books were as neat as ever… there was nothing he really needed to do, was there? He fidgeted with the edge of his apron for a moment, then gingerly pulled out a chair from the dining table and sat, to calm his nerves.

C’mon Patton, he chastised himself, there’s no need to be so nervous, you spent an entire winter making sure of that!

That was right, being completely and utterly stuck inside the house during a whole season gave you quite a lot of free time, and most of it — when not spent crafting or reading the few books he had — Patton used to leave every inch of the manor as pristine and proper as he could. More so her arrival would go smoothly — he’d hate to start spring off on the wrong foot! Besides, it did help distract him, especially from that dreadful freezing weather, no mind the snowstorms.

Patton shifted in his seat. Maybe he shouldn’t speak so ill of winter. It was cold, yes, but he was lucky enough to have a good fireplace, and the snow never crept inside the house, even in the heaviest storms! His clothes were far too thin for him to leave the manor, but he could see, from the window, the snowflakes and how delicately they framed the hills in white.

…Patton was alone in the manor, during the winter. And, for a month or two, he felt like he could breathe again. The floorboards could creak under his feet and he wouldn’t worry a bit, and he could hog the heavy blankets, put honey on his milk, sing a wordless little tune without any criticism. He could even visit the garden on warmer nights, and just sit there, moonlight on his hair.

But, when he spoke, his words would echo back at him from empty halls. And when he lay down to sleep in his cot, he wondered if that was all there would be for him. No one came to pull him out of the darkness with demanding hands, and he should be grateful for that, but the warmth behind them left a want in his heart that Patton could not understand.

He had been born in the wintertime, and a small part of him sometimes worried about what that could mean. But that was only the way of the fae getting to his head, Patton supposed, a thing like that wouldn’t matter to a human. His mom had always declared it a wonderful season, as she bundled him up in coats. Maybe she had been right, but for the past 7 years, it had been nothing but maddeningly, achingly lonely for him.

He wished she were there to argue for it.

Rustling from the doorway tore Patton away from his thoughts; a creak of the door’s hinges broke through the manor’s still silence. A delighted croon soon followed and his fingers curled tighter around the chair’s armrest. He quickly stood, straightening the folds in his apron.

The Faerie walked in with her chin held high. Small sprouts bloomed behind her steps as she strolled into the room. Her dress flowed with her movements — green fabric folded and pinned in place by brooches and belts, a style of gown Patton had only seen on her, older than he could pinpoint. She looked over the manor with a bored expression; in her gaze was the sense that she’d seen many, many things before, and you wouldn’t impress her.

But then her eyes fell on Patton and widened with a spark. The Faerie pulled back her cloak to reveal her long, golden hair, while a grin split across her face, as sharp as her features. He held back a flinch.

“Oh, there you are, dear,” she cooed, swiftly moving to cup Patton’s chin and lightly squeeze his cheeks with her fingers. She turned his head this way and that, then dropped her hand, instead taking his arm and leading him into a spin. He nearly tripped. “You have grown, have you not? You were tinier before, I’m sure.”

Patton hadn’t grown an inch since he was 16. A chuckle fell from his lips, strained, as she pulled him closer. The Faerie didn’t say anything else as she stared at him, eyes gleaming with interest as if he were a shiny new thing. She dragged a finger over the shell of his ear, perfectly rounded, unlike hers. Patton almost shuddered.

She always acted like this after she overwintered, like the little human in her house was the most novel thing she’d ever seen. No use fighting it, really; he’d lose her interest in a month or two. She trailed her hand back to his face and her thumb skimmed over his cheekbone. Patton’s eyes fell shut as he pressed closer to the warmth of her palm.

Finally, she let go. Stepping back from him, her gaze flitted through every corner of the room. He swallowed, wringing his hands.

“You have done an adequate job tending to the manor,” The Faerie nodded, “Though, I notice the fireplace has yet to be cleaned…”

In a second, panic swelled in his chest. “I’m sorry, miss, I-”

She shushed him, smiling as if she enjoyed seeing him fumble. Patton clicked his mouth shut.

“It is quite alright, dear, you’ll get to it soon enough, won’t you?”

He cast his eyes down as he nodded, silent. A hand tapped his shoulder.

“But first, won’t you fetch me a cup of tea? The Spring Equinox Festival has left me just completely exhausted.”

You’ve slept for an entire season, Patton thought, a little spitefully, but squeaked out a meek “Yes, miss,” and made his way to the kitchen. He made her tea — a floral blend, as usual — and wondered, when had it become second nature to just slot back into this routine.

He carefully balanced the tea tray as he shuffled back into the common room. The Faerie waited for Patton in her armchair. Hands folded over her lap, she sat perfectly poised, her feet crossed at the ankles. After he poured her a cup, she took it from him with little acknowledgment.

She sipped from it slowly. Patton stood off to the side. He hadn’t been dismissed yet. Minutes dragged and he began to tap his foot.

After finishing her tea, The Faerie swirled her teacup around, eyes trained on the dried flowers left at the bottom. “I foresee a change coming soon to the kingdom, don’t you?”

Patton held back a sigh. “I don’t know of these things, miss.”

“Of course you don't, dear,” she chuckled, shaking her head in that way of hers that never failed to make him feel so terribly small. “Oh, but I do so hope I'm right. The gentry have become so… incompetent.”

Taking the teacup from her, Patton hummed and set the tray aside on the accent table. He prepared himself for the incoming rant.

“Of course, I don’t know what I expected of the princelet’s little celebration. I’ve tried to play their games and acquiesce to their formalities, and where has it gotten me? Nowhere: dreadfully forgotten as always. I cannot believe the control those fools have over the kingdom, they know nothing of the strength of the courts and nothing of power.”

“You could always try to reason with them come next revel,” Patton suggested, keeping his voice light. He didn’t know what he thought he’d get out of it. Most of their “conversations” were firmly one-sided.

The Faerie laughed, not even deeming him with an answer, as if his suggestion had been nothing short of ridiculous. Patton’s ears burned and he looked away. He really shouldn’t let that get to him, and yet.

Her laughter was cut off abruptly, and her gaze narrowed on the table. She leaned down to look under it and, before she could see it or catch it, a little mouse scurried past the leg of the table. Patton’s eyes widened, and almost on instinct, he snatched the poor creature off the floor and dropped it into his pouch.

The Faerie lifted her head, staring at him. “There was a pest here.”

Patton gulped, shoulders tensing. He smiled the best he could. “I must’ve missed it, miss.”

The little mouse squirmed in his pouch, no doubt unhappy with its situation — but in all honesty, Patton had just saved it. The Faerie kept the household under her strict control, and you had better believe that extended to the critters that occasionally found their way in. She hated them. Patton petted his pouch gently, as that’d comfort it.

The Faerie kept him pinned by eye contact for a few more seconds, then her lips curled in a smile as soft as it was unnerving. 

“Won’t you come here, dear?” she said, words dipped in honey.

Patton shuffled towards the edge of the seat. She waved him closer, then took the strap of his apron with her fingers. She ran her thumb over the worn-down cloth.

“Your clothes are all run ragged,” she said, “I’ve brought you some fabric. Yellow, your favorite, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t.

“You’ll have to mend them, of course,” she cooed, reaching out to cup his cheek. “But that won’t be a problem, will it? You’re no master, but you are remarkably talented for a little human. You’ve picked up sewing faster than most saplings would.”

Her hand trailed down to his neck, nails skimming over the skin there. Patton nearly shivered. “In fact, I’ve found some of your thread and half-finished pieces. You’ve been doing embroidery, no?” She leaned closer, close enough to whisper into his ear. There was a chilling calmness in her voice that raised the hair on Patton’s arms. “I’ve never taught you that.”

“M-miss, I-”

She chuckled and it echoed hollow around them. “It’s quite alright, I imagine you must’ve picked it up from a book in my study, isn’t that so?”

Patton nodded, thankful for the out, but confused as to why she’d give him that. Her long nails pressed more firmly against the nape of his neck. “Why, you’d never hide something of the sort from me, would you? Otherwise—”

Her eyes narrowed. The mouse squirmed again in the pouch. Patton felt it against his hip. His throat was dry. He didn’t need the reminder, that he was just as trapped as it was.

“—I’d be very cross indeed, Patton.”

His chest ached as soon his name slipped from her lips, like a string tied taut around his heart had just been pulled. He curled his arms around himself with a near whine, chancing a glance at her.

The Faerie gave him a smile, one that might’ve been perfectly pleasant on anyone else. She moved her hand to his hair, running her fingers through the messy locks until she reached the back of his head, where it had been bluntly clipped by dull scissors.

“You’ve cut your hair again,” she murmured, disappointed. “Why don’t you grow it out?”

Patton let out a shaky breath before answering. “It gets in the way, miss—”

“You should let it grow,” she twisted a strand around, continuing. “It is truly novel that time alone could dictate your appearance. It is incredibly remarkable, incredibly human, that change comes after you, wanted or not.”

She then patted the top of Patton’s head, and he nearly followed the touch. The ache in his chest faded, the strings loose but not untied. The Faerie stood from her armchair.

“No matter, I will leave you to your work. The garden needs tending to, it is my season after all. I shall see you later, dear.”

Patton watched as she left, then sighed. He picked up his broom, set aside against the wall. No time to dawdle, he guessed. His fingers tightened around the wooden handle.

The winter hadn’t quite left him after all.

—♡—

Moonlight fell around him and spilled from the open window, bright enough to lighten the room if only a little, and to reflect off the newly-dusted furniture. Patton swiftly untied the knot at the back of his apron, before slipping it off and hanging it over the rickety chair near the fireplace.

He hadn’t had much to do today — well, less than he usually did, at least. He undid his kerchief as well, using it to dab the sweat off his forehead. It didn’t mean he wasn’t tired, though.

From the corner of his eye, a blur of movement passed through the bookshelf followed by loud tip-tapping over wood. Patton dropped his handkerchief over his apron and approached the shelf, leaning over it to inspect. He reached for a book and pushed it aside, blinking when that revealed the little intruder. A tiny mouse, the one from earlier! With the same brown spots and beady black eyes. It cowered away from him, skittering backward, and Patton felt a pang of guilt at that.

“Aw, I’m sorry I grabbed you like that earlier, little guy,” Patton whispered. “But you have to be more careful, you’d be in for a world of trouble if she saw you out and about.”

The mouse’s nose twitched and it slowly walked away from its hiding spot. It butted its head against Patton’s hand and Patton giggled at how cute it was.

But, suddenly, the little critter backed away and ran through the shelf, leaping from it and landing on the chair, making it creak loudly. Patton’s eyes widened and before he could reach for the mouse, it took his handkerchief by its teeth and scurried away.

“Hey!” Patton said, following behind it. He scampered after it through the common room, until it took a sharp turn around the corner. The little mouse squeaked as it stopped just under the stairwell as if it was waiting for Patton.

“You—!” he said, out of breath, as he reached the stairway. He put a hand on his hip. “You gave me quite the run, little guy, please don’t do that again—”

His gaze fell on the spot where the mouse stood. Its paws planted over a small door, almost hidden by the shadows. …A door Patton knew quite well.

“Oh,” he said, straightening up, “You… wanted to bring me here?”

The mouse wiggled its head in an almost nod. Patton bent down, holding his head as he slipped into the space under the stairs. He glanced at the door. It was late, but not so late yet, and normally, he’d wait until it was well into the night, when he was sure he’d be alone. He bit his lip. He really should go to sleep, rest the little he could, but… the day weighed heavy on him, and right then, nothing seemed better than getting to float away in his own little corner for a bit.

“Alright,” Patton sighed as he kneeled down, watching as the mouse jumped up excitedly and chirped. The corner of his lips turned up at the sight. He reached for the small handle, turning the knob, and with only a click, the door opened for him effortlessly. Though he was fairly sure it must’ve been locked before, pins in place and everything, it always opened for him anyway — as it did when he first found it. Murmuring a quick “thank you”, he peered inside.

It was quite dark in the crawlspace — you could barely see a thing, so Patton pulled a little flask out of his pouch. He shook it, once, twice, until the crystal inside it hit the glass hard and began to glow, bathing their surroundings in a soft, bluish light.

With that, the little mouse jumped into the burrow, swerving around the fabric and thread Patton kept there. Most of them he'd worked on himself, stitching them into garments or embroidering them with delicate patterns of silver. Patton watched, amused, as it sniffed at the trinkets and traded goods he'd collected over the years — jewels and coins, glasses and flasks of all shapes and sizes, drops of sunlight glowing in tiny jars, little silver boxes that glinted off the blue light. He even had a few charms lying around that, although he didn’t know how to use them, would be quite valuable to a faerie!

Finally, the critter announced with a squeak that it had found what it looked for. It circled a little wooden chest, before trying to climb it the best it could. Patton giggled.

“You're such a curious little thing, hm?” he said, reaching for the chest. He smoothed his thumb over the lid, tracing a well-worn path over the wood. He smiled and opened the latch.

Inside gleamed a patchwork collection of familiar knickknacks, from unique inventions to beautiful, ornate jewelry– whatever could have fit in a box at the time. His eyes flitted towards the mirror fixed right under the box’s lid and he caught his reflection. His bent wire-framed glasses slipped over the bridge of his nose and cinders from the fireplace smudged over his cheeks.

His hand hovered over the box, fingers curling back into his palm. Ashes — he’d found — stuck to you insistently, in hair, clothes, and skin, so he supposed he couldn't be too precious over it. Still, he hated to dirty something that mattered so much to him. The last things he could remember the human world by. All he had.

He hadn’t known all of them before, though by now, he’d committed them to memory with his touch alone. Those came as one last gift to him, gemstone-trimmed bracelets and necklaces that would’ve fit better around his mom’s neck. But others, oh, he’d never forget them. The tight hugs his dad would give him returning from a weeks-long trip and the way his hands would cup Patton’s little ones and slip a new ingenious gadget into them. How he’d gather Patton into his arms and teach him how to use them, how they worked.

The memory won over Patton’s hesitations and he sifted through the box, pulling out a pocket watch and a compass. So delicately made, even the tiniest details engraved in metal. He wrapped the pocket watch’s chain around his fingers, feeling the weight of it in his hand before slipping it into his pocket. It could be useful, even if it didn’t track the time quite right. He was in Fairyland after all — nothing ever worked quite right.

Patton sighed at the thought and tucked the compass back into its place, over the velveteen fabric that lined the box. He looked at it for a moment longer, then closed the lid. Quite a collection, indeed. He wondered, did his dad know they would bring him such comfort? He packed them for him, before Patton was whisked away. Maybe that was how his dad wished for him to remember his home.

He knew his father had been the one to strike the deal. Maybe far before Patton was born. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, let that paint over his memories in grief. Maybe it was naive of him, but that was something he learned to accept he wouldn’t ever understand, and he’d never get the chance to. But he did remember. The tender words that wrapped blankets around his heart on fearful nights, how warm his father’s hands were as he tucked Patton into bed and kissed his forehead, the lessons and games in the garden. That was enough for him.

Slipping his fingers under a loose tile, Patton knocked it away and revealed the tiny teal box stashed right under it. From it, he drew out a silver ring, one he kept as safely hidden as he could. It had no jewels or fancy engravings, but to him, it was the most special ring he’d ever had. He slipped it onto his finger, and another memory followed as the metal slid over his skin. Patton closed his hands over each other, bringing them close to his chest.

He'd been so worried as father packed for another trip, fearful that if he let him go, he would be gone too. His dad had simply kneeled in front of him, a kind smile on his face.

“It’s been difficult for all of us, I know, but I promise I will be right by you, my little bird, just as your mother,” he’d said, as he slipped the ring onto Patton’s hand. It had been much too large, at that time, but he grew into it. “Please, just remember — have courage and be kind, and you’ll get through any challenge.”

Patton couldn’t forget it, it was all that had kept him going — past the darkness and the cold. He’d come to, every morning, and he’d remind himself that if only he could be a little brave and kind, things would turn out okay in the end. Then he’d draw the blinds open to let the first streaks of sunlight fill the attic and he’d face the day with a smile. So, yes, he’d hoard all the good memories, keep them cradled close to his chest where they warmed his heart like red embers in a fireplace. He knew what his father had done. It didn’t matter, not to him.

Something bumped against Patton’s thigh. Startled out of his thoughts, he glanced over to find the little mouse staring up at him, the blue ribbon from the box wrapped around its paws. Patton softened.

“You really are trying to cheer me up…” he chuckled faintly, as he took the ribbon, the fabric a smooth satin over his palm. “That was my mom’s, you know?”

A warm feeling bloomed inside him just at the sight of it. He let the ribbon flow down his fingers. Silver thread embroidered vines and flowers down its length, tiny little robins in branches nested in the hems. It had taken a long time to make, but his mom never seemed to mind. Every stitch, every torn piece of string, brought with it a story, told from her armchair as she so diligently worked on it. Patton would always listen, curled up right next to her.

Tales of magic and fantasy, of valiant princes and dragons. Fairies. He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. Oh, he’d loved those the most when he was little, to run barefoot through his garden, wishing he’d walk into a new world where the sun shined different. His mom would come with him, hold his hand and her voice alone could make him believe in it.

It was real, of course. Patton knew that now. He sighed, curling his hand over the ribbon. How ironic, he was stranded in a world mapped out of his dreams, living among mysterious, ethereal creatures, and yet he felt as puny as a tiny mouse. He glanced at his little friend — it seemed focused, playing with a strip of fabric on the ground. He took it and wrapped it around its neck, like a little scarf. The mouse didn’t seem bothered; it nuzzled right against his palm.

“I really ought to name you,” Patton whispered. “… Bernard? No, I don’t like that…”

“Hmm…” He leaned onto his elbow, thinking. “How about… Jackson? Jaq for short?”

Suddenly, the mouse squeaked loudly, jumping up in delight. Patton blinked, then grinned. “Jaq it is!”

Jaq nuzzled against him again and Patton giggled in response. What a strange little mouse! Despite it all, every now and then Patton came across these sort of ordinary little things that were still magical to him. He had to; he couldn’t let himself become afraid of wonder. Because, as it was, he still dreamed as he did many years ago, dreamed of adventure and something more. More than the strings that tied him there. Patton couldn’t keep himself idle in the face of that. So, each and every day, he’d seek out these little things and find the magic for himself — make it if he had to. He’d work and he’d hope, wish with all his heart that things would end up alright, and they would.

Patton wound the ribbon into a little pile and tucked it back in the box, along with the ring. Gently, he lowered it into the floor, covering it with the tile. He put his things back into place, before taking a yellow-patched bag from the back of the crawlspace. He smiled as Jaq skipped out of the burrow, and then he closed the small door, hearing it lock into place with no key.

He’d find his way out, no matter how long it took him.

—♡—

The manor was always at its quietest deep into the night, when his steps would echo down the stairway and there'd be no one there to hear them.

If he timed it right, it made for the perfect opportunity to sneak out, if only for a few hours.

Patton tugged at the piece of thread he’d tied to the lock, then tucked it carefully beside the window frame. It looked near invisible, were you not searching for it, but a little pull at it could let him back in easily. He let the window slide shut, and slinked his way to the ground, feet falling into the grass with only a soft thud. With one hand, he pulled his cloak over his head and then made his way over to the edges of the garden, where they kept the fences and the flowers — not before sneaking one last cautious glance at the manor.

Never hurt to check, Patton thought, though he’d heard The Faerie leave while he feigned sleep.

Ducking under the fence, he slipped into the shadows where the hedges blended with the forest and disappeared into the treeline. Patton pulled the yellow-patched bag closer to his chest, keeping it safe as he swerved through bushes and vines. The trees only grew higher and higher above him the further he got into the woods, hiding him from the stars. Leaves, silver and blue, glittered and danced with the wind from up in the branches like a replacement. He huffed out a laugh when one of them fell right on top of his head, and shook it off.

Almost as if it was second nature, he followed the worn stone paths under his feet, rocks that crumbled with time and weary use, and made his way through the forest. He took a sharp turn near a mushroom-ridden log, then two more turns left, one after the other. If he strained his ears, he could already hear the stream of water that lapped at the river bank.

A sudden, cracking noise made Patton freeze. He stepped back instinctively, only to find it had been just a stick he’d stepped on.

As far as he knew. Patton bit his lip. The night shrouded the way — he could see little more than the light and the dark. Just about anything could be hiding under the forest floor and he’d have no clue… He huddled further into his cloak as he carried on. Small sparks of magic glowed around him, brighter as he neared the heart of the woods, but it still wasn’t quite enough to dissuade his worries. He could always shake on a flask-light to be sure… but the risk of being caught wouldn’t be worth it.

A stray blade of tall grass dragged across his ankle, scraping at his skin in the same way it did the time he had run, and the wind still swept over him with a promise of freedom. Following it once only left him tied in tighter strings. The thought of it made him shiver. Yes, he’d rather try his luck with the dark.

Patton shook his head, taking a turn behind an oak tree and skipping into a new trail, this one made by his own feet. He really needed to get his nerves in order. Winter was over, and he hadn’t been outdoors in so long — he should be happy! He’d taken this path before, it wasn’t dangerous, he couldn’t let silly little worries like that bring his mood down. He nodded, to reassure himself, if anything, and kept on going, ducking under branches until he could peek out the treeline and find the night sky again. Patton allowed himself a small smile. Especially when sights like these awaited him.

Moonlight bounced around the glade, rippling through the water and making the lake’s surface shimmer like stardust. He wandered into the clearing, watching with awe as even the bugs glowed! Fireflies, like shifting constellations, flew circles all over the pond and the trees. He sat down by a rock to wait, taking it all in. The trek here wasn’t all pleasant, no, but it was worth it. Patton pulled his bag into his lap, fidgeting with the strap. And if the time was right, he should arrive soon.

A rustling of leaves drew his gaze towards the trees, from where a dark-cloaked figure stepped out. Now, speak of the devil… Patton stood up quickly to wave the man over. A large-brimmed hat covered his face in shadow, but emerald-green scales shimmered where a sliver of light hit them — from the left side of his temple to the bottom of his jaw. The faerie’s golden serpent’s eye narrowed at Patton, something like amusement, and he sauntered over towards him, fingers clicking against his shepherd’s crook.

“Dee!” Patton called out, grinning wide as he approached.

“My, my, what an enthusiastic greeting,” he drawled, a smirk on his lips. “Why, it’s almost as if you haven’t seen me all season.”

“I haven’t.” Patton chuckled, rolling his eyes.

“Now, are you quite sure?” he said, slithering a circle around Patton with the shepherd’s crook. He waved his hand around with a smile, not a drop coy. “See, I was under the impression humans grew as they aged, yet you remain as small as ever. I must be mistaken, surely, how could that much time have passed?”

Patton snorted, crossing his arms. The other knew very well how humans worked, Dee just couldn’t lose an opportunity to tease him. Patton didn’t know how a faerie could say things like that without getting tongue-tied — although the man did have a reputation for twisting words like braided thread, enough to earn him an alias out of it.

“Deceit!”

Dee chuckled in response, raising a single hand in surrender.

“Very well, very well,” he said, leaning over his cane to peer at Patton, with that narrowed-eye look he thought was so mysterious. Patton stifled a laugh, staring back up at him. He was far past being tricked by that impression of aloofness. Anyone who knew Dee well enough knew he was about as soft as cotton candy, no matter how much he’d resent you saying it.

A beat later, Deceit smirked, bringing a hand to his own cheek in a mock-wiping gesture. “You’ve done your moniker justice today, Cinders.”

Patton blinked. Sheepishly, he tried to rub the ashes off his face, with little luck.

“Ah, she had me clean the fireplace again.”

Deceit paused, at that. His smug expression fell into that pinched look he’d always gotten whenever Patton mentioned The Faerie. Patton couldn’t quite place it, even now. Deceit tapped his staff against the ground.

“I see,” he said, softer. He sighed, averting his eyes. “I assume you’ve brought something for me, today?”

He let Dee change the topic and nodded, throwing the yellow patched bag over his shoulder and reaching inside.

“These pieces were inspired by something a little more personal, this time, I hope you don’t mind,” he said casually, handing Deceit a square piece of yellow fabric.

The other took it, inspecting it carefully. He smoothed his thumb over the embroidered thread, shaped into a small bird cradled into the coils of a serpent. Held, not squeezed.

“A snake,” he commented, a smile pulling at his lips. “What a cruel muse.”

Patton smiled back, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I wouldn’t say cruel.”

“Well, I see your craftsmanship improves by the day,” Deceit said, as he folded the patch of cloth and slipped it into his jacket. “You’ve had time to practice, haven’t you?”

“Far too much,” he shook his head, laughing. “I don’t think I’ll ever see a needle the same way again.”

“And your… collection?”

“It’s not ready,” Patton fiddled with the stitching on his sleeve. “Yet,” he added.

Deceit tilted his head. “Wishing for good things this spring?”

“Always.”

“The wild folk at the market will be clamoring over your work,” he gestured to his suit pocket. “If you’ve kept up this quality.”

“I sure hope so!” Patton said, pulling up his bag to show Deceit his newest pieces, the ones he hadn’t made for him. “If all goes well, I’ll be able to get some good trades today.”

Deceit sifted through them, as if analyzing each and every stitch. “Beautiful,” the faerie murmured. “I have no doubt you will. With your skill, you could land an apprenticeship with the best weavers of the courts, if you wished to.”

Silence trailed behind his words, hanging over them both for one heavy moment. Patton looked to the ground. He couldn’t afford to imagine how it would be after this was over. Not until it was over.

“I know,” he finally said, and smiled, strained, as he reached underneath his cloak to unclasp his necklace. “But it’s not something I can have.”

Deceit looked at him, worried and full of sympathy, before he accepted the small citrine pendant into his palm. He knew it too, just as well as Patton did. He closed his hand over the jewel and pressed it to his chest, every bit as resigned.

Then, his eyes began to simmer with a yellow glow, both of them, and spells — words and phrases Patton could not recognize — poured from his lips. When he splayed his hand open again, wisps of lights whirled around the crystal and settled on its surface.

“Dí aimshni,” Dee said, and his words tied their deal as a ribbon around them both. He handed the necklace back to Patton, who felt as the magic sunk into his skin.

“It is done,” he repeated — this phrase, he knew. Deceit nodded, circling around him to walk away, but not before settling a hand on Patton’s shoulder. He leaned in close.

“The glamour should last you until the full moon reaches the sky again,” he whispered. “Change is coming, please be safe, mhi-naistdh.”

When Patton turned back around, Deceit was gone — as the breeze that settled over the clearing. The magic under that name lingered over him as it always did when Dee used it, warm and comforting as a quilted blanket, though he had yet to figure out what it meant.

He padded over to the lake, kneeling down to peek into the water as he fixed the necklace around his throat. Strings of yellow light seeped out of the pendant as it touched his skin, coiling around him. He shut his eyes, and when he opened them back up, the pond greeted him with a shifted reflection. Starry-silver freckles dotted his cheeks where once was soot, gold thread mixed into his messy strands of caramel hair, and when Patton touched the tips of his ears they were pointed, faerie-like. He smiled, pulling down the hood of his cloak as he stood, and sauntered out of the glade.

The forest shone much brighter with each step closer to the market, with the glow of enchantments and the fae who’d gathered for trading and conversation. After this first meeting, the woods were always much easier to navigate, he didn’t have to walk all that far to reach it. It was a small but significant affair, faeries of all kinds huddled over stalls and makeshift tables, sitting on wood stumps as their chatter echoed around the trees. The wild fae — who didn’t live by the gentry’s rules or bothered with the stifling air of revels. The ones who lived as free as the water that coursed through the creek.

Patton greeted a few familiar faces as he walked to his usual spot — and easily, he fell into chit-chat. He knew, of course, that the folk could be as dangerous as a waterfall, but like this, with the glamour, he felt… less nervous. He couldn’t rely on just favor, whether good or bad. And he never looked for trouble, still, but knowing they saw him as one of them when they talked to him, well, it sure made interacting with them much less nerve-wracking!

Patton readied his booth — improvised from a wooden cart and panels he hefted into place, but it served him well. He attended to the customers who’d ordered repairs and stitch jobs first and then began to splay out his pieces on the counter. Fae came and went by his little shop, throughout an hour or two, sometimes just to trade, sometimes staying for a conversation. Then, the market hit a lull in activity, but Patton didn’t mind a bit of a quiet moment.

He leaned onto his elbows and stared up at the sky from under his booth — by this hour, it was a tapestry of silver against black. Though the stars seemed… blurrier than usual. Patton slipped off his glasses and wrinkled his nose when he saw the lenses, smudged all over and foggy. He really ought to clean them more often. Setting the glasses by the counter, he turned to the back of his stall to search for a cloth.

Among his materials, he found an unused patch of fabric inside his sewing pouch that’d work fine for the job. Though, as he took it, he caught a glimpse of the box he hid under the booth — where he kept the trinkets he’d bartered for. Patton blinked. It was already much fuller now than it had been when he first arrived. Coins, jewels, and finery nearly reached the lid!

He kneeled down to touch it, rummaging through its contents, and he smiled. All of it, all of his collection, it had a purpose. Something he’d worked towards for years. He would convince The Faerie to trade his name back. It sounded foolish, he knew, it'd be a hard bargain to drive, and stars above maybe it'd take long, but until then, he’d gather all he could until she had no choice but to accept his offer.

Gently, he closed the box and pushed it further under the counter. At least he hoped she would.

And if things worked out as Patton hoped, that’d be sooner rather than later.

-

Song of the chapter: Echo Of My Shadow by AURORA

There once was a young couple, who wrote of their starstruck love in inks and parchment, a back and forth of letters that carried in each seal a piece of their hearts. A traveling merchant with tales from every pin in his map, and a seamstress who weaved dreams and fantasies into stories for anyone who’d hear; Vincent Holloway and Adelaide Bellamy were a perfect match in every possible way. Their correspondence eventually gave way to dinners and walks in the gardens, and not long after that, their union was arranged. They chose the date — a day in late spring, as soon as the groom returned from one of his trips.

Just a month before that, however, tragedy struck. By the time the news reached him, penned in another letter, there was nothing they could do. Adelaide had fallen ill, and as the days passed her condition only worsened.

Wracked with grief, Vincent cut his travels short and rushed back home to be by her side. However, during the trip to the estate, as he crossed the dark and curling woods, he saw something he’d never be able to describe. An ethereal figure, with golden hair made of spun sunlight that stretched as far as her limbs went, and a silhouette as sharp as glass shards. The Faerie saw the sorrow in his eyes, the anguish in his heart, and she answered. She offered him a deal: his love would pull through, and when it came time, she’d take their first-born. He was hesitant, for a moment, but it didn't take long for him to fold. He shook her hand. After all, wasn’t that fate easily avoided by a conversation? Surely their families would be disappointed by the lack of heirs, but Adelaide would believe him, that he knew for certain.

What Vincent Holloway didn’t know, however, was just how true all the stories were. That all the tales written in long times past  had a hint of fact in them.

You rarely outsmarted the fae, as a human.

The Faerie had no interest in playing fair, now, why would she? With a wave of her hand and unfamiliar words on her tongue, she cast a spell, one made of wind and sparkling blue wildflowers, and with it she cast away any memory of this encounter from his mind. He stumbled back to the estate, addled by hazy, confusing visions, only to find that his beloved Adelaide had made a miraculous recovery. They got married not too long after — a beautiful, elegant affair.

A year later, a child of light and sweet laughter was born.

It didn’t happen right away, perhaps that was the cruelest part of it. The child, lovingly named ‘Patton’ by his mother, grew up surrounded by joy and care. His father, though always on the move, never once forgot to tell him all about his travels, and with each trip, he brought gifts, marvels of all sorts. His mother was impossibly kind, and she’d spend long afternoons playing with him, spinning the fairy tales he loved to hear so much. For years, they lived in a bubble of their own happiness — just the three of them.

However, as they say, nothing can last forever, and grief cast its shadows over the Holloways' lives once more. The accident happened when Patton had just turned 9, and in her second brush with death, his mother wasn’t quite so lucky. The estate was awfully empty, with just his father and him. Still, they honored her memory every day. They took care of each other the best they could, and though it could never be the same, life moved on without regard for such things. Time ticked by, and three years passed with only wisps of her in their minds.

Patton was 12 years old, when his father remembered. He saw it in a glimpse, forget-me-nots pinned by a mint green ribbon to the windowsill.

It had been far too late.

And so, with only the clothes on his back and a small velvet box hastily pressed into his hands, Patton was whisked away by a faerie with a smile as bright as the sun.

In a swirl of color, she brought him to a world unlike anything he’d ever seen before, painted in glittering silver and deep dark blue. The Faerie had been sweet to him as they walked under twisted trees, and her voice was soft as clouds, tinged by a tone that tugged at his heart, as she asked him:

“May I have your name, dear?”

Patton didn’t understand — so he answered.

The first year was a dizzying blur of endless games, long rolling fields and braids in his hair, laughter so raucous it was tinted in despair. The details escaped him, and whenever Patton tried to recall them, it was all hazy — save for the feelings, which he still heard in echoes of his heart. A happiness that shoved its way up his throat, intense and overwhelming enough that he could’ve choked in it. That daze faded, of course it did, he was bound to lose the novelty eventually. Still, The Faerie wasn’t willing to simply discard him. It started with tasks, since his senses had come back to him, little things she’d ask his help for. Then it turned to chores. Chores that kept him busy the entire day, and that piled on and on as time passed. Her cruelty came in seasons. In spring, after she’d just woken up, the little human in her home was the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen. In the summer, she’d leave him be, and just keep him to his chores. In the autumn, she was strict and stern, with an anger that simmered deep inside her. She’d revel in any power she had over him. 

In the winter, she slept, and Patton stayed in the manor, all alone.

—♡—

Two months after his 19th birthday, seven years after he’d first stepped foot in Fairyland, Patton woke up to the sound of thawed snow melting off the roof. He left his bed, folded his blankets, and drew the blinds open — without any clue of what fate had in store for him.

-

AN: this is just the beginning :) thank you all for reading! I'd like to take the opportunity to shout-out some wonderful stories that inspired this fic <3 the ones that opened my eyes to the potential of royality as cinderella 😆 if you enjoy this story, you'll love these - so please check them out!

so this is love (what makes life divine) by teacupfulofbrains on AO3, the blueprint. seriously, a wonderful and magical story with some incredible writing

Cinderpatton by MagicQuill42, I love this one, such a sweet retelling! roman and patton were adorable!

Daffodils and Forget-me-nots by TheStoryVerse, I loved the brotherly relationship between logan, virgil and patton - a fresh take on the cinderella story, i love it!