He hasn’t come back here in a while.

   Maybe that’s because things seem to be working just fine over here without him.  He’s not gotten a single negative report from Melanie or Evelyn ─ (that is, excluding the occasional mishap of coming into work hungover, Evelyn) ─ and Pacifica, she seems to be handling her position quite well.  Saros has given him updates, making sure that they know what to feed the Pokemon and when it’s okay to give them treats.  Of course, he always has Whisper, but even then... Whisper isn’t really a part of the timeline like the others are.

   He can’t help but look around and wonder;  did he even really need to be here?  Was Sunshine’s death for nothing?  The thought hurts, but a part of him actually considers it.  Truly, it wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened.

   His eyes close and he sighs, shoulders slouching as he does so.  Topside always seems more concerned with his well-being than the timeline he helped to create and allow to flourish.  Such is the price of being a fallen god, perhaps.

      There’s a gentle ringing in his head, like a bell...

           Ring... ring... ring...

 The slouch in his posture straightens out  There’s a gentle smile on his face.  But he knows there’s something wrong.

 He pauses in his cooking for his family and he takes stock of his surroundings, the people in the room with him, the items, the situation. Saros, Whisper, Pacifica, Lucidia, Loki, Flare - his darling pup - and the rest of his Pokemon. Good, good, he remembers all of that. He’s in his house in his timeline that he made, with his family, making them food, enjoying their company, and he’s hanging out with them despite... what? Wait. Despite?

                                             Wait, why is he here?

 Saros is the first one, if only by seconds before Whisper, to realize something is off, and when they get him to turn towards them, they notice something wrong immediately. He’s standing straight up. He once told them that he slouches because of the weight of the expectation of the world upon his shoulders. Where has that weight gone? True or not, the weight. It’s gone. He’s standing at his full height, in his boots, and he looks so... happy. But it’s wrong.

 “Hmm. Big brother? Y’alright?”

 He looks around again, spatula in one hand for a moment before he sets it down.

 He looks back down at the young star and smiles a little brighter.

 “i’m... a little off. but i’m in a good mood.”

 “a good mood? better than you were, five seconds ago?” Whisper speaks up.

 Saros squints, but says nothing, yet.

 “Oh yeah, something’s off.” Pacifica says, somewhat jokingly. She stands up though and walks up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, having to reach up a little more than she normally does to do so. “Well, whatever it is, you look good, smiling like this. A smile suits you, blomstbror.”

 “thank you,” his head tilts as his smile softens with confusion, eyes sighting the worried, and one annoyed, looks of the others in the group. “but everybody else seems to disagree. is my smiling a bad thing?”

 “Not bad,” Saros finally says, not looking away from their brother, who also doesn’t waver much or nearly as often as he normally does. “but it’s not you. You smile plenty whenever I see you normally. This, is not you.”

 “can you explain? i certainly feel like me. just a little bit off mentally, but that’s nothing new.” Fleur chuckles, and the sound is warm, without that familiar grating quality to it that shows the hell his kindness has been through.

 “... It’s hard to explain.” They look towards Whisper, and he’s just as shellshocked as they are. Back to Fleur. “I have to ask that when you’re done cooking, please take a walk. Clear your head before you come back home. We’ll be here. We just want you back.”

 “But guys,” Pacifica’s tone becomes a bit desperate. “He’s happy! He’s smiling!”

 “Sis.”

 “I haven’t seen him this happy around us in ages. Can’t we enjoy what we have while we have it, Saros? Can’t we see him be a little enthusiastic, Far? And Mom, you can talk to him without the scowl! He’s actually in a great mood and he’s not weighed down!”

 “Sis. He’s under a spell.”

 “Please,” frustration takes her tone. “Let him have this. Let him enjoy this. Doesn’t he deserve it after all the hell he’s been through? Almost dying, losing everything, losing us for a long time, he deserves a moment like this, spell or not, to relax and have fun and smile without worry.”

 “It’s not REAL.” Saros all but snaps back, like the crack of a whip. “He wouldn’t want this, and neither do we. He’s perfectly capable of being happy on his own, and this is just m...” They think for a moment before they shake their head. “This is just ruining his ability to believe he’s capable of being happy on his own. Which he is.”

 “but i am happy?” Something feels off about this.

 “You can be. But not like this.” Saros says again.

 Pacifica deflates somewhat. “But he deserves a moment to breathe.”

 Nothing is said this time, and Pacifica finally lets her anger get the best of her and storms out of the kitchen, leaving a confused Monstrosity and a silent family in her wake. Fleur watches her storm upstairs and into her room, only to then look around the room with a bit of a confused look. His eyes land on the god in the room, and worry takes his expression.

 “that’s what’s off, isn’t it?” There’s that ringing again, but it’s stunted, staggered, swaying in a way he can’t explain any other way than ‘breaking’. “this happiness. it’s not right is it?”

 “no.” Whisper says solemnly. “it’s not you.”

 “so you’ve said.”

  He pauses for a time, taking stock of the rest of the situation once more. After a short time, he finds his smile returning.

 And here’s the thing. When he smiles, it’s so gentle, so soft, so kind. His touches are fleeting and careful, the rustling of a young one’s hair like the breeze, ethereal. He stands taller. He’s got a bit of a pep to his step. The pain in him is gone. The agony, the anger, the hatred, and vengeance, the justice. It’s all gone, replaced with something saccharine. He’s so sweet and so kind and so honest and so much better than he was before and it’s so different, but that’s the thing. Different. Wrong.

 Not the truth.

 No matter who he speaks to, they all have the same consensus if they know him deeper than the average speaker. It’s not you, this isn’t you, you’re not happy, this is wrong. And he believes it. And he smiles at it.

 It’s less than a day, less than half a day, but he steps away from it all in a timeline where very few know how to find him or follow his footsteps, and he reaches out with one hand. Claws find resistance as he drags them upwards, the tangled knot of falsities and sugar coated lies resisting with all its might against it. What pretty magic. What pretty, and pretty sweet Intent.

 His fingers curl delicately around it, and he takes out a small pair of clock hands from a pocket dimension. He uses the hour hand to steady the tangled mess in the air, and then uses the minute hand to carefully find the one string that leads back to where this intended to begin and finds the moment where the thread was made too chaotic to function the way it was supposed to. He smiles softer, pausing as he repositions the minute hand, pulling a nearly invisible thread through a hole at the end of it.

 “... reality can’t be worse than this.”

 And he pulls the minute hand through the break.

 In an instant, the tangled knot fixes itself and the hour hand and minute hand clatter to the stone ground. The slouch in his posture returns, the shuddering of a sigh taking the soft smile along with it. A single tear drops off of his chin and he wipes away what’s left of the remains on his face. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

 “reality is not worse than that.”

“no, no, no, lil’ sib. i’m going to stay young forever! even when my skin gets wrinkly.”

she chuckles softly, patting her head, after the near tackle hug.

Hide. Hide. Hide. That’s what the words written in familiar cadence told him to do. Hide, and sleep. Let yourself sleep, and be hidden.  Too good to be true, it had to be too good to be true.

Keen eyes kept an eye out for something disturbed in a way that would be hidden and normal for the rest of The Depths but an escape for those that end up here... namely, the ones that an ancient Hunter cares for. It made short work of finding the ‘secret safe spot’ that was scouted for him in advance, and he clambered in and held his breath as he waited. Waited for it to be a lie, waited for something to come to attack while he trusts someone other than the few that have earned his trust.

...

Nothing.

He lets out a relieved breath, a few tired tears falling from his eyes that he doesn’t bother to wipe away. He does however lean against one of the walls and wince at the sharp chill. The dragon moves to be pressed against the wall and be between him and the wall, negating the chill by allowing him to rest against scales and be hidden once again by silver feathers that shudder to a deep black to keep hidden. He leans into the touch and sighs.

This isn’t for you. This should be for HIM. You’re being greedy. You have magic. Selfish. How can you be so selfish?

He tenses up, only for the voice of the dragon to creep into his mind. A defense mechanism whenever they’re hiding, to speak through the soul. He could not lie, that way. To himself, nor to the dragon.

ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔱 𝔞 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔴 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯. 𝔄𝔯𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔲𝔫𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔫?

um. a little bit. ...very.

𝔚𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔨 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔦𝔱?

i don’t... it hurts to talk about.

𝔚𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔦𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔦𝔣 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔢𝔩𝔰𝔢 𝔨𝔫𝔢𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔟𝔩𝔢?

... i’m just not used to having people go out of their way to help me. help papa? sure, he deserves the help. i’ve been nothing but trouble to them and yet, my uncle still seems to have made a note for me personally. i could be hoping too much, but it seems odd for the way he wrote it to be addressing papa, who i don’t think is here yet. that and, i want to have faith in and trust those i left pieces of me with. papa. ian. saros. katie. leys. ozell. i want to. i really do! i just... how can they still want to be around me after everything i’ve done and said and... just how?

𝔜𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔟𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢, 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫𝔢.

mmmm...

𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔭𝔢𝔬𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔡𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔭𝔦𝔡𝔩𝔶 𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔡𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔡𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔭𝔦𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰. 𝔖𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔴𝔬 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔞𝔭. 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔫𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔏𝔢𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪. ℑ 𝔡𝔬𝔲𝔟𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔢 𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔭 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪, 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔱𝔥 𝔟𝔢 𝔱𝔬𝔩𝔡.

you speak from experience?

𝔐𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔞𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔞𝔩 𝔣𝔦𝔤𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔰. 𝔐𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔫 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔲𝔫𝔠𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔪... 𝔪𝔞𝔪𝔞𝔫? ℌ𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔱𝔴𝔬 𝔞𝔠𝔱 𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔐𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔫 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯... 𝔭𝔞𝔭𝔞? 𝔜𝔢𝔰. 𝔐𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔬𝔡𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔶 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔨𝔦𝔫'𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔰. 𝔐𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔞 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔣𝔞𝔯 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔦𝔱. ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱'𝔰 𝔴𝔥𝔶 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔤𝔬𝔱 𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔬 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔰𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤.

... your mom’s a real sweet miss. she took care of me when i went on a rampage for a little while. i owe her something fierce for letting me do what i did around her and not having to pay her back.

𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔬𝔴𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔯. 𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡𝔫'𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔭𝔢𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔦𝔣 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔦𝔡𝔫'𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔱𝔬.

𝔚𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔞𝔨𝔢. 𝔑𝔬𝔴, 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭. 𝔚𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔡𝔡𝔢𝔫. ℑ 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔞𝔡𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔠𝔞𝔪𝔬𝔲𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔤𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔩𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔠 𝔱𝔬 𝔞 𝔭𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔱 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔱'𝔰 𝔦𝔫𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔰.

Almost on command, Fleur’s eyes flutter closed.

The feathers fluff up even more, and for some reason the scales feel more like a series of small pillows than rough and clear scaling from a dragon like this one clearly is. It’s comfortable, and warm, and he doesn’t want to move... he can stay here for a little while, can’t he...? He’s in no rush to get to his grave...

Godhood isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Ask near any of them, they'd say it's not something to strive for. It's reliance upon the whims of followers and faith and fleeting promises that you may not even get to in a lifetime. It's a burning ache in the center of your chest as you recall what it was like to have something there that beats and pounds to a usually steady rhythm. It's knowing you used to have a heart that recognized pain and hope, but now you only have confusion towards something like nostalgia.

Once you become a God, divinity leaves traces in you. Unlike demigods, where they're born of love, when you become a God and then Fall or continue the Cycle, that divinity stays in you in a way you never recognize until it happens. That divinity causes something strange to happen. Something that reminds the divine of their roots, and why they gave mortals free will.

When you seek the guidance of a God, what do you do? You pray. The methods may be different based on who you seek guidance from, but you are seeking answers through a prayer. A Hope given spoken word, a request for a Wish that you know may go unheard. When you seek a God's guidance, even if you aren't religious, you close your eyes, let your heart be bare to something and someone unseen, clasp your hands tight, and you pray. All you can do is Hope that they get your message and answer in a timely fashion.

"... If you're hearing me, I-- you know I'm not religious. And you're no god. I know what you are. You're my big brother. The one who would work tirelessly to make sure I had my favorite snacks every day. The one who would sometimes fall asleep at the office and have to be picked up by Daddy, because you were working through the night to ensure your people and the people who counted on you were treated right. You're my ridiculous, compassionate, ambitious big brother."

Divinity never really leaves once it snags a hold of you. Like the Hells, like the Depths, it leaves a trace of itself in you. Usually unnoticed if you're lucky. But who ever said I was lucky?

"... Mister Ian misses you. I don't think he knows I know he misses you. I see him staring at one of your weird crystals from home a lot. Oh, he smokes a loooot more too. I think it's a stress habit. He's just as bad as you are with showing that sort of care. I think he's praying too. In his own way. I think he's been doing what I'm doing now. Trying to get through to you. ... I would try this with one of the real ones, but I don't think this would reach them. Talking about you to deaf ears. It wouldn't do any good huh? So instead... I won't pray to them about your safety. I'll pray to you, for you, so that maybe you'll hear me and come home."

Fingers twitch, eyelids flutter, breath stutters.

"Stay strong, and come home to us. We miss you. I hope you hear me... Fleur."

...

A knock at the door rouses the attention of a yokai, a father sitting on one of the couches while his daughter and youngest child open their gifts. Strange, they weren’t expecting visitors. Possibly Melanie and Trey were stopping by to have Christmas dinner with them─ oh that would be lovely… but they tend to call a day ahead of time so they all know what they’re doing.

“one moment, i’ll be right back.”

There’s a hum from Saros as they fiddle with one of their gifts, a bubbly smile on their face as they go back and forth with Pacifica about their joke gifts to one another. It’s a tradition after all to get these sorts of gifts! …they don’t quite recall who started it…

Whisper opens the door, starting to greet who’s at it, only to find an empty entryway. He blinks, blinks again, adjusting his glasses and catching a glimpse of a box at his feet. Strange gets stranger… an odd box out of nowhere after an unexpected knock. Worry gnaws at him for a moment before there’s a complaint about the cold being let inside from a young star-child, whined out and pleading.

He chuckles, apologizes, and picks up the box to take inside and shut the door. Wait, there’s a tag on this… The Guardian? Who is that referring to?

“Daddy, what’s that?” Saros speaks up as they toy with the space themed tangle puzzle in their hands. They could always use another space oriented fidget item, it keeps them from running around wildly without any care for anything else! Or stuck in their room sniffling from either understimulation or thinking too much about things they can’t bring up to anyone but Captain Dad, who seems to be busy with both Code stuff and Mister Shane.

“ah… i don’t, know actually.” He leans in towards the box, hearing nothing but the slight shift of chain like that you’d hear from a necklace. “it’s addressed to the guardian, but i don’t know if they delivered it to the right house or not.”

“I dunno, maybe they were being real cryptic and vague but referring to you, faushar.” Pacifica pipes up while smoothing out the terribly ugly but somehow fitting sweater that reads ‘merry christmas motherfuckers’ on the front with several patterns of bells and reindeer in alternating rows. “What’s it say it is?”

“it just says “to the guardian, for yuletide.” as far as i know, none of us celebrate yuletide.” 

Saros looks down at the gifts to their side, conveniently placed where they aren’t looking at their adoptive dad and sister. “Huh, that’s pretty weird. Maybe that’s just their way of saying Merry Christmas, or Gyftmas.”

“maybe…”

“I swear I’ve heard of Yuletide before…”

“it’s a pagan holiday that’s celebrated at the same time as christmas, or gyftmas, but without the christian undertones. because christianity is like that.”

“Oh, welp. Yeah, that sounds fair. Could be their way of wishing us a good holiday!”

Saros nods in agreement as the other two go into the kitchen, leaving the odd and strangely plain box on the coffee table. They look up, say they’ll go organize their stuff in their room… and take the box with them as they go. 

Their door closes, and they let out a shaky breath of relief… or is it pain? They look towards the small hidden portion of their bookshelf that their brother had made for them. He made it with that hidden spot in case they want to hide snacks, or toys, or money they earn. He understands the need to hide, though they wish he didn’t have to understand it. Right now, though, that understanding helps.

They huff, place their toys and clothes and other gifts on their bed, and then take the small box to the hidden area in their bookshelf, placing it alongside a few other personal gifts. Most of the gifts are for their brother when he gets back, not if─ he’s coming back, he promised he wouldn’t leave them alone. But a couple of them are for their brother’s big brother. Ian, that was his name. 

They nod, proud of their work and ready to go down and pretend as if everything is alright.

Pretend. Right. They can pretend. They used to be good at pretending.

They pause at the door, glancing back to the once again blended in portion of the bookshelf. “…y’come back to us, okay? Safe and sound. We’ll be waitin’ for you to come home, big brother. Always.”

text from j’frera: Don’t forget! We love you!!! 🥰 

   His eyes stare down at the pocket watch ticking away in his hands, open to anyone nearby to view the time upon its worn off intervals.  Twenty minutes ‘til midnight, or perhaps ‘til noon.

   How much is that?  A week, now?  From the timing he’s calculated, he has a week, if he’s lucky.  A few days, if his luck does as it usually does.  He looks towards his shadow, which has too many edges and ridges to be his own, and something that cares not if it becomes known by others nods in agreement towards something gone unsaid before allowing his shadow to return to its earlier state.  Crowded, maybe, but soft and fuzzy at the outline.

text to j’frera: it was one hell of a night

text to j’frera: and i’m feeling good enough lately that i think it’s time i take you to see one of kuroba’s shows on his home turf while i don’t have much to do.

text from j’frera: Really?? Oh gosh I should grab my stuff soon huh

text to j’frera: it’s not a sleepover, yeesh. i’ll let him know that i have an excitable plus one so he knows and i can pay upfront

text from j’frera: Thank you big brother!! This is the greatest Halloween, it’s like a second birthday 💕💕

  He sighs, pocketing the decorated handheld countdown.

“Are you gonna be staying with us for a while?” “...no, i don’t think so. i don’t really belong here anymore, sar’.” “I think you belong wherever you want to belong. So do you want to belong here?”

   He flips his phone shut and puts it into his coat.

   Cue a sigh.

   He doesn’t have an answer for that.  He’s not sure he’d like the answer he’d give, and he’s not sure those around him would accept such an answer.  Questions like those are best left unanswered, to spare everyone the heartache of knowing the truth and not wanting to know it anymore.  He’d not concern those around him when it came to his status of being.  As far as anybody else was concerned, he was fine, always fine.

   Though that’s the problem, isn’t it?

   Fleur shakes his head, trying to not let the darkness creep into the emptiness within his skin and bones.  He’s cold enough as is, allow him some warmth in a world of his design, allow him to enjoy his sister's birthday with her a little bit before he trips and falls again.  He may not be that of which he used to be but for a moment, just a moment, allow him to breathe.  Allow him reprieve from his misery in the company of those that know him better than to agree when he says he’s okay.  Of course, that’s a request gone unheeded ─ a bell left unanswered.

   His left hand grips his right wrist, feeling the twine and metal of a compass against his skin.  It may have only been an accident, getting this item the way he did, but it was an accident he’ll truly call ‘happy’.  It helps, on the worst days, and it guides, on the careless days.  Those two overlap often whenever he stays here, in the world that he made.

   The world he made to be paradise exiles him because he doesn’t fit the criteria, and the world of chaos and death welcomes him at his weakest.  A damned man and the devil, two of his closest friends.  Everything he thought he knew, falling apart in front of him and he still has the audacity to smile.

   The sigh this time borders on a groan.    Of course... of course this is a reminder isn’t it?  Funny.    His grip on his wrist tightens just a bit more.    His borrowed time will be used wisely, and his colors would not be wasted.

   He takes out his phone again, opening up his text messages.