#thread:izzy

While Oliver slept after they got back to the nymph’s house, Izzy didn’t dare to let himself sleep. If the magic went away again, he couldn’t live with himself if he’d been asleep when it happened. Instead of sleeping, he’d taken to cleaning up the spilled tea that had been left on the ground, shattered fragments of the cup all over. Anything to keep his mind occupied was better than sitting around and stewing in guilt and regret. Guilt that he’d told Cleo, regret that he wasn’t there when Oliver had needed him. He couldn’t have predicted the blackout, sure. But still, what if he could have at least been there in time? Guilt that he knew Oliver’s deepest secret, but Oliver didn’t know his. No one knew his.

Izzy twisted the handle of the broom in his hand, staring at the swept-up pile of ceramic fragments. He had to tell Oliver that Cleo knew, and he had to rebalance the playing field. Oliver trusted Izzy, and Izzy needed to trust Oliver. Trust was scary. It meant allowing someone in when it could end in betrayal and utter heartbreak. He’d spent over thirty years avoiding true relationships. Cleo and Oliver had been the only people he’d let in. Cleo, who had persisted for quite some time, and Oliver, who was a newer friend, but a strong connection all the same.

If he kept on pretending he could do it all on his own, the truth would bury him alive. He knew this to be true. The guilt was killing him when he allowed himself to feel it. That’s why Izzy spent so much of his time pretending he was above emotions, that he could twist and subject emotional weakness to his will, to prove to himself and those around him that he was strong. He wasn’t strong. He was fracturing under the strain of his own inability to cope.

Hearing movement behind him, Izzy quickly swept up the mug fragments into the dustpan and disposed of them before walking over to Oliver’s side, worry etched into his features as he watched the nymph wake up. “How are you feeling?” He asked gently, head tilting to the side in observation.

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Oliver didn’t know how long he had slept, but his body still felt exhausted. As he forced his eyelids open, Oliver could hear movement around him. For a moment, he had forgotten what had occurred the day before. For a moment, he assumed a hook-up was leaving and that he had maybe gone a little too hard on a night out. He didn’t feel... quite hungover, but something felt off. His body ached, but his limbs felt stiff and heavy. A headache brewed, and nausea swirled within his stomach. He heard Izzy next to him, and his eyebrows furrowed. Why was Izzy here? Oliver slowly blinked at the other; when suddenly the memories of the day before slammed into his brain. The feeling of his body shutting down; of waking up in the Aos Sí; of telling Izzy everything that was going on.

He sat up slowly, tilting his hand back and forth a bit. “Not great,” Oliver said softly, as he cleared his throat. “Not awful though, how are you doing?” He added, not wanting to worry the other anymore than he already had. It wasn’t a lie after all.  He gazed at the other, eyebrows pinched as he took in the fact that Izzy didn’t look any different than he had last night. The darkened shadows under Izzy’s eyes and the fact that not a hair was out of place told a story that Oliver wasn’t a fan of.  “Did you not sleep?” 

Oliver’s gaze fell on the broom the other was holding. A light blush slipped over his cheeks, “Oh, you didn’t have to do that…” Oliver trailed off. There was a part of him that was grateful that Izzy had done it; that he hadn’t had to think of why he had dropped the cup in the first place. However, there was another part of him that could hear his mother’s voice lecturing him on not being a good host. “Are you hungry?” He ignored the way his stomach turned at the thought of eating. “I can make breakfast!” Oliver said, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing. Perhaps a touch too quickly, judging by how the edges of his vision blurred for a moment upon getting vertical. “In..a minute that is.” Oliver conceded, sitting back down slowly. 

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Isidore let out an unamused huff as Oliver tried to play off his pain. Of course he wasn’t alright, he was clinically dead for twelve hours! “No, I didn’t sleep. If it happened again while we slept, I would have never forgiven myself.” He hated being this honest, but it was better than telling a lie that led him to feel sick, giving him away anyway. No, it was better to be honest. Like telling Oliver what happened. He needed to! But it was hard. He knew that Oliver struggled to tell him what was going on in the first place. But to admit that in a moment of fear and feeling completely alone, he turned to someone that also knew Oliver? He’d feel betrayed. He knew his friend far too well to think otherwise. The guilt was written all over his face as he turned to put the broom back to where it belonged. 

“Yes I had to do that. I wasn’t about to make you relive the trauma you went through.” Izzy stared over at Oliver, expression unreadable for a long moment. “I’m not hungry, you know I don’t need to eat.” Izzy’s voice was gentle as he flitted over to Oliver’s side, arm wrapping around the nymph as he lowered himself back onto the couch. “Take it easy, your body needs time to heal.” Too close. 

Izzy got back up into his feet, brushing off his pants as he tried to play off his nerves. “Do you need something to eat? I can make something… do you have cereal?” He began to walk toward the kitchen, looking around. No way was he turning on the stove, he would burn the place to the ground. Him? Cook food? Edible? Absolutely not. 

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Oliver hadn’t even considered the fact that it could have happened again so soon. Previously, there had been at least a month between blackouts after all. Though, he supposed, there was no reason to assume that the pattern would hold. The length of the blackouts had jumped so significantly that it was impossible to predict when the next one would occur. It was frightening to never know when everything could change again.  Oliver felt a sense of guilt about the whole situation. He wasn’t a witness to the chaos that he was sure was abundant during everything; he was too busy being dead. Nothing but a weight for whoever happened to be around to deal with. Swallowing down any of those doubts, Oliver instead nodded towards Izzy. “Right.” He hated how guilty his friend looked. It wasn’t as if there was anything the other could do. “Just…don’t make a habit of it? No point in wearing yourself down just because something could happen, you know?” 

Listening to Izzy speak about wanting to help made Oliver’s heart twist in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Thanks” Oliver said softly, a soft smile lifting up the corners of his mouth. At the mention of how the other fae didn’t eat, Oliver hummed, “Oh, right,” before shaking his head at the idea of eating anything. “No..I don’t…trust my stomach very much right now.” He said, eyes following Izzy as he wandered towards the kitchen. There had been at least a handful of attempts by Oliver to teach the other how to cook dishes, but none had ended successfully. “I’ll try eating something in a bit, though.” Oliver tacked on, not wanting to add any more to Izzy’s list of worries. 

“How are things at your Aos Sí today? Was there any fallout from everything?” Oliver asked, standing carefully and feeling a wave of relief as the world didn’t blur again. He walked carefully out of the bedroom, leaning against the door frame.  “Don’t feel like you have to stick around here if other things are happening. You have a way to find me if you need me.” He brought the AirTag out from underneath his shirt and twisted it between his fingers. 

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As Oliver told him not to make a habit of staying up, Isidore stared blankly forward, his back turned to the nymph as he struggled with the words. “I’m a whole-ass adult. I can do what I please,” he sniped before turning his head to look at Oliver. His eyes were sad, betraying any bitterness in his tone. “Please. Give me this. If nothing else, let me at least have this.” The only thing I can possibly control is being there. The muse closed his eyes, then let out a sigh. He wouldn’t be staying much longer anyway, and then he could sleep. Oliver was going to kick him out anyway. He was really delaying the inevitable.

When his attempts to feed Oliver were shot down, he instead grabbed a glass and filled it with water before returning to Oliver and handing it over. “At least drink something. Your mouth must be dry as a desert right about now.” Izzy’s gaze was pleading, desperate to get Oliver to do something beneficial.

“The fae are fine,” he answered softly, his gaze drifting away. If anything, showing his vulnerable side had caused Isidore’s people to trust him more than they did before. It showed that he was prone to emotion and vulnerability, just like them. It showed his humanity. So while he dreaded bringing Oliver there, it had been the right play. “Listen, I…” he trailed off, knowing that he couldn’t keep putting it off. He had to tell Oliver.

“When you were dead, I was beside myself. My best friend was dead, and I was helpless to do anything but mourn you completely alone. So in a moment of utter loneliness and grief, I reached out to someone and told her what was going on. This person, it turns out, knows who you are.” Izzy took a step away, eyes lowering to the ground as he hugged his arms around himself. He was waiting for the blowback. “It was Cleo. Cleo knows. She knows that you die during the blackouts.” 

He wanted to keep explaining himself, that it wouldn’t be fair to him to have to shoulder the burden of his best friend’s death alone. That grief wasn’t something to go through alone. But it wouldn’t matter. If Oliver was going to hate him, throwing excuses at him wouldn’t do a damn thing. So instead, he waited for the nymph to kick him out. “I’m sorry.” He finally said, his tone in utter despair as he awaited the inevitable.

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Oliver sighed deeply at Izzy’s statement that he was an adult and that he could do what he wanted, but any further argument died on his tongue when the other turned around, and Oliver saw his face. There was such…sadness in Izzy’s eyes, and it made Oliver feel itchy. Why did the other care so much? God, it would be so much easier if Oliver didn’t feel guilty about causing the other to feel pain. If he had never opened his mouth about what was going on, then all of this could have been avoided. Now he knew everything, which meant that Oliver would only continue to cause him pain. He hated everything about this. “Right, of course, sorry,” Oliver said softly, eyes shifted to the ground. 

Oliver took the water gently and took a sip. It was refreshing, where he hadn’t realised he was so thirsty until he had been given the chance to change it. He allowed himself one more sip before he held the glass by his fingertips at his side. “Oh, good.” He said simply, before he tilted his head to the side when Izzy trailed off. “What is it?” Oliver asked. Maybe the other doesn’t feel like he can continue to be around Oliver while this is going on. It would make sense. It’s a lot, and right now there’s no solution. Oliver wouldn’t blame Izzy if he needed to step away. Reconvene once everything’s been fixed, or maybe he would just come to the funeral. Oliver couldn’t help but scrunch his nose at the thought. What good would a funeral do? 

Izzy’s voice cuts through the downward spiral before it can even start. However, as the words left his lips, Oliver felt like he'd been thrown into a pool with weights around his legs. Cleo knows. Cleo knows. “You did what?” Oliver asked, hoping that maybe he had simply misunderstood what he had said. In the back of his mind, there was a small sliver of relief; it could be worse. Oliver knew Cleo; he trusted her, but the fact that Izzy just spilled one of his darkest secrets to someone when he didn’t even know that Oliver had a prior connection with her? What if it had been a hunter? What if it had been Owen?  “You just-You just told someone what was going on?” 

Izzy’s apologies went unheard, Oliver’s mind already racing. Cleo knew. Which meant she would have questions. She was new to Wicked, which meant she didn’t know who she could trust. What if she told the wrong person? What if it somehow ended up turning back on her and getting her hurt? He shifted his weight, turning slightly away from Izzy, using the hand that wasn’t currently gripping the glass to rub his eyes. “I don’t-I thought you were smarter than this.” Oliver bites out, tone icy. Suddenly, Oliver’s head shoots up so fast that he sees stars. “Did you tell anyone else? Did you tell them about the other problem I’m having?” He was out for 12 hours; if Izzy told one person, then he can’t assume that it was only Cleo who knew now. “Don’t you get how much danger that puts me in now?” 

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Izzy had been expecting the blowback, so he clenched his jaw as Oliver started to shout back at him. “I told my other closest friend what I was going through so it wouldn’t eat me alive. Pardon me for daring to trust someone for the first time in forty years,” the muse snarled back. He couldn’t help it. He was so tired of being expected to be the best version of himself, even for Oliver. The anger came off of Isidore in waves, unable to hold himself back from the despair he felt. Losing someone all over again through the actions of his own doing. It never felt good, not even after all this time.

“I didn’t tell anyone else! But I didn’t think you were ever going to wake back up, excuse me for being upset about this!” He knew there was no getting Oliver back from this, and he was fighting every toxic urge he had to burn every bridge down in his wake. But he didn’t. Instead, he simply nodded his head and shuffled toward the door. “Hate me all you want. But I still stood by you every second of that harrowing experience. I thought that would show you how much you matter to me, but I guess I was wrong.” 

The whole time, these one-sided feelings truly were just that: one-sided. Isidore squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before throwing the front door open and walking out. He didn’t want to hear anything more that Oliver had to say. It would get him nowhere. Better to leave the friendship where it was instead of burning it to the ground in a fit of desperate rage. “Good luck out there,” was all he said before shutting the door behind him.

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Oliver seethed as Izzy spoke. “You didn’t need to give my name out, and you didn’t have to give her the full story!” He said before throwing his hands up, water sloshing up the glass but not quite spilling over the edge “There was no indication that the blackout would go on forever; you should have waited!” There had also not been any indication that the blackout wouldn’t go on forever, but that little fact didn’t help Oliver’s argument, so he chose to ignore it. “I’m sorry you haven’t trusted anyone in 40 years, but maybe start by spilling your own secrets before dishing out anyone else’s.”

“I didn’t ask you to stand by me! You chose to push yourself into this situation! I would have been fine to wake up alone!” Oliver flinched at the ache that blossomed from within his stomach at the lie. It would have been horrifying to wake up alone, in a darkened home surrounded by broken glass and the chill of a winter night. Theoretically, Mickey could have found him, but that wouldn’t have been a guarantee. Oliver had felt safe when he woke up next to Izzy, knowing that he had been protected, that someone cared. He swallowed down the nausea that threatened to flare back up.  

Oliver curled his free hand into a fist as the other walked out. “Fuck you Isidore” He shouted, throwing the glass of water against the now shut door. It sailed through the air before crashing against the wooden barrier with a shatter. His body trembled, and he wasn’t sure if it was from rage, fear, or adrenaline. His breathing had picked up, and he stood there for a moment, and then another. He half expected, maybe even hoped, that Izzy to turn around; for them to talk more; to work something out. The door stayed shut, and Oliver felt the edges of his eyes burn as he realized Izzy wasn’t coming back. That perhaps their friendship had ended right then and there. A relationship that could have lasted decades was cut short in its infancy. Oliver let out a sound, a gasp mixed with a sob as he reached up and gripped the shirt above his chest. Why didn’t Izzy understand? 

Admittedly, Isidore didn’t like leaving the Aos Sí anymore. Ever since they put him in charge, ever since he made their people die because of his shortcomings, he feared what leaving would do to them again. But he had to trust that he wasn’t the only one with his head on his shoulders when it came to the protection of their community. At least he had the elders. Even if they did think that most humans still got around in horse-drawn carriages. He’d tried to explain cars to them, but he felt that it was doing more harm than good the deeper into things he got, so he decided to leave that one alone. It wasn’t worth the headache.

When he did leave home, he found himself drawn to fae businesses. Home away from home, so to speak. So he’d been more than happy to drop his glamour the second he set foot into the Mushroom Circle’s fae bar. Short and rounded human ears changed to long, pointed ears, light brown eyes changed to their iridescent gold, and short hair turned to long hair that cascaded to his mid-back.  At least among other fae, he could let his guard down. At least a little bit, anyway. He sidled up next to someone rather unassuming. At least, he didn’t look like he was anything extraordinary, anyway. Still, he was back here, so Izzy could only assume the guy was fae. Otherwise, this was really awkward.

He ordered a drink from the bartender, a heavy-bodied red wine. Isidore was a wine snob, unfortunately. As the bartender turned to ready his drink, the muse allowed his gaze to flicker over to the unassuming fae beside him once more. “Anything ridiculous happen this evening yet?” He couldn’t help but ask, a crooked smile spreading across his face. It was a fae bar, anything and everything could happen.

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Oliver had only been back in Wicked’s Rest for a few weeks when he ended up stopping by the bar that had been rumored to be different. It was an odd feeling to return to the place where he was raised, but to find it so different from it had been when he had left. It shouldn’t surprise him; it had been over a century since he had last been here after all. That didn’t stop him from being shocked about how…updated the town looked nowadays. His memories of the town had been that of dirt and cobblestone roads, with the beginnings of paved roads starting to crop up. Farms were almost too numerous to count, and he did all his grades in one schoolhouse. It was obvious that much had changed in Wicked’s Rest since then. He had followed the ghost of a memory to where his family home had last stood and instead found that in its place was a sleek apartment building.  

Coming back to Wicked’s Rest had essentially been a Hail Mary. There wasn’t an instruction book to follow when it came to fixing fae powers when they went awry, even less so when they were seemingly weakening. It also meant that Oliver hadn’t exactly come up with plans for what he would be doing while he was working, trying to fix it. While he had enough money not to have to work, he was unfortunately the type that would grow bored if he didn’t have anything to fill his days, and he was hoping that perhaps his time in Wicked would be short-lived, which meant there wasn’t a point in going somewhere where he’d have to start from the bottom and work up. Especially when any resume he created was more fiction than fact. However, he’d been thinking of opening his own shop and had been touring some of the open storefronts in the last few days.

He hadn’t even really considered stopping by the bar that night, planning to just go home and read over the paperwork from the realtor, but then he felt the internal twinge that notified him that a fae was near. It had been… a while since he had felt that alert. He also realized with a start that he was getting the alert more than once, which meant there were many fae inside. Curiosity got the better of him, and as he entered the bar, he followed the feelings through the staff doors. He only paused for a moment, hand hovering over the door as he made eye contact with one of the bartenders, who gave him a small nod. Which is how he ended up ordering an old-fashion and sitting at the bar. At the sound of the door opening, Oliver’s eyes widened a fraction at the sight of someone transforming into something…magical. Averting his eyes out of habit, Oliver instead focused on the lighting above the bar. Was it rude to stare? He knew this was apparently a hidden fae area, but it hadn’t really clicked what that meant until he truly looked around and saw that most of the people here had dropped their glamours. When the individual came and sat down next to Oliver and started speaking, Oliver turned slightly and shrugged. “Nothing yet, but it’s early yet.” Oliver said with a grin as he took a sip of his drink. 

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It was nice to be in the company of other fae. While his people were rather unreliable in nature, there was a comfort in it. The guilt of being among Isidore’s own Aos Sí sometimes became too much, but the need for belonging grew strong. This bar was a good middle ground, satisfying the need to be among his own crowd without the added layer of extreme guilt.

Amusement flickered across the muse’s gaze as he watched Oliver look around at all the different unglamoroured fae. “Knowing what our people our capable of, it’s only a matter of time before a pixie raid happens or something.” He sipped on the wine as soon as it was placed in front of him. “My money is on a pixie raid where they’re wielding gummy worms as swords.” He spoke between sips, another flash of amusement on his features before he put his glass down to turn and face the stranger properly. 

“Isidore.” He introduced, flashing a gentle and polite smile. “I am not up to anything nefarious today.” He added, knowing that it was in their nature to be mischievous, even more so when surrounded by other fae. “But the night is young, so… I suppose I’ll see where the wind takes me.” He leaned back in his seat, glancing around at the various nymphs of different natures, the occasional muse. 

“It’s hard to find the comforts of familiarity in a town filled with so much going on,” Izzy murmured as he picked up his wine glass once again. “I’ll take what I can get. Even if it does come with the occasional deal gone wrong.” 

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When was the last time Oliver had been in a room full of fae? Probably the 80s? There had been a bar in London that he had gone to a few times, one with fairy lights, cigarette smoke clinging to the dark green ceiling, and a bartender who used his Nix abilities to play with people's drinks. Thinking back, he had stumbled upon it in a very similar way to how he had this one, feeling the internal alarm and exploring where it led him. However, Oliver never felt fully comfortable there. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t born and raised in London like many of the others there, or even some other flavor of European that was sprinkled in throughout the crowd. Maybe it was partially because of how the bouncer always stared at Oliver with such intensity that he was sure he must have wronged the man in the past. Or maybe it was as simple as Oliver knowing that he wouldn’t be staying in the area long-term. Now, though, Oliver didn’t have a countdown for when he would leave or a sketched-out idea of where he would go next.

 Oliver cracked a smile at the other’s joke. “Gummy swords? My bet is on toothpicks being their choice of weapon.” There was something about seeing all the other fae that made Olive feel emboldened, and he allowed his own glamour to drop. He hadn’t done that in…god, he couldn’t even remember. It had always just been something he did automatically, not even having it drop when he was alone, like a program just running in the background.  It wasn’t a dramatic change; vines wrapping around his ankle, stretching up towards his calf. If anyone saw them, they would probably just think it was a tattoo, but Oliver wasn’t one to invite questions in general. 

“Oliver.” That was also something he was still getting used to. It was one thing to say that he was going to go back to his original name; it was another to actually do it. He had spent so long training himself out of reacting to his name that even just saying it felt weird. However, he would have felt like it was a disservice to his parents if he tried to come back under a different identity. Oliver took a sip of his drink, one eyebrow raised. “Oh? What kind of nefarious goings-on are you interested in?” He joked before humming in agreement. “I used to live here forever ago, but just recently moved back; there isn’t much still around that makes it seem all that familiar anymore.” The statement of deals gone wrong caught Oliver’s attention. “Get up to any trouble recently?”

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The longer Izzy thought of pixies and their choice of weaponry, the more it caused him to laugh. “No, no! Those little cocktail swords would be perfect!” He decided with another chuckle. “You know the little colored swords they spear the olives on for martinis? Those. If you’re gonna be in a bar, you might as well use the fun stuff.” As he spoke, he watched the vine appear around the, whom he could now identify as a nymph’s, leg. A smile of appreciation curled over the muse’s features, nodding his head slowly, but spoke no further on the matter. If the man was struggling to feel comfortable around his own people, then Izzy wouldn’t be the one to draw further attention to it.

“A pleasure to meet you, Oliver.” He spoke with a grin, picking up his glass and taking a sip as Oliver did. “The nefarious going-ons that I’m interested in involve fae nonsense. While I’ve found I’m not one for participating in the chaos of our brethren, I do enjoy watching it unfold before me.” He took another sip of his drink, smirking to himself. “Yeah, the downside of living for an egregiously long time is that humans move on fast since their lives are so short. No respect for the way of things, always moving onto the next tech advancement.” Izzy stared off into space for a long moment before continuing. “I remember when we used to write handwritten letters on paper to each other. And email. Now we just send texts.” He huffed, then put his drink back down before he drained the damn thing. 

“As for what trouble I’ve gotten up to recently, I’d say absolutely nothing. As I said, I’m more of a watcher than a participant.” He looked over to Oliver and shot him a wicked smirk. “That point of view, I’ve found, is rare amongst our kind.” He added, giving the nymph beside him a brief once-over. “Something tells me you’re similar. Am I right in this assumption?”

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“Exactly!” Oliver exclaimed when it became apparent that Isiodre was on the same level as him. He didn’t want to think about what on earth would have to happen for the pixies to attack the bar, but the idea of the small creatures coming at him with colorful swords was a hilarious image. “It’s good to meet you, too.” He gave a very quick nod when the other noted not wanting to get involved with fae shenanigans but wanting to watch it all unfold. “I agree. I have very little interest in actively causing chaos.” Sometimes, Oliver wondered if his hesitance to act as a ‘typical’ fae came from his upbringing. Outside of some very basic information provided by a Kitsune when he was a teenager, he hadn’t dipped his foot into the supernatural world until he had moved out towards Vermont. He had never belonged to an Aos Sí, though he had been to at least a few in his travels. However, Oliver could always feel the judgment of those who resided in one. It was never said out loud, but Oliver could feel their eyes on him. Seeing him as an outsider. 

“Oh my god, yes.” Oliver said, finishing his drink and holding up a finger to the bartender for another one. “I write in cursive, and suddenly no one younger than 30 can read it” He sighed. Letters had always been his favorite way to communicate. There was something special about writing out one’s feelings, folding it into an envelope, and knowing the person’s address well enough to write it out. The knowledge that the letter would go on its own journey was a much better thought than the idea of something simply going from one inbox to another in a matter of seconds. “It’s much less romantic.” Oliver shrugged, taking a sip of his new drink. The alcohol was warm, making him feel relaxed. 

“You are.” Oliver grinned. It was nice being around someone who was clearly on the same level as he was. Fae that thrived in chaos were great and all, but you could only be around them so long before they started to feel like a frat boy from a college party that was going on too long. “Glad we are on the same page. Have you been in the area long?”

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“Involved heavily in the human world then?” Izzy tilted his head to one side as he eyed the nymph over. It was rare that he found a fae that he found equal footing with. Most of the time, they were so clueless about anyone other than another fae. Admittedly, Izzy found them increasingly harder to relate to the more his aos sí kept putting him up on a pedestal. “Between you and me, my parents had me go to human school growing up. Spent so much time with humans that it felt normal to blend in. I have my moments of whimsy, but I’m also more grounded to reality unlike a lot of our counterparts.” He took another sip of his drink, then shook his head. His aos sí was anything but typical, and he did what he could to keep everyone in line, but sometimes it was nice to just be on his own, not having the worry about the wellbeing of others. 

A grin spread across the muse’s face as Oliver shared his enthusiasm for a written letter. “Yes! I love cursive! I’ve had to start using print just to be understood, but it’s not the same! I want to be able to write a letter to someone! I want it to feel personal and not just arial font on a computer screen!” It was rare he felt a connection like this, and the thread he usually worried about wasn’t a problem, not here surrounded by no one but other fae. “Well if you ever want someone to write letters to, romantic or otherwise, you have a pen pal in me,” Izzy reassured with a soft smile. 

“I’ve been here my entire life, on the border of the town in an aos sí.” Izzy responded as he finished off his drink, placing the drink down in front of him before giving Oliver his undivided attention. “I’ve… never left the area. Where have you been? Anywhere fun? Please tell me you’ve been somewhere fun.” He leaned into Oliver’s space, eyes wide. He’d always wanted to travel. 

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“Something like that.” Oliver said with a sly smile. It was always a gamble when it came to how other fae would react to his upbringing. Some would immediately look at him with disdain, determining that he was too human-like for them. Others would be a little too interested in the human world, wanting to treat him as an encyclopedia more than an actual person. Too human for the fae world and too fae for the human world. It was a delicate balancing act. At the other’s confession, Oliver pursed his lips for a moment, running his finger around the rim of his drink. Maybe it was worth it to be a little more forthcoming in this situation after all. “I was raised by humans, so I have a feeling we may have similar experiences.” He wondered if Izzy also sometimes felt stuck between the two worlds, like he did. 

Oliver nodded as Izzy spoke about his love for letters. “Exactly!” He glanced across the bar counter, picking up a pen that had been left near a receipt and a napkin. Oliver scrawled out his address before pushing it to Izzy. Oliver was pretty sure he had never given his address out to someone in his first meeting in a situation like this; it was rare for him to even give out his phone number to people he met at a bar. However, there was something about Izzy that told Oliver that he wasn’t making a mistake by giving him this information. “That’s my address, so we can be official pen pals.” He winked, feeling his face flush at the comment about the letters being romantic, but brought his glass up to his lips and took a deep drink to hide behind the glass. 

“Really?” Oliver asked, eyes widening ever so slightly. He knew that his nomadic life was an outlier, but it was always surprising to run into people who had never left home. Oliver couldn’t help but feel that it must be incredibly isolating to never branch out and discover new areas and how one may fit within them. “I’ve been all over, East Coast, West Coast, South, North; even some time abroad.” Oliver shrugged. “I’m uh, 144, so I’ve been able to see a lot and do a lot.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You should absolutely travel at some point, just to see the world. There’s so much more out there than what you see in Wicked’s Rest.” 

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The muse raised his brows with a hint of a smile on his face as Oliver mentioned being raised by humans. “I have a feeling you’re far more adept at the goings on of the human world than I am if they raised you and you’ve spent all your time with them.” Izzy finished the rest of his wine, then signalled the bartender for another with a pleasant smile on his face as he got their attention. Once they took the empty wine glass away, he shifted his attention back over to Oliver. “It’s… strange though. On one hand, humans see you as one of them because you can blend in among them without acting like a toaster is the coolest thing ever. On the other hand, you still have to worry about your glamour failing. Also, because you’re old, toasters are still kind of cool.” Izzy blinked slowly, a faraway expression on his face. 

He watched curiously as Oliver began to scribble something down onto a napkin, his golden gaze shifting from the hand that wrote and up to the blonde’s concentrated expression. It was rare that Izzy felt a kinship with another fae. Usually, he was too focused on gaining their approval and favor to care about what they had to say. Usually, they were too busy being excited about something so mundanely human, which often caused Isidore to lose interest in the fae he was interacting with altogether. But Oliver, he was on his level. He was different from the fae he was used to interacting with day in and day out. 

“I haven’t had a penpal since my ex boyfriend went abroad back in ‘83.” Izzy remarked as he held the napkin in his hand, admiring the handwriting before tucking it away for safe keeping. “I will write to you, and they’ll be so lengthy and thoughtful you’ll wish you never gave me this.” A teasing smirk spread across the muse’s face as he looked up from tucking the napkin away. “We might be the only people that communicate via written letter in this town, though.” The smirk gave way to amusement as his attention shifted to the bar as a refilled glass of wine was placed down in front of him. He gave a thankful nod toward the bartender before picking up the glass and lifting it to his lips.

“Yes, really. When I was young, the focus was on me learning as much about humans as I could, like my father had before me. He was the human expert of the aos sí, but his information was so outdated by the time I came along that he decided it was my turn to go forth and learn. So most of my time was spent doing that. I was needed, so I never really had an opportunity to leave.” Izzy shrugged his shoulders as he drank from his glass, a thoughtful expression on his face. “That never really went away. Then the wardens found us, and… well, I became needed by my community for a completely new reason. They look to me for leadership now. I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.” He looked back over to Oliver, expression guarded. Maybe he’d said too much. Would Oliver even care to hear his explanation? He could never tell if he needed to shut up or not. “I’m 107, and I’ve never left Maine. Perhaps I could learn a thing or two from your travels. You’ll have to tell me all about your travels. What you’ve seen, what you’ve done.”

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Oliver raised a hand, tilting it back and forth. “Mm, I know enough to get by.” He said with a shrug. “Mortals can be a very easy group to exist within, but it can be hard to keep up with all the changes. Time moves so quickly for them; as soon as I’ve figured out one part of what’s happening, something else has already changed.” Oliver explained with a shake of his head. He giggled at the toaster analogy, “To be fair, I didn’t have to live too long before toasters became a thing. But I’d agree that technology is probably the hardest thing to keep up with.” Oliver was usually able to eventually figure it out, either with the help of someone who looked at him oddly for not knowing how to work something when he looked to be a similar age to them, or just stumbling through it until he got it to work. 

“It’s a forgotten trade! Which is very unfortunate.” Oliver grinned, “Perhaps this will have better memories attached to it than your ex.” At the other’s threat, Oliver snorted as he took another sip of his drink. “A letter can never be too long.” He said before he hummed in agreement, “Maybe! That’ll just make us special, though.” Oliver tipped his glass towards the other in a ‘cheers’ motion. 

Oliver’s lips parted as Izzy spoke about the job he had seemingly inherited. “So…you never had a chance to decide what you actually wanted to do?” God, that sounded awful. Part of the reason Oliver jumped from school to school was to satiate his desire to learn about anything that tickled an interest of his. To essentially be trained to be your community's spy for the human world sounded incredibly stifling. He felt his shoulders dip at the mention of wardens. Hunters were a common enough problem that it was rare to find a fae who hadn’t had a poor interaction with them, but it was always disheartening to hear how they had impacted another’s life. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” His gaze became unfocused for a moment; memories floated past his eyes before he blinked a few times to re-center himself. “You don’t have a second-in-command or something? Someone who could watch the community while you traveled somewhere? Even just to Vermont! It’s not that far of a drive to the state line.” Oliver asked, fingers tapping on the bar. “I will! I’ll infect you with the travel bug, one way or another.” Oliver added with a wink. 

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Isidore nodded his head enthusiastically. Finally, someone who got it! “Exactly!” He exclaimed, leaning toward Oliver with wide eyes. “My father’s information was so outdated that it was completely unhelpful by the time it was my turn to take up the mantel. It’s why I’ve stayed in touch with mortals instead of getting what I need and leaving as my father did. I furthered my education despite not needing art school. It kept me in touch with the goings on of the human world. It’s amazing what they’re capable of because they don’t have magic.” He let out a chuckle at the mention of toasters. “The first time I saw a microwave, I thought it was going to explode and kill us all.” He admitted, kicking his feet back and forth as he got lost in his own memories. “It’s something I would never try to explain to another fae back home. They’d be far too perplexed. So many buttons. And what is a microwave? I didn’t do too well in science class growing up…”

“A letter can never be too long, but have you ever had a written conversation going with a muse before? We have a tendency to be verbose and colorful in our descriptions. I’m not one for writing as some of my kin are. I stuck to art in its many forms over music or literature. Not to say I’m incapable, I very much am. It’s just not my first choice. I love painting.” He realized he was going on a rambling tangent, then blinked and refocused his attention. “Special indeed,” he agreed as he returned the motion before taking a sip from his drink.

“Mmn. No, not really.” Izzy admitted with a shrug. He’d never given it too much thought. His life was decided for him at a young age, and he blindly accepted instead of questioning it. “I had what I wanted, which was art. We’re muses, we’re surrounded by the arts. We feed off of people’s desire to create, after all. The schooling was simply a way to keep us safe from the world around us that we didn’t understand.” He’d never questioned his place. Should he have? “Don’t be! It is what it is.” He waved a hand in dismissal, not finding it something to be sorry for. “Oh! I mean, I have a counsel of elders. They’re the ones who have been around the longest, and therefore can dispense wisdom at a moment’s notice. Very helpful if you’re okay with listening to long-winded storytelling. Not sure if that’s a muse thing or an old person thing. Perhaps a mixture of both…” He trailed off, deep in thought for a moment before refocusing yet again. “Oh, sure I could have them stay in charge, but… not for too long. I couldn’t leave for weeks at a time, for instance. No, I’m stuck here.” He nodded his head, smiling once more. “I’ll hold you to that, Oliver. For now, though… where’s the craziest place you’ve been?”

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Oliver grinned at the other’s exclamation. “That sounds about right. It’s a good thing you decided to take a different approach; otherwise, your people would be lost if they ever tried to go on a field trip into town.” Though Oliver had a feeling the people who resided in Izzy’s aos sí likely never planned to set foot outside of it. It’s something he had noted when he had, on the rare occasion, been invited to visit one. Those who lived inside the aos sí saw the outside world as something that was happening but not something that they were really experiencing. They heard stories about the human world; sometimes the truth, and sometimes exaggerated lies that someone had made up to scare the children. Whenever Oliver had interacted with a fae who had broken tradition and left the comfort of an aos sí, one of the first things they always said was simply ‘It’s so different from the stories I was told.’ 

“I have!” Oliver thought of Cleo, the letters and postcards they exchanged. A pang of sadness radiates through his chest at the thought that the letters had gotten shorter over time, quick updates on the locations where they had moved to, brief stories of what’s been going on. There was a sense that they were both keeping things hidden from the other, but neither pressed about it. A mutual understanding that if you wrote on a postcard, you had a built-in excuse that there simply wasn’t room to go into details. He swallows down the discomfort, not wishing to dwell on it at the moment. “Well, I’d love to see your art at some point. I am, unfortunately, not very gifted in that realm, so I always love to watch a true master at work.”