#vywrites

Percy waved goodbye to his high-class guests politely, straining a smile.

In reality, he was absolutely exhausted by the mess he'd made.

Someone at the manor suggested he should work with a marketing team to spread the word of his books. It didn't seem like a terrible idea at the time. His poems were his livelihood after all. So, he scheduled a meeting that day, consisting of about four upper-class men.

Little did he know, the group would not get along one bit. He accidentally made the worst team of the nineteenth century. No one agreed on anything. Or acted civil. Papers and insults were thrown across the room. By the third hour, Percy stopped trying to negotiate—instead sitting by the side, watching it devolve into madness.

At that point, Franklin, his dearly beloved, came to check up on the screaming. The man smiled through the chaos and brought him his tea. The butler might not say it often, but the hurt in his eyes was clear at times like these. He wanted nothing more than to smother his darling with love at his lowest. That meeting was quite the low.

Percy shut the door as soon as the guests were out of sight. He sighed heavily as he turned on his heels, walking back into the manor. He mumbled senselessly under his breath. That was such a waste of time. He could have been writing a dozen more poems.

A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts from behind him, "Sir?"

"Franklin!" He exclaimed in glee."There you are. I was searching for you."

Franklin looked around the area. "Me?"

"Of course you, who else?"

"The maids, the gardener—" he started to list off.

"I would only search for you, my sweet love."

Franklin hummed, his eyes down on the ground. "Are you alright, sir? Do you have a headache? That meeting sounded very disruptive?" He said, ending the word disruptive in a way that implied it was a question.

Percy chuckled. Franklin had always used bigger words to catch his attention, even though Percy enjoyed his unique lexicon and made an effort to say this. He was perfectly fine the way he was. He still slipped up from time to time. "It certainly was disruptive! I have a terrible headache."

"Would you like to have some tea with that? To sharpen the mind?"

"Perhaps when we get to bed. I want to rest for the night. Care to join me?" There was no real reason to ask by this point. The answer was always going to be a definitive yes.

Franklin nodded, planting a kiss on his temple.

Percy opened the double doors to their chambers, extravagantly decorated. He had changed quite a few things since Franklin had moved in. He gave him his own desk right next to his, so they could share their brilliant ideas together. There was a wooden drawer tucked to the side, practically invisible from view. It housed all of the butler's clothes. Some of which Percy ordered from a special tailor. He wanted to help make his lover feel pretty.

He walked right in, taking his coat off and setting it aside on a nearby chair.

His eyes wandered to the unfinished poems on his desk. He felt a sense of responsibility wash over him—then dread. He had to get them done. He bit his lip. Right now wasn't the time, especially when he couldn't even think straight (nor was he ever straight to begin with.)

Meanwhile, Franklin prepared tea by their bedside, humming a melody to himself. Two sugars like always in Percy's cup. Percy encouraged him to try his own tea for once since dating. He found he quite liked it, especially with a splash of milk and a sugar cube—which sparked a debate on if one sugar cube or two was better. It never was a serious argument. More like a silly "inside joke" (a word Franklin coined).

After lamenting at his desk for a long while, Percy turned around to see his lover—done with his tea making—laying down on their bed, his scarf and coat long forgotten on the floor. His arms were open, inviting him in. Oh how could he resist such a sight?

He crawled into the empty space between his arms. His headache began to subside. Despite this, he could not relax. His body was as stiff as a rock. In fact, he'd gotten more upset. Where was this warmth during those long hours? Franklin was there. He was just out of reach, holding his tray of tea like a normal butler.

He was tired of pretending Franklin was a normal butler. He was his love. His driving force. His muse. His motivation. His darling. He wanted to scream on the rooftops his name for the whole world to hear.

He couldn't though. This love they had was scandalous. It was frowned upon that they were a couple of class difference, but a couple of same sex? They would be banished, jailed—or at worst— executed for their sins. How could a soft love like this be sinful? If only society could understand that this was alright—that it wasn't a crime to be punished.

"What is it?" Franklin's voice cut through his thoughts. He was always so good at catching when something was wrong. "You can tell me."

"I-I wish I could love you—"

"You do."

"I wasn't finished." Percy said, "I wish I could love you in public. To kiss you in front of a crowd. To whisper delightful praises into your ear on stage. To confess my vows in a church. To announce my love for you." He was just getting teary at the thought. How unfair it was that one of them was born a man. He still knew he would not love Franklin the same if he was not a man.

"We already do that," He stated as if it was a known fact.

The blond raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"We do it through poetry. You write about the kisses you want to give me. You write about vows and praises. You write all of these things about me, and you speak them. Out in the London town hall. They know about us." His taller lover explained.

He scoffed. That was the truest thing he'd heard since that woman from his first reading pointed out his frauds. It was utterly ridiculous. "They'll never truly know about us," he emphasised.

"I know."

And with that statement, the atomoshpere went quiet. The owls called from outside. He didn't know how long they stayed cuddled up in silence. He only remembered when Franklin spoke up again.

"I'm sorry that didn't help,"

"Don't apologise. It made me feel better." It truly did. Even though, he was still upset at the situation, there was nothing else they could do. Poetry was all they had to express their love to the outside world.

Franklin pressed his face into the crook of his partner's neck and kissed it softly. "I love you," he whispered.

In return, he planted a kiss on the other's head. "I love you too." Franklin held him tighter.

With that resolved, he finally let his mind wander far as he drifted off to sleep. He imagined a world where this love wasn't regarded as sinful. A world where a butler and a poet were equals. A world he believed only existed in his dreams.

Ding-dong!

Amanda whipped her head around to the door, stopping her sweeping to run to the counter. She needed to hire more people; she couldn't keep doing this, making a fool of herself, especially when there was a gorgeous woman in front of her.

That woman was her best friend, Clarissa.

Clarissa always came around and supported Bedazzled Coffee ever since its beginnings. When Amanda proudly declared to be like her father and run her very own business all those years ago, Clarissa was immediately on board. She helped sketch out and daydream the cafe plans.  She had been her very first customer, taste-testing drinks in the pizza dinner’s kitchen. She tried to pitch in to the start-up money from time to time, but being the broke student she was, she couldn’t help as much. Even when they got the cafe up and running, she would drop by to grab a latte (with oat milk) or help out for a while. 

It seemed like today she was just an ordinary customer. With a date. 

There beside her was a man with no hair, and was around an inch taller than Amanda. He wore very plain attire. He clearly worked out, guessing from his muscles. She had always had the type for gymbros. That wouldn’t be much of a problem if they weren’t dicks fifty percent of the time.

Now, Amanda knew that Clarissa was straight, but that didn’t stop her from pining for her for years. It was a stupid thing really. Jealousy boiled inside her every time her best friend introduced one her new boyfriends. This was no exception. She tensed up and smiled, bringing out her customer service voice.

“How can I help you today?”

“Amanda! How have you been? I’ll have just my regular please with three churros on the side.” The brunette nodded, trying to avoid eye contact with the both of them. She tapped it into the register. “Mark, What do you want? Oh right! Amanda, this is Mark, my date for today. Mark, this is Amanda, my best friend.” 

So, not boyfriend yet. Good to know.

“Hello.” She said bluntly. 

The other waved awkwardly. “Um- I’ll get a macchiato please,”

“Is that all?” They nodded. “That’ll be —” The blonde immediately stepped in to pay for it like she always did. A Clarissa-worthy person would step up and offer to pay for her. Mark didn’t even move an inch. A coward, she remarked in her head.

  They took a seat and Amanda started to make their drinks. During the preparation process, all she could think about was him. Mark didn’t deserve her. Well, maybe he did. Only time will tell. She might have been too quick to judge. She wanted only the best for her best friend. 

She was so distracted that she accidentally poured some of the hot coffee on her finger. She scowled. She was familiar with the burning sensation, but it still hurt quite a lot. She frantically grabbed a napkin and wrapped it around it. It was only temporary until she had time to spare (or when Alys came back from her break. Seriously, where was that girl?) She was already too far behind, with a line forming at the register.

She quickly placed the lid on their drinks and called out, “Latte, churros and a macchiato for Clarissa and Mark!”

Clarissa perked up and happily walked over to collect her drinks, still making conversation with the man beside her. Her soft fingers seemed to linger on the cup for a moment.“Thanks, Amanda. You’re the best.” 

But that still isn’t good enough. “I know,” She smirked, making the other giggle. She missed this kind of banter.

Titch had to drive way too many imperial kilometers to get to the nearest bit of civilization off campus. 

See, he had been attending horticultural school in fucking New Jersey for about a month. He had always wanted to travel to the states for education, but to New Jersey out of all places? It wasn’t his top pick. It’s not like he had any other choice. The rest of the schools he applied to rejected him.

The school owned quite a lot of land which was good for learning about crops. Not so good when you need to go get groceries. Sure, the campus had some plain old stores he could attend, but Titch really needed to go to the outside world for a moment. He was sick and tired of the same old stuff. It was a miracle it took this long for an adventure out into the American streets.

He planned to just pull into the nearest shop or establishment he could spot on the outskirts of town. That place just so happened to be a small independently run coffee shop named Bedazzled Coffee. The shop looked nicely decorated and far better than the shitty cafe on campus he’d forgotten to stop by at. Anything would beat that coffee. 

True to its name, the interior of the shop was, well, bedazzled with colourful blue, pink and green furniture items and sparkles everywhere. It was quite bright for Titch’s taste. He could vaguely see what demographic the shop was for, and he knew he was not it, so he tried to appreciate what it was trying to be.

One thing caught his attention, though, and it had nothing to do with the furniture. In the middle of the store, there was a tall brown-haired man, hunched over on his computer. He sat alone with papers and empty cups scattered around his table. God, was he gorgeous. Titch knew it was wrong to stare, but something about him captivated him. Maybe, it was the way his curly hair framed his face or his moles. 

He had to snap out of it. He wasn’t gay, not like there is anything wrong with that. He’d burned that generational homophobia out of him. It was just he just wasn’t one. He was admiring a very handsome man, and there was nothing wrong with that. Pure straight behavior.

A cheerful voice cut through his thoughts. “Hello! How can I help you today?” The woman at the  till called out. Her brown hair was tied up into a high pony tail. He walked up to the counter, trying to avoid sneaking glances at the man. On closer inspection, she had the same moles and freckles as that stranger. 

“I’ll just have a large black coffee,” He said. His voice betrayed him, clearly showing his accent. It was so distinct, compared to everyone else here.

She tapped the order in and muttered, “Ah, I knew you weren’t from here.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“As obvious as you ogling at my brother,” A sly smirk appeared on her face.

He flushed. Was it that noticeable? Was he even still doing it? He definitely thought he stopped by now and he definitely wasn’t “ogling”. He was just looking, admiring perhaps. Yup. “I am so sorry, but I wasn’t–”

“Go talk to him.” She interrupted, “He absolutely adores company. He's the type of guy to strike up a conversation with anyone.”

“Isn’t that weird? There’s enough seats for me to sit elsewhere,” Is this what Americans did? Sit with strangers that want to be alone? If someone came up to Titch in a coffee shop, he would tell them to fuck off. Sitting with a stranger was daunting, even if that stranger was hot.

“Say that Amanda sent you,”

He sighed in defeat. This girl was persistent. “Alright,”

Amanda’s customer service voice came back.“Good. That’ll be 3.20. Name?”

“Titch,” Her head tilted up a bit. He didn’t blame her. It was quite a weird name for someone to have, especially back at home. He paid for his order, trying to take as long as possible because he wasn’t ready for that confrontation. It was fine, though. It wasn’t very busy. 

He tapped the chair in front of the man nervously. He was even prettier up close.“Do you mind if I take a seat here?”

“Go ahead! I’m not really doing much with all this space,” The taller one said, despite most of the table being covered in papers. He tried to grab all of the papers to his side. “Take a seat.” He resumed typing away on his computer as the blonde sat down on the chair. 

Titch was never good at small talk. He scrambled in his brain to say the right thing. To make a  good impression. Instead, he said the first thing that came to mind. “So… what are you doing?” 

“Writing an article for the paper,”

“You write for the news?”

“It’s just an internship to get me started.” He replied, dismissively like it was no big deal. “I forgot to introduce myself. Silly me,” He extended his hand out for a handshake. Oddly professional. “I’m Derek. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m–”

A booming voice called out, “Black coffee for Titch!” There she went, interrupting him again. 

“Titch…” He completed, annoyed. 

Derek wasn’t phased by the name. Instead, he teased, “Black coffee? What are you? An old man?” 

That didn’t stop the growing smile on his face, in fact, it made it worse. “Shut up,” 

When handing his drink to Titch, she whispered into his ear, grinning. “I wrote his number in the sleeve,” She proclaimed. She wanted to set him up with her brother so badly. Sure, he was attractive, but anyone with functioning eyes could see that! That didn’t mean he was attracted to him or other men. Too bad for her, he had a confession to make.

“I’m not gay,”

She chuckled. “Sure, honey. Well, it’s there if you ever change your mind,”

He took a sip of his coffee carefully. He was right. It was way better than that shitty campus coffee. It had the correct amount of acidity and sweetness for his liking (which really meant that it was more bitter than sweet.) It was pretty perfect to his standards. He would certainly be ordering this again, no matter how far he has to travel.

 Meanwhile, Derek grabbed his drink to sip on it, but nothing came through. He opened the lid. “Oh, It looks like I ran out,” He remarked to himself. The blond wondered how many of those he’d already drank. He stood up, “I’m gonna go get another coffee. Want anything? I’ll pay,”

“No thanks,”

“You sure?” He nodded.

Derek returned with his cappuccino, and a small bag with two Boston Cream donuts. “I got two, so you could try them. I don’t think you have Boston Creams in Britain. They’re my favourite. You should give it a shot.” They did have those in Britain. It was just Titch had never bothered to try them.

“I don’t really like sugary treats,” He answered. Then, Derek hit him with the cutest puppy eyes. God help him. He was giving in a lot today. “Fine, Fine,” He grabbed the donut and took a bite, watching the other light up with the biggest grin ever. He would do anything for that smile.

The donut tasted pretty good. It wasn’t overly sweet which was his biggest fear. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to finish it. He could eat more than one in a single sitting. It was quite light and airy too. The textures worked well in his mouth.

“It’s fine,” He mumbled with the slightest smile on his face. He continued to bite into the pastry.

The taller one immediately caught his bluff. “I knew you would like it!” He exclaimed.

They continued on like that for who knew how long, conversing back and forth about random things. First, it was some small getting to know you thing, but as time moved on, they talked about more personal things. It strangely went along like a date. Huh. They were stuck in a trance together until suddenly, Amanda came out of nowhere behind Titch.

“Boys, I know your date is going well, but I need you to leave. We’re getting busy and we need more space. You two have been sitting here for hours. Derek, I already give you enough free real estate, don’t complain. Shoo!” Amanda explained, kicking her brother’s chair. He squealed.

 Had it been hours? Time passed by really fast. He had so much to do today. How had he lost track of time that easily? He knew it was Derek, but he didn’t want to admit that. “It’s alright. I need to leave too. See you around?”

Derek’s eyes glistened, “I hope so,”

When exiting, he tossed his cup out, making sure to keep the sleeve with Derek’s number. He gently slipped it into his pocket for safe keeping.  

Johnny was now face to face with his wife, drawing his gun. 

He didn’t remember how he fucked up this badly on his marriage. With his wife pointing a gun at him. It might have been one big argument or the slow drifts of insults over time. Maybe, It was the first time he called her a bitch. It wasn’t like it mattered now. He was done for.

But there was a sparkle. A small twinkle in her eyes that could never be noticed by the ordinary. The twinkle that used to light up every time Johnny walked in a room. A twinkle that shone in the dark at night. A twinkle, a glimpse, of a different woman. A young softer woman that he loved. No matter how hard she tried to erase it, that girl was still there in her. Maybe, through a stroke of luck, Johnny can get that girl to come through.

“You ever consider that we could put these guns down and start over?” 

She stared down at him, not moving an inch. Her eyes sharp, piercing through his heart. He wondered if they were always like that or that her gaze had grown colder over the years. Everything stopped. The air tightened. 

It was just them alone in this world together like it used to –and should have– be. Back then, when the world went away, they could forget about every trouble that came before them. It wasn’t like this anymore. The world was forgotten, yes, but there was no more forgetting. They were facing their troubles head on. Those troubles happened to be each other.

She squinted hard. She should have shot him right then and there. To his surprise, she actually lowered her gun down. Only down enough to where she would be shooting would be his leg and not his head, but it was a start. “I guess you can always give a dog a second chance.” She simply said, “But you will have to prove your worth, my dear.” She turned on her heel.

He didn’t know if he should have felt relieved or terror when she said that. This was what he wanted. He wanted for the both of them to live. Would a life in death be better than a life with her?

“Do what exactly?”

“Stay.” She demanded, placing the gun down on a counter. At least, she could not shoot him from here. “Do what I say and stay.”

In hindsight, he should have listened, but that wasn’t his strong suit. Instead, Johnny instinctively reached a hand out for her and tried to grab her arm gently. “Bella–”

 “How untrained you are, after all these years, baffles me.” She barked at him, picking up her gun again. He spoke too soon. She ripped away from his grasp, turning around. 

 “I thought I trained that clinginess out of you. You are still that desperate native puppy I foolishly married. ” She scowled at him like one of her little puppies. He knew that wasn’t the entire truth. Yes, he was still desperate for her– for the old her, but they both have changed for the worse. 

“Mom–”  Their only son objected. Johnny had forgotten he was there. Poor kid, he shouldn’t have to see his parents like this. Why did they have to bring a son into or even into this cruel world at all? It wasn’t fair that they passed down the generational trauma that they hoped to prevent in the first place. 

“Stay out of this, kid. This is an issue me and your pops will solve on our own.” She was gentler to him. That was the difference between Johnny and Jimmy. She actually spoke and treated him like a person with respect.

“Listen here,” Belladonna pulled her husband towards her, grabbing the back of his head and pushing it down. He grunted. She pointed the gun directly on his chin. Up close, her stare would kill the weak. “I told you to stay here. You will listen to me. Do not go and find me. Whatever I get up to is none of your business, even as an entitled cop. Your “bitch” needs some alone time, okay? Leave me alone.” 

He wanted to simply nod, but that might trigger her to pull the trigger. “Fine.” He struggled.

She showed her wicked grin. There was a time where he liked that smile, but during that time it wasn’t condescending. “Good,”

She dropped the gun on the ground with a clatter. 

In a blink-of-a second, she was gone. Johnny wondered if he was already dead, and from his initial question to now was some sort of afterlife torture. But it felt too normal for that. If this was meant to torment him, wouldn’t everything be worse? 

Titch doesn't know what to do anymore. 

He's just tired. Of everything. of the farm, of the pitying neighbours, of the ever-growing list of plans. 

He stabs the ground with his pitchfork. He wants to lie down in bed and cry, until he can't anymore. It’s very rare that he even wants to process his emotions at all. He can’t do that though. He has to do extra work around the farm because he had spent farming time planning his father’s funeral and attending it.

It had been Titch who did all of the planning. His shitty brother, James, hadn't done a single thing. Instead, he was playing football with his mates in the yard like always. Yet, if father could see them from his grave, he would still love James all the same.

That wouldn’t be the case for Titch. If he did the exact things that James did, he would have been rejected. Thrown out of the family. He had to earn his love. He had to prove he was worth adopting. He’d done everything he was asked without hesitation. He worked himself to exhaustion. He's doing that right now isn't he?

 Titch stares out at the vast farm. It spans kilometres, as far as the eye can see. He can't see anyone. He is alone at last, away from everything. He always wanted to be alone when he was little, intentionally not talking to the kids at the orphanage. Currently, it's suffocating him with a realisation.

He earned his father's love, but he’s gone now. James hates his guts. No one loves him. Not his family, not his neighbours. Not even himself. 

He's so fucking lonely. 

Tears prick his eyes. He can barely see the ground, but continues to remove the weeds. There's so many. Those weeds grew quicker since the last time he pulled them out. It’d been a week since that? He doesn’t remember.  How long will this take? He wants to get it done by midnight, but it was already the evening. 

He's choking on his spit and tears. He has to keep moving. He has to. He doesn't know how long it's been, but he keeps working. He can't ruin the multi-generational dream with his feelings. That would be stupid.

Before Titch could think, it's completely dark out. Has he been working that long? Nothing has been finished yet! The weeds never seemed to end.

A comforting hand lands on his shoulders. It's his head assistant, Derek. "Titch, I'm going home now. It is ten pm," Really? He can't feel time moving. Now that he thinks about it, he can’t feel at all.

"Okay," He replies. He doesn't dare to look him in his soft eyes and continues to stare at the ground. 

Derek notices this avoidance. "Are you okay?" He questions gently.

It's just a simple question, but it makes Titch finally let himself cry. He really isn’t okay. He hasn’t been okay in weeks. He tries to hide his sobs, but it's obvious now. "No..." He barely makes out. 

Derek pulls him into an embrace. "You need a break. At least until tomorrow, love." 

"But what about-" He cries out. 

"That can be tomorrow's problem. I'm always here for you," He gives a comforting smile. "I can walk you over to your house. Is that good?" 

Titch merely nods. He takes his hand and leads him to his "home". It doesn't feel like one. Not since he died. Derek opens the door with the key he gave him for emergencies only. Derek would absolutely consider this an emergency. He wouldn't. Emergencies were kidnapping, or theft, not emotional break downs. Everything was going to be fine in the end. 

They're met with a mess. Titch hadn't had any time to clean the house and it shows. Empty bottles of alcohol are sprawled across the floor. Everything is out of order. He’s embarrassed. The Titch Derek knows is organised, composed, and not an absolute mess.

Derek drags them into Titch's bedroom. He gently lays him down on his bed, caressing his jaw lovingly. He mutters something, but the shorter man filters it out. Titch wants to keep him this close forever. He reluctantly lets go. Derek turns to leave with a subtle smile. "Please... stay," Titch begs with all he can muster. "It's too quiet."

The taller man moves closer to his bed side. Titch pulls him down in a kiss as an act of desperation to keep him there. To his surprise, Derek recuperates it with the same amount of desperation. It’s sweet. It’s messy. It’s everything he wants in a kiss.

"We can't do this, boss," Derek reminds him, of not only his position, but of what he can’t have.

"Please. Only for a night," His aware of how foolish he sounds right now, but he can't help it. He grabs by the waist as he fidgets with his belt. He needs to be closer. He makes him feel something again. He needs him.

Derek steps back, panicking. "I'm sorry." He murmurs. It’s so sincere, lacing with empathy, but it didn’t hurt him any less.  He shakes his head. He continues to further himself away, "I can't do this. I can't risk this, Titch," 

Titch can't bring himself to say anything. 

"I'm so sorry. It's just-" The assistant cuts himself off. His pretty soft eyes start to fill with tears.  He rushes to the door. Derek is about to leave. "I love you," Before the short farmer had any time to react, the other closed the door behind them. 

1.

“Arthur,” His mother put a hand on his lap while her other hand took his tea cup and placed it on the counter.“Don’t cry over spilled tea. We can always refill it. It’s just an honest mistake, honey,”

“But mummy!” Arthur rubbed his eyes, sniffling. He frantically tried to brush the tea off from his lap, but the tea had already soaked through his clothes. “I made us look silly in front of the new people. They’re gonna hate me like they did back at home!” He felt the gazes of the strange men on him. Judging him.

She grabbed her coat from the rack and started to wipe it. “Shh… remember what I said, don't trauma dump. They’re not going to hate you, I promise, okay?” He mumbles incomprehensibly under his breath. Mummy ignored it, instead she looked at the one of the funny named men and asked, “Darling, can you get more tea for us, please?”

The silent man (What was his name? Wind or something?) nodded. He walked over to them and poured tea into their cups with a subtle smile. Something about the way he looked and smiled at mummy felt familiar. Arthur couldn’t pinpoint what it was. 

Mummy returned that smile with the same amount of familiarity, “Thank you.” She gave his miniature cup back to him. He clutched it tightly, tracing the engraved flowers on it. He didn’t feel like drinking anymore. 

Arthur let a tear drop into his freshly-made tea.

—

2.

Arthur missed his mummy.

God, he couldn’t remember anything about her. His memories of everything before the maze were distorted and blurry. It hurt to remember. He didn’t know if that was an emotional thing or some weird punishment from the maze. Those precious moments with his mother were fading and couldn’t do a single thing about it. He could not lose the one single element keeping him going, even if it hurt to think about.

He buried his head in his hands.

How long had it been anyway? He checked his left sleeve. Each tally represented– or was supposed to represent– a single day. Time was a wonky thing in the maze.

2922.

That was how many days he had been here. Almost three thousand days. Eight years. That’s double the age of when he got here. Arthur was almost a grown man now and that scared him. He didn’t want to grow up without his mummy or daddy by his side. The idea of growing up alone was frightening, sure, but it seemed so close to reality at this point. 

He took a deep breath in.

He had to keep going. For her. For his mummy. For– what was her name? 

He stopped right in his tracks. What was her name?  He searched his head for anything. For the slightest clue of her name. He thought back to every single memory, every single moment. There were moments where her name should have been used. It just wasn’t there. It dawned on him.

He had forgotten his own mother’s name.

Arthur felt the tears prick his eyes. What kind of son forgets his mother’s name? He swallowed a sob. He had to stop thinking about this. The growing pain in his chest was too much. He could barely walk. He was leaning on a nearby wall for stability.

He quickly wiped the rapidly falling tears on his sleeve, smudging the ink. He couldn’t cry. He had a mission to do.

—

3.

Arthur was sitting and staring at the ground, holding back tears. He needed a fucking break after running around the maze for so long. He just couldn’t though. He was glued to the ground. He had to find his mum if it was the last thing he would do, but he was so exhausted.

 Jimmy, his strange half-creature half-man friend, took a seat beside him,  “You okay, mate?”

“Not really,” He took another shot of vodka. How the hell did Jimmy find vodka in the first place? It didn’t matter. He was going to get drunk off it anyways. Jimmy found a bottle of liquid in the maze, and yet, Arthur couldn’t find a whole entire person. 

“What’s the matter? Talk to me, kid,” He wasn’t a kid anymore though. He was a grown man and men don’t cry do they? Men don’t trauma dump either. Remember, men don't trauma dump. Don’t fold. Men don’t–

“I miss my mummy.” He blurted out, tears falling down his face. Damn it. 

“And I miss my husband. You’re not alone.” 

That one simple sentence completely destroyed him. It was comforting, yes, but it made him cry harder. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had someone to talk to after fifteen years alone, searching for anyone. Jimmy still wasn’t his mother and nothing could change that. It was nice to have someone that would look out for him. 

“There, there,” Jimmy patted his back and pulled him into a hug. It’s been ages since he’s gotten a hug or any physical affection for the matter. He melted into it. It reminded him of how she would hold him. “It’ll be alright. Don’t cry. It’ll be okay.”

Arthur cried until he fell asleep. 

—

+1

His mummy’s right in front of him, right where he last saw her. She looks the same as he remembered too. Down to her clothes. His daddy’s here with him. He was so blind before. How could not see that the mute man was his father? They look so alike. His family is finally back together. He can not believe it.

Arthur doesn’t even know what to do. He’s always dreamed of this moment and yet no words come out of his mouth.  He starts to cry again. Not out of sadness or longing, but out of joy which is an even more stupid reason to cry, but he can’t help it. He would always fold for her.

They both stare at him, mouth agape. Do they even recognize their little boy? He’s changed so much. He isn’t their eight year old boy anymore. Do they still love him the same?

Susanna slowly approaches him with her arms out. He remembers now, Susanna is her name and what a lovely name it is. How could he forget such a thing? “Don’t cry, Arthur. It’s me. I’m right here,” She whispers into his ear, wrapping her arms around him. 

Arthur melts into it, pulling her closer. He’s desperate for it. For warmth. For her presence. She’s so small compared to him now. When did he get so tall? He places his head on her shoulder and cries into it. 

He can hear Susanna tear up a little too. What a weird sight to see. She never cried. She always stood strong for him. He tried to be strong for her too. They can be vulnerable together.

“Come here, Henry,” She demands. It wasn’t harsh or blunt like how she usually speaks. It was soft. He hesitantly nods, walking over to them slowly. “I told you to come here, darling” She yanks him into the hug and giggles, but it’s one of those laughs that breaks through sobs.

The first thing it does in the morning is to nip Andrews' shoulders. Which isn't much of a problem until you've been living with him for so long, therefore needing to endure a lot more. It's not bad at all though. Andrews is a tough guy. He can take it (usually).

As expected, the creature gently sinks its teeth into his collar bone. This one is particularly deep, causing him to flinch. It looks up at him with pleading eyes, checking if what he's doing is okay. He nods in confirmation. They know each other now to communicate in silence. It begins to run a line of small bite marks along the bone.

Anna only parts when she needs to breathe. Her breath hitched alone.

She stumbles back to see what she has caused. It makes her nauseous. It's a mess.

The wound in Esmeralda's chest bleeds all over her elegant gown. The stake is still there holding some of the blood back. Her dead body slumps over on the chair for strength.

She takes a second to admire her. What a shame someone so beautiful was a vampire. Her long hair, her eyes, her unique fashion sense. Although, the woman did look better covered in her own blood. It compliments her pale skin well.

Curiously, Anna touches the blood leaking out of the chest, and licks it.

Her brown eyes dilate. It's addicting. Who knew vampire blood tasted so good? No wonder these vampires fed on human blood. She would too if it tasted like this. She takes more of it, applying it on her lips like it's lipstick.

Once she finishes enjoying her meal, she resumes kissing the corpse, painting the blonde's mouth red. When that's not enough, she bites hard on her mouth causing it to bleed. It was surprisingly easier than she thought it would be. She doesn't have the fangs that vampires do.

You would have guessed she was the vampire out of the two from afar by the way she is hunched over her, feeding on her victim.