can one be great? can one be kind?

“I’m nottt yelling,” she grumbles defensively, her weight suddenly shifting hard as she missteps and begins to tilt too far. He steadies her against him with a grunt, willing her not to fall dramatically to the floor.

“Debatable,” he mutters with a roll of his eyes. “Why did you even want to go to their party in the first place? I didn’t think you were friends with the vampires.”

She had excitedly invited him to come to the event earlier that evening, begging him to ‘be a normal person for once’ and live a little by joining her. He had promptly turned down the offer in favor of making progress on his current project, not noticing the flash of hurt in her eyes when he’d insisted that he’d rather spend his time on something worthwhile.

He saw no point in wasting a free evening at a very prohibited social gathering packed tight with his hormonal classmates. Not if there was progress to be made, boundaries to be pushed.

But late into the night, long after she’d left him in the solitude of his lab, he felt the familiar, gnawing urge to go looking for her. If only for the sake of ensuring she wasn’t making any regrettable decisions, he told himself.

Certainly not because he was worried or desperately craving her company.

He had braved the chaos of the cramped, dimly lit party, pushing through the tightly packed bodies of his peers and straining to stay focused in the haze of alcohol and noise threatening to overwhelm his senses.

A feeling of relief had settled in his gut when he finally spotted her, slumped against her roommate in the corner with a mystery drink in hand and a dopey grin on her face.

She’d brightened instantly when she realized it was really him making his way towards her through the crowd, giggling his name and happily waving him over with clumsy limbs. Clearly, she believed he’d undergone a change of heart.

“Isaaaaac! You’re here!” She had cooed, enthusiastically reaching for him and spilling some of her drink in the process.

But her smile of excitement had quickly dropped when it became clear he wasn’t there to join her.

He was there to enforce responsibility.

It was only after a brief, frustrating back and forth that he’d finally coaxed her disappointed form against his side, setting her drink aside and guiding her away from the thumping bass into the quiet of the hallway.

She’d obviously had enough for one night.

“They invited me,” she mumbles only slightly more coherently, blinking heavily as he steers her down the hall towards his dormitory. “And I really wanted you to come with me. I thought we could finally have fun together.”

This time, he doesn’t miss the disappointed note to her voice. It draws a deep sigh from his chest.

“You know I don’t do parties.”

It’s the same excuse he’d used earlier in the night, the words holding a slight edge of vulnerability to them despite his best efforts to sound resolute.

He had little interest in drinking when he’d witnessed firsthand the ways it could change a person. How it fueled violent tendencies and emboldened an already unstable mind, turned people into the worst versions of themselves.

Inevitably, the idea of attending a gathering filled with his drunken peers, though likely harmless, sounded about as fun as pulling teeth. Even if letting her down made some long-forgotten part of him ache.

They arrive outside his door, Isaac giving one last cautious glance around the hall before ushering her inside. She blearily mumbles something along the lines of “whattabout Gomez,” to which he shakes his head.

“Gomez is with Morticia most nights, and they’re probably busy desecrating a grave site somewhere. He won’t bother us.”

He shuts and locks the door behind them, guiding her stumbling body to his bed where he sits her down. She giggles, foggy gaze finding its way back to him as she tips over to collapse against the clean, perfectly made up sheets.

“Mm…the whole room to ourselves.”

He ignores her ramblings as he moves to his wardrobe, surveying potential options for her to wear instead of that distractingly tight dress.

He finds himself quietly wishing he’d taken the time to appreciate the outfit before she’d ended up in such a state. But as it was, he was intent on getting her to sleep.

He could unpack his body’s instinctive reaction to the sight of her later.

He finally settles on a simple, comfortable sweater tucked into one of his drawers, along with a soft pair of sweats he isn’t entirely sure he’s ever worn. Likely a gift from a father who didn’t care enough to remember his son’s preference for finer clothing.

He returns to the bed where he finds her slumped over in a heap, fingers numbly fidgeting with the necklace Isaac had gifted her weeks ago. She beams when he comes back into view.

“Are you sober enough to change on your own?” He sighs with a raised eyebrow, already knowing the answer as her grin widens.

“Isaaaac…are you trying to get me out of my clothes?” She laughs, clearly anticipating something much less innocent.

Isaac rolls his eyes, firmly shifting her to sit up.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. You’re too drunk for that,” he mutters, noting the way she blinks heavily and sways in place. Far too drunk.

She grumbles some sort of half-hearted protest, but he won’t hear it.

“Come on. Stay still.” He’s all business as his fingers deftly locate the zipper along the side of the dress, carefully unzipping it and guiding her arms from the straps. She’s frustratingly unhelpful throughout the process, her limbs numb and dexterity shot, but he bites back any snide comments.

Not the time. She was vulnerable and relying on him, and he refused to hold her state against her. At least for the time being.

Slowly, he lays her down and works the fabric down her body, almost reverent as more and more of her skin is bared to him. Though it certainly wasn’t the first time seeing her like this, he could still feel his poor, desperate heart trying its best to mimic a skipped beat.

With her now in her undergarments, he shifts his attention to the small pile of clothes he’d settled on the bed beside her. But of course, she couldn’t let him do something so simple without interfering.

“Need to get this thing off,” she groans dramatically, numbed fingers weakly reaching towards her back and fumbling with the clasp of her bra. The one with the lacy detailing that dizzies Isaac when he forgets himself and stares for too long.

“S’too tight to sleep in.”

He swallows thickly to steady himself, knowing he needed to help if he didn’t want to watch her flounder for the next five minutes. It takes all of his strength to remain steady and unaffected as he stills her hands.

“I’ve got it,” he mutters sharply, not quite harsh but leaving no room for argument. In one swift movement, he unclasps the small hook, the garment falling away with ease.

He’s momentarily grateful that she’s too out of it to notice the way his ears burn bright pink.

“There,” he manages, the slightest waver to his voice as he tosses the bra on top of her dress that he’d set neatly to the side. He ignores the sensation of his hands growing slightly clammy.

Pull it together.

“Better,” she sighs in contentment, oblivious to the look of aching admiration in his eyes before he sighs and reaches for the sweater.

“Here. One arm at a time,” he instructs quietly, voice gentler than before as he slides the soft material over her head.

She gladly accepts the warmth of the fabric, curling into a comfortable ball after he helps her into the pants. “Your bed is always soooo comfy,” she mumbles, eyelids already drooping as her body instinctively relaxes.

He watches with something like appreciation in his eyes at the way she so easily trusts his company.

“I’m sure anywhere would be comfortable enough for you to sleep right now,” he says sarcastically, though there’s no bite to the words. Just a quiet relief that he’d found her and provided someplace safe for her to rest.

She giggles in weak agreement at the jab, heavy eyelids blinking open to watch him. “Probably would’ve fallen asleep on a floor somewhere,” she admits, drawing a wince from him.

He doesn’t particularly enjoy the mental image of her vulnerable and alone in her inebriation.

Isaac is silent for a long moment as he gazes down at her, cold hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from her face on instinct. His knuckles linger on her warmed cheek.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you,” he finally admits into the quiet between them. The words come from someplace rare, sincere.

“You shouldn’t have been alone when you just wanted to spend time with me. It was rude to decline the way I did.”

She sobers slightly at that, gaze growing more aware at his sincerity. “…I know you have your reasons,” she offers, body still heavy against the sheets as she fights off sleep for a moment.

Even in her current state, she remembered the way Isaac’s jaw always seemed to tense at loud voices, the way the very scent of alcohol left him detached, almost dissociative.

It didn’t take her boyfriend’s intelligence to piece together why he had no interest in parties.

“I do. But that doesn’t mean I was fair to you,” he murmurs, almost cringing at the way she was giving him an out. “I don’t want you to think that…that I don’t care. That I would happily brush you aside when you want to do things with me. I wouldn’t.”

She blinks up at him, startled by how truthful his words seem to be. “I knowww you care,” comes her soft, somewhat slurred reply, hand clumsily reaching to rest atop his own as he cups her cheek.

“If you didn’t, I’d still be shitfaced at the party. And I wouldn’t be in your clothes.”

He huffs a sound of amusement at the attempted joke. She was right, he supposed. Still, the guilt persists.

“I still shouldn’t have been so dismissive. I didn’t-” he cuts himself off with a frustrated grunt, searching for the right words as he runs his free hand through his disheveled curls.

“I didn’t even stop to appreciate how beautiful you looked before I turned you away. I was careless.”

There’s an unbearable sort of longing in his gaze as his eyes take in her sleepy stare, the slight sway to her head as she tries her best to focus on him.

The smudges to her carefully crafted eye makeup, remnants of her effort now ruined after the night’s events.

He can’t help but imagine that her overindulgence had something to do with his rejection. A conversation for his sober girlfriend, perhaps. This one wasn’t capable of handling his relentless need to pick her brain and remedy his brashness.

“I may have my reasons for why I don’t like certain things, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of putting those feelings aside to see you happy. You…you’re my priority. My most important thing. And I’m sorry for making you think otherwise.”

There’s a finality to his voice, a resolution he was making for himself. He would endure the uncomfortable memories, tamp down his disdain for cliche social events, if it meant being what she needed.

If it meant he’d never leave her upset and vulnerable like this again.

She gazes quietly at him, somewhat stunned by the declaration. He can tell she’s clinging to what little remains of her consciousness to stay focused on the conversation.

“Wow,” she murmurs, eyelids growing heavier. His pulse manages to spike once more at her stupid grin.

“That was suuuuper romantic, Isaac.”

He groans and shakes his head, carefully pulling his hand away from her cheek and watching as she quickly succumbs to her exhaustion. Clearly, now wasn’t the time to bare his soul to her.

But before he can stand to get himself dressed for bed, a soft noise stops him.

“Remind me to tease you about it tomorrow,” she mumbles fondly against his pillow, soothed by the lingering scent of him on her sweater as she finally drifts off to sleep.

He stares at her for a long, uninterrupted moment, something dreadfully akin to lovesickness taking over his expression.

She drove him to insanity most days—practically giving him gray hair—but he would gladly lose his mind if doing so earned him such simple pleasures.

Warm, domestic comfort.

His fragile heart gladly surrendered to the safety of her hands.

Caring and being cared for in return.

As gently as he’s able, he stands from the edge of the bed, extending his hand and willing his DaVinci powers to drape the soft blanket on the end of his bed over her body. When she’s tucked safely beneath the fabric, he nods to himself, a silent reassurance.

Tomorrow. He’d set things right tomorrow.

“Sweet dreams.”

✴︎ 🍸⊹ ✴︎ 🍸⊹ ✴︎ 🍸⊹ ✴︎ 🍸⊹ ✴︎ 🍸⊹ ✴︎ 🍸⊹ ✴︎ 🍸⊹ ✴︎

a/n: pure self indulgence based on me getting far too drunk at the function recently <3 i’ve been inactive as hell and i honestly was just going to make this a blurb since i’m fighting for my life trying to finish this degree, but it ended up being a bit longer (yay)! this might be shit because i barely proofread but i had fun✨

thanks for reading !! :)

note: thank u to those of u who hyped me up during chapter 1 and has since been patiently waiting for this, i love u all so bad 😭🫶

The rising sun, scattered by the sheer, white hotel curtains, faintly illuminates Mike’s room. The girl in his bed groans softly, stirring from a death-like slumber that has rendered her muscles impossibly stiff. As each of her senses awaken, she squeezes her eyes shut to keep out the light. She shifts uncomfortably against the restraint of her skirt, and it dawns upon her that she had fallen asleep in last night’s clothes.

“Fuck,” she mumbles, her back unbearably sore as she forces herself to roll over. She brings her hands to her face and begins to rub her eyes before feeling the mascara on her eyelashes. With a defeated sigh, she drops her arms against the mattress with a thud.

Nearly every ounce of her still heavy with sleep, she groggily pulls the covers over her head to block out the light when she realizes that these aren’t her sheets at all—and neither are the pillows, and this whole time she hasn’t even been sleeping in her own bed. She bolts upright, but before she can fully open her eyes, she feels as though her head is splitting down the middle. She catches her face in her palms, scolding herself, “You have got to stop drinking so much.”

Squinting through the pain, she surveys her surroundings—a charming hotel suite, with the man to whom it belongs to still asleep on the chair across from the bed. She vaguely recognizes him as the guy she danced with at the club. Reaching up to ruffle her hair, she realizes that it has been twisted into untied braids. She rakes through them lightly, the tension in her face slipping away, relieved that her drunken self had at least stumbled into the hands of a decent man.

She scoots her way to the edge of the bed and lets herself slide off, tiptoeing over to where Mike is sitting, arms folded and legs artfully crossed, head slumped against his chest. She kneels beside him, pushing his hair off his forehead to get a better look at his face—it shouldn’t be possible, but he’s somehow even cuter than her liquor-addled memory had given him credit for.

As she begins to bring her hand down, he nuzzles against her, letting her cup his cheek in her palm. She pauses, unsure if she should draw her hand away. He mumbles something she can’t quite hear, then his eyelids flutter open, and he jumps slightly in his seat when he catches himself cozying up against her hand.

“I’m so sorry—” they both start.

“Oh my gosh, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she quickly apologizes, sitting back on her heels. “Do you want the bed? Sleeping like this cannot be good for your back. Or your neck.”

He scrambles out of the chair and helps her up, sitting her down on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling? Let me grab you some water.”

“No, really, everything is fine. I’m fine. Great, actually,” she lies, rubbing her temples. “Nothing I can’t handle, at least.”

He returns from the mini-fridge and offers her a chilled bottle of water.

“Aw, thanks.” She takes a few sips. “But I’m fine, don’t worry. I do this all the time.” She laughs. “You know, one time I had to take an exam while I was hungover. I aced that thing though.” She pats the spot beside her. “Come on, sit down.”

He complies, taking this opportunity to light up a cigarette.

She crawls behind him to put her hands on his shoulders, noticing the declining number of cigarettes left in the pack. “If you need any more, I have a fresh pack in my purse.”

As she gives his shoulders a firm squeeze, he groans softly, unwittingly flexing into her touch. “Please,” he gasps, “you should rest.”

She shushes him. “It’s the least I could do for you. Sorry about…everything that happened last night, I assume. Thank you for taking it upon yourself to do all this for me.”

He tilts his head back. He had to admit this little massage felt rather amazing. “It was a very basic thing to do.”

“…No, ‘basic’ would be, like, leaving me there to figure it out on my own.”

“But that’s so dangerous!” he cries. “There were a lot of bad men last night.” He takes her hand and pulls it down from his shoulder, studying the bruising on her knuckles. “Does this still hurt, by the way?”

She follows his gaze. “Shit, I punched a guy again? I was wondering why my hand felt a little achey…oh god, I’m so out of it today.” She sighs and flops into a horizontal position, her head at the foot of the bed and mere inches from the edge of Mike’s lap, her hair dangling over the edge. “Ooh, wait, this is comfortable. You should join me.”

Mike glances down at the pretty face staring up at him, smiling. “Okay, sure.” He turns on his side to face her, his back undeniably sore.

She holds her hand out. “Can I get a puff?”

He hands her the cigarette. “You can finish it if you want.”

She takes a drag and returns it, shaking her head. “No, that’s enough for me.” She stares at the ceiling in silence as he finishes the cigarette, before saying, “I genuinely can’t tell which memories I have of last night are real and which ones I fabricated in a dream. Gosh, I don’t even know your name…” She turns slowly to face him. “I hope I wasn’t too much trouble for you…”

“Not at all,” he reassures her. He pinches the still-warm butt of the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger; the lingering scent pervades the room. “I think you were pretty good last night, aside from punching that guy—and he deserved it.” He smiles. “I’m Mike, by the way.”

She bites her lip when she returns the gesture. “Well, hi, Mike, it’s nice to meet you.” She extends her hand for him to shake, laughing at how silly it feels to exchange such pleasantries while laying down. “I do remember asking you to dance because I thought you were cute. Everything after that is kind of a blur, though. But thank you for taking such good care of me. You’re a pretty cool guy.”

“I kissed you last night,” he blurts out before the guilt can eat him alive.

Her mouth forms into an ‘O’ shape, but no words come out.

“I’m sorry, I know you were drunk, and I—”

“The cutest guy at the club kissed me and I don’t even get to remember it?” she pouts.

“—shouldn’t have done that—sorry, what?”

“I’m sober now if you wanna kiss me again…” she suggests, inching closer to him. “I promise I’ll remember it this time.”

Well, who was he to say no to an offer like that? He sighs dreamily, his eyes settling on her pretty mouth. “You’re too kind to me…” he breathes, leaning in.

She squeezes his arm lightly as her lips meet his, her sober kiss much more delicate than her drunk one. “Only because you’ve been so sweet to me,” she explains as she pulls away. “I honestly can’t thank you enough for…everything, really. Can I, like…buy you breakfast—” she angles her head to look at the clock sheepishly— “well, brunch, I guess?”

“No, really, it’s not necessary for you to do anything for me,” he insists.

But she shakes her head, equally persistent. “You have to let me repay your kindness somehow. I’m not letting it go to waste.”

He thinks about it, a clever little idea taking place in his mind. “If it’s not too much to ask—and if you don’t have any other plans today…do you think you could give me a tour of this city?”

Her eyes light up instantly. “Of course, that sounds like so much fun!” She sits up, hugging the bottle of water to her chest, the gears already turning in her brain as she crafts the perfect mental travel guidebook. “Is there anything specific you wanted to see?”

“Well, I don’t know much about the city—” and now for the backbone of his plan— “but I was thinking you could show me some of your favorite spots as a local.”

She practically leaps off of the bed. “You are going to love it!” she promises, swapping her bottle of water for her purse and skipping off. “Lemme freshen up real quick, and then we can head out.”

He watches her disappear into the bathroom, then crouches by his suitcase as he rifles through his clothes. He figures it would be best to wear something flexible so he can be ready for wherever she takes him, but he struggles to find the perfect balance between dressy and comfortable. Naturally, he wants to look his best for her—this was basically a first date, and making a good impression was his top priority—but he also wants to give off a laid-back, anything-goes vibe.

The bathroom door slides open, and he quickly covers his eyes when he sees her step out in her underwear.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry!” he exclaims.

“No, you’re totally good!” she brushes it off. “You…can open your eyes, you know—it’s just a swimsuit. See?”

He takes a peek through his fingers to see her in those classic triangles cut from nylon and tied together with string—she wasn’t lying. “…Do you keep a spare swimsuit in your purse?” He brings his hands back down, taking a moment to admire the crisp lines in her makeup and her fluffed-up hair.

She laughs. “No, I was wearing it already, but maybe I should start doing that instead, hm?” She kneels beside him. “Do you have, like, flip-flops or something that I could borrow? And maybe something a little more comfortable to wear than my skirt…gosh, it feels great to get out of that thing.”

“You can go through my things and pick out whatever you want to wear, though I don’t know if I’ll have anything that would suit your taste.” He sits back on his heels. “Do you always wear a swimsuit under your regular clothes?”

“When I go out, yeah. You never know when the beach might call to you.” She grabs one of his many black t-shirts, his brand new tasseled scarf, his sunglasses, and a pair of sandals. “Hold on, this is going to look so good.”

“Wait,” he calls out before she can run off again. “Do you have any suggestions on what I should wear for today…?”

She leans against the bathroom door to think. “For shoes definitely something walkable but also easy to take off. As for clothes…I guess either something you wouldn’t mind getting wet or something you can take off before you get in the water.”

“Okay. Yeah, I can work with that. Thank you.”

“Of course!” She doesn’t bother closing the bathroom door this time.

As he quickly takes this opportunity to shimmy out of his jeans and into a pair of drawstring shorts, he can hear her humming one of Chopin’s waltzes, and he wonders which instrument she plays. Yanking his t-shirt over his head, he hopes it is piano. He throws on a linen button-down and swaps his boots for a pair of slip-on sneakers, already picturing himself sitting in front of one side by side with her to play a duet.

She steps out of the bathroom, pretty pedicured feet in his sandals, wearing his t-shirt upside down as an off-shoulder crop top and his sunglasses as a headband. His scarf, too, is wrapped around her waist as a makeshift skirt. Her hair is up, and her purse hangs leisurely from one shoulder. Her breath hitches in her throat for a moment as her eyes linger a bit too long over his shorts. “Woah, you look good in those.”

“Thanks,” he laughs shyly, stunned by her beauty and struggling to find the words for how she has him feeling right now. “I…wow. You’re gorgeous,” he breathes at last.

She giggles, doing a little twirl. “I know, right?” Her fingers brush over the tassels hanging by her hips. “Whatever this thing is made of, the texture feels amazing. Okay, come on—let’s go!”

The full sun makes her bright energy all the more contagious, and as she leads him down the street to her favorite brunch spot in the city, he is comforted by the realization that she is not as different sober as he had worried she would be.

Over an omelette, pancakes with fresh fruit, a cup of coffee, and a glass of tangerine juice topped with cold foam, she poses the question, “So, Mike, I feel like I remember you saying you’re just visiting for a few days—mind if I ask where from?”

“From Paris,” he nods.

“I figured as much. I love your accent, by the way. It’s cute.” She takes a sip of her drink, her tongue darting out to lick the cold foam from the corner of her mouth.

His eyes follow her tongue, and a fragment of a racy thought flashes in his mind, which he quickly pushes away before it can fully take root.

“Are you here for work?” she continues.

“…I guess you could say that, yes.”

“What do you do? Wait, lemme guess—I bet you’re a model.”

He chuckles softly, deeply flattered. “No, I’m a musician. Are you a model? Or some kind of movie star? You are so pretty, and you have lovely fashion sense.”

“You know, you’re not the first person to say that, but I’ve never really considered going down that path.” She picks up a slice of kiwi with her fork and pops it into her mouth. “I actually don’t even have a job yet—I’m still a student—but the job market is not looking good right now. Anyway. What instrument do you play?”

“Mostly synth now—I write and produce, too—but I can play some piano and guitar as well.” He takes a sip of his coffee, looking back on the day he decided to pursue music as opposed to an education. He can’t help but wonder sometimes how that version of him would have turned out—perhaps in her he can see a glimpse of it. “How is university for you?”

“Ugh, so boring. Not a day goes by where I wish I could just drop out,” she sighs, plunging her knife into her stack of pancakes, “but what choice do I have?”

“You know, there is always a choice—” He stops himself before encouraging her to make any rash decisions. “Okay, maybe don’t…actually drop out…”

She laughs before taking a bite.

“But what is this…something that you’d rather be doing?” he asks.

“Oh. Well, I guess I’ve always wanted to be a singer. Like, a popstar.” She stabs her fork into a pared strawberry, twirling it in the air absentmindedly. “I mean, I’ve always liked music. I play piano, I like to sing, but everyone knows that’s not enough to make it big. You gotta have passion, talent, and luck.” She stares at the strawberry with a forlorn sigh. “Not everyone has what it takes.”

He chews thoughtfully; swallows as a fun idea occurs to him. “How about this: I’m performing at this nightclub—it’s called the…Cataclysm, I think?—with my friends tomorrow night, and you can come on stage with me, put yourself out there.” He knew he should have run this by Michel first before making any promises, but getting to watch her lovely face light up made any risk worth taking.

She nearly drops her fork. “No way, the Cataclysm club? My roommates and I made plans weeks ago to go to that! And I’m having brunch with the headliner? I must be dreaming.”

“Oh, please,” he waves the implication away with a modest smile, “you say that like I’m famous or something. I’m certainly not the main event tomorrow—I don’t think anyone even knows who I am.”

“Yet,” she points out. “We are gonna kill it up there.” A giant grin spreads across her face, and she runs around the table to hug him with an excited squeal. “Oh my god, this is just so exciting!” She gives him a quick peck on the cheek, leaving a glossy print on his skin. “Thank you, again, for this and for everything, Mike. This might be the best day of my life—like, ever.”

The kiss was such a simple thing—deliberately light and with no intention of being memorable—yet its suddenness in the absence of the drunken context in which he had met her last night left him blushing through the rest of the meal.

The boardwalk, he realizes, is only a few blocks away from his hotel—just enough time to burn through his final cigarette, from which she once again asks him for only one puff. She is brimming with excitement by the time the harbor is in view, instantly taking him by the hand and dragging him out to the piers. He looks to his left and to his right, noticing that, while there are countless boats—ranging from the littlest sailboats to the largest of cruise ships—docked along the harbor, there is not an inch of sandy beach for as far as he can see down either direction.

As if reading his mind, she answers the unspoken question: “There’s a beach on the other side of this bay, if you wanna check that out.”

He squints. “This is a bay?”

“Yeah, it’s not too far, actually. It’s just hard to see with the marine layer.” She starts heading toward the boarding ramps. “It’s less than 20 minutes to boat across it. There’s a ferry that runs every half hour.” She notices him staring at a small fleet of motor yachts. “Or we could rent one of those.”

And so their method of transport was decided, just like that.

Mike stands at the helm, piloting the boat off into the sea. Over the deafening hum of the motor, he does not hear his sole passenger returning to his side after exploring the deck and is pleasantly surprised when she hugs him from behind. He smiles at her over his shoulder as she lets her arms rest at his hips. Her curious fingertips tease the hem of his shirt before making their way beneath the fabric entirely, lightly dusting over his navel, and his core tightens involuntarily at the touch. She lets one hand travel upward from there, over his stomach toward his lowermost ribs, while the other hand follows the trail of hair downward until her path is blocked by the waistband of his shorts.

When she lifts her hands off of his skin, he shivers slightly as the cold breeze accosts him where her warm hands once were. She taps his arm to get his attention, and when he turns to look at her, she mouths to him, Can you turn it off? the question accompanied by the act of rotating her wrist counterclockwise.

He turns the key to shut off the motor. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, yeah,” she says. “Just…thought it might be nice to have some quiet, you know?” She puts her hands on his chest, pushing up toward his neck before dragging them back down to his stomach.

“Oh, for sure,” he agrees.

Her hands slip past his sides, arms settling in snugly around his waist. “It’s nice out here, isn’t it? I’ve always liked how peaceful the ocean feels.” She looks up at him. “And now I get to enjoy it all alone with you…far away from everyone and everything…”

He returns the embrace, closing his arms across her shoulder blades. Out here, even through the mist, it is now possible to see both sides of the bay. To one side, he sees the city skyline they’ve left behind; to the other, the silhouette of the quaint seaside village that awaits.

“Would you like to sit down for a bit?” he offers.

“Oh.” She seems surprised by this proposal. “Yeah, sure.”

She joins him on the deck, where they sit side-by-side, pressed up against one another. She hugs him by the waist, leaning against his chest, and he drapes his arm over her shoulder to keep her close. He rests his cheek against the top of her head, and she curls her knees toward his thigh. He quickly crosses his legs, trying to pin down his growing erection before she can notice the effect her proximity has on him. An image flashes across his mind of her climbing into his lap to bounce on his dick, but he stops himself before he can imagine just how good that might feel. This was such a perfect, tender moment, and it felt humiliating the way his body sought to ruin it with such base instincts. The breeze sifts through his hair, delivering the scent of sea salt and her perfume to his nose. Waves lap at the hull of the boat, rocking them gently as they drift toward the distant shore.

Once he eventually drives out to the island, he docks the boat a the pier and, checking that it is anchored securely, climbs off board. He carries her belongings for her and catches her as she dismounts.

“Thank you,” she giggles, squeezing his arms as her feet hit the wooden pier. “You’re such a gentleman.”

Before he can say anything, his phone buzzes in his pocket. “Wait, sorry—let me answer this quickly.”

She points to the sandy beach at the bottom of the ramp that leads down from the pier, already opening her mouth to excuse herself and give him some privacy, but when he sees the name on his screen, he puts his arm back around her shoulder to keep her from going far.

“Allô?” Hello?

“Wesh, Mike, t’es où?” Yo, Mike, where are you? Louis’s voice comes through the phone. “Ouvre la porte!” Open the door!

“J’suis pas là, Louis,” I’m not there, Louis, he admits. “J’suis à la plage maintenant.” I’m at the beach right now.

“Sans moi?” Without me? Louis teases.

Mike isn’t sure how to respond—he knows that regardless of whether he lies and says, I needed some time to myself, or if he simply tells the truth, Louis isn’t going to be happy with either answer. “…J’suis avec une amie.” I’m with a friend.

“Hein? Une amie?” Huh? A girl friend? Louis emphasizes. “Mec, t’es en danger ou quoi? Tout le monde sais que tu sors pas de jour avec tes filles.” Bro, are you in danger or something? Everyone knows you don’t go out with your girls during the day. Mike can hear the grin in Louis’s voice turn to a sneer before dropping entirely. “Tu les ramènes au bar, et tu t’enfuis avant l’aube.” You pick them up at the bar, and you’re gone by dawn.

“Merde, Louis, j’suis pas si horrible…” Shit, Louis, I’m not that bad… Mike sighs, knowing full well not a single lie had come out of Louis’s mouth. But the truth has its way of stinging sometimes. “Je l’ai rencontrée hier soir et…” I met her last night and… He glances down at the girl beside him, and when she smiles up at him, his face suddenly feels as though he may have spent too long in the sun. “Elle beaucoup me plaît.” I really like her.

“Qui est-ce?”Who even are you? Louis scoffs. “Tu n’as jamais les béguins.” You never catch feelings.

“Avec elle c’est différent!” It’s different this time! Mike insists, though he knows it would be pointless to try and defend his position to Louis. “Elle est…” She’s… he starts, but gives up. “Tu ne comprendrais pas.” You wouldn’t understand.

“Non, j’y suis pas du tout,” You’re right, it’s lost on me, Louis grumbles. “Tu reviens quand?” When are you gonna be back?

Mike hesitates. “…En fait, j’suis pas sûr,” Actually, I’m not sure, he lies, knowing full well it’d most likely be after dinner—and hopefully, instead of running into Louis, he’d be in bed by then with the pretty girl on his arm. His heart skips a beat at the thought. “Mais on se verra.” But I’ll see you around.

“D’accord,” That’s fine, Louis answers, in that tone of voice that says things most certainly were not d’accord. “À plus.” Later.

“À—” Mike starts, but Louis has already hung up.

“Jeez, who was that?” his amie asks.

“My friend Louis,” he replies.

“Didn’t sound very friendly,” she jokes, but quickly stops herself. “Sorry, I mean, I couldn’t actually understand anything that was said, but I’ve never heard French sound so…combative.”

He sighs as he puts his phone away. “He’s…like that sometimes.”

Now, Mike would never be the one to accuse Louis of being a bad friend, but Louis seemed to be under the impression that best friends did everything together, and he was not above getting jealous—possessive, even—whenever he felt his position as Mike’s best friend was under threat.

She shakes her head in pity. “Must be exhausting.” Someday, she knew that Mike would ultimately have the same epiphany she did two years ago, and perhaps then they could look back on this moment together and celebrate just how freeing it is to escape from draining ‘friendships’. But for now, she wasn’t going to let this Louis guy—whose existence she wasn’t even aware of until two seconds ago—ruin the fun day she had planned for Mike. “Come on,” she encourages, taking him by the hand. “He’s not even here right now. Don’t let him get to you.”

Mike can’t help but smile. “…You’re right.” He takes his phone from his pocket and drops it into her purse, and just like that, it feels as though a tremendous weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

He follows her a few paces out toward the ocean before she stops, taking a moment to study the view from where she’s standing, and settles on this spot to step out of his sandals. He unbuttons his shirt, laying it down as a makeshift towel on which he sets her purse and she discards his t-shirt and scarf. Despite the hair-raising chill of the ocean breeze, the sun is surprisingly hot on his skin.

She places a hand on his smooth chest. “You’re not one to burn in the sun, are you?”

He recalls one prior trip with his friends where they found it greatly amusing how pink he had turned in the sun despite the rest of them having fared way worse. “I can sometimes, but not often.”

“Okay, great,” she sighs in relief, “because I usually just tan, and I may have forgotten to pack sunscreen in my purse… But we’ll be fine.” She grabs both of his hands with an excited grin. “Come on!” And with that, she drags him out into the water.

The sparkling blue waves are colder than he expected, but luckily for him, his companion seems to feel the same. She lingers close enough for them to share each other’s warmth, her bare skin grazing against his in ways that make things heat up fast.

She keeps her fingers laced between his, her back to the ebb and flow of the waves and eyes on him alone, letting go only once they are hip-deep in the ocean and acclimated to the temperature. Mike watches as the tide pulls back a little further than usual before rushing back, crashing into them and slamming their bodies together.

He catches her on instinct, cradling the small of her back before he can stop his curious hands. “Are you okay?” The soft skin beneath his palm feels thrillingly fragile, but he cannot bring himself to let go of her.

She laughs it off, her arms hanging leisurely from his shoulders. “I think the ocean wants us to kiss.”

Flustered by her forwardness, he is left frozen in place for a fraction of a second. But as if actively confirming her hypothesis, the rapid retreat of the tide strips him of any hesitation and sends him stumbling into her lips.

He kisses her harder than he intends, but before he can rein himself in, she returns the kiss with even fiercer passion. The next few waves are calmer, lapping playfully at them and rocking their hips together. With the sun on his back and her fingers in his hair; his tongue in her mouth—that actually tastes like her today and not like the drinks that made her decisions for her last night—and his fingertips squeezing her waist, it would be futile to make any attempts to deny just how much she turns him on.

When they finally come up from the kiss for air, he realizes that she has led them deeper into the water. She looks away, biting her lip, but her hips remain firmly pressed against his. He lets his thumbs rotate forward, kneading lightly against her stomach. She grabs him again, rougher this time—violent, almost, nearly enough to pull both of them under the water—for another kiss, and it occurs to him that even if she were to drag him out any further into the ocean, he wouldn’t mind drowning so long as it meant he could stay in her arms.

She lets her hair down as she comes up out of the water, casually washing off the sand before getting dressed again. She makes it all look so effortless—after rinsing off under the shower heads and even sitting out in the sun to dust off the sand only after it dries, Mike could almost swear there were still specks of sand clinging to him. Perhaps this was just one of those things that took years of living by the beach to get used to.

Mike watches as she brings out a compact from her purse and takes a moment to touch up the lip gloss which had, by now, probably already made its way down to his stomach where it was actively being digested. He can’t help but stare, hypnotized by the way the applicator drags across her lips. She smiles clandestinely as she puts the mirror away.

“Cigarette?” she offers as her hand emerges from the depths of her purse.

To Mike’s surprise, she brings out a still-unwrapped pack of his preferred cigarettes—the exact brand, type, and length—along with a disposable lighter that is identical in all ways to the ones he usually uses. “…Sure, thank you.” He wonders if she was some sort of angel sent from heaven just for him.

She hands him both the pack and the lighter, letting him do the honor of unwrapping the cellophane. To prevent the strong marine gusts from extinguishing the lighter instantly, she cups both of her hands around his while he shields the end of the cigarette.

He returns the paraphernalia to her, and once she returns everything to her purse, she slips one hand around his waist and into his back pocket as she walks him up the hill that leads them into town. With her other hand, she steals the cigarette momentarily for one puff, leaving behind a fresh rosy print on the filter to press against his lips.

The winding street is lined with souvenir shops and populated with tourists just like Mike. Mike wasn’t usually one for souvenirs—unless it was a gag gift that he could bring back to annoy his friends with—but so far this trip had been an experience he wishes he could keep forever. He isn’t sure where she initially intended on bringing him, but she happily indulges his desire to browse the shop.

As he peruses the intricate shot glasses and magnets, she lets go of him briefly to wander through the narrow aisles of the dimly-lit store. He watches as her eyes linger for a moment too long on the jewelry hanging from the rotating display stand and decides to take a look for himself. The case holds a collection of bracelets, each consisting of little handwoven beads that hang from thin, adjustable chains, arranged in rows and columns of stacks. Every stack of bracelets shares the same engraving on the gleaming charm set in the middle—each row shares the same hardware. He glances at the small assortment of bangles and beaded bracelets decorating her wrist and picks from the display case one that would complement the set the best.

By the time he has finished checking out, she too has finished making her way around the store.

“It’s kind of a cute little shop, isn’t it?” she smiles. “If I was a tourist, I’d probably spend myself to bankruptcy in here. What did you get?”

He unclasps the bracelet and takes her hand. “Here. For you.”

A delicate gasp escapes from her. “Aw, really?” She rotates her forearm slowly to admire the craftsmanship of this new addition. “I love it…”

“I saw you looking at it, so I thought I might buy it for you,” he explains bashfully.

She hugs him, pressing a firm kiss into his cheek. “Thank you, Mike, that’s so sweet of you. Did you get anything for yourself?”

He shakes his head—there would be no point when she was the one factor that made any of this worth remembering at all.

“Wait right there.” She scurries back to the display stand and brings a slightly different bracelet of the same family to the cash register. “Now we can be matching,” she says as she pays.

He lets her place the bracelet around his right wrist, wondering if she can feel his rapid pulse underneath his skin when her fingertips dust over his veins.

On the boat ride back to the mainland, Mike places her between himself and the steering wheel. In this setup, he can hug and kiss her in every way possible—oddly enough, having spent the whole day already doing so had only made him crave it more. And as they made their way off the boat and back up the boardwalk, she seemed to return his affections tenfold, making it hard for him to maintain his composure both as he returned the rental keys and as they checked into the restaurant.

Dinner consists of two caviar-topped oysters, followed by a platter of tostadas and a flight of various toppings. He manages to slurp down one oyster before the ache between his thighs overrides his appetite and becomes impossible to ignore, and he found himself wishing for the rest of the meal that he could eat her raw off this table. She, on the other hand, seemed to be truly enjoying the food, the drink, and the conversation, and he felt awful for feeling the way that he did. In the distance, the sun sinks into the ocean, illuminating the horizon with brilliant shades of pink and purple, but even that can’t tear his attention away from the thoughts he has when he looks at her. It certainly doesn’t help when she starts teasing his shin with her foot under the table. And when dessert comes, she offers him the last bite of her cheesecake before licking the fork clean with a playful smile.

Though he goes through the motions of paying the bill, his mind barely registers any of it. He puts his wallet away and takes a deep breath, finally mustering up the courage to ask: “Would you…like to come back to the hotel with me?”

Halfway through downing the rest of her champagne, her eyes light up, and the glass nearly shatters from the fervor with which she sets it back down on the table. “Oh my god, of course!” She gathers her belongings and grabs his hand.

He is on his feet just as fast—he doesn’t need her to tell him twice.

They practically race all the way back to the hotel and into the elevator, where she presses for the floor as he calls for the door to close. With no one else in the elevator with them, she pulls him in for a breathless kiss.

“I was starting to worry that you might not like me,” she mumbles against his lips. “I’ve been trying to get you all day.”

He looks away, embarrassed. In truth, he had wanted this since the moment he first laid eyes on her the night before. “I didn’t want you to think that was the only thing I wanted from you…”

Her gaze softens, lust melting away into something softer that one could almost call love. She takes the last few seconds of the elevator ride to hug him—head against his pounding heart—in this moment with only the purest of intentions.

But when the elevator doors slide open, the mere sight of the familiar corridor spikes the tension between them again. His heart races as he chases her down the hall back to his room. She giggles as she urges him to jog quicker, drawing amused glances from passers-by. As he unlocks the door with his key card and presses down forcefully on the handle, she drags him in by the collar and spins to shut the door behind her with the weight of her body. She kisses him fiercely, flicking open the buttons on his shirt with superhuman speed and pushing the fabric over his shoulders. His fingers fumble to bolt the door behind her and yank away his scarf wrapped around her waist. He breaks from the kiss, reluctant but lightheaded and fighting for breath, and she pulls his t-shirt over her head and flings it across the room. At last, he caves to the desires he has been fighting all day and sinks helplessly to his knees, weakened by the sight of her half-undressed body. His face level with her chest, his breath stills in his throat. This was the sort of beauty one could never truly become accustomed to.

“I’m all yours to take,” she encourages, running her fingers through his hair.

His eager palms meet her smooth waist, and he pauses to savor the warmth before walking his hands up to tug lightly on the strings holding her bikini top in place. As the skimpy fabric drifts lightly to the floor, he stops to stare at the fairer skin, exposed not even to the sun, here on full display for his eyes only. He presses a gentle kiss against the freckle on her exposed breast, sighing in sheer bliss the moment his lips come in contact with the soft skin. Craving her taste, he closes his mouth over her nipple, sucking gently and drawing slow circles with his tongue. When she gasps at the sensation, he is almost convinced that holding her breast between his lips was better than having a cigarette.

He guides his hands lower, untying her bottoms and hugging her hips firmly against his chest. His eyes flicker upward, peering through his long lashes to watch her pretty face react to his fingers reaching between her thighs. She is entirely soaked and perfectly sensitive, and as his fingers slide delicately across her folds, her grip on his hair tightens, and she closes her eyes as she tries to bite back a moan. He pushes two fingers inside of her, and he quickly realizes that the art of touching her was not so different from the art of playing an instrument—if he flexed his fingers the right way and applied the right amount of pressure to the right spots, he could be rewarded with the most beautiful music to ever befall his ears.

She squeezes her thighs around his hand, skin hot to the touch from her impending orgasm. “Come back up here, Mike,” she breathes. “I wanna kiss you.”

He does as she asks, blushing so hard now that the warmth of it radiated across his entire body. She kisses him slower this time, but as her tongue enters his mouth, her hand also reaches into his shorts. He folds at her touch that feels a million times better than he could have ever imagined last night, reduced to incoherent moans as he cups her cheek for stability. He topples mindlessly against her shoulder and sinks his teeth into her neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark, all in a pathetic attempt to keep himself from finishing right in her hand.

She guides the heel of her palm upward from the base of his aching, twitching cock, following its leftward curvature and pressing it against his abdomen. The obscene amount of precum leaking out of him mats the soft trail of hair underneath. “So pretty…” she purrs, rolling his veins beneath the tips of her fingers as she runs her thumb across the scar below the flushed head.

He ruts into her touch cautiously, eager to chase the pleasure but simultaneously afraid of losing control too soon.

“Please, Mike,” she whines, hooking one leg around his waist to pull him in as she pushes her hips forward, “I need you in me.”

He turns her around, and hugging her back against his chest, he steps out from the pile of discarded clothing on the ground and carries her to the edge of the bed.

“Can you bend over for me?” he asks, caught off guard momentarily by the raspiness in his voice.

She stretches her upper body out on the mattress and grabs a pillow to rest her chin on, arching her back and pushing her hips up. “Worried you’ll make me feel so good that I’ll get attached, hm?” she teases, glancing back at him and setting her ankles slightly apart.

The sight before him is enough to leave him seeing stars. “No, it’s…not like that. Not at all…” While his cock drags messy streaks of precum over her thigh, he grips her hips tightly to keep himself from fainting. “You’re so beautiful… I can’t look at your pretty face. I’ll finish too fast. That wouldn’t be fair to you.”

She bites back a smile. “…I think I almost wouldn’t mind.”

He lines himself up with her, pushing himself inside of her slowly. A soft moan escapes her as she takes him in, and the fit is so perfect that in this moment he truly believes he was made for her. Frightened by the possibility of hurting her, he starts with slow, shallow thrusts, his hands carefully exploring every inch of her skin. But the more she says things like, “Mm, Mike, that feels good,” the harder it becomes for him to control himself. Before long, he’s pressing on her stomach, doubling his tempo and slamming his hips into her at full force. With both of them drenched with the slick of their mutual arousal, the sounds that fill the room are downright filthy.

“Fuck, Mike, you’re too big to be doing all that,” she protests into the pillow, but he can feel her knees giving out and her walls start to spasm.

He grips the hair by the base of her neck and lifts her head up to hear her cry out, “Oh, yes, Mike, that’s the spot!” and “Just like that, Mike, don’t stop, I’m so close!” in perfect clarity as she comes undone for him. The sound of her lovely voice engulfs him in pleasure, and he finishes in unison with her.

As he floats down from his high, he scoops her up into his arms as he pulls out, feeling his spend pooling out as he massages her puffy, fucked out cunt. “I’m so sorry, chérie,” he apologizes, climbing into bed with her and peppering kisses over the bruise beginning to form on the side of her neck. “Are you okay? Was I too rough?”

Breathless, she turns around, falling into a kiss and knocking him against the mattress. “Don’t worry, that was perfect,” she murmurs against his lips before nuzzling into him. “I loved every second of it.”

He breathes a soft sigh of relief. “That’s good. I’m glad.” He kisses the top of her head, petting her hair. “…Thank you for that.”

She hums softly, her breath tickling against his neck. “I could do this every day.”

“You don’t mean that…” He squirms under her, still sensitive and shivering slightly as she straddles him lazily. “But I would let you. Anytime you want it.” And it wasn’t exactly a lie, but he wonders why he said it anyway. Of all of the times he had gotten in bed with someone, not once had he even felt compelled to spend the night—yet here he was, getting all sappy and clingy already. He reaches for her pack of cigarettes and lighter on his nightstand, figuring that he needs a moment to let his exhaustion fade before the familiar feeling of detachment could seep in. But even as he lights up and takes a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs and wash everything away, that feeling never comes. The saline scent of raw sex dissipates, the void left in its absence filled instead with the sweet fragrance of tobacco, yet he finds himself squeezing her closer, reveling in the remnant stickiness of the sweat that glues their bodies together. Without even realizing it, he begins tracing tiny hearts into the small of her back.

She pushes herself up onto her elbows to look at him, sliding her hands under his neck and scratching lightly at his scalp. She watches him with gentle, drowsy eyes, and he can feel his heart start to race again as he meets her gaze. The faint glow of the bedside lamp complements the warmth beneath her skin beautifully, and her cherry-like lips pull together into a relaxed smile. Had he not just finished inside her, this view would have been enough to get him going again. To ease his nerves, he quickly brings his cigarette to his lips, already expecting her to pluck it out from between his fingertips. But instead, as he opens his mouth to exhale, she leans in close, hovering her lips over his just close enough to draw the smoke directly out of his lungs and into her own. She then closes the distance with a sweet kiss and a simple “Goodnight, Mike” as if that wasn’t one of the most intimate acts anyone could ever perform upon him. Stunned, he lets the rest of his cigarette burn away without taking another puff from it, watching as she dozes off with her head on his chest.

He discards the butt in the ashtray and shuts off the light, staring at absolutely nothing while his eyes adjust to the darkness. Before long, he surrenders to the heaviness in his eyelids, realizing it is hopeless to try and stay awake in the coziness of her embrace.

At some point in the night, within a deep slumber, he finds himself on the platform subway station in a city that he cannot yet call home but has nonetheless become familiar to him. He is crowded all around by a sea of cityfolk, but he is alone. The world seems…newer, more developed, and he is older. Then he sees her on the other side of the station—the girl he met in this very city all those years ago—the only reason he still returned here so often.

His eyes light up for a moment when he catches sight of her lovely face, the aching desire for a reunion satiated at last, but time has changed her. She wears a ring on her left hand that he does not recognize, and in her arms she cradles a little girl with her unmistakable hair but the eyes of another man. A gust of wind floods the station, and for less than a second she meets his gaze across the tracks, before a passing train speeds by between them. He sprints for the stairs, still clinging to some pathetic shred of hope that he might still have a chance with her, but as the train continues on its journey, he looks over his shoulder only to discover that she has vanished with it.

the crunchy leaves, earthy smell, and the dense, slightly misty air felt really nice and grounding while walking into the campus's graveyard. although you felt a bit of an intruder, you actually had an excuse to be here today; night. a few weeks ago -- & for the first time --, an interaction with him took place. while absent-mindedly tending to the plants in nevermore's greenhouse, he took you off-guard to say the least, as he approached in a very stealthy way from behind to ask a little question, curious in nature, as a conversation starter. he smoothly slid in some pleasantries and a few more questions from his part -- and although polite, the pace made it feel as if he was putting you in some kind of interrogation to gather information or build rapport. his well-mannered ways weren't enough of a conceal for you to quickly get the intuition that maybe, he was the kind of people that you'd rather keep at arm's lenght; the guy was a textbook smooth talker. that, & the fact that he'd probably ask for something. he then revealed his actual interest; plant manipulation.

and right now, you're now waiting outside of one of the passageways leading to iago tower, at the graveyard. isaac was supposed to come down and guide you in, as you're not familiar with the secret lab's location, nor nevermore's tunnels system.

a little rush ran through your chest as you finally heard faint footsteeps appproaching, followed by isaac making himself visible at the entrance, briefly greeting you with that signature rogue smirk of his. wearing an old-fashioned lab coat & hair neatly slick back, he was giving quite the sterile impression; he would definitely pass as a doctor, if not for the gloomy, catacomb-like entrance to his clandestine lab right at the graveyard, paired with his frantic mannerisms, topped with the mad-scientist coat. what an individual, you thought in amusement. as he hinted for you to follow him in, he seemed a little frantic. excited? you deduced, it seems it wasn't unlike him to get quite enthusiastic, when it came to testing out new stuff for his experiments. he wouldn't bother in hiding what you thought was child-like excitement, almost. it would be harmless if not for the ambitious nature of his projects, and frequent involvement of... living beings.

the guy is impressive, indeed. it only takes a short conversation with him to find out why he's nevermore's best-known prodigy. up to his innovative, clever inventions -- down to the way he carries himself in casual, day-to-day conversations, he always stands out. it's not everyday that you meet someone like him. ''i didn't think you'd actually come, so you can imagine my surprise.'' he said with a toothy grin as he walked ahead, interrupting your thoughts on the way to the lab. after a shuddery inhale, he continued; ''with you here, i can finally gather samples from the plants i so much need. as aforementioned, i'll just need for you to pullulate a small list of specific specimens. i obtained the seeds in anticipation, but they germinate in such particular conditions that a huge failure margin is to be expected, even in my lab -- if not done by a certain chlorokinetic individual, that is.'' his explanation echoed gently through the tunnels, from behind a subtle grin.

''well, least i could do, now that my laptop is back & running... & as if it never broke in the first place -- nonetheless. so i'd say you properly earned my assistance.'' you referenced his help exchange with a light-hearted grin, as both of you headed into the elevator. isaac opening the gate for you, then closing it after both of you were inside.

''good!'' he replied, sounding a little detached despite looking enthusiastic. almost as if the joking nature of your response flew over him. that, or he just couldn't stop thinking that having the plants he so much needed would soon be possible.

''oh -- this is nice.'' you thought out loud at your arrival while looking around; huge circular windows letting in soft sunlight from the cloudy sky, rusty surfaces giving the lab a warm hue overall. rustic wooden floors, and pleasing white noise coming from a few distant machines that were left on. the secluded location dimmed the campus's noise, feeling almost like a bubble from the outside world.

in front of you, the lift's gate opened by itself, the davinci behind you flicking his wrist in it's direction. this time with a proud smile on his face, following behind you as you both get out of the lift. he then walks past you to lead the way and looks over his shoulder while chatting, to make sure you were following him.

''i enjoy spending most of my time in here, indeed. my sister, francoise, loves bringing books of her own and reading on the floor.'' he recalls fondly. ''you could read some while we wait for the plants's analysis results later.'' he added, pointing at the little nook & raising his eyebrows, as the idea occurred to him. he seems a little disperse sometimes, as if easily pulled by his own thoughts and ideas, but overall nice.

after the remaining stuff was set with care by invisible hands on the lab's wooden table --and not like there was much left to do, as isaac set most of it in anticipation-- you stood next to him, waiting to assist on the task.

''according to my research, this amount of dirt and pot sizes should suffice. but if you need anything else just let me know, and i'll provide it.'' you simply grew a little sprout which nodded for you in response, earning a little smile from isaac.

''good. these pots already contain a seed each, i set them up earlier. you can go ahead.'' isaac mentions with a nod up, as he absent-mindedly brushes his knuckles against the little sprout, in affectionate aknowledgement of it's presence. he then adds; ''you don't need to be strenuous about it, really. not much is needed. small-sized samples of each species should be more than enough-'' he got cut off, as with a dainty motion of your hand, beautiful specimens of each type started blooming from the seeds, you couldn't help being a little theatrical -- the table soon starting to look like a small jungle of sorts. thin curly stems, lush leaves, graceful vines, and beautiful big flowers in deep reds and purples. isaac couldn't help but gasp. both from the excitement of finally having the plants he so much needed now right in front of him, and also from the gorgeous display.

''impressive'' he said in appreciation, soft-spoken & mesmerized, as he hunched down to admire the plants up-close, and a proud little grin persisted on your face.

the plants were very lively, almost as if they had personalities of their own; stems moving like wary little snakes, leaves slowly waving around like elegant limbs... some plants seemed more shy than others, yet all of them had a feminine-like quality in common, as far fetched as that might sound. somehow, the plants were very girly. ''i must say, i've never experienced such zestful display of chlorokinesis in my formative years. is your flora always this...enthusiastic?'' isaac asked in amusement, flattered at the attention, while gently untangling a little stem from his hair, which had coiled around a falling curl on his forehead as he was hunched down jotting something. ''...well, they've never been studied before. i guess they just like the attention they're getting. at least they seem to find you interesting and that's making your work easier'' you chuckled & dodged his suspicions, the explanation sounding plausible enough. ''is that so? hm. that being the case, they have a refined taste.'' he replied, followed by his typical rogue expression. his hand smoothing the loose curl back into his slicked hairstyle. the plants swooning over him in response, & even causing you to look anywhere else -- to conceal any external display, even if so-subtle -- of the unexpected chest butterflies that just took you by surprise. while you exchanged ocassional comments as you observed isaac doing his job on the plants, --gently scraping green tissue, extracting a variety of fluids with different syringes, & bottling them in small vials--, it didn't take him long enough to finish gathering biological samples from each plant, & put them in the corresponding machine for it to bring back the analysis. the plants were left by themselves on the table to rest for a bit, as he gestured with a nod for you to settle down at the cozy book nook francoise had set in the tower. he'd make some coffee for both of you, to have a little break & enjoy something warm, while waiting as the plant samples were being processed. you and your plants couldn't leave yet, -- as if in the case that the samples failed to be processed by the lab equipment, isaac would have to collect some more tissue to try again. not that you'd mind, though. as you were doing some light-reading, hearing isaac somewhere in the lab opening drawers, spoons gently clacking against ceramic, you found it quite enjoyable. you smelt the soothing fragance of coffee approaching and consequently, isaac came back holding two mugs, handing one to you & carefully sitting down on the cushion across you. his long lab coat looked a bit comical and unpractical for floor sitting -- enveloping most of his legs, he then having a first sip of his own coffee with his arm rested on his knee, a posture carefree in nature. you reciprocated with a sip of your own mug, both of you enjoying a pleasant quietness in common for a moment. your body responding to it's comfort and peace with an imperceptible shudder of joy. isaac, unaware and relaxed, absentmindedly looking out the clock's glass. you couldn't help but find him looking quite mesmerizing; the edges of his sharp immaculate profile, being outlined by the clock window's soft glow. your eyes reclutantly went back to the book in your hands to avoid getting caught staring, although not paying much attention to the words you were reading anymore.

''tell me,'' isaac begun, his breathy voice being a welcomed interruption to the silence. ''do you grasp how resourceful and significative your ability is for my work? for science and medicine as a whole.'' ''you're quite obvious when you're going to ask for something.'', you scoffed. the flattery in his tone not going unnoticed by you. isaac set his mug aside on the floor & stood up, after a distant beep indicated that the machine had finished processing the samples. ''well then,'' he said, drawing out the last word almost with no reaction. ''perhaps from now on, expect for me to call you up here in ocassions. you get to contribute to science, all the while enjoying my delightful company. hm? think about it.'' said isaac, with a neutral expression but a humorous tone. ''you ladies are free now, by the way.'' he mentioned warmly, without looking up from the successful test's results. ''helping you, huh? that depends. will you fix my mp4 next?'' you grinned a little. gesturing with your hands towards the potted plants, they came down from the table and gathered around you, ready to go. they almost looked like pets; using their stems and leaves as functional little limbs, patiently waiting next to you. your hands were free, so you picked up two of them in your arms. at that point, isaac had walked towards you & was standing right in front of you, his heavy hand now on your shoulder. ''fair enough, then. see you in our next appointment, don't forget to bring the patient. and they're welcome to come back anytime, too.'' he said referring to your new plants. his hand retreating after having patted you a few times. you got in the lift and waved at him, after making sure all the plants got in safely. isaac closing the lift's gate for you, and nodding up to say goodbye.

“Y- you’re not Isaac,” you choked out, voice gripped with shock and disbelief, “Isaac doesn’t have b-b…”

“B-b-b-buttons? Do you like them?” Isaac gently teased, tapping the edge of a button, before explaining, “I’m the other Isaac, silly. Now go get yourself seated at the table upstairs. Though, I wouldn’t mind it if you were inclined to look around.”

Feeling sharp pangs of hunger, you decided to follow the former instruction, only managing a thorough glance at the clocktower’s window on your way up: it had been fully repaired, with sheets of crimson stained glass patching the usually-empty gaps, almost perfectly melting into it. 

The only thing that seemed slightly peculiar, though, was the utter lack of the Nevermore buildings beneath the windows; they must’ve been blanketed by the inordinately thick layer of clouds and fog directly beneath the window, you thought.

You felt the soft velvet of the dining chairs beneath you, as you sat down on one of the two chairs in front of you. Isaac - the other Isaac - had already decorated the dining table with a few flickering candles, as well as a vase of red roses, likely freshly picked from the Nevermore gardens; the entire scene seemed reminiscent of a date, you felt. 

Hearing Isaac’s absentminded humming make its way up the spiral staircase, you turned around, only to be greeted with piping-hot plates of food - some of which you didn’t even notice in the kitchen - floating up towards you; with Isaac appearing adept as ever with his telekinesis.

“Did you really think I was only making soup?” Isaac laughed jovially, before setting into motion a mechanical lazy susan, made of the same contraptions as his heart, that even went as far as to contain rail-tracks for a gravy boat. Any lingering doubts you had about the man in front of you being some cruel replica of your Isaac almost dissipated; after all, his ingenuity was exclusive to him and only him.

Isaac began portioning bowls of piping-hot mushroom soup; an entire glistening turkey leg, practically falling off the bone; and a spoonful of supple, creamy mashed potatoes; flooding your entire plate with a good serving of gravy. You ate with all the ferocity and enthusiasm, as if you’d been waiting a million years, all while Isaac looked at you with pure, unadulterated adoration - and an… atypical… type of longing.

Too absorbed in the myriad of smells and flavours before you, you failed to notice his conspicuously empty plate.

“Another roll? Sweet peas? Corn on the cob?” Isaac offered, as delectable plates of food presented in front of you. Had you not been acutely aware of the fleeting, transient nature of this encounter, you would’ve been tempted to make a joke about Isaac purposefully gavaging you.

“I really need a drink. Do you have any decent wine? Or vodka?” you asked Isaac, his uncharacteristically hospitable behaviour causing you to momentarily forget his likely answer.

“No. Absolutely not,” Isaac responded, unanticipatedly forceful and stern compared to his previous upbeat, cheery demeanour; at that moment, as you instinctually shrunk from the harshness of his words, you knew that this indubitably was the real Isaac. 

Sensing your renewed apprehension, Isaac’s entire posture softened, as he moved to kneel in front of you, inanimate button eyes looking up at you with a warmth and tenderness you hadn’t thought possible. 

“Look at me,” Isaac murmured, voice identical to the one he’d use to comfort you, “I know that’s what you think you want, but you’re poisoning yourself, exacerbating your already compromised condition. And I can’t have that. You have to promise me you won’t drink anymore.”

As unlikely as you were to keep that promise, you still nodded, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You practically threw yourself onto Isaac; luxuriating in the feel of his palm moving up your back, his reassurances, and the repeated murmurs of “Be still. You’re okay. You’re okay. I’m here.”

Eventually, as your sobs ground to a halt, you heard the unmistakable ‘swoosh’ of a plate, and looked to see a rich, frosted chocolate cake in front of you; with lettering, in Isaac’s distinctive cursive, spelling out ‘Welcome Home!’

“Home?” you asked, puzzled at the word choice.

“I– We’ve been waiting for you. Me and Francoise, though I regret to inform you that she wasn’t able to join you tonight. Though… I may be able to score an invite to dinner with her tomorrow night - that is, if you do return”

You nodded, far too excited, as Isaac moved behind you, and wrapped his lengthy arms around you and pressed a kiss on the top of your head. “Now, I wish we had more time, but you’ve had a long enough day as it is. I think it’s time we get you into bed, huh?”

You whined, rueing the idea of being parted from Isaac, yet still slightly hopeful at the prospect of seeing him again; and acquiesced as he gradually inched you into the makeshift bedroom, separated from the dining and living area by one of the pathways on the top layer of Iago Tower.

Isaac gently laid you down onto the downy mattress, resting in the centre of a luxurious, expansive bed - which you’d last remembered as the flimsy cot in the corner of his lab, that Isaac spent most of his nights in. As you slowly drifted into unconsciousness, you felt a silken blanket being laid over you, soothing circles being rubbed onto your back, and the warmth of Isaac’s breath on your ear as he whispered, 

“See you soon.”

As the temperate morning light began filtering through the gaps in the clockface of the real Iago Tower, you began blinking yourself awake, as you slowly realised your surroundings: you most definitely weren’t in the other world; there was no sign of the little door or tunnel; you were lying in the old, rickety cot you thought become a bed; and your doll mini-me was lying in place of the button-eyed Isaac. 

All in all, it seemed like the events of the previous night were nothing more than a dream - and yet, it was far too vivid and profound to be merely a figure of your imagination.

Right?

You dragged yourself out of the cot, a dull ache spreading through your back and head; you stumbled back to your dorm, quickly putting on a uniform mere minutes before lessons were set to begin. In the corner of your bed, rested a half-empty, half-opened bottle of vodka - exactly where you left it. 

Tempted to finish it, to use it as a pick-me-up before the monotonous day that lay ahead of you, you were abruptly reminded of your promise to Isaac, and - oddly enough - you found yourself moving away from it instead of towards. Even if last night was just a dream, there was still a significant part of you that was mortified at the prospect of disappointing Isaac.

You hated Morticia, and, as far as you were concerned, Morticia hated you. Even before she’d killed Isaac, you shared his aversion towards her, only maintaining some surface-level civility for Gomez’s sake. 

Which is why it took you entirely by surprise when Morticia ran up to you, calling out your name, shouting semi-coherently that she had something to tell you. You scoffed with derision, about to make your way into the classroom, before she managed to stop you and cough out,

“I need to tell you something– just one second, please,”

“I have a class to get to, so no,” you snapped, before Morticia interjected,

“Look, I know you don’t like me– and that’s okay– but if you would just listen?”

“WHAT?!” you practically shouted, appalled by her attempt to downplay her crime.

Morticia seemed unperturbed, instead telling you, “I had a vision last night. Of you– it told me you were in terrible danger. But from something– something from another world, and it– it’s taking the form of Isaac, and it– it wants to kill you.”

“You don’t have the right to talk about him like that!” you retorted, more force in your voice than you intended.

“No, wait–” Morticia tried to counter, as you once again turned on your heel, “What you need to understand is that that man– that thing– is not Isaac!”

It took every ounce of self-restraint you possessed, and then some, to not slap Morticia across the fucking face.

“My life and Isaac are none of your fucking business, so get the fuck out of my way,” you sneered, savouring the look of relative defeat on Morticia’s face. 

However, Morticia - ever the Dove - was still determined to “protect” you from the apparent supernatural, all-powerful threat that the Other Isaac was; and she handed you a rounded triangle, in the colour and patterns of malachite, with a circle cut out in the centre.

Morticia sighed, “Here. At least keep this with you. It’s good for finding bad things– lost things.” 

You practically snatched it from her hands, shoving the trinket into the pockets of your uniform, as you stormed into the classroom, your mind already preoccupied with thoughts of returning to Isaac later that night.

Indeed, it seemed that with every passing moment, the other Isaac seemed to engulf more and more of your thoughts. The very moment the lunchtime bell rang, you practically dashed out of whichever class you were trudging through and went back up to Iago Tower; of course, not before stopping by your dorm and grabbing the doll.

The moment the creaking, rusted elevator doors opened, you did a preliminary glance of the ever-familiar area, only to find yourself deeply disappointed: there was no sign of the little door that had been there last night. 

Never one to give up hope, you set the doll onto the same desk you did last night, hoping that it would - somehow - show you the door again. 

Still wanting some actual, tangible evidence that what you’d seen last night was real, you began to search through Isaac’s every drawer or desk to see proof of the easily recognisable button-bowed key - or any other trinket from the Other World, for that matter. 

As you found yourself greeted with letdown after letdown, you decided to check back on your button-eyed doppelganger to see if it had somehow moved again. Yet another letdown. You sank down onto the floor, and let out a hoarse cry; every ounce of dread, rage, and powerlessness, at the fact that any hope you’d regained was once again stolen from you. 

You don’t know how long you stayed there: curled up, extremities numb, eyes mysteriously leaking - before you decided to go back to class, hoping that irrelevant material about photosynthesis or plant transport could occupy your thoughts, instead of the false, cruel hope that you’d actually managed to see Isaac again.

Perhaps you were more exhausted than you’d expected, be that physically or mentally, because the instant you got back to your dorm, you’d practically sunk into your mattress, drifting off to the sight of your button-eyed companion looking on at you.

When you next regained consciousness, it appeared to be sometime around midnight, the cool night air filtering in through a half-opened window. You blinked yourself awake, suddenly unable to sleep, despite your best efforts; before concluding that insomnia was a symptom of alcohol withdrawal and deciding on your tried-and-true solution of finishing your bottle. 

After all, if the Other Isaac was just a dream, then no one you cared about would have a problem with your drinking, right?

Just as you opened the bottle, you heard Isaac say, as clear as day:

You promised me you won’t drink anymore.

Why, why now, why when you were so close to admitting to yourself that you’d never see Isaac again; when you were so close to believing what everyone else had accepted as fact for several months already. 

You momentarily wondered: was this your mind playing tricks on you, perhaps fueled by an innate desire to cease your drinking; or was this the Isaac, either the real or Other Isaac, not that it made much difference to you - they were both still Isaac.

Still, you found yourself involuntarily setting the bottle down, as you turned to go back to bed, before finally noticing one obtrusive little detail:

The doll was missing.

You almost shoved the mattress off of the bed as you scrambled to search for it, gradually retracing your steps to your last coherent memory of it: setting it at the foot of your bed. 

You continued ripping up the mattress; sticking your head beneath the bed for several glances; even pulling each and every drawer in your dorm, when you explicitly didn’t remember ever opening them. 

Still, much like your quest to find the little door earlier that day, you were met with disappointment after disappointment, until a borderline genius thought finally struck you:

The doll was in Iago Tower.

You practically flew across campus - sprinting in what must’ve been record speed to the foot of the tower, silently cursing the subpar speeds of the elevator - that Isaac repaired himself - as you made your way up. Almost instantly, you caught sight of the doll, as well as something far more valuable:

the heart drawing in png i made, feel free to use, print etc: