Fifi’s paws, both mechanical and organic, padded against the well worn trail softly. There was a happy skip in her step as she approached the door of the tavern, humming a tune to herself as her accessories jingled slightly. It had been a wonderful morning thus far, and Fifi was always happy to see Shelly and Garner. It was like visiting family to her at this point, like seeing her favorite uncle and her little brother that lived with him. Life had been great since Shelly came around, finally Fifi had someone to sing and play with, someone to keep Garner company when she wasn’t around, he felt like a little brother to her, like a missing piece that she and Garner finally found. Maybe she didn’t know all about Shelly’s history, but she still loved him like family, his quiet, nervous self, his mannerisms and overall presence that she’d just instantly grown familiar with and comforted by, she’d only known him for two years now, but it felt like they’ve known each other their whole lives. 

As she approached the tavern door, she immediately realized something was off, all of the lights were off, and the door was unlocked without being open yet. It was weird in of itself that it wasn’t open yet, sometimes Shelly would even be outside watching the sunrise, and they opened early on those days. Nevertheless, Fifi thought nothing of it, maybe they overslept again, she knew that sometimes Shelly had nightmares and he’d go sleep with Garner, and on those mornings they both got up late. Or maybe they were just taking a bit of a break day, unusual for them, but not unheard of. Without needing to unlock the door, she reached out, slowly opening the door with a creak. Her ears flattened against her head, her eyes widening as she saw that something was horribly wrong.

The entire tavern was dark, curtains covering the windows, lanterns never even lit, the only light being from the fireplace which was slowly burning dimmer and dimmer. The place clearly hadn’t been cleaned since the day prior, with empty tankards scattered around, the bar dirty, and the floor unswept. On the bar there was an open medkit, with a few materials scattered around it, along with two stools that had been pulled up to the spot, small drops of blood were trailed from the entrance way, over the bar, and down to one of the stools, along with a few bloody rags on the bar. However, this wasn’t the most worrying part, Fifi’s eyes locked onto Garner’s trembling form sitting by the fireplace, his apron thrown off, his clothes all sorts of wrinkled, and his hair messed up from the usual neat ponytail he kept it in. Garner was hunched over, holding his head in his hands as he shook and sobbed quietly, his gruff voice even raspier with the energy he’d drained, thick tears running down his strong jaw. 

Fifi was frozen in shock for a moment, throughout all the years she’d known Garner, she’d never seen him cry. She’d seen him upset, frustrated, sometimes annoyed, but the only strong emotion she’d ever seen presented from his calm and mostly neutral demeanor was joy. Garner didn’t cry, she’d seen the most depressing plays with him, seen him go through memories of his past, seen him hurt himself in some very painful ways, but despite all of that, the only tears he’d ever shed had been ones of laughter and joy. As she looked around, something else became clear to her, and that was that Shelly was gone. He must’ve been upstairs, or maybe taking a breather outside right? But even then, Shelly was never away from Garner for long, always glued to his side, so how on the seven seas would he miss Garner like this? The thought almost angered her, but she pushed it aside.

Quickly, Fifi stepped in, closing the door behind her and sprinting to Garner’s side, sitting beside him and placing a careful hand on his shoulder.

“G-Garner! What’s going on?! I’ve never seen you like this!” She spoke louder than she meant to, but she was too emotional to care.

Garner sniffled, not bothering to wipe his eyes as he looked up, his face covered slightly by the darkness of the tavern. “Shelly…Shelly’s gone…”

Fifi blinked. “What…What do mean he’s gone? D-did something happen? I-Is he hurt?!-”

“No.” He cut her off, speaking in a shaky, yet low and raspy voice, trying to keep himself calm. “Yesterday there was an incident…” He hesitated to continue, but pushed forward anyway, “Some jackasses barged in, thought that they owned the place, Shelly went against what I said and took them on. He defended the tavern, but he ended up getting a nasty gash on the forehead when one of the guys broke a bottle over his head.”

“Okay?...” Fifi said hesitantly, unsure of how this would continue.

“I closed early that day, sent everyone out and sat the kid down to deal with his wound.” Garner continued. “I was proud, of course, but was also upset. He went against what I said and got hurt because of it. I scolded him, but he persisted, saying how they cheered his name, and that he’d never felt like that before.” He sighs. “The argument continued, me saying that he was young, and he should stay here before making any bad decisions, him saying that there was more to the world than being stuck in a tavern. I was getting frustrated, I told him, “Kid, I don’t want you to see me like this.” He said, “Well maybe I don’t want to see you ever again.” I was shocked, I tried saying that he didn’t really mean that, but he didn’t let up. He turned around, and ran out of the tavern, and no matter how loud I called for him, he didn’t look back.”

Fifi froze, her hands slowly moving away from Garner. This didn’t make any sense, why would Shelly just leave? Over what? Some pointless argument? She knew that they didn’t fight much, or at all really, but how would one disagreement cause him to just abandon them? After all Garner had done for him? She felt a deep anger start up inside her, but she quickly realized that it was only out of sadness. She took a breath, calming herself as much as she could to try and rationalize all of this.

“H-He…He probably just needs some time to cool off is all…” Fifi started, her words slow and shaky as tears welled in her eyes. “He’ll be back soon, he wouldn’t just abandon us right?”

Garner shook his head, looking down, “No. I pushed him too hard. There’s no reason for him to come back here…I probably wouldn’t come back either.” Garner looked up again, and Fifi thought for a moment that he was snarling, but she quickly realized that he was smiling. Smiling as tears still ran down his face, all of the hope void from his eyes, replaced with a deep loneliness she’d only seen back when she first met him. 

“I really screwed up this time, huh Fifi?” He gave a weak, joyless chuckle, trying to mask his broken state. “This is all my fault…I’m so sorry.” He hid his face back into his hands, sobbing weakly. All because he was too selfish, that he wanted to keep Shelly here with him instead of letting him make his own decisions. All because of him, the tavern had lost a worker, the patrons had lost a charming server, Fifi had lost a little brother, and Garner had lost a son. 

Fifi wanted to say something, anything to make this better. She wanted to say it wasn’t his fault, that Shelly was in the wrong, and that everything would be okay without him. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t force words from her throat. Tears ran down her face, her ears flat to her head, her throat closing up as she took in shaky breaths, soon she was sobbing, as the reality set in that Shelly was gone, and that he was never coming back. All she could do was wrap her arms around Garner tightly, sobbing quietly with him in the dark tavern.

The footprints of the boots Garner had gifted Shelly were still indented into the trail, soon washed away by the coming rain. The tavern was eventually cleaned, the door to his room locked up, and the sign removed. Soon the fireplace’s light grew weaker and dimmer, until eventually it was gone, just like the boy who had lit it prior. And just as fast and sudden as Shelly had come into their lives, he had completely been removed, as if he was never there, leaving the two only with memories, and the crippling knowledge that they were now missing a piece of themselves, and they were never getting it back.

¨Iĺl do anything to find that boy.¨

Shelly gripped the small torn parchment in his hands, reading over the words once, twice, many times over. The first thing he felt was anxiety, stress. Garner was a capable warrior, this was true. But the half orc was in his fifties now, and he refused to fight anyone unless it was a life or death situation. Garner would get destroyed out there, even if he could survive this realm, the feywild, the underdark, the nine hells, those would outmatch him entirely. The second thing he felt was determination, a need to find him, and to find him quickly. Seven years it had been, and it was seven years too many. If Shelly wanted to move forward, to start a new life and forget these past twenty four years, he'd need to turn back, to face his past and begin a new future. The third thing he felt was shame, a deep guilt that ate away at his soul. He had caused this, Garner was in trouble, out in the middle of nowhere, desperately looking for him, trying to apologize. But there was nobody to apologize to except himself, for letting this golden boy brat destroy his life. 

Shelly felt tears welling in his eyes for a moment, before he was cut back into reality once more. Here he was, standing in his old home, The Silver Bell. The place all but empty, save for Dez behind the counter, Sierra in the back, Treasure by his side, the crew looking around, and Fifi right in front of him. He shook his head, not bothering to hide the emotion in his eyes, but not daring to attempt to make amends with an old friend right now. He had thought Fifi understood what he was, what he deserved, but now with forced forgiveness he could see she had no clue the real reason behind his sudden disappearance. Instead, he slowly pocketed the scrap of paper, making a mental note that the situation had worsened, and the moment they were done on Flatworm he´d need to force the crew to the Underdark, or just go himself. He gave a silent nod of understanding to Fifi, before his eyes wandered once more. 

What was he doing here again? Right, he had a few errands here before they set sail again. The bank wasn't working with him right now, so that threw out the idea of buying Wind a diamond just in case, he had already gotten the jeweler to turn the ruby he'd been saving into a beautiful necklace. He had already said hello to Dez, handed over the necklace and the secret note to Sierra, and introduced Treasure to her old savior once more. Fifiś appearance was unexpected, but Shelly had grown used to things only seeming to get worse nowadays. What was left? As he scanned the not so vast crowd of drunkards and closers among the crew, his eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Except it wasn't familiar, and he couldn't remember seeing this person a day in his life, no, it was the presence that was familiar, not the face. Sickeningly sweet, like a rotten corpse dipped in honey, a poisoned candy apple that could kill you with one bite. Beyond the face, beyond the body, he saw the soul of that woman sitting at the back table, it was one he had seen before, recently, in his drugged out fever dream after being attacked by that bloody cult. This was Niko. She was here, in his home. She wasn't lying when she said she knew everything about him. And now one wrong move could send this whole tavern up in flames.

As far as Shelly could tell, Niko hadn't caught on to the fact that she had been spotted. This meant that he had time, not much time, but time. Forcing his best calm attitude, something he had grown to be a master at, he stepped over to Dez at the bar, and whispered.

¨Get everyone out of this bar, now. Don't ask questions, don't make a scene, just get everyone out of here. After that, take Treasure up to the old bedroom, and hide with her, do not let anyone get to her.¨

Dez stared at him for just a moment before nodding, and as Shelly stepped back near the crew, an instinct to stay safe, the patrons slowly filed out of the bar. People left one after another, and he watched Fifi and Sierra stumble out the back, Dez took Treasure by the hand before quietly sneaking upstairs. Niko knew by this point that they had spotted her, this was obvious, but of course, she stayed quiet, sipping her drink like nothing was wrong. The rest of the crew had noticed her much longer ago, and instinctively gathered together like a school of fish huddling for safety. Slowly, they approached, Niko looking up with a wicked grin that flashed fear and despair into the hearts of the ones who dared to gaze.

¨Got awfully quiet here, don´t you think?¨ She spoke, her voice like honey pouring through the veins of a beast.

Shelly nodded, speaking quietly. ¨Apologies, I believe our staff is just a tad…busy at the moment.¨ He kept his voice flat and calm. ¨But we here at The Silver Bell do not deny anyone service, our only rule is that violence happens outside. Now…¨ Shelly leaned down, staring into the eyes of the monster herself. 

¨May I refill your drink, Miss?¨

The hot summer sun slowly set over the horizon, August 31, 1675, the last day of Summer for that year. Shelly stared blankly at the setting sun with a sigh, with the end of summer came about a few things. It brought the beginning of fall, the end of sticky, sleepless nights in the cargo hold, and the continuing tradition of his own distaste towards winter. Back in the day, the end of summer meant autumn, and the end of autumn meant winter, and winter…well that meant cold, sleepless nights in the snow. It meant holidays of other families cozied up together by their fireplaces while he was on the street in the alleyway outside. It meant the threat of frostbite and hypothermia at any given point in time without any glowing respite of-

His memories were cut off by a small, almost unnoticeable tug on the hem of his brightly colored trench coat. The pirate looked down with a slightly forced smile, which turned genuine as he spotted the tiny girl standing beside him. 

“Hey sweetheart,” He said warmly, any trace of an accent from his hometown faded ages ago. “You need something kiddo?”

Treasure beamed as she was hoisted into the air in the arms of the man, looking out over the horizon. “Nora said I should be getting to bed,” she admitted, not taking her black sclera off the setting sun.

Shelly couldn’t suppress a chuckle, “Well then why aren’t you getting to bed? We have a big day of travelling ahead of us!” He put on his most believable cheery tone.

“I wanted to see you,” The changeling looked up at him, an innocent look in her bright eyes. “You looked…sad.”

Shelly mentally cursed himself for letting his “Devil’s Charm” mask slip, it had been happening more and more often as things continued to spiral out of control. “I appreciate your worry, Treasure, but Papa Shelly is just fine alright?”

Treasure frowned, one of the few people to be able to see through him, but, as children are, her attention pointed back to the sunset. “What comes after summer?”

“Autumn,” He responded. “Autumn, and then winter.”

Treasure instantly perked up at the mention of winter, “Will I get to see snow finally? Me and Brother saw it outside, but we were never allowed to go outside…”

Shelly’s heart ached at the poor girl’s memory, the idea that this child had been locked up in a basement for so long, only in the company of her brother they had yet to save, it was almost too much.

But his sympathy was drowned out by a sense of adoration as he saw the pure excitement in her gaze, she was ready to move on from her past and see the world in her own way. Shelly couldn’t help but laugh at the idea that this kid was more mature than him at this point, but despite that, he followed her vision back to the now fully set sun, a quiet promise that both of them could continue in life without the weights of the past behind them. 

“Yeah honey…You’ll see snow.”

How would you feel if you were just the replacement? How could someone live like that? Its something Sierra asked herself often, she was old enough to remember being adopted, but too young to remember her biological parents. She tried researching them a few times to get any idea of her origins, but it was like they were erased from history. Sierra had no idea where she came from and no idea where she was going, and this ¨family¨ wasn't helping much. 

In the family mansion, there was a giant mural she passed by everyday in the hall. It was a family portrait, an old one, from before she was adopted. She could make out the faces of them through the old, weathered paint. There was Father, Mother, she could see her brothers, Elliot, Robert, and Charles, as well as her sisters, Susan and Maryanne. But there was one aspect that never ceased to confuse and intrigue her. In her place there was another family member, she could barely make out the figure of a small boy almost hidden in the corner, with fluffy brown hair just like Father. However, his face was scratched out, the section of canvas torn up with what seemed like a blade. When she asked, everyone turned her down. She couldn't get a single straight answer. ¨Don't worry about him.¨ ¨He's nobody.¨ ¨It's nothing to concern yourself with, Sierra.¨

Despite the confusing answers, she managed to get at least something. One night, a few days after her accident, she climbed out of bed and began wandering the cold, quiet hallways in the late hours. In her nightgown, no shoes, and bandages covering her face entirely, she looked like some kind of spectre. As she padded along the halls, she eventually saw Charles. He was standing in front of the painting, a tired, empty look in his eyes. He always looked tired, but with his gaze fixed on the portrait, it somehow felt worse than usual. Charles nearly jumped out of his skin when he finally noticed Sierra, thinking it may have been Mom or Dad. Charles took some pressing, but eventually she got some kind of answer. ¨He's not a part of this family anymore, we're not allowed to talk about him. For your own sake, stop asking.¨

Sierra went years with that knowledge in the back of her mind. A family member so heinous he had to be cut out of portraits? Maybe he wasn't even that heinous, maybe he was like her, an outcast, a disappointment. When Sierra turned nineteen, she began to fend for herself. She started exploring outside of Nantgard more, she saw so much of the world, different races, different lands, it was incredible everything that was kept out of those massive stone walls that surrounded Nantgard. She found a girlfriend, a pet, friends, even a new, much better father figure despite still having to go back home every evening. His name was Garner, running a tavern near the beach of Shipwreck Port, Fifi introduced them, apparently they were good friends for years. Garner was a giant half orc, which Sierra was taught to fear back home, but in reality, Garner was the biggest sweetheart she had ever met. He was kind, calm, caring, everything a daughter could want. However, he was lonely, it was something he could never hide, there was a deep sadness behind everything he did, behind his large smile there was pain. 

Again, Sierra tried to find out what caused this, and again, she was cut off. Every time Garner would start talking, Fifi cut him off, told her, ¨Don't worry about it.¨ Well, Sierra was sick and tired of being kept from the truth, she pressed, she pestered, until eventually her and Garner were alone one night, and she finally got him talking. Apparently, there was some young man from Nantgard that showed up at the tavern nine years ago, homeless and needing a job and a place to stay. A man named Shelly. He quickly became a part of their weird little family, a son to Garner, a brother to Fifi, loved by the patrons. He stayed for two, amazing years, before he and Garner got into a fight, and he ran off. He apparently became a famous pirate, and hadn´t returned in over seven years now. Garner felt awful about it, feeling it was his fault, while Fifi resented Shelly for abandoning them over some ¨call to adventure¨.

How would you feel if you were just the replacement? How could someone live like that? Its something Sierra asked herself often, she was old enough to remember being adopted, but too young to remember her biological parents. She tried researching them a few times to get any idea of her origins, but it was like they were erased from history. Sierra had no idea where she came from and no idea where she was going, and this ¨family¨ wasn't helping much. 

Fifi’s tail brushed against the oak floorboards slowly, her ears were folded down to her hair, her arms crossed over her chest with her head hung low. “It’s honestly amazing how you have the audacity to come and ask for help after all you did…”

Shelly sighed shakily, pulling his hair from the bun and running his fingers through his hair. “Look…I know. It’s awful, just, please…I’m begging you, Garner is-”

Fifi’s tail stilled, a hiss coming from her teeth as she whipped around with a deep anger in her expression, but a deep pain in her eyes. “Oh so NOW you’re worried about Garner! Seven years and you didn’t think to find him ONCE! But NOW, when YOU need help you’re looking for him?! You’re just like your damn family Shelly!”

The words hurt more than the saw to his leg, Sierra stepped up with a frustrated expression, about to call her out, but Shelly stopped her, biting back his pain. “Maybe so…But this isn’t about me” Shelly stepped up slowly. “Please, just listen to me…”

“Why should I?!” Fifi shouted, balling her fists as tears streamed down her face. “You ABANDONED us!”

“And I abandoned myself with you…” Shelly retorted weakly.

Sierra finally stepped up, coming between the two of them. “Babe, that's enough. He’s…He’s been through enough, whatever punishment he deserved he’s already gone through.”

Fifi crossed her arms again, turning away again, tears still falling as she began shaking slightly.

“Fifi…” Shelly stepped forward again. “Look, whatever you’ve heard of me…It’s not true. I never should’ve left, Garner was right, I-I was blinded by praise. But these past seven years have been nothing but torture. I’ve changed everything about myself for the approval of others, I-I don’t even know who I am anymore!” He sobbed, his eyeliner smudging with his tears. “Devil’s charm is a myth, he isn’t real! I’m sorry for leaving, but please…deep down I’m still me…the same, pathetic seventeen year old you met almost a decade ago.”

There was silence for a minute, Fifi’s gaze down at the floor as she thought over his words, before shakily speaking up, her voice softer than her name. “I…I want my little brother back…”

Shelly gave a small, teary eyed smile, his lip quivering slightly. “A sailor’s just a sailor, just like he was before…”

Fifi smiled, her tears no longer of hurt but of joy as she ran up, throwing herself into Shelly’s arms as she hugged him tight. Shelly laughed, tears of joy streaming down his face as he spun around with Fifi in a tight hug, finally, things seemed just even slightly okay.  

Charles remembers his first race. He remembers it well, he was about 15 at the time, it was a junior league race, but he still knew better than to fail. His parents assigned him the horse, he truly was beautiful, a thoroughbred stallion. He had the most wonderful black coat, groomed to perfection, a mane and tail styled beautifully yet tastefully. His name was Benedict, and he was sold to Richard for over 2 million gold pieces, the perfect racehorse. Charles walked out onto the track as they called his name, looking up to the stands as he shielded his eyes from the sun, his family sat up in their own premium area. Richard looked down with a stern expression, pipe held up to his lips, Olivia wore a soft smile, her theater glasses held up to her eyes. Charles swallowed nervously, his eyes scanning over the rest of his siblings. Robert was busy counting coins in his purse, Elliot was speaking to his girlfriend over sending stone, Maryanne was doing her makeup, and Susan was sketching out a drawing on a sheet of paper. The only eyes on him were that of Richard and Olivia…and Sheldon. His eyes drifted over to little Sheldon, sitting a few feet away from the rest of the family, he had an excited smile on his face, waving down to him as they made eye contact. Charles smiled a bit, reaching up to wave back, but quickly brought it down as he knew Dad wouldn’t like that. Charles made his way back to his stable as his name was called by the announcer. Benedict’s saddle was lined with gold and jewels, the Dayton’s insignia showing on the blanket under his saddle. Charles took a breath as the announcements continued, eyes trying to stay focused and not drift to the handsome jockey next to him. The countdown began as he leaned forward to ready himself, his eyes drifted up back to the stands, seeing the smiling face of Sheldon. 

Charles remembers when Mom and Dad announced they were having a final child. Most of the kids were indifferent, so he tried to copy that. In reality, he was quite excited to have another little sister to take care of, as Mom and Dad were sure it was to be a girl. The nine months were a peaceful time as usual, as Mom tried to never react about her pregnancies, the whole time spent talking about what they expected from this final daughter. Charles liked suggesting names at times, and well they were always brushed off, he still hoped they’d choose one of his. He liked the names Helton, or Vixon, though realistically, they weren’t female names. Mom and Dad were settled on something more modern, like Sierra or Veronica.

The gun shot out in signal as the barriers went down, his body focused, as his mind drifted. He’d gotten used to dissociating when he needed, all he could do was trust his body and muscle memory. He tuned out the loud announcements over the magic speakers, tuned out the loud sounds of hooves on the dirt, tried his damned best to tune out the thoughts of the pretty smile of the jockey to his right. He muttered small praises under his breath, he always had a way with horses, even if he and Benedict weren’t the perfect match. The trotting of hooves was always a calming sound to him, and it felt like an escape from everything. The horses were fairly even, him and the jockey to his right pulling forward every now and then, eventually they made the first half of the first lap, Charles began to pull ahead.

Charles remembers when Sheldon was brought home for the first time. Mom had woken up Dad and they rushed out of the house, leaving Charles pacing for a few hours. He had hoped she’d be an animal lover like him, that maybe she’d have his own passion for horses. Deep down, he had hoped she’d have his same problem, so he wouldn’t be so alone with this. What nobody expected was the baby boy that came home later that night, Sheldon was what they named him, clearly on a whim. Mom and Dad both seemed disappointed, Dad more so as Mom tried to see the best in things, Dad wouldn’t hold the baby, and Mom seemed uninterested. Charles couldn’t help but feel bad for his new little brother, being chastised for something he couldn’t control, especially since he was just a baby. Charles kept his mouth shut however, as he feared getting the same distasteful looks from Mom and Dad. He offered to carry Sheldon to the nursery, once he laid the small child down he sighed. He decided to sit by him for his first night in this world.

Charles pulled ahead strongly, Benedict's hooves hitting the dirt harshly, his golden horseshoes leaving near perfect imprints. He had been practicing for this for a long time, and he’d rather die than disappoint Mom and Dad. Charles never wanted to be too cocky, as he knew the risks that it came with. Elliot and Robert always tried to get him to be overly proud of his achievements, and while he respected the idea, he didn’t like being above everyone else. So he played along, no matter how much it upset him. He kept a cool head as he focused to keep his lead, his heart beating in his ears louder than the sounds of racing around him. Maybe it was the eyes on him, or maybe it was just his blood that needed to know, but he betrayed his own rule, glancing back up to the stands. The sounds of the world faded in, the announcer declaring his name in the lead, Charles looked up to his family. Dad was smiling proudly, Mom giggling happily, the rest of his brothers and sisters actually paying attention to him as Sheldon made little movements with a large smile. It was an invigorating feeling, actually having them care for once. However, it didn’t take long after the first lap for Mom and Dad’s smiles to turn back to stern, Charles looked back to the race, seeing that he was falling behind. He was losing, his heart quickened as his anxiety made him unable to tune out the world. He knew that he could not lose, he had to come in first place without even the slightest chance of a loss. He had to, if not, he could end up like…like Sheldon.

Charles remembers Sheldon’s first steps. He was likely the only one who did, as he was the only one who seemed to care. It was quickly noticed that Sheldon was falling behind when it came to developing, he took a long time to say even simple words, and he couldn’t fully walk despite all the teaching. Mom and Dad were beginning to get impatient, to the point they stopped trying to care for him, leaving him to the other kids. Charles was the only one who seemed to care though, he spent time with him, taking care and looking after him. It only took a little bit longer for Sheldon to take his first steps, Charles was a few feet away, crouching down to try to lead him closer. After a moment, Sheldon shakily stepped towards him, Charles smiled brightly. He was so proud as he picked him up, rushing to tell Mom and Dad. However, they seemed uninterested, eliciting no more than a “Took him long enough”. Charles sighed as he looked down at his little brother, and for just a moment he swore he saw a small spark from his hand, though he was likely just seeing things.

Charles’s heart pounded with fear, he had to stay focused, he had to. His nerves were too strong to deny, he couldn’t lose, but he couldn’t focus. It was terrifying, he muttered begs and prayers under his breath as he caught up just a bit. His mind steadied slightly, he tightened his grip on Benedict’s lead. He leaned forward, feeling his hair blowing in the wind. He was slowly catching up to first, the jockey was good, very good. Not to mention pretty, he was so incredibly pretty, but Charles had to shake that thought. Instead his eyes looked down to the man’s horse, and oh she was beautiful. He had always loved white horses, they were just so magical looking. Mom and Dad had bought him a black one however, as it was more expensive and refined, and Charles knew better than to complain. Charles sat up more, trying to get any kind of lead, but his foot slipped slightly. Mom and Dad didn’t want his racing boots to have heels too big, which made it hard to stay on the stirrups. He nearly fell off Benedict, eliciting some gasps from the stands, but even scarier was that he was now dead last. His heart sank to his stomach, he felt like he was going to throw up, it was already the second lap and he didn't have much time to catch up. Charles didn’t need to look up to the stands to feel his family’s eyes staring into his soul with harsh glances. If he had to choose between death, or having to live in that moment forever, he would rather fall off Benedict and break his neck on impact. He was almost frozen, felt like throwing up or crying, this was his nightmare. 

Charles remembers the hate.  Sheldon wasn’t like the rest of the family, he fell behind often. Sheldon had a gift of bardic magic, which he loved, but Mom and Dad found it useless. He was a bookworm, antisocial, had trouble in classes, and often did weird things. Charles remembered when Sheldon was helping him clean out the attic, eventually finding a small lute that had been left up there. He began toying with it a bit, and he clearly had a bit of a gift, considering he did a pretty damn nice job. Again, Mom and Dad found it a waste of time, they found almost everything he did a waste of time. Sheldon always tried so hard to impress them, and Charles couldn’t help but feel bad, they never cared how hard he tried. He had to give it to Sheldon, he was determined, and he never stopped trying. Though it seemed no matter how hard he tried, he still fell behind, and Mom and Dad still scolded him. Charles tried to step in for him, but he was worried about the others ganging up on him, as Robert and Elliot only made things worse for him, and Susan and Maryanne just ignored his pain. Though that didn’t stop him from having moments when they were alone together, sometimes Sheldon would visit the stable with him. He showed off any little magic things he learned, or a new song on the lute, and Charles found it interesting, as magic was always something he wanted to learn more about, but never could. Charles would tell him about horse racing, and even took Sheldon with him on a few trips across the fields near town, Sheldon loved it, he loved animals just as much as Charles, and it made him near ecstatic to share his passion. Those moments were few and far between, but they were the times with Sheldon he treasured most, considering that any other time was spent watching Dad disown him, and Mom ignored him. 

Charles growled and whipped down Benedict’s lead, sending him flying forward. His head was clear, needing to remain calm as he flew ahead. He passed numbers four, five, and six near instantaneously, after a moment he caught up with seven, eight, and nine, passing them too. Charles knew how to do this, he knew how to do this better than anyone else in the entire city of Nantguard, he would not lose, he could not lose. He passed ten and eleven, leaving him in fourth, this was not good enough, it was never good enough. They had made it to the last lap, Charles pulled past twelve to get to third, he was closing the gap to victory. Charles was used to this, his body acting on its own, his mind off in another world, he’d gotten used to dissociating, watching his life go by through his eyes without ever being there. It was something he learned to do, and he had accepted he would likely have to do it for the rest of his life, even if it meant he never felt like he was living his own life, it was fine as long as Mom and Dad were proud. Number three had fallen behind him now, leaving him in second, of course, this was still not good enough. Everything had faded behind him now, as he just let his body do what he needed. All his life seemed like it had been this way, feeling so helpless as he watched things happen and could do nothing about it, all he could do was hope, hope that someday things would change and he could actually act on his own will, live his own life. Though Charles always had the fear that it would never happen, he continued to hope, for it was the only thing he could ever do.

Charles remembers watching, and how it was the only thing that he could do. Dad was always proud of him, and Mom doted on him far too often. He loved their affection, but it was more the fear of losing it that kept him going. Sheldon didn’t get that love, he made mistakes, he never succeeded no matter how hard he tried. He wasn’t allowed to call Dad “Dad” without him getting upset, he had to call him “Father”. Dad always said that apologies are useless, that you just shouldn’t make mistakes in the first place. He said that effort means nothing, and results are what mattered, it was cruel and unfair, seeing Sheldon try so hard and still not receiving the same praise Charles and the rest got. Charles knew this, but he couldn’t stop it, all he could do was watch, seeing Sheldon being broken down, over and over, and over…and over. Charles learned to shut himself off, trying not to add to the pain Sheldon went through, but it didn’t help his little brother at all. Sheldon’s magic, his music, his creativity and intelligence, it was wonderful, and he hoped just someone else could see it. It began to hurt so much, but he didn’t show it, he didn’t want to end up like him. He slowly saw his little brother’s hopes and dreams crumble away, his heart being broken again and again, it was torture seeing his own family being destroyed, and being powerless to help. Charles just kept hoping, kept praying that someday he’d have a savior of some sort, someone that could make everything go away.

Charles was right on his tail, they were approaching the end, and he was running out of time. His eyes narrowed in an intense determination, they were neck and neck at this point. Charles looked over at the other jockey with an intense glare, he’d rather die than lose this race. The announcements were overbearing, but luckily he was in his own world at this point. He saw the starting line, and with one final whip of Benedict’s lead he pulled forward with a speed that would likely kill him if he fell off now. He didn’t care, and a small lead on his competitor wasn’t good enough either, he needed to win by a longshot. Benedict would likely need some muscle therapy after this, and Charles’s hands were aching from his grip. Charles pulled ahead even more, as he flew over the finish line and heard the stands erupt in cheer, he pulled back with heavy breaths, slowing down as he looked up at the stands. The people were cheering, Mom was blowing kisses, Dad was standing and clapping with a smile on his face. Charles smiled as he saw his brothers and sisters cheering, and Sheldon jumping up and down, sparks of golden strands of magic coming from his hands and spelling out his name in the air. He won, he did it, everything was okay now, he had calmed down. 

Charles didn’t mind the pictures at all, he stood on the stand with a smile as he accepted the golden trophy. His heart did flutter as the second place jockey congratulated him, but he managed to ignore it. He saw dad smiling proudly with his arm on Mom’s waist, his brothers and sisters taking some better pictures, and Sheldon stimming happily for him. For a moment, he could smile genuinely, proud of himself, doing his favorite thing better than anyone else. For the first time in a very long while, he felt like himself, no longer some passenger in his own life. Charles took a breath, for a minute he could imagine himself in a better world, where every event was like this, and he was a part of a normal family. One where everyone in his family was loved unconditionally, and they were always happy together. This was what he hoped for most deep down, even if he knew it would never happen, he loved the idea of a loving family. And no matter how impossible it was, it was what he would keep hoping for every day.

Charles remembers when he wasn’t allowed to talk about Sheldon anymore. It was fairly late at that point, when he heard Sheldon begging and pleading from outside in the hall. He stepped out carefully, seeing what was going on, his eyes widening as he saw Mom and Dad grabbing Sheldon by the arms tightly, walking him to the back door as he pleaded with them not to. He watched in terror as Sheldon was thrown out into the rainy back alley, the door shut behind him. Charles retreated into his room, shakily falling back and covering his mouth, the pure terror was too much. The next morning was so quiet and eerie, hiding from everyone and seeing the carved out faces on every family portrait, he looked around to find one intact, grabbing it and hiding it under his bed. Anyone who spoke of Sheldon would be in trouble, and he was no longer spoken of as a part of the family. It was that day Charles stopped trying, he cut himself off from everything, became just who his parents wanted. He chastised Sierra for coming out, never spoke to outsiders, got married to a woman just like he should. He was tired, but kept going anyway. Somewhere, deep down, there was the smallest shred of hope, that a savior would come for him, that he’d be able to see Sheldon again, that things would be okay. He didn’t fully believe that, but he had to keep up hope anyway, as it was the only thing that kept him sane. Hope was all he had, and for the time being, it was all he needed.

He missed his little brother.

The alarm clock was broken, I was sure of it. His glassy eyes drifted to the blinking red numbers on the display. Two, three, four thirty, the thought of having to replace it annoyed me, I’d have to remember it for tomorrow, whenever that is. My legs hung from the seating, having completely lost all blood flow, only sending tingles through his legs. His spine could no longer straighten without the risk of it snapping, I could feel every bone and muscle in my wrist scream with agony with each fast stroke. Glassy tired eyes glued to the screen, never focused on anything else but the blinding light in the pitch black void. His shaky pale hand scratched away at the tablet’s screen, faster, faster, faster, slower, slower, slower. He stopped, he finally stopped. An eternity had passed since he began and finally he could stop. Any hope he had quickly faded as he noticed breathing in the room, he had forgotten that he technically wasn’t alone, he was still here, he always was. The sound of pained bed springs were heard before the sound of footsteps, as the breathing approached quickly. 

“Done already?” He smiled as he spoke, his deep demonic voice striking him with such intense fear. He bent down, leaning his head over the other’s shoulder staring into the blinding light, sunglasses reflecting most of it.

“Doesn't look like it” He chuckled harshly “Keep going, finish up, then maybe you can stop” He laughed deafeningly at his own sick joke, knowing that day would never come. He reached into his suit pocket, pulling out a pure gold coin shining in the light of the screen. The man flipped the coin in his fingers before straightening up again, reaching to the other’s back and dusting off the large metal slit between his shoulder blades. The metal shimmered in the bright light, it seemingly went on forever. The man set the coin in place before dropping it, the sound rang out, the coin rolled, and rolled, and rolled, never to be seen again. The sound became inhumanly quiet but even still, it took a moment to take its effect. 

Soon enough, he shot as upright as he could manage, suddenly full of energy, power, he could go forever, never stopping, never breaking, this is what he was built for, yes, this is perfect. Bolts drilled in his head started sparking as his glassy eyes widened and his tired muscles tensed. Stitches shook, struggling to contain his energy, an insane smile tugged even tighter. Spiraled eyes moving frantically, focusing on each pixel. Strings tightening around him, choking his throat, starving his abdominal muscles, slicing his wrists. Blackened liquid poured from every orifice and wound, dripping on his hoodie and desk, flowing through his veins. His arm slaved away, ignited with a new golden passion. The man smiled devilishly before he walked back to his place in the void. The cycle continued, working till he dropped so the man could re-power him, over, and over, and over. 

Eons passed, the same memories repeating so many times that they blur together, becoming a toxic sludge of exhaustion. It didn't matter anymore, nothing mattered, he didn’t think, just kept working, over, and over, and over, and over, work, drop, repeat, work, drop, repeat, work, drop, repeat, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work. 

I woke up in my bed, sun bleeding through the blinds and across my eyelids. At first I didn’t remember what happened last night, but judging by the state of my desk, I could tell I probably went overboard. As I came too, I noticed the grotesque taste left in my mouth, the disgusting taste. The  lemonade, the horrific, vile, lemonade. It was beyond rotten, stomach-churning moldy lemons probably grown out of month old cadavers, the sugar was overpoweringly absent, leaving nothing but the sour taste of stress and broken dreams. Water was not used, instead it was blood, the nauseating irony taste of flesh, an entire young soul juiced for its essence, just to make something so revolting. I kicked off my blanket and fell to the ground, coughing. The taste choked me, pulling at my throat, I grabbed at my neck while trying to regain some stability, vision blurring, lungs gasping for air. 

Eventually it stopped, as I began to cough up the inky black liquid, tiny sparkles and bloody pieces of flesh scattered throughout. It was over, for now at least. I stood up, wiping the excess liquid from my mouth, trying to keep my tired body standing upright. I looked around, checking to see if I was alone, even though I always was, I prayed that I wouldn’t see anyone else in the room. I didn’t, the only remains of the man was a single gold coin laying on my dresser, above it was a poster for a talk show that I despised despite knowing every little detail about it. I could try to recall the events of last night, I could lay back down to get the remaining sleep I needed, I could question this whole encounter, maybe even talk to someone about it, but no. 

I just wanted some coffee.

The coffee smelled wonderful, the sweet yet bitter scent permeated the psychedelic room. However, as beautiful as it smelled, not a drop was being consumed. The room shifted out of focus in their periphery, a strange array of colors even in the most clear focus. Bright lights pierce the room from the white void outside, floating in the blankness. 

The healthier one of the two finally took a sip, it tasted good, but left a hot feeling of sickness in the back of his throat. “Been a while huh?” he finally spoke.

“Mm” The other mumbled, leaning back in the chair, not fully acknowledging the remark.

They sat silent once again in the bright room full of counterfeit sunlight, the room looked nearly identical to the room they both shared, except for the brightness, and the dreamlike feel made the experience more foreign. Inside the room was a small bookshelf covered with little knick knacks, a dresser also stuffed with trinkets propping up a broken beyond repair mirror. A small, out of place, almost never used, neatly made up bed choked with blankets and stuffed critters, an old powered off television sat next to a fan being suffocated by more stuffed creatures. A well stained rug on top of a dusty carpet, nets in corners filled with even more soft beasts, a permanently locked door, a filthy nightstand padded with old dirty mugs, many pieces of blank paper taped to the walls along empty canvases and a very destaurated flag, and most importantly, a large black desk, used, dirty, loved, atop it were even more ornaments of no significance, a computer screen that was for the moment turned off, a run down keyboard and mouse, several sketchbooks and other loose papers, and a scratched up tablet with a worn down pen next to it. This room was not real, the blinding lights that showed through the black curtain was nothing more than the infinite blank space in the illusion that is the human brain, the room was truly more comfortable than this, for it was real, but this was not it. 

In reality, the door could unlock, the mirror was not broken, the papers and canvases strewn about the walls were covered in artwork, the colors were more vibrant, the two doors lead somewhere else, and it was much lighter, and more stable, than the world was right now. For even looking away for a moment could cause something to change, which could cause issues when darkness fell upon this place, when even more mugs rest, even more paper, even less reality, and when he shall return. The lights did not just come from outside, the ceiling was infinite, looking up to nowhere and everywhere, they shined down on the two boys sitting in the room silently. The only noise came from the old rotten fan, everything else turned off, if not for the moment, one of them was real, one a construct of the other. The construct resided in this room, for he could not leave, the true one, had only come to visit, against his will, due to a mistake he knew he was making, soon he would leave, soon he would wake, soon he would heal, soon this would all be behind him, but first…they had to talk. A talk he did not want to have, but a talk he needed.

The two boys had been there for a time hard to say, reality was ever changing and time was a construct. The real boy sat awkwardly on the bed, the first one to take a sip of his coffee, the fake boy sat in a well worn pink chair, not tall enough to reach the bottom, so he sat back comfortably. The one on the bed wore a pair of comfy pajamas, a matching crop top and a pair of shorts, split down the middle, one side pure black, one side gray, decorated with black skulls. His face was slightly red, scar under his eye, fluffy brown hair over his eyes. He held his mug uncomfortably. It was dark blue with a small design of a circle that almost looked like a shooting star, the worn text of “The ball is rolling up!” next to it, this was his favorite mug, it contained a perfect cup of his favorite drink, yet it still didn’t sit right in his stomach. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at the other, so he stared intently at the liquid in the cup.

The one in the chair sat more relaxed, slumping into the chair. He wore a black hoodie rolled up at the sleeves, black shorts with little white skulls patterned on them, and knee high socks of their favorite pastel pink-red color. He did not drink the coffee, his mug sat on the desk, his left hand fingers danced around the rim, keeping his attention away from the other. His desaturated dirty brown hair matted over his face, his eyes sunken, cheeks hollow, torso pulled tot by starving strings. His face was truly disturbing, a large stitched up wound on his forehead was held together by metal staples, from the middle of the wound came another alteration, trailing down his cheek and eloping the right side of his face, the skin in the patch being the same color as the others, the rest being pale and void of color. The corners of his mouth stretched into more stitches, going around the back of his head, two staples fixed to the corners, his ears were replaced with two shiny metal bolts, it was unclear how he was able to hear. His right eye was a large rectangle, pulled open by staples, it shined bright red, with a black spiral following the shape of his cornea. His left eye sloped down his face, the whites were replaced with black, with red flickering out, his other pupil another spiral, deep pitch black eyebags hung down, making his scar difficult to see. Thin black strings tightened around his abdomen, and shot up into the infinite ceiling, another set choked him, around his throat and shot up once again, along with both of his wrists, slicing into delicate skin, black blood soaked them. 

He was a marionette, puppeted by somebody else, someone way up into the void, the strings seemingly went up forever. It was hard to look at his left arm, something was telling him he shouldn’t, it hurt his eyes, black smears in reality, glitching in and out of existence, changing location every so often. On his right hand was a black ooze, it covered it like an artist’s glove, from far away it looked normal enough, though the closer he looked, the more it seemed to drip onto the pink arm of the chair he sat on. His nose dripped the same black ooze onto his shirt, along with his eyes, mouth, and forehead wound, it stained his already black clothing. His legs were thin and weak, atrophied from not being used after so long, locked around his ankles were shiny chains, shackled to the legs of the desk chair. His eyes half lidded, he stared unamused at his mug, it was a simple design just colors and stripes, he cared less about how it looked, and more about how much it could hold, it was his favorite for just for the amount of volume it had. 

He took a breath and sighed, “Do you…know…what you’re even doing?” His voice was raspy, the other looked down with embarrassment. “I just…Do you know what you're getting into? I mean like, how long have we been doing this song and dance? It’s been years, and you still, STILL…” He sighed exasperated, at a loss for words at the other’s actions.

“Look…” The one on the bed finally spoke up, “I know what I’m doin-”

“DO YOU!?” The other interrupted angrily, “BECAUSE IF YOU DID I DOUBT YOU’D STILL BE DOING THIS!”

There was a long silence, the real one changed the topic, “Nice place”

The other refused to look at him, he had his head leaned against his fist, “It is right now, in the day.”

“Is it always day when I'm asleep?” The other questioned.

“Usually, but I’ve been here since the creation and I still don’t understand it” He leaned forward in his chair, in between his shoulder blades was a metal coin slot, drilled into his spinal cord. He sighed once more, “Do you want to end up like me?”

“That’s not possible” The other corrected.

He spun around in his chair, looking the other in his eyes, “Maybe not physically,” He shrugged, “but mentally? Emotionally? Being under his control? That’s still possible.”

“I kind of already am y’know” He smirked 

The other took offense to this, “Not like me, you think they’re pretty,” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny golden coin, “But me?” he asked while twirling it through his fingers, “I need them, they keep me running, without them I’m a lifeless husk.” He scoffed, “You can walk buddy, I can't.” He spun around again, still playing with the coin.

“Look, I know what he wants, but I’m not giving it to him. I’m just dabbling.” He defended himself.

“You might think that, I did too. Now I’m just a puppet in a fancy case.” The other said breathily.

There was another silence, one left in deep thought, the other deep embarrassment. 

Eventually the puppet scoffed, shaking his head and turning on the computer screen, “Look, I’m done, if you wanna keep this up? Go ahead. I’m not bringing you here again.”

That was not what he expected, “What? Really? After all these years of you nagging me, you’re just…done?”

The boy in the chair got to work, picking up the pen and staring deeply into the blank white screen, scribbling away on the tablet. “Yep, I’m tired. I’m done. You don’t want to listen, so I’m not gonna keep talking. If you want to keep doing this, keep listening to him, doing everything he wants, falling right into his trap, go ahead. We’ve been doing this for years, and nothing changes. I tried so hard to stop you from becoming his puppet, but you never cared. You don’t care about yourself, your work, your status, your freedom, your life, anything. I’m sorry that I couldn’t do anything else, but I can’t stop you. So if you decide to throw your life away and keep listening to him without any sense of your own well-being, go ahead, but when you end up chained to this chair…don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The boy on the bed did not speak, a silent inkling of what the future would hold.

The other tilted his head and gave a quiet scoff with a smirk, he turned around with the coin still in his grasp, “You’re free to go, I’m not bringing you back here, good luck out there kid, hope he doesn't catch up too fast.”

He flicked the coin into the air, landing directly into the other’s coffee mug, splashing its contents onto him. His eyes shot open, he lay in his bed, in a room that looked identical to the one he was just in, except this one was real. He sat up and yawned, his back snapping too many times for his comfort. Without missing a beat, he kicked off the covers, stood up, and walked over to his desk, taking the seat of the companion he just finished conversing with. He turned on his computer, slipped on his glove, picked up his pen, and began scribbling away, getting right back to his work. 

Going unnoticed by the boy, began a small trickle of liquid, a black ooze dripped from his right nostril, landing on his desk.

Even before the words harshly and loudly left his lips, he knew that he regretted it. The two teenagers stood there, both silent, trying to comprehend their own thoughts and feelings. The rain rushed down mercilessly, hitting the monster’s umbrella, while leaving the so-called “human” drenched from head to toe. The sky pitch black by rain clouds blotted out a once beautiful sunset, especially from the view of the cliff they stood on. The partially bare trees swayed somberly in the crisp autumn wind, the barely used trail behind them turned to a grimy path of mud. Austin stood there, frozen, only able to stare into the eyes of the one he wanted to call his best friend. His wet hair clung to the back of his neck and his clothes made him feel ten pounds heavier.

Why? Why did he need to say that? What did he gain, what did he achieve other than the most defiant loss of someone he cared for so dearly? If he could start over he would take the opportunity in a heartbeat, but it’s too late, it’s been said. Austin was stressed, today was stressful, so much arguing, so many fights and disagreements. He was just trying to get used to this “new” life, only a week and a half ago his entire world was shattered and he was just supposed to get used to it? He was in the right here! Or at least that’s what he told himself. Deep down, he knew that he had no place to speak, the closest thing he had to a best friend was standing in front of him and he decided to use his biggest insecurity against him? Some best friend. Ciro was just trying to fit in, to be himself, he didn’t deserve to be yelled at, to be thrown to the ground in the worst way possible. He was disappointed in himself, after all these years he still couldn't keep himself together in bad situations, so many opportunities to learn, yet he ignored all of them. Tears began to form in the corners of his eyes, he wanted to let them fall, pass them off like one of the other hundreds of drops of water on his face, but he couldn’t. He had already come too far, maybe there was a chance if he got on his knees and begged for his forgiveness that the kind robot would grant him pity, if not for a few days. Though that chance was limited, and he had already thrown it away, his pride was too important to him to try anymore, he was never great with words, or body language, or having friends, and it was easy to see why if you knew him for more than a few days. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, it never really was, though it struck a much too familiar excruciating pain through his chest, he knew that Ciro was better off with the others, people who understood him better, and wouldn’t use his insecurities against him. His throat hurt from arguing so loudly, his heart was shattered from ruining the friendship that had come the closest to lasting.

Austin slid his foot back, creating a mud slick in the grass. Grasping the strap of his satchel tightly, he backed up and straightened himself out, getting out of Ciro’s face under his umbrella and having the rest of his face drenched by the rain. Breathing heavily he couldn’t stop the tears from falling, his face was flushed by emotion and cold rain. He said nothing but still stood there staring, letting his point be known to the other, he stood, and waited. 

Why? Why did he need to say that? He understood that they met not even a week ago but even then, they were getting along so well. Was this normal? He spent sixteen years locked up with someone who didn’t even care about him, maybe this just happens in human society, but still. Something about the way his soul felt like it was being mangled, something about the tears trailing down his cheeks. Something about it just felt wrong. Was it him? Did he do something wrong? Austin never acted like this before, up until they met apparently. So it was his fault? Maybe he stressed him out too much, maybe he said something he shouldn’t have without realizing, maybe he shouldn’t have kept going on about his issues, but Austin said he could talk to him! Though here he is now. Ciro knew that he wasn’t normal, he knew he wasn’t human, he was a robot, an automaton, a machine, an android, a monster. Even if he messed up, he couldn’t have messed up bad enough to warrant all of this, right? How could he say something like that about him? They were friends! Right? All of this was confusing, he wanted to go back to before any of this had ever happened. Part of him was angry, another was sad, and somewhere deep inside him he felt something he could only describe as breaking. Austin was the kindest, funniest, sweetest, most outgoing person he knew. Though now they were both standing there, enraptured by this whole mess. What he said cut him, but Ciro didn’t want to lose someone so close to him, Austin was only human after all, they say things they may regret, this could just be a huge accident that they could get over together. Yet Austin still stood there, waiting for something, for him to leave, run away, and never come back. His life would be better off without Ciro, he could go back to a normal life with his mother, and his old friends. Austin didn’t want him, and that was becoming more and more clear with each passing second, might as well give him what he wants, no, deserves, no matter how much it hurts. Maybe Marlin would be willing to talk to him, without ending up like this again, it would be a risk, but he would go insane otherwise.

Ciro stared at him, he tightened his shaky grip on his umbrella so much Austin swore he could hear a cracking sound. Maybe this was the time for Austin to try and fix this? Maybe it was, but he didn’t try, he never does. Ciro began sobbing, the hardest he ever had, even after sixteen years of living with his sad excuse of a mother, this was the worst pain that he had ever felt. He dropped the umbrella, but Austin didn’t pick it up, he became soaked from head to toe in a matter of seconds, but Austin didn’t try to protect his potentially fried circuits. Austin only stood there staring, watching as his best friend broke down, as he did nothing but make it worse. Ciro turned around, but Austin didn’t call out to him, Ciro began running, but quickly began sprinting as tears kept forming. He ran back to the forest, leaving his umbrella behind to get doused in the rain, in a matter of milliseconds, Ciro went from right in front of him, to just a dark blur fading into the forest, but Austin didn’t chase after him. Austin only stood there, clutching his satchel so hard his hand was sore, he was weak and tired, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. He was stiff and tense, so soaked in rain he couldn’t even care anymore. After what felt like hours Austin turned around to face the drop of the cliff, the rain created ripples in the water so big that he could see them even from a distance. A flash of sunlight quickly sparkled onto his face through the clouds, but all too quickly, it was snuffed out leaving everything around him nothing but dark storm clouds. He was so shaky and fragile that he felt like a simple gust of wind could shatter him into nothingness. Finally, he gave in, he collapsed to his knees, untensing his body and letting it do what it needed to, giving up control. He cried, he bawled his eyes out, letting everything he needed to free. Austin held himself tightly, not thinking of anything but everything he did wrong. He shouldn’t have said that, He shouldn’t have gotten so mad, he shouldn’t have let him go, he shouldn’t have given up. Austin sniffed and whimpered, he had just thrown away such a great part of his life. No, the best part of his life. Sure, they had gotten off to a rocky start, but to Austin, that was always the start of a memorable friendship. He had never had so much fun playing games with someone, or going out to eat, just even being near Ciro was enough to keep him happy. He loved all of his questions about the world, or about his biology, some might have found it annoying, but to him his curiosity was always so adorable. Ciro always listened to him, he always helped him in classes he was failing, he was always right there by his side, always, no matter what. For once in his entire life he finally had someone he could call his best friend, someone who he could be himself around, someone who he genuinely cared about, and someone who genuinely cared about him. Was he just going to let him leave his life forever?

No.