Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alex Gaskarth wasn’t used to silence. Not real silence — the kind that fills your ears until it starts to hum, that crawls into your chest and presses down like a weight. Baltimore had always been noisy, even in the dead of night. Sirens in the distance. People yelling. Car alarms. Living noise. White noise. Life.

This… wasn’t that. The quiet here felt old.

His car rolled down a narrow country lane, tires crunching softly over gravel and damp leaves. On either side, thick woods pressed in close — pine, maple, oak — branches curling overhead like freyed rope. The sky above was grey, not stormy, but heavy, like it was holding something back.

Alex glanced in the rearview mirror. Nothing behind him but empty road.

He almost laughed. Jesus, how far out did she move?

Alex had agreed to housesit for his aunt whilst she went on some vague artsy trip in Maine for a few months. Before now, he struggled to remember what her newest home looks like — Alex only being a small child when he last visited.

He was actually surprised to hear from his aunt. Not that his family weren't close, but no one heard as much from her a couple years after she had moved out here. People were concerned at first, but after she reassured them of her happiness and safety, they thought best to leave her to it.

Finally, the trees broke just ahead, revealing the house at last.

It rose from the earth like it had always been there. Thick stone walls, ivy gripping tight up the sides, the front porch sagging just slightly under the weight of time. The windows were dark, warped glass catching the grey sky like melted mirror. The roof, surprisingly intact, sloped steeply on either side, disappearing behind a chimney that looked like it hadn’t seen smoke in a decade.

He pulled into the drive and cut the engine. No birdsong. No insects. Just the tick of the cooling car and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Bowie, his aunts scruffy white terrier in the passenger seat, let out a soft whine.

“Yeah, not exactly a five-star welcome,” Alex murmured, scratching behind the dog’s ear. He let out a small sight, followed with, “Let’s get on with it.”

He stepped out into the quiet, his stretching legs stiff from the drive. The air was colder than he expected. Sharp. Clean in a way that almost stung his lungs. The kind of cold that made you feel like a ghost walking through someone else’s story.

Grabbing his battered suitcase and the guitar case from the backseat, he walked up the path and unlocked the front door with the key his aunt had mailed weeks ago.

The door stuck, then gave way with a groaning creak. The scent hit him first — dust and old wood, something herbal underneath, maybe lavender or sage. It smelled like time.

He stepped inside. The foyer was dim. A long hallway stretched forward, walls lined with framed paintings — landscapes, mostly, in faded oils. A coat rack leaned slightly in the corner, weighed down by a single scarf patterned with stars and moons. A stack of unopened mail rested on a side table, yellowed at the edges.

Alex closed the door behind him. The sound echoed. Bowie padded in behind, sniffing the air.

“Welcome home, I guess.”

The house was bigger than he remembered. Or maybe it just felt bigger now that it was empty.

It wasn’t spooky, exactly — but there was an undeniable stillness to it. As if it were holding its breath.

Alex moved from room to room, flipping on light switches, most of which didn’t seem to do anything. The living room was cluttered with mismatched furniture — velvet armchairs, an overstuffed sofa covered in crochet throws, a low coffee table stacked with second-hand paperbacks and old coasters. One corner held a tall shelf filled with crystals and bits of driftwood. Another had a stereo that looked like it hadn’t been used since the 90s.

The kitchen was narrow and dark, lined with hanging copper pots and herbs strung up to dry. A single teacup sat in the sink. The fridge buzzed faintly, half-stocked with things Alex didn’t recognise and would probably throw out.

Upstairs, the guest bedroom was sparse but liveable. He dropped his suitcase at the foot of the bed, set the guitar case in the corner, and flopped back onto the mattress. It exhaled a cloud of dust into the air. Bowie jumped up beside him, circled twice, and settled in with a grunt.

For a long while, Alex just lay there, staring at the cracked ceiling, listening. Nothing.

That evening, he sat on the back porch with a mug of instant coffee, watching the treeline. The sky had turned a soft bruise-purple, fading into charcoal. Somewhere out in the woods, animals moved between branches, silent and ghostlike. The porch light flickered.

“Not exactly thrilling,” he muttered to Bowie, who was chewing lazily on a stick.

Still, there was something about it. The quiet. The space. For the first time in a long time, no one needed anything from him. No noise. No shows. No cities breathing down his neck. Just this.

He finished his coffee and went back inside.

That night, sleep came slow. The house creaked. Pipes shifted. Something thudded softly in the walls, maybe mice or just old wood settling. The radiator clicked and hissed like it was trying to remember how to function.

At one point, around 3 A.M., he woke up freezing. The air in his room had gone cold and still, and the faintest draught pushed against the blanket like delicate hands.

He got up, checked the window. Closed tight.

Bowie didn’t stir, but Alex stood there in the dark for a while, rubbing his arms, listening to the house breathe. Then he went back to bed.

He didn’t dream.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

The next morning arrived slowly.

Alex woke to the sound of birdsong — sharp and high and unfamiliar. The thin curtains in his room barely held back the grey light filtering through the window. He rolled over, expecting to hear the hum of traffic, or his phone buzzing with notifications.

Instead, there was just the low murmur of the old house. The occasional crack of floorboards. The whisper of wind brushing against the walls. Nothing else.

Bowie was already awake, sitting at the foot of the bed, ears alert.

“You’re an early riser, huh?” Alex mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck.

He padded barefoot down the creaky hallway, into the kitchen. The floor was cold beneath his feet. He fumbled for the kettle, filled it with water that clattered like coins in the sink, and waited.

He found instant coffee in a chipped tin marked ‘REAL MAGIC’. No idea what kind of joke his aunt had been making with that label. He stirred the powder into the hot water and took his mug out onto the porch again, Bowie trotting behind.

The woods beyond the house were pale in the morning light. Mist hung low over the ground like breath. A deer stood just past the treeline, unmoving, watching. Alex just sipped his coffee and stared back.

Days blurred together after that.

Mornings always began the same. Coffee. Silence. Bowie sniffing through the underbrush or chasing some imagined squirrel. A book, if he felt patient. His aunt’s collection was weirdly specific — gothic fiction, mystical nonfiction, the occasional poetry collection with titles like The Moons Within or Stone Dreams: A Nature Memoir.

Afternoons stretched long and slow. He’d sit in the sun-drenched living room, guitar in his lap, strumming half-songs that went nowhere. Sometimes he sang, but the words felt strange in his mouth out here — like they didn’t belong.

One day, he tried sketching. Found a blank notebook and a tin of coloured pencils in a drawer under the stairs. It lasted twenty minutes before he gave up, frustrated. His stick figure looked like it was melting.

Evenings were the strangest. The house got cold quickly. Shadows stretched down the hallways like fingers. He cooked simple dinners — pasta, grilled cheese, the occasional sad attempt at something healthy. He watched old movies on a battered DVD player that skipped every twenty minutes and refused to play anything newer than 2005.

Sometimes he forgot what day it was. Not because he was distracted — but because everything was the same.

There were little oddities, though. Always just small enough to ignore.

A door would creak open when no window was ajar. The clock in the hallway would tick a little too loudly some nights, then go silent for hours. Once, he found one of his socks folded neatly on the stairs — though he swore he’d left it balled up under the bed.

He caught himself talking to the house a few times. Not just muttering, but full conversations. Asking it if it had always been this drafty, or telling it to knock it off when the pipes groaned too long after midnight.

Bowie didn’t seem bothered. But the dog had started sleeping in Alex’s room every night, curled tight against the door like a guard.

There was something about the house that made Alex feel like it wasn’t empty. Not in a haunting, ghost-story way — but in the way a theatre feels just after the audience has left. Like something had happened here. Like something was still happening.

He started walking the halls more often, mug in hand, trailing fingers along the wood panelling. There were strange little details he hadn’t noticed before. A line of candlewax down the back of a hallway radiator. A set of three nails hammered in above his aunts bedroom doorframe, nothing hanging from them. Scratches on the underside of the stair railing, like someone had once gripped it hard — too hard.

The house wasn’t sinister though. But it was waiting. For what, Alex didn’t know. So he kept on with his days. Read a little. Wrote a little. Waited for something to feel normal.

But the silence never quite settled. And neither did he.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

The cold came back in the early hours.

Alex blinked awake around 4 A.M., blinking at the shadows on the ceiling. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what had woken him — until he felt it.

The air in the room had dropped. Not just cool — cold. Sharp against his skin, enough to make him sit up and pull the blanket tighter. He rubbed his arms and listened. Silence. No wind. No rain. No sound of Bowie snoring, even — which was unusual in itself.

He swung his legs out of bed and padded to the window, checking for a crack, a gap, anything. The latch was firm. The glass cold beneath his palm, but sealed tight.

Still, the draught was unmistakable. After some searching, it seemingly came from the hallway. A slow, steady breath of air seeping under the door. So he opened it.

The hall was dark and still. Dim moonlight filtered through the stained-glass window at the far end, casting warped shadows across the floorboards. The air here was even colder.

He frowned and muttered to himself, “Where the hell is that coming from?”

Back in the kitchen, he fumbled for the kettle and made himself a mug of peppermint tea, wrapping his hands around the warmth. Bowie, finally awake, trailed behind him with sleepy eyes and a quiet whuff of confusion.

Armed with socks, tea, and the stubborn need to solve the mystery, Alex began pacing the hallway. He tested windows, checked vents. Pressed his hand to the floor near the skirting boards. Nothing. But the chill was definitely stronger near the end of the corridor — just opposite the bookshelf.

He paused there, frowning. The shelf was tall, old, and dust-heavy. One of those fake-wood, pine-laminate deals, crammed full of mismatched books, candleholders, and trinkets. He hadn’t looked too closely at it before.

Setting his mug down on a side table, Alex stepped closer. The books weren’t quite right. Too uniform.

He ran a finger along one spine, then another. They wobbled slightly. He tugged one free and realised — hollow. Just a cardboard shell, shaped like a book. The rest were the same. A facade.

The cold air grew stronger.

Behind the books, the back of the shelf wasn’t flush against the wall. There was a gap — thin, just an inch or two, but enough to see that the wall behind it didn’t look like the others. There was a seam. A faint line, almost invisible in the low light.

Alex’s heart thudded, just once, low and deep.

He stepped back and braced his hands against the shelf’s edge. It wasn’t heavy. The shelf scraped along the wood floor with a long, reluctant groan, like it hadn’t been moved in years. Dust swirled in the air.

And there it was.

A narrow wooden door, flush with the wall, nearly invisible unless you knew to look. No handle. Just a black iron latch, rusted and stiff with age.

He hesitated. Part of him wanted to walk away. Put the shelf back. Blame the cold on old pipes and bad insulation. But something in him — something deeply curious — reached forward and unlatched it. The door creaked open with the sound of strained wood and groaning hinges. Inside was only darkness.

He grabbed his phone from the side table and switched on the torch. The light cut through the dark, hazy with dust.

It wasn’t a room so much as a hollow. Three feet wide, maybe five deep. No windows. No furniture. Just bare, aged boards and cobwebs strung like lace across the corners. The walls were lined with strange vertical markings — scratches, maybe, or gouges from long ago — but there was nothing else.

Alex stood in the doorway for a long time, frowning.

It didn’t feel like a room. It felt like a space that had been forgotten on purpose. No reason for it to exist.

He didn’t step inside. Just let the beam of light move slowly from floor to ceiling, again and again, looking for something — anything. But it was empty.

Still, the quiet in that space was different. Not just silent, but smothering. Like the air itself didn’t want to carry sound.

He backed away slowly, shut the door, and replaced the latch. The shelf slid back into place with a heavy thud, covering the hidden entrance.

He picked up his mug — now cold — and stood there for a while longer, staring at the bookshelf like it might move again on its own. Then he went back to bed, pulled the covers up tight, and stared at the ceiling until morning.

Chapter Text

For a few days, Alex tried to pretend the door hadn’t happened. He went back to his routine. Coffee in the mornings. Books in the afternoons. Bowie napping in patches of sunlight like nothing had changed. But something had.

The moment with the hidden door hadn’t been dramatic. There were no screams, no creatures, no secret staircases or glowing symbols. Just… silence. A room that shouldn’t exist. Cold air that didn’t belong.

And yet, it stuck in his mind like a splinter under the skin. Every time he walked past that bookshelf, he slowed down. Just slightly. Just enough to notice he was doing it.

The cold draught stopped after that. As if it had done its job and gone quiet again. But the house didn’t feel the same.

It started with the clocks.The hallway one — a long, wooden grandfather clock with a glass front and a brass pendulum — had never worked. Not really. It ticked, but it didn’t chime. Alex had assumed it was decorative. Then one night, just before bed, it struck twelve. Once. Loud and clear.

Alex froze mid-step, toothbrush in hand, listening. Nothing followed. No second chime. No ticking. Then, when he checked the next morning, the hands were still frozen at 4:17 — same as always. He tried not to think about it.

Then there were the whispers. Not words. Not even sounds, really — more like a sense. Like the hum of someone speaking in another room, low and muffled through thick walls. He noticed it in the evenings, usually when he had music playing. He’d be halfway through a song, strumming lazily on his guitar, when something in the corner of the room would shift. The air would feel full. Charged. He’d pause. And the sound would stop.

Alex started sleeping with the door shut and a chair braced against the handle after that. He told himself nothing was wrong. But he still did it.

One afternoon, while reorganising the books in the living room, he found a journal tucked between two heavy hardcovers. It wasn’t his aunt’s. The handwriting was old, looping, almost delicate. The pages were yellowed and fragile, the ink faded. Most of it was nonsense — rambling observations about birds, plants, dreams. But one entry caught his attention.

August 19th
The house knows when you’ve noticed it.
That’s when it listens back.
That’s when it begins.

Alex closed the journal and placed it back on the shelf. He didn’t read any more after that.

He tried calling his aunt once. Just to ask — gently, casually — if there was anything strange about the house. Anything she’d forgotten to mention. The call went straight to voicemail. The same one she’d left before she left for Maine.

“Hey, Alex, thanks again for doing this. The place will be good for you, I think. Just breathe a little. Disconnect. The land out there holds a lot. Just… let it speak to you. I left extra coffee in the pantry. Love you.”

Let it speak to you. That part bothered him the most. It hadn’t felt strange when he first heard it. But now, with the door in the wall and the quiet too deep, it gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.

Let what speak?

That night, he dreamed of doors. Endless doors, lining a hallway that stretched into dark water. They swung open one by one, each revealing a different version of the same house — warped, rotting, shifting under a different sky.

In one of them, he saw himself sitting in the living room, back turned, unmoving.

He woke up with a start, heart racing, breath shallow. The chair was still braced against his door. But he swore it had moved an inch.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

It started with rain.

A slow, steady mist that drifted in overnight and refused to leave. By morning, the woods beyond the porch were cloaked in it — branches and trunks dissolving into soft grey shapes. The air was damp enough to bead on the windows, running in slow rivers down the glass.

Alex stood in the kitchen, waiting for the toast to pop. He could hear the patter of rain on the roof, the soft creak of the old pipes shifting with the change in pressure.

He was still groggy, still blinking sleep from his eyes, when Bowie went stiff.

The dog had been lying near the radiator, half-dozing. But now he was up in an instant — ears perked, body taut. A single bark burst from him, sharp and loud enough to make Alex flinch.

“Jesus, man, it’s too early for—”

Bowie tore out of the kitchen like a shot, nails scrabbling on the floorboards.

“Oi! Where the hell are you going?” Alex called after him.

No answer. Just the clatter of tiny paws down the hallway.

Then — silence. Not the peaceful, sleepy silence of the countryside. A deeper silence. The house-holding-its-breath kind.

Alex set down his mug and followed, heart already beginning to pound. The hallway was dim, shadows rippling where the grey light managed to slip through the warped glass.

Bowie was nowhere in sight. But the bookshelf was moved. Not far. Just a foot or two, pushed at a crooked angle. The sound of rain seemed to fade behind him as he stepped closer. The hidden door was open.

Wide open.

Alex stared at it for a long moment. A part of him still wanted to believe it was a mistake. That maybe he’d left it unlatched. That maybe Bowie had nudged it open. But the shelf was too heavy for a dog to move. And the latch had been stiff as hell the first time — it took force to open it.

The air around the open doorway was colder than the rest of the hall. The temperature dipped suddenly, like stepping into the shadow of a storm cloud.

Alex crouched and called softly, “Bowie?”

No sound. He grabbed his phone, thumbed the flashlight on, and stepped toward the doorway. The beam cut through the dark interior.

The small room was still there — still bare, still dusty — but it wasn’t quite the same. The far wall looked… different. Wrong.

At first, it seemed like the shadows were just playing tricks on him, but as he stepped into the threshold, the light caught something unexpected.

A gap.

Near the bottom corner of the wall. Small, low to the ground. Like a tunnel — but grown over with twisted vines and creeping brambles, tangled as if they'd clawed their way in from the other side. They hadn’t been there before.

Alex knelt slowly, heart pounding.

“Bowie?” he called again, quieter this time.

For a beat, there was nothing. Then — a bark. Faint. Echoed. Somewhere deeper. Ahead. Through the gap.

Alex stared at the vines, at the way they curled inward like beckoning fingers. Every part of his rational brain screamed to walk away. Shut the door. Move the shelf. Forget any of this ever happened.

Instead, he did something he might’ve laughed at himself for doing, even just a week ago. He pushed the vines aside, and crawled through.

The moment he passed through, the air changed.

It was warmer here. Thick with the smell of moss and damp earth, floral and heavy like late summer. Alex straightened slowly, brushing leaves from his shirt.

He wasn’t in a room. He wasn’t even in the house anymore.

He stood at the edge of a vast, golden forest — trees taller than any he’d ever seen, their leaves shimmering with bronze and amber hues. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in honeyed shafts, though the sun itself was nowhere to be seen. The air buzzed faintly, like it carried music just beyond hearing.

Alex turned in place, slowly. The gap he’d crawled through was nestled between two moss-covered boulders, already half-concealed by fern-like plants.

“Bowie?” he called out, more softly now.

A faint bark answered from somewhere ahead.

He moved forward, boots muffled by moss, past trees that looked sculpted instead of grown, past glowing fungi and vines that twitched just slightly as he passed.

Nothing here felt real. And yet, it all was.

He found Bowie beside a stream. The dog sat calmly on the bank, tail wagging lazily, as if nothing were strange about being in a golden-tinted fairy forest. Alex crouched and scooped him up, holding him close.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

He turned back toward the direction he’d come — and froze.

Beyond the trees, just over a low hill, something moved. Buildings. A village. Stone cottages with moss-draped roofs. Thin trails of smoke rising from chimneys. Figures walking slowly between houses, dressed in clothes that looked centuries old — tunics, skirts, leather belts and satchels. A horse-drawn cart rattled along a dirt path. Children ran past holding wooden hoops.

It looked like a Renaissance fair. Except it wasn’t. It was too real.

Alex squinted, pulse quickening.

One of them — a woman in a blue cloak — turned her head sharply and looked straight at him.

Alex didn’t think.

He ran.

Branches slapped at his face. The forest blurred as he sprinted back the way he came, Bowie bouncing awkwardly in his arms, nails digging into his chest. He crashed through vines and leaves, finally spotting the low gap between the stones. He dove through, twisting awkwardly, shoulder catching on the edge of the frame.

Back into the hollow room.

Back into the dust.

Back into silence.

He slammed the hidden door shut with a gasp and leaned against it, heart hammering in his chest.

Bowie wriggled, licking his chin.

Alex sat down on the cold wooden floor and stared at the bookshelf. For a long time, he didn’t move. Then he whispered, voice barely audible:

“What the hell just happened?”

Chapter Text

Back in his world, everything felt... off.

The moment Alex stepped back through the hidden door, the colours of the world seemed duller. The air colder. The silence heavier. He found himself standing in the centre of the hallway, clutching Bowie like a lifeline, struggling to believe what had just happened. What he’d seen. What he’d felt.

Within minutes, he checked, and the room was just a room again. Still, empty, untouched. The light from his phone torch flickered slightly before he switched it off and backed out, closing the door behind him again. The latch clicked shut with a hollow finality, like a secret being swallowed back into the walls.

He didn’t sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes, images burst behind his eyelids: the golden light of that world, the way the trees moved like they were breathing, the flash of medieval figures moving through the village. The face that had turned to look at him. The unnatural stillness of it.

Come morning, Alex's body felt heavy. He laid in bed for longer than he intended — thoughts racing in circles. He struggled to convince himself what he saw really happened. But at the same time, he struggled to believe that it didn't.

He eventually dragged himself out of bed, the dog probably needed to have his breakfast by now. He plodded his way downstairs, eyebrows scrunched together as his mind reeled. 

He stood in deep thought whilst he waited for the kettle to click. Surely there was a logical expanation for this. Surely he wasn't losing his mind. Surely. Hopefully. 

He made his coffee, that tasted like cardboard, and sat on the porch as the mist rolled in, staring out at the woods. Everything looked the same. Trees. Birds. The creaky railing. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d touched something else — something hidden just beneath the surface of the ordinary.

Maybe it had been a dream. Or a hallucination. Maybe he’d finally cracked under the pressure of isolation and caffeine.

After finishing his coffee and heading back inside, he decided to Googled it: “mushroom hallucinations without mushrooms,” “spontaneous lucid dream walking,” “old myths about hidden doors in Maryland.”

Nothing.

Just folklore about haunted barns and cryptids in West Virginia. Nothing about stepping into another world through a dusty wall in your aunt’s house. More reason to believe he had indeed lost his mind. 

The days passed in a haze. He tried to focus. Read a book. Watched the telly. Took Bowie for long walks to wear himself out. But nothing held. Conversations with friends felt flat over text. Food tasted bland. He left his guitar untouched in the corner.

Bowie, of course, had no such existential dread. The dog seemed perfectly content to chase flies, sleep on the rug, and bark at squirrels. But what unnerved Alex more was the way he kept going back to that hallway. Sitting outside the door. Sniffing at it. Waiting.

"Don't do that," Alex muttered one afternoon, watching Bowie scratch at the panelling like he knew something was behind it. "It's just a wall."

He said it like he believed it. But he didn’t. Not really.

Alex didn’t sleep for some nights. Well, nothing that could be considered actual sleep. He tried. He really did. But every time he lay down in the creaky old bed beneath his aunt’s knitted throw blanket, his mind betrayed him — spooling through vivid flashes of a forest soaked in gold light, of a stream that shimmered unnaturally, of faces in clothes that belonged in history books and oil paintings. Of the soft, uncanny calm that had filled that place like a hum under the skin.

He’d escaped through the hidden room in a full-blown panic, slamming the door and locking it behind him like a child afraid of the dark. Now, sitting at the kitchen table days later, clutching a mug of lukewarm coffee he couldn’t be bothered to reheat, he almost laughed at himself. Almost.

The dog still didn’t help. Bowie wouldn’t stop scratching at the door. He'd stare at it for minutes at a time, as if he were waiting for something, tail twitching slightly, ears perked. Every time Alex noticed, a cold, crawling unease settled on his shoulders like someone had draped a damp coat over him.

The silence in the house wasn’t comforting anymore. It was loud. It filled every corner. It pressed against him.

He began pacing. A lot. Anything in attempt to keep him moving. Away from his persistent thoughts. From the echoing silence of the house. From the lingering urge to check the door again.

He made toast, then let it go cold. He sat down with a pencil and started sketching the little details he remembered: the curves of the thatched roofs, the rings on a blacksmith’s arm, the shape of a woman’s braid as she leaned over a basket of apples. He filled five pages before realising his hand was cramping.

It was real. It had to be. Didn’t it?

He started doubting everything. Maybe he’d had a stress-induced hallucination. Maybe he’d eaten something weird in the woods. Maybe the silence, the isolation, the dreams — all of it — was just an echo chamber for his overactive imagination.

But then he remembered the air. The feel of it. He couldn’t have made that up. He wouldn’t have known how.

He tried to distract himself. He watched old sitcoms with the volume low. Called his mom, but let it go to voicemail. Took Bowie out into the woods, thinking maybe if he walked far enough in the real world, the other one would fade. It didn’t. Each night he returned to the house, and each night, the door at the end of the hallway stared back at him like a dare.

He eventually caved and checked the room every day after that. Not dramatically. Just... opened the door, shone a light inside, stared at the empty space. Waiting for a change. Hoping it would shift again. That something — anything — would be there to prove he hadn’t imagined it.

After what felt like weeks, something did change.

It was barely noticeable. Just the faint scent of flowers that hadn’t been there before. Sweet and earthy and familiar. Alex closed the door slowly. And started packing.

By the next morning, he was ready — at least, as ready as someone could be to walk back into a possibly imaginary realm of fairy-tale proportions.

He didn’t dress dramatically — just threw on jeans and a hoodie and stuffed a few essentials into a small backpack. Water. Granola bar. Phone battery. Notebook and pencil. It felt absurd, like he was going on a school field trip to the unknown. He paused outside the door, one hand resting on the latch, the other clenching the strap of his bag. His heart hammered so loud he swore it echoed off the walls.

“What are you doing?” he muttered. “Seriously, what are you—”

But he opened the door anyway.

The room hadn’t changed. It was still dim, still dusty. The smell of paper and earth was stronger now, somehow comforting in its familiarity. The far wall glowed faintly. Not bright. But inviting. The gap in the ivy was there. Bigger. Open. Waiting. And so, Alex stepped through.

The shift hit him like a warm breath. He stumbled slightly as his boots met soft, mossy ground. The golden light filtered through the trees like something out of a dream — thick and slow and unreal. He stood for a full minute, just breathing it in. The air was warmer here, scented with wildflowers and damp bark, alive in a way that his world never quite was.

He looked up. The forest stretched tall and still, trees with wide trunks and silver-green leaves that shimmered faintly even when the breeze stilled. Tiny flecks of floating pollen caught the light like glitter. He could hear birdsong again, but not like the birds back home — this was softer, stranger. Melodic.

Alex exhaled. The tension in his shoulders finally eased.

“I didn’t make this up,” he whispered to himself. “This is real.”

For a while, he just walked — slowly, carefully — following the faint trail that wove between the trees. Eventually, it opened into a hilltop clearing, and below it: the village. Even having seen it before, it still took his breath away.

Thatched rooftops clustered around a central square, plumes of chimney smoke curling lazily into the sky. Stone walls and narrow pathways. Ivy growing wild up the sides of cottages. Wooden signs swinging in the breeze. People moved through the space like they belonged to it — unhurried, graceful, timeless.

He approached from the side, ducking behind a low stone wall again. This time, he didn’t run. He just… watched.

A woman scrubbed linens in a metal tub outside her home. A child passed by carrying a basket of mushrooms. Two men repaired a wooden wheel, laughing under their breath. A group of girls wove garlands from dried flowers and twine.

Everything was slow, and yet alive. Like the world didn’t need rushing. Like time here moved differently — if at all.

Still crouched by the wall, Alex rummaged through his bag and pulled out the makeshift tunic he’d fashioned from a few old bedsheets and a torn pillowcase. He slipped it over his hoodie and looped some rope around his waist like a belt. His jeans still peeked out awkwardly beneath it, but he felt marginally less exposed.

Still looked like a fool. But maybe a vaguely medieval fool.

He emerged from the tree line and wandered into the village proper, trying to look casual and utterly failing. He walked slowly, eyes wide, head constantly swivelling. Every little thing fascinated him.

A man hammered nails into a wooden door frame, whistling softly. A woman stirred a steaming pot over a fire, occasionally adding pinches of dried herbs from a pouch on her belt. Children chased one another with wooden swords, laughing like it was the only thing that had ever mattered. A woman passed by wearing a dress of deep violet, her sleeves trailing behind her. She smelled faintly of lavender and something smokier — clove? Earth? Something ancient.

It was beautiful. Unreal.

Alex forgot he was trying to blend in. He forgot to look down. Forgot to walk like he belonged. His wonder had swallowed him whole. And then —

“Oi!”

He froze.

A man — tall, broad, and not smiling — was walking toward him with two others. They wore dark tunics, with leather armour strapped over their chests and boots that thudded against the cobblestones.

Panic shot up his spine.

“You there,” the man said, frowning. “Where are you from?”

Alex opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

The second man stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Never seen you before. And that... tunic—what in the realms are you wearing?”

Alex scrambled for a lie, any lie. “I—I’m from the next village over,” he blurted. “West. Past the—uh—the woods.”

The first man raised a brow. “No one travels through those woods alone.”

“I—I got lost?”

They didn’t believe him.

The third man reached out and grabbed his arm. “Come with us.”

Alex stiffened but didn’t resist.

As they led him through the village square — his ridiculous tunic billowing, his boots dragging slightly in the dirt — he had just enough clarity to think one thing:

I should’ve stayed home.

And yet, even now, even as fear began to set in, a part of him still buzzed with wonder. With awe. Because this world was real. And something inside him already knew — he wasn’t going to be able to stay away.

The guards marched him through the village like he was some petty criminal, though Alex couldn’t tell if the stares from the townsfolk were judgmental or just curious. People paused mid-task to watch him pass — a woman with flour-dusted hands peered out from a bakery door, a little boy abandoned his game of marbles using little stones to gape, and an elderly man leaned heavily on a cane, lips parted in quiet surprise.

The stone keep at the village’s far edge loomed larger with each step, built into the hillside like it had grown from the rock itself. Vines curled along its walls, and narrow windows blinked dark and silent.

Alex’s heart thudded. Bowie would’ve barked by now. Loud. Obnoxious. Protective. But there was no Bowie. Just the rhythmic stomp of boots behind him, and the clumsy swish of his fake tunic as it caught on the uneven ground.

The gates groaned open.

“King Jack will see him now,” one of the gate guards said, stood stoically.

The guard nodded and continued walking forward, dragging Alex with them.

Inside, the air was cooler. Still. The walls echoed with their footfalls as they crossed into a high-ceilinged hall of grey stone and flickering torchlight. Tapestries clung to the walls — strange crests and stitched depictions of old battles, harvests, beasts Alex didn’t recognise.

He was hauled forward, then halted at the base of a raised platform. A wide wooden chair — not quite a throne, but close — sat at its centre. In it: a young man. Not what Alex expected. Not a greying warlord or robed wizard or sharp-chinned councilman.

No — this man was barely older than him. Maybe not older at all. He wore a tunic of deep green with gold fastenings and a dark leather mantle over one shoulder. His dark hair neatly up. His face was striking — angular in a way that felt deliberate, like it had been carved that way. His posture was casual but alert, one elbow propped against the armrest, fingers drumming lightly against the wood. There was something sharp about him. Not threatening — not yet — but deliberate. Like he knew how to wield silence just as well as words.

The man — King Jack, Alex assumed — leaned forward slightly, brows knit. “This is him?” he asked, voice calm but curious. His accent was clipped but not unfamiliar. Almost British. Almost.

The guards nodded. “He was found wandering near the market. Says he’s from a western village. Through the woods.”

Jack’s gaze landed on Alex. And held. Eyes deep brown, like melted chocolate. Smooth. Alex felt himself straighten slightly, even though every cell in his body screamed to run.

“No one comes through those woods,” Jack said simply.

“I… got lost,” Alex offered.

Jack tilted his head. “In that?” He gestured at Alex’s getup. The pillowcase belt. The hoodie beneath the sheet. The jeans still visible.

Alex flushed. “It’s… not my best look.”

Something shifted — Jack’s mouth twitched at one corner, a half-smile trying not to be one. Alex blinked. It almost knocked the fear right out of him. But silence fell for a moment too long.

Jack stood, descending the platform steps slowly. He walked with the kind of self-assured ease that came from either noble blood or a lifetime of being told he was important — but not with arrogance. Just... presence. He stopped a few feet from Alex. Close enough that Alex could smell something — faintly herbal. Clean. Like lavender and leather and something darker he couldn’t place.

“I’ve never seen you before,” Jack said again, voice quieter now. “And I know every soul in Thaloria.”

That name hit like a stone to the ribs. Thaloria. It was almost too perfect.

Alex wet his lips. “I’m… from farther out. Past the trees.”

Jack’s brow lifted. “Past the woods is the edge of the world. The villages that were there were abandoned years ago.” He took another half-step forward. “Which means either you’re lying, or you’ve stepped through something you don’t understand.”

Alex’s heart jumped. The words sounded too knowing. Like Jack was fishing. Or worse — recognising something in him.

“I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” Alex said quickly. “I just… wandered in. I can leave.”

Jack’s eyes lingered on his face. Like he was weighing something. Then he looked to the guards. “Let him go.”

One of them hesitated. “Sire—”

“I said let him go.”

The hands holding Alex’s arms dropped. He stepped back instinctively, rubbing his wrist.

Jack turned his full attention back to him. “You’re clearly lost. Exhausted. Confused. Possibly concussed,” he said. “So you’re going to eat something. Rest. And tomorrow, if you still want to leave… you can.”

“…You’re not going to lock me up?”

“If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t be wasting time talking.” Jack’s voice was dry, but not unkind. “But I have a better idea.”

“…Which is?”

He smiled then. Just a little. But it was there. “You’ll join me for supper.”

Alex blinked. “Seriously?”

“You’re a mystery. And I happen to like puzzles.”

Alex’s brain short-circuited. “That’s… weirdly flattering.”

Jack turned, striding toward the long table set along the far wall. “I’ve been called worse.”

They didn’t talk much during the meal, though Jack kept watching him in quiet intervals, studying him like he was a riddle written in another language. Alex tried to pretend he didn’t notice. But he noticed. God, he noticed.

The food was simple but incredible — soft bread, honeyed root vegetables, something like lentils in a thick, savoury broth. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until he nearly inhaled half the plate.

“You eat like a starving man-at-arms,” Jack observed, amused.

Alex looked up, flushing again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Jack tilted his head. “Makes me wonder what things are like… wherever you’re from.”

Alex paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Just different,” he said.

Another long look. Jack didn’t press. “I’ll have someone bring you proper clothes. Something that doesn’t look like bedsheet banditry.”

Alex laughed, half-choked on his stew. “Yeah… that’d be great.”

And then Jack did smile — fully this time. Alex froze for a second. He hadn’t expected that. Somehow it made everything more confusing.

A servant eventually appeared and guided him up a narrow stone stairwell to a small chamber overlooking a courtyard. The room was simple, but warm. Candlelit. Safe. Still, Alex couldn’t rest. Not with everything spinning in his head. The food, the village, the name Thaloria, and most of all — Jack. There was something about him. Something magnetic. He didn’t seem afraid of Alex, or angry. Just… curious. And kind in a way that felt dangerous. Because it made Alex want to stay.

So, sometime past midnight, he crept down the stairs in silence. Through the empty halls. Out of the keep. Through the village, past the trees, into the ivy-draped wall. And stepped back through the veil between worlds.

The air hit him like static — cold and dry, stale in comparison. His knees buckled as he landed back on the wooden floor. The door shut behind him with a sigh. The house was still. Dark. Silent. But he couldn’t shake what he’d felt.

Back in the kitchen, he sat with a notebook and a pencil, hand shaking slightly as he tried to capture the curve of the keep’s doorway. The flicker of torchlight. The exact shade of green Jack had worn. The way he looked when he smiled.

Something was happening. Something real. He didn’t know what it meant yet. But he was already thinking about going back.

And not just for the village.

Chapter Text

Back in his own world, Alex felt everything too sharply. The hum of the fridge sounded like a whine. The sterile buzz of the woods outside pressed against the windows like a headache. His phone lit up endlessly with notifications — group chats, emails, a missed call from his mum, a reminder for a birthday. All of it felt… brittle. Pointless.

He tried to go through the motions. Made coffee. Answered a few texts. Sat at a desk and stared at a blinking cursor for forty-five minutes. He even managed to go outside — just for a walk — but everything felt flat. The leaves too uniform, the sky too empty. He thought about how people moved fast here, especially back in Baltimore. Eyes glued to their screens or headphones in, like they were trying not to notice the world around them.

Thaloria lingered like a scent he couldn’t wash off. Like smoke on his clothes, or sun-warmed stone under his fingers. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the flicker of torchlight, the ripple of the stream, the curve of Jack’s smile — that half-real thing, like it wasn’t meant to be beautiful but accidentally was.

And God, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He’d find himself smiling at odd moments, warmth blooming in his chest for no reason other than the memory of the way the forest smelled at dusk. The bells in the village tower. Jack’s laugh — sharp and sudden and almost too loud — echoing off the stone walls of the keep.

Alex would catch himself doodling runes in the margins of his notebook, drawing the twisting vines that framed the Thalorian doorways, or shading in the line of Jack’s jaw when he thought he was sketching something else entirely.

He couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about the colour of the moss near the well. The way the wind whispered through the trees like it knew him. The way Jack had handed him that folded tunic — linen, a soft grey with dark green embroidery down the seams — like it was something important, something that meant he belonged.

He kept the tunic folded neatly on the chair in his bedroom for days, like a token or a silent promise. He told himself it was just to keep it safe — but that wasn’t the whole truth. Each time he passed it, a quiet ache stirred in his chest. He’d let his fingers brush over the fabric, not just wondering how it would feel to wear it, but imagining it — craving the warmth, the weight, the rightness of it. The thought of putting it on, of feeling it settle on his shoulders, stirred something deep and wistful in him. It wasn’t just a garment. It was a door — an invitation.

He felt like a child again — the kind of excitement that made it impossible to sit still. That tingly, impatient buzz like waiting for Christmas morning, when the air feels too charged to breathe properly. Only this time, he wasn’t waiting for a toy or a surprise. He was waiting for a place. A person. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know if he was meant to be back. If the door would even open again.

But then, one night, something shifted.

He caught himself reaching for the edge of the bookshelf without thinking — like muscle memory. As if his body already knew what his mind hadn’t quite admitted yet.

He didn’t want to stay here. Not anymore. Something inside him — quiet but insistent — whispered that he’d left something in Thaloria. Something vital. Like a thread still tugged gently from the other side.

Jack’s voice echoed in his mind, from that first meeting: “Either you’re lying, or you’ve stepped through something you don’t understand.”

God, he didn’t understand. Not even close. But he couldn’t stand still in this world any longer.

So, the next day, Alex stood in the hallway. The light was off. The house was quiet. Outside, wind rustled the trees, but inside it was still. Almost waiting.

He turned on his heel and went back to his room. The tunic was right where he’d left it — folded neatly, like it had been holding its breath. He pulled it on carefully, reverently. The fabric was soft, slightly textured, with hand-stitched details along the cuffs and collar in deep green thread — ivy leaves and curling vines, like the ones carved into the keep’s stonework.

It fit him better than anything else he owned — like it had been made for him, like it knew him. There were matching trousers too — loose, breathable, cinched at the waist with a leather tie. The boots were worn but sturdy. When he stood in front of the mirror, he hardly recognised himself. Not in a bad way. In a truer way.

He took a breath. Then another. Wearing it made him feel... tethered. Not to this world, but to that one. Like when he stepped through, he wouldn't just be visiting. He’d be returning to where he belonged.

And the portal — it was just open. No flickering, no pulsing light. Just waiting. As if it had been there the whole time, holding its breath for him too. He pressed his hand to the wall behind the hanging ivy. And stepped through.

The second he arrived, the air was thick with the smell of rain on stone. The village looked different in the evening — mist curling around the eaves of rooftops, smoke rising in delicate spirals from chimneys. It wasn’t magic. Not the flashy kind. But it felt like it.

Alex walked slowly, taking in every detail. The crooked shingles. The carved beams. The uneven cobblestones underfoot. A dog barked in the distance — not Bowie, not this time — but the sound was friendly, familiar.

A woman glanced up from stacking firewood outside her home. Recognition flickered in her eyes. “You’re Jack’s guest,” she said warmly. “Back again, are you?”

Alex nodded, surprised by the sudden swell of something like pride. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

Jack found him near the well just before sundown, legs draped over the edge of the stone wall, his silhouette loose and familiar in the dusky gold light.

“Took you long enough,” he said, eyes sliding up and down the outfit. “Didn’t think you’d actually wear it.”

Alex rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. “Had to fit in, didn’t I?”

Jack grinned — wide and crooked. “You look good.”

Alex pretended not to notice the way his stomach flipped at that. He smoothed his hands down the front of the tunic as if checking it still existed. “How did you even know I was here?”

Jack flashed a toothy smile. “I’m the King. I know everything,” he said, laughter clear in his voice.

Alex shook his head, laughing under his breath. “That’s terrifying, honestly.”

“You get used to it.”

“Do people just... announce when I arrive? Ring a bell? Run to the castle shouting, ‘he’s back, your highness!’”

“Actually, it was old Thomlin. The blacksmith.” Jack raised an eyebrow. “Said some ‘foreign lad dressed like he meant it this time’ wandered through the square looking moon-eyed.”

Alex blinked. “That... tracks.”

Jack stood and offered a hand. “Come on. There’s something I want to show you.”

As they walked through the village, the approaching night settled around them like a well-worn blanket. The air was thick with woodsmoke and the scent of rising bread. Children darted between narrow alleys chasing fireflies, their laughter trailing behind them like ribbon. Someone strummed a lute lazily near the baker’s shop, the soft notes tumbling out into the square.

Everything was soft and alive and meant. No noise pollution, no blinding neon. Just life — unhurried and full.

Alex took it all in, eyes wide. “I forgot how beautiful this place is.”

Jack looked over at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Alex breathed. “I mean — the last time I was here, I was still half-convinced I’d hallucinated the whole thing. This time it’s like... I’m seeing it properly.”

They passed a stall where a woman was stringing dried herbs along a rope, her fingers quick and practiced. She smiled at them, gave Jack a small nod.

Alex nudged him. “Is it weird being recognised all the time?”

Jack gave a lazy shrug. “Depends on the person. Varog gives me scowls. Lena over there,” he nodded toward the baker’s, “gives me unsolicited pies.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It’s a burden,” Jack said, dramatically. “But someone’s got to eat them.”

They wandered further, down back alleys where hanging lanterns bobbed gently in the breeze and ivy climbed the stone walls like veins. Chickens pecked quietly in coops tucked against houses. A cat curled up on a warm window ledge blinked at them sleepily as they passed.

Alex turned in place at one point, just taking it all in. “This place feels like it’s... breathing. Like the whole village is alive.”

Jack tilted his head. “That’s why I wanted to show you more of it. Most people don’t notice the details.”

“Guess I’m not most people.”

“Definitely not,” Jack said, smirking. “You wore the tunic.”

Alex shot him a look, but he couldn’t help smiling.

They climbed a narrow trail that twisted up into the woods behind the village. The trees grew taller here, older. Moss blanketed the ground like velvet, and the last fingers of sunset painted the bark in shades of gold and rust. As they walked, their shoulders brushed. Once. Then again. Neither of them mentioned it.

“You ever get tired of this place?” Alex asked quietly.

Jack was quiet for a moment. “No. I get tired in it sometimes. But not of it.” There was something gentle in the way he said it, like he meant it more than he wanted to admit.

They reached a ridge that looked out over the entire valley. Thaloria shimmered below them — rooftops aglow with lantern light, the distant stream of water catching the last streaks of purple sky. The keep stood like a quiet sentinel above it all, tall and solid, like it had always been there and always would be.

Alex stared, wordless.

Jack sank to the grass beside him, arms looped around his knees. “I come here when I need to remember how good it is here, the village—just—Thaloria,” he said softly.

Alex sat, heartbeat steady and full. “It feels too good to be real.”

Jack glanced at him, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “And yet, here we are.”

They sat in silence for a while, the wind brushing gently past them. Somewhere below, the village was still alive with small, contented sounds — the clatter of dishes, the hush of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter. Alex let himself soak it all in — the quiet, the closeness, the simple weight of being here. With him.

Their knees bumped. Neither of them moved. Alex glanced sideways. Jack’s hair was a mess of moonlight and shadow, his expression unreadable as he looked out over the village. His profile looked carved — not handsome in a polished way, but striking. Accidentally beautiful. Alex looked away quickly, heart skipping once.

“You ever think,” Alex said slowly, picking at the grass beside his boot, “that maybe we don’t end up where we’re supposed to, but where we’re needed?”

Jack hummed. “Or maybe where we need to be.”

Their eyes met. It was only for a moment, but something shifted — something unspoken but noticeable, like a breath held between them that neither quite wanted to release.

Then Jack stood suddenly, brushing his hands on his trousers. “Come on. We’ll miss supper.”

Alex followed, heart beating far too fast for something as simple as a walk down a hill. But nothing about this was simple anymore. And, truthfully, he didn’t want it to be.

They picked their way down the ridge in companionable quiet, the hush of twilight wrapping around them like a second skin. The trees whispered above, branches swaying gently as if to nudge them forward. The soft crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional murmur of night birds were the only sounds between them.

Back in the village, the lamps were still lit. Pools of warm light spilled out onto cobblestone streets, casting everything in amber glow. Alex felt himself exhale more deeply than he’d realised he needed to.

Jack didn’t say much on the walk, but his presence was easy beside Alex — like walking with a memory that had come to life. Once or twice, their arms brushed again, but this time it felt... settled. No tension. No rush to define it. Just there.

By the time they reached the Keep, the last light of day had fully surrendered to night. The guards at the gate gave them casual nods — not surprised to see Jack, mildly curious about Alex, but nothing more.

Inside, the halls were quieter than Alex remembered. Stone walls soaked up the warmth of candlelight, and tapestries swayed slightly from the draft that always seemed to linger near the main corridor. The scent of roasted meat and herbs drifted toward them from the dining hall.

“Did you always eat like, a lot of fancy food?” Alex asked, nudging Jack as they passed under an arched doorway.

Jack snorted. “This is a castle.”

“Still. There’s eating well, and then there’s whatever it is you’re doing. I swear I smelled like... fourteen types of meat just now.”

Jack grinned. “You’re in luck. Tonight’s roast boar. Varog dropped it off himself, probably just to avoid talking to me again.”

The dining hall wasn’t formal tonight — no long tables filled with stiff nobles or whispered political games. Just a few scattered people, staff mostly, seated at smaller tables, laughing and eating with the easy energy of a day well spent.

They took plates and sat near the hearth, a low table tucked slightly out of the way. The food was simple but rich — roasted vegetables, thick slices of meat, warm bread with honeyed butter. Comfort food, castle-style.

Jack ate like someone who’d forgotten to earlier, tearing into bread and talking between bites. Any royal-pretence completely dropped. “So. What do you think of Thaloria? Now that you’ve had the grand... well, medium tour.”

Alex leaned back in his chair, watching the fire flicker in the hearth. “It’s strange. In a good way. Feels like it shouldn’t be real, but here it is. Lanterns and chickens and unsolicited pies.”

Jack laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. “Told you. It’s a lot.”

“I think I could get used to it,” Alex said quietly, more to himself than anything.

Jack looked at him over the rim of his goblet. “Good. I was hoping you might say that.”

The quiet stretched again — not awkward, but meaningful in a way Alex couldn’t quite define. He glanced at Jack, at the way the firelight danced across his face, painting gold into the shadows under his eyes. That moment earlier — by the ridge — played again in his mind.

Was it something? Or had he just imagined it? Maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe the brush of shoulders, the lingering glance, the breath that caught in his throat — maybe it was just friendship wrapped in a little too much quiet.

And still. Still. He didn’t feel disappointed. Not really. Because whatever this was, even if it was just friendship, it was good. Easy. Familiar in the way the best things often were. But a subtle part of him — the curious part, the part that noticed the way Jack’s gaze sometimes lingered a second too long — wondered. Not with urgency. Not with hope, even. Just... wondered.

Jack stood to grab another slice of bread, and Alex watched him go, heart calm now, his earlier nerves settled into something softer.

He smiled to himself. Whatever this was, he was exactly where he needed to be. And that, for tonight, was enough.

Chapter Text

On one of his later visits, Alex arrived just after dawn — the kind of golden morning where everything felt dipped in honey. The village was already stirring. Smoke rose from chimneys. Doors creaked open as people stepped out with baskets or brooms or sleepy children balanced on hips. The rhythm of life in Thaloria was quiet but steady, like a heartbeat he was just starting to recognise.

He wandered toward the market square, letting the sound of it draw him in: laughter, bartering, the thud of boots on stone, the gentle rustle of fabric stalls catching the breeze. A man passed him with a bundle of herbs slung over his shoulder; a pair of goats wandered loose, bleating indignantly as a boy chased after them with a rope.

Alex smiled. It felt real here. Messy. Alive.

Across the square, he spotted the baker — the older woman with greying curls and powerful arms — struggling with a sack of flour nearly half her height. Without thinking, he jogged over.

“Let me,” he said, already reaching for it.

She looked up, surprised but not displeased. “Careful,” she said, her voice rich and warm. “That’s worth more than you.”

“I doubt it,” Alex puffed, adjusting the awkward weight in his arms. “But thanks.”

She barked a laugh and held the door open for him.

“You’re Lena, right?” he started, remembering one of his previous visits with Jack. “The one who provides the King with the pies?”

“Ah, so you must be the one who’s been keeping him company,” she said, arching a brow. Her smile tilted slyly as she flashed him a not-so-subtle wink.

Alex looked away, cheeks threatening to burn. “He talks too much.”

“He doesn’t talk about many,” she said with a shrug, then added, “But he mentioned you.”

Inside, the bakery was warm and filled with the yeasty, sweet smell of rising dough. Shelves were already lined with braided loaves and delicate pastries, and flour dust floated in the sunbeams like snow. It was the kind of place that smelled like memory — like something older and better than whatever the world was outside.

Lena took the sack from him and nodded at a corner. “You free, or just passing through?”

Alex hesitated. His plan had been to drop the flour off and be on his way — maybe find Jack again, maybe not. But the heat in here felt good, and the quiet bustle felt better. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got a little time.”

“Good,” she said, tossing him an apron that had once been white. “Let’s see if those hands are good for anything.”

He snorted, slipping it over his head. “Let’s hope so.”

She just grinned.

One hour turned into two. Lena showed him how to fold dough properly — patient, efficient, and completely unimpressed with his tragic attempts. His first few tries sagged like tired pillows and clung to his fingers like they were drowning. She didn’t scold him. Just laughed, corrected, handed him more.

“You’re too gentle,” she said, nudging his elbow. “Dough’s like a stubborn ox. You have to show it who’s boss.”

“I don’t really have experience with oxen,” Alex muttered.

“Maybe not, but you’re getting better with bread.” She gave him a crooked smile. “Most people would’ve left after the first ruined batch.”

He shrugged. “It’s… nice. Doing something that doesn’t ask for anything back.”

Lena paused for a beat, giving him a look that was unexpectedly soft. “That’s why I bake,” she said. “Bread’s simple. Honest. It doesn’t lie to you. If you mess up, it tells you. But if you’re kind to it, it rises.”

There was something in her voice — not sad, exactly, but worn around the edges. Like someone who’d lived through a lot and come out the other side mostly intact. Alex didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded and kept kneading.

By midmorning, he was elbow-deep in a second batch, sweat prickling his neck, hands dusted pale, and happier than he’d been in days. He stayed for the delivery rush. Watched as regulars came in and out with gruff greetings and worn coins, each leaving with bread and something warm in their expression — something softened. Lena handed out smiles and change in equal measure, her daughter darting between baskets with energy to spare.

Lena’s daughter, Luli, was a gap-toothed sprite with flour on her nose and zero hesitation. “You sing?” she asked Alex, practically dragging him to the back.

“Sometimes.”

“Well, you are now,” she declared, and launched into a song he didn’t know.

He fumbled his way through it, but she clapped wildly anyway when he finally caught the rhythm. Then came a game — slapping palms, chanting nonsense, and laughing until he lost track of everything else. His hands stung, and he couldn’t stop grinning. He didn’t notice the time until the bell above the door rang and Jack's unmistakable voice spoke.

“You’ve been busy,” Jack said, leaning in the doorway with arms crossed and an unmistakable glint in his eyes.

Alex turned, sleeves dusted white, hair a mess, cheeks red from the oven heat — and smiled. “Figured I should pull my weight,” he said, brushing flour from his hands.

Jack stepped inside, glancing at the trays cooling by the window. “Not bad. You’ll put Lena out of business.”

“Please,” Lena snorted from the back. “He couldn’t tell salt from sugar when he got here.”

Alex raised his hands in surrender. “She’s not wrong.”

Jack tilted his head. “You’re a strange one, Alex-from-beyond-the-woods.”

“Guilty.”

And then Jack smiled. That quiet, half-smile that did something weird to Alex’s chest. Alex looked away too quickly, heat prickling the tips of his ears.

Lena wiped her hands on a flour-stained cloth and tossed it over her shoulder. “Well, if you two are going to stand around being pretty and useless, take it outside. Some of us have real work to do.”

“Harsh,” Jack said with mock offense, already backing toward the door.

“Fair,” Alex added, following.

Lena winked at him. “Come by again if you want to learn how not to ruin a pie crust.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Alex said, grinning.

He and Jack stepped back into the sunlight, blinking as the warmth hit them full-on. The morning had aged into mid-day, and the village was in full swing. A bard played a tune near the well, children darted between stalls, and somewhere nearby, a blacksmith’s hammer rang rhythmically against iron.

“So,” Jack said, falling into step beside him. “Still want to see more of the Kingdom, or was your secret dream always to be a baker?”

Alex mock-considered. “I mean, the apron did suit me.”

“It did not.”

They walked aimlessly for a while, letting the cobbled paths lead them through winding lanes and ivy-covered walls. Chickens scattered at their feet. A cat with half an ear twitched its tail from a sun-warmed ledge.

“Seriously though,” Jack said after a beat. “You looked… happy. In there.”

Alex glanced at him, caught off guard by the softness in Jack’s voice. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I think I was.”

They passed a small green where a group of children had set up what could loosely be called a battlefield — two sides, mismatched wooden swords, one painted bucket for a helmet. The “leader” of one side was a freckled girl shouting wildly about dragons.

Jack’s face lit up. “Oh absolutely not — I have to.”

Alex blinked. “Have to what—?”

But Jack was already jogging over, calling, “Mind if I join?”

The children stared up at him, half in awe and half in suspicion. “Depends,” said the freckled girl, narrowing her eyes. “You with us or the evil crown?”

“Definitely evil crown,” Jack said without hesitation, and the kids erupted in cheers.

Alex folded his arms, watching as Jack was handed the biggest wooden sword — probably meant for two hands — and began striding around like a villain from a bad play. He let out an exaggerated evil laugh and challenged a seven-year-old to a duel, which ended with him dramatically collapsing into the grass.

One of the smaller kids tugged on Alex’s sleeve. “You too,” she said solemnly, handing him a lopsided wooden dagger.

“Thanks,” Alex said, amused. “What am I?”

“You’re his minion.”

“Of course I am.”

He stepped onto the battlefield with an exaggerated scowl, joining Jack in some truly ridiculous pantomime of villainy. The two of them stormed across the grass like cartoon tyrants, cackling dramatically as they rallied the “evil forces” against the noble child rebels.

“They’ll never take the tower!” Jack bellowed, raising his sword high. “Long live the crown!” Alex shouted in mock outrage, sweeping his lopsided dagger through the air.

They twirled their weapons, took wildly overacted swings, and staggered back from invisible blows, their movements so exaggerated that even a pair of birds in the rafters paused to watch the spectacle.

At first, it was a chaotic flurry — Jack and Alex holding the line together as the kids charged them with fierce cries and tiny wooden weapons. Jack threw himself into the fray, fending off three at once, while Alex pretended to guard their imaginary treasure chest with villainous glee. The freckled girl leapt onto Jack’s back and he spun her in a circle before collapsing into a dramatic heap.

Somewhere in the chaos, the lines began to blur.

Jack caught Alex’s eye across the grass, grinning like a man possessed. “They’re too strong, General. We must turn on each other.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, catching on. “So it’s betrayal, then.”

“Oh, most foul,” Jack said, adjusting his stance.

Without a word, they broke from the children’s army and turned their swords on each other, drawing gasps and gleeful shrieks from their former enemy.

“What’s happening?” one kid asked. “They’re fighting over the treasure!” said another. “No,” the freckled girl said gravely, “they’re in love and now it’s tragic.”

Alex snorted but didn’t break character. He lunged at Jack with a clumsy sweep of his dagger. Jack parried easily, laughing as he spun Alex away.

“You traitor,” Alex growled, lips twitching with barely hidden amusement.

“Says the one who tried to fake their own death twice already,” Jack shot back, circling him.

They clashed with all the fury of amateur stage actors, blades clacking, feet stomping, expressions entirely too serious for grown men duelling with toys. Jack swung wide, Alex ducked behind a barrel — and then popped up suddenly with a grin.

“Plan B,” he muttered, and launched his attack.

It was a flurry of exaggerated movement — Alex spinning forward, fake-rolling under Jack’s arm, striking out with his dagger in a move that was clearly choreographed on the fly. Jack parried again, barely, their blades locking with theatrical tension. With a flourish, Jack twisted, spun Alex around, and backed him against the side of a wall. His wooden sword pressed lightly across Alex’s chest, and he grinned.

“Gotcha,” he said, breathless whilst laughing.

Alex was laughing too — until he wasn’t.

For a second, everything stilled. They were too close. Jack’s hand rested against the wall beside his shoulder, sword still pinning him. His grin faltered slightly, eyes searching Alex’s like he was trying to read something between the lines.

Alex’s breath caught. He felt his heart thud against his ribcage, beating so loud he was convinced Jack would hear it. He stared back into Jack’s eyes, feeling everything around him slow down. His brain was completely unable to fathom thought as his gaze locked into the dark brown irises in front of him. His jaw agape and body stiff.

And then, just like that, Jack pulled away. Too quickly. Laughing again, shaking his head as if to scatter the moment into nothing.

“Right,” Jack said, tossing the sword to one of the kids. “I retire undefeated.”

Alex managed a smile, but his thoughts were tangled.

They walked in silence for a while after that, weaving through the village’s quieter edges — past gardens and low stone walls, past a hen coop where one brave rooster eyed them suspiciously.

“Anyway,” Jack finally said, voice light, “pretty sure I’ve secured our reputation as local menaces.”

Alex chuckled. “Speak for yourself. I’m beloved by the under-ten crowd.”

“Oh, clearly. They gave you a dagger.”

“A very trustworthy weapon,” Alex said solemnly. Then, with a smirk, “Meanwhile, they made you the evil crown. Bit on the nose, isn’t it?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Careful.”

“I’m just saying,” Alex continued, grinning, “if the wooden sword fits…”

Jack huffed a laugh. “So I’m a tyrant now?”

Alex threw his hands up. “Hey, I don’t make the rules. You show up, steal their biggest sword, stage a coup, and show off as their King—”

“I did not—”

“—evil king,” Alex corrected, delighted now. “The worst kind. You probably tax the child vendors and everything.”

Jack bumped his shoulder with mock offense. “You’re lucky I have a benevolent streak.”

“Oh no, your majesty, spare me!”

Jack grinned sideways at him, and for a moment, it was easy again. They both laughed, the last of the tension from earlier finally shaking loose as they wandered on, the sounds of the village softening behind them.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

By the time they returned to the keep, the sun had dipped low enough to paint the sky in streaks of rose and violet. The scent of supper wafted out to meet them — something roasted and herb-crusted, enough to make Alex’s stomach rumble.

Inside, the great hall buzzed with chatter. Familiar faces greeted them — a stablehand, a scribe, an old knight who always fell asleep during supper but somehow woke just in time for dessert.

They took their usual seats near the hearth, plates already being filled by the castle’s ever-efficient staff.

Jack leaned in, whispering like he was sharing a state secret. “Okay, but if they serve that turnip stew again, I’m staging a coup.”

Alex raised a brow. “Against who? The cook?”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

“You should be. He once threatened me with a ladle.”

Jack grinned, stealing a chunk of bread from Alex’s plate. “You’re soft, that’s your problem.”

“You’re a thief, that’s yours.”

They kept on like that — teasing, laughing, falling into that easy rhythm again, like nothing strange had happened. Like swords and moments and too-long looks hadn’t meant anything. And maybe they hadn’t. Or maybe they had, and neither of them wanted to touch it yet.

Alex reached for his goblet, smirking. “You know,” he said casually, “you’re literally the king. If you hate turnip stew that much, you could just… outlaw it.”

Jack scoffed. “I’m not that kind of king.”

“Oh, you mean the kind who suffers in silence while peasants and nobles alike are subjected to the tyranny of root vegetables?”

Jack gave him a look. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re complicit.”

That earned a laugh, low and warm, and it lingered between them for a beat too long.

Alex turned his attention to his plate, stabbing at a potato like it had personally wronged him. Truth was, the food here — even the infamous stew — was better than anything he’d grown up with. Not just in taste, but in how it was served: full tables, voices overlapping, stories passed across dishes. It was messy and loud and real.

And the longer he stayed, the more real it all felt. He hadn't meant to stay this long. Not at first. A few visits, maybe. A curiosity. But each return had gotten easier. The forest paths less daunting. The silences in his own head quieter.

And now...

Now, sitting beside Jack, a plate full of food he hadn't had to buy from some supermarket — food that wasn’t pumped full of preservatives or wrapped in plastic or microwaved at midnight over a dull blue flicker — surrounded by people who knew his name not because they should, but because they welcomed him, it struck him just how much Thaloria had worked its way into his bones. Not because it was perfect. But because it let him be imperfect.

He glanced sideways at Jack, who was deep in a heated — and entirely unserious — debate with the castle’s scribe about the ethical implications of stealing bread from a friend’s plate. Jack was laughing again, eyes crinkled at the corners, flushed from the fire and the wine. His hands moved as he talked, expressive and unfiltered. Confident. Unbothered.

Something in Alex’s chest tugged — gentle but certain. Like something he hadn’t realised had been asleep in him had started to stir. But it wasn’t just Jack.

He let his eyes drift around the great hall, quietly taking it all in.

At the far end of the long table, a pair of kitchen apprentices were locked in a silent, vicious game of who could sneak more pastries past the head cook. A bard leaned against the stone hearth, tuning a battered lute with delicate care while a pageboy tried — and failed — to balance a goblet on his head for the third time.

The room rang with overlapping conversations — some loud, some quiet — most of them messy and filled with the kind of affection people only gave when they belonged. And when someone laughed — really laughed — it didn’t echo back off cold concrete walls. It filled the space, bounced off the beams, and took root in the bones of the room itself.

Their clothes weren’t pressed or brand-new — they were worn, patched, hand-mended. Trousers stained with ink or oil, dresses with hems frayed from years of wear, tunics that looked like they’d seen both battles and banquets. Everything here lived. Everything mattered because it had been used and shared and passed around, like stories.

No one here was trying to be impressive. They were just… being. Loudly. Badly. Openly. And it was beautiful.

He turned slightly in his seat and looked out one of the tall, narrow windows. Beyond the glowing hall, Thaloria stretched out like a tapestry, golden light softening into evening lavender. The village rooftops nestled together like secrets. The lanterns blinked with life, casting a warm amber glow along the cobblestone paths. Somewhere, someone was playing a flute — just a few drifting notes that barely reached the keep, but they threaded through the open window like silk.

It should’ve felt small. And yet, it felt like the whole world. The kind of world where your name didn’t come with a warning. Where no one watched you like a threat waiting to happen. Where you weren’t drowning in noise and screens and too many people who didn’t see you. Here, people looked you in the eye. They laughed and leaned close. They touched your shoulder when they talked to you. They remembered things — little things — like how you took your tea or which of Lena’s breads you liked best.

Alex hadn’t realised how lonely his old life had been until he came here and felt known. Even now, as he sat quietly watching, no one demanded his attention. And yet, no one ignored him either. A passing knight nodded in greeting. One of the apprentices offered him a half-stolen tart with a grin and a wink. Jack bumped his knee under the table, not even looking — just some casual gesture like they’d done it a hundred times before. And maybe they would.

Maybe they would.

That thought caught him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he’d have to leave. Not tonight, maybe not tomorrow — but eventually. The thought was always there, just under the surface. This was never meant to be permanent. Just a strange, secret in-between — something borrowed from the edges of reality. A door hidden in his aunt’s hallway, a world tucked behind it. He had a house to sit. A dog to feed. And eventually, a home to go back to. Real-world responsibilities that didn’t pause just because this place felt more alive than anything waiting on the other side.

But now… the road back felt blurry. Less like a path and more like a door he’d closed without meaning to. Because this place — with its crooked streets and unpredictable meals and too-loud banter — had given him something he hadn’t known he was missing.

It had given him home.

And he wasn’t sure if he was ready to let that go. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Chapter Text

Alex woke slowly, the grey light of morning leaking through the curtains like it always did — soft, heavy, unbothered. He blinked at the ceiling for a few moments before a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He couldn't help it. Even here, where the air always smelled faintly like damp wood and the sky never quite committed to blue, something inside him buzzed like static — a leftover hum from the day before.

He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The world was still duller here — less colour, less life — but he couldn’t bring himself to feel miserable about it. Not when he carried that other place with him, tucked warm and secret behind his ribs.

Eventually, once the pull of the bedsheets loosened its grip, Alex forced himself out of bed and into the bathroom, limbs heavy but head lighter than it had been in days. He flicked the shower on and stood back as the steam began to curl up from the tiles, fogging the mirror and softening the edges of everything.

The hiss of water filled the small space, a steady white noise that drowned out the hum of the world beyond the walls. He stepped under the spray, and the heat wrapped around him like a cocoon. He pressed his forehead against the cool tile and closed his eyes, letting the water roll down his back, his neck, his shoulders.

Jack.

The name came unbidden, carving itself clean into the quiet. It was ridiculous — he knew that. He barely knew Jack, at least in the way people were supposed to know each other before they started feeling this kind of way. But the image of him kept flashing across Alex’s mind like sunlight through trees: warm and fragmented, but impossible to ignore.

He reached for the shampoo, worked it into his hair with slow fingers.

Jack was kind. Not in a performative way, not in that hollow, look-at-me sort of way that Alex had seen a hundred times over in his own world. Jack was kind like it cost him nothing, like it was his baseline setting. And funny, too — dry, sharp humour that sneaked up on you. He didn’t hog attention, didn’t need the spotlight. He just was, and that was enough.

Alex rinsed the shampoo out and let his fingers drift down to massage his scalp, letting the hot water push away the tension he hadn’t realised was still clinging to the back of his neck.

An image rose unbidden:
Jack. They’d spent that day foraging with Rena and two kids from the village, trying to find a patch of wild berries she'd sworn existed. Jack had been patient, the kind of patient that made you feel safe to ask questions — or admit you were lost. At one point, Alex had tripped, scraping a knee. Jack hadn’t hesitated — just dropped to his haunches, cleaned the wound gently, and made up an absurd story about berry bandits being the true culprits. Alex had laughed — real, full-bellied laughter that had surprised even him.

And now, the memory curled warm and low in his stomach, sparking something electric through his chest. That moment, the way Jack had looked up at him mid-story with a conspiratorial grin, had felt like being let in on a secret. Not just the story — Jack himself. He remembered how Jack’s muscles flexed as he tended to Alex, how the stubble on his jaw looked and how badly Alex wanted to trace his fingers over it.

The thought made Alex’s abdomen twitch. He swallowed and reached for the soap, his hands moving across his arms, chest, ribs — slow, absent, as another image lit up behind his eyes:

That night at the keep’s courtyard.

The stars had been out. Jack had been tired, slouched in one of the old wooden chairs, one arm draped lazily across the backrest, his voice soft and thoughtful. They’d been talking about places they’d never seen — Jack describing some wide plain near the southern border of Thaloria where the wind moved like a living thing, carrying the scent of flowering grass and strange birdsong. Jack had looked over at him then — not intense, not heavy. Just a glance. Like he was checking if Alex had really heard him. Like he wanted him to. And Alex had. Every word. He remembered the way it settled into him — low, still, with a thrum of something he hadn’t wanted to name then.

Now, with water pouring over his skin and that memory glowing behind his ribs, he felt it full-force: that pull. Not just attraction — not just the flutter of something new and sharp — but gravity. Like Jack was a place he could rest in. The thought of his dark eyes and striking features was mesmerising, even in memory.

The thought further fuelled Alex, his hand subconsciously draping lower to the growing arousal as another memory invaded his thoughts.

They were at the keep and Jack was showing Alex some of his personal collections in his quarters. The items all held treasured significance to Jack which he openly shared with Alex, making him feel like he was there himself. Jack had reached up to grab something from a high shelf, tunic lifting just enough to reveal smooth skin and muscle that looked carved rather than grown. Alex had caught a glimpse of the V of his hips. He had stared. Dumbly. Long enough to realise it, and then to panic slightly about whether Jack had realised it, too.

Alex wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers along Jack’s skin. To feel his toned chest and the dips of his hips. Alex’s hand curled around his dick without him realising it. He breathed in slowly, chest rising, letting the steam carry the tightness away as his hand slowly moved up and down his length.

Another flash:
Jack laughing after Alex said something stupid and self-deprecating — not laughing at him, but with a kind of gentle, delighted disbelief, like Alex was a book he hadn’t expected to enjoy but couldn’t put down now. That laugh had stayed with him for hours afterward, trailing in his mind like a melody he couldn’t stop humming.

Alex let his head fall back, the water soaking into his hair, tracing the lines of his jaw. His body was warm, loose, relaxed in a way that didn’t come easily to him most days. But now — remembering him — it did. Jack was steady. Real. Effortless and yet completely unknowable, in that way people are when they’ve seen more than they let on.

And Alex, standing under the stream of water, couldn’t deny it anymore. He was completely gone for him. But somehow, that didn’t terrify him. Not like it would have before. He moaned lightly to himself as his pace quickened, water dripping down his nose, heart steady but full. 

He let his mind be absorbed by images of Jack. Flashes of reality and fantasy combined. Alex imagined the feeling of Jack’s smooth skin against his. He imagined the echoes of his moans, which sent a tingling sensation all the way down Alex’s spine to his dick. His head jerked forward and he rested his other hand against the shower wall. His movements were messy as deep moans filled the room. A final image of Jack’s eyes looking at his with deep lust is what sent Alex over the edge.

He stood back in the stream, letting the memories wash away down the drain with the rest of the spray.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

After the shower, Alex moved through the rest of his morning in a kind of quiet rhythm. Coffee brewed in the corner while he padded barefoot through the kitchen, the cold tiles grounding him. He buttered a piece of toast out of habit more than hunger, but only took two bites before setting it down, forgotten.

Outside, the dog lead clinked lightly as he clipped it to Bowie’s collar. The dog gave an eager little bounce, as though he’d been waiting all morning for this exact moment — as if this part of the day, this ordinary little ritual, was something sacred.

Alex stepped out into the grey-filtered light of the real world. The woods behind his aunt’s house unfurled around him, unchanged. Tall pines and twisted oaks lined the trail, the branches reaching overhead like a cathedral of weathered limbs. Moss clung to the roots, thick and wet, and the sharp scent of damp earth rose with every step. Gravel crunched underfoot. The wind sighed through the canopy, stirring last night’s rain into cool drops that pattered onto his jacket.

It should’ve felt peaceful. But instead, everything felt… thinner. Flatter. Like he’d stepped back into a painting where the colours had faded. He tried not to compare them. He really did. But his mind kept pulling him sideways.

To Thaloria.

To the way the light filtered gold through those impossibly tall trees — not sunlight, exactly, but something older and warmer, like it remembered stories from before the sky. The leaves had shimmered silver in the wind, delicate and sharp like feathered blades, and the air had felt thick with something alive. Not heavy — just present. Like it noticed him. Like it welcomed him.

Here, everything looked how it was supposed to. Brown bark. Dark green leaves. Mud. Moss. A crow cawed somewhere overhead, rough and sudden, and Bowie paused to sniff at a patch of wet ground.

There, even the birdsong had sounded different — strange chords and bending notes that didn’t follow the patterns he knew. The wind in Thaloria carried petals and pollen and music. The wind here carried the sour scent of decay.

Bowie trotted ahead, nose low, tail up. He paused to inspect a tree stump, pawed lightly at the roots, then moved on with a little snort of interest.

Alex followed at a slower pace, one hand in his coat pocket, fingers brushing the smooth stone he’d started carrying —one Jack had handed him one night, almost without thinking. It felt warmer than it should have. Or maybe he was imagining that now. He wasn’t sure anymore where the boundary between real and imagined even began.

The trail curved slightly downhill, then opened into a clearing he knew well — small, ringed with moss-covered boulders and fern. The creek at the far edge gurgled quietly, carving its way between tree roots like it always had. Bowie bounded into the clearing without hesitation, scattering birds from the underbrush, tongue lolling.

Alex stood at the edge, arms crossed. He could still feel Thaloria in his skin. His muscles ached in a way that wasn’t from this world — not from jogging or hiking or running errands — but from living, doing, being part of something real. The ache in his chest was different. Slower. Warmer.

He watched as Bowie leapt over the creek in a clumsy arc, landing with a splash and a bark of joy. He shook off the water and turned, tongue lolling, eyes bright.

“You don’t care, huh?” Alex said, stepping forward and crouching beside the creek. “Doesn’t matter where we are. As long as we’re walking.”

Bowie thumped his tail against the mud.

Alex scooped up a smooth pebble and turned it in his fingers, comparing it without meaning to. The rocks in Thaloria had strange colours sometimes — hints of violet or green just beneath the surface. Some of them even hummed faintly when you held them too long. This one was just… cold. Just grey.

And still, he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything like disappointment. Because this was his world. His real world. The one with tax deadlines and boxed cereal and lukewarm coffee. And yet…

He looked up. The sky overhead was pale and cloud-smeared, light bleeding weakly through the branches. He closed his eyes and imagined for a moment the canopy of Thaloria instead — silver leaves above, gold light slanting through like liquid memory.

Alex opened his eyes again. Everything here had a weight. The air. The silence. Even the stillness. There, everything had movement. Intention. Meaning.

Bowie came up beside him, pressing his damp side against Alex’s leg. He scratched the dog’s head and exhaled through his nose. He was back. Physically. Entirely. And yet, part of him was still walking those golden paths, shoulder to shoulder with someone who made the world feel wider and more intimate all at once.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

By the time afternoon slid in through the windows, Alex was walking to the door in the hallway. He glanced down at the tunic he’d changed into — the fabric slightly worn now from use, smelling faintly of Thalorian earth and something sweet he hadn’t yet identified.

He pressed his hand to the wood, and for a moment, nothing happened. No flicker. No warmth. Just silence. Alex frowned. His breath caught, just slightly. But before the worry could set in, the air shimmered — just a flicker — and the portal rippled open, its familiar pulse drawing him forward. He stepped through without hesitation. Warmth bloomed instantly against his skin.

The forest welcomed him like an old friend. Light drifted through the canopy in slow motion, wrapping everything in a dreamlike haze. Birds sang soft, strange melodies, and pollen glittered in the air. Alex exhaled, his shoulders sinking down from where he hadn’t realised he’d tensed them.

For a while, he simply walked — no purpose, no destination, just breathing in the hush of the woods and letting the scent of loam and pine rinse out the last of his thoughts. He followed the path until the trees thinned and the sound of distant bleating floated toward him, high and comical.

As he came around a bend, he found himself next to a tall wooden fence, its beams worn smooth by time and weather. A goat stood just beyond it, peering at him with square-pupiled eyes and a contemplative stillness that seemed oddly human. Alex blinked.

The goat bleated again, softly this time, and shuffled forward until its nose was nearly pressed between the slats. Alex crouched, chuckling, and extended a hand through the fence to scratch gently behind its ear.

“Well, I’ll be,” came a voice behind him. “Old Buck usually doesn’t let people get that close without earning a bruise or two.”

Alex flinched slightly and turned to find a man leaning casually on the fence nearby. He was broad-shouldered and lean, a hay bale balanced effortlessly on one shoulder. His smile was wide and bright, and his hair was buzzed down close to the scalp — a curiosity in a place where scissors were rare and mirrors rarer.

“Wow,” Alex said, grinning as he stood. “That definitely makes me feel honoured. I’ve always wanted to own a goat.”

“Well, that’s a dangerous dream,” the man replied with a chuckle. “They’ll eat your tunic if you look away too long. Name’s Rian.” He held out a hand.

“Alex,” he said, shaking it. “Nice to meet you.”

“If you’re serious about wanting a goat one day,” Rian said, hefting the hay bale a little higher on his shoulder, “you’ll need to know how to look after one. Want to give it a shot?”

Alex hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded. “Sure, yeah. I’d love that, actually.”

“Great,” Rian said, already turning toward a nearby gate. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Zack — he’s the real brains of this operation. I just help lift the heavy stuff.”

They crossed a broad, sunlit field, ankle-deep in clover and dry grass. Bees floated lazily from flower to flower. The barn ahead was a long, weathered structure with faded red paint and a sloped roof missing a few shingles. A chicken flapped lazily across their path, clucking in mild alarm, and Alex laughed.

Inside, it was surprisingly cool. Shafts of light filtered through the open slats in the walls. The air was rich with the smells of hay, animal musk, and something sweet — feed, maybe.

Zack was standing by a row of low wooden pens, tossing handfuls of grain to a group of chickens who surged forward like a feathery tide. He was tall, muscular, with short hair that fell to one side, and his shirt was rolled to the elbows, streaked with dust and sweat.

“Hey, Zack!” Rian called. “Brought you a stray.”

Zack turned, wiped his hands on his trousers, and offered a friendly grin. “You feed him yet?”

“Not yet,” Rian said. “Figured I’d make him work for it first.”

Alex laughed, extending a hand. “Alex. Nice to meet you.”

“Zack,” he replied, shaking it firmly. “Rian already roped you into chores, huh?”

“I volunteered,” Alex said with mock dignity.

“That’s how it always starts,” Zack said with a wink. “Come on then, we’ll start you easy. Ever brushed down a pony?”

They introduced him to Daisy, an aging pony with a stubborn streak and one clouded eye. She tolerated Alex with wary suspicion at first, shuffling away every time he approached with a brush. But Zack showed him how to hold his hand low, how to move slowly, how to talk softly — and eventually, Daisy let him close enough to run the brush down her neck. Her coat was rough and thick, but there was something oddly soothing about the rhythm of it.

“You’re a natural,” Zack said, watching him. “She usually hates newcomers.”

“That’s two animals in one day who don’t hate me,” Alex said, mock-shocked. “Is this some kind of record?”

They laughed, and the work continued — refilling water troughs, mucking out a pigpen (which Alex survived with only minor indignity), and attempting to lure two mischievous goats — Buck and his equally stubborn sister, Nib — back into their pen after they discovered an open gate and made a break for the nearby orchard.

“You grab the boy,” Rian shouted, laughing as he jogged after Nib. “He seems to like you!”

Alex ended up belly-down in the grass, arms around Buck’s midsection as the goat struggled indignantly.

“I don’t think he likes me anymore,” Alex wheezed.

“You’ll win him back,” Zack assured him, tossing a handful of apple slices into the pen.

They broke for dinner around early evening, collapsing in the shade of the barn. Zack brought out bread, cheese, and cold cider; Rian disappeared and returned with a small wooden crate containing a lute, a flute, and a battered drum.

“You play?” Rian asked, handing Alex the lute.

“Uh, not well,” Alex said. “But I’m decent at keeping time.”

“That’s all we need.”

The music started slow, with Zack breathing a lazy tune while Rian tapped a rhythm on the drum. Alex joined in hesitantly, then with more confidence. Soon they were laughing through off-key harmonies and made-up lyrics, songs about goats who stole shoes and a pig named Margie who ran the village pub.

That was when Jack appeared — leaning against the barn door, arms crossed and grinning.

“Well, well,” he said. “You boys trying to replace me?”

Alex looked up, heart skipping slightly. Jack’s voice carried its usual lopsided charm, warm and teasing.

Rian squinted dramatically. “Jack? Is that you? I didn’t recognise you without the terrible lute playing.”

Zack chimed in. “You owe me five copper — I bet you’d show up the moment someone mentioned music.”

Jack ambled closer. “Guilty. What can I say? Heard the racket all the way from the village and figured someone was trying to summon a storm.”

Alex smiled, handing the lute off to Zack. “These guys are good.”

“Oh no,” Jack said, mock-serious. “Don’t encourage them. Next thing you know they’ll form a duo and leave me behind.”

Rian nudged Zack. “A duo sounds manageable. Less dramatic.”

“You wound me,” Jack said, placing a hand over his heart. “Come on, Alex. Before they start writing songs about my tragic past.”

Alex stood, dusting off his hands. “Thanks, guys. That was… really great.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” Zack said, raising his goblet. “And next time, you’re feeding the ducks.”

“Deal,” Alex said, smiling.

As he and Jack walked back toward the village, the golden light beginning to fade into amber, Alex glanced back once. The barn stood like a guard under the late sun, and Rian’s laughter rang out one last time. Alex felt something settle in his chest — a quiet, simple belonging.

“You look like you’ve been through battle,” Jack said, voice warm with amusement.

Alex laughed, pushing his hair back, now tousled and faintly dusted with hay. “Goat-related injuries. I barely survived.”

Jack arched a brow. “Was it Buck? That little brute’s been trying to overthrow the farm hierarchy for years.”

“Buck and his sister,” Alex replied, holding up his hand where a faint red mark was beginning to bloom just above his wrist. “They staged a coup. I was collateral damage.”

Jack leaned against the fence post beside him, their shoulders nearly — just nearly — touching. “Worth it?”

Alex turned to him, still grinning, a smear of dirt across his cheek. “Yeah. Actually… yeah.”

They started down the winding village path together, the sun just low enough to turn the dust gold. The wind moved softly through the trees. A few children ran past, laughing, their wooden toys clacking behind them on strings.

Jack didn’t say anything at first — just glanced sideways now and then as Alex began to speak. At first it was casual, light.

“So I was just walking, minding my own business,” Alex began, “when this goat just stares at me from behind the fence. Like, full-on eye contact. I thought it was sizing me up.”

Jack hummed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Probably was.”

“But I couldn’t help it,” Alex said. “He looked weirdly wise. So I reached in to pet him, and that’s when Rian found me — big guy, short hair, hay bale like it weighed nothing. Total menace.”

“That’s definitely Rian,” Jack said, smiling. “He once attempted to throw me in a lake for ‘being smug.’”

“That… that checks out,” Alex said, laughing. “Anyway, we start talking, and next thing I know, I’m being recruited for goat care 101. We walked over to the barn, and that’s when I met Zack.”

Jack’s brow lifted slightly. “And what do you think of Zach?”

Alex grinned wider. “He’s great. Real calm. Like, everything he does feels like it’s happening at just the right pace. I was brushing Daisy — she’s a pony, has this one cloudy eye — and Zack just showed me how to move slow, talk low, you know?”

Jack watched him with a softness in his gaze, one hand resting loosely on the leather strap across his chest. “I do. Daisy doesn’t trust easy.”

“She didn’t at first. But then she leaned into the brush like it was the best thing that happened to her all week. It was weirdly emotional.”

“I’m starting to think the animals liked you more than they like Rian and Zack,” Jack said. “You must’ve bribed them.”

“They bribed me,” Alex said. “With chaos. Especially Buck and Nib. They escaped through the orchard and we had to full-on chase them. Rian was yelling something about goat revolutionaries, and Zack was bargaining with apple slices. I ended up tackling Buck and getting a mouthful of grass in the process.”

Jack laughed — properly, the sound rich and genuine. “Wow, I wish I’d seen that.”

Alex looked over at him, and for the first time, really noticed the way Jack was watching him — not just listening, but absorbing everything. His expression was open, a little amused, a little awed. His eyes lingered longer than they needed to. It made Alex’s chest ache — not painfully, but like something was growing inside it.

He looked down briefly, half-smiling. “Then we had food under the elm tree. Bread, cheese, cider. Rian brought instruments — Zack on flute, me attempting the lute. I haven’t done anything like that in forever.”

“Can you play the lute?” Jack said, that warm grin returning.

“I mean, I mostly kept rhythm and tried not to embarrass myself. But we made up this ridiculous song about a pig who opens a tavern and serves nothing but turnip stew. It was stupid. And fun. Really fun.”

Jack’s voice lowered just slightly. “That’s what you sound like when you say that word.”

Alex blinked at him. “What word?”

“‘Fun,’” Jack said. “Like you didn’t expect to actually feel it. Like it caught you off guard.”

Alex slowed a little, steps dragging on the dirt path. “Maybe it did.”

They stopped at the edge of the forest, the evening light casting long shadows. The trees stood a few steps ahead, but neither moved toward them.

Jack tilted his head, watching him. “You’re glowing,” he said softly.

Alex tried to deflect, lightly. “It’s the pollen. Probably allergic.”

Jack’s mouth curved, small and fond. “Still. I like seeing you like this.”

Alex’s breath caught just a little. There was something in Jack’s eyes — not urgent, not overwhelming — just quiet and sure. Like he’d been waiting a long time to see this version of him.

“I don’t think I realised how much I missed… doing things with people. Stupid, hands-in-the-dirt, no-pressure kind of things,” Alex said, voice low. “It made me feel… useful. Like I belong here again.”

Jack nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “You always do.”

There was a long pause between them, filled only by the creak of branches in the wind and the distant call of a night bird.

Alex smiled, tired and happy and something else he didn’t quite have the name for. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Jack looked away for the briefest moment, then back. “I couldn’t not.”

Their eyes held, longer than either meant to. Jack’s fingers twitched slightly at his side, like he was resisting the urge to reach out.

“I should…” Alex gestured vaguely toward the forest, though he didn’t move.

“Yeah,” Jack said, just as still. “Rest up. Tomorrow we’ll find something else for you to accidentally be good at.”

Alex laughed again, quiet this time, and finally stepped up to the treeline. “Goodnight, Jack.”

Jack offered one last smile. “Goodnight, Alex.”

And for a long time after Alex disappeared, Jack stood there — hands in his pockets, gaze lingering on the spot where Alex had just been — until the stars began to claim the sky.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

Later, back in his world, Alex lay in bed, the room dim with the gentle glow of moonlight sneaking through the curtains. Bowie was curled up beside him, the dog’s warm weight pressed comfortably against his thigh. One of his ears twitched every so often as he dreamed — maybe chasing the same goats Alex had wrangled just hours before. Alex reached down without thinking and scratched behind Bowie’s ear. The dog gave a soft, contented huff but didn’t stir.

The ceiling above him was the same it had always been — uneven white paint, a faint crack spidering out from the light fixture. The fridge downstairs hummed quietly, a rhythmic little noise he usually found annoying. The floorboards creaked softly under the wind shifting through the old bones of the house. Everything was familiar. Solid. Grounded.

And yet, the weight of it — the usual heaviness that came with returning — wasn’t there. His room felt… lighter somehow. Not empty, but open. Like he was carrying a new world inside him now, and that was enough.

He let out a long breath; arms flung loosely above his head. His fingers brushed the cool wood of the headboard, and he smiled lazily, his lips curling with no real effort, no reason other than the fact that everything — for once — just was okay. His hair had fallen into his eyes, but he didn’t bother brushing it away. He didn’t need to move. He didn’t need to think too hard. He just let it stay there, soft and unruly, curling slightly with the warmth of the room.

The weight of the day was in his limbs — not exhaustion, but the good kind of tired, the kind that comes from real use. Laughter. Sunshine. Dirt on your hands. Music in your chest. He could still feel the echo of the lute in his chest. Still hear Rian’s voice shouting something absurd about goat conspiracies. Still see Zack tilting his head to listen to the strange way Alex had phrased something, as if turning the words over in his mind. Still see Jack.

The way Jack had looked at him — not with questions, not with judgment, not even with concern. Just… with presence. With quiet awe. With something soft and careful, like he was holding a lantern and watching Alex come into the light for the first time.

Alex shifted slightly under the blanket, a smile pulling at his mouth again without asking for permission. He didn’t stop it. Why would he? He should be worried. About how easily he slipped into that world. About how natural it felt to laugh with people he’d just met. About how deep he already was — in Thaloria, in the strange magic of it, in Jack. But he wasn’t.

For once, all he felt was weightless. Not floating, not drifting — lifted. Like something invisible and warm had caught him just before the fall.

He scratched Bowie’s side absently again and let his eyes close, the lazy smile still ghosting across his lips.

Maybe he was in too deep already. But maybe… that wasn’t such a bad thing. Because this — this gentle fullness in his chest, this ease in his own skin — it was something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. And as sleep began to pull at him, soft and slow, he held onto one simple thought:

I am happy.

Chapter Text

Alex lingered in Thaloria more than he meant to. He wandered the village in the afternoons, talking with the potter, helping an elderly man gather firewood, learning names. Everything here felt grounded — not easy, but true. People saw him. Spoke to him like he mattered, even though he barely knew what he was doing most of the time. And in the evenings, he found himself back at the keep. Always drawn there, like gravity.

Time slipped in ways he couldn’t quite measure. Days in Thaloria never matched the ones back home; they seemed to stretch and fold around each other. Still, enough had passed for routines to take shape. Whenever he crossed over, the rhythm of life was waiting for him — bread baking, smoke curling from chimneys, the steady hum of a world carrying on. He’d lend a hand where he could: stacking timber, patching a roof, fetching water from the well. The villagers greeted him with nods and easy smiles now, as though he belonged, even though he didn’t.

And yet, something of Thaloria began to follow him back. His real world, once grey and lifeless, felt warmer. He started lighting candles in the evenings, cooking instead of throwing meals together. The air seemed clearer, colours sharper. It was as if the other world had brushed its fingers across this one and left it glowing. Even his dreams had changed — he dreamed of doors again, but now they were playful, whimsical things: doors in tree trunks and ones that opened into starlit skies. He’d wake smiling, a soft kind of joy lingering in his chest.

Real life had started to feel like life again. He found himself replying to messages, inviting friends over for coffee, calling his mum on Sundays. When she said she missed him, he said he missed her too — and this time, it felt real. There was an ease returning to him, something that had been missing for longer than he cared to admit. The world outside Thaloria no longer felt like a weight pressing down, but something waiting to be rediscovered.

He was still house-sitting for his aunt — still in that in-between space of borrowed walls and borrowed time — but it didn’t feel empty anymore. He’d started sketching again, half-heartedly at first, then with quiet intent. A friend from university messaged about a studio job that might be opening soon, and another mentioned a local community project looking for volunteers. Nothing certain, nothing immediate, but enough to spark a sense of forward motion. A sense that there could be a life to return to when this strange interlude ended.

He caught himself noticing beauty in small, ordinary moments — the shimmer of rain on the pavement, laughter echoing down the street, the warmth of a pub in winter light. He no longer woke with the dull ache of being misplaced. There were things here — people, possibilities — worth staying awake for. He’d stopped feeling like a ghost in his own world. There was colour here too, he realised — softer, subtler than in Thaloria, but real all the same. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he was waiting for his life to begin. It seemed it already was.

He and Jack had developed a rhythm too. Fireside conversations, warm meals, wine that tasted faintly of herbs and stone fruit. Sometimes they’d talk late into the night. Sometimes they’d just sit in silence, the kind that wasn’t awkward but companionable, steady — a silence that seemed to hum between them, alive with things unsaid.

It wasn’t just friendship anymore, though Alex couldn’t bring himself to name what it was. The change had come slowly, like the fading of dusk into night — so natural he almost missed it. He found himself watching Jack more often than he meant to: the curve of his smile, the way the firelight gilded the lines of his face, the small furrow that appeared between his brows when he was thinking. When Jack laughed, it always felt like something shared, a sound that belonged only to the space between them.

They’d sit close by the fire, knees pressed together, the brush of a shoulder or a lingering touch on a hand becoming familiar, almost necessary. Sometimes their fingers would find each other and stay there — neither moving away, neither daring to speak. The warmth of it settled somewhere deep in Alex’s chest, steady and impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just the comfort of being seen, but the ache of wanting to stay in that moment forever.

He tried not to think about it too much. Tried to tell himself it was just the strangeness of the place, the way time and meaning blurred here. But the truth was simpler. He’d never met anyone like Jack — kind, curious, endlessly funny. Someone who could unravel him with a glance and still make him feel whole. Sometimes Jack would look at him for a heartbeat too long, eyes soft, as if he were memorising him. In those moments, Alex felt the world fall quiet — as though Thaloria itself was holding its breath around them.

He didn’t know what they were, or if what lived between them could belong to either world. He only knew that when Jack was near, everything — the fire, the room, the very air — seemed to move in time with his heartbeat.

Jack also asked questions. Always questions.
“What do your people build homes from?”
“What animals do you raise?”
“Do you sing before meals? Do you bury your dead beneath stones or trees?”

Alex did his best to answer without unravelling everything. His stories became more layered. He wrapped modern life in folklore, let imagination fill the gaps. He spoke of “iron carriages that moved without horses,” powered by lightning sealed in metal veins. He told Jack about “sky lanterns” that needed no flame, and music that came from enchanted glass circles — spinning with songs no bard could ever match. Jack listened like each word was a puzzle to be solved.

“I think I’d like your world,” he said once, as the fire cast gold light against the stone walls of the keep’s study.

Alex studied his profile — the sharp line of his jaw, the firelight flickering in his dark eyes. “I think you’d get bored of it,” he said softly.

Jack turned toward him. “Why?”

Alex hesitated. “Because it’s fast. Loud. Kind of… hollow, sometimes.”

Jack didn’t speak for a long moment. And then, quietly: “And you keep coming back here.”

Alex looked down. His fingers twisted in the fabric of his borrowed tunic. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I do.”

Jack looked back towards him, “I could show you more,” he said. “Of Thaloria.”

Alex blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The hills,” Jack said, standing now. “The lake. The other villages. Markets beyond the ridge. Not just this — not just the keep or the square. The kingdom.”

Alex sat back, still reeling from the moment. “You’d take me?”

Jack smiled — not with his mouth, but his eyes. “Of course. You’re not just passing through anymore, are you?”

Alex didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. They already knew the truth.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

Alex woke before his alarm. The room was quiet, still dark, except for the soft grey wash of early morning leaking through the blinds. A light flickered outside, casting long, pale shadows across the floorboards. His sheets were twisted around his legs. He hadn’t slept well — which was odd for him lately. But he felt it again. That familiar, invisible thread tugging somewhere behind his ribs. Not sharp. Not urgent. Just steady. Calling.

He slipped out of bed quietly, padding across the room to begin his morning routine. Bowie followed, tail wagging, toenails clicking lightly against the wooden floor. Alex smiled faintly and reached down to scratch behind his ears. “Alright, you’re coming this time,” he murmured. “But you’d better behave.”

When he reached the hallway, the wooden door stood just as it always did — plain, unremarkable, tucked behind a false bookshelf he still hadn’t bothered to put back. Ivy curled along its frame from the inside, leaves still fresh and green despite the fact that they shouldn’t be alive.

“Ready, boy?” he whispered.

Bowie gave a soft huff.

Alex pressed his hand to the wood. A heartbeat. Then — a shift. The air bent. The light changed. And they stepped through. He emerged into a forest washed in gold. Dew clung to the underbrush. Mist drifted low across the path. The scent of pine and damp earth filled his lungs, sharp and clean and alive. Somewhere nearby, a bird trilled. Bowie barked once — softly — his breath curling in the cool air.

The trees parted just ahead, and standing at the edge of the clearing — arms folded, face tilted slightly to the morning light — was Jack. He looked like he belonged to the place entirely. Cloaked in green and charcoal, a satchel slung across his back, boots dusty from the trail.

“You’re late,” he said, turning toward Alex with a smirk that was more warmth than tease. His eyes flicked down. “And you brought a friend.”

Alex grinned, rubbing Bowie’s head. “Hope that’s alright.”

Jack crouched, holding out a hand. Bowie went straight to him, tail wagging in delighted approval. Jack’s expression softened as he scratched behind his ears. “You know,” he said, almost absently, “I swear someone use to have a dog just like him when I was young. Someone who worked at the keep.”

“Maybe,” Alex said, though he wasn’t sure.

Jack gave him a look, then straightened. “Come on. Sun waits for no one.”

They left the village before the sun had climbed fully into the sky. Bowie trotted beside them, nose twitching, his fur shining in the pale light.

Jack led the way, his boots light on the narrow path that snaked beyond the edge of the village, winding through the forest. Trees arched overhead, their branches forming a green canopy laced with early sunlight. Birds flitted between limbs, their songs threaded through the hush like a secret being passed from one shadow to another.

Alex trailed just behind, feet crunching gently over moss and fallen twigs, and tried not to stare too openly at the way Jack moved. Confident, unhurried, but purposeful — like he belonged to this land in a way no one else did. Like the path knew his feet.

There was a stillness to the world here — not emptiness, but presence. Everything in Thaloria felt like it was exactly where it was supposed to be. And walking beside Jack? That felt right too.

Neither of them spoke for a while. The silence wasn’t awkward — it was full, almost reverent, the kind of quiet that wrapped around you and held your thoughts still. Alex breathed it in like a balm. The farther they walked, the more the tension of his own world slipped away — noise, lights, expectations — fading until it felt almost fictional.

Then, through a break in the trees, the lake came into view. It stretched wide and still, cradled between gently sloping hills on one side and a wildflower-dappled meadow on the other. The water was like glass, utterly still, reflecting the sky so perfectly it looked like the edge of a painting. Mist hovered at its farthest edge, shifting lazily in the sunlight.

Alex stopped walking. “Holy shit,” he breathed.

Jack didn’t laugh. Just stepped ahead onto a flat, rocky outcrop that overlooked the lake like a natural balcony. He turned, gesturing. “Come on.”

Alex followed, climbing up beside him. He sat, legs dangling over the edge, elbows braced behind him. The stone was cool beneath his hands. The sun had begun to warm the air, and the light on the lake shimmered like it had been dusted with gold. Bowie flopped contentedly into the grass behind them.

“This is incredible,” Alex said softly.

Jack didn’t answer at first. He stood beside him, arms folded loosely across his chest, gaze distant. There was something different in his posture — not tense, but not entirely relaxed either. Like he was remembering something with both hands.

“It was my mother’s favourite place,” he said after a moment.

Alex glanced up, surprised by the quiet in Jack’s voice.

“She used to bring me here when I was young,” Jack continued. “We’d climb up here, sit just like this. She said the water could reflect your truest self… or your truest desire. Depending on what you needed.”

There was a pause — a thoughtful one. Then he added, almost absently, “She was from the southern coasts, near the amber dunes. My mother. Her family came from beyond the sea. She used to speak Arabic to me a lot when I was young. The words always sounded like songs.”

Alex turned to look at him. “You look like her?”

Jack smiled faintly. “People said I did. She had the same eyes.”

Silence stretched between them, but it was warm, not empty. The kind of quiet that drew everything closer. A soft breeze rippled across the lake, brushing against Alex’s skin. He could smell pine, wildflowers, and something else — the faint spice of the tea Jack always brewed, clinging to his cloak.

“What did your mother see? In—in the water I mean.” Alex stammered out.

Jack had lowered himself to sit beside him now, close enough that their shoulders touched. The warmth of him was steady, grounding. Alex could feel the thrum of his own pulse in his throat, the faint tremor in his fingers where they rested against the stone.

Jack’s mouth tilted, but not quite into a smile. “She never told me.”

Alex hesitated. Then, gently, “And what do you see?”

Jack’s gaze lingered on the water, then drifted toward him, slow and deliberate. When their eyes met, the rest of the world seemed to fall away. The reflection of the lake shimmered across Jack’s face, light and shadow caught in his dark eyes like fire beneath glass.

Alex felt his breath hitch. There was something open in Jack’s expression — not a smile, not quite, but a kind of raw tenderness that undid him completely. It was a look that held recognition, longing, and something that felt dangerously close to love.

Jack’s hand was near his on the stone, fingers brushing, as though testing a line neither of them had dared to cross. Alex didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. Every sound — the lap of water, the rustle of leaves — seemed to fade beneath the thunder of his heartbeat.

Jack leaned in slightly, his voice barely a whisper. “You tell me,” he said, in answer to the question Alex had almost forgotten asking.

The air thickened. Time stilled. Alex could see the flecks of light in Jack’s eyes, the curve of his lips, the faint rise and fall of his chest. His heart stuttered, aching in a way that felt both terrifying and inevitable. The distance between them was a breath — a heartbeat — away.

He could feel it then, that pull, magnetic and certain. The world seemed to tilt toward it, toward him. Alex didn’t know if Jack would kiss him, or if he wanted him to — only that everything in him leaned closer without permission. His thoughts went quiet. His body knew what his words didn’t.

Jack’s eyes flicked down to his mouth. His hand twitched, almost reaching.

And then — a sound. Bowie’s sharp, single bark from behind them.

The spell shattered. Jack blinked, his breath catching in his throat as he leaned back slightly, the tension between them breaking like ripples on water. He laughed under his breath — too soft to be real amusement, too quick to hide what had almost happened.

Alex forced a shaky smile. His pulse was still loud in his ears. Jack turned away, clearing his throat, his voice steadier than his eyes.

“Come on,” he said, lighter now. “We’ll miss the market if we sit around getting poetic.”

Alex stood, legs a little unsteady, brushing the dust from his hands. But as he followed Jack down the trail, he kept glancing back — at the lake, at the shimmer of light, and at the shape of the moment they’d left behind.

Jack didn’t look back, but Alex saw the way his shoulders tensed slightly, how his fingers flexed at his side like he was fighting the urge to reach out. The silence between them was full again — not with absence, but with everything that hadn’t been said.

By the time the path opened onto the next valley, the quiet between them had softened into something easier — fragile, but no longer heavy. The forest thinned, giving way to open fields, and soon the sound of voices and laughter drifted on the wind.

The market was unlike the village square. It stretched along a winding path near the edge of a neighbouring settlement, nestled between hillocks and tall oaks. Colourful tents billowed in the breeze, and each one overflowed with something different — fresh berries in hand-woven baskets, rich blue fabrics dyed with crushed flowers, polished glass charms that glinted in the sun like captured starlight.

A boy juggled apples while standing on a barrel, laughing as his sister lunged at him with a broom, trying to knock him off balance. Their laughter rang clear and bright through the bustling market. Nearby, a woman sold candied nuts coated in rose sugar, the sweet scent mingling with the earthy smells of fresh bread and woodsmoke. Somewhere off to the side, a flute sang a slow, winding melody, as if the wind itself had taken form and danced through the crowd.

Jack moved easily through the market, greeting nearly everyone they passed. People bowed their heads, smiled warmly, clapped him on the shoulder — there was a genuine affection in every gesture. “You’re popular,” Alex remarked, watching Jack with quiet amusement.

Jack smirked, eyes sparkling. “Occupational hazard.”

They stopped at a vendor selling warm fig pastries. Jack insisted this stall belonged to someone with “the best hands in the realm,” though Alex didn’t understand what that meant. The pastries, however, were irresistible — soft and sweet, melting on his tongue, and for a moment, any questions in his mind faded away.

At a small stall, Alex halted. A row of tiny carved animals stood arranged neatly on a cloth-covered table — birds with wings outstretched, wolves mid-howl, a rabbit curled as if sleeping. Each sculpture was no bigger than a walnut, carved with exquisite detail.

He lifted a little fox with a lopsided ear and turned it over in his palm, memories bubbling up without warning. “I used to have something like this,” he said softly. “When I was a kid. My dad gave it to me before he—” His voice faltered.

Jack didn’t press. Instead, he looked at Alex thoughtfully before saying, “That one suits you.”

Alex blinked in surprise. “What, the fox?”

Jack’s smile was slow, deliberate. “Clever. Curious. Slightly scruffy.”

Alex laughed, cheeks colouring. “Wow. Thank you. Deeply honoured.”

Jack handed a coin to the vendor and pressed the fox back into Alex’s hand. “A token.”

“For what?” Alex asked, eyes searching Jack’s.

Jack met his gaze, steady and sincere. “For not running away.”

Alex couldn’t find words. He only nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle between them.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

Later, as the golden light of late afternoon filtered through the trees, they walked quietly through the forest. Shadows shifted gently among the pine branches, and the air was scented with pine and distant smoke, cool and soothing. Neither spoke much — the silence between them was comfortable, a conversation of its own.

When they reached the gates of the keep, Jack turned to him, voice low. “You should stay the night.”

Alex hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not,” Jack said firmly. “You never are.”

Inside, they sat by the fire in Jack’s chamber, the flames casting dancing patterns on stone walls. Alex sat beside Jack, their shoulders faintly touching, the space between them charged with a quiet electricity. The contact sent a warmth deeper than the fire itself. Jack’s fingers idly traced the edge of the worn leather-bound book resting on his lap, but his eyes were fixed on Alex, who was watching the dance of flames with an expression both vulnerable and mesmerised.

Alex’s breath hitched as Jack shifted slightly, closing the small gap until they were almost pressed together. Alex watched the firelight flicker across Jack’s strong cheekbones, tracing the curve of his jaw. This wasn’t just another place anymore. It wasn’t just a story he had stumbled into. It was becoming something more — something real.

Jack’s gaze met his, steady and searching. Hip lips curved into a tentative smile that held an invitation and a question all at once. The quiet space between them was filled with the weight of things unsaid, of feelings too new and fragile to name. For a long moment, the only sound was the fire and their breathing, slow and deliberate.

Without thinking, Alex shifted closer. Jack didn’t pull away. Instead, Jack’s hand found Alex’s, fingers intertwining like they’d been made to fit together. The touch was gentle, reassuring, the kind of comfort that whispered of promises without needing to say them aloud. Alex felt his heart quicken, the tension between wanting and fearing dissolving in the warmth of Jack’s presence.

Jack leaned in, just enough so their foreheads nearly touched, breath mingling, the world narrowing down to the warmth between them. His voice was a soft murmur, like the flute music still lingering in Alex’s memory. “You belong here,” he said.

Alex swallowed hard, the truth settling deep in his chest. He glanced up into Jack’s eyes — clear, steady, and full of something tender that made his chest ache. But also with guilt. “I think I’ve been looking for this... for a long time.”

Jack’s smile was soft and slow as he slipped an arm around Alex’s shoulders, pulling him into a casual, tender cuddle. The contact was effortless and profound — a quiet promise.

At their feet, Bowie curled into a ball, the dog’s presence a quiet, living warmth that grounded the moment. Bowie’s steady breathing was a gentle rhythm beneath the crackling fire, a steady companion through the fragile night.

Alex rested his head against Jack’s shoulder, eyes half-closed, heart full and aching all at once.

Later, alone in the small room Jack had given him, Alex lay back on the bed, the fox carving tucked carefully beneath his pillow. The room was quiet, the soft sounds of the keep fading away into night.

His fingers traced the smooth wood of the little fox, feeling every carved detail — the lopsided ear, the clever tilt of its head. The token was heavy with meaning, a reminder of the day’s unspoken promises and the fragile hope that maybe, this was more than a place. Maybe this could be home.

Bowie shifted on the floor nearby, the dog’s presence a quiet comfort in the stillness.

Alex stared out the window at the stars, their cold light so distant yet somehow steady. Part of him longed to reach out, to stay here — in the warmth, in the quiet, with Jack. But another part held back, tethered to a life he couldn’t quite leave behind. The home he’d known, the family waiting, the responsibilities that pulled at his heart.

He didn’t know what morning would bring. Uncertainty hummed quietly beneath the surface, a fragile tension between hope and reality. But beneath it all, there was one thing he was sure of now.

He wanted to stay.

Chapter Text

Alex woke to birdsong and sunlight — but it wasn’t the birdsong of traffic-drowned sparrows outside an apartment window, and it wasn’t the grey, thin light that squeezed through blinds. This was golden. Soft and dappled, it filtered through the stone-framed window in long, lazy beams, falling across the quilt and warming the edge of the blanket tangled at his waist. Dust motes drifted through the air like bits of dream that hadn’t settled yet. The room smelled like lavender and something older — old wood, leather bindings, smoke from a hearth that had long gone cold. The smell of lavender seemed to exist everywhere here. Always in combination. Always beautiful. 

He didn’t move at first. Just breathed. Everything felt still in that impossible way — like the pause before a story begins, or the breath between a question and its answer. There was a fullness to the quiet. Not emptiness. Just peace.

The bed was too comfortable. The sheets felt hand-woven, worn-in from years of soft use. The pillow cradled his head like it knew what dreams he wanted to have. And for a long moment, Alex just let himself pretend. Pretend this was his world. That he belonged to this place. That someone had chosen him to stay.

No, he thought, as warmth gathered beneath his ribs, not pretend. Jack had asked him to stay. That thought alone made the world tilt slightly — in a way that felt too big and too bright to touch. He smiled to himself, barely breathing, afraid to disturb it.

Then the door creaked open. “You’re worse than a cat in the sun,” Jack said from the doorway, dry and amused.

Bowie padded in ahead of him — tail high, eyes bright, the very picture of morning energy. The dog made a pleased noise, trotted straight over, and nudged Alex’s hand insistently before hopping up onto the side of the bed. His fur was soft and faintly damp, as though he’d already been washed or at least splashed himself in the fountain. Clearly fed, thoroughly pleased with himself, he let out a small huff and settled contentedly across Alex’s legs.

Alex turned his head on the pillow, squinting toward the sound. Jack stood framed in the doorway like some kind of cursed prince in a fantasy novel — hair pushed back, dark green tunic buttoned neatly, sleeves rolled to the elbow. His belt held a leather satchel and a sheathed knife, and a few strands of hair had fallen loose near his temple. He looked… golden, too. But in a sharper way. Like sun on metal.

“If I didn’t know better,” Jack continued, “I’d think you planned to sleep through the whole season.”

Alex groaned and rolled dramatically onto his back. “I just got comfortable.”

Jack stepped inside and tossed something onto the end of the bed — a folded tunic, soft-looking. “Get uncomfortable. I’m taking you riding.”

Alex blinked. “Like… horses?”

Jack tilted his head. “No, like mythical griffins,” he said flatly. Then a grin cracked through. “Yes, horses.”

Alex stared at him. “You’ve met me, right?”

“That’s why it’ll be fun,” Jack said, already turning toward the hallway. “Come on, mystery boy.”

Bowie gave a small, questioning noise, then leapt down and padded after him, nails clicking on the stone. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Alex stared at the ceiling for a long moment. He should’ve felt awkward. Out of place. This wasn’t his world — not really. He was still in borrowed clothes, in a borrowed bed, in a castle that should only exist in books. Jack was royalty. Or close enough to it. But instead of dissonance, he felt… lit from the inside.

He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair, and looked around the room again. A carved wardrobe stood in the corner. A small, circular window looked out over the village rooftops and the tops of trees swaying gently in the breeze. A jug of water sat on the nightstand beside a ceramic cup. Everything felt lived-in. Real. Human.

He asked me to stay.

Alex touched the edge of the tunic Jack had left, fingers brushing the fabric. He didn’t know what it meant — this quiet generosity. The room. The folded clothes. The invitation. But his chest ached with the weight of it all. He didn’t want to overthink it. He didn’t want to ruin it. So he smiled. Just a little. And got dressed.

The tunic fit better than anything Alex had worn in days. Maybe ever. It a deep, burnt red, like autumn leaves just before they turned to ember. The fabric was soft against his skin, woven from something heavier than linen but lighter than wool, and trimmed at the cuffs with a faint thread of bronze stitching that caught the light when he moved. A simple plaited belt held it close at his waist, the leather warm and worn from years of use.

He caught sight of himself in the polished bronze mirror above the chest of drawers — the colour brought a touch of life to his face, made his eyes look brighter, steadier. Receiving another tunic made him feel less like a visitor and more like… someone who really did belong here. Someone expected. Not just someone in dress-up.

When he stepped into the courtyard, the sun had just begun climbing the eastern slope, flooding the stone with light that turned the keep’s grey walls to honey-gold. A pair of horses waited near the stable, one dark chestnut and sleek, the other a paler dappled grey with a wild, knowing eye.

Jack stood between them, checking a saddle strap. Bowie circled his boots, tail wagging, pausing only to sniff at a stray wisp of hay.

“You clean up alright,” Jack said without looking up.

Alex blinked. “That’s you being nice?”

Jack glanced over then — and whatever smile he’d been suppressing curved, just a little. “Maybe.”

He handed Alex the reins to the dappled mare. “She’s called Mira. She's cleverer than she looks.”

Alex eyed the horse warily. “She’s the size of a small car.”

“What’s a car?”

“Nothing,” Alex muttered. “An extinct creature. Probably for the best.”

Jack laughed, but his hands were gentle as he helped Alex climb into the saddle — though Alex nearly slipped twice, and at one point clung to the horn of the saddle like it might save his life.

Jack mounted his own horse with unfair ease. “You good?”

“I’m clinging to a giant animal with murder in its eyes,” Alex said. “So. Define ‘good’.”

“Good enough,” Jack said cheerfully, and nudged his horse forward. Bowie trotted after them for a few paces before stopping at the gate, watching with an air of satisfied supervision.

The trail wound gently down from the keep, through the same sunlit forest that had greeted Alex the previous morning. The scent of pine and wild mint drifted on the breeze. Tiny white flowers blanketed the edges of the path, and birds flitted from branch to branch overhead, their songs layered like instruments tuning in an unseen orchestra.

Mira snorted occasionally but didn’t try to kill him, so Alex took that as a win.

Jack rode slightly ahead, posture relaxed but alert, like he’d been born in the saddle. His hair caught the light with every shift of wind. From time to time, he glanced over his shoulder with an unreadable expression.

“You’re not terrible,” he said at one point.

“I am clearly terrible.”

Jack shrugged. “I’ve seen worse.”

“When?”

“Once. A drunken baron tried to joust while sitting backwards.”

Alex stared. “Did he win?”

“No. But he did take out a fruit cart. It was magnificent.”

Alex laughed — fully — and nearly lost his balance in the process. Jack reached across and steadied Mira’s reins with one hand, warm fingers brushing Alex’s. For a moment, neither moved. Then Jack cleared his throat and nudged his horse forward again.

They rode until the forest gave way to a wide, open hilltop — and beyond it, a glimmering curve of water nestled like a jewel between the trees. The lake. Not the same one from before — this one was smaller, more hidden, framed by smooth stones and surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers. The surface caught the light in dappled sparks, like it had been dusted with starlight.

Jack slid off his horse and let it wander, its reins loose around the saddle horn. “You said you’d never been swimming in a real lake.”

“I lied,” Alex said, already tugging off his boots. “I’ve just never swum in one that looks like this.”

Jack smirked. “Then let’s change that.”

The water was cold. Especially when both men were only in their underwear. Not freezing — just enough to shock the breath from Alex’s lungs when he dove in. For one breathless second, the chill claimed him completely — every nerve alight, every thought gone. But then he surfaced, hair slicked back, sunlight spilling across his face, and laughter broke from his chest before he could stop it. It burst out bright and unguarded, echoing against the trees until even the birds seemed to pause and listen.

Jack was already floating nearby, arms out, face turned to the sky. “Told you it’d wake you up,” he called lazily, his voice carrying over the rippling water.

“It’s freezing,” Alex said, splashing at him half-heartedly. “You’re a liar and a menace.”

Jack only grinned, tipping his head just enough for his fringe to dip into the water. “You’re just dramatic.”

“Me? Dramatic? I nearly died.”

“From mild refreshment? Tragic.”

Alex kicked a wave towards him in retaliation. Jack sputtered — actually sputtered — then launched forward, sending a rush of cold water straight into Alex’s face. What followed wasn’t swimming so much as a chaotic ballet of limbs and laughter: splashes, mock threats, half-hearted truce offers immediately betrayed.

Jack caught Alex’s wrist once, only for Alex to twist away with a laugh that felt too bright to belong to anyone else. He ducked beneath the surface, emerging behind Jack to flick water at his back. Jack turned sharply, eyes flashing, grin sharp and delighted. “Coward!”

“You started it!”

“Because you deserved it!”

“On what grounds?”

Jack swam closer, grinning. “Existing.”

Alex tried to move away again, but Jack caught him properly this time — fingers wrapping around his forearm, holding firm but gentle. Alex felt the heat of his touch even through the chill. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Jack laughed softly, the sound low and warm, and let go.

The playfulness ebbed into something quieter. The laughter lingered, but softer now — like the air after a summer storm. They drifted, side by side, water glinting around them. Alex tipped his head back, letting the sun find his face, breathing in the scent of pine and lakeweed and wildflowers carried by the breeze.

He felt weightless. Clean, somehow — stripped of the noise and the ache of all the things he’d left behind. The water held him, cool and steady, and Jack’s presence at his side felt like an anchor he hadn’t realised he’d been searching for.

“You alright?” Jack asked after a while, voice low, barely carrying over the ripples.

Alex glanced at him. Jack was watching him, of course — he always was — eyes bright beneath the shade of his wet hair.

“Yeah,” Alex said quietly. “Better than alright.”

Jack smiled. Not his usual crooked grin, but something smaller. Realer. It did strange things to Alex’s chest.

They swam in slow, lazy circles, sometimes close enough for their fingers to brush, sometimes apart. They raced, once, and Alex lost spectacularly — though he swore Jack cheated on the turn. Jack only laughed and flicked more water at him, calling him “hopeless” and “gloriously unathletic” until Alex nearly dunked him in revenge.

Eventually, they ended up near a moss-covered rock that jutted just above the surface. Jack leaned against it, half-floating, half-standing. Alex joined him, resting his arms on the stone beside Jack’s, their shoulders brushing every so often. The laughter faded again, replaced by a quieter kind of ease.

Jack tilted his head, studying him. “You look different when you laugh—like proper, unfiltered laughter.”

“That’s because I don’t do it very often,” Alex said, trying for humour. It came out softer than he meant.

Jack hummed, thoughtful. “You should. It suits you.”

Alex looked away quickly, at the water, the trees, anything but those eyes. “Are you always like this?” he asked, voice low. “Taking in strays. Letting them stay the night. Teaching them to ride and swim and… I don’t know. Breathe again?”

Jack didn’t answer right away. The wind rippled across the lake, stirring a thousand tiny sparks of sunlight. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet enough that Alex almost missed it. “No,” he said. “Just you.”

Something in Alex broke — not painfully, but like the soft sound of something unlocking after years of being shut. He looked at Jack, really looked at him: the wet strands of hair clinging to his forehead, the steady calm in his gaze, the faint curve of a smile that wasn’t teasing anymore.

The space between them felt charged — not heavy, but alive. Jack’s fingers brushed the surface of the water, tracing idle circles that caught the light. Alex followed the motion without thinking, his own hand drifting closer until their fingertips grazed. Jack didn’t pull away.

The breeze hushed. The trees stilled. Even the lake seemed to freeze it’s motion. And in that suspended quiet, Alex realised he wasn’t afraid anymore — not of what this meant, or what it might change, or of wanting something so entirely.

He drifted closer, until the air between them was just breath and heartbeat. Jack turned to meet him, eyes flicking briefly to his mouth, then back up again — a question without words. Alex’s chest tightened. Every moment that had come before — every shared smile, every touch, every laugh that had felt a little too full, that almost-moment — it all gathered here, balanced on a single, impossible heartbeat.

When Jack’s hand came up to brush a bead of water from Alex’s cheek, the world tilted. That simple touch was everything: an offering, a beginning, the answer to every silent ache Alex had ever tried to ignore.

He leaned in.

Jack met him halfway.

The kiss began like the smallest spark — a breath, a brush of lips — and then the unspoken time of wanting uncoiled all at once. It deepened, slow and certain, until Alex forgot where he ended and Jack began. The water rippled around them, cool against their skin, while warmth bloomed everywhere else — a slow, dizzying flood that felt like being seen and held and found, all at once.

Alex’s hands found Jack’s shoulders, trembling slightly, fingertips tracing the line of muscle and scar and sunlight. Jack drew him closer still, one hand steady at the back of his neck, the other resting against his hip, grounding him as the world tilted and blurred.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t hurried. It was home.

Every breath shared between them carried the memory of all the almosts — the glances that had lingered too long, the laughter that had come too easily, the moments when either could have turned away but didn’t. It was everything that had waited patiently in the quiet spaces between them, finally given shape.

When they finally broke apart, it wasn’t because they wanted to — only because breathing had become necessary again. They stayed close, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed. Alex could still feel Jack’s breath against his lips, the faint tremor in his own chest echoing the rhythm of Jack’s.

He finally opened his eyes. Jack was looking at him like he was something precious, something chosen. His thumb traced absently along Alex’s jaw, as if memorising it. There was no pretence left between them — only light, and air, and the soft, impossible realness of this.

And for the first time, Alex didn’t question it. He didn’t try to name it or understand it or avoid it. He simply let himself feel it — the truth of it, the rightness of it — and knew, deep down, that whatever world he came from, Jack was where he belonged.

But even as that warmth settled in, a thread of unease pulled at the edges of it — a small, guilty tremor that wouldn’t quite disappear. Because there was still a door waiting for him somewhere else. Still a world that didn’t know about this one, or the man standing before him. And no matter how much he wanted to stay in this sunlight, he knew he couldn’t keep pretending the two lives weren’t colliding.

Jack’s thumb brushed lightly across his jaw. “You look like you’re somewhere else,” he said softly, and that gentle certainty — that trust — undid him.

“I’m not… from a village,” Alex said quietly.

Jack’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t move away.

“I’m not even from anywhere near here,” Alex went on, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I don’t belong in Thaloria. Not in the way you think.”

Still, Jack didn’t move. “Then where are you from?”

Alex hesitated, eyes fixed on the rippling water between them. “Somewhere that feels a lot less like a story.”

A pause. Jack studied him. But there was no judgment in his gaze. Just that same, steady attention — the kind that made it impossible to hide.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” Jack said gently. “Not yet.”

Alex blinked, uncertain.

Jack’s hand found his again under the water, fingers curling loosely around his. “You will,” he added, with a faint smile. “When you’re ready.”

For a while, they didn’t speak. They drifted closer to the shore, feet brushing smooth stones beneath the surface, and climbed out together. The air was cool against their skin, but neither reached for their towels straight away. Instead, they sat side by side on the rocks, water still dripping from their hair and arms, the quiet between them softer now — easier.

Jack leaned back on his elbows, head tipped toward the sun. Alex watched him, tracing the small lines of light across his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell in slow, contented rhythm. When Jack looked over, that same smile ghosted at the corner of his mouth, and he reached out — fingers brushing Alex’s knee, a simple touch that said I’m here.

Alex leaned into it. Just enough. And his life, for the first time in what felt like years, made sense.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

Later, as they sat wrapped in towels beside the water, sun drying their clothes and shoulders, Alex couldn’t stop glancing at him. At Jack. At the way he looked when he laughed. The way he asked questions that made Alex feel like he mattered. The way the world around him felt more true than anything Alex had ever known.

The final kiss they shared — before Alex stepped back through the hidden door between moss-covered boulders and hanging leaves — felt calm. Like something they’d done a hundred times before. And Alex wanted it to be. God, he wanted it to be.

That night, back in his own world with the windows shut tight, Alex sat cross-legged on the floor, barefoot and quiet, staring at the wooden door. Hidden pipes rattled somewhere above. There was no breeze, no torchlight, no scent of baking bread or pine trees. Just static. Again.

He leaned forward and ran his thumb along the latch. He knew every curve of it now. Every nick and groove. How it felt when it opened — the strange pull in his chest, the air going still for one breathless moment before the world shifted beneath him and the veil pulled back to let him in.

He never got used to it. Not really. Every time he stepped through that door, he half-expected to find Thaloria gone — a dream unravelled, a fantasy dissolved in daylight. Or worse, for it to vanish behind him with no way back to his world. 

But it always was there. And Jack always was, too.

Chapter Text

It had been a while since Alex started visiting Thaloria now. Maybe longer. Time didn’t move quite the same between the two places — days folding into nights, moments stretching and collapsing in ways that never made sense once he stepped back through. But it added up. Morning by morning, dusk by dusk, door by door.

Each visit left something behind. A warmth, a light, a trace of belonging that refused to fade. Yet, with every crossing, he felt pieces of himself shifting — the part that belonged to this world, the one with cold kitchens and the hum of passing cars, growing thinner. More distant.

Sometimes he’d catch himself forgetting things. The way the lamplight in his aunt’s house bent at the corner of the stairwell, the chipped blue mug he used for tea. He’d leave his phone somewhere and not care. He’d wake up in the middle of the night and reach instinctively for the scent of orchard grass, for the soft hum of Thaloria’s night air. It scared him a little — how natural it had become, how right.

On this morning, the house was quiet. Too quiet. Bowie was asleep, the old clock in the hallway ticking like a heartbeat against the silence. Alex moved slowly, feet soundless on the worn floorboards. He didn’t bother turning on the lights. The path to the door was muscle memory now.

Still, something felt different. The air was heavy, the kind that pressed against your lungs. As he walked down the hallway, he noticed how the shadows of dawn clung to the walls longer than they should have, like they didn’t want to let go.

He paused before the door at the end — the one once hidden away behind a bookshelf. White paint, a iron latch dulled by age. Nothing special. But to Alex, it was everything.

His pulse quickened. Usually, the shimmer started before he even touched it — a faint golden light bleeding through the cracks, a gentle hum that seemed to breathe with the rhythm of his heartbeat. But tonight… it was slower. Fainter.

He frowned, taking a hesitant step forward into the small space. The portal shimmered weakly, the air bending and warping like heat on asphalt. The light flickered once — small, struggling — before collapsing in on itself, a window shrinking to a pinhole.

“Come on,” he murmured, pressing his hand against the wood. The surface was cool, but not cold. There was still life in it. Still connection. “Don’t do this now.”

For a moment, nothing. Then the air shifted. A low shhh filled the space — like fabric being drawn aside, or a sigh escaping the bones of the house. The shimmer widened again, thin but steady this time, just enough for him to see the faint outline of Thaloria on the other side: soft green light, the hint of a river, the echo of a distant bell.

Relief washed through him — but it was tinged with something else. Guilt, maybe. Or the quiet knowledge that these crossings weren’t endless. Every threshold had a limit, and he could feel this one reaching its edge. Still, he couldn’t stop.

He took one breath — in, out — and slipped through. The air of Thaloria met him like a held breath finally released: warm, sweet, alive. The faint shimmer at his back sealed again, a whisper of sound fading into the forest. And just for a heartbeat, Alex stood still — between one world and the next — and wondered how much longer he could keep living between them.

He blinked against the warm, gold light of Thaloria’s morning. The breeze smelled of honey and woodsmoke, the sound of distant bells rolling through the valley. It was always like this — like stepping into a story halfway through, one that never really stopped waiting for him.

Jack was waiting by the edge of the forest, of course.

“About time,” Jack said with that easy grin, brushing imaginary dust from Alex’s shoulder. “I was starting to think you’d found a better kingdom.”

Alex laughed, leaning into the nudge. “As if anyone else would have me.”

Jack tilted his head, eyes sparkling. “Hmm, true. You’re a handful.”

“And you love it,” Alex shot back, smirking.

Jack’s grin widened. “Always. But only because you’re worth it.”

They spent the day wandering — the kind of wandering that had no plan, no map, just the pull of sunlight and the hum of life around them. The market square was awake and busy, bright awnings snapping in the breeze, the smell of spiced bread and roasted chestnuts mingling in the air. Jack was in his element, sleeves rolled up, a grin tucked somewhere behind his stubble.

“Three coppers for that?” he barked at a flower vendor with a confused look on his face, holding up a slightly wilted bunch of sun-blooms. “They’re wilted on one side!”

The vendor, an elderly woman with arms like rope, didn’t even blink. “They’re fresh from the hill, boy. If you want wilted, go pick your own.”

Alex laughed — that small, bright sound that made Jack falter and glance at him with mock offense. “You’re impossible,” he said, shaking his head.

“Impossible?” Jack raised an eyebrow, his smirk full of mischief. “Resourceful, maybe. Shrewd. Charming?”

Alex laughed again. “Stingy,” he shot back, eyes glinting.

Jack handed over two coppers with a theatrical groan. “Daylight robbery, I tell you.” Then, with a flourish far too dramatic to be sincere, he pressed the bouquet into Alex’s hands. “For your kitchen,” he said, trying to keep up a deadpan expression.

Alex’s eyes softened, and he brushed Jack’s fingers deliberately as he took the flowers. “You mean for your kitchen,” he teased.

Jack shrugged, pretending not to notice, though his gaze lingered on Alex’s face, eyes tracing the line of his cheek as a playful smile tried to stay repressed. “Yeah, well. It’ll smell better with these in there.”

They wandered on, ducking into small alleyways where sunlight dappled the stone, peering into little shops with curious eyes. They laughed at small things — a stray cat that jumped onto Jack’s shoulder, a child waving a stick like a sword — weaving a tapestry of private jokes and glances.

By late morning they found themselves at a small fountain in the square, sitting on its stone edge, dangling their feet over the water. Jack flicked droplets at Alex, who retaliated by leaning forward and smushing Jack’s nose gently between his fingers. Jack made a mock gasp, holding his face in exaggerated offense before flipping water back at him. They laughed until their sides ached.

Eventually, the market gave way to quieter streets, and they wandered uphill. The cobblestones softened into dirt paths lined with wildflowers and brambles. Birds trilled overhead; the hum of life was replaced by the lazy drone of bees and the distant bleat of sheep. Jack plucked a daisy and tucked it behind Alex’s ear.

“Perfect,” Jack murmured, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

Alex reached up, brushing it off with a grin. “Oops,” he teased, catching Jack’s fingers as they lingered just a moment too long.

By afternoon, they reached the orchard, a patchwork of gold and green. Apples dotted the grass, rolling softly underfoot. They found a tree with broad branches and soft grass beneath and collapsed beneath it, leaning against each other, watching the clouds drift.

They talked about nothing, letting the words fill the space between them. About the crusty bread Jack bought that morning — too hard, “you’ll break a tooth on it” — about the two faces of Thaloria’s moon, trading places like jealous siblings.

“I think the silver one wins,” Alex mused. “It’s sharper. More stubborn.”

Jack turned toward him, nudging Alex gently with his shoulder. “So you’re rooting for the underdog?”

“I’m rooting for whoever looks better reflected on the river,” Alex said, half-grinning.

Jack smiled slowly, deliberately, then leaned closer, voice low. “Then I guess that’s both of them. Just like us.”

Those words — soft, deliberate, filled with that slow warmth Jack always seemed to carry — melted something in Alex’s chest. He could feel it unfurling, a pleasant blooming that left him dizzy and grinning like a fool. Just like us. The simplicity of it, the certainty in Jack’s voice, struck him harder than anything he’d expected.

Alex found himself staring, almost unable to look away, caught entirely by the tilt of Jack’s head, the way his lips curved when he smiled, the faint sparkle in his eyes when they caught the sunlight. He was completely, utterly… down bad. Heart racing, cheeks warm, and utterly incapable of hiding how thoroughly Jack had him wrapped around his finger.

Every brush of skin, every teasing glance, every quiet laugh they shared felt electric — like the orchard itself had conspired to leave them alone, to let them exist in this little bubble where only Jack and the gentle tug of their own feelings mattered. And Alex, in all his stubbornness and cleverness, was helpless to resist.

At one point, a gust of wind caught Alex’s hair and Jack reached out instinctively to tuck a strand behind his ear, his fingers brushing against his jaw, thumb lingering. Alex leaned into the touch, catching Jack’s wrist and held it there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, leaning closer with a teasing smile.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Jack murmured, a playful challenge in his voice.

Alex laughed softly, pressing a quick kiss to the back of his hand. “Maybe. But you’re not complaining.”

Jack’s grin faltered only slightly before he captured Alex’s lips in a kiss — soft, lingering, and mischievous all at once. They pulled back just enough to laugh into each other’s mouths, hearts hammering in sync, foreheads touching.

“I love it when you get all flustered,” Jack whispered, fingers threading into Alex’s hair.

“And I love it when you tease me,” Alex said, letting his hand linger against Jack’s firm chest.

By the time the sun began to sink behind the orchard, they walked through the village together, the air washed in a haze of orange and gold, smelling faintly of honey and apples, the warm tang of the season lingering on their skin. The market was winding down, vendors stacking crates, folding up awnings; the laughter that had filled the streets all day was fading into the low hum of evening, the soft scrape of carts and the occasional bark of a dog.

Jack carried the empty basket, fingers brushing Alex’s occasionally when they passed close, a touch light enough to make him tingle. Alex carried the flowers, the petals brushing against his palm, delicate and bright, a quiet reminder of the day’s sweetness.

“It’s been a good day,” Alex said softly, his voice almost lost in the fading light.

Jack nodded, eyes on the rooftops glowing in the sun. “Yeah. Simple, but good.” He hesitated, a small shadow crossing his face before he smiled again. “We should do it again sometime. Maybe without the haggling.”

Alex grinned sideways, teasing. “Then where’s the fun in that?”

They turned the last corner together, laughter spilling out like water and trailing off into the settling night. Shoulder to shoulder, step by step, Alex felt that steady warmth that always followed Jack — the quiet certainty of someone who could both challenge him and make him feel entirely at home.

He liked Jack. Really liked him. More than he had words for, more than he could ever admit aloud without a rush of heat to his chest and the fluttering of his heart like trapped birds. And beneath that thought, heavier and quieter, there was the one that refused to leave: What happens when I have to go back?

He’d move home soon. That had always been the plan. But maybe… maybe it didn’t have to be the end. Maybe he could still visit. Slip through on weekends, bring Jack stories and photographs, leave little pieces of himself behind in both worlds. Maybe he could make it work, because the thought of leaving this — leaving Jack — felt impossible, unbearable.

As the evening sky turned violet and the lanterns lit up along the keep’s walls, casting golden puddles across the cobblestones, Jack nudged him lightly. “I can walk you home,” he offered casually, but there was that familiar glint in his eyes that Alex knew all too well.

“I can manage,” Alex said quickly — too quickly — his voice tight around the sudden flutter in his chest. His heart leapt to his throat, thudding against ribs like it wanted to escape. He felt Jack’s hand brush against his shoulder as they walked, just long enough to send warmth spiralling down his arms, and he knew he was lost.

Lost in the best way, smitten, infatuated, and utterly, completely lost in Jack.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You always vanish before I get to see where you live. What are you, a traveling magician?”

Alex’s laugh came out strained. “Something like that.”

Jack stepped closer, that teasing grin softening into something more serious. “Hey. I’m not trying to pry. I just—” His hand found Alex’s cheek, thumb brushing gently along his jaw. “You’re important to me, Alex. I want to know you. All of you. Even the strange parts.”

Alex froze, breath trembling.

Jack’s eyes searched his, kind and unflinching. Then Jack’s fingers slipped to the back of his neck, and before Alex could think — before he could second-guess the pulse hammering in his throat — Jack leaned in. Slow, careful, as though the space between them was made of glass. And then he kissed him. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t fire. It was light. Soft, steady, like the first touch of sunlight melting the edge of snow — gentle, almost reverent.

For a moment, Alex forgot what breathing was. The world fell utterly still around them. The hum of the crickets, the soft rustle of the trees — everything faded until it was just the warmth of Jack’s mouth against his, the scent of woodsmoke and salt, and the electric ache under his skin. It didn’t matter how many times they kissed; each time felt the same to Alex, like the first — impossible, breathtaking, and entirely consuming.

Even as he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against Jack’s, a laugh caught in his throat that was part disbelief, part awe. This is real? We’re really here, and it’s him, and it’s us? The thought spun in dizzying circles through his chest. Jack felt surreal, impossibly vivid — like sunlight somehow folded into flesh, warm and alive and more beautiful than Alex could have imagined.

Thaloria itself seemed to hold its breath with him. It glowed faintly in the fading light, the leaves trembling with a quiet magic, as if the world recognised what was happening. The rivers shimmered, the distant mountains softened into violet shadows, and even the moon seemed to pause in its slow, eternal dance, watching, waiting, honouring the moment.

Alex’s fingers traced the line of Jack’s jaw, memorising it, savouring the feel of his skin, the curve of his smile that always set Alex’s chest alight. Each pulse, each heartbeat, thudded so loudly in his ears he thought he might split apart under the weight of it. He couldn’t stop the thrill, the awe, the surge of emotion — the unshakable certainty that he felt so much for Jack, more than words could hold, more than the world could contain.

As he leaned into him again, closing the space between them, Alex couldn’t quite believe it. Each kiss, each touch, each shared laugh felt like stepping into a dream so vivid it hurt. But the ache, the thrill, the impossibly sweet reality of it — that was real, as real as the air in his lungs, as real as Thaloria itself.

It was everything. All at once. And it was only theirs.

When they broke apart, the world returned in fragments: the whisper of wind, the golden haze of the evening sinking into indigo, the uneven rhythm of two hearts that had forgotten how to beat separately.

Jack smiled — a small, nervous, devastating thing. His eyes searched Alex’s face like he was looking for something solid to hold onto. “I love you, Alex.”

The words hit like the breaking of a wave. Alex froze. For half a heartbeat, he couldn’t move, couldn’t even blink. I love you.

The words echoed through him, tripping over every memory, every glance, every laugh they’d ever shared. He thought of Jack at the market, haggling over flowers just to make him smile. Jack’s boots soaked in river light. Jack’s steady hand brushing his cheek. All the quiet, ordinary things that had felt too big to name.

He’d spent weeks, months even, convincing himself it wasn’t possible. That what they had could only be friendship. The kind of bond that grew from shared wonder and stolen hours between worlds. But now — with those three words hanging in the cooling air — everything inside him shifted. It was like something finally clicked into place. The missing piece he hadn’t realised was missing until now.

His chest tightened. His lungs burned with the need to speak, to give shape to everything he felt but had been too afraid to name. His mind jumped — unbidden — to the phrase he’d learned weeks ago, tucked away like a secret charm. He’d told himself it was just curiosity, just language practice. Nothing more.

But his heart knew better.

“Ana Bhebbak,” Alex whispered.

Jack’s breath caught. His hand came up, covering his mouth, eyes wide and glassy. “How did you—”

“I learnt it,” Alex said, his voice trembling. “I wanted to say it right. If I ever got the chance.”

Jack made a sound — half-laugh, half-sob — and pulled him close, so tight Alex could barely move. His voice shook against Alex’s shoulder. “I haven’t heard someone tell me they love me in Arabic since I lost my mother. Alex. I—Ana Bhebbak.”

Something in Alex broke open then — not in pain, but in release. Like a knot loosening deep inside him. He clung to Jack, feeling the weight of everything they’d shared — the jokes, the silences, the tentative trust, the thousand small moments that had built this one.

It was terrifying. It was real.

When they finally pulled apart, Jack’s hand lingered against his cheek, thumb tracing the corner of his mouth as though memorising him. Alex felt dizzy but grounded — his thoughts a blur of certainty and awe. For the first time, the divide between his worlds didn’t seem impossible. Maybe love was the bridge that could hold them together.

“Let me walk you to the tree line, at least?” Jack murmured.

Alex nodded, though his pulse still thundered in his ears. They walked side by side, fingers brushing occasionally — every touch sending sparks of warmth up his arm. Neither spoke much. The quiet between them felt fuller, softer, alive.

At the edge of the woods, the trees grew dense and strange, the air shimmering faintly. Alex stopped, the familiar ache returning, the pull between what he wanted and what he knew.

Jack turned to him, his face silvered by moonlight, eyes full of something that made Alex’s chest ache.

“Someday,” Alex said softly, “I’ll show you everything.”

Jack’s smile was small but sure, a promise reflected in it. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He leaned in again — a quieter kiss this time, one that tasted of hope and the fragile certainty of something just beginning. And as the air shimmered faintly around them, Alex realised that for the first time, the border between his worlds didn’t scare him. It was waiting — patient, steady — for him to take the next step.

And then, like all impossible things, it had to end — a hand squeeze, a last look — and Alex stepped through the trees, following the familiar route to the portal.

Back in his aunt’s house, the silence hit hard. It was the kind of silence that seemed to expand with every heartbeat — swallowing the faint creaks of the old pipes, the wind tapping against the windows, even the distant hum of the woods. Alex sat on the edge of the narrow bed, elbows on his knees, the scent of orchard grass still clinging faintly to his clothes. He could taste the day on his tongue — honey and smoke and laughter. Jack’s laughter.

For a while, he let it linger, chasing its echo like warmth from a dying fire. But warmth never lasts, not when night creeps in slow and certain.

Then came the spiral.

It started as a thought, small and harmless, like a loose thread he couldn’t resist pulling. What if Jack knew everything?

The question flared, bright and dangerous. What if Jack could step through the door and see Alex’s world with his own eyes? What if he didn’t have to explain anymore, didn’t have to pretend that his life fit neatly into one world or the other? Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much to leave. Maybe it wouldn’t feel like choosing.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, pacing. The floorboards creaked under his socks. The air in the house was cold, still smelling faintly of the lavender polish his aunt used, the one that stung the back of his throat. He knew she would be returning soon. But he could still visit, couldn’t he? He could tell Jack he wouldn’t be able to see him as often. He could make an excuse: repairs, duties, something that sounded sensible. Something that didn’t mean I’m terrified of losing both of us to distance and silence.

What if Jack couldn’t understand? What if he showed him everything — the door, the truth, Alex’s real world — and Jack looked at him differently? Not like someone worth following, but like something impossible. Unreal.

The spiral deepened, each thought chasing the next, faster and faster. He sat back down. Hands trembling a little. Heart thudding like it was trying to get out.

Two worlds. Two selves. Both real. Both fragile. And the line between them thinner than breath.

He thought about Jack’s boots in the orchard, the way he’d smiled under the moonlight when Alex had described his world without ever naming anything. He’d said I think I’d like your world.

Alex closed his eyes. That was it, wasn’t it? He didn’t want to keep his reality hidden, folded away in secrets and half-truths. He didn’t want to keep Jack at a distance, always guessing at the shape of something he could never touch. He wanted both. The truth, and Jack.

He stood and made his way through the house to the door. The one that didn’t just lead to an empty hollow room. He laid his palm against the wooden door, cool and solid beneath his hand.

“I’m going to show you,” he whispered. His voice shook, but there was resolve beneath it. “All of it.”

The door seemed to hum faintly under his touch, like it had been waiting to hear those words.

Because this wasn’t just a secret anymore.

It wasn’t just his.

It deserved more than whispers and lies and careful omissions.

It deserved to be seen. Shared.

It deserved to be real.

In both worlds.

Chapter Text

Alex arrived at the Keep in Thaloria just after dawn. Mist still clung to the valley outside the fortress, pale ribbons drifting between the towers. The early light glowed gold on the stones, and the air held that quiet, expectant stillness that came only before the rest of the world woke.

He paused at the threshold beneath the great archway, staring up at the banners rippling faintly in the breeze. His heartbeat thudded in his ears — too fast for the calm morning. Every time he crossed into Thaloria, it struck him how unreal it still felt. The weight of the air, the faint hum of magic that shimmered through the stones — it was beautiful, yes, but it reminded him he didn’t truly belong here. Not the way Jack did.

For a moment, doubt curled cold in his chest. What was he doing, trying to bridge two worlds that had no business touching? He could still turn back. Pretend the idea had never occurred to him. But then he thought of Jack’s face — that unguarded smile that always found him even in the worst moments — and he forced himself to breathe. No. He had to do this. Jack deserved the truth of him, not just the parts that fit neatly into Thaloria’s storybook light.

He passed through the archway, boots echoing softly, and climbed the spiral stair toward the chambers wing. Jack’s door was half-closed. Inside, the room was still and shadowed, a single beam of sunlight spilling through the window onto the bed where Jack lay sprawled — blankets tangled, hair a dark riot against the pillow.

Alex hesitated only a moment before grinning to himself and slipping inside. He toed off his boots, crossed the room, and without ceremony, crawled onto the bed beside him. The mattress dipped, and Jack stirred, blinking blearily.

“You’re early,” Jack murmured, voice gravelly with sleep.

“Miss me?” Alex teased, tucking himself closer.

Jack gave a groggy chuckle. “You’re freezing.”

“Then you’d better share your warmth.”

Alex nestled in, earning a quiet laugh and an indulgent sigh. For a while they just lay there, the quiet broken only by the faint caw of a rook outside the window. Jack’s breathing slowed again; his arm draped loosely around Alex’s waist. It was a peace Alex didn’t often let himself have.

Eventually, he said softly, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you.”

Jack cracked an eye open. “This isn’t one of those things where you drag me into another forest, is it?”

Alex smiled faintly. “No. My world. The one I came from. I want you to see it.”

That woke Jack properly. He pushed himself up on one elbow, studying Alex’s face. “You’re sure?”

Alex hesitated — just long enough for Jack to notice. The moment of doubt flared again, sharp and small. What if showing Jack his world made him see all the cracks? All the ugliness Alex had spent years trying to forget?

“I am,” Alex said finally, though his voice was quieter than before. “I just… don’t want you to be scared. Or think it’s— strange. People there don’t have what Thaloria does. They build things to make up for it. Machines, lights, noise. It can feel like too much.”

“You’re worried about me.”

“Of course I am.” Alex looked down at their joined hands, thumb brushing over Jack’s wrist. “It’s not like Thaloria. It’s messy, fast, and sometimes cruel. I don’t want you to think I’ve been hiding something awful.”

Jack tilted his head, catching the edge of panic behind Alex’s words. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Look at me.”

Alex did.

Jack’s gaze was steady. “You’ve never shown me anything that wasn’t worth seeing. Whatever it is, I want to understand where you come from. That’s all.”

The tension in Alex’s chest eased — just a little — replaced by something warmer, steadier. Gratitude, maybe. “Okay,” Alex whispered.

Jack smiled, the kind of smile that reached all the way to his eyes. “Okay.”

He reached out, brushing a thumb over Alex’s jaw. “And just so you know — wherever we go, whatever world we step into, I love you. You don’t have to face any of it alone.”

Alex’s breath caught. That simple, unwavering certainty — it anchored him in a way nothing else could. “You really mean that?”

Jack gave a small, amused huff. “Of course I do.”

And somehow, that single promise was enough to rid the doubt in Alex's mind. “Oh, and I love you too.” he added.

Alex didn’t move at first. He only looked at Jack — really looked — at the sunlight catching in his hair, the faint crease by his mouth from smiling too often, the quiet steadiness in his eyes that had carried Alex through more storms than he could count. The weight in his chest loosened, and something tender rose up to fill its place.

He reached out, hesitating only a moment before tracing his fingers along Jack’s cheek. Jack leaned into the touch without a word, his hand coming up to cover Alex’s. The warmth of that simple contact made the next moment impossible to resist.

Jack’s thumb brushed the corner of Alex’s mouth, and Alex felt the world narrow to that single point of touch — the soft catch of breath between them, the pulse thrumming just beneath Jack’s skin. The space that separated them dissolved, one quiet breath at a time.

When Alex finally leaned in, the kiss was soft — a question more than a claim. Jack answered it gently, tilting closer until the reservations gave way to something deeper. Their movements found a rhythm, slow but passionate, each kiss spilling into the next until Alex was half-dizzy from the warmth of it.

Jack’s hand slid up, fingers threading gingerly into the hair at the back of Alex’s neck, drawing him nearer. Alex’s own hands moved without thought — one fisting in the linen of Jack’s shirt, the other resting against the steady beat of his heart. The air between them grew charged, alive with the kind of longing that felt both fragile and infinite.

When they finally broke apart, they stayed close — foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, the quiet rush of their hearts filling the stillness around them. Alex’s eyes fluttered open, and he let out a shaky laugh that was half relief, half ache.

“We should… probably slow down,” he murmured.

Jack’s answering laugh was low and warm, still caught between amusement and desire. “Probably.”

But neither of them moved right away. They stayed there, suspended in that fragile space between need and restraint, letting the moment settle around them like the first light of morning — not an ending, but a promise of something more.

Outside, the mist had begun to lift, and the light spilling through the window turned from gold to white — the kind of light that promised change.

Alex watched it spread across the room, soft and relentless, catching on the curve of Jack’s shoulder, the rumpled sheets, the faint dust motes dancing in the air. Morning always came too soon, too bright, too honest. It burned away the comfort of shadows and left everything bare.

He felt Jack’s fingers still resting lightly against his side — a quiet anchor amid the shift. The Keep, the valleys, even the hum of Thaloria’s magic seemed to still. The world was waking, and with it came the reminder that what they’d shared in the safety of that small, golden hour couldn’t stay untouched forever.

Jack stirred, murmuring something half-dreamed, and Alex’s chest tightened with affection sharp enough to ache. Change was coming — not just for him, but for both of them — and he couldn’t tell if the thought terrified or thrilled him. Maybe both.

He drew in a steadying breath and let his fingers trace idle patterns against Jack’s wrist, committing the moment to memory — the warmth, the quiet, the way light turned everything it touched to truth.

Soon, he would take Jack across the threshold of worlds. But for now, he allowed himself one last heartbeat of stillness — one last moment suspended between what was and what would be — as the light climbed higher, bright and unyielding, spilling into every corner of the room.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

A few days later, it was Jack’s turn to cross the threshold.

They stood together in the forest, beneath the same tangled canopy where Alex had first stepped through. The air shimmered faintly between two great boulders — ivory light folding inward like a breath drawn and held.

Jack glanced at Alex, his jaw tight with unspoken tension. “It’s strange,” he murmured. “It feels alive.”

“It is,” Alex said. His voice sounded small in the hush of the trees. “It knows when you’re ready.”

Jack exhaled once, slow and steady, and stepped forward. The light enveloped him. When it cleared, the scent of pine and moss was gone. In its place came damp wood, old dust, and something faintly sweet — the smell of home to Alex, but alien to Jack.

They stood in a small, dim room at the end of a narrow hallway. The wall was faded, the air heavy with quiet. Behind them, the shimmer of the portal had already begun to fade, leaving only still air and the faint hum of the appliances in the house.

Jack blinked, disoriented. “This… this is your world?”

Alex nodded, watching him closely. “My aunt’s house.”

Jack took a tentative step forward, his boots creaking on the wood. He glanced back, half expecting to see the forest still there. When he didn’t, he frowned and turned slowly, eyes roaming over everything at once — the ceiling fan, the framed photos on the wall, the faint light through the windows.

The quiet wasn’t like Thaloria’s quiet. There, the stillness had weight — the murmur of leaves, the pulse of magic in the air. Here, it buzzed with something hidden and restless, faint vibrations from unseen things.

“What’s that sound?” he asked suddenly.

Alex followed his gaze to a vent near the ceiling. “The heater. It’s just air moving through pipes.”

Jack leaned closer, curious. His expression shifted from wariness to wonder, and Alex couldn’t help but smile — a little shakily. He moved further into the house, gesturing for Jack to follow. The hallway stretched ahead, lined with mismatched picture frames. Jack’s eyes caught on everything — the light switch, the clock ticking softly, the framed print of a seascape near the stairs.

When Alex flipped the switch, the hallway flooded with yellow light. Jack flinched, hand darting toward the knife at his belt before he caught himself.

“It’s all right,” Alex said quickly. “Just electricity.”

Jack lowered his hand slowly, staring at the bulb with cautious awe. “You trap light in glass.”

“Something like that.”

He moved carefully, as if afraid the floor might vanish beneath him. At one point, he brushed his fingers along the wall, feeling the faint vibration of the wires behind it. “Your world hums,” he said softly. “Even when it sleeps.”

Alex swallowed. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”

They reached the kitchen, where the air smelled faintly of old wood and oregano. Through the back door, the fields stretched still, the world quiet except for insects and the occasional chirp of a bird far off through the trees.

Alex pulled two chairs out by the table, and soon they sat outside on the small porch, sharing the warmth of the afternoon and sandwiches and crisps between them. Jack watched Alex open the bag, eyes wide at the ripping noise and the instant assault the scent had on his nostrils.

“This is food?” he asked, incredulous.

“Don’t knock it till you try it.”

He did, cautiously — and then, after a beat, took another crisp with an expression of startled delight. “It tastes like… the beach,” he said slowly. “Salt and smoke and too much joy.”

Alex laughed, the sound easing some of the tension that had coiled in him since they arrived. For the first time that day, he felt his chest loosen.

As they ate, the sun peaked high over the fields. Jack’s gaze lingered, thoughtful. “My mother used to tell me stories about travellers — people who crossed from one world to another. I thought they were just tales meant to keep children from wandering too far into the woods.” He looked at Alex, half-smiling. “Guess she was right.”

Alex chuckled, a little embarrassed. “I didn’t exactly plan on proving her right.”

“She also said,” Jack continued, “that some of those travellers were born between worlds. Never quite belonging to either.”

Alex’s smile faded slightly. “Maybe she was right about that too.”

Jack reached out, resting a hand over his. “You belong where you choose to stand. That’s enough.”

They sat in silence for a while, the sound of a world alive in ways Jack was only beginning to understand. They eventually made their way back inside where Alex continued showing Jack around. At one point, Jack’s gaze drifted to a small painting on the hallway wall — the one Alex had assumed was just a print when he first arrived and never looked at again.

“That’s Thaloria,” Jack said suddenly.

Alex turned, startled. “What?”

Jack stood, moving closer. “There — the western cliffs. I’d know it anywhere.”

Alex stared, a faint chill running through him. “I… never noticed.”

“Maybe you were always meant to find it,” Jack murmured, eyes tracing the painted horizon as if it might yet lead him home. Jack’s fingers lingered on the painting a moment longer before he turned back toward Alex, a small smile still playing at his lips. “Your world hides secrets too,” he said softly.

Alex laughed under his breath, rubbing at the back of his neck. “You have no idea.” He hesitated, then reached into his pocket. “Okay, ready to have your mind blown?”

Jack blinked. “You’re not about to use magic, are you?”

“Sort of.” Alex unlocked his phone with a quick swipe, and the screen came alive in his hand — a spill of colour and light. Jack startled visibly, stepping back as though it might bite.

“It’s alive,” he said, half in awe, half in accusation.

“It’s not,” Alex assured him quickly, grinning. “Well — kind of. It connects to… other people, other places. You can talk to someone across the world in seconds.”

Jack moved closer again, wary but curious. His reflection shimmered faintly on the glass. “Across the world,” he echoed, as though tasting the words. “Without crossing the distance?”

“Exactly.”

Alex opened the camera app and turned it toward him. “Here — smile.”

Jack frowned. “What does that mean—”

Click.

His own face appeared on the screen, eyes wide and startled. Alex bit back a laugh. “There. You’re a natural.”

Jack reached out, touching the image carefully, as if afraid it might dissolve. “You trap light in glass, and faces in light,” he murmured. “Your world is sorcery disguised as science.”

“Yeah,” Alex said softly. “It kind of is.”

They moved through the house together — Alex showing, Jack marvelling. When Alex opened the fridge, the cool air spilled out, misting slightly. Jack flinched again. “There’s winter inside it.”

“It keeps food fresh,” Alex explained. “Like an ice charm, but… mechanical.”

Jack leaned in, eyes narrowing at the glowing interior. “You have bottled cold.”

“And shelves for it,” Alex said dryly, earning an incredulous laugh.

When they passed the living room, Jack’s attention caught on the guitar leaning against the wall. “That’s a strange lute,” he said.

“Not a lute — just a neglected guitar.” Alex picked it up, sat on the edge of the sofa, and ran a thumb over the strings. The soft hum filled the room, rich and warm. Jack stilled instantly, watching him as if the air itself had changed.

“I haven’t played in a while,” Alex admitted. “But my aunt always said the house felt empty without music and I kinda agree.”

He began to play — a slow, thoughtful melody, the kind that lingered in the chest long after the last note faded. His voice followed, low and rough, carrying a quiet ache that felt older than the room around them.

Jack listened without moving, eyes fixed on him. The flicker of lamplight brushed gold across Alex’s face, and for a moment, it was as though the world between them had folded in on itself again — no portals, no distance, just sound and breath and light.

When the final chord faded, Jack exhaled like he’d been holding it for minutes. “I think,” he said softly, “that might be the most beautiful magic I’ve ever seen.”

Alex blinked, cheeks warming. “It’s not magic. It’s just—”

Jack shook his head. “It is. You make air move more and hearts follow it. Tell me that’s not magic.”

Alex laughed quietly, embarrassed and moved all at once.

Jack reached out, brushing his thumb along Alex’s knuckles where they rested on the guitar neck. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he said simply.

And Alex, who’d faced magic and stillness and every doubt a person could hold, could only whisper, “I think I’m starting to.”

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

As dusk deepened, Alex pulled out his phone again and opened a delivery app. “You remember the food from earlier? That’s not even the best part.”

Jack frowned. “More bread and weird potatoes?”

“Better,” Alex promised. “Watch.”

Later, the doorbell rang. When Alex opened it and took the box from the delivery driver, Jack stood behind him, half-hidden, staring at the car idling on the lane.

“It moves without horses,” Jack whispered. “And the man brought food from nowhere.”

“From the pizza place in the local village,” Alex said, fighting a grin. “But yeah — close enough.”

They ate on the living room floor, Jack dissecting every bite with reverent disbelief. “It shouldn’t be this good,” he mumbled around a mouthful. “It tastes like thunder smells.”

Alex snorted. “That might be the most dramatic thing anyone’s ever said about pizza.”

After dinner, Alex rummaged through a box of DVDs. “Okay,” he said, “time to introduce you to another miracle of modern civilisation — movies.”

Jack tilted his head. “Moving pictures?”

“Exactly.”

He gestured to the rows of cases. “Pick one.”

Jack scanned the spines with serious concentration before plucking one out. “Home Alone?”

Alex blinked. “You picked that one?”

“The boy looks mischievous,” Jack said, holding up the cover.

“It’s… uh, a Christmas movie. Kind of a holiday tradition.”

Jack frowned. “What’s Christmas?”

“It’s—” Alex hesitated, laughing softly. “You know what, I’ll just show you.”

They settled on the sofa, Jack perched forward like a scholar studying sacred texts. When the movie began, he jumped at the first burst of music, then slowly eased into fascination. By the time Kevin McCallister had outwitted his burglar, Jack was laughing so hard tears streaked down his face. “He fights them with toys!” he gasped. “He’s a warrior child!”

Alex couldn’t stop laughing either — partly at the movie, mostly at Jack’s sheer delight. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jack wiped his eyes, still grinning. “Your world is ridiculous,” he said fondly. “And I love it.”

When the credits rolled, Alex pulled out his old iPod from the drawer beside the sofa. “Last thing, I promise.”

Jack took it gingerly, examining the earphones. “It’s smaller than a talisman.”

“Try it.”

Alex slipped them into Jack’s ears and pressed play. The first notes — soft, looping guitar — filled the silence. Jack froze, eyes wide, then shut them slowly. The tension left his shoulders.

“It’s inside my head,” he whispered, awed. “But it feels… like a memory I never had.”

Alex smiled. “That’s music for you.”

Jack looked at him — really looked — and said quietly, “If this is what your world sounds like, I think I could fall in love with it too.”

Alex’s chest tightened. He reached out, brushed his thumb against Jack’s jaw, and murmured, “You already have.”

Outside, night had fully settled over the countryside, stars glinting through the kitchen window. And there, in that quiet mingling of two worlds — the wild magic of Thaloria and the soft electric glow of home — they sat together, laughing, listening, and learning how to belong.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

That night, Jack stayed. Alex had set up the other guest room — fresh sheets, extra pillows, a pair of pyjamas folded neatly on the chair — but Jack had only taken one look and said, with that half-smile that undid Alex every time, “You’re sure your aunt wouldn’t mind if I shared?”

So now they lay side by side on the bed, the moon cutting a soft line across the floorboards. The air smelled faintly of soap and old linen, the window cracked open to the sound of crickets and the low, rhythmic breath of the countryside.

For a while, they said nothing. Their shoulders brushed occasionally, light as the movement of wind through tall grass. The silence wasn’t awkward — it was full, humming with everything they’d done and said that day.

Jack had laughed more in one afternoon than Alex had ever seen him laugh in Thaloria. At the strange hum of the fridge, the sparkling glow of the phone screen, the riotous mischief of Home Alone. Alex could still hear the sound of that laughter now, echoing faintly in his chest — the kind that started deep and unguarded, that made Alex think maybe bringing him here had been the right choice after all.

“I thought your world would be harder,” Jack whispered, like he didn’t want to wake it.

Alex turned his head slightly on the pillow. “Isn’t it?”

Jack considered that. “Yes. But… not bad. Just… heavy. Like a language I don’t speak yet.”

Alex smiled faintly, the ache behind his ribs easing. He reached for Jack’s hand beneath the blanket, finding it instantly. Jack laced their fingers together without hesitation, his thumb brushing slowly over Alex’s skin. The touch was gentle but grounding, as if to say I’m here. I’m learning.

“You don’t have to speak it,” Alex murmured. “Just visit.”

Jack’s answering smile was small and real. “I’d like that.”

They lay that way for a long while — the air between them warm and steady. Every so often, Jack’s thumb would trace the lines of Alex’s palm, like he was memorising the shape of him. Alex’s heart felt too full for words.

He turned onto his side, facing Jack in the dark. Jack mirrored him, knees bumping beneath the covers. The brush of contact sent a quiet thrill through both of them. Neither spoke. There was nothing left that words could carry.

Jack’s eyes found his — even in the dimness, even through the slow stretch of silence. He looked at Alex like he was still making sure, still asking permission without saying a thing. Alex nodded once.

That was all it took. Jack leaned forward — slow, unhurried — and their lips met.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t wild. It was a kiss born from everything they hadn’t said — from the laughter shared over melted cheese and the wide-eyed wonder of light in glass, from every quiet moment when the world had fallen away and left only them.

Alex’s hand slid up, threading into Jack’s hair. Jack’s other hand gingerly found his waist, drawing him closer until their foreheads nearly touched. The kiss slowly and cautiously became more immersed, an unfolding more than a rush — piecemeal with warmth building where it touched, breath mingling, hearts aligning.

There was no need to prove or claim anything; there was only the wonder of being known. Jack kissed like someone discovering language for the first time — reverent, curious, tentative. Alex met him with the same awe, the same sense that this was something fragile and vast and absolutely theirs.

When Alex finally broke the kiss, it was only to breathe. Their foreheads rested together, eyes closed, hearts still racing to catch up.

“Okay,” Alex whispered, his voice trembling around the quiet joy in it.

Jack smiled, the curve of it brushing against his lips. “Okay,” he echoed, softer still.

They kissed again, slower this time but also deeper, with a calm that came from trust rather than need. Alex wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck, kissing him impossibly deeper, tongue brushing up about his lips. Jack froze for a brief moment before meeting his pace and allowing Alex entrance.

Alex felt Jack’s hands hesitantly on his hips, not committing to firmly placing themselves. He could feel Jack becoming more unsure and tense as the moment inched deeper. Jack had always kissed him with confidence, making this new irresolution stand out.

He pulled back from the kiss and noticed a look in Jack’s eyes. It looked familiar to fear — something he hadn't seen in Jack in moments like this before. “You can touch me, it’s okay.” Alex reassured with a tender smile, brushing his hand delicately over Jack’s face.

Jack didn’t movie, didn’t blink, barely breathed. Alex gently put his hands over Jack’s and squeezed to tighten them on his hips, not once breaking their eye contact. He slowly caught Jack’s lips again, keeping him gentle and steady. Jack was unusually slow to respond, but soon did, grip tightening on Alex’s hips and slowly travelling across his body. He was hesitant, careful, and with each passing moment Alex was beginning to consider the reason behind that. Alex could feel Jack’s evident arousal shyly pushing against him, but he wasn’t making a move further this new moment between them. His hands travelled, yet conservatively. Alex wondered if Jack’s usual confidence had wavered by what seemed about to happen between them.

“Jack, I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable or anything, but—but…” He trailed off, words getting tangled in his throat.

Jack sighed, eyes moving down away from Alex’s. “I’ve never done, um—what I believe we are going to do, before.”

Alex placed his hands on either side of Jack’s face and encouraged him to look up at him. Alex looked fondly at him, a gentle smile on his face. “Do you want too?” Alex asked steadily.

Jack didn't answer.

Alex searched his eyes, and gently moved forward slightly, their hips coming in contact. Jack grunted gently, subconsciously arching more into Alex. "You can tell me," Alex whispered, "It's okay, I can show you, if you want too that is." 

Jack looked over Alex's face, his internal debate clear on his face. Eventually his expression softened, eyes closing. "Yes." When he opened his eyes, they were dark. Reassuring Alex.

Their lips connected again, slow at first before building in intensity. Alex rolled over, placing himself straddled across Jack's waist.

"Is this okay?" He asked gently.

Jack nodded desperately in return, hands moving securely to his hips.

Alex pulled up his own shirt, before manoeuvring it over his head and tossing it to the floor. Jack watched eagerly and mirrored the action. Alex leant back down and kissed again, this time with so much heat and urgency. Jack returned the passion the same, both of them trailing across each others bodies, exploring new panes of skin.

Alex's hands glided down Jack's chest, settling at the waistband of his bottoms. The air was full of heavy pants and ragged breaths as Jack lifted himself slightly, allowing Alex to slide the garment down his hips, soon joining their shirts.

Their mouths found each other again, getting deeper with increased urgency. Jack finally allowed himself to touch everywhere, exploring, caressing, feeling all of Alex. Alex tugged off his own bottoms, both left in their underwear which was doing little to hide their mutual arousal.

Alex could feel his heart pounding in his chest at the sight of Jack underneath him. It was a wonderful indulgence. Hot skin against skin, its an intimacy they hadn't shared before. But it felt incredible, electric, like fire engulfing everything in its sight, flames too bright to put out.

Slowly, Alex began to slide down, leaving a trail of soft kisses over Jack's skin, causing his to muscles contract as he released shallow gasps. He sat between Jack's legs, looking up to meet his gaze, silently asking for final confirmation. Jack's nod was barely noticeable, but final all the same. Alex hooked his fingers under the waistband and slowly pulled down his boxers.

Alex took a moment to appreciate Jack, including his very evident erection. It made Alex's own pulse. He leant in slowly, placing delicate kisses to his inner thigh, feeling Jack quiver beneath him. He looked back up at Jack, seeing the intensity in his gaze. He leant in — never breaking the eye contact — and brushed his lips against the tip. Jack's hips involuntarily jerked up. Alex placed his hands on his hips to steady him as he took Jack into his mouth, savouring every new inch and the taste of his pre-cum on his tongue. The feeling around him had Jack moaning, head falling back against the pillows. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

Alex took Jack all the way in before pulling back up again, leaving just the head resting on his tongue. He kept up a slow rhythm, tongue exploring as much as it could and gliding further down with each bob of his head. He was intoxicated with the way Jack was responding, his hands finding their way to Alex's hair as he gasped and moaned from deep in his throat.

Alex could feel Jack's muscles twitch. He moved one hand from securing his hips to the base of Jack's erection. He quickened his pace, doubling his efforts, hand jerking vigorously in time with his mouth taking Jack deeper.

"Alex," Jack breathed, voice strained, "I'm—I'm gonna—oh."

Alex didn't move away, maintaining the rhythm he had found. He felt Jack's fingers becoming incredibly tight in his hair, hips bucking as a strangled moan erupted from his throat, his body shaking as he released. Alex swallowed eagerly, savouring the feeling and taste of Jack as he panted underneath him.

Slowly, Alex released him and made his way back to Jack's lap. Jack looked at him, lust clouding his half-lidded gaze. He fought for the air to return to his lungs.

"Was that okay?" Alex asked gently once Jack's breathing began to regulate.

Jack didn't respond. He just stared at Alex momentarily, mouth slightly open, before pulling him in for a kiss. Alex instantly melted into him, returning the kiss with equal passion.

"I want to make you feel good too." Jack whispered against his lips, staring lovingly into Alex's eyes as he moved to brush their noses together.

Alex smiled affectionately at him, "only if you're sure. You don't owe me anything."

Jack leant up, kissing Alex again. His fingers made their way to Alex's boxers, diffidently pushing them down. Alex's arousal sprang free, completely shameless with his trust in Jack. Jack stared at it with Alex still in his lap. He carefully brought his hands towards Alex's erection and caressed it with his fingertips. The touch sent shivers down Alex's spine. But Jack just smiled gently.

"What?" Alex asked, a confused smile on his face.

Jack shrugged with an aloof grin, "It's crooked. I've never seen that before."

Alex giggled in response, shaking his head in disbelief. "It just sits to the left, thank you."

Jack laughed slightly, still gently caressing Alex. "It's cute, I like your curvy penis."

Alex laughed, rolling his eyes. Jack looked back at him, a smile spread wide on his face. 

Jack's smile dropped for a brief moment. Then, his eyes darkened before he moved his hand to wrap tightly around Alex's base. The suddeness quickly made Alex shudder and his breath hitch.

Jack gripped Alex with deft fingers, sliding them up and down —  slowly to begin with. Alex moaned softly, his eyes closing as his head tipped back. Jack smiled at the reaction he got from Alex, hand tightening around his aching arousal whilst working the shaft in earnest. Alex's hips snapped forward as he desperately tried to thrust into Jack's hand. Jack responded by quickening his pace, unable to tear his eyes away from Alex as he watched him with awe and lust.

The slow coils of lust growing in Alex's groin started to tight and sharpen, and a familiar ache bloomed in a way he couldn't ignore. His thighs twitched, his toes curled and tingled. Alex felt himself release with force into Jack's hand, a heavy moan climbing its way out of his throat.

Once his breathing and vision came back, he looked back down to Jack still holding his now softening phallus. He flashed an apologetic smile for the mess whilst Jack stared back at him, lust and passion dancing in his irises as an unguarded smile blessed his face. Alex leant forward again, the kiss this time being gentle and slow.

Jack pulled back slightly, "was I good?" he asked shakily.

Alex took his face in his hands again, thumb gently stroking along his jaw as he appreciated the man before him. "You was perfect."

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

When they finally settled — tangled in blankets and moonlight — Jack’s hand rested over Alex’s heart. Neither of them moved. The rise and fall of Alex’s chest matched Jack’s slow, steady breathing, the rhythm syncing without effort, like it had been waiting to.

Outside, the night carried on: crickets, the sigh of wind through trees, the steady hush of a world that had made room for two souls who’d found where they fit.

Alex stared at the faint pattern of light cast across the ceiling, and for the first time in a long time, the quiet didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t press down or leave him restless. It just was — soft and complete. Jack’s thumb moved in a slow circle over his sternum, the simplest gesture, but it rooted him so deeply he thought he might never drift again.

He could still taste the memory of Jack’s kiss — the warmth of it, the certainty that had passed between them without a single word. There was no fear left, no doubt clinging to the edges of his thoughts. Only the bright, unguarded realisation that this — this — was what it meant, to belong.

He’d spent so long moving between worlds, always half in, half out, never quite enough for either. But lying there, with Jack’s breath brushing his collarbone and the night breathing quietly around them, Alex felt the sharp edges of all that uncertainty begin to dull. It didn’t matter which side of the portal they were on. It didn’t matter what waited in the morning.

Jack shifted closer in his sleep, fingers curling lightly in the fabric of Alex’s shirt, as if to make sure he was still there. Alex smiled into the dark, a small, involuntary thing — the kind of smile that came from somewhere deep, unguarded, and new.

Happiness wasn’t a word Alex had ever trusted before. It had always felt too fragile, too fleeting. But now, it settled into him like a steady pulse — quiet, present, real.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and closed his eyes. And in that small, borrowed bed — wrapped in the scent of pine soap and the warmth of another heartbeat — Alex realised that love wasn’t about choosing one world over another. It was about the quiet miracle of being seen, completely, without fear, and finding that you were already home.

For the first time in a long time, he drifted into sleep smiling.

Chapter Text

The morning light in Thaloria was soft and golden, spilling through the village like a blessing. Alex slung his guitar over his shoulder, feeling the familiar weight settle against his back. He’d brought it because Jack had asked him to — no, insisted he bring it. The memory of that conversation still lingered sweetly in his chest.

“You can’t leave it behind, Alex,” Jack had said, laughter in his voice and warmth in his eyes. “You and that guitar are a pair. I want to hear you play again.”

At the time, Alex hadn’t realised how much that simple request would mean to him. But now, walking through the cobbled streets of Thaloria, hearing the hum of life around him, he felt a quiet joy blooming inside. The air smelled faintly of bread and woodsmoke, and the village square was alive with chatter.

Alex still remembered the wonder in Jack’s face when he’d stepped into Alex’s world for the first time, taking in the noise, the rush, the endless lights. He’d been fascinated by everything: the hum of cars, the music, the way streetlamps glowed like tiny stars along the river. And then there had been the guitar.

Jack had watched, eyes bright, as Alex tuned it, plucking each string until it sang true. He’d listened to Alex play with such rapt attention, as if the music itself was magic. That was the moment Alex knew he could never leave it behind. Not just because Jack wanted to hear it again — but because the guitar had become something that connected their worlds. It had been part of the place Jack had stepped into so eagerly, and now, here in Thaloria, it could be part of his too.

There was something beautiful in that, Alex thought as he walked — this gentle weaving of two very different lives. Jack had shown him magic, had opened his eyes to places beyond imagining, and now Alex could share a little of his own world in return: music, rhythm, the strum of strings that told stories without words.

He passed through the village square, sunlight glinting off the fountain’s surface, and smiled to himself. Somewhere nearby, he could already hear laughter, the sound of Jack’s voice carried faintly on the breeze.

For all the wonders Thaloria held — the forests that whispered, the sky that shimmered with otherworldly light — this was what filled him most completely: knowing that somehow, across all the impossible distances between their worlds, they had found a way to bring pieces of each other home.

Jack was waiting for him near the fountain, sunlight catching the pale strands of his hair. When he saw Alex, his whole face lit up, that radiant smile breaking across his features like dawn itself.

“You actually brought it!” Jack exclaimed, taking a few quick steps forward. His eyes went straight to the guitar case slung across Alex’s back, gleaming with excitement.

“Of course I did,” Alex said with a grin. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

Jack scoffed playfully, looping an arm through his. “You could never disappoint me. But I am impressed. I was half expecting you to say it was too much trouble to drag across realms.”

“Oh, believe me,” Alex replied, feigning a weary sigh, “it was a nightmare getting it through the portal. Nearly lost a tuning peg to interdimensional turbulence.”

Jack laughed, the sound bright and easy. “Tragic. A fallen tuning peg—surely the realm mourned.”

“They should have built a shrine,” Alex said solemnly, earning another laugh. He couldn’t help smiling at the sound. There was something about Jack’s laughter — it filled every quiet space, turned even the ordinary into something golden.

They walked slowly through the streets, the familiar rhythm of Thaloria all around them: the murmur of traders, the scent of herbs and baking bread, the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer somewhere in the distance. Jack’s arm remained linked through Alex’s, his thumb tracing small circles on Alex’s sleeve as they went.

“So,” Jack said, glancing sideways at him, “does this mean I get another private concert?”

“You get one,” Alex teased, “if you promise not to critique my tempo this time.”

Jack gasped in mock outrage. “I was helping!”

“You said I ‘rushed the chorus like a startled deer.’”

“Well, you did!” Jack protested, grinning. “A very musical deer, mind you.”

Alex chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re lucky you’re cute, even when you’re insufferable.”

Jack’s grin turned softer at that, his gaze lingering on Alex for a heartbeat longer than casual. “And you’re lucky I adore you, even when you sass me.”

They both laughed then, the kind of laughter that came from deep comfort — time of friendship and something far more tender woven between their words. Jack couldn’t seem to stop glancing at the guitar, his eyes bright with anticipation.

“I still can’t believe it’s really here,” he murmured. “Your guitar. In Thaloria.”

“Yeah,” Alex said quietly. “Feels strange… but right, somehow.”

Jack nodded, thoughtful now. “It’s like you’ve brought a piece of your world with you. A piece of you.”

That simple statement made Alex’s heart flutter. He looked down at their joined arms, the easy fit of them, the sunlight warming their skin. “Guess that means Thaloria’s about to hear a lot of very questionable music.”

Jack laughed again and squeezed his arm. “If it’s yours, it won’t be questionable. It’ll be perfect.”

Alex turned his head just enough to meet his gaze — and found that Jack was already looking at him, eyes bright with admiration, the kind that made Alex’s chest feel too small for all the feeling inside. They kept walking, laughter trailing behind them like a melody waiting to be played.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

They arrived at the brewery just as the afternoon was settling in. The scent of malt and hops filled the air, and the wooden beams overhead were strung with small glass lanterns that glowed like captured fireflies. Laughter and chatter spilled from open windows, and the sound of clinking mugs echoed out into the street.

Inside, Rian and Zack were already at a corner table near the hearth, each with a frothing mug of beer in hand. The moment they spotted Jack and Alex, Rian lifted his drink high.

“Took you long enough!” Rian called, his grin wide.

“We were making an entrance,” Jack said, feigning haughty indignation as he led Alex through the crowd.

“An entrance?” Zack said, raising an eyebrow. “You mean wandering about holding hands like you own the place?”

“Precisely,” Jack replied, dropping into the seat beside him. “You noticed. Perfect execution, then.”

Alex laughed, slipping his guitar carefully against the wall before taking a seat beside Jack. “I’ll have what they’re having,” he said to the passing barmaid, who smiled warmly at the newcomers.

The beer came out rich and amber, topped with a thick, foamy head. Alex lifted his mug, clinking it against the others.

“To questionable decisions and excellent company,” Rian toasted.

“To good music,” Jack added, eyes twinkling as he looked at Alex.

Alex grinned. “You’re not subtle, you know that?”

“I’m not trying to be.” Jack took a sip, foam clinging to his upper lip. Alex reached out on impulse and brushed it away with his thumb, earning a cheeky grin from him and a loud, exaggerated “oooh” from Zack.

“Oh, please,” Rian said dryly, “some of us are trying to drink in peace.”

“You mean drink and pretend you’re above feelings?” Jack shot back, and the table burst into laughter.

They fell into easy conversation, trading stories, teasing, and exaggerated retellings of half-remembered adventures. The warmth of the hearth, the hum of voices, and the golden glow of the lanterns wrapped around them like a comforting embrace.

Then, somewhere between rounds, Jack leaned closer to Alex, eyes bright with that mischievous spark Alex knew too well. “Play for us,” he said. “Come on, you brought it all this way.”

Alex hesitated only a moment, taking a deep breath before nodding. He fetched his guitar, his fingers brushing lovingly over the smooth wood. The room’s noise quieted as he began to tune it — plucking, adjusting, plucking again until the sound was just right. The first few notes he played were gentle, almost shy, like a whisper testing the air. But soon, the melody began to grow — clear, bright, and full of life.

Jack, grinning, grabbed a lute from the corner and joined in, his fingers finding the rhythm instinctively. Zack, not to be outdone, pulled out his small carved flute. Rian groaned dramatically, but before long he was rummaging around until he found a drum by the fireplace.

“Oh, no,” Alex said between laughs, “I’m not sure the world’s ready for this combination.”

“The world will survive,” Jack replied. “It may never be the same, but it’ll survive.”

Their laughter melted into the music as they began to play in earnest. Jack’s lute and Alex’s guitar intertwined in an effortless dance of melody, the bright notes chasing one another like sunlight on water. Zack’s flute soared above them, sharp and playful, while Rian’s steady beat grounded it all — solid, warm, irresistible.

The tavern stirred. A few patrons began tapping their mugs on the tables in time, others clapped along, and before long the entire room was moving with the rhythm. A barmaid spun in circles with a tray of mugs balanced on one hand; an old man leapt up to dance with her, his beard bouncing to the beat. It was chaos, but joyous chaos — the kind that fills the air with light and laughter.

Alex couldn’t stop smiling. He sang a verse — an old tune from his world about rivers and wandering hearts — and though none of them knew the words, the melody caught everyone. Zack harmonised, voice smooth and warm, the two of them blending like they’d been born to share a song.

Between verses, Alex stole glances at Jack. The lute gleamed in his hands, the firelight catching in his hair, his eyes half-lidded with joy. He looked utterly at home, utterly alive. And in that moment, Alex’s heart felt so full it might burst.

The song rose higher, faster — people were clapping, stomping, spinning. A group of villagers formed a chain, dancing through the tables, mugs sloshing, laughter ringing. Someone shouted for another tune, and Alex barely had time to laugh before Jack launched into a fast, cheeky rhythm that demanded to be followed.

“Show-off!” Alex called, grinning wide as he chased Jack’s tempo.

“Just keeping you on your toes!” Jack shouted back.

Even Zack cracked a rare grin as his flute trilled through the melody. Rian’s drum thundered, keeping pace as the whole brewery seemed to sway and dance as one.

By the time the final chord rang out, the room erupted into applause, mugs raised, feet stamping. Alex doubled over laughing, chest heaving, the energy of it all still buzzing through him. Jack was already beside him, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, his laughter joining Alex’s.

“Not bad for a first performance in Thaloria,” Jack said, nudging him with his shoulder.

“Not bad at all,” Alex replied, his voice soft but full of meaning.

They didn’t stop there. Another song followed — slower, sweeter — and though the tavern still buzzed around them, the moment between them felt suspended, golden. The music wasn’t just sound anymore; it was a bridge between worlds, a shared heartbeat, a promise woven in melody.

By the time the night deepened, the brewery had become a small, glowing world of music and motion — a place where laughter, love, and song blurred into something timeless. And through it all, Alex couldn’t stop smiling.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

As the crowd thinned and the lamps burned low, Alex and Jack found themselves dancing too. The chaos of the evening had mellowed into a golden calm — laughter now a murmur, music a soft echo lingering in the rafters. Jack’s hand found Alex’s waist, steady and warm, guiding him into a slow rhythm that barely needed music at all.

They swayed together in the dim light, surrounded by the faint scent of spilled ale and the sweetness of pipe smoke. The last few patrons clapped along softly, some humming, some leaning close to their own partners. It felt like the whole brewery had exhaled — like the night itself was sighing contentedly around them.

“You make everything brighter,” Jack murmured, voice low and thick with affection. His thumb brushed lazy circles against Alex’s side.

Alex looked up at him, his smile trembling with emotion. “You’re the song I didn’t know I was waiting to play.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Jack leaned in, and their lips met — light at first, then deeper, fuller. The rest of the world blurred away. The faint crackle of the hearth, the muffled laughter of their friends, the creak of the wooden floor beneath their feet — all of it fell into the background until there was nothing but the warmth of that kiss and the steady thrum of their hearts keeping time. When they broke apart, Jack’s forehead rested against Alex’s, both of them smiling like fools.

“You know,” Jack said softly, his voice still a little breathless, “I used to think the best feeling in the world was finishing a perfect song. Now I’m not so sure.”

“Oh?” Alex teased gently. “What tops that, then?”

Jack’s grin widened, lazy and sincere. “This.”

Alex felt laughter bubble up in his chest, soft and disbelieving. “You’re going to ruin me with lines like that.”

“Good,” Jack whispered, leaning in again. “Then we’ll be ruined together.”

They swayed like that for a while, the world slowing around them. The lanterns above cast soft halos of gold that shimmered across Jack’s hair, turning him into something almost otherworldly — part dream, part starlight. Alex rested his head against his shoulder, the beat of Jack’s heart thudding steady beneath his palm.

At the far side of the room, Rian and Zack were still laughing quietly, playing cards on a sticky table. Rian caught sight of them and raised his mug in salute. “About time you two stopped pretending!” he called out, earning a smirk from Zack and a good-natured groan from Jack.

Alex chuckled, not even bothering to look away. “They’re never going to let us live this down.”

“Let them talk,” Jack said, tightening his arm around him. “We’ll just keep giving them something to talk about.”

The fire in the hearth had burned down to glowing embers, painting the wooden floor in hues of copper and amber. Someone strummed a soft chord from across the room — one last note that drifted lazily into the air like a sigh.

Alex closed his eyes, feeling the sway of their dance, the steady rhythm of Jack’s breath against his cheek. Every sound, every light, every heartbeat seemed to melt together into something pure and golden. They danced until the last notes faded, until all that was left was the quiet hum of happiness and the unspoken promise that this — this warmth, this love — was home.

When the final lantern was dimmed, they stepped out into the cool night, still hand in hand. The village had gone quiet, the stars scattered bright and wild across the sky. Jack tilted his head back to look at them, his expression soft.

“Thaloria’s beautiful at night,” Alex murmured.

“It is,” Jack said. Then he turned to him, eyes reflecting the starlight. “But you’re still my favourite view.”

Alex laughed, shaking his head, but his heart was already gone, lost somewhere between the sound of Jack’s voice and the cool whisper of the night air.

Together, they wandered back through the sleeping streets, the echoes of laughter and music trailing after them like a promise — of mornings and melodies, of home and heart and love that bridged worlds.

Chapter Text

The sun was beginning its slow descent when Alex arrived once again in Thaloria. The familiar spires of the keep glimmered gold in the fading light, and the air was rich with the scent of grass and river mist. Every time he stepped through the great gates, it felt a little more like coming home. Even the portal was no longer as bright and beckoning like it once was, presumably because Alex does not need tempting to cross over anymore, he thought. Or maybe just his attempt at convincing himself against what he already suspected was coming. 

He made his way through the winding path toward the keep, the sounds of the village alive around him — children laughing, merchants calling their last offers, a bard strumming a lively tune outside the tavern. And there, waiting just beyond the courtyard steps, was Jack.

Jack’s smile was immediate and bright, his whole expression lighting up at the sight of him. “You made it!” he said, crossing the space in quick strides to meet him.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Alex replied, his grin matching Jack’s. “You told me it was important. I was expecting something dramatic — dragon attack, another mysterious portal, maybe a royal ball.”

Jack chuckled, eyes glinting with mischief. “Close enough. We’re going to a performance tonight. A real Thalorian pantomime.”

Alex blinked. “A… pantomime?”

“Yes,” Jack said, entirely too pleased with himself. “It’s hilarious, ridiculous, and loud. You’ll love it.”

“I think you just described you,” Alex teased.

“Then you’ll definitely love it.”

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

As dusk settled over Thaloria, they dressed for the evening. The chamber glowed with the amber light of a dozen candles, the air faintly scented with lavender and fresh linen. Jack disappeared behind a carved folding screen, humming absently as he got ready, while Alex stood before the tall standing mirror — a polished slab of metal framed in silver filigree that reflected the candlelight in soft ripples.

When Jack emerged, Alex nearly forgot how to breathe. He was dressed in what could only be described as the Thalorian equivalent of formal wear — rich navy fabric trimmed with intricate gold thread that caught the light with every movement. A short cloak hung from one shoulder, pinned with a sapphire brooch that glimmered like starlight. His tunic fitted perfectly to his frame, and his boots shone with a craftsman’s care.

Jack gave a little half-turn, as if showing off. “Well?” he asked, grinning. “Too much?”

Alex shook his head slowly. “You look… like you stepped out of a painting.”

Jack laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Alex’s own outfit waited neatly folded on the bed: a deep wine-coloured tunic of soft linen, its sleeves embroidered with faint silver leaf patterns that shimmered subtly when he moved. A leather belt cinched it at the waist, and the boots — polished to a gleam — came up to mid-calf. There was even a light mantle of charcoal grey, clasped with a small silver pin shaped like a curling leaf.

When he slipped it all on, the fabric hugged comfortably against his skin, both strange and familiar. He turned toward the mirror, tugging at the collar a little, adjusting the fall of the mantle. He looked like he belonged — not just here, but here with Jack.

Jack came to stand beside him, their reflections side by side in the mirror’s silvery surface. The contrast between them — Jack’s navy and gold against Alex’s deep wine and silver — was striking, like dawn and dusk standing shoulder to shoulder. Jack caught Alex’s gaze in the mirror and smiled softly.

“You look incredible,” he said, voice warm with genuine admiration. He reached over to adjust the collar of Alex’s tunic, fingertips lingering a moment longer than necessary.

Alex’s heart gave a tiny, traitorous flutter. “Trying to make me nervous?” he asked, his voice lighter than he felt.

Jack’s grin turned teasing. “Is it working?” His tone dropped, rich and playful, his breath brushing just close enough to make Alex’s pulse quicken.

Alex laughed, shaking his head, though the sound came out softer than he intended. “Always.”

They stood there for a few more heartbeats, neither rushing to move away. The candlelight flickered across their mirrored reflections — two figures dressed for a night of laughter and spectacle, but beneath it all, something deeper glowed between them.

Alex found himself smiling faintly as he looked at their image in the mirror again. They fit. The colours, the posture, the quiet warmth that seemed to fill the air between them. It wasn’t just that they looked good together — it was that they looked right.

Jack broke the moment first, clearing his throat but unable to hide the soft grin tugging at his lips. “Ready to go, my newly Thalorian gentleman?”

Alex smirked, lifting his chin in mock formality. “Lead the way, my dazzling peacock of a date.”

Jack laughed, looping his arm through Alex’s as they headed toward the door. “If I’m a peacock, then you’re the songbird who finally learned to strut.”

Alex rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling as they stepped out into the cool evening air — two figures glowing in the last traces of sunset, dressed for a night they’d never forget.

The cobbled streets of Thaloria glimmered under the soft glow of lanterns as Jack led Alex through winding alleys toward the heart of the kingdom. Even in the twilight, the air hummed with anticipation. Alex could feel his pulse quicken, the sort of excitement that came not just from curiosity, but from the thrill of sharing this world with Jack.

When they rounded the final corner, the courtyard of the performance hall opened before them. It was larger than Alex had imagined — a wide, open-air space, its stone floor polished smooth, with banners of deep crimson and gold fluttering overhead. Lanterns swung gently from wooden rafters, casting soft pools of golden light across the eager crowd. The smell of roasted nuts and spiced cider drifted on the air, mingling with the distant notes of a lute tuning somewhere behind the curtains.

As they approached, attendants — bowing slightly — gestured for them to follow a side path. Jack waved a hand, smiling, and the attendants seemed to step aside with a quiet deference. Alex noticed it but saw no pomp or pretence in Jack’s stride. He wasn’t demanding respect, just moving through the space with an easy confidence that made the world bend around him without him trying. Jack’s presence alone seemed to make everyone else’s excitement grow, yet he laughed with them, joked with them, never taking himself too seriously.

They arrived at seats just at the front, low enough that Alex could see every detail — the painted lines on wooden masks, the faint brushstrokes on the miniature backdrops, the shimmer of gold leaf catching the lantern light. Alex’s eyes widened. Every time he glanced around, he found a new detail: a juggler practicing silently in a corner, a troupe of musicians tuning lutes and flutes, the delicate carvings along the balcony where people sat.

Jack leaned close, his hand brushing Alex’s as he murmured, “Best seats in the house. Don’t look so shocked — I told them you were coming with me.”

Alex laughed softly. “You make everything feel… impossible.”

Jack only grinned, nudging him gently. “Not impossible. Just easier when you’re with me.”

The first notes of music rang out, bright and playful, and the crowd erupted into cheers. The show began — a whirlwind of exaggerated gestures, comic songs, and slapstick chaos. Actors leaped and tumbled, their movements larger than life, the sound of drums and flutes adding a lively heartbeat to every scene. Alex could feel the energy vibrating through the stones beneath their feet, through his bones, through the very air itself.

At one point, a jester tripped over his own oversized shoes, flailing wildly before landing in a fake pond with a spectacular splash. Alex doubled over, laughter spilling out of him uncontrollably. Jack threw an arm around his shoulders, eyes sparkling with delight.

“I told you you’d love it!” Jack shouted, laughing just as hard.

“Alright, fine, you win,” Alex gasped between laughs. “This is brilliant.”

Jack’s laughter softened into a grin, and he leaned close, whispering, “And you know the best part? You get to see it all up close—every pratfall, every song, every ridiculous moment—without anyone stepping on your toes. That’s the perk of being with me.”

Alex’s gaze swept the courtyard once more, taking it all in — the colour, the light, the smells, the crowd’s infectious joy. His chest felt full, a warm happiness spreading through him. Here, in this bustling, magical place, he was part of something bigger, something alive — and best of all, he was sharing it with Jack.

Towards the end of the show, one of the actors stomped dramatically to the edge of the stage, waving a hand in the air. “We need a brave soul from the audience!”

Jack straightened in his seat, eyes glittering with mischief, lips quirking into a devilish grin.

“Oh no,” Alex muttered, feeling a strange mix of dread and thrill curling in his stomach. He could already sense where this was going.

“Oh yes,” Jack countered smoothly. “You’d be perfect.”

Before Alex could protest, a lantern swung from a beam, spotlighting their row. The light caught on the actor’s painted mask, then snapped to Alex.

“You there! The fine gentleman in red!”

Alex groaned, sinking lower into his seat, but Jack’s hands clapped together, urging him forward. “Go on! You can’t refuse a royal summons!”

“Jack—”

“Alex.” Jack’s grin widened, warm and coaxing. “For me?”

That did it. With a dramatic, exaggerated sigh, Alex rose, legs stiff at first, heart hammering. The murmurs of the audience rippled into cheers, and for a brief moment, the weight of a hundred eyes made him freeze.

Then Jack’s hand squeezed his shoulder lightly, whispering, “You’ve got this.”

A small surge of courage lifted Alex, and he stepped onto the stage, greeted by the actor’s flamboyant bow. He was presented as if he were a visiting prince from a distant land, and the crowd’s laughter and clapping immediately washed away some of his nerves.

The scene that followed was pure chaos in the best way. Alex flailed through lines, over-enunciating every word, pretending to duel a wooden swordfish with exaggerated stabs. A prop pie zoomed past his head, narrowly missing him, and he staggered backwards with mock horror, spinning in wide, ridiculous arcs.

Every step, every gesture felt absurdly theatrical — and every glance at Jack made it even harder to keep a straight face. Jack was clutching his stomach, leaning forward, tears threatening to spill from laughter, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. The sight was intoxicating.

Alex tried to focus on the audience instead, and that’s when he really saw them — faces alight with delight, smiles spreading across rows of people, hands clapping in rhythm with the ridiculous antics onstage. The warmth of their joy made him giddy, made his legs shake from excitement rather than fear.

A pretend stumble sent him crashing gently into a decorative barrel, eliciting another wave of laughter. He flailed his arms, landed on one knee in an exaggerated bow, and realised with a jolt that he was having fun. Pure, ridiculous, unrestrained fun.

Jack’s laughter rang out again, louder this time, an almost primal roar that made Alex’s heart lurch. Every time he dared a glance toward Jack, his laughter caught in his throat, fuelling Alex’s performance even more.

The scene drew to its chaotic climax, and Alex executed a final, overly dramatic bow, tilting his head and sweeping one arm wide. The crowd erupted, a wave of cheers and applause crashing over him. Heat warmed his cheeks, and his chest felt impossibly full.

Jack’s whistle cut through the noise, sharp and gleeful, and he clapped like his life depended on it. “Bravo!” Jack called, voice carrying across the courtyard. “My hero!”

Alex bowed again, laughing so hard he could barely straighten, his gaze sweeping the crowd. He caught the glint of countless smiles, the sparkle of eyes alight with amusement and delight, and in that moment, he felt something astonishing — a sense of belonging, of shared joy, and of the rare, electric connection that only comes when laughter is true and unrestrained.

He looked back to Jack, whose face was still alighted with pride and amusement, and Alex’s laughter softened into a happy, breathless smile. Jack leaned forward, clapping and cheering, and Alex felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the stage lights — only with being seen, fully, by someone who mattered more than anyone else in the world.

When the final curtain fell and the applause began to die down, Alex felt a lingering buzz of exhilaration thrumming in his chest. The courtyard emptied gradually, voices carrying faintly through the lantern-lit night, the scent of roasted nuts and cider still lingering.

Jack appeared at his side, moving with that familiar ease, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Something was hidden behind his back, and Alex immediately tensed, suspicious.

“What’s that?” he asked, one eyebrow raised, already sensing a playful trap.

Jack stepped closer, leaning just enough so Alex could feel the warmth radiating from him. With a theatrical flourish, he revealed the object — a small bouquet of wildflowers. The blooms were simple, uneven, and clearly gathered in haste, tied together with a pale ribbon that had seen better days. But they were lovely in their unpolished, earnest way.

“For our newest Thalorian star,” Jack announced, voice bright and teasing. His grin could have lit the entire courtyard. “A performance worthy of legend.”

Alex laughed, warmth flooding him. He took the bouquet gently, fingers brushing Jack’s, holding the flowers as if they were treasure. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, voice softening with affection.

“Only in the best ways,” Jack countered, his tone low, teasing, but with an unmistakable undercurrent of tenderness. He nudged Alex lightly with his shoulder, a casual intimacy that spoke volumes.

Alex turned the bouquet in his hands, inhaling the faint scent of wildflowers and feeling the magic of the evening settle over him. He looked up at Jack, who was watching him with that familiar sparkle of amusement and pride, and something warm, almost dizzying, bloomed in his chest.

“You made me do it,” Alex said, laughing, nodding toward the stage, “and now you follow it up with flowers. I don’t know whether to thank you or arrest you for excessive charm.”

Jack chuckled, tilting his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I prefer to think of it as encouragement. And recognition. And… maybe a little harmless bribery to ensure I get front-row seats again next time.”

Alex shook his head, laughing again, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” Jack said softly, leaning close enough that Alex could feel the warmth of his breath, “you like it.”

Alex’s laughter faltered for a moment, replaced by a quiet, happy smile. “Maybe I do,” he admitted, holding Jack’s gaze. The bouquet felt suddenly secondary to the way Jack made him feel — seen, celebrated, and utterly cherished.

Jack slipped his hand over Alex’s, warm and steady, and Alex squeezed back, fingers curling naturally into his. The night air around them felt charged with laughter and music, fading lantern light casting a golden glow over everything. The moment stretched, unhurried and sweet, filled with unspoken promises and the simple joy of being together.

“You were incredible tonight,” Jack whispered, his voice low and earnest now, teasing stripped away. “I’m proud of you.”

Alex’s heart skipped. “I’m… glad you were the one who brought me,” he replied, feeling an almost dizzying surge of happiness. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else watching me fumble through pies and wooden fish.”

Jack grinned, brushing his thumb across Alex’s hand. “And you did it beautifully. Honestly, I didn’t think I could laugh that hard without losing my balance.”

Alex laughed again, a warm, easy sound. He tilted his head toward Jack, brushing shoulders as they began to walk slowly through the courtyard, the bouquet held between them like a little trophy of the night. “Shut up,” he murmured, and Jack simply laughed, that deep, unrestrained laugh that made Alex feel as if the entire world could fall away and they’d still be exactly where they were meant to be.

The night was cool, lanterns swinging gently in the evening breeze. Jack and Alex stepped out of the performance hall, still flushed with laughter and the heady warmth of the crowd. The echoes of music drifted toward them and Alex felt his chest swell with joy, a feeling that had little to do with the cool air.

Jack nudged him suddenly. “Bet you can’t remember all the words to that ridiculous ballad!” he said, eyes sparkling.

“Oh, I remember,” Alex replied with a grin. He struck a dramatic pose in the middle of the street, one hand on his hip, the other pointed skyward. “Hear me, noble villagers! I shall vanquish—”

“—the mighty goose of doom!” Jack roared, spinning around and flailing his arms, making a face so absurd Alex doubled over laughing.

They began singing together — loudly, tunelessly, and with every ounce of theatrical exaggeration they could muster. Alex took the lead, belting out the first line, arms extended like a bard presenting a tale to the masses. Jack followed with his own exaggerated flourish, dropping to one knee at a particularly ridiculous moment, then twirling, almost tripping over a low stone. Each line brought bursts of laughter, their voices clashing hilariously, and the echoes of their song bounced off stone walls, chasing them through the streets.

Alex spotted a low stone wall along the square and hopped onto it, striking a mock-heroic pose. Jack didn’t miss a beat — he vaulted up after him, performing a clumsy somersault that ended with him sprawled across the wall, grinning like a fool. Alex nearly fell laughing, clutching Jack’s arm to steady him as Jack stood, only to have Jack grab his cloak and wave it dramatically over his own shoulders. “Behold! The grand and pompous narrator!” he declared, spinning once, twice, then nearly toppling over.

“I am offended!” Alex shouted, pointing at him. “You’ve stolen my glory!”

Jack gasped, clutching his chest. “Offended? By moi? Never!”

They jumped down onto the cobblestones, laughing so hard they could barely breathe. Alex’s hair fell over his eyes; Jack brushed it aside with a mock flourish, as if presenting him to the audience of the empty street. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a theatrical voice, “witness the hero who fended off the ferocious pie!”

Alex stood back, pointing at Jack. “And here is the dastardly villain who tried to trip me into defeat!”

Their chase continued through the village — around corners, over small bridges, past empty shops. Every few steps, one of them would launch into another scene. Alex would pretend to brandish a swordfish like a lance, Jack would act like he’d been dramatically struck and collapse to the ground, or Alex would grab Jack’s arm and spin him around while shouting dialogue from the show at top volume. Occasionally, a passing villager would peer out of a window, bemused, a faint smile tugging at their lips, and the two of them didn’t care in the slightest.

At one point, Alex jumped onto a bench, mimicking the jester’s antics from the pantomime, while Jack tried to balance on the same bench, only to topple backward onto the grass. Alex lunged to “save” him, catching Jack mid-fall, and they both rolled in the dew-soaked grass, breathless and laughing until their sides ached.

“You’re a walking catastrophe!” Alex gasped, hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks red with laughter.

Jack’s grin was infectious. “And yet… somehow, you love it!”

“Yes, yes, I do!” Alex wheezed, rolling onto his back to look at the sky. Stars were bright, a silver wash over the village rooftops. Jack lay beside him, brushing damp strands of hair from his face, still chuckling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only in the best ways,” Jack replied, voice low, warm, full of that quiet certainty that always made Alex’s chest flutter.

They took a moment to rest, but neither stayed still for long. Soon, they were up again, Alex chasing Jack around a fountain in the square, both singing lines from the pantomime louder than necessary, stomping their feet in ridiculous rhythm. Jack ducked behind a merchant’s cart, peeking out like a mischievous sprite, while Alex flailed dramatically, pretending to search the world for him.

“You can’t hide forever, villain!” Alex called.

“Oh yes, I can!” Jack shouted, popping out from behind the cart and tackling Alex into a pile of straw that had been left for a passing cart. Both emerged covered in a fine layer of golden dust, laughing until they couldn’t breathe.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they neared the keep. Their energy hadn’t waned, but the chase slowed as exhaustion began to mingle with exhilaration. Alex sprinted ahead, looking back over his shoulder, inviting Jack into one last burst of speed.

Jack gave chase, lunging forward — and in a heartbeat, they collided in the grass. Jack landed on top, his laughter softening, fingers brushing gently over Alex’s arm. The world around them seemed to quiet, the distant noise fading into a gentle hum.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Jack’s eyes held a seriousness that made Alex’s stomach twist in anticipation. “Alex,” he murmured, voice quiet enough to contrast the depth of feeling behind it, “I love you.”

Alex’s chest swelled with warmth, and a smile — wide, unguarded, utterly full — spread across his face. “I love you too,” he said, voice sure and steady, carrying all the affection that had been building in him since their first laugh together that night.

Jack’s grin returned, unstoppable, and he leaned in, pressing a deep, slow, perfect kiss to Alex’s lips. It was full of laughter, full of joy, full of all the little silly moments that had led them here. Alex’s hands slid into Jack’s tunic, holding him close, their hearts thudding in the same rhythm, a song of two souls perfectly in sync.

When they finally broke apart, they lay there tangled in the grass, breathless, starlight catching in their hair, the night around them shimmering quietly. Jack whispered, brushing a thumb across Alex’s cheek, “Best performance of the night.”

Alex laughed, tracing a finger along Jack’s jaw. “You’re just saying that because I didn’t get flattened by the swordfish.”

Jack chuckled softly, leaning close to press a gentle kiss to Alex’s temple. “That too,” he murmured, voice warm and steady.

They stayed like that for a long while, wrapped together beneath the stars, replaying snippets of the night in whispered laughter, occasionally erupting into giggles over some ridiculous gesture or phrase from the show. The cool night air mingled with the warmth of their bodies, their laughter fading into the contented quiet of shared hearts.

In that perfect, lingering night, Thaloria faded away. There were no paths, no fountain, no distant market. There was only them — warm, joyful, utterly together — and the unspoken promise that nights like this, filled with laughter, music, and love, would never end.

Or so they hope.

Chapter Text

The path down into the village was lit with lanterns. They swung from poles and low-hanging branches, each one a delicate paper shell painted in whorls of amber, rose, and deep cerulean. The colours glowed like captured sunset, swaying gently in the soft Thalorian wind. Their light spilled in warm pools along the dirt path, catching on drifting pollen and the edges of leaves that trembled overhead.

The air grew thicker as they descended — warmer, sweeter. It carried the mingled scents of roasted fruit, caramelised until their skins blistered and split; sweet myrrh-spice thrown into braziers; and the faint, comforting trace of woodsmoke rising from clay hearths. Beneath it all was something floral Alex couldn’t name, a perfume so unfamiliar his breath hitched at the strangeness of it.

Music wound through the square — a lilting tune played on bone-white pipes and hand drums stretched with dyed hides. The rhythm curled around the lantern light, playful, coaxing. Even the stones under Alex’s feet seemed to hum along. The melody made his shoulders loosen in spite of himself; it made even the stillest hearts want to move.

As they stepped into the open of the village, the world burst into colour.

Thalorians gathered in a wide circle around the central fire, their garments a riot of layered fabrics — flowing sashes of deep violet, skirts that shimmered like beetle wings, loose-cut trousers in ochre and emerald, vests embroidered with tiny glass beads that caught the light like constellations. Some wore painted sigils on their cheeks, geometric and elegant; others wove feathers or metal cuffs into their hair.

Children darted between them, laughing, each one carrying a lantern shaped like an animal — foxes, birds, long-tailed spirits Alex had only heard about in half-whispered stories. Their lanterns flickered and bobbed, tiny universes cupped in paper.

A group of elders near the fire pounded their staffs in time with the drums, their cloaks a cascade of patterned reds and golds. A dancer whirled at the centre — her skirt a spiral of copper silk, her bracelets chiming softly as she spun, leaving a trail of glinting sparks as if the lanterns themselves bent toward her.

Jack walked beside Alex, his arm brushing his every few steps. It wasn’t deliberate, not exactly. Just natural now. Familiar.

But Alex hardly noticed it at first — he was too busy staring, wide-eyed, breathless. The glow of lanterns reflected in his eyes; the music thrummed through his ribs; the colours, the movement, the warmth — it all hit him at once. Awe unfurled inside him, quiet but overwhelming. He’d never seen anything like this. Not in the books he’d memorised, not in the stories Jack told, not in any dream he’d dared to have.

“Jack…” he whispered, barely a sound. “This,” Alex murmured, looking around as they stepped into the heart of the celebration, “is incredible.”

Jack smiled — that quiet, side-lit smile that always undid him. “It’s the Festival of Lights. We mark the turning of the season — the old year fading, the new one rising.” He glanced at Alex, eyes glinting. “It’s supposed to bring good fortune… and courage for what comes next.”

Alex arched a brow. “Courage, huh? I could use a little of that.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on Alex — the faint flush on his cheeks from the warmth of the torches, the way his hair caught gold from the lanterns above. “You already have it,” he said simply.

And Alex finally felt Jack’s arm against his again, warm, steady, real — grounding him in a moment The festival only grew brighter as the night stretched on.

All around them, the square pulsed with life — a living tapestry of colour and laughter and movement. Lanterns scattered amongst people in drifting constellations, reflected in bowls of polished metal and in the wide, delighted eyes of the children weaving beneath them. Soft carpets had been rolled out across the packed earth, embroidered with swirling Thalorian patterns in indigo and copper. People sat together in loose clusters, sharing food from woven trays, passing cups from hand to hand as naturally as breathing.

Alex kept turning, unable to take it all in fast enough.

To their right, a group of young men painted in sunburst yellow hoisted a net of lanterns into the air. To their left, a trio of women braided each other’s hair with shimmering threads while humming a low, steady harmony. Near the fountain, a boy no older than ten carefully placed floating candles on the water, his parents watching with pride as the flames drifted outward in tiny, shimmering rings.

Everywhere Alex looked, someone was doing something for someone else — offering a drink, pulling a friend into a dance, adjusting a child’s mask of painted wood. The sense of community was so strong it felt like another light source, something warm and invisible blooming between people.

A group of dancers swept past them, skirts spinning in streaks of scarlet and jade, bracelets clacking like soft rainfall. Jack tugged Alex into their wake, just for a few steps, long enough for Alex to feel the ground tremble with the beat of the drums, long enough for the music to settle into his bones. They didn’t truly dance — not quite — but Jack laughed at Alex’s wide-eyed attempt to follow the rhythm, and Alex couldn’t help grinning back.

"Seems like you're getting into it." Jack smirked.

Alex rolled his eyes, playfully pushing Jack's shoulder. "You're lucky I'm too mesmerised by all this to sass you right now." 

Jack laughed in response. "I guess I am, so, you're enjoying this then?" 

"Absolutely yes. I've never experienced anything like this, it's incredible, beautiful." Alex breathed out, struggling to truly find the right word to describe the beauty and joy around him. He felt it deep in his chest. Like his entire body was glowing as bright as the flames scattered between bodies and laughter.

After, they stood near a stall where an old man carved delicate patterns into fresh fruit with a tiny curved blade. He handed Alex a slice shaped like a blooming flower, sprinkled with shards of sugared spice. The taste burst across Alex’s tongue — sweet, sharp, unfamiliar in the best possible way.

“Try this,” Jack said, handing him a second piece from a different vendor. This one was warm, almost smoky, and Alex’s eyes widened again. Jack nudged him with his shoulder, pleased. “Told you.”

They wandered on. Children raced past, ribbons streaming; elders placed lanterns in a slow circle around the central fire; musicians traded instruments and swapped melodies, laughing between songs. At one point, an older woman selling candles winked at Jack as she handed Alex a flame.

“For your beloved,” she said with a knowing grin.

Jack coughed softly, colour rising in his throat. Alex laughed, embarrassed, but took the candle anyway — holding it up between them until the wax’s glow haloed Jack’s face.

As the night deepened, the drums softened, replaced by low, melodic pipes. People gathered together, shoulder to shoulder, holding their lanterns high. The moment the wind shifted — a single, collective breath — the lanterns were released. Alex watched them rise: hundreds of glowing shapes drifting upward, bright enough that the sky seemed to ripple with gold. They scattered like butterflies when the knots slipped free. For a heartbeat, the crowd fell silent, every face tilted toward the stars. And in that silence, Alex felt something settle inside him — something small but steady, like a flicker of flame catching hold.

When the last lantern was claimed into the sky, the festival slowly loosened, people returning to their homes in gentle clusters. Jack reached for Alex’s hand without thinking, guiding him away from the square, up the winding path that curved away from the lantern lit warmth.

They walked in comfortable quiet, the sounds of the celebration fading behind them. The cliffs opened up before them — wide, wild, wind-kissed. The air smelled of salt and fresh grass, cool after the heat of the torches. Below, trees pressed themselves rhythmically against the rocks, a slow heartbeat to replace the thrum of drums.

Above them, the lanterns and stars stretched in endless, shimmering layers — cold silver and soft gold, scattered across a black so deep Alex felt like he could fall into it.

Jack stopped near the edge. His hair caught in the breeze; his silhouette seemed carved out of the starlight itself. Alex stepped closer, his pulse quickening for reasons that had nothing to do with the climb or the cold night air.

“Jack,” he said quietly.

Jack turned — and before he could speak, Alex kissed him.

The lantern light was fading, but somehow the world felt even brighter.

It was soft — almost tentative — a brush of lips that carried everything he wasn't able to put into words tonight. Jack went still, the breath catching in his chest, and then his hand came up, fingers curling gently but firmly at the back of Alex’s neck. He pulled him closer, and he kissed him back.

This one was deeper. Truer. It tasted of sugar and salt and cool night air and something that felt like promise — like every held breath finally exhaled.

Alex’s hands found Jack’s waist, holding him as though to anchor himself to the moment. Jack’s thumb brushed the line of Alex’s jaw tenderly.

When they finally pulled apart, they didn’t step back. Their foreheads rested together, breath mingling, the space between them humming like a plucked string.

“Alex,” Jack whispered, voice unsteady as he regained his breath. His composure.

Alex opened his eyes. Jack’s were shining — not with lantern light anymore, but something gentler, deeper.

“I love you,” Jack said.

The words weren’t dramatic. They weren’t loud. They were simply true — and they landed in Alex’s chest like they always belonged there. Maybe they did.

Alex exhaled a shaky laugh, his hand sliding up to cradle Jack’s cheek. “Jack… I love you too.”

Jack’s eyes closed for a moment, as though the words physically steadied him. Then he kissed Alex again — slower this time, tender, full of awe.

For that brief, infinite span of time, the world felt like it had narrowed to this: the two of them, breathless and warm in the cool night, held in a quiet that felt sacred.

Jack rested his forehead against Alex’s one more time before speaking, voice soft. “Come back to the keep with me?”

Alex didn’t answer — he just nodded, because there was no universe in which he wanted to be anywhere else.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

Their footsteps echoed softly on the stone as they made their way to Jack’s chambers — a place Alex had been before, but never quite like this.

Jack shut the door behind them with a quiet click.

The room was lit by a single candle on the desk, its amber glow stretching long shadows across the floor. The window stood open to the breeze, carrying in the sound of distant memories. Everything felt gentler in the half-light, softened — the bed, the scattered maps, the cloak slung over the chair.

Alex turned — and Jack was already stepping toward him. Jack cupped Alex’s face in both hands and kissed him again, slow and sure, deep enough that Alex felt it all the way to his fingertips. Alex’s hands slid up Jack’s arms, gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer until their bodies were pressed together, warm and solid and undeniably real.

They stood like that for a long moment — wrapped in each other, the lantern light flickering against their skin, the night quiet and full around them.

When they finally eased apart, they didn’t go far. Jack leaned his forehead to Alex’s, breathing him in, his hands settling at Alex’s waist.

“Stay,” Jack murmured.

Alex’s answer was soft, but certain. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And Jack pulled him close again, holding him as though he’d been waiting his whole life to. Then he pressed their lips together.

This kiss was unlike what they usually shared. It was slow and deep, their lips moving together like they had all the time in the world. Alex’s hand slid into Jack’s hair, gentle, reverent, like he was afraid to break the moment. Alex was completely, hopelessly, happily absorbed by him.

The curve of his mouth, the warmth of his body against his, the whisper of his breath as he murmured his name between kisses. Alex paid attention to everything. Every shiver that ran through Jack. Every time Jack smiled against his mouth. Every soft exhale that felt like he was giving Alex pieces of himself without asking for anything back.

And his eyes — those chocolate-brown eyes, clear and soft and open — God, Alex could've drowned in them.

“I want you.” Alex whispered against Jack’s lips.

Jack stared deeply back into his eyes, admiration deep in his eyes. “Okay.”

They made their way over to the bed, gently laying closely bedside eachother. Alex kissed him again, letting his hands roam. He started along his lover’s abdomen, dipping gently across his bellybutton. Jack’s relaxed muscles felt soft under his fingers. Tracing the skin under his tunic, Alex cupped Jack, thumbing soft at the delicate skin of his nipple.

Each touch coaxed a strangled sound that caught in Jack’s throat. He tensed, shivered and whined — all so familiar yet so pure, as if Alex was hearing it for the first time.

A sweet moan made it past Jack’s lips as Alex’s hips rolled. Alex manoeuvred Jack gently onto his back, settling across his hips — not once breaking the contact between them.

“You’re so beautiful, Jack”. His voice was barely above a whisper, but held so much admiration.

Jack could only softly moan in response. He squeezed Alex tighter and moved his hips with a little bit more enthusiasm. His skin smelt sweet and acidic from his sweat at the same time.

Alex’s hands made their way to Jack’s waistband, “are you sure you want to do this?” he breathed against his lips, looking into Jack’s eyes with concern.

“I really want this. I want you.”

Alex smiled, then climbed off of Jack and stood, making his way to his satchel. “Don’t find this weird or anything, but uhm, I brought something for in case this was going to happen?” He rubbed his neck sheepishly, holding a small bottle of lubricant.

Jack furrowed his brows, confusion towards the object Alex was holding. Alex noticed Jack’s confusion and responded before he could ask “it’s lube, it basically just makes things easier and less painful.” He smiled awkwardly.

Jack laughed gently, “then get over here then.”

Alex wasted no time getting back beside Jack. He removed his tunic in which Jack followed.

“So, this is easier when I stretch first, so, I was thinking I could do it this time, then, maybe uhm, if you watch me do it, ne—next time you could give it a try...” he trailed off absently, cheeks burning red.

Jack reached across, cupping Alex’s cheek, thumb moving gently. He leant in, delicately capturing Alex’s lips in a soft kiss. He pulled back, leaning their foreheads together and smiled, “Okay.”

Alex nodded in response then gently removed his trousers, followed by his boxers. Jack watched intently as Alex lubed up his fingers and placed the first one inside of himself.

Jack groaned as he watched Alex squirm as he inserted two fingers into his tight ring of muscle.

“Does that hurt?” Jack asked with curiosity and pleasure in his eyes.

Alex smiled sultrily at him, “not if you do it right.” He let himself get into it, head falling back against the headboard, ecstasy coursing through him as he began to pump them hard and fast.

He allowed himself to look over at Jack, seeing him staring widely, mouth ajar, hand slowly moving up and down his length in his trousers. Alex audibly moaned at the sight and decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He removed his hand, then climbed back over Jack.

“Are you ready?”

Jack didn’t respond, he simply grabbed Alex by the back of his neck, pulling him close into a deep and hungry kiss. Alex responded immediately with the same passion. His hands fumbled down Jack, eagerly pushing down his remaining garments. Jack removed his hands from Alex, leaning his hips up and assisting him in pulling them down, then using his feet to kick them off the rest of the way.

Their hands trailed each other’s bodies, caressing hot skin as their hips forcibly pushed together. Alex broke away and sat up on Jack. He reached towards the lube again, squirting a fair amount into his hand. He looked back up at Jack to check for any doubt and involuntarily moaned when he saw the look on his face. The hunger and lust were prominently evident. Alex slowly moved his hand up and down Jack’s length, both staring into the others gaze like they were in a trance.

Alex stopped moving his hand, keeping it securely wrapped around Jack’s base as he moved to sit up on his knees slightly. He pushed Jack’s tip against his entrance, rubbing it in slow circles. Jack shivered at the feeling, giving a small nod to Alex to proceed.

Alex slowly inserted Jack’s tip inside of him, gasping at the new intrusion. They both moaned gently in unison as every new inch entered Alex. Once Alex was full of Jack, their bodies flush together again, he stilled.

“Just give me one moment.” He whispered to Jack, eyes closed as he familiarised himself with the sensation.

Alex let out a shaky breath and began to slowly move himself up and down. He heard a deep groan from Jack, causing him to look back over at his lover. Seeing Jack’s evident enthusiasm spurred Alex on, he picked up his pace, Jack’s hands squeezing at his hips.

“You can move too, it doesn’t hurt, oh, it feels so good Jack.” Alex moaned out.

Jack didn’t need telling twice, he used his grip on Alex to move him all the way off of his erection, before slamming him back down whilst thrusting his hips up in time.

Alex screamed out in pleasure, his whole body feeling boneless as he felt Jack deep inside of him. He used all his strength to assist, spearing himself desperately onto Jack’s dick, getting him impossibly deeper.

“Fuck, Jack.” He was becoming tired.

Jack simply moaned in response. He seemingly noticed Alex’s new exhaustion, pulling out and rolling them over so he was now above Alex.

Alex whined at the emptiness, nails clawing at Jacks back.

Jack slowly pushed back in, Alex gasping out. Jack recaptured his lips, swallowing all of his desperate moans. Alex pulled at Jack’s hair, pulling him even more impossibly close.

They ground slowly, but with so much intensity. Alex rocked down onto each of Jack's thrusts as they kissed needily.

Jack began to pick up the pace. He leant forward, resting on his forearm aside Alex’s head, his other hand holding tightly onto the back of Alex's thigh, pushing it upwards.

Alex felt a loud noise unconsciously slip from his mouth as Jack rubbed against his sweet spot, sending waves of pure blissful lust through him.

Jack stopped, seemingly confused by Alex’s outburst.

“God, Jack, do that again, please.”

Jack repeated the motion, thrusting hard into the sensitive bundle of nerves in Alex. It was everything. Alex wrapped his free leg around Jack, securing his heel into his back. 

Jack pulled away from his lips, panting heavily as he buried his face in Alex’s neck — gently biting and kissing at the sensitive skin messily. 

"God you feel so good!" Alex moaned, eyes rolling back as he desperately met his every thrust. His hands gripped tightly to the sheets below him as Jack continued his relentless pace.

Alex digged his heel in Jack harder; continuing to gasp and moan, desperate uhs and ohs spewing out. 

"Oh, Alex! So good." Jack whispered before returning to sloppily suck on his pulse.

The steady grind of their hips started to grow uncoordinated and sloppy; Jack putting all the power he could muster into his thrusts as he hit Alex’s sensitive spot directly.

"I'm so close." Jack mumbled against his lips. Alex nodded in agreement. His body felt so warm. His heart pounded against his chest like it was about to burst — overfilled with the love and lust he felt.

Alex reached between them, his hand messily sliding up and down his arousal.

Jack moaned loudly at the site below him; he was so close he could taste it. He thrust into him one more time before he was releasing hard, hips stuttering to a stop as he choked out Alex’s name. Alex moaned, his hips stilling as Jack filled him.

He focused on the pleasure on Jack’s face, the intensity of his body twitching as he came. The feeling of his release painted across his insides. His hand began moving more desperately, more uncoordinated.

Jack grabbed him, leading down into a messy kiss. Alex groaned. A few more strokes and the twitch of Jack’s erection as he began to soften inside him was enough for Alex to reach his climax.

His vision darked as he felt the tension in his abdomen release, a choked moan releasing as he covered his hand and stomach. He fell completely against the mattress, his grip on everything releasing as his muscles relaxed. Jack layed against him, as he breathed heavily, eyelids too heavy to open.

Eventually, Jack moved slowly to release out of him and rolled to lay beside him. Alex rolled onto his side, Jack instantly wrapping his arm securely around Alex’s waist, kissing the top of his hair.

Alex smiled at the action, opening his eyes and looking over at his lover. “So, how was it?” Alex asked with a wide smile.

Jack breathed out a small laugh, hand gently stroking through Alex’s hair. “That was the best thing ever.”

Alex giggled in response, leaning over and placing a small kiss on Jack’s lips. “I love you, Jack”.

“I love you, Alex.” He pulled him closer, Alex allowing himself to be engulfed in Jack’s arms, laying his head on his chest.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

Later, Alex lay awake in Jack’s bed, staring at the faint outline of the village.

The quiet felt full, warm, as though the room itself still held the echoes of what they had shared. His skin still tingled where Jack’s hands had traced him; his lips felt bruised in the softest, sweetest way. Every shift in the sheets reminded him of the closeness they’d sunk into, the way Jack had held him like someone afraid to let go, the whispered laugh against Alex’s throat when they’d finally settled together.

Jack slept beside him, one arm resting across his chest, his palm warm and steady over Alex’s heartbeat. His breaths were slow, deep, the kind a person only made when they felt completely safe. Alex turned his head slightly and watched him — the way his dark lashes brushed his cheek, the way his lips, relaxed in sleep, still curved faintly as though some piece of happiness lingered even in his dreams.

Alex’s own chest tightened at the sight.

He’d been close to people before — brief sparks, moments that burned out quickly — but nothing had ever felt like this. Nothing had ever shaken him down to the foundations, made him feel both seen and held in the same impossible breath. Jack had kissed him like he mattered, touched him like he was something precious, and the way they had come together… Alex had felt his heart open and something had poured out — light and fierce and real.

Love. That was the word he embraced with everything inside of him.

Alex turned his face toward the window. The night air drifted in, cool and crisp, brushing over his warm skin. Familiar — but different now, too. Everything felt different, as though the night had woven itself around them, binding this moment into something too important to forget.

But as he breathed it in, his heart grew heavy — a slow, hollow ache he couldn’t quite name. He loved this world. The quiet. The magic. The impossible softness it brought out in him. And Jack… God, Jack. Just thinking his name made Alex’s breath falter.

But he also loved his own world — the hum of the city streets, the familiar skyline, the life he’d built piece by piece. The little house he’d been watching over would soon return to his aunt’s hands. His routines, his responsibilities, the reality of Baltimore — they waited for him like a tide he couldn’t hold back.

A part of him knows he couldn’t keep stepping between them forever. Sooner or later, one door would have to close.

His fingers drifted to Jack’s arm, resting lightly on the warm skin there. Jack shifted but didn’t wake, only nuzzled closer, his breath brushing Alex’s shoulder before settling again. The small, instinctive gesture nearly undid him.

Alex looked at him again — the faint rise and fall of his chest, the steady line of his jaw softened in sleep, the vulnerable peace on his face. The trust. The love Alex had felt earlier surged again, fierce and painful in its intensity.

He didn’t know what he would choose. He didn’t know how he possibly could. He only knew one thing with absolute certainty: The idea of never seeing Jack again — never feeling this closeness again, never being held like this, never hearing his laugh or feeling his hands or kissing him in lantern light or starlight — felt unbearable.

Alex swallowed hard, his throat tight.

The stars outside flickered soft and endless, casting pale threads of silver across the bed. They seemed to hold him there — suspended between two worlds, two futures — and the one person who made both of them feel like home.

He shifted just slightly, enough to tuck himself closer to Jack, resting his forehead against Jack’s temple. Jack murmured something in his sleep, a small contented sound, and tightened his arm around Alex’s chest.

And Alex closed his eyes, breathing him in, knowing he was holding something he might not be able to keep — and loving him all the more for it.

Chapter Text

Alex was sound asleep, curled on his side with Bowie nestled against his legs, the dog’s steady warmth tucked under the blankets with him. Bowie’s slow breaths rose and fell, a gentle rhythm that pulled him deeper into dreams.

The room held a hushed kind of softness — the kind that only existed in the small hours of the night. The curtains billowed faintly with the cool breeze from the cracked window, brushing shadows across the walls. The quilt around him was heavy and comforting, cocooning his limbs in warmth. Even the old floorboards seemed to rest, no creaks or groans, as if the whole house had finally exhaled.

Alex’s face was slack with peace, his lashes resting on his cheeks, his hand loosely draped over Bowie’s back. The dog shifted once, sighing, pressing closer as though he too recognised the rare quiet. It was the kind of stillness that felt almost enchanted — fragile, perfect, meant to last until morning.

And then — the hallway clock exploded into the silence with a sharp, metallic CHIME.

Midnight.

His eyes snapped open. A cold drop of dread slid down his spine, settling hard in his stomach. The clock never chimed anymore. It hadn’t since — And yet—

He sat up, breath caught in his throat, listening as the echoes died and the house returned to its stillness.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°. 

In the morning, sunlight revealed what the darkness had only hinted at: the hallway clock was wrong. Very wrong. The hands were stuck — not at midnight, not at any new hour — but exactly where they had always been frozen for as long as Alex had lived in this house: 4:17.

Just as it had been every day. Just as it had been before this started.

His stomach twisted sharply. The midnight chime should have been impossible. He approached the clock slowly, like it might lunge at him. The pendulum ticked with a dull, hollow rhythm, swinging without purpose. For a moment he just stared at it, the air around him stretching tight and thin.

It’s fine, he told himself. It’s just broken. It’s always been broken. It’s nothing.

But his breath wasn’t steady. His chest wasn’t loosening. And the memory pressed in around him, unwelcome and sharp: the last time the clock had chimed, he soon had walked down the hallway and found the bookshelf open, the latch undone, the portal waiting.

He swallowed hard, forcing steadiness into his voice even if none existed in his bones. “It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just… old. And weird. That’s all.”

But the reassurance tasted thin. He shook himself, trying to shove the unease aside as he readied himself.

He needed to visit Jack today. Needed to talk to him before his aunt returned this week. Once she was back, Alex would be shipped home to Baltimore again, and he didn’t know what that meant for… them. Even thinking the word made his chest tighten. Not the casual kind of ache — this was deep, low, rooted.

Because they weren’t just friends anymore. Not after everything. Not after the nights spent pressed shoulder to shoulder beneath Thaloria’s trees, not after the soft touches that lingered a little too long to be accidental, not after the way Jack had kissed him — slow and careful, as if checking first that Alex wanted it just as badly. And he did. God, he did.

The memory of Jack touching his cheek, his thumb brushing along Alex’s jaw before pulling him into another kiss, flickered through him now with a painful sweetness. The kind that warmed and hurt all at once. He wasn’t ready to leave that. He wasn’t ready to leave him.

He paused in holding his tunic, fingers curling into the fabric. His breath stuttered.

How was he supposed to go back to Baltimore after sharing all of that? After learning the way Jack’s voice softened when he said Alex’s name, how he laughed quietly at Alex’s worst jokes, how safe Alex felt curled into Jack’s side when the world felt too big? How was he supposed to lose the feeling of Jack’s hand finding his in dark corridors? Or the hush of Jack whispering you’re okay with his forehead pressed to Alex’s? Or the warmth of waking up in Thaloria with Jack’s arm around his waist?

They had new intimacies — real ones. Deep ones. The kinds that rewired something inside Alex, something he couldn’t put back the way it had been before.

The thought of returning to “normal life” felt like being asked to pretend none of it mattered. Pretend that Jack was just some strange summer friend. Pretend that Alex hadn’t fallen in love in a place that defied logic, with a person who made him feel more seen than anyone back home ever had.

His throat tightened. He blinked hard. “How am I supposed to go back,” he whispered into the empty room.

But the room didn’t answer. Only the broken clock ticked in the hallway, counting down time he didn’t have.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

By the time Alex reached the end of the hallway, his nerves were tangled tight in his gut. He kept smoothing his palms down the sides of his trousers, trying to steady his breathing, trying to rehearse what he would say to Jack. Something honest, maybe. Something real.

I don’t want this to end.
I won't just leave you.
I—

But the words unravelled the moment he looked ahead. He stopped so suddenly his boots slid a little on the floorboards.

The bookshelf was back in place.

Not just nudged. Not bumped. Put back.

Pushed flush against the wall. Every edge aligned perfectly, like someone had lifted the heavy thing and set it down with deliberate care. Blocking the hidden door completely.

Alex’s skin went cold.

The hallway around him felt too still — air thick with the dusty scent of old wood and faint lavender. A smell that usually felt comforting now prickled at him, sharp and wrong. The morning light coming in through the narrow window looked dimmer somehow, like it was being filtered through something heavy.

His pulse thudded in his ears. He stared at the bookshelf, frozen mid-step.

He hadn’t put it back. His aunt wasn’t home. No one else even knew about the door. No one else had a key. But the bookshelf stood there anyway, solid as a wall.

His first instinct — his desperate one — was denial. It must’ve slipped. Or Bowie somehow moved it. Or maybe I did it and forgot. I’ve been distracted. It could’ve been me. Maybe—maybe—

But even as he reached for those excuses, he could feel the lie in them. The weight of the bookshelf alone made his denial weak and flimsy. He would’ve remembered dragging it. He would’ve heard it. He would’ve—

His breath left him in a sharp, panicked jolt.

He rushed forward, almost tripping over his own feet, and shoved the bookshelf aside. The scrape of wood against wood roared through the tight hallway like a scream. The vibration thudded through the floor, rattling up his legs.

He winced at the sound — too loud, too final — but he pushed harder until the bookshelf lurched away from the wall. 

Alex’s hands flew to the latch. The iron was freezing, biting into the soft skin of his fingers. He fumbled for the mechanism, half-blind with adrenaline, his breath stuttering as he forced the latch upward.

It clicked. He slipped inside.

The hidden room greeted him instantly with its familiar closeness. The air felt thick, humming against his skin in a way that always meant the portal was active. But today, something felt off even in the air. The hum was lower. Wavering. Like a dying power line vibrating through the walls.

Alex took one step inside, and the hair on his arms lifted. He faced the back wall.

The outline of the portal stood there — but dim. Not glowing, not pulsing with that warm, welcoming light. Sickly. A faint, uneven shimmer hung across it, like heat wavering over asphalt on a scorching day. The edges of the portal flickered weakly, fading in and out. The ivory unable to penetrate through.

Alex’s heart thudded into his ribcage.

He stepped closer on instinct, drawn like he always was — but now with nerves tightening every muscle. His throat felt tight. His palms were damp. Each step forward felt heavier, like the air itself didn’t want him to get closer.

The surface of the wall quivered, trembling in a slow, uneven rhythm. Not alive. Not steady. Breathing — but through a fever.

Alex swallowed hard, forcing down the rising panic. “Jack?” he whispered without meaning to. Not calling out, not expecting an answer — just a desperate prayer to the air itself.

The portal trembled again, the outline becoming even dimmer.

“Open,” Alex whispered, pressing his palm against it. “Come on.”

Nothing. The surface twitched like a dying heartbeat, then stilled.

A small, shaky breath left him. He pressed harder, leaning his shoulder into it as though he could push it awake by force alone. Still nothing.

His throat tightened. He wiped his sweaty hand on his trousers and tried again — more forcefully this time — pushing his fingers into the vibrating air, willing it to part, begging it to respond the way it always had.

The buzzing deepened, rattling faintly inside his bones, but the portal stayed sealed. Unmoving. Unyielding.

“Don’t do this to me,” he muttered, voice breaking around the edges. “Don’t—don’t close.”

He adjusted his stance. He braced his weight differently, grounding himself. He tried focusing on the familiar pull he usually felt — something like gravity tugging at his ribs, calling him forward.

Nothing answered.

He whispered words of pleading, voice beginning to tremble with each syllable. He touched the edges instead of the middle. He pressed both palms flat. He put his forehead to the shimmering surface and closed his eyes, picturing the forest beyond, the golden light, the smell of warm leaves, the feel of Jack’s hand pulling him through—

But every attempt ended the same.

Worry pooled low and cold in his stomach. His breaths came too quickly, too shallow. He backed away, almost tripping over himself, and started pacing the cramped room in frantic, tight circles.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he whispered to the floor, to the walls, to the trembling air. “It was fine yesterday. It was fine. It’s always fine.”

His voice raised. He scrubbed his hands over his face, dragging them upward into his hair.

He went back again — couldn’t stop himself. Pressed. Pounded with the side of his fist. Pleaded beneath his breath, then louder, then in frantic whispers that dissolved into broken sounds.

His palms grew hot and red. His shoulders ached. His throat burned.

The portal remained dim.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

Time passed; not quickly, but in slow, suffocating stretches. The light in the house shifted, thinning as the sun moved outside. Shadows lengthened across the floor. The house held it's usual hum, utterly indifferent to his panic.

At one point, Alex forced himself to step away, just for a minute. He knew he was spiralling. He knew he needed a breath. He stumbled down the hallway and splashed cold water on his face in the bathroom sink. His reflection looked pale, wild around the eyes, hair sticking in strange angles where he’d tugged at it.

He gripped the sink and told himself, “It’s fine. It’s just… recharging or something. It’s glitchy today. I’ll give it five minutes.”

He dried his hands and wandered into the kitchen. He opened the fridge. Closed it again. He poured himself a glass of water, didn’t drink it. He tried to sit on the sofa, but his leg bounced so violently he shot upright again. He lasted forty-three seconds. Then he was running back.

“Please,” he whispered as soon as he stepped into the hidden room, as though the portal had been waiting for him to return. “Please just open. I’m right here.”

He tried again.

Same flicker. Same dimming.

Every time he failed, he left the room again — just for a moment — only to find himself pulled back like the world outside was too unbearable without the chance that the portal might open this time.

He tried sitting in the hallway for a while. He hugged his knees to his chest, rocking slightly, whispering, “It’ll open. It has to. It’ll open.” He repeated it until the words blurred together. Then he got up shakily, and returned.

He pressed both hands to the portal and whispered, “Jack, please. Please, I need to get through—I need—don’t let it shut me out—”

Another hour slipped by. He didn’t notice. His stomach growled at some point; he ignored it. His hands trembled so badly he kept dropping them to his sides to hide the shaking.

He paced. Returned. Pressed. Begged. Whispered apologies to the air. Hit the portal with the side of his fist again and immediately whispered, “Sorry, sorry—please don’t be mad, just open, please—”

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

By late afternoon, the air felt colder.

His fingers tingled from the constant buzzing. His temples throbbed. He leaned his forehead against the dim surface and whispered, voice hollow and hoarse, “Why won’t you open for me? What did I do? What changed? Why now?”

But the portal only quivered faintly, like something slipping further and further out of reach. And Alex felt that same sinking, slipping feeling in his chest; like something inside him was being pulled away grain by grain, and he was powerless to stop it.

With every passing minute — every flicker, every failed attempt — something inside Alex tightened further. It curled into a fist around his ribs, squeezing until each breath felt thinner than the one before.

His thoughts began to fray, unravelling into jagged whispers.

What if it wasn’t opening because he had to leave soon? His heartbeat stuttered. His chest ached.

What if the house knew? The idea crawled under his skin, cold and sharp.

A horrible thought rose up, slow and venomous, rooting itself deep in his mind and spreading thorns:

What if he wasn’t meant to go back?
What if it was over?
What if the portal had already decided for him?

His breath stuttered — short, shallow, almost painful. He pressed both palms to the cool frame beside the portal, leaning heavily against it as anxiety finally broke open inside his chest, flooding him with heat and cold all at once.

“Please,” he whispered, voice shaking uncontrollably now. “Please don’t do this. Please open. Please.”

The portal only buzzed in response — faint, fading, nearly exhausted. And Alex felt himself breaking with it.

He straightened slightly, wiped his trembling hands on his tunic, and pressed his palms against the surface one more time. The shimmer quivered beneath his touch, but only weakly. 

“No—no, come on,” he said, his voice hitching. He pushed harder, harder still. “Open.”

He shoved his shoulder into it. It didn’t budge. Not even a ripple.

A sick wave of desperation rolled through him. He stumbled back a step, inhaled sharply, then threw himself forward — ramming into it with his full weight. The impact rattled up his spine, knocking the air from his lungs. The portal flickered once — violently enough to fill him with frantic hope — but then steadied right back into its dim, sick glow.

Alex’s voice cracked into a sound that wasn’t quite a scream, wasn’t quite a sob — just a sharp, broken thing caught in his throat.

He hit it again. Harder. His palm stung from the blow. This time the buzz inside the room jumped, like the portal startled, then fell flat, thin and weak, like it was wincing.

He pressed his forehead to the trembling surface, eyes squeezed shut so tightly he saw bursts of light behind his lids. His breath shook in uneven gasps.

“Why won’t you open?” he whispered to it, but the whisper cracked in the middle. “Why?”

He dragged his sleeve across his face, wiping at the wetness there before he even fully registered it. Tears. He hadn’t even felt them fall. The realisation shocked him; he was unravelling faster than he could track.

He backed away, just a step, only to surge forward again, unable to stop himself, slamming his whole body against the quivering air.

Alex let out a cry — raw, helpless, almost childlike in the way it escaped his chest — and stumbled backward until his spine hit the wall. His knees buckled. He slid down onto the dusty floor, his legs folding under him without resistance.

He sat there, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts, chest heaving as though something heavy sat directly on top of it. Tears stained his cheeks in a restless pattern. 

For a long moment, Alex just stared at the portal, wide-eyed, stricken, as if maybe — just maybe — if he looked at it long enough, it would soften. Shift. Take pity on him. It didn’t. It only flickered again apologetically.

He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, breath hitching, and pushed himself up too fast. The room tilted for a second, but he caught himself on the hallway wall and stumbled toward the stack of old things in the living room; boxes, dusty blankets, brittle papers that smelled faintly of mildew and old summers.

He reached for the journal he’d found what felt like ages ago — the one he’d tucked away without really understanding why it unsettled him. His fingers trembled so badly when he grabbed it that the loose pages inside fluttered open like frightened wings, rustling softly in the quiet room. He crouched on the floor, the chill from the wood seeping into his knees as he opened the journal across his lap.

He turned a page. Then another.

Birds. Dreams. Plants. Like he read before. Delicate sketches. Strange diagrams. Handwritten notes in looping, slanted script.

He whispered aloud, breath shaky, “These weren’t stories.”

He turned another page; his fingers smudging the fragile paper slightly. A sketch of a bridge made entirely of roots. He knew that bridge. He had stepped on it. He had felt it sway.

Another page, an ink sketch of tall golden trees arching over a path. A margin note reading, the air here glows if you breathe slow enough.

Thaloria. All of it.

Alex’s heart hammered hard enough that he had to swallow around the pressure in his throat. His chest tightened as realisation after realisation struck him.

Someone else had been there. Someone else had walked those paths. Someone else had recorded their steps in this book; every wonder, every story, every warning.

He flipped faster now, unable to stop. Each page felt heavier in his hands, as if the ink itself carried weight. The handwriting grew more frantic. There were notes that had been crossed out, rewritten, scribbled over again.

His breathing grew louder in the quiet room. Too loud.

He turned another page, his fingers trembling violently now, and stopped dead.

At the bottom of the page, written sideways in frantic, jagged pen strokes that slanted into the margin as if the writer had been running out of space — or time — were the words:

January 28th
The house knows when its helped.
That’s when its satisfied.
That’s when it ends.

Alex stared. His lips parted. He read the words again. They didn’t change. He read them again, slower this time, as if the letters themselves might rearrange into something less terrifying.

His breath went thin, dragged from him like someone had punched the air out of his lungs. “No,” he whispered. “No, that doesn’t—it doesn’t end. It hasn’t ended.”

He snapped the journal shut too quickly. The sound startled him. His fingers curled tight around the cover until his knuckles whitened. Then he set it down. Picked it up again. Set it down. Picked it up again, unable to decide if he wanted to run from it or cling to it.

He paced tight, frantic circles, stepping over his own shadow, over the rising fear clawing its way up his spine. He dragged a hand through his hair, pulling hard enough to sting his scalp. His breathing hitched, then stuttered, then hitched again, uneven as panic built inside him like pressure in a breaking dam.

“It’s not ending,” he muttered, voice thick and frayed. “It’s not. It can’t. I’m not done. Jack’s not—” His voice broke clean in half.

He doubled over slightly, pressing the heel of his palm to his brow like he could physically force the thoughts out of his head. He shook his head hard, as if the violent motion might scatter the words scribbled in the journal, might force them out of his memory. Like he could shake the truth free. Like if he denied it strongly enough, the portal would glow, would open, would welcome him back.

He grabbed his phone with a desperate jerk and called his aunt. The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Straight to voicemail. He ended the call and dialled again. And again.

“Pick up,” he whispered, pacing the length of the room. “Please just pick up. Please—please—”

His hands shook so badly he nearly dropped the phone, fumbling with it until he had to grip it with both hands.

He left the living room, pacing down the hallway, then back into the hollow room. He ran his fingers along the wall for something grounding but the contact barely slowed the tremor coursing through him. The phone felt like it weighed a ton.

He dialled again. And again. The tinny ringtone felt loud, almost mocking, bouncing off the walls.

He stopped to shove the hair from his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. He tried counting — one, two, three — tried slow, steady breaths, tried to ground himself with the sensation of the wooden floor beneath his feet. Nothing worked.

The clock at the end of the hall kept ticking its broken, mindless tick-tick-tick, like it was laughing at him.

He shoved his phone into his pocket and grabbed a stack of papers from the counter — old receipts, grocery lists, scraps with half-finished doodles. He shuffled them mechanically, as though the act of doing something normal could fill the hollow, rising dread. Then he remembered the old tea set in the cupboard. He pulled it out, arranged the cups carefully, filled one with water instead of tea, just to have a task, just to feel some control.

After a while, he realised he had to check the portal. Back into the room. Hands pressed against the cold, trembling surface. Just the weak hum and the dim shimmer. Enough to show the magic was still there. Just not enough.

Frustrated, he left again.

He washed dishes he hadn’t needed to wash. He wiped down counters obsessively, rearranged drawers, counted the tiles on the floor, tried to force the world into neat, measurable units to distract from the chaos in his chest.

And still, he found himself creeping back. Each time, the portal’s dim light flickered in the same way. The faint buzz pressed against his bones, but it never opened. He tried anything and everything to force a reaction. Each attempt left him more raw, more desperate.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

Hours passed — or what felt like hours, though he had no sense of time. The sun outside moved again, shadows lifting from the walls, but the portal remained the same.

Finally, drained, shaking, he sank into a kitchen chair and curled forward, elbows on his knees, phone resting on the table in front of him. His thoughts spun in frantic, dizzying circles — Jack, the journal, the portal, the horrible words: that’s when it ends. He couldn’t stop the creeping certainty that something was slipping away. He was trapped in it: the portal, the journal, the empty phone line, the endless ticking of the clock, the soft, mocking rhythm of a house that wouldn’t yield. 

Exhaustion had finally claimed him. He moved and got curled up on the sofa in the living room, Bowie pressing against his side, warm and steady. The faint hum of the house all faded into a soft, uneasy quiet as he dozed.

His limbs ached. His eyelids were heavy. His chest rose and fell shallowly, lungs still tight with residual panic, but sleep — real, heavy sleep — dragged him under. For a while, Alex forgot the dim shimmer, the buzzing, the dread spiralling in his chest.

Then — Bowie barked. Sharp. Loud. Urgent.

Alex’s eyes shot open, heart slamming against his ribs, adrenaline snapping every nerve awake. The sofa felt suddenly too soft, too constraining.

“The portal,” he whispered, voice cracking.

Hope exploded in his chest, bright and searing. His mind raced with possibilities: Jack waiting, Thaloria calling, the shimmer finally yielding. His feet hit the floor, and he was running after Bowie, almost tripping over the rug.

He entered the hallway. The golden new afternoon light filtering through the windows painted stripes on the floor, and for a moment, every detail of the house was sharper, alive, urgent.

Bowie’s nails clicked across the hardwood, faster and faster, and Alex’s thoughts tumbled over themselves. The portal. The journal. Thaloria. The house. Jack. Jack!

And then he stopped when he noticed the direction Bowie had gone.

The hallway ended not in shimmering air but in the familiar frame of the front doorway. A figure stood in view. Someone Alex had not seen in a long time. And the spark of hope that had surged so violently in his chest — Jack, Thaloria, the portal — shattered instantly, scattering like shards of glass.

Alex froze, breath caught. A rush of disappointment, grief, frustration, and exhaustion hit him all at once. His body went weak, knees threatening to buckle. Bowie barked again, more insistently, but even the dog’s presence couldn’t pull the sting from Alex’s chest.

Chapter Text

"Aunt Maria," Alex said the moment she stepped inside. Voice sounding as broken as he felt.

Bowie barreled forward, tail wagging hard enough to wobble his entire body, but Aunt Maria barely glanced down at him. Her eyes were fixed on Alex — his tunic, his red-rimmed eyes, the tangled mess of his hair, the way he stood like he'd been hollowed out.

The knowing hit her instantly.

"Oh, sweetheart..." she breathed, voice soft with a hurt that wasn't hers. She stepped closer, brushing her fingers gently along his cheek. "You've been crying. What's wrong?"

Alex hesitated, twisting his hands together. "I... I don't know," he admitted finally, voice tight.

Her gaze sharpened, filled with quiet certainty. "Alex... I think I know what's been happening here. I know about the door."

He froze, his eyes widening. "You... you know?"

"I didn't know it would open for you," she said gently, letting her hands fall to her sides. "But I knew it might. That this house... that Thaloria... could call to you, just as it called to me once."

Alex froze. "You've seen it before."

She sighed then nodded slowly. "I have. So, tell me what's wrong."

He swallowed. "The door won't open."

Her expression didn't change — only deepened. As if she'd been expecting that.

"Come," she said, nodding toward the living room. "Sit with me."

They sat across from each other on the sofa — Alex tense and coiled, Aunt Maria calm in a way that made his panic feel unbearably loud. Bowie paced once, then settled on her lap with a low whine, sensing the heaviness between them.

Aunt Maria stroked the dog casually, almost absentmindedly. "You want the truth, don't you?"

He nodded quickly. "Everything. Please."

"Well," she began, exhaling. "It started long before you were born."

Her eyes drifted toward the hallway where the portal shimmer used to glow. "But the first time I found Thaloria was—God, years ago now. I heard a sound in what I was using as the storage room—a hum, soft and bright. I followed it and suddenly... I was somewhere else. Somewhere I didn't have words for at the time."

Her smile turned wistful. "Thaloria," she said. "Storybooks I found here called it a kingdom of sunlight and gold forests. And it is—it was. But I didn't know the books were real until I met her."

Alex's breath hitched. "Who?."

"Liora." Her voice softened. "The Queen. Jack's mother."

She paused as if remembering the exact moment. "She was unlike anyone here. Brave. Fierce. Sharp as a blade but gentle as river moss. I stumbled into her world, lost and terrified—and she simply reached out a hand. She taught me everything. Showed me the ways of her people. We explored together. She was..." Aunt Maria blinked hard. "She was the greatest friend of my whole life."

Alex's chest tightened. "So why did you stop going?" he asked.

"Because I had to eventually," she said, "the portal closes when its given you the adventure it knew you needed and..." she hesitated, "Liora grew ill. And, unfortunately, Thalorians cannot cross over. The magic is tied to their world." She shook her head. "So, the portal will not open for them."

Alex closed his eyes. He felt his brain scramble. Unable to keep up with what he was being told. He felt like he was having to decode everything just to begin processing it.

"When Liora knew she wouldn't recover," Aunt Maria continued, "she made me promise something. Jack was still so young. She wanted him to grow up strong, not alone. She wanted him to know wonder—real wonder. To have a companion who understood him the way she and I understood each other."

Alex whispered, "She meant me."

Aunt Maria nodded. "I didn't know it then. I don't even think Liora did. But the more you visited me as a child, the clearer it became."

He frowned. "How?"

Her smile grew soft, almost aching. "The house," she said. "It sang for you."

He blinked. "Sang?"

"Yes. Houses touched by magic have a... resonance. A kind of instinct. They call to people who need something they're missing." She paused, watching his face. "You weren't always a happy child, Alex. You were quiet. Lonely, even when you didn't realise it. But whenever I read you stories of Thaloria—stories I once thought were just fairy tales—your whole spirit changed."

She tapped her chest lightly. "You glowed. You came alive in a way I'd never seen. And the house felt it. Magic pays attention to that."

Alex let out a confused, shaky breath. "So it sang for me because I was missing something?"

"Because you needed something," she corrected gently. "Wonder. Purpose. A place where your heart wasn't dimmed. This house... it knows when someone is ready—or when they're desperate for a change they haven't found the courage to make."

She glanced around the living room with a tender, almost reverent sadness. "It chose me, too," she said. "Back when I was drowning in the city—burnt out, tired, convinced my life had already run out of surprises. I walked into this house during an open viewing just to escape the noise for a moment. And the second I stepped inside..." She smiled faintly. "It felt like exhaling. Like the walls recognised me."

She shook her head, laughing softly. "I didn't understand it then. I just thought I'd fallen in love with the place. But now I know—the house chose me because I needed a new beginning. And I'm not the only one."

Alex tilted his head, curious.

"Look around," she said, gesturing at the room. "The paintings, the carved shelves, the books, even journals—all of it tells stories of others who found themselves here, who were called to something more. People who needed Thaloria in ways they didn't even understand at the time. Each object, each image, is a reminder of someone who walked through that doorway, learned something extraordinary, and carried it back with them. The house... it keeps memory. It remembers the wonder it has given, and it waits for the next person who needs it."

Alex swallowed, letting her words sink in. "But why choose me?" he whispered.

"It chose you," she said, meeting his eyes, her voice steady and warm, "because it knew you needed an adventure long before you ever knew it yourself."

Alex's chest tightened, and for a moment he was no longer in the living room. He could feel the faint sunlight spilling across the floor, the quiet hum of the house settling around him like a protective cloak. He remembered distant afternoons vaguely — the dust motes floating in the light, the strange, earthy smell of herbs and stones he thought were candles, the way his aunt's voice would fill the small space with worlds he could barely imagine.

"The stories you read to me..." he said quietly.

"Stories you shouldn't have been so drawn to," she added gently. "I even told you my stories. Of Thaloria. Of Jack, before he was even grown. The world called to you. And I..." She looked down, fingers twisting together. "I grew afraid."

Alex frowned. "Afraid of what?"

"Of how clearly it was choosing you," she admitted. "Most children like stories, but you... you lived in them. You listened like you were hearing something familiar, something you'd forgotten and were remembering all over again."

Her voice softened further. "After I discovered Thaloria—after I met Liora and realised the stories weren't stories at all—everything clicked into place. The house wasn't just singing for you. The world was. And I saw it every time your eyes lit up when I spoke about the golden forests, or the markets, or the little prince who'd one day be king."

She reached out, brushing her thumb over the back of his hand. "I used to call you my little adventurer," she murmured with a sad smile. "At first because you were curious and imaginative... but later because I realised Thaloria was already whispering to you. Calling you. Choosing you in a way I wasn't ready to accept."

Alex's throat tightened. "I didn't know that," he whispered.

"Of course you didn't." She exhaled gently. "You were only a child. Too young to understand, too young to make a choice that big. And I—" She swallowed. "I didn't want the world to take you before you even had a chance to grow."

She lifted her gaze to his. "So I distanced myself," she confessed. "Not because I loved you any less. But because I was terrified the house would open for you too soon... and you'd walk straight through it without looking back."

Alex blinked, stunned. "I thought you pulled away because you got busy."

"I did," she said with a sad smile. "Busy keeping you safe."

"Did my mum notice? Did anyone notice—the magic, the pull, any of it?" He rushed out, trying to make sense of it all.

Aunt Maria chuckled lightly. "That's apart of the magic, the house has a way of... encouraging people to... ignore what it doesn't want them to see." She stopped for a moment, smiling to herself. "Only the lucky ones like us. It allows us to notice the house, the door. It allows the portal to open for us. Like I said, it chooses us for a reason—intentionally."

Silence stretched between them — warm, heavy, full. Alex's brain in overdrive.

Finally Alex whispered, "I didn't expect to fall in love."

Maria's posture folded inward a little, her mouth pressing into a thin line as she studied him with a quiet, heavy attentiveness. She squeezed his hand, her thumb brushing his knuckles in a way that felt maternal. "I'm sorry," she admitted softly. "You were always meant to see him. I just never stopped to think what that might mean for you. To deeply see him. So I didn't expect for him to see you back."

Alex's breath shuddered. "He did," he said quietly. "He really did. He showed me everything—places he said only his mother ever saw. He took me to the lake and meadows at dawn. We played music. We talked until the stars came out. He—" Alex swallowed hard. "He let me see him. The real him. And he saw me. It felt like he didn't even have to try. He just did."

Something in Aunt Maria's face melted. Tears clung to her lashes as she whispered, "Liora would be so happy. She was terrified he'd grow up too alone. She wanted him to have someone who didn't just admire him because he was a prince—or a king—but someone who saw the boy underneath." She pressed a hand to her chest. "I kept my promise to her after all."

Alex nodded, eyes wet. "He told me things... things he'd never said out loud. About her. About being king. About feeling like the pressure would cause him to break."

Maria's expression folded, grief and pride tangled together. "Oh, my sweet boy," she whispered, voice thick. "You gave him what I never could."

After a moment, Alex inhaled shakily. His thoughts finally catching up. "Wait. Thalorians can't cross," he said. "So why did it let Jack through?"

Aunt Maria blinked, looking genuinely thrown for the first time. "I don't know," she admitted. "It shouldn't be possible. The magic binds them to Thaloria. It always has."

Alex nodded slowly. "And yet he did."

Maria sat back, pondering aloud. "Maybe Jack coming here, both of you sharing all parts of yourselves, was part of your adventure. Maybe he needed what you needed—escape, connection, a break from what he carries. Maybe the door saw that and bent the rules." She hesitated. "Magic can do that. When it wants to," she laughed out.

Alex's brows furrowed as he thoughts flowed out. "He wasn't ever surprised. Not really. The first time I stepped through—he looked more resigned than shocked about this stranger who came from nowhere. And he kept... making comments. Like he knew more about crossing over worlds than he was letting on."

Maria's head snapped up, eyes widening with a dawning realisation. "Liora," she whispered. "She must have known. She must have told him something. Maybe not everything—but more than she ever told me she knew." She exhaled. "She always did know better than to think I appeared from nowhere." She laughed gently, shaking her head in fond memory.

Alex felt something click into place, a missing puzzle piece sliding home. "That's why he didn't panic," he murmured. "Why he always asked if he could walk me home. Why he asked so many questions of my world. Why he wasn't afraid of it. He even mentioned things his mother told him."

Maria nodded slowly. "So Jack was suspicious because he'd grown up with stories. Whispers. Hints from his mother. Enough to recognise the magic when he saw it." She rubbed her temples. "It explains why he trusted you so quickly too. He must have recognised you—or at least the role you were meant to play."

Alex's heart twisted. He didn't feel worthy of that.

A beat passed. Then another.

"And now it's closing," he whispered, voice cracking.

"It's not closing," she corrected gently. "It's waiting. The magic listens before it truly ends."

He stared at her, heart pounding. "What do you mean?"

"Magic doesn't care about time," Maria said softly. "It cares about intention. And it knows when an adventure has reached its final pages. When someone has to decide whether to stay reading or close the book."

Her next words landed like soft thunder.

"It's waiting for you to decide if this is where your adventure ends."

"Please don't say that means what I think it does." He shuddered, panic deep in his chest.

"The house has given you what you needed, whatever it was waiting for, you achieved. It doesn't allow both forever I'm afraid. And your uncertainty—on whether to carry on here, or stay in Thaloria. That's why the portal isn't committing to staying open, nor is it committing to fully closing. It's waiting for you to make the choice." Her voice held so much, like she knew the pain she was handing him.

Alex felt the floor tilt under him. "What if I can't choose?" he whispered.

"You will," she said simply. "Maybe not easily, and maybe not without breaking your own heart. But you will."

Before he could respond, his stomach let out a low, miserable growl.

Aunt Maria's brows lifted, concern overtaking everything else. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Oh, sweetheart. When did you last eat?"

"I—" He blinked. "I don't remember."

"Exactly what I thought." She stood, squeezing his hand before letting go. "Come into the kitchen. You're making choices on an empty stomach. And don't think I'll let you try without a shower and some sleep, too."

He followed her numbly. The kitchen lights felt too warm, too normal after everything that had happened, but Maria moved through the space with quiet purpose — filling the kettle, setting out a mug, making him a sandwich like she had a hundred times when he was younger.

She slid the plate in front of him. "Eat. Tea's coming."

Alex didn't realise until the first bite how badly he needed it — grounding, something real, something here. He ate slowly, breath evening out with each swallow, the warmth of the tea loosening something knotted in his chest.

Maria watched him the whole time, elbow propped on the counter, worry shadowing her expression in a way she didn't voice. She didn't rush him. Didn't pry. She just stayed with him until the food was gone and his hands stopped shaking. Only then did she speak.

"All right," she said softly. "There's something you need to see."

She stood and motioned for him to follow.

Alex trailed behind her as they went upstairs, each step heavy with anticipation. When she opened her bedroom door, his breath caught and the world seemed to tilt.

The room was a shrine to another world, a living memory of a place he knew all too well.

A gown hung from a carved oak stand, the silk the colour of river water at dawn, catching the light in soft ripples as though it moved of its own accord. Tiny embroidered waves shimmered along the hem, threaded with gold that twinkled like sunlight on moving water. Alex could almost see her there, walking the silver-threaded forest trails of Thaloria, sunlight dappled across her shoulders, laughter carried on the wind. He felt it in his chest, a certainty that his aunt had truly walked the same paths he had.

Paper lanterns, painted with gold forest runes and floating blossoms, hung suspended from the ceiling, casting gentle, shifting shadows that made the walls seem alive. Each one hummed faintly, as if carrying the whispers of Thalorian wind and the secret songs of its people, the same songs from the festival Alex had attended.

On a pedestal, a shield bore a Thaloria crest — a soaring gryphon surrounded by twisting river reeds — carved so intricately that Alex could trace every feather, every curl of the leaves, with his eyes. The craftsmanship was exquisite, almost impossibly delicate, and he knew his aunt had held it in her hands, had felt the weight of history in her fingers.

Bundles of drying herbs hung in careful clusters from the ceiling, their colours muted yet still vibrant: deep crimsons, dusty violets, and emerald greens. The air carried their subtle scent — earthy, sweet, and strangely sharp — and Alex inhaled, realising that this was the same aroma that had drifted from the glades he had explored with Jack, the same magic that had made the forest feel alive.

Alex stepped forward, hands slightly trembling. His aunt truly had been here. She had seen the same forests, crossed the same bridges over rushing rivers, felt the same wind on her face, had wandered among the village and whispered trees.

It wasn't just a room. It was a bridge to what he knew. He could almost imagine her there beside him, guiding him, smiling as she had all those years ago, calling him her little adventurer.

Alex stared. "All this time... this was here?"

"All this time," she echoed. "See these flags here?" She crossed the room, holding up three small buntings, "I had these hung up above my door. I didn't think anyone else would see them again." She smiled, gently caressing the fabric like each thread was more expensive than gold.

"I put it all away in here before you came. I'm not even too sure why." She gestured around the room, smiling fondly with nostalgia at each Thalorian relic. "I never stopped loving that world. I just stopped being allowed to return."

Then her eyes widened suddenly, a spark of mischievous delight breaking through the seriousness. "Oh my goodness..." she murmured, almost to herself. She turned toward him, voice rising in wonder. "I just realised something—something you've been living with every day."

Alex frowned. "What do you mean?"

She gestured toward Bowie, who sat quietly at the corner of the room, tail curled around his paws, eyes bright and alert. "This little rascal," she said, laughing softly. "Bowie... he's from Thaloria too."

Alex's eyes went wide. "What?!"

"Yes!" she said, practically bouncing in place. "The very last wonder I was able to bring back with me when the portal closed for good. He was just a pup then, smaller than he is now. He followed me home, and somehow... he decided to stay. The last piece of that magic I could hold onto, the last bit of that world I carry with me."

Alex knelt slowly, reaching out to touch Bowie's fur, now understanding why the dog had always seemed so alive, so different from any other animal. Why Bowie was so attracted to the hollow room. Bowie nudged his hand with his nose, as if acknowledging Alex's recognition, a silent bond spanning worlds.

Aunt Maria smiled softly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Even him," she whispered, "is proof. That world, that magic... it remembers who belongs, who needs it, and who will carry it forward."

"So, how come Bowie can stay here?" He questioned, curiosity deep within him. 

"I wasn't too sure myself. I've figured by now it's only those of Thalorian blood the magic prevents. In the same way we can still wear the clothes and hold the keepsakes we gathered." She smiled wide, then in quickly dropped to a thin line. "Unfortunately, it's only the people who can't cross—" she laughed genty, "or at least stay, given Jack now."

Alex looked at Bowie, then back at his aunt, and the weight of it all — the adventure, the magic, the love, the responsibility — settled around him like a cloak. For a long moment, he simply breathed, letting the wonder of the room, the dog, and his aunt's presence wash over him.

Finally, Aunt Maria broke the silence, her fingers brushing over the dresser as if drawn by instinct. "This is what I wanted to show you," she murmured. She crossed to the piece of furniture, pulling open a small wooden box with care. Inside lay bundles of dried herbs, tied neatly with red thread, their earthy scent delicate but unmistakable. Tiny vials of crushed petals and powders, a sprig of silverleaf, even a small crystal that pulsed faintly with soft blue light — ingredients she had kept all these years, each one painstakingly preserved, as if waiting for the right person to need them.

"This," she said, lifting the bundle with reverence, "will keep the portal open for forty-eight hours. Fully open, even though you're still deciding. It's an old herbal spell—Liora taught it to me. Use it only if you're sure."

Alex reached out, trembling, as if touching the herbs would let the magic flow straight into his hands.

Aunt Maria gently closed the box before he could, the warmth of her palms brushing his fingers. "Not yet," she said softly. "First, I need to leave."

"What? Why?"

"Because the magic won't yield while I'm here," she said, her voice steady but gentle. "It knows I've already made my decision. And I am happy with the decision I made. Bowie and I will stay at a friends. You'll have the house to yourself."

His eyes stung, unshed tears making his vision blurry. "Aunt Maria..."

She stepped closer, cupping his face in both hands. Her thumbs brushed over the faint redness of his cheeks, the worry and love in her touch anchoring him.

"Make the right decision, Alex," she whispered. "Your right decision. Not mine. Not Liora's. Not Jack's. Only yours. And whatever you choose... know that it's okay. You are brave enough, stronger than you think, and —" she hesitated, her own voice catching — "you deserve every bit of adventure any world can offer."

Alex's breath shook in his chest, the weight of everything settling on him.

She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, lingering, as if sealing a promise in the warmth of her skin. Then she grabbed her coat, and Bowie trotted after her, tail low, sensing the gravity of the moment.

Back downstairs, at the doorway, she paused and looked back one last time. Her eyes glimmered with love, pride, and just the faintest tinge of sorrow.

"Whatever happens," she said, voice thick with emotion, "you were always meant for wonder. Never forget that, Alex."

Then she stepped out, closing the door softly behind her.

The house exhaled. The faint hum of magic filled the air, brushing the walls and floor like a living thing, waiting, watching, and ready to answer the call of the little adventurer.

Chapter Text

Alex woke in the spare bedroom long before dawn, though “woke” was generous — he had barely slept at all. His eyes felt raw, his thoughts still looping the same impossible choice over and over. The blanket was twisted around him, knotted from a night spent turning, thinking, panicking.

He dragged himself upright with a low groan. His body felt heavy, as though exhaustion had pooled in his bones. But his aunt’s voice echoed in his mind: Eat. Shower. Sleep. You’re making life-changing choices.

Sleep had been a lost cause. But he could at least do the rest.

The shower was quick, just enough to scrub the stiffness from his limbs and rinse away the cold sweat clinging to his neck. He stared at himself in the fogged mirror afterward — pale, red-eyed, trembling — and splashed cold water on his face until he looked marginally human again.

Downstairs, he made toast: two slices, one slightly burnt, because he was never good with toasters. He took two bites, swallowing them past the tightness in his throat. It was enough to keep Aunt Maria from scolding him. Barely.

He dressed in his autumnal red tunic — the one he usually wore when he crossed over — the fabric soft from use, the seams familiar under his fingers. Something about it steadied him. Or tried to.

He made his way to the hallway, each step echoing in the quiet house. The hollow room was dim, a thin hint of pre-morning grey filtering through the open hidden door. Against the back wall, the portal glowed like a fading bruise — faint, stretched thin, as though struggling to stay tethered to the world. Even weakened, even flickering, it felt like it watched him.

Alex swallowed hard. He laid the ingredients out carefully on the floor: the dried herbs, crushed petals and powders, a sprig of silverleaf, and the crystal that pulsed faintly with its own inner light. His aunt had tucked a handwritten note beneath them — her rushed scrawl, arrows pointing to each item, brief reminders of the order and timing.

His hands shook as he followed the instructions. He mixed the herbs first, grinding them together until the scent filled the air — sharp, earthy, tinged with something metallic. He added the powders next, watching them soften into the mixture like dissolving moonlight. The crushed petals went in last, their colour bleeding into the blend like bruises blooming under skin. Then, gently, he touched the blue crystal to the bowl.

He expected something to happen. Light flashing across the mixture. It changing form. Something to signal he did it right. But nothing did. 

He almost couldn’t breathe. Bowl in hand, he approached the portal. “Please,” he whispered.

He didn’t know what he was begging for. More time. More certainty. More courage. Something — anything — that didn’t feel like this.

He spread the mixture along the edge of the portal. It hissed as it sank into the cracks, the sound soft but sharp, like something waking up.

His aunt’s words echoed in the hollow room: Forty-eight hours.

Forty-eight hours to select a world. Forty-eight hours to lose the other forever.

His throat tightened. His hands clenched at his sides.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the portal shuddered. Light rippled outward, stretching across the wall, deepening, strengthening, pulling itself back into shape. The faint bruise brightened into something fuller, something alive again. The room hummed with a vibration he felt in his teeth.

And when the door finally opened — fully, unmistakably — something inside him broke. Not in a dramatic collapse. Not a gasp, not a sob. Just a sudden, helpless release as his chest caved around relief he hadn’t dared hope for. His breath stuttered. He stood in front of the portal, shaking, tears falling freely.

It was open. For now. For the last time. And he knew — with a terrible, aching certainty — that whatever came next, he would still have to decide everything.

He stepped through.

Thaloria’s air hit him like a memory he’d never try to forget: cool, sweet, tinged with orchard blossoms carried on the drifting breeze. It filled his lungs so quickly it almost hurt. For one heartbeat, he stood still, breath shuddering, eyes stinging — the familiar sky above him a sweep of soft blue he had come to love more fiercely than he had ever intended.

But he didn’t stop to take it in.

He ran.

His boots hit the mossy ground in a rhythm so frantic it barely counted as steps. The sun-dotted glade flickered around him in bursts — patches of golden light and deep green shadow blurring together as he pushed through them, branches grazing his arms, leaves whispering against his shoulders.

The forest greeted him the way it always did: soft rustles, bright birdsong woven between the trees, glitter-leafed branches catching shards of sunlight and flaring them like sparks. It was beautiful — painfully so today — every detail sharpened by the knowledge that this world, this path, this breath of wind might soon become memory.

His chest tightened as he ran past the stream, its water glimmering like liquid glass. He had splashed across it what felt like a hundred times before, laughing, teasing Jack about whose boots would get soaked first. Now he barely registered the cold spray on his shins.

The forest opened into the village, and people turned at the sound of his pounding footsteps. Vendors called half-greetings before they realised something was wrong. Lena, the baker, holding a tray of morning pastries froze. A group of children paused their game, their stone marbles hovering mid-roll. A woman sweeping her doorstep stepped back, confused.

He offered no explanations. He couldn’t. Panic clawed up his throat too fast, too fierce. Because he loved this place — the crooked rooftops, the smoke curling from chimneys, the smell of sweet dough and fruit preserves drifting through the square. He loved the way sunlight slid across the stone, the way laughter carried in the morning air, the way magic hummed beneath everything like a steady heartbeat.

And all he could think as he sprinted past them was:

I might lose this. I might lose all of this.

His eyes burned. He blinked hard, refusing to slow.

He tore down the winding path leading toward the hill, past the orchard where blossoms shook loose and floated behind him like confetti. He had spent entire afternoons there with Jack — wandering between the rows, eating the fruit, listening to stories about the kingdom and its forgotten corners. Now each tree felt like a quiet farewell.

He reached the foot of the Keep, breath ragged, chest aching. The great stone archway rose ahead of him, warm sunlight catching the polished banners that fluttered lazy and bright in the breeze. He stumbled up the steps, gripping the railing as dizziness swept over him. The courtyard beyond opened like a blooming flower — familiar, safe, beautiful — and for a moment he almost crumpled under the weight of it.

Because he loved Thaloria. Deeply. Hopelessly. In the way you love a place that changed you so completely you barely recognise the person you were before. And the thought that he might have to step away from it — forever — hollowed something inside him with terrifying speed.

He pushed forward. He needed to find Jack. He needed to tell him what was happening. He needed—

He didn’t know. He only knew he was running out of time.

He burst into the courtyard, breath ragged, dust streaked across his face. His lungs burned. His legs trembled. But none of that mattered, because—

Jack was there.

Standing in the sunlight, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sorting bundles of herbs with two younger apprentices. His head was bent slightly as he worked, loose hair falling forward in that way Alex had always secretly loved. His hands moved with that easy precision he had learned from years of practice, turning sprigs of green-gold leaves, checking roots, tying twine.

And for a moment Alex’s world slammed to a halt. He almost stopped dead in his tracks. Because just hours ago — no, minutes, really — he had stood in front of a dying portal and believed he might never see this again. Never see him again. Never hear Jack’s laugh or feel the warmth of his hand or watch him do something as simple and beautiful as work in a courtyard full of sunlight and herbs.

A fierce, disbelieving joy rushed through Alex so quickly it felt like it might knock him over. It was glee and relief and something bigger than both, something that made his throat close and his eyes sting.

He’s here. I’m here. We’re here.

But underneath that sharp burst of happiness, something else coiled tight inside him — a hollow, twisting ache that gutted the breath from his chest. Because he also knew he might have to choose against this. Against him. Against the life that had grown around him like sunlight through leaves. Seeing Jack — really seeing him — made everything harder. Made the decision feel more like a wound waiting to happen.

Alex forced himself forward, his steps uneven, breath shaking.

Jack looked up at the sound — and the moment his eyes found Alex, his whole face lit up. That warm, open smile Alex loved so much broke across his features, bright enough to outshine the morning. Then — as quickly as it came — the smile faltered. Jack saw the state of him. The dust. The panic. The exhaustion clinging to him like a shadow. His expression softened into worry, into concern, into something that looked dangerously close to fear.

But Alex barely registered the apprentices stepping back, barely registered the courtyard’s sudden hush. All he could feel was the dizzying relief of seeing Jack alive, whole, right there in front of him…
and the crushing weight of knowing he might still lose him.

He swallowed, chest tight, voice caught somewhere between breath and breaking. “Jack—” he started, or tried to. Because there wasn’t time. Because there was everything to say. Because he didn’t know how to decide. Because seeing Jack again made him realise how deeply he didn’t want to.

““Alex?” Jack stepped forward, the worry in his voice sharp enough to cut through the noise of the courtyard. “What— You look like you haven’t slept in a week. You didn’t come yesterday, or the day before, I—”

Alex swallowed hard, breath shaking. “Jack, something’s wrong.”

Jack immediately turned to the apprentices. “Go. Both of you.”

They scattered at once, whispering to each other as they hurried off, shooting nervous glances back.

Jack stepped closer. “Tell me.”

Alex pressed his palms to his temples, fingers digging into his hair. “The portal,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “It’s closing. It’s— it’s warning me.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “Warning you to do what?”

“To decide between staying in my world or Thaloria.” Alex blurted, words coming too fast, too shaky. “I talked to my aunt. Really talked. She— She told me everything. About the house. Your mum. How they used to explore Thaloria together. How she stopped passing over. How the portal closes when you’ve taken what you needed from it.”

Jack looked away, orchard winds tugging gentle fingers through his shirt. For a moment, he was very still. “What did you take from it?”

“No—” Alex stepped forward, panic sharpening his breath. “Jack, the adventure, my adventure. Our adventure. I have to decide what to give up, forever! I don’t want it to end. I love both worlds. Both feel like home in different ways and I—” His throat closed around the rest.

Jack turned back, eyes searching his face with an intensity that made Alex’s chest ache. “You said that my world made you feel like you could breathe.”

“It does,” Alex whispered.

“Then stay.” Jack’s voice was steady on the surface, but underneath it trembled something fragile, desperate. “I can’t leave Thaloria forever. It’s what my mother left me. The only part of her I have left. But you—you could live here. You could belong here. You’re not happy there, Alex. You told me that.”

“I know,” Alex said, voice cracking. “I know. But it’s my life. My mum. My family. My friends. My world. I can’t just abandon it.”

Jack’s expression tightened, frustration bleeding through his fear. “Then don’t call it abandoning. Call it choosing.”

Alex flinched like the words hit him physically.

Jack stepped closer. “Choose the place you can breathe. Choose the life you want. Choose—choose me.”

“I can’t—” Alex raised shaking hands to his head. “Jack, I have forty-eight hours. Less than forty-eight hours now, to decide what my whole life looks like. I don’t—I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Alex—”

“What if I choose wrong?” Alex choked. “What if I ruin everything? What if I lose you? Or my family? Or both? I don’t— I don’t—” His breath came too fast, too shallow. His eyes burned.

“Stay,” Jack pleaded, stepping even closer. “Stay here. Stay with me. We can make a life. I love you—”

“Jack—you don’t understand,” Alex said, voice rising with panic. “It’s not that simple. My mum raised me on her own. She’s my family. She and my aunt are all I have in that world. I can’t just disappear. I can’t just walk away. It would kill them.”

“And leaving here would kill me,” Jack whispered, desperation cracking through every word.

Alex’s heart broke at the sound.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Jack rushed on. “I’m not ready for this to be over, Alex. I fell in love with you. I— I can’t—”

Alex shook his head violently, tears spilling. “Please don’t—don’t make me feel worse. I’m trying, I’m trying so hard to figure this out and—and I’m so scared—”

Jack took a step back like the fear in Alex’s voice physically pushed him.

Then everything inside Alex snapped. The panic. The exhaustion. The unbearable weight of choosing between two worlds he loved. His knees buckled. His breath stuttered. Tears poured down his cheeks as he crumpled forward with a broken sound.

Jack was on him instantly. “Hey— hey—” Jack whispered, gathering him into his arms with urgent tenderness. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Alex pressed his face into Jack’s chest and sobbed, shaking uncontrollably. Jack held him tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other wrapped firmly around his waist as though he could anchor him to the earth by sheer will.

“It’s alright,” Jack murmured into his hair. “You’re alright. I’m here. I’ve got you. Breathe, Alex. Just breathe.”

Alex clutched at his tunic like he was drowning. His breath broke over and over again, tears soaking through the fabric. The world narrowed to Jack’s voice, Jack’s arms, the soft steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath Alex’s cheek.

Minutes passed. Or maybe longer. Eventually the sobs eased, though not by much. Alex’s breaths were still trembling, and every few seconds a small, broken sound escaped him.

“I’m scared,” he whispered, voice raw.

Jack pressed his forehead to Alex’s. “So am I,” he said softly. “I don’t want this to end. I… I really love you, Alex.”

Alex’s heart throbbed at the words. Then he let out a shuddering breath and clung even harder.

“I really love you too,” he whispered, voice breaking.

Jack kissed the side of his head — gentle, reverent, aching. “Stay tonight,” he murmured. “Please. If… if this might be our last night, I want it with you.”

Alex nodded wordlessly, too overwhelmed to trust his voice.

Jack held him a moment longer, then guided him inside, one arm still wrapped around him, as though afraid that if he let go for even a second, Alex might vanish between worlds.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

They spent the afternoon on Jack's chambers balcony, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly of wild mint and the cedar beams of the Keep. Jack pulled it around them both, tugging Alex close until their legs pressed together and their shoulders touched, a warm anchor against the cooling air.

Below them, Thaloria eased into dusk with the unhurried grace of a world that had never known the need to rush. Lanterns flickered to life across the orchard, soft gold dots rising among the branches like captured fireflies. The trees caught the light and shifted it gently, turning it into drifting halos that floated above the paths Alex had walked a hundred times. The distant cliffs hummed in that steady, low vibration he had always felt more than heard — a sound like the world breathing. And the Keep’s spires, polished by centuries of wind and magic, glowed a dim, warm gold as the sun slid behind them.

Alex watched it all with a tightness in his chest he couldn’t name.

He had expected fear. Grief. Panic.He hadn’t expected…this. This strange, tender happiness curling inside him like warmth seeping into cold fingers. This sense of rightness, fragile but undeniably there, every time Jack’s thumb brushed slow circles against his shoulder. Every time Jack exhaled, breath soft against his hair. Every time Alex leaned just a little more of his weight into him and Jack shifted to hold him closer.

He felt the ache underneath it all — sharp, quiet, relentless. A reminder that this might be the last time he saw a Thalorian sunset. The last time he felt the orchard wind graze his skin. The last time he sat on this balcony with Jack beside him, safe and warm and real.

But he also felt the beauty of it, clearer than ever, almost painfully so. The sky blazed pink and then softened into violet, streaks of gold lingering like brushstrokes across the horizon. Far-off birds began their evening call, their songs weaving through the cool air. In the village below, people laughed — distant, comforting, familiar now in a way they hadn’t been when he first arrived here. He could see the baker’s chimney sending up its nightly plume of smoke, could hear the smith’s forge cooling with a hiss, could smell the faint sweetness of fruit pies cooling in windows.

It was home. Or one version of home.

Jack shifted slightly, tightening the blanket around them and pulling Alex closer until their sides fit together without space between. Alex felt the movement — the instinctive protectiveness — and his throat went tight.

“You warm enough?” Jack murmured.

Alex nodded, though the real warmth wasn’t the blanket.

Jack rested his cheek lightly against the top of Alex’s head. “Good.”

Silence settled again. Not the heavy kind — the gentle kind that comes only when two people know they don’t have to fill the air to feel understood.

Alex watched the final edge of the sun sink behind the orchard. Something in him ached so fiercely he feared he might break again. But then Jack’s fingers threaded through his, warm and certain, and the ache softened into something bearable. Something he could carry for a little longer.

He savoured everything — the weight of Jack’s arm around him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the way the lantern light flickered across Jack’s profile when he tilted his head. He memorised the way Thaloria smelled at dusk: sweet air and distant earth, like the world was whispering its own goodnight.

He swallowed hard. How can I leave this? But how can I stay?

He didn’t say it aloud. He didn’t have to. Jack’s fingers squeezed his.

The night deepened, wrapping the world in silver-blue darkness. Only when the wind grew cooler — brushing over their cheeks, sending a shiver through Alex’s spine — did Jack whisper, “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

Reluctantly, Alex nodded. Jack stood first, offering his hand. Alex took it, fingers lingering longer than necessary, like letting go would make something slip away. Together, wrapped in the shared warmth of the blanket, they stepped inside.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

The bed was soft beneath them, familiar in a way that made the world outside feel distant, almost unreal. Alex pressed himself against Jack, chest to chest, feeling the warmth radiating from him, steady and grounding. Every heartbeat that pulsed under his palm was a quiet reassurance: here, alive, real, now.

Jack’s hands found Alex’s shoulders first, then slid down his back, warm and sure, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. Alex leaned into the contact, tilting his head so his cheek rested against Jack’s, inhaling the faint scent that clung to him.

Their lips met softly at first, tentative, testing the air between them. Alex’s hands rose to Jack’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart, tracing it with gentle fingers. Jack responded with the same careful reverence, letting his lips brush against Alex’s in slow, lingering motions that promised safety, love, and permanence — all in one delicate press.

“I love you,” Alex whispered into the curve of Jack’s neck, voice low and trembling. The words felt fragile, as if spoken too loud might shatter them.

Jack’s lips brushed Alex’s hairline, down the curve of his cheek. “I love you too,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion. “More than I can say.” His thumb traced small, soothing circles over the back of Alex’s neck, anchoring him, slowing the panic still fluttering there.

Alex tilted his head, nuzzling against Jack, feeling the press of his body, the warmth of his arms. He kissed the side of Jack’s face, slow and lingering, whispering endearments that didn’t need repetition because each one was a new promise, a new memory carved into the space between them.

Jack’s hand threaded into Alex’s hair, holding him gently, fingers tangling in soft strands as he pressed his forehead to Alex’s. “You’re safe,” Jack said softly. “Here. With me. Nothing else matters right now.”

Alex let out a shuddering breath, letting himself sink fully into Jack’s warmth. He ran a hand along the length of Jack’s spine, memorising the curve of his shoulder, the rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Every touch under his fingers felt like a tether, a promise he wanted to carry with him into whatever choice lay ahead.

Jack deepened the kiss, slow, deliberate, lips brushing, tongues tracing, lingering over every nerve. Alex responded in kind, one hand moving to Jack’s jaw, the other resting over his heart. “Please,” Alex whispered between kisses. “Don’t ever let me go.”

“Never,” Jack promised, voice breaking slightly. “Not now. Not ever.” He pressed another kiss to the crown of Alex’s head, then along his temple, slow, patient, as if marking every inch of him as sacred.

They moved together like this for hours, shifting slightly, hands never leaving one another. Fingers entwined, lips brushing, foreheads pressed together. Every brush of skin against skin was a wordless conversation, a vow repeated in silence. Whispers of “I love you” and affection repeated in a rhythm, soft and insistent, until the sound became a lullaby that eased away the panic, the fear, the impossible choice looming outside the bedroom walls.

For a while, the choice didn’t exist. There was no portal, no ticking clock, no distant life calling. There was only the weight of Jack’s body against his, the warmth, the smell, the quiet intimacy of skin against skin.

Only them.

Only now.

Alex let himself melt into the feeling, pressing every kiss, every caress, into memory. The ache for both worlds, the fear of leaving either, hovered still beneath the surface, but here — wrapped in Jack’s arms — it was muted. He allowed himself a small, trembling smile, even through unshed tears, knowing that whatever the morning brought, he had this. He had Jack. And that, at least for right now, could not be taken away.

“Please,” Alex whispered against Jack’s lips.

Jack pulled away slightly, his grip never loosening. “What?”

“I need you. Please.” He whispered again, desperation rattling through his throat.

Jack pulled him closer again. They held each other close, even as they removed their clothes. The kissed and touched every part of skin like they never would again — maybe they wouldn’t. Every moment was filled with desire, passion, and true love desperate to stay together.  

When they finished together, they stayed wrapped up like that. Sharing body heat between them like it was all they had left to give.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

In the final hour, the portal waited again in the darkened room of the old house, a trembling veil of light that pulsed faintly, like it sensed the storm raging inside him. Every flicker of colour, every quiver of energy seemed to echo the beating of his own heart.

Alex stood before it, hands trembling at his sides, breath shallow and uneven. The air hummed around him, soft but insistent, reaching toward him like a heartbeat, a pulse of possibility.

He thought of Baltimore:

The sharp scent of coffee in the morning sun. His mum’s laughter echoing through the kitchen, bright and rolling and full of warmth. The hum of streetlights down familiar roads, the same corner where he and his cousins had bought ice cream every summer, sticky fingers and sunburnt noses. The creak of the old floorboards in his apartment, the way the city smelled after rain, the way he had once believed he could lose himself completely in its rhythm and still feel found.

He also thought of the life he had carved there, all the noise and chaos and small, stubborn joys. Messy, loud, flawed, but anchored. A world he understood because he had grown in it.

He stepped away from the portal, almost wanting to run, almost wanting to turn and leave everything behind.

No. Not yet.

Thaloria rose beside it, impossibly vivid:

The cliffs where the wind tasted like possibility, all sharp salt and endless horizon. The orchard paths he could walk blindfolded, memorised so fully they had become a second skin. The Keep, warm and shadowed at dusk, spires glowing like they held their own quiet constellations. The hum of magic beneath everything, under every stone, in every leaf, a heartbeat waiting to be shared. The taste of laughter, of belonging, of love, all threaded into the light here. Jack’s presence there — steady, alive, loving — pulled at him with impossible gravity.

Alex’s heart wrenched in both directions at once. He took a step forward, then recoiled, panic and longing warring in every muscle. Comfort versus connection. Familiarity versus wonder. Responsibility versus love.

He thought of Jack:

His voice breaking when he said, I love you. His hands, steady even when everything else trembled. Jack’s grief for his mother, held close but never hidden. The fragile, but burning, hope he carried, braver than Alex had ever allowed himself to be. Jack asleep on the balcony sofa, breathing soft and even when nightmares had tried to claim him. Jack smiling when Alex arrived in the mornings unannounced, unjudging, radiant. Jack holding him like he was something worth anchoring to, and maybe something worth fighting for.

And then his aunt—quiet, stern, unflinching—her warning echoing like a bell through his mind: Choose carefully. The door closes only when it knows you’ve taken what you needed.

Had he taken enough? Had he taken too much? Was it possible to take too little?

Alex’s hands shook. His mind swung violently between the two worlds:

One moment he imagined Baltimore — the sun cutting through the blinds in his kitchen, the smell of toast, the warmth of routine. Familiarity. Safety. His life, the life he had built. The next, Thaloria —Jack’s laughter ringing in his ears, the feel of wind on his face, the pulse of magic beneath his skin. Adventure. Wonder. Belonging.

The weight of it pressed into his chest, crushing and sharp. Two worlds, both half home, and he could have only one. Comfort versus connection. Familiarity versus wonder. Responsibility versus love.

He stepped forward. Back. Forward. Back.

The portal brightened and dimmed in response, as if it too were unsure, as if it were sensing his indecision. His knees buckled under the weight of it. His heart slammed against his ribs in time with the clock running — each second stolen from him pressing into his mind. Every choice, every hesitation, every moment of indecision brought him closer to the edge of something he could not undo.

He remembered walking the orchard paths with Jack, leaves crunching beneath their boots, magic threading through the air like a melody. And then he remembered walking the crowded streets of Baltimore with his friends, grounding him through every chaotic step.

His chest burned. Tears pricked. He reached out to the portal, withdrew, stepped closer, backed away. Comfort versus connection. Familiarity versus wonder. Responsibility versus love.

The light trembled. Its edges collapsed inward, flickering, retreating. Alex’s heart lurched. He could feel both worlds pulling at him with equal force. Jack’s warmth, his heartbeat, the unspoken promise of life together in Thaloria. And Baltimore — family, roots, a life he could never fully abandon, even if part of him yearned for something more.

“Choose!” he whispered to himself, voice cracking. “Choose, Alex. Choose!”

Step forward. Pull back. Step forward again. He was dizzy, trembling, and entirely consumed by the ache of wanting both, knowing he could take only one.

The shimmer at the portal’s edge wavered, the colours collapsing inward like a flower closing for the night. Light thinned and faltered, edges flickering, weakening, retreating. Faintly, he could hear the hum of it, like a pulse stretching across worlds, urging him. Waiting.

Alex froze, hand raised, fingertips brushing the trembling energy. Breath caught. Heart hammered. Eyes stung with tears. It was almost there, almost gone.

And still, he didn’t know.

Every memory of his world tugged him one way, every memory of Thaloria tugged him another. He could feel Jack’s warmth, Jack’s heartbeat, Jack’s love pressed into his skin even here, thousands of miles away in thought, and yet… the pull of home — of family, of years spent growing into someone who belonged somewhere he could never fully abandon — was equally insistent.

Alex’s chest burned. Tears fell as anxiety coiled into panic and longing all at once. The ache of loss and fear and desire for something impossible pressed into every nerve. Comfort versus connection. Familiarity versus wonder. Responsibility versus love.

He reached forward. Stopped. He pulled back. Stepped closer. Stopped again.

The decision hovered in the air, unmade, unspoken.

The portal flickered, trembling. Its edges collapsing in, retreating, fading, as though it’s autonomy was taking over the temporary magic.

Alex’s hand hovered, trembling inches from the shimmer. The door between worlds was vanishing before him, and still; he did not know which way he would step.

He was torn between everything he had ever loved, everything he had ever known, everything he might lose. Comfort versus connection. Familiarity versus wonder. Responsibility versus love.

The portal thinned further. The room darkened. Light trembled one last time, unsure, waiting, fading.

Alex watched, breathless, heartbroken, terrified, and entirely alive, standing on the threshold of everything — and nothing at all.

Chapter Text

Two Years Later ...

The morning light found Alex slowly.

He surfaced from sleep like someone rising through warm water — gently, unhurriedly, as though the day had decided to take its time with him. Soft brightness pushed through the window in ribbons, painting drifting shapes across the walls. For a long while, he didn’t move. He lay tangled in sheets, a quiet breeze slipping through the open window, the air cool against his bare arms.

He let his eyes close again, breathing in the feeling settling over him. A quiet kind of peace. The sort that comes when you’ve finally stopped running or hiding. The kind that doesn’t arrive with fanfare — just settles beside you, warm and steady, until you realise you’re not afraid anymore.

Eventually, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The floor beneath his feet was cool, familiar. He rubbed his eyes, stretched, exhaled. His lips curled before he consciously meant to smile.

He moved through the morning the way he usually did: slow, deliberate, letting himself feel the shape of each moment. He ground coffee beans, the way he preferred. He let the steam rise from the cup and warm his palms. He stepped outside to drink it — not because he had to, but because it was habit now. A ritual. A way of anchoring himself.

The sky arched above him. A light wind played through the air. From somewhere far off, echoes carried on the breeze. Birdsong. Voices. All cheerful and bright, just out of sight. People preparing for the day.

Alex sipped his coffee, letting the moment stretch. He thought, with faint amusement, how strange it all was — how one choice, just one, could shape the rest of a life. How terrifying that had felt before, how inevitable it felt now.

But that was the past. Today was simple. Today was his.

He walked back inside, allowing himself to relax into the room. He stretched, feeling the looseness in his shoulders, the quiet contentment sitting just beneath his ribs like a small, glowing ember. It wasn’t loud or overwhelming; it simply was, steady and warm, a presence he carried with him as naturally as his breath.

He made his way toward the washroom, feet brushing the floor. The water flowed with a gentle rush, steam curling upward in soft, white tendrils. He stepped under the warm stream, letting it spill over him, down his back, across his face. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, the warmth soaking into all the small places tension liked to hide.

When the water stopped its flow, the room’s cool air kissed his skin. He wrapped himself in a towel and padded to the mirror, still fogged so heavily he could only see the outline of his reflection. Somehow, the blur suited him — everything soft, edges hazy, nothing demanding sharp attention.

He brushed his teeth slowly. The rhythm was comforting. Ordinary. He rinsed the basin, wiped a streak of condensation off his reflection with the side of his hand, and caught a glimpse of his eyes — clearer now, brighter than he remembered. He smiled without thinking.

The day ahead waited somewhere beyond the doorway, but for the moment, he simply stood there, breathing in the hush of the morning, feeling completely, quietly right where he was.

Back in the room, a soft sound drifted from somewhere behind him — fabric shifting, a footstep light enough that it barely disturbed the air.

“Ready for today?” a voice asked.

Alex didn’t turn immediately. The smile tugging at his mouth was gentle, private. “That depends,” he said. “Isn’t it supposed to be bad luck for the groom to see the bride on the morning of the wedding?”

A quiet laugh — soft, low, unmistakable. It warmed the air more than sunlight. “Then I suppose,” the voice said, “we’re already doomed.”

Alex turned.

Jack stood there in the doorway, sunlight crowning the edges of his silhouette. His hair was still damp from washing, one dark strand falling across his forehead. He wore simple morning clothes, nothing royal, and still he looked devastatingly handsome. It amazed him — how someone could look so unassuming, so casual, and still pull the world into sharper focus with nothing but a glance.

Alex felt it hit him in that quiet, almost private way it always did — a soft rush in his chest, like warmth rising from somewhere deep and steady. It wasn’t dramatic or overwhelming; it was simply there, an instinctive awareness of Jack’s presence that settled into him like the first breath of morning air. He couldn’t help the small flutter in his stomach or the way his pulse seemed to sync to Jack’s footsteps, even before he moved.

For a moment, Alex just stood and watched him, letting the simplicity of it wash over him. No ceremony, no grandeur — just Jack framed in soft light, looking at him like he was exactly where he belonged. And Alex loved that. Loved him. Loved the way these small, quiet mornings made everything inside him feel settled and right.

Jack tilted his head slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and Alex felt another soft swell of warmth, as if the room itself brightened just because Jack was there. “You’re early.”

Jack stepped closer until the air between them disappeared. He reached for Alex’s hand. “Couldn’t stay away.”

Their fingers intertwined, the touch familiar and grounding. The light caught on their joined hands, turning the moment golden.

Alex gave Jack’s hand a gentle squeeze, as if to test whether the moment was real, and the warmth that answered him was immediate. Jack brushed his thumb over the back of Alex’s hand, a slow, affectionate little sweep that carried no urgency, just quiet adoration.

“You always do that,” Alex said, amused.

“Do what?”

“That.” Alex nodded toward their joined hands. “The thumb thing. Like you’re saying something without saying it.”

Jack’s smile tilted, soft and a little shy. “Maybe I am.”

Alex huffed a tiny laugh and leaned into him, shoulder bumping Jack’s in a way that was more instinct than choice. Jack immediately leaned back, matching the touch perfectly, like two pieces settling into their place. And for a moment, they didn’t move. They just stood there, hands linked, shoulders touching, listening to the faint morning sounds drifting in from outside.

Alex let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “I like this,” he murmured.

“What, mornings?” Jack teased softly.

Alex shook his head and looked up at him. “You.”

Jack’s expression melted — all softness and fondness and something that made Alex’s chest feel too small for his heart. “Good,” Jack said, brushing a stray strand of hair from Alex’s forehead. “Because I like this too.”

Alex nudged his hand again. “The thumb thing?”

“That…” Jack grinned. “And everything else.”

Alex laughed quietly, warm and full. Outside, the world went on waiting. But neither of them was in a hurry. Not when the morning already felt complete.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

The entire village of Thaloria bloomed with colour.

Streamers of fabric hung between rooftops, shimmering like captured rainbows. Every surface was adorned with flowers. Children raced through the streets with painted faces. Musicians tuned their instruments beside the orchard, bright notes drifting like fireflies.

The Keep’s great courtyard had been transformed into something out of legend: arches of woven branches and ribbon, lanterns arranged in spirals, long tables prepared for a feast that would stretch until moonrise. The air buzzed with joy, with excitement, with anticipation.

Zack and Rian — self-appointed “groomsmen” — fussed over final details, arguing loudly about which of them had more official responsibilities as though either had any at all.

“You’re holding the rings,” Zack protested.

“And you’re holding the groom,” Rian shot back, tugging at a ceremonial sleeve. “Which, in my opinion, is significantly more important.”

Jack laughed and let them bicker. He smoothed his own attire — a fitted coat of midnight black trimmed with gold sigils that glimmered like constellations when he moved. A mantle of soft, smoke-grey fabric draped over his shoulders, clasped with a crescent-shaped pin. He looked both impossibly regal and unmistakably himself.

Alex stood nearby in his deep blue and silver robes that shimmered like starlight on water. He tried to keep steady, but his pulse thudded in his ears, a mix of wonder and disbelief that this moment — their moment — was real. Every time Jack glanced his way, Alex felt his heart lift, as if buoyed by a quiet, invisible magic.

As the bells of the village chimed, everyone began drifting to their places. The villagers moved with a kind of reverent excitement, as though gathering for a ritual older than memory itself. Lantern sprites bobbed above their heads, lighting the path with warm, shifting colours. Elders claimed the front seats beneath the arch; children perched on roots and stones, whispering predictions about which blessing spirits might appear. Even the distant forest leaned in, branches swaying though the air was still.

Zack and Rian finally took their positions at either side of the aisle — Zack smoothing his hair for the tenth time, Rian checking the rings for the eleventh. Jack inhaled deeply, grounding himself. The ceremonial path unfurled before him like a river of woven leaves and drifting motes of gold.

Then Alex began to walk.

Every step he took sent a soft pulse of light through the ground, as if the earth itself acknowledged him. Jack’s breath caught; he had seen Alex in every kind of chaos and calm, but never quite like this — wrapped in starlight, looking at him with such unguarded tenderness.

Alex felt the weight of every gaze on him but only truly saw one face. Jack’s. The awe in Jack’s eyes made his throat tighten; it was the kind of look that said I choose you long before any vow was spoken. The closer Alex came, the more the nervous flutter in his chest softened into certainty.

Some villagers clasped hands over their hearts; others simply smiled, full and soft. Even the wind seemed to linger, tugging gently at the silver threads of Alex’s sleeves.

When Alex reached him, Jack lifted his hands automatically, drawn forward as though by gravity. Alex’s fingers trembled when they touched, but only from joy.

The ceremony was ancient — vows spoken beneath an arch of living branches that curled overhead like protective wings. The arch hummed faintly, aware of the moment. Petals drifted on a breeze that seemed to glow, shimmering like falling stars. A druid elder stepped forward, weaving a ribbon around their joined hands; warming their skin, binding their promise in a magic older than the forest itself. 

When Jack said, “I choose you—in this world and any other,” Alex felt something inside him unfold, soft and bright.

When Alex replied, voice trembling but sure, “You are my home,” Jack’s eyes shone.

The villagers held their breath, leaning forward as if afraid to miss a heartbeat of the moment. Then — the crowd erupted in cheers as they sealed the vow with a kiss, light blooming around them like a sunrise made just for two.

⸙ ࿔*:･༄˖°.

Music burst through the courtyard like sunlight. Lutes, flutes, drums — joyful, wild, irresistible. The rhythm bounced off stone archways and drifted through hanging vines that glowed faintly with lanterns. The entire space felt alive, as if the courtyard itself was part of the celebration.

People danced in circles, in pairs, in spirals that changed shape like the wind itself. Cloaks and skirts swirled, boots thumped against the ground, bracelets chimed.

Food and drink flowed in endless supply — tables piled with spiced bread, shimmering fruits, roasted vegetables glazed in honey, pitchers of bright, bubbling wine. Servants and volunteers wove through the crowd with trays overhead, laughing as they dodged enthusiastic dancers.

Children wove flower crowns from blossoms. They scampered through the courtyard, tugging at sleeves, proudly insisting the newlyweds wear them. Jack obliged immediately, bowing theatrically so they could plop a lopsided crown on his head. Alex tried to keep a straight face, failed entirely, and laughed until his cheeks hurt.

Someone convinced Zack to hoist the two smallest children onto his shoulders, where they waved at everyone like tiny royalty. Rian — determined and already tipsy — challenged half the village to a dance-off, which quickly devolved into him tripping over a drum, rolling, and bowing as though he had intended it all along. The crowd applauded anyway.

Above them, lanterns rose into the sky like floating stars, drifting higher and higher until they were indistinguishable from the constellations. Some glowed brightly like fireworks of soft colour; others simply faded into the night like wandering wishes.

Alex felt fingers clap his shoulder and turned to find villagers approaching him one after another.

“Congratulations, Alex!” someone cheered, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Thaloria’s lucky to have you.”

“Lucky?” Zack snorted as he joined the group, still carrying a giggling child. “We’re all just shocked he willingly married Jack. Thought for sure he’d run the moment Jack proposed.”

Jack, from across the courtyard, shot him a mock glare.

Rian slung an arm around Alex’s neck. “Seriously, though—how does it feel? ‘Cause you look disgustingly happy. Like you’re about to float away.”

Alex flushed, laughing. “I am happy. And no, I’m not floating. Not yet.”

“So give it an hour?” Zack teased.

“Maybe half,” Alex admitted, and they all burst into laughter.

Lena the baker pushed her way through the group, cheeks flushed from dancing and excitement. “There he is! My favourite apprentice-turned-traitor!”

Alex grinned. “Traitor?”

“Yes,” she said dramatically, grabbing his hands. “Everyone is gushing over the bread you made, not mine! And don’t shake your head—I remember your first time. Burned the bread, dropped the dough, nearly took out my entire spice wall.”

“That was one time,” Alex argued.

“Four times,” she corrected fondly. “But look at you now. Part of us. Part of this.” She gestured around at the glowing courtyard, the laughing villagers, the music. “Thaloria suits you.”

His chest tightened — not painful, but full. “It… really does.”

They drifted into deeper conversation, the group forming a loose circle around him. They spoke about the little things — Alex’s growing reputation for making the perfect morning pastries, his habit of greeting the dawn before everyone else, how he’d become woven into the rhythms of village life without ever noticing the threads being tied. And then the heavier things — how he felt truly accepted here, how the village felt less like a place he lived and more like a place that lived around him, with him.

For a moment, Alex’s gaze drifted to the lanterns disappearing into the sky, carrying soft light into the stars. He thought of home — the one he’d left behind. His family. His friends. Their voices, their laughter, the familiar places he once walked every day.

“I miss them,” he admitted quietly, more to the lanterns than the people around him. “But… I think they’d understand. I hope they’d be happy for me. For this. For choosing something that feels right.”

Zack squeezed his shoulder. Rian nodded solemnly, for once serious. Lena offered him a warm, steady smile.

Then, as if the night itself took a long, contented breath, the musicians eased into a gentler rhythm. The drums softened. The flutes mellowed. The courtyard slowed, like the world was settling its heartbeat to something tender and unhurried. People drifted into pairs, conversations lowering to murmurs, movements becoming fluid and close.

Jack appeared beside him as though drawn by the shift in Alex’s voice, his expression soft with something warm and knowing.

He extended his hand, eyes shining. “Dance with me?”

Alex didn’t need to think. He slipped his hand into Jack’s, letting himself be guided onto the open floor.

Jack’s fingers curled at Alex’s hip. He tugged him closer with an ease that felt like gravity, like the natural continuation of every moment leading up to this one. Alex’s breath hitched — not from surprise, but from the quiet ache of affection that bloomed whenever Jack touched him like that, like he was something delicate and precious and fiercely loved.

Alex stepped into him until their bodies aligned, warmth meeting warmth. He rested his forehead against Jack’s, eyes fluttering closed. The world blurred at the edges, losing its noise, its motion, its shape — leaving only Jack’s steady presence, Jack’s breath brushing against his lips, Jack’s hand sliding up his back in a slow, grounding sweep. They swayed, barely more than a gentle rock, letting the soft music carry them.

“Look at us being all slow and sentimental,” Jack murmured, his voice warm enough to melt into Alex’s chest.

Alex laughed, brushing their noses together in a tender, teasing nudge. “Terrible habit.”

“The worst,” Jack agreed, lips curving into a smile Alex could feel more than see.

Alex’s heart fluttered — that small, bright, helpless feeling he always got around Jack — and he tightened his hold just a little, wanting the moment to last longer than the song, longer than the night, longer than anything that could possibly interrupt them.

The rest of the courtyard faded away. And for those few slow, swaying breaths, it felt like the entire world had softened just for them.

Eventually, the music ended, and for a heartbeat the courtyard held its breath. Then a joyous melody burst to life — bright, fast, alive, the kind of tune that refused to let anyone stand still. Drums pattered like excited footsteps, strings twirled in delighted spirals, and flutes bounced above it all like laughter turned into sound.

Without thinking, Jack and Alex broke apart just enough to move — to spin, to dance, to chase each other across the lantern-lit courtyard like they were the only two people who had ever existed.

Jack started it, of course. He gave Alex a mischievous grin and attempted some kind of dramatic spin that absolutely did not go the way he intended. His heel slipped, his arm flailed, and he righted himself with a flourish so exaggerated it made Alex snort aloud.

“Oh wow,” Alex laughed, covering his mouth. “What was that?”

“My signature move,” Jack declared, already attempting it again, this time kicking one foot out like an overly confident rooster. “You wouldn’t understand—it’s called style.”

Alex doubled over, laughing so hard his knees weakened. Jack seized the moment, took Alex’s hand, and spun him under his arm with surprising grace — until Alex spun too fast and wobbled sideways, nearly crashing into a flower stand.

“Style, huh?” Alex gasped between laughs. “Is that what we’re calling near death now?”

Jack just grinned and caught him by the waist before he could stumble again. “For you? Absolutely.”

The music swelled as they burst into motion again — Alex dragging Jack into a ridiculous two-step, Jack pulling Alex into a faster whirl that sent both stumbling in circles. They bumped hips, tripped over each other’s feet, twirled until they were dizzy, then dissolved into laughter that shook their shoulders and made their ribs ache.

At one point, Alex attempted a high kick he definitely could not do. Jack applauded like he’d just witnessed a legendary performance. At another, Jack tried to dip Alex, misjudged the angle, and they both nearly toppled before catching themselves in a tangle of limbs and giggles.

“Alex, you’re terrible at this!” Jack teased, laughing as he steadied him.

“And you’re worse,” Alex shot back, grinning. “But I love you anyway.”

Jack’s eyes softened. “I love you too. Married life suits us perfectly, doesn’t it?”

Alex tilted his head, still catching his breath. “Yeah… being married to you is exhausting and amazing all at once.”

“And completely worth it,” Jack murmured, brushing a damp strand of hair from Alex’s forehead.

Just then, Rian — clearly enjoying the spectacle with Zack and the rest of the village — called out from the sidelines, laughing and smiling wide. “Careful, Your Highness! Don’t let your royal husband trip over the commoners!”

Alex nearly choked on his laughter. “Oh, right, I’m royal now! How could I forget?”

Jack laughed, tugging him closer. “Royal or not, you’re still mine.”

Alex felt a swell in his chest, warm and steady. “And royal or not, you’re still completely hopeless,” he replied, teasing but utterly in love.

They laughed again, breathless, spinning once more, fingers intertwined, hearts full, letting the world blur around them. Every stumble, every giggle, every ridiculous spin only made the moment brighter, more real.

And when the music finally softened enough, letting them catch their breath, Jack pulled Alex in close, forehead to forehead. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” Alex said, heart full, letting the words carry the weight of everything — the laughter, the chaos, the warmth of the night, and the quiet certainty that this life, this love, this world, was exactly where he belonged.

Alex’s heart swelled, overflowing with something big enough to shake him. The feeling rose all at once — joy, peace, belonging — until it was almost too much for his chest to hold. I chose right, he thought, dizzy with the truth of it. I chose this. This life. This love. This world that makes me feel whole.

And at the centre of all of it — the steady pulse that held everything together — was Jack. Always Jack. The constant he hadn’t known he’d been searching for until the moment he found him.

They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, the rest of the world fading into a distant, comforting blur. The music softened to something felt more than heard, a gentle reminder that they weren’t alone — but none of it mattered as much as the quiet between them.

Alex breathed in, letting the warmth of Jack’s hold settle deep in his bones. And he knew — with absolute, unwavering certainty — that he was exactly where he was meant to be.