“I WANT THE TRUTH” She was screaming into my phone, I couldn’t really take it. I mean, I did care about her, but the truth was that I wasn’t really ready to be honest about the scientific fidings of Ocean #1895.

“Look, I know what you saw on the news, I know you want to know about what we learned about Ocean #1895 but I just can’t tell you. I wish I could, but I can’t. The truth is that if I do, especially over the phone, I could lose my life.”

She sighed, “FINE, I’M ON MY WAY OVER.” She hung up.

That’s the hardest part about being friends with people who aren’t scientist but needing space to share scientific findings and receive emotional support over the work. Obviously, a lot of science is confidential and you can’t really tell everyone every single thing, but the amount of emotional support needed is insane. I wanted to confirm what my friend saw on the news but I knew she was going to just lose her mind over it. I know that she wants me to open up, but I really don’t want to lose my life over vital information. That’s what I hate about the media and the government, they leak information but not details. They don’t tell the public that scientists don’t have all of the facts but they start off with information that makes the public go wild and then ‘we’ (as in the people employed in these spaces) get badgered which then leads to all sorts of lab drama.

I had to get out of my thoughts, I was hanging on the couch looking down at the carpet wishing my life was different. You see, when you’re a scientist it’s hard to have friends because you’re always asking ‘why’ and people find you rude. I want normal friends, friends who aren’t trying to chase science with me. This was draining and really stressful.

By the time I had the emotional strength to make a cup of tea there was a knock at my door, it was Kelsey.

“Kels…” I sighed, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Look, I know you can’t tell me everything, just tell me the truth about what’s going on because I want to protect something that has happened.” She folded her arms into her chest and then I allowed her to walk into the house.

“Okay…” I sat back on the couch and proceeded to talk to the floor because what I was about to share was more than enough for any human to describe, “the truth is that we went down to Ocean #1895 aka The Atlantic Ocean. It was in the middle of summer when we started our tour, yes, this pass summer.”

Before I could finish she kicked off her shoes and sat criss cross apple sauce beside, “okay… and?"

“And, we went down in submarines, we all had on our suites, ready for the worst. We were touring, as usual, doing the normal ocean scans, and that’s when we stumbled upon it on accident. We found this two basketball court sized, just like the news reported, creature that had over a thousand tentacles and about 50 eyes on all four sides. The fish were swimming around it and it just glided there. We could see these baby creatures coming from the tentacles and we grew very afraid. It was in that moment that we sped out of the ocean and back towards the lab. We all threw our bodies onto the counters and just eyed each other down, we couldn’t believe what the fuck we saw.”

“Mhm, so do you think that’s how Rainn went missing?”

“I think Rainn went missing that way, yes, because when she went into the water three years ago she went alone. I’m not sure if it’s been calling people into the water and then killing them. We all felt this magnetic call that was beyond our conscious mind. I can’t explain it, it was almost as if we stayed a second longer it was going to eat us alive.”

“FUCK FUCK FUCK, I JUST WANT US TO FIND RAINN.”

“But listen, her name was ‘Rainn,’ who is to say that they didn’t want her for their own experiement, she was a pisces, she loved water, she danced in the rain, she worked in the water, and one day all alone she was drawn down there… and it probably ate her the way it could have us.”

There was silence between us.

My blade hit the tip of her spear and I twisted knocking it out of her hands. “HEY THATS CHEATING MYSTIC,” Spira yelled in frustration. “Ha! You’re not even trying!” “Really, try me!” She retrieved her spear and jabbed it at my arm. “OW!” “Told ya!” “Not fair you have a spear!” I slipped under her easily because of my size and stabbed at her legs. “What the-“ I jabbed at her back. “OW! What was that for?!” “For Jake!” Just then Jake walked in. “Hey Mystic,” he had such a kind voice. He made me feel like I was living a teenage dream. “Hey Jake,” I sounded so wierd. “Wanna go out for-“ “Yes!” “Ok I’ll just… stay here,” Spira sounded disappointed like she always did. We skateboarded towards the sky diner. “So what do you want?” “Um… I didn’t think about that…” we both bursted into laughter.

A few days later I found out the queen had died. There was going to be a competition for who will become the next queen. Jake had persuaded me to enter the challlenge. The contestants were Shocker, Melody, River, Fiery, Flora, Metalica, and… Spira. If you don’t know by now me and Spira are best friends. The first challenge was strength. Me, Fiery, Shocker, and Spira passed the challenge. Next was patience. Me and Spira passed. Last was mind. I won, I became queen of imagination. But I also lost a friend.

The next day Jake congratulated me, but he looked different. Almost a little evil… no I was just confused. Then he did the absolute crazy-I’m-dreaming thing. “Mystic, will you marry me?” I practically lost consciousness. “Yes!” That was probably the worst mistake I had ever made.

The memory was really blurry but I remember being in the throne room and Jake pulled out a blade and said sorry, not sorry, then he lunged towards me. Luckily Spira came at the right time and knocked the sword out of his hands. I broke up with him and he built the evil kingdom or whatever he calls it. He renamed himself King Shadow, which is kind of weird since he's king of shadows. I never fell in love ever again after that. Spira became my personal bodyguard and we became best friends again.

One day I saw Mary and I just knew she was special so i went to the mortal world, made up a backstory, and changed my name to Scarlett. Now Jake has asked for a rematch after two thousand years of peace. I’m not giving up this time- I have freinds now. One of them may be evil or a grand hero. I mean anything could happen. Right?

Follow for Magic and Monsters: The Prophecies Begin

10 minutes before Alyssa’s life collapsed, a bus barreled down the road. It was filled with excited chatter, since the octopus’ had won their game.  “Do you think we’ll be able to win the tournament?” Cadence asked, balancing a soccer ball in her hand.  Niomi didn’t answer. She didn’t care if she won or not. As long as she got enough games in. As long as she scored goal after goal. That’s all she cared about. The other girls on the bus weren’t as passionate as Niomi. They were all obsessed with _boys, _of all things. They were 11.  Niomi shook her head, then refocused. Soccer. That was all she cared about. Well, except for chocolate. Chocolate always came first.  “Are you even listening?” Cadence demanded.  Niomi turned her attention to the window, tucking her long brown hair behind her ear. Cadence stormed off, her arms crossed. She was always so dramatic.  Niomi put her headphones in, and drowned out the world around her. She tapped her foot along with the beat, gently humming the song. Niomi would be home soon. She smiled at the thought. Her family would rush up to her, yelling how proud they were of her. Embarrassing her. Niomi chuckled, shaking her head. They might go out for ice cream afterward. No, they would go out for ice cream, knowing her family. Niomi could almost taste the butter pecan melting in her mouth. And then she would steal a bite of her sister's triple fudge. Then the bus came to a quick halt, lurching Niomi forward. She heard the squeals of the brakes and shouts and cries of pure terror and the soccer balls bouncing off the bus’ side and the music still playing in her headphones and everything everything everything and…  Nothing.

**_Rayburn

_**Oswald, Penelope, Charles, and I sit at the low round table in the Burtrom living room, voices low and minds focused. Oswald is on my team, as always, with Penelope and Charles getting along with each other this once to try and beat the combined forces of our pair.

Penelope groans, tossing her cards messily on the table and crossing her arms together in a angry manner. “This is unfair! You know more about magickers than we do, Rayburn. Your literal aunt has her own card in this game.”

I laugh. “That’s basically all I know about magickers, so we’re on the same plane.” Oswald scoots next to me then, I jump from the solid, warm feeling of his crossed thigh against mine before leaning into it. “The only reason I have a lead in this game is because I read the instructions.”

“And that’s the reason I have a lead as well—because Rayburn read the instructions.” Oswald picks up a card and lays it down face forward. “I play Fire Master, Jager Page, and his Star Gazer Flame attack. Now hurry up, play your card Charlie.”

Charles, who was in a thinking calm during our banter, straightens and places his card down with confidence. “I counter that with the magicker Fiona Wills Shine Bright defense, blinding your magicker’s eyesight and therefore ending the spell and your next turn.” He smiles when he sees Oswald and I gape at him.

Oswald turns to me, his eyes in a teasing shock. “He’s still eleven, right?”

Penelope cheers. “Woo! And that’s why he’s still my favorite brother!”

Oswald frowns. “Wait, wait—I’m not your favorite brother?” I sigh, then make my way to walk away from this before it turns ugly. Oswald, on the other hand, with a look of disbelief on his face, pulls me back down with a tight grip on my arm. It’s not his arm that keeps be down, though, it’s his gaze. I can’t tell if he’s serious or jesting.

Penelope rolls her eyes as though this was obvious. “Well I can’t have two favorites, can I? That would negate the meaning of favorite.” Charles’ face is between a wary smile and a scared one.

“Well listen here—“ Oswald’s voice is loud and cut off by his returning mother and father before it can grow.

Mrs. Burtrom sighs at the sight. “Bedtime everyone! Oswald, walk Rayburn home.”

Penelope groans. “But Muuum!”

Charles clutches his remaining cards to his chest, eyes wide but otherwise tired. “We haven’t finished the game yet!”

Mr. Burtrom starts to clean up the cards in the table as Oswald and I stand. Oswald’s hand is on my shoulder and he steers me to the door. “Bye, Mrs. Burtrom. Bye Mr. Burtrom.”

She blows me a kiss. “Have a good night, honey, tell Florence I said hello.”I don’t get to respond as Oswald shuts the door. We walk in silence for a moment, crossing the fencing to face the front of my aunt’s farmhouse.

“Not really sure why your mother asked you to walk me—we live right by each other.” We have for 11 years. “Bye—“ Oswald grabs arm and pulls me around, meeting my face with a kiss. I push away from him quickly, the kiss only a peck with my reflexes. It stings on my lips as if it were though, or what I think it would be.

“What is your deal!” I look at Oswald, who is a panting mess, his eyes dark and his body shaking in fine shivers. “I wanna take it slow, Oswald. Okay?”

He shakes his head. His hand reaches for my arm slowly, I can pull away if I wish to. I don’t, and he cradles the thin limb as though it is a sacred object. “I don’t think I’m capable of that level of control.”

I snatch my arm back at that. “Well you have been these past months.”

Oswald steps closer to me in the dark. His face set, eyebrows drawn. “Yes, months. But Ray, I can not,” he takes a shaky breath, “I can’t last years without touching you at all.”

I shrink back at his heated gaze. “You touch me all the time,” I mumble weakly.

“You know what I mean.”

I gulp, my stomach doing flips were it was supposed to be resting. It’s not that I don’t want this. I do. But.…

I tense up when his hand, hot despite the cold night—or is that just me?—wraps around waist, pulling me closer. Oswald tucks his face into my neck. My heart races at the close proximity, making me wonder. What’s so different about this time? Will I really let him kiss me?

“Just a little, Ray. I’ll stop whenever you want me to.” He brings me closer. I rest my hands on his broad shoulders; my eyes shut.

For some reason, I say yes, and his lips come crashing on mine without hesitation. “Mmhp!” Warmth floods me, a dam breaking. My breath quickens, hands clutching, sliding over his back. Oswald’s lips are a firm press, softening as his hands start to roam. I say something—probably his name, my mind is too muddle to register—but whatever it is his fingers dig into my hip and his mouth opens wider, and then—

“Oswald?” Mrs. Burtrom’s soft voice rings out in the night, questioning.

HOLY—

My first instinct is to push away, but Oswald keeps me close. His hands strokes my back, calming me down, as he responds, “Yes, Mum?”

“Why are you still out here? Hurry on inside, dear.”

“Yes ma’am.”

We don’t speak until we hear the closing of their creaking door. Oswald lets me go and I realize that my lips are swollen. My heart hasn’t really caught up with the program, still beating at that fast pace, and my face is hot. Ah.

“How was that, Rayburn?” Oswald says. I look up, his face illuminated by the lamps placed outside. I shake my head and turn away from him to go to my front door.

“I’ll tell you in the morning.”Of course, I enjoyed it. But why would I show that?

Oswald laughs behind me. “Goodnight…my love.”

I open the door, face red and heart beating in a happy, warm rhythm. “Don’t call me that.” Then I promptly shut the door with a click.

"Your time is up. Better run!"

Ronald bolted into the nearby park, his breath ragged, heart pounding. The sun hung low, casting long shadows as he pushed himself harder, the words looping in his mind.

He glanced over his shoulder, expecting dark figures in pursuit, but saw only the empty park and his own pounding footsteps. His mind raced, trying to piece together what had led him here, fleeing like a hunted animal.

It started with Caroline. She was warm, kind, a bit mysterious—qualities that drew him in. They had spent hours together, exploring the city, sharing stories. She had mentioned a minor incident from her past, something she shrugged off. But now, as Ronald ran for his life, that trivial detail seemed to hold ominous weight.

He struggled to remember specifics, but adrenaline blurred his thoughts. Caroline had spoken of a place, maybe a person. She had mentioned a friend, someone who helped her through a dark time. Who was that? He had been so absorbed in her, so caught up in their time together, that he hadn't given it much thought then. Now, every word felt loaded with meaning, as if he had missed something crucial, something dangerous.

As he weaved through the trees, his legs burning, his mind flashed back to the moment this madness began. He was in Dr. Riccola’s office, discussing Caroline, how she made him feel alive but also anxious, like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

That session was supposed to help him understand his feelings, but instead, it led to this. The last thing Dr. Riccola had said, just as Ronald was leaving, now came into focus:

“Your time is up, Mister Ron!”

Ahh! “Ron, not run!” It had been just a simple statement to indicate their session was over. But lost in thought, half-listening, those words had twisted into something sinister, fueled by his anxieties.

He had bolted from the office, paranoia snapping something inside him, sending him running without fully understanding why. And now, here he was, in the park, fleeing from an imagined enemy. Relief washed over him as he realized how absurd it all was. He could already hear the teasing he would endure for this—a funny story to tell, nothing more.

But then, it clicked. Caroline had mentioned a friend, someone nicknamed "Cough Drop," who had killed someone—a secret Caroline had kept. The friend had blonde hair and wore an "apple cap." These details, vague at the time, now loomed large in Ronald's mind. In a leap of irrational logic, his subconscious had linked "Riccola" with Ricola throat lozenges, which he had recently seen in a commercial. Could Dr. Riccola be that friend?

The idea was ridiculous, absurd even. But in his panicked state, it had seemed plausible enough to send him sprinting from the office. He laughed at the thought—Dr. Riccola was blonde. Had that been enough to trigger this? Now that his rational mind had caught up, he couldn’t believe how foolish he had been. Determined to clear the air, Ronald turned and made his way back to Dr. Riccola’s office.

When he arrived, he burst through the door, slightly out of breath but relieved. He quickly explained to Dr. Riccola what had happened, how his mind had twisted innocent details into something sinister. They shared a laugh, and Dr. Riccola, still smiling, walked him to the door.

As he was about to leave, something caught his eye. There, on her left ankle, was a small apple tattoo.

Ronald's heart skipped a beat. The smile faded from his face as he looked up at Dr. Riccola. She noticed his gaze and followed it to her ankle, where the tattoo was plainly visible. A strange, knowing look passed between them. Ronald felt a chill run down his spine. He forced a smile, nodded awkwardly, and stepped into the hallway.

As the door clicked shut behind him, his mind raced. The apple tattoo—just a coincidence, he told himself, but it gnawed at him. She wasn’t wearing a cap. He forced a smile, trying to dismiss the unease creeping up his spine. But as he walked down the hallway, the laughter they had shared felt forced, the warmth in Dr. Riccola's eyes tinged with something he couldn’t place. He paused, glancing back at the closed door, his pulse quickening. Maybe it was nothing, just a harmless tattoo. But as he turned and headed for the stairs, a cold knot of uncertainty tightened in his chest, refusing to let go. “Tat, not cap!”

Casper

Pain.

It's all I can feel.

Dragging me in and out of consciousness, I can never stay awake for long.

My body hangs, weak, my breathing labored from the pressure on my lungs.

I hear his voice screaming, making me force my eyes to open.

Below me is Julian, collapsed on the ground, bleeding from a large wound in his stomach.

Yet he's crawling desperately towards me.

My vision blurs, a fog clouding my mind once again.

"Casper-!"

Julian

Fuck fuck fuck.

I can't get to him. I can't get up.

My hands claw through the dirt, dragging my body closer to the wood where Casper hangs.

"Casper-! Please...!" I plead for him to acknowledge me. Maybe he's still awake-

Silence.

I'm yanked onto my knees suddenly by something around my neck and I grunt as more pain shoots through my body.

"Maybe God will save him, Julian. Why don't you try? Get on your knees and pray."

The voice makes me tense and I strain to turn around.

"Why are you doing this?!" I scream, throat burning.

But there's nobody there.

I'm alone, with nobody to help Casper.

God won't save him.

Once again, I drag myself through the earth and mud.

I will.

(Thanks to AJ Kit for choosing this draft, #4! It was a lot of fun finishing this one!) ———

Della only had one thought in her mind. Run.

Allaver had a great defense system. Guards at every entrance and exit. They were skilled in combat. How did this attack even happen?

Hearing the clash of metal, the cries of people she knew, every step brought tears to her eyes. Each step got harder and harder to take.

But she had to. For her duty was to the crown like every soldier and guard. Except hers made her go further from the ballroom and the fight instead of towards it.

Gallia. That was her assigned destination according to the escape plan that her parents ingrained in Della and her siblings.

She turned the corner and her breath caught in her throat. At the end of the hallway, three soldiers with different weapons ran in her direction.

Della dove out of the way of an arrow shot at her shoulder. Whipping her sword out of its sheath, she deflected the next arrow. A fight is so much easier when not in a dress.

Thank you Louisa for pushing the Royal children to learn how to fight. Even with the extensive training, she was no Hale or Amerie, so against three armed attackers, she struggled.

One of the burlier men, who had his sword high up to swing at her, cried out in sudden pain. Della knocked out and incapacitated the other two. Turning around, she witnessed Hale pulling her blade out of the man’s chest.

“Thanks,” Della breathed out as the man’s body slumped to the ground.

She grabbed Hale in for an embrace, hugging her sister, trying to memorize this moment.

Boots on the tile made her let go. Rules were rules. They had to go on separate paths, even if their endpoints were the same.

It betrayed every part of her to leave her little sister. “Stay safe, Hale.”

Hale held her gaze for a second before nodding. “You too.”

More running.

Running away from everything she ever knew.

“Well, I’m disgusted that I ever even thought liked you! I used to think you were so cute and charismatic, surrounded by everyone half the time, that you must have a great personality if so many people liked you! But now all I see is how brainless and shallow you really are! Your not even that handsome! You’re a spoiled, copy-paste version of all the other idiotic guys out there and I- Ugg-I just can’t believe you! And now I’m going to die here with you and you’ll be the last, grotesque face I ever see!”

The echo of my frustration bounces around the echoing tunnel, water sloshing around me as I wave my arms to convey extra amounts of hatred. I hope it stings when I finally say it. I hope he sees the streams of tears on my face and hates himself too.

“Well I’ll tell you I never wanted to know you either! In fact, when you asked me out, I only said yes because I felt bad for you! Your hear that! I pittied you!” He shoves his finger in my face. “Sitting all by yourself most of the time, never talking to anyone, I thought maybe you were just shy! But no, it’s just that you’re a heartless jerk who pushes everyone who has ever considered you might make a good friend away. So call me shallow, but don’t call me spoiled and selfish until you’ve taken a damned look in the mirror, Pansy!” He shouts back, practically spitting in my face.

He turns around and continues walking through the knee high water, his flashlight waving around as he goes. Then he stops and whirls back to me.

“You are the most narcissistic, bullshity, self absorbed, self centered, intitled, bratty date I’ve ever had! I was trying to do something nice for you, taking you out to see the caverns, but you only complained to me the whole way here, and now you blame me for getting us stuck?! I wouldn’t be surprised if you stayed single the rest of your life!”

I sputter at his absolute audacity. He thinks he knows me after one damned night, after seeing me at my worst, he thinks he knows me! I nearly stumble as a march through the water still spilling in from the entrance where we entered.

“You cannot just pin all this negativity on my, you asshole! You finally come face to face with someone who you can’t throw money at to make them like you, and you entirely turn on me like you’ve never done a wrong thing, like you’re a saint!”

The flashlight swings around and points at my face like an interigation light.

“You take that back!” He shouts, truly angry now.

“And I wouldn’t be surprised if you bought your grades too. And you bought your way into the school, and onto the basketball team, and probably into your last girlfriends pants, while I’m at it, and-”

He shove me hard, and I fall into the water, submerged and scrambling to regain my footing. The water stings my nose and I gulp down some too before I break the surface, which is now at my waist. My whole body is cold and icy.

“Can’t even face the truth,” I say through chattering teeth. “You’re such a coward.”

His blazing eyes bore into me before he turns and walks away.

“Good luck getting out of here alone. But it shouldn’t be be such a problem for you since that seems to be how you role,” he chuckles, but not light heartedly. “At least this grotesque face won’t be staring you down as you die. It’ll just be you.”

[A few content warnings. This work contains one offhanded mention of mature content, and a lot of swearing, as well as the typical violence that comes with action bits. Other than that, this is just a snapshot of a larger piece that I'm working on.]

It’s raining. Of course it's raining, heavy droplets tapping at the window, as if vying for Tyson to pay attention to them.

Maybe later.

Because you can't afford to be distracted when you've got a gun in your hand and another pointed at your face, Tyson finds. The nameless goon that currently has Tyson’s life in his hands is circling him, and Tys tries to twist and keep his eyes on him, but. Well.

“Hands up. Move and I’ll shoot,” The man barks.

“Oh, gimme a break,” Tys grouches. “What are you, a cop? I’m just an investigator,” he lies flatly, but puts his hands in the air anyway. The man doesn't move to take his gun; it speaks volumes about the amount of training the guy has. Which is probably none.

There's a reason the mob can hire so many of them.

The man laughs, loud and obnoxious. “I know who you are,” he hisses, stepping closer. Tyson hates how loud his heartbeat is in his ears. “Where's your bodyguard, huh?”

Sergei is not my bodyguard, Tys almost says, but he manages a noise of recognition before getting a lockdown on his words. Stuff like this is always just a waiting game. He could easily just snap around and shoot the guy, but he doesn't- because for some idiotic reason, Sergei always gets pissy about him killing people, which is his whole job. 

Well, nobody’s shooting anyone for now. Tys can wait a little while.

“Should let me shoot always,” Sergei had said, two years ago. His accent had been more prominent back then.

“You look good,” He'd continued. “Don’t want to ruin. Again, I mean. I think first time maybe it fix your face,” and Tyson had laughed. 

He laughs now, too, albeit it's riddled with nerves and it comes out needly.

-

Being shot, as Tyson has found out(again), is not a very good feeling. 

Especially since the bullet is still in him and he can slowly feel the burning heat of it fade away to match the temperature of his insides like it’s molding into his body. Yeah, it’s- it’s not that great.

He’d used up the remainder of his adrenaline high to scramble away from wherever he heard people yelling in Russian, his mind blaring _danger, danger_ at every unfamiliar word that pricked his ears. Now, after about twenty minutes of running and hurtling and ducking and also a little more praying than usual, Tyson comes down to find himself backed up against a brick wall. He hears a dog barking distantly and flinches, sliding down the wall to sit.

Well, at least he’s not really bleeding anymore; it’s more uncomfortable than anything else at this point. He doesn’t feel any signs of internal hemorrhage. Probably didn’t even hit anything vital. Tyson tries to slow his breathing, but his heartbeat is still roaring in his ears, because there is a foreign object in his body, and said body does not like that.

Tyson's phone buzzes in his pocket. Dizzily, he thinks, _Who the fuck is leaving voicemails at this hour, _but it’s quickly replaced with, _Why is _this_ moron leaving voicemails at this hour?_

_12 missed calls from NS._

“My god, Nathan, you better be dying,” Tyson grumbles, pressing on his side to feel how bad the wound is. He quickly retracts his hand, though- fuck, ouch- when it feels like he’s been shot all over again. He grits his teeth so Nate doesn’t hear the pathetic whine of pain he feels bubbling up in his throat. 

“Oh, hey Tys,” Nate starts, and he sounds a little out of breath. “And I mean, well, I kind of am? Dying? But only spiritually, physically I’m totally fine, but it’s-”

Tyson sighs, tucking his phone between his shoulder and his ear, and the exhale makes his ribs ache. “Is it about work?”

“Ye-es?” Nate draws out the word. “It’s about, uh. Miles.”

Tyson recognizes the name as Nate’s new handler. “Harbison? What about him?”

“Um. He, uh. He’s- you know!” Nate sputters, mumbling incoherently, and Tyson can visualize him waving his hands around. “He’s fuckin’- um.  Shit, you know what I’m saying-”

“I really don’t. Spit it out.”


 Good god, Tyson thinks, because how did he ever put up with this for a whole month? He’s on the verge of having to fight off a migraine along with the pain of the bullet in his stomach. Tyson pinches the bridge of his nose just for the sake of being exasperated, and he considers just hanging up on Nate during the few seconds of silence that follow, reaching up for his phone- until he hears him inhale sharply, and he realizes that those ten seconds were spent crafting a goddamn thesis statement.

“Okay so when I got his file it didn’t have a photo for ‘em which is understandable because this is confidential government shit but then I had to go pick him up from the academy because he’s new and needed a ride to the airport and he’s- fuckin’- he’s really cute and kind of shy but I’m not gay I _think? _Am I gay?...” Nate barrels, trailing off. 

Tyson wants to snap his phone in half. Instead, he takes another deep breath, and goes, “So you’re calling because you’re having, what, boy problems?” He honestly should’ve expected this sooner. Nate makes a noise that sounds like _uh huh, _so Tyson replies, “I’m not your shrink, bud. Give it some time. You’ll live.” He pauses, because the pain has started to seep into his lower back and the _bam bam bam _of it hurts like hell- and then adds, “Are you sure you actually like him?”

Nate hesitates. “I. Um. Well, I just jacked off thinking ‘bout him, so,” he mumbles, and Tyson chokes on an inhale. Nate sighs again, like getting off to the thought of your handler is something spies just _do_ these days, and says, “I mean, you and Sergei have been dancing around each other for, what, sixteen years? I’m twenty-eight, Tys, I got no hope-”

“Nate,” Tyson interrupts, because somehow the other man had brought the topic back to his hopeless love life and he would very much rather not talk about it because he is literally on the verge of bleeding out in some dingy back alley behind a hotel. “Are you drunk?”

“Um. A little. Hungover?”

Tyson sighs through his nose, dragging a hand over his face. He feels a little woozy. “Aren’t you tired? Go to bed and figure it out in the morning.”

“‘S eleven fuckin’ A.M. in Sedona,” Nate complains, slurring his words slightly, and Tyson hears a faint _thump_ over the line.

“You’ve been comatose before, I’m sure you could pull it off again.” He shifts a little, jostling his hand, and another sting of pain jolts through his core and up his spine. “I- I gotta go, Nate. I’m, uh. Shot,” Tyson supplies, and hangs up. He faintly registers his phone clattering to the ground, but his ears are ringing and it feels like half his brains have been removed from his head with the remains being turned into dysfunctional sludge.

Tyson glances down at his hand, now lying slack against the right side of his abdomen. His vision is blurry around the edges, and his hands are both numb with cold, but he can feel the heat of his pulse throbbing beneath his palm. 

His hand comes away bloody. Hot_ _blood. _New _blood. _Fuck._

“Need to find Sergei,” Tyson mumbles, to nobody. It’s all his tired mind can muster up before he blanks out.

(While you read listen to In the stars by Benson Boone. There’s no certain way it matches up, so you don’t need to count or wait after reading a sentence. I know I’ve written the ending a million times, but I’m 99% sure I’m sticking with something around this one. Thanks for all the support and reads!!!!!)

I sob quietly as I reach out for Davian’s limp hand. It’s so dark in here, Davian shouldn’t be in the dark, he doesn’t deserve to.

I gasp as the tips of Davian’s cold fingers tickle the back of my hand. He’s here. A lump forms in my throat as tears sting in my eyes. My Davian’s here.

“I forgive you,” I sigh, lacing my fingers between Davian’s.

His fingers twitch as they slowly close around mine.

“Maisie,” Davian breathes, his voice so faded I can barely hear it. “Maisie.”

I squeeze his hand, inching closer to his side. “I’m here,” I murmur. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Davian’s head rolls gently from side to side. “I . . . Sorry . . .” He mumbles, a tear sliding down his cheek.

I shake my head slowly, reaching my free hand to wipe away his tears. “It’s okay.” I whisper, brushing the side of my hand against his cold face.

Davian parts his lips, breathing evenly as his hand trembles softly in mine. I keep my hand on his cheek, using my thumb to wash away a silver tear.

Everything is silent. It reminds me of one of those perfect moments where you can just see the silence floating. The moments that Davian gave to me.

“I love you,” I gasp as tears gather in my throat.

_He’s not coming back. _A voice echos in my mind as I look at his distressed face. He’s gone.

I shake my head as my lips twitch. “Don’t leave me.” I beg, tighting my hold on his hand. “Just stay.”

Davian parts his pale lips again. “Maisie . . . I . . . love . . .”

My heart stops as a high screech echos through the dark room.

No! No, no, no, no. I rush to my feet, dropping Davian’s hand as I grab his limp head in between my shaking hands.

“Don’t do this!” I cry, my tears dripping to his cheeks. I lift his forehead to mine, taking in his perfect scent, minty and Davian.

I lick my lips as tears crash into them. I pull my head away from Davian’s. “I’ll never stop loving you.” I promise, as the door behind me flings open.

I pull his face to mine, kissing his lifeless lips before I’m led out of the room by a nurse who looks like she’s been here all night.

I wait outside the room as the nurses and doctors fight for Davian’s life. I know this is the part where I’m supposed to be filled with hope and praying that he’ll be okay . . . But I know it’s over.

The only reason I’m waiting here is because I promised Davian I wasn’t going to leave.

As I was forced out of the room I saw Davian’s face, it wasn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before.

Everything looked dead, even though he was still alive. But I could see the look on his face, the way his mouth wasn’t just a line, it was twisted up at the corners. And his eyes, they were shut but I could see the beautiful brown that I’ve always loved.

That’s what I thought about when the doctor came out with that look of _I’m so sorry _spread across his face.

That’s what I thought about when I was in front of Davian’s family at his funreal, telling them how I loved him and will never forget the way he changed my life . . . For the better.

And it’s what I think about every night before bed when I repeat the same line to myself staring at a picture of us taken on Davian’s favorite bench. _If love could have saved you, you’d have lived forever. _ __

_ A year later . . . _ __

The cold wind blows my hair into my eyes, I brush it away licking my lips as tears melt into them. I look up at the dark sky, only one star is shining down at me.

“Hey Davian,” I breathe, watching as it flickers in response. “It’s been a long year.”

My eyes linger on the white star, after a few minutes it’s buried around millions of others.

“Goodbye,” I say, shutting my eyes. I’m never going to forget the two years me and Davian shared. They were the years that made me feel the most alive.

And it was all because of the boy who took my heart and holds it as he shines in the sky. It was all because of Davian.