#//and i had much more worldly experience than he did and so... i couldn't stay with him

[troublcmakcrs]

//what if i gave craig my specific brand of aromanticism where he rarely gets crushes or feels romantic love but when he does he's an absolute deranged little freak about it

[angeldcgs]

it wasn't that gideon had been entirely powerless growing up— he was a straight white man, his family was upper middle class, he was intelligent. gideon had more than enough to lead a fulfilling life, and yet that still wasn't enough. perpetually greedy, and never satisfied, furiously sucking on the teat of the universe 'til it ran dry. it wasn't enough to have everything he needed and leave it at that, he needed to take from others in order to feel like he'd truly earned something, whether that be their time, their money, their innocence, or anything else he could squeeze out. after having pioneered a software that greatly increased the functionality of in-ears for musicians at the tender age of seventeen, gideon found himself suddenly immersed in the music industry, able to schmooze his way into elite circles in no time at all. music had been a constant throughout his life, distracting himself with attempts to hone his composition skills when his discontentment with his lackluster life grew too unbearable, and studying music theory for the fun of it, but it wasn't his passion for the arts that drove him forward; it was a pure lust for power, and he'd finally found his outlet for it. when he saw miriam on stage, he could tell that she had so much to give— more than she likely was even aware of, and he knew with the right amount of coaxing, she'd be more than willing to let him take what he wanted from her. so much untapped potential, and she was entirely his for the taking. it was one thing for her to be new to the industry, but miriam seemed to be lacking all sorts of worldly experience, making her that much more desirable as a subject. "oh yeah," he confirmed, only slightly embellishing just how wild he'd been back then. newfound wealth and social capital tended to cloud one's judgment. "i was quite a hellion... staying out until five in the morning, snorting a mountain of coke to stay up, taking enough tranquilizers to kill an elephant just to fall asleep. probably shaved a good decade off my lifespan." at first it had seemed like the life he always dreamt of, full of indulgence, women, and sex, but he quickly found that the loss of control that came along with excessive substance use didn't suit his power hungry motivations. if he did indulge, it was now always in moderation, making sure he maintained his composure in order to not let his dominance slip. "glad i got it all out of my system when i did... doc says my liver was one more three day bender away from calling it quits." there was something endearing about her small town charm than shone through in delightful little anecdotes like these; he could already see clips from her future talk show appearances and interviews circulating various social media, with folks of all demographics gushing over how relatable she was. sweet enough to be america's sweetheart, but unpolished enough to appear genuine. "no chaser or anything? sounds brutal..." as he lifted the glass to his lips, gideon's gaze remained trained on his shiny new pupil, eyes alight with curiosity. what more would she reveal to him after another drink or two? he couldn't wait to crack open her skull and poke around at the fleshiest bits of her psyche; get her comfortable enough to share her most intimate secrets, and leech off her vulnerability, get off on her trust. taking both bottles with him to refresh their drinks if need be, he strolled back over to the leather couch up against the back wall, letting out a content sigh as he sat back, the plush cushions nearly swallowing him whole. "sit," he invited, practically commanded. "i wanna know how a sweet little thing like yourself ended up in a band with those two shitheads. no offense..."

growing up, miriam had never had any dreams about glitz or glamour, the biggest her aspirations had ever gotten were her dreams of becoming a farmer, nestled in the countryside with a lot of land and a couple of animals to tend to as she went about her quiet life; she'd never felt comfortable with the concept of wanting and it showed in what she allowed herself to desire. music hadn't been something she really knew existed until one of the sons of the first foster family she found herself with for a couple months introduced her to the likes of david bowie and prince. after that, she listened to whatever she could get her hands on, diving from genre to genre in search of more music that inspired escape from her mundanity. that was what music was to her, an escape, a way to retreat from her cowardly ways and pretend at least for a short amount of time to be another person, in a different place entirely. she was fully aware of how lucky she was to be receiving gideon's help, especially as an artist who was entirely sure who she was or what she wanted from a career. thousands of more talented individuals would have murdered to be in her position, and that intimidating weight kept her desperate to be as obedient as possible. if she appeared ungrateful, then gideon had every right to refuse any more of his help. even though she was unsure about what they were trying to make of her, she wasn't about to throw away the opportunity of a lifetime because of her uncertainty. the flush of embarrassment over letting her naivety show about such a stupid thing like tonic water was written all over her cheeks, painting her usually rosy cheeks an even deeper shade of pink. each little piece of information he offered was quickly stolen like a shiny thing to a magpie, since their first meeting miriam had found him effortlessly interesting, radiating a level of class she could never have hoped to possess considering how she'd grown up. being his presence reminded her of her place in the social pecking order but it wasn't a bad feeling, in fact, there was something comforting about knowing you belonged beneath someone else. that way, they could look to them for inspiration and advice. they, after all, knew how life worked, that was why they got to where they were, with their boot pressed against your neck. "really? i'd never have guessed that." he seemed to her like the sort of guy who knew how to handle his alcohol, who liked to keep control of every situation and in her eyes, alcohol tended to be for messier individuals. her bandmates enjoyed a drink, fletch in particular, but she had never been too fussed. "drunkest i ever got was when i was sixteen, bottle of vodka in the park behind the school- the smell of it still makes me get the shivers." she purposefully left out the fact that she had been there with a boy and she'd let him touch her up after a couple swigs just to get him to stop asking. it wasn't a classy thing to confess to and miriam was eager to portray a certain kind of image for gideon. she took the glass carefully, marvelling at the weight of it for a moment, and raised hers in parallel to his. "cheers." while taking a sip, she was sure to not drink too much all at once, her nerves had left her unable to eat before entering the studio and the last thing either of them needed was for her to be making a mockery of the beautiful space with her foolishness.

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

You'll Be Free (If You Truly Wish To Be): Chapter 3 - Prepare For The Worst...

Having decided on a course of action, our intrepid heroes set out to recover Willy's possessions and get him back in business. During their trek across London, Madeleine hits upon the idea to walk Willy through the concept of a back-up plan. This, in itself, does not go to plan.

Publishing this on tumblr tonight so you can be the premier audience. I... may walk the ending on this back in the morning but right now I'm living for drama so here we go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buoyed up by Madeleine's pep talk, Willy remained optimistic while they both got dressed. He was especially delighted when he unearthed a pair of burgundy velvet trousers from the depths of Madeleine's wardrobe. They were a charity shop find from months ago that she'd never gotten around to hemming; as a result, they fit Willy almost perfectly and he declared an immediate and passionate love for them. Maybe not the most practical choice for carting his worldly possessions across London, but Madeleine had to admit their height difference meant his options were limited. Paired with a black t-shirt that Madeleine vaguely remembered appropriating from a short-lived fling, and a pair of oversized sunglasses to hide his black eye, he looked — good, albeit in an unexpectedly androgynous way.

He certainly looked better than Madeleine, who had prioritised the end goal and gone for denim shorts and a Bananarama t-shirt, her hair as restrained as far as was ever possible with the help of an oversized scrunchie on the foundations of a dozen or so hairpins.

Madeleine tried not to eyeball him too much. He was off-limits, she reminded herself; if not for his sexuality then, more pressingly, because he was her friend, he was relying on her for a roof over his head, and she really shouldn't do anything to make him feel obligated to reciprocate.

(But she couldn't stop herself eyeballing a little... and wondering what being attracted to Willy when he looked feminine said about her own sexuality. A line of thought that was not entirely new but was, for the most part, buried under more serious and pressing day-to-day concerns.)

It was a bright, unseasonably mild spring morning and, since they had no other obligations that day until Madeleine's next shift at the bar that evening, they decided to walk. The latest hostel Willy had been staying at was south of the river, down in Battersea. He had been setting up his stall in Battersea Park, by the rose gardens, until the altercation the day before.

In the hopes of keeping him optimistic after seeing his reaction to rifling through her wardrobe, and remembering his drunken rambling about his clothes the night before, Madeleine took them slightly out of their way to go along Savile Row. Unfortunately, Willy seemed oblivious to the plethora of exquisite tailoring on display. He began to dwell on the events of the previous day, and his good mood rapidly evaporated. In fact, Madeleine wondered if it had ever been genuine to begin with. Willy was like quicksilver sometimes; mercurial, shifting from eager excitement to dramatic despondency in the blink of an eye. Or else he blanked out, putting up a stony front and refusing to engage.

"It was such a good spot," he complained. "Best I've had since I did that stint in Shepherd Market. I guess I'll have to find somewhere even better. Until someone asks about the business permits again..." Willy trailed off. "And that's if my things are okay. What if the hostel threw them away? You're not supposed to leave your stuff there. They have a sign."

"It will be fine," Madeleine reassured him, although she was aware she was speaking from little to no experience and was essentially crossing her fingers and hoping for the best. She had stayed in a youth hostel herself when she first came to London but it had only been for a few days until she rented her flat; she had never lived in one long-term, nor bounced around like Willy did as both money and goodwill fluctuated. Afraid of Willy's reaction if they got to the hostel and all was not well, she added, "Look, what's the absolute worst-case scenario?"

"I don't wanna think about that."

"I know, but if you think about it then we can make a plan for it, and if we have a plan for the worst-case scenario then anything else will be fine, right?" Madeleine, who had spent many sleepless nights writing lists and calculating how far she could make a very small amount of money stretch, was a very firm believer in planning for the worst.

Willy let out a sound that was half-sigh, half-whine. "Okay, fine, if you're gonna make me... The worst thing that could happen is... they've thrown out everything I own. My clothes. My recipe book. That really nice copper pan. All my chocolate moulds." He visibly wilted as he continued down the list of candy- and chocolate-making equipment he'd begged, borrowed, and bartered for over the years, counting the items off on his fingers. Suddenly, he cut himself off to add: "No, incinerated. They've incinerated them. Everything is gone. Unrecoverable. I'm penniless, destitute, and ruined. Plus, if this is meant to be the absolute worst-case scenario, I'm also dead. And now I'm even more upset. Happy now?"

Oh, so it was going to be one of those times. Madeleine bit her tongue and reminded herself that Willy had had a very trying twenty-four hours, was facing the potential loss of the sum total of his worldly possessions, and it was reasonable he was feeling anxious about it. On the other hand, while Madeleine might have significantly more patience for Willy than she did for most people, she wasn't a saint, and his sporadic tantrum moods were not the easiest thing in the world to deal with.

"Okay, let's... pull back a bit," she began. "Even if the hostel has gotten rid of your things—"

"Incinerated."

For fuck's sake, Willy. Madeleine took a deep breath, her knuckles going white as she dug her nails into her palms and reminded herself that she was the one who had asked him for the worst-case scenario.

"Okay, fine, incinerated," she amended. "Even then, you're still staying with me, so you're not going to be on the streets. You can stay as long as you need to. I can help you find a job, you can save up, and you can start over."

Judging from what she could see of Willy's expression around the sunglasses, he was not enamoured with that idea. He pursed his lips and looked away, falling into a sullen silence.

Patience, Madeleine.

"I know it's not ideal," she continued, trying to soften her tone. "But it's a plan and it will get you where you want to go. Sometimes, we have to do things we don't really like to get to what we really want to do. I can probably get you some shifts at the bar; it would just be as a barback, but it would be some money, and you'll get tipped out from me and Candy even if the others don't share. You were okay with that earlier—"

"Yeah, just for a couple of days," Willy interjected. He was still not looking at her, instead staring fixedly at his feet as they walked. "Not forever. Weeks, or months, or however long it'd take."

It was on the tip of Madeleine's tongue to point out she managed. "Weeks or months still isn't forever, Willy. We're not talking years here. Come on, where's that optimistic spirit I know and love?"

"What if I forget?" Willy burst out. He stopped in his tracks, finally looking up to meet Madeleine's eyes. "What if I just get used to working in your bar, or a factory, or an office, and one day I wake up and it seems easier to just keep doing that forever? And then before I know it I can't even remember how to make candy anymore? And then everything — everything I ever wanted to do is just — just... Gone. I'm just some other stupid nobody who was all talk and never did anything worthwhile, just like my da— like everyone thinks?"

And there it was, the moment frustration melted away and was replaced by overwhelming tenderness. The urge to give someone else what had never been given to her: to share the dream that dreams were possible, most especially possible against the backlash of parental disbelief (because she caught that bitten-off word and it only confirmed what she had already guessed about a boy who had run away from home in his teens). Maybe she ought to pop the bubble and bring him back down to Earth while he could still make something of himself, but Madeleine couldn't bear to. Not when she wanted to believe just as desperately as he did. Not when she had tasted his candy and knew he wasn't just a wide-eyed boy with dreams bigger than his capabilities. Willy was more than capable; all he lacked was opportunity. She could try to steer him towards a more practical road to his dreams but she couldn't bring herself to shatter them entirely.

Mindful of the fact they were in the middle of a busy street, Madeleine took Willy's hand and guided him up against a nearby shop window, out of the way of the pedestrian traffic.

"That's not going to happen," she told him firmly. "A passion like yours isn't going anywhere. You're going to do amazing things, Willy. You just... might have to take a bit of a curly road to get there. But you will get there. Vouloir, c’est pouvoir. That's something Monsieur Touissant always says: to want is to be able to."

Granted, it was in a far more exasperated context, as Marc rarely understood why anyone who wanted to be perfect failed to be perfect... but Willy didn't need to know that.

"I'll work," Willy insisted. "I'll work as hard as anyone. I just want it to be worth something."

"It will be, I promise. Besides, this is just the worst-case scenario, remember?" Madeleine glanced at the shop they were standing next to and smiled. "Hey, come stand right... here. Now look in the window. That's your best-case scenario. That's what we're aiming for, okay?"

They had, quite by accident, ended up standing next to a window display that featured a mannequin wearing a dark red suit, black waistcoat, and a colourful paisley shirt just peeping out at the collar and cuffs. It oozed decadent elegance and Madeleine nudged Willy into place until his reflection was in the right position to be almost wearing it.

Just as she'd hoped, as Willy took in the view, he straightened his back and shoulders and some of his usual confidence returned. He smiled at his reflection and Madeleine smiled along with him, his hand still in hers. He was sun-warmed and his hair shone like a ripe chestnut in the light. He was too skinny for his reflection to fill out the suit properly; it was the only reason Madeleine's clothes fit him at all, and it contributed to his androgynous appearance. Both handsome and beautiful all at once, or perhaps instead something in between the two. Especially his eyes - that striking colour, those gorgeous lashes - and his lips, which always looked pinker than they should, like he was wearing lipstick—

With some difficulty, Madeleine broke eye contact with their reflections and forced a small laugh. "All you'd need is your top hat and cane."

Willy grinned, thankfully oblivious to her inner turmoil. "Hey, you remembered!"

"Course I remembered. You were being very insistent about it." Madeleine nudged Willy's shoulder playfully, trying very hard to guide her thoughts back onto a platonic course. "So just keep picturing this, okay? And your shop, and all the rest of it. The ends justify the means."

Willy hummed thoughtfully. "...To a point, I guess. I don't think anyone gets their dreams by being miserable."

"You won't be," Madeleine promised. A reckless promise, she realised as the words left her mouth, but what else could she say to him?

In the back of her mind, she remembered the stash of hoarded coins and notes she kept under her bed. Her bulwark against disaster, added to as frequently as she could manage and only in the most desperate times taken from. Her insurance policy that no matter what happened she would not be left, as Willy had put it, penniless, destitute, and ruined. In her most anxious moments, when she came away from a shift with only the measliest tips, or when Marc threatened to throw her off the pastry course if she didn't learn how to make a millefeuille to his exacting standards, Madeleine would sit on her bed and count out the stash, soothed as the amount grew steadily higher.

If the worst-case scenario did come to pass, she could probably afford to replace everything Willy had lost. While she had opened her home, her heart, and even her bed (literally if not metaphorically) to him, however, Madeleine baulked at the thought of dipping into that treasure hoard. It was hers. It was her protection. It was her salvation.

Selfish, she knew it was selfish; the same selfishness that had driven her to build the original stash that had paid for her escape to London in the first place. The selfishness that had seen her abandon her aunt in that dismal, dwindling town as the recession took hold and Madeleine had not thought beyond clutching, desperately, at the one ray of hope she could see.

Selfish — but Madeleine had not gone down with the ship then and she would not now. Even if it did skewer her with guilt to think she was capable of encouraging Willy, supporting him, but withholding the one thing that would really help him. Could she afford to pay for a business permit for him? The first month's rent on a stall in Shepherd Market? Questions she was perfectly capable of finding the answers to but didn't because, if it was possible, she would have to confront the fact that her generosity was not so generous after all, but instead came with sharp, definite edges.

God, she needed to hide the stash more carefully. Not because she thought for a moment that Willy would take it, but because if he ever stumbled across it then all of this ugliness would come rushing out and he would never look at her the same way again. Best friend, her arse.

But she couldn't. She couldn't bring herself to offer it. What if Willy squandered the money, or encountered some other misfortune, and it all went down the drain? Then they'd both be ruined. At least this way she could keep a roof over both of their heads and food in both of their stomachs.

"...deleine? Earth to Madeleine?" Willy waved a hand in front of her face and Madeleine started.

"Uh — sorry," she stammered. "I was... somewhere else for a second."

"Oh yeah? Where'd you go?"

"I—" Madeleine shook her head; impossible to be truthful and she didn't have a lie to hand. "I don't know. Look, um, I'm sorry. For... bringing all this up. I just thought it might help to have a plan for the worst-case scenario. I didn't mean to upset you."

Willy's expression was inscrutable - the stony front - and for the first time, despite not being able to see his eyes, Madeleine felt uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. Maybe it was just her own guilty conscience. Either way, she ducked her head and, when she saw their clasped hands, let go.

"We should keep going," she forced out. "Or we'll never get there."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They walked the rest of the forty-ish minutes to Battersea in silence except for when Willy gave directions down one street or another. Madeleine noticed he kept glancing at her but, whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself. For her part, Madeleine was too absorbed in her own thoughts to make conversation.

After coming off Savile Row, they circled the Royal Academy of Arts and then walked down Piccadilly. Fortnum & Mason rose up before them looking, above the mint green store front, more like a palatial townhouse than a department store. From across the street, through the throngs of tourists and Saturday shoppers, Madeleine glimpsed a confectionary display in one of the windows and her chest clenched.

That should be Willy.

Madeleine had haunted these streets when she first came to London, drinking in the images of the life she dreamed she would one day have: shopping at premium department stores, having dinner and cocktails at the Ritz, lounging in Green Park during the summer and having picnics in the shade of Buckingham Palace. All of the stereotypical pastimes of the rich that she had imagined in working class Yorkshire. All of it, she had been sure, within her reach - maybe not immediately, but eventually. She didn't expect life to hand her it all on a plate, she was willing to put the work in - but that was before she'd realised just how wide the gulf between her dreams and reality was.

Once, during the first month when she'd gotten particularly good tips one weekend, Madeleine had dared to set foot in Fortnum & Mason, determined to buy something just to say she had. She had come out with a tiny packet of nine marzipan fruits, just about the only thing she'd been able to afford even when she thought herself so wealthy, each one so exquisite she'd been half-surprised that the oranges, pears, and strawberries tasted of almond after all. She had savoured each and every one, parcelling them out over nine days. It would have been longer, if she'd had the self-restraint to bite each one in half.

How representative of the shrinking of her ambitions.

Madeleine had done her best to make her peace with it; she wasn't a genius like Willy, her fortunes were restricted by the scope of her abilities. All right, so she wouldn't be rich, but she could at least be comfortable. That was still a step up from where she'd been before. She could acquire a set of skills worth having; a career that would sustain a lifestyle something like she wanted; an income that would cushion her from the sharpest corners of the world. For a girl from a dying pit town, it was nothing to sniff at. In fact, she'd been extremely lucky to get as far as she had.

They cut through Green Park, which was indeed away with the picnickers of Madeleine's imagination taking advantage of the unseasonably mild spring weather. Madeleine raked her eyes across the families and young lovers and tried to ignore the hollowness she felt. She attempted to shove the feeling away, but to no avail. However hard she tried, she could not recapture the giddy happiness she'd felt that morning, dancing with Willy in her cramped kitchen. Even though he was right beside her, he seemed suddenly very far away.

Maybe because, when she stopped and thought about it, it was obvious that sooner rather than later he would vanish out of her life as suddenly as he had appeared, and life seemed much bleaker without him.

Victoria Station, Chelsea Bridge, and then finally the towering chimneys of Battersea Power Station came into view on their left, with Battersea Park an open, rolling ocean of green on their right. They passed the park, turned down a street of attractive red-brick apartment buildings.

Madeleine was pleasantly surprised when Willy stopped in front of one of these: it was visibly more run-down than its neighbours, but more to the effect of needing some minor repairs to the brickwork and the shrubbery in front of the building trimming rather than not being clean. Willy was often cagey about where exactly he laid his head at night and Madeleine, worried sick, had pictured him in rat-infested tenements.

The Battersea Youth Hostel, however, looked as if, at worst, it wanted some money spending on it. A wrought-iron fence surrounding the small front garden area, encircling the overgrown shrubbery and grass that was overgrown in some places and patchy in others. The front door had a sign on the front detailed occupancy and rates: noticeably cheaper, Madeleine noticed, than similar places in Soho, which might answer why Willy had chosen it.

Willy paused by the front door, peering through the narrow glass pane set into it. "Okay, how easy this is going to be will depend on who's on desk duty. Let's hope it's Daiyu; she likes me. Horace will probably be fine. Kathleen... does not like me."

Oh, good, they were talking again — and with a topic that distracted Madeleine, for the moment, from the inside of her own head.

"Why does Kathleen not like you?" Madeleine asked.

"Um..." Willy made a vague gesture with one hand. "She's, uh, very... traditional. I think she used to work with the Salvation Army."

Meaning, Madeleine read between the lines, Kathleen was a raging homophobe. She narrowed her eyes and squared her shoulders. "If you see it's her, tell me immediately and I'll deal with her."

Willy giggled. "Wow, you look scary. I wish you'd been with me yesterday."

"So do I. If I had been, that arsehole who punched you would have gotten far worse than just falling in a fountain." God, what she wouldn't give to get her hands on that bastard. "And so will this bitch Kathleen if she tries to start anything."

"They do have a policy about being violent towards the staff," Willy pointed out, but not in a way that made Madeleine think he was trying to actually dissuade her.

"And I have a policy about people being shitheads to my friends," she replied. "It wouldn't be the first time I landed a punch on an idiot for running their mouth off."

"I want to hear that story later."

Madeleine grinned. "Okay, but when I tell you his name was Prodnose, you'll have to trust me I'm telling the truth."

Willy broke into a torrent of high-pitched laughter at that, leaning against the front door — only to almost fall over when it suddenly opened, arms windmilling as he tried to regain his balance. Madeleine reached out and grabbed him in time, and both of them looked at the middle-aged Chinese woman standing in the doorway with an unimpressed expression.

This, Madeleine surmised, must be Daiyu. Despite her expression, her face looked like it was usually warm and caring, with wrinkles around her eyes and mouth betraying a propensity for smiling. Her grey-streaked black hair was braided loosely over one shoulder. She wore a lumpy green cardigan that looked handmade, a pair of worn jeans with colourful patches over the knees, and the kind of nurse's shoes that inevitably brought to mind the word sensible.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," she remarked, and Madeleine was thrown by the unexpected South London accent. "I thought I could hear you snickering."

"Daiyu," Willy cooed. "I was just telling Madeleine how nice you are, and how you're my favourite, and how much you like me."

Daiyu folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. "Is that so. I'm glad you remember that much, even when you forget other things."

Willy flinched. "Yeeeaaaah, about that..."

"Willy stayed with me last night," Madeleine interjected. As much as she had been prepared to fight Kathleen, she was trying for conciliatory with Daiyu, on the basis of Willy claiming she liked him, even if it wasn't particularly evident so far. "Then we decided that it made more sense for Willy to move in. We've come today to clear any tab that's outstanding and pick up his things."

At that, Daiyu's eyebrow rose even further. She looked Madeleine up and down - "You're Madeleine?" - before glancing back at Willy. "I thought you said she wasn't your girlfriend?"

Willy began to sputter incoherently, which at least took Daiyu's attention away from Madeleine as she felt herself flush scarlet.

"No! No, no, no, it's just — we're just — friends, it's a friends arrangement!"

"Right," Madeleine croaked in agreement. "We—We're just friends."

"Mm-hmm." Once again, Daiyu looked between the two of them, clearly unconvinced. Her gaze lingered on Madeleine for a moment longer than she was comfortable with; it felt, in that moment, as if Daiyu saw straight through her. "Fine, it's none of my business anyway what you youngsters get up to. Come on in and we'll sort out what you owe and get you your things. You're lucky you turned up when you did: Herself is due in half an hour and you know she'd have thrown the lot onto the back of the next bin lorry."

"I told you!" Willy exclaimed, in a bizarre combination of anguish and triumph. "I told you that was the worst-case scenario!"

"You said incinerated was the worst-case scenario," Madeleine reminded him. "And I said the worst-case scenario probably wouldn't happen anyway, and it hasn't."

Daiyu let out a sigh that could only be termed 'long-suffering' and held open the door, ushering them both inside. The interior of the hostel was consistent with the tone of the exterior: the walls were peeling magnolia, the floor industrial carpet in an indifferent shade of brown. A wooden desk that, despite its large size, looked like it would go down with one good kick sat at one end of the room that clearly functioned as a reception area. A staircase wrapped up along the left hand wall, presumably leading up to the rented rooms, and two doors lay behind the reception desk.

The room was dark, especially after the bright sunlight outside, and Willy squinted for a few moments before giving up and removing his sunglasses. When Daiyu looked back over and saw him, she let out a shriek.

"What happened to you, boy?"

"Huh — oh, my eye, I almost forgot about that," said Willy sheepishly. "Does it really look that bad?"

Daiyu uttered an oath under her breath, throwing her hands up in the air. Madeleine, for her part, had to admit that, yes, it really did.

"I'll get you some ice for that when we get home," she promised. She touched the tip of one finger gently to his other, unbruised, cheek. "I should have given you some last night, I'm sorry."

"Who have you been fighting?" Daiyu demanded. "Come on, through here, let me get you a cuppa."

As Willy recited the story of being attacked in Battersea Park the previous day, Daiyu herded the two of them through one of the doors into what passed for the hostel's staff room. It was part-kitchenette, with a row of counters and a sink along one wall, the former containing a slew of coffee- and tea-making equipment, and part-lounge with a battered couch and two stained armchairs. Daiyu set about making tea as she listened to Willy's story, gasping and shaking her head.

"What is wrong with some people? And the police - pah! About as much use as a chocolate fireguard. You're lucky it wasn't worse. And that you have such a good... friend."

Willy shot Madeleine an apologetic look and she shook her head, smiling, in return. The embarrassment, while still very much present, was fading slightly. At least she could be relieved that Willy was attributing her blushing to being simply embarrassed, rather than caught out.

"Daiyu," he pleaded, "You're embarrassing Madeleine! And me, but Madeleine has never done anything to upset you, so you shouldn't embarrass her for no reason."

The kettle boiled, shrieking indignation. Daiyu shook her head and muttered something under her breath. "At least tell me you're going to get a real job and help this poor girl pay her rent."

Willy visibly wilted and mumbled that Madeleine wanted him to work on his business.

"Which I do," Madeleine cut in coolly before Daiyu could say anything else. "We've come to an agreement that works for both of us. Willy is brilliant and he's going to do amazing things."

There was a tense silence as Daiyu poured hot water into three cups and the sound of clanking china as she set the cups on a tray seemed unnaturally loud. Thank you, Willy mouthed behind Daiyu's back. Madeleine winked at him in return.

"Well. As I said, it's none of my business. But you should remember you are very lucky." Daiyu set the tray on the coffee table that sat between the sofa and armchairs. By unspoken agreement, Madeleine and Willy sat together on the sofa; Daiyu took one of the armchairs. "Does that mean you're giving up on the other thing?"

"Oh, uh... no, I'll keep looking." Willy spooned sugar into his tea; his hand shook, spilling the granules across the table. "B—But we weren't having much luck, were we?"

The other thing? Not much luck? Madeleine tried to catch Willy's eye but his gaze was fixed firmly on his tea.

Daiyu shrugged. "You had an address from a decade ago. People move, all kinds of things can happen. It was always going to take time." Her expression softened, bringing truth to those smile lines. "You should keep looking. They'd want to see you and know you're all right."

"...I'll think about it," Willy conceded after a few moments.

"That's all I'm asking. If you need any more help, come back here and find me." Daiyu set her mug down and pushed herself to her feet. "All right, let me dig those things of yours out from where I hid them from Kathleen. Wait here."

As soon as Daiyu left the room, Willy let out an uncomfortable laugh. "See! What did I tell you? I told you she liked me."

"Willy—" Madeleine began, but got no further before he started talking over her.

"I know it doesn't seem like it, but she's all bark, no bite. Look! She even made us tea! How nice."

"Willy."

"Oh wow!" Willy pointed at the clock hanging above the row of counters that constituted the kitchenette. "Look at the time! We've gotta get back or you'll be late for your shift at the bar tonight. I'd better go help Daiyu find all those things so we can get out of here!"

"What, it's only—" Madeleine looked from the clock to her watch. "Willy, that's clock about three hours out — Willy?"

The only response was the bang of the door falling closed behind him.

Swearing, Madeleine set her own mug down and jumped to her feet. She wasn't angry that Willy had business she didn't know about - that was a given, really, they weren't exactly wrapped up in the minuteia each other's lives - but to go as far as to flee the room when she even tried to ask him about it? That was more than just something that hadn't come up in conversation before; it felt like he was deliberately trying to hide something from her. Who had he been looking for? His parents? Did he think she'd throw him out of her flat if she knew he had family around? Surely he knew better than that...

Madeleine pulled open the door and followed the sound of voices up the stairs to the first floor landing. After a brief hesitation, she hovered within earshot but out of sight.

"...didn't have to say it in front of Madeleine!"

"I thought you would have told her already. Why keep it a secret?"

Willy muttered something inaudible over the sound of moving boxes.

"That girl is doing enough for you already. The least you owe her is honesty." Daiyu grunted; something slid along the floor. "What do you keep in here?!"

"Uhh... clothes, spare pair of shoes, toiletries, all that kinda stuff. It has to all fit in that bag or I wouldn't be able to carry the boxes as well. Look, I'm not lying to Maddy! I'm just... I wanted to keep this to myself for now. It's my business."

"All right, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to drop you in hot water, I really thought she would already know." A pause. "...Speaking of things I think people should already know..."

"Oh, what is it now?"

Daiyu let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know if I should say this, but... knowing you - knowing boys - you can't see what's plain in front of your face. So. Be kind to that girl, Willy."

"I am! I'm really nice to her! She's my best friend!"

A laugh, hollow and weary, echoed down the stairs. "Oh, Willy. That's just it. She's not just your best friend. It's written all over her face whenever she looks at you. She's plum in love with you."