#— ❛❛ // zeev ¦ but here i blur into you

[hochmvt]

you're using my words against me.

The tension between them had been building, silent but palpable, until it finally erupted into— this. Isaiah wasn’t someone to raise his voice or lash out, but when he was tense and people treated him disrespectfully, there was a cold precision to the way he chose his words, each one carrying a deliberate weight. And he knew his words could hurt. His calm demeanor only seemed to infuriate Zeev more, who fired back with an edge, frustration in his words. ”You're using my words against me.” Isaiah stopped, turning around, his gaze fixed on Zeev. He wanted to get away from this situation, to smoke a cigarette and give both of them some space so things would calm down again. The situation was on the verge of turning ugly (and Isaiah knew, that he tended to make them ugly if the other one was acting irrational) and frankly, Isaiah wasn’t particularly known for holding back when it came to rhetorics. He was smart — and he was aware of that.

”Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” he told his boyfriend and looked at him, eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched. But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t lose control. Instead, his eyes narrowed, his mind going through their conversation again, piecing together exactly what had been said. He couldn't be serious. Zeev’s accusation stung, but Isaiah wasn’t about to let it derail him. He didn’t twist words — he listened, deeply, and maybe that was the problem. If Zeev didn’t like having his thoughts mirrored back to him with such clarity, he dated the wrong person. The other repeated what he had said. ”I’m not using your words against you, I’m holding you accountable for what you’re saying, Zeev. If you feel uncomfortable with that, we have a more serious problem than ‚me using your words against you‘.” It was a blunt truth, one that cut through the air between them. Isaiah could see an emotion in Zeev’s eyes that he wasn’t particularly familiar with. There was something deeper there, something raw and unspoken. The hurt lingered between them, neither willing to give ground, both afraid to reveal what was hidden underneath the words. ”But if you wanna fight dirty, be my guest.”

[hochmvt]

“Zeev,” Isaiah begged his husband as he sat down by his bed and eventually laid beside him as bitter tears of pain and exhaustion ran down his cheeks and in an melancholy voice he sobbed, though he was long hoarse from the sleepless nights' screaming and so weak that his voice only just reached his husband but did not fill the room. The Sundawner whispered to him that he was there and Isaiah cried harder as the pain in his spine became so unbearable that he felt like it was pressing against his skin, like an animal crammed into a cage it wouldn't fit into. “Make it stop, please,” he pleaded, moaning in pain, looking in Zeev's direction, unable to hear what he was saying, the pain numbing him senseless; it was as if he was underwater, his partner's voice muffled and distant. “Please make me sleep. End this, end me... Please,” he begged him again and again, while Zeev snuggled up to him again and again, his eyes watering, holding himself together as best as he could, his heart heavy. “I don't want to live anymore, Zeev... Please make it stop.” And Zeev stayed close to him, not complying with his request, but instead providing him with support, while Isaiah slipped further into those feverish dreams that this life, his life, must come to an end.

It was a strange feeling to realize that the house was full and yet there was no life in his home. Isaiah had woken up around half past three in the morning–his limbs aching, feeling somewhat drowsy–and had checked the bedroom, but only found his parents; his father asleep in the armchair, his mother lying next to him with an arm around his waist. Next to her laid Carter and Zara, Zeev however was nowhere to be found. His headache made him get up slowly, carefully, because neither did he want to loose balance, nore did he want to wake anyone.  Thirst and hunger had made him go to the kitchen first, taking some of the cake from the fridge and drinking some of the orange juice, leaning against the counter and eating in peace. He couldn't really remember the last day or evening, didn't know when everyone had arrived, whatever they had been celebrating the night before, and in the end he couldn't remember how much he must have been drinking. He could clearly feel the hangover, he felt as if he was exhausted, his head was throbbing and when he sat down, he could clearly feel his spine. Someone seemed to have already removed the visual remnants of any celebration and he suspected Zeev and equally his own mother, while Isaiah was knocked out. Somewhere guilt blossomed within him, he would apologize to Zeev the following day and he would also check with his husband if there was anything to be embarrassed about. 

At some point, he had sat down outside, lit a cigarette and wiped his eyes tiredly. Zeev was lying on the couch in the living room, tucked in and sleeping peacefully, Helena and Amber were leaning against the couch, their heads resting on the cushions and sleeping peacefully, the latter holding Zeev's hand. Isaiah had smiled at the image and tucked the two guests in, as well as Zeev, who had moved a bit. He had kissed his husband's forehead gently, wished him a good night.

The night was fresh, the air cool but pleasant. Perhaps his cell phone would shed light on what had happened the day before, but he must've left it upstairs, since it wasn't in any of his pockets. He had been alone for a few minutes, occasionally looking up at the starry sky above him, until Zara had sat down next to him and given him a long hug. She didn't usually do that when he smoked, but something seemed different. Isaiah stubbed out the cigarette and gently put his arms around her, smiling slightly and stroking her back. “Are you warm enough? Gods, you're freezing...” he remarked at one point as he stroked her cold arms, but she didn't let go of him, shaking her head silently and only slowly detaching herself from him after a few minutes. “Can you tell me if I've done anything embarrassing? I can't remember shit, did one of you guys get me drunk?” he smiled and Zara furrowed her eyebrows slightly, shaking her head and taking his hand in hers. ”I think it's Zeev's place to tell you what happened. But you were sick, very... You've been– asleep for some time. It's just good to have you back,” she smiled slightly at him and he didn't quite understand, studying her eyes as she stroked his cheek and told him that they were all very worried. Especially Zeev. “Tell me what happened, Zara. I can't remember.” ⸺ “It is not my place, Isaiah.” There was an unfamiliar determination in her voice, a calmness that rarely came from the blonde's bubbly personality. He nodded and respected what she said, even if it raised more questions in his mind than he would have liked. If even his parents, Helena and Amber, as well as Zara and Carter were here because they were worried, then it wasn't a harmless cold or a little fever. And why was Zeev sleeping on the couch? Had they been arguing? Had he been talking nonsense and stepped out of line? Did he insult Zeev? “How are you feeling?” Zara finally asked him, wrapping her arms around her bent legs. Isaiah stroked his warm forehead, his clammy hair. “Tired. And I feel like my entire body's sore, like I had the workout of a lifetime. I just wanna lay down and sleep.” His gaze fell on his knees and it irritated him how thin he had become. There was no question that he had been 'sick' or 'sleeping' for more than a day. “You need rest. So does Zeev... He'll be so glad to see you well, suns,” she smiled in relief and leaned against him, he looked down at her and gently kissed the top of her head, putting his arm around her and thanking her for looking after her brother. “You should get some rest, Isaiah,” she spoke at one point and the blonde looked down at his husband's younger sister, offering her a smile and gently stroking her hair. “You should. I'll sit here for a while and check on Zeev. I can't sleep for the life of me. And tomorrow I will get breakfast for us all.”

Isaiah would never have guessed in his lifetime that there would ever be an awkward get together with his family and circle of friends. No doubt the day had been nice, his mother had spent a long time hugging him, his father too, Amber and Helena had embraced him as well and then mostly taken care of a resting Zeev, who visibly slept through any conversations and touches undisturbed. Isaiah had sat with him for quite a while and just looked at him, his tired features and steady breathing. He too had lost weight, which was usually first seen on his face. He had studied the exhausted features and the bandaged hand that made Isaiah feel sick to his stomach.  However, no one had really talked to him about the thing that interested him the most; what had happened that made Zeev sleep throughout the day. His mother had insisted that she needed to talk to Zeev before they went back to Greenville. Isaiah promised her, but had still insisted that he treat her and his dad to a night at a hotel in Davenport so they could enjoy some downtime at the spa. Helena and Amber had offered to drop them both off and take them there, since it was conveniently located on their way, and Isaiah had thanked them both, said goodbye to them along with his parents, and told them to text them if they wanted to check out the next day, since he would be paying for an Uber to Macomb. Reluctantly, and after much persuasion, they finally agreed and Isaiah wished them a pleasant night and some well deserved time at the spa; he would ensure that Zeev got back to his feet and he'd call them the next day. If there was anything else, they could call him at any time. Before Isaiah's father had even left with his mother, he had helped his son carry Zeev to the fireplace. The podcast host felt too weak and exhausted and didn't want Zeev to wake up. Peace and quiet were well deserved, so there was no way he'd get in the way of Zeev and his much needed rest. “Thank you for everything, son,” Richard had whispered to Zeev and gently stroked his hair, right before he left. An image that touched Isaiah more than he could ever have put into words. His father's stoicism was a minor matter in moments like these. Being a good, frugal and grateful man, he always put family first, even if he never expressed it in words, only in deeds. Isaiah remembered Zeev's insecurity, his belief that Richard didn't like him, to which Isaiah confirmed the opposite. Today, his father's workshop was no longer called 'Pines & Son' but 'Pines & Sons' and that more than summed up his father's feelings for Zeev as his son-in-law. 

Jemma had also gotten in touch, also saying that it was probably best that Zeev let him know what had happened and that she was glad he was healthy and well again. She requested that Zeev called her as soon as he was awake. 

Even though Isaiah appreciated the company, he wanted the house to become increasingly quiet. Zeev (along with Isaiah himself) was unlikely to get any rest if the house was as busy as it was because he could hardly sit still, whenever they had visitors there; simply because he has always been a great host and husband, friend, son-in-law and brother, always trying to make sure everyone was well. Even if Isaiah asked him several times to stay seated because he was taking care of everything, Zeev was still busy devoting himself entirely to his guests just a few minutes later.  So only Zara and Carter had stayed, although the latter had offered to spend the night in his and Zara's apartment – both Zeev's younger sister and Isaiah had insisted that he in particular could stay the night. Even though Carter had talked a lot more ever since he had been with Zara and had blossomed entirely (how Zara had managed to connect with him in such a short time was still a mystery to Isaiah; and at the same time he knew that Zara was as particular a person as Zeev and they both obviously had a way about them that made them capable of wrapping long-term Greenville singles around their fingers with an unmistakable nonchalance), Isaiah would have felt uncomfortable with the idea of Carter being alone in an apartment without Zara or him. If he stayed, he'd be able to take better care of his childhood friend. And Zara too. 

Isaiah had gently laid Zeev's head on his lap after lighting the fireplace and getting himself a drink. He had waited for dinner, Zara and Carter had already eaten and were now upstairs in the guest room. Apart from the crackling of the fireplace and the whirring of the fridge from the adjacent kitchen, it was completely silent in the little house on Northern Lafayette Street. He stroked Zeev's hair with one hand, lying peacefully asleep beneath him, while in his free hand he held the book he was reading to him. 

“‘I cannot,’ said Merry. ‘I have never seen them. I have never been out of my own land before. And if I had known what the world outside was like, I don’t think I should have had the heart to leave it.’ ⸺ ‘Not even to see fair Lothlo´rien?’ said Haldir. ‘The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.’”

His gaze went back down to his husband, lowering the book gradually and gently stroking through the blonde strands. Zeev's eyes barely moved; he seemed to be dreaming, but kept calm. A good dream, Isaiah told himself. He gently stroked his hair, smiled warmly at him, even if he couldn't see it, and leaned down and kissed his temple before turning his gaze towards the fireplace. They had already spent countless evenings here, eating together, reading, talking about their days and built castles in the air together, about possible futures and what their lives might have in store for them. They had held hands, kissed, made love and had always been close to one another; not only physically but emotionally, when life confronted them with obstacles and difficulties — Isaiah appreciated that they always had each other; that he always knew he would return to a house that Zeev filled with the feeling of home. And now that Isaiah was, admittedly, feeling a little disconnected from his surroundings and his loved one, it seemed like he was getting closer to him again here. Even though Zeev was asleep, he realized how good the intimacy was for him. On some elemental level that Isaiah couldn't understand even by the best of intentions, he felt understood by Zeev, he felt close to him and was sure that nothing would ever have come between them, even if he had been drunk out of his mind. Or his mind was clouded by fever dreams. The witcher had taken up a place in him so that his name alone reached his deepest core. Zeev had the gift of triggering a new feeling of inner euphoria within him; of the great, exciting uncertainty inherent in being newly in love and making it reverberate. And as Zeev laid in front of the fireplace, his head resting on the podcast host's lap, Isaiah wondered how many universes he must have crossed, how many realities he must have had to navigate to land here and declare this his new home planet. Somewhere he felt the need to hoist the flag, to make this place, deeply anchored in his husband, his own. Gently he kissed his skin; a sad attempt to transport the metaphor into reality and symbolize he would be his forever. A silent hope that would die as soon as they left this place. And yet he felt as if he could live this life over and over again with Zeev.  His gaze went to the witcher's bandaged hand, Zara had changed the bandage in the morning, Isaiah having seen the elongated wound that left little room for interpretation as to what had undoubtedly happened. The American wasn't stupid, even if he couldn't see the big picture, he could certainly put some pieces together. He leaned back thoughtfully, gently stroked the Sundawn man's hair and sighed softly, his gaze lowering back to his husband. 

At some point, Zeev had told him about that time. About how he had turned his back on light magic. What the consequences of his actions had been. Not only in relation to his family. In the same breath, Isaiah had wondered how he himself would have acted in Zeev's position. Ideational constructs such as utilitarianism and the hedonic calculus were so easy to capture on paper, philosophizing about how one would have acted themselves, condemning the mistakes of past generations and making a name for themselves with the clean slate they wore because they were never confronted with the decisions, that'd undermine society's fundamental maxim of action. Isaiah had never had to make such a decision either, just like most people. With the decisions he had to make, the direct suffering was rather small, mostly trivial, and there was not even the remotest thought of indirect suffering. Zeev however, at some point, had to make a decision that was bigger than himself. And even if there were certainly judgments to be made about morality, ethics and the act of deciding itself (and thereby elevating himself to a higher, god-like position), he could not disapprove of Zeev's decision. He had acted out of an emotional trait and an urge to protect what he had kept dear.

To say that it had only taken months to get him away from all the pain, addiction and loneliness would be an understatement. With a lot of patience, even more conversations and most of all support, Isaiah had answered every phone call, had visited him often when his schedule allowed and had tried to show Zeev the beauties of life: Going on trips together, being read a book, holding hands, running home through pouring rain to get cozy inside, kissing without ulterior motives, sitting in cafés and people-watching, painting together, building snowmen (even though Zeev hated the cold), saying 'I love you' for the first time, cuddling in front of a fire. 

And today, Isaiah found Zeev in everything he liked: to him, he was the magic of everyday life, welcoming summer rain, in beautiful sunrises and colorful lights in the distance that always reminded you there was more to life, waiting to be discovered by you. Zeev was more than he gave himself credit for, and Isaiah always reminded him of what a great person he was. 

The American gently stroked his beloved's chest, smiling silently to himself and looking at him with all the love he felt for his man. He was sorry that Zeev had to make use of a ritual, a burden that he had long since abandoned; a life that he had left behind. And yet Isaiah knew that his intention was a good one. That he had done it to a certain extent out of selflessness, albeit indirectly benefiting for himself from the fact that he had kept his husband alive. Isaiah would probably have done the same, but he'd never know for sure.  For it was still not he who had been caught up in this conflict, but Zeev. And he felt sorry that Zeev was, once more, faced with such decisions again and again, while Isaiah silently and secretly hoped every day that peace would settle into Zeev's life. Perhaps even normality. But his nature and the way he came across to others seemed to be a magnet for those whose intentions were not always benevolent. Instead of the stormy, raging sea, whose waves he had to boldly withstand every day, he wished him a calm tide so that he could lie on the deck, lost in thought, and enjoy the picturesque colors of the sunset above him and take it all in. A happiness that seemed to be denied for Zeev. And yet, or perhaps because of this, he was proud of him. For Zeev stood for more than himself, for more than a witcher (or a lousy businessman) from Sundawn, but rather for an ideal. For true greatness, for a sense of responsibility, for magic in everyday life, for a beacon of light in the midst of darkness; and also for the humanity of being. 

Isaiah didn't approve per se of the fact that Zeev had done what he had done. Not because he wasn't grateful, but rather because he didn't want Zeev to harm himself; especially not for him. And yet, he wasn't in the position to judge; to approve or disapprove. He knew how Zeev had changed over the last few years. Not only how he had blossomed, but also how he had become more reflective. Especially in regards of himself. Zeev had found what he truly needed. He had became braver and he had let go. From said old burdens. From a family that had abandoned him. Zara had come forward and reentered his life (admittedly a moment where Isaiah had been very happy for Zeev, but selfishly as he was, felt immensly anxious, too, his inner fear that he would lose Zeev for taking his place in the coven had thrown him so off track that he'd just stayed quiet most of the time), but ultimately Zeev had made this life his. Today, Zeev had come to represent different values. He saw the world as it was, in all its many facets, saw people and humanity, saw family and unconditional love. He saw the effort it took to give his best every day. And he saw the good. He was committed to it and became part of it himself. He no longer lived only for himself, did things not to benefit himself–to be rewarded with the feeling of being needed or simply the fulfilled desire to belong; even if it was just for a moment–but because he placed them on a moral and ethical spectrum for himself and made a decision based on his judgement. 

Humans would rather bear it if a good man died rather than an idea. What is it worth living for if we give up ideals such as love, hope or an unshakeable belief in the good in people? 

This is what Zeev stood for: A shining example of an idea; a testament to what was possible. Zeev was extraordinary and Isaiah knew. And people started to see that, too. And Isaiah was grateful that he was allowed to stay in the microcosm that was Zeev's and witness the luminosity of the sun. 

After several hours, Zeev began to move on his lap. He stretched slightly and opened his eyes drowsily, drawing his eyebrows together and seemingly taking a little while to realize where he was. Isaiah stroked his hair lovingly, smiled at him and greeted him with, “Hello, my love.” Something changed in Zeev's expression, he looked up at his husband and his features softened, he sat up, his eyes teary and he wrapped his arms tightly around the other man's body. Isaiah smiled softly and put his arms around him as well, gently pulling him onto his lap and holding him for a long time. Gently stroking his husband's back, he felt and heard Zeev starting to sob bitterly against his shoulder, hugging him tighter than ever before and even if the American didn't know what had happened, he could only guess that Zeev hadn't eaten, slept or rested for days. “I got you, Zeev, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere,” he assured him calmly, stroking his back, his hair and holding him close to him while the open fire bathed their intimacy in an orange-red light.

Lavender calms the mind, Zeev had taught him, and since that day Isaiah had planted a fine lavender bush every day to nestle his inner self safely in a lavender field where the sun shone every day just for him.

At some point, Zeev had let go of him slightly, not saying a word, and kissed him—again and again. Occasionally he had whispered an 'I missed you' against his lips, a 'Suns, you're here' or a relieved 'You're okay', which Isaiah always acknowledged with a nod before Zeev kissed him again. They stayed like that for quite a while, too, kissing every now and then, but most of the time they just held each other silently and stayed close.

“I got you some salad with falafel and quinoa. Dressing on the side, of course... It's in the fridge. Are you hungry?” he asked and Zeev remained silent, just staying close to him and shaking his head quietly, resting it on his shoulder again and Isaiah smiled softly, stroking his hair. “You wanna snuggle, huh?” he continued to ask, and Zeev nodded barely noticeably, wrapping his arms around him. Warmth settled around Isaiah's heart. Gentle kisses found their way everywhere Isaiah could kiss his husband without him having to move much. More minutes passed and Isaiah eventually broke away from Zeev, kissing his lips gently and smiling at him. “You stay here, my love, snuggle up in front of the fireplace and get all nice and cozy and I'll make us some tea, huh? And get you some food, you really need to eat something. I've already thought about drip-feeding you because you're sleeping so long,” he smiled at him and kissed his cheek gently. Even though Zeev was reluctant to disengage, he let go, but got up with him.

While Isaiah put the kettle on, prepared tea, took Zeev's food out of the fridge and plated it (and thus, spread the hummus on it, heart-shaped of course), put some berries in one of the small strawberry bowls and took the bottle of white wine out of the fridge, Zeev had tried to be close to him at every opportunity, hugging him, sometimes standing behind him and leaning his head against the podcast host's back, sometimes standing between the kitchen counter and Isaiah himself. Patiently, Isaiah remained standing, preparing everything just as he normally would and kissed the top of Zeev's head again and again, sometimes lingering a little longer than he actually had to in order to give Zeev the proximity he needed and looked for.

In front of the fireplace, Isaiah had tucked the blanket around Zeev, who had changed his mind a little later and sat down between Isaiah's legs, leaning against him. The Sundawner had his plate on his lap, but didn't eat at first; instead, he seemed to have closed his eyes and was enjoying the closeness and warmth. Isaiah smiled down at him, gently stroking his thigh and stomach and kissing his neck softly. “Do you want something else, baby? I can make something for you, too. Like pasta and pesto... Pancakes maybe, or grilled cheese, but— Yeah, that's probably it. Oh, and thank you for the cornflakes, you're the best. I love you and I'm gonna eat them responsibly, I promise you,” he said and Zeev looked up at him, a smile gracing his lips and shook his head, kissed his jaw and then began to eat while Isaiah kept munching on the berries or taking a sip of wine every now and then. His gaze went towards the fire, eventually closing his eyes and burying his nose in the Sundawner's hair.

“Amber and Helena wish you all the best and they'd love to hear from you when you're feeling a little better. Mom and Dad are in a hotel out of town, getting a little spa treatment, but mom said she wanted to talk to you before they left, so they'll be back by tomorrow. Zara's upstairs with Carter... Do you want me to get her?” he asked and Zeev shook his head quietly, setting the empty plate aside, as he finished eating. Thus Isaiah leaned over to the coffee table, taking the bandages and compress, taking Zeev's hand in his, wordlessly and carefully removing the bandages and changing them for a fresh one. He felt Zeev's gaze on him, so he occasionally smiled back at him, kissed him, but concentrated on not hurting him in the first place. “Does that hurt?” he asked him once he was done, unsure if he had wrapped the bandage too tightly, fixating it with a bandaid with little stars and planets, but the Sundawner shook his head and thanked him quietly. “We don't have to talk about what happened today, if you don't want to. I— No one told me what happened, everyone said it's not their place. If you don't want to talk it, that's— I respect that. I'm sorry if I did anything that hurt you, though. I can't remember shit, I remember I wanted to make some jam for you and everything else just vanished, I know you were there, but I don't know what happened, everything's— blurry. I don't know what you did or what I did and— I'm sorry, I'm rambling. All is very confusing... It's— It's good to see you smile, though. I'm sorry I've been— asleep for some time.”

Shock could not describe what Zeev felt at that moment. Stunned, paralysed and unable to utter a single word, he watched what was happening as if he were having an out-of-body experience in his own nightmare. Even as the first accusations had been spewed in their direction, Zeev had been struck by a feeling so intense that he had never felt in Isaiah's presence—so negative and harsh, it shook him to the core. Zeev had already suspected that his beloved was not in control of his senses, that he was rejecting himself, lost in grief, but now the picture expanded. 

“And you are afraid you're gonna be alone again, oh, what a terrible fate it must be.”

By this point at the latest, Zeev knew that Isaiah had been cursed, and given the spectacle unfolding before them, it was not difficult for him to fathom what was involved. He didn't have time for anger, however, his gaze only going to the blood, as if Isaiah had been inspired by one of the many movies they liked to watch together in front of the fireplace. 

His gaze was fixed on the dark underlined eyes, the otherwise beautiful bright blue only washed out and veiled. When he looked inside him, he was sure Isaiah was looking back, only hidden. He was still there. He would get him out. No matter what the cost.

The witcher didn't react to his words, didn't respond to the sneering comments and insults that were no doubt meant to hurt him and tarnish what he had built. But how could they? He was proud of everything he had achieved. He was proud of the life he led with the love of his life. He was worried about being alone again, but he knew he never would be. The only thing that really scared him was a life without Isaiah. And the only ones who threatened that were the witches. 

Concerned, he looked at his family, Sarah and Richard, who were overwhelmed by the whole situation and couldn't even begin to explain what was going on.

“Hey, so, your son has been cursed by dark magic of witches who aim to hurt me and Isaiah, because of reasons I'm not quite sure yet. By the way, I'm a witch, too and your son knows, he had always known there's magic in the world and things beyond human comprehension, one reason why we even found each other. One reason why it was possible for me to be who I am.” 

It wasn't hard to imagine the looks he would receive and the thought that they both must have lost their marbles. Perhaps they'd even turn to him and realise that he hadn't kept their son safe. That he had failed them all. He might have been able to fix all of this sooner before it could have escalated into this display of utter dark madness. 

Staying level headed was hard, to keep the composure and self-consciousness that he held dear to himself in challenging situations. But Isaiah was a weak spot—and the witches knew. What they didn’t know was that this blonde man, who had changed his life for the better, also was his biggest strength. With that, the feeling in his limbs returned and he placed a gentle hand on Sarah's shoulder for a second, smiling reassuringly at her, the sadness sticking to his eyes. “Do you trust me?” he asked carefully, the question in her eyes moving along her worrisome features. 

“Of course,” she answered without missing a beat. 

“Thank you,” he smiled. “I'll need you both to trust me a bit more than usual and I need your help. He needs our help more than ever.”

“He needs an ambulance…” Richard said justly.

Zeev nodded.  “He does, but… I know this sounds confusing and weird, I want him well more than anything, but an ambulance won't help him right now. Give me some time, please, and then I'll even get him to the hospital myself.” The witcher studied the broken down person who once had been full of life and energy, crushed down to a mere shadow figure himself. Cursed. His mortal body wasn't made to withstand this much pressure and it was obvious how it wore him down. He wouldn't have much time. “Two days, tops.”

Sarah, and he couldn't blame her, winced at the idea of waiting this much longer. 

“Please,” Zeev begged, squeezing her hand he must have taken instinctively. “Please”

Sarah looked at her son, a pain in her eyes that was in line with his, as was the helplessness that Richard threw back at them with similar intensity. Isaiah's father had always been the quiet sort, reserved in the way he communicated his emotions, showing them in other ways; with joint building projects in the workshop, involvement in his ideas about renovations or the simple family shopping together. Acts of service. And Zeev needed those more than ever. 

“Let us first take care of him and then… We’ll talk,” Sarah reluctantly gave in and all her son-in-law could do was nod.

  Despite what had happened a few minutes ago, none of those present were shy about touching Isaiah and carefully moving him to the nearest armchair. He held himself like a wet sack and let himself be led around as if the destination mattered absolutely nothing to him. His gaze was glazed and unfocussed, introspective in a way Zeev could no longer bear. Of course he wanted Isaiah to return, but it was far more important to him that Isaiah could be who he was again. This stunning, intelligent person who looked at the world and its inhabitants with a childlike curiosity and could recognise something beautiful in everything, even when it threw bad things at him.

While Sarah swept the shards off the floor and Richard made up the bed, Zeev took care of the wound on his hand. He had carefully removed the shard of glass, cleaned the blood from his hand and applied an ointment whose greenish colour could only indicate a mixture of various herbs. His lips moved softly as he wrapped the bandage around his weak hand, which would simply fall onto his lap without his help. 

“I'm so sorry, baby,” he whispered a little later, stroking the back of his hand and looking up at him from his kneeling position. With his other hand, he gently stroked his cheek, whose cheekbone nestled far too clearly against his palm. “You'll be alright, I promise. I won't let this happen to you any longer.” He stroked his head, rose and kissed his forehead and just sat beside him on the armrest of the brown armchair for quite a while. The bandage on his hand was rough against his palm. Blood that shouldn't have been spilt. 

“I hope you can hear me, love. You’re doing so good, I’m so sorry this has befallen you. I’m sorry I hadn’t prevented this from happening, but I’ll fix it now. I will. I won’t rest till it is.” Carefully, because he didn't want to cause him any more unnecessary pain, he rested his head against his chest, stroked his hair and kissed his hairline. “You're so strong, Isaiah, you have no idea how strong you are, even if it doesn't feel like it right now, but I need you to keep being strong. Can you do this for me? Just a little bit longer, just a little bit more time. Everything will be well soon.” Perhaps he was lying to himself, perhaps these words were just as important for him to hear as it was for Isaiah to know. And when he felt the shallow, if faint, pressure of his fingers around the witcher’s hand, Zeev knew he was right. Zeev was unspeakably proud of him, yet it broke his heart into a thousand pieces that he had to endure it regardless. 

Together, they guided Isaiah back to bed, trying to relieve his body as best they could. Zeev told Richard to stay with him, if that was okay, and smiled gratefully when he accepted the suggestion without hesitation. 

In the kitchen, the witcher met Sarah again, who was sitting restlessly at the table, kneading her hands until they turned red. Zeev realised that she must have cut herself on the glass and moved to the medicine cabinet without comment, took out a pack of band aids—the ones with little planets and stars on them—and sat down next to her. He gently took her hand in his, squeezed it lightly and wrapped a band aid around her finger. 

“What is happening to my baby boy?” she whispered, her voice so weak and fragile it brought tears to the corners of Zeev's eyes. He held her hand in his. 

“I will take care of this,” he promised her, unable to give her a real answer to her legitimate question. “And I will need both of your help. Do you think you can do that? Isaiah needs us more than anything right now.”

She nodded weakly. “What can I do?”

“First and foremost, I need you to take care of each other, too. Richard needs you and you need him, please don’t abandon your own needs in favour of Isaiah. Which is an impossible task, I know… But there is no use if you neglect yourself. I need you both the strongest you’ve ever been. As much as it hurts to say, but I won’t be around much the next two days and I’m sorry for putting all of this onto you, I’ll make up for it as soon as I can. In the meantime, please make sure he eats, that he moves, even if just the littlest, that he gets out of the room and no matter what, make sure he doesn’t hurt himself like he did just now. Keep him safe when I can't.” He kissed her hand, followed the look in her glassy eyes and reached out for her, wiping the tears from her cheeks without realising how his own were falling. “Richard will keep an eye on him, but make sure he gets some rest, too. The bedroom is made for you and always a place you can rest, but it's okay if you stay with Isaiah, too. Don't be a stranger around this house, this home belongs to you, too.”

He tentatively released his hand and rose from the chair, reached for the stack of papers and paused for a moment. They used the sticky notes for their shopping, especially Isaiah, so that he wouldn't forget what he was supposed to get. His last entry was ‘Cornflakes?’ with a forbiddingly cute smiley face and a multitude of little stars, suns and daisies taking up most of the space on the paper. His heart contracted painfully.

 Isaiah would get so many cornflakes, strawberry and lava cakes, Snickers, soft drinks and greasy food that a stomach ache would be his only concern. Zeev wrote down a colourful mix of necessities, including a variety of vegetables and herbs that they no longer had in the house. He slid the list to her. “Can you get some groceries? Get yourself and Richard whatever you want as well, don’t be stingy, it’s alright.”

“Where will you be?”

“I’ll get some more help and a few insights from others. I most likely will be home late, but never refrain from calling me, writing to me, whatever, I’ll be here in a second if anything happens with him. Actually, now that I think about it, tell me whatever happens, even if it seems insignificant.”

She nodded once more, remaining quite for another intake of breath. “Why did he say those things? He… He’s a kind and soft and loving…”

“I know,” was all he managed to answer, the truth too confusing to tell. “He still is, mom.” He stepped over to her, the surprise of the term on his part giving her the faintest hint of a smile. “He's not feeling himself right now, but he will be again. I will make sure of it.” He didn't know how many times he had already said it, he had long since stopped counting. But the more he said it, the more he hoped it was true. 

  “What by the crooked surface of the pale moon is this shit?” Amber had exclaimed, shaking her head full of red locks, framing her in the dim light of the candles throning on the round dark table. Her home smelled like warm soil, the greenest of woods and a little bit of Henna die. Her hands were covered in brown swirls and flower patterns, something Zeev focused on as he watched her reaction towards the photo he had made of the sigil on the back of Isaiah’s currently most prized possession. Helena leaned forward, using her pointer and thumb to expand the symbol. 

“I know I’ll be pointing out the obvious, but holy shit, this is worrisome.” The black haired woman reached over towards Zeev, brushing his arm affectionately, her expression filled with the utmost compassion and something akin to anxiety. 

“How is he holding up?” Amber wondered, her green eyes still fixated on the picture, tilting her head just the slightest as if being able to see beyond the surface. 

“Not at all,” Zeev sighed, shoulders hunched forward, hands resting on the side of his face, keeping him somewhat upright while his spine was giving up under his body weight, too tired to work, but he couldn’t grant himself any sleep nor rest. “I should have known there is more to it sooner. How could I have been so blind?”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Z” Helena tried, still rubbing his arm, which was comforting to some extent, but not enough to reach his mind. “You didn’t expect this to happen and in the end we’re human, too. We don’t expect being cursed out of a sudden, you tried to find logical reasons, human reasons. All that matters is that you know now and we can work with that.”

“I don’t have much time, I feel like I’m losing him.” Despite not wanting to, he broke into another sniffle. A waste of time. “I can’t lose him. Not like this, not ever.”

“You won’t. We’ll help as best as we can. Do you have an idea already what this means?”

“I think it goes without saying that it is dark magic,” Zeev groaned, wiping his face. “I thought I’d never be confronted with that ever again. I turned to so much light in these past years, the darkness just felt like a minor part of my past and suddenly…” He glanced down at his open left palm, the scar a white line of memory, any palmistry would have called it an overcome hardship. Perhaps, all that was happening now, was yet another consequence of his own actions; unpredictable and unmeasurable. 

“I can’t believe we got witches among us, let alone in Macomb, who conjure these sorta magic.” The redhead grumbled, the distaste in her voice as palpable as the teacup in Zeev’s other hand. He winced slightly, still enraptured in who he used to be.

“You’re an exception, honey,” she quickly added upon noticing. “And you’re not cursing anyone anymore, do you?”

“Well,” he huffed. “I can’t deny the thoughts I’m currently having.”

“Thoughts are fine.” Helena nodded. “Can’t deny the murder I’m having on mine right now. They are a threat for everyone, who knows what else they have done already if they are willing to curse the sweetest sunshine the line must have been crossed earlier.” Her black strands were falling from her untidy hairdo. They knew Isaiah quite well and how could they have not? Being close to Zeev required anyone to meet his husband—and listen to his praise and affection over him countless times. The witcher had known Amber and Helena were people—and witches—to keep around the second they got along with Isaiah, being equally giddy about topics too strange for most others, listening to him with shared fascination over the wondrous world and what lay beyond. Amber, knowing more about the solar system than Zeev ever could and Helena, being a history student, never letting the opportunity slide to talk about lost civilisations. 

“So, let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we?” Amber clapped her hands, rubbing them together in a motivated manner, her optimism radiating from her like the warmth of her fireplace. “So, you said he withdrew himself, neglected himself, didn’t say much, cried a lot, seemingly lost in grief and sorrow. Sounds like a big time depression, but I ain’t a doctor, so don’t quote me on that. It’s just an easier term. And just today he spoke in a tongue most definitely not his own. Manipulating a human that way is such a pathetic and foul play. And considering what they made him say, it’s definitely aimed at you.”

Not a consoling thought, it made things even much more worse. Getting to him by using Isaiah hurt the right spot. All his fault. Guilt washing over him, threatening him to drown. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let this feeling be his downfall. Isaiah needed him.

The redhead continued. “Needless to say, if the curse ain’t broken, he won’t recover. I’m not that versed in dark magic, but we got an expert on the table. Zeev, I know this will hurt, but for once you gotta stick to the past. What do you know about breaking those?”

Never had he needed to break curses, as the people who had reached out to him were just looking for quick solutions of problems they had caused themselves or were brought upon due to consequences of their own actions and those of others. Zeev, however, had cursed an entire village just to protect his family. He stirred awake.

“A curse breaks when the conjurer dies.”

Helena winced. “Yeah, well… we can’t have that as the first entrance in your criminal records.” 

“Honestly,” the other chimed in. “I thought that’s going to be public indecency.”

The joke didn’t resurface as much amusement in Zeev as it would have in any other situation. His jaw clenched as he considered the options. “The thing is, dark magic isn’t… Well, it’s just magic like any other essentially, just way more drastically. It manipulates, changes, alters and affects areas that can not be changed naturally. If you’re sick, surely a doctor could help, but that’s not always the case, especially not in a short amount of time. Dark magic speeds up the process tremendously, but asks for a price higher than usual. While white magic is soft, gentle and slow, dark magic is rough, fast and painful. And while the former is limited, the latter is endless.”

Whatever those witches had to give must have been worth the sacrifice—and it didn’t make much sense for Zeev to go beyond those lengths, just to hurt Isaiah and thus him. On the other hand, who said they had to sacrifice anything? 

“Dark magic can do anything, it surely doesn’t stop at breaking curses.”

Amber cleared her throat, eyeing him curiously. “Zeev…”

“Any other ideas?!” he snapped, causing Amber and Helena to twitch. He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry… I—I’m sorry.”

The dark haired student rose from her seat, sitting down next to him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and stroking his back. “It’s okay. When did you sleep last?” He didn’t answer, but his shrug was enough. 

“How about Amber and I dive deeper into these matters and see if we find any other solution? Dark magic should never be the first option, if one at all. Even if it seems the easiest, that’s why it’s so tempting, but you must know, of all witches I ever encountered, what it can do to you. We want you well, we all do, everyone in your family. No matter what happens, you will never be alone.”

“What if it’s my last option?” His voice was a mere whisper.

“Then I’ll whoop your ass gently, but you will not go through this alone. Please consult us first, before you do something you might regret.”

He nodded, took a sip of the tea and cried. 

  After the meeting, he had gone back home, if only to make sure that things hadn't got drastically worse. Richard sat at the kitchen table, bent over a newspaper from yesterday, but no doubt not reading. The coffee next to him showed no sign of being warm and at first it seemed as if he hadn't noticed his son-in-law's presence. It was only when Zeev inquired about Isaiah that he looked up, paused and replied that nothing had changed and that he had fallen asleep from time to time—probably more out of exhaustion than tiredness. Zeev had silently accepted this information, thanking him a little later and forcing a faint smile as he turned to the kitchen and into silence, broken only by the quiet hum of the cooker and fridge. He was preparing a vegetable soup and garnishing it with all kinds of herbs. Whenever he turned the spoon, he went clockwise. Attract. While the soup simmered in the largest pot, he turned his attention to the windowsill, where there were all kinds of fresh herbs; lush green basil, coriander, oregano and sage. Dried bundles of already harvested versions, including rosemary, hung from the curtain rail. He neatly cut off a few stalks, tied them into small wreaths and spread them on and over all the thresholds of the house. A little later, he filled three bowls with the soup and placed one of them by Richard's side, along with bread that Isaiah had bought a few days ago, before the incident. He made his way up the stairs with the remaining two and saw Sarah at her son's bedside, his hand firmly in hers, her eyes glancing only fleetingly at him. He offered her the meal too, stroking her back gently as he stepped towards her. He asked her to give Isaiah his portion, if only a little, as soon as he woke up. It wouldn't change his condition, but it would hopefully alleviate the symptoms. He lovingly stroked his forehead and kissed it gently. He also thanked her for everything she did and the trust she continued to place in him. He could only imagine what was going on inside her. The sight of Isaiah hurt him, for Sarah it must have been agony. 

  A little later, Zeev entered his husband's office, ignoring the pain in his stomach. He grabbed the laptop, older than their marriage, and flipped it open. What would Isaiah do? He knew by heart. He had watched him countless times, from much the same position he was in now, when he didn’t want to interrupt his work, but couldn’t bear staying upstairs alone. Fondly he remembered moments on this couch, wrapped in a knitted blanket of Sarah, reading in a book while listening to the fast clicking of the keyboard and the every now and then huffs and cracking of his spine as he adjusted in the office chair. Reading though was a bit of a lie, if he was entirely honest with himself. More often than not he just sat there and watched the light tangled in Isaiah’s hair and illuminating his face, his features throwing shade and giving him depth. Sometimes Zeev adjusted on the couch just to have a better look to admire him as he worked, how the concentration wrinkled his nose and how his cheek hollowed when he chewed softly on the inside. Zeev had looked up from his position and for a brief moment he thought to see him there, just as he remembered. Researching.

And research Zeev did. Anyone who ever used the internet left traces. Nothing was ever lost in the stream, just covered by leaves, trash and other remnants. If the witches had ever done that, they surely could be traceable. If his past self would be sitting where he sat, he would be overwhelmed and too inexperienced, but the Zeev now had the best teacher there is. So he started with the basics: witches of Macomb.

Funnily enough, their shop popped up, which wasn’t that surprising.

He kept looking, skipping down the results. The less relevant ones always came much later.

Coven of Macomb

Witch coven of Macomb

Witches of Illinois

Coven of Illinois

Witchcraft illinois

He clicked through a variety of websites, one worse in design than the other and more than once did he wince at the supposedly witchcraft those held. Esoteric beliefs and the need for “alternative medicine” was worrisome to some degree, but not really what Zeev wanted to look further into. Huffing, he paused. Glancing at the coffee mug on Isaiah’s desk. Before his mind's eye he saw him reach for it, just to place it right next to the coaster like the rebel he was, not paying enough attention to do so. He smiled warmly. If google wasn’t enough, there was another hell he could rip open.

He opened Reddit.

There was a thread for everything. Cooking, dreams, technology, books, home decor, fashion, relationships, crafts; central themes for anyone to engage with.

But also the little more specific ones. Vegan, nightmares, sleep paralysis, nasa technology, smutty books, western styled interior, boho, high fashion, toxic relationships and witchcraft. 

Zeev wouldn’t say he was good at navigating through the site, but his experience in browsing through all that had to do with The Distorted Files, Isaiah’s work in general and strangely enough their relationship (or what people thought their relationship was like and meant, moreso back then than now), came in quite handy now. 

Witchcraft in general was a too much of a wide theme, he’d search ages just to find anything useful. Instead, he narrowed it down by specifying. People loved to connect, especially as close as possible. There were exact areas and places and so there was Illinois, too. “/illwitches”. Perhaps he allowed himself to chuckle in amusement, perhaps it was just madness getting a hold of him.

Mostly it consisted of recipes, spells, tips and tricks, suggestions and anything in between. It would have been a wholesome browse and he made a mental note to check it out once all was over and well again, but he couldn’t dwell on the idea of having more like minded people—and perhaps true witches—in the area. He just wanted to find a specific kind. Zeev wasn’t sure how much time had passed, just that he knew that he grew more frustrated the longer he stared at the screen. For once he experienced first hand what Isaiah went through whenever he tried to find hints and clues; no wonder he grew tense over time. Zeev didn’t try to linger too much on the memory of his hands on his back as his finger dug into his sore skin and muscles. 

His brows furrowed at a topic that caught his attention right after he had scrolled past it, caught in the vivid and inappropriate memory. His pointer scrolled upwards again.

[Long] my father passed away and I don’t know what to do, it said.

He skimmed over the text with restless eyes, just enough to grasp the problem. The grief over losing a loved one and the effect it had on others. In this case, their mother. She suffered, withdrew, got lost in her grief and isolated herself from anything, even her child. The redditor asked for help, but Zeev knew nothing could help them, but he wondered if someone would mention they could. Most just shared their condolences, but answered as any would: there was nothing magic could do. Still, the sentiment in their suggestions was warming. Proposing their help, suggesting mundane things and sweet activities. Until:

↪ u/markofsolaris replied • 2 months ago We can help.

They remained vague in their statements, causing quite the ruckus amongst the other members, but every question of how wasn’t truly answered. And when Zeev checked their profile, it stayed that way. Never giving fully fleshed out answers, but always keeping the attention on themselves. Zeev stared at the name of the member. 

That was a joke, right?

Adrenaline rushed through his veins, something akin to a fight and flight response causing him to shiver violently. Next to the anger he felt, something else erupted, too. He opened his e-mail inbox, frantically browsing through everything he had ever received—contrary to Isaiah though, he kept it clean. He deleted all that wasn’t necessary anymore and he remembered that he had deleted those mails, too. Unfortunately, the bin cleared itself after a certain amount of time. But what Zeev never tended to and what didn’t delete itself either, was the sent folder.

He had forwarded all to Isaiah that was either weird, concerning or all he just didn’t get or wasn’t addressed to him anyway. Hence, the ominous mails he had received a long time ago. Mails with no caption, with no clear message but: We know who you are.

How long has it been? A lifetime, he felt. And to find them had taken much longer than he had wanted, luckily being able to filter the folder down to specific timeframes. Unfortunately he couldn’t remember the exact year, so he closed his eyes and used milestones of his life to narrow it down furthermore.

Before the wedding.

Before Richard’s sickness.

Before Amber and Helena.

Before Zara.

Before Jersey.

Before his citizenship.

But after he had decided to come to the states.

After he had moved into the house they called a home.

It’s been ages and never would he have thought they would turn relevant again. He picked his phone and dialled Jemma’s number.

“Oh my god, Zeevie,” she yelled into the phone like a grandma, seemingly unaware that she didn’t need to make up for the distance between them. “I’m so glad you’re finally calling. How are you? How’s lanky boy? Is he feeling better? Is he okay? Are you okay? Have you eaten anything? I’ve been looking for short-term flights all day, but they will cost me all of my organs. You know I’d gladly cut them out myself, but you know how it is, I get nervous and then probably just die cause I cut something important.”

“I’m pretty sure no organs will kill you anyway,” he chuckled lightly, for a short second forgetting about the worries he held close to his heart. Quickly, he filled her in with all he could tell her, which was quite a lot. Some years ago he had confessed to her who he was, which she had responded to with a laugh, until proven. Frankly, it had been a stressful evening for him and yet, she had taken it quite well. He’d never forget her saying “you just got 99% hotter, but you’ll never surpass my 200”.  He loved her, dearly. And he loved that he’d been able to have her know a bit more about himself, too.

“That’s horrible,” she breathed. “Can’t you just, like, cast fireball and call it a day?”

“Honestly, there’s nothing I’d rather do, but not only would that raise lots of questions, you know I unfortunately can’t.”

“Bummer,” she sighed. “How can I help?”

“I need Jemma magic.”

“Uh, I like that sound, am I invited into your Coven?”

“You’ve always been part of it.”

“Don’t make me cry, I’m already emotional and worried shitless. So, what’s the deal?”

“I’ll forward you an email, is it possible you can find out who sent it? Like, from where it was sent from?”

“Baby, call me Elliot Anderson.” He could feel her smug smile through the phone. Zeev didn’t know who she wanted to be associated with, but it didn’t matter much as it conveyed she knew what she was about to do.

She kept him company on the phone as she got to work and it was helpful, he had to realise. Just to listen to her talk, to hear about her day and how much she cared about Isaiah, who oftentimes had felt like she wasn’t as fond of him as she was of Zeev. He had always known she loved them both and she was well aware of her role in having brought them together in the first place. Jemma took pride in a lot of things, her self-confidence a worthy opponent to his own, but nothing had ever filled her with more joy than being an integral part of their relationship. She wasn’t just a friend, she was yet another of his sisters and part of their chosen family ever since their meeting. 

“That’s weird,” she hummed at a certain point, Zeev’s attention perching up. “It’s in Macomb, but I can’t tell from where exactly.”

“Thank you, sun, Jemma, I could kiss you right now. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Uh, first of all: I’ll remind you. Secondly, shouldn’t that be worrying you?”

“At this point, it doesn’t. It’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

“More than you can imagine. I’ll need to get to work, I’ll call you soon. I promise. Thank you, truly.”

“You’re welcome. And Zeev?”

“Yeah?”

“Please be careful.”

“Of course.”

“Will he be alright again?” Her voice turned slim.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

“Okay… Okay,” she paused. “I love you. Both of you. Please call me soon.”

“I love you, too and I will. Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

  Zeev felt elevated when he came upstairs again, a new found hope giving him enough optimism to tackle the next hours to come. It had turned dark by now, time was running low. One last night and one more day, that was all he thought Isaiah might bear. He had to. Zeev knew he could. Despite him thinking that the witcher usually put him on a pedestal too high, Zeev knew he was capable of so much more than he allowed himself to credit. The lights of the living room were turned off, he glanced into the kitchen and noticed with relief that Richard must have eaten the soup. Quietly he went upstairs, saw some faint light from underneath the bedroom door and stepped inside. Sarah had fallen asleep in the armchair across the bed, while Richard sat on the bed, caressing his son’s arm, eyes glued in him much like Sarah’s had been the last time he had come into the room. Isaiah must have been moved, changed into more comfortable clothes and considering the dried line inside the bowl, some of the soup has been eaten. It wasn’t much, but the amount mattered little to its effectiveness. Zeev circled the bed and gently brushed Sarah’s shoulder, stirring her awake.

“Did something happen?” she jolted, hands gripping his arm tightly, all eyes on her son. 

“No, no,” he said calmly. “I just wanted to suggest going to bed. We’re here, you need to rest properly.”

“But…”

“We’re here, it’s okay.” 

The hesitance on her face was obvious even in the dim light of the nightstand lamp, but she rose regardless. She moved carefully towards her husband, leaning down towards her son, caressing his cheek and whispering quiet “I love you”s in his direction, kissing his pale forehead. It took her several more seconds to manage to turn her back towards him and kiss her husband good night as well, who nodded at her—reassuring her that he, in fact, was here. For a moment, Zeev felt like he was invading a privacy he shouldn’t be part of. He hadn’t kept Isaiah safe. He couldn’t help the guilt that had blossomed in him since the circumstances had grown much bigger than he had initially suspected them to be. Not only guilt over what had happened, but guilt over not being able to tell them truly what had befallen Isaiah. On the other hand, it wouldn’t change much. They’d still be powerless in the eye of the supernatural. 

But he wasn’t. 

His eyes dropped, allowing them the moment of shared compassion for one another; mother, father and son.

Awakened from his thoughts, he noticed the hand on his cheek. A motherly tenderness that twisted his heart and dampened his eyes. She didn’t say anything, all she wanted to convey was locked in her eyes, openly displayed without resentment, without anger, without hatred or betrayal. Softly, she kissed his cheek, too and left the room. 

Silence fell over them once more and it felt wrong to break it.

“Would you give me a moment with him?” He asked, a permission that might as well could be declined and he wouldn’t blame him. Instead, Richard rose to his feet, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and nodded wordlessly, shuffling out of the room after his wife. 

Zeev stood there, hovering above the love of his life on the verge of death. This wasn’t fair. It should have been him, but there would have been no use of that either. Despite his caution, he felt Isaiah stir when he moved into the bed. His lacklustre eyes caught Zeev’s, but it seemed almost like he didn’t recognise him.

“It’s me, love. It’s me…” Perhaps he didn’t want him to be. “Zeev…”

As if his name had triggered a memory, his body started to shake and the strengthless crying forced Zeev to join. He laid down beside him, moving as close as he could to not need to move him much as he wrapped an arm around him and rested his head against his chest, combing through his hair with shaking fingers. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.” He whispered, voice trembling, trying his hardest to remain steadfast. Isaiah cried in his arms and Zeev had never felt heavier, the sobbing and the sniffling engraving itself into his heart, scarring forever. If he’d fail to save him, there was no way it would ever heal. “I love you, I love you so much…” He wanted to tell him what he had discovered, how he had talked with Amber and Helena, how he had envisioned him while diving into research, how he had tackled Reddit—which under any other circumstances would have made him laugh—how Jemma had helped him track down the sender of those ancient Emails and what he had planned to do this night, but he didn’t. Those witches had used him as a mouthpiece, who knew if they were able to listen in on him. Instead, he told him of the memory he had while sitting on the couch, remembered him—as if he could ever forget—of the day of their first love confession, how much he hated the winter but loved his Hoodies, of their long car-rides to places he had never seen, their countless museum dates and how much Zeev loved to just lay on the couch in front of the fireplace and listen to him breathing. In between those stories, he told him how much he loved him, how grateful he was to be part of his life and that he’ll never let it go to waste. At some point it seemed Isaiah had fallen asleep—at least that thought felt more comforting than imagining his body shutting down due to his weakness. For a few minutes longer he made sure he wouldn’t wake up again and slowly, but determined, he retrieved the picture Zeev had grown to hate. Which was nonsensical, since it wasn’t the true cause, but the spell of those who had harmed him, but it was the only thing he had in a physical way. Stealing it, as far as Zeev had learned, wouldn’t do any good, but that wasn’t his intention anyway. Not yet. He knew, at some point, he needed to and he feared what that would break forth. For now though, all he needed was a little bit of human remains.

He had placed Isaiah back safe and secure into the pillows before, turning towards the nightstand on his own side, pulling a napkin free from the box and placing it unfolded on the sheets. Carefully, he pricked with his fingernail at the brown edges. Watching the slightest hint of black dots highlighted on the white ground. How much he just wanted to toss the picture into the fire and watch it melt and crumble and turn to dust. But not only wouldn’t that do nothing, it would also eradicate any hope of breaking the curse. He felt Isaiah stir again, forcing him to stop in his movements, exhaling when he kept sleeping. Figuring he had pushed his luck long enough, he folded the picture again and put it right back into the bag. He neatly folded the napkin, too, and withdrew from the bed. 

Richard returned into the room when Zeev opened the door for him, offering him to sleep in the bed as well, if he wished, followed by a question if he needed anything, but he just shook his head no. When the witcher turned to leave, the mechanic softly but firmly grabbed his arm, squeezing just the slightest. “You need some sleep, son,” he mumbled, eyes as tired as Zeev felt. 

“I know,” he had answered, patting the other's hand. “I will.” It wasn’t a lie. Zeev knew he probably would sleep for ages if he truly succeeded, but it wasn’t tonight. And it wouldn’t be tomorrow. 

Leaving the room, Zeev followed the hallway and turned right, moving quietly and tiredly into the attic.

  Macomb had turned into a home for both of them. They had lived long enough in the city to know their way around. They’ve walked the streets countless times, just to explore or to stretch their legs. The witcher knew all by heart. From the La Moine River to Lake Michael, from Taco Bell, to the Walmart Supercenter, every greasy fast food chain and grocery store, even the churchyards and the University area. The day he and Isaiah had talked about having children—the idea much appealing—he had started to see the city differently, too. The closest way to any school, the amount of playgrounds and how to get to them safely and public transportation possibilities. It had always been tremendously important to Zeev to know by heart where he was living. 

And that came very handy today.

Tracking down a person wasn’t hard of a spell. All it took was a general idea of their whereabouts and something that belonged to them. It wasn’t the most exact—that would have required different measures—but it would be enough. It had to be. 

He moved sluggishly around his workspace, glad enough to his way around even blinded. Placing a silverware tray on his table, filling it with just enough with by the sun energised water to create an even surface, picking a stem of thyme for clarity, lighting a white candle for illuminating the path and sprinkling iron filings onto the surface, glistening in the shine of the candlelight. He pulled out the napkin and shook the blood scrapings from the surface into the water as well. The surface stirred, the smallest of faces distorting his reflection. Then, he pulled each individual leaf of the thyme and let them fall as well. Afterwards, his scarred palm hovered over the tray. 

Blood to bind, thy path I see, thy essence calls, now come to me. By earth and flame, by sky and sea, as I will, so mote it be.

Behind his closed eyes darkness hovered, a veil too thick to cut through. Specks of light reflected, cones breaking through tree tops and illuminating luscious green fields of meadows. His mind rushed through fields, the intense smell of damp grass tickling his nose; a familiar smell, inviting as it was challenging. He needed to stay concentrated, not letting his memory twist what he was searching for. The faint sound of fluttering wings brushed his ears, a variety of sounds that seemed too unlikely to be found at a mere park. Brown, almost black eyes, obscured by the wave of curly brown hair, hurriedly passed his inner eye. And with that, blackness fell over him again.

But it was all that he needed to know.

It was all that’d lead him to one place specifically.

The Wigwam Hollow Bird Sanctuary.

  He leaned powerlessly against the solid wood of his altar, his fingertips dug into the texture and once again he closed his eyes in order to master whatever was threatening to fall over him. But every minute he didn't spend mastering the puzzle was considered a betrayal of Isaiah in his eyes. His limbs ached, his eyes burned and his head throbbed in such a way that he thought it might burst at any moment. Still, he had no choice but to take the moment as it was. To briefly remember that he, too, was only a mortal body that was losing strength, especially without the sun. One more day. Another day and everything would come to an end. It had to. He would allow no other outcome. No matter what he had to do. 

The first rays of sunlight would come to the city in a little over an hour, bathing it in a beautiful light and reminding the rest of the world that after every darkness, beauty would return. Macomb knew nothing of the challenge Zeev faced, but he knew all the more. He consulted a few books on witchcraft sigils around the globe and used the time to further explore the meaning of the curse. He set a timer for every five minutes, worried that he would simply fall asleep. 

His sore body hadn't even noticed that the sun had awoken—his instincts were usually more reliable than any clockwork in this regard—when Zara's messages reminded him that she was his sister and thus awakened.

“What is going on?”

Only now did he realise that his messages to her had been more than cryptic, especially as he had hardly spelt a word correctly. 

“Meet me at the Bird Sanctuary in an hour.”

“Yay!”

  The Bird Sanctuary stood nestled against the Wigwam Hollow woodland, a private and restricted area for preservation of endangered species and served as a safe habitat. Zara, however, had sneaked her way into the heart of any wildlife caretaker and thus, had unlimited access to most areas. 

As much as Zeev was stubborn, he wasn’t too keen on dying on his way to the meeting point. He didn’t like driving as much as it was, so he turned to public transportation instead. When Zara, looking like the sun herself, saw him approaching, every cheerful smile fell off her face, hitting the gravel beneath her feet with an almost audible clang. 

“By the love of the sun, Zeev!” she exclaimed, wrapping him into a hug that wiped out every last breath he had held. Her hands covered the sides of his face, turning and twisting him like a loose tooth. If she had kept going, he was sure his head would have popped off just as easily. “You look absolutely terrible and—oh sun.” Not only did she see what he was conveying with his looks, she also felt it. Every little worry, every little fear, every little sadness and sorrow and grief and the boundless exhaustion. He didn’t need to tell her much more but he did regardless, updating her on what had happened between the break-in and now.

She sniffled, but he couldn’t join her for once. His body seemingly had forgotten how to mourn, his mind too detached from his bodily reactions.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner, you fool.” Lightly, she shoved him, enough for him though to topple backwards and flat on his ass. He grew dizzy. She apologised worriedly and pulled him back on his legs, his movements all but elegant. 

“What are we doing here? I mean, I’m sure you’re not here to watch some birds with me.” 

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Who?”

“She must be in this area.”

“You mean the one who…?”

He nodded. 

“But the woodlands here are no place to live and I’ve been everywhere already.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s living here, but it seems to be an important place for her.”

Zara scrunched up her nose. Usually, the blonde wasn’t one to feel resentment towards other people. On the contrary, she seemed to love everyone. Somehow, Zeev was glad she seemed to have exceptions to that rule.

The spell had led him here, it must mean something. It must mean something today. He glanced up at the rising sun, inhaling within her gleam, the tip of his nose tingling. If the universe had an ounce of luck left, he wanted to be allowed to be egotistical. 

“Okay, so, there’s Stephen, the owner. Then there’s Marissa, his wife. They’re usually around, one or the other. Then there’s Paul, Lucas, George and Timothy, as well as Francesca, Lorena and Yashka, but they are all sweethearts. I surely would have noticed if they’re… like that.” He nodded, he couldn’t bring himself to do much more. Eyes scanning the area as he followed Zara through the entrance. “Oh, but we got some volunteers from the University, some Seniors who’ve been here for, uh, three semesters I believe. I don’t do much with them, since I’m usually gone when they arrive, perhaps the one you’re looking for is amongst them?”

“When do they arrive?”

She glanced up at the sun, taking her brother’s hand in hers. “Hm, around an hour or two?” 

Two hours. How much time could he waste before it was too late?

The strangest thing was, what if he met her? What if he stood in front of the witch who had brought this curse into their home, defiling their sacred place and destroying their peace? His hands twitched, which Zara answered with a squeeze. He thought of murder, cold hearted, rage filled murder. A thought was okay. He knew he wouldn’t do it, but he wished he could. All he wanted was answers. 

And perhaps a little keepsake to bring home. 

Zara pulled him along through the fields, showing him their newest protégés, trying to keep his mind free of the dark that undoubtedly has covered his heart. She didn’t dare asking about Isaiah, and she didn’t need to. Just by looking at her brother, just by seeing how much he suffered. If she would know that pleading for his well-being would help, she would have done so. 

Much like his conversation with Jemma, the mere presence of his sister soothed some of his senses. Keeping him company and holding him steady—if she wasn’t pushing him that is—when nothing else seemed to. She was there, she was herself and she tried her best to reach his goal. 

An hour later, they returned to the main hall, a sweet little and private gathering centre for all employees and occasional visitors alike. A man, presumingly Stephen, just welcomed a small group of students. 

Zara remained close as Zeev’s eyes skipped over every face. A blonde man, a brunette woman with green eyes, a dark haired man with blue eyes, another blonde, a redhead, someone with blue styled hair and lastly a young woman with dark skin and a buzzcut. Zeev, finally, felt like crying again. Reassuringly, his sister rubbed his back. “I’m sorry…” 

Defeated, he turned to leave, overcome by sorrow and grief of the worst kind. 

They left the building towards the entrance, following the path in silence. 

“Is there anything else I can help with? You don’t have to go through this alone…”

“I don’t even know what to do myself…”

“Then let’s figure it out. Come, I’ll got with you and then we’ll—”

Within a second, Zeev’s spine straightened, his head shot upwards, his entire body covered in goosebumps, attention displayed on his features as it hadn’t in the last few days. He stared at a young woman, most likely not older than twenty-five, just passing through the security barrier of the entrance. She, too, suddenly looked up. Zeev didn’t hear it, but the way her mouth moved implicated two significant words: “Oh shit.”

Her dark eyes had widened and she tried to step back and flee, but the barrier wouldn’t let her, her body retorting to standing still, as if he’d be unable to see her then. A deer in the headlights. All the anger he felt towards her knotted in his chest, pulling a thread around his heart and tightening, but he remained quiet.

He let go of his sister’s hand, his movements deliberately and refined by steady superiority. She was scared. Good. She should be.

She was a mere child in his eyes, naivety plastered all over her soft features. She didn’t move.

“Zeev…”, Zara mumbled quietly, but he ignored her. He came to a halt in front of the witch who had started it all, most likely not alone, but that mattered little to him. He was nothing more than two quick steps away from her.

“You did this”, he said, his voice lacking softness.

“I—,” she tried. “I didn’t.”

He narrowed his eyes, his presence expanding, the full force of his anger enrapturing her. He watched her inhale sharply. 

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” he warned. “Why did you do this?”

“I—,” she swallowed, looking at Zara. He stepped into her view. 

“You’re answering to me, not her.”

She nodded hesitantly, her throat twisting as she swallowed once more.

“I’m waiting”, he reminded her.

“We—They—You consort with a human, that’s… that’s unjust. He knows too much. You should—They say you belong—”

“What in the sun’s name is that sorta bullshit?”

She winced, looking around for another attempt to flee at any given moment, but he kept pressing down on her with his glare. Untended hatred piling up in his throat. 

“Mother said you belong to us.”

“You expect me to feel flattered? You think destroying my life will make me tend to yours? How about you write me an invite next time that doesn’t consist of curses?”

As much as he would have loved to grab her by the hand and pull her along back home, to get rid of the curse and never have to see her face again, he knew that was an impossible act. “Break it.”

“What?”

“Break the curse.”

“I can’t.”

“Bollocks,” he snarled, moving a step closer to which she reacted with another step backwards, once more nudging into the barrier. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I can’t! Mother wouldn’t—” She sniffled, if that was her trying to reach for his compassion, she was talking to the wrong person.

“Who’s mother?”

She shook her head, tears pooling at her chin.

“Where are you hiding?”

She remained silent. 

“Fine, I’ll get my answers.” He closed the remaining distance, hovering above her like the sun itself, he raised his hand and took a brown curl of her hair between his fingers, brushing it back just the slightest. He leaned down close enough for her to hear, whispering calmly: “Tell your mother I made a whole town forget my family ever existed, if he dies, you underestimated me for the last time.” 

“Everything alright?” a young man yelled towards them. The girl rubbed her head and darted to the side, taking the distraction and running off towards the exit, leaving the place and Zeev altogether. 

“Yes, yes, all is well, sorry Tim!” Zara snaked her arm around her brother’s and pulled him towards the exit as well. “Sun, Zeev, what was that?”

“A step forward,” he mumbled, still caught up in the anger fueling his heart. Between his pointer and thumb, he twirled a few individual curling strands of hair. 

  As well as for her own conscious and Zeev’s unpredictable demeanour, Zara had accompanied him home, greeting Sarah as she made herself and her husband a morning coffee, words of compassion spilling from her mouth as she had her arms wrapped around the blonde woman, who had welcomed her into her family just as she had welcomed Zeev. Who, contrary to his sister, hadn’t had so much than a nod left as he had entered his home, that felt—despite the people inside—awfully cold without Isaiah well and awake. 

“That was unnecessary dramatic, Zeev,” Zara had scolded her brother once Sarah went upstairs to accompany her husband. 

“Be glad,” he huffed. “You don’t know how all of this went in my head instead. I think I held it together quite well.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Well, considering option one, letting the one who conjured the curse lift it, didn’t work out, surprisingly, I’m planning option two.” Zeev pulled a napkin from his pant pockets, unfolding it to reveal the hair.

“Zeev, this can’t be the solution…” The worry on her face was quite touching and he understood where she was coming from, but what else was there, if not, by some miracle, Amber would call and tell him the solution was just to kiss his lover awake? That, in essence, was the only sort of pure magic he conjured daily and so far it hadn’t worked. 

“What else do you suggest? You think they'll grant me my wish if I ask them nicely enough? This is a dark magic problem and only dark magic can solve it. I'm breaking a curse, not putting one on someone.”

“But it will still leave a mark…”

“That's okay”

“No it's not, Zeev… Where is the point in helping when you hurt yourself in return?” Her hands flung towards his shoulder, shaking him lightly. 

“Because I love him more than anything, he's my life and they are killing him. A little dizziness and the possibility of feeling the temptation again is nothing compared to the pain I'm feeling right now. Besides…” Cautiously, he shoved the wrapped napkin back into his pockets, tenderly grabbing her hands, his thumbs brushing over the back. “I'm not alone anymore, I will have y'all to help me get through this, to keep me from succumbing to the pull. I'll not die, I didn't back then and I will not now. And he won't either.”

“What… what will be the consequence?”

“His sickness isn’t a natural cause. It’ll cut the cord they have spun around him and it will snap right back into their faces. I’m not manipulating him, I’m not creating anything out of thin air, I’m just cutting him free. If anything, I restore the balance they have tipped off.” It didn’t need words to see how much Zara disliked the thought and considering the history of them both, he couldn’t say it wasn’t reasonable. But what else did he have? 

“Can we please wait for Amber and Helena to call?”

Zeev glanced outside, the sun on its highest point. He had a few more hours. But they’d pass—he wouldn’t wait any second longer than. 

Despite all their efforts, it was needless to say that, when Amber called, she hadn’t had good news. However, they had used their network to gather some information about a few Covens around the area, some rumoured to have rather questionable practices. That didn’t necessarily mean there was an ounce of truth behind it, but he’d look into it, when the time was given. Time he didn’t have anymore. He had asked the witches to come to his home and they followed, not questioning the reasons. 

“So you’re gonna do this?” Amber had whispered, unsure how soundproof the walls actually were. 

“Yes.” There was no time for hesitation. 

“How?”

“The blood on the picture isn’t fresh enough, but her hair will do just fine.”

“Geez,” Helena exclaimed, patting her messy bun. She always looked as if she had rushed through the morning routine and still managed to pull off a look. “I’ll be completely honest with you, I don’t like this, but… But I don’t want Isaiah to die like this either.” She paused. “Or at all, that came off wrong. Anyhow, what can we do?”

“First, we need to get the picture from Isaiah’s bag, then we gotta get to the attic without raising suspicion. Sarah and Richard don’t know anything about this and I’d like to keep it that way.” No one argued with that.

Zeev opened the door carefully. This time, Sarah sat on the bed, holding her son as he had placed his head on her lap, his eyes closed. Good. Gently, she ran her fingers through his hair and smiled softly at Zeev as he entered. Richard sat in the armchair, reading in a book he must have found in the living room. 

“How’s he holding up?”, Zeev asked carefully in a hushed tone. 

“Barely,” Sarah mouthed. “How are you getting along?”

“Closer. Is he asleep?”

“If you can call it that way…”

“Can you reach his pocket?”

Sarah knitted her brow in confusion. “Why?”

“I need the picture.”

“But the last time…”, she gasped lightly.

“I’ll make sure it stays the last time.”

Once again, she stayed quiet, contemplating his instruction. Then, as she kept drawing soothing circles over his scalp and tried to reach for the bag, Isaiah moved slightly. Zeev held his breath, waiting. But he didn’t wake.

“Let me,” Richard offered. His wife needed to move too much, but he had free access. As a mechanic, he had quite the steady hands for his age and if Isaiah didn’t know better, he might have assumed he’d been a surgeon in a past life. He gave him the picture. Gratefully, he took it. “I’ll be back soon.” As he wanted to close the door behind him, Zara stepped next to him. 

“I’ll stay with them,” she mumbled, pulling her brother into a tight hug in front of the bedroom door. He didn’t ask her to change her mind, and in a way, having her with them, taking care if against all odds something happened, they’d at least have someone who understood enough to help. He tightened the grip around her. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you, too, stop being dramatic.” She chuckled softly, nudging his shoulder but for once he didn’t fall. 

The three witches retreated towards the attic, the steps of the stairs creaking slightly underneath their shared weight. Amber, who had stepped in last, locked the door behind her. They heaved the table to the side and created an open space. The blonde grabbed a piece of chalk and drew a wide circle over the floorboards. On five ends they placed white candles for dissolution and removal. The convenient thing about black magic was that it didn’t require as much as any other. 

The picture as the bearer.

The hair as the conjurer.

And Zeev’s blood as the breaker.

He knelt inside the circle, Amber and Helena watching him attentively, in some way curiously, but worried the most. 

“Don’t look at me like we’re all about to die,” he sighed. “You’re making me nervous.”

Amber huffed. “Well, it’s the first time for me, mind you.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

It felt strange to hold the athame in his hands and not just use it for just cutting herbs and envelopes. He stared down at his hand, his heart thumbed heavily in his ribcage, pressing against his skin, daring to bolt out. Adrenaline rushing and numbing his ears, the mere thought of doing what he had done numerous times years ago, resurfaced emotions and temptations he had held so dear to himself. But he had been alone back then. Had thought, if he just grew strong enough, everything would change for the better.

He, however, wasn’t alone anymore and he wouldn’t lose himself again, not after having found what truly mattered. Sarah and Richard, Jemma and Zara, Amber and Helena and most of all, the love of his life—Isaiah. 

“Just… stay with me.”

“We can do that,” Helena promised with a smile, kneeling down and enlightening the candles. Amber mirrored her task and both of them sat down on the ground as well, just outside the circle, holding each other's hand as they closed their eyes alongside Zeev. You’ll be alright again, he promised him in thoughts and hoped it would reach him. Hoped, it would be true. If not, the Mark of Solaris would learn who the sun shone for.

He inhaled once. Exhaled deeply. Inhaling again, the blade cold against his heated palm, then he spoke:

Chains unseen, now come undone, by moonlit power and rising sun. Let shadow’s grip release its hold, and cleanse this soul, both brave and bold.

Warm, wet blood dripped from his palm, frizzling as it met the back of the picture. The bitter taste of the steam covering his tongue. For a moment he clenched his jaw, pain searing through his body, his muscles contracting and causing him to twitch. He groaned, gasping in exhaustion.

No thread remains, no tie shall be, the bond is severed, I set thee free. with power mine, I end this plea, as I will, so mote it be.

One candle after the other blew itself out, the hissing sound of his blood on the sigil kept filling the room. Neither Amber nor Helena dared to breath, both eyeing what was happening with growing anxiety. With a clatter, the ritual knife fell out of Zeev’s hand as he bent over in pain, restraining himself from suffering too loudly, pressing his teeth together till his jaw hurt. The witches were unsure if they were allowed to move at all, to touch him, to console him, to do anything. 

And then, 

nothing. 

Zeev exhaled. His body beyond tiredness, beyond exhaustion, beyond consciousness. Or at least, he should be. 

And yet he toppled onto his feet, swaying left and right, bumping into the table they had put aside and soon after felt the hands of Amber and Helena wrapped around his arm and hip, preventing him from falling. With hazy, fogged eyes he stared down towards the circle onto the surface of the picture. 

And there was no trace of the sigil. Had it worked?

[hochmvt]

                    ⸻ continuation of [א] with my love @verflcht

“Quite the romantic, huh?” Isaiah chuckled and smiled even happier, gently kissing the Sundawner's lips and loosing himself in the witcher's eyes. Ever since they'd met in Sundawn less than a year ago (and Jemma had unassumingly stopped by Spindleweed's to buy tea for her grandma and while the Brit had fallen in love with the owner, Isaiah had fallen in love with the trinkets; and yet, after some time, all the trinkets, teas, nightwalkers and gloomsprites in the world suddenly had no value when Zeev looked at him. Instead, there were daisies blossoming across the green glade of the clearing in the middle of Sundawn Woods, the world's most boring social game [mind you, according to Evie and Arwen] and staying awake until late at night so neither the day nor the kisses would end), Zeev's eyes had become more awake. There was an entire world waiting to be explored by him and for Isaiah, there was no place he'd rather be than right by his boyfriend's side, to explore what the world (and everything beyond) had in store for them. In the sun, they sometimes looked amber-colored, as if the sun was in them. He looked like a kid on Christmas; believing in all the magic within the world and eager to make best use of the gifts he was given.

“What a coincidence,” the podcast host commented wryly, starting the engine of his car, pulling out of the gas station driveway, continuing down the highway and following the road towards Seattle. His hand rested on Zeev's thigh while he stroked him the fabric of his pants, shaking his head no upon his question. “Never been much of a hiker. Always wanted to hike the Appalachians, Brown Mountain in North Carolina, being born around there and all but- have you looked at me? I'd probably just fall down somewhere and die. Flat terrain is a real challenge for me already. If you add slopes and boulders to that, my chances of survival are probably reduced to zero. Ain't really wanna be featured in one of those 'Dumb Ways To Die' episodes.” Zeev had witnessed Isaiah's physical clumsiness more than enough (and Jemma's affectionate nickname lanky boy must've summed it up for the witcher, too), especially when he was excited or had his mind committed to a particular goal. “We don't have to stay in Seattle for vacation though. Anywhere you wanna go? We can go somewhere abroad if you'd rather go somewhere else.” Isaiah hesitated for a second and smiled. “And at some point we'll have a house, which is certainly a great place to vacation. Work on the road and vacation at home... Sounds good, if you ask me. Of course, the sun's gotta shining though, that's our only and most important condition.” A second, brief moment of hesitation, then a follow-up question. “If you could choose, what'd your house look like?”  

[hochmvt]

HAPPY  BIRTHDAY,  MY  LOVE  ! (please go follow @sonnenreich, he is THE sweetheart of the century and i love muse and mun dearly – if you don't, you're missing out BIG TIME)

My beloved birthday boy,

this isn’t the first love letter I’ve written you and it will most certainly not be the last. And I’m writing this at 3AM while you’re sleeping upstairs looking like a renaissance painting and all I do sometimes is look at you and feel this unexplainable warmth inside, that’s this mixture of gratefulness, love and deep-rooted admiration for you. And now that I’m writing this, I miss you once more and a part of me is getting all giddy in excitement to crawl back into bed and pull you close and fall asleep next to you, sure that I’ll wake up next to you the following morning.

You’re intertwined in the very fibers of my being, I start to use some expressions of yours (except for Splendid, I will never use that), the advice you’ve given me on so many small little aspects of my life is webbed into my soul, you inspire me, the conversation we had replay in my mind, over and over again. And I remember the night we spent at the little apartment right above Spindleweeds, trying to make sense of things that life had thrown at us, while falling in love with one another. I fell in love with not just your flowers, but your roots⸺in between daisies and sunshine and I will forever be grateful for that. And hell, I’m proud of you; for how much you’ve grown, how strong you’ve been and how you never let go of the hope and love running through your veins. I admire you not just for your strength, but for your kindness. For the way you see the world. For how you take care of yourself and how you let me help you, when you struggle with it. Your soul is painted in the most beautiful colors I’ve ever seen and I will never stop trying to find names for it, just as I will never stop admiring it in its beauty. Even though I cannot solve all your problems or rewrite the past (if there’s a way though, I’m gonna find it), be assured that I will always keep you company in everything you face, you will never face any struggle alone and I promise you, that I’ll always be there for you. I promise you that I will spend a lifetime understanding your heart completely. I promise you that I will always take care of your well-being.  I have never loved anyone as much as I love you. You made me feel something new and I will forever be grateful for that, too. I will cheer for you, for every success, for every attempt and I hope we’ll celebrate everything that life has in store for you together. From two-people BBQs to unopened envelopes until 8:30PM. You made me into something beautiful. You look like the rest of my life.  I want all of you forever.  I love you. ⸺ Isaiah

[hochmvt]

❝  MY  ENTIRE  SKY  CRAVES  ONLY  YOUR  STAR  ❞ —  college  au  starter  for  @verflcht

If Isaiah had been honest with himself, MIT had been the only actual prospect he had. Had it not been for this particular university, he probably would never have gone to one altogether. The thought of going to uni had its appeal, but he never really knew if it was the right thing to do. Making a decision for the rest of his life at 18 felt so terribly grotesque that he questioned the sense of the entire educational system. Maybe it would have made sense to take some time off, leave Greenville and see what the world had to offer. But the scholarship practically took the pressure of making that decision off him, the summer passed, as everything in life eventually does, the fall turned the campus into a warm-toned sea of leaves, the winter had ushered him to attend student parties and make friends. And with the first rays of sunshine of the new year, not only did a few friendships blossom, but so did Isaiah. A single thousand-voiced, thousand-winged hum of joy that everything was starting all over again. This must be what it felt like to be liked.

High school hadn't necessarily been the easiest of times for the blonde. He still had contact with very few people from there, although he sometimes spoke with Sophia on the telephone. There was one more contact he would have liked to have kept; with the boy with the alert eyes and sharp mind, curious and kind. With the colorful potpourri of random bits of miscellaneous knowledge that he always shared with him, even though the situation rarely matched. Moments like these had been so beautiful about him. The new kid who had never felt like a stranger. Not for a second. He'd had to leave Greenville in an overnight move, his family had had their reasons for moving cities with alarming regularity, but something seemed to have been going on for some undefined period of time. It had taken Isaiah a long time to get over the fact that the one person who had actually understood him in some way was suddenly gone. He had lain in his mother's arms because he didn't feel he could talk to anyone else about it. There was still so much he wanted to find out about him: What had made him the person he was, how his mind worked, how he liked to be touched, what he thought about at night when the world was empty and silent. They hadn't even exchanged phone numbers. Isaiah had no address to write to. Nothing. Just memories that were slowly fading. Student life had not only distracted him, but also kept him on his toes. His lectures and tutorials demanded a lot from him, every A+ seemed to make his mother very proud on the phone and his academic achievements not only earned him positive attention from his lecturers, but also seemingly a certain social standing. His fellow students greeted him, invited him to student parties (where pale pink dawn light greeted him in the morning - something Isaiah, who loathed parties for most of his life, had never thought of himself) or study circles. Rainy weekdays were often spent in the library or at Marc's apartment, and the first days of summer were often spent outside in the campus's spacious lawn. On days like these, the sun tickled his nose and warmed his face. Regardless of how nice the weather was, it was as if Isaiah was clinging to an anticipatory melancholy, as if the most beautiful of situations was always a little cloudy.

The physics department had organized one of the many celebrations to which the other faculties were also invited. He had seen Barbara, Andrew, Garret and Lydia from the biology department, his peers, as well as some of his other friends and acquaintances. One of them was Alden Tyrell, a tall, gray-haired man, a heavyset giant with thick, black horn-rimmed glasses, who smiled politely at Isaiah and gestured for him to join him.

Tyrell seemed to have seen something in the blonde boy as he had sat in his lecture. As if he had seen through him, knowing that Isaiah's thirst for knowledge didn't stop at equations and lecture notes. It had only taken a few weeks for the man in his mid-fifties to take the freshman under his wing, encouraging and challenging him, even beyond the curriculum. And now, like some other students, usually in their 7th semester and not like him, in his third, he orbited around Tyrell like a small planet in a fixed path. One evening Isaiah had told his mentor (he was on his fourth glass of wine and they had moved away from the physics curriculum and instead talked about things no serious physicist would ever devote his life's work to) that he believed something else lay beyond their reality. “I don't want to- I mean, it's not like I want to portray myself as anyone important here, I- I'm sorry, I don't find better words right now, but sometimes it feels like I'm seeing the edges of something... but I can't make out what edges I'm seeing. As if the outlines of whatever I'm aiming for are just out of reach. Or blurred.” Tyrell had looked at him for a while and said nothing. Isaiah had felt like he'd crossed a line and had looked down at his wine glass, embarrassed by his thoughts, as a single drop slowly ran down the stem of the glass. “That's where the truth's hidden, Isaiah,” he had replied at some point, ”In the edges. The limits of perception. Where reality starts to fray.” That had touched him, that he had listened and hadn't dismissed his thoughts.

Such conversations, however, would not take place this evening. Tyrell had introduced him to some colleagues Isaiah didn't know personally, but he had heard their names several times. Faculty legends, Nobel Prize winners among them. He was uncomfortable with the tone in which his lecturer spoke of him, but he put on a happy face and played along, listening to the six men as they philosophized and excusing himself a little later to go back to his friends. “You wanna dance with us?” Evelyn had asked him and Isaiah had just shaken his head, sipped his drink and wished them a good time as he leaned against the wall and watched them, toasting towards them and smiling genuinely.

[hochmvt]

❛ i guess i'm scared that i don't have what it takes to not fuck this up. ❜

Isaiah leaned back into the warm water, his arms wrapped loosely around Zeev, nose buried in the wet hair of his boyfriend (ㅤhis!!!, he thought, Zeev chose him!!!ㅤ) as they laid nestled together in the tub. The world outside seemed distant, the only sound their breathing, a gentle swash of water every once in a while when they moved. Isaiah’s fingers traced soft patterns across Zeev’s chest. It was a rare moment of quiet, where Isaiah's mind could slow down, if only for a while. Zeev however, always had this effect on him. Where all of the sudden the world went quiet, things fell into place and there was order. Other people took ritalin for that. Isaiah was merely in love. And very much so.

His thumb brushed the curve of Zeev’s collarbone, his touch light and absentminded, as though his fingers were following the rhythm of his thoughts — gentle, but persistent. But while Isaiah was lost in the moment, within Zeev, it seemed like something heavier kept his mind busy. He seemed lost in thought, staring at his hands, his wrists, almost apathetically, as he mumbled: ”I guess I’m scared that I don't have what it takes to not fuck this up.” 

Isaiah had felt the shift before Zeev said a word. The doubt, the unease — it seeped into the quiet between them, like a change in the air he couldn’t ignore. Neither of them could. The thoughts that must’ve swirled around Zeev’s mind, fed with worry, but instead of rushing to fill the space with verbal reassurances, Isaiah stayed silent. He knew Zeev, knew that words wouldn’t reach him right now.

Instead, Isaiah pulled him closer, his arms tightening gently around Zeev’s frame, offering comfort in the way he knew would reach him best — through touch. Zeev had always been a rather physical person and sometimes Isaiah felt, that through touch, it was easier for him to get through to whatever had occupied his mind. His hand moved slowly over Zeev’s chest, resting there, steady and warm, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. Zeev needed this, the closeness, the unspoken reassurance that came not from conversation, but from the simple act of being held. That he wasn’t alone in this world. Sometimes, Isaiah thought, he felt like Zeev was caught in this narrative he had; that he wasn’t worthy of something. Or that he was alone. Despite the efforts the American had poured in their relatively short relationship so far, Isaiah sometimes had the feeling, that there was something inside the witcher he couldn’t quite grasp. He wasn’t even sure if Zeev could. Or anyone, for that matter. Through touch, all the podcast host hoped for was that in this moment, in this quiet, Zeev would feel it — the reassurance, the understanding. The love. That he didn’t have to be perfect, didn’t have to worry about messing up anything, because Isaiah wasn’t going anywhere. Except for when Zeev would ask for it. ”What’s the matter, my love?” he spoke softly against the damp skin, placing soft kisses onto the other’s shoulder. ”Do you want to talk about it?”

[hochmvt]

"Isaiah, I'm about to pass out any minute."

The sun shone brightly and mercilessly on the earth for the second week in a row, heating up the asphalt of Macomb's streets and making the distance appear in shimmering waves. Zeev generally felt naturally comfortable in the sun. The heat seemed to affect him far less than Isaiah, who sat next to his husband and sighed. His lanky frame was draped in a white t-shirt—sweat luckily not yet darkening patches of it, but he knew if he'd sit in this heat for more than two hours, getting up would be an embarrassment, for him and for his husband—, and his jeans were definitely the wrong choice today, just as his mom had predicted, but that's primarily because she was a mother and mothers, as per law, were always right, apparently. The blonde's hands fidgeted with the condensation dripping from his cup of lemonade. Oak and maple trees lined the sports field, where several rows of chairs had been set up with picnic blankets and folding chairs in the shade until the ceremony had come to an end. Isaiah glanced around, looking further back at his mom and dad, Zara, Carter, Jemma, and the Petosky clan, smiling at them and waving as they fanned themselves. Then he turned his attention back to what was happening in front of him, excited men and women, most of them Isaiah and Zeev's age. His gaze went to his left, he looked to his husband who had been leaning against him, took his hand and gently kissed his knuckles. “Are you alright, my love?” he asked, looking down at him, kissing the top of his head and smiling softly, then stroking the back of his husband's neck. “Isaiah, I'm about to pass out any minute.” The podcast host smiled down at the Sundawner and gently kissed his temple, putting his arm around him and supporting him more. “It's exciting, isn't it?” he asked, smiling back at him and stroking his hair reassuringly with his free hand. “I got you, baby, you're safe with me,” he assured him, pulling him closer and offering him his shoulder and support.

The principal took the stage and greeted the parents, relatives and family friends of the 60 children who were starting school today. Isaiah shifted a little in the chair, keeping an eye out for Daisy, who had to be standing somewhere up ahead, but always keeping his arm around Zeev so that he wouldn't hurt himself if he actually lost consciousness. “I'm here, my love,” he assured him again, looking down at him and gently stroking his side. “And please welcome,” the principal continued at some point,—after children had went up the stage one by one,—and smiled, gesturing to the students standing at the side of the stage, ”Daisy Pines.” Isaiah looked to Zeev, who still appeared to be conscious, and stood up carefully with him, putting his arm around him to continue providing support and placing his index finger and thumb between his lips with his free hand, whistling loudly as Daisy took the stage, rather reserved and shy (but she did nonetheless, despite her fear of getting up there!) while the rest of the family was equally loud in the background, cheering for the newest addition to the family. Her braided pigtails bounced slightly as she walked, the flower crown Zeev had made with her in the morning was a little out of place, but somehow it added to her overall appeal. She looked so pretty, Isaiah thought, and how courageous she was and how polite she was to say 'Hello' to the principal and shake her hand—the only child who did. Because that's what one does. They both watched her, waved as she looked to them and smiled supportingly as she got in line.

Shortly after Isaiah and Zeev sat down again, the American felt his husband's body slump, becoming more sluggish beside him. Isaiah smiled gently at Zeev, kissed the top of his head and leaned him against his shoulder so that he had support, helping him to keep his balance. “I love you,” he mumbled into the other's hair, stroking his back gently as he continued to look forward, glancing down at Zeev every so often to check.

“She looked great up there. Gods, reminds me of you two when you had your first days in school,” Emma smiled and leaned against Matt, looking at Evie and Arwen. “Oh my God, Mom, that was ages ago.” “It doesn't feel like ages ago,” she commented back, smiling brightly. “We'll need to do video calls every day, I wanna hear everything she has to say about her first day at school. And the flower crown Zeev crafted? So cute.”

Isaiah nodded in agreement and glanced over his shoulder towards his husband, who was standing near the bar getting lemonade for everyone, but seemed to have been mobbed by a few mothers. Amused, Isaiah smirked as he saw each of them hanging on his lips, nodding repeatedly in agreement, smiling broadly at his every word. One had brushed over his shoulder and Isaiah didn't quite know if Zeev had approved, but his posture wasn't tense or uptight, so Isaiah assumed everything was fine. The American wasn't worried that Zeev would find the next supposed love of his life with any of them or that he'd cheat, there had been plenty of times when the witch seemed to know how to put people in their place, he had communicated—without leaving room for ambiguity or doubt—that he was married. And that very happily so.

He managed to remain polite, but he was also outspoken about his relationship status and his values. Isaiah loved that about him, too.

A wide smile graced the blonde's face as Daisy came running up to the group in her white dress and threw herself against Isaiah's legs, hugging them tightly and hiding her face. Looking down at her, he smiled tenderly and stroked her hair, bending his knees carefully and asking her if she wanted to be on his arm, to which she nodded in silence. He carefully put his arms around her, stroked her back gently and finally lifted her up, kissing her cheek with all the care and love he felt for his daughter. “You did so great, honey. And how polite you were when you shook hands with the principal. And how brave you were! Gods, dad and I are so proud of you” he smiled at her and stroked her back gently as she buried her face in the crook of his neck and mumbled against his skin that she wasn't brave. “Being brave doesn't mean not being scared, Daisy... It means doing things even when you are scared. And you still walked on that stage and you did so good,” he spoke to her calmly and ran his fingers over the back of her head. His pride was hard to put into words.

“Did you see your classroom, Daze? Is it cool?” asked Evie, who had joined her, and Isaiah looked down at his daughter, who lifted her head slightly and stroked her eyes, then nodded and looked at her second cousin. The girl leaned her head against the blonde's shoulder, her arms still around his neck, and talked about where she was sitting—by the window, right by the sun because it was nice and warm there and because Zeev said she would always watch over her like he and Isaiah did—how everything had looked and that she had already hidden candy from her school bag in the compartment under her table. It made Isaiah smile and even though she wasn't his biological child, there were some similarities one could undeniably draw.

“Did you manage to tear yourself away from the ladies charming you?” Isaiah asked with a smirk, smiling down at Zeev, kissing his lips softly and thanking him for the lemonade. Daisy lifted her head once more, looking at Zeev and accepting a soda with a thanks as well. Her other father's words made her smile, she giggled as Zeev spoke to her while Arwen helped hand out the sodas the witcher had gathered.

Daisy had offered to show Evie and Arwen the classroom, the adults still had to wait because the two ladies from Petosky had to classify the classroom and Daisy's place as cool first. Isaiah had his arm around Zeev, though Zeev was talking to Zara and Carter and Isaiah was talking to Jemma. He had to smile when the Brit told him how proud she was and how much she was looking forward to going to get breakfast alone with her tomorrow morning. "Isaiah, I can't wait. I'm gonna be the best aunt out there, I'll buy her everything and I'll try my best to convince her that I'm great at tagging along for shopping sprees. I mean look at me, I'm fashionable!” she argued to him and Isaiah nodded vehemently in agreement, confirming her statement. Sarah called Jemma and Zara over (and Carter followed his girlfriend as well), which gave him and Zeev a moment of privacy. He carefully pulled Zeev close, stroking his cheek, his hair and examining his eyes, gently kissing his lips and pressing him closer. “How are you feeling, my love?” he asked, still a little concern in his voice, even though he now had several years of experience with Zeev's condition. "You did so well and passed out right after the most important thing happened. I love you, baby.”

[hochmvt]

i've seen you before.

Oh, honey, you're a genius. The American made an effort to suppress his smile as he looked at Zeev, who was leaning against the bar counter next to him. For once, they had both been invited to the event—the Creative Industry Summit, a networking opportunity for creatives in the industry, featuring all kinds of talks and masterclasses on various topics: Influencer marketing, leveraging the algorithm to your advantage, the 'power of collaborations', working through a creative block, the advantages and disadvantages of doing niche works and anything else—Zeev in his role as Main Stage presenter (and Isaiah's pride was immeasurable, looking to the front of the stage and seeing his husband guiding guests through the evening with wit, charm and genuine interest; he had been working nonstop to prepare properly for this, studying a plethora of guests, thinking up combinations of how to cluster people, and even when Isaiah told him that there were around five hundred guests and no one expected him to know every single one of them, he had always responded with an immediate “I know!” and continued to work diligently. That day, Isaiah had fallen a little more in love with him) and the podcast host as an invited guest. He had declined his panel, instead wanting to focus on Zeev and maybe attend a talk or two, but rather he liked to sit somewhere further back and just listen to his husband host the event as if he had done nothing else all his life.

He hadn't seen Zeev since the last segment; the crowd that had quickly formed around him was an impenetrable conglomeration of people who all wanted something from Zeev, but he looked happy and relieved when people spoke to him, so Isaiah turned his attention to the bar and gave him some time and space to be showered in all the love and admiration he deserved. It had been a good three quarters of an hour since then.

❝  I've seen you before.  ❞

Isaiah's smile was hard to ignore. “Oh... Apart from today? I'm sorry, I'm terrible with faces.” He wasn't, yet smiled apologetically. Meanwhile, he thought about who he was today. Perhaps a game developer who had found his specialty in particularly immersive horror games by breaking the fourth wall? Or a writer, so that he would appear a little more intellectual? Perhaps he was also a historian who published his findings on modern media. Hm. No matter who he chose to be, he loved playing these little games with Zeev. In a way, they were one of many defining factors of their relationship. “But congratulations on your work. You did a great job tonight, I had such a fun time listening to you. You do this regularly, don't you?” he smiled politely at him and ran his fingers through unruly strands of blonde hair. Apparently the trigger for his sudden flash of an ephiphany. “I'm Isaiah, by the way. I'm a film director and digital storytelling consultant. It's a pleasure...— Zeev right? What do you do, aside from excelling at presenting?”

[hochmvt]

Isaiah laid back on the soft motel bed, exhausted and satisfied. His tight grip on Zeev’s hips had loosened, his nails leaving behind slight marks on bare skin. The witcher was too good to him and Isaiah was thankful for the way Zeev had treated him ever since they met. The northern Montana air outside their motel room was crisp and cool, but inside, the room felt warm. Intimate. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath as he stared at the ceiling, a lazy smile stretching across his face. ”Fuck...” he sighed, closing his eyes and pulling Zeev into his arms, his fingers trailing absentmindedly over his back in gentle, comforting strokes. 

The podcast host couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with love and satisfaction in moments like this. Isaiah had always thought of himself like someone with a relatively low sex drive. With Zeev however, every touch, every kiss was electric, like his body came alive in ways he'd never experienced before. And he loved it. He loved the way Zeev moved on top of him, fluid, his hips godsent. How his spine arched ever so beautifully beneath him, face buried in the soft pillows beneath, mouth wide open. The way he kissed every inch of his body, as if Isaiah was all the Sundawner had asked for all his life. How he moaned his name. How he gasped for air. It was intoxicating, the way Zeev gave himself over so completely, the vulnerability in those moments when nothing else mattered but each other. And Isaiah couldn’t get enough of it. It wasn’t just about the physical satisfaction, although that was undeniably good — it was the connection, the trust, the intimacy. Zeev had opened up parts of him he didn’t even know existed. 

His fingers brushed through Zeev’s hair, soft strands slipping between them, as he sighed contentedly. ”I still have to earn money, my love, it’s just an interview for today, we’ll still have a lazy evening, I promise you,” he spoke softly against his lips, smiling contently. He kissed him again, one hand resting upon his bare chest, wandering to his neck, pulling him even closer. Hesitantly he pulled away. If it wasn’t for the pre-produced content he had recorded already, that’d last him at least 4 months, his audience undoubtedly would’ve noticed the lack in episodes. He couldn't get enough of Zeev and it showed. As he brushed his teeth, he heard Zeev’s question from the motel room. He turned around and smiled at him, leaning in the doorframe of the adjacent bathroom. ”Only one way to find out,” he spoke with toothpaste in his mouth, tilting his head slightly back again so he wouldn’t spill it anywhere. Facing the sink again, he finished getting ready for heading out, Zeev however, stood right in front of him when he turned around again. Isaiah blinked twice, almost startled. ”Hi...” he said and looked down at Zeev, placing one hand on his waist. He didn't know if there was worry or something else in his eyes. ”I’m gonna take care, baby, I promise you. It’s just an interview, hm? Nothing to worry about...” In a way, he didn't want to leave. He wanted this lazy Sunday. Being in bed with Zeev, watching movies, ordering take away, snuggling up, talking, lazy kisses, lazy sex. Neglecting his job, however, didn't feel right either. Especially if it involved other people.

⸻ for my beloved @hochmvt.

Exhaustion caught up with him as the euphoria slowly left him. Zeev crawled over Isaiah, leaving a trail of sloppy, slow kisses across his chest that came to rest against his lips. As much as he enjoyed every day, lazy Sundays were his favourite. Although it was hard to call them lazy, judging by the light film of sweat that clung to their bodies. Furthermore, the lazy aspect wouldn't last. Zeev rubbed his ear as the tinnitus of his high tickled his ear. Satisfied, he snuggled up to his boyfriend, leaning his chin on his chest to continue looking at him; his tangled blond hair sticking to his forehead, his cheeks slightly flushed, the smile firmly anchored in his features. To say Zeev was proud because he was the reason for this sight was an understatement. Satisfied and happy, he hummed as Isaiah’s arms encircled him and once more he kissed the patch of skin he could find in the immediate vicinity. Not having to worry about anything but each other was a wonderful advantage when they weren't at home. There would be food somewhere, they wouldn't have to clean up (although they would whenever they stayed longer) and they would no doubt not be expecting visitors. 

The midday sun shone warmly and invitingly into the room, even if the weather outside was anything but welcoming for Zeev. As much as he liked autumn, with all the cosiness that it brought, he was not a fan of the weather. However, he was glad that Isaiah rarely let him freeze. And if he did, it was Zeev's own fault because he vehemently resisted the scarf and hat. “Do you really need to go?” he mumbled displeased, showing him the biggest pair or puppy eyes he could muster given his light-headed state. Inhaling deeply, he fully immersed himself in the feeling of his boyfriends lean, artistic fingers against his scalp, brushing away his golden strands of hair, seeking warmth against his body, as his temperature dropped back to normalcy. 

Although Zeev knew the answer, he didn't like it. Of course Isaiah had to do his job, that was what they had come here for in the first place. Not because long car journeys and overnight hotel stays had become a wonderful pair activity that they shared whenever they could. At least Isaiah's spine could thank Zeev for not sleeping uncomfortably in the car. “Do you think that guy is trustworthy?” He trusted Isaiah, and thanks to him a number of other people as well, but he couldn't completely put aside his doubts.

Somewhere, deep amongst the belongings of the podcast host, there was note, tucked away and folded almost unrecognisable.

[hochmvt]

get you a hubby like zeev 🥹♥️

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐘 @hochmvt !

I’ve countless words, so much to say,

But when you’re near, they slip away.

My thoughts are full, my heart is too,

Yet when you smile, I lose the view.

So here’s a riddle, a little key,

Solve it and find what’s meant to be.

A letter hidden, just for you,

Unfold it, love, and read what’s true.

"I’m seen in the mirror, but never quite clear, I change with the years and show joy or fear. I’m what others first see, but can’t easily trace, ⸻ what am I?"

[hochmvt]

Today was one of those days. Isaiah was caught up in the shitshow that was the topic of the next episode, a story so absurd and yet oddly intriguing than anything he'd taken on in recent years. A seemingly cursed town in New England, where residents claimed to hear whispers in a language no one could identify. But it was the historical records that had kept him awake even at night, hints of mass hysteria and forgotten settlements. With each thread of the past he had uncovered and brought sense into, the less made sense. Isaiah’s hands hovered over his keyboard, eventually writing something down, but deleting it immediately after. There was nothing coherent enough coming out of him for the podcast anytime soon. His research seemingly went nowhere, as every theory led to five more questions. He rubbed his eyes, his thoughts pinballing from one revelation to the next, unable to focus. Fuck.

Zeev quietly appeared in the doorway, a cup of coffee in his hands, asking him if he's getting anywhere with his research. Zeev, too, had become witness of rather sleepless and short nights, as Isaiah read until late at night about the town's history. The podcast host's features softened as he saw his boyfriend, a small smile appearing on his lips despite his frustration. “Thanks,” he answered to the gesture, placing his hand on Zeev's thigh and squeezing it affectionately. Eventually he focused on the screen again, determined to get at least one paragraph of the script done. Zeev apparently saw it — how drained Isaiah was, and he suggested gently, “Perhaps it’s time for a break, don’t you think?” Isaiah’s brow furrowed as he shook his head, as if admitting defeat against his own expectations was worse than anything else. Zeev stepped closer, standing between Isaiah and the screen, blocking his view. Isaiah blinked, looking up. “Do you want to lie down for a bit?”, he had asked. “I can't take a break now, I need to—”, he said, tilting his head to the side so he could see the screen. Until his boyfriend said his name. Zeev’s eyes were focused on him as the Michigan boy looked up, soft and concerned, but there was something more — an invitation lingering in the way he slowly bit his lower lip. The way Zeev looked at him, lips tempting and irresistible, made his thoughts shift entirely. The frustration melted, and Isaiah felt a different sort of pull. He swallowed, his gaze slipping down to Zeev’s lips, his body finally giving in to what Zeev had clearly intended. Isaiah’s hands were wrapped around Zeev’s narrow waist, holding him close as their lips collided again and again, each kiss more intoxicating than the last. Zeev's body felt good against his, how they had came to halt at the sofa, clumsily sitting down on it. The way Zeev's hands roamed over him, how they moved with such confidence, such knowing — it made Isaiah’s mind go blank, the only thing left was how Zeev made him feel.

Just as the Sundawner was about to pull down his boxers, Isaiah glanced to the side, catching sight of something that pulled him sharply out of the moment. Jersey sat on the small bookshelf near the corner of the room, her eyes fixed on them in what could only be described as judgmental observation. Isaiah stifled a laugh, biting his lip as he pulled Zeev’s head up just the slightest, meeting his eyes, just enough to murmur, “Uh, we have company.” Zeev blinked in confusion for a second, his breath still ragged, before his gaze followed Isaiah’s. There, perched with an almost regal air, was Jersey, her tail flicking with disinterest, but her stare unyielding. To Jersey, Isaiah was hers and hers alone. Isaiah knew how uncomfortable Zeev felt when Jersey (or that one little dinosaur figure, that Isaiah randomly hid in different places of the house, just to give Zeev a good scare) was closebay when they got intimate.

Zeev groaned, dropping his forehead onto Isaiah’s thigh in frustration. “Suns—” he muttered, straightening his back, clearly caught off guard by the intrusion. “I swear, she always does this.” Isaiah chuckled, gently kissing Zeev’s forehead, running a hand through his slightly disheveled (and somehow still perfect?) hair. “She has impeccable timing, doesn’t she?” he teased, standing up and heading over to where Jersey sat. The cat looked up at him expectantly, letting out a small, conciliatorily meow. “Alright, my love,” Isaiah said softly, picking her up and kissing her head softly. “Let’s get you upstairs, huh?” Jersey purred, nestling into Isaiah’s arms, clearly more interested in getting some attention (that was usually the witcher's forte) than whatever had been happening between Isaiah and Zeev. As the blonde carried her up the stairs, he could feel the familiar warmth of her soft fur against his chest, her little body relaxing in his hold. He smiled down at her, as she meowed at him again. “Didn’t Zeev feed you already?” he asked, scratching under her chin as he made his way to the kitchen. Isaiah reached up to the top shelf, grabbing the small container of treats and putting their beloved cat down. “There you go, my love,” Isaiah spoke softly, placing a few treats in front of her, and she eagerly devoured them, purring satisfied as Isaiah gently petted her head. He knew that she loved him more, because he fed her treats quite regularly. But he was fine with that. “Your dads need some alone time now, but tonight I’d be down for some snuggles, hm?,” Isaiah murmured affectionately, giving her one last scratch before heading back downstairs.

As he returned to the basement, closing the door softly behind him, he was greeted by the sight of Zeev lounging on the sofa, shirtless (and, for that matter, trouserless, too), with a small, playful smile on the corners of his mouth. Isaiah felt his heart beating in his chest, the earlier tension that clung to the room (and to Zeev for that matter, too), welcomed him once again. Approaching his lover, Isaiah rested one hand on Zeev's chest, kissing him again, longingly. Passionately. As he sat down next to him, he pulled him onto his lap, their bodies pressed close. This, Isaiah thought, was intimacy at its finest and it never felt like they had been interrupted at all.

Zeev began moving his (Godsent, mind you, dear reader) hips again, grinding against Isaiah’s pelvis in a way that made his breath become more irregular, his mouth falling open as another soft moan escaped it. Zeev’s lips found his neck, kissing and biting gently, sending shivers down Isaiah’s spine. His hands settled on Zeev’s butt, squeezing as he pulled him even closer, feeling every shift in position very clearly. And as Isaiah let his head fall back just the slightest, closing his eyes, the witcher’s hand wrapped around Isaiah’s throat once more, this time with more pressure, a dominant, possessive gesture almost. Zeev’s breath was hot against his skin, his movements deliberate. As if he had thought about it for quite some time when he was upstairs. Usually, Zeev was rather dominant when he was tipsy, but Isaiah couldn’t taste any liquor or wine on his lips. Not that it mattered anyway — he loved how confident Zeev was in these moments, how unapologetic he became. How he made sure Isaiah was all his made him feel something. The blonde's hands wandered, squeezing and tracing the lines of Zeev’s hipbones, his thumb slowly tracing beneath the waistband of his underwear. ”Baby...” he sighed softly, resting his head against Zeev’s chest. He could feel Zeev’s his control, and it was both mind-blowingly hot and grounding all at once. Isaiah couldn’t help but smile against Zeev’s lips as they kissed again. As Zeev pulled back and looked at him, lust flickering in his eyes, Isaiah, still breathing heavily, couldn’t help but ask, “What do you have in mind, love?” His voice was a little breathless, but playful, curious even.

“ do you want to lie down for a bit? ”⸻ @hochmvt

On days like these, Zeev rarely knew what to do with himself. The kitchen was cleaned, the floor mopped, the cat fed—even if Jersey claimed otherwise—and the living room tidied up. At a certain point, Zeev leaned against the living room table and looked into the room, which could have come straight out of a catalogue. Deep-cleaned and tidy, everything seemed a little too organised, as if it was forbidden to be any other way. Yet it was the little ricochets that Zeev liked the most. When there was a book on the coffee table that Isaiah had been reading before he went into the kitchen to put his mug in the sink, only to realise that he hadn't taken the mug with him and had grabbed a snack from the fridge instead. Zeev liked to watch as his boyfriend occasionally stood confused in the room and seemed to have forgotten what he actually wanted. Whenever possible, Zeev would remind him or offer suggestions on what he could do instead. This usually ended in a kiss. 

Zeev liked that Isaiah never put his shoes neatly next to each other after he took them off, so they were usually on top of each other and on the side, while Zeev's own were almost aligned to the wall next to them. 

Zeev also liked it when things changed in the room that he wasn't responsible for. As much as he had enjoyed the artistic freedom of the interior design, he liked to let his gaze wander and try to fathom what had been added or disappeared. Like a “spot-the-difference”-picture, which was usually found in the newspaper—and admittedly was the only thing Zeev bothered with while Isaiah read the local news. They were already living a married life without being married, and Zeev loved everything about it— except the not being married part. 

He originally had an appointment with Naomi, whom he had recently met, but something had come up. It wasn't as if Zeev didn't have countless hobbies that he could pursue. The garden definitely needed tending again, but the weather was too gloomy for that. He could finally work through his pile of shame and snuggle up in his armchair with a cup of tea, but he didn’t feel like it. He could try out a few new tea blends, which he could give Sarah for her birthday—as he does every year—so that she doesn't ingest those insults from the supermarket. Or he could check the emails in which he could probably drown himself in enquiries again. But the thought of the flood forced him to turn away from this idea. The agencies' interest in him was certainly flattering, but it was clearly asking too much of him at the moment. And he didn't want to entrust Isaiah with it either. It would probably be good if he had someone who could take care of it. Zeev shrugged his shoulders. His thoughts were already drifting off again. His indecision at not knowing what to do came less from the fact that he had no options than from the fact that Isaiah had made a rather unmotivated impression since this morning. 

Some days were like that, nothing much to worry about. Still, he did and Isaiah had been nestled into his little cabin in the basement for quite a while now. So Zeev did what he always did. He made him a coffee and crept down the narrow steps to the lower level of the house, Jersey excitedly following him, jeopardising his safety on the stairs more than once. He knocked gently on the door and heard only a frustrated but he assumed permissive grumble. The office wasn't huge, but it had room for everything that was needed. Various shelves for Isaiah's personal collection of books, comics and toys from his childhood, odds and ends he had collected on his travels and mementos placed with incalculable reasoning wherever Isaiah happened to be standing and could reach. Whenever Zeev entered his office, he felt as if he were entering his mind. The light from the screen seemed to be one of the few sources Isaiah allowed while he worked, reflecting sparsely off the walls and illuminating the Overlook-Hotel-wallpaper that Zeev almost had to donate a kidney for. From a corner of the room, he was gazed at by the watchful eyes of a Nicolas Cage cardboard cutout, tugged away between the shelves; witness and victim alike. 

Zeev stepped up to his boyfriend and instantly ran his hand through his hair, lightly scratching his skull in encouragement and stroking a few strands from left to right as he placed the coffee on the coaster—which wasn’t occupied because Isaiah's empty mug was right next to it. Zeev smiled to himself. 

“Are you getting anywhere?” the witcher wanted to know, looking at the screen without really understanding what he was looking at. His hands slid over the blond's shoulders and he felt the tension. With Isaiah's posture, though, it wasn't much of a surprise, regardless of his demotivation. In response to Zeev's question, Isaiah just groaned in annoyance. “All is shit and nothing works. I can't even write one coherent sentence.” Zeev's thumbs pressed where his neck and shoulders met before he leaned forward and kissed the back of his head. 

“Perhaps it’s time for a break, don’t you think?” A suggestion that rarely sat well with Isaiah, as if he thought he was wasting time fulfilling his job. From Zeev's perspective, though, his writer’s block could only dissolve if he took time to relax his mind. They probably jumped from one thing to the next, as was so often the case. Of course, it was then difficult to put down on paper what he wanted to convey. “Do you want to lie down for a bit?” Zeev slowly rounded him, coming to a halt against the desk, smiling crookedly at him.

“I can't take a break now-I need to-”

“Isaiah,” Zeev breathed, his smile intensifying and he tilted his head in amusement before briefly glancing down at his boyfriend, biting his bottom lip suggestively. Of course, Zeev's act of selflessness was purely born out of a willingness to help, to get Isaiah out of his predicament of frustration. Of course.

“... however, upon closer consideration…”

A sweet, almost innocent laugh fled Zeev’s chest and he invitingly took Isaiah’s hand to pull him out of the chair, feeling his body shuffle closer to him, his warmth wrapping itself around his frame like his arms. Hungrily, yet caring, he caught his boyfriend’s lips, tilting his head just the slightest to deepen it. Despite having done it numerous times, it still felt refreshingly new and loving like the first time. Zeev loved Isaiah’s hands on his waist and hips as they kissed, his palms dipping perfectly into the curve, whereas his own hands were running along his throat and neck, occasionally wheeling out towards the back of his head, taking a handful of his hair. 

Suddenly, Zeev pushed himself off the table, his hands pressing against Isaiah’s chest as he forced him further into the room. For a split second he broke away, just to be able to pull the hoodie off his boyfriend, discarding it rather carelessly, but Zeev was on a mission and he wouldn’t be hindered by trifles. His hands wandered underneath his shirt, sighing delightful at the soft touch of his skin, his body tensed at the touch. But that shirt needed to go too, no matter how beautifully it clung to him. Zeev pushed himself as far off the ground as humanly possible, his hands wrapped around Isaiah’s neck as he continued the kiss, pulling him down in the process to meet him halfway. Happily he hummed into the frantic exchange of breaths and salvia, as Isaiah’s pretty fingers were disappearing underneath his own shirt, accentuating his slim torso. Each and every shiver motivated his movements; how he pressed himself closer to the other, how his tongue darted forward, how their heads moved like a rehearsed choreography.

At some point Isaiah’s knees must have buckled away from under him, as he stumbled against the couch, pulling Zeev along and accidentally hitting his forehead with his own. Zeev hissed, his hand flung against the spot. As much as Isaiah apologised, Zeev just laughed amused, feeling the other’s lips against the patch of skin. 

“Lie down,” Zeev ordered soon after, a mischievous tug at the corner of his lips. He pushed Isaiah’s legs apart, causing one to fall off the edge of the couch, kneeling in between as he leaned down to plant soft open mouth kisses along his chest, all while his hands were busy unbuckling his pants. Once done, his fingertips started to roam the white unmarked skin of his boyfriend, feeling his breathing and shivers as Zeev reminded himself how beautiful he thought Isaiah was. Every now and then Zeev allowed himself a detour to longingly press his mouth onto his again, his thumb brushing promisingly over his throat. Nothing was hotter than the trust and loyalty they held for each other and Zeev absolutely revelled in the devotion he held for the man underneath him. The witcher softly kissed the tender skin close to his ear, coarsely whispering: “I’m going to rearrange all that loose thoughts, love, I’m going to make you feel so good.”

[hochmvt]

“Bet your momma’s proud of raising such a quiet little bitch?” spat the brunette, who was ostensibly standing nonchalant next to Isaiah, leaning against the gas station counter. The blonde had learned that just keeping quiet usually worked best to not upset anyone. The three men who involuntarily kept him company while he paid had been waiting in the scorching Montana summer sun for something other than the dust of the road to stir. Two passing tourists were a convenient distraction when life didn't have much more to offer than this. His gaze went outside for a moment to his trusty Chevy, to Zeev, who was waiting for him, then to the distant horizon: to the wild, cloudy sky on this windless blue summer's day. 

“I'm pretty sure you understood me just fine,” the American smirked as he ran his fingers through his blonde strands of hair, smiling at Zeev. Admittedly, the three strangers' insults and hollow phrases tended to be rather uncreative, even though Isaiah was reluctant to admit that two of them had struck a nerve. Smiling faintly, he held up the plastic packaging and nodded affirmatively at Zeev's question: “I got you some strawberries. They look a little sad but I'm sure they taste great anyway. And some water.” 

On their trip towards Seattle - they both worked their last jobs before the big summer vacation they had planned; a convention panel Isaiah was speaking at and a campaign for a soft drink where Zeev was supposed to be the face of - they often talked about trivial things, listened to just as much music, visited the occasional landmark on the way (or a slight detour) and the intellectual intimacy had still been as pleasant as in their time in Edinburgh. “Last gas station for some time. You have everything you got, love?”

that's the 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 of what i just suggested .

Amongst many characteristics, Zeev was above all someone taking liberty in interpretations. Especially when the act brought him closer to his goal. This particular goal was blonde, tall, had a charming smile and looked like he hasn't slept since birth, hiding in his slightly oversized hoodie, but Zeev knew that underneath all that there was a man with stories to tell the witcher only could dream of ever experiencing himself.

"Not sure what you mean," he snickered, leaning sideways closer to the other, their shoulders briefly touching. "You said I should not engage. I didn't." A mischievous smile lit up his face. "I just made sure they knew you are not alone."

The strangers at the gas station had been way too close for Zeev's taste and it had been obvious they were seeking trouble out of boredom. Seated in the car he had watched them from afar as they tried to pull Isaiah into a provocative quarrel, getting way too comfortable in his personal space.

At some point Zeev had turned the music up and swung himself out of the car, showing the most dashing smile he could have mustered and pointed a question towards Isaiah, ignoring the others. The strangers had felt interrupted, buggering off soon after. Whatever they had tried to accomplish, Zeev wasn't having it.

"Got all you need?" he wondered lastly, nonchalantly waving a hand at the station's shop.

[wickedslip]

This time of year, brought about so much nostalgia for her; she remembered the last hazy summer she had truly enjoyed, and that was when she was sixteen years old. The last one before tragedy had struck her ( not her family as they were had been behind the entire thing ). It was the summer to where the fires of hell had been directly on its heels, nipping at its Achilles tendon. All good things must come to an end—warmth, peace, and safety. Around that time, she had been plagued with nightmares that she had been afraid was going to spill out into the dawn, blurring reality and fantasy.

She often wondered if she was the only person that had felt they were losing what was left of their mind.

She loved autumn—it was a time of change, and to celebrate the notion that all good things must come to an end, a way of memorializing the dead. She just wished that it also wasn’t the season that she had lost him in.

They had been both children of autumn. And they were now stuck as children forever suspended in their harrowing season. One there, one not. Zapping out of her mind slip, she homed into what they were doing, and why they were here. She concentrated on the flow and timbre of his voice that was like sunshine heated stepping stones by a riverbed, glinting off of their smooth surface.

❛ Do you believe those bits and pieces of everything flow in and out of the animate and inanimate, and we can even twine our souls to others, others that we might no longer see? ❜ She spoke in a far-off trance, and sometimes she felt as though she were a heightened wind, being blown in any which direction the elements wanted—as if she weren’t a real person, but someone merely for the taking. She had never felt like she truly, utterly belonged to anything or anyone, just a relentlessly wild thing, in a constant state of fluidity. She felt that at times Zeev was just as lost as she was, even if he was able to put on a good front. She could learn a lot from him, and vice versa. That was probably why she liked to stay glued to the hip of him. Sunshine craved the darkness and vice versa, and if she had never felt the glimmer of the sun’s ethereal glow, she would have thought he was the sun incarnate. Her Apollo.

She felt that she could get lost in the company of his awaiting arms, and it was like hugging a golden pillow. Their mingled scents entwined and lingered, and she rather liked he contrast of them. She was giddy with it, giving herself up to the sensation of being held by him. ❛ It was beautiful and almost unexpected, but I just knew we were going to celebrate ritual at some point. We had spoken of it in the past, and I am glad we are able to do that now, ❜ she confirmed. She missed the ease that breaking into ritual felt, how comfortable it was as the elements began to show themselves, nature at its utmost as thought it were performing for them, and they were the roused spectators. Understanding flowed between them, hitching the light and the dark together, in such a momentous occasion.

The warmth of his hand somehow gave her the strength and the conviction that she had been lacking, and she was grateful for his solidity. Eyeing the wine that was being poured, she rather enjoyed the sight brewing between them, and even if it hadn’t been for this particular ritual, one might observe it was a ritual that they had come together for, regardless of if there were a true reason for it. The uncorking of the wine, and the satisfaction of the popping sound brought her spiraling back to reality, and to him. ❛ Mm, ❜ she vocalized, unable to help herself. ❛ The scent is almost as intoxicating as you are. ❜

❛ Oh? ❜ Her eyes roved to his and couldn’t help but to move in closer. ❛ How is it done at Sundawn? Please tell me. ❜ She loved it when he spoke of his home, and his past. She knew that it was probably painful for him at times, but she hoped that being with her here would help lessen some of its restrictiveness. Before he could open his mouth, she grasped a hold of his hand tightly, and with her mind she reached out to his, and drew out his memory as though she were watching it like a movie reel. She couldn’t help but smile as she picked up the dancing and the merriment, and the profound joy being displayed. But there were also traces of darkness swathed throughout, as though it was showing her that nothing lasts forever. Finally, she let go and concentrated on his eyes once more. ❛ Your family is lovely, ❜ she commented, seeing how they all were so very beautiful in her mind.

Hearing him chant, she lay her head on his shoulder, face turned up to the elements and that of the celebratory toast in form of lucid incantation. Repeating the lovely chant, it was as though something snapped and thrummed into place, vibration on an electromagnetic wave of frequency that could be felt through the cosmos.

Despite the longing of a summer to never end, even in death there laid a beauty and a necessity. However, Zeev wasn't entirely in aversion towards autumn. He enjoyed the variety of yellow and orange hues, the earthy tones that fell over the canopies and streets, the warmth of a tea more healing than ever. 

“Do not worry,” he reassured. “We are made of little bits and pieces of everything, some sad, some resentful, some happy. Come to think of it, I can not let every bit of me have a say, but it can motivate me.” And that was all the reason it had taken him to not dwell on what has been lost to me — at least not on this day. At least not when Nausicaä was around. 

Although the witcher did not possess the extraordinary abilities of his wondrous companion, the change in her emotions was not lost on him. A deep wave of loss broke on the considerate endeavour to restore a light of cheerfulness to an otherwise momentous day. Where community was usually a central theme, loneliness prevailed. Not today, however. 

Her joy parted his lips and his smile was reflected as pride in his eyes. He returned her embrace with confident satisfaction and stroked the high-quality fabric of her shirt, feeling the beat of her heart and inhaling her scent, which consisted of far too many nuances for him to really name the composition. “I'm glad you like it.” And he was. Wanting to be recognised for what he did was not only a problematic quality, but also a beneficial understanding of each other and that nothing should be taken for granted. 

He gently took her hand and led her to the blanket, making sure that she could sit down safely without the unevenness of the floor being her undoing. He then knelt down and took out two glasses, handed her one and uncorked the bottle of wine, the sweet fruity scent mingling with the cinnamon. As he poured for her - and then for himself - he smiled sweetly. “It's not quite how me and my family did it in Sundawn, but I think that would draw in a bit too much attention anyway.” The memory of dancing and music filled him, resonating in him like an echo. How his siblings spun and jumped, how their golden hair bobbed and swayed, how the light of the setting sun shone on the different shades of their skin and made them glow. 

“To the turning wheel and harvest bright, as day and night now share their light,” he exclaimed, raising his glass. “We give our thanks to earth and sun, for all we've gathered, all we've done. Here’s to Mabon, the gifts we share, and the abundance found in love and care.”

[hochmvt]

Amused, the podcast host laughed and shook his head faintly, squeezing Zeev's thigh gently and looking over at him for a moment, then back to the road ahead of them. On most days, Zeev was insatiable and sought physical contact whenever he could, bathing the American in love and care and never leaving room for interpretation as to whether he found him attractive or not. Isaiah didn't mind Zeev being this close to him, quite the opposite, actually: he had grown fond of moments like these, when Zeev was just himself and revealed his inner self. The laid-back, flirtatious, almost mysterious side of Zeev was undoubtedly a part of him that always came out when they were out with friends or colleagues, but if Isaiah was honest with himself, he found himself cherishing the other side a little more. The side of Zeev that he fell in love with the most; when his ears turned red, when he forgot what he wanted to say, when he stammered, when he smiled shyly and, most of all, when he looked at him enamored and happy with a smile that reached his eyes and was a promise to all the futures that still lay ahead of them. There was something so pure and genuine about him. A version of him, where the word Splendid (which Isaiah grew to hate) receded into the distance. Isaiah was touched when he saw how Zeev was with him and how he behaved towards others. Apparently, he had managed to create a space for the Sundawner in which he could let himself go, in which he could not only love freely, but also be openly vulnerable. And luckily for him, the feeling was mutual. 

Whenever they were both lying next to each other at night and Zeev had usually already fallen asleep, the blonde took the time to look at him — thanks to their mismatched sleeping schedule. In moments like these, he was more aware of their intimacy than usual. Of course it was nice to have sex with him and to be as close to him as the physical conditions of human existence allowed him to be. And yet he liked the fragility of things when they were emotionally close and both equally vulnerable. To love meant admitting to oneself that their significant other held a sceptre that could determine one's own state of mind. It was a thought that was both touching and terrifying. Isaiah would have let Zeev ruin him if it meant he could have stayed with him. And even though the American knew that approach was anything but healthy, he couldn't help himself. He loved this man more than he had ever loved anything or anyone before. Feather-light touches traced the contours of Zeev's face, fast asleep next to Isaiah, he kissed his face and smiled every time the faint but noticeable smile spread across the Sundawner's features and made him sleep blissfully. And each time he thought how beautiful he looked and each time he hugged him tighter, gently kissing his cheeks, his jaw, his forehead. Zeev's past weighed heavily on his shoulders and even though Isaiah did everything in his power to relieve him of the burden as best he could, there were things inside him that he simply couldn't get to. Maybe another man or woman could do it. Maybe only he could do it himself. And maybe no one could. 

Generally speaking, Zeev's question wasn't difficult to answer if he hadn't denied him the true answer in the first place. He pondered for a while as he stroked the fabric of his boyfriend's pants with his thumb, chewing on the inside of his cheek and finally putting on his sunglasses. “I think it's the opportunities life had given me so far... I know it's vague, I'm sorry if I'm skirting the question a little, but- I don't know, I'm thankful for the family I was born into, for being relatively smart, for being self-employed, for earning enough to visit you in Scotland... For meeting you through work, more or less. I'm a pretty thankful person and after I met you, I'm happy with everything I've got, I couldn't be happier or wish for anything else...” He looked over at the Sundawner for a moment, smiled and gently stroked his cheek as he drove along the empty highway. Cell phone reception had abandoned them a while ago and now, they were completely on their own. For a while, Isaiah thought about what question he would ask Zeev back, his hand resting on Zeev's thigh again. “What about me is hardest for you to understand?”

Like so many of his boyfriend's words, they dilated his blood vessels and warmed every inch of his body, making his heart leap with joy and causing him to laugh softly and naturally. He had never been able to hide the redness of his ears and it was remarkable how it only happened when he was around him. Isaiah appealed to parts of him that he had never experienced before. Both with his mere proximity and with his thoughts. Loneliness hadn't been a particularly gracious companion, his thoughts alone hadn't left much room for development and had instead paved a path that had led him further and further down. Isaiah, however, had taken his hand and shown him the benefits of life as it could be, letting him share in its joys, revealing nooks and crannies that had remained veiled to Zeev. With Isaiah, the world seemed to him even larger and taller than even the oldest oaks could ever reach. Zeev had always felt closest to the sun, and with Isaiah he believed himself to be higher than ever. 

The potential life with him was filled with adventures on the highways, experiences in cities and nature, exciting conversations that went deep into the night, film evenings together, kisses and touches that were both intoxicating and fulfilling, mutual concessions, love, lust and home. Their home. A fixed place for further development and the discovery of new sides that were unknown to each other. Zeev wanted to discover everything, because it was Isaiah. And he loved him with all that he was and ever will be.

Zeev grinned back at him and kissed his hand again, even though he would have preferred his lips. “Imagine what else we could do in that house,” he whispered suggestive. “Especially in front of that fireplace. You would look so gorgeous in that twisting orange light.”

Zeev rolled his shoulder and leaned back against the seat, his head against the support, his gaze straight ahead. Isaiah could drive him anywhere, it mattered little to him where they went as long as they did it together. He chuckled at the follow-up question and smiled to himself. “All, actually,” he let him know. “But I'm afraid that'll take a lifetime to answer. Wait, scratch that, I'm glad I'll get to know more of you each and every day.” Absent-mindedly, Zeev brushed over his lips in thought. “What are you most grateful for in life?" He snickered. "Apart from me of course."

[hochmvt]

The tension was almost suffocating him. It was the kind of fight that hadn’t erupted all at once, but simmered under the surface for too long, the built-up now impossible to ignore. The living room felt smaller, the silence before and after every exchanged word expanding until it swallowed the space between them. Their dinner had gone cold, sitting on the table friendly as ever. Inviting almost. Isaiah, however, had lost his appetite. He just didn’t get it. 

”I know you’re not fighting me, Zeev, you’re fighting yourself. And you’re fighting yourself dirty. You can’t– I don’t get why you’re holding onto–” Isaiah stopped. It was hard to not overstep a boundary Zeev had set non-verbally months before. The sundawner was guarded, arms folded, eyes flickering between hurt and anger. Isaiah had seen this expression before — the one that said Zeev wasn’t ready to hear the truth, wasn’t ready to face the parts of himself he was running from. The contradiction, the backward steps when he’d seemed so ready to leap forward, bothered Isaiah. Too much, apparently.

The witcher’s eyes flickered with anger, but Isaiah could see the pain there, too. The glint of something more vulnerable, barely held back — a touching thought if the situation was a different one, that Zeev felt that comfortable around him to not put his entire energy into feeding this narrative he had been living for years. That he was okay. Isaiah hated that look, hated knowing that part of this fight wasn’t just about them but about the loneliness Zeev wouldn’t talk about. His family. The hope that, someday, they’d reach out, make things right. And thus, Isaiah knew (even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself) that if Zeev ever had to decide between him and his family, he’d always choose the latter. But I’m your family, too. The topic of Zeev's family was one Isaiah would never touch, even though it was the ghost in the room.

”No, we need to talk about this, Zeev, now,” Isaiah insisted and followed his boyfriend to the doorframe towards the kitchen, now being much closer as he looked down to him. ”What do you think you’re asking of me?” Zeev didn’t seem to understand, so Isaiah repeated the question. So Isaiah repeated it. Zeev answered him about how ‘he put this entire long distance relationship on him and how he had to sit through Zeev’s indecisiveness‘. He really didn’t get it. 

”Zeev, this is not about the long distance relationship, I willingly chose to be your boyfriend, knowing this would be a consequence. This is not me asking you to move in with me or anything. You’re asking of me to sit on the sidelines and watch you sitting here and waiting, while there’s an entire world out there.” He hesitated again. Then just spoke his mind. ”Growth is scary and painful, I know. But neccessary. But right now, Zeev, you’re not growing, your stagnant. And that will kill every bit of hope inside you and this will turn you bitter.” The words, too, had tasted bitter in his mouth, but he’d said them anyway. It wasn’t about pinning Zeev down to every promise he’d ever made — it was about the constant backtracking, the unspoken struggle between staying trapped in Sundawn and dreaming of something more. Isaiah couldn’t understand it, the way Zeev seemed to want out of this life but kept holding on, waiting for something that might never come. Why was Zeev holding on to things that have already let go of him? He wouldn’t push him on moving somewhere. He couldn’t. It wasn’t his place, and yet, watching Zeev stay stuck hurt more than he could articulate. Isaiah knew what Sundawn was doing to him. The small-town claustrophobia, the whispers behind their back, the weight of being seen as something that he wasn’t, all of it suffocated him. And yet, Zeev stayed, facing his death and not even fighting for his life. Still grasping for a family that had abandoned him. 

The podcast host ran a hand through his hair, trying to push down the helplessness swelling inside. He hated this. Hated feeling like he was the one pushing Zeev when all he wanted was for Zeev to see that there was more out there — more than just waiting for something that might never happen. Looking at the door of his shop, hoping that one of his sisters would come in. But it wasn’t his decision. Zeev wasn’t his project, wasn’t someone he could fix or mold into something else. He loved him. That meant waiting, didn’t it? Being patient.  But that patience was wearing thin. The long-distance, the months apart, the loneliness: Isaiah had accepted all of it. He'd chosen it willingly. But watching Zeev stop himself from growing, from only imagining a life beyond Sundawn, beyond the disappointment he woke up to every day — it was unbearable. And Isaiah knew that he couldn’t wait forever either. Moving here, however, would suffocate him, too. The blonde couldn't force Zeev to move, couldn't make him leave, but he wished he could. He wished Zeev could see what he saw: a man with so much potential, so much life, yet caught in this cycle of waiting. And every time Zeev took two steps forward, he seemed to fall three steps back, the progress they'd made dissolving in moments like this. Isaiah could only stand by and watch, wishing for something more, knowing he couldn't cross the line Zeev had drawn around his grief, his hurt.

And Isaiah realized in that moment, as he looked down at him, that he didn’t even know what he feared more: 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀   ⠀ Watching his boyfriend waiting for the day that’d never come or  ㅤ ⠀⠀   ⠀ losing him if that day, against all expectations, would come after all   ⠀⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤㅤ  ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀   ⠀ and leaving him behind with nothing  ⠀ ⠀⠀ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀    ⠀  but a Zeev-shaped hole,   ⠀ ⠀   ⠀ ㅤ⠀ㅤ  ⠀ ⠀ ⠀   ⠀ ⠀he could never fill with memories,  ⠀ ⠀ ⠀   ⠀ ㅤ⠀ㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀  ⠀even if his life depended on it.

And Isaiah didn’t even know if their hearts were breaking together, or if it was just his, slowly unraveling, suffering from the tiny cracks on its surface by all the things left unsaid, lingering like shadows.

Like many surprises in life, they came suddenly. And some of them took a form that was unpredictable and unintentional. Zeev had hoped that what was happening right now would never happen at all. Wishes, however, remained just that in most cases. 

Things left unsaid are bound to break free sooner or later. For this none of them was at fault, for their relationship was build on distance most of the time. They were able to have deep-rooted coversations — one of the special qualities and reasons for their relationship — but either of them had shunned away from mentioning that one unsolved issue.

That was until now. An incipient comment as snarky as he had never sounded, filled with anxiety. And in return he received a remark grown in uncertainty. Isaiah had poured gasoline over the fire that Zeev had caused, burning him like the sun never could.

As his pulse pounded in his throat, the release of cortisol and adrenaline did the rest. His hands were clammy, his heart rattled like a panicked bird, but his expression remained impassive. The room temperature had dropped around them, his eye contact was unbroken, void of his characteristical specks of gold. His sudden uncanny aura expanding and pressing on his chest and everyone in vicinity. There was hardly anything he could do about it. Isaiah's calm anger struck Zeev with a mix of distaste and deep-seated pain, his words striking into his insecurities. And Isaiah knew. That's why he did it. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. But it is what it is.

They were both aware that their relationship, fresh and challenging in the sense of distance, did not provide the perfect basis to grow and be cared for evenly. Nevertheless, they had decided to give it a try. Zeev had voiced in the past, that he was not yet ready to leave his home. And Isaiah could not be pinned down. They both had a home they wanted to return to and each defined it for themselves. The fact that Zeev had once told him that he couldn't leave his family had been one of many honest moments between them. 

When that statement was held up to him to reflect his ambivalence about his desires for the future, the witcher felt cornered into an immediate decision. The last decision he had had to make had cost him his family.

Apparently old habits die hard. 

“Fight dirty?” Zeev repeated, his brows shooting into his hairline. “Is this how you expect this discussion to go?” As intimidating as Isaiah undoubtedly was in that moment — and Zeev hated every moment of it — he had learnt to stand his ground.

Finally, Zeev took a deep breath as his fingers stroked the palm of his hand. “I'm not fighting you, Isaiah, I'm asking you to not use my past words against me. I'm well aware of what I said.” That didn't make it any easier to carry, though. He wanted to go. He wanted to see the world. He wanted to lead a life outside of this one with Isaiah. Even if this situation wasn't a nice moment, it didn't diminish his love. Nevertheless, he was still caught up in a maelstrom of hopes that might never come to fruition. A commitment to his family and the desire to be with them. But what would happen if they turned to him? If everything could go back to the way it used to be? The possibility of him leaving Isaiah was a valid enough reason for doubt. And the rational part in Zeev couldn't blame him. But the emotional part of him was scared. He couldn't have both.

“I know this isn't ideal,” Zeev continued. “I know I'm asking a lot of you. I just... " He paused, feeling the tension of his jaw and his rotating thoughts that wouldn't help the situation at all. "Your cigarettes are on the kitchen table. I need a cuppa.” And a moment to clear his thoughts.

[hochmvt]

“Look at you having done your research. Getting you that laptop surely was a good investment,” Isaiah laughed and looked over at his boyfriend, smiling happily and squeezing Zeev's thigh lightly. Gods,  was  he  in  love  with  him. Even in these mundane situations, the witcher still blew his mind and made Isaiah fall in love with him even more. It was such a pleasure to listen to him make plans and prepare for their vacation together — and how Zeev chose some things that he knew Isaiah would thoroughly enjoy. Watching the Sundawner blossom into the man he had become compared to the man he was when they met back in Sundawn (and where Isaiah had fallen in love with him) was as touching as it was inspiring. How he made friends and brought his inner self out into the open – how he shone and illuminated everything around him. Zeev had this magic about him, that Isaiah admired so much: To live life to the fullest, to be positive no matter what life throws at you, to keep fighting for what is right, to believe in the good of people, to reflect oneself, to be in touch with oneself, to  never  stop  believing  in  the  magic  of  the  world, to overcome each and every obstacle and still fall asleep with this smile on his lips. Lips Isaiah loved to kiss. How Zeev had found his place in the world, detached from his family and his past, was one of the many things Isaiah felt inspired by. Zeev was his own person, free and independent, with the ability to reinvent himself every day. The way Isaiah looked at him made him feel how proud he was of his boyfriend. And that he was allowed to be part of this big picture, of the microcosm in which he orbited Zeev and became a witness to his growth.

“I see you in everything I look at already,” he smiled softly and released his hand from Zeev's, stroking the Sundawner's cheek and glancing briefly at him, smiling warmer and returning his gaze to the road, his fingers interlocking with Zeev's once more. “That sounded like a challenge I'm very willing to accept,” he commented in amusement. “But a fireplace does sound nice. Just to snuggle up and get close, me reading to you, that'd be great,” he smiled, losing himself in the thought. Isaiah had never given much thought to settling down. He was also aware that he wouldn't be living in his car and traveling the States for the rest of his life, but right now it was exciting and nice to indulge in the uncertainty of the day without knowing where one would end up. But along with their relationship — and thus experiencing, what love could also feel like — came the desire to get home after a long day, where Zeev would be waiting for him. As sappy as the thought was, he would have liked to shout “Honey, I'm home” through the house, but at the same time he knew that Zeev would probably have already met him at the door and welcomed him home with a kiss. For the first time in his life, Isaiah felt loved for who he was with all the flaws and all the sensitivity that occupied his mind sometimes. Sensitivity he had inherited from his mother. Sensitivity that allowed him to experience every feeling to its fullest. In the end, he didn't care what their house would look like. Whether it was actually a house or more of an apartment, whether the walls would be wallpapered or painted, whether the bathroom tiles would be green, white, brown or pink. Zeev would make it a home. ㅤ  ⠀ ⠀ ⠀   ⠀ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ  ⠀ ⠀ ⠀   ⠀ Their home. Inspired by the thought and simultaneously embarrassed that he couldn't give an answer that would satisfy an interior designer, he settled on the first of the two options Zeev gave him. “A game. The game. My answer would only contain three letters and I think that ain't gonna suffice. And it ain't a cat, even though that'd be nice. So what did you always wanted to know about the most handsome guy in midwest?” 

  ⠀“You really should give yourself a little bit more credit,” Zeev said with a grin. “We could try someday, if you want to. I'm not against experiencing nature, surprise, but I wouldn't trust my gut instinct completely in foreign terrain. I'm sure there are specialised guides and easy routes. Could be fun.” At that moment, Zeev didn't realise what equipment was needed and that, the way he was, he would most likely be sent home again by any tour guide. “Didn’t you want to see the northern lights as well?” Plans with Isaiah were plans that required no further thought, let alone effort that resulted in frustration. Any plan with him seemed to Zeev like just another event to make the future worth experiencing. “I don't mind seeing Seattle first. I've read something about a native-american tribe, the Duwamish and Suquamish, if I remember correctly, who used to and still do live on these parts of the land. Would love to learn something about that. I believe there's a Museum and a Cultural Center. There is even a clothing, art and home goods brand. Did you know Seattle is actually named after the leader of the tribe? Seattle is one of the only big cities that has that connection. Doesn't change much about the colonisation, but it is great to know anyway. Also we need to see the Space Needle.” As he spoke, he pushed up Isaiah's sleeve of the arm that was holding his leg. The exposed skin received a loving treatment of caression by Zeev's fingertips. “Also, there’s a Haunted Tour at Pike Place Market, could be fun.” 

  ⠀At the sound of their shared home, Zeev fell into an involuntary silence for a moment, his gaze unbrokenly fixed on Isaiah as he looked intently at the road. Zeev's smile grew wider by the minute. We’ll have a house. Thinking about what he still wanted to achieve in life had been surprisingly difficult for him when he lived alone in the forests of Sundawn. It had always been his ambition to return to his family, even if the ways of achieving this had been questionable, but there had never been a concrete course of action. In an environment he was unfamiliar with, in a situation he could not assess, strategic thinking was immensely difficult for him. But that had never worried him. And then Isaiah had turned up in a remote village in Scotland. After he had entered his life, Zeev had lost every last bit of foresight and his ambitions had faltered. Isaiah had gone from unexpected anomaly to all-encompassing permanence and reality. Even when they were apart, even when they hadn't seen each other for weeks, he had become a wonderful constant. With him, the uncertainty of the future was not a hurdle, but a promise they made together. Together in one house. Some believed that if you said or did something too often, it would lose its meaning. Zeev had never been able to make much sense of this assertion, but it underlined the development that relationships sooner or later became less lively and loving. Zeev would never let it come to that. Especially not before he had got to know all the sides of the American that made up his versatility. He slipped his hand under Isaiah's and kissed the back of his hand, as he liked to do so often. 

  ⠀“I’m positive you still remember how I live,” he smiled and finally answered the question instead of marvelling at his boyfriend. “Nothing modern for me, that’s for sure. It needs edges and character. Personality. Lots of natural light-sources, space for all our stuff. Bookshelves almost everywhere, filled with crystals and trinkets, plants, pictures on the wall. No matter where I look, I want to see you and me.” Enveloped by his vivid imagination, he continued to stroke Isaiah's arm with his free hand. “A fireplace would be amazing, you can’t keep me warm in winter all the time, can you?” He smiled at him cheekily. “Is this the start of another game or am I allowed to ask you the same? What does your home need?”