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asterythm · 6 years ago

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Born of the Same Impulse

Or; The Abolition of Man(a)

Pairing: Romantic LAMP Prompt: Written for Secret Sanders 2018 with the prompt “magic AUs (especially if someone doesn’t know about the others)” Word Count: 12.8k (oops.) Warnings: Very occasional caps lock, panic, negative thinking, food mention. (But don’t worry, the end is fluffy!!)

General Summary: When an experiment goes wrong, the wizard-slash-scientist Logan finds himself stranded in an alternate, magic-less dimension -- but the more he explores, the less anxious he is to find his way back home again.

A/N: @soft-transboy Surpriiise!! It’s me -- @secretsanders herself :D Hoo boy. I had so much fun writing this one, but... let's just say that I definitely bit off wayyyyy more than I could chew with this story (as you might be able to tell from the word count, which is well into the double digits). In fact, I spent so long planning this thing that I ended up being left with under a week to write it all. Meaning I finished this about ten minutes ago, and it’s completely unedited. Oops. That said, I'm still super proud of how it came out, for the most part. Hopefully, you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

AO3

xxx

“The serious magical endeavour and the serious scientific endeavour are twins: one was sickly and died, the other strong and throve. But they were twins. They were born of the same impulse.” — C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man

xxx

Logan Sanders does not believe in magic.

This perhaps will seem to most people like an illogical sort of statement, once they’ve taken into consideration the fact that Logan Sanders is a wizard.

Illogical or not, Logan’s mind is made up. Unlike Most People, Logan never has believed in magic. And he never will, either. It’s one of those beliefs that transcend tenses, you see — does not, did not, will not. Past, present, or future, the fact remains that magic is impractical at best.

Magic is real, of course. Logan can hardly deny the presence of magic in his everyday life, seeing as it’s damn near impossible to do anything without it, in this day and age. He’s not saying that magic doesn’t exist. Logan only means that, the way he sees it, magic on its own is completely and utterly useless. In fact, he’s quite certain that he’d be perfectly capable of surviving without relying on any magic at all, given the opportunity.

Life would be so much easier if more people just believed in science.

This is the second of many (many, many, many) seemingly illogical statements — at least, to Most People. Science? Most People scoff. Impossible! A fully automatic life reliant on science is a nice thought, but that’s all it will ever be — a nice thought. Science simply isn’t capable enough to accomplish all that magic does. Whoever this Logan fellow is, he ought to get his head out of the clouds and do some actual thinking. Blah, blah, blah. On and on and on.

Logan, of course, hates hearing Most People saying these things, but frankly he’s come to expect responses like that. He hears the same kind of thing almost every day, after all. It’s quite normal for Most People to doubt that science could ever be useful. And why even bother, really? Magic is perfectly fine as is.

But of course, the first thing you will notice about Logan Sanders is that he is most certainly not Most People.

xxx

Weekends, reflects Logan in between sips of hot tea, are the only part of the week ever worth paying any attention to.

For Logan, Saturdays and Sundays are the busiest days of the week — but they’re also far and away the best. Because rather than spending his hours working a boring day job, he’s hard at work inventing things that he’s passionate about. On weekends, Logan is free to play around with the concept of using science to enhance day-to-day magic. (Or perhaps the magic is enhancing the science? One or the other. Logan isn’t completely sure.) It’s been his favourite hobby for years and years, creating these little devices that make simple daily tasks even simpler by relying on science, rather than on magic.

Take, for example, Logan’s kettle. The one that he’d put away only moments before, after pouring himself a cup of tea. On the outside, it appears to be quite unremarkable. But Logan can assure you that this kettle is anything but. It’s a one-of-a-kind design that Logan invented himself, many moons ago, and it is easily the most efficient kettle that he’s ever known.

Boiling water, as you surely already know, is a tedious and boring task that requires one to channel their mana into heat-energy, focus that heat-energy into a stream, and then direct that stream continuously towards the water until it finally begins to boil. It’s a time-consuming task that Logan’s tight schedule simply cannot afford.

Logan’s innovative kettle combines magic with science in order to significantly cut down the amount of time and energy one needs to boil water. There’s a metal coil inside of it that allows the kettle to heat up water almost all by itself, by converting electric energy into heat energy — meaning that Logan only needs to fire off a quick spark, and his kettle takes care of the rest.

Despite the simplicity of the design, it has always been one of Logan’s favourite pieces of work, if only because of how often he uses it. On the other hand, he’s got plenty of favourites to choose from. Logan’s cozy little apartment is nearly covered with his own gizmos and trinkets, some fully functional, some half-finished with pieces spilling out the sides, some completely abandoned. He doesn’t consider those latter ones “failures”, though. Logan prefers to call them “learning experiences��.

And he does learn. Logan enjoys his work, regardless of whether or not his creations work out the way he plans, because every experiment teaches him something new. Science is so (woefully) underexplored that Logan finds himself discovering new and exciting concepts left, right and centre. Indeed, it's not at all an uncommon occurrence for him to find something that he's never read of or even heard of before. The sense of accomplishment he gets from these not-so-rare occasions is just about enough to make up for the inconveniences of his lifestyle.

The keywords in that sentence being "just about".

Recently, he's been finding aforementioned inconveniences to be growing more and more, well, inconvenient. The impermanence of his living situation, for example. (Just thinking about this subject makes Logan's chest tighten involuntarily. Though he isn't all the way finished yet, he sets his teacup down.) Logan hasn't been able to hold onto a home for more than a matter of months ever since he first picked up this hobby of his.

For some completely unfathomable reason, the idea of having a mad scientist living in their building is apparently one that most landlords consider to be somewhat unsettling.

There are other difficulties, too, that prevent him from finding a permanent place to call home: noise complaints from neighbours, property damage from explosions and acid burns, that one time that he accidentally gave sentience to a small tin-can-and-soy-sauce-packet robot, leading to the creation of an army of small but hostile rodents. The usual.

(Now that Logan thinks about it, he's starting to see where the whole "unsettling" thing might come from.)

The first one or two or twelve times he was kicked out, Logan didn't mind terribly. Change doesn't bother him too much. But as his collection of knick-knacks and doo-dads continued to grow, it began to become a real nuisance to have to pack everything up and relocate so often.

Not to mention, the constant moving means that Logan has never had the time to make any sort of lasting social connections, either. That's not a huge issue, though, since Logan isn't exactly the most social of people anyway. Even when he was younger and by extension wasn't constantly being forced to move around, Logan had never had much luck with friendship. So although his life is a lonely one, Logan's grown quite accustomed to having things be this way. He doesn't mind. Not as much as he used to, at least.

Logan picks his teacup back up again. He swishes the cup around a few times, watching the half-disintegrated leaves swish with it. After a moment, the leaves settle down into a shape that almost resembles a dragon if Logan squints and turns his head a certain way. He takes a sip, notes with displeasure that the liquid inside has grown unpleasantly cold, but finishes it anyway. After his cup is empty, Logan takes a moment to gaze out the window and appreciate how nice of a day it is; both suns are happily shining, and there’s hardly a cloud in the sky. The perfect weather for a weekend, even if he is going to spend the whole day cooped up in his apartment.

Stretching, Logan rises from the comfortable armchair on which he had been sitting and crosses the room to where his latest invention awaits him. Today is going to be a good day, he thinks, allowing a rare smile to slip out as he approaches. He's been working hard on this one, and he thinks now that it may be finished at last; his tests last week, he had been amazed to find, had all gone off without a hitch.

That is, all but one. But that's only because he has yet to run the final test. Logan thought he would save that one for today, just to be on the safe side. But he’s got high hopes for the outcome of this final test. A good day, indeed.

In fact, the best, worst day of Logan's life has already begun — and it's all thanks to the pair of two little round creations sitting right in front of him.

xxx

THREE MONTHS AGO

"Okay, but… I still don't get it," grunts the landlord. "What are they supposed to do?"

Logan smiles wryly. "Permanently revolutionise the way that people get from place to place, that's what."

"Looks pretty typical for something that's supposed to be so 'revolutionary'. Honestly, it kind of looks like a regular TP-circle. Except, uh, portable."

"Yes? Well, I'm glad to hear that, since that's exactly what it is. A portable teleportation-circle. I've very nearly completed the design, and I can promise you that as soon as I've added the final touches, this is going to completely change life as we know it. Then I'll have more than enough money to pay rent. Just you wait, sir." The other man still doesn't look convinced. Logan is getting desperate — he doesn't know where else he can find a home if this doesn't work out. "At least allow me to explain to you how it works before you turn me away."

After a moment, the gruff older man relents. "Alright, fine," he sighs. "How does your portable TP-circle work?"

"Well, the general concept is more or less the same as a regular TP-circle. You step in, it collects a bit of your mana and converts it into a path between the circle you're standing in and whichever circle you want to TP to. The difference is that my design is, well, portable. I mean, TP-circle stations are all well and good, but sometimes they're just located in such inconvenient places. Add that to the fact that there's always such long line-ups for those stations, and... well, suffice it to say, I'm surprised that they've been in use for this long.

"With my portable TP-circles, you can go wherever you want, whenever you want, and you don't have to deal with those annoying line-ups anymore. You can just fold one of these up and use a simple object-TP to send it wherever you want. Anyone can do this. Object-TPs are one of the first spells they teach in school. So, portable TP-circles will make transportation easier and more accessible for everyone. Like I said before, I've already almost perfected the design. I only need to iron out a couple of kinks, then figure out how to make it more lightweight. Once I’ve done that, it’ll be completely ready. Ready for use, and ready to change the world, by extension. I only need a few months, half a year at most. I promise." He’s nearly begging by the time he finishes talking. This location is his last chance, after all. Logan holds his breath, watching the landlord's face change as he weighs Logan's words.

And then, after what feels like an eternity of waiting, Logan finally hears the words he's been hoping for.

"Okay. Four months. That's all you get. You'd better have your portable thingamajig finished by then. Otherwise, you're outta here. You hear me? Out. Of. Here. Don't let me down."

Logan sighs, a wave of relief washing over him. Four months... a quarter of a year. That's going to be tight, but Logan's sure that he'll be able to manage that deadline if he works hard enough.

If there's one thing that Logan has never had a problem with, it's working hard.

xxx

And work hard, he did. For three months straight, Logan’s devoted every second of his free time to perfecting his design. He’s long since lost count of how many tests he’s run, how many times he’s taken his invention apart and put it back together in a completely different way, how many times he’s had to entirely scrap an idea or component… yes, the journey has been anything but smooth. And yet, looking at his finished creation now, Logan realises that every single second spent has been completely worth it.

Technically, Logan shouldn’t be using the word “finished”, since his invention has yet passed its final and most important test. But last week’s testing was the farthest that any of his prototypes had ever come, so Logan can’t help but hope that today, it’ll go just one step farther.

Well. There’s only one way to find out, now isn’t there?

Logan quickly pulls his trusty notebook and pen out of the ether, where he keeps his most important items. He flips the book open to a fresh new page. At the top, he writes the date, then a title: TEST RUN # —

He hesitates.

TEST RUN #WHO EVEN KNOWS ANYMORE, HONESTLY.

There, perfect.

And so he begins. The first twenty or so tests, he completes without even thinking. Logan has done those ones so many times, to say that he could complete them in his sleep would be an under-exaggeration. He tests the prototype’s durability, folding ability, resistance to wind and cold and heat and water. Of course, he doesn’t run into any problems there.

Next comes the slightly more interesting tests. Logan places one of the two circles onto his apartment floor, then folds the second one up so that it’s smaller and therefore easier to transport. With a snap of his fingers, he sends it off to the location that he’s been using for testing: a vast and empty flower field that, as far as Logan knows, no one besides him has set foot in for a couple of years at least.

Next, Logan picks up a small six-sided dice and places it gently onto the circle that he’d laid on the table. He’s barely let go of the dice and pulled his hand back when a familiar flash of bright blue light fills the room. By the time the light is gone, the dice is, too.

Logan grabs a looking-glass off his bookshelf, the one that he’s enchanted to always show the flower field. It only takes him a second to spot his circle lying surrounded by tall blades of grass, and then only a second more to find the dice sitting right there in the center of the circle. Looks like the dice test was successful. Logan isn’t surprised. The dice test is another easy one.

His next few tests are all more or less the same as the dice test. The only difference is that he’s no longer transporting dice; for each test, Logan uses a slightly more difficult object. First, he picks up a —

Hold on.

If Logan were writing this story, he would surely go into incredible detail about each and every test, listing off every single object he tries, telling you which tests have stood in his way in the past and explaining what he did to get around them.

Luckily for you, dear reader, Logan is not writing this story. He's only living it.

Suffice it to say, his portable-teleportation-circles pass each and every test with flying colours, just like they did last week. With every test passed, Logan grows more and more excited. He had already known when he began test run number who-even-knows-anymore-honestly that it was going to be an overwhelming success, but of course there’s such a difference between knowing something is going to happen versus seeing it happen with your own two eyes. Last week felt like a fluke, you see. This week is proof that it was not.

xxx

By the time Logan completes his second-to-last test, he is so giddy with excitement and passion, he can hardly think straight (although to be fair, “straight” never really has been a strength of his). A rush of adrenaline courses through the young inventor as he jots down two familiar words: Trial successful.

And then suddenly, the time has come. “This is it. I am... about to perform the final test,” Logan says to himself, scarce able to believe that he’s actually made it until he says the words out loud. They come out no louder than an awed whisper.

He tucks his notebook and pen back into the ether, smoothes down the wrinkles on his button-up shirt, adjusts his necktie, combs through his hair with his fingers. Not because he thinks someone is watching him; it’s just that Logan can’t help but feel that he should look his best for a moment like this. It’s, he thinks, a moment deserving of trumpet fanfare, of multi-coloured confetti, of a loud and dramatic drumroll.

Alas, Logan has none of these. He’ll have to settle for the loud drumbeat of his heart thumping in his chest, instead.

Logan stares at the devices sitting in front of him. He gets to his feet. Dusts himself off. Starts to back away. As he walks backwards, something swells inside of him; something big and bright and demanding. Pride? Hope? Fear? Perhaps a mixture of the three? Whatever it is, it grows and grows until it threatens to engulf the normally-so-unemotional young man. It’s now or never, Logan suddenly realises. He’s got to move before this strange Feeling-Thing immobilises him.

So move, he does. Logan closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then before he knows it he’s running forward, forward, forward and onward as fast as his legs can go.

Because it’s him, of course; Logan is the final test. Transporting around little objects is all well and good, but the purpose of his invention has always been to transport people, after all.

The tip of Logan’s toe lands in the transportation circle, the rest of him following close behind. As soon as he’s landed, a familiar tingling begins to spread through him; the circle is harnessing his mana and converting it into a teleportation path, exactly as it’s meant to do. For precisely two instants, Logan’s body is suspended in a strange little pocket between time and space. He’s surrounded on all sides by pure light, bright enough to blind even with his eyes closed.

Then, just like that, it’s over. Logan touches down on solid ground, somehow feeling at once like he’s drifted down gently as a feather and like his entire body has been slammed into the ground hard enough to rattle the teeth in his skull. Slowly, warily, Logan opens his eyes to see that… something’s different.

No, scratch that. Everything’s different.

Logan turns around cautiously. The new location he’s found himself in is dimly lit, but it doesn’t take too long for his eyes to adjust.

He takes in old and cracked wooden planks, stains marking leaky spots on the ceiling, and spiderwebs strewn all over the place. He’s standing in what appears to be the attic of an abandoned warehouse of sorts. Maybe not a warehouse — maybe a workshop, or an old storage unit. No matter. Whatever this place is, it’s very clearly not the empty flower field that Logan had been expecting to open his eyes in.

As disappointment shoots through him like an arrow to the heart, Logan realises that he can literally feel his hopes being ground to dust. How curious. It’s not a very pleasant sensation, to say the least. The young scientist had been trying his best not to let his hopes run away from him too much, but after all the success of the previous tests, you can hardly blame him for getting excited, now can you?

Logan sighs heavily. I suppose I have some work to do. He’s not looking forward to resigning himself to yet another month of tinkering and testing, especially now that he’s tasted success. Who knows how long it’ll take to identify and fix whatever problem caused him to end up here?

Speaking of, where is “here”, anyway? Logan, quite frankly, hasn’t the foggiest idea where he is. He probably should figure that out, before he begins worrying about repairs and re-runs. Stretching, Logan looks around for the exit.

Aha! There’s a staircase. Following these stairs down onto the next floor, Logan comes across a door, standing the slightest bit ajar. A warm glow surrounds the doorway; sunlight from the outside world. He smiles triumphantly, allowing himself a little bit of celebration for this small victory (he needs the validation to keep going, after the crushing failure — er — learning experience he’s just suffered).

After the darkness of the warehouse-slash-workshop-slash-storage unit, the sunlight’s sudden harshness startles Logan a little bit when he opens the door. That’s odd, he thinks. I could swear that the suns weren’t nearly that bright a moment ago. He’s still a little lightheaded from the brightness of the transportation spell, so suffice it to say, the abnormally bright sunlight isn’t doing him any favours. Logan blinks as he steps out the door into a forest thick with trees and shrubs. “You’d think that the foliage would block out the suns a little, now wouldn’t you,” he deadpans under his breath. Logan rubs his eyes. Then he rubs them again.

Goodness gracious, why is it so bright? Logan fights back an angry growl as the white spots in his field of vision persist, refusing to diminish even the slightest amount. Today was supposed to be a good day! Channeling his frustration towards the most immediate cause, Logan glares up through the leaves, at the sun —

Hold on.

The sun, singular?

That can’t be right. What happened to the other one? Logan looks away, then looks back, as if he might have somehow missed the presence of a massive star in the sky. Nothing. He stumbles around, straining to see if it’s somehow hidden behind one of the larger leaves. But no — there’s still nothing.

Suddenly, it looks like Logan might have a bigger problem on his hands than simply needing to do some minor repairs.

xxx

There’s a sort of throbbing pain coming somewhere from Logan’s left elbow.

He’s only vaguely aware of this, but vague is better than none-at-all, so he focuses in on that pain to try and ground himself. It works; after a moment, the fractured world begins coming back into focus.

Logan tries to inspect the wound, only to realise that he can’t turn his head, since it’s currently locked tight in an iron grip between his hands. His legs are curled up beneath him, too. He doesn’t remember assuming this bizarre fetal position. In fact, there’s a lot he doesn’t remember. How he got here, for example. From the darkness surrounding him and the hard wooden floor beneath him, Logan guesses that he’s somehow ended up back in the attic of the warehouse. His mind is still too scattered to grasp anything beyond that. But it’s a start.

Stiffly, Logan forces his fingers to relax and, stretching his neck, begins to massage the life back into them. How long did I spend, just… sitting there, waiting for nothing? he wonders, marvelling at how tense his arms still are. As he starts doing the same for his cramped legs, bits and pieces of memories start breaking away and swimming to the surface of his consciousness at last.

He remembers staring. He’d always been taught not to stare directly at the suns as a child; the ultraviolet light might burn his retinas, causing permanent damage or even blindness. But frankly, solar retinopathy had been the last of his concerns once he’d realised that there was an entire star missing from the great blue sky above.

He remembers shouting. Who can blame him for that, really? Something about knowing that you are completely lost and alone… it triggers something primal within the soul, awakening a beast that can only be pacified with a roar. “Lost? Of course not. I’m right here,” Logan wants to argue with himself, but he can’t. He doesn’t have any idea where ‘here’ is, you see.

He remembers sprinting. Illogical, perhaps, to think that by putting distance between himself and the ugly truth, he can make it go away. But we as humans do tend to fear that which we don’t understand, and to run from that which we fear. Logan had always considered himself fearless, and therefore powerful. To have that power taken away? That’s one more thing to run from.

He remembers stumbling. He took the stairs two at a time as he went, trying to go ever faster. At one point, when he wasn’t paying attention, he missed a step and went flailing downwards, landing hard on… his left elbow. The sudden fall didn’t bother him too much, though. In fact, it was almost reassuring, in a twisted way, to have his body’s state match his mind’s.

He remembers squeezing, squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could, telling himself again and again that he must be dreaming. Only dreaming. It’s all just a dream, and when he opens his eyes back up again he’ll be resting, safe and sound, in his cozy little apartment with his kettle and his teacup and his comfortable armchair and —

And…

He’s not dreaming, of course. This whole — what even is it that Logan’s gotten himself into, here? Is he in an entirely different world? A different dimension, even? — whatever it is, it’s here to stay. The realisation almost makes Logan want to retreat right back into fetal position.

But… no. No, no, no. Logan catches himself before he can slip back into the apathetic zone. He mustn’t panic; not a second time, at least. Hold it together, Logan tells himself. In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth.

What he wouldn’t give for a calming cup of tea right about now.

The deep breathing does the trick well enough, though; Logan’s head is now much clearer than it had been only moments before. He’s still afraid, of course (he’s just been dumped out all alone into an unfamiliar land; who wouldn’t be?), but for the most part, his logic and reason have returned; thank goodness for that.

There’s a lot about his current situation that Logan cannot control. Not least of all, the fact that his unsuccessful experiment has stranded him in what very well might be an alternate dimension. He can’t control what’s happened to him, or what will happen to him next, for that matter. All that Logan can control is how he reacts.

It’s not about what’s happened. It’s about what he’s going to do about it.

“Giving up” is a completely foreign concept to Logan. He is a scientist, for goodness’ sakes! Not only is he used to things not going exactly the way he plans them to, his hobby hinges entirely on staying determined and finding solutions. Logan does not simply “give up”. And he’s certainly not planning on starting now.

Instead, he approaches the problem like he’s analyzing the results of an experiment gone off the tracks and trying to figure out what went wrong. Step one: observe and gather data. He’ll only be able to figure out the “what comes next” after he’s got all the pieces of the puzzle.

The second time that Logan walks out of the empty warehouse, the immediate glare of the sunlight doesn’t affect him quite as much — possibly because this time, he’s expecting it. Now, this may be silly, but the fact that he copes with the sun so easily this time around gives him a bit of a confidence boost; it’s almost like he’s just managed to defeat an enemy that, the first time around, he couldn’t even bring himself to face. This might not be so bad after all, Logan allows, striding out the door with a newfound sureness in his stride.

And his good mood only gets better as he continues to explore the forest surrounding him, distancing himself with every step from the abandoned warehouse where he had shed his insecurities. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that, besides the singular sun (which he can almost forget about, provided he doesn’t look up), the forest appears to be… exceedingly normal. It’s one that he wouldn’t even take a second look at, back in his origin dimension.

(Goodness, Logan reflects absently, the phrase “origin dimension” sounds so strange, doesn’t it?)

But of course, the flora and fauna in this forest aren’t exactly the same. There’s just enough variation between the two dimensions to fascinate Logan without frightening him, in fact.

That fascination, as it turns out, leads perfectly into step two: record observations, preferably on paper, for reference. Logan quickly conjures back up his notebook and pen to scribble down notes and make rough sketches of the forest’s almost-but-not-entirely-familiar specimens.

The conjuring takes a little more effort than usual, making Logan realise that his mana supply is probably getting dangerously low. Of course — he must have used up quite a lot of it earlier, when he was casting all of those teleportation spells. I’ll have to be a bit more conservative with my mana, Logan decides, until I can find a place to sleep and replenish, that is. The prospect scares him a little. He doesn’t like the fact that people depend on magic so much, but disliking it doesn’t make it any less true, and he’s certainly not exempt from that dependance. What will he do if he runs out?

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Logan’s attention is drawn a beautiful species of butterfly landing on an equally beautiful flower. Uncapping his pen, Logan smiles, grateful for the distraction. Mana can wait, can’t it? For now, he’s merely a scientist investigating an alien world — nothing more, nothing less.

xxx

He’s not sure how long he spends wandering through the forest, jotting down notes and observations, before his feet bring to a well-beaten path. This comes as quite a surprise to Logan, who had somehow been under the impression that he’s alone in the forest. The idea of finding another civilization both excites and unnerves him.

To journey or not to journey? Logan is conflicted on what he should do next. On one hand, if he doesn’t follow the path, he just knows that this decision will come back to haunt him. It’ll simply eat him up inside, the not knowing.

On the other hand… he has no idea what to expect, following this path. Where, or who, will the earth lead him to? How long will he spend walking? Does the path even end, or is this world nothing more than one big forest with a path circling all the way around? Does he want it to end? A path that leads to nowhere is better than a path that leads to danger, but in an unfamiliar land such as this one, the latter option seems a lot more likely.

Yes, it’s clear that the cons far outweigh the pros. Safety ought to be his priority here. The correct course of action, therefore, is to ignore the path and turn back to the forest. Just… just walk away. Walk... away.

Logan tucks his notebook into his back pocket and walks towards the path, cursing his incurable curiosity every step of the way.

xxx

Seconds stretch into minutes, then minutes into hours, as Logan follows the mysterious trail. There are times when he feels like he should stop, turn back before it’s too late, before the universe can throw anything else at him. But he’s too damned curious for his own good, and he can’t bring himself to.

Luckily for Logan, the universe seems to have had its fill of tormenting him today. The path does have an end, one that he reaches without encountering any hostile entities, and what he finds at the end is more than enough to make up for the hours of walking and waiting and worrying.

It’s a city. A city with people walking casually around, completely normal people just like Logan himself, which is exciting enough on its own — but what makes this discovery go from good to great is the city itself.

Simply put, the city looks like it’s been pulled straight out of one of Logan’s favourite science fantasy novels. He sees people riding around in elegant and futuristic vehicles with sleek metal bodies and four perfectly round, perfectly uniform wheels. He sees tall, towering buildings with bright yellow or white lights flickering in their windows rather than the dim, disappointing blue glow that he’s accustomed to. And everywhere he looks, he sees people tap-tap-tapping away on these tiny little handheld devices.

A gaggle of people pushes past him, every one of them fixated on their screens. When he catches a glimpse of what’s on these screens, he doesn’t blame them for being so tuned out to the rest of the world; if he had one, he’d be fixated, too.

On every screen is something different: digital calendars and checklists, looping pictures, games, perfectly uniform writing. Some people even have their devices held up to their ear and are talking into them, showing Logan that they’re able to pick up and store audio.

What kind of world must this be, for every single person to be able to own a piece of technology like this and not think twice about it?

The answer to his own question comes to him almost immediately. “A world where science is king, and magic comes second,” Logan realises out loud.

He knew it. He knew it! Science isn’t useless — it’s not, it’s not, it’s not! And it’s not hopeless to try and pursue a future of science. The proof that it’s possible is right here, in front of him!

His excitement fuels him forwards and into the city, where he begins flitting from building to building in a manner much like the butterfly he’d been sketching earlier; mostly arbitrary, based only on whichever locations catch his fancy. This results in him zig-zagging erratically from place to place, as there’s scarcely a single storefront or skyscraper that doesn’t catch his fancy. Everywhere he looks, he sees unthinkably advanced innovations being used in perfectly natural, casual fashions. Logan’s dreamed of places like this, but never imagined actually getting to see one someday!

What’s more — in all his exploring, he doesn’t once see anyone using magic. The life of these people is completely effortless. Completely automatic.

It’s the very life he’s been dreaming of for over twenty years now.

xxx

As the sun begins to go down, so too does Logan’s stamina. Panic had brought him out of the warehouse, concern had fueled him through the forest, curiosity had led him down the path, and finally intrigue had pulled him through the city — but though the intrigue is still fresh, the burst of energy he’d gained is wearing off, and now Logan finds himself at the unhappy tail end of an exhausting day.

All those emotions! Goodness, Logan is in no way used to dealing with so many conflicting emotions in one day (indeed, he is in no way used to dealing with emotions, period). A long, long day of feeling has taken its toll on the young man.

He finds a city bench, which he trudges over to and parks himself down upon. Then, his thoughts finally settling down, Logan reflects and starts to develop some hypotheses on his current situation.

First of all, what went wrong with his invention? That seems as good a place to start as any. And he thinks that he might already have a vague idea:

As a general rule of thumb, small, inanimate objects are the easiest to transport from place to place; they’re much less demanding. Logan had tested large objects and they had gone through just fine. He’d tested small plants, with similar results. But his mistake was assuming that this was sufficient proof that his design was advanced enough to handle something as large and… well, “animate” as a human being. The fact is that his devices, despite how long he’d been working on them, were still primitive designs. Too primitive to safely teleport humans, at least. Add that to the fact that he must have already been running low on mana when he stepped in, and it’s not hard to see what went wrong. The teleportation pat created by the circles must have become unstable and broken somewhere between point A and point B, dumping Logan out and into this brave new world of his.

As to what this ‘brave new world’ actually is… now, that’s a little trickier. His best guess is that he’s ended up in some kind of sister dimension to his own. Centuries ago, Logan recalls learning, people had much more faith in the capabilities of science. Nowadays, everyone seems to assume that science was a much more ancient concept than magic, and it was then replaced when intellectuals started “proving” that magic was more reliable — but that’s not true in the slightest. In fact, the two of them started developing around the same time. One might say they were born of the same impulse, as it were: to control and shape the world to fit one’s own desires. That was what introduced science and magic into the world.

During that time, science was at its peak, whereas magic had only just begun to peek out. Over the years, the two battled for dominance. And in the end, magic came out on top and science unfortunately faded into obscurity.

Or at least, that’s what happened to Logan’s dimension. What if this world, then, had the same history up until that point, and then the two timelines… fractured? Magic was considered a foolish endeavour and was cast aside, while science stepped into the spotlight and thrived there.

So, then, it’s not only that people abstain from using magic because science is enough to sustain them. Rather, magic may have in fact been completely erased. But despite that… at its core, this dimension is remarkably similar to his own.

My own. It doesn’t feel exactly right, referring to the magical world as if it belongs to him. Logan suddenly realises that not once since getting here has he thought of that other dimension, or the things in it, as “home”.

A home ought to be a place where he feels comfortable, oughtn’t it? A place that he shares an intimate connection with. By that criteria, then, the ever-changing apartments he’s always cycling through are not his home. The dimension where everyone accepts magic and disregards science is not his home. Even his inventions — they’ve always been an attempt to make up for what he feels he lacks, and therefore artificially construct a home where there is none.

Logan gets back to his feet, leaving the bench behind, and looks around at the buildings surrounding him. At the sun still steadily dipping its way below the horizon, painting the heavens in all sorts of colour. The sight of it all fills him with a sort of serenity that he’s never known before.

Never once has Logan felt a sense of belonging, in the other dimension. Whereas here…

xxx

For some reason, much later, Logan is still walking. He is tired, yes, but his legs seem to have a mind of their own, growing restless whenever he sits still for too long. It’s as if they refuse to relax until he’s walked the length of this city, seen all that it has to offer him. So while the sky goes dark and more and more of those peculiar yellow lights appear in the windows, Logan keeps on keeping on.

Logan doesn’t know what he’s looking for until he’s already found it.

A small theatre, not at all unlike one Logan would expect to see near his old apartment(s), but for the glowing sign on the front.

EVEREST ETHEREUM, ENCHANTER EXTRAORDINAIRE, its large, bold letters loudly proclaim. Directly underneath, in text that’s a much smaller size: Today only — mind-muddling magical marvels for guys, gals, and non-binary pals of all ages!

A little tacky, perhaps, and whoever came up with the name and slogan could definitely stand to ease up on the alliteration, but the message grabs Logan’s attention all the same.

A magician, here! And one powerful enough to call themselves an enchanter to boot. Could Logan have been too quick in assuming that magic doesn’t play a role in this dimension? Perhaps it still exists, to a smaller degree. Perhaps only a select few people have magical capabilities. Perhaps Logan is jumping to conclusions again and really ought to stop doing that.

No, that last one isn’t much of a “perhaps”.

Rather than drive himself crazy with what-ifs, Logan decides to go inside and see this enchanter’s performance for himself. It’s not like he’s got anything better to do.

The inside of the theatre is… underwhelming. That’s not to say the few posters and decorations hung up aren’t nice ones — they’re just not very impressive, that’s all. There’s a very conspicuous lack of the colourful banners and red-carpetry that he’d been expecting. The only other person in the room sits behind a simple folding table, head resting on the surface of said table and the rest of his body completely swallowed up by a baggy black-and-purple hoodie. All the audience members must already be in the theatre. Still, Logan is a little put out by how empty the room is. Surely, someone as powerful as an enchanter deserves a much more handsome welcome than this.

The door swings shut behind him with a loud beep. Logan gives a start and scrambles further into the theatre. As he does, the hooded figure resting on the table looks up for the first time, revealing a young man’s tired-looking face.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat. Speaking of handsome.

The other man blinks blearily a few times before he notices Logan. His eyes (which are smudged with some kind of dark substance — at least, Logan hopes that it’s artificial and not natural bags from sleep deprivation) immediately widen as he scrambles to sit up straight, jostling a plate of cookies resting on the table. The shadows cast by the man’s large hood aren’t quite enough to hide a deep flush colouring his cheeks; Logan guesses that he must be embarrassed at having been caught asleep on the job. “Don’t worry.” Logan quickly tries to reassure the man, seeing as he already appears to have enough stress as is. “I won’t tell your boss.”

The man’s hard, jagged fear visibly softens. “I — Um — thanks.” His voice is gravelly, but not unpleasantly so. Logan thinks the quiet scratchiness is in fact strangely soothing. “I swear that’s not, like, an everyday thing, I’m just…”

Logan quirks a brow, amused. The man checks himself.

“I’m just going to stop talking now. Thanks. Sorry.” Rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck, the man’s eyes dart away. “You’re here to see the show, right?”

Logan nods.

“Great. Tickets are twenty dollars.”

That makes Logan hesitate. “Twenty...?” What does dollars mean? It’s an unfamiliar word to Logan, who’s used to using precious stones or mana to make payments. Does the man perhaps mean sand dollars?

Then Logan notices the metal box that the man is pointing to. It’s filled with colourful pieces of paper and perfectly round metal pieces. Those must be dollars, then. Do they use paper and metal disks as payment here? That’s new.

The man in the hoodie apparently misinterprets Logan’s hesitation. “It’s actually not that expensive,” he reassures Logan. “Like, if you’ve ever tried to get tickets to, say, a Broadway show… well, heh. Let’s just say, twenty dollars is peanuts. Besides, these guys are really good magicians. You’ll never be the same once you’ve watched them perform.” He pauses. “And I’m not just saying that ‘cause they’re my boyfriends.”

If Logan wasn’t already convinced before, he certainly is now. Only problem is, he doesn’t have any dollars.

Then again…

Logan eyes the money box carefully. Many of the pieces of colourful paper are printed with a detailed design and a big number 20. That’s most likely worth twenty dollars, then. So he only needs one of those papers to get a ticket, right?

Or, alternatively, something that looks like one of those papers.

“Pardon me, but would you mind terribly if I...” As casually as he can, Logan reaches into the box and plucks out a paper.

“Hey,” protests the man, leaning forward. “What are you —”

“I promise you, I am not going to steal your dollars. I would merely like to take a good look at this for a moment, that’s all.” He turns it over in his hands, inspecting the detailed design on the front and the back, feeling its weight, even giving it a subtle sniff to confirm that it doesn’t smell of anything. He debates licking it, but something tells him that would be a bad idea.

Then he snaps his fingers, and where there was one piece of paper, there now lies two.

Creating a convincing Duplicate of an item is a difficult task in the magical world, but that’s only because people’s eyes are trained to spot little tells such as slight distortions when held up to the light, or corners and edges that are ever-so-slightly darker or lighter than the original object, or details that seem to blur when you look directly at them.

But people might be less used to spotting Dupes here, since they don’t seem to use magic as often. That’s what Logan is hoping for, at least. He’s just used up the last of his mana creating that Dupe, so it had better work.

Only one way to find out. Feigning calm, Logan hands both of the dollars back to the man with the hoodie.

Their hands briefly touch as he does so; the other man’s fingers are surprisingly soft, especially compared to Logan’s own calloused ones. As you might imagine, this doesn’t help his nerves any.

Then Logan steps back, feeling his heart rate speeding up (for more reasons than one). The man’s mouth has fallen open, and he seems dumbfounded… but he accepts the papers without question. Phew. Logan lets out a sigh of relief and feels himself relax. He’s safe. Nothing to fear.

“That’s a nifty little trick you’ve got there,” a new voice quite suddenly speaks directly into his ear, startling Logan so badly that he lets out a small scream and crashes directly into the folding table, very nearly knocking the dollar-box and plate of cookies over.

With both his tailbone and pride sorely bruised, Logan scrambles to his feet, automatically adjusting his necktie, trying to ignore the burning warmth spreading across his face and neck. So much for ‘nothing to fear’, he thinks, humiliated.

“I’m so sorry!” exclaims the newcomer, who Logan now sees is another young man. His eyes are wide behind the thin frames of his round glasses. “Oh gosh, I didn’t realise I would scare you like that. Did I sneak up on you? Are you hurt? Ah, darn. I should’ve given you some warning, or something, shouldn’t I? Are you okay?”

“I — no — well, yes, but — that is —” Unsure of which question to answer first, Logan fumbles with his words for some time before finally settling on a simple, “I am fine, thank you.”

The newcomer begins to say something else, but he is interrupted before he can get anything out. “Hang on, what do you think you’re doing?” At this, Logan turns to look at the first man, the one selling tickets, worried that he has discovered Logan’s Dupe, but he isn’t looking at Logan. Instead, his finger is pointed accusingly at the newcomer, whose bottom lip is now stuck out in a pout.

“I know, Virgil, I just missed you!” ‘Virgil?’ Ah, that must be the ticketmaster’s name. “Roman and I have been stuck all alone without you for, like, two years already!” Two years? This man has been in isolation for two years? That seems... cruel. “Plus I got hungry and wanted to come grab some cookies.”

“I thought you had cookies backstage, Patton!” the ticketmaster — Virgil — replies, sounding exasperated. (Oh. Backstage. He was exaggerating when he said two years, then, Logan corrects himself.)

Patton shuffles his feet. “Well, yeah, we did. But, uh, we… lost them?” he tries unconvincingly.

“Lost them in your stomach, huh,” deadpans Virgil.

“Hey! No!”

Virgil gives Patton a skeptical stare.

“...Maybe a little. Anyway, the cookies don’t matter!” insists Patton, quickly changing the subject. “Either way, I wanted to come see you again before the show starts. Maybe help you out here, give you less work to do. Um, but that might have backfired, I guess? You know, since I almost scared this poor fellow right out of his pants just now.” He turns to the poor fellow in question, who has been watching this exchange play out, unsure of whether he should be saying anything. “Sorry about that, by the way. I thought that trick you did was really terrific, that’s all, and I guess I got carried away.”

“Not a problem,” Logan replies briskly. “Why don’t we both… forget that whole thing ever happened, please.”

“Aw, but I was going to ask if you could teach me how to do that!” says Patton.

Logan isn’t sure how to answer that. I’m actually a magician from an alternate dimension, and that money is nothing more than an illegal illusion. No, thank you. Besides, from what he’s heard so far, Patton is going to be performing in the show he’s about to see. If that’s the case, shouldn’t he already know how to make a Duplicate? It’s a very simple spell, after all…

Luckily, he’s saved from having to come up with a response when Virgil breaks in once more. “Hey, I hate to cut this whole bonding moment short—”

“I cradled you in my arms,” giggles Patton; Virgil ignores him.

“— but I don’t think you’ve got time to learn an entirely new trick before the show starts. Seriously, you can’t be out here. You’re going onstage in fifteen minutes, tops.”

Patton sighs. “You’re right, you’re right, you’re right you’re right you’re right,” he says, though his voice is barely above a mumble.”

“What was that?” Virgil pointedly cups a hand around his ear.

“You’re right! You always are. Ever the level-headed one, aren’t you?” Patton walks around the table to embrace Virgil affectionately, pulling down the purple-and-black hood to give him a kiss on the cheek. Virgil shrugs out of the hug and shoos Patton away, babbling about showtimes and baked goods and tickets, and all the while trying to hide his wide smile behind dainty hands that aren’t nearly large enough to cover up his joy. Logan pretends not to notice.

“Enjoy the show!” is the last thing that Patton says, grinning with unabashed cheerfulness at Logan and — are his eyes deceiving him, or was that a wink? Before Logan can even process Patton’s words, the charmingly cheerful man has reached around Virgil, snagged a cookie or three, and strolled away. Logan watches him nibble at his newly acquired treat as he disappears through a large door marked BACKSTAGE.

“Don’t worry,” murmurs Logan, fighting a smile of his own. “I have no doubt that I will.”

xxx

As he watches the enchanter sweep grandly into center stage, Logan feels like he’s staring up into the sun’s glare all over again. Everest Ethereum’s regal red velvet robes are illuminated with all manner of golden sequins and sparkling trim, glittering so brilliantly in the dark theatre that Logan briefly has to lift a hand to shield his gaze for fear that he’ll go blind otherwise. His eyes adjust quickly, though, and once they do, Logan is able to look more carefully at the enchanter, Everest. Framing his face is a meticulously styled halo that’s just as red as his robes are, and he’s got a golden crown perched on his head to match the rest of his ensemble. He is, in a word, beautiful.

Moments later, Patton comes trippingly traipsing out from the other side of the stage with a large wooden box in tow. His outfit, a blue skirt-and-tuxedo combo, is significantly less flashy than Everest’s, allowing Logan to conclude that Patton must be the enchanter’s assistant.

Patton and Everest reach the center of the stage at almost exactly the same time — was that choreographed? A coincidence? Or are they just that in touch with each other? — as thunderous applause echoes through the theatre, where Logan is seated among many other eager audience members. Once the applause dies down, the performance begins. Logan leans forward in his seat, eager to catch his first glimpse of magic from this new dimension.

It only takes a few minutes for Logan to realise that there’s about as much actual magic in this so-called “magic show” as there are dolphins in the desert.

What he’s watching is decidedly not magic. There are no spells, no incantations, no nothing. It’s all simply misdirection, distracting audience attention towards one location on the stage while a sneaky sleight-of-hand takes place in another. Patton scurries around and fetches items and tells awful puns while Everest stands center stage and dramatically waves his hands around, but Logan knows that it’s nothing but an act.

He can’t decide whether he’s disappointed or impressed, or an odd mixture of the two.

Very disappointed, for obvious reasons. He’d come into the theatre hoping to find that he isn’t completely alone in his magical abilities. It’s one thing for him to say that he can survive without magic, but it’s another thing entirely to actually try it. He’ll be able to figure it out in time; that much, Logan is certain of. It just… would have been nice to have someone who could help guide him through this transition.

But then, at the same time, very impressed. Despite the letdown, Logan has to admire how clever all of the tricks are. He can’t even begin to guess how many of them work, and isn’t at all confident that he’d be able to recreate the same things with magic. The scientific dimension has yet again proven to be far more inventive and creative than the magical one, it seems.

Plus, he has to admit that though it’s not in the traditional sense, Everest is enchanting. He is nimble fingers and laughing eyes and flaming hair and words that sing as he speaks them, and he is downright bewitching, all of him.

xxx

“Alright, guys, gals, and non-binary pals!” Patton says, walking up to the front of the stage and squinting in the brightness of the stage lights. “Gosh, it is so great to see that we have such a full house today, and especially since we’re going to need to pull up an audience member for this next trick! I’m looking for one very brave soul to come on up here and lay all his cards on the table. Let’s see, how about… you there, in the front!” Patton finishes, pointing directly at Logan.

Directly at Logan.

Logan realises quite suddenly that his hand is stuck up in the air as high as it can go.

Huh.

“Come on up! Don’t be shy, now,” calls Patton merrily, undeniable kindness colouring his every word. Logan debates pretending not to hear him, but eventually decides that that would only do more harm than good, and has no choice but to get up and pick his way through the rows and rows of seats, then climb up onto the stage where the full force of the stage lights hits him so hard, it almost makes his ears ring. Logan watches recognition flicker across Patton’s face, but the blue-tuxedoed man doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s your name?”

Logan, he tries to say. The word gets caught in his throat. He coughs and tries again, awkwardly: “My name is Logan.”

Patton turns back to the audience. “Alright, everyone, give it up for Logan!” The words have scarcely left his mouth before the building starts shaking with applause and a few scattered whoops and whistles. Patton waits for the noise to die down before turning back to Logan. There’s a mischievous expression on his face that makes Logan very uneasy indeed. “You know, I didn’t quite catch you that first time. Guess your volume was too low…”

Logan blinks.

“...gan?”

Low… gan. Lo-gan.

I might scream.

It’s a tempting notion, but before Logan can act on it, Patton seems to read his expression and hurries to move on. “Alright, Logan, your job’s going to be a super simple one, okay? We’re going back to the basics with this trick. I think everyone’s seen this one performed before. All I need you to do is pick a card, any card!” So saying, Patton gestures towards Everest with a flourish; Logan watches on in amazement as Everest pulls playing card after playing card out from behind his ear, until he’s got a full deck in his hands.

The enchanter hands the deck to Patton. The audience applauds dutifully. Patton grins.

“Okay, okay, settle down now. That’s just the beginning,” he calls. Then, turning to Logan, Patton fans the cards out face-down. “Go ahead, pick one. Now look at it. Memorise what’s on there. Don’t show it to me, okay? You can show it to the audience if you’d like, but make sure that I can’t see it.”

Logan obliges, pulling out a 5 of Diamonds and showing it off. He gets the feeling that everyone knows where this trick is going except for him.

“Great. Okay, now just slide that back in here, anywhere you’d like” continues Patton, still holding the cards in the same fanned-out position. Once Logan has done so, Patton shuffles the deck thoroughly before handing it back to Everest. Logan watches as Everest performs a series of complicated hand movements, shuffling faster and faster until his hands and the cards are nothing more than a blur of colour and motion, and then all at once —

“Is this your card?”

Logan’s eyes widen. The enchanter is brandishing the same card that he pulled out! “I — yes, it is!” he announces, nodding. “How did you…”

The other half of his question is drowned out in the cacophony of clapping that follows. Both Patton and the enchanter shake Logan’s hand while Patton’s lips move. Logan can’t hear him, of course, but it’s not difficult to infer that Patton is dismissing him.

Shakily, Logan walks off the stage and returns to his seat, feeling one part alarm, one part confusion, and ninety-eight parts exhilaration.

xxx

Much too soon, the performance is over. Logan surges to his feet along with the rest of the audience as the lights go back up, applauding until the palms of his hands are red and stinging.

The crowd carries him out into the no-longer-empty lobby, where Logan leans uncomfortably against one of the red brick walls. Perhaps he’s supposed to leave the building now, but he hesitates.

He doesn’t know where he’ll go once he’s left. And there’s something else, too, Logan realises after a moment. For some reason, leaving the theatre feels like leaving behind the last trace of magic that Logan will encounter for a long time. Yes, the show was made up of clever illusion rather than actual mana, but something undeniably magical happened in there tonight and Logan doesn’t want to walk away from it just yet.

So, he doesn’t. He stands and he waits, and he watches people animatedly talking to one another as they stream out the door, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He watches the cookies disappearing as they get snatched up into the fists of greedy toddlers and equally as greedy middle-aged men alike.

He is squinting at a young fellow’s t-shirt, trying to decide if the text on it reads Could or Couldn’t Be Gayer (he’s quite fond of the sentiment either way) when a sudden shout and the sounds of scattered applause catch his attention. Logan looks up to see the enchanter walking out the backstage door and into the lobby, Patton trailing close behind.

At the sight of the two of them, Logan is quite glad that he chose to wait around.

A group of small children run up to tug on Patton’s skirt. One of them holds up a black device larger than her own head. “Will you take a picture with us?” Logan hears her say. Patton smiles warmly.

Logan’s heart feels warm, too.

He’s about to move forward in the crowd to try and get a closer look at the pair of them when someone sidles up next to him. Logan glances over to see Virgil, still clad in his black-and-purple hoodie.

“So?”

Logan furrows his brow. “So, what?”

“What did you think of the show?” Virgil clarifies.

“Oh. Oh, it was...” Logan trails off. He’s not sure if mere words can express everything he’s feeling right now.

The silence drags on. Virgil winces. “Uh-oh. Does that mean it was bad?”

“No! Not at all. I just — argh.” Logan runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at his inability to adequately express himself.

“Take your time, buddy.”

“What I’m trying to say is, I guess… it wasn’t quite so bad.” Logan finally gets out. “In fact, it was the best time that I’ve ever had.”

The ghost of a smile flits across Virgil’s chapped lips. “That good, huh? I probably shouldn’t be surprised. Roman and Patton are just amazing, aren’t they?”

“Roman?”

“Yeah. Wait, shoot, I’m not supposed to say that.” Alarm briefly darkens Virgil’s expression, but in the next instant it’s disappeared again. Whatever mistake he just made, he appears to be too tired to care. “Ah, well, secret’s out. Yeah, that’s the enchanter’s real name.”

Logan doesn’t understand. “But the sign says —”

“Yeah, I know what the sign says, I designed it. You didn’t think he was actually named Everest Ethereum, did you?” Virgil makes an odd sound, a cross between a chuckle and a sigh. “Roman just wanted a really fancy stage name and wouldn’t leave me alone until I changed it. I mean, at least it’s not as ridiculous as ‘Sir Squiggles the Brave.’ Don’t laugh.”

Logan arches a brow. “You can’t be serious.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said when I first heard it, too.”

“Okay, I know that you aren’t insulting Sir Squiggles,” a familiar voice interrupts their discussion. Logan and Virgil look up to see Everest — no, Roman, Logan corrects himself — standing in front of them, velvet robes and all. “Especially because you named our hamster that very same thing barely a week after shooting it down for me.”

One of Roman’s arms is slung affectionately around a giggling Patton’s shoulder. He uses the other to gather Virgil up in a tight hug.

“Hey, gross, let go of me! You’re gonna get your sweat from the show all over my new hoodie, Prince Underarm-stink,” Virgil splutters, though Logan notes that he doesn’t make any actual effort to extricate himself from the embrace as he continues to complain loudly.

Roman lets go of Patton to plant a kiss directly into Virgil’s purple hair, who suddenly goes silent. “Good to see you too, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance.”

“Ugh, you are the literal worst,” Virgil tries, but the fact that he’s laughing takes away most of the insult’s sting.

Roman replies confidently, “Shut up, you love me.” And he proceeds to shut him up thoroughly with kiss after passionate kiss, until the man has been reduced to nothing more than a blushing puddle in Roman’s arms.

Logan shifts uncomfortably. He feels like he’s intruding on a very intimate moment. Apparently Patton notices, because a moment later, he grabs his shoulders and very deliberately turns Logan away from the awkward scene and towards him.

“It’s Logan, right?” Patton asks, dropping his arms. This catches Logan off-guard; he didn’t think that Patton would remember him. He nods. “Ever gone up on stage before?”

“No, never.”

“You were really brave to step up onto the stage tonight, you know. That takes guts. It’s always especially scary the first time.” Patton blows a wayward blonde curl out of his face, looking at Logan with interest. “You didn’t seem to be too worried, though.”

“Well, why would I be?” says Logan quizzically. “All I had to do was follow a few simple instructions. That’s hardly something to worry about.”

Patton looks surprised, but only for a moment. Then he starts to laugh.

Logan isn’t totally sure what he said or did that Patton finds so funny, but whatever it is, he doesn’t regret it at all. Frankly, he would be perfectly content to do nothing but listen to Patton’s bubbly laughter for the rest of his life.

“Wow. You know, it sounds so much simpler when you put it that way!” Patton tells Logan once he’s recovered enough to form words again. “Public speaking? Easy peasy, you’re just reading words off a teleprompter. Building a house? Just following the blueprints. Programming the next big social media app? Just writing a few lines of code. Painting the Mona Lisa? All you’ve gotta do is —” he’s starting to snicker again — “is — is put paint on a canvas!” And then he’s off again, laughing, laughing until he’s gasping for breath, laughing with so much joy and mirth that Logan wants to laugh too.

Because even though he doesn’t understand what the joke was or what a teleprompter or a social media app or a Mona Lisa is, he understands that Patton is carefree and smiling and it’s because of him.

How wonderful.

A minute passes, then two, before Patton is finally all laughed out. By this time, Virgil and Roman have separated and are staring at Logan so intently that Logan starts to wonder if there’s perhaps something on his face.

Fortunately, Roman speaks up then, and his words reassure Logan that nothing is wrong. “I’m impressed, specs. The necktie and button-up shirt had me thinking you were bound to be a pretty boring guy — no offense — but it looks like I misjudged you, hmm? Anyone who can make Patton laugh like that is definitely worth my time. And I don’t say that lightly.”

“Roman,” cautions Virgil. “You’re starting to sound like an entitled brat.”

“Excuse you, I am not!”

“Definitely entitled,” Logan mutters. The words come out louder than he meant them to.

Virgil’s face lights up as he pokes Roman playfully in the arm. “Ha! Hear that, Ro? Even he agrees!” He turns to Logan in approval. “You know, I like you.”

Roman huffs, putting a perfectly manicured hand to his chest. “You’re both just jealous of me.”

“Kiddos! Play nice!” It’s Patton this time, swooping in to play mediator before Virgil and Roman can take their play-fighting any further. Logan sends Patton a silent thank-you as Virgil rolls his eyes fondly.

“Okay, yep. That we are, Roman. You got us.” This seems to pacify Roman, who allows his hand to fall back down to his side. Logan is grateful for the comfortable silence that follows.

Said silence doesn’t last very long, though. After just a moment, Roman speaks up again. “Pardon me, Logan, I hope you don’t mind my asking. Where are you from?” Seeing Logan’s confusion, Roman adds, “I mean, did you move here from another country or something? Your accent, it’s one that I don’t recall ever hearing before. And trust me, I would remember if I had.”

“I… have an accent?” says Logan, unable to mask his surprise.

“It’s very subtle,” jumps in Patton reassuringly. “I didn’t even notice, actually. Roman just has a bit of a knack for these things.”

Hm. Well. Considering how Logan lived in a completely separate dimension only a few hours ago, he supposes that probably shouldn’t be that surprising to learn. He doesn’t say this out loud, of course — the three of them would definitely think him crazy if he claimed that he’d come from an alternate dimension where no one believes in science and magic is a regular, everyday kind of thing.

Instead, Logan vaguely replies, “Oh, you’ve probably never heard of the place where I come from. It’s pretty far away.” Which technically is not a lie, unless the space-time continuum works in a very different way from how he thinks it does. Before any of them can ask him for more details, Logan adds, “In fact, I’ve scarcely been in this city of yours for a full day.”

“Ooh! On vacation, are ya?” asks Patton.

“Actually… no. I’m looking to settle down somewhere here.” It’s not until the words have left his mouth that Logan realises how true they are. He doesn’t want to leave the city. “It’s been, well, challenging, adjusting to the knowledge that I’m living somewhere completely unfamiliar. Especially since it wasn’t exactly my decision. I —” He cuts himself off, unsure why he’s confiding in these near-strangers. “I’m sorry, this is probably too much information, isn’t it?”

Roman replies quickly. “No, no, don’t worry. You’re not TMI’ing.”

“I’m not… TMI’ing?”

“Yeah. Like, TMI, but used as a verb.” Roman clarifies, not very helpfully.

“What’s TMI?”

“You know, like… too much information? It’s an acronym.”

“Oh, I see.” That must be a new vocabulary word from this dimension, then. Logan grabs his notebook from out of his back pocket and scribbles that down.

Virgil squints. “Are you making a flashcard?”

“No. Yes.” Logan coughs. “Not important. Are you quite certain that I’m not, er… TMI’ing, as you say?”

“Yes, we are quite certain,” says Patton, straightening his spine and imitating Logan’s posture. He giggles. “Sorry. Go on.”

“Well, there isn’t much else to say. I wish I could tell you more, but that’s it, really. I haven’t done anything exciting yet; I haven’t yet figured out where I’m going to sleep tonight, even,” Logan admits, sliding his notebook back into his pocket. “But to be quite frank with you, sudden change is hardly a new concept for me, anyway. It’s been a while since I was able to hold onto living quarters for more than half a year at most. So you needn’t worry about me.”

The silence that follows is far from a comfortable one.

Eventually, Virgil is the first to speak. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Logan, but… from the way you just described your life in the past, it sounds like you never really felt like you fit in anywhere. And if that’s the case, then I’d honestly say that this change might be for the better. You can move on now, you know?”

“Virgil’s right,” Patton pipes up. “Why not try taking a look at what’s on the horizon, instead? Keep exploring! Don’t just tolerate change, embrace it! Get out there and meet some new people, ya know? In fact, I think you’ve already got that last one in the bag,” finishes Patton meaningfully, gesturing around at himself, Roman, and Virgil.

Roman nods, looking thoughtful. “Ah, it’s just like I always like to say: leave the past in the past, make a plan of attack. Start looking forward and stop looking back.”

“Roman, you’ve literally never said that.”

“Oh, hush, Northern Down-snore.”

Virgil sticks out his tongue.

“Ahem. Anyway. Logan, to welcome you to Florida, I’d like to offer you the best gift you could possibly get. A formality, of course, since I’m already certain that you will accept.” Roman pauses dramatically. “Would you like my phone number?”

Phone?

Logan sighs heavily. He’s getting sick and tired of hearing words he doesn’t understand.

“I beg your pardon, but I’m afraid I don’t own a… phone.”

Virgil’s mouth falls open. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” replies Logan crisply. “I’ve never made a joke in my entire life.”

“Oh. Oh, my sweet cheese pastries. In this day and age, you don’t have a phone? Seriously, where did you even come from?” Roman says, scandalised. Without waiting for an answer, he moves on. “This simply will not do. Logan, how in the name of a forest fairy’s hairy armpits do you expect to survive out here without a phone?”

“I’m… sorry?”

“No, no, don’t apologise to me.” Roman rubs his forehead. “Logan, this is unbelievable. Okay, tell you what. I always carry an extra phone around with me, just in case. I’ve decided that you will be taking that phone with you when you leave the theatre today.”

“What? Oh, no no, you don’t have to do that,” Logan protests.

“Don’t even try to argue with me, Logan. It’s an old model, but it’ll serve you well enough until you can buy a phone for yourself. And it’s already got all of our contact information in there and everything!” Roman suddenly stops. “Oh, but… I just remembered I left it at home today. Hmm. You don’t have any plans for the evening, do you?”

Logan shakes his head, dazed.

“Perfect! Everything’s coming up roses, you see? Stick around a little while, then; I just need to get out of this heavy bathrobe here and then the three of us will be heading back to our apartment. You can come with. I’ll give you my — your — phone, and then you’ll be free to go. Or,” Roman pauses and exchanges a look with Virgil and Patton, then continues, “if you don’t have anywhere else to go, you’re welcome to spend the night at our place. There’s a pullout bed in the couch. It’s not exactly a luxury mattress, but it’s comfortable enough.”

“Roman!” hisses Virgil. “You can’t just invite people into our house like that! Like, obviously I’m cool with Logan staying over, but… that’s a really creepy move, dude.” Virgil turns to Logan. “Sorry about him.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, Roman gets fired up a lot — hang on, what did you say?”

Logan shrugs. “I said, I don’t mind.” And it’s true; he doesn’t. In fact, Logan is absolutely blown away by the incredible kindness he’s just been shown. These three young men only learned about his situation moments ago, and now they’re offering him a place to stay and a ‘phone’, free of charge? It all seems almost too good to be true.

Logan opens his mouth to tell Roman something along the lines of thanks, but no thanks, but stops. His only other option, he realises, is to make the long trek back into the forest and along the path, then stumble around with no mana until he can find that abandoned warehouse again. Which sounds less than ideal. Who knows what might be hiding in the dark?

Fortunately, Patton’s voice breaks into Logan’s thoughts before his imagination can answer that question. “So?”

Logan pushes up his glasses. “You’d be willing to let me stay the night with you, just like that?”

“Absolutely,” replies Patton firmly.

“Well, if you’re certain, then…” Logan is aware that this is most likely exactly how most kidnappings begin. But then, there are far worse fates than getting kidnapped by three beautiful young men the same age as him. And he really doesn’t have much of a choice. Logan swallows his pride and nods. “Then, thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this —”

“Don’t worry about it, Logan,” beams Patton. “I’m just glad you’re not going to spend your first night in Florida alone.” Virgil nods. “Seriously, it’s no sweat. You don’t need to repay us with anything.”

“We-ell…” Three sets of heads turn towards Roman as he makes a vague gesture, flourishing a long, crimson sleeve. “There is one thing.”

Logan feels his heart plummet into his shoes. Of course there’s a catch.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” protests Roman. “I’m not about to make you polish our bathroom with a toothbrush or anything; I’m no evil stepmother. All I ask is this: once you’ve found a place to live and gotten all settled in, you give us a call.”

As Patton gasps and Virgil’s eyes widen in understanding, Roman grins.

“Let us all take you out on a date sometime, yeah?”

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #thatsthat24 #sanders sides fic #lamp #spectral scribbles #holy cheese this was such a rollercoaster of a fic to write #hhhhhhhhhhhhh i am #not exaggerating #when i tell you that i am SHAKING #tw panic #tw negative thinking #tw food mention #tw caps lock #spec made something

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sailor-slam-dunk · 7 years ago

Text

Christmas Eve Service

hhgghhh chrimmis fic

Tagged: @heelnev [whose post format i am stealing here hah a ] @transboy-tyler-official [message me if any of you would like to be tagged in the future!]

Oneshot

Fandom: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: N/A

Relationships: Cedric Alexander/Enzo Amore

Characters: Cedric Alexander, Enzo Amore

Other: Christmas Fluff, Family Bonding, tfw you get roped into going to a christmas eve service with your boyfriend's intimidating relatives

Summary: Enzo wants to spend Christmas Eve alone with Cedric. He ends up at church instead.

[ao3 link] [text below cut]

“OH no, no, no, no,” Cedric exclaimed as he threw a blanket over Enzo. “Oh, no. Not tonight, not right now. Absolutely not.”

Enzo’s lip curled in a pout as he sat up in Cedric’s bed. He tried to throw the comforter back off, but Cedric was already pinning it back over his chest (lest he…expose himself, again) with one hand, the other busily buttoning a starchy white shirt up his own neck.

“Ya serious?” Enzo whined as he sat up again, this time careful to keep himself covered. “It’s fuckin’ Christmas! Ya gonna ice me out on Christmas?”

Cedric’s attention was now turned to the mirror, hands busily trying to fumble a knot to secure his necktie. “First of all, it’s Christmas Eve,” he said brusquely. “Second, that’s exactly why I’m doing it. Damn—” A muted stream of swears left his mouth as he failed again with his tie. Enzo beckoned Cedric to the side of the bed with a curl of his fingers, and, apprehensively, Cedric knelt down by the edge. Enzo twisted and reached over, and started to undo the ungodly thing that Cedric had somehow managed to put in the fabric and retie it.

“Bright red? Real festive. What’s the occasion, huh?”

“Since when did you know how to do a necktie?” Cedric asked, his brow knitted together with confusion. “Your definition of formal wear is putting on pants.” Enzo glared up at Cedric as he finished up the new clean, straight knot.

“Yeah, a’ight, hilarious; now answer my question? Where ya goin’? Especially when you could…” Enzo paused, and pulled Cedric in by the end of his tie, bringing their faces just inches apart, “Keep me n’ the bed warm?”

Cedric flushed red as he gave Enzo’s shoulder a shove. “Church, dipshit. I’m going to church. Pretty sure you’ve heard of it?” Cedric punctuated this thought with a little slap to the cross tattoo adorning Enzo’s left arm. Now it was Enzo’s turn to blush, holding the skin that Cedric had just brushed against.

“Thought Christmas was ‘bout spendin’ time with family n’ friends and shit…” He grumbled, turning his face down to his knees, tented below the blanket. Cedric sighed, turning around to face Enzo, hands resting behind him on the vanity.

“Well, I got my mom and grandma downstairs waiting on the couch in their Sunday best. They’ve been waiting on me for the last fifteen minutes, we’re probably already late. And if you think I’m going to look into my old, black, octogenarian grandma’s eyes and tell her that I am skipping a Christmas Eve service because a perverted white boy stumbled in through my—how did you get here?”

“Window,” Enzo said, as simply as if it were nothing.

“—Through my window and into my bed to have sex with me, we’re both going to hell on the spot.”

Enzo exhaled through his teeth and looked away. He kind of hated it when Cedric was right, because it made him feel a bit stupid. “Alright, fine, ya win,” he grumbled at the ceiling, “go ahead. I can find my way back out—but I might, ah, steal a carton of nog from ya fridge first, a’ight?”

Cedric sighed again as he looked Enzo over. He knew that he had been right, but Enzo had a point as well: it was the season to spend time with family and friends. He had the family waiting downstairs, and Enzo…well, he was sort of dwelling in that space between “family” and “friend” with Cedric, even though neither of them really knew how he’d ended up there.

“Do you…” Cedric started slowly, but Enzo’s head had already snapped to attention so quickly that he kind of chuckled. “Do you, maybe…wanna come with?” Already, Enzo was squinting at Cedric, so he quickly added, “yes, I’m serious. I can’t just leave you alone here on Christmas Eve.”

A peculiar expression came over Enzo’s face as he bit his lips, and Cedric had difficulty figuring out whether or not it was excitement.

After a minute’s deliberation, Enzo shrugged his shoulders. “Why the hell not? It’s not like I got anything else to do with you outta commission.” He threw the bed sheets and blanket aside (Cedric was careful to look up at the ceiling and away from him) as he sat up, and set about pulling his tight pair of black jeans—gaping holes ripped into the knees—up his waist. With his other hand he fished around behind the pillows, and pulled out a garish jacket, printed in patches of leopard and tiger and zebra and God-Knows-what-else-skin, and Cedric nearly cried out in despair.

“Oh no you don’t!” He exclaimed, snatching the jacket away from a very offended Enzo’s hands.

“Hey!”

“You are not gonna set foot in church dressed like that,” Cedric scolded, throwing the jacket into the nearby hamper.

“Fuck do you want me to do, then? Go naked?” Enzo folded his arms up over his bare chest. Cedric scratched the sides of his head as he thought for a moment, but then brightened with an idea.

“Hang on a sec,” Cedric said, turning around, hands going to work pulling open the closet door and a flurry of drawers. Black socks, slacks, and a dress shirt fell down onto the bed around Enzo in a blizzard, each of which Enzo picked up and inspected in his hands.

“Ya want me to wear these?” Enzo said, almost incredulously.

“Why not?” Cedric asked, handing Enzo a small hairband he’d found. “Get your hair back, by the way.” Enzo stretched the band over his wrist, and then unfurled the pale blue shirt against his own chest. His expression was skeptical.

“Don’t think you n’ me wear the same size, big fella,” Enzo said. Cedric patted his cheek reassuringly, causing him to redden.

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, it’s better than what you had on.” With that, Cedric moved up towards the door. “Be down in the next ten minutes, or else my mom is going to kill me, and then you. In that order.”

“Where are you gonna tell ‘em I came from, huh?” Enzo smirked wryly as he pulled his hair back into a frizzy bun. He was met with a similar smirk from Cedric.

“Came in through the window, remember?” Cedric started to walk out the door, but stopped short, and turned around to face Enzo one more time.

“By the way,” he said, gravely, “don’t swear. And if you start whining within the first minute, I’m gonna haul you over to the cross and nail you right up there next to Jesus. Got it?”

Enzo waved Cedric off with his hand as he pulled the shirt over his elbows. “We Gucci! Don’t worry about it!”

Cedric thought that he certainly hoped so, and pulled the door shut behind him.

To Enzo’s credit, he stuck to his word. He waited until two minutes of the sermon had passed before he started complaining.

“How long is this?” Enzo said in a low groan from his throat. He then winced as a sharp elbow was drawn into his side (courtesy of Cedric’s mother, “madame Alexander” as he mentally termed her) for the third time in a row. He bowed his face further into the program card to avoid Cedric’s gaze, which he knew was twisted with a smug amusement that would fill him with resentment if he saw it.

“It’s two hours, Enzo,” Cedric whispered softly, and Enzo cringed to hear the smirk in his voice.

Simultaneously, as he pretended to read over the program, his mind boggled—two hours for what? In what dimension should it take two hours to explain to a room full of dedicated Christians the meaning of this holiday? Enzo thought to turn to ask Cedric, but evidently Cedric must have sensed that first, because before Enzo could even move Cedric had jabbed his own elbow into Enzo’s side, leaving him wheezing and pinched on either side of his torso. Three different “shush”es came from indistinct corners of the room, and Enzo hunched his shoulders inward with embarrassment. He felt eyes upon him—Enzo assured himself that it was primarily because he’d been too loud, once again, but all night he had, in the back of his mind, suspected another reason. Primarily, that he was a white man—not that he was the only one; this church turned out to have a rather equitable mix of races all across the board. But Enzo was a white man sitting in the middle of a black family, that he, very obviously, didn’t claim any relation to, unless they perhaps had adopted him. And Enzo assumed that Cedric’s family had been members of this church for a while, so that was definitely out of the question, unless he was one of those rare (so rare that they probably didn’t exist) children who got adopted in their 30s.

Not to mention, he was, again, a man. There was nothing inherently wrong about that, either, except that he was a man curled up against Cedric’s side—he consciously inched away now—much closer than any brother or friend would be. Of course, he didn’t want to accuse anybody in this church of anything, because he didn’t know any of them, but…Enzo just felt so uncertain, all of a sudden. He was certain that someone was judging him, and—worse yet—judging Cedric because of him.

Or maybe it was how he was dressed? Enzo was used to that sort of thing being the reason for many disbelieving stares, but then he gazed down at the stiff, plain shirt rumpled over his chest and suddenly remembered that he wasn’t in his usual sort of attire. On one hand he was glad for this, because Cedric has certainly been right about the clothes he’d had on earlier. If Enzo had tried to enter like that he probably would have been banned from the church. But, on the other hand, he still didn’t look quite right—as he’d expected, Cedric’s shirt was too big for him (for a moment he felt a twinge of shame over his lanky frame) and hung loose from his chest in a large bubble, making him appear awkward and thin. Enzo felt like—he grumbled softly again, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles of his unfortunately baggy slacks—a complete geek. A complete geek in an unfamiliar place with a bunch of unfamiliar people—well, except for Cedric. Enzo found himself instinctively scoot a bit closer to Cedric’s side. At least he radiated a familiarity, a sort of safe spot that Enzo could hitch himself to.

For a moment, his hand brushed against Cedric’s, whose head snapped up as if he expected some other dumb remark to come from Enzo’s mouth. Instead he just found him looking confused and concerned, and Cedric’s expression softened as he gave Enzo’s hand a quick, reassuring pat. Enzo took a breath in and nodded as he tried to ease back into the sermon, though he didn’t have the faintest clue what he was even pontificating about.

Then, suddenly, everyone rose up from the pews. Enzo stumbled up a full second late, and Cedric reached out as if he meant to steady him. From either side, around his shoulders, Enzo spotted the inquisitive stares of Cedric’s family, and suddenly pined to be able to shrink all the way down into that stupid shirt like a turtle. As he attempted to straighten himself out, he noticed as everyone reached down into the wood racks in the seats before them, and pulled out a small book, which seemed to be of—oh.

“Aw, Jes—” Enzo somehow managed to catch himself early, though he still earned a rather stinging glance from the corner of Cedric’s mother’s eye. He mouthed a tiny apology as Cedric leaned over.

“What’s the matter?” He whispered against Enzo’s ear. Enzo gruffly pulled a songbook out from the rack.

“We’re gonna sing?” Enzo said in despair. Cedric’s lip wrinkled sardonically.

“You ever go to a church where you didn’t sing?” He asked. Enzo flipped through the pages of the book, trying to find his place.

“In Catholic church we mostly just drink wine and yell,” Enzo admitted, trying not to groan as his eyes took in the scattered notes of the sheet music. Yet, in his peripheral, he saw a small smile crawl over Cedric’s face.

“That explains everything about you,” Cedric said. Enzo could hear a small chuckle being bitten off in his breath, and he suddenly felt a bit more at ease.

A hymn started up from the pianist on the stage, and Enzo felt eyes on him the moment he opened his mouth. He winced to hear his own voice croak out into the first few lines of “Adeste Fideles”—was that the harmony? He thought as he felt sweat bead on his neck. How in the hell did these people learn the harmony? Most people he knew barely had a grasp on the melody. Enzo’s voice lowered sharply—a rarity—with embarrassment as he tried to hide his face with the songbook. Cedric turned his head slightly and took notice, quietly taking a step closer to Enzo’s side. He pulled the book down from against Enzo’s nose and to a distance where he could reasonably see the notes. Softly, Enzo heard Cedric’s voice close to his ear, providing him a buoy to cling to and try to find his place. For a moment Enzo about melted, before remembering that he was in the house of God—he shouldn’t have been so taken in by it, because Cedric wasn’t trained, either, and his voice warbled faintly as he struggled to quite find certain notes, but to Enzo he sounded almost perfect, and for a minute he wanted nothing more than to just listen to him perform. But nevertheless, Enzo pulled himself to reality and muttered along, trying to turn the awkward strains of his throat into song. As he listened to himself he brightened a bit. It was as if just having Cedric to guide him made him better.

Then—how strange—Enzo thought he heard two other voices, female, crowding closer to him. He glanced off to either side, careful to keep paying attention to Cedric’s voice guiding him, and flushed as he found that both Cedric’s mother and grandmother had lowered down to their level. Enzo looked upon madame Alexander to his left inquisitively, and his heart almost stopped when she smiled at him faintly. They were trying to help him—a thought that made Enzo’s heart swell up for a bit as he found himself raising up his voice a bit louder.

It was like being in a family, for a moment.

Even after the two hours had passed, and all of them were standing out by the cars in the parking lot, everyone was still smiling. Enzo thought this a bit odd, because he knew he’d been more than a bit of a pest that night; but he didn’t know the last time he had people as respectable as Cedric’s family smiling at him to any capacity, so he didn’t even dream of questioning it, and smiled back at them warmly and shyly. At the end of his arm—he had to look down to confirm it, because he almost didn’t believe—Cedric’s hand was tightly entwined with Enzo’s own, fingers clasped shut and squeezing. Pink scattered along Enzo’s cheeks, and he suddenly couldn’t remember whether or not Cedric had told him if he’d come out about the two of them to his family yet. But, then again, Cedric was being suitably obvious with the way he clutched Enzo’s hand, stroking his knuckles with his thumb, and yet his mother simply kept chatting and laughing as if she thought nothing of it. Enzo felt his eyes sting, in the best way possible, as he realized this.

Cedric even reached over to Enzo’s hand a couple of times on the drive home, holding it down under his palm on the console between the seats. Enzo, in the passenger seat, still worried about his place there, turning his head back several times to Cedric’s grandmother to tell her that if she needed this seat, she could have it, but she insisted that she was just fine where she was (and Enzo swore that, at least once, she said that while her eyes squared in upon Cedric’s hand resting on his).

And yet, when they parked in front of Cedric’s house, Cedric grabbed Enzo’s shoulder as he tried to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“You stay here a minute,” Cedric said. Enzo blinked in confusion, watching as Cedric led the two matriarchs out of the car and into the house, leaving him sitting in the car with a coat around his shoulders.

In about ten minutes, Cedric came bounding back out to the car with quick strides. Enzo opened the door, ready to meet him outside, but Cedric was already leaning in and kissing his lips hard, almost pressing Enzo’s head into the driver’s seat. In a moment he pulled back, and Enzo sprung back up like a spring, eyes wide and cheeks tinged red.

“How you doin’…” He murmured, a confused smirk edging into his face. Cedric returned to him a bright and earnest smile, one that made Enzo’s heart tremor, as he leaned in to press another kiss into Enzo’s forehead. He stepped back and shut the door, before quickly reappearing through the driver’s side door and settling in behind the wheel.

“You did good behaving, tonight,” Cedric said as he pulled the seatbelt across his chest. “Mama and grandma were real impressed—and so was I!”

Enzo felt a pang of pride in his chest at Cedric’s words, but still, he had to ask. “Why ya strappin’ in? We goin’ somewhere?” Cedric turned to him with a smile that bordered on mischievous.

“Well, you behaved so well tonight, and my family’s at my house, so…I told them we’re gonna go back to your place for a bit.”

The red tinge in Enzo’s cheeks darkened, and Cedric couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, no, not that…necessarily.” Cedric reached out to Enzo’s red face, and cupped a hand over his cheek. Enzo pretended to roll his eyes at the affection, even as he tilted his head closer into Cedric’s palm. Cedric smiled at the adoring look in Enzo’s eyes. “I do want to kiss you when we get there, though. A lot.”

“Alright, I-I…sure, I…” Enzo’s eyes widened as he stammered. Wait, what did he mean, just “sure”? Of course he wanted to go—but something in his brain was stopping him. “Actually…can we go back inside here first?”

Cedric raised an eyebrow, releasing the seatbelt and winding it back into the wall. “Why? I mean, sure, but why?” He asked. Enzo bit his lip.

“Just, ah…wanna thank your family for having me tonight, maybe talk for a little bit?” Enzo felt a hot rush of embarrassment as he recognized the amusement in Cedric’s eyes. Cedric climbed back out of the car, and soon was opening Enzo’s door, offering a hand to help him out—a hand that Enzo took.

“Alright, fine,” Cedric said with mock-weariness, “we’ll go have a brief chat with the in-laws.”

Enzo beamed in a way that was nearly blinding, and he nuzzled the side of Cedric’s face.

“Thanks, babe.”

Of course, “a bit” turned into “the rest of the night”, and when Enzo woke up with an arm around Cedric on the downstairs couch of the latter’s home, he was a tad bit embarrassed. But, when Cedric’s mother and grandmother came down, and soon they were all drinking coffee, Enzo found that he didn’t mind all that much—in fact, he didn’t really care at all.

It was always nice to spend Christmas with family.

#205 live #enzo amore #cedric alexander #falalalala-lalalala~

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