"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results"
Welcome to my ALIEN STAGE OC blog!!!
I have ocs in many seasons, such as Season 40 to 42, as well as in Sona Season, and in this blog I’ll be posting about all of them!!!
A great majority of my ocs will be open for lore writing, so if you have any ideas for relationships involving my characters, please don’t hesitate to ask!!! They’re also open to asks!! Or well most of them, ask me anything or say something to them!!!
It's funny, come to think of it, how I started to see you everywhere after our first encounter.
We didn't really talk much in the beginning, usually exchanging a smile and wave when we passed by each other in hallways or outside in the Garden.
But I kept noticing you.
Much to my surprise, I found out we actually shared quite a few classes. You were always seated far up front in class, maybe that's why it took me a while to realise, I myself being too busy doodling in the margins of my books or goofing off with Inna to ever be looking up ahead for too long.
I realised you always sat under the same tree, in the corner of the Garden, sometimes reading, sometimes practicing songs we were forced to learn. You were never one to go out of your way to play with others, probably preferring your own company.
It's not that I avoided you, but I felt hesitant to approach you whenever I had the chance. Maybe I saw you were busy and didn't want to interrupt.. Or maybe I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of you, like the last time. It was most likely the latter.
"Excuse me..."
The second time I remember us properly meeting was in the library.
It took me a few moments to register that the almost inaudible voice was coming from right across the table from me. I glanced up from the book I was currently engrossed in, meeting your eyes.
"Isla!" I exclaimed, before remembering where I was, lowering my voice, "Hey, Isla. What's up?"
You gave me a shy smile, clutching your own book at your side. "I was just asking if I could sit here, if that's okay with you?"
I nodded enthusiastically, "Of course! I mean, sure."
You brightened at my answer, immediately taking the seat directly in front of me.
"Sorry if I interrupted you, I was just returning a book, and then I saw you, so- well, I thought I'd say hi..." You shrugged sheepishly.
I returned your smile, "That's okay, I don't mind."
Your gaze flickered to the book resting in front of me. "What are you reading?" You asked, keeping your voice low.
"Oh! Uh-" I quickly grabbed the book before me, raising it to show its floral-design cover, "it's a book about flowers and their meanings! This one's about the flowers that used to exist on Earth..."
You frowned. "Earth..?"
"Y'know, Earth! That really old planet that used to exist super long ago... Where humans originally came from?"
You nodded in recognition. "Ohh, right.. I didn't know there was an actual name for that place... It had flowers?"
"Mhm! Tons of plants, actually, but apparently there used to be over four-hundred-thousand species of flowers alone! And the people of Earth had different meanings for them!" I rambled on excitedly, tapping the page I was previously reading, "For example, daffodils represent renewal, forgiveness and creativity! And then these ones-"
I leaned across the table, hoping to show you the page more clearly.
It appeared that you had the same thought as me, meeting me halfway.
I still recall the hollow clonk our skulls made when our foreheads collided.
It makes me laugh whenever I think about it now, but at that point, I was too busy clutching my painfully throbbing head, you mirroring my action.
I winced, forgetting about my pain for a moment, my attention quickly turning to you. "Ah! Sorry! I'm so sorry, are you okay??"
You gently rubbed your forehead, teal eyes growing watery. Your face was scrunched up with pain, but you still managed an uneasy smile.
"I-it's okay," you replied shakily.
I stumbled over my words. "Sorry, I didn't mean to- I was just trying to- Do you want me to get-"
"No, no," you waved off my offer, wiping your eyes, "it's fine, Monica, really."
I swallowed, trying to calm myself, my cheeks heating up. "Okay.."
I watched you, unsure of what to say next.
Great Anakt... As a child, I took things so seriously when it came to you.
Well, to be honest, I always took things seriously when it came to making new friends in the Garden...
Before arriving in that place, I never really interacted with other humans, save for my brother, Mica. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate his company, of course I did, I'd always be grateful for his light in my life... But, I guess that's just how I was, always longing for more.
I think it would have been a lot scarier, had it not been for Inna being the first friend I made.
Inna was always easiest to get along with; we shared interests, we matched each other's energy.. he never seemed bothered by the things I did, never reacted with strange looks at things I said.. that was new to me.
You were a lot different from him, obviously- a lot less obnoxiously loud, for one. I'm not entirely sure what drew me to you, what made me desire to be close with you, but I knew whatever it was came with a small familiar fear, like an annoying splinter digging into skin. It's not always visible, but it's definitely there.
Right at that current moment, the splinter felt like it was digging into my skull... or maybe it was just the oncoming headache-
"I've seen those flowers before."
I snapped back to reality. "..Huh?" I asked dumbly.
Your eyes were back on the book, your finger tapping an illustration of a bouquet of red flowers on one of its open pages. "This flower. I've seen it before, Madame sometimes decorates my room with them.. they're usually pink ones, though."
I studied the flowers underneath your finger, forgetting my previous worry. "Oh! Carnations!"
You hummed in affirmation, turning the book towards yourself, beginning to read the words off the page.
"It says here that they usually mean admiration and affection... Do pink carnations mean the same thing?" You asked me in a curious tone.
"Well- yeah, basically," I was quick to answer, relaxing a little, "but pink ones can also sometimes represent 'motherly love'... if I'm remembering right."
"Oh.. I didn't know that," you said softly, before smiling to yourself.
You began to flip through the books pages, stopping abruptly at a random page.
We had ended up laying underneath your tree in the Garden, staring up at the artificial sky, asking various questions back and forth.
I remember during my first few days in Anakt, I had tried cloud-gazing, but that began to become boring after about five minutes, since the clouds never actually moved, remaining dead, unchanging. Except for one cloud near the centre, which flickered every few seconds, and was only noticeable if you were actively searching for it, much like I was doing at that moment.
I felt you turn towards me. "You 'think'?"
"I dunno, I never really thought about my favourite colour," I shrugged. "I think all the colours are pretty. And there's so many different shades, it's hard to choose just one, y'know?"
You were silent for a moment, pondering.
"Hm, I suppose so.. Then why did you choose green in particular?"
"Well, it reminds me of the grass and trees. And bugs. Specifically beetles... Plus, from what I've read about Earth, its land was mostly green... I guess the colour reminds me of nature in general."
To this, you hummed thoughtfully. For whatever reason, I felt compelled to face you.
Your eyes locked with mine, widening in surprise at first, but after a few moments, your eyebrows furrowed, cheeks flushing a bright pink.
"You're staring," you remarked.
I blinked. "Oh? Sorry, I was just thinking."
"About what?"
"Well.." I gestured to your face, grinning, "I just thought... You kind of look like the Earth if it were a person. To me, at least."
Now it was your turn to stare. Though, your gaze was filled with complete bewilderment and... a bit of hurt?
"What's that supposed to mean?" You quietly managed to say.
"Wait, I mean-!" I stammered, sitting up slightly, worried you had taken my words as an insult. "I just think- your eyes kind of remind me of, like, little islands? And- and then I saw your hair and I thought.. it kind of looked like, um, the Earth's sea and its blue waves... Kind of. In a good way. To me."
I cleared my throat awkwardly, glancing off to the side.
When I regained the courage to look back at you, your expression had changed, the tinge of hurt being replaced with a darker tint of pink, painting your cheeks.
"Oh. Okay. Um, thanks?" You turned your eyes back towards the synthetic clouds, fidgeting with a lock of your hair.
I followed your gaze, while screaming at myself internally.
I guess that's how I always was, wasn't it? Speaking all my thoughts aloud, not thinking about the consequences of my words until after they had fallen from my mouth. It never did me any favours, but I never seemed to grow out of the habit.
I began to toy with my sleeve. Fearing the uneasy silence, I laughed nervously. "Sorry, I uh- don't know why I said that.. that was.. weird-"
"...I didn't think it was," you spoke up, glancing in my direction.
"You didn't?"
You shook your head. "No. I mean, it was.. unexpected, but also... sweet," you smiled a little, "no one's ever said something like that to me before."
"Oh.." I relaxed my shoulders, not even realising they were tensed in the first place.
I watched as you sat up, bringing your knees to your chest, looking back at me intently.
"What else was Earth like?" You asked curiously.
I thought for a moment. "To be honest, I haven't read a lot about it yet... but, from what I've read so far, it kind of reminds me of Oberon's planet-"
"Oberon?"
My eyes found the defective cloud once again. "They used to be my Guardian, but uh- that was a while ago. I don't.. really remember what they were like.. just that their home was covered in plants and bugs.. it was also nice and warm, and it made me happy... That's what I think Earth was like. Though, I think Earth had way more water on its surface, like.. a lot more."
You paused, taking in my words.
"I see... it sounds lovely." Your smile grew wider, "Maybe.. you can visit Oberon's planet again someday?"
Perhaps it was the way you said those words, or maybe it was the way you smiled at me so warmly... but I found myself believing you in that moment.
"Maybe... yeah," looking up at you, I shared your smile. "I'd like that."
You giggled softly, giving a nod. "That's good."
I watched you, studying your face. There was something so genuine in your expression, but back then, I couldn't place what it was. I just knew it was something I hadn't seen before, a gentle kindness I hadn't yet been introduced to.
Ah, I was staring again.
"...I think it's your turn to ask a question, Isla."
@lookatmysillies for Naz, Yael, @imperfectnothing for Yumi, @chevalperd for Clem, @junebluues for Nene, @severedscales for Kio, Jiu, @ivanttakethis for Wren, and @verdantlights for Toki
(So I got really curious and I wanted to see how many of my OCS can I give an irl face claim to, which I use mostly just actors and actresses but I tried!!!!)
(So I got really curious and I wanted to see how many of my OCS can I give an irl face claim to, which I use mostly just actors and actresses but I tried!!!!)
For @lulling-riot - HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY KILLS YOU KILLS YOU KILLS YOU HUGS YOU here’s the Yaelbeth that I’ve been promising since you made the Yael comic. I used your birthday as an excuse to get motivated. I’m so smart
(Word count: 4k. Mix of canon and modern AU - ties into the first 2 Yael logs but can be read on its own—it just has references to the logs. TW list is shorter than usual but includes: recreational drug use, nongraphic references to sex, mild gender dysphoria, referenced suicide and talks about mental illness. 4k words of Yaelbeth being stupid below the cut)
“Yael.”
“Wake up, Yael.”
“Yael.”
“Yael.”
Macbeth’s voice was vaguely irate as Yael approached his desk and, without further ado, swung a leg up over the side of it like it was a horse and shimmied so he was planted firmly in the middle in a straddle with either leg hanging off the sides. Yael didn’t take offense to it. He’d learned not to, anyway. The perpetual stormcloud hanging over Macbeth’s head made him a bit of a grump–prone to scowls and narrowed eyes, gloomy, half-lidded glances and a wrinkled nose to show his typical state of disapproval. Compared to some of their classmates, Yael got the gentled version of Macbeth’s diagnosable annoyance with humanity. Him and Inna, he supposed. But Inna was too nice for Macbeth to understand at his core.
Yael understood. Not that he wasn’t nice–he liked to think he was pretty nice–but he didn’t really care about others the same way Inna did. When Inna finished his bevvy of extracurriculars, he always had someone he wanted to hang out with. Monica to stay out late in the rock-and-cement playground at their old elementary school before puberty and mental illness kicked in and life got complicated. Inna and Monica liked jumping rope, playing tag and hopscotch, while Yael would just sit and watch. Quiet. Uninterested.
Uninterested was how he felt about most people until he met Macbeth, with the exception of Naz from the experimental treatment clinic, who provided decent entertainment.
Yael plucked an eraser out from where it got wedged under his thigh and held it up like something deeply interesting and worthy of discussion, twisting and turning it in his hand. He smiled at Macbeth, the one with teeth that meant he had some grand plan in mind. “What?”
Macbeth fixed him with a deadpan stare. “How many times do I have to tell you not to sit on my desk? Your butt is crushing my papers.”
“Your papers like my butt,” Yael retorted. He grabbed the pencil in Macbeth’s loose grip and started idly scritching little doodles into the rubbery pink material of the eraser. One of them looked like it might be meant to be a cat’s face. Another vaguely resembled a marijuana leaf. “It’s Friday.”
“I have a calendar and eyes to see.”
“And what very pretty eyes they are, my friend.”
“Shut up. And stop poking holes in my eraser! What, did you forget to medicate today or something?” said Macbeth as he snatched the eraser back, which, in fact, Yael had begun to poke. Cats and weed had gotten old fast.
Yael shook his head, the same toothy smile still plastered to his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know. So as I was saying, it’s Friday. Friiiiday. Which is basically our day.”
Macbeth scrunched up his nose in confusion. “Since when?”
“Well, first off, I’m pretty sure we met on a Friday.”
“We met on a Monday.”
Yael squinted down at him. “Did we?” Then he beamed. “You remembered!”
Waving his hand– “Right, whatever. You were saying?”
“For the last three weeks we’ve smoked on Fridays. So what I’m saying is we should keep doing that. For routine’s sake.”
That earned Yael an amused snort. “Routine’s sake? For weed?”
…that was probably said a little too loudly in a religious school’s classroom. Macbeth briefly tensed, but no one appeared to be lingering. By the time Yael strutted in and took his place on Macbeth’s desk, everyone else left the study hall, eager to get on with their weekends. Nobody ever waited for Macbeth, and no one ever waited for Yael, except for each other. They were safe.
Back in fall semester when they tried kissing out, Yael would only try it in empty lecture halls after class, in the courtyard behind the big tree near the perimeter where they napped during breaks, or in the privacy of Yael’s house. His parents were doting but thought of themselves as “progressive” by leaving him alone in his room with a boy and offering him birth control tablets. To be fair, they were hippies. Weed-smoking, libertarian hippies who had a handmade sign in their yard that said, “Leave Clinton and Bush to Rot–We Want Legal Pot!” Yael never noticed that they actually misspelled Clinton with an e instead of an o until Macbeth came over to his house for the first time and pointed it out. I was just so used to seeing it, Yael had said sagely.
Point is, they know where to do and say certain things and where not to.
“Just come over to my house tonight.” Yael twirled the pencil between his fingers, pausing to note the small indents and chips in the yellow paint from absentminded pencil biting. His eyes flicked up to Macbeth’s, searching. “Unless you’re avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding you,” Macbeth said, exasperated. With a roll of his eyes, he stood from his chair and grabbed Yael’s tie to yank him forwards and set him off balance, causing him to stumble off the desk. “I’ll go to your house. We need to stop by mine first so I can check in.”
“You can grab a few things for overnight,” Yael added, letting himself be led behind Macbeth by the still-held tie out of the classroom. Seeing Macbeth’s hesitation flickering over his face, Yael quickly added, “If you want. Just to sleep.”
So they ended up at Macbeth’s house so Macbeth could announce himself as alive and throw a few things in his overnight bag–which had also been “embellished” by Yael, who drew on it with a hot pink marker once when they were both high. Macbeth said he’d have to throw it away and get a new one. He never did.
The reason they could never actually stay over together at the Roulette house if they wanted a moment’s peace was simple: Macbeth’s family was expansive in size and in their will to intrude upon others’ privacy. Even as Yael and Macbeth packed (or, Macbeth packed and Yael sat on the bed and watched) his younger sister Mae barged in, her friend from the next town over, Miriam, on her heels. Miriam went to a Catholic all-girls’ school that operated in horror of “forward-thinking” Catholic mixed gendered schools such as the one in their town, Gardens. But then, Eden was a weird town. Veturia–another lively member of the Roulette family who spent an hour in the bathroom every other early morning, thirty minutes to smoke so it rose with the shower steam and through the vent where no one could smell it, and thirty to actually shower––once compared Eden to Clearwater, Florida. She swore on her Chevrolet that Scientology has spread to the west. At some point, Miriam got tired of arguing with her.
However, she never got tired of arguing with Yael over theology. She only went to Catholic boarding school because her parents made her–she thought the whole thing was “a giant pile of horse-fucking-shit.” Yael disagreed. This annoyed her. And thus was the greatest feud of the decade, shortly ahead of Yael and Mae’s more playful feud caused largely by Yael going from calling Mae “Margaret” to pester her to taking it a step further when she protested by calling her Margaret Thatcher.
As a journalistic family, running the county paper and fond of closely watching the news, the Roulettes naturally had a burning and intense hatred for Margaret Thatcher.
“Where are you going?” Mae asked, flopping down on Macbeth’s comforter next to Yael, who busied himself with stealing her headband and putting it on his own head.
While Miriam wrestled it from him, Macbeth zipped up his bag and stood. “Yael’s. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow. Yael, give her the headband or she’ll kill you in your sleep.”
Sighing, Yael relinquished the headband.
Miriam glared down at him, handing the accessory back to Mae. “Good choice.”
Leaving the girls in relative peace, Yael and Macbeth trekked the distance to Yael’s house in a nearby cul-de-sac. Walking in school uniform in the summer was hell, but this early in spring, it was cold enough that they didn’t sweat too badly from the sun. Everything smelled clean and fresh after the long winter. Flowerboxes had been set in windowsills outside of the neighbors’ houses, full of blooming yellow, blue, and purple buds. It looked–felt–hopeful.
Last year at this time, Yael’s only friend was Naz, who was too invested in her other friendships to tag along with him constantly. They stuck together more in junior high when Yael was enrolled in the nearest city’s mental health clinic’s new program for youth with unexplainable and undiagnosed illnesses. That was where he met Naz. Naz threw a lot of fits in the waiting room, which made him dislike her, at first. She didn’t like him either on account of that time he smashed his head against the wall and gave himself a concussion–it scared her.
You can’t be too choosey with companions in a religious town when you’re part of a shrink program, though.
Yael had gone to school with Macbeth for years, but only last summer did they actually really meet through a summertime support group their parents made them attend. They didn’t talk for the rest of the summer, but when the school year started up, they recognized one another and clicked. Yael couldn’t properly explain what drew him to Macbeth. Macbeth couldn’t really explain it either.
Fate, Yael had claimed that first afternoon they tried kissing (it was winter and Yael still had his braces in so it hurt, a little), pulling away with a grin.
Maybe he wasn’t so far off.
This spring, with Macbeth at his side, he was the least and most afraid he’d ever been. Not afraid, because he had his soulmate at his side. And he was sure of it–Macbeth had to be his soulmate. He’d always believed in soulmates, waited for one, and what would a soulmate even be if it wasn’t what he and Macbeth were?
As Miriam would say: horse-fucking-shit.
And he was also afraid.
Because he could always lose Macbeth, too.
It was the kind of thing he usually tried to calm his mind from when he smoked. When they got to Yael’s house, they followed the usual routine–got a bowl of snacks and retreated to Yael’s room to do a few pages of homework together, exchange ideas for the story they were writing (it was supposed to be a more insightful rewrite of the Christian Bible, courtesy of Yael who believed they needed one in the world–or maybe just wanted to read something that affirmed his existence and identity and didn’t find it anywhere else, so he figured he’d have to do it himself)–then light up with the window cracked open to ventilate, lying on the bed with their sides touching. They changed into pajamas beforehand so they wouldn’t stink up the uniforms and fall asleep in their slacks and shoes.
These were the moments Yael enjoyed most, these days. He never cared much for his own bedroom until Macbeth. Now it was where they sequestered from the world together; from their annoyance or disappointment with humanity as a species. However applicable.
It was also when Yael could stare without Macbeth feeling the need to perform irritation or embarrassment as he usually did. With Macbeth’s amber eyes fixed up at the popcorned ceiling, eyelids relaxed, Yael could fixate on the brown speck in Macbeth’s left iris, the tiny twin moles above his left eyebrow, the uneven texture of his lips, chapped as they were because he couldn’t drink enough water to save his life. He could marvel at the curve of his eyelashes, the sharpness of his cheekbones that granted him his intimidating quality that kept most away from him, thinking him unapproachable, though it just looked pretty to Yael. There were a lot of things about Macbeth that others found weird or unpleasant that Yael just thought were pretty, in appearance or personality. He didn’t think it was strange to call someone’s personality pretty. It was the only word he could think of for it.
Caught up in the intimate setting of the moment, Yael rolled onto his side to face his companion and curled his calf over Macbeth’s, laying his hand on the soft inside of his elbow. They’d experimented once before, so he didn’t think much of it. Just wondered if Macbeth was feeling the same as he was.
Macbeth tensed, though, picking up on the signal, and glanced down at their legs, slowly withdrawing his from underneath Yael’s. “Yael–”
“It’s okay.” Only miffed by the withdrawal of contact, Yael pulled away to his side of the bed, rolling back over onto his back and folding his hands over his stomach (which was in complete knots). He picked at the skin around his thumb, chewed on the inside of his cheek, then, realizing the thought wouldn’t go away unless he voiced it, blurted, “Is it because of how I am?”
Macbeth turned his head to frown at him, brows furrowed. “How you are?”
“Well, yeah.”
“What do you mean, how you are?”
Sometimes Yael wondered if Macbeth just forgot his differences. Not that it was a bad thing–maybe it was a good thing. He was one of the only people outside of his parents and Naz who knew about it anyway. “Because, you know, I was a girl.”
Macbeth’s nose did that scrunching thing again like he was offended at the idea. “We weren’t even friends when you looked like a girl.”
“Well you could still tell when you had your hand–”
“That doesn’t matter, Yael, Jesus,” Macbeth interrupted, huffing out an audible scoff. “I didn’t care about that. I don’t care now. We were just trying something.”
Yael flipped over on his side again, staring at Macbeth’s side profile. “You’ve been dodging me when I try to talk to you about it, though.”
Helplessly, Macbeth shrugged, which looked quite awkward from a supine position. “I don’t know what to say. I just don’t see why it matters so much. I don’t see why we have to do it to be close. I like being close to you, but I don’t like that.” He took a drag, then coughed and shrugged again. “I don’t like when people talk about it. I thought I would like actually doing it, but I didn’t. It was just… me. Okay? I don’t care that you have to–sit down to take a leak, or whatever.”
He was tense, his face angled to the window away from Yael like he expected anger or rejection. Instead, Yael just laughed. “I could probably do it standing. If I tried.”
Startled, Macbeth actually giggled for what was probably the first time in his life. “What?”
“Peeing. I could try standing peeing. You could score me on accuracy.”
Macbeth rolled over to face Yael, mouth agape. “I’m not–Jesus, Yael, I’m not going to watch you pee to score you!”
Yael only laughed harder, so Macbeth laughed, too, until their stomachs hurt too badly and they wound up nose-to-nose, Yael nudging their faces together.
“That’s two times you’ve said Jesus out of turn. You’d get hit on the wrist with a ruler at school.” Yael studied his expression in response to the proximity. “Is this fine, though? Do you like this?”
Macbeth rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, Yael. This is fine.” I like this went unsaid but hung in the air between them.
“Good. It is for me too.” Yael ducked his head further to rest his forehead against Macbeth’s collarbone, breathing deep and peacefully. “I’m tired.”
“You’re always tired.”
“I’m tired like I’m going to sleep, though.”
“You’re also always sleeping.”
“Shush. Be nice and hold me.”
For all Macbeth’s feigned grumpiness, he did.
He’s in a cafeteria, in white clothes, surrounded by more children in white clothes. Like school uniforms, but worse. Worse. He recognizes it. He knows it.
He searches for Macbeth amidst a few other brunets, but he already knows: Macbeth isn’t here. If Macbeth was here, he’d be sitting with Yael right now, taking prim bites of his food and dabbing his mouth with a napkin, complaining to Yael about music theory or singing practice but he wasn’t in music theory or singing practice. Eventually a hypothermia victim will do anything and everything on this side of irrational to try and get warm, stripping the only clothing defending them from the cold, trying to burrow in the snow and insulate. Instinct.
Yael knows these words, he knows this day, where Macbeth is absent from him.
The moment he realizes it, he jumps up from his seat, his heart seizing in his chest, breaths coming in gasps. As he darts between the tables for the exit, none of the other students look up; no orderly attempts to stop him. The kids are all frozen, immobile, their chattering mouths motionless, their eyes closed, and their heads down so they can’t see what’s happening. Only Inna, easily recognizable by his baby blue head of hair, has his chin up. Only Inna has his eyes open. And as Yael rushes for the door, those eyes follow him the whole way.
The hallway is so much longer than it’s supposed to be. Yael runs as fast as he can, thinking: he can get there fast enough, he can stop it this time. This time he can save Macbeth. This time he can stop him from doing the very thing the old Yael said would save him but it didn’t, it didn’t, and it didn’t save Nina, it didn’t save him, he’s dead, he’s already dead–
He’s dead because You Already Watched Him Die.
But he’s still running to Macbeth’s room.
And he’s still falling to his knees in the doorway, screaming.
He still finds Macbeth dead,
because You Already Watched Him Die.
And All Stories Come To An End.
He’s been here before, and he still isn’t prepared for how shocked he is when the truth of it is before his eyes.
“Yael, wake up! Hey, wake up!”
For all the time Yael slept, he did wake up, screaming.
“No, wait! Where’d he go, where’d he go, where’s–”
Hands held fast to his wrists to stop his flailing, and the size and feeling of them was recognizable enough that Yael settled, his anxious trembling stuttering in its consistency. Only when he looked up at the face above him did he feel truly calmed.
Macbeth.
Alive.
You are beautiful.
“Oh,” he croaked. “Oh. Thank God.” And he threw his arms and legs around Macbeth’s shoulders and waist, dragging him down against him so their bodies were flush together.
Macbeth didn’t struggle or tense in the embrace. He was awkward as ever with physical affection, but he tried, moving his hands from Yael’s forearms to rest against his sides hesitantly. He asked, quietly, “Was it… the drowning one, again?”
“No.” Yael’s voice was still trembling and hoarse as he spoke. “It’s this different one I’ve started getting more and more since we’ve been friends.”
“...Should I be offended?”
“No!” Yael amended quickly, “no, it’s not bad–I mean, it’s not bad about you. Well, it’s–it’s just that you’re dead.”
“Oh. How do I die?”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s… bad.”
Carefully, Macbeth shifted his weight off of Yael so they were hugging on their sides instead, laying his palm flat against Yael’s upper back. “I’m not a little kid, I can take it. Anyway, it’s not real, Yael.”
For a moment, Yael debated staying silent and pretending he was already going back to sleep. But–no. Macbeth deserved to hear.
His voice a broken whisper, Yael mumbled, “I find you, and you killed yourself, and I’m too late.”
He could hear Macbeth’s surprised inhalation in the quiet of the room. It was cold. They forgot to close the window before sleeping. “Oh.”
Yael exhaled harshly. “Yeah. Oh.”
He whined when Macbeth extricated himself from the tight hug, only reassured when Macbeth propped himself up on an elbow and pulled on Yael’s arm to get him to do the same. “Look, I know you know I have… like… some issues. With… depression, or whatever. But that doesn’t mean I’d actually do that. You know?”
“I know.” Yael mimicked Macbeth’s position, though his limbs still felt weak with fear. “It just feels so real. Like… it really happened a long time ago, or something. And… come on, we met over the summer in a support group for suicidal teenagers. Can you honestly blame me for being worried?”
Macbeth’s eyebrows twitched, upset. “It’s not like–like I don’t worry for you, too.”
Despite how close they were, it… honestly hadn’t occurred to Yael. He must’ve looked surprised for a moment, because Macbeth’s frown deepened into something more distraught. “Do you seriously not know?”
“Despite your name, Macbeth, you haven’t ever seemed quite as fixated on death as me.”
“Not death,” Macbeth protested. “More like… I just worry about your wellbeing. That’s what people are supposed to do for one another when they’re close, right?” He rubbed his head between his eyes like he was contemplating something great. “...I don’t know. I think maybe we’re supposed to worry about each other. Maybe we’re supposed to tell each other that kind of stuff.”
Vaguely less miserable, Yael smiled weakly. “Why? So I can make sure you know I’m haunted by your imaginary death and make you worried too?”
Macbeth shoved his arm. “No, idiot. I just didn’t think about it before. You don’t even know I worry about you. Or that I’d miss you if you died.” He paused. Quietly, he said, “I’d miss you if you died.”
I have missed you.
Yael sniffled so snot from his crying didn’t drip out of his nose and nodded, mouth trembling. “I’d miss you if you died too. So don’t.”
Macbeth smiled, a small, barely there thing. “And you don’t, either.”
“We’ll get really old together. And escape from here, like–go somewhere really great. Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll write our book. And get rich for it.”
“Obviously.”
“And we can… hey, we can get a kid someday!”
“...Do we have to do that part?”
“And run a pot farm. Have a big house from all the book money somewhere in Europe.”
“And we’ll…”
“...and…”
Do we get an “and” this time?
Do we get an “after”?
Before
“Yael!”
“Hey, Yael, wake up!”
“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you.”
Like emerging from cold water and drawing your first breath after struggling under the surface for so long, Yael wakes with a start, his eyes flying open to welcome an open blue sky, and—
It’s not.
It’s not.
It’s not him.
It hasn’t been him for a long time, it can’t be—
Macbeth’s golden eyes, not one golden eye but two, stare back at him. Yellow and purple flower petals have blown with the breeze into his dark hair, like a scattered version of the flower halo Yael once made for him. Somewhere within those eyes, Yael can see his own disbelief—elation—reflected, shining like the light of the brightest star in the universe.
“Oh, hey,” Macbeth breathes, tilting his head to the side as if in wonder. “You’re finally here.”
Yael’s mouth is not filled with blood.
He is not blinded by stage lights.
He is not staring into one blue eye and one gold.
He’s just Here.
Finally.
Finally.
With a wail, he launches himself at Macbeth, tackles him to the ground, and buries his face in his neck.
“I’m sorry,” he hiccups, tears streaming down his cheeks in rivers. “I’m sorry, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, I’ll never let you go again, never, never, I promise—“
“It’s fine. Hey.” Macbeth clings to him tightly, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”
How long they lie there relishing their continued existence no longer matters; they have all the time they never had.
No matter how long it takes them to embark down the path again and let go of one another’s hand, step into the great unknown of a new life, it doesn’t matter.
Somewhere, they get an “and.”
They get an “after.”
And in every “and” and “after” and “before”—
They’ll find each other.
And when the boy with the blue eye is ready,
they’ll find him, too.
NOTE: In case the timeline confused anyone: in chronological order, Macbeth. You know. Died. Yael died sometime after him in Round 6. The last scene was Macbeth welcoming him to the afterlife, and afterwards is when they’re reborn into new lives where they will be able to live peacefully, based on the modern AU world shown in the official Wiege episode!! Thank you for reading and HAPPY BIRTHDAY NAD TWIN BESTIE
I know these characters might be random, but they were all pretty big in how I made Inna! Edd is there mostly because Macbeth also took inspiration from Tord, but I forgot to put him there in Macbeth’s own thing.
Took note of marksmen uniforms and those who wore them.
Eavesdropped on nearby conversations.
But nothing ever came of it.
No sightings.
Not even a rumor.
It was as if he’d just up and vanished.
He told Wren as much over the phone, settled in his bunk for the night with the privacy curtain pulled shut.
It didn’t muffle his voice much, but it was better than nothing.
“I’m out of options.” Elias said in Hauel. “Even if Hayate was here, he’s gone now.”
Wren huffed, her frustration evident even without seeing her face, “It doesn’t make any sense. Guards don’t just disappear.”
“Maybe he was reassigned?” He offered.
“Wouldn’t there be a record of that somewhere?” She asked. “Or wouldn’t he have at least told someone?”
“From what I’ve heard, he wasn’t close to many people.”
In fact, he might’ve only been close to one person: a guard named Leona.
Her name kept coming up.
She was a marksmen, like Hayate, but had been promoted not too long ago.
There was no way he could talk to someone of her rank without drawing suspicion.
“Is it possible that we’re wrong and he wasn’t the shooter?” Elias asked.
“Maybe…” Wren hummed thoughtfully. “But who else would have a motive to save Tov?”
“One of the marksmen could secretly be a huge fan of hers.”
“We can’t rule it out, but it does sound like a bit of a stretch.” She said. “At this point we’re just shooting in the dark.”
“Poor choice of words.” Elias said flatly.
“My point still stands.”
“It doesn’t matter if we don’t have a plan.”
Wren clicked her tongue, “What we really need is The Nest logs for the final round. That would tell us who was on duty, and we can work backwards from there.”
“And how exactly am I going to get my hands on that?” He asked.
“The armory probably has a copy. Just ask Mars.”
Elias nearly laughed at the absurdity of her suggestion, “Mars? Are you crazy? You know he’ll ask a million questions.”
“Let me worry about that,” He can almost see Wren waving him off. “Just get down there and be the son he never had. He already loves you like one!”
Elias sighed, rubbing his temple, “I hate this idea.”
“You’re not saying no, though.”
“Goodnight, Wren.” He said hanging up.
———
The next morning, Elias went down to the armory.
He woke up to a message containing an incident report disclosure, signed by Guardian Cassio.
Whether the signature was real or not, he didn’t ask.
This was his ticket to The Nest logs.
It was still early enough in the morning that there weren’t many guards milling around.
Mars waved him over from his station, pieces of a semi automatic weapon laid out on the table in front of him.
He lowered his mask to smile warmly at him, the wrinkles around his mouth the only thing giving away his age, “Elias, my boy! How have your rotations been treating you? They’re not working you too hard, are they?”
Elias chuckled, extending a hand to the older man, “To the bone, as always.”
Mars’s grip was as strong and as solid as it had been when Elias met him.
He and Prem had just gotten to the guard training facility, no more than 5 and 3 years old.
Mars knelt down to eye level, and shook their hands like proper men.
“I’m Mars, like the planet.” He said, his voice deep, but gentle. “If you ever need anything, come find me.”
So Elias went to him for everything.
Cuts and scrapes.
Words of encouragement.
Lullabies to stop Prem from crying late at night.
Prem had been cautious of Mars at first.
The large burn scar over his right eye scared him.
But Mars didn’t give up.
He smiled, extended a hand, helped when he could.
And slowly, Mars became one of Prem’s favorite people.
He was the closest thing they had to a father.
He even called them his “kids.” Though they looked nothing like him.
Mars’s skin was a warm tan, not dark like he and Prem’s. His lighter brown hair fell in waves rather than coils.
At most one could say that the three of them had similar eyes.
But Mars had never cared about any of that.
They were his sons, and that was more than enough.
Elias didn’t know how he and Prem would’ve made it without him.
“Have you told Juno? She should make those guys go easier on you. The season is over anyways.” Mars said.
Juno was the chief medical guard.
Elias and Prem’s superior.
Mars’s partner.
A tough woman, decades deep into her career in medicine and operations.
She didn’t take shit from anyone.
And when she spoke, you listened.
Some found her scary.
Prem loved her dearly.
Elias did too.
Juno was a mother to them, the same way Mars was like a father; despite her insistence that she wouldn’t be a good parent.
After all of the bandages and soft words and warm meals she had given him and Prem, Elias would disagree.
It came as no surprise to learn that Juno and Mars were partners.
They fit together like puzzle pieces.
The yin to the other’s yang.
Though they constantly disagreed over who was who.
They had matching tattoos in the place of marital rings.
“Nah, I know Juno is busy. I’ve been making it through. Prem has too.”
“Ah, that’s good to hear.” Mars said, “So what brings you down to the armory?”
Before Elias could answer, another voice joined the conversation.
“Well, well, well. Look who it is.” Janus grinned, red eyes sharp, a gun holstered on his hip. “Long time no see, Elias.”
Janus was the direct supervisor of Elias, Prem, and Wren when they were first starting out in guard training.
Though he wasn’t much older than they had been at the time; still in his teens.
If Elias and Prem looked nothing like Mars except for his eyes, they looked like Janus in every way except for his eyes.
They were calculating, constantly scrutinizing those around him, as if he was planning out the most efficient way to neutralize them.
Like the red dot sight of a sniper.
There was always a chill to them, even when he smiled or laughed.
But maybe he could only see it because Janus had dropped the mask around him before.
He knew what was under the otherwise convincing facade.
Where Mars was warm and kind, Janus was the cold, hard reality of the path that laid ahead of them.
A weapon. Nothing more.
Elias swore to keep Prem away from all of it.
He nodded in greeting, slipping back into formality, “Likewise, Senior Janus.”
Janus sighed dramatically, approaching the table, “Come on man, you make me sound as old as Mars.”
Mars chuckled as Janus handed him the gun, “I’m not that old, you know.”
“Eh, whatever grandpa.” Janus said with a wave of his hand.
His eyes shifted back to Elias, “What are you up to, kid? Pretty far from the medical wing.”
“Guardian Cassio requested an incident report on the final round of Season 39.” Elias said holding up his tablet. “I need to check the armory logs for who was in The Nest that night.”
“I can pull those up for you real quick.” Mars said.
“No need.” Janus interrupted, his eyes never leaving Elias. “I can tell him.”
Mars paused, looking from Janus to Elias and back again. “Alright then…” He said hesitantly.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, but he refused to give anything away.
Fear was just blood in the water.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Janus’s lips, “It was me.”
Alarms blared loud in Elias’s ears.
No.
No, no, no.
This doesn’t make any sense.
“And who was your partner?” He asked, looking away to type in Janus’s name on the form.
Elias could still feel those sharp eyes watching every movement he made.
“No one.” Janus said evenly. “Just me.”
Dread sunk deep into the pit of Elias’s stomach.
Something is wrong.
Very, very wrong.
Janus would never save a contestant.
So what the fuck is going on?
Mars sighed, shaking his head, “You know the rules, Janus. Every round has two marksmen for contingencies.”
“I’m the best of the best. I don’t need a partner.” Janus said. “Besides, both finalists were fragile little things. Wasn’t going take a headshot to kill them.”
Mars huffed like he wanted Janus to stop talking.
Janus didn’t notice.
“I was surprised when Tov lost. She was the star of the season.” He said. “But she survived in the end, so I guess she gets to keep shining.”
“Though…” The way Janus drew out the word caught Elias’s attention.
He looked up from his tablet into a cold and empty gaze.
The alarms blared louder.
Janus chuckled as if he heard them too, “It’s a bit of a shame I missed.”
“Harassing one of my orderlies again, Janus?”
They all turned to see Juno standing in the doorway, arms crossed, daggers on Janus and Janus alone.
Oh thank fuck.
Elias had never been more happy to see Juno in his life.
“Good morning, Juno.” He gave a small wave.
Janus’s eyes lit up at the sight of her, his previous smirk shifting into a giddy smile, almost like a child. “Hey, Juno!”
His earnestness reminded Elias of how Prem would greet Wren.
Younger brother and older sister.
They even look alike…
Elias ditched the thought immediately.
“Good morning, Eli.” Juno nodded as she approached, a trace of a smile at her lips.
She was the only person to call him by that nickname.
She turned to Janus, arms crossed, her smile falling, “Junior Janus.”
“Aw, you never smile when you greet me. It hurts my feelings.” Janus said, clutching a hand over his heart.
Elias couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.
It was rare to see him act so… human.
Juno was almost always the catalyst.
“Eli knows how to behave.” She told him. “If you want the same results, then follow the same rules.”
She barely came up to Janus’s shoulder, petite like Wren and Tov, and yet he yielded to her without hesitation.
He straightened his posture, nodding, “Yes ma’am. Of course ma’am.”
“Good. Now go. I expect your section of the report completed and sent to Elias by the end of the day.”
Janus saluted her, “Yes, ma’am. As you wish.” He turned to leave, but stopped and looked back at Elias.
“Oh, one more thing before I go.” He grinned at him, flashing his unnaturally sharp canines, “Say hi to Wren for me.”
“Uh, sure thing.” Elias nodded.
Satisfied with his answer, Janus left to fulfill Juno’s request.
“I should’ve been harsher.” Juno said once he was gone.
“And why is that, Jun?” Mars asked.
“I don’t like him.”
Mars sighed, “He respects you.”
“He should fear me.” She said flatly.
Elias got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time they had this conversation.
Juno looked over at Elias, then down at his hands, concern knitted in her brow, “Eli, are you alright?”
He followed her line of sight to the white knuckled grip he had on the tablet.
He forced himself to loosen his grip, “I’m fine, I just—”
How was he going to explain all of this?
He couldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
It was too risky.
“I’m… worried about the incident report.” He said.
“Incident report?” Juno echoed, dark eyes narrowed as she looked between him and Mars.
“Tov’s guardian requested an incident report of the season’s final round.” Mars said. “Elias came down here to check the logs for who was in The Nest.”
“And let me guess, it was Janus?”
Elias and Mars nodded.
“That explains why he brought up Wren.” Juno sighed, rubbing at one of her temples. “Though a report like that will require a detailed explanation of what the medical team did. Is that what you’re worried about?”
Elias nodded again.
It was better than verbally lying to her.
Juno’s expression softened.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Eli.” She said. “I’m the one who gave the order to get Tov off the stage, and I signed the transfer documents for the hospital. If any disciplinary action comes of this, I will be the one responsible.”
“Yeah, there’s no need to worry Elias. I don’t think the higher ups would even consider disciplining their chief medical guard for a close call.” Mars said.
“You’re right.” Elias said. “I shouldn’t worry.”
He had plenty of other things to worry about, namely—
How was he going to tell Wren?
————————————————————
I hope I did a good job introducing Mars and Juno! You’ll be seeing more of them (and Janus too) in the future!!
I’m going somewhere with these little side logs (both Irin and Elias) TRUST 🙏
In hindsight, I think it might have been my fault. Well, not 'fault,' it was more of a... happy accident?
Well, I wouldn't usually describe me falling flat on my face and getting a mouthful of grass and dirt as happy, but here we are.
Listen, mini-me was on a mission: to win a bet. And, naturally, that involved me jumping and diving around like an idiot after a tiny, little bug. I was determined... But I don't know how well my determination came off, based on your expression you gave me when I got up on my knees and turned around, my hands carefully clasped together.
To be honest, I hadn't even realised you were there at first, sitting under the tree, too focused on my little quest. But as soon as we locked eyes, I felt a small wave of embarrassment wash over me.
We just stared for a moment, neither of us really knowing how to greet each other. 'Hi' probably would have been good. 'Hello! Sorry for disturbing your peace and quiet, I should probably go now,' would also have been sufficient.
"Grasshopper," is what I blurted out instead.
"What?"
"Oh! Um-" I nodded towards my hands, "it's a grasshopper. Wanna see it?"
You wrinkled your nose a little. "No, thank you." However, your distaste quickly turned to concern, glancing me over. "Are you okay? You looked like you hit your head pretty hard just now..."
"Ah- yeah, I'm okay! I barely felt anything, don't worry!" I let out a sheepish laugh.
"Oh. Alright."
An awkward silence threatened to fall between us again, but I refused to let that happen.. filling the gap with my awkward loudness instead.
"What are you doing all the way over here-" I glanced around, "all by yourself?"
You stammered, nodding towards the book in your hands, still open, "Uh- reading-"
I perked up at that. "Ooh! What book? What's it about?" The questions tumbled out as I scooted towards you on my knees.
You stumbled over your words as I approached, "Ah- It's- it's nothing, really-"
I wasn't paying attention, unfortunately, my eyes scanning over the opened pages. My gaze caught on an inked illustration that lay between the pages' words. Upon seeing the figure dressed in all black, including a dark mask over his eyes, caught in an intense sword fight, I recognised it immediately.
"The Princess Bride!" I squealed excitedly, which seemed to startle you.
I looked up, being met with your wide green eyes and reddened cheeks.
I flinched back slightly. "Sorry! I was just curious, I didn't mean to, uh-"
You blinked, before looking away again, unable to meet my eyes for long.
"You've read it before?" You asked, lightly fidgeting with the book's pages.
I nodded enthusiastically, "Yeah! It's one of my favourite stories! I've read it, like-" I paused for a moment to count in my head (which was difficult without my hands, being preoccupied with holding a live bug)- "six- no, seven times!"
Carefully moving the small insect into my left hand, I wiped off the excess dirt off my right palm, before pointing towards the book, "This is from the library, right? Turn to the inside of the front page, to the checkout card.."
You stared at me for a second, then you followed my instructions, careful to keep track of what page you left the story on before I interrupted. As you pulled out the small piece of card, I pointed to the list of names, specifically to a section that repeated the same name: my name.
"See? That's me!" I grinned triumphantly.
I giddily looked over to see your reaction. You stared at the card, your eyebrows furrowed in thought, your expression instantly switching to realisation, returning your gaze to my face.
"You're Monica?"
"Oh! I didn't introduce myself, whoops-" I let out a small giggle, before holding out my hand. "Yes, I'm Monica. You?"
You eyed my hand, before taking it hesitantly, "I'm.. Isla," you answered quietly.
"Isla... that's a pretty name!"
Your cheeks somehow turned redder than before, which puzzled me at the time. "Thank you." Your voice was almost inaudible.
I paused for a moment, pondering.
Your name sounded familiar.. Where had I heard it before..?
"Oh!" I gasped, something clicking in my brain. "You're in Inna's maths class!"
"...Who?"
"You'd know him if you saw him: Long black hair, kinda short, huge blue eyes that probably glow in the dark-" I widened my own eyes as much as I could for emphasis, "-at least, I think they might. I haven't found that out yet..."
Then, it was your turn to startle me. You laughed.
It was only a small, short one, and you were quick to muffle it with your hand, but something about it surprised me... not in a bad way though.
You cleared your throat, a gentle smile being the only evidence of your sudden mirth. "Sorry. Yeah, I think I know who you're talking about. I believe we've spoken once or twice.."
I grinned back. "Yeah? That's funny, actually, because he's the reason I'm-"
My attention was then stolen by rapid movement in the corner of my eye, causing me to turn.
Speak of the Devil.
Well- not the Devil. That's a bit extreme- It was just Inna. Inna is not the Devil. I think.
As he approached, he stumbled to a stop, gulping in air between his words.
"Monica... when you said we were catching bugs... I didn't think you meant... the super, duper speedy ones... you know I can't run as fast as you..." He looked up, eyes widening in slight surprise. "Oh, hey Isla!"
You nodded towards him in greeting. "Hello."
Inna looked back and forth between us, "I didn't know you guys knew each other!"
"Oh, uh- we didn't," I corrected, "we kinda met just now, actually.."
Inna looked at me, pausing, before smirking triumphantly.
"Well, I guess this would explain why you haven't caught the grasshopper, Monica," he pointed out.
I furrowed my eyebrows, puzzled. "Huh? What do you mean? I have it right-"
I looked down at my hands. They were mysteriously grasshopper-less.
I frantically looked around, "Wha- I swear I had it just a second ago! It was in my hand-"
"You didn't catch the grasshopper, so that means I win the bet!" He announced with pride.
"I did too!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"Did not!"
Okay, maybe Inna is like... the mini-Devil reincarnated.
I huffed, "Did too! Isla saw me catch it!" I pointed towards you, eyeing you with hope. "Right, Isla?"
This seemed to catch you off-guard, causing you to stutter.
"I- well- Yeah, it's true," you nodded, "She did catch it."
Thankfully, you left out the part where I faceplanted right in front of you. Inna did not need to know that.
Inna hesitated, glancing between us once again. But he stood his ground, determined to win this argument (which would be a first for him...).
"W-well, you didn't have it when I caught up with you, so it doesn't count! Besides, you didn't count it when I clearly caught that beetle-"
"Yeah, because eating a bug isn't the same thing as catching it," I countered.
His face flushed, "I was not trying to eat it! It flew into my mouth! I didn't know it would do that!"
Normally, this back and forth would have gone on for at least twenty minutes, but for some reason, your presence made me too embarrassed to continue.
I sighed, feigning defeat. "Fine, you're right. I guess you win this time, Inna."
Inna was stunned for a moment.
"...Wait, really? Awesome!" He pumped his fist in the air, grinning ear to ear. "I've got to tell Macbeth about this. I was gonna go see him anyways. I think I actually passed him on the way here... I'll see you guys later, okay?" As he turned away, Inna called out over his shoulder, "Remember, Monica, you owe me your dessert at lunch!"
I stuck my tongue out at him, all while waving goodbye.
As I turned back towards you, I saw you were watching after Inna, with an expression I didn't recognise.
Now, I realise you were glaring at him.
"That's not fair, you shouldn't have to give away your dessert like that. You did catch that bug," you pointed out.
I was flattered by the way you wanted to defend me.
"Eh, it doesn't really matter, I don't like sweet things anyways," I shrugged. Leaning in, I whispered, "Besides, I think Inna should get to know what winning feels like for once, as a treat... Hopefully he won't let it get to his head, though."
You giggled, your expression softening once more.
I tilted my head. "Do you have any friends like Inna?" I asked.
At this, your smile faded, and you became too shy to meet my eyes again.
"Uhm, well... I don't really... have any..." you murmured, cheeks red.
"Not any??" I gaped, shocked. "But you're so cool! And pretty!"
You flinched at the compliment, "Pretty..?"
"Obviously!" I confirmed.
You fell silent, as if unsure how to respond. Hadn't anyone called you pretty before?
I cleared my throat. "Well... could I be your first friend?"
You stared at me, like you were trying to decipher whether I was joking or not. To prove myself, I held out my hand, much like I did earlier.
You seemed to mull it over, until you finally took my hand.
"All right. We can be friends," you said softly, your smile returning.
Externally, I smiled back. Internally, I was doing a little victory dance, with confetti and everything.
During our handshake, something on the top of your head caught my eye.
"Oh! Found it!"
You frowned, confused. "Huh? Found what?"
Still smiling innocently, I pointed towards it.
"The grasshopper!"
As those words left my mouth, I learned one important thing about you that day:
