Jor shot up out of bed with a sharp gasp, sweat beading his forehead. For a second, he was disoriented and confused. Where- The manor! The group! He had been standing with them, and Sebastian had said that it was the only way, and Ben- Ben-
But as his breathing began to steady out, the features of the room he was in began to finally register with him. The bed he was in, double-sized and awkwardly big for just one person; the bed-stand on which an old lamp and a single paperback book rested; the flimsy door that led to a closet of equally ordinary clothes. The light grey walls, a weak and vain attempt to make the room seem less sterile than if it was white.
He was in his flat- no, his apartment in New York. He was home.
But how was that possible? How had he ended up home? This- the apartment, the bed, the glaring light filtering through the blinds, the chirping of the birds outside- this all seemed real.
His hands were shaking. He fumbled for the bed-stand clumsily, yanking open its drawer and pulling out a pack of fags and a lighter. It took him a few tries, but he finally managed to light one and took a drag from it, still trying to control his breathing and process what had exactly happened.
Had it all been a dream, then…? Certainly, the entire experience had been fantastical. It wouldn’t be such a stretch to believe that it had all been nothing more than a nightmare. Sam Fellow, Vin Itzel, Adam Nesling, Ector Elm…all fake. All just a figment of his imagination. There was no Spy, no Host, no Helpless…
And no Ben.
He turned his head and looked towards the blinds, as if to glance away from his thoughts, and took another drag of his cigarette.
His hands were still shaking.
Life returned to normal.
Jor fell back into his daily routine- early morning run, breakfast bagel with coffee (no milk, no sugar). Work as a translator for a internationally-focused company. Grab lunch sometime during his break. Go home, have dinner (whatever he could find or make), take out his sketchbook and draw aimlessly for a while to relax. Go to bed, sleep, reset and repeat.
Normalcy.
And yet, his mind drifted again and again to the strange dream he’d had. It plagued every waking second of his day, to the point where his routine and behaviour changed in subtle ways. He paused at old antiques shops and stared at the marionettes. He watched moms try to herd their children, and accidentally called one “Kate” when her child came up to him and she went up to apologise. He checked out books about the occult, and looked up the name Aleah without really knowing why. He avoided Starbucks with a fiery passion.
And, over and over, he found himself drawing Ben. Curly dark locks, light mocha skin. Most of the drawings either had inconsistent or blank faces, but he kept drawing them nonetheless. Ben sitting on a hill, looking out into the distance. Ben reading a book on a train. Ben lying in bed during early morning, sprawled about lazily, his curls mussed about his face. Over and over and over.
He didn’t notice, but he never smoked during those moments.
It happened six months later, when the thoughts of the manor had faded to nothing more than a nagging thought in the back of his head. Even before anything had happened, Jor knew something was off- he’d woken up too late for a run, gotten scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast, and had inexplicably still ended up running late for work. He’d stepped off the train hurriedly, shirt backwards and socks mismatched in both colour and thickness, when a figure stepped out in front of him. The two of them collided rather harshly, and both fell down.
“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry-” a gentle British voice said, as Jor tried to figure out exactly what happened. The man sounded frantic and worried. “Are you okay? I was in a rush, and I-”
The man cut himself short. Jor took the opportunity to push himself up, eyes closed and still wincing a bit.
“...Jor?” the man asked, voice full of disbelief.
Jor froze. He opened his eyes.
The young man stared back at him, hazelnut eyes widened and lips slightly parted. His face was flushed, either from running or embarrassment; it was hard to tell. People rushed around them, glaring and grumbling in their general direction, but the air seemed still and silent, full of a crushing nothingness.
The man’s name came to Jor’s lips, as effortlessly as an exhale. “Ben.”
And with that one word, time seemed to start back up again. Ben launched himself at Jor, and Jor caught him effortlessly, instinctively. The other man was warm, solid, and so very, very real. He tightened his grip on him, burying his face into the crook of the other man’s neck as Ben cried, full-body sobs that shook through both of them and soaked Jor’s shirt.
“Jor,” he kept saying. “Jor, Jor. You’re real, you’re here, I didn’t make you up- oh god, you’re actually here.”
He smelled like old books and mint, and Jor breathed it in, trying to commit the smell to memory.
“I’m here,” he said, feeling his voice crack and waver as unshed tears threatened to choke him up. “I’m here, it’s okay. I’m here.” He repeated the words again and again, in English and Icelandic and Russian and German, knowing that the repetition wouldn’t help but doing it just the same.
Ben pulled back slightly, looking up at him. His eyes were shining, filled with relief and joy and tears, and he was beautiful.
Jor leaned in and kissed him before he could try to think about it. Ben made a sort of surprised sound, almost like a teary squeak, and for a second Jor panicked. He was about to pull away and apologise when Ben moved forward and kissed him back, passionate and desperate and oh-so-needy, a man desperately trying to attain a breath of fresh air.
It was.
Fuck.
When they finally separated, more out of lack of oxygen than anything else, Jor moved his right hand up to cup Ben’s cheek. He couldn’t seem to look away.
Neither, it seemed, could Ben, panting and looking at him with pupils dilated. The other man licked his lips and spoke, voice low. “Maybe we should continue this at your place.”
Jor had to text a coworker and ask her to cover for him, but that was fine. He had more important things to attend to.
“I thought I’d made you up,” Jor said later, the two of them sprawled in bed on their sides, facing one another. He ran his hand through Ben’s locks and over his jawbone, causing the other man to close his eyes for a brief moment and shudder, almost imperceptibly. “Everything disappeared, and the whole thing was so fantastical and surreal…”
“I know,” Ben murmured, his accent making his already gentle voice seem even softer. “I thought the same thing when I appeared back home, completely intact.” He leaned in and kissed Jor quickly, pulling back with a smile. “I’m so, so glad I was wrong.”
Jor pulled him in for another kiss, savouring the feel of the other man’s lips. “The others. We should find them.”
Ben hummed. “For re-establishing friendships, or to have a reunion?”
“Both. Maybe not a reunion in a fucked-up mansion, though.”
He got a small laugh in return. “That would be preferable, yes. Should we start with the more normal ones? Kate and Layla and Asyah and PJ?”
“Mhm. Make our way up the weirdness ladder to the exorcist and Jim and Aleah.”
“Do you think Puppet would still possess the exorcist if nothing in the manor happened? I hope so…”
“Well, we’ll find out.”
Ben smiled at him, and in that moment Jor knew he was absolutely, positively fucked-over in love with him. “Together, yeah?”
Jor moved towards Ben and rolled him over onto his back, positioning himself over the other man as Ben laughed. “Saman,” he said before pulling Ben back in for a long kiss, one of many he suspected they’d share for a very long time. “Together, absolutely.”
