#oslo thread

[wildroseofarran]

Oslo || Bretan, Conor, Rotheus, & Johan

Bo: Bo checked his watch for a third time. The car was almost packed. Again, he glanced to his image in the mirror. Why he had decided on a soft gray button down and blue tie he couldn't say. It was...acceptable. His leather suitcase was touched. Everything he needed, he supposed, for a trip from one house to another. Once more he checked his phone. A message had been sent to Conor Archer an hour prior, letting him know when they were departing for Raleigh. He began to wonder if that had been enough time.

Conor: It was enough time for Conor to notice it and rub his face a few times. It was enough time for Conor to overthink how he should respond. He settled with.

{Text} Have a safe journey. I'll see you soon.

'Say hello to your partner from me' had been erased. That was good enough to send. Now, to play the waiting game.

Bo: Bo frowned at his phone, squeezed the handle of his bag.

{Text} Didn't you want to see me?

"Are you ready, Brett?" he called to the house.

Brett: "Just about!" Brett called back. He'd checked and double checked every square inch of the house and his luggage and the car, Woodstock and his things were at Callum MacGillivray's house, instructions had been given to Peabody about work, and Mira Harley had been given the task of housesitting for them.

"I just texted Peabody and told him not to bring Bridget into our house and told Mira twice not to let her in either."

Conor: What? Conor sat up straighter.

{Text} Do you really have the time? Aren't you busy? I expected you to be almost unreachable today.

Bo: {Text} You said you wanted to see me. I made time.

"She'll make the house stink of cheap perfume." Just the name alone was enough to scrunch his face in disgust. "Why would he come here anyway?" He headed in the direction of Brett's voice.

Brett: Bo would find Brett in the kitchen double checking their travel documents. "Which is exactly why I don't want her in here. I asked him if he could check in every day on his way home and I don't want her to have an excuse to come in here when he does. Mira, on the other hand, smells like a normal person."

Conor: {Text} Oh. My apologies.

He had assumed it was an empty promise - yes, we definitely have to catch up soon!... As if those plans ever actually happen.

{Text} I'll be there shortly.

Shortly, meaning within ten minutes he'll be standing in front of Bo's home, having seemingly just appeared there.

Bo: Bo wondered if Brett's olfactory sense had heightened since his return to the darkness. He shouldn't regard it in such malicious manner. After all, a demon was about to be on their doorstep.

"Conor will be here soon for goodbyes," he announced. Time for the sheriff to take a deep breath or twelve and compose himself. Time to place his bag in the backseat of the car and wait leaning against the hood. His appearance had gone unnoticed, arms and ankles crossed, head turned towards the house. His attention returned to the road, expecting to see Conor on the sidewalk. Laying eyes on his friend, he smiled.

"Hello."

Brett: "Conor will--oh. Okay." Conor was coming to their house to say goodbye to Bo. Conor the demon. That was okay. That was fine. No need for him to get nervous.

Except he was, but he wouldn't make a big deal out of it. He would take those deep breaths though, noticing nothing out of sorts with the scent in the air.

Maybe he'd check the house again too. If he was busy he wouldn't focus on his nerves.

Conor: The hybrid nodded, letting his gaze trail from Bo, to the car, to the home. 'Will your partner not be joining us?' asked as he stepped closer.

Bo: He glanced in the same direction and shrugged. "I suppose he's busying himself with...something."

Brett: That was exactly what Brett was doing. He was keeping himself busy with things that were already finished until he could no longer reasonably remain inside and had gathered the courage to take the last bag to the car.

Conor: Conor nodded. 'So how do you feel? Are you ready?' emotionally, rather than... the hybrid is distracted as a man comes out of hiding. A slow hand raises as if lazily waving.

Bo: A question he'd been asking himself all morning.

"I feel nothing about the travel yet, which...feeling nothing is what's eating up my insides. Once there, everything might change."

Shoulders gradually sank at the sight of the sheriff. Still quivering with anxiety from anticipation, he imagined.

"Brett, come here." A gentle command, but no doubt an order. The ghoul needed to face his fear standing just feet from the human.

"This is Conor Archer," he gestured. Eyes returned to the hybrid. "Conor, this is Brett Parker." He couldn't for the life of him recall if he'd explained Conor's unique form of communication. He could swear, but...

Brett: Bo wasn't wrong. Brett's anxiety was plainly shown in the tense set of his shoulders and in the way he was white-knuckling the handle of his carry on, but he waved to Conor anyway. He even nodded in greeting before making his way down the porch steps to Bo's side.

"It's um, it's nice to meet you, Conor," he said, voice soft and a little timid but steady enough.

Conor: The fear was... unfounded, and yet Conor was enjoying it. Nice to meet him? Conor's smile should show his disbelief.

'Charmed, I'm sure.' a hand extends. Go on. Shake it.

Brett: It did, but Brett didn't pay it any mind. And though he no longer liked being touched by almost everyone, he'd long since taught himself to tolerate handshakes.

He shook Conor's hand. Not because it was the polite thing to do, but because he trusted Bo, and that trust was what made his hand steady. "Likewise," was said and signed. Brett was working as hard on learning sign as he was on learning Norwegian.

Conor: Hm. And who's might you be? He'll have to describe this man to Ronan, perhaps he will know which vampire Brett belongs to. The hybrid felt his pocket, felt the box containing a ring. It would have to wait. He couldn't present such a thing in front of an audience.

'Was that the last of it?'

Bo: Bo watched the two carefully. So far this was a smooth first encounter. Their conversation could always be worse. Catastrophic even.

"I believe so. I wanted to bring a book but couldn't decide on which."

Brett: A tiny bit of the tension drained from Brett's shoulders. There, he'd done it and nothing had happened. He was okay.

He nodded. "It's the last of the bags, yeah. I left some room in my backpack, so you can bring more than one." A small smile. "It's a long flight."

Conor: Conor tilted his head. 'I'd be happy to help you pick.' he switched from ASL to BSL, wondering if Brett knew both.

Bo: Eyes rose from Conor's hands to his eyes, his frown nothing but playful.

"Yes, you may help me choose. We'll say three books." A glance and smile was given to Brett.

Brett: He didn't, and noticed the change as the ball of anxiety in his stomach got tighter. Either Conor was messing with the scared human or...he didn't want to think too much into it.

"Three it is," he said with a nod.

Conor: It took all Conor had to not wink at Bo, he decided to simply let his smile turn crooked.

'Then let's go.' he gestured. 'You have to invite me in first, otherwise I catch on fire.' the tease was aimed at Brett.

Bo: Bo smiled to himself and brushed past the two of them for the house. Surely, Brett would understand a joke.

"My library is limited. Mostly classics." Along with a few books on languages, countries and cultures, an untouched book of religion, and several on various supernatural creatures.

Brett: Understand, yes. Take in stride? If the security system and doorbell camera were anything to go by, not so much.

Still, Brett forced himself to give Conor a half-smile and put the bag in the car, giving himself a mental talking-to as the two of them headed inside.

Conor: Conor lingered a moment before following Bo, eventually setting eyes on all the books. He gravitated towards the supernatural theme, wondering what there might be on reapers or demons.

Bo: The Rise and Fall of the Nephilim was one in his collection; The Enochian Enigma; Fallen and Evil; a Protestant Episcopal prayer book from 1929. A random book interrupted the preternatural flow. Napoleon's Privates by Tony Perrottet.

The book was taken and hidden under his arm.

"Just something to make me laugh."

Conor: Oh - he chuckled silently. 'You should definitely take that one, then. In case you need something to cheer you up while you're away.'

Bo: One down. He looked the demon over. "What else?" He gestured to their modest library.

Conor: 'Something... that will make you feel less alone. Do you have 'Before I Go To Sleep'?'

Bo: "What's that?"

Conor: 'It's about a woman with memory-loss. Maybe something like that... in case things get tough and Brett can't identify with you.'

Bo: "I can't imagine anyone who really can, unless they've been cursed, too." His fingernail lightly scraped over the spine of his book.

Conor: He glanced at the books. 'I'd say I at least know what it's like to have something taken from you, but I was too much of a willing participant.' his voice, Bo's memory, not really the same.

'I can say that Sean will at least know what it's like to uncover memories, but I can't imagine you'd be comfortable talking to him.' he ran fingers through his dyed hair. 'What about Frankenstein?'

Bo: "Uncover memories? What kind?" He wouldn't be asking in person, but it was worth asking. His curiosity demanded so, but the mention of Frankenstein nearly coaxed a laugh.

"So I can trick you again?"

Conor: He hesitated. 'The memories of... what happened to us when we were children.' that... Uh...

'Trick me?'

Bo: "Did he...block them out after...?" If only his own curse had taken that. At least that.

Anyway.

"Your birthday. You were hiding from me."

Conor: Conor nodded with a little shrug.

'I don't like to celebrate my birthday.'

Bo: "I'll celebrate for you. You're here and I approve."

Brett: They would hear the front door opening a moment before Brett appeared with a package in his hands and a giant smile on his face.

"The mail came on time. My books are here."

Conor: 'We've done enough celebrating, don't you think?' his attention was turned towards Brett. An eyebrow raised at the package. Books?

Bo: No, but his attention was taken just as Conor's. An easy distraction in the sheriff's hands.

"Which ones?"

Brett: "The ones for the next level in my class." Since the box had already been opened, Brett was able to pull out one of the Norwegian workbooks to show Bo. "I officially know an intermediate level of Norwegian." And his voice said he was very excited.

Conor: Oh - wow. Conor turned his head to face the books so that his smile could not be seen.

Bo: Bo couldn't deny Brett's excitement. His smile was soft, as it had been the first time he'd caught him practicing.

"I'll test you on the plane."

Brett: His smile got a little brighter. "Thank you. You can help perfect my pronunciation. Have you chosen your books?"

Conor: How sickly sweet. The hybrid will just concentrate on the books in front of him, allowing fingertips to graze along the edges.

Bo: "Just one." Brett would probably be a better distraction than the books. Still, he turned back to Conor. "Would you like to borrow one?"

Brett: "Couldn't decide on another?" Brett asked, unpacking the rest of the books in his box. There was a course overview, four workbooks, and three textbooks.

Conor: He shook his head. No, thanks.

'Maybe you should just take something you haven't read in a long time.'

Bo: "Worried if I have enough books in Oslo. What if I have none?"

Brett: "I'd put money on the exact opposite. I'll bet you have a library as big as this house."

Bo: Fingers traced the spine of Fallen and Evil before dropping his hand.

"One is enough. I'm...not sure I'll be able to concentrate."

Brett: Brett nodded. "All right. If you don't want to read, you can help me with my course, and if not either of those things we've got plenty of music to listen to."

Bo: "Right..." Though said softly, his right hand flexed, fingers stretched and balled into a fist. A slow, deep breath didn't help the growing heat in his stomach.

Brett: It was subtle, but Brett noticed the signs. He was ready for them. "Botan?" he asked just as softly, voice laced with steady, rock solid calm. It was just one word, but it said so many things. Are you okay? What do you need? I'm here. You're not alone. I love you.

Conor: Conor moved backwards, giving them more space. He didn't need to be involved in this, nor did he know how to help even if he wanted to. Emotions? Reacting to them properly? Uhhh...

Bo: "I'm fine," he exhaled. Weeks, months of careful visits with Conor, only for him to see this. Spatting insults at Deputy Peabody when irritated was one thing...

"Just...I'm fine." Don't touch me right now. "We need to get going."

Brett: Brett nodded, giving Bo plenty of space, understanding. His ocean of calm was ready whenever Bo wanted and needed it. "Yes, we do, it's a long drive. All that's left is pouring tea and coffee into travel mugs. I got your favorite."

Conor: Something about this scene didn't sit right with Conor. Of course, he only had about five seconds to make judgements, and he was well aware that there must be quite a lot going on that he had no idea about, but still... He didn't like how this seemed as if it happened regularly. Brett seemed well accustomed with this and he acted so very perfectly in according to whatever Bo might need. That, he didn't like, either. It made Brett seem less like a person, more like a tool. A parent, even.

But who gives a fuck about what Conor thinks, right? He simply remains still.

Bo: "I'll get it." A moment to himself was all he could think about. Space to press his hands against the edge of the counter and breathe. What he was going to learn about himself in these next few days would change the rest of his life. Either that, or nothing. The house could mean absolutely nothing to him. Four walls with no history, emptied by whatever had stolen his memories.

Brett: Another understanding nod. As cool and collected as he tried to seem when these moments came about, inside was always a different story. He always wanted to hold and soothe and kiss and offer comfort, but he'd learned that that wasn't what Bo needed. His Bo needed space, and Brett would always give it to him. A fact that had been the source of much of his thinking lately, but that would come later.

He gathered up the books they were going to take and put them in the car before coming back for one final sweep to see if they'd forgotten anything.

Conor: With Bo out of the room and Brett taking things to the car, Conor was left alone. He felt again for the box in his pocket, but out comes his phone.

{Text} I'll see you soon. Have a nice trip.

{Text} You'll be fine out there. Just breathe.

With that, he decides it would be best if he simply left.

Bo: Vibrations had Bo feeling for his phone. The text message caught him off guard.

{Text} You're going already? {Text} Please don't.

… He deleted his messages.

{Text} I'll see you soon. Pleased you two didn't kill one another.

Conor: {Text} We still have a few months before that happens.

{Text} Just kidding. Reaper humour.

{Text} Be safe.

Bo: {Text} Tomorrow night?

Conor: {Text} The night of your first visit to your home.

{Text} I also have something for you, don't allow me to forget.

Bo: {Text} We'll be there by tomorrow, so yes. I will see you then.

Something. Bo chewed his lip, biting back the instinct to ask what it was. Surprises usually didn't sit well with him. Brett's little surprise Christmas morning being an exception.

{Text} Alright.

Brett: When Brett was absolutely certain that there wasn't a single thing he had overlooked or forgotten, he made his way to the kitchen.

"We're all set."

Bo: Bo looked up from the mugs, lines outlining the corners of his mouth. "Conor's gone. Did you say goodbye?"

Brett: "I saw he wasn't in the living room but I didn't hear him leave."

Bo: "He's not going to hurt you."

Brett: Despite Conor's politeness, Brett wasn't entirely certain of that. He had a feeling Bo was the only reason he wasn't in immediate danger.

He nodded. "I'll apologize the next time I see him."

Bo: "Tomorrow night. Are you going to be able to handle that?"

Brett: Another nod. "Ja, jeg vil," he said quietly.

Bo: Good. "Now, kiss me and let's go."

Brett: Brett smiled as he moved closer, placing the sweetest of kisses on Bo's lips. "After you."

Once they were in the car with seatbelts on and the classical station playing softly on the radio, Brett placed his hand where Bo could take it.

Bo: His hand was taken, if only, he would claim, to check his nails for cleanliness. He couldn't very well have Brett believing he loved touch, but the ghoul knew a little better, if just selfishly.

Brett: Brett did know better, but why call attention to that when he could just smile to himself, lace his fingers with Bo's, and enjoy the contact?

"We should be there in a little over two hours, give or take. Just in time for check in."

Bo: A nod, and some thought. "Say, 'good morning'." A ritual he had begun since discovering Brett's language class.

Brett: "God morgen," said Brett, right on cue.

Bo: "Say...'It's a pleasure to meet you.'"

Brett: "Hyggelig å møte deg." Not perfect pronunciation, but decently above average.

Bo: "You're getting better." He looked out the window. Now came the waiting that would eat him alive from the inside out.

Brett: "I'm trying. I can read and spell okay, it's just the pronunciation. There's more North Carolina in my voice than I realized."

He squeezed Bo's hand, and would continue to do so at random times during their drive to the airport. The closer they got, the antsier Brett got. He'd only been here a couple of times before and didn't want to get lost and waste precious time they needed to park and check in and get through security.

Bo: At least the man beside him knew where to scratch on his lower back when he saw the familiar nervous pendulation. He was the one meant to be dripping with anxiety. Why Brett acted this way in regard to punctuality, he could only speculate his family to blame. Just another subject tucked away and not worth mentioning. Waiting on the plane, he leafed through his book of oddities of history. He was doing his level best to focus on something other than the imaginary home he’d been constructing for months. Just leave it be, he told himself, ignored, and added extra windows, a driveway, and another tree behind his fabricated home.

“I’m going to sleep on the plane. I couldn’t last night…the past couple nights.”

Brett: There was no reasoning or explaining Brett's mortal fear of missing a flight or his extreme aversion to being late, though Bo's touch went a long way toward taking the edge off. Even as a child he'd made sure he was ten minutes early, preferring to spend extra time waiting instead of scrambling to arrive on time. It drove his parents crazy but despite their flaws, this was one aspect of their son's personality they were not responsible for.

Brett was only able to relax once they were seated at the gate waiting to board, although that was a relative term; his insides were still tied up in anxious knots over what was to come.

"I know," he said to Bo, offering him a gentle smile. "I could feel you staring at the ceiling." And at me when I was drifting off. "I've got the neck pillows and I downloaded the Jellyfish so you have something to drift off to." Was there anything Brett hadn't thought of in his quest of making this trip as smooth as possible? Absolutely not.

Bo: The human silently laughed. "If I catch you walking around with that thing on your neck, I'm never speaking to you again."

Brett: "I wouldn't dare," he chuckled. "It's in my backpack and there it will stay unless I'm sleeping with it."

Bo: "Good." He watched as a woman walked by with the very offensive piece around her neck, talking loudly on her phone, wheeling behind her a neon blue leopard skin suitcase.

"The horror," he whispered.

Brett: Brett coughed to hide another chuckle. "I've never understood people like that," he whispered back. "Why would anyone want everyone around them to hear their conversation? Or wear heels to the airport?"

Bo: "Peacocking, I suppose."

Brett: "Seems like a strange time for it. If she has a long flight she's going to be miserable."

Bo: "Underdressed, overdressed, seems people around here cannot grasp the concept of time and place."

Brett: "Apparently not." He was quiet for a moment before chuckling. "I just remembered that tourist that came in last month in her mink coat complaining about girls in bikinis at the beach. Sweating up a storm, makeup running, and she still refused to take the coat off, just so we could all see and know she had a mink coat."

Bo: "I doubt she was old money. Too obsessed with her possession. Must not have ever had something of its like before."

Brett: Brett nodded. "I can see that. If that was indeed the case, then she's sure to get a lot of use and appreciation out of that coat. Although I still think giving herself heat stroke is counterproductive if that was her goal."

Bo: "Well," Bo looked around and back to his ticket. "Darwinism."

Brett: "It would appear so," he said, glancing at the screen behind the counter at the gate. "Boarding in fifteen minutes."

Bo: Fifteen minutes of waiting, of allowing his mind to drift away. Norway, snow, summer, books, Conor Archer, memories, lost family, Brett Parker and his punctuality and anxiety. He wondered if he should text the demon, let him know that they were boarding. No, surely that would be too much.

On board, suitcase put away and belt locked, the jitters resurfaced. It was going to be a long flight.

Brett: Bo wasn't alone. The moment the woman at the counter began to call for passengers to board. Brett's insides seized up and seemingly began to vibrate. He could swear his entire body was vibrating along with them and that at any moment, his legs would turn to jelly and he'd fall over.

The only thing that offered any kind of relief was the fact that he and Bo had their entire row of seats to themselves. There wouldn't be any strangers to worry about and judge them for anything they might do. And as their plane started to move and begin for takeoff, just about the only thing he could do was hold tightly to his boyfriend's hand.

Bo: Sleep was the only activity his body would allow, and one he partook for the majority of the flight. His mind drifted as it usually did between snow and spring, the melting of ice and the blossom of sleeping flowers. Crunching leaves on a path towards a house he could never clearly see, tucked away behind shrubbery between rolling hills. A memory. A memory Conor would have witnessed. A concrete and steel house half buried underground.

"Is this a life I can walk back to?" a question asked from within as well as uttered in his sleep.

"...walk back to..." Brett Parker would hear.

Brett: While his boyfriend slept, Brett tried valiantly to occupy himself with anything that could potentially take his mind off his nerves.

He tried to study his workbooks only to find himself getting distracted by the movie that was playing on the tiny monitor a couple of rows away. When he tried to focus on the movie instead, he found himself looking out the window and missing every bit of the story.

Defeated, he fell into a half doze, his mind staying just awake enough to guard Bo's rest. His tiredness was starting to get the best of him when he heard Bo speak.

"Baby?" he murmured groggily.

Conor: Conor was pulled to Bo's dream, but it wasn't strong enough for him to materialise in it and be seen. The demon could only wait for Bo to uncover more secrets.

Bo: The same silhouette awaited the top of the lowest hill closest to the blurry house. A male figure, hands hidden in pockets, slender and still, patiently awaiting his ever unfinished climb. The same refined tenor in his native tongue.

"You've been gone an awfully long time. You know I don't like to be kept waiting."

In reality, Bo's expression cringed, muscles tightening.

Brett: Having realized Bo was talking in his sleep, Brett watched him carefully. By now he knew how to spot the tell-tale signs of a nightmare, and the moment he got even a hint of any of them, he gently took his boyfriend's hand and gave it a soft squeeze.

If they were at home in bed he would've pulled Bo closer against his chest, nuzzled him, murmured soft, comforting words he hoped would reach Bo in his sleep. Right now the best he could do was hope the contact and words of comfort were enough.

Conor: Conor was diving into Bo's mind. Who is this man? Give me another memory with the same person. Give me a name. Give me a place. Give me something.

On the other hand, he wasn't sure how much more he wanted to get. Those words were predatory. Within his dream the human would feel the hybrid's attempt to soothe, by placing the dream behind a grey screen, sending it further away.

Bo: An ugly gray fog swept over the house, the man, and the hill. He wanted to be offended by his dreams, by the audacity to give so much yet so little. This was not enough. His ache would be felt by both parties, in the squeeze of Brett's hand and the frustration festering within every inch of his mind.

"Are you real?"

"I'll see you soon, Botan."

Brett: Please don't let it get to a full-blown nightmare, Brett prayed as he squeezed Bo's hand and brought it to his lips. Let him sleep. Let him have peace.

"I'm right here, baby," he whispered. "I'm right here. You're not alone. I've got you."

Conor: The hybrid dug and dug, scrambling to match the voice or the sight of the man with any other dream, any other memory, literally anything. He would search until he could find something to pull out and give to Bo, so that he could understand what the dream was telling him... but, failing this, if there were no clues to be found, he'd be able to do nothing but simply... watch. There would be too few pieces, too much missing for him to materialise.

Bo: Bo turned away from the hill and the house and the stranger, towards the clearing and the nearby woods. His stubborn nature would only allow him to yield for so long.

"Stop playing games with me. Who are you?!" he was ready to scream, but - everything was gone. The grass underneath his bare feet and the house and the hill had been traded for a pristine house of white walls and floors. This was new, but why he wondered.

Giggles from another room. A child and a woman. Such a pure sound filled his stomach with dread and sickness.

"You like that color on Mama?" The woman gasped, playing along with whatever game they had created. "Oh, look what you did! I'm a fairy princess!"

Bo remained in the hallway, away from the open door brightly lit by what he assumed was a window. It was in that moment he felt the same unwelcome sensation which had plagued him a year before. He wanted to die.

Conor: Would this be strong enough? Would Bo be aware enough? Conor tested it. Perhaps it would be best to try before he has any truly intense dreams. He attempts to appear - to Bo's consciousness in with him to invisibly watch the dream as if a play. If he's able to, they would both appear aside, with Conor's hand firmly holding the human's. If not, if Bo won't let him, he would simply feel a tug, encouraging awareness that this is all just a dream.

Bo: The sensation of nearness, of a man - of course it was a man, a demon - by his side caused the human to jump. A reaction which reflected as a twitch in the real world.

"You're not supposed to be here," he whispered. "Not until tomorrow."

Brett: Brett tensed when he felt Bo move, waiting for more. There was always more.

"Botan? Can you hear me? Are you trying to wake up?"

Conor: Blue eyes look down at their hands.

"I thought we should try it now," he said, "tomorrow is goin' to be a lot of firsts for you." his voice, sultry and deep. An accent made of Irish and Italian that came out far smoother than any of his brothers. He looked up to Bo's face, considered his expression, then faced the dream once again. The hybrid licked his lips.

Bo: Bo followed his gaze and admired their hands for only a moment, more interested in that entrancing voice. "I won't remember how you sound when I wake, will I?"

The room began to dim. The sheriff's gentle encouragement was working.

"Pay no mind to me," he said to the demon. "What I'm feeling right now comes and goes." The light of the room died by the closing door.

The human opened his eyes and took a sharp breath.

Brett: Brett couldn't help but feel a rush of relief as Bo woke from his dream. Whatever it had been about, he doubted it was pleasant.

"Hey," he said gently. "It's all right. I'm right here."

Conor: Conor smiled weakly. "You will. If you try." he tilts his head as he slips out of Bo's dream and finds himself back in reality. He shifts. Oh. Selfishly, he hadn't really wanted that to end.

Bo: Both of Brett's hands were taken and squeezed. "You hover so much." Not really a complaint, just a gentle observation. "Was I - Did I wake you?" He didn't feel as though he'd experienced the same terror as months prior. No, not the same dream, but still the same forgetfulness. Something worth remembering this time; how aggravating that he couldn't.

Brett: He smiled softly and shook his head. "I wasn't asleep," he said, squeezing back. "Just resting my eyes. I couldn't focus on anything."

Conor: As always, Conor began typing out a very descriptive retelling of Bo's dream. He wouldn't receive the text until he landed, but it would be waiting for him eagerly. Not a single detail would be left out.

Bo: "That sounds like you when your mind is heavy." Another hour and the plane would touch down. He glanced to his watch. "I don't understand. I'm the one dealing with this. Why are you the one that can't sleep?"

As soon as they were allowed, Bo checked his phone, letting Conor know how close they were. He read the details of his dream and passed along what Conor messaged.

"I don't understand any of it."

Brett: "We're walking into lots of unknowns, and I've been a cop a long time." If he had to put the feeling in his stomach into words, he'd describe it as being dispatched to a call and having nothing except the address. No clues, no warnings, no idea of what he might find or what crime might have been committed. Just an address and a vivid imagination. Only it was worse than that, because he was walking into it with the person he loved most in the world.

The feeling didn't alleviate one bit as the plane came in for a landing. It just got worse.

His brow furrowed as Bo read what Conor had seen in his dream. "The second part sounds like a memory, but the first almost seems like a premonition." Or an omen.

Bo: "I don't have memories. None like what he's describing. I can't picture this woman, or imagine her voice. No name. Nothing. It's the same with the man on the hill. It's just a shadow I'm chasing." His tone had tightened with quiet anger; nails dug into his phone until they throbbed.

{Text} It's all probably nothing. I'm wasting your time.

Brett: "Maybe none of it is memory." The anger in Bo's voice was met with calm in Brett's. "Chasing a shadow just sounds more like what you're dreaming isn't really a dream." He wouldn't say the word omen. They didn't need the extra tension today.

"Whatever it is, we'll see soon enough. What does Conor think?"

Conor: {Text} We will find out, won't we, Flower?

{Text} I will see you soon. Let nothing weigh you down.

Bo: "Both of you seem to be on the same wavelength, giving me the "calm down" tone." Brett's gentle technique was nothing new; he'd lived with the man for a year and some change. Just breathe, he thought. The plane couldn't land soon enough.

The airport was familiar. The exiting road felt akin to the route home from the police department. Just second nature. It unnerved him. The mild climate hugged to his body like an old friend. For once he took the driver's seat.

"We're going north from here," he muttered sotto voce.

Brett: Well at least there was that, although he had to marvel at the fact that he and a demon were on the same page.

Then again, maybe it wasn't such a marvel. He and Conor were both doing this for Bo's sake.

Brett's legs felt like jelly as he followed Bo through the airport, torn between fascination at actually being in Norway and dread over what was to come.

"Okay," he said just as softly. His throat felt like it had sand in it. Time to face the music.

As always, his hand was placed in easy reach.

Bo: Bo drove with both hands on the wheel. Only twice did he remove them. Once to check GPS, and again to take Brett's hand and give a single firm squeeze.

Coming upon forest didn't surprise him, neither did the clearing, the soft rolling hills, and the long winding driveway. What he hadn't seen in his dreams was how close to the city he actually lived. A ten minute drive at best. He hadn't seen the neighboring houses, nor had he noticed the blossoming fruit trees.

"Where's my-" Oh. The entryway was hidden, at least conventionally, surrounded by grass and wild flowers. The adjacent garage was also similarly covered.

The rental was put into park and the engine cut off. The keys were handed over. It was then he wondered...how was he meant to get in? Gray-green eyes fixed on the sheriff. His skeptical and quiet gaze spoke louder than words. He got out of the car and headed around the back. Half of the hill seemed carved away, open in a crescent to what seemed to be the remainder of the house. A large clean window wall offered natural light into an immaculate study. Floor to ceiling shelves of books, black and white statues, and an unused fireplace dead center. He noticed a small glass door tucked away to the side, given away by the steel which surrounded the frame itself. He tried the industrial-looking nickel handle. The door was unlocked.

Brett: Brett took comfort in Bo's touch, letting it steady him as they started off toward the unknown. Thankfully he had plenty to distract him.

Oslo was by far the most beautiful place he'd ever seen, and though he was practically bubbling with anxiety, he still managed to enjoy reading (and being able to read) every sign they passed and feel wonder at the scenery, especially as they left the city and headed for woods. Everything was vibrant and blooming and alive and it was impossible not to be delighted by it.

The fact that Bo's home was secluded came as no surprise; Bo would've wanted to live away from the bustle and ensconce himself in the quiet.

He blinked as the house--no, that wasn't a house. House was too simple a word. House was what they had in Edenton. Brett's wide-eyed gaze met Bo's, accepting the keys and squeezing his hand in the process.

The structure Bo parked in front of was a mansion.

His shock and awe and trepidation only grew as they rounded it, as they saw what it held through pristine windows. I knew he had books, Brett thought vaguely, snapping out of his daze with a sharp breath as the door handle turned in Bo's hand.

"Wait!" Cop instinct had taken over. He wasn't about to let Bo go in first and meet a potential threat.

Bo: "Wait?" He looked back inside. "There's nothing there."

Brett: "I wouldn't be so sure. You haven't been here in months and yet the place is clean and the door is unlocked. Someone is here, or has been here recently."

Bo: "You don't have a gun. What are you going to do?"

Brett: "Pray I see them before they see me." As soon as Bo gave him the go ahead Brett would slip inside, moving as silently as a cat, ears and eyes searching for any sign of movement.

Bo: Only one pathway to the right of the study, which led into the open kitchen, dining, and living room. The theme of his home was truly black and white. White floors, walls, and ceiling; black doors, curtains, beams, couch, and two small drink tables in the living room. Two oddities: a taupe colored cat tower by the corner window, and a fish bowl with two little fish square center of the dining table attached to the kitchen counter.

Brett: Brett did a lap around the immediate area, refusing to let himself get distracted. There would be time to explore later; right now he only focused on a few key details.

One, the house appeared to be empty (for now). Two, the general aesthetic of the place fit Botan Nowicki to a T, and three....

He made his way back to Bo. "All clear. You have a cat. And at least one fish."

Bo: The human blinked several times, quietly made his way past his companion to take in his surroundings for himself. He blinked at the tower.

"Well," alright then, "someone's been...house sitting," he said to himself. He began to text as he walked around. The living room, kitchen, dining, and study were photographed and sent to Conor.

{Text} Someone's been handling the upkeep of my house.

The sound of sudden rain nearly caused him to leap from his skin. Two man-sized frames in the hallway had come to life. A gently rolling river suffocated by mist rain and a lonely looking waterfall. Staring, he almost instantly began to relax. The very reason for being in his home made obvious.

Brett: He followed Bo back inside, finally letting himself relax as he took the place in. It was enormous. Their entire house, garage, and yard could fit in here and there would still be space left over. Not a single thing appeared out of place, not a single speck of dust was anywhere to be found. It was elegant and modern and the fanciest place he'd ever been in his life. It was...unbelievably intimidating.

Brett gave a start just as Bo did, ready to face an attacker or a monster and reaching for his absent gun until it finally hit him that it hadn't been a person making the noise.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he breathed.

Bo: "I didn't think I'd like this house. I thought it would tell me why I was...put in the position I..."

Brett: Brett gave Bo a small smile. "Of course you like it. It's yours." He came to Bo's side. Even though they'd scared the living hell out of him the frames were soothing to look at it. He could see why Bo had gotten them.

"How do you feel?" he asked in Norwegian.

Bo: The question and the language in which it was asked made him smile. Perhaps it was just the Norwegian and Brett's constant care.

"I'm fine," he returned. "We haven't finished looking around."

Brett: Bo's smile brought with it a rush of relief. Brett had been so worried that the moment they stepped into the house his boyfriend would be flooded with memories, with pain and panic. There was still a chance that could happen, of course, but he was hoping for the best.

"No we haven't." His hand was offered. "Let's take a tour."

Conor: {Text} A relative?

{Text} Long lost wife?

Bo: He reached for his hand just as his phone dinged. He frowned at the second text.

{Text} You're terrible.

{Text} Evidently I own fish and a cat.

"Conor questions if it's a long lost wife."

Brett: Brett gave a small scowl. "I'm not confident about a lot, but I am confident whoever has been house-sitting isn't a wife. I feel it in my soul."

Conor: He was studying the pictures, even going as far as to zoom in.

{Text} I wouldn't be surprised. The good ones are always married.

What did he mean by that? Even he didn't know, but it was too late. The message had been sent.

{Text} What are their names?

Bo: "You feel it in your soul because we kissed just an hour ago." Between Brett's scowl and Conor's text, Bo couldn't help but laugh quietly. What had that meant? Was that a flirtation?

{Text} They weren't wearing collars.

Brett: "I feel it in my soul because if you had been married, your spouse would've torn apart Heaven and Earth to find you. That's what I would do." And Hell, just for the sake of thoroughness.

Conor: {Text} Fish tend to not wear collars.

{Text} Look for bags and coats. You may find some form of ID.

Bo: He laughed again, humor still in his eyes as they looked into the ghoul's.

"You're biased." Both of you, I think.

{Text} I'll give them a thorough interview.

{Text} You won't like my home. It's the opposite of you.

Conor: {Text} The opposite of me?

That response would come a lot quicker than any of his other texts ever have before.

Brett: Brett just smiled. He loved that laugh so much. It never failed to fill him with warmth and an even greater rush of love for this man.

"Nonsense. It's the absolute truth."

Bo: "Hush. Let's keep going." He'd follow the winding hallway to what seemed to be his master bedroom.

Another photo was taken and sent.

{Text} It's void of color.

Clean, in his opinion. Calming, too. The only obvious pop of color came from the random butterflies incased in glass.

Bo took a seat on the bed and soaked in his surroundings. He noticed the white animal skin rug.

"Is that rug real fur?"

Brett: Brett couldn't help but feel like they were wandering through a museum. Everything was so pristine, so clean. Literally and metaphorically. And then there were the butterflies everywhere.

"I definitely chose the right Christmas present," he said to himself.

When they reached the bedroom, he crouched to feel the rug. "Nope. Still very soft though."

Conor: Conor stared at his screen for a while.

{Text} I'll dye my hair black to fit right in.

Bo: {Text} Don't you dare conform.

"Probably on purpose," he sighed. For months he had debated on selling this house. Without his memories, he assumed he would feel nothing more than walking into a stranger's home. He'd been wrong. He felt his presence, his preferences, his history.

"What are you thinking?"

Brett: "That this is the fanciest house I've ever been in." Brett moved to sit beside Bo. "And that it's so....you. You're everywhere."

Bo: "You're..." He couldn't put his finger on the emotion. "...worried?"

Brett: "No, not worried. Well I am, but not because of the house. I'm...a little intimidated."

Bo: Bo leaned back against the bed, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Intimidated?"

Brett: "Well yeah," he chuckled. "I mean look at this place. It's like a museum and I'm just....from a fishing village."

Bo: "I still don't know how I ended up in some quiet little town in North Carolina."

Brett: "I don't either. Of all the places in all the world, you ended up where I lived." A part of him thought--hoped--that it was divine intervention.

"What are you thinking?"

Bo: "Right now...what I'm thinking is that I don't want to sell."

Brett: Brett smiled. "I don't blame you. This place is incredible."

Conor: Conor smiled at the message, but didn't reply. Their little chatter was meaningless in the grand scheme of things. They'd have plenty to talk about once night came, he was sure.

Bo: "I thought that would upset you."

Brett: "Why?"

Bo: "Because it means I'm still here."

Brett: "Still here as in....still tied to Oslo or still here as in....no longer in Edenton?"

Bo: "Not completely in Edenton. This is mine. They can't take everything from me."

The human suddenly perked. "There were stairs."

His jacket was tossed onto the bed. Brett's hand was taken, led back through the kitchen to the small tucked away stairs leading to the only spare bedroom and adjacent bathroom.

Brett: "Nor should they b--stairs?" Oh, and they were on the move again.

Brett let himself be led towards he didn't know what, the fascination still very much present as they went deeper into the house.

"It feels like a secret passageway," he said, wonder evident in his voice as they emerged into another room just as lovely as the rest of the house.

Bo: "I hate company so much, I banish them to a tower," he mused.

Brett: "For what it's worth, this is the nicest tower I've ever seen."

Bo: "Do you - Will you be comfortable sleeping here tonight? With Conor coming to see to my dreams..."

Brett: Brett nodded. He wanted to be by Bo's side but he also knew Bo needed his space, especially today. As well as things had been going so far, there was still the possibility everything could become overwhelming and he didn't want Bo to be uncomfortable if that ended up being the case.

"I'll be fine. It'll be weird not being as close as we are when you sleep in your room at home, but it'll be okay."

Bo: "Your house is so small, everything will feel as though you have to shout." His laughter died as soon as it began. That was probably rude.

"What would you like to do?"

Brett: "It looks like even more of a dollhouse compared to this," he said, looking around. He took no offense to Bo's laughter, but this...god, this place really made his house seem tiny and....plain.

"I should be asking you. What would you like to do now that you're in your house?"

Bo: Despite his teasing, he had no complaint to Brett's house. That bias which continued to live and breathe for the sheriff.

"...I want to look at my books, and my clothes."

Brett: Brett smiled. "I told you that you'd have a giant library. Speaking of clothes though, we should unload the car."

Bo: "Will you while I look around again? You can see what's out in the garage if you want."

Brett: He nodded. "Sure. Maybe one of us will happen upon your cat." He was very excited by that prospect and it was very obvious.

Bo: The excited ghoul was given a kiss to his cheek. Thank you, it said. He returned to his bedroom, removing his shoes along the way. He should have been apprehensive of his unlocked door, but it was much too far in the back of his mind.

Brett: It might have been in the back of Bo's mind, but it was right at the forefront of Brett's. By now he was confident that they were alone in the house (except for the animals) but as he went back downstairs and out to the car, he was still alert for any signs of movement, any little noise that might signal they had company. He probably wouldn't be at ease until they knew who had been taking care of the house in Bo's absence.

Brett let himself into the garage, taking in while also looking for the kitty. "I wonder what he named it," he said to himself.

Bo: The cat was nowhere to be seen. The only area of the property neglected seemed to be the garage itself. The white 1972 Volkswagen Beetle was covered in dust, battery long since dead.

Bo placed his shoes in the closet, at the end of the neat row he must have made many months before. He felt his jackets, his blazers and sweaters. Most of his clothes were variations between black and white, straying only for pale blues and yellows. True color was reserved for ties, a few turtlenecks, under shirts, and socks. He gravitated towards a small box with a glass lid, two silver and one copper toned watch inside. The backlight for his closet was turned on. Another picture for Conor.

He turned, headed for the study.

Brett: He wasn't much of a car guy, but even so Brett found himself lingering over the Beetle. With a good clean and polish and some work it would look amazing sitting in here. It even matched the house.

It also told him a few more things about whoever had been looking after this place; they had their own transportation and their only focus appeared to be the house itself, which led him to believe that Bo hadn't hired them. If he had, he would've asked them to look over the car as well, right?

"Curiouser and curiouser," he murmured, heading back out to the car to unload their things.

Bo: Bo would be found in his study, cross-legged in the chair nearest to the long wide window. Various reading material surrounded him. Magazines, a book, and a large thick brown linen notebook. Initials B. N. had been written in permanent ink on the spine. The notebook was personal and heavily used.

Brett: Two trips later, all the trunk had been emptied and Brett was making his way over to Bo.

"All set," he said by way of greeting, smiling when he saw all the magazines. "No sign of the kitty, but you do have a very nice--and very dead--vintage Beetle sitting in your garage. Doesn't look like whoever's been cleaning has looked after it."

Bo: "I've been published in magazines," he greeted in return. "I'm - I'm a linguist. At the time of this article, I was a - a student. Diachronic linguistics - It makes sense now."

Brett: A slow smile spread across Brett's face, expression practically beaming pride. "Well I'll be damned. It makes perfect sense. You have a mind for languages like no one I've ever met. Should've found you a job at the community college instead of the station."

Bo: "I don't...know if I want to still work there. It doesn't feel appropriate." A nod was given towards small blue box with combination lock. "All of my financial information is there. It's consistent with what was given back to me in the States. I don't know if it's muscle memory, but I was able to open it."

Brett: "That's okay. You can have whatever job you want, baby. it doesn't have to be at the station." A clerical job seemed an enormous waste of Bo's knowledge and talents.

Brett nodded. "My bet's on muscle memory." And on Bo having substantial wealth. This house wouldn't be here without it. "What else was in there?"

Bo: "Just what you would expect from what is basically a portable safe. Whatever was trying to kill me seemed to have...not cared about this."

Brett: "Then we know it wasn't money motivated. Does make me wonder what their goal was if not to take everything you owned." Including his memories.

Bo: He'd always assumed it had been some method of punishment. This only solidified his belief.

"You've brought everything in," words just to fill the air. "Let's um...let's settle your room."

Brett: Brett nodded, giving Bo's arm a squeeze. "All right. Didn't find the cat by the way. It's either hiding or the caretaker took it in."

Bo: "I'm not worried about it," for some reason. Perhaps another muscle memory. "Should probably feed the fish. Let's put away your clothes first." Something about settling Brett in his house felt more important than anything else.

Brett: "I wonder what their names are," Brett mused as they made their way back to the tower, grabbing his bags along the way. "They're cute, and their bowl has pretty rocks in it." For this being the fanciest, biggest house he'd ever been in, he felt surprisingly at ease inside. It still felt like a museum and like he should whisper and step lightly but he didn't feel cowered by it. That felt significant.

Bo: "Both of you," he scoffed. "You and Conor should just name them. One each."

The longer they settled, the more content Bo felt with his surroundings. More and more he could see himself in his home. One less worry.

Brett: Brett laughed softly. "You know how I am with small animals. Small fish are also included in there. I need to observe one for a bit before I can name it." After all, it had taken days of calling his dog 'puppy' until he'd settled on the name Woodstock.

He smiled as he looked around the room. "Still the nicest tower ever. That view is beautiful."

Bo: Bo almost said, "You're beautiful," but managed to bottle that for some other time, if ever. It was just too much of a romantic indulgent.

"You're going to want to go for a walk, aren't you?"

Brett: "Absolutely," he said with a smile. "It's so nice outside, it would be a shame not to. And just imagine at night with all the stars and the moon."

Bo: "You're so sentimental," he chuckled. The bedroom closet was opened. Unsurprisingly empty, but organized with various sized shelves, rods, and a large shoe cubby. The bathroom was next. He was interested in what he had seen in his first cursory glance. Between the standing shower and the water closet was an even smaller, simpler wardrobe. There were clothes. Deep earthy button-down shirts and trousers on one side, clearly masculine. Various pastel dresses lined the opposite. A single little black dress. He felt the material. A conflicting scent of sandalwood and sweet floral...

"Brett..."

Brett: Brett began unpacking as Bo explored the room a bit, not really paying attention. He was mostly glad TSA had decided to leave their bags alone and hadn't rearranged the things they had carefully arranged with their carelessness. Not that they had packed anything shady, but still. It felt weird knowing some stranger had gone through your things.

There was something in Bo's tone that had him stopping dead in his tracks and immediately going into the bathroom, eyes widening when he saw the clothes hanging. "....Maybe they belong to the housekeeper?" That had to be it. They'd found nothing else that would indicate Bo had had a woman in his life.

Bo: A pale blue button down was pulled from the closet and placed against Brett's chest. Almost perfect size. Clearly belonging to someone other than the dress owner.

"They smell...beautiful," he murmured.

Brett: ...Okay, maybe not everything belonged to the housekeeper. Maybe--hopefully--some of it belonged to her boyfriend that she'd snuck in for sleepovers.

"The fact that they do means they were worn recently. Someone's definitely been in here on a regular basis."

Bo: The shirt was hugged to his chest. He felt compelled to breathe in the scent of...whomever it belonged to. Such a masculine yet elegant scent. So nostalgic, but why, as usual, he didn't know. He also wasn't aware of the moisture accumulating in his eyes.

Brett: Brett's brow furrowed slightly as he studied his boyfriend's reaction to the shirt. It felt so emotional, moreso than anything else since they'd arrived.

"Botan?" he asked softly. "Are you all right? What is it?"

Bo: "Hmm?" It was only as he raised his head and blinked that he realized what had happened. "Oh." He wiped his eyes with the collar of the shirt and shrugged, expression neutral. "I don't know what that was."

Brett: "I read that scent is the strongest memory trigger there is." His tone remained gentle, but still light enough not to make Bo feel self-conscious. "Something about that one must've...resonated with you somehow."

Bo: "It's about as useful as everything else." The shirt was gingerly returned to its place center rack. He wanted to send another photo and recap of what had just happened to the demon, but refrained. He didn't want to overwhelm and overstep. He would have time to show and explain later.

Brett: "The pieces will start to fit together soon. Being here is like having the picture on the puzzle box to guide us. There's context." And hopefully that context would help bring Bo understanding and peace of mind without causing him unnecessary pain.

Bo: "At least one of us sees it that way. I don't. I don't have any conception of-" He looked away. No other items in the house, nor the house itself, seemed to have caused as much stress in the human. He needed to pace, to make tea, to do something. Anything but be in this room.

"I feel...it's - it's warm," he sighed, briskly removing himself from the room.

Brett: Sympathetic eyes watched as Bo excused himself. Brett didn't go after his boyfriend just yet, closing the door on those mysterious clothes and taking a few moments to get his things in order.

There was something so unsettling about not only seeing those clothes, but seeing them cause such a visceral reaction in Bo. Who did they belong to? Who was the owner to Bo? Why were they here?

Too many questions, not enough answers.

When enough time had passed, he went in search of Botan.

Bo: The house had perfect flow for pacing. From the living room to the study, out of the study and to his bedroom. Turning again, he headed back to the living room and to the kitchen. He checked his fridge - which took him a moment to realize it was part of the black wall itself - to find a large pitcher of lemonade and nothing more. The door was slammed in irritation.

He made his way back to his bedroom and to the bathroom to wash his face. As he dried his face that he noticed a bottle on the windowsill.

Brett would find his companion flushing pills into his toilet.

Brett: Brett half-searched for Bo's elusive cat as he followed the echo of noise through the study and to Bo's bedroom, brow furrowing at the sight that greeted him.

"What are those?" he asked, softly so as not to startle his boyfriend.

Bo: "It's nothing," he said, tossing the empty bottle into the waste bin.

Brett: Brett nodded. It was probably something else that belonged to someone else. If Bo needed medication, they would've discovered it long before now.

"Are you hungry?"

Bo: "There's nothing in the fridge, I checked."

Brett: "We can go get some groceries or out to eat first. Whatever you want."

Bo: Bo was still quietly surprised that he hadn't pressed the issue over the medication. What wouldn't surprise him is if he returned an hour later to read the label. Lithium, well over a year expired, as treatment for intermittent explosive disorder.

"Groceries sound fine. Something simple. I'm not really hungry."

Brett: "All right, baby." They'd get their groceries, see more of Oslo, get some fresh air. Maybe he'd even see if he could find some vegan chicken to make Bo his favorite pasta.

He offered his hand.

Bo: Bo looked to the hand and sighed. Why do you keep inviting me to touch you? Why do you think that will make everything better?

He took his hand and squeezed.

"I'm getting irritated," he confessed.

Brett: Brett knew contact wouldn't fix everything that was wrong or confusing in their immediate world, but it was his way of anchoring them both. You couldn't drift when you were anchored.

"I know." He squeezed back as he led them back out to the car. "Your shoulders are getting stiff."

Bo: "Is that what always happens?" The back of his neck did ache. Perhaps that's what it was.

Brett: He nodded. "Yeah. First noticed it one day when Bridget came into station. I was standing behind you and I could see it start to creep in."

Bo: "I don't know if that's a good example, seeing as it was Bridget."

Brett: "Probably, but after that I started paying attention when she wasn't around and sure enough."

Bo: "I'm just a fascinating subject of disorderly conduct for you."

Brett: "You're not a subject," Brett said quietly.

Bo: "Right." He was taking it out the sheriff again. In apology, he leaned into his shoulder.

Brett: It was accepted with a soft kiss to Bo's hair. "I want to see if I can find stuff for Valentine's pasta."

Bo: "Would you like to drive?"

Brett: He smiled. "I would, as long as you help guide me. I practiced reading all the road signs on the drive in."

Bo: "You'll be fine. Just don't let your arms get as stiff as they do when you're thinking too much."

Brett: Brett blinked. "They do?"

Bo: "You notice things, I notice things."

Brett: That got another smile out of him. He pressed a kiss to Bo's temple and opened the passenger's side door for him.

Bo: Well, thank you. He kissed his cheek in return and slipped into the passenger seat. His seatbelt was held in both hands, as often done when his mind drifted away.

Brett: Another of many things Brett had noticed. It warmed him to know that there were things Bo noticed as well.

As usual when Brett drove, one hand was left free for his boyfriend to take if he wished. He read all the road signs under his breath as he took them to the market he'd spotted earlier, grateful that he was a cautious driver. And that everyone else driving wasn't insane.

"It should be....yep, right up there."

Bo: Bo's heart wasn't into shopping, gathering mostly fruit and looking off into the distance. Keeping himself from the sheriff was his way of protecting him. He knew the mood he was in; any little comment could set him off. He had too much on his mind.

He pulled out his phone, tapped into messages, and backed out. Three times the cycle repeated before he realized his reiteration.

{Text} When will you get here?

Conor: Conor stretched out over his bed, ran fingers through his hair and slowly opened his eyes to the sound of his phone chime. Sheets moved and clung around him as he leaned over to get the source of the noise.

Hm.

{Text} When do you want me there?

Sent, and he stood to look himself over in the mirror.

Bo: {Text} I know our deal is for my dreams and sleep but I'd like to see you sooner. It's been one thing after another and I feel sick.

Conor: {Text} Breathe, Flower. Where's your ghoul?

Bo: {Text} He's with me. We're getting groceries.

{Text} Have you met ghouls before?

Conor: He's with you, so why is it me you're asking for help?

{Text} Yes. But yours is less of a slave than I'm used to.

{Text} Are you sure you want me there?

Bo: He trusted Brett, but he also knew his protective and worrisome behavior.

{Text} It's complicated, but that's to be expected.

{Text} A fresh pair of eyes might be helpful, but you're not a tool.

Conor: {Text} All right. Message me once you're back home and ready for me and I'll come before you can say 'I'm obsessed with Conor Archer.'

Bo: Bo stared at the text message with a half-smile.

{Text} Oh, yes. My first thought when I wake and before I sleep.

Conor: {Text} I knew it. See you soon.

A picture of himself was sent, bare shoulders, lazy smile, messy hair. he appeared to be stretching with a hand by his ear.

{Text} To hold you over.

Now to pack and tell his brothers.

Bo: The phone was put away again - after saving the photo, of course. It was placed in its own folder, just as Brett Parker had his own, and everyone else he met.

"He's packing. I haven't told him about the clothes," or the bottle of IED medication. "Are you going to be alright?"

Brett: Brett offered Bo a small smile as he added a pile of herbs to their cart. He hadn't been able to find vegan chicken, so their pasta would be all vegetables with either a light tomato sauce or some olive oil.

"I'll be fine, baby. Is he joining us for dinner and/or breakfast?"

Bo: He simply shrugged. He didn't know what Conor would want to do once he arrived. He wasn't so sure he could hold anything down, either. Dinner would be attempted, but he knew the bulk would be leftovers.

Brett: Brett nodded. He'd get extra, just in case.

"Grabbed you some tea. Chamomile and lavender, to help you sleep."

Bo: Another nod. "Got something for yourself?"

Brett: "Coffee."

Bo: "Why haven't you asked about the bottle."

Brett: "Because you've gone over a year without whatever was in it and you're healthy. If it was a medication you needed to treat an active condition you had, we would've discovered it. I probably would've had to take you to the emergency room."

Bo: "You know what it is. You know it's not - not anything like that. You've known for months, Brett."

Brett: "What have I known?"

Bo: "That I'm - That this -" He just couldn't seem to catch his breath. The very issue now had a name and it was burning his chest.

"Don't play dumb."

Brett: "I'm not, Botan. You're talking about when you get angry or upset, right?" He turned his attention away from their grocery shopping and focused solely on his boyfriend. He needed Bo to hear--really hear--what he was about to say.

"Even if what you experience has a name and can be diagnosed by a doctor, you haven't needed medication to manage it. I help you breathe when you can't, I give you space so you don't feel overwhelmed, and then my hand when you're ready for it. We've found things that help calm you, like the Jellyfish and the moving arts things. And you get through the bad moments and the bad days. We get through them. If you want more medication, or to see a doctor, that is entirely your choice and I will support you. But if you don't, that's fine, too. We can always find more ways to help."

Bo: "It just sounds like you're doing everything you can to coddle me like some child. I lived on my own, had my own job. I was independent, and now I live a life where I'm constantly -" His eyes shut tight. "I'm pathetic."

Brett: "You're not pathetic. And you're certainly not a child that needs to be coddled just so they can function. You survived a curse that would've killed most people, even when something inside you kept willing you to give up and die every single day for months on end. You attacked a demon for me. You came here and walked into your house knowing that there was a chance you'd be met with awful memories and people trying to hurt you. That's strength.

"I do everything I can to help you through your episodes because I love you, not because you're pathetic or because I feel pity for you. It's all coming from a place of love and I know I overdo it sometimes and worry too much but is isn't because I think you can't handle being a person. It's because you mean so much to me."

Bo: Everything he said was true. On any other day he would have agreed, even scoffed at having to be reminded of his own feats. Today, his mind was buzzing. So much static was beginning to conflict with his hearing. This conversation felt useless on the surface, but they were words he needed to hear.

Which if course he hated.

"You..." You know when to leave me alone. I love you. I appreciate you.

"This is probably why I was alone, spending time with an ancient Viking."

Brett: "You're not alone anymore." That revenant's loss had been his gain, and though he wished Bo had never had to go through so much pain and trauma, Brett would forever be grateful that his beautiful, stubborn, strong man was in his life.

"You have an imperfect sheriff and friends who love you."

Bo: No, he wasn't alone. "One of them is a demon." Pointed out after a moment of composed silence. Superficially, the idea of relationships was repugnant. A deeper scratch revealed those worth fighting for, those worth tolerating. He would beat a vampire with a frying pan for Conor Archer, too. Perhaps Deputy Peabody, if it was convenient.

"You are imperfect, but you're mine. Let's go home."

Brett: "Yep, he is." It was still going to take some getting used to, but Brett was trying. "And one of them is Jeremy Peabody. Another is Emmanuel Gaia, who still asks me how you're doing every time I see him and offers his services if you ever get sick again. And yet another is the sweet lady who owns The Attic, who thinks you're the only person in Edenton and possibly all North Carolina who properly appreciates her shop. I could go on and on, baby."

Brett smiled, pressing a feather-light kiss to Bo's cheek. I love you so much. "La oss gå hjem."

Bo: Bo closed his eyes to the kiss and sighed with content. The tension in his shoulders began to ease. He did so enjoy seeing Brett's daily effort yield results.

"Your accent is getting better. Do you want to drive again?"

Brett: His heart warmed as he noticed his boyfriend start to relax. Those shoulders never failed.

"Really? Good!" His smile was all pride and accomplishment as he led them to the register. "I do. Wanna practice some more with the road signs."

He paid for their food and (successfully!) made small talk with the lady who rang them up, who seemed immensely impressed that he was American and so dedicated to learning what she obviously thought was the most beautiful language in the world. She was so pleased she even put a couple of sweets for them in one of their bags.

"Did I do well?" Brett asked Bo once they were on their way back to the house.

Bo: Brett's companion simply scoffed and shook his head. Of course he had done well. He just wanted affirmation the human refused to give. That woman seemed to have recognized him. What had she done with her life in a year? Probably nothing, considering where she worked. What did she have to be happy about?

"What did she even give you?"

Brett: "Gonna take that as a yes," Brett chuckled softly. And he did. He knew Bo was pleased with the progress he'd made.

"I think it was a couple of the kinder surprise eggs. The ones that are illegal in the States."

Bo: "All for you, then. You deprived American."

Brett: Another chuckle. "Ten year-old me will be thrilled. I did get us some dark chocolate with raspberries and almonds for dessert though."

Bo: "I don't think any amount of practice is going to make me skilled in baking. I leave that to you."

The sight of his house, the driveway leading up to his underground home, still offered nothing nostalgic or remotely familiar. The house, however, was not the same as they had left it. A hunched shadowy figure crossed the window and disappeared deeper into the house. Bo leaned forward in his seat.

"Did you see that?"

Brett: "I'm really not either. I'm just glad it's easy to substitute vegan eggs in boxed cake mix." Unless they'd been purchased from Laura, all the cake that had ever been in their house was from a box. Maybe they should look up some recip--

Brett very nearly slammed the brakes. He saw the shadow in the window just as Bo pointed it out.

"Yeah I saw. Dammit, I should've grabbed a knife from the kitchen before we left." He inched the car closer to the house, watching for any more signs of movement. "Could you tell if it was a man or a woman?"

Bo: "I didn't see hanging breasts, no." There were no other cars in their yard or nearby. Someone must have walked.

"What are you going to do?"

Brett: Brett tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, mind racing. If person was his size or smaller he could probably take them. If they were larger?

"Bottle of wine is as good a weapon as any."

Bo: "Don't you break my house."

Brett: "I won't, baby." Brett reached behind him to grab the bottle of wine from one of their bags. "Hopefully just the face of whoever's in it if they mean harm. I hope it's just the housekeeper."

Bo: "Good luck explaining coming at her with a bottle of merlot."

Brett: "I'm not going to come at her, I'm just going to hold it. Just an average American strolling in with some wine."

Bo: Enough of this. He got out of the car and headed for the door. He was going to get a better look.

{Text} Someone's in my house.

Conor: {Text} Don't go inside.

{Text} Say the word and I'll come to you.

Brett: "Botan, wait!" Brett got out after him. "Don't make a single sound, we don't know for sure it's the housekeeper."

He eased the door open, listening for any movement, looking to make sure nothing unpleasant was waiting for them.

Bo: {Text} Come here.

He didn't think he had to say please, not in a situation like this.

"I told Conor."

Inside, Brett would hear the soft mumbling of a Norwegian song from an elderly feminine voice.

Brett: Brett nodded, slowly lowering the wine bottle a few moments later. "It's the housekeeper," he said softly. That was definitely a woman's voice and most intruders didn't sing to themselves.

Conor: And so he would. He'd appear with a backpack across the road from the house, having been pulled by Bo's location. He remained safe distance for a moment before crossing. He went to slide through the open door.

Bo: Well, there was that. His hand pressed against Brett's chest as he attempted to brush past.

"Noen der?" He was almost through the door when the demon appeared. "O-Oh." Conor was a man of his word, but he hadn't expected such punctuality.

The singing had stopped, replaced by shuffling towards the hallway. An old woman with unsightly osteoporosis, gray and auburn hair tied in a messy bun, smoky gray forest cat on her shoulder appeared.

"Bo?"

Brett: Conor's appearance took Brett by surprise as well, but only because of its suddenness.

He waited with bated breath as the sound of movement got closer and closer, stomach in knots until the old woman appeared. Well, he thought. There's the cat.

He smiled in greeting, letting Bo take the lead.

Conor: Conor's expression... scrunched up... wh-... what the fuck. I was made to transport for this? Bo was terrified of an old lady and her cat?

He remained still, feet planted on the floor. He'll just wait and see.

Bo: The woman straightened a tad, an effort which seemed painful even to Bo. She shuffled towards them, ignoring both demon and ghoul for the man in the middle. She started in with scolding. Where the hell had he been for the past year and a half? Why hadn't he called? Olek missed him. His uncle Johan missed him. She was very disappointed.

"I-I...I don't-"

Olek, as the tag read, leaped into his arms.

Brett: He was expecting and emotional greeting and an attempted hug, maybe even some joyful sobs. What happened instead would've made him smile if he didn't suspect this would overwhelm Bo again.

He understood almost everything she said, looking to the cat as it jumped into Bo's hold. Olek. That had to be its name. And Johan was apparently Bo's uncle.

Bo's uncle who hadn't looked very hard for him.

He cleared his throat softly. "Ma'am?" he began in Norwegian. "My name is Brett Parker. Botan hasn't been gone by choice."

Conor: Conor rolled his eyes the moment the ghoul began to speak. Aside from this, he didn't move or react. He wanted to watch what Bo did.

Bo: "It was work," he explained. "I've been caught up in America, and I was sick. Nothing serious."

He'd had hoped one of the other men would have asked for her name, but there was no need. She regarded the sheriff with a curt nod.

"I'm Linnea Poulsen, his neighbor." Nothing more. Not housekeeper, not cook, just...neighbor.

"Why are you here?"

"Cleaning is beneath you, remember?"

No, I don't, he thought.

Brett: His neighbor. Had they been close enough for her to decide to take over the care of Bo's home?

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Poulsen." Wait, was she wearing a ring? "So you've been the one cleaning and taking care of Olek and--" it took him a second to remember the word for fish, "--the fish?"

Bo: Linnea simply smiled, though with her skin it was hardly noticeable behind sagging cheeks. "It's ritual. Olek, Baldr and Meili are all fine." Her hand flapped dismissively. "Don't tell me again that fish don't need names. I like it. I'll get out of your way."

Brett: Brett's smile was completely genuine now. He liked this woman. "I agree with you. All animals need names."

Bo: His agreement was met with a pat of boney to his chest as she walked past. The old woman stopped to stare at the demon, studied him.

"He only speaks Irish."

"Oh, well. A pity." No goodbye, and Bo assumed that was normal.

Brett: Mrs. Poulsen might not have said a goodbye, but Brett offered one anyway. He waited until she had left before speaking again, finally switching to English. "Well then. That was...an adventure. At least we know who's been caring for your home. One mystery solved."

He smiled at the cat, holding out a hand for him to sniff. "Hei, Olek."

Conor: Conor lowers his head, almost to bow out of respect. It was all he could do, so he'd do it.

When she left he slid past the two others to scan the home. Was anyone else here?

Bo: He would see exactly what had been previously discovered, from the study to the living room, the black curtains contrasting white walls, the two gods in fish form, the stairs leading to the guest bedroom.

Bo turned back to the car for their groceries.

Brett: Brett gave the cat a scritch on the chin before following. Another trip to town would have to be made if there was no cat food in the house.

"How do you feel?" he asked his boyfriend, grabbing a bag.

Conor: Conor made his way through, observing. He looked behind any pictures he could find, felt under any tables, searched under floorboards using light and heavy steps. Traps. Wires. Cameras.

Bo: "I'm trying to understand why I would trust an old woman in my home."

No traps, no wires. The only camera was a handheld in the study, sitting on one of the many shelves as a bookend. Several statues and trinkets, the demon might feel, gave off a subtle vibration of various magic. The majority were charms. One in particular, a tiny copper coin, seemingly whispered a greeting. Wedged inside a large brown book was a pale birch wood wand with smooth finish and bulbous handle.

Brett: "She seems nice enough. Strikes me as the no nonsense type that gets things done and gets them done well. I could see you appreciating that enough to tolerate her." Maybe even like her a little bit.

Conor: Anything that even remotely felt as though they could have some magical quality was gathered. In his opinion, it would all help to understand Bo's past, even if it could lead them to the one who made the spells. It was all brought down bit by bit into the living room, where there was enough space for him to sit with it.

Bo: I do appreciate that quality, he thought. In reality, he simply hummed.

The groceries were placed on the counter, his eyes locked on the demon just feet away.

"What are you doing?"

Brett: "Plus, she seems to care for you in her way. That's worth something too."

Brett began putting everything away, exploring more of the kitchen as he did so as not to get too caught up in whatever Conor was doing with all those things. They...unsettled him. There was an energy to them that made him nervous.

Conor: 'They all have spells on them.' he signed before facing them again. 'Come here and see if you can recognise anything.'

Bo: Bo squeezed the ghoul's arm as he passed by. Quiet appreciation for his task. He crossed the room as he was told, gravitating towards the wand.

He hovered over the item before taking it and observing. There was indeed an energy to it, but for the human it was soothing. He smiled, enjoying the rhythmic tune it offered.

"It's like a heartbeat."

Without much consideration, he turned towards the window and flicked his wrist. White electricity hissed and bolted from the tip and escaped for the glass, leaving behind a hole similar to a gunshot.

He didn't let go, instead staring at the wand with thoughtfulness. He aimed again and flicked his wrist in reverse. The lightening retreated back to his wand, glass mending itself as though time fell backward.

Conor: Conor watched and waited. He obviously knew something, otherwise how would he have known to do that? Progress.

'What can you remember about that?'

Brett: Brett stared at the goings on with wide-eyes, hugging a bag of potatoes to his chest as he watched goddamn lightning shoot out of the stick--he refused to think of it as a wand--and blast a hole in the window, repairing it a few moments later.

Why the hell did Bo own that? He hated magic and he bore a strong aversion to the people who wielded it.

Bo: "It just feels like muscle memory again. I just...I know it can do more than that." He did hate magic, but somehow this didn't count. He glanced to Brett before setting it down.

"Can you tell if any of it is a curse...or something benign?"

Brett: Brett just gave him an uncertain look. He didn't like that stick one bit.

Conor: 'I get the feeling it's all here to help you.'

Bo: "To help me?" He took a seat beside his trinkets and began to touch each one. He hovered again on the coin.

"This feels like the wand."

Conor: 'Try flipping it.' because what else would you do with a magical coin?

Bo: He laughed, but did as he was told. The item tinged, but nothing significant happened.

Bo looked around in thought. This house, his family, the income...it was on the tip of his tongue...

"It's - I don't know."

Brett: After the wand, Brett fully expected more lightning or something similar to come shooting out of the coin. When nothing happened, he heaved an internal sigh of relief and started washing vegetables.

Conor: Conor tilted his head, considering.

'Is there anything written on the coin?'

Bo: "It's just a woman wearing a wreath. The other side is scratched away."

Conor: Conor held his hand out for it.

Bo: The item was gently placed onto his palm.

Conor: As soon as the material touched his skin Conor's eyes turned black. As if seeing the world entirely new he inspects it. Weighs it with his fingers. He's still for a moment before flipping it the same way Bo had.

Bo: Bo watched quietly, tilting his head as beautiful ocean eyes blankened.

"What do you see?" he asked quietly.

Conor: A smile settles on his face and with a blink he's back to appearing human... almost.

'It's manipulative.'

Bo: "How so?"

Brett: Manipulative coins, lightning sticks. They'd fallen into a Harry friggin' Potter movie.

God save us all, Brett thought, chopping vegetables and herbs with the determination of a man trying his best not to think.

Conor: He glances to the ghoul. The hybrid breathes for a moment. His gaze moves over Bo, and all of the objects. Would now be a good time...? He takes in Bo's expression. He tried to imagine what he was feeling. He tried to imagine how he'd feel, if the situations were switched - if Bo had something as heavy as what he had. Would he want Bo to wait for a good time? Would he be angry at Bo for keeping something like this from him?

The coin is slipped seamlessly between his fingers until he sets it down. He swallows.

A hand goes into his pocket and brings out a small box. Blue eyes stare at it before holding it out for the other to take.

Bo: Bo glanced in almost perfect time to Brett with Conor, wondering what was going through his mind, how he was handling this foreign life neither knew in depth.

And then he looked at the box. Oh. He looked back to Brett.

'What's this?' No panic, concern, just curiosity in dull green eyes. 'Are you proposing?' he grinned.

Brett: Brett missed the first set of glances, too busy trying not to slice his hand open. His nerves were shaky enough for him to handle the knife with caution. He did, however, feel the second glance, and he absolutely noticed Conor holding out what looked exactly like a ring box to Bo.

The knife paused mid-dice. Surely--surely--this was not going in that direction. Demon or not, he wanted to believe Conor had more respect for Bo and his relationship than that.

Conor: Brett would be wrong in assuming that. Conor had little to no respect for their relationship, but he wasn't proposing.

He left the box on the table to sign, 'It's a gift. It will show you memories. If you wear it and touch something, the most significant memory will be shown to you. You don't have to use it yet, or ever. But it's there.'

Bo: Bo looked at the box and back to its gifter. He would see himself intact, the way Conor knew him originally. Considering everything he owned, he would have a mountain of knowledge.

Bo glanced at - no, looked Brett in the eyes, his frozen stance.

"Relax." Stand down, Brett. Your fine; he doesn't see me that way.

'Can you see the most significant memory with a person?' He offered the box back to Conor. 'Touch me and tell me.'

Brett: Relax? High unlikely. But he promised he would trust Bo, and he silently reiterated that promise as their eyes locked. He went back to preparing their dinner, now splitting his attention between not hurting himself and keeping an eye on the ring situation.

Conor spoke fast, but Brett had managed to catch the gist about what the ring was meant to do. The worry was no longer (or rather less) about the demon stepping over the line; it was the potential reaction Bo could have to what the ring showed him.

Conor: Taking the box Conor licked his lips. 'It only works for us. Either it belongs to you or nobody.' as in, he didn't want anyone but Bo getting the benefits of this ring. Would it work with skin? He didn't know. Did that mean they would only get to see the past seven or so years? He slid the ring on and shifted closer to him. A hand reached out slowly, blue eyes look vaguely in the ghoul's direction before settling on Bo's. Fingers find the other's cheek and slip around his jaw.

Bo: Bo maintained eye contact throughout. He was excited for new information, for Conor's willingness. For his nearness. Today could have been so much worse but miraculously he remained unscathed by haunting memories. He knew the dangers of this double-edged sword, but still he gripped both ends.

As his warm hand touched his skin, he expected something. A tingle, a hum. There was nothing. Just a smooth, kind hand comfortable against his face. He was disappointed.

A scream and darkness. Nothing to see in this significant memory, covered tightly by a dark cloth over his eyes. Nothing but sensation. Wrists weak and numb, raised high above his head. He was hanging.

"Higher."

"No, please. I can't. I don't remember yesterday. I ca - I can't." The sob came from within. It was Bo's own voice.

"Higher."

A sharp snap and another scream, pain pulsed over his exposed stomach. His body was cold. Everything was cold with the exception of inflamed skin.

"He's not entirely useless. Give me two vials and leave him strung for the night."

The blindfold came away to another memory, seen from a single eye. His body was curled, holding himself, rocking himself. He was in an old mill. The sound of the nearby river a quiet hum. Sleeping vampires, watchful ghouls, and a man with an ivory collar.

"Sunshine's awake again."

"Aww. He's a little fucking angel he is."

"Fuck the angel, revenant."

"Make it pretty this time. You're far too fucking noisy."

In the present, Bo tilted his head. He began to wonder what was happening. What memories were significant? Being caught in the rain by the sheriff? His first time seeing Conor at the pool? His own personal horrors were ignored far too skillfully.

Brett: Brett held his breath as Conor's hand made contact with Bo. What was about to happen? What was Bo about to see?

There were parts of his memory that the curse had taken, that Emmanuel hadn't been able to restore. Was the ring powerful enough to let Bo see them?

It had been far too long without some kind of reaction.

"Botan?" Brett asked softly. "Går det bra?"

Conor: Piercing eyes find Brett. Don't worry.

Of course, he could tell him. He could describe it. He could reveal every little detail he had seen... but then... how embarrassed would he feel? How violated? How much would Bo hate that Conor had seen that? How much would he be disgusted by himself? Would he ever be able to look Conor in the eyes again?

On top of that, how could he hurt Bo? How could he tell him that the most significant thing the ring felt appropriate to show was... that? Surely Bo's life was more than that. Surely Bo's life had more significant events than time with those disgusting fucking pigs? How much would it hurt Bo, that that was what his life came down to?

He rubbed his own hand, trying to see if he could use the ring on himself. He couldn't. In that case...

He smiled. 'When we first met on the bus.' the hybrid playfully winked.

He couldn't be honest, because he couldn't bring himself to be. Bo deserved better.

Bo: Bo's curious smile began to fade. But...his memories weren't intact. How could Conor see that? Surely, though he was fond of the demon, there were other - there was. Conor was being polite.

The demon's hand was taken, sandwiched between his own. The ring was removed. The hand was kissed.

"That's enough of that. Thank you." The ring was placed in its box.

"I'm going to put this away somewhere for now."

He let go of the demon and headed for the bedroom. A quick glance was given to Brett. I'm fine, his eyes said, though this time it took effort.

Brett: Now it was Conor who was given an uncertain look. It was impossible for him not to worry. Bo had gone through so much, endured so much pain, so much suffering.

Oh, but....the memory seen had been innocent. Their first meeting. That was okay. It was something happy for Bo and not...no. Bo's smile was starting to go, prompting Brett's heart to speed up and clench. Something about Conor's answer didn't sit right with him. He could see it.

The quick, reassuring look his boyfriend gave him didn't have the intended effect. Something was wrong, but rather than follow, he turned to Conor.

His voice was nearly whisper-soft as he said, "...It wasn't the bus, was it?"

Conor: Conor happily received the kiss. It warmed his cold heart, and continued to do so even after Bo had left the room. He was ready to continue looking through any other objects he had found, until the ghoul decided to act like they were friends.

'What difference does it make?' he signed back.

Brett: Difference...what difference does it make. Should brush up on my sign, Brett thought, looking where Bo had gone.

He sighed. "A big one, to him." Bo wanted answers. He was entitled to them. Reminders of past pain didn't provide them. "He just wants all this," he indicated the space around them, "to make sense."

Conor: The hybrid stood, eyes flashing warning. 'And you don't think I want the same thing for him?'

Brett: Brett shook his head. "That isn't what I said, Conor." Strangely, much like with Bo, Brett's voice didn't grow louder or more heated. It remained calm. It was almost instinctive at this point.

"I know you want to help him. I know that's why you gave him the ring, why you agreed to come here."

Conor: 'Then what difference does it make? Bo's life is the same regardless of what that ring showed me.'

Brett: "It is, yes." He thought of the incident with the shirt earlier. "But I think he wanted the ring to show something...more than what he knows happened. Something that could help. I'm not blaming you, before you go there. I also think that if you could, you'd make the ring show him what he wanted to see."

Conor: 'It didn't show me anything that would help.' He's sure that memory is engraved in Bo's mind.

Brett: Brett nodded. He believed Conor. He just wished there was something to be done instead of wait for things to reveal themselves.

"Oh, um...I owe you an apology."

Conor: Eyebrows raise and... ah. He liked where this was going. His expression said, Go Ahead.

Brett: "I didn't say goodbye when you left earli--yesterday?" Had it been yesterday? The flight and the time difference had screwed up his internal clock. "Whenever I saw you last. I didn't say goodbye when you left. That was rude of me, and I apologize."

Conor: … What the fuck? Conor's face went from expectant, to confused, to amused.

'That's fine. I wouldn't have responded anyway.' With a smirk he sits back down.

Brett: "Even so." He was determined to try, for Bo.

"Are you joining us for dinner?"

Conor: 'Maybe.' He'll have to see how things go.

Brett: "All right," he said with a nod. "I'm making pasta, just so you know."

Conor: 'Inventive.'

Bo: From the bedroom came a smack of some small item against the wall, followed by more silence.

Brett: Brett's head whipped toward the bedroom at the sound of something being thrown. He waited for more, shoulders tensing and remaining tense when nothing happened.

"...Botan?"

Bo: Continued silence.

Brett: He debated going to check on him.

Conor: Conor ditched the living room and Brett for the direction of the sound. He couldn't call out to him, but he could knock on any closed door.

Bo: "I'm fine," the voice was terse, words behind grit teeth.

Brett: Brett opened his mouth to tell Conor that it was probably best not to go in just yet but the demon was already heading into the bedroom. He just hoped the worst of it had already been thrown against the wall.

Conor: Liar. He enters the room.

Bo: "I said I'm fine!"

Next to the door, the empty bottle of prescription medicine. He was on the bed, knees raised, elbows against them, both hands buried in blond as he faced the mattress. Beside the bed was the waste bin. He was wearing the ring. He hadn't wanted to touch the bottle until situated.

Brett: Okay no, he couldn't do this.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered to himself, heading toward the room. He wouldn't enter all the way but he couldn't just stay in the kitchen when he could hear distress in his boyfriend's voice. Brett needed to see him, to gauge if this was the beginning of another episode or the middle or if Bo just wanted space.

Conor: Conor was already standing in the doorway, so he had to move for Brett to also see. Conor felt a strange sensation of being torn between thinking that's a perfectly normal response, to wanting to support him. Really, he had seen the same thing in his brother, who had shaved his hair off after remembering his own past. That's what life does to you. The part of him that isn't concerned simply identifies with it.

He knew Boyfriend Brett would come to the rescue, all he had to do was wait for him to go forward, talking softly, afraid to touch him, the predictable person that he is.

Bo: "I said I'm fine," he repeated, voice weary with stress. "I don't need an audience." I'm a spectacle enough as it is.

This was Bo doing his best to remain level. He didn't want to be touched. He didn't want to be seen. Those thoughts again...that memory.

"I said I don't need it." How long ago was that memory? Who was he talking to? A man, tall and sleek, voice soothing despite its subtle rasp undertone. He was somewhere behind him.

"That's not what the doctor told you. Do you think you're better than a doctor now as well?"

"I don't need you here to tell me what to do with my own life."

"If you didn't have me, what would be left?" The humor in the stranger's tone was unnerving. It sent cold stones to his memory self's stomach.

The books, even the pillow. Everything he touched carried with it the man he once was. Now all he could feel was a scalding-like burn in his chest and throat.

Brett: Brett felt his heart crack. His poor Bo. He was hurting and right now there was nothing he could do to take away the pain, to ease the stress, to restore calm. Helping Bo had always been about what Bo needed and right now, Bo needed to be alone. He needed privacy, so he could settle himself. When he was ready for comfort, ready to be soothed, Brett knew he would seek it.

"Conor," he said quietly. It was time for them to go back to the kitchen. He wants to be alone, his eyes said. He needs to be alone. Show him this kindness.

Conor: Brett would turn to find Conor already gone. He was more useful trying to figure out what all the spells and curses were, perhaps the same person who made the coin did this to Bo.

Bo: As soon as he was sure no eyes were upon him, Bo forced himself under the covers. He wanted to be swallowed by them. He wanted to disappear within them. He closed his eyes and tried to forget - but the ring. He had to take it off, set it on the bedside table.

Brett: What remained of the dinner prep was attacked with a vengeance. He added more vegetables just to have more things to chop. When he ran out, he tossed a salad. He would brew a giant pot of tea and give a cup to Conor even if he didn't drink any of it. Maybe he'd make the pancakes Bo liked for dessert and start breakfast for tomorrow. He was going to make the best damn meal in the entire universe even if they each only had one bite.

Bo: For hours Bo made no sound. Sleep came in and out. When awakened by a noise elsewhere, he would find another object and feel its memory. A book he'd bought in Germany; small sea glass given to him by Torsten Glockner sitting on his bedside table. A woman had been near when it was given, and he was enamored by her beauty and stillness, like a doll.

The hand mirror he'd found in a drawer in the bathroom remained untouched. The mirror itself wasn't his fear. It was old. Very old. Something about it felt unique. The memory wouldn't belong to him. He just knew.

{Text: Brett} What are you doing?

{Text: Conor} Are you still here?

Brett: When there was nothing left for him to cook, Brett scrubbed the kitchen to within an inch of its life before wandering over to the bookshelf and taking one at random. He tried to practice reading more Norwegian, fighting his jetlag every step of the way and losing rapidly.

He, too, drifted in and out, never letting himself fall fully asleep in case Bo needed him. He was in one of those half-asleep stages when his phone vibrated in his pocket, jarring him awake and sending the book flying out of his lap.

{Text} Reading through one of your books

{Text} How are you feeling? Have you slept any?

Conor: The sound of Conor's phone may alert Bo that he had been sat on the floor outside of the human's bedroom. He scratched his head.

{Text} Yes.

Bo: {Text: Brett} Nodded off but nothing real. Which book?

{Text: Conor} What are you doing outside of my room?

Brett: {Text} Same here

{Text} The Norwegian translation of Anna Karenina

Conor: {Text} Making sure you're okay.

Bo: {Text: Brett} Should I even be surprised that I own that...

{Text: Brett} Eat something.

{Text: Conor} Have you been there this whole time?

{Text: Conor} Come in.

Brett: Brett smiled.

{Text} Probably not

{Text} I tried but I couldn't really get anything down

{Text} Are you hungry? I could bring in some pasta or tea or whatever you want

Conor: {Text} Yes.

Oh. Conor blinked at that. He must need help with something. Getting to his feet the hybrid knocked twice before opening the door. He had changed in a long-sleeved white top that was slightly too big for him. The cuffs went half way down his hands and while his trousers fit him perfectly, they matched in softness. He was wearing clothes comfortable enough to sleep on the floor in. He probably looked the most normal and cuddly he ever has.

Bo: {Text: Brett} I asked Conor in to talk to him. Give me a few minutes and I'll come out.

{Text: Brett} Sorry about earlier.

Which was the best he could offer at the moment.

Bo looked up from his bed, books and sea glass surrounding him as things often did. He was above the covers, having felt both too warm and too cold. This was the best option. He wore the gifted ring on his right index. Another ring of gold set on his left middle finger.

"I should probably change...take a shower. Earlier...I..." He couldn't really think of a way to explain himself.

Brett: Brett looked up from his phone just as Conor was walking into Bo's room. He'd been posted beside the door for Brett didn't know how long, also waiting for any sign of life.

{Text} All right, baby. I'll heat everything up and make some more tea

{Text} I know. It's okay

Conor: The hybrid tilted his head, moving forward and letting the door whatever it pleased - swing shut or remain open, he wasn't paying attention.

'Earlier you.... what?' he stepped in further to sit on the edge of the bed, 'Acted like a normal person in your position? Reacted rationally? Actually, I... expected worse. I expected you to scream and throw things and maybe even hit me for being the one to give you that ring. When my brother started uncovering some of his own memories he shaved his hair, he kept waking up crying. I can handle you, Flower.'

Bo: His phone was placed face down, giving Conor respectful attention. He knew what Brett could handle. He'd been there almost since the beginning, caused a few of the tantrums himself. Deserved a few. This wasn't Brett.

"I've been trying arduously to stay calm. I have acerbity - more than that, but it's no concern to me. My temper, though... I've thrown things in the past. I've hurt people out of spite. People that mean nothing to me and people I love or used to love. It's just... underneath my skin all the time."

Conor: Conor nodded. He lifted his legs up onto the bed and folded them beneath himself. 'So what are you trying to tell me, Flower? You want to use me as a punching bag because you know I'll heal? I offer myself to you.' He's... half joking.

Bo: Bo smiled anyway, turned the ring on his finger.

"I feel like I need to be on my best behavior for you."

Conor: What? 'Why?'

Bo: "It's not that I'm afraid of you. I just..." The human shrugged. "You've never hurt me."

Conor: He cleared his throat. He had no fucking idea how to respond to that. He wasn't... used to...

'Why don't we make things even?' he offered his hand, 'See my most significant memory.'

Bo: He looked at that offered hand. "I don't want to see rape, or Hell, or you hurt."

Conor: Ouch. He could guess what it would be, none of those things, but... his arm went limp and he looked away.

Bo: His gaze followed. "That's what you saw of me, isn't it?"

Conor: Exhaling, Conor rose to his knees and crawled over to Bo. Hands place on his jaw, thumbs brush away tears he imagined were once there. He lowers his forehead to the human's.

Bo: For a moment, Bo had begun leaning away, retreating from touch which came anyway. Don't do that, his body language said, but then his shoulders slacked. Hesitantly he reached up, hovered over his wrist with the black ring, and grasped him.

Show me.

Conor: Conor was barely a teenager. Standing at a crossroads in England with strange objects in hand. He was murmuring in Latin, amateur summonings and rituals. He had simply found this in a book among a hundred others, and this was his hundredth attempt.

But this was different.

This time, his heart was made to race as a demon appeared. Finally. Please. Help me.

The pact which changed the history of his family, the pact which lead to them all being here today.

Get revenge on the men who raped us, Conor hissed. He needed the satisfaction. He needed to know they didn't get away with it and didn't get to simply live.

Ah, but to kill them would be such a permanent fix that the demon would require permanent, frequent payment.

What do you want?

Souls. Innocents. Virgins. Your friends.

What if I can't bring you people? What will happen if I can't bring you sacrifices? What if I bring the wrong kind of person?

I'll have to take something from you.

What?

... Your voice.

Young Conor inhaled sharply. But...

Then no deal.

Wait.

He wanted them dead. Not only for himself. For Sean, who had to live through it twice. For Aidan, who had to feel responsible. For Ronan, who could hardly breathe. His father, who had trusted them with his children.

It's what they deserved.

Just my voice?

And in return, the souls of those who will benefit and three more generations. Condemned to eternity as Death.

That's not equal, it's only two people. That's not fair. I'll find another demon.

Oh, don't worry, people never end up breaking their contracts. You'll be fine.

I can't put my brothers in danger.

Then I'll keep them safe, I'll make sure nothing like this ever happens to them again. It's a small price to pay for the happiness your brothers will feel for the rest of their lives.

You'll protect us and kill them?

You have my word.

Seal it with a kiss.

Bo: Bo couldn't feel anything towards those potentials for sacrifice in the name of revenge. He didn't care about strangers, so long as it didn't interfere with his personal space. He'd almost killed Torsten multiple times. He understood the reality of their situation. The revenant had been a victim. A truth which didn't take away from his pleasure.

"More than your voice was taken from you."

Conor: The hybrid wasn't surprised that Bo was shown that memory, after all it didn't affect just him, but his entire family. Still. It was embarrassing to show Bo his greatest mistake.

Slowly, he nodded, forehead moving against the other.

Bo: "Are you happy at all, Conor?" He didn't need to open his eyes. This was a yes or no answer. They were pressed together. He would have his response.

Conor: Happy? At all? Conor's own eyes flickered open. He took in Bo's features from this close distance he'd never been before. He thought briefly about how easy it would be to lean forward and kiss him in this relaxed, unconcerned state.

Happy? He was pleased to be with his brothers again, but he had known that was coming and felt more like an 'about time' than an 'I can't believe this has happened'. Besides, has he felt real joy since their reuniting?...

After a while of no response, he shakes his head, no.

Bo: Now his eyes opened. How depressing. How relatable.

"Do you have happy moments? When I make you smile, is that just for me? I don't think you're that generous," he smirked. Already, he was attempting a smile from the demon. Regardless of teasing, the question was important.

Conor: He lingered there for a while before signing. 'Do you think people can have happy moments? I think they're just teasing blimps, a reminder of what could be but isn't.'

Bo: "I need excuses to live. I was willing to let the curse consume me. I wouldn't let anyone touch me. I have reminders everywhere of what I once was, what could be. I'm surrounded and suffocated by them. I still think about death. I'm not...a happy person, but I'm not miserable. I think blimps aren't a cure, but it's medicine. I remember every moment with you." This time.

Conor: That broke Conor's heart in a distant way. He could understand and appreciate the honesty, but at the same time, he wished better for Bo.

The hybrid edged forward, going to press a kiss to his temple.

'There is no point looking back to the past and craving it. You can't go there.'

Bo: The kiss was like salve against the burn felt every day beneath his skin. That type of medicine only lasted seconds.

He wiped his cheek before the tear could properly fall.

"I think you would have loved the real me."

Conor: Silent laughter. 'Ridiculous. I could never love someone who went to auctions.' the hybrid's smile was gentle. 'You idiot. I do... love the real you. You are the real you.'

Bo: He didn't want to argue with him. He could, of course, but it would become a pettifog. He didn't believe he was that confident, perpetually infuriated man he'd seen throughout his bedroom. That man so utterly perfect - he was that man's shadow. He wanted to be that memory. With time, he thought.

"People claim to know the moment love occurs. I think that's shit. I think you were a muscle memory, and I've continued to love you."

Conor: Conor felt as though the word 'love' was being thrown around and it was confusing. Love, with what connotations?

'What does that mean, Flower?'

Bo: This had to be said seriously, and so it was signed. 'That I care for you, that if your life was in danger, I would put myself in harm's way. Love is giving a shit. I wish I could remember the day I met you, but all you've left me with is something in my chest.'

Conor: That made Conor feel anxious and embarrassed. In... your chest? Lips part, but it's all that can be done. His heart was pounding and he didn't like this urge for transparency.

I wish I had been there to protect you.

No, he couldn't say that.

He'd offer his arms and torso, he'd offer physical comfort.

Bo: Bo looked at the offer and ducked his chin. No, don't hide. He straightened, tried to maintain his dignified persona.

"Please say no if you cannot, but...can we just...lay here together for a little?"

Conor: He tilted his head. 'What about your ghoul?'

Bo: 'Would you disintegrate if he joined us?'

Conor: Wait, what? 'You want all three of us to lay together cuddling?'

Bo: Bo's shoulders sagged further. 'It's fine. Forget I said anything.' He just wanted comfort, the kind to keep him from thinking too much.

Conor: Woah - woah. Conor goes to slip off of the bed and gesture for Brett to join them. He wasn't pleased about this, but Bo needed it.

Bo: "Conor, don't. Don't do something you won't - I said it's fine."

Brett: Brett looked up from the stove, brow furrowing when Conor motioned him inside the bedroom. "Is everything okay?"

Conor: 'Follow me.'

Conor simply returned, ignoring his friend and all of his protests. He moved the cover out of his way and crawled underneath. Might as well play the part.

Bo: The human sat stiff on the middle of the bed. He looked up at Brett, took a breath.

"I...want to lay here with you both." As Conor insisted on his terrible suggestion, he might as well own it.

Brett: Brett shut off the burner and followed Conor into Bo's bedroom, no idea what he was going to find or what had made Conor come to get him. Truth be told a part of him was already imagining several gut-wrenching scenarios, all of which were quelled as he finally laid eyes on his boyfriend again and saw he was safe.

Bo's look was answered with a curious tilt of his head. His request?

That was answered with a moment of silence, a look at Conor, a look at Bo....and a nod of Brett's head.

"Okay, baby."

Conor: Conor knew he'd end up third wheeling and that they'd end up spooning, but that's fine. He would wait patiently for them to make their move and would simply flow around them.

Bo: Bo motioned for Brett to take the other side of the bed, leaving him in the middle. He waited for Brett to make himself comfortable, knowing what the sheriff would do. Expecting and wanting the familiarity and comfort of Brett holding him from behind. Then Bo would adjust. Most of his body remained outside of the plush covers. Mindfully, he reached for Conor. His soft hand rested against the demon's face, thumb caressed over jaw and the side of his mouth.

Brett: There was a gentle smile on Brett's face as he made his way to the bed. He understood why Bo had made the request. He wanted to be comforted and surrounded by the people who loved him. Brett also understood where he was wanted; snuggled in behind his boyfriend, holding him and making him feel secure. Making them both feel secure.

He settled in comfortably, feeling the tension drain from his body as he breathed Bo in.

Conor: Conor settled down, facing the human, his fringe falling over his eyes. Tattooed hands were hidden in long sleeves, though from within the material he gripped the covers which comfortably surrounded him. This was... new. This was an experience he didn't think he'd ever have. The closest to this he's gotten is when Ronan used to crawl into bed with him after a nightmare. He's never shared a mattress with anyone else. It was... intimate and terrifying. Could Bo tell?

Bo: Bo had Conor's most significant memory and stories which were told to him to go by. He had Conor's body language, the aura which he emanated. His aversion to touch felt akin to his own. No one outside of this room was allowed to touch him.

What he knew of Conor was enough to caress him, to whisper his appreciation to both men.

Brett: Two years ago, this moment would've terrified Brett as well. He never could've imagined being snuggled up to his boyfriend on one side while a demon was snuggled up on the other. He never could've imagined even having a boyfriend or that a demon could be his friend or even that he could be in a beautiful house in Norway.

But he was, and the whispered appreciation was returned in kind in both Norwegian and English as a soft, barely there kiss was given to Bo's cheek.

Conor: Conor found himself leaning into the touch, moving forward, hiding his face in the human's chest. Hands released the blanket to tuck between their hearts, feeling Bo's torso as he sighed and closed his eyes.

Bo: They were there for him, and he felt a sense of respect for their devoted time. In their moment together in bed, however, the roles seemed reversed. He felt a silent yearning to love this man against his chest. It was not a sexual love. It was not a brotherly love. The emotion could be considered romantic if one squinted. The desire was to safeguard. What he could protect a demon from, one as old as Conor he didn't know, but that did not invalidate the feeling.

He wondered if this was how Brett had felt when they first met. What would that mean?

"Get some sleep, Brett," he whispered. "Whatever I do when I dream, when I wake, I apologize to you both."

Brett: "Everything's going to be okay, baby," Brett whispered back, eyes slipping closed. It was as if his body had been waiting for the warmth of Bo's before it could finally succumb to sleep. He nuzzled into his boyfriend's neck, immediately feeling perfect comfort settle over him. "Sleep. Everything will be okay." Moments later, his breathing evened out.

Conor: Conor didn't know the meaning of the word 'safe'. He had never been truly safe. Not as a child, when adults could not be trusted, not as a teenager when demons surrounded him, not as an adult when death could be around any corner. He didn't know how to feel safe, and he wasn't sure he wanted to let his guard down, but he was definitely close to it.

So easily did he allow Bo to caress him and so consciously did he want to encourage it. A hand felt Bo's side as it never has before, cautious of not meeting Brett's hand in the exploration. He knew he'd be seeing Bo in his dreams. He couldn't wait.

Bo: Bo was taken aback by the new touch, but gave nothing but a content sigh. Brett's arms were close to his ribs. Near yet untouched they were. Multiple hands would have frightened if not for the men themselves.

Without another word, he fell asleep.

Another white house. Weathered floors made of wood. Contrast to the lacquered concrete which surrounded their sleeping bodies. A home filled with the scent of hot cider. A laughing child being chased by a woman.

“I’m going to get you! You better watch out!”

Two men sat over tea in the other room. Related, given by their similar features. Sharp noses, long faces, blond hair.

“There’s more constructive things to do with the child than chase,” said the taller, better dressed.

“You know Elizabeta will be here soon.”

“Oh, listen to your uncle and pappa. So grumpy!”

The men rolled their eyes and sipped their drinks.

Botan Nowicki stood in between the rooms. His clothes were as they always were in his dreams, trousers and a pale gray sweater, no shoes or socks. Confusion only began to describe how he felt. This was his mother. She was not the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was…average.

Wait…

“Conor?”

Conor: "I'm here." Conor responded, stepping closer.

"Your mother? Do you have a picture of her somewhere?"

Bo: "In a book in my bedroom. I assume it's my mother. I don't know if this is memory or fantasy."

Conor: "Why don't we go closer?"

Bo: Bo took a step forward and paused. "I always forget your voice when I wake."

Conor: "I'm not surprised." he tilted his head, "Does that sadden you?"

Bo: "That's part of your deal with the demon, isn't it?" Of course it saddened him. His eyes gave it away if nothing else.

Conor: "... I could always do the same thing. Take someone else's voice. But... I wouldn't sound like this."

Bo: "...I want authenticity." He turned to his guest and smiled.

Conor: Conor's eyes raised as if looking at his dyed hair, then down at his tattooed skin. He smiled. "How much of me is natural?"

Bo: His eyes followed and he laughed. "A voice that's not yours will not stand. Express you, and you only."

Conor: "What if I took the voice of a singer and I sang for you? Would it like it then?"

Bo: "Could you sing before?" So long as he didn't have to look at the woman carrying a child version of himself. So long as he could enjoy Conor's company and not have to think about where they were...

Conor: Ah, but his blue eyes were already wandering away to the scene in front of them. Is that Bo, as a child?

"I never tried. There was nothing to sing about."

Bo: No, of course not. He looked away as the mother--his mother--began to sing a song in several languages.

"This is how I say 'I love you'!"

"This is how you said it in French," Bo muttered.

"Je t'aime! What do we say in Greek?"

"S'agapo," said both child and adult of the same person in perfect unison.

Conor: "I hope Irish was included in that song."

Bo: "Gráim thú," he scoffed. "My first lessons, I assume."

Conor: Interesting.

"How old were you?"

Bo: "Looks like a four year-old? Older? I don't know. I know the words to the song, but this feels...like nothing."

Conor: "Then go closer."

Bo: He bit the flesh of his lip and looked away, back to the kitchen where the men softly spoke. Their words were indistinguishable.

"I don't understand them because...I wasn't in that room."

Conor: Taking Bo's hand he started to move forward, towards his mother.

Bo: No. Though he obediently followed, he refused to look at her.

Conor: "Bo...." he calmly said when they came to a stop mere meters from her.

Bo: "This isn't - she isn't important. She might not be my mother. This could all be a figment of my imagination."

He squeezed Conor's hand.

Conor: "Breathe."

Bo: So he would. He didn't want to hear the soft aged voice of this woman. If any closer he would have to regard the fine lines around her eyes, how he had her lips and eye color.

"Elizabeta's arrived."

Mother squeezed her son.

Conor: His only focus was Bo. Who was Elizabeta, and how would he react to her?

Bo: His mother refused to move. Her chin fell to rest against the boy's hair, thick taupe lashes hiding her eyes. The child flipped through a book in his lap.

The well-dressed man entered the room.

"Adeline." Terse tone and narrow eyes.

Bo squeezed Conor again.

"Make her go away," she whispered.

"Adeline," much softer, though forced. He made his way around the furniture with ease. "Be a love and make us all some tea, will you."

Her hold instantly relaxed. Her son was placed on their chair and abandoned. The man smiled at the boy.

"Tell Uncle Johan what you're reading."

Another image came into view. A blurred figure of a woman. The instant she entered the room, Bo grabbed the nearest book and threw it with harmful intent at the unclear image. The hurdled object phased through her. His child self seemed to be in his own little world, obliviously carrying on with the man knelt in front of him.

No one noticed him nor his outburst.

Conor: "Bo? Bo-" suddenly afraid of where this might be heading Conor quickly changes the scenery. Make her go away. They were now in his hotel room back in Edenton.

"Who was that?"

Bo: The world had changed. It took him several moments to realize where they were.

"I-I don't know. I don't know! I don't know anything! I don't know why I just did that. It makes no sense. I know it effects nothing and yet I was compelled." He turned, fingers roughly combed through his hair.

Conor: "Hey, hey, hey." the wording of 'and yet I was compelled' half made Conor want to laugh, but he wouldn't. "It's okay. You're safe."

Bo: "Safe from what? A memory that means nothing to me. It all means nothing. For all I know the woman was a strict aunt. I don't know how any of this is possible when I can't remember anything else."

Conor: Conor shook his head, moved forward ever so slowly and offered his hand. "We can stop if you want to stop."

Bo: Only because it was offered did he take it. Forehead slowly pressed to Conor's shoulder.

Conor: "What do you want to do?"

Bo: "This is why you're here." Would be rude to make this contract just to cast it aside. He had to endure more.

Conor: "What is why I'm here?"

Bo: "The dreams. You've gone to such lengths. Moving forward is...the only option."

Conor: "Would you like to go back, Bo?"

Bo: "...I want to see a piece of your dream, first."

Conor: "..." What? The hybrid blinked.

Bo: "May I enter your dreams?"

Conor: "I don't dream."

Bo: "A memory? One that could be described as happy, or content?"

Conor: ... He knew exactly what to show him.

Them.

A bus.

They were there in seconds, watching the beginning of everything.

Bo: The moving vehicle caught him off guard, but the sound of his own voice redirected his attention. A brief surprised laugh.

"Conor..." This was a gift he would treasure.

As the conversation continued, his brow knit.

"I knew about your kind." Then he must have been aware of what he owned. Every charm must have meaning.

Conor: Conor grinned at Bo's reaction. Perfect. Fucking perfect.

"That's not surprising, you obviously had to know in order to have all of those objects with spells on them."

Bo: "Where did you go after this?"

Conor: "I was... meeting someone." His eyes were on the Bo he so stupidly let walk away.

Bo: "And where was I going," he said to himself. Remorse was a sensation often felt, but one he avoided in regards to this memory. Finally he could see it, memorize it. Conor was beside him. Small miracles.

Conor: "I don't know... you should've stayed with me."

Bo: "Hindsight, Conor." He stepped closer to get a better listen.

"I think that...Bo, would have been delighted to keep you as I am."

Conor: "Is that what you want? To keep me?"

Bo: Don't I in some way? He silently asked with soft tired eyes.

Conor: Conor stared at him. "I'd... like to keep you as well."

Bo: "Remember you said that when you wake," he smiled.

Conor: "And why should I?" His expression matched Bo's.

Bo: "I can't remember your voice when I wake. I want to remember this. All of this. If I don't, you'll have to say it again."

Conor: "Alright, Flower. I'll tell you that you proposed to me."

Bo: "You're the one that gave me a ring."

Conor: "Oooh." He laughed. "Brett better watch out."

Bo: "Brett," he chuckled, though it soon faded. "Don't hate him. He's trying. He's never had anyone like me."

Conor: "He's too... flawless. It makes me think he's hiding something."

Bo: To that he laughed, humorless. "He has flaws. Trust me...they glare when shown."

Conor: "I hope so. It would make him more interesting."

Bo: "You love my flaws?"

Conor: "Your only flaw is that you haven't let me give you a tattoo yet."

Bo: "I have two. More than enough." Incidentally, he looked his past self over as he stood to leave. His dark jacket hid most but - there it was. The other tattoo - no. Nothing on his hand that he could tell as he reached for his bag.

"This was - Must have been when my tongue was removed."

Conor: "Does your tongue have a scar?"

Bo: "No. I tried to find one when I woke with this replacement. A vampire forced me to drink. A vampire named Guildias."

Conor: "The vampire Ronan was in love with."

Bo: "I awoke in a house full of people. A woman, the vampire, a - uh, two other men...the revenant. It was...for me." A thought which made him pale, even in the dream world.

Conor: "What are your ties with Guildias now?"

Bo: "He...owns Brett. He forced him to take me to some place called the Harrak - I was -" he straightened, "but he aided in my freedom."

Conor: "Is there a way to break that tie? Is there a need for it? I mean... perhaps Ronan could... say something to him. I don't know what their relationship is like now, but... would that make you happy?"

Bo: The dream memory, though beautiful, was utterly cast aside for Conor's offer.

"He promised me he would never drink from him again. When he refused them, he was assaulted. More than most anything I want his freedom, Conor."

Conor: More than your own, he wondered.

"Then I'll find a way."

Bo: "Thank you, Conor. I don't know how I'm going to repay you for-"

The dream disintegrated.

"What did you see?!" The child, just a handful of years older, was held tightly by his arms by his mother. She shook him again.

"Botan, what did you see?!"

"Nothing, Mama!"

Conor: Conor was distracted, instinctively taking Bo's hand once again.

Bo: His breath hitched. Her lips...that wasn't lipstick. What made them so pink...

"Don't lie to me!"

"I-I didn't see-"

"Don't you ever, ever tell anyone what you saw!"

Both Botan's eyes swelled and darkened with tears.

Conor: As Conor watched, he slowly brought Bo's hand up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss beneath his knuckles. What had he seen? The hybrid's eyes searched the area.

Bo: "I want out. I want to wake up. Help me, Conor."

His mother pulled him into her arms and swayed, wept against his soft light hair.

Conor: He wanted to ask if Bo remembered this, but knew there wasn't time. First, Conor would have to wake himself up and leave his companion behind, all alone in his dream. But it would be for a short moment before he'd feel hands on his shoulders, his face. He couldn't speak and didn't want to make another noise in case he disturbed Brett, who he had promised to protect.

Bo: The human woke with a light jerk, looking around the room with a start. Here...he was safe. But that dream. His chest ached to the point of labored breathing. Please. Someone make this stop.

He buried his head against the mattress and covered his face with his pillow and wept.

Brett: Small as it was, that jerk was enough to wake Brett. They always were, whether he was dozing or in a dead, jetlagged sleep. The time he had been with Bo had equipped him with a kind of visceral radar that could always tell and would always respond whenever Bo woke in tears or in the midst of a panic attack or with any other distress.

"Botan?" he said groggily. "You're safe, baby." His eyes weren't even fully open but he was already seeking to comfort, to make sure his boyfriend was still snuggled up safe and warm. "Shhh, it's okay, sweetheart. We've gotcha." Not I. We. Even in his disorientation, Brett knew that tonight, it was we.

Conor: The hybrid sat up to put a hand on Bo's back. He couldn’t say the words like Brett, he couldn't tell Bo anything with his face hidden like that and it hurt. He selfishly wanted to return to a dream, to the bus, where he could laugh and talk and be so much more than he is. For now, he'd settle for kissing the human's shoulder.

Bo: I want this to end. I don't want this feeling in my chest. Make it go away before I find a way.

"Get out. Please get out. I want to be alone. Please." Surely, after past attempts, Brett would know better.

Brett: He pressed his lips to Bo's hair. Under any other circumstance he would be getting up and leaving his boyfriend to settle himself in private, but this wasn't one of those times. They'd been through many just like this, back when a horrible evil curse was invading Bo's brain.

"I love you so much, baby, but you know I'm not going to leave. We both know what'll happen if I do. If Conor does. We're both here for you." Another soft kiss was given as Brett's breathing pattern seemed to change, almost as if by instinct. It was the breathing pattern he adopted whenever Bo was having trouble. "We'll keep you safe."

Conor: Conor's instinct is to look to Brett. Are we obeying, his gaze asked. Are we refusing?

When the other speaks it's clear the road they're taking is the lat- but wait. What will happen if they leave him alone? How is this different to the night previous?

Brett is given a worried and confused look as hands continue to attempt to soothe. Something he used to do to Sean and Ronan whenever they had an episode, something that always seemed to work with them. Gentle touches and then light squeezes. A pattern they would slowly become aware of and have used to ground themselves before. He was hoping it would work with Bo.

Bo: Safe. Safe from what? His memories? His home? His thoughts? Conor could be a part of them, but he couldn't change them. He could no more alter his history than he could his own. This effort was a waste of their time. He should have died at the mill. He should have died at the Harrak mansion. Once upon a time, it seemed, he was a proud man, one which would sneer at the idea of death itself. He had been so secure in his esteem to befriend a random hybrid demon on a bus.

Where was that man now?

"Get out! I don't need you!"

He would let anger be his balm.

Brett: Sad but patient eyes met Conor's. We're refusing, they said. Misfortune will walk through the door if we don't. Brett had been here before. Not in the same place, not in exactly the same way, but he'd been here before. Bo had as well. And now Conor would. Brett understood his worry, his confusion. He was well versed with both.

He slowly eased himself up, stopping when he was propped on his elbow. "You can be angry." His voice was still gentle, but it was firmer. Calmer. It was a tone of voice Bo would recognize. "You can yell. You can curse. I'll even hand you something to throw if that's what it takes to get that feeling out of your chest. But you won't be alone, Botan. We love you. We're here for you, we're going to help you through this. Du betyr så mye for meg." You mean so much to me.

Conor: Conor nodded slightly. Staying it is. He couldn’t speak to let Bo know he was there, he could only continue to use his weight and hands to comfort.

Bo: Bo wanted to share in his misery. He wanted the very release Brett offered, but no method of catharsis could outweigh spite.

"Tell him what you did. Tell him about that night when you arrested me."

Brett: The slam of guilt-shame-regret-pain was immediate and vicious. It changed Brett's whole face, made him tense nearly to the point of breaking. Somehow in his subconscious that night had become tied with the incident that had occurred before Christmas; bringing to mind one automatically brought to mind the other, causing a cold sweat to break out across his skin. Paralyzing him.

Bo punching him in the face would've impacted Brett less.

Conor: Conor blinked.

...

And waited...

Bo: The pillow slowly came away as he sat up. He wiped at his face with tight fingers.

He had to get out of bed. His stomach was empty and painful.

He headed for the kitchen.

Brett: It would be up to Conor to follow after Bo and make sure he was okay. Brett couldn't move. He was staring into the distance with both nights intertwining and playing like a horror movie inside his head and all he could think was, I took you to Hell. I was too weak to fight them. I was too weak to resist them. I was too weak to get the demon off of me. I took you to Hell.

Conor: Conor did nothing at first. He had no idea who to cater to, should he find Bo and comfort him or reassure Brett so that he can snap out of it? At this point, he felt like they were both a suicide risk and kind of wanted to leave immediately. He wasn't equipped for this.

'Brett?' he signed before putting a hand out to touch his arm.

Brett: The moment Conor made contact with his skin Brett gave a violent flinch. But he didn't make to move away. He didn't lash out. He simply curled in on himself. He deserved this. Why should he move away when Bo hadn't been able to? He'd suffered so much and it was all on Brett. He deserved this.

"I took him to Hell," he whispered, burying his face in his hands. When had he started crying? "I took him to Hell. I wasn't strong enough. I hurt him. I was too weak. I took him to Hell."

Conor: Oh God. Tears? He's even less equipped for that... He wanted to say "These things happen" but... do they?

'You're forgiven,' is all his response is before he gets up. 'It's okay. I'm going to find a way to get rid of the ghoulish side of you. You'll be free of Guildias then.'

Brett: "The prince will kill me first." Later, when he'd calmed, it would astound him that Conor was offering any comfort at all, much less telling him that he was forgiven. But even then, Brett knew in his soul that he wouldn't truly be forgiven--not by Conor or God or anyone--until he'd earned Bo's forgiveness.

"Guildias told me. He said anyone else would've done worse than what I got and if I stepped out of line again Gertrude would kill me and take Bo again and I can't let that happen. I won't let her hurt him, I won't let anyone hurt him ever again."

Conor: 'We will figure out a plan. I will protect you... but right now we need to protect Bo. Come with me.' he offered his hand.

Brett: The only thing that could astound Brett more than Conor offering comfort? Connor offering--no, not offering. Telling Brett that he would protect him. But he wasn't what was important right now. They had to protect Botan.

He wiped his face with his shirt and nodded, taking Conor's hand.

Bo: Bo had begun to warm everything Brett had cooked. Being alone helped calm his nerves. He shouldn't have said what he did, but the deed was done. Christmastime, he'd asked Brett not to drink from them again and he had promised...and then a vampire broke into their home and forced blood into his mouth. He couldn't blame Brett for December. He could blame him for months prior. He would also blame Torsten, despite his lack of control, too. He could blame everyone for being a disappointment.

Brett: He was going to eat. Even though everything that could be nebulous and confusing and horrible was nebulous and confusing and horrible, Botan was going to eat. There was a small miracle in that that Brett was immensely grateful for.

"......Botan?" he said softly, barely above the whisper he'd used with Conor.

Conor: Conor released his hand once he was standing. He didn't want to see those visions. The hybrid stepped through silently and took a seat to watch them both.

Bo: Bo looked up with a quiet sigh. The dark circles of Brett's eyes stilled him.

"Come here." He offered a forkful of leftovers.

Brett: It felt like an eternity passed between the moment he spoke and the moment Bo responded.

He went over to take the bite, offering Bo a small smile in return. "Have you tried it yet?"

Bo: "It's all good. You should have been a chef."

Brett: Another small smile. "I've only gotten good at it recently." Since Bo had lived with him.

Bo: "Something to fall back on," he mused.

Brett: "Apparently so. That and goal keeping."

Bo: That, finally, made Bo smile, subtle but still present.

'Hungry?' he asked Conor. Though he could speak, his energy was still minimal, throat dry.

Brett: Before Conor could respond Brett was already getting another plate.

Conor: Conor watched Brett and then shook his head at Bo. He had no appetite after their whirlwind of a morning.

Bo: "Leftovers," he managed to say out loud. He then looked around for a clock.

"What time is it?"

Brett: He felt in his pocket for his phone and then remembered it was still on the chair beside the book he'd been reading. "No idea."

Conor: Conor shrugged. Did it matter? It felt like 5am regardless.

Bo: Bo began to look for the tea Brett had purchased. He didn't want to go to sleep again.

"How long do I have you?" he asked Conor.

Brett: Brett nodded toward the cabinet where he'd put the tea, going to fill the kettle.

Conor: Remembering what had been said in the dream, he smiled.

'You told me you wanted to keep me in your dream. Did you change your mind?'

Bo: He had? Why was so much of Conor a blurred shadow of memory? It was beginning to unnerve him.

'Of course I want to keep you.'

The cabinet filled with brass-looking cups and clear mugs was opened. A mug was gently shaken as quiet invitation to both men.

Brett: An invitation Brett gladly accepted. Maybe a cup of tea would help settle him, get him feeling as calm as he needed to be.

Although if he was honest with himself, Conor had already helped him make a decent stride in that department. Talk about a rollercoaster start to the day.

Conor: Too shy to say it aloud in front of Brett?

Another shake of his head.

'And you told me that if you forget I should tell you that I want to keep you as well.'

Bo: His voice was still dry, tongue unwilling to cooperate. He still felt emotion just beneath his skin, and was too weary (and wary) to express.

Still, Conor managed a smile from him as Brett had.

Forearms were placed on the counter. He leaned forward towards the demon.

"For how long?"

Conor: 'Until you're sick of me. Then for a few more years after that.'

Bo: His smile remained. "How do you like your tea. For future reference."

Conor: 'With something sweet on the side.' he winked, 'Something like reminding you that I promised to free Brett of Guildias.'

Conor: He had already created his own motion for Brett's name. A 'B' that slyly slips into a middle finger.

Bo: He watched his hand and rolled his eyes. He turned to Brett and made the sign as well. What do you think of that, sheriff?

Brett: Have a mostly deadpan but almost amused look, Conor. That's what he thinks of that.

Bo: Bo made his way around the counter and kissed the demon's cheek. Slowly, of course, waiting for a sign that he would refuse.

Conor: Conor remained still, his eyes briefly close at the gentle touch, opening in time to look at Brett while lips touched his skin.

He leaned into it instinctively, slightly turning his face towards Bo's the moment the human moved away.

Brett: Brett was busy making tea, aware of the affection between them but not feeling bothered or threatened by it. It had been a day of intense emotions and it wasn't even noon; affection was needed. By everyone.

Bo: Bo remained near, and for the first time began to finger comb Conor's hair. Every movement was lazy yet careful. This was a demon, yes. A man much older than himself, yes. This man was precious, too. This man saw through his chest the way so few were allowed.

"You should have some personal time. I've smothered you. I have a shower upstairs," and he gestured to the master bedroom. Privacy was still honored.

Conor: 'Is that your way of telling me to go away?' Bo's actions were making him tired, he was relaxing and clearly willing to fall asleep with him doing that.

Bo: "It's my way of telling you to be selfish."

Conor: 'There are plenty of opportunities for me to be selfish with you.' he leaned forward as if his lips were connected to Bo's skin by a string. But before he could do anything he stood. 'I should go shower, though.'

Bo: Bo was ready and willing for affection, and when deprived he damn near looked disappointed. He shouldn't expect too much when Conor already gave what he could.

"Need anything?"

Conor: Conor shook his head even though that was a lie. He'll figure everything out. He'll find shampoo and towels and everything else by luck.

'Bye, Brett.' he signed casually with his new sign before excusing himself to go shower.

Bo: Bo watched as the demon left the room, waited before turning back to the ghoul. He began to wonder whether or not this was akin to his normal to his prior life.

"Sleep well?" Might as well sign while he spoke. Brett needed the practice.

Brett: Brett gave a good-natured roll of his eyes at his name sign, waving to Conor as he sipped his tea. He was tempted to make coffee as well but that probably wouldn't help him relax.

"I did. Still feel vaguely off though. Like I'm dead tired and full of energy at the same time. My internal clock's all over the place."

Bo: Bo leaned against the kitchen counter once more and nodded. "When was the last time I walked and talked in my sleep?"

Brett: "Ummm….." He closed his eyes, trying to remember. "You haven't walked in a long time. A few months at least. Talking I'm half-aware of, half the time because I think I'm dreaming it."

Bo: "Have I ever mentioned a woman named Adeline?"

Brett: "The name sounds vaguely familiar but I don't remember any specific times when you've said it. Might have been during one of those times I thought I was dreaming."

Bo: Familiar yet strange. The theme of his life and the reason he was rubbing his face with both hands. He needed something to take his mind off of that woman.

Back around to the plate of food left abandoned.

"What would your life be like right now had you never insisted I come in from the rain..."

Brett: Brett didn't have to think very long about that. He already knew what his life would be like because he'd already lived it. "It'd be day after day of going through the motions with no real purpose or any real joy."

Bo: "You sound so maudlin," he teased.

Brett: He smiled. "Not maudlin, just honest."

Bo: "Why did you allow your life to be empty?"

Brett: "It wasn't really a conscious decision. I just did what I'd always done because I'd always done it."

Bo: "Didn't you feel bereft?"

Brett: "Can't miss something you never had."

Bo: "You can yearn for it."

Brett: "You can, and in some way I did. Of course, I was still in denial about my sexuality then so I didn't know--or didn't want to know--what I was yearning for."

Bo: "When did you come to terms with your sexuality?"

Brett: Brett smiled. "After I met you."

Bo: "I cannot believe I'm your first."

Brett: "The first and only man I've ever been with," he said with a nod.

Bo: "What counts as being with when intercourse disgusts me?"

Brett: "You saw me when I was...in the shower. And then you were with me when I was...not in the shower." A very modest and shy recounting of their intimacy, the memory of which was enough to make him blush ten times over.

Bo: "I watched you touch yourself. Voyeurism at best," he muttered to the table.

Brett: "Maybe, but it's still the only intimacy I've ever had with another man."

Bo: "Don't you feel wanting?"

Brett: "For what? I have all I need."

Bo: "But, sexually...?"

Brett: "I'm not really a sexual person." And it was true. He only felt the need for some relief every so often, and a shower session was always enough to take care of it.

Bo: Bo wasn't entirely satisfied by his answer. Finally accepting his sexual preference only to fall in love with a man aloof to sexual intercourse. Either Brett would grow dissatisfied or what he believed was true.

Thinking of nothing to add, he turned attention to tea.

Conor/Ronan: {Text: to Ro} I need your help.

{Text: to Con} Anything, brother

{Text: Ro} I need you to find out if Guildias would be willing to let a ghoul free. If it's conceivable.

{Text: Ro} ????????????????? Does it even work like that?

{Text} Will you find out? Please?

{Text} No.

Brett: Brett didn't know if Bo simply didn't believe him or if something about his answer was bothering him, but he felt compelled to say one very important thing.

"Intimacy is more valuable to me than sex," he said softly. "And you don't need sex to be intimate with someone. Holding you, sleeping in the same bed, getting to kiss you, those are the types things that matter to me."

Bo: Bo turned back with a fresh cup of tea. Sometimes Brett sounded too good to be true, and then he remembered the details. This was probably balance.

"Kiss me, then."

Brett: A smile as soft as his voice curved Brett's lips as he pulled Bo in for a kiss. This was one of the very moments he would always treasure.

Bo: A little lingering kiss. He pressed their foreheads together and simply breathed.

Brett: "Jeg elsker deg," Brett whispered.

Conor/Ronan: {Text} Please.

{Text} Why? Who is it?

{Text} Someone called Brett.

{Text} WHY.

Conor stared at that message for a while.

{Text} Love?

It took him a few heartbeats to send the word.

Bo: "That was the first thing you learned, isn't it?" he smirked. "You're a suspicious man."

He glanced to the master bedroom.

"I should know how he likes his tea by now."

Brett: He chuckled softly. "Perhaps. It was a very important thing to learn."

Brett followed Bo's gaze. "Should we make him a cup?"

Conor/Ronan: {Text: to Con} WOOOOOOOOW WTF Con??

{Text} ...

{Text} OK. I'll talk 2 Guildias but u owe me biiiiiig time.

{Text} Thank you, brother.

Bo: "We could both make a cup and see which he prefers." One would likely be over sweet and one bitter. He poured black tea into a cup and sliced a lemon. Two for himself and one for the demon.

Brett: "You got it," said Brett. Conor struck him as an earl grey type of person, so that's what he went with. Earl grey with the lightest measure of sweetness.

Conor: Conor was now rinsing himself off (yes, he had been texting in the shower) and getting ready to step out. He rubbed himself down with a towel he had found and pulled clothes out of his backpack.

The space-themed shirt Bo hadn't liked was purposefully put on, along with ripped black jeans before he emerged, still ruffling his coloured hair when he returned to company.

Bo: Bo looked up from his clear mug, frowned at the shirt. It clashed with his hair and for some reason made him think of the name Gus.

"Bedazzled high-top sneakers and you're all set." Wouldn't worsen the look at least.

He gestured to the mugs. His last touch having been a teaspoon of honey to subtly cut the bitterness.

"A little game. Who made the better tea."

Brett: Something about seeing a demon in a space print shirt made Brett smile and somehow made Conor less intimidating.

He nodded, fully expecting Conor to prefer Bo's. All in good fun.

Conor: Smiling crookedly Conor approached Bo... and shook his head. There. Take splatters of- wait, what? The hybrid pointed to himself and raised eyebrows. For me?

'I don't want to know who made which. I have to be fair.'

Bo: Fine. He looked away and sipped his own. "May the better brew win."

Brett: Brett followed suit and turned his attention to the pasta.

Conor: He glanced between them both. Had he interrupted something? Were they giving him privacy on purpose? … Okay. Weirdos. A cup of water is filled first, to ensure fairness. The hybrid wouldn't point out that he didn't really drink tea, he wouldn't after they had gone through so much effort.

First, a sip of what he didn't know to be Bo's. The lemon had deceived him - he would have enjoyed it a lot more had the honey been omitted. A sip of water. Then, the next one... sweet. Again. But at least I wasn't honey, and the flavour was gentle...

A spoon is picked up to lightly tap against the glass. Okay, you can look at me again.

Bo: Bo glanced back with another sip. Green eyes fell to the cup Conor hovered by and scoffed.

"I doubted myself."

Brett: Brett blinked. "Really?"

Conor: Really? Conor was also asking himself that. He had chosen Brett's? There had simply been too much going on in Bo's... had he stuck to just the lemon...

A single nod. 'So what do you win?'

Bo: "Yes, Brett. Tell us. What do you win?"

Brett: "I have no idea. You tell me."

Bo: "You're the victor. Be brave, Brett."

Brett: "I didn't think this far ahead," he chuckled.

Conor: 'Wait, but does he win something both of us have to partake in, or just me, or just you...?'

Bo: The only human in the room laughed. "You're both in a tizzy."

Brett: Brett would never admit to being in a tizzy, but he was.

"I don't really want anything. Can my prize just be bragging rights?"

Conor: 'No. That's boring.'

Bo: "Don't faint, Brett. Demand something."

Brett: "I'm not fainting. There's really nothing I want."

Conor: 'A man without desires is an empty man indeed.'

Bo: "He's selfless to a fault." He gestured to the demon. "You won him. Now you make demands of him."

Brett: They wanted him to demand something? Then they would have to accept his demand.

"Kinder eggs. A box full."

Conor: Won... him? Demands... of a demon? And he chooses that?

'You must be aware of the extent of my powers. You must know that my limits are few. That is really what you're asking of me, when you can have almost anything free of charge?' Conor's surprise was written all over his face. 'I could steal you a truck of Kinder eggs, you fool.'

Bo: Bo didn't bother to hide his laugh, having expected something intimate. These two.

"You're ridiculous. What do you demand in return?" he asked Conor.

Brett: "Oh I'm aware. I'm positive you could steal me every Kinder egg in the world without breaking a sweat. But you're already doing more for me than I could ever hope for and more than I could ever thank you for. So one box is all I need in exchange for a cup of tea."

Conor: Okay, this is getting emotional and it made Conor shift awkwardly.

'I will not let you abuse my powers in a trivial manner. Any human can buy a box. Use me properly.'

Ronan: The very thing Brett couldn't thank Conor for was driving Ronan up the fucking wall. He was already ranting to Matheus about this. How could such a thing be asked of him?! He won't be going alone. Matheus would simply have to come with him to see Guildias.

Bo/Matheus: Now he was leaning forward against the counter, eyes locked on the ghoul.

"That's his demand. Use him properly, Brett."

Matheus watched his husband with neutral expression. Given the subject, there was no feat in masking humor. There was none to be found.

"He asked for Brett? When did your brother become involved with the sheriff?"

Brett: "All right." He still didn't intend to demand anything crazy, but if Conor wanted him to ask for more he would. More in a very simple sense.

"One box a week every week for a year, and before you say it again, no I can't get that myself because they're illegal in the U.S. Also, safety for all of us--including you--for as long as we're in Oslo."

Conor/Ronan: Safety, hm? Now we're talking. Slowly and lazily a smile spreads across his face. Eyes turn black and in a moment he is gone, only to return within seconds with a box. He places it down on the table and sits, picks up the mug of tea, blood spills from his nose after blue can be seen once again.

All the while, Ronan is shrugging. "He said 'love' but the only fuckin' person he talks to that I know about is Botan so beats me. Is it even possible to break the... whatever? D'you think Guildias will do it?" Because Ronan doesn't.

Bo/Matheus: "How is he meant to-" the demon was gone. For a moment he worried. What would that cost Conor to shield them; how, and from what?

"You're going to get fat," he frowned. Just words until his return.

"How are you going to protect us?"

Matheus saw no benefit in lying.

"There would have to be an equivalent trade, as before when the revenant was exchanged for the very human you speak of. He should have been killed months ago when he first broke his bond. If he's asked...he might just snap his neck and be done with it. If he doesn't, Gertrude Draegan might."

Brett: Brett would never get used to that or maybe even understand it. Scientists all over the world were probably working themselves to the bone trying to make teleportation possible and here was Conor--along with others with the same abilities--just doing it.

"I'm not going to eat them all mysel--" And Conor was back. "Thank you."

Bo: Bo crossed the kitchen with a tissue. As compelled as he felt to clean his nose himself, he offered what was in his hand instead.

Conor/Ronan: Reaching for the tissue, he wiped the blood away casually. 'By keeping an eye on you both and keeping you away from danger.'

"So... I shouldn't even bring it up 'cause it's a bad fuckin' idea?"

Brett:  "You have to keep an eye on yourself too," Brett chimed in. "That was part of my demand." Why? He had no idea. But it was important that Conor to be safe on this venture as well.

Bo/Matheus: "I have a cast iron pan under the sink. Apparently it works well on strange creatures. I have you both covered."

Oh. "Salt circles," he said like an epiphany, looking at both men.

"...If it were anyone else, perhaps, but..." The lines around Matheus' mouth sunk with his frown. "He'd listen to you, most likely."

Conor/Ronan: Conor wouldn't point out how contradictory that could be. What if to protect them, he had to sacrifice himself? What then? Then, Conor gets to make the rules.

... The hybrid swallowed a laugh at the mention of salt circles.

Just as Ronan scoffed. "Yeah! Fuckin' right, with the way we left shit! There's no way, seriously."

Bo/Matheus: Pampered fingers gently tapped against Conor's chest. Punishment? Hardly. He saw that, though.

"It was in one of my journals."

"You two...have always been something of an elegant mess," he sighed.

Brett: "The pan does work well. We should get another one."

His brows shot up in surprise. "The salt circle thing is real? I thought that was just another of my mom's superstitions."

Conor/Ronan: The hybrid raised his chin and stood to put his bloody tissue in the nearest bin.

'If you are comparing me to an inanimate object, I am thoroughly insulted.'

Ronan shook his head. "I'm gettin' the heebie-jeebies jus' thinkin' about goin' t'see him. It's embarrassin'." there's no point hiding what he felt, Matheus would know regardless. "Especially t'ask him a favour... like... he won't do it for free."

Bo/Matheus: "I'm to assume you're comparing yourself to a cast iron skillet?" He smirked. "I didn't say it nor think it."

Bo looked back to Brett. "I wrote an entire chapter on it to myself."

"Unfortunately," Matheus sighed, "he would sooner answer your request without me. If you need, I can still keep nearby. Just down the road if necessary."

Brett: "...Huh. I'll be damned." Apparently there were some things his mother's superstition got right. He never would've guessed. Although at this point he shouldn't be surprised by anything.

A demon had just teleported to the store to get him chocolate eggs.

Conor/Ronan: The store? No, no. The demon who was taking a seat again had gotten that straight from the factory.

"The way we... I dunno if I'm comf'table enough..."

Bo/Matheus: With their silence, Bo sipped his drink once more.

"I'm going to take my own shower. I leave you two to it."

"If it's too much, and you want to fulfill your brother's request, then I...can go as ambassador."

Brett: Brett nodded. He should go shower himself, but food and caffeine were more important at the moment.

"All right, baby."

Conor/Ronan: Conor blinked. Alone... with Brett?

'Hurry back.' and he meant it.

"Maybe... Fuck, but what if Guildias gets offended that I don't wanna be alone with him?"

Matheus: "Perhaps you're overthinking this," Matheus sighed.

Brett: "Sure you're not hungry?" Brett asked Conor, feeling some of his nerves return. Being alone with Conor felt so different than being with Conor when Bo was present.

Conor: Conor shifted and looked down into the mug. 'Are you afraid of me?'

Ronan: "I don't think I am. It's Guildias. It's... complicated."

Matheus: "Ronan, whatever you want to do or want me to do, we will do it. Don't rush your decision. Just take a moment for yourself and consider."

Brett: Well now that was a heavy question.

"I....grew up Catholic. I don't know if I still am, but I still remember being taught and threatened with demons and Hell any time I did something wrong in the eyes of my father."

Conor/Ronan: "... Uh... okay. I kinda wish I hadn't deleted his number an' all that. Would've been easier."

Conor... smiled. 'But now you have a demon bound to see you weekly and provide you with chocolate.'

Matheus: "It's written in the brown notebook in the shelf by our window." He gestured to the bay window, to the leather book sitting atop of others. It was where he kept the names and information of all vampires and ghouls he could.

Brett: He gave a breathless chuckle. "And now I have a demon seeing me weekly and bringing me chocolate." He shook his head and finished off his tea. "If my father could see me now."

Conor/Ronan: 'What would he say? Would he tell you to examine me closely, find out all of my strengths and weaknesses? Will that make you feel safer? Do you also want to know of every time I've used my powers with Flower?'

"If you were him, what would you want?"

Matheus: Matheus considered and looked away.

"The man that got away. The man I allowed to slip away. My weakness. My fascination. I am not him. I would want to honor my companion. A phone call would suffice. Guildias...I don't know. He was ruthless but honorable when I first met him."

Brett: "He told me I was going to Hell when I was six years old because a boy gave me a flower at recess. He doubled down on that when Botan became my boyfriend. Now? He'd volunteer to drag me to Hell himself."

Conor/Ronan: 'Boo hoo your father is against homosexuality. You're the only one to ever experience it.'

Weakness. Fascination. Ronan stared.

"Is that what I am t'him?"

Matheus: "I invited him to Edenton. He'd just awakened after a decade long torpor. I am why you're not-" he shook his head. "You're his weakness, yes."

Brett: "You asked what he'd say," Brett said simply. "That's what he'd say. What he'd do. I stopped caring what he thinks of me."

Conor/Ronan: 'That has nothing to do with me.'

Ronan is silent for a moment and sniffs, nodding. Yeah. "I have t'see him then, don't I? In person."

Matheus: Matheus offered his hand. "You don't have to do anything, love."

Brett: 'True. But it gives context to how he'd react if he ever knew I was accepting chocolate from you."

Conor/Ronan: "I could tell Conor t'fuck off, but... he's my brother, y'know? I... I'll figure out what t'say."

'So am I a way to show your father how you're your own man?'

Matheus: "With the exception of love, did he give any reason as to why he needs the sheriff?"

Brett: Brett shook his head. "No. My life shows him that every day. You're Botan's friend, and the man who offered to help me."

Conor/Ronan: "No. Jus' said that one word."

The hybrid's chin rose. 'Promised to help you.' he corrected.

Matheus: "Is that all you need?" For Ronan to have to face Guildias again, he'd rather he had more to go on.

Brett: He gave Conor a barely there smile. "The man who promised to help me." And the man he'd forgive if helping wasn't possible.

Conor/Ronan: Conor wouldn't entertain the idea of impossible. If Ronan couldn't get it done voluntarily, he's sure there's a way to forcibly remove the tether.

'I have to ask... when we were in the bedroom and you started to panic, was I really able to help you?'

Ronan took a deep breath. "From Conor? Yeah. If it was Sean I'd need more, but... Conor's never asked me for anythin' an' I don't think he's ever loved anyo-" ... Was Conor really in love, though?

Matheus: He understood the gravity of Ronan's situation, being a sibling himself. There was only one arduous task ahead of them.

Matheus offered his hand.

"Shall we begin?"

Brett: The fact that Conor had seen him in such a state was more than a little embarrassing. The only person in his entire life to ever see him in that state and in similar ones was Botan. Still...

He gave a small nod and said, very softly, "Yes. You did."

Conor/Ronan: The hand is taken and kissed. "Guess so."

Ah. Conor nodded. 'Okay then.'

Bo: Bo quietly dressed in the bathroom. Clothes from Oslo had been neatly placed on the counter. Everything fit too perfectly, as though he'd never left. He observed himself in the mirror. Pressed dark gray trousers, faded mauve sweater. Still barefoot.

He wondered how they were getting on in the kitchen when the doorbell chimed a stoic deep melody.

Brett: Brett opened his mouth to say something more when the doorbell rang, causing his head to whip sharply toward the door and then back to Conor.

"Can you tell who or what it is?" he asked, feeling the need to whisper.

Conor: Conor pretended to gasp. 'Maybe it's another old woman!' with a teasing smile the hybrid stood and went to look through a window or anything else that would allow him to see outside without opening the door.

Johann: A man awaited at the door in a midnight blue and subtle gold plaid suit. Everything about him was polished; crisp clothing, perfect cut sideburns, flawless shoes and watch. Sun-kissed skin complemented golden curls which only enhanced his outfit. He was without a doubt related to the man softly padding to the door. This man Conor had seen before in Bo's dream.

Brett: Brett just shook his head and kept his eyes glued to the door. Conor could tease, but there were still far too many unknowns around this entire trip of theirs. Brett would be on alert and paranoid until they had more information, even if it turned out to be a delivery guy or indeed another old woman at the door. He hoped it was.

Conor: Recognition flashed in Conor's eyes. At the feeling of Bo's presence he automatically reacted, moving to be in his way. Don't look. Let me prepare you.

'I haven't told you what happened in your dream yet.'

Bo: Conor's expression was studied. 'Is it relevant to whatever is outside?'

Conor: 'Yes.' his gaze shifted to find Brett. Were they being watched?

Bo: Brett was waved to for his attention. 'Can you open the door? We need - He needs -'

Brett: They were, and it was only making Brett more apprehensive as he recalled what he'd said on the plane about Bo's dream being a premonition.

Now the premonition was at the door and he was about to open it.

He nodded at his boyfriend and made his way over, giving a worried glance to Conor.

Conor: Conor moved to be in the way of the handle. 'I don't want you to open this door if you are not ready for what's on the other side.'

Bo: 'Do you want this door opened or not, Conor?'

The doorbell chimed again.

Brett: 'Vampire?' he asked, hating that he knew that sign.

Conor: Conor placed a hand briefly on Brett's wrist, as if to reassure.

'It isn't my decision whether or not this opens. Flower... it's family. Do what you want to do. But yes. It's a vampire.' and after a moment he steps aside.

Bo: 'Then I don't want Brett anywhere near the door.'

Conor: The hybrid automatically goes in front of him as if to guard and eases the ghoul backwards with his arm.

Brett: Brett didn't need any encouragement to put as much space between himself and the door as possible. Not after Conor's confirmation.

'I'm going to go shower.' Upstairs. In the tower. Where it was safe.

Bo: "You'll have to tell me later," he whispered. Gentle hand pressed to Conor's chest before reaching for the doorknob.

Conor: He had only mentioned the dream because he wondered if it might influence this decision, but okay. Later. Conor looks to Brett.

'Do you want me to go up with you?' but... Does Bo want him down here? Fuck, who is he meant to offer himself to? He was told to protect them!

Brett: He shook his head. 'Stay with Botan. Keep him safe. I'll lock myself in the bathroom until the vampire leaves.' As long as he wasn't in the room, maybe Bo's relative wouldn't know what he was. And even if he figured it out somehow, Conor was here.

Bo/Johan: Now to wait until Brett was out of sight. What awaited him was, to an extent, no surprise. In the stranger's presence, he felt underdressed.

The vampire smiled. For Bo, it felt honest.

"Made it home in one piece this time. What a pleasant surprise."

Lips parted to speak, but snapped shut. The door was widened.

"Must I invite you inside, or are you capable without verbal confirmation?"

"As cheeky as ever. We're well past that, aren't we?"

His guest stepped into the foyer.

Conor: He would nod once to show understanding and then linger to the side, out of the way. It was time to simply observe.

Bo/Johan: The man stared at the taciturn creature by the wall. Eyes seemed fixated in contact. Peripheral vision could have been used, but to what end?

A gloved hand was offered. He would make no assumptions whether or not this was a new servant.

"God morgen. Hva heter du?"

"He's - Who are you?"

The hand dropped. "Is that any way to treat your uncle?"

"I have...amnesia."

"Oh." Humor returned to his dark teal eyes. How ironic.

Conor: The only reaction Conor had was lifting his chin, daring, flashing, warning. He wouldn't have taken that hand anyway.

Bo/Johan: Bo brushed past without word. Fingers lightly felt the demon's shirt as he watched the vampire disappear to the kitchen. He needed that simplistic touch to ground him. A quick glance back revealed apologetic eyes. He'd touched without permission. Forgive him.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Your neighbor called. We've been very worried about you. Given what you just told me, we had reason."

"You're my uncle... That's all I have to go on."

"Johan Sigurd. Great uncle." And so forth. "Your mother's side."

Conor: Conor counted... three times that Bo had touched his chest in this single day. Was it three? That felt accurate.

The look was met with confusion. What? It's fine. As if you need permission.

Conor would not take a seat, he simply lingered by the wall, waiting out of sight of the man.

Bo/Johan: "Does your friend know Norwegian?"

"Yes."

Johan leaned his weight against the counter. Arms crossed. "Where did you find this one?"

"...America." The questions came, and he felt constrained to answer reach one. The interrogation had to cease. "He's not deaf. You can speak to him."

"Forgive me. He hasn't even given me your name."

There Bo stood in the middle of his kitchen, pink tinting his cheeks. He felt like a child.

Conor: Not deaf. Not stupid. Just mute.

Conor looked over the stranger carefully. What was his body language like? What was his tone like? How on guard did he need to be?

'Give him my name, Flower.'

Bo/Johan: The vampire remained leaned against the kitchen counter. The language of his body was relaxed, his tone humored yet neutral. From Bo's perspective he was too placid.

"Flower?" he laughed.

"His name is Conor."

"Conor," he pointed. Back to his nephew. "And Flower."

Conor: The man was given a dirty look when he was sure only Bo would see.

Bo/Johan: Despite everything, the demon managed to coax a smile from the human.

Anyway. "You're home for how long this time?"

"A week...possibly two."

"That's not long enough."

Something within Bo's stomach felt colder. His body rigid. For Conor, it would appear as though he'd stopped breathing long enough to blink several times.

"You're right. It's not long enough."

Conor: Oh really? Conor moved forward, though remained behind the stranger. Is this vampire manipulating his human? Eyes turn black with a blink. The hybrid will see right through you, Vampire.

Johan: Johan turned around to face the other side of the counter, to the man who somehow made his way around without being noticed.

"Can I help you?"

Conor: 'I don't trust you.' might as well be honest here. What type of vampire is this? He considered for a moment...

Bo/Johan: The look on his face was one similar to the many instances Botan Nowicki had been forced to speak to undesirables. The audacity to have to interact with someone lesser.

'Conor, it's alright,' Bo signed when his uncle's back was turned. 'We need him.'

Conor: Really? Because Conor was mentally searching for the nearest knife. One his telekinesis could bring to hand if need be.

He had no response. He'd simply stare back at Bo's uncle. Do something else, black eyes dared. I have fire in my veins.

Bo/Johan: The drawer just to his left was filled with exactly what he'd need.

"With your present company, I should probably come back some other time."

"No. I have too many questions that can't wait."

Their guest looked between them once more before taking a seat at the attached dining table. The buttons to his blazer were unfastened.

"Go on."

"In the guest bathroom...there is a closet filled with-"

"Old clothes. Your parents."

A thick unpleasant taste bunched in the back of Bo's throat. "They're dead?"

Johan leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. "Perhaps you should sit down."

Conor: It was fair to say Conor didn't like this man. He reminded him somewhat of the people he had grown up around. Disgusting people.

Eyes returned to their normal sharp blue as he wondered how Brett was. Would he come in time to hear this?

Brett: Brett wouldn't come down if he could help it, not while the vampire was still here.

He was all but curled up on the floor of the shower, scrubbing his skin raw and wondering what it was about ghouls that made them so easy to detect. If it wasn't for that he could be down with Bo. He wouldn't have to hide, to cower in fear.

Bo/Johan: Bo did as he was told, taking a seat next to his uncle rather stiffly. More like a statue than human.

Again, Johan glanced to the demon. Given the chaos in his aura, there could be no doubt.

"This is a rather private discussion, if you wouldn't mind-"

"I mind."

His tongue, peculiar and long, tasted his upper lip. "Your mother killed your father when you were a child. She tried to kill you in your sleep. Luckily, you somehow managed to escape. You've been in my care ever since."

The statuesque stance became more lifeless than ever, chest barely rising with shallow breath.

Conor: Given Conor had looked at him with eyes coated in darkness, he expected the vampire to know what he is. He should, by now.

But that didn't matter. He was listening to Bo's story unfold, searching for the slightest hint that this is a lie.

Bo/Johan: Unfortunately for Bo, every scrap of information was real. Johan waited for a response that would not arrive. He reached forward for his nephew's hand to squeeze.

"Bo, breathe." A command laced with magic, one which he obeyed. One which without he would have turned blue.

Conor: It may have helped, but Conor wasn't enjoying watching this man manipulate him like that. If Bo wanted to go blue, he should be allowed to fucking go blue.

The hybrid went to put a hand on the side of the human's face. 'Do you want me to make you something?' Tea? A sandwich? Something alcoholic?

Bo/Johan: The disgusting flavor clumped in the back of his throat seemed to worsen by the seconds. He wouldn't get sick. He would have to swallow down information he'd once known by heart.

"How did she try to kill me?" A question asked while leaning his cheek into Conor's hand.

Johan had quietly watched and puzzled over the image before him.

"She tried to smother you with your pillow."

Conor: Conor would not take his eyes off of Bo. He watched him carefully, continued to feel his skin. A thumb was ready to brush over his cheek if any tears wanted to make themselves known. Or even if they didn't.

Bo/Johan: Tears refused to form and fall. That wasn't the same woman from his dreams. Surely not.

"How did she die?"

"She didn't. She's in a-"

"I want to see her."

Conor: As much as that sudden decision, he wouldn't react to it. He wouldn't tell him to slow down to talk about it with Brett first. He would just touch his arm gently.

Bo/Johan: Johan slowly leaned back in his chair, blazer adjusted. "No."

"I'm not asking for your permission."

"She's not allowed visitors. She's extremely violent. You've asked this before and the answer hasn't changed."

"Then you're useless to me. Get out."

Conor: Feisty.

That would be that.

Eyes are black once again and the door opens without a single finger on it. There you go.

Johan: Eyes remained on the demon despite the door. Eyes which silently said, "You're not going to be by his side forever." Rather than say something so coarse, a business card was placed on the counter.

Lingering at the door, his farewell was simple. "I'm sorry you feel this way. I'll see you soon, Botan."

Conor: The vampire couldn't be more wrong.

The door slammed and locked, the moment he was able to eyes returned to seemingly human and blood dripped from his nose.

'Are you okay? We should let Brett know it's safe.'

Bo: Only after hearing the car fade did Bo come to life. Turning with a paper towel in hand from the counter, he began to dab away the blood on Conor's nose.

Conor: What? No. That isn't what important. Fingers grip Bo's wrist to stop him. Large eyes tried to tunnel their way into Bo's mind. Talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking, they pleaded.

Bo: The human shied away. "Just let me," he whispered, back to English, voice hardly strong enough to carry.

Conor: Conor found himself raising on his toes. The action full of intent as he went to rest his forehead to Bo's. He released the human's wrist to instead cup his face. It's okay. It's okay. You have two strong men by your side.

Bo: "I'm alright," he insisted, but still he sniffled. He refused to push him away as instinct insisted. Instead, he leaned into his chest and allowed himself comfort.

Conor: Whatever remained on his bloodstained upper-lip would be wiped onto the back of his hand simply, so that he may kiss over the side of his face without concern.

Bo: Affection. How had he come to deserve this? The man upstairs and the man in his arms. They were too perfect.

"I ask too much of you."

Conor: Feet fall flat. 'How can I make you feel better?'

Bo: "The tattoo I had on my hand. My first memory was of a hunter with a woman talking about my marks. They said it was the symbol of Ventrue." He glanced to the door. "That's a vampire clan, isn't it?"

Conor: Conor nodded once. 'Ronan's vampire is someone we can trust to tell you the truth about them, if you wanted to find out more.'

Bo: "My family is vampiric." He swallowed. "It's a part of me." He stared into Conor's chest. "I want to know everything."

Conor: 'Does that mean inviting your uncle back?'

Bo: "If I have to play nice, I will. When I know a little more, first."

Conor: 'I don't trust him with you. He was manipulating you.'

Bo: To that he blinked. "What?"

Conor: 'Do you really believe that two weeks here isn't long enough?'

Bo: Another blink. "I...thought so at first. I was afraid of this place. But - I don't know now."

Conor: The hybrid took a step back. 'And so will you stay here?'

Bo: "Not stay, no, but I don't want to sell like I intended. This...This is mine. This is...ours."

Conor: 'I don't blame you. Your home is nice.' Ours. 'Yours and Brett's.'

Bo: "Conor, I want you to claim this place, too."

Conor: 'Why would you want that?' Where is Brett? Save him from this conversation.

Bo: Bo turned towards the stairs and scoffed. "Do you really need ask?"

Conor: Bo was going to turn away from him mid-conversation? Bo was going to silence the last of Conor's ability to communicate? All that did was start a small fire, fill a small part of him with rage. The hybrid would raise his chin and stare and breathe and that is all. Go, then. Conor will make no claim of unequal land. How desperate and pathetic would he have to be?

Bo: He didn't want to say what he felt. He did not fear the man behind him, but he did expect rejection despite what they had been through, despite what Conor promised and every action leading to this moment.

But still he turned around.

"I wish you'd made me stay on the bus. Stay or follow. Either way, we're here now. Of every town, every street, every gym, you managed to find me again, and here we are. This house is yours. I want that. I want that because I love you."

He glanced back to the stairs.

"I'm going to go get Brett."

Conor: The human would simply have to go. No response could be given. Conor was taking too long to process this. His heart was beating too loudly. He was... fucking confused. Love. Love? Surely, the platonic type. Surely, nothing compared to Brett. Surely, all Conor could receive were leftovers Bo managed to find by scraping along the insides of his heart. His head tilted slightly... and that is all. How had he ended up here?

Bo: Quietly, Bo climbed the steps to the tower. He didn't expect Conor to follow nor did he expect reciprocation. His affection for the demon must have been a joke to him. No matter. His feelings were valid. What Conor decided to do with them was for him to decide.

"Brett?" The bedroom door was pushed aside.

Brett: Bo would find the bedroom empty. Brett was still in the bathroom, sitting against the door, head in his hands.

A head that lifted as soon as he heard his boyfriend's voice.

"Botan?" he called through the door.

Conor: Despite being alone, Conor remained as he was. Stunned. It would take a while for him to move, find a book, sit and pretend like he was actually reading it. Distracted would be an understatement.

Bo: The sound of his voice was followed into the bathroom, where he would take a seat beside the sheriff.

"He's gone. Conor showed him the door."

Brett: Bo would be greeted by a rush of warmth and residual steam as soon he opened the door, testament to how hot Brett's shower had been. The redness of his skin was testament to how punishing it had been.

He made room as Bo lowered to sit beside him, immediately reaching for his hand.

"Okay," he said softly, nodding. "What did he say? Your relative?"

Bo: Bo was so distracted by his pinkened skin that he almost didn't hear him.

"Uncle Johan. A vampire. That's all I have for you right now." Meaning if he said more he'd lose his temper.

"Were you trying to cook yourself?"

Brett: He nodded again, knowing the tone. Uncle Johan. It sounded so....normal.

"I um...I didn't want him to be able to...detect me."

Bo: "Any hotter and you would have burned your skin." So he pinched what appeared to be a sensitive area as punishment. "He would have never made it upstairs."

Brett: Brett made a small sound of discomfort. It was indeed a sensitive area, though it and the rest of his body were calming somewhat.

"Even so." But speaking of, "How's Conor?"

Bo: Ah. His hand rested over Brett's and he sighed. "I managed to put him in a catatonic state by telling him I love him before walking up here."

Brett: He laced their fingers together as his brow furrowed. "Why would that put him in a catatonic state? He should know that by now."

Bo: "He should, but we've never said it out loud."

Brett: "Oh. Well then." He could definitely see why that would put Conor in a catatonic state.

Bo: "What strange men are we. Abused and neglected."

Brett: Brett sighed and leaned his head against Bo's shoulder. "What strange men indeed. And all under the same roof."

Bo: "You're going to love him as much as I do someday."

Brett: He gave Bo a small smile. "He's growing on me."

Bo: "We're going downstairs now. You shouldn't be alone."

Brett: Brett nodded, nuzzling into Bo's shoulder for a moment. "Okay."

Conor: They would find Conor on the couch, seemingly physically comfortable if not for the faraway look on his face. The book was open and in his hands but he was clearly staring over it. Past it.

Bo: Bo paused a few feet into the kitchen, studying the sight before them. He had caused that.

Well...

Around the oversized couch he walked, taking a deliberate seat next to the demon. The remote wedges between the cushions was offered to the sheriff.

Brett: Brett took the seat on the other side of Bo and wondered what was going through Conor's mind. He looked like he was a million miles away.

Accepting the remote, he snuggled into his boyfriend's side and looked for something mindless and soothing for them to watch.

Conor: Conor reacted to Bo's sudden presence a second too late. He breathed and set the book down, slowly unfolding to create more room for the two of them.

Bo: The couch was much too large for anyone to have to readjust. Bo simply watched with neutrality.

What book was that, anyway? He picked it up and leafed through the pages.

"Good read?" he smirked.

Conor: Man Alone with Himself by Friedrich Nietzsche. Conor had read it before and wanted to see how time had changed him.

His arms felt a little too heavy to respond, so he simply looked at the human... and then at the ghoul that was comfortably against him. Why had Bo been so vague? His gaze falls to his own lap.

Bo: It took Bo a moment to realize the book was in Norwegian. He laughed at himself and explained.

"The plight of a polyglot, I suppose."

The book was tossed into one of the tiny nearby tables.

His sense of propriety wasn't based on society's general standards. He was with a man. He had no interest in sexual intercourse. Brett, in his enigma of wisdom, seemed to have always known his regards to the man on the other side.

Limp fingers came to life. Turned and offered to the demon. He looked him in the eyes and inclined his head just so. Closer. It's alright.

Brett: Brett lifted his head and turned to Conor. He was curious to see if he could be at ease again, but he also wanted him to know how grateful Brett was for keeping Bo safe while his uncle had been here.

He'd thank him properly later, of course, but for now a smile and a look would have to do.

Conor: Blue eyes shifted from one man to another. Really, how had he ended up here? Would Brett be smiling if he knew what Bo had said? How had Bo even meant what was said? Why had what was said been said? Said said said said. It's all words. It's all... feelings and abstract concepts and intangible ideas and Conor had nothing solid to go on. He had no physical, corporeal, firm place of support to balance himself on. He hated this bottomless pit. He hated this state.

He could excuse himself, but that would take energy his legs didn't have... and he didn't want Bo to take it the wrong way.

It was only when he reached that thought that he realised how long he had been doing nothing for.

What was he meant to do?

His hand rose and lingered above the human's. Fingers awkwardly twitched. He had never held hands with anyone like that before.

Bo: After everything they had been through, patience was a virtue Bo was willing to lean on. They needed a moment to slow and simply breathe. If Conor could do that he didn't know. For now, he laced their fingers and turned his attention to the television.

"Can you understand what they're saying?" he asked Brett, inclining by an inch in his direction.

Brett: "A lot of it, yeah," he said as he resumed his snuggling. "They're talking faster than I'm used to though so I'm missing stuff."

Conor: Oh... okay... But how long were they meant to stay like this? What happened if someone's hand got sweaty? How could Bo be so casual about this?!

He appeared to be calm, but he was screaming internally.

Bo: "I should only speak Norwegian to you while we're here."

He smiled at Conor. "Would that be too much for you?"

Brett: Brett smiled. "You should. It'll be good practice for me."

Conor: Conor shook his head, only.

Bo: "Fine," he began in his native tongue. "Then you should be completely immersive in your communication and sign while you speak. If you're going to see Conor every week for so long, then you should be able to understand anything he has to say to you."

Brett: Since Bo spoke much slower than the people on TV, Brett had a much easier time understanding and mentally translating what he said.

"I like that idea, too. I'll get chocolate and practice."

Conor: 'I am getting roped into doing a lot of things for the two of you.'

Bo: "You insisted that he demand something," Bo smirked.

Brett: "You did," Brett chuckled. "Could've just gotten me the one box."

Conor: 'Teaching you Norwegian was not asked of me.' This changes a simple delivery system to... spending time with one another.

Bo: "You're not teaching him anything. If he fumbles with sign, simply punish him."

Brett: "I'm teaching myself Norwegian and what do you mean 'punish him'? For what?"

Conor:  The hybrid smiled.

Bo: The human smiled as well. "What is the sign for...hallucinate?"

Brett: Ah ha, you thought you could stump him? Well he knows that sign!

Conor: Conor couldn't play this game, he'd have the sign the word to ask Brett what the sign is. He looked on in amusement.

Bo: "The fact that you know "hallusinere" impresses me, Brett." Hmm. Ah. "Hallucinogenic drug. Show me that sign."

Brett: He couldn't help but smile again. "I was bored one day and started looking up the signs for random words."

But not that particular one. He could spell it. Did that count?

Conor: Conor shook his head. Nope. Doesn't count. By the time you've signed that to a doctor your friend who overdosed would already be dead.

Bo: The proper sign was presented. Almost the same as hallucinate with a slight variation to the beginning. A cheat, really.

"What shall his punishment be?"

Brett: Now he could file that away in his bank of random words. Who was to say, it could come in handy one day at work.

"Why do I have to be punished? I did not agree to this."

Conor: A real punishment would be Conor possessing his body... but he wouldn't do that. 'Maybe he should have to eat the entire box of chocolates.'

Bo: "I was thinking thirty push-ups. Don't make him fat," he chuckled.

Brett: "If I have to do thirty push-ups every time I get a sign wrong I don't think I'll have to worry about all the chocolate I'll be eating."

Bo: "Then do both."

Conor: 'Can ghouls get fat?' … a legitimate question.

Brett: "I have no idea." But he supposed they'd find out.

"Do I have to do them now? I'm comfortable."

Bo: His smile nearly reached his ears. "Yes. Push-ups right in front of us. Perfect form."

Conor: In front of us? He'll be... watching...

Brett: "Fine, fine. But I still don't understand why I'm being punished." Or how it had even happened.

But he'd do the thirty push-ups, perfect form as requested. "I feel like I'm back at soccer practice," he said halfway through, not sounding the least bit strained.

Bo: The effortless composure Brett maintained was both amusing and...something else. Something he couldn't (or wouldn't) internally describe. Rather than dwelling on eroticism of strength, Bo placed his feet on the ghoul's back and crossed his ankles. His own personal ottoman.

Brett: He chuckled. "Now I definitely feel like I'm at soccer practice."

Conor: Conor would watch for the first two until it felt uncomfortable. He folded his arms and tried not to laugh when Bo used him as a foot stool, even though when he did allow himself to do so it was just as silent.

Bo: "Don't complain. I could sit on your back and you'd still have impeccable form. I can attest to this one benefit of being a ghoul."

Brett: "I would but it has nothing to do with being a ghoul. That is a result of me playing a sport since I was five."

Bo: "What else can you do...as a ghoul?"

Brett: "I don't know and I don't want to."

Conor: 'Why wouldn't you want to know?'

Bo: "You'd said before about hearing animals. Can you still?"

Brett: Brett shook his head. "No, not anymore. Not since....December."

He eased back onto the couch. "Because I hate what I am."

Conor: 'There is no point hating what you are. Endure until you can change. Make the most out of it.'

Bo: "I'm having second thoughts about hiding you. As much as I detest your situation, Conor is right. Look at my home, Brett. I have knowledge at your disposal. Magic, and...these are things I fear that I didn't before. Cowering is going to get us nowhere."

Brett: "There's every reason to hate what I am," Brett said quietly. What he was had hurt Botan. What he was had allowed an evil demon to force itself on him.

Conor: 'And you think feeling sorry for yourself makes you anything other than pathetic? You have power. You are power. Use it. Own it. You are you right now and your skin is going nowhere. Breathe. It's yours.'

Bo: "Not what you are, but what those monstrosities assume they can do to you because of what you are."

Brett: "They don't have to assume anything. They can do whatever the hell they want to me. They can get in my head, they can manipulate me, they can chip away at whatever sense of self and whatever power I have and they can do it as easy as I can breathe. And they have."

Conor: 'You do realise that ghoul or not vampires can do that?'

Bo: "Brett, you know everything that's happened to me without my having to repeat it, because I don't want to. I know how you feel because I still flinch when touched. Demon, human, ghoul... whatever we are, we have a right to our bodies and our individual strengths."

Brett: Brett just shook his head and closed his eyes. He didn't want to talk about this anymore. He didn't want to think about the poison in his veins or how it got there or what it did to him. He just wanted it gone. He wanted to be normal again.

Conor: After a beat Conor inhaled. 'It's being sorted, Brett. You'll be free.'

Bo: No. Bo got to his feet and headed around the couch to the kitchen. "Come here, Brett."

Brett: Brett looked up, confusion written all over his face. "What are you going to do?"

Conor: Conor watches, feeling terribly out of place.

Bo: "How much," sigh, "blood did that man give you before we left?"

Brett: He bowed his head in shame.

Bo: "None of that."

Brett: "As much as he could," he said in Norwegian, not daring to meet Bo's or Conor's eyes.

Bo: "I've been avoiding this as much as you have. We're going to learn today." The smallest, sharpest knife was drawn from its drawer.

Conor: Conor slowly sat up. Darkness coated eyes.

Brett: Brett seemed to curl in on himself as Bo took a knife out of the drawer, shaking his head again. Please don't make him.

Bo: Bo's attention was taken by the unavoidable eyes.

"You can come closer, if you want. I'm not going to hurt him intensely."

Brett: "Please don't," he whispered.

Conor: The hybrid rose to his feet. He was ready to heal whatever injury was caused by this.

Bo: "Brett," was all he needed to say, holding his hand out. There he would wait patiently, as the many times Brett had for him.

Brett: He looked from Bo's hand to his face, torn. He never ever wanted to associate his Botan with anything negative. With pain.

"Let me do it. Whatever you have in mind. Let me do it."

Bo: "I know I can misbehave, but do you not trust me with a knife?"

Brett: "It isn't that. I trust you with my life. I just don't want to associate you with...this thing in me."

Bo: "You're going to have to get over that. It's been connected to me since the beginning."

Brett: Perhaps he had a point.

Brett stood and made his way over, taking his boyfriend's hand and squeezing it as soon as he was close enough. Bo would be able to feel the tremor in his own.

Bo: His hand was squeezed in return. "You can heal yourself unnaturally. You've come home with bruises and the next day they're gone. That evening with that thing that came into our home, again, you were fine. I want to see how quickly you actually regenerate."

The tip of the blade was tapped against his forearm, from one side to another. Three inches at best. "From here to here," he said softly.

Brett: "I don't know if 'can' is the right word. I don't consciously do anything except put Neosporin on. At least I don't think I do. It just sort of happens. It happened without my wanting it that night, too."

Brett flinched when the blade touched his skin but didn't move away, nodding after he'd taken a deep breath. It was just Botan. He was safe.

Bo: Bo glanced to Conor, if he had any objection to what he was about to do. Oh, but...

"Would you rather?" he asked the demon, turning the handle of the blade in his direction.

Conor: He raised his chin. 'I think Brett would prefer if you did it.'

Bo: "Is that true, Brett?"

Brett: Brett nodded. "It's nothing against you, Conor, just...being touched by other people is..."

Conor: Ah, but that only made him smile wickedly. 'I might get carried away.'

Bo: Bo couldn't help but smirk. "Feel free to get carried away on someone who dares slight us," he said. The promised cut was made with a swift flick of the blade. He watched in mild fascination to the beading red formations along the fresh wound.

"Will, concentration, heart...choose a method and make an attempt to heal yourself."

Brett: Well that smile did absolutely nothing to make Brett feel more at ease with this situation.

There was another, larger flinch when the knife pierced his skin, followed by Brett turning his head away. It didn't matter if it was his own blood, he didn't want to see it. Feeling it was bad enough.

Maybe wishing he would stop feeling it would be enough to stop the cut from bleeding. That was all he could think to do.

Bo: When nothing happened, the blade was placed on the counter.

"Brett, breathe."

Conor: Conor moved closer then. He was offering himself. If you want me to, I will heal him. If he wants me to, I will do the same. Give me an order.

Brett: His first few attempts were shaky and shallow. He could feel it start to run down his skin. It was heavy and unsettling to the point where his whole body and mind were slowly tensing, as if trying to get away from it somehow, to block it out, to make it stop, to get it off him.

He didn't know how it happened and didn't notice when it happened, but he was on the verge of a panic attack when the cut stopped bleeding.

Bo: A warm, gentle hand was placed over Brett's. "Whatever you're doing is finally working," he whispered. "It's your own body, Brett. You need to relax."

Conor: Apparently he needed to stop tapping into his demonic gifts, it seemed as though they weren't extremely useful here. Conor went back to giving them space and being a distant observer.

Brett: All the breath left Brett's body in a rush, only to be gasped back in again as he squeezed Bo's hand and tried to find his center. He'd done it, he stopped the cut from bleeding. How? He had no earthly idea. All that mattered to him at the moment was Bo's hand.

Bo: "You're not finished until your skin is perfect again."

Brett: "Is that even possible?" he asked them both. "Bruises seem simpler to disappear completely."

Bo: "I regrew my tongue in a matter of minutes."

Brett: It took him a moment to remember that had happened. God, they lived in a strange world.

"Can you hand me a paper towel?"

Bo: One better, he would wet the paper towel and wring it out. Arm's length was given as he began to clean the knife.

Brett: It was accepted with a grateful smile before being used to ruthlessly clean his forearm until there wasn't a trace of blood left.

Bo: With a sigh, Bo turned away towards the nearest cup of - what was this? Old tea. What remained was tossed into the sink. He assumed Brett was going to abandon anything further.

Brett: Now that the blood was gone, perhaps not.

Brett stared at his arm, trying to remember if he'd felt anything significant when he'd gotten the bleeding to stop or what he felt when he made his bruises disappear. Believing was half the battle, right? Believing and breathing.

So he took a deep breath, then another, and dug deep.

Bo: His attention was brought back, waiting for something more significant...and suspended in belief when the moment finally came, and the wound he had created began to close.

Brett: The slow diminishing of the ache on his arm prompted Brett to open his eyes. He didn't even remember closing them, but as he watched the wound disappear, they went wide.

"....I did it...."

Bo: "How did you manage it?"

Brett: "I took a deep breath and focused on how much I wanted it gone. I believed that I could make it go away."

Bo: "Will you allow me to do it again?"

Brett: He wasn't looking forward to the possibility of more blood, but maybe now he could get the bleeding to stop before the panic set in.

He nodded.

Bo: Gray-green eyes looked to Conor's expression. He...wanted Conor to do it and he couldn't fathom why. He wouldn't ask, instead bringing the knife back over.

Conor: Conor was watching from afar, ready in case anything went wrong.

Brett: Brett was already turning away and taking more deep breaths to steel himself. He did feel more confident now, but not enough to completely stave off what he knew was coming.

Bo: The new mark was the same as before, but opposite. X marked the spot for testing. He immediately took a step back, leaned against the counter and watched.

Brett: He began breathing deep and focusing the moment the knife touched his skin. Maybe he could avoid the bleeding altogether.

Bo: Bo's smile was directed to the demon. As the fresh wound began to fade, all he could think was, finally, progress.

"It's not regenerating a tongue, but it's a start."

Conor: Conor didn't share in the excitement. Come, now. He should've been able to do this from the beginning.

The hybrid takes a seat, since he isn't needed.

Brett: Progress indeed. Brett didn't manage to avoid bleeding like he wanted, but he did bleed a little less and for a shorter amount of time before his wounds began to heal. There was definitely some pride to be had in that.

"Well this will certainly come in handy at work."

Bo: "Don't think too small in scale."

Brett: "That and my Saturday morning games are pretty much the only scales I've got, but if another comes along I'll be well prepared."

Bo: "Does the vampire have any plans for you?"

Brett: "He said we're going to start training every other day to test my powers."

Bo: "Is that why you came home so...sweaty?"

Brett: Brett nodded. "Yeah. He had me weight lifting outside."

Bo: Another perk of interest. "Show me what you can do."

Brett: "Got any free weights?"

Bo: "Look at me."

Brett: Brett smiled. "Maybe we can find something in the garage to improvise."

Bo: "My car." He gestured. Let's go.

Brett: "Hmm. Do you think a Beetle weighs the same as a tree?"

Bo: "Give or take two thousand pounds."

Brett: "Well, this is about to be interesting. I should stretch."

Bo: "You do those athletic things. I'll be here with my tea."

Conor: Conor didn't feel comfortable being in the same room as a stretching Brett, so he grabbed his book to head up to a bedroom.

Brett: Brett chuckled. "All right then. Let me change into less nice things."

Bo: That meant following Conor upstairs to the guest bedroom. Bo sipped his tea with subtly raised brows. Sure, Brett. Have fun.

Brett: It did indeed mean that but Brett was going to change in the bathroom so it was fine. He hoped.

"I'll be right back," he said to Bo, starting up the stairs.

Conor: Glancing back Conor straightened. Oh dear. Time to move faster and hide away in the bedroom.

Brett: "Just gonna grab a couple things and I'll leave you to your book." And by grab, he of course meant grab quickly so it wouldn't be weird.

Conor: 'We've already slept in the same bed together, how could things possibly be weird?' he sat on the bed and leaned back against the wall.

Brett: ….Was Conor reading his mind?

"Fair point." He was still going to grab and slip into the bathroom relatively quickly. And even with a closed door between them, it still felt...odd changing with Conor just in the next room.

Conor: No, but he knew if he didn't bring it up it was simply going to hang over their heads for the rest of eternity. It had happened. It was a moment.

'It was for Bo.'

That was all.

Now to focus on his book.

Brett: It certainly had been, and if need be, Brett would embrace a hundred more nights and days of weird in order to help his Botan feel safe and comfortable.

A few moments later he emerged from the bathroom wearing shorts and a police academy t-shirt. Not the most glamorous look, but it would serve him well.

Conor was given a nod and then it was back downstairs for Brett.

Conor: Conor had instinctively used his book to hide whatever was going on below Brett's neck. None of that. He wouldn't risk seeing him shirtless.

Brett: "I'm ready to play Captain America," he said as he re-entered the kitchen.

Bo: "Hello again," Bo greeted. "Ready to lift a Volkswagen?"

Brett: "Ready to try."

Bo: "Show me what else you can do, then."

Brett: "I can easily lift heavy things and...uh....."

Bo: "Um?"

Brett: "I can....disappear."

Bo: To that the human squinted. What? "Why haven't you before?"

Brett: "Apparently I've been able to do it this whole time but I only learned how just before we left."

Bo: "Why didn't you tell me?"

Brett: "I didn't know I could and still don't know how I feel about it. But there was still a lot to do before we left so it got pushed aside."

Bo: He knew his feelings on the subject mattered, but they needed to focus on one subject at a time. He headed for the front door. "For now...the Volkswagen."

Brett: Brett nodded. "All right. The Volkswagen. Still have to stretch so my body doesn't get mad at me."

Bo: "Do your business. I'm going to walk around my grounds."

Brett: "Okay, I'll be out by the garage." Or maybe he should stretch inside so he could try to figure out how to approach lifting the car.

Bo: "Let me know when you're ready." He was in need of fresh air.

Brett: "I will, baby."

Since he knew what he was in for this time around, Brett took a little extra time to prepare. He had no idea if this car weighed more than the tree had but he was going to proceed as if it were heavier. He'd just have to dig even deeper than he had last time, and breathe just a little bit more.

A few minutes later he was calling Bo over for the show.

Bo: Brett's awaited response didn't come. The yard was silent, save for the soft conversations of wildlife.

Brett: His brow furrowed. "Botan?" he called louder. "Where'd you go?"

Bo: Again, silence. Though now there was a cat watching his every move.

Brett: Every muscle he'd just stretched tensed again as he looked at the cat. "Hei, Olek. Hvor er Botan?"

Bo: He saw, but there was no way to tell the ghoul, so instead he began to clean himself.

Brett: It was times like these that almost made him wish he could still talk to animals. Maybe there was another way.

He'd look into it later.

"Kan du ta meg til ham? Jeg skal kjøpe deg en fisk."

Bo: Olek watched him with unnatural concentration. This wasn't a cat watching whatever was making noise; this was intent. With a chirp, he forced himself to his feet and turned, heading away from the house.

Brett: Now that Brett understood.

He followed after Olek, hoping his promise of fish had been understood in kind and had been enough to sway the cat to take him where he needed to go.

Bo: The forest cat took him towards the dirt road leading further into the woods, surrounded on either end by wild flowers. Center of the road, several yards from the forest, Olek took a seat and again began to clean his paw.

Brett: Flowers were a welcome enough sight. They were comforting. The forest was not. Nothing good ever happened in forests.

"Really?" he said apprehensively when Olek came to a stop. "In there? You sure he's not in a meadow somewhere?" Brett sighed and called for Bo again, as loudly as he could.

Bo: Though the sound reached the house, the forest seemed to soften and absorb the noise. Crickets continued with their restless legs. No creature seemed bothered by the ghoulish disturbance.

Brett: "Dammit." Foreboding slammed into Brett like a freight train. He wished they had their phones with them. Maybe it was because of the visit from Bo's uncle this morning, but not being able to find Bo was extremely unsettling.

What to do.... He really didn't want to walk into the woods but he didn't have a choice. But maybe....

'....Conor.....? I can't find Botan.' he thought in a certain demon's general direction. Would it even work? Would Conor be able to hear him?

Conor: Conor's job was to keep them both safe, and for now Bo was unsafe. He manifested beside the human, having felt the supernatural tug, the potential risk, the loss of autonomy. He would pull and prod and shake. Wake up. Wake up. Brett is in danger, too.

Bo: From deep within the woods, Conor would hear the sound of soft ethereal singing. A woman's voice, perhaps. Bordering on androgynous. Bo flinched and gasped at the sudden interruption to his walk. Quiet curses hissed from between his teeth. Despite being near afternoon, the woods were shaded behind the thousands of trees. He felt safe underneath them. It wasn't the first time he'd felt that way in regards to them.

"I thought you were reading?"

Conor: A siren? Eyes widen. 'We have to leave. Come with me. We need to find Brett.' he laced their fingers together. Don't make me possess you, human.

Bo: "What? Why?" Yet he didn't resist. Their fingers together, he squeezed. He trusted Conor's judgement for his safety, but he just wanted to know why.

The singing had come to a sudden halt.

"Hmm," echoed through the forest. An interested tone, like a cat with a mouse.

Conor: Fuck. In a quick instant they were back at the house.

'Stay here. There's some kind of siren. You have to stay safe. Put on loud music, okay? I'll be right back.'

Bo: The sudden pull of his body through preternatural means caused the human instant nausea. He pinched between his eyes with a groan.

"Yes. Alright. Where's - Brett's outside."

Brett: Brett waited for something to happen. Would Conor appear wherever Bo was? Would he appear here? Would he appear at all?

He waited for a few more moments before heaving a long sigh. "Damn it all to hell. Kom hit, Olek," he added gently to the cat, attempting to scoop him up and hold him close in an effort to comfort himself as he stepped into the woods.

It was so dark in here. If he didn't know any better he'd think they were nearing sunset instead of approaching noon, which made this place seem so much more ominous than it already did. So many things happened in the woods in Edenton but at least the sun filtered through. Here he didn't even have that to comfort him. Just a cat he wished he could speak to.

"Botan?" he called, voice muffled by the trees. "Botan? Come on, baby. Where are you?"

Conor: 'Yes. I can feel - he's about to be in the same danger as you. He -' Conor covered Bo's ears and mouthed STAY SAFE. And in an instant he was gone and beside Brett.

Brett: Where the hell was he? Brett had only stretched for a few minutes, how far could Bo have possibly gotten in that time? Had he sprinted into the forest? Had something been chasing him? Had his uncle returned and tried to--

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" He very nearly dropped Olek when Conor appeared out of thin air. "DAMMIT, CONOR!" He tried to take a deep breath. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack.

Conor: Oh, dear. Conor couldn't help but smile. Bo hadn't even jumped, a human, but this ghoul?! Ridiculous!

'We have to go back. I have Bo waiting. He's safe. But you're not. Come." He offered his hand.

Brett: Brett was too relieved to scowl at Conor for scaring the hell out of him. Never in his life did he think he'd ever be glad to see a demon.

"Where was he? This place is like a black hole, it swallows all light and sound." He adjusted the cat and took Conor's hand.

Conor: ... He wanted to bring the cat too...? He couldn't confirm whether or not it would survive the journey, so he shook his head and went to swat it away.

Brett: That only made Brett hold on to Olek tighter. You couldn't ask him to leave the cat, Conor. This was a man who wanted a bunny and owned the tiniest dog known to man.

Conor: Are you FUCKING serious? Conor glanced around. They didn't have time for this.

'The cat could die you moron! It will be fine alone!'

Brett: "I know he could die! That's why I'm not leaving him and that's why we're not disappearing into thin air like we're in Harry Potter. We're sprinting."

Conor: 'He could die with the speed we could both go! Not out here!' Fucking - he grabbed the cat's face and turned his eyes black. If memory served him well, that should make it scram, and before Brett could try to chase it he'd quickly take them to Bo.

Bo: Olek hissed at the demonic entity and leapt from the ghoul's arms.

Swan Lake played from surround speakers. Not the highest volume, but enough to have to raise one's voice. Bo had situated himself on the corner of the couch, knees to chest, hands combed through his blond hair. He seemed to be daydreaming.

The moment they appeared he sighed with relief.

"I was just going for a walk."

Brett: "Nonono! Olek, come he--!" Not only did he not have time to chase after the cat, Brett didn't have time to brace himself before Conor took him through what he could only assume was a wormhole and back to the house.

He also didn't have time to brace for the landing, which was why he nearly keeled over the moment the world righted itself again, face pale and already heaving. He was going to throw up.

Conor: ... Conor rolled his eyes. 'If you embraced your ghoulish side that would've had no influence on your weak little stomach.' to Bo, 'Are you okay?'

Bo: Bo watched the two of them and wondered if they would ever get along. Though he had wished months before that Brett could wash his hands of his predicament, he was beginning to see the error of his ways.

Eyes found Conor's.

"I'm fine. Really." Though his skin seemed paler than usual.

Brett: "Shut up, Conor," he muttered, voice completely lacking heat but overrun with nausea. "God, that was awful. How do you do that all the time?"

He took a few slow deep breaths, waiting for the sickly feeling to pass a bit before he turned to Bo. "Thank god. I got so worried when I couldn't find you. Why were you in the forest? It's creepy in there."

Conor: 'I'm a man, not a mouse.' but that's by the by.

'There was a siren. She seemed to want him.' he tilted his head. 'Should I make us something to eat?'

Bo: "A sirin in my backyard?" Now he was frowning. Nostrils flared for a moment with obvious boiling frustration. "May I not have a moment of peace anymore? Have I ever had a moment's peace?"

Brett: Brett was frowning as well. "The hell is a siren doing living in the middle of the forest? Aren't they supposed to live out in the ocean where they can lure innocent people to their death?"

Conor: 'Is it only those at sea who are isolated? The forest can be a place for lost souls, too.'

Bo: "I've lived in this house, alone, since I was thirteen." Bo rested his chin on his knees. "An architect helped me design my vision. I've been...alone for many years."

Brett: "Maybe it moved into the forest after you left? Or it never saw a reason to show itself to you?"

Conor: 'Maybe we should bring a piece of a tree in so you can see with your ring.'

Bo: Oh. The ring. Its magic hadn't crossed his mind. "Would that work, or would the experience of being broken be significant. Isn't that what you said? A significant memory?"

Brett: "Did you see it?" he asked them both. "Or just hear the singing? There are so many trees out there, is there any way of knowing which one would have any...information?"

Conor: 'As long as the material witnessed something I suppose it would work.' ... That was a good point. 'I would start with the very centre.'

Bo: "...We're you affected by it at all?" he asked Conor.

Conor: 'No.'

Bo: Does anything hurt you? he wondered. And how might I protect you if something did...

"I suppose...the tree - it just seems farfetched."

Brett: "....What about Olek?"

Conor: 'It's worth a try.'

Bo: "What are we doing with my cat?"

Brett: "He led me to you. Maybe he's seen it. Would touching him while wearing the ring work?"

Conor: 'I can't tell if it would. What if it shows the most significant memory in his mind and it's of a particularly large mouse?'

Bo: "Would it be Olek himself or his collar? Organic or inanimate?" He paused. "Where is he, anyway?"

Brett: There was the frown again. "He ran off before Conor zapped us here." Because Conor had scared him.

Conor: 'He probably would have died. He'll be fine. And I ran, which you should be able to handle.'

Bo: "You ran?"

Brett: "That was not running. That was a trip through a wormhole."

Conor: 'It was running at the speed of light. Perhaps faster, I've never done an experiment.'

Bo: "Did you do that with me? I should be dead."

Brett: "Anything done at the speed of light cannot be called running. That was teleportation."

Conor: 'I take up the space between locations, it's running.' ah. 'I wouldn't do anything with you that could kill you.'

Bo: Bo blinked. Of course he knew that already, but having Conor say it outright...

"We should...probably eat something, like you said, and find the cat."

Brett: "I'll see if I can find some cat treats and try to lure him back. I owe him a fish."

Conor: 'I'll see what I can make.' while leaving Brett to do... that.

Bo: "There's still leftovers, but I've never seen you cook, so I want to see that."

Brett: He managed to locate a box of something Olek would hopefully like and left them to it. With any luck the cat had run back toward the house and hadn't stayed out in the woods.

Conor: 'What do you feel like eating?' he'll need to go over and check what's in the fridge.

Bo: "What was your favorite food when you were alive?"

Conor: He shrugged. 'Steak?'

Bo: "That's it?"

Conor: Nod... another shrug.

Bo: "We have mushroom caps." Bo leaned closer, eyes to the ground. "How did you know what was happening to me?"

Conor: Oh. Well he wasn't thinking about food anymore.

'I agreed to keep us safe.'

Bo: "I know, Conor." He'd managed to look up long enough to watch his hands, his body language. "But did you hear the singing, or my heartbeat? You just know?"

Conor: 'I get transported into your mind. I see and hear what you see and hear. I share the experience with you.'

Bo: "I don't think you should after this trip."

Conor: 'Brett specified 'For As Long As We're in Oslo' so it will end once we leave.'

Bo: "Alright..." The new information seemed to unsettle him. Bo abruptly headed for the study, for a large gray notebook on one of the bottom shelves.

Conor: ... Okay, well clearly he's going to be followed. Look at me so I can talk to you.

'Flower, what is it?'

Bo: Of course he would, though he had expected Conor to linger in the kitchen and deal with turning raw mushrooms into a steak dinner.

"I just..." Wedged in the center pages was a ballpoint pen. It was taken and squeezed, tested on a corner. "I want to...write you down."

Conor: He stepped backwards at that. What? His express said.

Bo: "I don't want to forget you."

Conor: 'Why would you forget me?' and how did steak remind you of that? 'What are you going to write?'

Bo: Since the moment Conor found him in the woods he'd been meaning to ask. Now had been his opportunity.

"It's just something people enjoy doing to me, tampering with my memories."

Conor: What? Conor stepped forward and put a hand on Bo's face. Calm down. You're worrying me.

Bo: That hand was enough to convey his thoughts. Without realizing, Bo rested his cheek against the demon's hand and sighed.

"I'm alright."

Conor: He shook his head. 'Why do you think you need to write about me? Have you written about Brett? What would you even put down?'

Bo: "I write everything." The book was closed with his thumb holding his place, reopened to the first page. Bo's name signed in cursive above a date. Fourteen years and eleven months ago.

Conor: 'Has Brett seen this?'

Bo: "If he's looked through the books in here. I haven't shown him outright."

Conor: Ah. He had more questions, but felt like he'd asked enough. Bo would tire of it.

'I'll go prepare our food.'

Bo: "You don't have to."

Conor:  'What would I do instead?'

Bo: "Sit with me."

Conor: 'I'm sure Brett will be back soon.'

Bo: "So?"

Conor: 'Wouldn't you rather sit with him? It's fine.' he turns.

Bo: "I'm talking to you. I'm telling you what I'd like." And you're deflecting.

But...was he supposed to chase him?

"May 3rd, 2016. On the bus to the American East Coast Chapter House, I met a flame. Details forthcoming upon my return to Oslo. Noted words: "I might be part demon." Confirmed reaper. I hope to meet him again."

Bo looked back to the hybrid and leaned his weight against the many shelves.

"I found that in my email after resetting my password."

Conor: Bo's reading stopped him in his tracks. He slowly turned, wanting to see his expression as he spoke. How does that make you feel, Flower? I'm aware of what it does to me.

Soon he was closing the gap between them, moving with the intention of bringing the human into a firm hug.

Bo: His eyes were somewhere else, trying to imagine that man he used to be, the man that hoped to meet him again. He was one and the same, wasn't he? They could tear apart his memories, and the resulting soul still carried the same longings.

But what did Con - oh.

Every touch had always been so mindful. If he hugged this man with similar force, would he be offended?

Conor: No, Bo was overly cautious with him. He wouldn't complain about the human's lips against his skin, he wouldn't complain about a hand in his hand. He hadn't complained about being in bed beside him, why should he mind all those other things which don't make him as vulnerable? He would hug on as long as he felt like it was okay, and pull away only when he was going to leave him and cook.

Bo: This was becoming one of his favorite feelings. Much like the random kisses Brett offered when he felt on the edge of a violent explosion of emotion, their hands, their warmth, their firmness. He felt so safe in Conor's arms. He felt important, somehow, and as soon was his chest was empty he longed for his return.

Brett was taking too long with that cat. Both of these men were simply too far away.

He watched Conor for a hundred heartbeats, reopened his book, and began to copy from memory the email he had written of him. He wrote the date, as he had since he was thirteen, and continued where he left off. The first memory since the curse: his severed tongue; being found by a hunter on the side of the road. Torsten, the vampires. The...traumas which followed. The vampire which regenerated his tongue. His escape from the house and his homelessness. Torsten offering his hotel. The sheriff in the rain...

He continued on, absorbed in his own world of pen and paper.

Brett: It took some doing--and a lot of bribing with the promise of future fish--but a few minutes later Brett returned to the house with an armful of cat.

And if he was cooing at him in Norwegian and English well, that was neither here nor there.

"Found Olek," he announced by way of greeting.

Conor: Conor only gave him a thumbs up, he didn't even bother looking in his direction. Too busy cooking.

'Flower is in the study.'

Brett: "All right," said Brett, going through to the study after putting the treats back where he'd found them.

He smiled when he saw Bo. "Hey. I found Olek." He had yet to put the cat down.

Bo: Bo forced his head in Brett's direction, eyes following seconds later.

"He's a familiar."

Brett: His brow furrowed as his head tilted. "What's a familiar?"

Bo: "They were, from what I've written, once human and were punished, or are a type of werecreature or..." He flipped the pages of the book. "It's smudged. I wrote about this so long ago."

Brett: Brett slowly looked down to the cat in his arms.

".....Olek can turn into a person?"

Bo: "Or was once human."

Brett: "...Huh."

He looked back at the cat. "Kan du bli til et menneske, Olek? Blink en gang hvis du kan."

Bo: How about a smack to the cheek without claws?

Brett: Well all right then.

"That's either too personal a question or a yes."

Bo: Bo actually smiled. "Punished, then. A former witch, probably."

Brett: "Punished indeed. Beklager, Olek." He gently set the cat down, giving a parting scritch to his head. "I wonder how you got him."

Bo: "He was a gift after my parents..." That whole ordeal. "I'm not sure how old he actually is."

Brett: Brett nodded. "Well, however old he is, he's a robust guy. Going to use the ring to see what he knows about the siren?"

Bo: "I will in a few minutes." He tapped the book. "Did you look at this?"

Brett: He looked over and shook his head. "Can't say I did. What is it?"

Bo: "It's my journal. One I've written in since I was thirteen."

Brett: The thought of a teenaged Bo writing in his journal made him smile. "Then it's a good thing I didn't look."

Bo: "Love is not something you'd read in here. Not until the more recent pages. I documented every supernatural creature I ever encountered, as well as my own trials, travels, and magical antique."

Brett: That was so...Botan. However he'd changed, things like this proved he was the same person.

"Sounds like an interesting read. Is there anything about the siren in there or are you adding it in now?"

Bo: "There is a lot to read. I'm only a few pages in. I'm archiving everything I can remember since my curse."

Brett: He nodded. "It's a good idea, considering everything that's happened. I hate that you even have to, but..."

Bo: "Maybe I always have." He felt the spine of his book.

Brett: "I hope not." He didn't want Bo to have had to fight to keep his memories in his own head his whole life. "I hope what's been written was written for the joy of it or for your own reference."

Bo: "We'll never know. I didn't write an explanation in the beginning. I suppose that could mean it wasn't based on mem -"

Bo looked to his ring. Hmm.

Brett: Brett followed his boyfriend's gaze, understanding dawning when he saw the ring.

"You sure?" What if what Bo saw hurt him? What if the reason he'd started the journal was a negative one?

Bo: Bo turned to Conor, quietly asking his opinion. Brett's internal thoughts could be in point.

Conor: Feeling the gaze he adored, Conor looked up. He took a second just to shrug.

'Would you rather know or not know?'

Bo: What could possibly be the most significant memory of this book? He felt the spine once more and closed his eyes.

They would find their human silent, lost in the repeat memory for several minutes if allowed.

Brett: Brett waited for something bad to happen. When it didn't, he said, very cautiously, "....Botan? Are....what do you see?"

Conor: Conor would not interfere, only observe as he finished up the meal he was preparing.

Bo: "It's -" He wanted to say it was nothing and leave it alone, but Brett knew better than anyone how he felt about unneeded lies.

"I was...once a ghoul."

Brett: Brett's eyes went wide. "What?"

Conor: Conor would've hummed if he could've. That actually made quite a lot of sense. Why else would vampires be so interested? He wondered why, though. What was the value? He must've had some sort of status...

Bo: "I was being groomed to stand by my family's side. By Johan. Each time he would feed me I documented it. I didn't - These dates here with the asterisks." The ones dated every other month to allow his body to continue growing.

Brett: "If he was so hellbent on fucking...grooming you why the hell didn't he look for you? Why did he let someone cut out your tongue? Was he the one that did it?" Would someone do that to their own family? How could someone do that to their own family? Brett was furious.

Bo: Bo stared at the book. He could feel Brett's stress without having to witness visually. He wondered how he would handle the next truth.

"I killed them."

Conor: Conor smiled to himself and started to prepare plates for them all.

Brett: "What do mean you killed them? Who? Johan is still walking around."

Bo: "In order for the Arcainum to accept me in need of sanctuary, I had to give them something of value. I gave them locations, clan specifications, sins, everything I had accumulated over the years. That's why I was in America, when I met Conor."

Conor: He wondered if Botan will ever be mad at him for giving him this ring. For now, he'll allow the human to absorb the information and take things as they come.

Brett: Brett leaned back in his chair, doing just that. So far he knew Botan had been a ghoul because his so-called family was grooming him. He knew he was in the States to give these Arcainum people all the information he knew so they'd give him sanctuary. And he knew what happened after all that.

"Who did you kill? Your family? The Arcainum people?"

Bo: "I'm assuming my family. The memory is of a video call to the East Coast Chapter House. My book was on the table in front of me. Those that...forced Torsten to - they were Ventrue."

Conor: With the table prepared, he went over to be beside them and look down at the cat.

'I knew he was manipulating you. I'm glad you sent him away. What are you going to do now?'

Brett: If Bo was responsible for the deaths of his family, it was more likely that his uncle had ordered his tongue removed, had perhaps even orchestrated what happened at the mill. But if he had, wouldn't he have come in here guns blazing, burning for vengeance?

He shared these thoughts with both of them. "Is he going to come see you again?"

Bo: "In all likelihood he will see me again. You were here," he looked to Conor. "He knew better. He assessed the situation and - and my memory is gone. He has no reason to jump to any drastic action."

Conor: 'Then we will remain by your side and allow him no opportunities. Come, dinner is ready.' he gestured.

Brett: Johan might technically have no reason, but Brett still expected him to do something drastic, especially after what Bo had just shared.

Still, it was immensely comforting to have someone equally powerful in their corner.

"Exactly," he said, offering his boyfriend an encouraging smile. "You won't be alone."

Bo: You overwhelm me. You both do. I don't believe I had friends until the two of you. At least there is some reason, though not entirely the reason.

He kept his thoughts to himself, smiled quietly. He got to his feet, book in hand, and headed for the kitchen.

Conor: Conor followed, but then held back. He wanted Brett to pick whether he sat opposite or beside Bo first.

Brett: It was habit at this point to sit across from Bo, even though this was a much bigger table than the one they had at home. Besides, they could see each other better this way.

"So, what's on the menu?"

Bo: Bo set at the opposite end of the line of stools and stood as soon as he sat, having forgot his tea.

Conor: Conor sat beside Bo, only to end up being left alone with Brett. Yaaaaay.

'The best steak I could make with what we had, and salad.'

Brett: That actually sounded really good. And even if it wasn't, it was the thought that counted, right?

"Sounds good. Cook much?"

Conor: 'None of your business.'

Bo: "He doesn't have to. I'm on call for cooking," he smirked.

Brett: Brett found himself fighting a smile. And maybe an eyeroll. No one was as stingy with anything even approaching personal information as Conor was.

"Can't say I blame him. You're an excellent cook."

Bo: "It's hardly cooking. Mostly salads."

Conor: Conor had grown up cooking alongside their chef, but nobody needed to know that. He just started to dig into the food he had made.

Brett: "Excellent salads. You also make excellent breakfast food, especially bacon."

Bo: "Your obsession with the pig variety is why I even make it."

A bite of their early dinner, and Conor was thanked in sign.

Conor: 'You're welcome.' he lazily responds, with nothing else to add.

Brett: "Yours has ruined me for regular bacon. Had some the other day when I went to lunch with Peabody and it made me nauseous."

Bo: "I stopped eating meat around the time they began to feed me blood."

Brett: That....didn't surprise Brett at all. His own attitude about blood had changed significantly in the past few months; he imagined anyone's would.

He nodded. "Makes sense."

Conor: Conor was far too familiar with blood. His own nosebleeds simply didn't even register anymore. Truly, someone drenched in it wouldn't even faze him. He wondered what the luxury was, of having once not been too acquainted with it. He still remembered how his mother would cough blood.

Not something to bring up, especially not while eating, of course.

Bo: If not for his journal he would be so lost. He felt as though his past self knew something would happen, or at the very least prepared for the worst case scenario.

The last bite swallowed, his plate was brought to the sink.

"Would either of you like to go out?"

Brett: It seemed all three of them were lost in thought today. For his part, Brett deliberately pushed those thoughts aside in favor of thanking Conor for a lovely meal before following Botan's lead.

His eyes lit at Bo's question. He was itching to see more of Oslo. What he'd seen so far was beautiful. "Have any place in particular in mind?"

Conor: Conor bowed his head as he was thanked and remained where he was, idly toying with cutlery before gathering everything to wash the dishes and clean.

Bo: "Art, music, a museum or library. I don't - I just want new scenery for an hour at least. The house has survived a year in my absence. It can survive a little longer with the three of us out."

Brett: Brett smiled softly. "Yes it can. I spotted a bookstore when we were driving in. I'll bet we can get lost in there for a while."

Conor: Conor did not respond, he merely continued to sort things out within the kitchen.

Bo: His vote counted. Bo's eyes shifted from Brett to Conor, slowly leaning his weight against the counter next to him.

"Come to the bookstore with us?"

Conor: He glanced over at them. 'Why would I?'

Bo: "Why not? You're here with me."

Brett: "It doesn't have to be the bookstore. We can find a museum or something."

Conor: That sounded a lot like gate-crashing a date. 'I'm fine.'

Bo: Only in Conor's opinion. Brett, though a gentleman, wouldn't continue to offer if he didn't mind. As far as he understood the man.

He wouldn't force the hybrid to spend more time with him if he didn't want to. He had already smothered him for attention.

But would a cheek kiss be allowed?

"Thank you again for dinner. If you want to join us, don't hesitate." I want you there.

Conor: 'Is there much reason for me to stay in Oslo?'

Bo: "Me, and spending time with me, and the sirin in my forest. And me."

Conor: 'I am only meant to be here to protect you and visit your dreams.'

Bo: "Is that all you want?"

Conor: 'Is it not all you need?'

Bo: "Need..." He was going to say something clever about needs verses wants, but, "...no. It's not all I need."

Conor: 'What else? You have Brett.'

Bo: "You're more than a bodyguard. You’re my friend. I want you here. I...need your comfort, too."

Conor: 'Is your boyfriend not sufficient?'

Bo: A sigh. Conor kept going back to him for a reason.

"If you don't want to, it's fine. I'm not going to force you into anything."

Time to get dressed, then. He headed for the bedroom.

Conor: Well, then. He will focus on tidying for the time being, but expected to leave soon enough.

Brett: Brett, having remained silent during this exchange, watched Conor carefully. After a few long moments he said, "Do you really not want to hang out with Botan?"

Conor: 'Is that the point?'

Brett: "Should I be asking if me being there really makes that much of a difference?"

Conor: 'He should be satisfied with you.'

Brett: He shrugged. "It's not really about that though. It's not about me being enough or you being enough. He just wants the people he loves around him."

Conor: 'You and Flower need to stop throwing that word around! I'm leaving! He has you here!'

Brett: "That has never been a word either of us throws around. We take it seriously, and so should you. You're not just some casual friend of his, Conor. You mean a lot to him and he cares for you a great deal. He trusts you."

Conor: 'Tell him to never trust a demon.' he wants that to be the end of it, so he goes to collect his things. Until they're in danger or Bo is asleep, he isn't needed.

Brett: "Again, not just some demon. His friend, who happens to be a demon." Something Brett still had trouble wrapping his head around but that was neither here nor there. After all, that same demon had offered to free him and had talked him down from a panic attack.

Bo: The fact that Brett was making any attempt would have surprised him had he heard. Instead, he was slipping into another of his shirts he had forgot he owned. A soft formal shirt with silver buttons.

He just wanted an evening out together. It wouldn't have been the first time, so he wondered what happened to put Conor on edge. Surely not Brett. He knew of him before.

Conor: Given where he had left his book before being called to rescue the human, he was bound to cross paths with him. That much he expected, but... not this. Not the way he was brought to a halt when his eyes landed on him. Not the way he became aware of his heart and breath. Not the way he ached...

Bo: Bo slowly turned when he felt eyes on him. Despite what was said in the kitchen, he smiled.

"How does this look?" He'd apparently lost some weight.

Conor: It looks like... someone who is bound to hurt me.

'You look the way a flower should this time of year.'

Bo: "I'll take that." He finished with the last button. "You're leaving?"

Conor: Ah... he... didn't know anymore. He steps forward. 'I should.'

Bo: "Why should you?"

Conor: 'Because it makes no sense for me to be here with you two.'

Bo: "So you'll leave and return each time I sleep, each time I step too close to the woods, when my uncle visits?"

Conor: 'That would be best.' for... everyone's sake.

Bo: "That will exhaust you, flame."

Conor: And watching you with him won't?

The hybrid just looked to the floor.

Bo: He began to approach. Each step casual yet cautious like a cat.

"I told you, I'm not going to make you do anything. If you want to drop the contract too, we can. You've seen my dream."

Conor: 'I wish you'd do the opposite.' he didn't react to Bo's nearness in any way other than looking at him.

Bo: "You want me to use you?"

Conor: 'Yes. I have to feel as though I want you to make me do things. At least then I won't have to decide for myself.'

Bo: "I want you to want to be with me, not just out of obligation. Like our day at the bar." He turned away just long enough to pick up his silver and blue tie. It was offered.

"Trinity knot, please."

Conor: 'I do want to be with you.' the tie was taken. He had to rise to his tiptoes to get it around the back of his neck. The hybrid was careful and paid attention to detail. The Archers may be rough around the edges, but they definitely knew how to clean up nicely. The tie was done with flawless precision... and his hands lingered over the human's chest for a moment before dropping.

Bo: Those lovely, lovely hands. Don't go.

"Then come with us to the museum. Point out every non-human and torment Brett in some way. Show me your favorite piece where we go."

Conor: It will be me who gets tormented.

'Why do you want me there? Without naming an abstract concept.'

Bo: Bo felt the trinity knot, tried to pluck the right words.

"I've told you before that you're mine. You were before I lost my memory. This home is yours. It makes sense for you to be here with me and experience...the man you first met. You're the light helping me find my way."

Conor: None of that felt true.

'If I am yours, does that make you mine?'

Bo: "Yes."

Conor: 'And Brett?'

Bo: And there it was.

"Would you like him?"

Conor: 'Would I what?' he instinctively stepped backwards.

Bo: Oh. That body language. Not the subject for this evening.

'Nevermind.'

Conor: 'What are you talking about? I didn't mean me. I meant you. You belonging to me... and him? Us both being yours?'

Bo: "...Yes. The three of us. Yours, mine, ours."

Conor: 'I don't like Brett.' there. He said it.

Bo: "That's a shame. I dare say, he likes you."

Conor: 'I doubt that.'

Bo: "I don't. He trusts my judgement. He was shy...was."

Conor: 'He hates what I am and I'm sure he hates the fact that I relish in my power.'

Bo: "Have you asked?"

Conor: 'It would make no difference to how I feel.'

Bo: He wanted so much to thump his forehead against Conor's chest. Instead, he sighed.

"The guest bedroom is still yours. If you want, so is your side of the bed when I dream. I want you to stay, if you're not going to come with me."

Conor: 'Tell me what to do, Flower.'

Bo: "You'll feed into my authorization heart." It was what Conor wanted, so... "Stay. Make yourself at home. Sleep beside me again. If you need space, say so, but don't run away."

Conor: Sleep beside you again?

'Fine.'

Bo: "Fine," he echoed. He would kiss Conor's cheek again just because he really and truly wanted to. One which would linger for a heartbeat longer than normal.

"I'll bring you back something interesting."

Conor: Eyes close for the duration of the kiss and a palm on Bo's jaw only encouraged him to stay against his skin.

'Just bring yourself back and I'll be satisfied.'

Bo: "Alright. I promise."

Conor: He nodded once. 'Also, you can tell Brett that he doesn't need to play a hero.'

Bo: "Hmm?"

Conor: 'Ask him.'

Bo: "Without context I can tell you he's always been a hero. It can be annoying. He found me in the rain and insisted to be with me ever since. Once he's determined something, he's stubborn."

Conor: 'You're right. It is annoying.'

Bo: Bo only briefly smiled before heading back out to the center of the house.

"I want to take my Volkswagen. Are you ready?" he called to Brett.

Brett: "Yep," Brett called back. After Conor had gone to Bo, he'd taken the opportunity to change out of car lifting clothes and into something nicer.

"Don't know if the Volkswagen is in driving condition. We might need to give it a jump."

Bo: "Well, let's get to it, then." Gently his lip was bitten, the way so often done before saying something cheeky. "Shall I say you get to it."

Brett: Brett chuckled. He knew that little lip bite well. "But of course. There's some jumper cables in the trunk of our rental. See a key bowl or rack somewhere?"

Bo: "The black bowl beside the TV. It's there." He glanced back to his bedroom and headed for the front door.

Brett: "Ah, I see it." Brett went over to grab the keys to the Beetle before grabbing the keys to their rental.

Once he made it out to the garage and found the Beetle indeed very much dead, he began the process of charging the battery.

Bo: Bo leaned against the garage door and watched. His hands would not be sullied.

"Conor requests that you stop playing hero," he smirked. This must be what teenage years were like. He wouldn't remember.

Brett: His brow furrowed. "Playing hero? When did I play hero?"

Bo: "You tell me."

Brett: The furrow remained as he thought back. Did not wanting to leave Olek behind constitute playing hero? Probably not.

"Before he went into the room I told him he should come with us if he really wanted to and not to let my presence stop him. Is that what he means?"

Bo: That furrowed brow. For some reason or another he always wanted to smooth it with his thumb.

"Could be. Is that all that was said?"

Brett: "Pretty much. And I reiterated that you care about him and want to spend time with him."

Bo: "Ah. Don't do that," he sighed, staring into his phone. Before Brett could retort, he glanced up.

"Car ready?"

Brett: "He should already know. You wouldn't have invited him if you didn't want him there."

Brett said a quick mental prayer and tried the Beetle. It started rumbling to very reluctant life for a few moments.

Bo: True enough, but you just don't say that, Brett.

"You're too loud sometimes. Climb over. I'm driving."

Brett: Brett laughed. "I'm loud? Don't think anyone's ever told me that."

He obediently moved over. "This is a really nice car. Very you."

Bo: "What is "me" when it comes to a car, Brett. Explain." A final glance to the house, to the door, quietly hoping Conor would emerge...

He backed out of the garage.

Brett: "It suits your aesthetic. The color and the fact that it's vintage."

Conor: Conor would not make an appearance. They like would be on their way without a final look of him.

Bo: No matter what kind of driver Bo was before, currently, he was rusty. Determined yes, but nonetheless amateur. Still, they made it into the city in one piece and without being pulled over.

His choice was obvious. He wanted to see the country's largest library for himself. He wanted to get lost in the aisles.

Brett: This message has been removed.

Brett: The drive was a tiny bit nerve-wracking, but not necessarily because of Bo's driving skill. While that was definitely an experience, what really concerned Brett was the condition of the car.

Even so, he was pleasantly surprised--and impressed--by how smooth the ride was.

When the building came into view, Brett smiled. "It's so crazy to see it in person. It didn't look nearly that big in the pictures you showed me."

Bo: "I've probably spent days with of research inside." He took a slow breath. "Conor would appreciate it, too."

Brett: "I'll bet you have." Brett reached for Bo's hand. "Maybe he'll decide to join us."

Bo: "I doubt it." He squeezed his hand and released. "Where do you want to go after this? Otherwise I'll stay for hours."

Brett: "Honestly I just wanna walk around. How about after this, we take a walk, find somewhere nice to go for dinner? Maybe we can talk Conor into joining us."

Bo: "I'd like that. Doubt we'll be attacked walking around in broad daylight," he sighed. "By a vampire, at least." He paused and stared at his companion.

"It hadn't occurred to me until just this moment that my uncle knocked in the morning, with the sun right on his shoulders."

Brett: That.....Brett hadn't noticed that. It was the middle of the day. How could he have forgotten, even in a panic?

"Isn't that supposed to be impossible? Did he have an umbrella? Or maybe a really big coat and lots of sunscreen? Or anything?"

Bo: "Your...person. I...think I remember seeing him during daylight hours when I woke at Callum MacGillivray's."

Brett: "Inside or outside?"

Bo: "It was morning and he just showed up."

Brett: "Maybe Callum protected him from the sun somehow?"

Bo: "So, they are nothing more than owls..."

Brett: "If they could all walk in daylight, they would. It must only be some of them, or only older ones."

Bo: "That means my uncle is formidable."

Brett: "Oh, good," he sighed. "Another formidable vampire."

Bo: "I've had them killed before. I'll find a way to do it again."

Brett: "I'd feel better if I knew he was confined to night time." A vampire being able to be out and about in the daytime was just unfair. The sun was supposed to give sanctuary.

Time to think of something happier.

"Let's go get lost with some books for a while."

Bo: Hours alone with books. He felt at home amongst the dimly lit aisles of aged text. If the sheriff didn't keep an eye on him he would lose the human in a matter of moments. Several hardbacks were gathered and tucked under his arms. Just as Conor had found him months before, he had made a nest of books and his jacket.

He wished Conor was here to enjoy this with them. It was then that he realized he had abandoned his lover.

His vigilant search went only as far as his neck could crane.

Brett: Brett's attention was split between Botan and the truly beautiful library they found themselves in.

He kept track of where his boyfriend was as he wandered among the stacks, looking for something to read that he could actually read and that he'd enjoy.

Soon enough he has a nice stack and a spot at an empty table, well within Bo's search radius. When Bo did spot him, however, he wouldn't be alone; a young girl had settled beside him. She was smiling as Brett's brow was furrowed in concentration, both of them going through one of the books together. She was helping him.

Bo: While Brett was concerned with the child beside him, Bo's attention happened upon the older woman with crow's feet and hungry eyes. His obvious American accent had distracted more than one soul in the soft-spoken library.

He could not mask his deepening frown.

Brett: It would be a long time before Brett noticed the little girl's mother, but even then she was only given a polite smile and introduction. He was completely oblivious.

Bo: Bo forced his attention elsewhere, flipping the page of his book. He was more curious as to why he cared at all. Was it nature, nurture? Was this because of his abuse, and Brett's hand in it? He found himself staring off into space rather than reading.

Brett: Brett looked over at Bo, frowning. Was he thinking or distracted?

He excused himself, this time feeling the woman's eyes on him as he made his way to Bo's side. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked, sitting beside him.

Bo: Oh. The familiar voice pulled him back to reality. "I am. Except for that," he sighed, nodding his head once towards the old woman and her child.

Brett: His brow furrowed. "The little girl is--oh." Not the little girl. Her mother, whose eyes were still on him. "Did she bother you?"

Bo: "I think she's just about finished undressing you."

Brett: "That is so weird."

Bo: "You think this is the first time a woman - or man - has stared at you?"

Brett: "I couldn't say, but I don't remember anyone ever being so blatant about it."

Bo: "Apparently my bluntness is a cultural norm," he smirked.

Brett: Brett chuckled and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

Bo: The kiss was very welcome.

"The library is nice, but we won't be here long enough to bother with these. We need an actual store."

Brett: He pulled out his phone. "Want to go to that one I spotted on the drive in? Looked appealing."

Bo: "Sure." He began putting away the books he had compiled.

"You're not as afraid of him as you thought you would be."

Brett: His brow furrowed. "Afraid of who, baby?"

Bo: "Conor, of course."

Brett: Oh, right. For a moment he'd forgotten Conor was a demon. "No, I guess not."

Bo: "It's becoming the new normal for you."

Brett: "Not being as afraid as I expect to be?"

Bo: "And being surrounded by...other creatures."

Brett: He nodded. "I guess so. Probably fitting since I've been around them all my life and just didn't know it."

Bo: "You'd never seen anything unusual before?"

Brett: "Not that I can remember. The most terrifying to me was my father."

Bo: "How does he stack up against the undead competition?"

Brett: "Slightly less terrifying."

Bo: Bo finally managed a smile. "He'll never be your monster again."

Brett: Brett shook his head, a small smile gracing his own lips. "Nope. Never again. There's a part of me that's comforted by that. There are lots of other scary things now, but five year-old Brett can still rest easy. His boogeyman is gone."

Bo: Well, that was something. One less reason for Brett to shy away. A whole slew of new reasons were just beside him.

A quick kiss was given to the sheriff's cheek. Enough of that.

"To the store, then."

Brett: "To the store," he repeated, getting to his feet and holding his hand out to help Bo do the same. "Maybe I'll find some books to help me with my lessons."

Bo: Back on his feet he went.

"Which language is more important for you to learn?" he asked, placing the last book in its respective shelf.

Brett: "Norwegian and ASL are pretty evenly matched. They're both so interesting to me."

Bo: "You have a new reason for ASL..."

Brett: He nodded. "Yeah. Might have to ask him to speak a little more slowly until I get some more knowledge and practice."

Bo: "I want the two of you to get along."

Brett: "I think we're doing okay. I feel like he doesn't like me though."

Bo: "You are an insufferable do-gooder," he grinned.

Brett: "Apparently so. And a hero to boot."

Bo: "It's disgusting."

Brett: Brett just smiled. "Come on, let's go buy books."

Bo: The keys were placed in Brett's hand. It was his turn to drive. He enjoyed the back and forth, and quietly loved the silent panic in Brett's eyes driving in a foreign country.

The bookstore was, to his surprise, packed regardless of the hour. The attached coffee shop was majorly to blame.

Brett: Brett wouldn't say it was silent panic; just very quiet panic. There were constant sharp inhales and relieved rushes of breath after every near miss. The only time he actually yelped was when he had to get into one of those terrifying roundabout things. That had him practically white-knuckling the steering wheel the rest of the way to the store.

He was actually glad to be in a crowd of people once they got inside. "Whoever invented roundabouts was a sadist," he said with feeling, taking in the atmosphere.

Bo: "And now I'll drive home. This was a good experience for you." One which he would reward by taking Brett's hand and kissing those sore fingers.

Brett: The kiss alone was worth that nerve-wracking experience. "I feel like a stunt driver in an action movie." He kissed Botan's cheek.

"This place is amazing."

Bo: He would say and do nothing in regards to the returned affection. Nothing visible. What was not seen was the warmth cascading down his body to his toes.

"You like Oslo so far?"

Brett: Brett grinned and nodded. "I do. It's so beautiful here. That library especially."

Bo: "If it comes to it, is this a place you're willing to live?"

Brett: It was a huge change to even begin to think about, but even if it never came about or didn't come about permanently... "Yeah. I think so. I'd miss Edenton but, yeah."

Bo: "Of course you would. It's all you know," he said quietly. But now there was Oslo. Now there was ghoulification. Now Brett knew the taste of vampiric blood.

Brett: "Not just the actual town and the people though. The...feeling it has. It's comforting."

Bo: "I suppose for you it would be."

Brett: "I'm a small town boy," he said with a smile. "Living in Raleigh was so foreign to me."

Bo: "This would not be any better."

Brett: "I think it would be, actually."

Bo: "Explain." The room felt more deprived of oxygen since they walked in. Too many noises from too many boring people with boring ideas and opinions. It was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Brett: "I'm not a teenager anymore," he said, leading them away from the cafe and the crowd and toward the quieter part of the store. "Cities don't seem as scary anymore."

Bo: "No, you have other things to worry about." A random book was pulled from the shelf and scrutinized.

"We're glossing over the fact that there is a sirin in my forest."

Brett: "I still don't know what to make of it." His voice lowered. "If she's been there all this time and she wanted to eat you, she would have. But if she's only been there a short while, she might be gearing up to eat you. Olek wouldn't get close which makes me think she's definitely got something sinister about her."

Bo: "Cats are disturbed by any number of things. I wouldn't say he knows anything worthwhile."

Bo looked up from the novel. "Conor, though, might know more. I'm surprised he went after you."

Brett: "He knows something. Animals can sense things we can't, and not just ghosts."

Brett nodded. "I am, too. Guess those deals are powerful things."

Bo: "I didn't feel anything walking into the woods... Nothing but peace."

Brett: "Isn't that supposed to be the point? You don't feel a sense of danger until it's too late."

Bo: "Not in my own home. My home and yours."

Brett: "The woods aren't home though. Trust me. Here and in Edenton, the woods are...not to be trusted."

Bo: "What's wrong with the woods in Edenton?"

Brett: People get murdered in them, he thought. "Probably nothing, but I've always had a healthy respect for them."

Bo: The only thing I fear of the woods in Edenton is the rape mill, he thought. No sense in adding further burden of sympathy on the sheriff.

"Grab a book and let's go home."

Brett: "You don't want to wander?"

Bo: "Not with Conor at home."

Brett: Brett nodded. "All right. Gonna go look through the grammar books."

Bo: 'Of course' seemed the theme phrase tonight in regards to his ghoul.

The pith of their travel was knowledge, and to verge upon the know-how of the hideous ancient. He would study until his brain burst from his ears and it would never assuage his hunger.

The book was shoved back into place. He headed for the car.

Brett: He managed to find a couple of promising books that appeared to be geared towards school children, which was exactly what he was looking for. The grammar was always the tricky bit.

Once they were paid for and some light conversation made with the cashier, he followed after Botan.

Bo: Bo would be found leaning against the hood of his car, ankles and arms crossed, eyes up towards the stars blanketed behind light pollution and skyscrapers.

Brett: Brett watched him for a while, a soft smile on his face. He looked like he was in his element here. Like he was, well, home.

"Ready to go?" he said at long last.

Bo: "You enjoy watching me, too, don't you?" he asked the sky.

Brett: He nodded. "I do."

Bo: "It's been a long time since we watched one another."

Brett: "It has been."

Bo: "Do you think about it?"

Brett: Another nod. "I do," he said softly. And look how far he'd come; admitting that barely brought on a blush.

Bo: "What do you think about?" Finally, he looked him in the eyes. He wanted to see that blush.

Brett: "I think about...what it looks like when...when you come out of the pool or the shower." There was a bit more of a blush now. He'd been doing a lot of watching.

Bo: His gaze remained constant. Every breath, glance, alter in tone was noteworthy. "All of me?"

Brett: It was obvious that Brett had an image in mind as he nodded.

Bo: "I want to see all of you later. Just...to look at you."

Brett: Brett smiled softly, blush present but not stopping him from agreeing. "Yes. Later. Can I see you as well?"

Bo: "You may. Later." Later when they would be alone. He didn't want to disturb Conor, which baffled him that he cared so much. That is, until he pictured those eyes hidden behind colorful hair. No reason to question why in those eyes.

"Take us home."

Brett: He leaned over to kiss Botan's cheek. "Weren't you going to take us home so I could recover from the roundabout?"

Bo: "Clearly, you need more practice," he smirked.

Brett: Brett gave an exaggerated gasp. "You're going to make me brave the beast again?"

Bo: "Repeatedly until your heart rate and breathing maintain normality."

Brett: "Sneaky, tough-roundabout-love Botan." He gave Bo another cheek kiss and opened the door for him.

Bo: Is that really what I am to you? he thought. Into the passenger seat he went. Once the car was started, Brett was taken by the collar of his shirt and pulled into a simple yet true kiss.

Brett: Bo was so much to Brett, and even that tough love side of him was appreciated. He knew it came from a place of deep love and a desire to see him grow. Even if it was about driving.

These were the thoughts running through his mind when he was pulled into that beautiful kiss. Here was that deep, true love, and he sank into it for a few long moments, temporarily forgetting about everything else.

Bo: The kiss was nothing more than two pairs of lips together, lingering, breathing one another in. That's all it had been until Bo dared to deepen it, offering his tongue and squeezing the clothing in his fist. So simplistically sexual was enough to send butterflies fluttering through his stomach, and a pulse between his legs. That was enough.

"Don't kill us," he whispered.

Brett: That was enough for both of them. Hell, just thinking of Bo was enough for Brett during those showers he scratched his rare itches. Actually getting to touch and kiss him, taste him in this beautifully intimate way?

It was enough to sustain him for a lifetime.

"I won't," he whispered back. He'd linger for just a bit longer before taking them home.

Conor: Like had been promised to Botan, Conor had not ran away. Instead, he had found a Norwegian cook book and had made Eplekake. He was just waiting for the timer to go off now, and was cleaning when they returned.

Bo: The house was still standing. The woods were quiet. The evening out had been a pleasant one. One could easily pretend everything was normal. A moment of peace could lull too many into a false sense of security.

Bo stepped out of the car and out of the garage. The woods appeared so inviting and still. A place to allow his mind to empty and his heart to slow. He wanted back in. He was sure it was the sirin.

As soon as the door was open Bo was smiling. Conor was a man of his word.

"Something smells good."

Brett: The look Brett gave the woods as they headed up to the house wasn't longing like Bo's; it was suspicious and alert. He didn't trust those woods or the creature within them. Maybe there was a way to get rid of it.

He inhaled slowly. "It does. Like fall came early."

Conor: He looks over when the door opens, eyes falling first on Bo but settling on Brett. The question repeated in his mind. Do you want him?

'I made E-P-L-E-K-A-K-E.'

Bo: "It smells like a memory." Conor was greeted with a smile. He began to recount their night, detailing the beauty of the great library, how one could feel its age in marble and gently worn pages.

Conor: 'Sounds like I missed out.'

Bo: "We'll be here for days more. If you don't want to go with us, you can see for yourself on your own."

Conor: Conor nodded. Then paused. 'Do you still want me to stay?'

Bo: "Yes. Of course I do."

Conor: Hm. So nothing had changed during their outing. 'Okay. The dish will be ready in -' quick glance 'forty minutes.'

Bo: Bo smiled. "I should have gotten you another photography book."

Brett: "You still could," Brett chimed in. He'd already found Olek and had the cat snuggled in his arms like a baby. "We can go back sometime when it's less crowded."

Bo: "I'd like that." Eyes moved from Conor's to the cat.

"Did you miss me, cat?"

Olek twitched his tail.

Brett: "Such a sweet boy," Brett cooed, kissing Olek's head. "I love him."

Conor: Conor smiled weakly. 'No, it's okay. Don't feel like you have to do anything for me.' the smile went away when they turned their attention to Olek, and he focused on setting the table for their meal.

Bo: "He's probably a mass murderer. You're kissing a mass murderer, Brett."

Conor was not off the hook. He was followed.

"You two are making a mountain of leftovers. Is this all you've done since we left?"

Brett: "He is not! He's a sweet, intuitive boy." He kissed Olek again. "Aren't you, Olek?"

Bo: "I'm sorry," Bo surprised himself by saying.

Conor: The hybrid blinked. 'There's no need to apologise.'

Bo: The human looked down and away for a moment. He didn't want to continue that subject. He felt...exposed.

"What did you read?"

Brett: Brett headed for the kitchen to put the kettle on, giving Bo's shoulder a reassuring squeeze along the way.

"How about some tea to go with the cake?"

Conor: Conor caught himself lingering on the idle touch. Oh dear. What was that feeling?

'Nothing special.' he responded as he brought out cups, having already searched all the cupboards and drawers.  

Bo: "It being my house, I feel that statement's insulting," he smirked, oblivious of those lingering eyes.

Brett: He smiled at his boyfriend. "Your house could give the library a run for its money. The bookstore, too." He turned the stove on. "What kind of tea would ya'll like?"

Conor: He started to smile back at Bo, but Brett's presence quickly stopped him. 'No tea for me.'

Bo: The house was warm. He realized his jacket was still on and removed it, tossed it over the back of the couch.

Quietly, he meandered around the house looking for the white wand.

Brett: "Okay. What about you, Botan?" he called. "Do you want tea?"

Bo: "With lemon," he called back.

Brett: "Is Earl Grey okay?"

Bo: "Is that all I have?"

Brett: "No, you've also goooot.....English and Irish breakfast, oolong, green, several herbals, a few whites..."

Conor: Wait, woah, 'Irish breakfast?'

Brett: Brett nodded. "Yep. Want a cup?"

Conor: He squinted. 'No, you'd only ruin it.'

Brett: "I do know how to make a proper cup of tea, Conor."

Conor: Conor's smirk was crooked and barely reached his eyes. He simply busied himself with the food he had made.

Brett: Brett frowned at his back and grabbed the tin of tea. He was going to make him a cup; Conor could ignore it if he wanted.

Conor: Ignored it would be.

The dish was cut up, put neatly and delicately onto plates, the remainder left aside for anyone who might want more afterwards.

Bo: Bo returned to the kitchen with the wand, his book, and a thin blank notebook and pen.

"Which tea is that?"

Brett: "Irish breakfast." He got another cup and offered it to Bo. "Still want the lemon or want milk and sugar instead?"

Bo: "Lemon is fine. No sugar." Not tonight. Not with their meal, which Conor had presented so...

"This is... Thank you." He glanced to both men. Thank you both.

Conor: Conor was taken aback. That came across more grateful than necessary.

'You're welcome, Flower.'

Brett: "Lemon it is." He fixed Bo's, then his own, pausing for a moment at the sudden show of gratitude. He knew it wasn't just the tea, or the cake Conor had made, and that's why he smiled as he leaned in to kiss Botan's cheek.

"There's never a need to thank, but you're welcome anyway." You'll never have to go through anything alone ever again. You're safe. We've got you.

Bo: I want...

The supple flesh of his lip was bitten. He would dare. He leaned over to Conor and slowly kissed his cheek. Nothing extravagant; nothing (he hoped) would make him uncomfortable. He locked eyes with Brett and looked away.

Conor: Uncomfortable would be... an incorrect adjective. He did indeed freeze momentarily, and he absolutely was unable to look at either of them in the face, but... uncomfortable was simply wrong. There was a fire under the skin that had been met by Bo's lips which the rest of his body envied. How unfair, the opposite cheek complained. How disappointing, his mouth whined. How upsetting, his hands cried. Kiss me, kiss me, his neck, shoulders, ears begged.

He would stare down at the food and pick up a fork.

Brett: Botan would be met with a simple smile. Brett didn't really think anything of the kiss; this was an emotional situation and Conor was Bo's friend. Affection was normal and to be expected. And he thought it was good progress that Conor didn't shy away from it just because Brett was there.

Even if he did think Brett was too much of a hero.

Bo: Bo began to eat in silence, sipping his tea. The book was flipped to the final page. He began to copy the image on the old paper with artistic precision.

His fingers told a separate tale. His mind was elsewhere...on Brett and Conor's lips.