Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Joel swore that if he had to stay in this helltown full of bastard people any longer, he would lose his mind and burn the place to the ground. He couldn’t take another day of babies crying, cars honking, and neighbors screaming through every ceiling of their apartment at all hours. It felt like being trapped in a cage with no escape, surrounded by nothing but pure chaos.

Still, despite the constant negative energy the city gave him, he was grateful to have his wife by his side. She was the only thing that kept him grounded. Even so, he knew that behind her smiles, she also wanted to leave this place.

One night, as they sat together listening to the noise outside, Joel muttered, “I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

His wife squeezed his hand gently and whispered, “We’ll get out one day. I believe it.”

And so, every day, they prayed to every god they knew, hoping that one day they would finally be given the chance to escape.

Unbeknownst to the couple, their days of yearning for a quiet life were about to end, as “good news” would soon arrive most unexpectedly.

One morning, Joel received a message on his phone. He picked it up, opened it, and began to read.

“Joel… your grandmother has died. Please come to the burial, at least to pay respect to her.”

He froze, already shaken by the very first sentence that appeared on the screen.

Across from him, Lizzie sat quietly on the soft sofa. She noticed the look on his face and asked, “Joel, what happened?”

Joel’s voice was barely steady as he replied, “It’s Grandma… she’s gone.”

Lizzie knew how close Joel had always been to his grandmother. He often told her stories about how the old woman took care of him when his parents were too busy with work to provide everything he needed. Joel never held grudges against his mother or father, but he had always felt a stronger bond with his grandmother. To him, she was his hero.

Hearing that she had passed away sent a shock through his entire body. It felt unreal. His grandmother had been healthy, so the thought that her death might have been caused by an accident crossed his mind.

Lizzie reached over and gave him the comfort she knew he needed in that moment.

A week later, Joel stood before the casket, no longer able to deny the truth. His grandmother was there, lying peacefully, as if the world could no longer touch her.

After the burial, a lawyer approached Joel’s family and began discussing the will his grandmother had written a year before her death.

Joel shut his eyes and leaned back, wanting none of it. Lizzy sat beside him, patting his back and trying to console him. For a brief moment, they found quiet in each other until the family suddenly erupted. Voices rose, anger filled the air, and insults flew at the lawyer.

The shouting only confused Joel and Lizzy, who glanced at one another, unsure of what was happening. Then Joel’s mother came over to them.

“I think both of you should leave while you still can,” she said quietly.

The statement only deepened their confusion, but they followed her advice. As they walked away, they caught fragments of the argument.

“Why would that ungrateful brat get everything!?” someone shouted, clearly directed at Joel.

The couple did not look back. They just left.

A week later, the answer came when someone knocked at their apartment door. Joel opened it to find the same lawyer standing there.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Watts,” the lawyer greeted.

Joel hesitated but stepped aside to let him in. Lizzy, equally confused, stayed close to Joel, her face tense with worry that they might have done something wrong.

Sensing their unease, the lawyer smiled reassuringly. “Do not worry. No one is suing you. In fact, I am here to ask when you would like us to begin transferring your grandmother’s mansion into your name.”

The words stunned them both. Joel froze, hardly believing what he heard. His childhood home, his grandmother’s house, was now his.

“Your grandmother specifically named you in her will and nobody else,” the lawyer explained. “So the mansion, along with everything in it, belongs to you.”

Neither Joel nor Lizzy could find their voices. The lawyer placed a card on the center table. “I will leave my contact information here. When you are ready to proceed with the inheritance, let me know.”

With that, he excused himself, leaving the couple sitting in silence.

“Joel?” Lizzy finally broke the quiet. “Did that just happen?”

Joel could only nod. His heart felt heavy. He did not know whether to feel relief that they could finally escape the city, or sorrow that it took his grandmother’s death for such an escape to come.

Just a month after their meeting with the lawyer, Joel and Lizzy found themselves inside a car with their necessities packed. Joel’s eyes stayed on the road, though he couldn’t deny that the fresh air of the fields felt refreshing to him. The quiet was exciting, a sharp contrast to the noise they had left behind. Still, as they drew closer to his childhood home, an uneasy feeling crept up his spine, and he shook it off and told himself to focus on the blessing that his prayers had finally been answered, though he still hated that it came at the cost of his grandmother’s death.

They had been traveling for hours when Joel began to notice new houses scattered along the forested hills. He assumed they must belong to new landowners who had recently moved in. The sight of the grand houses fascinated him, but one of them made his stomach tighten. He could not explain why, but it filled him with an anxious unease.

Pushing the thought aside, Joel continued until his grandmother’s house finally came into view. The sudden sight of it caught him off guard. It felt less secluded than he remembered, almost as if the surrounding land had shifted. Checking the clock on the dashboard, he realized the trip had taken longer than he recalled from his past visits. He dismissed it with a shake of his head. “Maybe I’m just imagining things. Maybe the clock’s wrong,” he muttered to himself.

“We’re here,” Joel announced to Lizzy as he pulled up and stepped out of the car. The house stood before him, and a wave of nostalgia swept over him. He remembered being a boy in the garden, playing with toys, wearing a paper crown and a makeshift cape.

Lizzy joined him, her eyes wide with excitement. “I can’t believe it, Joel. It felt like leaving that place was impossible, but look at us now.”

Joel smiled at her joy. “I know.”

He handed her the key to the house. “Here. I’ll get our things inside,” he said, already moving toward the car to unload their belongings.

As Joel busied himself with the bags, the uneasy feeling of being watched returned. He glanced around, scanning left and right, but saw nothing unusual. Just as he was about to turn back to the car, his eyes landed on a man standing a short distance away.

The stranger looked only a few years younger than Joel. He wore a light blue knit long-sleeve sweater tucked neatly into high-waisted beige pleated trousers, fastened with a brown belt. A wristwatch glinted on his arm, and a pair of sunglasses hung from his collar. What stood out most was the small yellow canary perched calmly on his shoulder.

Joel froze, feeling awkward under the man’s gaze. To break the tension, he raised a hand and offered a wave. The man met his eyes and returned the gesture with a slow, deliberate lift of his hand, just high enough to acknowledge him.

Unsettled, Joel decided not to dwell on the stranger. He turned back to the car and focused on unloading the rest of their belongings. But the weight of being watched did not fade.

He finally looked back toward the spot where the man had been standing. The place was empty. The stranger was gone.

During their first month in the peaceful and calming hills, Joel and Lizzy met several neighbors with very different personalities. Not far to their left lived Grian and his boyfriend, Mumbo, in a house clearly inspired by Victorian design. To their right was the home of the strange man Joel had first seen on the day they arrived, who lived there with his husband, Tango.

It did not take long for Joel to learn that the man’s name was Jimmy. Despite Joel’s uneasy first impression, Jimmy turned out to be a great help when they were settling in. On their very first day, Jimmy arrived at their door with a warm smile, a basket of baked goods, and kind words.

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” Jimmy said softly, handing them the basket. “It is good to finally meet you both.”

Lizzy’s face lit up. “Thank you, that is so thoughtful of you.”

Jimmy went on to introduce them to Grian and Mumbo, and Joel found himself watching the way Jimmy carried himself. His posture was straight, his movements measured, and his words carefully spoken. There was something regal about him, something composed, that set him apart from the chaos Joel had left behind in the city.

For Joel, who had grown used to neighbors who shouted through thin walls and argued at all hours, Jimmy’s calm presence felt almost like a blessing. From that moment, Joel was immediately grateful for the man’s collected demeanor.

But despite Joel’s appreciation for the man, he couldn’t help but wonder what was up with him. Whenever Jimmy walked by himself, Joel noticed how his eyes darted toward the sky, as if something far greater than him was staring back.

Joel once tried to ask Grian about Jimmy’s strange fixation, but Grian brushed it off.

“You’re just being paranoid,” Grian said with a laugh.

Mumbo added, “Honestly, you’ll get used to it the longer you stay here.”

Joel frowned. “So it’s not just me?”

“Not at all,” Grian admitted. “When the two of us first moved in, I thought Jimmy was odd, too. It took me a year before I felt comfortable around him.”

“Really?” Joel asked, stunned. He couldn’t believe Grian had once felt distant. From what he saw, Jimmy and Grian acted as if they were brothers separated at birth.

“Oh yeah,” Grian said, leaning back in his chair. “He greeted us the same way he greeted you, with baked goods and polite words. But there’s just… an aura to Jimmy. It feels heavy. Even Mumbo felt it.”

Mumbo nodded. “That’s true. Though it was easier for me, maybe three or four months. His husband, Tango, works at the same engineering firm as I, so I naturally got closer to him.”

“Yeah,” Grian teased, shooting Mumbo a playful look, “I still felt betrayed by that. But really, just give it a few months. You’ll get used to him.”

The conversation eased Joel’s nerves a little, but not completely. As he walked back home, his thoughts lingered on every word. Grian had taken a whole year to warm up to Jimmy. Mumbo had admitted that even he felt the strange weight that seemed to follow the man. It wasn’t just his imagination then. Others had noticed it too, even if they had learned to live with it.

Joel slowed his pace, looking toward the hills around him. The air was quiet, almost too quiet, and he realized just how different this place was from the city. No traffic, no constant chatter, no blaring horns. Here, every sound stood out: the crunch of gravel under his shoes, the faint chirp of crickets in the distance, the whisper of wind through the trees. The silence, once comforting, now seemed to press in on him.

He thought again of Jimmy’s eyes. They carried a weight that didn’t match his gentle voice or regal posture. A hollowness lingered in them, as though he had lived far longer than he should have. Joel shook his head, but the image stuck: those eyes searching the sky, almost waiting for something to answer back.

Even the way Jimmy walked unsettled him. On the surface, his composure was enviable, his steps unhurried and precise. Yet there was an odd stiffness too, a rhythm that felt just slightly wrong, as if his body was built to move differently. Joel imagined for a fleeting second that extra limbs should be attached to his sides, moving in time with him. The thought sent a chill down his spine.

He tried to steady himself, reminding his mind that he was overthinking, that this was simply who Jimmy was. But the unease remained, gnawing at the back of his thoughts.

And then, as though summoned by Joel’s restless mind, Jimmy appeared before him.

“Joel,” Jimmy called softly, raising a hand in greeting.

Joel startled but quickly masked it, forcing a smile. He lifted his own hand. “Jimmy, good to see you.”

Jimmy spoke with his usual calm tone, and Joel listened carefully. For a moment, his unease dulled. Perhaps Jimmy was simply like this. Perhaps there was no mystery to solve, and he should stop questioning the man any longer.

Chapter Text

“Do you think Joel would be okay by himself right now?” Mumbo asked as he carefully poured another cup of tea, the steam curling into the air.

Grian, still near the door, raised his left eyebrow at the question. “Why would he not?” he asked, shutting the door and kicking off his shoes before heading toward the couch.

Mumbo leaned back in his chair, stirring his tea slowly. “I’m just saying… he just moved in. He might be rattled with Jimmy’s weird thing, if you know what I mean.”

Grian lowered himself onto the couch, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “Weird thing? You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“You know,” Mumbo said, waving his hand vaguely. “The way he stares up at the sky, or how he carries himself like he’s thinking about something far bigger than the rest of us. Joel’s new, he might not be used to it.”

Grian leaned his elbows on his knees, considering. “I suppose you’re not wrong,” he admitted after a pause. “But he’ll be fine. Don’t worry about him. Besides, no one can really resist Jimmy’s charm anyway.” He took a sip of tea and glanced at Mumbo. “Sooner or later, we’ll just see them hanging out alone, trust me.”

Mumbo chuckled softly. “You sound like you’ve thought this through.”

“Well, look at me,” Grian said, gesturing toward himself. “It literally took me a year just to be friends with him. A whole year. But now? I’m the one asking to hang out with him. Funny how things change.”

“Yeah,” Mumbo said with a little smirk, “funny how you complained for months and now you’re the one who knocks on his door first.”

Grian rolled his eyes but laughed under his breath. “Don’t remind me. I still remember how much I used to complain.”

He leaned back into the cushions, teacup in hand, and reached for the television remote. With a flick, the screen lit up, and he started scrolling through the channels.

“Wait,” Mumbo interrupted quickly, leaning forward. “Stop there. That’s my favorite show.”

“Of course it is,” Grian teased, setting the remote aside and taking another sip of tea.

The two of them settled in together, the soft sound of the program filling the room. Yet as the minutes passed, Grian’s eyes drifted from the screen, his thoughts slipping away. He remembered when they had first moved into the neighborhood, their house still half-finished and bare, but filled with the kind of happiness that came from starting something new.

Even so, what clung to his memory more than anything else was the sharp feeling of animosity he once carried toward Jimmy.

It was summer when Grian and his boyfriend, Mumbo, left behind their social life in the city to begin a new chapter in a secluded forested hill. Grian had resisted the idea at first, but he eventually caved in to Mumbo’s request, especially after Mumbo presented him with a full PowerPoint presentation, complete with pros, cons, and a slide that read “Fresh air, fresh start.”

During their first two months there, they met Jimmy and his husband, Tango, who welcomed them warmly and tried to befriend them.

“They seem kind of nice,” Mumbo said one evening as they sat in their living room, sipping tea.

Grian gave a noncommittal shrug. While Mumbo slowly grew comfortable with the couple, Grian couldn’t say the same. He was fine with Tango, who seemed normal enough, but Jimmy? He loathed the poor guy, and he wasn’t even sure why.

“Yeah, right…” Grian muttered, setting his cup down.

Mumbo looked over at him, eyebrows raised. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Grian replied quickly, though his tone betrayed him.

“Come on,” Mumbo pressed, leaning back in his chair. “You always get this look on your face whenever Jimmy comes up. You’re going to have to tell me at some point.”

Grian shifted uncomfortably, feeling his boyfriend’s eyes fixed on him. “What?” he asked defensively.

Mumbo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gave him a steady look, one of those quiet glances that spoke louder than words, asking if he was really okay.

Grian rolled his eyes at him playfully, trying to brush off the tension. “It’s not like I don’t like them,” he said with a sigh. “They just feel fake to me. You know, too good to be true.”

Mumbo tilted his head, considering that. “Fake? Or just… polite?”

“Too polite,” Grian replied firmly. “It’s almost rehearsed, like he’s acting the whole time. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Mumbo tapped his fingers on his cup, thinking it over. “I mean… I see where you’re coming from. It’s never a bad idea to be cautious. But maybe that’s just how Jimmy is.”

Grian shrugged again, not entirely convinced. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s just hiding something.”

Mumbo gave a small smile, shaking his head. “You’re impossible sometimes, you know that?”

“Maybe,” Grian echoed, this time with a faint grin of his own.

Even as their conversation ended, Grian couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling Jimmy left him with.

In their third month of living in their new house, Grian couldn’t believe it when Mumbo said that they had been invited by Tango for dinner at his and Jimmy’s home. He felt a sting of betrayal that Mumbo was getting closer to Tango, though he couldn’t really blame him since the two of them worked at the same engineering firm.

“And I’m guessing you agreed?” Grian asked sarcastically, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall. His eyes narrowed, though the corner of his lips curved into something halfway between annoyance and amusement.

Mumbo only smiled, enjoying how dramatic Grian could get. “It’s not like I could say no. He asked nicely,” he replied, tilting his head with an innocent expression. “You’d have said yes too, you know you would.”

“Would I?” Grian asked, raising an eyebrow. He shook his head slowly, though his tone softened.

“You would,” Mumbo teased, nudging his shoulder as he walked past him. “I know you.”

Grian sighed, dragging out the breath until it turned into a quiet groan. He tried to compose himself but finally muttered, “Fine.” The single word sounded like defeat, though his lips twitched as if he were holding back a reluctant smile.

Later, he stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his shirt and frowning at his reflection. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered, though he still fussed with his collar. “It’s just dinner.” He straightened his posture, deciding it might be better if he at least looked put together.

As he ran his hands through his hair, he caught the faintest trace of a sweet fragrance drifting from the kitchen. Curious, he followed it.

When he arrived, he found Mumbo at the counter, peeling mangoes with focused precision while carefully layering graham crackers and whipped cream into a dish.

“You’re making Mango Graham Float?” Grian asked, his irritation all but forgotten as he stepped closer. He slipped his arms around Mumbo from behind and rested his chin against the taller man’s shoulder, his eyes watching the dessert take shape.

“Yep,” Mumbo answered lightly, glancing sideways with a small grin. “Don’t want to come to their house empty-handed, after all. You know me.”

“You and your desserts,” Grian muttered, though the affection in his voice betrayed his words. He tightened his hug before letting go, rolling up his sleeves to join in. “Alright, let’s get this done quicker.”

The two of them worked side by side, peeling, slicing, layering, and laughing over small mistakes until the dessert was finally finished and placed into the freezer.

With the preparation done, they shared a look that carried both relief and resignation. “Now what?” Grian asked, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Now we wait,” Mumbo replied with a small shrug.

They passed the time with a shared shower, trading playful remarks as they got ready, then carefully dressed themselves for the evening. Once finished, they sat together and quietly went over the small list of things to bring, double-checking every detail.

At last, the timer seemed to have run its course. Grian opened the freezer and carefully pulled out the chilled Mango Graham Float. Mumbo stood ready at the door with their things, and with everything prepared, the two of them set off for Jimmy and Tango’s house.

During their dinner, Tango and Mumbo carried on a lively conversation, trading stories about work and laughing at small inside jokes only the two of them seemed to share. Jimmy, seated beside Tango, laughed along with their stories, his amusement easy and natural, as if he had always belonged at that table. While the three of them were comfortably socializing, Grian sat quietly, picking at his food, still feeling out of place. His eyes occasionally flicked toward Jimmy, cautious and sharp, convinced that the man was putting on a mask, that everything about him was a carefully crafted persona.

“I hope the food tastes nice,” Jimmy said warmly, looking at both Grian and Mumbo.

Grian froze under his gaze, his fork hovering over his plate. He wanted to answer, but his tongue seemed caught in his throat.

“Oh, it actually tastes really good,” Mumbo jumped in quickly, eager to fill the silence. He gave Jimmy an appreciative smile. “Have you had any cooking background? This is restaurant quality.”

Jimmy chuckled, shaking his head lightly. “No background. Just a hobby, I suppose. I’m glad you like it.”

The conversation seemed ready to move on when Jimmy’s eyes flicked back toward Grian. “How about you, Grian? Did you enjoy the food?”

The question caught Grian off guard, and he looked up sharply, startled that Jimmy had spoken to him so casually. Across the table, Mumbo’s gaze landed on him, filled with a quiet plea that he answer without letting his usual sarcasm slip through.

Grian’s mind raced. He was preparing a remark, something sly and cutting that could pass as a joke, but when he finally opened his mouth, the words that left him were not the ones he had prepared. “It was nice,” he heard himself say, his voice steady but unfamiliar. “You did well with this.”

Jimmy’s smile widened at the praise, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Thank you,” he said simply, his tone filled with genuine warmth.

Both Mumbo and Tango glanced at each other, surprised. They knew better than anyone how strongly Grian felt about Jimmy, and yet here he was, offering him a compliment without hesitation. Relief softened their expressions; maybe, just maybe, Grian was beginning to warm up to him.

But to Grian, the words echoed in his mind like they weren’t his own. He hadn’t chosen them. It felt as if someone, or something, had placed them there, feeding them into his mouth and forcing him to speak. He kept his face composed, forcing a small smile to meet Jimmy’s, but beneath the surface, his chest tightened with unease.

As Jimmy’s smile lingered across the table, Grian felt a faint shiver crawl down his spine. His anxiety rose, unbidden, and in that moment, he remembered the eyes of the animals that had watched them from the roadside when they first moved into the hills. Those silent stares had felt unnatural, as though the creatures were waiting for something.

Now, sitting at this table under the weight of Jimmy’s calm grin, the memory clicked into place. Grian thought to himself that perhaps the silence of the countryside wasn’t simply the absence of neighbors. Perhaps the silence had teeth. And maybe, just maybe, it was Jimmy who had taught it how to bite.

Grian laughed to himself, remembering how overdramatic he had been during their first year, and how downright rude he must have seemed to the poor man. Shaking his head at the memory, he tried to focus on the show playing on the television. Yet, at the edge of his vision, he caught something: two golden eyes glinting faintly, the same shade he had once thought he saw in Jimmy when the man smiled too long.

His breath hitched. He turned sharply toward where the eyes should have been, but there was nothing. The corner of the room was empty, quiet, ordinary.

“Everything alright?” Mumbo asked, glancing at him from the couch.

“Yeah… thought I saw something,” Grian muttered, forcing a small smile. “Probably just the light.”

Mumbo shrugged, unconcerned, and turned his attention back to the screen. Grian lingered, staring at the empty corner a moment longer, before shaking it off. Better not to dwell on it, he thought. Better not to overthink.

Chapter Text

Lizzie was grateful when they first moved in, especially for how warmly their neighbors had welcomed them. After years of cramped apartments and noisy streets, the quiet of this new place felt almost unreal. The air smelled of pine and distant rain, and the people around seemed kind enough. She was most thankful for one in particular: Jimmy, their friendly neighbor who had shown up on their doorstep that first day with a basket of baked goods and a smile.

Now, Lizzie and Jimmy sat together in her front yard, enjoying a slow afternoon tea beneath the shade of the old oak tree. The gentle hum of cicadas filled the pauses between their words, and the breeze carried the faint sweetness of the tea they were drinking.

“Say, Lizzie,” Jimmy began, lifting his teacup with his usual polite ease, “you and your husband have been here for a few months now, but I’ve never really asked, what do you both do for a living?”

Lizzie looked up from her cup, a little surprised by the question. “Oh, our jobs?” she repeated, buying herself a moment to think. The sunlight behind Jimmy was bright, almost blinding, turning him into a silhouette framed by gold. It was hard to make out his expression, hard even to keep her eyes on him without squinting. She felt strangely aware of the way the light seemed to swallow his features.

She forced a small smile. “Joel works as an accountant for a company, while I work as a preschool teacher.” Her voice came out steady, but she found herself gripping her cup a bit tighter.

Jimmy tilted his head thoughtfully, his tone warm but curious. “A preschool teacher?” he said, as though tasting the words. “Was it fun?”

Something in his tone made her pause. It wasn’t harsh, but it carried a weight she couldn’t quite place, like there was something more behind the question. For a moment, Lizzie thought he was studying her too closely, as though he wanted to understand something she hadn’t said. She shifted a little in her seat.

Seeing her hesitation, Jimmy blinked and gave a light chuckle. “I mean, is it fun? Working with children must be right? It sounds like such a lively job. I’m sorry if that came across the wrong way,” he said, setting his cup down gently. His voice softened as he smiled at her, the kind of smile that made it easy to forget whatever unease she had felt a moment ago.

Lizzie blinked and gave a small, embarrassed laugh. “It’s fine,” she said, waving her hand slightly. “People usually mean it differently when they ask about my job, so I guess I’ve gotten used to that kind of tone.” She glanced down at her tea before continuing, her voice warmer now. “But yes, it is fun. I’ve always wanted to have a child of my own. I just didn’t want to raise one in the kind of place we used to live.”

She hesitated, her words hanging softly in the air. “Teaching preschoolers helps fill that space, you know? It feels close enough to the dream.”

For a moment, her mind drifted to Joel, to the quiet nights when they had talked about starting a family, about what kind of home they wanted to raise their child in. The memory left a small ache in her chest, one she tried to hide behind another sip of tea.

Jimmy’s voice broke the silence before it could grow heavy. “Well,” he said kindly, “you two have a beautiful home now.” His smile deepened, the sunlight catching in his eyes just so. “I’m sure you’ll be able to give your future child a better life here.”

Lizzie looked up, startled by how certain he sounded. There was something almost comforting about the conviction in his tone, yet it carried an odd weight too, as though he was speaking not out of hope, but out of knowledge.

“Thank you,” she said after a pause, offering him a polite smile. “That means a lot.”

He nodded once, slow and deliberate, before taking another sip of his tea. The rim of the cup gleamed faintly in the light, and Lizzie caught herself staring for a moment longer than she meant to.

The two of them sat in silence for a while, the kind that wasn’t awkward but thoughtful. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance, and the wind rustled through the leaves above them. Lizzie breathed in deeply, feeling the calm of the moment sink in.

Yet, as she looked at Jimmy, at the way he carried himself, the calm certainty in his every gesture, she couldn’t help but find him a little mesmerizing. There was something graceful about him, something steady that drew her in. He always seemed so composed, so sure of himself, and it made him easy to listen to, easy to be around.

Still, there was something else too, something she couldn’t quite name. Now and then, when he smiled or tilted his head just so, she felt a strange tug of familiarity, like a distant echo of a memory she couldn’t fully recall. It made her chest tighten faintly, and she wasn’t sure why.

Despite herself, she smiled and poured them both another cup of tea. “You always know what to say, Jimmy,” she said lightly, trying to brush the strange thought away.

Jimmy looked at her, smiling softly in return. “I just try to speak honestly,” he said. “It’s easier that way.”

Lizzie nodded, pretending not to notice how his eyes caught the light again, glimmering faintly as if the sunlight itself bent around him.

And though she told herself not to overthink it, she couldn’t help but feel, just for a moment, that Jimmy reminded her of something from long ago, something she had once dreamed about but could no longer remember.

“Lizzie! Come downstairs, dinner’s ready!” her mother’s voice echoed from the kitchen, light but firm. The little girl was sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a colorful mess of dolls, blocks, and crayons. She was lost in her own world, humming softly as she moved her toys around like they were alive.

Lizzie sighed quietly, glancing at the door. She knew her mother would be upset if she didn’t come right away. “Okay, Mama! Just a minute!” she answered, her small voice carrying down the hallway.

She began picking up her toys one by one, carefully placing them in the big plastic container beside her bed. “You all stay here, okay?” she whispered to her dolls, smiling to herself as if they could hear her. “We’ll play again tomorrow.” She tucked the container neatly under her bed, making sure it was hidden like always.

Her stomach rumbled as the smell of her mother’s cooking drifted upstairs: warm, comforting, and full of promise. Lizzie opened her door and took a deep breath, letting the familiar aroma wrap around her like a hug. She smiled. “Mama’s cooking my favorite again,” she said quietly to herself, feeling her excitement grow.

“Be careful going down the stairs, Lizzie!” her mother called from below, but Lizzie was already on the move. She gripped the banister tightly with one hand, eager to reach the dining table. “I’m being careful!” she shouted back cheerfully.

But as she took her first few steps, her foot pressed against something small and hard. She looked down too late; one of her toy cars had rolled out from her room and rested right on the top step.

Her foot slipped.

The world spun.

Lizzie felt herself falling, the sound of her own small gasp swallowed by the air. Her hands flailed, trying to grab the railing, but everything was too fast. The edges of her vision blurred, the world tilting and tumbling as her head struck the floor.

For a brief moment before darkness swallowed her, she heard her mother’s scream: sharp, panicked, and her father’s voice calling her name, desperate and trembling.

Then, silence.

During that time, she was unconscious, surrounded by nothing but darkness. It wasn’t the kind of darkness that came with sleep; it was heavier, deeper, almost alive. The void stretched endlessly around her, and though she tried to move, she couldn’t feel her limbs. The silence pressed down on her chest, cold and suffocating.

She wanted to scream, to call for her mother, but no sound came out. Still, she could hear. Muffled voices, faint and trembling. Her mother’s sobs broke through the emptiness first, followed by her father’s deep, frantic voice.

“Please, wake up, sweetheart… please,” her mother begged, the words echoing in the hollow space around Lizzie. Her father’s voice came next, calm but breaking, “She’ll be fine. She’ll be fine, just hold on, Lizzie.”

Lizzie wanted to answer. She wanted to tell them she was still there, that she could hear them, but the void swallowed her words. All she could do was drift through the emptiness, the weight of it sinking into her bones.

Then, through the black, something cracked.

A voice that didn’t belong to either of her parents slipped through the silence. It wasn’t soft or kind. It was sharp and fractured, like glass being dragged across stone, yet strangely melodic. The sound made the darkness tremble.

“Hello, Elizabeth…”

Her heart, or whatever was left of it, leaped. The voice didn’t echo like her parents’ did. It filled the space, as if it had always been there, waiting. Lizzie tried to look for it, to find the one speaking, but every time she tried to move, the void quaked violently.

The world around her shuddered, and then came the light, blinding and searing, forcing her eyes shut. When her vision finally cleared, she found herself staring into her parents’ tear-streaked faces. Her mother was holding her hand tightly, whispering words of relief, while her father’s eyes were wet with unspoken fear.

But Lizzie’s relief didn’t last long.

Behind her parents, just past the flickering lamplight, stood something that shouldn’t have been there.

It was tall, draped in a dark yellow robe that shimmered faintly despite the dim room. Atop its head rested a crown, though made out of flesh and seemed fused to its skin, covering what should have been its eyes. The sight made Lizzie’s stomach twist. She followed the folds of the robe downward, where long, green tendrils slithered and curled like living things at the figure’s feet.

It moved, or perhaps flowed, closer.

Her breath caught as the figure raised its hand. Its fingers were impossibly long, each one ending in a pointed tip, hollowed out with small, circular holes that whistled softly as air passed through them.

Then, it lifted one finger to its lips.

“Do not be afraid, young child,” it said, the broken voice echoing again, each word vibrating through the air like shattering glass. “I’m here to protect you.”

Lizzie couldn’t speak. She could only stare, frozen between terror and awe.

And then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the figure began to crumble. Its robe, its crown, its tendrils, all dissolved into fine ash, scattering into the air before vanishing completely.

Lizzie blinked, her heart pounding in her chest. The room was quiet again, only her parents’ sobs breaking the silence. But deep inside her, she could still feel it, the echo of that broken voice whispering faintly at the edge of her mind.

Looking back to that specific memory, Lizzie found it oddly funny how the mysterious figure had told her it would protect her, yet it never appeared again after that night. She had waited for it as a child, half-believing that maybe it would come back whenever she was hurt or frightened. But as the years went by, the memory faded into the kind of story you tell yourself to make sense of strange dreams.

Still, she could not deny the truth in its promise. Since that day, nothing truly bad had ever happened to her. Accidents that should have been worse never were. Near-misses always ended safely. It was as if something unseen had been watching over her. She would never say it out loud, of course, people would think she was being ridiculous, but a small, secret part of her still believed the strange figure had kept its word.

“Funny,” she murmured under her breath, tracing her fingertip around the rim of her teacup.

“What was that?” Jimmy asked, looking up from his tea with that calm, polite curiosity that always made her feel both at ease and slightly uneasy.

“Oh, nothing,” Lizzie said quickly, smiling to cover her nerves. “Just… remembering something from when I was little. A silly dream, I suppose.”

Jimmy chuckled softly. “Dreams are never silly. Sometimes they just remind us of what we’ve forgotten when we’re awake.”

Lizzie blinked, her smile faltering just a little. “That’s… an interesting way to put it.”

He smiled again, faint but knowing, and took another sip of his tea. “I think everyone carries their own dream with them. Some are kind. Some are frightening. But they always leave something behind.”

The way he said it made Lizzie’s skin prickle. His voice was gentle, yet there was something else beneath it, a quiet depth that made her think he wasn’t just talking about dreams. For a moment, as the sunlight caught his hair and shadowed his eyes, he reminded her too much of that figure from her childhood.

The same calm presence. The same way the air felt heavier around him, like it was listening to every word he spoke.

Lizzie stared at him for a moment longer than she meant to. “You sound like you’ve thought about that before,” she said, her voice quieter now.

Jimmy smiled without answering, his gaze still fixed on his teacup. “Maybe I have.”

Something about that made her chest tighten. She didn’t know why, but the image of the yellow-robed figure drifted into her mind again, the crown, the tendrils, the voice that had promised protection.

And when she looked at Jimmy, peaceful and unbothered as he sipped his tea, she couldn’t help but compare him to that memory. The stillness. The strange familiarity. The unshakable feeling that maybe, somehow, the two were connected.

Lizzie laughed softly to herself, trying to shake off the thought. “You remind me of someone,” she said, almost teasing.

Jimmy looked at her then, his golden eyes catching the light. “Do I?”

“Yeah,” she said, forcing a smile. “Someone I knew a long time ago.”

“Well,” he said, setting his cup down with a soft clink, “I hope they were good company.”

Lizzie’s smile lingered, but her hands felt cold around the porcelain cup. “They were,” she whispered, though in her mind, she wasn’t sure if that was true.

Chapter Text

A lot of people said that his husband had an aura that surrounded him, something calm yet impossible to define. Some called it charm, others a quiet energy, but Tango knew it was something deeper. It wasn’t just how Jimmy smiled or spoke; it was the way the world seemed to pause when he entered a room. It didn’t help that when the newly moved-in couple, Joel and Lizzie, brought him up in conversation, they had that same look in their eyes, the mix of admiration and unease he had seen before.

Their words, their tone, the curious awe they had for Jimmy reminded Tango so much of when Mumbo and Grian first moved in. It was like everyone who met Jimmy felt something they couldn’t explain.

Tango chuckled softly at the memory as he walked down the winding forest path that led away from their home. The air was cool and earthy, filled with the scent of pine and the distant hum of cicadas. He had always loved this place, the quiet, the peace, the way sunlight filtered through the trees like golden dust.

Leaving the city for this life had been one of the best decisions he had ever made, and every time he took walks like this, he reminded himself how far he had come.

The city had not been kind to him. The noise, the crowds, the constant judgment, it all chipped away at him slowly until he stopped looking people in the eye altogether. Tango could still remember the sneers, the whispered words, the way strangers would look at him as if his very existence was wrong.

For years, he lived quietly, convinced that happiness was something meant for other people. He had accepted that maybe he was meant to live and die alone, quietly and forgotten.

But then, there was Jimmy.

He could still remember the first time they met. It was in a small café at the corner of a dimly lit street. Tango had been sitting there, hiding behind his cup of coffee, when Jimmy walked in, smiling like the world had never hurt him. He sat down across from Tango as if they had known each other all their lives and said, “You look like someone who needs a friend.”

Tango had laughed at that back then, but that laugh had turned into tears before the day was over. Jimmy didn’t say much after that; he just listened. And that was enough.

Thinking about it now, Tango felt his chest tighten with warmth. He stopped walking for a moment, looking up at the patch of sky visible between the trees. The leaves swayed lightly, their whispers blending with the wind, and he smiled.

“Guess I owe you everything,” he murmured to no one in particular, though a part of him hoped Jimmy could somehow hear it.

Before he realized it, he had wandered back to their house. The wooden structure stood quietly at the edge of the forest, sunlight spilling over its porch. He could see the curtains fluttering gently in the open window, and through them, the faint outline of Jimmy moving about inside.

Tango lingered by the gate for a moment, watching him. He never got tired of that sight, Jimmy humming softly to himself, hands busy with some small chore, the calm presence that filled every space he was in.

“It’s my day off today,” Tango said quietly to himself with a small smile. “I guess it’s time I spend it with him.”

He took a deep breath, savoring the smell of home before opening the door.

Inside, the sound of Jimmy’s soft humming grew clearer, and Tango’s heart felt a familiar peace settle in his chest. No matter how strange or mysterious people thought Jimmy was, to Tango, he was simply home.

“He must still be sleeping,” Tango murmured to himself with a soft smile, his voice barely breaking the quiet stillness of the morning. The sunlight was already spilling through the windows, painting soft streaks of gold across the kitchen counters. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, illuminated like tiny fireflies as they moved through the light. The faint aroma of tea and the lingering scent of toast made the house feel warm and lived-in.

He leaned against the counter, staring fondly at the half-finished mugs of tea on the table. One cup was his, half-empty, slightly cooled, and resting beside an open newspaper, and the other was Jimmy’s, untouched. Tango couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. “Figures,” he said quietly, shaking his head.

Despite Jimmy’s ever-poised and graceful nature, there was one thing Tango knew for certain: his husband would never, under any circumstance, be a morning person. The man could host a dinner party, charm an entire crowd, and somehow make everyone in the room feel seen, all without breaking a sweat. But getting out of bed before noon? That was another story entirely.

He glanced up at the clock. The hands pointed lazily to 11:00 a.m. “Guess it’s up to me again,” he muttered, shaking his head in amusement. With a small sigh, Tango rolled up his sleeves and began preparing lunch. He moved through the kitchen with practiced ease, the sound of sizzling oil and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filling the quiet house. Cooking for Jimmy had always been one of his favorite parts of their routine; it was something simple, something grounding. Thirty minutes passed before he knew it, and soon the aroma of warm soup and grilled vegetables filled the air.

Satisfied, Tango wiped his hands clean and made his way toward the staircase. The floorboards creaked softly beneath his steps as he climbed. “Jimmy,” he called gently, giving the bedroom door a light knock. “It’s already 11:30. Come on, wake up.”

When he opened the door, he was greeted by the familiar sight of Jimmy lying perfectly still on the bed, facing the ceiling, hands resting neatly over his abdomen. The man looked less like someone asleep and more like a painting come to life: serene, poised, untouched by time.

Tango leaned against the doorframe for a moment, smiling to himself. “Even when you sleep, you look like royalty,” he whispered under his breath before walking closer. He reached out and gently shook Jimmy’s shoulder. “Jimmy,” he said softly.

It took a few seconds, but eventually, Jimmy stirred. His eyes fluttered open, blue and distant for a moment before softening when they landed on Tango. He rubbed his eyes slowly, his voice low and warm when he spoke. “Good morning, love.”

Tango let out a quiet laugh. “It hardly counts as morning, you know. It’s already 11:30.”

Jimmy chuckled sleepily, stretching his arms above his head. “Then, I suppose good afternoon, love.”

“Better,” Tango teased, leaning down to brush a quick kiss against Jimmy’s forehead. “Now get dressed. I already cooked lunch for us.”

Jimmy smiled lazily but nodded. “Give me five minutes.”

Tango left the room with a grin, shaking his head fondly. “You said that yesterday, too,” he called out as he made his way back to the dining room.

True to form, it was closer to fifteen minutes before Tango heard the bedroom door open. Jimmy appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing one of Tango’s shirts, something that always made Tango pause. The fabric was a little too big for him, hanging loosely from his shoulders, yet somehow he still managed to make it look elegant.

“You’re wearing my clothes again,” Tango said, pretending to sound disapproving.

Jimmy’s grin was playful as he walked down the stairs. “I like the way they smell,” he replied simply, and that was enough to make Tango blush.

The two sat together for lunch, the clinking of cutlery mixing with the occasional quiet laugh. It was ordinary, but there was comfort in that. When they were finished, Jimmy leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Now,” Jimmy said after a moment of comfortable silence, “how about we paint?” His tone carried that familiar mixture of playfulness and confidence that Tango could never say no to.

Tango groaned softly, though there was affection in his voice. “You know I’m not good at that,” he said, dragging out the words as if to make his reluctance sound convincing. But despite his complaint, he was already standing up, following Jimmy toward their small art room. “One of these days, I’m going to refuse, and you’ll be shocked.”

Jimmy glanced over his shoulder with a knowing grin. “Oh, I doubt that. You always say the same thing, and yet every time, you surprise yourself.” His eyes sparkled, and Tango couldn’t help but smile in return. That was one of Jimmy’s quiet powers; he made everything sound like a promise, as if he truly believed in the good things people didn’t see in themselves.

The art room was modest but full of warmth. Sunlight poured through the window, spilling across the wooden floor and glinting off jars of brushes and rows of paint tubes lined neatly against the wall. A faint scent of turpentine mixed with something floral: lavender, perhaps, from the sachets Jimmy tucked in the corners to “keep the air inspired,” as he once said.

They set up their easels across from each other, two blank canvases waiting like silent invitations. Jimmy moved gracefully, his every motion deliberate and smooth. Tango admired him quietly, wondering how someone could make even the act of arranging paint look elegant.

The sound of bristles scratching against wood filled the air as Tango opened a jar of black paint. “Alright,” he muttered, dipping his brush hesitantly into the color. “Let’s see what disaster I’ll make today.”

Jimmy laughed, that soft and genuine kind of laugh that made Tango’s chest feel light. “Just paint what you feel,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring. “Don’t think too much. Let it happen.”

“Easy for you to say,” Tango replied with a teasing smile. “You make art look effortless. Mine always ends up looking like an accident that could be classified as modern art.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jimmy chuckled, glancing at him from across the room.

Tango sighed and began to paint. At first, he tried to focus on what he always painted, Jimmy. He traced the outline of his husband’s face in his mind, remembering the soft curve of his smile and the gentle tilt of his head when he listened. Jimmy had always been his favorite subject, though he never admitted it outright. There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled at Tango’s attention even in the quietest moments.

But as the minutes passed, Tango’s strokes grew faster, more erratic. The soft tones of skin and light began to darken under his brush. He blinked, confused. This wasn’t what he meant to paint. Yet, his hands moved with a will of their own, almost as though something unseen guided them. The black paint spread first, thick and deep like ink. Then came streaks of yellow, forming the faint outline of a flowing robe.

He tried to stop, to pull back, but the motion felt too natural. Too right.

By the time he realized how much time had passed, his heart was racing. The image before him made his breath hitch. It was Jimmy, but… not quite. His husband stood in the center of the canvas, wrapped in a luminous yellow robe that shimmered against a dark, endless background. His face was half-hidden beneath the shadows, yet light poured from him, cutting through the gloom like a beacon.

Tango stared in silence. The longer he looked, the stranger it felt. The image was beautiful and unsettling at once, like something sacred and forbidden intertwined.

“I think I’m done,” Tango said quietly. His voice sounded distant to his own ears as he held the canvas with both hands.

Jimmy turned from his own work, his eyes lighting up in surprise. “Already? That was fast.”

When Tango showed him the painting, he braced himself. He expected confusion or even discomfort. But instead, Jimmy’s face softened into a look of pure delight. His eyes glimmered with approval.

“And you say you’re not good at painting,” Jimmy said, a hint of laughter in his tone. “Look at that, it’s beautiful. It’s like something you’d see hanging in a Renaissance gallery.”

Tango blinked, unsure how to respond. “You really think so? I thought it looked… strange,” he admitted, his voice a mixture of pride and unease.

Jimmy stepped closer, his gaze lingering on the canvas. “Not strange,” he said thoughtfully. “Honest.” His fingertips brushed along the edge of the painting, tracing the yellow folds of the robe. “It feels right somehow, like something you were meant to paint.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy and quiet.

Tango wanted to ask what he meant, but the question stuck in his throat. Instead, he simply nodded, trying to shake the strange chill that crept down his spine. Jimmy smiled at him one last time before turning back to his own canvas, humming softly under his breath as he painted.

Left alone with his thoughts, Tango looked again at what he had made. The yellow robe. The faint, broken light. The darkness presses in from all sides. Something about it pulled at his memory, as if he had seen it somewhere before, not in life, but in someone else’s story.

Maybe in a dream.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was something much older, something that had existed long before he ever picked up a brush.