Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Monday morning, Chase scraped a spatula around the frying pan, gathering the solidifying eggs into bunches to keep them cooking without burning. Chase chewed the inside of his cheek as he mentally kicked around what sort of streaming schedule he was interested in incorporating for the day. Chase lifted his chin at the sound of trudging footsteps dragging against the hallway carpet. Once the footsteps transferred to the kitchen tile, Chase tore his gaze from the eggs over to Buddy. "G'morning," Chase hummed.

Buddy's hair swept every which way, straying from its usual poised style—evident of the sort of deep sleep he had just pried his way out of. His band shirt design had faded, having been worn through so many nights and washed through countless early mornings. His dark pajama pants could've been worn for an impromptu late-night grocery store run probably at Walmart but certainly not at Whole Foods. Buddy grunted a vague-sounding, "Morning."

Chase attempted to stifle his smile until he saw the blue circles comfortably settled beneath Buddy's eyes as if they'd always been there. Chase's eyebrows drew together in concern. "Hey, Buddy, are you okay?"

Buddy looked down to the eggs cooking in the pan before meeting Chase's worried gaze. "Hm? Yeah? Why?"

"Oh, it's just." Chase lightly shook his head and shrugged. "You look tired, so I thought maybe you were up late with technical difficulties or something."

Buddy's eyebrows drew together in thought. After a moment's pause, a spark of realization flashed through Buddy's eyes, and he pulled away from Chase and headed back to the hallway as fast as if he'd been burned.

"Hey! Buddy, wait, what's up?" Chase's eyes passed between his pan and the hallway.

"Forgot to brush," Buddy uttered back just loud enough for Chase to hear before he disappeared behind the bathroom door, slamming it shut in the process.

Chase stared down the dim hallway with a concerned frown. His focus drifted back to the pan, and he continued to push the eggs around until they finished cooking.

It was an hour later before Buddy re-emerged from the bathroom. By then, Chase had finished eating and had set Buddy's portion of breakfast aside in a closed fridge storage container. Chase rinsed the pan in cool water in the sink as he caught sight of Buddy looking as put together and flawless as ever—dark circles gone, eyeliner applied, hair styled, and clothing sharp and unwrinkled. Chase chewed his tongue in thought. "…You okay?"

"Hm?" Without sparing a glance, Buddy opened the fridge storage container which held his scrambled eggs and plucked a fork from the silverware drawer.

Chase tugged the dish towel from the oven door's handle and spread it out on the counter beside the cold stove. He overturned the washed pan and placed it on the towel. "Are you okay? You kinda left the kitchen real fast earlier."

Buddy sent Chase a skeptical look before setting the glass storage bowl in the microwave. "I don't remember." He set the microwave to cook and then leaned against the counter.

"But I said…." Chase lifted a hand and rested two fingers just beneath one of his eyes. Upon seeing Buddy bristle, Chase paused, and then his hand fell. "…And then you left?"

Buddy rolled his shoulders back and crossed his arms. "I forgot to brush my teeth, so I went to go brush my teeth."

Chase bit the inside of his cheek, debating on digging into the subject any further. "…M'kay. You can just leave your dishes in the sink when you're done. I can get to 'em later."

Buddy's tense shoulders slackened, and his stare softened. "I can wash them," he volunteered. "Don't worry about it. I'll be…." He glanced at the clock on the stove. "Twenty minutes or so."

Chase huffed out a soft laugh. "Take an hour and eat more than just eggs." He draped the dish towel he used to dry his hands over the oven's handle. "The fans can wait." He offered Buddy a smile and headed out of the kitchen to their shared office.

Chase poked his head into the office. "Hey, DD," he spoke, hesitant to speak at full volume just in case.

Buddy's focus broke from the color-coded spreadsheet he was sorting his way through, and he turned in his chair to see Chase. "It's fine; I'm not streaming right now."

"Oh, cool. You got a package."

Buddy turned his attention back to his screen. "Could you leave it on the counter? I'll get to it."

Chase leaned against the door frame. "Dude, c'mon and have some lunch. You're gonna get too focused and then only have ten minutes to wolf down a sandwich before the afternoon stream."

"Chase, I have—," Buddy glanced down to his computer's digital clock, "—an hour and a half. That's plenty of time to get some work done, make lunch, eat lunch, and make it back onto the computer in time for today's stream."

"Alright, Mr. Fussy." Chase crossed the room, gripped the back of Buddy's chair, and pulled it along the floor towards the door.

"Ah—hey!" Buddy gripped the arms of his chair. "I was in the middle of something!"

Chase paused. "Do you have to get it done before we do our stream?"

Buddy mulled through the possibility. "…No, I suppose not."

"M'kay, well, you gotta eat before we do our stream, so c'mon." Chase released his hold on Buddy's chair and headed out of the office and to the kitchen.

Finally relenting, Buddy stood up, pushed his chair back to his desk, and left the office. He walked around the kitchen island and opened the fridge to peruse his options as Chase sat at the island, scrolling through his phone and eating fork-fulls of salad.

"Thought we got someone else's mail for a sec."

"Hm?" Buddy hummed, partly in thought and partly to prompt Chase on with his conversation. He reached into the fridge and pulled out the milk carton.

Chase had another bite of his salad. "Yeah, 'cause I only know you as 'Buddy', and this package says 'Nox De…'. De…low knee."

The carton of milk slipped out from Buddy's loosened grip and fell to the floor with an audible thump. "…'laune'?"

Chase shrugged and spelled out the letters from the package as he read it.

Buddy's voiced raised with frustration, "Who else here has 'Nox' on his birth certificate?!" He reached over the counter and grabbed the package to read the name and address for himself. Panic swam through his eyes. "Was I doxxed?"

"Uh, no? I don't think so." Chase watched as Buddy carefully turned the package over in his hands as if he was attempting to disarm a bomb. "…Dude."

Buddy grabbed a pair of scissors from the thrift store glass cup on their counter which held other odds and ends and opened the package with precision. He lifted a weighty box from inside, shedding it from its deceptive cardboard package like an enchantress shedding her elderly woman disguise in a fairy tale. Buddy's eyebrows drew together, and his lips pulled into a taut frown as he opened the beautiful, smooth box to see a pristine watch inside. "Augh."

Chase's fork dropped into his bowl, and he set down his phone before leaning forward onto the counter to get a closer look. "Holy shit. That's a nice watch."

"Wonder how much it's gonna cost?" Buddy muttered and slipped a firm, spotless envelope out of the package as well.

Chase gave him a brief questioning glance. "'Gonna cost'? But…it's already here? Isn't it already yours?"

"Mhm." Buddy tore open the envelope and pulled out the card "Nothing's free with them, Chase." His eyes passed over the shiny gold ink before muttering, "fuck me sideways."

"Oof. Steep."

"No." Buddy turned the card to show Chase its contents.

Chase eased back in his seat and read the card aloud, "'Mr. and Mrs. Delaune cordially—,'" Buddy scoffed, "'—invite you and a plus one to dinner at—'"

"Wait." Buddy pulled the card back and read it closer. "'Plus one'?"

"Was that restaurant name in French or something? Never heard of it before."

Buddy sneered. "'Plus one'," he hissed. "Who do they think they are?"

Chase hesitantly picked up his fork. "Is…a plus one…a bad thing?"

"It's a bonus invitation to invite anyone I want with me." Buddy's stare grew more acidic the longer he insisted on rereading the card. "They know I'm not seeing any of those women. What do they think they'll gain from this? No doubt they're going to dress up someone from that stack of wedding resumes and bring her with them so I'm forced to consider her as a wife. Fuck me."

Chase tapped the prongs of his fork against his lettuce as he mulled through the idea of Buddy being dropped into one of those heroine-is-forced-to-marry-some-duke web comics. "…M'kay. Uh. It sounds like you really don't wanna go."

Buddy dropped the card down on the counter. "I think I'd prefer to write the Rippled series in carefully poised calligraphy."

"Jesus."

"I'm not going." Buddy scowled.

Chase nodded softly. "Then…. Okay, cool. You just got the watch."

Buddy's eyes fell closed in defeat. "Fuck. The watch." He propped his elbows on the counter, and his face fell into his hands. "They can't return it; I've opened it. They're going to hold it over my head."

Chase's eyebrows drew together. "I mean…. You don't—"

Buddy's ringtone sang out from his pocket, sending a flinch through him and cutting off Chase's words. Buddy sighed and pulled his phone out. He read the contact information before rolling his eyes and picking up. He rested the phone against his ear. "Hello, Mother," his voice was the very essence of monotone. He paused as a lemon-sour voice chattered on the other side of the call. "…Yes. I've just opened it. Does it have a camera in it?"

Chase's eyes widened, and he quickly tapped a finger against the lid of the nice box to close it.

The sour voice on the other end scoffed and continued its chatter. Buddy rolled his eyes again. "Mhm. Sure. Just a joke." He lifted an eyebrow and then met Chase's eyes. "My plus one? Well…. I was thinking of actually—" His brows furrowed. "Actually, I do have someone in mind I'll be bringing with me. No need to provide a date for me." The other voice slowed, full of suspicion. "No, I'm not lying. I'm bringing someone with me. Do not bring anyone with you." The voice sighed and waved about in its shallow urging. "Fine," Buddy spoke woodenly. "Thank you for the watch. It's generous." He paused as he heard her reply. "Yes. Bye." Buddy held his phone away from his ear and all but jabbed a thumb at the icon to hang up. He set his phone down on the counter.

Chase winced a bit. "Well…, that went…well? Sounds like you got a date?"

Buddy chewed his tongue in thought, and then his eyes met Chase's. "…Could you come with me? Please?"

Chase's eyes widened. "Uh…um…. What about the…. Uh." His eyes fell down to his salad. "Is that…okay? Is it like a…." He tilted his head and hesitantly met Buddy's eyes again. "What kinda…sitch is it?"

Buddy heaved a sigh, and his voice lowered, tinged with a bit of shame. "I get…troubled…when I'm around my parents."

"Troubled?"

Buddy nodded. "Angry. Upset. Furious." He shook his head as his attention fell down to the card. "They make me angrier than anything in the world. And…a little helpless. Truthfully," his voice lowered. "I'm a little afraid of spending time in the same room as them."

Chase stood. "You want me to come along as protection? 'Cause I can flatten them, no prob—"

"No. No, thank you." Buddy released a soft laugh and met Chase's gaze again. "Thanks. I want you to come because around you, I just feel…. I feel like myself. Like I can do anything and nothing matters. In a good way. I guess." He winced. "Could you be my moral support?"

Chase's lips pulled into a bright grin. "Sure!"

DiamondDiva batted a beauty blender beneath his eyes to evenly spread out and blend his concealer. "No, it's not anything over the top," he replied to his live chat. "This Get-Ready-With-Me isn't going to be as fun as other makeup looks." He glanced down at the supplies on his desk. "I only have a bit of darker beige for my eyelids. Nothing much to smoke out."

"Hey, DD," Chase called from the office doorway.

DiamondDiva set his beauty blender aside and picked up a fluffy brush. "Hm?"

His chat exploded in excited messages fawning over Chase's clothes.

DiamondDiva leaned to catch sight of Chase in his mirror. He then leaned back to where he was again. "Go ahead. I'm filming." He popped open a compact.

"Oh, sorry. I'll be fast." Chase stepped more into the camera's view and attempted to adjust something near his neck. "I'm not too good at this whole tie situation, and whenever I try to follow a tutorial on YouTube, it just comes out weird. Are you good at tying ties?"

DiamondDiva glanced at the suggestive jokes in his chat and the cheers at a potential domestic moment. He stared at his mirror and at the fabric of Chase's jacket. "Yeah. Close your eyes."

"Close my eyes?"

"Yeah. I'm not done yet." He set his makeup brush down. "Close your eyes. Don't open them."

Chase bit his tongue, but his eyes fell closed. "M'kay. They're closed."

DiamondDiva eyed his chat again. "I'm muting the stream," he announced before muting his microphone. He then stood and crossed the room to stand by Chase. The sleek rented suit accentuated Chase so well. In comparison, Buddy felt practically naked in his own t-shirt and jeans as he stood before Chase. Buddy lifted his hands, examined them to be sure they were makeup-free, and then took a hold of both sides of Chase's tie which hung around Chase's neck. Wordlessly, he entered muscle memory, tying the tie and easing the knot up to the base of Chase's neck. He smoothed the tie down Chase's sternum and slipped it beneath the jacket. "There," he murmured. "It's fixed."

"Cool," Chase chimed. "Thanks! Can I open my eyes?"

Buddy's eyes lifted to gaze at Chase's closed eyelids and then at the subtle smooth shine on Chase's lips. He breathed a concentrated breath. "No."

Chase's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "But the tie's fixed?"

"I'm not done yet."

Chase waited another moment, and his easy expression fell into a soft frown. "We're gonna end up being late. Are your parents cool with waiting?"

Buddy scoffed and turned away, heading back to his desk. "No. Open your eyes. You're fine. Your tie's done. I still have to finish here." He picked up his makeup brush.

Chase's eyes flew open to see Buddy drop down into his desk chair. "M'kay. You got your suit all set?" He watched as Buddy jabbed a thumb toward the bathroom connected to the office. Chase walked to the bathroom doorway to see the parts of Buddy's suit hanging from the shower curtain rod. "Ah, okay. Well, we got half an hour before we go."

"Fine. Thank you."

Chase hummed a sound of acknowledgement and headed out of the office, pulling the door closed behind him as he went.

Buddy sighed before unmuting his mic and picking up where he left off in his routine. "No, chat, we weren't going to kiss. We were talking about where we're going, and I only have another twenty minutes for this look. If you're still wanting to hang out with someone after I finish, I know VioletStitches is making chainmail for Ren Fest out of soda can tabs on her channel right now."

"Thank you for driving," Buddy murmured while he watched their moving location on his phone. The passenger's seat felt much less comfortable when Buddy knew where they were going. The suit didn't help either.

"No worries. Wasn't gonna let ya order an Uber for this." Chase brought the car to a stop at a red light and looked over at Buddy's phone for the map.

Buddy turned his phone and glanced at Chase. His hair was styled to perfection as it always was. The lines of his jacket and white shirt beneath were crisp and clean. Everything about him made that suit pop. There was no way he could be in a formal setting without soaking up everyone's attention to the point where Buddy hardly noticed when the car moved again. "Still. Thanks."

"No problem." Chase tapped a finger against the wheel as he drove. "We really gotta see about getting you a driver's license, though. I know you got me and Uber, but that kinda thing is important identification you're gonna need for stuff."

Buddy shrugged. "I've had a passport since I was a kid."

"M'kay, but are you really gonna whip out your passport at a bar?"

Buddy frowned and looked out the window. "…No." He paused. "Ugh. They still have it, too."

"All the more reason to get a driver's license. I can teach you, and we can practice with my car." Chase's bubbly suggestions all seemed so light and unbothered by reality. On some level, it was refreshing. "You're gonna need to get your passport back, though. You can bring it up during dinner."

Buddy grumbled and huffed, hardly audible in his responses.

Chase kept an eye on street signs as they approached and passed them. He chewed the inside of his cheek. "It kinda feels like you really don't wanna be there."

"Have to go. They're holding a gift over my head." Buddy curled up and begrudgingly recalled previous birthdays. "I suppose I should count my blessings. They could've insisted on holding a party like they have in the past. Those were so awful. So loud. So crowded. So much attention and having to stand straight and wearing itchy, uncomfortable clothes," his words devolved into muttering before he sighed. "I'm sorry. It can't be fun listening to my complaints."

Chase winced and dared to tread into unfamiliar territory. "Do they know they hurt you?"

"I think they get off on it, actually," Buddy answered instinctively.

Chase sent him a concerned look. "What?"

Buddy looked up with a placid expression. "Genuinely."

"C'mon." Chase coughed out an attempt at a light-hearted laugh. "It can't be that bad."

"Chase, you have no idea how bad it was."

The words cut through Chase's attempt at lightening the conversation instantly. "Sorry. I just thought that it'd be nice if you and your parents got along."

"Yeah, well. They'll have to put down their harpoons first." Buddy checked the map on his phone. "Take the right that's coming up. You'll pull up to the drop-off and pass your keys off to the valet." He darkened his screen and pocketed his phone. He sighed, "At least they chose the restaurant with the chocolate soufflé. We'll have that to look forward to."

"M'kay." Chase followed Buddy's instructions, ignored the momentary embarrassment of how his car would look in a row of rich people cars, and followed Buddy inside the restaurant. He did his best to keep his eyes in his head when he saw how ritzy the inside of the place was. White tablecloths, ambient piano music playing from a grand pianist at the center of the room on a platform just six or so inches above the rest of the floor, candles glowing from inside glittering glass centerpieces, and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling all served to truly show how just out of his element Chase was.

The hostess gave Chase and Buddy a pristine smile, her berry-tinted gloss caught the light of the fixtures glowing around them. "Welcome." Her voice, while strictly professional, felt as warm as hot cider. "Do you have a reservation, Sir?"

Buddy slipped into the environment like a swan to water. "The Delaunes are waiting for the two of us," he stated without making an attempt to match the hostess's warmth.

Chase's eyes shot from the room's decor to land on Buddy, mentally swearing that—for a moment—he heard DiamondDiva recording.

"Oh." A glimmer of realization passed through the hostess's eyes. Despite that, she continued her friendly tone: "Yes, of course, the Delaunes. Please follow me." She plucked two menus from the host stand and held her head high as she led Buddy and Chase down a row of tables, around a bend, and into an alcove with just a few tables.

Chase watched as the hostess set down the two menus at the empty two seats belonging to a table at the alcove's center. The hostess and Diamond—Buddy—exchanged some words, pleasant by the sound of their tone—not that Chase could hear them over the demanding clarity of the piano behind them and the imposing stares from the gentleman and lady who also sat at the table.

The gentleman's eyes, while brown, were cold and seemed to stare past Chase despite meeting his eyes. His suit was solidly navy, black in shadow with a lighter blue sheen near stronger concentrations of light, and the grip on his stout glass was firm as he sipped his amber drink. His expression remained motionless, locked into a distant frown but ready to scowl at a moment's notice.

The lady watched Chase with a quiet, concentrated stare, intent on decoding everything there was to know about Chase through his shirt's thread count alone. Her spider lily-red lips rested in a contemplative line. Her dark, silky hair was swept back, slick against the left side of her head and fell into loose curls past her right cheek and down her back. The deep purple of her velvet dress seemed to suck light in and consume it.

The hostess left quickly with the promise of the waiter returning to take drink orders.

The lady's red lips eased into a practiced smile once she met her son's gaze. "Nox," she cooed and stood before gathering him into a hug. Her hand pressed against the back of his head, her red nails catching the lights' glows around them. "Happy birthday, dear." She lingered for a moment before releasing her hold on him. She then looked past her son to see Chase.

Chase tensed.

Her attempt at politeness in her tone failed to reach her eyes. "This is your date?"

DiamondDiva wrapped an arm around Chase and rested his hand against Chase's opposite shoulder. "He is my friend. Mother, Father, this is Chase Hollow."

The gentleman's eyebrows furrowed. "The boy from the stage."

Chase's attention passed between the gentleman and lady. "Uh, yeah. Yup." He flashed a smile and gave them a wave. "Hi, Mr. Delaune, Mrs. Delaune. I'm Chase Hollow Like and Follow," he laughed briefly. "Uh, but you can just call me Chase." DiamondDiva's hand lifted from Chase's shoulder, and Chase took that as a sign to take a seat.

"Mm." Mr. Delaune's frown softened from reluctance to mere tolerance. "You're finished growing? Your height suggests otherwise."

Mrs. Delaune delicately waved a dismissive hand and settled back down in her seat. "Don't let that be the only measure of a man, honey. After all, you remember seeing Chase do push-ups while Nox sat on his back. On stage. In front of a sizable crowd." Her smile was tight. "A very dignified show of strength, I'm sure."

DiamondDiva took the remaining empty seat. "Will Grandfather be joining us?"

"No," Mr. Delaune answered, "Grandfather is under the weather."

"Pity," DiamondDiva muttered. He met his parents' eyes and then cleared his throat. "I hope he feels better very soon."

Mrs. Delaune hummed an affirmative sound. "He'll certainly spring back. It's the cooler weather we're having. I've had quilts sent to his room, and I have someone manning his fireplace, so he should be back to his full health in no time." Her cool stare flicked between her son's gaze and the menu in front of him. "I recommend selecting your dinner while we have a moment's peace. Those waiters are certainly eager to interrupt conversation whenever possible. I say it's best to give them whatever answer they require and send them on their way if they don't have the good sense to not interrupt their guests." She plucked her wine glass from the table and sipped from it.

Chase watched as Buddy wordlessly picked up his menu and read through his options. He could practically feel the ice in the room build on his shoulders from the cold war happening in their tones. His attention fell down to his menu, and he searched through the unfamiliar fancy words to try and hone in on something gluten free. His eyebrows drew together in thought.

Buddy's index finger slid onto Chase's menu beneath one of the entrees. "This could work," he whispered. "If you don't like that, there are a few more here and here." He pointed to another few items on the menu.

"Is there something wrong?" Mrs. Delaune's voice cut through the gentle piano notes. "Is Chase unused to a menu like this?"

"Oh." Chase met Mrs. Delaune's gaze. "No, I'm not, but he's showing me gluten-free stuff."

Mrs. Delaune lifted an eyebrow. "A special diet for body-building?"

"Uhh, a special diet for not shredding my guts." Chase flashed her a smile and chuckled.

Buddy sent Mrs. Delaune a firm look. "He has celiac. It's serious, not a fad."

"Good evening," the waiter greeted stiffly and moved to fill Buddy's water glass. His strategy to be invisible until appearing at the table was successful—a little too successful judging by the Delaunes' stern expressions. "May I get you started on your drinks?"

"We have our drinks. They'll have water," Mr. Delaune curtly stated. "They obviously need time to look at their menus."

The waiter swallowed back emotion and gave Mr. Delaune a forced grin. "Yes, Sir." He walked around Buddy to reach Chase's glass and filled it. "I'll give you some time." He then quickly retreated out of sight, followed by the sound of the ice in the glass pitcher clinking together.

DiamondDiva leveled a look between Mr. Delaune and Mrs. Delaune and deftly lifted his water glass from the table. "Enjoying your favorite pastime?" He sipped his water. "Is bullying waitstaff still so enriching?"

Mr. Delaune's eyes widened in surprise.

"Nox, how dare you accuse us of something so childish." Mrs. Delaune's words were monotone despite the embers of anger flickering in her eyes. "It's obvious you two weren't ready to order, and if we needed anything immediately, your father could signal to them to come over. Perhaps hounding your guests is normal at places such as…the Outback Steakhouse, for example, or wherever you frequent, but in an establishment such as this, waitstaff are expected to be attuned to a guest's every thought. It isn't bullying to insist that you be treated with respect." Mrs. Delaune rolled her eyes and muttered, "'Bullying'. Honestly."

A spark of annoyance passed through Nox's eyes. He slid his menu beneath Chase's. "I'll have my usual."

Mrs. Delaune huffed, "You'll need to give your father more than that. We haven't eaten here as a family in a number of years."

"We'll leave it up to the waitstaff who are apparently hired based on how well their supernatural powers can read my mind," Nox quipped.

Mrs. Delaune's face pinched in disapproval.

Nox resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I can order for myself."

"Don't be rude. Tell your father so he can order for you. Honestly, Nox, you pick the most ridiculous fights." Mrs. Delaune huffed and took a sip from her glass.

Begrudgingly and without further fight, Nox relayed his order.

Mrs. Delaune gently placed her glass back down on the table and sent Chase a plastic smile. "And you, Chase? What have you decided for yourself?"

Chase's consciousness was called back to attention the moment he was addressed. "Oh, uh." He scanned through the entrees Buddy had pointed out to him. "I was thinking…. I mean, I don't speak French, but—," Chase turned his menu to Mr. Delaune and pointed at one of the options, "—I was thinking this looks good. I can't say it, but. Y'know." He laughed sheepishly.

Mr. Delaune scanned the menu and the particular entree Chase pointed out. After a moment of silence, he spoke, "Any clarifications? Substitutions?"

Chase's eyes widened in surprise. "Uh. I just can't have wheat or anything that touched wheat. No gluten either. Celiac's kind of like an allergy on steroids. I can't even breathe in wheat dust from flour. So. If there's wheat or gluten in that food, I just need there…not to be. That's it on the substitute front."

Mr. Delaune nodded and returned his attention to his own menu.

"There, you see?" Mrs. Delaune mused. "Chase relayed his order and potential substitutions very well. Maybe you could learn from his example, Nox."

Nox ground his pride down and locked his anger up tight before forcing a polite smile. "Yes," his voice was clipped, "maybe I could."

The next half hour passed in barely-concealed agony punctuated with brief dips into conversation before fizzling out between gritted teeth. Orders were placed. Waitstaff wordlessly refilled water glasses and retreated, and it wasn't long before the table's meals arrived.

"Chase," Mrs. Delaune spoke between careful bites of her food. "I'm afraid I don't know very much about you—hobbies, preferences, and education, for instance. Have you pursued higher education after high school?"

Chase's attention lifted from his partly-finished meal, a wince evident on his face. "Um." He attempted to shake off the discomfort with a half-hearted chuckle. "No, I didn't go to college. I. My mom had cancer, and we had to put all our money into medical bills." He spoke with renewed enthusiasm and assurance, "But she's fine now! She's doing way better. Beat cancer's ass—er." He swallowed back his embarrassment. "Beat cancer's. Butt. She's all better and getting stronger again every day." Chase's discomfort relaxed into a quiet joy. "She's gardening with Grandpa, and she's even thinking about teaching preschool again. I didn't get to go to college, but I wouldn't have spent money any other way. I'm so…." He breathed a shaky breath. "I'm so happy that she's okay."

Buddy watched Chase with abject concern. He gently brushed his knuckles against Chase's thigh.

Chase looked to Buddy. "S'okay." He traded his fork from his right hand to his left hand, and then allowed his right hand to hang at his side to give Buddy's hand a squeeze before releasing it. "Sorry." He offered a reconstructed smile to the table. "I get so worked up about stuff like that. Eesh. Um. Yeah, no, I didn't go to college. Money stuff."

Mrs. Delaune hummed, "My best wishes to your mother. She's overcome some debilitating hardships."

"Thanks," Chase chirped.

Mrs. Delaune nodded and continued on with her conversation. "Many can't help that, it seems. Some people don't have a choice where their money goes, indeed. Which is why I'm sure it'd be a gift if you had the chance to go to college now." Her cold gaze shifted from Chase to bear down on Nox.

"Oh, I guess." Chase's fork settled against his plate as he loosely held it. He thought about what it'd be like to attend college. "…Wait, I could do classes now, couldn't I?"

A spark of annoyance flashed through Nox's veins. He sent Mrs. Delaune a punctuated frown. "Just because you both think that the way to living any kind of life is to go to college doesn't mean that everyone wants to go or is able to go. Not everyone needs college." He jabbed at his food. "I don't appreciate you forcing a narrative onto Chase—"

"I guess I could." Chase's eyes widened and shined with potential excitement. He met Buddy's gaze. "I could. I could look up classes and do them online because of our schedules. I could do the college thing."

Mrs. Delaune's lips tugged into a prideful smile. "Even Chase here can see the value in higher education. It's a natural next step, and it should be taken if one's situation allows for it."

Nox threw down all his attempts at trying to skirt around the true subject at hand. "I'm not going."

"Nox," Mrs. Delaune sighed, "don't tell me you'll intend to make a scene in this restaurant during your birthday dinner. You had such good manners earlier. Surely, you don't intend to sully your image now."

Tense and through gritted teeth, Nox spoke, "No, I just mean to cut any expectations off at the knee so plans are not made in my absence as they so often are."

"There it is again. Another glove thrown down in indulgent anger." Mrs. Delaune delicately set her fork down against her dish. "Nox, dear, you know that your father and I want what's best for you, so we build as many opportunities as we can for you, and all too often, you spite them. Every offered hand, every open window. If you act with such petulance in the face of grace, then I fear how you will be treated on your own out in the world."

Nox took a calming breath to stave off the anger and fear that bubbled beneath the surface of his carefully crafted mask. "I'm treated fine. I treat others fine. I'm financially and socially secure."

"In such an unreliable field," Mrs. Delaune sighed again as worry coated her words. "You have such spirit, Nox. When I see you, it's like I'm watching a three-wick candle burst into flame. My dear, you'll burn yourself down to nothing trying to fruitlessly carve these paths through stone when we already have one for you, ready for your taking."

"I'm. Fine."

"You say that…, but you've frightened us." Mrs. Delaune rested her hands in her lap and leaned forward ever so slightly. Her voice lowered, demanding attention. "Your sudden disappearance, the spiteful letter you left us. Those actions were clearly a cry for help, and that's all we want to do for you."

Nox's gaze fell down to his mostly-finished meal, hastily eaten in an attempt to end the evening faster. His breathing pace quickened to keep up with the spikes of anxiety skipping up his spine. His words were useless, as always.

"You say you're fine, Nox, but I can't find a way to believe you," her whispers snuck into Nox's head and seeped into his being, gently lifting control from his own senses. "If you want to be truly 'fine', then you must know that the best thing to do for yourself is to return home."

Nox's head lowered farther, and his gaze dulled. The scent of rose cluttered his ability to think.

"That lovely sunflower painting is hanging outside your room. You won't have to struggle to keep your head above water, and you won't need to run in circles, scrounging for money. Nox—"

"Ma'am."

Nox tensed at the sudden chime of Chase's voice, and he gradually realized that Chase was squeezing his hand. He lifted his head just enough to see Chase with his attention locked in.

Chase watched Mrs. Delaune with a gaze unclouded by the smoke and mirrors of propriety. "He goes by 'Buddy' now."

Mrs. Delaune stared at Chase, mildly flustered by the break in behavior. "Excuse me?"

Chase nodded and straightened up his posture. His voice raised, catching the attention of those around them. "You were saying 'Nox' all dinner, so I guess you didn't hear that he goes by 'Buddy' now. Just thought you should know. Y'know. What to call your son."

Mrs. Delaune scoffed.

Mr. Delaune spoke up, annoyance evident in his gravelly tone, "Are you suggesting that you know more about my son than his own parents?"

Chase's eyes remained bright and honest, and his voice remained sure and unbothered. "Oh, no, Sir. It's an honest mistake. He probably hasn't told you guys, but—," Chase looked to Buddy, "—is it okay to say?"

Buddy watched Chase with a mix of bewilderment and relief. He gave Chase a shaky nod.

Chase leveled an unabashed stare at Mr. Delaune. "Yeah, he goes by 'Buddy'. That's new-ish, so I guess you guys wouldn't know."

"We chose his name for our own reasons, and it is a name he's been known as since his birth, so we will continue to use his name we gifted him with. I don't care what his friends call him, but among family, his name is Nox Delaune." Mr. Delaune's voice, though low, shook the foundations of the discussion, insisting that it end on his terms.

Mrs. Delaune spoke up to dissipate any attempt at silence. "Why don't you tell us about what you do?" she asked Chase. "I'm afraid that Nox has not been forthcoming with his occupation's details."

Nox lifted his head to meet Mrs. Delaune's eyes before releasing a soft huff and giving Chase's hand a squeeze.

"Uh…," Chase gathered his thoughts and gave Buddy's hand a squeeze in return. "I earn money by writing, playing, and singing my own music. I also play video games online and stream it—that means a lot of other people watch me while I play. I kinda play it up a bit for the crowd, but not that much. You can always spot when someone's acting up too much for the camera."

"Ah." Mrs. Delaune picked up her fork and continued on with her meal at her own languid pace. "An actor and a singer. Like actors and opera singers from your favorite books, Nox. There was one in The Picture of Dorian Gray, wasn't there?"

Nox spoke in a clipped tone, "Yes."

"Why, with how Chase brightens up the room, it seems he'd fit right in with the actor's role in that book." Mrs. Delaune sipped her wine.

Nox scowled at his food.

Chase blinked a bit blankly, unsure whether or not the comparison was a compliment. "Uh, thanks, Ma'am."

"Chase is very popular," Nox stated.

"Yes," Mrs. Delaune hummed, "like actors and opera singers from centuries ago."

"Chase is very respected, too," Nox continued, dead set on dropping the conversation where he wished to.

"Of course, yes. Fame often demands respect, does it not? Surely, they go hand in hand?" Her soft laugh settled in her chest.

Nox's frown deepened.

"I mean. Not always." Chase shrugged. "Some people get pretty pushy, and Buddy freaked out a bit when he got your package with his name on it. He thought someone on the internet posted his address. That kinda thing doesn't sound like respect to me."

Mrs. Delaune's pleased expression softened into something unreadable before a twinge of concern nestled itself in her eyes. "That sort of thing happens? That sounds dreadfully unsafe. You know, that apartment building you both live at doesn't seem to have adequate security at all."

Nox's voice calmed from compressed anger to a disengaged monotone. "There's three layers of punch codes and around-the-clock security. It's fine."

Mrs. Delaune's eyebrows drew together. "Anyone who is dedicated enough to find out where you live is dedicated enough to bypass things like that. Chase said you were afraid when you thought someone found out where you live. You know what that terror feels like. How can you argue against the very real possibility of being found?"

Nox rested his fork against his plate, deciding that his appetite had been thoroughly ruined and hoping that he'd eaten enough of his meal that he could say he was finished. He borderline growled, "I suppose you're going to suggest I come home where it's safe?"

A corner of Mrs. Delaune's lips twitched into a partial smile before dropping again. "'Insist' more than 'suggest', but it seems you already know that the truest safe option is home, and I don't have to go into detail." She sent Chase a concerned look. "Don't you agree that living in a mansion with private security, gates, and a wall of security camera feeds all within a gated community is the safest option for someone who publicly shows their face online?"

Chase stared, caught off-guard. "I mean. That sounds safer, but—"

Mrs. Delaune snapped her attention back on Nox. "You see, dear; your friend agrees, and I'm certain he wouldn't want any harm to befall you, wouldn't you?" She glanced back in Chase's direction.

"Oh, no, never—"

"So really," she interrupted, "the best thing for you is the obvious answer. I don't know what I'd do if I saw your face on the news in some preventable tragedy. Please don't ask me to allow you to live in such a risky situation."

Nox shivered as his voice fell into disuse yet again.

Mrs. Delaune continued on, not allowing anyone to wedge a word into the conversation. "I can have a team of movers sworn to secrecy at your apartment within the hour to help you move as quickly as possible—"

"Ma'am," Chase's voice rose, "I get it. My mom is really worried about me, too, but when she was worried, she asked me to install a camera at our front door. She didn't try to talk me into not moving out."

"That's very nice, dear," Mrs. Delaune spoke dismissively. Before she was able to utter another syllable, Chase continued.

"And I don't know what exactly's going on, but you're making Buddy uncomfortable."

Mrs. Delaune's tone fell into barely-disguised disgust, "Pardon?"

Chase's unyielding stare and level voice called the attention of the waitstaff and other guests in the alcove. "You keep talking about him moving back. He doesn't want to. He's not gonna do it." The piano barely managed to cover the silence hanging between them.

Their waiter returned, his nerves less frazzled than before. He poured water into the waiting glasses. "Is everyone doing alright? Any refills, Ma'am, Sirs?"

"Don't you have some other glasses to fill?" Mrs. Delaune hissed. "We're fine. We'll call you over when we need you."

The waiter stiffened and forced a professional smile. "Excuse me."

Chase's eyes widened, and he reached out to rest a hand against the waiter's arm. "Hey, wait." He met the waiter's shaky gaze and gave him a bright smile. "Thank you for stopping by. My glass was lookin' a little low."

The waiter breathed a little calmer, and he returned Chase's mirth. "You're welcome, Sir." He then walked off to tend to his other tables.

Chase settled and drank his water.

Mrs. Delaune leveled an acidic gaze on Chase. She swallowed back her anger and rebuilt her patience before releasing a polite chuckle. "Chase, dear, I understand that you're concerned about my son, but I urge you to remember that you've only known him for mere months as compared to the twenty-three years I've known him. Twenty-four now."

Buddy broke through the mental fog. "You've known me for eighteen years."

Mrs. Delaune frowned. "Nox, make eye contact while you're speaking. It's rude to avoid looking at someone."

Buddy hesitantly lifted his head and met his mother's eyes. "You've known Nox Delaune for eighteen years, not twenty-four. I'm an entirely new person," his voice began to shake down to just above a whisper, "and you could know me. …If you really want to." Buddy's hand slowly squeezed Chase's.

A spark of realization passed through Chase, and he dragged his chair to sit directly beside Buddy. He lifted Buddy's arm and hugged it firmly, mentally transferring as much strength as he could.

Buddy gulped, swallowing his instincts to flee, hide, and cower. His voice, though still a bit shaky, was renewed with trust and confidence. "If you keep talking about me moving back to the Delaunes, then you can't know me. Chase is right. I'm not moving back."

Mrs. Delaune's hand fell from her jaw down to the table, smacking it none too gently and sending a flinch through Buddy. After a heavy pause and no sign of Buddy and Chase backing down from their stance, Mrs. Delaune chuckled softly. "Goodness. So serious. So dramatic. Very well. If it upsets you so, I won't discuss it further."

Mr. Delaune lifted an eyebrow in confusion and glanced at Mrs. Delaune.

Mrs. Delaune waved a dismissive hand in Mr. Delaune's direction. "Never mind." She eyed how the two young men in front of her clutched each other, and she sighed. "Oh, don't worry. There's no need to bear down on each other as if a hurricane is going to tear through the restaurant. Do relax." Mrs. Delaune sipped from her glass. "I've taken the liberty of ordering dessert—a French apple tart."

Buddy's tense presence began to slacken. "Not the…chocolate soufflé?"

Mrs. Delaune gently set her glass down. "You're an adult, Nox. A chocolate cake is too juvenile for an adult's palate."

Chase muttered in disbelief, "Dude can't even choose his own birthday dessert?"

"It's good manners to be grateful for what you're getting," Mrs. Delaune chided. It's childish to throw a fit over something as simple as dessert."

Buddy released his hold on Chase's hand, and he stood. "Mother. Father. Thank you for this birthday dinner. It was very thoughtful, and the food was delicious."

Mr. Delaune's eyes narrowed. "Nox, sit down. Don't throw a tantrum in public."

Buddy continued on, unaffected by the command. "I'm looking forward to perhaps seeing you both again for the holidays should the weather and my schedule permit it. At that time, I'll be collecting my passport as well. Chase and I will be leaving now."

Chase sucked in a small breath and stood, following Buddy's lead. "Oh, yup. Mr. and Mrs. Delaune, it was nice meeting you." He gave them a respectful nod—or whatever rich people had to do to say goodbye. He then pulled out his wallet and dug through it to pull out a sizable tip and slip it partly under his plate.

Mrs. Delaune tensed as a panic hit her. "Nox, your father told you to sit back down."

"Please have a safe drive home," Buddy stated. "Have a good evening." With that, he walked out of the alcove with his head held high and with Chase walking alongside him. His jaw remained clenched and his spine straight until he was able to flop down in Chase's passenger's seat. He tugged down the seat belt, clicked it into place, and curled up, not caring if his suit wrinkled.

Chase settled into the driver's seat, buckled up, and drove out of the parking lot. "…Wow. Uh, I really…wasn't expecting…all that."

Buddy groaned.

Chase perked up. "You did a great job shaking them off and leaving."

Buddy heaved a sigh. "Thanks."

After a moment's pause, Chase spoke softly, "…You gonna be okay?"

Buddy wordlessly nodded.

"M'kay." Chase patted Buddy's back before allowing the car to slip into silence as he drove them home.

In the pits of discomfort and the car's inertia-interrupted caress, Buddy didn't quite realize when Chase parked the car.

"C'mon," Chase spoke up and unbuckled his seat belt, "we gotta go inside real quick."

Buddy sat up and rubbed at his eyes. "Mn?" He looked through the windshield to see the windows of the gluten-free bakery near their apartment.

Chase flashed Buddy a brilliant smile. "We're getting you whatever chocolate cake you want. Seven layers, twelve different kinds of chocolate, served with a disco ball—the works."

Buddy, though stunned, laughed. "What?"

"A man's gotta have whatever birthday cake he wants." Chase opened his door and climbed out of the car before leaning back down to meet Buddy's gaze. "You're getting a cake, and we're gonna watch whatever movie you want tonight—the works!" Chase stepped back and slammed his car door closed.

Buddy snickered as he watched Chase walk around the car and open the passenger's door.

"Right this way, Mr. Diva." Chase stepped aside and offered an arm.

Buddy shook his head, unable to keep control of his giggles, and unbuckled his seat belt. "Okay." He accepted Chase's arm and pulled himself out of the car. "Thank you, Mr. Hollow." He slammed his car door closed. "Any movie I want, hm?"

"Yup!" Chase guided Buddy up to the bakery entrance, and he pulled the door open. "After you."

Buddy's cheeks burned in amusement, and he tried to keep a grin at bay. "Can we watch Grayscale?" He walked past Chase into the bakery and made his way to the cake display.

Chase paused, his brain stuttering, before he followed Buddy inside. "Grayscale…. That horror movie you've been posting about?"

"I hesitate to call it horror, but yes. The one that came out on Halloween a couple years ago."

"Um. Yup! You got it!"

Buddy paused in his search for the perfect cake and met Chase's gaze. "Chase, we don't have to watch it if it's going to scare you."

Chase sputtered and scoffed out a laugh. "Pfft, nah! Nothing can scare me. It's gonna be great!"

Buddy lifted an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Because we really don't have to."

"Nope!" Chase rested his hands on his hips, practically radiating bravado. "We're doing it. You better put on a brave face 'cause we're gonna watch it, and we're gonna watch it in the dark. All the lights off. Full mood."

Buddy snickered and then picked up his search for his desired cake again. "Alright. If you're so sure."

The commotion had stopped. The air was cold.

Chase opened his eyes to see the walls had aged and were without their oil paintings. The carpet on the floor had gotten ancient from years of walking. He turned to peer back in the minuscule room behind him. There was a faded gold rope wordlessly asking guests to mind their hands. Chase swallowed around the lump in his throat. He looked down to see a purple key hanging around his neck on a woven cord. His fingers twitched as he decided to cradle the key in his hand. His heart ached.

His head snapped up to view the hallway down either end. Nothing met him but silence.

Chase gulped again and nearly tripped when he began to stagger down the hall and around the corner. A bundle of sensitive nerves shocked the nape of his neck every time he realized he couldn't look behind himself.

When he reached stairs that led out of the dim miasma, Chase's jaw locked as he felt the presence of crushing guilt and unyielding heat grasping his wrists and filling his head with despair. Chase panted and pushed through the invisible scourge desperate to drag him down into the belly of defeat. The scent of roses crowded his senses, and the delicate drag of polished nails trailed from the tops of his cheeks, past his ears, and down his back. Each step up the staircase was a victory against whatever horrors were stored in the whispers crowding around his back and manifesting as shivers down his spine.

Chase forced his way through the doorway at the top of the stairs. The second he made it past the threshold, his body lifted from the amount of effort he had been using—as if the staircase was a portal between Earth and the moon. Without sparing a glance back down those dark stairs, Chase sprinted off down the hall. Blinks of artificial lights here and there peeked through the cold windows as Chase ran past them and through another doorway.

This new room cradled warmth like a mother cat resting as a crescent in a fluffy cat bed, and Chase wanted so desperately to feel the absolute peace one of her kittens would feel in such an image, but something was off. He stood in the bright sunlight streaming in from the tall windows and slowly looked over to glass cases. Each step he took toward them felt like treading through molasses, and as the long, flat, and rhomboid beige forms gradually took shape from beneath the glass, Chase's stomach churned, and his fear gripped his neck, squeezing his windpipe and stealing any air otherwise used for a scream.

Chase's eyes snapped open, and he shuddered as the dread built within him refused to budge. He shivered and pushed himself to sit up. He blinked blearily in the dark, and his fingers shakily wrapped around his phone. His thumb clicked his phone's power button, brightening the screen.

Chase winced. "One in the morning…," his gravelly voice clawed at his throat.

Thoughts of the horrors he'd seen within his nightmare sent another spike of worry through him. Quickly, he tapped his thumb against his screen, and he then pressed his phone to his ear as he heard Buddy's ringtone play behind him in the neighboring bedroom.

Buddy's ringtone halted, and his voice, fried from disuse, sounded over Chase's phone speaker, "…what."

The dread that seeped into every fiber of Chase's being shrunk ever so slightly. Chase rubbed at his eyes. "H…hey."

"…hi. Chase. It's…."

"Late, yeah. Or. Early, I guess."

"…Chase. What."

Chase gulped back the unnerving shiver that plagued him. "I. I bet you're too s-scared to go back to sleep. Y'know. Because of that h-horror movie we watched."

"…no. M'fine."

"Buddy. You're super scared." Chase's voice wavered. "You had a nightmare and everything. Don't even pretend you didn't. There's no way you're gonna get back to sleep after your nightmare woke you up."

Buddy sighed. "Okay? So what?"

"'So what'? You def wanna have a sleepover now. It's gonna be the only way the monster isn't gonna get you." An urgency pumped through Chase's arteries as he pictured imaginary beings out to get him.

Buddy's bed covers shifted. His voice came across clearer. "The 'monsters' in that movie were time, circumstance, and fire. And. Maybe the witch, but the jury's still out on that. And the organization, but it was—no, I'm not leaving my bed."

"Buddy! C'mon! You gotta come in here and have a sleepover! Time is gonna get you!"

"Time is gonna get all of us."

Chase cried out, "Shut up! Just get in here!"

"No." Buddy stubbornly stayed put. "If you want a sleepover so bad, you can sleep in my bed. You already made me sit up. I'm not coming out from under my heating blanket."

Chase paused. "…heating blanket?"

"Mhm. What're you going to do?"

Chase chewed on his bottom lip in thought. His thumb tapped against his phone, hanging up the call. Moments later, he appeared in Buddy's doorway—his pillow in hand—sending a startled flinch through Buddy. "Hey."

Buddy held his phone away from his ear and then squinted at Chase. "Hey."

"So. Like." Chase quickly stepped into the room and closed the door as if the darkness in the hallway would swallow him up. "Uh. S'at real? Like. We can sleepover in here?"

"Yes." Buddy darkened his screen and set his phone face down on his side table. He then turned on his bedside lamp and met Chase's gaze with a makeup-less face, pinched with exhaustion. "Get settled down."

Chase gripped his pillow and glanced at the doorknob. He twisted the lock, locking the door, and tentatively climbed into bed beside Buddy. He moved the covers, smoothing them over and tucking himself in.

Buddy turned off his lamp, snuggled under his covers again, and buried his face in his pillow before breathing a content sigh.

Chase stared up at the ceiling in the pitch black room. "Hey, Buddy?"

Buddy hummed, "Mn?"

"You'd tell me if you had witchy powers, right? Like." Chase tilted his head to try and see the back of Buddy's head. "You'd tell me before you got way in over your head, right? So I can help you?"

"Yes," Buddy grumbled.

Chase turned onto his side to face Buddy's back. "Okay, but what if—"

Buddy sat up and turned to settle down, facing Chase. Although neither could see each other thanks to the dark night and Buddy's blackout curtains, Buddy's gaze cradled Chase. "I don't know what sort of nightmare you had," he mumbled, his voice much softer than it was before. "But it wasn't real." Buddy leaned back, plucked Archimedes from his spot on the side table, and placed him in Chase's arms. "Your mom is healthy. You have financial security." Buddy tugged the covers up to tuck Chase in properly. "I'm not a starving, abused orphan." He nuzzled his cheek against his pillow. "We're here, together and safe. The biggest problem we have to solve tomorrow is whether or not we're ordering delivery for lunch or cooking from the pantry and fridge."

Chase wrapped his arms around the soft stuffed owl as he listened to Buddy's calm explanation. He whispered, "…What if I start dreaming that I'm in the movie again?"

Buddy mulled through potential answers. "Pretend that you're the director and yell 'cut'. The movie can't continue if the director yells 'cut', right?"

"…I guess not."

"There you go. If you start having the nightmare again, yell 'cut', and it'll end. Then, pick a better movie to live in," Buddy mumbled.

Chase's lips curled into a smile, and he nuzzled his chin into Archimedes's head. "Okay. Thanks, Buddy."

"Mhm."

"G'night."

"Night."