MASKTOURN

Darcy woke, unceremoniously, on the floor of his father’s bathroom. Ugh. He remembered where he’d been when he’d been taken. With a groan and far too much knee pain than a 26 year old man should have, Darcy pulled himself back to his feet. Night had fallen- who knows how many times- in the time he’d been away, so he lit the gas lamp in the sconce next to the sink, and grimaced at how it made the entire room reek. Like his father’s home didn’t smell of death already. The night outside his window was racuous and dark- foggy, in the way Verendi nights often were. He could hear the rumbling of the streetcars and the barking of a wayward stray dog somewhere. But that all seemed so distant. The house was silent, as it often was, and Darcy could loose himself in a quiet moment of contemplation. Hell, he needed one. The gas lamp bathed the room in a sickly, yellowy light, that Darcy thought always made him look even worse than he usually did. He looked himself in the mirror again- as he did before- He was not expecting to recognize the man he saw in the mirror looking back at him. But he did. Here, he could see the complete finality of his new form, entirely. He could see right through himself- and it put him in the mind of being bare naked in front of a full body mirror. He did not very much like that feeling. He closed his eyes. The streetcars rumbled, the stray dogs barked, two women outside his window were having a jovial argument he couldn’t quite understand the actual words of, and Darcy had to decide what to do next. He could not be seen in this state. That was a simple fact. He could not explain this- he could not be seen by his father. His father would be furious. He did not have energy or will to placate his father’s fury now. Darcy wished, dearly, that he could stay in the sanctuary of this gas-lit bathroom, the solitude of this singular moment, for longer. Someone passed beyond the hall- two someones, actually. A familiar voice and an unfamiliar one. “It’s really unfortunate. But, these things are to be expected.” Said Doctor Monroe, his father’s physician. “Have you sent for a hearse yet?” “Not yet.” Said the unfamiliar voice. “Someone will need to contact the son- have you seen him, by the way?” “I believe he left earlier this afternoon. He’s likely at his residence.” Darcy could listen no longer after that. His father was dead. The other voice, likely the coroner- but they believed he had left only hours ago? That didn’t make much sense. But... But his father was dead. Darcy could not stay here. He could not stay here in this strange body, in this house of ghosts and mould and, presumably, the still-rotting corpse of his father. There was only one place he could go. ---

5:42 PM

--- Alejandro’s home was warm, in a way that reminded Darcy of a childhood he hadn’t truly had. He sat beside the fire, with his large overcoat taken off. It was strange- when he took it off, it regained its opacity. He wondered how far one could strip him down til he was nothing but his barest, most invisible self. It was not a thought he enjoyed entertaining, but it did not leave his mind easily. Alejandro had not asked questions, except to guarantee his well-being. He did not ask about his form, or why he looked so horrible, or why he was there. He heard that Darcy’s father had died, and he took him in. He’d let Darcy dry his wet clothes by the fire. He didn’t ask what had happened. Alejandro had not asked any questions. His worry and confusion had been evident in his face- in that sweet, gentle face that always betrayed too much of what he was thinking- but he had not asked. Darcy would always be gracious of that. The fire was warm, warmer when Darcy put his hands out in front of it, but when he did that, he could see the light flickering through him- more alive than he felt- and that was something he did not like. So he sat by the fire and he sat on his hands to warm them up, and he tried to think up everything he would say to Alejandro when, inevitably, the questions were asked. He would have to tell the truth- getting caught in a web of lies would only make everything sting more when the truth finally was revealed, and he could not keep himself a secret far longer. He tried to think of things to say, when Alejandro was, inevitably, uncomfortable with the truth of what he was. I am still real, I promise, He rehearsed in his head, I am still a living, thinking, feeling thing. I am still my own person. I still love you. Love him? Was that the truth? Alejandro reentered the sitting room, and all Darcy’s preparation time was cut abruptly short. “I- I can explain myself. All of this-” He blurted out, not meeting his eyes, “You don’t deserve to be left in the dark. I’m sorry I kept this from you. I’m sorry.” Alejandro sat down, and set something on the side table. Darcy looked up to realize it was a tray with a teapot and two mugs. “I brought us tea.” Alejandro said simply. “Oh-” Darcy could hear his voice hitch as he spoke. He fixed his hair and set his glasses straight over his nose. “Thank you.” “Of course.” Alejandro, somehow, managed a smile. He poured two cups of tea, and handed the first to Darcy. It was sweet, and spiced, and warm and good. Darcy savored it, and did not meet Alejandro’s gaze yet. Silence, but for the crackling of the fire and the drizzling of the rain, filled the space between them. “I-” Darcy started, just as Alejandro began to speak himself. He shut up, and looked away. “No, you can go first.” Alejandro said, and took a sip of his tea. Darcy took in a breath. It had been easier to speak when he was only saying the words in his own mind. “I’m sorry. For... putting all this on you so suddenly. I’m sure you’re... confused.” Alejandro sighed heavily, and set down his cup. “Look at me, Darcy. Please.”

5:43 PM

Darcy mustered up some courage he didn’t have, and faced Alejandro. His eyes were soft, the light so perfectly framed his angular face. His lips parted in a gentle gap that showed only the slightest glimpse of his teeth. He looked at Darcy not with scorn or judgment- not even the confusion he had expected, the confusion that was to be expected of something like this. He looked upon him with a quiet, somber, affection. Had anyone truly looked upon Darcy like that? He had his friends, of course- Isi, and Roy, Seki or Asha, and he had been the target of too many of Peregrine’s cruel, flirtatious expressions- but this was not that. It made Darcy feel a way he did not quite have a word for, and he did not know if he liked. “I know you are... distressed. I know something is wrong.” That was the most blatant understatement Darcy had ever heard. “But... if you do not have the words for it yet, you do not have to tell me. I am, of course, worried about you- and I would like you to tell me if anything is wrong- but you aren’t obligated to tell me everything just yet. Especially if you are not comfortable yet.” Darcy frowned. He glanced towards the fire- feeling undeserving of the softness of Alejandro’s gaze. “I’ve lied to you. About... who I am. What I am.” Alejandro was silent for a moment, in contemplation. “... you are not a very good liar, Darcy. So... it could not all be a lie.” Darcy opened his mouth to speak again- but Alejandro cut him off. “What I mean to say is... I’ve known you for quite some time, and... no matter what this secret it is that you’re keeping, it is not enough to change the way I feel about you. You are still the smart, witty, caring man I’ve come to admire, are you not?” And then, suddenly, “You are still the man I have come to love.” Love? Love was such a heavy word. In english, it was thrown around so casually, so effortlessly- a word could loose its meaning like that, Darcy knew, and there was all reason to believe Alejandro did not mean it in such a causal, platonic way- but there was a weight to the word, in Alejandro’s voice, in the way his words paused around it, in the softness in how it left his tongue. Love. Love. Love. “You- love me?” Darcy asked, incredulously. Alejandro’s sweet face morphed from softness to something like guilt, or regret. “Have I- misread our- I do not mean to overstep, Darcy, I- do you not feel the same?” “I-” Darcy’s mind stopped his voice a syllable to late. His false, pretend heart was pounding in his chest, but it felt all too real for him. This was not something his father had written into him. This was not a result of the words used to form him. This- whatever this was- was something that had formed of him, completely on its own. Could a story be changed after it had been written? “No, I-” Darcy took in a breath. “I do feel the same. I love you, too.” And Alejandro’s sweet face shifted again, into something joyous and soft and loving. He moved from the chair he had been sitting in to the loveseat Darcy was in- he sat next to him, closer than he had ever before, and with both hands, cupped Darcy’s face and guided his gaze towards his own. “May I?” He asked. His voice was breathy- little more than a whisper. Darcy looked up at Alejandro- awestruck completely. Words had left him. He nodded. And Alejandro kissed him. Softly, delicately, for no more than a second. But it was everything and more to Darcy. It was love, like he had never had it before.

5:43 PM

And with it, he could find courage to rewrite himself anew.