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Melodia

Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

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a part of Melodia, by MagicalNeko.

None

MagicalNeko holds sovereignty over Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

502 readers have been here.

Setting

Default Location for Melodia
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Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada is a part of Melodia.

11 Characters Here

Monika Burvis Dadzis Grava [0] :|:Seeing Angels Where There Are Clouds Not Clouds Where There Are Angels:|:
Cayman Sebastian de Luca [0] "When I put bread in the toaster...and toast comes out...where did the bread go...?"
Phaedon Klopov [0] I'll do what you couldn't, I'll forgive you.
Alessia Yuna Kiyoshi [0] Carpe Diem, my friends. Carpe Diem.
Tailor Pencey [0] ..All clumsy fingers and swelled pupils.
Kaida Mishima Tengaki [0] <@>All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream<@>
Viena Juvonen Onnela Chepelskii [0] /:\Hoping For A Broken Glass On The Highway/:\
Magnus Liam Scarlette Villiers [0] "I'm not gay. Really... I'm not."

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:k s e n i a:

Early winter, the best time for a figure skater. Tournaments and shows are beginning, no one’s really better than anyone yet, except for the people who were better than other people last year; but skaters can change over the summer. It happens. It has before. There’ve been times when I’ve beat someone by more than a hundred points and then they come out third the next winter. Still below me, but definitely improved; I always make sure to tell them that I appreciate their effort and that I’m proud of their progress, because everyone does work hard, no matter where they place, and they need to know that someone did enjoy their performance. I enjoy every performance, even if it wasn’t very good and I can’t very well lie to them about it. It works out for me, because I’ve become friends with a lot of these skaters from all over the world. It’s amazing how many of them actually speak English. I carry this translator everywhere I go just incase, and I try to speak in their languages so that they don’t have to try too hard to understand me or get embarrassed thinking they’ve messed up my language, because that’s never fun for them, and I want them all to have a good time. But four out of five times, they just laugh and tell me they do speak English. Unless they speak Russian, and I’m fluent enough that I don’t need a translator, and I don’t sound like an idiot. But I don’t mind sounding like an idiot as long as it makes other people feel comfortable. I think I’m pretty good at that.

“Nice run, Sen. Next time, you need to get a little more speed going into that triple axel/double toe loop combo, or you won’t be able to get enough height and it’ll look like shit.” My choreographer, Yvette Johansen — who was fairly unknown before taking me on as a student — has an interesting way of wording things so that I don’t question them. She was the one who decided it would be funny if she dubbed me after the KitKat chocolate bar and sat in the stands with a banner cheering for me with six of her friends. I’m allergic to chocolate, so I don’t think it’s very funny. People started throwing KitKats onto the ice instead of the fluffy little animals that I can actually have. The thought is a little depressing, and I told my Mom, which was a mistake, I think, because she’s Russian. Very obviously. So the next time she got a hold of the announcer’s microphone, she decided to make sure that no one would throw chocolate at me. I remember it like it was yesterday. “Ladies and gentlemen. Do not throw chocolate at my son. He is allergic and will go into anaphylactic shock. That is all.” It sounds really intimidating in a Russian accent. At least she’s getting better, though. We all try to support her as much as possible, especially since she’s started teaching ballet again now that my little brother, Feliks, is in school.

”Alright, I’ll try harder next time.” I met Yvette where she stood just outside the wall of the outdoor rink as clouds began to float in overhead, threatening snow. One might wonder why, so early in the season, I had an axel/toe loop combo in my routine, as long as they’re interested in figure skating, that is. And one might also wonder why I’d practice outside in Vancouver’s November, when it so obviously looked like snow. I think it’s because I’m half-Russian, or maybe because I’m Canadian, but I’m sort of immune to the cold. You know those people who go outside in -10Âș weather in a t-shirt and vest and complain about being too hot? That’s me. I can wear shorts until it hits 0, and then Dad yells at me and tells me I’m thick-skinned like my mother the Polar Bear. And then she punches him in the arm, they argue playfully, and then they retreat inside and we don’t see them for a few hours. By ‘they’, of course I mean Alena, Feliks and I. We spend more time outside than most human people, so even our parents — who claim that they’re ‘outdoors people’ — can’t keep up. There’s always something to do outside, no matter what.

For instance, it’s my responsibility to clear the snow off the rink Dad made in the backyard, if I want to be able to skate on it; and it’s Alena’s responsibility to take care of all four of her horses if she wants to keep them at all. I hope that someday they’ll get loose and run free to Alberta, because I’m pretty sure they could if they wanted. And, even though it’s really mean to think this way, I secretly hope that Miss Tequila Rose will get sick and die. She’s probably the reason I’m so afraid of horses; she makes a point of stepping on my feet every time I have to get that close to her, and when she turns her ears outward they look like horns. Besides that, for the first year that we had her she bucked Alena off every time she mounted. When we bought her for Alena for our eighth birthday, we were told that she was a children’s horse and that she would never hurt a fly. But as soon as Alena got on, she bolted and bucked and Alena came off. But my sister’s tough — she always has been, so I suppose she might’ve been destined to be a junior world champion — so she just kept getting back on until Tequila Rose gave up. Since then she’s become Len’s most frequently used competition horse, and my mortal enemy. I never thought I’d ever say that, let alone say it about an animal
. I’d rather be enemies with a human than an animal. But
 humans are animals, so that doesn’t make sense. We’re mammals, which make us animals; and I hate it when people disagree and say that we’re civilized so we’re not animals, because that’s not true either. Are we civilized just because we have cities and cars and technology and are destroying the Earth with it? I don’t see ants destroying the planet, and they have cities. I don’t see wolves destroying the planet and they socialize better than humans do. I hate to admit it, but most pack animals do
 including horses.

“Don’t try, Sen. Just do it, or I'll stuff chocolate so far down your throat that you’ll choke to death before it kills you.” I wanted to tell her that it didn’t make sense, but I was too scared. Honestly, she sounds really mean, but she’s doing it with my best interest in mind, I think. Or maybe she’s just mean. Except she told me once that she didn’t mean it, but she did it in a fake Russian accent, so I think she might have been lying and making fun of my heritage at the same time. I didn’t say anything about that, either, though incase she made me do warm up drills, and those make me wonder if she ever coached pro hockey before. By the time I finish, I’m so tired that I can’t even pick myself up from the bench and I have to watch Alena playing in the pasture with the horses.

It was what I was doing now that I had finished the run three times all the way through without stopping. As my trainer and choreographer, Yvette makes sure that I can do the routine three times through, back to back, so that I have more stamina than any of the other skaters; and she makes me do speed drills so that I'm faster than they are. Personally I don't think I'm any faster than anyone else, infact I'm pretty sure I'm slower, and I think that the speed drills aren't helping, but if Yvette's ever coached pro hockey like I think she did, then I might as well just listen to her. I wouldn't be where I am now if I hadn't so I thank her as often as I can.... But not in front of her because she hates it when I do. She's kind of a nasty woman. I think she might be Swedish.... But her last name suggests Norwegian, and that's definitely a possibility. It was Alena who decided that one, and she's always looking things up for me, so I believe her. Of course I do. Because she's my sister and I love her.

I watched her jump up on the fence and bail over it as Black Rock Shooter (also known simply as Shooter, or Jell-O Shooter by one of Alena's friends, Mykhaela) came galloping up behind her and poked his head curiously through the rails as she laid there. I saw genuine concern, as if he thought he hurt her, but she just jumped up and ran off along the fence. It took him a minute, he was stunned, but he followed her with his ears perked forward. If I were ever to like a horse, I think it'd be Shooter; he's so gentle, and he tries so hard to be Len's best friend that I actually have formed a kind of respect for him.... If I have to be in the stable, I stand infront of his stall because I know he won't attack me — I trust him not to. The others — Miss Tequila Rose, Cremation Melody, and Fate Rebirth (respectively, their barn names are Tequila, Macie, and Wraith) — they're all... evil, maybe. At least, they don't like me, if nothing else. Especially Tequila. Especially Tequila. The mare form Hell. But I feel so bad saying it because she's Len's favourite, and she's so pretty.... I shouldn't feel bad talking like this about someone who directly and openly hates me so much, but I just can't help it.... Is it wrong of me? Dad asked me once why I could stand the cold so easily but I couldn't take any sort of abuse from a living being without crying. I don't cry; that's what I had to say about that. And that was it. I'm not sure why, but maybe all my abuse tolerance went into my uncanny ability to stand outside in a snowstorm in shorts.... I think that might be what happened.

And yes, if you wanted to know. Yes, my sister named three of her horses after VOCALOID songs. There's something about a synthesized voice that makes me marvel over mankind's ability to manipulate the technology they've invented to do whatever they want. We got into VOCALOID together at one of my competitions where one of the other skaters, who's now a close friend of mine, Hatsuko Yamaguchi, was listening to KAITO's Hayashi Uta in the change room and Len practically dragged me in there to see what the song was. She was embarrassed and didn't want to go alone.

"Umm, Yvette? What time is it?"

"Three something."

"Can I have my cellphone?" Yes. She holds my cellphone hostage during practice so it won't distract me and so that my friends can't get ahold of me, even in a dire emergency.

"What for?"

"I want to call Viena and see if he wants to do something later."

"You're sick, you know that."

"What? B-but.... He's... he's not... like that.... I don't think.... I've never asked him.... I mean... that's not what I want to do!" On the instant defense, as always surrounding... that subject, I could feel my face heat up and turn red. She just laughed and tossed me my phone, knowing full well that I only had to run through the routine once more before practice was over. Sometimes she can be kind of nice. At least she let me take breaks.

It would be a few minutes yet before I could fight a shaking voice and the colour rising in my cheeks so I could confidently call Viena. Maybe I'd have to call Cayman instead.

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:|: m o n i k a :|:


I recently got out of the shower and now by a string of lucky events not even I can explain I’m lying on my comfy sofa in my sweat pants with Niko resting on my bare chest because he doesn’t like my t-shirts. Aija is sitting on the floor with her back against the couch near my shoulder and Kalle is sitting on the armchair and Raimonds in lying on the floor with his head on Aija’s lap. I’d put in March of The Penguins for it was Aija’s turn to choose the movie and she loves penguins almost as much as she loves those frozen cookie sandwiches. Kalle isn’t so into it I know because he likes watching the DVD sets of How It’s Made; he’s our future engineer. Niko I know loves it because he loves cute things and playing with my hair like he’s doing right now. Raimonds, he’s our Planet Earth watcher because he loves nature and is going to be the environmentalist. I myself don’t have a preference because anything that states the truth and lets me see things I could normally never see. That’s why I raise them this way because lies are never any good. So they know Santa doesn’t exist nor the Tooth Fairy, Elves, flying reindeer, bigfoot or talking animals. Everything is strictly fact and proven by science which is why we aren’t so much religious as we are spiritual. We don’t pray or necessarily believe in God but we do believe in some spiritual connection between us and everything around us.

So
. My siblings? There’s Kalle, he’s the oldest of the four young ones being eleven and is obsessed with mechanics. He likes to break apart pens and put them back together; unless they’re Viena’s gel pens. I don’t understand that guy’s obsession for them but none of us dare touch them. So, whenever Kalle finds one he instantly puts it down and backs away. He likes to build those thousand piece jigsaw puzzles by himself and figure out how things work and he also has a hobby of building model cars down the engine pieces. I think he has one coming in the mail. Then comes ten year old Aija who I treat like a princess but it doesn’t seem to work because she’s so boyish. She does wear dresses but most come back stained and dirty but she loves penguins and has maybe ten lying around her room. My favourite one is blue where it should be black and green where it should be white and his name is Taffy. She eats ice cream sandwiches like they’ll help her stay healthy and I don’t mind because she eats her veggies. Raimonds
. No one knows what happened to Raimonds because his hair and his eyes don’t match up with my family but it doesn’t really matter. He’s the nature freak and owns three house plants that look like they’ve grown in the rainforest. So green and fresh. Whenever I walk into the room he shares with Niko it smells like grass and fresh earth. Anyway; he wants to protest against people using fossil fuels and I promised to paint his signs. He looks younger than he is; nine years old that one. Niko, well. Niko is more the princess of the family than Aija is even though I don’t treat him like one. He likes to paint pictures and pretend he’s a princess stuck in a boy’s body. The red headband he wears all the time cannot be explained because I don’t know why he wears it. I’m proud of him so if he ends up growing up to be one of those flamboyant gay boys or becomes a girl at least he stayed true to himself. He reminds me a little of myself.

Which reminds me that we’re running out of mini chocolate chip muffins. They all eat like two for breakfast along with whatever fruit of their choosing except bananas because Aija’s allergic. But those muffins are so cute because they’re all tiny and two bite sized. I got this one this one time that was super small
 like one bite small. Sometimes I like to put icing on them if they’ve been really good or if it’s a special day. Today it’s pretty cold but it might snow and that would mean cupcakes because the first snow means white frosted chocolate cupcakes. I make the frosting look like snowflakes to commemorate the coming of the new season. Aija likes to eat the first one but Viena always beats her to it which I always lie to her about because I don’t want her to cry. Viena bugs me for it though – bribery almost. He likes to hold it above me that I always fall for his pranks because I can’t hear him sneak up behind me. His rhythm is one of the few that blends into my melody so by this point I’ve obviously become so used to it that I’ve become blind to it. He’s the smooth talker in the house almost as much as he is the prankster and I’m the victim of most of these. Sometimes he likes to push that I have no friends but he chooses to ignore the people I invite over. Although, Magnus kind of ignores him as well. No, rather it’s they don’t even know that the other exists. Which is odd to me because they both see each other all the time.

“Mama? Can we go see penguins for real one day?” Aija asks from on the floor as the credits start to roll.

“Sure. I’ll plan a trip for Christmas break. Should we bring Papa Niko?”

“M’hm. And Uncle Maggie too.”

I smile and start to get up more because I have to start making them their snack more than anything else. “Niko, don’t call Magnus that when he’s around okay? Even though I think it’d be awesome if he let me call him Uncle Maggie.” His smile lights up the whole room and I watch as Raimonds takes his hands and pulls him off to probably go and try to get him to take care of the garden outside. “Kalle, what should I make for snack?”

“Cheese melted on crackers.”

Such a blandly fun little boy that Kalle. Not that he’s bland because he’s not – he isn’t an Oreo cookie without the cream in the middle which is really bland. Niko doesn’t like Oreos.... He likes Chunks Ahoy which are good but not as good as Oreos. So, Kalle. Yes. He is kind of bland in the sense that he is slightly boring in a way but he’s eleven and eleven year olds try and act like adults and adults are boring according to Raimonds who’s so cute I want to hug him to death. Not to death. More like into a state of sleep he won’t wake form and he’ll just look cute forever. That’d be awesome, I wish they would all just stay cute forever except for Aija because she needs to grow up and stop thinking she’s going to marry Kalle. I swear, she thinks it. It’s scary. Like... we’re siblings and stuff. It’s illegal and the law is there for a reason; so that all my little nephews and nieces aren’t born with six fingers and the IQ of a highly functioning watermelon. Not only would that be horrible for them but the expenses would probably drive Aija to suicide because she isn’t a strong willed person. Very weak – the damsel in distress of the family but Māte decided not to take her when they left last year on that extended honeymoon so I’m stuck raising a girl. I hope I do it right because she does need to learn that stuff and I really don’t want to have to teach her. I’ll find her a woman tutor, someone to help her
. Learn about being a woman and such. I’m not good at that. Viena isn’t either but he’s Viena and he’s not good at much but pranking me. That’s rude. Sorry Viena; you’re good at lots of things.

That just sounds dirty now.

I need to concentrate on these crackers and Aija who’s trying to colour in this picture I printed for her off the computer a few days ago. It’s really detailed and she’s doing a very good job so I’m proud that she’s trying to do something pretty. She never does pretty things. And she doesn’t like shopping. I don’t like shopping unless it’s for them but Phaedon likes to tell me otherwise. It’s fun don’t get me wrong and he’s a super awesome friend but I think I prefer Cayman more because he doesn’t force me to go running through a busy mall. Magnus, he’s my best friend yes and I love him to death but he likes to drag me places while he takes photos. Just let me stay home – my family is here. No, that’s mean. They’re trying their best.

Maybe it’s my fault then
?

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#, as written by Kyumori
| Cayman |


If there was anything that could be considered heaven, this was it. For one, the floor underneath my bare feet was made up of stuffed animals. It was like walking on a cloud. Alright, I admit. Maybe a little less comfortable than a cloud, since every now and then, a stray horn or spike would jam into my foot and make me wobble in my step. Whatever. It wasn’t worth paying attention to, when I could see the swell of what appeared to be a giant cookie far off in the distance. It was like walking through my own version of Wonderland. Actually, scratch that. It was like a glorified version of Willy Wonka’s Factory – Cayman Style.

I trailed my finger down and around the side of a tree, giggling with delight as cream and frosting came off the bark. I licked my finger clean, savoring the insanely sweet taste as it exploded in my mouth, making my jaw ache and clench at the sudden assault.

As I continued making my way through this odd frosting tree forest, I found myself walking alongside a quaint little brook
a quaint little caramel brook. Call me crazy, but if there’s one thing I love more than purple unicorn plushies, it’s caramel. Chocolate and caramel, peanut butter, chocolate and caramel, caramel apples
You name it, I’ll eat it. Reaching up, I grabbed a bright red apple from the branch of a tree that just happened to be right above me. Leaning down over the edge of the bank, I dipped the apple in the caramel and pulled it out. It hardened almost immediately, forming the perfect caramel apple.

Munching this delicious treat, with a very familiar tune playing over and over in my head, I continued on my way towards the giant cookie, gazing at the shapes made in the cotton candy clouds, wishing I would reach my hand up and grab tufts of the pink and blue spun sugar floating lazily over my head


And then
out of nowhere
 “Cayman! Wake up you lazy ass! It’s past three.”

I blinked and my candy Wonderland was gone, but the tune remained. A second tune joined it – Alessia’s rhythm, crashing harshly down on me, melding oddly with my melody before both faded away to be mere background noise.

I blinked again, and I was dragged back to the waking world. I sat up abruptly, my eyes trying to adjust from the brightness and the abnormality of my dream to return to the dark and rather mundane room that I had fallen asleep in. I swung my legs over the edge of the sofa, nearly kicking my slender and small cousin in the process. She muttered something under her breath, probably complaining about my sleeping habits again (but okay, I admit. They are kind of bad
I have a habit of staying at Phaedon, Luke and Tailor’s place for a really, really long time and then coming home at like three and sleeping for four hours before my first class in the morning
).

“I went grocery shopping,” Alessia explained unnecessarily as she walked past me to grab the last of the reusable bags from where they had been dumped when she entered the living room to wake me up. “And just so you know, you were trying to eat the pillow.”

She was right about that
the corner of the cushion that I had been using as a pillow was wet and had some of the threads had come loose. I chuckled, almost in embarrassment, before realizing that I didn’t care. It had been a good dream. I walked over, to help her with the bags but only because that meant I was able to see what she had purchased. A carton of eggs, milk, instant noodles, chocolate
I wonder if she bought any caramel
Probably not. Alessia hates caramel.

Or so she says. I can never figure her out, my cousin. She turns around, putting the eggs and everything perishable in our agonizingly empty fridge, filling it up again. "There's something in there for you," she said suddenly. "I saw it and thought of you almost immediately."

I pulled out a set of earrings - music notes. "I...don't have pierced ears?" I frowned.

"Why not get them then?" Alessia chuckled, as she closed the fridge door with a satisfied snap. "I'm heading out again. Gonna call Magnus, see if he wants to grab a coffee or something."

I broke into an evil grin. "A date? Alessia!" I gasped, as though this were the most scandalous thing on earth. She shot me an angry glare, reaching for the butcher knife that was so...conveniently within reach. I paled - but her hand hovered above the handle, and I could see that her cheeks were bright red. Laughing softly, I reached over and patted her on the head. It wasn't hard. Alessia stood a good deal shorter than me.

But she recovered quickly, stepping on my foot violently before heading back out the door, phone in hand.

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Tailor


“That’s some deep shit, man.”

Breathing over my sloppy picture one last time, I took a step back to look at it again. Three butterflies plastered over my bedroom window. It was that cold outside.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, turning around.

His eyes were a war zone as he showed off his trophy, “I knew you were keeping a diary.”

My breathing hitched. That was my notebook. What I keep in there isn’t meant to be read by others. I don’t even read over what I write once I’ve written it. The shit in there is--in lack of better words--dark. Fucked up. It’s my thoughts on paper; It’s not pretty and it’s not organized. It’s painstakingly close to a horror story, and a hair away from a tragedy.
It’s me in words, and his eyes are squinted. Scrutinizing me; trying to figure out what to think, while at the same time trying to process. He doesn’t know it’s the same thing; but it doesn’t keep him from trying. He’s Evan, my best friend; I know his secrets like he knows my favorite bands. I know his thought-process, and it’s never good. Not the right way. He wasn’t raised like that--not like me.

“C’mon, Evan. Give it back.”

“Gonna make me?”

“Give it.”

“You have to do something for me first.”

I gaped at him. “Seriously?”

He grinned, showing off his abnormally perfect teeth. “Seriously,” he cooed.

I leaned back against the wall and crossed my arms over my chest. “Kay.”

I guess I should of known what he wanted. The same thing he’s been secretly tripping over for the past few weeks; Phae. His new crush. Last week it was his manager; a blue-eyed brunette with killer legs. He switches his infatuations every so often, and he just so happened to have seen Phae one night. ‘Right place, wrong time’ sort of thing. Evan’s like a predator, I swear to God.

“So will you?”

And even though my throat ached to say no, I said, “Alright. I can do that.”

He smirked and tossed the notebook on my bed. I didn’t tell him that Phae doesn’t like people who pick on other people. Or that he doesn’t like a vulgar vocabulary, and that he doesn’t find playfully calling someone a ‘fag’ funny. I didn’t tell him that Phae won’t like him, and I’m not going to tell Phae that Evan is just a kid who can’t make up his mind. I don’t think Phae would go for a guy like Evan, anyway. It’s not that Evan’s ugly, or something. (Because he is most definitely not.) It’s more of his personality. He’s.. well, an ass. But whatever he’s lost in personality, he makes up for in looks.

He has a buzz-cut. His eyes are green, and the best thing--I think--about him are his snake bites. He’s half-black and half-white. I don’t think you understand how good his permanently tanned skin looks with those green eyes.

“When’s the last time you ate, Pencey?” He asked, already walking out of the room, “Let’s order some pizza, or something.”

Ordering pizza. Want some?


I clicked send, only it was to Luke. I didn’t want to talk to Phae. I just hoped he wasn’t still in the apartment somewhere.

How long had me and Evan been in here?

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Phaedon


“The usual, Phae?”

A cheerful voice burst through my thoughts as I loitered near the immaculate counter, running my fingers across the edge of the glass. I probably looked stupid standing there, squinting hard at the menu towering above Miss Hollie—she was a nice lady, always knew what I wanted before I even opened my mouth, and I honestly believed she didn't have one mean bone in her body. To her, I was just Phae; not faggot, not Russian, not that girly-looking guy. It was a nice change. Her soul song was beautiful, too. It's rhythms were like carefully instrumented pianos and flutes, calm and tranquil. It was the reason I couldn't help but feel immediately relaxed whenever I came in. With all of the hectic noises and songs trying to bully their ways into my head—I could hear hers' the loudest, and it didn't need to push its' way through, I just heard it; clear as day. My mouth puckered indecisively and I relented, nodding my head. I always got the same thing whenever I came into Starbucks; vanilla bean creme frappucino, a creamy blend of vanilla bean, milk and ice, topped with deliciously fluffy whipped cream. Did I mention that she sprinkles chocolate shavings over it? It reminds me of freckles, and how much I like them.

I ordered three other drinks for good measure; for Cayman, I ordered a caramel frappucino. Caramel's Cayman's kryptonite, he honestly loves it more than I could ever imagine. If he could have an indoor pool filled with caramel, I bet he would—sprinkled with marshmallows, unicorns and anything sweet and cuddly. There's no one I know more who loves all of those things, and I have to admit that I'm jealous; he's the sort of happy I wish I was. Whenever I see him, I make sure to give him my best hugs. The second drink I order is for Tailor, my flatmate and honest-to-God friend; a strawberry Vivanno smoothie, because I know he hates coffee. I left early in the morning, so I didn't get to ask him what he'd like but I weighed the chances, and I decided that a nice, tasty strawberry smoothie would do the trick. Everyone liked smoothies, right? Actually, I remembered that he invited a friend over. Evans; the attractive looking guy who'd accidentally seen me naked in my room when I was changing, my door must not have been closed—either way, it was embarrassing and I was glad that I didn't need to see him. I was still kind of bummed not seeing Tailor this morning, though. Seriously, there isn't a single morning that I don't wrap my arms around his neck, singing a really corny version of Matt Costa's Sunshine. He'd been in his room all night with Evans, so I didn't want to bother them. I tried not to think about it too much. Lastly, the third drink I got was for my other flatmate, Luke; I got him a Tazo passion fruit iced tea, shaken with plenty of ice, with a touch of watermelon and lemon for taste. I always made sure that Miss Hollie added watermelon flavouring, because I knew how much he loved it. He was the type of guy who could pick up any instrument and bedazzle you; leave you mesmerized, I'd be lying if I didn't say that I got excited whenever he picked up his guitar. I'm not the most talented person in the world, so I can really appreciate that. Our house is filled with music, and warmth, and long nights spent chilling on the couches; Luke cradling his guitar, or trumpet, or harmonica; Tailor busying himself in the kitchen, flipping scrumptious things in skillets and telling them all how lucky they are to have a grand chef in the house; and Cayman, even if he isn't one of my flatmates (he practically is), testing out new languages and trying to teach them all little pieces of it. They were all beautiful, I hope... I hope they knew that.

They're the glue that keeps my together. They're the backbone that holds my entire body together, and I wanted them to know every single day that I was thankful and fortune and glad to know them. Sometimes, I think they don't take what I say seriously, or it's so awkward that they don't know how to respond. Even so, I won't stop saying it. Magnus and Monika; I went to school with both of them, and both of them saved me from bullies. I mean, they were the ones who first showed me that I didn't need to be that weak little kid, I didn't need to be the ultimate target. Because, if you didn't step up to the plate and act confident—you'd always be the victim. They taught me that. Monika was a sweet guy. He basically takes care of his entire family, and those kids really do love him with all their hearts. I like visiting because it reminds me of how my family could have been, if only my parents weren't so serious; if they'd been more accepting and kind. Maybe then, everything would've been different. Monika always said it was alright to be yourself, no matter what, and I believed him. I still do. Sometimes I wish I would've been born in that type of family. The kind that wakes up every morning sharing stories and cupcakes and waffles. I guess I'm jealous of a lot of things. One time at school, I was jumped by a few guys who thought it'd be funny to push me around and try to chop all of my hair off. It was Magnus who dragged them off me, threatening to punch their lights out if they touched me again. His hand was the first one who offered to pull me back to my feet, and I know—even with his crappy, dark-cloud sort've luck—that he would've done it even if those kids decided to gang up on him. Thankfully, they didn't. Thankfully, he was there. Embarrassingly enough, I grew my hair out because of him. Ever since then, Maggie's been my hero. If I told him that, I know he'd laugh. See, he's not very good at receiving compliments, but that's just fine. I won't stop.

“Thanks, Miss Hollie!”

“Hey! Y'know you can just call me Hollie, right?”

I smiled. Honorifics and strict manners were hard to forget when they've been shoved down your throat. Anyone in the public might've called it strict parenting or brainwashing; I didn't know what to call it. Juggling the tray of assorted drinks, I thanked Miss Hollie and left her a tip. I hoped that everyone was awake by the time I got back, just so the drinks wouldn't turn into a melted mess of delightful flavours. A soft sigh escaped my lips as I pushed my way back outside. An overcast sky foreshadowed a snowy day, and I was just thankful that I wasn't trudging through a storm. Who ordered cold drinks on a chilly day like this, anyway? I do. I think my internal clock didn't register that it was late November. Either way, I was determined to get my daily dose of frosty beverage. I shivered, tugging the zipper of my coat up to my neck with my free hand. Even though I was born in Russia, cold weather didn't seem to agree with me. I always thought Canadians were crazy because they'd still be wandering their streets in flowery shorts and T-shirts; not a worry in the world, and I'd feel weird walking amongst them wearing faux leather jackets and long coats. Who was crazy, me or them? Hazy plumes of smog blew from my lips, and I paused to look to my right, then left, before crossing the street. I didn't live too far from the apartment building, so I didn't mind walking. Fortunately, swooping trees decorated the streets and crooned towards each other, creating a beautiful canopy over the roads. It was something I could always appreciate about our block.

Kaida was supposed to meet me in an hour at my apartment so that we could sit around trying to think about something outrageous to do. She was an adventure waiting to happen. There's this thing about her—... maybe it's the lackadaisical way she wears her clothes, or the way she just doesn't give a crap about what you say. It's either her way, or the highway; nothing more, nothing less. She's enchanting, and strong, and cool. I don't think she thinks that way about herself. She's the type of girl who can set the world on fire, and make your dreams come true with the blink of your eyes—or at least, she'll try. Kaida was strong enough for the both of us; for what I lacked in masculinity, she made up for, and vice versa when it came to femininity. I often joked about us switching bodies, wouldn't that of been a good idea? A riot. Maybe, I wasn't joking. She was the kind of strong that made me feel like I could fly, the kind of light that mornings' feel like. She'd punch me for that one. Sorry, I'm pretty corny.

I almost tripped a few times walking down the uneven side walks, scrabbling to get a firmer hold on the unsteady cardboard tray. 100% decomposable; 100% more likely to snap in two and fall on the ground. Honestly, I think I'd cry. I scrunched up my nose, watching my feet with determined concentration as I weaved around early birds and old couples. I'd only raise my head every now and again to greet them, immediately dropping my eyes as soon as they passed. I really, really didn't want to come back empty-handed and weepy-eyed because I fell on my face balancing a tray of goodies. Worry crinkled my eyes, even if there wasn't anything to worry about—everyone always said that I was too emotional, as if that was possible. How could someone be too emotional? It's hard to leave your feelings on the back burner when they feel so strong. My cellphone remained mute in my pocket—no early morning buzzes from Luke or Tailor, it was enough for me to feel a little left out; didn't we always wake each other up with stupid messages? It was a ritual of sorts. I huffed out another breath of imaginary smoke, deliberately, and looked towards the horizon. A thick paste of white fluff covered the sun, if it was hiding behind there at all, and cast a foggy haze over the city.

I realized that I was standing in front of the apartment building, clutching the tray tightly to my chest. Again, I puffed. It was cold enough to see your breath, so I assumed that it wouldn't be too long before I saw snowflakes fluttering to the ground. I took one more look at the sky before climbing the stone steps, balancing the tray carefully before opening the door, bumping it open with my hip. And then, I realized that I forgot my keys in my room. On my dresser, or on my nightstand. I couldn't really remember, but that wasn't the point. My stomach flopped in distress—what if they weren't awake and I was about to wake them up? I edged my way towards the buzzer, as if by some happenstance my presence would automatically ring it. There wasn't anything else I could do, really. Sitting beside the door until someone came out was unacceptable. Think of the drinks, Phae! With one more determined step, I pressed the buzzer and leaned closer, lips hovering closer to the speaker.

“Phaedon.”

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#, as written by Basta
<@> K a i d a <@>


Throbbing bass. Crashing snare. Acid beats. That smell...the smell of people dancing their hearts out. Jeez, I love clubbing! Out here, out on the dance floor, no-one judges you or even cares about you. They just see you as another body, another beat to the mix. The magic of a club, I've found out, is that when everyone is totally focused on one thing, they sync up in a way that's impossible anywhere else. The song the DJ was playing was amplified a hundred times, through and around and between each and every one of us, thrashing our way through the night.

As soon as I get a break, however, I need off the dance floor. I'm dripping sweat and my breathing is ragged...not an attractive sight. Actually, when I think about it, it might be. I look like I just got out of an intense shag session. Oh well. With a small shrug, I dropped onto a barstool and ordered the hardest drink in the place, on the rocks. I wanted to get hammered quickly, and just be done with it. That's always how the night ends, anyways. As soon as I downed three of the buggers, I wobbled on home. I didn't make it.

Morning, sleepy head! giggled a cute voice. I didn't recognize it, and my head felt like I'd been clubbed with an oar...twice. I cracked my eyes and squinted against the sunlight. All I could see was a silhouette, who's head was framed with long, curly crimson hair. My interest was, in a word, piqued. I sat up and tried to get a good look at her out of the corner of my eye, but glanced down when I felt the breeze. Of course I was naked. Most likely I would be going home in whoever-this-person-was's clothes. She smiled at me, head tilted a bit to the left. Man, did I get lucky! Brilliant green eyes, freckles and dimples, round face. She looked down and bit her lip shyly when she noticed that I was staring at her. All I could think about was how markedly similar she was to someone I once knew. I didn't even care about the rest of her body, which was rare for me. I just wanted to soak in more of her beautiful gaze. However, my reverie was cut short as she got up and dressed herself, with my eyes laser-locked onto her the whole time, of course. I definitely noticed her body then.

After I'd dressed and fixed my hair, I explored the kitchen for breakfast. Since this mystery woman didn't have any quick meals, I decided to make omelets.

"Mmmm...Wake up and smell the breakfast cooking. My favorite meal of the day." Actually, not true, but at the time, it was.

"Smells good. I didn't know you could cook." I almost jumped out of my skin when she started talking, making her giggle again. I grinned wide and tossed my golden locks with a flick of my head.

"I'm full of surprises," I stated with as much cockiness as I could muster, which was considerable. We ate breakfast together, chatting of the weather and other fluffy topics. All too soon, though, she checked her phone and informed me that she was being called into work. I knew what really happened, but I couldn't bring myself to fully realize it. She told me to keep the shirt and gave me three hundred dollars. I thanked her for a great night and kissed her on the cheek.

Time to head home. I almost forgot that Phae was waiting for me, so I broke out into a quick jog. The weather outside was delightful, a nice crisp winter day that promised more white wonder. As I ran, the smell of the shirt kept wafting up over me, and as disappointed as I was about this morning, I couldn't help but revel in the smell. When I turned the corner, I noticed Phae trying to get into the apartment, struggling with four drinks.

"Phae! Hey, buddy! Let me help you with those." I grabbed two drinks and winked at him. Me an' Phaedon go way back. He was like my better half, the yin to my yang. He was one of the only people that I felt comfortable being myself around. Sometimes I played rough with him, but only insofar as to assert my....I dunno. My masculinity. When I needed something pretty to wear to a party, Phae was the guy. When someone needed a good asskicking, I was the go-to person. And I sorta liked it that way. It gave me a sense of purpose, of belonging.

I could guess who the drinks were for, just based on what was in 'em. Cayman definitely had the caramel one, no contest. Phae only ever got the vanilla bean with chocolate shavings, so that wasn't hard. The other two were a toss-up, but I was pretty safe in a guess that the Tazo was for Luke, which left the smoothie for Tailor. As far as I knew, they'd be the only ones here.

I also wanted to get into Phaedon's flat because I left one of my smut books there, and I wanted to see whether or not Lady Blackford really jumped that carpenter's bones, or if it was just an innocent conversation with lots of coincidental innuendos.

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:m a g n u s:

"I'm sorry sir, but we can't do anything about it."

Frustration: the very epitome of my existance. Everytime I think something's going along smoothly, I turn around and it backfires. Violently. "What do you mean you can't do anything about it? I paid for you to install oak hardwood flooring. Not neon pink strip club carpet!" You'd be pissed too, wouldn't you? What's worse is that this particular company is owned by my parents' friends, and because they knew that my parents are both of French descent, they put a French-speaking operator on so that I could better understand there services. I. Don't. Speak. French. Never have. Never will. I only passed it in school because I had to, and after I earned that one credit in high school, I took Vocals classes as substitutes for gym and that extra optional language. I would've been more interested if they had classes for Italian or German or Japanese, or maybe something a little less common like Latvian. But no. We had a grand selection of French or Spanish, and I wasn't happy with that. At least I came out of school with a singing voice that I had worked on for four years straight and even though it wasn't the best it was better than Chloé's. Hint; my sister can't sing.

"Our records say that you ordered neon pink carpet."

"Obviously your records are wrong. Are you sure there isn't another Magnus Villiers on the list? Because I'm pretty sure that maybe your French operator doesn't speak English. Oak hardwood. Completely different from pink carpet." I hate having to explain things to people. I hate having the dumbest luck in Vancouver. If I ever went to a hockey game where the usually epic Vancouver was playing, even against Boston they'd lose. Why? Because Boston sucks. I try not to even watch the games on TV; I don't even like hockey that much, but I grew up on it so it's kind of force of habit by now, and being born and raised in Vancouver as I am, the Canucks are my team... my team that I don't watch because I am physically afraid of jinxing them somehow and making them lose.... Even though jinxing doesn't really exist, because that would mean that magic existed in the scientific world and it just doesn't. It just doesn't. Seriously. Magic isn't real.

"I'm certain that there's only one Magnus Villiers on the list, sir.... And of course our French operator doesn't speak English.... I just assumed that you spoke French; I mean, your parents—" Listening to this poor guy babbling on to try and keep up with my tirade of the day was fun if nothing else. At least it's making me feel like mine isn't the only shitty day in the world. If I can make this guy miserable for screwing up my apartment, then I'll be alright, even if I do feel bad for making a total ass out of myself over the phone. Not even to his face. Over the phone. In all technicality, maybe I should've asked my landlady if it was alright that I replaced her (vomit-coloured) carpets, but I knew she'd thank me later. Of course she would... unless the pink wasn't replaced before she came to collect the rent tomorrow. Because of my luck, I was certain that the problems would just keep piling up, like Spain's debt, and eventually I might have to move back in with my parents. Back to my lonely basement where I could hear Natanael's music from where he blasted it in his tree fort from when we were old enough for tree forts. He listens to things like Black Veil Brides, and I'll never understand his taste; I almost enjoyed the Tokio Hotel and Cinema Bizarre phase, but that was years ago, and I doubt that I'm ever going to see that not-so-dark-and-evil side of him again. Geez, that was back when we were best friends.... Of course... I've never been closer to anyone than Monika since the first day he was introduced into my playground as a new student. Of course, there goes my luck again, because the teacher on duty decided that I should look after him on the schoolyard. Let me just say that he might be the sweetest thing on the face of the Earth besides Alessia's cousin, but I don't know Cayman all that well so it doesn't matter. Monika. Monika freakin'... whatever his last name is. It's, like, Dutch or something. Not Dutch. Latvian. Not even close to each other. Or was it Latvian? It was somewhere up around there, but I think I'm right. Oh well. Whatever he is, he is. And that's that.

"So you're going to fix my flooring for free and admit that this screw-up was all the fault of your dumb French operator?"

And at that exact moment... my phone line was cut off.

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/:\ v i e n a /:\


I am a person of habitual actions. What does that mean? It means that I do the same thing multiple times because I can continuously get away with it. Right now just like every day around this time I’m staring at little hamster version of me; VJ; run on his wheel that squeaks like crazy. And it’s really loud too. Not the kind of loud that you can ignore if you try really hard but the kind of loud that you hear no matter where you are or what you’re doing. I’ve tried many times to replace this wheel but VJ – being the picky little rodent he is – rejects every one until we put this loud as fuck wheel back in. I even tried to get one that looked exactly like this one and still squeaked albeit more quietly and he went on it once and never touched it again. I swear, I swear to God he does it just to piss me off and it does. It pisses me off. Monika likes to say it isn’t that bad because it makes VJ happy but what would make me happy is if the higher on the latter of evolution rat would just take a quieter wheel. He would always win because he has Monika on his side and he also has Niko and I can’t harm Niko; he’s the cutest baby brother ever.

So instead I’m standing here glaring at my hamster version watch me while he runs on this wheel. There are times when I think killing him will make everything better but no – that would make Monika cry. Like yesterday when I tried to trick him into thinking VJ died and the look he’d given me had broken my resolve; I’d spent an hour trying to calm him down and half an hour proving to him that VJ was indeed alive and running on that annoying as hell wheel. Then he’d gone to go buy Aija more ice cream sandwiches. I can’t remember what I’d done but I knew I had wanted to invite Ksenia over to help me rid myself of this thing’s wheel. It doesn’t do this when I’m not around though – no. He waits until he can see me and starts running oh so nonchalantly like he’d been planning to do it at that time anyway. “I’ll get you VJ. I swear on my life I will. You and your little wheel too.” Then, no joke, he paused on that loud wheel of his and stared me in the eyes. A challenge.

I think, I think in order to keep me from killing this thing I’m going to have to make plans with one of the few people I consider friends. I’ve passed through the living room a few times and I do not have the pleasure of wanting to stay home right now. From what I’ve gathered all they plan on doing today is watching movies and eating food and maybe later Monika might take them to that indoor park a few blocks away. “Papa?” I know that voice from a mile away and yes it’s my own younger brother calling me Papa rather than calling me by my name like he should. Not that I mind very much anymore because for the past year this is how it’s been and probably how it shall be until he’s twenty and married to some red head who paints for a living. Yep, I have this pretty much planned out. Monika and I have decided their whole lives from now until they retire and they’re heading in the right direction right now. Especially Raimonds
. Or was it Niko? Either way.

“Hmm? What is it Kalle?”

“Why are you stalking VJ?”

“Because I’m going to kill the little bastard one day.” Judging by the look in his eyes he doubts what I’m saying but doesn’t bother utter another word and turns to leave before I make him leave. I love Kalle, I do, but he’s so bright and intuitive I sometimes wonder if he knows more than he lets on. I bet he does. I bet he’s figured out all about me and that little secret I’ve kept from Monika. Shit, he probably does. My secret? Well, recently (that being the past several months) I have noticed I am not the straight man I had once thought I was. Oh no. Sure I’m still attracted to women here and there but I’m also attracted to men and the only person who knows this is me because I am my favourite secret keeper. Monika – I haven’t told him for many reasons number one (the most important) being he’ll want to sit me down and talk to me about it without knowing that it’s all his fault that I am. Yes, I at one point was attracted to my step-brother; sue me. It’s not like I am anymore because dude
 he’s my brother. Not even my adopted brother but my brother through marriage; we share a sibling through blood.

I need to get out of the house. Hey. I’m suuuuper bored right now and Monika isn’t being any fun. You busy cause I need someone to hang out with today. Maybe see a movie
. Most likely see a movie. Yes, that sounds like fun. I sent that to the only two people I bother to call friends. Tailor Pencey and Ksenia Valenzuela. My French/American friend and my Russian/Spanish best friend. I’m just all around the world with these people. Okay, not really for if I was I wouldn’t be here in cold as fuck Vancouver. I’d be in Costa Rica or something. It isn’t usually this cold in Vancouver the lowest it getting in winter is mainly negative ten degrees Celsius. Better than in Toronto where I had lived when I was like.... Five. It got to minus twenty-five over there and in no way am I ever going back to that lifestyle. Never. I’d rather die in this very spot. Okay, not on the kitchen floor but close enough.

I gesture to Aija to keep quiet because I can’t sneak up on Monika if she goes and blows my cover wide open. Not even, not even. The look in those blue eyes the same colour as his but not like his at all says she’s on my side. Aija’s eyes always have something to hide and fight anyone who step up to face her. Monika’s eyes are honest to where it hurt sand are always on your side and forgive before he even knows what you did. “Niko, it’s alright. The other kids don’t understand you like you do. For Halloween, I’ll buy you a princess costume. Would you like that?” Sweet enough that you could go into a sugar coma if you stayed around him long enough; I’m surprised I haven’t yet. I’m surprised no one has yet – the kid is a walking sugar bomb. “Monika, I might be going out. You going to be okay alone with the kids tonight?” I stated from behind him in a calm voice because I’d lost the urge to scare him like I’d planned. I looked back at Aija and she seemed somewhat upset and so I was happy that I actually hadn’t because making her happy means making evil happy. “If I go that is.” I stole a cracker. He’s too sweet. I need to find him more manly friends than Cayman, Alessia and that Phaedon guy who likes to drag him shopping.

“So, if it snows tonight you’re going to make those cupcakes yes?” I like the way his hair feels; nothing can possibly be softer than the silk strands growing out of his head. Sometimes when I can get away with it – which is when I dip into the wine stash – he lets me comb it and braid it. I like hair, long hair; hair that’s long and soft that glides against my fingers. That kind of hair. I can only assume the look he gives me means he’s answered yes to everything I’ve said because after a while even I noticed he won’t answer come questions. It’s always the same. “Yes, I will. I’ll be fine. Go have fun.” I hate him. A lie.

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#, as written by Kyumori
* | * a l e s s i a * | *


I look down at the phone in my hand, rolling it around and around. The cool air wraps around me, but I ignore it. Something about the cold fits me just right.

But, for some odd reason, today, I barely notice the cold. Usually, it's on my skin, freezing down to my bones and making me want to move. But today...I just feel like sitting. All I feel like doing is sitting and staring down at my stupid phone. A few numbers, a few presses. Words. They usually come so easily...but today...I struggle with the simplest thoughts. It took me twice as long to finish the grocery shopping.

Must be the weather.

Should I call Magnus? Should I leave him alone? I glance back at the apartment door - leaning on the balcony over the entrance, I see Phaedon and Kaida. I consider waving to them, but since I'm not really that close to either of them...it'd be awkward, wouldn't it? I turn around, so that my back is to the scenery stretched out before me and sink to the floor.

Finally, I dial Magnus' number. What should I say to him? When had I started worrying about this? Screw it. Magnus was my friend - he was my best friend. I could tell him anything and everything and he'd know exactly what I meant. Screw age differences. He was Cayman's age, and I seemed to know quite a few people my cousin's age. The apartment door opens and, speak of the devil, Cayman appears. His orange hair is a mess, but his bright green eyes find me in the shadows almost immediately. He doesn't say anything, doesn't question why I'm still here even though I said I was going to meet Magnus. That's the thing I like about my cousin. If he can tell you don't want him to nose around, he won't. But if it's debatable whether or not you want to keep your secret hidden, Cayman tries to sniff it out like a bloodhound on the trail of a missing child.

He heads next door - no duh. I swear, Cayman spends more time over at our neighbors' than in our own apartment. Briefly, I wonder where Adalene wandered off to. I hadn't seen her in a while.

I look down at the screen. Magnus' number is displayed there, my fingers having typed them from memory. With a small sigh that reflects nothing of how I really feel, I press the SEND button and hold the phone to my ear.

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Luke


I'm pretty sure I'm sitting in a meadow. I can hear the water flowing over rocks in the distance, crickets chirping, the grass blades tickling my apparently bare legs. I opened my eyes to look around, the sun a little to bright for comfort, and me a little to naked. Standing up, I brushed the stray grass of back and legs, to keep it from itching, and started walking. Where on Earth was I? That was when I heard something very, very familiar. My phone!

"neol wihan lover lover lover cop
Imma always be on top..."
Where was it? I started running, looking for it, when my hand hit something hard, and I opened my eyes to see the inside of my cover. I pushed the fabric away, revealing my phone, still singing, sitting in the middle of my floor. So that's what I had hit. I jumped out of bed and pulled on some pajama pants, feeling rushed and sore all at once. Wobbling over to my phone, I picked it up to see a text message from Tailor.

"Ordering pizza, want some?" Of course I wanted some. I hadn't had anything to eat since last night, I'm starving! I glanced around my room, feeling as though I was forgetting something, and then turned to leave. As I moved, muscle burn shot through me, more on my thighs and upper arms than anywhere else. So that's what I had forgotten, I was still sore.

Yesterday I had helped a senior center pack all their things. They were moving to another building and needed the help, so I so kindly offered. My treat was a free homemade lunch, and some muscle burn. I probably wouldn't have had the muscle burn had we not had to move a pool table. It took seven guys to lift the thing and move it. We all looked like a centipede of men, the pool table our body.

The analogy made me smile as I made out of my room and into the living room. I spotted Tailor, giving him a smile as I answered his text in person. "I'm starving! Who's paying?" Unlike most people, who will keep quiet when the subject of paying comes up, I tend to be the 'fool' who walks right into the trap of paying for everyone's meal...on purpose. I don't mind forking up some cash and helping out, even if its just the other person being stingy. If they're so stingy over their money, then maybe they needed it the first place you know?

The next person I saw was Evan. When did he get here? I knew a little about Evan, like that he was young and a perv, as Tailor always called him. I didn't care that I was shirtless in front of him, partly because I'm a guy, and that's supposed to be 'normal', and partly because I didn't want to spend the muscle pain to walk back in my room for a shirt. I plopped down on the couch, welcoming the relaxing feeling of my muscles settling down. I knew this couldn't last for long, for if I didn't exercise or something then I would just stay sore all day. Maybe I'd go for a jog.

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Adalene


I could hear my flat mates conversing on the other side of my closed door, their voices floating through as though the door was made of paper. I was awake, and had been for awhile, but I'm busy. I'm writing a script, to a play. Why? Because a paramount had recently opened, and it was the perfect chance to submit something for them to show. The story? Was a female homosexual tale about two high school friends. One falls deeply in love with other, and the other marries an Australian. What a cruel, cruel world.

My focus shifted back to the voices of Cayman and Alessia. They were cousins, so they were closer to each other than they were to me. I could probably be closer with both of them, if I tried, but trying to make conversation is hard and awkward. I wish I could talk like I write, then everything could just flow and I wouldn't be ignored so often.

I closed the book, seeing the clock reach breakfast time. I was hungry, and I needed to brush my teeth. I couldn't brush my teeth before I ate, so I's been dealing with that awful taste in my mouth since I woke up, I'm really so happy to see I'm getting closer to brushing my teeth.

I hopped out of bed and headed for the kitchen, not seeing anyone. Had they left? I don't think I heard the door open...maybe I had? I wasn't really paying attention. I pushed the matter of their whereabouts to the back of my mind and headed for the fridge, grabbing the milk, some cereal, and a bowl. There just was no better breakfast than cereal, it was the gold of food. I made my bowl and walked back to my room, grabbing my script and then walking back into the living room. I sat on the couch and ate as I flipped through it, re-reading the whole thing. I always made sure to re-read things, even if I wasn't done with them. Just made me feel better to know that I didn't have to worry about it.

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Tailor



"You cheated. Do it again.”

I laughed and re-situated myself on top of the counter. I don’t get why Evan has me repeat it almost ten times; like the first five wasn’t enough. He thinks that because almost no one else can do it--I shouldn’t be capable of doing it either. It’s tying a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue; not breathing fire.
But I like it. When he doesn’t believe I did it right, and then tells me to do it again like fifty-freaking-times more. It means he underestimated me, and that might mean that he doesn’t know me like I know he does. Because sometimes I think about that night, and it makes me sick. Sick that I told him about that. Sick that he’s okay with it.

“See?” I held the knotted stem out.

He narrowed his eyes, not fully believing. He hopped off the island and tentatively plucked it out of my hand. I leaned back a little, careful not to hit my head on the corner of the cabinet; awaiting the ‘do it again.’

“I'm starving! Who's paying?"

I jumped, caught off guard by the new voice in the kitchen. Evan didn’t bat an eye. (That’s because they were too busy on Luke’s chest. ) But I guess I couldn’t blame him on that one.

“I’ll pay.” I said. And even though I said it as a suggestion, it was really a statement.

Which wasn’t much of anything. It just meant that I knew Evan wasn’t going to offer anything, and that Luke could use his money on better things than pizza. And also because I got a trust fund that could buy this apartment building and fifty more. And these aren’t no run-down apartments either, not to brag or anything, because Luke and Phae do help with the rent. Not like they have to. My family is wealthy, and even though I’m not their favorite son; I’m their only. Doesn’t mean they have to see me, but they do help out. They’re good people. They really are.

“Phaedon.”

Now that scared me. But I didn’t jump, or blink. It was more of a, ‘Evan-is-getting-the-door,-Evan-is-an-douchebag,-and-he’s-after-Phae’ sort of scared. I knew I was overreacting, but you know what? I deserve to overreact every once in a while. And when it comes to Phae or Luke, I can overreact all I want. Plus you haven’t seen Phae cry. Not saying that I have, but the thought alone was enough for me to drift to kitchen sink and keep my head down. I busied myself with ordering the pizza as Evan let Phae in, and Luke sprawled himself out on the couch.

I can’t say that it didn’t bother me, cause it did. I guess it was because it was Phae. If it was Luke, it might be a different story. Luke and Phae were both almost painfully nice, but they each had this thing about them that brought something out in you. Phae constantly brought out what I think is my worst side. He tugs on the foundations that keeps me sturdy, and plays with the strings that keep me from crying at all the things I want to. He exhales nothing but tattered affection, and I could suffocate in it.

And then there’s Luke. He’s the one who’d convince me to do something I’m completely against with just a ‘Tailor.’ He makes me believe in humanity just a little while longer. That there’s a bit of beautiful underneath all the ugly. I couldn’t compare to him, but that’s alright. Because he doesn’t care, and I think that’s why I feel okay around him. Everything’s okay around him. They're better than I'll ever be, and it's alright.



Hey. I’m suuuuper bored right now and Monika isn’t being any fun. You busy cause I need someone to hang out with today. Maybe see a movie
. Most likely see a movie. Yes, that sounds like fun.

And then there was Viena; you shouldn’t even get me started on him.

I cant. Sorry. You could come over for pizza, though? Unless you want to break my heart. Then you can just say no. I’d just eat self-pity food and watch soap operas all night. no worries.

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Phaedon


I resorted to leaning my forehead against the cool metal, holding the tray of drinks tightly to my chest so that they wouldn't fall out of my numb fingers. Completely defeated by the thought of buzzing the doorbell again—in fear of waking up my wonderful roommates, because I forgot my keys. And suddenly, I couldn't breathe. Whatever oxygen was in the small two-door entrance disappeared, leaving me with those delicious, frosty treats and that horribly painted buzzer, painted red for: do not touch. My heart caught in my throat, a hard lump of disappointment on my part, and my fingers shook as I heaved another painstaking sigh. Just to keep from crying. I was a lip quiver away. Don't cry, don't cry. I repeat that mantra to myself so many times in the run of a day that the words start running together until it's just one fluid sentence. I tried to focus on something, anything else apart from the fact that I'm stuck outside of my apartment with these treats—ruining everything, and nothing, and resisting the urge to cry. Only babies cried; grown men didn't. The mantra is quieter now, the words fading into the back of my mind and I realized I've stopped listening to it. A comforting voice broke through my solemn thought process and I swiped my eyes with the back of my hand, hoping that they weren't swollen and puffy.

Kaida—in all of her superman, life-saving glory—wearing a shirt that I didn't really recognize. Not that I knew what her entire closet held, but I was pretty sure that the shirt didn't belong to her. Whenever she needed advice on feminine clothes, I was there. She always needed different outfits to pick up cute, shy girls; she swore, she loved them. I couldn't help but return the grin, shrugging my shoulders helplessly as I let her help me hold the drinks. All of the hopelessness I'd felt before melted and I resisted the affectionate urge to hug her; it would've been hard holding those drinks, anyway. “Ah—,” I sighed, a little more shaky than I'd hoped. “Thank God, I forgot my keys and I don't know if their awake.” Every day I thanked whatever the hell was out there for Kaida. She was the strength beneath all my actions, the driving force that made me less of a coward. And not only that, but she was deep and cool and still and steady; everything I wanted to be, but couldn't. She was enough of that for the both of us. A coy smile dipped across my features and I leaned forward, plucking the collar of her shirt so that I could sniff it with exaggerated glee.

“Smells pretty good,” I teased, clicking my tongue and retreating away. “What was she like? Cute—freckles, maybe?” With my free hand, I flicked long navy bangs from my eyes, and laughed. “Blonde hair?” I always loved teasing Kaida about her exploits, but I hoped that someday she'd find a beautiful girl who swept her off her feet, or vice versa, and then they could be happy. Anyone could fall in love with her; she was all clenched fists, easy smiles and oozing confidence. It was only when the buzz returned that my eyes lit up with renewed hope, as if the world depended on being let into the apartment building, and I held the door open for Kaida with all of the gentlemanly, unmanly manners that I could muster. At least that was something I could manage. Being the hopeless romantic that I was, I craned my neck and pouted, “You've gotta tell me all about it, Kai, or else I won't give your smut books back.” I'd hold them hostage as long as I could. No doubts, everyone else in the apartment thought they were mine, anyway. Tucked secretively under my bed, it seemed like it. I didn't feel like correcting them.

I closed my eyes for a moment, reconciling that everything was fine; Kaida and I would go in, pass out the drinks and figure out what we were doing today. I heard the door swish open and opened my eyes, expecting my roommate, Tailor. Expecting Luke. Expecting someone familiar, but mostly Tailor. Luke was usually out running blocks because he was always sore—always doing something for someone else that made him exhausted; happy but exhausted, nonetheless. “Hey, Tai—...” I greeted cheerfully, grin cocked and ready. I'm in love you, I am. When my eyes fluttered open, I wasn't facing Tailor or Luke, not even Cayman. I was facing the handsome, sharp-featured hellion (well, that's what I'd heard from Tailor, anyway) who'd seen me naked; I immediately flushed, and greeted him as quietly as I could. His eyes are blue. Mine are grey. Grey eyes do not pierce you and pin you to the spot and make you want to die. I'd looked into those kinds of eyes before, and they made me want to cower in the corner because those were the kind of eyes that hurt you, and left you drowning.

“Thanks, Evans.” I managed to say. Even if I didn't want to remember someone's name, I always did. Knowing someone's name made you that much closer to becoming friends, because people liked it when their names are spoken. It creates a pseudo-bond. Etiquette lesson number one for you; the ladder of social interactions, or something like that. My father was strict when it came to creating social circles and keeping them, just in case you needed them. But I wasn't like that, I really, really wanted to know everyone and I wanted to honestly, genuinely help them. Evans didn't need my help, but the least I could do for him answering the door was thank him, and remember his name. I laughed awkwardly, brushing past him with my tray. Too close. Heat rose against my cheeks and coloured my ears. Thankfully, I was facing away from him and already tiptoeing towards the apartment door. I thought I saw Cayman's slip through the door—I only saw red hair, but who else came over consistently? “Thought I was gonna' be stuck here for awhile; you saved me.” I can't breathe with you looking at me like that, so just, just stop.

Balancing the tray, minus two drinks, I opened the door to the apartment and held it open. I managed to peek inside in time to see Tailor wandering around, holding the phone captive to his ear. Fluttering butterflies flexed their wings in my stomach, and another tell-tale smile crossed my lips. I looked towards the dining room and saw feet hanging over the couches' arm and knew it belonged to Luke. Being home felt good. Cayman's shaggy red hair caught my eyes and I laughed, leaning against the door frame while I held the door for Kaida and Evans.

“Cay! Guess what I gotcha'?”

I freed the caramel mess from the tray, holding it up.

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:|: m o n i k a :|:


Each cracker must have the same amount of cheese on them if each person is to have the same amount and so that no one has more or less. That’s how it works here. Everyone gets an equal share so that everyone feels like their on equal ground which we all are. Ages and height don’t matter because what is age and height compared to the fact that we’re all human? Nothing. We’re human and we’ll always be human so we should all be treated like humans and hamsters should be treated like hamsters. VJ is treated like any other hamster would be treated and that’s why he loves me so much. Maybe it’s also why he hates Viena because Viena is always trying to take away his favourite wheel. Favourite. It isn’t just any wheel to VJ and not just any wheel will replace it at any time. The one he has is the only one he wants and the more Viena tries to take it from him the more he’s going to hate him and I know that because he used to like my older step brother at some point in time. I think it was back when he first bought him; VJ used to cuddle into his hands like a really happy cat like thing. Even though cats would eat him.... And spit him out and stuff. Oh, oh God. That’s a horrible image. Never again. Never again! Oh my God VJ I’m so sorry for thinking that about you. You aren’t like a cat – you’re like a hamster. A really cute white and brown fur hamster with brown eyes and a really short tail. So cute. Adorable. Adorable like Niko when he’s trying on Aija’s dresses and putting on little fashions shows for me when it’s just us in the afternoon while the other three are at school. Yes VJ, you are Niko adorable. And that’s something.

I still jump when I hear Viena’s voice even though I had heard that powerful rhythm hit me like a brick wall. Master of surprise I know I shouldn’t be freaked out when I hear him. My family, their rhythms, they all fit together like the perfect puzzle. Kalle’s rhythm is low and smooth and forms the bass of the song, Raimonds’ rhythm weaves into the gaps of Kalle’s and solidifies it, Aija’s is light and thrumming and gives the thing that draws you in, Niko’s is bright an flits into the song like the perfect covering of sprinkles on a cake and Viena’s is the rope that holds it all together. It’s low, powerful and beats against my eardrums. It’s almost addictive in that way – blends into my song perfectly. At first, when I was maybe twelve, I thought it meant we were supposed to be together in the future but that dream was shattered almost a week later when Māte told me that I couldn’t marry my brother. Now that I think about it she was right and I was a stupid young child who leaned on this ability too much. I thought everyone was nice and fun and awesome because their rhythms were like that but eventually my eyes were opened to the truth. More like people opened my eyes to the truth with how rude and selfish they could be. I promised, I promise, I’ll never be one of those people. I want to help them not be those people and how can I help them change if I’m one of them? I can’t. That hurts. I like helping.

Viena’s hand in my hair is comforting like Māte’s hugs when I’m feeling lonely. His questions are already answered because I don’t have to speak and he knows what I’ll say because I can’t say no. I can’t deny my siblings adult supervision when they need it and I won’t call a babysitter last minute ever again – not after that first time when Phaedon wanted to go shopping and I left him hanging for maybe two hours while I listed off everything they needed to know. Granted we did go but only for maybe an hour and then I invited him over for dinner because I felt horrible that I’d ruined a day he’d wanted to spend with me. I don’t think I’d bought anything.... No, I bought the navy blue Old Navy sweat pants I’m wearing right now.

“I hope you don’t plan on getting drunk and coming home like that. I’ll make you sleep on the couch. Maybe I’ll give you a comforter because you know Kalle will say you don’t deserve one,” I stated more as a joke than anything else. Of course I’d drag him to his bed in our shared room and give him the warmest comforter and take off his socks because sleeping with socks is uncomfortable for me at least. Hell, I bet I’d even place a wet rag on his forehead since he always gets these little fevers when he drinks too much. He’s my brother. I need to take as much care of him as I can. “Well, no. I doubt that. You can’t drive home drunk can you? Nope. Because I know you’re more responsible than that.” I smiled and moved my tray of crackers with cheese on them into the oven and turned it on so I could melt the cheese and toast the crackers a little. Nothing like slightly toasted crackers and cheese. So good, really good. Not as good as how my first boyfriend made them seeing as he’s the one who introduced us to them. He used to use three different cheeses and toast them until the cheese was slightly brown and they’d taste so good I made him cake as a thank you. Nice guy – shame he had to move to Florida.

Not that I enjoy talking about him much because as nice a guy he was he had some bad habits – the reason why I don’t like talking to him much. He just, he just expected too many things that I could give and he liked to smoke in my house even though my siblings were around and he was just plain rude to my parents. I tried to fix him and.... I don’t want to think about him. I prefer to think about all the beautiful pictures Magnus takes, all the music Caymen makes, the things Alessia collects and the style Phaedon has. My friends, I like to think about them and everything that makes them the wonderful and fantastic people they are. I love them, every single last thing that I could possibly ever love about them. I’d do anything for them if they wanted me to and I think that they’d do anything for me but I’d never ask them for anything; their friendship is enough. It’s enough for me knowing that they want to be around me because anyone who pays attention would know that I want to be around them. All the time. I want to see them laugh and smile and have fun like everyone should. They’re everything to me. They mean just as much as my family – they are my family. I want to adopt them all into my house and give them everything they want and need. Seriously, I’d do it if I could Though it would be kind of odd if I adopted Magnus and Cayman seeing as their three years older than I am but the point remains that I’d love it if they were my family. Them being friends is awesome too. Awesome. Amazing. There isn’t even a word to describe how they make me feel. Ecstatic maybe? I don’t like to swear but.... Fucking glorious. I can be happy if their happy. I am happy.

“Oh, Aija. Can you go change VJ’s water? I put some in this morning but that was at four-thirty and I’d rather he had fresh water.” She doesn’t say a word but she does get up. I love her.

I wonder what everyone is up to.

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:k s e n i a:

My phone vibrated in my hand as I was about to open my contacts list and I literally jumped up off the bench and threw my phone at the rink, hoping that it would shatter. At the same time, I managed to trip over one of my skates and ended up on my face in ankle-deep snow, which didn't cushion my fall very well, so I was kind of in pain. I heard an exasperated groan and looked up as I untangled myself and pushed back up to sit on the bench, but Yvette's stare made me feel uncomfortable enough to wish I had never moved. All at once, a pair of arms wrapped around my shoulders and a body collided with my own so quickly that I couldn't register what was going on, and I may or may not have screamed... a little bit.

"Sen, are you alright? What happened?"

I took a deep breath and sighed in relief, releasing the tension in my body and relaxing into Alena's embrace. When I answered her, my voice was weak, and I could barely hear it over Alena's strongly beating rhythm. "My phone scared me so I killed it." I heard her chuckle softly, and a hand came up to run through my hair. I closed my eyes. The feeling of someone running their fingers through my hair is something I don't think I could live without. It sends this shockwave of shivers running down my spine, and it doesn't matter who's doing it as long as they're doing it right. I don't really like having my hair ruffled like I'm some kind of child because it's a little demeaning and it just messes up my hair; there are very few people in this world who know how to do it right, and I should know because I've traveled the world and met people from all different countries. Ah... that didn't come out right. I mean... I wasn't.... I didn't.... I didn't mean it like that; I wasn't thinking like that at all.... I mean.... Never mind. I just like it when people run their fingers through my hair. Unless of course their hands are dirty, in which case I could really do without, but I'm not going to say anything because that's rude. I let Yvette ruffle my hair with salt and French fry grease on her hands, but maybe that's because I'm a little scared of her. Just a little. Mostly I respect her. Sort of. But Mom says I sound like I'm trying to convince myself more than anything else. I'd believe that — I'm not sure whether I really do what she says because I respect her or not, but she is older than me, so I do respect her. Of course... she's not that much older.... I mean, she's only... I don't know how old she is. She looks... forty? Thirty-five? I mean twenty! She looks like she could be my sister!

Okay. It's because I'm scared of her.

Speaking of Yvette, I felt something tap me on the forehead and looked up to see her standing there with my phone, smirking. "I'm surprised that this thing can hold up to your abuse.... It's your boyfriend, by the way. He wants to go on a date with you."

Instantly, I jumped up and grabbed it to see what she was talking about, though I had already guessed. And of course, I had guessed correctly. Viena. Furiously I began texting my response with Alena and Yvette hanging over my shoulders. I'm not busy at all; at least I won't be in about five minutes. Practice is almost over. Pick me up? I clicked the SEND button, hoping that neither Len nor Yvette had time to read what I had written — seriously, I'm a pretty furious texter when it comes down to it.

Len was the first one to say anything. "A movie date, huh? Shouldn't you bring your big sister along to chaperone?"

"He should. We don't need him coming back to us sore and unable to compete this weekend. Besides that, he's still got classes, and wouldn't it be embarrassing if it hurt to sit down?"

It took a minute before it really sank in and I felt the first fallen snowflakes melt on my cheeks as the heat began to rise. "Wait... but Viena's not.... He's my best friend; I could never think of him like that. And even if I did, he could never be attracted to someone like me. He could do much better. He probably has a really pretty girlfriend, anyway."

"That's right," Len mused, sitting back on the bench and staring up at the darkened sky as the snow broke free and drifted gently, flake by big fluffy flake, to the ground to join the rest. "He's straight, isn't he?"

"Sucks for you. Maybe you shouldn't bother pursuing something you'll never have and getting your hopes up everytime he asks you out like this, huh?" Yvette took my phone and waved it in front of my face to stress her point. "You need to focus on your skating and your classes, Ksenia. You don't have time for useless fraternization. Give up."

I was ground into the dust. My eyes burned with tears and my chest tightened so that breathing was nearly impossible. It's true, I'm impossibly sensitive, and I hate it. It's not like I'm really even pursuing Viena for anything more than his friendship, and I've had that for as long as I remember. He's kind of the closest person to me besides Alena; but that's mostly because we're twins, and there's no closer relationship between two human beings than being born and raised together. I mean, I held Alena even closer than I did Viena. No.... I don't know. Maybe.... Some days I'd take Viena over her, especially now as she plucked my phone out of my hands and started reading through my texts to see what I was up to and who I was talking to. At that moment, I wanted to grab it back and tell her that it was too bad she had lost hers in the field with those dumb animals of hers, but I held my tongue. I let her comment on all the other men I'd been talking to, and how I shouldn't if I really wanted Viena that badly. I couldn't even tell her that we were just friends and nothing else. I couldn't. I can't. Maybe I think it's because I'm scared that if I fight it, she'll get mad at me and leave, even though I'm certain that she wouldn't. But what would I ever do without her if she did? It's this thinking that's probably going to have me living with my parents for the rest of my life, and as depressing a thought as it is, I'm happy with it. I'm happy with thinking that the rest of my life could be spent traveling from rink to rink all over the world in the winter, and baby-sitting Feliks until he's old enough to look after himself in the summer. I could just stay here in the small ranch house, about fifteen minutes outside city limits, and even after Len left eventually I would remain behind.

I always would remain behind.

That doesn't even bother me. I like the way things are now, and I never want them to change.

Even the sound of others' rhythms... I wouldn't feel comfortable without those to lull me to sleep at night, though I'm constantly cursing the distracting secret. A secret that only my parents, sister, and Yvette know about. If I thought I could trust others with it, I would tell them, but how would you go about telling them? "I've heard it since I was born, the rhythms of other peoples' souls; but that doesn't make me crazy, even though I might be the only one." I wouldn't want to talk to me anymore either. Despite the fact that I'm silently cursing it every second of my life... it's something constant and familiar, something that I can rely on to be there time and again without fail. It's comforting, especially to hear those that I know so well so close and I know that they're alive, and they're there with me. Sometimes it's all I need to know that everything will be alright, to give me confidence and force me to keep moving. Funny to think that when I was younger, it used to distract me from schoolwork and that it severely limited the amount of friends that I had — the other kids thought it was weird that, when our first grade teacher had left the room and we all jumped up to play around in her absence, that I could tell the others when to get back into their seats even though she didn't return for another thirty seconds. Funny to think that, even now, years later, when I heard Viena's rhythm enter the arena when I was practicing in town, I always faltered the next jump or spin. He always picks the best times to walk in on me.

Viena's rhythm... I don't know what it is about it... but it always makes me nervous.

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#, as written by Kyumori
| Cayman |


I had plopped myself down on the floor, on my stomach, head resting on my palms when Phaedon entered the apartment. I twisted, turning before jumping nimbly to my feet and making a beeline for the heavenly beverages that Phaedon carried. I pushed past Evan, not bothering to apologize - there was something about the guy that bothered me (probably the way he stared at Phaedon).

I plucked the drink from Phaedon's hand, pressing it against my cheek with an exhalation of pleasure. "Phaedon, you know me so well!" I practically squealed as I took a sip from it, before reaching over and giving Phaedon a tight hug. Memories of my dream came rushing back, as the sweet drink filled my senses with each thirsty sip. I closed my eyes, shuddering in delight before turning around to look at Tailor.

"By the way. I heard you were ordering pizza? Why wasn't I invited?" I pouted playfully, as I took another sip. I moved over, waving to Kaida, before catching a glimpse of my cousin on her phone. But then the door closed and I shook off the feeling of any obligations to her right now. If anything, Alessia would not want me bothering her at one of the most important moments of her life.

Yeah right.

I sat down on the couch - on top of Luke, no less. Even though he was sore. "Hey Lukey~" I greeted him unnecessarily, flopping down to wedge myself in the space between his body and the back of the couch, my legs thrown over his torso. I took another sip of the drink. I would have to pay Phaedon back for this.

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Luke


I could feel the tug at my eyes, the heaviness that meant I was falling back asleep, only to be jerked back awake by the door opening and hearing Phaedon's voice. My attention perked, hearing bits a pieces of conversation as I tried to concentrate. I was about to get up and see what was going on when someone sat on my back, making it pop, which felt amazing. As the person scooted back to sit in between me and the back of the couch, I rolled over to look at said person. As I rolled, he greeted me, telling me who he was before I had a chance to see the red hair.

I looked at Cayman and smiled, putting my hands behind my head. "Hey Cay. Comfy?" I spotted the caramel drink, guessing that Phae had bought them and that there was most likely one waiting for me as well. Still hungry, I contemplated getting up to get it, but I was trapped with Cay's legs over me. I sighed, knowing that I could go and get it eventually.

"Hey, I'm might go for a run today, wanna go?" I was still contemplating the run as well. With pizza on the way, and a possible drink made by angels waiting in the other room, a run sounded like a bad idea. Yet everytime I moved, the reason why I wanted the run in the first place reminded itself.

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#, as written by Basta
<@> Kaida<@>


I stuck out my tongue at Phae when he started teasing me, but really it was just a sheild. I don't think I'd be telling him about her any time soon. As I entered his flat, I took a deep breath and exhaled with a smile. Smelled like home. I practically lived with the guy...s. Speaking of which, Cayman and Luke were kickin' back on the couch, so I decided to join them.

"Got room for one more?" I asked while moving Luke's legs on top of my own. I didn't care whether or not he did, but his legs were always warm, and I was a bit chilled from the outside. My temples were starting to hurt, signaling that I was finally getting a hangover, but I knew it had to happen at some point. The upside was that the smell of the shirt slowly spread around my general area. I grabbed a bunch of it and buried my nose, inhaling for as long as I could. She had my favorite scent from Victoria's Secret: Pure Seduction.

The only way I could think to describe it was, "Mmmm...Smells purple. Cayman, smell!" I pulled at the shirt so Cayman could lean over and oblige me. I giggled a bit as he gave me that look. Y'know the one. The "Really? You're making me smell your shirt?" type look. With a huge grin, I wormed myself deeper into the couch and basked in the early morning sunlight, like some kind of exotic lizard.

"Hey Phae!! Wachu goin' do today? I came over for a reason, yeah?" I hollered at him, eyes closed and grin wide. Mischief was usually the order of the day, but occasionally he'd surprise me and we'd go shopping or see a movie, or some other normal type activity. And, honestly, I really enjoyed those days. I don't usually see a movie, and I never shop, but Phaedon makes it all really fun.

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/:\ v i e n a /:\


“Ahahaha. Kalle’s an evil little munchkin to me anyway. I’ve never done anything to him. He’s so cold to me Nika and he’s so nice to you. I complain that you’ve stolen my sibling,” I muttered almost in defence even though right after he defended me. I can’t say that I am that responsible because I had at one time tried to ride my bike after I’d swallowed down half a bottle of coke and vodka. Needless to say it was a hilarious moment and even I laugh at it still. I’m an idiot most of the time. A real one. One of those ones that know what they’re doing is stupid but still does it anyway because they can get away with it. Yes, I know that it’s stupid to slide down the railing because I might fall and split my skull open but I’ll still do it and I’ll get a concussion but the fact is I did it when no one else would. I’m that guy. Impulsive and not very well planned out when it comes to getting things done. Prime example would be when I broke a kid’s nose in high school because he was making fun of my brother. There were better ways to get the job done but honestly at the moment breaking a part of his face seemed like the best option for me.

I know I’m excused when Monika moves to put the crackers in the oven and as I leave I pass my hand through Aija’s hair and get a sneer. I sneer back because I’m oh so mature and laugh when she pouts for her look didn’t work the way it should have. Sorry sweety, life sucks don’t it? Well for her it does because unlike my younger step-brother I don’t treat her like Queen of the castle. She wants to act like a boy she’ll be treated like one and that means she’ll need some tough skin. Aija doesn’t have that. Kalle does. I once told him I thought he was the equivalent of a retarded sea sponge and he’d come back twice as hard by saying I wasn’t even capable of beating a star fish at the simple task of living. He’ll be a strong one. I don’t know as much about those four but what I do know is from what I do to make them stronger mentally and everything else I learn from Monika. Like how well Raimonds is doing in school and how he brought home his first perfect mark test last week. Things like that, the things that I should know I don’t know because I don’t pay much attention. I bet the world could catch fire and I’d just state how hot it was instead of the fact that everything is on fire. Now that I say that I’m probably going to pay attention but the fact remains that I don’t look at the details but the big picture. Isn’t the fire the big picture? Not to me, I’m not on fire so I don’t care.

And that makes me seem like an asshole but aren’t we all a little asshole-ish when it comes to our own benefit? Except Monika.... He’d try and save people instead of himself.

The buzz of my phone in my pocket after I collapsed onto my bed is irritating but I’d asked for it when I’d sent out the text. Ksenia had sent a confirmation so that was an all go and I did not reply back because my showing up at that little ranch house that looked so peaceful would be answer enough. I always imagine what it would be like if we ever lived in one. Monika would buy a nice sized house but we’d have lots of pastures and little dogs that we sell to people who want to give them good homes. We’d have ponies and horses and even a cow or two because face it.... Cows are fucking awesome. It would be a simple life of taking care of animals and tending to our gardens and just being one of those families. Seems nice. I’d agree to it if he ever offered because only for Monika and my family would I dump the city life I love so much and move out into the country where the next neighbour is a mile away. But moving onto the next text which is from Tailor I laugh when I read it and think of a response that I can give that will totally shove in his face everything that I am. I am me. No, so clichĂ©. Never again. Please, kill me if I ever say anything so clichĂ©. Although, my text is going to be clichĂ© so.... Just. Whatever.

Aww. I’m going to miss pizza?! But as much as it hurts I’ll have to say no. I have a date. So, for me my Love, enjoy your self-pity food and soap operas. ;D

I enjoy Tailor’s company probably, mostly, because I know I can keep a secret from him and he won’t question it at all. He has his own and I respect that. We are made by our pasts and should we not wish to share those then let it be said as so. I don’t mind not knowing everything about him and I sure as hell hope he doesn’t mind not knowing everything about me. There’s a lot to know. Many of those things probably aren’t the best for people to know which is why I don’t tell people because no one should be bombarded with the dark thoughts that swirl in my head. Mm, swirl. Ice cream. If it wasn’t so cold I’d go for some of that right now. And, I’d find the most interesting ice cream I could and probably just for fun cover it with chocolate and offer some to Ksenia even though I know he can’t eat it. Just the look in his eyes would be entertainment enough for me for the day. Not that I would enjoy if he got mad at me because he’s my best friend and mad best friends are worse than mad family members. Your family will always be your family but your friends can stop being your friends. That thought in itself is a little scary.

We have two cars. One for when we don’t have to drag the kids along and one for when we do. The car we use for just us is a two door, light blue Mercedes that Monika and I saved up for, for nearly three years from when I was seventeen and he was sixteen. It’s sleek and beautiful and fast not that I’d drive it that fast anyway. One time thing and Monika had thrown up after so I vowed never to do it again. That and we’d nearly crashed twice. Life flashing before my eyes, I’ve experienced that twice in one day. The other car is a black four door Ford that has two seats in the trunk that pop up so that two of them can sit and face backwards. Raimonds and Niko have those claimed from the first time and no one else bothers to even try and sit in them. Not that we would because not only would Niko cry but Raimonds would ignore everyone for a week and he has the best child voice in the world. Really. If you heard it you would get it. So, obviously I’m taking the two door because I don’t have any kids with me and I want to look awesome when I pull up in his driveway. I always do. No, I’m kidding. I’m not that egotistical. At least I’d like to believe that I’m not. Damnit, maybe I am.

Heated seats rock – makes the drive that much more comfortable. Fifteen minute drive cut in half when no one is on the roads. So, I’ll be there in maybe ten if the stop lights work with me. But they probably won’t because life hates me for being such a.... Bitch to everyone. I’ve got the ass hat on- man. I really bag on myself don’t I? Oh well, not like anyone else is going to do it. Maybe someone will one day. I mean, seriously, already I’ve stopped four times for like two minutes each time and I’m not even half way there. “I fucking hate stop lights,” I mutter. I bet they can hear me... I just ruined my chances of making it there in that ten minute time frame I was hoping for.

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:m a g n u s:

The first thing I did after losing the connection was check the cord that attached the base to the phone jack in the wall. It was pulled out. I wasn't stupid enough, after all these years, to ask how that had happened or wonder if I had pulled it out somehow by accident from across the room. In stead, I tried to ignore that one plaguing thought about why I hate this house so much by plugging my phone back in and staring at it, setting it carefully back on the base where it belongs. And I backed away. From the first moment I set foot in this house, I knew that there was something wrong with it. There was this eerie pressing feeling, like I was being watched, and sometimes things moved on their own. There was the occasional voice or unexplained cold spot, lights would flicker and small objects went missing only to turn up in the most unthinkable places. Yes. That's right. I'm suggesting that the house — at least, my apartment — is haunted. So what? Ghosts haven't been scientifically proven to exist, no. But they haven't really been disproved, either; and when you live in a house like mine... you know. I don't care how many skeptics there are in this world... I know my apartment is haunted, and that's all there is to it.

No arguments.

I traveled out onto my balcony in my sock feet, realizing only a second too late that it was covered in a layer of snow, which both soaked and froze my feet almost instantaneously. I had looked out there only seconds before and missed the snow that I thought I had shoveled last night, and maybe the fact that it had snowed last night too had slipped my mind. I felt like an idiot. It happens at least once a day, that I realize how stupid I feel and must look and it's slowly chiseling away at what pride I have left. I used to be filled with it. Pride, I mean. When I was younger, I used to own the playground. Legit. Owned. As in, I walked around with so much pride and so much conceit that the other kids adopted me without permission as a leader, and it probably went to my head. For a long time, meaning until I graduated from elementary school, there was a section of the playground — the two sanded areas where the jungle gyms stood and the swings more than the field and the paved areas — that the others literally referred to as Magnus' Playground. When you told the teacher about someone misbehaving and were telling her where that person was, you told her, "He's over on Magnus' Swings," or "She's playing on Magnus' Slide." It seems odd to me now, but back then I had felt like I was the King of the World, and no one could tell me otherwise. At least... until I met Monika. Lots of things in my life can be reduced back to Monika. Monika, Monika, Monika. Grava. That's his last name. Monika Grava. After so long, I should know that, and I feel bad because I know he remembers my name, and probably my phone number, and my parents' number, and all my life's hopes and dreams, and my allergies.... And my favourite foods, and my least favourite food, maybe even the certain brands of shampoo and cologne I use.... I wouldn't be surprised at all if he knew everything about me that I had ever told him, and could recall it on command. He does that with his siblings, and I think I might be his best friend, so why not for me too?

I leaned on the railing of my balcony and stared into the backyard where a few brightly coloured plastic toys — among them was a lemon yellow rocking horse with faded stickers for eyes and forest green handles sticking out of the sides of its head (I had named it Frankenhorse, and I always had to tell my neighbours to keep it off my porch), and one of those red cars with the yellow roofs and the open bottom so kids can propel it forward with their feet (I think they should stop making those, because I swear my neighbour, Christa's son has broken his ankle at least once when other kids try to push him in it and he has his feet down. Serious safety hazard.) — sat neglected in the snow, scattered about the lawn like useless ornaments. The shed sat locked and unused in a corner of the lawn, and just outside it were two racing bikes that Christa had bought at a yard sale for herself and her boyfriend, Jeremy. Not that they ever used them. Both bikes just collected rust; it was a sad waste, because honestly bikes are one of the best modes of transportation in Vancouver, unless you’re taking the Sky Train. I always hear her downstairs complaining to Jeremy about how she wasn’t able to get her kids — Mitchell and Jaycee, respectively four and three — to daycare on time because of traffic and was therefore late for work. Seriously, lady
. You know what traffic is like. Fucking walk. Okay? Okay. Good.

I heard something then, staring out into the lightly snow-covered backyard, and I turned to look back in through the sliding glass doors. My phone was ringing. Is the carpet company calling back? Of course they weren’t. The ring was distinctive, set for one special number that was forced to call my house number ever since my cell was stolen from me on the street. You think muggings only happen in the movies? Think again. And even if they don’t happen quite as often as they do in movies, I seem to get mugged at least twice a year; most of the time I come out unscathed, they just grab the first valuable item they can find on me and run. People freak out, someone calls the cops, and once again I look like an idiot
. Daily life for me, really. Part of me wonders why Alessia is still calling me, despite all my bad luck and the subsequent idiotic appearance, because she really shouldn’t. A beautiful woman deserves someone who can actually take care of her, even if for just a friend. I really think I’m being unfair to her, but she keeps calling back. And I keep calling her
. Every time I tell myself that I have to let go for her own good, I end up calling her again. And asking her over. For coffee and cake. And to see my new photos. Ever since I had this heinous carpet installed a few days ago, I’ve told her she’s not allowed over at all. And I drive over to her place with my camera in the passenger’s seat
 accompanied by cake, and this really expensive gourmet coffee blend that I only buy to drink when she comes over. Yeah. Aww
. He’s so squishy. Laugh about it a little bit. It's so funny — I buy special coffee to drink with special people.

Special people.... The only person I'd ever try to claw my way through a glass door for. No... that's not exactly how it happened. I went to open the door and it was locked. I don't remember locking it before going outside. I don't even remember closing the door after me, for that matter. I probably did. It's force of habit, closing doors — Maman was anal about keeping doors closed for some reason. To this day, I still can't figure out why. My Maman was always kind of strange, but that's alright, I guess. Papa love her, so she must've done something right. For a moment, I was stunned in disbelief, staring inside helplessly as Alessia tried to get through and I couldn't somehow tell her what had happened. Of course, I remembered — when the phone rang again and woke me from my traze-like state — that there was always the front door.... So began the race down the wooden ladder that was propped up against the house (surprisingly enough not for me, but for getting Christa's cat off the roof of the shed because the thing is retarded and jumps up there from the fence, then can't figure out how the Hell to get down), and into the snow in socks that were already soaked through. I didn't even care anymore. First priority? Get that phone.

I wouldn't've been surprised if the front door had been locked as well. But it wasn't. I threw the door to my apartment open and raced up the stairs, rushing through the door that separated my unit from the other two and grabbing the phone off the base just before it stopped ringing. One more and it would have gone to voicemail. Why is it such a big deal? Because voicemail sounds so... awkward... and I'm not the biggest fan. Plus, I may or may not have forgotten the password to my mailbox.

"Al...." I was out of breath. "What's up? How are you?"

It was then that I glanced over at the balcony door and realized something. It wasn't locked at all. I might have been trying to slide it open the wrong way, and that's explain more than half of my difficulty.

I'm such an idiot.

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#, as written by Kyumori
* | * a l e s s i a * | *


The phone keeps ringing and ringing. I started pacing. Why wasn't Magnus picking up? He's such a strange person. Half the time he tells me he doesn't want to see me again, but then shows up later with expensive cake and special coffee. But I swear - he's like my own personal brand of prescription drug. He's the guy that I don't want to let go, even if it for my own good, as he keeps claiming.

I bit my lip, glancing out over at the overcast sky. Overcast again. I hate this weather. It makes me sleepy and lazy and now I just want to do nothing but flop over on the sofa and watch TV. Not a bad idea...but I also want to see Magnus. I haven't seen him in what, twenty four hours? It's seriously getting to me. Maybe it's like an addiction...Eh. He's my best friend.

It's still ringing.

A few more rings and I know it'll go to voice mail. Maybe Magnus isn't home. Maybe he went outside and did something stupid and got mugged again. I told him never to carry anything expensive on his body. Guy's like a bad luck magnet. Everything he does seems to attract more bad luck. Like a chain reaction. I keep telling him not to go outside at night, or take pictures of other people's girlfriends - especially if the other person is there and is twice as buff as he is.

I wonder when I'll receive a call from the hospital, telling me that Magnus has been pummeled into a wall again. But then again, they wouldn't call me. Magnus doesn't have a cell phone. He'd probably stay alone in the hospital....Just the thought of that makes me uncomfortable. Just as I'm about to close my phone and head directly over to his place despite his warning a few days ago about never stepping foot in his house again because of his new carpet, a sort of masochistic side of me wants to see this. And to listen again to the story of how he got that hideous carpet. Because it's amusing when Magnus tries to speak French.

Alright. It's about as amusing as me trying to speak Italian. Cayman tries to teach me, but I don't have the patience for languages. But it doesn't stop Cayman from trying anyway. My cousin's a language whiz. I swear he's trying to learn every language known to the world - including alien languages from science fiction novels. Well, if we're all about to be abducted, I'm glad we have a translator.

But then he picks up and I let out the breath I hadn't realized I had been holding.

"Mags~" I grin, leaning back against the railing, bending my back as I look up at the awning of the roof. I nearly bend over, falling down two stories, before I manage to regain my balance. "What took you so long to answer the phone? I thought you died or something."

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Tailor



You know the kind of people that you automatically don't like? They didn't do anything to you, or say anything; its just the way they are. They have this thing about them that annoys you to no end, or this atmosphere they bring into the room that immediately makes you envy Helen Keller. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't like Kaida. It really isn't anything she did. In fact, she’s really nice. And she’s Phae's bestfriend, so its like an unwritten rule that I have to like her, or atleast be nice to her. Which I am, but that doesn't mean I have to enjoy her presence, or anything. Because I don’t.

Once I was done ordering the pizza, I slipped my phone back in my pocket before turning around. I came face-to-face with Evan and his lovely pearly-whites. He had his eyebrows raised, a look of 'Well? When are you going to do it?' slapped onto his face. I gave him a look of my own. He chuckled silently as the floor reluctantly pulled me to Phae.

"Your a sweetheart," I mused, looking at the drinks, but not yet taking anything off Phae's tray. I didn't know if it was for me, but mostly; I felt guilty. I don't even know for what.

I watched Cayman, Luke, and Kaida as they messed around on the couch as I spoke quitely. "You know Evan, right?" I asked, knowing the answer but asking anyway. I paused and rearranged the words in my head. "He's a really good guy, you know.”

I shoved my fists hands into my pockets. Formidable, he was.

I stared up at the ceiling. “You guys should go out sometime.” Hopefully, he knew what I was hinting on about; that Evan liked him. That alot of guys and young ladies liked him. Hopefully, he knew.

I shifted my eyes back to the couch. I watched as Kaida shoved a fistful of shirt at Cayman. And I wasn’t shooting daggers at Kaida, or mentally cursing her. I was just watching. Watching, and ignoring the vibration of the phone in my pocket that I was sure was Viena.

And then someone was wrapping their arms around my middle, a head resting on my shoulder.

“Watcha talking ‘bout, Lover boy?”

I could’ve punched him, but something was clobbering me in the stomach, and my head was throbbing more than my heart.

“Just how much of a loser you are.” I said, twisting out of his hold.

Evan scowled and released me, clearly taking that seriously. “Isn’t Luke c-”

But I was already moving towards the couch, out of Evan’s way. Next time, maybe. Yeah, definitely next time I’ll say something. Definitely.

“What kind of toppings on your pizza’s did you guys want? Because I sort of just ordered sausage and pepperoni and,” I took a spot on the floor, below all of them that were piled up on the couch.

I glanced back at Evan, who was standing unnecessarily close to Phae.

“And one with tomato, just for Luke.” I joked. I smiled, shifting my gaze to him. I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair.

Something about long hair.

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Phaedon


Wagging the caramel frappucino in front of my face, I smiled. The small organ behind my ribcage fluttered with excitement, and unadulterated satisfaction. Making others happy, and smile, and laugh, in spite of my own well-being, was what I lived for. Cayman nearly bull-rushed through Evans in his hurry to snatch the tasty treat that I held, and I was happy to oblige him. Like a rent-a-martyr; I lived to please others, and sometimes Magnus told me this wasn't a good idea because people wiped their feet on doormats like that. Why did I always brighten when my friends are happy—it's because of something I said, or did. It's a self-satisfaction that I can't really explain, but it's there, and it sounds like the pitiful beating of my Thomas-the-tugboat heart. But, this means I can't ever say the things that I need to say, I choose to say nothing at all. I'll stand for them, and I'll expel my energy so they'll have parachutes when they fall out of ten-story-windows; I'll do anything at all just to see them smile. Cayman, Luke, Tailor, Kaida, Magnus; they're precious to me. Thankfully, it wasn't like pulling teeth to make them happy.

Allowing Cayman to grapple the drink from my slender fingers, I teetered back on my heels and grinned. “Da, I thought you'd like that!” I piped back, cheerfully. When Cayman threw his arms out around me, I lifted him from the ground and spun him in a short circle, releasing him back to the ground. Being tall had it's advantages. Cayman always gave the best hugs—they felt genuine, and warm. His delighted rhythms sounded like the happiest flutes, magnetically leading all of the mice and friends and people behind him, without even trying. He was sunny days without a cloud in his sky. The redhead turned away from him and questioned Tailor about ordering pizza. My heart flopped in my stomach and I glanced up questioningly, trying to hide the floundering hurt I felt. Why hadn't anyone called me about this? It was stupid of me to get upset over it, because after all, it was just pizza. I hated being left out, though. I glanced out into the hallway and spotted Alessia pacing with her phone, and closed the door as gently as I could manage.

Kaida's exuberance was intoxicating, and I could help but laugh whenever she was around. I knew that if I wanted to know about this secret lovely lady, or that dobroy nochi, I'd have to wager something she wanted. It looked like offering her smut books wouldn't work. Not to mention the fact that if she gave me those puppy dog eyes, I'd falter. Anyone, with the right words or look, could get anything from me—it was an unfortunate weakness that I hated. I wasn't the strongest person in the world, and people knew that. My friends made me feel safe. They wouldn't take advantage of me, and I felt like I didn't need to rip my heart out of my chest to make them happy. Warmth filtered through me when I slipped into the kitchen, and I took my usual spot against the clean, tiled counter. Still balancing the tray in one of my hands, I watched as Kaida disappeared into the living room. Honestly, they needed a bigger couch because by the end of the day they all seemed to huddle together, either watching movies or playing with each others' hair. Which got me to thinking: almost everyone in the apartment had long hair. Weird, huh? Subconsciously, I combed my fingers through my hair, and tightened the small purple band holding my ponytail.

I heard Kaida's voice and laughed, dropping my hand back against the counter. “Mm, how 'bout a movie or sometin', milaya moya?” I called back over my shoulder, rolling my tongue over those Russian words I loved so; my mother tongue, I have to admit, is my favourite. Even though I've been living here for years, my accent was still pretty heavy. No one seemed to have trouble understanding me any more, so I was glad. It'd been one of the reasons why I was bullied so much as a kid; people didn't like the fact that I stuttered when I struggled with my English, and did cruel things when I swore in Russian, thinking that I was cursing at them in a foreign language. Kids were cruel. Magnus, my childhood, school friend, was teaching me what little French he remembered, and sometimes I wondered whether or not he was kidding around with me when he said he didn't speak it. He always told me he hated it when people automatically assumed he was French, and he'd purposefully ignore them to piss them off—pretending he didn't understand a word of it, or really, maybe he didn't? I don't know. The words he did know sounded perfectly fine to me. In return, I was teaching him Russian.

There's no comfort in the way your heart beats faster when your scared, or hurt, or humiliated. So, when I caught the strange glance shared between Evans and Tailor, I licked my lips and stared hard at the drinks I'd brought along with me. It was the only thing I was holding between me and everyone else; a frosty shield of treats, protecting me from all of the shifty looks I was getting from Evans. Whenever he looked at me, I swear I felt naked. And then suddenly Tailor was shifting towards me, walking in reluctant steps that told me something was about to take place—or maybe not, and I was just imagining all of it in my head. With uncomfortable, jerky movements, I held the tray up between us and plucked his ice-capped smoothie from the tray and placed it in his hand. As gullible as I seemed, I was pretty good at reading situations and people; my perceptions were honest, and often correct. Something was off. Tailor, ever-fascinating and beautiful, whispered words that I wished... I don't know, I'm stupid.

And I don't like where this is going, and I hate this feeling even more. In the corners of my eyes, I could see limbs writhing on the couch and then I looked back at Tailor, and I could hear a sad, discordant sound. Almost guilty. I glanced towards the hellion grinning like a sea-lion in the background; pearly teeth and wicked collarbones, and I couldn't help but feel like I'd walked off the planet. “Da,” I managed to say, between perplexed blinks. His name was swirling on my lips, not Evans, and I am proud to say that I've never told him any half-truths. I'm proud to say that I've never lied to him, and I probably never will. So, why then, did this feel wrong? During the pause, I released the other two treats from the tray, discarded them on the table and held the empty cardboard to my chest. No comfort, at all. Why did it feel like he was going to tell me someone died?

You guys should go out sometime. “Shto?” What else could I say? Pardon me, I don't get your meaning? I don't like spinning roller coasters or the sight of trains; I don't like them as much as I don't like hidden meanings, and confusing words. Honestly, we joked about dating guys' like Evans all the time, so hearing this from Tailor's mouth was surprising. Surprising enough that I didn't know what to say, so I lowered my head. Impact; like a bullet in the lung. There were reasons why I said 'I don't know' when people asked me who I liked, and he was it. I felt sick, but I understood the meaning of his words. Where they'd come from was a different matter. Don't cry, don't cry, I repeated the mantra in my head until I was strong enough to look at Tailor again, but now he was staring at the ceiling, and then over at the couch. Fingers appeared from nowhere, and I realized I hadn't been paying attention to anything but the thrumming noise pounding in my ears, and then the arms that so suddenly snaked around Tailor's waist. Evans' head rested next to Tailor's neck, so close that I could feel the heat rising across my face.

I managed to grin at Tailor's small gibe, watching as he broke out of his friends' unwelcome hold; rebuking his efforts. And then he followed everyone back into the living room, leaving me with Evans whose eyes bore into me like wildfire. I felt naked, and I wanted to disappear along with them. Luke still hadn't been given his drink—yeah, that was a good excuse. Before I managed to say anything, Evans closed the distance between us and stood an uncomfortable proximity away from me. He smelt like musky cologne, mixed with something I couldn't put my finger on. I didn't have anywhere to step back, so I leaned against the counter and gripped the counter, watching Evans through my bangs. Sweeping them back from my face with my free hand, I deposited the tray next to the sink and grabbed both Luke's drink, and mine, smiling awkwardly.

I heard something about pizza, and tomatoes, and looked towards the living room. It was my salvation to make it there, but Evans was standing steadily in my path. I didn't want to bustle past him, and I didn't understand the situation; my heart was jammed into my throat, and I was replaying Tailor's words, trying to come to some consensus. It didn't make sense. “I want some too, pozhalujsta!” It wasn't that Evans wasn't attractive—because he was, he really was—but I felt weird standing here, avoiding his critical eyes. He had eyes that could break someone. With all of the nonchalant courage I could muster, I stood straighter, indicating that I wanted past, and arched my eyebrow. People often said I looked intimidating because of my complexion, my height and my long, navy hair. People that knew me thought this was funny. My lips pouted for a moment as I reformed the English words in my head, and mumbled, “kak eto skazat po angliyski?” And then a curt nod.

“Are you stayin' for pizza?”

((Phaedon's Russian translations: Dobroy nochi: good night, Milaya moya: sweetheart, Shto: what? Da: Yes, Pozhalujsta: Please, Kak eto skazat po angliyski? How do you say that in English? ))

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:k s e n i a:

It had been less than five minutes after I sent my text that Alena started pestering me again. I had already gone through my short program, and I was now headed back toward the house in a pair of three-year-old flipflops with my skates in one hand, socks stuffed into them. I was wearing a pair of light grey sweat pants and a dark purple tank top, which I was pretty sure belonged to Len, but I wasn't complaining because it looked good on me. Mom has a habit of mixing up our clothes in the wash and not knowing what belongs to who — we could at least try to make it easier by not throwing it all in the same basket... or maybe if Len tried dressing a little more feminine.... Not that I shouldn't dress more masculine and refrain from wearing my sister's clothes.... It's just that... they fit... and they look good.

"Wow, he hasn't texted back. Maybe you offended him." She playfully elbowed me in the arm and I stumbled into Yvette, who immediately pushed me back up off her. I pulled my skates up to my chest and started twirling one of the laces around my finger to busy myself while that thought took root.

"I did not," I replied after another half minute of silence. "He's my best friend."

"You want him."

I wasn't sure who had gotten to it first — Yvette or Alena. The two did this thing sometimes where they'd say things at the same time with the same pitch inclinations and the same thoughts in mind. They'd always laugh together like it was funny, but it was almost always something directed at me. It's true that they picked on me often, and that I usually just sat there and took it and I never complained or asked them to stop. If it made them feel better to put me down, or pick on me because I had, at one point, admitted that I might have a sliver of a crush on my best friend, then that was alright. It probably made them feel better. They were laughing, weren't they? And laughing is good for the heart... so I couldn't say anything. I wouldn't. Besides... I couldn't very well deny something that was sort of... maybe... a little bit more than a little bit... uhmm... true... could I? I could, physically, but then I'd be lying. All I could do in response was lean down and pull my skates up in attempt to hide my cheeks as they reddened considerably. I was going to have a difficult time blaming it on the weather, so when Len pulled my skates away from my face and asked, "Sen, are you blushing?" I just nodded, and it sent her into a fit of squeals. Automatically, she assumed that I was thinking something dirty — "Oh my God, you're thinking something dirty, aren't you! Pervert!" — but I really wasn't. I did want him... to hurry up and take me away from the dolphin in my right ear. I like dolphins and all... just not when they just happen to be my sister. She has this habit of squealing like some sort of rabid fangirl whenever she thinks that I might have a crush on a certain person or she sees something cute and fluffy. Subsequently, she also squeals whenever Feliks says or does something. I'll give her that one. Feliks is both cute and fluffy.

Speak of the Devil. Except that he's not a devil. He's more like a little angel, but that's beside the point.

Feliks came running out of the house in his snowsuit and hugged onto my legs as best he could with the limited mobility provided by his winter wear. I smiled and looked down at him over my skates, and he just grinned excitedly. He really is the cutest thing, all golden blonde hair and big blue eyes. He does look alot like I do, and despite the age difference, it's so obvious that we're brothers. Of course... there was the one time I was babysitting him and took him into town with Viena and someone said that it was precious to see two men and their baby on such a beautiful day, and then she asked how old he was and commented on the use of surrogates by gay couples. She was old, so I just laughed and told her that Feliks was my little brother, but it was obvious that she didn't believe me. Who would, when I tend to stand so close to the people I hang out with, and Feliks clings to my hand like I really am his Mommy?

"Sen, Momma's trying to make me take a bath, and I don't wanna."

I was about to respond when I saw the back door open and Mom stepped out onto the covered porch. She really didn't look happy. "Feliks! VernitesÊč v dom i prinimatÊč vannu!" He doesn't understand much of what she says, but she's said before that she's more comfortable speaking in Russian when she's angry, so she does. After nineteen years, I've had to learn.

Completely immobilized by the four-year-old wrapped around my legs, and aware that said younger brother was obviously intimidated, I rested a hand on his head, then reached down for one of his hands. "Come on, Feliks. You'd better just get into the bath." It struck me then that he had his whole snowsuit on, including his little hand-knitted hat with the big puff on the top and little bells on the strings.... How long had it taken Mom to catch up to him? Of course... it did appear that she had changed clothes since the last time I saw her.... My look changed now — a little worried. "What did you do?"

He just smiled sheepishly, and all at once I knew he wasn't wearing anything under his snowsuit. I sighed heavily and handed my skates to Len, picking my brother up and carrying him toward the house. "You need to apologize to Mom for whatever you did, okay?"

"Idonwanna."

I sighed again. "Please? For me? Say, 'Mne zhalÊč Mama'. She'll appreciate it more if you say it in Russian."

He slumped down against my shoulder and I could already hear him pouting. "But I don't wanna." Such a weak protest. I didn't need to say anything else. When we reached the porch, he turned to face her and told her he was sorry in Russian like I had instructed, but he mispronounced both 'mne' and 'zhal''. At least he got Mama right. That's all that counts. And Mom seemed to understand. She just smiled and went back inside, instructing me to give Feliks his bath instead.

"Ksenia, datÊč Feliks svoyeÄ­ vannoÄ­, ne tak li? Tak kak on lyubit vas tak mnogo...."

It took me a minute to register what she had asked of me and I started a little. "No.... Ya sobirayusÊč s Viena. U menya net vremeni—" And then I realized who I was talking to and stopped before I said something that might end my life. No need to be so dramatic, though, because I'm sure that my Mom would never kill me for denying my brother a bath. "Ya imyeyu v vidu... da Mama." In compliance, I kicked my flipflops off on the mat inside the door and walked through the living room toward the bathroom. Unfortunately, Dad caught sight of my feet and stopped me.

"Sen, were you wearing sandals in the snow again?"

I turned to him slowly, knowing that I was in trouble. "Yes."

"Do I have to tell you again, or should I take them away?"

"No, Dad. I won't wear them out again. It's just... they're comfortable... and it's easier than putting on boots...."

"You're going to get frostbite, even if you can't feel it. It's for your own good." He paused then, and I almost turned to leave, but his voice stopped me in my tracks. "Any dates yet?" I can say that I'm happy he's alright with my sexual orientation. He didn't speak to me for a long time (I think it was only three days, but considering how close we are, it is a long time), but very slowly he found himself accepting the fact that it was something he couldn't change about me, no matter how hard he tried, and that the few boyfriends I've ever had really did make me happy. Finally he had broken down and said that if it was what I really wanted then it was okay. Too bad he doesn't feel that way about my flipflops....

"Well... I'm going out with Viena tonight, but it's not a date."

Feliks wriggled out of my arms and started stripping down at this point, and I almost missed the comment that accompanied this action. "I like Viena."

"He's tolerable. Why don't you ask him out for real?"

Somethings they all just don't understand.

"Dad.... He's my best friend. I don't like him like that." Do I?


[[Translations: VernitesÊč v dom i prinimatÊč vannu: Get back in the house and take a bath; Mne zhalÊč Mama: I'm sorry Mama; Ksenia, datÊč Feliks svoyeÄ­ vannoÄ­, ne tak li? Tak kak on lyubit vas tak mnogo....: Ksenia, give Feliks a bath, would you? Since he likes you so much....; No.... Ya sobirayusÊč s Viena. U menya net vremeni—: But.... I'm going out with Viena. I don't have time—; Ya imyeyu v vidu... da Mama: I mean... yes Mama.]]

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:m a g n u s:

Mags. I sighed heavily at the pet name, and I hoped that she heard it, because she knows I hate nicknames. Why use some strange mushed up version of Magnus when the name itself sounds so classy? Of course, the exception to this are Monika's siblings (I know they call me Uncle Maggie behind my back, it's no big secret) but that's only because they're probably the only kids that I really and truly like. Not like Christa's little snots. Mitchell and Jaycee.... I babysat them once and I swear I'll never do it again, even if someone is dying and I'm the only person they could ask on such short notice. Nope. However, Monika... if he ever wanted me to babysit for him, I'd be more than happy. Kalle, Aija, Raimonds, and Niko. Did I forget any of them? I don't think so. They're more well-behaved than any kids I know, and that includes my own six-year-old brother, Neve... also known as Never. Which is short for 'Never, Ever, Ever, Ever', because it's his favourite phrase. He uses it all the time, and it's really annoying. For example, getting him to eat something. "I will never, ever, ever eat my peas." And the he throws them on the floor. At bedtime. "I will never, ever, ever go to sleep without my Peanut." And then we give him his Peanut (I kid you not, it's a giant stuffed Peanut M&M, you know the yellow one?) and he falls alseep. Here's my favourite one — it was his second day in first grade, just before I moved out, and we got a call from the school about Neve being in the principal's office. Of course we had to go see what was going on, right? Well, we drove straight over and had the situation explained to us; I seriously laughed my ass off right there in the principal's office. Apparently, about five minutes into a silent work time, he walked up to the teacher's desk, slapped his work down on her desk and said, "I will never, ever, ever do math in this classroom." and then left the room. He has such an attitude. Six-year-olds can be so much fun.

"I didn't die; I'm fine," I told Alessia, dropping in one of the tan suede chairs that matched the couch, and the rest of the living room (except for the carpet), reclining and kicking my legs out over one of the arms. I noticed, a little unhappily because this was my favourite chair, that I had gotten too big for this position, and sooner or later I'd have to sit properly on it. This chair, along with the matching furniture, had come out of the basement living room, which I had kind of claimed as my half of the house when I lived with my parents. I guess the only reason that was okay was because there was a whole upstairs with an extra bedroom because I decided that I wanted the basement to myself. I gave up the furnace room for storage, and that was about it. I found it rather empty until Maman and Papa decided that they wanted to get a new furniture set for the living room and moved the old one into my living room. Yeah, how many kids can say they grew up with their own living room. None. Or at least... none that I know of.... But I had my own living room, and that's all that mattered. I believe Alessia was there when all the furniture was moved downstairs, too.... I know Monika was, and I can't remember if I invited Phae or not. I think I did. Was he even there? Maybe. He was so quiet, I can never remember. Of course, with such a thick accent and a shaky base in English, I don't blame him for not speaking very much. Practically every time he opened his mouth I was beating people off with a stick. Pick on my little foreign buddy, will ya.... It seemed like I had to defend him from someone everytime I turned around, and I thought it was really annoying at the time... but I don't mind so much now. He's a great friend.... Look what I'd be missing out on if I had given up on him.

I'm not a total idiot. The people I have close to me that I love... so many times I wanted to give up on them, I tried to give up on them.... But I always came back. I might not have apologized, but I came back, and that's what counts.

Speaking of which.... "How are you? How's Phae doing? Next time you see him, tell him I'm sorry I haven't been able to talk to him and that my classes are killing me. Oh, did I tell you that we have this essay that we have to write and I don't have any notes from the seminar? I got stuck in the nosebleeds again and I couldn't hear a damn thing the Professer was saying. Unbelieveable, right? No one will sell me their notes, either...." Ahh, school. College. One of those things that the world could surely somehow do without, I think. Maybe. Probably not.... Wouldn't it be nice, though?

Wouldn't it be nice if the world were Cadbury?
You could surf inside a chocolate tube.
Ride atop a chocolate wave forever,
you could fall and never get a bruise.
And if a shark came up and tried to bite you,
you could say, "I'm chocolate, I'll invite you."
Wouldn't it be nice?


What? Oh, you know that's the best commercial in the freakin' world. Sing the damn song and be happy about it.