I Was Born The Unloved Twin - 136 -care

Oh how I wish I was there on the other side.

Prison is not a fun place in any world. But this one really loves dungeons. Yes, sexy fantasy dungeons. With its cold hard stone and festering pests underneath all that moldy stinky hay. The shrouded darkness and damp disgusting air. The threat of physical torture is always available as an additional option for less than a few coins more. So much fun.

Personally, I as the villainess, have even stayed a few nights in my own dungeons.

You know, inspecting how to make it all the worse for potential ‘guests’. Figure out potential escapes. Get some ideas on how to decorate. You can’t just trust standard dungeon models blindly without a test run.

I can say that most of my father’s dungeons, even his pre-bought ones, are quite uncomfortable.

Wait, let me start over again.

I should have known my father, the strange and very overbearing prison warden that he is, would have had some secret guards to spy on me. Yes, the whole time.

Thus I was not very surprised to leave The Third Thirsty Goat only to find a black inconspicuous but expensive limousine equivalent of a carriage waiting right outside. Alfonso quietly standing by with an escort of guards to pick me up.

Lovely yes?

And that’s how we got here. With all my servants behind bars in a pre-bought dungeon.

Tamera, still barefoot in her grass…clothing, is the most uninvolved, unprepared and confused in the tiny cell. She looks a little like a lost tourist, having gotten off a tropical island only to land in jail.

Next down the line as her call mate, Vincent’s soul looks to have left his body. Occasionally he ghostly moans things like “the schedule…” and “I told them…” from the ball he has curled in. Other than the whole being behind bars thing I am happy to report he’s looking fuller and healthier? As long as he doesn’t get a stomach ulcer from stress.

In the next cell, both my little maid and assistant cower together at their first time in a prison dungeon. At least they get their own cell. Wow lots of firsts for them tonight. Too much so.

Abbey somehow still not out of panicked tears, hiccups and shakes herself silly in Georgie’s arms. I feel more than a tad guilty for putting her in this situation. Georgie himself isn’t doing too hot. His expression stern, as if holding himself up and together out of stubbornness alone. Very well controlled given what he just went through.

Though there is a shivering girl seeking comfort in his arms, his eyes constantly darts in worry to rest on the younger boy across the next cell.

With him is that foreign Cass woman that I know next to nothing about. Her well-manicured hands, with dare I guess coats of polish, leisurely rebraids her hair into a single neat rope. Brushing out the kinks and ends with a big straight comb in a pretty cover. She too looks bored, in a way that almost pridefully says ‘yeah I’ve been locked up before and this barely renovated pre-bought dungeon does not impress me’.

Where I get this impression, I do not know. I apparently have a very active imagination.

Also, hey lady, are you wearing nail polish? Are you? Does it come in stronger colors? Is that nail polish?! I don’t think you understand. We don’t have nail polish here?!!

Ahem.

Last but not least of the unexpected prisoners is Amar.

The minion. A brain-damaged child. Smallest and tiniest of cute criminals. Who for some odd reason, the guards saw fit to not only place the boy in his own cell, but the thickest maximum security one. He plays with the outer bars, making them sound out like a big toy Xylophone, humming to himself. Before the layers of iron and locks fully close on him, he stupidly blinks up, then smiles and waves. The idiot.

Ah they’re all going to die.

“Did you have fun my dear little Chip?” my death sentence speaks, dressed in black and velvet.

The darkness and low lights only serve to further highlight the ruby glimmer of his hair, the contours of his smooth handsome face. It suits him too well. A beauty so high it’s impossible to dare envy. So dark and deplorable, that the angels must have revolted to cast him out of heaven.

And he’s petting me like a cat.

Did I mention I would rather be on the other side of those bars?

“….no?” I stay very quiet but still I fail the inspection.

Though minor and cleaned up in a quick bath, none of my little messes nor bruises go unmissed.

Since I have never been told a thing about the fact that I could potentially turn off my sense of pain, it of course hurts very annoyingly as he pokes and prods my little body.

Hey hey hey not the tummy! Ahahaha not the tummy!

The grim line to his mouth grows ever the sterner in great disapproval at each of my sensitive squeaks. It is shameful but cannot be helped. I’m not even dressed properly, clad in nothing but my nighties and a blanket.

Is it my so called lack of talent he spoke of before? Am I really so untrainable? Sheesh, what do you expect when you never tell or help me with anything?

“Sentence everyone to death.” father says blankly.

Um…like in the joking way?

“Inadvisable my Lord.” Alfonso jokes back, rolling out a scroll, “However we have temporarily shut down the establishment, and all patrons before a certain time frame have been arrested. The number totals to over official 80 troops members among them. Employee interviews are ongoing as we speak.”

Though father should know the reasons, he frowns at being denied. Eyeing the current private jail cells in distaste.

“Papa please don’t murder my servants.” I squeak, already reduced to using my tearful weapons.

How pathetic of me.

But it works well enough, causing father to sigh and pinch my cheek, as if in retaliation. He holds me close and tucks me away into his jacket, like a hostage unable to walk or see. Then snaps for the guards silently as he turns to walk away.

The sound of a grate turns and slams.

“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH What the fuckidity doo da day?!” screams Tamera’s voice in time with Vincent’s crying.

In turn, Abbey from a few cells down starts crying in fashion. Georgie’s trying to hush her quiet in comfort but failing.

“Oh shut up already! None of the tentacles are anywhere touching you!”. Yuna gets annoyed enough to shout and complain.

“Seriously? That’s it? You amateurs, Vincent just pull it by the fangs like the reigns of a Magatoosh and stab in the hollow up to the skull.” the strangest reaction may be from Cass, sounding very unimpressed indeed.

“What even is it?!” Tamera screams, unable to identify their new…friend.

“Does not matter, they interbreed too fast. ” the other woman answers boredly.

“Where’s the skull!? There’s like – what even is it?” Tamera yells back.

“Oh come on a 3-year-old with the sniffles could do better. No no no the not those fangs, more inside. Climb to the left. Yes those fangs! Now jam it into the liver, yes the liver is in the head.” Cass instructs.

“awwww its kinda cute now that I can identify it’s….eye?” Tamera remarks

Hey um what’s even a magatoosh let alone that? Somehow, from all the screaming perhaps, I don’t think that I, as a 3 year old, could do better.

Hey father, exactly what’s going on? Nope? Nothing. Alrighty then.

The screaming fades with a series of closed doors and the return back to the resort.

“Are you uncomfortable anywhere my dear,” father prods at me as we walk.

“…everywhere,” I mumble into his chest.

“Yes that is what happens when you get up too fast after a long ride.” he continues to act like a doting father or some shit.

As if all that just didn’t happen. Right.

“Next time you really truly insist on satisfying your curiosity, you must wait and tell your mother or I to take you. I suppose your grandfather will do but still. Do you understand my troublesome ball of dough? You do not bounce back nearly so well. ” he sighs, petting me still.

“Yes father….” I grumble.

“What else is it Rosalia? Besides your concern of the servants down there, and no that won’t kill them. You may have….some of them…, back by sundown tomorrow. They do need to be disciplined.”

“But Georgie is unwell, really now! A bad sort of pervert attacked at the bar and-”

“And you willingly snuck off to such a place. At your age? And met what?”

“…..”

“Oh my dear, I am not as emotionless as you take me to be. Your manservant is in fine hands, and no finer in the area cells. He will be ever the stronger for it time passed. They could, after all, be held ‘outside’ with all the wretched prisoners.”

“….Yes father. Thank you, father. ” I sink, admitting that is very true yes.

It could be worse. And it’s not like they let the pervert get away. Though it sounds like he did very much lock up….the entire population of The Third Thirsty Goat tonight.

“…Do you want your strawberry milk?” father asks in my silent contemplation. Trying to both distract and bribe me.

“….yes.” I agree, nodding along, much like a child.

Because this is a child’s body, sweets really do make things all better. That and father promised not to outwrite murder everyone in the dungeon. Huzaah!

Do I have low standards?

Yes. Yes, I do. But try it from my shoes or lack of them. How would anyone fight against father? He’s terrifying!

“Oh dear! Ohoho go Ladki go, oh show me who fell down the well!” an even more terrifying voice echoes approaching all the closer.

Well nevermind then.

“DARLING?! Oh there you are you nasty horrible inconsiderate- YOU LEFT ME TO WAIT FOR HOW LONG?!?! After I got all nice and pretty?! Is that it?! ” mother turns the corner, dressed in nothing but…..let’s not describe it.

I do not feel like fainting from the scandal, for I have had quite enough today. Her rage, and perhaps her scantily barely covered chest, nearly burst upon the sight of father standing in the hall.

More importantly though …there’s a very big snake ahead of her.

I am not frightened for not only does father keep a few as pets. But this one, in particular, is very stupid.

It slides past my parents and I, and starts smacking itself against the wall. Repeatedly. It could very well slip and slide elsewhere but no, it continues to slap itself silly, the rest of its body curling up. Like that it looks like one big squid ink linguini on a tasty plate.

Hmm, I’m still hungry I see.

“Maria my love, you look ravishing as you are heavenly, I practically do not dare look…, in fact I shall not. However our spawn snuck out to a tavern, thankfully one of your father’s. Do not fret, for I have-”

“Darling, Frederick, Freed, my one and only, devil and divine, and all the names I could have been screaming right at this moment for entirely different reasons…what is behind the wall?”

“…More walls.”

“And behind those?’

“Perhaps even more walls.”

“…Oh ho~ really now?”

“The night is cold, as it is never long enough my love. I do not wish to waste it anymore. shall we depart?” father smiles, reaching out his hand to take mother’s.

But the stupid linguini continues smacking the wall, wailing pitifully. I did not know snakes even could wail or whimper. It turns it’s beady little eyes to us, shining in the way that beads on stuffed animals look imploring, needy even.

I can feel father’s mood drop ever the further, as does mother’s tapping foot and crossed arms.

“You left me in the middle of the night. After all we planned and…ME?! You left me waiting?! To go interrogate prisoners?!” she snarls, loose villainess hair looking larger and all suddenly more intimidating.

“And our dear child Rosalia. Quite a dangerous thing, in such a horrid ill suitable situation. She’s quite shaken and needs her…milkies…immediately.” he holds me up in defense.

Oh ho ho ho foul move father. For I have already used up my cuteness cards with my mother today, and that is obviously a woman’s ‘nice’ lingerie. You have dug yourself into hole that cannot be undone. For a woman scorned is beyond hell itself.

“Open the pathway.” she demands.

“Surely not my dear, tis only more walls and some mere minor criminals.” father waves off.

Squid ink linguini whimpers and I had no idea snakes could even cry.

“Even your pet disapproves, I will not ask again my love. ” mother holds sternly, arms crossed.

Perhaps out of fear for our personal safety, perhaps because her lingeries may burst out like that, but father sighs and relents. Removing his coat to cover her like it was a cape, and snapping not only for the snake to stop that nonsense but for the walls to slide back open.

There really are a lot of walls back there.

“Now let’s see what has Ladki so bunched up? Is that screaming I hear? The screaming of young maidens?! Oh you fiend, you beast! Am I not enough for you?!!” mother cries, running down the dark hall.

I look up at father the same time he looks down at me. Even with an expressionless face, I can tell he understands perfectly.

We should run. Simply escape.

“DARLING! Now!”

Nevermind.

“…yes dear.” goes the whipped husband.

He snaps for a pair of maids, who quite shockingly appears from out of nowhere. Ordering for them to send me to bed with my milkies.

But hey, I’m already here for the long run. Might as well see this show to the end. Not that I’m worried or anything.

“I’d rather stay with you over milks.” I cling on, making myself comfortable in father’s arms and refusing to be taken.

Go on now, to the show. Stop staring at me like an unidentified specimen for study!

After a quick ‘pwease’ for me, and another shout from mother, father sighs and relents. Waving the maids off ah he very slowly takes him time turning back. Sheesh, I suppose the nerd is simply too terrified of his own wife to get a move on.

Move he does. However what greets us is really not what I expected.

“Oh boo hoo hooo is this what you’re into now?! Oh how shall I ever compete!” mother sobs, curled up on the floor. Much to the silent panic of literally everyone.

Well, now the good news is the all my servents seem to still be alive and the …thing…defeated. How wonderful.

Bad news.

I think Abbey is broken. Everyone else in cell two and three are facepalming or entirely given up.

The first cell has been flooded to a height that would more than drown me. Vincent is dangling, crying even, from near the ceiling and wrapped up in some very awkward tentacles. Meanwhile, Tamera is entirely missing but assuming the moving lump inside the….thing…is her, she should be fine. Oh look, there’s her foot bursting out, and another one, she’s fine yes.

“I don’t understand….but I can try? Please, darling, please just give me some time.” mother sobs, trying to gulp in the scene.

“Maria my beloved one and only, how I do love all of you. Even and especially your imaginative mind that goes down gutters never before dug. But please. Stop thinking. I assure you it’s entirely wrong, again.” father motions for the guards to clean up, pinching his own temple in tired frustration.

“Oh boohoo there is no need to ease my feelings. Oh the other ladies at tea warned me this would happen one day! I can change! Well I can’t grow tentacles, BUT I CAN CHANGE?!” she sniffles in her own tears.

“….never do. ” he bends down, balancing me to button mother up further. “Never change unless it’s what you really want in your core my love, not for anyone and certainly not for me. ”

“You’re not getting bored of me? You haven’t figured out I’m a sham and finally fed up?” she rubs her tears to his side, nearly crushing me. ”

“By all the realms that may or may not exist, no. The fact you haven’t figured out you could do better is another thing I’m eternally grateful for.”

“Oh darling!”

Hey, I’m still here! No no no! No more grossness allowed!

“Awwwww this is pretty darn cute.” goes the Tamera lump. Somehow able to watch the whole show still.

“Now this is impressive torture,” Cass remarks to everyone else’s awkward silence and muffled groans.

“I have many questions,” starts Georgie, using his own lap as a pillow to set a thankfully unconscious Abbey down, ” but what the hell is noodle doing?”

Noodle? Oh the snake! So that’s noodle! That is easier than calling it a stupid plate of squid ink linguini every time. Where did it go?

“Let us be off, this filthy place is not worthy to house even a stray lock of your hair my love.” father recites charmingly, so very close to convincing mother to look the other way.

Say away from the very locked up maximum-security cell. One where a still shrinking snake, great magic I assume, is trying to fit in the cracks of.

Ah.

“Mother. Father. I am very sorry for sneaking out and interrupting all your grossness time. But can we please not imprison my minions and servants? They’re mostly innocent. I know my wrongs now. Just promise you’ll let them go and we’ll be on our merry way. Please oh please?” I choose at this time to beg cutely, also putting in my part to distract mother.

“….you were serious? She snuck out to a tavern?” mother turns to her husband.

“When am I not?” father meets her back, perfectly serious.

“She’s three! However is that possible?! Oh you spoil her the most, she wouldn’t have gotten out if you somehow didn’t allow her to!”

“You said to settle the girls by tonight. And I assure you, my dearest wife and unfortunate mother to my children, that we have her patterns fully analyzed at this point. It will never happen naturally.”

“That’s not what I meant by see to the girls, Frederick! Oh I knew it. I just knew it You-.”

Will this night never end?

And hey what does father mean by that?!

All my patterns analyzed?! I can put up with spying but this? I am not a creature for study like on animal planet! How dare you? Never naturally?! Is that a challenge? Because-

“Alright, alright, you both win. I am forever indebted to all my girls.” father silences us in a beg for mercy, pulling both of us up from this very uncomfortable dungeon floow and right into his arms.

“Awwwwwwww,” goes Tamera, cleaning herself from out the monster corpse.

“Can I go die now?” Vincent asks from upsidedown, still dangling.

“Can we have some normal torture? The wheel? A beating? Charges of manual labor? This is too much, I’d honestly prefer that.” Cass asks the awkward guards from the other side of the cells.

“Awwwwww don’t be a downer, this is some sweet shit.” Tamera continues to wiggle herself out the…hopefully dead thing.

“w-what’s g-goinn on? Ge-georgie? Oh I had a horrible dream and- EEEEEEEEEP!!!” Abbey momentarily awakens, only to faint again. Maybe at the sight of cell one.

Yeah mood. Unconcious is better than this. This isn’t how I saw my evening going either.

“Oh darling, you didn’t lock up those kids?” mother cuddles up, if not from sheer gross affection then the cold. She is after all wearing practically nothing under father’s coat.

“These are the nice cells my love. But rest assured, they’ll all be released.” father assures her.

“Now. ” she demands lightly.

“Yes dear.” he caves.

Pffft so easy when he comes to his wife. The loser. Oh if only it was that easy to control him.

“Oh the poor little things, have them sent to the baths and some rooms prepared.” mother reorders the guards as if she were calling for tea.

“Yes dear.” father really does try to lead her away, back to safety.

“And now, let’s see what has Ladki all up in a fuss.” she escapes. Pulling him, and thus me, to maximum security. Forcing the locks and doors to be opened with nothing but her indirect command.

Oh I can’t watch.

The pet snake had somehow shrunk to a size small enough to disappear entirely. Useful as it is horrifying. That thing could be anywhere? Well, I suppose that’s one reason why it hasn’t been eaten yet with how stupid it is. But hey, domestic animals.

Slowly each layer creaks open in their complicated nuts and bolts, finally reaching the base bars. All to reveal…

….Nothing?

Just an empty bare call? Not even the magic snake? But how?! Where? I swear- oh forget it.

I’m too tired to be surprised anymore.

“Hmmm how strange? What was all the fuss?” mother flutters into the cell as soon as the bars unlock. Father unamusedly standing outside behind her, his grip on my tightening with both arms.

“Absolutely nothing my dear.” he puts on a fake charming expression, all for her.

“Oh and what’s this?” mother seems to spy something in the dark, reaching to pick it up.

“More nothing.” I can hear father grinds his teeth from behind his forced smile.

“Oh how adorable! My my my it’s a little doll! Lookie Rosa! Oh it even has red for its hair, just like you!”

What? Of all the things to leave behind? And there goes mother rushing back into the light to hand me the thi-

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The following moments and memory have been blacked out due to instant overload.

Thank you for using the Rosalia narrating service system. We are closed for the evening, and possibly more. Good night.

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Bonus time!!!

Just exactly what it was the Rosa remembered as Meng on her ‘only’ trip alone and left off. Yeah sure.

Very skippable.

JJ and great ‘grossness’ warning.

Please do not read if allergic or if you have ‘proper’ sensibilities like Rosalia. DO NOT !

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“Guess where I am now?” I remember snickering on the phone.

Despite the summer hot sun radiating down, burning up the pavement and making everything feel like the inside of tableware I felt a little too numb and giddy at my carefully kept prank.

It was a really fun prank of a trip though…

“In bed. Thinking of me. Isn’t it like midnight over there? Why? Did you need to hear my voice to fall asleep?” the voice teased back over the line, yawning himself at the early hour.

“Shut up and guess seriously. Ah sorry, were you still sleeping? Did I wake you?” a young woman yelled before quickly changing her tone.

She looked around the empty streets, finding it extremely novel how late people started their days around here. Meng swore she set the time right and rechecked it. Yep, 9 am. How fascinating.

“Am I? Hearing from you is already like a dream.” he yawned back.

“Should I call back when you’re less deliriously sleep talking?” her tone wasn’t kidding. She would most certainly hang up on him when she felt like it.

“I’m up! I’m awake. Don’t go just yet Mengmeng, let me dream a little longer.” he whined, even through the phone.

It was very easy to imagine what he was doing in his morning routine. If not lazily catching up on the lost sleep any student desperately needed, even on a summer program, then the shuffling sounds from the other line meant he was crawling out of bed to make his morning coffee. After the middle of college, Jung-Joon needed his coffee before operating anything close to functional and Meng giggled at the mental image. Him bumping around sleepily, messy-haired and deliciously caffeine-addicted.

Not that she’s much better when it came to work. Ah yes, blessed coffee. She would like some coffee right now, preferably of better quality than what was served in the plane.

“I said, guess where I am right now?” she asked again, feeling that strange elated combination of sleep-deprived and excited.

She must have been running on adrenaline and shitty airplane coffee or something. That would explain the lightness to her steps and the almost pleasant beating of her heart. Despite getting lost on the metro maybe three times already, everything just felt….more than fine.

“Can I guess what you’re wearing instead? That kid-sized cookie monster onesie we got on sale? Oh um, the happy frog socks and some very nice short shorts? Those are all comfy. Wait my favorite guess: my old shirt. Just that. ”

The rasp of sleep was still in his voice, low and …something…

…Which was perfectly natural! Everyone sounded like that upon waking up! Guys especially! Meng laughed and brushed off the heat rising in her cheeks to the sunlight outside.

“Fail. Everything you said was wrong and I didn’t even ask that! And it’s too hot for any of that shit.” she snapped on the phone, checking the GPS walking directions again.

“But you look so cute in them. Let a guy dream? Wait. It is legit midnight over there. Please don’t tell me you’re still in the office. Again?”

She could imagine the exact expression of tired judgment on his face, maybe over a steaming fresh cup of coffee. Maybe with that adorably rumpled bed hair, silky black, while rubbing the sleep from one of his eyes.

“I’ll give you a hint. Guess who got the Paris fashion week press duty?” she doesn’t bother holding back the pure gloating in her tone.

“…Rihanna?” Jung-Jung guessed, sounding like he just took a lazy bite of a pastry.

“I’m going to kill you, you god damn little bitchass-”

“Mengy I’m kidding! You know you’re the only queen for me. Holy fuck, that’s great. I knew you could pull it off. ” he saved himself.

“…Praise me more.” Meng allowed herself to take the bait.

“Babe. Queen. Goddess. Bae oh bae. Forever stan. I could say you deserve this but no. You probably ripped some people’s throats out and stepped on them with your little red bottom heels to get this job with your name on it, and I love you so much more for it. You could slay me, not like you slay your competition, but literally, and I’d just say thank you very much. ” he went on, more than the morning caffeine fueling him to the waking world.

“….Keep talking.” she graciously allowed him.

That’s how they both distracted themselves for the next following minutes. Familiar silly chatter. Meng using that wasted time to figure out which street was what in the seemingly maze-like neighborhood. She’s glad she left the majority of her luggage in a locker at the airport because the cobblestone streets, as lovely as they were, just weren’t not wheel friendly.

“So in a little over two weeks, I shall be sitting pretty backstage and audience line. And if I’m lucky enough, I may even glimpse the A-listers, like Rhianna, from afar. Do you understand what that means? Or should I give you more time to finish your coffee?” she laughed over the phone, spirits still a little too high.

“It means you get to practice your French and stuff your face with baguettes?”

“You fool, I’m in it for the croissants. Pain au everything! Oh my cholesterol. Goodbye calorie count. Bonjour, mademoiselle madeleine et monsieur macaroon. The finest of their pastries. Give me cake or give me death! ” she maybe got a little too passionate at the thought.

“I’m pretty sure you’re mangling more than one quote there?” he replied over the phone, laughing softly.

“It also means I’ll be across the ocean and in Europe. Uh hello? Did you know a high-speed train ticket between Paris and Barcelona can cost as little as $46.96? That’s like 3 nights at the cheapest hostel in the area.” Meng couldn’t hold the excitement, that bit of mischievous glee from sounding out.

The silent second gives her pause though.

“Hello? Did you fall back asleep? Hello?”

“Did you know, I’m in with love you? Fuck hostels, find me. When are you coming?”

“Ha! Who isn’t!? Er um, can you confirm to me your address again?” she laughs a little too loudly.

“It’s-”

At that moment, a siren went by the slowly wakening street. It wasn’t obnoxiously loud, but it was a recognizable enough sound. Warning all others to make way for the poor unfortunate soul that needed its services. It’s that very sound that not only comes through Jung-Joon’s ancient Spanish apartment window but through the assumingly international call back home, with Meng.

It’s very easy to imagine what happened next from just the sound of crashing dishes, slamming doors, and clamoring footsteps down stone stairs.

“Um? Hello?” Meng tries speaking again on the suddenly silent line.

The giant heavy door in the cobblestone alleyway slams open with too great a force, probably disturbing the closest neighbors. But it didn’t really matter.

He really was like she imagined from the phone call. That’s how well she knew him, even if they hadn’t seen each other in months.

From the messy bedhead to the midnight moonlight reflected in those obsidian black eyes. Shining all on her. When he smiles, she maybe forgot why she was here, or where here even was.

Maybe that’s it. The jig is up. Her strange little prank found out a moment too early. It causes shock. All adrenaline lost at once.

She’s jetlagged. Yep, all very good reasons to stay rooted staring.

Not because Jung-Joon showed up without a damn shirt. God damn. Not that at all. She sees too much that way, sees even the tatoos normally hidden under good sensible clothes. And if she gulps it’s because of this heat, damn it was a bad idea to travel in the summertime. Too hot for anything, not even a simple proper shirt. Definitely too hot.

“Surprise?” she tries, swallowing nothing but hot air.

The heat really is too much. Not suitable for warm holds of flesh and strong masculine arms. He tastes like bittersweet coffee with something dulce de leche for breakfast, whatever else this country offered. Drowned in it and the scent of something oddly as relaxing as it was reinvigorating.

Meng blinks drowsily, out of breath and wondering how the hell she knows what the inside of his sweet mouth tastes like.

Or why he was so close, as if all around her. Stars swimming in her vision. Or why her feet felt as if there were floating, as if they weren’t even touching the ground?

“Eeeep! You!” she starts reddening a shameful shade of red, smacking her hands against those brute shoulders.

Too bare, too defined, and that back? She wonders if he can even feel anything with a back like that. Then flushes and hits even harder, or well tries too in her weakness. Wherever she could quite scandalously reach in this sudden lifting hold.

So sudden apparently she hadn’t even realized it was happening.

“It’s still a dream right? I’m definitely still sleeping. ” Jung-Joon sounded almost giddy, nuzzling against the side of her neck.

The simple action making even more heat impossibly shoot up Meng’s face. It didn’t stop at that. With the young man affectionately kissing up the side of her face till a solid peck at her ear had her screaming and scratching like an angry street cat.

Maybe because he still thought it was a dream where he could do as he liked, or maybe because they really will disturb all the neighbors at this rate, Jung-Joon silences her with another press of red hot lips.

One of soft longing and burning summer stars, once so desperate it destroyed everything in a flash flare. Till there was nothing left but cold ash, rain, and salty tears.

But now? Now it smoldered into something incredible, unbelievably so. Like how their sun, also a star, was just right. The right size, the right distance, all the exact formulas to bring forth life to their rare earth.

He kissed her till the aftertaste of good and shitty coffee intertwined and then some. The lingering sweetness of dulce de leche and something more, growing urgent. When the swooning girl kissed back, gripping her small fingers through his already messy hair, desperate and hard, all while mewling weakly into his mouth, Jung-Joon swore he saw the theoretical big bang explode real time behind his closed eyes.

When he dared to peek them open, he definitely saw the universe dazed in his arms.

The neighbors be damned.

He kissed her again. And again. Pinned to the closest wall, he kissed as if he wanted to swallow every sweet sound that came out of her mouth. Because like a wild dream, she actually let him. Sober. Too swept up in the pace.

The problem was Meng really did not travel well.

Even with all the precautions and medication taken. A plane ride from Vancouver to Barcelona took at the minimum half a day, not including stopovers and connecting flights. Then there was navigating the airport, shuttle, and even the tram down to the city center. She would have been exhausted even assuming she was at tip top health, which she was not after hauling ass to land this specific job and planning everything out.

It really was too hot, even in the morning hours.

Thus she cannot be blamed for simply…passing out.

“Meng?” he whispered worriedly, feeling her completely go limp.

No, not swoon so hard that her knees failed and she fell for him even harder, but quite literally straight out falling over unconscious. It was fine with Jung-Joon carrying her but still?

“Meng?!” he tried not to shake to unconscious girl.

But she really was knocked out, face still flushed and steaming. Fast asleep. The deadweight of her sleeping figure, and her luggage, told Jung-Joon for sure this definitely wasn’t a dream. Especially when he was stuck carrying them all up the stairs to his apartment.

Definitely not a dream he would amusedly think to himself, hours later into the evening, and Meng was back up and operational. Acting as if this morning had never happened but for the alluring flush to her cheeks.

Blissful denial again.

Well, can’t be helped with Meng, Jung-Joon shrugged.

“Did I really faint outside from heatstroke? Shit dude, I’m sorry for putting that on you.” she acted meekly, both from her own jetlag and the embarrassment.

Embarrassment from passing out. Embarrassment for any very inappropriate and obviously insane dreams. Horrible lucid dreams! Meng blames many things from motion sickness to sleep deprivation for them, maybe later she’ll psycho analyze why with the help of the internet. For now, Meng pinches herself for them and wills herself back to normal as soon as possible. Right after playing sick and rolling around in these sheets. This shy act was fucking weird.

The sight of it was was so cute though, Jung-Joon almost internally forgave her. Not quite. But close.

“It’s fine. As long as you’re ok.” Jung-Joon comforts, more than content in the fact that she was even here. That she chose to come here for him.

That was more than enough.

“Maybe not tonight, since I’m so messed up but like…later, I’ll treat you to something really good. Whatever tapas or wine bar you want. Just say it. Ok? ” Meng promises to herself to pay him back for putting up with her suddenly showing up and passing out at his door step, even though her confused embarrassment.

“Something good? Alright. I’ll hold you up on that.” he smiles happily in agreement, fluffing up another pillow, in his bed, for her comfort. All while forcing Meng to hydrate and keep hydrating since she slept throughout most of the day.

“By the way….what am I wearing?” she asks, feeling something very off. Like how comfortable she was.

“My shirt.” Jung-Joon cheerily replied.

“…and how is it on me? What happened to….everything else I was wearing this morning? ” Meng blankly asked, aura growing darker and darker.

“I think it’s very cute on you. My favorite guess. And everything else is in the wash.” he pointed off to the other room, like nothing was wrong with that statement or anything it implied.

“….”

The sounds of angry screaming, and possibly crashing furniture as Meng chased the younger man down his own apartment, definitely bothered the neighbors that night.

But it was worth it.

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Not exactly a bonus.

Side story with a Georgie’s POV. Please enjoy.

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“George. Giorgio. Jorg?

You can call my name whatever way you like. But I guess it’s Georgie these days. Not that it really matters but some continuity is nice.

Hi, my name is Georgie, and I’m a mob character.

Or that’s what the young misses says

I need to make it very clear that she’s three. As in years. An absolute insanity blasting toddler. Still very much smelling of milk and the most expensive of babies.

Normally we don’t actually listen to babies. Especially when they use their own make believe words.

But she’s not just a Ventrella. Rosalia is as much a genius as she is insane.

They’re all crazy. The “unofficial” Ventrella banner has not changed but at the same time that’s all the credibility they need. A famous and renowned family, though small, have more power and authority than most people to ever exist.

So if the young miss Rosalia says so, thus I am.

The problem was asking what the hell that meant. Respectfully of course. The problem being that she’s exactly right.

I’m a mob character. I work in the background. I blend into the background.

I have brown hair, and brown eyes, and some shade of…skin. Yeah. Very normal. Two eyes, two ears, one nose, nothing extra, nothing missing. Very very normal.

Or boring.

Which is fine! I’m not complaining. Don’t get me wrong. I like normal and boring. Love it really! I love having no missing body parts!

I love safe, and predictable and reasonable I like, you know, having a roof over my head, and a clean environment to not instantly keel over and die on. I like working in the kitchens and tailoring rooms and all these wonderfully in house respectable thing. And not being out in the fields or laboring in any other painful tiring ways.

I especially love getting paid, money. Cash money.

I’m the grandson of a mere farmer, a toiler of the fields. My father was an adventuring sailor, so I was told. While my mamma was said farmer’s daughter, turned prostitute. That’s where I come in.

It’s a tale as old as time.

Really, it’s so normal and boring even I groan at it.

I never knew the man that fathered me. Don’t even know if he’s still alive. All I heard was that he paid his fees, tipped nice and sailed back away. But I suppose he must have also generally been a pretty normal person. The whole two eyes, one nose, probably nothing extra kind of deal. I don’t know much else.

And so I spent my first few years of life pretty normally. Back and forth between waiting after my mom chasing easy money, waiting for her promised to make it big somewhere somehow, and my grandparents in the old boring farm in the middle of nowhere.

I never did understand why my mamma gave it all up. Her hometown. That domestic cottage and farm, though small. It was always welcoming and warm. Boring was safe. Boring was…it was more home than anything.

I think I could have stayed there for the rest of my life and been more than happy with it.

But I couldn’t leave my mamma alone.

So I spent too much of my childhood already working. Cleaning. Errands. Delivery. Anything that the port brothel needed a pair of small hands for. Wasn’t too bad. But it was just an odd place for a child to blend in, even if there were a bunch of us.

It wasn’t so bad, not how some people think. The matron ruled with an iron fist but that’s a good thing. Kept it all organized, kept us busy and learning the odds ends at outs you wouldn’t expect to pick up.

But it wasn’t for me.

Neither were my mamma’s dreams. She and practically every woman in there had the same ideas. Strike it rich, strike it famous. Hook a man of standing, either as his mistress or maybe even his wife. You can’t do that as just any village woman so why not turn into a courtesan?

But a true cortigiana, the highest celebrity status, takes time, money and class that most folks would never even be able to afford just one of. Not in their entire lives. There are limits, and then there are the stars in the sky.

People just need to know theirs.

I feel bad for thinking it, ever, but mamma getting sick was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

She couldn’t work like that. It was like the sky fell on her and I breathed, yes yes yes on the truth finally shoving itself in her face. One that was losing it’s modest beauty from…I don’t know, life? If it wasn’t the sickness then life was never going to give her the kind she wanted.

So back to the farm it was. Back home. I don’t see what the problem was. We were lucky to even have a home to go back to, let alone one as good as that.

Some of the kids there never knew anything else.

And so I got my happily ever after when mamma took me back to her village. I worked for my grandparents and did odd chores around the village with the skillsets I admittedly have to thank to the brothel matron for. I could read a bit, much more than the local kids. And I knew my numbers. More importantly, I knew how to actually eat.

Or cook. Same thing.

See, porridge doesn’t impress the clients. Even if they’re not there for the food.

Since my grandparents were the main force on the farm, and my mother too ill, maybe heartbroken, to really work. It was up to me to really help out inside the house. That included meals.

I was proud to say mamma only ever ate my food. It was the closer to the finer stuff in life. The rest and clean air did her good.

But it wasn’t enough.

Medicine isn’t grown on trees, and whatever ate at her wasn’t cheap. They say it was the price of her sins.

We needed money that in no way the farm could provide and I was naive enough to try my luck by applying under the biggest employer in the multi-state area.

The Ventrellas.

Again, don’t get me wrong. I didn’t try for the troops or anything. See I know my limits, I watched my mamma long enough to know what happens when you dream too far. When you can’t see yourself and everyone you hurt chasing that.

I just thought I wouldn’t be so bad working around. The support that keeps everything running. Landing in the kitchens, even as a busboy was a dream come true given the pay. It only got better as I learned more, climbing the ranks. My cooking got better at the same time mamma’s health did. I tried to feed her the fanciest things I learned then.

I’d like to think she passed on in peace then, when the illness finally took her.

Yeah she made mistakes, and life wasn’t the kindest to her, but those last few years…were really something. I’m grateful. Grateful for this boring little life of mine, and that she bothered to bring me into it. Grateful for my old grandfolks for everything and more. When they told me to keep doing my best as a chef in training, and how they were proud to have me.

They’re also boring folks, grey coming in under the brown of their hair. Two eyes, one nose, nothing extra. They toiled and made a life of their own by hard work. They’re the very best kind of folks. Nothing can convince me otherwise.

I was more than prepared to stay normal and boring in my own way. Learning my crafts slowly but surely.

At 13 years old I was promoted to a jr. chef. Of course, it was a really demandingly busy time. Too busy.

The honorable Lady Ventrella was pregnant for the first time. Her appetite was immense and her every craving was needed to be seen to as soon as possible. Whether that be at 12noon or 12 midnight.

I don’t think I ever faced such a grueling time as in those last 6 months before the twins were born. Talking about a training regime? And the variety of exotic dishes we had to make? Or try to even make sense of?! Crazy! Oh and a lot of cheese too. Too much stinky imported cheese.

Then the twins were born and it was a whole new kind of crazy in the household. Like not work-wise but this pressure, this tenseness. That’s the weight that important and extraordinary people hold, even when they’re quite present. The whole household was taken by it.

But time went on and things got better. I even got a few vacations to spend time back at my grandparents. Make them some nice dishes, help out with the numbers and papers where I could.

Life went on.

But then the weird thing happened.

Rosalia.

I kid you not. One day she just rolled into the kitchen. Literally. I mean like as a little baby, barely able to stand and walk. She just, flopped her way round in.

At this point, everyone is too terrified to do a thing because oh my goddess is that her?! The young miss was kind of a mini celebrity in the house at this point for this crazy stunt of hers. People would be reporting where and when they saw her like a dragon sighting in the breakrooms. And now it was our turn.

The problem was that she never really left.

She just stuck to the kitchens and never really went away. The upstairs maids could report her back up and Alfonso could pick her up as needed but she would just always…show up.

It was honestly pretty heart-attack-inducing to be carrying a fresh pie, ready yourself set it down, and bam there’s Rosalia already there. About to be burned!

It was weird but it was still in this strange domestic sort of feeling. As peaceful and boring as it was, it was fun. These every day new normal that I couldn’t help but be drawn into.

Not just because she was so cute. I mean how was I supposed to know she had a kookoo crazy brain in there. All I knew was to spoon-feed her everything, literally everything. She just wanted to taste everything, even things toothless babies should be in no way eating. And when she started talking?

Well, you know how she is when it comes to food and cooking. We laugh she was already so demanding in the womb.

Maybe it was because no other jr. chef was as young as me. I mean they’re all like 17 or 18 or whatever. They were busy normally and I guess the whole, looking after Rosalia thing fell on me. Didn’t help that the kid just latched on to me after one dish.

Risotto. This mushy gruel risotto. Plainer and more boring than anything.

All her idea.

I guess it all really started with that.

I don’t know when plain and boring got so…well all this.

Just like I never thought I’d ever be here. Sitting in this fancy butt resort room, not as a servant but a guest? And get to enjoy this, like did you see the outside hot springs on this place? Oh my!

Just like I never thought these last few months, hell these last few years would ever happen to me. Like what?! I can’t. I can’t even begin to list them out.

Well I could but I think that may take all week. And you’re probably really tired at this point and-”

Georgie rambled, seemingly untired despite the late hour.

Moonlight and hot spring steam filtered a hazy light through the alabaster windows. The strange tea felt warm on his fingertips, and Georgie finally took another sip. Wetting his throat that seemed to have spoken without rest.

There was a little boy, and a much smaller snake, a tiny noodle really, snoozing away on what should have been his bed. But it was a big bed, bigger than what he was used to anyway. The boy’s soft brown curls felt richer than the blanket sheets, and Georgie couldn’t stop petting them. It was oddly calming.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” a small teenager rolled over on the other bed finally spoke, revealing himself to not be asleep.

“…Yeah.” Georgie sipped at the tea they gave him.

Georgie guesses he should know better about taking strange drinks. But this was fine. If he couldn’t trust this, then what could he?

He was so stupid tonight. So stupid for a very long time. He doesn’t know how he’s made it alive all the way till now. Stupid, stupid, and nothing.

He’s the common-born bastard of a sailor long gone and a whore long dead, who just wanted to be a little more of the good kind of normal. And he fucked up. He could have been fucked up, far worse than this.

“Oh for god’s sake. Stop that barely holding it in thing and just cry. Yell. Scream! Just do the thing because a shitty thing happened to you. And yeah, yeah it was stupid and you’re stupid. You should know better if you ever been in a brothel let alone raised in one. So just go ahead and cry already.” Yuna threw a pillow at the other boy, though it wasn’t a far distance between the twin beds.

It wasn’t a coincidence that they’re roommates tonight. Georgie silently keeping close, as if maybe worried, as if maybe to feel just a hint safer. Yuna doesn’t know and he doesn’t care.

Yuna hasn’t cared about much in a long time.

The brat that snuck in with his stupid noodle could stay though.

Carefully, Georgie moves to tuck Amar in properly. The boy’s small but steady breathing forced him to keep it in when he wanted to break down.

Something about the sight of that felt a little too much like caring in Yuna’s eyes. Like a scene he might have lived through himself. When that little boy was even smaller, fresher from the damage when his nights of sleep weren’t so easy.

“I’m not telling you my shit show life story in return you know?” Yuna snarked, keeping a close eye.

“…I know. I didn’t mean it like that. I just, sorry, I talk alot some times and it, it just- I don’t want to…” Georgie begins to stutter, throat oddly dry.

“Then don’t. You don’t have to talk about anything. Ever. It’s up to you and I don’t care. ” Yuna gets fed up.

The darker teenager jumps off the guest bed to drag Georgie outside, careful to not wake Amar up. The kid hasn’t been sleeping well during this trip with that Cass woman, and Yuna will stab someone if they wake him.

“What? Where are we going?” Georgie fumbles, feeling the chill in his bare feet and through his night clothes.

“Oh look. Your hot spings. ” Yuna sarcastically drawls out. “So fancy yes. Ooo water from out the ground.”

All before splashing Georgie in the face with a handful of the slightly too warm water.

“Oh no. Now I can’t tell shit if you’re crying or whatever. ” the blond rudely says, muscles always a little too tense.

Georgie chokes. It’s the steam. It’s the water. Sure, alright then. If any more comes dripping over and off his two eyes, his one nose then it was perfectly normal. Not out of place at all.

He sobs to the light sound of running water and into his own hands. He cries something rude and ugly, brazenly falling into the thin hard shoulder of a ruder boy that doesn’t care.

The tea left behind goes long cold before Georgie sobs it out, dries his face of the splashed water.

“Thank you.” he stops crying, says it as plainly and seriously as he can. Because he means it.

“Whatever. ” Yuna turns, pulling him back not exactly the way they came. But good enough, a walk enough to calm down from his outbursts.

“I mean it. Thank you. You don’t have to tell me anything or …anything. Just thank you.” Georgie chews in inside of his cheek.

He doesn’t say out loud how the younger boy before him reminds him of those times. Of pretty girls and pretty boys in not so lucky other port houses. He doesn’t dare think that about how expensive a price a face like that could go for.

Yuna wasn’t boring or ordinary at all, as young as he was. Not now, not at the bar, and probably not ever. And Georgie feels himself cry for that.

Georgie doesn’t dare whisper what he knows must have happened to the other boy, for him to react like that. And Yuna doesn’t yell or punch him for crying.

He didn’t kill anyone tonight but he could have, wanted to. But he didn’t.

When they finally make their way back to their room. Apparently, with an extra little roommate, they oddly don’t separate. They could have.

But the bed here are large. Too large and luxurious for boys like them. They curl around an already sleeping little child, as awkward as it is. Too small and warm under the covers.

“Thank you,” Georgie whispers again, not expecting an answer. He just wanted it out there. Thank you. All the thank yous.

Yuna frowns but doesn’t turn away or close his eyes, and Georgie waits with all the patience in the world.

“….You know what freaks me out.” the blonde finally spits out.

“What?” Georgie asks into the pillow above Amar’s sleeping head.

“That doll.” Yuna says.

“…The one the absolutely destroyed Rosalia and had the lord and lady rushing her upstairs? Yeah, it was ….something.” the older boy agreed.

Sure Rosalia was a genius, an oddity, and an extraordinary little girl in the making just by being who she is, but she was just a child. That easy to scare side of her was as humbling as it was a little cute.

“No, you don’t get it.” Yuna whispers with a slight hiss, and if Georgie didn’t know better he would likely think the constantly grumpy boy was scared himself.

How cute.

“Awww you’re still a child yourself. Don’t be scared.” Georgie crooned, feeling Rosalia’s teasing laugh play in his head.

“Fuck off. No that doll? I’m not kidding you, it didn’t have red hair. When we got it, fixed it up or whatever. The whole time. Not red. Tonight? Red.” Yuna warned, shivering under the half covers.

“…..suuuuuure.” Georgie giggled.

“Whatever, I don’t care. ” Yuna growled at not being believed, clutching the living breathing teddy bear that was little Amar between them.

Something in Georgie warmed at it all. The cuteness before him, the too small bed for three, the comfort of it all. He says thank you again and again in his head, even as he feels himself drift off.

He doesn’t have to talk about it tonight, not right away. But he’s grateful. Crazy as it all was, he’s grateful for everything.

He falls asleep just like that, same as how Yuna drops his guard. All his pretenses, and slips into a more peaceful sleep than usual, blaming the exhaustion.

They don’t notice the peek of sleepy green eyes in their descents. Or how little hands pull up the covers on them all.

Amar yawns, falling back in the center of it all.

“Goodnight.”

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