Chapter Text
Dan has read the same paragraph at least three times when he finally gives up and sets his book aside. Sleepless nights are nothing new. He shifts and turns with each new worry until he’s tangled in his linens and no closer to sleep. He kicks and kicks until he’s free of what binds him, physically if not otherwise, and shuffles over to sit at the open window. He’d rather look at the sky than not look at the sky and there aren’t a lot of other options at this time of night.
Outside Dan’s window, an unkempt courtyard stretches to the edge of the woods. He’s asked the groundskeeper to let it grow a little long, let the wildflowers and weeds take over just a little bit. It’s a nice reminder that not everything around him is tidy and tamed. He watches the still world outside, enjoying the quiet until a faint rustling pulls his attention to the right. There’s someone in the garden. Nothing grows there just now though seeds have been sown, the soil working just below the surface. Dan can’t fathom who would be out there at this hour. Whoever it is is crouched down low, hands on the ground. It makes a curious picture and Dan remains perfectly still and quiet as he takes it in. Soon, the stranger is standing and brushing the dirt off his hands.
Dan is startled by the sight of him. He’s tall, maybe taller than Dan, and his ivory skin stands in stark contrast to hair so black, it reflects the moonlight. He’s definitely never seen him before. A moment passes and the man is walking toward the courtyard. Without thinking, Dan ducks back behind the curtain where he can watch without being seen. The stranger moves slowly, eyes downcast, thumbs hooked in his pockets. Every few feet he stops to crouch again and regard the odd plant, running a finger over a leaf or cupping a flower in his hands. Dan can hear him speaking softly, too softly to make out what he’s saying.
Carefully backing away from the window, Dan waves a hand in the general direction of his desk and the oil lamp dims. Feeling a renewed bravery, he sits on the bed, under a veil of darkness and watches the figure outside. He can just make out his profile now and his mind supplies a word most unfitting for a man. Pretty. He’s ethereal in the moonlight, his nose pronounced, his bone structure sculptural. He’s so pretty.
The man sits now, right down on the ground in the center of the courtyard, and the quiet murmuring starts again. His arms raise above his head as if to pull the moon and stars into an embrace. Dan’s heart beats wildly in his chest and he stares, frozen in place, breath held unknowingly until the stranger’s arms drop and Dan finally exhales. Suddenly, the man turns and looks straight at the window. There’s no way he can see Dan in the dark. There’s no way but the he glares directly at him. Dan’s not afraid, something about this man says he isn’t dangerous, but he finds himself trembling all the same. He watches the man’s eyes narrow and then soften, something like a small smile on his lips. And just as suddenly, he turns back, stands, and walks away, right into the thick of trees that leads into the woods.
***
The library has always been Dan’s favorite room in the house. It’s a beautiful space with a big brick fireplace and huge windows looking out onto the lawns. Mahogany shelves stretch as high as the ceiling, chock full of books. Dan remembers craning his neck to see the top when he was only 5 or 6. Those shelves may as well have been skyscrapers for how unattainable the top seemed. Dan had already started reading by that age, working his way through facts and charts, myths and legends. Most of the words were too much, but the pictures told stories of love and cruelty, magic and violence, joy and utter devastation. The best ones had a little bit of all of that. It didn’t take long for Dan to learn that the best pictures, the best stories, were up high, out of his reach.
Ladders on wheels are not made for children, but that didn’t stop Dan. The nanny had been in the hall gossiping with one of the maids when he fell from near the top wrung. He’d been reaching out for an especially enticing book, bound in burgundy leather with gold writing on the spine, but he’d lost his footing. The break was awful, bone poking through the skin of Dan’s tiny arm. His mother held him and cooed, sending her lady’s maid to telephone the doctor. Poor Daniel had wailed in pain and his mother thanked the heavens her husband wasn’t home to see it. The last thing she needed was a grown man fainting at the sight of his child’s blood. Her hand held pressure to the wound, pushing past the churning in her stomach.
“Shhh, Daniel. I’ve got you,” she sang as a mother does, “you’re just fine. Be good as new soon.”
Dan had calmed and laid his head on his mother’s shoulder. It didn’t take long for his tears to dry, and when they did, he pushed his mother’s hand away from the wound and settled his own hand there in its place. He closed his eyes. He can’t remember what he thought or did, only the quiet and the sudden absence of pain. When his mother brought her handkerchief out to clean Dan’s hand, she saw. He can clearly remember the moment when she held his small body away from hers, practically tossing him onto a sofa. Even more vivid is the next moment, when she looked into his eyes, deeper than she ever had and, finding him behind them, scooped him back into her arms as her tears broke through.
“I’m so sorry, Doctor. Just an over-reactive mother, you know how we are. He’s absolutely fine. I feel just awful for bringing you all this way.” She hid her blood-stained hand behind her back as she spoke at the door, not allowing the affronted doctor inside. That was the first time Dan’s power had shown itself. It quickly became apparent that Dan was different from other children. His parents thought it best to limit his exposure to the outside world, and, more importantly, to limit the world’s exposure to him. It was to be just until they got a better idea of exactly what they were dealing with, and then just until Dan could learn to better control his abilities. Soon it became clear the arrangement would be indefinite. And so, when most boys Dan’s age from families like his were going off to school, Dan did not. Instead, Dan got Bryony.
She was 18, just ten years older than Dan was at the time. She was the daughter of one of the women in Dan’s mother’s women’s group. Bryony’s mother had complained about her daughter’s proclivity toward art and scientific experimentation, annoyed at her daughter’s insistence on working with her hands in spite of her academic brilliance. Dan’s mother knew she was the one.
Monday through Friday, from breakfast until dinner, Dan’s world was brought into full color. Bryony brought stories and games, retold tales from the theatre, ornate paper to fold into cranes and lilies, paints and charcoal and beautiful music on records. She’d take him out to look at the clouds, to weave flower crowns, and visit the stables. She’d gone from teacher to mentor to trusted friend over the last ten years. Dan doesn’t know how she knows so much, but he’s grateful. Most importantly, she knows Dan’s secrets, more than anyone, and she’s unafraid. She reminds Dan to be careful but smiles and ruffles his curls. “Don’t ever be ashamed, Danny. You’re special, be proud of who you are.” He owes her so much. And today is her last day.
It’s been a couple months since Dan’s 18th birthday. His primary education is complete and it's time to prepare for a career. He’ll go into law just like his father, which means he needs to apply to law school. It also means he’ll need a new tutor to prepare him. It's time for Bryony to say goodbye.
There’s a nicely-shaded clearing where Dan and Bryony often find themselves. Bryony leans against one of the big tree trunks and Dan stretches out on the grass, picking at the tiny daisies that grow all around. It always starts with a history lesson but quickly evolves into a passionate discussion of politics and current affairs. Every bone in Dan’s body aches to be where Bryony has been, and yet his skin prickles with fear when he thinks about actually heading out on his own.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving me here to rot.” Dan throws an arm over his face to shield it from the sun, pleased at the dramatic effect he inadvertently created.
“Oh, stop it. You aren’t going to rot.”
“I am. I’ll be stuck with some stodgy old man jabbering on about the law,” Dan whines, “no more art, no more revolution. I’ll turn into my father in no time.”
“There are worse things you could turn into.” They go silent for some time and Dan lets his eyes slip closed. He misses her already and he doesn’t know how to tell her. With everything he’s learned, honest expression of emotion is still just out of reach. It’s easier to keep things buried, not too deep, just enough that he knows he’s in control. That’s the most important thing, to stay in control.
“Hey, Dan,” Bryony breaks through the serenity of rustling leaves and chirping birds, “It’s 4 o’clock. Do you know what that means?” He doesn’t answer. “It means I’m not your teacher in more.”
Dan moves his arm and turns his head to look at her, squinting, bottom lip jutting out in a pout.
Bryony reaches into her bag and pulls out a bottle, holding it out toward Dan and waving it side to side. “Elderflower wine, made it myself, and it is a kick.” She pops the cap open and takes a swig before holding it out again, “Go easy. Don’t get me in trouble.”
Sitting up, Dan brushes hands off on his trousers. “Are you serious? You’re not gonna pull it away at the last second?”
She just smiles and waves the bottle again so he takes it and drinks. He’s only had champagne at Christmas and New Year and then only one glass. This is not champagne. It’s sickly sweet and floral, but the alcohol burns when it hits his throat. He winces but keeps drinking until the bottle is pulled away.
Eventually, they are both lounging against tree trunks, passing the wine back and forth. Dan’s limbs feel heavy and warm, so warm from the sun and the alcohol and the genuine friendship, something he’s never really had until now. It feels like a beginning, like a turn into the next phase of his life. In reality, he knows they’ll get up soon and head back to the house, that this was just Bryony’s way of saying welcome to adulthood. She wanted to give him a little taste of what he’s been missing but he knows a taste is all he’ll get.
“Come on, Danny boy. I’ve got to get you back.”
The world around him sways and rolls as he stands, and he giggles at the absurdity of it all, but he feels like crying all the same.
“Oh dear, look at you.” Bryony shakes her head as she wraps a steadying hand around Dan’s arm, “You should probably go straight to bed. I’ll make an excuse to your mother.”
“I can’t say goodbye like this.” Dan can’t understand why he’s slurring when he feels so great.
“No goodbyes today,” Bryony says, “I’m staying on for the weekend, as a guest.” She waves a hand in the air in a stately gesture, chin raised proudly. She giggles around a hiccup then giggles some more until Dan joins her and the have to stop walking to double over and get it out of their systems.
When they catch their breath, Dan reaches up as if to catch a gnat midair and two figs, pink and veined in green, appear in his hand. “Hungry?” He says holding them out to Bryony.
Bryony looks suspicious, “Are those even ripe?”
Dan places his free hand over the figs for a moment before exclaiming, “Tada!” He removes his hand with a flourish, the figs now a deep plum purple. Dan moans as he bites, crimson seeds rolling over his chin.
“Dan,” Bryony says, looking left and right before taking a ripe fruit for herself, “since when do you that out here?”
He only shrugs, happy in his moment of recklessness, even if all it got him was a fig a few weeks early. They walk in silence, until the house is in sight. “I’m going to miss you.”
“No you won’t,” she answers, “you’ll go to law school next year, find a wife, start the next chapter of your life. You won’t miss this.”
“I will.” Dan’s voice is low, barely audible, “and that’s not my life, Bry. You know that. There’s no wife in my future.”
They’re stood at rear entrance to the house now. “Daniel, don’t say that.” She takes one of his hands in both of hers, and stares straight into his downcast eyes.
“Someone out there will understand you and love you for everything you are. Everything. Do you hear me?”
He doesn’t move or speak.
“Dan,” she’s whispering now, “wife or not, the right person will want you just as you are. Okay?”
Though he doesn’t entirely believe her, Dan nods and tries his best to give a smile that conveys his gratitude.
***
It’s Dan’s bladder that wakes him up, but it’s his dry, pasty mouth that motivates him to actually get out of bed. There’s a tray outside the door with a sandwich and a pitcher of water. The house is quiet and Dan figures it must be later than he realized. Bringing the tray back into his room, he sits down on the window seat. He pushes the window open just enough to feel the cool summer night air and to hear the sound of crickets. There’s no rustling in the garden, no mysterious man making Dan curious. There’s just the sky, dark but illuminated by a million stars, the clouds few and far between. He’s never gulped a full glass of water so quickly in his life and the relief is heavenly. Still, his head is throbbing dully behind his temples, and his stomach sits sour and empty. Food has never sounded less appetizing than it does right now but he picks up the sandwich and nibbles at a corner anyway, tearing off a bit of crust to work on while he watches the rare wispy cloud drift past.
The breeze has the end of summer woven all through it. Dan’s hand dances in the cool of it and he watches his fingers shape the starlight, encumbered only by the glare of the nearly full moon. It’s comforting, all this beauty. It draws his focus and quiets his mind and soon he’s yawning. He has to curl up in a tiny ball to lay down on the window seat, but he manages. The view is even better from here but his eyelids flutter heavily, determined to close.
In his dream, the man from the garden sits at the window beside him. He draws vines onto the walls with a wave of his finger, vines that bloom in vibrant blue and pink and lavender. They wind around the bedposts and snake across the floor until the room is a jungle. Dan draws the night sky on the ceiling, and now his room is the whole world.
“How beautiful,” Dan says in his dream, blushing. And the man cups Dan’s jaw and leans in until his lips brush his cheek. His breath smells like sugar and violets. Dan would turn and kiss him but he doesn’t know how. “What do I do?” He whispers, closing his eyes. And the man laughs softly, so quiet, just loud enough to stir Dan from sleep.
The sound is next to him, then in his head, and then behind him and he sits bolt upright, feet on the floor, back twisting to look outside. The laughter comes again, high and musical, floating in from somewhere distant. Dan scans the courtyard, squinting to see further in the dark but there’s no one. Soon there’s a rustling in the woods and a figure steps through the trees. He’s unmistakable, tall and broad, blending in perfectly with the birch and chestnut trees. He’s glancing around and smiling, laughing like he’s having a right bant with the bark and branches all around him.
Dan only stares for a moment before he practically leaps into bed and pulls the covers up to his chin. He supposes the man could be mad. Or maybe its Dan who’s lost his mind. Either way, Dan can’t risk being seen at the window. Tomorrow, he’ll ask around; someone must know something. For now, he’ll hide and try his best to re-enter a dream that ended too soon.