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Monty had no idea why he was so sad.
His life was great. Better than great, actually. He’d just moved into an apartment with two of his best friends, had gotten into the program of his dreams, and now owned his very own coffee machine. Life was looking up. He’d made it out of the dorms and survived undergrad and life was great.
But he was crying.
“Jesus,” Monty said as Jasper passed him another tissue. “I d-don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Monty sniffled, swatting at his eyes. The feelings of blue were so deeply ingrained in his chest that it felt like someone had put them there, sewing him up without even a chance of getting them out. “Nothing’s b-bad!”
Jasper shrugged, glancing at Harper who was sitting on a nearby chair looking overly concerned. “Maybe you’re allergic to something?” Harper suggested.
Monty sniffled, hiccupping for air another time. “I’m not,” he insisted. It was sadness, deep and heavy and weighing at his bones. He knew the feeling well. But these weren’t his emotions. “I don’t know w-why!”
Jasper handed him another tissue before lifting his hand, patting it down on Monty’s shoulder once. “Just cry it out, man. Cry it out.”
--
It came at night, mostly. The waves of unrelenting sadness that Monty couldn’t quite place, but knew they didn’t belong to him.
“I’ve done some research,” Harper said, entering Monty’s room with her laptop in her hands. He wiped his eyes and frowned angrily. Because he didn’t want these emotions, and he was angry that they were distracting him from studying. But his eyes were full of tears and his chest felt tight and he really wanted to call his mom. “Basically I did a google search and this was the first thing that popped up.”
“Real intense research, Harp.”
“Shuddup.” She lowered her laptop to the bed between them as Monty reached for another tissue to blow his nose into. “The most common result is stray magic.” Monty didn’t flinch. Or roll his eyes. Because magic was real, and really annoying. Especially in a world where he didn’t have any. “I figured we could ask Raven if she wants to put some feelers out, maybe see if anyone nearby could be casting it to you. It’s probably unintentional.” Monty sniffled again, lowering the tissue so he could read Harper’s screen. “Either that or you’re repressing something dark.”
“It’s probably the magic.”
Monty grew up in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Having magic in a small town was kind of like being gay in a small town. Don’t tell anyone, or they might set you on fire. But magic at a big liberal school, it’s everywhere. It’s in the students in the library hovering the heavy books back to their texts, it’s in the laundry rooms when a machine is shaking just a little too hard. It’s impossible to miss. Monty’s never felt any though. Mainly because he doesn’t have it, and casting magic onto someone else is usually pretty dangerous.
“Well then we’ll look into it,” Harper insisted. She closed her laptop. “The only person who should be in charge of Monty Green’s feelings, is Monty Green.”
--
Monty started to feel a crap-ton of other emotions that didn’t apply to him. He knew they weren’t his, there was something about them that didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t cast them out. Raven had been using her own magic to search but it was tricky and unreliable, so she was also trying to teach him ways to put up defenses.
“Why me?” he asked one day, laughing hysterically into his hands despite the fact that they were watching Interstellar which wasn’t really funny at all. “Why me!”
“Magic is weird, dude,” Jasper suggested.
“Super weird,” Clarke agreed.
He felt anger that wasn’t his, because Monty didn’t typically get angry. It was hot, climbing down his arms and into his hands. And he felt confusion that wasn’t his, because Monty was rarely confused. He was pretty good at working out his problems, but this confusion was sticky and dry all at once. And the joy, the joy was the best. It would hit him in moments of silence, yellow and bright and make him feel lighter.
The sadness was the worst. It was aching, and it was frequent.
Monty just returned from a night class when the feelings of blue climbed inside of him as if saying welcome home. He greeted them with a sigh, readjusting the straps of his backpack as he made his way down the hallway slowly. Maybe Jasper had bought more ice cream, because Monty was really feeling like he needed some.
He was almost down the hallway when a door opened and Monty turned finding a guy exiting his apartment. The boy turned without looking and walked straight into Monty before stumbling back.
“Fuck. Sorry.” Monty looked up at him and blinked a few times, not recognizing his face. “Wasn’t looking,” he said.
“It’s okay,” Monty said back. It felt as though the sadness was being sucked out of him with a vacuum. The boy blinked hard. “So you’re the elusive neighbor,” Monty said.
He blinked again. “Guess so,” he answered. He extended his hand. The feelings of blue dropped out of Monty at once. “Nathan. Miller.”
“Monty,” Monty responded.
“Sorry,” Miller said again. “I was on my way out.” Monty held up his hands, allowing him to pass, before Miller blinked another time. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Here’s hoping.”
--
The next time Monty saw Miller wasn’t in the hallway, but rather in the library.
Monty was fighting off a hefty urge to laugh despite the fact that it was tugging at him, prodding him, begging him to do it, when he heard a laugh from a table over. He lifted his head to find Miller and Bellamy—Clarke’s boyfriend—hunched over a laptop with a YouTube video pulled up. Part of him wondered how Miller knew Bellamy, and another part of him wondered why they were laughing, and another part of him was trying desperately not to laugh.
He laughed anyway.
Miller swung around as Bellamy dissolved into giggles over the video, his eyes narrowing in on Monty at once.
Miller looked confused. Monty felt confused. Miller looked shocked. Monty felt shocked. Miller looked nervous. Monty felt nervous.
It was rapid fire, and these emotions were not his.
Magic is real, Monty thought. And Miller has it.
--
Monty knocked on Miller’s door two days later. He was aching, aching, aching, and he wanted to test a theory. So he went, and he knocked, and Miller answered.
“Monty,” he said in greeting.
“You have magic,” Monty responded just as pointed.
Miller blinked a few times. “What?”
“Don’t you?” Monty pressed. He pushed his way into Miller’s apartment and felt the emotions that weren’t his being sucked from him again, pulled in Miller’s direction as though they were tangible and being yanked back into their rightful spot. “When did you move in here?” Monty asked, spinning around. “Do you have magic or not?”
“First of all,” Miller said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Barging into people’s apartments is rude.”
“So is throwing your emotions at someone else,” Monty echoed, crossing his arms the way Miller was but looking way less intimidating. He didn’t have time for Miller to get to a second of all. He just wanted this overwhelming sadness out of his chest. “Answer the question.”
“Ask in a nicer manner.” Monty huffed. Miller was confirming the fact that he had magic without saying it. It was the classic don’t admit but don’t deny sort of mindset. “You don’t know me,” Miller said.
“Okay, true,” Monty agreed. “I don’t. But I know what you’re feeling.” Miller’s eyes flickered elsewhere and then he reached out, pushing his door shut with a heavy thud. Miller jerked his head, motioning toward living room area, and Monty quickly followed him to it. “Listen,” Monty said as he settled on the couch beside Miller. “I didn’t mean to be rude. But I’ve got a chemistry test coming up that I’m trying to study for and it’s a lot harder to do when I want to stop and cry every couple of minutes.”
Miller’s eyebrows joined in the middle of his forehead. “It’s that strong?”
“Yes.”
He frowned. “Emotions are weird,” Miller said.
“Magic is weird,” Monty corrected.
Miller reached out without pause and grabbed Monty’s hand. It felt like Monty could breathe again. Every negative thing that had been aching inside of him was sucked out at once. Remnant emotion that Monty knew wasn’t his was gone too. His chest was clear, his mind was sharp.
“Sorry,” Miller murmured. “I didn’t…” he blinked hard. “Sometimes I don’t think about it.” Monty exhaled deeply. Monty’s own relief (it was his, it was his) was brilliant inside of him. It felt bright and free and wonderful. “Yeah, I have magic,” Miller said. “I’m usually pretty good at keeping it in check. Sorry you were caught in the crossfire.”
Monty shrugged, honestly just thankful that he didn’t feel like crying anymore. “Why me?” Monty wondered.
Miller shrugged. “Magic is weird,” he told him.
--
Miller promised that he would try and keep his magic in check more often, but every now and then Monty found himself knocking on Miller’s door so Miller could touch him, pull the emotions back into himself so Monty could breathe again. Monty didn’t mind as much. Miller was angry looking but nice enough, and sincerely apologetic for accidentally casting his magic somewhere else.
“Sometimes that happens,” Raven told Monty one night. “When something big happens to someone, they lose control of it.”
Monty wanted to know what had happened to Miller. He just didn’t want to ask.
--
It turned out that Miller and Bellamy knew each other through classes. So one night well into the semester Monty entered a house party to find Miller and Bellamy sitting next to each other on a couch, Bellamy’s arm swung over his friend’s shoulder. An immediate warmth crept into Monty’s chest and it felt out of place, and Monty knew it wasn’t his. But it was a welcome feeling, warm and warm and warm. Magic.
Miller’s eyes found his and he had enough decency to look a little sheepish. Monty waved him off. This sort of feeling was welcome.
Monty wasn’t the biggest fan of house parties, but this one he enjoyed. He had his friends with him (well Harper was off flirting with a girl named Zoe in the corner, and Jasper was making goo-goo eyes at someone named Maya) and Monty had taken a few shots. There was still warmth in his chest, Miller’s warmth, but it was good. It felt like it belonged there.
Somehow Monty ended up on the couch next to Miller, but Monty was trying very hard not to touch him. He could feel the energy that was Miller’s being sucked back into Miller, magic was strange like that, but if they touched and it was all yanked of out Monty… well, he didn’t want that. At least not now.
“We’ve been neighbors long enough,” Miller said at one point. His eyes were hazy, he was drunk, and Monty was drunk too. “Maybe we should actually get to know each other.”
“Maybe,” Monty agreed.
So they talked. They talked about a lot of things. School, work, their friends. Magic, magic, magic. Monty was surprised at how easy it was, and how not horrible Miller was. He had the face of someone who was perpetually angry but tonight he was smiling so often that Monty wasn’t sure why he’d ever thought that Miller was cold. Miller was nothing but smiles, and bright eyes, and laughter warm enough to make Monty feel warm too.
It wasn’t until later, back at the pong table with Jasper, did a new feeling climb into Monty’s chest.
It was desperate and it was the good sort of aching and it was strong. Want. Monty licked his lips and tried to shove the feeling down, knowing part of it was his but part came from someone else too, and turned to find Miller watching him.
--
They all started hanging out, because that’s what grad students did. Monty’s friend group blended into Raven’s, blended into Clarke’s, blended into Bellamy’s, blended into Miller’s. Raven and Miller and Bellamy bonded over magic, the pros and cons of having it, while Monty listened intently. Magic used to be annoying because he didn’t have it, but now it felt like maybe he did. Maybe he did have magic, at least in some way. When Miller was feeling too much, it felt like there was magic at Monty’s fingertips.
“Why me?” Monty asked again one night.
Miller didn’t know how to answer. “Magic is weird.”
“Magic is smart,” Raven suggested from across the room. “It clings to people who have similar energy to you, or energy that supports yours.”
“That’s what led me to Clarke,” Bellamy said, bending in to press a warm kiss to Clarke’s temple. She rolled her eyes at him but nuzzled close.
Monty felt it suddenly and sharply, again a warmth that wasn’t his, a feeling that wasn’t his, but one he was feeling too. Curiosity, bright and white and fanning across his ribcage. Confusion, dripping down his spine. Want, everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
--
It had been a while since feelings dark and blue climbed into Monty’s chest. But one night, close to the end of fall semester, he sat up in the middle of the night with such a bone crushing sadness in his soul that he knew something was wrong with Miller at once. Monty fought off tears as he slid into some slippers and hurried down the hall.
One knock, two, and then Miller was pulling open the door looking distraught.
“Monty?” Monty pushed his way into the room, sniffling and blinking harder and harder to stop himself from crying. He reached for Miller’s hands, forcing the sadness back into Miller’s body, and Miller nearly crumbled. “Oh, fuck,” he gasped, stumbling away. “Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry.”
No longer feeling like he was drowning Monty stayed close. “Talk to me,” he said, reaching out. Already Miller’s eyes were wet but Monty wasn’t going anywhere. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Bad dream,” Miller rasped. He stumbled again, trying to gain control of himself as Monty’s hands found his arms. “You felt this? I’m fine, I’m fine.”
“Nate.”
Miller sucked in a sharp breath and then he was tugging, pulling Monty into his arms and holding him close. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said it again and again into the crook of Monty’s neck. He was shaking and for once Monty wanted to take Miller’s feelings, pull them back into himself so Miller wasn’t feeling them. “I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, hey,” Monty tried to sooth him but his words got lost in the chaos. Miller was crying and Monty didn’t know what to do. Somehow they settled onto Miller’s couch. His eyes were still rimmed with red and he wasn’t shaking anymore but he still looked broken. The kind of broken that made Monty’s chest ache on its own accord. “Talk to me,” Monty whispered.
And he did.
“My mom died a couple of months ago,” Miller said. “I live all the way across the country,” he said. “I was home for the funeral, for a few days, but I… I had to come back for classes, and…” he trailed off. “I miss my dad,” he said. “I miss my mom. I miss being home, and it—fuck, it gets away from me.” Monty twisted their hands, lacing his fingers with Miller’s. “I’m sorry I’ve been putting you through the ringer,” Miller said. “It just gets away from me.”
“It’s okay,” Monty told him, squeezing his hand. “I just want you to be okay.”
“I guess it’s just easier to cast it out then to feel it because feeling it…”
“It sucks,” Monty filled in for him. “I know. I’ve been feeling it.”
Miller sighed and shook his head. There was magic in the air, Monty could feel it. Miller’s magic was something bright, something warm, even despite the sadness it was charged with. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “You have a…” Miller trailed off, and Monty looked up at him curiously waiting for him to continue. “You have a way of grounding me,” Miller said lowly. “I don’t know why.”
“Balancing energies,” Monty suggesting, referencing what Raven had said a few weeks ago.
“Balancing magic,” Miller responded.
Monty shook his head. “I don’t have magic,” he said.
Miller squeezed his hand. “It feels like magic to me.”
--
After the night in Miller’s apartment, Miller became much better at containing his feelings.
Bits would slip out every now and then, climb into Monty’s chest and latch onto his ribcage, but nothing that was debilitating. Most of it was warm, friendly, bright. Almost as though Miller was sharing bits and pieces with Monty intentionally. Monty knew when he was having a good day, when Miller was being hopeful, when Miller felt that everything was okay. And Monty liked that.
One afternoon, stretched out on Monty’s couch, Monty felt that feeling again, the one that came up sporadically when he and Miller were close like this.
Want. It was almost indescribable, the way it fanned out across him as though someone was breathing close. It inched across ever stretch of skin Monty had, nestling in between his bones. Monty tipped his head in Miller’s direction and found Miller watching him, a sort of gentleness in his gaze.
“I can feel it,” Monty whispered.
Miller blinked a few times. “Feel what?” he asked.
“How you feel.”
Miller dipped his gaze but Monty edged closer. “I wish I could feel how you feel,” he murmured back.
Monty reached over, cupping Miller’s cheek. “You can,” Monty said. Miller turned to face him and Monty tugged, pulling until Miller’s lips met his. The feeling of want shifted into something more, something immense, and it wasn’t Miller’s want that Monty was feeling anymore. It was his own. His other hand lifted to Miller’s other cheek and Miller sighed into Monty’s mouth, kissing him back easily. “Can you feel it?” Monty whispered against his mouth.
Miller grinned, and kissed him, and kissed him again.