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The memories come in flashes—things only his wretched brain could make up as a means to escape reality.
Chase has no fucking idea what is real and what isn't anymore.
The stories they go into don't allow him or Deacon the grace of memory. Their experiences become confined to castle walls, storybook universes.
Deacon and Chase's memories of a fantasy world, book characters, and anyone else they interact with are lost, as fabricated as the world they remain a part of.
The stories are a separation between consciousness and reality, a dip into an alternate universe. Chase wants to remember things, though.
Even though majority of what they experience becomes lost, for a while they've….they've known some things.
It's true that they know there's another key-holder, just that they struggle to remember nearly everything about him, even the little bits of information that he'd probably let slip. It's also true that Chase is the one that seems to hold most of the memories of this guy—false ones, probably.
Recently, they had found out that objects could be bought between worlds. Chase's red hoodie had gone missing a few books ago—but it came back with him later, strangely enough.
Of course they didn't know this until recently: they didn't remember anything.
After a particularly strange dream about the keyholder—his face muddy as he flicked Chase on the nose and then leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead—Chase had woken up in a cold sweat.
His dreams confuse him all the time.
Chase doesn't think he has a storybook boyfriend, or that the keyholder was sweet. He doesn't know what the keyholder is like, but those dreams leave his head reeling even as he gets up.
He thought about it that night, blond hair falling back against his pillow as he stared off into darkness. I can't love someone I don't remember.
Even if it won't do anything or show every emotion he's feeling at a specific instance, it couldn't hurt to bring along a notepad and pen, just to see what he remembers.
Prunella left for a story just a moment ago—her hero key is gleaming, sticking out of a Lady Lovalorn book that he remembered her being particularly excited for.
She'd left, beaming with excitement, and now Chase is here, waiting for Deacon to pick out their book.
Deacon comes through the attic door, holding up a book with a dark cover, note cards about the plot sticking out of his khaki pockets. It's their usual routine—Deacon chose the books, wrote the notecards, and Chase agreed, eager to find the narratonin they so desperately needed.
"What's that one about?" Chase asks.
For two people who struggle to retain their memories, they make the most of these broken memories, the ones they create—because this is for Myra….and a little for themselves, farming enjoyment.
Deacon shrugs. "Nooo idea."
"Oookay, then…" Chase mumbles. "I'm coming along, wait one second."
Deacon's key lights up as he shoots away into the book. Chase stays behind for a split second, considering his plan. He goes over the facts, the ones that never change and the few facts he remembers.
He's been having strange dreams about the universes they've traveled into for at least a week now: he knows this because the boy in his dreams grasped a key around his neck, one that looked much like Chase's.
Chase knew this, because through his point of view, he stared at his own outfit in wonder, shock.
There was always a strange boy in those dreams. He never quite knew if Chase was meant to believe his dreams about the boy.
But the more Chase dreamed—his eyes mapped out a sculpted jaw, piercing blue eyes, and soft fondness. Chase knew he had to figure out the real him.
There had to have been something up with his dreams. They never…they felt made up, and it was difficult to check if they reflected reality.
They always reflected his deepest desires, something real, something true, and that's…that's how they've always been.
This summer couldn't have been any different. Silver assumes key form as Chase follows, finally immersing Chase's memories into one.
It's the same world that Chase hasn't remembered until now. Their dreams always lead back to here—another storybook, another character, another infuriating key holder that Chase found himself infatuated with in dreams—not reality.
Never reality, because he didn't even know what reality was.
It didn't make any fucking sense.
There's a flash of light as Chase enters the book.
The keyholder in his dreams—Buddy, isn't even in this story.
He rocks along to the steady rhythm of the carriage that he's in, Chase feeling every emotion, every memory associated with it in these books, rushing back.
He's here for enjoyment. For his mom. To figure out why Buddy was after a wish too, he can finally remember some of what they've gathered. It just doesn't make sense as to why these memories don't follow him back home.
Chase can feel every sensation cracking into his skull the more he thinks. Deacon kicks his ankle lightly across from him, and Chase snaps out of it, holding his notepad in his clenched fist. "Wha— what?"
"…why do you have a notepad?"
"Field notes. I want to remember outside of books. 'Cause I know we always forget. It's unfair."
"Trying to get over our…storybook-induced dementia by writing it down?"
"Well, yeah?" Chase rolls his eyes like it's the most obvious thing in the world, kicking Deacon in the shin back.
His eyes fall back onto the notepad, pulling his knees to his chest as he writes a single note. Weird, dark story. No idea where we're going. I can't find Buddy and it's creepy. Deacon leans forward to see what Chase is writing, and Chase defensively shields his notes. He didn't even write anything incriminating, but his cheeks warm regardless. "Jeez, okay." Deacon huffs, teasing.
There's a pause as Chase stops his writing. "Deacon?"
"What's up?"
Chase takes a look out the carriage window, dread creeping up his stomach and cold shivering into his bones. "Where are we going, exactly?"
Deacon laughs. "You'll see. I think you'll like this book." He smiles again like he knows something Chase doesn't. "Wait…can I have a page as well? We need to be taking notes on the Buddy guy."
"Why?" Chase asks, a little too fast.
"Chase, it's a good idea, and I have a lot of memories right now as well. I mean, instead of having like, no mental profile, we can just…have an actual report of this Buddy guy. Y'know, instead of whatever we struggle to remember."
Chase hands him the pen he'd been clutching and rips out a page, and for a few minutes, Deacon makes a list of things that he can remember. He holds his knee up, writing shaky without a surface to write on.
Chase rolls his eyes as Deacon hands him the pen back. "See? I am smart, Dorkin'. I need to make sure my dreams are real."
"…dreams?" Deacon looks up, handing him his pen back.
Heat hits Chase in the face as he immediately gets defensive. "N-not dreams. I mean like, vague memories. They…feel fake."
"How come you can remember vague memories and me and the kid can't remember anything?"
"Well…Buddy has Violet right? And she's directly connected to Silver?" Chase weakly adds, even though he has no idea what he's talking about.
"Ahhh. That makes sense, because me and Pru can't remember a single thing after we leave." Deacon dismisses. Silence falls between them once more, Chase's face slightly warm.
Chase looks out the window as they approach a manor that stretches past the clouds and a circular moon that seems to swallow his curiosity whole.
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Seeing a hot vampire in front of him made Chase eternally curse the fact that he couldn't absorb excitement after these stories ran their course.
He's squealing, mind filled with Dracifer. Who is Buddy or Deacon or anyone? Chase's brain is too blank to think.
This guy is a book character, but he's mega super hot I'm the luckiest guy alive.
There's a voice from next to him on the dinner table, the same one that belongs to none other than Dracifer. "What are you doing, dearest?"
Chase looks up from his notepad. In his daze, the leaping, twirling steps had left him to ignore the eyes currently searing in the back of his head, as well as Deacon's exasperated, "I should've fucking known."
"Oh! Uh, nothing."
"Well dear…" Dracifer coos, and Chase lights up, furiously writing down, dude, this is the first time I've obsessed over a stupid book character.
Not like I usually remember most of them when I go back, but usually they're just jerks.
Chase focuses his eyes back on Dracifer, his red eyes tinting in an annoyed glare at Chase's momentary indifference as he continues his monologue.
There's certainly more exasperated groans behind Chase, drowned out, but he really can't find it into him to care. Not when Dracifier is talking to him. "…be a lamb, and pass me…" Chase's eyes fall to the glint of his sharp teeth. "…the salt."
Deacon groans behind him, loudly, and Chase decides to pointedly ignore it, living in the ignorant bliss that was this world.
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Chase lives in ignorant bliss for a little while.
Not until he hears banging coming from the basement, desperate, clawing and scraping.
It's the same boy from his dreams that he's been ignoring for a while during his infatuation with a fictional man, with fangs and a cool outfit….
Chase knows from his memory that only comes back in these books that Buddy was not like this.
He never threw Chase down, tumbling to the floor with a shaky embrace.
This feels nothing like his dreams—holding no warmth this inconsumable, burning this bright. Usually, his dreams were false memories with this very same boy.
And Chase knew it was him. It's the same striking blue eyes, like diamonds or some type of expensive little stones. It's the same stoic jaw and same boob window that were a feature of his outfits.
But it's not the same personality that he remembers—it's nothing like the closed over demeanor that clutched Chase away.
It's nothing like the angry shoves, deflections, and reluctant friendliness (after their agreement to be nice to each other) that seemed like Buddy was trying to hide something.
It's different now.
Buddy clings to him in comfort, his blue eyes snapped shut as Chase freezes. He knows how to comfort—Chase's hands find his shoulders, barely flinching at the thorns that Chase's hands find in an effort to comfort Buddy.
Buddy presses closer to him, uncaring for the thorns that were meant to separate them both. Chase breathes softly as his hands soften around him.
Buddy's shaky breathing and gasping tears soften the more Chase squeezes up his shoulder, away from the spikes that were digging into his other hand.
The knot in Buddy's heart untangles itself, ready to unhand himself to Chase.
Chase won't remember this, and it makes Nox's heart ache for reasons he doesn't want to name.
"Hey…are you okay?" Chase breathes, his hands tightening around his shoulders, finding their rest on his back. It stops the banging of his heart, the dizziness overcoming Nox—he breathes him in.
I don't need your kindness. I'm horrible.
Nox tries to speak the words out, tried to push him away for a moment. Instead, he shakes his head, breathing into Chase's hair, grasping onto him like he's a lifeline, tugging him between panic and calm.
They melt in each other's arms, and for moments, neither of them recall how long they're stuck like that, pressed together.
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Chase pulls away, watching how Nox's eyes fall to him, dazed as he stands up. "Come on," Chase says, or something of the like, Nox doesn't really hear. But he's being taken by the arm, up the stairs, his sanity following him closely behind.
They walk up the stairs, and for a moment, Chase pauses, remembering. "Hey, Buddy? Can you…wait here? I need to…do something real quick."
Guiltily pulling away, Chase writes with a messy flourish another thing to remember against the side of the chamber wall while trying to shield his paper the best he can against eyes falling on the back of his head. Buddy had a panic attack and I calmed him down. Poor guy. He isn't all that horrible, like some…misunderstood bad boy he's just a guy behind those pretty cold blue eyes. Like…
Chase can't put it to words, his strange feelings twirling in his chest, but he hopes his dreams are full of this: not rivalry, but comfort.
Nox watches Chase, turned around, paper pressed to the side of the edge of the chamber wall. In the dim light, Nox can't see what he's writing as Chase stuffs the paper back into his pocket. "Let's go!" Chase laughs nervously.
Nox doesn't reach for Chase first—at least he doesn't think he does, but Chase's arm is wrapped around his once more, so who is he to think about that?
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The book ends in a disaster, to put it simply. Prunella comes out of nowhere, yelling about how Grandpa Ralph almost found the keys, and how they were done for—
And Chase stopped to write it fucking down, while Deacon was yelling at him and Prunella was tugging him by the arm, he scribbled out, knows about Pru in stories fuck, before he grasps his key and his notepad.
Please work.
He ends up back home, clutching his pen, notepad flipped open to a page.
They end up back just in time, Grandpa Ralph slamming the door shut after lecturing them about being gone or something else that Chase doesn't hear. He needs to see what happened.
He looks back at the notepad that inevitably came back with him. Chase's eyes light up and he smacks Deacon. "Deacon, Do you have your no—"
Deacon holds up a paper crumpled in his fist, torn out of the same notepad Chase had taken into books. "Yeah, I—"
"IT WORKED!" Chase screams so loud that Deacon has to shush him, loudly, before Grandpa Ralph comes back.
"Um, what did?" Prunella asks. Chase jumps up and down hysterically, her voice lost in the commotion.
She watches as Chase flips to the front page of the notepad. He yells, "I'LL SHOW THEM TO YOU I SWEAR BUT I'LL STICKER THE PAGES YOU CAN'T READ, LET ME READ EVERYONE SHUT—"
Deacon almost wants to follow him.
Chase sits against his dresser as he reads through his notes, his mind blank of previous memories they'd encountered moments ago—the ones that came in broken bits and pieces to Chase.
His heart slams in his chest as he reads through the entries. The guy in my dreams is real. Buddy is usually a little meaner, but I'm not insane. He exists.
The little scribbles get more and more incoherent and brief as Chase reads on. —Villainess key holder, has Violet. Important!!!!
—mean to me wants keys. Kind of cute. (Chase's dreams were right about that part.)
Wait what?
Deacon taps him on the shoulder. "Guys, wait, we need to talk about this key-holder."
Prunella raises an eyebrow. "Huh? Guys, what is going on?"
Chase looks to her. "Kid, look. Remember how I said there was another guy who came from my dre— memories who also went into books? And how since we can't really remember anything in books, I didn't know if they were real or not?"
She nods slowly, not quite sure where this is going. "Yeaaah?"
"Well, we tried writing stuff down to see if we could remember it then."
Chase flips through the pages rapidly, barely able to decipher what he wrote at the end. He doesn't recall why they'd left the story so fast, so he eagerly flips to one of the later pages in the notepad he'd been furiously scribbling in.
There! —knows about Pru in stories—
Chase's heart drops out of his chest, and his face must've paled as well, because Deacon hits his shoulder. "I just finished reading through my stuff. We have a good profile now! What did—"
"Um. I wrote down that Buddy knows…about Pru now?"
"W-wait. Cause Pru warned us to get out of the story, and….And— oh god." Deacon groans. "Shoot."
"Guys, I'm sorry," Prunella blurts.
Deacon turns to her, pausing. "Hey, Pru, it's not your fault. He would've known anyways. Buddy'll just be…upset, I guess."
Chase chews on his lip, stuck in thought. Guilt pours out of him, his heart slamming the more he looks through the field notes.
Like an idiot, he'd barely written anything about Buddy from the beginning. What the fuck was wrong with him? He'd written about comforting Buddy and how he was kind of endearing when he wasn't annoying, and that was it. "I'm…you guys tell Silver, Goldie, and Bronze. I don't have anything useful in here."
Chase feels two pairs of eyes on him as he slumps onto his bed. Deacon and Prunella's footsteps fall up the ladder, shut into silence.
He's so stupid. So selfish.
The notes he wrote about Buddy, about the story spiral back until it seems his dreams are just an exaggerated version of reality.
They did not touch as much as they did in Chase's dreams—they didn't embrace that long, and comfort was scarce according to his notes. The hug was "shocking" or whatever Chase had written earlier.
He didn't expect it, and he didn't want it.
Or did he?
Heat floods into Chase's cheeks. He doesn't want to fall in love with a dream, but it seems that's all he'll ever do.
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He's so selfish that the next time he goes into a book, a cloudy Cinderella book, the only thing Chase cares about is being heard.
And all that's happening is the opposite—Chase's teeth cut into his lip as he listens to Nox yell at him—every thing he says is true.
Even more hurt floods him when Nox wrinkles his nose in distaste and Chase struggles to even believe that his dreams of warmth were ever real.
Wetness drips onto him, and Chase's hands shake as he grabs the paper, the last piece of salvation.
Buddy's mad at me because he found out ab Pru. Won't forgive me now. Don't expect him to.
A cluck of a noise escaped Buddy as he'd turned his heel. He spewed disappointment, a lot like his Aunt Beth when she found out that Chase didn't have a "real job" yet. The comparison is arbitrary and it hits Chase harder than it should.
Maybe he was just a disappointment.
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Buddy doesn't look at him until a storm swirls, until they're falling apart.
Maybe he should be grateful that Buddy's grasping onto his hand now, firm, desperate and panicked.
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Chase knew what he had done.
He'd known as they'd run, as everything fell apart. For a moment, there was hope—though now, even that was dashed.
Everything's gone wrong, his friends are gone…
Buddy isn't leaving. He's staring at him, anger finding its way to understanding at the final scene. Chase drowns out most of what Buddy is saying, his words like mush and ruin, mirroring the rest of the book.
His hand curls around Chase's wrist in comfort—it's so soft that even Chase freezes. It's like this moment of suffering tethers them together, despite the cold and ruin and loss of memories.
They hold onto each other despite the cold, the shuffling of paper around them that's almost guaranteed to swallow them whole and rip at Chase's sense.
He holds onto it all, the letter Silver said she wanted to give to Violet—the letter. "Take it. It's the only thing I haven't—" screwed up. Chase rambles on and on about his family, about how this is his fault, and he can't even stop to worry about speaking too much, because truly he doesn't care, but Buddy's always in books, calling him an idiot, belittling him, and in a way he's right.
His dreams were such a fucking lie. He didn't need warmth or comfort when it was all just made up.
Buddy pulls Chase into his chest, and he freezes.
Never mind then. Tears clog his throat.
Paper shuffles around them, cold wind blowing them up against this spot against the tree, but Buddy is hugging him.
They're stuck here, and Chase would do anything for comfort: in the span of Buddy's arms, he freezes.
For once, it feels like his dreams, like they were leading to this. The notes that Chase wrote in the last book—a mixture of angry ranting and dreamy little asides about Buddy's warmth—they feel real now.
Maybe he could have his dreams?
None of that matters now, though. Chase is going to be gone soon.
"I don't want you to leave," Chase chokes out, hands reaching for Buddy and resting there. "B-but you have to leave now."
Buddy's hands find his hair, and it's too reminiscent of the last hug they had—a memory they both know now. "I can stay longer." Buddy's voice murmurs, pressing them close and clinging for comfort.
Chase feels like he's being lulled to sleep, the hand to his hair softening and staying there. His eyes shut for a brief moment, the dull world crumbling in his hands. The paper sounds closer, something blinding behind his eyelids, and Chase's eyes snap open in alarm. Was this deat—
He doesn't want to speak that word into his brain.
Chase squints.
The blinding light turns out to not be death, but life in the form of the pages tearing through the darkening walls of the book closing in on them.
…true love's first kiss. That'll end the book.
"Buddy, look!" Chase speaks, heart buzzing in his ears.
They can end this. He can solve this.
We just need to listen to the book.
It's desperation. But I don't care. I want to get out of here, to remember you and fall for you like my dreams and big fat crush on you say I do.
Chase continues talking, begging for Buddy to listen, though he doesn't really have to.
I just want to remember you.
Chase doesn't say that though. It's a dying wish that he can't have.
He listens to the distance in Buddy's gaze like he doesn't believe he could ever save anything. "I've never been the hero in any story," he mumbles, hand falling to Chase's. "Not even my own."
His dreams have never felt so real. But they're here now, stuck in front of him, and Chase doesn't want to think for a moment that this isn't going to happen. "But…I'd like to be your hero," Chase barely feels the cool palm to his cheek, the hand to his side pulling them closer, making Chase's heart skip a beat.
It isn't anything but survival, but that doesn't mean Chase isn't allowed to drown out the silently whispered voice of, "—just this once," just as Buddy finishes talking and as his brown eyes widen in response.
"Okay," Chase breathes, though it remains secondary to Buddy's gaze lowering into his own. When did his eyes get so soft?
For a brief moment, as he leans in, Chase mourns the fact that he won't remember this, that the books don't let him remember. His notebook stays in his pocket, and he would never stop anything to write this down.
And that's because writing this down doesn't come close to the real thing as the gap between them falls shut.
Chase's heart is beating in his ears, every interaction they've had flashing behind his eyes at lightning speed—or as fast as they can before Chase's mind goes blank.
All the dreams fade away to reality, Buddy's mouth on his own and a hand tangled in his blond hair. Chase's eyes shut and Buddy breathes closer to tilt their faces together.
Chase's mouth moves against his, soft and pliant and flushed, and it's so much better than his dreams of pitiful falsehood.
It's so much better.
Buddy kisses him like he's worried about pushing too far, cradling him in his arms. Their arms go warm around each other, and they must be falling, the world around them must be spinning, but their mouths part against each other as the kiss deepens, so isn't that all that matters?
The world flashes around them, and Chase freezes as he's taken home on instinct—he doesn't remember getting back to the tower, doesn't remember Prunella and Deacon collapsing next to him.
There's a clamor of little voices as the keys struggle in the spa Chase had made the keys. Prunella grabs them as Deacon runs to slam the window shut with an obnoxious bang, storm raging outside.
"What…happened?" Silver asks. Prunella and Deacon look to each other and shrug.
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Chase doesn't breathe. His mouth and cheeks are tingling, hair tousled. His brown eyes light up as he looks off into space and remembers—remembers.
He remembers Buddy. Not just the notes he'd reread over and over, deciphering them like there was more to be said. Not just the dreams that were never close to reality.
"Hello?" Deacon waves a hand in front of his face. Chase doesn't feel like he's back. Is this another dream?
Why do I remember now?
Chase jumps up, finger resting on his bottom lip as he spins around. "O-oh. Hi."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. That book was weird. Deacon?"
Deacon raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"Do you…remember things now? Because I do." Chase blurts.
"I—" Deacon gasps. "Not last book, but before that…yeah. Buddy. He has the villainess key and— he found out about Pru. And we went into the cat book first and he was…" An asshole to me.
"Yeah. See, we remember! This is insane!"
"Yeah, insa—" Wait. "What— wait. How did you guys finish the story? Wasn't everything falling apart?"
Chase stands up—though the second Deacon asks that question, he nearly trips on air. "Um. We just…we made up an ending! Everything worked out, obviously."
"Okay, but how—"
"Gee, Deacon, I really like this talk but almost getting crushed into soggy paper was really traumatizing. See? My pinkie's up. That means I'm really scared."
"Chase, what the fu- fudge—" Before he can even answer or follow after Chase, he's gone, walking down the rickety steps and tripping downwards.
There's a thump as Chase falls, a slam against the last step. Chase groans, pressing his hands to his face, every nerve in his body warm.
Prunella calls, "Um, are you okay?"
Silver calls, "Oh, Chase, that sounded like quite a fall!" She gasps, peeking her head through the entrance of the tower. His face is flushed and he looks half-giddy, half-shocked.
"Sorry, I'm— I'm out of it. I'll be okay," he calls. "Fine. I need to take a nap."
He slumps towards the pillow, head spinning, face flushing as he drifts off to sleep.
For once, it seems like these dreams are reality—not the ones that he's crafted from want. He feels the warm tingling of his mouth, the pull of Buddy's arm…
The dull comfort that books seem to bring him seems to be palpable even when he's asleep, and Chase lets himself fall asleep to the sensation.
His eyes drift off to sleep and he lets himself breathe once more, lips parted in a soft grin, body drowning into his bed.