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When your eyes blearily blink awake, you're being carried away in a pair of firm arms.
Certainly not Chase's—even if you feel but a bag of bones compared to him, he would not be able to carry you like the knight in shining armor he was, simply because he was too small to do so.
I love you, you think, pretending to have only now awoken, staring at Chase walking behind you, looking back over his shoulder one more time to make sure you aren't being followed.
Deacon had called the police on his cellophane, all of Ex-Libris gone, magic not to be seen any longer. It was why you were now rapidly fleeing the scene with Grandpa Ralph and Chase. You would be difficult to explain.
Your siblings should be safe wherever they are now, hidden out of sight.
"—aren't we going to be caught?" You had asked, blue eyes blearily drinking in this new world, pressed into the grass.
The best thing to happen to you had laughed. Like it was so easy for him not to worry. "Buddy. This is the most interesting thing to happen to the police department since Lauren butt-dialed them during Senior Bingo Night. I promise, they'll be tripping over themselves to be useful, not to figure out why we're driving away from the scene of crime."
"That makes no sense."
"Um, you make no sense."
Now, Chase is watching as your blue eyes blink awake to the world, with you still in his Grandfather's arms.
The rest of your siblings were whispering and clamoring among each other as they had themselves hidden among the rest of the humans who had stayed back, relieved to be together once more. Some absorbed the news of a new home quickly—Mint and Rose especially—while others had been a little more cautious. Regardless, it had been easy for the most part to convince them this was safe, Sage and Violet announcing these humans worthy.
You knew Sage and Violet were always right, and so did your siblings when you had left them behind.
Chase's grandpa holds you like you are his own kin. With gruff firmness, hurried footsteps, he's taking you to the locomotive. You remember why you had fallen asleep now.
You broke from Chase's warm hug, dizzy with relief earlier. The grass was coated with dew, and when you had first let yourself fall face-first into it moments after, you felt cold on your face.
Chase laughed at you, but he did not know what it was like to realize you could feel the trees in the air, could smell the thick wood and leaves wrapping around your whole being after years of feeling nothing at all. He did not know how relieving it was, when you had not had this in years, when this was the best feeling in the world.
You felt teary with that, so comforted that you wanted to fall asleep right then and there. It felt like you had not slept properly in years which perhaps, was true. Everyone had forced an uncomfortable sleep upon you, making sleep anything but the comfort it was preached to be. You would never sleep as long as it meant it would be used against you, but you would now because it was smothering you with relief, which is why you let yourself relax now.
Now, you blink, openly awake, stare at Chase behind the firm grasp, unaware you are smiling at him over Sir Ralph's firm arm, because he is looking ahead of you instead of at you.
When warm brown eyes meet yours, they call out to you in the dark, and you blink back, everything moving as if it's in slow motion. You can't wait to kiss his smile, cannot wait to hold him and feel his warm cheek brushing against your neck. You cannot wait to taste this world anew.
Chase walks forward to open the locomotive door as Grandpa Ralph places you into the seat, adjusting your limbs as you pretend to fall asleep. "Grandpa, the big jerk's awake."
A smile is forming at the edge of your mouth.
"Looks asleep to me."
Chase snorts.
The door shuts behind you after Sir Ralph adjusts your head against the seat one last time. It's so gentle, you don't know what to do with it.
Your mouth twitches at Chase squinting at you. You stare back with your eyes barely opened, opening your eyes just to get a good look of him.
You have never known peace when you let yourself sleep, you have never had the time to sleep for comfort rather than survival.
This time, you do. You pretend your eyelids are shut as peacefully as a corpse who is forced to live once more. You know that is not what you are, you know yourself better than anyone else—you wanted to be alive so badly.
Chase knows it, too. He pokes your cheek, with a warm finger brushing against your cheek. "Buddy-boo. I know you're not asleep. I just didn't want Grandpa to murder me. You can wake up now."
"Hm?" You say, words failing you.
His hand cups the side of your face, watching you. It's a cold summer night, so much that even in the locomotive, you are shivering. That must be why, yes. Not the sudden hand cupping your cheek, making you feel bizzare.
You must smell like mildew, must ooze of rags. Chase doesn't mind it. He tilts your face to the side once more, observing your skin as it warms. There's a few distant sirens approaching from the other side. They whoosh past where this locomotive was left, and Chase breaks away at the fading noise past the trees.
His hand leaves your face. "Um. We should—we should get home 'fore they see us."
"Will my siblings be safe?"
"Yeah. They will, I promise. I just…I'd rather have Ms. G bring them back. They've gotten the sob story ready, the police'll probably take 'em all home." You nod, but you can't quite understand how Chase expects any of this to work out.
Not that you care when you are in a warm locomotive, when you hear the roar of the truck engine start up. There's a sound coming from the long slanted vents, the same sound when you were in this locomotive earlier.
Only now you understand what the whooshing sound is for. Heat brushes across your skin, tickles at your numb face. "What is—it feels warm from this part of the locomotive," you blurt. It is not a fireplace's heat, but it is still warm in a way you have not yet processed. You take in a deep breath. "Is—" You cannot complete your sentence. How is— how is this real?
The thought brings you to your knees like a man deep in prayer. What is prayer, if not surrendering yourself to this world that is creation? How had they gotten the heat through the little vents of the locomotive? How?
"Hm?" Chase says, softly. He watches as you press your fingers to the heat coming from the vents, pressing your fingers closer and then a little further when the heat builds and makes your fingertips blush. You two drive through the landscape that you had not given much mind when you were in the locomotive earlier.
You had other things in his mind, then—so many other things. You shiver, black hair falling over your eyes as you lean forward and then back again. "You okay?" Chase asks, again.
Slowly, you shake your head. "It's nothing," you murmur. "It's silly."
Chase watches as you stop at a signal with a red blinking light. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. He turns to face you, muttering something about how this thing (signal) was practically broken. "It's not silly," he whispers to you, stirring something alive in your chest. "It must feel weird. Like, everything's all new now, huh? Hey— look at me. You'll have all of forever to learn the boring town that is Sugar Springs."
You nod. You don't say that he is completely wrong, because this is Chase and he is warm and escorting you in this warm locomotive and smiling at you and turning to look you in the eye, but none of this is boring to you.
Chase stares at you for a beat, looking you in the eyes in a way that makes you nervous. Brown will smother you, just like the wood and pine that had been haunting you when you were given the privilege of inhaling it. His hand reaches for your face, and you have been leaning into any undertone of contact in the past few hours.
Suddenly, Chase is no longer driving the locomotive, taking you home. Suddenly, you are no longer absorbing the trees, the empty roads, the warmth of the air. You are only absorbing him.
He shakes his head. "Deacon's so impatient," he says, looking forward and driving as the green light falls upon them in the darkness. "Can't ever lock in when he has to."
His ears are red—you can see him heating up in this dim light. A snort escapes you, watching as his hands move nervously, as he fails to meet your gaze. Chase does something with the locomotive wheel, and suddenly you're jolting out of your seat, stomach flipping in panic. "Shit, sorry!" He says.
"I-it's okay," you say back, laughing.
Soon, Chase has calmed down and driving at a more comfortable speed that isn't erratic like your own warm heartbeat. He stares at it, and back at you, one hand off the wheel as he looks more at ease.
You smile at him, feeling a little more braver as you reach across the middle of the locomotive for his hand.
An odd little hum, or a hiccup, or a something, escapes Chase. Immediately, his fingers curl around your own, and you shiver at the fact you can feel his heartbeat rushing to where his hand trembles in your own.
Your throat feels tightened at him holding your hand, transferring his warmth over. You should be full of gaiety for this moment. Instead you feel relief through his palm instead of comfort.
You want to trace this moment into the depths of your brain, want to feel it deep in your bones and maybe later, when the Audience considers you unworthy and reverts you back to your previous state.
And maybe, that is what you deserve—the moment leaves you a split moment later, because Chase's fingers are around your hand, and he is warm, and he is driving while trying not to look you in the eye, because if he does he would most likely crash.
Your hands curl together for the rest of the journey back home, flustered laughter ringing through the locomotive.