A Reason to Stay

Hi! I'm a long time reader but first time writer. I was told recently that existence is better than perfection, so here I am, dragging this practice piece into the light. I am super open to feedback and constructive criticism, just please be gentle 💜 Thank you all and hope you enjoy!

(All characters are 18+)

note: all chapters have been updated! nothing critical, but hopefully little fixes here and there that make everything flow better.

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It's a cold, drab Monday morning when I step out of my car and walk straight into a completely different dimension.

I'm supposed to be starting my shift at the shop, surrounded by flowers and needy customers. One whole year and that routine has never changed. Go to work, greet my boss Gina who croaks back "Mornin' dollface" with the voice of a thousand smoked cigarettes, make a cup of terrible coffee, and then put on my customer service mask until my face wants to split in half. Monday to Saturday, closed on Sundays, 10 AM to 6 PM rain or shine. Survive the week without shooting myself. Spend one whole day struggling to finish laundry. Down half a bottle of wine by myself to conclude another lonely Sunday night. Crash. Rinse and repeat.

But not today.

Today, I find myself stranded in the middle of a barren landscape, not a single sign of life as far as the eye can see. When I spin around to get back into my car, it's gone. Along with streets, people, and anything else remotely familiar. So I just stand there, slack jawed, blinking at an unnaturally bleak wasteland. There aren't even any clouds in the slate grey sky. Just grey, grey, and more grey.

I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I have to be dreaming.

I chant it like a mantra. This is a nightmare, has to be. Which means I'm about to wake up any moment now. I just need to keep moving, if for no other reason than to kill time. I wander around for what feels like hours. Bit by bit, I grow more delirious, alternating between pinching myself and screaming into the nothingness.

"WAKE UP ALREADY!!"

"Ah...excuse me, miss."

I whip around mid-shout to find myself face to face with a complete stranger. I wish I could say I did something cool in that moment, like recall how to crush a man's nose with my palm, or enter a state of Zen-like calm. Instead, I just gape at him like an idiot, still convinced I'm about to wake up any second.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the man says slowly, palms held up before him. It makes me feel like I'm some kind of feral animal he accidentally caught digging through his trash. "But, unfortunately, I don't think you're dreaming."

He's tall and lean, with a mop of light brown curls and bookish air about him. His wooly sweater vest certainly lends to that effect. When I meet his gaze, I notice his eyes are storm grey and his skin smooth and fair. He looks young, but something about him makes me suspect that appearances might be deceiving.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I spit. Still convinced I'm dreaming, I have no qualms about being an absolute ass. "Where the fuck are we? And who the

fuck

are you?"

"My name is Sebastian," he answers politely, "and I can explain everything, but first you have to come with me."

I squint at him. "Why?"

"Because you're in danger," Sebastien says, eternally patient. He seems earnest, and he has a way of focusing his stormy gaze on you like nothing else matters. "Your very presence attracts unwanted attention, and if you want to make it out of here alive, you'd best follow me."

It sounds like the same, cliched line from at least a hundred different movies, but I can't really justify not complying. After all, this is a dream--a shitty dream--and I have nothing to lose. And if it isn't...well, I'm no better off wandering around on my own in some weird desert. Besides, I'm getting hungry.

"Fine."

A few minutes in, I start to regret my decision. "Where are we going?" I ask for the hundredth time, trailing behind Sebastien like a duckling would its mother. I am painfully aware of how vulnerable I sound.

"Some place safe," he supplies unhelpfully.

Of course that's what he would say. And how am I supposed to even argue? I have no idea who this man is or where we even are, but his confidence in my ability to survive seems genuine. Which is more than I can say for myself. The longer I'm stuck in this awful place, the more I feel dread building up in my gut. It's getting harder and harder to continue deluding myself.

But delude myself I must, because if I'm really not dreaming, then I'm about to be truly, royally fucked.

It isn't long before my feet hit something other than colorless dirt. The soles of my shoes are treading on some kind of metallic surface. A disc, it looks like. It can't be bigger than maybe three or four feet wide. But why would a random, metal disk be out here in the middle of nowhere?

"We're here," Sebastien exhales in relief. He motions for me to stand beside him, arm extended. "It's better if you hold onto my hand."

I hesitate, and not because I don't want to get the hell out of wherever 'here' is, but because I still don't know if I can trust him. Every step I take with him, every request I agree to, makes me feel less and less sure this is just a silly nightmare after all. Oh, and touching a total stranger? Even one with perfectly symmetrical features and elegant piano hands?

No thank you. I think. Well...

"If you want to find your way back home," he coaxes, partially guessing my thoughts, "you must try to trust me."

I scowl. Even though I can't sense any immediate danger, the long term questions of food, water, shelter, and other basic necessities have been weighing on my mind for a while. My stomach grumbles at the thought of snacks. Swallowing, I nod and then place my hand in his, hoping against all hope this decision won't come back to bite me in the ass.

Which, of course, it eventually does.

In the moment, it just feels unreal, as though any second I'm going to lurch out of bed and find that it had all been dreamland fiction. But the warm, dry feel of his hand enveloping mine is real enough, and before I know it a blue light surrounds us both. There is a whirring of noise as the light grows brighter, and then my stomach drops as everything warps around me. It feels like going down the highest point of a roller coaster, first with the anticipation, then the terror and discomfort, and finally the weightless thrill of flying.

It takes about a minute before the light dies and my eyes begin to readjust. We are in a city, but one unlike any I've ever seen before. It's lit up from top to bottom in glowing, neon signs, with buildings taller than the eye can see. Vehicles fly--actually fly!--in the air while pedestrians mill about on the ground below. Everything is loud, blinking, or hovering. I feel myself shrinking in the face of so much over stimulation. My vision turns into pin pricks of light.

For the first time in my life, I pass out.

And so begins my unforeseen stay in the city of Neon.

--3 years later--

I'm training again to blow off steam and Aed is being a pain in my ass. As per usual.

"You'll need to block quicker than that," he goads. "C'mon, again. Only this time, y'know...be faster."

And again we go. I throw another series of jabs, quicker and with more force, but only because I want to wipe that smug smile off of his pretty face. Bad enough that when I'm not dealing with his arrogance, I'm buried under never ending paperwork that Sebastien happily supplies on a daily basis. It helps, a little, that Sebs is handsome, forthright, and bakes the yummiest of pies. But only a little. There is no curing my hatred for homework.

Aed grins wider as he dodges my attacks with ease, though he's at least starting to break a sweat. "I know you can move faster than that," he taunts.

Feeling a surge of exasperation, I swing hard but too wide. He decides to punish me for my recklessness, catching my arm mid swing and yanking it behind me. The rest is a blur, his foot hooking mine at some point before gravity betrays me, but the outcome is yet again the same. I go down like a sack of potatoes. He's triumphant, straddling me like I'm some kind of plastic horse at a carnival ride.

"You," I pant, "are an ass."

He looks thoughtful for a moment. "I don't mind being called something I'm a fan of. But hey, you lasted ten whole minutes today. That's a new record. High five?"

I twist my face up to glare at him. His chipper mood after submitting me is always irritating, but made worse whenever he decides to use lingo or customs from my world. He's weirdly good at it, too, and I suspect that if the roles were ever reversed and it was

he

who accidentally walked into

my

dimension, he'd fit right in, no problem. It makes me saltier than a box of crackers.

Eventually, he gives my captured hand a quick slap to the palm and rolls off of me. I push myself up with a groan. I'm covered in sweat and every inch of me aches.

"I'm definitely done for the day."

"You should have had me that first round," Aed sighs, stretching out his muscles. I do my best to ignore the way they flex and ripple. "Then you'd be walking out of here with bragging rights, for once."

I roll my eyes. "You're not my Mentor, Aed. You can take your precious advice and shove it." The last thing I need today is him nagging me to death.

He gives me a cryptic look mid-stretch.

"You're right, I'm not."

Something in the way he says this makes my eyes narrow. I can't help remembering all the times he singled me out, making me do extra drills and laps. Or how he would show me no mercy, sparring with me like an equal when he so clearly held back for others. In the beginning, the regular trainees tried to convince me it was a huge honor to fight Mentor Aedin as a peer. I told them it wasn't fun being covered in bruises everyday and that maybe they should try fucking him instead if they thought he was so great. At least that way, they might actually enjoy themselves while getting so bent out of shape.

The horror on their faces was worth the fifty extra push ups I did the next day.

Safe to say I don't have a whole lot of friends.

Here at Neon Academy (cue pretentious, orchestral music) the sanctity of Mentors is revered. They are treated more like demigods than assholes with a superiority complex. If it wasn't guaranteed to get in the way of everyone's studies, I'm sure half of the students would be following their favorite Mentors around like lost lambs, throwing petals and kissing their feet. Just thinking about it makes me queasy.

Ironically, though, I don't think I would have ever excelled in martial training had it not been for His Most Perfect and Holy Mentor Aedin, taunting me every step of the way. After the first few times I got my ass handed to me, I spent countless hours after class practicing in secret, just to try and avoid the humiliation. But every time I improved, he'd up the ante. After a while, I became fueled purely by spite, pitting myself against him again and again, even though I knew I'd always lose. It was a matter of principle; better that I keep getting back up than admit defeat. I'd consider giving Aed some credit if I wasn't thoroughly convinced he enjoyed torturing me.

I will admit that I am not wholly without fault. Having slogged through almost two decades worth of academics back in my home world, I'm less than inclined to be a model student. I'm mainly here to stay in Sebastien's good graces, stuck between not-quite-student and not-quite-faculty. Officially, I'm under his wing, but because of my status as an Outsider, I'm not allowed any authority over the other attendees, either. So, I just hang around with an increasingly pissy attitude and a mountain of assignments to avoid.

The other reason for our on-going feud, of course, is because my murky status offers loopholes. While I'm forced to abide by most of the school's rules, I skirt around plenty more. Like, for instance, giving Mentors lip. Disrespecting Mentors usually comes with heavy penalties, but I tend to get away with it. Most of the time, anyway.

Outside of the sparring ring, no one is allowed to hurt me. Physically, that is. I'm as good as Lyon property. Emotionally, however, is a different matter, one that Aed's snarky little groupies have taken several liberties with. When I first got here, I was wide eyed and naïve, seeing the academy as the perfect solution to getting home. After a while, I just got angrier and angrier from the lack of answers. It became a vicious cycle of me feeling provoked, then provoking Aed back, then being punished for provoking Aed by his devoted disciples, then hurling my festering temper in Aed's face again.

Rinse and repeat.

The worst part, though, is not the bullying. It's not even the aches and pains that I regularly go to bed with. It's the fact that Aed knows how painfully human I am. He's caught me red handed multiple times, appreciating his unfairly flawless physique. I get distracted by his broad, muscled shoulders or the firmness of his biceps, even after he pins me to the ground. The fact that he has to slam his body on top of mine before I finally give up makes it infinitely more humiliating. Stubborn to a fault, as Sebastien so often describes me. Aed, however, never calls me out for it. He just meets my conflicted gaze with knowingness. Then he punishes me the next day by pushing me even harder. Mentors are supposed to maintain some sanctimonious state of neutrality, but I'm positive his discrimination will continue to go unnoticed.

That's Aed for you. Precious superstar Mentor who can do no wrong. What is a lowly Outsider like me even supposed to do?

Grin and bear it, I guess. It's what I've been doing, anyway.

Back in the sparring ring, Aed offers me a hand. I briefly entertain the idea of grappling his legs out from under him, but think better of it. I don't feel like getting manhandled into submission twice in a row.

Reluctantly, I accept his hand, but he pulls me up more forcefully than usual. I come up so fast I yelp in surprise as I bump into him, chest to chest.

"What did you really come here for?" he asks out of the blue, his hand still wrapped tightly around mine. I'm too woefully distracted at first to answer. Everything about him is so whole and hale, from the way his expansive chest rises and falls as he breathes to the glisten of sweat on his golden brown skin. He practically glows.

For the first time in a long time, I struggle to fire back with a nasty quip. Panicking, I scrounge up every last scrap of sass I can muster.

"Uh, to train, of course?" I scoff, sliding my eyes away and doing my best impression of someone who isn't completely unnerved by how much we're touching. I'm not used to interacting with him outside of training or insulting each other. It makes me feel a little unhinged. "I came here to improve my abilities to serve The Council and all of its honorable endeavors,

obviously...

"

I sneak a glance over at him to see if he's buying it. He's not.

Slowly but surely, I feel my train of thought start to unravel. He's way too close to me, his warm, brown eyes and bambi lashes doing something to my composure that defies all logic.

"You know what I mean," he insists. His voice sounds low and dangerous, not his usual teasing tone. "Half the time you show up here, you're angrier than a sea bear. And then the other half your mind might as well be off-planet."

He looks calm enough on the outside, but being this close means I can feel his heart racing. The way he's looking at me is, for lack of a better word,

intense

.

"So, again. Why are you really here?"

My brain is suddenly reduced to a clusterfuck of misfirings. Everything is happening way too fast. I absolutely do end up coming here on impulse--and not the studious kind--but I never really think past that. I'm just frustrated and stressed and lonely as hell, and stealing glances at Aed and his rock hard abs is my pitiful means of escapism. I'm still human, for crying out loud. I may be trapped in an alien world, viewed as no more than an exotic pet, but I hurt, I have hormones, and I get

thirsty

, just like everyone else. I don't think I can even remember the last time someone touched me outside of the sparring ring.

All that being said, I never actually thought I would get this far. That Aed would reciprocate anything other than disdain and ritual sadism. I feel my entire body start to burn up in panic.

I try to speak. A croak bubbles up instead in my throat.

His face draws nearer, the strange mix of fear and compulsion pulsing through me mirrored in his eyes. My breath grows uneven. So does his.

"Aed," I rasp, free hand flying up between us as one final, pitiful defense. My voice sounds strange to my own ears. Somehow, even though I don't actually answer his question, I feel like I have all the same. "I--This is...isn't this against the rules??"

He raises an eyebrow as he leans away again, clearly amused. The extra distance brings both relief and annoyance. I hate how good he looks when he does that. When he does anything, really.

"Technically, the rules only apply to Mentors and students," he explains, ever confident and ready with answers. "Which we aren't to one another. Have never been, actually, in case you forgot. Besides..."

The way he's staring at me makes my knees weak. My mortifying behavior seems to confirm whatever it is he's looking for. I don't know exactly what he's hinting at, but I can guess, and the guessing alone is enough to undo most of my petty resolve.

"...I didn't really take you for being a stickler for rules."

My heart is crawling its way out of my throat.

"But--"

His lips are suddenly pressing into mine, tentative at first, then more probing and insistent. It's shocking how little it takes for me to be made helpless. Against all better judgment, I yield by opening my mouth wider, my free hand feeling up his wide, toned chest. When we finally break for breath, I swear I can see stars beneath my eyelids.

A hundred questions race through my mind. Why here? Why now? Why me? But instead, in a moment of stupefied candor, I blurt out, "Why don't you suck at this?"

Mentors are practically monks. When they aren't studying or meditating or teaching, they are bearing the enormous responsibility of representing the academy's most enlightened elites. They certainly aren't allowed to do things like kiss people or fool around. I mean, they take an oath and everything.

"Shut up," Aed snarls.

The next kiss is even bolder, and this time he doesn't let me interrupt, his tongue delving into my mouth in a way that is both sweet and demanding. It takes everything I've got to stay upright; his grip is very nearly the only thing keeping me standing.

My brain isn't quite registering that any of this is real. Aed, the insufferable tyrant who has fueled my training for years, the bane of my nightly existence whenever he invades my dreams like a fever.

That

Aed is making out with me as if it's beyond his control, as though he's been wanting this for as long as I have. It absolutely, irrevocably blows my mind.

I'm so flustered by his unexpected carnal finesse that I almost miss the sound of students approaching for the next class.

I take stock of our tangled limbs, chests heaving against one another, and all hope of not being caught is instantly lost. Three years of staking my claim to some shred of dignity in this hellhole, undone in a matter of moments.

Thankfully, Aed is always two steps ahead. He hears them first and immediately scoops me up by the butt, forcing my legs to wrap around him, and books it toward the main office. In hindsight, this was a phenomenally stupid thing to do. He could and should have just left me there by myself while he scurried away somewhere to cool off. But the fear of being caught is so great that I don't even question his judgment in the moment. I just hold on for dear life, terrified and thrilled at the same time. I've never been picked up like a ragdoll before and I revel in the ease with which he carries me. That, and I may or may not also be feeling him up a bit, taking full advantage of the distraction. His back ripples beneath my fingers as he runs and his warm, firm grip on my ass makes me feel all tingly inside.