The haircut made working on the farm significantly easier. No longer did he have braids falling in front of his face when he milked Hammy, no more tangles when he chased after the chickens, and no more goats chewing on the ends of his locks whenever he brushed their coats. No more mother insisting on new ways to braid and style his long hair.



Finch felt like a new person.
He had spent so much of his life molding himself into what his friends and family wanted him to be. A little elf child. A guitarist (which he admittedly enjoyed).
And then something else that didn’t have a name.
Even though there was an ocean between them, he’d be lying if he said Victor didn’t occupy a good portion of his mind. He mostly wondered what he was doing without him. Was he painting again? Hanging out with Moirai? Practicing his vampire skills with Dad?
Was he thinking about him too?
A part of him hoped he wasn’t. The whole point of this sabbatical was to allow them a degree of separation– to grow into their own people instead of siblings joined at the hip since birth. Each other’s solace when the rest of their family seemed intertwined in some sort of drama from one day to the next.
“Finch,” Daegmar abruptly called out from the gate, “could you fertilize the plants in the front yard when you’re done cleaning the stable? Tavros is taking care of the backyard, and it’ll be good to get it done before the rain comes.”
“Yeah, sure. Can you make ‘That Thing Annash Likes’ for lunch today?”
“Oh yeah, I could definitely go for that. Let me just get Rusalka settled.”
“Caelie could do that.”
“Rusalka likes it better when I do it.”
Finch gave her a flat look. “Uh huh.”
“She does!” Daegmar replied a little too quickly and changed the subject, “Do you want sourdough with it?”
“Hell yeah. I’ve been thinking about it ever since you made it last.”
“I just need to throw it in the oven. The wheelbarrow’s over there— we needed it for the lettuce.”
“Thanks. I just need to scoop it out to the front.”
“No, thank you, Finch,” she smiled, “You’ve been such a great help. I’m so happy you came over here for the summer.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”


Cleaning Hammy’s shed took longer than Finch expected— man, could that cow poop. This was looking like a two-load trip at least. These plants better be appreciative.
The sky was already growing darker by the time he finished up the dirty job. Seemed like he’d finished just in time. Now he could reward himself with a nice hot shower.
The air had a tendency to grow heavier whenever rain encroached on the farm. A current that always seemed to get under his skin— but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Something signaling him to seek the comfort of the dry, cozy porch or one of the stables.
The animals always appreciated the company.
Today was different, though.
There was something else in the air.
Something not unfamiliar.
In fact… maybe a bit too familiar.
“No,” he said to himself. “There’s no way.”
Finch laughed softly.
There could be a million different things this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach could be; hunger, muscle pain,
Homesickness.
The smell of That Thing Annash Likes didn’t help. His dad’s cooking was such a staple of home, and Daegmar had nearly mastered it.
Entering the foyer, Finch looked out the window toward the direction of town. Where the train station was. Where he had traveled from the airport and away from–
Someone was standing outside the front gate.
Visitors were such a rare occurrence. Occasionally the Nitrams, or Tavros starting his shift, but Tavros was already here and this guy was way too skinny to be either of their neighbors.
Perturbed, Finch parted the sheer curtains for a closer look and… oh god.
There he was.
Was there a word for elation and rage all at once?
Rage took over first.
Finch threw open the front door and stormed down the stairs.
“The hell, dude?”
Victor looked over his shoulder as his face lit up in pure joy. “Finch!”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Finch growled under his breath, teeth clenched and eyes boring holes into his brother’s skull. “What— how could you travel all this way?”
Victor was still smiling. “Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters!” Finch argued, “Me being here alone is the whole point!”
“Come on, you can’t be that upset to see me,” he reached out for a hug.


Finch took a step back, intentionally keeping his distance.
“Have you thought this through at all? What’s going to happen when Mom and Dad notice you’re gone?”
Victor shrugged nonchalantly.
“I told them I was staying over at Johnny’s house.”
Finch’s jaw dropped.
“You lied to them?”
“A little.”
Raking his hands through his hair, Finch struck his best surrender-cobra pose before exclaiming,
“I can’t fucking believe you did this!”
Now it was Victor’s turn to frown.
“Wait, are you mad?”
“Yes, I’m mad!” Finch snapped back. “This is just proving their worst fears!”
Victor’s shoulders slumped, his gaze falling to the ground.
“I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“That’s not the point, Victor!” Finch raised his voice. “How many times do I have to repeat myself? The whole point was to get you out of my mind— to prove to both of us that we could function without each other!”
A glimmer of hope crept into Victor’s hushed response.
“Out of your mind?”
Only for Finch to immediately shoot it down.
“Stop reading into it.”
“You’ve been thinking about me?”
Victor took a step forward.
As much as Finch tried to fight it, he couldn’t help but be honest. It was who he was.
“Of course I have,” he relented. “Just because I moved doesn’t mean you suddenly stopped existing.”
Victor tried to hide his growing excitement, teasing as he turned slightly to walk back down the dirt path. “I can go back.”
Finch felt a wave of pity. “No, come on.”
Victor grinned to himself.
“You already traveled this far—” Finch insisted before a thought came to mind, “oh, but…”
He glanced toward the house.
“You should hide as a bat in my room for now. Daegmar talked to Dad.”
“She did?”
“Yeah.”
Victor grabbed hold of his other arm and nervously fidgeted in place.
“Okay. So…”
“We’ll just hang out at night,” Finch suggested, “or when Daegmar’s at work and Caelie’s with Rusalka.”
“You think that’ll work?”
Finch sighed. “It has to, or else they’re going to kick you out and you’ll be grounded even more than you are.”
“I mean…”
Victor tilted his head to the side, his eyes glinting mischievously.
“I have ways of convincing her not to.”
“Don’t compel my sister, Victor,” Finch threatened, “I’ll kick your ass.”
“Fine, god. I’m just saying.”
“I’m serious. I will.” He turned his back to his brother, proceeding to stomp back towards the house. 
“I was joking,” Victor followed with his hands in his pockets.  
“No you weren’t!”
Victor made a face and immediately turned into a bat, flying straight at Finch to hide underneath where his hair met his neck.
“Good,” Finch muttered. “Stay there.”
A squeaky protest sounded from his collar.
 –

The dining room glowed with firelight.
The wood-paneled walls held the warmth the way only old houses could, the orange light flickering softly across the table while rain threatened somewhere far off in the distance but never quite arrived. Rusalka sat in her high chair between them, banging one sticky hand enthusiastically against the tray while the other clutched something that had once been food.
Finch leaned back slightly in his chair. “Man, the rain avoided us completely.”
Caelie sighed, glancing toward the darkened windows. “Yeah. We might get a late bloom this year.”
A pause.
“A shame.”
Daegmar set down her fork thoughtfully. “You know, I’ve been meaning to make this new recipe. Foraged Feast, I think it’s called.”
Finch looked up immediately.
“That sounds interesting. Do you just use ingredients you find out in the wild?”
Daegmar nodded. “If we can’t rely on a harvest, yeah.”
Then she looked at him carefully. “So… how did I do? Anything close to Dad’s?”
Finch smiled before she even finished the question. “Oh, it tastes exactly the same. You nailed it, Daegmar.”
Relief softened her shoulders.
“Perfect,” she smiled into her plate, “that’s what I want to hear.”
Caelie suddenly laughed under her breath.
“Looks like someone else enjoyed it a little too much.”
They all looked toward Rusalka.
She had managed to smear something unidentifiable across her cheek, her sleeve, and most impressively– her eyebrow.
Daegmar groaned. “Oh god, she’s gross.”
“I’ll take care of her.” Caelie stood immediately.
Finch rose with them. “I’ll take care of the dishes.”
Daegmar pointed after him as she lifted the baby from the chair.
“Thank you, Finch– remember not to put the wooden utensils in the dishwasher.”
“I won’t.” His voice sounded normal.
Steady.
Casual.
Like there wasn’t something alive and waiting just beneath his collarbone.
–
The moment the house quieted, Finch slipped out the back door and headed toward the pond.
Victor stayed tucked against his skin the whole way there– silent, warm, hidden.
Every step away from the house made Finch more aware of him.
The firelight faded behind him.
The air changed.
The pond waited in its usual stillness, the surface barely rippling under a sky that couldn’t decide whether it meant to storm.
Once they were far enough away, Finch lowered his voice.
“Alright,” he whispered. “The coast is clear.”

Victor didn’t wait.
One second he was hidden, the next he was human again and pressed against him, hands gripping his shoulders as his mouth found Finch’s neck like he’d been starving for days.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t careful.
It was desperate.
Finch gasped but didn’t pull away.
Didn’t even try.
One of the miniature goats wandered closer, watching them with mild curiosity like this was just another strange human ritual it had decided not to question.
“Careful,” Finch murmured, leaning back against a conveniently placed rock as Victor clung to him. “They’re expecting me to haul the hay barrels into the stables tomorrow.”
His fingers found Victor’s sleeve without thinking. “I’ll need my energy.”
Victor didn’t stop.
“What are you to them,” he muttered against Finch’s skin, voice low and irritated, “free labor?”
“It’s how I earn my keep,” Finch said quietly. “I like it.”

Victor pulled back just enough to look at him.
“Sounds miserable.”
“No,” Finch said.
And this time he meant it.
“It’s been great out here.”
Victor’s expression tightened.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
Victor looked away.
“Because…”

His voice faded.
“Nothing.”
Finch watched him carefully.
“You can lie to our parents,” he said softly, “but you can’t lie to me.”
Victor exhaled sharply.
“What is there to say? It’s nothing you don’t already know.”
Finch rested his hand on Victor’s arm.
“I give you a pint of blood,” he said gently, “you give me a piece of your mind.”
Victor laughed once under his breath.
“I can’t stand it over there.”
“You’re going to have to.”
“No,” Victor said immediately. “You don’t understand.”
Finch nudged his forehead with his own.
“Except I do understand,” he said quietly, “I understand better than anyone else.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.

“Victor,” Finch continued, softer now, “you have to try.”
A pause.
“For me, even.”
Victor’s voice dropped. “Why?”
His fingers tightened slightly where they still rested against Finch’s neck.
“Why bother?”
“Because it’s just going to hurt worse later on.”
“I don’t want to worry about ‘later on’ though.”
“Come on, Victor.”
“They can ground me all they want,” Victor said. “They can send you thousands of miles away.”
“I know.”
Victor closed his eyes. “Please.”
Finch’s voice softened. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”
Victor searched his face. “Are you here?”
Finch didn’t hesitate this time.
“I’ll always be here.”
Victor’s shoulders finally dropped a fraction.
Some of the tension left him.
“Can we…” he asked quietly. His voice sounded younger suddenly. “Like we used to?”
Finch bit his lip, thinking better of it before throwing caution to the wind. 
“Yeah,” he said.
And this time it sounded like a promise.
–
The guest room was stately in the way old farmhouses often were.
Plain wooden furniture. A narrow wardrobe that smelled faintly of cedar. A bed too carefully made for anyone who actually intended to sleep in it. And a window overlooking the dark stretch of farmland beyond the house, where the night settled heavy and uninterrupted across the fields.
Victor stood near the window in his night robe, listening.
“It’s so quiet out here.”
Finch, already sitting on the edge of the bed, nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “It kind of forces you to live with your own thoughts.”
Victor turned toward him slowly.
“Like what?”
Finch looked up at him, something knowing flickering across his face.
“You know what.”
Victor crossed the room immediately and slipped into bed beside him, wrapping himself around Finch like someone who had been holding his breath all day and had finally remembered how to inhale.
“I knew I needed to come out here.”
Finch offered a small, careful smile.
“Do you feel better?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”

Victor opened one eye, studying him in the dim light. “Do you feel better?”
Finch exhaled slowly. “I feel better if you do.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Finch hesitated. “I’m just worried.”
Victor’s arm tightened slightly around him. “About what?”
Finch stared at the ceiling.
That this was undoing everything.
“You getting caught.”
“I won’t get caught.”
“You sound so certain.”
“I have too much on the line.”
Finch turned his head toward him. “What happens if you do get caught, Victor?”
Victor’s jaw tightened. “Can we not talk about that?”
“Okay.” Finch watched him for another second before nodding.
Victor shifted closer, pressing his forehead against Finch’s shoulder. “I missed you so much.”

The words came out quieter this time.
More honest.
“I missed you too.”
Victor lifted his head slightly. “Did you?”
Finch let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “Why do you think I was so mad to see you again?” He looked at him properly now. “You’re just ripping me open again.”
Victor frowned. “They should have never sent you away in the first place.” His voice softened. “This is healing.”
He studied Finch’s face carefully. “Say the first thing that comes to mind. Don’t think.”
Finch hesitated, taking a beat before admitting, “I’m scared they’ll take you away for good this time.”
Victor made a small sound in the back of his throat. “Hm.”
“That if they find you here,” Finch continued quietly, “in bed with me like this… they’ll take you away and I’ll never see you again.”
“They don’t understand.”
“It doesn’t matter if they understand or not.”
Victor was quiet for a long moment.
Then—
“Let’s run away, Finch.”
Finch blinked.
“Where?”
“The camper.”
Finch almost smiled.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Victor said quickly, warming to the idea immediately. “We can just take it everywhere. They can’t find us if we keep moving.”
“Where would we go?”
Victor didn’t hesitate.
“Anywhere we want.” His voice softened as he imagined it. “You can busk. I can do street art. We’d make it work.”
Finch looked at him for a long time.
“That sounds nice.”
Victor’s hand tightened slightly in his sleeve.
“We can make it work, Finch.”
Finch leaned his forehead briefly against his.
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
And this time it sounded less like certainty and more like something he wanted very badly to believe.
–
The pond looked completely different in daylight.
Clear blue skies stretched overhead with fluffy clouds peeking over the rolling hills, the sun warm across the grass and water alike. Goats bleated somewhere nearby, birds chirping enthusiastically from the fence posts, and the breeze carried the smell of hay and summer heat through the trees.
It should have felt peaceful.
Instead, it felt fragile.

“But dragonfruit sells for so much that you can practically make a living off those alone,” Finch explained, sitting back against the familiar rock at the edge of the pond.
Victor leaned closer immediately, interested despite himself.
“Really?”
“Yeah. If Daegmar didn’t have Royal Family money, we’d be set anyway.”
Victor nodded thoughtfully. “That’s good to know.” A small smile tugged at his mouth. “We might want to get some planters for the camper.”
Finch blinked. “What camper?”
Victor stared at him. “…the camper we’re going to escape in?”
“Oh.” He looked away toward the pond. “Right. That camper.”
Victor’s shoulders stiffened. “You don’t want to go.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“It’s written all over your face.”
“I never said that,” Finch insisted. “I just forgot.”
Victor’s voice dropped. “Just say it, Finch.”
Finch swallowed. “…it’s nice to pretend.”
Victor let out a quiet breath.
“Why can’t you just tell me to piss off?”
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“You’re being manipulative,” Finch said, frustration creeping into his voice, “and you know how much I hate it. It’s why you were kicked out of the club.”
Victor’s head snapped toward him. “Calling you out is manipulative?”
“It is when you know I would never tell you to piss off.”
“Do it,” Victor said. His voice was sharper now. “I want you to.”
“Stop it. Seriously.”
“Do it!”
Victor got to his feet, practically yelling down at him. “Be mad at me! Tell me to go home! Tell me you never want to see my stupid face again!”
“Shut up, Victor.”
“Call up Dad!” His brother dared. “Tell him to pick my ass up and send me to a fucking psycho house!”
Finch stayed completely still.
Didn’t answer.
Didn’t move.
“Tell me to get a life,” Victor pressed on, voice cracking now, “and stop being such a freak.” He swallowed hard. “Maybe then it’ll sink in and I’ll stop lo—”
“Stop what.” Finch snapped.
Victor froze. “Finch...”
Finch finally looked up at him, his expression severe. “Stop what.”
“Please...”
He let out a slow breath. “Now who’s telling who to stop?”
His voice stayed calm—but not cold.
“But I’ll actually listen to you, Victor. I respect your boundaries.”
Victor looked away. “Fine. You proved your point.”
“You think I want to do this?” Finch asked quietly, finally getting up from the ground himself. “You think I want you to feel like shit?”
“No.”
“This is why they sent me away,” Finch continued, shoving a finger down to the ground to punctuate his anger. “This is why you weren’t supposed to come here.”
“I know,” Victor said sadly as he turned heel and walked away, heading down the path leading away from the house and away from his life. 
Finch couldn’t bear the sight. “Victor.”
Victor nearly screamed, slamming his hands to his sides as he stormed back over to his brother and screeched in his face,  “See? This is what you do! I walk away and you pull me right back in!”
His voice shook. “Stay mad at me! Teach me a lesson for fuck’s sake!”
Finch stepped closer despite himself. “Seeing you upset breaks me,” he said softly. “Every time.”
“Stay upset with me then,” Victor shot back. “This is supposed to hurt, isn’t it?”
His voice dropped. “Maybe that’s it, you know?” He looked down. “Maybe that’s why I traveled all the way out here.”
A breath.
“Maybe I finally wanted to rip the bandage off in person.”
“Not yet,” Finch said immediately.
His voice was gentler now.
“We don’t have to do it yet.”
Victor leaned forward and tried to kiss him.
Finch turned his head away.
“Not out here.”
Victor paused, then glanced toward the brush off to the left, where the shade gathered beneath a wide old tree.
“Over there?” he asked quietly, want latent in every word. “Beneath the tree?”
Finch didn’t move his head.
Only his eyes shifted.
Then he nodded once.
“…yeah.”

–
The gym room was small but functional, a television mounted high in the corner playing a sports channel no one was really watching. Finch ran steadily on the treadmill beneath it, breath coming fast and even, while Victor stood nearby with his arms crossed, observing him like a critic with opinions he hadn’t been asked for.
“Isn’t your fitness already at, like, ten?” Victor asked.
Finch shook his head, still jogging. “No. Definitely not. I’m a long way off.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Steve Tyler says guitarists should always wear tank tops to show off their arms.”
“Steve Tyler is an idiot.”
“Yeah, but—” Finch flexed once mid-stride, flashing his arm at him with a grin. “Right?”
“Sure.”
“What was it you said yesterday?” Finch teased, lowering his eyelids slightly. “Yeah. ‘Written all over your face’, That was it.”
Victor blushed immediately. “Idiot.”
Finch slowed the treadmill to a stop and stepped off.
“I’m parched. Do you want anything from the kitchen?”
“Yeah. Fetch me a big helping of pot pie so I can spend all night bending over a toilet.”
“Good idea,” Finch said. “Now that’ll get rid of you.”
Victor shoved him playfully.
“I’ll be back,” Finch nodded towards the front door. “My sister comes home in an hour, so I’ll probably jump in the shower too.”
“Where should I bat this time?” Victor asked over his shoulder.
“Up your butt and around the corner.”
His brother smirked. “Is that a challenge?”
“No,” Finch shot back. “There wouldn’t be any room with that stick up there.”
“Get your water.”
Finch thwacked him lightly upside the head as he headed out of the gym.
Victor, meanwhile, kept his composure for as long as he could before finally keeling over and grabbing his crotch.
“God damn it, get a hold of yourself.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the annoying voices coming from the TV instead of the sight of Finch showing off his biceps.
“Fuck…”
How much time did he have? How long did it take Finch to take a shower?
No. That thought didn’t help.
“Fuck!”
Something had to give. The pressure was building way too fast, and there was no way he could let Finch see how worked up he’d gotten.
There was a towel hanging on the wall.
He had to make it quick.
It was less of a release and more of an escape hatch from an incredibly awkward situation.
Of course, it had gotten practically everywhere except the towel.
“I’m so fucked up.”
Victor made good use of the towel, cleaning up after himself and the drops on the floor. He was actually pretty proud of how quickly he’d handled the situation.
And then the door opened to reveal Daegmar Rhyddanski standing there in her ClydeBall uniform.


Daegmar stepped into the gym and stopped dead.
“What the fuck!”
“Daegmar— I can explain!”
“Victor, what the fuck are you doing here?”
“We were working out!”
Her eyes dropped immediately.
“Did you have your pants down?”
“I was getting changed!”
“How the hell are you here?” she demanded. “How do you even know where I live?”
“It was just a visit! I wasn’t going to stay here long!”
“You’re not going to stay here at all.”
Victor stepped toward her before he could stop himself.
“Please, Daegmar. Just let me say goodbye to him.”
“No.”
She pointed sharply at the floor between them.
“You’re staying right here, or I’m going to whoop your ass so hard you’ll feel it in your previous life.”
“You’re not even supposed to know that!”
“You’re not even supposed to fucking be here!”
The words hit harder than she probably meant them to.
Victor’s shoulders dropped.
“Fine,” he said quickly. “Fine. I’ll leave. I won’t even put up a fight if you just let me say goodbye.”
She hesitated.
Only for a second.
“…you better make it fast.”


Finch was already heading downstairs, having heard the commotion and fearing the worst.
“Victor, what—”
His brother rounded the corner and rushed him into the mudroom. “Quick.”
Finch blinked at him. “What happened?”
Victor grabbed him by the shoulders. We need to leave.”
“What do you mean we need to leave?”
“Daegmar came home early. She spotted me.”
“She what?”
“We need to go.”
“Wait,” Finch said, holding him at an arm’s length apart. “We can’t just up and leave. Where would we even go?”
“Anywhere!” Victor’s voice cracked slightly. “Let’s just go anywhere, Finch. You and me.”
“Victor…” Finch shook his head, already bracing himself. “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”
“I thought we were best friends,” Victor said, resting his head against Finch’s chest. “I thought we were each other’s number ones.”
His voice dropped. “Who else could you possibly love more than me?”
“There’s no one I love more than you,” Finch said immediately.
Victor swallowed hard. “Right.”
He reached for him again, running his fingers down the length of his face. “You’re my one and only, Finch. Let’s go.”
Finch didn’t answer right away.
Then—
“…okay.”
Victor’s face lit up with fragile relief.
“We have to be quick,” he said, already moving again. “She’s probably already on the phone with—”
“Victor.”


The voice landed like a door slamming shut.
Victor froze before he even turned around.
“…Pyke.”
“Here,” Pyke said evenly. “Now.”
Victor didn’t move. “Make me.”
“We were looking all over for you.”
“You’ll live.”
“You did not think this through.”
“He wants me here,” he took a step closer to his brother.
“Wants,” Pyke said quietly, “are not needs.”
Victor’s hands curled into fists.
“We need each other. How blind are you?”
“You need to come home.”

Victor opened his mouth—
—but Pyke had already turned away from him.
Like he wasn’t the person he needed to speak to anymore.
Instead, he looked at Finch.
Finch stepped forward slowly, head already lowered before he even reached him.
“Dad… I’m sorry.”
“I will take it from here.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Stay.”
The word wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
Finch swallowed.
“…yeah,” he said softly. “I’m staying.”
“Good.”
Pyke’s voice softened—not warm, but steadier.
“This is good for you.”
Finch nodded once.
“I know.”
His voice almost disappeared at the end.
“…thank you.”



“Let’s go, Victor.”