Chapter 5- It comes Back Again

Ydoc sat still as Edwards dabbed his nose, the cloth soaking up black ink like water to thirsty wood. His head throbbed, dull and persistent, like a low drumbeat in a distant room.

His stomach gave a hollow twist.

He hadn’t eaten.
Not really.
Had he ever?

He exhaled slowly, eyes closing.

And then—unexpectedly—he felt it.

A kiss.

Pressed gently to his cheek.
Soft. Warm.

Edwards.

But…

Ydoc’s brows knit faintly.
That wasn’t like him.
Edwards didn’t do that. Not here. Not like this.

He stayed still, eyes still closed, trying not to ruin it, trying not to breathe too loudly.

The kiss didn’t end quickly.
It lingered.

Not flirtatious. Not smug.
Loving.

Earnest. Still.
Like the way you kiss someone you haven’t seen in years.

Something about it struck deep.

Ydoc’s throat tightened, and he pressed his lips shut.

The hands holding his cheeks felt wrong.
Too big.

They weren’t paws anymore.

They were large hands—clawed at the fingertips, with thin feathers running up the arms like a soft cloak. The touch wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t Edward’s. There was no fur brushing his skin. No sly purr in the breath.

And that breath—

It didn’t carry coffee.
No bitter roast. No leftover citrus or smoke.

It smelled like candy.

Sweet. Bright. The kind of sugar that sticks in your memories.
The kind you beg for as a child.
Soft chews and lollipops and ribbon-wrapped caramel.

His heart gave a painful little twitch.

A strange warmth swelled in his chest, like a balloon rising too fast. His hands gripped the table edge without thinking.

He knew this feeling.

That kiss.
That scent.
Those hands.

Someone once held him like that.

Loved him like that.

And he didn’t know when.
Or where.
Or who.

His eyes stayed closed.

He didn’t want to open them.

Because he was afraid it wouldn’t be them.
---------------

Ydoc didn’t open his eyes.

The kiss lingered, melting into warmth that spilled outward—through his cheeks, down his spine, blooming into something unreal.

The pain in his head faded.
The ache in his stomach dulled.
The cabin was gone.

In its place…

There was sunlight.

Soft. Dappled. Gilded like honey through swaying curtains.

The sound of laughter echoed gently, distant but kind—like music playing behind a closed door. He couldn’t make out the words. Just the shape of them. Joyful murmurs, teasing voices, something being poured. Someone hiccuping from laughter. A glass clinking gently against another.

And a piano.

Faint, polite, the kind played by a single paw in the corner. Notes danced lightly, skipping like pebbles across still water. Not a melody you could hum. But it filled the air with something golden.

Ydoc stood still.

Or… sat?

He was at a table. A low one, made of smooth wood. The tablecloth was stitched with patterns of moons and curled vines. On it sat a dozen tiny teacups—none matching, all chipped, painted in bright childlike colors. Plates stacked with pastel sweets. Marzipan. Jelly cookies. Cotton-candy sticks pressed into little glass jars. Ribbon-wrapped lollipops curled like spirals.

The air smelled like oranges soaked in syrup. Warm and dreamy. Like candy melting in the sun. There was sweetness in everything, even the breath in his lungs.

He sat with his hands in his lap. Still. Quiet. Watching.

They were monsters.

That was the word that came to him, sharp and wrong and old.

Monsters?

The creatures around the tea party did not look human.

One had feet like a chicken’s—scaled, taloned—but wore a pink ruffled dress and laughed with a melodic caw. Another was a dog-faced woman with snakes for hair—tiny ones, curling gently around her cheeks. Each snake had a doll’s button for an eye, glossy and black, yet they blinked in time with her laughter.

A massive creature, half-curled around the base of a tree, looked like a fur-covered serpent with two impossibly long arms folded in its lap—hands too delicate for its size, sipping tea with a porcelain cup pinched between thumb and claw.

Holokons.
The name surfaced like a bubble through ink.

Ydoc didn’t know how he knew it. But he did. Holokons were gentle things. Quiet. Loving.

More of them sat on quilts, on toadstools, on sun-warmed stone. Some nibbled cookies. Some kissed, laughed, tossed confetti shaped like stars into the breeze. Their clothes were too bright, their voices too loud, but they radiated sweetness. They oozed it.

Hugs.
Smooches.
Hands pressed to cheeks, shoulders bumping gently together.

It was a world where love dripped like sap from the trees.

Ydoc sat still, his teacup untouched.

No one was looking at him.
But no one was ignoring him, either.
It was the feeling of being remembered, even if not spoken to.

The feeling of being welcome.

Of once having belonged here.

But now… he was a wallflower.

There was love, yes. But he was at its edge.

He kept his hands folded, eyes half-lidded, breathing in the sugar and sun.

It felt like a place he had longed for, for a very, very long time