Episode: The Team-Building Disaster

The manor was quiet when Beckett kissed me goodbye that Friday morning. I had to leave for the retreat, a mandatory weekend “team-building” exercise designed by the administration to promote bonding. He adjusted his surgical mask nervously as I smirked at him, brushing back a strand of my dark hair.

“Do your best not to miss me too much, Prince,” I teased, fingers brushing the edge of his gloves.

“I… will try, Mistress,” he said softly, eyes hesitant. His hands lingered near mine for a fraction longer than necessary, a small betrayal of the deep dread we both felt about the weekend.

As the car drove away, I felt an odd hollow inside, an emptiness I could not fill with anything but the thought of Beckett. I knew he felt the same, even as he stayed behind among the family to keep himself distracted.

Arrival at the Retreat

The facility was a cheerful horror: pastel walls, motivational posters featuring smiling teachers holding hands, and garish signs about “team synergy.” I could feel the gothic part of my soul shriveling.

The organizers welcomed us with bright smiles and absurdly cheerful exercises. “Three words to describe yourself!” one chirped.

I muttered quietly under my breath: “Decay, twilight, inevitability.”

When they looked confused, I allowed a faint smirk. “Did you wish for more… cheerful descriptors?”

My commentary remained calm, sarcastic, and morbid throughout, rendering every extroverted exercise laughably ineffective. Trust falls? Everyone fell on their own hubris. Icebreakers? Teachers exposed their own ineptitude and ridiculous competitiveness. Group singing? An unbearable cacophony.

By mid-afternoon, I had retreated to the bedroom they provided. It was cold, bland, and cheerfully decorated with floral motifs that offended my aesthetic. The walls might as well have been screaming at me. I spent hours alone, texting Beckett.

Prince, I hate this place.
I miss you. I am cold. My soul recoils at the sight of the other teachers.

He replied patiently, trying to comfort me despite his own depression, sending brief jokes only he could craft about the absurdity of the weekend. Even as he did, he spent time with Malcolm, my younger brother and his closest and only friend outside the household, laughing quietly, reminding himself there was some warmth in the world.

Outside Retreat Hours

No matter what attempts the organizers made to “bond” me with the other teachers, I ignored them. Invitations to meals, walks, and activities went unanswered. I barely moved from the bedroom except to make brief appearances for the mandatory exercises, during which I deployed my usual brand of calm, sardonic wit.

“This game of cooperative trust is… amusing in its futility,” I murmured, eyeing the participants’ failed attempts. “Your ambition blinds you to the simple truth: you are ill-prepared.”

By the second night, I had resorted to cuddling a body pillow while texting Beckett incessantly.

I cannot endure another karaoke session, Prince. Save me.

I am with you in spirit, Mistress, he replied, sending a small animated heart that made my chest ache with longing.

The Retreat Ends

Finally, the weekend ended. The administration, noticing their exercises had failed spectacularly, declared participation optional moving forward. I left without ceremony, shoving my sarcastic comments at every administrator who dared question the outcome.

Back at the manor, Beckett awaited me, eyes brightening at my arrival. Without hesitation, we fell into each other’s arms, the pent-up longing of two days melting away instantly.

“Prince,” I murmured against his chest, “I missed you more than I can say.”

“I missed you too, Mistress,” he replied, hands running along my back, holding me as if to make up for every lonely moment.

The twins joined, Hades placing his small hand on Beckett’s shoulder while Persephone tugged gently at my robe. Their presence added warmth, and soon the entire family was entwined: Beckett, me, and the twins, all relieved to be together.

Private PDA

We stayed close, whispering, touching, and sharing the kind of intimacy that only comes from days apart. Beckett softly removed his gloves and mask and then kissed my fingers and even licking it affectionately like a puppy; I pulled him close, murmuring praises.

“You’re so handsome, Prince,” I said, tracing a finger along his jawline.

“You’re perfect, Mistress,” he murmured back, eyes bright and tender.

For the rest of the evening, we indulged quietly in our home’s private comfort: tea, shared chocolate, soft conversation, and gentle touches. The retreat, a disaster in every way, had only reaffirmed one truth: the only place I could truly be myself was with my family.

From that day forward, I refused to attend any retreat without either Beckett or our club of introverted allies. Family and club were my anchor; the outside world could fail spectacularly as long as we were together.

Epilogue of the Disaster

The staff were still whispering about the retreat weeks later, surprised by my lack of makeup and the coldness with which I rebuffed any flirty attempts.

Beckett watched from the couch, amused and warm, finally allowing himself to lean fully into me.

“You’re my prince,” I whispered.

“And you, my Mistress,” he replied.

Finally, all was as it should be.