Note: Thank you, suburbs, for the beta. Sorry I've been absent so long. Most of you have probably forgotten about this fic. I know sometimes I do. But here's trying to finish something you start.

come to my window

.

Joe pounds his fist against the doorframe. "Stella, you have to let me in!"

"I don't have to do anything, Joe." She presses all her weight against the Misa's door, not entirely convinced their lock will hold. (she has a point too; doors rarely hold up against the rage of madmen, let alone teenage boys)

"Please! This isn't about you and me. It's about Macy. There's more to her than you realize. She needs me!"

"She needs help getting over you guys. And she's been doing great. The last thing she needs right now is one of your mood-swing-induced-whims sending her back to where she started from."

He closes his eyes,

___(not needing this right now)

and says his next words softly--"Isn't that for Macy to decide?"

… "and . n o t . y o u."

.

In the space of a breath he can hear her swallow. Understanding sinking in.

___(Stinging)

There'd always been something unspoken between them, an ever present potential for more than friendship…

But they missed their chance for that.

___(a sharp bitter squeeze. Needles of pain.)

His heart's worlds away now, and Stella's done denying it.

.

She takes a breath, releasing the pain. Willing it away.

"You're right." Of course. Another swallow. "Come in, Joe."

He follows her inside, unable to meet the vestige of pain lingering on her face.

"She's upstairs."

.

.

He's surprised when it's not just her that's upstairs, but five other girls.

___(Some of whom he may have dated before. Whoops).

It's all noisy clamor, as they spread out sleeping bags and toss pillows. Bowls of popcorn and peanut m&ms on the floor.

But, one by one, they notice him

___(a bird among a pack of lionesses)

and the room quiets to an eerie lull.

Joe clears his throat. "I'm looking for Macy."

They look at each other, communicating something he doesn't want to think about, and one girl points to the next room.

He excuses himself with a nod and opens the door without thinking.

.

She | j u m ps | back,

clenching a powder blue robe to her chest.

"Joe?"

He notices the look of shock on her face but steps in anyway.

"Hi Mace."

.

"Uh, hi."

Her eyes dart around the room, trying to make sense of his appearance. "What are you doing here?"

His lips curl in a half-smile. "I thought we had an appointment."

"I didn't realize you were serious." She bites her lip, not releasing a careful grip on the robe. "Um, if this is about those pictures of you in the boys' locker-room, I can totally take them off my fan-site. I didn't know it would upset you so much when I uploaded them."

"It's not about— whoa — what pictures?"

She laughs awkwardly, mouth open in that saccharine smile she uses when caught red-handed. "Oh nothing, hah ha. Nevermind."

The door downstairs shuts loudly and Macy's head perks up at the sound. "That must be my parents. You'd better leave."

"What?! I just got here."

"I know, sorry! But the only way I can have people over when my parents are gone, is if there's no boys. You're definitely a boy."

He smirks at that, ready with a highly inappropriate comment, but she's pushing him towards the window sill. "Hold up. You want me to—"

"We're only one floor up, and there's lattice going down. You can handle it, right?"

"Macy, I'm not leaving. Not until you explain to me what's going on--"

But for the second time since he's started down this quest, she pushes him out of her space, nudging him out the window and shutting it firmly behind her.

.

Grumble, grumble.

Angry breath.

___(Is she ever going to let him in?)

He sits, pouting,

on her neighbor's grass.

But then, a moment of sheer brilliance passes

and he knows exactly what to do.

Removing the backpack from his shoulders, he takes out the purple-feathered hat and paint-stained army jacket.

He'll wait all night if he has to.

.

It's four minutes after midnight

when the

__(scratch, scratch

pitter-patter)

wakes him up.

.

Two blinks and he sees her

pale wendy-like nightdress

descending the lattice wall.

And she's off—

but he's not far behind.

.

Her silhouette, glowing white in the moonlight,

crosses the street and turns a corner,

into someone's garden.

His hand touches her shoulder

__(warm to the touch)

and she stops in her tracks. Facing him.

__(suddenly nervous)

His eyes flicker downward

and his face flushes

at the way the light exposes her skin

through the pale cotton gown.

"Here," he says,

wrapping his jacket around her shoulders.

But her eyes are empty. Lost. Not processing him.

"Macy?"

She blinks. And it's almost like…

…she's asleep.

___(sleepwalking?

___is that why she never seems to know what's going on?)

.

He steps back to allow her to go, and she does,

departing through the vine-covered gate.

But he's right behind her.

.

. . .*

and

..}}i{{

bam

. . .*

.

Thousands of tiny sand particles--

Rough against his cheek.

He chokes on a mouthful and swallows—sand gritting against his soft throat tissue. B l ech.

(seriously, how many times does he have to wake-up in unfamiliar territory? it's getting old. really old.)

Stumbling f o r w ard towards the beach,

He / r u bs / the blackness away, forcing his eyes

to open towards the sunlight.

But there is no sun here. And yet

there's light everywhere—bright

against the sand,

and making aquamarine waves

dust white against the shore.

.

There's a castle in the distance,

__( you're thinking, 'how cliché'

__but I didn't write the rule,

__so don't take it up with me)

carved into the cliff,

blocks of windowed-balconies etched casually onto its face.

____(and he wonders briefly what movie he's in. Because he hasn't seen Little Mermaid since Stella forced it on him at age seven. And he wasn't paying attention, even then.)

He heads for the rock-carved palace,

_______(because where else is he supposed to go?)

his steps leaving silver imprints on the damp sand.

At least he still has his hat.

.

He climbs steadily,

finding grooves

even in the smooth edge

of the cliff.

There's one open terrace with a light on;

it's hers.

.

Curtains \ r u s t le / as he pushes them away

and steps into her chamber.

.

She's wearing white linen,

just like she's supposed to,

the fabric moving stiffly

with the salty breeze.

He sees everything flash across her face at the sight of him

--the frustration, disgust--

(and what's that? a flicker of . . . relief?)

"Nice hat," she says, raising an eyebrow.

"It seemed appropriate. Given my destination."

"I thought I told you never to come back here."

He shrugs,

"I've never been good at listening."

.