"And then the king, seeing his mistake, embraced the son he at once recognised was the cooking "maid" who had served him the tasteless meat, and gave him back his royal title ," Romano said as his brother snuggled deeper into his blankets. They were both twenty-three, but his brother usually insisted on being read a story before bed. Romano thought it was right stupid, but gave in after too much whining. He knew them all so well, he did not even need to read from the anthology anymore.

"Can you read another one fratello?" Feliciano said scooting up closer to his brother in the king-sized bed. The room was not theirs, but their grandfather's, who had went on a trip quite a while ago. They had been sleeping in his bed ever since the first week or so he was gone. It had been three months now.

Romano shook his head firmly. "Go to sleep," he said flopping down. "It's nearly eleven, and I've read you five stories already. I swear if you don't close your damn eyes, I'll beat you unconscious," he mumbled as he snuggled into the comforter.

Feliciano sighed in response, not wanting to obey, but went to sleep anyway. Romano followed in turn, welcoming the peacefulness of another dreamless sleep. It felt like only minutes before he was awakened by a sound coming from the livingroom. Feliciano stirred beside him, but the younger twin had always been a much lighter sleeper.

On bare feet, Romano climbed from the bed and went to his bureau to grab his gun. Then he went to the livingroom slowly. He unclicked the safety and was about to shoot when he saw who the intruder was. "Sticazzi! Che minchia! You scared the shit outta me Nonno!" Romano exclaimed with a heavy sigh and placed down the gun. His grandfather only gave him a somewhat pained smile and sat on the couch.

A small crease developed between Romano's brows as they furrowed in confusion. "... What's wrong?" He sat down beside his grandfather on the couch and finally noticed a bloodstain creeping on the side of his jacket. His eyes widened and fingers went to lift the fabric. There he found a large vertical wound bleeding slowly with no sign of clotting.

Another wary smile turnt his grandfather's lips upward. "Romano, would you like to hear a story?" he said his voice sounding tired.

"Now you know I do-"

The smile vanished, and his grandfather placed a finger on Romano's lips. "Listen to the story Romano," he said sternly. He managed to silence the younger Italian with the tone of his voice. "Now, this story is a bit long. It is like those fairytales you read Feliciano, but I promise every word of this is true. What I am about to say is not a lie," he said ignoring Romano's irritated expression at being silenced. "The business trip only lasted a week. These last months I've been locked away.

"You see, I went on the trip, and in the city I found the book you wanted. Y'know... the poetry anthology. It was in a corner bookstore where they sold old books out of print. Then I went through the city, and nothing I saw looked like Feliciano would like it. I know he told me not to buy him anything, but you know Feli, he never looks happier than when someone remembers him." Nonno smiled fondly thinking of his grandson who was still asleep.

"So I left the town, and hurried to find something on my way home. I was... lucky, I suppose, to come upon a beautiful garden with all sort of flowers, vegetables, fruit. It was truly a breathtaking sight. I knew something from there would make Feliciano truly happy, and that's when I saw it." His eyes had grown a faraway look to them as he continued on. "It was a rose. White, but tainted with red, something truly like a flower stolen from a fairytale. I reached to pick just one, just one was all I wanted. I didn't think it would hurt anything, but it did. The minute I had plucked it from the bush a roar came from behind me. I turnt so quickly I tore my skin with a scrape of a torn." He indicated his side then.

Disbelief coloured Romano's features. "A thorn... A thorn can't do that. Quit shitting me Nonno. This isn't funny."

"It isn't meant to be!" his grandfather yelled, making him wince in pain and Romano in shock. "I'm sorry, but... The monster that had roared, it was furious. It pointed at the acres of land around me with a a sword it held in its hand. It bellowed at me with rage, now directing the sword to my throat. (How it managed a sword, I shall never know.) 'How dare you trespass my land and then steal a flower without even questioning if you could have it?'

"I tried to fix it, to plead that I did not mean harm. I was getting it for my grandson who would like the flower. I begged on my knees that it spare me to return to you two, and it laughed... What I took to be a laugh anyway. It told me it would spare me for only one thing - my grandson. 'Bring him here, and you shall be spared. If you fail, your wound shall grow until you die from it.'"

"That's ridiculous!" Romano said still criticising the story. Perhaps his grandfather had simply went and bumped his head on something during his travels, or even he might have just lost his mind. Then his grandfather pulled out the rose. It was exactly he described it. It was beautiful and white with splotches of red that made it look like tainted purity. Nonno placed it in his hand., and Romano simply stared at if it was something alien.

"It's true. I don't want to send Feliciano there, but it has been growing. I don't know what to do... I never should have picked the flower," and with that last part said his grandfather began to sob quietly into his hands.

Wary fingers touched his shoulder. "I'll go Nonno," Romano said softly. Even if his grandfather was now insane, he could not let him die from that wound in his side. Maybe if he played along with all of this, his grandfather would at least get the help he needed. "I'm not gonna let you die, and I'm sure as hell am not letting you send Feliciano to some 'monster,'" he said standing and walking to the door. He was nearly out when his grandfather took his wrist into his hand.

"Please be careful Lovino," he said using his grandson's rarely said first name. Romano only tsked in response to say "of course I fucking will" before pulling away and continuing on. He grabbed the jacket he had tossed over the handlebars of his vespa earlier that day and slung it on before placing himself in the seat of it. This trip better not run down his tank. He had not even bothered to ask for directions, but hoped that he could just go somewhere, say he met this 'monster,' and head back to tell his grandfather it had forgiven everything and let him go. He revved the engine, cursing as a wind passed through and chilled him a bit.

"Mannaggia alla miseria," he muttered as he drove off.

He drove for what he took to be a few hours. At some point it started raining, and the dirt roads he had been driving on became too thick to handle anything driving on it. Romano dragged his vespa for about a mile or so before looking up the sky and cursing very loudly at the top of his lungs. His luck really was horrible. He would be the one to end up in some woods in who knows where with no living sight around him at all.

His frustration peaked until he took it out on a tree. "Minchia! Minchia! Minchia!" he cursed as pain shot up his leg. Now to add to his misery, his foot hurt like crazy. That was his own fault, but it still irritated him to no end.

Romano slid down into the mud not caring a bit if he got dirty. He was lost and just wanted to go home. He wanted to tell his grandfather what an idiot the damn bastard had been by letting him go along with this. He was crying before he knew it. Tears of frustration and anger slid down his face. He did not sob like his grandfather. He was a loud, disgusting type of one. The volume of it increased until it was a sort of muffled wail in his knees.

The rain persisted, drowning out the sounds of his cries and tears. It was heavy and drenched him until even his green denim jacket was clinging to his skin. Then a loud boom of thunder startled him so badly he jolted up on his legs and just started running. He had no dea where he was running to, just that he was. He hardly even realised he had passed a gate until he slipped and felt pebbles beneath his fingers rather than mud.

Then there was a figure before him, and he was scrambling back on his hands. He was so frightened he forgot to scream at the thing that stod before him. It was tall and dressed in a white cloak that hid every other detail about him. Red eyes peered down at him from the shadows of the hood and glittered with something he could not identify. "Guten tag Romano."

Romano did not recognise the language or the way it was said. Later, when the monster had led him through the gardens and to the large castle it surrounded, he would learn it to be German along with the its name. 'Gilbert,' it told him. Everything about Gilbert was a step back in time, especially the castle. Romano's fingers slid along a marble statue of a beautiful woman dressed in flowers.

"Faeries," Gilbert said the gruffness in its voice vanishing once they were inside. "Germany is quite famous for its faerie-tales," it said not speaking of tales of "fairies," but of people from the land of Fae. It led Romano to a well-lit livingroom where it sat down in front of a fire. Romano stood in the entry-way before deciding to place himself in a well cushioned chair. He was shivering greatly, and was happy to find a quilt there. He helped himself to it, not caring that he got it wet. He bitterly blamed the monster for all his misfortune, drawing his knees to his chest in an attempt for warmth.

There, he fell asleep to the sound of Gilbert whispering what he took to be one of those 'faerie-tales.' He told it in German, so Romano did not understand the words, but the sound of a voice, no matter how rough it was in his ears, was better than the boom of the thunder that could not be heard inside this castle. It was comforting as he slipped into the blackness of sleep once again.

It always seemed like he had only slept for minutes, no matter how long he actually had slept. Romano could sleep for days and still believe it had only been fifteen minutes since he had placed his head down.

Where he had awakened was not the same place he had fallen asleep in. He was in a large bed with an olive comforter. The greens of the bed and a vase of flowers on the ebony bedside table were the only colourful things in the room. Everything else in the room was monochromic black-and-white.

The cover crumpled as Romano sat up. He reached over to the table and brushed the petals of the flowers. They were vibrant warm colours, making a big splotch against the black. It reminded Romano of Feliciano's paintings back home except these were easier to caress. "Bella," he breathed softly as he brought one up to his nose.

He crawled out of the bed completely, still holding the flower. He stretched, the fabric of a silk pyjama shirt brushing his skin. He stared at it. Had the Gilbert-thing changed his clothes? He looked down at his pants and saw they complemented the shirt. Yes. It had definitely changed his clothes. A shiver crawled up his spine as he realised that thing had touched him.

Murmured curses flew out his mouth as he began to explore. The room was huge, as big as the bottom story of his home. A large antique wardrobe next to a window on the wall and a bureau with creatures from German and Norse lore etched into the ebony wood were the only other pieces of furniture in the room beside the bed and the table that accompanied it.

Romano decided the wardrobe was the most interesting to go through, and there he found such a wide variety of clothing that made every store he had ever been into pale in comparison. There were the old fashioned clothes that Gilbert wore, and then there were the type he was more fond of. There were colours, bright and dark, and there were things with no colours at all.

His nose scrunched at the sight of a frilly white top. Like hell he would ever where something like that. Instead he donned himself in a plain white shirt and black vest. After that, it was all a matter of finding a pair of jeans that would match, which was easily found in one of the bureau drawers.

Once dressed he grabbed a white flower with red tips from its black vase. He placed it in the pocket of his vest. He looked at himself in the mirror and began combing his fingers through his mussed chestnut hair. It took him two minutes to realise just how ridiculous it was for him to be cleaning up for a monster. With that thought in mind, he ruffled his hair, rumpled his shirt a bit, and tugged out a rosary that had been hiding beneath his shirt. This had to be the only thing that was his that he was still wearing.

After playing with his clothes a bit more, he walked into the large hallway. It took him two hours, seventeen minutes, thirty-eight seconds, and two hundred forty-five vulgarities to find his way to the diningroom. "Why the hell is this house, so fucking big?" he growled at Gilbert who was sitting at the table with a black cloak shadowing his face today.

If the the thing could smirk, Romano knew it was. Maybe it could, and that is why it was always hiding his face. It was probably too hideous to look upon. Romano sat down in a huff angrily just jamming a fork into a slice of grapefruit. The breakfast laid out in front of him was an array of fruits and vegetables Romano guessed were from that oversized garden outside.

Romano picked at it, not striking up a conversation with the monster across the table. Despite the fact the dining table was made to seat more than fifty, Romano sat on the very far other side of it. He ate in complete silence, and let the only sounds of him being there be his fork scratching the fine china plates and the loud tink of his glass as he roughly placed it on the table.

He rubbed his mouth roughly when he was done, and then left without saying a word. He ignored the eyes he knew were watching him as he found his way to a door leading outside. He was stunned for a second by the beauty of the garden in daylight. His grandfather had not been lying when he had called this place a fairytale. "Bellissimo...," he breathed looking about him. He was so busy staring he hardly noticed he had walked further out into the expense of the garden. His bare feet felt the soft grass beneath his feet, and his arms felt the sunlight warming them.

He travelled deep into the garden and found himself in a maze of flower bushes that towered above his head. Deeper and deeper into the maze he went until he got too afraid of being lost, and retreated. He found his way back to the castle around the time when dinner was apparently served. If it was not for Romano's obvious dislike for Gilbert, you could describe their dinner as romantic. Gilbert's castle had no electric light despite the era, and was only lit by candles. Tall, short, fancy, plain. The candles were everywhere and lit his face with a golden light.

Dinner turnt out to be just as talkative as breakfast. Romano clashed his silverware against the china and sipped his wine lazily and sloppily. Once he was done, he stood up without any sort of goodbye and found the confusing way back to his room. He shedded off his clothes and crawled beneath the warm comforters he had been provided to see what tomorrow would bring.

The next day was just like the first. Romano awoke to the room, and put on whatever he felt like. Then he wandered down and had a silent breakfast with Gilbert. After that, he disappeared into the garden and went into the maze. There he would stay, figuring out the turns and twists, until dinner around twilight. Repeat.

The only thing that really changed in this routine was that with every day that passed Romano slowly found himself getting to know the castle better, especially the maze. He found himself wandering in it deeper and deeper. About a month had passed when he found himself in front of a large juniper tree. He blinked at it before climbing up the branches. He was decent enough at tree climbing to reach a toppermost branch and look at the wide spread around him. He leant back on the trunk of the tree and took in the scenery with unabashed eyes.

It was dark. Had he fallen asleep? Romano opened his eyes drowsily to the world around him. He closed them again and forgot he was resting in a tree in his lucid state. He turnt over only to feel nothing below him but air. His eyes opened wide at once, and he began screaming loudly at the top of his lungs. He grappled for a branch to catch himself with, but only caught splinter after splinter until he finally was sent crashing all the way onto the ground.

A soft, pale and slightly warm ground.

He panted deeply in a poor attempt at catching the breath he had lost when screaming at full tempo his way down the tree. He was grabbing Gilbert's neck tightly with his fingers digging into the light fabric of a black cloak. It took him much too long to realise just what he was doing. He flushed in sudden embarrassment as he snapped his head up to be blinded by red.

He was unable to tear his eyes away. Even when his feet touched the ground and Gilbert's arms were no longer holding him, Romano's eyes stayed. "Show me your face," he said at once and reached for the cloak.

Gilbert tugged away and backwards. It shook its head firmly. "Nein," it said the meaning of the word getting to Romano by the way it was said. It hurt. The way it was said for some reason, made a pang spring in his chest. Then anger at being refused. He reached for the hood again, but Gilbert was nimble and jumped out of the way. The second and third attempt were the same. It was the fourth attempt, when Romano tripped over his own feet and went crashing into the grass, did the monster finally take pity on him and help him up.

It sighed deeply, looking at the redfaced and irritated Italian standing beside him with crossed arms. "I will tell you only if you listen to a story first," he finsllly said.

Romano snapped his head up and nodded. "Si. I will listen," he said feeling accomplished.

Gilbert led Romano away and to a white stone bench in front of the tree. "It is not a happily awesome story," he started. Romano had drawn his knees up on the bench and listened in bored attention. "In fact, it is a very sad tale."

Gilbert continued on. It was the story of a boy who was the son of a very wealthy king many years ago. He lived in a large castle with his father, his mother and a pet bird. One day, although, the happiness fell apart with the death of the mother and the introduction of a new one. This stepmother was a very wicked woman, who had tricked the kind into believing she was good. The stepmother brought with her a child she cherished more than anything else in the world. The stepchild and the king's son quickly befriended, becoming so close that the stepchild's mother became jealous of the king's son.

She found a way to rid him by telling him of a place where there was a very special fruit for very special boys. This place was in a great maze where the boy found himself lost. For days he remained lost in the maze until he found himself to a clearing. In that clearing laid a juniper sprig. He bent to pick it up and taste the sweet berries on it. When he bent low, the stepmother was behind him with a hatchet and hacked off his head.

All at once, she realised it would be rather difficult to get rid of the body. She decided to chop the rest of him until his flesh appeared like mincemeat, and this she took to the cooking maids to make for dinner. Unknowingly, the father ate his own lost son, and it was like poison in his throat. He soon became fiercely ill.

The stepchild, who had followed his mother to the maze, had seen everything, and at night he stole away to hunt down the bones of the prince. These he buried in the clearing, and used his tears as if they were freshwater for seeds for from those bones grew a great juniper tree. This tree grew larger year after year, bearing no fruit.

It was only after the death of the king, the queen, and finally the devoted stepchild did the branches drop the reincarnation of the prince in a monsterous form. To hide this he had himself made a fine cloak, and for years remained trapped on the castle grounds for self-disgust at what he had become. He had sworn to himself the only way he would leave the castle grounds was that a person with a kind heart would find his sanctuary and free him from his self-loathing within a year's time.

With the ending of the story said, Gilbert turnt his scarlet eyes from the stars and to meet Romano's. He reached his hands up and tugged down the cloak to reveal a face as pale as snow, eyes a twinkling and mischievous type of red, and hair that was so light it could be taken for transparent. It was only when Romano's eyes took in the contents of Gilbert's mouth did he find what made Gilbert consider himself monsterous.

There was row upon row of tiny razor teeth, white as clean bone. His eyes held no pupil, only darkened toward the center. Romano reached up and caressed an icy cheek, and then tugged his hand away. All at once he tore from the garden and down to his room, and that night he decided to go without dinner.

He remained in his room for quite a few days, pondering the story of him, Gilbert. That night in front of the juniper tree, he no longer saw Gilbert as the "it" he had presumed him to be. He was simply thrust into misfortune. Romano let the days drag on, and woke up from dreams he never remembered once his eyes were open.

He lost count of the days he remained up there, and how many unremembered dreams he had. (One? Five? Thirteen?)

Just one cloudy evening, he stood up with a decision that had finally came to his mind. He wandered about the castle and called out Gilbert's name, growing irritated with every second he did not find him. He reached his breaking point after an hour of searching. "Gilbert!"

His voice echoed back to him, and then footsteps. Gilbert's face wore a bemused smirk, no longer hiding behind his cloak. The smirk turnt into a close-lipped smile. "You called me," he said leaning down toward Romano.

Romano stumbled back at once, not used to taking in the full features of what he had at first believed to be a horrifying monster. "Si," he said catching his tongue before it ran away with his words. "I have decided to grace you with my glorious fucking company until the year is done, and then, I shall go back to see my fucking family." His family. Feliciano. Nonno. This was the first time he had thought of them in so many weeks. Still, he did miss them terribly when he thought about it, and knowing them, they were sick with worry for how long he had been gone.

Silence grew between them before Gilbert answered his houseguest's question. "Okay," he said and smiled wider this time with his closed lips.

So for the next months, Romano kept his promise. Gradually, they began to grow closer and spend more and more time with each other. He had moved closer at the dining table, and now talked to him over ridiculous things. On occasion, Gilbert was lucky enough to manage a laugh from the short-tempered Italian, but even then, his favourite things were the nights they spent by the fireplace in the livingroom.

On those nights, they would exchange stories. Fairytale for faerie-tale. They would tell them in soft voices, murmurs and whispers in the warm and still room. Romano had traded the chair he had claimed as his own for a place next to Gilbert on the couch. He would claim it was for warmth every time despite the fact both of them knew Gilbert was not much for heat.

The deal was forgotten as the days melted on. On the day it had earlier been planned for him to leave, Romano awoke grumpily and stormed down the stairs in the clothes he had first came here in. Gilbert was waiting for him in the entrance room, a wary smile on his lips.

The keys to Romano's vespa were placed in his hand. "The tank is filled with enough gas to get you home. Just keep straight until you reach your village," Gilbert instructed him.

"Oi, they don't call them 'villages.' I live in a suburb you albino bastard," Romano said grouchily.

Gilbert only smiled.

Romano stared at the ground as if it was the reason for everything wrong with his life right now.

"You're going to burn holes in my porch," Gilbert said his smile turning into a grin. It took him a while to do that, grinning. He had been afraid to show his teeth before, but Romano's exclamation of how stupid he looked smiling like an idiot all the time made him a bit more confident in it. "Here," he said placing something over Romano's head. It was a chain necklace with an iron cross medallion dangling from it. "It is for strength, and so you remember to come back to me."

Romano reached up and fingered it tenderly. He would never admit just how much he was going to miss the garden and castle with its many nooks, crannies, and little hidden secrets. He would miss the flowers he woke up to and the candlelight he fell asleep to. Most unadmittedly of all, he would miss Gilbert.

Words danced on the edge of his tongue, and Romano just about managed to swallow all but two down. "One week," he murmured lowly. His eyes were still trained on the ground, looking at everything but the one he had to say goodbye to.

Said person looked a bit confused at the seemingly random statement. "Vas?" he asked his German slipping out much more naturally than the English they typically used to communicate.

Green hazel met scarlet for what felt like the very first time. "One week. That is how long I will be away." He reached around his neck and looped his rosary over his head. He placed it in Gilbert's palm. "So you remember I'm coming back," he said simply before letting his fiingers slip from Gilbert's.

"Tschüs," Gilbert said with a small wave to Romano's back. Romano had ignored his words out of fear he would turn around the minute he heard them. He leapt onto his vespa and down the road before another word could be said out of eithre of them. No goodbyes. Italian. English. German. He did not want to hear it.

He only listened to Gilbert's instructions repeating over and over in his mind. "Just keep straight until you reach your village," he murmured. Oh yes because it was just that easy. Romano weaved through trees, all the time trying his best to keep on the straight path. He lost it once or twice, but still, before darkness took, he was driving through the streets of what he called home.

For some rason, although, 'home' felt wrong to him. He felt misplaced. He stared at the red door to the Vargas house. Absentmindedly he reached up and fingered the necklace he wore. For fuck's sake. All he had to do was knock on the door.

This thought gave him some confidence, and then he knocked quite loudly. "Oi! Feliciano!" he yelled through the wood. "It's m-," he started, but his words were cut off with a rather vicious hug. Feliciano's arms were wrapped about his waist in a tight embrace. It took everything Romano had to peel his brother off. Then he had to deal with the ambush of questions thrown at him along with a tidbit of information here and there.

It turnt out Nonno had went to look for the castle while he was gone, but he could not find it. He had called other people to search with him, but still to no avail. It was almost as if the entire building simply disappeared. Then for months, Feliciano and his grandfather had thought he was dead and had been eaten by the monster.

Romano had responded with a statement of how idiotic that thought process was. He explained to him how Gilbert was the nicest person he had met in a long time, and made sure to emphasise how he was not a horrible monster. Their grandfather had been wrong. He finished by telling explanation of how he was leaving in a week.

His twin was immediately distressed by the last bit of information. "Perche? Why not stay here?" he asked tugging on Romano's sleeve. He pleaded with his brother to stay, but nothing seemed to persuade Romano from his resolution. One week. That was all he could afford to stay. He had promised.

So one day went by. Feliciano fretted over him, pestered him with questions, and checked on him constantly. This day soon passed, and the second day came. On this second day, his grandfather came home and greeted him just as enthusiastically as Feliciano had. Then this day too passed. Then another. And yet another. Feliciano and his grandfather kept him busy for a reason he could not fathom. He only realised what they had been trying to do on the ninth day of their care.

"Fratello, I've been meaning to ask," Feliciano asked as they fixed dinner together, "but where did you get that pretty necklace?"

A spoon slipped from Romano's fingers. "Nove," he whispered before cursing loudly and tearing from the kitchen. Feliciano tried to catch his arm, but Romano was fast when he felt truely panicked. He had his coat on in a manner of seconds, and his shoes on within even less time. Then he was in the garage and climbing atop his vespa. He cursed upon the realisation it was out of gas. "Madonne!" he screamed before jumping back off and tearing down the street on foot.

He waved his arms furiously until he managed to flag down a car. "Please drive straight, into the woods until I say stop," he begged, his manners showing in this rare occurance. "I'll pay you," he said digging into his pockets and thrusting as many bills into the man's hand as he possibly could. The driver nodded at this, and then went down the road at a furious speed seeing Romano's urgency.

After what seemed like hours (and perhaps very much was), Romano felt a strange feeling in his chest and gazed toward a large tangle of trees. "Stop!" he yelled and nearly got a large knot on the head from the scare he gave his driver. The car skidded on the dirt path, and Romano tore from his passenger seat before it even completely stopped. He took off toward the trees, and ran blindly, stumbling but never falling all the way.

When his feet touched pebble and he saw the large stone doorway of Gilbert's castle he began to shout the other's name as loud as he could. He yelled it until his voice was hoarse, and was panting by the time he reached the corridors of the castle. He had not realised he had begun to cry, or that he refused to let of the necklace. He was running without direction now, just hoping for any sign of snow hair and red eyes.

He grew tired, adrenaline running out as he found his feet walking through the familiarity of the maze he had found when he had first come to this great castle. His appearance was despair, his eyes red from crying, his throat scratched from his screaming, his legs worn down from running and his heart just about breaking. "I'm sorry. I tried to come. I tried," he said.

If you asked him, Romano would never know how he ended up beneath the juniper tree. He would only be able to tell you how he sat down and began to wail. It was loud and disturbed whatever peace was left in the maze. It echoed throughout the garden, and perhaps a passerby would have heard it and believed it was it was the remaining echo of a nightingale's dying song.

It took too long for Romano to dwindle the wails down to gross sobs. He stretched out on the bench he had once sat under and listened to a story on. He began to tell the story to the white rock. He told the story of a boy despised by his mother, eaten by his father and saved by the love of his younger brother. He told the story of how this boy grew up to become a beautiful disaster with jewels for eyes, and who had wreaked havoc on a man who had found his way here in the rain.

His focus on telling the story managed to calm him down even more. He was murmuring the words in an incomprehensable whisper to no one but himself. His eyes slid closed, but he did not sleep. He just listened to the sounds that the night brought with it as the last bit of evening slid into dim twilight. If he had been asleep, perhaps the slight pressure of something pressing against his lips would not have startled him right off the bench.

Time stopped.

For a few moments time, Romano was lost to the twilight. He brought a cautionary tongue to taste his lips as if he was tasting a new delicacy. He brought his eyes up, and it felt like the first time again. Green hazel met red, and this hazel was as lost as his rational mind.

A rational mind would have not done what he had done then. If he had had even the tiniest remnant of his rational mind, Romano would have thought twice of jumping up and into slender pale arms that always dressed too old for the time that was now, and he would never have pressed his lips against the other's in a needy kiss of lovefound, lovelost, lovefound again.

He ran his tongue over the razor teeth, and ignored the light sting they brought. His hands lost themselves in snow for hair and with each breath he breathed between their lips he was a mess of colourful apologies and Gilbert's name.

His lungs screamed out desperately for him to stop. His lips parted with a small gasp for the chilling night air and nearly began to cry again if he did not already felt like such an idiot for crying in the first place. He brought his eyes back to Gilbert's, and for the first time he noticed pupils there. He tilted his head, wondering if he already could not see well for the light darkness that draped around them.

Gilbert's grin of not razors, but row upon row of average white teeth told him that no, this was really how it was.

"I forgot to tell you the last bit of the story," Gilbert said as he released Romano from the encasing of his arms. He brought a hand to the slightly shorter's waist, and the other pale hand intertwined with a tanned one. He swayed Romano with him with music only he could hear, guiding Romano's unsure feet around and around the clearing they danced in.

"It goes like this," he said as if singing the lyrics to this invisible song. "The prince meets the kind-hearted young man, and from his acceptance whatever was left of his self-hatred simply did not matter anymore. He still wanted to return to the way he had been, but the wish was no longer for himself. He wanted to tell this young man, who had went away on a very important trip, that they could go anywhere together if he only desired without fear of ever being called anything but their names. Never 'monster' or 'beast' or 'dhalia flower,'" he said with a smooth smile. Romano at once remembered the flowers that had always been kept in a vase in the room. Dhalia. That must have been what they were called. "The sad story was no longer as sad, and the two, the prince and the young man, they..."

Romano stopped him. "Wait," he said, "I know this part... 'e vissero felici e contenti'?" A ghost of a smile turnt his lips with the words.

Gilbert grinned, and translated the words for what he knew them to be. "Ja, 'and they lived happily ever after.'"