I think I might be dreaming, JC says, and when he looks down and sees he’s drifting high above midnight blue water and pale, pale sand, a certain sense of knowing slots neatly into place. A dream then, a sudden staircase coiling into existence out of thin air before him, and there’s no time to be startled because he knows the way, has seen these steps before. Steps that lead up and up and up, winding around to nowhere. Nowhere, somewhere, anywhere but here, and JC can feel soft, warm sand slipping away from beneath his feet, can hear the gentle lap of waves slowly fade, and when did he lose his shoes?

I took them, Chris says, dark hair and dark, dark eyes, and sure enough, when JC looks closer at Chris’ hand he can see a pair of shoes dangling from his fingertips. Purple, with ridiculous feathers sprouting from the heels, and, they’re not mine, JC says, shaking his head. Chris laughs, and then shimmers somehow, endless ripples of light trailing along his skin, the shoes tumbling from his hand to drop to the ground beside him, forgotten already as he starts to move away.

Come on, he calls over his shoulder, almost running now, and JC has to run too, just to catch him up.

Where are we--

Almost there, Chris calls from a lifetime ahead, and JC feels his breath catch as Chris shimmers again, a thousand tiny sparkles of silver and the palest blue, and he has never seen anything so beautiful in all his life. How, he starts to ask, but Chris has vanished, nowhere to be seen, until--

Hurry, whispered softly in his ear, and JC’s body spins and twists, tumbling through the air, and surely Chris can’t be that close yet, can’t have come all the way back already. But he can and he has and he is, his body sliding into place next to JC, so very fiercely present, and JC breathes him in like something he never knew he needed until it wasn’t there anymore.

Here, Chris says. Just in time.

JC blinks, because suddenly there’s a door in front of them, big and solid, made of thick, dark wood, curving up from the ground like it’s always been there. Like it belongs. The way to elsewhere, JC thinks, and the words ghost through his head like a whisper. He doesn’t know why, but they feel right.

Open it, Chris says without moving his lips, but JC can feel his fingers fluttering softly along his ribcage, prompting him, daring him. I know you know how, Chris murmurs, before JC even realises he was going to protest that he doesn’t. The door is inlaid with silver panels, their surface dulled with age yet still gleaming softly against the black wood. They’re cool beneath his fingertips, and JC can feel the intricate patterns spilling themselves into his skin as he moves his hands over the tarnished metal slowly, carefully. He understands with sure and sudden clarity that he does know how, that knowledge some secret thing that lies sure and deep within him. He breathes in and in and in, and beneath his fingers the door slips and glides, moving, rippling, taking him down and through and into --

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