Other Lover
By: 1000th Ghost
"These things – even the thing in the cellar – were illusions, things made by the other mother in a ghastly parody of the real people and real things on the other end of the corridor. She could not truly make anything, decided Coraline. She could only twist and copy and distort things that already existed."
-Neil Gaiman, (Coraline)
And so, it was done.
It had been horrible and wonderful and deadly and exciting. But it was over and finished, and the Beldam would harm no more.
This was a bad thing.
Well…obviously, no, it was a good thing. If the Other Mother could harm no more, it meant that she, her family, her neighbors, her entire world would not be harmed.
But in the Other World…the Other Mother could not harm either. And this was a bad thing. Not because Coraline wanted anyone in the Other World to be harmed, of course. But because the Other Mother would harm anything that she could. Therein lied the bad part: the only reason she could harm nothing in the Other World was because there was nothing left to harm. All of the other inhabitants, the Other Father, Other Miss Spink and Other Miss Forcible, Other Mr. Bobinsky, and – she paused and forced herself to think his name – Other Wybie, had either been forced into a twisted, soulless monster bent on her destruction, or had been destroyed entirely.
An all-too-clear image of an all-too-familiar set of clothes fluttering in the breeze flashed through her mind, the pole squeaking painfully with each gust of wind, and she woke up with a start.
"Wybie!" she exclaimed, sitting upright in her bed.
The twirling shapes of glowing planets and the squeaking of her bedroom door were all that greeted her.
The squeaking…
She glanced at her door and saw in the dim light that, yes, it was slightly ajar, but, no, it was not what had made the noise.
The source of the squeaking was evident: the mouse standing in the doorway looked at her almost tauntingly, as though it knew that she would follow it.
And she did, of course.
As much as the Beldam hated cats, Coraline now hated mice. No, not mice necessarily but rats. And you could never quite tell which was which.
"This doesn't make sense," she thought worriedly, following the small, white rodent down the stairs. "The door is locked. Nothing can get out."
So where had this mouse come from?
Maybe… She didn't want it to be true but could think of no other explanation. Maybe the mouse had been there the entire time. Mice were small, fast, and practically undetectable – perfect spies – and could have been living ("living"?) right under her nose before, during, and after the adventure. Watching her…listening to her…
What had she said in the past two months? In reality, she had talked of almost nothing but the adventure and her regrets. Outside of the Pink Palace with Wybie it probably could not have followed her. But inside…she told things to the Cat that usually she would have only kept inside her head. Things like "had it hurt?" and "had he meant what she thought he meant by throwing her the rose?" and "why could she not stop thinking about him?".
She shook her head. It was useless to speculate now. She would find out soon enough.
She found that she had stopped consciously following the mouse and was walking of her own accord towards the so-far avoided little door in the drawing room.
She reached it, and the mouse scampered away into the dark, under a table or chair, or simply vanished into thin air, she didn't know, and she didn't care in the slightest. All she could focus on were the three objects placed in front of the miniature door.
Two black buttons…and a single, red rose.
Her heart momentarily stopped. How…and what did it mean…and why now…and-
"Coraline…"
She glanced at the door sharply. That voice…it was unmistakable. It could only belong to one person…
"Coraline, dear, I know you're there," the voice on the other side of the door continued.
"Yes," Coraline said, and she was proud that her voice did not tremble. "I'm here."
The voice sighed. It was her, that was unquestionable, but it lacked the strength and cruel vigor it once possessed.
"I haven't spoken to you in so long. How are you, darling?"
"I'm fine."
"You're lying."
The Beldam was smug and confident despite her apparently weakened state.
"No, I'm-"
"I am your mother, Coraline. You can't fool me. I've heard your trouble."
Coraline scoffed.
"Your spy has, you mean. You don't have the strength to do anything. You have nothing left. No one to control, no one to intimidate. Nothing to live for. It's taken its toll. You don't have…me."
The Other Mother spoke again, and Coraline could practically hear the malevolent smile she was sure was plastered on her face.
"No, sweetie, I don't. But I will. You will come right to me of your own free will."
"And why," Coraline said coldly, "would I do that?"
"Because you want to know. And only I can tell you."
Coraline's eyes fell on the rose, and she knew exactly what she referred to.
"You…you'll tell me? About Wybie? Other Wybie, I mean?"
"Mmm-hmm. I think it's very fitting for a mother to discuss her daughter's first crush with her, don't you?"
"W-wha-I…I do not have a crush on Wybie…either of them…and you're not my mother."
"Hmm." A pause. "Have you ever wondered why you never addressed him as 'Other Wybie' but as 'Wybie'?"
Coraline could hear the Other Mother strumming the fingers of her single hand against the other side of the door and felt a surge of terror pass through her. She was right there.
But she couldn't bring herself to leave, not yet. It was foolish, she knew, but for the past two months all she could think of was him…and she needed to know why.
"Tell me," Coraline said simply.
Then she sat and waited.
"Ask."
"Um…" Coraline paused. Did she really even want to know? "Is he dead?"
"No."
Coraline waited for her heart to leap or pound or something else equally embarrassing and girly, but nothing happened. The tone in the Other Mother's voice was still too confident… Other Wybie lived, but there was obviously something she wasn't telling.
"Will I see him again?"
The Other Mother laughed, and Coraline shivered.
"That's almost a difficult question to answer. Do you mean 'Will I see him again after this moment?' or 'Have I seen him again since I left?'? The answer to the first question I cannot say, but if everything goes according to plan, and, my dear, I can assure you that it will, the answer is 'no'. The answer to the second question is a resounding 'yes'."
Yes…but how?
She mentally stored the information away; she could dwell on it later.
"The, um…the rose." Coraline picked it up delicately, twirling it between her fingers. "You know. That he gave me. At the theater." She paused.
"Well?" the Other Mother prompted, "What is the question?"
"I…I don't know. It just seemed so…" A word formed on the edge of her subconscious, but she wouldn't allow it to completely form.
"Romantic? That's because it was."
"Oh."
Coraline felt a blush creep onto her cheeks, but she wasn't entirely sure she minded.
"S-so Wybie…the one that doesn't talk, I mean, I guess…he has a crush on me?"
"Oh, 'crush' seems a bit simplified, I would say. You said yourself that he stalks you."
"Yeah. He does." She smiled slightly.
"And he brought you the doll."
"Uh-huh."
"And he risked his life to save you from my hand," the Other Mother stated matter-of-factly.
"And he did all of this because…because he loves m- wait!" She stopped suddenly. Something was wrong. "That's all stuff that Wybie did. The one with me. The one that you didn't murder."
The Beldam sighed, sounding vaguely annoyed.
"I did not murder anyone, Coraline. If I had, how would you have been able to see him practically every day since you left my world?"
"But…" Coraline's head spun. "But I haven't seen him. I-I saw…his hand was sawdust, and it fell apart…and you made the rest of him fall apart too, so he was nothing but clothes."
"Oh, Coraline, he is so much more than sawdust and clothes."
"No," Coraline said, shaking her head. "That is all he is…was…just a doll that you made. He's not even real. So why can I not stop thinking about him?"
The Other Mother chuckled.
"I made him? My dear, I'm afraid that would be utterly impossible. I am…quite…talented with a needle and thread, to be sure. But I cannot 'create' anything. I can copy, and I can duplicate, but, no, I cannot make."
Coraline felt her heart racing – here was the girlish feeling she had been expecting – and she clutched the rose so hard that the thorns stabbed her skin and drew blood. She was so close…she could feel the answer hovering there, still just out of her reach but slightly visible through the haze.
"Tell me," she said frantically, pressing a bloodstained hand against the door. "Answer one more question." She took a deep breath. "Why is it that when I see Wybie – the real Wybie – I think of the Wybie with button eyes? And when I saw Other Wybie, I could only see Wybie?"
The continuous tap-tap-taping of the needle fingers abruptly stopped. Coraline listened intently; was she still there?
"If I told you that," the Other Mother finally spoke, "would you leave me? Go back to bed? Probably never even step foot in your drawing room again?"
"Of course," Coraline replied, before mentally slapping herself.
That was not the right answer. But, even if she had lied, it would not have fooled the Beldam.
"Then I really see no reason to tell you."
"Please," Coraline begged, tears forming in her eyes. "You're my…" She forced herself to say the word. "…my mother. Don't you want your little girl to be happy?"
She attempted to sound cheerful but could plainly hear the desperation in her voice.
"I have told you so much already," the Other Mother said slowly. "I have been loving. I have been a good mother. Now, I think it's only fair that you show me some kindness."
Coraline absentmindedly traced a heart in the bloody handprint on the door. "Okay." She could always think of a way out of it. "What do you want?"
The Other Mother spoke, and it seemed that her vicious intensity had somewhat returned.
"I want you, Coraline."
Coraline gulped.
"And if I come back…you'll tell me?"
"Of course," the Other Mother said in a sugary sweet voice that Coraline did not buy for a second. "We'll sit on the sofa, wrapped in a big blanket and eat cupcakes and popcorn, and I'll braid your hair and tell you all about boys and love and dates and kissing. A conversation a young girl can only have with her mother."
Coraline had stopped listening. She was already out the front door, running as fast as she possibly could towards the well. The torrents of rain and the crashing thunder meant nothing. Halfway there she vaguely noticed that she had neglected to put on a coat or even shoes. It was early November, it was midnight, it was storming, it was freezing, and all she had on was her thin, orange, polka dotted pajamas.
But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except for getting to the well and – somehow – getting the key and finding out the answer. She would outwit the Other Mother one way or another, she had before, and she could again, but she would risk it – she had to risk it – to discover the connection between her and Wybie and Other Wybie.
And as the space where the well was located came into view, she suddenly understood.
There was no her and the Wybie that talks and the Wybie with button eyes. There was just her and…Wybie.
Wybie and Other Wybie…they were one and the same.
She could not create, she could only copy.
Her father and the Other Father both wanted to protect her, Miss Spink and Miss Forcible and the Other Miss Spink and the Other Miss Forcible both wanted to be beautiful actresses, Mr. Bobinsky and the Other Mr. Bobinsky both wanted an amazing mouse circus…
Wybie and Other Wybie both wanted…her.
Only the Other Mother was a separate entity from her real world counterpart. The Other Mother could change her appearance and change the world, but she was evil and was not her mother.
But the others…all the others…they were simply sewn, stuffed reproductions of what already existed.
The Other Mother made Other Wybie act how Coraline wanted the real Wybie to act towards her…or maybe how the real Wybie wanted to act towards her and didn't have the nerve to. Either way, all the Other Mother did was sew the body (and even that she couldn't change, except the jacket and eyes). Other Wybie's personality was the exact same as Wybie's personality, minus anything Coraline would not want. Therefore, Other Wybie lived although his body was destroyed because Wybie and thus their shared personality, affection, and life-force lived. By spending almost every waking moment with Wybie, she had been spending time with Other Wybie and simply hadn't known.
Other Wybie was Wybie, and Wybie was Other Wybie.
Other Wybie entertained her and threw her roses and saved her life, real Wybie stalked her and gave her dolls and saved her life.
Real Wybie, Other Wybie, The Wybie…he loved her.
A foolish grin spread across her face, partly because she had solved the mystery on her own and would not have to go back through the door and partly because of the unexplainable, totally embarrassingly girly thing her heart decided to do once it discovered the newfound knowledge.
She was so absorbed in her reverie that she failed to notice the hole in one of the boards covering the well's opening. If she had, she might have come to a logical conclusion such as "the boards were old, and a chunk of one rotted away" or she might have let her imagination run a bit further and believed that "the scratching of needle fingers had helped to erode the rotting board away".
Whatever the case, she would never know, for before she could think to react, there was a scuffling, tinkling sound of metal against metal, and five, individual needle fingers sprang up from the opening.
She gasped in horror and raised her foot to try to step on one before she realized that she was barefoot and that would be an incredibly stupid thing to do.
This couldn't be happening…this couldn't be happening…oh, what had she been thinking, coming out to the well?
As hard as fighting the Other Mother's hand had been, fighting its destroyed remains was even harder. At least the hand was easy to keep track of; the five fingers seemed to be everywhere, climbing up her legs, tearing at her clothes, pulling her hair, trying with inhumane strength to drag her back to the Other World.
As soon as she had concentrated on one and determined to pull it off of her, it was immediately gone and replaced by another. There were too many, and they were too fast, and they were ripping and clawing, and all she could think to do was place her hands over her eyes.
Were buttons sewn into your eyes, or did your eyes have to be removed first?
She didn't intend to find out.
She suddenly became aware of just how cold she was…cold and tired and soaking wet. Her thin pajamas hung in taters that clung to her shivering frame.
She wanted to be home in her bed knowing that her real parents were sleeping just down the hall.
A sob tore at her throat, and a single tear trickled down her cheek.
What was she going to do? Nothing…there was nothing she could do. At least last time she had had help…
Then she squared her shoulders and grit her teeth and thought, "I am brave. I am", but she shuddered as she realized that, for once, it was a complete lie.
One of the needle fingers again attempted to grasp a stitch of clothing to drag her away but missed and caught skin. She screamed as she felt it dig into her flesh, just below her ribs. She dared to uncover her eyes to pull it off but managed to do so only after it had made a two inch gash in her stomach.
She stared down at the open wound, almost in shock, when something caught her eye. One of the fingers was moving much slower than the others…and it was heading towards the Pink Palace.
With a jolt, she realized that it was threaded through the button key – the key to the Other World – and that it was undoubtedly off to free its master.
"NO!" she shouted, diving at the finger, ignoring the searing pain of her injury.
But the ground was muddy, and her legs were being attacked, and she tripped as she lunged. Her head banged against a rock.
"I did it," she thought with dazed satisfaction, as she stared at the key in her hand.
Everything went black.
The black boy muttered unintelligibly and rolled over.
That wasn't going to cut it.
The Cat chose a more aggressive maneuver, this time taking a swipe at his ear.
"Ow!" Wybie exclaimed, sitting up in alarm. "Stupid cat, whatcha do that fo…" He trailed off as he saw the object clutched in the Cat's teeth: a black, buttoned key. "Oh, no," he murmured, a thousand horrific possibilities flashing through his head. "Coraline!"
In less than three minutes, he had pulled on his jeans, shoes, and jacket (he couldn't remember where he had flung his shirt but figured it didn't matter) and was running through the driving rain after the black cat.
He vaguely wished that he had taken his motorbike, but it probably would have ended up getting stuck in the mud, and that was one more problem than he needed.
Lost in thought, he continued to head towards the well, even though the Cat had continued towards the Pink Palace.
"What the -?" he muttered, staring at the disturbing scene in front of him.
There was a single needle finger lying motionless on the ground and a strange bumping sound coming from inside the well, which currently had half of a bloody rat stuffed into a hole in one of the boards that covered its opening.
"Did…did you do this?" Wybie asked the Cat, who had taken his pants cuff in its teeth and was insistently tugging in the direction of Coraline's house.
The Cat merely blinked and continued to pull, and Wybie shook his head in amazement.
"You're one weird cat," he murmured in respected awe, before giving in to the Cat's demands and turning away from the well.
Then he stopped again and cried out in alarm as he stepped in what was unmistakably a small trail of blood.
"Show me!" he shouted to the Cat, running as fast as he possibly could towards what he was sure he didn't want to see.
Then the Cat meowed, and he stopped, and there she was.
"Coraline…" he murmured, kneeling beside the unconscious girl.
She was lying on her stomach, shivering uncontrollably, her soaking hair covering her face. A mixture of torn cloth, mud, rain, and blood covered her alarmingly pale skin. He cautiously reached down and flipped her over; her lips were almost as blue as her hair.
She wasn't…she couldn't be…
He quickly put his ear to her chest (trying, unsuccessfully, to stop the blush that spread over his face) and sighed in relief: there was a heartbeat.
"But not for long, if I don't get her inside," he thought worriedly.
He gently picked her up in his arms, marveling at how light she was.
"Of course, she's light, she's hardly wearing anything," he thought, failing, once again, to control his blush. He slouched even more than usual to attempt to shield her from the rain. "She doesn't even have socks! What was she thinking?"
But he knew better than to question her motives where the Beldam was concerned.
Now all that mattered was getting her inside. He started in the direction of the Pink Palace but stopped.
Whatever had attacked her had obviously been dragging her back to her house before it had met with Cat. Was he honestly going to hand deliver her right to the source?
Making up his mind, he turned towards his own house, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that shouted, "And just what will Gramma do if she finds out that Coraline slept in your bed?"
The front door was still open; in his haste to leave the house he had neglected to close it. He crept inside and quietly nudged the door closed with his foot, trying as hard as he could to make as little noise as possible.
If his grandmother woke…
He stared at Coraline (who currently had her face pressed against his chest) for the umpteenth time.
…he didn't even want to think about what would happen if his grandmother woke.
Actually, he admitted to himself as he climbed the stairs to his room, the most practical thing to do would be to wake up his grandmother. And to put Coraline on the downstairs sofa…not in his own bed.
He glanced down at the Cat for an opinion and was met with a sarcastic, amused expression.
"Can you blame me?" he whispered in defense as he entered his room. "If I didn't do this, I'd never forgive myself!"
The Cat simply rolled its eyes, turned around, and walked back towards the stairs. Maybe there was some food left out for him. He wasn't worried. She was a fighter, she would live. As for the human boy…let him have his fun.
She looked pathetically tiny, practically downing in his sea of black sheets.
"Okay…" he thought, desperately trying to ignore the fact that Coraline was lying on his bed, "The first aid kit. That'll tell me what to do."
He ran to the bathroom as quickly as he dared while still being silent; he didn't want to leave her for an instant. When he returned, he shut and locked the door, just for good measure.
He stared at the unconscious girl, suddenly unsure of himself. What the heck did he know about doctoring?
"Alright…well…what's wrong with her?" he thought, running his eyes over her maybe a few more times than was necessary. "She's knocked out…she's freezing and she won't stop shivering…and-" His eyes came to rest on the bloodstained strip of her barely recognizable orange pajamas. "She's bleeding. That's an easy enough place to start."
Trying his hardest to be gentle (he was used to fixing motorbikes, not girls!), he started to peel back the fabric of her shirt. The wound was horizontal, and yet he continued to pull the shirt higher and higher up her stomach. His eyes grew wider and wider as more and more of her painfully white skin was exposed.
She was unconscious…she would never know…
But he forced himself to stop before he revealed too much. Coraline was his best friend (although they often verged on mortal enemies), and she trusted him.
He loved her…he couldn't take advantage of her.
With more difficulty than he thought was humanly possible, he loosened his grip on the fabric and turned his attention to her injury.
Once the blood had been cleaned away, it was actually much less severe than it looked. After cleaning the cut, he rummaged in the first aid kit until he found a cloth bandage and tape.
When he was finished, he stepped back and admired his handiwork, quite full of himself for completing the task.
"Jonesy'll be eternally grateful to me after this," he thought smugly, pulling out a small book from the bottom of the kit.
What was that thing where you got too cold? "Hypo"-something.
He flipped to the book's index and scanned the Hs until he found "hypothermia".
"Symptoms," he read out loud. "Mild to strong shivering."
She hadn't stopped shivering since he had first found her.
"Goosebumps."
He rolled back one of her sleeves (telling himself sternly that he was
doing this in the name of science, not to uncover more of her skin) to find all the little hairs on her arm sticking straight up.
"Pale skin."
Her freckles stood out so starkly against her alarmingly white skin
that he was tempted to start calling her "Snow White". Although that would probably earn him at least three punches to his constantly abused shoulder.
"Lips may become blue."
Terribly hesitantly, his hand trembling, he reached out to brush his fingertips across her bloodless lips. Then he jerked away again in shock. She was so cold…
"Treatment," he read hurriedly, desperate to find a way to save her. "Seek shelter. Said and done. Remove all wet clothing and replace with warm, dry clothes."
He blinked.
What?
Remove all wet clothing and replace with warm, dry clothes.
His eyes were playing tricks on him. Obviously. That had to be it. He was tired, his vision was blurring…she was on his bed…
He read the statement again, slowly, word by word, as if he were just learning to read.
"Remove…all…wet…clothing…"
Oh, geez, it really did say that!
His eyes moved from the book to the girl to the book and back again.
Forget his grandmother, Coraline was going to kill him.
He placed the book on his nightstand as slowly as he possibly could. He closed the first aid kit. He rubbed the back of his neck.
He gulped.
His hands moved towards the tiny, sky-blue buttons that went down the front of her shirt, and he shook harder than she did.
There were five buttons. Only two of them had survived the finger's attack.
Quickly, before he could lose whatever nerve he had, he slipped the last two buttons out of their holes.
Then he froze.
"Come on, Wybie," he said out loud, "you can do this. You have to do this. It's purely medical. That's it. Nothing more."
It was a complete lie, of course, but it at least gave him an excuse to finish the job.
But then he looked at her face, peaceful and calm although she still shook, and felt guilty all over again.
It wasn't that there was anything wrong with what he was doing. He was saving her life; it would be wrong to not do it.
What was wrong was how much he wanted to do it…
"I'll keep my eyes closed," he finally resolved and was immediately relieved at finding a solution and furious at finding a solution that went against what he wanted.
Regardless, his mind was made up. Vaguely attempting to not think of the vision beyond his eyelids, he grasped the two sides of her shirt in his fumbling fingers (oh, my gosh, was he really doing this?) and pulled them apart.
Then, as quickly as he could (while still attempting to touch as little of her as the situation could permit), he slipped her arms out of the sleeves and discarded the shirt on the floor.
His fingers traveled down her stomach, and his breath caught in his throat, and he found it hard to remember that there was a reason that he was doing this besides feeling her indescribably soft skin underneath his rough fingertips.
When he reached her waistband, he found that her pajama bottoms were so destroyed that he could literally lift them off of her. He threw the barely identifiable mess of cloth beside the shirt with perhaps a bit more force than was necessary.
That stupid, evil hand…what the heck had it done to her?
He clenched his fists and screwed his eyes even tighter in sheer anger.
Nothing would ever hurt her again. He would spend every waking moment with her if that was what it took to protect her.
That was what he had been from the start, wasn't it? Her follower, her shadow, her stalker.
She was his. She may not know it yet, and she may not ever. But he had claimed her as his from the get go, and he would stay by her whether she wanted him or not.
…even if she didn't belong to him, he certainly belonged to her.
He opened his eyes.
Later he would swear that it had not been his fault. It had not been a conscious decision. It was impulsive. It was-
Whatever it was, his eyes were now open, and there was no way he would be closing them again anytime soon.
Oh, gosh, she was beautiful…
His eager green eyes caressed her as his hands wished to. Her skinny, slender legs, the navy blue panties that all girls at their school were required to wear (that he would not be removing), her bandaged stomach (that he had bandaged and he had touched), her small chest, still untouched by puberty, rising and falling with each shaky breath, and her face, her stunningly innocent face, paler than death against the black sheets-
With a start, he snapped out of his reverie and tore his eyes away from his petite princess.
The book…what else had the book said…?
He picked it up and skimmed it briefly: "…and replace with warm, dry clothes."
Warm…well, by far the warmest thing that he owned was his black and gray jacket. Plus, he had been wearing it for at least an hour how, so it had undoubtedly absorbed some of his heat.
He quickly took it off, wondered where the heck he had put his shirt when he had undressed for bed, and then questioned how he would actually put the jacket on her. It would probably be easiest if the jacket were underneath her; then all he would have to do was slip her arms in and button it shut.
But how to do it without touching her…that was going to be tricky. Realistically, it was going to be impossible, and he had to spend less time worrying about her chastity and more about getting her warmed up.
Sitting next to her on the bed, he grabbed hold of her shoulders and gently pulled her into a sitting position. Holding her up with his left hand on her right shoulder, he spread the jacket out behind her. But one hand was not enough, and, before he could mentally process what was happening, she fell forward.
He gasped, a mixture of panic and sheer ecstasy, and time stood still. For the absolute briefest of moments, his bare chest was pressed against hers, her lips were on his cheek-
He lay her back down, jammed her arms through the sleeves, and deftly secured the jacket closed in literally no more than five seconds. He fairly leapt away from the bed, panting as if he had just finished a marathon.
That…that was…not…supposed to have happened.
But it had, and there was no taking it back, and it had probably been the single most exhilarating moment of his young life.
But now his temptation was covered in his own clothes (although he was still terribly aware of its existence), and he could focus on…
On what?
He consulted the first aid book yet again.
"Warm liquids"? She was unconscious, that wasn't going to happen.
"Do not rub the victim." His face grew hot. Thank you, first aid book, for giving him the mental image.
"Most importantly, if at all possible, have the victim share body with another."
Of course. Of course, it was going to say that.
He dropped the book, closed his eyes, and shook his head. Although he had no experience to back it up, he was quite convinced that the dirtiest magazine in the world could not have been as provocative as the little book from the back of the first aid kit.
He was done fighting. For some reason, the entire universe was strongly in favor of him getting Coraline into questionable situations, and it seemed pointless to resist anymore.
No longer worrying of the consequences, he crossed to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside Coraline.
He held her hand – it felt like ice. But he had more than enough heat for both of them (he swore he would never stop blushing as long as he lived).
"Please, forgive me," he said softly to her motionless form as he turned her onto her side so that she was facing him.
He reached down and pulled the black comforter up to their necks, then wrapped his arms around the oblivious girl and forced her against him.
There, he did it. He was holding her, and there was no one in the world who could prevent him from it. The Other Mother, his grandmother, Coraline herself, they had no right to intervene. He had dreamt about this moment for far too long to let anything ruin it.
"I love you…" he whispered in her ear, allowing her blue hair to fall over his closing eyes.
He had promised himself that he would stay awake to ensure that she was okay, but it was late, and everything was exactly the way he wanted it to be, and soon he had drifted into a peaceful sleep.
"Wy…"
Where was he? She had to find him, she had to let him know-
Her eyes slowly eased open, trying to adjust to the bright light that filled the room.
Room?
She snapped to attention, now fully alert.
Through the window, the sky was pitch black, black as the bed linens that she was tangled in.
He was holding her too closely for her to have any use of her limbs, so she knocked her head against his to jar him awake. In retrospect, it was a stupid idea that resulted in mild pain for both of them, but she hadn't had time to think of anything better. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now.
He was blinking wearily, trying to come back to reality.
"Wyborn…what the heck?"
That woke him up.
"Oh! C-Coraline! Um…" The idea that he would simply lay with her in his arms forever and ever had been very appealing. He hadn't exactly prepared for the aftermath. "A-are you feeling okay?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" she snapped. "Why am I in your bed, and why are you holding me, and…and why do you have no shirt on?"
"L-look," he stuttered, desperately trying to look at anything besides her eyes (which was proving to be difficult considering they were about two inches from his own), "I-I know what this looks like, but-"
But it wasn't? Well, no, that would be a lie.
"Um, I found you," he started over, "or the Cat did. And I brought you back here 'cause I figured you should get as far away from the Other World as possible. But you-" Now he did look at her, finally allowing himself to picture the gravity of the situation. "You weren't moving. You were bleeding and torn up and shivering and so cold and…" His voice dropped to a whimper. "I thought I was going to lose you."
Coraline arched an eyebrow. "And this gave you the authority to be practically naked with me?"
Oh, gosh, she didn't know the half of it.
"No, no, it's…I had to give you my jacket, and I had to pass on heat to you. The first aid kit said so. You would have died if I hadn't, Jonesy."
"Wait…" she said slowly, realizing something terribly wrong. "What…happened to my clothes?"
He scrunched his eyes shut and waited for her fist (or maybe head again) to collide with him.
"Why-Were-You-Born Lovat, did you undress me?"
"I'm sorry, it said to, please don't kill me," he said in one breath, his eyes still tightly closed.
After a solid thirty seconds had passed, and she had indeed not killed him (or done anything else, for that matter), he slowly opened his eyes.
She was staring intently at the pillow they both lay on, and her cheeks were about five times as red as his had been.
Which was perhaps the most beautiful sight he had seen all night: she was healthy and glowing and alive.
"Hey," he said, trying to get her to look at him. When this failed, he found her hand (which was a feat in itself, they were so tangled together that specific body parts were hard to locate) and held it reassuringly. "Come on, Caroline," he said teasingly, hoping to provoke her into defending her name, "don't be that way. I-I mean, we're friends. We're best friends. W-we…can just forget this whole thing ever happened."
He could think of nothing in the world that he would hate more. But for her, he would. He would do anything.
"B-but I…" She trailed off, thinking of the Wybies who were really the same person and their love and her… "I don't know if I want to forget it." Her voice was so small that if he hadn't been mere inches from her, he probably wouldn't have heard it at all.
His breath caught in his throat. He didn't know what she meant, but he had a wild guess…
"C-Coraline," he stammered, his voice matching her own pathetically quiet tone, "can…can I-I…kiss you?"
"Um." She moved her gaze from the pillow to the ceiling. Anything but him. "Okay."
He put his lips to hers for about half a second. It was hardly worth calling it a kiss. A peck maybe, chaste and awkward and completely unromantic.
And finally she locked eyes with the boy in front of her. There was something…something there that she wanted…she really wanted, more than she could remember ever wanting anything else.
He came towards her again, and her eyes closed in eager anticipation. His lips were too rough, and hers were too thin, and they fit together perfectly.
He rolled her over so that he was on top of her, straddling her hips. Her arms wound around his neck and pulled him closer, and she wondered why on earth they hadn't done this long ago.
His lips parted slightly against hers, and he had no idea what he was doing, but she did likewise, and he decided that he didn't really care whether he was doing it right or not. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she moaned softly, and he clutched her even tighter.
This was so much better than when she was unconscious.
His hand traveled down the side of her jacket (his jacket), and she leaned into his touch, and when he reached the end of the fabric he had to stop and think if there was a reason to not make the same journey again but inside the garment-
"WYBORN!"
There was a rattling at the door, and the two children broke apart and stared at each other with wide eyes.
"Y-yeah, Gramma?" Wybie asked nervously, silently thanking that he had thought to lock the door.
"It's six in the morning, young man! Why is your light on? And why-"
"I-I woke up early so I could search for banana slugs before the sun makes them hide," he called to her.
He actually had been planning on doing that anyway. As long as she didn't demand that he open his door, they were safe.
His grandmother sighed. "You do what you must, but I am going back to bed!"
With that, her footsteps started down the hall, and soon the only sound was their own breathing.
"I-I guess I should, uh, get back home before I get you in any more trouble, huh?" Coraline asked, staring up at him.
"Oh, I don't know," Wybie replied devilishly, cocking an eyebrow. "She's bound to sleep 'til at least eight…"
The End