"I've never... understood why girls have... have to wear... these..."

Rapunzel can't see. The dress is enormous, and it must be far too big for her- there are yards and yards of thick, flowery lace; lace more like heavy layers of dust than sprinklings of sugar. The pink cloth blooms and blossoms like an undulating flower above her head as she squirms to get it on, just yank it over herself. Where are her hands? They're lost in the tangle of fabric somewhere, trying to find holes in the dress that might be sleeves, where there might be an opening for her to breathe through. Her legs are scrambling frantically, cold and bare and lost, just desperately trying not to step on the hem of her dress. Rapunzel paws through a lighter layer of purple and unearths an odd section of white whose purpose she is not sure of. And it's enormous and she's trapped and it's like the tower all over again, but this time she won't accept help.

She squeaks.

There's a gap in the side of the dress- something that is hopefully a sleeve, because she's just shoved one bare arm through it. Her other hand claws for a similar hole and finally fits through. And now for her head-

Pop.

And suddenly she can see again. The light streaming from the frosted-glass window ripples over the ground like sunny waves, yellowing everything it lands on an spreading that golden, buttery feeling of elation that's rapidly rising in Rapunzel's chest. It's something else entirely: a flock of birds about to leap into flight, a drop of water about to crash into the ocean, a lantern about to float into the swollen purple sky. She looks at Eugene with a flushed smile on her face- the smile of a girl who's done something right.

"I did it," she says cheerfully. Rapunzel twirls barefoot over the smooth, cold floor, grateful that the maids aren't here to look at her as if she's a baby, an idiot; grateful that it's only Eugene and she doesn't have to wear shoes; grateful that the dress actually fits her and she did it!

Eugene gapes at her a second before slipping on the calm, confident face of Flynn Rider and stretching on the elaborately covered chair in the corner. He's splayed like one of those large jungle cats that are painted in the weaponry, with their mottled fur and sharp claws. Rapunzel's only seen a small cat before, a housecat, but it hissed and scratched enough to be a tiger. And Eugene looks a bit like a tiger when he lies on the sofa like that, his head propped on his elbow and the other off the edge; one leg on the cushion and one leg off, watching Rapunzel with that lazy cat's eye that makes her feel like she's in the forest, under the cool shade of the trees, except this time it's more of a jungle and there are wild beasts lurking in every corner and-

He yawns.

But she's got Eugene, of course. Pascal. Max. And her frying pan.

She pauses and then wonders what she'd like to do today- something that she usually never has to do, because they're always going someplace, with her father to make a speech in the town square or with her mother to look at some lace for a new dress or to the Snuggly Duckling to meet the guys again or with Eugene to run around the castle grounds and get into trouble or just somewhere, anywhere, and Rapunzel always goes along because she knows that she's got all the time in the world.

So. What does she want to do today?

She looks at Pascal, who's stumbling dizzily over her shoulder, a mosaic of confused colors, and cocks her head askingly. He just falls over and turns a deep, sleepy brown. Rapunzel rolls her eyes and pokes him. The brown melts into a deep, blooming violet- the color of grapes. A smile flits across her face, but no, she doesn't really feel like eating grapes now. Grapes are for later. Possibly after dinner, but who knew? "Oh, Pascal."

Rapunzel steps on the hem of her dress and stumbles backwards until she falls onto a thick sofa cushion, rapidly followed by smooth, hard plane of Eugene. He makes a little oof sound that Rapunzel immediately likes. It's not the cat's purr of a practiced kisser or the patient explanation of the one man who'll tell her what the purpose of a birdbath is. It's something else entirely- the sound of anyone. A child, even. And she wants him to make it again. Rapunzel promptly gets to her feet and then falls back on him again, but this time Eugene is ready and he catches her, wrapping a firm arm around her stomach to prevent her from doing it again.

"Clumsy, are we?"

She can't stop smiling. "I don't know what we should do today."

He leans his head back on the sofa's pale green arm, decorated with golden swirls that, as many things do, remind Rapunzel of the sun. "Here's a good idea. Sleep."

She shakes her head disapprovingly. Eugene and Pascal are becoming more alike every day, and that's not necessarily a good thing. "Come on, Eugene. Isn't there anything else you'd like to do other than take a nap?" Sleep. Ugh. Rapunzel has slept enough for a lifetime, at least once every day, and she's come to resent it. It's inevitable and sometimes the dreams that sleep conceals are odd. Not scary in a Stabbington-brothers way, but... odd. She can't understand them. And Rapunzel is sure that other people can, because they've grown up having strange dreams, and she feels like an idiot and doesn't want to talk about it. Her strange dreams have started... well, recently.

"Um..." He pulls her tighter, backwards, so she's halfway lying on top of him. His angular belt buckle pokes the small of her back. "How about we just lie here?"

Rapunzel sniffs and stares up at the ceiling. She's painted this one, too, but now instead of girls dancing and flowers and suns, it's a thousand licks of yellow paint, every shade and tone and hue they had in the market, all glittering and gleaming like the hair she misses so much. Because even though she doesn't have to struggle with it or worry about people stealing it, she misses it. It was reassuring, like someone hugging her head wherever she went. And now she's far too light- light enough for Eugene to pick her up with one arm, as he's doing now, pulling her down over him so she can feel the rise and fall of his chest on her back, so his hand follows the gentle swelling of her own stomach.

"That's too much like sleep," she whispers.

"Mmm."

He breathes into her hair. And suddenly she feels self-conscious, keenly aware of the fact that it's short and spiky and brown as a wet rabbit. Beautiful hair, people say comfortingly; hair that shows character. But Rapunzel thinks secretly to herself that it's ugly hair. Hair that isn't really her.

She squirms in his grasp and finally turns herself over, so she can face him, so she's pressed on top of him and their breath falls into the same pattern, so her elbows dig into the sides of his chest, just below his shoulders, so she can look into his face and see that he's watching her watch him. Rapunzel smiles helplessly, because Eugene just seems to make her smile, and she knows that, though he's never told her, he likes it when she smiles. She knows that sometimes when she smiles at him, he'll drop the books that he was carrying. Sometimes he'll trip over his own two boots. Sometimes he'll bump into things, like walls or doors or frightened scullery maids. And sometimes, like now, he'll just smile back. And that makes her smile even more.

"Hey, Blondie," he says, brushing a few spiked locks out of her eyes.

The smile vanishes from Rapunzel's face. His smile follows suit.

Her eyes trace the lines in his face- there are remarkably few, despite how extravagant Flynn Rider had been with his words and facial expressions and smolders. She immediately wonders what the purpose of the smolder was. Was it some kind of... smile? A reassuring expression? Rapunzel really isn't sure. A cock of the head, a raise of the eyebrows, a narrowing of the eyes, a purse of the lips. She tries to smolder for half a second before she decides that it would be a better idea to just ask Eugene later. For now, she's got him.

Her eyes drop to his chin. Short strands of dark hair make up a kind of beard there- small and carefully trimmed. Not all men have it, she knows. Every person had different hair- and men have more hair on their faces and less on their heads. And their eyelashes. His eyelashes are hardly there, but she can make them out, like delicate bits of string on the ends of his eyelids. She reaches out to touch them and his eyes instinctively flutter shut.

"Shh," she says, though he hasn't said anything, and runs one small finger over the ridge under his closed eye. Yes, they're there. Fuzzy. She smiles a little to herself, but the grin soars away before his eyes are open again.

And then she notices Eugene's hair. And it's the same length as hers. Not as thick or as fluffy, but it gleams, unlike hers; it catches the light prettily, in a way that's almost mesmerizing. Most of it is curled back over itself, hanging casually to his shoulders, but a few locks fall over onto his forehead. She doesn't know why, but somehow this is completely enchanting, and she can't help but reach out and play with them, separating them into strands and twirling them around and around in little circles. It's playful, but she knows that there's a savage bitterness behind her actions- because she'll never be able to twirl her own hair. Never again.

And maybe Eugene knows it, because catches her hand with his own. Eugene's thumb presses into her palm. She can feel the gentle pressure of his fingers.

"You're going to drive yourself crazy," he says.

She looks at his nose, which isn't upturned and curved like hers but straight and long and downward-pointing, like a sword in a hilt. She can't meet his eyes. And there she's gone again, turning everything into a something sad, something that's all about her. Rapunzel wishes desperately, like she's been doing constantly, with more hopelessness each time, that she had never been locked away in the tower. Then she could be a normal girl. Well, as close to normal as she could get.

"I think I already have."

But that's just a wish.

She leans closer to Eugene and he leans closer to her. Close enough to see the differences- she's fairer, pinker, and he's tanner, more orange. His hair is a bit darker than hers, a bit finer than her feathery locks. His chin points in a different angle. Her face is softer, smoother, unlike his, which has tiny, spiky hairs all over. She's seen him cutting them with a small, sharp blade and what appeared to be soap. It's a dangerous thing, cutting his face with a knife, but then again, has Eugene ever backed down from something dangerous? ... And his lips are flatter, less colored- but that's unusual, because the last time she's been this close, they were flushed and swollen. She cocks her head. That can't be right. Body parts don't change like that in grown men. Boys, maybe. But not men. Because Eugene is a man.

Rapunzel wonders if lips change when they're kissed. It doesn't make sense, but it's an enticing idea nevertheless, and she decides to try it out.

She presses her mouth against his. Gently. His lips are chapped and dry and they yield to her own, widening a little, puckering slightly. His eyes close again and she closes hers, too, mimicking him. It's warm and she can feel the hot breath snaking out from his nose- like smoke from a dragon's nostrils. Rapunzel holds her lips against his for a few more seconds before she pulls away.

She opens her eyes excitedly, but the results are disappointing. His lips are exactly the same.

Eugene watches her with an odd, twisted expression on his face, as if he wants to say something but doesn't want to say it at the same time, like a child who knows he's not going to get a toy but might as well try for it anyway. Like a man who's unsure of himself, and that very feeling unsettles him further.

"It didn't work," she said, discouraged.

"What are you talking about?" Eugene swallows thickly and rubs his eyes.

"Kissing."

"Oh." His eyes dim. Disappointment is not a good look on him.

"It's not because of you," she babbles quickly, like a stream bubbling up with water. "It's probably me. I... I think I picked the wrong way to kiss. I mean, people kiss in different ways- I've seen them! And I'm not exactly sure, but I think there's a certain way to make it happen..."

He nods slowly like he understands, but his eyes are still not their usual selves and she knows he's confused now.

"What I'm trying to say," Rapunzel says slowly, "is that I picked the wrong kind of kiss." She pauses. "Because if I kiss you the right way, you become different."

"Different." Eugene raises an eyebrow.

Rapunzel nods.

"There are different kinds of kisses?"

She flashes him an eager grin. "Yup. That's the funny thing about kisses. They're not all the same." She turns her head to one side. "What kinds do you know, Eugene?"

He closes his eyes, plants his head firmly back down on the sofa cushion, and groans. Rapunzel can see the lump in his throat- some kind of apple, she remembers, though she doesn't remember Eugene eating any apples recently- and how did it get stuck in there?- but it doesn't matter, because she knows that he knows and he doesn't want to tell her. This kind of thing is starting to happen with increasing frequency. Like when she asked about why those girls sitting in the alley at nighttime were wearing so few clothes. And why he wouldn't let her go into certain sections of the castle library when they were together. And why some men whistled when the baker's pretty wife crossed the street. And why wasn't she allowed to kiss him in front of other people. Odd things, confusing things. Funny things.

And not funny in a laughing sort of way. Rapuznel knows that there are two ways to use that word. One is the kind of funny that bubbles up when Pascal poses in the frilly dresses she makes. The other- the kind in this situation- is peculiar, the kind of funny that fills her mind when she knows that they understand something and she doesn't.

"Come on," Rapunzel whispers, poking his chin. "You know and you don't want to tell me."

He doesn't open his eyes. "It's not something you can exactly explain."

"But you can try!"

"Argh." He moans and shifts uneasily. "You can't explain kisses. They're just... they're not a topic to..." He words choke him. "... be, um... expressed."

Rapunzel's had enough. There's that familiar clot of concentration forming in her head, right between her eyes, and she furrows her eyebrows together as she forces herself closer to Eugene, pushing herself firmly on top of him, so he can't move her away. She wiggles between his legs, feeling the thick cloth of his pants rising up against her on either side; she leans heavily against his chest, feeling his breath catch in his throat. This has to work. It's just a kiss. Is it really too much to ask?

She bites her lip nervously. Then again, it might be too much to ask.

Is it really a good idea to copy the way she'd seen the maid and the stable boy kiss? Because it was surely unnatural for them to be pressing up against each other like that. It looked a bit like they had been eating each other's faces. And that is a horrible, disgusting thought, worse than any she's had recently.

But she's already completed step one: glue herself to Eugene. It would be a shame to turn back now.

"Rapunzel-" His hand presses against her stomach, trying to push her away. Rapunzel won't have it. Too late.

"If you won't tell me, we'll just have to figure it out," she purrs.

Eugene stops struggling. It's like she's stabbed him- he's stock-still. Holding his breath. And then she runs a hand up his chest, calm and steady. And then he releases all of the pent-up air in his throat and relaxes under her touch. That's the funny thing about Eugene- he always tries to resist something that he really wants.

Rapunzel leans in and kisses him. At least, she kisses him the way she knows- pressing her lips against his. And then she waits and tries to remember what she's supposed to do next, but his smell is intoxicating and she can hardly think straight but then she doesn't have to, because Eugene's kissing her and it's different already- it starts off gently; a soft curve of his lips against her own, a warm movement. Her heart flutters in her chest but she gathers her courage and copies him, and suddenly the feeling that it's right emerges in her chest. And suddenly she needs force, some ferocious, and her teeth scrape his lip and he follows and the delicious energy in her chest roars with approval. She hardly notices the hand snaking up her back until one finger brushes the base of her neck. And that's when she shudders. Because he's so warm, and this feels so different- it's not love, but something else, a burning feeling. Like flames inside of her. Adrenaline slithers up her spine and as Eugene's tongue runs across her mouth, something inside of her wants to pull away, to end this madness- but Rapunzel doesn't. Rapunzel wants to gather her skirts and her nerve and keep on kissing Eugene- but now Rapunzel can't breathe and she doesn't know how because she's somehow forgotten and now she pulls back and inhales sharply.

Eugene's breathing is uneven. His heartbeat races like a runaway horse. She knows this because her ear is pressed against his chest.

"I think I figured it out," she whispers breathlessly.

"That's great," Eugene says hoarsely. "I think I did, too."

She smiles into his chest, and she can feel him smile into her hair. And then Rapunzel remembers it- her hair. Her ugly hair. But suddenly it doesn't matter anymore; the entire hair issue feels silly. Her hair is fine. And who cares? Gosh, what a thing to get so worried about. It's silly. Funny, even.