I do not own American Horror Story: Apocalypse.

And I'm still trying to figure it out for now.

Return to Me

". . . certain. Nothing is immutable when the will of a strong woman is applied."

I love the sound of Zoe's voice.

It fills me with quiet contentment and joy and peace whenever I hear it.

When I was crazy and feral and broken, it was the only thing that grounded me.

Gave me sanity, gave me purpose.

Zoe.

Zoe is my purpose, my life.

She is my world.

My world here within the clean, white walls of Ms. Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies.

My name is Kyle Spencer.

Or it used to be in my former life.

I was a bright, up and coming, college frat boy, engineering major.

One of the good ones if you wanted to ask.

Then I died and that was that.

Until Zoe came back in her little black hat.

Sorry, I've been reading Dr. Seuss.

He's one of my favorites when I'm sad and lonely.

Anyway, like I said, I was Kyle Spencer back in my previous life.

Back before the party.

Back before the fiery crash.

Back before I died and was ripped apart only to be stitched back together using boy parts and magic.

Zoe did that.

Zoe and Mad Madison Montgomery.

All sorts of random, wild hell ensued for a while after that.

But when all was said and done, Mad Madison was dead again (along with a impressive list of others), I wasn't crazy anymore, and Zoe was the right hand of the new Sorceress Supreme.

Cordelia Fox.

She's nice enough, I guess.

Insists everyone is treated fairly and with consideration. Even me, the coven watchdog.

Well, help.

Anyway, she lets me work around the house and earn my keep.

Which lets me be close to Zoe, so I'm happy.

I work down my daily list of chores and attendings and keep an ear out for the sound of Zoe's voice.

Whenever I hear it, I pause.

I smile.

I breathe content and relaxed and well.

Because it's Zoe.

Zoe.

And nothing can been bad if she's close.

I make sure to stay out sight because Ms. Cordelia said if I hover it makes me look like a stalker . . .

"And we don't want that, do we, Kyle?"

"No, ma'am."

"Good, that's what I thought. Okay, go on with you."

"Yes, ma'am."

. . . and that would be bad.

So I stay close and hidden and wait for the time when it can be just us again.

Just us alone in the quiet of the night.

The still of the morning.

Or, on rare instance, just before noon on a Tuesday.

"The head warlocks of the Hawthorn School for Exceptional Young Men have called an emergency council. Cordelia wants me by her side. I might be gone a few days, Kyle."

She's in my arms in a narrow corridor of the house, just us, just for a few seconds in the bright, bald, middle of the day.

Her urgent whisper strains my ears but I hear her anyway and frown.

And worry.

I don't like to be separated from Zoe.

It makes me feel adrift and uneasy.

Like I'll never feel the warmth of the sun again.

Or feel anchored and safe and with purpose and wellbeing.

But I always trust Zoe, even when . . .

"Is everything okay?" I ask, feeling my fingers absently stroking her cotton covered shoulders for comfort.

"I don't know. We have to leave immediately."

. . . she doesn't always have all the answers.

"I just didn't want you to worry that I suddenly disapeared."

Her eyes are dark and deep and I know I'll never really understand everything behind them.

But I love her and she says she loves me and she acts like it too.

I hear excited, muted talk of witches 'keeping' their 'lapdogs' and 'fuckboys' to use and dispose of at their whims because they're less useful and important than the women.

I see the way some of them look at me with disdain and sometimes pity.

I've, on occasion, had to push a few of them away who thought me and any other men should be passed around like pieces of meat to use for their own carnal pleasure.

I guess some people are like that.

My mother was.

And Mad Madison.

But for us, now, there's just me and Zoe.

Just the two of us.

And she doesn't pity me or disdain me or even keep me around just for the skin fun.

Even though we both do like the skin fun.

But more than that, she loves me and I love her.

And so I don't worry about the rest.

'Cause that's all that matters to me.

Me and Zoe.

Zoe and . . .

"I gotta go. I'll be back, okay?"

"Okay."

I force a smile for her.

And then I let her go.

"Just please be safe, okay?"

. . . me.

She steps back and smiles and my butterfly-y chest grows warm.

"I love you, Kyle."

"I love you too."

Bye.

My friend and I noticed a distinct lack of Kyle Spencer in the latest ep, 'Who is That, Satan?'.

And that's okay, it's still early in the season.

Ahem.

Looking at you, Ryan Murphy.

So for now, anyway, here's something to tide us Kyle/Zoe fans over.

At least I hope.

As always, everyone appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like.