a/n: …..it's been a full year. i. i'm so sorry. GOSH. BUT ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, this fic is aaaaalmost complete, only two chapters left! i'm really happy you guys have still stuck around and sent me messages asking about this fic, it means a lot! i hope the length of this chapter makes up even just a little bit for the obscenely long wait…!

lyrics are "elephant in the room" by richard walters.

.eleven

::

how heavy are these words?
they're heavier than air

::

Alice is coming back today.

You don't exactly know how you feel about this, but you don't think it's anything good. You can't help it. There's something nervous and bitter brewing in your stomach as you watch Oz loop a dark green ribbon around his neck, tucking it under the collar of his shirt and tying it in a neat little bow. He turns to look at you, his eyes brighter than their custom, and asks, "Does it look even to you?"

You lie to him and say it looks a bit crooked just as an excuse to stand near him and untie the ribbon, then tip his chin up with a light brush of your fingertip. He abides, and you tie the ribbon back into a bow, then smooth out his shirt collar in another excuse to touch his shoulders. (You don't know when you'll be able to be this close to him again, after all, now that he'll be in her constant company yet again - )

"You're making sad eyes at me," Oz notes, reaching up to his shoulders to rest his hands atop yours. "Even though you're not really looking right at me."

Just to prove him wrong, you meet his gaze, only to find that you can't hold it due to a sudden swell of guilt that twists in your stomach. You huff out a breath and look back down at the ribbon, touching it with idle fingers. "I'm fine."

"You're never fine when you're being passive, Gil, I know you."

"Nothing to be passive about, is there?"

"I don't know," Oz says. "You tell me."

Truthfully, you'd rather not, but it's hard enough when you feel as though Oz should know by now, all things considering. These past few days have been perfect. It snowed some more, and the snow that had been dirtied by carriage wheels and the markings of horses' hooves was sheeted in pure white again. Two days ago Oz came out of the bathroom dressed in your clothes, his hair wet from his bath and his skin warm. He let you slip your hands beneath the too-big button-down shirt and touch his bare stomach with your palms, and he shivered as he relaxed against the wall, arching up into your touch. Yesterday you both dozed off in the mid-afternoon after tea, and you'd stayed in bed for hours just talking about silly things, books and cities and strange dreams you both had in the past. Oz had glanced at your lips as you spoke, and it still felt so new being able to touch him, being able to wrap your arms around him and lay him out on his back as you pressed sleepy kisses to his collarbones and the side of his neck. Each night you both slept in the same bed, shifting closer and closer to each other until the space between your body and his was nonexistent. You remember how Oz moved against you in his sleep, breathing quietly and mumbling quieter still. Something hot had risen in you then, but you bit it back, still trepid and awkward but so fiercely wanting that it took the breath out of you and made you dizzy.

And despite that being the furthest you'd gone, just barely breaching the perimeters of touch, it was more than enough, even as your body burned for him in those soft little moments where he'd touch your hand and wordlessly will you to stop before you both would spiral out of control. You would never ask for anything more than what you already have.

So why does the thought of Alice returning make you feel like this?

"Gil," Oz says quietly, "I want you to talk to her. Talk to Alice."

A hot swipe of agitation grabs at your nerves and twists them in its fist. "About what?"

"About…this." Oz makes a vague gesture with his hand, and that hurts a little, since he seemingly can't put whatever "this" is – whatever "you" are – into words. "About everything."

You blink at him, trying to contain the angry shock rising within you. "You want me to tell her about this…?"

"Not this, you goof," Oz says, touching your sleeve with his fingertips. "Just…about those things you told me on the day you – " He pauses here, suddenly looking a tad embarrassed. "I don't like the word 'confessed', it sounds too cliché for us."

"That's what I did, though," you say beneath your breath, your face warming. "And what 'things'?"
"I think you know exactly what I mean." Oz gives a tiny sigh through his nose and takes a tentative step towards you. "You've…misunderstood a lot of things, Gil. And it took me a long time to notice that…"

You're still breathless every time he's close to you like this. No matter how nervous or on edge you are, he still manages to claim your entire body and soul whenever he's within touching distance of you. It calms your nerves a little, but there's still that nagging sense of something you need to say tugging at the back of your every thought. "I'm sorry," you say quietly, bowing your head to hide the embarrassment clear in your eyes. "It's just – she's a lot of things that I'm not and they're things you'd much rather be around and – "

"Like what?" Oz interjects, ducking his head under to look at you closely. "Let's see…she's little, and she eats a lot, and sometimes she uses words in the wrong contexts and it's really funny…and she stomps her feet when she's frustrated, and she likes it a lot when you pat her head."

"Oz…"

"But you," Oz goes on, stepping closer to you still, "you're tall, and you never finish your plate at dinner, and you're always the one to correct her whenever she uses a word wrong, and that's really funny, too…"

Your breath catches in your throat when he gently takes hold of your shirt, playing with the buttons with the pads of his thumbs. He's looking down, but you can see the thoughtful little curve of his smile playing about his lips as he rests his forehead against your chest. "And when you'refrustrated, you always smoke and brood out the window and look like a raincloud is hovering right above your head. But when you're happy, you show it in your eyes, and I really…like that."

You give a hard swallow, the blush rising in your cheeks when Oz hesitates but a moment before taking your hands within his own and placing them on his waist. "And I like it when you touch me here," he says softly. "Even if I tense up and you get anxious because you think you're making me uncomfortable. But you aren't, and you don't, because you're Gil."

You instinctively bite your bottom lip, your breath picking up as you carefully lean down to rest your lips atop the blond crown of his hair. Oz shivers against you and places his hands atop your chest. "So don't compare yourself to her, okay?" he murmurs into your shirt. "It's…it's not the same, Gil. She's my friend and you're – well, you're my friend, too, but also…my…"

You're holding your breath as you wait for him to finish that sentence. Your stomach flips when Oz strokes his hands down your chest and winds his arms lightly around your abdomen, his every movement searching, slow, contained. You both stay like this for a few beats, in silence, and it's then that you notice his own breathing is a little labored as he seems to weigh his thoughts very, very carefully. But it's at that moment, as you hold him and he holds you, in which you realize he doesn't even need to add to his words at all, that he's already answered your question, and that the barrier between you both has been kicked down by another brick so that you can finally see him - and yourself - more clearly.

"I hate, hate, hate clichés," Oz finally says on a short breath of a laugh. "And…terms and words and definitions and…"

His voice trails off, and he must sense you looking at him when he lifts his head and meets your eye. And you aren't even sure why you suddenly laugh, a small, breathless, goofy laugh that doesn't sound like it came from you at all, and even Oz looks puzzled for a moment before you say, "I'm…remarkably stupid, aren't I?"

Oz blinks at you, looking as though he's trying not to laugh. "You're just now figuring this out?"

You want to tell him that you're figuring a lot of things out, all at once, all within the space of a few breathless seconds, but all you can do is flounder for the right words and just look at him, holding your breath and waiting for your heartbeat to slow down. But when it doesn't, and when Oz seems to notice it as well, that same sensation rises up within you and makes you lean in closer to him. To your surprise, he meets you halfway, and your ever-lingering nerves still have you making some small questioning sound, a wordless plea for permission, even as Oz gives a quick nod and his own silent admission right before your lips meet.

It's different this time. The bridge of tension that constantly stands between the both of you has come undone enough for you to not quail inside with anxiety when Oz backs up against the wall with a soft hum. For the first time, you're able to touch him without that familiar sense of conflict within you, able to shiver without shame when he holds onto your shoulders and opens his mouth. The very tip of his tongue grazes yours, and it's as if your mind detaches from your body and drifts off somewhere else entirely. You don't plan for your fingers to thread through his hair or the stunned little moan that breaks from the corner of your mouth, and Oz certainly doesn't seem to plan the tug he gives that pulls you closer to him until his back is flat against the wall and your hips bump into his. Suddenly everything is moving very fast, as if some wire holding your control and his resilience together snaps and leaves you both vulnerable to each other's every movement, every breath, every searing union of your lips until Oz's chest is heaving and your blood is fiery in such a short amount of time that it's nearly impossible to stop kissing him, touching him, needing him -

Somehow, though, the two of you break away to catch your breath, foreheads touching. You're cupping his face, and he's clutching at your shirt so tightly that his knuckles are white. There's something giddy rising in your chest which makes your body feel as though it's buzzing and about to take flight. When you open your eyes, Oz is looking at you, breathless surprise making his eyes bright and wide. "Gil, you…that was - "

"I-Instinct, I suppose," you say on a winded laugh, your face hot. "I, uh…assume that was your case as well?"

"Shut up," Oz huffs out, his eyes fluttering to a close again. After a moment, he winds his arms around your waist and buries his face into the fluffed silk of your cravat, his breathing slow and deep but still wavering at the edges. "At least you…get it now."

You press a kiss to the top of his head, body still buzzing as that remaining tension ebbs out of your mind. It hits you that you're likely the dumbest man that has ever lived, and yet you're wonderfully at peace with that fact, so much so that you imagine yourself shouting it from the window for all the city to hear. But there's still something you need to do, and Oz seems to read your mind right away. His voice is muffled into your cravat when he quietly asks, "So you'll talk to her?"

You press another absent kiss to the crown of his head. His hair is so soft, his body tucked perfectly against yours. It only takes you a few silent moments before you say, "I'll try."

Oz leans back to look up at you. His eyes do the thanking for him.

"Your ribbon's crooked again," you tease softly, untying the bow with one light tug of your finger. Oz smiles and tilts his chin up.

::

Alice's carriage arrives at noon. You've kept yourself busy preparing tea you won't drink and food you won't eat, but Oz has his fill, and heaven knows Alice will the moment she walks in. The sound of the carriage wheels crunching at the ice and slush in the streets makes your stomach jump with surprise as you look out the window, your breath fogging up the glass. Oz is in the middle of chewing his tea sandwich when he lifts his head and hops out of his seat to patter over to the window beside you.

Much to your surprise, Sharon is the first to exit the carriage, who then leads Alice by the hand to ensure that the girl doesn't trip on the ice when she clambers out. Oz makes a thoughtful little sound and tilts his head to the side, resting it on your shoulder. "Guess Sharon didn't want Alice to be alone on the ride here," he muses.

The girls make their way into the entrance of the apartment complex below, vanishing from your sight out the window. Oz's eyes are on you, and when you turn your head to look at him, he gives you a small lilt of a smile that eases your nerves just a little. "Don't get yourself all worked up," he says. "You know how your stomach acts up whenever you get anxious."

But even as he says that, your arm is belted around your already cramping stomach. You give a quiet, miserable groan and rest your cheek against the cool glass of the window. Oz shifts closer to you and places a hand atop yours, rubbing a little circle against your knuckles with the pad of his thumb. "You're not actually nervous, are you?"

"Of course I am," you say on a quick puff of breath. "It could go terribly for all I know."

"It won't."

"How do you know?"

Oz looks at you in silence for a moment, then smiles with his eyes and says, "I just know, okay? What's the worst that could happen? You'll say something stupid and she'll kick you in the shin?"

You hide your bitter frown from him when you mumble, "Her kicks hurt."

Oz gives a soft laugh and reaches forward to tuck a curl behind your ear. You hold your breath at the gesture, and he looks at you for a moment as if lost in thought. But just as he's about to speak, there comes a knock at the door, and the moment is broken at the sound of it. Sharon's voice comes from out in the hall, light and bell-like as it rings out your name. Your footfalls are heavy and clumsy as you reluctantly move away from Oz and open the door, and there Sharon stands, smiling up at you as if it's Christmas. "Wonderful to see you looking in such high spirits," she chirps.

You wonder if these past few days with Oz are suddenly written all over your face as you look at her and manage a stiff smile, wringing out your nervous hands and suddenly feeling very exposed. Sharon, after all, knows everything without even seeming to try. You clear your throat and give her your best attempt at a poker face, hoping you don't look as foolish as you feel. "I…suppose you could say that, yes."

From behind the billowing bustle of Sharon's dress peeks a pair of violet eyes, which quickly vanish the moment you meet them. You furrow your brow and crane your neck around Sharon to get a look at Alice, but she ducks and hides from you in a flash. However, you do spot the sweep of a pale pink skirt and the flutter of a white ribbon, and you barely even need to ask Sharon the question that immediately comes to your mind. "Did you…Sharon, did you dress her up?"

Sharon's cheeks flush immediately, and she gives a prim little cough into her gloved fist before composing herself again. "She put up a bit of a fight in the beginning, but it all worked out in the end! I had to get three other maids to help me, but no matter! Doesn't she look lovely?"

At this, Sharon steps aside to display Alice, who has resorted to crouching on the floor at Sharon's feet to hide herself. Her head is bowed, and you can hear the faint sound of something like growling. You look at Sharon, your expression deadpanning in an instant. "She doesn't seem to be in agreement."

"W-Well, that's because she's not used to being dressed in such ladylike clothing!" Sharon objects, giving a quick nod of her head as she fiddles with the hood of the pale purple cape draped over her shoulders. She turns to look at Alice, and the smile that graces her lips is so sweet and fond that even Alice seems to calm a little at the sight of it. Even still, the crouching girl looks very much displeased with her new clothes as she tugs at the plum-colored scarf around her neck until it flutters to the floor in a woolen heap. Sharon gives a small cooing sound and reaches down to pick it up, then offers Alice her hand to help her stand. "It was nice having another girl to spend time with," she says softly. "I've been so immersed in Pandora and matters of my household that I…almost forgot what simple fun felt like."

She finishes this statement with a little laugh that almost sounds sad, but the grace in her smile returns just as quickly as the sorrow had weighed it down. "In any case," she says with a pleasant sigh, "I should be returning to the carriage. Today is quite the busy day and I - "

"Is Alice wearing a dress?" Oz's voice seems to come from out of nowhere, and then there's the feeling of his chin resting atop your shoulder as he looks around Sharon to catch a glimpse at Alice. When he sees her, the smile that that lights up his face makes you feel inexplicably out of place; you can't help it, but you're trying so, so very hard to. "She is! Oh, it looks so pretty on her!"

"That's what I tried telling her," Sharon says, gently draping the scarf along the back of Alice's neck. "Then again, Miss Alice would look darling in just about anything."

Alice is looking at Sharon quite strangely, her expression that of someone trying to understand a foreign language. It's Oz that intervenes when he comes forward and takes her by the hand, leading her inside with a laugh. "I bet you're hungry, aren't you? Gil made food, but of course he won't eat any of it. That means more for you, right?"

Alice is glancing over her shoulder at Sharon as Oz guides her to the kitchen. You watch her, bewildered, until they vanish around the bend in the hall, then look back at Sharon with wide eyes. "She's, ah…come to like you, I take it."

Sharon tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, smiling softly down at the floor. "I think she was mostly interested in the snow, to be honest…it's like she became a whole different person when she stood out in it, just looking up at the sky." She gives a little laugh. "I had to force her into a pair of shoes, though, lest she catch a chill."

You can hear the sound of Oz laughing from the kitchen, Alice's voice uncharacteristically quiet but no less agitated. Sharon's voice pulls you out of your distraction, though, when she leans into you, eyes sparkling, and whispers, "Sooooo?"

Your poker face only lasts about a millisecond before you feel your face heating up. "S-So what…?"

"Oh, Gilbert, don't even try to hide it. Something about you has changed and it's certainly not just my imagination, it never is." She glances behind your shoulder at the space where Oz occupied just moments ago, and her smile is a silky, surreptitious thing, knowing everything without you even needing to answer her. "And I dare say that it's even noticeable in Oz as well. That alone is enough to set it in stone!"

Your mind races for an excuse, some sort of explanation to give her that would turn her suspicions away, but it only takes one more glance at Sharon's teasing gaze that you realize it's futile trying to hide anything from this girl - this woman, rather. You cover your face with your hands and lean against the doorframe, groaning in defeat, and Sharon seems to burst from giddiness as she gives a little hop and giggles into her hands in a little show of victory. "I knew it!" she says in a delighted stage whisper. "I knew it, I knew it, I knew something would happen!"

"You'd better not tell Break…!"

"But that's implying he doesn't already know on his own. Honestly, Gilbert, we're not dumb." Sharon gives another giggle and clasps her hands together, looking dreamy and romantic as she sways on her feet. "Oh, how wonderful…"

"Sharon…!" You're trying very hard to be exasperated with her, but you can't ignore the giddy elation starting to rise in your chest at the reminder, even as the embarrassment of Sharon and Break already having known; then again, upon reflection, they've always had a way of knowing you better than you know yourself.

Sharon jumps back to herself in a little shock and quickly regains her poise as she says, "Goodness, I really have to be getting back to the carriage. Please, take care of Alice well."

"I always manage," you say dryly. "I'm sure my food pantry is already weeping."

Sharon gives another smile. "She asked about you and Oz so many times I lost count. I think she missed you two."

You're so stunned at these words that all you can do is stare at Sharon as she readjusts her scarf and gives you a final nod before turning on her heel. That secretiveness dashes her smile again when she glances over her shoulder at you and murmurs, "And be good to Oz. You've waited for this a very long time, yes?"

Your breath catches in your throat, but you swallow down your nerves and give her a tiny nod. "I…I have."

She closes her eyes for a moment, still smiling, then turns back around and begins walking away from the door. "It'll all be fine," she says lightly, all things pleasant and sure. "Good day to you, Gilbert."

You watch her turn down the hall to descend the stairwell. For the first time all day, you're able to take a deep breath and, for just a few short moments, feel completely centered, completely certain. Then, you breathe out on a slow, shaky exhale and push the door shut with a quiet click. When you pass by the archway of the kitchen, you almost run into Alice, who's scurrying by with a biscuit in her mouth and looking as though she's on a very important mission. She freezes in midstride and looks up at you with wide eyes. Without taking the biscuit out of her mouth, she says, "Oz said I could borrow some of his pajamas. I don't like this dress."

You aren't sure how to really respond to that, so all you say is, "Okay…?"

Alice blinks at you, looking thoughtful and a touch perplexed. "Why do you look so strange?"

You can't help but scoff at her, rolling your eyes. "I see you didn't learn any manners while with Sharon."

"I don't mean a bad-strange," Alice objects with an indignant shake of her head. "I mean a good-strange. But I can't really explain what it is."

You can feel eyes on you from a distance, and when you glance over, you see Oz peeking around the frame of the kitchen archway, looking expectant and hopeful. When you catch his eye, he vanishes in a flash, but a moment too late. Even still, you know he did it entirely on purpose, because everything Oz does has a reason behind it, and so you stifle a sigh and center yourself again before looking back down at Alice. She's staring up at you with her brow furrowed and her lips slung in an analytical frown as she studies you closely. The sigh you've been holding comes out on a long exhale. "After you get changed and settled and all that, I…"

You glance over at the archway again, where the top of Oz's head can be seen peeking out. Another sigh. "I need to talk to you," you finally finish, avoiding Alice's eye.

"Talk to me?" Alice puts her hands on her hips, suddenly defiant. "Well, don't think you can blame me for anything, I haven't been here in days - "

"It's nothing like that," you interject. "You're not in trouble. It's…just a talk."

Alice's eyes are still touched with skepticism, but she gives a tiny nod and scuttles off down the hall, glancing back at you quizzically two times before disappearing into the spare bedroom without a word. You stand alone in the hall for a few beats, and then hear the light patter of Oz's footsteps as he approaches you from behind. "Still nervous?" he asks you, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades. The gentle contact eases the feeling of your head being on the verge of exploding, but only a little.

"I don't know," you reply heavily. "Not…nervous, not particularly, but just…"

"Reluctant?"

You pause. He always reads you so well, namely during the moments when you wish he couldn't, when you'd like nothing more than to be a blank slate so as to not worry or disappoint him.

"It's okay to be a little reluctant," Oz says on a quiet laugh. "I wasn't expecting you to be all for it…

You bow your head, squeezing your eyes shut to stave off an oncoming headache. "I want to do this for you."

"But do you want to do it for yourself, Gil?"

Your chest feels heavy at those words. How are you supposed to answer that? For years and years you've devoted your entire self to this boy, his happiness being your happiness, and now he asks you what you want? The concept is so jarring that you aren't able to respond, trying in vain to get your thoughts together long enough for your head to stop spinning. Oz laughs again, a pretty sigh against the space between your shoulders. "Looks like we'll have to work on that, huh…"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Oz pulls away from your back and steps around so that he faces you. When he looks up at you, he's so radiant and soft that you almost forget what you'd been worrying about in the first place. "I probably need to work on that a little myself, too."

Despite your stress, you laugh a little and tentatively reach out to flick a lock of his hair just beneath his ear. "I've been trying to tell you that for years."

"I'm stubborn," Oz says simply. "Just like you."

::

Alice is sitting atop the windowsill when you enter the guest bedroom – her bedroom now, technically, but it's still a trial for you to admit that. It's with a gust of chilly air that you realize she has the window wide open, and your dread is rapidly replaced with intense annoyance as you clear the distance between the doorway and the window. "It's snowing outside, what the hell are you doing - "

"I like the snow."

You pause in the middle of reaching to close the window. Her voice sounded too quiet there, too human. Her violet eyes are fixed on the silver city beyond the tiny enclosed space of the bedroom and she looks so thoughtful that you almost don't recognize her. In the pale wintry sunlight, se looks softer, everything about her toned down and lighter. She smiles with just the very corners of her mouth and lids her eyes, not paying attention to you in the slightest. "It reminds me of some other place I used to be…I just can't remember where."

Something tightens in your chest as you're suddenly stricken with the feeling that you know precisely what place she's speaking of, a place that you, too, can't remember any more vividly than in occasional head pains and strange, displaced dreams. You shiver a little at the thought and close the window only halfway. The snow seems to help her talk, and you'll use all the help you can get at this point to make this any less awkward than need be. But Alice blinks and seems to suddenly come back to herself, and that typical look is back on her face when she turns to you and says, "Anyway, you better not have been lying when you said I wasn't in trouble. I didn't do anything wrong."

You can't help but scoff at the familiarity of her tone, everything already falling right back into place. "I wasn't lying. Sometimes people just talk."

Alice lets out a bored sigh and props her chin on her fist, looking back out the window with lidded eyes. "Not people who hate each other."

You blink at her, unsure as to why that statement surprises you to much. "You hate me?"

"No," Alice says, "but you hate me, right?"

She says these words with such a casual, unfazed tone that it makes your stomach hurt without warning. You stare down at the floor and try to wrap your mind around the words budding up within you before you're finally able to let them out. "I don't…hate you, okay?"

Alice says nothing. She remains where she is, staring out the window with a detached sort of look that you don't understand. But she isn't retaliating or pushing you, and you quietly appreciate that this talk hasn't gone to complete hell yet as you step away from the window and lean against the wall, shivering from the cold breeze sighing into the room. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Well…what Oz wanted us to talk about, really."

Alice lifts her head and looks at you with wide eyes. "Is Oz mad at me?"

You roll your eyes at the question. "Spare me. Oz is never mad at you."

"Oh." Alice relaxes again and goes back to watching the snow fall. "Well, if Oz wanted us to talk, then it must be something important."

"It is."

A long bridge of silence spans between the both of you. You shift nervously from one foot to the other as Alice waits for you to say something. When the wait becomes too grating, she lets out a massive sigh and says, "Well, spit it out already! You look stupid just standing there like that – "

"I love him."

You'd like to think that the words are accidental, that they'd merely come out on their own without you wanting them to, but that's not the case. You mean it. You mean it over and over again and on and on until infinity itself burns out into dust, and you would shout it from the open window were it not for the painful tightening in your throat as Alice tilts her head at you, her dark brow furrowed in mild confusion. "Aren't you supposed to?" she asks. "People who are nice to each other are supposed to love each other, right?"

"That's not what I mean," you say, clenching your hands into fists at your sides as you begin to shake. Your breath comes out short and stilts your words into choppy, broken pieces as you go on. "It's – it's not like the way family loves each other, a-and it's not like how just friends love each other, it's – " You run a run down your face, overwhelmed. "Well, it's all of those things, too, but it's also something else, and it's really important and it's been going on for years and years and it hasn't changed at all for me, it's always been there and it isn't ever going to leave, so I just…"

Your voice trails off as you huff and puff to catch your breath, wiping your clammy palms off on your shirt. All the while, Alice stares at you, her head tilted and her gaze measured and thoughtful. And then, with a decisive sort of certainty that never fails her, she says something that changes everything: "You love each other like parents love each other, don't you?"

Your heart just about stops. You look over at her and wonder if you just heard her correctly, and she looks back at you with such a simple look that you almost wonder why you ever thought this was daunting to begin with. Alice swings her legs back and forth and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "Because if you do," she says, "then that's really good."

Your voice is barely there at all when you ask, "Why's that?"

"Because, well, you and Oz are kind of like my parents, aren't you? You feed me when I'm hungry, you let me live in your house, you make sure nothing bad happens to me…that's what parents do, right?"

You're barely breathing as your hand shakily rises to clutch at your chest.

"And since you just said you don't hate me after all, then that definitely helps back up my point!" Alice hops off the windowsill and stands with her hands on her hips, looking as though she's just accomplished something paramount. "So because of that, I demand at least five more head pats a day!" She looks up at the ceiling for a moment in thought before looking back at you with that customary fierce smile of hers. "But only from you, since Oz's hands are too tiny and it's not the same!"

You think perhaps this is the first time in your life that you've ever truly seen this girl for what she is. It's such a shock to your system that all you can do is gape at her, still clutching your chest as she gives one final nod and hops on out of the room, calling out behind her, "Now that that's out of the way, I'm hungry!"

You're about to say you're always hungry but your voice doesn't come out at all. You watch Alice flit around the doorway and into the hall, the dark train of her hair trailing behind her. After a moment, you see Oz lingering in the doorway, his eyes wide and his bottom lip trembling as he smiles at you. He's a vision of sunlight and you've never loved him more when he says, "Told you."

You slump against the wall with an exhausted laugh. "Yeah," you say, reaching up to wipe at your eyes. "You did."