A Song About the Stains

by SomeDrunkSheep

When the buzz inside his head receded, memories flooded Sammy. He remembered his life before the voices had begun whispering in his ears, a time when he had fallen in love. But with the visions came the realisation of the recurring reality and his terrible deeds. Guided by a gut-crushing pull, he trusted it to find Norman. To set them free. Sammy Lawrence x Norman Polk, M rated.

9. 9 - One Winter Morning

A/N: Mornin'! Here we are with the final chapter of this story. Thank you very much for reading, I hope you will enjoy this fiction's final entry! Let me know what you think of it and of this story as a whole, I'd love hearing from you! Thank you!

As per warnings, besides lots of ranting that I'm apparently too fond of sometimes, there will be explicit language and some graphic scenes. As usual, I own nothing besides the plot, but I thought it would be an idea to mention this here.

That being said, grab a spoon and let's dig in...

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Chapter Nine – One Winter Morning

"Come on, big boy, wake up," someone spoke into his ear. Supple lips kissed his jaw and soft locks brushed against the light stubble on his cheek. "Come on, angel, time to open your eyes."

"Ugh, go back to sleep, Sammy," Norman grumbled and buried his face into his pillow.

"Na-ah, you grouch," the musician told with a tune in his words. He lightly bit his earlobe and slid a sly tongue down his neck. "I want you to wake up."

Norman grunted with exasperation. He turned his head to the side to frown at Sammy. "Why, that one time I wanna sleep 'till noon, you gotta wake me up early."

"It's noon already."

"Till evenin', then. I jus' wanna sleep."

Sammy poked him with his pointy nose. He trailed it through the projectionist's ruffled hair and placed a kiss on top of his head. "But I don't," he whispered smoothly as he peppered small pecks over his lover's brow. "Or is it, honey, that you are perhaps tired? Oh, how very sad. Such pity. I have exhausted my badger." Slowly, his gentle fingertips ghosted over his lover's bare back, and then lower, to his perky bottom.

The crease between Norman's eyebrows deepened and he contempleted how much energy it would take him to swat the other man away. Probably too much.

Sammy's hand did not stop sliding between the unguarded buttocks. The composer watched his partner intently, his smirk sharper than his face. "But of course, if my dear, handsome man is so exhausted, what am I to do?"

"Don't unnerve me, for starters," Norman warned him, but didn't twitch a muscle.

"Ah, why even bother," the musician went on, unaffected by the clear threat in Norman's voice. "What a sad, sad day. To find that my heart cannot keep up with me. How very s-aah," he broke into a laughing fit, more air than laughter, as he was rolled on his back and Norman shifted his weight over him like a big, heavy winter blanket.

"Shush, you chatterbox."

"Make me, honey, or are you too tired even for that?"

Norman gave him a look. "You gotta be the most infuriatin' thing alive, I swear."

Sammy grinned, showing his white fangs. He wrapped his arms around the other's neck, pressing their foreheads together. "Might be so, angel, but at least, I woke you up."

Letting out an amused breath, Norman kissed him sweetly, closing his heavy lids.

XXXXX

When Norman opened his eyes, the light getting into them nearly blinded him. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust his vision.

He rubbed his stinging orbs, feeling like he had woken up from a deep sleep after one of the worst drinking nights he had ever experienced. His head throbbed and even his bones hurt, as if he had fallen asleep in a bad position.

Attempting to sober himself up, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Almost instantly, he froze.

He immediately moved his hand away from his face and held it up for inspection. What he saw was his work glove rolled over his fingers and palm, spotless and clean.

He quickly took it off along with its counter pair, revealing his large, gnarly hands. His eyes moved from one to the other, staring at them as if they were a novelty at a fair. He turned them on each side, studying them. Incredulously, he trailed his fingertips over the middle of his face, feeling his nose protruding between his eyes.

Biting the inside of his cheek just because he could, he shook his head. "It actually worked. God dammit, Sammy, you've finally got a good idea," he said aloud, listening to his own raspy voice.

Once again, something clicked inside his head. He looked around himself, realising he was sitting on a chair in front of a desk. He rose up, his stiff articulations groaning like they sometimes did in the morning after sleeping insufficiently. He turned around, recognising the familiar walls of the studio. "Well, least I've got a head this time," he grumbled, putting a hand on his hip. He rubbed his neck as he flexed it, the tendons giving out interesting pops.

Stretching his bones was not what he wanted to do at the moment, unfortunately. What he actually desired was to find Sammy and make sure that the composer was safe and in one piece as well. When he had that confirmed, he planned to give him a good talking to about all the stupid things he had done that had gotten them in their inky predicament, and then wing it, or actually wing himself out from Sammy's imminent caustic reaction after he threw the dead cat out of the window.

'Gotta find that air-headed of mine, he's gotta be here somewhere,' he thought, wandering with his eyes through the nondescript office.

Without looking down, he picked up the gloves from where he had discarded them on the desk before him and shoved them into his back pocket.

He inspected the outer hallway carefully, keeping his footing light and discrete. He had no idea what might lurk around the corner.

However, he soon glimpsed a window's wooden frame. His curiosity peaked and he had to look through it.

The Broadway Boulevard bustled underneath the cold glass, miniature people minding their business as cars drove down the partially snowy street.

"It's the real studio, can you believe it?"

The projectionist turned his head in the direction of the voice, and could not help smiling upon seeing who was speaking to him. "Jack Fain, seems like you've still got that bowler hat of yours."

"Norman Polk, seems like you're still on the right track to getting the greys," Jack teased, making Norman snort.

"An' you just gotta remind me."

The lyricist grinned widely. "Of course I do, my friend! Shows how attentive I am! And, believe it or not, one day you'll actually be fully grey. Let's see what you're going to say then!"

"Big words you have there, Fain, just wait 'till y'all gonna turn white on the head an' come cryin' to me over some hair. 'Till that day, hush. But it's good to see you again, Jack."

"You too, matey! And, uh, since you mentioned that, Norman, I haven't seen anyone before you, have you?" Norman shook his head in response. "Damn. We've got to find the others, they should be around here."

"Possibly."

"Yeah..." Jack scratched the back of his head pensively, like he wanted to say something, but was still considering it. He looked at his colleague with a look of doubt. "Say, eh - you were looking for Sammy, weren't you?"

Norman found no need in denying it, not after what they had gone through. "A-yuh, an' I ain't got no idea where he is."

"He's probably looking for you, too. Let's go find our, um, boss, Norman," Jack suggested as he tipped his hat back, revealing an all-knowing expression. "Though, I've got some very interesting notion that there's something unholy between you two lads. I've been suspecting that Sammy's got someone stashed in the trunk for a while, I admit, but then I, uh, saw him taking you by the hand before I got you two over the river. Our Sammy, whose personal space is more sacred than the Holy Grail, actively holding hands? That's no daily occurrence, if you ask me, and it got me, err, thinking."

Once again, Norman made no gesture to infirm the bold accusation.

Jack's mouth curved downwards as he nodded apprehensively. He cocked his head to the side, his expression not far away from being impressed. "Huh, that so, ey? I've got to hand it to you, mate – you must have the patience of a saint to put up with Sammy even in your spare time."

"If you'd only know," Norman made blandly.

The other man arranged the hat over his head. "Eh, I don't really want to, 'cause the thought terrifies me. He's my friend, too, but bloody hell, can he be dramatic at times."

"Mm, ain't gonna contradict you on that. Well, Fain, let's get goin', we ain't gonna find anyone by starin' outta the window," the projectionist said and motioned for them to move.

XXXXX

Dizzy and utterly confused, Sammy tried to lift himself up. His head felt heavy and his limbs were numb to any conscious effort.

Huffing, he rolled on his back and realised he was sprawled over some empty boxes he had crushed under his weight.

He slid his knees to the floor. He hurt all over, as if he had been in a comatose state and hadn't moved in years. Rolling his shoulders and ankles, he succeeded in mobilising his joints. "Ugh," he moaned, a blooming ache exploding inside his head.

Steadying himself with the help of the boxes he had dented, he managed to stand up. The unpleasant pain went away and he suddenly felt sober, as if he had dunked a kettle full of coffee in the middle of the night.

He looked down at himself. He was wearing a pair of dark dress pants and his two-toned shoes were shiny and polished. He began patting himself, feeling the shirt over his torso, the ornate cravat with a pearl pin around his neck and the matching suspenders over his shoulders.

Incredulously, he brought a hand to his head and tugged on an ample curl. "Ooof," he grunted, letting go of his hair. "The hell did I have to pull it so hard," he scolded himself, rubbing the sore spot on his scalp.

His eyes wandered from one side of the room to the other. He kicked the boxes around, but nothing surfaced from underneath. He was alone. There was no one besides him in the deposit he had landed in.

Burdened with racing thoughts, he felt little joy for returning to his normal self.

Panic bubbling in his chest, he dashed into the exterior hallway. He looked both left and right, not knowing where to go.

Finding the determination to advance, he walked to a metallic box. He opened it and retrieved the axe inside, just in case something attacked him. After all that time spent knocking monsters in the head, he preferred to be cautious.

He had to find Norman, after all, and who knew in what predicament he was.

If he found him.

His throat was tightened by uncertainty. He should have been cheering for being himself again, that their half-baked plan had miraculously worked – but he hadn't thought for a second that he would wake up alone.

"Please be okay, angel," he muttered to himself.

Silently making his way around, Sammy navigated the entire floor. He was in the Art Department, fact that was quite surprising, and there was still no one around besides him. The place looked devoid of any human presence – and inhuman, at that. The desks were in a state of organised mess, the way they were usually left for the weekend.

He did not pay his surroundings too much attention, still looking around for the missing man. He ignored the bashful sun shining through the windows and the occasional pigeon landing on the exterior sills. He did not even notice the blatant changes and the lack of ink on the floors.

He was too concentrated on locating that one person no one found unless he wanted to be found. Such an infuriating trait that obviously had to be manifested when it shouldn't.

"Where the hell is he," he mouthed after visiting every single corner on that level.

He took the stairs that led to the Music Department. Maybe he would find him there. And if he wasn't there, damn it, he would look even under the floorboards for him. He had a promise to fulfil.

The composer's search was futile. The studio lacked any forms of life. It was a bit surprising to notice in what a good state it was – creaking and in need of some tender care, certainly, but otherwise clean and fully functional.

His department felt eerily familiar. Not just because he knew it from inside out, but due to how it looked exactly the same as before everything had collapsed into a freak show. Papers were stacked on labelled shelves, instruments were stored in cases and neatly arranged in their respective cupboards, as if nothing had happened.

There were no creatures spurting out of the floors or shadows creeping from the walls, either. There was no ink. And not even a single pipe in sight, making Sammy believe they had actually succeeded in escaping the machine.

Refusing to mind the many changes any further, Sammy returned to rummaging for his partner. He could make the department's inventory later.

Still not finding anyone, he headed towards the Animation Department. That elusive man had to be somewhere, he couldn't have just vanished without a trace. There were more areas to explore, both up and down.

Leisurely holding the axe, the musician poked his head through every door he encountered.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just desks, papers and machines waiting to be used.

He wanted to punch something.

Finally, he heard a noise. He turned around abruptly, ready for whatever was coming behind him.

It was Susie Campbell, with her shiny black hair held back by a striped headband matching her fitted dress. Her beautiful face was complemented by blushing cheeks and clear eyes betraying surprise. Her expression quickly morphed into one of delight, despite continuing to hold her hands up. "Hello, Sammy," she said in her sweet voice. "It's so good to see you back to yourself."

Sammy relaxed. "Susie," he called her name. "It's good to see you, too." He placed the axe behind his back, showing he was not intending to use it. "One can't be too careful around here," he explained, sounding cool and calculated.

"Oh, believe me, I understand. But I haven't seen anyone besides you. The studio looks deserted and I don't know if that's a good thing, really." She smiled. "But I'm so happy to be back!" the woman chirped, her eyes instantly watering. She walked to her former boss and hugged him tightly, over the arms, a bit too excitedly. "You've got no idea how worried I was when I opened my eyes," she whispered into his chest.

Sammy had the decency not to jolt, not appreciating the overly friendly attitude. Though, as he did not want to make a fool of himself for being unable to share the same amount of enthusiasm, he hugged her back, albeit briefly and incompletely. He was glad to know she was alright, naturally, but she was not the first person he had hoped to encounter.

"That makes two of us, Susie," he said, mustering more warmth in his tone. "Come on, let's see if we can find the others, as well," he added, patting her arm and subtly forcing some distance between them. "We might get lucky if we continue looking for them."

Listening to his voice, the woman's smile glowed, as if all the past traumas and deceives had been erased by a big, soapy sponge and all that mattered was that they had been reunited.

A heartfelt sentiment, certainly, although Sammy did not really care about how nicely she was looking at him after years of holding a grudge for a crime he had not committed. They had been friends once, and he certainly desired to rekindle their amicable liaison, but not in that moment.

All he wanted to do right then was to find Norman, not anything else. He would deal with the actress later, as he was certain they were in for a very uncomfortable discussion in the close future, and he could hardly wait for it.

But first things first.

Keeping up his charming facade, he invited her to search for their missing colleagues, and Susie graciously accepted.

XXXXX

The Accounting floor was even quieter than the previous ones. Sammy pressed his ear to the wall, finally picking up some vibration. "There is someone talking in here," he announced.

Susie quickly tapped over to his side. "Do you think it's them?"

"No idea."

"Do you think it's that-that thing? The Demon?"

Sammy shrugged. "Honestly, Susie, I have no idea. I don't even know if he's alive anymore, I was behind some sort of throne when everything turned into darkness. I'm not certain about what really happened."

"Oh, I see. But you must have seen something before that, right?" she wondered. "Actually, Sammy, why don't you tell me what you did after we fell into the ink river? It was so disgusting in there, but I doubt it was nicer inside the machine."

The line of the composer's mouth became even tenser. "All in good time, Susie. First, let's map out this area, we don't know if it's a good spot for a chat. I will tell you what I know later, alright?"

Susie shifted on her heels, but she tried to keep her smile intact. "Of course, Sammy. Let's go, I'm right behind you."

They paced in the direction of the sounds. Susie had to lose her pumps and walk barefooted, with the pair of them in one hand. Her shoes made too much noise, and neither knew what was waiting for them.

The ones that they found were startled by the way the two artists barged in.

"Art Department?" Sammy inquired, seeing a livid boy staring at him with eyes as big as saucers, like he was looking at the embodiment of his worst nightmare. "Kid, is that you? Buddy?"

The teenager gulped and nodded slowly, his young visage not showing any indication of having surpassed the initial shock. "S-Sammy?" he squeaked, his voice trembling.

A man with rolled up sleeves arrived by the boy's side and put a protective hand on his shoulder. He was somewhere in his early thirties, with bright eyes and a kind face, and he watched the boy understandingly.

Sammy lifted a sharp eyebrow. "Ah, and you must be Henry," he said, easily recognising the cartoonist who looked a bit different from when he had seen him inside the machine, and that wasn't solely because he was no longer dichromatic. Still, it was not the moment for analysing, so the composer took a step closer, elegantly moving his arms by his sides and preparing his right one for a handshake.

Watching him advance, Buddy's face turned even whiter and his muscles coiled like he wanted to climb up the wall.

"Oh, the axe," Sammy realised, losing his cool tone and having it imbued with uncertainty. Now that he thought of it, he vaguely remembered chasing the poor kid with an axe when he had been covered in ink. He probably had every reason to look at him like that. "I picked it up in case we encountered anything strange. You can never be too prepared around here, you know," he provided calmly, his voice smooth and low. "I'm not going to use it on any of us, don't worry."

Henry patted the gofer's back reassuringly. He supposed that the composer and the young teenager must have had other nasty encounters besides the one when the pipe had busted over Sammy's head. And who could actually blame Buddy for jolting at everything after the strange situation they had just escaped.

Far bolder, the animator extended his hand to greet the musician. "Sammy! So nice to see you in a more civilised form," he told him good-naturedly and extended his arm to shake hands. Being so close for a few instants, the cartoonist couldn't prevent picking up on how slender and flexible the other's hand felt, and the way his pointy chin and slight waist made him appear even taller than he already was.

"Likewise, Henry, not that your presentation wasn't respectable to begin with," the composer responded pleasantly. "And I can assure you, I don't make a habit out of running around wearing only my trousers."

His lady companion tapped her heels behind him, having put her feet back in her pumps. "Hello," she intervened kindly.

"I'd like you to meet a very talented singer and voice actress, Miss Susie Campbell," Sammy introduced her, but soon moved his eyes to the boy who looked like he was going to lose his balance after hearing her voice. His face was turning cyanotic from the breath he had been holding in for a while already.

That is what meeting the main sources of one's traumas do to a person, he supposed.

"Glad to meet you, Miss Campbell," Henry said, politely tilting his head at the woman.

"Oh, please, it's Susie. And the pleasure's all mine, Henry, I can assure you. And hello to you, too, dear," she told to the boy, who relaxed slightly. "I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name."

"That's okay, Miss," Buddy replied, having found his voice. He was absolutely certain she was the same woman who would have torn his chest wide open if she had gotten the chance, but they seemed to be in a very different place than before. The one he had in front of him looked very innocent and improbable of harming anyone in any way.

The boy took his chance, shrugging off the unnecessary fears and mentally kicking himself for behaving so immaturely in front of the adults. "It's Daniel Lewek. People call me Buddy, Miss."

"Well, hello there, Buddy! Nice meeting you both," he relayed to them with gobsmacking honesty. "And please, Buddy, don't call me Miss! It's just Susie for you, too, dear." She genuinely smiled at her two new acquaintances and it turned even prettier when her eyes returned to the composer who stood by her side.

Henry could not miss that little slip up, as he was attentively watching her. Her smile was absolutely fetching, the way it reflected into her shimmering orbs making one stare at her with fascination. As he took her glamorous beauty in, Henry really wondered how come Sammy had not snatched the girl. Surely, the man saw well enough to notice what a diva he had next to him. The two of them, side by side as they were, made a pair fitted for the cover of a magazine, the composer's elegant figure artfully complementing the actress' petite form.

Susie seemed so enamoured with him. Her shy glances provided eloquent proof to a recording Henry had once found about her and the art director, relaying the exact same observation – how much magic was between the singer and the music director.

Only that, when Sammy briefly returned her gaze, his hazel eyes held no sparkle in them and his gallant smile was only filled with joshes, not true joy, almost like he was saving graces and nothing else. It was just so dry, even a cactus would have withered at the lack of sincerity in his expression. "Well, wonderful we've finally made your proper acquaintance," the musician said after a moment. "However, I believe there were a bit more people in our little merry crew."

"Yes, we were looking for everyone else, too," Henry admitted. "We've searched the entire floor, Buddy helped me around. No signs of anyone else yet."

"Hm. Perhaps, we should continue looking elsewhere. Yes, let's do exactly that," Sammy suggested bluntly, discarding the pleasantries. "Oh, and so that the kid doesn't faint – please take this, Henry," he continued, giving the other man his axe.

"I wasn't going to faint," Buddy quickly defended himself.

Sammy gave him a look. "Whatever you say, Art Department."

XXXXX

Their footsteps took them even deeper into the beast's cage, right to the belly of the studio. They upturned every stone until they reached as far down as the Archives. The circular place was stacked with files and glossaries, something more than usual in a place such as this.

Nothing was out of order, nothing was extraordinaire. It was just another department in an animation studio, with nothing outside of what was considered normal.

Which was strange in itself, after having experienced the building in such a demented form.

Sammy was clearly troubled by dark thoughts, his entire aura becoming bleaker with every new room they checked. His back was impossibly straight, probably a habit that he exercised due to the uncountable hours of playing instruments without stopping. His chin was pushed forward, punctuating how spindly and delicate his neck was under his sharp facial features, his golden wavy hair making him appear as if he was splitting the clouds with his straight, pointy nose.

Watching the lean man that was walking with obvious tension in his shoulders, Henry allowed himself a moment to study the one he had only ever seen covered in black goo, with absolutely no shape to him besides some muscle contours. His artistic eye caught how interestingly the composer was put together, hiding deceptive strength underneath his pale skin and fitted clothes, trait that the cartoonist might have missed if he hadn't seen the man without a shirt for as long as he had known him. He found it almost eerie how eager he was in analysing the dashing musician, having to agree with Susie that he was indeed handsome. He had been endowed with such expressive eyes and perfectly styled golden hair that curled on top of his head like a crown. Only that handsome was not the proper word, not entirely, as he was not exactly manly in appearance, but definitely not feminine. He just made one gaze at him for the sole purpose of contemplating his image.

Forlornly, Henry remembered his beautiful Linda and how much he loved watching her minding her mundane affairs. Many looked at her with affection, but she only had eyes for the hearty, plump cartoonist who adored the very ground she walked on.

Perhaps, he thought, that was the thing with Sammy and the shunning he displayed to Susie's obvious intentions. Hell, even he, who hadn't known them as regular people for more than a few minutes, noticed she ogled him, in lack of a better term.

That only made Stein even more intrigued to meet the studio's projectionist, wondering who had caught the composer's eye in such a way that not even the direst situation deterred him from wanting him back.

The answer to his curiosity would have to wait, however, as they had yet to sight anyone new.

Keeping an eye on Susie and Buddy, who were making small talk as they walked – mostly the woman who gently tried to ease the boy's blatant nerves – Henry seized the opportunity to snap Sammy out of his tensed trance.

"How're you're holding up, Sammy?"

The man gave him a bitter look, as if he was staring him down. He was taller than Henry and sharp as a toothpick, so it only made sense, but something in that dejected sideways glance made him uncomfortable.

"How do you think I'm holding up?" Sammy snapped, his melodious voice cutting the air like a knife.

Yes, Henry should have remembered from the audio records that the composer was not exactly a polite character, nor reputably patient.

"I didn't mean to offend you," the cartoonist said defensively.

Sammy shook his head. "Pardon my shortness, Henry. I know I come as uncouth at the moment, but I'm really not in the mood for chit-chats right now. I believe you understand."

Henry smiled morosely. "Yeah, I know what you mean. You're worried about Norman, aren't you?"

"Tremendously," Sammy admitted, his posture becoming even more inflexible. "He's absolutely infuriating, I swear. That one moment when I actually want to find him, he has to vanish without a trace. But no, he only shows up when I have to do something that requires silence and startles the soul out of me," he ranted, a singular crease between the eyebrows marring his forehead.

"We'll find him, the place is big. We still have a few stories to search."

"I really hope he's just playing some cruel joke, that git," Lawrence went on. "Hell, I have no idea what I'm going to do if we don't find him."

"We will, don't worry," the animator reassured him. He was a bit surprised about the composer's shortness, but he sympathised with him. He dreaded imagining how it would be to feel such uncertainty about Linda. Of course, he hoped she was waiting for him at home, he was really anxious to see her again. He deeply missed his darling wife and he had no confirmation that she was indeed alright, but at least he had the certainty that the last time he had seen her, she had been alive. Sammy lacked such luxury.

Henry was lucky that he was paying attention to his surroundings, otherwise he would have collided with the musician when the man had suddenly halted his steps, stopping dead in his tracks in front of an utility closet. They had reached a spacious reception area in front of a set of offices, and there was plenty of space around them. Not so much between Sammy and Henry, of course.

"Henry, you've made a promise inside the Vault," the composer reminded him.

"Sammy, be reasonable-"

"I most definitely am," Sammy interrupted, his voice gaining some edge. Susie and Buddy turned their heads at the pair. "I have told you clearly what I want to be done in case we can't find him, and you have vouched me your assistance."

"Sammy, we'll find him, there's no need to imagine such drastic scenarios. We'll find him, you'll see," the cartoonist tried to reason.

"And if we don't? Henry, please, I can't possibly live with the guilt. Not after what I've done to him and to everyone else!" He motioned with his hands expansively, his fingers twirling restlessly. "Not after having gone completely insane, bringing everyone down to the ground with me. For fuck's sake, I don't even know the full extent of what I've done! For all I know, he is dead, rotting God knows where!" His eyes widened at the realisation of what he had just said. He put a hand over his mouth. "I really need to find him, whatever state he's in! Please, Henry, at least to bury him, I just- oh, God, let me at least bury him," he mumbled with his mouth covered with a hand, fully breaking down.

"Jesus, Lawrence, I ain't even dead an' you wanna bury me," a harsh voice travelled through the room, making the composer jolt. "The hell did I do?"

Sammy's head turned around so fast, he could have broken his neck if his muscles were not so tensed. His hand moved away from his mouth, relief washing over his face despite maintaining the lour.

"You're a goddamn moron, that's what you did," he immediately provided as an answer, sounding fonder than his words ensured. He zoomed so quickly to the other side of the room, where a very unimpressed Norman was listening to his banter, that he might as well have dived through the air.

In front of the tall man, Sammy, whose height in comparison to other people was usually quite mentionable, looked like a badly tempered hummingbird. He punched Norman in the arm in a way that probably hurt them both. "You've gotten me so worried, you bloody insensitive dolt! Fucking idiot! Oh my God, Norman," he rambled, jumping up on the tips of his toes and wrapping his arms around the projectionist's neck.

He was instantly caught up by strong arms wrapping around his waist and holding him tightly. "I can't believe you're alive, oh Lord," Sammy whispered, his voice trembling. "Thank you so much, I thought I've lost you, my angel."

Norman smiled in his hair and tightened their embrace. "'Course not, magpie, someone gotta prevent you from shoutin' at everyone, otherwise you're gonna lose your voice. Though, that might be an idea."

Sammy puffed, feeling his heart bursting out of his chest. Completely forgetting about the tiny little fact that they were still in a room full of other people who were obviously staring at them, he kissed his missing lover with pathos, nearly banging their foreheads together.

However, Norman was still aware of his surroundings and effectively peeled the composer off him, although not as hastily as it would have been considered courteous. Well, let there not be said that he hadn't tried. "Slow down, Sammy, you're gonna break your nose and I ain't patchin' you up again," he said, lifting a telltale eyebrow in the direction of the people that were looking at them with barely hidden emotions rampaging over their features - Henry smirking mirthfully, Susie blinking astonishingly fast, and Buddy's expression so bewildered, he might as well have seen a chimera with three heads right at the moment.

"Say, eh, Sammy, if I let you punch me, do I get a kiss, too?" Jack asked with curiosity, appearing from behind Norman and breaking the awkward silence with a more than matching question.

"No, Jack, you're just going to remain without teeth," the composer retorted curtly, glaring at the lyricist.

"Doubtfully, you ain't got no idea how to hit," Norman commented lightly, not actually believing that the other would do something like that. But he was wrong.

"That so? Oh, let me just prove I do know how to hit," Sammy grumbled and grabbed Jack's collar. The lyricist quickly brought his hands up.

"Hey, Sammy, don't show it on me! Knock his teeth out, not mine!" he exclaimed and pointed a finger at Norman.

"And why should I? I don't care about your teeth."

"Sammy, you're a cold ass bitch," Jack remarked, breaking into laugher. "Swell to have you back in full swing, old mocker," he said, heartily patting the composer on the back, who returned it with a smile.

Henry was about to introduce himself to the newcomers, but Norman made him stop in his tracks. He was frowning very clearly, weary marks appearing on his forehead. He looked up at the ceiling, his eyes darting from a corner to another. He abruptly turned around and cupped Sammy's right temple, lifting that side of his fringe up.

The musician flinched at the sudden movement. "What the-"

"Pardon me for makin' no pleasantries right outta door, but we've got another problem," the projectionist told, moving aside so Sammy's forehead was visible to everyone. No one seemed to understand what Norman was doing, besides Buddy, whose grimace turned into puzzlement. "Might be my mind playin' tricks, but I distinctively remember hearin' you sayin' you've pulled a shard out of your forehead when that pipe broke over your head."

"Yes, I remember that, too!" Buddy provided, finding his voice. "It was a sharp piece of glass and he was bleeding."

"Naturally I was bleeding," Sammy cracked annoyedly, glowering at Norman, who was still keeping him into place. "What about it?"

"I had to stitch you up, the gash had nearly reached the bone, remember?"

"Yes, so? It isn't something to put in a display case!"

"It sure ain't, but where's the scar?"

"What?" Sammy interjected and swatted the other aside. He felt around his forehead, finding it perfectly smooth. "Where's the scar?" he echoed Norman's question and looked quizzically at the taller man.

"Hm?" Henry hummed, no longer smiling. "What are suggesting?"

"Ain't suggestin' a thing," Norman retorted. "But far as I can see, Sammy's got no scar where I sewed him up, and marks like that don't just disappear." He pointed a crooked finger at the black turtleneck he was wearing. "An' consider it irrelevant, but just to convince y'all there's somethin' curious brewin' under our noses, I'm wearin' a sweater I know for certain I tore in two when it clang into a nail and I sure didn't mend it. So how come it's intact righ' now? And since I'm pointin' things out, Jack's hat doesn't have that dent in the left side of the brim he made when it got caught in the fallboard. From how he was mournin' that damned brim, you would've thought his entire kin perished. An' seriously, I hope I ain't the only one noticin' the obvious."

"There're no pipes," a hoarse voice spoke from the other entrance of the chamber. A burly man sporting a stern face entered, closely followed by a dainty woman with platinum blonde hair.

"A-yuh, precisely, Connor," Norman agreed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but here's the place you've installed the first drainin' station, ain't it?"

The engineer nodded. "Exactly, Polk. There should be pipes in the ceiling, beneath the false cover."

Moving away from Sammy and Jack, who were both sharing a similarly confused expression, Norman paced to a ventilation grate. He sprung up and grabbed the edge, steadily holding himself up as he looked inside. Soon, he let go, his soles landing on the floor as easily as if he had descended a stair. "Empty," he stated.

Sammy hurried to press his ear to the closest wall, lifting his hand to ask everyone to make no noises. He listened to it for a few moments, then moved to another spot.

Surprisingly, there were no bubbling sounds coming from beneath the wood. "It's silent, completely silent actually."

"And it's even more interesting," said Allison, the woman who had arrived with Connor. "We have no wedding bands." She lifted her left hand. "I'm absolutely certain we'd gotten married and wore rings, we bought them together in 1951 and had the wedding in 1952."

"'52?" Norman made with surprise. "My memories stop in, I dunno, '46?"

"Yes, that's the year when the pipe burst over me," Sammy said.

"And I got hired in here," Buddy added.

Henry gaped at them. "I received the letter that brought me back to the studio in the '60s."

Norman crossed his arms. "Right... so we have all sorta manners of years scrambled around, but when exactly in time are we?"

"What do you mean?" Susie asked, her voice preserving the bite she had acquired after seeing Sammy ditching everyone to welcome the projectionist way too intimately. "All of you must be confused."

Norman turned his attention at her. "When did Mister Drew make his proposition to you, Susie? Bringin' Alice Angel to life?"

The woman shifted uneasily, due to both the question and the man asking it. "It must have been around nineteen-forty, um... four. Yes, 'forty-four."

"Okay, that's getting a bit over my head. What's exactly going on?" Jack inquired. "It's making absolutely no sense."

"Actually, Fain, it might actually make sense," Norman told and left them for a second, entering one of the offices that was hidden behind the reception room. "If I'm not mistaken," he said as he crouched under a desk, "this is Cohen's office and he always keeps the last week's newspapers over the weekend an' throws them on Mondays." He rummaged through the drawers, then spread some sheets he acquired from them on the table top. He frowned and looked at another front page, then to the next one.

Henry soon followed him inside the office and read the date that was written on the newspapers, right under the publication's logo. "That's odd," he commented. "Curiously odd."

"Nah, hear me out, Henry, after havin' a projector as head, allow me not to be surprised by anythin'," Norman snarled. He extended a hand at the cartoonist, who shook it with a bit of a lost expression. "Didn't exactly make introductions, did we," Norman explained, then returned to looking through another stack of papers. "An' also, you might be sayin' things about the 'sixties, but you ain't lookin' older than thirty or thirty-five, tops. No one looks older than that, actually, if you don't count the kid. An' I think I still know how to add up, and what I'm seein' sure ain't amountin' to the sum I had in mind."

"What is it?" Sammy quipped in, appearing from behind the doorframe. He strained his neck, trying to see over Norman's shoulder. "Did you find anything in Grant's papers?"

The projectionist nodded. "A-yuh, a date. An year, actually. It's recurrent."

"And?"

"Well, let's say I now understand why Jack said I'm only beginnin' to grey."

Sammy's brows furrowed. "He's not exactly wrong, you only have a few grey hairs," he noticed with surprise. "Actually, you barely have any at all. But, that means... the hell?" he made, his eyes bulging as he read the small date printed on the newspapers.

"Mhm, 1943."

"Are you sure?" Sammy inquired and grabbed the newspaper. "Tom!" he shouted from the office, his powerful voice getting through everyone's eardrums like a spear. He walked to the door with long steps. "When did you make the contract with the studio?"

"In '43, I remember it like yesterday."

"It might just be yesterday."

"What are you saying, Lawrence?" Thomas demanded immediately, forgetting to correct Sammy for calling him on his given name, and not even the proper one.

"We need to check it, first, but I believe we currently are in the year when the Ink Machine wasn't yet in project."

Allison's eyebrows shot up her forehead. "Sammy, don't be ridiculous, that can't be."

"No, Allison, it might actually be. You remember me disappearing, don't you? Henry mentioned there was an investigation." The woman gave an affirmative nod, albeit a reluctant one. "Then why am I here?"

"Sammy," Jack interrupted, being apparently the only one who was rational between them and was not jumping at conclusions. "If that's true, we can check with the music. You always kept the dates noted on your sheet music, so we can check when the latest composition was written."

The composer agreed. "We'll have to return to the Music Department for that. We can confirm if this is just madness or if, for some strange reason, we actually are in '43."

"Count me in, mate," Fain offered himself to accompany his colleague.

"Perfect. Let's go, Jack."

"Wait," Henry intervened as soon as he left the adjacent office. "You two should take another one of us with you, at least. You don't know if it's completely safe to walk around."

"I believe we're very much alone," Norman mused, coming behind the cartoonist. "It's just us, the ones who've seen the Ink Machine inside the imitation of a studio we've been trapped in. An' by how quiet the traffic outside is, I reckon it's the weekend, probably Saturday mornin'. Sundays are even less animated. An' there's snow on the street an' it ain't no water stains that hadn't dried, so there hadn't been anyone in here for a while. But I'll go with'em in case of anythin', we'll meet you in front of the Administration offices. Y'all know how to get there."

"Why Administration?" Allison asked.

"To have a word with Henry's old friend, of course. Mister Drew," Norman retorted. "I've got half a mind the man's gagglin' with anticipation, waitin' for us to show up. He might even have a hand in all this mumbo-jumbo." He chuckled hoarsely. "What am I sayin', he's got his arm up to the shoulder in it."

With that, the three department colleagues left the others, walking alike their inky selves - Sammy slowly and straight as a board, Jack wobbling excitedly by his side and Norman appearing not to lift his feet off the ground.

Henry watched them leave. He noticed how Susie averted her eyes to the floor, visibly upset, but he didn't think it would be sensible to ask her if she was fine. He instead focused on Allison, who was ready to go to their rendezvous point. "I think Norman's right," he told them. "We're experiencing something very strange and Joey definitely knows what it is. With a bit of luck, Norman's supposition is actually true and we'll find him in his office."

"Let's go there, then," Tom agreed. "And if he's there, let's have a chat with Mister Drew. It's long overdue."

XXXXX

The searches in the Music Department proved fruitful very quickly thanks to Sammy's rigorous filing system. Normally, he was very chaotic in thinking, but when it came to his music, everything was put under a label on a shelf.

Not that it was fully a joyous thing, because it still did not provide any explanation to how they had leaped straight into the past, and the composer was dead set on talking about it like a broken record.

"Was it perhaps what Henry did? But why didn't it happen on any other occasions?" Sammy pondered, thinking about what happened in the throne room, back inside the Ink Machine. "Or maybe it was the cartoon? Or the music. Or maybe it happened because we knew we weren't in the real world?" He moved a box to the side. "But then, why did we return now? Wouldn't it have been more convenient to return to a future time? How did it actually happen? And why now?"

"Damn it, Sammy, stop running your mouth," Jack admonished the composer, who was blurting about this and that while they were checking a closet by themselves. Norman was in the adjoined office, checking the schedules to confirm their suspicions with another source. "You should be thankful you're alive and in sound mind, you've gone completely cuckoo during that last year. Do you, uh, even remember what you've done? You've managed to lock everyone out of the department!"

"Keep it lower, Jack."

"No, I'm not keeping anything lower, stop being the perpetual stick in the mud! Just, eh, say thank you and move along!"

"Yes, but-"

"No buts, Sammy, stop it! You've got another chance to do things right, why do you have to stress over it? Honestly, just stop."

Sammy glared at him.

Jack returned his lour. "Look, Sammy. It doesn't matter why things happened this way, you have to just, um, take them as they are and move along. You can rectify some big mistakes you've done in the past, so why are you complaining so much? No one gets this, err, kind of chances, so be grateful for them."

"Yes, but-"

"I'm going to punch you if you don't cease with that!" the lyricist admonished him. "Listen to me, Sammy. You've been an ass with Susie when you could've just phoned her and explained the situation why she had been sacked. But now, guess what? You get to talk to her now and rectify things with her! Magical, right? Of course, if she's willing to listen to you after you didn't think it was a good idea to tell her about, you know, the obvious thing!"

"What obvious thing?" Lawrence questioned.

"That you're queer, you dumbass! You've got no idea what wishful plans she was doing with you inside her head! And look, I really don't care you like men, women or, I don't know, goats! I don't care you're an ass-hat and rude to anyone with a pulse, but bloody hell, mate! I care that you've complained all the way to the Music Department. Didn't you see how miserable you made Norman feel when you were rambling about stupid things when he was just trying to cheer us up on the way here?"

"That's not true, I-"

Jack slapped him across the nape, finally determining the conductor to end his tirade. "It's bloody true, you blind fool!" the lyricist broke out. "Instead of doing the polite thing and have a normal conversation, you just talked by yourself about how wrong's everything. What exactly is wrong? That you have your friends around you after having gone through, uh, a shit-storm? Is that so wrong? And why the hell did you have to be so inconsiderate? Okay, you can be a jackass to me because that's how you are, but be nice to Norman, at least! You think he came with us because he likes walking around the studio? No, you stupid prat! He's here to make sure nothing happens to you!"

"I'm sure that's not the case, Jack."

"Of course it is! He's been turning every rock to find you, even if he didn't say anything about it. I was with him all the way down here! You know how you can throw anything at Norman and he's as impressed of it as yesterday's news, right? You can't imagine how relieved he looked when he heard you for the first time! Why can't you act like a normal person and be content for once? And don't talk over people, for God's sake, it's bloody rude!"

"Jack," Sammy called in his most superior tone, as if he knew something no one did, "you don't know what I have done to him. I can't just act all cheery about it. I am very thankful for everything, don't get me wrong, but, how to say it... I have..." He exhaled. "I have wronged him terribly, Jack."

"So? What have you even done that got you so worked up? You didn't hurt him, right?"

"He was dead before it got to hurt him. Fucking hell," Sammy cussed and put a hand on his forehead.

"Damn."

"Yes, damn! Why do you think I'm like this, Jack?

"And you thought that by blabbering like a chatterbox, you'd just divert his attention? I can't believe you can be this dumb."

Sammy sighed. "I really don't know what to do... What if he remembers?"

"Uh, Sammy, what makes you think he doesn't? That one's got the memory of an elephant, he recalls what everyone's done. See, even I remember what happened to me before losing track of myself. I remember that at some point, I was here, uh, reading something, you know, and someone put a cloth over my face. I don't know what happened next, but, um, it feels like nothing happened. Like I was dead."

"Most likely."

"And then, you think Norman doesn't know that you've done something to him? Christ, Sammy, you're a genius musician, but in any other domain, you're an idiot."

Sammy clicked his teeth. "Fine, fine, you made your point."

"Don't 'fine, fine' me. Don't muck it up, that man's got a heart of gold for putting up with you. And let's not forget the Susie-situation, since I've just mentioned it and I know you've already forgotten about it."

"What about her?" the composer snapped.

"Jesus, man, are you this near-sighted? She's still head over heels with you! Maybe not as much as she used to be, but she was genuinely pained when she saw you two, Sammy. I'm sure you haven't noticed how she was watching you."

"I-"

"Look, mate," Jack interjected. "Whatever you choose to do, just be considerate for once in your life, because you can lose more people than it's necessary just because you act like a peacock. And yes, I know Norman calls you bird names, I've accidentally overheard some snippets. Nothing much though, thank Goodness."

"I honestly loathe you, Jack."

"Whatever you say, mate. Just don't be too much of an arse to people close to you, okay?"

Sammy snorted. "Fuck off."

"Gladly, my friend," Jack retorted and patted his back.

Behind them, Norman poked his head inside the closet. "Got claustrophobic enough, you two?"

"I guess we did," Jack replied. "Found anything?"

"Only that Sammy needs a secretary and his writing's horrible."

Sammy made a face. "I know that already, but besides that?"

"It all confirms it, really," he relayed. "We're actually, I don't know how, in a moment we've already lived."

Jack smiled easily. "Like we're receiving a second chance," he said, reiterating the same thing he had just told to Sammy. The composer rolled his eyes at the statement.

"I don't wanna raise your hopes up, Fain, 'cause for all I know, we might still be in some kinda mess, but it appears so. We get a chance not to have that monstrosity built. I gather you two found the same thing."

"Mhm," Sammy hummed in agreement. "And I think that around this time Tom first came to the studio for negotiations, so we might be in a moment before Joey had signed with GENT."

"Well, if that's so, we should get goin', tell the rest what we discovered. Let's not keep everyone waitin'," the projectionist suggested.

"Say, Norman, what's the fastest way to the Administration?" Jack asked.

With a smile that bordered on sinister, Norman replied, "Through the sewers, of course."

"Ah, no, no," Sammy immediately made. "We're not going through the sewers."

"An' why not, Lawrence? Just take Fain's good example and keep your delicate nose closed. You ain't gonna die if you do," he idly commented as he began leading the way.

Sammy chewed on his tongue.

Jack squeezed his friend's shoulder. "Ey, what were you just saying, Sammy? That he doesn't know?" he teased and immediately dashed away from the other man. He had to hurry, otherwise his boss would finally demonstrate how proficient he was at extracting teeth.

XXXXX

The rest of the small group reached the Administration offices. They all gathered in the lobby, waiting for the others to join them.

The reception area looked very similar to the way it did inside the cartoon world, if one overlooked the evident lack of ink and monsters springing out through the currently locked doors.

Henry was becoming impatient, fearing something had happened to their companions. He had been talking with Tom for a good while, learning more about the machine and its inner workings, now that the man was able to talk and no longer a mute wolf. But he was becoming more agitated by the minute, uncertain about everyone's safety. That was prone to happen whenever silence became too heavy.

Finally, the reckoning little team returned, bringing news with them.

"We were indeed correct," Sammy announced as soon as he entered the reception. "It's the end of February, 1943. Everything in the Music Department is left the way we normally leave it during the weekend."

One of Thomas's eyebrows lifted. "February, you say... That's some good months before the machine was commissioned and designed," he related. "We ain't signed the contract yet."

"How very strange," Allison said. "It doesn't really feel like a coincidence, does it, dear?"

"It probably isn't," Henry agreed. "Thank you for checking things up. I really hope you were right about finding Joey, Norman, because I really want to have a word with him. More words."

The buff engineer grunted in approval. "Believe me, Stein, not just you," he told, looking down at his not-exactly wife, given the unforeseen development. She smiled warmly at him. "Mister Drew's got some serious amends to make," he continued.

"Oh, dear, you're right about that," Allison responded to her partner's statement. "And it's not just us. It's going to be so complicated to explain to everyone what's happened and why they were stuck in the machine. We're going to have to tread very delicately. I mean, everyone's gotten out of it with us, right? The machine isn't even a reality right now, if I understood correctly."

Norman shrugged. "I dunno what to say, Allison, the machine's probably just a mad spur of imagination right now. Thing is - imagine what a disaster it's potentially gonna be for everyone in the studio to know what happened to them, since we've concluded all those things that'd been lurkin' about were studio employees, like us."

"What does it have to do with anything?" Sammy asked, crossing his arms.

"Well, we all know we were affiliated to the studio in this exact moment in time, but I can't say for sure about the others. Some of the people we knew are now doin' Lord knows what and where. It ain't the 'fifties or the 'sixties right now, it's '43. Don't forget there's still a war goin' on, an' that's gonna end in two years," Polk reminded them about the history they had already lived and were going to live again. "And let's face it, Drew sure's got a hand in our escape, the same way he's got one in how we've gotten inside the machine in the first place. Ain't nobody tellin' me it was some divine intervention that we suddenly became aware of ourselves and started makin' changes to the routine, because that's a lotta bull. We've made our choices when we got our consciousness returned, sure, but it didn't just pop up from the everlasting fields."

He leaned on a wall and crossed his legs in front of him. "And I do stand by my words. Drew's not gonna want too many to know about his deeds, especially those who would have found themselves back on the front again, or those who lost someone in the near future. Not to mention we ain't got no idea how most of us got in the machine in the first place, or that it even existed. It'd be a disaster for everyone."

"I hope they're all fine," Allison said, being as considerate about everyone else as she usually was. "There were so many nice people hired here."

Normal waved a hand. "They've been fine once, they're gonna be fine again. We just gotta make sure we don't let anythin' compromisin' slip out, 'cause it's more than our hides at stake here."

"That's just peachy," Sammy mumbled, rubbing his forehead. "I might have implied something about your teeth Jack, but I'm starting to be more inclined to work on Joey's."

The lyricist chuckled. "If you want, Sammy, I'll hold his head while you fix his denture."

Lawrence puffed through his nose. "It shall be our finest collaboration yet, won't it, Jack."

Henry gave them a sceptical look, but did not dare adding any comments. He was not sure if they were joking or not, but he was not going to bring up the issue.

"So," Susie perked up, speaking for the first time since they had arrived to the Administration's lobby. Her tone was not especially cheerful. "We should probably get a move on, we can't dally in the reception forever."

"Yes, I'll be going now," the animator announced.

"Do you want anyone of us to come with you, Henry?" she added in a much sweeter voice than before, regaining her pretty smile.

The cartoonist's heart clenched, remembering how the ink had perverted her. "No, Susie, thank you. I think I need to do it alone. I'll be right back, don't worry about me. I just need to have a good talk with my old pal."

"Good Golly Gosh, that leaves us lot to catching up," Jack proposed with enthusiasm, losing it as fast as it came up. Given how out of place everyone looked, catching up was going to be the last thing they would do.

The two women took a seat on the chairs behind the reception desk, affably studying each other and exchanging small talk, being far more cordial than the idle men standing up. Tom glowered in the general direction of the offices, probably lost in his thoughts. Jack didn't do much besides gazing at everyone and occasionally intervening in the ladies' discussion when they addressed something to him. Buddy's melancholic expression was lost in space as he stared right through Henry's turned back, thinking about his departed father, thankful that at least he was not going to relieve the terrible day when he and his mother learnt about his death.

Henry, for his part, was mustering up the courage to go through the Administration's archway and down the hallway to Drew's office. There were so many things that could go wrong, they could still be trapped in the cartoon world but with other variables, or there might not be anyone in the offices. Everything could very well be a hoax or a horrible jest on their expenses. All it was going to take to unravel the mystery was but a step.

Silently, Sammy walked to one of the large window sills, right next to where Norman was leaning against the wall. He placed his palms flatly over the surface, preparing to jump up and seat on the sill, when his attention was distracted by an enthusiastic voice that he had not heard in a good while.

"My friends, I see you've made it!"

"We aren't your friends, Drew," Tom disrupted the cheery speech like a demolition boulder. He came face to face with the owner of the studio, Mister Joey Drew, who had no right to be smiling at them the way he did. "And that one person who was actually your friend, you dragged into this mess," the engineer reproached.

"Now, Tommy, no need to get defensive-"

"It's Mister Connor to you, Mister Drew," the wall-like man enunciated their names with unveiled anger, his fists balling up. "You've stolen what was legally mine, perverted my patent to fulfil your unrealistic dreams and when it didn't turn out as planned, because you refused to acknowledge you had no idea how to work my machine, you decided to bury it all and everyone else along with it!"

Joey Drew tried to add a few words in between, but the stern man was set on causing a scene. Normally, Allison would have intervened gently, just like she usually did when an unpleasant matter surfaced, but that time, she only shifted on her chair and straightened her back, supporting her partner from afar. There were things to be called on their rightful name.

"And you just couldn't leave it alone, could you," Thomas continued, his granulated voice getting rougher. "Not only you've bankrupted the studio, covered up for the missing persons with bogus lies, but you also had to call everyone else back to make sure they didn't talk. Allison was kind to send you recipes and ask how you were doing because you've driven everyone else away and she took pity on you, and you've called us back to silence us? And what you did to the others, I don't even wanna imagine. I never liked Mister Lawrence, but what you did to him is disgusting and vile."

"I didn't do a thing to him!" Joey defended himself. He quickly looked at his oldest friend, who was staring at him with clear disapproval. "You don't seriously believe all this, do you, Henry?"

Before the animator said anything, Sammy was already back on his feet and in front of Joey, sharp as the Devil's pitchfork. "Am I hearing it right, Joey? Didn't do a thing? You filthy liar," he accused dejectedly, his pronunciation conveying just how conceited he could be. "The ink pipes weren't your idea, no? The shit planning wasn't yours, no? The impossible deadlines, the lack of communication and unnecessary modifications weren't yours, no? It was just me and some hundreds of people working their eyeballs out of their skulls, but never you. How dare you, Joey, after everything I've sacrificed for you and your fucking studio, eating up my health and wondering if I'll get to the end of the year alive, come say to my face that you didn't do a thing to me. I had weeks upon weeks of sleeping for two hours a night, if that, all because of you! And that ink, what the hell did you do to with it? How dare you still put it on any of us, after we immolated our very sanity for your foolish dreams?"

Joey lost his cheery voice. "You work for me, Sammy, should I remind you of that? And don't talk to me about sacrifice! I wanted to take us to new peaks!"

"Peaks? What in the blazes peaks are you talking about? You literally drove us into our graves, you son of a bitch!" Sammy exploded, his normally levelled speech turning caustic. His wavy hair bounced as he shook his head and gesticulated. "To think that I've postponed and refused so many proposals just to finish work in here! I drove my freaking career into a wall because I had no time to talk to other conductors or orchestras! I'm a goddamn multiple-awarded composer and you made me rewrite stupid ditties because you thought they were too this or too that! You don't even have a fucking clue how to read the portative, what the hell do you know about compositions?!"

"You should be thankful I didn't expose you, Sammy," Joey threatened, seemingly forgetting that they were not alone. "How many conductors or orchestras would've talked to you if they knew what you are? Don't think I didn't catch wind of your night-time activities, you faggot poof!"

Sammy's ear tips turned into angry red and his eyes squinted into slits. He would have ripped the other man's jaw out of its articulations if his forearm hadn't been caught by Norman, who darted after the infuriated composer right before he did something he might regret. Or possibly not, but the blood would have surely stained his shirt and it was difficult to wash it out of the fabric.

"Now, now, Mister Drew," the far taller man intervened, voice so gruff it could peel flesh off the bones, "let's not call each other names, shall we?" He gently lowered his partner's wrist, who was still glaring daggers at their boss.

For the first time since he had showed up in front of his employees, Joey seemed startled. "Norman, I don't think you're in any position-"

"I don't think you're in any position right now either, Mister Drew," Polk continued politely, so composed it was terrifying. He might have lacked Tom's burly mass, though he compensated for it with respectable height and strong limbs. Although, in this case, it was not his stature that impressed, but the way he looked the man in the eye, so coldly and impersonally, like he was reminding him he would have no problem to extract the soul out of him with his bare fists. It determined the bombastic Mister Drew to take a hasty step back.

"Henry," Norman told without shifting his icy stare, "I believe you said somethin' about talkin' to an old friend. I says you do that. We're gonna wait for you right here, you just take your time."

"Give us a call if there's any problem," Thomas added, nodding to the projectionist. Standing between the two men, Sammy retreated into himself and crossed his arms over his chest, his edges even more cutting than before.

Henry did not know what to say, left without words after the tense exchange. But why would he be surprised, as he had just witnessed the frustration of one who had put an axe into another one's skull like it was made of butter, of one who had had no problem to knock him out with a dustpan and leave him to die, and of another who had swatted anything that irked him like flies and then went on about his business like he had done nothing.

As he had once relayed to Sammy, he was lucky that he was on their good side.

He casted a swift glance at Susie and Allison, who were watching him indulgently. Allison encouraged him with the nod of her head, directing him towards the studio's owner, whose feet were pinned to the floor.

"Let's have a chat, you and me, Joey," Henry said, taking his old-time friend by the shoulders and steering him towards the man's office. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

Joey remained paralysed in his spot, leaning on his black cane. His face was tainted by regrets, deeply etched into his forehead. Among the young faces of the others, he looked so old.

Everyone was free of their past burdens, but not him. His sins were only his to grit his bones.

Henry looked at his friend. Words were bubbling in Joey's throat, so difficult to exteriorise. Even after all the pain that man had caused, after all the tragedy his idealistic dreams had wrought, he could not just abandon him. His pal needed help, someone to guide him.

On the spot, Henry Stein decided that he had to return to the studio as an employee, to point things into a normal direction. But that time, on his terms, not on Joey's. He would never let himself be parted from his family like before.

He nudged Drew to move, but his feet were still rooted to the flooring.

"I need to apologise to all of you," Joey said, his voice murky and devoid of its usual faked cheeriness. There was no need for it, nor for the deceive it sugar-coated. It would not work on those people who had experienced his lies in their vilest form. "I'm sorry for what I've done."

Susie snorted loudly. In the past hour, she had gone from ecstatic for being restored into her body, to hurt for seeing her beau with someone else. Now, she was enraged. "Sorry? Mister Drew, you should be ashamed of yourself, not sorry."

"Ah, Susie," Sammy spoke placidly, "but you needn't worry. We'll all be sure he feels absolutely disgusted of himself. After all, we are the living proof of how his dreams do come to life and how they haunt one's soul until the body becomes a shallow vessel and there's only dust inside the chest."

Henry felt Joey's shoulders clench under his palm. Sammy delivered his statement in such a frigid tone that it made everyone's teeth clatter.

"And do you know what will be the most beautiful thing, Susie," the composer continued, tilting his head with irony. "It's that we'll be the ones dictating his every breath. How, you may ask? Oh, but that's simple. Because, dear Joey," he intoned, voice getting even lower as he took a step forward, this time without being stopped by Norman, "if you want a semblance of peace, you will listen to our demands. You will pluck your head out of your ass when we say that something needs more time. You won't be replacing employees because you think they don't fit your agenda without checking with the department heads first, and you won't be making any modifications just because you feel like pissing someone off. You won't be installing infernal contraptions that we don't need, and you will stop using people as dreams fodder."

Joey regarded the approaching man with frozen fright.

Sammy's mouth curled up into a cruel smirk. "And you also know what you will do, dear Joey? You will restore our creative rights if you don't want a process of hellish proportions, because I for one am not going to postpone any other collaboration because you think you have slaves. And most importantly, you will mind your fucking business, or I'll make your every single muscle twitch very much mine." He tilted his head innocently, although the look in his eyes was telling a very different story. "You might ask, how? Well, dearest Joey Drew, in case you didn't check, my family has been into magistracy and finances for entire generations, and no matter how much shit we throw at each other, once one attacks one of us, we stick together like scum to the bottom of a shoe. And do you know the funny thing about scum stuck to the bottom of a shoe, Joey?" His smile turned feral. "Even after it's gone, the stench is still there. Imbued into the soles, never to leave it. So you better behave, my dear Joey. Just a friendly advice."

Drew swallowed drily. He nodded.

"Smart decision, Joey, very smart," Sammy mockingly praised him. Resting his case, he took a few steps back, returning by Norman's side. The projectionist gave him a look filled with pride, delighted to see the good old flame reignited in his partner's hazel eyes that were no longer glinting green, but bloody red.

As merely a passerby, Henry believed Sammy's promise. Not too long ago, he had been set on ending his own life if he hadn't found his lover, so he didn't think it would be much of an issue for him to stump over one's neck just because he got it into his head. That one walked the distance for what he wanted.

And if he did not wish to experience that bloodbath right in front of him, he really should take Joey to talk to him right away.

Not that the man was reluctant to move anymore. He walked just fine to his office, as far away from the disgruntled employees as he could.

XXXXX

Eventually, Henry finished interrogating Joey about what he had done to bring them into such an absurd situation and how he had tried to restore the order by calling his friend back to the studio. Drew explained his reasoning to the height of his capabilities, providing vast details to every single aspect of his plans – probably, in the fear of having them extracted along with his blood vessels if he did not tell the whole story – and Stein did his best not to hit his old friend.

He could not believe what he was hearing. The entire thought process behind the creation of the Ink Machine and the living cartoons had been well-meant, certainly, but the execution, the lies and crimes that spiralled from it, had been absolutely unhinged. Theoretically, the experiment had been a stroke of geniality, but in practice... they both knew how well it had worked. The occults and the technology, all mixed together in a deranged mesh, had no place in an animation studio.

The other escapees listened to their conversation from the hallway, providing a semblance of intimacy to the studio's owner and the cartoonist. Drew's office door was opened anyway, and they spoke loudly enough to be heard from the other rooms. It was for the best, so they could get the backstory from the source without feeling the urge to strangle him.

They eventually reunited in the office's reception in the most uncomfortable silence. Joey made a new attempt to apologise, but he was cut off instantly by each of the employees, who all agreed that they wanted to see actions, and definitely not hollow self-flagellation. They were getting no satisfaction from seeing the man beating himself, they wanted to be the ones holding the whip.

Without prolonging the discomfort, they decided they would all return to work on Monday, when they would drastically change the studio's conduit. Henry promised to return as head animator, as long as he was given free reign over the projects and allowed to respect a schedule, without doing overtime when it was not needed. He asked for more paid leave from work for everyone, especially in case of illness or other debilitating accidents, demands to which Joey reluctantly agreed.

Sammy requested to have both of his voice actresses back and reinstated the threat of suing both the studio and Joey if he was not awarded his creative rights back. Naturally, Drew signed the ownership back to the composer faster than he could actually write, and Susie and Allison shook hands for a fruitful collaboration together.

Thomas Connor also demanded to be allowed to make repairs to every single defective part of the studio, reiterating the many hazards he had observed over the years of developing the Ink Machine, and Drew was spared no complaints regarding that essential petition. Pleased, the engineer vouched to assemble a team during the following week, so they could get straight to renovating, since they had the required funds, as they were no longer wasting money on 'side projects'. He promised to start with the Music Department so they could minimise the noise that could affect their daily business. Both Lawrence and Fain welcomed the idea, given they already possessed the general concept for what they would compose for almost three years from then on. They could get started with remembering the songs in another wing of the studio before Connor was done with their department and they could resume recording.

Not fully confident of the outcome, Buddy inquired if he could continue working as a gofer for the studio's departments, due to the better pay than the one he earned from Mister Schwartz, who was, at that point in time, his employer. After his supplication was granted, he shyly asked Henry if it was possible to watch him drawing from time to time, so he could learn more techniques. Stein smiled and suggested teaching him the said techniques in their spare time, as free private lessons. Young Daniel did not know how to thank the kind cartoonist.

The only one who did not make any requests was Norman, who patiently listened to the others negotiating their terms and provided no intervention of his own whatsoever. He did not think he was entitled to ask for anything, given the many problems that the people around him had. His work had never been hindered by anyone, as he, more often than not, operated alone or was provided with instructions ahead of time. Maybe his workload was oftentimes excessive, given he was doing much more than merely his official attributions, but he reckoned he could live that. He could continue editing and correcting scenes or faulty tapes, tasks that were nowhere near what his job actually meant. He had always enjoyed inspecting film reels anyway, so why bother picking on it?

However, when everyone else was done with their applications and complaints, all eyes turned to the quiet projectionist, who in turn stared at them. "What?" he made and crossed his arms automatically.

"Don't you have anything to add, Norman?" Henry queried with a little smile. "We're trying to correct the wrongs, maybe you'd noticed other things than what was already said? I'm sure Joey will find a way to appeal to whatever demands you might have," he continued amiably as he squinted his eyes at his friend, who nodded compulsively.

Norman sketched a misplaced grimace and shook his head. "Nah, all's good," he croaked thickly, his voice rough after not talking for so long.

"Are you sure?"

"A-yuh, very sure, Stein," he retorted uneasily.

"Actually," Sammy intervened without being addressed, "I have a demand on his behalf. Joey, you'd better give him a raise."

Polk lifted a hand. "Nah, that ain't necessary, I'm just doin' my job, I'm fine with what I earn."

"And I'm not," the composer snapped. "How many times have you worked until midnight? And from those, how often was it because of your actual attributions, and not due to helping the other departments because we don't have enough staff?"

Jack rubbed his nape. "I hate saying this, but Sammy's got a point, Norman. Um, I don't know how many recordings we would've done if it wasn't for you, and I remember more than a few times when I stayed with you in the projection booth during rehearsals and you were fixing tapes. And not only that, you helped us with the sound on some occasions, you surely remember when we had no sound technician and you assisted us."

"I was just helpin', nothin' much. Y'all would be better off with a raise, not me."

"I think we could work something out that would reward your efforts," Joey spoke before things escalated. He figured that the lenient approach was the best with the others, as there was no way in which he could get out of the mess he had created without sacrificing certain old values. Not if he wanted to keep his head on top of his shoulders, anyway. "Given that you continue assisting with the extra duties, I don't see why we don't give you a bonus."

"And change his job's framework," Sammy added.

"And that, of course," Drew agreed hastily, the prospect of a legal process looming over his head. "I'll modify your contract accordingly on Monday, when I deal with the others', too."

"Lovely," Lawrence stated placidly. "And do expect a lawyer to assist you on that, by the way," he continued, enjoying the way Joey swallowed air.

Allison smiled and patted Norman's arm. "Congratulations for your promotion, Norman," she told him, and he looked at her with the most confused expression he had probably ever had.

XXXXX

Norman snuggled his nose under his thick, red scarf, enjoying the warmth it provided. He sat on a ventilation shaft, passing time on the studio's rooftops with Sammy. Both were bundled in their coats that had conveniently waited for them in their respective offices. After they had resided for years inside a cartoon world, the fact that they had found warm clothes at the studio, on a day none of them would have normally gone to work, did not even phase them. They called it small mercy and terrific luck, and left it at that.

The tall man looked ahead. Steam was coming up from the street underneath, where the temperature was a bit higher. It was quiet, being this close to the sky, and it was such a wonderful sensation to feel the wind and coldness stinging his face. And having a face, as a matter of fact. Simply marvellous.

"To think that Joey actually believed it was a good idea to bring a cartoon character to life," Sammy mused absently, twirling the cigarette that he was holding between his forefinger and thumb and getting ash all over him. He looked down at his lap and cringed, quickly swatting the grey ashes that were swirling lazily over his coat's hems. "I mean, you create a thing, call it an abomination, and then lock it up because maybe it will understand it has to behave nicely. I'm not a behaviourism expert, but that sort of treatment is bound to create a mindless monster, don't you think? And that ink, ugh, it makes my skin crawl to remember that vile, slimy goo. He worked a bit on it, he said. Ha! What was he even thinking?"

The projectionist straightened his neck again, resurfacing from underneath his big scarf. "I suspect he didn't think about it at all. The sole prospect of doin' it was enough to set things into motion."

"Yes, but kill people to animate some cartoon characters? Seriously, how okay does that sound to you?"

"That's when things had gotten outta hand."

"Mm, say that again. I haven't noticed it," Sammy grumbled sarcastically.

"Way I see things, dove, you were the first real victim of his schemes, y'know, kinda like an unexpected variable. That, an' how Buddy accidentally set that Demon free. I hope the kid's gonna make better judgement on whom to trust to push'im around, 'cause that girl, Dot, steered him right into a disaster. But she won't remember it, once she comes here to get a job, will she?"

"Perhaps it's for the best."

"Maybe." He looked down at his knees, then turned his head to Sammy. "I believe Susie when she says she's done the transition willingly. She was desperate to be her character again, after she'd been replaced."

Sammy took a drag from the cigarette. His sigh was filled with smoke. "Well, she was certainly glad to be cast as Alice again. Allison was very kind about it."

"You sure dodged that bullet, Lawrence," Norman commented. He finally lit the cigarette he had been playing with. He inhaled the smoke, glad to feel its bitterness after such a long time of not tasting anything. He wondered if he had even had a proper head, under the projector, or if his skull had been cooked up from an amorphous mass of ink lubricating some circuits. "But you're gonna have one helluva time workin' with the both of'em. Especially your lil' Miss Campbell. She might've understood the nature of her sackin', but she's not gonna forgive you so easily for not tellin' her, even if it was an accident."

"Don't remind me."

"Oh, I won't have to. She's gonna do that. And Allison, too. She's a fierce one, never thought I'd think that of her. She's such a polite woman, but I guess givin' a polite woman a sword s'bound to change one's opinion about her."

Sammy chuckled. "Yeah, they will definitely breathe down my back from now on." He rubbed his forehead. "Frankly, I can't believe we actually accepted to continue working here."

"Have anywhere else to go, Mister Genius Composer?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I'm kind of tempted by the salary here, excuse me for being materialistic in this shit economy. But with Henry around, things will probably be different. It's high time artists are allowed to do their job in here and someone has a hand on Joey. And I actually like my work, I always have variety. The real creative work is done in the leisure time, anyway. And really, it's good to test different genres. Nothing has the time to go stale. I already have a few new ideas, I'll have to write them down when I get home. You know, I think we'll be quite prosperous once we're let to see to our own devices, without useless modifications. We know how to work on tight schedules, after all."

"You sure do."

"Hey, you too. You really deserved that promotion, it was long overdue. I can't do the synching alone, I hope you're aware of that. You help me a great deal, with all the things that you do with the images, sounds and all of that. I have no technical bone in me, you know I'm lost when it gets to starting up a machine."

Norman simply nodded, cocking his head to the side. Indeed, Sammy's technical expertise had nothing to do with every-day practical abilities, and definitely not with something that implied the use of electric current or had mechanical wheels. No matter how masterfully he could restore a defective piano or change the hair on a violin bow, the musician had no idea how to replace a light bulb. He smiled, remembering how awed the conductor had been when he had shown him that the electrical panel could be switched on and off. Sammy had spent an entire week without light in the kitchen, absolutely certain it had something to do with the wires, before Norman took pity on him and verified the circuit breakers.

A fat pigeon landed in front of them and hopped towards the steam rising from the ventilation shaft they were sitting on.

"Hey, look who came to get warm. It's your pal," Sammy nudged Norman with the tip of his nose.

"My pal, the pigeon? A'right, he looks like a nice fella."

The plump bird looked at them and, after deeming them safe, it nestled its head onto its body to preserve heat.

"Very nice, yes. And has almost no grey in his plumage."

"Since y'all so observant, ostrich, you might'ave noticed that since we've been on, how to put it... friendlier terms, I've been gettin' more greys."

The composer scoffed. "Huh? What, are you saying I am the one giving you grey hairs, now?"

Norman turned to look at his friend. "Na-ah, I says nothin'. I thought it was obvious."

"Sod off, Polk," Sammy mumbled and gave him a sideways glance, in spite of being unable to keep his smirk off his face. Being in the range of Norman's good eye, like he tried to stay when they were together, his little grimace did not go unnoticed. With a far bolder smile, Norman caught him by the shoulders and pulled him closer.

Making himself smaller, Sammy slid a hand behind the other's back and leaned his head on his chest. He toadied around when he felt a kiss beinf pressed on top of his head. "Look at us, angel," he said. "We've been trapped in this place for years and we still dally around here."

"Nah, it's a big difference."

"How so?"

"We can leave anytime. We can see the outer world, now, feel it bustlin' all around us. It ain't all dark and muddled anymore. I dunno about you, dove, but I missed all this."

"It must have been very unpleasant to have that thing over your head," Sammy guessed, another cloud of smoke seeping through his lips. He peeked down at the lit stub, about to go out. If he did not crush it soon, it would burn his fingers.

"Unpleasant it's a nice word. T'was very heavy."

"I am sorry."

"No, you ain't," Norman said, poking him with his chin. "But that's alright, Sammy."

"Yeah... all is alright now, isn't it?"

Norman placed a smooch on his cold forehead, making Sammy chortle. "Of course, goldfinch. An', look on the bright side, you're gonna have more time for your side compositions, since you already know what you wanna do for the cartoons. And since Joey's gonna graciously modify your contract so everything you write belongs to you, you're gonna have the green light to work with other conductors. Y'know, make your works known in the concert halls, maybe even abroad."

"That would be swell," Sammy trailed dreamily. "Do you think they'll be appreciated?"

"Samuel, you're an orchestra composer at core, don't doubt yourself. I've listened to enough of your pieces to know they're somethin' else. Somethin' grand."

Sammy exhaled. He finally crushed the burnt cigarette tip and put it next to him, to throw it away later. "Yes, I know I'm brilliant."

"Mhm."

"Thank you," he said, looking up at Norman. "I don't deserve any of it, after what I've done." He breathed in sharply. "To you." He lit another cigarette, blankly staring into space. "You should know about it, to- to be able to make your own decision, that is. You should know what I've done to you."

Norman blew out the smoke he had inhaled before speaking, his visage completely unimpressed. "What, nearly cuttin' my head off? Don't stress over it, Sammy, you're gonna get wrinkles. If you want any, I can burrow you some of mine, though. Free of charge, special offer 'cause I know you."

The composer took a stand back. "You... knew."

"'Course I knew, duckling. I remembered it, same time as you, down in the Film Vault. Get your mind outta the gutter, you really thought I'm gonna push you off the building for that little?"

"That little?" Sammy asked, gasping. "I killed you!"

"An' I'm alive now, thanks to whatever hocus-pocus we've managed to do to the beast in the machine. You weren't yourself, magpie, I know you ain't like that. My Sammy's got the worst fightin' skills."

"How dare you, I have perfectly fine skills, thank you very much."

"I ain't sayin' you can't handle a dustpan, dove, I heard you've knocked up Henry real fine with one. I'm sayin' that you're more talk than bite."

"Oh, really."

"Now that I say it, I guess I'm kinda wrong. You ain't got teeth in your mouth, you bat, you've got fangs."

Sammy snorted. He put the nicotine stick between his lips and dragged from it, shielding his sweet smile. "Idiot," he mumbled. He buried his nose in Norman's red, fluffy scarf. "My idiot. I'm so glad to have you back."

A speck of snow fell on the composer's hair, getting tangled in his golden curls. The sky was still over them and silence was all around, the snow packed on the streets below muffling the usual hustle. They could only hear their breaths turning into vapours in the cold air and their heart beating rhythmically under their heavy clothes.

The composer snuggled into his partner's side. "We'll have to be careful, you know."

"'Course we will. Joey's jus' a stuck up, he ain't got no leverage on you. He pulled that one thing he had at hand on you. Don't worry."

"Hm, you're right."

"Right. An', frankly, after the little stunt you've pulled on him, I don't think he even wanna think about crossin' you, not to mention tryin' it."

"He'd better," Sammy retorted. "I wasn't joking, you know. I have no problem to get him to the rock bottom. I don't have a good situation with my father, but I know he would wipe the High Court's floors with that asshole if he knew the shit he'd gotten me into, and my mother would make a mess of his image if she began talking to her friends in the press. I know my uncle would definitely call his goons on him to check his blood pressure, and my aunt would stick her heels into his eyes and swear on the Constitution she had seen him tripping on a stair. No one makes a fool out of our family."

Norman gave him an impressed look. "You sure don't mess around when someone prods on your better nature, parrot."

"No," Sammy agreed. "So you'd better watch out if you upset me, Mister."

"I'll be sure to watch my back, duck," the projectionist assured him. "So, since I know the terrible fate that awaits me if I unleash your wrath upon me, what do you wanna do today, before we freeze up here?"

A chuckle erupted from Sammy's chest. "Let's go Nancy's. And before you call me a sentimental sap for wanting to go to the one place we've managed to find opened the first time we've gone out, I'm dying for one of her pies. So shut up. And it's on me."

Norman lifted a hand up. "I ain't sayin' a thing."

"Good. Keep doing that."

Another moment of silence went between them. Norman still had his arm around Sammy's shoulders, lightly rubbing his arm to keep it warm. He patiently waited for the other man to say what he wanted, because it was obvious that he was not done talking.

The musician snuggled better into his clothes. "Norman, I wanted to ask you something long before this mess happened. You were always making trips from one side of the city to another, barely went to your place as it was. And it got me thinking, you know."

Norman smiled. "Why, Lawrence, are you suddenly preoccupied with my travellin' expenses?"

"No, you moron, of course not. I just thought that, maybe, you might want to move in to my house."

"That's gonna be complicated, Sammy. Especially at work. I don't want somethin' like this to jeopardize your career, if things get out."

Sammy's mouth turned taut. "Yes, of course. You're right. Forget the question."

Extracting his extended arm, Norman rotated the far lighter man around, so they were facing each other. "Sammy, I don't know where you're holdin' your head, but it ain't on the shoulders, I can tell that much. T'was just me, makin' sure you thought it through."

"You mean you actually want to move in with me?"

The taller man put his index finger on Sammy's forehead, pushing it lightly. "Yes, you finch, I wanna move in with you. Hell, I'd even like spendin' my life with you, if you'll have me. I love you, Sammy, but you gotta understand what it'll mean on the long run. I can't offer you much, and it might not be worth your effort."

"I know what you can offer me, and it's the world to me," the composer spoke, pressing a cold hand on his partner's cheek. "And if that's not worth it, then nothing is. You are my heart, angel. I want to have my heart with me always, close to my chest." He lightly kissed his lips. "If there's any problem, we can say I've rented out to you. It's a big place, I have more bedrooms. And who the hell cares, anyways? After you have nearly twisted Joey's neck for talking down on me, I have all the confidence that there won't be any issues."

"Let's not get that far."

"What do you mean, honey? You wouldn't have made some work on his face, if he kept on talking filth to me?"

"I'd've started with the teeth, finished with the smaller bones and let you crush what was left of his skull after I was done," Norman casually said, almost smiling. He gently kissed Sammy's hairline, making him giddy.

"I know you would have. I would have liked seeing it, actually. Pity there were so many around, especially the kid. I don't want to mortify him even more than I've already done."

"Right, you murderous hen," Norman made with a chuckle. "Let's go get those pies you want. Then I gotta head over to my place, I need to pick up some clothes before goin' home."

Sammy's smile broadened on his face when he heard that his house had become their home. All that madness, the hurt, the sacrifices, everything had led to a place he could finally call home, shared with the one who made him whole. His eyes were stinging, perhaps from the cold, probably from something else, and he wrapped his arms around the projectionist's neck again.

"I've fallen for a sheep," he whispered tenderly, right before kissing his beloved squarely, without any inhibition or care. He tasted cold bitter smoke on their lips and it was intoxicating, reminding him of the long nights spent together. Lifting a hip from its warm spot on the ventilation shaft, he put a leg over Norman's thigh, bringing him closer and deepening their kiss. When their lips departed, he grinned with a glint in his light eyes. "Seriously thinking he's going to need clothes tonight. You're a smart man, Polk, until you aren't anymore." He placed a frugal smacker on his cheek and got up, extending his hand to the taller man. "Come along, angel, you have to order the chocolate pie for me, the cheese pie... oh, yes, and the cherry pie. Maybe pumpkin and cinnamon if Nancy baked that one, too. And you can take that dreadful thing with spinach and kidney that you like, ugh."

As he was collecting the extinguished cigarette buds into the tobacco case, Norman had to pause for a moment to look up. "Why on Earth I'd do that? You order for yourself an' let me choose my dreadful things myself. Don't make me ask for I dunno how many things when it's you who's gonna eat'em."

Sammy rolled his eyes, already having opened the trap door leading back to the relative warmth of the studio and waiting for Norman to follow him. "Yes, but I'm not going to order them all! I will ask nicely for an apple pie. And I want a chicken pie, don't forget to say that, too."

"So, I've gotta take six or seven things, have the waitress look at me all strangely again because how the hell is just one person eatin' that much, and then watch you jumpin' over the table to take everythin's in front of me? Nah, I don't think so, Lawrence. Not this time around, nightingale, it's the middle of the day and there's gonna be other people besides us."

Sammy crossed him arms, walking down the stairs to the lower level. Norman caught up with him and took him by the arm. "Don't be sour, partridge, or you're gonna land in one of those pies you're cravin'. We can instead act like civilised adults and ask for two plates and for our orders to be put in the middle of the table. I swear, you're such a caveman at times."

"I haven't eaten in... would it be eighteen years? Twenty? Twenty-five? I don't for know how long we've been lost in limbo."

Norman shook his head. "That ain't no excuse! Christ, an' they say I was raised at a farm. If my Mamma'd hear what stupid things you're sayin', she'd give me a whoopin' for fornicatin' with the likes of you. And especially for that."

Sammy's eyes lit up. "She'd give you a whooping? When can I meet her?"

"Jesus, you're unnervin'," Norman said, but he was smiling. Just before they left the studio and got into the street, before they had to depart from each other and walk with some distance between them, they shared a sweet kiss, filled with humour.

"Sure you're gonna meet everyone, if you wanna," Norman promised, looking around the white boulevard and the partially cleared alleys. "An' I'm not gonna be hearin' anything for a week after the talkin' to I'm gonna get, bringin' a white man with me instead of some nice black lady. Or at least mixed races, like me. And a man with better hair than my sisters, no less. Damn, I'm gonna turn deaf between y'all yappin' your mouths at me."

"Well," Sammy trailed on, his smirk dibbing suggestively. "I can't help with the skin colour or the hair, but with the, you know, lady part-"

"Oh, shut it, Lawrence," Norman quickly cut his speech, already anticipating whatever filth was going through the composer's mind. "We're gettin' pies and not discussin' somethin' like that outside."

Sammy smirked and buried his nose in his posh wool scarf. "Prude ass."

They both snorted, knowing well that was not the case for either of them, but they couldn't exactly politely talk about that on the street.

"Hey, Norman?" Sammy asked as they entered a snowy park. "Do you think we were mourned?"

Polk regarded him with a sad little smile. "We ain't never gonna find out."

"Hm. Yes, I suppose you're right. But I like to think we were missed by someone."

"I'm sure we were."

The composer tugged his coat closer around him. "I think I'll try to get back in touch with my parents. I have plenty of things to rub into my father's face, after all, so why not do it right away? I should start writing them down so I don't forget anything." He absently rubbed his elbow. "Huh, that's actually an idea."

"An' that's why you're gonna be forever young, you crow," Norman jested.

"Oh, please, you'll understand what I mean when you meet him and my mother. If you think your folks are going to give you an earful for showing up with me at their doorstep, wait to see my lovely genitors' reaction. Actually, I think I will tape record it, to listen to it whenever I feel like the day is too slow."

Norman's eyebrows were crooked suspiciously. "Um, okay?"

"My uncle and aunt will love you, I think," Sammy continued dreamily. He kicked a mound of snow with the tip of his shoe. "My uncle Robert has always said that the only thing he regrets in life is that he has never slept with a man. That always earns him one over the head from my aunt, but eh. I think he'll be jealous, actually. Oh, yes, why haven't I introduced you to him before? He owns a winery among other things, he'll adore getting you drunk."

"What on Earth's wrong with your family, Lawrence," Norman commented. "What did I get myself into this time," he wondered out loud, though his voice did not lack the amused undertone. "Almost three years of goin' out with you an' I still discover new things. You're such an onion, puffin."

"Oh, please, if I were an onion, you would have started crying whenever I got undressed."

"Well, dove, from now on, I'm gonna make sure to sob harder with every layer you shed. And, God help me, I'd better prepare the handkerchiefs, 'cause you've got a thousand clothes sometimes."

"Tat, tat, what happened to not discussing it in public," Sammy sassed. They exited the park, getting closer to their destination. There were very few people on the street and no one paid them any heed, all too preoccupied with remaining on their feet and not slipping on ice.

As they were crossing a junction, a light bulb went on inside Sammy's head. "Norman, do you realise we've been together for almost three years already?"

"A-yuh, I just said that."

"Now, we're practically in a moment when we weren't even dating. We first went out much later in the year. No, actually, it would have been next year... Jesus."

"That sounds about right."

Lawrence pushed his hands into his coat's pockets. "Since we're stuck with each other now, how are we going to count the years? This time turning is such a mess." He stuck his nose out from his argyle scarf. "Of course, I'm grateful to be alive and everything, but, you know. Counting is a bitch."

"A-yuh, Lord forbid you used your head for that," Norman responded, trying to sound as unaffected as he could, despite having his stomach doing excited flips at the knowledge that Sammy was contemplating spending years together. "It ain't that hard, goose. You just gotta add one every time the date repeats in the calendar."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Sammy pondered his words for a moment. "I was thinking about making it even easier. We could have two anniversaries every year, one beginning the count from three, the other from one. What do you say? We should mark today somehow, it's the first day of returning back to normal, after all, and also, well, the day we decided to live together, right? A good reason to celebrate another year of not smothering each other in sleep, you know."

Norman chuckled. "Sure, I like the sound of that."

"Perfect! This way, I can deal with arranging some decent and proper celebration for this time of the year, and you can plan how we're dangling from some roof or whatever on the other time of the year."

The projectionist clicked the back of his teeth. "Damn, I'm gettin' predictable this early on?"

Sammy stopped in his tracks. "What? I hope you don't literally want to do that, Norman."

Polk put a scandalised hand over his chest. "Me? 'Course not, I ain't gonna dangle from any roof, but did you know how grand it's to listen to an orchestra up from Carnegie Hall's illumination catwalk? That's some mean real-deal acoustics, I'm tellin' you."

The composer gave him a bewildered look as he searched for a proper response. He watched his partner, who looked absolutely dead serious about what he had just said, so he just shook his head. "I suppose I'll find out how grand it is. Because, let's face it, if we buy tickets for anything on that blasted day, we are never going to arrive on time."

"Atta go, birdie, that's the spirit," Norman quipped and they both laughed.

XXXXX

They eventually arrived at Nancy's, the little dinner where they would have visited on their first date over a year from then. The place was exactly as they remembered it, cosy and welcoming. The same lady owner was there, once again recognising Norman as the nice man who always spoke politely to her serving girls, and asked them to have a seat until she brought them some coffee. They did not need to make up some lame excuse this time, as it was the middle of the day, unlike the first time they had gone there together.

As it was sensible, Norman placed a singular order for all that they wanted and asked for two plates and two sets of cutlers. The waitress left them alone with a small smile.

They were seated at the same table as they had on their first outing. From his side of the table, the composer was looking at the still, frozen lake in the distance, now visible through the leafless trees. The ducks had migrated some good months before, due to return once spring brought the vegetation back to life. Only the bouncing pigeons were left to nibble the seeds and bread on the white pavement.

Time passed and darkness crept upon the two men as they strolled through the city's deserted alleys. Finally able to properly communicate, they chatted about this and that, without a set subject, listening to their voices in the serenity of the frozen city and promenading through the parks devoid of their usual fumble.

They were walking home, after so long.

His hand trembling slightly with uncharacteristic emotions, Sammy unlocked the door and opened it widely. He motioned for Norman to enter and closed the door after them, locking it for the night.

Inside the welcoming lobby, nothing was changed. It was the same organised mess of polished shoes and shiny boots, umbrellas and scarves folded on top of the hanger, the same way they were always left at the entrance during winter. It was almost nostalgic to look at the heavy coats dangling neatly from their hangers next to Sammy's ornate house robe that seemed to walk around by itself.

He looked at Norman, who crouched to untie his laces, the way he always did when he came over, making sure not to bring the snow inside and stain the carpets or inflate the hardwood floors. Sammy followed his example, all the while smiling.

It was such a small thing, but it made him incredibly happy. Everything was the same way as he recalled them, the places, the objects, the people's mannerism. It was so little, yet so much after having lost it all.

He was indeed too sentimental at times, but not too often and not with everyone, so that no one would forget he was actually a sour man who snapped at nothings. Appearances had to be kept, and sometimes, certain persons did not deserve to see the softer sides of someone else.

Despite the blurred vision in his damaged blue eye, Norman could still make out the way Sammy's gaze darted from the floor to him, and then to his shoes. It was endearing how the composer still believed he was blind on his right side – he could see shapes quite well, albeit they resembled shadows more than anything else. And Sammy was not subtle by any means, so he had to have poked his eyes out not to see him fretting.

When they straightened their backs, Sammy's face was the epitome of poise and jauntiness. Norman called that bullshit, but whatever.

"Well, we are home," the musician announced as he put his coat on a hanger to dry off the small snowflakes that had accompanied them during their long walk, and folded his green scarf. He took Norman's clothes from his arms, who thanked him, and hanged them next to his.

Norman simpered as he watched the other man arranging their coats. "Right, right, almost forgot," he made, motioning with his head as if he was looking for something. Sammy peered at him with curiosity, still standing where he was.

He was suddenly picked up, legs dangling over Norman's right arm and his back perched against the left one. He loosely wrapped his hands around the man's neck, laughing. "Oh, do put me down!"

Evidently, his half-meant wish was not fulfilled. "Why, I'm walkin' you over the threshold," Norman explained, easily carrying the man in his arms down the hallway that led to the living space. "Or at least, a threshold. Couldn't exactly pick you up from the yard without testin' my ice skatin' skills, could I. I'm gonna have to clear the walkway tomorrow."

"Yes, but why pick me up?"

"Why, do you wanna pick me up? I'd love to see you tryin', Lawrence, if you feel like breakin' your back. Who knows, you might even succeed."

"Picking you up?"

"Nah, breakin' your back."

Sammy snorted, shaking his head. "Thanks for the thought, but I like my back intact."

"'Course you do," Norman said, finally putting the musician down, who still had his arms around his neck.

"Well, let me tell you something, Mister," Sammy whispered languidly. He ran his fingertips down his partner's neck, lightly tapping them against his chest when they reached lower. "I must admit, I like that you walked me over the threshold." He lifted on his toes to look right into the projectionist's animated eyes. "It's our home, now, isn't it? Someone has to be carried over the threshold, even if we are not married."

Norman nodded. "Sure, sure." He smirked deviously. "Hmph, associatin' marriage with you, dove, that's a bold one. I sure pity your poor bride, she ain't gonna suspect what hit'er, oh, no. But, word of advice, canary, pick a woman who can lift you up, 'cause we don't wanna deprive the world of your compositions by breakin' your dainty arms."

Sammy's heels clicked back onto the floor and he looked up at the other's face with a daring grimace. "Oh, so you want to sleep in the garden from day one, don't you."

"Don't you be so dottin' on me, lovebird, you might just give me the wrong impression. An' since y'all so lovin', do I get a blanket, so I don't die from some pneumonia?"

"No, obviously not," the composer retorted, rolling his eyes. "And you're not getting away like that. I plan on snoring you into your grave."

"A-ha, so now you admit to snorin'. Lemme just mark the marvel in the calendar."

"I don't admit to anything, I am only telling you what to expect. Oh, and do expect to be snored in the afterlife, too."

Norman chuckled. "No rest for thy bein' snored, ey?"

"None, Mister Polk. You'll be sent into the everlasting snoring lands and regret every single choice that led to it."

"Whatever you say, you crackpot," the projectionist cackled. He gazed into Sammy's eyes, the warm hazel shifting into bright green in the dim light. They were both smiling, finally free from the madness they had gone through, able to see their faces and sketch their emotions over the canvases of their skins.

He must have sensed it from the little twitch of the muscles embracing his neck that Sammy would jump up on him. Norman caught him effortlessly, already knowing how to balance him, and straightened to lift him higher. Grinning, Sammy held the man's cheeks within his palms and secured his legs around his waist, trusting he would not be allowed to fall.

"What do you say about living before all that?"

"Not in a hurry to die, me. Been there, done that," Norman commented. "Lemme tell you - it ain't no fun in that."

Sammy squinted his eyes. "It's times like this I am not pleased you have your head back."

"Oh, there's a time when you are?"

"Bad wording," the conductor quickly added, frowning. "No, actually, good wording. No. Oh, just shut up, Norman," he demanded and caught him by the hair, pulling his face towards his. They kissed, without rush, feeling the warm air passing between them.

Sammy's legs slowly slid down his partner's body, socked soles fully touching the floor. He hastily grabbed Norman's turtleneck and pulled him by the collar as they advanced through the house.

In front of the main bedroom's door, Sammy felt himself being spun around and his back hit the wall. He gasped as a strong hand clasped the nape of his head as soon as he missed his footing. Losing all of his patience, he jumped on his tiptoes and grabbed a fistful of Norman's hair, keeping him just a shy speck away from his face. He eyed his lips with a barely concealed stuttered breath as he tightened his grip on the other's rough hair, and pressed their mouths together, opened for exploration.

Their tongues found their familiar rhythm around each other, hungrily sliding past their teeth and entangling wetly. Their hands roamed over their torsos and backs, pulling their upper clothing and discarding them on the floor.

Sammy had no recollection of how he had ended up on the bed, but he did not seek an explanation. He sprawled his legs, one dangling over the edge, and carded his fingers through Norman's ruffled hair, bringing him even closer and breathlessly devouring his mouth.

His mind was clouded with dizziness when they parted. His lips were trembling as guffaws spilt through them. He opened his eyes with a grin, eager to see the heterochromatic irises of his lover, but all that he saw was sudden light shining upon him like a beacon.

His breath caught up in his throat and all feeling in his fingertips was stilled by the fear ravaging his thumping heart. He blinked fast to adjust to the brightness, yet he made out no shape in front of him. His insides coiled, aghast, not understanding why he was no longer seeing Norman, and solely the light blinding him.

"Oh, no, please, not again, no," he moaned out and shut his eyes tightly as his hand darted over the horror-struck line of his mouth.

The taller man appeared after a moment, looking very concerned. He immediately stroked Sammy's cheek, making him reopen his unfocused eyes. "Hey, dove, easy there, shh. I forgot the switch's right next to your head, I'm so sorry," he apologised, pointing to the bedside lamp that was illuminating the dark room. "Lemme just close it, okay? All's fine, shh, just hang on-"

"No, just... leave it on. I want to see you," Sammy requested firmly, passing a hand through the other's dark hair to feel something over his numb fingertips. "I just though... well, I was just being foolish."

"We ain't there, Sammy," Norman told him, knowing what his beloved had thought. Gently, he extracted the hand gripping his hair and put it between their faces. "Open your palm. Do you see? You've got one, two, three, four, five fingers. Right? Five fingers, Sammy. And you've got a nose," he said, leaving a butterfly kiss over it. "And two eyes," he continued, meekly pressing his lips over them. "Whole lotta curls on the head," he laid another kiss and smelled the coolness in the other's wavy locks. He placed a gentle kiss on his slightly agape mouth. "See, lil' bird? It's all you, no ink. Just you an' me, and no ink."

Sammy felt a tear pricking his eye. He nodded, biting his lower lip. "I see you too," he muttered, running his fingertips over Norman's face. "I missed your eyes, my angel. Very much."

"Wanna make me blush, ain't you?"

All tension flew away from the musician's chest as he chuckled. "No, idiot. I'm just glad you're back to normal. Though, it wouldn't have mattered, as long as I had you."

"Mm. Noticed that."

Sammy rolled his eyes in a distraction attempt, highly aware that his cheeks were turning red. "You're a sheep and a moron, you twerp. You're lucky I love you, Heaven knows why."

"Well... gotta be the eyes."

"Obviously," the composer confirmed, shaking his head lightly. "And other things," he added and pressed their lips together again. "Not many things, mind you. Very few things."

Norman chortled breezily. "Don't lemme impose on your puny, little heart, Lawrence. I might catch a cold in there."

"Ungrateful mutt," Sammy retorted and mockingly attempted to push Norman off him, only to be pressed back onto the mattress. Grabbing the larger man by the ears, the composer brought their mouths back together, sets of lips wet against the other, teeth clinking as tongues glided over them.

He took his time, feeling the inside of his mouth, the shiny gums, the slick tongue circling his in a dance with no music. He prodded with his own tongue, as deeply as he could, and it was bitten lightly, more like a scratch, sending shivers down his spine.

Drool slipped past his reddened lips. Sammy took a moment to contemplate the mismatched eyes in front of him. His chest raised and fell irregularly, and his breath stuttered when teeth grazed against his pulsing jugular and bit lower, on the junction of his neck. His fingers carded again through dark locks, simply holding, and a clever tongue lapped around his collarbone and down his sternum. It slid further to the side, down the perked up nipples and the well defined pectorals shuddering under the harsh nips, tensing upwards to follow after the mouth aggressing them.

Norman's teeth mapped the entirety of his pale chest and tainted it with rosebuds. His tongue dipped down the valleys of his partner's flushed belly, muscles coiled under the flat skin. Without halting his circular licks and occasional nibbles that were making the rakish body under him jolt and tremble, he glanced up, at the agape mouth letting out arrested pants and the eyes focusing with intent on him.

He did not feel himself straining against his trousers, he did not acknowledge his hair being pulled in different directions and the sharp nails biting into his scalp. He did not care about himself right then, not when he marvelled at the blooming statuesque skin marred by his tender ministrations and the shining eyes watching him with fervour. He could barely restrain himself, wanting to touch everything, every inch of spotless, heated skin, rejoicing in the lack of ink over it and his ability to experience its warm scent and velvety texture.

Sammy was thrashing around, failing to lay still, his hips jutting and grounding themselves in an attempt to compose himself. He bit his lips hard, impatiently anticipating, seeing the dark head descending lower, down the planes of his abdomen. He felt a dainty peck on his pelvic bones, unintended to leave any marks, but teasing him in wicked ways.

His elbows held his weight as he lifted up to have a better look. He could read the unspoken promise in Norman's mismatched eyes and see his tanned, gaunt cheeks rumpling from a toothy grin. The composer returned the mirth, bursting with incredible happiness.

Hypnotised by the wicked look in his lover's eyes, he barely noticed the moment when his dress pants vanished along with his loosened suspenders, but he did feel the coolness prickling at his burning skin.

In a wave of churning sensations erupting from his very bones, his back instinctively arched and his head hit the pillow, losing sight of his valiant conqueror. He swiftly supported his upper body on his elbows, head swimming akin to a balloon on the surface of a lake. What he glimpsed through his watery eyes was his cock standing up in the air, precariously retained within the confines of smirking lips similar to a dangling cigar. He made out the outline of the pink tongue slowly circling the tinted, blunt tip, feeling the motion rushing through his nerves straight to his toes.

He strained not to squirm and disrupt the lazy motions of the cavity that warmed the gland. Sluggishly, the projectionist slid between his lover's feet, all the while sucking gently on the tip of the dick pulsating inside his mouth. He was sitting just right, with the leaking rod lifted perpendicular on its owner's body, perfectly visible to the conductor.

It was only during those times when Norman made a spectacle of what he did, unlike his usual suspiciously covert daily activities. He made a show of the way his thin lips undulated around the round head and his tongue lapped around, a single drop of fluid coursing deliberately over a pulsing vein.

Sammy had to grab the sheets not to spring off the bed when the mouth nibbling his cock began descending, feeling incredibly ardent against his raging need. A breathy moan escaped past his opened lips as more of his length was covered by the scorching wetness, not stuttering until it had only a bit left before fully enveloping it.

Norman's eyes darted up, catching Sammy's like a flashlight into the face. They had an otherworldly look in them, impish even, and they were glinting with mischief.

Sammy felt it right in the lungs when the head of his cock was suddenly shoved deeper into Norman's throat, all the way until the entirety of the member was trapped inside his mouth. The projectionist was still gazing up at him, eyes hooded by black lashes and bushy eyebrows lowered over them, relentlessly sucking the dick deeper into his throat without moving his head back and having the audacity to have the corners of his lips curled up.

The composer felt so light and depleted of blood in his arms, he was not even sure he was still touching the mattress. His toes clenched and his fingers planted themselves into his tormentor's shoulders, who slowly rose from his crotch, tongue flat against the underside of the cock. The projectionist flashily paraded the inflated hardness around his mouth, hitting the inside of his cheeks as he bobbled up and down, lavishing the dick with attention. Sammy thrust up to meet the pleasurable warmth with unexpected roughness, and his gesture was welcomed with vibrating grunts.

Norman gulped the length down his throat once more, ripping a thrilled shriek from the dazzled artist. Fluidly, he lifted himself on his palms and let the cock fall wetly on his lover's belly, heavy like a hearty slap.

Not even bothering to check on the panting man beneath him, Norman slid his hands under Sammy's buttocks and lifted them up. Pressing a thumb against the perineum, he departed the fleshy mounds and drew a straight lick over the puckered arsehole that was revealed.

"Oh, God," Sammy breathed out, a hand darting to his forehead and another back into Norman's hair. He parted his legs wider, still held up by the arms supporting him, and he moaned whorishly as a pointy tongue thrust into his clenched hole.

'Lenses can't do that', he mindlessly thought, and screamed as a nose poked under his testes and opened teeth bit into his spread bottom, that sly tongue getting impossibly deep into his rectum and wiggling its way around. It was licking him from the inside, prodding him in places no sensible man should be touched. But Samuel Lawrence was not exactly a reasonable man to begin with. And right then, he had no respectable notion in his head, invaded by the heady clouds of unrestrained lust.

Fingertips pushed into the hard bums that were held apart by cupping palms. Norman lacked all decency as he lapped the rosy hole like a dog drinking water, thoroughly enjoying the way the flesh quivered on his tongue and how red it was getting. The composer's incoherent speech was completely debauched, hardly making any sense once his dick was grabbed and rubbed lazily, like it was a shoe being shined. The tongue left him for the inside of his thighs when a finger began prodding into his gaping ass, and Sammy welcomed it with a great, fanged smile. That was all that he could do, groan and grin and stare at the man servicing him and turning him into dough.

He barely registered when Norman climbed back up over him and kissed him deeply, three of his fingers buried knuckle-deep into his arse and thrusting inside with trained precision. Sammy was trembling like a leaf, skin too hot, and his eyes were watery from strain.

He kissed Norman with abandon, absolutely bewitched by that mouth that had transformed him into a leaking mush and the hand rubbing his prostate from within his body.

He opened his eyes with difficulty and pressed a delicate hand on Norman's flushed chest and with the other, he grabbed his crotch. The man was so concentrated on rendering him breathless that he had forgotten about himself, tenting painfully against the confines of his clothes and breathing hard through the nose.

Sammy pushed him on his back, and that time, the projectionist did not pose any objections. The composer trailed a hand over his face, over the tanned skin that had gained slight lines ahead of its time. He kissed every spot on the man's visage and neck, pecked his strong chest and jutting hips. He gripped the hems of his trousers and brought them down his legs, along with the underclothes, leaving him hard and twitching against his abdomen.

He spit on the thick cock and swallowed it up, wetting it up nicely and filthily slurping around it. He moaned as he did so, sounding like a nightingale even when he was chocking on a dick. With a devilish look in his eyes, he stopped what he was doing and grabbed the erect member, giving it a harsh squeeze. He steadied it into place as he spread his legs on each side of Norman's hips. Grabbing him by the hair, making sure he was looking at him, Sammy slid down the hard length with his mouth widely opened.

His buttocks were grabbed by reliable hands, holding him as he impaled himself, not stopping for a moment to adjust. The friction burned him, but he could not stop grinning, closing his eyes at the rawness of skin sliding against skin, feeling he could fly on top of his beloved.

Their bodies grew closer until they were pressed against each other. Suavely, like a bow against a violin's neck, Sammy bent to place a chaste kiss on his beloved's slightly ajar lips. "My dear heart," he whispered and smiled indulgently, his brilliant eyes glinting with love.

Despite their current situation, the hand that cupped his cheek was gentle and warm like an embrace. Norman was mirroring his smile. "My lil' goldfinch," he rasped tenderly.

Sammy bit the inside of his cheek and looked at the pupils of his partner, the one in the damaged blue eye only partially dilated and creamy white, and the one in his good one so blown-out and dark it could have been made of ink. His straight black hair was pulled back due to laying on the back, and, in spite of how young the man was, some stray grey strands gleamed in the lamp light. He ran his fingertips though that coarse hair, loving the feel of it and the entirety of his sweetheart.

Simpering still, Sammy began moving, up and down, hips undulating under rough palms.

His bottom was grabbed and the pace picked up a notch, powerful thighs thrusting upwards and eager ones meeting them half-way with a slap.

Hopping on that hard cock, nerves electrified with yearning, the composer sang his notes of desire to the enraptured audience that sipped on every sound he produced. Norman was drunk from it, in ways no alcohol could ever inebriate him, and he was completely addicted to the pliant body of his loud lover.

He turned them around, once again on top of the musician, who hooked a leg over his shoulder and left himself prey to whatever the man wanted to do to him. The projectionist bit his raised knee, making the feverish muscles spasm, and slammed his hips hard into Sammy, who pulled him inside like a well-worn glove.

His thrusts were precise, not too fast, but hard enough to make Sammy's teeth rattle. The body that he was diving into was hitching and shuddering at each snappish jab, and hands searched for purchase everywhere around his skin. At some point the musician's long fingers grabbed his round buttocks, and he modified the angle of his prods, making the composer's voice hit shrilling notes as he abused his prostate with dead-on shoves.

The overbearing heat was drawing him in, the screams of want were smothering him under their intensity, hands were blindly feeling him up and lips were kissing whatever skin they could touch. Gripping Sammy's wavy golden locks, Norman started pounding into him, almost vengefully smacking their bodies together until they bruised, speeding up and rougher than before. Sammy's legs gave out, falling uselessly on the bed, shouting as he was being used like a ragdoll, the cock inside him burning him and giving him a taste of heaven and hell.

They were both groaning, uncaring of anything but the friction between them, sweat falling off their bodies and muscles rippling from effort. Sammy's back bent backwards as he came spectacularly over their bellies, the sensation of completion reverberating inside all of his fibres and keeping on lighting up with every pistoning inside his sore canal. Norman was ramming into him, biting his shoulder and holding him into place, and Sammy let him chase his need, pulling his hair and slicing his shoulder blades with his nails, mewling from the stimulation.

Kissing him like he was going to suffocate without him, Norman's hips stuttered with one final deep, wrecking thrust, spending himself inside the velvety insides of his lover. Sammy's heart gave a skip and he hugged his man like they were going to fall off a cliff, leaving the imprints of his fingertips on his back as he plunged his tongue into his mouth.

With both their breaths wildly unrestrained, they peered into each other's eyes. Running his hands on the naked body resting atop his, Sammy relaxed, all tension washing off him. He dramatically lifted his arms and captured Norman's head between the insides of his elbows, then wrapped them around his neck. Easily, they caught their breaths, smiling in the crooks of their necks and allowing their limbs to grow heavy and uncooperative.

Knowing that he could accidentally crush the slender man under him, Norman rolled to his side. Sammy followed him, throwing a leg over his waist and entangling his arms around his torso. Shifting around a bit, the projectionist covered them both with a rumpled blanket. He placed a small kiss against the composer's temple, who merely smiled with his eyes closed and snuggled his cold nose into the other's warm skin.

Casting one more glance at the handsome face of his beloved, appreciating its sharp lines that were finally visible after so long, Norman allowed his lids to fall wearily, holding Sammy between his arms.

During the night, he woke up confused, expecting to see some creature lurking in the never-ending sea of dark ink, but all that he saw was Sammy's peaceful expression as he slept. The man was snoring lightly, not very elegantly, but so endearingly that Norman felt his pulse rise from how impossibly happy he was. He looked at him, drooling artlessly over his chest, and knew that was the most precious thing in his life. These little moments when they simply existed, content together in the warm cocoon they had created together.

They were never going to leave the nightmares of the time spent inside the machine behind, but they were not going to stop living because of them. The visions would haunt them every day, but they went forward without looking back. They assured each other that everything was alright, that all was normal again, count fingers and touch each other's faces to remind themselves they were safe.

They resumed their jobs at the studio, where Norman continued to operate and maintain the projection machines and modify reels when it was needed, and Sammy returned to composing his bouncing ditties that adorned Jack's lyrics. In his spare time, he wrote original compositions he presented to fellow musicians and publishers. He was so proud when he was invited to conduct one of the concertos he had composed for a live audience and was acclaimed for his talent by the public and press alike. His works became sought after by other conductors, for both live performances and aired ones, making his name well known to the music scene and not only. At some point, he even began collaborating with the Conservatory as a tutor, then as a professor, exploring his capabilities and sharing from his experience with the students. Sometimes, he honoured the many offers made to him to perform as a guest conductor, the audience getting to experience the vigour of his guidance right before their eyes and for their ears' delight.

In time, Sammy brought more prestigious awards for his creations to the mantelpiece in the living room. Norman had to add new shelves for the ever growing prizes collection, and he was more than glad to do so, tastefully arranging them on the displays he made for them.

Steadily, Sammy's greenhouse gained more inhabitants, most of them hunted down by Norman, who periodically raided all the possible and impossible plant markets in search of leafy gifts for his partner who enjoyed gardening in his spare time. He oftentimes returned home with all sorts of colourful bouquets for Sammy, who invariably lit up when he smelled their sweet scents or touched their velvety petals. They always had fresh flowers in the porcelain vases scattered around the house, right under the many photographs they made together and developed in the closet they had turned into a dark room.

Not only had they acquired new plant pots, but also a vast number of new books for their shelves. Norman spent long hours in the company of the many stories stored on the pages of his precious novels, listening to Sammy playing the piano or muttering to himself as he composed new music pieces. Sometimes, when the composer's eyes stung and he could barely see anymore, the projectionist read out loud for him, lulling him into the most peaceful sleep.

They went out constantly. Took strolls together under the moonlight, went to the cinema, to the theatre, to the opera and then straight into a pub, discussing about whatever passed through their heads. And always returned home to listen to some music in the dim parlour after too many glasses of wine, and enjoyed each other's presence in all senses and forms.

More by chance than planned, they met each other's families, as it was long overdue. The introductions were just as explosive as they had envisioned them, though they worked everything out. Soon enough, Norman's folks all but adopted Sammy, who took up to talking to the Polk women over the phone for long hours. Norman's nephew and niece from the oldest of the sisters took up to calling the musician 'uncle', and Sammy proudly composed them special songs just for them. When the second sister eventually married and had children, her brother and his partner were asked to be the little ones' godfathers, and they accepted.

Of course, they had to keep their relationship secret from most of the people around them, but that had never bothered them. They wore a golden ring around the neck, the thin necklace supporting it perfectly hidden underneath their clothes. It was the closest resemblance they had to being married, but they knew that their souls were intertwined beyond the physical realm. No one could take what they had away from them. Not when they had each other and revelled in each other's company, giving no damns about the outer world that owed them nothing.

They could all do that, shielded from the horrible machinations of the disturbed mind that had almost ruined them, nearly broken their spirits and twisted them into abominable beasts. They had escaped that madness and got to live without the Ink Machine ever being built, no ink poisoning their thoughts and muddling their judgement.

Because, through their memories, brought to the surface by chance or maybe luck, they had done what had been sought as impossible once. Not anymore.

They had set themselves free, and free they remained in their loving embrace.

Never quite matching, but so beautiful together.

And free.

---

A/N: Ta-da, that's all, folks! I hope you enjoyed the ride, thank you very much for reading! Please, let me know your thoughts on this chapter and the story as a whole, they mean a lot to me. Thank you again for taking the time to reach this point, and I hope we'll meet again in another story!

Till the next time, bye-bye, everyone!