Author's Note: Hello, good people! I really want to apologize for my SECOND impromptu hiatus. And for a whole year too. Those of you who are still interested in this story, know that I am too! I've just been dealing with so many things that finding time to write—that is when writer's block isn't rearing it's ugly head—has been taxing. I've had to reread this entire story to remind myself and reevaluate the story I'm trying to convey. Which brings us to the present! With a GARMADON chapter of all things! Now, I still have my outline. And although I've had to tweak it a bit since last year, we are still 20-ish chapters away from the finale. I'm gonna ride this thing 'til the wheels fall off!

Unexpected

"The sincere friends of this world are as ship lights in the stormiest of nights…"—Giotto di Bondone

Chapter 39 ~ Things Left Forgotten

Garmadon left Misako's room feeling strangely agitated. In hindsight, he knew why: he, Misako, and Wu all in the same room had distinctly reminded him of the old days at his father's monastery. Only this time, instead of he and his brother subtly competing for Misako's affections, he was now undoubtedly the third wheel. Which was fine, in all honesty.

He had only felt morally obligated to check in on her wellbeing. Nothing more. He would always care about Misako, but he no longer loved her. That feeling had long-since dissipated and fizzled into nothing. Garmadon trekked aimlessly through the halls of the Honeycomb, not ready to return to his clan's now empty room. Perhaps, it would've been better if he had. In the absolute silence, meditation may've granted him some respite and settled his tumultuous spirit.

However, it wouldn't be the first or last time he went against his father's teachings. Sometimes his rebellious spirit preferred to brood and wallow in his emotions, to both feel and block out everything. While Wu would call it a pitiful waste of time, Garmadon found it cathartic. To him, serenity felt best when it was hard-won. Nothing in his life had ever been easy. Every. Single. Goddamn. Thing…had been a warring tribulation.

Even falling in love with Misako.

Garmadon's hard frown deepened, casting a shadow over his aged albeit handsome features. He used a hand to push back a few on the unruly, silver strands that had dared to fall into his eyes and looked around. Just where was he? He hadn't been paying attention to where he was going, and he had completely ignored the soft murmurs from the random people meandering through the halls.

From what he could garner, he was in a lobby of some kind—tables, soft lighting, and a bar… Garmadon made a beeline for the counter and took residence on an empty stool. The bartender was a young woman. Too young, Garmadon thought, to be managing a bar by herself, but he wasn't going to comment. What did he know about women after all…

She smiled pleasantly at him, stretching the mole near the corner of her lips. Peach-skinned and auburn hair pulled back into a long-braid that fell over her shoulder. Warm brown eyes behind round framed spectacles gazed at him with cordial warmth. Garmadon couldn't bring himself to smile back, but he did manage to give a firm nod of recognition. She was wearing a black and white uniform of some kind—perhaps all staff members had to wear them around the Honeycomb. Her nametag read "Maggie".

"Well, looks like you'll be my first customer of the day. So bright and early too. Not that I'm judgin' givin' the circumstances." She waved her hand around haphazardly, her southern bell lilt chiming nicely in the alcove of the lobby. "What can I getcha?"

"Sake," Garmadon answered shortly.

Maggie nodded. "Any preference?"

Garmadon lifted a silver eyebrow, but nonetheless, decided to go for it. "Dassai 23. Chilled."

"Oooooo—must've been a very rough night for ya." She turned around and disappeared behind a curtain, completely bypassing the rows upon rows of neatly stacked bottles lining her shelves. She returned just a few moments later, carrying a decorative olive-green bottle, its neck and top covered and tied with blue ribbon. "No one's asked for this yet." She placed a glass in front of him, delicately untied and uncorked the top, and filled it halfway. "Then again, I haven't seen any authentic Japanese stock yet either. Until now that is."

"Thank you."

Her brow creased a bit worriedly at his somber tone. "Oh you're welcome, ya ol' sweetie. Just let me know if you need anything else, ya hear?"

After Maggie left, Garmadon just stared at his drink for the longest time. He supposed the reason why he was feeling so agitated was because Wu was his younger brother. And because he was his brother and he loved him so dearly, he felt Wu could do better than Misako. Much better.

But then again, Wu always did see the world through rose-tinted glasses when it came to her. To him, she could do no wrong. Garmadon still couldn't believe Wu had defended Misako's decision to abandon Lloyd. And yes—abandonment. There was no justification to call it otherwise.

He was already imprisoned in the Underworld, and Lloyd had been left in her care—barely a year-old. And of all places to leave him: Darkley's. Darkley's! Why? It was as if she was setting their son up to have darkness in his heart! To follow in his footsteps! And what's worse, she hadn't even left him with anything to her whereabouts, or even who she was.

What kind of mother does that?

Easy, a mother who doesn't want to be a mother.

Misako's excuse as needing to concentrate on figuring out how to free him was just that—an excuse. She could've easily raised Lloyd while she did her research. And even if she did need, for some reason, to leave him in someone's care, why didn't she contact Wu? There were just so many different and more loving avenues she could've taken in regards to their son.

But she chose cold and callous indifference.

How could Garmadon ever forgive her for that?

In short, he couldn't. And divorced her for her transgressions against proper motherhood.

Lloyd was a wonderful son, but he hated his mother.

And Garmadon, for the life of him, didn't know how to reverse that…or if he even wanted to.

And Wu, his brother…loved her all the same.

Garmadon gripped the glass and downed the expensive brew in one gulp. He didn't even try to savor the smooth, dry taste. He couldn't even feel the burn. His emotions were too distorted, and his soul was in discord. "It's all in the past now, I suppose," he muttered to himself. "And like Father said…the past is better left forgotten."

"You?! Oh no, you ol' vagabond—what're you doin' here?"

Garmadon cut his gaze to Maggie to see her with her hands on her hips and wearing a pouty grimace. "Whataya mean, sweet bar-flower?" A low, smoky voice purred. "You told me I could return when a silver fox came afoot. And lo and behold…"

Garmadon turned around on his stool to find a stranger staring right at him. He was an older fellow, perhaps even around his age. But not at all frail. The shoulders lining the long-sleeved, black haori were too broad, and his chest was bare. At least it would be if it wasn't completely taped up as if he'd gotten severely injured and wrapped in gauze. But even then, Garmadon could easily discern the tight and corded muscles underneath. His white hakama pants were dirty and tattered around the hems and his feet were bare, except, again, they were wrapped in tape, only exposing his toes.

Skin of earth and bronze, the stranger gave him a cheeky smile full of—surprisingly—straight, white teeth. His bold mouth encircled by a scraggly goatee and five o' clock shadow. Unfortunately, the image was more than a little disconcerting thanks to the deep scarring marring the man's appealing visage. A clean cut sliced through the man's right eyebrow and unforgivingly continued into three thick, jagged trails down the right side of his face. The wound had pierced the retina, and left a blind, milky white iris behind. The other was a sharp, and smoldering vermillion.

On a happier note, the man wouldn't be balding anytime soon. His long, salt and pepper tresses framed his face and fell down his back in luxurious waves, though some of it was gathered and pulled up into a ponytail. What was most curious to Garmadon, however, was the shimmering green medallion roped around the man's sinewy neck.

He recognized the moonseed design etched into it but couldn't recall what it meant.

In one of the scarred stranger's hands—and yes, both of them were partially wrapped as well—was a lit kiseru, which he brought to his lips. Taking a long drag, he then exhaled, expelling a mysterious and scentless, blood-red smoke. He sauntered towards the bar with all the grace of a stalking panther, winked at Garmadon (the vermillion eye), and took the liberty of parking himself on the vacant stool right next to the Master of Darkness.

And wait…did this eccentric man really just call him a "silver fox"?

"Now then," his dulcet tones simmered, "what do I feel like this grey morning?"

"Grey morning?" Garmadon questioned, the words having slipped out.

The stranger took another drag and exhaled, wisps of crimson accompanying his words. "Neither white nor black, nothing as simple as that. Grey is for the morally ambiguous," he gave Garmadon a half-lidded side-glance, all healthy bronze and vermillion filling his sights, "which makes it the most interesting…"

Garmadon could do nothing but stare at the stranger as he listened to his oddly poetic words. He could usually read people with relative ease due to decades of practice. But the soul of the man beside him was completely closed-off and heavily guarded. Despite his slipshod posture, his clandestine grin was difficult for the aged master to decipher.

Behind the counter, Maggie sighed in defeat. "Ya know what? Nevermind. What can I getcha?"

The stranger preened. "I'll tell ya what… Indulge me and I'll make it worth your while. I'm just gonna describe the drink. And if ya get in right, they'll be a pretty penny for your trouble. How's that sound?"

Maggie just rolled her eyes. Although the man didn't look like he had a dime to his name, Garmadon knew better than to judge a book by its cover. But he also wouldn't be surprised if this whole debacle was nothing more than a ruse for alcohol. And if it was, he would make sure the man compensated Maggie some kind of way—by force if necessary. "Sure. Let's hear it."

The stranger cleared his throat, and of all things, began to sing. His voice was rich and deep, and pitched ever so slightly with a silvery cadence.

"Alone, I distill on these cherry-blossomed alps~~ A single malt on this beautiful range. With fresh notes of fruit, smoke, and dried cherry~~, it will take me 'til the young have come of age to ready~…"

Why was Garmadon's heart beating so quickly? The lyrics to the song were nothing of note, it was just the stranger's voice. It stirred something deep within him—something long-suppressed and banished. The stranger observed Maggie expectantly, while the young barmaid bloomed like a cherry blossom herself and stuttered out a reply.

"Oh wow—that was… Wait-wait-wait, let me think now! Um…" she giggled, embarrassed, and shyly asked. "C-could you maybe…sing it to me again…?"

The stranger released a throaty chuckle and obliged. And Garmadon's old, aching heart fluttered again. Just who was this man? A drifting bard? Surely those weren't prevalent nowadays. And with a voice so lovely, there was simply no way he would've been a vagabond for long. Especially in his youth! Gods, someone would've plucked him ripe from the streets and turned him into a singing sensation!

Once the man concluded his short limerick once more, Maggie's flustered countenance graduated to apple red. But surprisingly, she was able to give a semi-coherent answer. "That was—ooooooo… Um—yeah, that was umm… Okay! Um… Right! Hakushu 18! I'll be right back!"

Without waiting to find out if she was even right or not, Maggie dashed back behind the curtain, leaving Garmadon alone with the man. In which, he too found himself being observed rather expectantly. The man graced him with a lopsided grin, while he rested his chin in his palm, completely relaxed.

Garmadon returned the observation, although more warily. He could still feel nothing from the man. Milky white and vermillion, on the other hand, pierced through him with lazy confidence. The man's strange stare seemed to be taking its sweet time unraveling Garmadon from within.

"Was she right?" He got out. If only his heart rate would calm the fuck down!

The stranger tilted his head. "You couldn't figure it out?"

"No, I…" …was focused more on your voice, not your words… No. He sure as hell couldn't say that. But before he could utter anything else, the scarred man suddenly leaned forward—just enough to pop Garmadon's personal bubble. His ghostly breathes were warm but smelled of nothing. There was nothing. There was absolutely nothing coming from this man.

"Do you want me to sing for you again…?"

"What?" Garmadon has ever rarely been confused in his life. When he was younger sure. But he would like to think he had gained some wisdom over the decades of being a master. Granted, he wasn't an expert in social decorum, but he wasn't naïve either. So then…if he wasn't be too ridiculous…was this scarred stranger who smelled like nothing, from whom he could sense nothing…flirting with him…?

The curtain rustled and Maggie returned. And the man pulled back inconspicuously, returning to his previous lounging position. "Just let me know," he purred in a husky whisper. And he gave him yet another vermillion wink.

Garmadon nearly blacked out from the sheer weirdness of it all. Here he was nearing his seventies, and some random, drifting, bard (because whatever at this point), who was also getting pretty long in the tooth—and doing what? Serenading him? As if his song was for Garmadon's benefit the whole time and not for Maggie's little quiz or whatever?

The aging Master of Darkness rubbed tiredly at his temples. He was too old for this nonsense. That part of his life was over. He wasn't Wu—seeking the physical comfort of a familiar creature who could provide him with nothing but a worn sex. Now that was pitiful. His brother could at least find someone who was worth his time. Or maybe Wu didn't think he had any time left to search…

In any event, Garmadon wasn't a homosexual. Never had been. Never will be. Not that he found anything wrong with it. He was just rather indifferent about the concept. He would never condemn Lloyd for having romantic feelings for Brad. Nor would he condemn Kai and Zane. He also fathomed that Cole and Jay had something going on despite Nya's input, which he still thought was a disaster waiting to happen. But again, he wasn't one to judge another person for their sexual orientation.

That was completely their business. Not his.

The point is, though, was that Garmadon never found men—

"Hey, Garmy…"

He gritted his teeth as his mind flashed. That voice… His temples throbbed. A migraine had taken root. "Refill, please, Maggie," he growled, futilely massaging his temples. "And just leave the bottle."

"Oh alright," he heard her say with just a hint of concern lacing her voice. "Just be careful now. I don't care how old yo'ere. Drink responsibly, ya hear?"

The scarred stranger chortled beside him. "Did you not hear the strain in his words, bar-flower? Leave him be. He needs an outlet right now. He'll be fine."

"Oh. Alright. Just shout if any of you need anythang."

Garmadon cradled his drink and this time, took a languid sip. The clink of ice against glass roused Garmadon to peek at the stranger seated beside him, just in time for him to witness him tipping back his own poison. His was an amber liquid—Hakushu 18… Whiskey then… Garmadon noted offhandedly.

It was still very quiet in the lobby with just the three of them, with only the instrumentals of smooth jazz playing in the background. At times like this, people surrounded themselves with family and loved ones. Not booze. However, Garmadon had no doubt that the refugees of the Honeycomb would trickle in sooner or later. The heady bosom of alcohol was too tempting to ignore.

"So then…" Garmadon felt the other elderly man beside him shift in his seat, "…what's a silver fox like you doing moping around here? Hmm?"

There it was again—"silver fox". But Garmadon decided to ignore it. The other man was probably just teasing him anyway. "Garmadon," he said instead. "My name is Garmadon."

"Garmadon, huh?" The scarred stranger took another sip. "Well, Garmadon, the question still stands."

He indulged in his own drink. "Propriety dictates that when one person introduces themselves, the recipient returns the favor."

The man chuckled and scratched idly at his scarred cheek. "Oh, my bad. But names are somethin' other people give ya. And no one bothered to give me one sooo… Sorry."

Garmadon kept his expression carefully blank, not wanting to let any of the pity or sympathy he felt for the man show on his face. "I see."

The man said nothing else. He seemed to be waiting on Garmadon to break the silence. And what? Was he just supposed to share his downtrodden thoughts with this random guy…?

Fuck it. Why not?

"My younger brother is now dating my ex-wife," He divulged, taking a sip.

The man winced. "Oooo—yeah, that would put a bee in anyone's bonnet."

Garmadon snorted. That was putting it lightly. "I don't love her anymore. I just feel…"

"Irritated?"

Garmadon rubbed at the pulse in his temple. "Yeah."

They both took a moment to down the dregs in their glasses. And then, they both refilled them with their respected poisons. "Hmm…" The scarred stranger rubbed at his chin. "Isn't there like a…unspoken law against that kinda stuff? A bro-code, if you will? I mean, aren't there other fish in the sea?"

If there was, he never knew it existed. And he doubted anyone would ever abide by it. That just wasn't the way mankind worked. They weren't always considerate like that. And besides, Garmadon shrugged. "All's fair in love and war. But like I said, there's no love between us. I wish my brother all the happiness in the world. I don't think he's ever dated anyone, so who am I to get in the way of that? I won't. He can do what he wants, with whomever he wants."

"You just wish it wasn't with her."

"Ugh. He's too good for her."

"And what does that say about you?"

Garmadon gave pause, but then smirked into his glass. "That I have shitty taste in women? But no, she's not terrible—she's a good friend, and was a decent wife. Just a shitty mother. Our son doesn't even recognize her as such. Never had since she'd left him on Darkley's doorstep without a word. Or even a note. Nothing."

"She did that?" The stranger's voice was gruff albeit quiet. "Why?"

"Not for a good reason," Garmadon sneered. "But it was the reason why I divorced her irresponsible ass. I couldn't condone her behavior." Come to think of it, it may have been a blessing in disguise that Lloyd broke that potion bottle and had bypassed his teenage years and slipped onto the edge of adulthood. He may've had to fight her for custody over him. Then again…no he wouldn't have.

"And where were you?"

Garmadon downed his glass. Fuck all. "Imprisoned. There was nothing I could do. Not until much later."

The scarred stranger followed his example. "Shit happens, man. That's just life." His tone was very somber. But then, like whiplash, he gave a hearty laugh and slapped Garmadon on the back. "But hey! That was then and this is now! These are our twilight years, Garmy! Won't be long now before our spirits ascend to the Great Beyond! We can't waste the time we have left!"

Garmadon froze. Garmy…? His mind flashed again. A distant memory was pushing against his headache, causing obstinate pain. Why…? Why does that…name…feel so familiar…? For a precious moment, hazel-green eyes blinked back at him. Vibrant and alive. And Garmadon…had always found such eyes to be very, very beautiful. Then just like that…the image of those eyes in his mind were gone.

"Hey? Garmadon? Still with me?"

In a blind panic, Garmadon snapped his gaze to the man beside him. Scarred. A heavily scarred face. The eyes. Blind, milky white. And vermillion. Not hazel-green. Not eyes like fallen leaves against a dawning sun. Garmadon blinked. Where did that come from? He knew he could hold his liquor, but damn. Where the hell did that come from?

The aged Master of Darkness fought for his usual control and composure. "Yes. I…I'm fine." He got the words out as evenly as he could and swallowed. "What? Did you say something?"

The scarred man took no offense and repeated: "I said, I bet you wished you had some sushi with that? Wanna go grab some grub?"

"What?" Garmadon was flabbergasted for a second until he frowned and shook his head. He didn't know this man, and certainly didn't feel comfortable enough to have…breakfast? Brunch? He didn't know what time it was. Or how long he's been sitting here drinking and wallowing. But anyway, he wasn't going to eat with him. "No," he said firmly. "Thank you for the invitation, but I must decline. I should be heading back to my room."

He wouldn't be surprised if Wu spent the entire day with Misako. Or at least until they got word on either Jay and Cole or the expedition. Which meant, he'd have that entire dark space to himself while he waited. Joy. Just thinking about it made him want to forgo his responsible conduct and drink himself into a stupor, so that he'd more than likely pass out upon arrival of he and his clan's temporary domicile.

But no. Honor and all that shit.

Sometimes he envied Wu's pristine whiteness and holier-than-thou persona. Because it wasn't a false pretense or anything. His brother really was a decent, pure, and kind person. There wasn't a maleficent bone in his body. Not like Garmadon, who had plenty of dark thoughts to go around. Like before, when he had actually accused Misako of infidelity after Lloyd was born and his crimson eyes had gazed upon his newborn son's platinum blond hair. They had denied his accusations, of course, and Wu even had to remind him that their father had platinum blond hair too. It was just in their genes. Misako also had a few blond relatives in her family tree. But nonetheless, Garmadon's suspicions hadn't ceased and he had demanded a blood test be done in order to prove Lloyd was his.

Which he was.

However, Garmadon would never forget the look of utter distain on Misako's face when her blood was drawn. But again, the Master of Light—his precious and holy younger brother, had defended his mindset by blaming the Great Devourer venom coursing through his veins and feeding into his negativity. And Garmadon never bothered to correct him. The madness hadn't begun to take over him until much later. He was very much lucid during that ordeal.

"So what does that make you…?"

No. No, it wasn't all Misako's fault. She had stood beside him, steadfast and loving, during the early years of their marriage. But he wasn't the easiest person to get along with back then (or now really). He always felt off and distressed, and worst still—belligerent. In truth, when Lloyd was born, he started caring more about him than her. And maybe Misako sensed that. She was no fool, after all. And maybe…she just didn't want to raise his child. And definitely not alone either. Maybe he had a bigger hand in their failed marriage than he had originally thought.

Maybe it was mostly his fault.

She should've chosen Wu at the beginning.

And maybe she finally realized that.

Garmadon's mood was darkening. And it was only getting worse when he searched the plentiful sleeve of his kimono and couldn't find his wallet. That didn't make any sense! He always kept it on his person. That's when he remembered that he had changed clothes before leaving the Bounty to weather the ferocious storm in New Ninjago City. In his haste, he had forgotten to grab his wallet from his previous kimono jacket.

Unbelievable… Garmadon groaned and placed his face in his hands. Perhaps he could pay her some other way—

"Well, okay. If you're sure," the scarred stranger sighed, his disappointment apparent. But then, "Oi! Pretty bar-flower, what's my tab? And I'll take care of Garmadon's as well."

For the second time, the stranger got Garmadon to whirl around and face him in disbelief. "What? No! Absolutely not! I cannot allow you to do that."

"And why not?" The scarred man countered as Maggie made her way back over. He took a puff from his kiseru. "It's my money and I can do what I want with it."

Garmadon frowned. "While that is most certainly true, I still must refuse your generosity."

"And why is that?" The scarred man continued to challenge. "Can you give me a legit reason? Because propriety and shit doesn't hold water here."

"Because then I would owe you a debt," Garmadon growled. "And I do not like owing anyone."

The other man considered him for a moment, his kiseru balanced delicately between his long, wrapped fingers. Overall, he seemed unperturbed by Garmadon's intimidating aura. Most likely because he could exude one himself if he truly wanted. But he continued to not exude anything. Scentless and Scarred. That was all.

Maggie looked uncertainly between the two men before sliding a slip of paper towards the scarred one. "¥22,400 for you, Sir." She then slid one over to Garmadon. "And ¥9,919 for you."

Garmadon always had a phenomenal poker face. But this time, he couldn't withhold the twitch of his eyebrow. And it didn't help that the scarred vagabond was staring at him so intensely, face eerily blank. But then, once again, like he had some type of weird bipolar disorder, he smiled cheekily and reached into his own plentiful sleeve and removed his wallet—a slick gunmetal leather billfold. He produced five ¥10,000 notes and slapped them on the counter in front of Maggie.

It was more than enough for his and Garmadon's tab. But before Garmadon could lift his shoulders in defense, the scarred man spoke over him. "As promised, a pretty penny for you, bar-flower." He then popped Garmadon's personal bubble once more and leaned in close to his ear, away from an overjoyed Maggie. "You can't pay. Just accept it. Pride isn't a good reason either."

And with that, the scarred stranger moved away. Within a few strides, he rounded a corner and disappeared from Garmadon's sight. The aged master barely thought about what he was doing, only gave a bow of farewell to Maggie and dashed after the man. Leaving the lobby, he entered the connecting hallway. In the blank white space of pristine blandness, as was the Honeycomb's décor, the scarred stranger was easy to spot—already on the opposite end of the hallway.

"Wait!" Garmadon called, rushing forward when the other man gave pause. He had moved so swiftly and quietly, with such practiced ease that it had enthralled the Grandmaster! Just who was this man? Garmadon was intrigued. Nevermind how he had discovered his inability to pay. The scarred stranger had undergone meticulous training, and Garmadon was determined to find out from who. "If the invitation still stands…I would like to join you for breakfast."

"Huh?" The scarred stranger glanced back at him from over his shoulder, the kiseru now hanging from his lips. Gods, his hair was even longer than he thought! The waves of salt and pepper cascaded even past his waist! How fortunate of him to be an elderly man and still retain such beautiful, healthy hair. The black haori he adorned was elongated as well, nearly touching the floor, but tattered just as badly as the hem of his pants.

The man turned to face him and Garmadon approached him with calm purpose. "I have a meal ticket, so—"

"Keep your meal ticket. I will feed you. Meal tickets should only be used when you are hungry and must eat, not to oblige somebody else."

Garmadon shut his mouth and stared headlong into the scarred stranger's dual-colored irises. They were relatively the same height. "Obligation?"

"That's what this is, isn't it? You're doing me a favor by spending a little time with me." Garmadon opened his mouth. "And you're right." He closed it again, and the scarred man smiled softly. "I would be very honored to have such a gorgeous man dine with me. If only for a short while."

Garmadon stood stock-still. He wasn't blushing. He wasn't. It was impossible!

He was…

He frowned through it, however, and eyed the man. "I am not a homosexual."

For once, within their brief interactions, the tables were turned and it was the stranger's turn to gape at Garmadon is utter disbelief. But just when his kiseru was about to fall from his mouth, he broke out into a wide grin and started laughing. Garmadon's frown only deepened. "Whoa! Where did that come from?" The scarred man chuckled. "You do know that a guy can call another guy 'gorgeous' without it being sexual, right? The same with women?"

No, he didn't know that! And he sure as hell wasn't going to admit either! He was never one to go around appraising people by their physical appearances. Women or man. The concept of beauty was entirely subjective anyway, so what was the point? Misako had always looked nice and pleasant to him, which he thought was good. He never once called her beautiful or gorgeous.

The only time he had ever used the term "beautiful" had been—the vision of hazel-green eyes suddenly flooded his mind's eye.

"Hey, Garmy…"

The voice had been so sweet and deep. Garmadon blinked, his heart beginning to pound. "I…I see…" he uttered and cleared his throat, his blush dissipating. "As long as you know."

The scarred stranger graced him with a lop-sided smile, stepped aside, and extended his arm. Garmadon soon fell into step beside him. "Oh, and brunch."

"What?"

"It's after 10AM. It's brunch not breakfast."

"I see."

"You're adorable."

Garmadon wondered if it was too late to go back to his room.

Author's Note: Please leave your thoughts and tell me how you all are doing!