Notes: This story is illustrated. Come read it on Archive of our Own or Tumblr under the same title and username if you'd like to read with illustrations.

[Chapter 1, Scene 1: Blue Skies]

Mugman always found Isle 1 the most beautiful island in all of Inkwell Isles.

Many people these days prefer to live on Isle 3, where the city continues to flourish with culture and innovation. Having lived there for seven years, Mugman does hold a special affection for the city, but something about Isle 1 had always called to an empty little space in his soul.

Something in the way the grass tickles his feet, in the way he follows the butterflies in the fields… it all comes to tell him one thing.

I used to live here.

Still, the knowledge is not enough to reveal more of his past. Countless inquiries about the people who used to live there lead to nowhere. The people that found him had practically bled their resources dry trying to find his family but everyone had told them the same thing.

No one on Isle 1, or all of Inkwell Isles, had reported a missing child.

He was abandoned.

It doesn't hurt much. Not anymore. Mugman thanks his lucky stars every night for having been found by the kindest people he knows in Inkwell- his newfound family.

Despite the bitterness he should feel, Mugman still adores the tranquility of Isle 1, and delights in every chance he has to come here. Thankfully, his job makes that an almost weekly occurrence.

"So how's the shop going?"

Cagney emerges from the trees, arms laden with a basket of freshly plucked flowers. Mugman looks up, broken from his thoughts, and takes the basket from him with a smile.

"It's doing well, just like always," he replies, "If you'd come visit like I keep asking you to, you might not have to keep asking me that."

Cagney grimaces, much like Mugman expects, and waves his words away, "And have to deal with all that noise, smoke, and people? Why would I ever voluntarily choose that over this?" He gestures around his garden.

Mugman rolls his eyes, "Cagney, you know I love this place as much as you do- sorry, almost- but aren't you even a little bit curious? There's so many things in the city I know you haven't seen yet, and I just know it'd help you with your garden. You could come up with new types of flowers, or ways to help them grow even better!"

"That's what I have you and Doris for, isn't it?"

"Well, don't you want to experience it for yourself?"

"If I wanted to deal with all that, you'd be out of a job Mugman. Plus, I get enough of this argument from that busybody bee every time she deigns to visit," Cagney grunts, his thorns popping out and back in like a bird with ruffled feathers. Still, he bends down and curls his stem around the tree Mugman is sitting in, allowing him to see Cagney eye-to-eye without craning his neck all day and getting cramps. It's a familiar gesture, one that Mugman has grown to realize shows Cagney's unspoken trust and affection for him, and he feels warmth settle in his chest.

Sometimes, Mugman thinks they must have been friends before he lost his memory. But just like everyone else in Inkwell, Cagney hadn't recognized him at all.

"You know I could just work in the boutique with my family, Cagney," Mugman reminds him, patting down the petal closest to his arm as Cagney grumbles under his hand, "It's not like they'd reject the extra help."

"Please, you know they'd just pay you to model clothes for them all day, and we both know how much you love doing that."

Mugman flushes, "I never said I hated it. I wear what they make, don't I?"

Cagney leans up and makes a show of studying his clothes, "You mean to tell me you wear that entire getup out in the city? You don't just wear it here in the backwoods out of shame?" He sniggers as Mugman pouts and jokingly hits his arm.

"Can it, buster. You really want me to tell Aunt Doris what you've been saying about her clothes?" Mugman teases.

As expected, Cagney shudders, "No thank you. Spores, you're becoming more of a little spitfire lately. You'd think after seeing less of that punk, you'd turn back to that sweet little angel you were as a kid."

Mugman's pout deepens, and gets just a bit fiercer, "He's not a punk."

The atmosphere between them shifts as Cagney realizes his mistake. He groans, "Christ, Mugman. I don't want to have this conversation again. We both know how I feel about your boyfriend."

"Really? Because every time he comes up in conversation, it seems like you always have something negative to say about him." Cagney breathes in at the sour notes coloring Mugs' voice, leaning back up to stare sternly at him.

"Well can you blame me? He works at the Devil's nightclub for Pete's sake. The Devil, Mugs! I'm sure your family's already told you all the horror stories, but they don't come close to the real thing. Anyone voluntarily working for him can't be in their right mind!"

"Uncle Don always goes to the nightclub."

Cagney rolls his eyes, "Of course he does."

Mugman sighs, leaving his perch to lessen the height difference between him and Cagney.

"I know Cagney. I don't want to have this conversation either, but you have to understand me too. I hear what people have to say about him all the time in the city, and so does he! He won't even let us be seen on a date together in public because he doesn't want to ruin my reputation, but gosh darn it, I'm getting pretty sick of having to hide my steady!" Mugman throws his hands up, "Maybe for once in my life, I'd like to be able to hold his hand without getting sneered at by a couple of judgey old fogeys and Mrs. Grundys whose husbands are probably off doing worse things behind their backs!"

Losing steam, he sags against the tree, "It's just... He's a good guy Cagney, and I wish all of you would see that."

After a modest pause, Cagney gently pats the rim of his head, "I hear you, Mugman," He leans back down and meets his eyes, "For what it's worth, I can see he does treat you right. Heck, only a complete dimwit wouldn't be able see how dizzy he is with you. I know your family knows this, and that's all they need to know to support you two together. I oughta be able to do the same thing."

Knowing this is the closest he'll get to an apology, Mugman beams and affectionately bumps his nose against his, "Thanks, Cagney."

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't tell him I ever said any of that, you hear?"

A small shriek echoes in the distance, drawing away Cagney's attention.

"What was that?" Mugman asks worriedly.

"Sounds like one of Goopy's little nudniks are messing with the seedlings again," Cagney grits his teeth, now razor sharp like the thorns suddenly adorning his body, "I'll be back."

"Do you need any help?"

"No, this'll be quick," Cagney unfurls his body and begins to slither back into the woods, his petals sharply flowing back from the movement like a lion's mane. Mugman can only hope Goopy's nephews haven't seriously hurt Cagney's. Lord knows they don't need their uncle spending days as a tombstone again.

Mugman is debating whether he should just follow or not when hands suddenly cover his eyes, followed by a playful voice that makes him giggle and smile.

"Guess who?"