Author's note: This chapter is dedicated to the astonishingly dedicated Azerty who without fail, has continuously left me kind reviews in spite of the lack of a response because I am unfortunately unable to message them my thanks. Your words humble me and I hope that I can continue to do this story justice. The fact that you have stayed with me from the very beginning is something I never expected but that I am truly grateful for.

I see in my demographic there are a large percentage of readers who may be reading this with English as a second language and I wish to express my gratitude for your patronage. I only hope that the feeling and passion I put into the writing can be easily translatable in all forms. I know that the feelings and trials the characters face are things that, no matter what language we speak, are familiar to us all.

Lastly I wish to express that I understand the controversial and sensitive nature of the topics that I handle in creating this work and I deeply apologise for any offence I may cause in the areas I am less familiar with. I assure you that it is never my wish to do so. To quote Azerty, a storm is indeed coming. I hope we can weather it as a team.

Jay

"Come on Ivo, we have to go," Tim whined at me as we stood in the deodorant section of the shop. I knew that it made no sense to shop in this order because it was the last thing on my list but it was the first thing in the store. Tim wasn't wearing any shoes I noticed and I frowned at him. He was always doing things like this. He either left his keys or his wallet and now he had left his shoes. The last time this happened it had been a complete and utter nightmare. Maybe I should buy some superglue while we are here and then once he is asleep I can glue them on so he can't lose them again. Or I could put string on them and make shoe mittens. Shoe mittens? Actually that seems like a terrible idea.

I was annoyed. Now before we left we would have to go all the way back to the theater and find his shoes which no doubt somebody had moved by now. They'd be hidden in the depths of some lost and found bin in the back room and we would have to wade through dozens of other miscellany to retrieve them. Why can't he be more self aware?

"Tim," I chided. "I told you to make sure you had everything with you!"

He went a little pink then, that angelic light dusting of crimson across cheekbones that you wouldn't believe. He averted his gaze and picked at his fingernails in a very feminine fashion whilst he scanned his eyes along the many choices of deodorant.

"What one are you going to pick? I'm never any good at deciding," he warned me and I smiled. I could never stay mad at him for long. He never really let me. He was always armed with a witty remark of a cheeky grin.

"Probably one with vanilla in it," I pondered aloud. I'd always liked the smell of vanilla. My mother has always had vanilla candles in little holders placed in the front room. It was the special room; the one that was so very rarely used that our parents decided to fill it with expensive items and prized furnishings in order to ensure that it would continue to be rarely used. They really had no mind for practicality in any sense of the word. Isabel and I were always being scolded for being in the room, especially when we were caught lighting the candled. Had we no sense? Did we not listen to the many lectures and warnings about using matches unsupervised. Isabel had urged me to be the one to do it because she was afraid she would light herself on fire.

The shop was growing very warm now and I could see small beads of sweat forming on Tim's brow. He gave a heavy sigh which turned into him panting.

"Ivo," he said anxiously. "Ivo, it's too hot. I can't breathe," he panted as he sank to his knees, pulling at the buttons on his shirt as his cheeks turned magenta. His hand reached out to steady himself on the floor and my heart thumped madly as I dropped down beside him.

"Tim," I said. "Stay calm okay. I just have to put the money into the jar and then we'll be okay!"

Where was that damn jar? It always used to sit in the kitchen, ready to be filled when Isabel or I had done something bad and now the damn thing was too high up on one of the deodorant shelves. Had they been that high when we first came here? The heat must have made them expand.

"Ivo," Tim cried out as he lay on the ground struggling to breathe. "Please, just go. The aerosols," he pleaded. "They're flammable!"

I knew he was right but I had to reach the jar or else he wouldn't be able to come with me and then I would have one too many pairs of shoes. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to find Isabel watching me with her wide eyes beneath a full fringe. Had she always had her hair like that? It didn't look like her. It looked more like the head of school at the University but I knew it was her.

"Thank god," I exhaled. "Isabel, can you reach the jar up there; the naughty jar," I reminded her. She looked at me like I had gone mad. There was an indeterminate space between us and all around the shelves seemed to have no specifics. No brands or labels. I knew what they were though. I realised that I was standing when I didn't recall leaving Tim's side.

"Issy," I pleaded.

She rolled her eyes and pulled something from her pocket. A lighter. Oh God.

"Issy?"

Slowly her arm extended out to the row of cans on the shelves and the flame licked at the side, singeing the plastic shelving around it and causing the black, shiny metal to hiss mirthlessly. I tried to move, to call out; to do anything but all I could do was watch as the can exploded violently; a trail of fire in its wake that didn't seem to touch me even though I was right in its path. Isabel was gone and the only people that seemed to remain in the shop were Tim and myself. Everyone had evacuated years ago, it said so in the papers.

He sat calmly on the ground as the flames jumped and danced around him. Making him aware of their intentions but never quite following through on their promise. He looked at me then and I felt a tight, constricting force in my chest. Like all the air in the whole world were available to everyone else except me. His eyes shone with tears that he had been repressing since he was born and he was gently holding a cigarette into the flames despite the fact that they were catching on his sleeve.

"Why didn't you just go," he yelled at me in anger as the tears began to flow. "Then at least one of us could have been happy!"

I sat down on the ground to face him but something was keeping me from reaching him.

"It's not me that's doing it Ivo," he answered my inward confusion. "The barrier is on your side. You could reach me if you want but you prefer to keep me here because then you can try to be the hero or maybe you just don't like me. Whatever."

I felt hurt then. Why would I want to sit here and watch him burn because of me and my sister? Did he think I was getting some sort of kick from this, watching as his shirt began to blacken at the cuffs and his hair became matted and damp?

He gave a soft cough then and he smirked at the cigarette in his hand.

"At least I get to die doing what I love," he said theatrically and it made me want to throw things at him.

"So you're just going to leave me here, to clean up this mess and get on with my pathetic life?"

He shrugged; his trademark shrug that encompasses all of his youth, his beauty and his unspoiled tenderness. It's casual and nonchalant.

"It's not exactly pathetic though, is it Ivo? I mean, not now that you have a steady job and a nice place and that fancy car."

I blinked at him. Had that been my father's voice? Had I imagined that?

"You sound just like my father," I said shakily. He nodded.

"Well obviously, it's practically Freudian, Ivo. We are sexually attracted to people who remind us of our parents. Everyone knows that," he said with a roll of his eyes. The flames were all around him now and he winced a little in spite of himself.

"But my father hated me," I said sadly. "He said he was ashamed of me. He was going to cut me off except that Isabel persuaded him not to and was obsessed with money and objects," I ranted but Tim wasn't properly listening. Just smirking his silly little smirk.

"I wonder if I'd met him would I have shagged him. I could start a collection," he grinned.

"You don't mean that."

"How do you know?"

I stood then.

"Fine. If you want to burn, then burn. I'm not going to stay here with you when you're being like this," I said huffily.

You said something then that stopped me in a way that nothing before had.

"But this is the last way I'll be. There is no after. Not if you leave."

You seemed so philosophical then. Like the caterpillar from that terrible Alice in Wonderland film you had forced me to watch, smoking and blowing rings around me that blended with the smoke of the fire.

"I don't have anyone else," you said suddenly. As if the thought had only just occurred to you which I know for a fact isn't the truth. You're all too aware that you're alone. At least I have a sister; and my mother I suppose. Quite a few people really. You smiled at me a little pleadingly and I reached out my hand. Your reached out too and we were there completely and entirely for just a moment. Each wondering what it took to breach the barrier.

"Ivo," you whispered. I felt your fingers fit neatly between mine. You kissed me softly, a gentle hum escaping you.

"Ivo," you say tauntingly. I smirk as I clench your t-shirt in my fists. Hadn't you been wearing a dress shirt?

I open my eyes and Tim is looking at me with a worried expression.

"Ivo, are you alright?"

"Just a dream," I mutter as I pull him closer. He cuddles into me and my stomach twists as he locks his fingers in mine.

Please don't ever let go.