#Mc POV#
The next morning, Mom woke everyone up early so we could "redo" what was supposed to be my birthday. Alex's little prank had completely ruined the mood—and my appetite.
As they set up decorations and placed wrapped gifts on the table, I took in my surroundings. To my right stood the autumn-brown front door, with three locks stacked neatly in the middle and two latches positioned to hold a wooden plank across it. I wondered why it was built that way but kept the thought to myself.
If you opened it, you'd find a hallway leading to a spiral staircase that wound down to Dad's restaurant, Waverly Place. I always thought it was strange that the place hadn't been hit with a lawsuit, considering the street we lived on shared the same name. But somehow, it had stayed open. Business had its slow days, sure, but customers always came back.
Dead center in front of me sat our bulky, outdated television—nothing like the sleek flat screens I remembered from my other life. Just beyond it, to my immediate right, was the kitchen: modest, yet polished. The same kitchen where I'd watched Mom cook breakfast a thousand times.
At its center stood the red marble counter, bold and eye-catching. A constant in a world that still felt off to me.
I was lost in thought when my little sister—only a year younger—plopped down beside me on the couch.
"So, how are you feeling now? You're nine years old and still have the stomach of a baby," she teased, her voice dripping with mockery.
I didn't respond.
She glanced at me, then let out an exaggerated sigh. "Justin, I'm sorry for what I did," she muttered, her tone softening. Guilt flickered in her eyes. "I thought it'd be funny, but I guess I shouldn't have pranked you on your birthday."
She hesitated, then met my gaze seriously. "Do you think you could ever forgive me?"
I stared at her, surprised. This was a different side of Alex—mature, almost. Whether it was because of the memories still rattling in my head or the life I'd lived here, I couldn't say. She was just a kid, trying to be funny. Trying to get attention. This prank? It was nothing. But I knew she'd do it again.
I took a moment, then made my decision.
"Yeah, I forgive you," I said. "But since it's my birthday, I get a prank-free pass. I get to prank you once, and you can't get me back. Not for at least a month. Deal?"
A look of frustration flashed across her face.
Alex groaned, slumping dramatically into the couch cushions like I'd just announced a month-long grounding. "Ugh, fine. But if you put ketchup in my shampoo again, I swear I'm switching it with Dad's hot sauce."
I snorted. "Noted. But I've leveled up since last time." I gave her a smug look. "Nine years old, remember? Practically a mastermind now."
She rolled her eyes. "Just don't involve bugs. That's where I draw the line."
I was about to reply when the warm scent of cinnamon drifted from the kitchen—Mom's birthday pancakes. The kind with melted chocolate chips inside and whipped cream piled high.
She caught my eye from the stove and smiled, flipping a pancake with the ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times. A small balloon floated by the counter, bobbing gently on its string, brushing against the red marble surface. It was oddly comforting, that splash of red in a world that sometimes felt too strange to be real.
Alex leaned in, nudging me with her shoulder. "You thinking about something bad again? You've been doing that a lot lately."
My breath caught for a second. She'd never asked me that before. Not really. Not seriously.
I guess it was too obvious.
I shrugged. "Kinda hard not to, sometimes," I muttered. "Things here feel… real. But not real real—y'know?"
The words came out more cryptic than I'd intended.
She nodded. "Yeah. But hey… you've got pancakes, presents, and me. So it's not all bad."
I gave a crooked smile. "You forgot the prank immunity."
"Oh, right," she said, rolling her eyes again. "The greatest gift of all."
Mom called out then, her voice full of forced cheer: "Birthday boy, come blow out your candle!"
I stood up slowly, feeling the moment stretch like warm taffy. This world may not have been the one I was born in—but it was the one I was in now.
Weird doors, prankster sisters, and all.
And maybe… that wasn't such a bad thing.
I smiled quietly as they all gathered around as I was making my way toward the countertop. Before anyone else could start, Alex surprisingly took the lead.
"In a one and a step, in a one, two, three, four… Happy birthday to you…" she began, her voice clear and confident. The others quickly joined in, their voices blending together, warm and full of love.
They were all looking at me—so much happiness, so much joy. It overwhelmed me in a way I wasn't prepared for.
As if… I didn't deserve it.
In this life, I was just a kid. I had lived a relatively innocent life. And yet, since yesterday—since those memories came flooding back—I wasn't sure if I felt like a kid anymore. I felt older. Much older than I should be.
And I knew I deserved this moment. This love. But at the same time… it wasn't technically me who felt that way. Or maybe it was. Just a different version of me.
I hadn't even noticed the tears slipping down my cheeks.
Beneath the counter, where no one could see, I silently clenched my fist.
I wasn't the one who did those… things. I wasn't the one who sold drugs. Who murdered. Who killed like it was nothing.
Yet, somehow, I felt like I was.
Because technically, it was me.
But it didn't matter anymore. I had to accept it for what it was. That life—that past—was far away now. Much farther away than the past should feel.
What mattered was here.Them.
And I promised myself—I wouldn't take this for granted.
"Justin, make a wish," Maxine said. Her voice was bright with joy for me, though her eyes remained equally fixed on the cake.
I chuckled dryly, glancing around at everyone before turning back to the cake. As I moved closer, I silently made my wish.
I wish for this life to be happy. For this family to never be apart. For Alex—mischievous gremlin that she is—to always be my rock, my soft, bright sun breaking through my storm clouds. For the me in the past to find peace in knowing that, in this life, no matter how different we may be… for once, we have a place to call home.
A Waverly Place.
More tears slipped down my cheeks, unstoppable now, as I blew out the nine candles atop the cake.
Everyone clapped—none louder than Alex.
Dad began cutting slices for after breakfast, and as the chatter filled the room, Mom stepped beside me. She placed a gentle hand on my back, her voice soft with concern.
"Honey… why are you crying? Are you okay?"
"Yeah… yeah, I'm alright. Just got something in my eye," I said quickly, looking up at her for only a second before dropping my gaze again. I wiped at my tears, trying to make it seem casual.
When I looked back up, I let my eyes linger on everyone for a moment. Just taking them in. Then I turned back to Mom.
"I just… love you guys. That's all."
A brief silence settled, warm and full. Then, before the moment could stretch too long, I cleared my throat and forced a grin.
"So… about those presents?" I said, grinning.
Laughter filled the room as Maxine and Alex tackled me into a bear hug.
"We love you too!" they chimed in unison, squeezing the air right out of me.
Dad watched with an amused smirk while Mom stepped beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"The presents can wait," she declared. "Family hug!"
Before we could protest, they joined in, making what was already tight even tighter.
As the last bit of oxygen left my lungs, Maxine croaked, "Please… air…"
Alex, equally trapped, wheezed, "No more… release me…"
With what little air I had left, I forced out, "Man… Woman… let go."
Mom and Dad exchanged exasperated looks before finally taking the hint and releasing us from their bear-trap hug.
As I took deep, desperate breaths, I wheezed, "Y'all did that on purpose."
They shared a glance—matching grins of success.
Dad crossed his arms, looking down at us smugly. "Y'all aren't the only ones who can pull a good prank," he said, almost proudly, as he leaned back on his chair.
Alex, still catching her breath, shot him a glare. "That wasn't a prank… that was borderline abuse," she muttered, shuddering dramatically.
Dad, looking even more smug, shrugged. "Considering what you guys have pulled, take this as a little payback. Besides, it wasn't that bad, you bunch of ba—"
Before he could finish, Maxine and Alex—without a word, without hesitation—kicked the chair right out from under him.
Thud.
"Ouch."
Mom glanced at all of us, her years of experience as a parent kicking in. She took one look at Dad sprawled on the floor, sighed, and decided not to acknowledge it.
"Alright," Mom said smoothly, clapping her hands together. "I think it's time for presents."
Wasting no time, I grabbed a plate of pancakes and made my way to the couch, Alex and Maxine right beside me. Mom started bringing the gifts over one by one, her focus fully on the task at hand.
Meanwhile, Dad—still sprawled on the floor, still thoroughly ignored—groaned. "Come on, guys… a little help… please?"
Silence.
Alex casually picked up a forkful of pancake. Maxine inspected her nails. I pretended not to hear.
Dad let out a dramatic sigh. "Unbelievable."
Mom, without looking up, simply said, "You had that one coming, dear."
Meanwhile, Alex—entirely unbothered and fully committed to stuffing her face—shoveled another bite of pancake into her mouth. Then, without even pausing to chew properly, she held out a forkful toward me.
"Want some?" she mumbled through a mouthful.
I stared at her, then at the syrup-dripping bite hovering way too close to my face.
"...I'm literally holding my own plate," I said flatly.
She shrugged, popping the bite into her mouth instead. "Suit yourself."
Mom walked over, a bubblegum-colored box in her hands, and placed it in front of me. Then, as if conjuring it from thin air, she pulled out a camera.
"Alright," she said, adjusting the lens. "When I say go, open the first one."
She paused dramatically.
"Go."
…
After tearing through my birthday gifts, the couch was a mess of wrapping paper, ribbons and boxes.
Dad—who had finally gotten up a while ago—surveyed the mess with the tired eyes of a man who saw his Saturday slipping away. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a couple of trash bags in hand.
"You're lucky, Alex," he said, tossing one of the bags in her direction. "I ought to have you do all of it. But not this time. Later." He started handing out bags like some kind of grumpy holiday elf. "Let's get to cleaning. Except you, Justin—you're off duty today."
As Mom quietly made her way to the kitchen to start on the dishes, I gathered my plate and a few others, heading over to help.
Behind me, I heard Alex chime in, overly sweet. "I'll help pick up the trash… oh, would you look at that—the first piece!"
There was a dramatic fwip as she shook open the bag and flung it over Dad's head like a net.
I didn't even flinch. I just copied Mom's tactic from earlier and acted like it wasn't happening.
Walking over to her by the sink, I handed her the plates. She gave me a knowing smile, like we were both in on the same unspoken joke.
I smiled back before heading off to gather the rest of the dishes, bringing them to Mom as she washed. I packed up the leftovers, tucking them neatly into the fridge, then wiped my hands on a towel.
Feeling the weight of the morning settle as noon made itself known, I wandered over to the balcony, opening the door and stepping outside.
Leaning against the railing, I let my eyes drift over the city below. Pigeons darted through the air, swooping down like tiny winged thieves to snatch food from unsuspecting pedestrians. A businessman, too busy with his phone to notice, got an unfortunate plop of pigeon karma in his hair.
On the corner, a guy in a pink bandana danced to hip-hop, completely in his own world, his movements sharp and fluid against the chaotic rhythm of the city.
This is New York, I thought. This is my life. Not anyone else's.
I let that thought settle, grounding myself in it.
Then I looked up.
I heard a slight, quiet crack—sharp and delicate, like the sound of a window splintering —not all at once—slowly—over years—one fracture at a time.
Then everything went dark. And silent.
I wasn't on the balcony anymore.
I stood on what felt like the top of a mountain—or at least, that was my first guess. The ground beneath me was uneven and rough, the air colder, thinner. A biting breeze brushed past my face.
But I couldn't see far. Thick fog curled around me like smoke, swallowing everything more than a few feet away. The sky above was a dull gray, no sun, no stars—just an endless ceiling of cloud.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
I turned slowly, trying to get my bearings, heart beating a little faster now. Wherever I was, it wasn't part of the world I'd just been in. Not Waverly Place. Not even close.
I wasn't sure what to do. What to think.
My breath came quicker, shallower. My chest tightened as panic clawed its way up my throat. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it against my ribs.
I was losing it.
Right before I tipped over the edge, a thought cut through the chaos—small, but enough to grab onto.
How would he have reacted?
The thought steadied me, just a little. Just enough to keep me from completely unraveling.
Every instinct screamed at me to freeze, to stay rooted in place. But when I forced myself to think—to really think—about his experiences, I realized there was only one thing I could do.
I took a step.
And the second I did—
The air shifted.
Voices.
Soft at first, barely noticeable. Whispering from the fog.
"Hello, Jocelyn..."
BOOM!
A deafening crack split the silence—like thunder, but closer. Like something had snapped in the sky itself… An explosion.
A long, low howl followed, stretching through the mist like a ghostly echo.
More whispers layered over each other, overlapping, indistinct. But one thing stood out.
"We… Valentine… Occupied."
The words slithered into my ears, cold and unfamiliar. More and more voices came, layering over each other—whispers, murmurs, echoes. Most were too low, too muffled to understand. But they were getting louder.
Louder.
Then—
A scream.
"LUCIAN!"
The name rang out, sharp and desperate.
And then—nothing.
Everything went dead silent.
The kind of silence that makes your skin crawl. The kind that feels wrong.
Then, gently, like a single musical note breaking the stillness—
A baby's cry.
"Waaaa."
Soft. Fragile. Alone.
The sound sent a chill down my spine.
Then, even quieter—so faint I almost thought I imagined it—
"…Fairchild…"
Everything went silent again.
Tired of the fear creeping up my chest, tired of standing frozen in uncertainty, I forced myself to move.
I listened—to the instincts, the memories of my past life. Let them guide me.
I took a step.
Then another.
And another.
Until I came upon a drop.
A void.
Darker than anything else around me. It wasn't just an absence of light—it was deeper than that. Like looking into a place that had never known light at all.
The voices came back.
No longer whispers. No longer muffled.
Screaming.
Four, maybe five—distinct but chaotic. They weren't speaking any language I knew. Weren't speaking a language at all.
But I understood.
"LET US OUT!"
"RUN! You shouldn't be here. You aren't ready."
"MALICE! KILL. DEATH TO ALL."
"Don't let them out, child!"
"TOO YOUNG!"
And then—
All of them. Speaking at once. Together and separate. A chorus of something old, something angry, something wrong.
"WE WILL BE SET FREE."
"WE WILL BE RELEASED FROM THIS ACCURSED CAGE."
"WE WILL—"
"JUSTIN!"
Hands gripped my shoulders.
The world lurched.
The darkness was gone. The voices were gone.
I was back.
Standing on the balcony.
Looking at the sky.
I was shaking. Sweating. Almost wheezing.
I turned my head and saw Alex.
Her hands on my shoulders. Eyes wide with worry.
"Justin, what the hell was that?"
She asked in a way that sounded more like a demand than a question.
Taking several deep breaths, grounding myself in the moment, I met her eyes and asked, "What was what?"
She looked at me like I'd just spoken a different language—completely appalled that we weren't on the same page.
"Justin," she said, her voice tight with worry, "you've been out here staring at the sky for an hour."
I blinked. "An hour?"
She nodded slowly, her expression a mix of frustration and fear. "Yeah. When I came out here to check on you, you were shaking, grumbling—sweating like crazy. You looked... scared." She hesitated. "And you weren't responding. Like, at all. I thought something was seriously wrong."
Her eyes searched my face like she was still trying to find answers I hadn't said out loud.
"If you hadn't responded when I started shaking you, I was gonna grab Mom and Dad. Is everything okay?"
Her voice trembled, and though she tried to keep it together, I saw the faint glimmer of tears forming in her eyes. Barely noticeable—but they were there.
Holy—ah shit.
Whatever fear, confusion, or aftershock I still had left from that… whatever it was—it vanished. Like a snapped thread.
I turned around fully and wrapped my arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug.
"It's okay," I said softly, calmly. "I'm okay. No reason to cry. Everything's alright."
She didn't say anything at first—just pressed her head into my shoulder, her breath warm and shaky. I gently patted her head as she tried to pull herself back together.
Damn, I thought. She's just a kid. Of course something like that would mess with her.
I was just glad she hadn't called for anyone else.
After a quiet minute, she slowly leaned back, her face still red from holding in her emotions. She looked up at me with those serious, slightly narrowed eyes and stuck out her pinky.
"Pinky promise you're okay," she said, pouting.
I chuckled and locked mine with hers. "Promise. Nothing's wrong. No need to worry Mom and Dad, alright?"
She nodded, wiping the last of her tears away with her sleeve. "Okay… Jerk," she muttered, the insult soft but clearly her way of getting back to normal.
I smiled as she turned back toward the sky, her expression distant. I followed her gaze.
Nothing. Just the bright sun, glinting off the buildings in the distance.
What was that…?
Before I could even finish the thought—
SLAM!
The balcony door flew open behind us.
"Hey, come on guys, y'all been out here forever," Maxine called out, arms crossed, squinting against the light. "Did y'all start your own private club or what?"
They asked, the look on their face wounded—like we'd just betrayed them with the ultimate sin: exclusion.
Me and Alex looked at each other… and burst out laughing.
"No, no, we didn't," I said, trying to sound serious but failing miserably through the chuckles.
"And we wouldn't start one without you anyway," Alex added, nodding solemnly. "If there was a club, you'd totally be part of it."
We both looked at Maxine, trying to gauge if they bought it.
That slow, growing smile on their face said it all.
Crisis averted.
As the three of us chattered on about nothing and everything, heading back inside, I couldn't help but think back to what had just happened. That place—the voices, the fog, the black drop into nothing—it clawed at the edge of my thoughts.
My body started shaking again before I even noticed. Pure instinct.
Nope.
I made a choice right then: whatever that was, it could wait. I had plenty to think about already, and right now? I had more important things to focus on. Like the payback I owed Alex for her little birthday prank.
And honestly? Why stop at her?
Let's bring the whole family into this…
My lips curled into a devious grin. I started cackling like a cartoon villain, fingers twiddling together like I was plotting world domination.
Then—
"Justin, what are you doing?" Mom's voice rang out from upstairs.
I froze like I'd been caught red-handed by the FBI.
"Nothing!" I called back quickly, schooling my face into the most innocent expression I could manage.
Oof. That was way too close.
…But oh yeah.
This was going to be fun.
…
I had done it all perfectly.
It was already in motion. The kind of plan that would go down in the Hall of Fame of Household Shenanigans. They'd never see it coming. Not in a million years.
Let me walk you through the last three—no, four—hours.
I had escaped Alex and Maxine (which, frankly, deserved a medal on its own), told Mom and Dad I wanted to head out and spend a bit of the birthday money I got from relatives. They were hesitant at first, naturally, but hey—it was my birthday, I was the "oldest" (chronologically speaking), and "the most responsible." Their words. Not mine.
They gave in.
Big mistake.
Because what they didn't know was that every word, every innocent blink and polite smile… had been part of the master plan.
I made my way down to the one place that's been the root of chaos for generations of mischief-makers:
Tricks Emporium.
Let that name sink in for a second.
Tricks. Emporium.
Who names a store that? Someone brilliant, that's who.
The second I walked in, it was like being baptized in mayhem. Shelves stacked with prank kits, exploding gum, color-changing toothpaste, fake bugs, fart bombs, remote-controlled spiders—this place had everything.
The guy behind the counter looked like a cartoon magician who'd just retired from children's parties. Complete with a crooked top hat and a bow tie with little ducks on it. He took one look at me, grinned, and said:
"You look like you're on a mission."
"You have no idea," I replied.
He helped me narrow it all down—top-tier mischief, zero permanent damage, and just enough chaos to have everyone questioning their life choices for the next week.
I walked out of that store like a villain with a briefcase full of gadgets. Except the gadgets were fake poop, invisible ink, a small speaker that only plays dog noises, and a very convincing ketchup bottle that squirts string. With a little something extra that I will keep a secret for now.
Operation Payback was now officially in motion.
Target: Everyone.
Mission: Chaos.
Motive: Birthday Justice.
Let the games begin.
…
Everything had been planted.The operation was in full swing.All I needed now… was patience.
Mom was in the kitchen, making spaghetti—classic, comforting, the perfect bait. When she stepped out to grab something from the pantry, I made my move. A scoop here, a smear there. Strategic. Silent. Surgical.
This wasn't dinner…This was war.
Later, we all sat around the table like a totally normal, functional family. Bowls of spaghetti were steaming in front of each of us. Alex and Maxine were already halfway through theirs, completely unsuspecting. Mom and Dad were deep in some conversation about work—probably something boring and vaguely stressful.
I wasn't listening. I was scanning my targets like a general before the first cannon fires.
For a moment, I paused—really paused—and let the weight of it all hit me.
Why was I doing this?
Sure, Alex pranked me on my birthday. And yeah, it was embarrassing. But this? A full-blown tactical spaghetti assault with fake poop, barking speakers, and airborne marinara? This wasn't just a prank. This was a production.
And honestly? The more I thought about it… the less sense it made.
This wasn't normal kid stuff. It was too organized. Too precise. Too calculated.
I mean, yeah—I'm smart. Genius-level, apparently. Teachers say it. My parents joke about it. Even my friends throw around words like prodigy... Or at least they would if I had any friends... But this? This felt like something else. Something… beyond me.
And then it hit me.
The planning. The execution. The details.
It wasn't all me.
It was my other self.My past life.His memories. His instincts. His mind. Guiding mine.
I felt the spiraling start again—the fear, the confusion—pulling me back to that moment on the mountain. The voices. The fog. The screaming. That single word echoing in the dark.
"Fairchild."
And the baby crying.
It terrified me then.It still terrifies me now.
But instead of facing it… I pulled off the most chaotic, over-the-top prank I could think of. Because it was easier. It was a distraction.
I wasn't just acting like a child. I was one. But I was also something else—someone older. Someone who remembered pain. Death. War.
Someone who remembered fear.
I had used this prank as a shield. A moment of loud, ridiculous normalcy to block out the storm inside me.
Smack!
I heard the clinking of silverware, snapping me back to reality.
Then… it began.
Dad got up to grab something from the fridge. He returned with a brand-new bottle of ketchup.
My breath caught.
He twisted off the cap. Tilted.And out came nothing but red string.
He paused. Looked at the bottle. Then at us. Then back at the bottle.
His face said it all: Did anyone else just see that?
Oh, we saw it.
But he didn't have time to react—because as he took one confused step back—
SQUISH.
His face twisted in horror as he looked down.Dog poop. Fake, obviously—but real enough to earn a traumatized sock.
"What in the—"
Before he could finish, the barking began.
BARK. BARK BARK BARK!
From hidden Bluetooth speakers all around the room—under the table, behind the cereal boxes, inside the breadbox. It sounded like a kennel had been unleashed in our kitchen.
Maxine perked up. "Doggy?!"
Mom, confused, stood and looked around. "Wait… when did we get a dog?"
Dad muttered grimly, "We don't—"
SPLAT.
A clump of spaghetti flew across the room and smacked Dad square in the face.
Gasps. Silence.
Everyone turned to Alex.
"Alex!" Mom scolded.
"I didn't do it!" Alex threw up her hands.
SPLAT.
Spaghetti from Mom's side hit Alex in the face.
"Mom?!"
Then came chaos.Glorious, sauce-drenched chaos.
Maxine, armed with righteous fury and meatballs, lobbed her dinner like a grenade at Alex and Mom. Alex shrieked—half laughter, half betrayal—and retaliated with both fists full of noodles, flinging them across the table like a pasta warlord.
Mom ducked, but not fast enough. Noodle shrapnel caught her right in the forehead. She froze—slowly wiping marinara from her temple like she'd just been personally disrespected by the food she cooked.
Dad, meanwhile, stood in silent disbelief. Ketchup string in one hand. Fake poop squished under his sock.His eye twitched.His lips parted like he was about to unleash an ancient curse passed down through generations of tired fathers.
Then—a meatball hit him square in the chest.
"…That's it."
He calmly set the ketchup bottle down like it had betrayed his trust, picked up his plate… and launched it.
"RETREAT!" Alex screamed, ducking behind the couch.
Maxine howled, wielding a fork like a fencing sword. Mom shouted something about this being a new shirt and started hurling napkins like ninja stars.
I was already on the floor, laughing so hard I could barely breathe.There was sauce on the ceiling.Sauce on the cabinets.Sauce on Dad.A meatball clinging to the light fixture like it feared heights.And in the middle of it all, I whispered:
"...Mission accomplished."
Then I looked around the room.And realized something horrifying.
...
There was a long, heavy silence as the last noodle slid down the wall. Everyone was coated in red. The air smelled like garlic bread and betrayal.
"…You planned this," Dad said flatly, wiping his glasses with a spaghetti-smeared napkin.
"Nooo," I said innocently.
Mom narrowed her eyes. "You bought props. There's ketchup string on the ceiling fan."
Maxine was still laughing, her nose red with sauce. "Best. Dinner. Ever."
Alex groaned. "I have spaghetti in my ear."
"…and I stepped in poop," Dad added with a sigh.
I gave a small, guilty grin. "In my defense, it was really convincing poop."
Mom closed her eyes. Breathed in. "Alright. You know what birthday boy? If you started this, you're cleaning it up."
I held my hands up in surrender. "Fair. Totally fair."
What followed was its own kind of chaos—but cooperative this time.
Alex used the mop like a sword, slicing through puddles of marinara. Maxine dragged a trash bag twice her size, scooping in handfuls of ruined pasta. Dad sprayed cleaner on the wall with the expression of a man questioning all his life choices. Mom just kept muttering, "New shirt. New shirt…" while scrubbing the floor.
"I found a meatball in my sock," Alex said, completely deadpan.
"There's one in the plant," Maxine added.
"…Why is the fridge barking again?" Dad asked.
"Oops," I said, grabbing the Bluetooth remote.
Eventually, the table was clean. The floor stopped sticking. The spaghetti stopped flying.
We all collapsed onto the couch, red-stained and exhausted.
"I will admit," Mom said, glancing at me, "that was… creative."
"Chaotic genius," Alex said through a yawn.
Dad looked at me. "If you ever do something like that again…"
"…You'll be proud?" I offered.
He gave me a tired smile. "Maybe. After I ground you. We're making an exception. But don't ever do something like this again."
I shook my head. "Yes sir. Fair enough."
Dad stood up with a groan and stretched his back. A series of pops echoed through the room like firecrackers. "Alright, Mr. Birthday Prankster…" he said, cracking his neck, "Respect where respect is due."
Then he straightened up, his tone shifting as he pointed dramatically at me like a general in a movie. "But mark my words… this means war."
He pointed a saucy fork at me. "While not as messy or I swea—"
Mom gave him a sharp look, eyes narrowing like a trained sniper.
He cleared his throat. "Uh—sweater-themed. Not as sweater-themed."
Nice save.
Maxine practically leapt to her feet. "Prank war!" she yelled, eyes sparkling.
Alex nodded in agreement, but then hesitated. "Wait… didn't we make a deal? Like—no more pranks—no retaliation for at least a month?"
Everyone turned to her at once, brows raised in surprise. Even I blinked at her like she'd just spoken a foreign language.
She'd remembered.
She glanced around at our faces. "What? We did! This morning."
We all stared a little longer.
Then collectively shrugged like it was ancient history.
Dad chuckled. "Yes, after a month. But definitely not tonight. No counterattacks. No traps. No glitter in the ventilation."
He gave us all that dad look—the one with the raised brow and the "I-mean-it" tone.
"Time for showers. Get your bodies in beds before I start handing out military wake-up calls tomorrow."
Maxine saluted dramatically. "Yes, sir!"
Alex groaned. "You always ruin the fun…"
I held up my hands, surrendering. "Hey, I'm not saying anything. I already won."
Dad pointed again. "For now."
As everyone started filing toward the stairs, I smiled to myself.
This was going to be fun.
…
#Alex POV#
While everyone else was still cycling through their showers, I tiptoed down the hall and quietly slipped into Justin's room. The door creaked just a bit, but I paused, waited... no one stirred.
I ignored the scattered scientific posters on the walls, and ducked past his dresser cluttered with half-finished gadgets and notebooks full of scribbles. My eyes went straight to the closet.
Sliding it open, I rummaged carefully until my fingers landed on a jacket—worn, a little frayed at the edges, definitely something he hadn't touched in a while. Without really thinking, I pulled it from the hanger and quietly left the room.
Back in my own space, I tossed the jacket onto my bed and just… stared at it.
Why did I take this?
I laid back, arms folded under my head, eyes still on the jacket like it might give me the answer itself. After a moment of hesitation, I grabbed it again and slipped it on. It was a little big, but soft and warm in the way old jackets tend to be.
I curled up a bit, tugging the sleeves over my hands, and brought them up towards my nose.
Sniff!
It smelled like him.
I let out a quiet giggle before I could stop myself, feeling my heartbeat pick up just slightly.
Safe.
That's what it felt like.
Like home.
I buried my face in the sleeve, closed my eyes, and let myself breathe in his smell again. And again. The smell of home. My home.
Giggle.
…
#Mc POV#
After Mom and Dad had gone to sleep for the night, Alex and Maxine wandered into my room for a last-minute sleepover.
We all huddled together under the blankets, squished into my bed for warmth and comfort—like we always did after a day that felt bigger than usual.
Maxine, curled up beside Alex, let out a small yawn and asked sleepily,"Why'd you prank us all?"
I yawned too—ugh, contagious."Just because," I replied, stretching my arms lazily. "Besides, I've got a prank-free month now, thanks to Alex here. So why not?"
Alex, lying between us and facing Maxine, let out a sarcastic sigh."So glad me completely ruining your actual birthday worked out so well in your favor."
"Me too," I muttered with a tired grin, my eyes starting to close.
A moment passed before I opened them just a crack."…Hey, Alex."
"Yes, Justin?" she murmured.
"…Why are you wearing my jacket?"
There was a pause. Then she replied without hesitation,"Don't worry about it. It's mine now."
I raised a brow—but I knew better than to argue. Instead, I just chuckled softly and let it go.
We all started to drift off, surrounded by warmth, sleepy laughter, and the quiet calm that only came after a day full of mayhem.
Whatever tomorrow brought… it could wait.
…
I was drowning in darkness.
Not just surrounded by it—made of it. Darkness that pulsed with my breath, dragged me deeper with every memory that surfaced. Voices rose from the shadows, twisted and ancient, so heavy they made my ears bleed with every word.
Flashes of light tore through the void—memories.Murder.Pain.Fear.Perry.Mr. Lang.
Each memory cracked through the dark like lightning across a storming sky.Too many.Too fast.Too much.
I wanted it to stop. Begged for it to stop. But it wouldn't.It never did.
This was my past.And one way or another, I would have to face it.
—
I woke up in a fright, chest heaving.
Alex was there, shaking me gently awake, her voice just above a whisper.
"Are you okay? You looked like you were having a nightmare…"
I blinked at her through the remnants of whatever darkness still clung to my vision.Shook my head. "I'm fine. Don't worry."
She stared at me—tired, worried, and studying my face like it held answers I wasn't giving.
Then she sighed softly, turned away from Maxine, and shifted closer to me.Without another word, she pulled me into her arms. No questions. No judgment. Just warmth.
I didn't even think. I just melted into her, returning the embrace as if my body already knew this was the safest place I could be.
We lay there in silence for a while, the weight of the nightmare fading under her touch. I didn't want to speak. Didn't need to. This quiet was everything.
Just as we started to drift back into sleep, her voice broke the silence, soft but sharp.
"Just this once. Say a word, and I'll make you regret it."
A smirk tugged at my lips. I replied, barely above a whisper,"I wouldn't dare, my queen."
A beat of silence.
Then her voice came, just as soft, just as tired.
"Good night… my king."
…