La-Bastille

Verse Cinq - The spark of love's hope

Verse Cinq – The spark of love’s hope

Love is two souls separated at birth. And even with the passing of time, these two halves will always yearn to find each other. Fate might keep them apart. Separate them. Tear them asunder. But they will always find their way back together. And all it takes is a spark. A tiny little spark. To set things in motion.

—Grandma Cerulea, La Bastillian, La Bastille 2089 AP

“Voltaire, get out of the way please. I said get out of the way! Give us some goddamned space goddammit!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa...hey, Reinhardt, just...just slow down will ya? Who’s that you’re carrying? Oh wow! She’s really pretty. That your new girlfriend?”

Dominic turns to give Voltaire—a fellow Academy Patrolling Officer—a serious and cutting look. “What’s it to you if she is?” he menaces with a pointed stare, and then sidesteps around Voltaire to enter the long hallway leading to the infirmary of their station, a passed-out Cid wrapped in his arms as he walks with urgency.

The automatic fluorescents that line the corners of the ceiling flicker on to illuminate the path leading to the infirmary, or the recovery room where wounded personnel and civilians alike are taken, in the event of a catastrophe or any medical emergency.

Voltaire can’t stop hovering, ogling, wanting to catch a lingering glimpse of the unconscious little angel. He’s unable to take his eyes away from gazing at the lovely little thing. “I don’t remember getting a memo saying that our station has become a s*x den,” he scratches his head as he tries to keep up with Dominic’s purposeful stride, “Had I known, then uh, then me and Tabitha, we uh, you err...we would’ve...we would’ve used this facility to our convenience, man. We would’ve gotten our sexy on.”

Dom blithely shakes his head in utter disappointment at the blatant crudity of his fellow officer, “I’m not perusing our facility to have s*x with an unconscious civilian. That’s just...that’s just plain despicable.”

“No it ain’t,” Voltaire counters while doing a backwards jog alongside Dominic, “That’s why there’s something called n*********a, bro!” he gestures with hands in the air. Dom simply shakes his head.

Voltaire is getting too close for comfort. And so Dominic momentarily stops to cradle the boy in his hip as he shoves a playful arm to push the man back, “Oh bugger off, will you?” he turns away as his face breaks into a cheeky smile, “Keep away, we don’t wanna crowd him.”

“W-wait w-w-what!!?” Voltaire’s eyes grow big and wide as he gets left behind. He soon follows as he recovers from what he just heard, “She’s...she a boy!?”

“Don’t mix your pronouns, mate. Yeah, yeah he is.”

“Hot damn. Can I ah...” Voltaire hikes up the boy’s yellow shirt with a sleight of hand, revealing a breathtaking view of the boy’s creamy thighs. Dom hisses through clenched teeth and quickly bats the molester with the flick of a strong backhand. “Ow!” Voltaire rubs his hand, feigning hurt, “I was just playing...jeez. No need for domestic violence, bro,” he makes a stern face, “I’m not entirely convinced. I just need proof of what you say is true. Just a teeny little flash of his knickers would do, bro. Come on!”

“Keep your grubby hands away from him.” Dominic regrets having to speak in such a caring way, which Voltaire is quick to notice and make fun of.

“Ohhh...he must be special to you, then,” Voltaire quips, wiggling his eyebrows, walking alongside Dom who can’t be more irritated than he already is, “I knew you had a taste for the exotic, man. But this...this is a stretch even for you, my old friend. I mean, whoa, I never expected you to be hitting on boys too but hey,” he raises his palms quickly in a gesture to placate his own judgment, “I’m not here to judge, bro. I just find him oddly beautiful. That’s all.”

“Quit your yapping and just open the doors, will you?” Dom snorts, “And he’s not that beautiful.” But Cid is. He really is. And that’s something Dominic denies because he’s trying not to infatuate himself, or worse, act on his molestation impulse.

Ever since Dominic saw the boy, he knew that there was something special about the young man. That the little angel is worth a second look, a second glance. He’s just stunning. Impossibly perfect in every way. Dom’s never seen such perfection and purity personified in human form. The kid is way too perfect to even be considered human. Faultless.

“He kinda glows, huh?” Voltaire observes with the rubbing of his chin as the lights go up in the infirmary, “He’s more beautiful than my Tabitha.”

Dom doesn’t say anything but he agrees. The boy’s skin—it’s incandescent with a golden radiance that’s simply captivating. The boy’s features, those striking features—while not geometrically perfect—are like the workings of a higher power. And right now, as Dominic cradles the boy in his arms, he can’t help but admire those lashes—those long, furtive lashes that rest against the glistening moisture of high cheekbones. The boy, in his entirety, looks maleficent. To desire him would be an understatement. His beauty. It’s to die for.

“He looks like an angel, don’t you think?” says Voltaire enthusiastically, like he’s in the presence of something really holy.

“Yeah, whatever,” Dominic replies dismissively, and yet he finds himself sparing a glance at the boy who’s sleeping and limp in his arms.

Cid’s undeniable beauty is his power. And right now—while unconscious—his lovely face can only carry half that power, the power to turn any straight man gay.

“I think I’m turning over to the dark side, man,” Voltaire comments while nibbling on his forefinger, “I love blondes,” he remarks, sounding like a pedophile, “You rescued him from the incident at the fair?” he inquires and Dom nods his head.

“He was caught in the thick of things while I was patrolling. I was the closest one at the scene. He felt like he needed me.” There is a pronounced quality in the way Dom speaks, and that’s something Voltaire notices. Concern is palpable in the way Dominic regards the kid.

Voltaire is excited for Dominic. “This boy got you wrapped around his tiny little finger I see,” he observes keenly as Dom elbows to turn on the machines, “You don’t have to say that you’re in love cos I can already see in your eyes that you are,” he continues to quip, and it makes Dominic aware that he’s been staring down at the boy in his arms for far longer than necessary.

“I’m not in love with him,” Dominic snaps, irritated, “He’s a civilian. I just happened to be there. It’s my duty to help. And that is all,” he lowers his gaze, looking anywhere but Voltaire’s face, because surely his fellow officer can tell how smitten he is just by the dreamy look on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, pssh,” Voltaire dismisses with an unimpressed wave of the hand, “Just know that you’re not supposed to have s*x here, alright?” he takes the joke even further, pushing Dominic’s buttons, “Why’d you bring him here anyway? You could have let the medic do their job.”

“None of your business,” Dominic grunts, his tone demanding obedience, “I’d appreciate it if you can leave now. Give us some privacy and all...please.”

Voltaire gasps dramatically, “By the gods! Are you really going to have s*x with him here!? Can I record it? Please...” he pouts and drawls in an irritating manner.

Dom’s face breaks out in sweat, “Bug off, will you?! Here, just...just take the wicker basket and put it down beside the weapons hatch over there by the corner.”

Voltaire pinches Dominic’s cheek, “Awww...you like him! It’s so obvious! You’re easily flustered, man, and...and wow...wow! There’s a lot’a candy in here, Reinhardt. What are you, twelve!?” Voltaire mocks while stealing a lemon drop and a taffy.

“Those aren’t yours, so stop eating them. And shut up, man. Just shut up and prepare the bed! My arms are starting to shake. Been carrying this load around for minutes,” Dom bucks his hips, making Cid flop in his arms, “I need to lay him down.”

Voltaire lets out a fake gasp with lemon drop in mouth, palms clasping his chest, “Oh my,” he wolf-whistles to infuriate Dominic even further, “I’m about to say ‘get a room’ but you beat me to it, Sir Hornington,” he tongues the lemon drop around his mouth as he nears to give a congratulatory clap on Dominic’s shoulder, tiptoeing to give a final look-see at the lovely boy, “Wow...you’re a lucky man, Reinhardt,” he croons dreamily, “If I was gay and into dudes, I’d totally want this kid to be mine,” he sighs, “You really know how to pick ‘em, you dirty old man.”

Dominic huffs in resignation, shaking his head as he tries to remember the series of commands needed for the machines to light up and function, “Just make yourself useful and help me turn on the machines before you leave, you sick bastard.”

“Aye, aye!” Voltaire shuffles to do just that. And while he does he can’t help but look at Cid, unbelieving that the supposed ‘girl’ passed-out in Dominic’s arms is anatomically male. “There. Ready. And um...have fun and uh...try not to make too much noise, alright?” he winks and Dom finds himself heating around the neck.

“Just shut up and leave!”

“Aw, that’s cute, you’re blushing,” Voltaire teases as he steps out of the way for Dominic to lay Cid inside a recovery pod—a white ceramic hatch, egg-shaped like an elongated oval, elevated and floating in mid-air where patients can rest for their vitals to recuperate and receive prognosis—also known as a reading—which the machine uses to administer a non-invasive pulse of blue light for a patient’s body to achieve full recovery.

Dom pulls an ergonomic chair beside Cid. Instinctively he reaches out to take the boy’s hand but stops midway, his heart lurching, “Voltaire, I’d like to have that privacy now, please,” Dom mutters under his breath, annoyed by the man who’s hovering and bouncing all over the place just to get a last look on the prized golden boy.

After making a face and sticking out his tongue, Voltaire gives a mock salute to his fellow officer, “Have fun, sir!” he puffs out his chest and straightens his body, marching to exit the infirmary while humming a sappy tune of love in the air, which makes Dominic chuckle a bit.

Dom swallows hard as he carefully takes Cid’s hand. His skin is soft, and it gives Dominic a raspy tingle, a shiver, and a few goosebumps. He tries to ignore the sensation but he can’t, the electricity shimmies to rustle to the very edge of his fingertips with just that one touch.

He takes a calming breath to still his hormones, all the while checking for a pulse as he runs a thumb down the boy’s dainty wrist. The pulse is there. But it’s beating rather faint. “You’re safe now. That’s all that really matters,” Dom whispers under his breath, a V of worry etched between his brows, concern for the young boy swirling at the pit of his tight stomach.

Such foreign sensations he feels. And all are alien to him.

Shortly after the havoc that ensued in Old Town, Dominic decided to flee the scene, carrying a passed-out Cid in his arms.

He knew that he wasn’t ready to explain to the Valkyria how a young boy has managed to cripple the beast that was the Atticus. Surely they would question his selfish intent in keeping the boy locked in custody. They would incarcerate him of his superfluous and rather suspicious actions and keep the boy under lock and key. Possibly study the young man in the Academy and put the boy through rigorous testing and sadistic studies, just to have an understanding of how and why his special ability manifested the way it did.

Dominic doesn’t want that for anybody, not for a young boy who’s far too docile, far too meek, and way too delicate to be exposed to such an inhumane and hostile environment.

As an officer of the law he knows that it’s his duty to file a report immediately after the incident, recollecting the events of the untimely m******e and statistically voice a testimony to his presiding officer on how a defenseless-looking La Purgian managed to win against a machine.

But Dominic didn’t do any of that. He couldn’t. He just can’t. For he felt that passing down judgment on a young, defenseless kid will sever the only link he has with his sister, Freya, who is long dead.

He may be using the boy for his own selfish reasons but he can’t help it. He can’t help but cling to whatever strand of hope there is that he might be able to communicate with Freya, through this boy, through whatever medium this boy is and what he appears to be. Cid has power. Something that Dom cannot explain. He doesn’t remember anything in recorded history that can attest to what he saw today.

He saw my sister. He knows about her. But how? And why?

He’s uncertain whether Cid has anything to do with Freya’s death, and he highly doubts it. The boy wasn’t there during his sister’s untimely demise. But the fact that the boy has managed to unearth that memory baffles Dominic. And that mystery is something he wants to hold on to and discover. If he can make the boy cooperate then maybe there’s a chance for him to know more.

Memories are not going to bring back his sister, but maybe there’s something to this kid that might spark some sort of miracle. Dom doesn’t believe in miracles. He’s the last person who would believe in the supernatural. But he’s willing to dare the odds. He’s willing to believe. He’s willing to try.

And that spark of hope led them here, at the officer station near the checkpoint connecting La Bastille and the service elevator going down to La Purge. Dominic thought that if push came to shove, then he could easily transport Cid to where he came from without prompting Valkyria’s radar.

Why he cares deeply about the boy he doesn’t know yet. But what he does know is that he’s not ready to let the boy go. Not now more than ever, especially after all they’ve been through.

This boy, he’s no ordinary boy. He’s the real deal. And that is something Dominic realized upon seeing the Atticus crumble before his very eyes. The robot disintegrating, getting dismantled and horribly disfigured into corroded chunks of metal, splintering like it’s being torn from the inside out. Now that, that wasn’t normal. It is abnormal. And it all has to do with this boy’s immense power, or whatever sick manifestation of strength he holds from within and is capable of channeling.

Cid looks exhausted as he lies on the recovery pod, his sweat matting the golden hair onto his forehead, and yet, in Dominic’s eyes, the boy is still magnificent to look at.

Dom can’t tell if the boy is ill because he looks healthy. Absolutely radiant. Thus he requires the aid of machines to deduce if there’s anything wrong with the child.

“Hmmmmmm...” Cid murmurs and stirs, his lips parting slightly for his wordless whispers to come out, “...Dom...nic,” he speaks softly, and it makes Dom bristle.

“I’m here, kiddo, I’m here. Just stay put. Relax. I’ll fix you up.” Dominic manually glides his fingers over the projected holographic image of the boy’s anatomy to input a series of commands, pulling out sections of the 3D model to make for a thorough audit.

The machine has registered disgruntled neural activity in the boy’s brain, some of his synapses fried. But it’s nothing serious or life threatening. Just stress. Nothing that the Pulse Machina—Etro’s invention—couldn’t handle.

“Activate healing phase. Now.” Dom commands, but then he bites his tongue as he realizes the mistake he just made.

And that mistake is that...he’s about to see the boy naked.

Tentacles with nodes come out from underneath the pod. The coiled metal snakes straighten out and slither to do their work, slowly unwrapping Cid of his clothing. Dom finds himself turning away with a heated blush just before the boy got completely naked.

Dom finds himself wanting to slip a glance but he mentally berates himself. He reminds himself sternly that he’s here to help a civilian. Not molest a child.

The recovery pod does its job as it pulses a low-pitched echo over regions of the boy’s body needing attention. Dominic sniffs, fidgeting with his clammy hands, fighting an internal struggle not to ogle and look behind. He smirks cheekily, knowing that a boy is lying nude and he can decide to take a peek if he wanted to because no one would ever know. But he doesn’t. He wants to be the better man. A gentleman. And so with a shaky breath, he tries to rid his mind of images of the boy in the nude. The healing pulse of the machine dictates its final stages nearing the young man’s lower abdomen, down to his privates, to his shins, down to his toes. And with a resounding ping of the all-clear, the process has been completed.

Dom wants to be sure that everything is okay, and so he runs another test. “Activate a run-through. Diagnostics phase.”

He can see reflected in the white walls of the infirmary the pulse of blue light intensifying, probably mending anything that needs to be mended about the boy. Dominic, too, has bruises and deep cuts. But he doesn’t give mind to his trivial injuries. No. He doesn’t like perusing the recovery pod because it reminds him of Etro.

Dominic, in his many years of serving in the force, never once needed to perform a major non-invasive surgery on himself. It was only ever that time with Etro that he did. That day when Etro found him by the wayside wasting away. It was a matter of life and death at the time so he really didn’t have a choice.

Dom shakes his head to forget the memory. An image of Etro touching him in places below the abdomen spur unbidden in his mind, and it makes him uncomfortable. Uncomfortable not in the sense that he doesn’t like being touched, he does. He likes being touched by the many different boys he beds during nights when he feels the s****l itch. What he doesn’t like is being touched by Etro, because Etro’s touch is affectionate. And that is something Dom is not ready to reciprocate.

He cares for Etro, he really does. But it’s the kind of care that a man has for his favorite whôre, or the kind of incestuous longing a man has for a younger brother. That is all. There is no love. And there will never be. He just doesn’t feel that way about Etro. And that is something Etro needs to understand and accept. Willingly.

“Dom...” Cid whimpers, “...Dominic...is that you?”

Dom doesn’t turn in his chair out of respect. He simply breathes a sigh of relief upon hearing Cid’s voice.

“Where are we? What are all these wires doing? And...and...where are my clothes?”

“You’re uh...you’re at an officer’s station,” Dom swallows his nerves, turning his head around slightly, “In the infirmary, at an officer’s station. Don’t uh...don’t interfere with the procedure just yet. You’re still being looked at.”

Dom can hear shuffling, “Did you remove my clothes?”

“N-no, I...I didn’t. The machine did. S-sorry about that.”

“The wires are done. Where’s Tinkerton? Tinky...Tinky!”

The googly robot emerges from the wicker basket where it’s hiding under a pile of candy. It bleep-bops as it wheels itself from the far corner to where Dom is sitting. It wheels itself to stub aggressively at the man’s foot, its eyes narrowing with the swiping of its swipers, as if wanting to challenge Dominic into a brawl. Mano-a-mano.

‘Lift me up, you âsshole.’

The automaton projects the words which makes Dominic laugh out loud, “Hey kid. I think your robot here just called me an âsshole.”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Cid whispers, his voice gravelly as he shifts around in the pod, “He’s a little overprotective of me. I do apologize.”

“It’s cool,” Dom pulls the robot onto his lap and Tinkerton narrows its googly binocular eyes into a menacing squint, “I think your robot doesn’t like me,” he pulls his head back as if fearing that the robot is going to explode or something, “Hey uh, are you decent? I mean, er, of course you are. You’re the most decent boy I’ve ever laid eyes upon and um...” Dominic drops his head as he grinds his teeth into a smile, realizing that he’s stumbling on his words, his heart pounding for reasons he cannot fathom, “...I’m sorry I’m talking too much. What I meant was,” he takes a calming breath, “Are you wearing clothes now? Is it okay for me to turn around?”

“Wait. Give me a second.”

“Okay, sure, that’s fine.”

Dom swallows as a trickle of sweat snowballs down his temple to gather at his chin which drops onto one of Tinkerton’s binoculars. The robot bleeps.

Tinkerton bleep-bops and projects a holographic message of words being typed by the letter.

‘Your pulse rate is at 72 beats per minute. Possible reasons, albeit medical: Fear. Nerves. Or Love.’

The blood drains from Dominic’s face as he bristles in mortification, his chest fraught with nerves as he fiercely sucks air through his teeth, “No I’m not!” he says, defensively.

“No you’re not what?” Cid mumbles, “I’m decent. You may look now.”

That moment, when Dom swivels around in his chair, is a moment that seems to stretch for far longer than it should as he gazes at the boy whose smile can probably move mountains and separate the seas. Not that mountains and oceans still exist in this new world, but if they did then it’s possible that Cid’s beauty can move them...part them...or maybe even...destroy them.

There is something about Cid’s aura that’s modest and at the same time disarming. Or maybe it’s only Dominic who feels that way about the kid, as he seems to be frozen in place while staring at the young man who’s oblivious of his shirt riding up. Dom reaches out to pull down Cid’s shirt and it makes the young boy look with a bewildered expression. Cid thinks nothing of it and brushes it aside, “Is this what you call a bed? It’s really pretty,” he observes, running his hands back and forth over the cushions of the ceramic hatch, “I never touched anything quite like it. It’s so soft.”

He slides himself to jump off of the floating recovery pod, beaming and smiling and feeling like a million Cids. Or a million dollars if it were the year 2015 again.

Dom’s eyes widen as Cid nears him. He inhales sharply as the boy traps himself between his open legs, “Are you okay, Dom?” Cid presses against Dominic and places the back of his hand to touch Dom’s cheek, which makes the man stiffen as he draws a shuddering breath of apprehension at the unexpected contact, “You feel hot. Why are you hot?”

Tinkerton does a hydraulic, churning sound as it displays a hologram in the air.

‘Your pulse rate is at 77 beats per minute. Calm down, or you’ll have a mini heart attack.’

Cid’s eyes increase in size, “Oh no,” he uninhibitedly hugs Dominic and plants the side of his face against the man’s chest and it makes Dom’s pulse skyrocket to the heavens, “Dominic, you have to calm down,” the boy whispers, “I can hear your heart. It’s beating really, really fast,” he pulls away his face and looks up at the man who’s looking down on him with eyes wide open, mouth agape, breathing shallow, and with eyes holding nothing but surprise for the young boy, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Dom inhales sharply and almost drops Tinkerton from his lap as he bolts to stand upright from being seated, “I’m good. I’m okay. I’m fine,” he speaks rapidly, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to laugh away his embarrassment, “Your uh...your candies. They’re right over there,” he points to where the wicker basket is placed, “It’s getting late. Your parents might be worried sick about you so I uh, I’m going to escort you...I mean, escort you home...not escort you like buy you for the night and have s*x with you but I’m...” Dom sucks sharply through his clenched teeth and lets out a shaky exhale, “...I’m sorry, you make me nervous and I don’t know why,” his frame sags, his gaze dropping to the floor. He desperately wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole if that’s possible.

Cid nears Dominic and tiptoes, “You’re so funny,” he says, smiling, lifting an arm for his hand to clasp Dominic’s cheek which makes the man shiver, “Thanks for saving me.”

“Sure. No problem. Actually, I’m supposed to be thanking you. Thanks for saving us back there.”

Tinkerton bleep-bops, its wheels wheeling fast to stub on Cid’s foot.

“What is it Tinky?” Cid looks down to where the automaton’s googly eyes zoom in and out before projecting another holographic message between all of them.

‘Mr. Reinhardt’s vitals, spiking. Hormones elevating. Heart racing. Desire intensifying. Warning! Keep away from horny man. Keep away from horny man. Keep away from horny man! Keep away!’

“Shít! I’m not horny I swear,” Dominic answers in defense, one hand pressed against his chest to keep his heart from imploding, the other spread out in a gesture to deny the statement, “My vitals are fine, my hormones are normal, and I’m not...I’m not horny!”

“Tinky...” Cid says, “...dictionary. Search horny.”

“NO!” Dominic bellows in utter mortification as he bends to swipe Tinky off the ground, hiding the robot by wrapping it around his big arms like a basket ball.

Cid tilts his head in question, “Is horny a bad word?”

Tinkerton bleep-bops frantically, its gears fuming with white smoke as it tries to wheel itself out of Dominic’s hold.

“No, it’s just...no it’s not, but...” Dominic flusters, and then sighs, “Just know that I’m not horny, okay?”

“Okay...okay, fine,” Cid says, conciliating, “Just give me back my Tinky. He and I need to come home.”

“Of course...of course, here,” Dominic breathes out, and with hesitation gives Cid his robot, “I never got your name.”

“My name is Cid,” the boy smiles, approximating his teeth, “Just Cid.”

“Like the currency?” Dom lifts a quizzical brow, and at the same time a cheeky smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, “And yet you live in La Purge, where money doesn’t even exist.”

The boy frowns at this and so does Tinkerton who’s shooting invisible daggers with his eyes. Dominic realizes that what he’s said is rather insensitive and his face, too, sags with a frown.

“I uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything when I said that. I was just...” Dom sighs, “Sorry.”

‘What an âsshole.’

“Tinky, it’s okay. It’s okay. No harm done,” Cid hugs the automaton to his chest, “Tinkerton and I need to go home, Mr. Reinhardt. If you would kindly lead the way we’ll be out of your hair before the sun goes down.”

Dominic offers to carry the wicker basket and Cid mumbles his gratitude. The man nods his head out of polite respect and with an open hand gestures for Cid to go through the infirmary and into the long hallway.

Cid walks slowly and it’s something Dom is grateful for because he’s trying to assemble the right words in his head before saying them, “Cid, I uh...I was wondering if...I was just wondering if you are into...if you’re—”

Tinkerton interrupts with a bleep-bop and projects a massive floor-to-ceiling hologram of a couple seated in a table for two, at a candlelight dinner in an alfresco restaurant taken from an old black and white movie.

Cid stops from walking. “Tinky, what is that?” he asks, and then turns to look to Dominic, “And what were you wondering about?

Dom is having trouble distinguishing an inhale from an exhale, “I was wondering if...if you would go out with me sometime.” And as the words are said he can’t help but feel a fist tightening hard in his stomach. He’s bracing himself to be rejected.

Cid blinks, and blinks, and keeps blinking, “Go out, like, go out and walk in the sun? Outside, with other people? Is that what that means?” he questions, blinking.

“Yeah,” Dominic visibly relaxes as he remembers to let out the breath he’s been holding, “But more like just the two of us. Like on a...” he looks to the image projected on the wall, the hologram swallowing the entire space and it’s making him more nervous, “...like on a date.”

“A date...” Cid murmurs, testing the word, “...is that what you call this black and white image? A date?”

“Yeah, a date...that’s a date right there,” Dominic can’t help but stretch his face into a broad smile, to the point that it’s starting to hurt his cheeks, “Will you go out with me? Like on a date?”

Cid tilts his head and beams a bright smile, “You have to ask my parents if they will allow me.”

Dominic gulps nervously, his stomach twisting in knots, his heart lodged in his throat, “Can’t wait to meet ‘em.” And as he said those words he knows that their fate together has been sealed. He knows that he and this boy are about to enter a place that neither one of them had been in. A place that is both scary and promising. A place where there’s a spark. The spark of love’s hope.