Chapter Text
It was always jarring emerging from a book. Being wrenched from a living, breathing form and thrust back into cold metal that buzzed with muted magic was very unpleasant, and a very distressing reminder of his current lack of humanity. In spite of that, the space between this transition- between the real world and the fictional one- was rather unremarkable. Entering a novel wasn’t an overwhelming onslaught of information as one might expect from having the entirety of the narrative dumped into your brain. It felt more like a door being opened to a room that already existed, as if the information was already there in your mind and you just needed access.
Nox had done this so many times that normally, the whole experience was forgotten before there was even time to comprehend it, and exiting this space felt like simply passing through. This time, thrust forcefully from a broken and dying story, it was awful. The space between was shattered, torn, and bloated. It was like swimming through molasses, the sticky shards of broken story snagging his very being from the inside. Everywhere was nowhere, consumed by the water that ate large decaying rifts into anything of substance, leaving it hollow and gaping and full of the bubbling, boiling rot.
And then it was over, nothing more than a blink of a memory and an approximation of a headache as his now physical body was thrown backwards from the book. Nox landed hard on the table with a clatter of metal on wood. It wasn’t painful, but it was definitely uncomfortable. He pressed a hand to his forehead and groaned.
The brief fuzz of disorientation receded, as it always did, and the moments right before he was forced from the book immediately pushed themselves to the forefront. Not that he had forgotten. He took a breath, out of comfort rather than necessity, and stared at the hard wood of the table beneath him as he rode the onslaught of conflicting emotions.
It had been such an impulse decision that he hadn’t even considered if it would work or not. But it did. Chase was alive- if Nox had been ejected, then so had Chase and his friends. They would appear back in the real world, wherever they were when they entered the book. The relief was so strong that it ached.
It was quiet, he realized. Violet usually would have had at least something to say by now, but he couldn't say he blamed her. This book had been extremely uncomfortable for him, he couldn't imagine how it had felt for her. He turned to ask her if she was okay.
He saw the book with the sigil taped to the front propped upright in the box, and in front of the book was Violet.
Still in Key form.
“Violet!?” He scrambled to his feet, and was kneeling in front of her in moments. His hands fluttered uselessly around her still, insentient form. Why wasn’t she waking up? He flipped her key so he could see the front, and there- a crack in her key face, right down the middle of her diamond.
He stared. The crack stared back. Ice cold dread flooded every simulated nerve of his being. “Oh, no .” he whispered. No no no. “Violet, no.”
Somewhere at the other end of the building’s ventilation, an air conditioning unit came to life, filling the room that was far too big for him with a rumbling murmur of white noise.
How did he fix this?
He knew the answer, of course- he couldn’t . Not by himself. She needed at least half a vial of narratonin, which wasn’t even close to the amount they got from siphoning. He knew exactly what this meant. He needed a human. One came to mind of course, and his horrible, treacherous mind’s eye supplied the memory of rushing wind and tears and soft lips, his heart so full of warmth that he could drown in it.
He slammed the lid on that memory. No. No way. He couldn’t. His thoughts strayed to the small jar of narratonin tucked in his drawer. Stolen narratonin. His heart twisted.
He forced himself to his feet, clutching Violet's key to his chest. The faintest buzz of magic danced between his hands and where they touched the barrel of her key, a reassurance that she was okay, just damaged. Repairable.
Chase would realize he was a key the moment he laid eyes on him. There would be no hiding his sudden change in appearance, without Violet awake to disguise him. Even if there were, Chase was obnoxiously observant when he wanted to be.
He wandered out of the box, Violet in his arms, over the cardboard flap, the faint sound of his footsteps on cardboard made the transition to footsteps on wood.
What other choice was there? Leave her for a random human to find like they did Silver? Except that would leave him stranded. He would be able to see the moments Violet’s key was being used and not be able to do a thing about it.
He stopped abruptly at the edge of the desk.
He would also be alone. With no plan and nowhere to go. He wasn't even sure if he could leave on his own.
His hands shook, and he hugged Violet to his chest. He hated this, having his hand forced, his decision made for him. Because there wasn't really a choice, was there?
With a shaky breath, he lowered himself so that his legs hung off the edge of the desk and dropped into the open drawer below. His feet landed with the THUNK on the metal bottom. It was dark, but that was one thing about his non-human eyes; he didn't actually need that much light to see. His various experiences over the years taught him that this was both a blessing and curse, often at the same time.
He forced his feet forward, to the corner of the drawer with Violet's things, and fell gracelessly onto her quilt square, shifting it out of place. She would berate him for messing up her space like this, but at the moment, he didn't care. He hugged her key to his chest.
He wasn't good at being alone.
Nox was… not proud of how much time had passed. It had been easy to spiral into a pit of anxiety and worst case scenarios with no one around to stop him.
In truth, they didn't have a clock or any time telling device, so he didn't know exactly how long it had actually been. What he did know is that when he had left the confines of their drawer to pace after becoming restless, the heroine symbol had lit up, which startled him so bad that he had stumbled back and nearly tumbled off the desk. The heroine key activating meant that it was probably the next day? Though he had gathered as much based on the tiny amount of light that leaked through the windows. It also meant that he had a choice; keep face and enter the book to confront Chase, or delay the inevitable.
Like a coward, he chose the latter. His drive to maintain a perfect facade protested at this slip in his image, but the fear of what Chase would see when he looked at him, what he would say when he asked for help, was far louder.
To Nox's surprise, the heroine symbol flickered off almost immediately.
Odd.
The passage of time felt different to a key holder in a book, and far quicker to anyone perceiving it from the outside, but he knew from experience that it wasn't that quick, even for a short story.
Only a few minutes later, the symbol lit up again, only to darken moments later. He watched it happen once more before he realized.
Oh. Was Chase looking for him?
The anxiety took a back seat to the bubble of warmth that filled the aching cavity in his chest. A fear of the fact that he was seemingly getting swayed by emotion reared its head, but he forced it back and smothered it.
This was enough, just enough to push his resolve past the wall of reluctance holding him back. Which was what he needed.
He watched for a bit to see if Chase would enter another book, fully intending to enter with him this time, but the symbol stayed dark for the remainder of the day.
Okay. That was fine. Tomorrow , he promised himself. He would talk with Chase tomorrow.
Nox knew where he was before he opened his eyes.
The cottage was cozy. A kitchenette with a woodlit stove, a small, round dining table, and a modest sitting area were all nested comfortably in the same room, surrounded by white walls and pale blue curtains framing large, open windows. Nox sat on one of the wooden chairs tucked into the dining table, a tattered journal laid out in front of him and a quill in hand, already dipped in ink. Swells of mid-morning sunlight bathed the room in golden light, so wonderfully warm through his clothes. A comfortable breeze pushed the curtains from the window frames and tousled his hair. He took a slow, deep breath. It wasn’t real oxygen, but the feeling filled his lungs and spread through his veins just the same, carried by the steady pulse of a heart that physically beat in his chest.
A drop off ink fell from the tip of the quill onto the white parchment. The page was half full, his character having been in the middle of writing a lovestruck account of her conversation that morning with the man who sold produce in the village square. Having assumed her role, he was meant to finish it.
Nox considered the page for all of half a second before dropping the quill back in the inkwell. No point in pretending that they would be finishing this story. Even if Chase had chosen a book with that intent, he doubted very much that he would still want to after they talked. Or after Chase saw him.
Not for the first time, he wondered if he was making a mistake, if his own feelings were getting in the way of a rational decision. He thought of brown eyes and blonde hair, and that stupid smile full of sunshine and far too much unconditional trust in everyone on the receiving end, and it made him second guess every one of his doubts, which was an absolutely terrifying spot to be in.
Nox regarded the back of his hand, and tried to imagine viewing himself through the lens of someone without the context for what they were seeing. His complexion, at least, was passable. Very pallid, but still technically a human tone. Probably. His normal color was really only a couple shades warmer, so this wasn't that far off. He desperately wished that mirrors worked in the fictional world, and that he had one. Of course, he already knew what he would see; black hair, black clothes, and the most damning feature- his eyes. Moonstone gems, undeniably that of a key’s.
Ugh. Maybe he got lucky and Chase woke up blind this morning.
Chase's character was supposed to be finishing a scene down the road, but even if Chase ignored the scene, which he almost certainly would, Nox had some time before he arrived. It was about a 15 minute walk, so unless he decided to dead sprint here like a moron-
The door behind him slammed open, and Nox jumped so hard he banged his knee on the table.
“BUDDY!” Chase cried.
His limbs moved on their own and the chair scraped the wooden floor as he lurched to his feet, deliberately keeping his back to Chase. His knee throbbed and all semblance of a plan promptly fled his mind.
“Dude, where were you ?" Footsteps approached from behind and a surge of panic climbed Nox's throat. “You’ve never just not shown up before, did something happen? Are you okay??” his voice dripped with desperation.
This was too much too fast and he couldn't think. Nox tried for his usual failsafe of throwing some insult or clever quip, but his thoughts were fast and slippery and he couldn’t grasp any long enough to form a sentence.
“Buddy?” Chase pleaded softly.
Movement appeared in his peripheral and suddenly Chase was there , leaning into his line of sight, expression pinched with worry. Nox tried to turn his head, but Chase just leaned further to follow. Their eyes met, and there was a brief flicker of surprise- Nox couldn’t breathe- but Chase’s gaze only lingered for a moment before tracing over the rest of his face. He did a quick, frantic, visual sweep of Nox's form, top to bottom. Whatever conclusion he reached seemed to relax him slightly.
Nox looked everywhere except at the boy in front of him. His limbs twitched as if they were trying to flee, but had nowhere to go. He settled for staring at a framed painting of a flower on the wall just over Chase’s head.
“You’re super pale. Like, paler than normal. Maybe you should sit down?” Chase started to reach out, but hesitated, reconsidering. “Seriously, are you okay? Did something happen?”
Say something. He cleared his throat and stared at the dark wooden floor. “I… I’m… fine.” His voice shook horribly.
A hand lightly touched his shoulder. “Buddy?” Chase asked, softly, worried, so unlike what Nox had been expecting. That name- not his real name, but still his just the same; a gift. Spoken by that voice, it gently curled around his heart and squeezed like a comforting hug, and he was meeting Chase’s eyes before he could stop himself.
Warm, honey brown. He waited for something in those eyes to click, for him to see his own moonstone eyes for what they were, but Chase just blinked back at him. There was no epiphany or sudden shock of understanding, just… kindness and concern.
…Did he not realize? He had definitely noticed. Nox was so certain he would make the connection immediately and be… something. Angry? Afraid? Somehow, neither of those seemed right. And Chase clearly wasn’t any of those things. He was just concerned. For Him.
The tight, painful ball of anxiety lodged in his ribs loosened just enough for him to speak. He took a deep breath to steel himself. “Chase.”
“Yeah?”
“I…” The words caught in his throat, threatening to choke him. He swallowed and forced them through, voice wobbly, “I need help.”
Chase nodded, zero hesitation. “Tell me what you need.”
Just like that. God. He could cry. As if on cue, his vision blurred and he was reminded abruptly that he could, in fact, cry in this form. He blinked rapidly to clear it away.
“I need your help.” He said, “Violet is broken and I need… someone to help me gather narratonin to fix her.”
This was clearly not what Chase was expecting to hear, and he startled. “What happened? Is she okay?”
“She's cracked. It’s not bad,” he added quickly, “narratonin will be enough to repair her. It was the last book I was in with you, the one that was… damaged.” He forced his mind not to linger at this very moment on how that book had ended for him. For them. Focus. “I think the… uh, long distance aspect combined with the broken story was too much for her.”
“She just needs the narratonin?”
He nodded. “The problem is, I… need help getting it. I can’t on my own.” He cringed. If Chase hadn’t figured it out already, he would soon. Nox was handing him every piece of information he needed to make the connection, short of directly spelling it out. Still, there was no such revelation.
“Okay. What do you need me to do?”
This was it, the final hurdle. Years and years of hardened instinct screamed at him that this was wrong. This is a human. You can’t trust him, he just wants to use you. But he wanted to. He wanted to trust him.
The silence stretched and suddenly there were warm hands circling his own. They squeezed gently, and his own heart clenched and fluttered in tandem. Chase was looking at him, concern buried poorly beneath a patient and caring expression.
Chase was wearing the red hoodie, he realized. He had been so preoccupied by his own racing thoughts that Chase's attire hadn't even registered. Though he would never admit it out loud, and as hideous as it was, he really, really, liked that hoodie. He remembered the soft fleece on his skin, both fictional and metal, and being surrounded by the scent of floral vanilla as he had fallen asleep that night. He had worn it into the next book as a bargaining chip, fully expecting Chase to finally cash in on what he surely expected he was owed in return for that bag of food. But he hadn’t.
Nox looked at the red hoodie, at the boy swimming in it, at brown eyes under blonde lashes that held no trace of malice or trickery.
He spoke before he could think better of it. “We are at the library where you found the heroine key.” He said, and paused for both their sakes to let what he had just said sink in. Chase's eyes widened as he processed the full weight of that confession. “You’ve offered to… come get me-”
“ Yes .” Chase said firmly.
Nox stared. He hadn’t expected a response that quickly. “...Is that offer still on the table?” he finished lamely.
“Yes. Absolutely, yes.” The hands still holding his own squeezed. “Always. We’ll come get you.”
And again, just like that. Always. Said with such conviction that a small part of him wondered how he could have doubted in the first place.
Chase studied his face for a moment. With a hint of sad uncertainty, he asked, “Buddy, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” Nox said quietly, “I am okay.” Which was true, at least by Chase's meaning.
“Is Violet really the only reason you’re asking for help? Are you… safe?”
Tell him. Tell him that you aren't human. He will find out when he sees you in person anyway, if he doesn't figure it out before then. Tell him now. He opened his mouth to speak but… couldn't. The words wouldn’t come.
“I’m safe.” He said instead.
“And will you be safe until we get there?”
He smiled despite himself. “Yes. I promise I’m safe and that I’m okay. It’s not whatever you’re thinking. I really do just need help fixing Violet.” There were other things, he knew, other confessions. Like the reason he needed help fixing Violet in the first place. He was honestly surprised Chase wasn't questioning that. But he didn’t have to face those now.
Chase seemed satisfied enough with that answer, and the worry in his expression softened. “Okay.”