Marc/Ryan/?: ...I'm tired and I want to go to bed...

"I took a risk, I took a risk, I took a risk..." I chant to myself during a private moment of examining my face in the mirror. I had figured the odds were in favor of John and I ending up in some lives that were perfectly livable while we worked to figure out how to proceed. In actuality, it's more evidence in favor of the fact that I should not be permitted to make decisions for my own life.

I wouldn't even say it was a particularly good vacation. I've certainly had better. The weather was agreeable but summer heat is over. John was very keen to cuddle at night, taking advantage of the fact that we were far away from anyone who knows him, but I was a little iffy on taking things further physically because, who knows what that might lead to if we transform mid-act (which I have some experience with.) That turned out to be a correct instinct, one of very few.

So the whole thing felt like a business trip and John was worried that I was upset with him. I tried to reassure him that wasn't the case, without actually explaining what was on my mind.

Despite the decreased intimacy, the trip gave us a chance to spend some real time together, browsing shops and going out to eat as if we were actually a, gasp, couple. I didn't say much about myself because I haven't been "Ryan" for too long, but John filled the silences, seemingly having waited a lifetime to unburden himself like this. There were times when I was really happy to see the real John at play. Something about seeing someone attempt to be comfortable in his own skin, combined with the predisposition toward men I had inherited, really made my heart beat, which was something I felt like I needed to put a pin in and unpack later, depending on how everything shook out. We did have some sex during daylight hours, since what little I understand about the Inn's magic, it appears to be a nocturnal thing.

I pointedly said we should not look at the mysterious baggage found in the closet, ostensibly out of respect but really because, well, I didn't want to deal with it.

I spent as much time as possible avoiding answering the question of: what do I actually tell him when it happens? Years of law practice gave me what I think is a pretty strong poker face, but it wouldn't be too hard to put two and two together when you consider how actively I worked to put this trip together.

When I woke up yesterday morning, I could tell almost immediately that the change had happened overnight. I knew some of what was different about m physical form but lying still in bed, I remained frozen as long as I could. Time was up on deciding how to play it. It felt like there was nobody in bed at all beside me. I would need to investigate further to determine what that meant: had John gotten up and left in the night? Surely if he knew he had transformed, he would have woken me up, no? 

The room was dim. The sun hadn't broken in yet. I reached over to my phone. It was not even 5 AM.

Gingerly, I pushed myself up. I felt heavy. Slow creep to the bathroom. Light. Mirror. Oh, no.

Looking back at me was the rather saggy and jowly face whose name I soon learned was Ed Levesque -- Grandpa Ed to some. I smacked my forehead. Dolt. Everyone assumes they'll become some pretty young thing or an affluent middle-aged person. I guess all walks of life find themselves at the Inn, naturally.

I went back to the bed, cautiously. There was lying a young boy of about 10. Little "Cayden," aka John. He had not yet woken up, at least not until I sat back down on the creaky mattress.

"What's going on?" he asked in his little voice. "Who are you?"

"John," I said in something of a wheeze, "Something's happened. Something very strange."

It's a bit of a blur, how I managed to mumble an explanation and let him see for himself. The word "No" was said and shouted a variety of times in his little voice. Well, I say little as in young, but he could really holler.

Finally came the part I had been dreading. In a cold, soft tone, "Did you... know this would happen?"

I sighed and dropped all pretense of lying to him. "I knew something would. Not this specifically. I just knew how badly you were hurting and needed to... to get out of your life. You said so yourself."

He cursed me out with all the fortitude of the grown man he really is: "You bastard! You rat bastard! What did you do to me? What did you do to me??!"

I certainly didn't expect it to do well, but I steeled myself and tried to draw on some of my past experience being in rooms with people who hated my guts. I could navigate this. I explained rationally that we could go back, but not until the Inn re-opened next year.

If you've never had a ten-year-old boy tell you "I never want to see your fucking face again," well, it's certainly an experience. Unfortunately, it seems like we're somewhat tied together, what with me being the lad's grandfather and all.

It's going to be some year.

-Marc/Ed