Imagine your every day experiences are so concretely structured that it feels like you've got it down to a science. Each movement, each interaction, every single moment so completely routine – repeated daily – that even the thought of change could threaten the carefully balanced 'certainty' with something infinitely more unwieldy. Something uncomfortably similar to pure, unbridled chaos.

Are you imagining it? Great.

Now imagine a group of people stormed into your life and took your nomal – if sad, and admittedly predictable – routine, held it upside down to shake all your secrets loose, ripped the routine into tiny pieces, then have a proper naval funeral for them.

Good. Pretty sure we're on the same page.

I awoke, once again, to an unfamiliar room. It wasn't Max's this time, but that was about the extent of my knowledge so soon after waking. The mattress felt old and stiff, and the sheets had that uncomfortable polyester feel to them that made my fingernails itch, but I was still very much content to lie there and pretend to not think.

My brain has never liked to sit still. It can't turn off or go quiet, and I'm not sure I believe anyone who says they can meditate, so not thinking is a lot like trying too hard to focus on anything that isn't my current well being or safety.

These are, however, the perfect conditions for daydreaming. Or, they would be, if there wasn't a gentle knock coming from the foreign door to an unrecognizable room to interrupt me. I cut myself a little slack and pulled myself back from my imagined reality to face whatever was about to happen in the actual one.

“Julian?”

Roman?

“I'm gonna come in,” I waited for the sound of the knob turning. “Erm, just... Knock on the wall if that's not okay.”

Part of me wanted to reach up and knock; to be left alone a little longer, but my arm was completely disinterested in participating with that want, so I sighed and waited instead.

Roman came in with a plate of food and a glass of water, prompting my stomach to remind me I hadn't eaten much in the last couple days. Perhaps longer. I eyed the sandwich like it was the answer to all of my problems, like eating it would fix everything. It was so close, getting closer with each step Roman took into the room.

Then, rather suddenly, it stopped. Looking up I saw Roman's expression, a mix of confusion and concern, and I thought for a moment I might've started glowing again. The sandwich changed directions just as suddenly as it had stopped, coasting towards a bureau near the window. I only had a moment to feel disappointed before Roman settled on the bed next to me and looked me straight in the eye.

The left eye, specifically.

I tried to turn away, knowing my blush had made another of its frequent appearances, but an insistent hand one my chin gently turned my gaze back.

'Is Roman...' I thought, 'Is he going to kiss me?'

And then, 'Oh god, what do I do? Should I move? Should I lean in? Back away?'

“Does your eye feel okay?”

What? “What?”

“Your eye. Does it hurt?” His thumb traveled up and over the planes of my cheek, gently rubbing just under my eye, as if he was trying to wipe something off.

It didn't hurt. I could feel nothing except my own exhaustion, hunger, and Roman's warm palm against my cheek. I shook my head.

“Your eyelashes,” He continued, “are turning white.”

I touched my faces, as if it was something I might be able to feel, but Roman took my hand after a moment, helped me out of bed, and led me down the hall. The next door he opened revealed a bathroom; a large clean mirror above the double sink. Once again I was faced with that skinny, pale, sad creature that inhabited my place in the mirror, and once again my heart ached for him. I wished for a moment that I could reach through the glass and hold him; protect him from everything that made him shrink in on himself, everything that made his bones so pronounced, his eyes more sunken.

That's when I saw it. Roman was right, my lashes were turning white, and I never would have noticed if I hadn't watched a small section of my eyebrow do the same thing.

It was just a couple hairs, high on the arch – suddenly bone white on my already gossamer skin. The white had spilled onto them like paint, drifting from follicle to end, one after another. Was this what had happened to my eyelashes? My fingers? My hands? My arms?

Roman turned me on my feet and enveloped me in a warm hug before I'd even noticed my breathing had quickened.

“Jules, it's okay.” I didn't believe him, “I'm here. We'll figure this out.”

I wanted to cry. I'd spent years trying to 'figure it out' only to come up exhausted and empty handed. What help would Roman's optimism be?

A doorbell sounded throughout the house and Roman excused himself, taking all the warmth and comfort with him. All that was left now was anger. Anger at Roman for thinking he could he could solve this. Anger at myself for believing him. Anger at Max for being so stubborn and starting all of it. I didn't want to get noticed, was doing just fine on my own, and now people knew. Now they saw me and checked up on me, and worst of all, they cared.

I couldn't stop the tears streaming down my face. I wasn't sure I even wanted to, but I wiped at them regardless. I thought the sleeve of my shirt (no, not mine, completely unfamiliar) might have been dirty, judging by the dark smear it left under my eye. I was too tired to fight off the frustration I felt, and let out a pitiful groan as I wiped again.

It didn't budge. No amount of water or soap or scrubbing would remove it. It was another inky stain, I realizing, just like my hands an arms and eyelashes and what if there were more? What if I had them on my back, or thighs, or under my hair? Panic rose in me, urging me to take my clothes and look.

“Don't panic.” someone said. I spun around, looking for whoever had entered the bathroom without my notice, but I was alone.

'Don't panic.' I repeated it in my head a couple times. I could do that, right? Deep breath in, slow breath out. Don't think about the stains, don't think about the teleportation. Definitely don't think about the disembodied voice or how your life was spiraling wildly out of control.

I left the bathroom, still focusing on my breathing. Roman wasn't in the hallway. 'Don't panic' I reminded myself. Instead I thought about the way his arms felt when they were wrapped around me. Like a warm blanket? No, like...

Like a puzzle missing a piece. He was the rest of me. I tried not to smile. Being this close to him was mutating my crush into an infatuation. I'd have to put some distance between us soon if I wanted to maintain this friendship with him without it getting awkward.

Was that what this was? Friendship?

Were we acquaintances? Colleagues?

Whatever we were it was setting me up for heartbreak.

Down the hall were stairs and I could hear the low hum of conversation coming from somewhere below. I took it slowly, one foot after another, hand gripping the banister tightly.

I probably could've guessed Max and Freya were there. They always seemed to manifest nearby. Everyone did. Too close, too attentive. I felt like a butterfly pinned to a board – exposed for all to see and study.

I almost turned around. My mind was heavy and overwhelmed and I missed my loneliness, as odd as it sounds. I could see my knuckles go white from gripping the banister, but couldn't feel my muscles tense, nor did I care.

“You're not very good at this not-panicking thing.” the disembodied voice said. I jumped, cast my gaze around fervently, hoping to spot the owner of that voice. One I'd never heard but sounded so familiar.

“Julian?” Roman had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, his expression once again a mix of confusion and concern. It wasn't until I'd joined him below that I realized I probably should've tried to hide the new stain on my cheek. Max swept in and hugged me tightly before Roman had the time to comment.

“Holy shit, Julian!” He said, not letting up, “We were so worried! I mean, we were just walking to the kitty commune to see about those weird marks, and then 'BAM'! You disappeared! Well, maybe not 'bam'. More like the wind blowing through something but sounding more like a bunch of invisible people whispering quietly and there wasn't really much wind. It was super creepy.”

Finally he steppe back, looking a little sheepish. Freya had stepped in close, her arm wrapped loosely around Max's elbow with an apologetic look on her face. I mouthed 'thank you'.

“H-how...” The words had trouble getting past my throat. Determined, I cleared my throat and tried again, “How long was I gone?”

Roman's eyes were clearly focused on the new black smudge and I wasn't sure he'd heard me until he noticed me staring back, and subsequently averted his eyes.

“Two days.” He shrugged. Something about the way he said it gave me the impression that he could tell me exactly how long I'd been gone down to the minute, but I didn't push it. Two days was bad enough.

“So it's...” I paused, trying to wrap my head around the math, “Tuesday?”

“Wednesday.” Roman supplied, “I only turned for a second and you were gone. We looked everywhere for you. How did it even happen?”

I couldn't answer. I thought for sure I'd only be gone seconds, not days, and I could remember in those seconds was darkness.

“I fell.” I managed finally, “Or, it felt like falling. I woke up in the woods. I don't even think two hours had passed before I called you.”

“So where were you during all that missing time?” Max wondered aloud.

Sam chose that moment to burst in, all agitated energy and hunched shoulders. He cast me a brief annoyed look before turning to Roman.

“Dude,” He said, “we're going to be late.”

Late? For what? I looked at the others, trying and failing to glean any info from their clothes or expressions.

“Jules,” Roman said, “Mum and dad know you're here, there's plenty of food. As soon as I get back from school we can go see your cats, okay?”

Right, school. That was a thing and it had consequences for missing too many days.

“I...” I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and steeled myself for protest, “I'm not broken. I've already missed too much school as it is. I should go.”

“Julian, we just found you after you went missing for two whole days.” Max said, “School can absolutely wait. We don't know if it's gonna happen again. Hell, you could have some weird magic plague that we know nothing about and I don't even know how to deal with a normal plague, so--
“What Max is trying to say is,” Freya cleanly interrupted her boyfriend's babbling, “This could've had some lasting effects on you or your magic. We were already in over our heads with the weird markings. We need to talk to Tethyria before anything else happens, so it's best if you just stay put.”

I wanted that to make sense, but it simply wouldn't. I had no idea how or why I'd teleported. I'd never done it before and it certainly wasn't something I'd even thought possible. Now that it had happened I was forced to recognize how little control I had over anything. I'd still been going to school all this time, despite that lack of control, and I hadn't managed to fuck it up too badly. Besides, it wasn't like my location was going to make any difference. I was just as likely to teleport from here as I was from school. At least if I went to class I'd have a better chance at graduating in the future.

And all the people who knew my secret would be close by, just in case.

Roman seemed to sense my frustration. “You're not going to change your mind, are you?”

I looked at him, making direct eye contact for as long as I could bear it.

“Better find you some clean clothes, then.” I looked down at the unfamiliar pajamas I was wearing and could only summon vague memories of Roman helping me out of the car, up the stairs, and into some of his own Pjs before I passed out from exhaustion.

Max chuckled as I lifted my hands to cover my cheeks.