SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN 5 AM and 6 AM, Hadley calls David.

David answers on the first ring.

"Hey," David says, his voice bright and awake. Hadley envies him. "You're up early."

"So are you," Hadley replies, and he winces to hear how terrible his voice sounds, even to his own ears.

"Man, you sound like shit."

"I have a reason," Hadley says, and absentmindedly prods at the bruises on his neck. "Something happened, last night."

"Do tell," David says, and he sounds like he's chewing something. Breakfast, maybe.

"I don't think this is a conversation we should be having on the phone."

"Really?" David swallows whatever it was he was eating. "Then where should we be having this conversation?"

"Where are you?" Hadley says, and his own spontaneity surprises him.

David's surprised too, if the momentary hesitation is any indicator. "I'm having breakfast," he says, tentatively.

"Great, I'll join you."

"I'm having breakfast," David repeats, tentativeness gone from his tone.

"And I'm having nightmares."

David sighs in defeat. "Two blocks down curse club, there's this little place. It's the only restaurant that's open this early in the morning. Li Wei's Tea House. Can't miss it."

"I'll see you there," Hadley says.

"Oh, and bring your own money. I'm not going to be paying for your breakfast."

Hadley hangs up.

The sky outside his window is pale pink and orange—a delicate color that seems like it's on the verge of melting into the horizon. It would be great, Hadley thinks, if he could just lock the door of his room and stay inside and sleep and ignore everything. The chirping of the birds, the rustling of the leaves, the rising sun, the world that is, however slowly, waking up. Fuck all of it. Go to sleep and never wake up. Pull the blanket up over his head and drown in unconsciousness.

His stomach rumbles. He closes his eyes, takes a breath—he does this a lot, nowadays—and lets it shudder out of him.

Hadley's going to David, wherever he is. Hadley's going to fix this.

It feels like he's only trying to convince himself.

***

"LOOK WHO DECIDED to show up," says Benjamin Cho, when Hadley shows up at the front door of Li Wei's Tea House.

It's a run-down little place—not too shabby, but not exactly the sleekest. It has the same air of vague un-hygiene as the rest of the shops that line Chinatown's streets. Glass windows that could use a little scrubbing, menus with curling corners stuck to the windows, cigarette butts forming a little pile around the front door. Out here on the street, Hadley can smell something warm and sweet. The scent is almost seductive, especially when the winter air is biting right through his skin.

"Wanted to dine with the proles?" Benji says, without any meanness.

Hadley shrugs. "I guess so. Why are you here?"

Benji gestures at himself, and it's only then Hadley notices his black, slightly discolored apron.

"You work here," Hadley says.

"Great guesswork, Sherlock," Benji says. He leans his shoulder on the muddy brick walls of Li Wei's Tea House, and says, "If you're looking for David, he's inside. And tell him I can't keep charging his tab or whatever."

"Will do," Hadley says, even though he won't.

Benji gives Hadley a two fingered salute, right before Hadley steps into the diner.

It's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. There aren't that many people, but whatever patrons are here only briefly glance at Hadley and go back to eating. It's a typical Chinese diner—red paper lanterns hanging from the wall, potted plants in the corners of the room, calligraphy and illustrations framed side by side on the wall—but it's safe, swathed in warmth and golden light, that Hadley instantly feels better. He loosens the scarf around his neck.

It doesn't take more than ten seconds for Hadley to find David. He's sitting at one of the red booths, looking as comfortable as ever.

David's not alone. Sitting opposite him is Hassan and Jeanne, and crammed between them is Francis, who seems to be fiercely arguing with David. Fingers are being pointed aggressively. Hadley, ever the hero, decides to rush in before things get too aggressive.

"I'm telling you," says David, leaning so far over the table that he's out of his seat, "you can't just—" he notices Hadley approaching—"oh, you're here. Good morning."

"More like shit morning," says Hadley. "I thought you'd be alone."

"Oh no, David likes having arguments first thing in the morning," says Francis, with an impressive roll of his eyes. "It's how we bond together as a group. Especially when he's wrong."

"Listen, you shut your mouth and just admit you don't know what you're talking about," says David. "Join us," he says to Hadley, as he moves over to allow space for Hadley to sit, "and tell Frank that what he's saying is just wrong. Morally. Factually."

"Actually, don't join them," says Jeanne. Their expression is peeved. "They're arguing over the stupidest thing they could ever argue over."

"It's not stupid," says Hassan. He refuses to make eye contact with Hadley, and is instead, peering down his mug. "It's normal for these two assholes. Remember that time they nearly beat each other up over the last Oreo?"

"If you're not going to say anything helpful, stay out of it," says Francis.

Hadley slides into the booth. "What are you two arguing about?"

Hassan and Jeanne groan, simultaneously. Hadley feels a pang of guilt.

"Glad you asked," says David. "Now this fool over here—" Francis says an insult right back, which David pointedly ignores—"thinks that pineapple is an acceptable topping on pizza."

"And it is!" Francis says, shaking his fist. "You don't know shit!"

"I may not know shit, but I do know that pineapple on pizza is the ugliest, vilest, cruelest—"

"Actually," says Hadley, "it's not that bad."

Francis throws his head back and laughs, so loud that several customers turn around in their seats, just to look. David is silent, his mouth still hanging open, caught mid-sentence.

"Congratulations," says Hassan. He lifts his mug in mock toast. "You've officially broken David."

Francis is still hooting with laughter. David starts functioning again.

"You're dead to me," says David. He isn't looking at Hadley. "You can't just say that. You can't just break my heart like that."

"God, stop being so dramatic," Jeanne says.

Francis is, at this point, wheezing.

"Will you fucking idiots shut up?" says Benji, as he approaches their booth. He leans his hip against the edge of the table. "Jesus on a stick, can you stop being such a distraction?"

Jeanne shrugs. Hassan doesn't deign to comment. David is morosely staring at Hadley, who is trying to do anything but meet David's gaze.

Francis is still wheezing.

"Okay, so since you're here," says Benji to Hadley, "you going to order anything?"

"Try the egg waffles," says Jeanne. "With whipped cream."

"And the hot chocolate," says Hassan, swishing around his mug.

"And the—hehe—the spring rolls," chimes in Francis, slightly shuddering with laughter.

"I'll, uh, I'll have all of that," Hadley says.

Benji raises both of his eyebrows. "Christ. Alright. Anything else?"

Hadley shifts around in his seat. Something about this whole situation is uncomfortable—he's never had to order something from one of his acquaintances, and it is a distinctly unpleasant experience.

"I, uh, I think that's all I want," says Hadley.

"Great," says Benji. He doesn't bother writing down Hadley's order. "And hey, try not to be a bunch of noisy fucks for half an hour," Benji calls over his shoulder, as he walks away.

"We'll try," says Francis, cheerily.

"One of those breakers tried talking to me," Jeanne says, after Benji disappears wherever waiters disappear off to. "Recruit me. We need more shadow-walkers, was what she said."

"Really," Francis says. "What'd you say?"

"Fuck off," says Jeanne.

"That's a great answer," says David. "I wouldn't have sworn, though. Doesn't show enough professionalism."

"They didn't ask you though, did they?" says Jeanne, smiling.

David clutches at his shirt. "Ouch."

"What'd you say when Tamara tried to recruit you?" Hassan asks David, taking a sip from his mug. Hadley wonders how much hot cocoa there is in that mug, for Hassan to have been drinking from it for so long.

"Did you tell her to fuck off?" Francis says.

"Not really," says David, and Hadley's surprised to notice that there is something odd about David's voice. Slightly hollow. "I told her I wasn't interested."

"I knew a Tamara," Hadley says, idly, not expecting anyone to pay attention. "She was hot. We dated for three months."

"Did you," says David. He's smiling. It's mildly distracting, though Hadley isn't sure what he's supposed to be focusing on.

Benji arrives with a plate of waffles with a generous dollop of whipped cream on top, along with another plate of spring rolls, and a cup of steaming hot chocolate in another hand. He plops everything in front of Hadley, wordlessly, and moves away from the table, not giving anybody the chance to say anything.

"Tell us more about this Tamara," says Francis. "What's she like?"

"White, mostly," says Hadley, as he carves out a piece of the waffle.

"Thanks for narrowing that down," says Jeanne, a thin, sarcastic smile playing across their lips. "Anything else, perhaps? Maybe her gender? Her name?"

He puts the piece of waffle into his mouth. It tastes great. He chews thoughtfully, savoring the warmth, the sweetness, the flavor. "She really liked dressing in black."

"Fascinating," says Hassan. "Intriguing, truly."

"She was a goth, I think."

"I can see how she appealed to you," Francis says.

Hadley's about to ask him what he means by that, but then David interrupts.

"What's her full name?" he asks, and out of everyone present at the table, he seems the most interested in Tamara.

"Uhm," Hadley says, and he swallows, and pain hits him right in the throat. He'd forgotten about the bruises. It takes him a second to get the words out. "I think her full name was Tamara Collins."

"What," Francis says, flatly.

"Coincidence," Hassan says, unperturbed. "Plenty of white girls with a name like that."

"There aren't many white girls named Tamara Collins who are also goth," says Jeanne. "Honestly, I don't see where you get your statistics from."

"Coincidence," Hassan repeats.

"You guys know a Tamara Collins?" Hadley asks.

"We do," says David. "She's a witch."

"And a bitch," Francis says.

"Francis, what have I told you about rhyming?" Jeanne says, sweetly.

Francis lets his shoulders slump. "To only do it when I'm trying to impress Ryan."

"There's a good boy."

"You dated Tamara Collins," David says. Without asking, he takes a spring roll off of Hadley's plate. "The same Tamara Collins that we know."

"You're eating my spring rolls," Hadley says. He frowns. "I think I'd know if my ex-girlfriend was a witch."

"No offence, but I don't think you'd recognize a witch even if she rode around on a flying broom and turned children into frogs." David holds up the spring roll. "Also, I'm taking the price of the spring roll into account for your curse fee, don't worry."

"Thanks," Hadley says, and tries to eat the rest of his egg waffles.

"You're remarkably blasé about your ex being a witch," says Francis.

"Because she's not," Hassan says, scowling. "It's coincidence."

"I don't really care," says Hadley, around a mouthful of waffle. "We dated a long time ago. If she's a witch—" he shrugs—"none of my business. I'm just looking to stay alive."

"There's an attitude I can respect," says Francis. "Too bad I have the hots for Ryan. If I didn't, I would've considered you."

"I'm flattered," Hadley says, and lets himself smile.

"Speaking of girls and-or crushes—you didn't call Vic," says David. He doesn't sound mad. More amused, really. "Got cold feet?"

Hadley coughs. "I—uh. Right, I had something I wanted to discuss."

"Changing the topic," Francis says, slyly. "Very subtle."

"Alright, then," says David. "You want to wait, or do you want to lay it out here, in front of all these assholes?"

"Gee, thanks," says Jeanne, rolling their eyes.

"I think the faster we get this over with," says Hadley, "the better."

"Okay." David makes a gesture with his hand. "Go ahead."

Suddenly, here, in this diner, surrounded by David and his friends, by their light teasing and lack of seriousness, Hadley realizes he doesn't really want to talk about it.

Hadley comes up blank. His mouth goes cotton. There's an ache in his jaw. He doesn't know how he's going to put into words the horror, the terrifying reality of what happened last night.

He tries, anyway.

"Last night, I—" he reforms the words in his mouth, tries to get the words out—"something happened last night. I don't think—I don't know if—it was bad, okay?"

"Start at the beginning," David says, his tone almost sympathetic. "Take your time."

Hadley looks down at the table, at the remains of his breakfast. He picks up the fork on the side of his plate.

"I was dreaming. It wasn't that strange. I was eating dinner in my dream. And then—" he sticks the fork into what remains of the egg waffle—"things started to get weird. This thing walked in. It didn't have a face. But it had my body. It had my hair and my arms and my hands and everything—it was built like me, but it didn't have my face. It didn't have any face at all. And I don't know what happened, I can't remember, but then another version of me showed up, this seven year old kid, and the faceless guy lifted his fork and—"

David is gripping his wrist.

"Hadley," David says, evenly. "Put down the fork."

At first, Hadley doesn't understand. Then he sees that he's gripping the fork, just inches above his right thigh, like he's going to stab it.

David lets go of his wrist. Hadley puts down the fork.

"Spooky," says Hassan.

Hadley looks at his hand. He wriggles his fingers, clenches and unclenches his fist. His hand is still his own.

"Were you aware you were doing that?" Jeanne asks. "You didn't look like it."

"I wasn't aware," admits Hadley. He pushes the knife and fork away from him, along with the plate.

"Keep going," says Francis.

"Yeah," Hadley says. He ignores his hand. "The dream ended, I think, when someone told me to wake up. I don't know who it was, I couldn't see them, but I woke up." Hadley stops. He doesn't know if he can recount the second part of this whole nightmare.

David asks, "Is that it?"

They're all looking at him expectantly.

"I think it's better if I just show you," says Hadley, quietly.

He takes off his scarf.

Nobody says anything, at first. Hadley thinks, for an unnerving second, that they don't see anything.

Francis is the first to react. "Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ."

Hassan isn't saying anything. Just staring at Hadley's bared neck, like he's completely forgotten the mug in his hand halfway in the journey between the table and his mouth. Both of Jeanne's hands are covering their mouth.

"Put your scarf back on," says David. Hadley thinks it's an awfully callous reaction, until he hears David's voice nearly break.

Hadley wraps the scarf around his neck.

"Who did that to you?" Jeanne asks. Their voice is muffled. Their hands haven't moved from their mouth.

"My sister. Not my sister. In a dream." Hadley struggles to find the words to explain everything, without reliving every terrifying second of it. "I can't explain it. I don't want to. It was bad." He's aware of how much like a child he sounds. "My sister was trying to—she was doing something very bad."

Francis asks, "Like what?"

"She was kissing me."

"Oh."

The table goes very quiet. Hadley can hear the scrape of forks and spoons on plates, the early morning bustle outside the shop growing louder. He can hear his own heartbeat.

"That's bad," says Francis, and Hadley thinks Francis only opens his mouth because he can't stand the sound of silence.

"Well, yeah, no shit," Hassan says. "Have we ever dealt with anything like this before?"

"I thought you said this was a likho," Jeanne says to David.

David stays very quiet.

Benji wanders towards their table again. "What'd I miss?" he asks, somewhat bored.

"James Bishop Whats-it over here has had a very bad curse put on him," Francis answers, "and it's gotten way worse in one night."

"Huh," says Benji. "Let me know if something happens." He wanders off again, attending to the other patrons of the diner.

"You said," says Jeanne, "that this was a likho. Likhos can't do this."

"I know," David says. "Trust me, I know this isn't a likho. I don't know what this is."

Hadley's stomach sinks.

"Dave," Hassan says, "maybe you should ask a breaker for help."

"No," David says. "No. Absolutely not. I'm not going to ask for help."

"You're putting someone's life at risk."

"I know what I'm doing. I'm not going to hand him over to some snob who thinks they know more than me because they're all authorized and official and part of some bigger elite club. I can do this."

Hassan sets down his mug. His gaze is clear, intense, focused on David.

"Maybe you handled other curses well," Hassan says, in a tone that is clear and concise. "Maybe you were excellent at them. But Dave, whatever he's got going on is something beyond you. We've never dealt with anything like this before."

"The breakers haven't dealt with anything like this either," says David. He lifts his chin. "You know this."

"But they're better equipped to deal with this. They've got trained professionals. Actual designated liminal places. What do we have? Molly."

David raises his chin higher. The soft light in the diner isn't enough to blur the dangerous shift in his expression.

"I won't," David says. "You know I won't. I'm going to save him, no matter what it takes."

Hadley, for some strange reason, feels his stomach twist.

"But I'm not going to go beg those assholes for help," David continues.

Hassan sighs. "You're being stupid about this."

"You think I didn't take into account they'd have better equipment? I did. But whatever they have isn't going to save him. Power is. And that's what I have."

"David," Jeanne says, gently. "You can't just brute force through a death curse."

David blinks, once, twice. He looks down at his hands. "I know."

"I don't think this is a death curse," Francis says.

They all turn to look at him.

"What?" Francis says. "I mean, if it's a death curse, why would anyone drag it out? All this suffering business doesn't really add up, in my opinion. Didn't you place charms on him or whatever? Typical wards against that sort of negative energy?"

"I did," David says.

"When did you—" Hadley begins.

David answers before he can finish. "The necklace."

"They should be working, then," Francis says. He leans forward, cups his chin in his palm. "If they're not, that means it's either not a death curse, or a curse that's going to worsen until it becomes a death curse."

"A ticking time bomb," Hadley says.

"Yeah," says Francis. "A bomb."

"So you'd have to watch over James to prevent it from becoming a death curse," Jeanne says, and smiles. "Oh, I like where this is going."

Hadley frowns. "I don't know where this is going."

"I do," David says. "How big is your room?"

"Plenty big," Hadley says, puzzled.

"Guys, I'm pleased to announce," says David, and gestures at Hadley, "I'm going to be staying over at James Bishop Hadley's house."

Hadley starts in his seat, and looks at David with a horrified expression. "No. What? No, wait, what? What?"

"That sounds like a bad idea," says Francis. "I love it."

"I haven't even agreed," Hadley says, a little weakly.

"You will, because your life depends on it," says David, with good nature.

"Good luck staying with him for like, god-knows-how-long," Hassan says. "I can't stand him for two hours."

Hadley can't stop staring at David. David smiles back at him, and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Cheer up! It's not like you're letting a total stranger into your house," David says, breezily. "It's just me."

"It's just you," says Hadley.

"Exactly," David says, and squeezes Hadley's shoulder. "It's just me, trying to help."

In three weeks, James Bishop Hadley will regret ever letting David inside his house. In three weeks, Hadley will regret ever showing up to Li Wei's Tea House. In three weeks, Hadley will regret—and not for the first time—ever meeting David.

But he doesn't know this yet.

And because he doesn't know this yet, he sighs. Shrugs off David's hand. Looks at the ruins left of his breakfast.

"Alright then," he says. "Help me."

­

***

a/n: ok im not gonna make any more self-deprecating jokes! just take this because hooo i want to get this over with! enough of all this polished crap! do editing we die like men! if you don't just post first drafts on wattpad without giving a shit you're a coward!!!!!!!

again, thanks to the 4 people who're still reading this!! :^)