Blumiere's heart sank as he watched Dimentio walk away, feeling a sense of loss that he couldn't shake off. He was happy that his friend was reunited with his siblings, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the thought of not seeing him again. As they said their goodbyes, Dimentio revealed that he had left his notebook behind. Blumiere listened carefully as Dimentio instructed him to keep the book safe, warning him of the potential dangers of the prophecies contained within. Blumiere nodded solemnly, promising to protect the book with his life. As he watched Dimentio disappear into the distance, Blumiere couldn't help but feel a sense of discomfort. He knew that the notebook was a powerful tool, but he also knew that it could be incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands. He resolved to keep the book hidden, only to be used in the most dire of circumstances.

Days turned into weeks, and Blumiere found himself growing restless. He missed his friend and longed for the days when they would sit and talk for hours on end. He often found himself staring at the notebook, wondering what secrets it held and what prophecies it contained.

As time went on, Blumiere began to wonder if they would ever meet again. He knew that Dimentio had returned to his family, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they still had a role to play in each other's lives. He had a feeling they would.

As the siblings finally arrived home, Dimentio felt a strange sense of displacement. The world he had once known felt so much smaller now as if he had outgrown it. Yet, he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for the familiar sights and sounds of his childhood home. As he breathed in the familiar scent of the night air, Dimentio felt a sense of nostalgia wash over him. He had forgotten how much he missed the feeling of the ground beneath his feet, the sound of crickets chirping in the distance, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind. As they walked down the familiar path toward his childhood home, Dimentio couldn't help but feel a sense of melancholy. He knew that things would never be the same again, that he could never truly go back to the way things were before. But he also knew that he needed to do this. He needed to return to the beginning. It was time. He could almost imagine the feeling of familiarity he would soon feel once he stepped through the front door of his childhood home. He could already recognize the sense of warmth and comfort washing over him.

Ever since his children had left home, Caleb had been consumed by a terrible loneliness that he couldn't shake. The silence of the house was deafening, and the emptiness of the rooms only served to remind him of all that he had lost. Every night, he would sit outside his house, holding Dimentio's multicolored cloak and staring out into the darkness, hoping against hope that his children would come home. He missed their laughter, their jokes, and their company. He missed everything about them, from the way they would tease him to the way they would hug him tightly before bed. As the nights wore on, Caleb found himself sinking deeper and deeper into despair. He would sit outside for hours, watching the stars twinkle in the sky and wondering where his children were and what they were doing. He tried to keep himself busy during the day, but nothing seemed to fill the void that they had left behind.

As he waited outside his house, he saw a figure walking towards him. At first, he didn't recognize who it was, but as the figures drew closer, he realized that it was Dimentio, standing in front of the rest of his siblings. The second their eyes met, his heart practically stopped. Dimentio stilled as Caleb's eyes filled with tears.

He said not a word. He simply stood up, then reached forward and placed a gentle hand on the side of Dimentio's charred face, just to make sure he was real.

Dimentio's breath hitched, then he placed a hand on his father's and leaned into it.

"I'm home, Dad," he whispered. "I'm home."

Caleb softly smiled through his tears, then pulled back and placed the beautiful cloak into Dimentio's arms. Dimentio felt the weight of the soft fabric, but he didn't take his eyes off his father.

Benjamin wasn't the only one who aged. Caleb looked older, weaker, and more tired. But he was also glowing with joy. A look of joy that Dimentio had never seen before.

~ Music Start ~

Dimentio then looked down at his beautiful cloak. Torn and tattered, it was still filled with memories. The joy it brought him, the problems it caused, there was a story to be told, written in the beautiful embroidery.

Dimentio: I closed my eyes,
Drew back the curtain
To see for certain
What I thought I knew
Far far away,
Someone was weeping
But the world was sleeping
Any dream will do

Dimentio/Adrien, Marie, and Mac: I wore my coat/I wore my coat...
With golden lining/Ah...
Bright colors shining/Ah...
Wonderful and new...
And in the east/And in the east...
The dawn was breaking/Ah...
And the world was waking/Ah...
Any dream will do...

He smiled, then looked back to his childhood home.

Dimentio: A crash of drums

Fleur: A flash of light

Dimentio: My golden coat flew out of sight

Dimentio and Fleur: The colors faded into darkness
I was left alone...

Dimentio smiled and waved. She waved back.

Dimentio and Fleur/Adrien, Marie, and Mac: May I return/May I return
To the beginning/Ah...
The light is dimming/Ah...
And the dream is too/And the dream is too
The world and I/The world and I...
We are still waiting/Ah...
Still hesitating/Ah...
Any dream will do
Still hesitating...
Any dream will do...

Dimentio nodded, then turned back and joined his siblings, who welcomed him with open arms.

Everyone: May I return/may I return
To the beginning/Ah...
The light is dimming/Ah...
And the dream is too...
The world and I/The world and I
We are still waiting/Ah...
Still hesitating...
Any dream will do...
Give me my colored cloak,
My amazing colored cloak
Give me my colored cloak,
My amazing colored
Cloak!

~ Music Stop ~

Marie, Adrien, and Mac each stood up and started clapping as Fleur smiled and bowed her head upon finishing the story. While they all knew that this couldn't really be what happened in the past, it was their own story to hold onto and believe in.

"Your dad didn't die this time," Marie giggled as she placed the flower crown she had been working on throughout the story onto Adrien's head.

"Yes, I think it's safe to say that my dad was the best part of the story," Adrien beamed.

"Yeah, I didn't want to deal with your complaining again," Fleur giggled, sitting criss-cross and eagerly looking at each of her friends. "So what did you think?"

Marie and Adrien continued gushing about how much they loved the story while Mac stayed silent, fidgeting with the small buttercup he picked the other day.

"Mac, she asked you a question," Adrien giggled, elbowing his friend lightly.

"Huh?" Mac asked, shaking his head and looking up.

"I asked you what your thoughts were," Fleur laughed. "Were you zoning out this whole time?"

"What, no! No! I was paying attention!" Mac exclaimed. "I just got lost in my thoughts for one second. Really."

"So what did you think?"

Mac paused, then brought the flower in front of himself. He looked down at the smooth petals. Like butter, he thought. They were soft like butter. Perhaps that was why they were called buttercups.

"I thought it was wonderful," he said.

Fleur smiled, then bowed her head formally in a joking manner. "Well, thank you," she beamed.

It was still the middle of the day, but all the children stayed up fairly late the night before, so the decided to go home and rest. Adrien and Marie ran ahead as they always did, while Mac and Fleur walked back behind the group at a more reasonable pace.

Mac continued fidgeting with the flower, trying to work up the courage to give it to her. His mom told him that positive affirmations would help, but they weren't really doing anything. His father told him to just be strong and face his fears, but that advice wasn't all that great either. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it his own way.

"Um, Fleur?" he asked as the two continued walking. "I have a-"

"Do you think Adrien really liked it?" Fleur interrupted, turning her face to Mac's. She let out a small laugh, then waved her hand. "Sorry, sorry, I interrupted you. Go ahead."

But Mac had lost the courage he had finally built up. He felt like he was back to square one. He looked down at the flower in his hand, feeling defeated.

"He said he did, didn't he?" Mac shrugged.

"Yeah, but you can never tell with him," Fleur said. She then looked forward and sighed. "I really hope he liked this one."

Mac's heart dropped, though he couldn't tell why. It was as if his heart knew something that his mind didn't. He felt a sense of unease wash over him, like a storm cloud on the horizon. He let out a sigh, trying to shake the feeling let out a sigh as well, then tucked the buttercup into his pocket and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"He did," Mac promised. "And I'm sure he'll like your next story even better."

Fleur smiled at him, then patted his hand. Mac felt a sense of warmth spread through his body at her touch.

"Don't tell him," she said. "You're my best friend. I'm trusting you with this."

"I won't, I won't," Mac assured her, pulling his hand back and raising it up. He then used his other hand to cross his heart.

She nodded, then the two parted ways. Mac watched her go, feeling a sense of dread that he couldn't shake.

Once Mac got home, he went straight to his room, then sat down at his desk, which was filled with all kinds of books. He wasn't a writer like Fleur, but he did really enjoy reading or listening to stories. He even had a few of Fleur's old stories that she had given him throughout the years. He smiled as he looked at the books, feeling a sense of comfort and familiarity that he couldn't ignore.

He pulled the small buttercup out of his pocket. The petals were crumpled and one had fallen off. He let out a slightly strained breath, kicking himself for not being more careful with the delicate flower. He was overwhelmed with a sense of regret that he couldn't ignore. He wished that he had been more careful, that he had protected the flower, that he had shown it the respect that it deserved.

He shook his head, then put the crumpled flower into a vase, along with dozens of other slightly withered flowers which were situated on the windowsill.

He looked at his reflection, then out to the house right next to his. He could see Adrien in his room, waiting by his window as well. When the two were younger, they would play telephone with two cans connected by a string. He was having a hard time focusing on those happy memories, though.

Adrien waved, and Mac waved back.

He wasn't going to allow himself to become jealous.

But something hurt about how perfect Adrien's smile was.

Something hurt deep within him, and he couldn't seem to make it stop. All he could do was lie down on his bed and try to hide it. Try to gaslight himself into thinking it wasn't there.

He didn't allow himself to feel too disappointed. After all, he didn't really expect anything. Still, it was always sad whenever something proved him right like this.

The Dimentio in the story went through rough patches, though, and he still got a fairly decent ending, so who knew what the future held? Perhaps someday he could be brave enough to speak up. Perhaps someday he'd be the one people wanted.

For now, he'd keep being the best friend. He liked being the best friend. Perhaps he was made to be just the best friend. The idea of doing anything to ruin that perfect friendship was terrifying, so maybe this was a sign telling him to just hang tight and wait.