Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sound of running echoed, fast and desperate. The ragged breaths of a thirteen-year-old boy spilled out of his mouth. His glasses were drenched, fogged and dripping from the light rain. His face was twisted with anger, tears, and hatred. He ran aimlessly through the streets, as if chasing after the one person who mattered most. The one closest to him. His protector. His best friend. And… his twin brother.

He was furious at his father—the man who had heartlessly sold his twin the moment he saw the chance. He hadn’t even known that his father had punished his brother earlier, forcing him to stand outside the family shop for getting a bad grade in one subject, holding a cardboard sign that read Extra Stan – 3 dollars.

The boy had later found the sign, soaked through and with its writing almost completely washed away, lying abandoned in front of the shop.

He never imagined that the punishment would turn into something far worse. Someone had offered a large sum of money to reduce the punishment, and his father accepted it—but he told them that his twin was no longer needed. Without hesitation, he drove his twin away, leaving him behind.

The boy only learned of it after returning from the library, where he had gone to borrow a book—something he’d planned to read aloud with his brother later that night.

Now he kept running, without direction, his heart refusing to let go of hope. Maybe he could still find his twin. Maybe it wasn’t too late. The guilt weighed heavy on him—he hated himself for being selfish, for not noticing sooner what his brother had endured, standing in front of the shop in the pouring rain for so long.

Clank!

His shoes slipped against the slick pavement. He fell, the impact not too hard, but enough to shake him.

Tears poured relentlessly behind his fogged glasses. He stared down at the wet ground and struck it with his fists, as if to wake himself from this nightmare. That’s all this could be, right? A nightmare. One of those fears he always carried deep inside.

“Lee… please… come back…” His voice cracked, hoarse and breathless from all the running.

Behind him, faintly, he heard his mother calling out. But all he could think about was how to bring his brother back.

His mother arrived, umbrella in hand. She knelt beside him, resting her hand gently against his soaked back.

She was just as furious, just as guilty. She had only found out after returning from her errands, and when she confronted her husband, their fight had been loud and brutal. She wasn’t about to lose the only child left to her.

“Ford… we’ll find Lee. Not now, not in this storm,” she said softly, trying to soothe him, though her own tears betrayed her. Her eyes were swollen and full of rage, but she forced calm into her voice—for him.

The boy turned to her and threw his arms around her desperately, burying his face in her embrace. She staggered under the sudden weight but held on, pulling him close, ignoring how rainwater soaked through her clothes.

“I promise we’ll find Lee and bring him back,” she whispered, her hand stroking his drenched hair and trembling shoulders.

The boy could only nod, his sobs quieter now, though his chest still heaved with anger, sorrow, and pain all tangled together.

“Please, Ma… I don’t want to be alone…” he choked, lifting his tear-streaked face, his eyes red and swollen behind wet lenses.

His mother smiled through her tears, a soft, maternal smile. She wiped at his cheeks with her thumb.

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll do everything I can. I’m furious with your father too—for selling Lee like that.”

Finally, she pulled him into her lap. He curled up against her, his sobs dwindling to broken hiccups. His eyes stared out at the street—neither crowded nor empty—where the sound of passing cars carried on indifferent to his pain.

Lee… I promise. I promise I’ll find you, wherever you are. I won’t let you be alone.

“Ugh…” The weak groan slipped from the boy’s lips as his body shivered violently. He lay on a bed—not too small, not too large—his thin frame trembling after being forced to stand in front of the shop for so long, clutching that sign. His skin was burning with fever, yet his body was cold to the touch. Still, he felt… grateful. Grateful someone had taken him in, even though he had collapsed before he could even thank them.

There was a voice now—soft, anxious, hovering over him with care. A blanket was pulled tightly over his shaking body. The voice sounded like a woman, perhaps in her early thirties. Concern laced every word.

The boy tried to turn his head, though his eyes stayed shut; the world was too blurry, spinning with fever. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was shouting. His pa’s voice. That familiar cruelty.

“Hey! This is your child! Just because I gave you money doesn’t mean I bought him from you!”
“I don’t need him. He’s just an extra Stan. The other one is more than enough. He’s useless.”
“If he’s useless, then don’t throw him away until he burns with fever like this!”
“Tch. That’s his fault for being weak. Not like a real Pines.”
“He’s just a child, you bastard—”
“Keep arguing and I’ll call the police, say you kidnapped him!”
“Fine! If that’s what you want! Don’t expect to get him back! He deserves better than this miserable family!”

Those were the words echoing in his fevered head before he had slipped away again—before the warmth of unfamiliar arms carried him somewhere far from home, far from his house, far from his father’s rejection.

Because deep down, he already knew. They didn’t need him. Not Pa. Not anyone.

No. That wasn’t true. His ma cared. His twin brother cared—his brilliant, strange, six-fingered twin. The clever one. The strong one. The one worth keeping. The one he was supposed to protect.

But now… he wasn’t by his brother’s side anymore. Maybe he never would be again. His heart resisted, screamed against it, but his mind whispered otherwise: his twin would be fine without him. Strong enough to stand alone. Smarter. Better. He was just the extra Stan. Always a burden. Always the mistake.

Maybe he deserved to be thrown away.

A voice broke through the storm of his thoughts—gentle, trembling, guilty.

“Child… please. Forgive me for giving your father money. I didn’t know… I didn’t know it would turn out like this.” Her voice cracked, as if she was fighting back tears.

The boy shook his head weakly, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, anger and grief welling up together.

“No… it’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who failed every subject… I’m the one who’s just extra Stan… I’m the one who’s useless. I couldn’t even be smart like my brother. I couldn’t—” His voice broke into sobs.

The woman flinched, startled, and quickly shook her head.

“No. No, that’s not true.” Her voice was firm now, though grief still laced it. “I may not know everything about your family, but listen to me—you are not a failure. You’re not useless. You’re still learning. You’re still growing. You’re not dumb, child—you just haven’t understood yet. One day you’ll prove it to yourself.”

Her words sank into him slowly, cutting through the fever haze. He wept softly, clutching at the blanket, trying to bury himself deeper inside it. His body trembled with chills. She rose briefly, adjusted the air conditioner, turning the room warmer, then returned to sit beside him. Her eyes lingered on him with raw worry.

“Still cold?” she asked softly. “If you’d like… I can hold you. To keep you warm. Do you want that?”

He looked at her, hesitating. Then shook his head.

“I… I can do it myself. I have to be strong. I have to stand on my own.”

Her lips curved with a sad smile as she brushed her hand over his damp forehead, smoothing back his hair.

“Child… you don’t always have to be alone. You don’t always have to be strong by yourself. It’s okay to accept help.” She lay down beside him, gently pulling him close into her arms.

He tensed, protesting faintly. “I don’t… want to be held—” But his body betrayed him, softening against her warmth. Slowly, he relaxed, his breathing settling.

“You’re annoying…” he muttered weakly.

She laughed softly, holding him tighter. “Then stop being so stubborn, and I won’t have to be annoying.”

Her embrace was steady, her scent soothing—sweet vanilla with a faint trace of roses.

His eyelids grew heavy. His voice, faint and trembling, slipped out before sleep claimed him.

“…Thank you…”

A small smile touched her lips as his breathing evened into soft snores. She held him a little closer, watching over him in silence.

The boy sobbed into his twin’s empty bed. Downstairs, the muffled sound of arguing still carried—Ma and Pa, fighting again over the brother twin who was gone.

He had already changed into dry clothes, already bathed to wash away the chill of the rain. Yet nothing could warm him. His eyes landed on the storybook he had borrowed earlier—the one he was supposed to read with his twin tonight.

His chest tightened. With a sudden, angry motion, he hurled the book across the room. It hit the floor with a dull thud.

He hated it. He hated the book. He hated himself—for being too stupid to notice his brother’s suffering until it was too late.

Curling back into himself, he wrapped his arms tight around his own body and pressed his face into his knees. His sobs came in harsh, broken waves. He was scared. Alone. The silence around him only made it worse.

He was used to his twin’s chatter filling the space, rambling about silly things that didn’t matter. He longed for that voice now. He wanted it back.

He wanted him back.

Why could he be clever in everything else—but never smart enough to see the pain his twin was carrying?

The door creaked open.

Ma stood there, her hair mussed, her face weary. Yet her eyes softened when they landed on him, still crying into himself on the bed. She crossed the room quietly, sat down beside him, and laid a gentle hand on his trembling shoulder.

He looked up at her with swollen eyes before throwing himself into her arms.

“Ma… Lee will come home, right?” His voice cracked with the fragile hope of it.

Her heart broke, but she nodded firmly. “I believe it. You know your brother, don’t you? Lee is strong. He’s clever. He’ll come back.”

“But… what if he doesn’t want to?” His voice wavered, thick with doubt. “What if he doesn’t miss me at all? What if… he left me on purpose?” The thought spilled from him, poisoned by guilt. He remembered too well how often Lee had been punished, more than he ever was.

Ma shook her head quickly, her voice certain. “No. Lee would never do that. He misses you—so much, Ford. I promise you, he does. He’ll come back. And if he doesn’t… then I’ll drag him back myself and scold him for leaving you alone.”

Her playful tone at the end startled a small laugh out of him. It was faint, but it broke through the weight of his tears.

Ma smiled softly. “Tired?” she asked as his yawns grew harder to fight.

He nodded, blinking drowsily. “But… will you stay with me? I don’t want to be alone…” His small hand clutched at her sleeve.

“Of course, sweetheart. Anything for you, pumpkin.” She stroked his hair, smoothing it down as she lay beside him.

He curled against her, already drifting, warm in her embrace.

“Ma… I want Lee to come back…” he murmured, the words slurring as sleep pulled him under.

Her hand continued to comb gently through his hair. “Me too…” she whispered.

She watched as his face relaxed at last, his breathing soft and even in sleep. Turning her gaze toward the wall, her eyes landed on a bright cartoon poster—one of Lee’s favorites. Her chest tightened, her breath catching.

Where do I even begin to search? Fillbrick never asked who took Lee, never cared to know where he was being taken. I just pray… that whoever has him now is kind. That he’s safe. And that somehow… I’ll find him before it’s too late.

“NO!!!!!” The boy screamed, jolting awake from his nightmare. He sat upright, breathing hard, eyes darting wildly in panic.

The door burst open. A woman rushed inside and hurried toward him. He was sobbing now, shoulders shaking. She gathered him into her arms, holding him tight.

“I’m here… I’m right here, sweetheart…” her voice whispered, soothing, steady.

“I’m scared…” his voice trembled, broken between sobs. “I’m scared my brother is all alone… I’m scared he’s being hurt… I’m scared he’s being bullied…” His words poured out, desperate and raw.

The woman stayed silent, only holding him tighter, stroking his back as if her touch could quiet his storm.

“Do you… want to go back to your brother?” she asked softly.

The boy’s sobs eased into hiccups. He wiped his eyes with trembling hands.

“I… I don’t know… Pa already threw me out and sold me off… I wasn’t wanted. If I go back… I’ll just be a burden to my family again…” His fists clenched into the blanket, his gaze sinking downward, heavy with shame.

The woman said nothing at first. Then, slowly, a small smile touched her lips.

“Don’t worry, child. I’ll handle everything. I know a way to bring you back to your brother. But for now, you need rest. I already have a plan.”

His eyes widened, searching her face. “Really? You’re not lying, right?”

She chuckled softly, brushing a hand through his hair. “Of course. Trust me, sweetheart. Now, lie down. Rest.”

He nodded, his breathing calmer now.

“Promise?” he whispered, holding up his pinky finger.

The woman’s smile deepened. She raised her hand too, linking her pinky with his.

“Promise.”

“Please! Come back!!!” the boy cried out, jolting awake from his sleep on his twin’s bed. His body was drenched in sweat, his face pale from the nightmare.

Hurried footsteps approached, and the door swung open. Ma stood there, worry etched across her face. She rushed over, sat at the edge of the bed, and pulled her child into a tight embrace.

“Ma… he doesn’t want to come back… he doesn’t want to…” the boy sobbed, his voice trembling.

“Lee will come back, sweetheart,” Ma whispered softly, stroking his hair. “He might just be naughty, hiding away for a while. But sooner or later, he’ll get bored and return home.”

The boy shook his head weakly, but slowly began to calm down. His hands, once clutching the blanket tightly, loosened.

“Fine… if he keeps hiding and doesn’t come out, I’ll drag him back home myself,” he muttered hoarsely, trying to sound brave.

Ma gave a faint smile, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “That’s more like it, my little pumpkin…”

A small smile tugged at the boy’s lips. His heart was still heavy, but Ma’s words soothed him, just a little.

“Now, go back to sleep,” Ma murmured gently. “Tomorrow, you can look for Lee, but don’t go too far from home. I can’t lose you too—you’re the only one I have left.”

The boy looked at her, then nodded firmly. “Alright, Ma. I’ll sleep… and tomorrow I’ll look for Lee. But I promise, I won’t go far from home.”

His tear-stained eyes, once full of despair, now burned with determination. Ma smiled, her heart both warmed and aching.

“Promise me. Don’t go far. I don’t want to feel more restless… more afraid of losing you.”

The boy smiled faintly and raised his pinky. Ma stared at him for a moment before hooking her pinky with his.

“Promise.”

The boy slowly lay back down, his eyes fluttering shut beneath the blanket. Ma remained by his side, watching with unshakable tenderness. When he finally drifted into sleep, she let out a long breath, swallowing the unease she couldn’t voice.

Chapter Text

Ford had grown quieter since Stan was gone. Normally, the twins would be running around, sharing stories, or sneaking off to explore the wreck of the boat Stan had proudly named the Stan O’ War. Now, Ford spent his days shut away in his room, drawing posters. Posters looking for Stan.

Pa refused to give him any money to make copies, so Ford had no choice but to draw each one by hand.

The face he sketched wasn’t perfect—just a boy with a bandage under his right cheek, a missing tooth, and a striped red-and-white shirt. The details changed each time he drew, but the message stayed the same:

“If anyone has seen my brother, his name is Stanley Pines. Please contact our family at this address.”

By the time Ford was done, there were nearly a hundred posters scattered around his room, crayons worn down to nubs. He’d been at it since morning, only stopping when Ma came upstairs to coax him out.

Usually, Stan would’ve barged in already—yanking Ford out of his chair by the collar, or teasing him when he got too focused on his books. The silence hurt more than the effort of drawing.

“I will find Stanley. No matter what,” Ford muttered to himself, his resolve burning as fiercely as the dream of sailing the Stan O’ War with his brother someday.

Ma’s voice broke his thoughts. “Sweetheart, come eat. You’ve been in here all day.”

Startled, Ford turned around.
“Oh… uh, okay, Ma. I’ll be down in a minute. I just need to finish this.” He gestured at the messy desk piled with papers and crayons. Ma gave him a gentle smile, didn’t press, and quietly closed the door.

Ford sat for a moment longer, staring at Stan’s empty bed. His six-fingered hands curled into fists.
“I’ll find you. I won’t let you have fun out there without me,” he whispered.

His eyes drifted to Stan’s side of the room—still messy with half-finished comics and junk left behind. The ache in his chest tightened. He missed Stan. He wanted him back more than anything. But he knew wishing alone wasn’t enough.

After a pause, Ford got up and walked to their shared closet. Digging through the clothes, his hands stopped when he found a familiar shirt: short-sleeved, red-and-white stripes. Stan’s favorite.

He slipped off his jacket, removed his glasses, peeled away his plain white shirt, and pulled Stan’s on.

When he looked in the mirror, he froze. Without his glasses, with that shirt on… it was almost like Stan was staring back at him. No bandage, no missing tooth, but close enough to make Ford’s chest twist. His hand pressed against the glass, trembling, as if he could reach through and pull Stan back.

Tears pricked his eyes, but he wiped them away quickly. No crying. Real men don’t cry. That was Pa’s rule. Always Pa’s rule.

Ford slipped his jacket back on, replaced his glasses, and headed downstairs.

Ma was at the stove. Pa sat at the table, hiding behind his newspaper. Ford sat down quietly at his spot. The chair scraped against the floor, and Ma glanced over—her eyes lingering a moment on Stan’s shirt. But she said nothing. Pa lowered the paper just long enough to glance at him, then went back to reading.

The silence in the kitchen pressed heavy, unnatural. Usually Stan would’ve been filling the air with chatter—praising Ma’s cooking, or teasing her if something was too salty. Ford clenched his fists in his lap.

“Dinner’s ready!” Ma finally announced, setting plates on the table.

Ford exhaled softly and forced a small smile. “Thanks, Ma.”

The three of them ate. Only the clinking of silverware broke the silence. Ford’s eyes kept flicking toward the empty chair beside him. For a moment, he almost imagined Stan sitting there, grinning through a mouthful of food, crumbs everywhere. The vision made him smile sadly before he dropped his gaze back to his plate.

When they finished, Ford lingered, nerves twisting his stomach. He wanted to ask Ma something, but the words wouldn’t come. Stan had always been the one to speak first, to cover for him when his voice caught.

His hands curled into fists again, nails biting into his palms. Ma’s eyes softened as if she could see right through him.

“What is it, pumpkin?” she asked gently.

Ford startled, meeting her gaze. He swallowed, glancing down before forcing the words out.
“Tomorrow… I want to hand out the posters. Is that okay?” His voice cracked with hesitation, and he cursed himself silently for it.

Ma’s face lit with a smile. She stood, crossed the space between them, and pulled him into a sideways hug.
“Of course you can, sweetheart. Just promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t go too far, like I said. I only have two sons here—you and Sherman at college. I can’t lose you too.”

Her hand smoothed over his hair. Ford’s throat tightened as he leaned into her embrace, letting himself sink into the warmth of it.

“I’ll find him,” he whispered to himself, holding her tighter.

Seagulls cried overhead in the late sky. The sound of the ocean lapped quietly, and a sad wind rustled through everything. Ford was still taping posters to walls, one by one. He handed them out to anyone nearby and checked all of Lee’s favorite spots—the swings, the wrecked boat—but they were always empty.

Talking to strangers wasn’t Ford’s skill. He was clever and capable, but awkward when it came to asking for help. Stan had always been the one to speak for him, to take over when Ford froze. Now that Stan was gone, every conversation felt like stepping into the dark. Ford tried anyway, handing out posters with his voice small and shaky.

“If—if anyone’s seen my brother… please call this number,” he stammered. Most people looked at him pityingly, but they took a poster. Some offered encouragement. One kid even handed him a sweet. None of it made Ford feel better; he stayed tired and heavy.

He was tacking another poster to a wall when a deeper voice made him freeze.

Ford’s chest tightened. He knew that voice—Crampelter and his friends. He wanted to ignore them, to keep his head down, but the voice drew closer.

“Oh, look—there’s the weird kid, all alone without his brother. Where did he go? Doesn’t he even care?” Crampelter laughed, and his friends joined in. Ford gripped his poster so hard his fingers trembled. He looked down.

Crampelter swaggered up and his friends blocked Ford’s way. Ford’s throat felt tight.

“What… what do you want?” he asked, voice shaking. He didn’t want trouble.

“What do we want? We’re just gonna help you out—hand out posters for you,” Crampelter said with a nasty smile. Ford knew that was a lie; the grin gave it away.

“I— I don’t need your help. Thanks,” Ford tried to move past, but one of the boys stepped in front of him. Crampelter snatched a poster out of Ford’s hands in an instant. Ford jolted and tried to grab it back, but two of Crampelter’s friends held his arms.

“Haha, pity,” Crampelter said, patting Ford’s shoulder mockingly. “We’re being so kind, you know.” He sneered at the poster.

“Like your brother? Ugh, he’s so ugly. Gross—like some slimy thing. Let me fix your drawing for you,” Crampelter jeered, leaning in.

“No! Don’t! Please—don’t ruin my posters!” Ford shouted, struggling. The boys held him. Crampelter laughed, then threw the poster to the ground and stomped on it, kicking sheets everywhere. Ford stared, frozen. Then Crampelter and his friends left, high-fiving and laughing.

Ford sank to his knees among the scattered paper. He grabbed what posters he could, hands shaking. Most were ruined. He clutched one to his chest until he could feel the wetness on his face. Tears slid down under his glasses. He didn’t care about Pa’s rules anymore—he wanted to cry and to scream at himself.

“Stan… where are you? I’m scared. I can’t be alone… Stanley… please come back…”

A small hand offered another poster. Ford looked up. He wiped his glasses and blinked. A boy around his age stood there: straight black hair with bangs over his nose, bright red eyes, warm tan skin. He wore a red tee with an open black shirt over it and black jeans. He looked nervous as he held the poster out.

“Uh… want some help?” the boy asked, voice shaky. Ford stared for a beat and shook his head.

“No… I can do it myself,” Ford mumbled. The other boy looked surprised and awkward, glancing around before clearing his throat.

“Come on, man. I know you need help. I can at least put the posters up for you,” he said. Ford looked at the ruined sheets, then at the kid.

“All my posters are ruined. I only have one that’s still okay,” Ford said. The other boy’s hands curled into fists for a moment before he sighed.

“Let me handle it. We can go to a photocopy place,” the boy offered, smiling. Ford was stunned.

“How? I don’t have money.” He knew Pa was stingy.

The boy puffed out his chest. “Don’t worry—I’ve got money. My mom gave me some for snacks. I can use it.” Ford blinked and shook his head.

“No—I don’t want to owe you anything,” he protested. The boy waved him off.

“Dude, you don’t owe me. I, uh… I like helping,” he finished lamely. Ford hesitated, then the boy grabbed his sleeve and pulled him running toward the photocopy shop.

At the shop, the boy handed over the sodden poster and asked the owner to print twenty copies. The owner nodded and started the job. Ford stood there, bewildered, staring at the boy. Who was he? Why was he doing this—paying for posters for a stranger?

“Hey?” the boy said, snapping him out of it.

“Oh—uh, thanks?” Ford replied awkwardly. The boy’s face softened.

“So… who is he?” the boy asked. Ford looked down at the crumpled picture in his hands.

“He’s my twin. I lost him when I came back from the library,” Ford said, voice small. The boy nodded, listening.

“How did that happen?” he asked. Ford’s hands squeezed the paper.

“My Pa sold him—said he wasn’t needed anymore,” Ford spat, anger flaring. The boy looked taken aback.

“Wow… Do you still… hope he’ll come back?” the boy asked quietly. Ford hesitated, then nodded.

“I hope. He has to be lonely without me. I’m lonely without him,” Ford said, tracing Stan’s drawn face with a thumb. The boy fell silent.

The photocopier finished, and the boy paid. He handed Ford a stack of crisp new posters.

“Here—take these. But… can I ask you something?” the boy said, fiddling with his sleeve, nervous.

Ford glared, bracing himself.

“What if—what if your brother doesn’t want to come back? What if he thinks you’ll be fine without him?” the boy asked. Ford’s eyes blazed.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN? HE’S MY BROTHER! OF COURSE HE’LL COME BACK! DON’T YOU DARE SAY THAT. YOU DON’T KNOW HIM. I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS HIM! SAY THAT AGAIN AND I WON’T FORGIVE YOU!” Ford snapped, voice high and shaking. The boy flinched and stepped back. Ford, winded from yelling, turned and hurried away clutching the posters.

“Forget it. You’re no good. You can’t help me,” he told himself, running until he couldn’t run anymore. He hugged the new posters tight.

“Damn. Why does no one understand that my brother isn’t trash? Stanley’s great. He’s strong. Why does everyone treat him like a burden? No—he isn’t a burden. He’s my twin…” Ford kept muttering as he ran, finally collapsing on the edge of the pier. He stared at the lowering sky, curling in on himself.

“Please… where are you… let me be with you…”

The noise of school didn’t lift Ford’s spirits. He felt even heavier. Last night he hadn’t been able to sleep, though he lied to Ma and said he had. He rested his head on the desk, arms folded over it. Normally, Ford loved school—he was always the one dragging Stan out of bed. Stan hated school, often faking sick until Ford hauled him along.

Now the desk beside him sat empty.

Ford curled tighter against the wood, but whispers from nearby still reached him. He didn’t need to lift his head to know they were about him—and Stan.

“Hey, did you hear? Stan got kidnapped.”
“No way. Stan’s too loud for that—he would’ve screamed his lungs out.”
“Maybe his family threw him out?”
“If they did, that’s awful. But I don’t think so. Those twins are glued together.”
“Could be they ditched Stan when Ford wasn’t looking.”
“Or maybe he ran away. Their dad’s strict as hell—Stan probably couldn’t take it.”
“Nah, sounds more like he got sold. Human trafficking, maybe.”

The whispers spiraled on, sharper and more absurd each time. Ford clenched his jaw. Why didn’t they say it to his face instead of pretending he couldn’t hear? His stomach twisted tighter when the tone shifted.

“So… if Stan’s really gone, isn’t that a relief? I don’t have to cover my ears anymore.”
“Right? I don’t have to listen to his dumb comments.”
“Stan was such a burden to Ford. Poor guy—he’s better off without him.”
“Yeah. Ford’s still the golden child. It makes sense Stan’s gone. He was nothing but dead weight.”

Ford’s fists curled beneath the desk. He wanted to scream at them—Stan was not a burden—but instead he pressed his face down harder into his arms. The school bell rang sharp and loud. TRING! Chairs scraped. Everyone scrambled back to their seats. Ford sighed in relief; at least the gossip would shut up, but the ache in his chest lingered.

Miss Jasmine entered, clearing her throat. She began roll call.

“Ethan James Carter.” — Here, ma’am.
“Amelia Jane Turner.” — Present.
“Theodore Scott.” — I’m here.

Ford stared at the empty chair again. He didn’t notice when the teacher called his name.

“Stanford Fillbrick Pines!” she said more firmly. Ford jerked up, raising his hand.
“Present…” he mumbled.

Miss Jasmine’s eyes softened knowingly. When she skipped Stanley Fillbrick Pines, Ford winced. Of course the teachers already knew—Ma must’ve told them. He folded back down into his arms.

“Today, we’re welcoming a new student,” Miss Jasmine announced. The room buzzed with excitement. Normally Stan would’ve been the first to crack a joke, to guess it was a “pretty girl.” Ford didn’t look up even when the door opened and the new kid walked in. The chatter swelled, then quieted as Miss Jasmine raised a hand.

“Go on, introduce yourself.”

A cheerful, light voice answered, but Ford stayed sunk in his memories. He barely registered the clapping, the scraping chair when the new kid sat down. He didn’t want to care. The world shouldn’t keep spinning when Stan was missing.

At recess, Ford didn’t move. He stayed folded over his desk until a slam jolted him upright. Three figures loomed over him—Gina, Kay, and Reza. They’d always picked on him when Stan wasn’t around. Now, with Stan truly gone, Ford had become their easiest target.

“Well, well, the weirdo’s all alone. Where’s your guard dog, huh?” Gina sneered. The others laughed. Ford turned his face away.

“What do you want?” His voice trembled.

Kay leaned close, eyes sharp. “I wanna see your sad little face without your mutt around to bark for you.”

Reza snorted. “Maybe your mutt finally ran off and found a new master.”

Ford’s hands shook at his sides. Rage bubbled up—but another voice cut through.

“Hey. Seriously? Don’t you guys have better things to do than bully him?”

The three turned. Ford blinked, stunned. That boy—he recognized him. The boy from yesterday, the one who’d helped him print posters.

Kay scowled. “What’s it to you? Playing hero, new kid?”

The boy chuckled, folding his arms. “More like wondering why you’re trying so hard to be thugs in a classroom. Really? This is your big moment?”

His gaze flicked to Ford. “Picking on him? That’s your idea of fun? Wow. You’re not even embarrassed, huh?”

Ford ducked his head, but the bullies flushed red.

“Tch. You’re lucky,” Gina spat. “Let’s go.”

The three stalked off, throwing Ford one last glare.

Ford breathed out shakily. Relief lasted only a moment—until the boy approached. He had straight black curls falling across his nose, red eyes bright against warm golden skin. Same clothes as yesterday.

Ford glanced up, then quickly away, his anger from before still raw. The boy rubbed the back of his neck, looking uneasy.

“Uh… yeah. Guess we meet again,” he said with a small laugh. Ford didn’t answer.

The boy shifted, scratching his arm. “Okay, look… I’m sorry. About what I said yesterday. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His voice was quiet, guilty.

Ford finally looked at him. “You regret it?”

The boy nodded earnestly. “Yeah. I was stupid. I didn’t understand. Please—will you accept my apology?”

Ford hesitated. His chest still ached with anger, but seeing those eyes—genuinely sorry—made it hard to hold onto the fire. He sighed.

“…Alright. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, either. And… thanks. For the posters. For chasing them off.”

The boy’s face lit up. “Really?”

Ford gave a small nod. The boy grinned so wide it was contagious. Ford even smiled back, just a little.

“So, you’re new here?” Ford asked, then immediately cringed. Of course he was new. That was obvious. He tried again. “I mean… what’s your name?”

The boy blinked, then laughed. “Oh! Right. My name’s Alvaric Slyven. Call me Alva.” He held out his hand.

Ford froze. His stomach twisted. Six fingers. What if—?

Alva tilted his head. “What’s wrong?”

“My hands are weird,” Ford muttered. “You’ll hate them.”

Alva paused, something flickering in his gaze, but he kept his voice light. “Weird? Come on—I love weird stuff.”

Ford searched his face for a lie. Finding none, he reluctantly held out both hands. Eyes squeezed shut, bracing for disgust.

“Whoa!” Alva exclaimed, grabbing his hands eagerly. “Six fingers? That’s awesome!” He turned them over, fascinated.

Ford’s eyes flew open. “You… don’t think it’s gross?”

“Gross? No way!” Alva grinned. “Think about it—you can count faster, or hold extra coins between your fingers. That’s genius!”

Ford flushed, unsure how to respond. Alva only chuckled, then clasped one of his hands firmly.

“Being different isn’t the worst thing. Trust me. So—what’s your name?”

Ford smiled faintly. “Stanford Fillbrick Pines. Just call me Ford.”

“Got it. Let’s be friends, Ford!” Alva’s smile was brilliant.

Something in Ford eased. Aside from Stan, this was the first person who’d reached for him—really reached for him.

“…Okay,” Ford said softly.

Alva grabbed his sleeve and tugged. “Come on, let’s hit the cafeteria!”

Ford laughed, startled, and let himself be pulled along. For the first time since Stan vanished, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

“I’m home,” said a boy called Alva as he stepped into the house. The place was quiet, almost too quiet. He let out a sigh and walked toward one of the rooms with a heavy iron door.

“Mom, working on another project again?” Alva asked as he entered.

A woman in her thirties turned toward him, dark blue-black hair streaked with the first hints of gray, her loose waves tied back. She lifted her goggles, smiling at him.

“Ah, I just finished fixing the dishwasher. You know how it keeps running away and smashing glasses.”

Alva rolled his eyes and gave her a look.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Always chaos with your inventions, Mama Gwen,” he muttered. He caught his reflection in the mirror nearby, then glanced back at her. Gwen chuckled and ruffled his hair.

“So,” she asked, watching him closely, “how was school? Smooth? Did you meet him?”

Alva sighed, moving closer to the mirror. He raised a hand to his face. Slowly, his features shifted, peeling away into a mask. His real face stared back: a broad red nose, brown eyes, wavy brown hair. The bandage was still stuck to his right cheek, and a gap showed in the middle of his teeth. His true voice slipped through, no longer the crisp one of Alva with straight black hair and sharp red eyes.

“Yeah… not bad. I slipped up yesterday—said something stupid, like I wasn’t coming back. It was awkward. But I managed to fix it. We made peace after I apologized, just like you told me to, Mama Gwen,” he said softly. Gwen smiled warmly.

“So the mask is working for you, Stanley?”

The boy turned. He wasn’t Alva at all—he was Stanley Fillbrick Pines. His grin widened.

“Of course! This is the wildest plan ever! I’m disguised as someone completely different—voice, habits, looks! Your project is insane, Mama Gwen,” he laughed, holding up the mask, now just a sleek piece of white tech, its surface alive with glowing blue lines.

“Haha… maybe it’s just another invention,” Gwen teased, though her tone softened. “But are you really serious about this? Choosing to live as someone else, not yourself?”

Stanley went quiet. He looked down at the mask in his hands, stroking its smooth surface.

“If it means Ford can smile again… if it means he won’t be hurt anymore… then yes. I’ll do it. I don’t care if my name isn’t Stanley anymore. I want to be Alva—the one who makes Ford happy again. That’s enough for me.”

His grip on the mask tightened. Gwen’s expression shifted; she walked over and wrapped him in a sudden embrace. Stanley stiffened, startled, then tried to pull away. But he froze when she spoke.

“Stanley, listen to me. I know you’re doubting yourself again. But I’m still here. I see you as you are—you’ll always be Stanley to me. And I’ll support you, whatever you choose. Okay?”

Stanley’s throat tightened. He nodded. “Alright… Mama Gwen.”

She released him, her smile gentle. “Now, go take a bath. I’ll finish this machine, then we’ll have dinner together.”

Stanley nodded, stepped back, and slipped out of the room, heading upstairs.

Inside his bedroom—his new bedroom—he dropped his bag and carefully set down the mask. His gaze drifted to a framed photo on the desk. In it, Gwen was much younger, maybe twenty-seven, standing with a man who must’ve been her husband, and a boy Stanley’s age, with dark blue-black hair.

Stanley let out a long breath, eyes sweeping over the room. He knew. He knew Gwen had once had a family—had lost her husband and son in a terrible accident. She was the only one who survived. He’d found her diary while exploring this house that was now his home.

He couldn’t imagine that kind of grief. The crushing weight of losing the ones you love most. And yet, Gwen had healed, enough to welcome him, to care for him. Stanley sometimes thought… maybe she saw him as her replacement child.

He walked to the window, pushing it open to gaze at the bright moon.

It’s hard, isn’t it? Everyone has their own pain. Ford… did losing me hurt you that badly? Is that what you felt? The way I feel now?

But I believe… if I become someone else, you’ll move on. You’ll forget Stanley. You’ll keep living. That way Pa won’t throw you out, and you can focus on your future without me holding you back.

Yes… holding you back. That’s all I ever was.

I’m useless. Stupid. A burden. Just a shadow in your way. A knucklehead. Trash my family didn’t need. I hate myself. Why couldn’t I be smart? Why couldn’t I be someone worth keeping?

Stanley’s hands trembled as he wiped the tears threatening to fall. He looked down at his fists, tightening them until his knuckles ached.

If I live as someone else, then the world won’t see Stanley anymore. They’ll see Alva. And Alva will be the one to make Ford smile again. Not me. Never me.

He took a final look out the window, at the glowing moon, then stepped back. Quietly, he grabbed a towel and went to shower.

The room fell silent once more, the only sound outside the gentle trickle of the fountain. A fragile calm settled in the house.

Chapter Text

Okay, I’m still fine. No one knows who I really am. I’m not that careless kid anymore. No, I have to be careful. The mask is holding up. No one will ever know. I’m not him anymore. I’m someone different now. I don’t want to be who I was. I have to be someone else. I don’t want it anymore. I hate myself. I hate the fool I used to be. I hate the version of me that ruined everything. It’s all going to be fine. Yes—everything will be fine. After all, I’m not Stanley Pines anymore.

“Alva?” A voice called out. No, I have to stay as Alva. Alvaric Slyven. Not Stanley Pines.

“Alva?” Again, trying to pull Alva back. Stanley Pines was nothing but bad news. A burden. A coward. Weak.

“ALVA!”

His shout made Alva snap his head around. Ford’s face looked annoyed. Alva forced a guilty smile.

“Oh… uhm, yeah, you were calling me?” Alva asked, nervous. Ford sighed, crossing his arms as he glared.

“I’ve been calling you over and over. You didn’t answer. Only when I yelled did you finally respond. What’s going on with you?” His chest puffed slightly, the way it always did when he was annoyed. Alva scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh, sorry. I was… spacing out. Thinking about where I might go with my family this weekend.” Alva lied. He had to lie. Ford couldn’t find out the truth.

Ford frowned at him, skeptical for a second, but then let out another sigh.
“Fine. Just—answer me next time, alright?”

He still didn’t sound happy. Alva chuckled, nudging him playfully, trying to lighten the mood.
“Haha, sorry. You know how I get when I daydream. I was just imagining going to one of those huge amusement parks. It sounded fun, so I zoned out.”

Ford’s eyes lit up, surprise and excitement flashing across his face.
“Really? That sounds amazing. Wow… you’re so lucky to be able to go places with your family. I can’t. Pa’s too stingy with money, and Ma’s always busy tricking customers with her fake fortune-telling.” He pouted.

Alva looked at him and laughed softly.
“Fortune-telling? That actually sounds pretty cool,” he said, pretending to be impressed—even though he knew the truth. But he had to play along. Mama Gwen had told him this: if i wanted to stay close, if i wanted this lie to last, i had to act like i knew nothing.

“Yeah, fortune-telling. But it’s fake. She scams people with nonsense.” Ford rested his chin on his hands, grumbling. Alva couldn’t help but chuckle. Soon, Ford was back to sketching in his notebook. Alva leaned over curiously.

“What are you drawing? You’ve been at it forever.”

“A new poster.”

Alva froze. Another one? Quickly, he shook his head and forced a small nod.
“Oh… so you’re still drawing him?”

Ford gripped his pen tighter, brows furrowed, determination blazing in his eyes. Alva knew that look. He wouldn’t stop—not for months, maybe even years.

“I still believe my twin will come back. Ma reports to the police every week, and I help put up posters. We won’t stop looking.”

Alva sighed, raking a hand through his hair.
Convincing him to forget Stanley Pines… it was impossible. Stanley was gone. Ford had to look forward, or he’d suffer the same fate as me—thrown out by Pa. But no, it would take time. Months. Years, even. Until then, I had to stay by his side—as Alvaric Slyven.

“And you know what? Ma told my brother, Shermie.”

Alva’s heart dropped straight through the floor. His eyes went wide.
“What?”

“She said Shermie’s coming home next week. He’s taking time off from college.”

Panic clawed at him. No, no, no… that would only make things worse.

“Oh… I see. He must care about you a lot. And maybe he just misses you too,” Alva said, forcing a laugh, trying to cover his pale face.

Ford nodded, not noticing the storm inside him.
“Yeah, I miss him. I miss both of my brothers. Even with Ma around, it feels like I’m alone. Ah—hey, Alva, help me put up posters this Saturday, okay?”

Alva smiled, nudging him again, hiding the dread in his chest.
“Of course, bro. I’ll always help you out.”

Ford chuckled, then handed him a blank sheet of paper.
“Then help me draw too.”

Alva’s heartbeat spiked. No—absolutely not. If i drew, Ford would know. I’d recognize my hand, my face, everything.

“No!” Alva shouted, startling him.

He quickly caught himself, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.
“Oh, uhm… I mean, I can’t draw. And besides, I don’t even know what your brother looks like.” Another lie.

Ford blinked, then nodded slowly.
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. You’ve never met him.”

Relief flooded Alva as Ford returned to sketching. He believed me again. For now.

Alva watched him focus on his poster, then turned to the window. Would my plan really hold together much longer? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, i needed a backup plan.

The bell rang, signaling the end of break.

“Hahaha, so you’ve got to keep Ford company now? All because you told him Stanley Pines would never come back?” Mama Gwen laughed into her coffee.

Stan scowled, unimpressed. Her laughter didn’t help.

“Laugh all you want, Mama Gwen. At least if Ford smiles again, it’s worth it.” He muttered between bites of dinner.

Mama Gwen glanced at him. The mask was off now, leaving his real face bare. She chewed her food thoughtfully before asking,
“So what’s your plan then? I mean, keeping Ford company means you’ll have to actually go to his house. And your place isn’t exactly nearby.”

Stan’s brows furrowed, irritation sparking as he jabbed his fork toward her.
“That’s not my house anymore. That’s Ford’s. And this place—” his voice sharpened, “—I want this to be our home.”

Mama Gwen choked on her coffee, nearly spitting it out as her eyes widened at him.
“But this is—”

“Don’t say it.” He cut her off sharply. “This is what I want. You told me I could ask you for anything.”

Her lips pressed together, uneasy. She didn’t agree—but the determination in his gaze was unshakable. Finally, she sighed, brushing his hair gently back with one hand.
“Alright… I understand, Stanley. But at least sometimes, you should still think of that place as your home too.”

Stan turned his face away, refusing to answer. Gwen gave up, standing to clear the plates. Stan’s smirk said enough—he’d won this one. He hopped down from his chair and stalked off toward his room. Gwen’s eyes lingered on his retreating back until he disappeared from sight.

Alone, she sighed, washing the dishes slowly. Beneath the clinking of porcelain and the running water, guilt gnawed at her. She hadn’t saved him, not really—she had bought him. And yet Stan had treated it like it was his wish all along. The boy who used to be so cheerful, so full of energy and wide smiles… he reminded her of her own child once.

“Mama Gwen…”

She turned at the sound of his voice. Stan stood there, clutching a stack of schoolbooks against his chest. His expression was awkward, almost embarrassed, as he looked away.

“C-could you… maybe teach me? Help me study?”

He bit his lip, cursing himself inwardly. He used to hate studying—always brushed it off, always gave up when he couldn’t follow what Ford taught him. He’d rather nap than wrestle with homework. But that was the old him. He wasn’t Stanley Pines anymore. He was Alva now. Different. Smarter. He had to be.

No more being the stupid twin. No more wrecking everything. If he was going to be different, he had to prove it—even if he could never catch up to Ford’s genius. Mama Gwen had been kind enough to give him shelter, to craft the mask that hid him from the world. The least he could do was repay her, someday.

Gwen’s eyes softened. She wiped her hands on a rag, then crouched down in front of him, ruffling his hair.

Stan flinched, almost batting her hand away, but stopped himself. After everything she’d done, he could at least let her have that.

“Of course. What do you want to work on first?” she asked gently.

“Anything. As long as I get it right,” he muttered, pretending to sound annoyed.

She chuckled and nodded.
“Alright then. Let’s study in my lab. I’ve got just the thing that’ll help you understand your lessons better.”

Stan’s eyes lit up instantly. He knew Mama Gwen’s lab always had fascinating projects. She was brilliant—too brilliant, really. Why she had chosen to live as a housewife selling pastries to neighbors instead of working as a scientist or engineer… he couldn’t understand.

“I WANNA!” he shouted, excitement bubbling over.

Gwen laughed, patting his shoulder.
“That’s the spirit, sweetheart. Come on, let’s go.”

Together, they disappeared behind the heavy iron door that led into her laboratory.

"Yaaawn..." Alva let out another yawn as he rode the bike Mama Gwen had given him. He finally arrived in front of Ford’s house and parked his bike near the gate. He had to keep his promise to help Ford hand out flyers. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst. Sweat ran down his temples, washing away what little drowsiness he still had. For a moment, it felt like he was back home. His home.

Alva shook his head quickly. No. That wasn’t him. He was Alva now. Nobody here would know. He wore the mask. It wouldn’t slip, wouldn’t break. Mama Gwen had updated it, made it better.

He stood in front of the door, frozen. For some reason, even reaching out to press the doorbell felt unbearably heavy. His hand trembled, his gaze wavered.

You’re not Stanley Pines. Idiot. You’re not him. You’re Alva. Pa and Ma won’t know. They can’t know.

The mask was perfect. Mama Gwen had warned him to be especially careful around Ma. She had that sharp mother’s instinct. If he slipped, even a little, she’d know. He drew in a long breath and rubbed his arms, trying to calm himself. Once he felt steady enough, he pressed the bell.

Shit, shit, shit, why am I panicking? Calm down. You’re not Stanley. You’re Alvaric. You’ll be fine. No one will know who you really are. Mama Gwen upgraded the mask. You have to stay calm. Don’t panic—it’ll only make things worse. Calm... calm...

The door creaked open. Alva looked up, and his heart nearly stopped. Standing there was a broad-shouldered man with a heavy mustache, dark glasses covering his eyes. His jaw was sharp, his presence intimidating.

Pa.

It had been weeks since Alva last saw him. The man’s gaze behind those glasses was unreadable, but it bore into him like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Who are you? And what do you want here?" The man’s deep voice almost made Alva turn and bolt back to Mama Gwen’s house, lock himself in his room. But no. He had a promise to keep. He couldn’t run. He had to stand his ground like a man.

Mama Gwen’s words rang in his ears: You can be strong, be a man, for as long as you can bear it. But if it’s too much, it’s okay to cry.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to speak.
"Uh... I’m here because I have an appointment with your son... Ford. He’s my friend."

Even if it came out awkward, Alva felt a small victory in saying it aloud. Pa stared at him for a long moment, then turned his head and shouted inside.
"FORD! You’ve got a friend here!"

Alva flinched at the sheer volume. From inside came a reply:
"Okay, Pa! Tell him to wait a minute, I need to change!"

Change? What for? His clothes are always simple anyway... Alva cursed silently.

Pa’s attention returned to him. "What’s your name? How did you become Ford’s friend?" His tone carried a mocking edge.

Alva clenched his fists at his sides, forcing a smile.
"Uh... My name is Alvaric Slyven. People usually call me Alva. I’m a new student at Ford’s school."

"And for what? Don’t you dare become a bad influence on my son."

Alva’s smile faltered. That sting of familiarity hit him—Pa was looking at him the same way he looked at Stanley. As if he was nothing but trouble. His jaw tightened, but he kept his tone even.

"Relax, Uncle. Trust me, I’m not that bad. I’m friends with Ford because... well, he’s always alone at school. I just want to keep him company, maybe make him smile. Or maybe because you’ve never given him happiness yourself—after all, you sold off his own twin brother. Your own son."

Pa’s face turned red with fury. "You little—!"

But before the explosion came, Ford hurried down the stairs, a stack of flyers in his arms, a bag slung over his back. He wore his usual brown jacket and casual pants. But his shirt—

Red and white stripes.

That shirt... my shirt. My favorite one.

"Alva!! Sorry to keep you waiting!" Ford quickly put on his shoes. Pa stormed off, grumbling under his breath. Ford glanced at him, then at Alva, confused.
"What did you say to my Pa just now?"

Alva waved a hand dismissively.
"Nothing important. Hoam..." He stifled another yawn.

The fear, anger, disgust—everything melted away, replaced by exhaustion. Ford frowned.
"You look exhausted. Didn’t you sleep last night?"

Alva chuckled softly.
"It’s fine. I was studying with my mom last night. She makes it fun—uses games and all sorts of tricks. She got so into it that I didn’t get much sleep."

Ford tilted his head, curious.
"Really? That sounds kind of fun. I... it reminds me of when I used to teach my twin. He’d fall asleep because he couldn’t keep up with what I was explaining..." His voice grew quiet, heavy with sadness.

Alva cursed under his breath. He lightly tapped Ford’s shoulder, making him startle.
"Hey, don’t get too down. We’ve got posters to hand out, remember?"

Ford nodded, clutching the flyers closer. "Yeah. Hopefully this will make me believe that my brother is really coming back."

Alva smiled at him.
"That’s the spirit, bro. Now come on, hop on. My mom just gave me a new bike."

He pointed at the red bike with a passenger seat. Ford laughed softly.
"Not bad. At least it saves me some walking."

Alva chuckled too and mounted the bike. Once Ford climbed onto the back, holding his shirt for balance while keeping the posters safe, Alva grinned.
"Alright, let’s go!"

Ford laughed out loud as they rolled away. Hearing that laughter, Alva’s chest felt warm. He had to keep Ford smiling. Keep him laughing. Keep him from remembering Stanley Pines.

“Phew, that’s the last one!” Alva called, waving at Ford who was a little farther down the street pasting another missing poster. Ford glanced back and nodded. The sound of waves crashing nearby mixed with the cries of seagulls. Alva jogged over just as Ford finished putting up his poster.

“There, all done. Let’s head back—I’m starving,” Ford said, rubbing his stomach.

Alva laughed softly, nudging him.
“What, you in a rush to eat your mom’s fish dish again?”

He instantly clamped a hand over his mouth. Shit. He’d slipped. That was Ford’s favorite meal—something Ford had never actually told him.

Ford turned sharply, brows furrowing.
“Wait. How do you know my favorite food? I never told you that.”

Suspicion clouded Ford’s eyes. Alva froze, scratching the back of his neck, scrambling for words.
“I… uh…”

But before he could finish, a voice rang out. One Alva knew all too well. A voice that made his blood boil.

“Well, well, well… look who’s here again. Still not giving up on finding your lost twin, huh?”

Crampelter.

He stepped out with a smirk, yanking a poster off the wall. Ford stiffened, fear flashing in his eyes. Alva clenched his fists, stepping protectively in front of him. Instinct surged—the instinct of an twin brother.

“Well, who’s this guy? New around here? Playing bodyguard for the little weirdo? You could’ve just ignored him and hung out with us instead.” Crampelter’s grin widened, smug and mocking.

Alva bared his teeth, voice low.
“That’s my choice. Now get lost.”

Crampelter laughed, his friends joining in. Ford’s hand gripped Alva’s shoulder nervously.
“Let’s just… go,” Ford whispered, trembling.

Alva’s chest ached at that. How many times had Ford been bullied when he wasn’t around? He cursed himself quietly but forced his shoulders down, trying to stay calm. He moved to leave with Ford—only to be blocked. Crampelter’s gang spread out, cutting off their path.

Alva turned back, glaring.
“What do you want? Let us through. We’re going home.”

Crampelter tilted his head, smirk never fading.
“Not done talking yet. And you haven’t introduced us to your new dog.”

He jabbed a finger toward Alva.

Alva’s eyes went wide at the insult. His fists tightened until his knuckles turned white. Ford’s own hands shook, but his voice trembled out in defiance.
“He’s not a dog. He’s my friend.”

Alva’s breath caught. Ford had said it—out loud, for him.

Crampelter just cackled louder.
“Hah! Doesn’t change the fact that he’s basically your guard dog. Look at him, protecting you like some mutt.”

In one swift motion, Crampelter grabbed Ford by the collar, lifting him an inch off the ground.

Rage exploded inside Alva. His heart pounded, blood roaring in his ears. His fists clenched tighter, shaking.

“And look at that… you’re even wearing your dog’s favorite shirt,” Crampelter sneered at Ford’s striped tee.

SMACK!

Crampelter’s head snapped sideways as Alva’s fist connected hard with his cheek. He staggered back, letting go of Ford, who collapsed to the ground in shock.

Alva was panting, chest heaving.
“Stay away from my friend, bastard,” he growled.

Crampelter’s face twisted with rage. He lunged, seizing Alva by the jacket and hauling him off his feet.
“You little—”

Ford tried to rush forward, but Crampelter’s friends held him back. Panic filled his eyes.

Alva glared up at his captor, voice cold and steady.
“Touch him again, and I’ll break your bones.”

Crampelter’s face burned red with fury.
“I was gonna be nice, invite you to ditch the freak and join us. But you’re just the same as his stupid mutt.”

He pulled back his fist and slammed it into Alva’s face. Pain exploded across Alva’s cheek, but he refused to cry out.

With a snarl, Alva sank his teeth into Crampelter’s hand, biting down hard.
“ARGH!!” Crampelter yelled, dropping him.

Alva hit the ground, clutching his bruised face. Crampelter’s fury only grew. He kicked Alva hard in the side. Alva screamed, then retaliated with a wild punch to Crampelter’s eye. The boy staggered back, clutching his face.

“You bastard—” Crampelter swung again, his fist slamming into Alva’s other eye.

Alva cried out, vision blurring. Ford thrashed desperately against the hands holding him back.
“STOP! Please! ALVA! Don’t—don’t fight back! Please!!”

His voice cracked with terror. He couldn’t lose Alva too—not after losing his twin.

And then—
“HEY! What’s going on here?!”

A man’s voice boomed. An adult was rushing over. Crampelter froze, then hissed with fury.
“Damn it…”

He glared daggers at Alva before bolting, his gang shoving Ford aside as they scrambled to escape.

The adult stopped in front of the two boys, eyes wide at the sight of Alva’s bruised face.
“You kids okay?”

Alva chuckled weakly, waving a hand.
“I’m fine, sir. Still standing.”

Ford shot him a furious look, clearly not buying it. The man hesitated but sighed.
“Alright. Just… be careful next time.” He walked away, still muttering under his breath.

As soon as he was gone, Alva collapsed onto his back, staring at the sky with his swollen eyes. Ford rushed to his side, panic written all over his face.

“I’m okay, Ford,” Alva whispered, seeing tears welling up in his brother’s eyes. He pushed himself up to sit, only for Ford to suddenly throw his arms around him.

“Alva… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have had to go through that for me…” Ford’s voice shook against his shoulder.

Alva winced—the hug pressed against a fresh bruise—but he still patted Ford’s back gently.
“Don’t worry about it, Ford. I’m tougher than I look, see?” He forced a small smile.

But Ford only clung tighter, fingers gripping the back of Alva’s jacket. Alva grimaced silently. Great. I made it worse.

Finally, Ford pulled back, his eyes wet, his voice trembling.
“Alva… please don’t fight for me. I—I can’t lose you too. Not after losing my twin. Please…”

Alva’s breath hitched. He sighed, nodding.
“Alright. I promise. I won’t. But… he started it. I couldn’t just stand there while he called your twin a dog. While he called you a freak.”

Ford squeezed his shoulder—right on a bruise—making Alva flinch.
“I know. But don’t get yourself hurt… please.”

Alva could see it—tears threatening to fall from Ford’s eyes. He couldn’t let that happen. If Pa saw him crying…

“Okay,” Alva said softly.

Ford finally smiled faintly, then frowned again at his injuries.
“Good. Now let’s get you treated.”

He helped Alva up, looping his arm around his shoulders to steady him. They walked toward the bike, but Alva shook his head.

“No need. I’ve got supplies. My mom makes me carry them around, just in case.”

Ford blinked in surprise. Alva popped open the basket at the front of his bike. Inside was a small but well-stocked first aid kit.

Ford’s jaw dropped, astonishment replacing his fear.

“Wow…” Ford hadn’t expected Alva’s bike to be this advanced. Alva winced again from the pain, snapping Ford back to reality. “Ah, right…”

In the end, the two of them went over to a nearby wooden dock, a quieter spot where Ford could treat Alva’s wounds without worrying about Crampelter and his gang showing up again.

Alva took off his black jacket and red shirt, revealing bruises scattered across his body. The sight made Ford furious at himself for not being able to stop the fight. He did his best to patch Alva up with the knowledge he’d learned from books. Alva mostly bit down on his lip, holding in the pain while Ford fumbled with the bandages, wrapping more than a few of them the wrong way. Alva wanted to protest—wanted to scream even—but the determination on Ford’s face made him swallow his words. He couldn’t bring himself to crush that resolve.

Once Ford finished, Alva let out a shaky sigh of relief, even though the bandages were messy and stiff. He didn’t complain. He just pulled his shirt and jacket back on, glancing at Ford carefully tucking the first aid kit back into the bike’s basket.

Alva turned his gaze toward the setting sun. The waves rolled in gently, mixing with the sound of late swimmers splashing in the distance. He breathed in the salty air of his favorite place and watched Ford sit down again, hugging his knees to his chest. Alva exhaled.

“Ford, I already told you—this wasn’t your fault. It was my choice. I’m friends with you because I wanted to be. And I hit that bastard because I wanted to. So stop blaming yourself.”

Ford blinked, startled.

“Of course I know. You always hug yourself like that when you’re feeling guilty,” Alva added. Ford fell silent, staring down at the sand. The atmosphere grew heavy.

“Alright, listen,” Alva went on, “I could blame you for not fighting back harder. But the truth is, you did manage to yell for help. Because of that, an adult showed up and broke it all apart. That’s more than enough for me.”

Ford finally lifted his head to meet Alva’s eyes. That small gesture alone was enough to satisfy him.

“I… I understand. But maybe it’s better if you don’t stay friends with me anymore. I’m just a weirdo with six fingers…” Ford looked down at his hands.

Alva’s eyes widened. Then he gave Ford a light smack on the back.

“Cut the crap, Sixer. You’re not weird. You’re smart, you’re brilliant, you’re incredible. Got it?” Alva said firmly.

Ford froze at the word, frowning.

“…Sixer?” he repeated.

Alva stiffened, avoiding his gaze.

“Ah! Did that… make you uncomfortable?” he asked nervously. He hadn’t meant to say Ford’s old nickname out loud.

But Ford only shook his head, smiling softly.

“No… it’s not that. It’s just… you reminded me of my brother.” His eyes drifted toward the evening sky.

Alva let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Haha… is that so? Well, if it helps you feel a little better, then I’m glad.” He chuckled. Ford smiled back.

They sat together in silence, watching the last colors of sunset paint the horizon. Alva glanced at Ford, calm now, but then his eyes shifted toward Ford’s shirt.

“Sixer… can I ask you something?” Alva said carefully, not wanting to ruin the peace.

“Go ahead,” Ford replied.

Alva fiddled nervously with his own collar.

“Uh… um… Why do you wear… your brother’s shirt?” he asked, pointing.

Ford looked down at the fabric, smiling faintly as he clutched it in his hands.

“Because… I want to remind myself that my brother is still with me,” he said.

Alva went quiet, then nodded slowly.

“…I understand.”

He didn’t ask anything else. They simply stayed there, letting the evening pass before Alva finally took Ford home and returned to his own house. As he expected, Mama Gwen was worried sick, and immediately patched him up with her advanced tech, healing his bruises much faster.

Maybe… being Alva isn’t so bad.

I managed to get through the day without Ford ever realizing I’m his brother. I have to keep it that way. I have to protect him.

A dog. Is that what I am? Just a dog, keeping bullies away from Ford? …If that’s the price, then fine. Let them call me whatever they want.

I’m not stupid. I’ve learned so much. My grades are getting better. Honestly, Mama Gwen—how are you so smart that you’ve been able to teach me all this?

Ford, I’m sorry… but I think I’d rather live as Alvaric Slyven than as Stanley Pines. I’m grateful. Being Alva makes my life better.

Alvaric Slyven. Forget the name Stanley Pines. Ford deserves to be at ease with Alva, not with “Stan” or “Lee.”

Chapter Text

Srrtt… srrtt… shhk… shkk… srek… srekk…
The soft scratch of crayons and pencils filled the quiet room. The world around Ford felt still—silent except for the gentle whisper of paper being drawn on. Once again, Ford was working on a new poster. He refused to give up. Somewhere, somehow, there had to be a way to find his brother.

He looked down at the paper he’d been sketching. It wasn’t perfect, not even close—but as long as it was readable, it was enough. Ford set it aside and reached for a fresh sheet. Ma had given him some paper she’d gotten from her sister.

Ford clung to that fragile hope—that his twin would come back. Whether his brother wanted to or not, Ford would find a way to bring him home. His feelings tangled inside him—anger, sadness, and a strange, flickering warmth.
Anger at himself for not seeing how much his brother had suffered.
Sadness, because he was gone—without a trace.
And happiness… because he had finally made a friend.

Alva. His first real friend.
Someone who didn’t think he was weird or freakish because of his six fingers.

Ford sometimes imagined introducing Alva to his brother. The thought almost made him laugh. They were so alike—both bright, full of energy, and endlessly kind. But that wish was impossible now. His brother wasn’t here. Still, deep down, Ford could almost hear his twin’s voice scolding him not to cry. “Pines men don’t cry, remember?” And so, he tried not to.

He had to focus on the present—on Alva, his new friend.
Alva always smiled, always protected him… just like his brother once did.

Ford sighed, staring down at the half-finished drawing.
Pathetic. Stupid. Weird. A failure of a brother.
He didn’t deserve his twin. Maybe Lee had already found somewhere safe, somewhere better—away from the shouting, the punishments, the disappointment. Ford should have protected him. That was supposed to be his job. But instead… it was always the other way around.

Even when Ford tried to help, he failed.
When Crampelter and his gang bullied Alva, it was Ford who froze—and Alva who stepped in, took the hits, and still managed to smile afterward. Alva had said it was his choice to fight, not just an excuse to defend Ford.

Was he really that weak? That useless as a brother?
He was supposed to be the smart one—the talented one—the pride of his parents. Everyone said he was brilliant, destined for great things. But what was the point of all that, if he couldn’t even understand his own twin’s pain?

He’d been so focused on the praise, on being “the good son,” that he never stopped to look back. Never saw how his brother was fading behind him—turning into nothing more than a shadow in their family’s eyes.

Ma meant well, but she was always busy with her own little work.
And Pa…
Pa had done the unforgivable.

Ford’s chest tightened.
He hated those words—how his father had called his twin useless, stupid, a failure.
No. That wasn’t true.
Pa never saw how hard his brother tried—how good he really was at boxing, at sports, at everything Ford could never do. Pa only saw his failures. Never the fight behind them.

And now… Ford was the only one left who remembered.
The only one who truly knew.

…Or did i?
Did i ever really know my brother at all?

"FORD!" Alva’s voice rang out, making Ford turn around just as he walked down the school hallway. Alva was panting, clearly out of breath from chasing after him. Ford raised an eyebrow as Alva caught up, only for Alva to grab his shoulders tightly and stare right into his eyes.

Ford froze, suddenly nervous at how intensely Alva was looking at him — those eyes bright and almost sparkling.

“You know what?” Alva said between breaths. Ford blinked, confused, and shook his head. What on earth was Alva talking about this time?

Then Alva’s lips curled into a wide grin before he burst out laughing, patting Ford on the shoulder after holding him. Ford just stared at him, completely lost as to what was going on. Alva’s confidence only made it worse.

“The exam results are out today!” he shouted, full of energy.

Before Ford could even respond, Alva had already grabbed his hand and was pulling him into a run. Ford stumbled, startled, but quickly matched his pace — Alva was practically bouncing with excitement. It’s just exam results, Ford thought. Why is he acting like it’s the end of the world? But knowing Alva, there was always something behind that enthusiasm.

When they reached the crowded announcement board, dozens of students their age were already gathered, chattering loudly. Ford and Alva exchanged puzzled looks.

Why’s everyone this excited? It’s just grades.

Not long after, the crowd began to thin as the bell rang, leaving only the two of them behind. Alva looked at Ford, still confused.

“Sixer, you’re thinking the same thing I am, right?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Ford replied.

They stepped closer together, eyes scanning the list. Ford tilted his head as he read. Hmm... same as usual. I got first place again. Nothing new.

But then—something caught his eye.

Math
Stanford Pines — 100
Hana Girani — 97
Alvaric Slyven — 95

English
Stanford Pines — 100
Alvaric Slyven — 99
Gani Presti — 96

Social Studies
Stanford Pines — 100
Alvaric Slyven — 100
Reki Dyuna — 98

Wait—wait. Alva scored that high?! He even got a perfect score in one subject?!

Ford turned to Alva, stunned. Alva blinked at the board, rubbed his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, then looked at Ford again.

“Sixer... can you pinch my cheek?” he asked.

Ford raised an eyebrow but did as told, giving him a small pinch.

“Ouch!” Alva yelped, rubbing his cheek. It wasn’t even red, but he still nodded in disbelief.

“So it’s not a dream… No, wait—this has to be a nightmare! Right, Sixer?!” Alva said, half-panicking.

Ford sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses. “Alva, why are you acting like that? This is real—and honestly, it’s kinda amazing.”

Alva winced, then looked back at the board. “Ah… so it is real…”

Ford crossed his arms. “You told me before that you used to get bad grades in your old school. So what’s this supposed to mean?!”

He pointed at the board, still in disbelief. Alva only tapped his chin, just as confused.

“You said you always failed tests, or doubted your abilities, remember? But now—ugh, fine—you’ve always underestimated yourself. Getting results like these means you’re officially my rival,” Ford said.

“Rival?” Alva’s eyes widened. “But we’re friends!”

Ford facepalmed. He’d never seen Alva act this silly over school stuff, but it was… kind of endearing.

“Yes, we’re friends,” Ford said, smirking. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t compete. If you get good grades, I’m not just gonna let you beat me. I’ll study even harder next time.”

Alva nodded thoughtfully. “I see… But we’re still friends, right?”

“Of course!” Ford nudged his arm with a grin. “You think I’d stop being your friend just because we’re both good at different things?”

Alva shook his head fast. “No! I wouldn’t leave you even if I got better than you!” he said firmly, gripping Ford’s arms tight.

Ford smiled softly. “Good. Then we’re rivals—and best friends.”

Alva’s face lit up with determination. He raised his hand. “High six?”

Ford froze. Wait… did I hear that right?

Alva noticed the look on his face, dropped his hand awkwardly, and started panicking. “AH! If that’s weird or you don’t like it, forget it! Uh—let’s just go back to class!”

He turned and hurried off, leaving Ford momentarily stunned before running after him.

Did he just say ‘high six’? Maybe it was just a coincidence… though it felt oddly familiar. Déjà vu, maybe. Ford’s eyes lingered on Alva’s back.

Something about him… felt so much like his brother. Different looks, different habits—but the same favorite food, the same bright energy.

No… that’s impossible. I even pinched his cheek—there’s no mask. There’s no way my brother could disguise himself that well. His voice isn’t even the same.

Weird… but real. Alva’s a mystery. He’s talked about his family, his hobbies, but never about his past.

“Alva!” Ford called. Alva turned, and Ford raised his hand.

“High six too?”

Alva’s face lit up again, pure excitement radiating from him. “HIGH SIX!”

Their palms met with a loud slap. Ford couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Hey,” Alva grinned, “you’re putting up posters again after school, right?”

Ford nodded.

“Then, like usual, I’ll come over to your place after class,” Alva said, slinging an arm around his shoulder and giving him a playful punch to the side. Ford laughed, and soon they were both laughing together, heading down the hall side by side.

“Again? Come on, Sixer… we’ve already put up a bunch of posters. Where else are we even going to stick them?” Alva groaned, watching Ford finish taping another freshly printed poster onto a lamp post.

Ford turned around, frowning in disapproval. Alva raised both hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright, my bad. I won’t complain anymore. So, where to next?” he asked, walking over to his parked bike.

Ford, busy straightening the remaining posters in his bag, pulled out a map of the neighborhood and pointed at a few streets.

“We’re going to Cape May. Hopefully, the road won’t be too crowded for the bikes,” Ford said calmly.

Alva nodded, peering at the map. “Got it.”

He hopped onto the bike, while Ford climbed onto the back seat, map still in hand. Alva glanced over his shoulder, furrowing his brow at how intently Ford stared at the paper.

“Are you holding on properly? Don’t come crying to me if you fall,” Alva teased.

Ford rolled his eyes. “We’ll get lost if we don’t check the map.”

Alva chuckled, sounding far too confident. “Relax, I’ve got a way to make sure we won’t.”

Ford gave him a skeptical look. “Alright then, show me this amazing trick of yours. I’m so sure it’s weird.”

Alva snickered and patted the front of the bike proudly. “This bike was modified by my mom. It’s awesome.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “And… what exactly does that mean?”

Alva grinned wide and pointed to a small black button near the right handlebar. “See this?”

Ford nodded, curious.

“Then watch this.”

Alva pressed the button. A small device slid out from the bike’s frame, unfolding into a glowing screen that displayed a moving arrow across a digital map.

“WHAT—WHAT IS THIS?!” Ford shouted, immediately hopping off the bike to take a closer look. His eyes widened like he was staring at something straight out of a sci-fi movie he once watched with his brother.

Alva laughed, clearly proud. “Cool, right? My mom built this! She said it’s a reward for getting good grades. It’s basically a built-in GPS—if I ever feel like exploring or I’m bored, I can just tell it where I wanna go, like the park or the beach.”

Ford stared at Alva, then at the screen, then back at him. He couldn’t believe it. Alva’s mom actually built something like this? Ford felt a pang of envy, mixed with admiration. Alva wasn’t just smart—his whole family seemed brilliant.

He reached out, gently touching the screen, eyes reflecting the glow. Ford’s chest tightened; ia tak bisa berhenti memikirkan betapa suportifnya keluarga Alva.

Something he himself had once had—though lately, that support had felt… incomplete.

“Alright! Let’s go. It’s getting late,” Alva’s voice snapped him back.

“Ah, right. Let’s go.” Ford climbed back on.

As the bike rolled forward, bathed in the soft orange glow of the setting sun, Ford found himself quietly holding onto the side of Alva’s shirt and the edge of his bag. He hesitated before speaking.

“Alva… can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead, Sixer. I’m listening,” Alva replied, eyes still focused on the road.

Ford took a slow breath, tightening his grip a little. “I… I want to go to my favorite place. Mine and my brother’s.”

The words felt heavy, almost like they were stuck in his throat. It had been so long since he’d gone there—ever since he started blaming himself. Between school, research, and the endless posters, he hadn’t allowed himself to face it.

But maybe… maybe it was time.

If his brother never came back, Ford needed to accept that. He couldn’t keep drowning in guilt. Maybe his brother was somewhere safe—somewhere better—away from their pa's anger.

Alva nodded quietly, not interrupting. Ford felt oddly comforted by his silence.

At least now, he had someone by his side. A strange, cheerful, mysterious someone—but a friend nonetheless. 

Alva was good, bright, and surprisingly intelligent. Sure, he could be frustrating—always second-guessing himself, asking Ford if every little thing he did was wrong—but Ford had grown fond of that.

“Where do you want to go exactly?” Alva’s gentle voice broke the silence.

Ford blinked, pulling himself back from his thoughts. “Ah, sorry. I think I told you before… about the Stan o’ War. Do you remember?”

Alva’s shoulders stiffened for just a second. Ford wasn’t sure if he imagined it—but then Alva relaxed again and nodded.

“Oh yeah. You mean that boat, right? Just tell me how to get there.”

Ford smiled softly, relief flooding through him. Around them, cars passed by, kids played in the distance, and adults chatted under the dimming sky.

The world kept moving, unaware of the quiet storm behind Ford’s eyes—or the silent battle inside Alva’s heart.

“…Yeah.”

“Here?” Alva asked, stopping near the bike rack.

Ford climbed off the back seat and nodded, his eyes fixed on the familiar stretch of beach before them. He inhaled slowly, then exhaled—a quiet, shaky breath—before taking a few steps forward. But then he stopped. Something felt… off.

He turned and noticed Alva still standing beside his bike, staring down at the small pebbles under his feet. He wasn’t looking at Ford at all, just nudging the rocks with the toe of his shoe.

Ford frowned and walked back toward him.

“Alva? What’s wrong? Come on, I want to show you the ship. You’ve never seen it before, right?” Ford placed a hand on Alva’s shoulder. The boy stiffened.

Alva looked up at him, then away again. “Uh… yeah. I mean—yeah, but I was just…” he stammered.

Ford’s confusion deepened. He tightened his grip slightly. “Alva? Are you okay? You look tense. Did something happen?”

Alva flinched, then quickly shook his head, grabbing Ford’s hand off his shoulder with a nervous laugh.

“Eh! N-no, it’s fine! Let’s go. I just—uh—saw a coin.” He bent down and picked something up, holding out a small coin between his fingers.

Ford blinked, puzzled, but decided not to push it. He nodded and walked ahead. Behind him, Alva sighed quietly and slipped the coin into his pocket before following.

When they reached the wrecked ship, Ford stood still for a long moment, just staring. Then he walked closer, brushing his fingers along the rough, weathered wood. He pressed his forehead gently against it, eyes closed, as if trying to feel the memories carved into every splinter.

He could still see it—him and his brother, laughing, adventuring, discovering this very boat for the first time. He could almost hear their voices echoing through the salt-scented wind.

He missed him. Even though it had only been a few weeks, the ache felt like years.

Opening his eyes, Ford glanced sideways. Alva was touching the same wood, his expression distant—something between longing and fear. Before Ford could speak, he reached out and placed a hand on Alva’s shoulder, startling him.

“Ha! This ship’s amazing! Where did you even find it? So what are we gonna do here?”

Just like that, the look in Alva’s eyes changed. The tension vanished, replaced by wide, eager curiosity. Ford blinked—was it just him, or did Alva always shift like that? He decided to ignore it again.

Ford climbed up through a broken plank and into the hollowed hull. He peeked back out and motioned for Alva to follow.

Alva ducked down and squeezed inside. The interior was half-filled with sand, the floor nearly buried. Ford knelt, taking off his backpack and rummaging through it. Alva watched from behind, head tilted in curiosity.

After a moment, Ford pulled out a small snack pack—Toffee Peanut—and placed it under the remains of the roof where it would stay dry. Then he took out a folded sheet of paper and a pen, sitting down quietly.

Alva blinked. “What are you doing?”

Ford looked up, smiling faintly. “Writing a letter to my brother. I want to leave it here, along with his favorite snack. If he ever comes back and visits this ship, I know he’ll find them—and then he’ll come home.”

Alva’s expression softened. “Oh… I see. So you’re still hoping?”

Ford exhaled slowly, eyes drifting back to the paper already half-filled with words. “Yeah… I’m hoping. I just—want to make things right.”

His voice trembled. “I keep thinking maybe he won’t come back because he thinks I’m the worst brother ever. That I didn’t care. I got too caught up in the praise from teachers, from our parents. I didn’t notice how much he was struggling—living in my shadow. He always said he was fine, you know? Always told me not to worry so I wouldn’t lose focus on school… but—”

His hand started shaking, crumpling the edge of the paper. He bit his lip, refusing to cry.

“I was stupid. Arrogant. Selfish. I ignored the only person who truly believed in me… my small source of support—the reason I could even do anything at all. You know what?”

He looked up at Alva. The boy stayed silent, just listening.

“There was this one time,” Ford said softly, his voice turning wistful. “The teacher called on me to solve a problem on the board. I was terrified—completely frozen. But then my brother grabbed my arm, smiled, and said, ‘Come on! Let’s do it together!’ There were two problems written there, and he said maybe he could solve one.”

Ford chuckled under his breath. “Instead of solving it, he doodled all over the board because he didn’t understand it. The teacher hit him lightly with a ruler.” Ford laughed, remembering. “It was so funny…”

That memory was months ago—before his brother disappeared.

“After that, I kept pushing myself—kept studying harder, winning prizes. And he cheered for me every time. He said he was proud to have such a weird but brilliant brother. I never complained… I loved hearing that. It made me want to do better.”

Ford’s smile faded.

“Until he was gone. Sold. By our father. I never stopped blaming myself. I kept thinking I failed him—failed to see the pain he hid behind those smiles. He was bullied for being the ‘dumb’ one, called useless, unwanted… That’s why Dad sold him.”

Ford’s voice cracked. “I hate it. And this—this is all I can do now. My last hope. Just writing this letter, telling him… I hope he’s in a better place. Better than with a selfish brother like me.”

Tears spilled over before he could stop them. He quickly moved the paper away so it wouldn’t get wet.

Alva said nothing, frozen as if lost in his own world.

Ford wiped his eyes on his sleeve and gave a weak laugh. “That’s why I wear his favorite shirt, you know. It makes me feel like he’s still here. Like… he’s watching me somehow.”

He gazed at the horizon where the sky darkened to gray. The air smelled like rain. Ford sighed and turned to Alva—who flinched slightly.

“Ah—right,” Alva said quickly, smiling awkwardly. “I really believe your brother’s watching and listening to everything you said. I truly believe that. And I want you to know you’re not selfish. You’re not to blame. I’m sure he loves you so much—he’d be proud of you, Ford.”

He patted Ford’s back gently.

Ford chuckled quietly. “Hahaha… yeah. I hope he hears me, too.”

He looked down at the paper again and continued writing. Alva watched him with a look Ford didn’t notice—or maybe chose not to.

When Ford was done, he smiled softly. “Hey, Alva. Will you write something too? You’re my first friend, after all. Maybe if my brother reads it, he’ll believe me—that I actually made a friend this time. He never thought I could. I’m… kind of bad at social stuff.”

Alva snorted, waving his hand dismissively. “Hahaha, alright, alright. Was your brother really that skeptical?”

Ford laughed, and the two of them kept talking, reminiscing about Ford’s memories—about the laughter, the warmth, the pain.

And for the first time in a long while, Ford didn’t feel so alone.

Even if Alva wasn’t his brother… at least, for now, someone was beside him.

Tik… tik…
The first raindrops began to fall, landing on Alva’s head. Alva looked up at the sky along with Ford. The once bright sky had now turned a dull gray. They glanced at each other briefly before quickly standing up and running out of the ship’s hull.

“It’s raining!!” Alva shouted as the downpour grew heavier, soaking the once-dry ground. Ford followed right behind him, hopping onto the back seat of Alva’s bike. Rain cascaded through the night, washing over the sleeping city. Ford laughed softly when his glasses fogged and dripped with water.

“But this is fun! It feels like we’re free!” Ford said as Alva pedaled faster, leaving the beach behind. Both of them laughed together, their laughter blending with the rhythm of the rain. People were running for shelter, but Alva and Ford didn’t care—they let the rain soak them through as Alva kept pedaling, taking Ford home.

“Hahaha! Hey, look! A puddle!” Alva pointed ahead. Ford nodded eagerly. Understanding his cue, Alva pedaled fast, splashing through the puddle and splitting it in two with a spray of water. They laughed again, joy replacing the sorrow that had filled their hearts earlier. Ford chuckled when Alva pointed at the croaking frogs near the roadside.

For a moment, Ford forgot about Stanley’s absence. Alva’s presence filled the emptiness inside him, even if only a little.

Soon, they arrived at Ford’s family shop. Ford climbed off the bike and smiled warmly.

“Come on, get inside. It’s getting darker and the rain’s heavier. You can’t go home in this weather,” Ford said. Alva looked startled and shook his head quickly.

“Huh? No need, really. I can get home fine with my cool bike here,” Alva said, patting the handlebars. Ford frowned and glared.

“No! You’re staying here! I’m sure Ma will be happy to meet my new friend. She won’t mind you staying the night. You can head home tomorrow,” Ford insisted, glaring stubbornly. Alva looked panicked and uncertain.

“Eh!? No, seriously—it’s fine. My mom will be worried sick if I don’t come home soon,” Alva protested. But Ford grabbed his arm before he could leave.

“You can call your mom with our home phone! Ma will let you use it, and she’ll explain to her that you’re staying here!”

Before Alva could argue, the door opened. Ford’s Ma appeared, holding an umbrella. Relief washed over her face when she saw them.

“Oh, thank goodness! I thought you were still out there in the rain.” She knelt down, brushing Ford’s wet hair aside before kissing his forehead. Ford giggled.

“Hahaha, Ma, stop spoiling me! We rode home through the rain—thanks to Alva!” Ford said, grabbing Alva’s hand. Alva froze, uncomfortable, and avoided her gaze. Ma looked at Alva kindly and smiled before reaching out to pat his hair. Alva flinched and stepped back slightly.

“Eh… um… I’m just not used to being patted by strangers other than my mom,” Alva blurted. Ma nodded gently.

“Ah, I understand. Come in, both of you. It’s pouring outside, and it’s late. You shouldn’t be out anymore, especially since you’re still so young.”

Alva opened his mouth to protest, but Ford pulled him inside before he could. Ma closed the door behind them, casting one more look before following.

They could hear Pa grumbling something about not making a mess upstairs, but he quickly went quiet under Ma’s sharp glare.

In Ford’s room, Ma handed them clean towels. Ford accepted immediately. Alva hesitated for a moment before taking his awkwardly.

Ma left the room, but before closing the door, she gave Alva a warm smile.
“You can wear the clothes Ford gives you,” she said, closing the door softly behind her.

Ford smiled and took off his wet shirt, tossing it into the laundry basket. Alva followed suit, changing into the white T-shirt and brown jeans Ford handed him. He stood silently for a moment, staring at the clothes before wearing them.

Ford plopped down on the lower bunk and grinned widely.
“So, what do you think? Cool, right? This is my and my brother’s room! And look at this—” Ford pointed to a poster with two handprints labeled Stanford and Stanley.

“And this one I’m sitting on is my brother’s bed. I’m supposed to sleep on the top bunk, but I like sleeping here better. I know my brother would complain if he saw me using it again. Oh, and this—”

Ford jumped off the bed and grabbed a few comic books from their desk.
“These are our comics! I don’t have as many as he does. And this one—” Ford handed Alva a thin, stapled-together comic.

“This is my brother’s. He loved making his own comics, mostly about superheroes. I used to regret not spending more time admiring his work. He always left his finished comics on my desk for me to read. But ever since he’s been gone, I read them over and over, trying to guess how the stories would’ve continued. Silly, huh?”

Alva stared silently at the comic, then at Ford, who kept talking excitedly.
“Wow… that’s really cool,” Alva said, trying to sound impressed while hiding his unease.

Ford eventually flopped back onto the bed, exhausted but smiling. Rain pattered softly against the windows.

“Tired? You were too excited showing me everything,” Alva teased, sitting beside him.

“How could I not be? I’ve been trying to get you to come over for ages!” Ford huffed.

“Haha… really? I didn’t even notice,” Alva said, rubbing his hair.

“Of course! You always made excuses, and they always sounded reasonable. It drove me crazy!” Ford said, nudging Alva’s arm playfully.

CKIT!
A sharp sound echoed from outside, making them both jump. They exchanged nervous looks.

Then—BRAK!
The sound of a door slamming downstairs.

“THAT BASTARD!!” a man’s voice roared. A heavy thud followed—THUMP!

Ford and Alva froze in fear. Slowly, curiosity overtook them, and they crept down the stairs.

From the corner, Ford saw the back of a man, drenched from the rain, standing in the open doorway. Pa was on the floor, holding his bruised cheek. Ma clung to the man’s arms, trying to restrain him.

“Shermie! Stop!” Ma cried. Ford’s eyes widened—Shermie. His older brother.

“LET GO OF ME, MA! LET ME PUNCH THIS BASTARD WHO SOLD HIS OWN SON! WHO SOLD MY LITTLE BROTHER!” Shermie shouted furiously. Ma tried to calm him, her voice trembling.

“HE DESERVES PRISON, NOT PITY! HE CALLED MY BROTHER USELESS? HE’S MY BROTHER, DAMMIT! HOW COULD YOU SELL YOUR OWN CHILD FOR MONEY?! I SHOULD KILL YOU!!”

His furious cries echoed through the house. Ford and Alva flinched, trembling. Ma held him tightly until his strength gave out, his fists loosening as sobs took over.

Shermie turned and collapsed into Ma’s arms, crying. Pa stood up, glaring, before leaving silently for his room. Ma shot him a deadly look as he shut the door.

Ford and Alva descended quietly. Ford closed the front door to keep the rain out. The room now filled only with Shermie’s sobs.

“I’m sorry, Ma… I’m sorry. My college fees—my being a burden—if only I’d known, I’d have quit and worked instead… maybe then Stanley…” Shermie sobbed harder into Ma’s shoulder. Ma stroked his back gently.

“Shermie, this isn’t your fault. You’re not a burden. I’m proud of you. What your pa did was beyond what I could imagine. Please, don’t blame yourself.”

She cupped his wet face and kissed his forehead softly. “Go shower, dear. Ford’s here with his new friend.”

Shermie sniffled and nodded. When he turned, his eyes met Ford’s—and the small boy hiding behind him.

Shermie knelt, wiping his tears with his sleeve before smiling warmly.
“Hey there, Ford. Sorry you had to see your brother crying like a mess. Not very Pines-like, huh?” he chuckled hoarsely.

Ford grabbed his wrist and shook his head.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Shermie blinked. “For what?”

“For punching Pa until he fell,” Ford said plainly.

Both Alva and Shermie froze—then Shermie burst out laughing.
“Hahaha! Well, you’re welcome, little man. That’s what family’s for—if someone’s that cruel, we knock some sense into them. Even if it takes a punch.”

He ruffled Ford’s hair before turning to Alva, who was still hiding nervously.
“Hey, it’s okay, kid. I’m not gonna hurt you like I did Pa.”

Alva hesitated, stepping out from behind Ford. Shermie smiled kindly and offered his hand.
“My name’s Shermanie Pines—but you can call me Shermie. What’s yours?”

“M-my name’s Alvaric Slyven, but everyone calls me Alva,” he said softly, shaking his hand.

“Alvaric Slyven, huh? Cool name, dude. Nice to meet you.” Shermie grinned and ruffled Alva’s hair too before standing up.

“Sorry for the mess I caused,” he said to Ma as she handed him a towel. Then he left for his room.

Alva and Ford exchanged glances before Ma spoke.
“I’ll prepare dinner soon. Alva, did you call your mom?”

Alva froze. “Oh, shoot! I forgot!” He turned to leave, then stopped mid-step.
“Uh… Ford, can you show me where the phone is?” he asked shyly.

Ford chuckled softly and nodded. “Sure, come on.”

“But monsters don’t have to move like that! They should move like this!” Alva said, striking a dramatic monster pose.

Ford chuckled softly from where he sat on the bed. “That’s impossible. Monsters are supposed to roar—loudly!”

The two of them kept chatting about the comic they had just finished reading, arguing about which monster design was cooler. Then, there was a soft click from the door. Both of them turned toward it, and there stood Shermie, wearing pajamas, smiling as she entered the room. She walked over and sat right between them.

“What are you two talking about? This big brother wants to join in,” Shermie said playfully.

Alva and Ford laughed.

“Ah, we were just talking about this comic,” Ford explained, showing the book in his hands. Alva occasionally chimed in, adding bits of commentary. Shermie nodded slowly, listening to them with a gentle smile.

Then, without warning, Shermie scooped Ford up and sat him on his lap. Ford was startled, eyes wide, as Shermie hugged him tightly—very tightly. Alva blinked in surprise at the sudden emotional shift.

“Ford... I’m sorry,” Shermie said, voice trembling. “I should’ve asked for permission to come home earlier... before Lee was sold... I should’ve been here. You must have been lonely without him. I’m so sorry...”

Ford didn’t say anything for a moment, but his small hands slowly returned the hug, soft and understanding.

“It’s okay... I was lonely without my brother. But I’m glad I have a new friend now,” Ford murmured.

Shermie smiled faintly, setting Ford back down and turning to Alva, who was still frozen in surprise. Shermie cleared his throat, and Alva quickly straightened up.

“Alva, thank you... for being friends with my little brother. I don’t know how to express how grateful I am. But please, keep him company—and fill the empty space in his heart. I heard from our mom that Ford sometimes cries at night... in his brother’s bed.”

“Hey!” Ford protested, lightly smacking Shermie’s arm.

Shermie laughed, ruffling Ford’s hair. “Alright, alright.” He looked at Alva again, who gave a small, shy smile.

“Ah... uh... it’s fine. I don’t mind being friends with anyone. I actually like weird people—they’re usually cool and awesome,” Alva said honestly.

Ford glared at him, and Shermie burst into laughter.

“Haha, yeah, you’re right. Ford is weird—but smart and pretty cool, too,” Shermie teased. “Oh, and Ford, starting today, I’m on break until next semester. So I’ll be here for a while—to help you look for your brother.”

Ford’s eyes widened in shock. “Eh?! But what about your classes?”

Shermie waved his hand dismissively. “Hahaha, it’s fine. I can retake a semester. What matters is that I can stay here and help the detectives find our brother.”

Ford hesitated, then nodded. “Alright... thank you.”

Shermie grinned, then suddenly gave Ford a playful noogie. “Hey!” Ford yelped, trying to escape while Alva laughed at the sight.

The three of them spent the rest of the night chatting and acting out scenes from their comic, until finally, they all drifted off to sleep on the bed together.

In the middle of the night, Ford woke up, feeling the urgent need to use the bathroom. He blinked sleepily, noticing Alva beside him, snoring softly with his back turned. Above them, a hand dangled over the edge of the top bunk—Shermie’s. Ford smiled faintly.

Because the bed was too small, Shermie had taken the top bunk, leaving Ford and Alva to share the bottom one. Ford chuckled quietly at Alva’s light snoring... until something made his breath catch.

Wait... what?

Alva’s hair looked brown now—dark brown no black. His nose seemed sharper, and when he exhaled through his mouth, Ford caught a glimpse of a missing tooth.

“...Lee?” Ford whispered, frozen in disbelief.

No... no, it couldn’t be. Lee was gone. He rubbed his eyes hard and looked again. Alva’s face was normal again—black hair, smooth skin, peaceful expression.

Maybe I’m just seeing things...

Still uneasy, Ford leaned forward and gently shook him.

“Hey... wake up a second.”

Alva stirred, groggy. “Mm... did you wake me up?” His voice was hoarse, sleepy.

Ford stared at him. “Your... your face, your hair... it just—”

Alva immediately touched his own face, looking alarmed. “What? What happened? Did something bite me?”

Ford quickly shook his head. “No... forget it. I think I was just imagining things.”

He climbed out of bed, trying to brush it off. Alva exhaled, visibly relieved.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To the bathroom,” Ford replied.

“Ah, I see. Want me to come with you?”

Ford shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine.”

He slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Silence fell again.

Alva sat there for a moment, then let out a long, shaky breath. Slowly, he got up, walked over to the mirror, and stared at his reflection. His hand touched his own cheek, eyes darkening.

“...That was too close.”

Chapter Text

“Mama Gwen!!!”
Stan burst through the door after returning from Ford’s house, heading straight for the laboratory.

Mama Gwen, who had just taken off her pale blue-white coat after wrapping up another project, turned around, pushing her goggles up.

“Yes, dear? What is it?” she asked, wiping a smudge of soot from her cheek with a cloth.

Stan pulled off his mask. Alva’s face flickered away—now, it was Stanley again. He held the mask out to her, panic in his eyes.

“Please, update this! The mask almost came off while I was asleep. My brother nearly saw my real face.”

Mama Gwen accepted it, nodding. “Alright, I understand. Did he suspect anything?”

As she spoke, she picked up a screwdriver, connecting a few fine wires to the mask near a floating holographic display.

Stan slumped into a chair beside another project, exhaling heavily. “No… He thought it was just his imagination. He even pinched my face to make sure it was real.” He groaned, running a hand through his messy brown hair.

Mama Gwen chuckled softly. “That’s good, at least your brother didn’t realize it was you. And… what else?”

She knew that when Stan came here, it was never just about repairs.

Stan went quiet, staring at the spherical contraption on her desk tangled with cables. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his folded arms, idly spinning a loose bolt with his fingers.

“Shermie came home…” he muttered. “Ugh, this is getting so complicaked.”

Mama Gwen smiled without looking up, fingers still dancing over the holographic keyboard.

“Complicated, sweetheart,” she corrected gently.

“I know! But ugh! Shermie’s so stubborn—just like Ford! He even took a semester off just to look for me!” Stan groaned, flicking the bolt in frustration.

Mama Gwen chuckled again. “Isn’t that a good thing? It means the people you love still care about you.”

Stan pouted. “Yeah, but once they find me and drag me back, everything will go back to the same. Ford will go back to studying, Shermie will go back to college and his girlfriend… And me? I’ll be stuck in the same place again.”

“Maybe they’ve changed,” Mama Gwen said softly, pausing her typing to glance his way. “Maybe they’ll hold onto you tighter this time.”

Stan frowned. “I don’t believe that. Not anymore. Even when I’m Alva, Dad still thinks I’m a nuisance. People at school still talk about me like I’m the same arrogant, loud idiot I used to be.”

He stared down at his hands, his voice low.

Mama Gwen sighed, her expression softening. “Alright, if that’s what you’ve decided, I won’t stop you. But you need to mean it, Stan. You’re still young. There’s still time to find out who you really are. Wearing that mask… it only makes you forget.”

Stan tensed at the mention of his name but said nothing. He just looked at her, resigned.

“Don’t,” he muttered, voice sharp but quiet. “Don’t tell me to go back. Don’t try to pull me back there.”

Mama Gwen didn’t answer. She turned back to the glowing display, the clicking of keys filling the silence once more.

Stan toyed with the bolt again, eyes drifting toward the half-finished project.

I refuse to be Stanley Pines again.
That name disgusts me. Stanley Pines was a fool—an obstacle in Stanford’s brilliant path. I was always the weak one. The failure. The joke.

But Alva... Alva gets better grades. Alva is respected. Alva is Ford’s rival. Not his brother.

No. He’s not my brother anymore. He’s just my friend. Right? That’s still okay... right?

“Stan!”

Mama Gwen’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. He looked up, annoyed.

“What?” he grumbled.

She smiled, unfazed. “You’ve got a call. It seems to be connected to your family name.”

Stan froze. His heart sank at the sound of that cursed word.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his stomach twisting at the mention of Pines.

“How should I know? Just pick it up already. This house phone’s only linked to my computer through the family name anyway. You know how Mama Gwen likes to keep it that way—just in case some scam collectors try to bother her.”
Stan rolled his eyes and nodded, pretending he understood whatever Gwen just said.

He hopped down from the chair as Mama Gwen tossed something his way. He caught it easily. When he opened his palm, he found a small device—metallic, compact, with a little dial on its side.

“What’s this?” he asked.
Mama Gwen grinned and winked with her left eye.

“A voice changer. Let’s just say I took inspiration from one of my favorite cartoons from the future. You can use it to fool your family so no one realizes you’re Stan. You’ll stay as Alva.”

Stan raised a brow but nodded anyway. He left the lab, walking into the living room, and approached the house phone. He fastened the device around his neck and pressed a small button. Clearing his throat, he tested the tone of his voice—and, as always, was amazed by Mama Gwen’s creations.

The sound of the ringing phone broke his thoughts. He picked up the receiver, holding it close to his ear.

“Yes, this is the Slyven residence?” Stan answered, his voice perfectly matching Alva’s.

There was a cheerful voice on the other end—Ford’s. Stan didn’t even need to guess; he could hear the smile in his tone.

“Alva! Thank goodness it’s you.”

“Yeah, yeah, dude. What’s up? You never call. Usually, you’d tell me anything at school. If you’re calling, it must be something important.”
Stan really hoped it wasn’t anything too big. Something in his gut already felt off.

“Well, Alva… you know Shermie, right? He offered to take me to the festival.”

Stan nodded even though Ford couldn’t see him.

“That’s good. I’m glad. Have fun out there.” He smiled sadly.

He remembered those nights—Shermie always taking them both to the festival or the amusement park during semester breaks. It was expensive, sure, but Shermie always fought with Pa about it, saying kids needed to live a little. Stan smiled faintly at the memory—until Ford’s voice pulled him back.

“I know… but since Lee’s not here anymore—well, not anywhere, really—I just…” Ford’s voice faltered.

Stan frowned. What was he trying to say? He could go with Shermie; he didn’t need Stan. Wasn’t that better? Less trouble, less risk.

“Shermie said I should bring you!” Ford suddenly blurted.

Stan froze. What? Shermie said what? No way. Why would Shermie invite someone who meant nothing to him?
Stan wasn’t Stan anymore. He was Alva.

“What?” he asked, disbelief written in his tone. His mouth hung open before he quickly shut it.

“Yeah, I know it sounds weird since you’ve only met him once. But Shermie really likes you! He said it’s a way to thank you—for being there for me when Lee and Shermie couldn’t.” Ford sounded so happy.

Stan tightened his grip on the phone. His heart pounded painfully. No, no, no. He couldn’t risk it. If Shermie realized who he really was, he’d drag Stan home, and everything—all the distance, all the hiding—would be for nothing.

“Ah… uh… I—I don’t think I can,” he stammered.

But then came Ford’s pleading tone.

“Come on, Alva… please. I can’t enjoy it alone. I want someone to go with. You know me—I’m terrible at talking to people. Please?”

Stan went silent. He knew Ford was right.

“But—”

“Pleaseeeeeee…”

That tone. That puppy-eyed tone. Stan could see Ford’s wide, pleading eyes in his head. He sighed, his hand tightening around the receiver.

“Fine. I’ll come.”

Ford cheered loudly on the other end.

“Yay! Great! Come to my place the day after tomorrow! Shermie’s busy with some detective stuff tomorrow, so make sure it’s the next day!”

Before Stan could respond, there was a click—and silence.

Stan exhaled deeply and hung up. He removed the voice changer and stumbled back toward the lab, wondering how he’d just agreed to something that stupid.

Inside, Mama Gwen was laughing—clearly having watched the entire conversation on one of her screens. She turned to face him, smirking.

“So, you’re going, huh? Gonna keep him company?”

Stan frowned and slumped back into his chair.

“Shut up. It’s not funny,” he muttered, folding his arms and leaning back.

Mama Gwen chuckled softly.

“Well, at least it’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To spend time with Ford as Alva—so long as he never realizes who you are.”

Stan glared at her, making her laugh again before she turned back to tinkering with his mask.

“Ugh… this situation just keeps getting worse,” he groaned, ruffling his hair in frustration.

Mama Gwen smiled faintly, but her expression suddenly changed as she stared at one of her screens. Her face tightened.

“What’s wrong?” Stan asked, his anxiety rising.

“There’s a problem,” she said quietly. “The mask’s overloaded with data. Some of the files are corrupted. I’ll need a week to repair it.”

“A week?! But I have to go the day after tomorrow!”

Mama Gwen sighed. “It has to be dismantled first before I can install the new system. But… if you insist on going, there’s a way—though it comes with risk.”

Stan pushed his wheelchair closer, eyes locked on her.

“Whatever it is, I’ll take it.”

Mama Gwen met his gaze, sighed again, and said, “Your mask will reveal your real face—for seven minutes. I can’t control when it’ll happen.”

Stan felt his stomach drop. His face… exposed.

“But only for seven minutes. Then it’ll reset itself. It sounds easy, but you won’t know when it’ll happen, so be careful if you’re out there. I’ll do what I can to stabilize it in the meantime.”

Stan searched her face for any sign of a lie—but Mama Gwen never lied. She was always honest, always kind.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “I understand.”

“Good. Now go shower and eat. I’ll handle the rest.”

She smiled softly, brushing his hair as he left. Once the door closed, her smile faded. She turned back to the mask tangled in wires and glowing data lines, exhaling deeply.

“Seven minutes…” she whispered. “Let’s hope that’s all it takes to change everything.”

A soft ringing tone echoed from one of the holographic screens.
Mama Gwen paused mid-motion, sighed quietly, and tapped the air to open the call. The screen flickered to life, revealing a familiar figure—someone she hadn’t seen in a long time.

“What is it, Jheselbraum?” she greeted with a bittersweet smile.

The figure smiled back. Her seven eyes shimmered beneath a dark hood that shadowed half her face, calm and dignified as ever.

“Oh, nothing much. It’s simply been a while. How have you been holding up on Earth?” Her voice was deep, steady, and resonant with wisdom.

Mama Gwen chuckled softly. “Oh, you know me. Life hasn’t exactly been kind since… the marriage—and losing my family. But… I met someone who gave me a reason to keep living again.”

Jheselbraum laughed gently, covering her mouth with the same old polite gesture that hadn’t changed in ages.

“As long as that someone keeps your smile alive, I’m glad. You’ve done well, taking care of that boy after I gave you those hints and fragments of knowledge. I must say, you’re still as sharp as ever.”

Mama Gwen smiled faintly, lowering her gaze. “You know I don’t give up easily. Though, I’ll admit… I still hate 'him'. But what can I do? 'He’s' still the same—still obsessed with 'his' work, 'his' discoveries.” She sighed, brushing back strands of her dark-blue hair streaked with gray, tied neatly in a bun that showed the marks of age and exhaustion.

Jheselbraum chuckled again, the sound warm and almost nostalgic. Her many eyes glowed softly as he looked at her. “Perhaps one day 'he'’ll realize the weight of what 'he'’s done. Anyway, I believe your child is back—ready for dinner, I assume. Don’t forget to take care of yourself too, caretaker.”

Mama Gwen smiled, standing up and stretching her stiff limbs. “Yeah, I know. I won’t waste what I have left… even if it still hurts, losing my husband and my child.”

Her eyes drifted to a framed family photo beside the console. The smile on her face wavered for a moment—but then she heard Stan’s voice calling her name, and her warmth returned.

“I’d better go. Thanks for calling, old friend.”

Jheselbraum gave a slow, graceful nod. The screen dimmed and faded to black.

“I’m coming!” Gwen called out, stepping toward the door.

The lab fell silent again as the door closed behind her with a soft click—the hum of machinery and the quiet buzz of the holograms the only sounds left in the empty room.

Alva stood nervously in front of Ford’s house, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and staring down at the ground. He took a slow breath, trying to calm the storm of nerves twisting in his chest. He kept touching his face, checking over and over that nothing was out of place—Mama Gwen had reassured him that the issue was mostly fixed, but the rest… well, that was still a mystery waiting to unfold.

Come on, Alva. You can do this. You’re Alva now. Ford invited you to hang out. You’re not him. Just be Alva, and let Ford slowly enjoy your presence. Shermie won’t notice a thing. Yesterday went smoothly enough—almost too smoothly.
Breathe in, breathe out. Panicking will only make things worse, and you can’t risk being found out.
Remember, you’re Alvaric Slyven, not Stanley Pines.

After taking one more deep breath, Alva finally reached out to press the doorbell—only for the door to swing open first. Shermie was standing there, mid-shout toward their ma. He stopped, noticed Alva, and smiled.

“Oh! Alva! I was just about to come pick you up, but looks like you made it here yourself! Ford’s been waiting for you!”

Before Alva could reply, Ford came bursting out from behind Shermie with the kind of energy only Ford could have.

“ALVA! YES! You’re here! We’re taking Shermie’s car! It’s not as fancy or weird as your bike, but Shermie’s car is awesome!”

Ford’s excitement hit like a storm as he grabbed Alva by the shoulders and shook him playfully. Alva could only surrender to the chaos—Ford had been so full of energy lately, and it was almost overwhelming. Shermie cleared his throat, snapping Ford out of it. Ford instantly stopped and awkwardly released Alva.

“Hah… sorry,” Ford said with a nervous laugh. “I just got a little too excited. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone to hang out with. It’s usually just me and Lee, but now you’re here! I bet you and Lee would get along faster than I ever could.”

Shermie chuckled softly before walking off to get ready, and Alva gave a small nod. Ford’s enthusiasm was contagious, but his words stuck in Alva’s mind. Was Ford always this happy around me back then? When I was still Stanley?
Or maybe… Ford just likes Alva better.
He shook his head. No. Don’t think about that.

“Come on! Shermie’s waiting!” Ford grabbed Alva’s wrist again, dragging him toward the car.

Alva sighed but let him. He glanced down at his clothes—Ford’s doing, of course. Ford was still wearing that familiar striped red-and-white shirt with his usual jacket. Alva smiled faintly and just let the moment happen.

Ford hopped into the back seat first, and Alva followed, catching sight of Shermie adjusting the rearview mirror and checking the steering wheel. Nothing had changed about the car—it was still that old brown sedan, not too big, not too small, with worn-out leather seats that smelled faintly of sunlight and time.

As they settled in, Ford kept chattering about random things—the car, the route, something about engine sounds—until Shermie cleared his throat again, his voice calm but firm.

“Alright, you two. I know you’re excited, but seatbelts first. Safety, yeah?”

Ford grinned and clicked his seatbelt in. Alva did the same, exchanging a small nod with Ford to show they were ready.

Shermie smiled faintly, turned the key, and the car hummed to life. He waited a moment for it to warm up before pulling away from the driveway. The gentle vibration of the engine filled the space as the Pines’ house faded from view.

Ford started talking again, his words tumbling out in a rush of excitement. Alva listened quietly, answering every now and then, throwing in a question just to keep the conversation going.

The ride felt… peaceful. Like a piece of the past frozen in motion—except Alva wasn’t supposed to exist in that past anymore.

"But where did the money come from? Isn’t your brother still in college?" Alva already knew the answer, but he asked anyway—to keep the lie flowing naturally. Shermie smiled, glancing at the rearview mirror now and then.

"Yeah, I’ve got a part-time job. It sounds tiring, and it is exhausting balancing work and college… but I’ll do anything for Ford and Lee’s happiness," he said.

Alva nodded quietly and turned to look out the window. The car was filled with silence—Ford had gone quiet after talking too much, and Shermie seemed focused on the road. Alva understood. He always did. He’d seen that look before, back when he was still himself.

Shermie worked hard—too hard—saving every penny he could. And it was his fault. He’d made him work herself to the bone just to keep him and Ford happy.

He remembered that night—Shermie had come home during him semester break. He’d been half asleep, needing to pee, when he heard a sound from the kitchen. Ford was asleep, so he’d been alone when he peeked through the doorway.

Shermie was standing there with a tissue pressed against him nose. The tissue was stained red—too much of it. Nosebleed. He knew right away. Shermie was overworked.

He’d frozen on the spot, guilt crawling up his chest. He hated seeing him like that. Hated how he pushed himself for their sake. They didn’t need to go anywhere fancy—just having him home was enough.

He’d quietly gone to the bathroom, pretending he hadn’t seen anything. The next morning, Ma had scolded Shermie not to overwork herself. Ford asked why, but Shermie just laughed it off.
“Oh, that? I just like keeping busy.”

He’d smiled back then, pretending everything was fine. Liar. He hated himself for lying again, for pretending not to know the truth—that Shermie was working himself sick to lift their family out of poverty.

"Alva?”

A tap on his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts. Ford was looking at him.

“Yeah?”

“Shermie was calling you,” Ford said, pointing to the front seat.

“Huh? You were calling me?” Alva blinked, cursing himself for zoning out again. He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his black hair. “Sorry, I was daydreaming.”

Shermie looked at him through the rearview mirror.
“You were lost in thought. Deeply. Something bothering you?” he asked, eyes still on the road.

“Uh… no, I was just thinking about how much I owe you for this trip. I feel bad—you didn’t have to invite me just to pay me back.”

Shermie chuckled softly. Ford glanced at Alva, confused.

“Buddy, I didn’t bring you along because of that,” he said. “I just… felt like I’d seen you before.”

Alva froze. It was like all the blood in his body stopped flowing.

“Oh… really? Maybe just coincidence,” he said quickly, forcing a nervous laugh.

Shermie’s chuckle was quiet but knowing. Ford tilted his head.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing,” Shermie added. “You remind me of Stanley. Except, you’ve got black hair, red eyes, and a smaller nose.”

Alva wanted to disappear into another dimension right then and there. He scratched his pant leg nervously.

“Hahaha, well, that’s flattering! I’ll take it as a compliment,” he said, sneaking a glance at Ford—who was staring at him like he was thinking hard.

“Shermie’s right,” Ford said. “You kinda do look like Lee.”

Alva’s heart nearly stopped. Sweat prickled at his neck.

“Come on, dude, lots of people look alike, right?” he said, waving it off casually.

Ford squinted, then his eyes lit up.
“Or…!”

Alva stiffened.

“There are studies about this, you know!” Ford said excitedly. “About people who look identical even though they’re not related at all. Different DNA, same face. Weird, huh?”

Ford went off on a mini lecture about facial coincidences and human genetics. Alva exhaled quietly, relief washing over him. Thank God.

“Haha, I didn’t know that could happen,” he said, joining Ford’s chatter as naturally as he could. The two kept talking animatedly about “bloodline doppelgängers,” laughing and theorizing.

But neither of them noticed Shermie’s expression in the mirror darkening.

While he kept her hands steady on the wheel, her eyes lingered—sharp and searching—on Alva’s reflection. Every time he smiled, every time he laughed, there was something too familiar in it.

Shermie didn’t say a word. But he knew.

No, that couldn’t be. Maybe Alva just had some similar habits by coincidence. He even asked a lot about me and Ford — things only someone curious would do. There’s no way he could be him.

If he really was Stanley, then his face could’ve been pulled off or revealed somehow… unless—

Unless he’d been hypnotized. Memories erased, identity rewritten, face changed.

Shermie gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. he’d read stories lately — kidnappings, children taken and adopted illegally, faces surgically altered, minds manipulated. Could Alva… could he actually be Stanley?

No. That didn’t make sense. Ford said Alva appeared at school a week after Stanley was reported missing. There’s no way someone could change so fast — that kind of transformation takes years, six or seven at least.

But then… why did Alva always tense up whenever Stanley’s name came up?

“Bro! Let’s stop by the popcorn booth later!”

Shermie blinked, pulled out of her spiraling thoughts by Ford’s cheerful voice. She looked back and smiled warmly.

“Of course! I’ll buy you guys the whole cart! Hahahaha!”

His loud laughter filled the car, and Ford and Alva joined in, the sound of their laughter echoing together. The air felt light again — warm, alive, and bright.

Shermie glanced at Alva once more through the mirror.

It’s probably just my imagination, he told himself quietly. 

There’s no way Stanley could’ve changed into him so quickly.

“Yahuu!!” Ford cheered as he jumped out of the car, Alva right behind him. The moment they hit the parking lot of the amusement park, Ford grabbed Alva’s wrist and pulled him toward the ticket booth.

Shermie locked the car doors, laughing as he watched the two race off.
“Hey! Wait up for your big bro! You’re not getting in unless someone pays for those tickets first!” he called, grinning wide.

Ford and Alva stopped mid-run, turning back with sheepish smiles.
“That’s because you’re too slow! The line’s gonna get longer!” Alva shot back. Ford nodded firmly in agreement.

Shermie laughed, then started sprinting. “Alright then—whoever gets there first gets to choose the first ride!”

Ford and Alva looked at each other—then at Shermie already halfway there.
“HEY, THAT’S CHEATING!!!” they shouted in unison, eyes wide in surprise before bursting into laughter.

“Guess we’re getting closer, huh?” Alva joked, nudging Ford’s arm playfully, fingers running through his hair with a chuckle. Ford grinned—then suddenly dashed off.

“HEY!! SIXER!!! THAT’S CHEATING TOO!!!” Alva yelled, taking off after him. Ford’s laughter echoed through the parking lot as he turned his head, tongue sticking out teasingly.

“Too bad! I’m not letting Shermie pick the first ride!” Ford shouted, running faster.

By the time they reached the booth, Shermie stood tall with his arms crossed and a smug grin, watching the two panting messes in front of him.
“Looks like I win,” he teased proudly. “That means I get to pick first.”

Alva and Ford both pouted.
“That’s not fair! You’re taller and faster! We’re still kids—and you cheated by running first!” Ford protested. Alva nodded firmly, glaring in exaggerated frustration.

Shermie burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. he reached over and ruffled both their hair affectionately before sighing. “Fine, fine—you can pick your ride first. But no fighting over it!”

Their eyes lit up instantly. “Deal!” they said together, following his in line for tickets.

As they waited, they chatted nonstop—what rides to go on first, what snacks to try, who’d scream louder on the roller coaster. Shermie smiled at their excitement as they finally reached the counter.

The attendant was a young woman wearing a bright red-pink peaked cap, her dark pink hair neatly tied back. Her overalls matched the park’s colors, and her striped shirt gleamed under the morning light. Her sky-blue eyes sparkled as she greeted them cheerfully.

“Good morning, kiddos—and one teenager!” she teased.

Shermie’s face flushed instantly.
“Hey, big bro, don’t get distracted. You already have a girlfriend,” Alva teased, grinning mischievously.

The attendant laughed, covering her mouth politely. “Oh? Am I really that pretty? I’m flattered someone already taken still looks my way.”

Shermie stammered, completely flustered. “Ah—uh—no! W-we’d like one adult ticket and two children’s, please!” he said, shoving the money forward.

The woman giggled, processed the tickets, and handed them back with a dazzling smile. “Thank you for visiting! Enjoy your time in our park!”

Shermie quickly turned and walked off in a hurry. Ford followed right behind, still laughing. Alva was about to go after them—until the attendant gently caught his wrist.

“Wait, sweetheart,” she said softly, smiling kindly. “Come here for a moment.”

Her tone was calm, almost melodic. She nodded to another worker to take her place before leading Alva behind the booth. Alva hesitated but followed, glancing toward Ford, who was already far ahead.

Kneeling down, the woman smiled at him warmly. “I want to give you something. But you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?”

Alva froze for a second but nodded nervously. “O-okay… I promise.”

“Good boy,” she said gently, pulling out a small box-shaped device—white with red stripes on the sides—and handing it to him.

“Use this in an emergency. Attach it to your clothes, and you’ll be safe. No one will suspect a thing.”

Alva stared at the device, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

The woman’s expression softened, her smile turning strangely serene—wise, almost comforting. Before Alva could ask again, he heard Ford’s voice calling out for him.

She reached out and patted his head. “Go on now. Don’t keep him waiting.”

Alva hesitated, then nodded, pocketing the strange little device before running off.

“Hey! Where were you!? I was starting to panic!” Ford grabbed his shoulders the moment he caught up, clearly worried.

Alva laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “Relax, I was just talking to that ticket lady.” He pointed back toward the booth. Ford turned, then frowned.

“Ticket lady? Who?”

Alva blinked. “She was just—” He froze. There was no one there. No trace of the woman at all.

Ford sighed dramatically and patted his shoulder. “Aw, poor guy… You must’ve liked her so much you imagined her still there.”

Alva’s eyes widened. “Sixer! I’m serious! She was right there—she gave me—”

He stopped mid-sentence, remembering her warning. Ford raised an eyebrow. “Gave you what?”

“…Never mind,” Alva muttered, forcing a grin. “Forget it. I was just imagining things.”

But as he spoke, his hand brushed against his pocket. The little device was still there. Real.

So it wasn’t just my imagination…

“Come on!” Ford said, tugging his sleeve. “Shermie’s probably waiting already!”

Alva let himself be pulled along, still looking over his shoulder.

And there—standing by the ticket booth—was the woman again. Her head tilted down, hat shadowing her eyes, finger pressed to her lips in a silent “shh.”

Her faint smile was the last thing Alva saw before a crowd passed by—and she vanished without a trace.

Alva froze, staring for a moment before Ford’s tug snapped him back to reality. He turned forward again, running to keep up.

Who… was she?

“The child is truly sweet with that disguise,” said a calm, dignified voice.
A woman with bluish-black hair streaked with gray was wringing out her hair.

“Seriously? You came down to Earth just to give something? To Alva (Stanley)?” she asked, incredulous.

“Mama Gwen, I understand you’re worried about something, but please trust me. This is also for Alva’s future. I don’t mind coming down to Earth just for a short visit. Besides, the Axolotl himself didn’t mind me involving myself a little—it’s nothing major.”

Mama Gwen sighed, looking at the figure with dark-pink hair wearing red overalls, a red-and-white striped shirt, and a red peaked cap—the very same attendant Alva, Ford, and Shermie had met at the ticket booth.

“All right, I get it. But next time you plan to come, let me know first. Don’t just appear out of nowhere and make me panic when I sense a portal opening here. Especially while wearing those human clothes… which must feel strange to you,” Mama Gwen said, crossing her arms and frowning at the holographic screen.

“Hahaha, forgive me for that. I didn’t mean to alarm you without saying anything first,” the other woman chuckled.

Mama Gwen nodded, leaned closer to the table, and looked into the hologram.
“So, what’s the problem this time? What made you—the highest devotee of the Axolotl and the most renowned star seer in the realms—come to Earth, Jheselbraum?”

The figure on the screen laughed softly, lowering her hat. Her body slowly shifted back to its true form—seven eyes, a long black hooded cloak, and a composed smile.

“I saw something urgent, something that he should have done himself,” Jheselbraum said.

“Now that’s unusual,” Gwen replied, raising an eyebrow.

Jheselbraum smiled faintly and looked to the side.
“Yes… I know. I’m not supposed to leave my post even for a moment. But if it’s to make the future better, then I want to take a small step—at least to help that child.”

Mama Gwen exhaled heavily.
“Ugh… always with your prophetic talk. Sometimes I still wonder how I ended up friends with someone who always speaks in riddles.”

Both women laughed together.

“If something is going to happen,” Gwen murmured, turning toward the window that looked out over the ocean view, “then I suppose I’ll just sit here and let that child face it.”

“Yes… I’m glad to hear you say that…” Jheselbraum replied, her voice fading softly.

"Achoo!” Ford turned when he heard Alva sneeze. He walked over.
“Cold?”
Alva shook his head and rubbed his nose lightly. Ford nodded slowly, understanding.

For some reason, Alva had been restless and quiet. Was he uncomfortable with the rides Ford and Shermie had gone on? But he’d seemed so cheerful while riding — not a hint of unease. Still, ever since the mini roller coaster, Alva had grown uneasy.

Ford couldn’t let Alva feel uncomfortable because of something like that. He had to think of something. Looking around, Ford spotted an interesting attraction.

“Alva! How about we try that one?” he pointed excitedly toward a ride not too far away.
Alva looked and smiled.
“Looks fun. A mirror house,” he said.

Alva and Ford went over to Shermie, who was licking an ice cream. Ford and Alva had already finished theirs earlier.

“We’re going to play in that one,” Ford pointed to the mirror maze.
Shermie turned and nodded.
“All right, be careful in there. Don’t bump your heads or get lost. And don’t cry inside, okay? I’ll wait for you at the exit,” Shermie teased.

Ford and Alva lightly punched her knee in protest.
“Stop it! We’re not little kids anymore!” they complained.
Shermie only laughed as the two of them hurried off.

“Come on!” Ford grabbed Alva’s hand tightly, as if afraid to ever let go again. He didn’t want to lose him — not again. The fear of being alone terrified him. No, he had to be strong this time, even just for a while. He wanted to see Alva smile — like Lee once did.

“Whoa…” they both gasped in awe after showing their tickets to the attendant and entering the mirror maze.
Alva touched one of the mirrors, making silly poses at his reflection.

“Bleh… hufgh… ah…”
Alva stuck out his tongue, puffed his nose, and pulled his ears forward. Ford laughed at his goofy expressions.
“Stop it already—you’re embarrassing us!” Ford chuckled as Alva kept making silly faces.

Finally, Ford stood beside him and made a silly face too — pushing his cheeks forward, sticking out his tongue, and crossing his eyes. Alva burst into laughter.
“Sixer! You look ridiculous!” Alva laughed so hard he nearly fell over.

Ford grinned and nudged his arm.
“Come on, let’s keep going before Shermie gets tired of waiting outside.”
Alva rolled his eyes, clasped his hands behind his head, and walked casually beside him.

“Dude, Shermie’s not gonna wait long. he’ll probably end up buying food or another plushie for his girlfriend,” Alva joked.

Ford laughed—then froze.
“Wait… how do you know that?” he asked, staring at Alva, who suddenly looked flustered.

“Eh—uh… lots of guys do that kinda thing,” Alva stammered nervously.

Ford leaned in, suspicious, but before he could say more, Alva covered his face. Ford had never seen him this panicked. And—wait. Was that a glitch? Ford blinked hard. No… maybe he was just imagining it?

Before he could move closer, Alva ran off around a corner.
“ALVA!!” Ford shouted, chasing after him—but he kept running into the mirrored walls.

Panic rising, Ford looked around—only to see his own reflection. Then, suddenly, a glimpse—Lee?

Ford spun around fast. Lee turned and ran into another section.
“LEE! DON’T GO!” Ford shouted, chasing him—again slamming into another mirror. He pressed his hands against the glass, trembling.

“No, no… no way… Lee…” Ford gasped, shaking his head in disbelief. He started running wildly, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Again, he saw Lee—wearing his red-and-white striped shirt, his face pale and frightened. Ford rushed toward him, only to find it was another reflection. Then Lee vanished again.

“STANLEY PINES!! DON’T YOU DARE HIDE FROM ME! COME OUT, YOU STUBBORN KID!” Ford shouted in frustration, his voice echoing through the mirror maze.

“I CAN’T! I’M THE WORST BROTHER YOU EVER HAD!” came the reply.

Ford’s chest tightened. He clutched his shirt—Lee’s favorite T-shirt he still wore sometimes.
“Please… let me see you… I miss you so much…” Ford’s voice cracked. Memories tore at his heart.

Silence. Then—rage.
“HEY! I don’t usually swear, but if you don’t show up, I’ll start now!” he yelled again.

No response. Only endless reflections of Lee disappearing around corners. Time blurred—five minutes, maybe. Ford’s glasses fogged as tears welled up.

“Stanley… Lee… please… come back… I’m here… I’m sorry… I’m sorry I couldn’t save you… I failed to protect you… I’m a terrible brother…” Ford’s voice cracked as he broke down, tears falling freely.

“Lee… please… just once. Then you can go. I promise. I just need to tell you this… I swear I won’t look for you again…”

The last words hurt to say. His tongue trembled.

Then—
“Promise? …I only have two minutes left…” came Lee’s voice from above.

Ford looked up in disbelief.
“Yes! Please—just two minutes. That’s all I ask. I miss you, Lee. Please…”

Ford tripped forward, staring at his pitiful reflection — a broken man, a failure, a fool.

“…All right.”

The voice came from behind him. Ford turned—and froze. Lee stood there, real and close. His face nervous, scared, but familiar.

Ford couldn’t hold it anymore. He lunged forward, wrapping Lee in a tight embrace.

Lee gasped but didn’t resist. Feeling Ford sobbing on his shoulder, he hesitated—then hugged back, his own body trembling.

“Lee… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I failed to protect you… I failed as your brother… I was blind… I was stupid… you always protected me when it should’ve been the other way around…”

Stan tightened his grip, then gently pulled back, cupping Ford’s tear-streaked face. Their foreheads touched.

“Ford… Sixer, listen to me. This wasn’t your fault. I’ll say it again—it wasn’t your fault. You had dreams. You had purpose. You had things you loved. You were the greatest brother I could’ve ever had. I was proud of you. Always.”

Ford froze, startled. Stan’s tone was so clear—no hesitation, no stutter.

“And please understand… I’m happy now, where I am. You have your own world, too. You’ve fought for it. You’ve made it yours. And I’m proud of that.”

Ford’s tears flowed again.

Stan smiled sadly, placing something in Ford’s hand.
“My time’s almost up. I have to go. Goodbye, Sixer. See you again someday.”

Ford reached out desperately as Stan backed away and disappeared into the mirrors.
“STAN—!”

But he was gone.

Ford looked down at his palm — a small golden pendant. He opened it and saw a photo: him and Stan smiling together — probably taken at a photo booth the day Stan got his first cavity.

Ford collapsed to his knees, clutching the pendant to his chest as tears spilled again.

“Lee…” he whispered, voice breaking.

“Sixer?” came a soft voice behind him. Alva.

Ford turned and instantly hugged him tightly.
“Alva… Lee was here… he was here…”

Alva hugged him back, nervously patting his shoulder.
“I understand… Was he happy to see you?”

Ford nodded weakly, smiling faintly through the tears, and looked at the pendant again. He slipped it around his neck and tucked it into his shirt.

“Yes… he was happy. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He grabbed Alva’s hand. Alva jumped a little but nodded.
“Ah—uh, yeah… let’s go.”

As they walked out, Alva felt a strange chill down his spine. He turned back briefly—nothing. Then he followed Ford out.

Shermie stood up from the bench.
“What the—Ford! Are you okay?!” he asked, seeing his red, tear-swollen face.

Ford smiled wide.
“I’m fine. I was crying because I got lost—Alva ran off ahead,” he said lightly.

Alva stared at him in shock, but Ford just ignored the look.

Shermie sighed.
“All right… I thought something bad happened. Let’s head home.”

Ford and Alva nodded together. Ford glanced at Alva, eyes soft.
“Alva…”

“Hm?” Alva turned, startled.

“Thanks for being my friend. I’m really glad I met you.”

Alva smiled.
“Hey, we’re best friends, right? I’m really glad I met you too, Sixer!” he said, nudging Ford playfully.

Ford chuckled and looked up at the sky for a moment.

I’ll find you, Lee. I’ll let you enjoy your world—and I’ll enjoy mine. But someday, I’ll meet you again, and this time, I’ll drag you back with me if I have to. I’m happy I got to see you again. Lee… see you someday.

Chapter Text

I can’t believe how many years it’s been since that day.
I know—it sounds insane. But somehow, I actually made it through, even with all the doubts that still creep in. I don’t even know what I’m holding on to anymore.

Stanford looks so used to things now. He doesn’t seem as lost as he used to after... losing the old me.
And Shermie—well, he still goes back and forth with the detectives sometimes, but not as often. It’s like they all know I’m still out here somewhere, that maybe one day, I could come back home.

But I can’t.
I can’t go back.

They have to live without me now.
They have to stop thinking about me.

And if that means fading away from their lives, then so be it.
Honestly, I’ve almost forgotten my real name by now—if it weren’t for Mama Gwen, who still calls me Stan every now and then. I guess that’s fair. It’s been years since my whole life flipped upside down.

Now, I’m one of the top students at school—right after Ford.
The teachers and classmates who used to underestimate me, thinking I was just some awkward transfer kid, now look at me with the same admiration they give Ford. They say I’m his “best rival.”

Heh.
I’ve never felt this happy being praised, being respected for my grades. Even better—no one messes with Ford anymore because I’m always right there with him.

Right... I’m with Ford now.
But as someone else.

Someone different.

Is this really better?
Living as Alva, until I forget who Stanley even was?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. I’m fine, aren’t I?
Mama Gwen keeps nagging me not to forget who I am, but... come on, it’s not like I’d ever forget completely.

...Wait.
Am I really better off like this?

Living a life that isn’t truly mine...
Wearing a name that isn’t really me...

Do I have to keep choosing between being myself—and being someone who isn’t?

"Ugh, I’m really losing it right now," Ford groaned, dropping his head onto the desk after staring too long at his chemistry book.

Alva glanced at him, raising a brow while still chewing on his favorite snack. His legs were propped up on the table, crossed lazily.

“Uh? What’s up, man?”
Alva knew Ford didn’t usually complain — not unless it had to do with his family.

Ford sighed into the desk, his voice muffled.
“My Stan-o-War... I’ve been trying to fix it again, but I keep running into problems.”

Alva froze mid-chew, eyes flicking toward Ford.
“Eh? Shouldn’t you be focusing on school? We’re in high school now, dude.” He tried to sound casual, but Ford suddenly sat up, frowning at him.

“I know! But… I thought maybe, if I finish fixing it… my brother might come back.”
His tone softened, almost desperate. “I know it sounds stupid, but if I keep working on it, I’m sure the ship will make it to the shore someday. He’ll show up, yelling at me for taking so long. I know it’ll work.”

Ford went back to scribbling something in his little journal. Alva let out a small, nervous laugh.
“Haha… yeah. I’m sure he’ll come back. You’ll be sailing together again.”

He looked away, toward the classroom window. “But, uh… we still have stuff to do here on land, right?”

Ford’s pen stopped moving. He shot Alva a sharp look.
“Do you not want my brother to come back?”

Alva’s eyes went wide. He waved his hands in a panic.
“No! No, no, that’s not what I meant! I totally believe he’ll come back, really! Uhm… actually, how about I help you fix the Stan-o-War?”

Ford blinked at him, then sighed quietly.
“I’d like that,” he murmured before going back to his notes.

Alva let out a long breath of relief and stuffed another snack into his mouth. Every now and then, his eyes drifted toward Ford. Thoughts began to tangle again in his head.

After a moment, he stood up slowly, finished his snack, and looked at Ford one last time. His mouth opened—then closed again.
“…I’m gonna head out for a bit,” he mumbled just loud enough for Ford to hear, before walking out of the classroom.

He didn’t care about the curious stares from teachers or students in the hall. His feet just carried him toward the back of the school, where it was quiet. Everything around him felt heavy—tight in his chest.

He slid down against the wall, hands trembling as he lifted them up to his face.
Since when did he start shaking like this? He didn’t even notice.

Okay… calm down. Breathe in. Out. In… and out.

But the tightness didn’t fade. Slowly, Alva pressed his hands to his face—and peeled the skin-like layer away. The mask came off, revealing what was hidden beneath.

He stared at it — the lines of red and gold carved across it like cracks of light. His reflection stared back, someone both familiar and lost.

Why won’t Ford stop trying?
He wasn’t as bad as before — at least he’d stopped putting up posters everywhere. But still.

Wouldn’t it be easier if Alva stayed as Alva, and Stan was gone for good?
Maybe he should just quit school and disappear. Maybe that would finally make Ford accept that Stanley Pines was never coming back.

That thought hurt more than he expected.
And yet… he couldn’t leave.

Because if Ford still needed him — even as someone else — then he couldn’t just vanish.

Okay, okay, calm down, Alva. Ford still needs you. You’re not Stan anymore. You’re Alva.

He looked at the mask again, brushing a thumb across the painted lines. Then, footsteps echoed down the hallway, calling his name.

Alva sighed and pressed the mask back onto his face. His features and hair shifted again. By the time he turned around, Ford was there — panting from running.

“There you are! The teacher already came in! You’ve been gone for long! I thought you went to grab snacks or something!” Ford scolded, walking up to him.

Alva chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Haha, sorry bro. I was on the phone with my mom.” He held up his phone — another lie.

Ford raised an eyebrow, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, stop showing off that fancy phone. Come on, class already started!”

He grabbed Alva’s arm, dragging him along. Alva laughed and slipped the phone back into his pocket, letting himself be pulled. He walked with his hands behind his head, Ford flipping through his notebook beside him.

Then Ford spoke up again, clearing his throat.
“Y’know, I’ve been thinking... I want you to join my Stan-o-War crew.”

Alva almost choked on his own saliva.
“Uh? Crew?”

Ford blinked at him, amused. “Yeah. You’re my best friend, Alva. I want you to join me — and Stan — when the ship’s ready. He’ll be happy to meet you, I know it.”

Alva forced a shaky laugh.
“Why me, though? I’m not exactly the seafaring type, Sixer. You’ve got your brother for that.”

Ford frowned, stopping mid-step, forcing Alva to halt too.
“Come on, you liar. You sit by the docks all the time. You’re not scared of the ocean.”

Alva cursed silently under his breath. Ford sighed, ruffling his own hair.
“Fine, whatever. But if you ever do want to come with us someday, just say the word. The ship will always have room for you.”

He turned and started walking ahead.

Alva stood there for a second, heart pounding hard in his chest. Calm down. Calm down, Va. Ford’s better off not knowing.

He caught up quickly, slinging an arm around Ford’s shoulders with a grin.
“Haha, sure thing, bro. If I ever get the chance, I’ll totally come aboard the Stan-o-War. Can’t wait!”

Ford smiled, nudging him playfully in the side.
“Good. I’ll hold you to that.”

They shared a quiet laugh, then walked back into class together.

Alva dropped his bag onto the couch and sank down slowly, letting his head fall back against the cushions. He threw an arm over his eyes and exhaled a long, tired breath — boxing practice had taken everything out of him.

He wasn’t even sure anymore if any of this was right. His whole plan — helping Ford move on from Stan, creating a version of himself that Ford could accept — was supposed to make things easier. But now it was just… messy. So much messier than he’d ever imagined.

And now Ford had offered him a spot as part of his crew.

He didn’t even know what to feel anymore. Happy, because Ford didn’t see through his disguise… or miserable, because Ford still missed Stan — him — without realizing he was right there beside him.
Why did it hurt so much? Was it guilt? Fear? Or something he just couldn’t put into words?

Alva let his arm drop, staring blankly at the ceiling. He lifted his hand toward the air as if reaching for something impossible. “Yeah… impossible,” he muttered.

Then—

BOOM!

A sharp explosion rocked the whole house. The walls shook. Alva bolted upright, sprinting toward Mama Gwen’s lab. He slammed the door open — a puff of gray smoke rushed out.

Inside, Mama Gwen stood in the middle of the chaos, a wrench in one hand and a tube of strange glowing liquid in the other, grinning like a mad scientist.

Alva grabbed a small fire extinguisher near the door and quickly put out the flames before they spread. He sighed deeply, hands on hips, and gave Mama Gwen a look that said really? again?

She just smiled through a face smeared with soot.

Alva trudged to the sink, grabbed a wet towel and a small bucket, then came back. Mama Gwen was already scribbling something in her holographic notebook when Alva handed her the towel.

“Mama Gwen, please. Stop,” he said flatly.

She laughed softly. “Alright, alright. My bad! But Mama Gwen had a breakthrough! A new experiment, and it’s—”

Alva groaned and pressed the towel into her hands. She wiped her face obediently while he fetched the first aid kit. Sitting beside her, he began tending to her small burns and cuts.

“Stan… you’re hurt too,” Mama Gwen noted, smiling gently. “You must’ve just come back from training.”

“I know. I patched myself up right after you blew up your lab,” Alva muttered, rolling his eyes. Gwen chuckled, then carefully took over, wrapping a bandage around his bruised hand and cheek with calm precision.

“So,” she said softly, “how are you feeling? You’ve been thinking too much again, haven’t you?”

Alva stayed silent for a while. Mama Gwen waited patiently — she always did. She was the kind of person who listened first before judging, unlike his Ma, who was always busy, or Pa, who always said things like ‘A Pines should be strong, no whining.’

Finally, Alva sighed, rubbing his hair in frustration.

“I… I want to quit school, Mama Gwen. I want to stay away from Ford.”

Mama Gwen froze mid-motion, then quietly put down the first aid kit and sat beside him.

“Why?” she asked simply.

“I got offered a spot on the Stan O’ War crew,” Alva said bitterly. “And Ford… he still hopes the old me will come back. I thought I’d moved past all that. That I could just exist quietly as Alva, someone Ford didn’t have to worry about. But now… I don’t know. I don’t want to be dependent on him anymore. And I don’t want him to depend on me either.”

Mama Gwen smiled faintly and said nothing, letting him talk.

Alva stared at the strange tools on her workbench. His hands trembled as he reached for his face, pressing against his skin until the illusion peeled away. The black hair and red eyes faded, replaced with brown — the color he’d almost forgotten.

He looked at the mask in his hand, tracing it with his thumb.

“If one day Ford finds out who I really am… he’ll hate me, Mama Gwen. He’ll hate me for lying, for ruining everything we had left. I don’t even know who I am anymore. Am I still Stanley Pines… or just the ghost of him?”

His voice cracked as his hands shook harder, gripping the mask tightly. Then — warmth.

Mama Gwen’s arms wrapped gently around him.

“Stan,” she said softly, “maybe I don’t know you as long as your Ma did. But I believe you’ll find your way back. You’re still Stanley Pines — the boy I found years ago passed out in the rain with a fever. Believe me, even if I’m just a weird old scientist obsessed with strange experiments… I know this much: you’re still the same boy I care about. And your Ma and Ford — they still miss you. Your Pa, though…” She paused, chuckling softly. “Well, let’s just say he’s a bit more complicated.”

Alva chuckled weakly through the lump in his throat. The tightness in his chest slowly eased.

“Thank you, Mama Gwen,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome.” She smiled, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “And to cheer you up… I’ve got a friend I’d like you to meet. Someone from outer space.”

Alva blinked. “Outer space? Oh, come on, Mama Gwen. You already have floating gadgets, teleporting junk, and now aliens?”

Mama Gwen laughed. “You’re still curious, aren’t you? But promise me — don’t tell anyone unless I say so.”

Alva raised an eyebrow but grinned. “Fine, fine. You know I’m already good at keeping secrets. Kinda comes with living a double life.”

Mama Gwen chuckled, snapping her fingers. The cleaning bots whirred to life, tidying up the lab in seconds. Alva didn’t even flinch — he’d gotten used to this kind of thing long ago.

Once the room was spotless, Mama Gwen opened a holographic screen and started typing. Alva leaned closer, curiosity taking over.

“Who’s this friend of yours, anyway? Some cosmic genius? An alien overlord? Someone dangerous?”

Mama Gwen smirked. “You still ask too many questions. Just wait — if I’m lucky, they’ll actually pick up this time.”

The holographic interface blinked, a call ringing out into the ether. Alva tapped his foot impatiently as Mama Gwen crossed her arms with a knowing grin.

Finally, the screen flickered — and a calm, amused voice came through.

“Hello again, Gwen. Did you call just to introduce your adopted kid to me?”

The figure appeared in the projection, smiling faintly. Alva’s eyes widened in disbelief as Gwen put her hands on her hips, grinning proudly.

“You guessed right, Jheselbraum.”

Alva flinched, dropping the screwdriver from his hand.
He turned quickly — Ford was staring at him, confusion written all over his face.

Right. Of course. He was still on the Stan O’ War, just like they’d agreed.

Alva let out an awkward chuckle and crouched to pick the screwdriver up from the deck. Ford sighed.

“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been staring at the ocean like it’s got all the answers,” Ford said, folding his arms as he glanced at the horizon.

“Sorry,” Alva replied quietly. “Just… thinking about something.”

Ford arched an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t wanna tell me? You spaced out for a solid five minutes — I even yelled, and you didn’t move.”

Alva’s face flushed red. Great. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Uh… yeah. Just thinking about, um, what university I should apply to, heh.”
(Argh— lying again, huh? Great job, Alva.)

Ford leaned in slightly, as if trying to read him, but the mask hid every twitch and microexpression. Finally, Ford gave up and exhaled.

“Daydreamer,” Ford muttered, shaking his head. “Alright then — which one are you thinking about?”

Alva sighed, relieved the topic was changing. “That’s the thing. I’m not sure what to focus on yet.”

Ford nodded thoughtfully. “Why not try art? Or mechanics? Or boxing? You’re good at all three.”

That made Alva pause. “Wait, how do you know I like art?”

Ford shrugged casually. “I see you doodle in your notebook when class gets boring. You still somehow get perfect grades, so I never called you out on it.”

Alva froze.

“…Doesn’t that bother you?” he asked softly.

Ford tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Alva fiddled with a screw. “…doesn’t my art look weird to you? Creepy, even?”

For a moment, silence. Then Ford suddenly barked out:

“WHO SAID YOUR ART WAS BAD?!”

The outburst made Alva jump, nearly dropping the screwdriver again. He glared at Ford, rolling his eyes.

“You don’t have to yell,” he muttered. “It’s just— people used to tell me my art was awful. Not worth showing. That it’d never amount to anything.”

He remembered those words — freak, weird, useless. It stung even now.
If it weren’t for Gwen asking him to draw her experiment diagrams, maybe he would’ve quit art altogether.

Ford suddenly gripped his shoulders, turning him around. Alva blinked, startled. Ford’s eyes were wide and fierce — intense in that Ford kind of way, the kind that made you forget how to breathe.

“Listen to me,” Ford said, voice firm. “I don’t care if your drawings are weird or strange — they’re good. Hell, they’re amazing. You’ve definitely been practicing like crazy. I mean, I’ve seen it — the detail, the improvement, everything. And when I tried talking to you during class, you’d slam your notebook shut like you were hiding some big secret. I thought you were just shy, but if it’s because you were scared of being judged— forget that. I’d never call your art bad. Not once. You got that?”

Alva just blinked at him, stunned. He exhaled slowly, forcing a tiny smirk.

“Alright, alright… calm down, Pa Sixer,” he teased halfheartedly.

Ford groaned, clearly annoyed but too tired to argue. He turned back to his compass.

“I’m thinking of applying to the best university out there,” Ford said after a moment. “I want to become the most renowned scientist on Earth — show the world how beautiful the strange can be.”

Alva smiled faintly, still focused on tightening the bolts. He’d heard this dream since childhood. It hadn’t changed a bit.
Unlike his own, which had long since fallen apart.

“Hah. That’s a solid dream,” Alva said, keeping his tone light. “Very you.”

Ford smiled back. “Yeah, but… there’s another one, too.”

“Oh?” Alva didn’t look up, but one eyebrow rose.

“I wanna sail the whole ocean with my brother,” Ford said softly, eyes distant. “Hunt for treasure. Meet a mermaid or two.”

Alva’s hand froze mid-turn. Thankfully, his back was to Ford — he didn’t see how tightly Alva’s grip clenched around the screwdriver, knuckles whitening.

“I know it sounds silly,” Ford added with a little laugh. “But once I find him, it’s gonna happen.”

Alva’s breath trembled. He tightened his grip harder, ignoring the sting in his palm.

“It’s… a good dream,” he managed to say. “You’ve always said that.”

Ford chuckled. “Yeah. Guess I’m glad you’re the one person who’s never laughed at it. You even said you might join my crew someday.”

Alva bit the inside of his cheek so hard it hurt. He couldn’t even trust his own voice now.

“Yeah… I remember,” he muttered. Then, more briskly: “Alright, it’s getting dark. Let’s head back.”

Ford agreed easily, packing up the tools. The sun dipped behind the waves, the air turning cool and orange. Alva watched him quietly, the weight of everything pressing down again — the lies, the memories, the ache of missing a life he could never return to.

“Come on,” Ford called, closing the toolbox.

Alva nodded and carried it off the Stan O’ War, heading to the small parking lot nearby. His old red car sat there, beaten-up but reliable — the kind he’d chosen himself, even after Gwen tried to convince him to buy something better. He’d wanted something simple. Something he could fix with his own hands when it broke.

He loaded the toolbox into the trunk, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. Ford climbed in beside him, journal already in hand.

“Let’s go home,” Ford said, smiling.

“Yeah,” Alva murmured, shifting gears.

As the car rolled away, the only sound was the soft hum of the engine and Ford’s pen scratching against paper.

Alva kept his eyes on the road, his thoughts miles away.
Ford, calm and focused beside him, had no idea of the storm building inside the driver’s seat.

Maybe it was time to step back before things got worse.
Or maybe he just needed to hold on a little longer —
until he figured out how to stop hurting from the truth.

When the car stopped in front of Ford’s shop, Ford unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out, leaning down to look through the window with a warm smile.

“See you tomorrow,” he said.

Alva turned to him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “See you tomorrow.”

Ford nodded, stepping back before heading toward the front door. Alva waited until he heard the faint sound of the door closing behind him. Then, after a small breath, he started the engine. The car rolled forward, but when Ford’s shop grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, Alva turned the wheel—taking the long road, away from home.

His hands tightened around the steering wheel. For a moment, he wanted to slam it, to just let go. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Instead, he breathed slowly, forcing the noise inside his head to quiet down.

And then, he saw it—the same place he and Ford had just passed by.
The Stan o’ War.

He pulled over, parked the car, and stepped out. The familiar scent of the sea wrapped around him—the salt, the wind, the gentle hum of waves. His favorite kind of silence.

For a while, he simply stood there, staring at the water… and at the ship. Then he slipped off his shoes and socks, rolled up his pant legs above his ankles, and reached up to his face. The mask came off easily. His real face looked back at him in the reflection of the car window—soft, tired, human.

He hesitated at the edge of the asphalt before stepping forward, his bare feet sinking into the cold sand. The chill of the sea brushed against his toes. A slow breath escaped him. Then he walked toward the ship.

The water reached his ankles as he touched the Stan o’ War’s wooden side. Even though he’d been here many times before, this was the first time as himself, not as Alva.

He pressed his forehead gently against the coarse wood, his breath warm against the hull.

His eyes softened. He didn’t know what he was feeling anymore—nostalgia, anger, guilt, affection, maybe all of them at once. Every emotion blurred into the next, like waves pulling at the shore. But here, alone, without Ford’s gaze on him, he could finally let it all spill out.

After a long while, he stepped back toward the shoreline. The night air brushed against his skin. The sea whispered quietly against his feet.

He stared out at the ocean, the moonlight trembling over the water’s surface.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” he whispered.
“Even as Alva… I feel empty.
This mask doesn’t fill the void—it just hides it.”

A cold wave lapped against his ankles.
Then another, higher this time.

“Ford’s presence should’ve filled that emptiness, shouldn’t it?”

The water reached his calves. His breath hitched.

“But why… does it still feel so hollow?”

It rose to his knees, soaking through the fabric. The chill bit into his skin, but he didn’t move.

“Am I supposed to keep living like this? Even until I die?”

The next wave climbed to his waist. His hands trembled as the tide swayed him gently, almost like it wanted to cradle him—pull him in.

“If I’m wrong… someone tell me. Please… just tell me I’m wrong.”

The sea crept up to his chest. His pulse slowed, his voice barely audible.

“It’s funny… I’m still alive.
Or am I?”

The water brushed his neck, cold and suffocating. His eyes fluttered closed.

“Am I really that awful?”

The tide touched his chin, then his lips.

“I worked hard… I got good grades…
My future’s supposed to be brighter than before…”

The water reached his nose. His breath came out in shaky bursts.

“So why… why can’t I ever feel happy?”

And then—
the sea swallowed him whole.

Sound vanished.
Light fractured above him like shattered glass.
He floated, suspended between the weight of the ocean and the pull of the moonlight.

“I hate myself,” he whispered, bubbles escaping his mouth. “I still do…no...”

He lifted one hand upward—slow, trembling—toward the flickering light above, the last thing still alive in the dark.

“I… want to die…”

And then—
his phone rang.

The sound sliced through everything.

Alva gasped, blinking rapidly. The water was gone. His lungs flooding not with water, but air. He blinked. He realized he was sitting by the shore, waves barely brushing his feet. He inhaled shakily, a hand pressed to his chest. The phone kept ringing beside him.

He picked it up. The name on the screen made him smile faintly.

“Mama Gwen… you still worry about me, huh…”

He answered. “Hey. Yeah, I’m still by the beach near the Stan o’ War. I’ll be home soon. Don’t worry, Mama Gwen. I’m coming, I promise.”

He hung up, stood, and jogged back toward his car. Slipping his socks and shoes back on, he glanced one last time at the Stan o’ War.

His smile was small, but real.

He got into the car, placed the mask over his face again, and watched as his reflection became Alva once more.

The engine started, headlights cutting through the darkness as he drove away.

“Guess Mama Gwen’s friend was right,” he murmured softly. “This isn’t over yet.”

The car engine started. The headlights cut through the night.
And just like that, Alva drove off—leaving behind the waves, the illusion, and the ghost of a name he no longer dared to call his own.

Chapter Text

"wai—wait, wait, let me explain—"
"This is all your fault! Because you were jealous—jealous that I did better than you!"
"No! Please, let me—"
"Turns out you're even worse than I thought. You knucklehead!"

“NOOO!!!” he screamed, jerking awake.
Alva’s eyes darted left and right, his chest heaving. It took him a moment to realize—
it was only a nightmare.

His hand went to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt. His breathing came fast, uneven.
He forced himself to inhale — exhale — again and again.

Breathe in… breathe out… calm down…
“That was just a nightmare, right? Then why did it feel so real?” he muttered, his voice trembling slightly.
“Forget it. I’m not going to think about this anymore.”

He turned toward the dim glow of his digital clock—the one Mama Gwen had built.
3 a.m.
He sighed, rubbing his eyes.
“Guess I woke up too early... Maybe I’ll head to the lab. Tinkering a bit won’t hurt.”

Alva got up and walked down from the second floor to the laboratory.
As the door slid open, a familiar flicker of light met his eyes—Mama Gwen welding something again.
He shook his head.
The old lady never knew when to rest.

“Mama Gwen, up late again?” Alva asked as he approached.
She paused, lifted her goggles, and smiled.

“At least I still have plenty of ideas to pour out, Stan,” she said warmly.
Alva rolled his eyes, heading to his own workbench. He pulled on thick gloves and goggles,
flicking on the desk lamp. The table was cluttered with odd tools and half-built gadgets.

Mama Gwen’s smile softened.
“Bad dream?” she asked gently.
Alva only nodded, activating a holographic display and typing commands without looking up.

“Yeah... I just need something to take my mind off it. Until it’s time for school.”
He stared at the hovering blueprint—complex designs and shifting lines.
Somehow, he’d picked up her habits: building strange, half-impossible things.
He never quite knew where Mama Gwen got her equipment,
but he figured it must’ve been from one of her old friends.

“Alright, I’ll make breakfast later. What do you want to drink?” she asked, removing her coat and goggles.
She walked over and gently ruffled his brown hair.

“Anything,” he muttered.
She nodded, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and left the lab.
The soft click of the closing door left him alone again.

Alva exhaled slowly, eyes catching his faint reflection in the hologram’s glow.
“Alright, alright… maybe I just need something to distract myself,” he murmured,
smoothing back his hair before picking up the welding torch again.

The steady hiss of sparks filled the silence—sharp, rhythmic, almost comforting.

But then, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a notebook.
Simple, reddish-brown cover.

He froze.
Set the tool down.
And reached for it.

The pages were filled with sketches—clean, precise lines.
He always drew when he had time to himself, usually while Mama Gwen was out shopping.
Ships, masks, the false face he wore...

Then he turned to one page that made his hand tighten.
A sketch of two children—himself, and Ford.

He hesitated.
His fingers brushed the rough pencil texture on the paper.
Once, he’d almost torn that page out.
But something had stopped him.

With a small sigh, he shut the notebook hard and shoved it into a drawer,
slamming it closed.

Leaning back, he stared up at the ceiling. His expression was unreadable.

“How did it end up like this? Ford walking away… leaving me as Alva?”
“Or maybe... maybe he’s still clinging to who I used to be.”
“If that’s the case, then maybe I should leave before he realizes. Before I start depending again.”
“I don’t know anymore...”

Mama Gwen’s voice called from the kitchen, distant but grounding.
Alva blinked, checked the clock again, then stood up.
He removed his lab coat and goggles, leaving the workshop silent behind him.

Only the faint hum of the hologram remained—
a ghostly light fading into quiet blue.

Alva walked quietly down the school hallway. His mask was on again, hiding everything beneath, turning him back into his usual self. He let out a soft sigh—until someone suddenly tapped his shoulder.

Alva turned, and a small smile curved on his face. Ford stood there, holding a book against his chest.

“Yo, buddy. What took you so long? Thought you were gonna be late.”
Alva nudged Ford’s arm, earning a small chuckle.

“Haha, sorry, Va. I stayed up studying again.”

Alva rolled his eyes and gave a light smack to the back of Ford’s head.
“Bookworm. You’ll get sick if you keep doing that.”

Ford laughed. “Can’t fall behind, or I might lose to you.”

Alva grimaced. “Sixer, I told you—I don’t care about competing anymore. I just want to graduate properly.”

Ford shook his head with that determined smile.
“Still… I don’t get how you keep scoring higher than me with that chill attitude. You barely even answer in class.”

Alva snorted, holding his stomach as he laughed.
“Hahaha, maybe I just got lucky. Maybe the lessons were things I’d already learned before.”

He remembered how Mama Gwen always made him study certain questions at home—questions that somehow, eerily, appeared again at school. Every time, Alva would feel a strange shiver inside, as if Mama Gwen could see the future.
But Mama Gwen would always say it was just coincidence. “Just a guess,” she’d say. Still, Alva knew better.

That was how he got good grades. Because of her.

Ford pointed at him with a grin. “You’re still underselling yourself. I’ll surpass you soon.”

Both of them went quiet for a beat—then burst out laughing together.
“Yeah, yeah, go ahead,” Alva teased.
“Show-off,” Ford shot back, rolling his eyes.

They entered class together, side by side.

The bell rang.
Riiing, riiing, riiing.

The room burst into noise as students left in every direction—some heading to the cafeteria, others to chat or play outside. Ford stayed in his seat, quietly reviewing his notes, while Alva leaned back, legs crossed on the desk, munching on snacks he’d brought from home.

Then came an announcement:

“Would Pines and Slyven please come to the principal’s office.”

Both boys exchanged confused glances.
“What did we do?” Alva asked.
Ford shrugged. “No idea—unless you picked another fight behind the school?”

Alva sighed. “Not anymore. They got tired of losing.”

Ford hummed, rubbing his chin. “Maybe it’s… something shady? You didn’t trade weird stuff again, did you?”

Alva elbowed him sharply. “Hey! Just because I act up sometimes doesn’t mean I’m dealing drugs, genius!”

“Ow!” Ford winced, rubbing his side. “I was joking.”

They reached the office door. Both nodded at each other, then stepped in together.

Inside were Ma and Pa.
And… Mama Gwen.

Alva froze.

Ford looked puzzled but obeyed when the principal gestured.
“Please, sit with your parents.”

Ford sat between Ma and Pa.
Alva sat beside Mama Gwen.

The principal smiled. “Both of your sons have done incredible things. Their projects brought pride to this school.”

Alva blinked, confused. Mama Gwen rested a hand on his, grounding him.

“You’ve both been offered a chance to attend West Coast Tech,” the principal continued. “Your scientific work will have real funding. You’ll be among the brightest young minds.”

He handed each of them a brochure.

Ford’s eyes sparkled. Alva stared down at his own, silent.

Then came the voice he hadn’t heard in years—Pa’s.
“I’m proud of you, son.”

The words struck him like a blade. Proud of you, son.
But not him. Never him.
They were meant for Ford.

Ma smiled softly beside Pa. They looked happy. Together. Without him.

Alva’s fingers trembled around the brochure. Mama Gwen squeezed his shoulder gently, as if to say I know.

Outside the office, Ford couldn’t stop talking.
“Alva! Can you believe this? We’re getting a scholarship!”

Alva smiled faintly. “Yeah… lucky us.”

Then Pa’s voice came again, cold as ever.
“You’re lucky. Don’t ruin it.”

The old sting returned to his chest, but he said nothing. Ma stopped Pa with a gentle touch on his arm.

When Pa left, Ma turned back, smiling at Alva.
“You’re amazing, you know. To keep up with my son like that.”

Alva froze. He wanted to laugh—or cry. She didn’t even realize she was praising her own child.

“Thank you, Mrs. Pines,” he said softly.

Ma chuckled, eyes warm, tender—like she used to look at him.

Then her voice softened.
“Ford, honey—can you wait for us outside for a bit? I need to talk to Alva privately.”

Ford blinked, confused. “Huh? Why?”

“Please,” Ma said gently, smiling. “It won’t take long.”

Ford hesitated, then shrugged. “Alright, Ma. See you outside, Alva.”

Alva nodded. “Sure, Sixer.”

Ford left.
The air instantly felt heavier once the door clicked shut.

Ma turned to him slowly.
“You don’t have to hide anymore, dear.”

Alva’s blood turned to ice.

“What?” He forced a shaky laugh. “You must be mistaken—”

Ma shook her head. “Gwen told me. She told me who you really are.”

His breath hitched. His hands trembled.
“Back of the school?” he whispered.

She nodded.

Behind the school, the world was quiet except for rustling leaves.

“When did you know?” Alva asked, staring down at the ground.

“Long ago,” Ma said. “I suspected. But I wanted to be sure. When I met your foster mother, she told me everything.”

Her hands rose to his face, trembling. “You’ve grown so much, Stanley.”

Alva — Stanley— closed his eyes. His breath wavered. Then he reached up, grasped the edge of his face — and peeled the mask away.

Brown hair, a broad nose, tired brown eyes.

Ma gasped, covering her mouth. Stanley looked down, a half-broken smile tugging at his lips.
“Tada…” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s me. Stanley Pines.”

Ma rushed forward and pulled him into her arms.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I should have protected you. I should have seen it sooner.”

Stanley trembled, clutching her back. “No, Ma. It’s not your fault. It’s Pa’s too… but I chose this life.”

Ma pulled back, tears still shining. “Are you happier this way? Living as someone else?”

Stanley’s eyes fell to the mask in his hands.
“Maybe…” he murmured. “I’m not sure anymore.”

She cupped his cheek again. “If you ever grow tired of pretending, the door’s always open, my boy. You’ll always have a home.”

He smiled faintly. “Thank you, Ma.”

Ma kissed his forehead gently. “Tell Gwen I’m grateful. She kept you safe… and happy.”

Happy.
The word lingered, heavy and uncertain in the air.

“I will,” Stanley said quietly.

As Ma walked away, he waved, whispering, “Goodbye, Ma.”

Then he put the mask back on—
and Alva returned, once more.

He walked toward the parking lot, his steps light but his chest unbearably heavy.

Because in the end…
all of it was just an illusion he never meant to believe in.

“Hey, Va, do you know why Ma looked like she’d been crying earlier?”
Alva turned from the brochure, glancing at Ford who was still holding the same one, his expression curious.

“I… I don’t know, Sixer,” Alva murmured awkwardly. Ford looked back at him, then down at the brochure, swaying lightly on the swing.

They were sitting side by side on the swings near the beach. Ford had insisted they come there—even though Alva refused at first, he couldn’t say no once Ford gave him those ridiculous puppy eyes. Alva looked ahead at the golden sunset, the sea breeze brushing through his dark hair.

“I don’t know if this university looks too… small-town or just weird,” Alva said, studying the brochure again. To him, it looked plain—too plain—compared to the machines Mama Gwen built in her lab.

“What do you mean?” Ford asked, confused.
Alva blinked, flustered, glancing around before his eyes landed on the half-built boat nearby. An idea came to him.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to travel to the other side of the country? Meet girls, hunt for treasure… and, you know, find your twin brother?”

Ford’s expression softened as he looked at the boat, then at the brochure again. “Yeah… but I can’t miss this chance. They have a sub-bio dimensional portal program. I know I could be one of them—one of the people who makes something incredible. Maybe that’s how I’ll find him.”

Alva stared down at the brochure. If that’s what Ford really wanted… he had no reason to stop him.

“Well… you’ll get to do what you always wanted, then,” he said softly.
Ford nodded.

“But if neither of us gets accepted,” Ford added, grinning a little, “maybe I’ll drag you along for a treasure hunt while we wait for Stan to come back.” He nudged Alva’s arm playfully. Alva laughed quietly.

“I should head home. Ma and Pa are waiting for dinner,” Ford said, standing up.

Alva froze for a moment, gripping the swing’s rope. Then he forced a smile. “Ah… go ahead. I’ll stay a bit longer.”

Ford nodded and left. Alva stared down at the sand, then at the brochure again. Good. Ford can start forgetting about the old me.
He sighed. “But… this university still looks too simple compared to Mama Gwen’s lessons. Whatever. I’ll just try it.”

Later, Alva strolled down the empty hall, munching on his favorite snack. His project—one of the best in the school—was displayed in the auditorium: a holographic planetary system Mama Gwen helped him fine-tune.

“Finally done with cleaning duty… nothing beats snacking while heading home. But I should check on my project first,” he muttered between bites.

The auditorium was dim, filled with strange devices from the best students. As Alva walked further in, he froze. There were footsteps. Rustling sounds.

Weird… I’m the last one here, he thought, hiding his snack in his pocket. Quietly, he crept closer, ducking under one of the long tables draped in cloth.

Through the gap, he saw a shadow—a person in a dark hoodie, holding a crowbar—standing in front of Ford’s project.

No. No, no, no!

“Hey! Stop that!” Alva shouted, bursting out from under the table.

The stranger turned sharply. His face was covered—mask, cap, glasses—completely hidden. Alva lunged forward. The figure dodged.

“Who are you?! How dare you touch Ford’s project!” Alva roared.

The stranger moved fast, shoving him aside. Alva stumbled, crashing into the spinning machine Ford had built. Sparks flew—smoke hissed out from the device.

“Damn it!” Alva panicked, eyes darting around for tools—nothing. The school gates would close any minute.

He grabbed the loose bolt with trembling fingers, pressing it down, and somehow the project flickered back on.

Alva sighed, shaky but relieved. “Hahaha… see? I fixed it. It’s fine. It’s fine. I didn’t screw up this time…” his laugh was hollow.

He covered the project with its cloth again and looked at his own invention before storming off, muttering under his breath about finding whoever that was.

The next morning, Alva arrived late—he’d barely slept. In the auditorium, the judging team stood before his project. Ford wasn’t there.

No matter. Alva smiled, straightened his posture, and began.
“This is the Planetary Hologram!”

He activated the device, and colorful planets appeared, spinning beautifully. The judges nodded.

“You’ve earned your place,” one of them said.

Alva’s heart leaped. He accepted the certificate—he’d passed. I wonder if Ford did too?

He searched the halls, but Ford was nowhere. Not in the classroom, not anywhere.

Maybe he went home already. He’s always awkward after big events, Alva thought with a small smile, sitting down and staring at his acceptance letter.

.

.

.

Knock, knock.

Alva shifted on his feet, grinning from ear to ear. He could barely hold still—he couldn’t wait to tell Ford the news. Maybe Ford had passed too.

He waited. A few seconds. Then the sound of heavy footsteps approached. The door creaked open—

And there stood Ford.
His hair was a mess, his eyes red, burning with fury.

Alva’s grin faltered. The acceptance letter he was holding slipped halfway behind his back.
“Ford? Are you alr—”

“YOU!” Ford shouted. “You destroyed my project!”

Alva took a step back. “What? What are you talking about?”

Ford threw something at him—a crumpled plastic snack bag. “This! I found this next to the machine! My project was dead when I tried to start it!”

Alva’s stomach dropped. Dead? But I fixed it… it was working before I left—

“Wait, Ford, calm down— it was an accident, I swear!”

“An accident?!” Ford snapped. “You did it because you were jealous!”

“Jealous? Ford, listen to me—if you think about it, this might actually be a good thing! You can go on your adventures, chase treasures, find your brother—”

“Why would I ever want to be with someone who sabotaged my future?!” Ford’s voice cracked with anger.

Alva’s eyes widened. “No, I didn’t—”

“Is this because you couldn’t stand it if I got accepted too?!” Ford yelled, shoving him hard. Alva stumbled and hit the ground, breath caught in his throat.

“Wait—wait, just let me explain—”

Before he could, their father appeared in the doorway, grabbing Alva by the collar and yanking him up.

“What the hell did you do, you knucklehead?!” he barked, eyes burning behind dark glasses.

“Mr- Mr. Pines wait, listen! It was an accid—”

“Ford? Pa? What’s going on?” Their mother appeared, holding child Shermie in her arms, looking alarmed.

Alva’s heart pounded. “Please—let me explain—it was just a mistake—”

Pa threw him down, glaring down at him with fury and disappointment. The room fell silent, except for child Shermie’s soft whimpering.

And Alva… could only stare back, speechless.

"You don’t deserve to be here. You’re a Knucklehead — a liar, a cheat, and a parasite to my son. You ruined him, the one who could’ve taken us out of this filthy place! You owe us the billions you lost! Now get out of my sight!” Pa’s voice thundered, eyes burning with rage.

Alva froze, eyes wide. No, no, no—this wasn’t supposed to happen!

“W–What?! That’s insane! Ford! Tell your dad he’s lost it!” Alva looked up at Ford desperately.

No... no, this can’t be happening. It wasn’t my fault... it wasn’t...

Alva looked up desperately—searching for a sign, a word, anything.

But Ford only stared at him, eyes trembling.
Alva lifted a shaking hand, forcing a weak grin.
“...High six?”

Ford flinched—and quietly pulled the curtain shut.

The sound was small. But it felt like a door slamming forever.

The house went silent.
A soft flutter—the acceptance letter slipped from Alva’s grasp and landed on the ground.

He stared at it for a long moment, his breath shallow, before kneeling to pick it up.
The envelope was torn, the print smudged, but the words were still clear:
West Coast Tech Scholarship.

Alva swallowed hard, clutching it to his chest for a second… then lowering his hand.

He walked to the car, silent.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, he gripped the wheel, the paper trembling in his hand.

His fingers tightened—then slowly loosened.
The letter fell to the passenger seat, crumpled but unread.

“Hey, kiddo! How was—”

Mama Gwen didn’t even finish when Alva burst through the door, ran past her, and threw a crumpled letter across the room. It hit the floor and rolled under the table as he stormed down the hallway, slamming his bedroom door so hard the frame shook.

Mama Gwen stood there in stunned silence, eyes falling to the letter. She walked over, picked it up carefully, and unfolded it. Her breath caught. A scholarship letter.

She sighed, then made her way to Alva’s room. She knocked gently.
“Stan? Can Mama Gwen come in?”

No answer. She tried the doorknob—it wasn’t locked.

Inside, the room was dim. Alva sat curled up on the bed, his back to her, trembling. On the floor nearby lay a familiar object: his mask, discarded, lifeless.

“Stan… what happened?” she asked softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. She didn’t touch him, just waited. Alva’s hands gripped the sheets so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

After a long silence, he finally sat up. His face was dark—tired, hollow, but filled with some deep, festering anger.
“I’m moving out,” he said flatly.

Mama Gwen looked at him carefully, trying to read his tone, but all she saw was sincerity. Painful sincerity.

“What about the university you wanted?” she asked.

“I don’t care,” Alva muttered, turning away. “I don’t want it anymore.”

She nodded quietly, brushing a strand of hair from his face.
“All right, sweetheart. Mama Gwen will handle the transfer. Just… tell me what happened. I’ll try to help.”

Alva hesitated, then sighed. The words began to pour out—everything from yesterday to that very moment. When he finally finished, Mama Gwen simply nodded and stood up.

“Okay,” she said gently. “I’ll take care of the school and your move. You’ll be all right.”

Alva said nothing. He only stared at the floor.

“And later,” she added softly, “Mama Gwen will show you some other college options. We’ll find a place that fits you, hm?”

As she turned to leave, Alva reached out and caught her sleeve. She stopped, looking back.

“…Can a face be changed?” he asked, his voice shaking. “And… the name, too?”

Mama Gwen froze for a moment, then slowly sat back down beside him. She picked up the mask from the floor, tracing a thumb over the cold surface.
“Do you hate yourself that much, Stan?”

Alva stared at the mask, lips trembling.
“I—I don’t know anymore. I just want to be someone else. Anything else. Please… can you make that happen?”

Mama Gwen let out a long, heavy sigh.
“Yes. Mama Gwen can handle it. I can rewrite the identity and the face. You’ll just have to tell me what you want me to upload into the mask tonight.”

Alva looked down, his voice barely a whisper.
“Whatever it is… I don’t want to be Alva anymore. I want to be someone else. Anything but me.”

She smiled sadly and brushed his hair back.
“All right, sweetheart. Mama Gwen will take care of it. Just adjust the voice data when you’re ready.”

She stood up and quietly left the room, the door clicking softly behind her.

Alva sat there in silence, staring at nothing. Then, without realizing it, tears began to stream down his face. He wiped them away, confused—since when was I crying?
But the more he wiped, the more they fell.

I hate myself… I hate the me who ruins everything, who lies, who cheats… Pa was right. I’m a knucklehead, a fraud, a screw-up.

I hate this face. I hate this name. I hate this life.

If I have to erase everything—if I have to brainwash myself into being someone else—then so be it.

Anything is better than being me.

Damn it—because of Alva, I lost my future.
I hate him—his constant clinging, his desperate attempts to outdo me, his stupid, reckless arrogance that destroyed my project. That was my chance—my shot at becoming a real scientist, at finally finding my twin brother…

“Ford! Alva’s parents are here!”
Ma’s voice snapped him from his book.

“Huh? What for?” Ford muttered, closing the notebook with a sigh. He didn’t want to go, not after everything, but courtesy was courtesy. He climbed down from the attic and walked toward the shop.

At first glance, his mother looked unusually calm too calm, maybe but Ford told himself he was imagining it.

Standing in front of the counter was a woman slightly older than Ma. Her hair was a soft blue gray, tied loosely with a ribbon, and a pair of round spectacles framed her gentle smile. The pale blue coat she wore made her look like some kind of scientist or maybe just someone with class.

Ford forced himself to smile politely, even though the mere mention of Alva still made his stomach twist.
But… Alva wasn’t there.

Only the woman. And someone else standing close beside her.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Slyven,” Ford began stiffly. “What brings you here?”

Before she could answer, the door creaked open again. Pa walked in, looking irritated as usual, probably fresh from fixing something in the back. The moment he saw Alva’s mother, his expression hardened, his voice sharp.

“So, what? You’re here to tell us your boy’s innocent?” Pa sneered.

“Filbrick!” Ma hissed, smacking his arm.

He rolled his eyes but stayed quiet, glaring at the visitor.

Mrs. Slyven didn’t flinch. Her calm was unnerving, the kind that came from someone used to weathering storms far worse than insults. She cleared her throat softly.

“First, I’d like to apologize on behalf of my son,” she said, her tone warm but steady. “It seems he accidentally damaged your child’s project. I understand you must still be upset. We’re prepared to offer compensation.”

Pa blinked. Ford’s jaw fell slightly. Compensation?

How rich was this family, exactly?

The person beside Mrs. Slyven stepped forward hesitantly. Ford’s eyes flicked toward them a young figure, blond hair curling at the ends, pale and neatly dressed. For a second, Ford assumed they were a personal assistant or maybe some sort of attendant.

But then the woman and the blond youth both set their suitcases on the counter.
And when Mrs. Slyven opened them -

Stacks of cash.
Neat, crisp, real money.

The entire family froze. Ma’s face turned pale; Pa’s lips curled into a tight, greedy smirk.
Ford just… stared.

Alva had all this? And still chose to chase a scholarship instead?

Mrs. Slyven’s voice broke the silence. “These are from what little savings we had left. I hope this covers the damages and eases your anger. And this is my second child. He’s come to deliver a message from his brother, Alva.”

Ford blinked.
His… brother?

The blond kid, his brother? looked anxious, hands fidgeting and thumbs rubbing together. After a moment, he bowed deeply.

“I’m sorry for what my brother did,” he said quietly. “He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He… he’s out of town right now. He’s too scared to face you, Ford. But he told me to say thank you for being his friend. And… that he’ll keep his promise never to see you again. Just like your father said.”

Ford froze, every word slamming into him like a punch.

The boy straightened, turned quickly, and left without another word. Mrs. Slyven smiled faintly.

“My son’s a shy one,” she said softly. “Thank you for your time.”

And with that, she followed her younger child out the door.

Ma stood there, motionless for a few seconds, then exhaled shakily.
“You two take the cases inside. I’ll talk to her for a bit.”

Pa grumbled but obeyed, lugging the suitcase away. Ford followed silently.

As he climbed the stairs, his mind spun.
Who even is Alvaric Slyven? Why would someone like him need a scholarship?
Why hide something like this?

He reached his room before realizing. he’d left his pen downstairs.

With a sigh, he went back down.

He bent to pick up the pen… and then froze when he heard voices outside.

Through the doorway, he saw his mother hugging the blond boy tight, like she’d known him for years and then embracing Mrs. Slyven too.

The boy climbed into the car. Then Mrs. Slyven followed.
Ma waved as they drove off.

Ford’s heart twisted.
That car… wasn’t that Alva’s?

So he really was here. Watching. Too much of a coward to even face him.

“Coward,” Ford muttered under his breath, retreating upstairs.

“Today,” the teacher announced, “a student named Alvaric Slyven has officially transferred to another school.”

Ford froze, his pen halting mid-sentence.

Transferred?

The classroom filled with whispers.

“That’s a shame. He could’ve gotten into one of the best universities.”
“I heard he quit the scholarship himself. Said he ruined his own project or something.”
“Seriously? I thought he sabotaged his friend’s project.”

Ford’s throat went dry.
So Alva not only lost the chance—he withdrew on his own?

He clenched his fists.

Good, he told himself. Good riddance.

Without him, I can finally move forward. I don’t need someone like him dragging me down.

But even as he thought it, something stung in his chest.

Because deep down, a quieter voice whispered—
Was he really that bad? Did I even let him explain before I condemned him?

Ford shook his head violently, forcing the thought away.

“No,” he muttered under his breath. “He was jealous. He sabotaged me. That’s all there is to it.”

Still… the echo lingered.

Or maybe, he thought, staring down at his half-finished notes, I was the one who stopped listening first.

The sound of the car engine rumbled softly as it rolled down the road. Up ahead, a moving truck carried their furniture and belongings. Beside her, Mama Gwen glanced at the toolkit on the seat, sighed quietly, then looked at the blonde-haired boy behind the wheel — the one everyone thought was her second son.

“Stan, you really should tell him that it wasn’t on purpose,” she said, reaching over to ruffle his hair gently.

The boy gripped the steering wheel tighter, his expression tense. Then he ran a hand down his face, pulling off the mask and setting it down on the dashboard.

“I don’t want to. They wouldn’t listen anyway. They never do. And… I’ll get a job to pay for everything, Mama Gwen.”

Mama Gwen exhaled softly, shaking her head before letting out a faint, weary smile.

“Well, you’re just as stubborn as they are,” she murmured with a small chuckle. “All right then. But if things ever get too hard, call me, okay? I’m still here the only one who knows who you really are, Stan. I’ve also arranged for our new house… far away from where you were born.”

She checked the address glowing faintly from the holographic map, nodding to herself.

Stan stayed quiet, eyes fixed on the road ahead as he steered the car through the empty highway. Keeping his focus there felt easier safer than thinking too much, or clinging to what he was leaving behind.

Whatever it takes, he thought. I’ll find a way to return every bit of Mama Gwen’s savings. No matter what. And… I’ll keep in touch with Ma, just like she asked, after we said goodbye.