Masquerade

Aware?

Soft footsteps pattered against cold cobblestone floors. Puddles sloshed and splashed as a man, clad in a black silk suit with blue roses dashed down the halls aimlessly. An attempt to escape the flickering flames of the ballroom, which was well away by now. Now he was just running to find a safe and secure spot to set down the unconscious man in his arms. His heart beat rapidly, two thumps for every step. The dangers and misfortunes weren't completely gone yet.

Suddenly, the man sporting red and a crimson cape stirred. Opening his eyes, he was unable to figure out where the hell he was. Beige walls, scored with mildew and moss, scratched and shiny, surrounded them. Water dripped from ceiling, pooling on dips in the floor. The ceiling was just high enough so the man who was carrying him's hair was just brushing the roof. His cape was awkwardly draped around hi-

Wait. Someone was carrying him.

Twisting around in shock, Tord almost slapped the man, ultimately falling onto the floor, wrapped and trapped in his cape. His head landed in a murky, gray puddle, soaking his hair and earning a groan of frustration. Futile struggling ensued, dignity falling with each passing second.

"Dude, what the hell??" an annoyed voice hissed from behind him. Looking up, he saw the beautiful Brit from before. The tips of his hair were damp and drooped slightly, due to the dew on the ceiling. His face was smudged with soot and ash, while blood trickled down his face from a small cut as slow as molasses. Indignation covered his face, but it was forced; he wasn't truly mad.

"Sorry... I panicked." The Norski mumbled. An embarrassed blush spread across his face. Glancing away, he internally yelled at himself. How could be so stupid in front of his crush??? Will he never learn??

Suddenly, something flashed in front of his face. Looking back up at the Brit, he saw a hand extended towards him, an offer to help him up. He graciously took his hand and was pulled up to his feet. A smiled danced on both of their faces, just staring at each other. An awkward silence hung between them. Until the Brit across from him frowned, pulling his hand away from Tord's. "What's wrong?"

"Your hair..."

"What?" Tord subconsciously reached up and patted the top of his head. Soft horn-like tufts stuck up naturally, all the gel holding them back washed out. Quickly masking shock with a nonchalant expression, he waved it off. "What, you honestly think after what's happened today my hair would stay perfect? Come on, let's find a way out of here."

Tord brushed past the Brit, glancing over his shoulder as an indication for him to follow. Walking down the oddly foreboding hall, he put on a tough face and tried not to scream like a girl. The cobwebs hung low from the ceiling, brushing against you, dropping tiny spiders onto your clothes and down your back. They scuttled harmlessly yet dreadfully across your skin and through your hair. The shiver you felt wasn't just from the cold.

"Holy popcorn in a cola factory!"

A sudden yelp from behind startled the red clad man, causing him to turn around in surprise and concern, only to relax slightly when he saw his comrade wrestling the cobwebs tangled in his hair. The silver strings were almost woven into his tawny locks. He released the breath he didn't even know he was holding. He thought something bad had happened, that he had been hurt or in some sort of trouble.

Wait, that saying sounded oddly familiar. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused." The Brit spat back, obviously not in the mood for any friendly banter. He desperately clawed the cobwebs out of his hair, frustration lacing his voice. Finally, he succeeded, earning a triumphant grin.

"No, I mean what did you just say?" Tord sighed, exasperated.

"Does it matter?" The blue counterpart smirked, before this time pushing past Tord. Something was off with him. The way the Brit walked held fake confidence, his steps faltered every so often. He didn't entirely seem focused; his head was in the clouds, lost in thought. He bore the same distant expression as before the chandelier fell. Always thinking, always poised.

"...the fuck?"

"Oh, what now?" Tord groaned, pacing over, dragging his feet. Black scuff mark squeaked as they stained the floor. He stopped beside the Brit, and found himself facing a huge body of water, like a small lake in the middle of a dreary cavern. The water wasn't dirty like the rest of the water. It seemed the glisten with an absent moonlight, ripples caused by a nonexistent breeze. An eerie mist floated above water, making their reflections blur and mix, the red and blue becoming one. Both boys were transfixed, the water seemed to hold some answer to some secret, or the solution to an unvoiced problem. They were both desperate to know, they both wanted answers.

Finally, the Norski snapped out of it. He looked back up at the Brit, contempt filling the air. "Great, you lead us to a dead end." Today had just been too much for him. First, he has to go to Edd's stupid party. Then, he has to fall for some stupid stranger. Then, he and all his friends almost die because of motherfucking faulty light fixtures! Now, he's kidnapped into what looks like the sewers and stuck arguing in front of an ominous lake. Tord just wanted to go home, bickering with Tom would be better than this!

"I didn't mean to! It's your fault for passing out like a wuss when the chandelier fell, otherwise I wouldn't have had to drag you here and we could have gone out the doors like any sane people!" The Brit's voice grew louder with every word, Tord's frustration leeching off to him. This wasn't any better for the Brit, he just wanted a nice night out without having to worry about his roommate pestering him but this stranger had to go and put both of their lives in danger! Arguing with his roommate would be better than this.

"You could have, I dunno, carried me the opposite direction, mister Prince Charming! Or are you all looks and no brain?" The compliment was unintentional, but the sneer left a tension so thick, not even a knife would be able to cut it. Tord's face twisted into spiteful leer, daring the Brit in front of him to challenge him.

"Well, you know what?" Rage smothered the roar

"What???"

The Brit closed the space between them, kissing Tord.

(A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long! No, I'm not dead! I just have had extreme writer's block. But I just wanted to thank you all for all the love and support and nice comments, and I hope to see you soon. Also, please go check out I Am Damaged, the oneshot that many voted on.

Bye!~)