Epilogue (Part Two)

"And the Prince and Princess lived together happily ever after, the end," The little boy's Abuela said, her old eyes twinkling as she stared down at the boy on her laps, saying in spanish, "What do you think, my treasure?"

The boy, even at a tender age, was able to make people stop and stare at his beauty, though his Abuela was quite aware that he was unaware of it now, the feature would be too hard to ignore in the future. "But didn't the Prince get hurt?"

"Hurt?"

"Yes," He nodded, twisting his body around so he could stare at his Abuela, brown innocent eyes staring with worry and concern. "When he was fighting the dragons and trolls to save the Princess. I don't remember her saying she would help heal his wounds,"

She smiled kindly at the child, her voice soft as she said, "Not all Princesses care for that. All they care for is being free from their Castles."

A pout appeared on his face. "That's bad."

She chuckled now. "Well, when you're a Princess, you can try changing things."

The boy wrinkled his nose, and though he looked disgusted, deep down the idea pleased him. He always did like the idea of a ball gown but no one was supposed to know that. "Abuelaaaaa, I'm a boy. Boys don't wear dresses!"

"Well, not all Princesses are princesses." She stared now, face in mock seriousness. "One can only be a princess if they are kind, pure of heart and true."

An awed look came to his face. He hadn't known that! "So I can be a Princess too?!"

"Oh, my darling," The old woman's eyes shown with love as she said, "You can be anything you want to be. I'm sure of it."

Marcos Gomez's opened now, a gasp leaving his lips, his eyes falling on the male in front of him, his face blank even though his amber eyes showed concern. "Didn't sleep well?"

They were in Paris' private jet, something that upset the dark haired male when he found out it wasn't the first one the caramel skinned male to be in.

Marcos shook his head, a small sigh leaving the other male's lips as he patted the side of his seat, nudging his head. "Come here."

He obeyed, crawling over to him then immediately curled into his body with his head on his chest while Paris pulled the blanket on the male and asked softly, "Better?"

"Mhm," Marcos hummed, his eyes closed before adding with a soft exhale. "It's nice to know that there's someone I can do this to without worrying that they would think I'm making a move on them."

There was silence for a few seconds before he felt the male's hand slowly rake itself through his hair, petting him. "You've met only bad people then,"

Marcos heard himself chuckle, "You are bad people."sss

"I never denied that."

With the years that had passed, it had been easy for Marcos to lock away every memory of them, as he kept himself busy with work, wine and as much fun he could go away with.

It had been easier than he had imagined, climbing onto the stairs of popularity, as long as hEe had ignored the warnings of the small voice in his head and focused on the rage he felt at being abandoned, his transition didn't take out much from him.

The world was a vain place and beautiful people were always a step ahead, something Marcos had learnt to accept, but with every person that touched his skin, felt his lips on theirs, worshipped him, it always ended up with him feeling... Hollow.

For years, he had been sought out by fashion brands, elite magazines, the high class, some of this he was sure had been relatively easy with Alexander's help, and yet... He never felt whole.

Like a black hole had appeared in his body, sucking every thing around him and aching for more, reminding him that there had been a time when he had been filled with everything most people would never have in their lifetime.

Love. True love.

Still, it wasn't time to think of that now. Instead, he opened his eyes, asking a small curious voice, "How many people have you dated?"

The other male's hand kept brushing his hair, the rise and fall of his chest like a soft song lulling Marcos to sleep. "I've not dated anyone ever since then."

"You didn't try?"

"Busy," Was his reply then added hurriedly, as if to convince himself more than Marcos, "It's hard to find a woman that isn't- Terrified of me, and not after my money so shuffling through a list for the right one isn't exactly in my schedule."

The brown eyed male stayed quiet for a while, chewing on his lower lip, a habit that had caught on when he felt concerned about something but wasn't sure he was supposed to talk about it.

He knew the male was extremely careful, stealthy, he would never let anyone enter his life without a full assessment as the only person he had ever done that too wasn't here anymore. "Have you been alone all this time?"

"Alone? No. Lonely? Perhaps," Paris answered, his low deep voice was soothing, enchanting. It rumbled like a thunderstorm rocking a boat on the sea but not in a way that was dangerous. Just... Powerful, and magnificent all the same. "Sometimes, when I get bored, I go to a club and get a girl to suck me off, or I just watch people have sex, but asides that. Nothing."

Voyeurism. He still did that.

Marcos sat up, a move that had a mildly annoyed look on Paris' face though the male ignored it, asking, "Didn't you want this? Being a Don? Did- Did Xander make you do it?"

He gave a light scoff, his hands moving to the glass of whiskey on a trolley beside him, twirling it. "Padrino mio doesn't have it in him to make someone do anything, unless he's killing them. I could have walked away before I was given the power, I didn't." Then he paused, asking, "Do you still speak to Ace?"

Change of topic, but Marcos obliged, chuckling. "He- He hasn't changed. He owns an automobile company now, about time anyway. He's one of the smartest people I know," Then he looked up at Paris, flashing the ring on his left hand to his face. "He was the friend I mentioned, that told me what the ring meant,"

Paris took a sip from his glass, an eyebrow of his raised though he didn't sound as surprised as Marcos expected. "It's pitiful you still have only one friend."

Marcos felt the happy look on his face fade to a displeased frown. "At least, I have one."

The dark haired male only gave a shrug in response. "I have people who would kill for me."

At those words, his frown deepened, causing a small smile to show on Paris' face before Marcos stuck his tongue out, the male letting out a full blown chuckle then laid back on his chest, hearing him ask, "Did you tell him about your Abuela?"

"Yeah," Marcos answered, his voice soft, far away. "But I didn't ask him to come, he wouldn't have been able to bear it. I know that we've lost things that mattered to us there, but he- He had lost his parents when he was ten and his Abuela a year after our graduation. I know he hadn't meant it, but he had been... Angry at many things at that time. Not being able to out himself to her, being alone, the fact I managed to stay cheerful even after you'd left." He gave a small chuckle now, "Even after I begged him to stay because I wasn't sure how I would live if one person I loved left me again."

Remembering it hurt, but talking about it felt... Freeing in a sense, and the fact that Paris was still with him, it made it easier to talk about it. "Why didn't you leave?"

He shrugged, trying to keep the sadness out of his voice. "I thought you both would come back. I don't know, I guess it hadn't hit me early that I had been stupid to be so... Dependent on you both."

"Marcos-"

"But I'm not upset about it," He cut in, quickly brushing away any stray tears that had managed to escape from his eyes. "It hurt, yes, but I learnt how to appreciate myself more, build my confidence. When you're alone, you learn how to study your flaws and fix them as much as you can, and I have. Something that wouldn't have happened if you kept babysitting me. Plus, the fact you went without warning was better because I suppose I'd have come earlier to find you but I didn't, so it's really okay."

Then he looked up at the male, a smile on his face. "But I'm interested in how your seven years had been without me, considering I used to be the only thing in your life that could make you smile."

"Highly debatable. Ryan Reynolds makes me smile."

"Gay," Marcos said in a sing song voice, causing Paris' face to twist into a grimace before he chuckled, saying, "I'm serious, Don. How was your first kill? Who was he? Why did you kill him?"

Paris stayed quiet for the first few minutes, his head resting back on the seat with his eyes closed, and the moment he opened them, the amber eyes looked cool, like burning coal simmering down as he said in a detached voice, "I don't remember his name, in time, with the more number of people you kill, it all distorts, but I remember that he was a human trafficker. Mostly took women and children, torturing them personally before shipping them off to more torturous places, and the fact that they always died so early meant having to restock continuously, their chain was ever moving, never one place. He was a slithery bastard so no one had any evidence to kill him."

"Then... Then why did you?"

"He owed the Carnefecina money," Paris said, letting out a tired sigh like talking of this sucked out the energy in him. "Not so much that it warranted death, but because Alexander wanted him dead and knew I wouldn't refuse. Plus, his death was wanted everywhere because he got the police looking at most of the lower houses too much, just that no one wanted to take the fall for the aftermath of it."

Marcos stared at him, now sitting up again so he could get a closer look at the male. Though his face remained unchanged from the blank one it had, it was obvious that doing it had done something, closed him off perhaps. Choosing to show no emotions than any.

Plus, he remembered the male never believed in punishing someone for their crimes, he used to believe in things being justified, things being on levelled ground, not using his powers for doing something that wasn't good even if the intentions were. "It wasn't... Easy, for you?"

The male let out a dark chuckle, a sound that surprised Marcos as he said, "Oh, it had been. Very easy. So easy that I emptied my rounds on him and found myself wishing I could destroy every trace of his existence. After, had been the problem. I didn't think I had any rights to kill anyone, besides, people like him would just be replaced with someone more worse, smarter, more careful. Shitty people are everywhere, Marcos, and they multiply like fucking viruses, I wouldn't even deny that I'm not one of them because I do like the power.

"But that's where the changes lie," He said like the mere thought disgusted him. "The world isn't as black and white as most people make it seem. Not everyone's good intention is as good as it sounds, but as long as good people like you exist, I have no problems staining my hands to keep them safe."

"Good people like..." He stared, blinking. "Like me? Paris, I'm not-"

"He had a boy in his basement," Paris cut in softly, his eyes crinkling as his hand moved to Marcos' face, cupping his cheek. "My crew had found him. He was eleven, and malnourished. He had been down there for two months, filled with... Cum and nothing else. He had been brought from his village here in hopes of a better life. The moment I had seen him..."

His face twisted now, his other hand clenching. "The fear in his eyes. The distrust. Shame. Horror. He was just a child, Marcos. I had seen his file once and the child there looked... Carefree, happy, he seemed like he had a soul. The one I met didn't," Marcos could sense the anger now clouding around the male, his hate evident. "Looking at him reminded me of you. You trust easy, forgive easier, and you love, you love without fear, without hate, something that I can't do without worrying if I'm making the the right decision. The idea that one day, someone could... Take that light from you, from anyone got me so mad-"

"Paris," Marcos cut in, now grabbing the male's hand and resting his face on it, his voice soft. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm safe. Nothing would ever happen to me, I promise."

The other male didn't say anything, instead, the darkness in his eyes had vanished, leaving it with a cool flame before he closed them, opening them after a second and giving him a brief smile. "Alright,"

The rest of the flight had been done in absolute silence, though none of them had felt uncomfortable in it, only breaking it when they reached Wystwood.

Paris drove, his men told to stay in the background as their Mothers had no idea who he was, and said during his drive, "I bought it."

"What?" Marcos asked, tearing his eyes from staring outside the window to look at the other male.

"Her house," He said, his never leaving the road. "It was for sale, and- And I bought it."

"Mhm," Was all Marcos said to that.

Getting home, Elise had been standing at the door waiting for them, pulling Paris into a bone crushing hug. She was healthier, brighter, her aura glowing all over her skin as she rambled off about how Paris was the worst child to ever exist as he never came to see her, only sending gifts and Maria-

Marcos had found his Mother in the kitchen, both sharing a hug immediately, not for anything but reassurance that the other was both alive and well, then walked up the stairs to his room, leaving Paris to the only woman in the world that could yell her head off at him and still have it on her neck.

When he got in, he found it different from how he had left it in his last visit. Each year, he spent every holiday with them, but the last one had him leaving in a hurry, not bothering to arrange any of his things.

"She liked to keep your things in order, just so you'd always find everything when you returned," She said, causing Marcos to turn around and look at her.

Her face had filled up, her brown skin soft and warm looking, her full lips giving her round face a seductive shape, which was good, his Mother wasn't too old to engage in... Other activities.

After Paris had left, he had sent enough money for her laundromat to be refurbished, and Marcos had been the one that advised Elise to join in, but not in the laundry cleaning as Mother had many workers now, but to open a sort of bake sale in it as well.

The other woman had seemed to enjoy baking as much as she treasured her garden at the back of their house, plus, it kept her busy from worrying about Paris who Marcos always reassured her was fine and would come back.

God, now he craved his Abuela's cookies.

Still, as his eyes roamed around the room, he realized things were different, and when they fell on the table in a corner of his room, he guessed why.

Slowly, he walked to it, his eyes now on the box. His room looked pristine, perfect, but empty, as if most of his belongings had been packed.

Marcos didn't put it past his Abuela to know that the only reason he frequently came was her. Not that she showed any signs of ill health, or pain, but she was the one person he could discuss Alex freely with, that understood his pain easier than others did.

The fact she had packed his things... It was like she knew that it was the last time they would share such things together. "Did she... Suffer?"

"No," His mother answered in English, her voice low as he began to trace his hand through it. "Your Abuela was a strong woman and she was to the end, Marcos, but it was... It was her time."

Hearing those words... Angered him, in a sense, but at the same time, he knew she was hurt more than he was. His Abuela had always been there for her after his Father's death, and as usual, would rather ignore than face it head on. "She finally gets to meet Carlos and rest," And I'm stuck here, never meeting her. "How lucky."

"Marcos, if there's anything you need-"

He turned around, an understanding smile on his face as he nodded, replying, "It's fine, Mama. I know."

Their relationship wasn't as strained as before, but they both knew that the best version of it remained for themselves to be distant. She loved him, and he loved her, but they were two different people, one who refused to show herself break, and the other sensitive and expressive.

Still, they both had each other now, and they knew that.

So Maria nodded, leaving his room, and he turned his attention back to the box again, his hand now pulling open the lid before carrying it back to his bed and bringing out the contents inside it.

In it were his photo albums, something they both looked through, then some photos of him and Alexandra, a copy of the one when he first dyed his hair among them, his box of jewellery from her, his stuffies, the small ones anyway.

At a point, he brought out his collar and stared at it for a few seconds, the urge to wear it and have the euphoric of being hers one again flood through his nerves but he ignored it, bringing out the other things that he knew he should throw away and then carried out the last thing in the box.

His old fairytale story book.

Marcos stared at it, confusion etched on his face. He hadn't seen it in... Years, and the fact she had left it in box seemed strange but he didn't think too much of it. It was the stereotypical fairytale romance, and he had always liked the princess, wanted to be the princess.

You're my Princess.

He shut his eyes out as a shiver flowed through his body, temporarily numbing him before opening them and staring at the book, he had loved it but thought he had lost it when he was younger, the fact she kept it for him...

Slowly, he opened the book and immediately he did that, watched an envelope fall to the floor.

Marcos stared at it for a few seconds, setting the book aside and picked it, staring at the writing of the address that seemed incredibly familiar from an E. Holland and opened it.

Dear Soledad,

I apologize that my letter is coming late. The raids are getting worse and the time to actually rest decreases by the days but I hope my letter finds you well.

Truly, I don't know who you are, or perhaps, I do not remember, but I don't mind. I can tell you are a lovely person from your last letter and I don't mind talking to you as much as I can. I never receive anything and talking to someone else without having to worry about burdening them due to our current situation feels uplifting.

Plus, we were taught that any old lady that had cookies good enough to raise the spirit of half a battalion was worthy of many things, which the ones you sent did, and they all send their thanks.

I look forward to hearing from you more, and do stop your unhealthy obsession with red meat, it wouldn't increase the flesh on your body.

Yours affectionately,

Elvina Holland.

Soledad...

That was his Abuela's name.

In a flash, he flipped through the other pages of the book, finding more and more letters of their correspondence, though it only held the other mystery woman's, and none of his Abuela.

Marcos had no idea how long he sat there, now on the floor of his room with his legs crossed, before he reached one that had his blood running cold.

To my Old Gingerbread Dame,

I suppose you find the name fitting, and it does suit you but I have to substitute the witch for a Dame (as you are no lady from the stories you've told me), a title that perfects you completely.

In your last letter, you asked about the people I dream of frequently and what I would like to tell them, and this is what I would have said if we did meet.

I would tell them that for years, I have dreamed them, sharing many scenarios that I still don't know if they had happened, or my mind keeps playing tricks on me, because sometimes we are at a beach, all three of us and I feel free, more relaxed than I ever have, and the other times, I am driving through a storm, trying to reach their car which is just some feet away, but I never do.

I would tell them that in the first five years I dreamt that, I never saw their faces. I feel a connection towards them, but when I wake up, I forget part of it, or know that I'm forgetting something, but after two years, I'm still not sure if it is the trauma of the war, or the death surrounding me, but I see them now.

And their names are Marcos Gomez and Paris Holmes.

I do not claim that I remember them, for I do not but during everything that has happened, everytime that the urge to die with a grenade strapped to my chest, or jump off a cliff nearly took over me, the fact that there might be people who love me, as they do in my dreams, exist, I feel the strength to live another day.

They give me the hope to want to not die. To want to see them and tell them thank you for everything that they have done and ask for their apology in forgetting them as I still cannot remember anything, and even if they have moved on from me, it still doesn't matter. I'm grateful nonetheless.

But that will never happen, will it? I might die here before I get a chance to be relieved, but I know if I carry their faces in my head to my last breath, it would be a pleasant feeling.

Yours Sincerely,

Alexandra Parker.

Alex...

Marcos found himself shuffling through the book, panicking. This couldn't be the last one. If it was, that meant that she had died, a-and he didn't want to imagine that.

Still, he found nothing.

Crazily, he flipped through the pages again, this time, watching only one fall out before hurriedly picking it and skimming through the pages.

This time, it was from his Abuela, telling Alex that it was probably the last time she was going to send her later as she felt her time was running out and asked to be cremated while the female would be the one in charge of her ashes, pouring it in a place that she treasured most, that day being today.

It was a copy of the original one, as that version had already been sent to Alexandra.

Immediately, Marcos was off the floor, the letter in his hand as he hurried down the stairs and entering the kitchen, startling his Mother, Elise and Paris, but he ignored their looks focusing on Maria, saying in spanish so they wouldn't understand, "Where are her ashes?"

His Mother stared at him, half surprised at the demand in his voice and twisted look on his face, but answered nonetheless, "Someone came to take it this morning. They had a letter from your Abuela that permitted it."

He shoved the one in his hand towards her. "This one?"

His mother stared at it, then took it from his hand, reading through it. Marcos heard Paris ask what was going on but he didn't give an answer, his eyes still on Maria as she looked at him giving him a brief nod, and he asked, "Did they leave something behind? A message? Letter-"

"Note," She cut in, bringing out the paper from the pocket of her trousers and giving it to him. "But it was gibberish so I didn't think twice of it."

Marcos took it from her, his eyes running through the words.

In a place found by the Sun, the moon was led.

Promises were made, and forgiveness was granted,

On the twentieth anniversary, a joke they made.

In a place that was in the middle of nowhere.

To anyone, it was nonsense. To him... To him, he understood it.

Still ignoring Paris' call for him, he walked out of the house, staring down the street then cursed the fact he came without his car before he felt a hand wrap itself around his wrist and force him to turn around.

Paris had his eyes burning with a rage that threatened to set fire on everything around him, the aura around him nearly sending Marcos into a begging stance. "When I talk to you, you fucking answer, do you understand?"

Marcos stared at him for a few seconds, realizing that the male in front of him wasn't just the same person he shared a room with, he was the Don of a Mafia and lowered his eyes so Paris wouldn't see the fear in them to where his hand was being squeezed to death, whispering, "You're hurting me."

Like he was on fire, Paris immediately jumped back, Marcos rubbing the skin around his wrist as a torn looking Paris said, "I'm sorry, I- God, you can't just ignore me like that."

"You ignored me for seven years."

A distraught look came on the green eyed male's face. "I thought you forgave me for that."

Marcos said nothing, the guilt at bringing it up eating at him before adding under his breath, "I don't care what you think, but I won't let you stop me."

"Stop you? Marcos, I will never control-"

He looked at him now, trying to keep his voice even. "I'm going to find A,"

The look of shock on Paris' face was enough to make Marcos think even mentioning it was a big mistake but to his surprise, again,the male shook his head, walking closer to him and said in a barely restrained voice, "I can't let you go there on your own, so why don't we get in my car, and talk this out, okay?"

Did he have another choice? If he tried to run, he didn't put it past Paris to use force to keep him safe so he nodded.

When they were in the car, Paris' face looked like one of the masks he wore when he was battling too many emotions and hiding them was the only solution out, his hand gripping the steering wheel like he wished to strangle someone while Marcos sat beside him, staring outside the window as he drove. "How are you sure that this isn't a trick?"

"Because her letter was straightforward," He answered, picking at the blue and pink wool sweater he had chosen to wear. "You are the Sun, and she had told me herself you had helped find the place with her and I, as the Moon, was taken there by her. She had asked for my forgiveness there and we made a joke about how on our twentieth wedding anniversary, we would consider letting you get married to us. No one else knew that except us."

"In the middle of nowhere?"

Marcos closed his eyes, the longer they argued about it, she would have already gone. "It's a clearing in the forest, it was the middle of nowhere."

"Marcos, I have looked everywhere for her, and I- I have connections, if she wanted us to find her, I would have. Maybe she doesn't want us to find her."

Of course, he would try to find a reason to avoid meeting her. "I told you, the only reason was because she had joined the Marines and was stationed at Iraq. Somehow, my Abuela found out and they talked about it. Besides, she couldn't come look for us then, could she?"

He was silent again, his lips pressed together while he adjusted in his seat, his chest rising and falling in rapid pants before he said, "It's been seven years, Marcos. Seven. Things have changed. We have changed. And we are fine. We don't need her."

"Fine?" Marcos repeated, looking at him, studying every new wrinkle, eye bag. "When was the last time you actually took a good rest? A long really good one? Are you even sleeping?"

"It doesn't matter-"

"It matters because this is how you are. Work so you don't think of anything else. Push yourself to the brink of death." Marcos cut in, folding his arms. "And no one tells you anything because they aren't close enough to act like they care and if I tell you, you never listen to me, but if she did-"

His hands clenched around the wheel tighter. "Stop."

"You would. All she needs to do is tell you that you need to rest, and you would listen, and I... I am fine, if that's what your definition is for having everything and feeling empty. Paris, I once had everything, right in my hands, and I lost it, but I bore it, because I had no other choice and I learnt to stand the pain, ignore it, and now, it's eaten a hole in me that refuses to shut close. Unlike you, I won't sit down and let myself die in pain. I won't."

"She fucking used us!" Paris suddenly snapped, his eyes widening as he looked at Marcos. "You think that's the same Alexandra we fell in love with? She's not. She might have glimpses of our time together, but this person... This person used our feelings just to get them back. Something that she would have never done."

Marcos kept his voice low, eyes narrowed. "And let me guess, you threatened her to stay away from us?"

The statement to hit Paris like a blow as he turned back to the street, his jaws clenching. "I was fucking hurt and angry, and it's not like she doesn't know I wouldn't have done anything."

Marcos sighed now. "That's the thing. She doesn't know," He bit on his lower lip now, hands shaking, "When I- When I first met Alex, she wasn't... She wasn't the version you met. She was cold. Aloof. Unemotional. She was existing, not living at the time, and yet I... I hadn't cared. Someone was willing to protect me and I wanted that, that feeling so I stayed and she has taken care of me since then. Ever since you've met her, you saw one side of her, because all she's ever done is try to be good enough for us, whatever sides that had flaws, she didn't hide them, but she never let things go to that extent because she didn't want to hurt us."

But of course, Paris wasn't the type to back down from a fight. "Doesn't give her the fucking rights to do what she did."

"So what, Paris? She lost her memory. Everything is different for her. Everything. She's more like a child that has no idea what she's doing, or who to trust, who to believe, what to believe," Marcos gave a shrug, adding, "Besides, she's been there for us, no matter what we did, or said, or acted out. If anything... If anything, we shouldn't abandon her now if she actually wants to see if we would like to go to her. We've taken enough space from each other to know what we want so I would like us to just... Settle everything once and for all. Plus," He closed his eyes, his body curling on its own. "I just need to know my Mommy's alright."

Things got quiet again, the tight grip on the wheel had lessened to an extent and though Paris still had his frown on his face, it wasn't one that wanted to keep arguing any longer. "You've thought everything huh?"

"I know you agree with me, because if you didn't, you wouldn't be driving us there."

Paris said nothing to that.

It was evening when Paris parked his car at the edge of the woods, Marcos coming out first and standing in front of the car's bonnet, his eyes staring through the thick trees, as if, by some sort of magic, he would be able to sense if she was really there.

"Marcos?"

He turned to his side.

Paris mask had dropped, and a more truer version of his emotions had taken over. Though he still acted invincible, his voice was small as he got closer to Marcos. "What if- What if she doesn't want to see us? This could be a mistake, could ruin everything if she gets mad or hates us-"

He paused as Marcos wrapped his hand around his, smiling softly at him now as he whispered, "Then we have us, don't we?"

Paris didn't say anything for the first few seconds, then after a while held Marcos' tighter, giving a small nod of affirmation.

Quietly, they walked through the forest, the whole place oddly quiet with the wind being the only sound they could hear well enough, and yet somehow, with every step Marcos took, it seemed like it was the right thing.

Going to her.

A was their home, the one place they felt safe, comfortable, without having to pretend or lie, and it didn't matter if she didn't remember them, as long as she wanted something, anything, they would be there for her.

Even if she just needed a friend.

For so long, she had taken care of them, it only made sense if they paid back the favour.

Paris tugged on his hand, causing the male to pause and face him. "Can you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Music." Paris walked forward, his eyes narrowing as he said, "It's a violin. Just- Stay quiet, try to concentrate, can you hear it?"

And he did.

It was faint, soft, but it was there nevertheless.

"Alex plays like that," There was a softness in his eyes, as if admitting something involving her had released some sort of weight off him. "She's... She's here."

"Can you... Take us to her?" Marcos asked, his voice soft.

Paris found himself closing his eyes. "I don't know."

Anyone would be mad at Paris' constant disagreement, but not Marcos. The male cupped his cheeks, resting his forehead on his. "Everything's going to be fine."

"Love makes everything so fucking complicated," Paris hissed softly under his breath. "She's the only one with that much power over me, to hurt me again. Fuck, I've been untouchable for so long, the fact that there's someone who can control me at a whim-"

"You know Alex is not like that," Marcos cut in, "Hey, hey, look at me."

Paris did.

His amber green eyes floated with many emotions. Fear. Distrust. Love. Confusion. And mostly, need.

He needed Alex as well, it just terrified him how much it did.

"Everything will be fine," Marcos said, whispering. "No matter what happens after now, I love you, I always will. Okay?"

He said nothing.

"I'm talking to Paride Casio, Il Serpente," Marcos continued, searching into the males eyes. "You've been through hell, and you've survived. Now, you have me, your Venus, I will protect you with everything I have, do you understand me?"

Paris closed his eyes, as if he was letting the words sink in and the next moment he opened them, his eyes were clear, with only one emotion remaining.

Believe.

Paris led them now, though his hand remained with Marcos, and as they got closer, the music grew louder as well.

It sounded sad, and yet it wasn't all at once. It was slow, and it wasn't at the same time. Like the sound of someone singing another to sleep, a dreamless one that was peaceful, and serene.

Aiding the person to cross over because they would be fine no matter they went.

Paris had been the first to reach the clearing, freezing when he was in it and as soon as Marcos stood beside him, he found himself freezing as well.

Someone stood in it's middle, playing with a violin on their shoulder, and though the person backed them, somehow, they could sense who it was without having to see their face.

Tears clouded Marcos' eyes before he could stop them, his lips quivering as the urge to have a mental breakdown took over his entire being but he held it, saying softly, "A?"

She stopped playing, making no movements before she turned, and his heart thumped.

Alexandra Parker, in the years that had passed, had grown even more distracting than they remembered. Her face had filled it out, though it still remained in the same oval shaped, her body lean and trim, though it was obvious she had worked out to keep it that way, her eyes cat like, predatory and yet... Kind, her aura powerful, and at the same time, enchanting.

And when she smiled at him, God, when she smiled-

Marcos knew that the smiles he had gotten from fans and admirers and had pleased him at the time, would never compare to what hers was doing to him now.

"Hello."

~

Yes, this is the end. I know, I know, you're thinking "WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!" But this time, you all are going to imagine an ending for yourself. Do you want them together? No? A Paris and Marcos ship? A no ship? Someone dies? I don't know, go crazy, by all means.

If there's any questions you'd want answered, comment them and I'm gonna try giving them in the next chapter which is just a Q and A session so we know about the characters better (and maybe what happened after). But don't expect it anytime soon, lovelies. *Insert evil laugh*

It was nice going on this journey with you all, and I will your comments and love, and I'm sure they will too.

- V.