...

There was something wrong. Yao didn't know what, but something was wrong.

...but what? Jia was sleeping peacefully, and the two of them were both warm and secure in Arthur's home, safe (no).

And yet there was this little niggling of discomfort. He just couldn't ignore it; but it was so hard thinking like this, so much easier just to lean his head back and... relax.

Yao drifted, floating through the house until he found himself staring at the beautiful flowers that Arthur had given him yesterday. The niggling returned. Perhaps there was something wrong with the flowers?

He wandered over to the bouquet and smiled. They really were perfect flowers, all different colors too; all pretty shades of white, blue, soft greens, and red.

Red. There was a rose, so perfect and beautiful, so lovely and serene; but there was something. Something... something very wrong with it.

The niggling (voice) in his head got louder.

His fingers brushed its soft velvety surface. It was from Arthur, this rose, and there was something wrong with it. No, no, there was something wrong with Arthur, there had to be, and the rose was a sign. There was a jab of pain.

Red was welling up from the wound. He stared at the blood and then back to the bloody rose (blood like the blood dripping from her hands), everything foggy and sharp and clear and muddled all at once.

The rose. It almost seemed to be whispering to him. Like a fly buzzing in his ear– but that was wrong. There were no flies here, because he and Jia were protected from such pests, because they were safe, isolated (prisoners) in the house, cut off from the world (trapped, imprisoned, you need to get away).

The whispers grew louder and louder.

Panic bloomed like a rose (Arthur's rose) in his chest (Arthur, Arthur, the damn wizard could be anywhere, everywhere, infecting his very lungs) Because Arthur had done something to Yao too, hadn't he? Yao was sure of it. But what had he done? Arthur was his beloved husband. (MURDERER) He was always kind to Yao and Yao loved Arthur and was safe with him (no). The buzzing (you need to go you need to go) got louder.

He looked down at the flower in his hand. The way the red seemed to sparkle in the candle light. The rose, the thorn, the bad feeling.

It felt as if he was rising out of water (he is a monster you fool, you need to get away), out of the fog in his mind. And then his head burst above the water.

The buzzing wasn't buzzing; it was a whisper. Yao's horror grew as he realized he recognized the voice: it was his.

Something had been (still is) clogging his head, trying to block it out, but he needed to fight that, needed to resist it because he was in danger. His son was in danger (go go go, get out get out get out).

Out. He needed to take his son and go now.

"Yao!" He jumped and whirled around. Arthur's (the wizard's) smile melted away as he took notice of the expression on Yao's face (move move move you need to run now)

"You look stressed, love... are you well?" The wizard, the enchanter was approaching (get away get away from me you murderer) and Yao knew he should move but his body didn't want to.

Arthur's eyes were so beautiful (dangerous you fool for god's sake run) and kind and pretty and kind and beautiful and pretty and seemed to just suck in all those scary thoughts. Like they always had.

Suddenly Yao felt numb. Suddenly all Yao wanted was for Arthur to hold him, to hold him gently like he always did and make it all better.

"I-I– I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. Is the lad keeping up too much?" Arthur smiled, a smile so sweet (so sadistic) that it made him feel fuzzy, so fuzzy, cloudy, so cloudy inside. "Why don't you take a break? I'll take care of him."

Arthur was holding him now, and he couldn't remember why he hadn't wanted him to. He pulled the rose from his hand, setting it gently away. Yao smiled at him blearily, breathing in his scent; so sweet, so warm.

"Come on you poor thing, you need some rest." Arthur gave him an affectionate (condescending) smile, emerald eyes seemingly searching his face for something before guiding him away. "I'll fix you some tea."

Somewhere in the back of his head, there was a buzzing. Arthur (murderer, murderer, you've killed her now you're drowning me) had a hand hot and firm around his waist, keeping him close (trapped). A little boy ran into the room, and Yao's heart jumped into his throat with joy and... fear?

"Father! Papa!"

Arthur laughed as Jia ran at them. He let Yao go for a moment, turning his attention to Jia—and for an irrational moment, Yao wished his son was anywhere but here, anywhere but with Arthur.

His husband reached down to lift Jia up. As he watched them he had his heart in his throat, waiting for something to happen (just like it did to her), and the buzzing got louder (you have to you have to); but then Arthur turned to him with that sparkle, that distracting, enchanting (deceptive) shine in his eyes, and all bubbling protests melted away. And so, Yao felt the worried look slip away from his face, reached down to embrace his son, and did nothing more.