Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I thought pixies were supposed to be small."

Thomas rolled his eyes and glanced up at Newt. He was sitting on Thomas' desk while he worked beside him, staring contemplatively at the ceiling. "So did humans. Evolution," Thomas answered, twisting a few more reeds into the palm-sized ball in his hands.

"So... Why the ball?" Newt asked, looking down on Thomas' work. "Is that a pixie thing?"

"The fairies in the yard like them," Thomas hummed, threading a few daisies into his creation. "There." He pushed his chair back and headed for the back door of his home.

Scrambling after Thomas, Newt ducked to avoid the ribbons and baubles Thomas had hanging in every doorway. "Wait, aren't pixies and fairies the same thing?"

Thomas stopped so suddenly Newt almost ran into the back of him. Turning a slow glare in Newt's direction, Thomas huffed, "You're supposed to be English. How come you don't know anything about your country's mythology?"

"Sorry," Newt muttered, smothering a laugh and raising both hands in surrender. When Thomas continued out into the yard, he pressed, "Is the ball a pixie thing?"

"Not specifically." Thomas carefully placed the ball in the middle of the grass, then backed up a few steps. A wide grin stretched across his face when the flowerbeds lining the small yard all lit up with tiny, sparkling lights, which floated across the grass to swarm the ball. "If I keep them entertained, they're less likely to fuck with me."

"Whoa..."

Thomas glanced over his shoulder, smirking at the awe on Newt's face. "They're pretty," he agreed.

Blinking at Thomas, Newt demanded, "Why's it taken you so long to tell me about all this?"

With an impish shrug, Thomas grinned, "This is more fun." He poked Newt in the ribs and ducked back inside before he could retaliate.

"Hang on!" Running back inside after Thomas, Newt asked, "How many people know?"

"Most of the town, dude," Thomas snickered, dropping himself down on the sofa in his living room. "We all thought it was hilarious when you first moved here, 'cause you clearly had no idea what kind of place this is."

Sinking down beside Thomas, Newt shook his head, baffled. "Are there other pixies here? Not just you?"

"Nah, just me." Shrugging one shoulder, Thomas picked at his fingers and sighed, "There were more of us but... Shit happens, y'know?" He straightened up a bit. "But there's all kinds of people around here. Goblins, witches, elves... A couple vampires."

Newt's face turned even paler than his natural colour. "What?" he spluttered.

"They're harmless," Thomas dismissed with a wave of his hand, laughing at the disbelief in Newt's eyes. "Man, if they wanted to hurt you, they would have by now. You've been here seven years." He poked Newt in the ribs again, gleefully watching him squirm in reaction. "You've never wondered why you always feel better after tea at Teresa's?"

Newt threw Thomas a nervous glance. "Wait, what's she? What's she been feeding me?"

"She's just a witch," Thomas laughed. "It's just herbal stuff, her tea." He tilted his head in consideration for a moment. "Well, magic, too, but it's just energising stuff. Nothing malicious."

Staring off as he tried to process this, Newt sank further into the sofa. "Bloody hell..." he breathed out.

Thomas let his friend take a moment. He had been waiting for this day a long time, and while it was well worth it for the delicious shock and awe on Newt's face, he did feel just a little sorry for him. "Just to clarify; it's not everyone in town. There're other humans around, not just you."

With a vacant nod, Newt continued staring.

"Right." Thomas moved to push himself up from the sofa.

"What do you do, then?"

Thomas paused and raised an eyebrow. "How d'you mean?"

"Like... What do pixies do?" Newt asked, pulling his feet up into the sofa and wrapping his arms around his knees. "Are you magic?"

"Yeah." Shuffling on the sofa so he was sitting cross-legged and facing Newt, Thomas explained, "Pixies are tricksters. We mostly like messing with people."

Newt snorted. "Well, you've succeeded."

Despite his sympathy, Thomas felt a swell of pride in his chest. "We've got simple magic," he nodded. "Just little stuff."

"Like what?"

Thomas smirked, then made a pinching motion with his fingers. When he flicked his wrist up, the shoulder of Newt's shirt pulled upwards, making him jump and sending Thomas into a fit of laughter. "Simple stuff," Thomas beamed. He pinched with his other hand, tugging at Newt's hair with his magic.

"Ow! Okay, I get it!" Newt swiped at the invisible forces pulling at him until Thomas dropped his hands. "So, is there anything I'm supposed to, like... do?" he asked, rubbing at his head where his hair had been tugged. "Like, do I treat you a certain way, or give you things?"

Face twisted in amusement, Thomas snickered, "Man, we've been friends for years. You don't have to change anything. Basics of pixies; be nice and we'll be nice back, but if you look like a fun target, we'll probably mess with you for entertainment."

Eyebrows furrowed in thought, Newt guessed, "And don't offend you?"

Thomas snorted in disbelief, throwing his hands up. "Don't offend anyone! I thought that'd be obvious."

"That's fair," Newt hummed.

Before Thomas could chew Newt out for being naive, they heard a polite knock at Thomas' front door. Thomas scowled across the room. "Better be important," he grumbled, climbing to his feet. "Interrupting me giving this stupid human a piece of my mind." He threw Newt a playful glare.

"I just thought that was a thing!" Newt defended, hands raised.

Shaking his head, Thomas pulled the door open to find no one there. He pushed his bottom lip out in a pout as his brows drew together. "Hey, I'm the pixie here," he huffed. "No one plays Ding Dong Ditch on me."

"We call it Knock Knock Ginger back home," Newt mused from the sofa. "And they did knock."

"That's not the point," Thomas muttered, peering around the street in an attempt to spot his prankster. "Tricks are my thing." Just as he was about to close the door, he spotted a small bundle of sprigs and flowers at his feet, tied together with a rich purple ribbon. He plucked the bundle from the ground, casting another quick glance around before ducking back inside.

"What's that?" Newt asked, tilting his head curiously.

"Rosemary and gardenia," Thomas murmured, turning the gift in his hands. "And a ribbon."

Watching Thomas move to sit beside him again, Newt asked, "Is the ribbon important?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow at him, then returned his gaze to the bundle. "When you're leaving an offering for a pixie, yeah. It's kinda customary." Carefully untying the ribbon, Thomas placed it on the arm of the sofa and separated the rosemary sprigs from the two gardenia flowers.

"Do you usually get offerings? This seems new to me," Newt commented, leaning over to observe but not touch.

"Not usually..." Thomas took the rosemary sprigs and deftly twisted them together into a neat wreath the size of his hand. The gift was unusual, but it warmed something in Thomas' chest. "Ribbon is custom, rosemary is protection, gardenias..." Glancing upwards as he flicked through his memory, Thomas hummed, "Gardenias are trust, clarity, hope..." His eyes widened slightly. "They're also used for, like, secret love."

Newt snorted, smacking a hand over his mouth to hide his smirk when Thomas glared at him. "You've got an admirer, Tommy."

Ducking his head to hide the heat in his cheeks, Thomas mumbled, "Shut up."

"Hey, this is sweet," Newt pointed out, gesturing to the gifts. "Whoever it is put some effort in. Secret love flowers, protection herbs... and even I know purple is a royal colour. They must think very highly of you," he teased.

Thomas looked over his gifts once more, then gently moved the flowers to the coffee table. He took the ribbon and tied one end around his rosemary wreath, then hopped up and headed for the door. As he stepped outside, he tried to keep an eye out for whoever left the offering, standing up on his toes to tie the other end of the ribbon around the eaves above his door.

With a satisfied nod, he closed the door again and headed past Newt into the kitchen, grabbing an empty jar from one of the many shelves. He partially filled it with water, then wandered back to the living room, sitting the jar on the coffee table and placing both gardenias in it.

"I guess you liked it, then," Newt chuckled, eyeing him with amusement.

"I don't usually get offerings," Thomas shrugged, settling himself back into the sofa. "It's nice."

Glancing around the room, Newt supposed, "That's why you've got ribbons and stuff in your doorways... Traditional offerings."

Thomas nodded, waving his fingers to make the ribbons flutter in an imaginary breeze. "From back when pixies were small, and ribbons and little trinkets were the extent of the fancy things they could have." Watching his ribbons, he wondered if his admirer would see the wreath outside. He hoped they did.

Newt tilted his head again, studying Thomas' face for a while, seeming to lose himself in thought. "So many things about you make sense, now," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "No wonder you've always been so keen on pranking people..." His face changed as he seemed to realise something. "No wonder no one ever fought back when you did... They all know you're a pixie!"

Grinning all over again, Thomas chuckled, "Just like we all know Teresa's a witch and Minho's a descendant of an inmyeonjo."

"Of a what?"

Thomas just laughed and sank back into the sofa. "You think he puts those feathers in his hair? Man, you have a lot to learn."

Only a few days later, Thomas returned home from helping Teresa with her gardens to find another offering on his doorstep. This one seemed to be mainly lavender, tied again with a purple ribbon.

"Hello..." Thomas murmured to himself, scooping the bundle up to discover another gardenia nestled in the middle. He threw a glance up at his rosemary wreath, his heart fluttering a little when he noticed a lavender stalk carefully threaded into it. "Okay..." Biting back a grin, Thomas slipped into his home.

Once he had shed his shoes and jacket, Thomas went about untying his new offering, adding the gardenia to the jar with its friends and setting out a seperate jar for the lavender on his desk. He plopped himself down on the sofa, twisting the new piece of ribbon between his fingers.

"What to do with you," he hummed. He wanted whoever it was to know he appreciated their gifts, to make sure they understood they weren't being ignored. That, honestly, finding these two offerings had brought Thomas a deep joy he only really felt when one of his tricks paid off. Eyeing the strip of satin, he sighed, "Who brought you here?"

The ribbon, predictably, didn't respond.

Thomas clicked his tongue against his teeth for a moment, then grabbed his phone. After a few quick google searches, he grabbed himself a pin, then followed the instructions on his screen to fold and pin the ribbon into the shape of a flower.

"Let's find a place for you," Thomas muttered, heading back outside again. He searched around the modest front porch of his home, his eyes landing on the hardy padding of the small outdoor seat he had by the front window. "Perfect." He poked the pin into the top of the chair, making sure the ribbon flower was sitting just right before making his way back inside.

After making himself some tea, Thomas settled down on his sofa again and admired his two jars of flowers. "I'm gonna work out who you are," he hummed over his tea. "Just you wait."

"Newt says you've got an admirer," Minho said off-handedly while he and Thomas were on one of their weekly runs.

Well, Thomas was running. Minho was moving along beside him in his manner of running that never really involved his feet touching the ground, the feathers in his hair fluttering in the wind.

When Thomas didn't immediately respond, Minho pressed, "You've been getting offerings, he said."

Rolling his eyes, Thomas huffed, "Newt's got a big mouth."

"And you've got an admirer," Minho smirked, darting out of the way when Thomas tried to shove him.

Damn Minho. The only person in town Thomas could never catch.

"Maybe I do," Thomas shrugged, pointedly ignoring the look on Minho's face.

"What've they brought you?" Minho asked, his tone devoid of teasing, rather filled with genuine curiosity.

"Few different things," Thomas hummed. "Lots of flowers, always tired with ribbons."

Minho nodded in approval. "Good start."

"There's been rosemary, lavender, basil, sage... Y'know, useful stuff. But there's always at least one gardenia."

Swinging around in front of Thomas to pull him to a stop, Minho sighed, "Newt told me about that. They're s'posed to mean something about secret love?" He dropped down into the grass of the field he had stopped them in, gesturing with his head for Thomas to do the same. "How's that feel?"

Thomas settled himself in the grass, running his fingers through it as he considered the question. "It's really nice, honestly," he admitted. "People don't usually look to the local pixie for affection."

"We're worried we'll lose a finger," Minho chuckled, poking Thomas in the shoulder. "Last time someone showed an interest in you, you fucking bit them."

"Hey, he was way too forward," Thomas defended, poking Minho right back.

"He just asked you out!" Minho laughed, throwing his hands up.

Thomas wove his fingers into the grass at his sides, eyes on his hands. "Yeah, well, maybe I didn't know he was gonna do that and got spooked," he mumbled. "Maybe I feel really bad about that, actually."

With a roll of his eyes, Minho sighed, "Biting shouldn't be the first reaction when you're spooked. Not even Clint does that."

"Well, no," Thomas deadpanned. "Vampires are careful who they bite."

"You shouldn't be biting anyone!"

"Well..." Pulling his hands from the grass and dropping them dejectedly in his lap, Thomas huffed, "I'm not good with this shit, okay? I just panicked. Don't spook a pixie, you never know what we'll do." Picking at his thumbnail, he added quietly, "Maybe I would've really liked to go out with him, but I freaked him out and he never spoke to me again."

Minho paused. "Maybe?"

Thomas' shoulders slumped. "Definitely," he whispered. "And yeah, now everyone thinks I don't want that sort of thing."

"That... was kinda the impression you gave off." Minho stretched out on his back, folding his hands on his stomach. "He's really not spoken to you since?"

Shaking his head, Thomas mumbled, "I tried a few times, but he avoided me. S'been three years."

Minho let out a low whistle. "Well, clearly someone's not scared of your teeth."

Huffing a laugh through his noise, Thomas leaned back against his hands, closing his eyes and tipping his head to feel the sun on his face. "That's debatable. I still don't know who it is."

"You're a pixie," Minho pointed out. "You could always set a trap."

Thomas shot Minho a horrified look. "No! They're leaving me offerings, I'm not about to trap them."

"Shouldn't they expect it, though? Fuckery is in your nature," Minho shrugged.

"Fuck you."

"No thanks."

Thomas huffed out a frustrated sigh, flopping down onto his back.

"So... What's the plan, then?" Minho asked, rolling his head to look over at Thomas.

"I don't have one," Thomas admitted. Stroking his fingers through the grass again, he sighed, "I'm just waiting to see if whoever it is will give me a hint."

Minho just hummed. "So, how's Newt taking to all of it? I'm still surprised it took seven years."

A smirk creeping up his face, Thomas snickered, "He's so English he was too polite to ask about all the weird things he'd noticed. Idiot." Twisting two blades of grass around his finger, he added, "He's been pretty good about the whole thing, actually. Got super excited about Teresa letting him help out in her kitchen. You should've seen his face."

"She make anything fun?"

Thomas shrugged. "Not really. Was mostly prepping Brenda's brew for full moon."

"That's soon, yeah..." Minho stared off into the distance for a moment. "Brenda's really cool."

One of Thomas' eyebrows crept up his forehead. He had noticed Minho watching the two latest additions to the town. They might only have been there a few months, but Thomas knew what he was seeing. A grin formed on his face. "Does someone have a crush on a werewolf?"

Minho shot him a quick glare. "Don't even think about it."

"But you've just given me perfect ammunition," Thomas beamed, leaping to his feet and racing back towards the town.

"No- Thomas!"

Thomas knew he would catch up to him, but just the threat of his mischief had always been enough to get Minho riled. Leaping over the fence between the field and the road to the centre of town, Thomas idly wondered what he'd do if he could reach Brenda. He wouldn't flatly tell her Minho liked her, there'd be no fun in that...

Just as Thomas reached the middle of town, Minho finally caught him, slamming into his back and flinging his arms around him. "Don't you dare!"

Laughter ringing through the streets, Thomas made a half-hearted attempt to struggle free. "But it's so fun, Min," he teased, poking at Minho's cheek. "Watching you get all flustered."

Minho jerked his face away with a scowl. "Fucking pixie," he muttered, dragging Thomas towards his home.

"Don't say it like it's an insult," Thomas chuckled, allowing Minho to pull him through the streets. "You know you love me."

"Regrettably," Minho grumbled.

"Hey!" Thomas protested with a laugh, stumbling slightly as Minho pulled him down his front path. "Don't pretend I'm not..." He trailed off as his attention was drawn to a new offering on his doorstep.

Minho tilted his head. "Looks like you had a visitor."

Wriggling free from Minho's arms, Thomas collected up his new gift. Another small bundle of lavender, and another gardenia, tied to the neck of a glass jar with purple ribbon. Thomas tilted the jar, watching the orange slices and pomegranate seeds inside floating around in a clear liquid. He passed his thumb over the handwritten label stuck to the glass.

Pixie Brew

"Shame that doesn't narrow it down much," Minho commented, peeking over Thomas' shoulder.

Thomas hummed in agreement, tipping the jar the other way and letting the fruit glide through the liquid. "Lots of kinds of brews around here."

Patting Thomas' shoulder, Minho supposed, "At least you can rule out Teresa. If she called something 'Pixie Brew', she would've put some of you in it."

With a snort, Thomas held the jar to his chest. "I don't like how true that is."

"You really have got a few, huh?" Minho nodded to the small collection of purple ribbon flowers pinned into Thomas' outdoor chair.

"I have." Brushing his fingers over the lavender, Thomas hummed, "My house smells great. Really calming."

"Yeah, that sounds really you," Minho snickered. "Maybe they're trying to calm you down to make sure you don't bite them."

With a small glare, Thomas stuck his tongue out at Minho and let himself into his home. "Maybe it's nice to not have my brain going a mile a minute all the time," he huffed.

"That's not even a pixie thing, that's just ADHD," Minho smirked.

"Okay, you can fuck off now," Thomas waved, closing the door on a laughing Minho. He moved around his living room, placing the flowers in their respective jars and taking his 'Pixie Brew' into the kitchen. Holding the jar up to the light shining through his kitchen window, Thomas observed that the liquid was so clear it could almost be water.

Who would give him something like this? The flowers and herbs could realistically have been anyone, but this narrowed the field a bit. Only a bit. There were lots of people brewing a variety of magical and non-magical things around town, from potions and tinctures to alcohol and medicines.

"What're you, then?" Thomas hummed, carefully popping the lid open. The liquid smelled sweet and sharp, like citrus and alcohol. "There's no magic in you..." With a resigned shrug, Thomas took a sip.

It tasted less sharp than it smelled, smooth and orange and mellow, sending a pleasant tingling warmth all the way down to his toes. Thomas closed his eyes with a happy hum, rising up onto the balls of his feet.

"Mm... You're dangerous," he chuckled, fitting the lid firmly over the jar again. As tasty and easy to drink as it was, there was no question it was strong, the alcohol providing it's signature heat in his stomach. "Not too much of you." He took the ribbon from the jar, then carefully tucked his brew onto a safe shelf, beside the bottle of wine he and Newt would occasionally break out while watching reality TV.

Having practiced a few times now, Thomas easily folded his new ribbon into a flower, then ducked outside to add it to his growing collection, sincerely hoping his admirer was seeing them. He hoped they liked them.

"C'mon, Tom," Teresa whined from the sofa. "I even got here early to make sure we left on time!"

"You can't play the system with Tommy," Newt sighed, slumped at the other end of the sofa, head propped in his hand.

"Can't trick the trickster," Teresa muttered. "I didn't think he could stuff around for two hours, though."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Thomas laughed, grinning at his friends as he ducked under the doorway, tidying his hair with his fingers.

Teresa rolled her eyes and gestured around at the jars of flowers. "They clearly don't know how much of a pain you are."

Propping his hands on his hips, Thomas pointed out, "I'm a pixie. Anyone stupid enough not to know how much of a pain I am shouldn't be giving me offerings."

With a snort, Teresa pushed herself to her feet. "I don't know why anyone would give you offerings, Thomas," she smirked, Thomas poking his tongue out at her. "Besides, you can't even bless them in return, 'cause you don't know who they are."

"Bless them?" Newt frowned as he stood.

"There's a lot of positives to being in a pixie's favour," Thomas shrugged, pulling the front door open. "Oh."

Another offering. This one seemed just to be a gardenia tied to something. When he held it in his hands, Thomas could see that the ribbon tie was wrapped around the neck of an intricately carved wooden horse, large enough to stand on his outstretched hand.

"Whoa..." Newt murmured, sitting his chin on Thomas' shoulder to study the horse. "That must've taken some time."

Teresa folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe. "Horses and pixies are kind of a thing," she told Newt, watching Thomas' face.

Ignoring both of them, Thomas turned and headed over to add the gardenia to the dozen others in their jar. He gently brushed his palm over the blooms, then placed the horse on his desk.

"Seems pretty specific," Newt commented. "You think they made it themselves?"

"It'd be kinda rude to give offerings of things you hadn't made yourself," Teresa told him as Thomas rejoined them and stepped outside.

Following the witch and pixie onto the street, Newt asked, "Am I dumb for not understanding why that's rude?"

Ribbon in-hand, Thomas countered, "Would you feel valued if someone was trying to gain favour with you with things they haven't put the work into?"

Newt tipped his head to the side. "Guess not." He eyed the ribbon Thomas was fiddling with. "What's that for?"

"Not sure yet," Thomas hummed. "M'just trying to work out if I've missed something. Why purple?"

Nudging his shoulder as they turned down another street, Teresa pointed out, "It's a regal colour. Used to be really expensive. I'd say it's to show you how highly they think of you."

"That's what I said," Newt agreed.

"I dunno," Thomas sighed. "And the lavender..." His brows furrowed a little as he thought harder. "Sage and rosemary both flower purple, too."

Teresa tapped his shoulder. "Basil flowers white."

With a hum, Thomas added, "The gardenias are white."

"Is there something special about purple and white?" Newt asked, looking between his two friends.

Thomas rubbed his eye with his free hand, blowing out a long sigh. "I don't know," he admitted, following Newt up to the door of their destination; the bar they met their friends at every month. "I just feel like I'm missing something."

Pushing the door open, Newt waved Thomas and Teresa inside. "Maybe it'll become more obvious when more show up?"

"Or when you're less sober," Teresa suggested, grabbing both of their arms and dragging them over to the booth holding the rest of their friends, who already had their first drinks in front of them. "We made it," she announced.

"Thomas held you up?" Minho guessed, laughing at Thomas' proud grin.

"You'd all be worried if I was on time," he dismissed, ushering Newt into the booth with Minho, Frypan, and Alby, before squeezing in beside him.

A murmur of agreement rounded the table. "Would still be nice for me and Newt not to be late every time, though," Teresa huffed, shuffling in beside Minho and opposite Thomas. She waved her fingers towards the bar, conjuring their orders on a napkin.

Pointing across at Teresa, Thomas told her, "No one's late until Clint gets here."

"He has to show up late," Teresa scoffed, rolling her eyes so hard Thomas swore he could hear it.

"How'd I never notice that?" Newt muttered beside him, making Thomas snort.

Minho jabbed Frypan with his elbow, nodding to Thomas. "You got another offering?" he smirked.

Twirling the ribbon around his fingers, Thomas hummed in confirmation. "Found it as we were leaving."

"Which means it was put there while you were mucking about," Teresa realised. "If you'd been faster, we might've seen who it was."

Thomas shook his head, untwisting the ribbon and holding it pinched between his forefingers and thumbs. "They've been pretty careful." After a moment's thought, he separated a lock of his hair from the rest at his hairline, then flicked his fingers. The ribbon magically twisted into the lock of hair, Thomas giving it a gentle tug to make sure it was secure before tucking it behind his ear.

"Bold," Alby commented, sipping his drink.

"Do what I want," Thomas shrugged.

"Could they be here?" Newt asked, glancing around the room.

Teresa leaned her elbows on the table and sighed, "It's always a possibility. Safe Haven's not a big town."

Thomas had considered this. He had refrained from telling Newt and Teresa about his 'Pixie Brew', because he knew deep down both of them were cleverer than him and would likely work out his little puzzle before he could, if they had all the clues. And as the one in possession of all the clues, Thomas had dramatically narrowed the field.

There were only three people in town who were capable of both brewing and carving to that standard. And only one of them was he allowing himself to be hopeful of.

"Ideas?" Newt guessed, nudging Thomas with his shoulder.

"A couple," Thomas nodded, eyes still wandering. "Not here though."

Snorting, Minho smirked, "Well, it's not the bartender."

Thomas glanced to the bar, his eyes widening slightly. Blushing, he hid his face by leaning his cheek in his hand. "Fuck," he hissed.

"Put the teeth away and he'll be fine," Minho snickered, hiding his wide grin behind his drink.

"I thought we deliberately came here on his days off," Thomas mumbled, taking some small comfort in the hand Newt placed on his shoulder.

Minho shrugged, and Alby explained, "Ben's usually here, but he's off sick."

Teresa hummed with a knowing nod. "He came to see me yesterday. Didn't look good."

"You didn't help him?" Newt frowned.

"Of course I did!" Teresa laughed, just shy of offended. "I gave him what I could. I'm a witch, not a miracle worker."

With a slight smirk, Thomas teased, "Up your game, witch."

Teresa kicked him under the table. "Some of us don't play games, pixie."

"You kids are terrible."

The voice drew everyone's attention as an older man handed out Teresa, Newt, and Thomas' drinks. "Thanks, Jorge," Thomas beamed. "I aim to annoy."

With a weary laugh, Jorge assured him, "You certainly succeed, hermano." He gave Thomas a firm pat on the shoulder, then headed back towards the bar.

As he left, Thomas noticed Brenda sitting at the bar by herself, chatting to Jorge as he worked. An evil little thrill made his fingers twitch. As Brenda moved to drink from the straw in her glass, Thomas flicked a finger, turning the straw away from her mouth. She seemed not to notice, only moving the glass to try again. With another flick of his finger, Thomas grinned as he watched Brenda furrow her brow.

"Man, don't do that," Minho protested, keeping his voice down.

"But it's fun," Thomas snickered, flicking the straw with his magic again.

"Thomas," Minho warned lowly.

Waving his free hand at Minho, Thomas told him, "Don't be a stick in the mud." He twirled his fingers, spinning the straw in Brenda's glass.

"The fuck?" Brenda huffed, slamming the glass down on the bar and whipping around to glare around the room. She locked eyes with Thomas, who just grinned and gave her an innocent little wave. "Dammit, pixie," she growled, pulling the straw from the glass and throwing it like a dart in Thomas' direction.

Merely waving his hand to flick the straw aside onto the neighbouring table, Thomas chided, "Don't make a mess, Brenda. Not fair to make the employees clean up after you."

Brenda made to stand, but Jorge held her in place with a hand on her shoulder. He murmured something to her, at which she huffed again before flipping Thomas off and turning back to her drink, sipping straight from the glass.

"Thomas." When he turned to look, Thomas found Minho giving him a hard glare. "You're an ass sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" Thomas pouted, fluttering his eyelashes.

"You're really lucky we all love you, y'know, Thomas," Alby sighed, knocking back the last of his drink.

"We do?" Minho muttered, hand tense around his glass.

Teresa kicked Thomas under the table again. "Stop," she mouthed, lifting an eyebrow in warning.

Rolling his eyes, Thomas sat back in the booth and grabbed his drink. "Fine." He sipped on the ridiculous cocktail Teresa had ordered him, scrunching his face up as it burned its way down his throat. "Fuck," he coughed, hitting his chest a few times as his eyes watered. "The fuck did you order me?"

With a small shrug, Teresa smiled, "It's called Pretty Revenge. Basically coloured paint-stripper and peppercorn."

"What for?" Thomas scowled, pushing the glass away from himself.

"You made us late."

Folding his arms across his chest, Thomas lifted one finger to splash some of Teresa's cocktail in her face when she tried to drink it.

"Thomas!" Teresa yelped.

Nodding wisely from beside Thomas, Newt hummed, "Can't trick the trickster."

Thomas was sure they had all promised this wouldn't happen again. Staring out across the field, cheek pressed into the grass, he watched his friends sleeping soundly, Frypan snoring a few feet from him.

"We weren't supposed to get this drunk anymore," Alby said, voice gravelly from sleep, pushing himself to sit upright. He swayed a little, then seemed to settle.

"That's what I thought," Thomas mumbled, staying put. He wanted to wait until the ringing in his ears dulled a little before moving.

Alby rubbed his hands down his face, breathing a heavy sigh. "At least we had fun." He paused. "I think."

Humming a sleepy laugh, Thomas assured him, "It was fun." The ringing having subsiding somewhat, he carefully tucked his arms under himself and pushed up. "This bit... not so much." He sat up properly, leaning his head over until his neck cracked.

"That's why we were supposed to stop."

Thomas wiped the sleep from his eyes, then dragged his hands through his hair. He suddenly stopped, reaching blindly behind his ear, then combed his fingers through the hair near his face. "No... No, no, no, no, no..." Checking around himself and digging in his pockets, Thomas sent Alby a panicked look. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?" Alby sighed, scratching the back of his head and watching Thomas patting at the ground.

"My ribbon." Thomas looked over his group of friends, then started crawling around to check their hands and pockets. "No, no, no..."

Shaking his head, Alby told him, "You've got heaps of them."

"That's not the point," Thomas huffed, shoving himself unsteadily to his feet. He frantically surveyed the area, hands gripping his hair. "Oh no..."

"Tommy," Newt whined tiredly from the ground. "Shut up."

"No, I've lost my ribbon," Thomas stressed. "Fuck..." Abandoning his friends, Thomas stumbled across the field and back into the town.

The sun was only barely peeking up over the horizon, casting a pale glow over the streets as Thomas tried to retrace their path from the night before. Or earlier that morning, as it must have been. He scoured the ground, panic rising in his chest.

He couldn't lose it. All the others were safe at his home. He'd kept every little piece of every offering, he couldn't lose this one. Not when it had been attached to the biggest clue so far.

But after almost an hour of stumbling around in the orange glow of the sunrise, Thomas found himself slumping down on the step of his porch, face buried in his hands and ribbon nowhere to be seen.

He didn't want to cry. It felt like a stupid thing to cry about. Alby was right, he had heaps of them. But he wanted all of them. They had all been so carefully offered to him, how could he be so clumsy as to lose one?

There was a soft sound from beside him, making him turn his head to look. Next to him on the step sat a single gardenia, a slightly worn ribbon tired around its stem. He grabbed the flower as his jaw dropped, noticing a strand of his hair twisted in the end of the ribbon. Heart pounding, he turned to face down the path again.

Black shoes, black slacks, white shirt with purple cuffs and collar, purple name badge-

Thomas snapped his head up to find a sheepish bartender staring down at his feet, hands in his pockets. "Gally?"

Shuffling his feet a little, Gally whispered, "Hey."

Speechless, Thomas glanced down at the flower in his hands, then back up at Gally. "I..."

"Sorry," Gally blurted out, looking up with slightly worried eyes. "I just... I know you rejected me last time, but I thought maybe I went about it wrong, and maybe I needed to... I mean, 'cause you're a pixie, maybe there was like, etiquette I missed or something so..." When Thomas stayed silent, pink crept into Gally's cheeks. "Or maybe you just rejected me 'cause you weren't interested, and I totally get it if... I'm just..." Eyes darting away, Gally stepped back. "I'm... I'm sorry, this was... Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm-"

"Gally," Thomas cut in. Pushing himself to his feet, he reached for his front door. "Come in."

A range of emotions washed over Gally's face, settling on nervous. "Okay," he agreed softly, slowly following Thomas into the house.

Once he had pushed the door closed behind them, Thomas untied the ribbon and laid it out on the coffee table beside the jar of gardenias, to which he added the new one.

"You kept them."

Thomas blew out a surprised laugh, turning a confused look to Gally, who was still hovering by the door. "Of course I did."

Dropping his gaze to his feet again, Gally shrugged one shoulder. "Wasn't sure. You rejected me last time."

"I..." Shaking his head, Thomas pointed out, "Firstly, I didn't know it was you leaving them. A secondly, I didn't reject you."

Gally's eyes flicked up, raising a dubious eyebrow. "You bit me."

Stomach squirming uncomfortably, Thomas huffed, "I just... You spooked me, okay? I didn't know what to do. And then when I tried to apologise, you kept avoiding me."

Gally blinked once. "You bit me."

"Yeah..." Thomas let his shoulders slump. "Yeah. I'm sorry." With a sigh, he added, "If it helps, I did actually want to say yes."

"Really?" Gally's voice twisted with both disbelief and hope.

With a small nod, Thomas said, "I was so close to working it out, y'know. I'd narrowed it down to three people."

Gally looked a little confused, but hummed in understanding all the same.

"There's only three people in town who can brew alcohol safely and wood-carve like that." Thomas gestured to the intricate horse on his desk, then lifted a hand to start counting off. "There's you, your brother, Chuck, and your dad. And god knows I didn't want it to be your dad," he breathed out.

Gally snorted, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And between me and Chuck...?"

Tucking his hands into his pockets to hide their nervous twitching, Thomas admitted, "Obviously you. Even before I had any idea who it was, I wanted it to be you." Scuffing the toe of his shoe against the carpet, he mumbled, "But I thought I scared you off."

"You did," Gally half-laughed, absently rubbing his left bicep. "Took me three years to work out how to try again."

Thomas cringed. "I'm sorry." He watched Gally's hand on his arm, then nodded to it and asked, "Was it really bad?"

His hand freezing, Gally mumbled, "I've got a scar." He tugged the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal a round scar printed into his skin, obviously a bite.

"Fuck... I'm sorry..."

Dropping his sleeve, Gally gave a small shrug. "S'fine now." He paused a moment, then offered Thomas a shy smile. "Didn't stop me from trying again. And... seeing you with the ribbon in your hair last night... Was like you were proud of it."

"Someone's been leaving me gifts on my doorstep for weeks. Gifts I know the meanings of." Thomas flicked his eyes to the gardenias, then back to Gally. "Of course I was proud."

A flush appeared high on Gally's cheeks, and Thomas wanted to grab them. "You were so cute, messing with Brenda's straw," Gally said suddenly, almost as though he couldn't help himself. "Sitting there looking so thrilled while she got pissed off." Collecting his thoughts, he asked, "How d'you do that?"

That familiar mischievous feeling crept up Thomas' arms, his toes curling in his shoes at the opportunity presenting itself. "This?" He tilted his head coyly, then lifted a hand and pinched it in the air. He made a tugging motion, his magic pulling the front of Gally's shirt towards him.

Eyes wide, Gally easily let Thomas tug him forward by his shirt. "Y-yeah, that," he stammered breathlessly.

Once Gally was standing toe to toe with him, Thomas flashed him a cheeky grin. "That's easy," he dismissed. "What isn't easy, is organising this many offerings with such specific meanings and colours." Tapping a finger at Gally's name badge, Thomas muttered, "But there's no way I was gonna work out the white and purple is your work uniform." He studied Gally's face for a moment, noting the tired droop to his eyes. "You haven't been home."

Shaking his head, Gally explained, "We closed at five, but I saw you running around looking for something, so..."

Thomas tipped his head in consideration. With a growing smile, he pushed up onto his toes and whispered, "I can do something for that," then pressed a quick but firm kiss to Gally's mouth. He grinned as he watched a stunned Gally blinking the tiredness from his eyes. "Not a permanent fix," he murmured, "but gives me more time to do this." Draping his arms over Gally's shoulders, Thomas leaned back in and kissed him properly.

A breath left Gally's lungs, then his hands splayed over Thomas' ribs, eagerly responding. He hummed a pleased little noise when Thomas started running his fingers through his hair, tugging him closer.

Thomas just wanted to touch. While his mouth was busy accepting Gally's tongue, he let his hands wander, stroking his cheek, his jaw, his neck, then finding their way back into his hair.

Although he seemed reluctant to, Gally pulled back, breathing harder than before. "Your hands tingle."

Taking his hands from Gally's hair, Thomas looked down at them. "Oh." Glancing to Gally's face, he bit his lip to prevent a laugh at the glittering blue streaks tracing the path of Thomas' fingers. He showed Gally his hands. "Pixie dust. I... Sorry, you're covered in it," he chuckled.

"Pixie dust?"

"Yeah..." Thomas rubbed the pad of his thumb across his fingertips, more dust sprinkling to the floor. Looking up again, he smirked, "It's all through your hair."

"Really?" Gally shook his head quickly, showering Thomas and the floor with blue sparkles.

"Thanks," Thomas laughed, shielding his face.

Gally snorted, raising an eyebrow at him. "You put it there."

Wiping at the streaks on Gally's cheek, Thomas murmured, "I didn't mean to. Just happens when I'm happy." He pushed up onto his toes, bumping their noses together before whispering, "You better get used to it."

"Yeah?"

Thomas smirked. "You've earned a lot of favour with this pixie. I think I owe you a fair few kisses before we're even."

"Can favour only be repaid in kisses?" Gally asked, thumbing at Thomas' ribs.

Tilting his head slightly, Thomas hummed, "No... Usually we give blessings. Y'know, good fortune, successful harvests, fertility..." He wiggled his eyebrows, that blush returning to Gally's cheeks. "Why? Did you want something different...?"

"No!" Gally said quickly, eyes wide. "No I..." Dropping his gaze, he mumbled, "Just wanted to check you were choosing to kiss me."

Thomas gave him a gleeful laugh. "Oh, trust me, I'm choosing this." Burying his hands in Gally's hair again, Thomas pulled him into a deep kiss, a happy little moan humming in his throat.

Finding a well of confidence somewhere inside him, Gally wrapped one arm around Thomas' middle and threaded the fingers of his other hand through the pixie's hair. Earning another moan of encouragement, he tugged Thomas closer, pressing them flush against each other.

With a small noise of surprise, Thomas pushed closer, something hard pressing against his hip. "That another offering for me?" he murmured into Gally's mouth.

"If you want," Gally replied breathlessly.

A quiet groan left Thomas' mouth, backing Gally towards the hallway. "Feels like you're doing me a favour."

Gally huffed a short laugh, his eyes rolling back as Thomas nipped at his lower lip. "If you say so."

With a quick kiss, Thomas said seriously, "I do," and dragged Gally down the hall.

"You guys've been doing this for years?" Newt asked, settling down beside Thomas as their friends gathered in the grass, the sun slowly setting through the trees behind them.

"Every month," Alby nodded, finishing up stacking logs in the firepit in the middle of the clearing. "Mostly for Teresa's brews that need full moonlight," he pointed up to the wide break in the canopy above them, where the moon would appear in an hour, "but it's nice to hang out in the trees for the night, too."

Newt nodded slowly, watching the treeline.

"He won't bite you," Thomas sighed, nudging Newt with his elbow. "Will you, Clint?" he called out.

A hand raised from the figure hovering in the shadows. "No biting, I swear. Just waiting for the sun to go down."

Newt made a sceptical noise, but turned his attention to Alby starting the fire.

"He's never bitten you before," Thomas laughed. "Why would he start now?"

Shrugging one shoulder, Newt pointed out, "I didn't know before. You all kept it a proper secret for seven years, but that wouldn't've worked if I'd been bitten by a vampire in the middle."

"I don't feed from humans," Clint spoke up, wandering into the clearing as the sun finally dipped behind the horizon. Almost as if to make a point, he sat himself on Newt's other side, earning a wary stare. "Dude."

"Newt, the only person you gotta worry about biting you is Thomas," Minho snickered.

Thomas scowled and flipped him off, then used his magic to pull on one of Minho's feathers. He gave a smug smirk when Minho yelped. "No one's biting anyone, asshole."

"How do you feed, then?" Newt asked dubiously.

"Rabbits, mostly." Clint tilted his head, staring past Newt. "Someone's coming."

Standing from the fire, Alby began helping Teresa and Frypan move her ingredients onto the folding table set up beside it. "Who?" he asked, swatting Minho's hand away from the ingredients.

Clint sniffed the air. "Human."

Shifting slightly closer to Thomas, Newt muttered, "That fills me with confidence."

"Anything more specific than 'human'?" Teresa sighed, sending Clint an eye-roll. "We've already got three of those."

"And we have names," Alby said, a note of warning in his voice.

Ignoring the complaints, Clint narrowed his eyes as he focussed and sniffed again. "Smells like cedar. Sounds tall, by the weight of the footsteps."

Thomas smirked to himself, toying with the grass as Newt shuffled even closer to him.

"Also smells like..." Clint's eyes flicked to Thomas, slowly raising an eyebrow at him.

The clearing fell silent as everyone turned to the footsteps they could now all hear. The owner paused, glancing cautiously around at all the eyes on him. "Uh..."

"Gally?" Teresa blurted out, immediately looking to Thomas.

But Thomas didn't see her, too busy beaming back at Gally. "C'mon," he encouraged, patting the grass beside him.

Gally made his way over and sat beside Thomas, twisting his fingers together in his lap. "Hi," he whispered.

"Hey," Thomas grinned, nudging Gally with his shoulder. "Oh, you've still got..." He reached up, Gally tipping his head forward so Thomas could pick a few remaining sparkles from his hair.

"Like pixie dust," Clint finished, smirking.

"Oooooooooooh..." Minho dropped his head back. "Of course it was Gally."

"Fuck off, Minho," Thomas warned, brushing the last of the pixie dust from Gally's hair. "There."

"Thanks." Gally pressed a tentative kiss to Thomas' cheek.

Grinning wide, Thomas whispered, "Don't get shy on me now." He threaded his fingers between Gally's and pecked his lips, fighting the giddy urge to squeal when he received a peck in return.

"O-kay!" Teresa clapped her hands together, drawing everyone's attention. "Time to get all Macbeth up in here."

"What?" Newt frowned, watching Teresa begin to carefully measure ingredients and drop them into the small cauldron she had placed over the fire.

Mocking a cartoonish witchy voice, Teresa croaked, "Double, double, toil and trouble: fire burn and cauldron bubble!"

Realisation bloomed on Newt's face. "Oh... I thought for a second you were gonna try moving the forest."

Teresa threw her had back in a laugh. "Oh, it's so much more fun with Newt here."

"Just as long as you don't want my eyes," Newt told her, earning another thrilled laugh.

"What're they talking about?" Gally asked quietly, squeezing Thomas' fingers.

"Shakespeare," Thomas dismissed with a wave of his hand.

With a mildly concerned look on his face, Gally whispered, "I don't need to know anything about that, right?"

"No," Thomas assured him. "The only real pixie-like character in any Shakespeare is Puck in A Midsummer Night's Dream, and he fucks up the one thing he was told to do, so..." He shrugged.

Gally blinked twice. "I'll take your word for it."

Shuffling closer, Thomas laid his head on Gally's shoulder, watching Teresa slowly weaving her magic into the concoction on the fire. "You don't need to know any more than you already do," he murmured. "Don't have to study or research or anything."

Leaning his cheek on Thomas' hair, Gally admitted softly, "I researched a lot for your offerings."

Thomas didn't need to tell Gally how much that filled him with joy; his palm filling with pixie dust did that for him.