Chapter 3 – Bells
BELLS
Jamie is a ray of sunshine condensed into omega form.
He bounces into the coffee shop in a green vest and cream cardigan, bowtie perfectly tied. It's white with tiny orange foxes on it. Foxes in their own bowties.
I fucking love this guy.
"Bells!" He spots me immediately and waves with both hands like I might somehow miss the only person in the entire establishment wearing cottagecore as a lifestyle choice. "Sorry I'm late! Cheeto was having a moment."
"A moment?"
"He decided my leg was his new favorite pillow and refused to let me leave." Jamie slides into the seat across from me, setting a wrapped package on the table between us. "Orion had to bribe him with salmon jerky. It was a whole ordeal."
I try to picture that scenario—a blind tiger the size of a small car deciding Jamie's leg is the hill it's willing to die on—and find myself grinning despite everything.
"Sounds traumatic."
"It was!" But he's beaming, clearly not traumatized at all. "Anyway, I come bearing gifts."
He pushes the package toward me with ceremonial reverence. It's wrapped in black tissue paper with a silver ribbon, way fancier than I expected for something that's supposedly "as simple as possible."
"Should I open it now?"
"Obviously!" Jamie leans forward on his elbows, practically vibrating with excitement. "I want to see your face when you see it."
No pressure or anything.
I untie the ribbon carefully, peeling back the tissue paper to reveal—
Oh.
It's a rabbit.
A white rabbit masquerade mask, simple and clean-lined and absolutely not what I expected.
The shape curves gently around where my eyes would be, with two tall ears that sweep upward and back like they're caught mid-motion.
The base color is pure white, but there's a subtle geometric pattern etched into the surface.
Triangles and lines that create an almost crystalline effect, like frost on a windowpane.
It's simple. Minimal.
And it's perfect.
"Jamie," I say, turning it over in my hands. The inside is lined with that practical fabric he and Orion recommended, soft against my fingertips. "This is..."
"You hate it." His face falls. "Rex said to keep it simple, and I tried to push back, but he was very insistent about no embellishments, no filigree, nothing that would stand out too much—"
"I love it."
"—and I know that's probably some kind of passive-aggressive thing because you two have this whole rivals situation going on and he probably wanted to fuck with you but I did my best to make boring beautiful and… wait." Jamie blinks. "You love it?"
"I really do."
And the fucked up part?
I actually mean it.
Rex probably thought he was being clever, ordering me the most basic mask possible as some kind of commentary on how I'm a "cardboard cutout" or whatever bullshit insult he's been nursing since I joined the band.
But jokes on him, because I love it.
It's a blank canvas. Something I can make my own, personalize, turn into whatever I want it to be. There's no elaborate design telling me who to be or how to present myself. Just clean lines and possibility.
I hold it up to my face. It fits against my features like it was made for me.
Which it was.
"The rabbit ears," Jamie says, watching me with poorly concealed delight. "I noticed you wear that hoodie a lot in press pictures when I was looking for inspo. The one with the bunny ears? I thought it might be... I don't know. Your thing."
"It is my thing," I admit with a dry laugh, setting the mask down carefully on the table. "Thank you. Seriously. This is incredible."
Jamie's whole face lights up like I just handed him a winning lottery ticket. "Orion helped with the structural work. He's better at engineering than me. I'm more of a... decorative flourishes kind of guy."
"Well, you both did an amazing job."
The server appears with perfect timing, setting down a lavender latte in front of Jamie and refilling my water. I notice Phoenix and Rafael in my peripheral vision, hunched over their drinks in the corner booth.
Rafael keeps checking his phone. Phoenix is staring at the menu like he's actually going to order something other than a burger.
Very subtle, guys.
"So," Jamie says once the server leaves, wrapping his hands around his mug. "How are things going with the band? Rex hasn't scared you off yet?"
"Not for lack of trying."
Jamie laughs. "He's not as scary as he wants people to think. Underneath all the..." He makes a vague gesture that somehow encompasses Rex's entire existence. "Menacing alpha energy, he's actually kind of a softie."
"Rex. A softie."
"I know, I know. But I've known him for years.
Ever since he first came to me for masks.
" Jamie takes a sip of his latte, foam leaving a tiny mustache on his upper lip that he dabs away with his napkin.
"The thing about trauma like that—visible trauma, the kind you can't hide—is that it becomes part of how you see yourself.
Even when other people look at you and see someone worthy of love. "
My throat tightens.
I think about Rex. About the glimpse I got in that tunnel, the horror in his voice when he realized I might have seen him. About the way he can't even have mirrors in his room.
"What if someone has made themselves completely unreachable?" I ask quietly. "What if they've closed themselves off so thoroughly that any attempt to get close just... bounces off?"
Jamie's warm brown eyes study me for a long moment. The sunshine in his expression dims just slightly.
"Can I be honest with you about something?"
"Please."
He sets down his latte, fingers tracing the rim of the mug. "Being with Orion is the best thing that's ever happened to me. I love him more than I knew it was possible to love another person. But it's also..." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "It's hard, Bells. Harder than people think."
He's quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
"People who've been rejected enough times—really rejected, made to feel like they're fundamentally wrong—they learn to reject first. It's safer that way." Jamie's thumb runs along the edge of his mug. "Can't be abandoned if you push everyone away before they get the chance."
He's right, of course.
Rex's walls are so high and thick, even basic kindness seems to confuse him. He keeps showing up to protect me while simultaneously acting like I'm the enemy.
"The self-loathing doesn't just... go away," Jamie continues softly. "Orion and I have been together for years, and he still has days where he can't believe I actually want to be with him. Days where he's convinced I'm going to wake up and realize I made a mistake."
He shrugs sadly.
I file that away somewhere in the back of my mind. Not because I'm planning anything. I'm not. Rex and I are barely civil on a good day. Whatever's between us is complicated enough without adding romance to the equation.
But it's useful information.
Context for why he is the way he is.
It doesn't excuse the blackmail. Doesn't excuse the hostility or the mind games or any of the shit he's put me through. Understanding why someone acts a certain way isn't the same as accepting it.
Still. It's something to think about.
"Anyway." Jamie's smile turns sheepish, the sunshine returning like clouds parting. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get all heavy. We're supposed to be having fun coffee time, not therapy hour."
"No, I…" I shake my head. "I appreciate it. Really."
"Anytime." He gives me a sweet smile. "Now, tell me about the music. What are you guys working on? Anything I can listen to yet?"
We talk for a while after that. About the songs Phoenix wants to workshop, about the latest mask commissions and the ongoing saga of Cheeto's dietary preferences. It's easy conversation, the kind I haven't had in longer than I want to admit.
Eventually, my bladder decides it's had enough coffee.
"I'll be right back," I say, pushing to my feet. "Nature calls."
"Take your time! I need to check my messages anyway. Orion's been sending me pictures of Cheeto's sad squishy face to show me he's sorry."
I head toward the back of the coffee shop where the bathrooms are located, weaving between mismatched furniture and hipsters on laptops. The hallway is narrow, lit by more Edison bulbs, with two doors marked by wooden signs depicting a fish on one and an octopus on the other.
The only indication the octopus is the men's room is the top hat.
I push through the one on the left.
And Rex walks in right behind me.
"What the fuck?" I stumble backward, heart slamming against my ribs. "Are you serious right now?"
Rex looms over me, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He's wearing all black again—surprise, surprise—and somehow manages to make the cramped bathroom feel smaller just by existing in it.
"You're the one who walked into the wrong bathroom," he says flatly.
"I'm in disguise," I hiss. "In case you forgot. Which means I have to use the men's room."
"Then go ahead."
"With you standing there?"
He doesn't move. Doesn't blink. Just watches me with that single visible eye that somehow manages to convey complete indifference and intense scrutiny at the same time.
"I need to check the stalls first."
"You need to—" I stop myself. Breathe. Try again. "Rex. What are you doing here?"
"Making sure your stalker didn't follow you."
"Phoenix and Rafael are already doing that."
"I know." He moves past me, checking each of the three stalls. Opens doors, glances inside, closes them. "They're terrible at surveillance. I spotted them the moment I walked in."
"And they didn't spot you?"
"No."
Of course not. Because Rex is Rex, and apparently that means he can materialize out of thin air like a fucking ghost.
He finishes his sweep and turns back to face me. "Clear. Go ahead."
"You're not seriously going to stand there while I—"
"I'll wait outside."