Fairy Boyfriend Puck (complete)

    When I was a little girl, my mother was a pediatrician. Sometimes, when her patients were really sick, it was her bedside manner to tell them stories. She comforted them, telling them that fairies visited the sick, giving them kisses and watching over them. It helped her young patients not feel so alone, it made them feel special in a way. Even I had fallen for her stories a time or two. I even took those stories when I became a doctor myself.

    I took over my mother’s practice, becoming a pediatrician was my dream since I was small. I wanted to be a doctor just like my mother. She warned me though, someone as tender-hearted as me might have trouble.

    “It’s hard seeing people you come to care for get sick. It’s hard enough being a mother. Kids have a way of weaseling in, making your heart hurt, making you work yourself until you’re nothing but a bloody pulp.” My mother told me as I started medical school.

    She had always warned me that being a doctor was hard and sometimes thankless work. But still, I wanted to follow her footsteps, I wanted to heal like she did.

    When I joined mom’s practice, she sent me to all the conventions and conferences. She told me to build relations with other doctors and providers. Also, she hated going to them, so I gave her an out for not having to go anymore.

    It is at one such conference, during a massive thunderstorm, that I first meet Dr. Westley. He is this tall, aloof man who keeps to himself, sitting alone. Because of the storm and flooding on the roads, a lot of us are trapped in the convention hall. Not the best place to be, and I am shocked at how many doctors aren’t actually good under pressure. 

    The convention hall has a small coffee shop, and the poor staff is working themselves to the bone trying to keep up with the demand of these suddenly trapped doctors. I have gotten my coffee and rather dry ham and cheese scone, and am trying to find a place to sit down.

    “If you must sit somewhere, sit here,” an exasperated sigh reaches me. 

    I turn, looking down at the blonde head of Dr. Westley. He’s moving his papers off the table, and he motions towards the empty chair across from him.

    “Stop looking like such a sad puppy and sit down,” he huffs again. He never looks up at me, so I never see his eyes.

    I am relieved, and I sit down at the table. “Thank you so much.” I look up at him, only seeing the gleam of his golden hair. “Uhm,” I look down at the scone. “Would you like half?”

    He tilts his head just enough to look at the food. A bemused smirk crosses his lips, and he shakes his head.

    “No,” he chuckles. “No, thank you.”

    I am silent then, looking around and watching the trapped doctors swarm the little coffee kiosk as if the world was going to end.

    “Just a storm,” I murmur under my breath. “You’d think they’d never been left to their own devices before.”

    Dr. Westley snorts, and he tries to cover it up. “It’s a much more pathetic Lord of the Flies situation.”

    I smile and glance at him. “And, why aren’t you worried?”

    “Like you said,” he replies. “It’s just a storm. We’re at least inside, and there’s no one trying to kill us.”

    I chuckle and shake my head. “Excuse me?”

    “Isn’t that usually what happens?” He lifts his head for the first time, and I can see his eyes are such a beautiful shade of blue. “In those...awful horror movies? Isn’t it always during the rain or something?”

    “I uh-” my words are stolen by his handsome features and periwinkle blue eyes. “Rain?”

    A soft smile spreads across his face. “Yes. Like it is now?”

    I turn to the window. “Oh! Oh right,” I laugh. “No,” I then say. “I can’t recall any horror movie that happens during the rain.”

    Dr. Westley then points out into the crowd and grins. “What about this one?” He asks. “Right now?”

    That was when I first got my crush on Dr. Westley. I was told by others that he was a cold and somewhat strange man who only got by because of his remarkable skill. I was warned about him, not to get too close because he had a way of turning on people. One doctor described him as being like milk, good one moment, sour the next.

    At the next conference, which is just this lecture series, I meet Dr. Westley again. This time, we are in the same hotel and on the same floor. We often get into the same elevator, so I am  able to stand near him.

    The first couple of rides and times we bump into one another, he doesn’t say anything. He is stone quiet the entire elevator journey and often when the doors open, we part.

    Finally, one evening, he turns to me. “Do I know you?” he asks.

    I look up at him and smile softly. “We met during the convention that got flooded,” I say, fidgeting with my hair. 

    “Oh right!” He looks ahead. “Dr. err uhm...Buttercup, wasn’t it?” He asks.

    I chuckle. “No. I’m Lieselotte,” I tell him.

    “Eh,” he glances back at me with a strange look on his face. “I’ll just call you Buttercup, that’s much easier on the tongue.”

    I giggle. “Do you do that to everyone?” I ask.

    “Oh no. Most everyone else I call hey you, or, sir.” He smirks then looks back at me. “Would you prefer sir?”

    I shake my head and grin up at him. “Buttercup is fine.”

    The elevator stops and the doors open. “Do you have any plans this evening, Buttercup?” Dr. Westley asks me as we step out.

    I think for a moment then shake my head. “None at the moment.”

    He tilts his head. “Would you like one?”

    We end up going to the bar at the top floor of the building. We talk all night, closing down the place. When he walks me to my room, we part with a long, remarkable kiss. The next morning, he brings me coffee and a ham and cheese scone, and we end up skipping the conference. We end up having sex, multiple times. 

    I can’t explain it. I was never the type of girl to just jump into bed with somebody. It usually took me a lot to work up the nerve to get to that point. I needed more than just a few conversations to want someone like I wanted Westley. I wanted him bad, too.

    Westley and I are inseparable after that. Even as we go home, we spend any free time we have together. His practice is in the neighboring town, not too far away, but still, it is a long drive to see one another. 

    I must confess, we make love like bunnies. Anytime I stay at his place, it is like we can’t keep our hands off one another. Even Westley admitted, he had never felt this pull before, this need. 

    “You’re so very strange to me,” he told me. “I’m just trying to figure you out.”

    After a few months, I end up moving in with him. I have a long drive for work, but I don’t mind it much. Every day, I get to wake up with Westley, and I get to sleep beside him. I am happy with him, and I have a bond with him I had never experienced before.

    One day, while going through his basement and helping him clean things out, I come across a strange snowglobe with a girl inside it. It is beautiful and odd, something about it makes me feel sad and anxious.

    “I forgot all about this,” Westley says when I bring it to him. He holds it in his hands and sighs. “I was supposed to return this to my brother.”

    I am shocked, Westley had never mentioned a brother, let alone any family. “Your brother?” I gasp.

    He looks solemnly at the snowglobe. “Robin,” he replies. He then tucks the knickknack into a box. “I suppose he’ll be wanting this.”

    I watch him as he wraps the package and sets it aside. “You never mentioned him before,” I say. 

    “I never wanted to,” Westley grumbles. “My family-” he hisses and shakes his head. “It’s a painful thing for me...for both of us.” He replies. “Our dad made things miserable.”

    “I’m sorry,” I murmur and reach out to touch his hand.

    Westley takes my hand and smiles at me. “I never wanted a family, let alone to live with someone.” he squeezes my hand and lifts it, kissing my knuckles. “You make me want it.” He grins at me and slowly, lowers down until he’s on his knee.

    “What?” I yelp with excitement.

    “Lieselotte,” he says quietly. “I want to marry you,” he whispers. “I want to be your slave, your rock, your punching bag, your everything,” he squeezes my hand tight. “But only if you want to. Totally up to you.”

    “Yes!” I lunge at him, tackling him to the ground. “Yes, you idiot!”

    He presents me with the ring. Rather than a diamond, it’s a great big sapphire surrounded by opal and pearls. 

    “It’s old,” he says as he slips it onto my finger. “Had to force it from my mother, but-” he grins at me. “I think it suits you better, Buttercup.”

    I kiss him hard, never wanting to part from him.

    We decided on a quiet wedding. We got married not long after at the courthouse with only my mother and sister in attendance. Westley and I took a quick honeymoon to his home, where I met his mothers. Both of them were lovely and welcoming, and they fussed at Westley for not being around more. I made him promise we would visit often. I also had to promise to provide many fat grandchildren, which Westley seemed excited for.

    One night, after we return home, I have a horrible nightmare. I am in the woods alone, trying to find Westley. A man then comes out from behind the trees. He is tall and broad. His skin looks like bronze, and the more I look at him, the more strange his appearance becomes. His legs are dark and hairy, looking like the legs of a goat. He has tall, curled back horns that look stained with blood. His eyes are bright gold, glowing even in the daylight.

    “My son likes you,” he says. His voice is dark and deep. “So let me bless you.” He grabs me, kissing me hard and hurting me. His long tongue slithers into my mouth and down my throat.

    As I start to cry, Westley is there. 

    “What’s wrong?” He asks.

    I grab him, sitting up from the bed and holding on to him. He holds me, stroking my back and comforting me from my nightmare.

    “I’m here,” he whispers to me. “It’s ok.” He kisses my cheek. “You can cry, Buttercup.”

    I don’t sleep the rest of the night and come morning, I don’t feel in good sorts. Westley makes me stay home, noticing how pale I look.

    I keep thinking about the goat man from my dream. He is handsome, but his intentions warp him into something grotesque. He is powerful too. I can still feel his hands on me, and I want to wretch when I remember the so-called blessing he bestowed upon me. 

    Over the next few days, I start to get worse. I am growing weak, and I am constantly exhausted. I collapse in the bathroom one day, going unconscious for quite a while. It gives Westley the scare of his life. I try to keep things normal, to assure Westley I am ok, but by the end of the month, I feel like I am dying.

    I am put on bedrest and Westley devotes all his time to me. We’ve seen so many doctors and specialists, and yet they have all said the same thing: “I don’t know.” Westley has gotten angry, and he’s taken things into his own hands. 

    Months go by, and my health doesn’t change. If anything, I am only getting worse. There are days I feel like I am dissolving. Westley keeps hold of my hand, reminding me I am solid. 

    On days where I feel strong enough, I only have one request. “Westley, can I go outside?”

    “Not today,” he says. “I can’t risk it.”

    “I just want to go outside, just for one second,” I say. “I’ve forgotten what the sun feels like.”

    “Please,” Westley whispers. “It’s not the time for it.”

    I am kept in our room, surrounded by protective curtains of plastic. There are machines around me, ones I’m sure Westley isn’t supposed to have outside his office. I am too weak to argue such things, so I never question him about it. 

    There are days I just wish I could let go, end my suffering and Westley’s misery. He would heal, and he could move on. It is on days like these that I would think of my mother’s story. How, when people were sick, fairies would come to visit them. I had believed such things as a little girl, imagining during my bouts with the flu and chicken pox how fairies would come to see me and make sure I took my medicine without a fuss.

    I wonder, do the fairies still come? Do they still worry over the affairs of mortals? Did they ever before?

    I then see him. At first glance, I am terrified. He has the same shape as the goat man from my dream, but the more I stare, the more I see blue. He comes to my bedside, gentle and sorrowful. His large dark eyes make me feel safe. His warm, strong hands brush back my hair, and I don’t feel quite so weak.

    This fairy reminds me of my wedding ring. A sapphire surrounded by opals and pearls. His skin is a milky color, covered by strange blue markings. His face is flat with a cleft lip, and he has high, beautiful cheekbones. One horn is missing and is a sawed-off stump, the other is rather short and arches backward. His fur is a heather gray, and he smells like sage and cardamom. 

    “It’s ok,” the fairy whispers. “I’m right here.”

    I take hold of his hand and rest my cheek into his palm. I should have known to trust my mother. All this time, she knew the truth.

    “You’re awake,” Westley says.

    I look up at him, seeing a smile on his face. 

    “And how is my favorite girl?” He asks as he sits beside me. He takes my wrist, feeling it and checking my pulse. “Any changes today?” He says.

    I smile softly up at him. “There is a change,” I say brightly. “I had a good dream.”

    He looks at me. “You did?” He asks. “Tell me all about your good dream, then.” He moves closer to me and helps me sit up. 

    I snuggle to his side. “It was a fairy,” I say. “He came to visit me,” I tell him.

    Westley furrows his brow. “A fairy?” He chuckles. “What kind of fairy?”

    “My fairy,” I sigh. “He finally came. He was so very lovely too,” I murmur as I relax into Westley’s side. “He made me feel so safe. Actually,” I hesitate. “I don’t think it was really a dream. I think he was real.”

    Westley takes my hand, squeezing it gently. “How can such a thing be real?” He chuckles. “Those were only silly stories your mother told,” he says. “It was a good dream, Buttercup. Just a good dream.”

    “I saw him,” I insist. “He had horns, but one was missing. He had fur on his arms and legs, and his little hooves looked like silver,” I smile softly. “He looked so sad, but he smiled for me.”

    Westley’s brow knits together, and he clears his throat. “Buttercup,” he murmurs.

    “He’s watching over me,” I murmur. “Just like you.”

    Westley kisses my forehead. “You’re not afraid of such a creature?” He asks. “Even though he’s like the one from your nightmare?”

    “This one is different,” I sigh. “He’s sad and gentle. The other one was rough and hateful,” I whimper. “Why would I be afraid?”

    Westley smiles gently at me. “Well,” he murmurs. “Then, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?” He whispers, and I can hear the crack of his voice.

    “Have you slept?” I ask, taking hold of his hand again.

    Westley chuckles. “Don’t you worry about me, my love,” he whispers. “You’re the one who needs rest.”

    I grunt, unable to retaliate like I would like. “Where am I going to go?” I ask. “You can sleep, I promise, I won’t go anywhere.”

    Westley smiles softly. “How can you worry about me?”

    I beam up at him. “Because I love you,” I answer. “I will always worry about you, no matter what state I fall into.”

    Westley dips down, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. He then places his forehead to mine, and I feel tears on my cheeks. 

    “How dare you make me love you so?” He whispers.

    I touch his cheek with a shaky hand, wiping away his tears. “Only because you make me love you.”

    Westley smiles again. “No matter what,” he chokes up, “I will find a way to save you.”

    “I know,” I whisper.

    “Now,” he says, standing up from the bed. “I’m going to go make you that soup you love. You seem in good spirits for it.”

    “You don’t have to do that,” I say.

    Westley turns back and looks at me. “No, my love, I really have to.” He smiles and then leaves the plastic curtains.

    I continue to see my fairy, especially during my weakest. He’ll come by my bedside and look at me, often silent. He’ll run his fingers through my hair and along my scalp, tending to me when I need the most comfort.

    When he does speak, his words are soft and gentle. He’s like a guardian angel sometimes, or at least, that is what he reminds me of. Always watching, his presence healing, and he’s a comfort to me even when I can’t see him.

    “Tell me your name,” I ask him as I take hold of his hand. “I’d like to know what it is I should call you.”

    He’s quiet for a moment, almost shocked that I spoke. I admit, most times when he’s around, I am in a fog and too weak to talk.

    “You want to know my name now?” He asks. “After all this time?”

    “Especially after all this time.” I murmur.

    He runs my hair through his fingers one more time. “It’s Puck.”

    “Puck,” the word pops off my lips. It sounds fun and simple. “Do you play hockey, Puck?” I giggle at my own joke.

    He sighs. “You always were a funny one,” he says. “I suppose I walked right into that one.”

    I touch his hand and stroke up the fur on his arm. “I’m glad you’re here, Puck,” I murmur. “But, I have one request for you.”

    “Anything,” he murmurs.

    I lay my cheek against my pillow, my eyes are starting to become clouded. “As much as I adore you, I think my husband needs you more.”

    Puck takes in a breath and goes silent.

    “He’s scared,” I whisper, “and he’s lonely,” I cling to Puck’s hand. “Please, can you watch over him instead of me? I don’t want him to be alone. I don’t-” my voice chokes off, and a shooting pain goes through my chest.

    “Don’t-” Puck’s voice whimpers.

    I squeeze his hand as tightly as I can. “Please…” I whisper. “I don’t want Westley to be alone anymore.”

    Puck makes me lie down. “Stay still, dammit,” he whispers.

    My breath rattles and the fog in my eyes makes me see only white. 

    When I open my eyes, I’m sitting at a desk. Beside me, there is the snowglobe that I had found ages ago when cleaning Westley’s basement. I pick it up and see there is no little woman inside.

    I look around the strange office, seeing piles upon piles of boxes and cargo crates. There are old filing cabinets and several antique phones. The shelves are lined with knick-knacks and curious as well and liquor bottles and glasses.

    The door opens, and a man walks in. He has curly hair and wears glasses. His skin tone is dark olive, but there is something extremely familiar about him.

    “Ah, so you’re Buttercup,” he says. He takes a bottle from the shelf and two glasses. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

    “Where am I?” I ask. “Am I dead? Are you…” I hesitate to even ask this. “Are you God?”

    The man throws his head back and laughs so much the room shakes. He heaves and stomps his foot, slapping his knee. When he eventually stops, he has tears in his eyes. He removes his glasses and smirks at me. 

    “Oh, far from,” he sits down at the desk with me, pouring the amber liquor into the glasses. “And I hope I never am.” He offers me a glass.

    As I take it, the glass feels warm to the touch. “Then, where am I?”

    “Somewhere between dreams and reality,” he replies. “It’s the same place my father reached you.”

    I furrow my brow. “Your father?”

    “You know,” he says. “Gross guy. Big horns. Big horny.” He replies. 

    I frown and shake my head. “You mean, that nightmare I’ve been having? The goat man who…” I flinch, and my grimace deepens.

    “Forced himself on you,” he nods. “Like I said, gross guy.” He takes a sip of his drink. “He did that because he doesn’t like seeing his offspring happy. Or, at least, the ones that hate him. He’s got tons of us,” he murmurs.

    “His offspring?” I ask. “Am I-”

    He nearly chokes on his drink laughing. “Oh. No. You’re lucky in that regard. You’re just married to one of them.”

    I gasp. “Westley?”

    “Is that what he’s going by?” He scoffs. “Oh well, anything is better than his actual name, I guess. Not exactly as good as mine.” He lays his hand on his chest and grins.

    “And...who are you?” I ask again.

    “Robin,” he replies. “I know he probably hasn’t mentioned me,” he says with a shrug.

    “Only once,” I murmur. I then motion to the snowglobe. “I found that in the basement and he said he had been meaning to give it to you.”

    Robin hesitates taking another drink. “You...you found it?” He asks.

    “It was under a pile of junk,” I reply. “It caught my eye.”

    Robin is quiet for a moment, and he takes a long drink from his glass. “That’s why I’m here. I made a promise to my brother, and I owe him a favor,” he says. “And now, he’s called on that favor.”

“For what?” I ask.

Robin stares at me. “For you, duh,” he scoffs. He stands up, going to a wall of filing cabinets. “Our dad has done something to you,” he says. “He’s put his own spite and bile into you. I don’t mean to sound cheesy or Disney when I say this, but the reason you’ve lasted so long is because of all the good in you.”

“Really?” I ask. “So you mean like...Care Bear stare or something? But like, inside me?”

“Basically,” Robin pulls something out of the filing cabinet. “You’ve been trying to internally hug the hate away inside you, and that’s why you’re so sick. Or that’s the easy way of putting it.” He’s holding a box in his hands, and he rolls it over between his palms.

“I never expected my brother to fall for anyone. Despite how well our moms raised us, he grew up seeing the damage our father had done. He’s always been angry and spiteful, something he got from dear old dad, I suppose.” He looks at me with eyes that remind me of Westley’s. “I just wanted to meet you real quick, before I did anything.”

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

Robin holds up the box. “Piss off someone who is already mad at me.” He frowns. “Westley probably won’t want me telling you this,” he grumbles. “But it’s our big brother.”

My eyes widen. “Another brother?”

Robin laughs. “We’ve got tons of siblings because of our jackass dad,” he says. “They’re all over the world and Dad hates all of them.”

I reach out and take Robin’s hand. “Then why do you refer to him as your father? He doesn’t sound like one.”

“I call him that to remind myself where I came from, what I could become. If he had ever tried to be a father, I could have ended up like him,” Robin scoffs. “Anyways, our big brother is a collector of sorts,” he murmurs. “More so than I am. I think he has what we need.”

“Will it be worth it?” I ask. “I mean, the trouble of contacting him?”

Robin looks at me and chuckles. “You’re worth it. But don’t tell Westley anything of this,” he replies. “I don’t want him to think I’m going soft in any way.”

I smile and nod. “Ok. Our little secret.”

Robin then motions to the glass. “Take a drink, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

I look down at my cup, which I had been holding this entire time. I take a sip, tasting the rich liquor. I sigh, and as I open my eyes, I see Westley standing at the end of the bed, looking over a letter.

I grunt and sit up. “Westley?”

He perks up. Setting the letter aside, he comes to me. “Are you ok? You’ve been asleep for a long time.”

I think for a moment, then I smile. “I feel, pretty good actually.” I sit up on my own, and I enjoy the look on Westley’s face. His shock and joy make him look so cute.

“Really?” Westley gasps.

I nod and look around. “It’s so dark in here,” I murmur.

“You’ve been sensitive for a long time now,” he says

“I’d like to go outside,” I tell him.

Westley opens his mouth then closes it, slowly shaking his head. “You may be feeling well, but I don’t think it’s the best-”

“Oh, come on, now,” Robin’s voice breaks through, and Westley stands up like a shot. “Let the poor thing outside. She’s not a caged bird.”

“When did you get here?” Westley snaps.

Robin steps through the plastic curtains. “Does it matter?” He asks. “Hello there,” he comes over to me, patting my hand. “You look very well rested.”

I chuckle. “It’s good to see you, Robin.”

Westley scowls and grabs Robin’s arm. “I called in my favor, where is it?”

Robin hushes him, pressing a finger to his lips. “Calm down, you look like dad.”

Westley rips away from him, stomping over to the other side of the bed.

Robin sits beside me, taking a bottle of liquor from inside his coat. “This is for you.” He says, setting the bottle on my bedside. “I had to do something very humiliating to get this, so it better work.”

“Thank you, Robin,” I murmur.

Westley looks to the bottle, then at his brother. “What is it?”

“It’ll put her to sleep,” Robin answers truthfully. “Could be a minute, could be a year,” he says quietly. “But when she wakes up, it will be out of her.”

Westley looks hesitant. “Is this all you could get?” He whispers.

Robin shakes his head. “Brother, I’m sorry. This is the best I could do.”

“I can’t-” Westley looks at me as his voice chokes off. “I can’t risk her like that. What if she never-” he stops and looks away.

“Then kill me,” Robin replies. “If she never wakes up, then put me to sleep forever.”

I reach out and take the bottle, popping open the top easier than I expected.

“Lieselotte, no!” Westley gasps.

I put my hand out to stop him. “I trust him,” I whisper to him. “I’ve been asleep all this time anyway. What will more hurt?” I turn the bottle up, drinking the liquid inside. It’s sweet and burns my throat. As I finish off the bottle, I set it down and relax into bed. 

“How do you feel?” Robin asks.

“Calm,” I murmur.

Westley sits beside me, and he kisses me, much like that first kiss ages ago. It’s deep and hopeful, with the promise of more to come.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers.

“I won’t, I promise.” I then point to Robin. “Or you get to kill him.”

Westley laughs despite his pain. “You will wake up.”

“I will,” I say. “I always will.” 

I slip into a deep sleep. At first, it is dark and unending, but I soon find myself in the forest again. I can sense him nearby, the goat man. I turn and see him standing behind me, same ugly smug smile on his face.

“You’re lucky to have sons like Robin and Westley,” I hiss at him. “You’re pitiful. I actually feel sorry for you.”

He smirks. “Westley?” He laughs. “I have no child named Westley. And if I did, I’d kill them for having such a stupid name.” He takes a step towards me, but I do not move. “You are the wife of Puck,” he says.

“Puck?” I whisper. “My fairy-”

He laughs. “I’m Pan,” he replies. “And there is nothing that can get in my way. Especially not those two boys.”

I scoff. “Then fuck you.”

Pan snarls and lunges at me, trying to grab me like he always does in my nightmares. I feel a pull, though, a hand at the back of my shirt that yanks me away from Pan and pulls me to safety. 

I fall into a lake, and I watch as I sink down, down, down into the water. I feel weightless and warm, I take a deep breath, tasting the ice cold water on my tongue. I close my eyes and let myself sink deeper.

“You’re such an asshole, you know that, right?” I hear Robin laugh.

“Then don’t keep coming around?” Westley snaps. “I don’t need you here. I don’t even like having you here.”

“I know that’s not true,” Robin says.

I slowly open my eyes. My whole body aches and I feel like I’ve been left in a dryer for far too long. Through the fog of my eyes, I see Puck at the foot of the bed, beside him is another satyr that’s amber and copper in color.

“You’re lonely,” Robin pokes Puck. “Don’t deny it.”

“It’s been well over a month,” Puck growls. “You work slower than clockwork.”

Robin is quiet for a moment. “You hear that?”

“What?” Puck scoffs.

I grunt as I try to sit up and Puck rushes forward through the plastic curtains. He grabs me, touching my face and holding his breath.

“What time is it?” I grumble.

Puck laughs happily and embraces me tight in his arms. “You’re awake!” He cries.

“Told you,” Robin scoffs.

I cling to Puck despite my weak arms. “I’m so happy to see you,” I whisper.

Puck picks me up and carries me beyond the plastic curtains. He pulls away the blinds from the windows and opens our balcony. We step outside, and I shield my eyes from the sun as it rises. I look out, seeing the vivid orange, yellow, and pink of the morning sky. I can hear the rumble of thunder in the distance, and I can smell the rain in the air.

“It’s perfect,” I whisper.

Puck kisses my temple, and he’s still in his satyr form. “I’m sorry I made you wait for this.”

“It’s ok,” I whisper. “I know you were worried.”

Puck takes me downstairs, setting me up on the sofa while he and Robin clear out the bedroom, getting rid of everything that had been set up there while I was sick. He redecorates with new curtains for the windows as well as a brand new bed.

I have to go to rehab therapy for a while, after all, I had been trapped in that bed for so long. But soon, I am able to walk again on my own. Puck and I go out on walks in the afternoons, and he tells me about his childhood with Robin and how many lives he has lived. Westley is just his newest identity, but it isn’t the first time he’s a been a doctor. No. He’s been a doctor through many different ages, he even shows me some of his old records, papers, and old photographs.

“You’ve lived so long,” I say one evening. “What makes me so special?”

Puck grins at me and kisses me. “Because you are,” he whispers.