The Hot Mess Collective, Ch 6: Soft Shields

Maeve knew, intellectually, that 'casual' was a myth, especially when Fae heritage was part of the equation, but hope, as they say, springs eternal and often foolishly.

And tonight, silly hope had brought her out to "The Gilded Thorn." It was a dark, dive bar where the music was loud enough to make your teeth shake. The people there were a mix of humans who knew nothing and thrill-seekers who knew about the Fold. She'd even changed from her usual band t-shirt to a dark green velvet top she'd found at a thrift store. It was her way of trying to feel a bit less like a troll who'd crawled out from under a bridge. Her fingers found the small, smooth protection charm in her pocket. The weight of it was a solid point in the chaos, a dense knot of her own making.

Alex's kind eyes and easy smile kept popping into her thoughts. It was a warm, unsettling feeling that didn't match the bar's sticky floor and the smell of old beer. That short, real connection had left her feeling… open. And restless. Part of her wanted to run back to her apartment and never talk to another human again. Another, unhelpful part – the part now wearing velvet – whispered that maybe, just maybe, not everyone was awful. Maybe she just needed to get out more, to prove to herself she wasn't completely broken at this whole talking-to-humans thing. Even if the idea of actually trying for something with Alex still felt like trying to climb a very steep, smooth cliff in flip-flops.

She was slowly drinking a pint of beer, trying to look like she fit in and wasn't just waiting until she could politely run away, when a voice cut through the noise. "Mind if I join you? This place is packed, and you look like you might actually like good music."

Maeve looked up. The person speaking was tall and thin, with messy dark hair that looked artfully disheveled. He had a couple of interesting silver rings in one ear and looked carefully edgy. Human, she thought, but with that slight shimmer around him that often meant someone knew about the Fold. He was good-looking, in a way that made her inner warnings hum quietly instead of blaring like a siren.

"Depends," Maeve said. Her voice sounded a little rougher than she wanted. "Are you going to try and talk over the guitar solo?"

He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. "Promise not to. Unless it's to offer you another drink. I'm Finn, by the way."

"Maeve." She gave a small, non-committal nod.

Finn slid onto the stool next to her. He felt surprisingly easy to be around. He didn't get too close or immediately start asking a lot of questions. He just… sat there, tapping his fingers to the band's rhythm, sometimes making a funny comment about the lead singer's odd clothes. Maeve found herself relaxing, just a little. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe "casual" could actually happen, even for someone like her. The silly hope flickered a bit brighter.

Finn, as it turned out, was charming. So charming it felt dangerous. He was quick and witty, almost as much as Nori on a good day. The way he looked at Maeve made her feel, for a short, exciting moment, like she was the most interesting person in the busy, loud bar. Though there was something else in his gaze too—a kind of focused attention that felt less like he was seeing her and more like he was trying to solve a puzzle. That silly hope started to grow, warming her from the inside. She found herself laughing at his jokes. Her usual cynicism was quiet for a bit, thanks to the alcohol, loud music, and the new feeling of a truly good-looking human paying attention to her. The bass thrummed through the floorboards, a welcome vibration that drowned out the quiet hum of Alex's name in her head. This was easier. Just noise and a warm body nearby.

They talked between the band's songs, shouting over the leftover noise from the speakers. He asked about her schoolwork, and she actually managed to talk about her Fold Law class without making it sound like an old-time torture guide. He talked about his own unclear "creative work," which seemed to mean a lot of late nights and not much finished stuff, but he made it sound exciting.

It happened when things were quieter, when the band was on a break and the bar noise was just a low hum. Maybe Maeve was less guarded than usual, a little warm from the beer and how easy the talk was. Or maybe Finn just noticed more than most people. He was tracing the edge of his glass, his eyes on her face. He looked at her so hard it was starting to feel less nice and more… like he was studying her.

"You know," he said, his voice suddenly lower, more personal. "There's something about you. Different. Not in a bad way," he added quickly, as if he sensed her pulling back inside. "More like… an extra layer. Something a bit… not from this world?"

Maeve's smile faded. Here we go. "Not from this world? Pretty sure that's just the cheap gin talking."

Finn laughed, but his eyes stayed sharp and focused. "No, it's not the gin. It's… sometimes, when the light hits your hair, it has this almost… metal-like shine. And your eyes. They're not quite… normal human eyes, are they?" He leaned in a tiny bit, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. "You're Fae, aren't you? Or at least, you have some of that in your family?"

Maeve tensed up. His tone held no accusation, no fear. It was pure, hungry curiosity. Part of her, the part that had felt good when Alex simply accepted her, wanted to be open, to not immediately shut down. And another, smaller part was definitely pleased that he'd noticed, that he'd seen something more than just the surface.

"My granny was from the Old Country," Maeve said carefully. It was a half-truth she sometimes used. "Said we had a bit of 'the good folk' in us."

Finn's eyes lit up, a little too brightly. "Knew it! That's amazing. So, like, what's it really like? Can you, you know, do things? Magic?" His questions started to pour out, one after another, a rush of eager curiosity. "Are the stories true? About the Courts, and the hidden paths, and all that?"

Maeve found herself trying to answer, at first. She gave unclear, indirect answers, trying to change the subject to something that felt like an actual conversation rather than an interrogation. She talked about Fold Law in general, about how hard it was to live in two worlds. But Finn had no interest in the real-life problems. He wanted the magic, the mystery, the party tricks.

"But like, can you see things other people can't?" he pushed, leaning even closer. "Make flowers bloom when they're not supposed to? Talk to animals?"

"That's a little Disney-fied," Maeve said. She could feel her heart beating too fast, the warmth in her blood starting to cool. This wasn't working, and the harder she tried to make it work, the more obvious it was that she wasn't what Finn was hoping for. It was the story of her life. She felt an old, familiar anger rising up inside, and this time, she didn't try and hold it back.

"You want to know what the Fae world is like?" she asked, her voice growing sharper, colder. "It's hard, and strange, and it can get really damn lonely, because you have no idea how hard it is to find someone who gets it. You've got all your pretty stories, but you have no clue what it's actually like. People like me aren't part of that world, not really, and we don't really belong here, either. And we're stuck."

Finn blinked. He looked confused, then annoyed. "Geez, I didn't mean to push so hard. I just think it's amazing. I thought we could talk, you know, like people who aren't normal humans?" He gave a slightly sorry smile, but the hungry curiosity was still in his eyes. "Look, I get it, maybe I was too much. How about we just… start over? Another drink? My place isn't far. It's quieter there. We could actually hear each other talk."

Maeve's anger, which had come up so fast, went down just as quickly. It left behind that familiar tired feeling and a strong, desperate loneliness. He was right, in a way. She wasn't a normal human. And the idea of talking to someone who at least knew that, even if he was clumsy about it, was very tempting. The Gilded Thorn suddenly felt too loud, too crowded, too full of people who wouldn't understand any part of her.

Her earlier hope, so silly and bright, was gone. But in its place was a different, more careless feeling. A want for physical touch, any touch, to quiet the messy thoughts in her head. To feel something, anything, other than this constant ache of not fitting in. Alex's kind, accepting face flashed in her mind – a connection that felt scarily real and delicate. This, with Finn, felt… easier. Less weighted. The bar's noise crashed around them like a protective shell. It's just casual, she told herself. No big deal.

"Yeah, alright," Maeve heard herself say. "Your place sounds good."

Finn's apartment was what you'd expect from an "edgy artist" – not much furniture, a few abstract paintings leaning against the walls, and a lingering smell of incense and something acrid, like turpentine. The quiet, which she had wanted before, now felt heavy, full of expectation.

The act of talking didn't last long. After one drink, Finn's hand was on her knee. He looked at her with that same unsettling, strong focus. As they moved towards the bedroom, towards what was going to happen, the warning signs she'd tried to ignore started waving wildly.

His touch was a detached exploration. His fingers moved with a clinical curiosity, tracing the points of her ears as if mapping a strange geography, even though her magic disguise should have made them softer. "So cool," he whispered, his breath hot on her skin. "Can you, like, hear things humans can't?"

As they got undressed, he kept talking, a constant stream of comments on her supposed Fae qualities. "Your skin is so… bright. Is that a Fae thing?" "Are you, like, super strong? Or really fast?" He seemed to be going through a list of Fae stereotypes he'd gleaned from bad fantasy books.

When they were finally in his bed, the sex itself felt distant, almost like a doctor's exam on his part, even though he moved quickly. His attention stayed almost completely on her being Fae. In the middle of a kiss, he pulled back a little. "Can you do that glittery eye thing again? That was wild." He tried to get her to "show him some magic," as if it were a party trick she could do whenever she wanted. He expected a certain wildness, a raw, untamed energy from her. His touch got rougher, more demanding than she was comfortable with, as if he expected her to match his force with some wild Fae passion.

It didn't hurt, exactly, but Maeve was left with the strong, familiar feeling that this was a mistake, a bad idea. A familiar sickness churned in her gut. This is what you get. The thought was an old, bitter echo. This is the price. Her skin crawled, remembering his fingers cataloging her, not touching her.

When it was over, she couldn't get out of Finn's place fast enough. Her clothes were on before he could finish getting out of bed. His questions and comments had stopped, replaced by a look that held annoyance where disappointment should have been.

"Wow, okay. What's your deal?" he asked, sitting up, his dark hair messy. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Yeah," Maeve snapped. A fine tremor ran through her fingers, making the leather of her boot laces feel slick and unmanageable. "You asked me if I could talk to animals."

"That was a joke," he protested. He sounded genuinely surprised, as if he'd never heard of anyone saying no to him.

"It's not a joke," Maeve said. "And it's not a fun, sexy game, or an adventure. It's my life, and you have no idea what it's like. So yeah, you did something wrong. And if I were really the half-wild creature you wanted, I'd probably have already turned you into a newt or something."

He looked startled, but his tone was a little defensive. "I wasn't asking to get turned into a newt, Maeve. I just… well, I thought you were different. That we could talk about stuff."

"I am different. And it's not the good kind. Not for people like you." Maeve finished getting her boots on and headed for the door. She could feel her body starting to shake, and she hated it. Hated this. Hated how she'd let him, and herself, think there was something between them. Hated how much the whole stupid night had brought up that aching loneliness and the wish that someone would see her, accept her, understand her. She'd let her guard down, and the fall had been a bad one.

"Maeve, wait." Finn was behind her. He had put his jeans on, and his hand touched her arm. Maeve's whole body recoiled, and the next thing she knew, her hand was on his wrist.

The magic came up fast, almost without thinking. There was a bright spark of light, a feeling like lightning in her blood. Then Finn yelped and pulled his hand back, his eyes wide. "Jesus, Maeve! What the hell was that?"

"My granny's 'touch of the good folk,'" Maeve said. She yanked the front door open and stormed down the stairs. "Next time, ask before you touch."

Outside, the night air felt cool on Maeve's hot skin. The usual city sounds – far-off sirens, the rumble of a late bus, unclear voices from open windows – felt oddly comforting after being trapped in Finn's apartment. A fine tremor ran through her hands. It was a small shake that wasn't just from the surprise magic. She hadn't used it like that, to defend herself, so quickly, in years. The sudden memory of the pain, the shock, when her granny first showed her the harder parts of their "touch of the good folk" made her heart hurt with an old, unwelcome ache.

She walked quickly. What happened with Finn played in her mind like a badly made horror movie. Each careless question, each touch that made her feel like an object, each moment she'd tried to pretend this was something it wasn't, stung again.

Finn's voice echoed in her mind—Can you do that glittery eye thing again?—and the memory soured against another: Alex, squinting in the afternoon light, just saying, Cool. The whiplash of it left her breathless. That memory, which had felt like a warm, secret comfort earlier, now seemed so far away. It was like a precious, delicate thing she'd somehow spoiled by even thinking Finn could offer anything like it. This terrible night felt like it had pushed her miles further away from deserving, or even recognizing, that kind of simple acceptance.

Back in the safety of her own small, messy apartment, being alone felt heavier than ever. The lock clicked shut behind her with a final sound. She stood in the middle of the room for a long moment. The quiet pressed in on her. Then, a rush of angry energy pushed her towards the bathroom. She scrubbed her skin under the very hot shower, as if she could wash away Finn's touch, his wrong ideas, the leftover smell of his incense, and her own shame. When that wasn't enough, she found herself back in her main room. Her eyes landed on a pile of overdue library books stacked dangerously high. With a choked sound of frustration, she swept them to the floor. The thud and scatter of paper was a small, unsatisfying release.

The "soft shields" she'd imagined building, the ones that were supposed to let in a little light and warmth, felt totally broken, torn apart. All that was left was the raw, aching feeling of being exposed. The need for what she'd tasted with Alex—that hunger for real connection—felt more dangerous than ever. Each step toward other people was a minefield, every attempt at opening up met with the same consuming fascination that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the story of her.

A raw, angry tremor ran through her. Not at Finn. At herself. At the desperate need that always led her down the same broken path. The want for the kind of easy, real acceptance Alex had briefly offered now felt like a cruel joke – stronger than ever, yet more scarily, impossibly out of reach.

She curled up on her old, worn sofa, pulling a ragged blanket around her. The protection charm was still held tight in her hand.

Its faint warmth did little to chase away the chill that radiated from the marrow of her bones, a cold that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room and everything to do with the winter in her blood.

***