The Boxers Briefing

Elorae sat across from Joey at the kitchen table. The young man was in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, pale skin lit by the soft glow of the overhead light. He was in no way attractive. Small, gaunt, and yet he sat like a man who felt completely comfortable in his own skin, as if the whole world already belonged to him.

In her hands was a strange drink he had given her. Coffee, he had called it. It was hot, dark, and bitter, and though every sip made her want to wince, she **** herself to keep the smile on her lips. She would not risk offending him.

By the sink, Steve stood silent. Unlike Joey, he looked almost too beautiful, his body caught between man and myth, and she felt the prickle of guilt before letting it fade. There was nothing to be done about him. What was done was done. The inadvertent changes she had caused were there to stay. Reversing them risked Steve losing what little of his being that remained. The gorgeous man watched her like a coiled spring, ready for anything.

Again she tried to reach through the tether that bound her to Joey, but there was no pulling free. While the sensations she felt from him had dulled from the night before, they were still there. Every feeling, every urge as real as her own. More real than her own. The boy had no idea the power that grew inside him.

Joey's glance brushed over her, nothing more than the casual appreciation of a man acknowledging a woman's body. But through the tether it crashed into her like heat. What he felt—soft, simple attraction—bloomed inside her as if it were her own pulse. Warmth coiled under her skin, spreading low, curling into places she didn't want to notice. She told herself it was only his desire bleeding into her—but her gaze lingered, caught, reshaped by that raw hum of want. The boy who should have looked small, awkward, forgettable… instead seemed magnetic. Commanding. Her tongue slipped out of her mouth and licked her lips before she could stop it. It was his attraction, yes, but it was also hers now, stitched into her veins, undeniable. And knowing it didn't belong to her didn't make it feel any less real.

"So..." Joey began. "Things are worse."

Elorae set down the cup. "Yes." Her voice felt brittle in her throat. "I visited the place where I entered this world. My world is… nearly gone. I thought there would be more time, but it is far worse than I had imagined. And its destruction is leaking outward, through cracks in reality, one of which I used to enter your world. I fear that this world will be next."

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean? Cracks? Destruction?"

She drew in a breath. She needed to start at the beginning. "My world was once like yours—bright, beautiful, alive with colour. But long ago, there was a disaster. The people… they had power. Power not unlike yours. They were careless with it. They remade things, bent truths, reshaped what should not have been touched. And then came the dark time. We lost colour. We lost the balance of things. And then… the ether arrived."

"The ether?"

"Honestly, what we know is legend. It has been so long that if feels like it was always there," she said, eyes distant, seeing her ruined homeland as she spoke. "My whole life I could see it, just at the edges of creation. Held back only by observation, by belief. It looks like a mist, but it's really an absence of reality. We lived with rigid rules to keep it at bay, rules that I had ignored when I created your power. Vaelith, my ex-lover, **** me to create something that would cause the people of my world to doubt. It was a ploy for power, but the effect has been that the ether has grown, swallowing everything. Now it's everywhere, unmaking all that remains. My world is vanishing."

He leaned back, silent, as though weighing each word.

"I want to save it," Elorae whispered. "And if I save it, I save this one too."

Joey shook his head slightly. "I don't even know how I'm supposed to help with that. My power doesn't exactly fight ether. It just lets me, I don't know, explain things to women that makes them believe me."

"Your power is still growing," she told him. "It is like a seed, taking root inside you. This world is full of energy, ripe with potential. My own gifts have grown, amplified, in this world. You, with time, will find that your power has grown. But we don't have time. Not anymore. If I push it—if I help it grow faster—we can go back. Together. We can push back the ether. Restore what was lost."

For the first time since she began speaking, Joey said nothing. He sat with the idea, still as stone. Elorae sipped her coffee again. It was just as bitter as before, but she **** herself to drink it down, as if swallowing proof of her place here.

"You are far more powerful than you know," she said quietly, feeling like she had already lost the argument. "Please."

Minutes passed in silence.

Then the quiet was broken by soft footsteps. Elorae looked up as three girls padded into the kitchen. A young woman with brown hair wore a silk robe, tied loosely at the waist. Two others followed close behind, each draped in nothing but hoodies and panties. They came up behind Joey, easy and unhurried, and each set a hand on his shoulders as if they belonged there.

The first woman's eyes flicked to Elorae. "Who's this?"

Joey didn't hesitate. "Someone I'm going to help."