Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

Wallace had never been a fan of the what if.
The problem with that was Wallace was also a liar, because it was getting
harder to think of anything but the what if.
And it was dangerous, this. Because Wallace had been sitting in front of
the fire the night before, barely listening as Nelson spoke with Alan, telling
him that before he could even think of doing what he and Wallace could do,
he needed to clear his head, he needed to focus. Wallace was far, far away. It
was a sunny day. He found himself in a tiny little town. He was lost. He
needed to stop and ask for directions. He found a curious little sign next to a
dirt road advertising CHARON’S CROSSING TEA AND TREATS. He turned down
the road. Sometimes he was in a car. Other times he was walking.
Regardless, his destination never changed. He reached the house at the end of
the dirt road, marveling at how such a thing could exist without collapsing.
He walked in through the door.
And there, standing behind the counter, was a man with a bright bandana
around his head, a quiet smile on his face.
What happened next varied, though the beating heart of it was the same.
Sometimes, the man behind the counter would smile at him and say, “Hello.
I’ve been waiting for you. My name is Hugo, what’s yours?” Other times,
Hugo would already know his name (how, it didn’t matter; little dreams like
these didn’t need logic), and he’d say, “Wallace, I’m so happy you’re here.
You look like you could use some peppermint tea.”
“Yes,” Wallace would reply. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
And Hugo poured him a cup and then one for himself. They took it to the
back deck, leaning against the railing. There were versions of this fantasy
where they didn’t speak at all. They sipped their tea and just … existed near
each other.
There were other versions, though.
Hugo would say, “How long are you staying?”
And Wallace would reply, “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.
I don’t even know how I got here. I was lost. Isn’t that funny?”
“It is.” Hugo glanced at him, smiling quietly. “Maybe it’s fate. Maybe this
is where you’re supposed to be.”
Wallace would never know what to say to this version of him, this Hugo
who didn’t have the weight of death on his shoulders, and a Wallace who had
blood flowing through his veins. His face would grow warm, and he’d look