They say it’s two to tango, two peas in a pod, two to make a party (but three for a bash).

And when I’m there doing something rash, they stop me with a grasp on the shoulder in a voice that could move mountains, turn them into boulders

“Stop.” And I stop. “Think.” And I think, and it all falls into place, a plan, the moves, the entry and escape, everything but the kitchen sink, because we’re not plumbers

We’re partners in crime, a beat and a rhyme, parsley and sage, rosemary and thyme, sketch ink, and line, and then color, white and black, in perfect balance, honey and malice, badger and chalice, wine in a sacred cup, pews in the church from where we rise up, thanking the lord we harmonize.

But…why?

Is it the interests we share, the way we strut and swagger with flair, the unique ways we do our hair? Our attitudes, devil-may-care, even though one of us is an angel no stranger to despair, but rises up on wings, flying through the air?

What brings us together like north and south poles, fires and coals, what carries our camaraderie, through chaos and catastrophe, claustrophobia of the creative castle? In each other, what do we see?

There’s no words for it, not really. You can’t see a harmony, can’t taste the way things line up in sync, just fruits of labor, brushes, pen, and paper. And maybe that’s good, because some things don’t, can’t, or won’t need to be visible to the naked eye. No matter how hard you try.

We’re a tag team for the ages, millennial Bonnie and Clyde, a dynamic duo where off into the sunset we ride (or die). And you could search all the high seas and never find a pair as free as we, who can see as well as we, who wonder and dream and weave as we.

And I think that’s why collaboration is key, a symphony of us, ourselves, and we, can you see?

Two for a party, two in a pod. Two different paths, but together we walk. When one becomes two and two act as one, what can be done but enjoyment and fun, until the moon falls and we can see the sun.

So don’t consider us a flash in the pan, a one and done. Because when all’s said and done, we’re more than just one.

(My entry for the Inkblot anniversary poetry contest, with a lovely cover image done by the lovely Amuerion~!)

“Heya, Hunter.”

“Hey, Captain.”

Two sets of eyes (four if you count Willow’s glasses) widened, the teen’s cheeks glowing crimson as the words left Hunter’s mouth.

“‘Captain?’” mused Gus, a smirk on his face. “We’re not even on the field.”

“It-it-it-it was a…a…slip of the tongue?” Unsure if he was asking or telling, Hunter offered his friend a lopsided smile.

“...Hmmmmm…” Gus looked at Hunter. Then at Willow, whose face quickly went from “What have you DONE?” to “Nothing suspicious here.” in the half-second it took for Gus to turn his head.

“Yeah, that checks out.” replied Gus. “You do kinda stick around in amped up mode when you switch on. Maybe take it easy once a while, ya dang workaholic.”

“Hehe, yeah…” chuckled Hunter, subtly letting out a breath. “I’ll try.”

-/-/-/-/-

“Has she slept?” asked Hunter upon entering Willow’s room. Luz and Gus were sprawled out on the floor, staring upwards with glazed eyes, amidst a pile of snacks, juice boxes, and textbooks.

“Nah.” Gus replied, barely turning his head. “Sleep. Nope. Don’t need.”

Sighing, Hunter gingerly stepped over the exhausted pair, giving Willow a light tap on the shoulder. “Willow, I think you need some rest.”

Willow scoffed as she brushed away Hunter’s hand. “No worries, newbie, I’m—”

She slapped her hand over her mouth, looking up at Hunter with wide, terrified eyes. Hunter looked on the verge of collapsing, but the brief glance to the bedroom window had her think maybe she should join him.

Thankfully, Gus and Luz were too tired to register what just happened. Willow and Hunter let out sighs, the latter saying he’d come back later just before he scurried out the door.

“When did Hunter get here?” asked Luz.

-/-/-/-/-

“You’re up to something.”

Hunter, a single bead of sweat rolling down his brow, leaned against the doorframe of the Owl House, a strained smile on his face. “Hm?”

Gus squinted. “You’ve been acting weird.” Pause. “Er. Especially around Willow.”

“Whaaaaaaat?” squeak-laughed Hunter. “No waaay, Captain and—_awp_!”

“That, right there! You keep calling her ‘Captain’, what’s up with that?”

“It’s nothing, r-really! I got used to calling her that in—” Hunter paused, taking in a deep breath, letting out a _long_ exhale. “_On_ the field.”

Gus stared. Hard. Long. The kind of stare that could make someone twice his height and size shake. The kind of stare that shouted “I don’t believe you.” at the top of its lungs.

“I don’t believe you.”

Dammit.

He kept staring. And slowly, Hunter realized that Gus’ gaze was drifting to his neck.

His exposed neck.

His very easily-analyzed neck.

“Is that…lipstick?”

Hunter’s hand flew so hard to his neck it resonated in the room, and he bit back a yelp of pain. “Nope.”

“That was lipstick.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“You’re hiding something.”

“Also mistaken.”

A long silence.

“You know I can make you tell me what I need to know.”

Hunter scoffed. “Oh, really? How?”

A wicked, warbly, wriggly smile made its way to Gus’ face. “Oh, _Luuuuuuuuuuz_.”

Oh, no.

-/-/-/-/-

He lasted eight seconds. Try as he might, he couldn’t last long against Luz’s “adorable face”. No one could. No one who wasn’t pure evil.

And that is exactly why Willow was awoken from what was supposed to have been a peaceful nap by Gus and Luz, shaking her like a potion bottle, demanding to know when she and Hunter started dating.

**_[END]_**