Some towns don't appear on maps for a reason.
We weren't planning to stop — just needed rest, a hot meal, and maybe a little gas money. Our last gig had gone longer than planned. We were supposed to be in and out, but the crowd was too good to walk away from — a whole patch of redneck fae, friendly as hell, living out in the woods like banjo-picking flower spirits. They paid in jars of glowing moonshine and stories about their great-granddaddy who used to wrestle banshees. Said the shine was aged three generations and wouldn't kill us unless we deserved it.
So yeah, we took the deal.
Some gigs you do for the money. Others you do for the magic.
But the next stop? The one we didn't plan? That place started creeping up on us about ten miles before we saw it. The road got real quiet, trees pressing in on both sides like they were trying to whisper secrets. Even the radio started acting up — skipping stations, playing half-songs that didn't seem to belong anywhere. Kaito didn't say much, just kept tapping the steering wheel like he heard something under the static.
Then the sign appeared — MOTEL, red paint flaked down to the bone. One gas pump leaning like a drunk and a vending machine with faded root beer decals. The whole place looked like it gave up on time a while back.
We rolled in anyway.
That place had a smell to it. Not sewage or rot exactly, but something sour-sweet, like overripe fruit and old candles. A smell that meant someone prayed here too long, or maybe too wrong.
The motel wasn't much. Peeling wallpaper, dusty fan, stiff sheets. The girl at the desk looked sixteen, maybe younger, but had that brittle stare like she'd lived too long. She didn't say much, just eyed Kaito longer than I liked.
"You from around here?" she asked, voice flat like stale bread but eyes sharp as a needle.
"No," Kaito said, giving her that lazy little smile that always looked like it knew more than it told. "But maybe I should've been."
She didn't laugh. Just slid us the key to Room 3 like it was dipped in something heavier than brass. Her fingers lingered for a second too long on the counter, and her gaze didn't follow us — it waited for us to leave.
The walk from the car to the motel wasn't far, but it felt long. The gravel crunched weird underfoot, like it didn't want to be stepped on. There were owl carvings everywhere — wood-burned into posts, stenciled on the vending machine, even stitched onto the front desk clerk's apron.
"They got a thing for owls around here," I muttered, half-joking.
"Owl's a watcher," Kaito said, half-serious. "But don't worry. If anything tries to blink at you sideways, I'll handle it."
Now, inside, I was wiping off my stage makeup in the cracked motel mirror, the last smudge of glitter stubborn against my cheekbone. Kaito came up behind me, gentle as always, and rested his hands on my thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world. He let out a long, slow yawn.
"You okay, Lettie?" he asked, voice low.
"Just tired," I said. "Feels like I've been someone else all week. Used to get a rush on stage, you know? Lately it's just sweat and sore feet."
He pressed a kiss behind my ear. "You were perfect. Maybe we should take a vacation soon — just you and me. Somewhere that don't look at us sideways every time we walk in holding hands."
I tilted my head, curious. "Like where?"
"Thailand, maybe," he said with a lazy shrug. "Lot of spirits there. Old ones. They don't ask questions as long as you show respect. And they've got whole temples where owls are considered lucky. Protective, even."
I hummed at that. "So we'd blend in better with the ghosts?"
"Better with the living," he said. "History's a little rough, but the folklore runs deep — shapeshifters, tricksters, river witches. Reminds me of home, but warmer."
It sounded dreamy. Too dreamy for a night like this. But still, I held onto the thought like it was a souvenir from a trip we hadn't taken yet.
I gave a little laugh, more breath than sound. "Maybe I'll bring it up when we're not surrounded by owl wallpaper and weird vibes. I ain't even taking a bath here — there's one carved inside the tub and it's looking at me like it knows something."
Kaito chuckled. I pulled the covers up and flopped onto the mattress. "Let's just get some sleep," I mumbled. "Talk dreams and vacation plans in the morning, maybe somewhere less... bird-curious."
I should've asked why he wanted to stay.
But I didn't. This wasn't the weirdest place we'd ever slept in. Not by a long shot. I've stayed in tents made of bones and velvet, slept in trailers where the walls whispered back. But something about this place had a vibe. Like the walls were listening. Like the owl eyes carved into everything weren't just decor — they were warnings.
Still, I was tired. Tired of traveling, tired of performing. Tired of pretending we were just performers. So I sleep was my friend.