The first night Maze had ventured back up into the house he had returned with food, apparently more to his liking than anything James had grabbed the night before, and two duffel bags full of clothing presumably from James’ own wardrobe.

Grateful for the clean clothes James had accepted the bag Maze had handed him, however as he unpacked it into the drawers he soon realised he would be paying for the mistake of laughing at Maze wearing Owen’s clothing. The payment? His pride.

Whilst the clothes Maze had grabbed for himself consisted of only black and dark grey clothing, the bag he had given James was full of clothes that James had shoved to the back of his wardrobe over the years for one reason or another. Some were gifts from family members and ex-girlfriends that he never would have bought himself in a million years, some were things he’d bought on a whim and then regretted the moment he got them home, but all of them were things he had never worn for good reason, and combined they made one big hideous mass of revenge.

But he would grit his teeth and bare the humiliation. There was only Maze to see him after all, and even though the alien had laughed — a strangely beautiful melodic laugh that gave James goosebumps — every time he had put on a new combination of the ugly clothing, James just ignored him. He did, after all, owe the alien his life.

The next time Maze dared to go upstairs for more food, James had convinced him before hand to help him remove all the old paintings from the wall and take them with him to leave upstairs. Maze had protested at first, he liked the paintings, but after much assurance from James that he would replace them all with new paintings and agreeing to leave his favourite, the job was done.


It didn’t take James long to make good on his promise and replace all of the paintings on the wall. He spent most of their first week in the basement painting while Maze scoured the Internet for more information on Earth and possible alien sightings in the area, and though they only spoke when necessary it wasn’t as uncomfortable as James had first expected it would be.

The new paintings of course came with new memories, just like they always did, only this time most of the memories centred around Maze. Each time he started a new painting Maze would ask him what it was and the story behind it. Most of them were simple landscapes, because he missed the outside world, but some were based of memories of family activities and he was glad for the distraction of telling Maze about them.

The prince never spoke of his own family and James never pushed him on the topic. He didn’t need to be psychic to know that was still a fresh wound and he didn’t want to pour salt on it, especially not when Maze made a daily habit of reminding him that he could kill James before he even moved a muscle.

During the eighth night — Or was it the ninth night? Day? — in the basement, James had trouble sleeping.

At first he had thought it was because his sleep pants were uncomfortable, it wasn’t surprising that they felt odd considering they were Alicia’s. He didn’t know where Maze had found them, he hadn’t even realised she’d left anything behind when she moved out.

It was something more than the pants though, he just couldn’t figure out what and the not knowing was the worst. After laying awake for an hour tossing and turning, sighing in frustration and being told to shut up by Maze several times, he eventually gave up.

Switching the kitchenette light on, he shuffled over to his easel. Hopefully painting would help, even if he had to do it in virtual darkness so he didn’t disturb Maze’s two hours of sleep. He had nothing in mind as he began painting, he simply let the brush do it’s own thing.



“What are you doing?”

James jumped at the sound of the voice behind him. He had spaced out as he painted and hadn’t heard Maze get out of bed at all. Thankfully he hadn’t had his brush against the canvas or it would have ruined the painting of … He stared in horror at the canvas in front of him.

“Is that me?” Maze sounded just as shocked as he moved to stand closer behind James.

“Uh no,” James lied, turning to face the alien and trying to hide the painting with his own body.

“You know many aliens that look like me then?” Maze smirked at him. He wasn’t buying the lie at all, probably because he could see straight over the top of James’ head to the painting of himself. He leaned closer, towering over James and squinted at the portrait. “Am I yawning?”


“I don’t know,” James covered his face with a hand, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I didn’t even really think about what I was painting.”

“Think about me shirtless often do you?” he grinned and winked. He actually winked. What the hell was going on?!

“No,” James said quickly. “Like I said, I wasn’t thinking about what I was painting. Get over yourself.”

He grabbed the painting off the easel and shoved it between the desk and the wall. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Keeping his eyes on anything but Maze, who was still grinning at him stupidly, he went back to bed and pulled the covers up over his head. It was impossible not to hear the quiet chuckle from the alien as he headed towards the bathroom. He was never going to let James forget this. Ever.

When James woke up he stared in horror at the wall next to the computer. Maze had moved his so-called ‘favourite’ painting and replaced it with the painting of himself.


“No,” James said flatly as he marched over to Maze who had been using the computer. “Take that down now.”

“Why?” the alien looked up at him innocently. “I like it.”

“Of course you do,” James rolled his eyes. “Because you’re full of yourself. Take it down. Now.”

“No,” Maze grinned at him, pointy teeth gleaming in the light. “It belongs up there with the rest of the paintings you made. With the rest of your memories.”

James narrowed his eyes at him and snarled; “I hate you.”


He had just turned to storm off to the bathroom, the only place he could go where Maze couldn’t taunt him, when the whole room shook.