A short M/M story inspired by The Frog Prince.

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Day 1

It looks like tonight is going to be another one of those nights. And by ‘those nights’, I mean the kind of night where someone with a failing marriage, a dead-end job, or possibly just a case of long-term diarrhea wants advice. Or, in this case, judging by the hoodie this guy has been crying over for the last five minutes, a breakup. Why not a death? Because people who lost someone don’t chuck garments in the water.

The balled-up hoodie soars into the pond, unfurling as it flies and lands limply in the water. I sit on the rock as we both watch is slowly sink.

“You know, littering won’t drown the feelings out,” I tell him. “It just gives the park maintenance workers more to do. And please don’t say ‘it’s job security’.”

He blinks a few times as he tries to locate me in the darkness. I hop off the rock under the shade of the tree and into the light of the lamp that was installed about seventy-five years ago when people started complaining about not being able to see me at night.

“You’re the Ever Toad,” he states.

“Do you know any other talking amphibians?”

“I met a gecko once that turned out to be a Fauna Naturalist whose polymorph spell went wrong.”

I roll my eyes. Do kids these days get a proper education anymore?

“Geckos aren’t amphibians,” I tell him. “And mages who can’t control their magic don’t count.”

“And supposed princes who were turned into toads do?”

I pause before answering. As much as I hate it, maybe he does have a point. “Touché. So, did you come here for some life-changing advice? It’s been a hot two days since someone last came by. I was beginning to think people forgot about me.”

“You’ve been here for four-hundred years, if your podcasts are true. How could the world forget you?”

“You’d be surprised. When they demolished the palace after The Great Fire of 452 and turned it into Memorial Park, everyone thought I died for fifty years.”

He tips his head thoughtfully. “What actually happened?”

“I moved to Serenity Lake across town and acted like a normal toad.”

“Why?” He seems genuinely confused.

I exhale sharply. “What would you do if your house burned down and everyone wanted to turn it into a tourist attraction?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Then, “Oh. I guess… you have a point.”

Of course I have a point. At least I have a purpose now. Even if it doesn’t include the parties and laughter of my past.

“Anyway,” I say in a time to change the subject tone. “What did you want advice with?”

He sighs heavily and sits in the grass, wrapping his arms around his legs. “My boyfriend broke up with me out of nowhere. I thought things were going great. But then, he’s just like, ‘it’s been coming to this for several months. I hoped things would get better, but I can tell they’re not going to. It’s not you, it’s me.’”

“Ah, the classic,” I nod sagely. “He was probably cheating on you.”

His head snaps up. “He wouldn’t do that!”

“He gave you the most generic excuse for a breakup out there. He was definitely cheating.”

He buries his head in his knees. His voice is muffled when he speaks. “We were together for two years.”

“Then you’re lucky he showed his colors early. I’ve had people come to me whose partners had cheated on them after twenty years of marriage. You’re young, you’ll find someone else.”

He groans but doesn’t look up.

I almost feel sorry for him. But then, I almost feel sorry for a lot of people. But ‘sorry’ doesn’t change what happened.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Eli.”

“Well, Eli. Here’s my advice. Go buy yourself a tub of ice cream. Not the plain vanilla or chocolate stuff. Something with chocolate chips or pecans. Binge watch your favorite romcom. Then take up sports. Or knitting. Or bad poetry. You look like you could write some great bad poetry.” A pause. “If it’s especially horrendous erotica, please come back and read it. It’s been at least a decade since someone read me a story.”

He looks up at me with obvious skepticism. “Ice cream, movies, and erotica?”

I give a toad-shrug. “Were you hoping for a philosophical answer? The best way to overcome pain is by walking through it. You’ll come out stronger on the other end if you endure.”

He stares at me before giving a single sharp laugh. “No, I guess not.”

“Go on then. Make sure the ice cream has caramel. That’s the best.”

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Day 2

“Ever Toad, are you still here?”

I poke my head up out of the patch of tall grass I’ve been sun napping, surprised to see Eli standing by the pond again. I guess the ice cream didn’t work. Time to escalate.

I hop out and onto a stone in the water. “Of course I am. I don’t think I can die. If I could, it would have happened three-hundred years ago. How’d the wallowing go?”

“I got chocolate caramel ice cream and watched Cowboys in Space.”

“That doesn’t sound like a romcom.”

“No wonder you’re back,” I say dryly.

“That’s not why I came back,” he says and opens a little bag he’s been holding. “I got you something to eat.”

I slowly tilt my head to the side. He did… what?

“What is it?”

“A bagel,” he tells me, pulling out the donut-shaped baked good.

“I’m a toad. I eat flies. And mosquitos,” I remind him flatly.

“You were a person once, too. You must miss people food.”

It’s been so long since I had ‘people food’, I forget what it tastes like.

“What kind?” I ask instead of admitting that.

“Everything bagel.”

If I could laugh, I would. Instead, I just croak loudly. “You don’t do things by halves, do you?”

He breaks off a piece and holds it out. “Not usually. Do you, uh, want me to throw it or do you want to come over here?”

“You want to hand feed me?” I ask wryly.

“I, uh, no?” He tosses the piece in the water. I hop into the water, my tongue lashing out to grab the bread.

Mmm, damp bread. Just what I wanted for breakfast.

I swim across the pond and stop next to Eli. “You can just drop it here.”

Eli takes a seat next to me and drops another piece. I lap it up.

“So, did you want more advice?” I ask.

“I just wanted to talk,” he says, taking a bite of the food.

“To a toad?” I ask flatly. “Your standards sure have dropped, if you went from person to animal after a breakup.”

“I don’t really have any friends.”

And he wants to talk to me? Do I sound like friend material?

“Then I amend my advice. Go join a team sport or social writing group. You might even meet Mr. Right there.”

“I have the coordination of a baby giraffe and the writing creativity of a kindergartener.”

“Kindergarteners are surprisingly creative,” I tell him. “They can tell stories about sentient rocks that almost make sense.”

“What’s your story?” He asks earnestly, dropping another piece of bagel.

“I tried to rescue a princess and got turned into a toad by a witch?”

“Really?” He asks. I think he actually sounds impressed. I don’t have the heart to break his fantasy. He did bring me bagel, after all. “Why haven’t you been able to turn back?”

“I don’t know what I need to do to break the curse. Unlike the stories, witches don’t always give a monologue on why they’re evil and what you need to do to cure yourself.”

“Have you tried kissing a princess?”

I croak loudly. “That was the first thing I tried, obviously. Everyone knows the fairy tales. But, just as obviously, it didn’t work. I’ve also kissed a prince, been thrown at trees, cried over, had promises broken and kept, and officiated a wedding. Nothing’s worked.”

“Have you kissed someone who wasn’t royalty?”

I stare at him for a long moment. “No. Why, are you offering?”

“Do you think it would help?”

Well, this is a new one.

“Your standards really have dropped if you want to kiss a toad.”

He shrugs. “Maybe my ex was a toad in disguise.”

“That’s a long way from where you were last night,” I say, almost impressed.

“I looked up his social media. He’s already got pictures of himself on vacation on a tropical island with someone who looks like he could bench press two of me. You’re probably right about the cheating.”

“Of course I am.”

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Day 3

I see Eli coming before he reaches the pond today. He’s certainly persistent, I’ll give him that.

“Do you like jelly donuts?”

“I used to,” I tell him as I go over. “Can’t say I’ve had sugar in the last two-hundred years.”

He pulls out a powdered sugar confection and starts breaking off pieces.

“So what do you want today?” I ask.

“I looked you up on HelpedMe.”

“Two stars. I know.”

He taps his mobicom on his wrist and a holographic display pops up. A few finger swipes and he begins reading.

“It’s rude, he's sarcastic, and it told me my ex was 'probably fine' and that I should 'stop obsessing.' I hated it. But I also stopped obsessing. So... thanks? I guess?”

“I hate it when people call me ‘it’,” I grumble. “As if I’m just a talking android or something.”

“Do you have a name?” Eli asks.

I blink hard. Nobody’s ever asked me that since my family left after the government changed from royalty to republic.

“Alucard,” I finally say slowly, dredging the name from somewhere in my memory.

“Alucard?” He repeats wryly. “Dracula backwards?”

Oh, right, that guy.

“That was a name long before Dracula was invented!” I insist sharply. “The author stole my name, not the other way around!”

“Mmm hmm,” he murmurs, sounding unconvinced. “Anyway, let’s see. Ah, here’s a good one. ‘Drove across town to see the famous Ever Toad. He told me to 'read a book.' That was it. Just 'read a book.' I asked him what book. He said, 'Any book. Just read one. You'll feel better.' I don't even read. Waste of time.’ One star.”

Typical.

“See, you’re not the only one I tell to do literary recovery. People underestimate the written word.”

“Ah, here’s a five star. ‘He told me I was 'wasting my potential' and that I needed to 'stop waiting for permission.' I was offended. Then I realized he was right. I got my life together. I owe everything to a toad. I hate that I'm writing this.’”

He scrolls down some. “Came here after my girlfriend broke up with me. The toad told me to 'get a hobby.' When I asked for follow-up advice, it said, 'I'm not your therapist, I'm a toad. Figure it out.' Unhelpful. But it's not wrong.” He looks to me. “You told me specifically what hobby to try.”

“I got tired of people complaining that my advice wasn’t specific enough. Now they complain that I give advice to do things they don’t like. You can’t win with people. I don’t know why they even bother asking if they’re not going to listen.”

“You’re cheaper than a therapist?” He suggests.

“And with eight times as much life experience,” I state. “Nobody appreciates the wisdom of their elders anymore.”

“Have you ever thought to ask what they like doing before giving them advice? Therapists listen to their clients before making suggestions.”

What does he think I do for a career? As much as you can call a toad having a career, anyway.

“I do listen to them,” I say. “All the time. I’ve heard all the woes the world has at least a hundred times over each. I know what they need to fix things. Just because they don’t like it, doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“You’re not omnipotent,” he points out. “You can still be wrong sometimes.”

“And yet they keep coming to me for advice. And filming me giving advice. People started lining up to talk to me after my Snapshot profile went viral.”

“You have a Snapshot profile?”

“I have a social media agent, writing agent, and lawyer, too.”

“Why does a toad need a lawyer?”

Ah, the young and innocent. Someday, he’ll find out what the world is really like.

I croak in amusement. “People try to get me evicted from the park after I give them advice they particularly dislike. ‘Which stocks should I invest in?’ ‘Should I buy a house in the north or the south?’ ‘Should I ask my hot coworker out?’ And then as soon as something goes sideways, bam, evict the toad from his home as retribution.”

“What do you know about stock markets and houses in other parts of the world?” He asks skeptically.

“I know how to run a country,” I state with conviction. “And I know gambling. Put the two together and you’ve got the stock market.”

“I don’t think that’s how it quite works,” he mumbles.

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Day 4

Today, Eli arrives with both a bag and a book.

“Mini blueberry muffins,” he says as he pulls them out.

“These aren’t fresh,” I state, staring at the store-packaged baked goods.

“Wow. Have you become a connoisseur of food now? Three days ago, you hadn’t had any for centuries, and now here you are, judging my choices.”

“I’m a connoisseur of everything,” I tell him, lifting my chin. “I was a prince, after all. I only want the best.”

He gives me a side-eye. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or actually making a joke.”

“Oh, I’m deadly serious.”

“That’s a shame,” he says, looking at the cover of the book. “Because I found the worst rated Dracula smut I could find at the library just for you.”

He did what? Why would he think….? Oh. That’s right. I told him to bring me horrible erotica. That time I was making a joke. Kind of.

But also, yes.

“The worst rated porn is also the best of its kind,” I announce. “I insist you read it to me.”

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