Absit Omen RPG
Role-Play Boards => Diagon Alley => London => Floriblunders Florists & Gamp Flat => Topic started by: Arcturus Hollingbury on October 20, 2019, 01:06:31 PM
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The fireplace burst into green flames, spitting, crackling and then dying as the healer stepped out onto the carpet and immediately dropped his bag on the couch. Rustle paused in licking his leg and watched warily as his owner went to empty his coat pockets and hang his coat up near the stairs before checking the mail.
There were no words, quite possibly, to describe his mental state right now. If he had any less care about the interior of the flat, he’d whip out a cigarette and smoke it right then and there, and possibly finish the packet by dinner if he continued to indulge. But even without Elixa around he was beholden to keep the flat in a clean, proper state - not that it was hard for eternally tidy Arcturus - and so he did.
Standing behind the couch gazing unseeingly into the fire, his fingers gripping the back of the couch in an attempt to not ball into a fist and sink his nails into his palms, he could feel the dragging weight of his life just catching up behind him.
Tea would be a distraction right about now. He set the kettle to boil and added a teabag, and then leaned against the counter, folding his arms over his chest as he waited. His brow felt heavy, his chest leaden. He’d been like this the whole week. His coworkers would have noticed his increased suppressed tetchiness and fidgeting.
Every time someone had asked, he’d forced a smile and explained he’d had a lot on his mind. It was not a lie, but it was a mirror to deflect the asker from seeking more. They didn’t need to know he was upset, stressed, tired and almost perpetually on the edge for far longer than was necessary--
The kettle whistled behind him. Soon enough he’d roughly sat down at the kitchen table and set aside the mug to cool, his face still a stoic picture of irritation. His fingers interlocked, then rearranged, then interlocked again. His eyes wandered over to the small packet of cigarettes he’d taken from his coat pocket. Deep down he knew he couldn’t stay this way for the rest of the night. It would do his head in and he’d go through another restless night of loneliness.
The healer stared at his tea, and then made his mind up. He took out his wand and tapped the mug to cool it sufficiently, then drank the whole thing down in one go. “Rustle, keep an eye on the flat,” he said, getting to his feet as the kneazle watched him attentively. “I might not be back tonight. Maybe I will.”
Cigarettes, bag, some additional cooking spices he didn’t think would be common in a kitchen, wallet-- not his scrubs, Merlin no. Barely having settled, he was stepping out the door. A familiar voice was stirring in his head, but it had barely time to provide its usual commentary.
Moussaka, he thought. I miss that.
Aubergine, tomato, lamb - wonder if the butcher’s is still open? Better hurry. When not snarking, the second voice was the mental manifestation of motivated focus. Onion, garlic, cinnamon. Cheese. You took the béchamel, didn’t you? Of course he had.
As his feet and hands made short work of Diagon’s wares, a worry seeded itself in his head and started to sprout. Would Ceph mind him invading his flat for this? Would he care that Arc had simply invited himself over to do this? A leaf, a tendril of root into the brain, a flower bud. How would he take to Arc missing his birthday? How would he react to this? What if Ceph was allergic to anything he’d be making? More leaves unfurled.
Why was he doing this? It was such a spur of the moment thing. Normally he’d spend time deliberating over decisions. If he’s allergic, this would all be an utter waste. Normally he had asked first. Normally he’d be discussing it - communication, one thing he’d failed on. Would this be the right decision? It’s a wonder he holds you in such high regard, if anyone knew all these thoughts…
Teeth gritted at the effort of silencing the little prick in his head, he completely missed Cepheus just ahead of him near where his flat was until he nearly walked into the back of his partner. “Ohshi-- Ceph! Sorry. Hi.” Seeing him partly deflated his tetchiness, had the voice slinking into the back of his head and some of the weight disappearing as if by magic - and the mental vegetation of concern grow a little bigger.
Before Cepheus could say anything, Arc held up a finger. “I’m making dinner,” he said, unable to restrain a slight amount of irritation - at himself for deciding to do this - from escaping in his tone. “Are you allergic to anything? I have to know. I’m not okay. Let me do this on my own. It’ll be fine.” There, he’d answered every question he had assumed would be asked.
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Thank goodness for Fridays, Cepheus thought, and it wasn’t raining either. He’d made it through yet another week, though there was now only a week and a half before the next full moon. Whereas the new moons had made Cepheus feel uneasy in recent months due to the occasional outbreak of vampire unrest, now the full moon seemed the more sinister of the two. Last time they’d lost their Department Head.
Speaking of Department Heads, Cepheus thought as he picked up two pints of milk from the nearest grocers to his flat, what was with everyone he met saying ‘oh, knew it wouldn’t be you, Gamp’ when it came to hearing Balfour had been promoted. What exactly did they mean by that? That he was too inexperienced, not the wizard for the job, lacked ambition? It niggled him awfully and gnawed away at the confidence he had to do his job well.
It was about six by the time Cepheus (https://66.media.tumblr.com/9a09264b20815f8b8dac319b1ba8b771/tumblr_pzozl2UQ221umtuh0o1_1280.jpg) approached the front of Floriblunders, work bag over his shoulder. He reached into his jacket to draw his wand in preparation for climbing the stairs to home, when someone suddenly spoke very closely to him in the Alley.
“Arc!” Cepheus exclaimed, surprised at the approach and the sudden proximity of his partner. He had seen precious little of Hollinbury since the night after Christmas when they’d at last admitted their feelings for each other. They’d had lunch once, but it had been sandwiched quite literally into Ceph’s working day when he’d have quite happily spent a whole afternoon chatting or walking London with the other wizard.
About to ask how he was, Cepheus was silenced by a raised finger. Arc informed him about dinner, which was lucky as Ceph hadn’t properly considered his own plans.
“Are you allergic to anything? I have to know. I’m not okay. Let me do this on my own. It’ll be fine.”
Arcturus was talking at a hundred miles an hour and Cepheus inched ever so slightly backwards on his feet to better examine his boyfriend. “I - I mean, no, no I’m not allergic to anything.” He stumbled out, “hey, I’m here,” he softened, reaching his right hand out to the top of Arc’s left forearm. Much as he wanted to give Arc a hug and a kiss, there was a certain tension in the other man’s arm that suggested against it.
“Come on, let’s get inside. Dinner, dinner sounds good. You do what you need.”
All thought of his irritation about work had evanescoed the moment Arc had crossed his path. With a gentle gesture they both ducked through the archway beside the florist and Ceph ushered Arc up the steps first, only drawing his wand properly to unlock the door as they hurriedly reached the last steps.
He closed the door behind them, and offered to take Arc’s coat, confused by the insistence to cook and hurry inside, but very glad to see Hollingbury.
“You don't have to make me dinner, you know..." he persisted, but his defence crumbled in just a second or so, "uhm, do you want me to show you where the pans are?” He instead asked the wizard-on-a-mission.
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Despite the accelerated speech and overall tetchiness, Arc was particularly touched by how Ceph had reached out the moment he had heard the healer admit that he wasn't alright. It helped mitigate the concerns about how he would take to his new partner generally being a neurotic mess. It did not, however, mean Arc was ready for that just yet.
He was about ready to relent when Ceph tried to dissuade him, but the gentle man - bless his soul - was letting him do it, and his hands were shaking now. He had to take his mind off of everything and remember why he was doing it. Somewhere deep down he mentally spat on himself in derision for using it as an out, but he was in too deep now.
"Yes, please," he said, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, his arm wand holster completely visible, and flipping open his bag. "I promise to try and keep it clean as best as I can." The ingredients he'd bought sailed out of his bag at the flick of a wand and settled themselves in the kitchen. "Hello, Claude." Ceph's feline had come to see what was going on, and was now watching the items rearrange themselves neatly.
Arc did not consider himself an expert at cooking magic. That was a difficult field of magic that he himself had neither time nor skill to improve on. It was much easier for him to do everything by hand, and by keeping his hands busy he could steady himself and use his actions as a driven goal. That he was doing this because he wanted to feel better with Ceph as proxy was a thought the other voice offered up to him to muse, but the need to not cut the tips of his fingers off or burn his hands was a greater priority.
Didn't stop him from mouthing 'sorry' in Ceph's direction when he wasn't looking.
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The lamps lit themselves as the wizards made their way down the hallway. Not expecting company, Ceph had left the door to his bedroom open, a half-made bed visible. Claude had been sprawled upon the sheets, sleeping in the warm patch Ceph had vacated that morning, so he’d not been able to finish making the bed.
In the kitchen, ingredients began to sail out of Arc’s bag, and Cepheus had a fleeting worry about what might have happened if Arc hadn’t found him at home. Hadn’t he mentioned his housemate was away covering the Hogwarts infirmary? Was she back now? Ceph hadn’t a clue.
Claude hopped expectantly onto the sofa and then the back of the sofa, twitching his whiskers along the edge of the kitchen counter, sniffing the air around the ingredients that magically rearranged themselves.
“Here,” Ceph ducked down to the cupboard beside the stove. “I’ve saucepans, roasting dishes, all the usual stuff. Cutlery is up here,” he gestured to drawers under the counter, “plates in there.” He got to his feet again and glanced around, “all the dry ingredients up here, and the cold store…” he finished his tour of the kitchen with a worried but understanding look at the twitchy healer.
Claude meowed hopefully, punctuating the silence.
“Is that everything you need? Would you like me to cook with you?” Cepheus drew a little closer, fingertips at Arc’s elbow, nothing pushy, but enough to indicate his concern. “It’s lovely to see you,” he added, a smile creeping up his face. “Nice surprise.”
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Arc paused for a moment - to allow that moment - to take in Ceph's light eyes gazing at him, looking for something in his face. He could feel the tremble in his hands lessen, the little sliver of peace slip itself into his chest and calm him. His mind tussled with the idea of asking the other wizard to help him, reminding him he'd technically just barged his way in.
"It's alright, you don't have to help," he said. "I... I'm glad that, you, you're fine with this." Merlin he was stammering. It was hard enough to resist closing himself off as a protective reflex. "I'm glad."
The voice in the back of his head surged forward in one lunge. "This is for you," he added, before he could catch himself. He took a deep breath and balled his hands into fists briefly to stop them from shaking. Cat was out of the bag now. "You should just... relax. And I should stop talking or else I might say something embarrassing."
Arc turned away abruptly, blushing deeply as he opened the doors to what he needed. Whatever he needed sailed out and quietly, prudently settled down on the counter. There was something to be said for his precision despite being clearly flustered about the whole deal, but overall unsurprising. He gripped onto the singular goal of doing this for Cepheus like a lifeline, because who knew what swam in the turbulent waters below as he dangled over the surface.
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Cepheus got the hint. He’d tried twice to politely intervene and assist, but Arc insisted he needed to be left to cook in Ceph’s kitchen. A third would be impolite, but he had to ask that second time, because Ceph always considered his first idea or judgement to be less accurate and correct than his second.
“Ok, I’ll leave you to it for a bit then,” Cepheus placated in a soft tone, and dropped his touch. He hoped the tone carried no judgement, just acceptance. Instead, he stepped out of the kitchen and through into the living room. He owed Claude a bit of a fuss now he was home, and for a few seconds wizard and cat were fixated with each other, Claude’s tail in the air and a happy purr audible in the kitchen.
“Yes, yes I’ve missed you. You’ve missed me too? Aw, there’s a good cat.” Cepheus mumbled to his familiar. He’d lived alone too long to realise this might be a bit weird to other people.
“Look, I need to go and take a shower, get changed.” He gestured to his three-piece suit, though his tie was loosened at the neck since leaving the office. “Give me a shout if you need anything before I’m back. I won’t, won’t be long.” He gave Arcturus a gentle smile, and Claude a final scratch under the chin before leaving them to it.
It was about twenty minutes later when Cepheus reappeared in a comfortable pair of jeans, t-shirt and sweater. His dark hair was still a little damp, pushed back from his face, and there was a whiff of soap and mint about him. He’d thought to put on cologne but supposed it might be a bit formal for being at home and suggest an agenda. He looked to Arc busy in the kitchen with a contented smile. In his grasp were a few pieces of post. Like the cat before him, Cepheus perched, feet on the sofa cushions, so he could see over the kitchen counter behind it, and watch Arc cooking.
“Ah, another postcard from Orion,” he lifted the card from between the envelopes and turned it over for a read, “apparently he’s aligning his chakras or something. Booked into some retreat with meditation, chanting, bells and the whatnot.” Cepheus frowned, puzzled, “I’m only hoping he’s calling it that on his postcards to me and Andie, not to the locals.” It was amazing that Orion continued to survive given his jack-the-lad type approach to life and cultural investigation. Penny Pickler would have a field day.
Ceph tucked it away and slid his thumb under the corner of an envelope, looking up to Arc properly. “How’s it going?” He asked, “Can I ask what you’re making?”
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Arc paused in setting the pan on the stove to listen to Ceph - well aware of giving the man some courtesy after barging in like this - smiling to himself with some restraint in case he thought that the healer was being amused at how silly he was being. Quite the contrary, Arc warmed to that little image of Claude lifting his head and angling his whiskers happily at Ceph.
The smile was gone when he looked up to watch the other wizard get himself sorted, though it half-returned as he nodded to acknowledge the spoken words. The moment he disappeared, the full force of a healer in deep concentration and a mission to complete occupied the kitchen.
Claude would eventually sit down and curl his tail around himself, his head following the busy figure back and forth. Occasionally he'd angle his whiskers forward as a new aroma evolved from current scents, most particularly when the meat got involved, but the cat was well aware that it would not be a good idea to interrupt someone holding a sharp knife.
He heard movement behind him, but about the only thing that would stop Arc from his work would be the house on fire at this point. That said, over the sounds of cooking he could hear Cepheus clearly. “Ah, another postcard from Orion... apparently he’s aligning his chakras or something. Booked into some retreat with meditation, chanting, bells and the whatnot. I’m only hoping he’s calling it that on his postcards to me and Andie, not to the locals.”
"Orion really likes to send back postcards, hm?" Arc said absently, adding tomatoes to the pan before swiftly picking up his wand and lowering the heat as if he'd done it for his entire lifetime.
“How’s it going? Can I ask what you’re making?”
This is such a healer thing, you know, all this healer behaviour-- "Just moussaka. Nothing so fancy as a full three-course meal or something. Few enough portions, I'm not aiming for a Christmas-level food coma." Arc forced the second voice to shut up and help him. That was exactly what it was there for. "I haven't had it for a few weeks. Haven't been hungry enough. Haven't been calm enough to cook. Haven't been motivated-- sorry, that's not what I'm here to talk about." Or was it? He'd started rambling as if it were Elixa, on the same level of familiarity. Too early, he told himself. Ceph doesn't need to know.
You know he does, though.
He took a moment to press his knuckles to his lips, squeezing his eyes shut. Damn, he didn't need this right now. The healer retrieved the baking pan sitting at arm's length on the counter, set it down in front of him and began to methodically layer the slices of vegetables on it while the contents of the pan on the stove simmered gently and released a quite savoury aroma into the air. He tapped his wand on the oven below, muttering under his breath as it switched on and began to heat up. Focus, focus... prevent his hyperawareness from tempting him to turn around and look at Ceph every few minutes.
Merlin why was he so worried?
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Just moussaka. Honesty, Hollingbury!
Cepheus sat straight. He was perched on the arm of the sofa.
“Wow, that sounds amazing. I…” he lapsed as Arc continued with the explanation. Whereas the initial rush to get in and get started had subsided into concentration on the cooking, there was a certain anxious tone to this account. “…Haven’t been calm enough to cook. Haven’t been motivated — sorry, that’s not what I’m here to talk about.”
Ceph slid the postcard and the other envelope into the gap of the sofa cushions and focused his attention.
“Hey,” he replied softly, in the same tone he had adopted in the street, “we can talk about anything you like.”
Arc was looking the other way, busy with the preparation. Keeping busy.
“Or, not talk, if you prefer,” he added in balance. “I had a feeling things were, you know, creeping up. But I know it’s important to give you space, like you asked.” Cepheus shrugged his shoulders, fingers gripping his bent knees. He was so worried he might say the wrong thing and put his foot right in it. Not the moussaka, but whatever stress or drama had got Arc all wrapped up in recent weeks.
He fell silent, bottom lip caught between his teeth, blue eyes full of concern.
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He'd started another of those anxiety balls rolling, hadn't he? Judging from the sudden silence behind him. Arc made an unhappy sound in his throat, but did not start talking until he'd taken the pan off the stove and was carefully layering the seasoned, simmered meat evenly across the lined baking pan.
"I don't usually get space in the hospital," he said as his hands worked. "Plenty to do, plenty to keep certain moods away, but very little space. After work, that's the time I get to take a breath, remember how it feels like. Then it all comes back to me, the worrying and-- things like that. So, you know, it's a delicate balance between the two. Space, but enough time for the brain to get carried away. Work, but no space or time to breathe."
His hands reached out for the bottle he'd brought from the flat. "Cooking works as a decent distraction," he explained quietly. "It's easier for me to talk when I'm not looking at... at the person I'm talking to. My hands always need to be doing something. Things that admittedly aren't exactly very social." He poured the white sauce into a bowl and then carefully layered it over the mixture in the pan. "I suppose my definition of space may be a little different, but for all the explaining I have to do at my work, I can never describe it. All I know is that I don't have to be alone."
The wizard opened the oven, taking a step back as heat billowed at him. He slid the baking pan in and shut the oven door, and took a moment to steady himself with both hands on the counter. "Maybe being alone makes it worse. It varies, but this time that's what it might be."
With no idea of what Ceph would make of any of what he said, he quietly began to wash up, not even bothering to use his wand to do the work for him.
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Arcturus did not pause in his work as he spoke. The pattern of his words was hurried, busy like the life he described. Cepheus could picture his partner in green robes, bustling from patient to patient, case to case. There were days like that at the Ministry - especially if the full moon were to do with it. Space to breathe, but busy enough not to allow thoughts.
“It’s easier for me to talk when I’m not looking at.. the person I’m talking to…” Arcturus explained. Cepheus nodded gently, even though Arc wouldn’t see this acknowledgement. He was doing exactly that, looking the other way, busy with his hands. Gamp got that, he’d seen enough stressful situations through profession or the war to know how people would prefer to keep busy than deal with things. It didn’t make them less of a person. It just made them human.
“…I can never describe it. All I know is that I don’t have to be alone.”
Cepheus blinked, thinking through what Arcturus was saying. That space didn’t mean being by himself, but that it did mean doing something outside of work. That if he did want to talk to someone it was best to be busy while doing that talking, in a way that didn’t mean they had to look at each other. The former Ravenclaw’s brain was piecing it together, while gazing into middle distance. He watched Arcuturus put the pan into the oven without really seeing. Then without turning back, Hollingbury approached the kitchen sink.
There was a moment of silence, Ceph making sure Arcturus had finished, keen not to interrupt him. He left the post tucked in the sofa and nimbly slipped off it and into the kitchen, reaching for a tea towel. It was white linen, decorated with a print of a cat chasing a ball of wool which never seemed to unroll, despite how many months the cat had chased it around the cloth.
“You don’t have to be alone,” he explained softly, tea towel clasped between both hands. He approached carefully, like he might a nervous creature, and left a soft kiss on Arc’s shoulder, chancing a glance up at the other wizard’s expression as he did. Quickly he averted his gaze, honouring the fact it was easier to talk without. Instead, while Arc faced the sink, forearms submerged in soap suds, Cepheus faced into the kitchen, slowly fishing clean but wet crockery out of the disk rack.
“And you do what you need to do,” he added, confirming to himself with a gentle double nod as he spoke. “I don’t expect you to spill your guts,” he explained, “but if you feel you want to, or it… happens… then I’ll keep your confidence. Just allow me to care for you, to worry a little?” He asked, “because I do, and I will, because you are significant to me.” He set aside what he was drying and glanced sideways.
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Arc's eyes slid sideways at the kiss, but his face remained impassive. He didn't have to watch his washing, firm grip on the various utensils and a nitpicking second voice saw to that. He might be scrubbing a little harder than usual.
"Just allow me to care for you, to worry a little? Because I do, and I will, because you are significant to me.”
It shouldn't cause another seed of worry to sprout, but it did. Merlin he really cares about you doesn't he, such a sh--
"Does it hurt to worry?" It had been an attempt to shut the other voice up, but he hadn't expected to say those words out loud. "About me? Does it matter that you don't really know why?" He set the final piece in the rack and washed his hands fastidiously, just as a healer would, not looking at the other wizard. "I'm sure you don't need such an unnecessary burden in your l--"
Alright that was enough. He lifted his hand to his lips and bit on it to silence himself. A glance to the side away from Cepheus made him feel even more tetchy - he'd just noticed he had missed the knife he was using earlier and nausea was creeping up on him.
"Look," he said, releasing his hand, teeth marks visible at the base of his thumb. "It's not right that you don't know, even if to me I perceive it as something unneeded in someone else's life. You're willing to share your life with me and frankly I... I'm honoured. And a little scared." His voice softened. "Always a little scared. But when I came here to do something for you, it wasn't going to be just dinner and company." He raised his eyes and turned to face Ceph, leaning against the counter somewhat uncomfortably. "It won't be spilling either. But you have the right to know what you're going to get going in."
After a moment he added, "Could you wash the knife? I forgot about it and I have a complicated relationship with knives in general."
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It was hard not to glance at Arc as he spoke about things, using the words burden and unneeded when describing himself. As dramatic as those statements were, and as agitated as Hollingbury became, Cepheus concentrated on listening at the expense of the drying up. He had to stay calm, because there was no use in being other than.
He had held the hand of others in a crisis, or the drunken shoulders of his sister set on blaming herself for last February. He’d heard ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ from relationships long gone. He’d sat through hours of Penny’s trainings to find the salient, useful advice amongst the alliteration.
“Could you wash the knife?”
“Of course.”
He set down what he had been drying, the tea towel with it, and rolled up his sleeves.
“Yes you matter to me,” he stated, no grand gestures, no early onset proclamations of love required. A genuine, realistic fact of life. Lots of people mattered to Cepheus, in a great variety of ways and dimensions, but that wasn’t the point. He was speaking to Arcturus, who just needed reminding he did mean something to the person he was talking to. It sounded as if he was finding it hard to accept.
The hot water rattled into the stone sink and Cepheus slid the knife beneath the stream. He reached for the dishcloth, still soapy from Arc’s fervent scouring minutes before. Chunks of damp, dark hair fell forward as he looked down. There was no dancing around this subject, it had to be sensibly addressed head on, however uncomfortable it might be for them both.
“You call yourself a burden. How long have you been feeling like that?”
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As Gamp moved towards the sink, Arcturus moved away, essentially swapping positions with him. Only this time he didn't change his pose either, so he was standing with his back to him. It was such a stupid thing in his mind, but it helped. For one, he didn't have to worry about seeing a potentially judging expression, which would hike up his anxiety to near-silence levels. He didn't enjoy talking to certain coworkers because of this, even if it was unintentional, unless he had to.
“You call yourself a burden. How long have you been feeling like that?”
He stayed silent as he thought of it. And thought further back, and further in.
"A long time." He shifted to lean against the counter again. "Longer than it should ever be. I look at the people I care about and watch them struggle with their troubles, and think, 'I can't inflict myself on them'." There were a lot of examples he could name. "Things that are beyond my control, I worry less about. I still apologise, but... it's just a reflex at that point, for making them worry. This kind of thing, though... I feel that it's a responsibility I should have accounted for much earlier in my life."
He turned his gaze upwards at the cabinets above the counter. "But then again, when whatever I'd been through has been traumatic enough that I forget the major details... I thought it was finally under my control." Dark eyes lowered quickly at the old memory of him and Cepheus, making their way back down Diagon Alley after a night at Rover's Fancy, the other wizard trying to keep him from losing his mind. "The dementors changed that tune quick enough, don't you think?"
The empty silence that followed was, he felt, a little too much wryness in retrospect. "I wasn't going to keep it from you, honestly," he confessed quietly. "I'm working on trying to figure out where it all came from. Trying to. Sometimes it's a feeble attempt, other times there's progress, however small. But I read somewhere that it's normal. Some days I'm making good effort, other days it feels like I regress and nothing I do makes a lick of a difference. I didn't want you to see me on the days I regressed, but that would mean we'd never see each other as frequently as we'd like to." We. He did want to see Ceph more frequently than he had last year. He genuinely did.
"That said, I can't expect you to be around all the time. I've heard about the werewolf situation, read it in the news. I can only imagine your floor's all in a proper flurry. We've got the magical non-magic disease on our side. So much to do, but in the end still preferable to being a civilian in a war... right?" He chuckled, a tad darkly, then sobered up pretty quick. "But even as I stand here thinking how stupid this must look to you, how I worry over what you're thinking of me right now, I know that keeping it from you will most likely end badly."
Arcturus closed his eyes, bowing his head as he listened to the sounds of washing and drying behind him. "It's already happened before, and I don't intend to make the same mistake again. Best to treat it as a healer would - give you the options, inform you well enough. Let you make your own decisions."
Was that all he had to say while they waited for the food to cook?
No.
"And thank you. For listening. For... well, for you, really."
-
[M] - this thread discusses mental health struggles
Inflict, make them worry…
Cepheus ran the cloth carefully over the sharp blade as he listened. He rinsed the soap suds from the metal and culled the water. He let Arcturus carry on, his metaphorical taps running in response to the question. The healer was still resolutely looking in the opposite direction. Cepheus reached for the teacloth, drying the knife and sliding it into the knife block before attending to the rest of the damp crockery.
“… I can’t expect you to be around all the time…” Ceph took care to place plates down without interrupting the conversation, even if his only contribution the last few minutes was listening in relative silence. “… still preferable to being a civilian in a war… right?” A whole generation of British wixes carried that feeling. That notion that nothing now was as bad as then. As if nothing could be bad because it was not as bad. It was the same notion that riches solved all your problems and you had no reason to be unhappy. There were numerous factors that made one more vulnerable, but nothing ever protected someone from becoming overwhelmed.
“… how stupid this must look to look, how I worry over what you’re thinking of me right now, I know that keeping it from you will most likely end badly.” Cepheus looked back over his shoulder, chopping board in his grasp, and glanced up and down at Arcturus, though he didn’t see. “… let you make your own decisions.” The expectation of rejection, the conclusion of burden.
“… thank you. For listening. For… well, for you, really.”
“You’re worth it.” Cepheus spoke, now much closer behind Arcturus than he had been. The dry kitchenware was neatly arranged on the counter, job done, and he had cautiously closed the gap between them. “May I?” He gently held his hands, fingers relaxed, over the healer’s shoulders from behind, offering a hug, or at least to hold Arc. It seemed cold in the circumstances to not offer a gesture, though he didn’t want to force it, in the circumstances.
For a moment, they stood in silence, Cepheus turned his dipped head to one side and let them gently rest against each other. His arms encircled the younger wizard. Gamp wished very much to convey support and care in his embrace, an acknowledgement of the bravery it took to be so honest.
“I hear you,” he uttered, squeezing a little tighter for just that moment. He loosened his grip, arms still relaxed around Arc’s shoulders. The smell of soap, salt, oil and cream permeated the air, and his partner’s clothes smelled of his home further down the alley. It reminded Cepheus of perusing Arc’s book collection with a cup of tea, while a ginger and white kneazle scrutinised him like he were a second-rate broom presented to a dealer for appraisal.
Standing straight, Cepheus drew breath. This might be an uncomfortable question, but he knew if he was not direct, he might lose a valuable opportunity to help Arcturus. “I need to ask,” Cepheus glanced upwards, taking great care to keep his tone calm and steady, hold easy enough to be stepped out of, “but when you’re feeling this way, Arc, have you hurt yourself, or attempted to hurt yourself?”
Behind, he winced, not for the notion that any answer may not be easy to hear, but because it felt like such the serious question to ask someone. If it took him courage to ask, woe betide how much it would take to bring it up the other side. Hopefully Arc would understand - he must have had similar conversations as a healer over the years.
-
His shoulders tensed at the touch; even preceded by the question, it still felt alien. But after a moment he settled back down, relaxing and exhaling quietly as gentle arms rested on his shoulders. A comfort, a warmth that whispered acceptance and calmed the ornery second voice in his head for a while. That it was alright.
“I need to ask, but when you’re feeling this way, Arc, have you hurt yourself, or attempted to hurt yourself?”
What had he been expecting? He hadn't, really. The healer sighed. "No." It was a heavy answer, though. "I've had ideas in the past, but never acted on. Unless you count unintentional overworking." There was a serious reason behind it, one that made him curl up inside just even entertaining the slightest idea, the merest suggestion of it, but he said nothing of it for now. The other voice was trying to force shut the broken gates of memory in his head before anything came out of there. Once has been enough for going through this, it muttered to itself, that memory can stay in the dark for all I care.
He reached up to the hands that gently held him, eyes open but unseeing at the floor. An anchor in a howling storm. Safety on the edge of a crumbling courtyard with nothing below. But he had to remember he was in Cepheus's flat, not under the overcast skies of the past. Touching those hands were more than enough as a reminder. He held on, and the cosy flat returned around them.
Ideas. Relief. Release. No. The voice was soft, sorrowful. Service. Duty. Debt. Life. Others. Oh, Cepheus. You never should have met me.
The healer pulled away from Cepheus abruptly, exhaling forcefully before turning around and pulling the other wizard into him. Arms embraced and held him tight, fingers curling against Ceph's back, damp hair be damned. The brisk tinge of mint and soap held him down, kept him grounded. The physical contact sent a tremble of uncertainty and fear through him, but he persevered in holding on, holding himself together for this wonderfully gentle man. It was only fair. Inside his head, the broken gates creaked, groaned, bent under the sheer force - then slammed shut against whatever lay beyond them for now. They had been open for an entire week.
Despite the welcome feeling, it was too early for a declaration of devotion, he knew that. Cautious, wary, just like a cat. The other wizard had barely scratched the surface. "I'm grateful you exist," he whispered, well aware that this would be awkward if he said nothing else. But he literally had nothing else to say, that he could think of saying. Except for one thing that slipped out of its own volition.
"Aστέρι."[1]
-
However heavy the answer, it lightened a load for Cepheus. As he reached his arms around his new partner he had carried stress about the possibility in his shoulders. The honest answer - or what very much felt like an honest answer for the tone - unstitched his shoulder blades.
He felt Arcturus touch his hands, and instinctively they clasped, stood close. Cepheus was about to move to rest his head again, content to share this moment of honesty, when Arcturus broke away. Surprised, Gamp stood straight, arms out to either side, a little awkward, but it lasted for less than a second, as he was drawn into a sudden, tight hold face to face.
Ceph hadn’t a chance to glance Arc’s face as it happened, instead they found their natural homes over each other’s shoulders. Arc’s arms gripped Ceph’s ribs, hands clenched against his spine. The grasp left Cepheus to place his arms over the tops of the wizard’s forearms, and his palms rested on the back of Arc’s shoulders. It was a forward physical expression he hadn’t ever expected, but wouldn’t reject.
“It’s ok-.”
“I’m grateful you exist.”
Arc uttered something Cepheus didn’t catch, whether an oath or an incoherent sound of relief, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t about to question it either. It wasn’t the right time. Now was the time of reassurance and solidarity!
“I’m here for you,” he replied, gently patting one hand on Arc’s back, “and not just because you spontaneously cook me dinners.” He hugged a little harder. “And you don’t - you don’t have to either, especially if you need me. Right?” Ah second thoughts and considerations of what he’d said. Self doubt was never far away. He shifted, twisting to kiss Arc’s cheek over the stray hair that had fallen out of the ponytail, allowing the embrace to end naturally.
“You’re not alone.” He asserted, fingertips running softly to the inside of Arc’s wrist to catch a hand. He cautiously sought to catch his eye, adding, “I don’t want you to ever feel you are.”
-
Someone cast a curse and break this floor from under me so I go through it and sink into the earth forever, he found himself thinking. Merlin, Cepheus was impossibly nice. He had to wonder... he had to wonder, if being upfront would have changed anything in past relationships.
But that made him feel terribly alone, and he didn't want to be - not for Ceph's sake, if not for his. The comment about spontaneous dinners made him turn red, though; he buried his face into the warm shoulder in an effort to cool down his cheeks or something on the likes of it because that didn't make any sense when he thought about it later.
Either way, as the equally spontaneous hug ended graciously, his gaze would normally be cast upon the floor, but he caught sight of the blue eyes and there was something in them that made him gaze back. So many things and more that made him want to reach out and kiss him, and yet tell him not to worry, he's got it covered, he's working it out for the sake of everyone... nah, he couldn't say that with a straight face. No more lies, he told himself, no more holding things back. They'd eventually trust each other enough for him to tell Cepheus what he'd fixed back into place and what they could work out to help him cope.
But for now.
"It'll take over half an hour to finish," he said, indicating the oven with one hand; the other held in Ceph's grasp. "I could do with a little space to breathe before we eat and I give you my appropriate label warnings, hm?" That's a terrible joke. Oh Merlin you are going to sink this relationship with bad humour if not your sheer stubbornness.
-
“Label warnings?” Cepheus echoed, a smile creeping into the corners of his lips, “don’t tumble dry?” He squeezed Arc’s hand once more before slipping their fingers from each other. “Sure, I’ll figure out something to drink with it, maybe. Lamb, right?” He offered Arcturus a genuine smile, relieved that the tension and the confessional was over, or at least over for now. Arc seemed to be coming through whatever had driven him to rush over and concentrate on cooking.
With a wave of Ceph’s wand, kitchen cupboards and drawers eased open, dry crockery and cutlery returning home with the aide of magic. He played it cool, pretending to focus on normality, domestics, checking if he had any wine in, when in reality he watched his boyfriend’s motions in the space out of the corner of his eye.
Nobody their age, their background, was without baggage, or rather, history. Cepheus knew and accepted this, but a small part of him did wonder now, crouched before his modest alcohol cupboard, if Arcturus had needed someone, a close friend, more urgently than he’d ever anticipated. Cepheus knew lonely, but he also had siblings - even geographically distant - and friends who made time for him. He very much hoped he could do the same for Arcturus through the course of getting to know each other better. For a partner to Cepheus very much became a close, if not closest friend.
As the dinner cooked, wizards took their space, as desired. Courtesy of the host, a leafy salad, bottle of rioja, wine glasses and place settings appeared on the end of the counter. It which doubled as a kitchen table of sorts with mismatched stools tucked beneath. The wooden stools would not have looked out of place in a potions or school chemistry lab. The moussaka had filled the flat with a rich cheese and lamb scent, and Claude had taken to rubbing himself on every leg - human or furniture - in an effort to accelerate the possibility of being fed.
Cepheus had uncorked the wine to let it breathe, and stood out of the way to let Arc complete the cooking process.
“Smells terrific,” he remarked, unable to help himself. “Way better than what I had planned.” He poured them both a modest glass, knowing Arc wasn’t the keenest of drinkers. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
-
Was that a smile? Still cringing internally from what he felt were bad attempts to lighten the mood, Arc wasn't quite sure whether Cepheus was laughing with him or at him, but he wasn't about to ask. Better to find bliss in ignorance, and he really didn't want to know.
He moved out of the way to allow the other wizard space to locate a suitable beverage. Even after confessing, he was still restless, fidgety, catching himself looking down at his right hand. Arc curled up his fingers into a ball, his fingernails digging into his palms - he didn't like it when his hand unconsciously did that, though he couldn't remember why. The flashbacks weren't clear enough.
Arc did not catch Ceph's gaze upon him, too occupied with keeping shadows - and excessive worrying - at bay. He focused more on Claude to steady himself, watching the cat try to curry favour from him in the hopes he might get a tidbit of food in return. Unable to resist the charm of a furry feline as ever, he knelt down to fuss over Claude a little, which also got his head out of the way of airborne cutlery, crockery and a bottle of wine.
Eventually he had to break away from the purring cat to retrieve the finished dish from the oven, which he did with his wand. "Could do with a placemat and knife," he said, setting himself back into efficiency mode. "I'll cool it down a little for the moment. No, Claude, this is hot." He very gently nudged the cat aside from trying to get between his legs. "I'll hang onto this until you get things ready."
-
They served dinner like a couple, giving and taking where only natural. There was a little awkwardness, but Cepheus was sure that was just down to the spontaneity and the serious tone the conversation had reached half an hour before. Claude was doing his very best to distract both of them, and Ceph was glad his boyfriend knew how to handle a persistent cat.
“Here,” Ceph landed a thicker cork mat on the counter for Arc to put down the dish. He acquired a knife and fish slice lift the food out of the dish once cut. “Yep, definitely looks good,” Cepheus confirmed. Clutching the implements down by his side, he tugged the stools out so Arc could take a seat. “Allow me to serve the chef…”
A few minutes later the moussaka was cool enough and served onto two plates beside the salad. Cepheus had hopped up onto the other stool, and raised his wine glass to Arc.
“Thank you darling,” he toasted, “it’s lovely to have you here tonight. Thank you for dinner and company.” He sipped the wine and began to eat. The obligatory noises that suggested the moussaka was nice were entirely genuine from Gamp.
“I heard that Hogwarts is free of the magical measles,” he began, settling on a recent event that Arc might have caught, easing back into the smalltalk. “Not it’s real name, I know, but that’s good. Has it been much the same for London, do you reckon?” He knew Arc only dealt with one floor at St Mungo’s and he might not even be with patients afflicted. “Kayla, my secretary at work, said The Quibbler was predicting Muggles would get it and gain magic for a fortnight. Absolute twaddle, but if it had been true, what chaos!” He shook his head. “Do you think you’d have coped without magic for a fortnight?”
-
Darling! Arc felt his cheeks warm and glanced away quickly on the pretence of tackling his share of the food. In fact he was more concerned with how Gamp would feel about his food much like a worried new partner looking to make a first impression would. The other wizard seemed to be enjoying himself, that was a good thing indeed.
He didn't bring up the fact that he was eating a bit less than he normally would. They had pushed through a serious conversation topic and by rights - according to what his logic was telling him - this would have closed a metaphorical gap between them by quite a significant bit, but it hadn't fixed his sorely lacking appetite for the whole week. You selfish git. Ah the old voice. He stopped it from going any further with a mouthful to focus on.
Arc silently listening to Ceph as he chatted away, taking sips of the wine (which was really good, he wasn't going to deny) while he paid attention. His mind kept wandering away to make little awe--filled statements such as I haven't had this kind of small talk over dinner as far as I can remember and He has such a nice smile! Always he had to bring it back to the here and now, which as a result had him not answer for a minute or so after Ceph was done. Absolute twaddle, he says. He's adorable.
"I'd have a week off work if I didn't have magic," he said truthfully. "Either I'd be stuck filling in paperwork and reading, or being absolutely bored out of my mind at home. Even if I weren't in a good mood, work keeps me grounded. Wouldn't know what to do without it." He absently speared a small piece on the end of his fork. "We're keeping an eye out in London in general, in case it comes back. I couldn't tell you if London or the rest of England is clear of all of it. As for the Quibbler, well..."
The healer ate the piece he'd just gently murdered. "...I'm not surprised it said that, but I'm glad no one took that seriously. We'd have to issue an official statement to belay rumour from spreading. I hear some in the Ministry got the illness as well - I take it they're getting better, if not already recovered?"
-
It did not go unnoticed that Arc was enjoying a little wine with dinner. Cepheus had been concerned he might not touch it, but perhaps a little alcohol might ease the anxiety? Perhaps smalltalk would too? He could but hope. It did him, after a long week…
“… work keeps me grounded. Wouldn’t know what to do without it.” Cepheus smiled in understanding. They both shared a wish to be useful, which was probably common to the majority of working adults. They both were useful and made a difference in their own fields. Ceph’s didn’t involve quite as many potential life or death decisions, well, not directly anyhow.
“As for the Quibbler, well…”
“Oh I know,” Cepheus agreed with the insinuation, pausing in the motion of posting salad into his mouth to contribute. He chewed along as he listened to Arc’s thoughts. He was enjoying listening to what he had to say. Although Arc was never animated in conversation, it was good that he felt able to hold it that evening despite the stress which had brought him here.
“I hear some in the Ministry got the illness as well - I take it they’re getting better, if not already recovered?”
“Mhm,” Cepheus agreed, setting down his fork a moment and swallowing. “Yeah, we seemed to have quite a lot of people go down with it over Christmas and into New Year. Not ideal, since that’s when a lot of people take some time off.” Cepheus shook his head, “I think once word got round of what it was, or what it did to people, everyone was a bit more understanding about coming in to cover. I just took a rational look at what was essential to keep running in my Division.” He gave a little shrug and picked his fork up again.
“I didn’t mention when you came over here after Christmas, but I actually spent a while with Healer Marrowbone on Christmas day. We had a chap turn up in the park.” It had been in the paper but Cepheus knew Arc didn’t read everything, and perhaps hadn’t noted his name dropped into one of the reports. “Vampire bite, not a drop left in him.” Cepheus shook his head and looked back down at dinner, sitting straighter as he remembered himself. “Sorry, this was meant to be smalltalk and I’m on vampire related corpses.” He pressed a hand to his face and glanced up at Arc. “Tell me about what you’ve been up to instead, maybe.”
-
"Dead people at the dinner table isn't much of a conversation stopper for a healer, you know." Arc smirked a little, though he downplayed it for Ceph's sake. "If we were at my family's there would be no talk of work at all. Marrowbone? Well now she's a fun one, thoroughly enjoys her work. Great colleague, but I can see why you wouldn't share her idea of fun. It's a... an acquired taste."
“Tell me about what you’ve been up to instead, maybe.” He took the opportunity for another mouthful. Was he getting an appetite in Ceph's company? Mystery for the ages, because he wasn't about to solve it now as he swallowed. "The usual. Whether it be someone drinking the wrong potion by mistake or mis-identification of a poisonous mushroom. There's always an incident every day, and sometimes we have to cover other floors." He added a bit of salad to his own plate, again not looking at Ceph as he spoke. "It just so happens that I'm not scheduled for the weekend, and it's been a long one."
Should he tell Cepheus why he was in such a bad mood? He mulled this over, and then decided against it. Dinner was a nice affair - he wasn't about to ruin the food. "I recall you asked me about fluid manipulation some time back," he said quietly, picking up the glass and swilling it around absently so that the wine stirred around in it. "It's still ongoing. Manipulating water in its natural habitat is more difficult than it looks, but there are a lot of practical uses for it. Stirring my tea, for one." That was meant to be light-hearted, but he did mean it as well. "At least I could talk to you about it in a better capacity now. What I knew about it then was not the best discussion we had."
Zeus he was talking like a real Ravenclaw this time, but he couldn't help it. Lyra had once described him as "the biggest nerd this side of Hogwarts rivalling Granger", and sure she had gotten a soft punch for it but she hadn't been wrong. It might have been an overly narrow superlative, but she had a reason to make that comparison.
He didn't talk about the findings he'd made about how all this linked with the potential uses of blood in healing, but he wasn't going to discuss that - apart from making him uncomfortable, it was research neither complete nor worth making note of. He hadn't even used it in his work. All just theory. Too much theory, he thought, but at least it wasn't in practical use.
"I'll spare you the boring details about the potion formulae brainstorming and all that, it would all be Greek to you anyway." Arc took a sip of wine, again. It was really good.
-
“Dead people at the dinner table isn’t much of a conversation stopper for a healer, you know”
“I thought not.” Cepheus chuckled, glad Arc took it well. He continued with his dinner, a little self-conscious of how he ate given it was just the two of them and this was their first proper dinner alone of sorts. Oh, no, Claude was there, he’d just bumped against the back of Ceph’s stool to remind him.
Arc helped himself to some more of the salad, which Ceph took as liking it, rather than noticing any lack of eating on his guest’s behalf. Hollingbury painted a broad brush picture of the Third Floor of the hospital. The fact he was not working that weekend did not go unnoticed by Gamp. He wouldn’t ever get his hopes up (Arcturus had been quite clear, of course) but that suggestion did waylay a usual get out of jail excuse for not spending time, or stopping over…
“I recall you asked me about fluid manipulation some time back?” Arc asked, and Cepheus looked up, nodding in agreement. Arc did lots of interesting work alongside his healing. He was clever, though rarely arrogant about it. Ceph had enjoyed charms at school, studying it to a NEWT alongside Creatures, Arithmancy, Transfiguration and Muggle Studies. He’d done rather well in his NEWTs, truth be told, though it was sixteen, nearly seventeen years since he’d taken the exams.
Arc elaborated vaguely, sloshing wine round his glass as he did. Cepheus followed the motion of his hands.
“… stirring my tea, for one.”
“All got to start somewhere,” Cepheus remarked, reaching for his own glass, mirroring unintentionally in that he held a glass.
“At least I could talk to you about it in a better capacity now…” Arc continued to explain.
“Mhm.” Cepheus sipped his wine without breaking his gaze. He wanted to listen to Arc chatter all night about his interests. They’d spent so much of their earlier outings with Cepheus making most of the conversation. Arcturus was quieter, which was absolutely fine, but Cepheus very much liked to listen to him when he did wish to share.
“I’ll spare you the boring details about the potion formulae brainstorming and all that, it would all be Greek to you anyway.” Arc had this little habit of brushing detail away, suggesting Cepheus wouldn’t either be interested or on occasion, understand. The truth was that Ceph would very much like Arc to detail. He’d never had to tell Arc to stop talking!
“The potions bit, maybe,” Ceph agreed, for that was valid. He didn’t really have need to whip out a cauldron in his job. The nearest he got was trying to mix a cocktail. “I’d totally peer review it for you - well, I’m not exactly a healing peer, but… I’d like to read it, is what I mean.” He gestured animatedly, as he did when he struggled to find the right words, and remembered to put his wine back down only partway through.
“So has it been refining charms, or are you creating incantations from scratch?” Cepheus asked, genuinely interested. He knew the Ministry had its own group who did invent spells. Creating spells was all about channelling magic into a more consistent pattern to be redelivered by multiple wand bearers. Like magic was a great pile of tangled wool and you just tried to find the right bit to pull on, in the right neighbourhood of spells. Internally, Ceph was mixing his metaphors.
“What’s the progress so far?” He asked, sitting back a little, “I clearly need an update.”
-
He had to stop a bit, and stare at Ceph awkwardly. For a moment it was as if the other wizard had just asked a sensitive question, but then Arc set his glass down. "I'm... sorry, I'm not used to people asking me further updates on anything I do," he said, blushing a little. "Most situations are either polite layman's company or a need to keep information brief. If you're not asking me out of politeness, then... uh..." He hesitated, eyes glancing nervously to one side. "I-I'm not used to it."
It was weird having his partner be so intensely interested. Sure, fellow Ravenclaw and all, but other Ravenclaw alumni didn't continue to ask. This was another new thing he'd have to get used to, if he was going to be spending a lot more time with Cepheus. "You... like math?" His brain was catching up on the conversation now. "I'm sorry? Did I hear that right?"
No, this man was definitely interested. Some long-slumbering areas in his brain stirred and squinted lethargically at Ceph, and he could feel the slight yearning pull in his chest, a sensation he felt like he should be acquainted with but didn't. "I'm... not inventing spells," he said, at length. "This magic has existed for thousands of years before we had cities and towns and streets. The wand is good for conjury, but I'm not dealing with conjury - it's actual fluids in their normal environment. The two are very different; conjured objects bend to our will because it is magic by our command, but pre-existing elements of the world are much more difficult to control with just a wand." He cast around for an analogy. "For example... if you were to pick up a handful of sand, you don't use one finger to do it. You use your whole hand."
For all the knowledge he knew, he was bad at explaining. This was probably why he'd decided not to become a professor - that, and he had made a promise, after all. "So in other words, it's wandless magic. It serves my needs, and there have been countless others before me who have made it entirely possible. Ancient Greeks, Hawaiians, the people of Polynesia and Micronesia... frankly, I don't need to re-invent the wheel, but it comes with a steep learning curve."
He paused to take a bite. "On the bright side," he continued, after swallowing, "it's strangely calming, as long as I don't manipulate more than half a mug's worth of water. Any more than that is inviting a headache. I think I might be doing something wrong on that one..."
-
Hollingbury seemed genuinely taken aback that Ceph was asking. For a fleeting moment, Gamp wondered if he’d opened a can of worms by showing interest and doomed himself! No, it seemed unlikely, and they were in such early days of being ‘something’ it was best to discover sooner than later. Either way, this blush was a rather lovely colour on Arc. Cepheus wanted to lean over and kiss a pinking cheek, but they were eating.
“You… like math?” Ceph gave a nod in agreement at this statement, “I’m sorry? Did I hear that right?”
“You got me.” Cepheus set down his knife and raised a hand in mock surrender. If he hadn’t been a wizard he’d have certainly been one of those nerds studying A-Level maths or physics. Instead he’d sufficed with Charms, Arithmancy and Transfiguration. He was too interested in the more human (or being) side of life to entirely devote himself to statistics and probability of financial markets. Applying a statistical model to analyse the suitability of giant habitats… perhaps.
Arcturus relented to elaborate on his research, spurred on by Ceph’s question about creating charms. Finishing his moussaka as his guest continued, Cepheus slid the cutlery to one side and wordlessly topped up Arc’s wine glass. Nothing excessive, just enough to be polite before adding an equal amount to his own.
“… pre-existing elements of the world are much more difficult to control with just a wand.” Arcturus explained, and Cepheus considered the point, shifting to cross one leg over the other and turn to face Arc a little better on his stool. He cradled his wine glass in both hands.
“No, I think I get you,” Cepheus encouraged, nodding, gazing off towards the living room, visualising handfuls of sand. He smoothed a hand over his lips and beard, listening, but also self-conscious that he was sporting an unintended fragment of their meal.
“… it’s wandless magic…comes with a steep learning curve.”
“I’m sure.” Ceph agreed. Only the strongest, most practiced wizards in European culture seemed to have any grasp of wandless magic after approaching it from a wand-first direction. There were many other magical cultures who used artefacts, circles, wandless magic but Cepheus did not profess to knowing a huge amount about the intricacies. It sounded like Arc had done his research though. It made him think back to the Christmas present - now pride of place on Ceph’s bookshelves after a good read.
“On the bright side, it’s strangely calming,” Arc continued with his dinner, only right since Cepheus had monopolised the opportunity not to speak by finishing the rest of his plate. “… any more than that is inviting a headache. I think I might be doing something wrong on that one…” The listening party thought for a moment, and then reminded himself he had a lot of listening and reading to do before he tried to make useful suggestions.
“You’ll crack it, I have faith in you.” Cepheus reassured him brightly, reaching out to Arc’s arm, as his fork hand lowered back to the plate. He squeezed Arc’s forearm gently before his elbow. “That was an absolutely amazing moussaka, by the way. Thank you.” He leaned forward and left a quick kiss on Arc’s right cheek, before letting go and switching his wine glass between hands.
“So what’s driven you to research that in particular?” He asked, tilting his head, blue eyes only briefly leaving Arc each time he posed a new question, “What’s your intended application for healing, when you manage it?”
-
He finally finished the portion he had, quiet in the wake of discussion to let Cepheus speak. It was strange yet oddly touching to have someone listen to him so fervently - strange because most people would normally find him dull. He could name certain people whom he suspected would brush him off as being too bookish for their tastes, and frankly they were accurate. No one wanted to hang around someone whose idea of a good day was to read for most of it.
Well... that wasn't entirely true, but he was not ready. He was haunted by a lot of eyes...
Arc smiled at the kiss and wiped his mouth with a napkin, watching the way Ceph moved his hands - and those blue twinkling eyes. Which, he then realised, made him melt a little when the other wizard asked him what he intended to do with his knowledge on fluid manipulation. Melt was the right word to use because he did so wish he could trust Ceph with this part of his... obsession, yes that's the word. His morbid interest in using blood for good. But the use of blood in magic was illegal, and in healing almost always for extreme cases and last resorts. His ideas would be rejected - at best.
"I've always had an interest in it," he said lightly. "My father once told me that the Hollingburys sometimes have specific members of the family with an affinity for one of the classical elements, and usually have higher proficiency in magic of that element as a result. I've always liked the idea of playing with water, and water represents healing more often than not. Humours of the body played an important role in Greek medicine, and most of our potions need water. I stir potion brews," he added, before he could stop himself, "without the use of a stirrer or a wand."
Oh he really didn't need to say that, it felt like bragging. "Er... it helps to know distribution of water and other solutions required in the potion," he added awkwardly. "Nothing so significant in the world of healing."
Carefully slipping his fingers under the bowl of the glass, slotting the stem smoothly between his fingers, he'd try to play it off normally but this close to that 'edge' that was the start of the slippery slope, he of course made an attempt to turn the topic away from that. "Oh! I... really shouldn't have forgotten, but thank you for the, um, flowers." He blushed, taking a sip from the glass to avoid looking at Cepheus. "And for not using flower language... it's not the... the first thing that comes to my mind when I receive a bouquet."
No, it was not. His first reaction had been sinking down onto the sofa and curling up. Exhausted, lonely and feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. The flowers had been a drop of hot brandy sinking into a cold gullet, a welcome sensation that bloomed joy upon a parched wasteland but like every flower only lasts so long without water and love because we are, after all, part of an indifferent world. In simpler words, it had both healed and hurt to see the flowers.
"Thank you," he murmured again, remembering. Ceph might be slightly alarmed to see him not smile despite the expression of gratitude.
-
Wizarding families were either obsessed with blood and lineage, or with history, Gamp reflected as Arc recounted his father. Ceph was pretty sure he knew of Arc’s dad up on Level 2, though only through professional channels. Hollingbury line considered themselves to be important with classical elements? Interesting. The Gamp family would be forever related to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration if not that one of Ceph’s forefathers had been a notable Minister for Magic. Recent history aside.
“… I stir potion brews, without the use of a stirrer or a wand.”
Ceph raised his eyebrows with a twist of his head, indicating polite acknowledgement of this minor brag. Arc quickly followed it up with explanations about distribution of water in potions and brushed aside the significance in healing, much to Ceph’s surprise. Though, Arc had quite the habit of brushing aside explanations and such.
Before he could tease a little more out of him, Arc had mirrored Ceph’s behaviour, cradling his own wine glass, and brought up the flowers he’d sent at the start of the week.
“It was my pleasure, and gosh, I thought I better not and say so after what you said!” He grinned, “They were just what Yuka suggested when I explained I wanted to send some.” Arc didn’t seem to know quite how to react to being sent flowers. It was new to him, which was such a shame, but Gamp was glad to be able to provide the experience.
“How about you take the wine over to the sofa,” he suggested “and let me do the rest of the washing up and feed Claude.” He reached for Arc’s plate with a smirk, “don’t worry, won’t ask for a demo in the sink.” He slid from the stood beside Hollingbury, magic lifting the dirty plates and dish across the kitchen. At the suggestion of being fed, Claude let out a creaky meow and trotted at his owner’s heels.
Doing the remaining washing up gave them both some time to pause. Ceph was conscious that however talkative Arcturus appeared, he was an introvert, and wouldn’t want to sustain the verbosity. Cepheus wasn’t a particular extrovert either, he hovered between the cusp of the two, his behaviour very much depending on who he was with and the role he had adopted for the situation. He was glad that the earlier, more serious questions, hadn’t completely dried up the conversation.
He did want to return to that topic some point in the future though. Better to understand what Arcturus was going through, and be there for him. But not press it tonight. He hoped that as they got closer Arc would feel able to share his worries, and perhaps discover they were both terrible over thinkers.
At the sink, out of sight of the other wizard, Cepheus smiled to himself as he realised that was the first time Arc had cooked dinner for them. That they’d actually shared dinner rather than going for Sunday morning breakfast while perusing books, or lunch like they had earlier in the month. On Monday they’d have been seeing each other for a month, though they’d actually barely seen each other for one reason or another.
Ceph’s smile diminished a little at the thought, considering that this evening hadn’t been planned, even if it had turned out better than the premise had suggested it might. He didn’t want to think he’d pressured Arc into being together, and that the healer had got cold feet. Claude protested impatiently from the floor behind him, and Ceph uttered placations in the voice he used only for his feline companion.
It was a good five minutes before Cepheus rejoined Arcturus in the living room. Claude was happily noshing down on his dinner in the kitchen, jaws smacking and pink tongue busy with the bowl. His owner flopped down on the sofa, a little more relaxed in his sprawl than before. It was Friday evening and he was finally starting to shake off the feeling of work.
“I was going to call on you this weekend, as it happened.” Cepheus explained, as if the conversation hadn’t stopped. “See if you wanted to get up to something together.” Check you weren’t avoiding me…
He folded his hands across his stomach, “There isn’t much on at the muggle cinema, as far as I know. I wondered if going to see the da Vinci exhibition (https://web.archive.org/web/20120424123744/http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/whats-on/exhibitions/leonardo-da-vinci-painter-at-the-court-of-milan) at the National Gallery was perhaps your thing. It’s only on until next weekend.”
-
The sound of dishes clinking in the sink along with running water was a welcome reprieve from the conversation. This might have been the longest talk he'd ever had with someone that wasn't work-related, in the past few days. Strange, he thought as he leaned his head back on the sofa, he could hold conversations about work for at least a good hour, give or take a few sips of water in between. Perhaps the difference between a purpose-driven discussion and one that simply ebbed and flowed wherever the tide went, and which of the two he preferred to have.
He couldn't expect Gamp to know that now. Who would? Everyone wanted to stop thinking of work after a long day, and here he was using work as a distraction and to stave away unappealing thoughts, keeping them at bay the same way a Patronus fended off dementors.
Ceph's weight made him start a little. How long had he closed his eyes for, watching the numbers from some final equations he hadn't had the time to complete earlier? "It's been a little hectic this week," he explained a little apologetically. "Unless you'd prefer I owl you every weekend my schedule in advance? It'd be a first if you asked, but as a healer that also tends to change and would cause plenty of anguish, I imagine. I don't suppose your schedule in the Ministry is as volatile outside of the werewolf business."
He'd sank down into the sofa, not his usual corner but enough to lean back into familiarity of having his backside planted there, just as he had last year. "I... I'm bad at art, I'll be honest. Most things creative. I'd try my best, but for all that Ravenclaw stands I'm not that clever." He shook his head, afraid he'd disappointed the other wizard. "You know I don't read fiction or gossip, either. It does make people wonder how I could be any less interesting as a person. They're not... they're not wrong, I suppose."
Arc looked away, feeling the assumption of Ceph judging him a little coming on. "I'm not free next weekend either. Saturday, yes, but Friday I have a night shift (https://absitomen.com/index.php?topic=11252.msg147515#msg147515), then Saturday night I'm on call for twenty-four hours. If all goes right - which it rarely does - I'll need a full night's sleep for the Monday after. That's all I know for the long-term, and perhaps gives you an idea of the kind of schedule I run? But," he took a deep breath, "I swear I'm not trying to avoid you. If I drank this much wine on a weeknight I probably wouldn't have enjoyed going to work the next day! My mind's full of healing and math and work and patients..."
He rested both hands on his stomach, lowering his gaze. "I'm just glad if I can grab a little space to myself."
After a moment the healer glanced sideways at Cepheus, eyes looking him up and down. "Change that to space to myself with you, now," he said softly. "Like I said, I'm terribly dull. It always surprises me when someone wants to spend time with me."
-
That was a no then.
Arc’s fluster about owling shift schedules didn’t help Ceph’s suspicion that a relationship wasn’t something Arcturus seemed willing to make room for in his life. He’d thought about it while falling asleep one night, contemplating the fact that they’d committed to calling themselves a couple after Christmas, but they’d only seen each other once since for lunch. The reticence had been on Hollingbury’s side.
He didn’t answer Arc’s offer to owl things, especially as he indicated it might not remain as sent. He glanced away, with a twitch of his mouth as he considered it all.
“… most things creative… you know I don’t read fiction or gossip, either…” Arc offered each of these things as some sort of explanation about the exhibition. “… make people wonder how I could be any less interesting as a person. They’re not… they’re not wrong, I suppose.”
Ceph glanced sideways to Arc at that, but Arc had looked away, continuing with the elaboration of his diary. Cepheus sat forward on the sofa, knees together, and looked back at the other wizard reclined on the sofa. His expression must have relayed the feeling of compromise he was patiently keeping to himself.
“I swear I’m not trying to avoid you.”
With a tiny sigh, he reached for the wine bottle, lifting to add to them both, when Arc protested. With a small frown, Gamp diverted the bottle of the wine bottle and poured himself some more instead. Perhaps it was the wind loosening Hollingbury’s tongue. He set the bottle down with a little bump and swigged a little wine. They’d been having a nice time, hadn’t they?
“… I’m terribly dull. It always surprises me when someone wants to spend time with me.”
“You’re not exactly selling yourself,” he replied, his honest first thought getting out. He never usually let them go, his second thoughts were always the better ones. Well, at least a little more tactful. Oh dear. He visibly inhaled and exhaled, blinking quickly, not looking at his guest. Best to be honest, though wasn’t it?
“Sorry, sorry…” One hand hung in the air, fingers parted, and he pressed his eyes closed almost wincing.
Gathering his thoughts, Cepheus looked back, fingertips slowly pressing and lifting against the side of his wine glass. “It’s alright, you know, Arcturus, if you prefer to just stick to being friends.” He bit his bottom lip, lowering his gaze and drinking a little more. “I guess,” he tried to clarify, “I’m just not sure where we are with things, that’s all…” Maybe he was just being an arsehole, saying that tonight.
-
M - This thread contains further mentions of mental health struggles.
Gamp's words were a punch to the gut, enough that Arcturus winced and squeezed his eyes shut. Ever the opportunist just like Claude, the shadows came swooping in like a Lethifold. You awful fool, what have you done? Did you think you could escape forever? Did you not think ahead like you used to, or did the wine whisper a little laugh into your ear? Let me speak and he'll know where you stand--
He clapped his hand over his mouth. No. He'd done it once to a friend who hadn't deserved it, and if he did it again he wasn't sure if he could live with himself for doing that. But now with that said... he knew that whatever it was going to say, was still a truth, just like what Cepheus said. That was what made all these words so much more painful - they were truths.
Arcturus took a deep breath while a little evil chuckle echoed somewhere. Anger swelled like a slowly creeping tide of molten rock, but not at Ceph - at himself. He could always count on that rage being there.
"Don't apologise." Arc pulled himself up to sit straight on the sofa, averting his gaze. "Sometimes things need to be said, even if they come without a filter. Maybe if that had happened before, I wouldn't be that much of a mess. I know it would have been better if I hadn't kept the truth to myself, in the least."
Where could he even start? He kept silent, but his head rattled on with words from a darker side that had lost its way. Maybe the real reason why you're here? The truth is, I'm afraid. Always am. If I come with you, who's to say I don't ruin your life. I came here originally because... I've had a bad week. The day you sent the flowers. A day I wish I hadn't lived long enough to see, because others died a decade ago and I... didn't.
Yet obsessing over it, letting it haunt my waking hours, isn't the way to go. He blinked, aware of sudden additional moisture in his eyes. I came here because doing something for you would make me feel better. Even if my head tells me I'm a fool for opening myself to being hurt again, even if my heart is afraid that you will see me nothing more than a coward and move on.
This wasn't right. None of the things in his head were right. He felt me worth and I find myself wanting. "From what I see," he said softly, "I'm still afraid, despite all you've done for me. It's been a month and we haven't seen each other more than... twice? I'd have to make a lot more effort than that." A pause, an intake of breath. "I might not be ready for this. For you. That's not fair to you, is it? Here I am taking scary tiny steps and you're waiting for me patiently."
-
It was hard to maintain an outward semblance of irritation with the situation when framed like that. He was being as patient as one could be, and accommodating too, but there was a fine line between it and being honest about what one wanted in a romantic relationship. He hadn’t anticipated a long distance relationship when they lived on the same street.
“I just don’t want to rush you,” Cepheus admitted, looking down into the red wine in his grasp. “But, being a supportive friend, being there for you, doesn’t have to include being a couple if that’s more than you have space… time for.” He gave an awkward shrug, disappointed. There’d been quite the bump down to earth after their evening together between Christmas and New Year. “You know I’ll be there for you, like this, and you’re always welcome. But I guess I just need to know where to set my expectations about the rest of the stuff. You know?”
He’d asked Arcturus about his expectations that night they’d first confirmed their feelings about each other, and Hollingbury had been forthcoming on setting some. Perhaps it was Ceph’s turn…
“I’m looking for someone who wants to spend time with me, whether doing something constructive or silly, or nothing in particular. Someone who might not share my exact interests, but who is willing to indulge me, and I will in turn. And yes… someone who’ll in time… feel physically comfortable to share themselves with me, as I with them.” Gosh, how analytical that sounded to spell it out like that. But perhaps that was what Hollingbury needed? Perhaps the job description of sorts would make up his mind on where the cusp fell. Friend, or more than.
-
He couldn’t explain why he had thought that way, but that was not the answer appropriate for the moment. It was still a part of him, and one day he would address it, but not with Cepheus - not right away.
“I… I’m sorry…” Hands laid down flat, shoulders trying not to tense. “I realised I was… not thinking of you - your needs. No, you’re right. I should have asked you first.” ‘Should have’, he felt, would become weak if he kept saying it - Merlin, he felt it already did. “What… can I do to make it up to you?” He felt like hiding his face, but that would come off as insincere - the voice in his head shouting it at him in slight panic was just an additional confirmation to his overthinking.
Internally he’d shoved aside the grumbling in his head to prioritise thinking over Gamp’s words and silently berate himself. What was he doing? He had a sneaking, not at all encouraging suspicion that he’d repeated an old mistake, one he should have seen and halted.
The grump in his head muttered and he knew that was not the answer. If things were as what it had said to him, he would be better off living alone and not being a healer. Two things that he, ultimately, could not see himself doing. He still had a chance-- Cepheus was giving him this chance. What a fool he was and had been.
-
“What … can I do to make it up to you?”
“Spend some time with me, spend some time together.” Cepheus suggested without hesitation. Because if doing something that simple was beyond what Arcturus felt he could do, then their relationship as more than friends was already past tense.
“A change of scenery is good,” he added, gesturing with his free hand. “You don’t need to be an artist or read fiction to appreciate the genius of da Vinci. Go first thing when it opens, when it’s not so busy.” He suggested, “back in time for lunch. Out or, well, I’m sure I can put something adequate together for us.”
Decisively, he set his wine glass on the coffee table before them, and hopped to his feet. He prised the post from earlier out of the sofa and moved away to his modest desk against the wall opposite the sofa. A pile of papers in a wire basket formed a sort of personal in-tray. His busy fingers searched through the upper layers to find a leaflet he’d picked up about the exhibition by way of better explaining it to the healer on his sofa.
“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, eyes on the task, but feeling safer to say it with some distance between them, “I thought perhaps you’d got cold feet. I know that’s incredibly needy and self-centred of me, but it’s the truth. I’m sorry.” He let out a little sigh at himself through his nose, lips pressed hard together. “Ah, here. Here it is.” He returned, finding it hard to meet Arc’s eyes, and extended the brightly printed trifold leaflet, complete with opening times and details about the exhibition.
-
He’d wanted to not ruin Ceph’s day out, honestly, but amidst the angry, negative protests from his head, a clearer voice had said, Why not? And he could not come up with a good answer.
The healer bowed his head, eyes half-closed and unseeing. It was better to keep things for the right time. He listened to Ceph speak; his stomach dropped a notch further at “I missed you” because it was followed by a mocking You’re a champion aimed at himself. This thing had to go. If only he knew how to get rid of it.
If Ceph had found it hard to gaze at Arc, the feeling was mutual. The healer barely glanced at him, a practised flash of attention, as he took the leaflet. “Self-centred and needy,” he murmured quietly, “but right and valid nonetheless.”
His work journal[1] slid itself across the coffee table from his bag, flipped itself open and quietly proffered itself open to the page on which was the week of the date set on the leaflet. The attached quill slid out and gently added the times and details down. If Cepheus wanted to look, he could see the neatly added appointments and notes[2] for other days. In resolute silence - which was as much as a leather and parchment construct bound by glue was expected to do - the book shut itself and appeared to stare, despite the lack of optical implements, at its owner with a certain menacing air.
“I’m sure we can make something work, regardless,” he said in a clearer tone. “There’s always a way.”
As for the subject matter… You can figure out how to make that work, can’t you? You’ve got the brains for that, if not making yourself a fool and spitting on C-- That got drowned out by a sip of wine. He felt immensely disgusted at himself.
-
“Self-centred and needy, but right and valid nonetheless.”
It might only have been what Arcturus muttered, but Cepheus caught it. His fingers were held, extended, pointing in the other wizard’s direction, even though the leaflet had been plucked from between them. Gamp narrowed his eyes, really, really trying to understand. His self-deprecation had been honest, but also to break the sudden frostiness from the wizard who wanted to call himself Ceph’s boyfriend. He hadn’t anticipated it would be repeated back at him, confirmed.
A journal of some sort appeared on the coffee table beside Arc’s wine glass. Ceph’s fingers curled back into his hand, wondering why Arc felt the need to check his diary, when he’d only just mentioned he was free that weekend, which was when Ceph had proposed to go. Nonetheless, a quill inked a note by itself, allowed the ink to dry and closed again.
“I’m sure we can make something work, regardless. There’s always a way.” Arcturus hastily took a sip of wine.
“Can we though?” Cepheus heard himself say. As a man who normally disregarded his first thought in order to honour the second, usually better, idea, he had lost track of which though this was now. The conversation had flip-flopped in all manner of directions since they’d stopped discussing Arc’s research and tried to make plans to spend time together being a couple.
“I mean,” he continued, taking a step back to find the armchair behind him. “I suggest you’ve got cold feet, and you’ve not denied it. You’ve just inked me in like a patient in your ledger.” He gestured to the book on the table. “Arc, I really get the impression you’re not interested in a relationship, and each time I address it, you’re not exactly rushing to correct me.”
He sighed, swallowing, and tried to find the right words to put this in a way he’d understand. “You’re working through something right now, and I understand and appreciate that. But I think adding me to this isn’t the healthiest thing for either of us right now. Something’s changed. I don’t know whether I somehow made you feel obligated, or pressured you into saying you felt the same before New Year, or if I’ve done something, but this isn’t… this isn’t the you I …” There was a hot feeling behind his eyes, and he blinked twice in quick succession, trying to push it away.
“Maybe when you’ve solved whatever you’re going through, maybe that will be a better time for us. You’ll feel ready to do this.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry, so sorry to say this … after you’ve cooked for us, but I really think we both know it.”
-
There was silence after Ceph's last words. Arc, still head bowed, shut his eyes. The overwhelming need to just spit out everything from the start was too great, and he was angry with the wizard who had made a mess of everything from the start.
"Oh, fffffff..." He was losing it. It needed an out.
The healer got to his feet, still not looking at Cepheus, feeling the anger well up in him, setting down the wine glass before anything catastrophic happened to it. It was energy, electric, furious, red. The words that tumbled forth were not lethargic, but like water breaking through a dam. "I fucked up. I don't know how to do these things, really. I should've asked. Instead, you had to tell me. Your expectations are reasonable, but--! I can't live up to them because I'm too weak!" A certain amount of tremble slipped into his voice as he gesticulated wildly with his hands.
"If you told me to go home right now and not step back into your life as an apology, I wouldn't blame you. It's not right for you to deal with this!" The vitriol at himself, betrayed in his tone. "It is not! Right! For you to have to teach me! It is disrespecting your time!" He felt his fingernails dig into his palms. "I cannot bear the idea of you going through the stress of dealing with all this but I'm too socially awkward to even think of others. What does that mean? Apparently, being too self-centred myself!"
The tension in his shoulders departed abruptly, leaving his form drooping. "So much as a little thing as going out together, and I let myself take priority, not you. I'm the arsehole idiot here, so much that I'm still staying because I just... could've said 'Yes, how does tomorrow sound?' and instead I took it twenty miles down the road further than I needed."
Somehow he'd found himself in the kitchen, again. Arc buried his face in his hands. It had hurt to admit his weaknesses, and to someone he looked up to. But it had hurt more to watch Cepheus and not know how to make things right. Did he know? Maybe he did now, but he was afraid that if he tried one more time, that would be the last drop that made the cup run over.
"I'm sorry." The healer had mostly sounded angry with himself the whole time, but now it was somewhat back to normal, if still shakey. "I've been getting help, but it's not an excuse. I just-- I really don't know how to do this. It's dumb. I know. I've forgotten how to interact with people normally. I know that's also dumb. I'm sorry about that too. I'm sorry. About everything. Should I go? Do you still want me here?" He sighed. "I have made a proper mess of this."
-
Arcturus took it well, of course… He started by agreeing he’d made a hash of it, suggesting Ceph’s expectations were reasonable but he couldn’t live up to them even so. Cepheus remained absolutely still, perched on the edge of the armchair, fingers laced together, tips uppermost. It felt horrible to have started the evening with a plea to be let in, followed by an awkward but necessary conversation, and now to have to reject Hollingbury.
As the other wizard began to get angry, Cepheus stiffened, keeping Arc in his periphery vision as he looked at the floor. Deal. Disrespecting. Self-centered. Arsehole. He had walked into the kitchen, increasing the gap between them. Ceph had glanced up tentatively but looked away almost immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
It carried anger, and in the heat of the moment came across uncomfortably. Arc tried to explain himself. Cepheus swallowed and let a blink linger longer than necessary to try and calm his galloping heart.
“I’m sorry. About everything. Should I go? Do you still want me here? I have made a proper mess of this.”
“It’s just not the time for us.” Cepheus replied, his voice breaking. He let a little hum and cleared his throat. “I mean, not now. We’re not… you’re not… ready.” He forced his hands apart and splayed the fingers. “And, and that’s ok. That’s ok Arc. But yeah, yeah I do think it’s best you go now.” He couldn’t look up. His mouth shifted unhappily, unsure what expression to adopt. Merlin, there was heat behind his eyes, and his throat was tight. He had to hold it together.
“Concentrate on getting better.” He gave a more exaggerated nod, battling between wanting this awkward exchange to be over, and not wanting to hurt a good friend.
-
As soon as he heard those words, he knew that was the end of that. It was a shock, a massive one that he would not recover from for several months ahead. Oh, he would be pretending, going about his job and life and treatment, but it would lurk in the back of his head forever until a dark night presented itself as an opportunity to hound his every move.
But that was not the worst part. The worst was seeing Cepheus hurt. In that briefest yet heaviest of moments, it was like receiving a kick to the heart.
Just leave. Just go. Stop making his life worse.
He did not remember how he got from one room to the other so quickly, nor taking out his wand, but his coat drifted into his hand as he stood by the coat hooks. He remained with his back to the rest of the flat, but something small, something… tired, spoke up for him.
“I… I’m sorry.” There was something else he thought to say, but for once he stopped before he said it. Even the thought of saying it twisted his insides. No. It would not do. “Forgive me,” was what he uttered instead.
Then he was off into the night, no other words said. Possibly Cepheus would never want to hear from him again. It would kill him inside if it were true, but for now distance. Distance was good. It meant not hurting Cepheus again.
End