It was getting harder and harder not to draw thoughts from the man next to him - the gillyweed had already been chipping away at Virgil’s sensitivity all night, threatening to reveal the world’s interiors to his own. Now it was a raw nerve that could only be encouraged by their physical proximity, their eye contact, their outstretched hands. He could pick up on the surprise emanating off Cepheus.

Had he never noticed, at all? Not even a little bit? Oh, but he thought Virgil was like Peter, like the boy who never grew up. Something akin to annoyance plucked at Virgil's nerve.

“You don’t… you don’t have to say those things. I’m not a child. I’m not Peter Pan,” the words came out in a hot rush before he realised what he was saying. “I’m not even that nice Cepheus.”

Virgil blushed at the admission, pulling his hand back. Of course Ari had never told her uncle, which was sweet of her, but it didn’t change the fact that he was, by default, an arsehole to most people. Cepheus brought out the parts of him that didn't want to step on anybody's nerves or trip them up over their own words.

“I’m nice around you. I can’t seem to work like normal around you,” he lowered his voice into a whisper. “You make me feel like I can be good, maybe.”

From shocked to confused, none of this was quite making sense all of a sudden. Hadn’t they just been discussing what to pair a shirt with? The merits of a jacket? Tired, and a little disconnected from reality, faced with a crisis of attraction on his own bed, Ceph’s mind grappled with what Virgil threw at it.

“I - Virgil, I never said you were - where did that come from?” A fleeting memory of Rascal mentioning Carstairs was ‘particularly perceptive’ crossed his mind. At the time he’d thought it a compliment to Virgil, but on the receiving end it was reminiscent of his father. Cepheus withdrew his hand, deciding affection was entirely the wrong route.

“Gods, I’m not sure what you’re hoping I’ll say.”

Shit. He was starting to confuse himself, merging together the words being said out loud and the ones trickling through Ceph’s consciousness. This was precisely why he didn’t like to mix alcohol with gillyweed! Virgil felt a jolt of panic when the older man drew his hand away - the slim space between them might as well have been a yawning chasm. Was he annoyed? Angry? Would he get angry if he knew the truth?

It occured to Virgil that he had never tried to picture an angry Cepheus, and the thought made him uneasy.

“I’m sorry,” he crossed his arms over his stomach and curled up further, burying the side of his face against the soft blanket. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to… to do it. Cepheus. I, um. It just happens if I’m not careful. People’s thoughts.”

The walls inside his mind struggled to raise themselves to more sober conditions, although his own psyche was keyed up and anxious enough to distract from Ceph’s. His chest was hot with humiliation. He bit his bottom lip and stared gauntly at the beautiful wizard, who had imparted such kind things to him before.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Virgil could feel the heat behind his eyes and the dryness in his throat, telling him he was fucking this up at an unprecedented rate. “I just wanted to - to say how I felt. I’ll go if you want me to.”

And he would have gotten up right that moment, if he could have brought himself to move at all. He knew he had to leave if this kept the way it was: having to explain his juvenile feelings like a misbehaving child.

He didn’t want to cry in front of Cepheus.

People’s thoughts.

Cepheus looked away from Virgil, the creeping realisation like a drop of cold water down his neck. He pushed himself upright, legs still folded one over the other as his bare foot pressed to the bedroom floor. The cold sensation was pooling in his stomach.

Has he been reading me?

He sat stiffly on the foot of his bed, contemplating matters. Cepheus and Virgil had run into each other more than once, and tonight he was here, an addition to the regulars. Cepheus and Arcturus were near neighbours, Ravenclaws, cat lovers, with their shared routine of searching for books on a Sunday morning before putting the world to rights with tea. Balfour and Johann had progressed past work friends to something lustful, as only they could, and hadn’t he only just been contemplating how the night might have ended?

How had he not noticed? His sister would call him an idiot, she’d have noticed right away. What he would do for Andromeda’s observation!

Gods, Virgil had asked him things Cepheus would never have ever dared to ask, and now the poor soul was curled on his bed ashamed.

Do better, Cepheus.

He swallowed and turned slowly to look back over his right shoulder at Virgil’s red face. Gods he never wanted to hurt him. They were having fun.

“You don’t have to go, Virgil.” He made flinching eye contact and cleared his throat. His eyes picked out the leather jacket behind Virgil and he summoned the confidence it brought. “Forgive me,” he tried again, “if I have been oblivious.” He sought out the half-buried face. “You are good, and I very much enjoy your company. And well…” he pressed his lips together, “if you don’t believe me, take a look.”

When Ceph sat up it felt, for a moment, like maybe the older wizard was simply going to leave the room instead of request that his bed companion go away. But Virgil was slowly beginning to understand that he was rubbish at predicting what Cepheus was going to do or say next - not in the same way he knew what other people wanted to hear or what they didn’t want to hear. His social instinct, which had little to do with Legilimency, was like a compass in the presence of a magnet when Cepheus entered a room. It lost all bearings.

He could barely interpret the eyes that turned to him now, too soft for a brutish brow.

Virgil unclenched the tension in his gut and propped himself up on his forearm, reassured by the gentler words and their delivery. Was he…? Oh. Nobody had ever invited him to read them, not if they couldn’t defend themselves against it.

His first instinct was not to do it. And then he thought better of this because he had felt earlier what it was like to be the relative fledgling in a group of older, more experienced men.

This was a precaution.

Virgil nodded once, licking his sulken lips, trying to hold Ceph’s gaze. That only made him blush further so he dropped his eyes to the exposed collarbone instead. The barriers of their minds, encouraged by insobriety, dissolved.

“Ariadne knows.” Virgil swallowed, ducking his head slightly as he sensed the concern.  “She’s known for ages,” he peered up at Ceph through pale eyelashes and knew the flush in his cheeks now mottled his neck, his chest… because he could sense the physical attraction too, beyond the thoughts.

The lace shirt made Virgil feel transparent. “You like me.”

There. It had almost made it easier to let him see, only now it was out, the guilt for liking Virgil, rather than just liking him, rushed forth. He averted his gaze entirely to the wall in the opposite direction, beyond which two of his other guests had retired. The attraction there would only remain lust. Meanwhile, the attraction in the living room seemed set never to surpass friendship, and the attraction Virgil had queried in their very first question was both illicit and complicated.

“I wish she’d told me.” Cepheus muttered, scratching nervously at his forehead. “She’s had a merry game with us, hasn’t she?” He remembered Ariadne’s eager suggestion on where to take a smoke at the careers fair, unusual questions in letters passed off as homework. Even if coincidental, they were now observed under a different light in his memories.

They had scarcely moved from the bed but Virgil felt as if though he had been to the moon and the depths of Hades, multiple times, in the last five minutes. His heart had given up knowing what to do - it only raced wildly and aimlessly in his narrow chest.

He could almost see the aura of guilt emanating off Ceph’s dark crown as he spoke about Ariadne’s light-hearted attempts to appease this dire infatuation.

“Ari was only trying to… to be nice to me.” Virgil liked her very much and didn’t want anything contrite to rise between niece and uncle, “I don’t think she ever thought I’d have the guts to say anything to you.”

But he did! Merlin, he’d gone and blurted it out, half-dressed in Cepheus’ clothes and laying in bed together with a hard-on. The younger wizard hesitated, then placed his free hand forward against the sheets. A diffident offer.

“You don’t think this is a good idea, do you?” he asked softly. “You think I’m too young to know what I want.”

Cepheus glanced back round, first to Virgil’s hesitant face, and then to midway.
“I think you’re well aware of what you want,” he murmured in return, now not knowing quite where to look. “It’s more that…” Cepheus grappled with the words, though wondered if Virgil might glean the thought anyway.

“... more that I can’t help but feel like the responsible adult.” He dragged both hands through his hair, gripping it. “And I know you’re not a kid, Virgil, but you’re the same age as my niece.” He dropped his hands, one gently gripping Virgil’s calf as he twisted to lift both feet onto the bed. “I used to babysit her, Virgil. Do you see why this is a bit weird for me?” He gestured animatedly between them as he spoke.

He had peppered his sentences with darling earlier in the evening, uninhibited by these worries about Virgil’s age. Just enjoying his company, their mutual interests. “This isn’t … you aren’t … Virgil... I’m trying to do the right thing, but I admit it isn’t always what I want to do.” He gave a crooked smile of consolation and squeezed Virgil’s leg.

He could see what the other man meant. The problem was, he could see all too well - not just how Cepheus might feel about the age gap between them but how it might be perceived by everybody else if it got out. His friends might tolerate a crush and tease him about it but they didn’t take his intentions seriously, did they? Not even Ari did.

Even as he tried to reason himself out of these feelings, the touch on his leg gave him a jolt. As did the smile. This was Ceph saying no to him. I want to, but no.

“Then don’t do the right thing.” Virgil heard himself protest ardently and shifted so that he could sit up and place his hand over Ceph’s. “Or what you think is the right thing,” he glanced down at their hands, faltering for only a second.

If he had any self-respect, he would go away right now. The gillyweed would wear off eventually and he was afraid of how he would feel when it did.

“I like you and you like me,” he tried to pretend his voice hadn’t cracked. “Isn’t that worth us trying?”

Virgil risked looking up properly at Cepheus, trying to be as brave as the older man said. Wasn’t this feeling alone worth the risk of trying? Wasn’t he worth it?

Cepheus didn’t move his left hand when Virgil’s closed over it. He tried to even out his expression, blinking softly, and think clearly. It was difficult, given the long night before them, and the relaxing smoke.

Virgil closed in, hopeful, appealing. Cepheus had to remain strong, even if this was the first time he’d had a younger man as striking as Virgil proposition him. He’d never had anyone attempt to seduce him dressed in Ceph’s own clothes, on his bed. Given Ceph’s desultory lovelife, such an opportunity did not present itself delicately, and there were parts of him that thought it very worth trying.

The Division Head inhaled falteringly, and leaned forward. He pressed his lips to Virgil’s forehead tenderly, holding still for a second before he withdrew enough to meet the younger man’s yearning gaze.
“Not when we’re both drunk and high, darling.” He lifted his right hand to Virgil’s cheek, “not to mention exhausted. You’re worth a clear head.” Cepheus gave a sorry smile, and let go. “I’ll get you some water, you take the bed.”

Cepheus’ lips were cold - that was how Virgil realised he was still burning on the inside, from some strange combination of desire and alcohol and unreasonable hope. The words being spoken weren’t the ones he wanted so much to hear but they weren’t cruel, either. Somehow that made it hurt even more. Darling. No, no, no he didn’t want to hear that word, please don’t say it. There is nothing behind it now.

He was being tucked into bed like a little boy who had been throwing a tantrum.

“Alright.” Virgil agreed, suddenly made weak by the emotions that had gotten so strong a hold of him tonight. “Alright,” he repeated and fell back on to the mattress with a soft huff!

There was nothing to do but sleep, supposed the younger wizard. He had tried, hadn’t he? And been found wanting of…. of age or maturity or something awful that he couldn’t change? Virgil buried his face in the sheets, even though they smelled like Cepheus and every breath was both wonderful and painful. Sharp pin pricks of starlight riddling his lungs.

Of course he had always known the distance between him on earth and the heavenborne constellation was an unbridgeable one. But why did he have to be right?

By the time his host returned with water, the Lost Boy was already lost to dreams. He scarcely heard a glass being set down on the bedside table - barely felt the warmth of a blanket being pulled over him. All was dark. The stars went out one by one.