Late morning. Cambridge University, private flat.


They had forgotten to draw the curtains last night and, as a result, the morning light fell blindingly across Virgil's fair face and drew him out of sleep. He was emerging from a strange interior world: surreal dreams of oceans being painted, of falling into painted oceans. Not his own, because he hadn't been that drunk last night. Also not his own because he distinctly remembered wandering other dreamscapes last night.

The golden haired boy blinked his eyes open, sighing from somewhere deep in his chest. Even the scents around him were unfamiliar: not the fabric conditioner he used, no cat fur, no herbs drying in the rafters. Sweat, instead, and stale liquor. Carpet cleaning fluid. Someone else's aftershave. And the gratifying warmth pressed against his bare side...

Oh. He wasn't the only golden haired boy in bed.

Anton Schäfer appeared as carefree in sleep as he did awake, and their legs were tangled together in the narrow university bed. The muggle's arm was casually slung over Virgil's waist. It felt nice. Grounding. Not pausing to think twice, he drew himself closer underneath the duvet, scooting a bit lower to hide his face in Anton's neck.

His clothes and things[1] from last night were strewn all over the bedroom but he was in no hurry to get dressed or to leave. Virgil loved to sleep and he had so little reason to do so with another person, lately. He'd forgotten how good it could be, even with a sore arse.

"Hey," he murmured in a pouting voice and slid a hand up Anton's chest, trying to rouse him. "Wake up. Wake up, I need to know what's in your kitchen. I'm hungry." And as if to emphasise the hunger, he mouthed at his bed companion's neck.

1.

Link!

The very same sunlight that had pulled Virgil out of sleep as soon as it had crept over the edge of neighboring terraced houses gently warmed Anton's back, soothing him quickly back into sleep even before his bedmate's fidgeting had fully roused him.  Though he didn't quite reach full consciousness, the stirring had been just enough to sever his most recent dream and only vague suggestions of crystal blue water and black sand remained. 

A few moments later, a warm hand against his chest and a soft, though slightly sleep-husky voice, coaxed him once more out of the depths of sleep, with just a touch of reluctance.  "Hmmgh?" Anton hummed in response, not committing to opening his eyes quite yet.  "Why?"  He drew his own hand briefly over the flat stretch of smooth skin under his fingers, finding confirmation that the hand against his chest was not his own and was, indeed, not alone in his bed. 

With a yawn and a compact cat stretch that would disrupt his companions positioning as little as possible, Anton's eyes finally fluttered open and regarded the other young man next to him.  His mouth stretched lazily into a soft smile; there were very few better ways to wake up.  Except, perhaps, when a warm mouth found its way to his neck. 

"If your end goal is to get me out of this bed, you're taking entirely the wrong approach," Anton murmured quietly.  His face scrunched with the effort of trying to direct his thoughts away from the beautiful warm body pressed against his chest and towards the much more mundane contents of his fridge and cupboards.  Assuming the other was asking after the typical, easy-to-prepare morning fare, he yawned before listing off  his usual breakfast assortment.  "The usual.  Bread.  Salami.  Cheese.  Eggs.  Nutella.  Might be some frozen waffles or burritos left.  Can't remember."  At least, it was usual by the typical German standard.  Except for the last two; these were the proud traditional foods of the university student.

His shoulders shook, slightly, with a silent chuckle as his hand left Virgil's abdomen and fished for the corner of the duvet.  "Might not be a bad idea to refuel," he confessed with a smirk before tossing the cover back, extricating himself and finding his way to his feet.  "Coffee or tea?" 

Frozen food? Virgil made a sound not unlike a disgruntled cat, dramatically offended by the idea. But of course muggles didn't have magic and couldn't just use cooking charms to make their meals posthaste. Frozen! Merlin forbid. He threw his head back when Anton pulled off the duvet, stretching to full length and relishing the cold air against him. His nipples were hard, his piercing catching the light.

"Coffee," the wizard drawled before rolling on to his side, eyeing Anton with sleepy blue eyes, "please," he added in the same sweet and pleading tone used last night, when he'd hissed the word more times in an hour than he'd done in the last few months.

Sunday.

It was Sunday and bright and he had nothing to do and he had slept with a man for the first time since last Christmas and it had been shamelessly fun. He wanted to roll around in bed, pretend this was all there was to life for a bit; no past, no future. That's what Anton was: no past and no future. What a beautiful concept.

"I'm going to make you breakfast." Virgil insisted softly and swung his legs around so that he could sit on the edge of the bed, bundling the duvet on to his lap. "Flour, eggs? Do you like it sweet or savoury? I can do both. Or I can guess your favourite."

Another 'speciality'.

Anton met the other blonde's scoffing with unmistakable (albeit, not entirely earnest) incredulous indignation.  "What?  You one of those microwaves-give-you-brain tumor nuts?" he asked, his expression quickly morphing to an amused grin.  "They're a halfway decent means to an end."  Had he ever met a pre-20 year old that scoffed so blatantly at frozen foods? 

Sure, they were hardly the manna of the gods, but they were also the key to the bliss of extra sleep.  Sleep and food; two constantly warring priorities.

Unashamedly, Anton's gaze lingered on the other young man as he rolled to his side.  Oh word.  That please.  A grin tugged at the corners of Anton's mouth as he leaned over the bed, pressing his fists into the mattress to half support his weight as he bent over Virgil.  "You use that word well," he offered, quietly, pressing a warm kiss to the others mouth before straightening and crossing the room to the dresser.  He retrieved a pair of soft sweatpants from the drawer and offered a second pair to Virgil.  Sundays were made for elastic, not buttons.  Much more comfortable and much easier to get rid of in a hurry. 

"You're cooking me breakfast?  I like the sound of that.  Eggs and flour are both doable; I think I have both high protein and the normal kind.  Maybe whole-wheat, though I'm not sure."  He wrinkled his nose, slightly.  "May not be labeled, either.  Might have to live dangerously.  Feel free to rummage for anything you might need,"  he offered, moving to the bedroom door to hunt down coffee beans.

He relished the kiss, with only his hunger keeping him from tugging Anton back into bed and insisting on being made senseless again.  An interior war between great needs: the stomach often won. Virgil took the trousers offered to him, examining them the way he examined everything around him. Like they might offend him at any moment.

            "Feel free to rummage for anything you might need," his host disappeared down the passage, presumably to the kitchen.

It felt strange to be here. He'd been in muggle places before but not muggle bedrooms, and certainly not under intimate circumstance. Virgil tossed the sweatpants aside, going to the dresser to inspect its contents -  thin fingers pulling at drawer knobs, quiet eyes taking in the sight of loosely folded clothes and jumbled socks.

Not fussily neat, nor disastrously messy.

"Mm, better," he pulled out a grey Cambridge University sweatshirt, and quickly tugged it on. The hem was just low enough for decency, and he stole a pair of knee length sports socks. "Much better."

Smiling to himself, Virgil made his way to the kitchen-living room. He leaned against the closest counter and watched Anton for a moment: the bare chest, the smooth shoulders, the strong arms. All still novel to him, still waiting to be touched a second time. And to be touched by.

"Pancakes?" he suggested listlessly, "or crepes, if we simply must be European? Please tell me you have jams, or I might faint. And Merl-- and God knows how you'll have to revive me."

While Virgil had lingered in the bedroom - either taking Anton up on his offer to rummage for something he needed or simply poking around to satisfy some inner curiosity about his impromptu overnight bedmate - Anton had taken the opportunity to haphazardly straighten what could be straightened in the open area in 90 seconds or less.  An exercise that basically amounted to shuffling the strewn books, papers and his laptop on the island counter into a neat pile and tossing the various CDs, DVDs and gaming disks on the coffee table into the usually-pointless, yet feng shui-y, bowl in the middle of the table. 

After instructing his phone to resume playing whatever playlist he'd been listening to before he'd left the flat last night, he turned his attention formally to the hunt for coffee.  He'd just poured the espresso beans into the grinder when Virgil, sorting what one could argue was the remaining half of his own outfit, wandered into the kitchen and leaned against counter. 

"Ooh Lord," he chuckled approvingly, shaking his head as he scooped and tapped the puck of freshly ground espresso into the filter.  "Is there anything sexier than a man in your sweatshirt?  Except ... please tell me those are clean and you got them from the drawer," he added, his eyes finally traveling far enough down Virgil's attire and passed the bare thighs to take in the pair of sports socks.  "I won't be held liable for the state of any used ones." 

After sliding the filter in place and adding water to the espresso maker to heat, he turned his attention back to Virgil.  "Are you guessing my favorite or making a recommendation?" he asked, retrieving the carton of eggs from the refrigerator and setting them on the counter.  "I'm rarely accused of being picky, but I do prefer to roll my cakes with the filling inside.  European would definitely be my preference and I didn't hear you objecting too much last night."   

"Please tell me you have jams, or I might faint. And Merl-- and God knows how you'll have to revive me."

"I have marmalade.  And applesauce.  But, more importantly, who's this Merle that you think will be reviving you should you faint."  He returned to the fridge to retrieve both condiments and set them, likewise, on the counter.  "Should I be concerned about some jealous retaliation?" 

He laughed, surprising himself with how easy it was to take pleasure in Anton's quick quips about dirty laundry - and further pleasure in how the other boy's eyes swept his body.

Virgil wandered over to the counter to watch the coffee machine at work - fascinated by the process, which was much different to his preferred methods. An efficient machine. Muggles and their efficiency, underlying their magnificent inefficiency. What was it like to go about not-knowing? He so loved knowing.

"My mouth was a too busy to complain about anything last night," he looked away from the espresso maker to watch Anton, "so European it is. French. The French are good at tasty things."

Anything that could be draped in butter, anyway.

            "But, more importantly, who's this Merle...Should I be concerned about some jealous retaliation?"

A hand closed firmly over his heart and his gaze faltered a second. He remembered what it was like the last time he had been in somebody else's flat, wearing their clothes and thinking bad thoughts. He could still feel the sting of that shame. Virgil approached Anton, hands going to his waist.

"Merle's nobody," he muttered, running a finger along the inside of Anton's waistband and meeting him in the eye sullenly, "and nobody would be jealous. I'm quite loathsome, you know. If you think Sasha's a snob, you should have a look inside my head. Positively awful."

Virgil leaned in for a quick kiss, stolen like an antidote to his melancholy. "But there are better parts of me to explore. Later. Now," he brushed their lips together again and grinned, "beat the eggs and show me how to work your stove. Please."

Other than a subtly lifted eyebrow, Anton watched with quiet amusement as Virgil seemed to take considerable interest in the simple, run-of-the-mill espresso maker.  Sure, the machine was a considerably more top-of-the-line than your average uni-flat coffee maker but even the most self-aware privileged kids were prone to the occasional vice of excess.   A good morning mocha was his.  And, he still wasn't spending a few quid every morning on one from the local coffee shop. 

Perhaps Virgil came from a far less well-off family than he gave the impression of or their family was the exclusively tea and French press sorts.  Or, he simply was endearingly strange and prone to being fascinated by the simple things. 

"Oh - my worry!"  Anton leaned his head back and bemoaned, looking up at the ceiling in a melodramatic fashion.  "Please tell me preoccupation was not the only thing that kept your mouth from complaining for it was, I admit, a blissfully skillful mouth."  He grinned back at Virgil, with just a touch of coyness before chuckling and shaking his head. 

"Oddly, they never say the same about the Germans.  I swear, we offer our best in sauerkraut and tongue sausage and people always talk about the French and their tasty food."  Again, in melodramatic fashion, Anton let out a long suffering sigh and shook his head once more. 

Anton's question about a Merle seemed to strike more of a chord in Virgil than Anton had either planned or anticipated and his brows arched in curiosity and, this time, concern, as he noticed the other's gaze deviate.  The reasons behind the response were hardly the prerogative of an acquaintance of fewer than twenty-four hours, despite the intimate nature of last night's activities.  So, apart from making a mental note to tread carefully with jokes of a similar nature in the future, Anton respected the diversion Virgil presented with a finger under his waistband. 

Besides, it was an incredibly enticing diversion.  "I find all of that hard to believe," Anton admitted, meeting Virgil's gaze and leaning towards him to further close some of the distance between them.  "Loathsome is hardly the descriptor I would use.  In fact, I'm fairly certain I got a good look inside your head last night and it was nothing but passion and fireworks." 

He returned the kisses, humming contently into the first, before his eyes widening in feigned confusion and surprise at the instructions.  "Beat the eggs?  Now?  I thought you wanted breakfast, first.  That sounds rather counter- ooh."  Again, completely feigned enlightenment.  "Yes, chef.  I'll get right on those eggs.  And, there's nothing unique about the range - just your typical autolight gas stove." 

Assuming that was sufficient information, Anton opened the cupboards and fetched a mixing bowl before cracking the eggs into it.  "And, straight espresso or milk?" he asked, pausing in his beating to fetch a half-full carton of milk from the fridge. 

Best in sauerkraut and tongue sausage, oh yes. He couldn't deny that about the Germans. The longer her spent in this flat the surer he was that last night had been a good decision. It had been fun and a release and he felt like he deserved a bit of that after the last few months. Between training on level nine and a spectacularly varied social life, Anton's porridge was just right for the occasion.

"Passion and fireworks?" Virgil repeated in a softer voice, laughing at the other boy's quip as he drew back to have a fiddle with the stove. "Why not? I'll take that testimony." A blush coloured his cheeks but he pretended to be busy setting up their breakfast.

There was a lot about Virgil - and the wizarding world - that Anton probably didn't know. Still, the compliment felt genuine and was delivered so directly that he couldn't help feeling flattered. Passion and fireworks! Virgil lifted his head slightly at the question, gaze flicking to the coffee maker.

"Straight espresso, though I'm anything but," he winked before turning back to the dials that were confounding him. The numbers were self-explanatory and he'd certainly seen someone use of these before; his thin fingers twisted at dial that would light the closest fire.

At least Anton didn't have one of those electric stoves. He shuddered to think of it. The fire lit, and Virgil smiled in relief. He grabbed a pan and placed it over the stove. This felt like cooking with his mother when he hadn't learnt all the right charms for it - slightly clunky but diverting in its own way.

He started measuring a cup of flour for the mix.  "So." Virgil glanced over at the muggle. "Was I cause for you to believe in magic last night?"

"Passion and fireworks?"

"Mmhmm," Anton hummed softly in agreement, with a coy grin, as he turned his attention back to the eggs.  His hum morphed into a passable interpretation of Katy Perry which he half-expected would earn him kitchen towel to the back of the head or, at the very least, some chiding comment.  Regardless, he kept his focus on whipping the eggs into a homogeneous golden soup before turning his attention to the coffees. 

Smirking and still humming, he nudged two espresso cups under the spouts to catch the fresh brew and poured some milk into a frothing pitcher.  "One decidedly straight espresso for the charmingly flexible company," he announced, in his best barista voice.  "Who defied many previously held expectations of my friend's friends.  Given the myriad of warnings I received, I was expecting something far different." 

Anton chuckled at Virgil's question and glanced over his shoulder at the other young man.  "I would say you presented a very compelling argument," he quipped, pouring some milk into a frothing pitcher and pausing next to the stove on his way back to the fridge.  "You sure seem enthusiastic about the concept.  Are you some big Gandalf fan or something?  Or, Earthsea?  You do seem more the Le Guin type than the Tolkein type." 

Bit of milk, no seasoning just yet. Virgil gave the eggs another stir and poured them straight into the pan before he lowered the flame a little. This was the tricky bit - it had been over a year since he had tried cooking anything without a charm with which temperature was much easier to control. Muggles had a few things a wizard might envy but he preferred his wand any day of the week if he were being honest.

            "Given the myriad of warnings I received, I was expecting something far different."

"Ah, but we have a tarried only a day," Virgil remarked as he picked up his espresso and knocked it back in two practiced swallows. "You never know what you'll learn about us," he shuddered at the sudden bitter rush of caffeine. "Good coffee."

Certainly woke him up, anyway. He gave himself a shake - wiggling his shoulders and head more coquettishly than intended - and turned back to watch the eggs. They weren't looking too bad. Virgil picked up a spatula, giving them a gentle stir while he chatted with Anton.

"I like The Hobbit but you have me pegged -" he smiled cheekily at the muggle, "- Tolkien has far too much walking and dull history, and everyone's a bloody hero. That's why Bilbo is so lovely. He just wants his food and the odd adventure. Ged, too, and his internal struggles."

They were all struggling with something inside of them, something they couldn't touch. Imagine if that dark thing was suddenly real and outside of you? Haunting you? He turned off the fire, letting the eggs cook over the remaining heat. "So is it your brother that's a wizard?" Virgil didn't look up from the stove.

He picked up a fork instead, tasting the scrambled eggs so that he could season to taste.

"Pinch of salt and pepper, I think. And chilli flakes if you have them."

Slowly, a broad smile tugged up the corners of Anton's mouth as he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the counter.  His mother would have, of course, told him off but that was the beauty of university flats.  One could sit on counters without decorum lectures.  And, it was a position that gave one a love perspective of the company in the kitchen. 

"Oh, but I am a student of the human sciences and I like to think I'm a good judge of character.  There is more, I'm sure, to be learned but I like to think I've seen enough to approve,"  he offered, turning his attention away briefly to froth the milk before finishing his own coffee. 

Anton let out a long, slow and highly-exaggerated sigh of relief that was far out of scale with the context.  "I'm so glad you think that - but you can not repeat such things to Rudi."  He picked up the cup of coffee and cradled the warm ceramic in his hands.  "I mean - I get world building but there's such a thing as too much world.  We don't need to know about every effing tree and rock.  If I wanted extensive exposition, I'd reach for Tolstoy or Dostoevsky."  Which was what made him more of a minor-ranked nerd-wannabee than he'd been as a younger kid. 

"So is it your brother that's a wizard?"

"Is he-" Anton started to repeat before growing quiet and staring at the back of Virgil's neck, elongated slightly by his intense consideration of the eggs in the pan.  Was that just some really strange segue?  Or, did Virgil somehow know?  His mum had warned him against divulging and the dire consequences that could arise from even a simple misspeak, so he knew to be cautious. 

And, he had tempered his drinking last night so he knew he didn't inadvertently say anything. 

Fishing for seasonings offered a brief moment for Anton to collect his thoughts and decide how to proceed.  In the end, after far too long of a pause, he decided there was no way Virgil could have guessed.  This just had to be a strange change of subject.  "Here - try this," he offered, grabbing a small grinder with grains of paradise and handing them to Virgil.

"And, naw- he's not really into tabletop.  He tried to play once but got bored; he's more of a rugby kind of kid.  Besides, I really see him more as a Ranger or a Rogue."

Virgil could feel those eyes on the back of his neck - he had enjoyed Anton's gaze last night, so full of mirth and lust and all those things that made it easier to breathe between moments of seriousness. Now, however, he knew he'd triggered a different kind of look and line of thought. One that had nothing to do with their crumpled mess of bedsheets.

That was going to be his doom one day, not letting sleeping dragons lie.

"Thank you," he accepted the grinder with a soft nod, his own gaze soft and shy while Anton continued speaking as if though an awkward silence hadn't ensued Virgil's question. The rugby thing.... did he know it was code? It was a smooth tilting of the subject, Virgil appreciated that.  The muggle kind of wizard with their long beards and longer robes.

Some old men actually did dress like that anyway. He ground some of the seasoning on to the eggs before tilting the pan to carefully divide their breakfast on to two small plates. "Sorry." Virgil set down the pan heavily and handed one plate over to Anton, his cheeks pink.

"I'm trying to be too smart for my own good," he glanced down at his own plate, leaning against the counter in Anton's large sweatshirt and wiggling his toes in Anton's socks. "You're a muggle. Do you know that word? It's what we call people who don-- who can't practice magic."

Virgil looked up, trying to gauge his host's response. He didn't think Anton would get angry but he'd been wrong about these things before and he was definitely in vulnerable position now. "I don't mean to out Sasha as a wizard but he did invite you last night," he bit his lip, "and I don't see the sense in keeping it secret, now that I know you're aware of us. Legally aware, I mean."

"I'm a what?"  Anton asked, with a laugh.

Good gracious, this guy was like completely fixated on magic and wizards and such!  Was this like some weird fascination of his?  Some sort of ...

Except, he'd asked about Micha.  Specifically.  In so many words.  Was Micha a wizard - just as their mum had described.  Virgil, somehow, knew.  Virgil had said 'we call people muggle.'  Anton licked his lips and slowly lifted his hand to point, hesitantly at Virgil.  "You're ... you're a wizard?  You can play with magic?" 

Anton pressed his hands flat against the counter on either side of him, pushing himself up to hop back down to the floor when the other offered further elaboration. 

"I don't mean to out Sasha as a wizard but he did invite you last night and I don't see the sense in keeping it secret, now that I know you're aware of us. Legally aware, I mean."

"Uh ... no.  That's-"  Anton's words died in his mouth and he slowly shook his head.  "You're saying-"  Again, the words died in his mouth.  Another moment of hesitation passed before Anton pressed his hands against the cold countertop and dropped back down to his feet.  He quickly circled around the counter, grabbed his phone and quickly typed in his password.  Only wavering between calling and texting delayed his actions long enough for Anton to think better of it and he closed the screen and looked back at Virgil.  If all of this was true ... that would require tact.  A text wouldn't cut it.

"All of his schoolmates last night - all of you were wizards?  Like, honest to goodness ... not like LARPing or cosplay or a Pagan coven or  something?  Did you all go to that school in Switzerland?"  Just as quickly as his mind was shuffling through and processing the information, the memories of his mother's warnings came flooding back.

Worry replaced the wonder and amazement in his expression and Anton set the phone back on the counter.  "What happens now?  To us?  To my brother?"

              "You're ... you're a wizard?  You can play with magic?"

Virgil nodded his head once, a little smile skewing his mouth at a lopsided angle. He liked how Anton had put it: to play with magic, which was similar to how he often felt towards magic. Something ultimately exploratory and handy and playful. Once you got the knack of it, once you've mastered the rules, it can take you anywhere at all.

The muggle was having some difficulty wrapping his head around all of this. It made Virgil feel guilty - he was dropping a lot on Anton but in his attempt to show off, he'd also meddled in Sasha's friendship. Two-sins-in-one.

"We were all wizards and witches, yes, truly," he confirmed as he put aside his plate of eggs and pulled himself up to sit on the counter in the same way Anton had done just a moment ago. What in Merlin's name was LARPING anyway? "I promise I'm being absolutely serious."

Fooling around with the statute wasn't a joke. You could get into a lot of trouble with the Ministry and he was trying not to draw too much attention to himself. Unspeakables weren't supposed to, not really.  The change in the other boy's expression made him sit up a little straighter, registering the concern right away.

"Nothing, nothing happens." Virgil quickly answered, dangling his legs and trying to affect a casual, no-big-deal aura. "You're allowed to know because he's your brother. He's probably going to go to Hogwarts, which is where we all went for school. It's not in Switzerland. You just have to keep it all a secret from other muggles and you'll be fine."

At least that was how he understood it. Level three wasn't knocking at their door, ready to surprise them in compromising positions. "Is it... it your mum who's a witch?"