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.

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 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.

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.

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.”

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.

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?”

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?

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.

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.

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.

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."

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?”

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]

1.

Astéri.