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M - This thread contains further mentions of mental health struggles.

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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.

1.	Work journal is not same as personal journal; work journal is somewhat magicked to be marginally sentient and has its own alerts and indicators for any reminder written on its pages.
2.	Notes are objectively impersonal with no personal details and written in shorthand

“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.