Half past seven in the morning.


He tapped the rim of the drinking glass, watching it fill with water. Saturday morning and the world was quiet - but here in Ceph's flat, the world always seemed quiet and distant.

If he strained his ears he might hear the farmer's market setting up in Diagon. He was too tired to strain his ears. Virgil drank in sips, standing in the kitchen in just his black boxer briefs. The rest of his clothes were on the floor in the bedroom, where he had left them before climbing into bed only three to four hours ago. It was cold, though, his skin covered in feverish goosepimples.

His head hurt. It was the first time he had got a migraine since doing Legilimency work for Mysteries. Virgil quietly made his way back to where Cepheus was still asleep. He placed the half-full glass on the bedside table and slid back underneath the heavy winter duvet.

"Oh, sorry..." the blonde realised he had woken the older wizard, and paused uncertainly before turning on to his side to face Ceph. "Sorry. Go back to sleep, it's not even eight yet."

He tugged the covers up over their shoulders, cheeks pink with self-consciousness. This was a first. Virgil Carstairs did not go running for comfort in romantic partners; he ran to the theatre, or his parents, or Yavin. The night club. Or his flatmates, who were more understanding than he gave them credit for.

Except...he had come here last night, and waking up next to Ceph earlier rather confirmed the fact. Some inner compass brought him to safe harbour. Virgil was grateful to it, as someone who did not ordinarily make good decisions in post-traumatic situations.

“Mhm, did you feed Claude?” Cepheus asked, not really awake, in that in-between state. He’d rolled over onto his back when Virgil had left the bed, sprawled a leg onto the warm patch, still asleep. Virgil felt chilly when he returned to bed, just as he had when he’d climbed into it in the middle of the night. “Oh…he’s probably… probably not come back in…” Virgil had arrived in the middle of Claude’s mad hour of the night, and he’d probably gone out to hunt and yowl at other cats in the Alley. If one fed Claude, one could go back to sleep again without interruption. Those were the rules.

“You’re cold.” Cepheus mumbled, and pulled at the duvet, trying to bring it up over Virgil’s head more. He squinted one eye open, and then the other, lifting his head sleepily. His thick dark mane was all on end, rubbed up against the pillow. Ceph extended his arm under the blankets, inviting a snuggle. His skin was toasty warm from hours of sleep, but now as he came to, it felt a little too clammy, and he stuck a foot out from under the duvet on the other side to Virgil.

“Thought you’d be tired,” he murmured, rubbing Virgil’s cool limbs with sleepy care. Last night hadn’t been time for conversation, Virgil had just been keen to climb in and sleep, and Cepheus had slipped back into his dreams. “Or can’t you sleep?”

Was he meant to feed Claude, he wondered as he stifled a yawn. Then he remembered not seeing Claude when he'd gone to get a drink - there was no presence more eager to makes itself known than a hungry feline, after all. Virgil smiled to himself, fond of how Cepheus mumbled about the cat even with one foot in a dreamscape.

And that mad, gorgeous hair.

            “You’re cold.”

He hadn't felt it fully until returning to the warm bed. Now, the numbness of sleep was also fading. Virgil felt the stirring of something miserable and sad in his gut, so he drew closer to slide his arm across Ceph's chest. The older wizard was cosy and welcoming, and Virgil snuggled up to him like it was both vice and comfort.

It felt stupidly good to be held, to relish soft hands rubbing warmth back into him. Hands he wanted on his body. Cepheus smelled faintly of musk and sleep, and cedar cologne. Virgil kissed his bare shoulder before resting his golden crown against it.

"Can't sleep," he answered in a mumble, wrapping one leg around his bedmate's. "Had a bad night in someone else's head," the blonde closed his eyes and pushed those thoughts away - they simmered at the periphery. "I'll be alright. I just needed..."

Needed what? It felt too vulnerable to say it out loud, so he kissed Ceph's shoulder again. "Needed this. Thank you."

Ceph’s brow creased as he heard the admission. Virgil’s head came to rest on his shoulder, and he circled his arms around the cool, slight form as it latched on. He twisted to kiss Virgil’s soft hair, lingering, catching the scent of last night’s smoky adventure in the golden strands. Instinctively, Cepheus held Virgil tighter. It was utter peace to do this, to hold another under the covers. Not to wake up alone, save for his cat. To hear the person sharing his bed express an honesty rather than a nicety pulled him properly from his doze.

“S’alright… You were in my dreams.” He remembered, though as dreams could be, the moment he remembered they ran away. “I don’t think you put yourself there though…” The thought left him, not that it was important in the moment. Just triggered by the mention of dreams. “Want to talk about it?” He asked, “Your night, not my dream, I mean. I can’t actually remember it…”

Being held tightly was reassuring. He often felt stretched out - an elastic sheet pulled over the London skyline, so thin he was almost transparent. Which was fine, it was how he existed. But right now it was perfect to feel contained, under the duvet with another person, inside the borders of his body.

       “S’alright… You were in my dreams.”

"Was I?" he hummed, assuming Cepheus meant some other dream from the one he'd interrupted to be let in the flat. "How prolific of me," his words tumbled out without thought or worry.

Virgil was immensely relieved to be here instead of waking up alone (or with a cat butt in his face) and even that question, a dreaded question, did not perturb him. Perhaps it was Ceph's phrasing. There was no pressure either way, to talk or not talk. He tilted his head up, eyes searching the older wizard's face for a second.

"I was helping a friend get rid of a memory," he spoke quietly, as if someone might listen in. "An upsetting memory. It made me think of... stuff that happened to me long ago."

A little tension crept into his shoulders. Afraid of spoiling their cosiness with the serious weight of his words, he added lightly, "And some things that happened not too long ago." Virgil's hand slid up Ceph's chest to delicately trace two circles on his pale neck.

He had explained his bite marks when Cepheus clocked them last month. They were hard not to notice in intimate situations, though V had been scarce with detail. It was difficult to talk about himself sometimes.

Ceph had half expected Virgil to shrug it off, but he shifted, looking up and explained. His brow furrowed a little in surprise and comprehension of the account for the late night. Getting rid of memories. A service that kept reoccurring.

“Mhm…” He replied sleepily, recalling Virgil’s story of a friend’s wallet left at Hooker’s pub ending in a bite to drink. He’d been at that very place and met Hooker. Had Virgil seemed open to it, he might have insisted on a proper report. Especially now Tristan’s lodger (and fellow vampire) had walked free despite compelling evidence.

Dispelling the fleeting thought, Cepheus kissed Virgil’s head again. It was instinctive reassurance, and from what Virgil had said earlier, what he was seeking. Ceph squeezed his hands against cool, pale flesh as he did, and then relax, not wishing to suffocate, just hold. Virgil still felt cold, but not quite so icy as he’d been when he slipped back beneath the duvet, but the hairs on the back of Ceph’s neck had stood up.

“… stuff that happened to you long ago?” He asked, gently, blinking twice, eyes protesting against the daylight. Hoping Virgil would feel comfortable to elaborate.

Marked M for references to childhood abuse.


His forehead felt hot under Ceph's lips. The more he spoke the more self-conscious he felt, reaching his arm back across to hold the older man even closer. It was stupid... he knew he wouldn't be judged or hurt for saying what he wanted to say. But his instinct, always to obfuscate his wounds and vulnerabilities, was strong.

           “… stuff that happened to you long ago?”

Virgil's eyes lifted again to Cepheus, as if to ascertain the authenticity of the question. Was he asking because he wanted to or because it was expected? If V wished to do this relationship right he had to assume Ceph was being genuine.

He hesitated, then pressed his lips together. He hated to be afraid of anything, to let anything have that much control over him.

"When I was a boy. A kid, I mean." Virgil looked back down, speaking not directly at Cepheus but almost into the other wizard's shoulder. "I had a Legilimency tutor before Yavin and he...um. It wasn't violent or anything," the blonde scrunched up his face for a second.

Oh, he wanted to be hidden. Just, away from the light and the eyes and the inevitable pity. Virgil reached for Ceph's hand instead. "He did things you shouldn't do to a child. And he put things in my head, images, before I learned about walls."

His form, clinging to Cepheus, curled up tighter and he couldn't look at his bedmate.

"Edgar found out. They put a stop to it," he spoke haltingly. "Sorry." What for? Virgil had no idea, it just escaped him. Sorry. Sorry I didn't mean to put this on you? Sorry I'm fucked up? Sorry I made this your problem?

Cepheus listened. It was something he was particularly good at doing. This rare moment under the covers, with honesty, was too precious. He listened to Virgil’s account, allowing his hand to be grasped.

“No, no I’m sorry.” Cepheus replied hurriedly, pressing Virgil’s hand to his chest beneath his own, tenderly. “I am sorry that happened to you Virgil. That must have been… terrible.” Was that the word? Was that a soft enough word for the situation but not to be patronising?

“Thank you for trusting me.” He kissed Virgil’s head once more, and clasped him as if he might somehow be able to bring them closer still. “Nobody should have done that to a child. To you.”

When the Gamps had been children they had become only too aware their father could use legilimency on them. Cepheus had generally kept his nose clean, but he’d seen Mortimer use it on his older brother to get the truth out, especially as he they got older. Nobody should intrude on a mind without permission, especially not in a position of power over children. It was truly hideous.

“They must be a good friend for you to do that.”

He hadn't realised how tense he felt, how he half-expected for Cepheus to push him away instead of hold him closer. It was terrible, what happened to him.

Virgil could feel tears behind his eyes - the kind you get when someone is nicer than you hoped. Which was illogical. Ceph was always nice. But  people's outer personalities didn't often match their insides. With a life of legilimency behind him, it was natural not to underestimate the offhand cruelty of man.

The younger wizard closed his eyes and breathed in and out deeply, giving himself permission to be comforted. It was okay. He was here and not inside a memory. One day this would be a memory though, a good one to light the way.

           “They must be a good friend for you to do that.”

Shifting, he loosened his hold on Cepheus and turned slightly so that he was laying on his stomach with his side pressed against Ceph. Virgil propped himself up on his elbows to look at the other man, shadows under his watery gaze but peace on his brow. For a second he was confused about what Cepheus meant; then he remembered Wav.

"An old friend," he replied. "I didn't want to see them suffering."

Poor Waverly, caught in a spiral and not allowing anyone to catch her. Virgil lifted a hand, brushing his fingers into Ceph's thick hair at the temples. "There's too much already in this world," his voice softened, faraway. "And not enough you."

Virgil shifted to lay on his front. Ceph could more easily see how tired he was, dark shadows under his eyes. He felt he should tuck Virgil back in and leave him to sleep all morning. His eyelids drooped a little as Virgil stroked his hair, enjoying the attention. A smile tugged at his mouth, while a morning shadow darkened his chin.
“Well, you always know where to find me,” he replied, stretching his arms up and out above them. A musky morning smell hung between them, not unpleasant. “And I’ll always listen.” Well, once I’m awake.

He slipped an arm beneath the blankets again, a hand coming to rest on the small of Virgil’s back as they gently kissed. These days it felt more familiar, adjusted, past that initial, almost clumsy state where one did not know the other well enough. Two and a half weeks, trying not to rush.

“What do you desire of me today, then?” Ceph asked, blinking slowly, studying Virgil’s somewhat serious expression. “A shoulder to sleep on, breakfast, a walk, a little music…?” His thumb caressed Virgil’s back. “Or are you meant to be rehearsing?”

Virgil kept such a busy timetable it was a wonder he managed to fit in more than those flings he’d once described to Cepheus last month. His hand drifted a fraction lower, but returned. It wasn’t the moment to suggest that kind of thing, given what had just been shared. More the sort of morning of tea, hot toast, arms looped around each other as they shared stories. He couldn’t read minds, so he’d have to rely on the tricks mere mortals used to predict. He gave in to the temptation to kiss his boyfriend again, glad he had woken up beside him.

This was... comfortable. He had no compulsion to rush anywhere or towards anything. Virgil felt delirious, coming down from the anxiety of opening up about something he rarely disclosed, heady in its own right. He was all softness and warmth - warmth! Cepheus had rubbed warmth back into his bones.

Virgil kissed back, eyes closed, strength leaving him. They kissed the sour taste of sleep out of their mouths and he sighed with deep satisfaction when they parted; inches from one another. "Sleep," he curled back up against Cepheus like a lazy cat. "Let's go back to sleep."

***

When he next woke, it was with (and because of) a rumbling tummy.

"How's the cream?" he glanced over his shoulder at the dark-haired wizard who was whipping cream. Virgil was at the stove. "I think these are almost done," his gaze returned to the large cast-iron pan.

Two thick slices of brioche, cut diagonally into four, were browning beautifully. Virgil enjoyed cooking - he typically cooked alone but this was Ceph's kitchen and it was a nice change, making breakfast with someone else.

After waking, he had showered and stolen a pair of boxers and a sweatshirt before examining the pantry for ideas. Hence: French toast with whipped maple cream and fresh raspberries. Much more substantial than pancakes. Virgil tapped the pan with his wand, turning off the flame. His sleep had been deep and so he was rather well-rested now.

"Definitely done," he flipped the toast to let it heat the other side with residual heat before considering Ceph's cat. He was lapping up water from a dish. "Is Claude allowed a little? Or is he not a French toast man?"

“About there,” Cepheus replied, dark hair drooped over his forehead as he seized the whisk before tilting the bowl to Virgil for inspection.

“Is Claude allowed a little? Or is he not a French toast man?”
“Uh … you’ll never forget that will you…?” Cepheus shook his head, laughing at the misunderstanding about Claude being a cat.

“I’m sure he’d love to lick the cream off you…” Ceph winked and nodded to the back of the sofa. An attentive black and white cat was poised there, whiskers forward. It offered a high enough a vantage point to watch what the wizards were doing in the kitchen. Claude’s fur brushed up against the edge of the kitchen counter which divided the two aspects of the room, and he rearranged his paws impatiently, knowing very well he couldn’t set a paw on it.

“I will if he doesn’t,” Ceph leaned over to place a kiss on Virgil’s cheek, “and you get to choose where from.”

He handed over the bowl, resisting the temptation to deposit a dollop of cream on the end of Virgil’s pretty nose. A happy, loved smile held his face as their eyes met. This was far more effort for breakfast than Cepheus would have ordinarily indulged in alone, but breakfast for two made it all the more worth it, especially as Virgil was a superior cook.

            “I will if he doesn’t, and you get to choose where from.”

He accepted the bowl into the cradle of one arm, gaze briefly dropping with a flutter of eyelashes. By now Virgil had come to terms with the fact that being with Cepheus sometimes made him behave diffidently.

"I'll try to exercise my imagination," he replied with warm cheeks, and used a spatula to drop clouds of maple whipped cream on to their respective slices of French toast. A tiny bit was left on a saucer for Claude.

They moved to the end of the breakfast counter separating the living room from the kitchen, to eat. Virgil set down a  bowl of raspberries and, because he found a few in the ice-box, some sliced white peaches and strawberries.

"Bon appetit?" he slid on to a stool, leaning over to press his lips against Ceph's before sitting down proper. "I used to make this with Angela - my mum - when I was a boy. We'd listen to Fred Astaire on the muggle Wireless and talk about books. Or yell about books."

Virgil looked down at his plate, a twinge of nostalgia. And something else, something new. "Love language. That's what she calls it, when you cook for people," he smiled up at Cepheus, slightly self-conscious. "Best kind of magic."

Cepheus returned the smile, genuinely happy.

“The best,” he agreed, lifting upturned fingers to Virgil’s chin, thumb tracing the side of his face for a fleeting moment, taking in the beauty of this boy who arrived in the night and made breakfast in the morning.

“What a darling memory,” he remarked, trying to imagine a younger Virgil, though failing to picture his mother other than a vaguely feminine form with possible golden blonde hair like her son. While Virgil’s father might be a famous face, Cepheus felt unfamiliar with the rest of the Carstairs.

“What do you mean by yell about books? Did you disagree or was the music just too loud?”

Breakfasts had been taken separately to his parents often when the Gamps were children. One of the house elves which had preceded Solly would serve them at the kitchen table instead where they could chatter and be noisy as siblings, and as time wore on nobody could rouse Orion before nine in the holidays unless his parents hexed him anyhow.

When Cepheus touched him like that - fleetingly, with a hint of admiration - he felt disconcertingly unarmed.

Virgil cut into his French toast, trying not to look like he was blushing as they chatted. "We argue about books," he answered after swallowing a mouthful of eggy buttery goodness. "Not seriously, just for sport I suppose. Like whetting a knife..."

The younger wizard gestured playfully with his fork, as if he were sharpening it against the edge of his plate.

"Angela keeps us on our toes," he added with a grin. "You'd like her. She always has something to say about art, literature, clothes. What about your mu--" Virgil stopped himself with a flinch. "Sorry. It's terrible, I know, but I keep forgetting."

His expression dissolved into something soft, guilty. Sometimes he felt painfully aware of what Ceph's parents had done. Most of the time, though, he rarely connected them with the man sat next to him at breakfast.

Cepheus was just... Cepheus. With dark, lustrous hair and a kind mouth. "N-not that we can't talk about your mum or dad," he added earnestly. "If you want, I mean."