#pjmoon

Heavy breathing, horrible aches. A loud crack, then a stinging feeling in his right hand. He looks up at what was once a mirror. The running tap the only sound he hears.

He’s greeted by the most pathetic sight. Is that him? He stares for a good few seconds. What would Master do if she figured out he broke this mirror?

A sob breaks through the constant noise from the tap. The stinging in his hand suddenly doesn’t feel that bad anymore. Neither do her beatings from earlier.

She has something concrete now. An actual reason, when she feels further justified, how much worse will it be? That nagging feeling at the back of his mind too, he’s forgetting something.

He needs to stop wallowing in self pity and… clean this mess up. Before he forgets his role again. If he fills his role properly there’s no reason, right?

He’s just been doing it wrong all this time. That’s why she doesn’t stop. As long as he blames her, that’s a personal failing. A textbook mustn’t feel too strongly, feeling’s not why he’s here.

He begins washing his face, blood and tears mixing with the water. He dries off and wraps a towel around his injured hand. He shouldn’t stain the carpet.

Master is out cold, that gives him a 30 minute window to fix this. He’d ask one of the other apprentices for help, but he hasn’t been able to get close enough to any of them to ask a favour like that.

They probably don’t want to bother Master, if she gets angry, a conflict between Nursefathers might follow. Guess it’s just up to him.

Where the hell would he find a whole mirror? How would he even set it up? He doesn’t have the resources or technical knowledge for this. What is he thinking?

Master is right, he’s grossly incompetent. He’s incapable of anything else than being a textbook and even fails at that.

He needs to stop lamenting his own stupidity! Fix this mistake, seeing as he’s too pathetic to face the consequences he called upon himself.

He wanders into the halls, hurried footsteps sounding in this usually empty space. He doesn’t like how loud they appear. Master’s a heavy sleeper, but…

He doesn’t finish that thought. Instead, he turns his attention to where he’s actually walking. By force of habit, he appears to have gone to the corridor of the Pinky.

… There’s too little time to go anywhere else, this is his only choice. There’s always been that underlying pity whenever he spoke to the inhabitants of this corridor.

He doesn’t like that. It makes him feel lesser. Not like he has a lot of pride to cling to anyway. He’s here begging for help, so they’re probably right to pity him.

It’s the best option he has. The two of you… mainly you, have been rather kind compared to the others. At least you’re the only apprentice who doesn’t actively avoid him.

He breathes in, then out. He raises a hand to knock, then drops it again. He breathes again, steadies himself and knocks.

He immediately regrets knocking, in part because he used his injured hand and it stings again. Mainly because he doesn’t want to ask this.

The door creaks open and he’s met by a rather exhausted looking face. It makes sense, between you constantly caring for your master and perfecting your blade, you probably don’t get much time for yourself.

He feels worse and worse about bothering you. But by now he’s gotten to a point where he can’t really stop anymore. He already made you open your door.

“Heathcliff… I’m afraid I must turn you away, my master wishes to be alone right now.”

He hesitates again, then speaks. “I ain’t here for her. I… I need your help.”

You lift your gaze up at him. Your eyes seeming to bore right through him.

“If my lowly self may be of any assistance, I am yours to wield.”

You have such an odd way of phrasing things. It’s charming, he supposes. You remain a mystery to him, a puzzle that just doesn’t seem to fit.

“Do— ugh, does this have to be so bloody embarrassing? Do you know if the mirrors here are all the same size?”

You tilt your head, of course, it is an incredibly strange thing to ask. There’s no reason to expect that you know the answer either, but he’s on a deadline that he’d rather not miss.

“Considering the nature of the House of Spiders, I doubt they would care for individual wants. Likely, everything we get is supplied in batches, if it does not come from one specific finger of course.”

He can barely contain himself… getting worked up over this, it’s pretty pathetic. Is he seriously still thinking these things? Get over it! You’re here now, so you’ve made your choice.

“Is that a yes?”

“There’s a chance. Why do you need to know this?”

He glances around awkwardly, at his hand, then immediately away again. You manage to pick up on that little hint and he thinks he sees your gaze soften. It’s hard to tell.

“My master doesn’t care much for her own reflection. I think we can part with a mirror.”

He mumbles out a word of thanks. How much does he owe you now? It weighs on him to be unable to repay you. There’s still that nagging feeling at the back of his mind.

“I assume you don’t have all too much time?”

“I’d like to be done quick, yeah. Best long before she wakes up.”

You swiftly pull him inside, followed by a yelp from him. He quickly covers his mouth, did he make that noise? He needs to stop acting like this over every minor behavior. Are those not what constitute him, a human being?

Does he even qualify as a human anymore?

“A hand please.”

He’s snapped out of that line of thinking. It suddenly feels stupid to have considered these things. He’s noticed you have a somewhat grounding effect on him.

“Of course.”

The usually empty halls are once again filled with hurried footsteps. Reaching the thumb corridor, you slow down and make as little noise as possible. No one appears disturbed.

In the bathroom, the two of you quickly start removing what remains of the mirror. With some effort, you manage to attach the new one. The shards are put into a bag that you’ll take away.

Before leaving, you take his hand, give it a good look, and wrap some bandages around him. Then you turn to leave, but pause and turn around again. You walk towards him and wrap your arms around him.

“From my master and myself, happy birthday. If you ever have time, you are welcome in my abode. Claim a day for yourself every so often.”

He flinches at the unexpected movement, then again when you actually touch him. Slowly, he raises his arms to wrap around you too. When he finally gets there, he holds you tightly, refusing to let go for a good few moments.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been holding you when he lets go. No further words are spoken. He watches you leave and then sits down.