#whisperedfromthevoid

"Is this how you remember it?"

"Mm. That's his door?"

"Does it look familiar?"

Actually, Rune looked at it again, staring over his shoulder. "Yes."

Appearances were abstract and full of symbolism. The door appeared heavier, here, like something Hector could not fathom lifting in the world of consciousness. And still, without hesitation, the cambion knocked three times.

Enoch: It was dark for Enoch.

That familiar sensation of falling lurched through his stomach as he stared upward, those pinprick eyes watching him while he plunged endlessly through the void. The scream that should have torn from his throat was stolen before it could leave his lungs. Then those eyes began to change.

They unfurled into vast cosmic spirals, expanding outward until they filled everything around him. Galaxies bloomed and burst in silent explosions of color and light. One of those celestial eyes split open, revealing a gaping wound in the fabric of space itself and something emerged.

A tendril slithered free, woven from starlight and something far more alien. It moved with impossible grace, drifting toward him through the darkness. Before Enoch could recoil, it coiled around his ankle. It started pulling him in despite his struggles.

The scholar jerked awake. His heart hammered against his ribs as he looked around wildly, the endless void gone. Instead, he found himself sprawled across the couch before the crackling fireplace in his library. Warm amber light danced across the towering bookshelves. He immediately glanced down at his ankle. Trousers and leather boots remained untouched.

Taking a slow breath, he pushed himself upright and smoothed the wrinkles from his clothing. The lingering unease had barely begun to settle when a knock echoed through the room and his attention snapped to the door. He could not explain why the sound filled him with such trepidation. His hand trembled ever so slightly as he reached for the brass knob and for a moment he hesitated, then turned it and pulled the door open.

What greeted Hector was the scholar himself, dressed in a crisp white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, a deep royal-purple vest fitted over it, and dark blue trousers.

Enoch: For the briefest moment, however, a shadow stood just behind Enoch's left shoulder, shaped almost like a second version of the scholar. Its features were indistinct, blurred as though seen through warped glass. Two pale points gleamed where eyes should have been and then it was gone as Enoch opened the door a little wider.

“Well, hello again.”

He lingered there a second too long, caught by the strange sensation of greeting someone within his own dream. The peculiarity of it threatened to distract him until manners won out.

“Please,” he said, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Rune-Hector: The two might have been a representation for night and day. Hector smiled warmly in greeting, standing before him in a perfectly fitting linen suit. The tan fabric complemented the warmth of his skin. Fine leather suspenders peeked from beneath his coat as a pleasant, chill breeze danced between them.

Rune raised his chin in greeting, then ducked his chin, as if embarrassed by some realization. He felt both overdressed and intruding. And yet, his clothes didn’t seem to fit. Not the way Hector and Enoch dressed. The waistline was too low, too near his hips. Hector assumed the style to be something Italian.

“Hope we didn’t keep you waiting. Time can move so differently… here.” Had that been – no. It was nothing. And still, Hector’s brow remained wrinkled as he stepped through the threshold. With his back to the pair, he would be none the wiser as Rune stole a kiss. Just a brief bit of affection to Enoch’s cheek as he too stepped forth.

“Is this really…?” Rune smiled privately at his companion.

Enoch: “No, you're absolutely fine. I don't think I was waiting very long.” He agreed with the sentiment, though time felt strange here. It seemed to stretch and compress all at once, leaving him with no real sense of how long he had been dreaming before jolting awake.

The Euthanatos was greeted with a small smile. Enoch's hand settled at Rune's side, giving it a gentle squeeze in return.

“The flat?” he finished for the mage, glancing over his shoulder as his smile widened. “Does it truly surprise you?”

As Hector had guessed, however, the demesne was not wholly complete. It was an amalgamation of his flat and a home he had yet to possess. Once, it had taken the form of a library which had been a strange fusion of the library from his grandfather's house, where he had spent countless hours as a child, and the one at the university. But over time that shape had begun to feel wrong, as though it no longer fit.

Now it resembled something that brought him peace.

There the mage would find the familiar elements of Enoch’s flat: the hearth crackling with warmth, the modest kitchen, the well-worn chaise. Yet the space extended beyond what should have been possible. A staircase climbed to a second floor that did not exist in reality, while a hallway stretched farther than the dimensions of the building allowed, suggesting rooms that had never been built. The flat had become an outline of what seemed to be a future home the scholar dreamed of.

His little corner library had even grown as well. What had once been a single bookshelf now occupied an entire wall, with a second and third shelf standing beside it, filled with volumes he imagined owning if only he had the space. Framed photographs rested among them, one of his grandfather, another of his parents, and the calico familiar he had met earlier that spring.

Enoch: This version of the home had larger windows that should have overlooked London. Instead, beyond the glass stretched an endless sea of stars and swirling galaxies. Nebulae drifted lazily through the darkness, and distant constellations shimmered against the void. The cosmos pressed against the panes as though the house itself floated somewhere between worlds.

“Welcome to...” Enoch hesitated, blue eyes wandering over the space.

“Well, I don't quite know what to call it, exactly.”

Rune-Hector: His expectation had leaned toward an old and terrible house. That malnourishing place what had been his childhood. What might have once been regarded as safe. Given what they had learned… Rune looked around with fresh eyes and understanding. The place of many lessons, many soul-binding, soul-yearning conversations. His heart skipped a beat, even here.

“Do you wish for me to answer honestly?” His fingers pressed softly to Enoch’s lower back. How he wanted to pull him closer. The urge to smother him in affection swelled to the point of holding his breath to subdue it.

“What exactly is happening here?” The mage pointed to the mindless stairs.

“I’ve seen this before.” Up to this point, his silence had been intentional. The pair had huddled close, requiring a moment to themselves, but his realization made him giddy. “There was a man, last year. I didn’t understand a word he spoke. Stairs going everywhere all at once into doorways leading to more stairs, upside down and sideways. Now that I recall… he spoke like you,” he said, looking pointedly at Rune.

“Like me?”

“Gibberish.”

An arm came around the cambion’s shoulders, his cheek viciously pinched. “Nee, nee. You haven’t been part of the crew long enough. Gedraag je.”

Hector barely squirmed. “Thank you for having us. Did you want to name your demesne?”

Enoch: Enoch glanced toward the Euthanatos, knowing he would have liked to hear whatever thoughts were forming behind that look. With present company, however, it was probably best saved for later, assuming they would remember once they woke.

For a moment, the scholar found himself caught in that familiar spell, quietly admiring his companion as he took in the demesne. The gentle slope of his nose, his lips…His gaze followed where Rune pointed toward the mindless staircase. He was on the verge of offering an explanation but he’d let Hector take hold of the conversation instead. It made more sense anyway.

The tease earned a small smile, and he bit lightly at the inside of his cheek.

“Ah, is that what I can call it? I’m learning gibberish?”

He looked between Rune and Hector, amused by their antics.

“I’m not entirely sure," he started. “Do you have a name for yours?”

Rune-Hector: "Don't you start, too."

"People call him Dutch, and his language gibberish. Have since the day I arrived."

But this wasn't about them. Rune relased both of them, reluctant to one, and set about to explore the library, curious if he would find familiar titles, or if they would be titled at all.

"No," Hector confessed. "Mine is just... I don't have one. I'd like to think it would be my childhood home. More like... the courtyard, and the music room. I don't play any music, but, the room was special to me. It was where my family lingered most often. Is this your home here in London?"

Enoch: “What? I can say it every now and then... as a reminder.”

Enoch let his hand fall back to his side as Rune wandered off to explore the expanded library. There, the mage would find many familiar titles; copies of books that existed in their waking lives and lined the shelves of Enoch's flat. Others were unfamiliar, likely volumes the scholar had long intended to acquire but had never found the time or money to purchase. Then there were the stranger books. Some bore no title at all.

Yet if any of them were pulled from the shelf and examined more closely, a curious pattern emerged. Upon opening them, every single volume revealed nothing but blank pages. Not a line of text. Empty from cover to cover.

Meanwhile, Enoch's attention shifted back to the cambion. Hector's description of what he thought his own demesne would be like caught him by surprise. It sounded as though he had given the matter considerable thought.

“Yes, mostly,” Enoch replied. “Though a bit... expanded.” His gaze swept across the room, “I appreciate my flat, but I admit it could do with a little more space.”

Rune-Hector: Rune pulled the first book with a familiar title and thumbed through the pages, curious if Enoch's memory warehouse stored what even his conscious mind could not readily recite. It was, after all, one of the best features of a demesne.

But from page one to 273, there was nothing. He closed the book, opened again. Nothing.

"Your flat," Hector echoed. "Oh, departamentos. Right. I'm not sure what I expected. Books, yes, but I thought you lived in something large, with a thousand paintings on the walls reaching to the sky."

"You should see his house in Bath. It's exactly what you're picturing."

"Why do you look offended by that book?"

"Enoch, come here."

Enoch: "If I'm honest, that's not quite my taste," he looked over his shoulder toward Rune before looking back to Hector, giving a small nod. "Yes, my grandfather..." But the words trailed off as his attention was drawn back to the Euthanatos.

Enoch had been called by his full name before, but there was something different about the way Rune said it this time. Absurdly, he found himself thinking he was somehow in trouble.

“Yes?”

 Crossing the room, he came to stand beside the mage. His gaze briefly settled on the photographs before following Rune’s to whatever had captured his concern.

“Oh...”

Rune-Hector: The book was handed over. Looking over the shelves, Frankenstein was found and gathered, along with a novel he recognized by the title but had never read. Hector said nothing as he joined them, watching as the mage opened each book, propping them on the shelves to reveal the middle page of each.

"But I can read mine," Rune said under his breath. "Is this normal, or is that normal?"

"I've seen the Bible in one," Hector said, softly. "Words in golden cursive, written in Latin. But, this might be the same as the stairs."

Enoch: Enoch looked down at the book in his hands. It was his copy of Journey to the Centre of the Earth. He knew the story well... or at least he thought he did. Perhaps not in such detail as to recall every page, but well enough.

His gaze followed Rune as the mage pulled volume after volume from the shelves, each one revealing the same thing: empty pages. A faint frown settled on Enoch's features.

He reached for his collection of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories instead. Those, too, were favorites of his, books he had read enough times to nearly recite from memory. It didn't help that he prided himself on his eidetic memory.

Carefully, he opened the cover, only to find them blank, too. His frown deepened as he turned the book over in his hands, as though inspecting it from another angle might somehow reveal what was missing.

“What does it mean?"

Rune-Hector: Hector was tempted to pull a book as well, but kept his hands to himself. Rune was already doing enough. He realized he was more concerned for what this discovery was going to do to Enoch than the empty pages.

"How long have you been here? Your demesne, do you remember when you created it?"

Enoch: Enoch looked down at the volume in his hands with disappointment, trying to understand why he could not recall the words of stories he had loved for so long.

At first, he started to shake his head before catching himself.

“I suppose it was after my Awakening,” he said slowly. “But it looked very different then. This...” His eyes wandered around the room. “This is newer.”

Was that why it felt unfinished?

Why certain details seemed to be missing?

The thought left a small crease between his brows.

Rune-Hector: Hector worried his lip a moment, then nodded.

"What is this book you're holding? Is it your favorite? The spines have titles, so you can write something. Let's start with something simple. Write your name on the pastedown."

Opened to the first page, his hand overed over the endpaper, covering it.

"Like this. Imagine your name beneath your palm, the shape of it, the color, the curves. Or, if you prefer, write it with your finger."

Enoch: Enoch had noticed that Hector had not answered his previous question. Whether it was out of concern for the scholar or for some other reason, he could not say. The cambion's body language was hardly reassuring, and that worried the scholar. But he persisted nonetheless as he followed the instructions.

At first, he pressed his palm against the page. It felt awkward, however, and writing his name seemed more natural, so he lifted a finger and carefully traced the letters across the paper instead.

Nothing happened.

He frowned.

Drawing in a slow breath, he tried again, this time concentrating harder. His finger glided across the blank page, but once more there was no ink and no sign that he had written anything at all.

"I don't understand..."

Rune-Hector: There should have been something. Even an indention in the paper, like a dry fountain pen digging ghost letters. The apprehension of their host felt palpable, and he realized, was making an impression on him. On Rune, he couldn't say. The mage had gone quiet, staring intently at the page, hands tight on his hips.

"You said this is newer. You've been doing renovations. Were these conscious decisions?"

Hector looked to one of the walls, the trim was different, as was the color.

"This, did you stare and will its shape before your eyes, or did you imagine it over your morning coffee and afternoon tea, and find it here when you went to sleep? Both are possible."

Enoch: “I think it started changing after our visit to Bath.”

The place had left quite an impression on the scholar. He must have daydreamed this version of his demesne into existence while grading papers or slowly losing interest during a faculty meeting.

“It was the latter,” he offered, closing the book and tucking it beneath one arm. Yet he did not sound entirely convinced by his own explanation.

“Why?”

How could he have overlooked something as obvious as empty books?

He was now looking at the rest of the home, searching for other inconsistencies he might have missed.

For the first time since arriving, the demesne felt unfamiliar. As though he were seeing it through someone else's eyes.

Rune-Hector: "Because it would explain why you're struggling now. You are new to all of this, and yet you have created so much. Not only that, you've broken walls and reimagined your haven when most only seek to expand or decorate. Not to mention -"

"- you're anxious," Rune finished.

"Yes," Hector nodded. "But, these books are curious."

Rune closed the books he had opened, taking his time slipping them back into place.

"This is your memory warehouse. Everyone has books. Or photographs. Every part of their history viewable in some way. You've opened these books before?"

Enoch: The way the two of them were looking at him made Enoch feel as though he ought to be concerned as well.

“You should know better than most that that's my constant state of being,” he said to the Euthantos.

But levity aside, Hector had a point. He hadn't even known he was capable of remaking his demesne until the day he had woken to find himself in a version of his flat instead of the library. The discovery had surprised him enough that he had spent quite some time wandering through it.

“When it first changed, I was surprised to even be here,” he admitted. “So I explored. I wanted to see how closely it matched reality. The books seemed normal, at least the ones I opened. Not…” He gestured vaguely toward the blank volumes. “Not like this.” But that could be explained probably by his anxiety.

Rune-Hector: "I know," said Rune, voice as quiet as every night sitting together on the lounge. "In the time I've known you, you've proven again and again that you will not allow your anxiety to govern you." Which was why he found himself doubting the cambion's logic, despite it being the most probable cause.

Hector considered the photographs. Those were in fine condition. Lovingly crafted, one might say.

"I have some exercises for you, in the morning. Not meditation, but adjacent."

"He doesn't do well with meditation."

"I said adjacent," Hector smiled.

Enoch: Enoch looked momentarily surprised by the sudden kindness. He offered the mage a gentle look in return, one touched with gratitude.

“It’s true,” he admitted, smiling faintly at the cambion. “I find it very difficult to sit still unless I’m actively working through a research problem.”

His attention drifted back to the room and restlessness soon had him wandering toward his desk, fingers brushing over its surface before his gaze shifted to the window beside it. Beyond the glass, the stars swirled in their endless dance. Was this not normal then?

“What sort of exercise did you have in mind?”

Rune-Hector: "No, you don't wish to wait until morning?"

"Eager, stubborn, insatiable, impatient; haven't I used all of these adjectives before?" Rune leaned away, anticipating a swat.

"Hm. Well, we begin as if this were merely a dream. It breathes the same air, after all. I advise you begin a dream journal. Even when you are here. Write down every last detail as soon as you wake. Keep it beside your nightstand. If the only thing you can recall is a feeling, then write that.

"Next, to focus your intentions," Hector gestured to their surrounding area, to the books on the shelves, "you will look at your hand. Yes, your hand. Memorize the lines, scars, everything. You will do the same in your dreams. You will force your reality down to the last details in your demesne. Next, you will write something on your hand. Your next intention, and you will carry it with you here. Every night you will do this until you have mastered bringing your palm notes. Once you're able to do this, you will better master bringing intentions without writing them. These books will refill. Your house better realized. If you still struggle, you will set an alarm to wake you every 5 hours, sitting with your thoughts of this place and what you've seen for as long as you can hold it, and return."

Enoch: Rune was wise to step back, for the swat that followed was accompanied by a book. Not that Enoch put any real force behind it, he had no intention of harming his beloved, but the look he gave him was pointed all the same.

“Is that what you've been writing about me in your letters?” the scholar accused, fighting the corners of his mouth as they threatened to curl upward.

Despite the distraction, his attention soon returned to the cambion as Hector explained the exercise.

“You may have to remind me of this once I wake,” Enoch admitted with an apologetic smile. He understood the purpose behind it well enough. His first concern, however, was for the Euthanatos. The prospect of disrupting Rune's sleep while he sorted out his demesne sat poorly with him. Perhaps it would be kinder that he stays at his own flat until things under control.

“I shall do as the good doctor prescribes,” he agreed with a small nod.

At last, he gestured toward the window and the endless cosmos beyond it.

“Is that what this is meant to represent, then?” he asked. “My anxious mind?”

Rune-Hector: Rune's shoulders rose and fell, scratching at his chin as a means of distraction, a mask as he looked elsewhere. He wondered if the bedroom was here as well, and how silly but on the nose that would be. A bed in a dream world. And could you sleep in your dreams? Was that true unconsciousness?

"I know. There will be more. If you like, I will write everything down in the morning. I'll make sure Rune gets it before we depart."

Hector stared at the old mage a moment. His mouth opened. Closed.

"Yes, it is. Like a dreamless sleep. But to answer you, Enoch, I'm..." The cambion blinked, walked to the window, feeling at the frame. "Have you ever stuck your hand out?"

Enoch: That look of feigned obliviousness tickled the scholar, and he had to fight the smile threatening to betray him. He couldn't be flirting with his beau when he was actively being assigned homework. And should the Euthanatos choose to explore further, he would indeed find a replica of the bedroom. Everything was in its place, including a framed photograph of the mage resting on the nightstand.

Enoch stood a little straighter, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out at the stars beyond the window next to Hector.

“I have not.”

The admission prompted him to step closer. Reaching for the latch, he undid it and pushed the window open. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring into the endless void beyond. Something in his gut twisted, and it felt like a strange pull urging him to lean forward. Hesitantly, he reached out, his fingertips brushing against the sea of stars.

The cosmos rippled at his touch and slowly, he turned his wrist, watching the starlight shimmer and coil around his fingers. The glow crawled up his hand, over his wrist and suddenly it yanked him forward...

“Stay still. You're only going to make this worse for yourself.” The accented French voice echoed through the space as the stars vanished. A younger Enoch struggled against the wooden vice clamped around his left arm.

“No. No...”

The boy could not have been older than fifteen. His frantic gaze darted between his trapped arm and the man tightening the restraints around it.

“I promise, please—please don't.” His voice cracked, thick with tears. “I'm sorry...I'm sorry for whatever I've done. Please, papa...”

“Stop sniveling. Haven't I raised you better than this?” A strong hand landed on his shoulder, forcing the teenager back into the hard wooden chair beneath him.

“And you're sure he has to be awake?” a woman asked from his right. “What if someone hears him?”

“It has to be this way,” Doc answered. “But find something to muffle him if you must.”

“Make sure it's a clean break if you want it to heal properly,” came Dr. Blackwell's voice from somewhere behind them.

The taste of a wadded-up rag filled the boy’s mouth. "Just bite down on it dear, it'll be over soon."

Foreign words washed over them as the room began to chant. Dark blooded runic symbols had been drawn on his arm, and they seemed to writhe on his skin, pulsing with each foreign syllable spoken around him. Panic clawed at his chest and he tried to pull free again, but both the restraints and his grandfather held firm. The chants grew louder and more cacophonous with each verse until they reached a maddening crescendo.

Then came the sickening crack.

A muffled scream tore through the memory as agony exploded through both the boy's arm and Enoch's as he recoiled from the window and fell backwards, the memory in the void disappearing with it.

Rune-Hector: Rune nodded, caught pleasantly by surprise. To learn anything new at his age was far from a regular occurrence. Having expected Hector to charm the mage with more specificities of lucid dreams and sleep patterns, his attention turned elsewhere. It was only a moment. A stretch of his neck and a shuffle of a few measly meters, curious to find the bedroom they shared, to find their closet, or shoes scattered on the ground, just as they were back home, when he heard the metal of the latch squeak, and felt in his own stomach the same anxiety of his companion.

“Enoch!” A name said in unison. Hector’s arm had wrapped around his waist by the time Rune returned. Willing to hang himself out of the window himself, Rune reached for Enoch’s arm, holding desperately to his chest. Windows had dangerous potential. Why hadn’t Hector said? Why had he allowed him – no, why had he strayed from his side? The blame lay with him, the eldest.

But it was not Enoch’s voice, filled with panic and adrenaline, which reached his ears. Their grasp firm, the pair stared out the window at a scene almost too perfect to be a memory. Too heinous to be real, and yet… neither of them could deny the cruelty of man.

The very names of contention, their faces shed of years, their hearts still odious and beating. Hector felt a sulfurous disdain fill his stomach and lungs at the sound of an innocent child’s scream, the breaking of sinless naivete.

And the trio fell backward, cushioning Enoch in the fall. Hector cradled the offended arm with a churning in his stomach.

“Are you alright?”

Rune was on his feet, palms to the window. Whispering prayers in Dutch, his fingers reshaped, traced the frame of the window, and poured his intent beyond its imagined glass as he shut and locked it.

Enoch: Whatever haze had befallen the blond was shattered by a sudden explosion of pain.

What Hector found himself cradling was a ruined arm. The fracture was grotesque, the bones having ripped clean through the skin and splitting open the old white scar Enoch had attributed to his own doing. Blood poured freely from the wound, soaking his white shirt, staining his trousers, and dripping onto the floor below.

He could only clutch at the mangled limb, his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts as his vision swam and his temples pounded. The pain was so immense that he could scarcely comprehend what was happening around him.

Beyond the window, the tranquil cosmos had become a storm. The endless sea of stars had given way to a crimson tempest, as though the void itself had taken offense to the interruption and its windows being closed.

With a deafening crack, the windowpanes burst open once more, wrenching themselves free despite Rune's efforts to keep them shut. The spell sealing them failed beneath the force as violent winds roared into the flat, sending loose papers, books, and every unsecured object spiraling into a chaotic whirlwind.

Behind the churning red clouds, lightning split the heavens, and in that flash, a human-looking figure emerged. It bore the scholar’s likeness almost perfectly: the same height, build, down to the same white shirt, vest, and dark trousers Enoch wore now. But where eyes should have been, there was only endless black. Worse still were the countless other eyes scattered across its neck and winding down both forearms, each one fixed unblinkingly upon the shattered window and the trio inside.

It spoke, but its lips never moved.

Instead, its voice existed everywhere at once, bypassing the ears entirely. The sound drove itself straight into Enoch’s mind like a spike, sending fresh agony tearing through his skull. He couldn’t understand it, but as it began to walk forward, an instinct older than reason seized him.

Fear.

Pure, overwhelming fear.

Rune-Hector: The Euthanatos stood between the men and the Unknown. Faith was as reliable as seven on his dice. It was faith that had been his first punch of reality. The humbling truth that there were worst beasts than the man he called father. Things that preyed upon children in quiet, devout villages. Things with fangs, and apathy, and empty eyes. That very faith should have welded the window shut.

Rune retreated a step, remaining both barrier and shield. What filled the space sank his heart into his stomach. A bastardization of the man at his back. After so many nights turning page after page of Enoch’s sketchbook, he didn’t have to question the eerily familiar shape. His actions didn’t register as conscious decisions. The foreign language was challenged and answered with Celestial tongue. Louder, stronger than his prayers to the Unknown void. A direct response to what both mage and cambion knew, as certain as a white squall on the horizon, was neither an avatar, nor a figment of Enoch’s suppressed memories.

“This isn’t real.” Hector placed a firm grip on Enoch’s shoulders, squeezed. “This is your spirit, our spirits. We’re going to wake up in five, four…”

Rune took another step back, another, until he felt the back of his legs collide with Hector’s arm. He could put his faith in him, too. Their eyes would open simultaneously at the count of one. Until that final push, he wouldn’t dare look away. In fact, he didn’t know that he could if he wanted to.

With his first breath in the waking world, Hector rolled onto his side. He reached for Enoch’s face, only to find Rune’s hand already there, forehead pressed to the young mage’s temple, spilling prayer after prayer over his being, for his safety, for his return, for his own clarity.

"Look at me. Look at me, En."

Enoch: It was Hector's hands on his shoulders that finally pulled the scholar's attention away from Rune and the avatar as it continued its advance toward them. Enoch forced himself to look at the cambion and focus on his voice rather than the figure closing the distance. None of this was real. It was only a dream. They could leave it. They only had to wake.

Yet something deep in his gut insisted otherwise. It whispered that something terrible would happen if Raine reached them. Still, he nodded and gripped Hector's forearm. He swallowed thickly around the fear lodged in his throat and squeezed his eyes shut.

This isn't real.

This isn't real.

As Hector began the countdown, Enoch clung to the words like a lifeline. The arm beneath his hand vanished first, then Rune's closeness, and for one dreadful instant, he was alone with…with that thing. He could feel the avatar's presence just inches from his face, staring at him.

I am real.

Then it was gone, and the world lurched.

Enoch’s heart hammered violently against his ribs, but he did not dare open his eyes. But the mutterings of Dutch and the cool pressure of Rune’s hand were enough to convince him they had escaped the dreaming. He thought he might be sick.

Swallowing hard against the nausea, his right hand reached up to clasp Rune's wrist, unwilling to risk moving his left arm until he knew what had become of it. For several long moments, all he could do was breathe. A small, terrified part of him still wondered whether he had merely awakened into another dream and whether this, too, was one more deception crafted by his avatar.

“Are you...” he began, the word real dying before it reached his lips, instead he whispered, “Are you alright? Are you both alright?”

Enoch: “No crab. Got it,” the blond agreed with a chuckle at the face Hector made. It made him wonder, not for the first time this evening, if these were the mannerisms he would expect in a younger brother.

Seeing the two bags Rune hauled, Enoch did not bother asking if he could help. He simply reached out and took one automatically, determined to even the load. And if it resulted in a brief, silent tug-of-war between them, the scholar’s thoughts would stubbornly insist he was perfectly capable of carrying a bag despite whatever objections the mage might have.

Once they were off the dock and beyond the threshold of the ship, Enoch's gaze immediately swept their surroundings. Just to ensure no passerby or dockworker had witnessed them emerging from what appeared to be thin air. Satisfied for now, he adjusted his grip on the bag and glanced toward Rune.

“Would you like to drop these off at the flat?”

Rune: And tug-of-war they did. You're already holding things, his thoughts insisted, but relinquished his hold after one final, stubborn pull.

Rune's eyes remained ahead, walking with a healthy pace just shy of leisure.

"The pub," he decided. "It's closer. It'll never be more protected than it is tonight. I can better decide what comes home."

Home. He didn't blush saying it anymore, but his heart still skipped a beat in public.

"Do you really want to come back? I can return in the morning, if you don't. Say you... came ill, or something," he smirked.

Enoch: His satchel did not count, and Enoch would argue that point in this little back and forth. The worn leather bag he carried to the university was practically an extension of himself at this point. Victorious, he held the bag in both arms. It also afforded him the opportunity to feel through the cloth its contents, curiosity getting the better of him as he tried to guess what might be inside.

His gaze lifted to Rune. His suggestion was in a way gauging the mage’s thoughts, but the follow-up left the scholar's face warming. How dare he. Home, he had called it... and he loved the sound of it.

For a moment the poor scholar was so distracted by it that he nearly lost track of the conversation entirely.

“That would be terribly rude, lying to your friend.”

Though if he were being honest, there was a reason for his hesitation. The thought of sleeping in the same bed as Hector while he rooted around inside his demesne was unsettling. What if he found something? What if there truly was something wrong with him?

“No, I’ll follow through,” Enoch said, giving a small shake of his head. “Hector seemed quite adamant about helping me. Plus, he’s very charming and kind.”

Rune: The old man watched the young scholar nosy about his business, tickled by his quiet antics. Surely, he knew he was being watched. They were shoulder-to-shoulder.

"I have a crown in this one," he confessed. "Won it from my mentor. Supplies in the other. A few relics. Another of my kimonos. Some shoes. You'll see it all, eventually." But not tonight.

"You didn't say which you'd prefer. If I'm to sleep beside you or watch over you. I know the man well enough, he has more integrity than a nun. But all of that charm... did you... feel anything? Anything... you wish to talk about?"

Enoch: If Enoch was aware he was being watched, he did an admirable job of ignoring the mage while gently probing through the bag with an investigative squeeze. His little act of amateur detective work came to an abrupt halt, however, when Rune appeased his curiosity and revealed what he had brought.

“Are these... all your belongings?”

The scholar was not naïve enough to believe the mage would bring everything he owned into London unless he intended to stay for some time.

And, well...

He held the bag a little closer to his chest.

“Beside, if you don’t mind.”

That final question gave him pause, and after a moment he countered with one of his own.

“Do you grow immune to it after a while? I mean, we’ve already established that I’m particularly susceptible to magical effects.” Clarissa’s spell and Mary’s tea immediately came to mind.

“But yes, to answer your question,” he continued. “It became worse when you joined.”

His face warmed noticeably, and he looked away from the mage rather than meeting his eyes.

“I have a sneaking suspicion that everyone on that damned boat is both magical and pretty.”

Rune: He didn't have to answer that. The look he gave said more than words. Enoch knew well enough, given how tightly he now clasped his possessions.

The man showed his love in such new and unique ways. Just when he thought he had this man figured out, another punch to his heart.

The mention of his inclusion caused a slower pace, but for a beat, returning to form as he cleared nothing from his throat. There would be no meeting of eyes from either one.

"I don't believe you just called Alma Moses pretty. Unless I've had your taste in men all wrong from the beginning. There's someone for everyone, I suppose."

Enoch: One brow rose as Rune's pace slowed, causing them to fall out of step. More notably, Enoch's question had been thoroughly ignored. The audacity of this man. His shoulder bumped lightly into the mage in retaliation once he caught up. Rude.

He was not prepared to let the matter go just yet, but Rune had conveniently opened the door to an equally entertaining line of questioning.

“And what, pray tell, is my taste?” he asked, amusement coloring his voice.

The scholar glanced sidelong at his companion, blue eyes bright with mischief behind his glasses.

Rune: Did Enoch want to play this game? The man of his heart had a poker face.

"Oh, swarthy foreigners with accents. Bright eyes. Mm, bright ones. Like emeralds on sandy shores. Someone to hide their smile behind fingers. Book smart. A real Don Juan."

The mage nudged back.

"You don't become immune. You grow stronger. Imogene is my age. Moses is a phoenix reaching his golden years. Hector feels good, but he can't influence me."

Enoch: He was fishing for a reaction, and Rune delivered beautifully.

“Mm, mm, maybe...but it almost sounds as though you're describing yourself.”

The corner of his mouth curled upward as he swayed slightly from the nudge.

“You're saying age equates to strength and immunity?” Enoch asked, glancing at his mage. “Then by those metrics, I am in considerable danger.”

Rune: Himself? The stoicism was already broken, making a face at his beloved.

"Since when do I - I'm a bookworm?"

... Since when was the bait reversed? He couldn't believe what had just happened.

"Considerable danger of a 25-year-old? I think not."

Enoch: And that look right there made it entirely worth it. The blond laughed.

“Yes! You're well-read, and one doesn't earn that distinction without actually reading a few books.”

Enoch was still chuckling when the next revelation caught him completely off guard.

“Wait, I'm actually older than him?”

His brows shot up in surprise. So far, every magikin he had met had been at least twice his age. Current company included.

Rune: He supposed he couldn't argue with that, but, a bookworm was someone to know more than a handful of books. If he stopped to think about it, he could count his collection on both hands.

"Did you think all beings with a shred of magic were your elders?"

Enoch: Which reminded him, he still needed to make Rune continue reading to him in English.

Though certainly not tonight.

“Out of everyone I've met with any sort of magical ability, they've all been older than me,” Enoch pointed out. “You can't fault me for entertaining the possibility.”

Rune: "I've told you I was a child with - you're ridiculous. I need to find you more children your age."

He was just going to... jog ahead.

Enoch: “I resent that.”

The protest lacked any real conviction, his grin only broadening as he watched Rune jog ahead of him.

It was, admittedly, another angle from which to admire the mage as he carried his belongings.

Rune: The pub was bustling, more lively with raised voices, shuffling chairs and clinked glasses than usual. Men and women of various ages, ethnicities, and clothes; what they all had in common were scars, and recognition of the man walking in. Both Suda and Rune were shouted as greetings. A hirsute man roughly Enoch's age grabbed the Euthanatos in a bear-like embrace, lifting him from the ground, bag and all.

The same song, sung here as it had been on the ship, "I'm not back," followed by a resounding, "Fuck off!"

The bag Enoch carried was taken with a sigh. Far from exasperation, the mage was as awake as a cup of black coffee.

"I'll just be a moment."

Enoch: Enoch wasn't sure he had ever seen the pub this busy.

It was loud and full of life, packed with strange faces and louder voices calling out his beloved's name from every corner of the room.

The scholar stood off to the side, blue eyes dancing from one sailor to the next.

There was something wonderfully novel about seeing Rune in his element. Enoch found himself thoroughly entertained by the jovial crowd and the warmth with which they greeted the mage.

When Rune finally made his way back over and reached for the bags, Enoch glanced toward the staircase over his shoulder.

“I can drop these off if you'd like to catch up with everyone,” he offered, relinquishing the bag. “It seems they've missed you.”

Rune: This sweet man with his darling perspective. He didn't want to dispel the illusion, and yet -

"This isn't - no. Won't be long."

At no point was Enoch left unsupervised. A pair of eyes from someone in the crowd glanced up, inspected, and then another pair at the former looked away. Again and again.

The hirsute man smiled at him with too many teeth for his mouth. Two women came from behind the salon curtain. Two more slipped behind it.

And as his word, Rune came down the stairs with purpose in his gait.

"Ready?"

Enoch: “What do you mean?”

Enoch seemed mildly perplexed, but complied as he waited as instructed. Had he misunderstood something? If he had, he wasn't entirely sure what it was, and the question occupied his thoughts while he stood there.

With his arms now free of Rune's belongings, his hands slipped into his pockets as his attention wandered across the tavern. The scholar let his gaze sweep the room, initially oblivious to the fact that he was being watched. At least until the man smiled at him.

Enoch returned the smile politely and offered a small nod of acknowledgment before lowering his gaze again, having noticed it wasn’t only the man looking at him.

“Mm, a quick stop to pick up some clothes to change into and then dinner?” he asked quietly once Rune rejoined him.

His eyes flickered briefly over the mage's shoulder toward the eyes that remained on him.

“I can't help but think your shipmates are starting to form an opinion about me.”

Rune: Despite all of those eyes, no one had dared approach. For whatever reason, the blond existed in a warded bubble of protection. At least tonight, no one was going to offer their hand and their name.

Dark eyes swept the room. "Mm. That's what happens when people are left to their own assumptions." Fingers pressed to Enoch's lower back, turning him towards the door and away from all of the familiar faces. Friendly, neutral, or hostile made no difference. The young mage could only handle so much in a single night.

"I've taken a leave of absence before, if you recall. They feel it's within their right to tease me."

Enoch: He was glad that there were no further introductions, though part of him had braced for the possibility.

Enoch followed the gentle pressure of those fingers, turning toward the door and stepping back out into the city.

“Oh, is that why they...” He let out a soft chuckle as the realization settled in. “No wonder they were staring.”

A smirk briefly tugged at the corner of his mouth as he cast Rune a sidelong glance.

“I’m the reason they won’t be getting their luck back, if I’m so bold as to assume.

“Do you know how much time you'll have with them?”

Rune: Their luck. That was one perspective, and it being Enoch's, he would rather favor it. At least through his eyes, it had nothing to do with Aoi. Not everyone aboard the ship had known of her. Only those with his confidence, and that was only a handful. They might have known something had gone amiss, but the point remained the same: he had abandoned them and returned.

"Could be days or a month. Depends on the mood of everyone aboard. When the majority are restless, or an untouched plot of land discovered, some creature to discover, it might be years until their return."

Enoch: Enoch briefly stepped ahead of Rune as another couple approached along the sidewalk, moving aside to give them room before falling back into step beside his companion. He glanced over at the mage.

“Years?”

His eyes lingered on Rune for a moment before turning forward again.

He already knew the answer. He had helped carry the man's belongings, after all. Yet the thought continued to bounce around in his head, growing louder the longer he sat with it until he could no longer keep himself from asking.

“And you're sure? Absolutely certain you don't wish to go back with them?”

He drew a breath as his hand rose to the back of his neck, scratching at an itch that wasn't really there.

“I don't want you to resent me for it.” His gaze dropped briefly to the pavement beneath their feet. “Not that I think anything ill will come of...” us.

“What I'm trying to say is...”

His eyes found Rune again, hopeless for this man. For a moment, it looked as though he might continue but instead he closed his mouth. The scholar was finally learning that not every thought needed to be said.

Rune: Having known this man for what was coming up on a year, he could see the wheels turning behind the unspoken. Did he have to answer that, when Enoch already knew what he was going to say? The bags had already been left in his room.

"You're saying whole pages of nothing to me," Rune retreated to German. "We've come this far, only for you to doubt me now? It's too late for that. You'll just have to come to terms with the knowledge that I'm not leaving. I'm going to see wrinkles on your face before you master a single spell," he smirked.

Enoch: The words that followed had the young professor looking away as warmth spread across his cheeks. His hand rose to adjust his glasses, biting his inner cheek at the thought of growing older alongside his mage. The fact that Rune had even entertained the idea, well… it made his heart stumble.

“Mm, give me some credit,” he protested. “I've managed to cast a few spells. A handful were even a success.”

Rune: Another of those moments, things they had said before repeated for peace of mind. Tonight, Enoch needed that peace. A coin toss for who would need reassuring words tomorrow. Two men trying to wrap each other's wounds at the same time.

"Oh? Show me your favorite spell," he gestured with both hands. The world was theirs, the street relatively quiet for this time of night.

Enoch: “Well, the concentration spell and the finding-things spell have both come in handy. I just don't happen to have anything to find or concentrate on at the moment.”

“And,” his hand went up, “I’m passively listening for lies all the time now.”

Truthfully, the list of spells he had gathered was still rather small. His training had largely fallen by the wayside once his avatar had begun complicating things, and somewhere along the line their lessons had been abandoned.

“Let's see...” Enoch tilted his head as he took stock. “I've managed to glimpse ahead in time, and I’ve done that sense danger spell once...”

Rune: Rune nodded along. His smile re-perked at the mischievous thought - maybe, perhaps, if Enoch was inclined... to finding him again. If the stars aligned, and Raine could cooperate.

Always that fucking avatar.

"You could try time sight. Remember the spell when we visited your estate? I worried you with laudanum. You wouldn't need that. It's worth trying. Could be me, Hector, anyone on the ship. That's the place to do it. There's almost always some scrap of tass."

Enoch: “When I was trying to figure out what was ailing you?”

He wasn't entirely sure what the spell had been called, only that it had been born from a combination of frantic research and concern for the sailor. Somehow, between old texts and stubborn determination, he had managed to discover that Rune was suffering from scurvy.

Now he found himself trying to recall what other spells he had successfully performed. Well there was that correspondence spell through the scraps of paper. There were others too, he was certain of it, but the longer his thoughts were on the estate, the more those memories became sullied with the unpleasant discoveries they'd made there.

“Mm.”

The sound was absent-minded, his attention only half on the conversation as he sorted through his thoughts. But still, a question surfaced.

“Do you know how tass is generated?”

Rune: For a moment he stared, confused which memory he had pulled, because it wasn't the memory he had intended. But, if laudanum wasn't enough to trigger recall, then there was something else which would surely jog his memory.

"When I didn't breathe for six minutes and forty-two seconds."

It was a matter of pride to prove his unconsciousness had been a fluke, but that was not for today - not that he could foresee.

"But... any spell cast during out visit would be impressive. You learned invaluable skills. Easier for you then than I've ever seen. Except... I feel you perform best when you're... relaxed. Yes, you can cast when stressed, even distraught, but... I've come to understand, that's not you."

Rune looked up from the sidewalk once again.

"Why do you ask?"

Enoch: “Oh, you’re talking about the library!”

How could he have forgotten that?

Rune had given him such a fright. So had what he had seen in that vision. Being reminded that he had, in a sense, been possessed still didn't sit right with him, especially when there were so many unanswered questions surrounding what had happened that night and what, exactly, had taken hold of him.

“I suppose it being my childhood home was enough to help with my casting,” he ventured.

The scholar fell quiet for a beat.

“You know, I wish that visit had been more. There was... more I wanted to show you, but...” He shook his head, abandoning the thought for now.

“Part of what fascinates me is that magic feels like another branch of science in its own way. Understanding the source, how it functions, and how quintessence works would help.”

Rune: It took five seconds to inhale, to think about what he wanted to say, and if it was worth saying. It had been months. They needed to revisit that place, see what Mary had done, if she was still there - did Enoch still employ her? Why? It hadn't crossed his mind to inquire.

But he wanted to speak clearly, carefully, as he might have with his once official title.

"We can look back and pine for alterations, but they spoke of others, and I was ill, and you were betrayed, and it wasn't safe. I know in my chest it wasn't safe. I don't regret leaving. We went away carrying more than we entered with. But, I'm not surprised you're curious about tass, and I'm not surprised we're talking about the house in the same breath. Tass is crystalized quintessence. That is the water is wet explanation. It's either made naturally at a node, or pulled from one's avatar into an object. Depending on the death, the bodies of mages, familiars, vampires, changlings, these all have a chance of becoming tass."

Enoch: “I know.”

His hands had found their way back into his pockets, his eyes fixed on the sidewalk as they walked. There was a slight tension in his shoulders as they circled back to the subject of the house.

Enoch glanced over at Rune as the mage began explaining things the way he always did when slipping into teaching mode. Perhaps it was a lesson. There was something comforting about that, about listening to him while they made their way back toward the flat they now called home.

“Mm, but in this instance, I'm asking why water is wet,” he said, unable to resist flashing his companion a boyish grin. “And what gives it that property?”

The smile faded as his attention returned to the pavement.

“We wondered why there would be tass on the grounds if no one there was awakened.”

The question still bothered him. They had walked away from the estate with far too many unanswered questions, and Enoch found that frustration lingering like a stone in his shoe.

Rune: The subject bothered him more than their past decisions. It bothered him for a reason he couldn't articulate until they got to the dormitory.

"Why haven't you learned this at the Arcanum? I shouldn't have the capacity to teach you anything anymore." It wasn't that the society doubled as a school, but their wealth of knowledge was meant to surpass anything he might offer. This was more than Enoch enjoying the sound of his voice.

Rune held one of the small double doors, letting it swing closed behind them.

"Could have been an artifact they didn't realize, or the power to harvest. Could have been a node the estate was built upon. Would explain their mania. Could be a number of things," the mage sighed. "You're thinking about returning, aren't you?"

Enoch: “I think it's part of their process. They're a secretive bunch, as you know, so I suppose they're vetting me.”

His shoulders rose and fell in a small shrug.

“All I can do is keep showing up and hope they see that I'm serious about my studies.”

Once inside, Enoch took the lead, heading up the stairs.

“Yes, just to sort out the sale of the place and pack everything up.”

Rune: "What are you thinking of keeping?" Arguably more important, "What can go in a fire?"

Their evening needn't to be ruined with a bitter taste like tannis root on their tongues. It was better filled with more productive thoughts and discoveries. But no dust would settle until dawn.

"Do you want me there? I haven't - I'm not sure how. I don't remember if I have. Your demesne. Just your dreams."

Enoch: “I'm not sure. Perhaps a few of my things. I'll have to go through Doc's belongings as well and decide what should be donated, sold, or kept.” Because despite the value of the house, the scholar couldn't imagine ever living there.

At the mention of burning things, he glanced over at his beloved.

"I'll let you pick one thing to burn.” A small bit of levity to soften an otherwise unpleasant subject.

Reaching their floor, Enoch fished his key from his pocket and headed for the door. He unlocked it and stepped inside, holding it open for Rune before following him in.

"Yes? It might be helpful if Hector can do it.  I don't know how this will all work tonight."

Rune: Tempting to say the house with a straight face, but that would not end well. He didn't need to see the future to know the obvious. And what would have been the second option? His grandfather's portrait? No. He knew there was something dangerous. Something worth destroying.

"Given his experience, I would be surprised if he couldn't manage two at once."

And... his fingers wiped forcefully at his mouth. If he was trying to eliminate evidence of a smile or a frown, he didn't know, at first. He stared firmly at the floor, waiting for the muscles in his stomach to uncramp. Ah. He had swallowed a laugh.

Enoch: The blond headed straight for his desk after shedding his coat and shoes by the door, intent on putting away the manuscript they had recovered for their specter friend.

He flipped open the leather satchel and began unloading its contents onto the desk.

“Have you done this before? It would be my first time, so I’ll have to follow your lead.”

The comment was made absentmindedly; his back turned to his beloved. As a result, he entirely missed Rune’s reaction, blissfully unaware that he might have just added a little more tinder to an already smoldering fire.

Otto’s manuscript was tucked away in a drawer. The journal, however, remained in the satchel for now. Enoch suspected it would prove useful tonight.

Rune: From behind, the sound of breathing through fingers. The struggle of breath through the mage's nose, and then, a snort. Perhaps clearing his throat would help, but it was already too late.

"Have I done what, my love? Slept with another man? Walked in someone's dream? Slept with two men at once? You'll have to be more specific."

Enoch: The sound earned a raised brow from the scholar before he glanced over his shoulder at his snickering companion.

His face immediately went red.

“That wasn't—”

“You know that—”

“I wouldn't—”

Enoch stared at his lover for a moment, visibly struggling to decide what exactly he was supposed to do with him.

"You cheeky bastard."

There was no heat behind the accusation, only embarrassed affection.

“I’m getting my clothes.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and retreated toward the bedroom in search of a change of clothes, abandoning the mage for now.

Rune: The unfinished sentences only made things worse. The bubbly sound escaping his chest came just as much of a surprise for him as it might Enoch, but once it escaped, more followed, and he couldn't help a single second.

"I'm not sorry," his words proud. "Ah, no. You did this. This is your fault."

Rune looked around the dorm. He didn't need anything. He would settle beside Enoch in his trousers and shirt and be set upon by wrinkles in the morning; nothing an iron couldn't fix.

"Do we have any more of that laudanum?"

Enoch: “I know you're not sorry, and I most certainly did not, you fiend!” the professor called from the bedroom as he rummaged through his drawers in search of pajama pants and a change of clothes for the following morning.

The sound of that laughter was his favorite.

It wasn't often he managed to get such a reaction out of the mage, which made it all the more delightful when he did. Enoch found himself biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling as he folded the clothes and tucked them into his leather bag. A fresh pair of socks followed shortly after. That should do it.

“Yes, we barely put a dent in it. Shall I bring it?”

He was already reaching for the bedside drawer before the question had fully left his mouth, retrieving the amber bottle and dropper and adding them to his belongings.

Once everything was packed away, he finally emerged from the bedroom and rejoined Rune in the living room.

“I’m telling Hector you were being crass.”

Rune: He almost thanked his Heavenly Father that Enoch was in another room, rubbing his face with both hands to save himself before being caught. He didn't feel a blush, but he needn't feel the heat to know it was there.

"Barely?" Given how much he had consumed by the fireplace that night - no, this was the second bottle, wasn't it? Knowing his diagnosis hadn't cured him overnight, but slow healing had been a new, blurry experience.

Enoch would return to find his Dutchman frowning, hands on his hips. "You'd snitch on me? Since when did he outrank me?"

Enoch: It amused the professor that his sarcasm hadn't been immediately recognized by his beloved. When Rune had been ill, Enoch had spent that miserable week after their trip doing everything he could to keep the sailor comfortable and distracted from the discomfort of scurvy, hence half a bottle was gone.

Seeing that familiar stance brought a smile to his face.

Crossing the room, he slipped his hands through the inviting space offered by those akimbo arms and wrapped them around Rune's waist, drawing the mage closer.

“I wouldn't betray you like that. You are my favorite seaman.”

His smile widened.

Rune: It was unspoken, the way that arm took what belonged to it. The way Rune relaxed in his hole, despite his stubborn stance. The smile that twitched at the corner of his mouth was unmistakable.

Seaman, he said, and with - no, almost made it three seconds with a straight face. He was pushing that face now out of principle.

"Let's go, you fool. Our sleep demon awaits." And they still needed food. Time was an athlete tonight, sprinting ahead with no regards.

Enoch: Enoch watched that crease at the corner of Rune’s mouth fight valiantly for dominance before ultimately losing the battle. A soft laugh escaped him as he was pushed away.

“Rude. That was funny,” he complained mildly, lifting a hand to adjust his glasses.

He had only taken a single step back, remaining well within the mage’s reach.

“I need something from you first.”

His fingers caught Rune’s tie, using it to gently reel him back in and close the distance between them. Their lips brushed together, and Enoch’s nose nudged softly against his mage’s.

“Only because I don’t know if I’ll get another chance to kiss you tonight.”

Rune: Fingers on his tie with as much authority as the arm around his waist. Rune didn't bother to resist what he wanted. Enoch had a point, up to a point; no one aboard the ship would do a double take, if not to scowl at Rune for having abandoned them for romance. Certainly not Hector. No, dare he think - he wouldn't. Not even for a moment. The cambion might as well have been a teenager in his eyes, and Rune would never share this man.

"Ten seconds of passionate, carnal sin." And if he could just slow time down enough, letting ten seconds stretch to twenty, thirty...

He would try.

Enoch: “Only ten seconds?”

Well, then he had better not waste them.

It was ten seconds of utterly indulgent kisses, his hand pressed against the mage’s chest after abandoning his tie in favor of touch.

His fingertips hovered near the buttons of the mage's shirt, entertaining the thought of undoing them. They lingered there for a moment before smoothing over the fabric instead, granting himself the smallest taste of what they couldn't have tonight.

Why was he so greedy for his own frustration?

Because frustration was exactly what he felt when he finally pulled away.

And yet those ten seconds had felt much longer.

“We should go before we find an excuse to stay.”

Rune: Having time make demands of them added to the ache between his legs, a promise of relief tomorrow? No. There was no guarantee of anything. But his arm snaked around Enoch's waist, pulling him in as though they had all the time in the world they did not possess.

"We already have an excuse," disappointment sighed from his body, yet he bit his lip and smiled, briefly. "Come on. I'm suddenly famished."

Enoch: A little muffled sound escaped the scholar as he was pulled back in. Pressed against his mage like that, the ache he carried became immediately apparent.

The temptation to slip a hand between them and torment Rune just a little was difficult to ignore. Really, what was stopping him besides himself? They were safe here, and he would indulge in a few more seconds of teasing, of feeling the mage through the fabric of his trousers while he spoke. He would blame it on all the pent-up feeling he'd accumulated aboard the ship. Right, they were supposed to be getting food and heading back.

“What are you craving?”

Rune: Hector had that way about him from the beginning. The first week of his presence had been a shift in cultural normalcy for the crew. The friction on deck had been palpable, sexual famishment to those unaware and unprepared both hilarious and frustrating.

And now, there was nothing he wanted more in this world than to rip the clothes form Enoch's body. If he could bury his face between his legs and suck him dry -

"You, but, English food will do. What's the most English food we could give him? He said something about pastry, or did you?"

Enoch: “Ah, I'm glad to know I'm so easily replaceable,” he teased as he considered what might qualify as sufficiently English cuisine.

“He did say nothing with crab in it. So, I'm thinking perhaps a cottage pie or a toad in the hole. Both involve pastry of a sort, if that's what you're craving.”

Enoch hummed thoughtfully.

“Bangers and mash are excellent as well, since as it stands, I'm not on the menu.”

He gave his lover a squeeze before reluctantly disentangling himself and heading for the door.

Rune: "Toad in the - Ridiculous. Let's have pie. All sorts. We'll soon have him comparing French pastries." One of the only histories he had on him, and by no means solid. Some story about visiting France, and the discovery of his ability to heal. Enoch was bound to know before sunrise, if his interview was picked up where he left it.

"What I'm hearing from you, is you want breakfast. You're already looking forward to sunrise."

Enoch: “Have you ever had a stout pie?” he asked as he straightened his clothing before stepping outside, locking the flat behind them.

“You can have all those dishes for dinner as well,” he added, unable to resist defending English cuisine as they made their way toward the stairs.

“What English dish has become your favourite?”

Rune: "If I have, I didn't know it."

Rune no longer looked back at the dorm, no longer bowed with a final blessing and prayer. The wards were strong enough to feel, like a change of frequency against his skin. The pulse was low, down in his gut.

"Bubble and squeak," he smirked. "Or... ah, fish and chips. I needn't ask yours. Anything with a spot of caramel."

Enoch: He would add that to their growing list of orders for the evening. At the rate they were going, they would be eating very well tonight.

“Hmm, there's hope for you yet. You're fitting in quite well with us English folk,” he teased with a smile as he held the door open for his companion.

“I... suppose you're right.”

Enoch considered it for a moment, hands slipping into his pockets as they walked.

“Mm, but let it be noted that I do enjoy a good meal like a Sunday roast.”

Rune: Even now, with as many months as he had slept in the dormitory, for all of their excuses and dodging and careful scheduling, Rune still kept his head low until they reached the outside.

If only he could build them a house with his own two hands. If not here, perhaps, one day, in their dreams.

But think about anything else. The price of rice, the heavy storm-laden sky, the taste of Enoch's lips - don't let him catch that thought.

Sunday roast. A well enough distraction.

"And you never once went to church? I'm understanding that's unheard of, here."

Enoch: Enoch had learned that if they acted normally and gave no one a reason to be suspicious, they were, for the most part, invisible.

Over time, he had become familiar with a few faces around the building, particularly those on his floor, though even then their interactions rarely extended beyond a brief greeting or a nod of acknowledgment. These were the thoughts that occupied his mind as he took the stairs down, along with considerations of dinner, sparing the mage from Enoch accidentally picking up on sweet thoughts of homing together.

“I have, a handful of times when I was a child. I made friends with some of the other children in town and begged my grandfather to let me visit them.” He smiled faintly at the memory. “Reluctantly, he agreed, and sometimes the lot of us would go to church together. Though it only happened a few times before it stopped.”

He wasn't entirely sure why, though he suspected it had something to do with his grandfather's differences from the rest of the community.

“I got to go again once I was at boarding school and met William, and then later at university. There was a girl who was rather sweet on me asked me to go with her a few times, so I did.”

Rune: "Mm, sweet on you." He might have smiled, had it not been for thoughts of little Enoch making friends, feet kicking between the pews and trying to pay attention to this foreign concept of religion, largely ignored at home.

Or... no. That wasn't right.

"Gods," he sighed. "That's what you've always said. Gods." In what language were they meant to converse? Continuing in English. That had been Enoch's insistence. He could no longer make the excuse of being too slow to comprehend.

A heavy drop of rain attacked the bridge of his nose, making him softly jolt. He knew there was going to be a vampire sleeping in his room tonight.

"Tell me why your God is plural."

Enoch: The scholar frowned thoughtfully, turning the word over in his mind. He had said it for so long that he hadn't even been conscious of it until he met the Euthanatos.

“I did. I try not to as much now. It's not very polite,” he admitted, glancing over at the mage.

“I wasn't raised particularly religious as you know. There was the Church of England, of course, and my grandfather made certain I understood what most people believed. But with my grandfather traveling so much and getting to know so many different cultures, exploring so many different lands...” A sad smile touched his lips. “Well, you've seen some of the treasures he collected from his expeditions.”

A drop of rain struck nearby, and Enoch instinctively tipped his face upward toward the darkening sky. He adjusted the leather strap on his shoulder, wishing he had thought to bring both his hat and an umbrella. The air felt heavy with humidity.

“When he told me stories about those places, he explained that there were other religions in the world, far beyond the worship of a single God. He thought it was naïve to believe such a vast world could be governed by only one entity.” He glanced at Rune. “His words, not mine.”

“And so I learned about different faiths. My grandfather made a point of teaching me about world religions alongside everything my tutors covered. He wanted me to be well-rounded.”

His shoulders lifted in a small shrug.

“I suppose that's when the singular became plural.”

His brows furrowed in that familiar way.

“The other man who shared that view was my mentor, Etienne. Though now we know there was a connection there.”

Rune: "I question who influenced whom for these... gods."

By their pathing, he knew which restaurant Enoch was guiding them to. Their pace was strong, spurred by the promise of rain. Reaching the crossroad, Rune came to a halt.

"Can you name them? All of the religions he ever taught you? He must have had a favorite, or... if not a favorite, is it even more curious if he left one out." By now, his words were for his feet. Mutterings of a Euthanatos catching a wayward thread.

But an old man bumped shoulders with him, grumbling as he crossed the street. The world moved regardless of his musing.

"It's nothing," was an incomplete promise. "You know me, I'm a terrier."

Enoch: “As you know, there are several religions older than Christianity, but that's where you're more of an expert than I am.” He wasn't about to venture too far outside his realm of knowledge for fear of putting his foot in his mouth and accidentally offending his companion.

“Mm, I can certainly try, but I'm sure I'll miss a few, and my grandfather would be horrified to hear me lump some of them together.” He had drifted a little closer to Rune, if only to catch the words muttered toward his feet, quietly admiring the man's stubborn insistence on keeping the conversation in English.

 “He wasn't teaching me theology. It was more... culture, history, anthropology. Though that's not to say my grandfather wasn't particularly interested in Egyptian societies. Anything dealing with death, rebirth, judgment, imortality...”

The old man that had brushed past Rune earned a brief frown from the scholar before his attention returned to the mage.

“Doc went on an expedition to Egypt and later to the Amazon while I was away at boarding school,” he continued. “I desperately wanted to go with him because it sounded exciting, but when he returned, he'd tell me about the people who lived there, what they believed, and he'd usually bring back some small gift or bauble.”

Another fat raindrop struck his spectacles.

That was enough to quicken his pace.

Instinctively, his hand reached for Rune's, only for propriety to win out at the last second. Instead, his fingers caught the edge of the mage's cuff and gave it a gentle tug toward the restaurant. They were only another block away.

“No, please.” His smile softened. “I'm rather enjoying this. I’d like to know what your thoughts are chasing.”

Rune: Rune wished he could see everything Enoch said in front of him like an open magazine. Each sentence a speech bubble in some cartoon. He was a visual learner; this thread was something. Not yet worth articulation, but... it was something.

How Enoch could speak with any ounce of fondness about these people, knowing what he knew, was the sourest taste. Rifling around in an innocent boy's mind, cutting him, manipulating him; it was an audacity worse than his father.

And the thread, strong as an orb-weaver's silk, became taut.

"We've established that these people were a cult, and what do cults need, if not a god or goddess to hide behind. I never asked what deity, and I should have. That language. It's... Oh. We're here." Still two buildings over, but his trail was ending there, once more apprehensive to finish his thoughts.

Enoch: Perhaps enjoying wasn't the right word for what he was feeling as they spoke about his past. Cathartic, maybe. Or perhaps it was simply part of the process of coming to terms with everything they had discovered. It was difficult to say.

His attention returned to the road ahead. It was easier than looking at the mage beside him, because the word cult felt like a brand burned into his skin. He carried the name by virtue of his magical discipline and little else. Whatever twisted beliefs his grandfather had held were not his own.

Instinctively, he wanted to push back against it all and deny any connection. But that was the frightened little boy in him trying to run from truths that were becoming harder and harder to ignore.

“What Mary said to me?”

His head turned, recalling the unfamiliar words he had hastily written into his notebook during the train ride back to London. But that was where the conversation ended.

The door to the eatery swung open, and a couple hurried out, eager to escape before the heavens finally opened. The storm had been threatening them all evening. A flash of lightning illuminated the street, followed a moment later by a low roll of thunder.

Rune: Rune frowned at the sky. If they didn't make it in time, the rain would go right through to Enoch's bones. Being naturally cold, he would hardly feel the difference, but not his lover. What a perfect excuse to dry him thoroughly, and -

Was that Hector, or just his insatiable lust?

"Tomorrow," he elbowed Enoch forward. "I fear we'll have the last of the pastry here. I think it's been a popular day." The restaurant was utterly filled and more behind them; some hiding from the oncoming storm, a single familiar face from the ship, and more than a few cottage pies and other savory pastries on plates.

"Do you intend to strengthen your mind magic from this night forth?" A question whispered in the safety of German as they waited in line.

Enoch: The eatery was busy, and with the number of patrons in the area made it warm as Enoch and navigated around occupied tables and others, like them, trying to place an order before the downpour arrived.

Plates clattered from somewhere behind the counter, blending with the dull murmur of conversation that filled the establishment. At Rune's nudge, Enoch stepped forward into line, the aroma of food immediately making his stomach growl.

They found themselves behind a mustachioed man who appeared to be muttering to himself, carrying on what sounded suspiciously like a conversation with no one at all. Enoch's attention lingered on him for a moment before the soft words spoken in German stole it away.

His gaze shifted to the mage, and he nodded.

“All magic, if I'm being honest. But yes. Do you have a lesson in mind?”

Rune: The man in front of them was almost certainly something, though, if whom he conversed with was a wraith, it was certainly an old soul with a mastery of exclusivity. Rune didn't see or feel a thing.

But sometimes, a cigar was just a cigar, and a lonely man was just talking to himself, another face in the London crowd.

"Several. I've been trying not to interfere, as per the Arcanum's request, but frankly, I'm frustrated and impatient with them."

Enoch: His hands rested behind his back, one loosely clasping the opposite wrist as the blond kept his gaze ahead.

“How would they know?”

It was an innocent enough question, though the sidelong glance he gave Rune suggested he might be willing to bend the rules just a little.

“I certainly wouldn't be the reason they found out,” he whispered.

A hint of amusement lifted the corner of his mouth as he gently rocked on his heels before stepping forward with the rest of the queue as it crept closer to the counter.

Rune: "By the same means I ask of your mind magic," the mage whispered. He wished Enoch hadn't such a profound interest in that secret society, but he understood his insatiable drive, and the motivation of a man lied to most of his life. Yes, he understood. Didn't mean he had to like it.

'You need stronger walls, my love. If you can hear my voice this instance, who is to say someone else isn't privy to our conversation? When you can wrap your thoughts in a fence, then I will let you read everything in my grimoire you're not supposed to.'

Enoch: Enoch gave a small nod, but a moment later he heard his lover's voice in his head.

The sound of it sent a pang through him.

The only other times they had seemed to connect like this were during moments of intimacy when all of his attention had been fixed on the mage and nothing else had existed to distract him. This realization was enough to make the professor find interest in his leather boots, trying to hide this little thought before it could be picked up. But, as Rune had already pointed out, his thoughts were hardly private when someone knew how to listen, like his lover.

Either way, all he had to do was think back at him, right? That was how it had happened before. So tentatively, he’d give it a try.

And how would I begin to build this fence, herz?

Rune: Rune considered his approach. Thoughts were not so much a house, as often described. They were far more fluid. Paintings, or a book.

The Atlantic Ocean, December. Water as vast as it was blue, deeper than the deepest sapphire. The sky was gray, kissing the open water on the horizon. A storm as promised as the one outside rippled the restless water. If cold could be visualized beyond ice and snow, it was the Atlantic in December. His birth home, and where he was certain he would die. The only image Enoch would catch.

"You didn't hear anything, did you? Just now, I recited a haiku. You'll grow accustomed, eventually, thinking two things at once. It's no different, I imagine, from playing the piano."

Enoch: He was listening, or at least he thought he was. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't heard the poem his lover had shared, nor any accompanying thoughts.

So when questioned, he shook his head.

“No.”

A small furrow formed between his brows as he considered it.

“Why does it only work sometimes, then?” he asked. “Is it like listening for lies?”

The comparison seemed the closest thing he had to reference. That, too, had begun as something intermittent and unreliable before gradually becoming second nature.

“Or am I simply terrible at it?”

Rune: Had he not - Rune stared at the ceiling for a moment.

"I wonder, sometimes, if your mind magic is only mine, picking you up and giving you what I wish. If you didn't see anything."

They were playing a dangerous game, even if their language was foreign, they were speaking too much of it in a crowded room.

"You might be terrible." His companion fought a smile as they reached the hostess. No, no table. Their order would be takeaway.

Enoch: “Maybe, but it could also be the atmosphere or... current company,” he ventured, taking a guess as the gentleman ahead of them was finally helped.

The scholar glanced to his right, giving his mage a look of mock offense before nudging his shoulder with his own. “That was not the vote of confidence I was looking for,” he replied with a smirk.

At last, they were called forward and as they stepped up to the counter, Enoch couldn't help but glance over his shoulder at the line that had formed behind them. Beyond the doors, the rain had finally begun, people hurrying along the street and ducking beneath awnings to escape the downpour.

Rune: They had been most improper, abandoning their hats, regardless of the hour. Their reason for requiring was growling and grumbling just beyond the glass door.

Rune would agree to whatever Enoch's heart desired. Hector would be grateful for anything, as far as he was aware, and so long as pastry was involved, and an absence of dairy, Rune would survive it. Their argument would be the same as it always was - almost always - reaching for his wallet in a race to place his money down first. Equally a matter of sinful pride as it was determination to provide for this man he'd claimed his own.

Enoch: Another polite nudge to Rune's ribs and a whispered, “Stop that,” was Enoch's contribution to the ongoing battle they seemed destined to have whenever money was involved.

The professor saw it quite simply: Hector was going to help him, which put tonight's meal firmly within Enoch's jurisdiction. Their order quickly grew to include a cottage pie, two steak and stout pies, a treacle tart, and a spotted dick for dessert. Perhaps it was too much, but whatever remained could be enjoyed by Hector later.

But much to the sting of his pride, however, Rune's stubbornness won the evening. Enoch could only watch as his mage paid for everything before they were directed to wait off to the side while the food was prepared.

“I’m pushing you out of the way next time,” he informed him, folding his arms in mild protest.

Rune: "You could have pushed me now." Dark eyes looked up from his wallet, brow arched. "You're so polite. Don't want to cause a scene. I'll gladly cause one." He would and had as a loner, as a face among many in a crowd of sailors. But Enoch? An indisputable bluff.

"When was the last time you were ill?"

Enoch: Enoch briefly considered acting on his impulses retroactively, but as he stared at his mage, he found himself wondering whether Rune would actually cause a scene. He would be mortified.

“You wouldn’t,” said the scholar as his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

His spectacles, however, had become spotted from the rain earlier, so he removed them and pulled out his handkerchief, polishing the lenses while he considered the sudden question.

“Perhaps last fall, if I'm not mistaken. I had a terrible head cold.” He paused, making a face. “And my allergies are absolute awful during the spring.”

His attention lifted back to Rune.

“Why?”

Rune: "Mm. You're not as sick as you used to be." Based on what Enoch had told him; as much as he would have been delighted, he hadn't been a part of his life for as long as he felt it. A pity.

Hands in pockets, Rune walked to the window, arched his neck to peer beyond the street lamps and lit windows.

"Nothing important. Your hat."

Enoch: “Correct. Though there was a period when I was quite ill as a student, and Etienne…”

He didn't need to finish the sentence. The answer presented itself the moment his mentor's name left his lips, and that anxious knot in his stomach briefly returned.

Enoch adjusted his spectacles and tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket before following the sailor toward the window. Rain pattered steadily against the glass now, streaking the city beyond.

“Hm?” His attention shifted back to Rune. “I…I forgot to bring it with me.”

Rune: "I know," he said, gently. "That's what I'm worried about." But... surely he would be fine. It wasn't about luck, but the man they intended to sleep with tonight.

No, the man Enoch intended to sleep with, and it would be Rune, sleeping only with Enoch. He much preferred the sound of that.

"You'll be fine. I shouldn't worry." He would leave it at that.

Enoch: It was that worry that finally helped the scholar connect the dots. As he stared out at the rain, he realized what his companion was concerned about. The realization was sweet, and the sentiment behind it drew a smile from him.

Worry. When was the last time someone had genuinely worried for him. For a moment, the young mage found himself staring at his beloved before turning his attention back to the city beyond the rain-streaked window. No one else needed to be privy to just how much he adored this man.

“Even if I get sick,” he whispered still in German, “you'll nurse me back to health, won't you?”

Rune: This man continued to be bold, bolder than he had ever fathomed him to be. He shouldn't be surprised anymore, and yet he looked over his shoulder, searching for anyone aware and staring - or trying not to stare.

"You're so lucky I'm lucky," he scolded. "We're so stupid, God takes pity on us. Yes. You know I will."

Enoch: The eatery was loud enough that a throwaway comment from the blond would be swallowed whole by the din of conversation. Surely no one was paying attention to them as they waited for their food. They were anonymous among the crowd, and perhaps it was that sense of safety that encouraged the scholar to toe the line. But being scolded would quickly put him back in his place.

Enoch inhaled and slowly exhaled through his nose, turning his attention to the other patrons. Everyone seemed absorbed in their own conversations, meals, and hurried attempts to escape the rain.

“Words,” he murmured, “they're just words.”

Hardly a reason to become cross with one another. Though his attention soon drifted toward the counter, wondering how much longer it would take before their order was finally ready.

Rune: "There is a spell for that," he sighed, smiled. If they were going to play this game of bold and bolder, at least let it be a lesson in magic. "Or I should say, a hex. I haven't yet mastered the - mind magic is tricky. If you ever need a reminder that I'm only human. The spell jumbles all language upon the intended. My first attempt, everyone sounded alien for days. I was not the intended."

Enoch: A snort escaped the blond. He wasn't quite laughing at the mage, but he was certainly suppressing a smile as he turned his attention toward the counter.

“How did you come across it?”

He was perhaps tempted to try it himself someday, though the professor suspected if it also backfired on him, not understanding his students would be a detriment.

Before he could follow it up with another remark at the sailor's expense, their number was called.

Enoch stepped forward to collect the paper bags, carefully taking hold of them as the warmth of the food seeped through the paper. As he did, a part of him wondered how they were supposed to make it back to the ship through the steadily worsening rain.

Rune: So, they would stare at opposite things; the better to keep their sanity intact. These little games were delightfully frustrating, until the delightful whittled into dust.

If his telepathy was strong enough, would it feel like invisible fingers caressing his skin? Or was that telekinesis? Both? Sensation was, to some degree, if not all, a process of the mind, no? Enoch would know, but... the question would lead down a path they couldn't travel.

"I found the spell on Kraus' desk. Thought he was due for some payback."

The question wasn't making it back to the ship, it was a question of the food surviving the journey. Which was why Rune was shrugging the sport coat from his shoulders, holding it open expectantly. Only a moment of staring before he shook his hands.

"Go on. I'll survive."

Enoch: “You were a terrible student. Imagine if I had done that to my mentor.”

He gave a look toward the sailor, though he was quickly distracted when their order appeared on the counter.

“What? No, you're being a fool.”

Clutching the food to his chest, he stared toward the door as it swung open and shut with the steady flow of customers. He pointedly ignored the coat Rune was offering.

“Put that back on. Look, there are awnings all the way down the street.”

He wasn't looking at the mage anymore. That would only invite argument. Instead, he began edging toward the door.

“I'll be able to make it. Just keep up.”

Before Rune could properly object, Enoch slipped outside and immediately tucked himself beneath the nearest awning. Rain splashed against his leather boots, water cascading from the edge of the covering in a steady curtain.

Already, he was eyeing the next refuge down the street. It would be just a few seconds exposed to the rain, nothing more. The food was tucked under his jacket and off he went.

For the most part, the plan was working. He darted from awning to awning with surprising confidence, though plenty of rain still managed to find him. Cold drops dampened his hair and trickled down his neck, his shoulders splattered, darkening the fabric of his sport coat. Still, the food remained dry, shielded in his arms.

Rune: "Your lucky your mentor wasn't a drunk." They could exchange looks, daring one to say something to the other. Wouldn't matter for long, as Enoch was out the door, leaving a bewildered Euthanatos trailing after him.

"I want to eat food when we get there, not drink it from the bag!" Loving spite had his coat hanging from his forearm as he followed behind, awning after awning, just an arm's length behind this man he had decided would be his own - the notion hadn't shifted, only illuminated with astounding clarity. He loved this idiot genius. This ridiculous, insatiable, charming enigma. A man this stubborn could survive the apocalypse, whatever shape it took.

And still he followed behind, gently singing a familiar spell under his breath.

Hector awaited at the topmost of the gangway, biting his nails, leaning against the rail in his tan Burberry trench coat. It was as far to shore as he would allow himself. He didn't know why he insisted to linger when no one would see him - but he would see them, and the storm was getting worse by the minute.

"Oh, go on. Just a few more steps," Moses coughed, laughed. The old man had, at last, surrendered to mother nature, limping his way to the stairs and below deck.

"Goodnight, Mr. Moses."

Enoch: One eyebrow arched as he exchanged looks with the mage, as if there was a rebuttal on the tip of his tongue. Fortunately for Rune, he was spared for now as Enoch ventured onward.

It was a miserable state of affairs by the time he reached the final awning. The remaining shops had already shuttered their doors against the worsening weather, leaving the scholar with no refuge for the rest of the journey back to the ship. Thunder rolled overhead, accompanied by flashes of lightning that illuminated the harbor in brief, stark bursts as the blond stared out toward the docks.

“I hear your concern,” he finally said, glancing at the mage beside him. “And I'll make sure it stays intact if it's the last thing I do.”

His gaze returned to the rain as he tried to calculate the most efficient route forward while preserving the integrity of the food. No matter how he approached the problem, one conclusion remained unavoidable. He was going to get soaked.

With a long-suffering sigh, Enoch shrugged out of his coat and carefully wrapped it around the paper bags, adding an extra layer of protection against the rain. The gesture was performed while very deliberately not looking at Rune. He could be stubborn too.

“We'll have to make a run for it.”

He saw no alternative. They had exhausted the available cover, and the docks still lay ahead of them. The professor tightened his grip on the precious cargo and glanced toward the sailor.

“Lead the way?”

After all, he still wasn't entirely sure where the invisible ship was docked.

Rune: "The last thing, you say," incredulous, but teasing. And what a surprise! Now his beloved wrapped the food in his coat. Who might have predicted this outcome! One should have placed money on it.

"I swear to - I'm going to bite you." Perhaps he should start making his threats in Japanese; it would have been more of a guarantee of privacy than German.

Without the birds to guide him, Rune swirled his finger. Rain fell upon the water and the dock effortlessly. Far more important not to outline such a bulky ship than care about a few suspended seagulls. But now, Rune followed the pale light from his fingertip, walking with purpose, and only a brief glance over his shoulder. No one was out at this hour. The dock belonged to them.

And to the man awaiting them on the ship, hand over his mouth, softly laughing at the pair.

"Why are you both without your coats?"

"It's such a lovely evening. We didn't want to miss a single drop."

The pair were guided past the wheel and Imogene's sleeping body behind it. Through the rounded door, where the world was suddenly quiet, give or take the odd creak and moan of old wood and restless magic.

"Just through there. This will be our room," Hector gestured to the first door on the left. Rune was ready to point out that he hadn't developed dementia since their last visit, but realized the cambion was speaking to Enoch. Two bleach white towels sat neatly at the foot of the bed. There was no fireplace, of course, not on a ship, not especially in a vampire's chambers, but there was a modest, pristine iron stove, locked tight and crackling with life. A tidy bed, two barrel chairs, and a single wardrobe with drawers, the cabinet secured by a single little hook.

The room was suitable for a monk; fitting, considering the owner rarely slept in it.

"How was your adventure?" Hector was already out of his coat, shaking it outside the room before draping it over the clothes horse by the stove.

Enoch: “You already did…” the blond replied with a smirk, meeting the mage's gaze as a challenge.

He still bore the mark on his shoulder from the night before, and Rune had one of his own from this morning. Had it really only been this morning? Somehow the day felt far longer than it had any right to.

As Rune took the lead, Enoch wasn't entirely sure why it never occurred to him to do the same or to make use of the ring he'd been gifted, the very one he never seemed to remove. Instead, he allowed himself an indulgent moment, watching the rain fall over his lover. It wouldn't be long before the sailor was thoroughly soaked, his shirt clinging to him in a way that made the scholar's thoughts decidedly unhelpful. Enoch took a deep breath and forcibly redirected them elsewhere; tonight would already be difficult enough. The first cold drop that slipped down the back of his neck sent a shiver through him as he hurried after the mage.

By the time they reached Hector, they were both a sight to behold. At some point during the journey, Enoch had removed his spectacles and tucked them into a pocket since they were of no use in this weather.

“I have never met anyone as stubborn as this man.” Yet the look he gave Rune was nothing short of adoration.

He was grateful when they were ushered into drier quarters, though part of him couldn't help but fixate on the wet footprints and droplets they left in their wake. Enoch came to a stop in one spot and watched water drip from him, soon creating a small puddle around his boots.

“I’m terribly sorry. If you have a mop or more towels I’ll see to this mess we’re making.”

Enoch: But the question about their evening seemed to break the spell. Enoch turned his attention to the food, carefully unwrapping the protected bags and offering them over for Hector to inspect while he attended to his own state. His coat was shaken free of excess water and draped next to the cambion’s, his boots followed shortly after, abandoned by the stove. One towel was taken and used to dry his face and hair while another was held out toward the mage.

“Well, the pub was rather rowdy tonight, mostly with your crew, I assume. None of whom I was introduced to.” A teasing glance was shot in Rune's direction. “And we spent a good portion of the evening debating what the most English meal imaginable would be.”

He gestured toward the rescued packages.

“So you'll be sampling London's finest pies and sweets....assuming they survived the journey.”

Rune: “Did you know that the umbrella was invented thousands of years ago? In fact, the foldable umbrella, known as the “broken um-“

“But are you actually complaining, scolding us, or delighting us with random facts from one of your books?”

A little of all three, in his own way. Hector’s smile reached his eyes just the same. His shoes were removed and left against the wall near the stove. They would have a pile of things before long, filling every inch of the clothing lines. Already, Rune was undoing the buttons of his shirt, stepping outside and out of the captain’s quarters entirely to wring it out. Once again, the selkie didn’t move, oblivious to the man beside him from white knuckling his shirt to stepping back inside, letting the door clack shut behind him.

“Rhys has plenty of towels,” Hector stretched, yawned. “You’re not a bother.”

Rune draped the offered towel over his shoulders, pulling it over his hair, yet did nothing to pat himself down. Too busy staring at the food in Hector’s hands, sniffing each pastry, as if searching for a specific scent. One steak and stout and one treacle pie was brought to his chest as he settled on the floor beside the stove.

Rune took the cottage pie and spotted dick, settling at the foot of the bed.

“Thank you for this. It’s still warm.” The tone of surprise brought a smile to the mage’s face, albeit briefly.

“What is that?” Hector made a face at the dessert Rune had chosen.

“Why don’t you explain?” Rune's smile bloomed, directed at Enoch.

Enoch: “I considered bringing an umbrella and my hat, but by the time I thought of it, it was far too late to fetch either,” the scholar lamented.

“Hush, let him speak. I’m interested in learning more,” he waved at the mage.

In the meantime, the scholar did his best to dry his hair.

“Good. I might need another towel, given the state I’m in,” he said as he brought the towel around his neck.

After retrieving his glasses and settling them back onto his nose, his gaze shifted from Hector to Rune. The sight of his lover half-undressed made him pause. His jaw tightened briefly spotting his love bite before he looked away and redirected his attention toward the pies currently being inspected.

“I do hope you enjoy them.”

He slipped off his suspenders and let them hang loose before undoing the cuffs of his white shirt and the first few buttons. For a moment, he considered following Rune's example and wringing the water out of it, but that thought was interrupted when a question was directed his way.

“Hm?”

Several emotions crossed his face in quick succession. First came the excitement of explaining a traditional dish, followed almost immediately by the realization of why the mage wanted him to explain it.

Rune earned a long look.

Crossing over, Enoch reached down and ruffled his lover's hair through the towel.

“Spotted dick,” he started with a chuckle.

He took a seat and completed their little circle, claiming the remaining steak and stout pie for himself.

“You're sharing,” he informed Rune, pointing a finger at the dessert.

Settling in, he continued, “It's a steamed pudding. The 'spotted' part comes from the raisins, and 'dick'...” He paused, trying not to smile. “Well, that's because it's a pudding. The word pudding was shortened to 'pudden', then 'ding', and somewhere along the way it became 'dick'. So….spotted dick.”

Rune: "I wish our stay was longer. I would make a trade with you, give you a few meals from home. Have you been to Mexico? O-Or Spain?" Hector looked to Rune, as though he might also have answers, but his mouth was overstuffed with pastry and stewed meat. The bulges in his cheeks nearly made Hector laugh; some things never changed, and shouldn't.

The mage winked at his lover, forced into silence as he endlessly chewed.

"The English language is fascinating," the cambion sighed. "At least it isn't as ridiculous as French."

Enoch: “Oh? Do you know when you'll be leaving? I didn't think it would be quite so immediate.”

The scholar looked from Hector to the mage and then back again. As for the question directed at him, he shook his head.

“No, though I have been invited to visit Spain.” A small smile touched his lips. “And perhaps do a bit of traveling.” The mage had mentioned it before, and perhaps that plan would come to fruition sooner rather than later.

The sight of those chipmunked cheeks made Enoch smile and his cheeks dimple. How was this man so adorable?

“You say that, yet Dutch is hardly a walk in the park.” He pointed lightly with his fork toward Rune. “He's fortunate I already knew German.”

Finally, the scholar took a bite of his pie to hide the smile threatening to widen, quietly relishing in teasing his companion.

Rune: "I've heard tomorrow, late morning. I've heard the end of the week. Either way, it's too soon."

Rune nodded, managing to swallow, but filled his mouth before an articulation could reach behind his thoughts. It was a matter of a vote, most of the time, but the latest prediction was always final.

"You would have a lot of fun in Spain, I know it," Hector smiled. "You would do well to see a warm beach."

A grunt of approval from the mage, then disapproval, frowning from above his potatoes.

"I was offered German, once. My tutor - " Hector paused to swallow, hiding his mouth behind his fingers. "- who is also my uncle-in-law, half of his family is German. German, Scottish, Spanish. I don't know how that came to be. It's so... aggressive. N-No offense," Hector laughed softly at Rune's deadpan expression. He seemed to be getting it from both sides this evening.

Enoch: “Why does everyone think I need sun? Am I truly that pale?” He glanced down at his forearms as if presenting evidence. “You do realize I'd burn to a crisp, don't you? I'm an Englishman, after all.” But the face the Euthanatos made quickly earned a laugh from him.

Enoch took another bite of his pie, enjoying a piece of steak as he listened. His gaze drifted toward Hector, watching him with something that bordered on fondness. By the time he swallowed, he found himself smiling with the cambion as he laughed.

“Intonation—that's what matters,” he insisted. “Though I suppose there are some words you simply can't escape.”

He dug his fork into his pie, preparing another bite.

“Mm, to continue our interview, and perhaps spare us from being cursed, tell me about Mexico. Was that where you said you were from?”

His eyes seemed to brighten despite the long evening they've had.

“I've always wanted to visit that side of the world.”

Rune: "You are... quite Victorian," Hector had chosen his words carefully, and yet his smile ached. Just a touch of pink on his nose. Laughter wanted to escape him again, but he denied it. The feeling had a name, at least in one language or two; the sensation of being drunk with delight.

Cursed? Oh. The Euthanatos.

"Mhm. The very bottom. Campeche. It's... bright. If England is gray and green, wet and, well, mild, Campeche is bright. White, sapphire, brighter, vivid colors. I feel like there was always music, even when there wasn't." He suddenly missed his mother's garden.

Enoch: “You are being too kind. Please, you can be honest here.” The scholar couldn't help but gently poke at the cambion with his words.

As Hector spoke about home, Enoch tried to picture such a place. It sounded much like what he imagined Spain might be like when he eventually would visit the familiar. His thoughts drifted briefly, realizing he really ought to write him a letter soon.

But his attention returned to Hector.

“It sounds delightful and vibrant,” the scholar agreed. “And what of the culture? I don't think I've ever met anyone from Mexico.” He smiled faintly. “And I rather doubt what I learned from textbooks as a schoolboy does it any justice.”

Rune: "Well, where I lived, it was heavily Catholic. All of that discipline and guilt juxtapose all of those colors we spoke of. The brick and stone of the city versus the beach, the forest," he gestured, hands together, separated by an inch, rubbing back and forth. "These two philosophies on life, side-by-side. It's all fun and games until Lent."

The Orthodox among them scoffed, nodded.

"You Catholics and your guilt. It especially doesn't suit you."

"But am I really Catholic?"

"Short of spontaneous combustion. You can't help how you were raised."

Hector's shoulders rolled in a little. Better to steer clear of that subject. He didn't intend for it to sting.

"The city was calm, despite the war. People looked out for each other. Most people spoke with their chests. Celebrations and arguments alike, all boisterous. It was the quiet... quiet was cause for concern, for most. They don't like quiet people, either."

Enoch: Enoch ate as he listened, nodding when it was appropriate. Glancing at the mage whenever he spoke, quietly observing the exchange unfolding between the two sailors and noticing how Hector seemed to shy away from the subject. Poor thing, perhaps he should speak.

“Ah, you mean the Mexican-American War, correct?” he asked, trying to recall what had been covered in his World History courses, particularly the sections focused on North America.

“Why would being quiet be a concern?” he continued, brow furrowing slightly. “Was it enough to draw suspicion?”

By then, Enoch had finished his meal and set the empty container aside in favor of reaching for the dessert Rune had claimed for himself.

Rune: Enoch was not the only one glancing between two people. His smile was small and fought with a soft bite of his cheek between molars.

"I'm flattered that you think I'm older than Rune."

The mage frowned at them both, but said nothing, taking a bite of his dessert before allowing his companion to take it.

"Suspicion is a word for it. Boisterous, remember? Everything is loud. Birth, celebrated, death, celebrated - after a day of weeping - arguments debated loudly and with your whole body, but never with malice. Well... not never, but... most of the time. When people are quiet, something has frightened them."

Enoch: “No? I was going to say, you look good for your age.”

The blond laughed softly at Rune's frown, stealing the pudding long enough to take two bites before returning it to its owner.

“Well, that's quite different from the culture here in England. I think it would be lovely to experience something like that.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Would you ever consider going back, or is life on the high seas more your calling now?”

With his hands free again, the scholar returned his attention to the towel draped around his shoulders, continuing his efforts to dry himself off. Outside, the rain still battered the ship, making the thought of the dry clothes he'd brought with him all the more appealing.

Rune: Hadn't he revealed his age? He thought he had. Or Hector had. Between the crackling fire and two soothing voices, the room had taken on a somnolent mood Rune couldn't shake.

"He's younger than you. Touch him, and you'll know his exact age down to the second. You can practice time and life magic on someone other than me, or that familiar."

Hector was shaking his head at the question, but the mention of a familiar had him perk.

"You have a familiar? Where? What kind?"

Enoch: “Mm, that's right. You were poking fun at me for thinking every magikin was older than me.”

How could he have forgotten so quickly?

The blond sighed and blamed it on fatigue. It had been a long day, and his mind wasn't quite as sharp as usual. Though at the mention of a familiar, however, a sad smile found its way back onto his face before he shook his head.

“No, I don't have a familiar,” he replied softly.

Though the mention of Olek immediately made him miss him terribly. He wondered how the familiar was doing.

“He's a familiar I met early this spring. He lives in Spain.” A fondness crept into his voice. “He's a very large cat with the softest fur and a tail like a feather duster.”

The memory prompted another thought.

“Actually...”

Reaching for his satchel, the scholar pulled out his sketchbook and flipped through the pages until he found the drawing he was looking for. He turned it around to show Hector a sketch of the familiar in his feline form.

“His name is Olek.”

Rune: "I'll be twenty-six in November," but Hector had yet to frown, very aware he was the youngest aboard the ship. "You thought I was eighty-something?"

Rune waved off the question. "He thinks we're living in 1840-something, that's all. Too much time magic," the Euthanatos smirked.

The sketchbook was taken with both hands, captured not by the familiar, but its creator.

"You're remarkable. Is there anything you can't do?"

"I haven't seen him garden, yet. He'd probably excel at that, too."

"And this familiar, Olek, why isn't he yours? Don't they only come to people they desire?"

The mage gave a soft grunt.

Enoch: “Just for a moment,” he lightly teased Hector before Rune's comment effectively shushed him.

Being called remarkable, however, was enough to bring a warm blush to Enoch's face. He immediately shook his head, dismissing the compliment as something undeserved.

“I... it's honestly nothing,” he tried to insist, suddenly feeling self-conscious about his work. Nor would he mention the little pots lining the windowsill of his office back at the university.

“Oh.”

The sound the mage made drew his attention for a moment before he looked back to Hector.

“Well, he..." The scholar hesitated just for a second. "He already has a mage he's attending to.”

Rune: It was better, Rune assumed, to keep his mouth shut in regard to the familiar, but the subject was already settling in the room like a fog he refused to fan.

"Oh," Hector echoed. "I didn't know they could - I suppose why not. Anyone can speak with anyone. Did he appear out of nowhere to you?"

Enoch: “In a way. I was sitting in the park near the university, having my lunch, when this enormous cat suddenly walked up to me, friendly as could be.” He smiled at the memory. “I very much entertained the idea of kidnapping him home,” he chuckled.

“I didn't know familiars existed at the time. Then he followed me back to my office and transformed into this tall man.” The scholar shook his head, still amused by the recollection. “I was so startled that I fell right out of my chair. But in my defense, I think most people would have had a similar reaction.”

Rune: The cambion chuckled. "What I know comes from stories. Mostly. There was a witch and familiar aboard the ship, once. A bullfrog. He didn't speak much, but when he did, it was... enlightening. But it sounds like... well, sounds like he almost switched allegiances."

Rune gathered their rubbish, stuffing back into the paper bag to sit on the floor.

"You're taking the middle," he instructed, gesturing from Enoch to his right. Already he made himself comfortable near the edge, leaving the space by the wall for the cambion.

Enoch: “Do you think? I believe he's simply very kind to everyone he meets,” he replied.

The idea of a bullfrog familiar intrigued him though, and he was tempted to press further, but before he could, the mage was already ushering the conversation along. Enoch couldn't help but notice the shift in Rune's demeanor.

He knew the sailor wasn't particularly fond of the familiar, which was why he rarely spoke about Olek. Getting the chance to do so with Hector had felt strangely liberating. Perhaps he saw a bit of that same kindness in the cambion and found himself drawn to it, but that was neither here nor there as he watched Rune move to settle himself at the edge of the bunk.

“I brought a change of clothes, if it would be alright for me to change.” His gaze swept the room, though there wasn't exactly anywhere private to do so. Then his attention returned to the mage.

“And you are not sleeping in wet clothes,” he gently reprimanded. “I have an extra set you'll use. We do not need you getting sick.”

The clothes Enoch was currently wearing would be dry by morning, and that suited him just fine.

Rune: "I'm the one undressed," Rune pointed out. Already, the cambion was turning to face the stove, finishing the last of his dessert with a gentle hum of approval. They were in a room within a room, yet it hadn't crossed his mind to leave their little hole in the wall. The world outside of Rhys' room was full of people, and he was too tired to socialize. Someone was bound to make a proposal that he sleep in their bed, and he hadn't the energy to upset one of his crew.

"Do you intend to sleep fully dressed?" Rune arched a brow. 'Or, do you wish to keep me to yourself?'

Enoch: “Yes, but I...” He glanced toward Hector, who had obligingly turned to face the stove as though that alone might provide the privacy Enoch was hoping for. His attention returned to Rune.

“Isn't that why I brought...” He trailed off, taking a slow breath before addressing the cambion.

“Hector, would you mind giving us a moment, please?”

Partly because Enoch genuinely wanted a bit of privacy, but also because he wasn't entirely sure what to make of the mage's words at the moment.

Rune: Privacy aboard the ship was a nearly laughable concept, added the fact that the intimacy demon looked genuinely confused for all of two seconds before he got to his feet, taking the paper bag and any remaining trash with him outside without a word. The sailor in bed was nearly equally bewildered.

Once the door was closed, he asked, "Are you having second thoughts?"

Enoch: “A part of me says yes, if I'm being honest. But I just needed a moment.”

With that, he finally set about shedding the damp clothes clinging to him, trading them for something dry and considerably more comfortable.

“Are you sure you don't want to change as well?” he asked. “These will be dry by morning, and I'll simply wear them again. You can have my other set.”

Once changed, he drifted back to the mage, holding the spare clothes. But all of this fuss over clothing probably wasn't the real reason he'd asked the cambion to step out.

Rune: "I didn't bring anything with me, and I'm not wearing your clothes. You're not wearing damp clothes. You didn't wring those out." In fact, he sat up with just such intention.

"What are you second guessing?"

Enoch: He had draped his damp clothes near the stove in the hopes they would be dry enough to wear again by morning.

“You are so stubborn sometimes,” the scholar sighed.

Turning slightly, he rested a hand against his lover's side, as though the gentle touch might stop him from worrying over tasks that could wait.

"What if there is nothing wrong and it's all just been in my head?” he asked quietly. “What if these have only been my own manifestations?”

His gaze dropped to the mages chest, his eyes unfocused.

“What if I'm going mad?”

And before he could stop himself, a second worry surfaced.

“Or worse...” His fingers tightened slightly against Rune's side. “What if he does find something wrong with me?”

Rune: There it was, the meat of why Hector had been sent from the room. The hand was obeyed, fingers gently resting against Enoch's wrist.

"Either way, we're here now. You'll sleep well, regardless of what we find. Good news, or less than, fatigue won't be an issue."

A joke that didn't reach his eyes. He pulled his companion between his legs, embraced his thighs, and stared up at him.

"Whatever it is, you won't go into the unknown alone. I promise you."

Enoch: His chin dipped down, subdued by the touch. Now that the words had left his mouth, they felt foolish, and part of him wished he could take them back. But the mage was kind enough to listen and offer his own version of comfort.

Enoch let himself be drawn in, his hands shifting to rest gently on Rune's shoulders.

“And you won't gather your things and leave on this ship if you start having second thoughts about me?”

One hand lifted to brush the damp dark strands back from his lover's face, tucking them away as he studied him.

Rune: Was this a tease to hear what he wanted, or a genuine concern? With a smile absent from his face, he could only assume. He would allow his first thought to be his first response as he stroked the back of his legs.

"You're my home now."

Enoch: Could the mage feel the tension coiled tight in his lovers stomach? The worry that lingered in between those furrowed brows? It was what drove his fingers to gently cup his lover’s neck as he searched those warm hues.

The soft strokes of Rune’s hand did help, if only a little. It was those words that shifted to carry the weight he felt. The very same words that warmed his face and made his chest ache. How dare he say something like that? How dare he choose a moment like this to romance him with such honesty?

All he could muster was a gentle squeeze in response.

You have ruined me.

Rune: Words needn't be said to be understood. A moment of reverent silence, stroking one another's skin, breathing, existing in their affections. This was an instance without question, without hesitation. Actions, sometimes, needed a stronger voice than words themselves.

And with a sharp inhale, the moment was concluded, and he kissed his companion's stomach.

"I'm calling him back in." And yet he didn't. Staring up at Enoch, he waited for permission.

Enoch: His arms slipped gently around Rune's head after the sweet kiss, holding the mage against his stomach for a moment longer. But when the moment had run its course, he loosened his hold and looked down at him, offering a small nod of agreement. They could bring the cambion back. But before the mage could rise, Enoch leaned down to steal one last kiss.

“And had I known you'd be showing off this morning's escapades, I might have reconsidered giving you that gift,” he teased gently in reference to the bite that bruised his lover’s ribs.

Rune: Better. Enoch breathed easier, and it was all that mattered - the kiss was returned in kind. Like the last drink before sleep. It was good medicine.

"I don't believe he's noticed." Or the cambion had trained himself not to stare when it was important. He wondered if he could somehow feel it. If he could feel them right now, their lips, their warmth.

Best not to linger on that too long and feed his former crewmate accidentally.

"Be a good boy and keep it to yourself," Rune winked, pushing his lover back with a single finger.

Hector waited patiently just outside. At a small round table with two chairs, his arm splayed across, used as a pillow for his cheek. Rune said nothing, only motioned back inside with his head. Soft eyes blinked just once, and obeyed.

"Are you comfortable now?" Hector greeted Enoch in the doorway.

Enoch: Enoch took a step back, still feeling the ghost of the finger pressed against his chest as he stared after Rune.

Good boy.

He swallowed and rubbed at his cheeks, trying to dispel the strange flutter those words had left in his stomach. It was ridiculous, really. He sank onto the edge of the bed, setting his satchel on the floor beside him. After a moment, he reached inside and pulled out his notebook and pen, intending to jot down a few key phrases that would help him better describe the events of tonight.

Scooting toward the middle of the mattress, he settled against the headboard and drew his knees up to serve as a makeshift writing desk. The pen had only just touched the page when Hector spoke and Enoch looked up.

“I must apologize,” he said, lowering the notebook slightly. “I imagine that came across as rather rude, and that was not my intention at all.” A faint grimace crossed his face. “I needed a moment to collect myself.”

Rune: "I understand. I imagine it's not often a man such as yourself sleeps... this way." His lips sunk inward, disallowing his smile to graduate into a grin.

"I'll be back," Rune sighed. "Going to leave a note on the table."

The two men sidestepped. One existed, the other entered fully. Hector shrugged from his suspenders, but made no further effort to undress. Still fully dressed, bare feet, he made himself at home at the foot of the bed. Not a squeak or groan of metal or wood. The mattress hardly shifted.

"Is it a dream diary?"

Enoch: The confession of admitting that he had never shared a bed with anyone like this since childhood sleepovers was on the tip of his tongue, but he wouldn’t offer it to the cambion. Instead, he set the notebook aside when it was questioned. The room was quiet now, occupied only by the two of them.

“No, it’s more of a journal,” he explained. “I jot down interesting things I encounter that I don’t want to forget; notes, thoughts, curious findings...” He set the pen atop the cover now. “I usually go back and read through them later to revisit the day or the event. It helps me think more clearly and sort out what I should do next.”

A small smile touched his lips.

“I suppose it’s a habit I picked up from documenting everything in the laboratory.”

Rune: "And what do you not want to forget about tonight?" It didn't sound like a grimoire, but he didn't mind being wrong. He couldn't recall having seen a spell take place, nor the mention of one.

But he wanted to keep that smile, however small, from disappearing.

"I suppose walking in the rain with your loved one is very romantic. Yes," he decided. "At least, I think it is."

Enoch: “Ah, we weren’t really walking,” he admitted, unable to suppress the faint smile in remembering their erratic journey back to the ship after collecting dinner.

He shook his head lightly. “No, I was thinking more about this ship, our interview, and perhaps a little more about what you are,” Enoch said openly.

His fingers tapped against the leather cover. “If I come across a spell, or if one is shared with me, it usually goes in here first before I transcribe it into the journal I keep at home.” It was almost as if he had heard the cambion’s thoughts.

“But tonight,” he continued, his hands resting in his lap, “is about seeing whether you can walk into my dreams or my demesne. Perhaps both. I imagine either way it will be rather telling.”

Rune: Hector would be caught staring. There were many worthy reasons, but just one arrested his attention. It was the first time Enoch had felt anything like the man in the next room. The mage had caught something. How remarkable! And so young.

"Do you think he's taking his time?" A single finger pointed at the door, falling into his lap. "Please, don't let me stop you. If you want to keep writing, if you want to ask me anything." A shoulder slowly rose and fell. "I want you to feel at ease."

Enoch: Enoch blinked when he saw Hector intently staring at him. Had he done something? A hand shifted to adjust his glasses.

“Perhaps,” he conceded, “but a little more time for questions may not be such a bad thing.”

His gaze drifted toward the door.  He couldn't help but wonder whether the mage had deliberately left him alone with the cambion.

“Perhaps you could walk me through what I should expect tonight. And, in turn, do you have any questions for me that might help narrow down what the issue is?”

Rune: There would be no sideways glance at the door. Only turning to rest his back against the footboard. Once more, Enoch became his world.

"Falling asleep will be easy. You will hold my hand. However you choose is comfortable for you. You want for me to see your demesne; that is where we need to go. In dreams, when you are with someone, you are both painters on a single canvas. In your demesne, at best, I may have a fine-tipped quill. Your demesne is St. Peter's Basilica. I will be there to guide you."

Enoch: Enoch was glad he had asked for clarification. The explanation brought some comfort, if only because knowing what to expect made the unknown feel slightly less daunting.

“Alright,” he said with a small nod. “And what will you be doing? How will you be able to tell whether things are... normal or if something is wrong?”

As he spoke, he shifted further onto the bed, drawing his legs up and crossing them beneath him. His attention settled fully on Hector now, curiosity outweighing his apprehension.

Rune: "First... What is it that you know of your demesne? Has Rune explained anything to you?"

The door cracked open an inch. The Euthanatos paused, not wanting to disturb the pair; he appeared more like a thief caught red-handed sneaking into a private residence.

"Don't mind me," he said, not quite whispering. "Couldn't find the ink."

Enoch: He nodded. Yes, they had discussed it a few days after his Awakening, when sleep had become impossible and the mage had come to help ease the vivid nightmares that had plagued him since forging the pact with his avatar. But that wasn't what he said, however.

“Yes, mine is a library,” Enoch replied. “A blend of the one from my childhood home and the library at the university.”

His explanation faltered as the door opened and his beau slipped quietly into the room.

“I have some in my bag,” he offered, gesturing toward it so he could help himself.

Rune: Rune shook his head and hand, walking quietly to the bed, but not yet committing. "I found some. Not a fountain pen in sight. I don't know why the captain insists on -"

"- quills," the pair said in unison. The cambion shook his head. "I'm almost certain it has something to do with a spell. A magic quill, or ink, or paper. Something."

"Well, we won't be disturbed." Rune leaned his hip against the mattress, hand akimbo. There at the head of the bed, next to Enoch, he lingered.

"You said a library," Hector returned to the subject. "So, your demesne has detail. That's good. From what I understand, many mages cannot fathom beyond a vague image during meditation. But that is the way of most people, humans, I mean. Most people only have their dreams. Both of these places exist in the same space. That is why the two are often mistaken for each other. They are, and they aren't."

Hector's hands came together, as if readying to pray. The tips of his fingers rested against his lips. He had more to say, but hesitated. Was this a lesson, or a sorting of thoughts? He didn't want to assume his new friend ignorant.

"You ask how I will know. You have a resonation. Your demesne, your spiritual home, will have the same resonation. You know what this might be? Simply, you have not yet mastered construction. You're a new carpenter. Your mind and soul at odds as dueling architects, set to create every unconscious influence."

Enoch: Enoch nodded along, able to follow the explanation well enough. This was not the first time he had broached the subject, though his own exploration of magic had been limited. Now that he intended to join the Arcanum, it seemed prudent to arrive with at least some foundation of knowledge if he wished to be taken seriously by the scholars within that society.

As a matter of fact, he appreciated the cambion's willingness to break things down and address each question as it arose. Hector seemed to have picked up on the scholar’s mannerisms.

“So you would be able to tell if… my demesne and I don't share the same resonance?” he asked, attempting to draw a conclusion from the explanation. His head tilted in that familiar way of his, blue eyes focused on Hector as he worked through the idea.

Rune: Rune had nothing to add. As often as he walked in the astral realms, his point of focus had become more tangible Umbral realms. One might argue the Shadowlands were both; Hector might point out anyone could astral project into the Atrocities Realm, but then that begged to question why he struggled with separating his soul from his body. Put simply, Rune didn't like the taste of it.

But between the sailors, there was only one former, formal teacher. He would never admit Hector's teaching methods had been an inspiration for his own. A jumping off point far better than that of his own mentor. Less throwing empty bottles.

"The resonance will be... off. If you and your demesne are not synchronized."

Enoch: “And if it’s off, what then?”

He picked up his notebook and jotted down the word resonance for later consideration. He did not fully understand its importance yet, but perhaps it was one of those concepts that only became clear once experienced firsthand. Closing the notebook partway, he glanced over at Rune who was on his left.

“And will both of you be...” He paused, wondering if there was a term for it…had Hector mentioned it? “Walking through my demesne?”

Rune: "Then I will assist you in repairing and rebuilding. If it's my understanding, it'll never be easier than with me."

"Your bragging is endless," Rune rolled his eyes. Hector's mouth fell open, sitting up to protest. The Euthanatos waved him off immediately.

"Jokes. Just jokes. Your honor is intact."

"I'll make sure Rune finds us. If he behaves."

Enoch: The scholar nodded, wondering what they would make of his demesne. It wasn't something he could control, though that hardly stopped him from worrying about it.

His gaze drifted to Rune, a gentle smile appearing at the tease before he looked back to Hector and gave a small nod.

“So, how do we...begin?"

Rune: "If you don't mind." Hector gestured to the space between Enoch and the wall. He knew where he belonged, and where Rune would tolerate. The mage must have been a soldier in his past life. Always had to be the one nearest the door.

Only after the pair settled did Rune glance the room for a forgotten, non-existent candle, then situated himself on the opposite side.

Hector folded his sleeves, breathing already gentle and regular. How plush and warm and cloudlike the bed had become, simply with his nearness.

"Make yourself comfortable. You can turn to face him, if you wish. Or me."

Enoch: Enoch nodded and tucked his notebook and pen back into his satchel before settling himself on the bed. It was a peculiar situation, to say the very least. He lay back and stared up at the ceiling as the mattress shifted on either side of him, his hands folded over his chest.

When Hector spoke, Enoch looked toward him, then glanced over at Rune. Neither option felt particularly comfortable.

He could feel embarrassment creeping up the back of his neck, warming his ears and coloring his features. He was overthinking it, he decided. That was the problem.

With a quiet sigh, he removed his glasses and held them out toward Rune.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Once the mage had taken them, Enoch let his head settle back against the pillow.

How, exactly, was he supposed to fall asleep when he felt this awkward?

Rune: Glasses safely tucked away, Rune turned to face him, and without ceremony, draped his bare arm across Enoch's middle.

"An oblivious human could hear your thoughts, they're so loud," Rune muttered, eyes already closed.

The misplaced feeling wouldn't last much longer. Not when Hector offered his hand. If the mage needed a little push, so be it. An unfathomable drowsiness would take hold the moment their skin made contact. A tired akin to a long, productive day. The kind of sleep begged for the moment one's head touched the pillow. A promise of blissful, restful sleep.

Enoch: “Shh.”

He had every right to be nervous, but Rune was right. The added weight of the mage’s arm draped across his midsection grounded him, prompting the scholar to draw a deeper breath and slowly let it out. Gradually, the tension seeped from his shoulders.

When he took Hector’s hand, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. Enoch sank further into the mattress, the warmth of those beside him making it far easier to surrender to sleep. His eyelids grew heavy.

The last thing he thought he saw was his avatar standing at the foot of the bed, motionless in the darkness. Pinpricks of pale light marked where its eyes should have been, fixed squarely upon him.

Enoch: Enoch slept most soundly when the Euthanatos slept over, more often than not. Even these few hours were no exception, as if he knew he was safe from the nightmares his avatar pried open in that shadowed space. The whispers could not reach him where stronger emotions drowned them out in the presence of his companion.

Perhaps it was the added warmth of the fire, dancing and casting soft shadows across the room, but the professor did not stir. His nose was tucked beneath the covers, breath slow and even as Rune tiptoed from the room. Enoch remained asleep through those gifted thirty minutes, unmoved by quiet footsteps or shifting light. Even when the scent of food eventually drifted in, it was not enough to wake the sleeping blond.

Rune: Rune paused periodically, staring out and through the furniture and walks as he felt time pulse in its perfect constant. Ten minutes, then twenty. Thirty minutes, Rune poked his head in the bedroom. He mourned disturbing his lover's tranquility, then crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Fingers comber gently through his hair.

"The world waits for you," he guided, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

Enoch: “Mm, tell it to carry on without me,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

He would gladly accept the kiss to his forehead, but Rune was no closer to getting the stubborn professor out of bed. Quite the opposite. Blindly, his hand reached up, fingers catching the front of Rune’s shirt, aiming to tug him back down to bed with drowsy insistence.

“Five more minutes.”

Rune: Resistance was only an ounce of strength, before the surrender of responsibility, crumpling against Enoch's chest with a sigh. There were moments when denial was crucial. Five more minutes?

"Five more minutes, then I'm pouring tea on your face."

Enoch: His eyes stayed closed, but a faint, victorious smile curved his mouth at the added weight against his chest. Small victories, and he would take every single one. His arms came up easily, wrapping around his favorite sailor and drawing him in with sleepy contentment.

“You’d do that? To your favorite apprentice?”

One blue eye cracked open just long enough to peer at the mage before drifting shut again. The fire crackled just at the foot of his bed, and the smell of food spoke of sweet gestures that had taken his lover time.

“…How long did you rest?”

Rune: "You're my only -" The realization made him smile. He was quoting himself.

"Shut up." Better, he thought, then shrugged. "Been awake half an hour. You've toast and eggs waiting for you. Water's boiled. You're almost out of butter. I'll get some, and fruit and jam while I'm out today. We'll eat like kings."

His fingertips caressed across Enoch's sharp jaw.

"You're spending your five minutes wisely."

Enoch: It had been too long since he had heard that familiar mantra, and it made him smile all the more. Enoch hummed his approval as he drew in a slow breath, shoulders expanding before he finally coaxed both eyes open to take in his beloved.

“You spoil me,” he whispered as he returned the touch, fingers slowly running up and then down the length of the mage’s back.

“I can send word I’m ill and play hooky,” he teased, just to make those five minutes last longer.

Rune: The temptation left a gap in his mouth. It would have been so easy to comply. To encourage scandalous behavior. But his mouth closed. Lips thinned as he considered the ramifications.

"You're not me. Next, you'll be spending your days at the pub, earning your rent with a lucky hand. No, no. Get up and eat your toast."

Enoch: For a handful of heartbeats, he watched that deliberation play across Rune’s face, their joke teetering on the brink of possibility before the verdict fell. He could have sent word with Geoff down the hall…

Enoch groaned softly as the fantasy was dashed, but retaliation came easily. Under the pretense of getting up, his arm tightened around the mage’s waist and he rolled him back into the mattress, ending up on top as he pushed himself upright. The firelight glowed behind him and the mark at his shoulder showed a little darker now.

“I would be so very poor,” he smirked, dipping down for his first kiss.

Another yawn and stretch followed, his five minutes up, and at last he conceded. With a reluctant huff, the professor slipped from the bed to wander toward the promise of tea, toast, and eggs.

Rune: Rune's eyes were on the ceiling before he processed what had happened. Air still in his lungs, he held his breath to keep from laughing and giving them away. The walls weren't as thin as they were weeks before - the story was still rather unbelievable - but he wasn't willing to take such risks. They already gambled enough.

But he would take pleasure in slapping Enoch's arm. Only then would he indulge in their first morning kiss.

"Your..." He stared at the mark on his shoulder. The memory twitched his cock. Hidden, thank God, as he sat up and over the edge of the bed. "Does it hurt?"

Enoch: “Mm?” The blond paused in the doorway, turning back at the question. His gaze flicked from his lover's face to the mark on his own shoulder.

“Not very much,” he admitted. “Though you did rather make me see stars.”

Fingers brushed over the tender skin, not quite touching at first, then tracing the edge of the bruise with quiet curiosity.

He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes bright with mischief.

“Are you considering claiming me elsewhere?” he teased, already drifting toward the washroom.

Bare skin, thin white boxers, and absolutely no attempt at modesty. The mage could have his pick.

Rune: Rune made no attempt to move. Rather, he admired from afar and took Enoch at his word. He had no choice. Not a single tingle in his ear canal.

"Don't tempt me. I'd leave a nice bruise over your ribs just to hear you moan when I touch it, but..." But that wasn't Enoch. That was him. Could he finally, after how long? fifty years? could he finally admit it to himself? To Enoch?

"You should leave me one. As a parting gift."

Enoch: His steps faltered, the image alone enough to make warmth bloom low in his stomach. This man was better than a cup of coffee for how thoroughly he awakened him.

Enoch glanced down at the floorboards, suddenly very interested in the grain of the wood, before lifting his eyes back to the mage and extending his hand.

"Then join me for my shower."

Rune: He had done something to him. Noticed by the hesitation in his movements and the reluctance to look at him. At first, he assumed an apology was in order. Too much of himself. Too brazen. But then Enoch opened his mouth, reminding him of the stupidity of his thoughts.

"How do you have a shower here?" he mused, removing what remained of his clothes. "The pub has only one. You really are posh."

Enoch: “I would have thought the estate and title in my name might have been a clue,” Enoch replied, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling as he watched the last layers of clothes fall away.

Much like Rune, he admired his lover before reaching for his hand and guiding him toward the washroom.

“It’s a newer building,” he explained, leaning in to turn the taps. “Designed by an architect from Mayfair, actually. He was very proud of bringing a little luxury north.”

Rune: Holding his hand even now. He was reminded of the estate. How they wanted to explore like children, both the house and their bodies. But was it childish, how often Enoch reached for his hand? He wouldn't dare say yes.

"In some other life, I think you would have made an excellent architect. I can see you, with your sketchbook, staring at cathedrals for hours, inspired by their Gothic nature."

Enoch: “A doctor, a chemist, a professor… an architect,” he murmured with a faint, self-aware smile as he tested the water. “I really was destined to be insufferably posh.”

He glanced back at Rune, brows lifting with mild surprise. “You think so?” Enoch momentarily considered what that life would be, but one thing stood out.

He tested the water again, and satisfied with the warmth, the blond shed the last of his clothes and turned, closing the distance so his hands could settle on Rune’s hips.

“If that were true,” he said gently, eyes searching his lover’s, “we wouldn’t have met. And where would that leave us?”

Rune: Those warm fingers pressing and pulling his hips did something to his insides. Made him want to drop to his knees then and there, but Enoch had things to do, more important than having a mouth between his legs.

"I'm not sure," he lied for both of their sakes. "But I think you would still be happy. Probably living in Paris, smoking, staring out your window shirtless, a beautiful man in your bed. Or staring at the Duomo, arguing over it with another artist."

Enoch: “I already have a beautiful man in my arms.”

Fingers curled against the sailor, drawing him closer. The corner of his mouth lifted in soft triumph at the absurdity of those imagined lives. A life in Paris didn’t fit the way this did.

However, the taste of a cigarette was tempting, if only to serve as a distraction from the heat pooling low in his stomach at the thought of what he could do with his lover and be even later to class.

“France was lovely, the last time I went,” he conceded, stepping into the warm spray of the shower. The water darkened his hair instantly, tracing little rivers and streams down his shoulders and chest.

“But I much prefer arguing with you.”

Rune: "It's ok." As though discussing tastes in wine. Here was a subject they could debate at their leisure. All the while, Rune lathered and rubbed a bar of soap across Enoch's shoulders.

"You should see the north. Gothenburg. Copenhagen. The Gulf of Bothnia is the most tranquil you'll ever lay your eyes on. If you don't want to freeze your nuts off, I could show you Greece."

Enoch: “I quite enjoyed their food,” was Enoch’s argument, standing under his lover’s attentive hands with a small, contented smile. He should have reached for a second bar of soap, but as it stood, he let himself be indulged for a moment longer until it was his turn with it.

“I haven’t traveled more north than Liverpool,” he said, eyes fixed on the tile in front of him. “Gothenburg sounds…bracing.”

And the mage made him laugh.

“Greece?” Enoch asked, glancing back over his shoulder with a faint, playful smile, “I can be persuaded to endure a little sun.

"How would we get there?"

Rune: "What other way would a sailor take you? By train?"

The bar of soap was relinquished, turning around for his turn, hands at his sides until touched. The lightest pushing would put both hands on the wall.

The scent of soap was as soothing as it was luxurious. He could lull back to sleep standing, if allowed.

"You would have a thousand and one freckles by the time we return home. You would be unrecognizable. Your hair sun-bleached. I would bet all the lint in my pocket."

Enoch: “Here’s a man who champions the use of magic yet shackles himself to the most pedestrian methods of travel.” Enoch had to bite the inside of his cheek before the grin could get him into trouble.

He took the soap and worked it between his palms, the slick warmth giving him a perfectly indulgent excuse to step closer and smooth his hands over the familiar muscles that made his heart beat a little harder.

“Can’t we simply appear in Greece using… correspondence and prime magic?”

His hands slid down Rune’s sides as he leaned in, lips brushing down the line of his neck.

“Because that would give you more time to map every freckle with your mouth.”

Rune: His mouth opened, closed. His argument was dead before arrival, to say he was a sailor before a mage, when it was the other way around. The truth was offensive only to his pride.

One deep breath expanded his back, giving more canvas for his lover to indulge. He couldn't recall the last time he was so pale; every freckle like a star across an unpolluted sky.

"Do you wish for me to hire a porter? Trying to win me over with sex, are you? You forget I enjoy the journey."

Enoch: Watching Rune’s profile from behind, Enoch couldn’t quite suppress the small, satisfied smile on his lips. His hands massaging at his leisure, admiring the same scattered freckles he had seen on the night of his awakening and ever since. They had been destined from the very beginning, he thought as he traced one with the pad of his finger to another, idly connecting them like constellations.

Tired thoughts led to tired words, and he was caught.

“A little,” Enoch replied honestly, “I’ve enjoyed getting to discover you.”

His arms came around Rune’s ribs, the blond leaning forward as his chest pressed to his damp back, chin settling against his shoulder.

“Let’s do a week in Spain, another in Greece. We’ll set sail in the summer, and I’ll document our journey.”

Rune: The warmth of those arms, in contrast to the cooler water bouncing off their skin, made him suppress a shiver. His arms came to rest over Enoch's, head gently falling back.

"Set sail? Not so pedestrian, is it?" He didn't laugh, but sighed, content. "I'll see to a porter here. We'll sail home. I want to see you on the open water. See how green you are," he grinned.

Enoch: “Mm why does my suffering please you?” he teased, leaning in to aggressively nuzzle into the crook where shoulder met neck. He lingered there, pressing a few lazy kisses along the exposed skin.

“You wish me sunburnt and seasick,” he accused lightly. “What have I done to offend you?”

Rune: "I want to see you as a sailor, at least for a day." Traveling from Greece to England would take more than a day. Somewhere upwards of 10, if their ship was inclined to stop at every port along the way. More time together. Time made up for using a porter. Most excellent.

"Come on. We can't have you late."

Enoch: They had begun to sway ever so slightly from side to side, caught up in the shared daydream.

“You want to see me tying knots and hoisting sails?” he mused. Perhaps the sailor was romanticizing him a touch, but he found he rather liked the imagery.

“Very well,” he conceded. “I’ll be your sailor for a day… or ten.”

At the mention of being late, a begrudging sigh slipped from the blond. He was in no particular rush to bring their shower to an end.

“Not yet, you’ve asked something from me.”

With that, his fingers pressed lightly at Rune’s hip, guiding him to turn and face the scholar.

Rune: "Ha. I doubt very much any ship will allow you access. Our mode of transportation will be a steamship, unless... unless we time this just right, and my crew welcomes you aboard."

Ah. So he'd heard that.

"Did I?" He was still fighting the fatigue behind his eyes. Still, he turned obediently, looking expectantly at his lover.

Enoch: “Well, fortunate of them that they are visiting now. Perhaps you can plan that timing.”

It was a marvel either of them were still upright. A few scattered hours of sleep had proven just enough to keep them functional, barely. Though, perhaps what was to come would remedy that deficit.

“Mm. You did ask me to leave you with a reminder.”

He offered no further explanation. Instead, his fingers traced slowly down along Rune’s ribs and over his stomach, following the little streams of water that washed over him. His lips following the damp line of collarbone, tongue and teeth aiding in trailing kisses downward, intent on claiming his lover.

Rune: "I'll see what I can do. No promises." Promises made months in advance didn't suit him. Not even knowing how long he intended to live among the crew. Lingering in England hadn't been a plan; that much, everyone knew.

But promising to love this man, give him everything he deserved, to daydream of a house, someday... This was as easy as breathing.

"A remind - mm. I did." And his stomach was now doing flips, watching this man, so comfortable and so brazen. Both hands found their way into Enoch's hair, squeezing as teeth sank their promise into his skin. Biting his lip was for both of their sakes.

Enoch: “Do you still want me to?” he asked when his lips left skin warmed by the water running over them.

One hand rested at Rune’s hip while the other slid up along his sternum, savoring the feel of slick skin beneath his palm as he pressed his lover gently back against the wall. He resumed his task, teeth grazing over damp flesh and with the approval to continue, encouraged by fingers threading through his hair, he eventually lowered himself to his knees.

The first bite was gentle, then the pressure grew.

Memory of the night before flickered through him, sending a shiver through him. A quiet, reckless urge whispered for him to bite harder, and for a moment he indulged it, pressure deepening until he wasn’t certain whether he had broken the skin or not. He pulled back slightly, startled by his impulses. A softer kiss followed in quiet apology, his teeth having left imprints along ribs that would surely bruise.

“Are you alright?” he asked, looking up at his mage.

Rune: All he could manage was a nod. Anticipation had locked his tongue in place and nearly stolen the air from his lungs. Breathe, he told himself. Breathe, and don't make noise. Don't give their life away over indulgence.

The suffering was as spectacular as it was cold in his stomach.

Pain shot from his ribs and through his groin. His body slowly writhed as if from orgasm, shuddering and melting against the cold wall.

Those teeth were sharper than expectation, and more determined than he realized possible.

At last, he managed to inhale. His mouth had dried despite their environment.

Words. German, English - what were these? He needed a moment to swallow.

"Mm. Mm...hmm."

The young mage was pulled to his needy lips. Just one more moment, before they returned to the world.

Enoch: He pressed his cheek against Rune’s upper thigh, one arm loosely wrapped around the man’s leg as he caught his breath, his heart still hammering high in his throat. Looking up, he caught that brief struggle for words witnessing his companion momentarily at a loss. Had he truly done that?

His gaze flickered, traitorously, to the tense muscle before him, temptation stirring at the thought of taking it into his mouth, if only to leave Rune a boneless mess. Too little sleep invited reckless thoughts.

Before impulse could drag him further down that path, he was on his feet again. Warm arms slipped around Rune’s hips as he leaned in, catching his mouth in a firm kiss. One hand slid up to push dark hair back from his lover’s face.

That same ache seized his chest again. It hurt to breathe sometimes, how deeply he loved this man, an insatiable mixture of affection and hunger that had not yet settled. The bite had awakened something restless in him, not entirely satisfied to end there. He pulled back slightly.

“Can I touch you?”

Rune: A thought shared, despite a dorm full of sleeper minds and rejecting currents. A pair of fools who could scarcely breathe, still willingly submerged because... just because. Love was and always would be just because.

"You don't have to ask for permission." There was a delicious gamble imbued in his offer; the idea of Enoch touching as he pleased when he pleased. Within logical reason, which he believed he would never have to question. This was a promise in their private, secret moments.

And his chest ached with the thrill, as did his cock.

"If I want you to stop, I'll say... pijnboom."

Enoch: “I like knowing you want me.”

There was something deeply satisfying in Rune’s enthusiasm for the professor. Never before had Enoch been coveted and the realization that the desire between them was mutual filled his stomach with indulgent warmth. For a fleeting moment he wondered if admitting that aloud made him sound childish and too needy, but exhaustion spared him the spiral of overthinking. Instead, he clung to the simple promise his lover had offered: whenever, wherever.

“Pijnboom,” he repeated softly, carefully turning the mage so he faced the wall. “What does it mean?”

His hands never left Rune, sliding down along his sides before circling around to the front, fingers wrapping and teasing against the firm length there.

Rune: "I'll always want you," he said without thinking. Enoch didn't have to articulate anything this close. He wondered if that would always be the case. Birthdays and anniversaries were going to be an exercise of will to keep secret.

"Kiefer," he explained. His hands pressed lightly against the wall, as one would being frisked by London's finest. "What, you haven't... mm... gotten to... plants... in Dutch?"

Slowly, his head lulled back to rest against his lover.

Enoch: He stepped forward, closing the remaining distance between them as his slick, damp body brushed against Rune’s. The movement pressed him closer still, his hips shifting in a slow, repetitive rhythm in tandem with his hand as he let his brow rest lightly against the mage’s temple.

“Mm, no… not quite yet. I was thinking of learning anatomy next.”

His free hand wandered, spreading across his lover’s stomach before sliding upward, fingers tracing over the firm contours of muscles beneath them.

“I know one already,” he added, his nose brushing just behind Rune’s ear before he pressed a soft kiss there. “Mijn hart.”

“But what of here?” he asked, teeth grazing the outer rim of his ear.

“Or here?” he added with a faint, teasing squeeze to his lover’s cock.

Rune: The sound that escaped him teetered a fine line between a laugh and a moan. Wasn't there a word for that, too?

"I'm not giving you a lesson here and now." Their little shower would no doubt last all morning, if not until sunset. A day to themselves, clothes forbidden, and intelligence traded for base instinct.

But not today.

Today, this very moment, Rune was all but rutting against the wall, breath unstable and almost loud.

"You... enjoy - too much." He'd forgotten something. "Torture." That was it.

Enoch: “Then a lesson for later,” Enoch amended, a smile curling as he listened to the lovely sounds his companion made under his attention. The spray of water over them had long since turned tepid, but the warmth between them more than compensated for it.

His hand slid slowly up from Rune’s chest to the base of his neck, resting there. Much like in the shared dream they had, his fingers curved loosely around it, though without pressure for now.

“Torture?” he echoed softly, nose brushing against his jaw. Perhaps a little, though he wouldn’t quite admit it. Yet the way he was rubbing himself against Rune was maddening and enough to steal the breath from them both.

“I should… tie you down and…”

His hips angled in, his cock finding the space between his lover as he slid against him, teasing the line of his ass without pressing further.

“…and explore you how I want.”

Rune: Blunt nails scraped fruitlessly against tile, offering little solace when every fiber of his being begged to submit. Time didn't have to be of importance; nor responsibilities, careers - if only ten minutes more.

And then his eyes rolled, body shuddering. Delighted confusion struck like waves of heat through his entire body, pooling between his legs and throat simultaneously.

They were responsible people. Men with voices of reason, common ground, sound logic. All hopelessly lost as he arched his back. The first air to reach his lungs was used for the most erotic of noises.

Please... where were the words? Any words from any language.

"I... mn. Not... yet. W-Work."

Enoch: With a touch of sleep deprivation and intoxication in lust and love for the Euthanatos, Enoch was not entirely himself, though he was still aware enough to feel the heat rise to his face at the words he whispered.

At the sound of his vocal lover, his heart skipped, partly from pleasure, partly from weariness that they did not have complete privacy. Much like a similar night that had once gotten him into trouble, his fingers found Rune’s lips to muffle his cries.

Thoughts came slowly, if at all, with the way Rune’s body arched and moved. Sensation overtook reason and all he could focus on was rocking and rutting against his lover to relieve the building ache.

“Then… finish for me…” the words breaking under his own heavy breaths, his other hand never having left his lover, enjoying the weighty feel as he guided him with long deliberate strokes.

Rune: There was that hand again, that promise over his mouth. Rather than dredge unwanted memories, the loss of control encouraged a familiar ache from his body and soul. The splitting of hairs from sanity to pleasure.

It would take just one misuse of willpower, one shrug of his integrity, and he could become a slave.

The rocking of Enoch's hips, the feeling of his erection against his skin, relentless stroking, was all too much to bear. Warmth coated his lover's fingers in perfect synchrony with grunts, pants, and uncontrollable, inelegant thrusting.

Enoch: All that existed was the warmth of Rune's body beneath him, his own pressing in desperate search for release as the tension coiled tighter in his stomach, threatening to spill.

Panted breaths slipped past parted lips, soft groans following as his cock found residence sliding between his lover's ass.

What if he slid his fingers in? The thought was too little too late as warmth suddenly coated his fingers. Such a reaction stole his breath, but his body was already chasing the feeling with each thrust. Every shift of his hips brought him closer until suddenly he came undone, a flash of white spilling and staining against warm, wet skin.

This was not how he had envisioned his morning going.

Rune: Just a shift in position and they would finally be one. A temptation sitting hot on his tongue. One word, please, is all it would take, and Enoch would know his motives. And he would indulge them both. He knew it was his word alone which kept Enoch at bay. Duty was a mere obligation his lover was willing to discard, and so much did that little word want to escape his lips.

But his thighs were quivering uncontrollably. His chest ached as strongly as his tender cock.

Please. Take what you want. Finish inside of me, like a gift.

Enoch would have heard that, wouldn't he? He shook his head. No. His body and mind were at war. Logic and wisdom losing to carnal, desperate needs.

But it was too late. Whatever fate spared them - he felt the warmth against his lower back and had to feel for himself, face pressed to the wall, he reached behind with both hands just to have it. After all, it was his doing. It belonged to him.

"Next time," he breathed, "you'll have me completely."

Enoch: Their warm little bathroom was thick with the sound of their soft panting. Enoch tipped his head forward, resting it against Rune as his arms wrapped around his ribs, as if to hold them up while they reigned in runaway heartbeats. His chest rose and fell unevenly, the echo of those words and his wandering hands drew a faint, private smile from him.

He dipped his head, brushing past damp, clinging locks to nuzzle, then press a lingering kiss to the back of mage’s neck.

“How am I to survive you?”

The question meant for his thoughts had accidentally slipped out but the sentiment held true. He’d coax his companion to turn; fingers lifting to his chin and guide him closer because the need to kiss him was too great.

“…We should probably get cleaned up. Again.”

Rune: Survive? A question he could ask in kind. Here they were covered in sweat and semen when they were meant to be covered in suds. Better still, Enoch was meant to be dressing for work! Survive? How indeed.

The mage was pliant in his hold, turning obediently and smiling into their kiss. If they could sleep in this shower - no. No. He cupped his companion's face in both hands and nuzzled.

"Mm. You're an absolute mess. Can't have Professor Neumann looking like a whore." One more kiss for good measure, before turning Enoch toward the curtain and opening it. "Out."

Enoch: Enoch found himself leaning just slightly to meet the nuzzle, caught easily between damp hands.

“A whore?” he echoed under his breath, the corners of his mouth threatening to turn upward despite himself. “I’m only trying to make up for lost time,” he added in his defense, basking in that familiar, handsome face.

Then suddenly hands at his shoulders were turning him firmly toward the exit.

“Ah—! A moment, at least let me rinse—”

A final, hurried wash and rinse, and Rune had his way. Enoch stepped out soon after, toweling himself off as he crossed back into the bedroom, already half-focused on drying his hair and gathering himself.

“So,” he called from within, voice carrying down the hall, “do you intend to follow up with your specter friend today?”

Rune: "Lost time?" Was he still on about that? The time between acquaintanceship and romance? Surely not; this was about their rude incorporeal guest.

In which case, he felt the same injustice. As it stood, their privacy was in limited, precious quantities. And that tingle down his spine? His eyes closed with a sigh. Enoch was already gone, and once again, they were not alone.

"I have little choice. If I'm not mistaken, I don't believe we're alone."

The faucet squeaked tight.

"I need access to wherever his old desk may be..."

Enoch: His intuitive lover was correct, there had been feelings he’d frustratingly denied himself in the alleyway the night before.

With the warmer weather, the scholar had dressed accordingly: a pressed white shirt, blue pinstriped trousers, a matching bowtie, brown leather suspenders, and a jacket thrown neatly overtop, no need for the extra layer of a vest. He was brushing through his hair when he learned of their guest.

“Come by my lab after work,” he said, “I’ll see what I can uncover and perhaps find where his desk is kept.”

A careful dab of cologne at each pulse point and his neck before he stepped out from the room, adjusting his cuffs as he did.

“How do I look?” He paused, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Hopefully not like a whore.”

Rune: Rune had only just gotten to drying his hair when Enoch reappeared. There his man stood, naked as the night he was born, a towel draped over his head, looking momentarily like a babushka.

His cock pulsed once. Ignore that.

"Mm... not a whore. You've cleaned up nicely."

He turned to face the tile, if only to save himself further exposure of that physique and the consequences between his legs.

"Your lab, then. I'll keep our guest company, in the meantime." More like... he would try to pawn him off on his shipmates. Today would be far from boring.

"Do you dare kiss me before you leave?"

Enoch: There was nothing wrong with the naked Dutchman standing in his bathroom, quite the contrary. It made leaving this and every morning an exercise in restraint when this man chose to keep him company.

Blue eyes lingered as Rune turned to face away from him, offering the clean toned line of his shoulders and back. He smiled faintly, unable to help himself as he indulged just a little bit.

“Mm, yes but I still have my tea and toast that you’ve prepared for me,” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against the warm skin on his shoulder. His fingers followed, light and absent, ghosting over the bruise surely forming along his ribs.

Rune: "Ah, right, that." He had forgotten all about food, except the taste of Enoch - and if he didn't stop thinking about it, he would need to relieve himself, again.

Hardly anything to grumble about. His lover and best friend was doing nothing to ease his troubles. He could hardly recall when he was ever this insatiable. He wondered, briefly, if there was any merit behind the tales of soulmates. This was not the first time he had considered, but liked to keep the thought to himself.

A thought which dissolved with a light touch of fingers.

"Leave me, you beast. Do you intend to keep me naked?"

Enoch: The tea and toast had likely gone cold by now, neglected in favor of a far more worthwhile distraction. Given the strain of recent days with his circumstances, it felt like a fair trade, even if it meant the scholar would be a few minutes late to his lecture.

A foxish hint of a grin touched his lips at the reprimand. “Yes, one day, but that day is not today.”

A little intrusive thought followed, but he let it pass. Instead, he pressed a brief kiss to his mage’s temple before releasing him.

“Go on, get dressed while I finish getting ready.”

Rune: "One day," he echoed. In a house by the sea. Just a little daydream. Perhaps, he thought - no. No. Live in the present. What a novel, silly idea for a Euthanatos.

But he no longer kept his satchel out in the open, and he no longer asked Enoch to fetch his things from within. The added weight would raise too many questions.

"I could just give you the key," he mused, brushing past to make himself presentable. "But that would mean having our guest in your ear all afternoon. You don't have to see and hear him clearly to know he'll be a nuisance."

Enoch: “Mm but if it brings you peace of mind…”

The temptation was too great, especially with the mage brushing past him in such a state. A quick, fleeting pinch to that bare backside, and he was already retreating toward the kitchen.

Enough mischief for now.

“Leave me with it so you can enjoy your day with your crew. I’m sure I can manage,” he called from the kitchen, setting the tea to warm again before finally taking a bite of his toast.

Rune: The towel in his hands was quickly rolled and snapped at Enoch's thigh. Ridiculous. He needed to dress before this madness continued.

"And lose the opportunity for our guest to terrorize Sang? Raeni? Hector? I think not. I'll find you this afternoon. Your lab."

Enoch: Rune was met with silence as the professor leaned over the sink, carefully balancing egg atop toast, attempting to eat quickly so he could dash out the door. It took several beats before he finally responded.

“And you like these people? Why would you subject them to our rather prude guest? No offense, Otto.”

He took a quick swig of tea.

“…And what, exactly, will you do to me when I inevitably annoy you?”

Rune: "It's because I like them, I wish to keep them on their toes."

And Hector was easy enough to rile. Rhys, not so much. Raeni? To see something more than a neutral expression.

One of the books on the shelf by the fireplace was pulled from thin air, floating, opening, pages turning. Rune quietly chuckled at something said.

"What? Me? What makes you think I'll retaliate?"

Enoch: The scholar smirked, brushing a bit of egg from his face before turning the faucet on just enough to dampen his fingers and clean them.

“I think you rather enjoy seeing my reactions.”

He finished the rest of his tea, pausing to watch the floating book for a moment, quietly marveling at how drastically his life had changed in less than a year.

But that familiar anxiety of being late to class nudged him into motion. He pushed away from the counter and stepped toward his lover to kiss him goodbye.

“Enjoy yourself and I’ll see you this evening, yes?”

Rune: "Always." Even now, however miniscule, every reaction was valuable. It was Enoch he watched as the young mage witnessed Otto Bauer making himself at home.

They had come many miles in what felt like a blink and an eternity.

He returned the kiss in kind, and made a point of stepping out of the line-of-sight of the door as it was opened. Left alone with their guest, he would walk quietly, speak softly, and clean as mindful as a thief. Eventually, he would slip from the dormitory during the goldilocks hour, when the majority of its occupants were absent, not yet to return for lunch or afternoon studies.

Straight to the pub, his second home, and an old invisible ship on the River Thames.

Enoch: “See? And that’s precisely why I think you’d retaliate,” the blond smirked, leaning in to give his mage a soft nuzzle and a parting kiss. Then he was off, collecting his bag and keys before slipping out the door entirely.

The day moved quickly after that. A morning lecture, followed by a faculty meeting, then a brief return to his office to meet with a student eager to assist in his research. Another lecture followed, and a short stop at the library before he finally settled into the laboratory for the remainder of the afternoon and into the early evening.

It had been during the faculty meeting that he managed to catch Thomas, asking somewhat carefully what he knew of the old Professor Bauer. The question earned him a curious look, but it eventually led him to the elderly librarian who had once been friendly with the late professor.

Through that conversation, Enoch learned the location of Bauer’s old room, though time hadn’t permitted him to investigate further. Instead, he made his way to the lab, determined to make progress on his work until whenever the mage would should up.

And when the Euthanatos would arrive, he would find Enoch deep in his experiments. His coat had been shed in favor of a heavy apron, thick gloves pulled over his hands as he worked with something far more noxious than usual. The laboratory windows stood open, letting the sharp smell of the experiment bleed out into the air.

Rune: Ever since that fateful day of confession, their lives had conspired against them. Days exclusively in each other’s company felt more like a daydream than tangible reality. Truth be, watching Enoch’s back and the last shadow of his hand upon the doorknob, he was exhausted. Not of the man still lingering on his lips, but of the everlasting war of propriety.

But the battles were chosen carefully, and today, the battle of Otto Bauer politely raged on. Polite… on one end of the spectrum, there was Otto, trying to carry a book out of the flat, only to realize his stamina was severely limited. The flare of his ghostly nostrils and the tremble of a nearly teacup, the canary in the coal mine.

On the other end, Rune, bathed, groomed, and bitter with the concept of babysitting.

The wraith was ushered from the dormitory, led through the wilderness that was London on a busy morning. Straight to his second home, staring across from the infamous river. A few familiar faces to come ashore had made themselves at home. A little vampire had curled up on his cot, sleeping peacefully. He was tucked in without word. Otto, for once, had been stricken dumb by the revelations behind the curtain. A poker table occupied by vampire, witch, werewolves, and an empath, most of whom were paying attention, staring, even greeting him as an equal. This had been precisely his strategy.

Rune: Soon, Otto settled into an all-day conversation with the empath. They huddled in the corner, two chairs, one seemingly empty, one woman, seemingly talking to herself. Rune excused himself to the ship, to his old room, where he helped himself to some of his old things. He made his rounds, greeting those too reluctant to leave the ship, and decided then and there he wanted Enoch to know a taste of this life.

But, in the meantime, he had to collect the wraith and return from the deviated path. That afternoon, Rune poked his head into Enoch’s lap, nose hidden behind his hand, a new satchel hanging from his shoulders.

“Are you trying to dispose of a body?”

Enoch: Despite the windows being open, the air still carried the smell of burnt chemicals tinged with iron. Glassware cluttered every surface: flasks, beakers, coiled tubing, some quietly bubbling, others stained with residues of past experiments.

Enoch stood there with his sleeves rolled, goggles shielding his eyes, and a white cloth tied over his nose and mouth. In his grip, held carefully with tongs, was a flask that caught the light oddly. Its contents shifting in color, somewhere between a deep red and then into a dark brown.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the right tools for that,” came the muffled reply of the chemist as he adjusted the angle of the flask over the flame. The liquid inside gave a soft, uneven bubble, releasing another curl of smoke

“Stay by my desk, if you would. I’m almost done here,” he said, though his gaze never left the flask.

“I’m forcing a change in the hemoglobin,” he started to explain, almost absently, though there was excitement threading through his tone. “Heating it, introducing an oxidizing agent… it alters how the iron behaves and binds. In this state, it can no longer carry oxygen properly.”

“It’s… not unlike what happens in certain poisonings,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “The blood looks perfectly capable but functionally, it’s useless.”

He paused, realizing that his companion probably wasn’t interested in a hematology lesson. Only then did he glance back again, just briefly.

“How were your adventures today?”

Rune: "I still beg the question why you're not an Etherite," Rune muttered under his breath. He followed the path allowed him, leaning against the wall, well out of reach - hopefully - of any disaster. He trusted Enoch to keep himself out of harm.

"Hemoglobin." The word tasted funny in his accent. Had he ever heard the word in Dutch? He wanted to know, now.

"I doubt it can do anything once you cook it." His sailor was smirking.

Adventures. Rune turned his head toward his invisible companion.

"I think he has a crush on our resident empath. I hardly had to babysit."

A pause, his hands raised slowly in surrender. Poor wording. "Ready to end this."

Enoch: “Hush, I do not need commentary from the peanut gallery,” Enoch grinned behind his mask, giving the solution another careful swirl. “Besides, I’m investigating whether awakened blood possesses different properties from that of those who don’t practice magic.”

So far, the results had been disappointingly inconclusive…including this experiment.

He set the glassware carefully onto a metal ring, freeing his hands to snuff out the flame and allow both the solution and flask to cool. The tongs were set aside next, followed by the gloves, which he peeled off and left on the table. His goggles were pushed up onto his head, the cloth mask tugged down around his neck as his nose wrinkled at the lingering chemical smell that would, eventually, fade.

“How are your shipmates?” he asked as he moved toward another set of gently boiling, softly clinking bottles. “Have they begun asking for you back?”

He inspected them with the same care, extinguishing their flames as well before finally turning his full attention toward the sailor.

Rune: The glass beakers were scrutinized. Were these used once and destroyed? Seemed a waste. But then, just as swiftly as the thought appeared, so too did another, more silly thought: this was where Enoch accumulated mess. While his flat was relatively tidy, one might assume from years of stern looks and dutiful ritual, here, mess was... allowed? Curious.

"Some," he wouldn't lie. What would it achieve? "They'll just have to wait. Do you... need assistance?" A single finger gestured around the chaos that was scientific discovery.

Enoch: Some glassware was reused, most of it actually, though a few pieces were intended for only a single use depending on the experiment. Rune received his answer a moment later when Enoch carried the flask he had been working with toward the sink to be properly cleaned later. The rest…well it could wait for when he was back.

“Uh…”

Perhaps the least elegant response the Brit had offered all evening, caught momentarily off guard by the request.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he assured quickly. “I just need a moment to document my thoughts, if you don’t mind.”

His hand rose to the cloth hanging loosely around his neck like a makeshift scarf, tugging it free before setting it beside his notebook. He bent over the page, quickly jotting down the last of his findings.

“The library,” he explained as he finished the final sentence. “Mr. Abernathy was apparently acquainted with Professor Bauer, according to my sources and likely the person most familiar with where Bauer’s office belongings ended up after his forced retirement.”

Rune: Another gesture. By all means.

Otto had no comment to make. Not as he walked the parameter of the laboratory, not when he peeked into several flasks and sniffed, as though he might recognize a scent he could not even smell.

The mage quietly scoffed, pulling out White Fang by Jack London. This wasn't his book. At least, this wasn't his book yesterday.

While Enoch worked, Rune slowly sank to the floor, carefully reading over chapter one.

Eventually, dark eyes peeked over the pages when spoken to.

"So... this Mr. Abernathy is the... librarian? Has his desk there?"

Enoch: “Not quite. He should know where Bauer’s things ended up, though, and that’s promising. We simply make a quick trip to the library and hopefully get this all sorted.”

The notebook was closed and carried back to his desk and tucked away into a drawer. Next came the apron, which he removed and hung up. The scholar cast one last glance around the laboratory, checking to ensure nothing else required attention before they left. Satisfied, he gathered his satchel and suit jacket, organizing a few loose papers inside before finally approaching his companion.

“What have you got there?” he asked, extending a hand to help the mage to his feet.

Rune: Rune took the offering, and placed the book in Enoch's hand. On the opposite side of the cover bore the name Alma Moses, 1906.

"One of my mates gave it to me. Finished somewhere across the Tyrrhenian Sea. He said it was boring - the man only enjoys penny dreadfuls. Took it off his hands to study."

The book was tucked in his inner coat pocket.

"Shall we?"

Enoch: Enoch looked over the book, recognizing the title if only because he had read it quite some time ago.

“I remember enjoying it. You’ll have to let me know what you think once you’ve finished.” He handed the book back.

“But you still owe me the rest of the first one,” he smiled. “Speaking of which, we should resume our lessons.” The last remark came as he switched from German back into English.

“Mm, a moment though…I think you’ve forgotten something.”

Before the mage could protest, Enoch gently tugged him behind one of the laboratory benches, the tall shelving enough to conceal them from view for a brief moment.

There, hidden away among glassware and books, the scholar leaned in to brush a soft kiss against Rune’s lips.

Rune: "English for lessons, right? Our agreement still has a leg to stand on." Not officially. As far as the Arcanum was concerned, he was now an unappreciated wildcard, but that was neither here nor there, today.

"Ah, English, English," he grumbled in the language.

He was turning for the door when his wrist was caught. The mage made no complaint, uttered no question as he was pulled into the shadows.

The world was right again. Nose against nose, forehead to forehead, he sighed, breathed in their private air, and pulled Enoch into a deeper kiss, clutching the back of his head. Almost. At the very cusp of eager, redirected blood flow, he pulled himself away.

"Lead the way, beast."

Enoch: Holding his wrist soon became holding his hips as Enoch leaned in to return the kiss. The way the mage held him only intensified the moment, a hand slowly sliding up the small of Rune’s back to draw him closer and keep him there.

A loose, honest grin lingered on the scholar’s lips when they finally parted, though he still refused to let go of his companion just yet.

“Your shipmates will be waiting quite some time for your return,” he smirked. “Either until my death, or until you eventually grow tired of me.”

His eyes crinkled warmly at the corners.

“Unless, of course, I abandon London entirely and join you as a pirate.”

One of Enoch’s hands drifted up along the Euthanatos’s side, knowingly brushing near the bite mark from their morning, in quiet pursuit of a reaction before he pressed one final kiss into the crook of his lover’s neck.

Now he had earned that nickname.

Reluctantly, he disentangled himself from the mage and started leading them toward the library, locking the laboratory behind them on the way out.

Rune: His smile was soft, but, something flickered between the lust and the love. Something knowing. This wasn't the first instance Enoch had mentioned boredom. He was old enough to know it was more than simple jest.

But anything he had intended to say was forgotten. A simple touch gave the game away, his neck stolen like a vampire's kiss.

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it was a game. Perhaps, he hoped, Enoch was being territorial. Words said out loud to make them real - his own little spell of confidence.

Disoriented, lavished in love, arousal, and soreness, Rune straightened his clothes and hair before coming out from behind their sanctuary.

"Fiend."

Enoch: The evening air was pleasant on his still- warm face as Enoch led them across campus. He was in the middle of buttoning his suit jacket as they stepped onto the sidewalk and made their way toward the library.

The campus remained lively this evening. Students lounged across the grass to enjoy the lingering warmth while others wandered in small groups, talking amongst themselves as faculty crossed between buildings.

Had the Euthanatos truly never wanted a life like this?

The thought surfaced unexpectedly, only for Enoch to immediately counter it himself. Compared to the high-stakes adventures of life at sea, this academic world must have seemed terribly tame. And perhaps some small part of him worried this sort of life would only remain charming for a little while before inevitably becoming dull to the sailor.

Why was he plagued with such pessimistic thoughts lately?

Enoch was pulled from his thoughts when a red-haired student passing by offered the professor a small wave and greeting on their way toward the library steps.

The scholar returned it politely before holding the door open for his companion to enter first. Once inside, he nodded lightly toward the front desk.

“I’ll see if Mr. Abernathy is in.”

Rune: As it were, Enoch's thoughts like stepping stones in water were too faint for notice. Too many people, distracted by his lover's brazen whims. He was still debating which it truly was: romantic, or sexual? He decided it had been both. As uncomfortable as it was to admit, he found himself comparing their carnal pleasures to Aoi's chaos. One was healthy, loving, one was...

Days like these were a reminder. There was only forward. If given the option to relive his life from childhood... it would be a living Hell.

Right. The library. Rune stepped inside and to the side. Otto Bauer looked from side to side, as though expecting something.

"It's been rearranged," he grumbled. "What was the point of that? It's the same amount of shelves."

"If I had a penny for every complaint," Rune sighed. "Not you." He gestured in front of them. "We'll be here."

Enoch: Now… it was no secret that Enoch was not particularly skilled at subterfuge. He had far too many tells. His stammer worsened, the tips of his ears pinkened, and sustained eye contact became nearly impossible for him.

What he was good at, however, was sidestepping the truth through half-truths and careful omission.

The young scholar was eventually directed toward the elderly librarian, where he explained that not all of Professor Bauer’s belongings had been collected after his departure and that he was inquiring on someone else’s behalf. There had been a brief moment where he faltered under further questioning, but he recovered quickly enough by claiming that Bauer’s brother had entrusted him with the key to the professor’s desk and that he merely needed directions to where it had been moved.

Plausible enough, apparently.

The old librarian informed him that the desk had been placed into storage in the west wing, awaiting reassignment alongside other furniture for incoming faculty next term. Fortunate timing for them.

He very much wanted to ask how the librarian knew so much, but pressing his luck further felt unwise. Instead, he thanked the older man politely before returning to his companion and their spectral friend.

Enoch gave a small nod for Rune to follow as he led them toward the left side of the library, where a pair of double doors opened into another corridor leading toward the west wing of the university.

“They’ve placed it in storage,” he explained quietly as they walked. “So hopefully his belongings are still there.”

Rune: Rune made himself a statue in his corner of the room, still by the door. A method of avoidance which usually succeeded. So long as attention remained elsewhere diverted, no one would remember his face, however strange or beautiful or hideous he was regarded. A fairly recent phenomena, one spanning years he could count on a single hand. The price mages paid for experience - some more than others.

Perhaps it was to their fortune, or simply his nearness. He would like to believe in Enoch's independent merits.

"Mr. Bauer congratulates you on being a good liar," he smirked. "Pardon me. A perjurer. His wording."

Enoch: His gaze stayed fixed on the hallway ahead as they walked, hands loosely gripping the strap of his satchel while he searched for what might pass as a storage room.

But the mage’s compliment made him glance over, blue eyes squinting in offense.

“I most certainly did not lie,” he argued. “I merely… obscured the truth a little.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling outright before redirecting his attention forward again.

“I cannot have either of you sullying my good name.”

Might as well change the subject while they were at it.

“Is there any way we could use the finding spell to locate the desk that key belongs to?”

Rune: Rune only chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. He was only the medium. Or median? Both?

"Otto is already poking his head in the doors ahead of us. Seeing as neither of us have ever touched the thing..." But, maybe with Otto's assistance. "Are storage rooms hidden like a dungeon in this place?" A rhetorical question as he rooted himself in place, slowly spinning his finger as he waited for the telltale distortion of space.

Enoch: Enoch looked ahead, wishing for a moment that he was able to see Otto, but not even the faintest disturbance in the air gave any indication of where the spectre had gone.

Instead, his footsteps slowed alongside his companion’s.

“I don’t believe so,” he answered thoughtfully, oblivious that it had been a rhetorical question. “But they likely wouldn’t store surplus near the lecture halls. More toward the least-used rooms of the wing, I would imagine.”

He nodded for the Euthanatos to continue following him.

“These are all classrooms and study rooms,” he reasoned. “We’ll probably have better luck further down.”

Rune: "Well, you were told storage, and storage - Otto's leaving us for dust."

That spell would do nothing. He dropped his hand in defeat, returning to Enoch's side and then ahead, turning left - west, it would appear.

"Yes, yes. We're here. Don't have another heart attack. He says he's found it. Third door."

Enoch: “For someone who’s dead, he’s rather impatient.”

Enoch followed after the mage, quickening his pace slightly as they turned down a corridor leading toward the less frequented parts of the wing. Every so often, the scholar glanced back over his shoulder. Not out of fear exactly, but he would very much prefer not to explain himself if they happened to be stopped wandering the halls after hours.

“Mm.”

From there, Enoch took the lead, counting doors beneath his breath until they reached the third one. He tested the handle and found it unlocked.

The room beyond appeared long abandoned.

Desks and chairs had been stacked haphazardly against the walls alongside several old easels, all coated in a fine layer of dust. The setting sun spilled through the windows in long amber beams, catching drifting columns of dust in the air and giving the neglected room an almost dreamlike quality.

Enoch stepped inside slowly, eyes scanning the clutter.

“Which one?”

Three large wooden desks sat piled within the room, chairs stacked awkwardly atop them.

Rune: "How you can tell the fledglings and the veterans apart. Trust me, this is preferrable."

Weren't grand old furnishings meant to be covered by a sheet? Something he had read in books, and heard from the mouth of Clara Kraus, after her father died in his sleep. 'It's a ghost house, now,' she had said, not a tear in her eyes. 'They filled it with sheets.'

Rune snapped back to the present with a sigh.

One of the chairs by the pile of desks rolled by an invisible force, coming to a squeaking stop by the window. The same unseen fingers wiped a trail of dust from the largest desk, trailing down to the bottom drawer. So, he was to be that kind of wraith. A swift learner, as he had been in life. A new suspicion festered in Rune's gut.

"And we're shown the way," he sighed. The key was tossed to Enoch. "Will this really be the end of it?"

Enoch: There was a hum of acknowledgment from the scholar as he moved to inspect the desks. His attention snagged almost immediately on the sight of the chair rolling away on its own.

It made him stop short.

For a moment, Enoch simply stood there, caught by the sheer surrealness of what his life had become, following ghosts through abandoned halls to search in forgotten desks for a manuscript. Then the fingerprints appeared from thin air, and his fascination only deepened. Blue eyes tracked them carefully, marveling at the impossible sight with open curiosity rather than fear.

“Is everything alright?” he asked suddenly, turning to look toward his companion just in time, his hands lifting to catch the key tossed his way.

“You sigh rather often,” he observed. “As though… something is weighing on you.”

He let the thought rest there for now, breaking eye contact as he approached the desk Otto had indicated. Following the spectre’s guidance, he reached for the drawer first and, unsurprisingly, found it locked. So the key was slid into place and with a soft click and twist, the drawer popped open.

“Brilliant.”

Rune: "Sorry." He almost sighed again. "It's just..." He shook his head. "It's nothing. The price of dealing with the dead."

Otto stood to Enoch's right, staring down at what he believed to be his unfinished business. His magnum opus. Paper and ink in a black, forgotten drawer. No one had bothered to break it open. No one had cared for the rattling within as it was moved into storage, to gather dust, useless, unwanted, unimportant.

"Otto," Rune warned.

Enoch was gestured away, gently at first, then sharply, as though swiping at a fly.

Enoch: It took Enoch a moment to realize that his beau had actually apologized, a rarity in itself, and even more startling when he noticed the mage echoing some of his own mannerisms back at him. The realization nearly drew a smile from him, and he bit lightly at his lower lip to hide it, instead focusing on the stubborn drawer he was arguing with.

At last, the drawer gave and carefully, he pulled the papers free, sitting back on his heels to inspect them more closely.

“May I?” he asked Otto, entirely unaware of the unrest brewing nearby.

He almost missed the first gesture had it not been for that sharp tone. From the corner of his eye he caught the movement, followed quickly by another that made him straighten at once, startled from his focus. The manuscript was tucked securely beneath his arm as he rose and moved away from the desk, concern overtaking his curiosity.

Rune: What Enoch could not see was a wraith on the verge of a frenzy. The room had thickened with humidity. The first escape of vapor from their mouths, and he knew they were past the point of return.

Rune wrapped his prayer beads around his hand, held out as if cautioning a rabid dog.

The drawer rattled in its desk pocket, snatched to the floor and flown across the room with a loud crash, shattering.

"Out. Get out." The commands which proceeded were sharper, well-versed phrases with heavy consonants. Familiar like Latin, and yet plucked from every language before and after its conception. The room filled with a symphony of rattling windows, chairs, and drawers.

And then nothing. Rune crossed himself and prayed, then crossed himself again.

There was no time to linger. Rune stepped quickly into the hall.

"That's what happens when wraiths indulge their emotions."

Enoch: Enoch had retreated to Rune’s side of the room, his attention flicking anxiously between the Euthanatos and the desk he had just searched.

The sudden clatter of the drawer ripping free and crashing apart into splintered wood startled the poor scholar badly enough that the hairs along the back of his neck rose at once. Fear plunged through him sharp and immediate, an instinctive kind born from danger he could not see nor predict.

He was only allowed a handful of seconds within the room before Rune snapped at him to get out.

Enoch hesitated.

His blue eyes stayed fixed stubbornly on the mage, fingers twitching with the urge to grab him by the collar and drag him out with him. But Rune knew what he was doing, right? And so the young mageling forced himself to trust him.

His hand stayed tightly around the doorknob once outside, listening to whatever was unfolding on the other side beneath the pounding of his own heartbeat filling his ears.

“Are you alright?”

The moment Rune emerged, Enoch shut the door firmly behind them before reaching out to grip the mage’s arm, squeezing as though reassuring himself Rune was alright and not... not possessed by Otto.

"What happens now?"

Rune: To their left and right. No one. Rune whispered in Dutch, eye closing and head tilting. No danger, no red. Glimpsing the future was unnecessary exhaustion.

Still a sentinel, he took Enoch's hand and squeezed, kissed his fingers, and released him.

"Put the manuscript away. Talk about work loudly. Be excited about it. Now."

Rune put his back to the room. Hands in pocket, eyes forward, his hardened features softened as footsteps started around the corner. In five seconds, they would discover the source of a floating thread. Just a human going about their day, blissfully oblivious.

Enoch: The poor professor was still thoroughly shaken by how quickly everything had turned. Yet he remained still, listening carefully yet heard no footsteps rushing toward them. Even so, it startled him when his beloved suddenly took his hand and kissed it.

Just like that, it became the newest reason his heart drummed in his ears. Honestly, how dare the mage act so casually after frightening him half to death?

For a beat, Enoch simply stared at Rune before finally being pulled back to the matter at hand.

The manuscript was tucked into his satchel, though Rune earned a pointed side-eye when he instructed the scholar to speak excitedly about his work, as if that was ever difficult for him.

Still, the scholar appreciated the direction.

As they walked away from the room, Enoch seamlessly slipped into conversation about the experiments he intended to attempt next, along with the progress he had been making on his own manuscript that he hoped to publish before the end of autumn.

His gaze flickered briefly toward the person in the hall, but the stranger paid them little mind. They would continue down the hall, Enoch fighting the impulse to look behind him and ask about Otto.

Rune: No one would suspect the gentleman professor animated over his life's work. More in character and unnoticeable than awkward silence, tight shoulders, staring at the floor. Rune glanced his direction but once, nodding when appropriate. It was a good call. What consternation? They were breathing easy.

Finally, the hall filled with only their footsteps.

"What happens now is a drink. Several. We're going to the pub. Do with the manuscript as you wish." But his face contorted in silent argument with himself. "If I may be frank, I think you should forget it. Lock it away somewhere, or I shall. Leave it for... a rainy day, or a more willing era. What you have in that bag is dangerous. As for Otto, I don't know. I don't think we'll see him for a while. "

Enoch: “What does this mean for him? Was that not his unfinished business?” the blond asked softly. Even with no one nearby, he kept his voice low, wary of how easily sound carried through these halls.

What had the ghost wanted done with the manuscript? To publish it? To have it read?

“It’s his story…”

There was much left unsaid in those quiet words, but Enoch had already resolved himself to seeing at least some part of the spectre’s wishes fulfilled if it might finally help the man move on.

His hand tightened around the leather strap of his satchel as his thoughts drifted toward the pages now hidden safely inside. So occupied by his thoughts that he barely registered they were heading toward the bar.

Rune: "I'm willing to bet money it is, but... wraiths are peculiar. I've told you, the dead feed on emotions, specific ones keep them satiated, healed. What we just witnessed... some sort of existential crisis. 'My life's work,' something-something 'we're all just broken memories.'"

His hand placed firmly between Enoch's shoulders, patted.

"If we hear about strange, violent paranormal activities in the area, or Otto's brother has a heart attack in the bathtub, we'll know who to blame."

Enoch: “Was he feeding on us? Your shipmates?”

The shift still left the scholar reeling. From everything Rune had described, Otto had seemed almost pleasant, and then suddenly...

Enoch was struggling to reconcile the whiplash of a good-natured ghost turning volatile so quickly. His eyes widened further at the mention of Otto’s brother’s fate, and he turned sharply toward the mage.

“I won’t forgive myself if that happens.”

The confession came quickly, his teeth worrying at his lower lip as unease settled deeper into him. Somehow this felt like a failure on his part, even if he could not fully explain why.

“What if we speak to him?” he suggested after a moment. “Try to calm him?”

Rune: "The fault would belong to know one, En. Not anyone living. Whatever emotions sustain him, seeing his book was an overdose. It's behind us, now."

In all his predictions, Enoch's worrying lip hadn't been on the cards. He felt obligated, but not to Otto.

"You wish for me to summon him? That's not happening tonight. I'm not doing it. I'm not having a volatile ghost anywhere near you."

Enoch: Enoch stared ahead as they walked, his gaze fixed on the worn flooring beneath their feet. His hands tightened around the leather strap of his satchel with weakened strength before eventually letting go, retreating instead into his pockets.

One had to choose their battles wisely, and from the firmness in Rune’s voice, Enoch understood this was not one he was going to win. So, he drew in a slow breath and gave a small nod.

"I understand. I... I won't ask that of you."

Silence stretched between them for a while as they continued down the hall, footsteps echoing softly around them before Enoch finally spoke again.

“Tell me about your crew,” he said, glancing over at the mage at last. “If I am to meet them.”

Rune: There had to have been at least a hundred people milling about in this enormous building, and yet, it was only Enoch, his world, his life, and some twinge of misplaced guilt.

"Some other time. I promise. We'll see to him again."

It was easy to say yes, he realized; saying no was an act of willpower.

"The Lord willing, you'll only meet a few of them. Ines, maybe. Ahanu. Not our captain. No. He's a deplorable flirt. We picked up a few more, recently." As in months and months ago. No mention of any new blood, but those in need of sanctuary or of transportation were rarely worth a conversation.

"Would you like to see my home?"

Enoch: The subject was set aside for now. Enoch could only hope they would not wake tomorrow to news of any deaths, particularly that of an older Bauer brother.

Fortunately, the mention of Rune’s crew proved to be a distraction, and the casual reveal of a flirtatious captain made the scholar blink in surprise. Somehow, that had not been what he was expecting at all.

“How do you know?” he asked, glancing over at the mage with renewed curiosity. “Do you write to them?”

A beat passed before another thought struck him.

“And… how does mail even arrive on a ship?”

The answer came to him almost immediately after the question left his mouth.

Magic.

"Of course. You've been living in mine, it's time I see yours."

Rune: One of the enormous double doors was opened, held until Enoch's passing. Seemed he had answered the question himself. The Euthanatos' smile reached his eyes.

"There is a designated place on the ship. A little correspondence spell. Only a few of us can do it. Guess who ends up being the postmen? I give them English news, they give me tales of islands with bird-women and a baby dragon."

Living. Not just knowing his home, but living in it. The mage cleared his throat, trying not to look pleased at nothing.

"How about the ship first? I might gather a few more of my things."

Enoch: “You once mentioned that ghosts can act as messengers. Is that it?”

Though the exchange of news drew a sharper reaction from him, Enoch’s brows lifting at the mention of dragons and harpies. Those certainly had not been on his list of things he considered remotely possible.

But then again, how many impossible things had already become reality in the past year alone?

Enoch glanced over at the pointed clearing of Rune’s throat and immediately caught that look on his lover’s face. The mage earned a playful nudge from Enoch’s shoulder just as they stepped outside and London greeted them once more.

"Lead the way, sailor."

Rune: "It's something. They don't do well over water. Our world and the Shadowlands are nearly mirrors." He didn't like the subject, but swallowed through it. It was no one's fault, but he suddenly missed a woman he had never formally met.

But the ship would be a well-deserved distraction. Better than the pub, where Captain Nachim almost certainly was. Someone, many someones, would be in Clarissa's salon. Someone was most definitely sleeping on his cot. This was the sane, pragmatic choice.

If the pair had passed familiar faces on the way to the navel pier, Rune made no mention nor glance. He didn't want to be stopped by a werewolf or a banshee.

More besides, he had to relocate the ship.

"Where are you, you big bitch." Only two small cargo ships took up space on the pier, and a tiny barge leaning heavily on starboard, being scrutinized by two old men with their hands on their hips. But something much larger was groaning. Creaks and moans that had once been his lullaby.

"Mm. There. Look." Above them, a small flock of black-headed gulls argued for purchase on an invisible structure. From the height, possibly the fore top yard.

Rune stepped carefully, his good ear seemingly turned to the water. There, a few feet - a gangplank, invisible, scraped against the pier. Rune felt at its edges with his foot.

"Step where I step." If Enoch didn't shadow him, he would witness the mage disappear into thin air, walking up an invisible incline. To follow, would be to lift the veil. An enormous first-rate ship, but not quite. Too clean, too colorful, like an unsailed vessel waiting patiently for her maiden voyage.

A man in mulberry and brown leaned with crossed arms on a shroud. His holler, like a wet cough wanting to scream, didn't faze the mage in the slightest.

"What do ya 'ave wit' ya? Bring yer arse o'er here 'n tell us news o' the world!"

"Where's Rhys?"

"Up me arse with a candlestick. Is it urgent?"

A sigh. A breath. Rune pointed to the man all but lying over ropes. "Moses."

Enoch: Then did he mean the sailors were the postmen? That had to be it. But Enoch didn’t dwell on the thought for long as they made their way toward the pier.

Truthfully, he rarely found himself near this part of London. The docks were a novelty to him, and the cargo ships lining the harbor easily captured his attention. None of them resembled the vessel his beloved spoke of with such fondness. Though admittedly, Enoch wasn’t entirely certain of what he had been expecting. It certainly had not been an invisible ship nor that Rune would have to search for it.

His gaze lifted to where the mage pointed, noticing the gulls circling and squabbling above seemingly empty air. Huh.

The scholar's steps slowed as he watched the mage test an invisible foothold before casually stepping onto nothing at all and continuing forward. And then, just like that, the Euthanatos vanished from sight. The scholar glanced around instinctively to see whether anyone else had noticed. No one had reacted and after a brief hesitation, Enoch followed.

Carefully, he tested the unseen step beneath his shoe before committing his full weight to it. And there the veil lifted like breath from glass. Suddenly the ship stood before him in all her grandeur.

The sight rooted him in place.

She was magnificent.

Enoch stared openly, awed by the vivid colors of the ship and by the sheer impossibility that something so massive could be hidden.

The sudden sound of another voice startled him from his reverie, his attention snapping upward toward the sailor draped among the ropes overhead. The exchange that followed only deepened the surrealness of the moment.

Rune’s sigh drew a faint smile from him.

Slowly, and perhaps a touch awkwardly, Enoch lifted a hand and offered Moses a polite little wave.

Rune: Alma Moses. The very name scribbled onto his new book. The man looked older than the oldest ship. The oldest-looking man to call himself crew. White hair peeked from behind his mariner cap, whiter than the salt and pepper beard hastily trimmed with a knife.

"We'll leave you to it, Moses. Sleep well." The old man huffed at the implication, removing his hat and swatting their direction, as though he might reach Rune's face for the audacity.

"You're back!" cried a voice from the wheel. A younger man sat with spread legs against the binnacle. An abandoned game of solitaire between his feet. His smile was tight, restricted by old burns across his jaw. He couldn't have been older than twenty - one might assume.

"I'm not back. I'm just getting some things."

Rune was heading for the companionway when the young man jumped to his feet.

"Renovations! Nono! Do you want to get stretched like Ines?!"

That would explain the crates on the quarter and poop deck. His running theory on the fate of this ship was still uncontested. Enoch might laugh, when he had the chance to explain.

"We just did renovations!"

"Hector has it. Or Raeni? Or Rhys?"

Deep breath. Slow.

"I'll... find... Hector?" The scarred man winced.

"Please."

The young man turned his attention to Enoch and startled. Had he been there the entire time?

"Who are you?"

Enoch: Enoch’s hands had moved behind his back, loosely clasped there as they ventured further into the ship. His attention flickered constantly from one detail to the next, trying to take in everything.

He listened to the conversation without interrupting, content for the moment to simply observe. At least until he was rather pointedly brought into it.

The scholar blinked, visibly surprised to suddenly become the focus, but quickly recovered enough to offer a polite smile as he extended his hand.

“Oh, I’m Dr. Enoch Neumann,” he introduced himself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Rune: There was something about that offered hand that made the man laugh. His smile had reached his eyes, all but disappearing behind thick lashes. Enoch's fingers was taken into a forceful handshake. Rune would bet it was the first of its kind.

"Imogene Astor. You stay up here, small fry. Recruited another one?"

"No. He's not for you, or Nachim, or anyone." Rune was heading for the companionway again, if only to yell below deck. Imogene fidgeted in place, scratching at his scars.

"But you are something. Youuuuu're something."

Enoch: Enoch’s smile wavered slightly when the other man laughed at him, though he remained a good sport about it and shook the stranger’s hand all the same.

“A pleasure, Mr. Astor.”

Once the handshake ended, his hand returned behind his back, fingers clasping together again as his attention shifted instinctively toward Rune. He very nearly stepped behind the Euthanatos out of habit before the sailor’s next words stopped him short.

Ah.

“Oh, um… yes, I suppose,” he answered, momentarily caught off guard. “I’m a professor at London University. Biochemistry.”

But maybe that wasn't what the man was asking for.

Rune: "Ah... Is - Is he on the level?"

Rune's head popped up from the hole in the floor, eyes darting between the two.

"If he wanted to tell you, he would."

"I'll tell you, but maybe you should pay me, first. Or I pay you? We pay each other. Then it's practically free!"

Rune reemerged with another shipmate at his heels. A man just shy of the mage's height, crate in hand, smiled politely from behind it. Eyes as bright as whiskey in sunlight, broken by flecks of brilliant green like zinnia flowers in bloom.

"Hola." Unlike Imogene, the smile that reached his eyes harbored not a shred of mischief.

Enoch: Enoch looked toward the shipmate, the response only confirming his suspicions. Well, after all, that did make sense.

And while he debated how much to share, his sailor’s head suddenly popped up, causing the scholar’s brows to ease slightly at the reassurance of his presence.

Right.

They were in relatively safe company. A ship full of supernatural beings. How Etienne would have reveled in such a discovery. Perhaps his grandfather as well.

The thought briefly soured the wonder Enoch had been feeling, dulling his excitement before he pushed it aside.

“Let's.... let's keep it free. I was born and raised here in England, human as can be, if that’s what you’re asking,” he answered at last. “And a very lousy mage.”

Mage. The word still felt strange on his tongue. Not yet something he fully embraced as part of himself, and likely not something he would comfortably claim until he became far better at magic than he currently was.

“Ah, hello there.”

He offered the newest face a polite smile as well, trying not to look too visibly overwhelmed by the growing number of introductions.

Rune: Rune studied his beloved's face, reassured as to why he had chosen this hour, and not the early morning for a tour. A handful of greetings by the shyest homebodies was a better gamble than a hundred eager to poke, tug, and press for an interview. Or worse, Nachim giving one of his recruitment speeches. Poor Enoch would cave in on himself.

The balance between keeping his companion all for himself and allowing him space in his life was, in this moment, a conscious consideration.

"Mmmm. Mage. Another mage. There is only one me! Just one selkie." Imogene bowed deeply, arms wide.

The crate was placed atop another, cracked open with the crowbar Rune had been playing with. As he rifled through his things, the newest face approached, offering his hand.

"Enoch Neumann? It is an honor to finally meet you." A voice like silk, spoken from the back of his throat with Spanish inflections. He glanced once at Imogen, features still relaxed. "My name is Hector. Please, allow me to show you our home."

Enoch: This must have been how poor Rune had felt during Halloween, introduced to colleague after colleague and thrown headfirst into a game he had never agreed to play. At least here, Enoch still had the ability to still speak.

For the briefest moment, his gaze flicked toward Rune’s, sharing the thought silently before his attention returned to Mr. Astor.

“A selkie? As in the mythical sea horses—” He stopped himself mid-thought. “Wait, no, those are kelpies...”

Enoch went quiet for a second before snapping his fingers in realization.

“Seals, that’s it.”

And yet that only left him staring at Mr. Astor with even more confusion than before.

The sudden crack of wood nearby pulled his attention away, followed shortly by yet another hand being extended toward him.

“Yes, Dr. Enoch Neumann but Enoch works just as well. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he replied warmly, returning the handshake.

At the suggestion of being whisked away, however, the blond hesitated, uncertain whether he ought to stray when Rune had said he would show him around. But then again…This was rather like meeting a family of sorts. Best to not be impolite.

"If it doesn't disrupt what you were doing...I wouldn't want to be a bother."

Rune: Rune very nearly glared at Hector for the intentional slip. Did he already know something about Enoch that he didn't? Would that make him feel more at home, knowing that Rune had already shared their relationship with the trusted, most loved of the ship?

Keeping his attention on the contents of the crate was damn near impossible.

"You dare lump me in with those murder horses?!"

Rune straightened on the defense, but Hector had already taken Enoch by the arm, walking calmly toward the stairs to the poop deck. Whether he was making a show at Enoch's expense or earnestly offended made no difference.

"He meant nothing by it, Astor. He's still learning." From one seducer to another, Imogene didn't stand a chance. The selkie returned to his cards, falling as one would expect from a child on the verge of a tantrum. Once removed from his line of sight, Enoch was released. Hector's hands disappeared behind his back.

"Have you ever seen a ship like this one? You will never see stars the way you will see them here. And our captain has the best view." He pointed with his chin to the skylight directly above the captain's quarters. "Don't worry. I just wanted to have you to myself for a bit." His smile returned, just as soft.

Enoch: With the familiarity Hector spoke to him, Enoch got the distinct impression that at least a few members of the crew already knew of his existence. It was a strangely humbling thought.

Perhaps he and Rune should have discussed beforehand how this visit might go. But it was far too late for that now.

“My apologies, Mr. Astor, I did not mean any disrespect.”

Before he knew it, he was being swept away by the arm and redirected from one very upset selkie. It wasn’t as though he could dig in his heels without embarrassing both himself and his companion.

So, Enoch did what he often did best in unfamiliar situations, he adapted, allowing his new guide to lead him along while sharing details about the ship.

“I… have not,” Enoch admitted as his hands slipped back into his pockets, his gaze following where Hector pointed. “Though I imagine any view while onboard would be the best one.”

A smile touched the scholar’s lips as his attention drifted back across the vessel itself.

He found himself committing the details to memory, wanting to sketch them later while the images were still fresh in his mind.

But the stranger’s next words caused Enoch’s brows to rise slightly, his attention returning to the man beside him.

“That almost seems like cause for concern,” he replied lightly, finally meeting Hector’s gaze directly. “I apologize. I’ve heard far less about you than you apparently have about me.”

Rune: "I know." Fingers too smooth for a sailor rubbed beneath his chin. "He wanted to keep you for himself." I understand now. "But, having you up here... I know what it feels like. This ship can house eight hundred crew. More. If our captain could save everyone, collect everyone, he would. But my first time on this ship, my knees wanted to buckle. Everybody was staring as Capitán gives his welcome speech. Each time is the same. He gives our name, what we are, what we'll do, how we beat him in combat."

His hand returned to his back, slowly leaning in, but not too close.

"I'm sorry. You felt... scared. I think even Rune forgets... not all of us are leathered veterans."

Enoch: The scholar observed Hector quietly, maintaining a pleasant yet neutral expression as he listened. His eyes flickered back toward the ship at the mention of how many souls it could hold. Given the sheer size of the vessel, the number needed to be enormous. Still, he found himself wondering how one remained an individual among such a vast working body.

But Hector had just unknowingly offered him an opening to learn more, well at least until the sailor’s next words caused Enoch’s brows to furrow in mild confusion.

“Scared?” he echoed.

Then realization dawned.

“Oh...oh no. I’m… I’m not joining, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Rune: His smile returned with his head shake.

"No. Rune has already told us he won't be returning. No... it's just what you gave me. It was just a moment. Forgive me if I misinterpreted."

Enoch: “What I gave you?”

The poor scholar somehow looked even more confused at first. There had been nothing literal he could think of that he had given.

Then his gaze drifted toward the stairs, and a hand lifted to rub at the back of his neck as he realized what happened.

“Ah...being nervous, you mean?”

A faint, sheepish laugh escaped him.

“I suppose that is true, but I’ll be fine, honestly.” His smile softened. “Thank you for your concern."

Rune: "Yes. Being nervous." His smile was attached, now. The ice seemed broken. The air between them was comfortable enough to chuckle without concern for its regard. For all of the letters shared between their little circle, skittish wasn't once Enoch's adjective.

"You're welcome. Rune says you're insatiably curious. He said a lot of things, but, well, is it for me to say? I don't know. I had to meet you. An awakened mage. I've never met one. I haven't met a lot of people. My list grows every day."

Enoch: “I suppose I should have expected this.” Enoch’s voice softened as his gaze drifted back across the ship. “It’s… a bit overwhelming, if I’m being honest. Not you particularly,” he added quickly, “but the idea of meeting others who… share this world.”

His hands slipped further into his pockets as he spoke more to the vessel itself than to the stranger beside him.

“Especially as you pointed it out, being recently awakened to it all.”

Only when his sentence trailed off did his attention return fully to Hector, and the moment Rune’s letters were mentioned, color heightening in his cheeks.

“I hope it’s been good things he’s shared with you all.”

Trying to escape the embarrassment threatening to creep further into his expression, Enoch took a few steps away to inspect more of the deck.

“I would imagine, as a sailor, you would meet quite a few people along the way,” he mused before glancing back over his shoulder toward Hector. “Are you new to the ship?”

Rune: "He said you were enthusiastic. Isn't that how you met? You were trying to find us, magic, secrets. I'm glad it was Rune to have found you." And not some villain, one to chew him up and spit the pulp. Clairvoyance wasn't one of his gifts. He didn't envy any with visions, but he knew a fortunate circumstance when it was looking at him.

"I could dispel some myths for you, but I think you already have a grasp. We're just people. Proud people, most of us are very proud, but we're people. I hope that's not a disappointment."

From the quarterdeck, Rune was busy filling a satchel with clothes, a hat box, and another book. Hector walked to the edge of the deck, staring at the city lit like fireflies in a forest.

"I don't... I don't go ashore. I was rescued the year before last. I owe Capitán my service."

Enoch: “Mm, I was on something of a mission to prove magic was real,” Enoch admitted, a faint smile touching his lips. “Strange occurrences had been happening around me, and I wanted to get to the bottom of it.”

Though admittedly, he had become rather distracted from that original goal.

“I’m glad he did too.”

The young mage gave a small nod; having already come to understand that much from the few individuals he had encountered so far.

“Oh?” His brows lifted slightly. “But is that not the point of being aboard one of these? To go out and explore the world?”

His gaze wandered across the ship’s deck.

As lovely as the vessel was, Enoch could not imagine never yearning for something beyond it eventually. Wouldn’t one grow restless in time?

Still, he did not pry further. He sensed perhaps something tragic had happened to this man, given his words and the tone his voice had taken.

Rune: The London breeze was less than flattering, carrying with it a very human, bodily scent. Within the span of a day, discontent had begun to fester in his feet and legs. The arousal he felt every second of every day morphed with restlessness. It wasn't affection he sought, but carnal, stupid animal needs.

Though he would never disrespect a holy man aboard this ship, he couldn't help but admire the man he had chosen. Staring at him eased the disquiet in his loins.

Had his gaze lingered indulgently? Staring at more than his expression, he admired his lips, the structure of his jaw, the width of his shoulders. Like staring at art on the wall. He had a feeling Rune felt the same, and often stared at this gentleman. What fantastic energy.

The breath through his nose was audible, breaking his silence as he looked away, but only momentarily. It was impolite to look elsewhere, after all.

"It feels small, doesn't it? But I've seen so much ocean, so many shores. My purpose is here. We all have a purpose. Tell me, before, you said there were strange occurrences?"

Enoch: They had been standing in the same spot for a little while now, and Enoch got the distinct impression that perhaps this man was studying him, trying to determine the sort of person he was rather than the fact that Hector was indulging in his physique.

The truth that the sailor was admiring him never once crossed the scholar’s mind. And the longer the silence stretched, the more self-conscious he became.

Had he somehow offended this sailor as well, like the one downstairs? The last thing Enoch wanted was for the crew to think him boorish, arrogant, or someone who considered himself above them.

The thought distracted him, trying to think of a way to make amends until the sailor finally replied.

“Ah, yes.” Enoch visibly relaxed. “We can walk and talk while you give me a tour of the rest of your ship?”

As he spoke, he shifted to flip open his satchel.

“If you don’t mind me taking notes,” he added with an apologetic little smile, “I can repay the favor by answering whatever questions you might have about London.”

Rune: Not a flat refusal, but ignoring the question completely. The most frustrating type of person, nearly impossible to have a straightforward conversation with. He would know, having tried to play the role of avoidant as a child. One couldn't simply hide in a tree all of Sunday, then pretend to be deaf when confronted.  That is how one ends up nailed in a coffin of good intentions.

"I'm afraid the tour will be here. Renovations. But I will do my best."

What questions could he ask, when his mouth would be otherwise occupied with a tour? Clever, or desperate? Perhaps both?

Hector gestured beneath them. He began to explain the wheel and its mechanics. The rope which wrapped around it, disappearing into the stomach of the ship, attached to the tiller sweep, controlling the rudder.

"You can see the rudder, here, just a little, if you look over the side. This is the poop deck. Down there, the quarterdeck. There are six levels, seven including this one. Quarterdeck, upper gun deck, middle, lower, orlop, and the hold. The captain's quarters are directly beneath us," he gestured again to the skylight. "Down below, we have stores, a bakery, the best chef in the seven seas. The... steward's room is being adjoined to the pantry. We have a medical dispensary, a surgeon, mess hall, armory, carpenter, and arena. Renovations are for none of that, but, we would have to pass dangerous magic to reach the orlop. Spells to... condense space, and expand it. This ship is... a decent size. Large, yes, but, in human hands, most everyone would be sleeping in hammocks. No privacy. Capitán intends to end this. Below us, inside, it is a castle, and it's having growing pains."

Rune sat near the top of the stairs, arms on his knees, listening.

Enoch: Enoch blinked when it was announced that his tour would be rather short, or perhaps more accurately, limited to only these two areas. And yet, from the way the sailor described it, there seemed to be so much more hidden within this impossible vessel. Still, the blond made for an attentive audience. What truly caught his attention, however, was just how intricate the ship itself was. Stores. A bakery. An arena?

“This sounds like it’s its own city,” Enoch remarked, unable to hide the fascination in his voice. “You tell me all this, yet aren’t able to show me any of it,” he teased. “Shame on you for bringing my hopes up and dashing them in the same breath.”

There was unmistakable hunger in those blue eyes now, the scholar having been handed a tantalizing glimpse into a world of magic and wonder that remained frustratingly out of reach. His notebook was cracked open long enough to jot down a few notes he intended to expand upon later, the word castle underlined twice.

“Are you a mage as well?” he asked, glancing back toward Hector. “How does all of this function? Is it a group effort to sustain magic on this scale, or is your captain…” He trailed off, searching for the right word. “I’m not even certain what the proper term would be.” A brief laugh escaped him through his nose as he realized perhaps, he was speaking too much.

“Forgive me. Magic is just… fascinating. It feels like an entire field of study unto itself, much like science. And if I’m being honest, it’s become something of a passion passed onto me.”

His gaze wandered toward the stairs, catching sight of his beloved before it returned to Hector.

Enoch: “You asked about London. Well, the strange occurrences that started all of this for me were things very much like this. Things that simply could not be explained.” A faint smile crossed his lips then. “I was looking for a man that no one could remember. I looked like a madman asking about him at a bar and that’s how I first crossed paths with your shipmate.”

It wasn’t that Enoch meant to avoid speaking about himself. It was simply that this world, this strange hidden life of ghosts, magic, and impossible ships, was infinitely more fascinating to him than anything he considered about himself.

Rune: There was that excitement Rune had written about. Hector’s shoulders bounced with a gentle laugh. By all means. Rather than bothered by the barrage, he nodded to every question, each statement, mouth shut and patient as the next came, and the next. Yes, it sounded like a city. He nodded. No, he shook his head, he couldn’t show him anything. This was a matter of trust. Did Enoch hear a single lie?

“Forgive me.” His hand over his heart, his tour guide bowed, his laugh finally audible.

The muscles in Rune’s abdomen tightened at the sound. Nothing. It was nothing. This was what he had wanted, and yet…

“Do you wish for me to answer first to last, or categorically?”

But there would be more, before he could reach for the first or second inquiry.

“I see. This man you couldn’t remember, do you… remember if you found him?”

Enoch: Truth be told, Enoch had been listening for lies, a subtle itch in his ear, unsure of what exactly to expect aboard a ship like this, especially the first one he had ever stepped foot upon. Surprisingly, though, he had sensed no trace of subterfuge from his tour guide so far, and it quietly helped dispel some of the unease and rumors he had carried with him.

At Hector’s laughter, the scholar visibly grew a touch sheepish. His enthusiasm had once again gotten the better of him, and he could already feel himself veering dangerously close to making a fool of himself.

"S-sorry. I'll try to pace myself."

But first, he had to answer the sailor.

“I… maybe?” he admitted uncertainly. “I wouldn’t remember if I had crossed paths with him, would I?” A thoughtful crease formed between his brows. “I rather lost track of that mission once I awakened.”

With that, he circled back to his own curiosity.

“Answer in whichever way makes the most sense to you,” Enoch said with an apologetic smile. “Though I should warn you, for every answer you give me, I’ll likely have ten more questions afterward.”

Rune: Hector noticed a shift of light and shadow from the stairs. The Euthanatos had climbed one more step. A foot closer to their conversation, yet not between it. He leaned against the stair rail, chin resting in his hand, watching, admiring, loving. He would much rather this, than some unknown familiar. The night crew were his family. Every last one. This man, known only two years, was one he would kill for.

And yet, every laugh between them, every tease was a reminder of his species. He felt the warmth of his sincerity on his skin. It was a feathery, almost arousing touch. He could only imagine what Enoch was feeling, if anything.

If anything.

"Please," a soft word, "be yourself." The question was answered with a helpless shrug. "To my understanding, some mages are powerful enough to be... forgettable. God, or whomever, designed them that way. You. Designed you that way. But to," his finger circled toward his shoulder, "you asked, um... if I am a mage. Would you like for me to start there?"

Enoch: “Yes, that’s what I’ve been told as well. Useful as it might be at times when I wish to disappear from my students.”

The professor’s fingers flexed slightly around the notebook in his grasp, tightening briefly against the worn leather tome he carried everywhere with him. It grounded him in a way, part of the armor he wore into unfamiliar situations and perhaps the only indication the Euthanatos would get if Hector’s charms were having some effect on Enoch at all.

“Sure,” the scholar agreed with a small smile. “Sounds as good a place as any to begin our interview.”

Rune: "Is that what this is? We're having an interview now? First an exhausting tour of every nook and cranny, and now we interview? Ay, ay, ay! Please. Pull up a chair."

There were no chairs, only the floor, which Hector settled on. The pair were within eyeshot, now.

Enoch: “We climbed a set of stairs and you sold me the idea of what the rest of the ship might look like,” Enoch corrected, though his gaze remained easy, carrying a flicker of playfulness rather than any true accusation.

“Mhm.”

For now, the scholar accommodated, moving to sit across from Hector. His attention briefly flickered toward his lover, wondering whether Rune intended to join the conversation now that they were closer.

“As you were, Hector…” He trailed off for a beat, realizing he had not actually caught the man’s full name to properly document it in the notebook already resting open in his lap.

Rune: No further movement from the stairs, though an argument could be made that he had joined them. There was no pretending he wasn't a bystander. All for the sake of Enoch's peace of mind. He could have his interview; time was of no importance.

"Mm. Hector Tallulah Sanz Flores. I've never been interviewed before."

He glanced at his old shipmate, as though he had said something.

"Capitán wasn't - it wasn't an interview."

Enoch: There were a handful of glances cast toward Rune throughout the entirety of the visit, subtle little checks Enoch made in an attempt to read his body language and gauge his feelings on the situation without outright asking him.

The mage was giving him an opportunity to explore this hidden part of his life through the people he had spent the most time with. In its own way, it was rather sweet. They could hardly sail across the sea to visit Rune’s Dutch shores and childhood home as they had done with Bath.

“I… was mostly kidding. I wasn’t seriously going to interview you,” Enoch admitted with a soft laugh.

“But if you truly would like me to, I can.” His smile warmed slightly. “And may I say, you have a fantastic name. I don’t think I’ve heard the name Tallulah anytime recently—if ever.”

That, too, found its way into the notebook.

“Alright,” he said as he settled more comfortably into the conversation. “If we’re truly to do this, Hector, where are you from, and what exactly are you, if not a mage?”

Rune: They were both looking at him now, making him consider if going below deck was worth the danger. His presence had become an interruption. To say anything would be to invite himself where he didn't want to be invited.

"Mostly?" Enoch received Hector's undivided attention once more. "Rune didn't tell me you're a trickster." It had come from his mouth, after all.

The mage leaned forward, his own mouth opening, closed. Alma Moses was waving him down - or anyone, it was hard to tell from the top yard. Reason enough to excuse himself with a quick bow.

And there went their buffer, in a suit, climbing the shroud as though he had never left.

"I was picked up in Mexico. I'd never lived anywhere else. The world was just books, before, and what came to port." The young man, an actual young man among the masquerading, scoffed and scratched his chin. "I'm stalling, forgive me. I um... well, my mother is human. My father... my father is an incubus. That makes me a cambion."

Enoch: "Me? A trickster?"

That was certainly a first for the scholar, and admittedly, it amused him more than he expected. It almost even got a reaction out of the Euthanatos beside them.

But before Rune could properly be drawn into the conversation, the mage was gone, leaving the blond alone with his shipmate.

Enoch turned his attention fully back to Hector, already intrigued the moment books were mentioned, and even more so by what exactly the man himself was.

“I don’t believe I’ve heard of a being like that before.”

That detail, too, earned a place within the notebook.

“And what exactly does that mean for you when it comes to magic and its uses?”

Rune: Ankles crossed as he turned his attention heavenward, looking for stars in the light polluted sky. Only masts, seagulls, and crew.

"I'm not sure if what I do is magic, or if it's something demonic. It's what I am, you see. My father, he could do terrible things. I've only read about him. His kind. I know it to be true, because," a pause, finding Rune high above, securing gaskets with even more crew ascending to assist. "There are those, the faithful, their presence can... well, sometimes it stings."

Yet the man didn't flinch, didn't frown.

"I'm afraid I'm taking the scenic route again. What I am, what I do, my world revolves around healing. Sexual healing, and sleep. Those with insomnia, those with terrible nightmares, fear of sleep, they come to me. With their permission, I join them in their dreams, walk their demesne. That is my role, my purpose."

Enoch: The scholar listened, allowing Hector the floor without interruption. Eventually, however, his gaze followed the sailor’s upward.

For a moment, Enoch simply watched in quiet awe as members of the crew moved about the ship, working. It was amazing how easy they made it look. But...one of them in particular caught his attention enough that he blinked.

Was that...Rune?

The scholar was momentarily distracted and nearly missed what Hector had just said.

Did he say sexual healing?

That had his attention, Enoch reaching up to adjust his glasses as the other continued.

"But only a service you provide for your crewmates since you don't visit off shore and meet others, yes?"

Rune: "That's right. Everyone is here because we've been promised freedom. These are the outcasts, the scorn. Including myself. Everyone here has a story, and many are as heavy as anchors. I make my rounds each shift, assist those who allow it."

His fingernails scraped idlly on the floor.

"The day before we arrived here, before, Rune very nearly went overboard. Sleepwalking. He doesn't let me help."

Enoch: Enoch almost found himself bringing up his own experience with the sleepwalker, but he held his tongue at the last second.

He wasn’t entirely certain what Rune had or had not shared about the two of them, and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally overstep and reveal something the mage preferred remain private.

“So how does one enter a demesne?” he asked instead, leaning forward slightly. “And how much are you actually able to interact with while inside one?”

Rune: "You haven't?" He pointed between the man on the floor with him, and the man high above. "That surprises me. To enter someone else's demesne, you go through the door of your own. Some people don't have doors. They don't want any visitors, just their own private universe. But if you've made a door, you've made a jumping off point. On the other side of your door is everything in the Astral Realms. Say, I enter your dream. I'm a visitor, you're my host. I can interact some. I can change my clothes, the color of the trees, maybe, the music. The landscape belongs to the host. Except, those with exceptional power of the mind," he added, fingers tapping against his temple. "Then it doesn't matter who is the host."

Enoch: There was a noticeable hesitation in response to that question.

Rune likely had not shared the details of their shared dream, nor the fact that they had interacted with one another believing they were painted reflections of each other.

Warmth crept across Enoch’s cheeks at the memory, though he kept his attention fixed firmly on Hector instead as he listened.

The insight proved useful, and a few more hurried notes found their way into the notebook resting in his lap.

Perhaps he ought to try again someday and show Rune the parts of his demesne that no longer entirely felt like his own.

"Interesting..." And the blond had gotten lost in his thoughts, the silence stretching as he stared at the notebook.

Rune: "Hm." Hector's smile returned. Fingertips glided across his lips. Must have been potent, he thought, to feel his heat from this distance.

"Dreams and demesne are different," he continued. "You can't alter someone's home, but you can dreams. That's how you know you're in one."

The crew were beginning their descent. It was the gentle roll of thunder above that had spurred action. A storm wanting to shed its woes in the city. It tickled the cambion, how easily one could resume old roles.

"You've been having troubles," he said, softly. "He's come to us for advice. If you would like, pretend I didn't say anything. But if not, I can correspond with you. Doesn't have to be about anything important. Can be anything you need."

Enoch: Enoch glanced up at the mention of the two terms, realizing he had accidentally conflated them. Though more importantly, it left him briefly wondering whether Hector might also be capable of hearing his thoughts.

Especially when the sailor brought up Enoch’s rather particular predicament with his avatar. His brows furrowed for a moment before slowly easing again as he gave a small nod.

“Yes. It’s… peculiar, given what I’ve been told about avatars.” His voice lowered thoughtfully. “Mine is not the most helpful.”

Ever since their visit to the manor, Raine had been ever-present. Always standing somewhere just at the left edge of Enoch’s peripheral vision like a silent statue. At times the scholar would think he heard Raine speaking to him, only to look over and find nothing but the avatar watching him with those soulless eyes. The thing was like an unsettling doppelgänger wearing his own face.

“Perhaps,” he continued after a beat, attempting a faint smile, “I require a specialist such as yourself to root around and determine whether something in particular has gone wrong with my demesne.”

Rune: The cambion leaned forward, legs crossed, chin resting on laced fingers. That undivided attention again. The men echoing orders from the masts, the returning crew with their shouting and laughter, the breeze, birds, nothing else existed on this deck but Enoch Neumann.

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know, I've never had one." The statement was said as though an apology. This was what he had been told. An odd, intimidating figure in Enoch's life. A hinderance, rather than empowerment. The mages aboard had said the same as everyone else; avatars were a reflection of the soul, incapable of true harm. The demon could give no opinion on what he did not possess, neither could the druids, or immortals, or anyone else. But he felt his role was not yet useless.

"But I can help you with sleep. If you're willing, and with Rune's blessing, I would have to sleep beside you. I'm not yet strong enough to find people without touch. Not quickly. Most of the night would be spent searching, otherwise."

Enoch: This setting was hardly conducive to keeping the scholar’s attention fixed solely on the cambion before him. It took genuine effort not to glance toward the sailors shouting across the deck. There was simply too much to look at, too much happening all at once. But the subject at hand demanded his focus.

“If half of you is human,” Enoch mused thoughtfully, “then I wonder what exactly dictates the threshold for wielding magic and possessing an avatar…” More a thought experiment to revisit later than an actual question. “Did you have an imaginary friend growing up?” he asked suddenly, unable to stop himself before the conversation drifted too far from the topic.

Though the offer to help with his demesne was an appreciated distraction, though the way how did give Enoch pause. And then Rune’s name had been brought into it.

It was strange.

No one had ever acknowledged it. Their relationship existed only in his apartment and a few stolen moments outside of it, the subject taboo enough to be criminalized. But here, aboard this impossible ship filled with awakened beings and sailors who existed outside ordinary society, there seemed to be no judgment attached to it at all.

What freedom there was in that. To be seen without scrutiny…without expectation. Warmth spread faintly across his face, and his gaze dipped toward the notebook resting in his lap, though he felt a sense of giddiness at the realization.

“…I suppose yes,” he admitted after a moment. “That’s likely how it would have to work, since…” His eyes lifted back toward Hector again. “It would have to be aboard the ship, wouldn’t it?”

Rune: The question was one he had asked himself from the very first witch's introduction, and every mage since. There were mages who could dreamwalk, split realities and walk the realms of the dead, and yet, why was he not one of them? Why was demon his sole title? Many days and nights of reflection had led to his ultimate conclusion: this was his lot in life. There was no escaping what he was, hiding behind something else. A demon was a demon.

"Imaginary? No," he smiled. But, there was something behind his eyes. An unspoken thought he would pocket for a later opening.

Affirmation returned his gaze, smile falling with surprise.

"Oh, I..." His chest swelled, stretching his suspenders. "As I said, I-I don't... go ashore. I can't. I'm so sorry. But... the upper deck is almost finished, and the quarterdeck. There is a place where we can sleep."

"You mean to take Rhys' quarters?" The sound of Rune's voice might as well have been a clap of thunder. Rounded shoulders tightened in, then relaxed.

"He would understand."

"You could come with us to -" Hector was already shaking his head.

Rune lowered to the floor hip first, arm on his knee. It was a matter of seconds, three at most, with a gentle unspoken argument filling the silence between them.

The Euthanatos sighed.

"How are you getting on?" Rune looked to Enoch.

Enoch: The blond had noticed that look in Hector’s eyes, though before he could press further on it, the conversation had already moved on.

“Right, you did mention that.”

And while he was undeniably curious to know what exactly kept the man from ever stepping ashore, they were hardly acquainted enough for that degree of familiarity. Yet somehow, they were talking about sharing a bed. What a very strange life he seemed to lead these days.

Enthralled as he was by the conversation, both he and Hector startled slightly at Rune’s sudden voice joining them again. Blue eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses lifted toward his companion, and Enoch nodded in response.

“I believe it’s going well,” he answered with a faint smile. “He has yet to grow tired of my endless questions, which I consider promising.”

Rune: "I don't see how I could. It's only a matter of keeping up with them. I'm aware I've left a few by the wayside. Please forgive me."

"And before the night's over, he'll apologize at least three more times."

This time, Hector's smile strained a little. "I'm s - mm. I don't always apologize."

"I know. You're so frustratingly polite."

Rune gave Enoch's knee a squeeze, waiting for his attention, to study the nuance of his face, his aura. Waiting to read a sign that they should show themselves out. Was he fine, truly?

"What have you left out?" he asked, hand falling to his lap.

"The... ah. What makes the ship function."

"Oh. Magic. Of course," Rune smirked.

Enoch: Enoch would not hold that against the cambion. Hector was already being a remarkably good sport about the entire ordeal.

“There’s nothing wrong with being polite,” he defended mildly, feeling somewhat compelled to do so given that he, too, very much fell into that category.

But the thought was interrupted by the gentle squeeze to his knee, prompting him to look up and meet Rune’s gaze. It was his silent way of checking in and the scholar appreciated it.

"Hoi."

He was fine. Turns out sitting down and having an informal interview was the quickest way for  the scholar to regain his bearings.

And while he appreciated Rune's company, that particular response earned the mage a light smack against the knee with the back of Enoch’s notebook.

"Excuse me, I wasn't asking you."

Rune: That little word was all he needed. Their world was safe and for the moment, quiet... enough.

"Ow." The mage feigned injury, rubbing his knee and scowling.

"I'm afraid the truth is nearly as blunt. Deniz protects the ship. Rune has reenforced the durability of the wood, is that right?"

"Mm. The wood down in the hold, every few years."

"And it is you and Raeni to bring luck to the ship," Hector continued. "Finn brings good weather. He's our resident alchemist," he added, nodding to Enoch.

Enoch: A small smile played at Enoch’s lips at the mage’s reaction, his eyes lingering briefly across those features before returning to Hector once more.

“But your explanation comes with considerably more context than his.”

The scholar shifted slightly, propping his knees up as his arms draped loosely across them while he considered it all. In a way, everyone aboard seemed to serve a purpose, magic user or otherwise.

"Alchemist, eh? Probably someone else I'd get on with."

Rune: Hector was struggling not to appear obvious. He was smiling like a loon as the pair, biting on his cheeks to save himself - no, not himself. To prevent Enoch from blushing. The heat radiating off of their bodies was almost enough to sustain him. He tried not to think about it, but, it was his nature.

"You would get along with a lot more than you presume. Your hands are soft now, but you would make a fine addition."

"Don't fill his head with daydreams. He's a city boy," Rune finally grinned.

Enoch: He could feel Hector’s eyes on him while he stared at his companion, and perhaps it was the cambion’s fault, or simply his own growing desires, that for a fleeting moment Enoch found himself wanting to push the mage onto his back and continue their playful banter, but this was not the time or place to act like teenage boys.

“I believe I would be terribly seasick all the time,” Enoch admitted with a soft chuckle, “though I imagine it would at least make catching fish considerably easier.”

Rune earned a nudge to his shoulder from the scholar.

"Oi," he started to protest, "I can be adventurous."

Rune: "As was I, at first." Hector wasn't afraid of admitting his faults. Rune had never been caught mal de mer, but the man had spent more years at sea than Hector had on this earth. "Even on canoes. My grandfather would take me fishing. I had a terrible time."

"And yet here you are, trying to make an innocent scholar sick. What is this, revenge?"

The cambion laughed. He had never heard the mage make jokes before. Not like this. Dry, expressionless humor, yes, but this was... different.

A hum and a sigh later, Hector looked between them.

"Will you allow me to help you, Enoch?"

Enoch: “Ah! My grandfather used to take me fishing as well. Did you also feel bad for the fish and throw them back afterward?”

Between his politeness and shared experiences, Hector was quickly becoming rather likable in the scholar’s eyes.

Enoch smiled faintly as he pulled his knees in a little closer, loosely encircling them with his arms while he looked between the two sailors. There was something oddly lovely about this. Just sitting around and talking about nothing of consequence with company he did not feel obligated to perform for.

Here, he wasn’t a biochemist. Truthfully, his education did not seem to matter at all here, and that realization felt unexpectedly freeing, like a breath of fresh air after years spent carefully curating himself around colleagues, faculty, and expectations. For a fleeting moment, he found himself wishing he had more friendships like this.

“Oh…”

At the mention of his demesne again, his gaze shifted instinctively toward Rune as though expecting the mage to answer for him.

“I mean, if we think it would help any,” Enoch said after a moment. “Honestly, I could simply have a very odd avatar and be making a storm in a teacup.”

Rune: "I can't say I did, but I would much rather swim with them."

Rune nodded along. Was it wrong to miss this, he wondered. The life he led was a loving one. His choice. The man to his right was his honor. This was a chapter of his life free of regret, but that wasn't to say he had fallen out of love with what had once been. One would simply destroy him to live without. The other was the sea.

You will have it again.

Rune looked to his right, to the sky. Ruine? His hand returned to Enoch's knee.

"What we've done, he does better. So I'm told."

"I cannot alter anything in your demesne against your will, but I can see it. I can walk you through how to shape your environment. I will see whatever you wish for me to see."

"So, hammering a note to Rhys' door," Rune muttered. He looked to Enoch again. "If we do this, I'm watching over you all night, or I'm sleeping beside you. That's all there is to it."

Enoch: “I can get behind swimming. It’s been far too long since I last went for one.”

The last lake he had swum in was the very one where he had awakened.

His gaze drifted toward the mage, realizing that swimming had been one of the things he had hoped they might do while in Bath. At the time, however, Rune had been far too ill to spend an afternoon in the creek. Perhaps on a future visit.

His attention settled on the hand resting atop his knee. It took the scholar a moment to respond because years of social conditioning had taught him to be cautious. Here, though, it was different. His own hand came to rest atop Rune’s, fingers curling lightly around it.

His attention remained on his lover before flickering briefly to Hector and then back again. The mage knew him far too well, and that realization was both humbling and comforting. His fingers gave Rune’s a gentle squeeze.

“And there is truly nothing I can say to convince you to come ashore if we are to do this?” he gently asked Hector. “You would likely have better luck getting me to sleep in my apartment. No offense to what I imagine are perfectly fine accommodations aboard this ship.”

Rune: The silence wasn't awkward, not to Hector and least of all to Rune. Hector turned his attention to the sky, wondering which details of this encounter was going in his diary. Rune was getting tunnel vision. He wanted to know everything Enoch was thinking, yet only caught the abstract. He could spend all night letting everything flow from his head like a freed river. But this ship would eventually be gone, and the cambion with it.

The subject again. The one Rune had already pressed. Hector's shoulders tightened inward, knees brought to his chest. The mage let air into his lungs intentionally, slowly, refusing the muscles of his abdomen to tighten and brace.

"The last time I was... ashore... my lover was killed by his father, a sexton." Tilting his head, the cambion exposed scratch mark scars along his neck. He tilted again, the same on the other side.

"Because of me, a father killed his son, and a son killed his father. Don't ask it of me, Enoch. I promise, you will sleep."

Enoch: He had not meant any harm by the question, not knowing the history behind it or the weight it carried until now. By the time Enoch noticed the shift in Hector’s body language, it was already too late. He had missed the opportunity to steer the conversation elsewhere and spare the sailor from having to explain himself.

But tragedy seemed to be a common thread woven through this ship. Between Rune and Hector, Enoch could not help but feel a quiet sadness for them both.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Somehow, he had managed to mar the jovial mood they had been sharing only moments before.

Drawing in a slow breath, he let it out just as gradually, his attention settling on the grain of the wood by his feet. After a moment, he offered Hector a small nod without quite meeting his eyes.

“When do you propose we do this?”

Rune: Well, there it was. Not a can't, but a won't. Rather than a slave to Captain Nachim's whims, he was a willing cardinal in a cage of his creation, the key on his side of the bars. It wasn't Rune's place to warn; it wasn't his story to tell.

But neither man wanted to see the young mage wilt.

"I'm sorry," Hector said to his feet, daring to look up with clean eyes. "For what I..."

Rune held up a single finger, determined to put a stop to that sentence. "How many did I say, three?"

The demon smiled, grateful. "Whenever you're ready. I don't suspect you'll wish to be here in the morning. That's when it's the loudest."

"On deck you lovely dregs!" Rune mocked, arms open wide. "Time for head count. Is anyone flotsam?" The pair laughed.

Enoch: “This most certainly wasn’t how I planned to spend my evening either,” he admitted, his gaze lifting toward Rune. The sight of the mage’s antics was enough to coax a smile back onto his face. The sailors were laughing again, and just like that, the tension seemed to dissolve.

“I think not,” Enoch agreed. A significantly larger gathering of shipmates sounded rather daunting, and he was not entirely certain he was prepared to meet that many new faces all at once.

“Well, we haven’t had dinner yet. Perhaps after we get a bite to eat?” He paused, considering it for a moment. “Hm. Is there any food you miss that you haven’t been able to get aboard the ship? Perhaps I could pick something up and bring it back. It’ll allow me to get some things from home as well.”

Rune: "Certainly none of this was planned," said Rune.

"But here we are," Hector concluded.

Talk of leaving the ship had the mage gathering to his feet. For a brief moment, Hector's heart sank with a deep, unsettling feeling. He didn't want them to leave. Desperately, in the span of a breath in, a breath out, he feared he might never see them again. Silly, he told himself, but his hand still clutched his chest, reluctantly following along.

"I doubt you'll find chiles en nogada in London." He bit his lip, hand on the railing. "What are you having? English food is still new to me. Show me what you like." He felt in his tan coat for his money. A hand landed on his head, scratching his scalp and ruffling his hair.

Enoch: "... ... ..." He stared at his beloved flummoxed but eventually curiosity won out. "I'm...trustworthy enough to tell."

Rune: "You know what I've done at the lighthouse." He bit into the flesh of his lip. "But, I've done other things. Things with... instruments... of sorts."

Enoch: "What...type of instruments?"

Rune: "Phallic ones." His book was so interesting it had to cover his face.

Enoch: There was a mischievous smile he quickly covered with his fingers.

“You absolute heathen…”

That book was getting pushed down by a finger.

“Also at the lighthouse? Or…wait…here?”

Rune: "Some things have to be left for Jesus' ears only," he whispered. His cheeks were most definitely pink.

Enoch: “I’m in love with a deviant.” Yet he was moving to straddle his lover’s lap. “Have you done it here? In my flat? Where?”

Rune: He was helpless to stop him, leaning back in his seat to accommodate rather than push him from his lap.

"No, I haven't done it here," he whispered, as though the neighbors might hear. "Does that... does that arouse you?"

Enoch: It was his turn to go red in response to that question. “Wouldn’t it be improper if I said yes?” he whispered just as quietly. The floor suddenly became very interesting.

Rune: "I don't care about improper." If he had, he wouldn't have done it. "I want to know what makes you ache."

Enoch: That wording was powerful in itself because it made his stomach quiver. “You…” And softer yet, “But perhaps that as well.”

Rune: "Perhaps," he echoed. "Perhaps I should recreate the scene."

Enoch: He could only stare at his beau; words seemingly lost at this offer. But one question managed to surface. “When?”

Rune: Slowly, his arm found its way around Enoch's waist, pulling him to his chest.

"Whenever you're ready to see me... a mess."

Enoch: His arms moved to rest over Rune's shoulders, the scholar's attention on those perfect lips.

"Then I look forward to when you surprise me."

Rune: So, at any time, any day? His smile curled mischievously.

"That's more dangerous than you telling me when and where. You know that, En. I don't know if your heart is ready."

Enoch: He wasn’t entirely certain his heart was prepared for it even now given as to how hard it was beating. He pinched Rune's chin between his fingers, enjoying the vantage he currently had.

“Yes, but…this way I can’t overthink it if it comes as a surprise.”

Rune: "And if I told you to control me, now. Would you overthink? If you could have your way with me, any manner of... deviant thoughts... what will you do?"

Enoch: “Of course. I already am.” But this could be an exercise in trying to overcome it. “To your credit, you’ve done a fine job in planting intrusive thoughts that have you in much less clothing, on that couch there, with my fingers inside of you while I take you with my mouth.”

Rune: Without any shred of warning, Enoch was grabbed by his ass and lifted. Once on his feet, his companion was placed on his own.

Two fingers pushed him back to arm's length, while his other hand busied loosening his tie.

Enoch: A soft breath of surprise escaped the scholar as he was suddenly on his feet. The look he gave was almost questioning. Where they to do this now? Here? But the way Rune set to loosening his tie left little room for protest. The scholar hesitated because spontaneity had never been his strength. But watching his love undress. Yes…that he could manage.

Rune: Watching was his only demand. Dark eyes remained fixed on his lover as though a lifeline. The tie was slipped from his collar and placed around Enoch's neck. Again, he stepped back, loosening the buttons of his shirt, untucking, and shrugging from his shoulders.

"Tell me to stop and I will."

Enoch: The tie draped around his neck drew a loose grin, his hands briefly distracted by the fine silk as his fingers brushed over it.

“You’re not getting this back.”

He watched as each button slipped free, helping undress his lover with his eyes. At the first glimpse of skin, he faltered.

This man made him feel like he was on fire, capable of stripping away his composure, only leaving that yearning urge to reach out and touch.

“This…this is good.”

Rune: "Good? You wish for me to stop? Not my belt? Not... anything else?" His thumbs slipped beneath the rim of his trousers. A step back, another. The back of his legs came in contact with the couch, where he dropped with a smirk.

Enoch: That…that wasn’t quite what he meant, but did his mage know that or was he toying with him on purpose?

“I was enjoying your work. I wasn’t asking you to stop quite yet. Unless you require some assistance.”

Rune: "You may watch me undress from a distance, or have the tactile pleasure of doing it yourself. Either I'm in charge, or you are." Today, there would be no in between. He wanted to know which urge Enoch would satisfy.

Enoch: His head tilted to the side, a touch of amusement playing across his face as he considered his options. Then he moved, not toward the mage, but to the small dining set, pulling a chair free and bringing it over before settling into it, arms crossing loosely.

“Go on then.”

Rune: He would make short work of the belt. Allowing the force to sway his hips. It was folded and discarded, allowed to tumble off the couch. Trousers and underwear were pulled as one and left pooled at his feet. All that remained were his socks and garters. In God's good glory he stood, hands resting comfortably on his hips until he collapsed onto the couch. It was then, Enoch no longer existed. Eyes closed, he stretched, arms over head, chest forward and strong.

Enoch: It was a sight to behold his beloved so confidently standing in his birthday suit. The scholar watched openly, fully aware that what he saw was his to cherish and his alone.

His gaze traced the lines of a lithe, strong frame, admiring the contours that shaped his lover as he stretched across the chaise. For now, he resisted the impulse to get up and close the distance and touch as he pleased. The Euathanatos was in charge right now, and Enoch could only sit and watch, helpless in the most willing sense.

Rune: One arm remained over his head, over the chaise. The silence was filled with a quiet sigh and even quieter breathing. He explored his body with a single hand, starting with his neck, down and across his chest and the subtle valley and hills of his stomach. His genitals had become stiff and engorged by the time he reached his thigh. And still, his lashes pressed to his cheeks. If he opened his eyes, the game would be over.

Enoch: Enoch did not move.

He remained where he’d settled, fingers curled lightly against his knee, all of his attention fixed on the man before him. There was a distinct hunger in those blue eyes.

His gaze followed the slow path of that wandering hand, tracing it as if he could feel it himself, the line of his throat, the slow rise and fall of his chest, and how that stiff muscle now stood at attention. His own breath had grown shallow, warmth creeping into his cheeks.

He shifted slightly in his chair, a subtle adjustment betraying him, feeling the quiet insistence of his own arousal growing the longer he watched.

Rune: He had never done this before. Never taken the time to explore his body at his leisure, for the viewing pleasure of another. There was something about Enoch, his youth perhaps, or his insatiable devotion, that encouraged spontaneity. His beauty had been spoken of before, by drunk lips, by despicable puppeteering lips, but these lips were the only ones he wanted to feel upon his body, and the thought of them made his erection throb. He felt it in his hands, the weight of it, the strength, and the tightness of his scrotum. Further he explored, spreading his legs for Enoch to discover never before seen skin. The realization of which turned his head, hiding in his raised arm.

Enoch: Enoch was proper gentleman in all sense of those words until he was not.

He was an observer by nature. It was what his work demanded, what made him good at it and an astute student. But this… this was something else entirely. Here, he was no longer a detached scholar, but a captive audience to the slow delicacy of his beloved as he caressed himself. This was not like studying form in an art hall, where admiration remained untouched by want.

Here, want burned.

There was something intoxicating in watching the mage and having permission to watch and witness something so private offered so openly. And he realized, with a quiet sort of astonishment, that he liked it.

His lower lip caught between his teeth, abusing it as Rune spread himself for his viewing. Every instinct urged him to close the distance but not yet. He held himself there, suspended in that tension.

Rune: The legs had been the invitation. Now, it was only a matter of time, waiting for his lover's patience to boil over. The anticipation would not kill him, but would not spare him, either. He felt as though he would be sick, yet would ascend to Heaven without the profligacy of death.

His fingers came just shy of his hole, brought to his mouth to suck on a single finger. Was Enoch aware of what was coming? Did he want to see? Would he finally speak?

He would soon learn, as his hand returned between his legs, his middle finger circling, slipped into the tight ring of muscle with a gasp.

Enoch: Enoch had a little more patience to spare, but his hands needed something to occupy them. For the moment, he remained tethered to his chair, so they found the front of his shirt instead, undoing the first few buttons as an attempt to relieve the heat that had begun to feel inescapable as he watched his beloved.

There was a clear tension in his slacks that no amount of subtle adjustment could ease. His breath caught as the thought crossed his mind… could he allow himself that kind of indulgence while watching the mage as he…

His cheeks flushed at the very idea, yet his body burned with the need to do something. His legs shifted apart, and his hand moved almost of its own accord, brushing against the outline of his arousal. The contact drew a breath from him before he palmed it again. The scholar’s composure slipped further, and his waistband loosened, the weight of his stiffness filled his hand.

Rune: The absence of words or the shifting of Enoch's chair nearly gave pause. If not for knowing the heart of the man, he would have opened his eyes. Had Enoch been uncomfortable, his displeasure would have been felt like crawling insects. Of this, he was certain.

So, he did what only a sane lover would do, and pushed himself further, until his body writhed with satisfaction. Refusing to touch his aching arousal, it began to drip against his stomach, leaving a small wet trail toward his hip.

Enoch: He had already shared what he wanted to do to his lover, yet simply witnessing this had become a pleasure in itself, especially when paired with a few distracted strokes of his own. But something about the mage and the way his body responded under his own touch, was enough to tip the balance.

The need to touch and feel that warmth for himself wore through what little patience remained. The scholar rose from his seat at last, drawn forward only to settle onto his knees before the couch.

There would be no word. His hands came first, gliding along the outside of Rune’s thighs. Then his lips followed, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his knee, and another, slower one along the inside of his thigh.

Rune: There it was, at last. Just a small sound of shifting weight and yielding wood planks. His body stilled, but only for a moment. His finger remained hidden in his body as he felt a shift in air beside himself. He turned his head in the hope of a gentle collision.

But those fingertips were unexpected, and caused an immediate clenching and twitching of muscles, and a shuddered sigh.

His body begged in the silence, unable to fathom what he should do next.

Enoch: Enoch looked up from where he knelt, his hands shifting to anchor themselves at the mage’s hips. There was something to be said about this moment as he allowed himself to take in the sight before him, almost worshipfully. From the rise and fall of Rune’s chest, to the warmth that touched his cheeks and parted his lips, his lover was a vision.

When the mage turned his head, it felt like a quiet summons. Enoch leaned in, pressing another kiss to the inside of his thigh before pulling those hips closer to the edge of the cushion.

Spontaneity, that was the test, wasn’t it? To not think too much and instead simply act.

He left soft biting kisses along the inside of Rune’s thighs, while one hand wandered. That aching member would not be left unattended for much longer as his thumb dipped over the slit to collect the clear sticky pre and take his first taste. The touch that followed slid down the length only to squeeze back up again before repeating. And as he touched his partner, it was Rune’s face that he watched, enjoying every reaction he was able to draw from him.

Rune: He would swear upon his honor, he felt words from unspoken lips, like whispers on his skin. He felt seen, and loved, and adored.

But once more, he was startled, almost uncomfortable. He didn't know where Enoch would strike, where he would feel heat next. The thrill was unlike any he had ever experienced. He lay there at his mercy, trembling against his will.

Turned at Enoch's whim, his hand slipped free, held uselessly at his side. His aching need pulsed beneath his lover's fingers.

"What do you want of me?" he whispered.

Enoch: “To let yourself feel.”

It was an interesting turn in events. Rune relinquishing one sense seemed to free the scholar in a way he hadn’t expected. One hand remained on his lover, while the other drifted upward along his abdomen, palm flattening to feel the warmth beneath his touch, fingers splaying as he went. Enoch took his time, savoring the subtle tremors beneath his hand as it traveled higher, over his sternum, pausing just shy of his collarbone, fingertips brushing lightly at the hollow of his throat.

Between those parted legs, it was easy to lean in, pressing a kiss to Rune’s ribs, his touch continuing its slow, strokes up and down. Another kiss followed, this time over his nipple. Finally, his hand resting on his lover’s throat shifted, guiding his chin downward enough as Enoch leaned in to close the distance and pressed a final kiss to his lips.

Rune: Each touch was a surprise, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Sanity was a negotiation. Articulation traded for the abstract. Colors behind his eyelids, heat and silky texture a roulette game. And the sounds... the sounds like music. He was insatiable for that music.

Mercy was a beautiful word. One of the most edible of any language. He was at his mercy. An object to be played with, but not quite. A slave to his whim, but not quite.

Toes planted on the hardwood floor, hips slowly responding to his stroking rhythm.

Blindly, he reached, fingertips hesitant. Would he be allowed to roam as Enoch roamed? Or did he want his hands above his head?

Would his lover feel the question?

Enoch: So focused on his lover, it almost felt they were in tune, reading each shift in body language as hesitant fingertips brushed against him. The touch felt as if he were asking for permission, but that gentle brush of question was heard. The answer came quietly as Enoch pressed a warm kiss into his palm and leaned into the touch.

The hand that had tilted Rune’s chin for the kiss lingered there, thumb brushing softly against his lower lip in a silent request for him to part them, if only to wet his fingers. And Enoch watched him as he did, warmth steadily rising into his face at this newfound boldness he currently possessed.

Rune: When was he going to open his eyes? He had wanted to for some time. From the moment the chair legs had groaned against the floor. From the first touch of skin. From the warmth of Enoch's lips. He wanted to know what Enoch looked like in this moment. How red his cheeks were; if his mouth was agape as he watched his wandering fingers; were his eyes wide or heavy?

But not knowing what was next was as much as a thrill as hoping that, eventually, Enoch would demand his gaze. He might very well float away.

Fingers disappeared behind deep peach lips, sucked obediently. He opened his mouth, allowed Enoch to witness the pink of his tongue, and his fingers sitting there.

Enoch: He could feel himself fighting the instinct to retreat from such forwardness. It was a quiet battle within himself as he watched his lover respond so obediently to his asks. In a way, he was grateful the Euthanatos could not properly see him in that moment because he felt painfully inexperienced, and even that brief flicker of thought threatened to fan the instinct to withdraw.

So instead, he focused on Rune.

On the sound of his breathing, on every small noise he made, and on the sensation of his mouth and tongue around his fingers, enough to make his cock twitch. When he finally drew them back, a thin strand of saliva lingered briefly before snapping apart.

Gods, what a lovely sight.

Lust and desire had been building for far too long, and with a sudden impulse to catch the poor mage off guard, Enoch leaned in to steal his lips in a kiss. At the same time, his damp fingers drifted lower and between his lover, brushing in small circles against that tight ring of muscles before slowly pressing a finger in.

Rune: That urge to shrink in on himself and sound the retreat was some familiar, uninvited guest. It hit his conscience like a splash of cold water on hot skin, compelling his hands to action. Ever blind, he felt for Enoch's jaw, cradling it in both of his palms.

He felt his approach, yet still he gasped into his lover's mouth. He was being taken. Held in place, kissed, invaded, and he was ascending to a heavenly place.

"It's yours," he confessed.

"It's yours," he promised.

Eyelids tightened in a last desperate strategy to hold himself in darkness.

"Don't stop." The blond was pulled back to his mouth.

Enoch: Before he could even strongly consider his actions, those cooler hands against his overheated face disrupted every coherent thought he had. Instead, he leaned into the touch instinctively, answering his request.

This was his.

The thought echoed in his mind as his finger sank into his lover. And it was repeated again as he aimed to find that same spot which had driven such a strong reaction out of him. He was chasing that same response again, fascinated by the way the mage reacted beneath his hands.

“You are mine—”

Whether it was meant as a statement or a question, even Enoch wasn’t certain. The words dissolved into another hungry and desperate kiss as their lips crashed. His attention stayed fixed on Rune, greedy for every soft sound breathed against his mouth and every subtle movement as he slid a single digit in and out of his lover.

 Eventually the scholar broke the kiss only to start trailing downward.

“You can look,” he said, finally granting the permission his lover had been denied.

Rune: Writhing hips and fresh noises announced the moment of Enoch's success. An attempt was made to swallow sounds down his throat, only adding new and different gasps, gulps, and whimpers.

The blind man nodded. Yes. Yes, he belonged to him. Nothing but his faith had ever felt as unquestionable.

A familiar had saturated the dormitory with magic, and still he struggled for some semblance of composure.

And now that permission had been granted, he was afraid to look. Not fear of repercussion, but fear of his freedom. Fear that he might find Enoch neutral and unimpressed.

But his eyes opened anyway, fixed on the ceiling. He didn't know what his lover intended next, but his legs spread anyway. A silent invitation as his fingers disappeared into his hair.

Enoch: With a wider breadth to work between those knees, Enoch adjusted his position, easing the minor discomfort that came with kneeling there so long. It hardly compared to the distraction of his lover and the delicate melodies that came from him. Those quiet whimpers and breathy gasps only encouraged him further.

How hard would the mage struggle to stay quiet with what he was going to do next? Enoch’s composure was long gone. Heat lingered openly across his face, worsened by the fingers threading through his hair in encouragement.

His tongue would make first contact with his lover, sweeping around the head, sliding down along the underside of the shaft before taking it partially into his mouth to suckle. Every reaction the mage gave him was met with fascinated focus, his eyes lifting often behind the lenses of his glasses left on partly because Rune seemed so fond of them, and partly because Enoch selfishly wanted to witness every expression clearly.

He would return to base, this time taking all of his lover into his mouth only to bob again as his hand pumped in unison. His movements grew more confident with each passing moment, finding a rhythm, all while his thoughts briefly wandered toward what else Rune might allow, and what further reactions he could coax from him by adding a second finger.

Rune: Being possessed, taken for the love and pleasure of another, was akin to sun-drenched skin being caressed by cold fingers. He was reminded of Aoi, of foul-breathed sailors, of a woman with auburn hair and a thousand freckles, taking him on quiet mornings without so much as a greeting.

But Enoch wasn't Clara, or Aoi, or unnamed, anonymous men with rough hands. He could bear to look at him, eyes warm with trust, longing, and unresolved fear of the unknown.

Whether or not Enoch understood made no difference; his way of loving was a salve.

Without thought, Rune placed one of his legs on Enoch's shoulders, and with only minor consideration, began fucking the professor's mouth. Each roll of his hips brought him that much deeper into his throat, and pressed those fingers to a place eliciting softer, more submissive sounds. One rash instance, one delicious mistake, he would become this man's sex slave.

Enoch: Never had the scholar done anything like this before. Every one of his senses was consumed by the way his lover moved and the sounds he made in response to fingers pressing into warm inner walls that tightened with every thrust.

The act alone left Enoch aching, his own neglected arousal throbbing painfully beneath his clothes, yet it was a delicious sort of torment, one he would endure gladly just to keep Rune like this.

When that sudden weight settled against his shoulder, the blond paused only briefly in understanding before seamlessly adjusting to it. One hand smoothed along Rune’s outer thigh while the other remained intent on reaching deeper in this new position. He was entirely at the mage’s mercy now, his mouth there to be used however his lover saw fit.

Soft hums and muffled groans escaped him as hazed blue eyes flicked upward, momentarily drinking in the expression of bliss painted so openly across his lover’s face. His fingers tightened eagerly against Rune’s hip, pulling him closer, feeling every movement press deeper as his hand curled against the places that drew those reactions from him again and again.

Enoch was lost to it.

Lost to the heat, the sounds, the way this man trembled above him.

For those few moments, nothing beyond their little world existed. No looming dangers, no burdens waiting outside these walls. Only the mage in his arms and the overwhelming pleasure of being allowed to touch him and to have him like this.

Rune: Once more, the world had become dark. His eyelids tight, concentrated and selfish, until a dawning washed over him. Enoch could do whatever he pleased, whenever he pleased, and yet… it was he who governed this moment. His placid gentleman, no doubt hard and aching between his legs, gave and received without question, without hesitation. The man who cradled burdens as protectively as his heart, once more, giving service as an act of love.

It was almost too much. What he could not voice, his fingers tried to convey, squeezing and massaging Enoch’s scalp as he rutted like a wild animal. There was no means to retreat. Enoch, his master, had him as good as strapped. Between his mouth and his fingers, what was left to do but pant, writhe, and choke on his orgasm? It was too soon. This had been a mere moment, or had it been an hour? Teeth sank into his wrist, moaning into his skin, muscles trembled, cramped, and finally, with the last pulse of his erection, he remembered to breathe.

“H-Het spijt me. Ik was niet van plan dat te doen. Het spijt me.”

His leg rolled from Enoch's shoulder. Sitting up, Enoch was pushed backward, filling his lap with his presence. There on the floor, he kissed this man. Messy, labored breathing, and so very much in love.

Enoch: He had been told the stories before, of lovers who had taken from the mage for their own pleasure without ever considering. Enoch had been offered that same freedom. Whenever, wherever…that was the deal.

But what of the mage?

The same man who wanted, perhaps more than anything, to be loved and fiercely protected in turn. What of his wants? His needs?

That was where Enoch had settled within himself. Moments like these should never belong only to one person, and the thought of others taking the mage for granted left something sour twisting in his chest. So Rune was given the reins in his own quiet way. Everything moved at the sailor’s pace, limited only by what he allowed, and Enoch would never willingly take more than that.

Did Rune know that?

Did he understand that, in truth, it was Enoch who rested entirely at his mercy?

The thoughts barely had time to form as a response before the feeling of fingers threading through his hair scattered them apart like fragile strands of silk, leaving him to the very real sensation of his lover thrusting into his mouth.

Those cries escalated, the telltale sign of his efforts as they culminated in muscles spasming and clenching around his fingers, his own pulse quickening. His gaze was on Rune for the duration of his climax, greedily enjoying it because it was his to have. Warmth soon coated the back of his throat and he swallowed, accepting his gift as the taste of bitter almonds lingered on his tongue.

By the time it ended, Enoch was left dazed, hardly given the time to understand what was happening, let alone the words said to him before the world shifted again. Suddenly he was pushed backward, catching himself with his arms as the warm weight of his naked lover settled into his lap.

His chin tipped upward instinctively to receive the kiss that followed, returning it eagerly as his clean hand slid into the back of his lover’s hair, fingers choking the strands just to keep him close.

Rune: Spontaneity had never been his strength. Was that not the thought Enoch harbored just minutes ago? And now he was sucking on his lover's tongue, and playfully biting his lip, still desperate for a proper filling of his lungs.

"I know you," he breathed. "I know your ways. I know what you're doing."

Despite his softening arousal, trembling thighs, he rocked himself, pressed their genitals together, just because he could. What had started as a game, he refused to let end one-sided. It was clear what they desired, just as their love was as clear as polished glass.

Another day, unsuspecting, Enoch would get his promised surprise, but not today.

"I want you to have me. En, what have you been waiting for? For me to - to change my mind?"

Enoch: Another fresh wave of ache coursed through him, his lover occupying every corner of his thoughts simply through his presence alone. Heat lingered across Enoch’s face, color still high in his freckled cheeks as soft hums of approval slipped from him alongside the occasional breathless groan at each playful bite.

How was it possible he still could not get enough of this man?

Forehead pressed to forehead, he tried to steady his breathing through parted lips, eyes drifting shut for a brief moment.

“What… what am I doing?” he asked softly between breaths, only for the question to fracture the moment those shifting hips brushed against the very obvious tension trapped beneath fabric. The sensation scattered his thoughts entirely, wanting to give in to the carnal instincts his body clearly desired.

Instead, his nose brushed along the side of Rune’s neck, lips finding the crook of it as though he might hide there from both the question and the answer. His hand slipped from the back of Rune’s head to settle around his waist instead, holding him close while silence stretched between them for a beat.

“No,” he finally admitted, shaking his head faintly. “I was… I was waiting for you.”

The confession grew quieter after that, uncertainty creeping through it.

“It’s just…” His cheeks darkened fully red now. “I don’t know.”

A nervous laugh escaped him under his breath.

“What if I’m utterly rubbish at it?”

Rune: "You're..." His best friend was laughing, breathless. "You pushed me to the brink of sanity... and you fear performance?"

A sheen of sweat had him staring between strands of clumped hair. The world was spinning. He was almost sick with it, this joy. To feel Enoch's hot breath against his neck was almost too much. His cock twitched, determined for a resurrection.

Legs wrapped around Enoch's waist, arms around his shoulders tight, almost desperate.

"Eight months. I thought - I thought you were not ready." Not once had it been a question of himself. Not for an instant.

His kisses softened. Gentle, careful. A confession of love disguised as affection. However long it would take, he waited for his lover to look him in the eyes.

"Carry me to bed."

Enoch: “I mean…yes, I suppose…” He couldn’t help but grin at that laughter, and especially once it had been phrased like that.

“But it’s not only that,” he tried to argue, if only so he did not sound completely pathetic.

Enoch remained half-hidden where he had tucked himself against Rune, avoiding those eyes for the moment as he wrestled with the discomfort of his own inexperience. Even so, his arm tightened around the mage’s waist in response.

“I…”

“Wait—you’ve been counting?”

No, never mind that.

He drew in a breath, considering how best to put the rest into words.

“You’ve told me about your past and the way others have treated you and…” His voice softened. “I never want you to think I would take you for granted. Or assume you would simply give yourself to me without me considering whether you even wanted that.”

It felt easier to confess these things to the warm skin beneath his lips, to the canvas of Rune’s back which he painted slowly with the soft strokes of his fingertips and the gentle drag of his nails.

His eyes drifted shut beneath the soft kisses pressed against him, returning them just as gently until evasion was no longer possible. Eventually their lips parted, and once they did, Enoch found himself trapped by those warm hues again.

“You seem to have far more confidence in my strength than I do.”

But for their sake, he would try.

The decision showed itself in the way Enoch suddenly tightened his hold around the mage before attempting, somewhat awkwardly and with very little elegance and grace, to push himself upright. The effort earned a soft breath of exertion.

“Do not mock me,” he warned immediately, already smiling despite himself as he adjusted his grip to keep the mage from slipping.

Rune: No charming quip or witty argument could distract from the ache in his chest. A secret such as this, kept behind those lips. Did that make Enoch a liar? No. His specialty was omission. This was nothing new. But it was romantic. Had anyone ever loved him so wholly? So selflessly? Now he questioned his worth. This love was too pure, too perfect. If he clung hard enough, if he loved strongly enough, he might one day discover if soulmates were more than myth.

The ascension was slow and brutal, but Rune did his best not to laugh, not to jostle them. He rewarded his diligence with a playful bite, teeth sinking into Enoch's neck, mindful not to leave a mark.

"I had every confidence," he said into his skin. His tongue circled the young mage's ear. "The jar in the bedside drawer. You're going to take it, and you're going to make love to me."

Enoch: Had Rune laughed, they would never had made it to the bedroom, they would have stayed collapsed on the floor in a tangled heap instead. But somehow Enoch managed it, carrying them through their small flat toward the back room.

And for all his efforts, his reward was a bite.

The sensation coaxed a soft groan from the scholar, that and the slow trace of tongue along the outline of his ear sent a pulse through him, his arousal twitching immediately to the whispered promises breathed against his skin.

It was damning for the Euthanatos, really, because the scholar suddenly wanted nothing more than to taste those words on his lips.

He turned just enough for their mouths to meet, kissing his lover as though they had both been starved for the contact. He refused to break away even as he lowered the mage onto the bed and leaned over him simply to maintain contact for a few moments longer, until breathing finally forced him to part.

“And you truly want this?”

His eyes were clouded with desire, yes, but more than that there was unmistakable love in the way he looked at the sailor sprawled so beautifully across their mussed sheets, the last of the setting sunlight spilling gold across Rune’s skin.

Rune: On any given day, regardless of sleep or irritability, the pair had shared unsolicited, unnegotiated affection. Some days less than others, and still meaningful; the little kisses on his shoulder, his hair, and the kiss before parting ways were kept hidden in a locked box in his memories. The number had been forgotten long ago, yet somewhere in his file was a tally. He would never forget this moment, another for the box. The moment when Enoch stole his breath, demanding not only his patience, but his endurance. The sting in his chest was addicting. His cock was not yet spent.

His world had narrowed to two blue eyes. The temptation to reassure was outweighed by the simple realization: he knew – everything he wanted to say was there, in the warmth of the eyes staring back at him.

“Mm.”

I’ve always wanted you. Don’t you see that now?

“Don’t worry.” Enoch’s hand was placed over his heart. Strong, but calm. “Do you want me to?” He glanced in the direction of the jar. “I’ll show you what to do.”

Enoch: How long had it been since their shared dream? Since their inevitable tumble toward the reality of just how deeply they had fallen for one another?

Despite it almost being a year, somehow doubt still plagued the scholar. It crept quietly into the corners of his mind like tendrils, making him question the reality of this relationship, convincing him at times that he could not possibly deserve this kind of happiness. That he was somehow broken for loving another man.

Now he was humbled because he could feel the opposite in this moment, in those words, and in the patience and willingness to guide him through something so intimate.

Truthfully, he had barely known intimacy beyond a few kisses and some fondling over too tight pants while he was in school. So how could this man desire him and hear him think he had always wanted him? Those familiar ichor-like threads of self-doubt tried to surface again, only to be smothered as his hand was taken.

His palm rested over Rune’s heart, listening to it, feeling that steady pulse beneath his fingers.

First he needed to breathe, the warmth from the sitting room still clung to him, so he undid the remaining buttons of his shirt, allowing it to hang open loosely from his shoulders. Finally he reached for the little jar.

"Show me."

Rune: Show, he asked, and he would, by taking two of Enoch’s fingers and covering them in the thick substance from the jar. “Like this,” he instructed. “What you did, before.” He guided his lover’s hand between his legs, directing his fingers to circle, slowly, before slipping inside. Even this caused his legs to shift, opening wider. Once more utterly exposed.

“You’ve already prepped me.” His hand returned to Enoch’s face, sitting up to kiss beneath his eye. “Use what remains on yourself.”

His instinct was to turn and face the wall, to be on his side. Not his belly, to be used thoughtlessly, but to feel Enoch’s chest against his back. To feel the strength of his arms pull him closer. But he didn’t want to make a mistake. This was, after all, Enoch’s first time. Here the two of them were, trying to accommodate each other’s needs. Communication was… certainly a new experience. Eight months of every sex imaginable, only to be struck dumb by an imagined language barrier.

“I…” What do you want? Tell me, please.

Enoch: The lubricant was thick against his fingers as he was guided back toward his lover. His touch glided over warm skin before slowly sinking inside, and Enoch could already feel his heartbeat beginning to quicken at the sensation of lover around his fingers. The way his companion shifted in response sent another pulse of heat through the scholar.

Those cool hands against his face were a blessing, and he nodded in understanding, eyes closing briefly beneath that soft kiss.

His stomach twisted itself into a thousand nervous knots as he drew back just enough to unfasten his trousers, pushing the bothersome fabric down until he was finally free of them. The shirt and neckties joined the small pile as well. What remained on his fingers he spread over himself in a few slow strokes, trying not to think too hard about what came next.

But now there was nothing left except the act itself. And somehow, that only made the silence heavier. He was painfully aware of every breath and movement between them, finding himself listening for the rest of Rune’s sentence even after it had already faded away. Eventually, the blond released a pent-up breath, bowing his head as an anxious laugh slipped free.

“Sorry,” he whispered, smiling sheepishly despite the flush overtaking his face. “I just need to stop thinking about it.”

Because this was supposed to feel natural, right? He needed to get out of his head and listen to what his body was desperately telling him, which was to kiss this man senseless and press him back into the mattress.

And so he did.

With the hand still resting against Rune’s chest, Enoch gently urged his lover backward into the bed as he caught him in a kiss.

“You said you wanted to face me,” he whispered softly between kisses, breath warm against Rune’s lips. “Is that still alright?”

Rune: Rune was obedient to those hands, feeling blindly for the pillows to shove one off the bed, placing the other underneath his hips. His eyes never left him, and he realized its significance. Yes, he wanted the feeling of those strong arms against him, but turning to face the wall was something else, and the realization was creating blush in places he had never seen.

“It’s…”

Could he pray? Was praying acceptable, despite the sin? Hands rested on Enoch’s shoulders, only to immediately cup his neck. It was a kind of prayer.

“What if you don’t…” enjoy the faces I make? What if you don’t like what you see? What if, somehow, this is a spell, and facing me breaks it?

Their kisses were anchors, desperately needed before he was swept away in a sea of doubt.

And then, the dawning of a new realization. “We’re… sharing again,” he scoffed. This doubt wasn’t about Enoch. This subject of self-worth was dealt with long ago, was it not? Confessions had already been said. Forgiveness already bestowed. This shadow between them was not of his making.

And it didn’t belong to Enoch, either.

He pulled his lover chest to chest. This was familiar. Freedom to explore was theirs. Always had been. He would roam as he pleased, as he had a hundred times before, lips sliding from Enoch’s narrow jaw, to his slender neck, to his ear, where he kissed.

“When you’re ready.”

Enoch: The bed dipped beneath the weight of his knees as he followed after Rune, allowing those hands to guide him down without a word. His gaze never left the mage; there was a softness to his expression and to this entire moment.

At the beginning of that unfinished question, a flicker of doubt crossed the scholar's features, his mind all too eager to catastrophize before anything had even happened. Fortunately, the kisses proved a welcome distraction for them both. His lips had found Rune's brow when that realization surfaced, drawing a pause and a small smile from him.

"Always when we're closest."

Before he could dwell on what exactly they were sharing, chest pressed to chest with nothing but the mage filling his thoughts. One arm curved over Rune's head, fingers disappearing into those soft, dark strands. He welcomed the trail of gentle kisses, turning just enough to nuzzle against Rune's temple as he nodded.

Settled between Rune's legs, he shifted his hips and guided himself closer with his free hand, his breath gradually quickening. He moved forward, pressing the damp tip of his head against his lover in a slow circular motion before easing forward again. He’d give his lover time to adjust before continuing. By the time they were flush, his stomach felt taut with nerves and anticipation, and every beat of his heart was painfully, yet wonderfully loud in his chest.

“Are you alright?”

Rune: “Always,” he echoed.

No one had ever been this gentle with him. He didn’t want to think about anyone else, but the comparison was inescapable. Unfortunate though it may be, he had years more experience, and what had felt deserved and orgasmic at the time now soured his stomach. No one had loved him. Not even the one who had tried desperately to make him love her.

His hands remained glued to the nape of Enoch’s neck. Knees raised and receptive. The weight of reality was heavier than anticipated. A world of responsibility; for Enoch’s comfort, wellbeing, for his happiness. This was not a toy to pick up and put down – Enoch was not him.

“Mm. You can… move, when you’re – or sit up, if you – I’m fine.” More than fine. He was perfectly filled, and fighting the instinct to fall into old habits.

"A-Are you...?" alright?

Enoch: His eyes were on his love, and in that moment, he caught the edges of those thoughts. He could feel the weight of them against his own heart and the more immediate desire to sooth the hurt his beloved still carried. Warm lips pressed a kiss beneath the mage’s eye and another along the edge of his jaw, each one a quiet promise to always love him.

But the thought of Rune seeing himself as a toy had Enoch shaking his head. Realizing a second too late that the gesture could easily be mistaken for an answer to the question, the blond visibly flustered.

“I mean yes—I... yes, I’m fine as well.”

He sheepishly smiled, and somehow their shared fumbling eased some of the tension knotting in his chest.

He had been presented with so many delicious possibilities, but where they were felt nice. There was nothing wrong with the basics, right?

“L-let’s try this for now,” he said softly. “Unless you’d prefer another...”

He was starting to get into his own head again and overthink.

“Sorry, I’m talking too much.”

And to break that, he’d start moving, his pace slow at first and quickly enjoying the sensation that squeezed around him as his rhythm steadied. Poor Rune’s lips would likely be kiss-bruised by the end of the night, because Enoch found himself leaning in for yet another.

Rune: An apology in this position suddenly stuck Rune stupid. The urge to laugh was fought and failed. Just a smile and a tension of muscles. What sound managed to escape was nothing more than a breath, then a moan.

"We can't be idiots here. Not here." Fingers disappeared into pale hair, pulling Enoch down just as his lover learned forward, his eager mouth greeting eager lips. Their pace was comfortable, at first, until it became frustrating. His erection pressed between their bodies, wet at the tip and agonizingly stiff. The friction of Enoch's movement was almost enough to finish him. He forced his focus on two blue eyes, hoping to get lost in his gaze, that it might be a sufficient distraction, that he might last until Enoch slicked his insides.

But words were beginning to fail. Even thoughts, private or otherwise, had become abstract colors, desires, and sensations in a carnal void.

Not even Enoch's name could escape his lips, only struggled panting.

Enoch: That smile was exactly the response the poor scholar needed as he clumsily navigated this. More than anything, Enoch hoped he was doing right by the mage with their first time together.

“I think….” he began between breaths, “I think… it’s alright if we’re idiots here.” Because if not here, then when?

Enoch’s fingers curled into dark strands, using them as an anchor as he returned each kiss. His breathing had begun to quicken into soft pants, and his hands drifted along Rune’s arms before settling over them, their fingers intertwining as they pressed into the mattress.

Words seemed to vanish beneath the sounds his lover was making. Shared thoughts and feelings lost their shape as he rutted against, and into his lover. And those warm tones he focused on helped distract from the inevitable, but perhaps changing positions might help prolong things too.

It took an impressive amount of willpower for the blond to slow himself, his shoulders damp as sweat beaded down his back with exertion as he finally came to a reluctant stop.

“I-I love you,” he whispered, the words pressed against Rune’s temple. “So damn much. And… and I don’t want to rush this.”

His hand rose to brush dark hair back from Rune’s face, tucking it gently behind an ear. Then, wrapping his arms around the mage, Enoch carefully guided them upright. There was an effort to try and not slip out, but even as he did, it would be easy for Rune to readjust himself once he settled again on his lover’s lap.

“Is this good?”

Rune: Rune looked between their legs as his lover slowed, wondering if the scholar had experienced the world's most silent orgasm, but being wrong was delightful. His body was already tender, and would be worse by morning. It had been years since he had allowed the company of a man, and longer were the years since he had actually enjoyed every aspect. He could sleep into the afternoon tomorrow, if need be, because Enoch said he loved him, and he said the words back, softly, lovingly, with not a concern of tomorrow.

Arms held strong to Enoch's shoulders, lingering, clinging as he repositioned himself. He didn't need to be told; adjusting to his knees, he reached behind, returning Enoch home with a shudder and a sigh. Was it good? His answer was silent, hips rolling with a will of their own. The opposite of Enoch in all things, Rune's pace was erratic yet purposeful, with the haste of a selfish animal in desperate pursuit of release.

"Touch me. Anywhere."

Enoch: Those three soft words, spoken so gently by the mage managed to make the scholar’s heart stumble. His chest tightened with a pleasant ache, and if there was one thing Enoch was certain of, it was that he was hopelessly lovesick for this man. Unable to help himself, he nuzzled against Rune’s jaw.

He was in a heady state, his thoughts clouded and swimming in a tide of dopamine that distracted him even from the brief look his lover cast between them. His arms remained wrapped around Rune’s torso as he tried to steady his breathing in this new position. The effort was short-lived because a soft moan escaped into the mage’s shoulder when he felt himself guided back into place.

Rune was determined to make him finish given how their pace increased. Enoch’s hands spread across sweat-slick shoulder blades, clinging to him. It wasn’t long before quiet sounds began slipping free of him again, each one drawn out by the erratic rhythm of those rolling hips. One arm slid across Rune’s back to grip the opposite shoulder, and Enoch found himself moving with him, meeting each with a thrust. The closeness of their bodies only heightened his awareness of the stiff, aching head rubbing against him. It wouldn’t be left unattended now that he had a free hand and could reach between them.

"Felix…”

Rune: The name nearly stilled him. Slowing with a deliberateness, he willed himself to hear Enoch's intention, allowed himself this random kindness, this romance his companion insisted from a pure place.

The name was harmless. Enoch might as well have been a saint. Saint Enoch, patron saint of romance, curiosity, and resilience.

He didn't want to let him go. Not even to accommodate his hand. To lean back would be to feel the cold on his chest, to lose his labored breathing against his skin, the sound of his voice in his ear.

"Do you intend for me to come again?" He would wait for his answer, sucking on his earlobe.

Enoch: For a moment, all that filled his ears were the sounds of his own heartbeat and ragged breathing. He could feel the mage’s heart echoing against his chest, equally unsteady as they both slowed. He had been brought to the very edge of reason, only for them to pull back from it long enough to catch their breath.

“Mm.” He nodded, eyes closing as a quiet sigh escaped him, his cock twitching inside his lover at the attention his earlobe received. His fingers remained tangled in Rune’s hair, nails gently scratching at the base of his scalp before trailing down the back of his neck.

“I like the sounds you make, and…” Heat was already creeping into his flushed cheeks, momentarily glad the mage couldn’t directly look at him.

“I want to feel when you do.”

Rune: What motivation to embrace the chill of the bedroom. What he wanted to say could wait for eternity, but he circulated his thoughts just the same. You can’t keep giving me firsts; my heart will seize.

Hands braced on Enoch’s shoulders as he leaned back, planting his feet on the mattress, before bringing his hands away to hold himself up. Here, his lover could have everything he wanted, but the taste of his lips. Here he would witness the throb of his lover, almost synchronized, the heave of his labored breathing, every tense muscle, and the dance of his hips. If discovery was his intention, then he would have to grasp what bobbed between their bodies himself, for the man riding him was otherwise occupied, head falling back, devoting all of his good sense to maintain any semblance of relative silence.

Enoch: His hold loosened as the mage pulled back, blue eyes following him as he adjusted his position. Enoch’s hand rested at Rune’s hips before one shifted behind him to brace against the mattress for support.

His heart hammered in his chest, rising and falling with each breath as he tried to steady himself, but the new position…well, it gave him the freedom to openly admire his lover, and it captivated the poor scholar. His gaze wandered from Rune's throat to the curve of his collarbone, down across his chest and further to his hips, which were moving with purpose as he watched with fascination. Before conscious thought could catch up, instinct took over and his hips rolled upward.

Thoughts weren’t forming correctly now; all that existed were feelings of his body melting and an intense pleasure he had never experienced with another before. Fingers dug into the mage’s side, his thrusts matching the rhythm as best he could as his hand came between them to touch his lover in unison. Each synchronous roll brought him treacherously close to the edge as he squeezed his lover from base to tip and down again.

Rune: Mutual desire. Real, mutual desire. This was more than a quick, petty fuck against the wall or pressed into the ground. More than a woman basking in her control over his body, or a living, breathing phallus to take the edge off. He might have been allowed to weep at Enoch's kindness, but he would rather rut, and pant, cheeks pink and eyes drunk on a substance better than alcohol. Whimpers trickled in, promising a mess of their mutual creation. What had become a steady, desperate rhythm now stuttered to a needy grind, rolling his hips as he was filled utterly. Thighs quivered, squeezed, and froze in place as he spilled himself between them, covering his lover's hand.

And still, he rolled his hips. On his back, gasping like a dying man for breath, he offered his body, begging with eyes and with thoughts for the man inside him to leave himself there, to take what he wanted, to fill him and claim him.

Enoch: Everything right now, for the scholar, was reactionary. There was no room for thought or contemplation; that would come later, once he had reached the fulcrum of the evening. Reflection belonged to the aftermath, when the desperate need for release no longer consumed him.

The sudden stutter in Rune’s movement and the grind of those hips against him broke something inside Enoch. He felt that final crescendo ripple through Rune, squeezing around him, and lustfully he basked in the broken whimpers that accompanied it. It was beautiful. It was overwhelming. It was perfect. It was exactly what he wanted.

Those hips were merciless in their intent and they would get their request. In one fluid motion, his lover was on his back with the blond hovering above him, driven by a need that could no longer be ignored. Hitched breaths and quiet moans filled Rune's good ear as Enoch answered the silent pleas that urged him to claim the mage. And he would.

With one final roll of his hips, every muscle in his body drew taut. For a moment, all thought vanished and all that existed was the release that spilled, coating and filling his love, driven deeper by each dying thrust. His world had narrowed to riding this wave of ecstasy and the dizzying rush that left him breathless.

For a long moment, nothing existed beyond the sound of their breathing as the tension gradually seeped from his limbs. When coherent thought finally began to return, there was only one thing he wanted. Turning his head, Enoch sought out Rune's lips and kissed him deeply before he let himself collapse on top of the mage, utterly spent.

Rune: The moment of silence was concerning. Not a silence of the room, but a silence of the mind. As though their link had been thusly severed. Something strange and unusual replaced that silence in his chest, like a cold, wet stone of worry.

But he was slicked. His man still nestled inside him, on top of him, descending from a Heaven of their making. All was right in the world.

His sigh of relief was audible, and his arms gentle around Enoch's shoulders, featherlike, as if anything more might damage his delicate frame.

But his Enoch was made of stronger stuff. Was that alright to say, even to himself? His. His mage. His love. His better half.

"Stay out of my head," he warned, offering smaller kisses wherever he could reach. Those deep, passionate kisses were addictive, but he would take what he could get. "I'm being sentimental."

Enoch: A high-pitched ringing like tinnitus filled the void left behind. It was as though Enoch had brushed against the cosmos itself and was only now returning from it.

Gradually, other sounds filtered back in, like the ambient sounds of the apartment, the mage's soft breath, and the drum of his heartbeat. But unfortunately, his body felt far too heavy to move. Poor Rune would have to be trapped beneath him for the moment.

Enoch allowed himself to rest against the mage's shoulder, eyes closed as he took another moment to gather his thoughts and catch his breath. He focused on his beloved instead, on the reassuring feel of those arms around him and the soft kisses landing on his skin.

The kiss to his hair drew a faint smile from the blond. Through damp strands clinging stubbornly to his forehead, he tipped his head back enough to look up at the mage.

Unfortunately for Rune, telling Enoch not to do something often produced the opposite effect.

Perhaps a small part of him was contrarian. Or perhaps he simply did not know how to sever the connection between them. Whatever the reason, the soft brush of Rune's thoughts bled across that bond, and it was enough for Enoch to understand what the mage was dwelling upon.

What he caught made his face warm and his chest ache.

To belong to someone so completely, to be chosen and cherished in return was a joy he had never known before. Not like this. Not with someone who loved him back and who truly cared for him without expectation...or manipulation.

That realization made him inhale sharply.

Swallowing around the emotion, Enoch lifted a hand and threaded his fingers through his love's damp hair, offering the same quiet affection he had been given.

"I am yours...be it for a month, a year, or a hundred. I am yours."

Rune: There was simply no escape. Enoch would hear what he pleased, and he found himself unable and uncaring enough to stop him. Some things were better left unsaid, but in their unspoken void, such thoughts were… safe.

But even still, the pleasurable fantasy of falling asleep with Enoch buried inside him was too much. Probably. He had to keep something for himself.

“How… how is it that you can blush… after all that? Your blush is blushing.”

In an ideal world – no. He had to stop. These thoughts which came flooding in like a broken dam were poetic, beautiful, and wholly useless. At some point, darling reveries would become devices of torture, squeezing their hearts and souls, leaving behind guilt-shaped wounds to scar over. But already, his heart ached immeasurably.

I love you. A thousand times, I love you. I never want to lose you. Not ever. Not for a moment.

The sentiment was unfinished. A deliberate image of his beloved ocean had taken its place. For his sanity. For Enoch's heart. To bury the 'what ifs' and 'why nots' and 'please, in a different world' someplace deep and hidden.

"Get off me. We need a shower. Unless you plan to sleep on me, like this."

Enoch: “Hush. Let me be.”

His hand came up to cover Rune’s mouth, hiding his own smile against the mage's shoulder before his beloved could make another comment on how red his scholar was.

Enoch was content to remain like this for a while longer. Content to listen to Rune's thoughts as they drifted quietly across their bond, to share in the comfortable silence that settled between them. The little flat had become their haven; a place where their feelings, sentiments, and fears could be laid bare without judgment. Another wave of gentle affection brushed against him through their connection.

The blond turned, resting his chin lightly against Rune as he looked at him with softened eyes. A familiar tightness settled in his chest, accompanied by the sting behind his nose. His fingers drifted down almost absentmindedly to caress the mage's jaw. He wanted to answer, but he did not trust his voice not to betray him.

Instead, Enoch lowered his gaze and closed his eyes, pressing a kiss to Rune's shoulder. His arm tightened around the Euthanatos in a quiet squeeze. It was enough to keep the tears threatening at the corners of his eyes at bay. A quiet sniff escaped him nonetheless, and the corners of his mouth curled into a small, fond smile at Rune's next words.

“Get off me, he says,” Enoch grumbled playfully against the mage's warm skin. “That's terribly rude. I’m going to bite you for that.”

Before Rune had much chance to object, Enoch sank his teeth into his shoulder in an attempt to get a rise out of his mage. He bit down hard enough to leave a mark before easing away with a satisfied little hum. Only then did he relent, finally untangling himself from his beloved and rolling onto his side.

Rune: The sudden hand made him laugh. Just a little noise of air from his nose. He shook his head, taking the hand with him. Of all of the noises they had made, it was a tease that forced his silence.

A room of self-composed music. The rhythm of their breathing was almost hypnotic, until the tightness in his ribs, he realized, was not of his doing. Looking into those eyes, he knew the source of his phantom pain. A woundless agony as old as the man in his arms. It was impossible to fathom how hundreds of souls could have looked at his face and not wanted to cradle and love him utterly. How those close to him, meant to love and protect him, could have played the perfidious ally, could exist apathetically in his presence.

The warmth behind his eyes, now that belonged to him. The tingle from Enoch’s nose was foreign, but Rune had come to understand his companion. They couldn’t both cry, drowning in trust and waning hormones.

This was precisely the appropriate moment. Just as their confession of love. No probable instance would have been as fulfilling, as healing, as profound.

He had reached for Enoch’s face when bitten. He had half a mind to bite back, but rather, with a firm hold, took for himself a passionate kiss.

Sedona: What he wanted to say didn't belong confined to his thoughts, nor did it deserve the usual, casual articulation. Some conversations required an ounce more of clarity.

"If there was someone else. This imaginary person, you'd leave me, or would you love them, too? How can you think like that? Like... you're just the best of a situation, and then it's over?"

His little mouse was nearly lifted from the ground with his embrace, back to his chest. Held firmly and swung as he lumbered forward.

"That's stupid. That was a big dumb thought. You're my Echo. Allll mine. Mine, mine, mine."

Echo: Her little gasp came out half-squeak, half-laugh as she was lifted and swung as if she weighed nothing at all, her sneakers dangling above the pavement. Her hands instinctively clung to his forearms.

“I just meant…” she tried again, voice shrinking a little, “That when my job is done, when you don’t need a familiar anymore, I don’t want you to feel stuck.”

Her eyes closed as he carried her forward, her frown loosening as the back of her head gently bumping against his collarbone. If she had ears, they would have sunk down but the way he repeated mine chipped away at that insecurity.

“…Your Echo.”

Her fingers slipped down his arm until her hands covered his.

“All yours.”

Sedona: "It's always been both for me, baby. Or maybe I wanted you first. I think I like that. Want. I want you. I want you happy. I want you healthy. I want you in my pocket all the time."

He wanted to know she was where she wanted to be. Not another vampire she tolerated, but a place, even a little room in an apartment full of weirdos, that she could call home.

The tattoo parlor wasn't on display with neon signs or a spray-painted mural. Nothing but a large yellow finger stickered onto the brick wall with the word Tattoo pointing to the steps of a basement establishment. It gave the immortal pause, but only briefly. If Ariel of all people could come here, his Echo was in good hands.

"You ready?"

Echo: Healthy. Happy. In his pocket.

She could live there forever, tucked against his heart, and he wouldn’t mind because he wanted her. The warmth in her chest made her eyes drop for a moment, a tiny smile on her lips. As long as he wanted her, she would stay.

But when she looked up again, she was met with the big yellow sign. It was odd and a little strange. Her favorite combination.

Echo studied it… then studied Sedona. If she was nervous, she buried it well. She’d be a brave little mouse and she absolutely, definitely was not going to cry, no matter how much it hurt.

She lifted her chin, heart-shaped glasses slipping slightly down her nose.

“Ready.”

Sedona: Sedona arched his neck to get a good look at her expression. By now, she was firm on her feet, though he was reluctant to release his gentle hold. "You ready for this? We gonna be here for hours." That is, if they weren't scheduled for later. He didn't think that would be the case.

The interior was a stereotypical hodgepodge of gothic and punk nostalgia from a bygone era that Sedona had lived through and never experienced. Crushed velvet posters saturated in blacklight paint. Black walls, blue-painted floors, and ceilings with a thousand glow-in-the-dark stars. Everything, save for the leather and steel chairs, worn and splitting on their backs, was polished to a shine.

A woman with hair as blue as the floors looked up from her phone, her eyes, lined with silver glitter, brightened at the sight of potential earnings. No need to ask her name when it was tattooed backwards on her collarbone.

"Hey there! What brings you in?" Kareena was already scoping their bodies for ink.

Echo: “Hours?”

She didn’t think a small rose tattoo on her hand would take that long…unless—

“Oh! Should I get the flowers too? Like the whole vine?” She motioned against her ribcage.

But before her immortal could answer, the little mouse took the lead guiding them down into the flowing, star-splattered basement. Her heart-shaped glasses were pushed back to rest atop her head as she took in the decor and then the artist herself, with a bright smile.

“Hi!” she chirped. “I would like to get a tattoo, please!”

She extended her hand, part greeting, part presentation, so Kareena could see the neat little template Sedona had drawn beforehand.

Sedona: "Hours, babe." All he had were other people's experiences. After years of reflection, it was a wonder why his father never bothered marking all of the aunts, uncles, or even the children. But the reflection was as self-indulgent as it was useless.

"That a fact?" Kareena's mouth twitched. The offered hand was given a glance and squeezed. One couldn't call the gesture a handshake except out of politeness.

"You want like that? And right now?"

Only then did she acknowledge the taller figure behind the squeaky little woman, gaze met with a smaller friendly expression.

"You, too?"

"Nope. I'd probably die if you ink me."

"... Oh."

"But whatever she wants. She's a queen."

Echo: “Yes!”

But maybe her enthusiasm was a bit too much as her answer came out a little too fast, and the familiar smiled sheepishly.

“Please?”

She glanced back over her shoulder at Sed, blinking up at him.

“Would you?”

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, genuinely trying to puzzle it out. After a long, thoughtful squint, she shook her head.

“No… yeah. That wouldn’t do it.”

Turning back to Kareena, she lifted her chin again, confidence rebooted.

“Mm, just me, but—!”

Her eyes brightened, remembering something important.

“Do you sell those tattoo pens? The ones that stain your skin for a few days?”

Then, realizing that she might be losing focus, she gently reeled herself back in.

“But for me just this right now.” She gestured to her hand, then hesitated, fingers drifting to her sternum. “I was thinking maybe a white flower something… here. But I don’t really have a design yet.”

A pause.

“But that doesn’t have to be today!”

Another pause.

“Is it going to take hours?”

Sedona: Kareena was doing her best not to look confused. Dealing with customers was no different than dealing with fae, she imagined. There were some things you kept your mouth shut about, and never ever was flinching acceptable.

"I, uh," but the subject trucked forward, and the artist bit her pierced lip.

"That flower on your chest? Or that flower where it is?"

Another woman peeked behind a pale blue shoji divider, dark eyes darting between the newcomers before returning to her laptop.

"If you don't know what style you want, it's gonna take a while. You got time, right?"

"She's got all day and all night," said Sedona.

"I don't have all night, but it won't take that long."

Echo: Echo’s white hair swiviled as she looked between Kareena and the immortal, blinking as the conversation zig-zagged ahead of her.

“Oh.”

The shift caught her a little off guard. She’d come in thinking of getting a small tattoo, and now it sounded like more. Her fingers curled reflexively by her side as she smiled at Kareena.

“Where it is is fine.”

She glanced down at her hand, then back up at the artist. “I think we were talking about doing it in white?” Her eyes flicked toward Sed, searching his face for confirmation. Some of the morning’s details had already gone fuzzy.

“But…maybe after we’re done…we could talk about a design?” she added with a tentative smile. And if this tattoo was anything like her sigil wrapped around her arm, it wouldn’t take long at all.

Sedona: His little mouse was tightening up. Why, he didn't know. Rather than interrupt, his arm slipped around her waist - more like her upper half, but that couldn't be helped. He made sure not to plant his hand on her chest, however tempted.

"Right. First one, then the other," the artist smiled. "Luckily for you, I've actually done white tattoos. Got one myself!" Long nails tugged at her baggy collar, revealing a white butterfly the size of her hand behind a sparkling red bra strap.

"Just need to see some ID, and we'll come over here to this table for some mock ups."

Echo: Her slim shoulders loosened as his arm came around her, the tension easing by an inch. Echo rocked back on her heels, pressing gently into Sedona in quiet acknowledgment of his touch.

Her eyes widened at the glimpse of white ink, and her smile bloomed again as she leaned closer, studying the butterfly with open fascination.

“Oh amazing! Did you do it yourself?”

That settled it. She was in good hands.

At the mention of ID, she nodded quickly, already prepared. The little mouse fished her wallet from her pocket and presented it, chin tipped up just slightly as if proud of herself. If she was meant to tweak anything on the faux ID, it had slipped her mind entirely in the moment.

Sedona: "The mock, yeah. My arm ain't that long."

Given her sense of humor, Sedona knew they were in good hands. So long as her humor remained where it was, and not an inch closer to Echo's ignorance and otherworldliness.

Had they thought the same thing? He could swear... good hands. That was Echo.

The ID was out of obligation, and for the camera situated above the glass door. The one fixed on the front desk, unable to see beyond the partitions.

The card was handed back without a word of suspicion, hardly to the count of three.

"So, you want that exact flower. I can trace it, or..." Dark, heavily lashed eyes looked over at who she assumed was the boyfriend. "You draw it? Draw another one?"

That, like most things today, was entirely up to Echo, whom he looked to for the answer.

Echo: Echo blinked at the comment about arm length, head tilting. Why would it need to be longer? The thought slipped away almost immediately, attention snagging instead on the faint rose smudged across her skin. She lifted her hand, turning it this way and that, evaluating the drawing. A small frown tugged at the corners of her lips as she worried the inside of her cheek, then she glanced at the immortal.

“Maybe you can redraw it?”

Sedona: "Yeah. As many as you want 'til you like it."

"That'll probably be one," Kareena would hazard a guess. "Got paper and a pen over here." On the long table lined with simple round bar stools, either plucked from another era or designed with the 50s in mind.

Sedona planted himself at the head of the table, tugging the sketchbook close. He didn't need to see his handywork to replicate it. He didn't know why it had come to mind to begin with, other than being something as flowery as his mouse. She was girlish without being ladylike. Delicate and yet contradicted by resilience.

Thoughts which floated in his mind as he made a perfect copy of his work.

"You sure you ain't want a daffodil, or like, a daisy?"

Echo: Echo drifted after Sedona like a pale little shadow, rising onto her toes to peer over his shoulder as he drew the same flower. It was lovely, and she was quite pleased with it. But when he offered alternatives, her head tipped to the side, considering this.

“Can you put them… around it?” she asked, fingertip hovering near the page, careful not to smudge. “Like they’re friends. But not too many.”

Girlish, yes, but not too much. She wasn’t fragile, despite her small stature, no matter how often her mistress had been kept out of harm’s way. It was a rocky balance she was always battling within herself.

Sedona: "Like a tiny bouquet?" he grinned. He could do that. He just had no memory of a daffodil. He sent an assumed image to her mind. A daffodil-lily hybrid. Not quite.

"Y'all figure that out. I'm going to the little princess' room," said the artist.

Echo: Another nod and the familiar would pull out a chair to sit next to him.

"I think so."

At the image of the hybrid, she smiled a little harder. Not quite but she would make adjustments and give it back.

"No bows though."

She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table and cradled her chin in her hands as she watched the immortal work.

Sedona: "No bows," he said. Another draft. The same rose, slightly larger, with a daffodil and a daisy on either side, respectively, all connected as one stem.

It didn't require an underlying biblical meaning; it just was. It was cute, and that was good enough.

"How's that?"

Echo: “Cute! Do you think it’ll work if it’s all white? Ooor… the flower outlines are in color, like pink, purple, and yellow?”

She would carefully pull the paper closer to her, taking it to layer it over her hand to get a better idea.

Sedona: "You mean like fillin' it in?" He shrugged. "I dunno if they are. Would be kinda cool, huh?"

The bathroom faucet squeaked. Sedona glanced and bit his lip.

"What animal do you think I am? I said coyote, and you said...?"

Echo: “Nah just meant the outline of the flower petals,” she traced the rose head to clarify. But watercolor art with the flowers outlined in white felt pretty too. She presented him this idea.

“Uh…raccoon. Because you’re sneaky and you feel like an adventurous eater.”

Sedona: "Ye, ye, ye. Those are your words. You can draw that on me, later." If she had the patience. A raccoon with a mouse riding between its ears. He had meant to offer as a future tattoo, forgetting when he opened his mouth that he couldn't, and he wouldn't push the idea on her body.

"Like someone spilled watercolor paint? That'd be pretty. Ain't daisies and daffodils white? Wanna make em whacky colors?"

Echo: Echo giggled at the image he painted for her. She liked the idea of the raccoon but for some reason her mind insisted on giving it a tiny cowboy hat with the mouse perched proudly on its back.

“Mmm… maybe that’s a bit too much for my hand,” she decided at last, eyes dropping back to the sketch.

She smiled again, smaller this time. “We can leave it like this. White… or just black lines.” A tiny nod. “It’ll be pretty.”

Sedona: "Why you flip-floppin'?" He laughed, laying his head to rest on his arm, taking up space just because he could. He was smaller than her in this moment, yet near, like a blanket waiting to be attached to.

Echo: She shrugged.

“I don’t usually make decisions.”

It was better when someone else did, and she understood why.

Sedona: "Well, today you do, baby. It's your body." When it came to this, she would always have the final say. A promise he offered to her mind with insistence.

Echo: Reluctantly she agreed to it, especially with his insistence. She'd keep it simple then.

Sedona: A fleeting question of whether this had not always been the case flitted into his mind, immediately stomped like a crawling zombie. He didn't want to upset her in the middle of a tattoo parlor, far from the security of the apartment, or anywhere remotely private.

Echo: With the design settled, Echo took it as her cue to slip from the chair and begin to wander. If she’d caught even the faintest brush of his thoughts, there was no sign of it as her hands clasped neatly behind her back and she explored the shop.

There was so much to look at. Things that she hadn’t seen before like the art on the walls, or the glass case filled with bits of shining metal meant for piercings. She drifted like that, light and distracted, curiosity carrying her along until the artist returned.

Sedona: Sedona watched her like a hawk, kept like a loose-armed doll on the chair. The artist was setting up her station, looking over her shoulder at her client with a gently confused and equally amused light behind her eyes.

"You decide on the look?"

Echo: Echo straightened at the sound of the artist’s voice, turning with a small, gentle smile. She nodded, then padded back toward the table to retrieve the sketch the immortal had modified for her.

She’d present it to the artist.

“In white please?”

Sedona: Only if it was what she absolutely wanted. That was becoming his theme, and would remain in his thoughts as he stood and paced the room, trading places with Echo's restlessness. He watched their back and forth from his peripheral, and then down the barrel of his nose. He would remain on his feet unless told to sit by either Echo or the artist, and only then.

But he ended up beside her by the time the tattoo machine began to whir to life.

Echo: Echo eased into the chair, hands settling in her lap as her attention fixed on the artist’s preparations. She’d never seen tools like these before. Her armband had been added through an enchantment. This was something else entirely. It was mechanical and strange.

And when the machine whirred to life, her shoulders jumped, heart skittering faster in her chest.

She folded her arms lightly across her middle, eyes fixed on the machine.

“So how….do you do this?” she asked the tattoo gun.

Sedona: Sedona scooted closer to his mouse as she all but squeaked at the machine. He hadn't anticipated a fear of electronics; rather, her being startled. Perhaps he should have. But rather than dwell on it, he offered his hand.

"It's a bunch of needles going yayayayayah to your skin."

Echo: Ya…?”

Her eyes lifted to him, wide and round as little blue saucers, trying very hard to picture what yayayayayah was supposed to mean. It did not sound reassuring.

But he was offering his hand.

That mattered more.

Her fingers slipped into his without hesitation. She drew a steadying breath and nodded once.

“Okay.”

Sedona: "Look at me," he grinned, then crossed his eyes. It was the only thing he could think of, making stupid faces to distract her while the needle finally made contact with her skin.

Echo: The familiar would look at the immortal, his distraction working, a laugh slipping out at the state of his face. It worked until the needle made contact with her skin.

She winced, unable to hide it. It was an uncomfortable type of pain. It was a dragging, buzzing irritation that made her skin feel hot and strange, like something was scratching it.

Her fingers tightened in his. But she was a brave little mouse. So she focused on his ridiculous face.

Sedona: His smile widened, for her sake. He didn't know what she was experiencing. Only vague discomfort in his stomach and lungs when getting sick, a memory so far behind and removed that it felt more like a dream. He felt for her, and that was all he could do. And squeeze her hand.

"Know what? When I was a kid, I tried to catch fog with a net. I mist."

"Don't make her laugh," Kareena tried to frown, failing. "She'll move and this'll be a really long day."

Echo: A snort escaped her, lips pressing together as she fought back a giggle. But at the warning she glanced toward the artist. A mistake. The needle was already touching her skin, and the sight of it made her head swim slightly as tiny pricks of blood bubbled to the surface.

She swallowed and quickly tore her gaze away, fixing it on her sneakers. She reminded herself of the battles she had faced—undead, monsters, dragons. This was nothing compared to those.

“Tell me another one.”

Sedona: She was battling something, that much he was certain. He wondered for a moment if reciting the Bible from memory would have been comforting, or impressive at all, and then threw that idea in the trash.

"Should I do em rapid fire? What do you call a fish with no eyes?"

Kareena seemed to know this one, already biting her lip and bracing.

"A fshhh!"

Echo: Giggles filled through the studio as Echo did her best not to bounce her arm under the pressure of the needle. Her free hand flew up to cover her mouth, shoulders hunching slightly as if that might muffle the sound. She didn’t dare look at the artist, half certain she’d be scolded the moment she did.

The little mouse bit down on her lower lip and looked away from Sedona, drawing in a careful breath. In that quiet moment, she whispered something soft, a guidance spell so Kareena’s hand might stay true, and the work finish just a touch quicker than expected.

Sedona: "Holllld it. Hollllld. Don't you break." She turned away, and he inched forward, playfully in his antagonizing persuit to lock eyes with her. All in good fun, of course, believing he had as good a grasp on her strength of will as she did.

'Is that a prayer or somethin'?' he thought to her.

Echo: Him inching closer wasn’t helping her keep her face steady. She shut her eyes, thinking that would be enough. If she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t distract her.

Or so she thought.

His voice slipped into her mind, catching the little spell she’d cast on the artist.

‘Something like that,’ she replied. ‘Guidance, so her hand stays steady… because someone is making that a little difficult right now.’

Sedona: 'I dunno what you're feelin', baby.' As though that would explain everything. Perhaps it did, and she would fill in the missing words.

But now he was watching the tattoo gun, the artist's hand, and the condition of Echo's skin. As though his supervision might aid the spell.

Echo: ‘Can you…feel when you grind your teeth on accident? Or that sound of something sharp scraping against glass that makes your ears feel funny?’

It was the best way she could think to explain it.

‘It’s like that. Uncomfortable… but on your skin.’

She paused, swallowing as the needle hit a more tender spot along the webbing of her hand. A small, startled squeak slipped out before she could stop it.

‘My armband wasn’t… wasn’t like this.’

Sedona: 'Wasn't that made with magic or somethin'?'

He frowned as she squeaked, offering to squeeze her free hand, if she needed it.

'I mean, the sound is annoying. Nails on a chalk board kinda thing. My aunt would do that if we didn't pay attention in class.' He considered. What came remotely close to the idea of pain?

'When I could eat whatever I wanted, I ate a shit ton. Like, I looked like I swallowed a bowlin' ball. Throwin' up... that's all I got.'

Echo: There was a small nod from the familiar, hopefully only discernable to her owner. She appreciated the offer, her fingers tightening in his hand as she focused on the conversation. Somehow, it distracted her just enough from the grating sensation along her skin.

At the shared memory of overeating, her nose wrinkled instinctively.

‘That is such a terrible feeling,’ she half-whined.

But it sparked another thought.

‘Can you feel when you’re hungry… or thirsty?’

Sedona: People made random, nonsensical gestures every day. Thinking everything under the sun, talking to themselves, acting out scenarios; he'd seen it all. Shaking his head was instinctual, and he didn't stop to wonder if Kareena thought he was crazy.

'I want things. The taste of somethin'. But hunger pains?' Another shake. 'I do it 'cause I know I should.'

Echo: ‘Huh.’

She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. Sentiment didn’t feel useful here, especially if he’d always lived with those dulled senses, or the absence of them altogether.

‘Oh…how about if you gotta pee like really bad? Nothing?’

At this sudden impulsive thought, her smile broke wider. She had to bite it back, stifling a giggle before she could shake her hand, despite the quiet spell still guiding the artist’s work.

Sedona: There was another shake. 'Had accidents as a kid. Then Mama put me on a schedule. Made me try every hour, then every two, then three. Don't drink too much all at once, or go back to checkin' every hour.' Speaking clearly in his mind, not a scattering of random reels of memories, ideas, and images, was becoming easier by the day.

Echo: ‘Huh.’

There it was again, that little word. She couldn’t quite imagine what it was like, not getting those signals from body to mind. It wasn’t something she could quite understand.

Still, the conversation helped. It kept her focus off the needle tracing along her skin. Even if they might look a little strange, staring at each other like that, she let her gaze drop briefly to the floor, just to feign some semblance of normalcy.

‘I suppose it has its benefits coupled with being part lizard, but growing up and even now, I imagine it’s frustrating.’

She winced as a line got retraced.

‘Some part of you always has to be thinking about it. That sounds….tiring.’

Sedona: 'You ain't ever thought about this? You followed me, wanted me, been with me, and this the first time?'

There he was being odd again, smiling like a loon at nothing spoken.

"Did-"

'Did you just call me a lizard?'

At her grimace, he squeezed her hand and kissed her knuckles.

'She's almost done. You're doin' great, baby.'

Echo: ‘I was more concerned about you eating me if you were a werewolf.’

She had thought about it, yes, but perhaps not this deeply.

What? ‘Yes...that's what I call you in my head sometimes, or geko.’

And as if he needed further explanation, 'Cause you can regrow limbs...’

She glanced at her hand, the skin red with irritation, but the shape of the flowers had bloomed. They were pretty.

Sedona: 'I mean, some humans eat mice, and roaches, and like, grasshoppers and shit. I coulda been fuckin' nuts!'

The immortal was hiding behind his arm now, at least his smile was, pressed against his bicep to prevent laughter from screwing everything up. Spell or no spell, he didn't want to take the chance.

"So..."

"So, we're done! Gonna clean this up and put some Saniderm on top and you're good to go." Kareena continued on, going over the dos and don'ts of caring for her new tattoo - Sedona was back to clearing his thoughts for conversation.

'I thought I was a racoon? No, wait... it was a fox. Yeah, a fox.'

Echo: At that, Sedona earned a pointed look in his direction. It took all her effort not to break into another smile or another fit of giggles. She somehow managed to stay serious.

Her good behavior paid off. The machine stilled, and she was finally free. Echo slipped from the chair, immediately lifting her hand to admire the artwork.

“Thank you!”

She hovered, tempted to touch it, but the skin looked and felt too raw beneath the ointment and wrap. Better not.

Her attention flicked back to him, a quiet thought following.

‘Sometimes… but I think I like gecko better. Like the one that pops up on TV sometimes.’

Sedona: 'Ah great, I'm a fuckin' car insurance salesman. I ain't even got a funny accent!'

He was staring at the little wound with her, wondering if she was going to heal it as soon as they walked outside, or would curiosity have her holding off, just to watch the human process in real time. Healing was fascinating, quick or slow. Too often he'd seen his body stitch back together in a manner unlike normies. Like thread and needle made of flesh.

As soon as the door shut behind them, the immortal was stretching his arms and yawning like some overachieving theater kid.

"Fuckin' finally. How you feelin', baby girl?"

Echo: The familiar shifted her hand in the light, admiring the small piece of artwork now resting there. It was so pretty.

She looked up at him. “I don’t like tattoos.”

Wait that didn’t come out right.

“I don’t like the process,” she corrected softly. “I liked how my armband was done better. This…” Her nose wrinkled as she gave a small shake of her head. “It was okay… but it took so long.”

Sedona: The immortal burst out laughing right there in the street, head thrown back and arms around his ribs. It was too blunt and strong for most people - even seasoned locals - to handle. Eyes were upon him disapprovingly as they passed. Very few paid them no mind.

"Ah, process. Yeah." His arm was around her waist, even if that meant lifting her an inch to achieve it.

"Some people get off on the feelin'. Dwight likes the pain. This pain shit confuses the fuck outta me." Then again, their neighbor in room 101 was an odd fellow to begin with.

Echo: Echo startled at the sudden burst of laughter, shoulders jumping before the reaction melted just as quickly into a smile. Her hands rested lightly atop his arms as her feet lifted for a brief second off the ground.

“I don’t get that either,” she said, giving a small shake of her head. “I don’t like how it feels when I get hurt.” She couldn’t imagine how someone would like that feeling. Humans were weird.

“So now it’s your turn,” she added, tilting her head. “What are we going to do?”

Sedona: Then they would drop the subject of pain, as it would do nothing but stiffle them with their mutual confusion.

"What are we gonna do?" He looked around, as though he might find the answer on their street.

"What ya want, a noodle shop or a taco shop? Wanna watch some skateboardin' while we eat?"

Echo: “Mm, a quesadilla sounds so good...or one of those soft tacos wrapped around a crunchy taco.”

At the mention of food, her eyes lit up, the ache of the tattoo already forgotten in favor of something far more important.

“Uh…yeah!”

She tipped her head back against him so she could look up at him upside down, grinning.

“What’s skateboardin’?”

Sedona: "You know, the more I learn 'bout you, the more I'm worried that other guy kept you in a cage or somethin'." And he didn't like that. She didn't know everything about her powers. She didn't know what skateboarding was. And by the sound of things, she had been in this realm of reality for longer than a sneeze, so why did she feel so sheltered?

Fuck, did she hear all of that?

"It's like, a board, 'bout this big. Got wheels. Was supposed to be this cool shit people could get around on, but you got psychos out here actin' like you killin' people for usin' one on the sidewalk. Makes no fuckin' sense. I had one and ate dirt. Broke that shit in half." He suddenly wanted another one, immediately.

"Under the bridge down that way, they got a taco shop lookin' at the skate park. Used to go there all the time when I got here."

Echo: “Del?”

She tilted her head and gave a small shake. No, he didn’t keep her in a cage, but he also didn’t take it upon himself to show her much of anything either.

“No, he didn’t keep me in a cage…I just was a bit sheltered.”

She wasn’t sure how else to explain it. Despite being on this side of the realm, there was still a lot to learn, especially when it came to her magic.

“Huh…it sounds like fun. Maybe we should try it?”

But she was very amicable to the idea of tacos and watching the skatepark.

“Mm, and maybe a lemonade or a boba.”

Sedona: "Well, ya got me, now. I ain't no theoretical physicist doctor know-it-all, but I got ya a phone, and I'm kinda old, I guess. If I ain't got the answer, we'll get the answer. Sound good?"

Like the day she had tried invisibility, the day of tailing his target. They needed more days like that, he decided.

"Mm! They got limonada! Some drink with chia seeds, and like, they can rim that shit with chamoy."

They had a small hike to get there, but the smells were a beacon a block before the food truck came into view.

Food truck was one way to put it; the wheels had been removed long ago, held up by cinderblocks and hope. But the line was a promise of good things. The menu was concise, written with colorful chalk on the side of the vehicle, which had long ago been covered in chalkboard paint.

Tacos de calle, served with onion, cilantro, and lime only. Al pastor, carne asada, barbacoa, suadero, carnitas, and cabeza and lengua.

No sides, and drinks came from a giant plastic cooler.

Just feet away, children and adults enjoyed their meals, some on the ground, others in lawn chairs. Most had their eyes on the skateboarders. Those learning were designated to one side, while the experienced practiced tricks in the deeper bowl and half pipe.

Echo: Echo was more than happy to look things up whenever she needed. The day he’d gotten her a cellphone had felt like being handed endless candy. She’d spent nearly the whole day glued to it until the battery gave out. She’d learned a bit of restraint since then.

But the aroma of food was an easy distraction. Her attention drifted, taking in the lively scene around them. The random bursts of laughter and children shrieking in the park was…nice. It was comforting in a way that felt familiar, yet still so different from where she’d come from.

She leaned into his side as she peered up at the menu, head tilting.

“Do you think they have something with just cheese or veggies?” she asked, glancing at him. She wasn’t entirely sure he remembered that his familiar was vegetarian.

Sedona: "Let's see." The last time he had been here, he would swear he had seen black beans. Maybe it had been a special that day. Either way, he held her hand and waited for a sign. Someone walking buy with their paper plate with more than four little tiny tacos.

"You good with black beans? If they ain't got it, that noodle place is over there," he pointed further down the same road. At a little hole in the wall next door to a laundry mat and another dirty spoon breakfast 24/7 joint.

Echo: “Mm, I can do beans, or...um... what do they call it?” she worried her lower lip as she tried to remeber, she had even looked it up once. “Sofritas! It’s a tofu and soy mixture that looks like ground meat.”

The little mouse would be perfectly happy with noodles too, but the idea of tacos had already rooted itself firmly in her brain.

Sedona: As they arrived at the front of the line, a man nearly as wide as the window and a woman as tall as his elbow looked down at the pair. The man looked like a creature out of time. Burley. Sturdy. Someone who belonged on an ancient battlefield. Not in a food truck in Manhattan.

"You got somethin' for a vegetarian?"

"Radish," came from the man's throat like a cough.

"Why ain't that shit on the menu?"

"No one orders."

"What's in it?"

"Cooked radish. Pickled radish. Raw radish. Cilantro, onion, salsa."

Echo: Did she know what radishes tasted like? Echo honestly wasn’t sure. She was content to let Sed take the lead, blinking up at the man filling the cart window.

He looked like he could pick her up and throw her halfway across a field without effort. The resemblance to some of the paladins she’d met on her adventures was almost uncanny.

“It sounds good!” she smiled at the taco knight. “Can I please do an order of that and…” Her eyes flicked over the menu again. It didn’t seem like they had drinks. “That’s all for me!”

Sedona: Sedona was already rummaging through the plastic cooler as she made her order, coming up with a can of something he knew she enjoyed, and something he had never tried before, just for the hell of it. The can was brown - he'd learn in a minute.

"Lengua cabeza thing." He paid in cash, as he always did, and they didn't blink twice about it.

"Five minutes," said the food truck paladin. There were only two round picnic tables with umbrellas that had seen better days many, many days before. One was filled with two families trying to make it fit, the other, with an old man with more eyebrows than hair on his head, on his last barbacoa taco. Sedona smiled. The man nodded.

"Thank ya thank ya." Sedona straddled the attached bench and finally looked at his tamarind soda.

Echo: The mouse familiar took her drink when handed and inspected it. Strawberry cream! She was fairly certain she would love this.

She followed after the immortal, offering the stranger a warm smile and appreciative nod before settling beside her lanky owner.

“I don’t think I know what a radish tastes like,” she confessed, staring thoughtfully at the soda can in her hands. She liked the little drawing on it. Something about the way the strawberry was illustrated was lovely.

“Have you had a radish?”

Sedona: "Thought that woulda been somethin' over there." And then his eyes widened. A question almost escaped his mouth, before glancing at the co-owner of their little table. The old man was staring down the pages of a paperback book.

'Are they the same shit? The food, the animals. Like... were there cows? Apples? Peaches?'

Echo: “There are. I just never ate radish.”

At his question, she gave him a briefly puzzled look before nodding.

‘Well, yeah. We had the food animals, but we also had humankin that were… minotaurs, and turtlefolk, and giffs, which I guess are kind of like hippos here.’ She tilted her head thoughtfully. ‘We had all that and then some.’

Sedona: He thought of how else to word the question. Surely there was something...

'Was there a, like a... a fruit or veggie there we ain't got here? Somethin' weird lookin'?'

Echo: ‘Oh…tons.’

The problem was figuring out where to even start.

‘There’s a plum that, if you eat it, creates an exact double of you about ten feet away for an hour. It copies all your movements and everything. Uh… some necromancers carry corpse fruit too. They smell awful, but ghouls, zombies, and other undead creatures love them. There’s a lot of strange stuff like that. Should I continue?’

Sedona: 'Why you talk like I'm gonna cut you off?' The back of his fingers brushed against her cheek. He was smiling, as he so often did when she spoke with enthusiasm. Didn't matter how much. When she was comfortable, the world was right and peaceful.

'Miss one? If you could have it in front of you right now, what would it be?'

Echo: ‘There’s this fruit called Relum that looks kind of like a pear. When you eat it, it tastes sweet at first and then savory, but the real effect is that it coats your stomach and traps any toxins you might swallow.’

Her thumb brushed over the little strawberry image on the can, and she smiled softly at his touch.

‘I once found a straw that was actually a strawberry shaped like a straw.’

Sedona: Well, those were two different... he stared into space, trying to picture first one then the other.

He had nothing of equivalent to offer. She could have that thought. Wasn't any harm.

"Miss my mama's cookin'." Saying so out loud felt right. Besides, they had been sitting in silence too long, not even staring at their phones.

"Ever had grilled grapes?"

Echo: Echo’s head popped up at the immortal speaking, her white bangs swaying slightly with the motion.

“What was your favorite dish?”

But at the mention of grilled grapes made her nose wrinkle. “No, I’ve had frozen ones, though.” She looked genuinely perplexed. “How do they taste? I wouldn’t think warm fruit would be all that good.”

Sedona: "Not one? Babygirl, we gotta get outta here and get you some bananas foster. Banana all warm and covered in, like, caramel and rum or some shit. Or like, cherry pie or somethin'. Grilled grapes are just... good. It's - I dunno. Always had it. Mama would make em with honey."

Echo: “Oh, you’re right! Fruit pies are warm fruit, I suppose.” She smiled. “I just don’t think of it as the same because it’s changed shape.”

She kicked one leg out, beginning to swing it slowly beneath her seat.

“You can make me some when we get back...or when we get hungry again.” Her gaze drifted toward the taco truck, wondering if their food was almost ready. Her stomach growled as if on cue.

Sedona: "Sounds like we're gonna be cookin' a lot more fruit. I see it now!" he said, hands out as a soothsayer might, trying to work up a performance.

He was ready to list every pie he had ever heard of when his name was called. He took their two flimsy paper plates and returned, looking over at the skate park.

"Wanna get closer?"

Echo: “Somehow that sounds wrong.” She narrowed her eyes at him, thoroughly skeptical, though the expression vanished the moment his name was called from the taco truck and her attention snapped that way instead.

Balancing her plate of tacos and soda carefully in her hands, she nodded.

“Do you want to taste my radish tacos?” she asked with a faint smirk, glancing down at the dish. It smelled earthy, but seasoned too.

Sedona: "Only if you hate em." He wasn't about to eat her share and his plate.

Sedona figured she would want to see only the best. He walked them over to a small group of older teenagers and their circle of fast food sitting on their skateboards. They were only half paying attention to the men on the half-pipe.

Echo: “We’ll see.” She had a feeling she wouldn’t, but she was willing to share a bite or two if he promised not to gobble them all up.

She followed him toward the teens, immediately captivated by the jumps and spins they pulled off.

“Whoa.”

Once they settled down, she placed her soda beside her and carefully balanced the paper plate of tacos in her lap. For the moment, though, she was too enthralled watching the skaters to pay much attention to the food.

Sedona: He had hoped for as much. To see her interested in something, something they could learn - or in his case, re-learn - together. Something he could participate in, where magic...

'I'm not a very good master, am I?'

The thought hadn't been intended for her, and yet, it was inevitable.

He smiled softly at her. Something akin to an apology.

Echo: She had finally reached for one of her tacos, stuffing a bite into her mouth while still watching the skaters, when the immortal’s question stole her attention instead.

“…No, you’re not very good at it, but that’s okay,” she admitted after swallowing. “You don’t really use me to help you much.” Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “I’m a companion because it's what you need, and I'm happy to be that for you.”

Sedona: No one was near enough or interested enough to eaves drop. He might as well follow her auditory lead.

"Familiars can be companions, right? Like... It ain't against the rules. You told me 'bout it. But... What we done did - before. What we did with that... bald guy... We can do it again."

Echo: She’d been so focused on the skateboarders that she hadn’t realized he’d asked her that in her mind. It wasn’t until his voice sounded right beside her that her attention snapped back to him.

“Yeah,” she answered, lifting a hand to cover her mouth while she chewed between words.

“We can,” she nodded. “I’m capable of handling myself.” Her gaze flicked toward him briefly. “I feel like you don't trust that I won't get hurt."

Sedona: "It's..." What a place to have this conversation. Their morning had already been cloudy. Not with tension of their future, but the reality of vulnerability. Of being perceived, read begrudgingly, and read willingly. Just hours ago, they had shared the worst moments of their lives. What was a little more honesty?

"Sometimes, it's like... you didn't have cameras everywhere, watchin' what you be doin', when, where. Cities ain't what they used to be. If I could go back in time... I'd do it. If I could go back with you, over there, I'd do it. I worry 'bout that, and... I know you're strong. I know you're awesome, but other people ain't. What if one of them not-awesome-but-strong people take you from me?"

A question asked to his last taco.

Echo: The little familiar stayed quiet, letting the immortal have his peace while she finished off one taco and started on the second. It gave her time to think and to chew over both her food and the words he’d given her. She could hear the concern in his voice, and she knew he thought she was capable, even amazing at times, but sometimes… it felt like he doubted his own words.

She finished her second taco, letting the silence hang there for a moment.

“The necklace I made for us,” she began softly, “I can charm it so you can use it to find me, if you think that would help.”

She didn’t reach for her own necklace, mostly because her fingers were still covered in seasoning, but she wondered if that would be enough for the immortal.

Sedona: Songs from open windows. That was how he imagined their thoughts. Not a book he could open and flip through, turning all the way back to the beginning to read the chapters he had missed. The question on his mind was whether or not she shared the same experience. She could see the death of his mother because he thought about it, relived it, but could she flip the pages herself? If so, how could there ever be misunderstandings between them?

For the first time, sitting on concrete in Manhattan, he desired a power beyond immortality.

"What, if you're unconscious? Can't I find you now?" It was almost irritating, the concern poking at his voice box with a fine-tip needle. How dare she put his heart back in his chest. It was uncomfortable, distracting, and a reminder of that which he intended to forget.

Echo: The third taco was lifted and held out toward Sedona; the paper plate carefully angled beneath it to catch any stray bits that might tumble free.

“Well… when I’m asleep and not with you, what does that feel like to you?” she asked. “Can you find me?”

She’d caught that inflection in his voice, and it had her staring at him a little more intently now.

She was Echo, the mighty mouse. She had fought dragons, beasts, and worse long before falling into this realm. He shouldn’t have to worry about her; she was a seasoned adventurer.

But... there was some merit to his concern.

This world and the two… maybe three years she’d spent in it was still a lot to navigate.

"How can I help?"

Sedona: Didn't matter what they were discussing, her quiet command was obeyed without hesitation. He considered the taco and angled himself, biting out a third of it.

His jaw froze mid-chew. He stared at the bridge above them, then to the floor. "Hmm. Earthy," he muttered.

"Maybe. I dunno." The now empty can of soda was crushed in his grip. "I know you're there. Like... like knowin' where the apartment is, or how to get to the club. It's knowin'. Ain't a feelin'. Maybe we test. Ya know, there's a lot we should test. Be mad scientists about. All that magic ya got over there, we should try it over here."

Echo: She watched him wide eyed, waiting to see what he thought of the food. It definitely tasted earthy, she’d agree with that, but there was a bit of a bite to it. Overall, she liked it.

“Do…you want me to?”

She polished off the last third of her taco and sat there chewing thoughtfully before finally nodding. The idea appealed to her, trying all the spells Niz had once done, and as a familiar, she should be capable of.

“Ok, I like that. But to make it challenging, you tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll see if I can do it.”

Sedona: "Ya wanna trust me with that shit?" He laughed, then licked his paper plate. "Gonna come up with some weird shit."

His eyes fell upon her tattoo again.

"After ya heal?"

Echo: “Why not? It’s fine,” she said with a smile before finally cracking open her soda and taking a sip. Her expression brightened at the sweet strawberry-and-cream flavor.

“Mmmm, alright.” She glanced back at him. “So… tomorrow?”

Sedona: "Gonna be all healed up tomorrow?"

Echo: “Yeah!”

She looked at her tattoo. Probably.

Sedona: "So, how 'bout that first. You can heal, right? Like... that? Or a papercut? Orrrrr you cut your toe off choppin' wood?"

Echo: “Yeah, Healing Word and Cure Wounds,” she said, counting the spells off on her fingers. “A toe would require a bit more magic, though.”

Sedona: "Wait... spells have names?" And everyone knew them? That hadn't crossed his mind once. Mind blown.

"Well, ya can take my toe, if ya can cast quick enough."

Echo: “Yeah, do they not here?”

Though, to be fair, he probably wouldn’t know that. Hm. Maybe she should consider talking to another magic user from this world.

“Ew… no.” She made a face. “I know you’re a gecko and it doesn’t hurt, but I still can’t help feeling like, in a way... it’s hurting you.”

She paused, a new and much more concerning thought occurring to her.

“What happens to the parts of you that fall off? Do they just… disappear, or does some unfortunate little grandma come across them and have a heart attack?”

Sedona: "I dunno! I ain't asked. Ain't thought they did. Why don't -" But, he needed to think about that before he said it. She would feel and hear him thinking about it, so didn't that defeat the point? Whatever. He should be introducing her to people who cast spells with names. He knew at least three. Vampires didn't count, or did they?

"They just... hang out. They rot, I guess? Some scientist dude took my thumb in... when the fuck... '96. Still there the next day."

Echo: “Well, we can meet your magic friends at some point and find out then.”

Before she could say anything more on that subject, however, they were back to discussing the fact that his lost limbs apparently persisted without him.

A very visible frown crossed her face as she imagined his thumb just... sitting somewhere. And other parts of him. Detached. Existing independently.

She looked up at the immortal and blinked.

“You would be the best organ donor.”

Sedona: "Ya think so? I think they're just fuckin' normal when they get lopped off. I guess I would, huh? Oh, wait, 'cept for the part where I heal instantly. They gotta go in like that dude from Indiana Jones, just "Kali ma" that shit outta me."

Echo: The reference was lost on his familiar as she stared at him.

"Kali ma?"

Sedona: "Sounnnds like we finally got a movie to watch! It's got magic in it. You tell me if it's like magic over there. Wanna watch tonight?"

Echo: "Sure, I haven't seen many movies!" And the idea of seeing magic on screen was exciting.

Sedona: "Not one? You're always on your phone!"

Echo: “I said not many. I watched TV when I stayed with my vampire friend.”

She pushed herself to her feet as she spoke. The flimsy paper plate was wrapped around the empty soda can, leaving one hand free as she reached toward Sedona.

“Let’s go.”

Sedona: Sedona looked back at the skaters. He was surprised she hadn't tried to go down there and join them, ask for lessons, or even steal one.

"What you watch with your vampire friend?" He chugged the last of his soda and tossed everything in the nearby garbage can, on the verge of overflowing.

She could have his hand without question.

Echo: She had considered getting closer, but not everyone was welcoming to an intrusive little mouse. Besides, the idea of watching a movie with the immortal was enticing, and that couldn’t happen if she was busy learning how to skateboard.

“Uh, well, I didn’t really watch anything with him,” she admitted. “I was free to do whatever I wanted, and I’d usually just let the TV play…”

Echo: Really?

But she brought his hand closer, adding her name along the tail in tiny handwriting.

"I'll pick up one of those pens then, just for you."

Sedona: "What, tiny pen?" He turned his hand to admire her name.

"My first tattoo."

Echo: "Mm-mm."

A small shake of her head.

"They have things that last for like a week now, and I can even get colors!"

She looked at the little mouse, smiling and picked up the pen again, this time adding a small heart coming from it as if it were a kiss.

"There. Now it's perfect."

Sedona: "Gimmie." He held out both hands, pulling hers closer once she gave up the pen. He considered a moment before making an attempt at a rose as delicate as her drawing.

Echo: With the pen surrendered, she let him pull her hand closer, following the motion as she adjusted to kneel, sitting back on her heels. Realizing what he was, she hummed in approval.

“Aw.”

Sedona: "Drawin' was my sisters' thing. You got any of them?"

Echo: Another shake of her head, but she stopped to reconsider.

"Maybe, but I was rescued by my mistress. She found me half-drowned."

Sedona: "Wanna tell me 'bout that?"

Echo: She spoke to the delicate rose inked on her skin.

"I was born a mouse—I’ve told you before. And you know, you find mice everywhere."

They were vermin for a reason.

"I was in the sewer, as part of the underdark. And I must have been too little for my family. I just remember being pushed off and falling into the water. The rest of the pack had to survive."

Sedona: "I know you is." He hadn't forgotten. Like so many aspects of her, in the end, she was just Echo to him. An entity of itself.

"Guess we both had shitty childhoods."

Echo: A slim shoulder lifted and fell.

“I don’t blame them. I make my own pack now, yeah?”

She took his hand between hers, lifting it to her lips, and gave it a kiss, but then lips parted to playfully bite down. She couldn’t stay serious for too long.

Sedona: "That what cha gonna do, huh?" It wasn't in him to remain serious for too long, either. Just another drop in the bucket for compatibility that he would never think about. He was too busy trying to pull her on top of him and tickle.

Echo: “Yis!” she squeaked, though her triumph was short-lived. His hands found her exposed midriff, and she jerked, swatting at them. She curled up laughing, shaking her head as if that would stop the assault.

“N-n-not fair!”

Sedona: "Grrr!" he playfully nibbled at exposed skin, nuzzling and eventually blowing a raspberry on her stomach, just to hear more of those delightful noises.

Echo: She could fight back, try to tickle him, but it was useless. Poking did nothing. Biting? Not a chance. The bastard was immune.

Laughter poured out of her, her stomach and sides aching as she squirmed, desperate to escape. She almost made it before his lips met her skin, and a startled squeak escaped her.

“T-truce!” she gasped, hands flying up in surrender. “Y-you win, you menace!”

Sedona: His hands stilled long enough to look her over. Fucking Christ, he was checking if she was alright despite knowing he would know the moment she wasn't. That was love, wasn't it? He was still learning.

"I ain't no menace. What's the opposite of menace? I need me an antonym. Delight! Sure. I'm a fuckin' delight." He hugged his little mouse to his chest and gently squeezed, humming as his mother used to when she swung him in a bear hug as a little boy.

Echo: Echo was fine—mostly. Just a bruised ego from being bested. The little familiar had a plan to tackle him, to reclaim her victory, but before she could make her move, strong arms stole her momentum.

Like a ragdoll, she was pulled against his chest, trapped in warmth. Any resistance melted the moment she felt the hum. She gave in, shifting in his lap to curl up more comfortably, her arms looping around his waist.

“I think you’re both,” she murmured, voice softer now as she tucked her head into the curve of his neck. “You’re a menace and a delight.” He might feel the curve of her lips smiling against his skin.

Sedona: "I think you are, too," he said into her hair. Her surrender was as cute as everything else, but made him wonder. Something that had been on his mind for weeks now.

"Do you like bein' mine? Like... you like bein' claimed and shit?"

Echo: “You think I’m a menace?” she asked, lifting her head just enough to give him an incredulous look. A sweet baby angel like her? Absolutely incapable of wrongdoing.

Still, she settled back against his shoulder, fingers idly tracing along his ribs as she let his question roll around in her head.

“Do you not want me to be?” Her voice was softer now, more careful. She had always considered herself his, there was no other way to frame it. The thought of anything else left an odd taste on her tongue.

A pause. Her fingers stilled.

“Is that… not what you want?” It dawned on her, suddenly, a sinking thought creeping in. He wanted his own life, right?

Sedona: Sedona shook his head, his eyes light but exasperated. That wasn't what he meant and she should have known that. The days she didn't hear every thought perfectly were the days of these misunderstandings.

He cupped under her jaw with both hands.

"Baby girl, I'm talking 'bout somethin' else. The whole master thing. The whole... what's it called... Objective? Objectified? Bein' like a pet. You like that or don't you? I mean, if that's your kink I'll be your kink, baby. That's all I'm askin'."

Echo: She looked up at him from her cupped position and blinked. “Oh.”

She’d completely missed what he meant, hadn’t she? Her cheeks flushed a soft pink. The misunderstanding wasn’t just a slip. It said more about how she saw herself than she’d wanted to say out loud.

But forward she pressed. A small shake of her head followed, white strands brushing his fingers.

“No, not like that.”

She had been online enough to understand what he was referring to, and while she was a pet, she wasn’t that type of pet.

“I’m your pet in the way a bird chooses your windowsill every morning. Because it likes your voice and you make it feel safe.” She looked down at his tattoo. “Not because you caged it.”

Sedona: "Babygirl, I'd never cage you." He wanted so much to hold her close. The urge was damn near overwhelming. He would press his forehead to hers instead.

"But you like it, don't you? Sayin' you're mine? I just wanna understand. I ain't no mind reader," he smirked, fighting a laugh he didn't want her to misinterpret.

Slowly, he relinquished his hold, gently scratching under her chin.

Echo: It took her a moment to consider; lips parted like she might speak and then thought better of it. Another slow nod followed.

"Because it means I have a home,” she said quietly. “And I belong.”

It gave her a reason, but she was still looking for purpose with him. That would eventually come.

Her breath left her in a soft sigh as his fingers grazed under her chin, the gentle scritch melting her defenses. The little familiar leaned into his palm, cheek pressing into the warmth of it as she studied the rose he had drawn on her.

“I want to get this done.”

Sedona: She asked for so little. The decorations in their room had nearly filled the blank walls. She had more clothes than him. She wanted adventure and he wanted to give it to her. At some point, his job had become routine, and the only thrill outside of stupidity for the sake of stupidity.

He took her hands and swung them out to the side.

"When you wanna get it done? Today? We'll go find a place that does walk-ins right now and you can get a whole arm of shit," he grinned.

Echo: The little mouse blinked up at her immortal, surprised and delighted by his excitement of getting something done so quickly. He matched her spontaneity without hesitation, and it resonated with her deeply. Could she love him more than she already did?

Her teeth tugged gently at her bottom lip as she considered it and nodded.

“At least the rose for now.”

She glanced down at her arm to look at her old sigil. It was a delicate tattoo from her previous mistress, wrapped around her bicep. She wondered if it still offered protection, even with her mistress gone.

“Do you know anyone who does really clean linework?” she asked softly, eyes drifting back to the rose.

Sedona: His eyes dropped to her lips as she played with them. How easily he was enticed by something so simple. That was her, and she did those little alluring things all the time.

"Rose for now," he echoed. "Yeah, and then what? A mouse with a sword, like that book?" He held an invisible saber and swished it around, but soon his gaze followed hers, and his hand dropped. He had mixed feelings about that tattoo, but never asked about it.

"Could ask Ari. He got ink here."

Echo: “I like that,” she beamed, eyes lighting up as she watched him swing his invisible saber. “But I was thinking more flowers,” she added, a little sing-songy. “I found the prettiest design—maybe for here.”

She tugged up her shirt just enough to trace a line beneath her left breast, then up her sternum with a fingertip.

“A chest piece, maybe. Flowers that climb.”

Her voice dipped into a thoughtful hum, completely unaware of the way his gaze had shifted. “Tell Ari he’s been summoned for an adventure.”

Sedona: "Of course more flowers. You're such a girl." He braced for a fist or palm, his smile impish. It was only a bit of teasing. Flowers suited her as though they had always been, despite her very lack of them.

"Ever seen white tattoos? Seen em once in a book." If anyone could pull them off, it was his familiar.

His.

"I'll call him right now." As soon as he found his brick of a phone.

Echo: “Ah!” She gave his shoulder a shove, more squeak than menace. “So what if I am?”

Vanilla and lavender clung to her like a second skin. What else did he expect?

But then her eyes lit up. “Oh, no…” She hadn’t but they sounded delicate and delightful.

“I think I would like that…”

She sat with her legs tucked crisscross underneath her, hands resting in her lap as she watched him. Then, like a thought striking her mid-breath, she popped up again, balancing on the bed and reached over to his side of the shelf to unplug the phone and hold it out to him.

Sedona: "They fade like it's nothin', but you can stop that, can't you? Magic or whatever." Another glance at her current ink.

He watched as she stood, and the moment she reached for their shared shelf did he realized what she was reaching for. Had she grabbed that from his memory, or something else? He didn't ask most of the time, assuming magic first and always. It's what she was.

So then, without another word, he searched his contacts and put his phone to his ear. Ariel was at a dance studio recording with some pop star he'd never heard of. Break a leg, he told him. Ariel gave him the name of his tattoo artist.

"Yeah, she does walk-ins." The ghoul could be heard through the phone, just above the music. "I thought you couldn't have any?"

"You think it's for me? What did you just say?"

"Oh. Echo's got tattoos?"

"Uh-huh, and she wants another. What's her name?"

"Kareena. She's in Manhattan, soooo don't see much of her anymore."

"Eh, fuck that. I'll let you know if I'm beheaded."

"Kay. Tell Echo I said hi."

Echo: She nodded once. She could make sure it wouldn’t fade. The white ink would look pretty against her skin, and she wanted to look at it.

Once the phone was out of her hands, she plopped back down to her knees, fingers resting on her thighs as she listened, chin tilted toward the muffled voice of Ariel on the line. The moment he said hi, she lifted her hand in a little wave he wouldn’t see.

When the excitement of eavesdropping wore off, she flopped onto her back, arms stretching high above her head with a soft groan. She rolled on her side, squishing her cheek into the blanket as she watched her immortal, her brow lifted at the word 'beheaded'. That wouldn't happen on her watch.

Sedona: Sedona smiled at her silliness and snitched on her wave. Ariel laughed but said nothing, not wanting to embarrass or have his head on a spike.

"You can come with us," Sedona suggested, watching Echo for her reaction. Despite knowing Ariel would decline, he felt compelled to ask anyway.

Once Ariel promised to text the address, he hung up and tossed the phone.

"Today? We gotta get off our asses, then."

Echo: Echo squinted at Sedona, suspicious of his suggestion for more company, but she didn’t argue. It was just a small tattoo today, not the chest piece she had been daydreaming about. That would feel more...intimate. Ariel didn’t need to be around for that. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like he would be.

“Yeah?”

Echo never had plans, so she was always free. The familiar sat up with renewed excitement. Her headphones were around her neck, her bag already thrown over her shoulder.

“Come on,” she grinned, reaching her hand out to him.

Sedona: "Just like that?" he laughed, taking her hand. "Gotta let me dance in the bathroom a minute. Gotta look my best for my girl."

Getting to his feet, he considered something else.

"Fuck. ID. Oh, right, you got one. Lemme see?" He wanted to compare it to his own false bit of plastic.

Echo: Why would he need to dance in the bathroom? She squinted at him, but the question drifted off her mind the second he asked for her ID.

“Mm.”

She slid off the bed and padded to the chair where she’d dropped her coat. Her wallet was barely a wallet just a flat, soft fold with a couple bill pockets and the little laminated ID she’d made, shaped after his.

Her face was on it. Her name: just Echo. No last name. No address. No expiration. No birthdate.

Sedona: Sedona tilted his head, staring in confusion at her ID, only to laugh after a beat.

"How the fuck you get into Embers with this?"

Echo: "What?”

She blinked at him, snatching the ID back like it had just insulted her.

“What? It’s got my face on it.”

A glance down. A glance back up.

“Look—” she jabbed a finger at the photo, “I smiled. And they let me in. That’s called charisma."

Sedona: How was she insulted?! He should be insulted with security. He worked with them - at least on paper, for fuck's sake. January would have their heads, quite literally.

"Look," he offered his own for comparison. "You gotta fill in all these bits."

Echo: She took his card and turned it over, then flipped hers to compare. A beat. Then:

“Oh.”

She frowned thoughtfully.

“…Actually, I think I got in as a mouse.”

She squinted at the edges of her ID like it might confirm that, then gave a little shrug. With a flicker of will, she pulled from her pool of quintessence and began coaxing it into the card. The first thing to appear was a birthdate. February 28th. No year.

She peered up at him.

“…What should I put?”

Sedona: Sedona wanted to lean in closer for a better look at her magic, but did the opposite for her comfort. Her spells had enchanted him since night one. Comparable to the sensation of soda fizz on his skin. Harmless, but active.

"Babygirl, you could be nineteen or twenty-seven." He suddenly grinned. "You wanna be younger or older than me?"

Echo: She felt the lean-in that never came, but she shifted closer anyway, shoulder brushing his chest as she angled the ID for him to see. The spell pulsed faintly beneath her fingertips, threads of illusion stitched tight to the laminate.

She hesitated at his question, a faint crease between her brows. Younger or older? Did it matter? Only if it mattered to him.

“What’s yours say?” she asked instead, glancing up with that tilt of her head. “I wanna match. Kind of.”

She looked at her picture again.

“A little younger.”

Sedona: He didn't mind either way. One was a little more humorous. He often wondered if she was actually older than him - if time truly moved differently in her home world.

"I think mine says twenty-four." It wasn't a stretch. According to the scars on his wrists, he was 19. His father might have skipped a year, or he might have healed well before the massacre, he couldn't say. Either way, the face he saw in the mirror was ambiguous. Older like photographs of yearbook seniors of a bygone era compared to the smooth faces of today.

"Let's say... twenty-two."

Echo: She looked between the picture and him, a smirk curling her lips. Maybe she’d caught the whisper of his thought, or maybe she just sensed the irony in it—either way, her fingers flicked over the date and adjusted it.

The ID now read: 22.

"You’re like an old man, right?" she teased, casting him a playful glance. She realized, then, she didn’t actually know his real age.

With a hum, she moved on to the address. Then paused at the height field. A small, mischievous spark lit in her eyes as she bumped herself up just an inch.

"There?"

Sedona: He took the card from her and held it up to the light, as if it might reveal something secret. He closed one eye and tilted his head, humming thoughtfully.

"Mm, I think this'll hold up. Wear heels and no one'll know the difference," he winked.

Echo: "Ah!"

She stretched up on her toes, fingers swiping at the ID just out of reach.

"Rude, not everyone is a giant, you overgrown beanstalk!"

Sedona: That had him grinning from ear to ear. "You know, I'm taller than my pop, too. Maybe he wasn't even my pop. I could look over his head." He motioned his fingers over Echo's - for reference.

Echo: She squinted up at him, nose wrinkling as his fingers hovered overhead. She leaned up to try and nip at those hovering digits.

"Mm, were you the tallest in your family?"

Sedona: "Yeah. I had an uncle about my height. My big brother. We were the big three. What about - uh..." Was it alright to ask about her family when that life had been so brief? He wasn't one to hesitate like this.

"It ok to ask?"

Echo: Echo tilted her head at his hesitation, and it took her a minute to realize why.

“About mine?” she smiled and gave a slight nod. “There isn’t much from what I’ve already told you, but I can tell you about the group of adventurers I was with. They were like my family.”

Sedona: "That won't make you cry?"

Echo: "Maybe..." She looked away for a moment. "But it's okay."

Sedona: "It ain't, but, you can, you know. Like, that safe space shit people talk about." He gestured around their little bubble. "Safe safe."

Echo: The little mouse was quiet, just looking at him like he handed her something delicate. She’d always felt safe with him, but hearing him say it out loud…

“Safe,” she echoed softly, her fingers absently curling in the fabric of his shirt.

A beat passed, and then she added, “Well, the group was made up of my mistress, Lucy, Cairn, and Rhogar.” She tapped her fingers lightly against his chest as she counted them. “A drow, a… porcelain lady, a human, and a dragonborn.”

Sedona: What had he done? He hadn't realized he'd handed her anything out of the ordinary. These offerings were instinctual and tailored just to her.

"Everyone be out here with fancy names. Ain't no more Tim and Jimmy up in this shit."

He kissed her cheek and set out for the bathroom, expecting she would follow. Only to look back at her with an old-man wrinkled brow.

"A what lady?"

Echo: “And Sedona is better?”

Echo gave him a look, brow arching skeptically, but it crumbled quickly into soft giggles. She was already following after him, but paused at his question, tilting her head as if he were the one being strange.

“A porcelain lady?” she repeated, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “She…was alive.” That might’ve needed clarification. She tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, thoughtful.

“Faerûn’s weird,” she started. “Animals talk. There are automatons with hearts. My mistress had a crossbow named Nettle and it talked…It was mean.”

She grinned at the memory, then looked at him, expression softening. “I know it sounds crazy. But I wish you could see it. Just once.”

Sedona: "Well, I fuckin' hope you guys weren't carrying a corpse in your backpack or some shit."

The bathroom door was opened, locking automatically behind them as it closed. Intent on listening to her story, he leaned his back against the wall by the towels, arms loose at his sides.

"Maybe just once. I don't need no crossbow talkin' shit. It's probably seen too much."

But, after only just a moment of reflection, he squinted.

"The fuck did y'all eat if the animals talked? Or did no one give a shit about that? Like, 'Bye, Todd,'" he choked out an invisible Todd.

Echo: “Technically, I think it was cursed,” she admitted with a little shrug. The crossbow, that is.

“Oh! Uh—no, Lucy was normal human-sized. Taller than me. She’s got sisters, too. Lacy, Macy, Kacy, Tucy aaand…” Echo ticked them off on her fingers, only to pause mid-naming with a vague squint. “Lucky!" She nodded, "All porcelain dolls like her, though."

Her explanation stumbled to a halt when Sed did...that to poor Todd.

She blinked. And then snorted. A hand flew up to cover her mouth, eyes watering as laughter shook her slim shoulders.

“N-no! People don’t eat those! They’re humanoid!”

Another giggle bubbled up, and she turned half away like she needed a second to recover.

"You would eat Todd, wouldn't you?!"

Sedona: "Fuckin'... almost had as many sibs as me."

But then, a realization hit him. A story his aunt had told the children in secret - a story his father wouldn't have approved of. He threw his head back against the wall and laughed.

"Wait, wait, was this like... Was this like, fuckin', Gepetto and like, he wished really hard for a kid and got a bunch of em?"

He started to shake his head at her question, then laughed again. "Only humanoid I wanna eat is you, between your legs."

Echo: Echo blinked as she looked up at the immortal and smiled as she considered the analogy. In a way… yes. That was right.

“Mm. Through divine magic, they came to life, but there were different iterations before Lucy. She was the most advanced,” she explained, her voice soft with fondness. “Each sister had her own personality. They’re still in Sidra'Val… along with Erosa.” Her gaze drifted briefly. She hoped they still were.

When her eyes found his again, she caught the look he gave her and promptly flushed. Those pale cheeks turned pink, and she dropped her gaze with a sheepish smile after playfully smacking his chest. She had long accepted that he was bold, impossibly so, but it didn’t stop the way her heart still fluttered when he spoke like that.

“Do you…really? Is that why I’m in here with you?”

Sedona: The muscles of his face softened as she continued in her gentle manner. It was easy to see her nostalgia, as was the case any time her past was brought up. He wondered why she was here, if she wanted to be. If he was the best of a bad situation.

Her smack felt like nothing, as they both knew it would. He took her hand and squeezed, just so.

"Nah. I mean if you want, but nah. Was gonna shower and wanted to keep talkin'. You wanna keep talkin'?"

Echo: Her fingers curled into his without hesitation, her thumb brushing idly along his knuckles.

“Always,” she said. “I like talking to you.”

She peeked up at him with a small smile, but her expression flickered at the thought he might believe he wasn’t enough. That maybe she was here out of necessity. So she lifted his hand to her cheek, holding it there before giving the inside of his palm a soft kiss.

“I’m here because of you.”

Those big blue eyes blinked up at him before she let his hand slip free and turned lightly on her heel to face the door, granting him privacy.

A beat.

“…Wait, what were we doing again?”

She had the attention span of a mouse.

Sedona: He couldn't feel pain, but there was pleasure in the touch of her lips to his skin.

"I didn't say nothin'." Would he ever grow accustomed to that? To never think twice about her hearing what he thought was a private fleeting thought.

Well, either way, he was stripping out of the few clothes he was wearing, letting them fall to the floor as a discarded second skin.

He looked over his shoulder at her as he turned on the water, forgetting to adjust, it was cold as ice.

"We're gonna shower - I'm gonna shower - and we're goin' to get you all the tattoos. You don't want em no more?"

Echo: Echo didn’t always mean to overhear his thoughts, truly. But some of them reached her like ripples through still water, too clear to ignore. She was tethered to him in a way that made her attuned, drawn to anticipate and meet his every need, so she thought in her role as his familiar.

A little hum left her as she turned just enough to peek.

“I do want them,” she murmured, gaze lingering on him before looking at the little rose inked on her hand. She touched it like it might bloom under her fingers.

“But we… that’s different.”

Her smile widened as she caught the edge of her shirt and pulled it over her head, content to shed layers. Shorts followed, and sneakers were kicked off as she stepped toward the water.

“But—hey—” she pointed a finger at him as she eased a foot in, only for the freezing spray to catch her square in the side.

“Ack!” She squeaked and stumbled back out, hugging herself.

Sedona: "Hey is for horses," was the dumbest joke he had ever stolen, but any further teasing was halted when she squeaked. His head, thrown back in laughter, smacked loudly on the title wall.

"Ah, babygirl, my bad. My b." The second knob was adjusted - such old fashioned plumbing. How many days and nights had he showered in water as cold as the Atlantic? Too many to count.

"You ok?" What did that feel like?

Echo: The cold had stolen her breath, but it was the sharp thunk of his skull against tile that made her wince.

“You’re asking me if I’m okay?” she huffed softly.

She stepped in fully, water be damned, her concern overriding the instinct to recoil. Her arms unwound from her body as she reached up gently, fingers threading through his hair to inspect the spot he’d struck. She cradled the back of his head like he was fragile despite knowing better, thumbs brushing gently along his scalp.

“I’m okay.”

Sedona: What she sought, moisture woven into the strands of hair, pinkened her pale fingertips. He hadn't noticed, nor had the ugly gray wall.

His arms were around her ribs, drawing her in as a means to keep her warm. An apology for the unintended ice bucket challenge.

"Yeah?" He leaned in, nuzzling her cheek.

Echo: The little mouse frowned, her finger stained momentarily with his blood before the water washed it away. She looked up when warm arms wrapped around her, causing her to take a few steps forward as her hands slid up against his chest.

“Mhm,” she hummed, lifting her face to greet his nuzzle, eyes closing.

Sedona: "I'm ok," he felt compelled to remind. "It's already healed." That look in her eyes said what she didn't have to.

Echo: "I know, I'm still getting used to it." After so long having to worry about party members, she couldn't shake off the habit. She didn't think she ever could with him.

So the little mouse rested her forehead against his chest, enjoying the warm water that washed over them.

Sedona: His fingers eventually made their way to her head. Combed through with the water as the only brush she would ever need. His mind drifted as they stood beneath the tepid spray. The sound of engines and wind whistling between windows; the sound of his mother's voice; an argument with his sister over a verse in the Bible.

A bout of silence followed the thought of Echo's face, her voice now filling the emptiness. Her squeaks in one form, her laughter in the other.

"Ya know, ya should stab me," he laughed. "What's it called... desensitized? Desenssssitizing."

Echo: Echo leaned into his touch, the soft drag of fingers through damp strands lulling her eyes shut. How long had it been since she had cut her hair that one night he had found her? Had it really gotten rid of the weight that it carried? She would have considered it more if not for the sudden suggestion.

One bright blue eye cracked open, squinting up at him like she hadn’t heard right.

“…No!” Followed by a gentle slap to his chest. “Bad!”

She turned away with a huff, reaching for the soap.

“I’m not stabbing you on purpose,” she sniffed, half-pouting as she lathered her arms. Even imagining it felt gut wrenching.

Sedona: "See? See, that don't hurt none. Don't hurt at all. A stab ain't gonna hurt none, either. Just sayin'. Ya know, I think you'll feel better if ya do."

His arms were around her waist as soon as she turned. He rather enjoyed sharing a shower with her. He imagined holding her felt no different than a child holding their favorite doll, the one that made them feel loved and comforted. He wanted to squeeze, but worried he might squeeze too hard.

Echo: Echo let the silence settle between them. One of her hands, slick with soap, lifted to gently cradle his face, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. Silly immortal.

“Squeeze, I won’t break,” she smiled gently, tilting her head back to look up at him. But her smile wavered slightly at the mention of stabbing him, her hand slowly sliding down to rest over his, guiding it up until it settled above her heart.

“I…” she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as her slim shoulders gently pushed back into his chest. Her fingers rubbed at the back of his hand.

“I don’t think I’d feel better. I think I’d cry,” she confessed softly. “Even if it didn’t hurt you, the act would still hurt me. Because I’m yours, and…I love you.”

She turned her head just enough to nuzzle his jaw.

Sedona: "Neither will I." It was her mention, after all, and just for that, he squeezed. Lightly, of course. A measure of strength one could weigh with scales.

Slowly, he swayed one way and then the other, letting the spray move across her chest.

"Love you, babygirl." He didn't have to think about it, and she would feel that. He knew she would.

"I, ya know, just don't want ya to be afraid. I'm gonna get stabbed, smacked around, gonna bleed. I've lost fingers, an arm. Teeth. It's gonna happen and I don't wanna see you cry thinkin' I'm actually hurt. That ain't hurt." He shook his head. "Mm-mm. That ain't hurt."

Echo: She stared ahead past the water that warmed them, considering his words. The squeeze coaxed a small smile from her, as did the gentle sway from side to side. Her head leaned back against his shoulder, and she exhaled slowly.

“I know, and like a lizard, you grow back. I understand that.”

She turned in his arms then, arms wrapping lightly around his neck as she stood on her toes to press her forehead to his.

She had meant more specifically hurting him on purpose, but instead of sharing that, what he said raised a different question. It was a more sensitive question, one she wasn’t sure if she could ask. ‘What’s hurt you to say that?’

Sedona: "Ya found me out. I'm really a lizard all along. I'm in human form until I find my tail." Or something. Sounded like a plausible story from her universe.

His hands met just shy of her ass, fingers laced together as she offered affection.

Did he want to answer her? He could pretend he hasn't heard the question floating in between her ears, but he had, and he knew that she knew.

"Ya don't... want that, baby. I don't see how ya could."

Echo: Her eyes crinkled as a grin tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Is that what I call you now? Geckoman?” A beat passed. “No…Geico.”

A snort escaped her, muffled only slightly as she pressed her face briefly into his shoulder, her laughter soft.

And as quickly as her thoughts drifted, he read them and for a second there was hesitation she felt. Looking into his eyes, they both recognized the moment, her question, and the silence that followed it.

Her gaze dropped to the floor of the shower, then back up as her fingers smoothed along the curve of his neck.

“To know you,” she finally replied. “Not just the parts that smile when I’m around.”

Sedona: He had to think about that, and truth be told, even to himself, he hated thinking. He hated considering. He hated memories as much as he loved them. Thinking about work was different. It was easy to watch the ins and outs of a stranger with days, minutes, seconds to live. As impersonal as crossing the street and bumping shoulders with a complete stranger.

"Ya want me to give you a... bloody memory? What if it gets stuck in your head? What if it gives ya nightmares? I know ya don't care what I do, like what I do for a livin', it's just... it's different."

Echo: Her eyes softened as she looked up at him, and her fingers brushed gently along his jaw,  searching his mismatched eyes.

“Not now,” she settled, lowering back down to her heels. “But whenever you’re ready, if you want to share.”

Her hand rested against his chest as she would let the conversation go. She had heard it in his voice, the hesitation of sharing a memory with her. Be it too gory or too private, it nether stood here nor there. She wanted to know and help carry it, but she wouldn’t ask him to bleed just for her sake.

Sedona: "Hey." His hands slid up her back, over her shoulders, reaching her jaw, which he cupped.

"I mean it. Would it give ya nightmares? Does anything?"

Echo: Soft blue eyes looked up at the immortal, caught in his hold. Would she get nightmares from a shared memory? She sifted through what haunted her most, and like a wisp in the dark, her old mistress’s name floated to the surface.

She leaned into the touch, her own hands curling loosely around his wrists.

“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. "But I'll be fine, promise," she tried to reassure him qith a squeeze.

Sedona: A name... but he hadn't caught it. He could hazard a guess, and it would bring him to the same place. Why was that name a ghost to her? Is that what he would become, he wondered?

"Not gonna make ya promise." He wouldn't hold it against her if she retreated from the memory and recoiled from his touch.

Slowly, he sucked in a breath through his teeth, closed his eyes, and pressed his forehead to hers. For a time, only the running water filled the silence in the bathroom.

The sound of his father's voice. The feeling of hands on his arms. Writhing and sinking against their collective grasp. He had tried everything; digging his heels into the soft grass, falling with dead weight to knock them from their legs. It wasn't enough to overpower two fully grown men with rough hands and misplaced loyalty. It only took his father's strength to drag his mother by her wrist. Her eyes were already beginning to swell as they were dragged from the side of the road back to the encampment. The youngest children kicked and pushed at the adults, ignored.

Sedona: "Fucking deceiver! All these years, a witch! A witch in our circle! Tainting our children, poisoning their ears! He's not my son, is he? You've slept with serpents! You are one! I've fed you, clothed you, blessed you. And you. You. I'll give you rapture."

That nasally fried voice was forever burned in Sedona's memory. Every sermon, every chide, every criticism, every praise, but it was only his mother he saw. Only his mother's wheezing he had consciously heard. Only his mother, whom he begged for.

He had been tied to a tree. Arms spread wide as if for embrace. Sweat and tears that should have stung his eyes blurred his vision. His mother, mere feet away, hung upside down by her feet, hands tied behind her back. There was nothing he could do but watch his mother breathe like a fish out of water. He loved her; he told her he loved her, but there was no way to know if she could hear him. Eventually her eyes closed, and eventually, she stopped moving. Arman Genn, the man he had called father for 19 years, only saw fit to cut her down after her body had defecated.

Sedona: "That's pain," Sedona whispered.

Echo: Her hands lifted to cradle his face, her eyes closing as she gently swayed under his touch.

She saw it, felt it, not as an outsider, but as if she'd lived it inside his skin. Panic curling in her ribs as she watched helplessly as the scene unfolded. Rage like fire burned in her lungs as she watched that beautiful woman get hung by her feet.

Her heart race and her breath caught as fingers gently pressed just a little firmer against him. She didn’t speak at first, instead she breathed with him. Letting his pain move through her until the worst of it passed. Her thumb swept through strands of damp hair near his temple, brushing it back.

Her cheeks were damp, not from the shower but from grief.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I’m so sorry.”

Sedona: She hadn't winced, hadn't gagged on her bile. The lack of reaction had taken him aback.

And then she squeezed, and he realized the pulse beneath his fingers had quickened.

He breathed deeply, and so did she. Was she in his heart and lungs as she was in his mind?

"Babygirl... " He looked her over. Tried parting her hair from her eyes. "...What am I supposed to do? Like... so ya don't cry?"

Echo: Because of their bond, they were entwined and she had felt the pain he had gone through. The tears still came, warm trails catching at her cheeks, but she didn’t sob. The back of her hand rose to wipe them away, before she lifted her eyes to meet his.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, her voice small. And when she saw the look in his eyes, she whispered it again in an attempts to convince him, “I’m okay.”

Her fingers caught his, lacing them together, “We should go get a tattoo.”

Sedona: "I think that's why we be showerin'," he tried to smile. He had made her cry. With her permission, yes, but that didn't change the feeling in his stomach. He didn't know pain, but he knew the cramping in his stomach when it wanted to expel his breakfast.

"You gonna be showin' me your worst? I wanna see."

Echo: Damp strands of white clung to her cheeks as she nodded. She hadn’t expected the shower to soften into something this raw with threads of pain woven between tenderness.

His question made her heart ache a little.

A hand gently moved to rest over his heart as she traced the shape of the muscles beneath her fingers.

“I can, but why do you want to see it?”

Sedona: There was no denying that he felt the same. They were usually feathers. He trusted they would lift off again. They had a knack for that.

"Why wouldn't I? You got pieces of me. I want your pieces."

Echo: Echo was quiet as she stood with him, thinking. What could she offer that carried the same weight? What tragedy did she have to choose from? And the longer she sat in her memories, the stronger her heart beat.

“Okay…”

A memory seemed to have surfaced.

“It…it’ll look like a movie to you but….but it really did happen.”

She leaned in until their brows met, breath slowing, syncing to his. Her eyes closed as she offered her memory.

They seemed to be transported into another plane, one that was stark and desolate. There was no sky or warmth, only the skeletal remains of a crumbling building surrounded by rotting trees and the jagged edge of a cliff.

Their perspective would be looking outward from the level of her mistress’s breast pocket as they faced a ghoul. The being was wretched, its robes hanging like a damp parchment, grey flesh shriveled and clinging to its bones. But the worst part, the part that still haunted her, was the eye in its chest. It was an unblinking, ancient eye that was focused straight on her.

To her right, a stocky cleric with a handlebar mustache shouted a prayer and held up his holy symbol. To her left, a green-scaled dragonborn hefted his sword, and a blue-robed porcelain woman cracked with golden seams stood there. Finally looking up, was a drow woman with silver-white hair, messy and unkempt, black goggles perched on her forehead, grimacing at the creature. That was Niz.

They were tired and wounded, blood staining their clothes and skin. Echo could feel her mistress’s magic waning.

“Shoot the fucking guy before we die!” a gruff voice shouted. It took a moment to realize it came from the crossbow itself, a wooden contraption with a dwarf brass face carved into its frame.

Echo: “Shut up, Nettle,” snapped the druid. “Let me concentrate.”

But before she could shoot off a bolt, the monster slammed its staff into the ground, and a ripple of purple energy blasted through the air. All around her, suddenly, all the party members fell to their knees with various cries.

From behind, a white dragonling leapt into view. He roared as he exhaled frost toward the enemy, only to be frozen mid-attack, suspended in the air.

Echo’s heart pounded. Her mistress was paralyzed as were the rest of the party. She watched Vecna, yes…Vecna, drift forward, hand outstretched, black tendrils seeping into the dragonling’s side.

“EROSA!” Niz creamed.

The dragon collapsed, his eyes rolling back into his skull.

Echo. Hide. Leave me and hide.

The command came, but the little mouse was frozen with fear.

ECHO, GO!

The second shout startled the familiar, as she looked at Niz. She scurried out of the dark folds of clothes and ran without looking back.

The screams of Niz, her friends, of her family, chased her down a stone hall. Her tiny heart thudded in her chest as the tears soaked her fur.

She didn’t know if the lich had seen her. She didn’t know if he cared.

But she fled, and wasn’t sure if her family was still alive.

Back in the shower, Echo’s shoulders shook. Her nails gently dug against his chest.

“I ran,” she whispered.

Her white hair clung to her face.

“I…I didn’t know what else to do.”

Sedona: “Bet mine did, too,” he muttered. He had assumed she meant first-person perspective. It hadn’t occurred to him that her warning included magic. She was right, it looked like something off the shelf of a Blockbuster – too old-fashioned – like something out of a pirated high-fantasy film. Mere seconds of observing his surroundings, the building that didn’t belong to modern times, the clothes, the creature. He could swear he smelled its dry bones, the blood of her companions, and soil beneath them.

He didn’t know any of these people. Might as well have been characters in one of his books, or cosplay, or that Blockbuster without a name – but he recognized the one called Niz from Echo’s descriptions, few though they were. This had been her most important person. This had been her life. A band of weirdos and a dragon, and one ugly ass creature with a staff. She had lived a life of adrenaline. Was it any wonder he didn’t want her present during his jobs.

His hands rubbed little patterns into her back.

“She told ya to run. I woulda told ya to run. I don’t think she’d be thrilled none of ya didn’t listen. Like my mama, ya know? What would be the point of ya dyin’?”

Echo: “She told me to run, yeah. But you know how it is. You don’t always get to think smart in a moment like that.”

She leaned into the hand on her back, running her hands over her face to wipe at the last of the tears. The worst of it had passed and what clung to her now would settle in silence. He’d asked for a painful memory, and while that day had been the most terrifying of her life, it still wasn’t the one that cut the deepest.

She couldn’t bear to share that one yet, not the day her mistress turned and left her behind.

Maybe another day.

Instead, she lifted her chin and rose to her toes, brushing a soft kiss to the line of his jaw. Better to dwell on the  immortal in front of her than hauntings of her past.

“Can you tell when you start getting pruney?”

Sedona: "Nah, ya don't. We weren't given a choice, huh? Some big bad did it for us." He thought about her story - no, her life. She wasn't some character in a book, and as fantastical as it had appeared, what had happened to her wasn't a Hollywood film.

"What were ya doin' there? Treasure huntin'?"

He looked down at his hands, showing her the pads of his fingers. Still human in every other way. They had begun to wrinkle.

"Texture, I guess. I just look."

Echo: “Stopping that thing from trying to destroy these anchors.” She was struggling to remember. “They were holding back something that was called the ‘Endless Hunger’.” Or something like that.

Echo took his hands, turning them gently in hers, thumbs smoothing over the faint pruney texture with a faint, lopsided smile.

“We probably should get out then.”

Sedona: "Should," he smirked. He couldn't wrap his mind around what she was talking about, but if he insisted, he knew she would try to show him, and he knew that meant the possibility of more tears. He would rather push the subject forward.

"You want piercings, too?"

Echo: “Piercings?”

She hadn’t thought about them.

“What do you think I should get pierced?”

Sedona: "I dunno. Don't women like their ears pierced? Get some fancy gems hangin' off?" he grinned. "Diamonds in like, itty bitty swords."

Echo: "Sure, I can get my ears pierced..." Her hand went up to her ears, running her finger over her earlobe.

Piercings and a tattoo, it was going to be an unexpectedly adventurous day for the little familiar.

Sedona: For a moment, he considered her, glanced at her fingers as he turned off the water. Her towel was wrapped around her shoulders first.

"Do you want your ears pierced? I ain't givin' a command."

Echo: Echo reached up to use the towel and dry her hair followed by the rest of her before wrapping it around her frame.

"I like the idea of having earrings. Besides, you can't have them, so I can be your model."

Sedona: Somehow she wound the subject back to him. It was a talent. A gift.

"They can change with you, you think? Like your clothes when you mouse?"

Echo: “I think so. We can find out,” she said, glancing up.

Already, her mind had wandered toward what she might wear for their outing. Her fingers trailed along her wrist before she turned it up for him to see.

“I used to wear a yellow ribbon around my neck,” she said, brushing a thumb over the small tattoo of it now etched into her skin. “My mistress had gotten it from some shopkeep who said it was enchanted to make the wearer’s smile beautiful.”

The familiar smiled gently before she shook her head as if dismissing the thought, “So, of course she put it on me.”

She let her hand fall away to her side as she continued her thought, “All that to say, I can try to enchant them if they give me any issues, but it should be fine, like my clothes.”

Sedona: "But you're smile's already beautiful." He wanted to be offended on her behalf, but that probably - probably - wasn't the intention of her former mistress. "She shoulda put it on a gnome or, what y'all got out there, goblins? A Nosferatu-lookin' fucker that needs it."

His fingers accompanied her fingers at her neck, feeling at the tattoo as if he expected it to be raised. Every time, and the answer hadn't changed.

Echo: “I didn’t have this form before!” she countered. Besides, how charming was a mouse really if it smiled at you? The thought made her smirk before she leaned into his touch, shifting enough to rest her cheek in the palm of his hand.

“I liked it and was sad when I thought I lost it crossing over.”

Magic had a funny way of working here.

Sedona: "So, this is that ribbon, for real?" The more he learned about magic, the more fascinating it became. Miracles, they were. He wondered if it was because of the ribbon that she stood on two human legs.

"You wanna meet more people with magic?"

Echo: “Mm!” She wasn’t sure how its properties worked here, or if it did at all but that was something to explore later.

The familiar was ready to scurry out of the bathroom back to their little modest room, but the next question stalled her. One foot forward, one back and her smile faltered.

“I…”

She had been so cautious to even approach Sedona, that being offered to meet other people with magic made the little mouse feel a certain way.

“I don’t know,” she finally said with a small shrug. “They might not like my kind of weird.”

She peeked up at him then, “I mean, my magic is different…”

And what if they realize this and tried to send her back?

Sedona: Send her back? That was quite a thought. He wondered where that paranoia came from. Had to be from something. Losing her mistress? Losing him? What about the one that has kept her before, the nameless one in the middle - nameless because he kept forgetting the name.

"Up to you, babydoll. Ain't gonna make you be around anyone you ain't up to. I mean, except Ariel. Way too late to change that."

Getting across the hall was quick work. The doors locked automatically behind them. He let his towel fall carelessly as he scooped up a pair of boxers and jeans.

Echo: “Mm, who were you thinking of introducing me to?”

Like a small white shadow, she drifted to his side, towel still wrapped around her as she shifted through the pieces she called hers. Her fingers paused now and then, weighing the vibe more than the weather.

"He's fine because I got to see him first."

Eventually, she landed on a pale green crop top and white shorts. The heart-shaped sunglasses were non-negotiable as they rested in her hair, and she added her necklace and sneakers to match.

“What do you think?”

Sedona: "Pirates," he grinned. "That and some... I dunno, I guess they're witches. They don't be callin' themselves that. The old guy that runs the place is fuckin' half-blind. Old lady's nice. They got this shop, and like, the shit changes every day. Like you blink and the shelves are in different places. They let me sleep on their couch when I got here."

Pants buttoned, he turned to look her over and smiled some more.

"Perfect summer beach babe."

Echo: Her head tilted as she mulled over the thought of meeting the maybe-witches and their shifting shop. It did sound like something worth poking her nose into. Hm. Curiosity got the best of her.

“Okay… maybe,” she decided at last, filing it away for later. For now, there was a tattoo parlor waiting for them.

Complimented by the immortal made the familiar’s smile brighten, enough to make her bounce lightly up onto her toes before settling back down again.

“Mm, then we go?”

Sedona: He had a feeling that introducing her to Jesse and Thomas would be with her in his shirt pocket, or underneath his bucket hat. Either way, he didn't care. Mouse or human, she was Echo, and they wouldn't have shit to say about it.

An old sleeveless and loud Aloha button-down was slipped into in a matter of seconds. Unbuttoned, of course. This wasn't another fancy date in a bougie restaurant.

They looked more suited for Coney Island than the outskirts of Manhattan, and heading out the door, he took her hand and swung them.

"We're wavin' down a cab. I dunno where this shit is."

And it would give him time to look at her magicked ID one last time. If any little thing looked out of place, they'd be standing with regular ass humans looking awkward.

Echo: The addition of the button-down made her grin. She loved those on him, they always looked like the kind of shirt that belonged on someone she liked seeing happy. Plus, they always had a pocket for her if she needed it.

Her fingers slipped easily into his, letting him swing their hands as they stepped into the street, the early sun spilling warm light over them. Mornings were her favorite, everything felt new and fresh. And today? Today she was going to get a tattoo. Maybe they could grab something to eat afterward…

Sliding her heart-shaped glasses into place, she peeked up at her immortal and nodded toward him as he studied her ID.

“So why don’t you just use your phone? Or… Uber?” she asked, voice soft but teasing. Then she tilted her head, thinking that a barcode that read ABC123 was very normal.

Sedona: "Everywhere be askin' for ID in this world, baby. Used to not be that way. Someone, that old lady with the pawn shop, she said I was born in the wrong era. Maybe I wasn't. Maybe I outlived it, ya know? How the fuck old am I? Well, maybe not that old, but like, I wasn't - I didn't have one before. Wasn't that big'a deal."

There was something about her — her questions, her curiosity — that made him feel inclined to say more than empty platitudes and shallow jokes. Was that the flavor of responsibility? It was bland on his tongue. Maybe the more he tried, the better the taste.

"What's this?" he pointed at her alphabet buffoonery.

Echo: “The barcode?” She said peering over at what he pointed at.

She didn’t understand what might possibly be wrong with it. To a mouse, IDs were nonsense anyway, it was a picture with a few numbers and then letters strung together. At least she’d gotten her age and address right.

“Mm, you act pretty old,” she hummed, beaming up at him. On her toes, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before settling back down on her heels. Her gaze drifted back to the street. With her free hand, she lifted a wave just as a cab slowed to the curb. Sliding the conversation back, she flicked her eyes up at him.

“Do I need to change it?”

Sedona: "Yeah. I mean, I don't think that part matters to a tattooist, but someone else, who fuckin' knows."

It sounded like he needed to call in a favor, give her a properly forged piece of plastic. Or maybe not. If this were the only instance she would ever need it - and the nightclub. He could have her on the VIP list, but that required introducing her to January Dune. He had a feeling she wouldn't be interested.

But he passed the thought to her while slipping into the back of the cab.

Echo: The cab smelled faintly of smoke and cheap cologne, the seats sagging from the many passengers it had seen. Echo scooted in, belt snapping shut across her small frame before she settled, folding her hands over her lap. Her gaze lifted at the thought about meeting the vampire that essentially ran the city.

A dark brow quirked at the offer, her head gently tilting, though the question from the driver cut in before she could answer. The familiar looked toward Sedona instead, since she didn't have a clue where they were going.

She looked down at her short, manicured nails, thumbs brushing over them as she finally replied once the car started moving.

‘What is she like?’

Sedona: Sedona pulled out his phone, rattling off the address Ariel had texted him. He remained facing forward as her voice filled his ears - not his ears, he knew this, and still he couldn't differentiate.

He had almost spoken out loud, clearing his throat instead. A smile twitched the side of his mouth.

'She's bougie. She's... like, picture a temptress. Like what you think Aphrodite would be like, that's probably it.'

Echo: The little mouse leaned into the window, eyes tracking the blur of buildings and neon as the cab carried them along. She stayed quiet at first, letting his words sit without seeming to acknowledge them. She was trying to piece together what this mysterious woman was supposed to look like. She had met many characters in her adventures, but was a temptress one of them?

‘Ah…’

A few seconds ticked by, her reflection faint in the glass as she tilted her head.

‘Is she… nice?’

Sedona: He didn't realize when he'd started watching her, but he wondered what she would look like in one of January's long, plunging dresses, covered in jewels and her staple red lipstick. Would it feel like a costume on her? Would she feel pretty? That was all that mattered.

'To her people, sure. Loves her ghoulies. Likes her partners. I don't think she gives a shit about anyone else.'

Echo: While he’d answered her question, the little mouse still wasn’t sure what to make of January. If they ever crossed paths, she supposed she’d find out firsthand. For now, all she could do was nod. From what she’d heard, the woman sounded shallow, but that wasn’t fair to decide yet, not without seeing her for herself. She looked out the taxi window, the sunlight sliding across her reflection.

‘Do you like her?’

Sedona: He didn't know why it mattered. Whether he liked her or not, she was the majority of his security in this city. He could survive without her should he have to, but he didn't have to.

'I get her. We're the same in a lot of ways. It's like askin' if I like myself.'

Echo: Echo tilted her head, studying him quietly as the city blurred by outside. She could understand that. Besides, weren’t her and Niz like that too? So she nodded and looked down at the little drawn rose still faintly inked on her skin.

“What color do you like?”

Sedona: Two contradictory eyes looked at her, his temple pressed to his fist. He followed her gaze and smiled.

"Ain't it gonna be a white tattoo? You want color in between the lines?"

Echo: "I'm not sure. It'll be pretty either way.  What do you think?" She liked the idea of a white tattoo, but she wanted some part of him to be represented in it too.

Sedona: "I think it's gotta be somethin' you'll wanna see every day. I dunno if orange and purple are you. What's your favorite? Yellow?"

Echo: She nodded.

“Mm, what if it’s all three colors?” she mused. She’d seen such hues in the fae wilds, and if he couldn’t picture it, she would show him. Reaching out, she took his hand in hers, her slender shoulder brushing gently against his arm. The little mouse closed her eyes and shared a picture of what she was seeing.

Sedona: While she had closed her eyes, Sedona was staring at the worn leather of the seat between them. The stitching holding on for dear life on either end of a tear.

"I don't think it'll be a white tattoo anymore, but it'd be pretty on you." He didn't think anything within her taste would mar her skin.

Echo: “Mm, you’re right. We’ll keep it white.”

She opened her eyes to find him. The soft blue of her gaze caught the morning light as she looked up at him.

“What else do you want to do today?”

Sedona: He often wondered how to describe the shade of blue of her eyes. Though she came close to many shades, none were exactly right. Either he was ignorant, which was likely, or her color shifted when he wasn't paying attention.

"Hm? Oh. Whatever you wanna do. You're the one gettin' tatted up."

'You can heal yourself just fine?'

Echo: For some reason, the way he said “gettin’ tatted up” made the little mouse feel mighty, like she could take on the world. She beamed at him with pride. No thoughts followed only vibes and the hum of agreement as she nodded. She could heal herself, so there was no need to worry!

Sedona: Her smile made him laugh, squeezing his arm around her shoulders, he kissed the top of her head.

"Babygirl. Babydoll. My queen."

Echo: The little mouse melted easily beneath his arm, a soft hum escaping her.

“Your queen?” she giggled, shaking her head.  That was too important of a title, she was just Echo.

She peeked up at him, then toward the window. “Are we there?”

Sedona: "We're in Manhattan," but she knew that. "Speed limit is a whoppin' 25 miles, baby. Gonna be a minute." So, he would fill his time kissing her forehead.

Echo: “Is that slow? It feels slow,” she murmured, though the complaint melted quickly when his lips brushed her forehead again.

Sedona: "Definitely slow, baby." He loved that she loved affection. He loved giving it to her. "Could always get out and walk. Even slower, but you can explore."

Echo: He was sunshine, that’s why his color was orange. The world was warmer when his arms were around her or when he kissed and tickled her. And she could feel that sunshine right now.

The little mouse pressed into his side, her fingers tracing little circles over his arm.

“Would…you ever want to see what it’s like to be a mouse?”

Sedona: A glance was given to their driver, mouth twitching. "Bet everything looks 15 stories tall. You take ten thousand steps to go thirty feet."

Her hand was squeezed.

'You can turn me into a mouse?'

Echo: She smiled, not able to argue his point. Everything was bigger when she was a little mouse.

"You can take in all the details at that size!"

‘I can make you into any animal you want. Do you want to?’

Sedona: That would be her most powerful magic. Had to be. What else could she turn into? Could she turn his enemies into snails? Would she eat them, then, with her little mouse teeth? He didn't mind sharing the thought.

'Just a mouse? What about a raccoon? You can ride me. I'll be your noble steed.'

Echo: Echo was sure that eating snails wouldn’t be very vegetarian of her. And that earned a wrinkle of her nose as she quickly shook her head. Ick.

‘I don’t think that would be the weirdest thing New Yorkers will ever see…’

Sedona: 'Nah, but it would be the coolest. They won't see anything else like it. But like, maybe a rat carrying a box of pizza. That shit's for real.' He was giving them away, laughing at nothing in the backseat.

Echo: ‘Oh! I’ve seen that on Instagram!’ she chirped with excitement. By now, it was second nature for the little mouse to talk with the immortal like this, not taking notice of how peculiar they probably looked, giggling and smiling like two goofballs back there.

Sedona: "Fuck," he breathed, head falling back with laughter. "You're one of them online people. You and Ariel are gonna be besties. How the fuck you got Instagram?"

Echo: “He doesn’t like me!”

And as for how she got access to Instagram, she brightly smiled.

“The library.”

Sedona: "The library?" Library mouse. He couldn't unthink it now. What an adorable image. Her little hands pushing and pulling the pages of a giant book made him grin from ear to ear.

"You got his number? He don't hate you. Nah."

Echo: “I said he didn’t like me, not that he hates me!”

Her face was in her hands.

“See…he hates me!”

But she couldn’t keep a straight face; her words dissolving into giggles, shoulders trembling as she tried to compose herself.

Sedona: "Both!" He laughed. "Are you blushin'? Is that a blush? What you thinkin' about? Do I need to be jealous?"

Echo: “What?! No!” She was laughing again as she shook her head.

Sedona: "I think you're sweet on him. I think you liiiiike him!"

Echo: “Ew, no!” She snorted with a hiccupping laugh, hands immediately moving to cover his mouth.

Sedona: "You wanna mar -" His mouth was covered, and she would feel him grinning on the other side. He obeyed the hand, nuzzling in with laughter.

Echo: “I do not!” That was too close to a squeak and earned a raised eyebrow from their driver, causing the little mouse to settle down.

“I do not,” she whispered and gently pinched the immortal’s nose.

Sedona: A raised eyebrow from the driver and a snort from her immortal. Just a few blocks to go. He would fill the time wisely, planting noisy kisses against her neck. No, of course Ariel didn't hate her. And no, he had nothing to worry about. Making her squeak was the highlight of his day.

Echo: Her laughter spilled out in a flurry of squeaks as she wriggled beneath his assault, palms pressed to his chest in half-hearted defense.

“S-S-Sed!” she squealed between giggles, trying to twist away but the effort only made it worse and each kiss earned another helpless laugh.

When the cab finally rolled to a stop, she made her escape, fumbling for the handle behind her back. The door popped open, and she practically tumbled out onto the curb, hair mused and her cheeks pink.

“Freedom!”

Sedona: One of the few people left in New York City to offer cash, but the tip was generous for keeping his mouth shut. Now, if only he could keep that man on speed dial. Had he been alone, he would have stuck his head in the window and made a proposition. Silent people were as valuable as a knife.

But they had things to do. They had a parlor to find, and he had a hand to hold.

"You nervous?" Time to swing their hands.

Echo: The little mouse popped up, waiting for her immortal with her hands clasped behind her back, gently rocking on her heels. She would have been patient if he wanted to speak to the cabby. But at the sight of the extended hand made her automatically reach for it.

“A little, but…you don’t have to stay if you have things to do.”

Sedona: "You think I'm gonna just leave you alone with strangers in Manhattan?" He was shaking his head at her audacity, still swinging their hands despite his scolding. "You done lost your mind. Not leavin' you alone for your first real tattoo."

Echo: “I’m so strong though!” argued the familiar with a bright smile. She was convinced that she could take on anyone and everyone in this city. “And I’m so fast, too!”

But a part of her was happy that her immortal would stay with her.

“Mm, fine, but we’re doing something you want after. Deal?”

Sedona: "Yeah, you can take on Godzilla, but I don't wanna leave you alone. How often were you, like, alone? Out there, before?" How often was she away from her previous master? Did they like each other? Was it love, as they loved each other?

"Whatever I want, however I want it. Deal."

Echo: “Uh… with the vampire I was stayin’ with?” she started, nose scrunching as she thought it through. “All the time.”

He’d been kind enough, gave her a place to sleep, didn’t mind her coming and going as she pleased. They weren’t close exactly, but he was still a friend.

 “But with Niz?” she smiled a little brighter now. “I lived in her pocket most days, so I was always with her.”  She looked ahead as they walked down the sidewalk. “She liked havin’ me close. Said I was her lucky charm.”

Sedona: She did like pockets. He would wear jackets in the summer just for her. She was going to tear holes in his shirts; it would be hilarious.

"You're pretty lucky. I'd say, yeah, pretty fuckin' magical."

To ask if Niz was missed would be downright stupid, like asking if he missed his mother. Still, the urge was as strong as the urge to kiss her. She was certain to already know.

"What was wrong with Mr. Orlok?"

Echo: Echo’s fingers curled around his a little tighter as she walked, her shoulder brushing his arm. She tilted her head up, eyes closing briefly as her smile brightened.

“Thank you,” she said, squeezing his hand.

“Delano?” she echoed, head tilting as she sorted through the memories. She stared ahead, watching the sidewalk pass under their feet as she spoke.

“He’s… really sad,” she said softly. “I think that’s why he liked me. I made him feel lighter for a little bit.” She lifted her free hand, absently rubbing the spot above her heart through her shirt.

“He’s been unhappy a very, very long time. I think he’s… tried to end it before.”

Echo’s eyes drifted, watching the reflections in shop windows as they passed.

“He has a wife, but they… don’t get along. At all. They stay together anyway.” Her nose scrunched a little, not in judgement, just confusion.

“I feel sad for him. I wanted to…” she searched for a word, brows furrowing, “…give him that umph, that spark that tells you things can still get better.”

A small sigh left her.

“But when you’ve lived as long as he has… I don’t think he knows what to do with hope anymore.”

Sedona: He wasn't sure what she was thanking him for, and he wasn't going to ask.

For a bit, she said, like her presence was only a temporary relief, before that hedonic treadmill rolled on - depressing.

"I guess she's like him? I dunno about where you're from, but around here, people get used to shit, shitty shit and good shit. Like knowin' your way home in the dark."

Had she wanted to be his familiar? With a spouse, he wondered if that was why she hadn't. Jealousy, or - no, just jealousy. A familiar was an intimate relationship, he'd realized instantly.

"Eh," he shrugged. "We'll see how I turn out."

Echo: Echo’s steps slowed just a little, enough that their swinging hands matched. She wasn’t looking at the sidewalk anymore.

“They fought… a lot,” she repeated gently. "Sometimes I’d come back and the whole place was wrecked.”

Her fingers tightened around his.

“I don’t… understand loving someone like that,” she admitted, a small frown knitting her brows. “Hurting each other until you forget why you stayed at all.”

But then his thoughts drifted and she felt them.

"No, I didn’t feel that connection with him. He was sad and it looked like he needed a friend.”

She nudged him.

"But you... you felt different the moment I met you. You still do.”

Sedona: Her words were a time machine, pushing the crashing sound of glass and flipped tables in his ears. Christ Almighty, he hadn't thought about that in so long he had forgotten entirely. A lot of bullshit from his father lingered, but the random fights for the sake of fighting had easily blended together as one conclusion: his father had been a prick since birth.

"The good moments are good, and some people take 'till death do us part' literally. I mean, it's in the vows, you know? And people just say shit to say it. It's all meaningless."

It wasn't to say - but that didn't include Echo. But then again, their bond was more than mere words. It was tangible.

"I'm not lonely." But wasn't that her purpose? Why she had followed him for days? Why she had decided of all the men in New York City, he was her chosen favorite?

"What's loneliness feel like?" Because... maybe there was a chance that he was. The sensation had never been explained to him before. Not as obvious as fear or anger; as strange and multifaceted as happiness.

Echo: Echo’s head tilted, listening. She caught the little threads of memories whispering to her, but she didn’t chase. They felt like delicate, private things, the type she would see if he decided to revisit them with her. Her hand flexed in his, offering a gentle squeeze instead.

His question made her look up at him and their foot of height difference. She blinked once, and then again, thinking.

“Not lonely like… needing people,” she said softly.

She shifted closer, her shoulder brushing his arm as her voice grew gentler.

“But lonely in the… family way.” Her brows pinched a little, like the concept sat heavy in her chest. “You had so many brothers, sisters… your mother… your aunts and uncles.” The words came slowly. “And it feels like losing that left a place behind. Not empty, but…” She searched for the right shape.

“It feels like a note,” she said at last. “Beautiful by itself, but missing the other half that makes the sound… full.”

Her thumb brushed once over his knuckles.

“That’s what I feel from you sometimes,” she finished softly. “Just… waiting for your harmony.”

She lifted their joined hands, pressing them lightly against her cheek.

Sedona: A little tension in her fingers told him everything he needed to know, and there it would remain in silence. In the same unspoken spirit, he wrapped his arm around her as she neared, offering his other hand for her to hold. She hadn't misinterpreted anything, but he hadn't sat with the feeling of being perceived long enough to know whether or not he appreciated the feeling.

No one knew him. Not really. Not even Ariel, a man he loved purely for his idiotic naiveté. The man was a walking, talking time capsule of life before July 15, 1991.

"Were they really family, or just a congregation?" The question was too harsh, and he might have felt a hint of guilt, but he was easily distracted by the softness of her cheek. There was nothing to feel shitty about with her around.

Echo: Her hiding spot was soft and comfortable among the mountain of plushies he had gotten her. What was another set of beady little eyes staring at him?

Sedona: The orange puffer jacket was shrugged from his shoulders, left where it landed as he dropped on all fours. He hummed loudly, playfully, crawling over to the bed to check beneath the covers. He looked under and around the crate where the laptop sat. Behind the pillows...

But their minds were one. He just wanted her shaken like a bottle of champagne, overwhelmed with anticipation.

Echo: Echo stayed as still as she could, holding her tiny breath as her little heart pitter-pattered in her chest. She knew that he probably…most likely…already knew where she was. But if she just stayed very, very still…

It was too much to ask of a little familiar.

The moment he came close and brushed the foot of one of the stuffed plushies, she snapped. Like a bolt of white lightning, she shot from the corner, bounding across pillows and launching onto the bed, turning the whole thing into her own chaotic obstacle course.

Sedona: The little squeak of his tiny mouse caused an equally outrageous noise from his throat, crawling back onto the bed, words strung together in a runaway sentence of excitement and empty threats.

"OhI'mmagetyoulilthing! Whereyouat?! Yourassisgrass!"

Echo: More squeaking ensued as Echo darted along the edges of the bed before skidding to a stop in the center, staring up at her immortal. You could almost see the two little brain cells working.

Then…she bolted.

With a fearless leap, she launched herself at him, immediately squirming and wriggling in an attempt to burrow under his shirt.

Sedona: Sedona stared like an idiot for as long as she did. In the heat of the moment, he hadn't caught a whiff of her intentions, and yelled, thrown back as though struck by a mighty force. Legs flailed as he felt around his shirt for her tiny little movements.

"You don't get to reverse Uno! What the fuck!"

Echo: Well, that made her laugh, though it wasn’t something he was capable of hearing. Maybe he could sense it, though? She wasn’t sure. She was too busy being a menace.

Her tiny feet skittered across his skin, scrabbling for purchase as she tried to find solid footing. She scampered upward, determined, until she reached his neckline. There, she paused, poking her nose out from under the fabric, his shirt draped over her like a hood.

She blinked up at him.

‘Hi.’

Sedona: Sedona lay flat on the mattress, straining his neck enough to see her peeking from his shirt, as though sanctuary he couldn't touch. She had won via chaos.

He offered his finger for her inspection. He had only been gone long enough to make a phone call. Texting her had been boredom management. She succeeded.

"Hey, babygirl. Wanna go out, see the world? Get some pancakes?"

Echo: If a mouse could look triumphant, that was Echo in that moment standing tall and proud over her keeper.

At the offer of his finger, she leaned in to give it a curious sniff… but then the intrusive thought won. The soft edges of her teeth caught around it in a gentle test nibble.

‘Ooh,’ her thoughts chimed, bright and immediate, ‘I saw a commercial about stuffed cheesecake pancakes. Can we try that?’

Sedona: He wondered in that split-second of an instant whether or not she would one day eat him. It wasn't as though he would feel anything but a vague sense of pressure and wrongness.

"If you remember where, let's do it." And then, a thought occurred to him. "You ever wanna make shit here?"

Echo: Cats. Cats were the sort of creatures that would eat their owners if they ended up trapped alone and desperate enough for food. Would the little mouse try to eat the immortal?

…Probably not.

But the chance was never truly zero.

‘You know how to cook, right?’

Her little head tilted to the side, and she gave what almost looked like a nod.

‘Yeah! We can get the ingredients and try to make it!’

But…

‘Maybe we find a snack first?’

Sedona: "I mean, a little. I ain't dumb. Boil an egg, chop shit. I know when I fucked up." It had been the women's role in the family. Family... as opposed to the other name. Cult was a dry, empty word, even if it was reality.

"Gotta go get the shit. What you want on them pancakes? That banana caramel thing we talked about? Orrrrr blueberries? And snacks... we got Oreos and apples in the kitchen."

Echo: ‘I didn’t say you were dumb!’

Her little mousey eyes narrowed at him, though it was admittedly difficult to take reprimand seriously from a three-ounce critter standing on his chest with his shirt draped over her head like a hood.

‘Mm, yeah, we can do the banana caramel thing, but…’ Her whiskers twitched with thought. ‘What if we made a banana cheesecake stuffed pancake?’

Surely combining all good things together could only make something better.

‘It has to be good if we mix everything, right?’

Then, immediately distracted again:

‘Apple, please!’

Sedona: "We gonna make all that?" he laughed. "We're gonna go in deep." Or was it dive off the deep end? What was the phrase? Fuck it. He liked his.

"Is gonna be so fuckin' good. We're gonna get us some apples, we're gonna, what, shower? make out? go get some food, go make even more food?"

He was already on his feet, hand cupped beneath her to keep her safe. Dwight was crossing from the bathroom back to his room. He smiled politely, smiled wider at little Echo, and shut the door behind himself. Bring Me the Horizon thrummed on the other side of the wall.

He's gonna wake Driskill, he thought. That woman was going to have some snide remarks and daggers for eyes, unfazed by the mountain of a man in #101. They might catch the tail end of that on their way out.

No matter. The kitchen was unlocked. Recently cleaned by someone on the first floor. A pile of golden apples sat pretty in a bowl by the toaster.

Echo: When the immortal started moving, the little familiar clung to the collar of his shirt to peek out, tiny feet braced against his cupped hand. The moment she spotted Dwight, the mouse let out a cheerful squeak of greeting. She liked him.

Once they reached the kitchen, however, her attention was immediately stolen by the golden apples sitting on the counter.

Excited, she pushed off his hand and scrambled across his shirt before leaping onto the countertop. In the same motion, she shifted back into her human form, short white hair bobbing just above her shoulders as she reached out and snatched an apple for herself.

"Yeah, all of it. Want one?"

Sedona: Thank fuck the only camera in this entire building was aimed at the foyer. He had suspected for years that this building belonged to some weirdo, much like every other person in his circles. January Dune had called this a safe haven for her staff. She wasn't wrong. Everyone on every floor could know Echo's secret and probably wouldn't bat an eyelash. Maybe one among the sixteen-something residents happened to be a white bread human, but an oblivious idiot, no way.

"I... wannnnnnt... a Pop Tart." And they were out. What was the next best thing? The last can of grape soda. Breakfast of champions.

"Do apples curse people? That a thing?"

Echo: The familiar didn’t think much of her transformation. She’d assumed the complex was something of a haven for people like them. And if anyone had seen her shift...well, no they didn’t. She was fairly certain she could charm her way out of it. Or make them forget.

“I don’t think so?” she replied, moving to rinse off the apple before taking a bite with a satisfying crunch. “Not unless someone poisoned it.”

Sedona: "So, total Snow White script, huh. Thought apples had a curse or somethin'." Another barrage of questions swelled inside him, but eventually she would retaliate in a fit of pique, wouldn't she? Or did she enjoy his curiosity?

Sedona stared from behind his grape soda, hoping she might have caught what he didn't know how to better phrase.

Echo: Echo leaned against the counter, chewing thoughtfully on her bite before taking another as she watched the immortal. She could feel the pressure of more questions lingering there, though she couldn’t quite pick them apart individually without digging deeper. What she did catch was his worry about overwhelming her.

She shook her head almost immediately, picking up on the emotion behind it.

“Go ahead,” she encouraged. “It’s fun and… in a way, it helps me get to know you better too.”

Sedona: "How's that?" he asked, jumping up on the counter to join her. Immediately he was hunched, like time itself had placed a backpack full of rocks on his spine.

Echo: “I don’t know. Ask your questions and I’ll see if I can answer them.” She took another bite before staring at the hunched immortal.

‘We said that we’re going out shopping… We should probably move.’

Sedona: "I meant me! How's that help? Don't you know everything about me yet?" He placed his hands under his chin, batting his eyelashes.

Echo: “What I know is that you farted in your sleep last night.” Off she pushed off with a cackle as she went out the kitchen door in hopes of getting them moving.

Sedona: His gasp was long and loud, jumping off the counter after her, grape soda barely balanced in one hand as he made a grab for her in the other.

Echo: The familiar was nearly out the door when she felt his fingers brush against her shoulder. With a quick dip of her shoulder, she slipped just out of reach and darted into the hall, half-eaten apple clutched tightly to her chest.

“Don’t be upset with the truth!” she called over her shoulder, already pivoting toward the building exit.

Sedona: "I ain't even got - wait!" His wallet! phone! human things! Between chase and practically, money to purchase their stupid whims won the war. Some ten seconds later he was hauling ass out the front door of Anchor's Rest.

Echo: The familiar hung outside, having realized the immortal probably hadn’t actually gathered his things before they’d rushed off for their latest round of shenanigans.

So, she waited for him there, half bent over as she inspected the flowers blooming along their little entryway outside.

"Ready?"

Sedona: The little patch of flowers was passed over for a dandelion in a crack on the sidewalk. The seeds were fluffed and ready for a strong breeze. He offered it to his familiar, taking a right into the adjacent neighborhood.

"So, we're goin' out for shit, do we even know what that shit's gonna be? I don't know shit that be in a whatever you said. Cheesecake pancake?"

Echo: Happily, she pinched the stem between her fingers as she admired the dandelion. A smile spread across her face, and the intrusive thoughts won almost immediately. Puffing out her cheeks, she gently blew on the seeds.

She watched them scatter with delight, drifting and dancing on the breeze as they walked. Once the fluffy seeds were gone, she tucked the bare stem behind her ear.

But that wasn't her purpose. She was nothing if not wholly selfish. Devoted only to his needs, she would be of no assistance, this time.

Mary's name was pushed to the center of the crowd, sitting beside the doctor, grandfather, and mentor.

Again, he waited. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned into nothing. With a yell of frustration, the papers were pushed from the bed.

Sleep. Sleep until minutes before Enoch's return. Awakened by the soft trill of Ruine.

Danger, she whispered. Careful, careful.

"Enoch?" Rune turned to the edge of the bed, forcing himself to his feet, to be reminded of why he was bedridden to begin with.

"Are you all right?"

Enoch: Enoch had found the small wooden idol at the bottom of his bag during his lunch break in his office. He’d turned it over in his hands, studying it with quiet scrutiny, uncertain why his grandfather would have kept such a thing. It hadn’t been displayed, nor kept among personal effects of pride, but hidden and tucked away in the lowest drawer of his desk alongside his notebook. It had to mean something.

The thought preoccupied the scholar as he went through the rest of his day and settled back into the rhythm of the university. Students and faculty alike were settling back into routine after the break; the air filled with that slow adjustment to lectures and schedules. Inquiries led to a small but telling discovery: His letter had never reached the department head, and no one had been the wiser of his ask for an extended stay in Bath. Which likely meant the letter had never been sent at all by Mary. A blessing in disguise.

Enoch found himself relieved to return home. Too often throughout the day, his thoughts had drifted back to his bed-ridden mage. His companion…it still felt surreal on his tongue. It only solidified, just slightly, when he opened the door to his flat and heard that familiar, accented voice call out from within.

“Hi—hello! Yes, quite…fine—”

The greeting came a touch uneven as he fumbled with his shoes, still burdened with his satchel and a few bags of groceries. After a brief struggle to free himself of them, he carried the bags into the kitchen, setting them down on the counter.

“Sorry I’m late,” he called back. “I was held up at the market, but I’ve brought a few supplies.”

A pause as he turned to peek around the corner towards their bedroom.

“How are you feeling?”

Rune: His heart had rose to a jog, only to fall with assurance. A look was given to Ruine.

"More of your acidic balls, I assume?" There had to be another citrus he could tolerate. But alas, this was London - but wait, this was London.

"The next time you go to market, I'm coming with you. After this week, I will never look at another orange again."

But he managed to make it to the doorway without the cane, and then... he stood there, debating what was yet appropriate and regular.

He pinched a handful of Enoch's shirt between his fingers.

"You're certain you're alright?" Now that he was nearer, the better to pay attention to his words.

Enoch: "You don't find them sweet at all?"  He was quite amused with this war the Euthanatos had against the fruit.

“But to your dismay, yes. Oranges, limes, and lemons. Though I’ve brought a few other things as well…” His words trailed as his shirt was caught, and he found himself drawn in without much resistance.

“Yes...a bit tired, if I’m honest,” he admitted, softer now. “Though I suspect that’s true of everyone, coming back from the break.”

His arms settled around Rune’s waist.

“And you?” he added, a faint note of suspicion slipping in. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you evading my question.”

Rune: "If you want to call that a break," he said, softly. "You need more sleep than I do, at this point." He realized the state of the room, the paper squares on the floor. Chalk it up to being startled with Enoch's return. Somehow, that was better than admitting defeat.

"I haven't evaded anything," he frowned, pliant in Enoch's hold. "For one, I've had dates. Everything else is paper. If I'm going to continue eating acid, at least roll them in sugar. I'll pay for it. And I'm... fine. Better than days ago."

Enoch: “A holiday?” The word didn’t seem to improve matters. It had hardly felt like one given their eventful trip.

“I’ll catch up on sleep, eventually,” he added, though his concern lay in the Rune’s health.

His gaze had begun to drift, noting the state of the room, but it was quickly drawn back by that faint frown. It earned a softer expression from him as he leaned in, brushing a kiss to his companion’s forehead, part affection, part assessment if he still was sporting a fever.

“Good. My thoughts kept wandering back to you throughout the day.”

Rune: "We can't have that," he sighed, leaning his weight against the wall. Since Enoch was doing his own checkup, so too would he, resting his hand on his companion's jaw. Just because it could. He adored the idea.

"Yes, I wrote everything down that we lost." Those roaming eyes weren't lost on him.

Enoch: “It’s fine,” he conceded, his head tilted just slightly into the touch.

“Do you mean what I’d written in the notebook? I managed to bring that back with us; the datebook, the journal… and our notes on the connections we’d made.” He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, not as he left for work that morning. “I didn’t think to mention it. I’m sorry.”

He gently pulled away, his attention having shifted to the rest of the room as he moved to gather the scattered scraps of paper from the floor, collecting them into a stack.

“And here I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with that house for at least another day.”

Rune: "Everything I put in the fire. What I didn't want them to find."

He watched Enoch bend and straighten, tidying up his mess for a moment. When he realized he felt no guilt, he limped his way into the kitchen for some water.

"I wanted your mind free of that place for a day. I should have put them away. I'll make us some tea." As a form of apology.

Enoch: The scraps of paper were set aside on the table for now. With the room briefly empty of his lover, Enoch began to undress and shed his coat, vest, and tie. He undid his cuffs, setting his cufflinks aside as he listened to Rune’s voice. The offer was sweet.

“That sounds lovely. I picked up more at the market, I noticed I was running rather low this morning. Please, help yourself.”

He emerged from the room a moment later, shirt hanging loosely open, barefoot now as he padded back into the kitchen to keep him company. The three notebooks tucked beneath his arm were set down on the small wooden table, alongside the strange little wooden idol.

“I don’t think any part of that trip will escape me anytime soon…”

Rune: He was prepared to state his case, that the next trips to market were from his pocket alone, but it wasn't important. A different bridge for a different day.

Enoch would find Rune's back, hands on the counter as he watched the kettle. They were equally disheveled, now, but what was worse, mental, or physical? Philosophy didn't interest him. Not today, nor tomorrow.

"I know," he conceded. "I can't protect you from your past. Maybe shoulder the burden with you. But the very last thing I want is to see you exhausted, overwhelmed, and... You'll take this one step at a time, one day at a time? Can you promise that?"

Enoch: “Are you certain you know the man you’ve chosen to romance?”

The scholar leaned against the dining table, his hand pressed against the wood. It was a treat to watch the mage move so comfortably within his small flat, as though he belonged there. What if this could always be the case?

He exhaled softly through his nose, eyes focusing on the floor as he absorbed the concern in Rune’s words.

“Insatiable is the term you prefer, isn’t it?”

His voice came closer as he moved behind the Euthanatos. First, the light weight of his chin settled against Rune’s shoulder, as if testing how it would be received before his arms slipped around his waist.

“I…just don’t know where to begin.”

Rune: "You have your obsessive tendencies," smirked Rune. "But it's my job to trip your feet and sit on your chest, once in a while. I'll bully you into slowing down. You know I will."

There would be no tension in the mage's body. A slight lean, a quiet sigh, and eventually, his head falling back on Enoch's shoulder.

"Mm... If you task yourself with the history of your former mentor, any and all records, the same with your grandfather, find the missing links, I'll work on the symbols, and that phrase from Old Mary."

Enoch: “I wouldn’t doubt your ability to bully me,” the scholar replied with a knowing smile. He would not admit it aloud, but he did not particularly mind.

With the mage in his arms, Rune would receive a soft squeeze. Enoch leaned in, resting his head lightly against his, eyes closing as he hummed at the suggestion.

“I have Etienne’s notes…. some journals as well, but a fair portion was lost in the fire at his house.” He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, nor of his mentor. Now, with the proof that his grandfather had known the man long before Enoch had, it warranted a closer look.

There was another brief squeeze.

“Thank you…honestly.”

Rune: This was going to become ritual. He just knew it. The comfort of Enoch's wider frame from behind. The warmth of his arms, and the security they promised. His shoulder, strong and soft; the perfect pillow to rest his heavy mind.

He would know this man in the dark by this embrace.

"What are you - don't thank me," he sighed, yawned. "Thank me when I make a proper English tea."

Enoch: The mage fit in his arms so perfectly, and he wanted nothing more than just to stay like this. For a moment, it was enough and it brought peace and security to his mind. He drew in a slow breath, then let it out as he nuzzled lightly against the side of the mage’s cheek.

“Mm… we’ll see how you manage this,” he nodded toward the tea, hearing the slow burbles of a boil starting.

“Do you feel well enough to go out for dinner,” he asked after a moment, “or would you prefer I fetch something for us later?”

He had only just returned from the market, the question already considered but he hadn’t wanted to deny his lover the chance to stretch his legs if he felt up to it.

Rune: Rune tried to turn his head to look at him. Nearly impossible; he found himself staring at those tempting lips. Their perfect, familiar shape. Like these arms. There again, that swelling in his chest. And nowhere else, dammit.

"Do you really want to be out amongst people after all that?" His tolerance for people was already low, but now dangled on a precarious thread. What's more, he was yet satisfied with his wards.

Which gave him an idea.

"Did you have a place in mind?"

Enoch: He knew the answer to that question in his heart, but his companion’s comfort would always take precedence over his own.

“You seemed to enjoy the soup at that café we visited,” he started, “though if you’re craving something more familiar, we could go to the Dutch eatery I found a while back.”

The water had reached a full, rolling boil. Rather than linger and further distract his companion, he would make himself useful by slipping away and retrieving two cups and the tea leaves.

“What are your thoughts?”

Rune: Dutch eatery. He had forgotten such a place existed. His stomach growled at the thought.

"Pickled eggs and herring. Good potatoes," he sighed. "Or bread. Some place with potato bread, potato soup, potato jacket." The more he listed, the stronger his hunger grew.

"No more oranges," he frowned. "Lemon on my fish, if I must. On potatoes. Just... not on their lonesome. But I'm thinking we stop by my pub. I need to speak with Clarissa about a hex bag."

Enoch: “Yes, you must.” The scholar left little room for argument.

He leaned against the counter, watching as his companion slipped into reminiscence, he looked so pleased with this suggestion.

“Then we’ll go, but I will hold you to making me tea when we return.”

His head tilted slightly at the added suggestion. “To reinforce the wards here?” he could hazard a guess.

Rune: "The water is boiled now," he almost laughed. "Can you not drink tea quickly, Englishman?"

The kettle was brought from the eye. His gaze fixed on the mugs for a moment. Realizations after realizations. After their shared dream, he had awoken to an abundance of responsibilities. They were beginning to feel endless. Each one precious.

"Mm. I will hear nothing of too many."

He turned, his chin to his chest, hands supported on the counter. He seemed to be bracing for something.

"There is... something I wish to tell you. I don't know of its importance."

Enoch: “I’d rather not burn my tongue,” he countered. “But go on, make it. Let’s see if it’s done properly.”

His attention, however, was focused on the shift in the mages posture. He had started rebuttoning his cuffs in preparation of going back out but stopped.

"What is it?"

Rune: Now that he had opened his mouth, he was obligated to finish. He hadn't started this morning with this in mind. From this moment forward, there was no amount of luck he would rely on. He would rather months more of scurvy than to see heartbreak in Enoch's eyes, but silence had become teeth in his stomach.

"I told you about the lighthouse." Silence followed, but he managed to raise himself straight, meeting his gaze head on.

"I wanted... to explain myself. Not... then. But, months ago. Many... months ago. Clarissa and I..."

His eyes dropped to his feet. His body might as well have been covered in tar.

"It was the same. The same... emptiness."

Enoch: There was his mage, carefully piecing the words together, each pause familiar, like testing uncertain ground before committing his weight to it.

The blond watched him with quiet softness as the confession came. There was no anger, no disgust, only a flicker of surprise at first.

“Oh…”

A brief pause followed. “I hadn’t even considered…” He felt a little naive but in the end, what mattered was the man before him.

His touch was gentle as he brushed dark strands back from Rune’s face, fingers trailing down to lift his lover’s chin, guiding his gaze upward.

“I am yours, as you are mine, no?”

He only had love for this man and for Rune to admit this when Enoch could have stayed none the wiser was a gesture the scholar didn't miss.

"This changes nothing, herz. My only concern now is how Clarissa may feel towards me."

Rune: Oh, he said. Just a small unreadable, gentle sound. It could have been disappointment or mere surprise. It was the absence of backwards footsteps, the lack of pain in his voice, that gave a sliver of hope.

But he hadn't been prepared for the searing heat of Enoch's fingers, like standing too close to fire.

Was that not the question asked in the great hall of the university?

Am I yours, in this moment?

What was it Enoch had said?

"This, and every moment you'll allow me."

His hand came to rest on Enoch's wrist, squeezed. Thank you, Merciful Jesus.

"She thinks you're arrogant and naïve. Beyond that, she doesn't think of you. I was just a warm body. Well... warm enough."

Enoch: The familiar words were enough to slow his heartbeat. He brushed his thumb against the mage's jaw, tempted to pull him into a kiss but not quite yet.

"Arrogant?” A faint crease formed between his brows. “I thought I was charming…” A small pause, quieter now. “I’m not arrogant… am I?” Naivety, yes—he wouldn’t contest that.

“Mm… why is it that you run so cold? Have you always been this way?"

Rune: "Don't you remember?" The edges of his mouth curled slightly. "You wanted more practical applications of magic? How insulting."

Gently he shook his head. Gentle, so as to keep the hand resting there. "No." The word was a whisper. "No, you're far from arrogant."

But reluctantly, he pulled away. Just enough to turn, placing cups and sugar on a tray. Now, where was that tea pot...

"Spirits," he explained. "I'm not a um... I'm not a Dreamspeaker, but they're just as cold. The more we allow the undead to touch us, the more we cross the Gauntlet, the colder we become."

Enoch: “You know perfectly well that isn’t what I meant.”

His hand, already resting against the mage’s cheek, gave a brief, affectionate pinch before smoothing over the skin again. And before the Euthanatos could slip away, he would have his kiss, leaning in to brush his lips against cooler ones.

The scholar let him go then, watching as his companion turned back to the task of preparing their tea.

“Does it trouble you at all?” he asked after a moment. “Being this cold?”

Rune: With his back turned, Rune tasted his lips, grateful for the lingering warmth.

"I've been cold since I was young. Actually young. Why do you think I'm always in a jacket? English fashions?"

Slowly, tray in hand, he turned.

"Did you want - do we have milk?"

Enoch: His shoulders rose in a small shrug before settling again. “In a way, I suppose so. You do have a certain aesthetic,” he added, his smile widening as he looked at the mage with clear fondness.

His attention drifted to the tea, and he gave a slight shake of his head. “I knew I’d forgotten something at the shop…” A small exhale. “It’s all right, a bit of sugar will do.”

Rune: "I have an aesthetic?"

The tray was brought to the table, though he had considered the floor by the fireplace. Tempting as it was, his joints were not up to the task.

"What else did you purchase? Besides lemons." There would be no full meals cooked in this kitchen with its single eye. He looked at the counter for the answer and found none.

"It's my turn to cook."

Enoch: “Don’t you?”

The scholar followed after the mage, pulling out a chair for him first before taking his own.

“Well, yes, lemons, oranges, bananas, more tea, a few vegetables… and some bread and jam.” He still hadn't unloaded the bags.

"Tomorrow, perhaps. Tonight we'll get something from the eatery… Did you still want to see Clarissa tonight?"

Rune: "I'm partial to ties."

The grocery list sent his brows under his hair. It was easy to forget how expensive fruits were until listed so casually. Given the house they had fled and his lover's day to day, his nonchalant attitude made a little more sense.

"I still want hex bags, yes. I don't have everything to make them myself." It wasn't about Clarissa, but did Enoch know that?

Rather than ask, he carefully poured their tea.

Enoch: "Bowties are better."

He reached for his cup, offering a small nod of appreciation. A bit of sugar was added before he began to stir it carefully.

“Hex bags can carry different intentions, can’t they?” he asked, glancing up. “What will go into yours...and how, exactly, do you make one?”

Rune: "Not as fun to tug," he smirked.

"Haven't I taught you this?" Rhetorical. He shook his head before Enoch could open his mouth. With recent events, trying to recall every lesson simply wasn't worth their time.

"Hexes are brief malignant spells. Hex bags are... bear traps."

A sip of unsweetened tea later, Rune stared into his cup, fingertip circling the rim.

"If I wanted someone dead, or wish they were dead, I would use skin. I know you're going to protest. Rest easy. I'll need tannis root, and... I will need Clarissa's help. I don't want anyone walking into this flat feeling welcome if you didn't invite them."

Enoch: He had a point there…one the scholar couldn’t readily dispute.

“Yes, a bit. We spoke about it when we stopped by the occult section at the museum,” Enoch recalled. That had been one of his favorite days.

“I wouldn’t wish to be Mary.” From what he could gather, now, in retrospect, Rune had hexed her in response to her own attempt. The realization left a sour note beneath the sweetness of his tea.

His gaze shot to the mage at the mention of using skin, but the tension eased just as quickly; Rune knew him well enough by now to assuage his fears.

“Mm… that might have been useful earlier this year.” There had been more than a few occasions when Geoff had let himself into the flat unannounced to talk about this or that. The night before their shared dream surfaced briefly in his mind.

“How can I help?”

Rune: His narrow chin came to rest in his palm, his smile soft, loving, and knowing, having expected Enoch not to notice. The promise made that day had not been forgotten. More museums in their future. More life together. Years of it.

"Unless your mouthy little friend is in cahoots with that awful woman, the hex might ignore him. If you want no one but the two of us to feel welcome stepping foot to that door, then you'd better tell me now. You'll help me by finding the weakest planks of wood to hide the bags."

Rune looked around the room with fresh eyes. Money and status had assured this was not the smallest dorm, with its kitchenette and full bathroom, but far from made with the finest, strongest materials, and far from the size of a proper apartment.

"Just two," he considered. "One by the door, and one somewhere in the back. I'll need you to pour your intent into the bag as well."

Enoch: It took Enoch a second to realize how Rune knew who he meant. The blond gave a small shake of his head; there was no one, really, he felt the need to bar from the flat.

“Geoff is mostly harmless, as is everyone else I’ve had dealings with.”

Even so, his mind had already begun to wander over the flat, settling on the noisiest stretch of floor near the corner bookshelf. The boards there always squeaked when he was either picking out a text or playing music on the gramophone.

“How does it work, exactly?” he asked. “If someone carries ill intent… does it act as a barrier of sorts? Or does it make them feel unwell?”

He took another sip of his warm tea, gaze drifting as he considered where in the back would be adequate to hide another hex bag. Somewhere out of sight of course, perhaps tucked in a drawer, or slipped into a coat pocket he didn’t wear often.

Rune: "Have you ever walked past a house, or a room at the university, somewhere or something that made you feel uneasy to approach? A gut sense of dread just looking at it? As though it were staring back at you. This hex will do the same. The feeling of wrong, to those who intend to wrong you. If it's not enough to push them away, you'll at least have some clue as to the man or woman knocking on your door. That, coupled with my prayers, is the best we're going to achieve short or an invisible wall, which is less than subtle and quadruple the expense."

Enoch: “That seems more than sufficient for now. And if it isn’t human… I suspect we have rather larger concerns.”

He paused to think that boundary, wondering if things like wolfmen or vampires fell into a human category or not, but he let it rest for the moment.

“You mentioned tannis root, what else will you need? And how will Clarissa help with this?”

 Another question of how each ingredient contributed to the hex burned on his tongue, but he resisted inundating his love with more questions. The urge to reach for his notebook was just as enticing, but it could wait. For now, he let himself sit in the moment, enjoying this shared quiet over a cup of tea at the small dining table.

Rune: The lack of questions like a barrage of arrows did not go unnoticed. For whatever reason, Enoch was pacing himself. He would assume pity on his current state. Such grace, after everything he had been through, deserved a reward.

Without a word he took Enoch's hand, squeezed, and crossed the small space back to the bedroom, returning a moment later with his weatherworn grimoire.

A gold enamel hat pin marked near the center of the book. Its spine groaned when opened. Glued to each page were flattened, herbs, leaves, and flowers, long since meticulously dried with dignity. Surrounding each one where space was applicable were names and uses. All in the same familiar cursive of its owner. In Dutch, of course.

The book was turned and offered.

"The rest is my business. Take what you will from these pages. If there isn't a plant, it isn't for your eyes. I trust you."

Enoch: His hand rested in Rune’s, returning the squeeze with equal strength before watching the sailor disappear into the back room. Left to himself, he took another measured sip of tea, already considering the walk to dinner and whether the mage would feel up to it.

The thought drifted as the well-worn tome was set before him. He looked up, surprise flickering into something softer before settling on affection. The mage had a way of expressing his love in small, deliberate gestures. This was just the latest one.

The scholar’s eyes brightened at the wealth of knowledge now in his hands. His fingers moved carefully over the pressed pages, turning them slowly as he traced over the familiar script. A faint smile touched his lips as he noted the Dutch lettering, only a handful he could understand.

“Of course, I…I appreciate this.” He was glancing from the page now to his beloved. “I think you’ve found a way to secure yourself a quiet evening,” he couldn’t help but tease. “Though…” Another page turned, revealing more pressed flowers. “I may require some assistance.”

Rune: There was no greater gift he could offer this man. The title of mentor had been cast aside, yet they knew this was only officially. The title of companion was more important, less violent, less shadowed by unimportant men.

"Right here." One of the only sketched plants on the final botany page. "Tannis root. Devil's fungus. Duivelspaddestoel. Those who wear it are susceptible to the persuasion of others." His finger underlined each Dutch word as he continued. "The herb empowers the intended influence of hexes and potions. Prolonged exposure, too much inhaled, too much ingested will cause nausea and fatigue. Note these symptoms and a bitter pungent scent if it is used against me."

The mage leaned back in his seat, frowning. "That scent in the kitchen. In the tea..."

Enoch: Enoch leaned in to read alongside the mage. As the explanation was given, his gaze fixed on the sketched image, reaching the same conclusion as Rune. A wave of nausea turned his stomach.

“It’s what she gave me…”

He stared at the page, unfocused now, his thoughts already slipping elsewhere, back to the kitchen and to the other jars Mary kept.

“She mixed it with other things and… said it was my grandfather’s special tea for me.” His mouth tightened slightly remembering the distinct bitter taste that coated his tongue. But something else stood out.

“I told you I was always ill…”

Rune: "There were two herbs in that drawer I couldn't identify. I told you, potions aren't my strength. I didn't think to look. I wrote this before you were born."

The room felt heavier. This was nothing whatsoever he had intended. This was luck, or fate, or both. Many times the two were loving bedfellows. Had they discovered this at the estate, that unknown reaction, his penchant for violence, the danger to Enoch's wellbeing, nearly caused a wince.

The answer had waited patiently for just this moment. Grounded. Healing. Miles from -

"A cult."

The word was now alive between them, filling the air and sitting like static on his skin.

"Your grandfather, the mentor, the doctor, the help. Tannis root to make you pliable. Your memories. Every five years. What else would they need..."

The pages of his grimoire were carefully flipped. The last pages of drawings. The plants too dangerous to dry. Not mandrake. Not nightshade; he would have recognized it.

Enoch: At that, Enoch had no immediate reply. The scholar lingered over the herbal pages, his tea forgotten as the information took hold of him.

A sharp ringing pressed at the edge of his hearing, something like tinnitus, as his thoughts dragged him back to each instance of Mary or Doc handing him a cup of tea.

Something meant to make a person pliable… but for what?

The chemist grew distant from his beloved, barely registering that Rune hadn’t been able to identify two herbs. Then the word cult cut through his thoughts.

“What?”

He pushed his glasses up, fingers pressing briefly at the bridge of his nose as his eyes closed. “What would they need that for?”

The longer they spoke of it, the more a quiet nausea settled in. He did not want to give shape nor credence to the memories Raine had forced upon him during his awakening.

Rune: Had the word only just reached his ears? Rune stared at the pages and through them. He had wanted to tuck the scraps of paper away, had wanted today to be a day of recovery for them both, only to open a book which Enoch shouldn't have seen, making revelations better suited for tomorrow.

These things happened for a reason. Enoch wouldn't have waited. Something else might have happened.

Or was that wishful thinking?

"You're asking me why tannis root?"

Enoch: “No—I mean… yes, I suppose.”

Enoch drew in a slow breath in hopes of steadying himself enough to think and speak more clearly. His glasses were adjusted almost absently as his gaze returned to the pages, fixing there as though they were the only safe point of focus, rather than the mage beside him.

“Why would they want me pliable…?”

Then his thoughts drifted to what else they had discovered at the house.

“What did they want me pliable for?”

The word cult weighed heavily on his tongue. He did not wish to give it life, yet these speculations, which felt more like revelations, left him with little else to reconcile what they had found.

Rune: Perhaps it was, in fact, a curse to have fallen in love with one of the Euthanatoi. Not just any mage, but a mage whose existence thrived on the thread and needle of probabilities, determinism, and happenstance. A living, breathing sleuthhound searching for good deaths, divine law and punishment, and the next dice to roll between his fingers. This was becoming a set of stairs forking left and right. The likelihood they would merge at the top...

He was doing everything in his power to breathe slowly, deeply, and pretend he was something he was not.

"Do you remember how you defended her against me? At first, I thought it was just loyalty. Do you remember how you felt outside? In the grass? When we didn't have her tea."

Slowly, the book was closed. The hat pin used as a bookmark.

"A good son who always says yes. Doesn't talk back. Rose-tinted lenses. But if you're always sick, you're dependent on the care of your elders. Trust. The trust of a child."

Stop. Stop pulling the strings. Stop staring at the puzzle.

"Let's go out."

Enoch: Rebellious. Stubborn. Insatiable.

Was that what the Euthanatos meant? Who he might have been if he had not been subdued nor manipulated?

The more the mage spoke, the more the pieces aligned, threading themselves into something disturbingly coherent. Enoch stared at him fighting the feeling of believing those words. A method of controlling a child. Of fostering dependence. Of ensuring trust without question.

He felt sick.

Going outside sounded like a genial plan. He pushed back his chair, rising as the air between them thinned, stripped of its earlier warmth. His hands settled against the back of it, gripping harder than intended.

It was more than Rune’s words…it was everything Enoch had refused to confront. Every inconsistency dismissed, every unease explained away. He had chosen not to look too closely. But they had all been part of it.

What else lay waiting in his grandfather’s journals?

His nails pressed into the wood, the sting grounding, keeping the swell of betrayal at bay until one thought surfaced, and he held onto it like a lifeline.

“They’re dead…and I don’t live there anymore.”

Rune: Both hands pressed down on the old book. He joined Enoch on his feet. Pain was slowly becoming a background noise. A twinge of irritation more than a misery. What was misery was standing before him, watching Enoch suffer with little to offer for reprieve.

He wanted so much to touch him. To offer his lips and his body.

Use me for pleasure, however temporary. I can take it. I want it. I want it for you.

His hand reached out, hesitant an inch from his face. Slowly, it fell.

"No, you don't. Whatever their crimes, how lucky for them I didn't meet them, first."

Enoch: It was easy to slip into it and drift backward, revisiting those moments now with open eyes. Logic struggled to keep its footing, even with the mage beside him anchoring him to the present. Still, there was one reassuring thought: if any of it was true, those who had shaped it held no power over him now. What remained was the difficult work of reconciling with what they had left behind.

And there stood his beloved mage, reaching for him. Willing to offer him comfort, or perhaps distraction. Before that hand could fall away, Enoch caught it, pressing it gently to his face. The coolness helped, easing the warmth that had risen there.

“I need you to understand... I’m not like them,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “However they tried to shape me, whatever they intended… I’m not that.”

He swallowed.

“And I think that’s precisely why I was such a disappointment.”

Rune: The warmth of that cheek was concerning. He would have assumed him feverish, if not for their discovery.

What Enoch needed was a bath, or a swim in a cool lake.

"You're not a disappointment to me. What happened before was my sin, not yours. You're not a disappointment. You're everything but."

A kiss was pressed to his temple, lingering for a heartbeat.

"You're Enoch, and we're going out. I just need to find that blasted cane."

Enoch: Enoch allowed himself to lean into that brief kiss before pulling away reluctantly, turning instead to help search for the wretched cane.

“I’ll check the bedroom,” he offered, an excuse, perhaps, to take a moment for himself and recompose.

Inside, it didn’t take long. The sculpted cane rested near the bed. He retrieved it and returned, offering it to his lover.

Rune: The cane would have been to his aesthetics; had it not been sullied by the source. Admiring the thing felt in ill taste. Another reminder of that house in plain view of his companion didn't sit well with him.

"Would you despise if I traded this, or sold it?"

Enoch: Enoch fell quiet for a moment, considering the ask. He studied the cane in his hands before finally passing it to the mage. It had always felt like an extension of his grandfather and letting it go…it felt like a sort of betrayal, but he didn’t know why. Even the words did not come easily.

“I…wouldn’t.”

He found himself addressing the old cane again, his thoughts having shifted back to their recent revelation.

“The question I can’t set aside is why?”

Rune: "If we knew the why, everything else would fall into place." For now, it was the puzzle piece hidden behind the furniture.

"If it comes to it, I can and will summon your grandfather. But let him be a last resort, because I will have words for that man... not for your ears."

Enoch: “I don’t…I don’t want to think about that right now. Dinner…yes?” His brows lifted slightly, the look he gave the mage almost pleading. He was ready to set it aside, if only for an hour in the fresh air and let something else occupy their thoughts.

“I’m sorry. It…it isn’t to dismiss what you’re saying. I do appreciate it, truly. It’s simply been… a lot these past couple of days.”

He exhaled softly, searching for the right phrasing.

“And I think…I think we deserve a small measure of peace, of....” He was looking at his mage, and it dawned on him. “Of appreciating the fact that I…I have you.”

He hadn’t noticed when his hands had lifted, coming to cradle his lover’s face.

“And I haven’t even kissed you since I came in.”

Rune: "Yes, it has." He would not gloss over the truth of it. He knew the weight burdening Enoch's shoulders. Felt so by the bleakness of his aura. Emotions which they had shared for days in that house were more strongly felt now than unspoken words.

It was why he had wanted to keep his puzzle of torn words to himself, and should have.

Yet what followed was not a prediction, not a guess of any sort. He hadn't glimpsed the future to find those hands on his face, or those words... those words as warm as their confessions to his ear.

"Y-Yes. Well... that is something you can do, now. Whenever you please."

Enoch: “I love you.”

“I love you and I will remind you every day, until you tire of hearing it, because finally… I can say it.”

His hand shifted to rest at the back of Rune’s neck, a quiet realization settling over him as he held him there. For the first time today, everything else fell away; his family, his lectures, his research, leaving only the mage in this moment.

The kiss he pressed against him was soft at first, gentle, though it deepened the longer it went. When he finally drew back for breath, his brow rested lightly against Rune’s.

“I have my own confession to make.”

Rune: Not once, but twice. How many times would he say it in their lifetime? It was better than any drug he had ever sampled. Better than the taste of genever. Truth be, the love Enoch offered was better than sex.

"I don't think I'll ever tire of hearing it. You'll grow exhausted, first."

It wasn't a competition. This was his prediction for their relationship. One he had already said a prayer for, begging to be wrong. It was Aoi's voice coming from his mouth. He knew, but the words spilled anyway.

But that kiss offered equal to their confessions. So much said without an utterance.

"Have you committed a sin?" he smirked.

Enoch: "I won't," was his only promise.

Had he committed some great offense? He gave it a moment’s false consideration before shaking his head.

“Not that I can readily point to,” he said, a faint smile following. “No, this…this is… on the subject of things I love.”

He remained where he stood, content to hold the mage and feel the solid reassurance of him beneath his fingers. Proof that this was real and not another fleeting dream.

“I love your name,” he started, softer now. “It finds its way to my thoughts…to my lips… more often than I allow. I stop myself, because… that isn’t how you choose to present yourself.”

His tongue briefly touched his lower lip, buying him a moment to find the right words.

“But when I write it, when I think of you, it’s Felix. Felix Rune.” His gaze lifted, searching, almost careful. “May I… keep that? For myself?”

Rune: The old mage had denied the calling of priesthood. It could have been an easier life, but it would have been short and human. But the man before him was given as much respect and patience as a priest behind the screen of a confession booth.

Today was promising to be an abundance of surprise. The confession sat heavily, like a lead weight on his chest. The name was said gently, from the voice of trust, and love, yet what he felt was the sensation of insects crawling down his spine. Even now, with the certainty of the human condition, knowing his father was dead, he felt the old man's hand gripping his hair, whispering promised threats in his ear with drunk, hot breath.

"You wish to cure me of him? You'll have to hold me when you do. Never shout it. Never whisper it in my ear. Can you manage that?"

Enoch: Enoch knew his ask was not small, and he would respect whatever choice the mage made. They were both facing demons they had never chosen.

To heal him… and help mend the wound his name carried felt sacred. And to have such trust freely given and willingly placed in his hands humbled the Englishman. Enoch promised to himself to cherish this and every moment with the Euthanatos, press his lips to old scars and speak his name with nothing but gentleness and love.

The scholar gave a small nod.

“My Felix,” he said softly, pressing a kiss against his temple. His arms, already around his lover's waist, drew him closer.

Rune: My Felix.

His eyes closed. Steady, steady. The name was a breeze, and his body a feather. He would bear witness to the reason of his first request. Hold him, because he would otherwise retreat.

"It's just for us," he whispered. "In these walls. I beg you."

Enoch: At the hint of his beloved pulling away, he tightened his hold just enough to keep the mage against him.

He pressed a kiss to his forehead, then another just beneath his eye.

“Just us. I promise.”

Then that little mantra surfaced.

“You’re safe. We’re safe. I promise.”

Rune: The strength of those arms was not a surprise, but a comfort. Immediately, he felt submissive - not lesser, only... dutiful. He could hardly articulate his own thoughts.

"Do you intend to ruin me utterly?"

Enoch: His hand drifted through dark strands, gently combing them back.

“If it means your happiness, then shamelessly, yes...enthusiastically, yes. I intend to ruin you.”

Rune: He couldn't yet open his eyes. His scars were no secret. Had been explained the very night they had met, yet in this moment, they were fresh. Seen with new eyes, new judgement, even if it were only his own.

"We're... supposed to... go out for dinner?"

Enoch: They were the only ones in existence right now, here in this humble little flat that had somehow become their safe haven. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen the mage so docile, and the sight stirred something fiercely protective in the Englishman.

“My heart… my Felix.”

Before the poor mage could think to slip away, he stole a kiss. And when he drew back, it was to finally answer the question.

“Yes, we are to fill you with potatoes and…lemony fish,” he said, unable to keep the small smile from his lips.

Rune: Already, he had lost count of kisses. How many times they had said those heavenly words. How many times he'd caught Enoch staring, lovingly, shamelessly.

The kiss could not be stolen, for it was returned in kind. Why did they have to go out? He would drink water and be content, if they could just live like this a while longer.

"You and your damn lemon," he smiled, opening his eyes.

"I suppose I should make myself more presentable. I won't be long."

Enoch: “I said I was to take care of you, and I intend to do exactly that.”

Reluctantly, he finally loosened his hold on his companion, letting him go so he could get ready. He could almost hear the thoughts still circling in the mage’s mind.

“You have me for a lifetime,” he adds softly, watching him disappear toward the back room.

“You already look presentable,” he called after him, turning back with a faint grin of his own as he rebuttoned his cuffs, considering whether to add his waistcoat again. Suspenders would do just as well… wouldn’t they?

“We’ll have dinner, stop by Clarissa’s for the hex bags and come back here. No distractions. Deal?”

Rune: The declaration was a hand grabbing his clothes from behind. He paused in the doorway. His head turned, but he refused to look. A lifetime. What had begun as a curious experiment, now a lifetime of devotion and secrecy. His heart ached for everything all at once.

"I look worse than I did the night we met. Your flattery will not get you extra credit, professor."

Not his best pinstripe suit. Too smart, and the materials too thick for the warmer season. His lighter mahogany suit would suffice, though its shade only served to highlight his fever.

He returned as soon as he was presentable, readjusting his suspenders, cane wedged under his arm.

"What distractions are you expecting?"

Enoch: He found himself smiling faintly at the ground at the mage’s words, quietly disagreeing. “You look comfortable,” he countered, if only to playfully push back a little.

“Mm, I don’t want to hear of any gambling, or of encouraging me just to see how dreadful I am at Clarissa’s table. I don’t think I can afford to offend her again,” he added, stepping closer to his beloved. His hands hovered for a moment before brushing over Rune’s shoulders as he smoothed out imaginary creases.

The back of Enoch’s hand rose the sailor's forehead, then his cheek, that familiar frown tugging at his lips.

“And you’re still a touch too warm for my liking.”

Rune: "You mean to say, I feel as warm as everyone else, now?" The hesitation of his hands hadn't gone unnoticed, but would go unspoken.

"If anyone were to ask why I've stayed here, do you have an explanation?" It hadn't mattered before, but his visits had been scattered and almost never overnight. Like the warding of his dormitory, concern came from a place of protection. Their stories needed to be consistent.

"Nothing like the truth," he suggested. "Your blood doner suffers from scurvy and will forget to eat. You need his rare blood type."

Enoch: His hesitation came from second-guessing himself and whether insisting his beloved come out with him had been wise at all. He didn’t need to further exacerbate his condition. But it was too late to send the sailor back to bed, especially now that he was already dressed.

“Almost passably alive,” the blond smirked, his hands falling away.

He hadn’t considered that. Had anyone asked him beyond these walls, he likely would have faltered, their ruse discovered because of his lack of imagination.

But Rune’s words held something else, an unspoken expiration date that this excuse would only hold for so long. How long could they keep this up before it drew suspicion? A few days, perhaps. A week, at most.

He nodded. It was the best they could do to protect themselves. He hated the secrecy, but he understood the necessity, especially if they wished to avoid being caught, or worse, imprisoned. The thought alone left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“The truth, then…”

He turned to fetch his jacket, gathering his keys and wallet before stepping back to hold the door open.

Rune: The truth was, above all else, for the sake of Enoch's subterfuge, of which the man had little. He had yet to determine if it was worth embarrassment, or even worth teasing. Holding his tongue had gotten him into trouble just as much as his bluntness. But outright fabrications were not worth a gamble of two pennies.

Not once had he considered appearances when their relationship had been mentee and the mentor. But now, without a spoken word, without drifting hands aching for grasp, their eyes spoke like a comprehensive novel detailing the nuances of romance and intimacy. It was those eyes he worried about. Those blue eyes filled with as much love as had been curiosity that initial night, months ago.

"If everything goes belly up, and London burns because... any reason, you'd make an excellent pirate," he smiled, pushing his shoulder into the scholar as he passed into the hallway.

"You had a restaurant in mind, did you? Not to eat and converse at the pub?"

Enoch: “A pirate?” Enoch echoed, following after the sailor once the dorm was locked. “I… I would be rubbish at it.”

Still, he turned the idea over as they made their way down the stairs and out into London proper.

“It was the Dutch eatery I found some time ago, the one I brought dinner from that day. The very same day you tried to steal my notebook.”

It would be impossible not to look at the mage with some type of adoration, even now it was difficult as he stole a glance.

“We can eat there. They have a small table, I think… or we can bring it back.”

Rune: "I didn't try. I succeeded. I was just in a kind mood."

That's right. His precious boiled and pickled foods. His stomach nearly cramped with hunger.

"Food first," he nodded. "Wherever is nearest. I know you didn't each lunch, either."

Enoch: “I remember it differently. I caught you off guard.”

Was that a hint of smugness in his voice? Surely not.

But he let it pass, returning to the matter at hand. “It’s not far. It’s near the row of restaurants, just a few blocks away.” He glanced over, surprised by the mage.

“How did you know?”

Rune: He tapped the cane triumphantly on the sidewalk. He would never grow tired of that look of surprise. "You're asking me how I know anything about you? Elementary, Watson, you never have an appetite when you're anxious."

Enoch: “So I’m far too easy to read, that’s what I’m hearing.” He gave the sidewalk a small, wry smile. “I always thought I was better at keeping things close to my chest, but perhaps not.”

He exhaled softly, glancing briefly at the mage. “I rushed out this morning, and the moment I stepped into my office…I did not get a break.”

With a huff of breath, which was almost a laugh, he shook his head. “Be glad you didn’t go into my field. It’s mostly paperwork and administration with a dash of research.”

Rune: "You can keep thoughts to yourself," he confirmed. "But hindsight," he sighed. The answers had been in front of his face. He had been too stubborn to acknowledge them. Knowing what he knew now made the past despicable. Pushing was easy; pushing was less effort than abating momentum.

Just like now. Instincts were being ignored for the sake of pacing. Their sanity. The truth was like a criminal, waiting patiently in a shadowed alley down the block. It was all a matter of... eventually.

"Your body language is easier to read than your words."

Enoch: Well at least that was something.

He glanced over at the mage at that last remark, giving a small nod before looking ahead again.

“You are a keen observer,” he said. “I first noticed it during the Halloween party… and then again that night I made a fool of myself in front of Clarissa.”

He wrestled with a smile as he remembered that night. “I was drunk, but I remember how carefully you described what you’d noticed about me; the way I look when I’m concentrating, how my glasses slide down when I’m reading… how I smile.”

Then it dawned on him.

“Had you already taken a liking to me, even then?”

Rune: "I'm Euthanatos. Does that still surprise you? I see it every day. Lines, everywhere. Webs everywhere I turn. Projections from every diaphragm. Sometimes, it's as simple as common sense, but it doesn't feel common to everyone else."

Someday soon, they would have these conversations in proper English. He wanted to keep his end of their once-contract. Advanced English for spells. They could have their cake and eat it, too.

But his thoughts were easily distracted. Eyes forward, only forward.

"I had known you 17 days. Just over 408 hours. And already I... was ashamed of myself."

Enoch: “I sometimes forget."

The difference between them showed in moments like this. One raised with magic at his fingertips, the other prone to forgetting he had any access to it at all, his aversion tied closely to his avatar. And yet, after the manor… and how easily it had come to him, Enoch found himself reconsidering his use of it, especially if he was seriously going to pursue the study of it.

Something in that thought made him glance briefly at the Dutchman before looking ahead again, his smile softening at the confession.

“Hopeless,” he teased gently in English, his shoulder brushing against Rune’s as they continued walking.

Rune: There was something alluring in that silence. It had been brief, yet filled with a pondering question he could not shake. A request, more like, one that forced his mouth open, and yet... hesitation.

But first, he would retaliate with a smack of the cane to the back of Enoch's thighs, only to wonder afterward, if little Enoch had ever felt the sting of it. Another reason to get rid of what felt like a cursed item.

"Would you ever... wish to speak with her? My Ruine?"

Enoch: An unexpected yelp slipped from the scholar, not out of pain but sheer surprise.

“Uncalled for.”

He would refuse to say he was pouting.

“Good thing I don’t believe in abusing the elderly.” With that, he took an exaggerated step away, half-expecting the cane to follow through on the threat. He kept to the far edge of the pavement now, putting a safe distance between himself and the sailor, for the moment, at least.

“Ah…” he hesitated, his humor softening into something more serious. “I…suppose so, yes. I do wonder what other avatars are like. Yours seems rather sweet compared to my devil.”

Rune: The despised cane was held in both hands, swung like a bat, deliberately missing the top of Enoch's head. A warning, nothing more.

"Proper telepaths with a spiritual gift may borrow the eyes of others, consequently, witnessing the avatars. Other techniques exist. More elaborate, heavy spells. Can't say I've been curious to look." Until now.

"Talk about her enough, she'll make her presence known."

Enoch: Down went his head as the cane came swinging, even if it was clearly meant to miss him.

“Oi! I know your weakness now—I’ll take away all citrus!”

He straightened again, a loose smile on his lips as he drifted back to the Euthanatos’s side.

“I’d be interested in experimenting, if you’re willing to give it a try.”

Would it be as strange as watching himself through Rune’s eyes as they had done in the estate’s library?

Rune: He would never live down his shame. Enoch had fuel against him for the rest of his natural life. Perhaps longer, God willing.

"It's a combination I'm not accustomed to," he confessed. "Time, for me, feels like a rubber band being stretched to its capacity. It took years for the sensation to become familiar. Spirits, veils, they're quite chilly. The mind is... like a breeze between my ears. Not your voice, mind you, but profound spells. I haven't considered an ice-cream headache worth pursuing until now."

The mage slowed with a scoff.

"You were thinking something, weren't you?"

Enoch: Enoch’s understanding of magic was limited to what he had personally experienced. Time was the only sensation he could truly grasp, and he found himself agreeing that time dilation did feel a bit like that. As for the rest… he couldn’t quite say.

His hands slipped into his pockets as they walked, his gaze fixed on the pavement while he listened. His steps slowed slightly before he glanced over at the mage, a brow lifting in thought.

“Yes…about the memory you shared with me in the library. I’m wondering if it will feel something like that.”

Rune: At least something stuck, he thought. Something that would manage little harm in Enoch's regard.

"Your former teacher is once more the student. You wanted me to see as well, didn't you? It's why you had asked Clarissa."

Enoch: "No, that hadn't been what I wanted to show you. That was a surprise for me as well. I...lost hours that first night."

He shook his head as he moved to start walking again.

"I had wanted to share my awakening with you...what I saw during it."

Rune: "Did she inform you about dreams?" No. Enoch would have told him, if that were true. Typical to keep every other answer under her tongue. It was the way of his people.

"Build up your demesne. Strengthen your dreaming, and one day, you can show me."

Enoch: "One day..." But he didn't exactly sound hopeful, he kept walking instead. Another block and they would get to their destination of a rustic looking building.

Rune: The sudden doubt tinging the young man's voice compelled him to look. While his former mentor stared, he made no mention of it. Not everything needed to be touched on. Whatever it was, Enoch was sure to tell him, at his own pace.

In the meantime, he allowed silence to fill the air between them, considered a hundred and one strategies which lay before them by the time they reached the door, which he opened for them both.

The smells which greeted him caused an immediate ruckus of his stomach.

Enoch: Enoch didn’t mind the silence that stretched between them, momentarily withdrawn into his thoughts as they approached the older building. Stonework adorned its façade, tucked between a bakery and a small market already beginning to pack away its wares.

He seemed to return to the land of the present as the door opened and the scent of savory meat and steamed potatoes greeted him. Stepping inside, he moved off to the side, his hands settling comfortably behind his back as he turned to watch Rune, quietly hoping this small find might remind him of home.

Rune: Enoch should have been a betting man. Not always, but moments such as this, the man had a winning hand. A calm had swept his companion like a dusting of debris from his mind.

He inhaled deeply the scents of home and sighed his burdens.

"They have bitterballen, pannekoeken, kibbeling... stamppot!" Years had been shed from his voice from the door to the menu. This was but a teenager in Enoch's presence, eyes alight with the comfort of familiarity. Had Enoch ordered from here before? The afternoon he had slept on his chaise...

"You must try erwtensoep."

Enoch: “You are saying words,” the professor smiled, his eyes bright as he looked at his beloved.

It was as if life had rushed back into Rune, every trace of affliction shaken off. Enoch felt a pang at the thought that he should have brought him here sooner, though seeing him like this, so happy, made his chest ache all the same. Rune deserved this and far more.

Right…he shouldn’t be looking so smitten.

The Englishman cleared his throat and turned his attention toward the counter, giving a small nod. “Why don’t you order for us both? I’ve a decent appetite, surprise me.”

Rune: Rune looked up from the menu, realizing his glee had slipped his mask, his shoulders began to tighten.

"If you have no objections."

He returned to the menu, considering what Enoch enjoyed and what he was willing to explore.

"Kibbeling as an appetizer. Bitterballen, because you must. Stamppot is mashed potatoes with greens. What is it called... koerenkool - kale, sausage, onions, carrots. Erwtensoep is a pea soup with sausage. We'll eat everything."

Enoch: “None whatsoever,” the blond reassured him, though he’d noticed the way the mage's posture began to close in again. “You’re fine,” he added more softly. "I'm glad to see that you approve."

He might have said more, but he straightened as they were approached and asked whether they would be dining in or taking their food to go. One glance at the small, charming tables, and the clear excitement on the Dutchman’s face, made the decision easy.

“Dine in, please.”

They were shown to a table. Enoch pulled out the chair for Rune before taking his own seat across.

“You’ll have to go over the words again,” he said with a small smile, tickled to let the mage serve as his translator for the evening.

“Bitterballen…” He tilted his head slightly. “It sounds bitter... I trust it’s not?”

Rune: On a normal day, he might have scolded for his chivalry, but the cane gave excuse for his kindness; Rune would say nothing as he took his offered seat. The cane was left to hang on the back of his chair.

"Bitter? Bi - No. I promise you, you've never had anything like it. The best fried food you'll ever put in your mouth. And kibbeling! Fried fish. There's no better medicine. After this, I'll be set to rights."

Rune would order for them both. The soup for himself, the stamppot for Enoch, but the spread would be sharable for all.

"Do you want stoopwafel with coffee for dessert, or poffertjes? Um, pancakes?"

Enoch: It was one of the few reasons Enoch had moved to pull out his chair, knowing the gesture wouldn’t be questioned, thanks to that cane. As he sat down, the scholar was delighted in trying new things, but even more so in watching Rune’s reaction.

“I do rather enjoy fish and chips,” he admitted, the prospect of dinner sounding all the more appealing for it.

When the waitress came by, he listened closely, watching as the mage spoke, attempting to commit the new words to his growing list of vocabulary. Thankfully, Dutch wasn’t so far removed from German, and it came to him more easily than he’d expected.

“All of it,” the professor laughed, nodding to their patient waitress. “You may have to roll me out of here, but we can afford to indulge a little. We’ve earned it.”

Rune: They were as good as drugged. He would be certain to sleep through the night and well into the morning.

There was still the matter of Clarissa. Looking across their modest table, he was reminded that their outing would end in negotiations.

To the Hollower, there was nothing more paramount than a transaction. The commodity itself paled to the thrill of trade. A dream was more stimulating than a man-made currency. Memories, desires, afflictions, all glittering trinkets to her magpie heart.

And their one mutual exchange had become a soft-spoken confession. What she would want in return for a hex bag was still speculation, but he didn't suspect she would care about anything but her self-appointed games.

"We've earned a lot more than that," Rune returned in gentle German.

Enoch: Enoch might have argued that a post-meal coffee would solve the inevitable food coma, but that was a bridge to cross later. For now, he was content to sip his water.

He watched the waitress retreat to the kitchen, then let his gaze wander around the small establishment. It was modest, yet charming, adorned with what he assumed were decorations and staples of the Netherlands. Soon enough, his attention drifted back to the mage. For now, he wasn’t thinking of their meeting with the card dealer, nor the weight waiting for him in his grandfather’s journals. Instead, his mind had wandered to far more pleasant possibilities of what-ifs.

“A proper holiday comes to mind,” he said with a soft smile, his gaze lowering from the décor to the man across from him. “I don’t know if I’ve ever suggested it, but I would be open to traveling. Seeing one of your famous lighthouse windmills.”

Rune: Rune returned his attention from a replica of a De Gooyer on a table in the middle of the restaurant, lured by the dulcet sound of Enoch's voice. His voice alone, he realized long ago, had been bait.

"I feel as though we have. Perhaps not out loud." Or one of the instances he had been fall-over drunk. There were plenty.

"How about some place neither of us have been. Egypt is all the rage, right now. Now there, we would find some exceptionally old faces."

Enoch: “I would be terribly sunburnt,” the scholar laughed. “You think you’ve seen me red… just wait.”

He rested his chin in his hand, watching the sailor with fondness. “I’ve been invited to Spain by Olek. Why don’t we make a voyage of it?”

For a moment, he let himself drift.

“Spain… then Egypt. We’ll see the pyramids, ride camels…” He was fairly certain his grandfather had been there as well.

Before he could wander too far, the waitress returned with their appetizers. One he recognized as fried fish; the other, less familiar but both smelled wonderful.

“Please,” he said, gesturing for Rune to take the first bite, just so he could witness it.

Rune: "Spain isn't much different than what you're thinking." He gestured to the man across the table. "Close your eyes and picture what you imagine it to be. It's exactly that. I can only speak of the coast. Of any country, really."

There was something daunting about a landlocked anyplace. The feeling of being in a crowded room. The feeling of no exit.

Rune thought nothing of picking up the toothpick sitting on the plate of bitterballen and stabbing the fried ball. It was only as the entirety was stuffed in his mouth did he realize what Enoch had intended. Deep eyes narrowed accusatorily at his lover.

And then the heat hit him. Not spice, but heat of a freshly fried accident in his mouth, which he fanned, squirming.

Enoch: “All the more reason to visit and experience the culture and the food!”

It would be a marvel to wander through the markets and see a new country like that. He leaned forward slightly.

“When you think of a holiday, Egypt for instance, what would we do?”

His fork moved to the fried fish, carefully pulling away a piece as steam curled up from it. But his attention drifted back to his chipmunk-cheeked companion, and the sight drew an immediate laugh.

“Oh no…” he said, half-sympathetic despite his smile. The mage was absolutely adorable he thought as he nudged his glass of water toward him.

Rune: The water was his savior, though the roof of his mouth throbbed all the same. The taste was familiar, as was the burn of his forgetfulness.

In that instance, he missed the home cooking of his pseudo-mother.

But if Enoch would say nothing more of his blunder, neither would he.

"What would we do? There are pyramids. We would visit every last one. Not just the tallest."

A bitterbal was placed on Enoch's plate.

"I want a conversation with a pharaoh. Or one of their lackeys."

Enoch: Enoch was still smiling, admittedly at the poor sailor’s expense.

“Are you alright?” he asked once things had settled and half his water had been claimed.

He took a bite of his fish, pausing to savor how it melted in his mouth as he waited for a response.

“All the pyramids?” he added absently, glancing down at the round fritter. He steadied it carefully with his fork before slicing in, determined not to meet the same fate as his lover.

“Do all the dead wish to converse?” he asked as he lifted half of the bitterballen, blowing on it before taking a bite.

Oh…

His brows lifted, and he paused mid-chew, clearly caught off guard. A pleased exhale followed, “That’s absolutely lovely!”

Rune: His chin came to rest in his hand, all for show as a means to hide the bird being flipped at his beloved. Moving on from that ridiculous blunder.

"No. Not at all. Some wish only to live with their unfinished business. Some watch, make trouble, and others live without any idea that they're dead. To their eyes, the world is off, but it's not their fault."

His smile returned as he stole a piece of fish.

"It was a treat when she... when she would make it. Danique." Had he become too comfortable? He had very nearly called her mother.

Enoch: His jaw went south at the rather rude gesture, prompting the blond to lift his nose in mild offense.

“Well, that’s impolite,” he grumbled, though it lacked any real bite as he speared the other half of the bitterballen and took another appreciative bite.

He chose to ignore the mage for the moment and not directly look at him, following the thread of conversation instead. “How do they end up like that? In that last state when they don’t realize they’ve died?”

Then, another line of curiosity surfaced as he glanced down at the appetizer, already debating whether to reach for another.

“Did you ever help her make them when you were younger?”

Rune: "Various reasons. Suicide, for one, but it's so rare to find one of those on this side of the veil. Violent deaths, maybe, but those are typically spectres or shades, also living deep within the Shadowlands. What you find most often here are those unwilling to see the truth. Forcing them to face it can be dangerous."

Another bitterbal was stuffed in his cheek.

"But that's enough lessons for today. Yes, I helped her. Almost every day. Shaving carrots, potatoes, chopping things. As far as cooking goes, she would let me boil water."

Enoch: Enoch seemed to hang onto the explanation, nodding as he reached for the wedge of lemon that accompanied the fish, squeezing it over it the crispy surface.

“But what if…” The question faltered, his attention briefly stolen by Rune as his cheeks puffed out. A smile returned as he reached for another bitterballen, moving it onto his plate.

“You do know you are my favorite person, right?” he said as he began to cut into it.

Rune: "What's that?" Why was he being watched as one would a dazzling sunset after an evening of rain. Suspicious.

Something told him not to press further.

"What if what?"

Enoch: “You’re absolutely darling,” he clarified, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth as he stared down at the bitterballen, addressing it for the time being.

“You look happy, and….and I’m enjoying this side of you.”

He took a bite of his appetizer, trying to chase down the question that had been on the tip of his tongue. It slipped away all the same, and he let out a quiet breath, shoulders lifting before falling again in mild defeat.

“It’s left me.”

Rune: The old man wanted to frown, and attempted, but still holding an entire ball in his cheek proved the task too difficult.

"It's the same me," he insisted, biting and chewing his stash.

"What, your head?" he smirked, glancing up from behind his lashes. "You lose your head often."

Enoch: The blond glanced up at the response, his smile widening at Rune’s failed attempt to look curmudgeonly.

“Stop trying to be contrarian for the sake of it.”

Had they not been in public, he might have teased the Euthanatos further, but as it stood, he had already gotten away with far more than he ought. Dangerous, really, especially with how close Dutch ran to German.

Perhaps it was a premonition, because no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the waitress arrived with the rest of their order. He acknowledged her with a polite smile.

“Too often,” he conceded.

Rune: "Do you really think that, or have I beaten you down?" Considering their location, he should have switched to Dutch, but he was in no mood to be perceived, nor in the mood to make Enoch struggle when they were supposed to be shedding the tension.

"Hartelijk dank."

The soup was tasted, and then a spoonful of Enoch's potatoes, before offering his bowl for sampling, approving of both.

Enoch: Enoch took a moment to consider, his head tilting slightly to the side as his gaze softened.

“I think you enjoy being difficult sometimes… perhaps because you’re looking for a reaction,” he said candidly, a playful glint in his eye as he reached for a sip of water.

Rune was spared any further commentary as their food arrived, drawing Enoch’s full attention. He looked over the dishes with clear interest, the aroma alone enough to make his mouth water as he picked up his fork to inspect them.

“How does it compare?” he asked with a smile, taking a small bite of his potatoes before switching to a spoon to sample the soup. His expression eased almost immediately, to his tongue, everything was delicious.

Rune: The gentle murmur of English and Dutch speakers, the sound of cooking, and the footsteps within and beyond the walls had become an instant comfort. Surrounded without being suffocated. Being able to speak freely - freely enough - had chipped at his walls. Now it was he doing the staring.

"Perhaps. One day, you'll have me all figured out."

The question was regarded with as much thought as a philosophical reading of the Bible. His head ducked down, as though in prayer, finally lifted to meet his gaze. His eyes revealing too much.

"Tastes like home."

Enoch: “Perhaps.” There was still much about the mage he didn’t know. It would take time, but he took pride in what he did know and what he’d been allowed to learn.

He returned to his meal, taking another bite as he gave the Euthanatos space to form his assessment, clearly enjoying the blend of flavors and textures.

When that answer came, paired with the look in his love's eyes, Enoch glanced briefly toward the kitchen before returning his attention to his companion.

“Then we’ll order some to go as well, so we can have it tomorrow.”

Only because Enoch had self-proclaimed himself rubbish in the kitchen, but that did raise a question.

“Do you know how to make these dishes?” he asked. “If we had the ingredients, I mean…”

Rune: "I'll have meat on my bones again in no time."

He wouldn't object. To have bitterballen and soft-boiled eggs for breakfast... he was already looking forward to the difference in textures.

"I know the ingredients. I remember... how long each took to make. More or less. We could trial and error our way to success."

Enoch: “We’ll set aside next weekend to cook and see how terribly we manage,” he chuckled. But he adored the idea of cooking together. The kitchen was small, yes, but they could make it work.

“Just make me a list, and I’ll pick everything up after work.”

Rune: "That all depends on what you want. One of these as a diving board?"

Already, he was halfway through with the soup. He hadn't thought to offer it again.

"What was your favorite from childhood? Something else for that tiny kitchen."

Enoch: “Your favorite one,” he decided, taking another bite of his dish. He could certainly use more experience in the kitchen, beyond tea and the occasional coffee.

“Well… Cornish pasties come to mind, or a proper shepherd’s pie…” He hesitated slightly. “Yorkshire pudding as well, though I suppose that has milk in it…”

Rune: Pastry, is what he was hearing. Except for one.

"Shepherd's pie... and stamppot zuurkool would put us in a coma."

Why did their favorites have so many steps and ingredients? He looked at the spread on the table and considered.

"One day, we'll make your pie, and... Zuurvlees? No. Oh! Soused herring and egg toast. That's what I want. We can... We can make our own bread."

Enoch: “You mean this upcoming weekend,” he said, taking a bite. Once he swallowed, he added, “I’d rather set a date than leave it to our whims and risk it being forgotten.”

The idea of making bread gave him pause, only because the process would likely be difficult.

“Have you made bread before?”

Rune: "Watched." Enoch could guess who little Rune had studied, just tall enough to stare from the height of the table without climbing onto a chair.

"Fine, next weekend. It'll give me something to do then woe over lemons."

Enoch: “Speaking of, you haven’t touched the fish since I put lemon on it.” He gave the mage a pointed look.

Still, he finished the last of his own dish, clearly having enjoyed every bite.

“You’ll have to take a look at what I’ve got in the kitchen… and whether I need to pick up a few more things.”

Maybe some bowls...

Rune: "Have I not?" A lie was a lie. He refused to look at him, but plucked a piece of fish with his spoon.

"I've had my vitamins today, thank you very much."

He sighed into his bite, staring off at nothing.

"How long must you stay there?"

Enoch: “You have not,” the scholar smirked, taking a piece of fish for himself.

He finished one last bite before setting his utensils on the plate, ready for the waitress when she returned.

“Where?” It took him a moment to follow. “Oh…the dorm?” He shook his head lightly. “I don’t actually need to stay there. I only do because it’s close to campus, and relatively inexpensive.”

His chin came to rest in his hand as he looked across at the mage.

“Why? Thinking of having me move?”

Rune: The question sounded like commitment. The word didn't startle him as much as his willingness to push such change upon an already changed man. He lifted his bowl to his lips to finish, gulping down the last with a satisfied sigh.

"I didn't know if you were obligated, somehow." Not a lie; he didn't know. "Then again, that Halloween party... I would have seen them in the halls at some point."

Enoch: “I suppose if I wanted the school to pay, I could take on something like a residential assistant role, but… no, thank you.”

Especially now.

“Most other professors have their own homes with their families. Those who don’t tend to stay somewhere similar to the dorm, or in one of those all-men’s or all-women’s lodgings.”

Rune: There it was again. The same feeling that had whelmed him walking into Enoch's childhood home. The sense of belonging, wanting, of playing house. He wanted so much to play house. Months of living with Aoi, of pondering the merits and flaws of children with a sociopath, not once had he felt genuine love, genuine desire to wake up every morning to her face. It wasn't about her. The idea of family was deeper and more profound than her sanity could comprehend.

But, looking across the table, his heart ached exquisitely.

"We should go, before Clarissa's knee-deep in drink."

Enoch: “Would you like to go on ahead?” he offered. “I can stay and put in our order to go and perhaps something for dessert.”

He hadn’t seen the mage light up quite like that in some time over the taste of home. If he could carry even a little of that back with them, it was well worth the extra time.

“And… a cup of coffee does sound rather tempting now that I’m so terribly full.”

Rune: Rune considered their empty plates. Practically licked. So long as Enoch had enjoyed himself, too.

What a selfless, odd thought.

"For the food, and not... because you don't want to see her?"

Enoch: There was a brief pause as the mage’s words brushed against something more sensitive than intended.

“Mostly for the food,” he echoed, honest, his gaze dropping as he folded his napkin and set it neatly on the empty plate.

"And...I wouldn't be of much use there, if we're being honest. It's more efficient this way."

Rune: The air between them wasn't tense. He expected it should be, but it wasn't. The chair was pushed back, the cane taken and swayed between his hands.

"I want to make something clear to you, going forward. The you and me... situation." Mindful, they were still in public. "Not now, not tomorrow, not ever: I will never be ashamed of you. I'm not concerned one way or another how she'll feel. I don't believe she'll feel anything, but that's beside the point. It's not the point at all. You have no one, and I mean no one to concern yourself with."

Enoch: He couldn’t quite put into words why he suddenly felt smaller in that moment. It wasn’t hostility, nor was he being reprimanded, yet insecurity claimed his joy. These were feelings of inadequacy, old and familiar, carved into him long before the mage by the strict man who had raised him.

But this wasn’t that. Rune’s words meant the opposite.

He simply had to let himself hear them.

His attention lifted from the neatly folded napkin to the man across from him, and he gave a small, quiet nod.

“I appreciate you more than you know.”

He didn’t trust himself to say much more than that, worried he might only embarrass himself further. If Rune had already seen through him without the subject even being raised, speaking more on it would surely make him terribly obvious.

“I’ll meet you at h—” He caught himself, mindful of where they were. “Later?”