#whisperedfromthevoid

[nihiladditaenihilperdidi]

"Gimmie my shirt or fuckin' pay me."

[anedendarkly]

Jazzy Sort of Evening || Enoch + Olek || April 10th, 1925

Enoch: Enoch gently picks up Olek and gives him a soft kiss between his ears.

Olek: Like a timely machine, the feline in his hands came alive with an equally gentle rumble. He arched his neck to bump his forehead against Enoch's jaw.

Enoch: Enoch answered in kind with another kiss as he ran his fingers under Olek's chin, giving him a gentle scritch.

"Is it ok if I steal you for today?"

He was the politest cat-napper.

Olek: "Ech." Not a shake of his head, hiss, or demand to be put down. Safe to say, he belonged to Enoch today.

Enoch: Enoch was content to hold Olek, comforted by the massive feline.

"Would Olek like to go to a jazz club?"

Olek: So many more chirps! A sneeze-like noise akin to a bark followed an aggressive nuzzle. Yes, he would love that!

Enoch: A soft laugh shook the professor's shoulders as his chin was pushed up by the sudden attack of affection.

"Ok, ok. We'll go!"

Olek: If only he could turn human! Just a few too many people had them within eyeshot. So, a cat he remained, practically hugging Enoch's throat.

Enoch: Enoch was careful to carry Olek through the familiar park, not paying attention to the peculiar looks he got. They could make their way to the club early and enjoy the bar as the band set up.

“Does Olek drink?” he whispered.

Olek: Hmm. How could he possibly answer that as a cat? No and yes were easy to meow. Whole sentences if he had the determination! Humans could believe they were merely hearing things.

But how does one say they never tried?

Olek leaned forward and tilted his head. How was that?

Enoch: Enoch tilted his head with Olek's.

"As one would get at a bar. Beer, stout, or lager?"

He must look daft talking to a cat.

"My mentor drinks like a fish."

Olek: The familiar looked up and down the street. Really, Enoch was being quite chatty! He wanted to chat back. His voice had to come from the depths of his throat, using every ounce of effort.

'What's the matter with him?' One might mistake the sound for growls and grunts.

Enoch: Enoch blinked, stunned. His brow knit as he stared down at the familiar.

"You...you can talk?"

Olek: 'No.' Was that a meow, or a growl? A sound one might hear from an alley cat in the dead of night, disputing its territory with an argumentative neighbor.

Enoch: More blinks as he stared at Olek. Was he suffering some sort of medical episode to be hearing full sentences from the familiar?

“Ah…” He trailed off, clearly unconvinced.

“Nothing is the matter. I think...I think it’s his hobby.”

Olek: The last thing he wanted was to ever frighten this man. The hundred-and-one blinks spoke of something less than pleasant. He would stick to his usual trills and chirps going forward.

But first, a nuzzle.

Enoch: Now, ever the curious mind, he was not put off by a talking cat. On the contrary, it was rather curious and peculiar, even for a familiar he felt at home with. Something to document, indeed!

“Well…I suppose he gambles a lot.”

He was still on about his mentor, but was pleasantly distracted by the nuzzle.

Olek: Only when Enoch brought them someplace hidden could he offer this man a proper hug. For now, he would leave his scent behind with such aggressive head bumps and nuzzles that no cat in London would dare question his loyalty. The mage could talk about whatever he wished, if it made him happy.

Enoch: Without successfully coaxing the feline to speak again, that would be the end of the conversation. Olek was given gentle affection in response until they arrived at the club, his steps slowing down as he neared the building.

Olek: Olek chirped with excitement, wriggling in Enoch's arms until free to leap onto the sidewalk and bound between the buildings. The towering figure he'd come to expect soon joined him, lifting him off the ground in a strong and eager embrace.

"Olek missed Enoch!"

Enoch: Enoch bent at the waist, offering an easier perch for the familiar’s leap. He stayed close, watching as a few patrons entered the building. The distraction cost him because he was caught in Olek’s sudden embrace, lifting him clean off his feet without a hint of resistance.

“But we've been right here!” he protested, breath catching on a laugh as he found himself held in the air.

Olek: Enoch was spun once, twice, and squeezed. Not enough to empty all of the air from his lungs, but enough to catch his breath.

"Did I scare you? I didn't mean to scare you. It always scares people!" He was whisper-shouting, but no one was near enough to eavesdrop.

Enoch: "I had never witnessed such things before," he admitted.

Oh, he was terribly fond of the familiar, he thought as he was set back on his feet.

"Do it again the next time."

Olek: "Yes?" He bounced on his toes once. "Let's listen to music. Enoch has promised music."

Enoch: “And you shall get it,” the professor promised, motioning toward the building.

The Ragged Fox stood just ahead, its name carved into a weathered wooden sign above the door. Enoch led the way inside, the warm glow of low-hanging lamps casting amber pools across dark wood floors. The pub hummed with quiet conversation and clinking plates and glasses. It seemed like the band was setting up.

"Shall we get something?"

Olek: The instinctive urge to hold Enoch's hand was great and bedded with another little rock on his toes. It had been mere days since he'd seen his friend, but days felt like weeks, even months, when he felt particularly needy.

The pub was absolutely English. As warm as it felt with its cherry woods and fireplace, its aesthetic crafted to warm the bones of patrons year-round, it lacked the cacophony he was accustomed to in Spain. The shouting of one man to another across a room. The laughter of a woman. Music sung with abandon, full voice to be heard from the street.

The pub was quaint and reminded him of Enoch. What it lacked in volume it made up for in charm.

"Tapas?" He pointed to the seat nearest the stage.

Enoch: If they stayed out late enough, Olek might just get that treat.

“Tapas?” Enoch echoed, the word ringing familiar.

“Let’s order at the bar, then find a seat.”

The menu, scrawled in chalk on a small blackboard, hung behind the counter. It wasn’t long before the bartender’s expectant gaze turned their way.

“Old-fashioned and crisps, please. And you can add his order to my tab."

Olek: Olek tilted his head, staring at the vaguely familiar menu. Nothing at all like Spain. His master loved his tapas, loved glass after glass of red wine accompanied with tomatoes and sardines drizzled with olive oil, crispy calamari, and pork belly with mushrooms. Olek had been partial to fried eggplant with honey whenever he accompanied his master.

None of which was offered in this London jazz pub.

"The... icebox cake. Please and thank you."

Enoch: “Do not be surprised if a bite goes missing,” smiled Enoch as he nodded at the bartender when his drink was placed before him. He chose to leave the tab open, sure that they’d be getting more later. Cake and crisps joined his drink, his attention now on Olek.

“Would you like something to drink?”

Olek: Olek hesitated. What went well with sweets? He had only ever had wine, so...

"White... wine? Please and thank you."

Enoch: A glass of wine would join the growing pile in front of them. With that, Enoch would carefully lead them back to the table.

“I have a feeling you would like mead. Maybe I should have you try that next,” he suggested as he took a seat, already reaching for a crisp.

Olek: "But-" Olek looked around as he settled in his seat. The table was modestly round. Rather than sit across Olek chose to sit beside. The better to see the stage.

"Master says Olek is funny when he drinks."

Enoch: “How so?”

This earned Olek a look as the corner of Enoch’s lips lifted in a smile.

Olek: His shoulders raised. Enoch earned a smile just for him. "He just says funny." They would find out soon enough. He sniffed at his chardonnay and made a face.

"Enoch wants some cake?"

Enoch: Enoch wasn't exactly sure what to expect from that, but he was a good sport and would go along with whatever happened. Olek was so sweet, he doubted it was anything he should worry about.

"Yes, if Olek doesn't mind sharing."

Olek: Without a word, he took his fork and cut down the middle. A simple combination of cookies and some kind of icing - whipped cream, was it? The scent of ginger and cinnamon kept his interest.

First, a sip of his wine, sucking in his cheeks to prevent an unsavory face, then a bite of cake. It was cake in name only, but it was fascinating to his tongue.

"Gingersnaps?"

Enoch: The struggle for Olek to keep a straight face was quite amusing to the professor. He tucked his chin to hide his smile as he turned his attention to the brandy he ordered. Not too long ago he shared the same sentiment as the familiar but recently he had grown fond of it only because of who he drank with.

"Yes! What do you think?"

Olek: "I love it!" More whisper yelling. He didn't glance over his shoulder this time. Instead, he swiped a forkful of whipped cream on his tongue and another sip of wine. Less of a face, but a grimace still.

"That's better," he said behind his teeth.

Enoch: Enoch stifled a laugh at the whisper-yelling, a snort slipping through despite himself. His grin widened as he finally claimed his cut portion, lifting it for a taste.

Light, sweet, and very much to his liking.

“What is Olek’s favorite dessert?”

Olek: A little hum followed another bite. His fork lingered by his lips as he considered every sweet treat from the morning he was born. He hadn't forgotten sugary treats, though maybe the faces that had offered them.

"Dango," he decided, only to pause. "No. Crema catalana. Maybe icebox cake, now."

Enoch: “It sounds like you have a favorite from each region you’ve been to.”

Enoch, this time, went to take a crisp; the saltiness of it was perfect to offset the sweetness of the cake. Hm.

“Mine, I think, is between sticky toffee pudding and fruit tarts. Though I am very partial to ice cream too.”

Olek: Olek blinked. Did Enoch know of dango? Since when? What a pleasant surprise.

"Olek likes everything," Olek laughed, but then made a face. "Not lemon. Ugh."

Enoch: Enoch actually didn’t; it was just a guess based on context clues. Icebox cake from England, Crema Catalana from Spain... dango likely hailed from elsewhere.

“No to lemon?” He arched a brow, amusement flickering in his gaze as he reached to steal another bite of the dessert.

“Is it the taste or the texture?”

Olek: "It smells! And it's too sharp. Needles poking Olek's tongue. Mint, lavender," he scrunched his face more. "Basil! It's all terrible."

Enoch: Enoch laughed softly at such a strong reaction.

“It’s not all bad, promise!”

He nursed his brandy thoughtfully.

“It can be softer when mixed with something,” he offered.

At home, he had this lovely lavender tea mix that he’d happily let the familiar sample.

Olek: Hm. A rare instance, Olek's incredulous narrowed eyes. If his thoughts lingered too long, he risked making himself gag. He took a bite of soggy biscuit and whipped cream to chase the memory.

"Enoch has been here before? Often?"

Enoch: Seeing such a look on Olek’s face only widened Enoch’s grin as he leaned back slightly.

“Honest!”

His gaze drifted to the stage, watching as the band wrapped up their final adjustments. Any moment now, they’d start warming up.

“A few times,” he admitted, glancing back at Olek. “One of my colleagues introduced me to it. It’s always been a delight.”

Olek: "Music is the very best," of that, perhaps they both agreed.

Olek glanced over his shoulder, surveying the room for anything or anyone interesting. The sound of a cello being plucked like a guitar brought him back.

"Does Enoch think that's what paradise is? Music forever."

Enoch: Paradise?

Enoch wasn’t sure if that was his idea of it. But then again, what was? Leisurely reading? Traveling the world in a tan explorer’s outfit, complete with one of those ridiculous hats? He could already hear Olek’s soft laughter if he admitted that deep down, he wanted adventure. Instead, he found himself tethered to London by responsibilities he'd agreed to from his past mentor.

“Delightful, wouldn’t it be?” he mused instead, swirling his drink idly.

“And yours? What kind of music would play in Olek’s paradise?”

Olek: Enoch was thinking about the world of the living, when Olek was considering life after death. What paradise had his mistress gone to, or his former master? Someplace that was everything they wanted, and everything they didn't know they needed.

Olek stared at the stage, watching expert fingers slide over gut strings and fine polished wood.

"Everything. Anything. Just... happy things. Humming, whistling, flutes, drums, piano. No more sad songs."

Enoch: "I don't know about that. There's beauty in sad songs," he countered softly, resting his chin in his hand.

His gaze drifted to the musicians on stage, drawn in by their presence. Perhaps he was biased. His own compositions always seemed to lean toward those more contemplative melodies.

Olek: "Enoch wants sad songs in his paradise?" Olek had to consider his own question. Perhaps Enoch had never the chance to compose them, to be allowed to feel his feelings freely.

With that thought in mind, he squeezed the mage's shoulder.

"Enoch can write as many as he wants."

Enoch: Enoch shook his head.

"Not just sad songs.”

That wasn’t the intent. He wanted to create something that moved people, that stirred feelings. But that would take time, practice.

The band struck their first notes, the warm-up giving way to a snappy rhythm that set feet tapping. The bar, now fuller, quieted as the melody took hold, drawing the room into its pulse.

“I’ve heard they’re quite good.”

Olek: Their conversation was parallel to each other, not quite touching, and wouldn't touch yet, as the subject of paradise and its meaning was placed to the side. Olek was staring at the stage, watching the fingerwork of each musician with fascination, trying to memorize every movement as though he could mimic what he saw. More than their skillful fingers, he was listening to the pulse of every strum, pluck, and beat of the drum. The room was perfectly tense.

"They're happy."

Enoch: Enoch nodded, moving to rest his chin in the palm of his hand, his attention drawn to the band. They were good.

When the first song was over, he looked over at Olek.

“Are you happy?”

Olek: His instinct was to smile and say yes, because of course he was, most of the time, but he wondered, "In what way?"

Enoch: "Are you enjoying yourself?"

Olek: "Of course I am!" he whisper-shouted. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he looked over his shoulder.

"Are you?"

Enoch: Enoch smiled fondly at the familiar, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he brought his fingers to his lips, imitating that gesture.

"Yes, I most certainly am. Though I think they would benefit from a piano player," he whispered teasingly.

Olek: "Do you think they would let you?" His shoulders trembled with laughter.

Enoch: Enoch shook his head almost immediately.

“Absolutely not. I’d have to be daft to get on stage.”

Lecturing in a packed hall was one thing, but performing? With every eye watching, every ear judging? He’d sooner endure his awakening again.

Olek: "Enoch would be wonderful!" he countered, his honesty was sometimes too earnest. There was almost hurt behind those eyes at the idea of the young mage thinking less of himself in any shape or form. Modesty had its place, but not that.

Enoch: The urge to pinch Olek’s cheek was strong, but propriety, and the presence of a crowd, kept his hands either folded in his lap or reaching for his whiskey. He didn’t want to dull Olek’s enthusiasm, even if he doubted the sentiment. So when a server passed by, he wordlessly lifted his glass for a refill.

“What about Olek?” he asked instead, tipping his head. “What would you do on stage?” Better to shift the spotlight elsewhere than let it linger on him.

Olek: The scraps of icing were stared into before pushing his plate aside. Only a few sips of wine, but he felt it in his arms. A heat that coursed through him, trying to stretch its fingers elsewhere.

The familiar leaned back in his seat.

"Olek would sing," he nodded.

Enoch: “Have I heard you sing?” mused the professor, fingers tracing the rim of his fresh glass. “I don’t think so.”

 His attention flickering briefly to the artists on stage, their voices weaving through the low hum of conversation. He looked up to the familiar, the warmth of the alcohol loosening his restraint, allowing a boyish smile to break through. “I demand a performance, then.”

Olek: "You forgot?" How hurt! The familiar was pouting by the time the mage looked at him. "You played piano. I said 'bésame mucho' in a pretty voice." He was back to grinning, eyes playful. "Enoch forgot. Enoch doesn't love Olek."

Enoch: “Ah! It was so long ago,” Enoch laughed, ducking his head quickly to hide behind his whisky. “I had to block most of it out after you made me sing!”

He peeked back up with a grin, eyes warm as they met Olek’s. “And not true. Enoch does very much. Just… with selective memory.”

Olek: "Don't selective memory time with Olek. That's cruel." But he was quietly laughing, his face as bright as almost always.

"When does Enoch want a performance?"

Enoch: Enoch looked over his shoulder at the band performing, and a silly thought crossed his mind.

“Mm, what if after the show?” he asked with a smile, his gaze flickering from Olek to the stage. It was too bold an ask, but he didn’t think the familiar would actually take him up on it.

Olek: Olek followed his gaze. A fern curl of smile following.

"In this place? You would like that?"

Enoch: "You wouldn't dare." Would he? Enoch stared squarely at the familiar from behind his whiskey.

Olek: Hm. His chin slowly raised.

"Enoch would care. Enoch would care a lot."

Enoch: Enoch looked back over his shoulder at the stage. Olek had a very lovely voice, gifted as if he had been meant to be a singer. Would whatever patrons linger care?

"Has Olek ever performed on stage before?"

Olek: "Not so many people. A garden party for Miss Olivia's birthday, once. She was so happy." But that had been 12 of his masters friends and relatives. Quite different.

Enoch: "Does Olek want to sing on a big stage one day?" He set his glass down, spinning the crystal slowly.

"I would care, that's true. But it would be for your happiness."

Olek: "Olek would enjoy it." He nodded to himself, slowly and unsure, and then with confidence. "Mm. One day." He leaned over to whisper, "But not tonight. Olek won't embarrass Enoch."

Enoch: Before he could consider his actions, it was second nature by now to reach up and cup Olek's face with a hand.

"Hush, you don't embarrass me. Take that back."

Olek: The familiar sat up straight and laughed. The bit of affection was quick, and his response quicker. No one would think anything of it as the attention hadn't lingered.

"Is this true?"

Enoch: "Mm, it is."

His hand fell away, watching the familiar with a smile, reminded that they very much were not alone. He couldn't be more affectionate with Olek without getting looks.

"Olek has helped more than he knows."

Olek: So it seemed. His smile was too wide and aching. "Then Olek takes it back."

Enoch: “Good,” Enoch echoed, a little too smug for someone whose cheeks were flushing warm from the drink. He let his gaze drift lazily back to the stage, fingers drumming a rhythm against the side of his glass.

“Does Olek dance?”

Olek: "Olek loves to dance, but only Miss Olivia will dance with me. Does Enoch dance? With whom? What kind of dancing?" To his knowledge, England was rather limited in dances.

Enoch: "I do. My grandfather made sure I went to etiquette school to learn."

He stared at the amber liquid in his cup.

"I know how to waltz and ballroom dance. But no, I don't have anyone to dance with."

Olek: "Etiquette school?" Olek stared at the stage for a moment. There were no silly questions, if one truly didn't know the subject. So, he looked back at his dear friend and asked, "When did Enoch have time for that?"

Enoch: Enoch nodded, a hint of amusement behind his glasses.

“They teach you how to sit properly, how to hold a fork, what tie to wear for dinner…” He trailed off with a fond, if slightly exasperated, smile realizing Olek might not be familiar with any of it.

“Far too posh for my taste. But they did teach us how to dance and work on our penmanship,” he added, the latter clearly more his speed.

“There were even exams,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I attended when I was younger. Back when I was just a schoolboy.”

Olek: Olek considered these lessons. "Learning... a culture," was what he took away from this explanation. "That sounds like a good idea." But there was the slightest inflection at the end of his statement. Wasn't it a good idea? An introduction to a country and its customs.

"Enoch passed his exams?" his smile returned as bright as usual.

Enoch: “I suppose you’re right…” Enoch mused, swirling the amber in his glass. “It was learning a culture and every rigid little rule about how to be a proper Brit.” A wry smile touched his lips.

“And yes, I passed,” he added, glancing up at the familiar’s bright grin.

“Not top of the class, mind you, but I scraped by well enough to keep my grandfather off my back.”

The smile softened, a little sheepish now.

“Didn’t see the point in excelling at napkin folding.”

Olek: "Will Enoch dance with Olek? At home?" He pushed his friend with his shoulder. "Enoch can teach me the most English dance." Olivia would be delighted to learn, should he remember the steps.

Enoch: Enoch hesitated for a moment, then offered a small smile.

“I’m a far better piano teacher than dancer,” he confessed. “But if you’d like, we can.”

He could teach the familiar how to waltz. His old gramophone would do just fine for that.

“When would Olek like to begin?”

Olek: "Would you like for Olek to stay tonight?" he whispered. "Olek can sleep at the foot of the bed."

Enoch: “You can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the lounge,” Enoch whispered back as he leaned in.

Olek: Olek's mouth twitched. "Not together?" It was the quietest he'd ever whispered.

Enoch: Enoch paused, meeting those mossy eyes, trying to gauge whether Olek was serious. He couldn’t quite tell, so he chuckled, gaze dropping.

“Is that something Olek wants?”

Olek: "Olek likes when Enoch is happy." His chin ducked, finishing off the last drops of wine. His arms were pleasantly warm and tingling, and so too were his cheeks.

"It's gotten warm," he sighed.

Enoch: "Then know I am happy to be spending an evening with you."

He lifted his cup toward Olek before taking another sip.

"Would you like to go outside?"

Olek: "Always and forever," Olek said into his empty cup. "Is Enoch finished with music already?"

Enoch: The professor shook his head.

"Not at all, I'm quite enjoying it."

The band had moved onto another tune that had slowed the beat down. Soft sultry tones as the singer crooned away.

"Then how about something to cool you off?"

Olek: "Would more wine cool me off?" Me, he said, because two men walked past their table.

Enoch: Enoch smiled and gently shook his head.

"Might be the reason why you feel warm," he replied honestly.

"Water might help."

Olek: Olek considered the wine, then the man, and then the room. He would smile politely at a waiter, and request another glass of wine and water, if available.

Enoch: "Are you sure about this?"

More wine meant the professor had to keep pace, so he ordered another whiskey to join his friend.

"We’ll be absolutely useless if I’m meant to teach you how to dance tonight," he added with a soft laugh.

"Or who knows...better?"

Olek: "Olek will say better," he whispered. "Enoch is buttoned up all the way." Would the mage understand what he meant?

Enoch: “Are you…calling me stiff and unfun?”

Enoch narrowed his eyes at Olek, his grin loose as another glass of whiskey and wine was placed in front of them.

“I have my moments! I…I play the piano and I draw!”

Olek: The familiar covered his mouth with his fingertips, ducking his head when their waiter returned, muttering his gratitude before pulling his drink close to his chest.

"Enoch is beautiful when he lets himself be."

Enoch: “That’s not a denial!” accused the professor with a laugh.

“I am fun…honestly.”

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret.

"I was adventurous in my youth, you know. Always sneaking out, climbing rooftops, getting into places I shouldn't."

He tapped the rim of his glass thoughtfully.

"I could probably still be," he mused as he took a sip of his drink, "if properly motivated."

Olek: "Enoch climbed rooftops? And never caught?"

He almost leaned over and bumped foreheads. Almost kissed his cheek. The temptation was so palpable. He gulped his wine a little too quickly.

"Of course Enoch is fun," he continued to whisper. And then he perked, sitting up and leaning over with intent, he cupped his hand over the mage's ear.

"Would Enoch like to be a cat for a day?"

Enoch: His face was already warm from the alcohol, but that didn’t stop the scholar from nursing his drink, a boyish grin on his lips at the praise.

“Thank you.”

His brows lifted at the suggestion, eyes widening as he turned to look at the familiar, searching his face.

“You can do that?” he whispered back.

Olek: "I haven't in a long time. Master Ki would sometimes spend days in the trees as an orangutan. I could help, but to learn on your own would... not be pleasant."

Enoch: Enoch's eyes lit up in amusement. Well, this was a delightful turn of events.

"I would very much like to learn."

Olek: Despite his warning, Enoch might as well have been a child under a Christmas tree. He couldn't help but return his smile.

"Enoch wants to be a cat?"

Enoch: Enoch let the glass of whisky dangle loosely between his fingers, watching the amber liquid catch the light as he swirled it.

“Does Enoch get a choice?” he asked with a mischievous smile, lifting the glass for a slow sip.

Olek: "Not the first time," he bit the inside of his cheek. A thought danced behind his eyes. "But if Enoch wants an animal of his own, Enoch has to do rituals."

Enoch: The professor nodded. He wasn’t choosey when it came to magic, especially transfiguration, but he was curious.

“What is the ritual?”

Olek: "You have to eat the animal you wish to realize. My master found his killed by a villager. The transformation is potent near the harvest moon. The first handful are excruciating, and then exhilarating."

Enoch: "I suppose I'm fine if I'm a chicken..."

Olek: Covering his mouth, Olek desperately tried to breathe through his coughing fit. Struggling to hold down his wine. There would be no rescuing his decorum.

His glass was pushed aside. A napkin replaced his hand over his nose and mouth.

"Enoch is silly."

Enoch: “What? There’s nothing wrong with being a chicken,” Enoch said, attempting to sound serious though the corners of his mouth betrayed him. The professor tried to keep his composure, but it crumbled quickly, laughter spilling out as Olek struggled beside him.

“O–Olek,” he stuttered between breaths. “You can’t have me eating a cat or—god forbid—a fox. Let alone something more exotic. I have standards, you know.”

Olek: The napkin was now covered with both hands, as if to blow his nose. Whatever mess had happened beneath it was his business. In his ruckus, their waiter, concerned, inched closer as if his presence might be of assistance. The familiar shook his head.

"Thank you. I'm fine."

It was Enoch who was to blame, and Enoch was given a look.

"Olek didn't say you hunt them. Though some people do. Others find accidents, old age, and victims." Whether he meant to or not, the young mage had answered his desire.

"Enoch wants to be a fox?"

Enoch: Enoch was absolutely useless through Olek’s coughing fit, laughing so hard he had to brace a hand against the table. Still, he had the decency to nudge the water he'd asked for closer to the familiar, his grin lopsided and entirely unrepentant.

When Olek gave him that look, he smiled sheepishly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Roadkill isn’t exactly an improvement, you know,” he said with a chuckle, then took a calmer sip of his whisky.

“Honestly? Anything would be fascinating. But foxes… they’re clever. Quick. I think I’d like that.”

Olek: "Enoch would be mistaken for a wolf." By now, he was able to remove the napkin with a sniff. The scholar was given one more look as he wadded up the bit of paper intended for his drink.

"Without me, you would need a lot of practice. A lot of practice with your body. Health, healing, transmutations. Two years, if Enoch dedicated everything to life magic. Enoch could do it."

Enoch: “Why a wolf?” The professor tilted his head, brows drawn in faint confusion. “I’m not nearly intimidating enough for that, am I?” He let the question hang with a small, self-deprecating smile before leaning forward, setting his glass down.

“That’s… quite a long time,” he admitted, eyes fixed on Olek now with genuine curiosity.

“So how does it work, then?”

Olek: Long? The familiar blinked at the statement. His next sip of wine was mindfully slow.

"Everyone is bigger than the thing they wish to be." A pause, another sip. "At first. More human-sized. Enoch thinks two years is a long time? The first harvest moon, you are blessed with traits; the second, their image. There are words. Vital pieces you must eat. You can't do any of it unless you can transmute smaller things. A tomato into a mushroom, a frog into a squirrel. Things like that."

Enoch: Ah, that made more sense. He hadn’t accounted for that. How his body might carry over traces of its original shape or how mastery would come in strange increments, under moons and through trials.

“Still… two years is a long time.” His voice was thoughtful now, gaze flickering to his drink before returning to Olek. “A lot can happen in two years.”

He considered the familiar with quiet interest. What was time to someone like him? Like his mentor?

“Right. That makes sense.”

Olek: "Enoch could master twenty other spells and have no interest in being a fox." That's what he saw, not an insurmountable muddy hill of responsibility and ritual. Well, it was ritual, but perhaps rituals weren't to Enoch's taste. They took longer, required more.

"Maybe Enoch falls in love and gets married and never wants to see Olek again. Maybe Enoch becomes dean, or discovers something so new and grand he never leaves his laboratory again. Maybe - Maybe anything. Maybe everything."

Enoch: Enoch blinked, caught off guard by the rush of possibilities laid bare like a challenge or a farewell. For a moment, he said nothing and just studied Olek’s face, as if trying to decide whether to laugh or scold him.

“Well,” he said finally, quiet but not cold, “that’s rather bleak, isn’t it?”

He reached for his drink again, swirling what little remained.

“If I did become dean, or married, or buried in my lab...do you really think I’d forget you?”

Olek: Enoch was staring at a familiar drunk on wine, trying to understand the mind of one with limited inhibitions. Might as well have been grasping at heavy water.

"Why is that bleak? Is that sad? Why is that sad?" He smiled, then tried to hide his smile. His face was so warm he was certain he was blushing.

"Enoch could forget his shoelaces. Who knows!"

Enoch: Enoch gave a soft huff, part amusement, part surrender, as he leaned his elbow on the table and rested his chin against his knuckles, watching Olek like one might a fire flickering too close to the drapes.

“It’s sad,” he said softly. “Just... the way you said it. Like you’d already decided I might disappear.”

His brow furrowed, just briefly, before he shook his head with a rueful smile.

“Besides, I think Olek is far too interesting to forget.”

Olek: "Olek named happy things!" He was back to whisper-shouting. His fingers covered his lips as he glanced around. Perhaps this was the wrong setting for drunk and disorderly conduct.

"Mm! Arigatōgozaimasu! I love you, too!"

Enoch: Enoch nearly choked on his drink, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as his shoulders trembled with quiet laughter. “Shh,” he gently hushed the other, face flushed, though whether from the drink or the declaration, even he couldn’t say.

Leaning in slightly, a grin on his lips as he whispered back. “You can’t just shout that in public. People might think you mean it.”

Olek: How to make a familiar pout in two sentences. Enoch was a master of propriety.

"But Olek does mean it." He would swear he was whispering still. Wasn't he?

"We should - should - get more drink and go someplace just you and me."

Enoch: Enoch’s smile returned for just a second before he composed himself with a tilt of his head.

“You do?"

He reached for his glass, finding it empty, and set it down.

“Where shall we go?”

Olek: "Anywhere. Anywhere." It bared repeating. "Where we can sing and dance and do whatever we want. Anything Enoch wants Enoch gets."

Enoch: Enoch nodded as he lifted two fingers to catch the waiter’s attention.

“Then we wander, until we feel whatever pulls us in its direction.”

His words came slower now, careful, as though balancing them between clarity and tipsiness. He leaned in just a little, elbows on the table.

“Ok, one more drink and…and then we go.”

Olek: Olek had an idea. Just a vague notion. He wondered if it would come true, but kept it to himself. Instead, he leaned in with his friend, grinning and too far gone.

"One more? Both of us? My master is going to shake his head at me."

Enoch: Well it was too late to take back the order as the waiter had already seen the request. Two more cups would find their home in front of the men.

“You said…one more drink…seconds ago.”

Olek: Oh! "Oh!" manifested his internal exclamation. "No! Olek meant out. Walking around with a big bottle of wine we share!"

Enoch: Enoch looked at the refilled drinks before them. Well...

"Race?" he laughed softly as he took his whiskey cup and held it out to Olek's to gently clink against.

Olek: He was all smiles. It wasn't that important. Mistakes like this only added to the enjoyment of the evening. His glass was raised with a pleasant sigh.

"Salud! To your health."

Enoch: “And yours,” Enoch echoed warmly, tapping his glass to Olek’s before knocking back the rest of his whiskey. A mistake, surely, but a pleasant one, as the fire bloomed in his chest.

“Pourquoi pas les deux ?” he added with a crooked grin.

Then he stood or tried to anyway. His hand braced against the table as the room swayed like a ship in storm.

Oh dear.

Olek: The wine had become sweeter and less sharp as time went on, but Olek wasn't thinking about that. He was too busy squinting at Enoch, trying to understand the meaning behind his French words.

"Why... Why?" He laughed. It was the only word he had managed to catch, and caught he had.

He was about to inquire where they were to pay when Enoch argued himself upright. The familiar was quick to follow, bringing Enoch's arm around his shoulders.

Enoch: “Why not both?” he translated loosely as his arm found itself around Olek’s neck and he laughed softly.

“I can walk,” he insisted, even as he leaned into Olek for balance, his feet taking careful steps that pretended not to stagger. He guided them to the bar with the determined air of a man who knew where he was going, even if the floor occasionally shifted.

Closing out the tab was easier than expected. Thank goodness for cheap drinks, generous pours, and the kind of bartender who’d seen far worse than these two. With enough coaxing, they left victorious: one bottle of wine in hand.

“Olek leads the way.”

Olek: "You can?" he teased, grinning from ear to ear. It was a balancing act for both mage and familiar. They were turning heads and leaving stories behind for others to gossip, but at this hour of the night, with this many drinks, with this much mirth, Olek couldn't find a concern to spare.

"Olek leads the way. Olek wants to go... where is there dancing? Real dancing? We need fire and castanets and tambourines and bright colors and dancing."

Enoch: “Mhm,” the professor hummed, unconvincing at best, his weight comfortably leaned against the taller familiar. He held the bottle of wine out to Olek like an offering and then blinked slowly, lips parted as if a thought were forming but kept stalling halfway.

“Castanets… tambourines… fire,” he repeated, as if the syllables themselves might help conjure direction. “You want a bloody carnival.”

His brows pulled tight in thought. That wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time normally. But with alcohol swimming in his bloodstream and Olek grinning beside him, it began to sound like a good idea.

“There’s something—” He pointed vaguely in the direction of the river, then changed his mind and pointed the opposite way. “No, that way. A-a festival. I read about it… or someone told me. Or I dreamed it. Doesn’t matter, it exists.”

Olek: "Olek wants flamenco dancing." Whatever issues he and his master had, where his master lived was not one of them. Not without one exception - the one offering him wine and getting lost in his own city.

"Enoch dreams of things before they happen?"

He started in the second direction, pausing to swallow down a few mouthfuls of sweet libation. Sacred only for its rarity and the company he kept. The bottle was passed back. A gentleman and lady ahead of them locked eyes, and the familiar bowed low in greeting. Standing at his full height seemed almost offensive in their narrowed eyes and lingering scrutiny.

"What kind of festival is it?"

Enoch: "I'm not flamenco dancing with you..." The very image had him laughing aloud, sudden and warm. Why had he pictured a rose between his teeth? Absurd. He’d clearly had far too much.

"Mm, I..." He glanced toward Olek, who had latched onto something he'd said offhandedly. Of course he had.

Enoch gave a small nod, his voice quieter now. "Since my awakening, sometimes I catch glimpses of things in my dreams. Things I don’t understand, or that end up... happening. Eventually." He shrugged, because he hadn't made much of it, aside from writing it down in his journal.

He took the bottle again with a grateful hum and tipped it back. The wine was sweet on his tongue but welcomed as he held onto it, bowing at the passing couple with a foolish smile.

They turned a corner, the world a touch unsteady beneath his feet, and Enoch blinked up at the night sky as if it might jog something loose.

"Yes," another giggle from the man as he smiled, one eye closing as he tried harder to remember.

"There’s a festival near the river. Happens in early May with bonfires and painted hands...a-and drumming. People throw ribbons in the trees."

He couldn't recall the name of it.

Olek: Enoch should have known better. When it came to the subject of magic, no matter the degree or sphere, he would have the attention of the familiar by his side.

"Olek wonders if Enoch's dreams come from time running ahead of you or a spirit being helpful." He would have to know more about them, and he would be struggling to remember Ki's grimoire, but for Enoch, he would try.

And the subject pendulated back to dancing.

"Painted hands?" He had him at bonfires. "Olek wants to see!"

Enoch: Olek raised a good question. He'd assumed it was tied to his awakening, some fragment of Raine leaking into his unconscious like ink into water, but he hadn’t ruled anything out. But just as quickly, the conversation tilted back toward the festival, and the shift made him smile.

“Mm, yes, when… when they paint your hands I suppose,” he laughed. “You’ll see!”

With renewed energy, he steered them toward the river. His balance improved only in bursts, especially when leaning on Olek helped. But the music had begun to reach them now. The rhythmic drums, scattered bursts of laughter, and the sound of life was just ahead of them. And there it was. The glow of fire beyond the bend with a ring of people dancing, skirts spinning, and painted faces caught in the flicker of the bonfire.

“Olek gets to dance.”

Olek: Olek was practically bouncing by the time they laid eyes on the source of the music. He wanted so much to take Enoch's hand, to squeeze and swing their arms. He wanted to hug him from behind, to kiss his face, and pour as much love into him as any master.

For a moment, however brief, Enoch Alastor Neumann was his master.

"Oh! Look, look!" he pointed. More whisper-shouting. More grinning.

Was it safe? Even here, was it safe to be himself? The familiar sucked in his lip as he considered.

"Maybe Olek should be a cat..."

Enoch: “Mm?” He turned with a smile that was all soft edges, a little dazed with the music and the wine and the warmth of the familiar beside him.

“I see, I see,” he echoed with a soft laugh, glancing toward at the swirl of dancing bodies and firelit faces.

Enoch leaned in more heavily, letting himself sway with the familiar’s steps, grateful for his taller stature, because he was sure he was going to end up on the ground otherwise.

But when he heard that consideration, Olek’s chin would get gently pinched by the usually poised professor.

“Olek will do no such thing,” he said, with a smile, though there was no room for negotiation.

He let his hand fall and smiled again, lopsided now.

“I like your face too much. No hiding it.”

Olek: Olek was pliant in Enoch's grasp, looking to his pseudo master with loving, almost child-like eyes. He knew his stature, his loudness - beyond that of his voice; the volume of his smile, his openness, his effervescent aura was too much for London society, fresh off their Edwardian fashions and sensibilities. Not as staunch as the Victorians, according to Olivia. Her passion for all things history and fashion and culture lent itself to this trip. One of the reasons her father wanted an English wife.

She would have loved this. He looked forward to painting her a picture.

"No hiding," Olek promised. His smile crinkled his eyes. "Is Enoch ready?"

Enoch: Enoch smiled fondly at his friend. There was enough liquid encouragement coursing through him to ease his worries. Another swig was taken from the wine bottle for good measure before it was held out to the familiar.

“Good,” he said, eyes drifting toward the firelit crowd. The music, the noise, and the movement felt a lot bigger up close. For a moment, he faltered. His fighters tightened slightly on Olek’s arm, but then he smiled again, flushed from wine and the company beside him.

“Lead the way, then.”

Olek: Olek was certain he would be led the way, but when Enoch hesitated, he didn't slow, only took the mage's hand and tugged.

Only near the bottom of the hill did he remember where they were. The wine had loosened more than his muscles.

"Is Enoch worried about his clothes?" A bit of mischief behind his eyes. He could fix them without conscious effort, but he didn't have to say that immediately.

Enoch: It was a momentary lapse, that brief hesitation, but Olek’s hand in his, warm and sure, pulled him along before the doubt could settle too deep. Enoch stumbled a step, then caught himself with a laugh, trailing behind the familiar

“My clothes?” he echoed, blinking down at himself. The three-piece suit was handsome enough, but here, it felt absurdly formal.

“I suppose… yes,” he admitted, a soft smile on his lips as he looked ahead. “That and crowds. I’m absolutely hopeless at social gatherings.” His voice had softened, that self-doubt creeping in, but then he looked up and caught that mischief in Olek’s eyes.

His own narrowed in mock suspicion.

“Alright, then. What would you do about my clothes?”

Olek: "Olek doesn't believe that."

The familiar slowed as they neared the bonfire. Coming to a stop on the outskirts of the gathering crowd of admirers.

"Enoch shines when he's comfortable."

Ah. He'd been caught! His smile spilled into laughter. "Enoch should take off some of his clothes. That's all."

Enoch: “No?”

The professor laughed, stopping beside Olek as his gaze swept over the firelit faces. The crowd radiated joy, a kind of wild freedom he wasn’t used to. He should have felt shame for imagining he'd be judged.

“Mm,” he started, half-protesting the claim, but the suggestion that followed disarmed him. He huffed another laugh. “I suppose I could do without my jacket and vest…”

His fingers toyed with the top button of the waistcoat as he glanced toward the dancers again. One breath, then another. And then off came the jacket followed by the waistcoat.

“Better?”

Olek: Olek was nearly equally dressed. Fine shoes and matching suit and pants. His vest had been forgotten at some point in the process of creation. His tie was thick and perfect, and it was loosened as he watched Enoch undress. Certainly, his eyes were playful, but something else was beyond his thick lashes and pouty lips. A shine behind his eyes, alight by the fire, that spoke of authority.

"Enoch looks his best," whispered as a confession. "Never ever better."

Straightening, the tie had disappeared from between his fingers. Stolen by a young woman in a cobalt blue dress. So too was Olek's hand, pulled toward the dancers with a giggle.

Enoch: Enoch watched in silence as the familiar joined him in shedding his layers. His face felt too warm under Olek’s gaze, that whispered confession making him look away instead of answering.

The jacket and vest were neatly draped over his arm. He hesitated, lips parting as if to say something, but nothing came. Just a soft breath, his eyes trailing after the familiar as he was swept toward the firelight.

“Don’t say things like that.” He chuckled under his breath. “You’ll get yourself stolen.”

Enoch moved toward the edge of the group, choosing a quieter spot in the sand where the light thinned and the shadows stretched longer. His clothes were folded over his knees as he sat, taking another swig from the wine bottle, content to watch Olek dance.

Olek: It didn't take the familiar long to be covered in vibrant color. One of the first 'volunteers' of the audience, and the most willing participant. His laughter and aura encouraged others, but not all. Her hand, saturated in yellow, placed a delicate print on Olek's cheek. She offered her hand, and his fingers brushed across her palm, giving the same treatment to her jaw.

Rather than deter, here his personality flourished.

Soon, a man appeared from the other side of the bonfire, his hands purple and eyes delightful. A streak of purple cut a fine line down the center of his face.

It was then the playful assault kicked off. Blue powder, orange, red. And Olek, with his handful of green and blue, made a beeline for the Cultist.

Enoch: Enoch had barely settled on the sand when the riot of color began. He watched from the edge, elbow resting on his knee, wine bottle nestled against his thigh. Olek was pure joy in motion. He could coax delight out of everyone he touched. Of course he was the first one marked. Of course he wore yellow like a crown.

Enoch smiled into his drink, lifting the bottle again for a slow sip. It suited him, all of this. This firelit chaos and ritual, colored streaked down his face like he was part of the celebration itself. He should always be like this, Enoch thought. Uncontained. Glorious. Loved.

A fresh burst of color cut through the crowd like cannon fire. Red. Blue. Purple. Orange. The music lifted with it, and Enoch let a pleased hum slip from his throat, his head swimming gently, comfortably, as he watched. But suddenly, Olek was coming straight for him with handfuls of very colorful powders.

“Oh, don’t you dare—!”

Enoch lurched to his feet as he held both palms out in surrender.

“No, no,” he grinned, backing a step.

Olek: "What?" He giggled, his approach slow and relentless. Truly a cat on the prowl. Those colorful fingers rolled and curled like eager claws. "Don't run! Olek will catch you!"

Of course he had chosen green and blue. They were the only colors he could differentiate. While the world saw a rainbow of vibrancy, Olek had to make do with a limited palette. Still, he could share what he recognized with the mage he had come to love overnight.

"Enoch-saaaan!"

Enoch: Enoch staggered back with a gasp that turned into a laugh, hands still lifted in a pitiful shield as Olek advanced like some delighted predator. The teasing lilt in his name made him snort.

“I’m not running!” he lied, taking another half-step back. “I’m…I’m retreating with dignity!”

His shoes sank slightly into the sand, and he cursed softly under his breath wobbling slightly. He knew he was done for. Olek was taller, faster, and absolutely gleaming with mischief.

Seeing an opening, the professor took it without grace. Spinning on his heel, he attempted to make his escape away from his pseudo-familiar with all the speed of a man far too tipsy to run straight.

Olek: "Īe. Enoch is mine!" His arms were wide now, like a net for a butterfly. Had he been sober, taking the hill would have been effortless, but as it stood, his arms were for more than capturing a fluttery mage, but a balancing act of diminished equilibrium and inhibitions.

It was a bit of serendipity. Nearly falling over, he caught himself on his elbow. The color coating his hands remained intact. Over the hill they went and away from English scrutiny. The familiar caught up in seconds, wrapping his arm around his temporary master's waist.

"Ah! Olek wins! Olek wins!" The pair were spun until he lost his balance, falling into the grass.

Enoch: Enoch’s eyes widened at the declaration, glancing over his shoulder just in time to see Olek barreling after him. Neither of them was particularly graceful on the incline.

Enoch stumbled to his knees with a gasp, fingers pressing into the earth to push off, but his attempt was in vain because strong arms claimed him.  A blur of blue and green powdered his back and shoulder, Olek's delighted cry ringing in his ears as they spun together and tumbled into the grass in a heap, laughing and breathless.

“Olek—Olek cheated,” he managed between snorts, rolling onto his back. One arm shielding his face from another surprise attack, though his grin betrayed him. “That’s not how you win!”

Olek: "Olek never cheats!" Was that a lie? Never malicious cheating! Only playful cheating! But not tonight. Tonight, he had stumbled his way into victory, lying in the grass like a marooned starfish.

Soon, he was on his side, caging Enoch in with his arm. His smile was relentless, hovering above his prize. What had he won? The opportunity to leave a beautiful blue streak across freckled pale skin.

"Messy looks good on Enoch."

Enoch: Enoch turned his head to the side to squint at Olek, a strand of blond hair stuck to his forehead and a smear of green dangerously close to his temple. “Never?” he asked with a laugh. He grinned wider despite himself, cheeks sore from smiling so much.

“I think Olek cheats a little,” he said playfully.

He looked over his hovering captor with his color-streaked face and the specks of powder in his hair. Enoch reached up lazily, fingers brushing back those brightened strands from Olek’s brow. The contact sent a soft flurry of powder down between them, some catching on his own chest and chin. The back of his hand lifted and brushed at his cheek, only managing to smear the blue further.

“Does it?” he asked when told he looked good like this. His gaze flicked down briefly to his ruined shirt, then drifted back up to meet the familiar’s again. He wasn’t sure about that.

 “What does Olek get for winning, then?”

Olek: Olek believed there would never come a time when he shied from Enoch's touch. His sweet -

Not his. That was a dangerous little thought.

"This." His sigh was full of satisfaction. "Olek gets to see Enoch smile, and painted, and happy." Happiness, the way only a child would understand, void of consequence and propriety. He hoped his chest felt lighter after all of that laughter.

"Thank you for taking Olek out."

Enoch: Enoch's hand lingered in Olek's hair a moment longer, then dropped to his chest, fingers curling lightly in the fabric there.

“That’s all you wanted?” he asked gently.

A breath passed between them, the river murmuring behind the hill. Enoch’s eyes flicked briefly to Olek’s lips before settling on the familiar’s painted cheek. He was sweet, gentle and lovely in every shape there was. Being with Olek felt as easy as breathing, as if they were meant to be.

“Olek makes me happy,” he confessed softly.

And then, with the faintest flush to his cheeks, he reached up, letting his palm gently cup Olek’s face over that yellow handprint. He tugged just enough to bring their brows together.

“So no...no need to thank me. It’s a privilege.”

Olek: His nod was slow but confident. Nothing but childhood delight would do. The shadow of adulthood and tremors of ifs, ands, or buts taken with the spring breeze. This man, so cherished, deserved his youth.

Eyes closed, leaning with ease into his loving touch. He nuzzled as he so often did, purring despite the goings on up and over the hill. No one would hear unless they sought them out.

But someone was watching, quietly, and with reserved judgment. Olek's favored dancer, the young woman in her cobalt saree, squatted beside the tree on their side of the hill.

Enoch: Enoch smiled easily beneath the gentle pressure of their brows meeting, so many times they had nuzzled like this, and it was still his favorite. His fingers threaded slowly through Olek’s hair, savoring the way the strands slipped between them. The other hand stayed curled against the fabric at Olek’s chest, where he could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

They'd been close like this before countless times, but this felt different.

“Can Enoch confess something?” he asked, voice softer, almost shy in the asking.

He hesitated, wine and laughter all conspiring to make him bold, even if his heart beat too fast behind his ribs, unaware of their secret company.

“Enoch finds Olek to be very pretty.”

And if Olek didn’t move, Enoch would lean in again, slower this time, lips barely parted as he sought to close the space between them.

Olek: Olek had moved, but only the space of centimeters, enough to see beyond Enoch's glasses and into the depths behind his lashes. A few specks of blue and green dusted the lenses and frames. Temptation to clean them was negated by a surprisingly unsurprising confession. Enoch's gaze had lingered time and again. What perception had caught, his wisdom held patiently in both hands.

Three short months were enough to love someone, and it was love he believed thrummed Enoch's heart, not lust or adventure.

Rather than heavy, his body, mind, and soul felt light as a feather. What would have been a kiss on his mouth became a kiss just beside it, just on the outskirts of potential regret. Olek offered the same. One kiss for the side of his mouth, one kiss beneath his jaw, and one kiss beneath his eye.

"If Enoch remembers tomorrow, give these back to Olek. Promise?"

Enoch: Regret was reserved for mistakes and more serious offenses. Kissing the sweet familiar wasn’t one of them.

The professor pouted, just a little, when that kiss veered from its mark. A breath caught in his throat, not from disappointment, but from the tenderness that followed. One kiss near his mouth, another tucked beneath his jaw, and the softest one under his eye.

Enoch closed his eyes under the affection, heart full, as he slid his glasses off and set them on the grass beside them. There, the world blurred, and yet Olek remained in perfect focus.

“Mm, why do you give me an exam?”

He let his hands rest above his head as he stared at the familiar.

“Must be because Olek doesn’t find Enoch pretty,” was his conclusion, and this made him giggle.

Olek: A silly deflection, was it? Had Enoch wanted a kiss he could forget? That didn't sound like the mage he had come to love. He wasn't a secret, nor was he a toy to be picked up and set aside when inconvenient - his Enoch would never. This was love, unraveled like knotted string. The apprehension that once asked for Olek's feline form had dissolved, replaced by confidence encouraging his face in public.

Enoch would remember tomorrow. Their world could change tomorrow.

Or the young woman beside the tree would giggle - her clumsy version of greeting. Too much excitement in one sitting. Their loving display shook something inside her, needing release as steam from a kettle.

Her words were foreign to Olek's ear, but he smiled just the same. He had caught a word shared between their languages.

"It's ok," he smiled. "We're being silly... drunk. We drank too much."

For Enoch.

The young woman shook her head, her smile tight on her cheeks, making her eyes appear quite small.

"Pretty," she said.

"He is, isn't he?"

"Pretty," she said again, pointing to both.

Enoch: Enoch stared at Olek, quiet as he searched that face, trying to read the impossible. His hand had found his cheek again, staining his fingertips with color. The silence between them stretched, intimate and warm, until he leaned in again, brushing his nose just beside Olek’s.

“I don’t think I’ll…” he started, but the sudden giggle interrupted him.

His head turned, sluggishly, toward the sound. The blurry outline of the girl by the tree swam into focus just enough to register.

“Mm. Drunk,” Enoch echoed, a breath of amusement exhaled through his nose. He blinked at her slowly, then turned his attention back to Olek with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. “And here you are, asking me to remember things when I’m like this.”

Still, he didn’t move. His hand resting on the familiar’s cheek, fingers gently curved to cradle him. He should have felt embarrassment, panic even, but all he felt was a strange, floating kind of sensation, like nothing could touch them here.

Pretty. That’s what they called him.

Was he?

He didn’t think so.

Olek: The young woman gazed at the top of the hill and back. The noise promised exposure, yet no one came. What they had become was entertainment for one. The price of her silence was their compliance. All without knowing.

Heat pulsed throughout Olek's body like a liberating and lubricating current. He wanted more dancing, more wine, and more smiles. Anyone and everyone's laughter like currency, but most of all Enoch. He squeezed the man beneath him, teetering on possessiveness.

Some days, it was better to be a hissing cat on his master's shoulder. Was this the alcohol? His gummy limbs and thoughts of romance - did Enoch truly love him?

"Olek needs to take Enoch home."

Enoch: The young mage remained blissfully unaware of the implications behind the girl’s watchful eyes. His mind was too clouded and his thoughts moved like honey, slow and warm, in his current company. Any warning that might have flickered through a clearer head was drowned at the moment.

Enoch’s gaze lingered on her only a moment before drifting back. That little squeeze brought his attention up to the man above him, his head tilting with lazy curiosity.

“Olek doesn’t want to continue dancing?”

Olek: "Can Enoch dance at home?" He fought his smile, if only to prevent laughing in the mage's face. "No, Enoch needs to be carried home."

He would indulge, as he so often did anyway, and press sweet kisses to his cheek in solidarity. Perhaps tomorrow, he told himself again. The anticipation was delightful.

"Unless Enoch wants to sleep here? Olek doesn't think they will let us."

Enoch: The scholar considered it, his gaze unfocused as he vaguely remembered talking about dancing at his apartment back in the pub.  “Mm, Enoch can teach you…how to waltz.”

He smiled beneath the trail of kisses, laughter bubbling up as he shifted, arms winding easily around Olek’s neck. They were a mess, the both of them, all dust and color and smeared affection, and he didn’t seem to care.

“Enoch’s bed is more comfortable,” he whispered.

Olek: "Hai." He was on his knees, and soon on his feet with Enoch secure in his arms. How precious he was, and how little he weighed. He realized that word was his favorite. Precious. There were others on this ever-growing list. Delicate, misunderstood, shy, alluring, resilient, perceptive, demure, fearful.

What made a master, truly? A pull in his stomach and a promise to obey. Consent for adventure from first sight until death. A more complicated marriage by comparison.

Careful. Easy does it. Master Ki's voice pushed those thoughts into shadow.

"Olek will show you magic on the way home."

But first, he turned to the young woman and bowed, taking Enoch with him, his smile soft and apologetic.

"Namaste. Say goodbye, Enoch."

Enoch: Being carried was not on the list for tonight’s adventure. Enoch blinked up at him, surprised at how easily he was lifted, though he didn’t protest. His arms stayed looped lazily around Olek’s neck, legs drawing up a little with the movement as his head settled briefly against his shoulder. The ground was so far down from up here!

“Olek is so tall,” he whispered with a smile, but his attention was on the offer.

“Magic?” he echoed, smiling against the fabric of his collar. “What does Olek want to show me?”

But then the familiar was bowing, and Enoch went with him. He glanced toward the girl, eyes squinting.

“Mm,” he hummed, a hand lifting in a little wave. “Goodbye, pretty girl.”

Olek: Pretty cobalt girl. She wore his favorite color, and so he would never forget her. A brilliance amongst the sea of chartreuse.

Enoch was brought closer, adjusted for mutual comfort. Down the last of the hill they went. They would soon be amongst people.

"Will Enoch sing with me? If we sing, no one will see us." Not so long as they remained untouched.

Enoch: “Enoch can walk,” he said, though made no real effort to escape the cradle of those arms. His complaint was half-hearted at best.

Still nestled close, the scholar blinked at the question, head lolling a little to one side as he considered it.

Typically, he’d shy away, but now, inhibitions lowered by wine and warmth and the lull of the night, he nodded. The familiar would have a fine singing partner for the evening.

“What shall we sing?”

Olek: "Enoch has legs," Olek agreed, nodding through the silliness. If his desire was earnest, he would have flailed or offered more than passive grumbling.

"Olek will teach the words. Mistress would sing on the road when we went into town, and when we came home." A pause. "And when someone stopped by unannounced," he laughed fondly.

"Michi wa shizumarikaette iru. Dare mo watashi o miteinai. Oto mo nai. Shijima. Shijima. Watashi no tamashī wa shizumarikaeri, fū ga sore o ubaou to shite iru."

He didn't expect Enoch to follow along, despite how leisurely he rolled over every syllable. Much like the wind in the song, his words were masked by ambiance. Wind, the hum of voices, the clacking of horse hooves, tires, and hinges. They existed in a chameleon-like state, both seen and unseen; not interesting enough to oblivious pedestrians, and altogether invisible to those preoccupied.

Enoch: Enoch would most certainly agree, he had legs, very capable ones, even if they were currently unsteady and half-useless from drink.

The words were foreign, and he didn’t understand them. But the scholar did his best to follow along, phonetically shaping the sounds despite how they landed heavy and clumsy on his tongue. Every obvious stumble cracked a smile across his lips, but he kept going.

Whatever the song was, it worked. Like the frostengale shanty, there was just a subtle bending of the world around them and their magic. People should have stared or gawked, he thought. But they didn’t, instead they slipped past as if they weren’t there at all. How handy, but that was as far as his perception went as they headed back to his flat.

Olek: At one point in their journey, Olek was forced to stand still. Another drunk couple stumbled in the opposite direction. For their sakes, Olek walked backward, planting himself against the brick building of a furniture shop. His sound continued all the while, relentless and unbothered. The consequences should he cease were not lost to him. Enoch was nowhere near adept enough to transform into a cat, much less cloak them in invisibility himself.

Back on the street, down Enoch's familiar neighborhood. Careful fingers reached out with determination to unlock the double doors to the apartment building, if the mage was too far gone to do so himself.

Enoch: Enoch barely registered the shift at first, head still nestled against Olek’s shoulder. The sudden halt and the muffled sounds of a stumbling pair nearby tugged him closer to awareness. When they moved again, Enoch stirred a little more, blinking as the street around them became familiar.

“How is Olek so steady?”

He genuinely wanted to know. He thought he’d built up a decent tolerance with all the nights spent in bars alongside his mentor, but clearly, he was lagging behind.

At his flat, when the building loomed close enough, Enoch shifted in Olek’s arms and leaned in to kiss him softly on the chin.

“I can walk from here,” he reassured the familiar. Don’t mind him if he struggled to find his keys and open the door.

Olek: Olek wouldn't say a thing until Enoch was on both unsteady feet. His reputation, like most human inventions, was perpetually delicate. Being caught in a man's arms and inebriated would be the end of him.

On his feet, hand beneath Enoch's arm, the song came to a faded end.

"Enoch is like a master." Like. "Olek will do anything for Enoch." Including walking in a semi-straight line.

"Are the keys missing?"

Enoch: There was truth to that, though it had less to do with propriety and more with caution. All it would take was one poorly timed glance from a stranger and he’d be explaining himself to the university board. Behind closed doors was safer. Less complicated. If only he could find the bloody key...

“Enoch isn’t suited to be a master,” he murmured absently, more to himself than to Olek, his fingers fumbling along his pockets. His wallet turned up, but the keys remained elusive.

“My vest… and jacket,” he muttered, realization dawning. He had forgotten them along with the bottle of wine at the festival.

A small pause.

“Brilliant.”

Olek: Olek hunched down to peer into the keyhole—simple enough. The palm of his hand was flattened against the opening. Thin frost-like spider's cautious legs spread from his palm to the back of his hand. His hand inched backward, bringing a key made of blue ice.

The key was dropped in Enoch's hand.

"Olek will get Enoch's things."

He turned his attention to their surroundings, looking this way and that. A quick kiss to the mage's cheek, he stumbled backward and back on the street.

Enoch: Enoch looked down at the key that was pressed into his hand. Fascinating. He was busy looking at the replica to realize just what Olek was proposing to do.

“What?” He shook his head, reaching to hold the familiar back by his arm.

"I can try to fetch it tomorrow?" Though he wasn't confident that he'd find his belongings in the morning. He could try that location spell...

"I can go with you," he counteroffered, taking a few steps after the taller to join him.

Olek: Olek's fingertips were placed lightly on Enoch's chest.

"Olek carried Enoch all this way. Go lie down before Enoch falls and breaks Enoch's nose." There was something about that sentence, perhaps the cadence, that made him fight the giggles.

"Olek will crawl into bed soon."

Enoch: The gentle pressure at his chest was enough to keep him back. Enoch frowned at the familiar, then glanced toward the door of his flat and back again.

“Enoch’ll be fine,” he said with a soft laugh.

His hand lingered at Olek’s wrist a moment longer before he let go, though the reluctance was plain.

“Come back quickly,” he encouraged, watching him leave before turning to unlock the door and slip inside.

By the time Olek returned, Enoch had already made himself comfortable by kicking off his shoes, and unbuttoning his shirt halfway as he wandered into his living room and collapsed onto the lounge, just as instructed. He didn’t feel especially tired, but the room was slowly starting to spin.

Olek: "Yes, sir." Rarely did he affirm in such a way, but with the warmth coursing through his body, the words tasted sweet and loyal on his tongue.

He could have reshaped Enoch's clothes from a clay pot, but that wasn't his priority. These were Enoch's things, and one of them might have been his wallet. He didn't know; he hadn't felt a thing when carrying him, nor had he been groping for it.

Just a few kilometers of walking back and forth. The scholar's things were no longer where Olek estimated them, but he didn't have to look far to find the Cobalt Woman wearing Enoch's jacket. Her price for these items was exceedingly simple. A dance and cheek kiss later, he stumbled his way back down the same path to the same building in the same neighborhood. A group of equally inebriated young men shuffling and arguing through the double doors caused a bit of hesitation, lingering behind a thin tree as though it might be enough. He considered shifting form, but worked up the courage to cross the lawn and try the professor's key.

He wouldn't push in through the apartment despite the key. His knock was small and polite, as if a cat's paw.

Enoch: Being addressed so formally made the scholar smile. He’d stretched out on the lounge, eyes closed as he waited for either the familiar’s return or for sleep to win out, whichever came first. Quietly, he wondered if he’d remember any of this come morning. He doubted it. Still, he sighed and turned on his side, cheek pressed to the armrest.

Enoch stirred at the knock, slow to rise where he’d sunk into the lounge. The room still listed slightly when he sat up. Barefoot, shirt half-open, and hair a little tousled, he padded quietly to the door. He opened it just a crack at first, not expecting anyone else other than the familiar on the other side. That same silly warmth bloomed again. He leaned against the doorframe, one shoulder propped as he looked Olek over.

“Any luck?” he asked, though the jacket in his arms answered well enough. He smiled, stepping back and tugging the door wider.

“Olek, my knight.”

Olek: "Olek, the swift and brave!" As loud as a whisper could be, followed by a string of giggles as he stepped through the door, hunched a little to accommodate his height.

The coat and vest were placed over the kitchen chair. And without ceremony, the young mage was scooped back into the familiar's arms.

"Her name is Preethi," he grinned, gently swaying Enoch back and forth. "She thought you were the prettiest man she'd ever seen."

Enoch: Enoch was certain his face might ache come morning from how much he’d smiled tonight. The evening had been nothing but delightful in the company of this sweet man. He closed the door behind them and turned, only to be swept up again.

He let himself be scooped without protest this time, arms loosely draped around Olek’s shoulders, head falling easily against the familiar’s collarbone.

“Mm, Preethi,” he echoed, a faint smile playing at his lips. “She must’ve meant you. Olek is very pretty.”

His hands lifted to cradle the familiar's face, thumbs brushing the curve of his cheek as he leaned in.

 “Olek could be a prince.”

Olek: "Mm-mm! Enoch!" He laughed, but managed to sigh away the loudest. As free as they felt together, this was a shared building with imperfect walls. He was certain he could do something about that. In fact, he intended to before leaving.

"Prince Olek and King Enoch. Mm, no. Enoch called Olek a knight! King and knight."

Enoch: Enoch laughed under his breath, burying his face briefly against Olek’s neck to stifle the next sound. “Shh, you’ll get me evicted.” Not that he was helping the cause.

At the correction, he tipped his head back, giving Olek a warm, tipsy look.

“King Enoch sounds absolutely insufferable. He’d be the sort to make laws about tea and books. And I doubt King George would appreciate the competition.”

He hummed, as if considering it for the first time.

“Knight suits you,” he agreed. And with that, his mind wandered.

“King Enoch still owes his knight a dance.”

Olek: "It was the radio," he giggled. "Olek is just an innocent cat. Enoch will always be safe."

But cradling this man, he looked at the walls, the singular window, and the tiny crack in the ceiling. A typical English home, from his understanding, and to his understanding, Enoch could do better. Far from squalor, but far from the China silks and marble floors of his master's temporary house.

Updating and reinforcing the materials would be the epitome of a small feat. Excuses were unnecessary, but the process would be time-consuming all the same. He looked forward to it. Perhaps a going-away present.

"Is King Enoch too tired to dance? We may dance like this. I'll hold you." More swaying. "See? We're dancing."

Enoch: “So innocent,” Enoch teased with a quiet chuckle, eyes warm as he brushed those multicolored strands back from Olek’s face.

“We are,” he agreed.

His fingers traced faint, slow circles at the nape of the familiar’s neck, thumb brushing skin with idle affection. “And no, not too tired to dance. Enoch promised to show Olek how to waltz,” he said, smiling more fully as they swayed. “I have music I can play,” he whispered, nodding toward the gramophone tucked beside the little library in the corner of the room.

“But Enoch is also very happy like this.”

Olek: Olek eyed the gramophone with a smile. Enoch was returned to his feet, long arm still around his ribs, mindful of his gummy legs.

"Enoch can keep his promise, but first, let... let Olek insulate the room. We can be as loud as we want."

He would lean away - after bumping noses, of course. Affection was as free as breathing.

"Olek is very happy like... everything."

Enoch: Enoch hummed at that, nose scrunching faintly with amusement as he steadied himself, hands loosely resting at Olek’s sides as the room still swayed.

“Loud as we want?” he repeated with a grin, clearly entertained by the idea even if he didn’t plan to test it.

He didn’t stop the gentle bump of noses but rather leaned in gently before rocking back on his heels. “How will Olek do that?” he asked, letting go of the familiar in favor of approaching the gramophone.

“Can Olek focus enough?”

Olek: His hand remained outstretched, just in case Enoch tipped one way or the other. When the mage could walk three feet without a dramatic stumble, he turned his attention to the walls. The most important walls were those that made the hallway. Sleeves were sloppily folded to his elbow. Long fingers caressed the wall by the one and only entry. Two knocks told him everything the pads of his fingers didn't.

"Ashlar outside, but not here. Twenty years old. Not as much steel as it should. Asbestos above us." He was talking to Enoch, in theory, but he was in construction mode; this was all for himself. The walls were solid enough, ten inches thick.

He felt at the floor. There was the culprit. The flooring, door, and windows.

"These are hollow," he frowned. "Hollow, hollow. Not good."

He had to consider how much energy he could spare, and what would greet him when he returned home should he deplete himself.

His smile returned, looking in Enoch's direction behind his bangs.

"Can Olek use Enoch's water?"

Enoch: Enoch made it to the corner without incident, though he’d swayed more than he cared to admit. An unsettling feeling rolled forward as he bent down, prompting him to instead take a seated sprawl beside the gramophone.

With the records in his lap, he thumbed through them in slow deliberation, the soft sounds of Olek’s inspection filtering through the room like background music. His brow lifted, glancing over his shoulder toward the familiar who was half-talking to him and half-talking to the wall.

“What I’m gathering,” Enoch said, voice wry, “is that this room doesn’t have the finest craftsmanship.”

At the question about the water, he nodded, though his first instinct was to stand up and assist. He started to, but the sway of the room had him hesitating.

“Cups are in the cupboard just above the kettle,” he murmured, settling back onto the floor. “Help yourself. I’ll…stay here.”

Olek: Olek smiled over his shoulder in response. The craftsmanship of the flat had nothing whatsoever to do with the man who occupied it.

"Arigatōgozaimasu." It wasn't the cupboard he moved to, but directly to the sink. A dishrag was stuffed into the drain, waiting on pendulating feet for the overflow.

"Olek is going to drown the kitchen," he declared. "Trust Olek!"

He poked his head into the living room. Such a small space, he didn't have to move far.

"What are we listening to?"

Enoch: Enoch thumbed slowly through the records, still undecided, his fingers lingering on each label as though weighing their mood.

“Mm… depends. Does Olek want jazz, opera, or something terribly British?” he asked with a quiet smile, setting aside four contenders based on the answer he might get.

But his hand stalled.

What?

His head lifted toward the kitchen, brow furrowing.

“Drown? Olek… Olek—”

That rising sense of concern cracked through the haze of warmth and alcohol. Enoch pushed himself up, wobbling slightly, and took cautious steps in the familiar’s direction.

“What do you mean drown?”

He bent down to scoop up the books scattered near the floor, cradling them to his chest as though the water might rise any second.

“My books,” he groaned, part laugh, part genuine distress as he helplessly glanced around his tiny flat.

Olek: Olek bit his cheek to withhold the laughter already reaching his eyes. His dear friend was struggling to string a sentence. How was it, he thought, that Enoch looked more drunk now after the wine stopped flowing?

"That's not trusting Olek!" A tisk followed. "Olek would never harm books! Unless they deserved it."

His step backward was an accident, but his retreat into the kitchen was not.

"I can make it all, all right. And I want jazz... to waltz to."

Enoch: “What book would deserve it?” asked Enoch, eyes narrowing.

But even with his skepticism, his tone was fond, and the corners of his mouth betrayed the smile he was trying to hide. He bent slightly to add the rescued volumes to a chair, just in case, before turning back.

“…Enoch trusts Olek.”

But now he had a mission, jazz to waltz to. It was a choice, and he approved. He made his way to the gramophone, selecting the right album and coaxing it to life until soft horns and rhythm whispered into the room.

“And when your repairs are successful, I’ll reward you with a dance.”

Olek: Olek considered what humans hated most and smiled. A few things came to mind, but the most mundane shone like a dirty penny.

"Something about taxes?" He could offer more. Books on the subject of religious superiority, moral fiber, and nations condescending their neighbors. One unsavory genre was enough.

"We shall dance until we fall over."

Already, water had begun to spill over the edge of the enameled cast-iron sink. Olek took a step back, eyes cutting through the shadow of the dimly lit kitchen, hands expanding outward in slow tight circles as he worked, forcing the water between the planks and fibers that made the hardwood flooring.

Enoch: Enoch laughed and gave a conceding tilt of his head.

“Yes, alright. You have me there. Anything that mentions ‘deductions’ or ‘levies’ and I’d rather throw myself out the window.”

He stepped further into the kitchen as the music played on, soft behind him, but it barely registered now. His eyes followed the way the water spilled over the sink. He had to gently convince himself that it would be fine. Instead, he watched, not giving in to his impulses to ask for an explanation. That could come later. Right now, he was content to watch, barefoot and tousled, as he gently crossed his arms over his chest and watched in admiration.

“…You really are something.”

Olek: "What kind of something?" His voice had become light, as if gliding over soft and delicate clouds. Whimsical in a childish way. A tone often taken in the midst of concentration. The opposite of most he encountered, with their wrinkled brow and curt manners keeping needling remarks behind their teeth.

Bare feet kept a gauge on the amount of material accumulated beneath the boards. His priority was the entryway, and where most of the water was transferred.

And then, just like that, his hands changed directions, turning counterclockwise with twisting fingers. The hollow sound beneath them became solid with a few swift stomps of his foot.

"Enoch can turn off the water."

Enoch: “A delightful something. A lovely something…” he smiled, the words curling with the haze as he watched the familiar work.

“A stunning something.”

His gaze flicked to the movement of Olek’s hands, hypnotic and deft, then down to the floor that no longer sounded hollow. He blinked, eyebrows lifting. Outwardly, nothing drastic had changed, but he had faith. If Olek said the flat was sound, then he believed it.

“How do you-no, never mind,” he chuckled under his breath, one hand lifting to rub the back of his neck. He knew better than to expect a straight answer and remember it in this condition. Instead, he padded across the floor toward the sink, a little steadier now, and brushed his hand gently against Olek’s side as he passed.

“My books are safe. My flat isn’t flooded. And I get a dance,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a smile.

“You spoil me.”

Olek: A simple, harmless, profound little sentence that warmed his skin, then chilled his insides. A stunning something. Perhaps he was mistaken, but perhaps was a hopeful word. Too easy to interpret romantically from those words and that touch.

Fleeting foolishness brought upon by two bottles of wine and the confidence of a trusted friend. He had been high above this night, floating in that hopefulness, the what-ifs, the maybes.

It was no different than adrenaline, or the nerve signals of the organs when falling from a great height, or an imbalance in the vestibular system, after far too much spinning.

Far from an arrow in his wings, Enoch's gentle touch was a reminder of priorities. Trust was the word. Stronger than any other. The confidence to be loving and unshackled by propriety with a trusted friend. Just like Quintessence, such clarity came from nothingness. Sobriety, perhaps. Familiars were known to be insatiable, but he realized then, staring at the floor, that it wasn't true. Everything was fleeting. Hunger, lust, thirst, elation, misery - grasped upon with white knuckles, and released. A vice grip... released.

He knew, looking up at Enoch, that his love for him would never wane. The only constant.

His mage was oblivious. Still speaking, chuckling, rubbing the back of his neck.

The familiar smiled softly, lovingly.

"I would do anything for you," he confessed as easily as breathing. "We dance now?" He held both hands out. Just a little while longer.

Enoch: With the sink turned off and the rag wrung out and draped to dry, Olek had Enoch’s full attention.

Those words brought a smile to his face, and he stepped forward without hesitation, taking the extended hands into his own. His fingers curled easily into the familiar’s.

“Careful,” Enoch warned, “with words like that, I might steal you away.”

He guided them gently back toward the center of his small living room, the lamplight catching in the haze of dust and warmth between them.

“Alright,” he said, lifting his brows as he came to a stop. “First, I need to see what I’m working with.”

He gave Olek an expectant look, playful and fond, gesturing for him to take the lead. The gramophone crackled from the corner, already spinning a slow, steady tune that invited closeness.

“Show me what you’ve got, my knight.”

Olek: "I think my master would cause a stink." A literal one, if he knew him as well as he believed. Retaliation would be swift and pungent. A bomb of putrid horror upon his flat, clothes, hair, and perhaps even the school out of pettiness.

He knew such passive violence would not be in his honor, but rather the inflicted wound on his master's pride. Another reason to bed the feeling in his stomach, other than the integrity of a promise.

A showcase of his abilities was considered, pulling Enoch closer by his waist. The mage's arm was placed on his shoulder.

"Olek knows - not this," he chuckled. "Dancing with Olivia is without touch. The Fandango!"

Enoch: The response made Enoch laugh quietly, though there was sympathy in the sound. He wouldn’t want to get on the bad side of another mage; he was already treading that with his current mentor, he was sure. The sailor seemed to be done with his antics anyway.

Thankfully, the familiar knew how to steer him from the edge of that thought. His hand rested lightly at Olek’s shoulder as he closed the distance between them. The record shifted to a slower jazz tune, ideal for what he had in mind.

“Alright, here’s the trick,” he said as he adjusted their hands just slightly. “You’ll want to think in threes. One, two, three. One, two, three…”

He began to step slowly, leading Olek through the first basic movement: a gentle step forward, side, then together again.

“I lead for now,” he added. “So you step back with your right foot when I step forward with my left. Ready?”

Olek: Ah, then they would need to adjust their hands, wouldn't they? A switch from shoulder to waist and vice versa. Easier to hold the mage without hunching over. His height had gotten the better of him, and in that instance, he knew why he hadn't been offered the waltz.

"Step back with right foot," he muttered. He would wait for Enoch to start them, a half-second behind his movements, eyes on their feet. Not at all what he was accustomed to from any country thus far. He laughed at the realization that England, the country his master regarded as stodgy and priggish, was the first with close contact.

Enoch: Enoch huffed a soft laugh as their hands shifted into a more natural hold, the new position far more comfortable.

“Yes, yes, that’s better,” he said as he tipped his head back just enough to catch the familiar’s expression.

He stepped forward gently, giving Olek a beat to follow.

“Mm. Good. You’re getting it.”

Back, side, together. Repeat.

When Olek laughed, Enoch looked up at him again, eyebrows lifted.

“What?” he asked, smiling, and reached up without thinking to nudge the familiar’s chin with two fingers, coaxing his gaze up from the floor.

“Trust yourself. The steps are there. You’re allowed to look at me now.”

Olek: Enoch was a terrible liar until soaked in drink. A passing thought as he nearly stepped on the mage's foot for a third time. He was supposed to be an elegant cat! Balance and reflexes gifts from the Spirit Wilds, and yet he leaned, bumped, and almost tripped on nothing. He was a giggling mess before the needle reached the end of the record.

"Olek is allowed?" he grinned. "I like looking."

Enoch: Enoch was too deep in his pleasant haze to find any real fault in Olek’s movements. His own steps weren’t perfect either, a little unsteady as he tried to both lead and instruct. They swayed, bumped, and adjusted with soft laughter between them. This was truly a lovely evening.

“Yes,” though that little confession earned the familiar a gentle pinch of his cheek. “Too sweet for your own good.”

He let his fingers linger there a moment longer than necessary, then returned his hand to its proper place. “Now, let’s try not to step on each other.”

Olek: "What does that mean?" Not a cheeky or question, nor one of offense. It was a phrase he had never heard before. Perhaps an Enoch original, but one which required interpretation. Still, he smiled just the same. "Can humans be too good? Enoch is making up stories."

Oblivious to reason or absence of it, Olek leaned into the mage's hand and purred.

"Ok! No stepping on each other." He stood straighter, hands in perfect position, and accidentally stepped forward rather than backward.

Enoch: Enoch’s smile cracked wider, near boyish as Olek leaned into his touch with that soft, contented sound. It disarmed him more than he’d admit.

“It means—” he huffed as their feet tangled, laughing through it as he took a small half-step back to reorient them. “It means you’re charming, and... and you don’t even realize when you are.”

He lifted a brow as if to accuse, but it was softened by affection.

“Now, backwards with the right. Or we’ll be waltzing directly into the bookshelf.”

Olek: "No waltzing into bookshelf," he told himself. Being led was still new to him! Still baffled that such a dance was created in England. Or was it? Was it French? German?

"Olek will each Enoch the fandango. Someday. Soon. Promise."

This time, he would begin with a step back, forcing his eyes on his lead, rather than the floor.

Enoch: Enoch’s brow lifted as he tried, and failed, to summon any clear image of a fandango. “Fandango? Isn’t that—? I have no idea what that is, actually,” he admitted with a quiet laugh. “Who taught Olek that?”

He eased them into the motion again. Right foot, then side, then together.

“Good,” he nodded with each step that didn’t end in collision. They would keep like this for a little while longer until Olek felt confident enough.

“Would Olek like to lead?”

Olek: "Olivia wanted to learn. Her tutor taught us." Among other things. What Spanish etiquette he knew was due in part to her tutor; second only to hours spent outside in feline form, observing the world outside of Ignacio Marqués' home.

He hesitated at the suggestion. Biting his lip, he shook his head.

"Olek is too tall to lead."

Enoch: “Ah, are you calling me short?”

Enoch grinned as he said it, the teasing bright in his eyes and softened by the warmth of the wine. His hand pressed a little firmer against Olek’s back as they turned again.

“How else are you going to teach Olivia?” he added, still smiling as he tipped his head slightly to look up at the familiar.

Olek: "Olek is calling Olek tall," he laughed. "Enoch is a pretty height." But Enoch was observant. For this unique dance, he would need to be the lead with Olivia.

So he came to a halt, bringing Enoch close again with his hand upon his waist.

"Now Olek steps forward," he said to himself. He was back to staring at their feet.

Enoch: “What exactly constitutes a pretty height?” Enoch laughed as he was drawn in closer, his grin stretching wider with each misstep.

“Mm, yes same steps. Forward, together, side,” he instructed, but the words blurred with a chuckle when their feet collided again.

He’d been watching their footing a little too intently, and in doing so, their foreheads bumped with a soft thud. Enoch winced, then immediately dissolved into laughter, rubbing at his brow with the heel of his hand.

“Sorry, sorry.”

Olek: "Good for hugging!" He would have given an example, if not for their little collision. He held his forehead in his palm and laughed.

"Is Enoch all right?" Without thinking, he pressed a kiss to the mage's face.

Enoch: “Are you alright?” he asked, voice dipping with amusement, but he was genuinely concerned as he reached to brush Olek’s bangs back to inspect for damage.

“We’re a danger to furniture… and each other.”

His eyes closed under the kiss, and his hand slipped down to rest against Olek’s chest, fingers splaying gently.

“But I might need a few more if Olek keeps stepping on my toes,” he chuckled.

“Does Olek want to try again?”

Olek: "Dancing should only be dangerous for the floor!" He wasn't scolding, but there was something accusatory in his voice, woven between syllables of humor.

"Does Olek want more wine to try again, or more dancing? Do we do both?"

Enoch: “Mm… I don’t think Enoch has wine left, but he does have gin... and Scotch,” he added with a quiet laugh, already half-leaning into the idea. “If Olek is feeling brave.”

Olek: There were moments when he realized what Enoch was doing, speaking in the same manner. His smile was perpetually achy.

"Is Olek staying the night?" he whispered.

Enoch: "Does Olek want to stay the night?" He whispered right back.

Olek: "Olek doesn't want to be," he gestured at himself with both hands, taking Enoch's hand with him, "in front of Miss Olivia."

Enoch: "Is that because Olek is a little bit drunk?" The professor laughed as he squeezed the familiar's fingers.

Olek: "That's what Olek just said!" he giggled.

Enoch: "But you didn't!" laughed the professor, but he understood that now.

"Of course Olek can stay with Enoch."

Olek: "If Olek is staying the night, Olek and Enoch are drinking more. Like fish!"

Enoch: More laughing as Enoch agreed with a nod.

"Like fish..."

That meant he had to find his stash hidden in one of the cabinets.

"What are we celebrating?" He asked over his shoulder as he walked towards the small kitchen.

Olek: "Mmmmmm - dancing!" Olek followed behind like a faithful cat. "We celebrate dancing and friends and - and love!"

Enoch: "Those are all good things to celebrate," he smiled as he took out two cups.

"I'm afraid we're going to be useless tomorrow though," smirked the scholar as he pulled a bottle from another cabinet and began to pour.

Olek: "Is Enoch going to be useless in the classroom?" He wanted so much to sit on the counter. His feline instincts almost overwhelmed him.

"Olek doesn't want Enoch to be useless."

Enoch: Enoch shook his head.

“It’s the weekend,” …unless he had lost track of his days and the new week started tomorrow.

“Honestly, I could have a day to be useless,” he chuckled, offering one of the cups to Olek. He’d bring his closer for cheers.

“To drinking and laughing and…”

Olek: "...and to love!" He pressed his cup to Enoch's, making certain his was lower than the mage's, and attempted to take it all in a single gulp, coughing as soon as the burning liquid reached the back of his throat.

"What is that?"

Enoch: “…And to love,” he echoed, smiling behind the rim as he took a more measure sip, only to choke on a laugh when Olek coughed.

“Gin,” he nodded as he took another sip before tipping the glass back. His nose wrinkled but the taste had started to grow on him due to his mentor.

“Would you prefer something sweeter?”

Olek: "Does Enoch like pain?" His face was a twisted grimace. "Sweet, yes. Sugar. Anything." But he looked at what remained in his cup, took a deep breath and forced it down with a sling of his head.

"Ugh!"

Enoch: Enoch winced in sympathy, watching the familiar force it down like medicine. Poor thing.

“Well, Olek’s brave, I’ll give you that!”

He reached to gently take the glass away and turned toward the small cabinet beside the sink, kneeling to rummage through it with faint clinks of glass.

“Let’s see…I’ve got…scotch, rum, vodka…Mm…”

More clinking.

“Ah, sweet vermouth! I think you’d like that.”

Out came the colored bottle as it was held out for Olek to take.

Olek: "Enoch has a lot of drinks!" He assumed that it was customary in English homes. Something to offer guests, as his current family did with food.

"Is Enoch trying a little of everything?" he gestured at the bottles.

Enoch: Enoch was crouched by the cabinet when the exclamation made him look up, only to knock the back of his head with a soft oof. He winced, rubbing the spot with a rueful smile, one eye squinting as he glanced over his shoulder at Olek.

“I suppose… mostly for guests,” he said as he straightened.

“Occasionally for me on really hard days.”

Olek: "Oh!" Olek covered his mouth with his fingers. "Oh no," he laughed, dropping down beside his host.

"Are you bleeding?" He brushed his thumb over Enoch's hair.

"How often are there hard days?"

Enoch: "See? Danger to ourselves."

Enoch glanced at his fingers, but they weren't tinged pink. That was good.

"I don't think so, but it'll probably hurt tomorrow."

Enoch was comfortable on his knees as he looked over at the sweet familiar.

"Once or twice a week," he admitted, "Practicing my magic is mostly to blame."

Olek: Olek sucked in his lip, head tilting to rest on his shoulder. "Olek can heal you. It'll be fine. Olek won't get in trouble."

Enoch: “As long as Olek doesn’t get in trouble.”

Enoch would take off the lid of the sweet drink, and pour some into his cup, offering to do the same with the familiar's.

“Mm, does Olek want to play a game?”

Olek: He pressed his finger over his lip. It was their not-so-secret secret. What was one more little kiss to Enoch's forehead? Nothing more than a bit of affection, and a blessing. One that might possibly heal more than a bruise. Olek wasn't measuring his strength.

"What game?"

Enoch: Enoch’s shoulders gently shook with laughter as he looked up lovingly at the familiar. His eyes closed under the soft kiss, pleasantly humming in approval. He took a sip of his drink, setting the bottle down between them for now.

“Mm, truth or dare.”

Olek: "What's that?" he asked, pushing Enoch's hair from his eyes.

Enoch: “You can go first. You ask me if I want to tell you a truth, or do a dare. Then if I choose truth, you ask me a question and I have to answer honestly. If I choose dare, you pick what my dare is. Understood?”

Enoch would consider Olek a moment longer.

“And we can take a drink as a consequence!”

Olek: "Consequence? Oh! If - But Olek wouldn't ask anything terrible!" Enoch should know as much. Nothing scandalous was coming out of that mouth. This man was trying to fix his hair and kiss his pain away.

Enoch: Enoch was gently laughing again, letting the taller fuss with his hair until his own hand came up to gently still it. The dull throbbing in his head had started to settle, too.

“It doesn’t have to be terrible! It can be fun and silly. It’s something that I’ve played when I was much younger.”

Olek: "Enoch drank when he was much younger?" He was getting ready to scold when the record player scratched to a halt.

"More music, and we play."

Enoch: Hands lifted up in mock surrender.

“I was a teenager giving in to peer pressure!”

But he was saved from being scolded when the record stopped and new demands were made.

“Alright. Any requests?”

It would take a little for the scholar to get to his feet and cross to the machine to play whatever genre Olek had selected.

Olek: "Enoch! No!" he laughed. "Not peer pressure!" He had something to say about the frequency of his drinking, but thought better of it. His master had a glass of wine with every meal, going on and on about the scent and how every wine complemented food, creating a bouquet of arousing tastes for the senses.

But that wasn't Enoch's reason. He wanted his reasons to be benign, not medicine.

"Something... happy."

Enoch: “I’m susceptible to it!” he answered honestly with a chuckle as he looked for a happy tune.

The scholar found what he thought fit the bill and put on the Paul Whiteman Orchestra to play in the background as he wobblily went to rejoin Olek.

“Alright, you go first,” he said, taking his seat across from the familiar.

Olek: If Enoch was comfortable with the floor, that was exactly where the familiar was going to stretch his legs. The bottle of vermouth and something else with a white label he'd found in the cabinet were sitting between them.

"Mm... truth or dare?"

Enoch: Enoch stretched out his legs and eyed the bottles that sat between them.

“Mm…dare.”

Olek: "I... dare... you... to balance both bottles on your head." It was the only thing he could think of on the fly.

Enoch: Enoch laughed as he looked at the two very full bottles and then back to Olek.

"That'll cause a mess!"

Olek: "Only if Enoch drops them!" he laughed.

Enoch: "Mm...no, I don't think I can do it," he said, admitting defeat as he reached for the bottle to pour himself a drink.

"Ok, truth or dare?"

Olek: "Truth!" Just because he wanted to see what kind of truths he was supposed to ask for. A base.

Enoch: Enoch sipped on his drink as he considered what question to ask.

"Has Olek ever... lied about his opinion on something?"

Olek: "Mmm... I... haven't thought about it. I don't think so. I can be gentle! But Olek doesn't lie."

Enoch: "There hasn't been something you've eaten or smelled that you weren't completely honest about?"

Olek: "The drink a minute ago?" he laughed.

Enoch: Enoch nodded, “Yes, that counts!”

He felt warm but happy, his face was a little flush.

“Alright, your turn.”

Olek: Just one round, and it dawned on him that perhaps Dare was there as a decorative figure. At least for those playing the game in a dormitory.

"Truth or dare?" he asked anyway.

Enoch: “Truth,” Enoch chose this time around.

Olek: "What does Enoch like about himself?"

Enoch: Enoch shook his head, “Dare, dare!” he grinned, wondering if Olek would let him change his mind.

Olek: "What? Why?" he pouted. "You don't like this game!"

Enoch: "You typically choose something a bit more risqué to ask!"

Olek: "It sounds risqué if Enoch won't answer!"

Enoch: "Wha... No, it doesn't!"

Olek: "Yes! Yes!" Olek was in a fit of giggles, covering his mouth with both hands as he heard footsteps in the hallway of the dormitory.

Enoch: The professor waved his hands in front of him, dismissing the accusation. That was all it took to make him fold.

Fine, fine—if Olek insists…”

He paused, glancing up at the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway. He looked back at Olek, leaning in as his voice dropped conspiratorially.

“If Olek insists,” he repeated, quieter now, “Enoch likes… his eyes. And… his artistic abilities.”

He groaned, immediately leaning back as he rolled his eyes.

“Is Olek happy now? That was painful.”

Olek: He had insulated the flat against noise, yet still his laughter seeped through his fingers. It was the idea of being caught that entertained him, and he was certain Enoch to a degree.

"Enoch is beautiful!" he whisper-shouted. "Inside and out."

But wasn't it the mage's turn?

"Truth!"

Enoch: “Olek is very biased and very wrong!” Enoch whisper-shouted back, refusing to take the compliment.

The blond was laughing again as he reached for his glass. Realizing it was empty, he poured some more for himself and for the familiar, encouraging him to drink as well.

“I didn’t even get to ask!”

He took a drink, playfully glaring over the rim at the taller familiar.

“Mmm…would Olek like to stay in London?”

Olek: He smiled at the mage, slowly relaxing his fingers still caging his lips.

"Yes," he blurted without thought, then brought his fingers over the entirety of his face. Well, that was embarrassing.

Enoch: A wicked little grin rested on Enoch’s lips as he looked at the familiar fondly. See how fun this game could be?

The professor set his drink down and reached over to try and gently pry his hands away.

“Why is Olek hiding? And why does he want to stay in London?”

Olek: It was easy enough to move those hands. He would find those dual eyes closed.

"Olek loves Enoch," he confessed. "Enoch will make... a familiar happy one day. To look after Enoch. They would be very good to Enoch."

Enoch: Olek's hands were held in his as he listened. That little confession made him look down briefly, feeling the warmth at the tips of his ears.

"Can Enoch say a truth?"

And because Olek's eyes were closed, he wouldn't see Enoch leaning in, only getting to feel the warmth of a kiss pressed gently between his eyes.

"Enoch wishes you were his familiar."

Olek: His chin tightened for a moment, absorbed in his feelings, and the sensation of affection.

Only integrity prevented him from wishing the same.

"Truth," he announced. "Olek made a promise to Master Ki that he would be faithful to Master Ignacio."

Would Enoch understand?

Enoch: A hand would come up to gently cradle the side of Olek's face. Blue eyes studying the sweet man in front of him. Of course he understood but it didn't make it any easier.

"That's why I said wish."

His thumb gently stroked Olek's cheek.

Olek: Olek leaned into the mage's palm. Once again, he filled the space with the sound of purrs.

"You won't remember tomorrow," he lamented.

Enoch: His thumb gently brushed Olek’s cheek.

“You don’t know that,” Enoch tried to argue, but he secretly had to agree that this was the case.

“I think it’s Olek’s turn again.”

Olek: "To confess or to ask?" The familiar was tired and beginning to lose track.

Enoch: “To ask, I think.”

Enoch leaned back, letting his hands fall into his lap.

“I’ll try dare again.”

Olek: He didn't miss a beat. He'd had a few dares lined up in waiting.

"Olek dares Enoch to sing."

Enoch: "What do you want me to sing?" He felt like there had been enough liquid encouragement to follow through with this one.

Olek: "It... Had... To Be You!" he grinned. "I heard it on the radio! Enoch can sing that. Yes, of course!"

Enoch: "A cappella?"

Enoch shook his head.

"Olek has to backup sing. Deal?"

Olek: "Promise!" He liked that word better. He was sitting up, hands on his ankle, and soon biting his lip in anticipation. The cat was on the verge of laughter already.

Enoch: "Why do you like to torture your ears?" grumbled the scholar, but he was smiling as he sat up and reflected Olek's posture.

Hands on his ankles, he closed his eyes and made a motion with his hand for the familiar to start.

Olek: What part was he supposed to sing? There were no backup singers in the song. Was he supposed to hum the - oh! Olek began humming just as Cliff Edwards did. Harder to do on the verge of guffaw than he realized.

Enoch: “It had to be you…It had to be you…”

Enoch wasn’t the strongest singer, and he was terribly shy of his voice; hence, at the first sound of a crack, he started laughing. But he pressed on, encouraged by Olek's humming.

“I wandered around, finally found somebody who

Could make me be true, could make me be blue…”

Olek: The crack in Enoch's voice was a charm to Olek's ears. It almost had him break the rhythm that kept the mage going.

But he wanted to see Enoch break with the best of intentions. He reached out for his hands, taking the mage by the fingers and swaying their arms.

Enoch: Enoch pressed on with the song, humming through the parts he couldn’t remember. At the gentle touch of his hands, he laughed again, voice already breaking from amusement.

“Do you really want me to keep going? It’s only going to get worse from here.”

Whatever was left in his cup, he knocked back with exaggerated resolve, then he reached for Olek’s hands with a smile that crinkled his eyes. His shoulders shook with barely contained laughter as he tried to pick up the tune again, horribly off-key now.

Olek: "Mhm!" Of course he wanted him to keep going. He wanted more of that singing until Enoch broke into laughter and retreated in playful embarrassment. All in good fun; one day, Enoch wouldn't be so afraid of himself. He hoped to be there when he bloomed.

But there was every possibility that he cracked first. In between that delicate hum was choked-back giggles.

Enoch: Enoch squinted at him suspiciously.

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

But he tried to sing another verse, and clearly missed a few important beats. A snort cut it short and he broke, dissolving into another fit of laughter that had him ducking his head and scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Okay, okay. I think I'm done."

Olek: Olek wanted so much to kiss all over this man's face. The mage was oblivious to how he lit a room with his smile. Others knew. As sure as the sun peeked through London clouds, his family, friends, and coworkers must have known. They must have basked in his warmth, however brief.

"Is Enoch tired?"

Enoch: Enoch nudged his empty cup aside with two fingers, half-lost in thought, rifling through his mind for another song he might know well enough if Olek were to request another song.

“Hm?”

He hadn’t caught the affection behind the familiar’s look, and if he had, he probably would’ve shied away.

“Is Olek asking because he’s tired?”

Olek: "Olek wants to know when Enoch sleeps. Olek will curl at the foot of the bed." He glanced around the room. What else could he do?

"And kindle the fire."

Enoch: “Enoch usually sleeps at night.”

The silliness had seeped into him fully by now, loosening the usual restraint in his voice. He was warm and tipsy, gaze drifting toward Olek with a barely-there smirk.

“But—” he hesitated, feigning thought as his fingers idly toyed with the edge of his cuff, “Olek can… sleep with Enoch as he is.”

Olek: "Does Enoch get cold at night?" It was a kind of offer, he realized as soon as he spoke. An offer for Enoch to retreat, if he wanted. If he hadn't meant what he said.

Enoch: “I actually run a little warm, if I’m being honest.”

His hands rested behind him as he leaned back. But the professor had noticed that to be a recent development.

“Summer is going to be dreadful, absolutely intolerable even with the window open.” He probably would be leaning out of it in hopes for a breeze whenever July rolled around.

“How about Olek?”

Olek: "Olek is built for cold weather." He remembered summers with Master Ki. He had been certain he would perish in that dreadful sticky heat. Once he had felt comfortable in human form, being feline was reserved only for guests. Spain, with all of its warmth, couldn't hold a candle to the Dutch East Indies.

"Did Enoch have a stuffed animal when little?"

Enoch: Enoch smiled at that. It made sense for Olek to also be a furnace, given how fluffy he was in his other shape. The image made him smile, warmed by the thought as much as the memory that followed.

“I had a little bear named Rupert,” he said after a pause.

“He was a white little bear with a red ribbon round his neck. He was very proper. I… believe he’s still in Bath, actually.”  He glanced down at his hands thumbs brushing against each other. “I never quite managed to throw him out.”

Olek: "Why would Enoch throw Rupert out?" A human concept beyond his scope. His head tilted with very animal confusion. "Does he need repair? Olek can repair him."

Enoch: "Ah..." He smiled a little at Olek's confusion.

"You're supposed to toss old things away. I've outgrown Rupert by many years now."

Olek: "You're supposed to? Whether it's good or bad?"

Enoch: "I suppose to avoid clutter." But there were exceptions to every rule.

"You're allowed to keep things if you like, especially if they have sentimental value." And Rupert fell into that category.

Olek: "What does Enoch keep here that is sentimental?" Olek looked around the room now with fresh eyes.

Enoch: That was a good question that Enoch wasn’t terribly well prepared to answer.

“A few bits and bobs, I suppose.”

His eyes drifted towards the gramophone; it gently crooned from the corner of the room.

“That, obviously. I brought it with me from Bath along with some books. A few that I inherited from my grandfather and the others from my old mentor….”

He paused, working through his sluggish brain to remember what else.

“Oh, there’s that pocket watch you repaired. And…”

He paused, remembering what he found while unpacking his things from that move so long ago.

“I have a photograph of my family. I found it after my grandfather passed away.”

He looked up at the familiar.

“Does Olek want to see?”

Olek: More mention of that place, Bath. He wondered what it looked like, this place that shaped this man. It had to be full of charm.

But he couldn't deny that this enchanting place was the very same one that made this man timid. Not now, and not always, but there was no pretending the man in front of him was always the man in front of him.

"Olek wants to see Enoch's family," he smiled, lumbering to his feet. "Does Enoch look like his mama or papa more?"

Enoch: “Mm… both, I suppose.”

Enoch extended both hands up toward him, the motion wordless but clear; he wasn’t above a bit of help getting up off the floor. Once steadied, he brushed the back of his hand along his temple where a stray bit of blond hair had fallen.

“My father’s hair and maybe his nose, but my mother’s eyes.”

He stepped past the half-finished drinks on the kitchen floor, toward his bedroom. He kept the picture in his nightstand drawer next to his bed.

“Olek can tell me what he thinks.”

Olek: The familiar took both hands and pulled. Fingers lingered for a breath before falling to his sides.

"I think every boy has his mother's eyes. Doesn't he? Olivia has her father's eyes. Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be."

Having sat for so long, his first two steps were hesitant and a bit clumsy. The rest steadied as they went, swaying only when coming to a stop by the bed.

"What happened to them?" he asked, holding out both hands for the photograph.

Enoch: “You might be onto something,” he said with a short breath of laughter, swaying a little once they reached the doorway. He steadied himself beside the familiar, then crossed to the bed, dropping to sit at the edge nearest the drawer.

He pulled it open, quiet for a moment as he thumbed through the contents before retrieving the small black-and-white photo. He looked at it before passing it to the taller.

“My mother died of an infection shortly after I was born. And my father passed away when I was two. There was a fire at the factory he worked at, and it collapsed on him.”

On the back of the photo, in neat and careful handwriting, it read ‘Elias and Annora Neumann (1889).’

“So—what do you think?”

Olek: Olek hadn't noticed his hand came behind Enoch's back, hovering, ready to catch the mage should he sway an inch too far. Whether he would admit to himself or not, this was his master, if for the next hour, so be it. Ever faithful to his wellbeing, even if he swayed with him.

The photograph was held in his other hand. Brought an inch from his nose to study the details.

The familiar swallowed, steeling his willpower so as not to visibly shiver. It was dangerous, putting himself in another's shoes. One misstep with empathy, and he could feel the debris weighing on his chest, as it must have done to Elias Neumann.

"You look like your mother," he smiled softly. "You have your father's shoulders."

Enoch: Enoch braced his hands on either side of him, watching the familiar study the photograph. He made no move to take it back, content to let Olek hold onto it for as long as he wished.

“I’ve always wondered what they might have been like… if I’d had the chance to know them.” His gaze lingered on the back of the image, focusing on their names. He knew the picture by heart and thought the way his mother’s arms held onto his father’s shoulders was endearing. They looked happy.

Whether it was the drink or the sentiment creeping in, he felt that familiar itch at his nose, the faint sting gathering at the corners of his eyes. With a long breath, he let himself fall back against the bed, eyes shutting as if that might press the feeling away.

“I don’t even know if I have aunts… uncles… cousins.”

He briefly took off his glasses to rub at his eyes.

Olek: There was something in the air. Not quite stillness. Stillness was quieter. He could hear spiders meander on walls and the heartbeat of others in quiet stillness. This was silence on the verge of something.

"No one has told you? Your... grandpapa?" And surely there was more to it. His father or mother having siblings, his grandfather having siblings, cousins, estranged distant relatives with vaguely similar features.

Enoch had a right to his emotions. His life was an unfinished sentence.

"Would Enoch want Olek to find out?"

Enoch: Enoch gave a faint shake of his head. In truth, he’d been raised as if he were an orphan and was cut off from whatever family might have existed. Isolation was a cruel tool when you wanted someone’s world to revolve around you, and both his grandfather and his old mentor had known how to wield it well.

The thought left a dull ache in his chest, but the familiar’s gentle voice coaxed him from the edge and he finally allowed himself to look over at Olek.  A gentle pat was given to the bed as he invited the other to join him.

“And how,” he asked softly, “would Olek go about that?”

Olek: He didn't have to invite twice. The familiar was quick to sit cross-legged at the foot of the bed, hands on his ankles, hunched forward. Enoch Neumann was his entire world.

"Olek would ask around. You can find anything if you try hard enough. If it would make Enoch happy, Olek would give Enoch moonlight."

Looking the mage over, he reached for his foot, removing socks with a sleepy, whimsical hum.

"Time for sleeps."

Enoch: Enoch huffed a quiet laugh at that. Moonlight. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever offered him something so impossible and so sweet in the same breath.

“Moonlight?” he smiled gently, watching the familiar settle into his bed. He didn’t flinch when Olek reached for his foot, only arched a brow in mild amusement. “That’s a tall ask. I won’t ask Olek for the impossible.”

His foot was naked to the elements, but Enoch didn’t protest, rather he resigned with a little sigh and nodded. “Alright, alright…time for sleeps,” he echoed.

Olek: "It's not impossible," he protested, moving on to the next foot. "Olek can bottle moonlight for Enoch. It glitters like diamonds and moonstone. It's true! Moonlight is like moonstone. Some people have lost themselves staring at moonlight in a pretty glass bottle. They stare and stare and forget themselves."

Despite his great length of bone, the familiar curled effortlessly at the foot of the mage's bed, arms folded and used as a pillow.

Enoch: Free of his shoes, Enoch sank deeper into the mattress, already weighing the comfort of abandoning belt and tie as well. A loosened shirt followed, shrugged from his shoulders until he was left in his slacks and undershirt.

“Do they truly forget themselves, or is that just a turn of phrase?” he asked, entertaining the notion of bottled moonlight with more seriousness than he intended. With magic, it was hard to tell what was possible.

He drew his legs up, making space for the familiar as he settled further into the pillows. Fingers drifted to his collar, adjusting once, then falling still. Amusement flickered as he watched Olek fold so easily at the foot of his bed.

“You can’t possibly be comfortable.”

Olek: "Of course Olek is." Perhaps his feline form was better. Enoch was going to worry over his spine, or perhaps the sight tempted physical intimacy. He didn't know.

"They forget what they were doing. They forget people are in the same room. It's the same thing, isn't it?"

Enoch: “Mm, I’d thought you meant it literally, that they had forgot who they were.” The words slipped out on a yawn as he rolled onto his side, deciding to trust Olek’s insistence that he was comfortable.

He tucked an arm beneath his head, lids lowering but not so far that he lost sight of the familiar at the foot of the bed. Even half-drifting, he held to the thread of conversation.

“I do that myself at times,” he admitted quietly. “When I’m buried in research, trying to make sense of my findings…I may as well be deaf to the world.”

Olek: "I think that's lovely," said Olek softly. "Everyone should have something they sink into, like a... like an embrace."

His eyelids were heavy, his body warm and comfortable. He wanted to ensure Enoch drifted first before allowing himself the same privilege.

Rest well, sweet mage.

Enoch: “Mm… we should play together more often.” His thoughts slipped toward the kind of embrace Olek meant. His eyes sank shut, head heavy against the pillow.

“We’d make such pretty music together.”

Another breath, softer this time, nearly lost to drowsiness.

“I’ll teach Olek. Promise.”

And the mage was out like a light.

[nihiladditaenihilperdidi]

“Hm?”

It would take a moment for the scholar to piece together what Rune meant.

“Oh! Oh, yes, you’re right. Gosh, that was the original definition…” he stared fondly at his mentor. “You’re dating yourself,” he added, unable to resist the tease before slipping back to the subject at hand.

He sat a bit more upright in his seat, fingers lightly tapping against the rim of his teacup.

“Mm. From the food we eat to the air we breathe, our surroundings, and even the medications or vaccines we receive. All of it gets broken down into usable components such as glucose and oxygen… and those fuel enzymes, which catalyze reactions in seconds. It's like a kind of alchemy.”

The more he spoke, the more his face lit up. Despite how long the day had been, the professor was, if not enthusiastic about his studies. He was out of his seat to dig through a drawer, returning with a scrap of paper and a pen.

“So hemoglobin, for instance, that’s my specialty, has markers you can trace back.”

Rune had a particular pull that made Enoch want to keep talking, even when he doubted whether any of it was registering. Nonetheless, the professor leaned forward, half across the table now, sketching a quick structure.

“Now, if you think of all the components of your body working together…”

There he was. That light glistening in Enoch’s eyes like shiny pennies could only be one thing. Unlike any other glisten, it was the spark of intellectual hunger. What first drew him in, and what kept him seated, now. A part of him willingly loved this man, as if he had known him his entire life—a fumbling, good-intentioned neighbor.

He offered a passive noise, not willing to break his streak with an interruption. He didn’t have to understand every word to understand passion, but he tried, in his way, to follow Enoch’s trail of logic, as if one of his students.

This was better than spells, if for a little while. Strain would benefit no one. Long hours at the lighthouse, trying again and again and again to reverse ten seconds of drying paint, or food cooking, to slow five seconds into thirty to no avail, screaming into an uncaring tide. Yes, he knew the stress of stagnation. His best spells came from violence.

His best spells came from violence, starting with the raised hand of his father. Beaten for existing incorrectly.

But the mage’s rich voice insisted upon his attention. A consistent, prolonged knock at the door of his consciousness. He couldn’t live with both his father and his mentee. In choosing between the two, he would always choose Enoch.

[nihiladditaenihilperdidi]

“Not quite,” he admitted with a faint smile into his own cup. “I just didn’t expect it to be so…difficult.”

The words escaped more quietly than he intended. He briefly glanced at his mentor. Should he mention it? Or was this struggle just part of the process? Maybe that was the test: learning how to live with Raine. And he was spectacularly failing at it.

Enoch’s cup paused just before his lips, suspended in midair as his brows rose at the confident but butchered terminology. A quiet breath of laughter escaped him.

“How would that even work?” he murmured, shaking his head with an amused huff. “Mm, no. Metabolic pathways are…chemical reactions in your cells that create…”

He was going about this the wrong way.

“Like…” He tilted his head, considering what analogy he could use.

“Like quintessence,” he offered. “Depending on what sphere you draw from, you get a different outcome, correct? Entropy, and you get,” he vaguely gestured at the mage. “Time,” he gestured at himself. “Correspondence, Life, and so forth. And different combinations give you different spells.”

He sat back slightly.

“Well, our bodies do the same, just on a cellular level. Depending on the input, you have a cascade of different outcomes….I could draw it out for you,” he offered, half-teasing, half-earnest.

“The word is Greek, is it not? Something about transformation. Spend enough time on a ship, you learn things against your will.” Particularly, the enriching arguments between Greek and Turkish fellows aboard. Seemed there was nothing either could agree upon. He couldn’t remember their names, but he could remember their arguments.

Reactions. Every word had an origin, and an origin for that origin. What an odd switch of lessons. He sat there, staring at his pseudo-teacher, wondering how much he could charge as a private tutor.

He was so terribly tired. His cheek came to rest in his hand. His middle finger slowly swirled about his half-finished teacup.

“Chemicals from where? What input from what? This is what you looked for in my blood?”

[nihiladditaenihilperdidi]

Enoch’s shoulders, which had been wound tight as wire, finally began to ease as Rune accepted the offer. That soft-spoken 'fantastic' did more than any apology could have, and he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Good.”

He moved through the small kitchen, grateful to be useful again. A second cup was retrieved with a matching saucer, and he took care as he poured the tea. The cup was placed infront of the mage with the gentle clink of ceramic, followed by a spoon and a bowl of sugar if desired.

The scholar took his seat opposite, his own tea left untouched as he studied his mentor. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but they would get back there soon enough.

“I… did hope to get something to work today,” he admitted, tone sheepish as he finally brought his tea to his lips. “But you’re right.”

A pause, then a glint of mischief flickered behind his tired eyes.

“I could teach you about biochemistry instead…How familiar are you with metabolic pathways?”

Seeing slack on Enoch's shoulders did more for Rune than he would care to admit. It seemed both were waiting on something, and both finally had a reason to breathe easy.

Really, he thought, this all stemmed from being here in the first place. It had begun with that cup of coffee this morning. He couldn't help himself. If the door was open even a fraction, he found himself within these walls. What was he more obsessed with... ?

"You will," he insisted into his cup. "Years of searching for the answer, now you have it. You're not going to give that up because you have to practice."

Dark eyes met light, waiting to see what that impish look was about.

"Metabolic... metamorphosis?"

[nihiladditaenihilperdidi]

“Stay…”

The words left him before he could think better of it. Enoch blinked, gaze dropping now to the floor, his own impulsiveness catching him off guard. He shouldn’t have said that. Or perhaps he should have, but not like that.

“If…” he started again, “If you’d like.”

His hand raked back through his blond hair as he glanced up, trying for something lighter.

“I made tea, and I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

It was a weak excuse. But truthfully, he just didn’t want the mage to go. Not with the air between them still thick and unsettled. The Euthanatos was rarely anything but decisive, so to hear hesitation gave him pause.

Enoch took a breath.

“We can try another spell.”

It was a request, and it was an undeserving kindness. The longer he spent in the company of this man, the more confused, irritated, and infatuated he became. This instance was no different. It was a fan on the embers.

“Tea sounds… fantastic.”

Enoch had meant nothing by his grasp. He had disturbed the peace. No matter how striking, how tightly Enoch grasped his interest, he was untouchable. An innocent with a reputation that was his duty to preserve. He was a teacher of magick, and a guest in this house.

At least one of them was on track.

Rune took a seat at the quaint little table and sighed.

“You want to play with spells? After all that?” He forced himself to smile, forced himself back to the night he had laid eyes on him – the reason he was here.

[nihiladditaenihilperdidi]

That stillness lingered between them like a held breath, and for a moment, Enoch was certain that Rune was going to walk out. He sounded so cross. But what faced him was the mage looking to the ground as if ashamed.

Enoch quietly observed the man, and the impulse returned, wanting to reach out and touch him. Reassure him that all was well, but his fingers curled faintly into a fist and released just as quickly. That was the opposite of what had been asked of him.

Instead, he followed Rune’s glance toward the fireplace.

“You were starting to open a rift.” His avatar had taken notice and interest during the whole ordeal.

Enoch frowned faintly, trying to piece the moment back together. What had he said? He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a little in thought.

“I… I was trying to calm you.”

Slowly, the Euthanatos nodded. Of course he was. He had been here for weeks. Months now. Such a brief time. The hours felt like minutes, but it had been long enough for his mind and body to grow restless.

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say. Trying to comfort him. That was... new. There were those aboard his ship, no matter how often he explained, who insisted on touching him, shaking him. Every drop of vitriol had become instinctual, forced upon him by years of bullheaded sailors.

But Enoch proved once again to be different. Beautiful and clumsy.

"I think that I - well, I mean... I should leave." It was the weakest he had ever spoken in Enoch's presence. Almost a question; just a faint hint of inflection. "My binds are in my room," he felt compelled to elaborate.

[nihiladditaenihilperdidi]

Enoch had just finished pouring the hot water over the leaves when he heard the footsteps return. He didn’t look up immediately, focusing on watching the steam curl from the cup. His fingers tightened around the handle, jaw clenched as the mage’s curt words washed over him.

He swallowed.

 How was he supposed to respond to that?

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

His voice was quiet as he spoke to the teacup.

 “I wasn’t thinking. You screamed, and I thought…I don’t know what I thought. Instinct, I suppose.”

 It wasn’t an excuse, but an attempt at an explanation.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology hung there. He should have said more, but the words had turned brittle in his throat, and he didn’t trust himself not to make it worse.

So he turned slowly, bracing one hand against the counter as he finally looked towards his mentor. If he could still call him that.

And something ached in Enoch’s chest that he hadn’t expected.

Shame and grief.

Dark eyes were fixed on the floor. He didn't know what he would find, looking in those blues, but it would be something that would churn his insides and warm his cheeks.

His hand had been so soft, and warm, and just the right size, and -

The mage breathed deeply through his nose.

"Suppose that's the correct response." He wasn't sure, but the statement had him straightening, glancing back at the mantel.

"I was trying to leave, wasn't I? Something you said... you said... something."