Safe Harbors | E&X
@theyrexeno
He hadn’t started it. He was fairly certain that he hadn’t started it. Edgar had been across the pub when the brawl broke out so, really, he couldn’t have started it. He hadn’t meant to join in, either, but a shared look with Gideon Prewett made standing at the sidelines bloody impossible. They’d been three pubs deep on their pub-crawl when the shouting started, followed by a wave of violence that rippled through the pub like a pebble displacing water.
Out for drinks with the rest of his amateur quidditch team, all Edgar had been looking to do that evening was steal an hour or so to unwind after the day’s grueling practice. A fight --another fight-- hadn’t been on the night’s itinerary. When the shouting started, and a body was thrown into his, he’d been prepared to brush it off and mind his drink. But then Gideon caught his gaze and the expression on the man’s face made perfectly clear that they would not be brushing it off. Not when joining the fray was such easy fun.
When it came to bar brawls there were no winners, but he and Gideon had been among the last left standing and that was victory enough in their book. Proudly sporting a collection of freshly acquired gashes and bruises, he and his favorite Prewett twin parted ways for the night. Since Edgar had no intention of sleeping off the night’s excitement in the cold Siberia of his empty bed, he carved a path through Diagon Alley’s empty, lantern lit, cobblestone thoroughfare with a particular flat in mind.
It was late and Edgar didn’t anticipate anyone being awake at this time of night. Though they sometimes liked to write, or read, or tinker late into the evening, Edgar wasn’t going to chance waking them up unnecessarily by banging on the door. As he climbed the stairs to their flat he sifted through his key ring in search of the right one. He found it just as he stopped on their landing.
The old fashioned key slid easily into the lock and the tumblers turned with a quiet click, unlocking the door for Edgar’s entry. He slid soundlessly into the dimly lit space and paused at the entryway to unburden himself of his boots, the items in his pockets, and his leather jacket. His shirt came off halfway to the bed, tossed to gods knew where as he lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress with a groan as the bruise on his side made itself known.
Edgar felt no shame in making himself at home. In all the years they’d known each other, he couldn’t remember a time when his relationship with Xenophilius Lovegood abided by any kind of ‘normal’ social structure. Normal for them was having a key to each other’s homes and swinging by even if the other wasn’t there; because Xeno liked to be sure that Ser was adequately pet, fed, and revered as the cat demanded, and because Edgar sometimes needed to get away from the world. So before they’d become whatever it was they were now, it wasn’t at all strange for Edgar to drop by unannounced, let himself in, and make himself at home as if he paid half the rent.
He rolled his shoulders and popped his neck before turning on his side to peer down at the slender form on the bed beside him. A smirk immediately took shape on his lips and Edgar’s chest warmed like sunbursts were flaring just behind his sternum. His hand went over Xeno’s lying frame, holding up his weight as he leaned over the svelte magic user.
Using the tip of his nose to nuzzle affectionately at their cheek, he felt the night’s excitement and his body’s aches melt away in their presence. “Evenin’, beautiful,” muttered Edgar, smirk still firmly in place as he swept the long, pale yellow of Xeno’s hair away from their face. His voice was gentle, adoring, quiet as to not disturb the night’s stillness when he spoke. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”