Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"No, but you don't understand..." Hisirdoux chuckled, letting his head loll a little to the side, leaving a small glance at them with a grin painted on his face. "She is absolutely impossible! She cheats every bloody time! I don't know how, but she does." 

"Or maybe..." Jim started with a teasing smile. "Your Lad of Fortune trick is not as hard to defeat as you think?"

Hisirdoux's expression changed, becoming scandalized, but in a way so exaggerated that it was easy to understand that he was faking it, making it more dramatic than it actually was.

"You hurt my feelings," he said, bringing his left hand to his chest. "So cruel... Still, even though you insult my talent, it worked well enough against Bellroc and Skrael, I'd say."

"But Nari was still able to win each time and strip you of the money in your wallet."

"I told you, she probably cheated! Or Ashildr found a way to let her know the answer. She has the biggest soft spot ever for her, I can't even. It's almost disgusting to look at."

Claire snorted. "And you don't?" 

"I'm not saying that I don't. But I don't have it nearly as much as she does."

"Huh, okay..." She grinned mischieviously."...But then why did you have to bet each time you had the game with her? Why didn't you stop putting the prize for each win?" 

"Still Zoe's fault. And Archie's. They started saying that without something to bet about, it was going to be boring to watch, and that I was playing safe. After the third try, well, I could not remove the condition. Not even if I wanted to..." he paused. "And, yeah, okay, Nari was having too much fun to stop her."

Claire giggled, moving a lock of her hair that kept falling on her eyes, getting it behind her ear. "That's unfortunate... Did she buy something with them?" 

"Yeah." he sighed. "Not all of them, but... Making her discover caramelized apples, doughnuts, macarons and popcorns was apparently a very bad idea."

She started laughing. The Trollhunter joined her almost immediately. Douxie, instead, rolled his eyes a little, but still smiled wholeheartedly. 

"Well, anyway." Hisirdoux jumped up again once the laughter ended for both of them. "Why did you come here?" 

"What? Want us to leave already?" Jim questioned, both his eyebrows arched. 

"Oh, Fuzz off. You know that that is not what I meant." he straight up gave him a middle finger while talking, receiving one back just as quickly. "Is there a reason why you came, excluding my, Nari and Archie's company?" 

"We might want to transfer in this Castle." Claire joked around. "You know, eventually... No taxes to pay, you can see the world from the sky, it's big and all..."

"And you got lost in it a thousand times..." Douxie chuckled. Claire blushed and gave him a playful shove for that.

It was his time to laugh, but he stopped at a slight slap on his arm and a "Please, get serious." that exited from her mouth in a—fake, just as dramatic as her teacher—annoyed tone of voice. Douxie still let out a snort because of it. 

A bit of silence fell. Claire ended up throwing a little glance at Jim, who gave her a supportive small nod—They had talked a lot about it. They had talked a lot about the future, about what they wanted to do and to be. The peace that had seemed to be instilled in the town all of sudden had helped out a lot—knowing perfectly that she could do it. That she could ask for it. 

She looked at him for a bit, smiled, then returned to Douxie, who stared at them both with clear curiosity that shone in his eyes. She took a deep breath in, then threw it out. 

"I want to be your Apprentice," Claire said.

Douxie suddenly froze at that. All his good humor disappeared from his face, leaving him wide eyed and silent, his lips slightly parted. 

He stayed still, staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face. And after getting on his feet, after searching for words—still staring at her deeply—he spoke.

"No." he said, his tone a little clipped and his body quite rigid. "No, you don't." he added, taking them both by surprise. 

Claire looked at him. She was more than a little confused.

"What?" she questioned. The bewilderment was clear in those four letters. 

"You don't want to, I assure you." he asserted once more, his golden gaze moving away until it reached the sky, his hands shifting in his black sweatshirt's pockets.

"I..." she frowned, not being able to end whatever she wanted to say. She was clearly upset.

Jim frowned too, wanting to say something—anything, really—but remaining silent. Remaining silent because it wasn't his field. He wasn't a Mage. And it wasn't about him. And even if he almost sounded like Merlin, right now, Douxie wasn't like that. He might have had his reasons. And he wasn't the type who hid them

"Why should I not want it?" Claire was able to ask, raising to her feet, too. She got near Hisirdoux and tried to have him stare back at her straight in the eyes, pretty much positioning herself in front of him. 

Douxie didn't respond to her question. And he was obviously trying to avoid any kind of eye-contact.

For only a second—so short that Jim almost immediately thought that he was imagining it—the Wizard seemed to be shaking. 

"Why should I not want it?" Claire repeated again, still very confused, and kind of nervous out of sudden."I do want it. I... I wouldn't have asked for it if I didn't. It's been several  months that I've been thinking about it..." she paused. She looked like she was thinking very hard and she started to fiddle with her own shirt's sleeve.

"If it's... If it's because you still think you aren't a good teacher, then you're wrong!" she said "If I've been so fast at learning Magic it's because of you, Teach." 

Douxie bit his lower lip, then shook his head. "It's not that," he muttered. 

"Then..." Claire frowned, and she appeared saddened in a way that squeezed Jim's heart.

He got up, too and walked towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder with as much silent support as he could give her. And then he stared at the Master Wizard trying to get anything. Even the smallest thing, the smallest hint of reason for why he was so against the idea of becoming Claire's Master. 

'Shouldn't he be excited at the prospect?' he questioned himself. 'Isn't it supposed to be something to be at least a little proud of?' 

Hisirdoux's expression was carefully empty, though... and he kept his eyes casted on the clouds that the biggest window of the highest tower was able to show. A little breeze ran through his hair, making a mess out of them. 

"Is it my fault?" Claire asked after a bit. And this seemed to get all Douxie's attention, literally making him almost snap his neck to finally get to look at her again. A concerned air took the place of the expression he had before. 

"No, Claire. It's not that either." Hisirdoux immediately said. She appeared unconvinced at his answer, but for a short amount of time, because there was something in how he looked that screamed that he was saying the truth. "It's not you, okay? You have to believe me about this."

"Then why?" she insisted, her voice sounding a little high-pitched, a little desperate. "Why am I not supposed to want it? Why don't you want it? I don't get it."

"I..." He clenched his jaw, scrunching his nose. "... It's complicated."

"I have all the time in the world," She shot back. 

'It's true,' Jim mused, his gaze falling on his Amulet. 'We have nothing but time at this point. Unless... A new unknown enemy attacks out of sudden.'

"Yeah, I know that." Douxie replied almost weakily.

He stopped from gazing at her again, preferring to return to the immense light blue sky that was in front of him, then he moved a hand into his hair. Not to try to fix them, but to grab and to toy with a few strands of them. 

"The type of relationship between a Teacher and a Student is very, very different from the one that is between a Master and an Apprentice." he started slowly, his voice very low. 

Claire stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. 

"There... There is..." he frowned. He relaxed for a moment, then he frowned even harder. "A some kind of unavoidable codependency. It ties lives in a way that you can't break out from. For the best or for the worst." he paused. "There are several rules, too. And... And a price to pay as a way to show that you're appreciative of the tutoring."

'The way he is talking is weird,' Jim thought.

It was. It really was. He sounded nervous. He sounded like he was struggling to spit out his own words. 

"Like money?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. If he and Archie had been on the streets before getting to Camelot... If it was money... Where did they actually find it? Did they steal it? 

Douxie shook his head slowly. Very slowly. And well, at least that gave a stark answer to his own questions, but something in the Wizard's face, during this action, utterly attracted Jim's attention.

His eyes did.

They were glossed over, almost even more empty then before, but not in a way that was wanted.

It was like he had his mind somewhere else. Just gazing at them sent an immediate cold shiver down Jim's spine. 

Worry suddenly started to form inside his chest, mixing with confusion. It raised in waves, covering and removing any kind of curiosity he might have felt before. 

"What is the price, then?" Claire asked, her head tilted. "With what did you pay?" 

Hisirdoux's breath seemed to stop, then it sped up, all while he paled so much that he appeared like a ghost. Something flashed inside his eyes. It was fast, but extremely clear.

It was panic, Jim realized. Strong, overbearing and suffocating panic. And this time the trembling that shook him was much, much more easy to notice. This time it was impossible to mistake it for an impression and little else. 

He shook and stared into nothing, his body language showing—in every part of it—the need to become smaller. To disappear. He was so hunched, so closed in on himself that he actually seemed like he really was going to do that between one second and another. 

Jim shared a quick look with Claire. She had a bewildered expression painted on her face and opened her mouth only to close it again. All without making a single sound.

Jim tried to get near Douxie. He moved slowly to not get him to panic even more. 

"Doux..." he barely started saying.

The Wizard raised his head just as fast as he did before. He almost reminded him of a fawn enlightened by a car's headlights.

His gaze was even more wide open then when Claire had dropped the news. He stared at him for several seconds before closing his eyes and apparently relaxing, taking a deep breath. 

"I just..." he became quiet once more. When he spoke again, it was almost in a whisper. "I can't... I'm sorry."

"Teach, what..." 

"Please. I... I cannot talk about it. I don't..." he sighed, very near to start shaking again. "I beg of you, just leave it."

All the three of them fell silent, then Nari's voice jumped from three floors down, calling for the Wizard. 

Douxie pretty much bolted, fleeing away from them both, almost literally running away.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he screamed out loud. 

Claire and Jim stayed there instead. They were still like statues, looking at each other with incredulous expressions. This before they exited the room too, but walking much slower and still throwing glances at each other. 

A whispered "What the hell was that?" slipped from Claire's lips. She clenched her hands, her arms showing tension and guilt tracing her eyes, even if technically she hadn't done anything wrong. 

A soft "I don't know..." instead came out from Jim's. Just a second before he saw Archie fluttering around in the corner of the corridor.

Jim had really no idea. But whatever it was, it made him feel a deep unpleasant sensation inside his whole being. It made him question himself if he actually wanted to know the answer. 

Chapter Text

He was a bit nervous. It was one of the only few emotions that he recognized perfectly in the chaos of feelings that was running non-stop inside his chest. 

Camelot's castle was big. It was big and scary. But at the same time, there were points of it where it was little and lacked freedom. The corridors were an example of that. It almost seemed at times that they were going to move and trap him while he passed through them.

The people in it were all tall, big, imposing, and terrifying in his eyes. 

He could see them staring at him like they wanted to crush or kick him. Like he was a nuisance that had to be deleted as soon as possible. A bit like he had seen people look at him many times before, but in this case it was worse. 

It was worse because he couldn't truly run away from them and never see them again like he did with so many others. 

There was a high chance that he wasn't going to see them every day, sure, but they were going to be there anyway. Of course, they would. They lived there. He was going to live there, too, from now on. It was so weird to think about that after moving from one city to another so often. 

Douxie wanted to hide from them, especially from their spiteful glances. He tried to do that. He sped up his pace to be fully covered by Merlin's slender figure, squeezing Archie a little between his arms. 

His Familiar purred softly and rubbed his head against his left shoulder. His eyes seemed to tell him to try to calm down and breathe. No one was going to attack him, not when he was around.

Archie’s gaze was enough to have him searching for any other thought that could give him any kind of different feeling. 

Staring at Merlin Ambrosius—proud, serious, and elegant in his magnificent gray shining armor—enlightened inside him, instead, an enormous amount of excitement. 

He had heard so much about him. So many stories . People in the streets never really stopped talking about the Strongest Wizard. He was a legend, a whisper that ran from mouth to mouth between small or long anecdotes that at times seemed impossible to believe in. He was someone that no one ever forgot about. 

He was respected, loved, or feared. Even all those three things together. 

He was a beacon of hope for many. And a firm constant in a world that seemed to be always moving. 

And Merlin Ambrosius… that same Merlin Ambrosius, wanted him. Him! A simple tief… A child that had nothing that special, no important lineage. The same child that had been disowned and kicked out by his own father because of his Magic—Because he couldn’t kill his own blood by himself , but leaving the task to the outside was somehow acceptable, apparently—and that had almost poked a man's eye out not even a week before. That same child.

Merlin wanted Douxie as his Apprentice. He wanted him between so many other, better choices. 

That seemed surreal. It was like Hisirdoux was stuck inside a vivid dream. It certainly felt like one, ignoring all the death stares around him and the basic instinct that told him to turn around and run as fast as he could. Run as he always did every time there were too many—for his mind, more than dangerous—people around him. 

And when Merlin showed it to him, his room felt big and dreamlike, too. Almost too big, even if compared to other places he had seen before while passing, well, it was kind of little. Still, to him—to the ‘him’ that of course was still used to the small cart that he and Archie had stolen several months before to sleep better—it was big. Big enough to have Archibald flying around dynamically. 

And oh, the bed . It was soft. Soft like the one he still vaguely remembered from his house. It smelled a little weird, maybe because it was old, but it was fine . He had slept in much worse-smelling places.

Hisirdoux felt Merlin Ambrosius' eyes fall on him while he pressed his hand against the mattress. He felt them piercing him entirely while he placed his bag—the one with the few old clothes he had—on the ground. 

He raised his gaze, ending up meeting the one of the Sorcerer, which kept staring at him silently, long enough to make him feel his hair stand up and an uncomfortable sensation filled him from head to toe. 

He wasn't used to being stared at that much. He really wasn't… Maybe he only had to become accustomed to it, then it would feel less unnerving.

“It's late,” the Sorcerer said after a bit, bringing his arms behind his back. “Clean yourself and rest. Tomorrow we'll start dealing with the terms of your Apprenticeship. I'll come to get you personally.”

“Y-yes, Master Merlin,” he replied immediately, stuttering a little. 

The expectations and excitement jumped back in, pushing away the slight uneasiness. He couldn't hide the little hopeful smile that developed on his face while his thoughts started racing through his head with the possibilities . With what wonderful things he could learn. With who he wanted to be. 

He would have liked to become like Merlin in the future. He would have liked to be strong like him. He would have loved to be appreciated by people that much. 

Hisirdoux saw Merlin stare at him a little bit more before he nodded and turned his back on him, leaving the room. The door closed with a slight creak. 

A moment passed. Then another. And another. Douxie stared at the wooden entrance, almost expecting to see it open again. Then the feeling of disbelief—mixed with tiredness and something that was like an excitable frivolity—approached him fully. 

“This is only the start of a new life, Arch!” he said in a whisper, smiling even more and looking at the Dragon, who had been sniffing things and moving around, but instantly responded to the look, a soft expression on his muzzle. 

“No more streets, no more risks of being burned alive, no more stealing, no more stale food… And I'm becoming instead the Apprentice of the Greatest Wizard of them all!” Douxie let himself sit down on the mattress, almost falling on it. “Can you believe that?”

 “Actually, yes,” Archibald said, getting closer to him by jumping on the bed, too. “And I would say, finally. Finally, something that goes our way.” He rubbed against him again, tearing him a bigger smile and a chuckle. “A bit of tranquility doesn't hurt.”

‘No, it doesn’t.’ Douxie thought, taking deep breaths and feeling almost too content in comparison to all the months before. ‘ It really doesn’t.’

*** 

The first thing Douxie noticed when he entered the room—Archie was sleepy, lazily stretched on his shoulder, but still there. He had refused to not be included, even though it was very, very early in the morning and he would have liked to sleep more—were the amount of books and magical items that were left on shelves everywhere his eyes fell on. 

The second thing he noticed was the big table, near the window, with so many precious stones embedded in it. 

The third one was the little black door on his right, which was half open, showing Merlin Ambrosius’ chambers. He barely peeked at them, only seeing dark curtains before he returned with his gaze to the Sorcerer, who—after a bit of searching—grabbed a scroll. A really, really long scroll that seemed to be imbued with magic in every single inch of it.

“Contracts between Masters and Apprentices are the same since the beginning of life on the Earth,” Merlin said, walking back towards them and handing him the roll of parchment. “Here are all the conditions and rules. Read them and take your time to decide.”

Hisirdoux nodded. And after a small glance that he gave to Archibald—receiving one back just as fast—he started reading. 

Most of the rules were quite easy to understand. It was clear that they were there because he was the Apprentice. So, being clean, well-mannered, and available were small things. 

Having to tell where he went before exiting the castle without being prompted to do so, well, seemed obvious, too. Merlin had to know where he went. 

There was a bunch of stuff that was kind of hard to understand, though. Hisirdoux asked questions—Archie did, too, about other points—about them and got answers that fortunately made it easier to understand.

 It was about the Magic connection that was between a Master and an Apprentice. A Master could block an Apprentice’s magic to avoid eventual incidents of it during the mentoring. It made sense. Endangering the Master wasn’t something that the Apprentice should do. Never. Just the idea felt like shame looming over his head. 

It was one of the last points of the scroll, though, that left Douxie kind of confused for a bit, even if it was quite simply written. So easy that asking about it felt like something absolutely stupid. 

“The Apprentice is a Property of the Master as a payment for all the services. They are owned fully, body and core, and as they are owned, the Apprentice will have to respond to that same fundament by following his Master's orders.”

If Merlin was his Master, it was pretty clear that he was supposed to do what he said. And he was his Apprentice, no one else’s. Just like Merlin was his Master. Helping out when he was asked to as a payment for a roof, food, and teachings was the most obvious thing to do. So why write this, too? Was it because some Apprentices did not see it in the same way? 

He re-read the whole phrase a couple of times before eventually skipping to the next one, not wanting to be stuck there for more than necessary. 

Immediately after, there was a detail that closed his doubt and deleted any kind of question from his mind.

“ Since the Apprentice is fully owned by the Master, no harm received from any external individual will be accepted.”

The eyes of the people that had been staring at him the day before flashed inside his mind. 

‘He is not going to let them harm me ,’ he thought, while a pleasant sensation started to move inside him. It was a relief. A relief that washed over him strongly, almost cleaning him internally by taking away a lot of the tension that was still stuck in a part of his being. 

‘He is not going to accept it,’ he thought again, inhaling and exhaling, almost losing weight from his shoulders while doing so. 

That was a statement for others, not for him. Being owned meant being protected. Until he was under Merlin’s protection, until he was a possession of him, people had to know that no one could touch him. No one could hurt him… and if they did, it was clear that there were going to be consequences.

The last point in the list said that every single rule, condition, and connection was going to be severed at the eventual Mastery over Magic of the Apprentice. Once the Apprentice obtained his Staff, they were free from all of them. 

He didn’t take much to decide to sign it. The protection and promises that the entire scroll was offering to him were enough to convince him. They were enough to have him feel like he was making one of the best choices of his life. He couldn't let a similar opportunity run away from his grasp. He had to keep it. 

His signature was a bit shaky because he had not been used to writing it. But he had been even less used to cutting through the skin of his fingertips to leave a fingerprint—or something similar to a fingerprint—on the paper. And to see someone—Merlin, of course—do the same. The man pressed, shortly after, his blood on Douxie’s own.

Still, even if he wasn’t used to that, he did. And the deal was done.

The parchment shone with a brilliant, vivid green before disappearing in a puff of smoke. At that exact moment, Douxie felt something burn on the middle of his spine and winced in pain. Merlin's expression remained the same as it had been while he had been reading. 

Several hours later, when he was back in his room, he discovered—thanks to his Familiar—that a scar, literally shaped in a way that looked like an M and an A intertwined, formed in the same spot where the pain had struck him. 

He was able to touch it and feel it with his middle and ring fingers. 

He shivered a little under his touch. It was quite sensitive and jagged. And apparently, it was already discolored. 

*** 

The day after, he was supposed to come to his Master's chambers on his own. Without Merlin's help. 

Getting there seemed easy to say, but—for how much of a maze the Castle was—very hard to do. 

Douxie was pretty sure that he ran around in a circle, walking the same corridors again and again, especially because he saw the same painting at least four times. 

After he developed a mix of—not a small amount —frustration and anxiety—which he had been able to fight only because of Archibald, barely avoiding making a scene—they finally found out what they were doing wrong in the whole process and were able to finally get to their destination. 

Once they were in front of the door, he knocked on it, declared himself out loud, and entered after a female voice gave him permission, which had confused him a bit but had not deterred him. He had supposed that it must have been a servant that was left in the room to announce to him that his Master must have been somewhere else briefly or something like that. 

After he got in, he found himself looking at a beautiful and collected woman, her lithe figure surrounded by jewels and rich-colored clothing, which weren't the servant’s type. 

He almost stopped breathing and his heart skipped a beat when he realized that that was no common maiden. He was staring at the King's sister. She was Morgana Pendragon herself and she was right there , raising a few charts from the table, all while she glanced at him with an almost curious expression. 

Hisirdoux stayed still for several seconds, then—after noticing Archie's look—he almost slapped himself and ended up bowing. 

Every part of him screamed to leave even more, now. He was used to scam rich people, not to have to act with true courtesy around them. At least, having faked it gave him a little bit of manner to rely on. 

Interacting with a princess was not so much different from doing it with a duke or a baron. He simply had to be more attentive and careful with his words. 

“Your Highness…” he avoided stuttering while getting back to his previous position. He was able to keep his voice even and he was glad that he was able to. By Archie's look, he was quite content, too. 

The woman placed the charts on the wood, then she joined her hands in front of her chest. 

“So…” she started, tilting her head. “You are Merlin’s new Apprentice.” She simply stated and began to walk towards them. She barely gave attention to his Familiar, though, as her bright green eyes were entirely fixed on him. “Hisirdoux, you said?”

“Yes, your Highness,” he answered, blinking twice at a very short distance of time. And waiting for her to speak again. 

Her gaze narrowed and something utterly unclear flashed inside it. He saw it as disgust. The emotion raised the anxiety that was moving inside him, making it feel like a storm because—fuzzbuckets—he didn't need a royal's hatred already. 

He really, really wanted to avoid making himself noticed by nobles. Figures getting on the bad side of the princess the first day she met him. Just imagining it felt like having his body tied by ropes to a wooden stake, a pyre under him. He could already feel the stares of men and women alike with hatred in their eyes and torches in their hands. He could already hear them screaming bloody murder, their voices filling his ears so much that he would have preferred being deaf.

Morgana stopped walking when she was close to him. Maybe too much for his tastes, as he had no idea about how to act. 

“I see…” she said thoughtfully, moving a hand near his face and raising her fingers a little, almost touching a few of his dark locks before retreating her entire arm, frowning.

“...Not a surprise, I might admit,” the princess added, pursuing her lips. And then lowering her voice exponentially, to the point that she was whispering. “Not a surprise at all.”

An evident dumbfounded expression traced Douxie's features while his eyes stared at her, not being able to stop. Before he could even open his mouth to ask what she meant, Morgana talked again. And her phrase bewildered him even more, while his blood froze between his entrails. 

“I suppose it's too late to persuade you to return where you came from.” She dropped the entire phrase like it was nothing, as if what she was saying was not an indirect slap on his face. “A shame that we didn't get to talk sooner.”

Douxie bristled at those comments, becoming still like a board while an acid feeling of irritation moved in his chest.

He had no desire to return to the streets, thank you very much. He had no desire to defend himself days and nights, always feeling like danger was lurking around. That feeling that he always needed to steal so he wouldn't die from starvation or cold weather.

For a second, he was on the verge of snapping—to say something that he would have likely regretted, especially because of the person he was speaking to— but then it was there again. That same look she had given him before, which changed suddenly with something different. And this time it was weirdly more clear and readable. 

It wasn't disgust that was rolling in them now. No. Of disgust, there wasn’t even a little trace.

It was of pity. She was pitying him. Hard. And not only that. There was something like remorse and sadness written on her entire face. 

Why, though? He couldn't get it. His mind just didn't want to give him an answer. It didn't make any sense to him. 

He had everything he wished for. So, why , why was she looking at him like that? 

“I'm really sorry,” she said, always in a whisper. And that didn't help him to get what she meant in the slightest. It just made him feel a speck of agitation and more confusion rolling inside him. 

“I… I apologize, I don’t think I understand.” Hisirdoux ended up saying, gulping down some saliva that was stuck in his mouth—A bit like when, a few months before, he had tried to eat oats and bread, but doing it too fast and getting it all blocked in his throat between the water. He had felt like coughing it up for ages to remove that sensation—and taking a deep breath. 

It was clear that Morgana wanted to say something else, just like he wanted answers the more she gazed at him that way, but then Merlin Ambrosius entered his chambers with food between his hands. And after what seemed like a long staring contest between them, she left his side without uttering a single word. 

The Sorcerer and the princess looked at each other again for a second before she closed the door behind her, a cold expression—decorated with an angry glare—on her face and a hard scowl on his Master’s own. 

Douxie didn't question it out loud—seeing how sour Merlin seemed when he was back staring at him—preferring to stay quiet and keep them to himself, even though he felt like he needed to know. Archie looked rather suspicious, but neither did he. 

They both preferred to move along with the day and soon enough the whole interaction with the royal maiden entirely disappeared from their minds. 

*** 

“Undress yourself,” Merlin's voice ordered, only two days later. This made him widen his eyes a little as anxiety bubbled up.

“Wha—” he barely started to say, but his Master's voice interrupted him. 

“We need your measures. Those old, ruined fabrics cannot be seen anymore. You must be presentable or you will shame us both.” The Sorcerer commented. 

Douxie, mortified, blushed strongly at the harsh sudden statement. Yeah, the old light brown shirt wasn't exactly pretty to look at with how thin it was and with the few holes in it—in the sleeves and near to his neck, mostly—but, hell, hearing it said out loud was different from simply knowing it and ignoring it. 

“Yes, Master,” he said in a low voice, biting his own lower lip and—after a small moment in which he felt highly uneasy, but deciding to keep his feelings locked as much as he could to avoid disappointing or annoying his Master—he started taking off his clothing. First the shirt, then his boots, and his pants last. 

He only had his braies on at the end… and he felt cold because of the breeze that came in from the window—slightly ajar to let Archie roam on the outside of the Castle, totally undisturbed, to wake himself better—but Hisirdoux didn't dare to say it out loud. 

He heard the man's steps—not too heavy, not too light—that echoed in the room. 

He felt his presence quickly getting near him from behind, but when one of his big, warm, calloused hands positioned itself on his left hip, he nearly jumped anyway. 

He felt the cold wood of the metric barrel touching his entire spine while the hand that touched his hip brushed more against his skin, almost ghosting on it while reaching his belly button, just a little under the Soul Bond tattoo. 

The entire gesture gave him strong goosebumps while the uneasiness only rose inside him, engulfing him little by little. He almost asked his Master to stop being so near to him, to stop touching him, but he forced himself to bite his tongue to not make a sound. He did not let the request slip, no matter how hard it was to keep it in. 

He wasn't used to being touched by people, he told himself. Another thing that he probably had to learn as soon as possible. 

Still, he felt weird. He felt even more weird by perceiving Merlin's hot, slightly raspy breath hitting the naked skin of his neck. 

He couldn't help but shiver a little, his head turning towards him and his gaze searching for eye contact. This was just before the Wizard ordered him to stay still in an upset, reproachful voice, having him go back to his original position with a muttered apology that rolled from his mouth in a jumbled, murmured way. 

Merlin's fingers moved slightly to grab his right hip, crossing entirely the middle of his chest, to the point that almost half of his arm was on him. All to get him to be even more motionless, because he wasn't immobile enough. Because he was shaking a little under Merlin's touch and he wasn’t supposed to . 

His Master changed the direction of the object that his other hand was holding. The wood this time leaned against his shoulders… and not only that. 

Douxie felt the lack of armor on Merlin fully as he felt him overlap more against him while he worked. He felt more and more of his Master's breath on his neck. It was kind of heavy for whatever reason. Almost irregular, too. 

Another wave of uneasiness crossed him from head to toe while his heart sped up a little, but he ended up trying to remove it and curse mentally. 

Not being used to normal stuff like common touch was kind of a problem. 

Merlin was just trying to get his measures. He couldn't do that by being far from him. It was pretty much impossible unless he used his Magic to do that. For how much he gathered in those days, he wasn't the type to waste it for such a foolish thing. 

So his senses were getting haywire for no reason. He had to calm down and accept that people got near to other people every day. It was normal . It was fine. 

His Master was doing him a favor. He was helping him out, and Douxie was getting anxious in a quite stupid way as a response. 

‘ Cut it out.’ He said to himself, trying to relax. And even if he tried, pursing his lips and clenching his fists, the uneasiness was still there like a heavy weight that was crushing his chest. Just like the unstable beat of his heart. 

Archie returned to the room, flying through the window and Merlin, after a few seconds, changed position. He got on his side, measuring that, too. Then he did the same with his legs, defining their length. He did the same to his feet, only raising a brow in between, while the rest of his face was almost blank. 

Shortly after, while Douxie was getting dressed again—feeling much better after he did so, starting with the simple detail that he didn't feel the cold current on him anymore—his Master wrote everything down. 

“They should be ready in a few days,” he simply said with a short pause. “I will need your urine for tomorrow,” 

Douxie couldn't help but blink in confusion. “What for, Master?”

“Your humours," Merlin answered, his tone of voice sounding as if it was the most simple thing in the world, making him feel kind of stupid for asking. He grabbed an empty container and gave it to him. “I need to see how far away they are to be balanced. By your skin's state, you're visibly lacking some… I will need some of your blood and of your spit, too, but I will take them myself.”

“ Oh.” Hisirdoux nodded, feeling extremely self-conscious and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

Well, that wasn't much of a surprise, really. From the way some people looked in the Castle and the way he looked there was an enormous difference. And not only because he was still a child. It was the color of his skin. It was the way his bones peeked through it. 

One day later, Merlin made him spit several times in a few small vials and then subjected him to the bloodletting treatment. The last one had been terrible. 

The lancet had hurt much more than the small knife cut on his finger. And he had lost enough blood to feel his head spin. Thankfully, he had gone to bed pretty much instantly after the predicament ended.

Another day later, he discovered that he had no disease, for how much Master Merlin stated. So, no diet—if he had to diet, well, it would only worsen everything—no extremely hot baths, no purging, and no more bloodletting. 

Douxie was only malnourished. And his skin was very fragile, to the point it broke easily—even if he only hit the corner of a cabinet between sweeping floors and cleaning stuff—but he couldn't do much about it if not to wait until he gained weight or try not to hurt himself. 

*** 

He touched him again, four days after the first time. He did it many times. He honestly lost count of the times in which he felt his hands on him in the space of twelve hours. 

The first touch of the day—just like the other occasion—had been able to set him off. He had stilled under it to the point that he looked like a statue, even though it was just a firm hand on his shoulder while he simply passed near him. 

But then, after the sixth time he felt Merlin's hand on him, well, he had already started to be less frightened by them, even if not by much. 

He started to see those touches as a way to get him used to physical contact. 

His Master was, again, trying to help him out. He must have realized something while taking his measures. He must have noticed how not used to them he was. He was very attentive towards him. 

Douxie was grateful for Merlin’s care. The fact that he was his Master, well, it didn’t have to mean that he truly cared for him, too, if not for his ‘not ruining properties’ deal… but the man was affectionate with him, even though he often said hurtful things or acted harshly. 

Hisirdoux wanted to give results as much as possible. He wanted to adapt so to stop halting or acting weird every time, whether it was a ghost-like touch or directly a strong hold on his arm—that often tried to have him notice a point in the floor that he had not cleaned well enough, something else that was missing or to attract his attention in case he had let his head wonder too much—but they always got him to almost wince or to get incredibly nervous. Especially when he felt his fingers linger on him a bit longer than he expected. Those specific cases made him perceive first his skin crawl under the man’s hands and then feel sheepish and guilty because of it.

He was strongly obligating himself not to complain—trying to reject the way his stomach clenched and the way he almost trembled at times—or to make silly, embarrassing unwanted noises. 

He was trying. He really, really was. With himself, too, because he had promised himself that he was going to defeat his need to escape from any kind of touch. He was going to win against his fears. 

To become someone like Merlin, someone that Merlin would be proud of, he had to start from somewhere, no?

Accepting to be touched seemed a very good start. After all, there was no real issue being in contact with someone who cared for him. 

*** 

The touches kept going, and they were working. 

He was less spooked by them and the warmth that Merlin gave off was becoming more and more habitual.

He had felt extremely proud of himself when he had felt his Master’s hand pat and stroke his head a little because he hadn’t flinched. He hadn’t even felt the need to.

Douxie had started to feel less and less on edge around the man. He had started to ask things without being afraid of questioning, to be less nervous during lessons and he had stopped almost entirely from stuttering while talking. 

Since he was getting better, Archie had begun—slowly and slightly, almost cautiously—to fret less around him. 

He was being less attached to his hip, but only when Master Merlin was around. With others, he was always above his shoulder, flying or sitting on it, staring at them down with—more often than not—murderous expressions.

His Familiar was less anxious and over-protective when he was around his Master. And it was clearly shown by how he looked while Merlin was teaching him. 

No nervous tail, no soft growling, no tense body language, no claws shown. He almost looked like he was made of liquids at times, stretching on the floor or the table while following the interactions with a half-attentive gaze or lazily rolling on some other, random piece of furniture.

Douxie was happy about it; not seeing him apprehensive was a victory. And Archie was happy because Douxie was happy, so it was almost a loop of cheering each other. 

It felt good. Almost peaceful. Just like it felt right that Douxie had started to be a little less skinny. A little, really, not much. But that, too, was already a good thing for him.

*** 

“I have something for you,” Merlin suddenly said after entering Douxie's room, making him raise his head from the parchments with the runes, half surprised to see him. He had expected Archie to be the one entering when he had heard the door's little squeak.

“Something for me?” He questioned, almost dazed, rising to his feet and staring at his Master with pure curiosity, tilting his head slightly in between. 

The Sorcerer nodded. He was in a rigid position, his arms behind his back, his expression cool and collected. He looked inflexible, as usual. 

After a moment of stillness, the man moved, bringing a hand in front of him and leaving him gaping, too stunned to speak properly for several seconds. 

“That's…” he barely started, not knowing how to deal with the explosion of wonder that fully enveloped him. He was so incredulous, so taken aback that he had to catch his breath and then exhale to talk again. And when he did, his voice was full of awe. “That's a lute…” 

The instrument seemed like a hallucination between his Master's hands. It was pretty, just like how he had seen it the first time at the market. It was clean, almost shiny in some points of the wood. It made his chest go warm as he stared first at it and then at his Master, the image of his mom with a similar instrument between her hands jumping through memories. 

“I thought that your relentless badgering about it would eventually end if you got it,” Merlin said, leaving it between Hisirdoux’s hands, still incredulous. It was light. It was lukewarm and slightly rough. It was so, so perfect and the amount of happiness that was bubbling in him just by holding it was insane . “Learning to use it would do you good, I suppose.”

“I… Thank you so much,” he said, a thrill of delight that had him beaming, holding the lute as if his life depended on it, and bowing. “I'm… so grateful, Master!”

He honestly didn't know what he had done to receive it. He didn't know what he had done to deserve it, really. He had thought about buying it with the rest of the money he had from the Lad of Fortune, but there hadn't been enough for it. It had been so expensive , but his Master had bought it for him anyway? Was he truly dreaming? 

“It's fine,” Merlin said, his voice a little rough, already preparing himself to leave. “Do not break it.”

“I won't!” Douxie exclaimed, the happiness so intense that he wanted to jump and run around the room. He stared at his Master's back until he was gone, and after that, his eyes were mesmerized, all over again, by the lute. 

*** 

One of his newly made clothes—that were prepared for that weight addiction he had and that looked and was extremely soft under his touch—gave him a bit of newfound confidence when he strolled down the corridors—often losing himself anyway, no matter how many times he told himself that he had learned where he had to go—even if it wasn’t enough not to have him be extremely tense for the situation. 

People still gazed at him like he was a rat while he did that—That hadn’t changed in the slightest, especially when that someone stared at him and his Dragon Familiar was a Knight, even though right now it wasn't the case—but he felt like it wasn't that important anymore. They seemed less imposing, even if they were big and scary just the same. 

They were less of a problem. Less of a problem while he ran as fast as he could, less of a problem when he slowed down to avoid bumping into one or more of them. Less of a problem, since he was too occupied with what he had to do to take notice of their mean scowls and their whispering behind his back. 

He saw Morgana Pendragon, though, in the corner of his eye. That was important enough for his mind to have him stop in place, almost slipping because of the sudden movement and especially because of how his feet tangled with the long red carpet on the floor. Placing both his hands on the wall helped him to avoid falling face down on it. 

He got only a glimpse of her. He wasn’t even sure it had been her. It had been enough to remind him of their short conversation, but the whole thing still left his brain in the moment in which he got back to his main momentary task, Archie urging him to move because he couldn't waste any more time. 

He was late. Fuzzbuckets. He was going to see Arthur Pendragon for the first time and he was fuzzing late. 

But if he had seen right, if he had seen the princess, that meant that he wasn't so far from his destination. Right? 

They had to get to the hall. They had to. And after a bit of struggle, they finally did. 

The hall was enormous, but it was full. He saw Merlin immediately anyway because he was the only one who had been looking at the door when he entered, his expression seeming rather upset and, in a way, disappointed. 

Shame and embarrassment colored Hisirdoux’s cheeks while receiving that look. 

Only a few seconds after he entered the gigantic room, he ended up getting behind him. He hid like a scared cat just after spending one glance at the King. 

He had told himself so many times before—between all the running, between thoughts, ideas, and mental images—to not do that, but he had failed miserably. 

Arthur was something. His eyes were cold and worse, so much worse than those of the Castle servants. And to make things even more terrible, seeing him cut a man's head because he disobeyed his orders— freeing a nymph that had been in the dungeons with almost no food and no water for months, apparently — didn't help his point of view. 

Douxie didn't like him in the slightest. He couldn't understand how Master Merlin did like him but knew perfectly that he couldn't say a word about it. That would have had him killed for sure, whether he was Merlin Ambrosius’ property or not. 

He stayed silent during the entire situation. Knights talked when they received the permission, but Arthur himself spoke the most. Master Merlin jumped into the conversation only a few times and he did it even without being questioned, giving recommendations with complete nonchalance. 

Douxie almost didn't even open his mouth for the next few hours. The exception was, though, when he was later ordered by his Master to stay, whispering back a simple “Yes, Master,” while all the other knights and nobles left the room.

Only Arthur, Morgana, Merlin, him, Archie, and two guards remained in the end. 

He felt extremely tense, especially since both Morgana and Arthur’s gaze fell on him while the conversation started. The princess always looked at him with that barely hidden pity, the King with a weird contempt mixed with—shortly after, not at the exact moment in which his eyes fell on him—something that he truly did not understand, but that made him feel suddenly small again. 

The conversation went on and on between planning and statements until it halted suddenly, provoking a heavy silence. A silence that didn't last long, though. 

“...He's younger than your usual, Merlin,” Arthur said, his detached voice almost ringing inside his ear. His stare got more intense. Hisirdoux could feel it almost burn on his skin. 

“Yes, my King.” Replied the Old Sorcerer calmly. “But younger minds have more time to learn and be fruitful,” he placed a hand on his shoulder again. “He is perfectly fine as he is. I'm sure he will make me satisfied with my choice soon enough.” 

The sudden comment had Douxie raising his head sharply—he had lowered it, mostly staring at his Master's boots and the floor—in surprise. A happy, fuzzy feeling flickered in his stomach, fluttering around like a butterfly in a jar. 

The confidence with which Merlin had said that left even more need to make him proud of him. And added the extreme need to repay him somehow. 

Cleaning didn't seem enough. Bringing him the things he asked didn't seem enough, either. 

Maybe writing him a song? He could do that. He had already thought about it when he had given him the lute, but now he was full of determination. He wanted to do that. 

He could first create the melody and then move to the lyrics. If Merlin wasn't pleased with the result, he was going to try again and again until it was to his taste. 

Morgana's click of her tongue distracted him from his thoughts. Her expression had changed once again into an angry look. She definitely wanted to spit out some harsh words, if the way her hands trembled—closed in fists—said something about it. 

Douxie still didn't understand her. Seriously, why was she so upset? Why was she acting like Merlin's statements had offended her personally? 

“I suppose so,” Arthur asserted, still looking contemplative, staring at him while falling in a poignant silence once again. His brows raised after it, and then he turned his back on them. 

“You're all dismissed,” he ordered. 

“Yes, your Majesty.” 

They kneeled, and then they left.

*** 

When he saw a green neon bird enter his window, he couldn't stop himself from thinking he had forgotten a few parchments in Master's chambers or something like that. 

An angry sound slipped from his mouth—which he muffled by biting his hand—at the idea of the fact that, if it had really happened, he hadn't even realized it by how tired he felt. He was able to hide the noise enough. 

Archie was sleeping. He was tired, too and Douxie didn't want to wake him up. 

It was shameful on his part to not be able to keep his things in order, exhausted or not. The idea of having to go to his Master only to be lectured by him for possible hours because of it made him feel even worse. 

He got near to the green neon bird, took the message nervously—seeing the sentinel disappear just as he did that—and read it. 

“ Come to my chambers right now.” It simply said. And he sighed, wanting to hit his head against a wall. By reading, nothing was sure, but Douxie could only mentally picture Merlin with an angry face and his arms crossed, staring him down. 

‘ Buckets…’

He gave another short look at his Familiar who was still napping. 

The day had been particularly heavy. For both of them. 

Cleaning. Getting out and trying not to attract attention while doing so. Searching for what his Master had asked for. Returning to Camelot's Castle only to realize that one ingredient was lacking from the list. Getting back to the market and discovering that the man hadn't given what they asked for because he had finished the stocks already by weeks. Searching for someone else who could give it to them… 

The list of things that they did finish with both of them tired like hell and—fortunately—not lacking the last needed ingredient—only because they got it from an old lady at the edge of the town, who had been helped by her daughter to find what they requested. 

Douxie was going to let Archie rest. No need to wake him. But he had to warn him somehow. Let him know where he was in case he woke up and didn't find him there.

If he was going to get lost and then receive a long lecture, well, the possibility that he would get back to their room something like four hours later was not small. 

He quickly wrote a note and positioned it on the small table near his bed, then, after a few seconds, he left the room at a fast pace, clinging to the map he and Archibald had tried to sketch the day before. 

He followed it attentively, avoiding people as best as he could and he was able to get to his destination faster than expected. One moment he was out of his room, a few later he was in front of the bulky woody door of Merlin's chambers. 

He hesitated on the spot, anxiety rolling inside his veins, but then he knocked on it and pushed it delicately. He didn't open it much, just enough to let his head in to see the Old Sorcerer's face before actually trying to set foot in.

Douxie wasn't prepared in the slightest for his anger. He was tired. And nervous. And he only wanted to apologize for how distracted he was, in case he had really left the parchments there . Or do whatever he needed him to do. All to hide, later, in his bed and stop feeling all his body ache by fatigue. 

Merlin wasn't immediately there. He wasn't in his study, at least. Hisirdoux couldn't know if he was inside his bedroom or not, but he supposed that he was. 

He called for his Master out loud—even though his voice shook while doing so—still clutching the map in one of his hands, and then he closed the door behind him. 

It was kind of dark there. Dark and a bit eerie. It was really late, okay, but a small number of the torches present were lightened. Which was kind of odd. 

He called for Merlin again and ignored his confusion and the strong fear of being criticized, moving around the study with the lightest, fastest walk he possessed. He got near to the door of the Sorcerer’s bedroom but stopped himself on the spot and got back near to the table, placing the map on it. 

Right at that moment, his Master finally appeared, getting inside the chambers by the main door. 

Douxie immediately turned his head in his direction, instantly preparing himself to spew all the apologies that could get to his mind, but taking a big breath to be able to speak in the first place. 

“You called for me, Master,” he said, trying to keep his voice even and moistening his lips a little. “... Did I forget something today?” He questioned in a slightly scared tone. 

Merlin—whose gaze was unreadable as usual, while his lips were pursued—simply shook his head. And this took away a big part of his anxiety, letting him breathe much easier. But then it added a slight feeling of perplexity. 

“ Why am I here, then?” He questioned himself, his mouth speaking even before he realized that it had done so. A shade of red traced his cheeks as embarrassment pooled in his stomach. Hell, he was tired to that point? He had to keep his tongue between his teeth. 

“...What do you need, Master?” Hisirdoux added then, looking at the man. 

Merlin walked towards him, his posture straight as an arrow, his head high, and his expression… It was still difficult to read it, but there was something in how he was looking at him that was similar to the way Arthur had looked at him. 

It made him feel uneasy, just as he had felt the first day. It made him feel like he wanted to run. 

‘ I'm just tired,’ he said to himself, fortunately not speaking out loud this time. ‘That’s the reason for sure. I’m tired and since I am, I’m falling back into habits .’

He had lived years like this. No matter the progress that he had made, it wasn't something that disappeared with ease. 

His Master didn't respond to his question. He lengthened his stride—to a point where he almost looked uncollected while walking—then, in an unexpected way, he embraced him from behind. 

Douxie inhaled all of a sudden. He wheezed, feeling all the air disappear from his lungs while his heart skipped a beat. 

“M-master?” He stuttered, struggling hard only to spit out that one word that he was so used to saying at this point. But even if he was, it was as if his brain and his mouth had detached from each other, refusing to collaborate. All because of the confusion that was starting to spin inside him. 

Sudden worry for the man raised a little in his chest, too. 

Maybe he was feeling unwell? Maybe his humours weren't balanced or something? Did he have to find a physician? 

“Are you alright, Master?” He asked, his voice more even while he spoke. “Do I need to call for help?”

He felt his warm arms tighten around him as a response to his question. 

The gesture felt like a no. Hisirdoux wasn't sure, though, since Merlin didn't say anything out loud. 

He just hugged him and stayed there, making him unsure of what to say or what to do. He made him question himself if all of this was always the whole thing of getting him used to human touch . In this case, to hugs. 

Douxie was surrounded by his scent. It was peculiarly strong as if the Sorcerer had just bathed… and it was tickling his nostrils. Not enough to make him sneeze, but still a lot. 

The way his Master was clinging to him wasn't like any type of contact that he had with him before. It wasn't even the same as when he had taken his measures. It wasn't. But at the same time, it was… Kind of similar?

The way his hands were around his chest, his fingers pressing a little on his shirt. The way his breath—which didn't smell like alcohol, so he wasn't drunk—started hitting his neck, heavy, warm, and raspy. They were the same. 

What was different was how Hisirdoux’s entire back touched the Sorcerer's chest. How his arms almost squeezed him between them, as if he was going to truly run away from him or disappear in a cloud of smoke. 

“Then…” he ended up whispering softly, biting his lower lip for a moment. “What is it?”

Nothing, again . Not for several seconds. And he started to think that he wasn't going to get any type of vocal response out of him, but… He was wrong. 

“Hisirdoux…” Merlin simply murmured, his voice low. 

“Yes?” A hopeful note slipped through his own. 

What was even more different from the measuring day was how he suddenly felt something touch his ear as an answer to his question, wet and just as warm as the rest of Merlin’s body, making him freeze again on the spot and widen his eyes.

Douxie's heartbeat started to speed up. It raced in his chest, hammering in it like it wanted to come out of it. All while his brain was suddenly empty from thoughts and his mouth failed to form words again. Failed to make something escape from it that wasn't a small whimper. 

The wet something traced a single line—excruciatingly slow—on his entire earlobe. And his Master’s heavy panting, the air coming both by his nose and his mouth, was louder than ever to him. They filled his hearing to the point that, even if the muscle that was thundering against his rib cage was pounding madly, he could barely hear it. 

When he perceived Merlin's mouth ghosting down his neck and grazing his collarbones with his beard, a strong shiver ran down his spine, making him feel goosebumps everywhere. 

“I want you.” He said, just above his skin, his voice husky, still panting and starting to rub himself against his back. And at that moment, right in that exact moment, he felt something big and hard pressing against him, grinding on him while low, hoarse sounds came out of him. 

Each one of those noises, echoing in his ears, made all his hair stand on end. 

Douxie's gaze couldn’t help but become even wider than it was before. His heartbeat became louder, too. And the fear made him feel like the air was suddenly poisonous inside his lungs.

It was getting painful to breathe and his Master's body warmth was becoming more and more suffocating as the seconds went on. 

He couldn't fully understand what was going on and why it was happening. He should have been able to do that, probably, but he couldn't get it. 

Or, maybe, he did, if only in a little way as he didn't know much about this kind of stuff. And the little that he did know was hidden in a minuscule side of his brain, because as panicked as he felt, overbearing emptiness pushed every possible thought down. It was as if he did not want to see them. As if he did not want to accept them. 

He only knew that that felt wrong. It felt so, so wrong. Every hint of his Master hardness on the curve of his back while he thrust on the fabric of his shirt felt so utterly wrong that his stomach kept clenching in anguish as blood roared in his ears. 

It was worse, though, when Merlin moved his shirt's neck as low as he could and started kissing the hollow of his nape.

The first was small, almost tasting him cautiously. Almost chaste in the way he simply placed his mouth there, indulging in it. 

Then he started leaving numerous of them, utterly different from the initial one. They were hungry and intense kisses as if he was a starved man and every inch of his neck had to be fully devoured. He rushed from one point of it to another with an insatiable greed, so heated and lewd that made him feel overwhelmed.

Every single effusion that peppered his naked skin in between the man's raspy breaths made Douxie tremble more and more in distress under his grasp, an almost muted gasp slipping from his parted lips .  

The alarm inside of him set off entirely in between the man’s actions and it melted in a sheer agitation that he couldn't control nor avoid. It was a feeling so strong that it was able to send his body into motion again, giving back a hint of clarity to his mind. 

“M-M-Master!” he cried out, his voice extremely shrill as he tried to wriggle himself out from the firm grip of the older wizard, which made him feel trapped. He trashed, squirming and curling up on himself a little to avoid the osculation, hoping to wrestle his way out. 

He did not have any kind of result, though, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how much he writhed, nothing worked against the way he held him. The difference in their size and their strength was big enough to have him realize—the dread hitting him in full force—that he was fighting a battle that was already lost from the start. 

“M-Master, n-no, I don't…” 

‘... like this. I don't want this. Please, stop. Please!’ 

He wasn't able to end the sentence as the Sorcerer grabbed him by the hair on the back of his neck with one hand—the other one that was still on his hip as his arm was entirely on his stomach, keeping him there—and turned his head more towards him, making their gaze meet for a second, only to remove the distance from their mouths immediately after. 

A choked whine escaped him at feeling his lips on his own. He felt him sucking them and licking them in a frenzy, forcefully getting past them with his tongue. 

It was aggressive and consuming, frantic in a maddening kind of way.

It was hungry in the way he pushed, and pushed and pushed his tongue inside his mouth to explore it predatorily, showing every single hint of dominance on his own that—even though it was still and didn't want to reciprocate in the slightest—was forced to do so. 

It was dirty, and the saliva kept accumulating everywhere, but he wasn't able to gulp it or spit it out in any way, so it started running down from the corners of his mouth, grazing his chin.

It felt utterly, terribly violating as if Merlin wanted to strip him of something that he didn't even know that he possessed. Every single scratch that the man’s beard traced on his cheeks didn't diminish the sensation. No, they only fueled it. 

His eyes started to burn, both for the lack of air and for the despair that was rolling inside his stomach, making him feel the need to cry and scream, to plead for mercy, and to apologize for whatever thing he had done to be punished in such a way. 

When the kiss ended, a sob slipped from his lips and the first tears started to fall, streaking down his reddened face. 

“...P-please stop,” he begged, sobbing again, this time harder. His lungs still lacked air and he struggled for breath, shaking like a leaf, especially when Merlin's hand—the one that was on his hip—moved under his shirt. “P-please.”

Merlin's hand stopped moving and his eyes bored on him silently for a few seconds in the darkness. Douxie, in between, was able to untangle himself from his arm, which suddenly stopped keeping him still. 

He ended up facing him, even if he was still heavily trembling. He tried to get more distance between them, too, but as he made a single step backward, the man grabbed his wrist roughly, making him wince and cry out. 

“I don’t think you understand the situation…” Merlin stated. His voice was calm but cold and his eyes were so, so angry that Douxie’s blood froze in his veins. Another shiver ran through him mercilessly, making him twitch and shake even more.

“I own you, Hisirdoux… Core and body. It's the price for my services. ” His Master paused. The silence was so heavy and thick that it could have been cut with a knife. “You cannot refuse to pay for my teachings.” 

Hisirdoux opened and closed his mouth, not being able to make a single sound. His mind reminded him slightly of the phrase that had been written in the contract and the meaning of it suddenly hit his brain in full force. It left him speechless, choking on air and the beats of his heart seemed to become even more violent, pumping blood unforgivingly fast and loud.

“I…” he barely started after a few seconds, his voice dying in his throat as he stared at the man, completely lost. “I…”

“Haven't I done enough?” His Master asked with a stern tone, raising an eyebrow and looking rather disappointed by him, making him feel even more at a loss of words. 

Merlin dropped his arm, but Douxie still couldn't move, paralyzed where he was. “Haven't I given you enough ? Are a roof, food, protection, and my teachings such trivial matters to you?”

“N-no!” he exclaimed, his breath coming out uneven and agitated while his heart seemed to be squeezed painfully in his chest. “I… I d-didn’t…”

‘ ...mean that, didn’t understand, didn't know, didn't mean to upset you after all you've already done for me.’

“I suppose it is, though,” he said, sounding quite detached, still looking at him in a way that screamed how disappointed he was, making him feel even worse than before. He felt as if he wanted to start crying again, his body shaking and aching all over. “Or you wouldn't deny yourself to me even though it's my rightful demand, making it all so dramatic .”

“It's… It's not that, I… I s-swear.” He took—or tried to take—a bit of air, hoping to be able to keep it in his lungs and stop feeling like he was suffocating. He tried to stop trembling, too, gulping down saliva several times. His mouth felt suddenly dry. “I j-just… I…”

“So much for being grateful , isn't it?” Merlin snapped. The comment felt like a harsh slap right to his face. 

He didn't know what to say anymore as he fell into silence, a silence only broken by his unsteady breathing. 

He was grateful for every single thing that Merlin had done for him , but the amount of touching that he had showered him with had scared him to the point that only the thought of them made him shake more. 

He knew that it was in the rules, now. So he was supposed to let him have him however he wanted, but his stomach could only clench more as the fear clawed its way into his being like an animal, screaming at him to shut his mouth and run. 

He desired Merlin's praises, not the cold, discontented expression that was written entirely on his face. He longed for his approval, not for his upsetment. But his panic made it hard to satisfy him that way without a second thought. He wasn't even sure about what he had to do! 

Douxie ended up looking at the floor, not even knowing how. His eyes were seeing everything in blurry shapes. 

He only heard his Master sigh, exasperated, his delusions still quite clear. 

“Go to your room, Hisirdoux,” he ordered, sounding so deluded by him that he could feel more tears forming in the corner of his eyes. The phrase, though, on the other side, sparked a little hint of relief in him. And that same relief made him feel even more ashamed of himself. 

“M-Master…” he whispered in a lament, raising his head and flushing hard as his conflicted emotions got the best of him. 

“Just go, I said.” The older wizard snapped harshly again, making him wince. “Or you cannot follow a simple order anymore?”

His mouth trembled, a big sob escaping it. He hesitated, staring at the angry expression of the man for a few more seconds, the need to apologize making him feel his skin prickle. 

Then he shook his head as a ‘ no’— not even trying to talk as his voice would have barely made it out from his mouth—froze again in fear when Merlin got near him with big strides and grabbed the map with shaky hands as the man dropped it between them. 

He turned in the exact moment the parchment was between his fingers and bolted, running out of the room as fast as he could, shaking uncontrollably between panic and pain. 

His tears were overflowing as he kept speeding through corridors, feeling them become smaller to close in on him. 

He didn't even know how he got to his room, in the end. All he did was to proceed—trying to avoid crashing against a few guards—almost mindlessly, not even being able to see the map since the hard weeping clouded his vision. But he still ended up where he wanted to go. 

He slowed down once he was in, his breathing fast and shallow. He closed the door behind himself, delicately, his hands having trouble grabbing the knob.

He pretty much fell on his bed, his entire body aching like a single inflamed muscle and his magic suddenly activated out of nowhere, raising several objects in the air for many, many seconds before he was able to put them down himself, even if just barely. 

‘Archie is still asleep ,’ his mind whispered after a bit between the uncontained chaos of his emotions. 

His reddened teary eyes searched for his Familiar for a second before finding him, the need to have his reassurance growing strongly before being driven away with a shake of his head. No. He couldn't . 

‘Archie doesn't have to know.’

He rolled on himself, clinging to the covers of the bed. And then he let himself cry, covering his mouth with his hand to avoid making loud pitiful noises. 

The scar on his back seemed to start to burn. 

***

“Are you alright, Douxie?” Asked Archibald, visibly concerned as he fluttered just over his shoulder. “You look terrible.”

“Thank you, Archie,” Hisirdoux said, trying to keep it light and sounding quite sarcastic. “Good morning to you, too.”

“I'm serious.” The Dragon pressed—extremely unconvinced—while wagging his tail and staring him down with a softness that made him feel dirty in every single part of his being, knowing that he had to lie to him. “What happened?”

“...I made Master Merlin angry.” He ended up saying after a moment of silence, his voice low. “Really angry.”

Archie looked at him with the same worried look before his eyes darkened under the lenses. “Did he hurt you?”

“No.” He replied instantly. “No, he… he didn't. B-but…” he stopped himself from talking, biting his lower lip and trying to be calm, to stop feeling the panic as he was reminded again of the man's mouth and hands all over him. “I disobeyed him,” he whispered, looking down. “He had every right to be upset with me.”

His Familiar frowned, and then he headbutted him softly, being able to get a small smile out of him. “Maybe try apologizing,” he said. “He will get over it.”

Douxie nodded a little, feeling very unsure about it and souring.

He hoped that he was going to let it go, but he wasn't sure that he would. He had been too displeased to do it. Not so quickly, at least. 

And he was right thinking that. When they got back to his chambers, Merlin was still angry. Enough angry to have the most detached look on his face and the coldest gaze. He refused to get near him. He blocked him from saying anything, just to tell him what to do and to criticize how he was doing everything wrong and then telling him that he had commissions to do by himself. 

He disappeared from his rooms, giving him another reproachful look as a knot formed in Douxie's throat and his eyes started to burn again. 

“See?” He barely murmured to Archie, tightening hard his hands on the broom while he kept his gaze on the floor. 

“... He'll get over it.” The Dragon repeated once again. “Just give him time to get off his high horse.”

He doubted this would happen easily, too, but he nodded another time. 

***

Three weeks and nothing had changed in the slightest. 

His Master kept acting like he didn't exist and the more that happened, the more he couldn't help but feel the hurt. He couldn't help but think about the fact that he wanted everything to be back as it had been before, but it was hard to make that happen. 

It was even harder to have any type of results since Merlin didn't even try to listen to him when he tried to apologize. It was frustrating like hell. It was painful. It felt like a constant rejection that kept being slammed on his face. It felt like being abandoned all over again, a feeling that burned in a way very difficult to ignore. 

To make matters worse, Merlin had even arrived to the point of simply leaving a note on the table with every single task he had to do for him. Of him, not even a trace. It was five days since he had seen him or heard from him. 

Douxie had got too used to having him around. To have him teach him and caress him and listen to him. The sudden removal of his affection was like being stabbed in the chest and he had only himself to criticize for it.

 It was his fault and his fault only. 

‘I have been selfish ,’ he thought while sitting on his bed. He hadn't paid the cost of his Master's services, taking them for granted. He had been selfish and a coward and… in a way, he still was. He was too scared to get up and try to get to Merlin's room again. He was scared, even though he should have done that since it was the right thing to do. 

His eyes fell first on Archie, who was cleaning his fur, then to the lute that was just near his mattress. He had tried a few melodies to keep himself occupied not even ten minutes before, but touching the instrument did not give him happiness anymore. It only made him feel gutted, full of his guilt. 

Hisirdoux's hands ended on his face as the need to cry raged again inside him, but he stopped himself in time, suffocating his own emotions and taking a deep breath. He moved them away shortly after. 

‘I have to fix it ,’ he told himself, not for the first time in those days. ‘I just cannot expect Master Merlin to be happy, to… to want me around if I don’t even give him what he asks for. If I don't give the right importance to what he teaches me.’

Merlin wanted him. He had said that. He had shown that very, very clearly. 

Was it such a big problem? To be his fully? He already was, partly. He was his possession, after all. 

Douxie wasn't his own person anymore since he had set foot in the castle and he had signed for his Apprenticeship. 

Maybe his Master had been right. Maybe he had made it more dramatic than it was supposed to be. Maybe, if he let him do what he wanted with him, everything would go back to normal. If it happened, he would be pleased again. And he would have paid his debt with him, too. 

So… Was it such a big problem? 

Thinking about it like this, it didn't seem to be one anymore. It really seemed like he had exaggerated everything. And he felt stupid. 

‘ It’s going to be fine.’ His mind said as he closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe repeatedly. ‘ I can do this.’

Douxie raised to his feet, biting his lower lip. Archie looked at him, tilting his head with a curious expression as he started to get towards the door. 

“Where are you going?” He questioned. 

“To apologize,” he replied. “If he's not there, I'm going to wait for him.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Archibald got up, stretching a little his front legs and lazily moving his tail. He still seemed like he was made out of liquid. 

He smiled softly at his Familiar. “No, stay here. There is a chance that it will be mostly boring, long waiting.”

“I can wait along with you,” he stated, and a little anxiety started to pool inside Hisirdoux's stomach, but he tried not to show it.

The image of the Dragon seeing his Master kissing him made him feel an acid taste in his mouth. 

He didn't have to know. No, he didn't. He didn't want him to. He knew now that it wasn't such a big thing, but he still didn't want him to know. It was too embarrassing. Too weird. 

He was going to hide it, no matter how hard it was going to be.

“Seriously, Arch…” he said, sounding a little exasperated. “It’s fine as it is. You don't need to be so worried about me all the time. I don't even get lost anymore.”

“It's not about you getting lost that I'm worried about.” Archie sniffed. 

“Merlin wouldn't hurt me if that's what you're thinking.” Douxie asserted, convinced. He wasn't going to. He wanted him, and that made him still feel uncomfortable, but he wasn't going to hurt him. “Yes, he's still angry with me, but he wouldn't. I'll make sure that he will listen to me, be certain that he will finally accept my apologies, and get back here. Nothing else.”

Archibald—after a few moments in which he seemed to want to rebut with something—simply sighed. “Alright…” he said. “Just… Be careful.” 

Hisirdoux simply nodded, a “I will,” slipping from his lips, while he scratched behind his ears, making him purr in contentment. 

Then he left. 

In a matter of minutes, he was already in front of Merlin's door, ready to knock. 

His palms were sweating buckets of perspiration and his heart was beating faster than it was supposed to, but he drastically ignored both of those things. 

He didn't want to be afraid anymore. He had to stop being dramatic. It was something of little importance. 

Before Merlin, he had had no value anyway. Douxie was simply trying to avoid ruining everything and get back there. Get back to feeling empty and scared, needing to hurt or steal from others to survive. 

If he did, if Merlin got fed up with him and decided to throw him away like rotten food since he had done nothing for him, he was sure that he was going to regret it even more. 

He encouraged himself mentally, trying to relax. To let out his fear once and for all. Then he removed the sweat from his skin by sliding his hand on his pants pockets and hitting it against the wood twice. 

No voice jumped up to tell him to come in. Nor to ask who he was. 

Silence reigned, heavy, weighing on him like a boulder while he stood there waiting. 

After twenty seconds he was ready to try again, but the door opened out of the blue, revealing his Master's face. 

Merlin's eyes narrowed upon seeing him, making his heart pound already, so loud that he felt it in his temples. 

“Hisirdoux…” His voice was still cold and detached. It was resolutely severe in a heart-wrenching way. “I didn't call for you. Why are you here?”

“I…” he started, breathing in and out through his nose, closing his fists, which were trembling on his sides. “I want to… To p-pay for your services. As requested.”

His Master's eyes stared at him in silence again, his gaze almost becoming even more narrowed. The quiet long pause felt like torture. 

“Very well,” the old Sorcerer then said, opening the door further and letting him enter the room. 

Douxie felt the seconds slow down as he set foot inside again. He was desperately trying to remove the feeling of dread that kept being stuck in the center of his chest and that asked him to run away, telling him that he was being stupid. 

In response to that, he repeated mentally to himself that everything was fine. 

Because It was fine. It was okay. It was normal. This was only for the best. Just for the best.

‘No need to be afraid.’ He told himself for the umpteenth time, staring down at the floor again. His legs were shaking as if they were going to drop him. He glared at them both fiercely with all his accumulated frustration. 

He had to stop being such a coward. 

“Prove it to me, then,” his Master ordered after closing the door behind him. His ear barely heard the click of the lock, but he perfectly caught the sound of his steps getting near him. “I do not intend to waste any more time.”

A pang hit him straight in the stomach and he gulped, moving his head in a small yes. 

He moved, too, walking towards Merlin with careful steps, not wanting to slip. His legs were still trembling too much to advance faster or with more confidence. 

Hisirdoux was tense. Tense like a string of his lute. And he became even worse when the distance between them seemed to be almost totally removed. 

Even if he still wasn't touching him, he could perceive the warmth that he gave off. And the more he did, the more he felt like his mind was getting emptier. 

His Master wasn’t moving anymore. He was just piercing him with his eyes, waiting for him to do something. 

Nervousness wrenched his stomach under his stern look. Fear of making Merlin impatient unnerved him. 

He ended up gulping down his saliva again, holding his breath, and pushing on the tips of his toes to raise his height to get to him easier. His hands leaned on Merlin's chest as he did so, just placing them there to avoid falling. Then, feeling his heart rate unstable just as it had been three weeks before, he let his mouth collide with his Master's. 

It was just a peck. A nudge. It was a small simple thing, just lips brushing upon lips delicately. Nothing more, since he felt too unsure to do anything else. 

Maybe he should have, though, since when he detached himself, looking at the man straight in the eyes, Merlin didn't seem pleased with him. His gaze was quite annoyed, almost as if he had been wasting his time. 

“Is that all you're capable of doing?” He said, his tone unwavering in his still cold, rigid way, making his stomach drop. 

He denied, shaking his head quickly with slight panic and a flush painting his cheeks. Then he rushed to try again. 

This time it was different. He let himself try to imitate the way Merlin had kissed him all the weeks before, sucking a little on his lips, mostly on the lower one. He licked them and traced their corners, letting himself close his eyes. He felt his Master’s beard scratch his skin again while doing it. 

He almost slipped anyway, even if he was leaning on the older man. But before he could, he felt his hands getting on his ass, grabbing him just in time, avoiding making him tumble down, and then groping him. 

The gesture made him wince a little and hold his breath, but he told himself to keep going, to simply accept the whole fact. It felt weird, but first, he had helped him out, and second, it seemed to be what he wanted from him since his expression had changed, so… he had to let him do it. 

He wasn't going to be ungrateful again, no matter the feeling of discomfort that pooled in him. 

He forced himself to open his mouth when he felt the Sorcerer's tongue demand for further contact, charging between his lips. 

Douxie tried to respond to it a little. He tried to show his devotion and affection, to let him know that he was happy with his teachings, that he was appreciative of them, and of all the man did for him. 

Hisirdoux’s mouth still felt dirty, though. He still felt the saliva being too much in it, dropping out of it. And he still felt utterly overwhelmed by the voracity that Merlin kept showing him. 

He was frightened by how his Master was able to make him feel as if he still couldn't breathe while he kissed him lasciviously. He kept going and going, giving him no respite, flickering and moving his tongue so deeply in his mouth that he almost felt it near his throat, having him choke. 

Douxie's brain told him—even if only for a second—that he was going to die from lack of air. 

He whimpered in the kiss. He whimpered and trembled, gasping when the Sorcerer's left hand somehow got under his pants and braies, caressing his skin. His belt wasn't around his hips anymore. 

When the kiss finally ended, letting him get oxygen properly, everything felt cold, scary, and extremely unpleasant as he panted, his lungs still on fire. But he kept his mouth shut to avoid complaining. To avoid the probably shaken way his words would have come out. 

“Good boy,” Merlin's rough, breathy voice suddenly whispered in his ear, making him shiver and blush more at the unexpected praise. A small, pleasant hint of happiness bloomed in his chest.

It was working, he told himself. His Master didn't hate him anymore. And all of that, right now, wasn't that bad. He could take it. He could. It was fine. 

Gulping down a little, he felt the Sorcerer's right hand rising on his back, just above the middle of it. The other was still—skin to skin—on his ass and he could feel some of his fingers pressing on his hole from time to time, almost circling it. 

He felt them squeezing, releasing, and rubbing his cheeks in circular motions, making him shake. He felt them nudge at his entrance and at the same time stretching to get to his front parts. 

He desperately tried not to freeze when he felt them ghosting and teasing the lower side of his member. 

A small, weird spark of new sensation hit him as Merlin rubbed it circularly with two fingers and a choked moan came out from him. 

Douxie's heart, already fast, seemed to explode at that simple touch, reacting as a—just as weird and unexpected— need and deep embarrassment made their way into his being. 

He could feel his pulse racing with high intensity as more goosebumps hit his skin and as his body reacted by moving towards his Master's hand for further contact, out of control. 

Shame bursted in waves as he pressed himself forward, or tried to, only to have the man's fingers retract, returning entirely on his behind, straightening his posture in between. It made him feel aflame, his breath stuttering and the fear of having done something wrong twirling in him. 

“Patience,” Merlin said, returning to toying around with his skin, making him relax a little when he realized that he wasn't angry . No. He almost looked amused. “No need to rush.”

Hisirdoux saw him move a little before he kissed him again, but this time just under his chin. He left several kisses in a row, humming softly and slowly tracing a path while sliding down. This before stopping himself at the neck of his shirt, licking its entirety from there, and returning to his cheek. Douxie's legs shook more, barely holding him up together. 

He started feeling something hard pressing against him. But the feeling, unlike three weeks before, wasn't from behind anymore. It was against his stomach. 

There was no thrusting. No movement from it while the older man's left hand exited from his pants. He just felt it there and it was enough to perceive as if that same point was much more sensitive than it was supposed to be. 

He saw the bulge between Merlin's legs with the corner of his eyes, but then the men started kissing him on the mouth again, ravishing it sloppily and squeezing him tightly between his arms. 

His Master seemed to be insatiable and Hisirdoux could barely keep his rhythm. 

He couldn't help but question to himself how much time it was going to last. It seemed to never end. The time moved so slowly that it was painful. And the premise—the phrase that his Master had said—only whispered a promise of making it an even more long torture. 

Small sounds kept running between Douxie's lips, feeling them slip. Feeling them roll out from his tongue in an utterly indecent manner that made him ashamed just by hearing them. 

A bigger one—a shocked, confused noise—came out instead when Merlin suddenly lifted him in the air.

Before he even realized it, he found himself being thrown in his Master's bed, almost bouncing on it for how soft it was. And then he was pinned down, the man that was weighing on him as he seemed to get more and more into it, his hands running on his body with a craving that he couldn't understand. 

Douxie felt Merlin start undressing him, the shirt being taken off terribly fast, dropping onto the floor. He felt him lower his pants and remove his braies completely, making them fall in the same way. 

The man left him sprawled naked on the covers and Hisirdoux’s entire face burned in embarrassment. 

The need to cover himself hit every single part of him. He wasn't able to do that, anyway, as the terror and need to fight back suddenly jumped in again and the dread of his decided fate fought against it, winning.

He had decided on it, Hisirdoux knew it. He had accepted his conditions. It was fine. It was fine, really, even though his stomach clenched and the need to cry started again. It… was. 

‘ It isn't,’ whispered one side of his brain. But he ignored it just the same. 

As his Master stilled, staring at him in his entirety in such a filthy way that had him swallowing hard, he barely breathed. He tried not to shake as his hands returned to his body—still extremely warm and big—caressing his hips, his stomach, his chest, and then moving down between his legs, spreading them open without a care in the world. 

“Gods,” he heard him mutter as his eyes kept eating him alive, looking enraptured and lustful. Want seemed to be almost oozing from his entire essence as his fingers ghosted on more of his skin.

“Look at you…” he licked his lips. “Almost begging for it.”

Hisirdoux felt his face burn even more. And not only that. Every point where his Master's fingertips were touching him felt like it had been set on fire. 

Merlin’s Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he kept staring and caressing him. Douxie tried to push away the return of his uneasiness, especially at seeing him starting to unfasten his pants after a few moments. 

His Master’s gaze moved on him as if he didn't know where to start. As if he wanted everything immediately, but at the same time, he was fighting the instinct to be able to savor it more. To slow it down. To keep the pace that he had had before. 

Hisirdoux's eyes, instead, couldn't help but fall there, eventually, another shiver tracing his skin and his breath coming short all over again. 

It was big. Too big for him , for sure. Just looking at it made him feel more nervous than ever, his heart bouncing. His chest started to hurt as his breath became even faster and the terrified part of him—mixed with regret that he had tried to mute, to silence until it was just a feeling in the background—had him shake more on the spot. 

“M-Master…” he murmured, his voice little and choked as the need to curl up on himself—or directly to wake up, which seemed such a beautiful idea to his mind, such a wonderful option—rose higher and higher as the man charged at him again. 

He was everywhere around him. Fingers, palms, nails, arms, his heavy chest and legs, his beard, his hair, his… thing…

Yes. Truly everywhere. And where he wasn't, the mattress had him trapped. 

‘I’m scared,’ he wanted to say. His lower lip trembled in desire to speak, but he just shushed himself up. He bit it as hard as he could since the mental image of the man's disappointment flashed in his head, making his eyes tear up as he gulped down several times. 

Merlin’s mouth went on his chest after a fast evaluation. His tongue wrapped itself on one of his nipples as he started grinding on him once again, mostly moving against his right leg. His heavy, hot breath—getting on his skin irregularly—returned to feel extremely suffocating. 

His Master then moved down, down, and down, leaving a wet trail on his way, stopping the whole rubbing out of sudden. 

He took his time tasting him, just like he had done before, making Douxie tense and moan. But still, nothing prepared him for what came next. 

He felt his mouth engulf him there entirely and his air seemed to be kicked out of his lungs. 

His mind became surrounded by sensations. It was warm. It was wet. It was weird. 

Merlin didn't even need to move his head. He just licked, pressed his tongue, sucked on his skin, lapping on it with liquid, slurping noises. He grabbed his legs to get more access and just kept going, kept teasing everywhere, making him squirm under him,

Douxie's voice became suddenly high-pitched as desperate, choked whimpers erupted from his lips. 

He had never felt anything like that before. He was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to have felt it before. And he wasn't sure he liked feeling it right now, either. There was a tension in him that was building up and it was terrifying. 

He felt like he couldn't control himself anymore as he trembled and curved, his spine hurting because of his position. He felt like he wanted to cry because in a way everything was too much. It was too overwhelming, too explosive, too extreme… and his brain could not fully grasp it, nor understand why the rest of him reacted like it wanted it . 

He wanted it to stop, but he didn't. He wanted to just end this, but he was edging towards something and he weirdly yearned for whatever it was. 

He could hear himself cry out as incomplete words were slipping from his mouth with how his Master's head bobbed up and down suddenly, changing the position of his neck.

The sounds that came out of him didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. Even less the way he spasmed, his body buckling up as he convulsed and jerked as new sparks made him whine and he almost begged for his Master to keep going. 

His pulse drummed against his temples as sweat drenched him and drool crept up on the corner of his lips as his mouth couldn't close properly. 

He barely felt Merlin's fingers getting past his lips. He surely didn't see them coming as his eyes had closed up once again between his relentless shaking and whimpering. But he surely felt them rimming inside it, even though the way he did feel it was so much less strong than how he sensed him almost eating him up. 

Tears were tracking his cheeks, but he couldn't perceive them at all, just like the beard on his skin. He just felt his mouth on him and shook because of it. 

And then a feeling started to pool in him. He felt like he needed to pee, urgently. As if he was going to explode. But he couldn't speak. He couldn't warn his Master about it. His mouth wasn't working as it was supposed to. It just moaned and wheezed even in a more embarrassing way. 

At the same time that all the sensation was rising, wanting to be released, he didn't even realize that the fingers had left his mouth and were instead probing at his entrance again. He only felt them sliding in and moving a little but without any kind of discomfort. 

One more lapping, two, three. His Master tongue twirled on him one last time before the pleasure exploded. 

His mind blanked out completely as a loud cry twisted its way out of him. He didn't even realize that he was letting it out. He just heard a voice lamenting as ecstasy had him pulse and leak out, reversing himself in Merlin's mouth. 

Bliss clouded his vision as he still twitched and spasmed, his breath coming in short pants. His hands let out the covers that he even hadn't realized he was holding, very near to breaking the fabric. Still, the elation didn't cloud his brain enough to not make him feel his Master kissing him again sloppily, repeating praises under his breath between one kiss and another as he took his fingers out. 

“You're being so good to me.” He heard him say with a breathless tone, making him shiver once again. Another hint of happiness warmed his chest. 

Merlin seemed pleased. He seemed very pleased, in a way that he had never seen him be. And Douxie felt like finally, yes, finally he had done something right. 

A small part of him—the one that was still capable of small thoughts—hoped that maybe it was enough. That everything was over. 

The wish grabbed him from head to toe and had him open his mouth—having to put effort into it to get results—wanting to ask if he had permission to get back to his room, now. But he didn't make it in time. 

Merlin's hardness slammed inside his entrance with a single impetuous movement. How he felt like he was almost floating didn't cover in the slightest the excruciating agony that it brought him. 

The sharp pain was so strong that he couldn't stop himself from screaming, his voice being shut down by the older man's mouth—The taste of it was suddenly weird, weirder than before. 

It was so painful. Every single detail of it. It felt like being split open in two as if he was breaking from the inside, getting torn apart every second a little more.

It was as if everything inside him was burning. As if someone grabbed an unfinished—still extremely hot by the flames—sword and shoved it inside him.

His Master hissed and muttered something that he couldn't understand. He just felt the torment. He had never felt such a strong amount of torment before. 

Hisirdoux sobbed, his eyes burning just like his insides, which seemed to be twisting around themselves, throbbing and rejecting the invasion. 

“I-it hurts,” he whimpered, spasming and struggling to get air that felt like it was staying in his lungs instead of dissipating from them. His breath was shaky, made of short insistent gasps, quick and sharp. 

The man above him shushed him once again, kissing him like everything was perfectly fine . Like the torture he felt was just a little ache that he could just pass over. 

“You're going to like it,” he said, almost in a promise. His voice sounded rough and a little impatient. 

He fixed his position inside him, adding pressure and more pain by pushing his hardness even deeper, making some kind of contented noise as he fully buried himself in him. The total opposite of the pained screech that erupted again from Douxie. 

Merlin was filling him so much that it was like being impaled. He could feel him stretching him and just touching more and more places inside him, but at the same time he could feel him poke at his skin like he was going to exit him from there. 

“You want to make me proud, don't you?” His Master's husky voice questioned, returning to leave another kiss just under his jugular.

Hisirdoux whined. And sobbed again, more of his tears spilling on his cheeks, trailing their way down to his neck. He still tried to nod as an answer, though, failing miserably. His body still wasn't responding to him like it should have. 

He wasn't obligated to answer since his Master didn't wait much before moving out a little and entering again. The excruciating wave of pain had him feel aflame just as it did before and more cries rolled out of Hisirdoux’s throat, still silenced by the man's tongue plunging back into it voraciously. 

Merlin pushed, pulled, and pushed agonizingly inside him, letting groans and huffs slide out while he thrust in without second thoughts. His movements, after a bit, started to get a rhythm. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin and wet squelching noises echoed in Hisirdoux’s ears. He could hear them clearly between his intakes of air, the ones of his Master and the man's grunting, making his stomach roll. 

He felt Merlin's hands reaching for his head, taking away the hair tie and letting his dark locks fall freely on the mattress. He felt his fingers grasping some of them as he slammed brusquely in again and again. The bed trembled under them and hit the wall. 

Blood oozed out of him, warm, running down from his legs. The small red drops fell on his Master's bed, staining the pearl-colored covers. 

It went like that for a while.

He kept moving in and out. Paused a little and then in and out again, trying to get deeper and faster, hitting harder as he went. He kept penetrating him, becoming even more frantic. His length was hard and kept rubbing painfully in his inner sides.

It was just like a never-ending vicious cycle. 

There was so much anguish thriving in his veins that eventually he started to feel numb with it. He felt so overwhelmed that he started to shut down, little by little. Sense after sense. 

He simply remained there, still like a doll under the merciless treatment. He moaned, but it was like it wasn't him the one that was moaning. He felt the hardness hit something in him, but the pain was so excruciating that he couldn't feel it anymore. His brain stopped capturing it. 

He drifted into nothing, his eyes staring into the void as his Master's lewd sounds kept repeating in his ears. 

Chapter Text

He was smiling like nothing had happened. Laughing at what Nari said. Humming a melody while moving shopping bags and getting what his Familiar and the little demigoddess bought out of them. Rolling his eyes a few times while scratching Archie's neck and ears after his quick sarcastic quips. Hitting any kind of surface with his index and middle finger in a rhythm that only he knew, provoking different noises out of them that sounded like a proper unknown—kind of pretty, maybe popular—song. Listening and joining conversations easily with a cheery tone. 

He could almost pass as normal. Almost. But he wasn't. He would have, maybe, if he hadn't kept pacing around the place like a spinning top. 

He was acting as if stopping and sitting down would actually hurt him, some kind of attitude that he had showcased on other previous occasions, too, but… Never quite like this. 

Even after finishing bringing the purchases where they were supposed to be, he didn't stop impulsively lunging from one point to another. He really didn't. 

He was restless and frantic. Every single movement of his was abrupt, and unexpectedly fast, often leaving them startled or tired just by looking at him. He was tense and stubbornly adamant to proceed in the same way for every little thing, even when they were trying to have him to still, sit down and breathe. Even when he almost slipped while doing it. 

Nari needed a brush to fix her braid? He would get it for her, fast as lightning. He would even help her with it. 

Someone was thirsty and ready to get water? He would stop them and get it in their place, asking if someone else wanted it, too. 

There was a need for a few pillows on the sofas? Same thing. In the blink of an eye, half of the soft surface was filled with round cushions. 

There was something that disturbed him? Like the need to have more clean air? But without having the window too open, since the wind was getting colder as the hours went on? He would fix it without thinking twice. 

Douxie kept walking, kept moving forward unsteadily. And he did more and more things, too.

He kept biting his lower lip. Kept rubbing his hands against his wrists nervously in between his actions and almost raising them near to his neck, only to shove back his palms down where they had been before. 

The constant, fast pacing was quite worrisome and… It wasn't a thing of his legs or arms only. His eyes did that, too. 

They betrayed him more than anything else. The sweet smile plastered on his face never reached them fully. He didn't look at anyone for more than five seconds, immediately gazing away as if he was getting burned, staring at whatever thing he could focus his attention on, looking slightly dazed at times. 

He glanced at all of them as if he was obligated to do that to seem normal. As if he had to fake a state of tranquility to not raise some kind of tension… or questions about his way of acting. 

His forced facade, though, wasn't working at all. Of course not. No, maybe it would have if they didn't know that that wasn't normal for him, no matter how much of a workaholic he could be. If they didn't know him enough, if he had been the same Douxie they had met when they were sixteen, maybe they would have believed him. 

But no, they knew him enough at this point, so he wasn't able to deceive them. 

He wasn't able to convince Jim, who still felt quite conflicted at the idea of poking more into whatever that was—not sure if they should or not respect his wishes. Maybe letting him ignore it until he was ready to talk about it was the best option. Or maybe, right now, the fake-it-till-you-make-it would only make it worse. He couldn't know. He couldn't be sure of it— and that, at the same time, wanted to be able to reach him, to make him feel better. To make him stop feeling like he needed to act in a similar way and just… let it out. Jim, especially, knew what keeping everything all in brought: just more pain. And the need to close themselves off. Which, really, wasn't what he needed. 

He wasn't able to convince Claire, whose guilt had only increased, mixed with the need to apologize to him for making him uncomfortable with her request, even though she couldn't understand why. His sudden agitation had been so bewildering as to develop a storm of thoughts in her head—mostly the same questions over and over again with their branches of arguments and Spanish curses towards Merlin, the hijo de puta, and whatever his shitty ass made Douxie do, directly or not —which wrecked her brain strongly before she decided to put pretty much everything aside to follow the present. And as she threw small fleeting looks at him, she also wanted to hug him. Really strongly. 

Douxie visibly wasn't convincing Nari or Archie, either. The little half-goddess looked slightly confused, very near to questioning things out loud, stopping herself in front of his agitation for whatever reason… while the dragon, in response to all of it, gazed piercingly first at his Wizard and then at Jim and Claire several times, his stare moving like a pinball between the three of them. 

When he looked at the latter, he simply gazed in silence. He did it with an expression that seemed to say that he wanted to have a private word with them—Whether Archibald was going to be very angry or simply curious, wanting to fix things, well, that wasn't clear. Maybe it was going to be both, in an upset-confused but calm kind of way. 

When he looked at Douxie, instead, Archibald seemed slightly anxious and worried, his tail moving a little. He, especially, had pushed to have the boy sit down, looking a bit more tense at every single indirect refusal. But he never became snappy. He was extremely patient. 

So, no, Hisirdoux wasn't deceiving any of them. 

His attempts at normalcy started to work even less when he stopped talking between his comings and goings, the slight moments of his distraction getting longer and longer, just like the agitation that began to rise and stretch even more inside the room. He still smiled at them, but it was so forced that it hurt. It hurt looking at it and it seemed to be extremely painful to wear. 

Half an hour before dinner, he ended up excusing himself and he disappeared for ‘a bathroom break’, leaving the room at a very fast pace . 

Archie, at the start, looked at him like he wasn't sure if he should believe him or not, wanting to follow him, but the dragon ended up letting him go on his own without saying a word. Then he stared at the two in front of him all over again. 

“So…” he started, his voice very low. And in a way, a little menacing. “What did you two do?”

*** 

He splashed some water on his face, then gripped the edges of the sink, his fingers becoming white from the strength of his grip, tingling a little with magic. 

He was shaking. He wanted to stop, but he couldn’t. No matter how much he tried to calm down, he was still shaking so hard that it was driving him insane. 

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to be like this. Not again. He was sure that he had gotten over it. Flashes of old memories rising to the surface shouldn't have had such a power over him. 

The way every single part of his legs felt numb when he was still; the way his hands were sweating and his heart was beating so hard that it felt like it was going to explode inside his chest; the way everything else in his body was trembling like a leaf in the wind, while he could still feel fingers grabbing him everywhere—Almost leaving light red prints sometimes, if not in most of the occasions—and nails scraping on his skin; the way he wanted to throw up… They weren't supposed to be there. Not anymore. Not-bloody-anymore. Dammit. 

They weren't. Not after so much time. It had been more than nine hundred years, for Mordrax's sake! And he wasn't even an Apprentice anymore. He was a Master. And as a Master, no one could have him do anything ! No one. Bloody no one. No. 

Not for any lack of attempts, though. Someone—humans and not humans alike—had tried. 

A man at a party had tried to trap him and have him inside a bathroom stall. He still remembered how he fully stank of alcohol and how he was grinning, his eyes dull and his cheeky cruel grin splitting his face. 

He had ended up with a bleeding broken nose and a kick in the balls—the whole situation had given Douxie a panic attack, later, but he had been able to hide, to get the fuzz out of there before it struck him. 

A woman—he barely remembered her, but he was still almost sure that she had short, curly dirty blonde hair and heavy makeup—had flirted with him in a bar, entering his personal space, even though he was pretty fuzzing convinced that he had shown only disinterest in her. All of this with some of his “past friends” asking him why he wasn’t enjoying himself and why he was acting as if he had a pole stuck in his arse. 

She had insisted so much that it had almost given him a headache, but when he had not budged, she had called him names, before stomping away, looking rather offended . And his so-called past friends had been laughing in the background, telling him that he was dumb. Telling him that maybe he didn't deserve her anyway. No, he regretted a lot of things in his life, but he didn't regret shutting them out of it, of that he was certain. After that period, after getting to another city, he had never talked or seen them again. 

The witch he had met in Cornwall had almost stolen a kiss from him, but he had stopped her before she could. 

She had looked a little disappointed, but she hadn't pushed for more, luckily. She had even apologized for misreading the situation… and that had made him feel guilty and sad, actually, without really knowing why. But the anxiety and the churning stomach had removed that sensation quickly.

One of Benoit's clients had tried to hit on him, had kept trying to attract his attention, to touch him somehow: a slap on his butt. A hand placed itself on his spine, caressing him and aiming lower. To get him somewhere , it didn't matter where, every time Douxie was serving people near his table. He made things fall on purpose, too.

But then, anger and frustration brought him to protest out loud and his boss had heard him. She had ended up seeing one of the many sick little sequences happen. She immediately called the dude out for harassment and said that she was going to call the police. Weirdly enough, she did it. Douxie had thanked her many times, but maybe not enough. 

There were a few more, too, in the same and the previous centuries, but he didn’t fully remember them all. A dude on a bicycle, another girl who really couldn't take no for an answer—was it seriously that hard?—and kept pestering him, a bastard who wanted to make him submit for his personal ego issues… yeah, the list wasn't short. 

In any case, each try had been blocked. And each try had him feeling a strong amount of alarm hitting him straight in the chest, making it a little harder to breathe. Making his thoughts go into the darkest side of his brain, only to kick them all away most of the time by keeping himself occupied. 

So, no. No one was gonna do anything to him anymore. Not unless he changed his mind in that regard. And he didn't. He absolutely didn't. 

Sometimes he thought that he could try to give it a shot. Date someone, fall in love, have a decent relationship in which he trusts them enough to get near to him like that, but he couldn't even imagine being truly able to do that. It felt wrong. It felt scary and nauseating. He wasn't ready. He probably would never be. 

But, oh Gods. Claire had asked him to become her Master. Just the thought made his empty stomach roll, the bile rising on his tongue, the need to cry and to curl into a ball sticking into his body like glue. 

He let out a shaky breath, gritting his teeth and slouching a little. His eyes fluttered open and closed immediately after. It happened several times, but no tears came out of them. 

The sickening desire to scream at her at the top of his lungs had raised its ugly head and roared fiercely at hearing her request that… and hell, no . That was wrong too. He hated it. 

Who in their bloody sane mind would have screamed like that for something that she wasn't truly guilty of, that she wasn't aware of, that she didn't even slightly expect? No one. But he had wanted to. Gods. Bloody hell. He truly had fuzzing wanted to. And he hated that even more. 

‘Claire doesn't know what she asked me,’ he reminded himself, just as he had done after such words, while a choked sob scraped its way out of his mouth, making him splash aggressively colder—freezing—water on his face. It was another one of the few ways he had to clear his mind, usually one of those that had the best result, but this time it was not bloody working. 

The only thing it was successful in doing, unfortunately, was to raise the tingling sensation in his hands. Not by much, but enough to add even more panic to the mix. The panic was feeding his magic even more, so it was like a loop that kept repeating itself, worsening his situation bit by bit, especially since he couldn't, he wouldn't get to the roots of its reasoning. Not without unleashing himself like a wild, hurt animal on everything or everyone he could find. 

He felt so much panic and his magic was near to being utterly out of his control. As if the anxiety and shame born by mental images, touches, and whispers that kept being felt—making him go still at first and then shake desperately while shivers were tracing his skin—weren’t bloody enough.

‘Claire wants to learn Magic, just like I have,’ he reminded himself once more, gulping and searching for air. Trying to reason and to get his Mana under control, even though truly thinking something with proper grammar and a logical sense was pretty fuzzing hard. ‘Magic is… It's such a marvelous experience. So… So of course she wants to keep practicing… And… And doesn't being a Master seem to be such an amazing thing?’ 

He almost laughed at the thought, but he let out a wounded sound instead. A little, sour, choked noise that got out of his throat by his own volition. 

His shoulder muscles kept clenching and unclenching painfully. And he kept trying to stop being such a mess, kept trying to calm down, but, hell—just like some of those nights, just like that day—his body and his emotions didn't respond to him as they should have done. 

‘Merlin made it look like that,’ his mind barely whispered, making him go tense and hold his breath again. 

‘I made it look like that, too...’ he thought, pursuing his lips in a tight line, almost tempted to bite them. And he struggled even more to try to stop his shaking while starting again to take oxygen in his lungs, stubborn enough to insist. 

He stared at his arms, then he raised his head, slowly, to look at his reflection in the mirror.  

He looked terrible. His face was all reddened. His eyes were just as red and a little glossed over by all the unshed tears that everything in him was refusing to let out. His—long again—hair was in utter disorder, dripping water and the rest of him was still trembling. It was a rather pathetic sight.

‘And Mastery really is an amazing thing, actually.’ 

He still enjoyed every single hint of his freedom. He still enjoyed the feeling of his Staff under his fingertips. He especially enjoyed not having the scars burning on his back every bloody time he did something Merlin didn't approve of and that went against one of the rules—Merlin had broken several of them during his nine hundred years nap. But of course, he had never felt any hint of that same pain. That had been an only-Apprentice-exclusive. That had been something for him and him alone, something to remind him not to screw up again—so, of course. Of course, Claire had asked him. She saw his child-like joy only. Not the rest of it. 

Claire had asked him, yes. But bloody hell she didn't know the rest of the story. Nobody knew. He had done everything in his power to avoid sharing the real meaning of the terms of his payment. With anyone. And no living person knew except him. 

‘The dead know,’ his mind whispered again.

He cursed out loud, moving his hands a little, fidgeting, trying to massage his skin. The sensation was still there. It was expanding slowly on his arms, spreading more and more, just like an oil stain. 

He eventually placed his palms first on his cheeks, pushing on the skin until it hurt, wanting to move away from the feeling of panic. He then got them into his hair. He didn't pull at any locks, noticing that replacing panic with pain wasn’t working—maybe because the panic was already a painful sensation inside him, wreaking havoc between his thoughts—so he just let them pass through them, trying to fix it a bit and to be reassured by the simple motion.

Relaxing seemed the right choice. The right emotion that he could fight the anxiety, the fear, the shame, and the need to cry his heart out with.

No results were achieved from it either, sadly. So he tried to return forming thoughts, but different, far away from that situation—far away from Claire, far away from Merlin, far away from his Magic, definitely the most far away from sexual activities as possible, from bloody unwanted touch and the rest of it—so that he could finally ground himself. 

‘The wall,’ he started, serious, staring at it with determination, even if he was still shaking hard. Still trying to breathe properly. ‘It’s white. White, like snow. White, like clouds. White, like paper.’

He liked the snow, clouds, and paper. He enjoyed reading while it was snowing, even though he often got distracted, staring at the snowflakes falling slowly and losing track of time. It was easier to read when it rained. 

He enjoyed the rain, too. He enjoyed walking under the rain, with no umbrella, no hood, and no jacket. Just him, his sweatshirt, and the water running down on him. 

It had rained the day after Morgana’s death. 

And Morgana had known. She had been aware of everything and more.

‘No. Delete that.’ he thought, gritting his teeth again, being barely capable of avoiding punching something in frustration. 

He shouldn’t have thought about her. She, too, wasn’t supposed to be in his head. 

She had been too much involved, and at the same time not enough. Not that she could have done much anyway. Not when Douxie had been already marked as Merlin’s property. Not when her position was already precarious with such a brother. Not when doing something against Merlin meant doing something against Arthur. 

She had been, too, in a way, a property of the man. Not that way, though. Not like him. 

As a past Apprentice, she had been able to be the only exception to that payment. This because she was the King’s Sister and because she hadn't been appetizing enough to his… For his—Not Master. Not Master! Not his Master! Not anymore!—... For Merlin's taste, as she had told him privately a few days from his first time when they had seen each other again.

She had even apologized again to him that day—with one of the most guilty expressions he had ever seen—for not having told him sooner. And… 

Hisirdoux slapped himself, then shook his head to clean it from new unwanted thoughts. 

He had to stop thinking about her. 

‘Something else. Find something else.’

He needed something else. Someone else, maybe. Another color, a smell, a song, a safe place, a safe person that had no connection anywhere near to the Middle Ages. 

In the bathroom, he could smell a Peony fragrance. Peonies were beautiful flowers. Mostly red, pink, and white.

Pink was Zoe’s favorite color. She especially liked how the fluorescent pink popped next to black leather clothes, but she always complained about the all-pink pastel outfits, saying that they screamed of fake innocence and Barbie films. Of Unicorns, rainbows, Cupcakes, and Cotton Candy.

Cupcakes were great—well, some of them, anyway—while Cotton Candy was far too sugary. It was extremely sticky, getting always attached to his hands, making him feel extremely dirty… 

Not as dirty as with cum sticking between his thighs, the scent of sex, of sweat, of Merlin covering him everywhere, to the point that to hide it from Archie he had to scrub and scrub and scrub some more until his skin was all red and sensitive and it hurt—But what didn't hurt? Even trying to walk was torture. No, even moving a leg of a bloody stupid inch was torture, flames licking his entrails—waiting til the soap's perfume was the only odor that was enveloping him. And then he had… He had covered every single mark on his body, too, to hide the evidence. Being always dressed from his neck to his feet had helped quite a lot. Having Magic that deleted scars and hickeys faster than it would happen to humans was even better. 

‘No! Delete that, too! Dammit!’

Frantically, he scraped his mind to find something else, anything else, clenching his hands and starting to shake again like he had before, if not even more. His chest was aching as his heartbeat kept running unsteadily. 

‘A safe space,’ he almost ordered himself. ‘Think about a safe space,’

That was a good choice. Right? It was safe, after all. 

He found the GDT store an amazing safe space, for a while, but then Merlin had got inside it—his magic everywhere, his presence making him agitated all over again—and then it had been burned to the ground by Bellroc. Marvelous. 

The karaoke had been a safe space, too. He, his band mates and Archie went there so many times, and the best fact was that it wasn't an only-karaoke. There was a bar, between all the karaoke rooms, with snacks—the junky junkies, a little tipsy Zoe had giggled during her birthday, once—and drinks. There was a room with the Arcade Game and the enormous Piano Tiles on the floor—on which they had played the Pirates of the Caribbean's Soundtrack at least twenty times—... And there was a photo booth, just near the bar. 

The entire place had two Sirens as part-timers who switched through the day to keep it open. One of the two, Lauren, often started to talk about her country and gave him free glasses of milk for Archie. Which neither he nor the Dragon refused. No one ever refused free food. Even if it was only a glass of milk. 

‘Archie would be disgusted if he was aware of what I have done, even though it was for food, a roof, and teachings’ his brain returned to supply, breaking through his mental images . 

‘He would feel so ashamed,’ it added, freezing him on the spot. ‘Just like everyone else.’ 

He couldn't help but almost totally agree with that thought, tightening his hands and clenching his jaw, breathing harshly through his nose. He was pretty sure that no one was going to talk to him ever again, to even search for him, if they knew.

‘…Or maybe not,’ he tried to think instead, a slight hope burning inside him. ‘Archie… Archie has been protecting me all his life, he wouldn’t stop for something like this, right? And Nari, Jim, and Claire would understand? Maybe? They are far too kind for something like that. They wouldn’t disappear just like that. They wouldn’t—’ 

But maybe there was even a limit to their kindness. Maybe them knowing everything would cross that line. 

He mentally screamed in frustration towards himself—towards his head that couldn't stop moving in bloody stupid circles—as it rose in waves, to the point that he felt it ooze off from him. He clenched his hands more around the edges of the sink, feeling the air lacking all over again. 

He tried to breathe. He really tried. He slapped himself too, once again, hoping to stop being in his damn apnea. And failed, the oxygen escaping his lungs even more. 

His magic vibrated, going on and on repeatedly, even stronger than before, only to harshly snap all at once as his mind supplied images of warm callous hands grabbing his hips, his legs trembling, his fingers tightening on the wood of the table as he felt him pushing from behind and … 

The white surface broke under his fingers with a loud crack that echoed in the entire bathroom, the magic splitting it apart in several pieces, some of it falling onto the floor. Seeing the destroyed ceramic made him widen his eyes and jolt.

Light blue sparks blasted from his shaking hands—raised in the air as if touching anything else would do more damage—like fireworks, buzzing, crackling, whooshing, and dancing in the air around him. They sounded discordant.

Trying to walk backward, he almost slipped on the floor, barely remaining on his feet for a whisker. 

He remained there, firm in place, but trembling, still trying with all his desperation to breathe. Then he grabbed his shirt and curled on himself a little. He bent on his knees and then carefully sat on the floor, hunching more and more as the seconds went on. 

He didn’t know how much he stayed there. It was as if he was dissolving, slowly. As if in all his fast breathing, his body was changing, destroying itself, too. He was getting paler, smaller, and thinner. Or was the world becoming bigger? 

The sudden sound of the opening of the door made him flinch, snapping him out of the sensation. Bright yellow irises had him inhaling a shaky breath that hitched a few times. 

His eyes started to burn even more. 

*** 

Archie often enjoyed reminding people that he had not only amazing sight and smell abilities but that he had a great memory, too. Sure, it had its few issues at times, but—more often than not—he was the one who remembered the smallest details. 

He especially reminisced about scenes or little, big things in specific days of his life through sensations that were still palpable, which often spiraled into something bigger. 

He recalled perfectly the smell of smoke and the warmth of the cave he was born in. The soft hair and the hard cold scales of his father, the way his eyes lightened up every time he said a pun, his voice rumbling deeply in his chest, the flopping and the whooshes of his wings. 

He easily thought back about the first time he left the cave, full of wonder and curiosity, the damp foliage wetting his paws as he strolled in the forest. He could still feel the strong emotions accompanying his first hunt, the way his prey felt under his teeth, squirming and letting out pitiful noises as Archie himself ran away from a bigger threat. The hunger and the need to escape as fast as he could. The satisfaction of getting back after it with a full stomach, the feeling of safety falling on him like a shadow… it was as if they were still there. 

The memory of truly leaving his home was pressed into the recesses of his brain. The excitement and the need for adventure had clashed with the fear and the homesickness that jumped up every time he only thought about trying, before, but in the end, he had done it. 

The days of flight were a bit more of a blur, the mildly warm breeze a constant of them as he only started flying when the sun was high and stopped when it was low on the horizon. He flew past fields and cities, lakes and rivers, always following his guts. 

He couldn’t forget how his guts and stomach had made him stop at a small city market. Couldn’t remove the hunger and the need to see, to take whatever he could find. Couldn't evade the image his mind supplied him with, still seeing the way a burly bald man had grabbed a small child by the neck of his ruined shirt, looking like he wanted to hurt him… only for the kid to find a way to bite him and kick him in the stomach before running away, wild shiny eyes, dark long hair and a stolen piece of bread in his little hands. He had disappeared in seconds, no matter how many people had tried to stop him.

Archibald still couldn’t delete how much he had felt drawn to him. He had felt a pull, something that had brought him to follow him quietly, finding him in an extremely well-hidden dirty little road nearby, only to have the child—bony, small, dehydrated, one second away from being swept off by the wind—share the food. Even though it was almost nothing, just a piece of bread, he hadn't thought twice before handing him a good chunk of it, asking him if he was hungry, too . The Dragon had been so bewildered, so astonished by the gesture. And responding to that kindness by stealing and sharing other food had felt natural. Just like breathing.  

Snuggling with him, covering him with his smell and vice versa, following him around, and protecting him as best as he could have felt natural, too.

He remembered his expression the first time he had talked to him, all wide eyes and dripping hair stuck to his face, his mouth parted out only to drop a high-pitched screeching sound before he fell on his butt with a loud splash, flailing legs and arms in a clumsy, messy way. 

He remembered the pure amazement of seeing him, not much later, use magic for the first time in front of him. And he could still feel the rage born by learning the mistreatment that that child—His. His. His child, his treasure. He had found him, his mind often had chanted, so he was his—had received because of it, instead of being treated as the gift he was. 

He could still rejoice in the feeling of the Soul Bond being created as if it had been yesterday. The warmth that had spread all over his body, tracing every single inch of it. The giddy feeling of the connection and of a new layer of strength that ignited in him, that had made him feel extremely alive. And by his treasure’s expression, gold and green shining like embers in a joy that he had never seen him wear clearly on his face—every time he had shown a bit of it, before, there had always been something like shame bursting in it, making the happiness waver. And making Archie seethe internally and almost spit sparks—without hindrance, he had felt that, too. That had been the confirmation that his choice had been the best he could take. 

He recalled how, with it, with the new deep root attaching them, his protectiveness—and kind of possessive tendencies—had raised even more. No one could harm his Wizard and get away with it. No one. And apparently, the same way of acting was developed on the opposite end, too. And they got better at stealing because of it, almost as a way to protect each other. Got better at interacting, mimicking unknown merchants and jesters to trick people. 

He remembered how, when it rained, they spent nights sneaking into taverns to sleep without paying for a room, choosing one of the smallest, most irrelevant ones that had the nearest exit. Or a big window to run their asses off if needed, but more often than not, well, it didn't have a proper bed . They often ended up opening their main door a little, just a slit, to listen both to stories and to their talks, to be sure that they weren't involved in those conversations. 

Both of them almost being captured— almost dying—a few times were some of the worst memories he had of those times. They were just before they stole their cart. And a bit before ending up in Camelot's castle. 

And about the castle, ha! He did not forget about the things there, either. It was hard to do the opposite. Wouldn't have happened even if he tried. 

He remembered the first days, rage flaring often, just like the alarm and the need to bite someone's exposed throat. He despised the way the knights and servants looked at them. He despised them deeply. A bunch of scumbags to add to the list. Not like his treasure's father—which had the first place of honor in there and that was lucky to be already more than dead—but still too much. 

And he could focus easily on how his feelings only slightly changed, seeing how his Wizard seemed to be happier, to thrive under Merlin's attention. Under his praise he seemed to shine a little more, to return easier to that child-like joy that often evaded him—His gaze darkening as if it was lacking life, his mouth closing in a thin, strict line as he shook a little. He didn't cry often, only when he was extremely distraught . He just fell into an awkward silence in which Archibald could only try to give as much support as he could offer. It worked well enough. But not always. 

So, yes. It seemed a good—great, even—thing. Even though Merlin Ambrosius had always felt like a combination of good feelings and… not counting the vain, offensive strike, something that he disliked, but that he hadn't ever been able to put his nose on.

The old Sorcerer had always felt like a way to have Douxie get stronger, safer, and more protected, but something felt off about the man to him. No matter how much time had passed, that feeling had not truly disappeared. No, it stuck around like a persistent flea. 

Archie still ended up thinking most of the time that… Maybe it was his overprotectiveness and his possessiveness speaking—Douxie was his, he didn't care that the contract said otherwise—so he tried to not think too much about it, he truly tried to ignore it. But… 

There were days. 

Days in which his Wizard seemed to shut down even more and no matter his attempts, he barely reacted.

Days in which he overworked himself to the point that he risked slipping and hurting himself more often than not. Hence, Archie encountered Douxie at the end of the day limping and trying to hide it, pained expressions etching themselves on his face. 

Days in which he would look at Merlin Ambrosius and have nothing but fear tracing his eyes, even if only for a few seconds, body rigid like cold stone. 

And Archie just… He just wanted to tell Douxie to run away from Camelot once and for all. Run away and ignore contracts, ignore Mastery Over Life, ignore Merlin himself. Just run, return to their previous life, but better prepared this time. Knowing that they could do better. They had enough knowledge to find a new place to live. A better one. 

In the end, they did leave. They did abandon the Castle. Momentarily—And wasn't it funny that they were in the Castle again, now? Even though a flying, renewed, very different version of it with all the additions that they made to it and… fortunately lacking Merlin himself. Merlin not being there made it feel better, but he wasn't sure how much. Sometimes he looked around and still felt like there was his ghost around here. Sometimes he looked at Douxie when he passed in front of the closed door of his Studio and he almost looked white as a sheet. 

They did leave, but not because of Archie's request, which remained lodged in his throat because, just as there were those bad days, there were others in which he could see how much Douxie was attached to Merlin. How much he wanted his affection and how the man—mean or not, weirdly upsetting or not—gave it to him. 

So, no, when they left, they did not leave because of Archie's request.

And after doing so… that way of acting, that way of straining himself to exhaustion—even though he learned to get hurt less when he did… or hide it better—that way of looking scared and dazed, lost in something that Archie could not understand, that he could not fight for him, never truly left. But at least it lessened a little. 

Now, seeing him starting to act the same way again, with the same intensity, not listening to him, not looking at him… had felt like a kick in his guts. And a barely concealed rage at himself, at whoever similarly had Douxie relapse, burst inside him like a flooded river. 

He was on friendly terms with Jim and Claire. He was fond of them. They, contrary to Merlin, did not have a “something” that felt like a toxic, negative edge. 

They felt like someone who cared. Truly cared. No silent treatments, no sudden bursts of rage, no real trash-talking, no narcissistic behaviors. And they, more often than not, had his Wizard smiling, openly laughing—big belly laugh, not only small chuckles or snorts—and talking like he had rarely seen him doing properly, eyes shining. Archie had not seen that happen with someone who wasn't him or with some people—very few—that he had known for centuries. And it had taken centuries there to make him act that way, with those few people.

Not with Claire and Jim, though. It took them much less to crack that shell. 

So, since it was them, softening the storm that was rising in his chest wasn't that hard, but still a good amount of fury was there. It was because the whole deal of “no one could harm his Wizard and get away with it” was still very, very there. With the “no one” line that got bigger and bigger between centuries. 

And because it was, once Douxie left the room for a bathroom break—which he doubted was a bathroom break, but if he needed time to clear his head why should he have called him out for it?—he couldn't stop himself. 

“So…” he started, his voice very, very low. He was scary enough to have both Jim's and Claire's eyes go a little wide, one moving a little where she was sitting, the other becoming incredibly still. And he had to remind himself to keep a hold on himself, no matter how much he wanted to growl, too. “What did you two do?”

“I…” Claire cleared her throat, twitching nervously on the sofa. She stayed silent for a couple of seconds. 

 “It's my fault.” 

“No, it's not.” Jim shot back immediately after. 

“Yes, it is, Jim.” She snapped, looking back at him. “If I hadn't insisted, this wouldn't have happened!”

“Insisted?” Archibald inquired before Jim could respond with something else, adding length to the discussion and making it hard to have a whole picture. 

“I asked him if I could become his Apprentice...” she stiffly announced, and then paused, looking at him almost as if she was waiting for an immediate reaction, which he didn't give her. Except for a small tail wagging, but that didn't count much. “He said no. So, yes, I… I insisted, but he didn't change his mind. So…”

“We both wanted to ask him why. If you hadn't, I would have.” Jim said seriously, but Claire kept looking both anxious and guilty. The boy grabbed her hand, making her look at him again.

They shared glance and he whispered a single “Alright?” in her direction. 

She tried to nod, but a frown still traced her face's features. She didn't believe him. 

“He was explaining it,” she uttered, moving a lock of hair behind her ear. “He was telling us about rules and payments that Apprentices have to do.”

“And when we asked him, well… When we asked him what he paid, since he said that Merlin didn't want money, he stopped talking. He seemed…'' It was Jim's turn to stay silent for a bit, frowning even harder than Claire, as she tightened her lips, gulped, and blinked several times in a row. “He reacted, but it was like he was panicking… And then he asked us not to question him about it.”

“Then you two got here,” the young Witch finished, staring at him again. She then took a big, deep breath and suddenly started to talk faster. Much faster than how they both had talked before. “I am truly sorry for what happened. I didn’t want to trigger him or something, I just wanted…”

“Claire…” Jim tried again, but she shook her head this time and just kept talking. 

“I-I thought that asking him was gonna make him happy, too, or maybe a bit self-conscious and embarrassed, okay, but not like this. I…”

She looked rather distressed, almost at a loss of words for an instant, enough to fully delete all his rage in one fell swoop. It had already started to dilute during the whole conversation, but now it was truly gone, disappearing like smoke in the wind.

“I am sorry, Archie, really,” she insisted, eyes almost wet. “I swear I didn't mean to. And I want to fix it, I want to help out, but I'm afraid that if I try to, I will end up making it worse or something like that and…”

“Claire,” he interrupted her, jumping on the table, and getting near both of them. To her, mostly. He heard her sniff. “Try to calm down a little,” he asserted quietly. “Look at me, please.”

She did, going back to her fast blinking.  

“I'm not upset at you. At either of you,” he said. He threw a look at Jim just to be sure and saw how his face had saddened visibly, his free hand closed in a fist. “I doubt that Douxie would be, too, if he had enough of a mind to not go haywire right now.” 

Claire opened her mouth as if she wanted to rebut with something, but then she closed it. She took a breath in and threw it out, looking still a little tense, but less than before. And she stopped twitching in place, stopped blinking rapidly, only raising a hand to pet him nervously between his ears, the other one giving a squeeze to Jim's. 

“You both didn't know,” he added, accepting her pets. “You couldn't expect something like that and you didn't mean anything bad with it. So, no, it's not your fault. Of any of you.”

“Okay…” they both whispered at the same time. Claire chewed her lips a bit, still seeming to feel guilty, but a little less. Jim searched for his gaze before an utterly lost expression took place on his face. 

“Why did he react like that?” he questioned. “Is it… I don't know. Is there a magical price or something? Like selling a piece of your soul?”

“That is Demons’ stuff, not Wizard ones,” he commented, sniffing. “And the nearest thing is Animamancy, but it is still not the same thing.”

“There is no such thing in Apprenticeship rules, no.” Nari suddenly intervened, expression weirdly empty. She got up and started to stare at the stairs that Douxie had taken before disappearing, her head high. “Wizards have to pay with services. With what the Master asks for. That is what the Ancient Rules say.”

“But like… With every kind of thing they may ask for?” Jim raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes.” Archie asserted calmly. “They order a service and the Apprentice has to deliver. Whatever it is. And without questions asked.”

‘Even though not asking questions has never been Douxie's forte.’

“But like, everything everything.”

“That is what I said.”

“So… if a Master requests an Apprentice to… To murder someone, they would be obligated to murder that someone?” Claire questioned, a little bewildered. “Just like that?”

Nari tilted her head a bit before simply making a yes motion and both of the two that were sitting raised their eyebrows, almost showing the same shocked expression. 

“That doesn't feel right. At all.” Jim muttered. Distaste was written all over his face. 

“It is for a payment, still,” Archie said. “And anyway, the requests were usually just about cleaning and bringing things around. Housework, whichever hour they were asked for.” 

“It was to avoid betrayals, too,” the little demigoddess added. “Master and Apprentices form strong bonds during the teachings.” She paused, still that weirdly empty look that went to cover her face. “But as it is possible to have it that way, harming Masters to have their goods was also very possible. And so the contract, in every detail of it, was created.”

“Yeah, okay, but it still doesn't feel like it's right… Archie did say that they mostly shouldn't question what they do, even if it's only housework.” Claire uttered. “It's like they can't say no.”

“They can.” The demigoddess moved from where she was standing, sitting down as well. “But worse is the refusal, worse are the consequences.”

A worried, confused “What do you mean?” and a squeaky, almost scared “What consequences?” raised in a chorus.

“They'll feel pain. If the Master wants them to, of course, for whatever bad action they did,” he answered darkly, sniffing again and fixing his glasses with his paw. 

Horrified expressions crossed Jim and Claire's faces, while they both stared first at Nari and then at him. 

“What the hell?” Jim snapped, skipping straight through different emotions at a fast pace and landing on red-hot, steaming anger. “That is even worse!”

“Never said that that was a good thing to begin with,” he pointed out and it was his turn to pause. “But it truly was their way of protecting themselves during teachings... And for teachings like that? There is a lot of risk. A lot of work in them. Pretty much everything you could ask for is given to you. It was and it is still a rarity between Wizards.” Archie said. “Giving pain to an Apprentice was very uncommon, even if it was a possibility. It was there as a safe, a security belt. Not as an ability that they should abuse.”

And that was enough to make the two of them calm down a little, even though they still looked upset. Still looked like they both wanted to hit something. 

Silence stretched for several seconds, not particularly heavy but enough to have Claire chewing her lower lip even more and Jim returning to frown, worried looks passing through their gaze as they glanced at one another. 

“So why… Why did he react like that?” Claire inquired, her voice soft and small. Anxious. “What happened? What did Merlin ask him to make Douxie react like that?”

And there, exactly there, was the main problem.

Because, yes. Archie had a great memory, one of the best ones, but he didn't know. Didn't remember the causes, the events that may have hurt him that badly except the amount of toxic nonsense that Merlin spread while talking sometimes. He just saw the drastic effect that they brought. 

He knew that there had been good days and bad days. He was perfectly aware of that. 

He knew that in his worst days, the fear would almost always be there, and more often than not it would be strong enough to have him jump at the smallest sounds or interactions. 

He knew that there were nights in which Douxie stared at the wall, curling on himself and no amount of nudging, no amount of affection would help to fix it. Nothing would stop his sudden shaking and shallow breathing. The distress he radiated was disconcerting, but it was even worse how tried to cover it for whatever reason. How he would not admit feeling like that. 

And if he questioned, if he tried to understand, Hisirdoux would smile, he would try to change arguments or say something that felt like only half true. Like the fact that he was just tired. Like the fact that there were too many knights and servants in the corridor, all staring and, under protection or not, it still reminded him of the streets.

There was a piece of puzzle that Archie was pretty sure he was missing and he still couldn't find it. It felt like Douxie himself didn't want him to find it. And every time it happened, every time he acted like everything was fine, there was something similar to despair hitting inside of him in full force. It felt like torture, in a way. 

‘I don't know,’ Archie couldn't help but think, then, while receiving Jim’s confused stare and Claire's worried one. 

And he wanted to say that out loud, but at the same time, he didn't want to. Because that… That would make it all more real. It would feel real and in a way hopeless, because he wanted his treasure to tell him whatever was wrong… but he did not and that felt like a disconnection. It was something that undeniably stung because it felt like a lack of trust, strong enough to not let him open up to him. 

He didn't have the option to choose to answer out loud or not, though. A big crashing sound had all his attention, instead, making him go on full alert. 

And he started flying out of the room instinctively even before anyone could say anything. Not even a single sentence was said. If it was uttered later, he wasn't there for it. 

He just kept flying towards the direction the sound came from, the nearest bathroom, the worried feeling gnawing at him, making him speed up. 

And once he got in front of it, Douxie's smell confirmed he was inside. So he just went down and opened the door by pushing hard against it and biting the handle. 

He found him sitting on the floor. 

His hair was a wet mess, his eyes extremely red and glassy, traversed by indigo which flashed inside his pupils like an almost dead bulb. His skin was similar to a cherry on his cheeks and his hands were gripping on his shirt as if his life depended on it, some fingers showing a slight blue tint. 

Douxie's breath, upon seeing him, hitched several times in a row. 

He looked destroyed. Like he wanted to burst into tears with every single inch of his being, but at the same time it was as if he had unlearned how to do it. That was enough to have Archie sense a feeling that was easily comparable to someone stabbing him right in his chest. 

He stayed still for a moment, then cautiously, step after step, he got near him. He refused to do that by flying. Haste wouldn't have helped out in any way.

He got near him until he was in front of Douxie. Just a few empty spaces were between them. And then he sat. He sat there, just like his Wizard was, looking at him and waiting a bit, hoping that he would talk, even if only a little. 

Luckily, Douxie did, even if it happened after a while. But Archie was fine with it. He would have waited even if it took a whole day or two. He had nowhere else to be. He didn't want to be anywhere else. No one was more important than his Wizard and even if the world had been ending right there and then, he couldn't have cared less. 

“...I broke the sink.” Hisirdoux declared, his voice sounding hoarse, ashamed and guilty like a child that had just admitted one of their worst crimes—like almost killing a man. Like risking death to steal a woman's dress just because it looked like one of his mom's favorites. 

Archie didn't let his gaze fall on the named object, not even for a second. He didn't care about the world, right now. Couldn't care less about the sink, either, not even in the case that it was losing water, making wet puddles everywhere on the floor. 

“Okay,” he simply spoke, not moving in the slightest from where he was. “We'll fix it later.”

And the silence returned, with an emptiness, with a quiet nothing that was extremely loud. 

Douxie's lips trembled again as his eyes returned to fix themselves on the floor, hands fidgeting with his skull necklace. 

“I didn't mean to.” 

“I know.”

He seemed to want to say something else and looked like he was going to, but he—willingly or unwillingly—kept holding his words back. Which was like another sword that seemed to pierce through Archie, pain exploding all over and he almost felt like he was bleeding internally. 

“Doux…” he barely called him, trying not to choke on his voice, to not show how much suffering that simple sight made him feel. Douxie raised his head like it was a death sentence, which just worsened it all, making him want to let out an awful sound of grief. “Talk to me.”

‘I just want to help you.’

He didn't respond for a few seconds. “There is nothing to talk about.” He then uttered slowly, struggling to swallow, his gaze avoiding him. 

“That's a lie” he asserted. It sounded so much more like a lament than a simple statement, but Archie ignored that little detail. 

“I'm not—”

“Yes, you are, and we both know it,” he shot back, his no-bullshit tone back on, before growling a little and returning to soften it as much as he could. “Please. Please just talk to me.”

“But there is… There is nothing to talk about!” Douxie snapped, raising his voice and shaking intermittently. “I'm fine, okay? I… I am just a little tired. I was just trying to do a stupid trick with Magic and broke the sink. Then I slipped because I'm honestly stupidly clumsy… But I'm fine. Sleep it out will probably help…”

Archie’s heart sank. It sank, and sank, and sank some more. It was painful. It was so painful and he just wanted to help but he wouldn't let him. Why wouldn’t he let him?

Did he ever do something to make him think that he couldn't share his true feelings with him anymore? That he didn't want to listen to them? 

Or did Merlin simply imply something like that when he wasn't around? Did he poison him with that kind of thought? 

… Was it something else? 

Gods, he should have fought for the entire truth so much earlier. He shouldn't have avoided the worst conflicts. Maybe annoying the hell out of him until he talked would have made it all easier right now. 

Or maybe he would have kept lying. Maybe he would have kept finding ways to avoid sharing and hiding things. 

“Please, stop lying to me,” he said, frustrated, his pain seeping through the words; the blood of the internal, emotional wound slowly coming out. 

“Arch, I'm fine, seriously!”

“You are not! Stop pretending!” a snarl clawed its way through his mouth while talking. “You're not fine. That is not being fine.”

“ It is! If it's about me breaking the sink, I already told you…”

“I don’t bloody care about the stupid sink!” he roared. “What I care about is that you are hurt. That you are faking that you aren't. You are pretending that every single thing is alright because you don't even dare to open up with me anymore! Because that's what you are doing. That's what you keep doing and it's not right, Doux.”

“I am not…” he barely started, his voice sounding hoarse and desperate, cracking between one word and another. But he didn't let him talk. He didn't let him lie again. He refused to. 

“It's not right,” he repeated. “It's not right for me. Nor for Claire.” Douxie inhaled sharply at her name. “Or for Jim. Or Nari. But especially not right for you!”

Archie forced himself to breathe. To return to a lower voice and stop screaming, even though shouting, trying to have him hear some sense through them, felt so much easier. 

But that. That had been Merlin's method. He had been screaming at him too often. He had hurt him like that, too. 

The pain of not following orders was more palpable, but the one from his harsh words was much more intense. It got to places where it should have never gone. 

“I know it hurts,” he said, looking at him right in his eyes, seeing how he wanted to escape from them, how they looked even more lost and glassy. “I don't know what you are hurting from, and why you want to hide it from me so badly, but I know that it hurts,” he stated. And paused. 

The silence Douxie had fallen in felt almost deafening. 

“...I just want to make you feel alright,” he admitted, ears and tail low, low just like how the words sounded. “I don't want you to be hurt and it's torture to see you in pain, but it's worse if you don't let it out. It's so much worse because you're harming yourself.” 

He stared at him and Douxie stared back, his eyes still glossed, refusing to cry, just like he desperately, stubbornly still seemed to be trying to find an excuse. But he wasn't able to come up with any and that was distressing him even more, making him shake in place. 

“Please let me help you.” He begged as he got even nearer to him. “Please.”

“Archie...”

“Please,” he whispered, leaning on his chest and nuzzling his head on it, mostly where Douxie's Soul Bond was traced. He did it out of fondness and in search of comfort, for the both of them, just like he had always done since it was created, golden shiny ink flaring upon pale fragile skin. “Don't shut me out anymore.”

After a few moments—of searching for something to say and not finding anything, of seconds in which Douxie just kept shaking, of seconds where Archie just wanted to weep because it's not working, it's not working, it's not working—something eventually snapped. 

“I'm sorry.” Douxie mewled out, his voice coming out extremely small, his arms moving to surround him in a sudden, quick movement. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I’m… I’m so sorry.”

‘Oh, Doux…’

*** 

They arrived just like that. They found them arguing and, shortly after, they had hidden against the cold walls near the open door of the bathroom.

They remained there for a few seconds, Jim and Claire sharing glances with silent questions in them, being indecisive in whether they should stay there and listen or just leave, letting them discuss, and then, eventually, if they wanted to share, they would be there. Nari instead looked at the door, a small sigh slipping by her mouth. 

It took Douxie’s voice cracking, extremely changing pitch between spewed apologies—apologies which seemed to be the only thing that he was able to say at the moment and that sounded so desperate, so distressed, so painful to listen to…—that all the three of them ended up leaving for real. No matter how much they wanted to help, it wasn't something that they could do right now.

Hisirdoux needed his Familiar and his Familiar only. He didn’t need to be surrounded by all of them, staring, listening, and waiting, even if they only wanted to give some comfort. He would not have opened up, in that case. He would only have put a mask back on, ruining all the work, all the prodding that Archie had done before. 

If they tried to get beyond that door, the action would bring the situation back to the start. 

So, Jim, Nari, and Claire left silently, walking down the corridor and then to cover the many staircases. 

They didn't speak for several minutes. They waited to get back to the room they had been in before, but even then they didn't know what to say. 

Tiny repeated “sorry” kept playing inside Jim’s mind like a broken record, making him feel the sorrow roll in his chest and a forceful—quickly getting more and more intense—heartache just by remembering them. 

Everything was mixed, though, with a bit of irritation toward Merlin—Honestly, fuck him. He had already been on thin, thin ice before. This, whatever it was, surely took the cake. The only regret that Jim had in his regard was that he had been listening to him at first when he had met him. And that he hadn't punched him in the face, too. He surely wanted to. 

Claire didn't feel anything different about that—other than the guilt that she had had even before and that wasn't leaving her, not more than how it had already done during Archie's short speech to them—her expression saying something about it. Seemed to scream in its regard.

Nari's face still looked mostly empty, but a deep sadness was showing under it all, under her light yellow ancient eyes, her hands passing through her arms flowered, foliaged skin, new sighs coming out of her as if she kept inhaling, holding her breath and only a bit after letting it out. 

Jim, after a bit in which he only sat on the sofa, gaze getting on his clenched hands, couldn’t help but shake his head, staring at the table for a moment, staring at the cooking pot, too, and then at the clock. 

Yep. 

It was getting kind of late. The half an hour to dinner was very much gone. And looking at how the seconds kept moving, he started feeling kind of drained. 

Still, even with that sensation, even if he felt his stomach undeniably closed, it was better if they all ate something anyway. He didn’t doubt that the others—Hisirdoux and Archie especially. Oh boy. He very much doubted that Douxie would even evaluate putting some food in his system, as he had looked like, as he had sounded like—felt more or less like he did, but maybe with smaller portions of requested favorite foods? Maybe that would have helped. At least a bit. It felt like a good middle ground to prevent them from skipping dinner entirely.

Always if there were the right ingredients for them around, of course. They had brought something. 

“What do you want to eat?” he questioned quietly, going to open the furniture, sensing both Claire and Nari looking at him… maybe a little taken aback, maybe still thinking about what exact answer to give.

The little demigoddess was the one who talked first, in the end. 

“Archie and Douxie had planned for a Hot Dog night?” She said simply, sounding just a little unsure in the last three terms as if she had been parroting what she had heard them say.

And by the amount of soft hot dog bun in the dresser, of different condiments, most of them were brand new, Nari was right.

‘Well, that is quite alright. We just need to not fill them too much,’ he thought, just throwing another small look at the stairs before putting himself to work, letting Claire and Nari help—in a way kind of half pushing them to, but?... Okay?—to keep their mind somewhere else. Even for just a little bit of time.

*** 

“I'm sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” Douxie frantically whispered once again. It was torture to listen to, as the pain that finally started to seep out of him like white pus out of a dangerous wound resonated through his voice in waves. It was a good thing, yes, but it still made the agony that Archie felt, flare like a high-degree burn.

He had lost count of how many times Douxie had said that he was sorry. He had. The apology flowed from his mouth like a river. 

No matter how much Archie tried to respond to him, it seemed not to stop him. 

He whispered to him that it was gonna be fine. He purred, told him that he wasn’t angry with him, that he had nothing to feel sorry for and he could just get everything off his chest, no pardon needed, not from his point of view. He repeated to him that he loved him… but that wouldn’t stop that river of apologies. So he just leaned harder on him, purred harder, nuzzled his head harder, and waited, listened. 

Because even if Archie felt like there was no forgiveness needed, Douxie kept asking for it and truly felt like he needed to. 

He didn’t honestly understand what exactly he was pleading for forgiveness for. If it was for the lying, for thinking that he had hurt him or his friends… and heck, Archie had been honest, because he had been hurting for his refusal to communicate with him, to let him help. And Claire and Jim had been hurting because of their guilt. Nari had had the same expression that she had written all over her face when Bellroc and Skrael had screamed in pain before turning into dust, a memory that had hit his brain later than expected. But he didn’t want him to feel guilty about that, too. He had only wanted for him to open up. To talk. To free himself from his burden. 

It might have been something else, that something else that was still the missing piece of the puzzle. It might have been a simple defense mechanism, but he doubted it. His defense mechanism was avoidance. Running from the issue. Tip-toeing around it in the hope of not seeing it anymore. To lie until his lies seemed so much like the truth that maybe he almost thought that they were. 

He didn't know. He really didn't. He wanted to, though.  

‘Doux, please…’ he begged mentally, squeezing and still pressing himself more against him . Almost as if he was trying to fuse with him, to share the unwavering weight that seemed to crush Douxie.

“I’m sorry!” His Wizard—his child, his treasure, his best friend, his other half—insisted. Almost screaming, this time, and he felt his own eyes burn and his breath get a little faster. 

He meowed pitifully at this. Got even louder in his purring, still trying to offer comfort by snuggling him, almost nestling on him. 

Gods, he had to stay strong. He knew he had to, even though something was breaking like glass inside him, piece after piece. He was cracking to the point that he felt the agony overwhelmingly expand inside him, stealing another low lamentation from his throat, not letting him stay silent and listen properly. 

“I’m sorry, I d-dont…” Douxie sobbed, wheezed, and hunched on himself, on them both, shaking and breathing erratically. “I’m sorry…” 

‘You don’t have to be sorry for anything…’ he thought, refraining himself from mumbling it back at him.

He licked his cheek. He almost thought about changing his form to fully hug him, but as Douxie’s arms clenched more around him, his head fell on his shoulder—just like when he was ten and he had confessed missing his mom. Confessed missing her rare hugs, the way she would sing for him, the way she even tried to teach him a few songs, making him touch the strings of her lute… The way she was okay with learning that he had Magic and she immediately told him to not say it to anyone. The way that she always tried to protect him from his father— that became honestly very much impossible to do.

“I’m s-sorry I… lied to you. I... ” he heard him cry out, the phrase rolling out of his mouth like it was spat, his pitch extremely discordant. He felt him take a small intake of breath, which still hitched, while his hands started moving in his fur, his body almost rocking a bit during it all. “I d-don't… want you to h-hate m-me. I don’t… I… I don't…”

Archie raised his head incredibly fast, the sudden statement leaving him gob-smacked. He stared at him, feeling so, so winded and lost where he was, to the point that he had to gulp down some saliva and shake himself physically a little to be able to restart his whole system. 

“Doux,” he called him breathlessly, pain striking again and his heart being squeezed hard, the raw dread violently piercing through him. “I would never. Never. Hate you.”

As a response, a gasp escaped him, small, but extremely loud to Archie. This before there was a moment in which he just stared back at him, his eyes that were showing the first hints of tears forming. 

“You d-don't… You don't know that.” He choked out, his voice even more filled with distress. Like he was breaking apart, regretting every single thing he was saying, and panicking, all at the same time. “You… You d-don't know what I've… W-what I've done, I…”

“It doesn't matter.” Archie simply said, his tone sure and steady, but as warm as he could make it. As affectionate as he could make it. “You could have murdered hundreds and hundreds of children and mothers and it still wouldn't matter. You could have done the most controversial thing in the universe and it still wouldn't matter.” He raised his head and gazed at him before placing his forehead on Douxie’s. “You're mine, I'm yours. And I love you. Nothing will ever change that. Ever.”

He could feel him get very, very still for a moment. Could feel him sob and start trembling slightly all over again as Hisirdoux’s breath hitched. 

And then, just like that, the dam broke and he started crying, a few tiles in the floor exploding in between.

It was something that—even if it was even more painful to give an ear to, the sound ripping more emotional wounds. Even if it made him want to cry, too—had him think a very, very thankful ‘finally.’

There was no brake anymore. He wasn't going to keep it in anymore. He wasn't going to hurt himself more by shutting it down. So, yes, finally. 

“I'm sorry…” Douxie mumbled, still crying, sounding so hurt and small that it would have been difficult to hear him if he hadn't been right there. “I'm s-sorry.”

Archie could only lean more into him, so strongly that it felt like something could crack, could truly split in his limbs. But he didn't care. It was much less strong. That physical ache was insignificant in comparison to the inner mess that was moving in his being. 

It took minutes. Maybe more. Maybe not, maybe it took less. But at a certain point, thick tears falling and fingers moving and moving—almost mechanically—on him, Douxie started talking in a hushed tone. 

He spilled his truth, secret after secret falling out in whispers flowing in an almost continuous stream of words. Almost.

The shame and the fear were so clear, so strong that they almost overwhelmed him at first, that they overwhelmed Douxie, too. And they made him stop talking and cry a bit more, only to apologize once more and try to explain faster, clearer, almost as if he expected him to leave him if he didn't. 

While Douxie talked, Archie captured every single word he said, almost engraving them into his brain. 

As the piece of the puzzle stuck in, making him see the full picture, rage boiled. Rage and hatred boiled and boiled some more inside his veins, inside his chest, inside his mind. Hot, turbulent fury and explosive, curling abhorrence, both flaming like a deadly inferno raised in every inch of him, making him feel ready to destroy everything around him. 

He would have burned the whole place down to the ground right there and then. He would have done that without thinking twice about it. 

He had to inhale and exhale several times to calm down, to reject that instinct that was running into his veins and that was extremely powerful. Extremely seductive.  

He had to tune it down to avoid making Douxie think that he was angry at him when he already thought that it was his fault — getting him to believe the opposite? That was going to be a war, he already knew that. It was more than just a little hunch—so, no. That was the last thing that he wanted. The last thing that it had to happen. 

Still, he could only think of something. A single thought that roared inside his brain, that screamed angrily for vengeance, that asked for a copious amount of blood, and that at the same time made him want to cry, because he should have had him leave Camelot. They should have never gotten in there in the first place. They should have never let that damn pig get near them, not like that. He shouldn't have let his guard down with him, not even a little. 

Curse him. Curse him, his soul, and his non-existent heart. 

He hoped that the Gods had sent him to hell. That he was screaming and begging for mercy without anyone to offer it to him, laughing and spitting at him instead. That piece of excrement, that poor excuse of a human being… He deserved nothing less than that. 

Merlin Ambrosius was oh-so lucky that he was already dead and gone. He was so, so lucky. Or he would have wished that he was. He would have, with what Archie would have done to him. Hell itself would have been nothing in comparison. He would have regretted having a body in the first place. 

‘Screw all Douxie's fake father figures. Screw them both,’ he thought, wanting to let out all his flames in one go. Wanting to let his hatred loose. 

“I love you,” he said instead with all the admiration that he felt, rubbing more and more against his Wizard, going back to purring loudly, forehead still against forehead. He looked at him with every single thing that he felt for his precious, so amazingly sweet boy. So incredibly gentle and kind-hearted, when the world had let him be at the end of so many sadistic, cruel things.

“I love you,” he repeated. “So, so much. I am… I am so sorry that that happened to you. I'm so sorry that I wasn't able to protect you. You've been so strong and you shouldn't have been.”

He could hear him wheeze and let out a tiny agonized whine. Could see him close his eyes as more tears ran freely on his face, on his neck. Could feel him shake again ‘till his bones seemed made of jelly and he looked like he was going to collapse on himself. 

“I love you. I love you and none of that was your fault,” he said. “I'm so proud of you.”

*** 

Archie chanted honeyed “I love yous” upon “I love yous” until a fuzzy warmth was taking over Douxie’s chest and his crying slowly stopped, the soft purring of his Familiar being an echo in his ears that felt like a tranquilizer background. 

Only a few hitching breaths were breaking through it all, even fewer small sobs that ran from his mouth from time to time as the oxygen inside his lungs felt finally accessible enough. His heartbeat slowed down, too, and his mind was only occupied by those words. 

The rest of everything was quiet. Silent. But it was a silence that, put against those suffocating ones before, had a different feeling attached to it. 

It was less tense, less heavy and suffocating, and not unbearable as it had been. It didn’t make him feel like he wanted to scream and run, to hide, to return to that morning, when he had felt so, so happy.

But now, that sensation was gone. The silence did not bring it to him, didn’t assail him with it. Didn’t make him feel as if he was under repeated blows from invisible blades.

The guilt, the fear, and the agony had lessened until he only felt that soothing mellowness that embraced him while being accompanied by a strong relief. The mitigating solace was almost dazing and left him a bit of a tired feeling as if he had not truly slept for weeks. As if he wanted to do that. 

There were no aches inside him. No unwanted, disgusting memories. No feeling of ghost-like callous hands running on his body, no feeling of stupidly long, gnarled fingers prodding at his entrance again while he toyed with him. No propelling need to shut down, to forget entirely where he was, to forget the mistake that he had made, making his inner instability obvious. No mentally screaming at himself. Not anymore.

Only blissful heat coming out of pure devotion, out of the reassurance that he wasn’t going to leave, wasn’t going to be disgusted by him. He wasn’t. Nothing in him, in his body language, in his expression, had shown any kind of disgust. Only flashes of pain, fury, and seriousness that screamed of murder at times had crossed his gaze. And he somehow knew that it wasn’t directed at him.

There was a stillness that made him feel as if life had slowed down considerably. 

It seemed as if a mantle had fallen on his head, going through his body from side to side and taking away all the bad feelings, all the unsettling thoughts, all the flashes that had harassed his brain into a consuming terror. 

The only things that weren't entirely positive were the hints of embarrassment born from the fact that he had cried like a bloody baby and the weakness, the throbbing sensation that hit his whole body as if a truck had just run him over. 

He kind of wanted to rub his eyes, too, since they were itching a little—a lot, alright—but his hands were still on Archie, so extremely full of black fur everywhere, which meant disaster if they ended up on his dried-up sclera… He would end up with tears in his eyes for a whole other reason. 

Still, they were small things if they were compared to those he had felt before. And the consolation brought by the rest of it made them almost worth it. They were little prices to pay for those pleasant homely waves that rippled through his flash and bones, having him almost go lax against the bathroom floor's tiles. 

From that moment to when he heard Archie ask him if he wanted to go to rest, it seemed to pass only a few seconds, a few blinks, but the tingling that started to run on his legs said otherwise. And how his eyelids kept getting heavier and heavier every second a little more simply confirmed it. 

So, after slowly getting up, his Dragon fluttering just under his arm and helping him walk straight, they exited the bathroom. He walked forward almost as if his feet weren't moving on stable, flattened white rock but on eggshells. 

The stairs were especially a war to go through, to the point that he almost slipped and his Familiar instantly changed form to lift him until their end, just to be sure. Once down, he questioned if he wanted to try to keep walking, if he felt like he was able to. 

Douxie, even though he felt a bit of his instincts, his habits say that he could do it, admitted not feeling up to it. He let himself accept the help. Let himself keep his defenses down, as the peaceful feeling made him perceive as if there was no reason to make them rise all over again. No reason to fight. Not when there was nothing that he had to fight. 

Not when Archie only meant safety and acceptance. His gentle lullaby of sweet sing-songed love yous, love yous, love yous was still running through his mind, almost addictive to listen to. 

And when he was under the weight of several pairs of worried gazes—his friends’ gazes, his mind supplied for just a second, but he didn’t register it at first—he was only half back to reality. Embarrassment and a little bit of agitation returned to hit, making him avoid even the smallest eye contact, especially with Claire. 

He preferred to stare at the floor or let his gaze lethargically trail around him, getting on the table, too. 

He preferred to look back at Archie and shake his head when they asked if he felt like eating since the same moment in which he had seen the food—just a few seconds before—had made him feel his stomach aggressively flop.  

Even though it normally would have looked extremely inviting—and it did. The smell was good, too—his body wouldn’t see reason. Douxie was pretty sure that if he tried to eat it, the attempt would just make him have another trip to the bathroom if he was lucky enough. In the worst-case scenario, the floor or the table itself would have an unlucky change in color.

Archie, after he shook his head, waved his tail a little, but nodded in agreement.

“Sorry,” he heard him say. He almost wanted to say it, too. Felt natural enough. “Can you keep it for tomorrow?”

“Sure, don’t worry about it.” Douxie listened to Jim’s immediate response. “I didn’t expect him to, but I was still hoping that…” he paused. “Well, it doesn't matter. Tell us if he needs something, later?”

“Maybe some water?” Nari instead questioned before Arch could respond in any way, and Douxie felt her eyes on him again. Felt everyone’s eyes on him again, before he realized that… hell, yeah, okay. He kinda was thirsty . 

He tried to talk. His “Yes,” came out much more raspy than it should have been. And like, extremely more cracked than he would have liked.

His friends scurried around like he had dropped a bomb just with that answer. In the time he blinked—once. But maybe a bit too slow?—he already had a whole bottle and a glass near him.

He drank moderately, closed his eyes for what felt just another tiny second, and found himself being lowered in a bed, in his bed—Not Merlin’s , the small voice inside his head, with a big amount of relief, whispered—Archie returning in his cat form immediately after and then getting on his chest.

He curled on it just a little and purred loud enough for him to have a small tired smile chisel his way onto his face. And he just caressed him, stroking him between his shoulder blades and fully cherishing the moment.

After several slow-going circular movements, the world started to become blurry… and feeling utterly spent, like there was a deep empty hole somewhere around in his body—a hole that was sucking all his energy—he fell asleep.

*** 

He didn't have any dreams. One moment he was sleeping, the next one he was rousing, trying to sit and fight the drowsiness. To fight how the covers seemed to call back at him to make him stay there while letting Archie himself sleep some more, as he had no idea which hours were. 

He almost failed to get up. He almost remained there and got not too far away from falling asleep again. The option seemed like a paradise, a way to just let himself remain where he was and not do anything for hours except take another nap. 

But he forced himself to actually be seated and then to move to stand up, still trying to not startle his Familiar in the process.

That didn't work. Not even a little. He had been too hopeful in thinking about it, especially since he had been leaning on him entirely. 

In fact, Archie did actually wake up, a decent amount of alarm making him rise fast and rigid all at once, but then he just saw how he was awake and sitting and—after blinking several times to chase away sleep—he relaxed, yawned and went to nuzzle again against him, new purrs coming out very loud. 

Hisirdoux could not help but hold him in a strong hug as he did so. 

“G’Morn… Mgh… Morning.” Archie mumbled, his voice seeming to tell very clearly how tired he still felt, but his expression softening. 

“You should go back to bed…” Douxie whispered. He caressed him behind his ears and chuckled a little as, when he dropped the hug, he saw him yawn another time in such a short time. 

“You, too,” Archie uttered, almost in a protest. He started stretching everywhere and letting out his wings to shake them. He flew in the air just a bit, looking at what was covered by the window's curtain. “I doubt… that it is more than seven o’clock.”

That was probably true by the state of the sky. And it was true that maybe, just maybe, he should have returned to bed, too. 

But he didn't feel like it. If not only for the heat that came out of the blankets. No, at this point he didn't feel like sleeping anymore. 

He wasn't aware of what had prompted him to stop resting before, even though he had wanted to keep doing so. Maybe it had been his habits, his internal clock. Maybe the possibility of getting a headache if he slept too much, which he wanted to avoid. Or maybe just… Him. Wanting to have plans for the day instead of closing himself into his room for more than a whole day, which would have been so easy to do… Him and how his stomach started grumbling out of nowhere. 

He raised his shoulders just a little, not knowing exactly what to say. “Just felt like getting up,” he asserted after a few seconds. He sniffed at himself, saw the state of his clothes, and cringed. Stank a little of morning sweat and was full of Cat fur. He needed a quick wash. 

He put one foot in front of the other, trying to walk. He did it, a bit shakily, but he did it. And felt his Familiar keep an eye on him for just a few moments before he seemed to deem him stable enough to walk on his own. 

Douxie moved around the room to find everything he needed, getting better and faster in his proceeding as the seconds went by, the trembling of his body entirely disappearing. 

And as he did so, he realized that he didn't remember much from before sleeping. Didn’t remember at all when Archie had taken off his shoes, which were just near the door. Didn’t remember when he had helped him out under the bed's soft white blankets, just when he had dropped him on it. Just when he had curled up against him and he had ended up petting him until exhaustion took over. 

His memory was all filled with empty spots. But not enough to stop it from reminding him that he probably had to talk with Claire and Jim. Nari, too, maybe. 

He kicked that thought away, focusing on the present. 

He had to have that shower. Then… Just roll with it? Let himself enjoy his breakfast? Ignore the whole universe for a bit? Have enough coffee in his blood to not seriously risk falling for the first moment of lack of attention?—Which… If he admitted it… It could still happen anyway even with caffeine running through him. Yeah. 

That didn't sound too bad, though. Felt pleasant, even. Still… he was pretty sure that it wasn't gonna be that smooth. Nothing ever was. It would have been too easy and, even if that had happened similarly… The whole shared, deep conversation was still behind the corner. 

Dammit. Of course, it was. He couldn't expect them to just forget the state he must have been in after the discussion. And he wouldn't use Magic to delete their memories. 

Bringing a hand to his hair and the other to the bridge of his nose, he took a big breath. And still started to follow his mental plans. 

‘Shower first,’ he thought as he exited the room at a fast pace. 

The water was cold enough to make him shiver and feel all his nerves wake up fully. It was filled with soap and he scrubbed, but not too hard. He ended up washing his hair just at the end of it, spending several minutes scratching everywhere on his head, focusing on the feeling. Trying to feel relaxed enough to think about what to say eventually.  

No planned speeches would have worked. The argument was too much of a sore spot to be talked about like it was a normal school question. Plus, Archie wouldn't have approved of him lying again, unless… Unless he told him that he didn't feel comfortable with sharing what happened with the others. 

But he truly didn’t want to lie again… Just like he didn't want to lose them. Any of them. And the two things kind of screeched one against the other. 

Archie wasn't gonna leave him—and thank the Gods for that, thank the Gods that he loved him like that, that he supported him like that. For more than just a moment or two, he had felt so dumb for believing that he would have left, while at the same time, a corner of his brain said that he still could not be sure about it—but nothing could truly tell him that… That Jim, Claire, and Nari wouldn’t have done it. 

It took very little to change the opinion of a person, after all. Or too much, in his case. It took too much to understand that Merlin wasn't a good person, that he wasn't the legendary hero who did everything right that everyone believed in, and that what he had done to him was something that was defined as terrible, not a normal thing. 

He still was stupid enough to not fully accept into his brain that he didn't deserve it. That it wasn't his fault if it happened. 

Archie had told him. Some part of his brain knew it, but the rest of it? The rest of it denied it as if it was stupid only to think like that. 

The rest of him told him that he had ended up liking what had happened. It told him—reminded him with explicit pictures—that he had ended up whimpering Merlin's name as the pleasure built up while he filled him. Whispered to him that while he had rhythmically pushed inside him, pressing every single button, touching every inch of his body, Douxie was begging for more and crying out like a disgusting little…

‘No. Bad Douxie. Bad, bad Douxie,’ he stopped himself drastically. Almost punched the wall just like the day before. Just covered his face with his hands for a few seconds. ‘Wrong bloody thoughts. Do not fall into this loop. Not again. Bloody hell.’

He took a deep breath. Let it out of his lungs without hitches, without having himself choke on it. And he repeated that pattern a few times until his brain was empty of insulting thoughts. 

After that, he tried to remind himself of everything Archie had said instead, almost muttering them to himself under his breath. 

They felt almost too good to be true, too biased maybe, but he simply let himself ignore the mean side of his head that still suggested those sensations. That told him how wrong Archie was because he didn't see the whole thing clearly. He hadn't seen him doing those things. Didn’t see how passive he had been. 

He scrubbed in his hair much, much harder. And let the water run on him entirely until the shampoo left his scalp. Let it happen until there was nothing left to clean.  

Once he finished, he dried up, got dressed and added just the slightest amount of make-up—to hide the way something around his eyes looked both dark and bright red at the same time—then he quickly got out. And Archie was by his side again. 

“I don't know if I want to tell them…” he said while they were getting to one of the main halls of the castle, the one they liked the most. 

Archie looked at him and waved his tail a few times. “It might sound a little hypocritical, as I insisted for you to talk yesterday…” he said. “But you shouldn't feel obligated to. You already let out a lot, which right there was very needed… Talking about that is hard . If you don't want to tell the others, don’t. It should be your choice only.” He paused. “But don't hide your feelings, okay? Or lie. That wouldn't work out…”

Douxie simply nodded, falling into silence and letting the words take root in his head, breathing deeply on and on. 

And when they arrived, Nari was already there, sitting. She had something that he couldn't see well between her hands. And she immediately looked happy to see them, but not fully expecting to, if the way her eyes widened and then brightened a little said something about it. 

Seeing her half enveloped his being with affection and half with nervousness, the latter getting stronger, bigger, occupying more and more space as he advanced. Which, on the side, was a very, very dumb thing. 

“Good morning. Douxie, Archie...” she chirped as they got near her, a delicate smile tracing her face. “You’re both up early today.”

“He isn't able to sleep more,” his Familiar commented, another yawn getting out of his mouth exactly at that moment, as if only speaking about sleeping would make it harder to stay awake. 

“You weren't obligated to follow me,” he said back at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Eh. Not sure about that,” he waved his tail just once, his voice sounding light until a certain point. “I am not that sleepy anyway.”

‘Yeah, sure,’ he thought sarcastically but smiled and rolled his eyes. 

“Hungry, though?” Nari questioned, tilting her head always in her owl-ish kind of way.

 As they both nodded, she immediately got up. And while she did so, she left on the table the “something” that she had been holding with both her hands, willingly or unwillingly hiding it from view with her arms.

It was an empty, wide-mouth storage jar. It was made of colored glass and looked very pretty. 

Douxie stared at it with a slight confusion developing in his chest. Archie did the same thing, but with less intensity, moving his gaze away faster. 

Nari seemed to notice the stares, in fact, none of them even had time to ask questions.

 “Later,” she simply said cheerfully, delicately grabbing his wrist. And having him get back to the kitchen, which wasn't too far from where they were.  

Chapter Text

“Are you going to choose what you want to eat or you're gonna stare at the food until night falls again?” Archie asked, his tail wagging while his left paw fixed his glasses. 

“Not my fault if I can't decide,” he asserted flatly, huffing and shifting his gaze from one package to another, moving them a little and almost making one fall, catching it on time, but barely. “You bought so much stuff!”

“They looked good.” Nari chirped, sounding delighted as she—very convinced in her own choice—grabbed a box full of doughnuts with several different flavors, one of which, if Douxie saw correctly… Had sausages inside it? What? They existed, too? Since when? He had stopped himself at the creation of Pizza bun pastries, which he had thought were the weirdest he had seen. He had been wrong apparently. 

“They were at a discount,” his familiar replied immediately after her. He grasped with his teeth the first thing he had defined right for a decent breakfast: eggs. He cooked one of them literally in his mouth, cracking the shell with his teeth just as Hisirdoux sighed. 

“I understood that the first time you told me,” he shot back. He moved away a plastic bag full of chocolate chips which did look quite delicious… but so did the pancakes. And the old-fashioned cereals on his left. And everything else. 

…They had been in the mood for partying the day before.

‘They stopped being in it because of you.’ his mind pettily whispered. 

He grimaced just a little. Then he ignored the thought altogether, pushing it aside. 

“But still,” he added, shaking his head. “There is so much stuff that I can't choose!”

“Just pick one, they are not going to disappear that quickly,” Archie commented. 

Douxie raised his eyebrow, staring back at him. “I am not sure, Arch.” 

“I could make them,” Nari said, completely nonchalant and slightly mischievous in her honesty. This before digging into the first sweet she had snatched, a radiant smile painting her face. 

His Familiar sniffed. “Not even you would be able to finish all of this.” 

A beat of silence in which a very recognizable glint appeared in her eyes. “I find your lack of faith disturbing,” the Demigoddess quietly said. Douxie snickered at that. 

“You underestimate her power,” he simply, theatrically continued. 

“Don't start with the random Star Wars references and just find something to eat, thank you.”

“It's over Douxie…” Nari immediately voiced, her words slightly muffled after gulping. “He has the high ground.” 

Hisirdoux couldn’t help but cackle even more, then he covered his mouth with his hand, a cough interrupting his laughter twice, his body still slightly shaking as the cackling ended up getting mostly silent. 

“Oh, by the Gods,” Archie made a face, huffing. It took a bit before he—theatrically as well—re-started talking too, keeping still another egg with his behind, right paw. “Sometimes, we must let go of our pride, and do what is requested of us.”

He smirked a little in response, very much amused. And witnessed how his Familiar turned to make an almost flambè out of the new egg, again. Nari, all the while, gave another bite to her doughnut, seeming visibly pleased with herself. He agreed with the feeling. Getting her to obsess over the first six films had been an amazing choice. 

Douxie eventually—listening to Archie and the space in the center of his stomach as it growled for lack of food—searched just a little bit more and found a package of strawberry pop-tarts. 

He tilted his head, staring at it for just a second or two. A quick, small ‘why not.’ passed through his mind, so he went to sit down with it between his hands. 

He chose the chair near the wall to cover his back more out of habit than for anything else, liking to be able to see all his surroundings. He started to fight the package almost the same moment he did so: the stubborn plastic didn’t want to budge. It was obstinate in its closure even in the points where technically there was the black arrow and the dashes that testified that it should have been easier there. 

It wasn't. 

It remained glued to itself until, between a pull here and pull there, it almost entirely exploded—Archie and Nari jumping a little and looking at him and them, the first losing interest very quickly, the second just staring at the mess—opening in the worst way possible, scattering pop-tarts on the table and having him sigh slightly. 

“At least they didn't fall…” he muttered under his breath. Nari nodded in agreement. 

He definitely had to put the ones he wasn't gonna eat in a container. Not that that was a new thing. 

He started nibbling at the first one while Archibald stole another ovum from the pantry—cooking it exactly like the first ones—before getting on Douxie’s crossed legs, looking almost exactly like a loaf of bread, with the tail being the only exception as it was slowly wagged from side to side. 

As they ate, the silence slowly fell. And he tried to keep the good humor, just focusing on the taste of his own food to avoid letting his mind start to wonder.

The last thing he wanted was to replay pieces of what had happened the day before and of his future talk over and over again, which were fixed anyway in the corner of his brain. 

The crumbly crust and the dry jelly did little to distract him from them, but forcing himself to just think about the sensations they brought on his tongue was still something. And that something was better than nothing. 

When his Familiar’s purring started out of nowhere, it helped a lot. It was loud and half interrupted by the Dragon’s small munching sounds. His snout was directed towards the table and his paws started making biscuits all over his pants—in an almost automatic, rhythmic motion—pretty much immediately as he bit another piece of food. 

He could perceive the claws just slightly pressing on the denim, retracting quickly before they could do damage to it and appearing again, repeating the loop. It was always weirdly relaxing. Not as much as when he was leaning entirely against his chest, but more than enough. 

As he went to grab a third pop-tart after finishing the first and the second, he had removed the whole day before and the speech-thing from his brain. 

“Do you want to exchange one of yours for one of mine?” Nari suddenly asked as she bit onto a pumpkin-flavored doughnut, holding it with one hand—some of her fingers poking at the caramelized seeds—while the other pointed to the one that was more on the left. A pistachio-flavored one, with white chocolate sprinkles on top. It is one of his favorites along with the Blueberry and the Matcha Green Tea one. 

He nodded in agreement, his new half-devoured good trapped between his teeth. Then he clutched one of the fruit-filled pastries and had no issues in launching it on the table—they were used to doing it like this, at this point—to let it get to her, having her stop it with a ravine. He received the one she had indicated in almost the same way, but he made it float in front of himself instead. 

Of course, it was amazing as ever. It disappeared way too fast in his personal opinion—the taste lingering in his mouth even as he returned to the strawberry flavor—and so did the rest of the cheery, light breakfast, with hot beverages included, having him end up cleaning and drying the empty coffee cup and a tea mug in the blink of an eye… even though it wasn’t needed since it was just two pieces of ceramics, returning to place them in the cupboard near the other glasses and cups. 

‘So… What about that jar?' he thought and almost questioned as he quickly finished, sitting down again and surrounding Archie with his arms as his Familiar had sprawled himself on the table while waiting for him to finish, loudly purring in contentment. 

Before he could say it out loud, Douxie heard small footsteps, which echoed in the room and inside his ears. They seemed to freeze something around him and in him, immediately making him go a little rigid where he sat. 

His eyes peeked on their own accord, but in a slow manner, almost as if getting there way too fast was wrong, somehow. 

He saw Jim and Claire appear from the higher part of the stairs that was visible to him. They advanced carefully, attentive to how their feet went down. 

Jim looked sleepy, a little hint of water that wetted the neck of his shirt, his hair pulled back in a jaunty way. 

Claire, instead, looked more awake than Jim, but everything in her screamed how hesitant she was as she moved forward. It wasn’t that she only wanted to be sure not to fall, but it was as if she was waiting for his permission to walk since she was throwing several fast looks toward him when she wasn't looking down—images of him himself scuffling unsurely in the corner as an unknown guest stared at him, sometimes with simple interest, sometimes with disgust, sometimes, again, like they were evaluating something. All while he was waiting for Merlin to call him out to do anything he wanted, from bringing tea or parchments and magical objects to them to… sitting very, very near to him, Merlin’s arm sometimes getting on his shoulders as if he was proving a point—remaining on one leg or the other between one step and another. 

Nari, who had been toying around with a leaf between her hair, stared at them—having both of them staring back at her with silent questions in their gaze as she did so—and then returned to smile calmly, her hands joining together at little distance from her chest.

“Good morning, Jim. Good morning, Claire. Hope you slept well?”

They probably nodded, as no voice gave a vocal answer. Probably. Douxie wasn't sure. 

He had stopped looking at them after the mind pictures as he had fully met Claire's eyes for something that felt like a fleeting second and an eternity; different emotions bursting in waves and leaving a knot in his throat, his heart pumping in his chest a little stronger every time it did and a shiver crossing his spine. 

Before he had realized it, he was nervously staring non-stop at a completely random spot in Archibald's fur, passing his hands on it several times morbidly. 

He tensed as he heard their footsteps become louder, getting to sit as well—after just a bit of searching, clearly—not too far away from where he was, nor too near either. And that something in the air that had frozen up seemed to even get worse, the happy mood souring way too quickly, heavy silence accompanying them. 

The hints of speech he had to do returned to press in the recesses of his brain. He tried to recall it better to start it somehow, but the words in his mind were in disorder and his tongue felt definitely way too big in his own mouth. So he just kept staring down and silently listening to the soft breathing that was the only audible thing in such a quiet background. 

His Familiar moved from the position he had been in—probably noticing how rigid he had become, his muscles seeming all tight and locked in a distressing hunched position, his shoulders hurting just a bit— and he started purring again, rubbing himself against him. He stared straight into his eyes from above, serious but calm. 

‘There is nothing to fear, nothing to worry about,’ he seemed to say. And Douxie technically knew that, but still he was stuck there, feeling like a bloody cornered animal—fear running under his skin and some other new images running with it. 

Logically, he knew that there was no reason to feel the way he did. Logically, he knew that he just had to… To share thoughts, to apologize for ruining things the day earlier and making them worry. 

Emotionally, he still felt like something was deeply raw in his being from the day before. Emotionally, he couldn't look at her without more shame and panic blasting into his whole being, bringing new dark thoughts to his mind. Couldn't look at him either without the hints of self-disgust dancing in his veins. 

Practically, most of his half-prepared-half-instinctive discourse went from simple disorder to an utter empty void that destroyed any kind of sense in what he wanted to express. And that left nothing at all. 

Because of that, he kept staring down—a voice. Hers. “He doesn't like to wait. If you make him, it'll get worse.”

Because of that, the silence kept stretching—another voice. His. “I own you.” repeated. And again. And again. And aga… 

A slight cough broke the silence. 

“Y-You don't have to say anything,” he heard Claire say quietly, stuttering just a little. Douxie took an instinctive, harsh, and deep breath. “Unless you want to, you don't have to. I… It's alright. You don't have to obligate yourself to be fine for our sake. I… We just want you to know that if you need us, we're here. And if you need space… If you need us to leave right now, we will. No issues.” 

A poignant pause. In between what she had said before—it was unclear to him when—the mechanical motion of his hands had stopped.

“So, really, your choice. We won't take it personally, push you to explain yourself or anything else, we just… We want to make you feel comfortable. With or without us. That… That's it.”

He breathed in and out, nodding. He kept his gaze focused on Archie—who still looked back at him with the same expression as before, rubbing against him one more time—for a few more seconds before raising it just a little, fixating it mostly on their hands, which almost seemed to hang on the food they had grabbed and that hadn't been touched yet. 

He did not get to their face yet. Did not get to her eyes yet. 

“I…” he barely started, his saliva way too thick inside his mouth, his tongue still feeling a little too big. “I d-don't want you… To leave. I just…” he frowned. “Just need a moment.”

A beat. Two beats. Three. 

“Okay,” Jim said softly, his fingers holding the Oreo package a little less tight than before. “All the time you need.” 

*** 

Apparently, the time he actually needed, not to talk about that but to calm down, ended up being one hour and a half. 

One hour and a half in which Jim, Claire, Nari, and Archie had chatted about more or less random stuff, mostly focusing on how near December was getting, the possible Christmas party they wanted to organize, and the presents. There had been a long, interminable talk about place structures. Especially because of Changeling children and their tendency, all together, to be extremely loud and chaotic, which… Wasn't exactly a newsflash, but it still was something to be considered to avoid not being able to hear anything or anyone, near or not. 

He had stayed quiet, sitting there. At first, he had leaned more against the wall, his body still hunched, his leg bouncing just a bit. But as the minutes had gone by, he had been able to approach and lean towards them, slowly getting down from the high tension and dropping the defensive stance. 

He had let himself lend an ear, his mind focusing on the arguments they had—that had been pretty simple since most of those had been easygoing and cheerful enough in their interesting subjects to grab his whole attention—and eventually he had been able to start to talk normally, too, infiltrating through conversations with small comments or questions. 

He hadn't been able to look them in the face—wasn't able to do it yet again—but he had more or less reached the elbow height. 

At the definitive end of this one and half hour, when the forceful inner struggle he had felt almost fully left, it was slowly but surely replaced by a hint of irritation. 

He only had to talk. Explain, sure, but not even one that fell into details. A normal—ish—talk. 

So why did his mind have to assail him that way? Why did it have… to drastically over-react, getting to its aggressive and dramatic tangents just for a simple interaction, apologies included?—and it wasn't even wanted that much if Claire and Jim's way of acting said something about it. 

He understood that he still wasn't over his inner fear and the shame born by the traumatic experience he had—of course, he wasn't. He had let that same trauma shape him. The more he had tried to avoid it, to push it where he couldn't see it, the more he had just let it linger in and stake a claim on his reactions towards what happened around him and in the thoughts that he mulled over—but it was so annoying. So damn annoying. 

And it was even more annoying that, even after that hour and a half, even though he was not agitated anymore… He was still skittish with his own emotions and upset by them. And it was unnerving how, just like Claire had been hesitant while going down the stairs, he was hesitant to crack up the argument in any way, preferring to just postpone it. 

He felt that he needed to talk to them about it, but he still wasn't ready for it. Not even without the details. He just didn't want to touch the argument ‘yesterday’s meltdown’ at all, at that moment. 

To squash the irritation, he had to evaluate and focus on what Jim had said. 

He could wait for all the time he needed and he needed more time. 

No one except him himself was going to criticize him for needing to wait just a bit more. 

The whole thought was… Natural, normal—It was them, after all—but it still kinda felt mind-blowing. 

So he just… Almost entirely stopped. 

Stopped to self-pressure his self to expose it. 

Stopped thinking about it altogether, even. Just trying to do so made him feel lighter. 

And as he did, something else returned between his thoughts instead. Again. 

“So… What about that jar?” he questioned, curiosity returning to jump in. He immediately saw Nari's gaze light up. 

“Jar?” Jim repeated, sounding a little confused. 

“Yes,” the Demigoddess chirped, getting quickly on her feet. “I'll bring it here, then I will tell you.”

She disappeared for a second or two and reappeared with it, holding it with both her arms like it was extremely precious to her. 

She placed it in front of all of them, the colors shining a little because of the light of the big chandelier above them. 

“It is really pretty,” Claire commented. 

Nari smiled. “Zoe bought it for me one of the last times she was here,” 

‘Figures,’ Hisirdoux thought, a little snort escaping him. 

Her eyes twinkled. “I thought that… Perhaps, we might try to create a Spell Jar with it,” 

Douxie blinked once. Twice, as realization and recognition set in, even if at first in an extremely vague manner, book pages rolling and rolling inside his mind. He mouthed a silent ‘Oh,’ at it.  

“A Spell Jar?” Both Jim and Claire inquired. She slightly moved on her seat, while he let his left hand graze the colored, glassed surface, almost caressing it. 

“Yes,” Nari replied. “Spell Jars are talismans. Mostly to get luck, to remove a lack from the living… and body, soul, magic, emotions, and mind's health. They are powered by hope, patience, intent, and strength of will.”

“How come they are not written in most magic books?” 

“They… Aren’t used much,” Archibald intervened, sniffing. “They aren't famous, because they don't work instantly, but over time. They mostly influence the path of who they are created by… Or for.”

“You can find them mostly in the Health Magic category, usually only being quoted though… Or in specific manuals dedicated only to Talismans,” Douxie added, shrugging and not moving away his gaze from Nari, seeing her almost glowing. She looked back at him after he finished talking, probably because she felt herself being stared at… or maybe just because she wanted to. She still looked radiant as she did so.

“Quite,” she simply said, almost in a high-pitched giggle. “I was wondering if we could do that. Perhaps, if there are some with more than three parties, we could see which jointed Spell Jar we may want to execute together. If not, we could search for another Jar… The creation is usually very much fun.” She paused and she looked at all of them this time, one after the other. “Only if you all want to, of course.”

Douxie thought about it just for a moment, both his eyebrows arched as more silence settled in shortly. 

He could use some distraction. And… Maybe between all the Talismans, something was interesting or useful. There probably was one or two, yes, calculating the fact that Nari had brought it up exactly that morning. 

Maybe he was wrong, maybe he was reading too much into it, but… It didn’t feel like a mere coincidence.  

He was tired of feeling him. He was tired of expecting to find him around the corner or inside the Studio every time he got too near to that wing of the Castle. He was tired of the effect that he still had on him, even if he was dead. 

So, even if it wasn't a coincidence, he wasn't against it. 

“Sure, why not.” He said, his voice sounding just a little bit strained, his left hand toying with his necklace.

The others agreed as well almost immediately after he gave his answer; Archie nodded, and Jim and Claire out loud. 

*** 

“Purity Spell Jar, Success Spell Jar, Money Spell Jar, Good Luck Spell Jar…” Claire listed as she slowly moved from page to page. The old volume, which had been brought into the room by Archie himself—after a quick flight and some intense research—smelled good. It tickled her nose just a bit but in a funny way. 

“Safe Travel Spell Jar, Creativity Spell Jar… Even a Get the job Spell Jar, wow." She got through more than ten pages that were mostly dedicated to Free Time and work, again. To be fair, she wasn't surprised. Jobs were hard—She and Jim were still searching for something. Jim after being unemployed following almost seven months of work in a restaurant because his Trollhunter Job had overlapped with it way too many times, making him arrive, most of those, way too late to have a chance at being ignored. For Claire, well... After having a babysitting part-time job for a while, she had ended up doing an extra training course about language that she had just finished—but still, she didn't want to think about jobs right now. Maybe after the end of the year. 

“Oh, that one is rather interesting, don't you think?” She heard Archie say, a little above her shoulders, his wings fluttering, his paw pointing at the next page she had not read yet. Claire gazed at him as he looked at his Wizard with a teasing expression. “Help Sleep Spell Jar… Maybe it helps me when you snore,”

“As if you don’t sound exactly like a tractor engine when you have your nose plugged,” Douxie rebutted, looking back at Archibald before rolling his eyes, huffing and returning to stare at the volume. 

As he acted that way, he did everything in his power to not gaze at her—nor to even touch her normally. Not even with a finger—which… was kind of painful, really. But at least he wasn't at doubled if not tripled arm's length from her like before. That was still progress. 

She returned to focus on the book and to read out loud. “... Protection, Pet protection, Banishment of Dark Energy, Protection against Curses, Evil Eye Protection Spell Jar…”

“All of those sound very useful,” Jim commented, one of his hands moving away the longest locks of hair from his gaze as they covered his view. 

“Pet protection could be used to stop Trolls from snacking on all the cats,” Archie said, sounding a little piqued. 

“Uhh…” Whatever were Jim's words, they fell into his silence as he didn't know how to respond to that comment. 

“He lost a few Lady Loves, and he is obviously, reasonably sour because of it,” Douxie explained, wincing. “But the fact is, Arch… We cannot go home to home and tell people to create a Spell Jar for their cats in every city where there are Troll activities involved. It's not that it's entirely impossible, but it surely feels like it is.”

The Dragon sniffed loudly and wagged his tail several times in a row. 

“Next ones?” Nari jumped up. 

“Mmh… Patience’s Spell Jar. Harmony. Uhm…” Claire blinked, reading the new title with intrigue. “... I like how this one sounds. Honeyed Spell Jar,” Claire stared at the page a bit more, reading through the first ingredients that were on the list. 

‘Lavender, Cinnamon, Pink Candle…'

“It is to make someone sweeter. But it should have, in time, the effects of a Love Spell, if I'm not wrong.” the Demigoddess stated, almost lost in thoughts. 

“Oh. Okay, never mind.” Claire quickly moved to the next Jar's type and another strong concentration of smell hit her nostrils, which was slightly different from just the old book’s scent. Archie, behind her, clearly felt it, too. And he ended up quickly turning and sneezing.

There was some kind of weird bookmark made with rosemary, mint, sage, and a thin piece of oak wood, all of them intertwined by horse hair. 

“Clairvoyance, Empathy, Patience… Oh! There is a Wish Spell Jar!”

“Sounds good.” Douxie asserted, tilting his head.

“We put it in the list of options and keep seeing more of them?” Jim questioned, grabbing his phone from his pants pockets and opening it in the Notes with two rapid clicks.

All of them agreed in a chorus. And so she told him the page number that was in the right corner. It was written in Roman numerals, but fifty-three hadn't been hard to decipher. 

“Spirit Release, Happy Marriage, Friendship, Pregnancy, Removal of Addictions…” Claire flipped through several pages of more specific types of removals, like male impotence, inability to conceive, inability to feel sexual pleasure… Etcetera. “Happiness Spell Jar sounds good, too,” a small pause as she quickly did her count. “Page seventy-nine”

Jim hummed. “...Added.”

She went for eighty, eighty-one, and oh. Oh. Okay. 

“Fighting Depression Spell Jar,” she breathed in and out. Silence followed, so she kept going. “Anxiety, begone,” more silence. “Getting over grief…Getting over an accident,” more pages, quite specific about where the wound that had to heal was and no one had said a word yet about them, while she had slowly picked up speed in between the reading. “Getting over a breakup. Getting over a lost friendship. Getting over hatred. Self-love. Letting go. Stopping self-harm. Stopping self-destructive attitudes, Stopping self-hatred…”

“Sorry, w… wait. Can you go back, please?” Douxie suddenly said, his voice slightly smaller than how he had talked before, making her freeze and look at him, seeing how painfully unsure his expression looked like, as if he had to push himself to let the words come out. “I… Uhm… To the ‘Letting go’ one…?”

She blinked. Her gaze touched Archie's just for an instant as she quickly lowered her head and did what he had asked. 

Once at the right page, she saw him glance at it quickly—probably a little lower than the middle of the page—and raising his gaze again, mostly hesitating just a little. This before throwing a look to Nari, to Archie—he nodded lightly in response—and almost to Jim and her faces, too, stopping so, so near to them—She was pretty sure that he was looking at the lower side of her chin. 

“I would… I would like to do this one,” he said, almost all in one intake of breath. “If you don't want to, I understand that?... I mean, I can still go searching for another jar? Do it another time or something…”

“It's fine.” Claire immediately replied, the words slipping from her mouth, quick and uncontrolled. She saw him tense just a little more, freezing, making her hold her breath. 

She couldn't stop asking herself if maybe that wasn't the right answer for a moment, but he relaxed almost immediately after... And so did she, even if not in a one hundred percent way as something clogged her throat as she exhaled. 

“I'm okay with it, too,” Jim said, raising his shoulders. To that, Douxie didn't react much. He just frowned, almost ready to rebut with something, but not saying anything else yet, thinking hard. 

She tried to not take it personally. She knew that he wasn't alright yet, it was pretty easy to see. Whatever it was, he needed his own pace and space. 

“Can more than three people make it together?” Nari questioned instead. 

“Yes,” he promptly replied. “I had checked for that, too. But…” he frowned even more. “Are you sure? Because there might be something better for you, like the Wish and Happiness ones and I don’t…”

“The creation is the fun part,” Jim reminded him, a soft expression painting his features. He did not touch him, not even with a hand on his shoulder—even though he had wanted to—retracting it before actually making a possible big mistake. “And I think that letting go of some things would do good to all of us.”

A pause. Claire agreed with that opinion. Douxie still looked unsure for a second, but then he nodded, a small “Okay…” escaping his mouth. 

Nari smiled at him. She delicately grazed at Douxie’s wrist to lean more towards the book. He didn't flinch at her touch, nor got more still.

His defenses with Nari were low, apparently.

Claire wasn't jealous. She wasn't. Of course not. 

Okay, maybe a little. But she knew that it was stupid to be. She knew that it didn't even make sense, really. 

She was aware that she had involuntarily triggered something big that was bothering him. Nari hadn't, so it was only natural that he was more at ease with the Demigoddess, while with her… Not so much. Not yet. 

‘And he needs space,’ she repeated to herself mentally. ‘Doesn't need you to get upset because you want to help and to show support, and you have no idea how to, while she can.’

“So? What does it need?” Nari questioned, breaking her thoughts. 

Claire returned to focus on the book again. “Moon water, sea salt, banishing oil, paper, rue, lemon, a candle, and a fire born from palm wood.” She slowly listed them to let Jim write everything down easily, then tilted her head at the small note just behind them. “All of those, except for the ones written in red, have to be as fresh as possible.” 

…Which were the stones, the paper, and the candle. 

“I can create everything for the banishing oil except the black onyx. I can't make the candle, either,” Nari asserted. “I can make the rue, the palm, and the lemon, tough.”

“We have both. I have several candles near the entrance. Some black onyx is in the Studio…” Douxie continued, still slightly hesitating. 

“I'll go take it, later” Claire immediately offered. 

“Okay. What else?”

“We are missing the sea salt,” Jim stated. 

“I imagine that we'll have to make a trip to the sea,” Archie commented. “What do we say, Orange County? Huntington Beach? It's not too far from where the Castle is right now,” they nodded a bit. There was just a small pause. “Wouldn't be bad to have a vacation.”

A beat. They all looked at him in surprise, seeing him fix his glasses nonchalantly, totally unbothered by their staring. 

“...You're joking.” Douxie asserted.

“I definitely am not.”

“It's November.”

“Since when you can't have a vacation in November?”

“I have little to no money to pay for a few days in a hotel,”

“I do,” Jim said. And Douxie made a face, his eyes almost bulging—still not gazing at Jim, not really—everything in him screaming ‘Seriously?!’

“I have some savings, too…” Claire asserted—She didn't spend much except on some full shopping days… And most of the times she had, her Father had given her back whatever she had spent at the end of the month—almost starting to grin as he facepalmed.

A low “Oh my Gods,” was muttered under Douxie's breath as he returned to get his arm down and that… That couldn’t stop the amused expression that fully spread on her face. 

“I still have what remains from Lad of Fortune's wins,” Nari reminded him immediately after. 

“Guys...”

“It might surprise you, but I have some hidden gold somewhere,” Archie smirked, getting on his Wizard's left shoulder and rubbing himself against his neck as he passed towards the right one. 

“That does not surprise me. At all. What surely does is your sudden interest in wanting to stay at the beach for more than just a few hours, especially taking into account that you hate sand.”

“Just like Anakin Skywalker.” Nari pointed out. 

“Just like Anakin Skywalker.” Douxie agreed. 

Archie ignored them and sniffed loudly, wagging his tail. “Hate is a big word.” 

Hisirdoux raised an eyebrow, looking one hundred percent unconvinced, making his Familiar let out a very weird, but annoyed noise. 

“Whatever, not that much of a fan. But. I am a fan of sunbathing. Come on, Doux.” He headbutted him softly and rubbed himself some more against his cheek. “A week at most. Some fresh sea air doesn’t hurt you.”

Hisirdoux stared at him for a long amount of time, receiving the same stare from the Dragon, who didn't back down. As a matter of fact, the Wizard lost and rolled his eyes. 

After Archibald, Douxie looked at Nari, who appeared radiant and excited. He did it for a shorter amount of time than how he had done to his Familiar, though, simply raising a brow this time. 

Then he got to Jim, actually gazing at him in the face and eyes, even if there was something extremely tentative in the way he did. 

When it was Claire’s turn, it was even slower to get. And preceded by a small inhale like he needed to prepare himself to peek at her. 

The look he gave her, in the end, was fleeting at best and didn’t reach her gaze, but it still felt like a step forward and a small victory. 

Hisirdoux sighed, passing a hand through his hair. 

“Fine,” he said, a little exasperated. “But after I get and finish a new work request, I'll pay each one of you back, wherever you want it or not. And I won't change my mind on that.”

“Deal.”

“And if the sand gets in your eyes, Arch, don't get snappy at me.”

“Alright, alright. Can we copy the Letting Go Jar process, doses and incantation… and then start packing?” Archibald impatiently asked… even though it was pretty obvious he was not going to accept a ‘No.’ as an answer.

Claire nodded. So did the others, Jim already deleted most of the past notes until it was empty of anything that wasn't their definitive choice. 

*** 

It took them something like an hour to have everything they needed, between pushing towels and clothes in suitcases—Claire jumping in and out of apartments to reach for the missing stuff like swimsuits, sunglasses, and hats to fight the sun—and putting many of the bought and prepared food—the hotdogs, the pop-tarts and quickly made up food too, all of them into containers—in other bags. 

Ten minutes were used to control things left and right, just to be completely sure. 

Douxie had even strengthened the barrier around Camelot more than once, layers upon layers against any possible spell and counterspell he could get to mind. He did not want surprises like unexpected, unknown—or aggressive especially—guests of any kind. 

He had learned his lesson on that between Griffons, nasty jaculi, rukhs, some Witches and… Once, even an airplane—it had almost hit the Castle. Hadn't been for Archie waking him up jumping on him and screaming inside his ears to warn him, they wouldn't have been able to move it out of the way in time. From that experience, he had created a specific barrier that worked exactly like an infinite corridor, but in a way that did not block inside. It pushed them out instead. And it did so in the most kind way possible, so as not to risk them getting hurt, or perceive and get alarmed by the sudden movement. 

It took six more minutes to get everything in order on the Shuttle, to make Nari drink a potion to make her look differently and to add an Invisibility Spell around them, which, as always, felt like a light, big veil that floated just a little above their heads. 

Then they were off, the Shuttle responding well to Douxie’s Staff, the air slightly cold as it ran through everyone’s hair, and the sky of a beautiful, intense, brilliant light blue. 

The journey, all in all, was fast and smooth. Just a few hitches here and there because of birds being dramatically unpredictable—for no apparent reason—in the middle of their flight and sudden gusts trying to push the Shuttle in the direction that the wind wanted. 

The bigger war was instead reaching a point where to momentarily leave the flying craft, being able to appear in the city in a way that it didn't look like they had appeared from nowhere. In comparison to that, when they were able to park and walk on the ground, finding an information spot for hotels or residences was as easy as blinking.

Maybe because it was November, maybe because the owner of the residence was good at business, they had ended up booking an apartment for five days—Fifth night included. They had to leave on day six before ten o’clock—at a decent price. 

The apartment was on Delaware Street, actually near the beach, which made it even more surprising that it wasn't expensive. Honestly, it was cheaper than what he had expected after seeing the pictures.

It had two bedrooms, an extra sofa bed in the living room, a pool, a garage to put the Shuttle in… and it accepted pets!—Archie had grumbled in annoyance a little at the term, but nothing more than that except an offended meow. The fact that a worker had called him handsome, waiting for any kind of permission to give him scratches behind the ears had fixed his humor pretty quickly, though—with only two requests that had been keeping the place clean and to call if issues presented themselves, which were quite normal and reasonable things to ask. 

They only had to wait until three in the afternoon to get the keys. Which wasn't that near, but wasn't that far either, at that point, since it was twenty past one as they came out of the building. 

*** 

The beach was empty as they reached it, the waves crashing against it and a few loud seagulls flying in the distance being the only noises that reached their ears. 

The sand was warm, but not too much as they slowly sat down, a bright red tablecloth covered by a rectangle pattern positioned just under them, the bags being placed all around in a circle, very near to their backs. 

Even if the hour was right, they didn't immediately start to get the food out of them. They preferred to look around for a bit, mostly at the empty horizon, whose view was stunning: The clouds seemed to be toying around with the pale cerulean sky. They almost created a white bubbly chapel that melted near the waves, just a little above them. And the cobalt aquamarine of the water shone against the golden radiant sun like it was made out of small precious stones. 

They couldn't help but stare, the pacific view surrounding them in a pleasant quietness. 

Douxie, in between all the silent looking, ended up inhaling until his lungs were full, almost stretched out… and then exhaling all the sea air at once.

It had been a while since the last time he and Archie had been to the beach. 

He had missed it a bit, to be honest, even though he hadn't realized that before. 

He had missed the smell, the view, the feelings and thoughts that pierced his mind when he looked at it, especially when nobody was running around to block them—They tended to get very existential at times, but some of them were just like a rewind of past events. Of what had happened between the previous occasion he had been to the ocean and that one, reckoning things.

The rhythmic lapping against the sand—moving as if invisible hands were pushing them forward and inward—was almost hypnotic , but it was the entire view itself in its majestic, incredible size that got through him. 

An unclear amount of time passed, time that he still used to gaze right in front of him, and then he inhaled and exhaled deeply again, feeling his Familiar’s warmth next to him. 

Archie was already staring at Douxie when his gaze went down to look at him.

“Sunscreen,” the Dragon reminded him, his voice attracting everyone’s attention. 

“Yes. I'll get it,” he immediately said, leaving a rub on top of his head and hearing him make a happy noise as he hit his favorite spot, which had him grinning as he started searching in one of the bags, moving some clothes to fetch the black container.

“Absolutely,” Douxie heard Jim’s voice repeat as he finally found the box, more in an absent-minded mutter. “Don’t want to have a round two,”

“A round two?” Claire asked curiously. And Hisirdoux got out the box from the bag, having it land on his legs, just a little before his knees.

“...I didn’t tell you about me and Toby having one of our first vacations together when we were little?”  

“Nope. Spill.”

“Well…” Douxie raised his head just in time to quickly, shortly peek at how Jim's cheeks instantly flared red, returning to the box shortly after. 

“Mom and Nancy had left us alone to ask the lifeguard for a sunbed. We wanted to get to the sea as soon as possible, so we kind of… Grabbed the first cream we saw with a sun on it, not caring about reading anything. Fact is…” Jim chuckled nervously.

“Let me guess… That wasn't the sunscreen?” 

“No. It was the After-sun cream.” 

‘Oh, buckets.’ 

“And it was the start of the evening in the middle of August,” even worse. “So at the end of the day, we were… Uh… All red everywhere. And in pain. In very, very much pain. As if that wasn't enough, mom and Nana took a whole lot of pictures.” The embarrassment could be heard by his tone even by still staring down. 

“I… have no idea if it was to tease us or just because they wanted to have photos of the location; most of those pictures had us looking like upset tomatoes.” Douxie couldn’t help but snort a little at the last comment as he grabbed the sunscreen, opening it with a loud pop. 

But what made him wheeze out loud was the last part that Jim dropped immediately after that. 

“It didn’t help that we had been wearing the goggles on our faces the whole day.”

Archie more or less made a choked noise that sounded hysterical, while Nari simply tilted her head before letting out a loud giggle.

“Please tell me that you still have them somewhere,” Claire uttered while, from what he could see, was trembling just a little. She was trying to hold her laughter in and almost failing at it since her words were a little strained.

“I won’t confirm nor negate anything,” Jim said. 

“Is that a yes?” Douxie grinned openly, starting to let the cream cover his hand enough to spread it to every visible part of his body.

Jim hid his face, his cheeks looking more than red now. “Yeah. But don’t go searching for it or someone will die.”

“Who?” Nari chirped innocently, still giggling some more.

“Me.”

A beat. Then, with the laughter that they had more or less tried to hold in, they all started cackling. Way too loudly. 

An uncontrollable fit had all of them shaking and bending over, eyes tearing up. Douxie had—in a split second—to remind himself that he still had the sunscreen all over his hands before trying something he would have highly likely regretted.

Jim just sighed loudly, a shade near purple painting his face, his head shaking, but he did not say anything. He must have rolled his eyes a little. Or something else. But still, no words slipped out of his mouth. 

It took a bit before they more or less stopped howling and sobered up one by one, the sunscreen being shared between all of them except Archie—Nari getting it only on some parts, where the leaves, flowers, and grass were lacking—until they were protected enough. And so it was dropped back inside the black box, small little snickering noises still jumping out of their lips from time to time.

After wiping their hands to be sure of not end up eating the cream, they started unpacking the food. The remaining hot dogs were dropped on the cloth as the first thing, then the next was many small sandwiches that Jim had prepared while Claire had popped in and out of apartments.

No matter the relaxation Douxie had somehow gained between the hours and the view, his stomach returned to close up for pretty much no reason in front of the hot dogs. No reason at all, really. Still, just the image of them got his insides in utter turmoil. 

…Or maybe there was a reason. It wasn't that hard to see it if he actually thought about it. 

It was the shape they had. Which was normal. They were bloody hot dogs, they did not come up in other shapes. But he just… 

He couldn’t stand the idea of stuffing one into his mouth. 

‘Great,’ he thought sarcastically, inhaling and exhaling slowly as his stomach knotted even more. ‘I have food issues even more now. As if I hadn’t had some already, before. Just great.’

He went silent again just for a moment, trying to keep his breath normal and not to feel it stutter all over again. 

‘It's normal food,’ he insisted to himself. ‘It's nothing else but food. Chill out.’

He tried not to spiral mentally, focusing on the new loop of thoughts that he nervously, agitatedly tried to let stick into his brain. But… 

Fuzz it. It wasn't working. 

He didn't even need to move, though. Didn't even have to open his mouth to say anything because while Jim brought out glasses and the napkins and Claire found the water bottle, Archie immediately claimed some of the hot dogs for himself, while Nari took the remaining ones without even blinking. And nobody said a single word about it. 

Literally, no questions asked and no weird expressions nor confused or offended staring as Jim and Claire finished bringing out all the stuff from the bag nearest to them.

And so, just as silently, he went for the sandwiches. He was able to eat the first without any type of issue, even though his brain—in opposition to his friends—started ranting at him, calling him names again because he really couldn't act normally, not even for half a day.  

The second small sandwich disappeared too in between his own fast head shake and his staring at the pattern of the fabric under them, trying to escape from the aggressive mind screaming. 

“I was almost kidnapped once.” Claire nonchalantly said then. And Douxie almost choked on the water while grabbing the third sandwich.

“Pardon me, could you repeat that?” his voice cracked to the point that his words came out as an acute screech—his gaze barely got on her left cheek and fuzz him, it still felt very stupid to him, but he could not go up. 

He must have misunderstood, right? His brain might have played a joke on him, right? It wouldn't have been a surprise to him if it had done so, at this point. 

“I was almost kidnapped once.” She steadily said once again. 

And Gods. Apparently, it wasn’t. Alright. 

“Explain?" Jim immediately requested, his voice sounding perplexed and a little high-pitched as well. 

“I was on a vacation, too.” Claire started, shrugging like she hadn't just dropped a bomb out of nowhere. “I must have been six… Or seven. I don't remember much, to be honest.”

A pause, in which they all waited in silence for her to continue, almost with bated breath. A single crashing sound of waves played in the background.

“I just know that I was bored out of my mind, back then. My parents took vacations, yes, but those vacations were usually working calls upon working calls, you know. So… I got to the park behind the hotel while dad  and mom were on the phone again.” 

Another pause. Another crashing of waves. 

“It had been empty when I did,” Claire added, probably fixing a hairlock with a movement of her hand. “While I was on the swing, though, a woman came next to me and started talking. I have no idea about what she said, but I remember that at a certain point, I stopped swinging and she grabbed me by the arm. She almost got me in her van, but luckily one of the workers in the hotel had seen it happen and warned everyone he could. I remember… I think I remember a man with a gun that got her to drop me and then kept her still against the van’s door, and my mom screaming at me.”

Douxie blinked, slightly sickened by the images that appeared inside his mind and that twisted his stomach uncomfortably, terrible ‘what ifs’ whispering in his ears and making his heart lose a few beats in between. 

“Holy shit,” Jim commented. His hand immediately searched for Claire's, almost to be one hundred percent sure that she was sitting there with them, the same ‘what ifs’  that had played through Douxie's brain probably crossing his. 

“That must have been terrifying…" he muttered, his voice so low that it was kind of a miracle that they all had heard him talking, Nari even nodding in agreement. 

“Not really? I think… I think I was more confused than scared.” He peeked at her nibbling at her mouth. 

“How did this come up?” Archie asked instead with a slight worry mixed with confusion, wagging his tail a few times in between. 

“I… Nothing much?” Claire shrugged again. He could see her squeeze Jim's hand gently before her fingers started tracing random patterns on his skin. “Jim had talked about the whole sunburn thing and I can imagine that he didn't share the tale with anyone else except Barbara, Toby, and Nancy herself? So I… I kind of thought about my vacations and things that I hadn't talked about… And I remembered this one.” She paused. “It's weird. Thinking about it after so much time, I mean.” She grabbed a new sandwich, preparing herself to bite into it. 

Douxie remained silent, feeling like she was going to talk again. They all did. 

And, indeed, she did talk again. 

“I had almost forgotten about it. It had happened so fast that I don’t think I realized what had just happened. That's why I say that I probably was more confused than anything. I didn't process it.” 

More silence as they, instead, were trying to process the news, even though it felt so disconcerting that it was… complicated to do so. 

“Very, very luckily they weren't able to take you away,” Nari said softly after the quiet. “Very, very glad about it, too.”

Douxie couldn't help but agree with her. He was glad, too. 

A possible alternative reality where they never met felt bloody wrong—If not to say that they might have been dead already—and he didn't like thinking about it. 

He almost reached for her. Almost. Something still stopped him from even only touching her with a finger. He wasn’t able to look at her face fully, either. Again. 

He would have liked to do it, reddish brown mentally meeting his own. They would have looked soft, but probably a bit lost, right now, full of the memories that she had to digest. 

He could almost imagine trying to offer her some comfort, but at the same time, new shame and slight fear that he couldn't fight yet were still bubbling under his skin at the thought of it. And it was stupidly frustrating. 

He tried to shake it off, biting onto the third sandwich and forcing himself not to cast his eyes entirely down all over again, leaving it just in the middle. He tried, but he couldn’t get up anymore yet—something in him was blocking him. Something that felt nauseating and that he could only push aside and try to ignore, but it still was breathing on his neck. 

He heard her clear her throat.

“Someone else's turn to talk about vacation times?” She questioned then, her tone of voice clearly showing that she wanted to move away from the whole kidnapping topic. 

“...Can I go?” Nari asked. 

“Sure.”

She remained quiet just for a second before starting to talk. 

“Once, Skrael had made a big ice ship. Like. Really, really big.” She bit into a hot dog and after chewing, she gulped it down. “I brought one of my first friends there. Her name was Zuri.”

Douxie remembered that name. She had told him about her, called her out once or twice…Once even in another story, she had told him after being attacked by the Griffons. Apparently, back then, they had been assailed by one or two of them, too. 

“She had lived in a village inhabited by a Clan of Witches and had never left it before meeting me.” 

“Why not?” Jim questioned. 

“Clan rules. Humans made it risky. And Leaders didn't want the risk.” Nari replied, her face passed from happy to thoughtful in the blink of an eye. And, yes, her answer made way too much sense . 

“Still, I didn't like that she was a prisoner of her own home. So I brought her outside every time I could. And I brought her on the ship.” She paused. “We played all day. We ran, climbed everywhere, and had so much fun. We decorated the ship without Skrael knowing it with objects we collected, with flowers and shells. His face when he saw the ship, in the end, was really funny.” Another small pause. Another loud wave crashed against the shore. “It is still one of my favorite memories of all time.”

“That sounds amazing,” 

“It was,” she agreed. “But…” Something on her face changed in a way that was too recognizable to let him pass over it. 

“But?” He asked, his voice lowering itself slightly. 

“It gets bittersweet if you think about the day later,” Nari asserted, snatching confused expressions from all of them. “...The Clan Leader didn’t like the friendship I had with her. Didn’t like the rules to be broken. He forbade her to be around me. So I never played with her again.” 

Hisirdoux couldn't help but frown at that, staring at her silently. 

“I saw her often, but couldn't get close. The last time we met and talked properly was the day before she died.”

The shock exploded like a bomb. Douxie's eyes widened, just like his mouth did, completely at a loss of words for the second time in such a short amount of time. 

Hell, that had escalated quickly. Way too quickly. And it felt more bitter than sweet, if not directly heart-wrenching.

A “Oh...” and another “Holy shit,” were said at the same moment as a “I'm sorry.” slipped breathlessly from his mouth, completely uncontained. 

Nari gazed back at each of them, her eyes lingering from one to another. “It's okay,” she simply replied. “At least we got enough time to bid farewell.”

“Still…” he insisted instead, maintaining eye contact with her, but perceiving Archie moving near him. “We're sorry anyway. It must have hurt a lot back then.”

Nari remained still for a moment, then she nodded, her eyes glinting slightly. “It had.”

More silence, accompanied by a veil of sadness. More quiet munching on the food. 

His Familiar, after getting near Nari to offer some comfort, eventually returned where he had been and sniffed, wagging his tail. “Our round, I guess?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Jim replied instantly, sounding taken aback. “Go on.”

Douxie looked at Archibald and then nodded. He quickly wrecked his mind to find a lighter argument to talk about. Possibly a tale that was not boring, but that ended in a good way . “We…” many events. Many, many events. Mostly playing beach ball, sunbathing, and deep diving. And, oh, no, wait. Yeah. That was something. 

“We often scuba dive when we go to the sea,” he said, a small smile painting his lips. “We tried surfing once, but it wasn't for us...”

“He kept getting unbalanced and making us both fall from the surfboard.” Archie interrupted him.

“It wasn't for us,” he repeated, rolling his eyes slightly. Someone snickered just a little. “Scuba Diving, yes, it was. The first time we did it was kind of scary, because of the whole not knowing much about what you have to do. But it gets easier because luckily there is someone who instructs you and is very, very near to you to be sure that you avoid doing stupid things that have the chance of making you drown.” He shook his hand dismissively. “Well, for how scary it had been that time , it was ten times less terrifying than one of the last times we did it.” 

He felt their stare on him as he paused just for a moment.

“And that is because, between dark water and black algae, flailing arms and legs everywhere at something like fifty-five, sixty feet deep from the surface, a Great White Shark appeared from below, going straight towards us.”

A “And then?” and a “What happened?” raised almost in a chorus. 

“Apart from having an almost heart attack at first? I pushed him to the side.”

“What?”

“I pushed him to the side,” he repeated, grinning enthusiastically. “From just above the jaw. More than once, because that one was bloody stubborn, but yeah.” He shrugged, seeing their mouths slacked so widely that he couldn't help but snort out loud. “...Sharks are scary as hell by looks, yes, but the truth is that most of them are disinterested in human meat. If someone gets bitten it's usually because they have bad eyesight. Or are very, very hungry.” He raised an eyebrow. “...Except for Bull Sharks; those are actually very aggressive.”

“...I cannot believe it,” Jim asserted flatly.

“It is the truth,” he immediately responded, a little offended. “Really, I kno…”

“No, no. That's not it. I do believe that you did it,” he quickly clarified, blocking him in place before he could say anything else. “What I cannot believe is that you are talking about it as if pushing sharks is the most normal thing in the universe! Do you even hear yourself?”

He blinked. A single “Ah.” escaped him, still a bit perplexed. He ended up raising an eyebrow as he stared back at him. “I mean… Didn't we go against bigger, scarier creatures? So what's the difference, mate?”

“...Dude.”

“I dunno, Jim. He kind of has a point.”

*** 

Once they fully finished eating, they shook the cloth to remove the sand from it, then folded it and put it inside the same bag from where it had been taken. 

After that, Douxie immediately started searching for a clean, unused container to collect the salt water, finding the right one hidden by a big package of tissues. Large, but not too much, so as not to have tons when fully filled with liquid. It still was going to weigh a lot but at least a little less… Which, whoever was going to move the bag later was going to be very grateful for.

He removed his shoes next, leaving them just near the bag. The others did the same, getting them to be hidden by the sun so as to not find them to be scorching when they returned wearing them.

With naked feet he moved towards the sea with the container between his hands, his friends all around him, talking about water evaporation and discussing where to leave the container, exactly. After a quick evaluation, near the pool was the choice that won all their favor.

The sea was ice cold as they quickly went in. Hisirdoux instantly recoiled enough to get out of it and cussed out loud, muttering then an offended remark at Archie’s amused “Told you to get in slowly,” which… yes. He was totally right. He had told him. And he had listened to him only halfway because he had expected it mentally to be cold, really, but still not that cold .

After the light grumbling, breathing in and out, he slowly returned in, shivers rippling through his body and raising all his hair at once. He instantly lowered the small tray into the waves and filled it, not wanting to stay in the freezing water more than necessary.

Once it overflowed, he had to move it behind himself. 

Luckily, he was helped by Jim to carry it to the shore—yes. It was bloody heavy, exactly as he had imagined it to be. Who knew how worse it would have been if it had been even bigger—making it slither against the sand almost all the time and still having issues with getting it near the bags. Then they closed it, the lid clicking as it went into place. 

A few seconds after the whole thing, as the two of them got a bigger distance between them and their things, a large splash of water hit him and Jim in their chests, Archie looking way too innocent—his paw being licked, his tail moving, his eyes staring at nothing in particular and closing way too slowly—to not be him and Nari… Nari looked as pleased with herself as that morning with the Star Wars references. So... Definitely an accomplice.

He swiftly returned to the sea, not caring about the cold at all—not anymore—and immediately splashed them back without any restraints. Then he got hit by new splashes by Claire almost at the same time as Jim ended up launching an attack on Archie's front, facing him to show that it was his turn. 

As the water attacks almost ended in his eyes, even the sea itself decided to get the biggest wave possible and to make him stagger it with it, falling and getting completely drenched, the cold passing through every single cloth and having him cuss again before returning to get up. 

So… yeah. He might have prepared for war after that, letting his wrists bones loudly crick before abruptly driving his hands into the transparent liquid and bathing everyone that even slightly came in his way, sloshing left and right while cackling against new hits—making pissed-off noises when they seriously got to his eyes, making them burn and having him strongly desire for goggles of any kind. 

Needless to say, when they finished the water fight and went out from the sea, they were all soaked from head to toe, dripping so much that the almost continuous stream took way too much to transform into a normal, slow falling. 

They grabbed the towels and went towards the showers, at least to take away the salt from their bodies and to have a change of clothes—not wanting to risk a sudden cold because the air wasn't exactly enough warm to avoid it—before, still loudly chatting and laughing, leaving the beach to properly get to Delaware Street, sometimes risking to fall in the sand while speeding up because holy hell, the big clock of the safety guard—in the part of the beach next to them, not theirs—said that it was ten to three already. 

They got there barely in time, with heavy breaths and still humid all over. 

The man who gave them the keys looked at them with little to no judgment, though, smiling with no care in the world before handing them over and telling them to have a good stay, to which they all thanked him.

The owner, after they were all in, closing the door behind themselves, interrupted his leaving, paralyzing himself on the spot. He couldn't help but turn around and… Actually ask himself if the cat had really talked or if he had drunk a little too much. 

He brushed it off after a moment or two of confusion. Maybe he was going to get fewer shots next time.

*** 

Jim finished arranging his clothes in the left side of the wardrobe, then, slipped out from the room while Claire instead waltzed in to put hers in the right after an assessment of the whole apartment—mostly external, to be sure there was no type of danger, supernatural activities or people who were way too meddlesome in sight—a smile plastered all over her face, her eyes twinkling and appearing of the same red of the sunset, the distress and guilt that had plagued her between the day before and today itself appearing to be gone like smoke in the wind. 

He quickly went to the kitchen, finding Archie—having taken Douxie's appearance. The only thing that immediately told him that it was the Dragon and not him were the glasses on his nose and the completely calm, absorbed expression on his face—bringing out the food and moving them, while Nari was disposing of momentarily empty vases all around the corners of the large sofa. 

Douxie himself appeared from the other bedroom in the blink of an eye, most of the bathroom stuff and another bag already between his hands. Jim checked the look on his face quickly. 

The soft honey and emerald green of his gaze were melting in so many different shades, being tender and seeming light and amused, bright and lively, not panicked, nervous, or worse, terrifyingly hollow. 

He was really glad to see that he wasn't too far away from having the same look that Archibald was wearing. And not in a forced way, which was more than a good thing. There was just… A slight hint of tension underneath, which showed off mostly when he was trying to look at Claire, but avoiding fully gazing at her—and that made her distraught, he could see it. But it was just as clear that she was letting things run their course. And it was just as clear that he was trying—almost like every simple attempt was getting him burned. 

Still, he wasn't faking being okay. There had been some moments in which he had been getting agitated, for whatever reason, but he hadn't put the collected mask on. And that was good. It was great. He had been extremely worried when Douxie had let them stay around him, at first. Mostly because he had been scared of bringing him anyway to act to not worry them, but luckily it didn't seem to be the case. 

Words or no words yet, he had let down a wall. And just that single thought felt like something warm and precious. 

Jim went near him, still avoiding being too close and especially doing everything to be seen and heard while he did that, just to be sure. 

Douxie didn't freeze, nor had sudden changes in his body language—not like when they had gotten down the stairs, looking like a wooden board. Not like when they had been checking the jars, where he had been still twitchy, especially when the heavy topic jars had been touched. Not like when he had been making the sandwiches and any too quick movement towards him had him get still a little, staring at his hands… or directly move away—and the sight, honestly, just made him even happier than how he had been at seeing him relax and laugh at the beach—The moment of embarrassment at the past memory had been worth it. 

“The tray is in your room or somewhere else?” he questioned. 

“My room,” Douxie made a small nod while answering. “I'll put all the wet clothes in the washer and then we'll bring it out?”

“Sure. I'll pick up the rest of the toothpaste and toothbrushes in the meantime.”

And he did exactly that, searching and finding everything quickly, bringing them to their destination and then waiting for the other in front of his room, already noticing most of the vases already filled with loam.

He could literally sniff it when a rosemary plant bloomed into one of them just as Archie moved something else into a cabinet—cereals, probably—and Douxie returned, more or less at the same moment Claire exited their bedroom empty-handed. 

“Keep the door open while we get the tray near the pool?” he asked her. 

“Got it.” She immediately asserted, speeding up to get to the left of the wooden door, while he and Doux went into his and Archie’s bedroom—Nari had pretty much claimed the Sofa bed in the exact moment she had seen it—finding the container quickly as it had been left right on top of the bag, which instead was being crushed in a way that made it look less like a bag and more like a carpet. 

They picked it up and it was just as heavy as he remembered. They quickened their pace to place it down as fast as possible—still in a way that didn't have him risk falling as he was walking backward—Douxie telling him about any stair, tube, floor irregularity, or wall present until they got right there, one foot away from the small metallic ladder that threw itself into the water, the container thumping on contact with the ground and the sun shining warmly above their heads. 

They were going to leave it there until they had everything ready, and then separate the salt from the water properly. 

“Now we only have to finish getting out the food, find the right bowl for the Moon water, wait for the night to fall to bring back the Shuttle in the garage, and… Nothing else? Am I forgetting something?”

Jim grabbed his phone, looking again at the many lists that crowded his Notes everywhere like large colored post-its, reading the blue ones quickly a few times. He slightly heard Claire's voice say something to Nari and Archie as he did so. 

“Apart from preparing the Banishing oil and planning an eventual dinner…” he started once he finished checking, putting back the phone in his right pocket. “...Unless we have forgotten something in the first place, no.”

Douxie raised an eyebrow for a moment, moving slowly to return into the apartment and being followed by him. “Banishing oil it is, then.”

Seeing an entire palm, a lemon tree, and a pine in the room as they entered the building again—much better without all the weight—made them both chuckle at the same time. 

*** 

Making some—a lot of—olive oil, following most of the steps normally—Dividing the nuts from the olive, crushing them until they become a paste, warming medium heat, and letting it dry up—before actually finishing it magically, quickened the rhythm of the creation of any other ingredient. 

All the different, unique oils followed swiftly, being all done without needing to store them—one of those, in a normal state, would have taken two weeks in the dark, which… Yeah. Too long for them. Too long in any way possible—as a single snap of fingers from Nari was enough to make them arrive at the best phase possible to let them use them. 

Was that cheating? Perhaps. But perhaps not. Other wizards probably directly bought the freshest oils and did not make them from scratch, Claire had reasoned before the start of the actual longest part, which had been transforming the Black onyx into powder, but still… being in five reduced that drastically, too, letting them have enough of it to be ready to be put into the medium glass bottle without unbalancing the whole thing. 

“Half teaspoon of olive oil…” Nari read. Douxie immediately filled the silverware piece with it, dropping it into the bottle carefully, the delicate sound echoing in the room. 

“Seven drops of pepper oil.”

Claire grabbed the syringe, let it absorb enough substance, and carefully made them fall in, too, already creating a small layer that covered the bottom. 

“Fifteen drops of pine oil.”

Jim's turn. Cleaning the syringe first and then following the process just as carefully. Orange and greenish yellow started mixing slowly, still looking quite bright to the eye. 

“Ten drops of peppermint oil.” Nari asserted next after gazing shortly at it. And it took her very little to do it, always cleaning the item first. The extremely light yellow danced in the mixture, making it shine even more. 

“Then… a sprinkle of peppercorn powder.”

Archie did it, still having Douxie's appearance as he followed the instruction, seeing them float at first only to slowly descend towards the bottom. 

“And then, last but not least, everyone gathers a circle of Black Onyx powder at the center of their palm and gradually let it get in the bottle,”

One after the other, they did, the continuous shower of black gems falling and falling and falling till there was no more in a slow hushed sound, some focused thoughts falling as well with them, incited by the silent staring. 

Then the bottle was closed up and left on the counter while they started cleaning everything, the whole pine plant being transported into the Castle garden first thing. 

It was six and forty when they finished. 

Jim immediately started preparing dinner with what he had at hand and the small additions that Nari helped him to get, while Douxie and Claire quickly left with a Portal to get the Shuttle, a second Portal popping in the garage just a few moments later. 

At seven, the dinner wasn't ready yet, but the Demigoddess quickly grabbed the bowl with the water and left it just near the tray. 

Jim actually finished cooking at seven and ten, the plates being filled with vegetable curry. They were emptied so quickly that it barely took something like seven minutes to have them clean up everything again. 

At eight and a half, actually spent from the day's events and too exhausted to fight it, they were all tucked in bed and the light was off. 

Douxie’s night disappeared between one blinking and another, suddenly rousing up in the early morning, Archie just near him—usual, common matter—but with sweat tickling his spine and harsh fast breathing escaping his nose and dry mouth—less usual. But still more than waking up screaming. 

Panic made his heart race and thunder inside his rib cage for several seconds, confusion approaching his mind like a wave as he only found emptiness in it, no real reason to be enveloped by fears again. But then he brushed it off, loudly sighing, slightly helped by the simple fact that he really didn’t remember the dream in the slightest. 

He got up and simply followed his morning routine silently, letting the sensations slip away from his being bit by bit. He ended up reading a little after a quick breakfast with the remaining pop-tarts while waiting for the others to eventually wake up, his gaze falling from time to time on Nari, sprawled on the sofa bed. 

And, damn, Coriolanus Snow's point of view in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes was bloody terrifying in some parts of the chapters. Not that surprising, but still, wow.

The film, good or not, definitely hadn't been able to transfer them enough. Especially those towards Sejanus… But it probably made a lot of sense. 

Not being inside his head, he definitely seemed more charming and less of a sociopath. And that was exactly how he appeared to other characters of the story, too. The audience, in a way, was in tune with the people around him and they saw what he wanted them to see about himself. 

Just thinking about it… Made him feel kind of uncomfortable. But he kept reading anyway. 

This was until he found himself staring at Nari again, this time awake, perceiving her getting up. 

He instantly smiled at her, a “Good morning,” being mostly whispered by him to not be too loud… but something on the look on her face with which she responded as she walked forward made him instantly worry. 

*** 

Nari was used to waking up early in the morning. All the plants and flowers in her body always reacted, rising to the first rays of the shining warm sun, opening and slowly sending shivers down her spine that woke her up, too, wherever she had the desire to do so or not. 

She was used to seeing Douxie sitting on the tallest place in the room as he somehow tended to get up even earlier, finding him fully immersed in reading or occupied fixing or moving away some things around the Castle—because he didn't like their position anymore, or because he wanted to add something else instead. 

She was even more used to seeing him catch her presence in the room easily, looking at her instantly and smiling softly that kind smile of his that reminded her way too much of someone specific. 

Zuri. 

He reminded her of Zuri. She could see her figure overlapping with his, her features completely different if compared—Brown hair, black hair. Gray eyes, Golden and green eyes. Dark brown skin, medium olive—but the smile he had... That smile was the same as hers.  

And it was not the only thing that he did and that seemed to block her in time only to return to thousands and thousands of years before, no. 

It was the good and bad traits alike. The attitudes, both defensive and relaxed. The wilderness mixed with utter excitement that he often showed. The never-ending need and hunger for more. More to see. More to know. More to do. Just more. 

Nari was sure that if she had been able to meet him, Zuri would have adored him. Or hated him, since the similarities could repulse as much as they attracted, but she doubted a similar case. Maybe there would have been some jealousy since he had actually reached Mastery, while her Master had possessively kept her back from it and she hadn't lived the end of his teachings, but no hatred. 

Even on that part, on the need to please to avoid any kind of bad treatment, they would have been the same. They would have recognized it in each other as if they had been watching a mirror, their Core and Souls whispering the same words, the same shared pain that they tried so desperately to cover up or to reduce to normality if there were no ways to hide it. 

Doing everything for a Master was a price that could be often way too heavy to borrow, whether it was an Ancient Rule born by the Leaders of the First three Wizard Clans, accepted by Bellrock himself or not. 

The Contract tied them to their Masters deeply, like roots connecting a tree to the ground. 

The Contract got them in a complicated, hard position since sometimes… Sometimes the wolves were quite good at wearing sheep's clothes, she had learned. 

And the best wolves—those that had the sheep's skin so glued to theirs that even the most observing people were fooled—especially those with multiple choices thrown at them, always ended up eating the prey they desired the most—the prettiest faces, the most alluring bodies, the most desperate souls in need of acceptance and warmth since the life they lived left them lacking and longing, latching to the first rope thrown at them with everything they had. 

So, yes. She didn't doubt that they would have probably clicked, recognizing scars and giving them names. She didn't doubt it for a moment and was saddened by it because no matter how sweet that would have been on some level, it still felt unfair in too many ways.

The teeth marks hadn't been supposed to be there. They had definitely been too high of a price to pay. 

She had died from them—the child in her womb with her. Nari herself had been near to killing the father, but her brothers had both stopped her. Magic had to grow. Master Wizards were rare. Killing one of them wasn't in their plan to let it thrive upon all the Earth. It had been one of the first cracks between her and them, but she had ignored the stemming upsetment and had listened because they were older than her. Even though it had left a bad taste in her mouth. 

He was still bleeding because of them—Merlin Ambrosius hadn't seemed that type of person when she had met him, no matter the weird history they had. His self hadn't seemed to be that corrupt. But the signs on Douxie were all over the place, she was way too sure that she wasn't wrong about it. She wanted to be wrong, but she couldn't lie to herself. The man she had considered as a friend had been a great wolf, maybe the greatest she had ever met. And he had found his prey in a kind, lost soul that, unlucky him, had been too pretty for his own good. 

“Are you alright?” Douxie questioned as she slowly got near him, his eyes—still surrounded by shades of black powders, the same that two days before he had put on her, too, just because they had been in the mood—shining in a slight worry as they gazed at her. “Do you want some chamomile to be able to sleep some more?”

She instantly smiled at him, warmth flaming in her chest. “No, thank you, I'm fine. My bed was quite soft,” she moved away to get towards one of the cabinets. “I was thinking.”

He frowned, his left hand searching for the bookmark as the right one kept the pages still. 

“Bad thoughts, I gather,” he asserted, a small pause following his words as his eyes widened just a little, something crossing them quickly before returning to normal. “Or… Is it still something bittersweet?” he asked. 

The surprise didn't even hit. He was starting to be able to understand her quite well, too. 

“Yes,” she answered. “Still something bittersweet,” a small pause in which she just stared at him a little more, the warmth disappearing as something in her bosom and intestines got wrenched and all twisted up. 

She hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“Can I hug you?”

He blinked, bemusement crossing and coloring his gaze. And then the emotion left him entirely. 

“Sure,” he said, his voice soft like silk. 

Nari carefully—but not too slow. Not like he was fragile, because he wasn't. He was hurt, cracks here and there, but he wasn't broken. His character’s facets testified his strength alone—leaned forward to embrace him, reaching more or less the center of his back. 

He immediately responded to it, his arms surrounding her, gently, and without issues. 

“Are you sure you are okay?” he questioned again, still sounding worried. 

She simply hummed in response. And she silently hoped to be able to help close up the teeth marks he had on him. At least a little. 

***

Almost everything was on the table: The shiny, colored empty jar. The sea salt. The white candle. The banishing oil. The lemon and the rue. They were placed all over it. 

Pieces of wood from the palm tree were instead delicately detached from the big plant by him with small apologies and thanks in between. Then, he placed them on the table, too, exactly at the moment when Claire created a Shadow Portal that opened in the Castle to bring the trees and some of the other vases there, so as to have more free space. 

The only thing missing was the paper, which was mostly in Nari’s hands before she started giving them to everyone else, leaving them all near the flat surface's empty space to put their thoughts, their let go on it. 

Douxie stared down at the shiny white nothing that was the page and then frowned. 

Various concepts were running through his mind, but the words that had to be written felt wonky in them. Almost too childish to his brain to be really acceptable… But…  

But maybe it was exactly how they had to be, for once. 

There was no need for complicated poetry and complicated words. No need to avoid repetitions. No need at all. Not when expelling emotions and harsh truths was raw. It was a direct and clear action, with no extras in between. 

So, maybe it was fine. Maybe simplicity was the key. And whatever he felt like writing, well, he had to write it. 

‘I want to let go of him,' he thought. The smudged black ink started to run quickly to cover the white in the left high corner. 

“I want to let go of the effect he had and still has on me. I want to let go of all the emotions that he has been able to make me feel, when he was and when he wasn't with me. I want to let go of how those emotions made me see myself. I want to let go of how he made me see the world. I want to let go of the dirt that I sometimes feel under and on me. I want to let go of his touch. I want to let go of the fear of other people's touch. I want to let go of his voice. I want to let go of his words. I want to let go of his stare. I want to let go of his judgment. I want to let go of the lust he looked at me with. I want to let go of his smell. I want to let go of his taste. I want to let go of…” 

Small drops fell on the paper as his view slightly blurred.

He quickly rubbed his arm on his face to remove them, only having more of them trickling down and falling on the page. 

‘Fuzz me…’

He huffed in exasperation and rubbed his face once more, pausing to breathe in and out, the pen shaking between his fingers even though he tried to get them steady. 

He had thought he had finished crying for a while, but apparently not. And yes, maybe he needed it. Maybe he had needed it for a long time without even realizing it, but he hadn't wanted to cry again. Not right there and then. 

He had just wanted to push things out, not to burst into tears in between, making it hard to write. Making it very hard to think. 

But the emotions were there. And they were almost as overwhelming as they had been two days before, just less towards fear or shame and more towards anger and frustration—Again. For the umpteenth time. He had already felt it in several moments yesterday, to the point that he had lost count—and bloody hell he was an absolute mess.

He was an absolute, bloody disastrous mess and Merlin seriously had made him like that. 

Had it been that fun treating him like a sex toy? Had it been that fun demolishing any barrier he had had—not that he had had many since of how blind and stupid he had been—getting him to warm up to him acting charming and gentle or cold but with veiled kindness only to get him in bed? Had it? 

Had it?!  

He closed his eyes, the air stuttering inside his lungs as he inhaled and exhaled, silently fuming, just the slightest hint of magic buzzing under his skin. This was until the rage slowly dissolved, making him feel just pathetic. Incredibly, utterly pathetic for crying and raging in front of a piece of paper. 

‘Gods, what a dumbass.’

He shook his head, then raised it almost instinctively, his gaze moving around the room and then halting in front of the hurt, visibly upset expressions of his friends as they wrote their let-go’s as well.

Jim’s face was contorted in a frown, his free hand fingers rubbing circular motions against his left cheek almost to reassure himself somehow.

Nari had a far away lost look in her eyes that felt like regret and loss—exactly like that early morning. Exactly like at that moment at the beach—as she slowly wrote, her pen moving much more delicately than how both his and apparently Jim’s, too, had.

Claire… 

Claire was mostly focused on writing—her hand quicker than Nari's, yet not frenetic—but she was biting on her own lower lip, anguish making it happen faster. She was probably blinking fast, too. Still probably. 

Archie's face—Douxie’s own—was just as distraught and angry as his, which he saw reflected through the glass of the Banishing oils bottle. And hell, okay. Apparently, he wasn’t over-reacting like he had thought even though his brain had screamed at him that he had. Like it always did. 

He returned to look down, even if the feelings that were running into his chest like crazy horses made him still feel greatly unstable. But somehow… offended by his self? And lost? 

He remained stuck there for a moment or two, confusion still quite high because oh, yes, he had over-reacted once more. One hundred percent over-reacted…But he had over-reacted towards himself, again. 

Got upset at himself, again. 

Because at seeing them reacting in more or less the same way he had, he hadn’t thought that they were over-dramatic or pathetic. Because, no, they had been through much. There was nothing wrong with letting it out through emotions as well, was it?

…Then why wasn’t it supposed to be like that for him, too? It made no real sense. And it made no sense to be upset at himself for it! 

He would have slapped himself if that hadn’t also been getting upset at himself.

He returned to the inhaling and exhaling loop, trying to quickly organize thoughts logically. And then he read the last half phrase he had written, his brain drastically refusing to supply with what he would have filled it before, but… already having something new to fill it with on his own. 

“...the shame that I have for feeling negative things,” he wrote. “I want to let go of the too-high standards that I have of myself because he made me feel like I was never enough except when I wasn't myself and did what I didn't want to do.” That definitely felt too long of a phrase but whatever. “I want to let go of my inner voice and the hate in it. I want to let go of the fear of being too much or too little. I want to let go of the fear of being abandoned.”

There was just a little space that remained on the paper, which he returned to stare at, the pen trapped between the fingers of his left hand, lifted just a bit. The right wiped the tears that had been on his face, none of them going down now. 

His gaze returned to Claire. And no matter how hard it was, he didn't look at a focused specific point for just a moment before falling once more. He looked at her entirely. Eyes too. 

He noticed how red they looked. How wet were they, small tears forming around them. The quick blinking to remove them faster. 

He could imagine them staring at him. Could imagine the terror. Could see her fierce gaze turning bleak just like his own sometimes looked back at him in the mirror. 

Could hear her voice in his head begging him to stop. 

His breath died in his lungs, pain and fear bombing through his whole being, hitting right in the middle of his chest. 

His eyes returned to burn, the pen trembling in his hand to the point that he almost dropped it and he had to squeeze it to avoid doing so. 

A single desperate thought formed at the center of his head.

‘I don't want to become like Merlin.’  

He was different from him. He knew he was. 

But he still did things that brought him to his mind, making him feel horrified. Making him be afraid of himself.

And the more he did, the more he… he was truly, completely terrified and disgusted by the idea of turning to be that way. 

‘I don't want to become like Merlin.’ 

He had wanted to be like him, in the past. 

Had he jinxed himself somehow? Only the idea sent him reeling, his blood freezing in his veins as a shiver crossed his spine and his heart and head racing to the thought, new Mana tickling at both of them. 

He had only wanted to be appreciated! He had wanted to feel like someone that people could trust and look up to. He had wanted to be strong and smart and good enough. 

He didn't want to hurt anybody. Didn’t want to get an Apprentice at all if that meant making them suffer. 

He especially didn't want to harm Claire in any way, only the thought made him want to scream. 

But what if? What if he was going to turn into Merlin, little by little? What if Mastery was more of a curse than a blessing? No, that couldn’t be. That meant that Magic had really been created for monsters, but in Magic there was kindness. And beauty. And so much life. 

If he turned out to be like Merlin… If he actually did… He would have killed himself. 

He would have straight up grabbed a knife and cut his throat open before even laying a hand on Claire that way. No bloody regrets.

The idea might have been crazy to anybody else. Had Archie listened to him saying it out loud, he probably would have reacted negatively. And in a sense, he had all the rights to do so. It was an insane kind of thought. 

But to him? 

It calmed him down instantly, his head feeling clear and light like a balloon, every hint of lack of control disappearing altogether. 

He had an off-route. Death had never scared him much, in all honesty, so it was definitely much less terrifying of the second option. 

Almost detached from himself, he returned to stare at the space on the paper, still not knowing what to fill it with. 

There was no new letting go between his thoughts… Unless… 

Unless the main problem was… 

“I want to let go of the fear of myself.”

He had to smush a few letters and almost write vertically because the ‘of myself’ part was too long to stick in the remaining white spot. Still, since his writing on the page was aggressive and in some points kind of unreadable—but he didn't care. And it probably didn’t matter anyway—it was almost hard to notice. And that was saying something. 

He folded the page in half. Then did it again, placing it on the wood and covering it immediately after with the closed-up pen, whose stopper clicked on the surface. 

He silently waited for the others to finish doing the same, his eyes moving and focusing at various points of the apartment, mostly on the details… like the fringe on the light blue floppy pillow on the right corner of the sofa. Or the sea waves-like pattern around the chandelier above their heads. Or, again, the pretty white dots on the orange starfish that was used as a clock. 

But then they were done, too, and the remaining four pieces of paper got on the table as well. 

And so, the book not at hand but a process written down on Jim's phone, they started composing the Jar. 

“Pour the Moon Water on the bottom of the Jar,” Jim read out loud. And since the ingredient was nearest to Archie, it was he who slowly raised it and let it pour into the colored container, not letting even a single drop remain in the bowl. 

“Add three teaspoons of sea salt.”

Douxie opened one of the drawers, getting the first teaspoon that his hand grasped and he quickly started doing exactly so—one, drop, two, drop, three, drop—with the salt that had been moved before by the tray to a pot to let the water boil. Then he slightly hit the small spoon against the top of the jar, the remaining white veil detaching itself from the surface. 

“Create a flame from the palm's wood to light the candle.”

He saw Claire moving the pieces from the table to the now empty bowl, rubbing one piece against the other until it started fuming and then actually catching fire. The flame was little and delicate, but it still resisted enough to let her light the wick. 

“Read mentally or out loud what has been written on the paper, burn it, and collect the Ashes to add to the jar.”

He sighed. Grabbed his piece of paper and opened it. The process took way too much—yes, because of his confused writing—but apart from some point of it, it didn't make him feel the same dread and pain he had felt while writing it. He felt… alright, actually. Like he wasn't reading about himself. He wasn't sure if it was normal, actually, but he saw it as something positive. 

Seeing the paper burn immediately after felt even better. It was almost relaxing the way the flame moved on the paper, consuming piece after piece almost hypnotically and showing incomplete words in between, the remaining cinders falling on the small plate under the candle. 

More and more cinders fell on it as Jim, Nari, Claire, and Archie burned theirs as well, the smoke spreading together with their silence. 

And as the small gray mountain was formed, it was delicately added to the water and the salt. 

“Pour a whole lemon's juice and then stir,”

Nari did both things, the stirring being slower than the emptying of the lemon as she dedicatedly but cautiously moved the mixture until the color looked definitely right. 

“Draw three circles with the Banishing oil and put the rue at the center of the jar. Wait until it sinks under before stirring again for nine seconds,”

It was Jim's turn. 

He traced the circles with a steady hand, then grabbed the plant, collected them in a tidy manner, and then, keeping them by the heads, he got them in. 

It didn't take much before they were brought under, and thus he started to stir again, this time counting out loud before stopping. 

“The jar is now complete, say your incantation,”

It was written just there, in the Notes, but he remembered it quite well, as it had been one of the things that had immediately struck a chord with him as he had analyzed the book. 

“I Release, as I leave the past where it belongs, and welcome a fresh start; I Release, as I leave all that holds me back, and does not serve my heart; I Release my struggle and thoughts, replace it with peace and harmony. Such is my request, and my needs are no futility, so that as I will it, mote it be.”

A small white light started shining at its bottom, making the whole jar's substance become bright for a moment or two. 

Then the light vanished. And the room was left a little darker, even though it was still morning. 

As it did, Douxie breathed in and out again, looking at all his friends around him and purposely sought eye contact with Claire again, the reddish brown gaze widening just slightly in surprise at it for a short instant before returning to normalcy, but somehow lightening up. 

No fear jumped in as he stared at her. 

Not anymore. 

‘Sorry for acting so weird around you,’ his mind whispered quietly. He almost said it out loud, too. 

“Want to go out for a walk?” he ended up asking instead.