#is this entire thing written from personal experience of being covered in hot chocolate powder

[gravitywonagain]

Hot Chocolate Machine Whisperer

Sometimes, you’re a hot chocolate machine mechanic…

.

Wei Ying didn’t mean to get a reputation. He never means to get a reputation. It’s just that. Well. Now he has a reputation.

It started with the hot chocolate machine in Juniors’ Club. It broke. Which is so very not okay when you have forty cold children who can really only be distracted by the Lion King for so long. Hint: it’s not very long. So Wei Ying sent Mianmian and Flavia P up to the cafeteria to get a few pitchers to hold them over, took the malfunctioning machine into the back with his Leatherman, and got to work. 

The machine itself is deceptively simple. It has a basin to load cocoa powder into and a water source hookup and a heating element and a slightly more complicated bit where they mix. Yeah, that’s basically it. There are very few moving parts, not a lot of things to go wrong. In fact, all that was wrong with this machine was that it was clogged. 

Five minutes later, Wei Ying emerged from the back covered in cocoa powder and victorious. He hooked everything back up and hot chocolate service was reinstated for the day. 

“We should probably start cleaning this guy out every few days or like once a week to keep that from happening again,” he said as Mianmian helped him dust himself off. 

“Sounds very doable. Make it Thursdays?”

“Sounds good to me.”

And that should have been it. 

Except this is a very small ski resort and people talk about literally everything, so, really, he shouldn’t have been surprised when, two weeks later, Rachel from Dining found him while he was eating breakfast. Two of the machines in the main lodge were broken, and could he possibly spare a moment to help them out?

“Absolutely!”

He still had about twenty minutes before he had to get to Juniors’ Club for assignments. This shouldn’t take that long. He’d done this before. 

The thing he forgot to take into account was the size and complexity difference between the machine in JC and the machines in the main lodge. The main lodge houses the main dining facilities which feed probably thousands of people per day, especially on the weekends. The hot chocolate machines here were, to put it gently, intricate. 

Still, thirty minutes later, Wei Ying ran down the stairs to JC, once again victorious, covered in cocoa powder, and only slightly late for assignments. 

When Shawn from Lift Operations approaches him after lessons have ended a couple of days later, Wei Ying is no longer surprised. 

He grabs his Leatherman from his bag and follows Shawn to the break room where the lift operators take refuge from the cold. Wei Ying hadn’t known that they had their own machine. As it turns out, it is a closely held secret because once the park guys had found out, they had started using it, too. Unfortunately for everyone, it broke almost a week prior and, rather than let maintenance know they had one, they’d just opted to use the powder and an electric kettle. 

That was, until Nie Mingjue had spoken to his younger brother about it. 

Wei Ying doesn’t ask why they hadn’t gone to Huaisang earlier because that would be rude and he feels weirdly like Shawn is letting him into his little world right now. He’s happy about this and doesn’t particularly want to ruin it. 

So, it’s like this, elbows-deep in a hot chocolate machine and, as ever, covered in cocoa powder, that he meets Lan Huan, the owner of Cloud Recesses and Lan Zhan’s older brother. 

Lan Huan walks in with Nie Mingjue and does not seem to expect anyone to be in the room. They don’t jump apart so much as one moment, they’re close, and the next they’re not. It’s impressive and subtle and Wei Ying makes no indication that he saw anything.

Nie Mingjue is Nie Huaisang’s older brother and the manager for the park crew. He designs the terrain features and courses and has, in the past, helped Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang set up their own features for stunts in his backyard. It’s super weird to see him at work and with the resort owner. The look on his face says the feeling is mutual.

“Ah, Wei Ying. I didn’t realize you were the person Huaisang sent Shawn to.”

“Yup. I’m the hot chocolate machine whisperer, I guess.”

“Aren’t you an instructor at Juniors’ Club?”

“Yes, mostly.”

“Mostly?” Lan Huan’s voice is deep and smooth, like his brother’s. It’s slightly jarring when juxtaposed with Nie Mingjue’s rougher vocal patterns. 

Wei Ying is determined not to be nervous in this moment. He’s here doing a favor for some new friends. He’s off the clock. He’s sitting on the wet carpet in snow pants and surrounded by machine parts and definitely has chocolate powder on his face. Okay. That’s the nerves. He runs his mouth around them, still largely focused on the task literally at hand. 

“Well, who is ever one thing, really? Sorry, I’d shake your hand, but I just got mine wedged in here and I’d like to get this stupid. Little. Plastic. Ah! There it is!”

Wei Ying pulls his hand from the machine with the offending plastic piece held between his fingers and smiles. He stands, then, and turns toward his boss’ boss’ boss. He extends his hand and then, seeing how covered in chocolate it still is, retracts it and offers a bow instead. They’re both Chinese, they should get it.

“Ah, Mr. Nie, Director Lan, I’m Wei Ying, and your hot chocolate machine is almost fixed.”

“Wei Ying? You’re A’Zhan’s friend!”

“Ah, yes! Yes, I am friends with Lan Zhan.” Lan Zhan told his brother we’re friends? Wei Ying tries not to get distracted by that.

“Hm. He told me you were an instructor, I didn’t realize you were also part of maintenance.”

It takes Wei Ying a moment to realize what he means. 

“Oh, no. No, this is just,” Wei Ying shrugs, cocoa powder drifting down to the carpet, “apparently a thing I do sometimes.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, I fixed the one in JC, in the Clubhouse, and people talk, I guess.”

Director Lan cocks his head and fixes Wei Ying with a look. Wei Ying is very not sure what that look means but he feels, strangely, like he is being Perceived. 

“Mr. Wei, are you on the clock right now?”

“Oh, no! No. This is just. My own. Thing.” As he finishes, Wei Ying is not sure that was the correct answer. 

Lan Huan’s quirked eyebrow tells him it was not. 

“Hm. You should fix your hours to include this.” Lan Huan smiles at Nie Mingjue, a look of mischief, and continues, “It can come out of Mingjue’s budget.”

“Yup,” Nie Mingjue says, easily, trying to stop the smile threatening his mustache. He looks toward the ceiling, mostly, it seems, to avoid Lan Huan. “Put it down as Park Maintenance. I’ll send you the codes.”

“Uh… yes, sir,” says Wei Ying, feeling entirely caught off guard, “I will do that.”

Lan Huan beams, “Good. Has staying late affected your transportation?”

It’s a fairly direct question while also not being too presumptive. Many of the resort’s employees catch the shuttle back down the hill before it stops running at 6:30. Only about half have their own cars or choose to drive them up the pass for the work day. Parking can sometimes be a bitch. Lots of people carpool. 

“Oh, I live with Wen Qing and Wen Ning. I’d be waiting on them anyway. It’s nice to have things to do with my hands when A’Yuan isn’t here to keep me entertained.”

“Hm. I’m glad to see A'Zhan making friends like you. You’ll keep him grounded, I think.”

Wei Ying isn’t totally sure if Lan Huan means that in the way rich people talk about having poor friends or if it’s more about personalities. Lan Huan doesn’t seem like the type to casually invoke class warfare. But one can never be sure. Wei Ying will give him the benefit of the doubt this time.

“I… I just like hanging out with him. Your brother is very expressive when he wants to be. Funny, too.” These are maybe not the kinds of things he should be saying to his boss, Wei Ying realizes a bit belatedly. “And he shreds in the superpipe!”

That draws a chuckle from both Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue.

“That he does,” says Lan Huan with a genuine smile. It’s clear he loves his brother a lot.

“Anyway, Director Lan,” the way Nie Mingjue says the title makes it very obvious that he never calls him that unless forced, “we should let Wei Ying get back to his park maintenance.”

“Yes. Yes. It was lovely to meet you, Wei Ying. Good luck with,” he gestures to the absolute mess around Wei Ying, “all this.”

“Thank you, Director.”

“See you later, Wei Ying,” Nie Mingjue waves as he leads Lan Huan out of the break room.

“Bye, Da--” Wei Ying stops himself, remembering present company, “ah, Mr. Nie.”

As they leave, Wei Ying gets the odd feeling that he has just been approved of. He’s not sure what to do with that. So he keeps fixing the hot chocolate machine.

.

[Next: Rentals]

Jack of All Trades

(a Fresh Powder in the Pine Trees story in three vignettes)

Sometimes when you’re working at Juniors’ Club, you’re actually doing any number of other jobs around Cloud Recesses.

~

Ski Patrol

Sometimes, you’re just faster than Ski Patrol...

.

“Lan Zhan!”

Wei Ying waves his free arm around, flagging down Lan Zhan who, to his credit, skis directly over to him. 

He watches Lan Zhan take in the scene as he approaches: Wei Ying, one foot strapped into his board, holding a child and their board in his arms, a small amount of blood running down the child’s leg. There is, also, an adult skier sitting nearby looking suitably chastened. Lan Zhan is smart, he’ll put it together.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. I need you to watch my students. Take them back to JC, I’ll meet you there. I need to get this little guy to Wen Qing and that guy,” he jerks his head at the skier, ignoring the eight-year-old’s protests at being called ‘little,’ “needs to come with me.” He keeps his voice calm and light, but his face, he knows, shows his anger. 

“Can you wait for Ski Patrol?”

“Lan Zhan. There's blood on the snow and these kids are eight. No. I cannot wait for Ski Patrol.”

“Are you--”

“Lan Zhan.”

“Yes. I will meet you at Juniors’ Club.”

Thank the Heavens for Lan Zhan and his fucking serenity. Wei Ying draws on it for the briefest of moments before he moves again. He feels steadier when he does. 

“Thank you. Here,” he hands Lan Zhan the child’s snowboard, “take this, too.” 

Lan Zhan nods at him and takes it.

Wei Ying turns to the students who are all still sitting so nicely on the snow. They really are being absolutely perfect. Lan Zhan will figure out how to compensate their parents for the truncated lesson, but Wei Ying will make them all extra hot chocolate or something when he gets back to JC. 

He adjust his grip on the kid -- eight-year-olds are not light.

“Okay guys. This is Lan Zhan. He’s a skier, but he’s going to bring you guys back to the Clubhouse and hang out with you until I get back. Don’t worry, he’s super cool. You won’t even know I’m gone. Did you guys know he used to race?”

With that new distraction in place, Wei Ying shares another quick nod to Lan Zhan and skates over to the skier sitting on the snow. The man looks appropriately guilty so Wei Ying doesn’t feel the need to yell at him again. He steps his right foot into the binding -- kicking the straps out of the way with the toe of his boot, resolved to ride like he skates -- kid still in his arms, and nods.

“Come on. Let's go tell Ski Patrol what happened.”

The skier stands and follows him. He’s not quite as incompetent as he seemed when he hit Wei Ying’s student and they make it down the hill relatively quickly. 

It’s awkward as hell, snowboarding with fifty pounds of eight-year-old in his arms. His center of gravity is so off and he can’t quite gather the speed he wants, both because it’s a green run and because he can’t let the skier out of his sight. But they make it to the clinic. The skier stays with him. Everything is fine. 

-

Wen Qing yells at him for not waiting for Ski Patrol to stabilize the child’s leg before moving him. She waits until the kid is safe with his parents and the skier has been dealt with and is gone, of course, but it’s still loud. 

“It’s just a laceration, Qing-jie. Ski Patrol would have freaked out my students and taken forever to get there.”

“A-Ning would have been there as fast as he could, and you know that.”

It’s true. Wen Ning has always been Wei Ying’s friend, but for the last few months, he’s been weirdly attentive. You get a nosebleed and pass out one time and suddenly your EMT friend comes sprinting whenever you call. 

“As fast as he could is still not instantaneous.” 

“Wei Ying --”

“I’m first aid certified, Qing-jie. He’ll be okay.”

“If he has so much as a sprain…” She points a finger at him, accusatory and threatening. 

“If he has a sprain, he got it when the fucking skier hit him, not when I carried him down the mountain.”

“Okay.” Wen Qing seems mollified by this. “You’re dismissed. I want a copy of that incident report for my records.” 

“Yes, Wen-daifu.”

“Don’t put that on me,” she says, exasperated but fond. The accusatory finger is back. “You have to wait!”

She’s starting her bachelor’s degree this summer and then med school. Wei Ying is so fucking proud of her. 

-

Lan Zhan is sitting on one of the tiny benches when Wei Ying walks into the Clubhouse. It’s adorable. He does not fit at all, knees practically up to his ears. He’s surrounded by Wei Ying’s class and they’re all drawing or asking him questions or drinking hot chocolate and Wei Ying can’t help but smile at the scene. Lan Zhan, for his part, looks entirely comfortable. He has a purple mountains’ majesty crayon in his hand, poised above the paper in front of him while he answers one of the junior’s questions about rail slides on skis. 

Wei Ying absolutely does not want to disturb any of this. But, alas, it is his job that Lan Zhan is doing and, no matter how outwardly calm he looks, Lan Zhan is probably very tired of eight-year-olds and their inexhaustible curiosity. 

It’s almost time for their parents to come pick them up, anyway. Wei Ying will just sit there with them until it’s time. Maybe he’ll take them back out to the practice hill, but getting all of their gear back on sounds fucking exhausting. 

One of the kids notices him and yells out, “Wing!” effectively ending the calm. The table turns to him, big smiles on the kids’ faces, something almost soft on Lan Zhan’s. Surprisingly, nobody spills their hot chocolate. 

Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow and mouths, wing? at him, which is fair, but they’re eight and he only has them for like four hours so what are you going to do? 

“Hey guys!” Wei Ying smiles brightly at Lan Zhan and the pack of juniors. “See, I told you you wouldn’t miss me. Lan Zhan’s pretty fun, isn’t he?”

A quick survey of the various hot chocolate levels in their cups leads Wei Ying to decide to spend a little bit longer inside. He settles himself down on the bench across from Lan Zhan, straddling it and dropping his knees almost to the floor, and starts engaging with the juniors. One of the kids shows him their drawing. Another very nearly spills their hot chocolate, but Wei Ying catches it just in time. He brushes off questions about their missing classmate and steers the conversation back toward snowboarding. 

He looks up to see Lan Zhan’s eyes on him again, or maybe still, and suddenly the room is way too warm. 

“Who wants to go out to the hill and get a few more turns in?”

The kids start jumping up, excited to go back out to the snow. Wei Ying busies himself with helping them gear back up for the cold. Lan Zhan helps, too, and soon everybody is ready to go. 

On their way out the door, Wei Ying stops Lan Zhan and says, “You know you don’t have to stay with us, right? I’ve got it from here. I’m sure this isn’t how you expected to spend your afternoon.”

Lan Zhan nods, but it’s a confirmation of Wei Ying’s ability, not an agreement. “I will stay,” he says, “I need to speak with their parents anyway.”

Which is a totally valid reason and Wei Ying tries not to notice the way his stomach swooped at Lan Zhan’s easy “I will stay.”

Wei Ying leads the line of juniors out to the practice hill and gets the Magic Carpet running again. The rest of the hour passes easily: Wei Ying child wrangling and filling out report cards, Lan Zhan helping to catch kids and soothing parents’ concerns with promises of free lessons or ticket vouchers or something. 

It’s easy, working with Lan Zhan. Too easy. Wei Ying could get used to how easy this is. 

It’s a shame, really, that Lan Zhan mostly sticks to adult lessons. He’s so good with the kids. Bullying Lan Zhan into taking more JC lessons seems a bit out of Wei Ying’s self-appointed mission for this season, though. Maybe it’ll be his goal for next year. 

Next year.

Wei Ying smiles to himself at the thought before an approximation of his name pulls him back to reality and he jogs to the top of the hill to help one of the juniors clear ice out of their toe clip. 

-

“Someday you’re going to tell me how you got a bunch of eight-year-olds to sit and color for an hour,” says Wei Ying once they’re finally back inside.

“I told them it was useful for developing fine motor skills.”

Wei Ying raises an eyebrow, “And that worked?”

“I may have implied that refined fine motor skills would improve their reflexes in the terrain park.”

Wei Ying puts down the bright green vest in his hand and turns to Lan Zhan. “You told them coloring would make them better athletes?”

“I did.” 

“I… I don’t know enough about childhood athletic development to dispute it.”

There’s a hint of a smile curling Lan Zhan’s lips, “Neither do I.”

.

[Next: Hot Chocolate Machine Whisperer]

[thronelessprince]

Roses are Red

||Fanfiction in the context of a soul wrenching AU that can best be described as ‘otherwordly entities put their divine children in timeout because they almost caused an apocalypse so now they are all mortals’. So a college AU. Naturally.  Characters: Rufus, Alastor @stylish-alastor , and Chaos @terminusvitae Word Count: under 3000 Rough Summary: Rufus, working in the research department has taken it upon himself to study the unique relationship of Alastor and Chaos. Struggling to keep his work and personal life separate, he finds himself at odds end with himself. Recently, he was to complete a project involving a bouquet of roses...

The flowers in the trash were wilted now. Rufus only noticed since the dried petals had started to fall and dirty the ground. From his desk, it was a mark in an otherwise perfectly clean room. It was furnished in the most minimal of senses. Nothing in there remained without a purpose. The books were categorized alphabetically in his shelf, his paper was stacked neatly in the bottom right drawer, and should he ever lose a pen (which was unlikely), there were exact copies lined in a row in the top one. The only diversity was in color. And he only used red on a rare occasion.

But on the otherwise pale carpet, the crumbled bits were black. They didn’t belong.

Initially, the blonde tried to ignore it. He was a busy college student and hardly had the time to focus on something so small. Besides. Moving now might wake them.

It had been a long night, the cramming, the moaning, the lamentation of the ridiculous loads of homework that had been assigned before the week’s end, and after yet another overnighter, the effort had taken its toll. For in this same room was a heap of limbs, tucked in the corner. There was simply no other way to describe it. An arm jutted out here, a leg popped out there, and occasionally some hair could be seen, but in the tangle of blankets and pillows, it was difficult to track.

Rufus blinked lethargically.

The assignment was almost complete. And as Rufus briefly scanned what he had written, the small font made his head spin. He needed a drink, something hot to warm him up and keep his eyes open. … It had been a lot easier the night before.

Alright, perhaps not easier, but at least he wasn’t struggling to stay awake. In reminiscence, his fingers idly touched the nape of his neck where his turtle neck covered and shivered. It was still sore. But it brought a ghost of a smile to his lips anyway.

Silently, the male pushed out his chair, softly padding across the room towards the door, pausing only to glance at the trash can again. Sighing quietly, he seized the metal container and continued his way down the hall, down the stairs, and outside. It was raining. He only took one last look at the contents, remarking in how he had been ripped off in his purchase. It was supposed to be a dozen, not ten roses. But at this point, there was really no use. The floral arrangement was deposited, and the lid of the larger trash bin closed before Rufus returned indoors and to the kitchen.

He started at once making himself some hot chocolate. Coffee was simply too bitter, and tea too bland. Besides, on a day like this, skies overcast and wet, Rufus wasn’t particularly motivated in doing much else. It was the weekend. And the moment he finished the assignment he was going to bed. Turning on the stove and procuring a pot, he began to mix the milk and powder and stirred. Surely, they would want some as well. That impish devil and monster of a man. They had been excellent specimen the night previous, giving Rufus plenty of data to jot down in the little black notebook he kept in his….

Feeling for the familiar notebook, the male’s brows furrowed. It was gone. Shaking his head, Rufus assured himself he had merely left it on the desk in his office.

Once the hot chocolate was ready, he grabbed a tray and scooped the liquid into three cups before taking them back the way he had come. When he entered the room, he noted how the limbs seemed a little less tangled now, two distinct forms next to one another in a manner which was a little more human.

…It looked comfortable.

Once more, he padded across the room, setting the tray on his desk, only now realizing that the beverages might just go cold if Alastor and Chaos took too long getting up. Grabbing a mug for himself, Rufus settled back down, taking a long sip, eyes shutting for a golden moment that had him want to sink into his chair and forget about the whole ‘being awake’ business. He resisted, but only just so.

When he opened his eyes, he was pleased to see his little notebook before him. Picking it up, he started to thumb through its contents… as though any of it had really changed. It contained both Alastor and Chaos’ profiles, their likes, their dislikes, along with other data that Rufus had neatly written down. Studying human relations was quite the project. One would be surprised what patterns emerged from a seemingly spontaneous relationship.

           Subject Name: Alastor ____ (pending school records for last name)

           Height: 5’11”

           Weight:174 lbs

           Hair/Eye Color: Black, wears lilac contacts (subject refuses to divulge actual color)

           Occupation: Student

           Personality: Impish, flirtatious, tends to keep the big picture under wraps. Likes a mystery. Tends to play the part of a hapless submissive, but is intelligent enough to be pulling the strings.

The profile continued, of course, but Rufus knew most the details by heart. He flipped to Chaos’ entry.

           Subject Name: Chaos Calm?? (school records appear to not hold the last name, but rumors speculate that his mother had a sense of humor.)

           Height: 6’ 4”

           Weight: 210 lbs

           Hair/Eye Color: Ginger hair with black lowlights. Hazel eyes

           Occupation: Student, part time police officer

           Personality: Rather intimidating. Seldom takes nonsense, especially if it involves the endangerment of life both human and animal. Despite his hulking figure, appears to have a more tender side that is not often expressed, save to his partner.

Squinting, Rufus looked at the word ‘partner’. It looked smudged. Apparently, he had blotted something out directly after it, not that he could particularly recall at the given moment… Or wanted to recall. Curious, however, he flipped back to Alastor’s profile, and low and behold, he found a similar smudge next to the word ‘lover’.

Ultimately, this caused him to frown, somewhat swiftly flipping through the pages until he came across a recent entry, and experiment which had yet to be completed.

           Subject(s): Alastor and Chaos

           Area of Interest: Receiving a gift from a stranger

           Method: Deliver an anonymous bouquet of roses to Alastor and observe the reaction of both subjects Alastor and Chaos. Each week subsequently, deliver a bouquet.

Note: Especially if it causes any tension, and if so, how it is resolved.

Status: __________

The rain had started to pour, it now was audible from indoors. Rufus turned his attention towards the window, tracing the streaks of liquid as he sipped again at his hot cocoa. He had entered that entry over a week ago. But something about it made him uneasy.

He remembered how long it took him to even get to the flower shop and make the purchase. And once he did, he considered at least half a dozen times to simply return it and forget the whole thing. The rational side of him, however, would calmly remind him that it was nothing personal. It was merely experimentation in the guise of observation. They had both consented, so ethically, there was no problem.

Only, it felt… wrong. Say it did cause contentions. What if it did cause a rift? His rational side shrugged it off as merely ‘coincidence’ and if their relationship was truly so strong, something as small as a bouquet of flowers would do little to change that. Rufus clenched his fists.

It didn’t seem rational at all. It sounded more bitter.

But as to what he was bitter over, the blonde wasn’t entirely certain. Rufus himself wasn’t entirely without opportunity. Sure, it was a little claustrophobic, living under the thumb of a wealthy man who didn’t want his son to be the target of blackmail, but it didn’t dissuade his own admirers. They came in all shapes, all colors, all backgrounds too. From the girl next door to the woman who was his parent’s good friend (which made it a little strange, all considering), even to a poor boy who had been caught in a nasty storm and stayed the night or so or so with his parents. He still got letters from him. In fact, they were stacked in a tin on his bookshelf.

Setting his mug down, Rufus leaned forward in his desk, both elbows resting on the desk while he placed his hands about his neck and slumped over. He only released one of his hands from its duty to reach into his top drawer, grabbing a red pen. Slowly, and with great hesitation, he wrote on the blank line.

Status: Cancelled.

The pen was returned, and the drawer was closed. And somehow, it was easier to breathe. It no longer felt as though he were gazing into an abysmal pit that drew from him those tender lights and flecks of warmth that were scarce already… Ahh.. Scarce. Fingers lightly clutched his shirt above his chest. If only.

Before Rufus realized it, his mug was completely empty. Sighing, he placed the container of disappointment back down on his desk, blearily staring forward, not focused on anything at all. He couldn’t exactly say how long he just sat there in a zombie-like state, but it was impossible to miss when a purr of liquid silk poured right into his ear.

“Didn’t you sleep at all?” It was a deep tone, one that sent shivers directly down the blonde’s spine. A quick glance back confirmed his suspicion as to who it was if the voice itself wasn’t a dead giveaway.

He shut his eyes. “Chaos…” The thought was left unfinished as a hand slid down his own before cupping Rufus’ own. It most certainly did not belong to Chaos. And even if his expression didn’t change, partially due to fatigue, he couldn’t quite say it was unwelcome. “I am truly blessed. Must have done something right in another life to get the mynx out of bed too.”

According to Alastor’s profile, he was difficult to rouse without sufficient motivation. Whether it was due to fatigue or a general lack of interest of moving when… well. Considering how the two of them were sleeping before, Rufus could hardly blame the other male. It looked rather… Rather… His head nodded off some.

“Aww look. Blondie is all tuckered out.”

Rufus could feel a thumb gentle caress his knuckles. To concentrate, he started, albeit blankly at the sheets of paper before him.

“Well… we would be too, had we stayed up.” Chaos responded although he hadn’t moved an inch. So, every ounce of vocal baritone went straight into Rufus’ ear.

Now, even though Rufus couldn’t exactly see Alastor, he could hear practically hear the grin as he spoke. “Hmmh… but we did… didn’t we?”

It was a strange thing, to be smack in the middle of a conversation in the most literal of senses, and yet have no need to contribute. It was.. almost soothing. Comfortable even. It was idle chatter, nothing that needed his commentary or input. Although he had half a mind to hastily scrawl down the interaction, Rufus highly doubted it would be legible at a later date. He indulged in leaning his head back just enough so it found a shoulder to rest against.

Everything else was garbled nonsense.

When Rufus woke up, he was notably horizontal and warm. He was in his own bed, and when he sat up, he did so slowly, the blankets that had been tucked about him now falling into his lap. The room was entirely too quiet, as though all the life had danced away elsewhere, and left on the dancefloor was the remaining old maid.

Everything was back in its place. Borrowed linens and pillows had been stacked neatly on the chair, and the empty room, not unlike his office, was an unfortunately familiar sight.

Sliding from his comfortable little nest, the male peeked into the office next door, and after finding it in a similar condition, let out a sigh. It seemed that Alastor and Chaos had gone home.

It was only reasonable…

Absently, Rufus began to wander. The manor was a fairly large place, although he strictly avoided the outdoors if there was no roof to protect him from the elements. Although the smell was enticing, and so he entered a corridor that encircled the garden which was now enjoying the little rain shower. His mother would often claim that flowers, much like people, had their preferences. They were unique. Some got along better with other plants, others were best to keep apart. Granted, that hadn’t stopped her from cultivating, or at least hiring someone to cultivate a large array of different plant life, ranging from the ever so cliché rose to plum trees that dangled their fruit for a quick snack. Growing nearby was also a peach tree that was still a sapling, a request Rufus had made off handedly, since it was his favorite fruit.

Moving swiftly along, Rufus made his way back indoors. A fire was likely started in the main room, and although the walk was refreshing, he wasn’t terribly fond of the cold. Soon, he was situated in a large armchair, a blanket on his legs. He would have settled further, had a voice not captured his attention.

“There you are!” And before Rufus could really regard Alastor, the male deposited himself right onto the blonde, eliciting a soft ‘oof’ as he did. A set of arms wrapped loosely around the blonde’s neck, something soft, whatever it was the other male was holding, stuffed right against his face. It smelled… wonderful. It was red, at least, so Rufus thought. It was a little hard to tell with it so close.

“Trying to give us the slip huh~” An overly enthusiastic nuzzle came as some sort of punishment against the blonde’s neck, causing him to tense. It was still sensitive. Of course, Alastor was fully aware, being the one responsible for the bruising just beneath his turtle neck.

“I thought you had left,” Rufus responded plainly before he spied Chaos come around the back of the armchair, sliding himself in nice and pretty along his side.

Of course. Being as large as Chaos was, it rather quickly became quite the snug arrangement. And once Alastor laid himself out completely head tucked right beneath Chaos’ chin, Rufus found himself completely locked in. It was not long before he found his pulse increasing, the itch distance himself accompanied with the contradiction of remaining right there. Just like last night. . .

Humming, Chaos buried his face into Alastor’s hair, stroking the glossy black strands. “And leave our sleeping princess all by his lonesome?”

Rufus found himself clearing his throat, looking the other way, which more thoroughly planted his nose into what he decided was a plant of some sort. He abruptly changed subjects. “What is with the flower?”

Grinning, Alastor brought the said ‘flower’ down, holding it for Rufus to see better. It was a rose. Two roses, actually, one in Alastor’s hand, one in Chaos’.

“Hehe. Funny you ask…Isn’t there a fairy tale about waking up a princess? And roses?”

Frowning, Rufus stared at the two vibrant roses, glistening a little with dew. Come to think of it, the two of them were a little damp. Had they been outside? “I think you are mixing up--”

And then it hit him. It stopped the words right in his mouth before they sort of spilled haphazardly from his lips with about as half the vigor he had started out with. “…Fairytales…” Ten roses… two missing. Rufus had been sure there was a dozen to start with.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the roses. Only when Chaos brought his up for Rufus to smell did he shut them, trying to swallow down the myriad of… coincidence that it brought about. Yes, coincidence. Emotions were too volatile. Too dirty. They led to nothing but pain. Humanity would be far better off without the flawed mechanisms that programmed their hosts to misery.

“Well you are awake now, so I think it worked.” Alastor cheekily grinned, softly hitting the top of Rufus’ head with his rose. It caused him to look up.

“…” Slowly, but no less gently, Rufus moved so that he could cup both roses with his hands. Very delicately, he brought them closer to his face, the petals lightly grazed his lips.

“Seems that the story needed an update anyway.”

Faintly, he smiled. And for what it was worth, in their idle chatter of fairy tales that evening, discussing what their favorites were, which ones needed an overhaul and the like, he never corrected them in their referring to him as ‘princess’.

It meant that they would come for him... right?

Right…