Chapter Text
The days grew long, and each agonizing second the magister stayed awake drew him more mad.
He could only find solace in his sleep; the unconscious feeling brought him what little sanity that still remained.
“Magister?”
A voice echoed his name, and the magister quickly recognized the concern that laced it.
“Magister! How much have you drunk tonight, my friend?”
The mage lifted his head from between his arms, making eye contact with Valen; one of the few people who still remained close to him.
Quickly, the Merlin’s eyes scanned his surroundings, taking in the dark scenery the mystical house held during the night.
He didn’t answer at first, taking a moment to look down to himself, trying to recall just how he ended up at dolly’s bar.
The sound of small conversations took him from his thoughts; chippy and hammie remained nearby, both chirping and laughing with Dolly.
The silence lingered between the two men awkwardly. In all honesty, the magister didn’t want to be bothered with alcohol in his system.
“Hogan let me off a bit early from my duties tonight. How’ve you been?”
Valen broke the silence, finding a stool nearby to sit next to the mage. The knight could talk his head off for hours, it was a miracle that General hogan kept him around so much.
Merlin hadn’t recalled the last time he had been anything but miserable. It’d been two weeks since reinier’s “visit”, leaving the man dazed and confused.
Part of him wanted to think the hypogean would never return. Yet, his mind would always journey back to the way reinier spoke to him with a careful, soft tone. His lips engraved the feeling of the hypogean’s mask, licking them nervously just at the thought of feeling it again.
“I’ve been fine,” he finally answered, not daring to meet the knight’s eyes.
One of his hands fidgeted, instinctively grasping the empty glass in front of him.
“Just sticking around the area, you know?”
He added, eyes glued to the way the cool glass felt on his hand.
Valen seemed to nod, his elbows resting on the table in front of them. “Well, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you, my friend,”
The mage felt his shoulders tense, knowing the dreaded question everyone seemed to ask him.
“Are you doing well? You look so… tired.”
Valen looked to the magister with a face of concern. The sound of the knight’s fingers could be heard tapping on the wooden table, seeming to await an answer impatiently.
He knew his friend meant well; they all did.
Everyone around him seemed to notice his downward spiral, yet it seemed all were too scared to point it out. It was a miracle he was still alive at this point.
The mirror in his room was covered with a white sheet now, for he couldn’t bear to see his reflection.
“I’m fine, Valen.” the mage spoke up suddenly, trying to be as enthusiastic as possible. His voice sounded more forceful, making the knight’s shoulders tense in his seat.
“I was.. I was just getting ready to leave, actually.”
The Merlin continued in a lower voice, seeming to notice his friend’s slightly indifferent expression. Standing from his chair, he called over for his familiars to join him.
“Wait, but I just got here! Don’t you want to hang out with your old pal?”
Valen stood as well, hanging an arm around the mage’s shoulder, pulling him closer.
The magister’s eyes widened at his gesture, looking up at the man as he smiled.
“Come on, just like old times!”
He tightened his hold, almost as if he was afraid to let the man go.
…
Three hours. That dreaded knight somehow kept the mage locked up in the bar for three hours. They drank, talked nonsense, and even got Dolly to join in on their foolishness.
It was well into the night, no use in sleeping at that point. The two men finally parted ways, and both Chippy and Hammie were well exhausted.
Despite the powerful position he held, it only took five shots of vodka to have the poor hamsters struggle to keep him from stumbling on his feet.
“Chippy, aren’t you a knight? Why are you struggling to keep the Magister lifted?”
Hammie struggled to croak out, her small claws digging into the mage’s sides, trying her best to steer him into his room.
“I didn’t know he was this heavy! And plus, It’s way past my bedtime!”
Chippy grunted as he finally pushed his master onto the bed, a sigh of relief emitting from both the hamsters.
They waited patiently for the magister to give them a signal to leave, or at least let them know he’s still alive.
After a few agonizing seconds, the Merlin emitted a muffled groan, his face buried in one of his pillows.
The familiars both exchanged looks, silently agreeing it was their cue to leave.
“Don’t worry, magister! I’ll make sure to whip up something good for your head tomorrow, promise!”
Hammie yelled out, closing the door behind her.
Finally alone, The Magister let his tense state slip away. He rested his back on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in.
Despite his efforts, the drunken haze refused to let him rest.
A hand wiped at his face, followed by more shuffling that echoed through the quiet room.
At last, he let his arm hang on the side, eyes fixed to the ceiling. His chest rose and fell with each second that passed, seeming to be lost in thought.
After what seemed like forever, he finally let his eyes shut.
The white sheet that covered his mirror fell to the floor with a faint thud, quickly making his eyes shoot open in alert.
“You seemed to be having fun tonight.”
Reinier’s voice took up the room, his presence moving to the edge of the bed.
The Merlin didn’t even spare the hypogean a glance, instead turning his head to the side, Jaw tight.
“What do you care?”
His voice carried a hint of betrayal, stripped of any vulnerability he might’ve shown in their last encounter.
Despite his anger, his eyes couldn’t help but shift to Reinier’s presence—silent, hovering just beside him like a sleep paralysis demon.
“You were stalking me?”
The Magister spoke again, curiosity getting the better of him.
A sound similar to a chuckle emitted from the other man. He dipped his head slightly, angling it just enough to get a good look at the mage sprawled below him.
“Stalking you? Don’t flatter yourself,” he murmured. “I was merely curious to see how reckless you’d get when you’re tipsy.”
Reinier was a bad liar—he was absolutely stalking the magister. But with his expressionless , it was easy to hide from such accusations.
The mage sat up on the bed now, his back pressing against the headboard. The effects of the alcohol still made his head stir, yet he managed to hold himself upright, just enough to banter with the hypogean.
“I don’t know why you returned. I never wanted to see you again.”
He murmured, hiding the slurred accent That dared to come out.
Reinier seemed to pause at his words, both hands on his left side moving to his hip.
“You’re right—you look a mess. Have you seen what you look like lately?”
His words didn’t mean to be as malicious as they sounded, but the way the other man’s expression seemed to dull at his words quickly made him realize his mistake.
“Don’t ask me to leave. Not tonight.”
He quipped, one of his large hands coming to rest on his knee.
The magister hung his head low, turning away from him.
“Are you only here because I’m drunk and vulnerable?”
His voice was a low whisper, only loud enough for the two to hear in the small room.
The bed creaked under the hypogean’s weight, a faint curse emitting from him as he felt the uncomfortable material of the sheets.
“Quite the opposite, actually. I came to ensure you wouldn’t hurt yourself.”
Reinier quickly reassured, the hand on his knee gently moving to his side, before pulling away.
The mage remained silent, finally turning his head to look at the hypogean’s mask.
“I’m not a child. I can handle my alcohol intake.”
Reinier only hummed in response, turning his back as he leaned away with casual ease.
“It doesn’t take an expert like myself to know you’re in no position to be drunk and alone.”
The Magister’s brows furrowed at his comment, but he remained silent. Deep down, he knew Reinier was right. The silence was the worst part of being alone—the weight of his own thoughts were unrelenting. Without Reinier, he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done.
“…I missed you,”
The Merlin broke the silence between them, seeming to be changing the subject rather quickly.
Reinier didn’t respond at first, a silence stretching between them.
“You’re drunk.”
His voice was flat—a statement that was measured in the tense atmosphere.
To this, The Magister emitted a humorless laugh.
“It’s in character for you to pretend that it doesn’t mean anything.”
He replied coldly, shifting on the bed without effort.
“So you didn’t show up because you felt the same. You came because you hold no trust in me.”
Reinier’s shoulders tensed, his bottom hands gripping the sheets below him—the action not going unnoticed.
“You’ve been..reckless.” He said, finally.
“I couldn’t just watch you spiral once again.”
The Magister scoffed bitterly at his words, his eyes drilling holes in the back of Reinier’s head.
“Right—yes. Always watching. Just from a distance.”
Reinier still refused to turn, but he felt the Merlin’s heavy gaze on him.
“If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Well, you obviously care enough to stalk me. Just not enough to stay.”
The words repeated through the hypogeon’s mind, landing with more weight than expected.
His mask tilted slightly, catching the mage’s angered expression. He knew he’d messed up—pissed off the one person he actually enjoyed being around.
In reality, fear clung to him. He felt as if his strong emotions would scare The Magister. The lengths he’d be willing to go soaring past what love was ever supposed to be.
“Then what do you want?”
His voice cut through the tension like a knife, turning to face him.
“At heart, I’m a hypogean. Thinking I could ever feel like you humans was your first mistake.”
The magister’s eyes stared at his mask, his eyes wide and blazing with fury.
“You’re right. How could you ever understand?”
His voice rose, pointing an accusing finger at him now.
“You’d only care if I jumped off a roof, wouldn’t you? Is that what it would take to get your attention?”
The words slurred as they tumbled out, heavy with hurt.
Reinier sprung to action, one of his hands swatting his accusing finger away.
“Don’t be like that. Please.”
A frustrated sigh escaped him as he tried to be patient with the man.
“I’m sorry for leaving, okay? I wasn’t aware of how much my presence meant to you.”
Now, the Merlin’s face brewed an embarrassed flush.
He was being painted as the obsessive one?
As if.
“I should’ve put you in containment when I had the chance,”
He mumbled, pulling his hand back to his side.
“You can leave. In fact, don’t bother returning this time.”
His voice was flat, final. He refused to be taken advantage of, refused to let someone else force themselves into his life.
Reinier said nothing at first, looking to search his face for any sign of reason.
“You know I can’t do that,”
He murmured, inching closer.
The thought of being cut off, or never seeing the Merlin again—it would destroy him.
“I’ll visit you every night if I have to. Even staying in the mirror would be fine with me.”
The words came out low and desperate, more a confession than a conversation.
He sank to the bed, resting the edge of his mask on the Magister’s thigh.
“Please. I’ll never make you feel like this again.”
His voice was a whisper, a quiet promise. He tilted his mask up, peering at the Magister from below.
The Mage said nothing. He simply observed Reiner’s position; practically folded beneath him, head resting in his lap like an obedient dog begging to be kept.
He wanted to stay mad. He should’ve stayed mad.
Yet there was something about Reinier’s desperation that mirrored his own. Maybe they were the same, in a way. Relying on each other for comfort.
His fingers twitched, then slowly rose to brush along one of Reinier’s horns.
“You are…ridiculous,”
He said at last, looking down to him with tired eyes.
Reinier didn’t move from his place—as if savoring the rare moment before it vanished.
For once, the texture of the sheets below or the way the floorboards creaked didn’t bother him. He felt at ease, as if the Magister was a celestial from above, made just for him.
He was more perfect than perfection.