Work Text:
Witch-hazel
Nick had seen his drawings when he went around warding the windows.
“So you have a talent,” he’d said, in that same matter of fact way he’d later say “She loves you, mortal.” Of his whole experience of that night, Nick commenting on his art wasn’t the part Harvey would wonder about later.
Maybe he should have though, because soon afterwards Nick is on his stoop again, this time saying “I have a herbalism project that requires drawing the plants and I can barely sketch a pentagram. Can you help? I can pay.”
Harvey stalls but he doesn’t have any concrete objections and they both know it. In what’s probably an embarrassing amount of time Nick has talked his way off the stoop, out of the hall and into Harvey’s room. He already knows the way.
“I’ve never drawn plants still life,” says Harvey, trying not to think about the stylised roses and vines he would draw around his sketches of Sabrina. Despite his words, he’s rolling a pencil in his hands.
“We’re starting simple,” says Nick, putting a clear plastic sample bag on the edge of Harvey’s desk.
“What is it?”
“Witch-hazel.”
Chamomile
The next day Nick is at his door with a clutch of wildflowers in hand.
"You shouldn't have," Harvey says after a reluctant chuckle, once Nick proffers them with a slight bow. He's all charm; dancing eyes and curving smile. Harvey thinks about Sabrina, if Nick were to bring her flowers, if he were to smile at her like that. It stings, but he steps aside for Nick to enter. None of this is Nick's fault, and Harvey feels weirdly closer to Sabrina when Nick's around.
"Less than romantic; that's chamomile," says Nick.
"Like the tea?" Harvey sniffs at the small daisies.
Nick pulls a face. "It's a horrible tea, I'm not sure I would even call it tea, but yes."
"What magic do you do with it?"
"The healing kind."
That makes sense to Harvey, even regular people know chamomile can help you. He pulls out his sketch paper and gets to work. Nick talks about inconsequential things, but he never stops watching Harvey work. It's not intrusive, just different than he's used to. Drawing was always a solitary pursuit before but Nick doesn't grate, doesn't startle him, doesn't say the S-word. It's peaceful.
When he goes, Nick leaves the flowers on Harvey's desk. Harvey sees him out, then he takes the flowers outside and throws them away. They're not something he wants to explain to his dad.
Caraway
The next day there is a mark high on Nick's throat. He's not the least bit self conscious about it but Harvey can't help but look. It's not long before Nick catches him staring when he should be sketching. Harvey would have expected smugness, or maybe coyness. Instead Nick grimaces, a there-and-gone flash of frustration follows it across his face and Harvey knows at once that it was Sabrina who left the mark. He feels his face flush horribly, but he can't stop staring either. God this is embarrassing.
When he finally drags his eyes back to his desktop, Nick comes over to where Harvey sits clutching his pencil and gazing blindly at the sprig of herbs.
"I'm sorry," says Nick, and he actually sounds like he means it. "I told her I wouldn't be a go between."
"No," says Harvey, "it wouldn't be right." He stands, and Nick is unbearably close. Harvey puts his mouth over the mark anyway.
Dill
"I can't concentrate when you do that."
"Good."
Vervain
Harvey keeps drawing after Nick leaves. First his hand glides in the familiar shape that is Sabrina. On the next page it learns the lines that make up Nick. Feeling a little queasy, pulse racing, Harvey pulls a new page out and draws Nick and Sabrina held close, in a moment that is almost a kiss. They look beautiful together, and Harvey is going to be sick.
Yarrow
"You're supposed to bring me the plant to draw, you're getting lazy."
"Maybe I wanted a nice walk with a nice boy."
“I might be nice," concedes Harvey, "but I doubt these woods are, after all the things I've been hearing."
"You were saying?" Nick quirks an eyebrow.
They are stopped in a clearing overrun with tall clusters of white flowers the size of his palms. The sun is brighter in the circle free of trees, and he can hear the river nearby. It looks idyllic, nothing like the tales of horror he's heard about the forest. He and Nick wade into the blossoms at the edge of clearing, and find something to draw before they are distracted by each other.
Time passes.
The sun is fading when Harvey wakes, mostly naked on the bank of the river. Everything smells like the flowers. Nick is a still-sleeping weight against his side and Sabrina is casting her shadow over both of them.
"Harvey," she says, her voice thick with emotion. It seems to be all she can say. In the beat of quiet after Harvey's name, Nick's head stirs on his shoulder.
"Sabrina," Nick sighs, "you know you can't call dibs on people, right?"
"No, I know," she dashes her hand across her face. A quick, sharp gesture to rid herself of tears. Nick sighs again.
"You know I can't call dibs on people either, right?" She cocks her head as though he's just give her a puzzle to solve.
"He's his own man," says Nick gently, "just ask Harvey what he wants."
Harvey squirms. The things he wants are no longer pure, or selfless. They're greedy desires, all his, free of witch corruption.
"Harvey?" Asks Sabrina, and he hates the tremble in her voice, hates that she is unsure of him.
"Lie down with us, Sabrina?" He's already looking up at her, so he tries a smile as well. Harvey reaches out with the hand that isn't around Nick, and she takes it.
"I think you've gone soft on witches, Harvey Kinkle," the smile is back in her voice.
"Well," he says, "they do make ‘em really cute."
Nick huffs a laugh against his skin while Sabrina folds herself against him. It's getting dark, and the woods are beginning to cast long shadows, but Harvey feels just fine where he is.
Fin.