Chapter Text
Ever since the Day of Story and Song, Magnus has been drifting.
In the immediate aftermath, there had been so much to do: the clean-up and rebuilding alone would take years, and Magnus has been happy to do his part. For the first time in years, his carpentry skills are in higher demand than his adventuring abilities, and if he’s honest with himself, it’s a bit of a relief. He’s busy, and when he’s busy, he doesn’t think about how lonely he’s become.
It’s ironic, and he knows it: the IPRE crew is back together at last and he couldn’t be happier, but even when they come together for their big, Starblaster family dinners or meet up for drinks once a week, Magnus knows that he’s the odd man out. Lup and Barry have so much time to make up for; Merle is embracing his role as doting father and brings Mavis and Mookie almost everywhere with him now; and Taako and Kravitz, still awkward in their affections, are nearly always at each other’s side. He’s enjoyed reconnecting with Davenport, but after the first few weeks of enthusiastic camaraderie, his former captain has begun to withdraw from his crew ever so slightly. He’s confided that he has plans to buy a small ship and go adventuring on the high seas, and his excitement is palpable, but Magnus is fairly certain that the allure is less in the opportunity to travel again and more about the ability to run away from the reality of the last decade.
And then there’s Lucretia. Magnus was the first to forgive her after they got their memories back, and he hasn’t regretted the decision since. Nevertheless, she’s busier than ever reconstructing the Bureau of Balance into the Bureau of Benevolence, and Magnus harbors a private resentment that she isn’t spending more time rebuilding the bonds that she’s responsible for breaking up. He knows why she did it; he even believes that she may have done the right thing; but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch her carry on in her role as Madame Director, guiding the denizens of this brave new world into a better future that she almost destroyed with her pride and her fear.
It’s been said that the road to hell is paved with good intentions; if that’s true, Magnus has walked that road back and forth half a dozen times in the last year. His friends mean well, but they’re building their own lives now, charting new paths that don’t always include him because why should they? He tries not to let how much that hurts him show: he’s still the same boisterous, affectionate man who crushes old acquaintances and new into bear hugs that leave them breathless, and when they all go their separate ways at the end of the night, he waves them off with well wishes and a grin that shows off all his teeth. But when everyone’s gone, the rooms he rents are too quiet, and instead of sleeping, more and more often he finds himself walking the streets of Neverwinter in the off-chance that he’ll encounter a familiar face.
It’s early one spring morning when Magnus finds himself in a park after a night of wandering. He often comes here to watch the families with their picnic baskets and blankets, and he’s taken to bringing his carving knives and wood remnants so that he can carve little animals to pass out to the children who know him now by name. He’s working on a miniature bear, the tip of his blade detailing the curve of a claw when a long shadow blocks his work and he looks up to see Taako standing over him with a bemused look on his face.
“Mago! My man!” he exclaims, one hand on his hip. “You come here often?”
Magnus feels unjustifiably embarrassed, like he’s been called out in some awkward social faux pas, and he shrugs off the question by asking what Taako’s doing on this side of town so early in the morning.
“I’m on my way to pick up coffee for Kravitz,” he replies, his eyes brightening as he mentions his reaper boyfriend. “He had to work through the night, and there’s this little café around the corner that makes a baller macchiato that he just loves to death. Hah! Get it? Anyway, want to come with?”
Magnus considers turning him down for all of half a second, but his legs have other plans and he’s suddenly on his feet, tucking his carving knife into his vest pocket and nodding along to a story about Angus’ latest accomplishments in magic school. When they reach the café, Magnus starts to tell the gnome behind the counter his order when Taako cuts him off with a jab of his finger and asks for a large mocha with a dash of chili pepper. Magnus is agape: it’s his favorite, guilty pleasure drink-of-choice, and he can’t believe that Taako remembers. He holds the cup gently in his hands, letting the steam cover up the beginning of tears prickling in his eyes, as Taako puts in his other two orders and then insists on paying despite Magnus’ half-hearted protestations.
They walk back towards the park together, sipping their respective drinks, and when Taako leaves him back at the park bench, it’s with an invitation to dinner the following night. He proposes it with convincing nonchalance, but Magnus doesn’t fail to notice the note of insistence in his voice and the little frown of concern on Taako’s face when he turns to go. It’s not pity: Magnus can’t stomach pity, and Taako’s never been one to offer it freely. For a moment, he allows himself to think that maybe Taako’s been feeling as disconnected as he has, and when he accepts the invitation, it’s with a genuine smile.
------------------------------------------------------
Magnus arrives at Taako and Kravitz’s house ten minutes early, but he’s afraid to look too eager, so he waits another five before knocking on the door. It opens a moment later, and Kravitz ushers him in with a smile, looking incredibly dashing in an honest-to-goodness cravat, a blood red vest peeking out from beneath a black dinner jacket, and a raven-shaped lapel pin sparkling in the lamplight. Magnus feels self-conscious in his modest outfit, but Kravitz doesn’t bat an eyelash when he offers to hang up Magnus’ sun-faded coat in the entrance hall closet.
“We’re so glad you could join us,” Kravitz says as they walk down the hallway towards the kitchen where Magnus can hear the sound of bubbling, clanking pots. “Taako has wanted to have you by for some time, but I’m afraid I’ve been busy with work and had to ask him to put it off.”
Magnus mutters something about understanding completely, taken aback by the realization that Taako’s invitation was more than a spur-of-the-moment idea. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised: for all of his practiced indifference, Taako has a good heart, and Magnus knows that he and the rest of the IPRE crew (Lup excluded) don’t give him enough credit. It’s still a surprise to have that sneaky solicitude leveled at himself, and Magnus feels a rush of gratitude that fills his chest with a warm flood of happiness.
“Make yourself at home,” Kravitz says, ushering him into a cozy living room off the main hall where a fire is blazing merrily in the hearth. “I’m just going to check on Taako. It’s never a good sign when he’s this quiet…”
Magnus privately agrees and settles himself on the couch, glancing around the room to take in the small changes that have been made since he was last here. There’s a new cat curled up on the rug at his feet, and there is a picture he hasn’t seen before hanging on the wall. He stands to go look at it and finds himself smiling unconsciously at a snapshot of Lup and Barry at their wedding, fingers entwined and their backs to the camera as they recite their vows. In the bottom edge of the photograph, he can just make out the side of his own head and the tips of Cary’s fingers as she offers him her handkerchief. It really had been such a beautiful day.
“Dinner is served,” Taako calls from the doorway, drawing Magnus from his reverie. He’s wearing an apron with the words “I cook as good as I look” stitched on the front in colorful, loopy letters, and Magnus smirks as he follows him into the dining room where what looks like an entire feast has been laid out on the table.
Taako chuckles from the doorway.
“I may have gotten just a smidge over-excited,” he admits.
“All this for me?” Magnus asks, the very slightest of hitches in his voice.
“Ch’yeah, whatever,” Taako waves his hand dismissively. “Kravitz barely eats, so it’s nice to have someone to cook for who can actually appreciate my frankly amazing cooking.”
And it is, in Magnus’ opinion, frankly amazing. By the time they are through, he is fairly certain he’s eaten twice his weight in roast chicken, smashed Brussels sprouts, scalloped potatoes, and homemade sour dough bread. All the while, Taako keeps them entertained with stories of his new pupils, bright young magic users who, in Taako’s opinion, “are gonna change the world if they don’t blow it up first.” He seems so pleased at the prospect that Magnus thinks he has never seen Taako so happy. Kravitz is a more reserved dinner companion, but he asks thoughtful questions and seems to appreciate if not fully understand the intricacy of Magnus’ latest carpentry projects.
When they finish eating, Magnus finds himself once again ushered into the living room despite his protestations that he has already stayed too long and doesn’t want to be an imposition. Taako audibly scoffs at this and saunters off to the kitchen to fetch a dessert that none of them has room for but will inevitably eat anyway. Kravitz pours wine as Magnus settles back onto the sofa where one of the cats – a scruffy calico with a chunk out of its left ear – pads onto his lap and starts kneading little dents into the tops of Magnus’ legs.
“Oooh,” Taako exclaims as he returns with a pie in one hand and plates in the other, “Mephistopheles likes you! Last time Merle tried to pet her, she nearly took off his hand.”
“That’s rather an exaggeration, love,” Kravitz says fondly. “I believe Merle almost sat on her, and honestly, I don’t blame her the indignation. But yes,” he nods, “it’s definitely a good sign. She doesn’t take to just anyone.”
Magnus grins awkwardly and strokes the cat’s head as it butts its skull against his palm. He’s so charmed by the rumbling purr that seems to vibrate all the way up to his face that he doesn’t notice Taako settle onto the couch next to him until the end of the elf’s long braid brushes his leg and he nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Calm down, my dude,” Taako says, holding up his hands like he’s ready to ward off a punch. “It’s just y’boy. Is it OK if I sit here?”
Magnus feels his face flushing.
“Yeah, of course,” he says. “You just startled me, is all.”
The thing is, Magnus hasn’t been touched by someone in so long that the mere fact of Taako’s presence an arm’s length away almost makes him shudder with desire. It isn’t a sexual or even a romantic yearning: Magnus has never been particularly interested in expressing his affections through intimacy. Still, Magnus has always been drawn to closeness, and over the last few months, opportunities to do so have been limited at best.
Taako and Kravitz exchange a glance, and although they don’t say anything out loud, Magnus is certain a whole conversation passes between them in the span of three seconds. It’s almost too much to bear until Kravitz rises from his arm chair, and Magnus isn’t certain what he expects, but whatever it is, but it’s not what happens next.
Kravitz crosses the room to a large piano that Magnus has admired on several occasions in the past. It’s a beautiful piece of work, carved from polished rosewood, and Magnus notices with appreciation that Kravitz gives it an affectionate little pat before lifting the lid and sitting gracefully on the bench, long legs stretched down to the pedals. His fingers drift across the keys, dark flitting over light as though to tease out a melody, and when he starts to play, Magnus is enraptured. It’s no song he’s ever heard before – not that he’s ever claimed to be musically inclined – but it’s stunning all the same, dipping down into the instrument’s lower register and then suddenly leaping up into a higher octave for a soaring, airy refrain.
Taako hums quietly from his side of the couch, and gradually, as the song progresses, he scoots closer to Magnus until their shoulders are touching and Magnus can smell the familiar aroma of the floral shampoo that Taako has used as long as he’s known him. It’s a small area of contact, but it’s more than Magnus has had in weeks, and he has to consciously keep himself from leaning into it completely.
As Kravitz moves seamlessly from one song into another, Magnus risks a glance at the elf beside him who has suddenly gone quiet: Taako’s eyes, bright in the fire light, are locked on Kravitz who, although he doesn’t look up from the keys, has a knowing smile turning up one corner of his mouth. Magnus isn’t sure what the significance is, but if the way that Taako’s fingers are tapping against the couch cushions is any indication, he is certain that this is a song that has been played before, many times, probably in this very room. There are layers of meaning to the notes that pour from the depths of the piano, and Taako seems able to read them as easily as he reads a spell book, and for a moment, Magnus considers excusing himself to use the bathroom to allow the two of them a private moment. Before he can shift Mephistopheles from his lap, however, he feels the warm weight of Taako’s other hand on his, and when he looks up, Taako is beaming at him. He takes back his hand a moment later, but he doesn’t move away, and Magnus lets his eyes close as he savors every aspect of the scene and commits each one to memory.
He opens his eyes what feels like moments later, but he can tell from the height of the flames in the fireplace and the fact that Kravitz is now perched on an ottoman a few feet away that some time has passed. Taako is still at his side; he and Kravitz are talking quietly, and in the seconds before they realize he’s woken up, he watches the reaper press a series of light kisses on the top of the elf’s hand.
Magnus hates to interrupt the moment, but he feels like a bit of a voyeur, and he doesn’t want to be caught staring.
“Sorry about that,” he yawns, stretching conspicuously with what he hopes is the air of someone newly awake. “I didn’t mean to be such a boring dinner guest.”
“Nonsense,” Kravitz says. “I consider it a compliment to my playing. But it’s late, and…”
“I really should get going,” Magnus interrupts, lifting Mephistopheles from his lap and setting her gently on the couch. “You both have work in the morning, and I shouldn’t have stayed past dinner. Thank you for everything. Taako, dinner was delicious, and—”
It is Taako’s turn to interrupt.
“What my incredibly hot boyfriend was trying to say is that you should stay here tonight. It’s not a big deal: there’s a guest room downstairs, and frankly, my man, it looks like you could use a good night’s sleep.”
Kravitz aims a subtle kick to Taako’s shin.
“You’re welcome to go home if you’d prefer,” Kravitz says, “but it really is late. It would make us both feel better to know that you’re not walking the streets at this time of night.”
“Not that we would worry or anything,” Taako interjects, looking scandalized.
“That would…” Magnus pauses, clearing his throat. “That would be great, actually. If it’s no bother.”
“None at all,” Kravitz assures him, and Taako offers a gap-toothed smile and a wink that Magnus can’t help but return.
A few minutes later, Taako has settled him into a cozy guest bedroom that smells like fresh linen and wildflowers. There’s already a towel and a washcloth set out on the chair by the bed, and if he knew about such things, he would think that the sheets had just been washed. Taako lingers in the doorway for a moment, warning Magnus that he should keep the door shut unless he wants a host of hungry cats waking him up in the middle of the night. Magnus assures him he doesn’t mind, and Taako shrugs.
“Your funeral,” he says. After a moment, he adds, “Hey Magnus?”
“Yeah, Taako?” Magnus replies, the edge of the mattress sinking under his weight as he lowers himself onto it with a sigh of pleasure.
“Sleep well, amigo.”
Taako sets off down the hall, and as he leans his head back on the pillows, Magnus thinks he will do just that.