Work Text:
You smoothed another layer of clay over the tablet you were writing on with an annoyed sigh. The stupid thing was several inches thick at this point. You could probably use it as a murder weapon. You scratched the back of your head with the stylus as you puzzled over how to start your letter. Well, obviously with “Esteemed Archivist,” or something formal like that, but afterwards? Even then, you weren’t sure. The object of your affections spoke so casually that you couldn’t gauge how to respond. You usually went with the flow of what he said. You tapped your foot anxiously to try and get your brain juices flowing. You jotted down ‘Esteemed Archivist,’ smoothed the clay over it again, hesitated, spun the stylus in your hand, and wrote it again. This was the easy part and you were already struggling. Maybe just ‘Dear Quirrel’?
The rain beat heavily on the window outside, which you tried to focus on to still your mind. You weren’t the best writer. Well, the collection of manuscripts on your shelves would beg to differ, but you didn’t particularly care what they said. Lemm grumbled from his corner of the room.
“Are you still working on that letter? Don’t you exclusively write romance? This should be easy for you.” You sighed and slumped on the table. Quirrel was usually the one to read your work, but when he wasn’t available you depended on Lemm. This time you had invited him out of desperation, grasping at any straws you could for help. He was the only one still living in the City of Tears that you could vaguely call a friend, and even that was a stretch. He only tolerated your presence because you didn’t try to talk to him while he worked, and because you could bake a pretty good danish.
“I-it’s different when it’s your own… your own feelings.” You massaged your temples. “I can’t just, um… m-make stuff up, and then like, um, change my mind about its phrasing three weeks later?” Lemm took another bite out of the pastries you had bribed him over with.
“Well something is better than nothing. I can’t proofread a blank page, (Y/N). Why don’t you just write whatever comes into your brain and worry about it after I rip it apart?” He made a good point. You sighed.
“I, um, I c-can’t think. I think about him a-and my nerves are instantly fried…”
“Pretend he’s just some unwitting protagonist. You love writing letters for those. He has that energy anyways, no wonder you’re so boy-crazy.” He spoke with disdain, but the advice was helpful. Quirrel was far more than a mere oblivious and kind-hearted bug, though. He was a soldier, a poet, an angel amongst bugkind. He was the reason for your existence and he didn’t even realize. Why should he? You weren’t worthy of such lofty attention.
“M-maybe I should just-” Lemm waved a danish at you threateningly.
“If you give up I’m never proofreading your stuff again.” You sat up reluctantly. It was a pretty good threat. You needed at least one set of honed eyes to look at your work before you considered it complete, and he was the only other educated bug for miles. “Write without thinking. You’re making a love confession, not a masterwork. All that matters is that you’re genuine. And coherent, of course.” You sighed.
“Y-you’re very helpful today…” Lemm shrugged.
“I’m tired of sitting here waiting. You couldn’t have finished it before dragging me over here?”
“I-I did, I just…!” He sighed.
“What did you write before?” You hesitated to answer. “Go on, rewrite it. That’s your first draft. I’ll proofread that, and then you can figure out why you hated it enough to paint over it eighteen times.” You reluctantly rewrote your initial letter. You still remembered most of it, and you subbed in your first thought for what you couldn’t. You handed the tablet over, and he dusted crumbs off his hands before taking it. “That’s more like it. Now then, let’s see.” He cleared his throat.
“W-wait, you’re gonna read it aloud!?” Lemm scoffed.
“Of course. It’s the only way to gauge whether the flow is off on something. I’ve read more embarrassing stuff aloud than this and no one can hear it anyway, calm down.” Lemm pulled a set of spectacles out of his chest pocket and adjusted them on his face.
“Dearest Archivist,
There’s a lot to be said, and not enough words to say it with. My hand trembles as I write and imagine your reaction, but I haven’t been able to think of anything else. I raise my pen and think of you, the one that encouraged me and guided my hand since the day we met. You appeared to me at the end of the world, and I thought you were an apparition like any other bug would have in the face of such perfection. The company of ghosts and mushrooms and warriors who scorned my flaws were all I knew, and I never considered that my skills could be used for anything other than a temporary relief.” Lemm paused to take another bite from a danish, being careful not to get crumbs on the tablet. It was uncharacteristic of him to eat while he worked, but he made an exception for your baking. “The way your eyes light up when I first show you the worst of my creations is the only light I ever need in this dreary, rain soaked office,” he paused to make a mark on a spelling error, “and I dread the coming of a day when you won’t return. I obsess over you every time you walk in. I have to make sure you are uninjured, and if you are hurt I have to make sure that your wounds will heal by my own hands. I would follow you to the ends of the Earth, were I able.” Lemm sighed. He always paused to express just how much he hated the romance genre every time he read your work, and it reassured you to know that he treated your letter no differently. “Ridiculously sappy… ugh. Ahem. You have subconsciously been the subject of all my best writings, as daydreams I have about you have manifested themselves in my pen. I cringe at the thought that you and I both read these and never realized the deeper meaning under the film of different names, different identities, and different circumstances.” Lemm laughed. “That explains a lot.”
“D-don’t laugh at me!”
“Sorry. I just can’t get over how sentimental you are. It lends well to your writing. This is good so far.” Your confidence grew slightly, and Lemm adjusted his glasses again. “I yearn for a better world that could facilitate affections that one otherwise doesn’t have time for, longing for a ‘destiny’ where it would be guaranteed that we should stay side by side forever. However, I recognize that such a life is not the one we live, and I don’t wish to let the one we do have pass in silence. I may live to regret this letter, but I want you to understand how dearly I hold you. I’m a regrettably selfish bug that wants to keep you by my side for all eternity, and vain enough to hope that you may wish the same of me. I love you, I have always loved you, and I shall love you until I either die or the Infection takes me.” Lemm sighed again and got up to stand next to you, pointing at the tablet. “You forgot to sign it.” You heard the door open and turned to look, but Lemm disregarded it. “You should also be a bit more confident. A bug should never regret something like a love letter.” Your face flushed as Quirrel waved from the doorway and set his bag down. It wasn’t unusual for him to walk in unannounced, but this was the worst possible time. “Even if they do get rejected, it’s still refreshing to get that sort of thing off your chest, is it not? I like the transition from recounting the past to explaining the present, and as usual your word choice is eloquent.”
“Oh! Is (Y/N) working on something new?” Lemm finally looked up. He held the tablet out of reach as you made a desperate grab for it.
“As a matter of fact, they are!”
“N-no! I, I mean, um, it’s not finished yet!!” Quirrel raised an eyebrow at the situation, and Lemm snickered. He held it out where Quirrel could reach it.
“They’re actually having a difficult time on this one. You understand this genre better than I do, maybe you could be of more assistance.” Quirrel took the tablet cheefully.
“Lemm!!”
“Aw, it’s ok (Y/N)! Your drafts are always wonderful to read, I don’t mind.” Quirrel’s eyes scanned the page carefully, and he hummed thoughtfully. You drooped over the desk and hid your face under your arms. “Wow! You put a lot of heart into this one. I really like the way you textured the writing to match the words. Making the text actually shaky really increases the immersion! It feels a bit vague, but I imagine it makes more sense in context. What’s the story for this one? Writing about a writer in Hallownest is certainly something you’d be good at, hm?” Lemm couldn’t handle it anymore and burst into a fit of laughter. You groaned in agony. Quirrel paused for a moment. “What? What’s so funny? Did I miss something?”
“It’s for you, you dense bastard! Leave it up to Quirrel not to recognize the way he met (Y/N)!” He reached under his glasses to wipe a tear from his eye with a sigh. “I really don’t know what they see in you.” You turned your attention anxiously to Quirrel, still hiding your face as much as you could. He was frozen, holding the tablet with such a vice grip that you knew his thumb imprints would be on it when it dried.
“I-I, um, h-he’s just, um, he’s just k-kidding. Y-yeah. Um. D-don’t worry about it…!”
“I… kidding? (Y/N), I…” He looked between you and the tablet again. “Really? Because, um…” He scratched the back of his head, leaving a streak of clay across the cloth hat he always wore. “I came here to, well, tell you much of the same, I suppose.” It was your turn to freeze up. Quirrel? In love with you? Preposterous. Quirrel wasn’t the type to joke around about that sort of thing, though.
“…Hmph. Must I say everything for you, (Y/N)? They w-“
“It wasn’t a joke! I-I did write that! G-genuinely! For you!” You couldn’t hide any more than you already were, but you certainly tried. “A-and…! I um! Y-yeah…” Quirrel walked over slowly to stand next to you, setting the tablet down delicately on the desk. “Gods, it’s s-so cliche, isn’t it?” You lifted your head from your hands. “Falling in love with, um, with the strong and m-mysterious newcomer? S-someone like me?” Quirrel smoothed your antennae down gently, pressing the part of his mask where his mouth should be against your forehead as he did. You felt ready to pass out.
“I’m glad you did. And more importantly, I’m glad you had a letter, because I sure didn’t and it would’ve been a mess!” He giggled quietly. You heard Lemm leave behind you, but didn’t turn to look. “I was never the best at speaking, after all.”
“Y-you’re telling me.” You smiled faintly. Quirrel’s eyes lit up at the expression, and he pressed another “kiss” to your cheek. This man was going to kill you.
“Oh, you made danishes? Can I have one?” You gestured for him to go ahead, grateful for the relief in tension. Quirrel brought Lemm’s abandoned plate over and leaned against your shoulder, randomly striking up a conversation about his travels through the Fungal Wastes. You listened silently and couldn’t help but be grateful that, overall, nothing much changed.