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A lack of sleep was, above all, an inconvenience.
At least that was how Legamnünt saw it when a night of rest was essential for a knight of his caliber. His work relied on skill, reflexes, and decisions made right on the spot. Every man for his own, every action from the other side of the field requiring an instant reaction. If he were out of it, if his mind were to be muffled by a lack of sleep, judgment would be impaired. Sleep was necessary.
Rozatte had slept soon after they had laid in bed, curled up on the knight’s chest. Dinner had been pleasant, a mix between hardy and flavorful, to the point where they couldn’t eat dessert. The warlock had insisted they both go to bed at a reasonable hour, talking about daylight savings and early classes, and at that moment, Legamnünt had seen it reasonable. There had been a hushed exchange of good nights and sweet dreams, and with the blow of a candle, darkness lay over them like a blanket. Rozatte found sleep soon after. For Legamnünt, three hours later, he was still awake.
At first, he had tried, eyes closed in a stubborn effort to wait it out. He didn’t consider himself a light sleeper, but tonight every single noise seemed to take away any progress he could be making in the hopes to sleep: the rustle of the blankets, the hum of the crickets, the gentle breathing of his partner. Even muffled with a pillow on his face, they were louder than they had any right to be. And Legamnünt’s thoughts would not let him ignore them.
That was always what had the most weight in keeping him awake, on these rare occasions when sleep just wasn’t an option. He considered himself to be a quiet man, the sort of person who found wisdom in the lack of words– but his mind seemed to be quite the opposite.
Rozatte, it would whisper. A child poking at a bear with a stick. Does he look comfortable? Might he need another blanket? Legamnünt would crack his eyes open, observe his lover’s silhouette through the moonlight, and examine his form. He looked peaceful, not cold. Might as well give him your blanket, and so, he did.
Window, it would say. A child pulling at his mother’s hair. Is it perhaps cracked open? If it were to rain, the water would seep easily into the room. Legamnünt would pull himself out of bed, careful as to not wake up the sleeping wizard, then pull on the blinds to examine his concerns: the window was closed. The skies were clear. He slipped back into bed, finding it harder to find a comfortable position.
Candles, it would declare. An omen of misfortune staring down onto his grave. Were they truly all extinguished? Did one slip your mind, was left burning? Legamnünt knew better than to doubt himself like this, but exhaustion was taking a toll on his reasoning, and convincing himself with no evidence would be harder than seeing it through. So he stood one more time and headed to the kitchen, Rozette and any intentions of sleeping being left behind.
No candles. No fire. And no hope of sleeping once again. Legamnünt saw himself sitting down on the couch and staring out the window. He loathed feeling so powerless in the face of a simple decision, so maybe conceding against his insomnia was something to be grateful for. Maybe this was how he could have some control over his decisions, however slim this control might be. Yes, he would tell himself that.
‘Legamnünt’, it would ask. A lover, feeling around the bed and finding it empty. It took the knight a second to realize that the noise was not coming from his thoughts, but rather had been mumbled into them.
“I’ll be back soon,” the man spoke to an empty room, knowing the wizard was listening. “I’m getting water, is all. Go back to sleep.”
‘You got up earlier’, Rozatte’s voice was distinguishable, now that Legamnünt knew what he was looking for. ‘Is everything okay?”
“Go back to sleep, Rozatte,” he insisted. “Everything is indeed alright.”
There were footsteps now, and Rozatte’s face peaked from the bedroom’s doorway. He looked drowsy rather than tired, which was something Legamnünt was thankful for.
“Can’t sleep?” He asked the knight.
At first, Legamnünt was inclined to lie, even though he knew it was a futile affair.
“I just woke up, I was getting water.”
Rozatte moved forward, his poise almost swaying from his sleepy state, but he managed alright to join the knight in the living room. With the quiet, observant eyes of a researcher, Rozatte examined their surroundings. Legamnünt knew he was doomed when there was no water glass in sight.
“Can’t sleep,” Rozatte declared, and this time it wasn’t a question.
With a sigh, Legamnünt nodded, standing up from the couch. “I’m unsure why, but I am handling it. Please, go back to bed.”
“I’m not going to leave you alone,” the warlock declared “I will stay up, and help you fall asleep.”
“You have class tomorrow, Rozatte.”
“And you have your own responsibilities.”
That statement wasn’t untrue, but Legamnünt still wanted to argue against it: he was the one struggling to sleep, not Rozatte. There was no need for both of them to suffer through a night of insomnia, then reap the consequences of their actions the coming morning. Rozatte had a classroom prepared, students to greet, and other miscellaneous activities in the day’s schedule. There was no need for him to suffer through the night and reap the consequences in the morning. Legamnünt would not forgive himself if–
“I will make you some tea,” came a voice from somewhere down the hall.
So deep in thought was he, that Legamnünt hadn’t noticed Rozatte disappear into the kitchen, a shadow lost to the night. Neither of them had bothered to turn on any lights at this point, but he wasn’t worried at all over Rozatte not finding his way– even though this had originally been Legamnünt’s house, it was Rozatte who spent the most time in it. After living under the same roof for over two months now, they had both come to call this place their home. And the warlock knew where everything was, up to the smallest detail, and the deepest of shelves.
“Chamomile, lavender, or rose?”
“I… do not have a preference,” Legamnünt mumbled as he stepped into the kitchen. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind, get you back to bed?”
“No, not unless you’re falling asleep,” Rozatte said with a smile.
And Rozatte’s smile was so bright, it could brighten any room, even in complete darkness. Still, Legamnünt secured a couple of candles to light up, making sure that they could both see what they were doing. Rozatte was in the process of getting a pot and some water to boil.
“Do you need any help?”
“I’ve got this, Legamnünt,” Rozatte promised. And that was that.
Legamnünt sat down on one of the kitchen stools, wings tucked together in an effort to take the least space possible. Whatever state this was, whatever situation this whole insomnia deal had put him in, the knight felt himself floating in an endless sea of nothing. The waters were calm, no storms looming menacingly on the horizon– but there was no shore to go back to, either. Legamnünt felt himself just a passive observer, quiet as the warlock worked away. Though the candlelight was dim, it did a decent job of illuminating the kitchen, and Rozatte’s actions with it. His figure was warm and golden from the fire around him. In a way or another, the sight was mesmerizing.
“I learned this recipe from one of my students,” Rozatte started. “It came to be because of an assignment.”
“Are you making a potion?” Legamnünt asked, trying to figure out what aspect of the ingredients was a magical component.
Rozatte chuckled, “I’m inclined to say yes, but this is not a traditional potion, not necessarily.”
“Don’t you have some sleeping spells?” Legamnünt pointed out, “I believe I have seen you use one or two in battle. Would those help now?”
The warlock shook his head, “I could try a sleeping spell, but I am afraid that might be too powerful. Otherwise, I would have brought those up from the beginning.”
Sound logic, but Legamnünt spoke on instinct, “I’m sure I would be able to take it.”
“I’m sure you would,” Rozatte soothed, “But I can promise you: this should have the same results without tiring you out. And it has the added benefit of tasting really, really good.”
As if on cue, Legamnünt’s senses caught the scent of Rozatte’s potion: it was a floral type of smell. Subtle, almost undetectable, but sweet enough that the hint of honey floated through the kitchen. Without being able to properly look at the ingredients, Legamnünt closed his eyes and allowed himself to be enveloped by the scent. Lavender, milk, and cinnamon, all mixed, brewed, and steeped. It was pleasant.
“Thank you, Rozatte,” Legamnünt whispered, and when he opened his eyes once more, he was greeted with a mug served up in front of him.
“Hope this helps,” Rozatte answered, finding a spot beside his partner.
Legamnünt tried the drink.
It was just as he imagined, smooth and sweet and overall comforting. The temperature was hot enough to warm his body and cool enough for a confident sip without having to wait. It felt magical, but as Legamnünt took his first, second, then third sip, he failed to identify that tingly feeling in his tongue whenever consuming a magic potion.
“Good?” came a voice behind him.
“Delicious,” Legamnünt confirmed, and it was quite an honest compliment.
“I am so glad!” Rozatte was all smiles, “It’s one of my favorite recipes. I used to make it a lot before I moved in, especially around exam season. I believe it was titled Goodnight Kisses-- It truly is very relaxing, isn’t it?”
“I believe I might be starting to feel more inclined to sleep already,” he confirmed.
“Oh,” Rozatte sounded intrigued, “Was the effect that quick?”
“Is… it not supposed to be that quick?”
“As I mentioned,” he hummed, “That is not a traditional potion.”
“But it is a potion,” Legamnünt argued, trying hard to make sense of the situation. “Is it not?”
“Again, not necessarily. Have you identified the ingredients?”
The knight took another sip, just to be confident when reciting, “Milk, lavender, rose, honey, maybe clove?”
“No clove,” Rozatte pointed out, “But there is some vanilla.”
“Vanilla,” another sip. “Yes, I sense it.”
“Cinnamon, too. That should be all, I think.”
“Cinnamon, in a potion. Rozatte,” Legamnünt turned to look his partner straight in the eye, “Is that really all?”
“I think so. I did have a small mix already made in a little tea bag from the last time I made this for myself. Might have added a tad bit of rosemary. Or was it basil?”
Once again, Legamnünt took a sip, this time bigger than he had before. The ingredients listed all made sense, but there was still something that was missing. It might have been the way his eyes were feeling heavier, but he wasn’t able to focus enough to find it. And it was, in a way, just the slightest bit frustrating.
“Legamnünt,” Rozatte said, placing his hand on the other’s shoulder, “Not every single potion needs to be magic to work.”
Legamnünt furrowed his eyebrows, “Wasn’t this an assignment for your class?”
“It was indeed,” the way Rozatte spoke had shifted just so, and Legamnünt found himself the student in one of the man’s lectures. “Magic can come from all sorts of places, but they all have roots in one very specific core. Do you know what that might be?”
“Energy,” Legamnünt replied, a soldier’s answer, “Force of will, discipline, talent.”
“You are correct,” Rozatte hummed, “But where do all those things come from?”
This time, Legamnünt could not answer.
Shifting from his spot on the seat beside him, Rozatte’s hand started to move. It trailed down from Legamnünt’s shoulder, fingers tracing through his arm, to his chest, all the wait to point to Legamnünt's heart.
“They come from one’s own self,” Rozatte concluded. “From a being’s core emotions. Magic can flow in the form of energy, but it can also, in a more subtle way, it can flow in the way of feelings. Wherever you present them for you or someone else.”
As soon as the meaning of those words properly fell into place, Legamnünt's usually stoic mask seemed to crumble and fall, leaving him flabbergasted. With mouth agape, eyes wide in an unadulterated type of awe, he struggled to form an answer.
“Rozatte,” Legamnünt croaked out, once he remembered how to speak, “Are you saying that this is magic because you made it with love?”
Rozatte exploded in laughter, clearly not expecting Legamnünt’s answer, train of thought, or overall shocked reaction. The noise was as gentle as the smell of the floral tea.
“I guess so,” he confirmed when that laughter was starting to fizzle into giggles, “I didn’t mean to put it like that, but yes. Is it working?
Legamnünt tried a more cohesive response, but with the surprise fading away, and the environment as comfortable as he felt it, sleep was beginning to knock on his door. He wasn’t sure if love had anything to do with it, but when Legamnünt pictured laying in bed, Rozatte at his side, he was confident that he was going to be able to fall asleep.
“Yes,” Legamnünt replied, and though the concept still felt foreign to him, he whispered, “It is working, Rozatte, thank you.”
Soon after, Legamnünt dreamt of potions, flowers, and the sweetest of honey. If he and his partner were ever to find themselves once again awake, bathed in candlelight, he was determined to return the favor. He just hoped that his potion made with love would work for Rozatte, too.