Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

That aubergine farm was indeed one of the largest Derek has ever seen. The first time he saw the endless fields with green sprouts emerging from the ground throughout the entire perimeter, it was breathtaking. Derek even stopped for a second, watching the land, and everywhere where his eyes could only reach, were infinite rows of young plants, up to the very horizon. In between the rows there were small unsown circles of ground, in centres of which stood large sprinkles. Several workers were resting in wooden gazebos built to the left of the fields. Derek stood there in confusion for several more seconds, wondering if he should approach the workers and ask where the farmer’s house was or if he should look by himself a little longer. The farm did look quite large, he could easily get lost here. Which would be really inconvenient for his interview day. He desperately needed the job, for that he had to make a good impression.

“Hey! Are you Derek?..” Derek turned at the hoarse voice and found himself face-to-face with a stern-looking man, who was leaning heavily on his stick and measuring Derek with an equally heavy gaze from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Derek felt his heart thumping in his chest rapidly. This was probably the owner of the farm. Come on, pull yourself together. Derek cleared his throat, still feeling heavily scrutinized, even thought the farmer stayed motionless and silent, and started over: “Yes, I’m Derek. I contacted you through email a few days ago regarding your job application.”

The man nodded thoughtfully and offered his hand for a handshake:
“Aye, that’s right. Welcome.” Derek shook his hand, still feeling a little nervous. He really really needed the job. He epitomised the word “broke”, and this was the first employer who was actually willing to give Derek a chance.

“I can see you got a little lost here?” the man hummed, a badly hidden pride in his voice. “Quite a perimeter we’ve got here, right? Easy for the new guys to wander off a little. Come now, I’ll show you to the house.”

Derek followed the man towards the house – or he would rather call it a mansion, as it loomed impressively before him – and into the living room.

“Please, sit,” the farmer prompted him, and Derek fought away his nervousness and allowed himself to relax in the chair a little. “Now... As you probably already realised, I’m not the one for small talks, so we better head straight to the point,” the man said bluntly and, when Derek nodded, continued, “A few days ago my son had an accident. He overworked himself a little bit and for now he’s not exactly capable of doing all of his duties. We decided it would be easier for him if he had an assistant – a person to whom he could delegate some of the work or get some necessary help in times like this one.”

Derek listened and nodded, even though his mind was still stuck on the “my son overworked himself” part. Was that even possible? Derek, for one, never met a case like that. His previous boss worked exactly as much as was needed and not a minute longer. Usually it was an eight-hour day, and when the eight hours would pass, Derek was free to leave the office and get on with his day. He wondered what it was like to be “overworked”. It was probably really bad, since the farmer’s son needed assistance...

“Tell me a little bit about yourself,” the farmer asked, leaning back in his chair and once again measuring Derek with his eyes.

“Oh,” Derek nervously shifted on his spot, thinking chaotically where he should start. “Well... I already have a working experience, I worked as an assistant for a little over a year... And then my mother died and I had to move from my apartment and look for another job, so... Oh, I have a letter of recommendation from my previous boss, if you’d care to take a look,” he opened his sack hastily and began looking through all the things there, trying to find the documents folder.

“It’s alright, I already read all that in your portfolio,” the farmer stopped him. “You have really good recommendations, people at your previous place speak of you very highly, so I’m not worried about that. But I need to know what kind of person you are.”

“What kind of qualities is your son looking for, sir?” Derek asked, emphasizing the word ‘son’. He was starting to think that it would be better for him to meet the farmer’s son for the interview. It was hard to understand what was required of him when he wasn’t speaking directly to the person for whom he would be working.

“My son...” the farmer sighed. “My son is a... peculiar person, you see. You would need to be patient with him. He requires a lot from himself and he expects the same from all the other people he knows. He would need to see you actually desire to work here and to work as much as needed, that has to be said.”

“I can do that,” Derek nodded.

“Oh, one more thing. Since we don’t have a cook, we usually prerpare our meals ourselves. I suspect Titch will want you to at least partially help him with that – he was never good at preparing meals. How good of a cook are you, Derek?”

This wasn’t a hard question at all.

“I cooked for myself my whole life, since my mother was sick for almost as long as I remember...” Derek’s heart prickled bitterly at the memory, but Derek stoically drove it away, “...and I dare to think I’m quite well at it.”

The farmer gave him the last testing look.

“Very well. You seem to be perfect for the job. The only matter now is whether you and Titch will get along.”

That was what Derek was mostly afraid of. Judging by the words of the farmer, this boss guy – Titch, was it? – seemed to be a real prick. Would Derek even like working for a person like that?

He sighed. His personal preferences didn’t really matter. He needed the job.

“When will it be possible for me to meet him?” he asked, thinking the sooner the better. It was almost as if the farmer read his thoughts, because he took his stick and helped himself up from the chair with a polite smile:

“I suppose now would be possible,” he offered.

“Oh, are you sure? I mean, if your son is sick, I could come a little bit later-”

The farmer shook his head, and a sad expression touched his face for a one elusive second.

“You don’t know Titch. He’s probably wide awake and is stressing over all the work he isn’t capable of doing. You won’t disturb him, maybe even quite the contrary – he needs to be doing something in order to stop all the worrying. Let’s go, I’ll introduce you.”

Derek followed the man up the flight of stairs and stopped in front of a black door with a piece of paper stuck towards it. It was obviously ripped from a notebook, and a strict hasty handwriting with letters all tilted equally to the right, formed a sentence “Do not enter: studying!”

The farmer knocked on the door lightly.

“Titch?”

“Yes, father?” Derek heard an immediate response from behind the door.

“I have Derek here – remember, the new assistant we talked about? Would you like to meet him now?”

“Yes, of course!” Titch’s voice sounded enthusiastic and energetic, and Derek, absolutely confused (Titch was supposed to be sick, wasn’t he?) approached the door. He opened it lightly and stepped inside, his eyes immediately catching the same unusual interior that he saw downstairs in the living room. Right before him was an undraped window, the sun streaming through it and filling the room with a soft light. Right under the window stood a relatively small, although clearly for studying rather than for frivolous pursuits, table with a heap of documents piling on top of it.

And then Derek looked to the left and saw a pair of sharp curious eyes fixated on him. Titch was half-lying half-sitting on the bed, with a pillow cautiously placed underneath his head, and his fingers were nervously – or excitedly, Derek couldn’t tell – tugging on the corner of the blanket which was covering him from the waist down.

Derek froze. He knew staring was impolite, but... this was Titch? The man before him was so small and fragile it seemed impossible that he was the one responsible for... all of this. For the vast farm and the endless fields of aubergines, and the entire business. His face was very pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Thin lips were almost translucent. He looked like he went through something overwroughting recently. Like a heart attack. Derek’s mum looked the same after her first heart attack...

So this was Titch.

“Please, come in,” Titch said plainly, and Derek flinched away from the door. Oh god, he was staring. He was staring for so long. The door slammed loudly behind him – he forgot to hold it and the sharp blow of wind did the job for him.

“Oh- sorry-”

“It’s okay, that door usually does that,” Titch said lightly, shifting a little bit on the bed and squinting, as if he wasn’t seeing well. “Uh... Derek? There have to glasses on the table somewhere...” he gestured towards the table vaguely, still eyeing Derek tensely. “Sorry, ever since that incident my eyesight got so much worse... The doctor says it will return to normal with time if I abstain from reading so much, but so far it’s pretty hard for me to see clearly...”

Derek saw a pair of square glasses on the table and carefully took them. A white, slightly trembling hand was stretched towards him, waiting, and Derek placed the glasses on Titch’s palm. With unsteady fingers Titch placed the glasses on his face and looked at Derek once again.

“Ah. Finally I see what you look like. Thanks. And please, sit down.”

It was just now that Derek noticed he was towering over the bed, and he hurried to pull up a chair.

“Right... So, tell me please, what do you know about farming? Aubergines, in particular. You probably saw the size of the fields we are dealing with. I hope it’s not scaring you.”

How. How was he still finding the strength to talk in such a casual tone. He looked so thin and unwell, it felt like one strong blow of a wind could break him in half. That worn out man needed to be in bed, sleeping, drinking hot tea, not... interviewing assistants and talking business talks.

“Derek?”

“Right, er-” he had to stop staring. That’s exactly the kind of behaviour that would ruin this interview for him, and he needed the job. “Sorry... Yes, I saw your farm and it’s not scary at all. In fact, I quite like it. I think I’ll catch up to everything quite quickly.”

“Uh-huh, I’m very pleased to hear that. And there’s supposed to be my... record book... somewhere here,” Titch looked around and took a big journal with a black cover, “you need to be good with managing things on paper. You know, incomes, outcomes, clients, partners. Usually I keep track of everything, so it’s all here in these notes... Now, I’m not asking you to memorise it yet, so far it would be enough for you to just look through it so you could navigate in it quickly. Okay?”

Not asking to memorise it... yet? Will he be required to in the future? Derek decided not to focus on that too much. He took the journal and murmured something like “yes, of course, I will look through it.”

Titch offered his hand with a smile:
“Looking forward to working with you, Derek.”

Titch was struggling, Derek saw it. He was struggling with so much dignity it felt unreal. The way he kept his gaze firmly locked on Derek, even though his eyes were beginning to water again – probably from overwork – and he had to squint a little in order to see Derek’s face properly. The way he kept his outstretched hand steady and his voice calm, as if they were having a lovely business dinner, and as if Titch was not getting progressively paler with each second.

Derek carefully squeezed Titch’s hand – it was very cold, he noticed, sending a shiver through him. A sudden desire to stop all of this welled up in him like a stormy wave. He wanted to halt the interview, close the curtains to block the blinding sun, and pull Titch into the blanket, forcing him to rest. That man needed the rest so clearly and desperately, and yet somehow he kept himself active, drowning in work. And Derek... Derek couldn’t get his eyes off him.

“I hope I will be of service,” he managed finally, his voice almost a whisper. He approached the door and shot a quick last glance at Titch before leaving the room. An encouraging smile and a stoically firm gaze were the last things he saw before stepping into the hallway.

Chapter Text

Oh this looked bad. Titch’s eyes darted from page to page, and with each number, he felt a wave of faintness creeping over him. This looked so bad he probably would have to work twice as hard just to get their business back to where it was in year ago.

This year’s harvest was disappointingly low. Titch worked and delegated and forced everyone – including James, even thought James was usually not much of a help – to work on the fields, and he was eager to see some progress. But as the month passed and Titch made sure to double-check every number on his records, he had to admit it: the profit had significantly dropped since the last time he compared the results. They lost almost thirty percent of their income, which was, well, expected, since this year even the yielding side of the land wasn’t giving as many aubergines as all the previous years.

Father called it an “occasional mishap” and he said that this happened from time to time to every land.

“It can’t just give and give infinitely, you see,” he explained to Titch and James during supper, and Titch listened attentively while James just yawned and nodded with a look of absolute boredom on his face. “And you, son, you should take it easy. You don’t see me getting panicked and losing my head over every missing sprout, do you?”

Titch squeezed his lips tightly. How could father even compare. Titch was the one responsible for every said sprout. It was his job to look after all those plants and make sure they would grow perfectly healthy and just as big and unrelenting as always. He was the head farmer here, after all.

“Son, the earth also needs to have rest from time to time,” father pressed, but it wasn’t good enough for Titch.

“It didn’t need that rest any of the years you were in charge,” he said bitterly. It was true: for as long as Titch remembered, his father was the one who ran this farm, and it was always thriving and prosperous. And then, after all those endless studies and research and observation that Titch did, when he finally decided he was fully prepared and ready to take over, - that very year things went bad. The income dropped.

Titch grabbed the record book, which was always close to him in case he needed to look something up quickly, and placed it on the dinner table right before father and James.

“Look at this, just look,” he demanded, opening the book on the correct page. “I asked James to put all the numbers together. And then I redid the math myself – since I can’t trust you with anything, dear brother,” he shot a sizzling look to James, who bit on his sandwich and ignored Titch’s barb with an absolutely unbothered expression, “and- and look, father, I even drew a chart, to see exactly just how bad things were, and they- they’re bad, you see? You see how the scale dropped since August?”

“Son, stop. Stop.”

Father’s heavy palm covered the page on which Titch was showing the chart, and Titch just now realized he was hyperventilating. His heart was throbbing somewhere both in his ears and in his stomach so rapidly he was short of breath. His throat was hurting, and he could feel his hands trembling.

“Father’s right. You’re taking this too seriously, li’l bro,” James commented, observing Titch indifferently from the other side of the table. Titch felt himself blushing to the tops of his ears. He was so done with James calling him “little brother”. He hated that ever since school. And they were both adults now, yet, no matter how hard Titch tried, he was still “little”.

He felt his head spinning violently as he slowly got up from the table and towered over James, who was still sitting with a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and a football almanac in the other.

“I asked you. To not. Call me. That,” he whispered, his voice trembling with poorly hidden anger. “I have been carrying all the responsibility in this house with no help from you whatsoever, and guess what – I will do it again. I will do it twice as better as before, I will bring us those thirty percent back, and I will never ever ask anything from you again, James.”

He clumsily apologised to father and left the table. He locked the door to his room – the one where he actually did all the work, he liked to call it ‘the office’ – and he spent the next five hours brainstorming a new strategy of conquering the fading income. He paced the room anxiously until his legs would give out, then he dropped to his chair and froze in it, massaging the temples until the tips of his fingers began to radiate heat, and then he would grabbed the pen and started to write chaotically in his notebook.

When by the end of day he managed to come up with exact numbers of working hours and resources for all the aubergine growing, he was devastated. If he wanted to get back on track by the end of the month, he would need to spend at least a few thousands on all the extra manure and the watering systems and maybe one or two new employees, since nothing in this house could be delegated to James.

Speak of the devil – the second Titch finished writing the last number down, he heard a quiet knocking on the door. His eyes shifted hastily towards the clock on the wall – hands were pointing half past ten. Not as late as he thought.

“Titch? It’s me, uh, can I come in?”

“Yes, you can,” Titch shrugged, and James went inside and closed the door firmly behind him. He looked rather humbled, which brought a pleasant feeling to Titch’s chest. James deserved to be humbled.

“Um... I wanted to talk to you,” James said, approaching the table and sitting in the chair across from Titch.

“Well talk.”

Titch felt absolutely calm. That was what usually happened to him after the outbursts like the one during dinner. He would suppress his emotions long enough for them to start bubbling inside him, he would snap – and then he was as indifferent as a rock for at least a few more weeks. Which was helpful, since he still had a whole farm of ignorant people to run.

James rolled his eyes.

“Don’t start with your manic attitudes again, Titch, please,” he demanded, “I came here to sort things out, not to fight. So you might as well just crawl back out from your shell and actually try to listen to me.”

Titch leaned on the back of his chair and measured James with an emotionless sight.

“I’m listening.”

“I didn’t mean to aggravate you back there at the table,” James said quickly, obviously deciding to rip the bandage off. “And I’m sorry, Titch, I really am. It’s just that you’re always so bossy and self-centred all the time, fussing over this aubergine farm-”

“Because we live on the fucking aubergine farm.”

“I know, but I’m not making it the centre of my life, am I?”

“That’s because you’re irresponsible.”

“No, it’s because I want more to life than aubergines! And I think you should do the same. Look at yourself,” James leaned on the table, closer to Titch, and his sight became surprisingly worrisome. “Have you looked in the mirror recently? You’re fading away, you know that? All thin and pale, and irritated all the time. Working until midnight. Hell, I see light coming from under your door long after midnight. That’s not healthy.”

Oh, so that’s what it was going to be. Another lecture. Titch took a deep breath – as he usually did before wrapping things up and finishing the conversation once and for all.

“I appreciate your... peculiar type of care, James,” he said finally, thinking it would be more help to him if James began to actually fulfil his responsibilities as a farmer rather than just giving Titch speeches about what is healthy. “But when a year ago I agreed to take over the business, I promised father I would keep the land fruitful and cherished. Apparently, I wasn’t doing a very good job, was I.”

“Father told you it’s not you, it’s the land-”

The corner of Titch’s mouth twitched in a bitter semblance of smile.

“I highly doubt it’s the land. The land responds according to our actions. If you work hard enough over it, it gives you vegetables. If you play football all day, it becomes... like yours.”

James’ sight went icy for a moment.

Titch looked down at the piece of paper, all covered with small schemes and numbers, and shifted it closer to James.

“Here, take a look. See, I calculated everything just before you came. This is the amount of money I will spend on the equipment. This is the needed working force to get everything up and running again. We might need to hire a person or two to help the workers we already have. And this,” he sighed and placed his finger on the number in the corner, “is the amount of shifts – including holidays - that I will be taking in order to get all the work done. See? I got it all planned.”

James dragged the paper closer to himself and studied it a few minutes with such a serious expression Titch even began to worry a little. He rarely saw his brother being so involved.

James finally got to the last line and looked up at Titch again.

“I don’t see myself in this planner.”

“That’s because I meant what I said during supper. I’m not involving you anymore,” Titch retorted indifferently. “You’re free to play football or... attend to those three and a half aubergines or however many your side of the field is producing.”

James gave him the longest and most thoughtful look ever before putting the paper down, and sighed.

“Are you sure, brother?” he asked quietly. “Are you absolutely sure this,” he tapped his finger on the planner, “will work? There’s quite a chance that you will not handle all the work and the stress. Don’t you think I should at least be there to back you up in case something happens?”

Titch shook his head.

“I have no other choice. I will make this thing work. That’s the only way I can fix my poor management from before.”

He did what he said he would do. He spent the next few days almost without any sleep, completing everything he had planned. He got his father’s approval for installing the watering systems. He went through all the reliable sites on the Internet, looking for candidates. He spent at least nine full hours on the field shoulder to shoulder with the other workers. He dropped to bed for those seven hours of sleep he allowed himself according to the schedule, and when the alarm woke him up, he emotionlessly got out of bed, made himself a quick espresso and went to the field, ignoring the uprising dizziness.

During the lunch break he checked if he had any news from the possible employees and finally contacted the manager responsible for the watering systems installation. He neglected all of his father’s comments regarding how pale he looked and he went back to the field as soon as he finished lunch.

He poured his soul into planting a new batch of aubergines. He worked methodically, carefully, gently. Until it became so dark he could no longer see the aubergines. Then he went inside and stayed in bed reading all those materials on the aubergine planting he found recently. There was a lot of useful information there about how to make the aubergines grow better, and he even began taking small notes for himself as he dug further into the research.

He lost track of days. Every free minute he had he filled with something useful for the land. Whether it was reading the new information, making arrangements with the workers and the managers or doing the planting itself – he was busy all days long. His brain didn’t seem to stop working even while he slept, and he was dreaming and raving about the aubergines and the possible ways to handle the income crisis.

And then he... broke. That’s what he called it in his mind, at least, even though his father was outrageous when he heard Titch describing that incident with that word.

“You did not break, son,” he persuaded Titch, his voice slightly trembling, and Titch, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t tell if his father was angry at him or sad. “Never say something like that again. You are not broken. Do you hear me? You are okay. We will make this okay,” he kept repeating, his fingers squeezing Titch’s hand – the one that was free from the IV tubes.

And Titch hated himself even more, because really, he should have known that this word would upset father. He was just so drugged and sleepy, from all the medications he was sedated with, that he couldn’t really coordinate himself appropriately. He could barely form coherent sentences, and as soon as he woke up, his mind immediately raced towards business. So he just had to ask father questions, to know for how long was he out and who was handling the field instead of him, and to say that he was sorry, he was sorry he broke like that-

He had to stay in the hospital for one more whole week before he could be sent back to home. The doctor gave him a very direct order to drive away any kind of anxious thoughts he might have. To act like he had no responsibilities or troubles in the world, because health was the most precious thing, and he could lose it at any moment if he would keep going like that.

Titch tried not to think of business. He stared at the ceiling and tried to focus on it's pattern, but his eyes just could not see it properly. All he knew was that it was there, but everything went blurry and his eyes would start to water every time he tried to see it clearer.

He tried to recreate in his memory the day of the incident. It was quite a nice sunny day, and Titch had just met the manager of the watering systems, which were being installed on his field by a dozen of workers. And then he tried to give more direct orders to his own people regarding these new sprinklers. He received a call in the middle of his instructions – not a pleasant one. James called to inform him that their sales had decreased by at least two more percent. And then Titch went to work on the field as usual, and that’s when that sharp blinding pain got him. It rose from within, exploded somewhere in the middle of his chest, piercing his left arm and shoulder. And then the world swayed before his eyes. He must have fallen. He didn’t remember much, but he definitely felt his knees hitting the ground and his head spinning like never before.

Weird. He never thought he cared that much about those two more percents. Obviously he did, he thought bitterly, bringing his hand to his eyes and squinting in order to see the tubes protruding from his hand more vividly.

James rushed to the hospital the very next day. When the nurse asked Titch if he wanted to see his brother, Titch’s heart dropped for a second. He never thought James cared that much.

“Yes of course,” he mouthed breathlessly. James froze at the doors, staring at Titch as if he saw him for the first time.

“Hi,” Titch whispered, giving him a small smile at best of his abilities – his lips felt cold and numb for whatever reason.

Instead of answering, James crossed the room in two sharp steps and stopped once more, towering over Titch.

“How could you-” he uttered, his lips trembling slightly. “Don’t you dare ever again-” he cut himself off and just stood there for a few moments, trying to figure out the sentence he wanted to say.

And all Titch could say was the same thing he told his father.

“I’m sorry.”

That was when James actually wrapped him in the tightest hug Titch had ever received. Titch slowly hugged him back, even though his hands felt like they were filled with lead, and they stayed like that. Titch savoured that moment and wished for it to never end. He never thought James cared. He never thought any of them cared that much.

He got permission to return home in a week, and while he did immediately try to at least do the paperwork, he realised his hands were very unsteady, his eyes couldn’t see the letters properly and he felt so dizzy he couldn’t get out of bed on his own.

That was when his father suggested they hire an assistant. If that would stop the anxiety for Titch, they could look up the applications, find the right person – and Titch would know that no matter what, there’s still a person to whom he could delegate his duties, whom he could trust.

Father did all the research, really. Titch just shifted nervously on the bed, trying to see the screen over father’s shoulder until he finally gave up and accepted that he could no longer see without his glasses. The only good news was that his eyesight would return to normal within a few days, according to the doctor.

Derek. That was the guy they decided to interview first. Judging by his resume and letter of recommendation, he was perfect. Willing to start working right away, plus he lived not far from the farm and overall sounded great.

Derek did start working the very next day after the interview. Titch was surprised to see him early in the morning, knocking lightly on the door and stepping inside with a tray in his hands.

“Good morning, sir,” he said with a smile. “I hope I’m not too early, sorry... I was told you usually get up around that time, but... well, this isn’t exactly a “usual” situation...” he gestured vaguely at Titch, implying his condition.

Titch, who had been awake for at least two hours trying to calculate how much their income had dropped since he wasn’t at work to keep things under control, just waved his hand dismissively.

“Please. I’ll be back on my feet within the next few days. And... thanks, but I’m not really hungry.”

Derek’s face darkened for a moment.

“Oh... But you need to eat, sir. I was told you had a heart attack, and you will get so much better if you eat right.”

Titch glanced stiffly at the tray. A bowl of steaming soup and what looked like an exceptionally small toast. And a cup of... tea? Really, tea?

“I drink coffee,” Titch pointed out, nodding at the cup. “Is this coffee?”

“You had a heart attack,” Derek said, looking at him as if Titch just said something highly inappropriate. “I’m not sure coffee is an option now...”

“Next time it has to be coffee, please,” Titch enunciated, with a perfect balance of cold politeness in his voice. “And... okay, thank you,” he added as Derek gently placed the tray on his lap. Derek smiled at him lightly.

“Your father advised me to look through the papers and maybe take care of some organizational moments, so... If that’s allowed, I could do all that in your office.”

Wow. That would be so helpful, actually. Maybe this whole idea wasn’t as bad as he thought it was.

“Of course. The key to my office should be somewhere on the nightstand...” God, if only he could see beyond a meter's radius around him.

Derek went towards the nightstand and looked through it for a few seconds, before happily exclaiming:

“Found it! Oh- sorry, that must’ve been too loud... I’m sorry. Um, so I will be in your office in case you need me,” Derek waited for a nod and headed towards the door. “Just call, I’ll be right by your side. ...Yeah. Get better, sir!”

Chapter Text

The only thing that bugged Derek in his new job was having to get up two hours earlier than he was used to. Never a morning person, he had loved his previous job where his office didn’t open until nine.

On his first day as the farmer’s assistant, he quickly realised that he’d have to change his whole schedule in order to live up to the (obviously high) expectations of his new boss. Derek decided to not be too upset about that. He went to bed two hours earlier than usual and when his alarm began buzzing at half past six the next day, he got out of bed feeling almost as fresh as usual.

The first thing that he had to figure out was: what were his duties for today. Titch didn’t give him any direct orders other than going through the record book, and Derek already did that. He looked through it several times, until he was absolutely sure he could navigate through it with ease. Which wasn’t really his achievement. That book was the most organised business record that Derek has ever seen. All of the documentation was so precise and comprehensible that it didn’t take long for Derek to get acquainted with it. In fact, he spent a good twenty minutes just turning the pages and admiring them, perfectly lined and filled with Titch’s neat, even handwriting. They were just pleasant to look at.

But that still didn’t change the fact that his first day had started, and he didn’t have the slightest idea of whom he should ask for tips regarding what to do next. He slowly opened the door to the hallway, trying his best to not make it creak, because the house still looked pretty quiet and sleepy. He got down the spiralling stairs, crossed the living room and stopped for a moment before a huge picture window that faced directly towards the fields.

The view made him freeze for a moment. Wide fields sprawled to the horizon, bathing in the pinkish glow of the rising sun. The fog that clung to the fields was already beginning to dissipate, but almost all the sprouts were still shrouded in a bluish haze. How was it possible to keep all of this in such a perfect state, Derek wondered in passing. To tend to every plant, to organize and control everything, day by day, without stopping.

...He overworked himself a little bit and for now he’s not exactly capable of fulfilling all of his duties.

...He’s probably wide awake and stressing over all the work he isn’t doing.

Somehow, it was still hard for Derek to imagine Titch in his usual everyday life, giving commands left and right, managing everything, and running the entire farm with its endless fields and thousands of aubergines. Derek once again recalled their first – and so far only – interaction. Titch did seem to be a pretty tough man, no doubt about that, but there was something in him, something elusive, yet very real, which made him look... as if he was constantly fighting. In a mode of constant vigilance. Ready to combat the whole world and everyone in it. He didn’t seem to relax for a moment while Derek was in his bedroom, and, even though he was impeccably polite and friendly, it was obvious he was going out of his ways to keep himself at a certain distance from Derek.

Derek suddenly remembered the old farmer’s words about how Titch hated cooking. Since Titch was still sick and now he had Derek, it was probably Derek’s responsibility to cook for him. With that thought, Derek headed to where he assumed was the kitchen. He carefully went through the fridge, just to see with what kind of supplies he was dealing with, and decided that he could try and make something easy for the first day. Something he wouldn’t mess up. And something Titch would be able to actually eat.

Derek decided to stop on the idea of soup. That was something that was both easy and, as he knew quite well, helpful for sick people. It was helping his mom, at least... Derek pressed his lips tightly together, promised himself that he won’t think of that on such a fine Monday morning, took a few vegetables out of a huge bag in the corner of the kitchen and began chopping it to small pieces.

As the water on the stove began to boil and Derek was carefully sliding the ingredients from the cutting board into the pot, he heard a surprised whistle right behind him.

“Look at that! There’s a stranger cooking soup in my kitchen. I don’t even know whether to be angry or happy.”

Derek almost dropped the board and the knife and turned sharply to see a man standing in the doorway, observing him with a mixed expression of confusion and laughter on his face. The man seemed to be about the same age Titch was, maybe a little older. The first thing that immediately caught Derek’s attention was the fact that the man was absolutely bald. The second notable thing was his eyes – bright, lively and sharp, piercing into Derek’s very soul.

“Regardless of what your intentions are, you may want to put that knife down and explain to me who the hell are you, mate,” he added in a much more serious tone, taking a step forward. Derek instinctively backed away. What did he do that for. He was doing nothing wrong. Still, the man before him was stocky and muscular, and Derek thought it would be better to not get into a fight with this particular person, whoever he was. Especially on his first workday.

“Um, sorry,” he hurried to explain himself, “I was just cooking breakfast- I’m Derek. The new assistant.” Steam billowed up from the pot, clouding his view of the man in front of him. “Uh… if you don’t mind, I need to close that,” he said awkwardly, grabbing the lid from the table. He quickly turned down the heat and placed the lid on the pot.

The man sighed.

“Of course they wouldn’t tell me,” he muttered under his breath and added louder, “Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t know father and Titch already found someone, you see. I come into the kitchen, I see some guy chopping vegetables here, you know... weird,” Derek chuckled, and the man before him smiled as well. “I’m James,” he introduced himself, shaking Derek’s hand. “Titch’s brother.”

James, Titch’s brother, turned out to be quite a pleasant man. At least, so Derek thought, as they sat at the kitchen table – Derek waiting for the soup to be ready and James just nibbling on one of the toasts Derek made while they were waiting.

“So you’re... working for Titch?” James asked, sounding rather doubtful.

Derek nodded enthusiastically.
“Uh-huh, isn’t that cool?”

“You seem way too happy for a job like that, mate. You probably haven’t met Titch yet.”

“Oh no, I did! Just yesterday, in fact. He seems nice.”

That was the most shocked look Derek has ever received.

“He seems what? Are you kidding?” James laughed nervously. “Although who knows, maybe he’s an absolute sweetheart during the interviews. Just wait till you start working. He’ll suck all the life out of you in no time. Just like he does it with everyone else... himself including.”

“So it’s true?” the question slipped from Derek’s tongue before he could stop himself, so he had no other choice but to continue, “I mean, it’s true that he’s sick because he was working so much? Willingly?”

“That’s my li’l brother, alright,” James shrugged and took another bite of the toast. “Jeez, you’re quite a cook, Derek! These taste awesome. I always burn mine...”

“Oh, try it with butter,” Derek suddenly remembered that he saw some peanut butter in the fridge. “My mom loved it like that – still hot and with butter.”

“So you’re here helping out your folks or something?” James asked, accepting the peanut butter jar and sticking a knife in it.

“No- Not really- I-” Okay, he had to stop stuttering right the fuck now. He couldn’t be weak and sad, not at his first workday. Which was easy to command and hard to do. Derek felt unironically too small and exposed in this suddenly way too huge room. He sighed and finally dared. “Actually, my parents are dead. Mom passed away a few weeks ago.”

James’ face went dark.

“Oh... Hey, I’m really sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

Derek wanted to respond. To say it was alright, to be polite, to be just like Titch yesterday, calm and composed no matter how hard it was. But his eyes were already stinging with tears, and a thick lump lodged in his throat, making it impossible to speak. He lowered his head silently and sat like that for several minutes, trying to pull himself together.

A warm palm lightly squeezed his shoulder, and he heard James’ voice closely beside him.

“It’s okay,” James whispered softly, still holding him gently. “I know it’s hard. My mother died when I was nine. It was the most horrible thing that ever happened to me... apart from my little brother almost getting himself killed on that field a few days ago, of course. So I know the feeling. Just know it will get better.”

Derek nodded and forcefully gulped down that tight lump in his throat.

“I know,” he managed finally. “It’s already ‘better’. She was suffering- a lot for the past two years. You know... poor heart, and at her age... She’s peaceful now. So it’s alright.”

He got to the end of that fucked sentence and took a sharp breath, trying to stop the tears, which were still throbbing in his eyes. No. He was not going to cry. He looked up and saw deep sadness in James’ eyes.

“Anyway,” he said, trying to lighten the mood a little, and got up to stir the soup in the pot. “This is almost ready... When does Titch usually get up, by the way? I don’t want to be too early...”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that,” James waved his hand with a grin. “Wait till you work with him a little longer, then you’ll see he almost doesn’t sleep.”

Derek frowned.
“But he really should. Heart attacks are no joke. And, I mean, how does one even get to that point by simply overworking?..” A memory of Titch’s steely gaze penetrating his soul, while Titch himself seemed to be on the verge of passing out was still strong in Derek’s mind. How can a person be so worn out and so full of feverish energy at the same time. Just... how.

“Oh, he’s calm right now,” James noted, “you should have seen him before the heart attack, a fucking cyborg he was. Nothing could stop him.”

Derek turned off the light on the stove and took a ladle.

“I’ll try to make him feel better,” he decided out loud, pouring the soup into a bowl. “That’s insane, you know, getting yourself into such condition just by working. Willingly. I mean I’m sorry, but you guys don’t seem to be broke or something, so it’s not about the money...”

“Definitely not the money, no. It’s more of a... personal reason with Titch. Always wanted to be better than me in father’s eyes,” a sudden bitterness in James’ voice made Derek take his eyes off the plate and look up at him in astonishment. “Don’t get me wrong, I love him and all,” James hurried to explain. “It’s just that... he’s always competing against me. Even when I’m not trying to compete at all. He even got an assistant before me,” he nodded at Derek with a hint of a smile. “Maybe I should too, by the way. Not that I need one, of course...”

“Why?” Derek asked, placing all the toasts on the large round plate he had found in the cupboard earlier. “I mean... I thought you were a farmer too, that you guys were running this business together.”

“Nah, I don’t do much on the field.” James said it so blatantly and carelessly that Derek looked at him with even more surprise. You’d think that two brothers living under the same roof and having a business together would be at least somewhat the same, yet they seemed to be the two complete opposites. “There’s not much TO do, anyways,” James continued, leaning on the back of his chair and casually resting one leg over the other. “The side of the field I’m responsible for is almost completely barren. I’m lucky if I have at least a dozen aubergines growing there per year. I only stick with this aubergines thing because father wants me to, you see. Actually I’m a footballer.”

“That explains a lot,” Derek noted, measuring James’ physique with his sight once more. Of course James was a sportsman.

“Hey... Do you mind if I take one more?” James asked matter-of-factly, pointing at the plate with toasts. “These are freaking good.”

“Sure, sure, take as much as you want,” Derek smiled at him, shifting the plate closer to him, “I can make more.”

“Do you like to cook?”

“Well, it’s not a matter of ‘liking’, really. It’s just something that needs to be done, so I’m doing it.”

James gave him the warmest look ever.

“Well, you’re very good at it.”

The clock struck half past eight just as the teapot on the stove began to whistle. Derek turned it off and poured the hot water into the cup, where he had already added the tea leaves.

“I better be going. Titch is probably awake by now,” he stated, putting everything on the tray.

“Sure,” James agreed. “My father will get down here any minute now too, so... Oh and by the way,” he nodded at the steaming cup on the tray. “He just got out of the hospital, so it’s probably better that way, but for the future: he’s a coffee man.”

Derek had an opportunity to check the truthfulness of his words just a few minutes later, because apparently, Titch was expecting coffee right away. And judging by the look on him, Derek doubted very much that it would be a good idea.

When a few hours later Derek was finishing all the paperwork left in Titch’s office, it was already noon. He folded all of the papers into a neat stack and headed towards Titch’s bedroom for a check. Titch did want everything to be approved by him personally, and Derek honestly couldn’t blame him. Even Derek didn’t trust himself entirely. He was almost sure he messed up somewhere along the way. It was better to double-check.

He knocked on the door and pushed it lightly when he heard an energetic “Derek? Come in,” from the inside.

“I just finished everything you told me to,” he informed Titch, handing him the stack of documents.

“Are you sure? So fast?” Titch placed everything on his lap, spreading the documents into several piles in order to navigate through them easier. “Huh... Okay... Well, that is just wonderful. Won-der-ful,” he murmured slowly, going through page after page and studying some of the lines closer.

“Really?” Derek blossomed, unsuccessfully trying to hide his delight. He knew he was good with paperwork before, but to get everything on his first try? He was definitely killing it at this new job.

“Yes, yes, this whole pile is good to go,” Titch shifted one of the stacks a little bit to the left. “Now let’s take a look at this...” he said, dragging the next contract closer and immediately wincing. He peered at the first piece of paper for several seconds before tilting his head back and massaging his temples, trying in vain to focus.

Derek watched him with uprising concern.
“Are you okay?”

“Fuck...” Titch took the glasses off and threw them on the blanket beside him. “You will have to read me the rest out loud. I don’t think I can handle any more reading today.”

“How much did you read before I came?” a question slipped before Derek could restrain himself.

“Just a few pages,” Titch said, raising his hand with an authoritative gesture. “It’s not relevant. Please read me this,” he gave Derek a document.

Derek read several lines, waited for an approving nod from Titch, then switched to the other page. It was a contract with a shipping company regarding aubergine exports. Derek thought he’d better read all the points of it aloud once again – just to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

He spent a few minutes reading it, and then he looked up, noticing he haven’t heard any commentary – helpful or not – from his boss.

Titch was lying on the bed – not half-sitting as usual, but actually lying, his bluish eyelids trembling in the daylight. His pale hand rested limply on top of the blanket, thin fingers still gripping its edge. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, and Derek could hear his subtle, even breathing. He was sleeping.

He looked so fragile, almost weightless, in his sleep. And suddenly... beautiful. Derek realised he once again couldn’t take his eyes off him. He really really shouldn’t have been staring at a sleeping person like some creep, a thought it his mind screamed, and he drove it away persistently, because this was Titch. How could he NOT look.

A strange stillness filled the room, the air heavy with the quiet rhythm of Titch’s steady breathing. Derek found himself sitting there, frozen, watching as a single beam of sunlight streamed through the curtains and cast a soft glow over Titch’s face. His pale skin seemed almost translucent in the light. There was something unguarded, something painfully vulnerable about him in that moment.

Derek leaned closer without thinking, his movements slow and tentative. The contract pages rustled faintly in his hands, reminding him of the mundane reality, yet Derek couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way Titch’s hand, limp against the blanket, twitched ever so slightly—almost as if it were reaching out for something. Or someone.

Derek throat tightened. What are you doing, something inside him kept protesting stubbornly. You shouldn’t be here like this. He needs rest.

His gaze drifted lower, tracing the delicate curve of Titch’s collarbone where it wasn’t hidden by the shirt. There was an elegance to the way his body lay still, the exhaustion that had been etched into his features now smoothed away by sleep. Derek felt an overwhelming urge to do something, anything—reach out and brush that stray lock of hair from Titch’s forehead, or trace the line of his jaw, or simply let his fingers linger near the warmth of Titch’s skin.

But he didn’t.

Instead Derek carefully gathered all the pages of the contract in a neat little stack and placed it silently on the nightstand next to him. Then he got up and left the room without a sound.

Chapter Text

Titch didn’t even notice when everything blurred before his eyes and he simply... drifted off. It wasn’t just dozing off; he had slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep, and when he awoke, he had no idea how long he’d been out. For the first time in quite a while there were no dreams. It was just black screen before his eyes.

He slowly opened his eyes and winced at the light. Judging by the deep orange glow flooding the room, it must have been evening. Titch squinted at the fields outside the window, bathed in the fiery hues of sunset.

What happened... He remembered Derek reading the contracts to him. He hastily recalled Derek’s words in his head. Derek definitely read him three points of that shipping contract, and then... then everything went dark. Oh god, he fell asleep while Derek was reading to him.

Titch jumped up on his bed, and almost immediately he felt a soft touch of someone’s big palms on his shoulders.

“Please, sir, don’t get up!” he heard a muffled exclamation behind him, as the same strong hands held him in place, not letting him move any further. “It can really destroy all the progress that you’ve made.”

Derek.

“Derek?” Titch mumbled, trying vainly to look behind his shoulder and see him. It really didn’t have much sense, since he had already recognised the voice; yet somehow it felt like the most important thing - to see Derek. To catch a look on his face and see if he was... disappointed? Pitiful? Angry? Titch knew HE would be angry if someone had just dozed off on him like that...

“Would you like something to drink?” Derek asked softly, interrupting Titch’s thoughts, and Titch finally saw his gangly silhouette shifting to the nightstand and back, with a steaming cup in his hand.

“Is it coffee?”

“I really can’t give you coffee now, sir,” Derek uttered apologetically. “I contacted your doctor, and he says to restrict you from it for at least a week more.”

“So i suppose its tea again,” Titch commented unenthusiastically. Derek nodded, and Titch took the cup into his unsteady hands. “Thank you,” he said nevertheless. Derek seemed to be on the verge on happiness. Which was really weird, considering Titch had fallen asleep earlier that day, like some irresponsible hillbilly.

“What time is it?” he asked, shifting uncomfortably on his bed.

Concern flashed on Derek’s face at that slightest movement, and in a blink of an eye he was back by Titch’s side, putting his palm on Titch’s shoulder so carefully as if he was scared of getting burned.
“Sir, just please-please-please don’t move too much, you’re just starting to get your strength back... It’s six pm.”

So evening it was. He had slept through the whole day. Not even ‘slept’, he almost fully blacked out, considering how everything was dark and devoid of sensation all the time he was away... Unprofessional.

“Right, um... Derek, I think I owe you an apology,” Titch managed stiffly, still feeling utterly ashamed of himself. Derek looked at him with a look of silent surprise.

“What for?..”

“I fell asleep. That was irresponsible and disrespectful towards you. I don’t really understand how it happened, but I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Titch finally decided to take his eyes off his cup, which he had been looking at very intently throughout the entire sentence, and looked up at Derek. And he realized that in the eyes of his assistant there was neither disappointment nor resentment. His eyes shone with some incomprehensible joy.

“What are you talking about?!” he exclaimed, and, realising that it sounded way too enthusiastic and overly familiar, dropped his eyes down. “Oh, sorry. I just wanted to say it’s a good thing! That’s why I didn’t bother you in any way and told everyone in the house to do the same. I mean look at you, you really needed that sleep... I’m just so happy for you.”

That happy chaotic half-whispering was still in Titch’s head long after Derek was gone from the room. He just lay on the pillows, staring into the ceiling and rewinding the whole interaction over and over in his head.

When father suggested hiring an assistant for the first time, Titch thought it would feel weird. A new person, required to be constantly by his side, doing whatever they were ordered to do... Titch didn’t enjoy other people’s companies too much in his usual life. Hell, he could barely tolerate James!..

But Derek was... different. It felt comfortable to be around him. He was caring and kind, but at the same time very sharp-minded and enthusiastic about any aubergine-related work Titch would ask him to do. And the way he seemed genuinely happy about every small thing and achievement (even though Titch wouldn’t exactly call it that) of Titch’s... Nobody in his life – aside from father, probably – ever seemed to take this much interest in him.

All people usually cared about was any kind of profit they could gain from their connection with him. Titch couldn’t fault them for that; he was just as driven and focused on business, achievement, and conquest. All his relations with other people were purely business. And then there was Derek.

It was more and more often that Titch would notice Derek’s quick, almost elusive glances, which stopped on him for a moment and then immediately would drift away. Derek would continue with whatever he was doing like nothing happened, but Titch did see those quick glances, and there was something in them – Titch couldn’t tell what exactly, but it felt like a deep sadness. Or regret. Something hidden and encrypted, and Titch couldn’t tell what was it exactly. But Derek never talked about it and most of the times he acted very cheerful, and Titch decided not to try and break through this enigmatic behaviour.

As his sight slowly slithered across the ceiling, already able to see separate patterns on it, he suddenly realised that he had a connection with Derek. There definitely was one. His mind was returning to Derek more and more often for the past few days. Which was probably logical – it wasn’t often that new faces would show up in a town as small as Somerset, especially – on Titch’s farm. So Derek was a new and exciting change, one could say.

But the more Titch thought about it, the more it was becoming clear that there was more to that. He didn’t have the opportunity to finish that thought, because a loud not-Derek knock on the door dragged him out of that flow.

“Brother, it’s me! Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Titch said. He was not in the mood to see anyone now, but the simple norms of politeness ordered him to always let the visitors in.

James entered the room, looking particularly delighted about something, but when his sight fell on Titch, he froze, frowning.

“Since when do you lie so still?” he asked, holding the door behind him so it wouldn’t slam as a blow of wind rushed through the opened window. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m alright,” Titch confirmed with a hint of a smile. “Derek advised me to not waste my energy now,” yeah... after he fell asleep right in the middle of working, “so I’m doing that.”

James raised his eyebrows in surprise, “Really? That guy is good... Do you mind if I close that?” he asked, pointing at the half-opened window and the curtains, that were fluttering under the sharp blows of wind, and when Titch nodded, crossed the room and closed the window shut. “You can easily catch a flu lying all day with the window opened,” he informed Titch, as if it was needed to be spoken aloud.

Titch looked at him more attentively. James was more... energetic today? Enthusiastic? That didn’t look like him at all. James closed the window, fixed the curtains and turned to Titch, his eyes sparkling excitedly.

“What are you glowing about?” Titch asked, narrowing his eyes and giving James a jokingly suspicious look.

James inhaled nervously and stepped towards the same chair that Derek moved to his bed at his first interview and nobody really bothered to move aside since then.

“Can you promise me, brother,” James said, sitting on the chair (thank god for that, Titch could barely see him when he stood by the window) and looking at Titch with a helpless, almost childish hope in his eyes, “can you promise for just this once to be happy for me?”

“Woah, woah, something truly must have happened,” Titch commented, furrowing his brow and propping himself up on his elbows.

“Something indeed happened,” James nodded, beaming. “This is huge, brother. Just hear me out: you know how today was supposed to be my big re-match with the boys?”

“So I hear,” Titch said stiffly.

“So we were just in the middle of a break, when a man came to me and started talking. Guess who he was!”

“Haven’t the slightest,” Titch shrugged.

“Mark Addams! ”

“Mark Addams... Hold on...” Titch said slowly, wrinkling his forehead and trying to remember where he had heard that name before. “Wait, he’s the captain of that football team, right? I heard one of our workers listen to the match on the radio... Yes, Wotherinham Rangers, they beat the Racoon City with seven-zero, right?”

If a meteor would fall in their front porch that moment, James would probably not be as surprised.

“How the hell did you remember that from a radio broadcast?” he asked, astonished.

“I have a good memory,” Titch informed him indifferently. “A nice quality to have, but as you can see, sometimes I remember a bunch of utterly useless information.” Titch had no idea why he was being such a dick. As if he didn’t vividly remember the moment when he heard the football match on one of the radios on the field and deliberately decided to memorise the score and the teams because he knew it was important to James.

“It’s not useless, you have no idea how much it means to me that you were listening to that match so thoughtfully!” James bellowed with the brightest smile Titch had ever seen on him. “They were fantastic there- The Rangers, I mean, the Racoons sucked... Anyway, so Mark Addams comes to me and he says – guess what – that he was watching our re-match and,” James grasped Titch’s hand, “he would like to offer me a place in his team!”

“What?!”

“I’m entering the Wotherinham Rangers, li’l brother!” James bellowed, and before Titch knew it, he was already dragged into the tightest, most enthusiastic hug. He didn’t even care that James just called him that obnoxious name again. He slowly wrapped his hands around James as well, feeling James’ heart racing against his chest. It was moments like this that made the whole world look like it didn’t matter. Titch could stay like that, wrapped in that warm hug, forever. With the undeniable knowledge that James still loved him, considered him a part of his family, and genuinely cared, Titch felt a profound sense of comfort. As long as James was this close, eager to share exciting moments with him, no one could ever take that bond away.

“I am happy for you,” he uttered quietly, as James pulled back slightly and gave Titch an investigating look.

“Are you though?”

“I am,” Titch confirmed with a smile. “For what it’s worth – you’re a very good player and you deserve the best in that career.”

“Wait... How do you know that I’m good?” James asked suddenly, and Titch realised he said too much.

“I- Um, well- I guessed! I guessed, of course...”

“Ti-i-itch?”

Goddamn it. And here he hoped that this dirty little secret would die with him.

“I may or may not have watched you play,” he admitted, forcing himself to look James in the eyes and not lock his gaze on the corner of the blanket, to which his fingers clung nervously a few moments earlier.

A ringing silence hung between them, and for several long moments James just stared at him with the most unreadable expression ever. Titch’s mind raced madly in his head. James will laugh in his face. He will, just the very next moment he will laugh and ridicule Titch, and Titch will never as much as look at any football game ever again in his fucking life-

“Are. You. Kidding me today,” James whispered breathlessly, still looking bewilderedly at Titch. “Tell me this isn’t a joke, Titch. I always thought you didn’t care. You know, that you consider my passion to be childish and all... Just tell me you’re serious.”

“I am serious,” Titch assured him, his heart dropping a little. “It was just one or two times, to be honest... I mean, I don’t have a lot of free time, as you could see. But I did watch you play, and as little as I know about football, I could tell that you were good. I just didn’t want to tell you.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea,” he answered bluntly.

“You’re the best, you know that?” James said, beaming at him and embracing him into a hug one more time. “Just the thought of you watching me and thinking that I actually am a good player... I am so happy you are my brother.”

James was long gone, and those words still echoed in Titch’s head hours later. James was happy. James still cared. Even though the two of them were so different and it shattered Titch’s heart to pieces the first time he realised the two of them would probably not go the same paths in the future. James got into football when he was eighteen, and Titch had huge ambitions regarding the aubergine business. They were getting more and more distant with time, and sometimes Titch just didn’t know whether James still loved him or did he just tolerate Titch, because Titch was his step-brother and James kinda had to.

Well, now Titch will see even less of James. The team as popular as Wotherinham Rangers would clearly take a lot of time to be a part of, much more than James’ usual practices with the boys. Which meant that now almost all of their business was entirely on Titch and father.

Titch sighed. It was a good thing he now had Derek.

Chapter Text

Well, so far everything was going great. When at the end of the week Derek decided to analyse the past few days, he had to admit he was entirely happy with everything at his new place. Everyone in the house were nothing but nice to him, he had a descent eight hour day, and his free time he spent either walking through the fields, enjoying the evening chill, or in his room, binging Netflix.

He wasn’t used to spending his time like that, but movies were the only thing that could distract him from thinking about Titch twenty four per seven. Derek was catching himself more and more often just... recalling all to the slightest details about his new boss. And when he had to spend time in Titch’s bedroom, assisting to his needs (which mostly involved keeping the business constantly moving forward) he simply could not concentrate. It was really disappointing, because he took pride in his ability to focus; it was the number one point in his resume.

Just the other day, Titch had been speaking to him about something clearly important, but Derek couldn’t focus. His gaze wandered, tracing the lines of Titch’s body, and all he could think about was pulling him close, burying his face in the delicate curve of his collarbone, breathing in his scent, and holding on— never wanting to let go.

“Derek, please, your mind is not here with me,” an irritated voice dragged Derek out of his thoughts, and Derek sighed, thinking how far from the truth Titch was. The only place Derek’s mind stayed lately was with Titch...

Derek offered a confused ‘sorry’ and did his best to be focused and helpful. Just when that cursed day was over, and Derek could finally take one of his favourite strolls across the field that he finally had the chance to think all of that through. He was clearly feeling something, something new and exciting. It was a bitter feeling, but it mixed so well with something painfully sweet that Derek somehow didn’t want it to stop.

Was that love? Derek had never fallen in love before. He probably just didn’t have enough opportunities. Back in school he was always the odd one in his class, so he didn’t have the chance to make actual friends or communicate with someone. And then his mother fell sick, and all he ever cared since then was how to make her feel better.

And then he got this job as a farmer, and he met Titch, and Titch won his heart since the first moment Derek saw him. The way he held himself, the way he was ready to face the challenges and didn’t give himself the opportunity to slack in anything he was doing, starting from interviewing the potential assistant with that politeness and grace, and ending with the burden of carrying his brother’s shattered dreams.

Again and again Derek returned in his mind to those moments he spent with Titch so far, and he kept replaying them in his head until every small details was imprinted in his mind.

A quick brush of their fingers, when Titch handed him that document folder. Titch probably didn’t even notice it, but Derek remembered. He remembered the cold smoothness of his skin as Titch’s thin fingers touched Derek’s hand, sending those breathtaking chills down his spine.

That glance that Titch shot at him when Derek sat at that small black desk and was supposed to be proof-reading their new day-planner, but instead he was staring at Titch. He didn’t even realise he wasn’t paying attention to the day-planner for a good five minutes. He just drowned in his thoughts, his gaze slowly scanning the fragile figure of Titch’s body.

His thin shoulders were slightly hunched as he reclined against a soft pillow. One hand rested gently on his stomach, fingers idly stroking the blanket, while the other cradled the cup of tea that Derek had brought him just moments earlier. His eyelids were slightly closed, and for a moment Derek thought that Titch fell asleep once again – like that time at his first day. It was hard to tell, because the large lenses of the glasses, which Titch now wore without ever taking them off, reflected the light glinting from the window. Derek had to look long and hard to see his eyelashes fluttering. So he wasn’t sleeping.

The irresistible desire to grab Titch into a tight hug rose again somewhere in Derek's chest. It would probably be so easy, considering how small and weightless Titch looked. And Derek would be so careful with him. He would hold him like the most precious treasure in his hands, he would leave light kisses on those sunken cheeks; he would softly touch his neck with his lips. Maybe he’d even get to that enticing collarbone that had been driving him mad for the past few days. Titch would drown in his arms, and he’d hide him from all those responsibilities and work, he’d make him feel like the whole world didn’t matter.

Derek was always bigger and taller than most, but never before had he felt such an overwhelming need to care for someone. It wasn’t just a desire—it was a fierce, all-consuming instinct to shield Titch from the vastness of the world, to wrap him up in his arms and stand between him and everything that could harm him. Only when he was near Titch did Derek truly feel his own size, a powerful force—protective, unshakable, unstoppable.

Derek looked up and realised that Titch was watching him thoroughly from his bed. A wave of chills ran down Derek’s body, and he found himself being lost and totally blushing. For a few elusive moments Derek tried to guess how angry Titch was with him for staring like that instead of doing his work. Please don’t be too mad. Please please please...

And then Titch suddenly smiled. It was very small and quick smile. Not a smile even, more like a hint of it. But Derek caught it, as well as he caught the barely visible sparkles in Titch’s eyes.

“Focus, Derek,” was all Titch said, but he said it in the softest manner Derek ever heard from him.

That moment was totally worth the scolding. And the nerves. Derek memorized it, tucking it away in the deepest corners of his heart, and during his late evening walks he would bring that moment back to the surface and relive it over and over because Titch smiled at him. Half-apologetically, half-encouragingly, but it was so genuine Derek’s heart dropped.

And now he was sitting at the kitchen table and sipping tea, even though it was long before supper. He just happened to have a break after learning all those new things about how to attend to the aubergines. Titch told him he’d have to start the actual physical work at the field in a few days, so Derek decided to find out more about that from the workers.

“Derek!”

...that was Titch from upstairs.

“Derek?”

Oh god, he had to start responding on the first call. He had to pull himself together, right the fuck now. He was defocused enough for his first several workdays, during which he was supposed to be flawless. Derek jumped up from the chair, almost throwing his (thankfully empty) cup on the dishwasher – it hit the surface with a loud clunk – and hurried upstairs.

“You called?” he asked, slightly out of breath as he entered the room, but the question stuck in his throat when saw Titch. Sitting on the bed, hands gripping the edge, Titch looked as if he was ready to get up but couldn’t. Derek noticed the way his tense shoulders flinched with every small movement, his whole body hunched and strained. Without thinking, Derek rushed to his side.

“Oh god, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Derek? Trying to get up. And I need your help.”

“Why? Just WHY?”

“Because it’s been two weeks since I returned from the hospital, and it’s clearly time for me to get my normal life back,” Titch informed him coldly, apparently irritated by the sincere indignation in Derek’s questions. “Please, just give me a hand, will you?”

Derek’s heart dropped into the depths of his stomach, throbbing rapidly as he felt lightheaded. At first, he wrapped his hand around Titch’s waist carefully, as if afraid to break him, and then, feeling a surge of confidence, he tightened his grip. He felt Titch’s cold fingers grasp his hand as Titch leaned on him with his whole weight – and oh god he was so light Derek could just take him into his hands and fucking carry wherever he was so eager to go.

“Where do you even want to go?”

“Oh, just a few steps around the room. Towards that chair over there,” Titch said through the clenched teeth, slowly getting up on his feet and looking so unstable Derek gripped him tighter. “Fuck, why is this so hard... I’m sorry, Derek.”

“Please, don’t be,” Derek’s response was way too quick, but he couldn’t help it. This felt excruciating and pleasant at the same time, and Derek hated himself for that. He’s in pain. He’s still not strong enough for this kind of movements. Just be of help for once.

Derek gently pulled Titch closer, allowing him to lean fully on his side as they moved forward. He could see Titch was already out of breath, completely lost and disoriented.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, leaning closer to Titch’s ear and doing his best to not brush his lips against it. To not crush him in his hefty fucking embrace and murmur calming words into his ear. “It’s alright, we’ll handle this. Just let me help you.”

Titch nodded sharply and took just as sharp step forward. Derek followed him, feeling the fragile fingers now gripping his wrist so tightly it would feel painful. Some other time, in some other universe. No today. Because it was Titch.

“Fuck,” the man whispered, apparently also feeling how hard he was grasping at Derek. “Sorry.”

Don’t be sorry. You’re a blessing.

“It’s okay,” Derek said instead, sounding as lightly as he could. “I’m happy to help. Titch... Titch, you need to calm down a little, then it will be easier.”

The name felt sweet against his tongue. Titch froze for a moment in his arms, and the gaze of his grey eyes pierced Derek to the very soul. That was too much. He crossed the line. He will be fired right this moment, and then he will go to the first motel he’d have found down the road and he’ll drown himself in Netflix movies, because there’s no way he will be able to forget about Titch and about ruining everything-

“You’re right,” Titch said, taking a deep breath. “I can do this. I can fucking do this.” He raised his chin proudly, trembling in Derek’s hold, yet he straightened his posture and took another step, summoning all the strength he could muster. Derek watched him, his heart still thumping in his stomach rather than his chest and apparently tangling in the intestines or something, because there was no other way to explain that fluttering feeling inside of him.

Titch made it all across the room and towards the chair as he wanted to, and only when he finally slumped on it did he allow himself to visibly relax a little.

“One could imagine that it would be easy,” he said, and it wasn’t clear if he was talking to himself or to Derek. “Awful, just awful. I’ll have to do that more often if I want to return to that field.”

“Yeah... Just in case, I’m always close and I will help- You’re working on the field?!” Derek asked when he fully realised what Titch had just said. “You mean you’re... working on the field? Planting the aubergines and all?”

“Well yeah,” Titch responded matter-of-factly, and then looked up at Derek, mockery in his eyes. “Did you think all I do is sign papers and boss people around?..”

He was working on the field. He was digging the dirt, and planting the seeds, and collecting the yield, and when the working day was over, he’d probably return to the house and handle all of the shipping-selling-receiving documents. Why did Derek think Titch wasn’t doing the physical job?..

There was a silent smile in Titch’s eyes when, after waiting for an answer for several more seconds, he took a piece of paper from the nightstand and gave it to Derek with a nod.

“I wrote you a small checklist. I’d like you to do all of these things by Wednesday. So far you’re free to go.”

Derek was already by the door when Titch’s voice got to him once again:
“Oh wait- Derek?”

His heart sank.
“Yes?”

Titch shot a bashful glance at the empty cup on the nightstand.
“...could you bring me some more tea?”

Chapter Text

Derek did everything on the checklist by the end of the next day. He went to the field one more time to gain a clearer understanding of how everything worked there. Titch’s father gave him a quick tour and a few tips and then introduced Derek to the other workers as “Titch’s assistant”, which automatically implied that Derek was one career step ahead of them.

He made sure to properly understand every new thing about aubergines, and by the end of Wednesday he considered himself to be quite erudite. At least, when Titch called him the next morning (he was already sitting in a deep comfortable chair by the window, and not lying on his bed with a deathly exhausted look on him) and asked to retell everything he learnt, Derek could say quite a lot. And judging by the look Titch honoured him with, it was evident he had done a fine job.

“You impress me more and more today,” Titch said, nodding his head in approval when Derek finished his ‘quick and brief description of everything he had learnt’, which ended up being neither quick nor brief. It sounded more like a lecture about aubergine farming. Titch, however, didn’t seem to mind hearing about it. “If you keep it up like that for several more months, I think you will become indispensable on my fields.”

Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush...

Fuck.

“Thanks, I’m trying,” Derek responded, feeling heat practically radiating from his probably completely red face. All of a sudden he remembered he’s been meaning to ask Titch how he was doing. He hasn’t properly seen Titch for these few days that he was completely busy learning about this aubergine world. And all that time all he could think of besides aubergines was... well, Titch.

Derek gulped and looked up at him, realising Titch once again was silently observing his obvious struggles. Those grey eyes locked with Derek’s sight, leaving him speechless for a few moments. The question caught in his throat.

“Um... I- I wanted to ask-”

“Hmm?” Titch raised his eyebrows interrogatively.

“Just... you know, wanted to ask how you were feeling. I haven’t exactly had time to assist you these days. It’s this whole aubergine business and all the new stuff... So I was worrying.”

Stop. Stop talking now.

A quick smile touched Titch’s lips.
“I’m getting better, Derek. See, I can already get up by myself and all,” he nodded at himself, as if he were explaining the situation. “I think in a few days I’ll be able to get back to the field with you... By the way, show me our day-planner, please. I forgot to check on it yesterday... doesn’t look like me, I know,” he frowned, taking the planner from Derek’s hands and scanning it for new information. His eyes darted from line to line, and for some time he seemed okay. Then they widened.

“Derek, ‘Lady Margery – 10 am Wednesday’?!” he asked, grasping the page with his fingers. Derek felt his hands going icy. Did they miss something? His eyes moved towards the clock on the wall – they still had ten minutes before ten, but regardless of time, who was this Lady Margery and how could Derek miss such a significant detail when he was checking the planner yesterday?!

Derek recalled sitting on his bed with the planner in his hands and pretending to read, while his mind kept returning over and over to Titch.

“Goddamn it,” Titch whispered, sharply brushing his hand across his eyes. “It’s too late to change the appointment now, she’s probably already on her way here... How the hell did you miss this, Derek? You should have told me!”

“She’s someone important?” Derek dared to ask, feeling more and more numb with each Titch’s word. How could he be so irresponsible...

“It’s Lady Margery, of course she’s important. She’s the most important person in this village!” Titch exclaimed, and almost at the same time the bell on the front door rang briskly, as if someone was tugging at it in a very decisive and pretentious manner.

Titch closed the planner with a loud clap, looked at Derek and then at the door, and his face became firm and determined all of a sudden.

“Alright,” he said, gathering his thoughts. “Derek. You go downstairs now and stall her for some time.”

“What?! I don’t even know what to say, I know nothing about the business you had with her before me!”

“Stop that chaos, please, I’m not paying you for panicking. I’m not telling you to talk about serious things with her. Just stall her for, like, ten minutes, okay? Be nice. Offer her coffee or something. Go.”

Titch said it in such an icy voice Derek’s legs obeyed as if they had a mind of their own. He got up, hurried downstairs, where the bell had rang for at least three times already, took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Well, about time, lad, just about time! Do I look like I got nothing better to do than to stand here all day?!” a stout, broad-shouldered woman entered the mansion, practically pushing him away with her shoulder, and stopped, staring at him with a demanding look in her bright eyes. She was clearly expecting an answer.

“Er... no?” Derek managed, closing the door behind her and still not sure who he was dealing with. The woman, meanwhile, also seemed to realise she was scolding a complete stranger and looked at Derek studiously.

“What are you, a new butler or something?” she asked calmer, measuring him from up to down with her gaze. “What took you so long?”

“I’m Derek. The new assistant.”

He really should start wearing a sign or something, Derek thought, following her into the room. “I’m Derek, the new assistant” written in huge letters on his chest. That would be useful, considering the amount of times he had told these words to people during these two short weeks.

“Ahh, so one of them got an assistant!” the woman – who was, apparently, Lady Margery herself, crossed the room as if she were in her own house, sat on the sofa without waiting for an invitation and looked at Derek, frowning. “Wait, which one of them, exactly? Who hired you, Titch or James?”

“Titch.”

Margery hummed quietly.
“Titch it is... Where is he, by the way?”

“Oh he’s- he just got a little distracted, he will be here any second now.”

“Well, I came here to talk business. And if he’s not going to show up I may as well just leave or find someone new for this kind of stuff-”

“No, no, you can talk business to me!” Derek hurried without even thinking much, because Lady Margery indeed looked like she was going to get up and leave, and Derek just couldn’t blow the one job that he had – to stall her.

Lady Margery looked at him, laughter sparkling in her alert sight.

“Oh really? Are you saying I can make a drug-slash-aubergine deal with YOU?”

Derek nodded with the most unconfident look on his face.

“Do you know anything about trading?”

“I... Umm...”

“Go on, give me some prices,” Lady Margery pressed, narrowing her eyes. “Aubergines, how much do they cost? Or not even aubergines, let’s try something simpler... What is the market price for a pack of GHB these days?”

Oh god, she got him cornered. And she was waiting for a professional answer on drugs. Derek gulped, thinking about how he was clearly not handling the simplest task Titch gave him. And Titch – oh Titch, he was looking so determined and ready to handle this for both of them, and all he asked from Derek was ten bloody minutes-!

“Hey,” Lady Margery’s gaze switched from interrogative to dreamy. She leaned closer to him and patted him gently on the knee, dragging him out of the nervous thoughts, “Hey, kiddo. Relax,” she winked at him with a small smile, “I’m just giving you hard time, that’s all.”

“Wh-what?” Derek breathed out, feeling completely light-headed. Maybe it was because of that heavy scent of frankincense she brought on herself.

“It’s okay,” Lady Margery repeated, now not looking angry at all. “You seem like a fine lad, we might even end up being friends... But I warn you: if I ever hear you calling me old,” her voice lowered to a growl all of a sudden, “I WILL slap the shit out of you.”

“Why would I call you that,” Derek blurted before giving it much thought. Lady Margery’s thorough gaze was immediately fixated on him once more. “I mean...” Derek continued feeling like he should explain himself, “you have such bright eyes. It was the first thing that caught my attention, you know... So you definitely don’t come across as old.”

Oh god, when she was smiling she looked even creepier.

“Well you surely know your way with women,” Lady Margery commented, leaning on the back of the sofa. “What was your name again?”

“Derek.”

“Derek,” she nodded and measured him from top to bottom once again. “Calm down, you’re way too tense. We won’t have any problems with you... Titch is clearly taking his time today,” she changed the subject all of a sudden, throwing an impatient look towards the spiralling stairs.

“He’s- he just had some things to take care of...”

“So he sent you to stall me,” Margery said matter-of-factly, leaving Derek absolutely short of words. She, meanwhile, took out something that looked suspiciously a lot like a Cossack’s pipe, stuffed it with some strong-smelling herb and lit it with one nimble movement of her hand. “Well, since you were sent here to entertain me, tell me a li’l bit about yourself, eh?”

“Um... Is that weed?” Derek asked completely out of subject, but Margery didn’t even bat an eye.

“Hell yeah! The best Mary Jane I’ve done so far, mind that. You want some?” she held out the pipe to him.

“Oh no, no, thank you,” Derek said, swaying back from her and praying for someone to come and put an end to this chaos. “Um, yeah, about myself... Well, there’s not much to tell, I just needed the job and I got one here.”

“Ah,” Lady Margery nodded, giving him another thoughtful look and breathing a puff of smoke into his face. “I see deep sadness in your eyes, Derek,” she uttered, her gaze going from cloudy to alert within seconds. “You had to go through some fucked up shit before you came here.”

She wasn’t even asking. She stated it as a commonly known fact and blinked at him, appearing completely unbothered.

“How could you tell?”

“Oh, I can tell.”

She was reading him like an open book. She stared at him with that deep gaze, misty and distracted one moment, then sharp as a dagger the next, cutting into his mind without hesitation. Derek gulped and felt he was on the verge of breaking. He didn’t even tell her about his past and she already looked like she knew it all from the very start. The struggles, the pain, the despair – everything he’s been through.

Lady Margery observed him with the same impassive expression, then suddenly leaned towards him and gently touched his hand.

“It will get better, boy,” she said softly, giving him a light squeeze. “You just give it some time. It’ll heal.”

Derek nodded sharply, mastering all the courage he could find in himself to calm down. And it wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be, because Lady Margery kept her palm steadily on his hand, and somehow it was the most secure and protected Derek had felt in quite a while.

He cleared his throat and uttered a quiet “Thank you” under his breath.

“You’re welcome,” she said simply, leaning on the back of the sofa and taking another inhale of whatever the hell she was smoking. “So tell me then, Derek, what’s it like – working for Titch? Awful, aye?”

Derek shrugged.
“You know, people keep saying that, but he’s honestly fine by me.”

“Ri-i-ight,” Margery drawled, staring at him with clear disbelief on her face. “You’re either a pretty artful dodger or just as crazy as Titch,” her eyes shot somewhere behind Derek’s back and flickered, “ah, speak of the devil!”

Derek turned sharply. Titch was no longer wearing his usual bed robes. He seemed to take the time Derek bought for him to change into a simple shirt and pants and was now slowly coming down the spiralling stairs, hand on the railing and face tense and concentrated. Derek’s first reaction was to rush there and help him in some way, be there so that he could hold onto him or lean on him, because he seemed to be extremely uncomfortable with walking such distances yet. But before he could even stand up properly, Titch’s palm shot up in the air.

“Sit down,” he ordered quietly, pinning Derek back to his seat.

“Fu-u-uck,” Lady Margery drawled, placing the pipe into the other hand and giving Titch one of her up-and-down looks, which, as Derek already figured out, was her signature way of greeting someone. “You’re a whiter shade of pale, boy. Look at yerself, you look like you’re gonna croak any minute now.”

“Hello, Lady Margery,” Titch said instead of a response, and approached her in the steadiest yet also the slowest manner. “How are you?”

“ ’m fine. Fine...” she tapped the pipe on the ashtray, still not taking her eyes off Titch. “You, on the other hand, don’t seem to be. What happened to you, boy?”

“Just caught some flu, that’s all.”

Titch behaved as if it was just an ordinary day. He sank into the chair opposite Margery and quite calmly withstood her inquisitive gaze, with which she had not so long ago stamped Derek himself. In general, looking at Titch, one could really believe that it was a usual meeting, because apart from his outstanding pallor, nothing betrayed his loss of strength. If Derek wasn’t the man who hadn't left Titch's bedside for the past few days, he would have believed that illusion himself.

“Are you sure? I came to talk some serious shit with you, I don’t need you fainting right here on my lap,” Margery shot at him, but Titch handled that twit just as gracefully as he handled all of the previous ones.

“Lady Margery, we both treat our businesses very seriously,” he said, crossing his arms on his chest and looking proudly at her, “I can assure you me and my assistant here will do everything possible for our mutual benefit, so please,” he made an inviting gesture, “feel free to talk to me.”

Lady Margery whistled quietly.
“Neatly handled, li’l wolf. This will be sweet and quick then.”

She cleared her throat and started talking. And Derek found himself once again lost in Titch’s eyes, the only vibrant and energetic aspect of him. He sat motionless, as if every movement caused him discomfort, yet his eyes—oh, the fire and energy swirling within them drove Derek wild. He could watch Titch talk for eternity, and he would never get enough of that.

“...and I could really use some fertilizer potion, so if we could arrange that-”

“I can’t promise you quick results, mind that,” Margery raised her bony finger, “the earth would need some time to get used to the new stuff, you know. Especially if we’re handling the aubergine farming.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Titch said, making a quick note in his phone.

“Great,” Margery smiled that horrifying smile that she herself seemed to consider friendly. “Here, I took some with me – just in case,” she sank her hand in her pocket and took out a flacon, “that will be a small Apple laptop,” she said, narrowing her eyes slyly.

Titch rolled his eyes.

“You’ll get that from James, he was supposed to bring a laptop today. He’s in his football training in the town nearby. I thought he might as well make himself useful and buy one...”

“Ah, payment first!” Margery withdrew her hand quickly. “ ’m too old for that shit, you know.”

“I thought you hated it when people called you old,” Derek said and bit his tongue, because Margery turned to him and nearly turned him to ashes with her mere sight.

“Will you tell your butler to shut up for me," she said steely, turning back to Titch. "Now,” she continued, her face expression stern. “Item number two. I might need a few pounds of your aubergines, farmer-boy.”

“Aubergines?” Titch clarified, frowning. “What for?”

“A soup party!” Mаrgery said enthusiastically. “Gonna have one in a few weeks. You can come if you want,” she winked at Derek, who at that point was so confused he didn’t even try to object.

“Okay, first of all, stop hitting on my assistant,” Titch interfered, catching a silent plea for help in Derek’s eyes. “Second of all, I’ll send you a check for those aubergines.”

Now it was Margery’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Deal.”

The front door opened all of a sudden, and James stepped into the living room – a football in one hand and a gym bag on his shoulder. He startled when the three of them turning towards him.

“Oh,” he said, closing the door. “Didn’t know you would be here, Old Lady Margery- Ah!”

If Derek didn’t see it with his own eyes, he would never believe this woman could move with such speed. In the blink of an eye she was by the door, and a loud slap echoed across the room. James winced and staggered, and Margery returned to her seat in victorious silence.

“James, we talked about this!” Titch called irritably, moving slightly forward, but obviously not feeling confident enough to get up and confront him properly. “Did you get what I asked you?”

“Fucking hell... Yeah, I got your Apple, here,” James opened his bag and put a small box on the coffee table before them.

“Great. Now get out,” Titch demanded coldly, following James with his eyes to the very door.

“Fine,” James murmured under his breath. “See you later, Old Lady Margery.”

Before she could reach him, he already slammed the door from the other side, and Titch hid his face in his palms, groaning.

“It doesn’t matter how many times you tell him to stop, he’ll do the name-calling until the doomsday,” he uttered, shaking his head disapprovingly. “I’m sorry, Lady Margery, I really am.”

Margery’s gaze softened as she looked at him.

“Relax, boy, it’s not your fault,” she said, waving her hand dismissively and snatched the laptop box from the coffee table. “So do we have a deal?”

Titch took the flacon from her and shook her hand with a smile.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Likewise,” Lady Margery turned towards the door. “I’ll be waiting your guy with my aubergines by the end of the week, yeah?”

She disappeared as suddenly as she came, and Titch leaned on the side of the chair, letting out an exhausted sigh.

“Nice lady, she is. If only I had more time to recover properly, it would be pure delight seeing her today” he muttered as if to himself. Derek was already by his side, sitting closer to him and feeling his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

“You didn’t let me help you!” he said indignantly, recalling Titch’s first moments in the room. “I really wanted to help and you cut me off.”

“Derek, this is business,” Titch argued, frowning. “It would have made me look weak if I accepted your help. And I can’t let that happen, especially not in front of Lady Margery. We’ve been partners with her for too long, I have to keep my reputation.”

Fuck, how much would Derek give to be closer to him. To kiss those pale lips just once, just to show him that he cared, that he would do anything to protect him. Yeah, not gonna happen, apparently. He sighed, a heavy weight settling in his chest as he forced himself to look away from Titch.

Chapter Text

Within several days Titch was feeling so good that he began to actually consider getting out of the house and do at least some of the work on the field. He was already walking pretty confidently, although he probably still wasn’t strong enough for long distances. Luckily, James could buy and handle everything Titch needed from the towns nearby, so that wasn’t too big of a problem.

A huge help was Lady Margery’s potion, which she sent back with the worker that was delegated to bring her a bag of aubergines she ordered from Titch the other day. Titch didn’t ask for any potions, but the worker returned with a small purple bottle in his hand and said that she just gave it to him.

“She told me to give it to Titch and said this will help,” the guy explained to Derek, who at this point was somewhat of an intermediary between the workers and his boss. He became friends with almost everyone on the farm quite quickly and considered himself lucky, because they helped him out a lot during his aubergine farming learning. “Would you mind giving it to him?”

Derek took the bottle, frowning suspiciously.

“Why won’t YOU give it to him, Philipp?”

The man shrugged.
“I heard from the others he’s quite nasty. Don’t want to get into any trouble.”

“But you’ve been working here for, like, a week,” Derek reminded him, because Philipp indeed was a new guy. “And you were hired by James, if I recall correctly. I don’t think you’ve interacted with Titch much...”

“Weeeell, I saw him a couple of times, and between the two of us - he doesn’t look like he’s a fun person to be around. I have no idea how you work with him, mate.”

Derek left him, murmuring “He really is okay by me” and feeling very confused. Titch indeed had the reputation of an overbearing boss among his employees, and many of them preferred communicating with him through either Derek or James. Derek didn’t mind, but sometimes it was exhausting to go towards the house in hope to get some fresh water and a bite of a sandwich, and to see one of the workers hurrying towards him with a clear determination to intercept him and ask for another “favour” regarding Titch.

“Just accept it,” James advised him when the two of them ran into each other on the kitchen one day and Derek told him about his experience at his new place. “Guys who have worked here longer just don’t want to fall into the same trap again, and the ones that I hired recently are scared of the stories of the first ones, that’s all. Philipp, for example, is actually quite a cautious lad, he just prefers to stay out of trouble whenever possible. By now I’m used to delivering their messages to Titch.”

“I just don’t get it, why do people treat him like that?” Derek asked, furrowing his brow. “He has been treating me nothing but nice since my first day. There were a few times when I wasn’t doing a good job and I got my share of scolding, but I really deserved it...” Yeah, like the time he almost ruined their meeting with Lady Margery, for example.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of a soft spot my brother has for you, but he obviously has one,” James informed him seriously. “He’s really that nice only to you, - if you can even call it nice, because I’ve seen the way he buries you in work, and that is far from my understanding of ‘nice’...”

Derek shrugged.
“I don’t feel any pressure,” was all he said before getting up and heading towards the spiralling stairs to the second floor. He knocked on the office door and entered without asking – his new privilege as an assistant. Titch looked up at him, taking his eyes off the two packs of fertilizer he was holding in his hands.

“Oh, Derek! You’re just in time,” Titch greeted him with a quick smile. Derek was already used to guessing his mood by those small details. Titch wasn’t one for expressing his emotions, but sometimes Derek would notice things: an elusive sparkle in his eyes, a clear pointer of an excitement; the way the corner of his mouth would twitch when he was irritated; a quick hint of a smile, - warm and polite at the same time, just enough to tell Derek something like ‘I enjoy your company as my friend a lot, but now let’s focus on work’.

Derek savoured each one. Those brief smiles were enough to keep him content, like rare treasures he quietly collected, storing them away in his memory.

“What’s up?” Derek asked, feeling a sharp wave of dizziness because of that smile and completely forgetting to sound formal, as Titch liked it. Within moments he managed to regret his own extravagance and praise it at the same time, because at first he thought he upset Titch, and then Titch gave him - oh god, yes, another smile.

“You’re the one who’s on the fields these days, what kind of fertilizer do you use?” Titch asked, showing him the two brands. “When I was there last, we were using both on different sides of the land. I need to restock until Margery’s stuff is ready.”

“Oh, let me see,” Derek frowned, looking at the two packs and trying to recall what were they using that day on the field. “Well, we on the right side of the land use this one,” he pointed at one of them, “and as far as I know, the right side has a better harvest, so this one is probably better.”

Titch read the product composition on the pack once again.

“Hm, fine,” he drawled, comparing them once again. “I’ll order it then, but you try to observe a little more, okay? Just to make sure.”

What the hell were all of those people unhappy about, Derek thought, writing a note in his pocket notebook to observe the fertilizer effects. Titch has been treating him perfect all these days, why on earth would he be unhappy? Oh, and speaking of those people...

“By the way, Philipp was at Lady Margery’s this morning,” he said, taking the bottle out of his pocket. “He says she sent you this.”

He gave the bottle to Titch, who took it with a meticulous look.

“Did she say what it was?” he asked, furrowing.

“She said it should help you,” Derek informed him. “I think you didn’t trick her with your tale about catching a flu after all.”

Titch gave him a look.
“Yeah, that woman sees right through you,” he admitted, opening the bottle and sniffing the pinkish stuff inside. “But years of working with her had shown me I have to trust her. She has some good stuff.”

He carefully took a sip of whatever it was inside the bottle, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“You know, it’s actually quite tasty,” he said, downing the potion.

They could see the result by the end of the day, when Titch went downstairs for supper, earning disbelieving looks from James and his father.

“Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” James asked, addressing the question to Derek for whatever reason. “My li’l brother decided to finally eat with his family?”

“Shut up,” Titch retorted, not sounding angry at all. Derek, meanwhile, was already by the stove, filling Titch’s plate with soup. For the past few weeks he became a sovereign master of this kitchen. It just so happened that in the mornings he had time to cook breakfast, and then during his breaks he managed to make something interesting for supper, so soon enough he became an informal cook of this house. Neither James nor his father seemed to mind.

In a few days Titch went out on a walk for the first time. Derek did not leave his side for one minute and followed him closely behind every step of the way. He caught Philipp’s cautious gaze from near the watering pomp, a few glances from the other workers and he felt kind of like a “teacher’s pet”. He swallowed that feeling and decided not to concentrate on it too much.

“Um, Derek,” Titch said quietly, looking around the field and as if trying to understand something. Derek hurried towards him.

“Yeah?”

“Unless James suddenly became responsible, you are the one who controls all of the processes here?”

Derek startled. What should he even respond? Yes, he spends a lot of time on the fields these past few weeks, and yes, when people need something to be handled they come to him. Because he’s “Derek, Titch’s assistant”, in Titch’s father’s words. He’s supposed to know how to manage important things.

“Well, um, I... do control a lot of things here... I’m not sure if I control everything, but...”

Titch gave him a studying look.
“By what I see here, everything is in perfect order. In perfect order, Derek. That’s impressive.”

Derek felt his face growing hot. Titch voiced his appreciation of Derek’s work several times already, yet each time it felt just as precious.

"Thank you," Derek muttered, trying to play it cool. But the way Titch’s gaze stayed on him, searching, made him fidget.

"You know, lately I wonder how I could ever work without you," Titch muttered under his breath and looked at Derek, his eyes suddenly sparkling. "It's good to know there’s someone I can rely on."

Derek’s heart skipped a beat. It was the closest Titch had come to opening up, to admitting that maybe he couldn’t handle everything himself. That he actually needed Derek here, that Derek was important to him. Even if it was in purely professional way, it was still something.

“I hope you know I’ll always have your back,” Derek said before he could stop himself.

Titch glanced at him, his expression unreadable for a split second. Then, with a small nod, he turned back to the fields. "I know."

Chapter Text

The buzzer went off at exactly six o’clock in the morning, and Titch, not quite seeing what he was doing, clumsily reached towards the nightstand to turn it off. He was used to getting up in such hour, yet each time it still took him a while to fully wake up. He blinked sleepily several times, trying to adjust his eyes to the brightness of the room, and slowly sat up on the bed.

Monday, six AM. Titch brushed his fingers against his eyes roughly, remembering that he and Derek were supposed to meet downstairs and go check on those greenhouses before the other workers showed up. He grabbed his working clothes from the closet without looking. Today was the day they were going to transplant the seedlings from the greenhouses into the earth, and it didn’t really matter what he would wear: by the end of the day he’d be all covered in sweat and dirt anyway.

He didn’t want to keep Derek waiting, so he hurried downstairs... and there was no Derek there. Titch looked around the living room, walked into the kitchen, and it didn’t seem like Derek was here at all.

“Don’t tell me you’re still sleeping,” Titch muttered under his breath, grabbing a fresh cup from the cupboard and heading towards the coffee-maker. The minute he turned it on, he heard movement behind him, and Derek walked into the kitchen. Well, ‘walked’ was quite a strong word for that. Derek groped into the kitchen and slumped on the chair, blinking in disorientation.

“Good morning. What took you so long?” Titch demanded without any ado, but then looked at him closer. “Oh god, Derek, you look awful.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, and by the look on his face, he was barely understanding what Titch wanted from him. “It’s just a whole hour earlier than I usually get up.”

“Not a morning person, huh,” Titch noted, smiling. Derek was deliberately looking at his shoes now, avoiding Titch’s eyes and picking the floor with the toe of the shoe. Titch frowned. “Derek. Hey. What’s wrong?”

Derek shrugged unsurely. Titch placed his cup of coffee on the table and stepped towards Derek.

“Derek. Eyes on me, when I’m talking to you, okay?” he said, touching his shoulder lightly, and Derek raised his sight, looking rather downcast. “What is it? You’re sad, why? Go on. Talk to me.”

It was one of Titch’s irresistible ‘magic powers’, as James called it when they were kids. He could sound firm and rough, but in a weirdly comforting, almost protective way. James would always melt and tell him everything. Titch didn’t even need to persuade him much: the steely notes in his voice did the job for him. Titch would use this power occasionally, because he could see when someone was sad, but wasn’t feeling confident enough to ask for help. And Titch always wanted to help the ones he loved.

Derek gulped and parted his lips slowly. “I, uh... What if I ruin everything today?” he said, carefully weighing every word. “It’s your first day back to work, plus we are transplanting the seedlings today, and I know it’s an important part. ...And I want to make it as... easy and...” he hesitated, searching for the right word, “pleasant,” he managed, his eyes stopping on Titch for a second, “...for you as possible, but I’m clearly not in the right form, am I.”

Titch felt a slight smile playing on his lips, and he swiftly banished it from his face, because clearly the last thing Derek needed at the moment was the feeling of being laughed at.

He moved closer to Derek, carefully put his arm around Derek's shoulders from behind and shook him lightly. “Listen to me,” he said quietly, trying to sound not too intimately, but comforting enough for Derek to believe him. “I do not need you to jump over your head today, alright? It’s not my first time taking big breaks from work. We’ll just transplant those aubergines and be done for today. Got it?” he pointed out and waited for a stiff nod. “Great. Now pull yourself together. No reason to be this nervous. Derek?”

“Yes,” Derek muttered, and Titch could have sworn he caught a hint of pink coloring his cheeks.

“And as to you being ‘not in your best form’, we can easily fix that,” he added decisively, heading towards the coffee-maker and placing another cup in it. With a few deft and habitual movements, he pulled open the drawer, scooping just the right amount of freshly ground coffee into the machine’s filter. The soft click of the lid closing was followed by a gentle whirr as the coffee-maker sprang to life. He filled the reservoir with water, watching the liquid pool into the machine, then hit the button to start the brewing process.

As the machine quietly hummed, the rich aroma of coffee began to fill the room. Soon, dark, fragrant liquid streamed steadily into the cup, the steam curling softly upwards. He stood by, arms crossed, waiting for the familiar sound of the brew cycle finishing before reaching for the hot cup, perfectly filled and ready.

“Here you go,” he said, giving it to Derek, “works like a charm.”

“That’s so weird,” Derek said, accepting the cup, “I mean, I’m the one who’s supposed to bring you stuff. I’m the assistant.”

Titch made a casual dismissive wave, downing his own coffee and putting the cup in the dishwasher. “Please, Derek. I will be by your side the same way you were by mine. We’re okay.”

Derek took a small sip of his coffee. “I almost never drink coffee, you know,” he said, slightly shaking up the contents of his cup and watching it with a curious expression. “It’s always either tea or just water with me. The way you were drawn to coffee since day one really amazed me.”

“What can I say,” Titch shrugged, “it helped me through some rough times. Gives me energy, you know. Especially when I have to get up very early.”

“What was the earliest you’d gotten up?” Derek asked with a slight trepidation.

“Um... five AM, I think? Yes, five AM, I remember that day now. I had a farmers’ meeting at seven, and before that I wanted to make sure at least half of the harvest was safely in the boxes and on their way to the store, so... I had a lot on my plate that day. But don’t you worry, I’m not going to make you wake up earlier than it’s specified in our contract,” Titch hurried to add, because Derek was looking at him with a very clear apprehension in his eyes. “Seriously, Derek. Not earlier than six. Mostly at seven thirty, judging by how down you are feeling today.”

“It’s fine, then,” Derek said, and he didn’t seem to be lying this time, so Titch was satisfied. Derek placed his cup in the dish-washer as well, and they went out of the house, which was still quiet and sleepy, and towards the fields.

Ah yes, it felt so refreshing to finally feel the morning breeze on the face and fully inhale the chilling morning air. The world swayed a little before Titch’s eyes when he stepped over the threshold, and his breath caught up in his throat as the morning wind hit his face.

“Woah, woah,” he heard a quiet exclaim, and Derek’s fingers gripped his elbow, keeping him steady. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Titch said firmly, raising his chin up and making an effort to look unbothered, but it didn’t wipe away any of the concern in Derek’s voice.

“You got really pale, Titch,” he said, frowning and still not letting go of Derek’s hand.

Titch felt his heart skip a beat; it was the second time Derek had used his name in all their interactions. Used it without any permission. Just because he could call him ‘Titch’, and not just ‘sir’. And why did it feel so... comforting? Should he say something? Stop him? Say that it was totally out of place, and he expects to see some more appropriate behaviour in the future?

But he really didn’t want to stop him, Titch realised all of a sudden, rewinding Derek’s worried voice in his head over and over. “Titch”. “TITCH”. That sounded so good when Derek was the one saying it. As if they were close. As if Derek considered him to be worthy of being close.

...Yeah, now he’s just amusing himself.

He shook his head sharply, trying to halt the bitter train of thought that was taking over.

“...Titch! Did you even hear what I just said?”

He looked blankly at Derek, trying and failing to catch the trail of his words.

“Sorry, what?”

Derek sighed and shook his head with a “that’s-what-I-thought” expression.

“I was saying... Just... tell me if you need help, okay? There’s no need to do everything alone. Especially now that I’m around,” he shrugged, carefully let go of Titch’s elbow and backed away a little, as if trying to give him more space. “Sorry,” he muttered after a moment, now looking absolutely miserable. “Sorry, I, um, must have overstepped my boundaries. I shouldn’t have said that... It’s just that you went so pale, and I got so scared-” his voice broke, and he went silent. And all Titch was focused on was restraining himself from rushing forward and wiping that miserable expression off Derek’s face.

But all he could manage was a lousy “It’s fine” and “Don’t trouble yourself with that, okay?” All the words disappeared from his mind, and no matter how hard Titch tried, he couldn’t force himself to say anything more.

The bright side was: while they were talking, he had fully adjusted to the wind and the chilling temperature, and all of the other overwhelming things around, and when they finally got to the fields, he was feeling almost just as normal as usual. They went to the corner of the farm where all the greenhouses were located. Titch inspected the seedlings inside for several minutes. They seemed to be healthy, each sprout had at least two sets of green leaves, fresh and green, not one damaged or dried out.

“Considering that I missed almost all of the planting process, this is all very well done,” he commented. “Were you leaving them outdoors as was necessary?”

Derek seemed to be ready for that question. “YES,” he said eagerly, “yes, for several times a week. That’s the first time I’m actually sure of something: they are totally ready to be transplanted.”

Titch nodded at him and went towards the other greenhouse to check on the other aubergines. By the time they were done, he noticed the other workers starting to gather on the farm.

The workers that arrived for their shifts, greeted him from the distance, several even smiled lightly, but it was more out of simple politeness than because they were actually happy to see him. Not that Titch cared. He didn’t even know the names of most of these people – James hired a dozen of new ones while Titch was away, and they were all under Derek’s command, so at the end of the day Titch was the one who controlled the process anyway.

“Derek! What’s the name of that one?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and trying to see the face of one of the interns.

Derek took his eyes off the ground and looked in the direction Titch was pointing with his shovel.

“Oh, that’s one of the new guys, we’re friends. His name’s Philipp,” he informed Titch joyfully, returning back to work.

“Philipp,” Titch repeated and closed the door of the greenhouse behind him. “Alright. People,” he said loudly, raising his hand and looking around the crowd. “As you all know, today we have a transplanting day, which is one of the most important in the whole aubergine growing process. So kindly pull yourselves together and try to do your best. To those who are still sleepy, I can give you five minutes to go take a quick espresso in the house – there’s a coffee-maker on the table and some coffee in the cupboard. However, if everyone here is awake and ready to work, I’ll get straight to the point. Which one of you newbies has ever transplanted a seedling before?” He gave the crowd a demanding look.

Several people raised their hands in a rather doubtful way.

“What are YOU doubting,” Titch heard Derek whisper to one of the guys, (Philipp, if he still recalled correctly). “You worked on farms for four years! Raise your hand, don’t be scared!”

Titch pinned Philipp with a demanding gaze. “If I ask someone to raise a hand and you fall into the category, kindly do raise your hand,” he said dryly. “Okay. I’ll divide you into three groups, since we have three greenhouses. Me and my assistant will be in charge of the first two houses, and the third one I’m giving to Philipp,” he nodded at the guy, who blanched slightly, but still raised his chin and gave Titch a serious nod in return. Titch smiled. “I like you,” he noted before turning to the crowd again. “If you have any questions during the process, you come to either one of us three; we’ll tell you what to do. If either of you two have any questions,” he lowered his voice and addressed Derek and Philipp, “you come directly to me.”

To Titch’s much delight, everyone seemed to know what they were doing. He observed the work for a few minutes, making sure people weren’t slacking and didn’t have any issues, and then he took the shovel himself.

The shovel in his hands felt a little heavier than usual, but that was such an unimportant detail Titch didn’t even bother to give it much thought. What mattered was the fact he was back in business.

...After the first row, he wiped his brow, noticing the dull ache forming in his shoulders. His breath came a little quicker, but he ignored it, moving on to the next section. As the sun was climbing higher, the air grew thick and heavy with humidity, clinging to him as he pressed on.

A sharp gust of wind passed through, momentarily cooling him, but even that refreshing feeling didn't reach deep enough. He straightened for a moment, arching his back and rolling his shoulders, casting a glance over at Derek and Philipp. They seemed to be holding up well, still immersed in their own work. Derek was carrying another set of plants to one of the sections, and Philipp was talking to one of the employees, explaining something to him intently.

Titch’s gaze moved back to the rows in front of him—still more to do. For the first time, Titch felt the creeping edge of frustration. He had always been able to go longer, push harder, but today, his body was betraying him. He grimaced, trying to shrug off the fatigue, but the shovel in his hand was undeniably heavier now, and his fingers ached to release their grip. A few more rows, he promised himself. He just needed to get through a few more.

Just then, a voice pulled him out of his thoughts. One of the workers had approached, a confused look on his face. Titch straightened up, albeit slower this time, his back stiff as he turned to face the employee.

"Boss, I’m not sure about this one,” the worker said, holding up a seedling with roots slightly tangled. Titch squinted at the plant, taking a moment to gather himself before responding.

“Bring it here,” he said, voice steady but lacking its usual sharpness. He reached out for the seedling, but he could swear the worker noticed the subtle delay in his movements.

Driving that thought away, Titch spent several moments inspecting the plant, then he handed the it back. “Just separate the roots a little more carefully. They’ll grow fine,” he said, forcing a smile. But right after the worker went away, he felt a light touch in his shoulder – too familiar by now for him to know momentarily it was Derek.

“It’s lunch time soon.”

“So?” Titch turned to face him, his eyes tracing along Derek’s sweaty face. A few trails of sweat were dripping from his temple, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, do we want to take a break or what? You’ve just recovered, and it’s been three hours at least,” Derek pointed out, frowning.

“If you’re tired, you can of course go. I think I’ll stay for a little while longer,” Titch turned to grab the shovel, but Derek didn’t seem to even consider backing off.

“Are you serious? Did you not hear me? You have just recovered! I’m sorry, but I really can’t just-”

Titch raised his palm forcefully, stopping him in the middle of a sentence.
“I’m finishing this area,” he nodded at the outlined square of land he was standing in. “Then I’m going for lunch. Accept it.”

“Fine,” Derek said icy, grabbing his own shovel. “I’ll stay too then. We’ll finish this quicker that way.”

The two of them worked in tense silence, the soft thud of shovels digging into the soil the only sound between them. Titch focused on his movements, determined not to let Derek’s concern get under his skin. Each aubergine seedling was carefully placed, his hands moving with mechanical precision, but his body was screaming for a break. Derek worked beside him, glancing over every so often, his expression tight with determination to finish this as soon as possible.

“You can go and have rest, you know,” Titch said irritably after several minutes, shooting a sharp look at Derek. Derek merely shrugged and kept planting the sprouts.

The sun bore down on them, and though the work was repetitive, the weight of the shovel seemed to grow with each passing minute.

“Hey! You guys, what the hell are you doing, did you know the lunch had already started?” Titch heard an exclamation from the distance and looked up to see a blurry figure heading towards them. He had to take his time and really focus his eyes to finally recognise James. “Titch! Come on, it’s not cool, working like that under the burning sun and during a lunch break,” James approached them finally and crossed his arms on his chest, giving Titch the sternest look. “What are you guys even doing?”

“Today’s the transplanting day,” Derek said with a small smile.

“Something you would’ve known if you actually had some sense of responsibility,” Titch pinned, but James let that slide.

“And why are you here?” he asked Derek and looked back at Titch, “Come on, brother. I get it when YOU get suicidal, but stop working HIM to death at least...”

“I told him he’s free to go!” Titch snapped. Though his eyes were fixed on James, he couldn’t miss the way Derek flinched—like he’d been struck. Derek looked up at Titch, and for a fleeting moment, there was a glimmer of... fear? in his eyes.

“And I told him I don’t want to go!” Derek retorted sharply, gripping tighter at his shovel.

James rolled his eyes. “Alright, that’s it, you two maniacs, get inside the house now,” he said in a non-negotiable manner and dragged Titch away from the field. It was one of those times when Titch could really appreciate how strong his brother actually was. James was holding him with only half the strength, almost not putting any effort to it, yet Titch felt he hadn’t had a chance to get out. Derek stuck his shovel into the soil and followed them closely behind. He asked James some irrelevant question about his football practise, and they began chatting lightly. Apparently, James had some kind of a big breakthrough and became second to the captain in his team. Well, that was to be expected, knowing how much efforts he was putting into those football practices.

During the lunch Titch didn’t take his eyes off Derek, who seemed to be lost in his thoughts for the whole time they were at the table. Titch caught two or three careful glanced Derek shot at him from under his eyebrows, clearly trying to stay unnoticed. And he realised he indeed was right about his suspicions when the day passed and Derek stayed very silent for the whole evening shift. He did say a word or two, asking Titch something about planting, but he wasn’t even close to the Derek he was in the morning.

Titch stayed on the fields half an hour longer than everyone else when their evening shift was over. When everyone was leaving the fields, he noticed Derek’s sight stopping on him, long and heavy.

“I’m gonna go now,” Derek said slowly, as if second-guessing every word that was leaving his mouth. “...is that okay?” he asked awkwardly.

“Of course,” Titch confirmed, “your workday is over; you’re good to go.”

Something unreadable appeared in Derek’s eyes for just a moment, and even Titch with his usual perceptiveness couldn’t tell what that was. Derek placed the shovel on the pile of other shovels and took a few steps, but then stopped again.

“Please don’t overwork yourself, sir,” he said, looking up at Titch with a pleading expression. “You’ve just recovered.”

Titch walked along the fields for another thirty minutes, just watching the perfectly straight rows of sprouts, inhaling the fresh evening air. God he missed this. He missed feeling free, while he was trapped in his bedroom twenty-four per seven and dependant on his brother and his father, and then Derek... Derek. Titch kicked the ground with his toe. He shouldn’t have snapped at Derek.

He headed towards the house, squinting and trying to see if there was any light in the windows. He saw what was supposed to be... James’ window? going dark just when Titch’s sight slipped towards it. Right above James’ window was his father’s, and that one was probably dark for a long time, considering that Titch couldn’t see not only any light but even the window itself with his still pretty damaged vision.

He looked to the left. On the left wing there were his own two rooms (‘the office’ and the bedroom) and Derek’s. Derek’s window was still lit. Titch recalled that Derek was more of a night person. It probably wasn’t easy for him to adjust to the schedule of Titch’s farm, where everyone had to be on their feet by seven in the morning. He might consider adjusting the schedule a little bit, personally for Derek... just so he’d be more comfortable.

Titch opened the front door carefully and locked it on the both locks before getting up to his bedroom. He was still wearing his messy working uniform, so he took a quick shower and changed. He settled into the chair and scrolled through Instagram for several minutes. It seemed everyone was celebrating the start of the new season: farmers from other villages were posting plenty of pictures from their transplanting days, showcasing their greenhouses and sprouts—some looking quite nice, others not so much—but none came close to Titch's. His were always the best on the market.

A quiet knock made him take his eyes from the phone and stare at the door in surprise.

“Uh... Come in?” he said, and Derek entered the room with a steaming cup and a saucer with a biscuit on it.

“Sorry, sir, I just... saw the light coming from your door, and I thought if you weren’t sleeping, then maybe you’d like some hot milk,” he said, stumbling on words and looking rather... sad. Still sad.

“I’d love some,” Titch said genuinely, because he’d forgotten to have supper and just now realised he was actually pretty hungry. Derek carefully placed the cup and the saucer on the nightstand near him and made a sharp movement as if he wanted to leave but wasn’t sure if he really should.

“Wait,” Titch said, and Derek stopped.

“Would you like anything else?”

“No, no. I just... You’re acting weird,” Titch said bluntly. “Ever since lunch. I wanted to talk about that. Did I hurt you in some way there on the field? I’m sorry if I snapped at you.”

For a few seconds Derek stood motionless, then he sighed and sat in the chair opposite to Titch. “This may sound stupid,” he said finally, blushing more and more. “But... when you told James that I was ‘free to go’... it sounded like you meant ‘go for good’,” he shifted awkwardly in his chair, looking rather guilty. “I just... wanted to make sure you were happy with my work. I’m really trying, and I- I like working here, there are really nice people on this farm, and I like you as my boss, sir, so...” He looked like he was on the verge of tears, and Titch quickly stepped in—raising his hand in the usual commanding way, though this time it came across as more sympathetic.

“Derek, wait,” he demanded softly. Derek’s eyes darted nervously to the floor, his fingers gripping the edge of the chair as if bracing himself for something worse.

“I didn’t mean anything like that,” Titch said, watching Derek’s reaction closely. “I might have been... a bit harsh. I know that. But I never intended to make you feel like you weren't doing enough or that I didn’t appreciate you. Quite the opposite, actually.”

Derek didn’t move, but the tightness in his shoulders seemed to loosen just a fraction. He kept his gaze down, though, like he wasn’t ready to let the words sink in yet.

“I trust you,” Titch continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “You’ve been nothing but reliable, and frankly, I wouldn’t have made it through half the work today without you. So if I gave off the wrong impression, that’s on me. You should never doubt your place here. Is that clear?”

“Yeah,” Derek whispered, his voice barely audible.

There was an awkward pause, like Derek wasn’t sure if he should stay or leave, but Titch wasn’t done.

“And for the record, if I wanted you gone, you’d know it. You’d have a shovel in your hands before you could blink, digging your way out of here,” Titch added with a small smirk.

“Yeah... that would be fair,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. “Thank you, sir.”

“Titch,” Titch corrected him with the same smile, and when Derek’s eyes sparkled joyfully, he nodded. “I noticed today, yes. And I’m all for it. It’s ‘Titch’ for you.”

Chapter Text

Derek was resting his forehead lightly against that huge vintage window, his silhouette framed against the glass. His fingertips were touching the cool surface meditatively, and as the chill seeped into his skin, he leaned in closer, pressing his arm firmly as if willing himself to merge with the glass. The fields on the other side of the window were now lit in the burgundy light of the setting sun, and the hundreds of green shoots they had planted just today contrasted brightly with the red tones around them. But for the first time in his life Derek didn’t care about the beauty of nature he was surrounded with. His eyes were fixated on the lonely figure in the middle of the field.

Titch was walking slowly between the carefully calculated and planted rows of aubergines, his hands in his pockets and his head low. Derek couldn’t see his face from that distance, but he easily imagined Titch’s sharp sight thoughtfully fumbling over the ground, while his mind once again was... somewhere around business, probably. Derek sighed and brushed his finger against the window lightly, not sure what he was trying to draw there.

Titch indeed kept their interactions strictly professional. He never once told Derek anything, but Derek noticed how Titch stubbornly kept ignoring all of his desperate attempts to become at least a little bit closer. Derek was the one who kept trying again and again to find some ways, loopholes for him to slither in and finally break down that wall Titch had built around himself. But each time all he received was a restrained smile —more polite than warm—and, time after time, Titch skillfully guided their interactions back to a strictly professional tone.

Derek sighed and followed the distant figure on the field with his eyes. Titch took a few more lazy steps across the field, his shoulders slouched wearily and his head still kept low, as if he was thinking about something and couldn’t quite make up his mind. Derek could see Titch raising his hand and brushing it roughly against his eyes – a habit of his Derek noticed long time ago that implied Titch was either tired or irritated.

He was irritated today, Derek remembered suddenly. He was so on edge that he snapped at both James and at Derek in just one sentence, and the roughness in his voice was still crystal clear in Derek’s mind.

Derek’s gaze switched back to the fields that were almost completely covered in shadows by then. Derek had to squint and really focus to see Titch’s silhouette among the rows of plants. Titch stopped in the middle of his walk all of a sudden, as if he remembered something, and turned sharply to look back at the house. For a moment Derek felt the urge to recoil from the window, as if it was at all possible for Titch to see him from such distance and with the lights in the living room off. Derek didn’t bother to turn them on when he went downstairs, and since he was standing by the window for the whole time it was getting dark, he now found himself in complete darkness of the room, staring at just as equally dark expanse of the fields.

Titch stood frozen for a few moments, observing the house and as if weighing something in his mind, then shifted his shoulder impatiently and without further hesitation headed towards the mansion. Another gust of wind hit the window dully. It must be freezing cold outside, Derek thought matter-of-factly, watching the trees and bushes sway. Derek already gave up on his sudden desires to comfort, protect, care, so this time he also shoved that feeling as far as possible before it could evolve in him. It didn’t seem like Titch was too happy with him today, so why bother.

And then he thought that maybe he could at least bring Titch something warm to drink. It was one of his duties when Titch was bedridden, so he didn’t see why their first working day should be any different. He detached his fingers from the window, took one last look at the field and headed towards the kitchen.

That was the most mesmerizing feeling: to sit in the softly lit bedroom, with a smell of freshly baked biscuits and soap (Derek could tell that Titch took a bath like half an hour before he walked in) in the air and just... listen. Because Titch was saying some wonderful things there, and Derek found himself with his breath caught up in his throat and his cheekbones hurting from the tears he was so stubbornly suppressing.

“I trust you.”

“I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

He could listen to Titch saying that over and over for the rest of his life. Derek walked into his own bedroom five minutes later feeling slightly light-headed and for a few minutes he just lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to commit to memory every little detail he could recall about that conversation.

“ If I gave off the wrong impression, that’s on me.”

“You should never doubt your place here.”

“I noticed today, yes. And I’m all for it. It’s ‘Titch’ for you.”

Yes, fucking YES. Derek chuckled happily, and just then realised he was beaming into the ceiling all this time. Like some kind of crazy. Well, isn’t he? Crazy. Completely lost his mind, that’s for sure. His gaze darted towards the clock, which was showing half past ten. Derek got up from the bed and thought he might want to go and take away the cup and the saucer he brought to Titch half an hour ago. He wasn’t sure if he really should, but for his whole life that was how things were done: you bring tea (or in this case, milk) to someone in bed, you have to take it away, so the other person wouldn’t need to get up. Plain and simple.

Derek approached Titch’s bedroom and knocked lightly two times, and then he froze with his hand in the air, ready knock the third time, but the door creaked quietly and opened on its own. He probably didn’t close it firm enough when he was leaving the room the first time. Or it could be the wind, Derek thought, recalling the countless times he had to hold the door to prevent another gust from slamming it shut.

Derek carefully took a step inside, seeing that the light was still on... and halted by the door, staring at the motionless figure on the bed. Titch was half-lying, his back leaning on the pillow and his face relaxed and peaceful. Derek could hear his breathing – soft and calm, so unusual for Titch. Sleeping. Again.

Derek’s sight traced his figure and lingered on his hands: phone in one, the other unclenched limply, and the empty cup lay next to his palm, right on the blanket. A sudden desire to gently press a kiss against those thin white knuckles rose inside Derek and in a few sharp moments became so strong that he almost surrendered to it.

NO. He will not. Act like some creep.

Derek quietly closed the door behind him and in a few light steps crossed the room. He picked up the cup from the blanket and took an empty saucer from the nightstand, careful not to let it clank, and he was already by the door, when he paused one more time.

A wave of desperation covered him whole, and he pressed his forehead to the doorframe and bit his lower lip anguish. How much he wanted this man, he thought bitterly, his eyes already burning with tears, which he still refused to acknowledge. How much would he give for Titch to feel the same way. To maybe once, just once put those walls down, let him in, open up to him and... feel the same way Derek was feeling.

Derek stood there, literal four steps away from him, paralyzed with that weird, but all-consuming sensation of... well, bitterness. If this was love, he thought, blinking the tears away and raising his free hand to wipe them with the sleeve, if this was love he didn’t want it. Why was it hurting. He wanted it to stop. He wanted Titch to wake up right now, embrace him lightly and whisper things – nice things, like the kind of things he was saying to him half an hour ago. That it will be okay. That he will always need Derek to be around. That he trusted him, that he needed him, that he...

loved him.

Derek shot one last look at Titch and slipped out of the room, feeling his heart beating in his chest so fast it felt like it was going to jump right out. He got downstairs for a second, just to throw those damn dishes into the dishwasher without looking at them twice, got up to his room and slumped onto the bed again, trying to sort out his thoughts. The mental image of Titch, lying so peacefully, breathing steady and calm, those beautiful hands resting on the blanket, - it was still before his eyes.

How would it even feel – to hold a hand like that, he wondered, staring at the ceiling and completely immersed in his thoughts. Not even to kiss, just to hold Titch’s hand for a start.

He raised his own hands to his eyes and studied them for a few long moments. They were... okay. Probably a little too big. Derek wasn’t a small person himself, he was always the tallest one in school, and he got used to being taller than most of the people.

Derek sighed and turned to his side, now staring at the wall before him. Nope. This was never going to happen. He had to forget about any of these irrational fucking thoughts He didn’t know how, but he would have to figure it out. It was obvious nothing could happen between him and Titch. Titch was small and precious and all about work and business, and Derek was... well, Derek. Nothing even close to Titch.

The next week all felt like a blur. He would get up at seven thirty (thank God Titch decided to accommodate the schedule a little, personally for Derek), meet Titch downstairs, take a necessary cup of strong tea, because coffee really wasn’t his drink. They would come up with a plan for the day, and Derek followed it closely.

Most of the times he spent on the fields, adjusting everything for the new shoots they recently had transplanted out. It was the middle of June, and the sun was getting more and more vicious with each day. Titch was an absolute cyborg when it was about work. He didn’t let himself slack and was expecting the same from everyone else. If he wasn’t tending to the aubergines, he was either reading or watching gardening videos, and Derek would often see him during either breakfast or suppers with a book in his hand, eyes running through the pages attentively.

It took Derek two weeks to finally dare and make another move. He approached Titch, who was sitting on the terrace with a bagel in one hand and his phone in the other, listening to some farmers’ podcast on half the volume. Derek hit the doorframe twice with his knuckles to draw Titch’s attention.

“Yes?” Titch asked, taking his eyes off the phone and turning the volume even lower. “Derek, why are you standing there by the threshold? Come here,” he urged, because all Derek’s composure that he was gathering in himself for the past ten minutes vaporized all at once, and he was stuck by the wall weirdly, clinging to the tray he had in his hands.

“Um... yeah, you asked me to make you coffee, so here it is,” he finally clasped some words together and put the tray on the small glass table to Titch’s left.

“Yes, yes, thank you. No idea why I’m feeling that sleepy today, you know,” he commented, shrugging and taking the cup.

Really, what a wonder, Derek thought sceptically, eyeing at the phone with even more studying material in Titch’s hands. Aloud, however, he said something entirely different.

“Do you think that maybe... maybe you should learn to rest?” he asked, boldly meeting Titch’s surprised gaze.

“Meaning? I’m kinda resting right now, as you can see,” Titch gestured around, implying the terrace and the podcast in his hand.

“No, you’re not. You’re fuelling yourself with energetics and listening to something serious, which means your mind is not resting at all.”

“Well, that’s just my way of resting.”

“Yeah, right,” Derek commented sceptically, watching Titch taking another sip of coffee and clearly trying to handle the exhaustion in some way. “How about you take the time to do... nothing? Like, absolutely nothing that requires concentration. Watch TikTok, talk to someone – not a business talk, just, you know... to get to know them, that’s all. Literally anything like that.”

Titch bit his lower lip and went deep into his thoughts for a moment.

“I don’t think I can do that,” he said finally. “I just... haven’t done that in a long time.”

“Well, how about we try just a little bit at a time? Like, ten minutes a day. How does that sound?”

Derek watched Titch with a glimmer of hope in his eyes, and when he finally saw a tiny hesitant nod, it felt like the biggest win in his life.

“Okay. If you think it will help.”

The first few days it was all about how to stop Titch worrying about work. He had to actually take the time and spell it out for Titch that the world will not stop and a meteor won’t crash the farm if he would take ten minutes of his day to spend it on the actual living. And for several days that actually worked. They usually would sit on that same terrace and talk about things. Titch told him about his childhood. That was how Derek found out Titch was adopted when he was just ten years old.

“It was James who made it easy for me, you know,” he told Derek, his gaze becoming cloudy and distant for a second. “I haven’t actually thought about it for a long time, but me and James were so close back then. Literally couldn’t spend an hour apart, wherever you look – it was the two of us trying to come up with something interesting to do, something we haven’t tried before. You know, we’d go to Lady Margery’s tent and write ‘OLD’ in chalk all over it,” he smirked, and Derek gazed at him in disbelief.

“Seriously?!”

“Yep. ’Would sneak there when she wasn’t home. Still not sure if she knew it was us.”

“And when exactly did you stop vandalizing her property?”

“At some point she got herself some kind of creature,” Titch said, now looking rather sheepish. “We came one day, and it was... there.”

“Where?”

“That’s the point: to this day we have no idea where it was. Sort of everywhere. I know for sure it had fluffy paws and it talked in German accent. And it was... brutal. We barely got away from it. Actually, I suspect it willingly let us to go,” he gave Derek a meaningful glance.

“Conclusion is: don’t mess with Lady Margery,” Derek muttered under his breath, smirking.

“What did you say?”

“Nope, nothing, nothing... So you were saying?..”

That was how Derek found out a lot about Titch’s life. And that was how a few days later Derek told Titch about his own. Well, he wasn’t really planning on going down that hole, but Titch asked him how he was living before he moved to the farm, and Derek talked a little bit about his office work, and then about his college years, and then before he knew it – he was talking about his mother. Well, he tried to talk about her. He knew he wouldn’t handle that conversation, but it was too late: he started, so he had to continue.

All he really could get out of himself was that she was okay, and then she got sick, and then she got even worse, and then she died. After almost five years of a constant struggle... from both of them. He felt a tight lump sticking in his throat, and he hated himself for ever bringing up a topic that he knew would trigger the fuck out of him. As if there was nothing better to talk about during a lunch break.

“Sorry,” he managed barely audible, with his throat tightening more and more and his eyes prickling with tears again. “Sorry, this isn’t something I’d talk about often, you see.” He cleared his throat and stared into the horizon, the fields going blurry before his eyes. He didn’t care. He was looking there because he had to look somewhere and he couldn’t look at Titch. Look him in the eyes and see... pity? Regret? Annoyance? Everything around him went so silent he became unsure if Titch was even still there.

A soft touch of hands wrapping around him – at first lightly, and then tighter, embracing him tenderly from behind, was so sudden and unexpected Derek flinched. A tear slipped from his eye, trailing down his cheek.

“It’s okay. Just me,” Titch’s voice hushed him softly, and Derek felt being dragged into the hug a little firmer. He couldn’t manage to say anything and he didn’t even try. There was just nothing to say. All he could do was lean into Titch’s hold and lose himself in it. He choked back a sob, his chest rising heavily under Titch’s arms, and several moments passed in complete silence that was broken only by the birds chirping and the plants rustling in the distance. Titch’s hands were now gently stroking Derek’s shoulders, and while Titch himself still didn’t utter a word more, Derek somehow didn’t need him to. The warm, slow touches were comforting on their own.

“It’s going to be okay,” Titch whispered, when Derek finally dared to raise his hand to wipe the tears off his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he said and glanced at Titch with the corner of his eye, not sure how to formulate his disbelieving thoughts.

“Yeah, I know, doesn’t look like me,” Titch said, his mouth twitching in a hint of a smile. “It just felt like something I should do.” He squeezed his arms tighter for a one short moment longer and let go slowly, and even when he returned to his previous seat, Derek could still feel that soft touch in his shoulders.

That was one of those precious moments that Derek would memorize and later on hide somewhere in the depth of his heart. Never in his life would he think their first hug would be like this: with him sniffling and trying to blink the tears away and Titch just silently approaching him and wrapping his hands around him. No one has ever done anything like that before to him, and it was so new – wonderfully new – that Derek never wanted it to stop. Somehow it felt so comforting and warm and secure to just lie in Titch’s embrace like that. Titch wasn’t saying anything, but Derek could hear his breath warm against his neck, and his heart pounding in his chest – not as rapidly as Derek’s was, but strong enough for him to feel it.

The next day Derek wasn’t even sure if he should suggest repeating that “ten-minute break”. He really made it weird, didn’t he. Who knows, maybe Titch wouldn’t want to continue hanging out with him after this.

He was already finishing with all the mulching they had to do during their morning shift and getting ready for the lunch break, not sure what he should do during it, but just when his anxiety reached its peak, Titch approached him on his own.

“How’s the mulching?” he asked matter-of-factly, looking around the segment Derek was taking care of.

“Oh, I’m almost done,” Derek said, spreading the last bits of the mulch around the aubergine roots with the shovel. “Just three more minutes. Why?”

“Well, to quote yourself, ‘it’s lunch break soon’,” Titch mocked lightly, but his voice stayed soft. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay after... you know, yesterday.”

“Feels like it’s my line to say,” Derek noted under his breath. “I’m the one who made it weird and turned it into a fucking memorial service.” He was angry, Derek had to admit to himself. He was mad at himself and he was passive-aggressive and lashing it out at Titch, and that was making him even angrier.

“Don’t make it sound like that,” Titch cut him off, his eyes blazing imperiously. “You opened up to me, and I appreciate that. That’s all there’s to say. I will be waiting for you on our terrace when you’re done with the mulching.”

When the lunch break started and Derek went to the house, he found Titch sitting in his usual sun lounger reading something off his screen. In about a week those ten-minute breaks, as Derek called them, were on his list of things he was desperately craving for the entirety of the day. Soon enough he just couldn’t wait for the two of them to meet after the morning shift and have those precious ten minutes of... whatever they would decide to do that time.

Not that he didn’t have any other nice things, of course. He actually was completely happy with his work: he enjoyed working with the plants, that now required constant care as they were growing and progressing not in the safe greenhouses, but straight under the burning sun and the relentless wind. Even though Derek was the one who was responsible for hardening off the seedlings and he was entirely sure he did it properly, he was still a little worried, because something could go wrong, right? Luckily, the plants seemed to be handling the change of climate really well.

“You know, if things keep going like that, I will be able to pay off for that last harvest that I ruined,” Titch commented, when they were walking among the green rows, checking out the work they have done over the last few months. Derek, of course, knew about the unsuccessful harvest last year, the first year when Titch was fully in charge.

“You know, I really don’t think it’s your fault,” he said, frowning and remembering everything he heard during the past month about how planting works. “I’ve learnt quite a lot of new things here, and all of the experienced farmers I’ve talked to say that unsuccessful years are a necessary part of the planting system. It just happened at your watch, that’s all.”

Titch grimaced.
“You sound just like father, you know. I still think I had to do a better job. ”

Derek glanced at him, then looked ahead, taking in the neat rows of crops stretching under the wide-open sky. “Maybe you’re both right,” he offered after a pause. “There’s always something to improve, sure, but it doesn’t mean last year was your failure. Sometimes nature has its own plans.”

Titch gave a half-shrug, though his expression didn’t lighten. “Plans I should’ve anticipated. Father would’ve.”

Derek chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re not him. You’ve done things your way. I mean, look at this”—he waved a hand towards the flourishing rows—“they’re thriving. And that’s because of YOUR work.”

Titch glanced at Derek, then quickly away, his fingers brushing absently against one of the plants. “I suppose,” he murmured, though his tone was still cautious. “But if we lose another crop… Not the case, anyway,” he shook his head, as if driving away some obnoxious thought. “Let’s head back home. It’s getting dark already, and we still have some things to do. Plus,” he raised his eyes, as if trying to recall something, “yes, that’s right. Lady Margery’s coming tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

“At least try to be more careful, it’s not that hard!”

“I was careful, you were the one who put the boxes in the middle of the hallway!”

“I. Put. Them. In the corner! Honestly, James, it takes some skills to knock over a box that stands SO far from your way!”

“I was in a hurry!”

Derek was sitting in the living room, lazily turning over the pages of some novel Titch’s father let him borrow earlier in the morning before he went to his farmers’ meeting, and tried to ignore the unbelievably loud fight that was going on in the hallway. He did take several attempts to calm them down, but nothing seemed to be working on James that day. Well, it wasn’t surprising: he had his first match as a Wotherinham Ranger in about six hours, and he was on edge for the entire morning.

The door slammed loudly against the wall as James walked into the living room, his lips still mouthing something – either arguments or curses. “Oh hi, Derek,” he blurted, walking past him towards the water carafe on the coffee table. “How the fuck you spend so much time with that man – I’ll never understand.”

“He’s fine by me,” Derek said. At this point this phrase became a part of his identity, considering how many times he was asked that question already.

“Impossible. Intolerant. Just abysmal,” James was muttering, not really paying much attention to Derek’s responses. He poured himself a glass of water and downed it in one sip.

“Did you think that maybe you’re the one who should level it down a bit?” Derek suggested, feeling his eyes flickering mockingly.

“I have a match today, Derek,” James retorted sharply, now starting to pace around the room. “With one of the most famous teams in England, mind that. People will be watching. People will be listening. If I fuck this up-”

Derek sighed: this was the fourth time he was hearing that little speech today. “You won’t,” he interrupted firmly. “You’ve been practicing for what, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week? You know what you’re doing. You just need to relax and, you know... stop ruining everyone’s day.”

James slumped on the couch next to Derek. He took a deep breath and for several minutes just sat, brushing his hand against his head and seemingly trying to calculate something in his mind. Probably his chances of winning, Derek thought, returning to the book in his hands.

“Goddamn it, you’re right,” he uttered finally, standing up. “I better go binge some YouTube videos... You know, with the... soap crashing or... bubble wrap popping, whatever. See ya, Derek.”

“That’s the spirit!” Derek called after him, knowing perfectly well this wasn’t at all the spirit James needed for his big match. But there was really nothing he could do: when James set his mind on something, there was no changing it. In this case, James, apparently, decided to switch from the “I suffer and everyone around me will too” mood to “I will suffer quietly inside my mind” mood. When he came down to the kitchen, where Derek was already taking the pancakes off the frying pan and Titch was listening to some serious-looking guy in his headphones, he was so quiet and sad even Titch paid attention.

“Come on, you can’t be that nervous, brother,” he said, taking a pancake from the plate and turning off the video on his phone. James shifted his shoulder silently, as if trying to drive away an annoying insect. “Plus, the Racoons suck. You told me that yourself!”

“Nah, we trained with them a couple of weeks ago,” James said, furrowing his brow. “They really took that seven-null personally. Now they're like tigers on the field—ripped us apart more than once during practice. I don’t stand a chance,” he kicked the leg of the table with his foot lightly.

Titch reached to him, covering James’ hand his palm. “James. What the hell are you talking about. I’ve seen you play.”

“Yeah, and how much do you know about football? Maybe I suck, and you just didn’t notice,” James said, sticking his fork into his pancake and picking on it sluggishly.

“But that’s not true-” Derek interfered. Titch gestured him to stop.

“Drop it. If he decided to be sad, nothing will change his mind.”

James was nibbling on his share of pancakes with the sorriest expression on his face for the rest of breakfast, and then he retreated to his room, saying he needs to start packing. “It’s a three-hour drive, don’t wanna be late,” he explained. Nobody in the room seemed to mind.

Titch and Derek, meanwhile, still had a lot of boxes to shift and label: they had to be ready for the truck that was coming to the farm sometime during the afternoon to transport the aubergines to the stores. Derek was the one who made all the arrangements for Titch, so he knew exactly how important all that process was. They were carrying the boxes back and forth and separating them into piles not far from the entrance; and they sorted almost half of the total, when the doorbell rang.

“Derek? Open that for me, please!” Titch called from the kitchen, his voice tense, and Derek heard another box being dragged somewhere across the kitchen floor. He himself had to hastily throw the aubergines he was holding into the closest pile of unsorted aubergines and hurried towards the door.

“Yes?”

He opened the door and found himself face to face with Lady Margery, who raised her eyebrows sceptically and swayed from him a little, piercing him with her usual derogatory gaze.

“You again!” she commented with a grin, leaning on the doorframe and taking a long drag of smoke from the obviously hand-made cigarette she was holding between her fingers. “Really, boy, are you sure you’re not a butler? Seems like that’s all you’re doing here.”

“Nope, not a butler, Lady Margery,” Derek said with a smile, letting her in. “Just an assistant,” he muttered under his breath, the words dripping with bitterness all of a sudden. It seemed that was all he ever would be: just an assistant. No matter how hard he tried to become something more.

“What?” Lady Margery’s eyes narrowed as she turned to him again. “What did you say just now?”

“Nothing,” Derek sighed and closed the door behind her. “Not important- Um, come in please, have a seat...”

She gave a look around the room and shook her head. “Mh! Nuh-uh! Don’t tell me Titch isn’t here again. I had enough of that last time, if he stood me up one more time-”

“Not at all, Lady Margery!” Titch peeked out of the room with another sealed box in his hand. “Derek, don’t just stand there, cover for me!” he gave Derek an expressive look and switched his attention back to his visitor, “I’ll be right with you, I just have to finish packing two more boxes, that’s all.”

“Take your time, kid, ‘cause that looks heavy,” Margery pointed out, laughing. “I’ll wait. Just don’t be too long, aye?”

“Two minutes,” Titch promised and hid behind the door again. Lady Margery walked around the room imposingly, the smoke from her cigarette wrapping around her with each exhale, and watched the boxes that were piled up near the front door.

“What is that, like, some shipping crates?” she asked Derek, squinting to get a better look of the label on the top box.

“Oh yeah,” Derek confirmed, “The truck’s coming in the evening. That’s the old harvest though; we just need to sell it already. Did you know we planted out just a few days ago?”

“Oh, from the greenhouses?” she nodded encouragingly. “Sure, sure, just about time. Saw your fields, fucking thriving, they are. Compared to the ones this farm had last year, especially...”

“Was it that bad?”

“Well, not ‘bad’, this farm had seen worse,” Margery clarified, shrugging. “But it was utterly sad to look at. And I thought the poor kid over there would go completely nuts,” she pointed with her thimble at the kitchen door, behind which Titch was still sealing the boxes. “It’s a good thing he’s back on his feet, the farm needed that.”

She leaned on the wall with her back and flicked the ash off the end of her cigarette.

“Hey, Derek, have you seen my bag? The black one, with Nike logo?” James went into the room, fumbling over it with his eyes, and stopped at the sight of Lady Margery. “Oh. Sorry. Hello, Lady Margery. I was just looking for my bag,” he said, lowering his eyes under her demanding gaze. “I’ll be on my way. Sorry again.”

Lady Margery raised her eyebrow in disbelief. “Woah, no jibes,” she noted to herself with a smirk. “No little quips for me today, I see. Not that old anymore, also. What’s up with you?” she asked louder, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke and observing James intently from beneath her lowered lashes. “James?”

He stood silent, with his shoulders slouched, picking on his fingernails nervously. “I'm really not in the mood today,” he responded finally, his voice muffled.

“Yeah, well, when are you,” Margery retorted and turned to Derek. “You tell me what happened to him, then.”

“He has his first match today,” Derek explained, “you know, Wotherinham Rangers versus Racoon City? So he’s a little anxious.”

Lady Margery shot James a disbelieving look. “That is the silliest thing I have ever heard,” she commented bluntly. “What are you talking about? You didn’t make second to captain for being pretty, kid, you know that? You gotta be one hell of a player.”

James, who was now going through the bags hanging on the wall and apparently looking for his black one with the Nike logo, looked at her, his expression a mix of shock and confusion. “How did you know about that?!”

“She's a witch, James,” Titch noted, walking past him from the kitchen with the two boxes and heading towards one of the piles near the front porch.

“That is true,” Margery nodded, gesturing at him. “I know shit.”

“Yeah, well, whatever,” James mumbled, now trying to stuff his uniform, a football and a huge bottle of water all in one pretty medium-sized bag he finally found on the wall. He shoved his uniform inside, somehow managed to fit the bottle in as well, and then began forcing the ball in, but it quickly became clear there wasn’t enough space. “I have to get out of here now. It’s almost past two, and the warm-up begins at five. Oh god, what if I get late...”

“You’re gonna be fine,” Derek noted from the chair he took, because Lady Margery seemed to be determined to stay near that wall, and James was fighting a battle against his sports bag on the couch.

“Yeah, you don’t know that.”

“Well it won’t change anything if you violate that bag,” Lady Margery said, observing him calmly. James’ face now was absolutely red with irritation, and he took several more attempts to close the bag before throwing it on the ground with a growl.

“FUCK!”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Margery cleared her throat and cradled the cigarette between her fingers before gesturing at James. “Come here.”

James, however aggravated he was, took a moment to give her a cautious glance. “I don’t want to,” he said finally, breathing heavily.

“Come the fuck here,” she repeated calmly, and although on the outside she stayed just as motionless, Derek could see her gaze searing imperiously at James. He approached her slowly and stopped a few steps away from her, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Look at me,” Margery demanded, tilting her head a little to get a better look at him. “Did you get into the team somehow?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you practice those six hours a day?”

“How the hell does she know THAT?!” James turned to Derek.

“I told you already, I know shit, it's my job,” Margery cut him off impatiently. “Now, kid, eyes on me,” she snapped her fingers. “I'm a witch. That means I know some stuff about future, yeah? Now do I look worried for you?”

James shook his head reluctantly. Margery took a long drag of her cigarette, pushed herself off the wall lazily and took a step towards James. “You worked for that match. I know you did, boy. But you’re gonna screw it all up if you keep panicking,” her voice grew softer and softer, yet each word remained crystal clear in the room. “Now I say: you get your shit together,” she raised her chin, glancing at him in intimidatingly. “Enough of that whining. If you lose, you lose, accept it like a man and move the fuck on. Regardless,” she pointed her bony finger at James, “you get out on that field. You show them what you’re made of. You beat every damn Racoon in that team. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” James said quietly, but this time his voice was firm and composed. “Yes, Lady Margery. I will.”

“You do that, kid,” Margery said, watching James picking up his bag from the floor and now closing it calmly without any effort. “I got a radio at my place. I'll be listening.”

“As will I,” they heard a voice behind them, and Titch walked into the room with the last box in his hand. “You give them hell, brother,” he said quietly, and a quick smile touched his lips for a second – one of those elusive, almost invisible smiles that, as Derek knew, meant he cared.

For one incredibly long second, James and Titch were simply looking at each other. It looked like James wanted to say something, and he even started to, but at the last moment he changed his mind. He just smiled - Derek only then noticed how similar his and his brother’s smiles were, - nodded to Derek and Lady Margery, threw the bag over his shoulder and left the house.

“Yeah, he’s okay now,” Derek commented, closing the door behind him.

“Let’s fucking hope he is. I got money on that game,” Margery muttered, taking a smoke and heading towards the couch. Derek also stood up from his seat, because the couch was obviously a better option than the wooden chair by the door, but just when he was about to sit down, Lady Margery halted. She didn’t utter a sound, but her eyes rolled back in her head, and she blanched suddenly, causing Derek to jump back to his feet. She stood rigidly, her entire body trembling and dry lips gasping for air.

“Oh god,” Derek exhaled, rushed towards her. “Titch?! Titch, I think she’s having a seizure or something- What do I do?”

A sound of boxes being knocked on the floor drowned out his voice, and in the blink of an eye Titch was already by his side. “It's alright,” he said, his voice quiet and composed. “It happens to her sometimes, yeah... Lady Margery? Lady Margery, that’s fine, you just need to sit down,” he prompted, carefully embracing her by the shoulders with his free hand.

“Can she even hear you?” Derek asked, feeling his heart pounding in his chest and his hands trembling with panic. He had never seen anyone having a fit in front of him, like that, in the middle of a conversation, and it was horrifying. Titch, however, seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He somehow managed to get her to the couch, and she slumped onto it, still seeming to be in some sort of shock.

“What is happening to her?” Derek whispered, watching Titch adjusting the pillows behind her and holding her down with his free hand, because her body kept shaking violently.

“I’m not sure, exactly,” Titch responded, his voice tense. “That’s just how my father was handling her when this happened. I never really thought it would happen on my watch.” He reached out, gently took the cigarette from her fingers, and placed it in the ashtray. “It’s alright, she’ll come around,” he added, sighing.

He was right. It wasn’t even a minute before the witch's breathing calmed. She managed to take several full inhales, coughed and looked around the room, her gaze going from glassy to wild. She looked straight at Derek, visibly disoriented, and he felt shivers going down his back, because that she seemed absolutely deranged, and she looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time. Her eyes shifted to Titch and sparkled for just one second, as if she remembered something, but wasn’t sure what it was.

Titch sat in front of her, not breaking the eye-contact, and gently touched her on the arm. “Lady Margery?”

“Mhm,” she drawled sleepily, still seemingly trying to adjust her mind to everything around her. She shifted a little on the pillows and blinked slowly.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine, better than ever... Where’s my cigarette?” she asked, looking at her empty hand.

“I took it away. You would’ve lost it anyway,” Titch also seemed to be alarmed by how the old witch kept staring at him silently with the eyes wide and sharp. He looked at Derek, “I think there should be cigarettes in my father’s desk, that’s second drawer from the top. Could you please bring them?”

Chapter Text

“It doesn’t matter how hard you stare, boy. Nothing will happen between the two of you until you make at least some kind of move.”

Titch, who was watching Derek going up the stairs for the cigarettes, turned to look at Lady Margery in shock.

“What?” he whispered, furrowing his brow, but she merely shrugged and sank deeper into the pillows behind her. The fogginess in her eyes vanished as if swept away by a wand, and now she watched him with calm, calculating focus.

“Open your eyes, why don’t you,” she said, nodding in the direction Derek went. “Look closer. It’s really plain and simple, if you want it to be, of course...” Silence settled between them for a moment, and then the witch shrugged indifferently. “You just don’t know what you’re missing, child.”

“What are you talking about?” was all Titch could manage, because something deep within him responded to Margery’s words with a dull ache, and he couldn’t even tell what it was. Something about Derek, probably. He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. The sound of quick steps coming from the stairs forced him to look up, his mind still deep in his thoughts, and Derek, who walked into the room with a pack of cigarettes in his hand, frowned at the sight of Titch.

“Why are you like that? Something else happened? Titch?”

“No, no, nothing happened,” Titch hurried to explain. “You were gone for barely a minute.”

“And yet you look like you saw a ghost,” Derek commented, offering the pack to Margery. “Here you go. Are you feeling better?”

“Oh please,” Margery said dismissively, taking a lighter, which Derek prudently remembered to take along with the cigarettes. “Do you know how many times I had this kind of shit in my life? I’m as fine as ever.” She lit up the cigarette and took a long breath from it with her eyes closed.

“I think you should stay for dinner,” Titch said quietly.

“What?” she asked lazily, her half-lidded eyes drifting over him.

“You really should. I can’t just let you go after a seizure like that, your tent is quite far away.”

“Yeah! You should totally stay,” Derek supported him enthusiastically. “Plus, dinner will be ready in about ten minutes, so...”

Titch watched the old witch shift her gaze from him to Derek and back, obviously considering something. Finally she waved her hand. “Fine, I’m staying.” She breathed out one more puff of smoke, rose to her feet and swayed. Titch moved without thinking. In a heartbeat, he was by her side, holding her firmly by the elbow.

“Oh fuck, that’s some strong stuff I cooked there...”

“I got you. I got you,” he promised, keeping her steady.

“Kitchen’s that way,” Derek said, gesturing towards the door and receiving a scathing look from Lady Margery.

“I know where the fucking kitchen is, boy,” she said, moving slowly towards it and still looking a little disoriented. “I’ve been in this house long before you were even born, you know.”

“Yeah, my father and Lady Margery are quite good friends,” Titch nodded, smiling, and Lady Margery frowned, as if trying to recall something.

“Oh that’s right,” she said suddenly, when she and Titch were sitting comfortably at the table, waiting for Derek to finish cooking the pasta. “Speaking of your father,” she drew a small bag with something white in it from her pocket and moved it across the table to Titch. “He ordered that from me, make sure he gets it, aye? The man pays me some good money, deserves to get his orders in their highest quality...”

“What’s that?” he asked, taking the pack and examining it suspiciously. It was something white and friable, carefully concealed and without any signs of marking on the bag.

“It’s a none-of-your-business powder,” Margery snapped, lighting another cigarette. Titch looked up at her, more surprised than offended.

“Jeez. No need to be that mean,” Derek uttered from near the stove.

“Yeah, well, no need to be that nosy.”

Titch watched Derek’s sight shifting towards him, as if asking what should he do next. Titch gave him a quick ‘it’s-okay-just-drop-it’ smile, and Derek visibly relaxed again.

“What are you drinking?” he asked her, putting the teapot on the stove.

“Coffee,” Titch and Lady Margery responded at the same time, and their eyes locked firmly on each other. “Black,” Titch continued, pointing at her, “double shot espresso, uuum... brewed at precisely ninety-two degrees, twenty grams of beans, one to two ratio, aaaand... no sugar, of course. Right?” he narrowed his eyes, watching her gaze flickering with laughter.

“You think you know me so well!”

“I do know you well, Lady Margery.”

“If you two are done exchanging pleasantries,” Derek interrupted, reaching towards the top shelf, where all the cups stood, “the double espresso is coming right up.”

Titch didn’t even understand properly what happened. Derek’s fingers locked around the cup handle; Lady Margery looked up at him, her eyes blazing dangerously for one quick second, and the cup scattered across the floor into hundreds of pieces. Titch did hear the muffled curses as Derek crouched on the floor, picking up the pieces into his palm.

“Goddamn it! Sorry, Titch, I don’t know how that happened-”

“Hey, you really shouldn’t-” –touch the broken ceramics with your bare hands, Titch was going to say, because they had a perfectly fine broom just in the corner, and even if they didn’t, Titch really wasn’t going to let Derek pick those things up like that, muttering apologies, like he was some delinquent maid. But just when he was going to tell him to stop, the words got stuck in his throat.

“Seriously, I’m so sorry, I thought I got it-”

“Derek, just drop it, I’ll clean this up properly, it’s no big deal- Oh god, Derek!”

Derek, with his lips tightly pressed together, was looking at his hand, a long streak of blood smeared across his entire palm. Before Titch knew it, he was already on his knees right beside Derek, grasping at his wrist and forcing him to drop all the pieces he had already picked up.

“I told you to stop,” he whispered through the clenched teeth, unable to take his eyes off the deep cut across Derek’s palm and the blood that was beginning to spread all over his hands. Derek froze the minute Titch’s fingers touched his arm, his gaze fixated somewhere on the floor and his face absolutely unreadable.

He was looking... crushed. Not as much by the shattered cup but by the sharpness of Titch’s voice.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I’m so... I didn’t mean to sound like that,” Titch whispered hastily, leaning towards him and tapping him on the hand lightly. “I’m not mad or anything. Get up. Get up,” he prompted, tugging on Derek’s shirt lightly and getting up to his feet himself. “We have to clean your hand. And bandage it with something, of course... I- I think I have some supplies in the bathroom, um... Fuck-” Titch breathed out, closing his eyes and brushing his hand over them forcefully. He really needed to calm down right now. What the fuck was even wrong with him, losing his mind like that over a cut. It’s not like Derek was dying or something... The thought of Derek dying only made things worse, and Titch hurried to force it out of his mind.

“I really think it’s alright,” Derek muttered, following his example and slowly raising from the floor and looking... way too calm for Titch, whose heart was now racing in his ears.

“Yeah, yeah, well...” Titch paused, trying to gather his thoughts back together and remember some words. “We still need to bandage it, don’t we? So come with me,” he dragged Derek after himself, and only in the doorway remembered about Lady Margery, who was sitting unbothered in her chair, observing the two of them intently. “Oh- Lady Margery, I’m sorry, I’ll be right back... It really is... um... I mean- This never happened before, I need to... fix it.” His mouth was talking some utter nonsense, while his brain was still in the process of gathering the fucking thoughts together.

“Take your time, you two,” Lady Margery nodded earnestly, still eyeing them in the closest way.

“Okay, let me just- just find everything here,” Titch whispered when they were already in the bathroom, and he began rummaging through the shelves, looking for the necessary things. Derek, who already washed off all the blood and was now just holding his hand under the streaming tap-water, took another attempt.

“I am fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore, it just prickles. Titch, are you even listening to me?”

He really was not. Still whispering something chaotic more to calm himself down than to explain his behaviour to Derek, Titch snatched the towel off the wall and carefully pressed it against the cut, trying to stop the bleeding.

“You shouldn’t have done that, you know. Cleaning up those pieces. I was telling you to stop.”

“Titch...”

“When I tell you to stop, you fucking stop, Derek.”

“Titch.”

“Now look at what happened. And over a fucking cup...”

Cold fingers closed tightly around his wrist, preventing him from continuing to wipe away the blood.

“Titch, sh-h-h, you need to calm down. Your hands are shaking.”

Derek’s soft voice made him actually stop the attempts to writhe free from his hold and continue sterilizing the wound. Titch froze and looked up at him, just now realizing that yes, fucking yes, his fingers were trembling hard, still clinging to the towel he was wiping the blood with. He felt heat rushing up to his face and took a deep inhale, trying to stabilize his breathing. He couldn’t let emotions take over. He never allowed that in the past and he wasn’t going to now.

“Don’t injure yourself. Ever again. Over something this stupid,” he whispered through the gritted teeth, looking blankly as if through Derek. He continued bandaging his arm, blinking hastily and still trying to suppress that irrational fear that was swallowing him from the inside. Derek’s free hand slowly rested on his shoulder, giving it a barely noticeable squeeze.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, leaning closer, and his fingers were now massaging Titch’s shoulder in small circles. “I’m so sorry I scared you.”

“Why on earth would you do that,” was all Titch could mutter under his breath, barely abstaining himself from tucking his face into Derek’s chest. “Gathering that cup with your bare hands, just why?!”

“I guess I panicked.”

Titch nodded scarcely, trying and failing to stop that frantic breathing. Derek was so close. So wonderfully close, whispering into his ear softly, and Titch wasn’t sure if he wanted to step forward and lose himself in Derek’s hug completely or if he needed to back down and pretend this never happened. The fact was: he was savouring every inch of Derek in that moment. Inhaling the scent of Earl Grey and blackberries he always had on him, feeling the warmth of his body.

“...You’re not working tomorrow, with a hand like that,” he said dryly, as if there was nothing better to say, and he felt himself the most rotten person alive. Derek was injured, he was hurting, there was blood everywhere, and then they got here and time stopped for one magical second – all of that only for Titch to shatter it all, like that coffee cup was shattered ten minutes ago.

The corners of Derek’s lips curled into a smile. “Okay,” he said simply, taking his bandaged hand away from Titch’s hold.

It was long after midnight, and Titch was lying in bed with his eyes wide opened, staring into the darkness of the window right in front of him and remembering everything that happened throughout the day. Not as much as it felt like, if he was honest. Lady Margery came over. Derek injured his hand. James won that match along with his team. That was it. Yet still everything inside Titch would still quiver at the thought of Derek silently watching that blood spreading across his palm, with those ceramic pieces still clutched in his hand clumsily.

Why did he get so scared, Titch wondered about himself. He was never the one to faint at the sight of blood or anything. If anything, he took pride in being able to stay cool during accidents, to always have a plan and know just the right things to do. And today he just... completely lost control. Rambled something incoherent, couldn’t steady his breathing. Hell, that moment he was bandaging Derek’s hands, with his hands trembling and everything getting slightly blurry before his eyes, he got really scared. Just because he realised how strongly this situation had actually impacted him. How madly he did not want to see Derek injured.

Titch shifted on his bed and dragged the blanket closer to his chin. This was crazy. How could he lose his composure like this. Even Lady Margery seemed surprised, and nothing could surprise that woman.

That feeling of Derek being oh, so close haunted Titch still, and he suddenly realised he would give anything for Derek to be here with him now. For him to tuck Derek into that same blanket to which he was clinging right now, to feel that warmth, those soft touches again.

The thought was so sudden and clear in his head, Titch sat up on his bed, staring into the darkness and frowning. No. No, no, no. He can’t have these feelings. He can’t... want... Derek. Not like that. Not ever.

His chest tightened, and a sense of dread washed over him. He could already see it spiralling out of control. If he let this grow, if he allowed himself to feel what he thought he was feeling, it would ruin everything. Titch knew himself too well; he always messed things up for the people he loved. He didn’t deserve someone like Derek. He didn’t deserve to be loved—not truly, not in the way Derek deserved to be loved.

He was flawed, broken in ways that no one could fix, and if he let these feelings progress, if he dared to let his heart hope for something more... Oh god, no, he’d destroy what little they had.

Titch slumped back on the pillows, his chest heaving, and closing his eyes tightly, as if that would hide him from the problem. He will have to deal with that on his own. He will have to figure this out.

Chapter Text

“As you two are very well aware,” their father started, giving the two of them his signature condemning look with no visible reason for it whatsoever, “harvest is coming. July is almost over, and by the looks on those fields, the aubergines are perfectly ready to be collected. Right?” he asked, glancing at Titch rather than at James. James was absolutely at ease and unbothered, sitting on the couch with his legs crossed and eyeing his phone carefully, trying to watch some improv show on YouTube and stay unnoticed.

“Yes,” Titch said, realising that father was waiting for him to answer. “In a week or so they will be absolutely ready, which means we might as well start making arrangements with the distribution companies.”

“This brings me to my next point,” father continued, and his heavy gaze landed on James, who reacted immediately by turning off his phone and trying to stuff it into the pocket of his trousers.

Father shook his head, a barely concealed disappointment on his face, and Titch caught himself on a bitter thought that James always had it too easy. If it was Titch watching dumb shows on his phone during a meeting like that, father would’ve already kicked him out of the room. James, meanwhile, was looking at father with the most innocent expression.

“Yes?”

“You’re returning to work. Each of you will take half of the field to bring in the harvest,” father said decisively and, not giving James the time to argue, raised his hand, ordering him to be silent. “That is non-negotiable, James! The fields are thriving this year, and Titch won’t be able to control everything just by himself.”

“He’s got Derek!”

“And I suppose you’re hoping Derek will take care of all your responsibilities instead of you or what?”

James fell silent, his eyes dropping to the floor guiltily. Titch didn’t utter a word, because father’s voice was now ice-cold, a clear sign he was beyond angry.

“Well, brother, I suppose you’re happy now,” James snarled, when the two of them were left in the room to talk over their harvesting strategies. “I’m dropping out of my trainings for what, a month and a half? To attend to the stupid aubergines that don’t even need me that much: my side is always barren, and you handle yours perfectly fine.”

“Hey! I never wanted this to happen,” Titch argued back. “But since we’re talking about it, James, - don’t think I will let you slack like all the previous times. You will work just as hard as the rest of us, I’ll make sure of that.”

“Do you think you can still tell me what to do?!” James asked with a cheeky chuckle. “Ohh, you clearly live in your own little world, do you, Titch?” He glanced at him bitterly and looked back at his phone, on which he was typing a message furiously - probably, to his teammates, notifying them he won't be present on the future practices. “I have to drop the trainings, to which I dedicated my whole life, and little boss-man Titch here lives in his little fuck-off fairy land, thinking he’s the hero of this story. Just as always.”

“How dare you,” Titch whispered, raising his head high, and his eyes flashed, pinning James to the couch with his mere sight. “I was slaving the fuck away and bringing this farm back from its knees while you were out playing football for the entirety of the day. Now, harvesting season is the most important part of our business,” he changed the subject sharply, getting to the main point. “Father clearly expects high results this year, and frankly: so do I. And I can’t let you ruin this first successful year for me. So you will listen to me this time, James. I will make you listen.”

Their gazes locked, stubborn determination in their eyes, and for a moment each one of them silently watched the other, as if trying to establish who would yield first. The air between them grew tense, but neither moved, neither flinched, their expressions hardening with every passing second. “We’ll see,” James said finally, standing up. “I have my half of the land to take care of. We’ll see if you really are as cool as you think you are.”

He left, slamming the door behind him, and Titch was left on the couch by himself, watching him depart with a stern expression. Derek walked into the room almost immediately after James left, looking over his shoulder at James’ tense figure. “What’s up with him?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“That is James in a nutshell, right there,” Titch waved his hand, rolling his jaw and keeping in his mind that none of that is worth his nerves. “Acting like a baby because daddy forbid him to play football and asked him to do something useful once in a lifetime,” he muttered under his breath, and he would’ve said more, but a sound of a notification dragged him out of his thoughts. He took out his phone and turned it on, looking at the message.

“It seems Lady Margery has something for us,” he noted, typing in the response. “I think we have to go to her tent now, because this looks really interesting,” he switched his attention back to Derek, “What do you say?”

“Sure, I’d love to visit her!” Derek smiled. “What did she write?”

“Something about finding a customer for the farm and cooking some ‘huge deal’ for me. I have to check it out: father just told me we need a client.”

It would be a huge success if he managed to find a buyer, especially now, with the harvest just about to start. The timing couldn’t be better. Plus, how good it would feel to rub this in James’ face!.. James, who always thought he was smarter, cooler, wittier than everyone around him, could really use some humbling, and Titch was eager to work as much as needed and go to the end of the earth just to find that success and stick it to James. That’s why, not even ten minutes passed before the two of them were already at Lady Margery’s tent.

“Oooh, you’re quick, boy,” she drawled in her usual lazy manner, letting him and Derek inside and returning to the cauldron in which some brew was steaming. “That’s even better that way, I won’t have to keep this all in mind for much longer... As I had just texted, I found something promising for you. Aubergine-wise.”

“Well, what is it?” Titch asked impatiently, but the witch shot him a withering look.

“Hold your horses, alright? Sit down, relax, take a swig of that whiskey right there on the counter... let me finish making the potion.”

Just when Titch moved towards the counter—more out of the pure habit of obeying the old witch than because he was actually considering drinking—he heard a soft rustling of clothes from the depths of the tent, and a tall, menacing figure stepped out of the darkness.

“So this is your protégé, Margery,” a deep voice drawled, and Titch felt the man’s eyes piercing him to the depth of his soul. “Titch, is it?”

“Oh god,” Derek muttered behind his shoulder, backing away a little, but Titch gestured him to stay calm.

“Yes, I’m Titch,” he said, walking towards the man, who, apparently, was in the tent for this whole time and whom, probably, Lady Margery meant when she was speaking about ‘a promising buyer’. “And who am I speaking to?”

“Officer Blake Lively.” That was the most vicious way to present oneself Titch has ever heard. He looked at the man up and down, wondering if he always sounds that brutal or if he was just trying (unsuccessfully) to intimidate him.

“Hold on,” Derek muttered, now taking a suddenly brave step forward and studying the officer suspiciously. “I know you! You’re from , uuum... Make-A-Wish Foundation, aren’t you? I saw you in the news, I think...”

“Not just ‘a’ Foundation,” officer raised his chin proudly, now looking even taller and definitely and posing serious competition to Derek in height. “An Evil Foundation, mind that.”

“Yep,” Lady Margery said from near her cauldron, still busy stirring whatever she had there with a determined expression, even though the liquid inside was already bubbling, and the steam was getting heavier and heavier. “Blake here contacted me, asked if I had something for him, because one of their kids, apparently, wished for an Everest of aubergines or something... anyway, I told him I’ve got just what he needs,” she winked at Titch, who observed the conversation with a cold calculation in his mind. This man looked like he knew what he was doing, and Lady Margery read people like opened books, so she was rarely mistaken. If she thought this was the buyer...

“How many aubergines are we talking, exactly?” he asked, crossing his arms on his chest and leaning on the table behind him.

“Oh, thousands,” the officer said, his eyes flickering with a dangerous sparkle, and taking a small bite off the candy cigarette he was holding between his fingers. “Two or three truckloads at least.”

“That’s a fine amount,” Titch hummed, squinting and trying to understand what was on this man’s mind. ‘Evil Make-A-Wish Foundation’ did not sound like something reliable, yet this man seemed so sure of himself.

“But seriously, Margery, I don’t think this guy has that much,” the officer said, turning to her and pointing at Titch with a scornful smirk.

“Excuse me!” Derek exclaimed, stepping towards him and looking indignant. “If I were you, I’d set my records straight, officer, because our farm-”

Margery turned towards them from her cauldron, watching the upcoming fight with a cautious gaze. Titch shot a quick look at the man, whose eyes were now glowing greedily, catching every Derek’s word. Oh fuck, he was bluffing. He was bluffing, he just wanted to get as much information out of them as possible, before making his final move. Not on Titch’s watch, he won’t. Titch darted forward and tapped Derek on the shoulder lightly, signalling him to stop bragging.

“Hold on, Derek,” he said, his tone calm but deliberate. He stepped closer, just enough to hold the man’s attention, a subtle, confident smile on his lips. “If thousands of aubergines were truly your interest, officer, I’d imagine you’d already know exactly what we have in stock. Wouldn’t you agree?”

His eyes glinted, now fixated directly on Titch, and he loomed over him with a clear threat in his whole demeanour. “I prefer to see first-hand what I’m working with,” he drawled, taking another bite on his candy cigarette.

“Oh, we’re certainly not one for rumours, isn’t that right, Derek?” Titch said smoothly, tilting his head. “But I’m sure you’d be willing to pay the right price to verify our supply first-hand. After all, two or three truckloads is no small order.”

The officer crossed his arms, considering. “I’d be inclined to pay a fair price,” he said, arching a brow. “Assuming you’re not overestimating your stock.”

Derek opened his mouth to protest, but Titch silenced him with a brief, knowing glance. He then turned back to Blake, his smile polite but unyielding. “Assuming you can meet our standard rate,” he said, his tone icy, and Lady Margery chuckled from her seat, “we could certainly provide you with the quantity.”

Titch noticed how Derek went silent, watching this weird back-and-forth with a tense expression, and he suppressed the urge to take his hand softly and hold for the rest of the conversation.

Not now. Not today. Not fucking ever.

The officer folded his hands behind his back as he paced in a small circle, clearly weighing his options. “Now, that depends,” he replied, feigning indifference, “on whether your standard rate allows room for charitable endeavours. After all, our foundation is ultimately here to support the kids. Surely, you wouldn’t deny them the best price?”

That cocky prick.

“Of course,” Titch agreed with the same polite smile, doing his best to keep his tone light but cool. “But ‘best price’ doesn’t mean undervaluing our product, does it? If we go down on the price, there’s no guarantee of consistency. And you wouldn’t want to disappoint the kid, would you?”

Blake’s smile slipped, his eyes narrowing in thought. Titch used that moment to shoot a quick glance at Lady Margery, who kept stirring the cauldron with a leisurely hand and pretending her potion was taking all of her attention. However, when Titch’s eyes settled on her, she gave him a small nod.

“Fine,” Blake said finally. “Perhaps we start with one truckload at standard rate, to prove your capabilities.” He watched Titch intently, but Titch was careful enough to stay motionless and nonchalant. “If you manage, we can discuss the full order.”

Titch resisted a satisfied smile. “One truckload at the agreed rate,” he said, nodding. “And once we exceed your expectations – which we will – we’ll discuss the full price for the rest.”

The man offered his hand. “Agreed.”

As Titch accepted the handshake, he could feel the lingering tension, each of them subtly reinforcing their stake in the deal. When Blake finally released his grip, he shot a final appraising look at Titch, his smirk returning. “Well played,” he murmured, before turning and striding out.

Lady Margery laughed, watching Blake depart. “Well, well, well,” she said, grinning as she finally stopped stirring the brew. “Little wolf’s got teeth, does he! I knew you’d find a way to keep him in line,” she said, winking at Titch. “Now just don’t mess this up, aye? I suppose he’ll send the contracts some time during the week. I guess I’ll just send you a message when he does.”

“What the hell was that about?” Derek asked demandingly, looking from Titch to Margery and back. “I’ve seen you making deals before, it wasn’t even close to that madness that happened just now! It looked like you two were fighting rather than making a settlement.”

“That’s the point,” Margery muttered taking a slurp of the draught from her cauldron, wincing and giving it another sharp stir. Derek gave her a confused look.

“He was trying to intimidate me,” Titch elaborated, now pacing back and forth across the tent. “You saw how he was. ‘Oh, I’m the officer, oh, I’m from the Evil Foundation’! He wanted to have it cheap and fast, and I’m not giving him that. I want my profit too, he’s a huge fish to catch after all. Evil Foundation, goddamn it, Margery, that some dangerous game you got me into,” he added, and the witch laughed once again.

“Thrilling, is it? I just happen to know him, he calls me sometimes, you know, for business. I usually have the stuff that he needs. This time was no different. The man calls and asks if I happen to know any golden aubergine mines, and I know just the boy for the job!” she beamed at Titch.

Titch grinned at her. “We’ll be on our way then. Text me when he sends those contracts.”

Derek seemed absent-minded and silent on their way home, and when Titch asked him what was going on, he just shrugged. “Still got a lot to learn, that’s all,” he said seriously. “I would never handle that man the way you did.”

“Well, it just takes practise,” Titch said, shifting his shoulder slightly. “You’ll figure it all out, don’t worry. You’re already awesome, you know that? It’s just never too late to become perfect,” he smiled at Derek and got a smile back – the wonderful soft smile only Derek could give him.

..His mood got worse drastically the moment they walked through the farm gates, because James was standing on the front porch, talking to Philipp with the cockiest expression on his face.

“Oh! Look at that, if it isn’t my know-it-all brother,” he noted coldly, looking at Titch with a sizzling gaze. “How’s it going, li’l bro? Found something interesting?”

Why was he like that, a thought swirled in Titch’s head, while he scanned James from head to toe. He obviously did something while Titch was away, and he now needed to know what it was, because whatever could make James look like THAT wasn’t promising any good.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Titch said in the same cold manner, deciding to play along.

“Well, I bet it’s not as good as mine. Me and my assistant here,” James nodded and Philipp, “got something that’s really going to blow your mind,” he smirked, and Titch meanwhile noticed the quick ‘I’m-sorry’ glances Derek and Philipp exchanged.

“Well what is it?”

“We got a buyer.”

“And who’s your buyer?”

“Make-A-Wish Foundation,” James declared proudly, looking at Titch up and down. “Pretty fucking huge, huh? Not every day that you get a client like that.”

No. Fucking. Way. He had the Good Foundation on his side now? What the fuck was going on at Make-A-Wish, Titch thought irritably, has everyone gone crazy about aubergines over there?! Well, if that’s the case, they might as well be honest with each other. He looked James straight in the eyes and told him about Margery’s idea.

“The thing is,” he said after finishing his story, “I’m not worrying about my client, because, you see...” he gestured towards the fields, “my part of land is thriving. So the Evil Foundation is all covered. And you’ll have to work way harder to get at least half of the Good guys’ truck filled with aubergines, hm?” he gave him a smirk. James rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see,” was all he said before gesturing to Philipp that this conversation is over and they were leaving. Titch watched both of them walk into the house without taking his eyes off James’ tense figure, than he exhaled slowly, brushing his hand against his eyes forcefully.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered under his breath. “He’s gonna try and win this thing from me, I know him.”

“Well,” Derek said quietly, stepping closer to him, “at least this time you’ve got me, right? I’ll do whatever I can for us to make this deal work.”

“You know,” Titch said slowly, considering every word, “for the first time in my life I actually have confidence in someone besides myself.” He gave Derek a pat on the shoulder and walked into the house after James.

Chapter Text

When Derek was told that the harvesting time was the most important time of the year, he imagined lots of things. He imagined a couple of hours being added to his working time. Maybe a larger list of responsibilities being handed to him. Maybe Titch getting more irritable than during the usual days: as Derek had come to learn already, that was one of Titch’s responses to the pressure he was getting from his father. But his imagination could never fully visualise to him how things would actually be. Because with all the thoughts and predictions about the harvest, one significant detail slipped from his mind. He was working for Titch.

“How would it impact your work if you’d get up, say, half an hour earlier?” Titch asked Derek seriously after texting him to get to his office. “I know it’s hard for you, but I will need you on the fields. James is irresponsible and clearly is determined to prove himself in front of father, so he’s no help at all. The best I can do is to make sure he’s working, but judging by the looks he gives me whenever I walk by, he WILL work just to stick it to me.”

“That’s one thing you two have in common,” Derek muttered, withstanding Titch’s piercing gaze. He was immune to it by now, and while Titch could literally hypnotise all the other people on the farm with his sight – apart from his father and, maybe, James – Derek was now able to stoically endure its intensity without as much as a blink.

“Anyway,” Titch said firmly, “about the timing. I can give you a raise to compensate for that extra half-an-hour. Thirty percent, let’s say,” his glasses were already on his face, and he was looking through the records with a focused expression, completely caught up in the action.

“Woah, Titch, wait,” Derek said, interrupting his calculations, “that’s some wrong direction your thoughts are taking. I don’t need the extra payment. I’m totally fine with what you’re paying me now.”

Titch arched his brow in surprise, although the rest of his face stayed motionless. “Oh. Really?”

“Well yeah!” Derek said, not sure if he was amused by Titch’s enthusiasm to pay him more or indignant that Titch thought his main priority was money. “I mean, I did need the raises and stuff before, but not now. Not after all the times we’ve had...” his voice wavered slightly, but he regained his confidence quite quickly. “What I’m saying is: it’s fine, I’ll do my best regardless of the income.”

“And you will wake up half-an-hour earlier,” Titch stated, looking at him with disbelief. Derek paused for a moment, thinking it over.

“Will we keep our ten-minute-breaks?” he asked, shooting him a sly look.

“Hmmm, so that’s the game you’re playing,” Titch noted, leaning back in his chair and rocking it thoughtfully with his feet. “I actually didn’t think I’d have time for that during harvest...”

“Well of course, the harvest, how could I forget,” Derek muttered, rolling his eyes, and Titch laughed.

“Fine, I’ll give you your ten minutes.”

“Then I will get up earlier.”

Which was easy to promise and much harder to do. The first day the harvest started, Derek forced himself not to snooze the alarm, but to actually turn it off, get up and drag himself to the field. He felt sleepy, however, for barely ten minutes after that, because Titch turned out to be absolutely relentless and uncompromising when it came to the harvest.

“Alright, people, you do the job I’m giving you, you do it quick, you do it good. Three trucks are coming here by the end of the week, and they are leaving this place cracking with aubergines. Jemima, Edgar, you two are responsible for the crates. Brian, watering systems. Jonathan, stacking and loading. Derek, please, look alive,” he chided as Derek yawned, risking serious injury to his jaw. “Do you need coffee? I can bring you coffee.”

“God, I’m fine,” Derek muttered, completely overwhelmed with Titch’s energy.

“Good. You’re not leaving my sight, is that clear? I call you – you need to show up that very second and help. Same goes for the rest of you,” he looked around the crowd with a hawk-like gaze and clapped his hands together. “That’s it. Move, move, move!”

And the day swirled before Derek’s eyes. Whatever he was imagining to himself as a ‘strict schedule’ couldn’t even come close to the reality Titch made him face. Because Titch was on the fields at the first ray of sun; he worked three times harder than everyone else and, in addition, somehow was managing to control every little process around him. Derek, who was constantly by his side as was ordered, observed more than once how Titch was able to juggle all the tasks assigned to him. People came to him for advice, assignments or guidance, and Titch took everyone into consideration. He was inexorable. He didn’t stop, didn’t rest, didn’t even seem to breathe properly—orders, instructions, delegations flowed from his lips incessantly. Derek got caught in the hurricane of the mad rhythm this farm was now living in.

Every task, every role, every minute seemed to be plotted out to precision. Derek soon enough realised he was so worn out after the day that he didn’t have the energy to think of anything else other than sleep. He considered himself to be pretty tough, but somehow he wasn’t prepared enough for this new one-week period of his life.

Another harsh realisation he had to face was how firm and uncompromising Titch could be. For a person so tiny and fragile he was an absolute force. He was everywhere at once, overseeing every corner of the field, catching the smallest mistakes, and snapping corrections before anyone had time to think.

“I know it’s early, Poppy, it still doesn’t give you the right to do your job half-way,” Derek, standing near while Titch reprimanded his fellow colleague, barely had time to understand the meaning of the words. It was really early, and yet they had already managed to mess up the sorting of aubergines. “These. Crates. Are all. LABELED. The label right here says ‘premium’. Does THIS look like premium?!” Titch snatched a greenish and unripe aubergine out of the crate.

“It’s just one aubergine,” she argued, but Titch was having none of it.

“I don’t care how many aubergines, Poppy! You’re not on a sheep farm anymore; I want you to live up to my standards. Same goes for everyone at your sector. Derek, I’m going to ask you to- Derek, don’t sleep, please!” he snapped his fingers irritably, because Derek was half-asleep and still wasn’t understanding half of the conversation. “I want you to write this crate into the incident log and carry it over there, to the warehouse right at the corner, we’ll repack it later... Derek, now!”

He flinched towards the crates sharply. While it was still taking time for him to process what he was told to do, it was obvious Titch didn’t want any more delays. It got better as the day was going by, but no matter how hard everyone on the farm tried, they still seemed to be too slow, too stupid and too flawed for Titch.

“I can see you’re tired,” Titch told Derek during his not-so-willing break Derek practically begged him to take for the whole day. “And I’m sorry. But we have to just get through this. Last year – oh, last year it wasn’t even half as much of work, you know. It was like a fucking holiday...” he muttered, looking towards the fields for a second. “However, this year is my revanche, Derek. We just can’t blow such a chance.”

“I know,” Derek said simply. “I can live like that for a week or two, so it’s fine.”

...yeah, he spoke to soon. No more than an hour after their conversation, Derek was already hurrying across the rows of aubergines towards Titch and James, who were shouting at each other at the top of their lungs. He couldn’t hear their exact words from such distance, but the two brothers were standing in the middle of the field, right where the imaginary line dividing the land into two parts was, and it looked like they were fighting specifically because of the land.

Derek tried to make out what was going on, but the wind rustling in his ears was the only thing he could hear. And the workers around him whispering and even making comments out loud weren’t helping at all.

“What’s going on?” Derek asked when he was walking past Philipp, who stood near the watering systems and observed everything indifferently with a sandwich in his hand.

“I think James tried to encroach on Titch’s part of land a little, and they started fighting,” Philipp informed him, shrugging and taking a bite of his sandwich.

“Over the land?” Derek asked, mildly surprised. “That is so stupid.”

“Whatever keeps me off work for at least five minutes,” he heard Jemima’s muttering, as she walked past them, typing something in her phone. “Honestly, Titch is a machine, where does this man get the energy from.”

“Yeah, she’s right,” Philipp said, nodding at Titch and James’ direction. “At least they got off our backs for a few minutes.”

“I thought James was easier on you than Titch is on us?” Derek asked. Philipp was James’ assistant and probably knew how things were on the other side of the land.

“Well, he used to be, sure. But they have some kind of rivalry with each other, and he wants to win pretty badly,” Philipp explained.

“I better go look what’s going on there,” Derek muttered, continuing his way towards Titch.

“-she slaps me whenever I walk by her!”

“That’s because you call her Old Lady Margery! She sixty-two, she doesn’t like it!”

“Well, since you’re so smart and, apparently, best friends with her, maybe I should just give you my bit of land and go?!”

“Maybe you fucking should! Sick of you wandering around with nothing useful on your mind.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really, James. You wanna go – go! I’m not holding you!”

Derek could see James stick his shovel into the ground and walk away from Titch without looking twice at him. He stormed past Derek as if he didn’t notice him, walked into the house and slammed the door behind him.

“Titch!” Derek called, approaching him and pointing at the direction James left. “What was that all about? That was harsh.”

“He deserved it,” Titch said, thinning his lips and looking suddenly exhausted. “I’m fucking done with him acting like he’s the saint one, while I’m the one dragging this business by myself.”

“Yeah, but you told him to leave.”

“Yeah, well, I hope he will fucking leave.”

It was unreal how a short yet feisty fight could change a man. Titch, the same Titch who could and did work for days in a row without ever looking tired of it, now slouched, hid his face in his palms and stayed silent for a second, visibly trying to pull himself together. He breathed out slowly and took his hands off his face, and Derek suddenly saw his fingers were trembling.

“Hey. Titch. Titch,” he hurried to step closer and carefully touched him on the elbow, “it will be fine. I will talk to James, explain to him everything. You don’t have to worry that much-”

“I am not. Worrying,” Titch said quietly, blanching even more now. “I don’t care what my failure of a brother does, Derek. Luckily, I have more important things to do with my life.” His voice, dangerously low and insipid, made Derek back away slightly.

“But really, it would make you feel better if you talked things over-”

“I’m fine. Now find yourself something useful to do, or I will, Derek.”

That was the end of that conversation. A change of the topic and a worn out ‘I’m fine’, as if those words meant anything anymore. Because no matter how many times Titch would lie to himself that he was fine, Derek could see he really-really was not. Derek didn’t insist on anything further that day, but he could see Titch’s eyes sparkling with that feverish fire that could only mean he was on the verge of shattering. And that stubborn man did not under any circumstances want to accept any help, Derek thought angrily, going towards the house and now determined to find James.

He ran into James at the staircase: James seemed to just be walking towards the kitchen, now looking much calmer than before, but still visibly sad. “Derek,” he said, stopping at the sight of him.

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked carefully, his eyes running across his whole figure. He noticed a bag in James’ hand, and furrowed, “you’re not actually leaving, are you, James?”

“Yes, I am,” James said, feigning indifference. “If he doesn’t want me here, I’m not staying for one second longer.”

“But- But I want you here!” Derek argued, following him to the kitchen. “I mean, that has to count for something, right?”

“Sorry, Derek, but that’s my final decision,” James said, now fumbling over the tables around. “Hey, do you know what food we’ve got? I need something for the trip, you know.”

Derek, feeling absolutely crushed, looked around the kitchen. “Well, I roasted some aubergines today, if you’d like some...”

“I’d love some. Thanks. So... see you,” he moved uncomfortably from one foot to another. “Tell Titch... nah, don’t tell him anything. Let the man drown in his aubergines for the rest of his life.”

He left the house without saying much more, promising to text Derek once he decided on something concrete. The day kept moving its natural course, and in about twenty minutes Derek didn’t have the time to think about James or the recent fight anymore: tasks were falling at him from all sources. Titch sent him a text from the completely opposite side of the field, asking to bring more crates. His colleague, Geoffrey, caught him half-way to inform him that major part of the east sector – for which James was responsible, by the way - was took over by weed, and they now had to stop the harvest there and weed the ground before it had gotten worse. Soon after that Jemima walked up to Derek with the news that one of the watering sprinkles broke, and Derek would have to order a new one as soon as possible. Derek began looking through the closest online shops on his phone almost immediately, and Titch, who walked towards him to take the crates from him, scolded him for being on the phone during his working hours.

By the end of the first shift Derek was already so worn out he just slumped on the chair at the terrace with an irresistible desire to stay motionless and vegetate for the rest of the day. But unfortunately, this was harvesting season, so he had at best half an hour before he had to return back to work.

“Derek, I really hope I can give you that first shift off tomorrow,” Titch said, walking up to him with two dinner-plates in his hands.

“It’s my job to bring us dinner,” Derek said, barely moving his tongue, which now felt stiff and enormous in his mouth. Titch merely gestured him to drop it and put the plates on the coffee table.

“Here. Eat this, and just work half-strength for the rest of the day, alright?” he asked, his voice soft. Derek smiled at him.

“How the hell do you still have the energy,” he slurred, picking lazily at his cereal.

“I’ll be tired as hell when this all is over,” Titch shrugged, as if they were talking about something distant and unimportant. “I just can’t be tired now; who would take care of all this otherwise,” he pointed at the fields, and his face suddenly went white. “What the fuck...” he whispered, his eyes darting from one side of the land to the other. Derek also looked in that direction. The land looked just as usual to him at first, and only when he took a moment to actually observe he realised what took Titch’s trained eye a second to notice. The land looked... emptier. Not much emptier, but it looked like at least one third of what they had in the morning just... vanished. Titch slowly got up from his seat and stopped on the edge of the terrace, the fields stretching before him.

“What is happening,” he breathed out, unable to take his eyes off the fields. “It changed, Derek. It is... changing... right fucking now. Do you see it?”

“I see it has gotten emptier,” Derek said, also getting up to have a better look at the land.

“Well, I fucking see it gets worse and worse with each moment. There,” Titch pointed at one corner, where Derek could already see the black patches where aubergine bushes used to be. “And there.” This time it was a different part of land, also black instead of green and purple, and meanwhile Derek could swear this particular side was thriving with their premium aubergines just an hour ago. “And there too- I fucking see them disappear, Derek!”

“Oh god,” Derek whispered, watching the field with more and more blank spaces here and there. A sudden gust of wind whipped across the porch and rushed across the fields, making the rare leaves on the bushes rustle uncomfortably. Titch stood with his face unreadable, eyes fixated on the crops, thin lips pressed firmly together, and before him lay emptying fields.

To Titch’s honour: he did not let panic take over. Derek was watching with admiration as Titch shoved whatever horror he had in himself as back into his mind as possible. He could practically see the inner struggle being suppressed and locked somewhere as far away as possible, when Titch, still pale and tense, gestured him to follow him to the fields.

The workers, who also returned for their second shifts, were standing in between the rows, murmuring something to one another in hushed voices. Titch clapped his palms together, drawing their attention. “Alright, people!” he said loudly but confidently, making Derek stare at him with even bigger surprise. The ability of this man to take control over the situation was unmatched. “We can all see that something happened to the land. I still have to figure this out. Maybe we didn’t observe the ground closely, maybe we haven’t hardened the seedlings well enough. Maybe the fertilizer is the problem. I don’t know; I will find out. In the meanwhile we still have a harvest to collect and clients to deal with. So please, everybody, back to work, and this time I’m going to ask you to work to your fullest. I’m sorry, Derek,” he added, lowering his voice and watching the workers spreading around the land, “I don’t see how I can let you off work for tomorrow’s shift. I will need you here.”

“I will be here,” Derek said quietly, also watching the now black and green fields with almost no signs of purple. When the day passed, he walked into Titch’s office, with their chat opened in his phone.

“What is it?”

“Margery texted me just now,” he said, gesturing Derek to close the door behind him. “Says the contracts got to her tent today. I will need you to go there tomorrow and take those for me. How does that sound?”

“You mean, we’re still sticking with the deal,” Derek clarified, furrowing.

Titch nodded. “I think we still can.”

“But... have you seen our losses?”

“Half of what we had is gone – I did the calculations myself, and we are pretty fucked. But I’m still going forward with the deal. It’s not every day that you get an offer from Make-A-Wish.”

“I’m not sure it’s the best idea,” Derek said, still feeling a little uneasy. “I mean, how could half of the yield just disappear like that?..”

“That’s what I will find out one of these days,” Titch said seriously. “Obviously, someone did that, and I will figure out how to fix this. I will just need you to take care of the rest. We’re signing the contracts, Derek.”

Derek could object no longer.

The first task on Derek’s list next day was to go and pick up those papers from Lady Margery’s tent. He didn’t even have the time to make breakfast properly as usual, he just took a quick bite of the toast, a sip of tea, took the folder for the contracts and went out of the house before even Titch, who usually woke up earlier than everyone else, came into the kitchen.

Fresh morning wind hit his face the second he stepped across the porch. Derek took a deep inhale and closed his eyes for a second. As much as he would love to spend at least three more hours in the bed, there was something atmospheric in the early walks like this one. He had to cross the whole farm in order to get on the main road, and when he finally got to the fields – abandoned and sleepy as it was indeed very early – he had to stop for a second. Foggy waves stretched all the way to the horizon. They covered the rare sprouts that were still there and wrapped Derek up to his waist in a swirling bluish haze. The sun was just starting to rise, and here and there the blue tones of the fog mixed with the scarlet shades of the rising rays. Derek froze and looked in fascination as the bright scarlet disk rose above the fields. At that moment, he was more than ever glad that he decided to apply for a farmer’s vacancy. When would he have seen such beauty in the city?..

Derek shot a quick glance at his watch and hurried away from the field, towards the fence. He pushed the gates and they squeaked quietly in the morning silence. Derek stopped by the gates and looked around, trying to recall which way to go next. He only was at Lady Margery’s once, and that time Titch was showing him the way. Plus, they were in such hurry Derek wasn’t exactly memorizing the path. If he remembered correctly, though, they went to the left, so Derek did precisely that. He went a few miles down the road and he had to turn a little bit right into the woods, because it seemed like the shortest path.

Derek’s footsteps made almost no sound on the forest floor, muffled by the thick layer of fallen leaves and moss that blanketed the ground. The further he walked, the thicker the mist became, weaving between the trunks. It hovered low, wrapping around his ankles like the fog in the fields had, though here it seemed almost alive—moving with the wind, curling around trees, fading and reforming in the soft light.

A shaft of sunlight broke through the trees ahead, illuminating a small clearing where bluebells bloomed in quiet clusters. Everything felt so far away—the fields, the road, the farm, even Titch’s voice in his head urging him to hurry. Derek followed a narrow path until he saw a huge blue tree standing in the middle of a clearing. The tree rustled quietly under the blows of wind, and only when Derek approached closer he saw a big flower growing on its trunk. For a moment there Derek felt an unexplainable desire to approach it. To touch it just for a moment, or maybe rip it altogether and see what happens. He drove that feeling away and hurried to cross the clearing as fast as was possible.

When he finally saw a big dark tent amongst the trees, he sighed with relief and hurried towards it.

“Um... Lady Margery?” he called awkwardly, standing outside the tent and not daring to walk inside unannounced. “Lady Margery, it’s me, Derek! I’m here for the papers.”

“She’s not home yet, you vill have to vait,” he heard an insinuating little voice from inside. The voice had a strong German accent. “You may come, of course. Vait here for her, ja?”

It didn’t feel like he should trust that voice, and Derek backed away from the entrance a little.

“Um, where are you exactly?” he asked into the emptiness, feeling slightly faint.

“Oh, I am everyvhere,” the voice whispered right behind his ear, and he felt soft paws gripping his shoulder tightly from behind. Derek turned sharply, but there was nobody there. The grip now moved closer towards his neck and became at least two times stronger. Derek took a sharp breath and flinched away from that spot, trying to break free.

“Let me go!” he gasped, almost choking, while the grip was only getting steelier.

“You heard the boy, let him the fuck go,” he heard a sharp command from the left, and the paws unclenched from his neck. Derek coughed, swaying away, and almost knocked Lady Margery off her feet, as she had walked into the clearing, taking the airbuds out of her ears with one hand, and with a bottle of something clear in the other.

“What- was that?!” Derek choked, breathing heavily and still feeling the finger- or, rather, paw-prints all over his neck.

“Ah, my pet chinchilla, nothing much,” the witch waved her hand. “Sorry, I was planning to snip it, but, you know, haven’t had the right moment yet... Get in, get in,” she hurried Derek, holding the side of the tent open for him. “Don’t let the mosquitoes in, aye?”

“What are you doing having an unsnipped chinchilla in your tent?!” Derek asked indignantly, walking inside and trying to adjust his gaze to the morning fog that swirled around the tent. The tent was dark itself, and the bluish waves of fog made it look even more mystical. “That’s against the law, you know that?”

“Weeell, do I look like I give a fuck?” the witch asked, turning to him and spreading her hands wide.

“Oh you’re right,” Derek said sarcastically, still massaging his neck. “You sell drugs; probably exchange unlicensed devices; you own an unsnipped chinchilla; what else?”

“That witch-finder general would give anything to get his clippers on me too,” Margery added, placing the bottle she brought with her on the counter and sticking a label on it, that Derek believed was read as ‘morning dew’.

“Aren’t you scared?” Derek asked, because the witch-finder general sounded even scarier than normal police. Margery shrugged.

“In two and a half thousand years he hadn’t once caught me,” she said simply. “And meanwhile my business here is thriving and flourishing. Look at that,” she handed him the airbud case she was holding, “got from a client yesterday. Pretty nice, huh?”

“Yeah,” Derek had to admit, because it was the last model, and from a pretty reliable brand, too. “Anyway, I came for the contracts...”

“Ah, the contracts,” Margery nodded and began rummaging through all the countless things she had on the counter. “Alright, that’s the... letter of complaint to Fedex, nope, not it... Oh, another one,” her eyes darted across the lines of piece of paper, “yep, that coffee was indeed not hot enough, fifty years had passed and I still wait for that coffee-shop to be closed for good... Oh, this must be it!” she snatched another document from the pile. “Aubergine-selling contract, Somerset to Make-A-Wish, exactly. Here you go, boy,” she handed in to Derek. “Oh by the way,” she said, taking her eyes off the papers in front of her, “Titch’s brother was here, did you know? Just yesterday, yeah,” she said, her eyes suddenly focused and intent. “What happened over there? The two of them had a tiff or what?”

“Well, they did, actually,” Derek said, “I suppose it makes sense he came here... If I were to be kicked out of the house, this would probably be where I’d go too, to be honest.”

“Aaah, the kid was kicked out! What for?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe Titch over-reacted, and maybe James really did something – I wasn’t there.”

“Well, in any case,” Margery said, her eyes blazing at Derek, “for all I know, he got back to the farm, and he has some kind of plan, so you just keep an eye on him, yeah? I told him to be careful, but I highly doubt he actually will.”

Chapter Text

“Jade! You mad?”
“I AM A LITTLE BIT ANNOYED, YEAH!”
~ From

“I. Am not. Worrying.” Those words, ruthless and sharp, hung between him and Derek, and Titch could swear he saw Derek’s eyes flashing hurt, but he didn’t say a word about it. He didn’t dare to press or say anything further, yet Titch could see he was not convinced. God damn it, Titch wasn’t convinced himself that what he said was true.

He had reached the point where he couldn’t tell if he was hurting or not. Constant work was wearing him out, hour after hour draining his strength, and after nearly a full week on his feet, he didn’t have any energy left for something as subtle as emotions.

Derek turned and went after James into the house, and Titch felt the heat of the moment slowly going away. He wasn’t angry anymore. He was just... tired. He continued walking along the rows, giving orders, talking to people, who came to him from different corners either asking for his advice, opinion or help. He listened, considered, replied back, once or twice even showed how something was done – at first to Jimmy, who was new here, if he recalled correctly, and then to Poppy, because that one was still adjusting to the aubergine and not sheep farm. And he managed to do all of that, suppressing the uprising dizziness that was slowly taking over him. He ignored the way his hands began to tremble and the way everything was shifting slightly before his eyes.

He wasn’t tired, he lied to himself, being fully aware that he was lying. He had no right to be tired or weak, not now, not during the harvest. He’ll have time for all that nonsense later, when the yielding is over, and they have their monthly break. Then – maybe – he’ll take some earned rest.

On the other hand, he really hoped he would be able to give Derek some more rest, because, while Derek stoically kept his positions as the main assistant, Titch could see he was getting more and more tired with each day. He was almost as much in the epicentre of the harvest as Titch himself, because he was ‘second to captain’ here, as James would say, and if people weren’t coming to Titch for help, Derek was their second choice.

Titch responded to every person who would reach out to him, yet his mind wouldn’t go off James’ case. They haven’t fought – a real serious fight – in so long Titch had already forgotten what that felt like. Heart-breaking. As if he hadn’t got enough on his plate already, with Derek present in his mind twenty four per seven.

Titch stopped by the pile of crates waiting to be moved into the barn and gestured Jemima to stop talking. She fell silent in the middle of her explanation about how exactly the watering sprinkle broke, and Titch closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts together.

He should apologise to James.

No, he fucking should not! James did try to encroach on his bit of land, while he had his own side of which, as he stated earlier, he could totally take care himself.

But Titch told him to leave.

“I can come later, if it’s a bad time,” Jemima said, after observing his struggles for several more moments.

“No, no, please, continue.” He’s a professional. He’s responsible for all that was around him. He couldn’t just ditch people that needed his instructions.

He should apologise to James.

That thought stayed in his mind for the rest of the shift, and while Titch kept fulfilling his responsibilities, he did throw an occasional look or two at the door of the farmhouse, hoping that maybe, just maybe James would show up and they could talk once again. Sort things out. They always had the rivalry going on, especially during the harvesting season, but Titch never meant it when he said he wanted James gone...

All the thoughts about James left his head when he took a look towards the fields and realised they were emptying. Derek may not have noticed it all at once, but Titch knew every fucking leave and fruit on that field, and most of them were not there. His vision was still pretty fucked, but there were black patches of land where, just an hour ago, purple aubergines had been lying, ready to be collected and sold.

It took Titch all the courage and self-discipline he could muster in order to calm down and keep himself in line. He forced his mind to think logical for once, to stop the panic among the workers and at least collect whatever they had left on the ground. But one thing he knew for sure: something happened to his land.

He went around the field, inspecting the earth (which looked just the same as before) and the plants (which now looked sick and wobbly), and he couldn’t come up with any explanation at all regarding to what was happening. With a last effort of will, he forced his voice to sound calm and confident when he gathered all the workers in the evening to give them instructions.

“Someone is clearly messing with this business. And until I find out who it is and how to stop them, you people do NOT talk to anyone outside this firm,” he said, glancing around the group to make sure everyone got the message. “I don’t care if it’s a simple text or a phone-call. This is serious. If I find out one of you talked and this whole situation became public – I will personally make sure this person doesn’t work for me anymore. Is that clear? Especially you, Derek,” he whispered, when the two of them were heading towards the farmhouse, “you are my personal assistant, please, do not tell anyone that this is happening yet. I still hope I can fix it.”

“Of course,” Derek said firmly, looking him straight in the eyes. “Not that I have someone to tell anyway, but you can trust me either way.”

By the start of next day Titch was so worn out he felt like he was about to collapse right on the floor when he got out of bed. He walked across the room, barely able to navigate between the furniture, and slumped against the sink, trying to catch his breath. Everything was disappearing. Everything he had, everything he had worked so hard for, it was all vaporising into dust with no logical explanation, and Titch was simply left to watch it all go away. Helpless. Once again, helpless. Just like he was after that stupid hospital.

And then the whole day spiralled before his eyes in such speed he was barely managing to fully understand what was happening. Derek came from Lady Margery’s and told him that James, apparently, stopped at her tent for something after he left the house. Titch have seen James somewhere on the farm territory, but he figured he won’t come apologising first. And now it was clear that James had some sort of plan.

Titch was barely able to suppress his silent indignation as he moved Derek from his way with his hand, walked across the house and stopped by the west window, his eyes fixated to the green and purple colours that stretched all across James’ part of land. Air stuck in his throat and he froze, feeling chills going down his whole body as he realised what had probably happened.

“Titch, I- I think he did this,” Derek said quietly behind him, also watching the fields through the window. “She helped him in some way, and he flipped the sides.”

“Stay here,” Titch said, his voice low and steady.

Titch didn't recall how he'd even left the house; he only knew the rage that quickened his steps, winding his way over the damp grass to Margery's tent. “Lady Margery?” he called, seconds away from storming inside without any invitation. The only thing that was stopping him was the thought that this was Lady Margery, and he had to talk this out with her first before acting disrespectful.

“Come in, come in,” she chirped, casual as if this was any ordinary visit.

With a single exhale, Titch stepped into the dimly lit tent, and any attempt at pleasantries dissolved as soon as his eyes locked onto her. “You swapped the sides, haven’t you,” he said, his voice cold, and crossed his arms on his chest. “You swapped the sides and made all of my aubergines go to James’ one.” His words were flat, nearly hollow; there was no need to ask. He knew she’d done it and he pierced her with his signature interrogative gaze.

“Yep, I did,” she said simply, shrugging in her way, as if it was the most normal thing to do. Titch felt his chest tighten, a cold shock of anger that couldn’t help but show as he stared at her.

“Do you realise you are fucking with my profit? MY harvest?!”

“Aah, the harvest stays the same.” She dismissed him with a flick of her wrist, not a shred of remorse in her misty eyes. “I barely flipped some things around.”

“You are unbelievable, you know that?” he asked, walking in circles around the tent and shooting searing gazes at her. “After all the things... everything that I’ve been through... you have the nerve, you have the guts to just... take that away from me!”

Only then did her lazy gaze sharpen slightly, his words settling over her with just enough weight to get her attention. She regarded him for a moment, lifting her arm in a slow, steady motion, gesturing for him to come closer. “Look, boy,” she said, her voice steady. “Calm down. Sit right here.” He sat down on the chair she was offering him, still eyeing her with despise. “Now, this is business, do you understand? Your brother came to me and paid me for a service that I provided for him. Not more, not less. Pay me too, yeah, and we won’t have a problem, you and I.”

“Well, what will it cost?”

“Oh, it’s gonna cost a fortune, a service like that! But since I have known you for so long, kid... I’ll give you a discount.” She arched an eyebrow, smirking. “You got an iPhone?”

Titch’s fingers went through his pockets, and he snatched out his own phone, which he thankfully hadn’t forgotten at home. “There you go,” he said, handing it to her.

She loomed over her steaming cauldron, stirring slowly one way, then another. Than she took a bottle from the stand and poured everything from it into the cauldron as well. “Alright,” she said, gesturing Titch to come forward and look into the cauldron. Through the steam and smoke Titch could see a huge aubergine plantation on the surface of the potion – his own plantation, right side black and barren, left side – thriving with green bushes. “Now,” she said quietly, pointing at the reflection, “this thing right here will obey your wishes. Obviously, you don’t have to make the decision now,” she said, her eyes still on the reflection. “But you think this over. You make up your mind. And you say your wish. It’ll happen.”

Titch left Margery’s tent feeling even more drained than before, as though the tension in the air was sinking into his bones. Everything lately seemed to claw at his energy, leaving him with barely enough to function, let alone deal with James. He trudged back to the farm, his thoughts simmering with frustration, but as he passed through the gates, he came face-to-face with his brother.

James was strutting toward him, a self-satisfied grin plastered across his face. He moved with a casual arrogance that felt calculated, the sun catching a gleaming watch on his wrist. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of annoyance coursing through Titch.

“Oh, hello there,” James drawled, flicking a mocking glance over him. He adjusted his collar, letting his wrist turn just enough for the watch to catch the light and flash right in Titch’s eyes. "How do you like my new shades?" He pulled out a pair of sleek sunglasses, sliding them onto his face in one fluid motion, the smirk deepening as he angled his head to catch the full effect.

"They’re nice," Titch muttered, barely keeping his composure. He could already feel his patience wearing thin, but he forced his hands to stay at his sides, fists clenched tight. The last thing he needed was to give James the satisfaction of seeing his temper flare.

“And my new watch?” James lifted his wrist, practically shoving it into Titch’s face, daring him to react.

Titch’s jaw clenched, and he swallowed the urge to snap at him. But something about James’s smug expression, the blatant display, tipped his control over the edge. "Must be nice," he said, his voice low, "spending my money buying every shiny thing you can get your hands on.”

James’s grin faded, his eyes narrowing. "Your money? As you told me yesterday, each of us has his own bit of land, yeah?” Titch gasped indignantly, realising James quoted him almost word-to-word from their yesterday’s fight. “Now that is my bit of land right there. With aubergines on it. I’m playing exactly by your rules, little brother."

A hot surge of anger burned through Titch. "You’re not playing,” he spat, approaching him and not wavering his gaze, even though he was at least a foot and a half shorted, and James was now towering over him. “You and your deals with Margery, manipulating everything behind my back- You don’t care about anything but money, do you, James?"

James scoffed, his voice dropping to a sneer. “And do you think,” he said slowly, making sure every word sounds crystal-clear in the heated air around them, “that you are any better? All you ever cared about was your image in father’s eyes.”

The words struck so suddenly and painfully Titch found himself short of breath and words for a few seconds. All he could do was look at James, tears prickling in his eyes as he desperately tried to shove them back from wherever they came from. They just... looked at each, and Titch suddenly realised he was hurting. Actually hurting, deep inside, and he wanted this to stop, for them to stop fighting once and for all. They were getting along so good before the harvest, he actually began to consider there might be some... future. Where they could be like before. Like when they were children.

“Just forget it,” he whispered bitterly more to himself than to James, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wish this whole fucking thing was barren for good,” he waved at the fields sharply, his sight searing at James. “That way we’d at least get to stay friends.”

He left James standing by the gates and walked past him towards the house, brushing the back of his palm against his eyes and forcing himself to stop the fuck crying. He had no right to cry.

“Derek!” he called, walking into the house. Derek, who was cooking something on the stove, turned to him hastily.

“Yeah? What-”

“I need you in my office,” Titch said sharply, not letting him finish, and proceeded up the spiralling stairs towards his room. Derek closed the door quietly behind them, still wiping his hands hastily on the kitchen towel he was holding.

“What happened?” he asked frowning and watching Titch pacing from corner to corner, still trying to pull himself together.

“Nothing,” Titch said through the gritted teeth. “But as you usually say, ‘I need a break’. I have some things to sort out,” he sat at his desk and opened his laptop. “All the things we were neglecting while harvesting the aubergines that we don’t even own anymore. I have tons of work to do,” he stopped to blink those stubborn tears that were still clinging to his eyes, and tried to focus his eyes on the screen again. “I will need that coffee-maker working, all the tasks sorted and you giving me your undivided attention. Will you do that for me?”

Derek’s face was now filled with silent sadness as he watched Titch struggle to comb his thoughts together and sound unbothered and collected. “Of course I will,” he said quietly. “The coffee is coming, and I have all of the notes in my phone, so... everything will be okay.” He headed towards the door and stopped with his hand on the handle, looking back at Titch. “Everything will be okay,” he repeated, his eyes locked firmly on Titch. “I know it will. You just give it some time.”

Chapter Text

He woke up the next day early, and not even because he was used to getting up so early, but because the whole house was buzzing like an alarmed beehive. Someone’s loud footsteps pounded across the wooden floor behind the door, Titch could hear hushed voices appearing for a moment while the people who talked were passing his room, and then disappear into the void again, leaving him confused and completely at loss. Titch got out of the bed quickly. He had half of his mind on laying in it for a couple of minutes longer, but that seemed to be out of question. His worries were confirmed when a loud knock on the door informed him that someone needed to see him right now.

“Yeah?” Titch called, trying to drag his pants on and being in such a hurry that they just wouldn’t go on properly.

“It’s me!” James said from the other side of the door, and Titch stopped, trying to understand if he hadn’t misheard. James himself decided to visit him this early in the morning and they were talking to each other again? Something definitely happened. Titch buttoned his shirt hastily and opened the door, meeting James’ concerned eyes.

“What happened?” he asked, letting him inside.

“You might want to close that door,” James said, and Titch obeyed, still not sure if he should be alarmed.

“Well?”

“Well... now look at the fields,” James said quietly, pointing at the window. Titch walked towards it and opened the drapes, his sight pinning to the land before him. Shivers went down his spine as his eyes darted from one side of it to another, tracing the black trails on which not so long ago the green bushes were still growing. And now everywhere, where his sight could only reach, black, black patches of land were lying. No aubergines. No crops. Not even a hint of crops anywhere.

“What- what is this?” Titch asked, clinging to the glass with his palms sweaty and hot, and as if trying to step right through it to the fields. Where was everything? He had so much, he had at least five truckloads enough of aubergines just yesterday... Yes, James fucked with the sides later on and the supplies decreased, but there was still enough to at least see them from his window! Titch’s sight landed heavily on James. “If you switched the sides again...” he whispered, his voice rolling into a low growl, but James shook his head, his eyes sad and sorry now.

“I wish I could tell you I did,” he said quietly. “That way we would at least know what happened and how to fix it. But this,” he gestured at the window, “is everywhere. Mine is barren too now.” Titch mouthed a silent ‘what’ with his lips, feeling completely lost now. “Yep. Not a crop, not a seedling, not a single aubergine on miles long. I checked.”

“So everything’s gone?” Titch asked, his voice breaking at the last word. Gone. Overnight. Just like that, with a flick of a finger.

“Wait, brother, there’s more,” James said, drawing his attention back to himself. “Father knows. He wants to see us both in his office.”

This was a nightmare. This was the end of everything. Titch watched the black land stretching to the very horizon, lonely barns and greenhouses scattered here and there across the land and now looking extremely abandoned and lost on that field of earth and dust. James gestured him to come after him, and Titch obeyed silently, not finding any strength in himself to actually say something in response. He had to prepare a strategy. He had to come up with a plan. To explain this all to father in some way. To promise he would fix it.

There were no words in his head as he walked through the office door James had opened for him, and the sudden sound of the door creaking and closing behind him imprinted in his hollow mind and echoed there, scattering from one side of his skull to another. Father was sitting at his work desk, some documents in his hands, his face dark and his gaze heavy.

“Morning, boys,” he said quietly, looking up at them and commanding them both to sit with a wave of his hand. Titch not sank but slumped on the chair, knowing that James did the same next to him. “I suppose you two already know what happened,” father set the papers down on the desk, pressing his fingers together in a tight clasp as he leaned back in his chair. “The harvest disappeared, as I had the displeasure of ensuring just an hour ago. Everything we had. Disappeared over night. Now,” his gaze landed on Titch and pinned him to the chair so roughly it was hard to breathe for a second. “This does not look like some hurricane or locusts, right? The whole. Land. Gone.”

“Yes, father,” Titch managed, because father’s eyes were fixated directly on him. His words rang weirdly in the room, as a moment passed in silence.

“I sense,” father’s sight was now strongly on James, who also bowed his head, even though he looked much more comfortable than Titch, who at this point felt like blacking out right there in his seat, “I sense you two had another fight. Don’t lie to me,” he raised his voice, because James tried to interrupt. “I know you both. One of you did something to the land, one of you once again tried to win it from the other, and one of you messed it up. And all I want to know,” he said, his eyes blazing, “is which one.”

His hands were cold. His hands were cold and numb, Titch realised, as he tried to keep his composure. His breath got stuck in his throat, and he made a sharp inhale, still making so much effort to keep his gaze firm and calm. He couldn’t look weak. Not now. Not when he was scolded like a fucking child for something he didn’t even do.

Thoughts kept swirling in his head, unnecessary, confused, useless, because he couldn’t catch a single one. He was lost. His throat was now burning, and his could hear blood throbbing in his ears.

“I’m asking once again,” father pressed, Titch barely understanding his words over all that heart pounding. “This farm had seen worse times – although, I better say: one worse time, because only once did it happen that this land didn’t have a single crop,” his voice got darker. “And I’m sure we will fix this... eventually. I just want to look one of you in the eyes,” oh god, he was looking at Titch again, Titch realised, his limbs still ice-cold and numb, “and tell him...”

Now the sight was shifted back on James, thank god-

“...how disappointed I am in him...”

No, there has to be a way to fix it-

“...for going to that old witch...”

Oh god, he figured out they were at Margery’s-

“...and ruining everything just to stick it to his own brother.”

Titch took a deep frantic breath, which trembled in his throat, making it impossible to exhale, and looked at father, ignoring that his face was now practically pulsating with heat.

“I don’t know how that happened, father,” yes, he fucking WILL sound calm and composed, he fucking will scramble whatever was left of his dignity and leave this office without shattering. “It happened overnight, and I’m sure neither of us asked Lady Margery for the aubergines to be gone all in one night.” He stoically endured father’s interrogative gaze without blinking an eye, his cold fingers entwined together under the table.

“I’ve known Margery for too long to know she’s cunning,” father said finally. “She’s a useful person to have around, but she twists your wishes into curses just as easily as grants you those same wishes. And I will find out which one of you two was greedy enough to forget that family is what should come first.”

Titch left the room with his legs barely obeying. He got to his bedroom, everything blurry before his eyes, and slammed the door without looking, because there wasn’t enough strength to be graceful now. He paced the room forwards and backwards for several times, until it became absolutely impossible to breathe, and then he leaned on the wall with both of his hands, choking on the air.

Father’s words were now the only thing rolling through his head. I will find out. Which one of you two was greedy enough. Oh god, what if it was him, Titch thought, despair crawling slowly over his chest and all the way up his throat. What if Titch was the one who somehow ruined it all for them? Maybe Margery misinterpreted some of his words, and maybe he wasn’t careful enough when he talked to her... Or maybe the charms just backfired, that could probably happen, right?

What if he was the problem? The plague that ruined everything once again.

I just want to look one of you in the eyes and say how disappointed I am.

Titch suppressed a frantic sob and squeezed his eyes tightly, trying to stop the tears already building up in his throat. It became even harder to inhale now, and a sharp cough escaped his lips. Breathe, a cold voice in his head ordered. You coward, breathe. If you’re the one who fucked this all up, at least have the courage to accept it.

Titch brushed the back of his palm against his eyes, wiping away the tears that he just couldn’t hold in, and inhaled once again, still ignoring an absolute fire in his ribcage. He would just have to keep living, right? He’d have to accept that he might be responsible for sending the whole business down the drain. Twice.

A quiet knock on the door made him flinch and once again wipe his cheeks frantically.

“Titch?”

“I’ll be right with you,” Titch managed, his voice still a little unstable, and breathed in and out sharply for a several seconds. He waited for his heart to slow down at least a little bit, and he said James could come in, hoping it wouldn’t be too visible he was on the verge of throwing things against the wall just a moment ago.

“Hey,” James went inside and frowned, when his sight reached Titch. “Are you okay?”

“Yes- Yes,” Titch said, making an effort to sound convincing the second time, even though it seemed to only make things worse. James walked across the room and sat in one of his chairs by the table, still eyeing Titch with a very visible concern.

“If this is the wrong time-”

“It’s okay, you’re welcome to say whatever you came here for,” Titch said stubbornly, even though a treacherous sniffle gave him away the very next moment.

“Okay...” James said and sighed slowly, “I came here because... I think we should talk.”

“Well,” Titch also took a seat right across from him and bit down hard on his lower lip, determined not to let any more emotion seep through. “we kinda owe it to each other, so... yes, let’s talk.”

James nodded. “I- I think I’ll go first,” he said and closed his eyes for a second, visibly trying to comb his thoughts together. Titch didn’t hurry him, leaning on the back of his chair and still trying to slow his heartbeat down. “When the harvest started,” James finally began, “I hoped we would get along. Just this once. Maybe, I thought to myself, we could make it work for the second time. Not let the mistakes of the previous year get to us again. I just hoped that maybe a miracle would happen, you know?” Titch nodded. “I admit I may have been difficult. Father said I’d have to stop my trainings and help with the stupid aubergines that I never even liked. And you...” James looked at Titch from under his eyebrows, as if bracing himself to say something unpleasant, “were obnoxious.”

Titch scoffed under his breath, but James shook his head. “Let me finish. When back there on the field you told me I could just leave, I was... fucking crushed I was, yeah!” James said bluntly, apparently, deciding to be fully honest. “I mean, what the fuck, you’re my brother and I thought we cared for one another no matter what, and then you sound like it wouldn’t matter to you if I was here or not!”

“James-”

“Let me finish,” James pressed. “So I went to the Old Margery. Well, I didn’t go directly to see her, I was just passing by and she stopped me. And so I asked her to flip the sides, because at the time it seemed like the only thing that would put you at your place-”

This was all true. This was true, and Titch realised it just now. “James, listen-”

“No, you listen,” James hurried, his eyes now sparkling, and moved towards Titch a little, touching his hand lightly, “I need to say this, just let me fucking finish- I don’t know which one of us is to blame for... that shit,” he gestured at the window, behind which the dark fields stretched to the very horizon. “I think we’ll figure it out some time close, but right now it doesn’t matter. I just want you to know that I would never. Ever. Endanger what little we had with you.” He stopped, his sight fixated on Titch firmly, eyes glistening. “I wanted to make you feel like you were making me feel. Hurt. Fucking yes, I admit it. But if I had known this would end like this – I’d shut up and would humour you silently until the season was over and you’d become more or less tolerable again.”

Titch chuckled guiltily, and James smiled too. “I guess that’s all I wanted to say.”

“My speech will be much shorter, I suppose,” Titch said quietly after a moment, his eyes now fixated firmly on his shoelaces. “James, I was a prick and I crossed the line so many times I’m not even sure how to put it all back together. I never acknowledged it then, because when so many people and things are dependent on you, you just work until you can’t no more, and you prioritize it over everything else.” He looked at James to see if he was following, and James gave him a serious nod. “I also don’t know if it was me or you who prompted Lady Margery to do this. But James,” he stretched his hand out slowly, not sure if James would even accept it after everything that happened, and James squeezed his hand with a smile. “I did not mean a word I said there on the field. It matters to me that you are here, it makes all the fucking difference in the world that you are here and still talking to me after all that shit that happened over the last week. I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice suddenly weak and shattered. “You don’t have to say that back. Just know that I am.”

“I am too,” James said softly, his voice barely audible as he searched Titch’s face for any sign of disbelief. There was none. A moment passed with the two of them just sitting there in the silence of the room, rethinking the whole conversation in their heads. James got up from his seat finally. “Well... I better be going, yeah? Maybe help father with something or... I don’t know, I’ll find myself something to be useful.”

“Yeah,” Titch nodded, “if anything else happens, just call me, okay?”

“Sure.” James was heading towards the door when he turned to Titch once again, pointing at him with a playful smile. “You do know that I still love you, brother, right? No matter what. I love you always.”

Titch nodded and watched him leave the room, his mind empty and aching all of a sudden, and it was only when the door closed behind him that a rustling whisper escaped his lips. “Yeah... And I really don’t see why.”

Chapter Text

He should probably find Derek, Titch thought blankly, leaning on the table with his elbows and hiding his face in his palms. He massaged his temples, at first carefully and then harsher and harsher, trying to get his thoughts back to their correct path of fixing everything. If there even was a way to fix everything. The black fields stood before his eyes, and he felt he was crumbling more and more with each minute. All the composure he somehow gathered in his father’s office was vaporizing again with such a drastic speed that Titch soon just gave up.

His shoulders sagged and he leaned to the table, still not taking his hands off his face. He breathed slowly – in through his nose, out through his mouth, trying to focus solely on the breathing. But all he could think about was his father’s voice that echoed in his head, sad and quiet, repeating the same words over and over. Father wanted to look one of them in the eyes and tell him he was disappointed. He never said anything like that before to Titch, Titch realised, taking another long inhale and hoping it somehow would help stabilizing his heart rate. Quite the opposite, in fact: father was always supportive of him. He was always telling him nice things like ‘You can do it’, ‘You did your best and that’s what counts’. And if Titch did do something wrong, he would offer help. Never once was he so angry with Titch that he would say he was disappointed.

This was a nightmare. Titch must have really fucked up. Why didn’t father just scream at him, he thought bitterly, rewinding the whole conversation in his head. That would probably hurt less. He could have handled the yelling and the accusations. Not that steady sad ‘I’m disappointed’.

A soft touch was so sudden against his tensed shoulders that he flinched.

“Sh-h-h,” he heard a quiet hush next to his ear, while the same soft fingers now began carefully massaging his shoulders.

“Derek?” Titch asked, his voice muffled, still not daring to tear his face from his palms and look.

“I came as soon as I heard,” Derek said, his voice sounding solemn and guilty at the same time. “I overslept today, and when I walked out, I saw... that everything was black.” Titch nodded. They all saw that, he supposed. “I really hoped to catch a word with you, but when I came into the house, you were at first at your father’s, and then I was told James was in your room, so I decided not to bother you. Am I... too late?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly, and his hands stopped the soothing motions against Titch’s shoulders.

“No,” Titch whispered through the gritted teeth. “No, Derek, I’m so fucking happy you are here, you have no idea.” He shifted his shoulder slightly, trying to relax the muscles a little. Derek’s hand continued massaging his back gently, while his voice once again was so close behind.

“I can see it hurts. It will be better,” he whispered softly, his fingers pressed into the tight knots around Titch’s shoulders and working slow, circular motions, easing tension bit by bit. “I don’t know why everything is crushing on us like that, but we will get through it.”

He shifted pressure, alternating between firm presses and gentle kneading, mindful of each flinch, as if coaxing the weight off Titch’s shoulders, one knot at a time. His thumbs traced gentle lines along the tops of Titch’s shoulders, while his fingers settled at the base of his neck, grounding him, calming him with each soft, careful touch.

Titch leaned into his touch without even realising it, feeling the tension of the past several days easing a bit. He was still stressed and lost in this hurricane of disasters, but somehow Derek’s soft touches against his shoulders were the only thing that was still grounding him to this earth.

“I’m sorry, I- I forgot to ask, are you comfortable?” Derek asked suddenly, withdrawing his hands a little bit and leaning towards Titch to catch his face expression. Titch nodded.

“I think that’s the most comfortable I’ve been in quite some time,” he muttered. Derek gave a small, relieved hum, his hands finding their way back to Titch’s shoulders, gentler this time, as though reassuring him.

“Good,” he murmured, resuming the rhythmic movements, his touch unhurried and steady.

Titch’s shoulders eased further, and he let out a quiet sigh, almost surprised by his own vulnerability. “You’re good at this. I think… maybe you missed your calling,” he joked, his voice soft, a hint of warmth creeping in.

“Nope. Exactly where I need to be,” Derek whispered under his breath, obviously trying to be unheard, but Titch froze for a moment, thinking those words over. Did he really mean that. Titch would give anything to hear that again, to actually believe Derek meant what he said.

“Why are you like that?” Derek asked, stopping the motions once again and barely touching Titch’s tensed shoulders with the tips of his fingers. “What, did I do something wrong?”

“Say that again,” Titch interrupted all of a sudden, his voice hushed and barely audible in the silence of the room.

“What?”

He turned to Derek, trying to look him directly in the eyes. “Did you mean that just now? About... being where you need to be.” Why was it so damn hard to ask that out loud. Why did it feel forbidden? He didn’t know; he didn’t care. For whatever reason, but it felt like the whole world depended on Derek’s answer at that moment.

Derek stopped for a second, seemingly trying to get on the same page as Titch was and figure out what was he talking about. “Yes,” he said firmly, smiling and giving Titch a light squeeze on the shoulder. “When I say something like that, I mean every word.”

A notification tinged loudly, breaking the silence, and Titch’s hand reached towards the phone, that was lying screen down on the table. His eyes darted across the message, which contained four short words that didn’t promise anything good. “Get your ass in here.”

Titch muttered a short curse under his breath. First father, now Lady Margery...

“Well,” Titch said quietly, marking the message read and taking a deep inhale. “That was the end of this free massage session for me. Lady Margery wants to see me.” He got up from the table and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.

“Do you need me to go with you?” Derek asked eagerly, but Titch stopped him with a wave of his hand.

“Nope. You stay put, do not leave the farm. And do not talk to the clients yet, alright?” he furrowed his brow, giving him a serious glance. “Derek, please, tell me you understand. I fucked up everything that was possible to fuck up. And everyone knows you’re my right hand. Make-A-Wish will want answers from you, and no offense, but you may make things worse.”

“I understand,” Derek said quietly, turning his phone off and putting it screen down on the table.

“That’s why you’re the only person I trust,” Titch said quietly, looking him in the eyes and gesturing at the phone. “Don’t do anything until I’m back.”

A walk towards Lady Margery’s was at best twenty minutes of walking, and all those twenty long minutes Titch tried to come up with a plan of how to act around her now. Was she the one responsible for everything disappearing? He doubted that, considering how cross her text message looked. She was probably just as surprised, assuming, of course, she already knew about the farm. Of course she fucking knew, he thought to himself irritably, she’s a witch.

“Lady Margery-” he called hesitantly, sweeping the side of the tent open and peeking inside it. She sat by the steaming cauldron, a ladle lying abandoned near it, and was stuffing her pipe with something so strongly scented Titch’s breath caught in his throat.

“Ah,” Lady Margery said, shifting her gaze at him and glancing at him up and down. “There you are. Well, walk inside, walk inside, it’s too late to be bashful now.”

Titch walked in, still trying to adjust to frankincense smell floating in the air and the warmth of the cauldron’s steam wrapping around him. Lady Margery was observing him side-eye as he walked across the tent and sat on the corner of the chair without her invitation. She was right. This was not the time to be bashful.

“I- I need to tell you something,” he said, tripping over words and staring deliberately at his shoes rather than at her.

“Mhm?” she said, taking a long drag from her pipe, and her sight getting more and more cloudy with each second. “Please do. Because Blake Lively is on his way here and clearly has a bone to pick with both of us, so I’m really curious to know your version of this story, kid.”

There wasn’t much to say. Titch retold her the whole day, starting from the moment he woke up to the noises and panicking and finishing with her text to him just half an hour ago, and with each word Lady Margery’s face was getting darker and darker.

“I- I don’t know how that happened,” he said quietly, “but the land is barren now. Entirely empty. When James and I were messing around with the harvest, I lost some of it, yes, but I could still make it for Make-A-Wish order. This time...”

“This time you’re fucked,” the witch said, nodding and staring into the void blankly.

“Yes,” Titch admitted, bowing his head. Several minutes passed in silence. Lady Margery sat motionless in her seat, smoking the pipe and watching as if directly through Titch, her mind obviously somewhere completely else.

“You do realise this was the biggest opportunity you’ve ever had?” she asked him suddenly, her voice neutral, as if she was really curious to know the answer.

“I do,” Titch said, entwining his fingers into a tight lock on his knees.

“And you do realise that Evil Make-A-Wish are not the people you would want to fuck around with, hm?” she would look almost indignant if her voice wasn’t so calm. Titch only nodded silently, thinning his lips. It was all kind of in the title: ‘Evil Make-A-Wish’. The guys were probably evil for a reason.

“What do I do now, Lady Margery?” he asked, finding himself struggling to make his voice audible again. His eyes were burning. God, if he only knew at what point exactly everything went so wrong... It was too late to think about that now. His farm was devastated, and officer Lively was on his way here right now to hold Titch accountable.

“What’s done is done,” Margery said thoughtfully, eyeing him, her eyelids heavy and her gaze still nonchalant. “There’s some questionable tea on the counter in case you want something to neutralise the stress. The boss-man will be here any minute,” she glanced at her smart watch. “So drug yourself up if you want to, sit down and accept the situation as it is. We’ll see how it goes.”

The tea on the counter had a strong smell of sedatives, and Titch didn’t dare to try it. He put the teapot back on its place, sat in one of the chairs and watched the steam rising from Margery’s cauldron and circling around the tent. The rustling of someone’s rapid footsteps against the damp grass made him raise his head and look towards the entrance.

“Well well, I can see the whole fuck-company is here,” a sneering voice commented, as the gangly figure walked into the tent without any announcement. Margery kept smoking her weed silently, not making the tiniest motion to show she acknowledged his presence. Officer crossed the tent in two quick steps and stopped, shifting his gaze from Titch to Lady Margery again. “How are you doing, Margery?” he asked sharply and, without waiting for an answer, continued, “well, I suppose? Business is thriving?”

It was just then that Lady Margery turned lazily and looked directly at him. “Of yeah,” she said without blinking an eye, “business goes pretty good over here.”

“Not for him, it’s not,” officer Lively said, pointing at Titch with a vicious expression. “What’s all these rumours that your farm is empty? Do I need to tell you it’s a very wrong idea to mess with me?” his voice was now dangerously low and quiet, shifting into a growl at certain syllables. Titch sighed. He fucking ordered everyone on the farm to not spread the rumours. Those people never listen.

Titch took a steadying breath, gathering his nerve as he looked up at officer Lively’s sharp, scrutinizing gaze. Come on. Play cool one more time before you break completely. “I still think we can come to an agreement,” he managed, trying to sound steady, while his heart was already racing in his chest. “Figure something out to make it up to you. Maybe another trade, or additional shipments?”

The man’s lips curved into a chilling smile, his eyes gleaming with a hard-edged amusement. “Oh, you still think we’re in a position to be bargaining, do you?” he sneered, stepping closer until he loomed over Titch, his shadow cutting across the dim light of the tent. Titch startled and took a step away without realising it, catching Lady Margery’s cautious eye as she took another drag of her weed. “It’s almost charming, really, this little hope you’re clinging to—like a rat still paddling around a sinking ship.”

Titch swallowed, willing himself not to flinch again under Lively’s intense gaze. “I’m just trying to make things right,” he managed quietly.

Lively chuckled, but the sound was humourless and dark. “You know, you seem way too confident. For someone as expendable as you.”

Titch could see Lady Margery’s eyes flash dangerously behind the officer’s back, but she remained silent. The air itself seemed to thicken as Lively straightened and took a candy cigarette out of his pocket with a casualness that made Titch’s stomach twist.

He cleared his throat and made an effort to try and return the conversation towards the previous topic. “Maybe… maybe there’s another way,” he said, voice softer now, a tremor creeping into his words. “I can make it up in time, with the next harvest.”

Lively’s expression shifted again, settling into a cold, mocking smile. He leaned closer to Titch, his voice barely above a whisper. “Get the hint. There is no. Next harvest. For you.” He raised his eyebrows, as if ensuring Titch understood. “Blood would freeze in your veins if you’d only knew the things I could do to you.”

“You won’t do anything to him,” Lady Margery’s calm voice interrupted, wipes of smoke curling from her lips as she kept staring into the void motionlessly. The officer turned to her sharply, his eyes boring into her stoutly figure. Titch could hear his deep breathing as he slowly departed from him and headed towards her.

“And may I ask: why?” he hissed, stopping an inch from her and towering over her uncomfortably. Lady Margery, however, hadn’t as much as flinched. She took a slow deliberate puff from her pipe, hummed something under her breath and just then lazily shifted her gaze to the man.

“Because I won’t let you,” she said simply, with the friendliest expression on her face. The officer gave her a cheeky smirk, rolling his candy cigarette between his teeth.

“You won’t let me.”

“Mhm.”

Something steely gleamed in his hands, and Titch gasped as the blade of a knife appeared in the man’s hand. “And what exactly will stop me from finishing both of you right here?” he whispered to her ear, yet his voice rolling across the tent back and forth. “Don’t mind that I’m an officer. I’m not against dirty tricks.”

Lady Margery was now watching somewhere past him again, her gaze defocused once again. “You might want to put that down,” she said quietly. “There’s an unsnipped chinchilla in this tent that may snap your neck any moment now.”

She didn’t even have to finish the phrase: the knife was lowered in the middle of the sentence anyway, and the officer looked around the tent alarmed. “You fucking witch,” he muttered.

“Here’s a pickle,” she drawled, knocking the ashes out of her pipe lazily. “Do you know who Nigel is?” She looked at him her lips curled in a hint of a smile as he stared at her again. “I can see that you do. But you see,” she was now methodically stuffing her pipe again, seeming to give her full attention to that process, “Nigel is my dearest client. And if, say, I were to make a phone-call – luckily, I have enough phones for that,” she chuckled, “and ask him to, well, remove someone from my way, yeah,” she bore her sight into the man looming over her, “I don’t think he would refuse me such a tiny favour.”

Titch, whose pulse was racing with an abnormal speed now, observed Blake swallowing hard, still trying to incinerate her with his eyes, and she took out a lighter and flicked it calmly, lighting up the pipe. “See,” she said after a moment of silence, “I can fuck you up in various different ways... So you have two choices, really.” She blew a steady plume of smoke from her pipe, filling the air with a hazy, sweet scent. “You can calm down and let us settle this the civilised way, right? Or you can continue making threats, and this may be the last thing you will do in your miserable seven-year-old life, Blake, because if needed,” she glanced at him meaningfully, pointed at Titch with her pipe and her voice dropped to almost a whisper, “I will take the whole bloody world down for that boy.”

Wisps of smoke drifted from her lips, twisting and curling around her wrists and uprising to the top of the tent. Titch watched her, unable to take his eyes off, and she just... sat there, still looking before herself and ignoring Blake’s heavy breathing straight into her face. A ringing silence hung in the tent, each of the three sensing the slightest movement from one another, waiting to see who would strike first.

“Fine, Margery,” Blake said finally, piercing her with his eyes, even though she was still visibly ignoring him. “It’s your win this time. But mark my words,” his eyes flashed, “one day I will come calling. And you will have to answer, because you owe me one now.”

She smiled at him with her signature ‘I’m-too-stoned-for-this’ smile. “Now we’re talking. Is that all?”

He left her tent, muttering curses under his breath and still looking out for any signs of a chinchilla, and Margery glanced at Titch. “How you doing, kid?”

He didn’t know. He tried to put his thoughts together and say something, but nothing came to mind. The corner of her lips twitched in a smirk, and she nodded. “Understandable. Calm down first, probably.” She took the ladle and began stirring the brew in the cauldron, her whole attention devoted to that important process. In about five minutes she shot Titch another interrogative look.

“Thank you,” he uttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I- I really don’t know how I would have handled that if it wasn’t for you.”

“I took the bullet this one time, boy,” she said quietly, exhaling a puff of smoke. “But there may not be a second one. Don’t let this happen again.”

Chapter Text

I get overwhelmed so easily.
My anxiety creeps inside of me,
makes it hard to breathe.
What's come over me?
Feels like I'm somebody else...
~ Overwhelmed - Royal & the Serpent

Titch was looking into his father’s eyes and tried his best to concentrate on his words, but it seemed impossible. He and James were asked to come down into the living room about ten minutes ago, and he only dared to do it now. Thank god this time he had Derek, he thought, throwing a cornered look behind his shoulder. Derek agreed to come with him, and Derek was with him since the very start of the morning, telling him that it will all be fine.

“You don’t know what your father found out, right?” he kept saying for, probably, the fifteenth time, after Titch brought up the topic yet again. “Maybe it wasn’t you who did that to the farm. Maybe it was something else, you know, maybe- maybe it was James.”

“You don’t know that,” Titch responded numbly, rolling a pen between his fingers and feeling hollow and lost.

“No, YOU don’t know that,” Derek pressed. “There’s no need to worry now. You will go downstairs, talk with him and James, you three will sort things out. Right now we know nothing to panic like this.”

All Titch could do was shake his head doubtfully. “I don’t know what I’m going to do next. I just... don’t know.”

“Talk to your father. And to James,” Derek said firmly. “Seriously, you look like somebody died. Come on, relax a bit. Titch,” Derek’s palm covered his tightly clutched fist, and Titch raised his eyes on him. “You are not alone in this, alright? You want me to go with you? I will be there. Every step of the way, if you want me to. Okay?”

That was when the phone rang. And then another ten minutes passed before Titch finally mustered enough courage to come down to the living room. He went downstairs, his heart pounding more and more rapidly with each step, and the first person he saw was his father, sitting on the couch, his hands crossed on his chest and his gaze unyielding. James was also there, sitting on the arm of the chair by the window, and even though he tried to look nonchalant, Titch could say he was just as tense.

“Hello, father,” Titch said quietly, walking across the room. “Um... I hope you don’t mind if Derek stays too?” he gestured at Derek, hoping that just please, please, maybe father would let him stay. What will he do if he is left all alone here?

“Derek is welcome to stay,” father nodded, “this will be quite a short conversation, plus he did a lot for the good of this farm.” Derek smiled gratefully and also sat in one of the chairs in the corner of the room. Titch took a deep inhale. Here goes.

“So, I looked up this whole aubergine thing,” father began. “I called Margery, and I know how you two were coming to her one after another, trying to win the other one’s fields from each other. Shame on both of you.”

Titch squeezed his lips tightly and fixated his gaze on his shoelaces. They were nice shoelaces. He would just keep watching them until this all was finished, and then he would go to his room and try to erase this day from his memory. Never once in his life did Titch think father would be so upset with him. This was a total nightmare.

“We are sorry, father.” Thankfully, James decided he would do the talking, and Titch shot him a quick thankful glance before staring back at his feet deliberately.

“That’s not all yet,” father said, his voice stiff. “You have to understand that this situation right here is something that should never happen again. We have the most known farm in the whole region, and I don’t think we can afford any more bad years in a row.”

Titch closed his eyes and inhaled silently, feeling the air getting stuck in his throat and suppressing the urge to cough it all up.

“One of you has to really do the work on his mistakes.”

If the next thing father says is that it really was Titch who did all this- Oh god, no. No, please, no, Titch was thinking, feeling his hands getting cold and numb once again.

“I asked Margery how it happened that the crops disappeared all at once and whose wish exactly was it.”

Silence hung in the air, so loud and electrified with tension that Titch could practically hear the ringing in his ears. The clock was ticking quietly on the wall, and he kept watching his shoelaces with an absolutely hollow mind.

“Titch, look at me, please.”

His heart thumped one more time and rolled somewhere to the depth of his stomach, and everything became distant and blurry for a moment. And then the realisation crashed.

Sometimes I wish this whole fucking thing was barren for good.

He kept watching somewhere past all the objects, eyes fixed on something – what was it, the floor? Or his shoes on the floor. Or the legs of the couch in front of him. He didn’t know. He was watching, and the whole world was swirling around, crushing into millions of pieces, and his mind was getting more and more tangled in words, thoughts and that overwhelming feeling of panic that covered him whole.

He took a sharp breath and looked around the room, his sight still a little hazy. He saw Derek’s eyes for a second, watching him with concern and even fear, he caught a quick glimpse of James’ face, shocked and sad, and then he had fallen into the void of his father’s firm gaze locked on him. He wasn’t sure what was going on. If he was cold or hot. The temperature in the room seemed to jump from one to another, in the rhythm of his heart, and all Titch could think about was that moment, near the gates to the farm, where he and James had their last argument, and he... what exactly did he do? How should he call it? Letting his emotions take control? Ruining the one thing he was finally trusted to fully take care of... twice? Proving he was fucking useless and this farm would be so much better without him?

After all those years of working, striving endlessly, doing everything he could to win his father’s trust and prove that he was industrious. Responsible. Reliable. He smirked at the last word. So much for that.

Everything around suddenly became blanch and unimportant. He tried to breathe and he couldn’t. Father’s last words, ‘Titch, look at me, please’, were now firmly imprinted in his mind, because it was the proof. Father could as well just say ‘This is all your fault’. And he would be right.

“Oh god, Titch, hey, look at me.”

That was Derek, Titch thought blankly, feeling his eyes starting to burn with silent tears. Everything was now swimming before him, and he couldn’t tell was it because of the tears or because he was just getting more and more dizzy. He heard someone's muffled voices and then someone's footsteps leaving the room, and then he felt someone’s warm fingers grasping his hands and squeezing hard.

“Titch, you need to breathe,” he heard Derek’s voice as if from far-far away, the room swirling more and more before his eyes. His own sharp breathing was now echoing in his head, too shallow and rapid for him to get enough air. He felt his numbing fingers clutching at Derek’s hands in response, even thought he didn’t fully understand it.

The only thing that he understood for sure was that he fucked up. This time – for real. He devastated this whole farm simply because he once again couldn’t hold his emotions under control. He kept returning to their last argument with James, over and over, until he had each sound and each syllable imprinted in his mind.

“Titch, love, look at me.”

Sometimes I wish this whole fucking thing was barren for good.

“Look at me, love, come on.”

Sometimes I wish this whole fucking thing was barren for good.

“You have to acknowledge me.”

Sometimes I wish-

Warm palms cupped his face, and Derek’s eyes pierced out of the void. Just then Titch realised how much his dried throat was actually hurting. He choked, and Derek’s hands immediately braced him by the shoulders, holding his body at place. “Alright, love, breathe,” Derek said, his voice steady and reassuring.

Oh god. Derek was still here. With him. Even after everything- How could he still be here?

“No-you-don’t-understand,” he choked. There was not enough air in this room. He was... drowning.

“I do understand,” Derek said firmly. “Titch, easy, easy,” he pressed, helping him to lean on the back of the chair and now looming over him, but in a good way. “Come on, let’s do it together. In,” he inhaled deeply, showing how it was done, and Titch followed his example, because in this whole ocean of swirling objects, clutched together thoughts and his own voice repeating over and over that he wished for all this to happen, Derek was the only thing that seemed stable. Real. Protective.

Titch breathed in once again, trying to ignore the heart rate, which was still madly rapid, and his throat, which was prickling more and more with each inhale.

“Wonderful, you’re doing wonderful,” Derek’s happy whisper rustled in his ear, “keep it like that.”

Derek was so close. Titch suddenly felt like he wanted to just grasp at him and never let go. No. No, he shouldn’t do that. He has no right to do that. He has to have enough self-control to at least not fuck THIS up.

“Woah, woah, why are you-” the hold of Derek’s hands loosened up a little, and Titch realised he was leaning away from him. “Titch, love. Hey. What’s wrong?”

“No,” Titch managed suddenly, not entirely sure what he was saying ‘no’ to. “No, no, no, I don’t get to- I don’t deserve to- Don’t deserve- you.”

There wasn’t enough of the fucking air in this room. It was too cold, and he was trembling, and he was trying to explain to Derek something, and that was making him tremble even more. Derek’s sight flashed, and Titch pulled his head into his shoulders, petrified with a thought that he had angered Derek. Or offended. That Derek would get up and leave now.

Instead, Derek’s hands were once again tight around his shoulders. “Don’t ever say that again,” he heard a frantic whisper in his ear. “Do you hear me? You are worth so much more. So much better than me,” Derek’s voice shook slightly, and he stumbled on words, taking a sharp breath. He was now so close Titch could feel his nose brushing lightly against his temple. “If you want me, I am here for you. With you. Just don’t think like that ever again,” Titch leaned into his embrace, still trying to stabilize the breathing. “Be with me too. I will make it all go away. I promise, love. I promise.”

Titch believed him. In that moment, slowly leaning into his touch and feeling his warm breath against his ear, Titch believed every word. Because Derek did make everything go away. Derek was close, and he wanted to stay close to Titch, and he was promising it would stay that way, and Titch... wanted to believe him. He sank into his hold and slipped his head on Derek’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat and trying to synchronize his breathing with it.

“That’s right, love,” Derek said, his voice soft and gentle. “You’re doing so good. Just breathe in and out. You are not alone, okay? I promise you, you’re not. It will be okay.” Titch felt Derek’s warm breath against his hand as he whispered, and then he felt a soft kiss pressing slowly against knuckles. “It will be okay. Do you trust me?”

“Y-yes,” Titch exhaled frantically and fell silent again, listening to Derek’s heartbeat. Steady. Deep. Close. So fucking close. Titch tilted his head a little and tucked his nose into Derek’s chest, inhaling leisurely. Derek’s palm was on his head the very next second, stroking his hair softly.

“You’re calming down a little,” Derek stated quietly shifting a bit under Titch’s weight, and Titch clung to his shirt with his whole fist impulsively. Derek’s hold of his hand became tighter. “No, love, I’m not going anywhere, I just wanted to sit more comfortable,” he whispered hastily, and Titch felt another soft kiss pressed against his knuckles. Several minutes passed in silence, with Titch just listening to Derek’s heart beating under his palm still grasping at Derek’s shirt. He realized his face was streaked with tears, something he wasn’t even aware of until now. How was Derek even still here with him, Titch thought bitterly, brushing the tears against the fabric of his shirt. How was Derek here, holding him with such tenderness? Like Titch was some precious crystal vase he was afraid to wreck? Titch winced at the thought that Derek might actually be as disgusted with him as Titch was with himself.

“What is it?” Derek hurried to ask, frowning. “Am I holding too tight? I can give you some space-” his hold loosened, and Titch shook his head hastily.

“Please don’t-” a small muffled whimper escaped his lips, causing Derek to freeze in the moment.

“Got it,” he said immediately, embracing him the same way as before, and Titch got lost in his touch again. Derek’s fingers were tangling lightly in his hair, moving thoughtfully back and forth and stroking his head in slow and soft motions. Can they just stay like that forever, Titch wondered, making slow inhales and feeling his body slowly relaxing under Derek’s soft fingers.

“I’m sorry,” Titch muttered finally, his voice quiet and trembling against Derek’s chest. He could feel Derek’s hands tense a little as he reached and raised Titch’s head gently with his pointer finger.

“What are you sorry for, love?” he asked, his voice soft and demanding at the same time.

“Everything. This. I- This doesn’t happen to me often, but sometimes- sometimes it does.” He will see disappointment in Derek’s eyes any moment now. It will flash there, and Derek will try to hide it, but Titch will always know it was there, and it will crush him again, and he will never ever forgive himself for this day.

A second passed. And then another one. And Titch kept looking into Derek’s eyes and drowning in them. And there was no disappointment.

...And then Derek slowly embraced him once more, letting Titch press his forehead against his chest again. “Do not be sorry,” Derek said simply, but for whatever reason it felt like everything. “You hear me, love? Do not be sorry for that.”

Chapter Text

It all happened so quickly Derek didn’t even have the chance to think about it properly. He promised Titch he would be there when he would talk to his father, because it was obviously hard for Titch to go through that interaction. Derek could see he was doing his best to keep his mind cool and stay composed, but he was definitely not successful in that. Derek just thought it would cheer Titch up that he would be there.

And then Titch’s father practically said it was Titch’s fault. He didn’t say that directly, but he might as well have, Derek thought angrily afterwards. Probably, the man had his reasons to be that harsh. Derek just couldn’t bear seeing Titch so crushed.

“You have to understand, Titch, that this is the last time we can have a bad year like this. I simply cannot imagine us going through the third year of no harvest. Especially just because you and James decided to show each other who is cooler, so-”

Oh, this was looking bad, Derek was thinking, almost not listening to Titch’s father. His eyes were only on Titch, who just sat there, pale and still, clearly just now realizing that it was him who ruined the harvest.

“All this time the farm was growing and thriving, not because we were reckless enough to ruin one year after another, but because we all actually worked for the profit.”

Titch blanched even more and intertwined his fingers tightly together, squeezing them so hard his knuckles went sickly white. He was sitting silent, eyes fixated on the floor, distant and lost, shoulders sagged, his whole figure suddenly so fragile it looked like a careless gust of wind could just break him in half. And yet he was stoically composed. Motionless. Derek could practically see his mind gripping those last shreds of self-control with a deathly hold.

“...and you will have to accept that if you want to be in charge of something this big, you have to live up the standards, Titch-”

Derek could see Titch’s chest heaving; his breath low and sharp, as if there wasn’t enough air in the room, and it was getting worse and worse with each second. He was having a panic attack, Derek realised suddenly.

“...otherwise I will have to take charge over the whole business myself, which, of course, would not an ideal decision at my age, but what can I do if nobody in this house is responsible enough...”

A harsh cough bubbled up from the depth of Titch’s chest and stayed there, because Titch suppressed it without flinching a muscle. And Derek jumped up from his seat.

“I’m sorry, sir-” he interrupted, but both Titch’s father and James already realised something went wrong. Derek was by Titch’s side in the next moment, touching him gently and trying to establish if he was acknowledging his presence. “Titch. Hey. Titch, do you even hear me?”

Oh god, he was trembling under his fingers, and Derek didn’t even notice before. He was shaking and completely lost in his own thoughts, judging by the expression on his face. Derek shot a look at his father and James. “I’m really sorry, I think I have to ask you to leave,” he managed, not knowing if he even had the right to say that kind of words to the master of the house.

“What is happening?” James asked, frowning, but Derek, who already opened his mouth to answer, squeezed his lips shut. Titch would probably not want him to go around saying ‘Oh, he has a panic attack’ left and right.

“I- I don’t know for sure, but I think I can stop it, if you please leave,” Derek finally managed, now looking directly at James and trying to communicate to him through his sight that this could easily get out of hand if James wouldn’t play along.

“Oh- Right, um- Father, really, we can continue this conversation later, I think Derek knows what he’s doing,” James said clumsily, and Derek’s attention was back on Titch again. He only heard the sound of the door closing, and he slipped to the floor before Titch, taking his hands into his own gently.

“Titch, love, look at me.”

A silent tear rolled down Titch’s cheek, and Derek’s breath got caught in his breath for a second. Why was this hurting so much. He swallowed hard and made another try, his voice shaking slightly.

“Look at me, love, come on.” Titch wasn’t listening. Derek squeezed his fingers tightly on Titch’s hands. “You have to acknowledge me.” Please, please do. He couldn’t break through to him if Titch wasn’t even realising he was there. Derek reached forward and cupped his cheeks, hot with tears, forcing him to look down in Derek’s eyes. That was when everything went to hell. Later on Derek couldn’t even remember what he was saying. How he was comforting Titch. Did he use some arguments, or was he just repeating words over and over, until they would stay firm in Titch’s mind.

All he knew was that within a moment he was sitting on the arm of Titch’s chair, embracing him into a tight hug. And Titch even leaned in for a second, only to frantically try and break free the next moment, his gaze scared and lost. And Derek’s heart sank. He was holding Titch in his arms. He was holding him gently, because those fragile shoulders were still trembling, at those visibly numb fingers were clinging to him, and all he was thinking about was how not to break him. How not to scare him away again. How to protect him once and for all from all the pain and all the scars, and all those thoughts that clearly had Titch’s mind in the firmest grip and just wouldn’t let go of him.

Titch said something about not deserving him, and a desperate need to prove him wrong flared in Derek’s mind, and he leaned towards his ear and talked and talked, whispering that Titch deserved anything and anyone, someone even better than Derek, because Derek was not enough for someone that precious. Everything swirled into one huge ocean of emotions, words and thoughts, and Derek got lost in it for a second. The only thing that was real was Titch’s hold on his shirt and Titch’s hot breath against his chest.

And Derek stayed in that moment. He listened to Titch’s inhales that were thankfully slowing down. He raised his hand and wiped another silent tear off Titch’s cheek. He watched him, cradled him and then dragged him into another protective hug.

Did he promise himself once that he wouldn’t even try to get this close to Titch because it was Titch, and Derek was just Derek – awkward, and unremarkable, and gangly, and not Titch’s match at all? Yes. Did he remember about that decision in that mind-spinning moment, when that soft ‘love’ escaped his lips? Yes. Did it matter anymore? Not the slightest.

He was holding Titch in his arms. He was hugging him, gentle and soft, with just enough strength to show him he was protected. And the whole world became distant.

Titch’s breathing stabilized completely within the next ten minutes, and they just kept... sitting, arms wrapped tightly around each other, soft silence settled between them.

...It was Derek’s idea to take a walk. He was positive this was exactly what Titch needed, after a week and a half of constant stress and then that fucking panic attack he had just an hour ago. Fresh evening air swept over them as they stepped outside, gentle breeze rustling through the trees. The farm felt hushed, as if holding its breath for whatever might come next. They walked silently for a bit, Derek still processing what was happening. He was hugging Titch. Calling him ‘love’. Kissing even. And Titch didn’t seem to mind. On the other hand, he seemed to be under too much pressure to really give all of that much thought, so Derek decided not to put too much hope on it.

“How are you feeling?” he asked when they were so far from the mansion he could barely see it in the distance. Titch shrugged unsurely.

“Better... I suppose.”

“That’s good enough,” Derek pointed out and held out his hand, not giving himself the opportunity to overthink. “Do you...” He swallowed. “Would it help if we...?” The words caught, and he felt a sudden surge of embarrassment. “I mean, we don’t have to. But if you want to hold hands, it might...”

Titch looked at Derek’s outstretched hand, his gaze flickering between it and Derek’s face. For a moment, it seemed as though he might pull away, but then he took a shaky breath and nodded. His fingers slipped into Derek's, cold and trembling, and Derek's heart sped up as he tightened his grip, steady and protective. That same overwhelming feeling that was living inside him ever since he moved into the farm rose from the very depth of his stomach and wrapped him into a tight wave.

Titch’s fingers, still a little cold, were tightly entwined with his own, and Derek suddenly realised Titch might actually be freezing. He unclasped their hold for a moment, catching Titch’s confused glance, and took his jacket off. “Here you go, love,” he muttered, wrapping it around Titch’s shoulders.

“What are you doing? Come on, you need that, you only got a shirt on,” Titch protested clumsily, trying to return the jacket back to Derek.

“You’re the one who looks cold. It’s not good, with a wind like that.” As if in conformation of his words, another blow of wind swept in their direction, and Derek saw Titch shiver involuntary. “See? We need to warm you up,” Derek said, his voice firm.

They stopped before a big bridge, connecting the two sides of a small river splashing underneath it. It was hard to see exactly where they were in the twilight, and Derek thought he had probably never walked that far from the village before. Titch, however, seemed to know this place quite well.

“Wow, we’re near the Troll Bridge already,” he muttered, looking around.

Derek looked at him, bemused. “Troll Bridge? That’s what it’s called?”

“Well, yeah,” Titch said, nodding and heading towards it slowly. “People in the village don’t like this place. Cause of the trolls,” he explained to Derek, even though Derek figured it out on his own already. “Lady Margery is probably the only one brave – or careless enough – to come here regularly... At least I saw her here dozens of times.”

“That means you come here a lot too?” Derek asked, following him to the side of the river and watching all the vines around, hanging so low some of the grapes were almost touching the water.

“I like it here,” Titch shrugged, sitting down on the dried grass and watching the night waters splashing quietly right before him. “It’s quiet. And beautiful, with all the trees and the grapes,” he gestured around.

“And the trolls?”

“Never seen one,” Titch said, shifting on his spot to take a better position. He pulled his knees up to his chin and embraced them, curling into a protective ball. His eyes were now locked firmly on the waters. “Do you mind if we hang out here for a while?”

“Of course not.” Derek sat down next to him, also watching the water under the bridge running its course peacefully. The evening silence was broken only by occasional splashes when the water hit the tide right next to their feet. Derek could already see several stars reflecting in the surface of the river, twinkling and disappearing in the waves only to reappear shimmering in the same spot a moment later.

“Father was always so mad when he found out I went here,” Titch said thoughtfully, more to himself than to Derek. “Especially when I was a child. He forbade me and James to go to the Troll Bridge once and for all, because goats kept disappearing here all the time. And I would go here anyway, because this place was so beautiful and mysterious. Sometimes it was lonely, of course,” Titch smirked weakly, his gaze distant and still fixated on the glimmering waves before him. “But it was still nice. And then I’d return home, and when father asked me if I was at the Troll Bridge again, I would always come up with some kind of lie. And that was how he’d know I was here. I’m bad at lying.”

Derek chuckled. “That is still true,” he said with a smile, which Titch returned.

“Once father got so upset with me he kept lecturing me all day long up until dinner,” he continued, his voice quiet and thoughtful. “Lady Margery came for dinner that day, and she was laughing so hard listening to him. Called him paranoid. She said he should get off my back, because trolls don’t eat humans anyway. Just goats.”

“I guess she knows what she’s talking about,” Derek commented, leaning back on the grass and trying to find the most comfortable position to lie down.

“Wh- Derek, come on, you’ll catch cold or something,” Titch scolded, tugging at Derek’s shirt and forcing him to get back up. He took Derek’s jacket off and put it on the ground, before taking his own jacket off and doing the same. “There. Now you can lie down,” he said, still furrowing his brow at Derek indignantly. “Honestly, Derek, lying on the grass at night without anything underneath, are you kidding me?”

“Forgive me for not knowing how to lie on the grass correctly,” Derek muttered with a smile. “Believe it or not, but this is my first time.”

“Seriously?”

“I lived in a city my whole life.”

The night unfolded around him when he lay on the ground again, this time two layers of fabric between him and the cold earth. Stars shimmered above, scattered across the sky. Some of them pulsed gently, their light twinkling coldly right above him. Some were twinkling quickly, the others – slower, and for a while Derek was busy looking at each one and trying to find the one that would match his heart rhythm. He realised he could be doing that all night, but in five minutes his eyes began to burn, and he had to give them some rest.

A whisper of wind brushed past, rustling the grass around him. Somewhere in the distance, crickets were chirping, while the air felt fresh, carrying the subtle scent of bluebells and grape juice for whatever reason.

Derek opened his eyes again after a while and looked across Titch’s dark silhouette under the vines, still sitting with his knees dragged to his chin and arms wrapped tightly around them. And then he realised Titch wasn’t watching the night river anymore. His eyes were on Derek, observing him curiously.

“What are you thinking about, Derek?” he asked quietly, his voice rustling softly in the silence of the night.

“I think I love you.”

The words escaped his lips before he could even think this through. Before he had the chance to overthink it, as he did so well, and shove them back into his throat. And before he knew it, he was sitting up slowly. He looked Titch in the eyes, and they were glistening in the darkness and piercing back into him. The words kept ringing in his ears.

“What?” Titch breathed out, and even though Derek couldn’t exactly see his face expression, he knew Titch blanched. He knew Titch too well by now to guess the way his face changed according to the situation.

“I think I love you,” Derek repeated simply, because there wasn’t much else to say.

Not a muscle moved on Titch’s face. He just froze on his spot, watching Derek, his eyes wide and his fists gripping tightly into the grass. Derek felt his heart speeding up a little, as a small feeling of fear fluttered in his chest. “Please say something,” he uttered, and his voice broke in the middle of that sentence. Why was Titch so motionless. He did not move, he did not say a word. Derek was seconds from managing a stiff laugh and saying this was all a joke. Because really, what else could there be done?

His gaze fell on Titch’s lips, thin and unusually pale in the light of the moon floating from behind the fog right above the river. And Derek moved forward, pressing a gentle kiss against them. Titch’s lips turned out to be dry and soft, slightly cold against his, and for one very long second... nothing was happening. Derek’s heard pounded in his chest and began rolling down-down-down, when Titch suddenly gave in and kissed him back slowly. Everything in Derek’s head whirled, and he exhaled shakily, grabbing Titch into a hug. And Titch’s lips were now demanding and impatient against his, deepening the kiss.

Everything around them... vanished. The river, the bridge, the vines, the stars and the moonlight, that was covering both of them. Derek lost himself in the moment and only came back to his senses when Titch leaned back a little in Derek’s arms.

“For how long did you-?” Titch’s voice shifted into an inaudible whisper in the middle of the question. Derek shook his head silently.

“Maybe since the start of working. And maybe – for my whole life. I don’t remember anymore, love. Feels like always.”

Titch’s palms were now caressing his cheeks gently, as if he was trying to memorise every inch of his face by touch. His fingers moved towards his hair and slipped through it gently, drawing Derek closer with a tenderness that left them both breathless. Titch leaned towards him and left another slow kiss on the corner of his mouth, and now Derek was the one melting into his touch and hiding his face in Titch’s shoulder.

“All this time,” he whispered into the fabric of the shirt, feeling Titch’s hands stopping, fingers tangled in his hair, “I only wanted to make you feel like... like you were making me feel.”

“Hurt?..”

The question was so sudden and genuine Derek raised his eyes, trying to catch Titch’s gaze. He caught a flicker of pain in his eyes and murmured a quick ‘no’ under his breath, hurrying to leave another reassuring kiss on Titch’s forehead. “No, sweetheart, no, no, of course not, why would you think that...”

Titch’s eyes sparkled, silent question written on his face, and Derek smiled at him solemnly. “In love.”

He did not remember how they got home. Probably they got cold sitting by the river at midnight, and they decided it would be better for them to head back to the house, and then, in about twenty minutes, they were already in Derek’s room, lit with the bluish moonlight that seeped through the tree leaves and into the window.

Derek lightly brushed his nose against Titch’s cheek before leaving a soft kiss on his cheekbone and pushing him lightly on the bed. He was so fragile. Almost weightless in his arms. Beautifully tender. He was everything.

“Derek,” a whisper slipped from Titch’s lips, and Derek hummed, lying on the bed next to him.

“What, love?”

A ray of moonlight slid on Titch's face, travelled down his neck and fell on his collarbone, slightly visible from under his half-unbuttoned shirt. Derek slowly leaned towards him and gently touched the warm skin with his lips, tracing a trail of kisses along it. His breath must have been so hot against Titch’s neck, he thought, pressing his nose into the curve above that enticing collarbone and inhaling his scent. Just like he had always imagined it would be.

“What is happening to us?” The question rustled into his hair along with Titch’s deep breathing. What was happening to them? Was it really happening at all? It felt like a dream. A feverish, wonderfully real dream, illuminated by the cold moonlight that was spilling across the room. A dream that could be taken from him at any moment, so he was grasping at it as hard as possible and forbade himself to stop even for a second.

“I don’t know,” Derek muttered, wrapping Titch into another hug and feeling him settle into his hold with his whole body. Fragile. Tender. So wonderful. “I love you,” he mouthed into Titch’s hair, his voice inaudible, with that being the only thought he had in his mind. And he could only hope Titch was feeling the same.

Chapter Text

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“People say I’m emotionally unavailable.”
~ Suits

The walk. The Troll Bridge. The stars, scattered in the night sky, and so many of them that it felt like the whole cosmos was watching him. Titch’s fragile figure by the riverside, watching the dark waters dreamily. ‘I think I love you’. The kiss. His bedroom, bathed in the cold light streaming from outside. Titch in his embrace. Soft whispers against his neck. The whole world becoming distant and unimportant.

A whirl of memories flooded Derek’s head before he could even wake up properly, and Derek beamed happily into the ceiling with his eyes still closed. He moved his arm to the right, trying to find Titch by touch. His palm swept across the cold sheets and reached the end of the bed, and Derek finally looked to his side, realising that Titch... was not there. He was alone in the room.

Derek slowly sat up, his sleepy mind trying to figure out if last night really happened. It should have, right? It felt too realistic to be a dream. No, no, it really happened – the Troll Bridge, and the kiss, and the talks, and the sex, and then the cuddling, so long and warm that Derek fell asleep in Titch’s hold.

Derek took his phone and looked at the time. Nine in the morning. Of course Titch is not in bed, he thought with relief, switching the phone off. The bed creaked under his weight as he got up. He took his clothes off the chair, where he had tossed it earlier without thinking much about what he was doing, and looked around the room again, as if expecting to see something new in it. Obviously, there wasn’t anything new. Titch’s clothes were probably tossed on top of Derek’s when they undressed yesterday, and since Titch was not in the room, it was logical to assume he left this room with his clothes on.

Derek didn’t know, where that little voice was coming from, but it was now narrating everything from his head in the most corrosive way, and it was annoying. Derek chose to ignore that new aspect of himself and left the room, deciding to go make tea – and coffee for Titch, probably – and then find him somewhere.

In ten minutes he was already leaving the kitchen, two steaming cups in his hands. His first guess where to look for Titch was outside. He pushed the front door with his shoulder, his hands busy with the cups, and he saw Titch on the terrace, gathering bags of fertilizer into a big pile by the stairs.

“Oh there you are,” Derek commented with a smile. “Morning, love,” he placed the cups on the glass table and leaned in for a kiss, but Titch suddenly backed away. Derek raised his eyebrow in surprise. “Woah. What’s up with you?” Only then he noticed how on edge Titch actually looked – hair unusually messy, face blushing, eyes sparkling.

“Uh- Morning,” Titch murmured, looking rather uncomfortable. “I- Um- I’m a little busy, see,” he gestured at the bags.

“What are you even doing?”

“We’ve got to continue taking care of the earth. Clean it up from all the dust and weed, and stuff like that.”

Titch shifted his shoulder uneasy and shot another tense glance at Derek. Derek frowned. “Why are you being weird?” he asked bluntly, reaching out to take his hand, but Titch avoided his touch once again. He stepped away and slipped his fingers through his hair nervously.

“No, Derek,” he said, his voice hasty and frayed. “No-no-no, I can’t do this-”

“Can’t what, touch me?”

“Any of it,” Titch suddenly responded, looking Derek directly in the eyes. Derek’s heart sank into the depth of his stomach. No, no, no, this was not happening. “I- I’m sorry, Derek, but I don’t think we should be doing this. This was all a mistake.” Titch stopped to catch a breath for a moment. Derek was just staring at him bluntly.

“What are you talking about?” he whispered, not sure if he was even understanding correctly. “Titch, love, what are you- What were all those things that happened last night then?..”

“I was- I was sad, Derek!” Titch snapped bitterly. “And I didn’t know what I was doing, okay? Look, we're working hard to get the farm back on its feet right now, so... I probably won’t even have time for something this big. I just- need some space.”

Derek was watching him, watching his nervous movements and listening to his clumsy explanations and with each second he was more and more convinced that Titch was hurting just as much as Derek was. Even though he kept hiding it stoically. Well, if he was trying to fool Derek, he should have been doing a better job. “You don’t want to do this,” Derek said straightforwardly, their eyes locking for one long moment. “I can see it, Titch, so don’t lie to me. We both know you are bad at lying.” Titch shot a guilty look at him, and Derek’s voice got softer. “You don’t want to do this, love,” he repeated apologetically as he took a small step closer. His hands were now hovering at his sides helplessly, because Titch clearly didn’t want to be touched, and Derek just didn’t know how to communicate to him in any other way.

Titch flinched at the last word and his gaze suddenly became rough. “Oh I do. And I’d like to keep this strictly professional, Derek.”

Derek was feeling utterly stupid. He was just standing there on the porch, watching Titch, and everything inside him was going numb. That was weird. He’d imagined if such a situation ever occurred, he would be at least angry. Sad. Maybe he would even cry. He never thought he’d just stand still, without any thoughts or particularly strong feelings.

“Will you at least come for our ten-minute break?” he asked quietly, hoping that maybe Titch would give him at least that.

“Uh- I’m not sure, Derek, really,” Titch looked at him, a flicker of guilt passing too quickly to catch, but there nevertheless. “Probably not today.”

“Why?”

“I just- Just got a lot on my plate right now, figured it wouldn’t be the best idea,” he said, his voice faltered ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, Derek, I really am.”

Derek’s eyes widened, searching Titch’s face for something, literally anything to explain this sudden change. “But... but will you be here tomorrow?” he asked hesitantly.

Pause hung in the air between them, thick with sudden hurt. Titch’s jaw clenched as he wrestled with the answer for a few moments. “We’ll see,” he said finally, his voice softer now, hollow even, and he walked away, leaving Derek alone on the porch.

Derek walked slowly across the empty terrace and looked around the field, feeling suddenly small and crushed on this huge farm, with its huge mansion, and huge amount of supplies, and huge fucking responsibilities that were pulling Titch away from Derek. With this stupid enormous terrace. And with no Titch to have a ten-minute-break with. The fields looked absolutely abandoned: the morning shift hadn’t started yet, so there were no workers out there, and Titch... apparently had a lot on his plate. It was probably because of the business crashing, Derek thought, sitting down in one of the chairs and tracing the horizon with his sight. Maybe if Derek had confessed when he first started having those feelings, three months ago, everything would be different. Titch wouldn’t be so busy, and he would have enough time and enough desire to be with Derek. Well, it was too late for that now.

“Hey! Why are you sitting here alone? Not working today?” Philipp, who was passing the house with a shovel in his hand, paused near Derek.

“Yeah, I- I guess I’ll find myself something to do,” Derek agreed, still not sure if he could really be any use in such state.

“Woah,” Philipp frowned, measuring him with his sight. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah, something stupid,” Derek waved his hand dismissively. “Just, you know... A mistake. I should probably just forget about it,” he said bitterly, wondering if that's what it was like for Titch. Did Titch just... woke up this morning and decided he’d simply forget it all?

“Well, that sucks either way,” Philipp commented, looking at Derek up and down. “I hope you will figure it out. Just in case, you can always count on my help, okay? Well, see you later, Derek!”

“Yeah... yeah, thank you...” Derek mouthed, sitting back into his chair and staring blankly before himself. He returned to rewinding their conversation with Titch over and over in his head, evaluating every word.

‘I was sad, I didn’t know what I was doing.’

‘I’d like to keep this strictly professional.’

‘This was all a mistake.’

Titch called it a mistake. Titch called that precious, wonderful time that had yesterday, a mistake. That evening by the river, and the stars shimmering around, and Derek’s confession, and all the touches and kisses and sex. Everything, every small moment that Derek was carefully committing to memory when he woke up this morning, was now labelled with that horrible word. ‘A mistake’. Like a crumpled paper draft, balled up and thrown into the trash.

Derek shot one last bitter glance at the empty seat Titch was usually taking and went inside to find himself some work to do. He spent the day just rummaging through the incoming messages, handling all the arrangements and noting them carefully into the day-planner to show Titch later. He didn’t even notice that it became dark outside, and if he was completely honest, it felt good – to get himself so lost in work he forgot about his troubles for a while.

Soon enough he established that he’d have to use the same tactic over and over throughout the days and focus on work more than usual just to stop overthinking this whole mess so much, because things weren’t getting any better. Titch became distant and closed all of a sudden. The next day when Derek was carrying crates to the barn (yes, Titch had finally sent him a note with the checklist, and Derek at last had something else to do other than paperwork), when he saw Philipp approaching Titch with a phone in his hand.

“Sir,” he heard Philipp saying, showing Titch something on the screen, “Poppy just called in sick. She won’t be able to come today.”

“What is she thinking to herself? Her sector is one of the worst ones already, with the all the weed and the bugs, and the dust,” Titch muttered, putting the shovel down and looking towards the east corner of the field, where, as Derek knew, Poppy’s sector was.

Derek, who was just walking by, stopped, ready to put the crates down. “Hey, Titch, you want me to fill in for he-?”

“No, no, thank you, I got it,” Titch cut him off in the middle of the sentence without even looking at him, grabbed the shovel and went towards Poppy’s sector.

“What’s up with you two?” Philipp asked, his confused gaze shifting from Derek to Titch and back.

Derek shrugged and nodded in Titch’s direction sadly. “Wanted to help, that’s all. I have no idea why he’s acting like that.”

He really couldn’t come up with nothing logical regarding to what was happening. Titch didn’t show up for their lunch-break again, apparently still being busy with rehabilitating the farm. Derek tried over and over to keep his cool. He decided he will not be sad until he knows for sure Titch doesn’t want to have ANYTHING with him, and, since he’d spent the two previous days doing almost nothing, he got up early in the morning full of energy. He went downstairs, searching through YouTube for some interesting dishes to cook, and he stopped on a Pancake Pie recipe. It didn’t look too complicated, but he had never tried it before, so it looked like a fun thing to do.

In almost forty minutes, when he was positive he did almost everything right and all that was left to do was to put the dough in the oven, he heard footsteps coming from the staircase. “Good morning!” he called without looking, adjusting the temperature on the stove to precisely a hundred degrees.

“Oh.” The voice made him turn sharply to see Titch, who had stopped mid-step by the staircase, one hand gripping the railing, as if caught between going back to his bedroom or wherever he’d come from. “Hi, Derek. You’re still waking up that early?”

“Well,” Derek said, closing the oven and taking the gloves off his hands, “I thought I might cook something fancy, you know. It will be ready in precisely thirty minutes, if you’re willing to wait. And if you’re not, I can just heat something up for you real quick,” he began moving towards the fridge, but Titch gestured him to stop.

“Thank you, that won’t be necessary. I think I’ll just... have lunch right away. Aside from the crop management conference we have today, I sent you the checklist, for all the things that are needed to be done today, and if you are finished with those – it’s your free time. Okay?”

He walked away without saying much more, and Derek slowly sat on one of the chairs, trying to understand what just happened. His gaze settled on the dough in the oven, watching it turn golden and rise slowly, his mind blank.

He was hurting. Not more, not less.

“Hey, Derek!” James walked into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, seeming to be in an unusually cheerful mood. “I heard you’re going for a meeting of some sort today?”

“Yeah, the crop management conference. Why?”

“Could you run into some store and buy airbuds for me? Literally any brand, I just need something for the music during workouts, and I lost mine somewhere. That is – if Titch doesn’t have anything else planned for you and if you have a spare minute.”

“Yeah, I might as well,” Derek shrugged, bowing his head sadly and looking at his fingers, entwined in a tight lock on his knees. “Titch avoids me anyway...”

That was true. Titch had never spoken to him the way he did for the past few days. Even during his first days, when Derek was inexperienced and ruined several of the tasks he was given, Titch never cut him off. He was undignified, yes, and he made sure Derek knew exactly how unhappy he was with Derek’s mistakes, but that was it. They would move past it, and in fifteen minutes at most, they'd be discussing ways to fix everything and prevent these kinds of mistakes from happening again. That was the main reason Derek liked Titch as a boss: he never held any grudges and was all about fixing, not about keeping things broken. At least, business-wise.

He kept going over the past few days in his mind, trying to figure out what he did wrong, and nothing was coming to his mind. Titch seemed just as happy with what was happening at the Troll Bridge as Derek was. If anything, he seemed almost relieved that Derek was feeling the way he was feeling. He seemed to genuinely want to be with Derek. He was saying so many beautiful things to him. He seemed real there under the Troll Bridge. Derek was so happy he had finally seen real him. And now he was pretending like none of that ever mattered to him.

Titch was wasting away on the fields for almost the entire day. Derek didn’t see him at lunch again and he was positive Titch skipped supper as well. Sitting in his room and pretending to watch a movie, he heard the slam of Titch's bedroom door and his footsteps in the hallway, heading toward his office. So he decided to work night-time too, Derek thought bitterly, remembering how not so long ago Titch was too weak to even stand up and couldn’t read off the fucking screen for longer than ten minutes. How easily does this man forget about his well-being?! Skipping meals and overworking himself to pieces like that.

It took Derek ten minutes to heat up a glass of milk and put a few pieces of that cake he cooked earlier on the plate. He walked up the stairs and knocked on the office door – apparently, he should start knocking again, considering Titch is acting like he just met Derek yesterday.

“Come in?” Titch was watching the door demandingly, with his eyebrows raised. The minute he saw Derek, his face expression eased a little. “Jesus Christ, Derek, why are you still awake this late?”

“Same question,” Derek muttered. “I noticed you skipped almost all the meals today. That really isn’t good, you know that?”

“Yeah, well,” Titch lowered his gaze - something Derek had never seen him do before, and sighed, “I just... got caught in the act, you see. And I couldn’t sleep, so...” he gestured at the room. “Here I am.”

Derek approached the table and placed the tray on its side. “Just... at least eat this, please,” he said quietly. “I won’t bother you anymore, I promise, but you really have to eat.”

Lying in his bed late at night, still wide awake and tangled in thoughts, Derek found his mind circling back to Titch again and again. He couldn’t understand what was going on between the two of them, but it hurt. He could see it was hurting Titch as well, because that man could lie to himself and to the entire world that he was fine and just busy, but Derek could see his eyes flickering with pain every damn time they would run into one another, - by accident, of course, because Titch was clearly not ready to see him willingly.

Derek kept returning to that empty seat on the terrace day after day. And every time, just before he would push the front door open, his heart would skip a quick beat. Maybe this time Titch will be there. Maybe it wasn’t over yet, and he decided to at least return their unspoken tradition of ten-minute-breaks. Maybe he found time in his busy fucking day. It had to mean something to him, right? It surely meant a lot to Derek...

Derek kept coming back, watching the empty seat, sighing quietly and sitting in one of the chairs. He would place one of the two cups on the glass table – the one with coffee in it – and then drink his tea quietly, watching the horizon and recalling their one and only night together. The one that Titch labelled as a ‘mistake’.

In such moments that night felt so distant and not-real. Now, that it was ripped out of his life so suddenly and without compromising. Titch was acting as if nothing ever happened, like it was all just some kind of simulation or as if Derek went absolutely crazy and imagined it all in his head.

‘You don’t want to do this.’

‘Oh, I do.’

That was the cheekiest lie Derek has ever come across in his entire life. Nobody says ‘I do’ with bitter tears shining in their eyes. The only thing Derek couldn’t understand was why exactly Titch could find himself in a situation where he needed to lie to both himself and Derek.

“You know he won’t show up this time either, right?” Philipp asked him one time. Derek was just turning on the coffee-maker, getting ready for his usual lunch-break with Titch, only there was no Titch part of the day.

“Yeah, well, maybe he will,” he said quietly, taking his teapot off the stove. He kept believing in that for whatever reason, feeling both stupid and desperate at the same time, but those two emotions weren’t even twice as strong as that small little feeling inside of him that maybe, just maybe he will come out on the terrace and see Titch there just like before. Yeah, day after day went by, and that just wasn’t happening.

“Why do you even care that much?” Philipp asked him once, when the two of them were talking in the kitchen early in the morning. The workers had permission to walk in and out of the house whenever they pleased. There were no shops or supermarkets nearby, so Titch decided the doors of the house would be open from six in the morning. Anyone who needed a drink of water, a quick cup of coffee, or missed supper and wanted to grab something before their shift could help themselves in the master kitchen. A worker could walk in at any time during the day, grab a can of soup from the fridge, heat it up in the microwave, and be on their way.

When Philipp found out Derek was usually the one who cooked for this house, he became an everyday guest there. He came in regularly to check on Derek, chat a little, discuss all the gossips and sometimes, when their shifts matched, they would leave for work together. Derek never really said it out loud, but he was so fucking grateful he was now friends with Philipp. Philipp was the only person who kept him sane so far, because days were going by, and Titch continued with his ‘nothing-ever-happened’ tactic.

Philipp cracked Derek’s secret quite quickly during one of their breakfast conversations.

“He still pays you, right?” he asked Derek once, after Derek described the situation to him. “So you just keep working and don’t trouble yourself with all the worries. Seriously, was there something more to that-” Philipp’s intent sight stopped at Derek, scanning his face, and his eyes widened. “Oh my god, there was,” he said, nearly choking on his breakfast, and pointed at Derek with his fork, eyes still wide with shock. “You... Don’t tell me you two slept together, Derek, don’t tell me that!”

“Well...” Was there a point in pretending, Derek wondered in his mind. “We did, actually.”

Philipp shook his head in astonishment. “Goddamn it, so you two did have a thing in the past! And here I was wondering what the fuck was going on with you guys. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Who else knows?!”

Derek couldn’t help but smile at this much enthusiasm. “It’s- it’s delicate. So almost nobody knows. Just you, I’m afraid. Oh, and Lady Margery.”

“Seriously, that witch downtown?”

Derek nodded: that was true. He ran into Lady Margery when he was walking through the village during one of the evenings. He was just taking one of his saddest walks so far, after another unsuccessful day of hoping that Titch would remember how to be a human being and not just a work-study-have-no-rest machine. He got a little lost in the huge woods that were located just on the side of the village, and his legs were carrying him that same path they took with Titch that day. Through the endless fields and towards the Troll Bridge.

It was ironic. He began taking those small walks specifically to get his mind off Titch, but no matter how meticulously he would plan his route, he would still end up at the Bridge. At the end he just gave up and began returning to that place on purpose. He would sit by the riverside, watching the waters for hours and trying to see stars in them again. Sometimes, when it would get really late, he did catch some occasional sparkling dots shimmering in the waters, but it was a lame shadow of what it used to be when they were here with Titch. Since that last night Derek never once had the sky so beautiful and filled with stars again.

The day he met Lady Margery, he was about to cross the bridge and explore what lay on the other side of the river when he saw her trimming the grapevines right by the water’s edge.

“Hey, Lady Margery!” he called, waving his hand at her and walking down under the bridge instead of walking across it as he had planned. “Do you maybe need help with that?”

“Hello there, boy,” she smiled, looking slightly surprised. “Really wouldn’t mind some help, to be honest. Come here. Wait, I’ll find you something to put the grapes into...” she searched through her pockets and took out a bag. “Here, you just pick them and throw them in the bag, aye? Try not to smash them, those are some pretty good grapes there... Where were you going, anyway?” she asked in a minute of collecting grapes in silence.

“Oh, just...” Derek shrugged. “Just walking.”

“People don’t usually walk around the Troll Bridge, you know,” Lady Margery noted over her shoulder, as if hinting him to keep explaining. Derek merely shrugged, without responding much, and that seemed to really concern the witch. She released another grapevine she was about to pluck, straightened up and looked at Derek shrewdly. “You’re sad today,” she commented bluntly, crossing her arms on her chest. “What happened there?”

“Nothing,” Derek muttered, turning away from her and taking another vine to cut.

Lady Margery shook her head with a smirk. “Naaah, I’m not buying that at all. Kid, if you gotta lie, at least try harder, aye? Go on, try to come up with something else,” she prompted with a wave of her hand. Derek kept on picking the grapes silently, and she merely hummed something under her breath, but dropped the subject. When they were done and Derek handed her the bag full of grapes, she smiled with just her eyes – the way only she could – and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“You’re coming with me, boy.”

“What? Where?”

“My tent, of course!”

Derek shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. “I really am not the best company right now,” he said guiltily, but Lady Margery waved her hand dismissively.

“I’m not looking for a company, thank you. You’re upset, and I figured you wanted to talk.”

He did want to talk, Derek realised, considering Margery’s idea in his head. He desperately wanted to be honest with someone for once, to share all those excruciating emotions, because they were bubbling right on the surface for so long, and he had to hush them and stay quiet for so long.

“Exactly,” Margery, who was observing his silent struggles intently, cut off the trail of his thoughts. “Come on, kid. Plus that way someone else gets to drag all these bags,” he chuckled, picking up one of the bags and handing in to Derek.

Her tent indeed turned out to be not far from the river. Derek just never tried to get there from the Bridge, he always approached it from the side of the farm. He stopped by the entrance, not sure what to do next, and Margery took the bags from him, heading decisively towards the table.

“Don’t just stand there, boy, find yourself a seat,” Margery reminded him over her shoulder, and Derek pulled up the closest chair. He watched Margery putting all of the grapes into the cauldron and shaking in lightly a few times. “There should be a small bottle of hand sanitizer next to you somewhere,” she said without looking at Derek and focused on getting out several bad grapes that somehow ended up among the good ones in the cauldron.

Derek looked around at the countless bottles, bags, packs and boxes on the stand next to him. He found the sanitizer pretty quickly and handed in to Margery.

“Now, I will need the bottle that says ‘troll mold’,” she said, cleaning her hands. Derek looked around the bottles once again.

“Hang on...” he said, narrowing his eyes and looking through the labels. “Banshee’s wail... Um, spider webs, okay... Oh wow, ‘Sex on the beach’?” he asked, smirking and picking up one of the bottles. “Oh, and the next is called ‘Be careful’...”

“Nah, you got to the booze section,” Margery, who was already squashing the grapes in the cauldron, chuckled. “Go through it again, it has to be somewhere close to the spider nets... Found it? Well what are you waiting for, throw it in here,” she nodded at the cauldron. Derek hesitated for a moment, then tossed the contents into the grape juice. “Lovely. Now, child,” Margery closed the cauldron, sat on the chair and grabbed a towel from the table, wiping the grape juice off her hands. “Talk to me, yeah? What happened?”

That was the moment, Derek thought, trying to gather his thoughts. That was the moment that was supposed to make him feel better. His mind rummaged through its deepest corners in search for words and couldn’t find from where he should even begin.

“Well... Titch has been acting strange lately,” he said at last. “Distant, you know. We used to spend really good time together, and then one day he just... acts like we’ve never met. Or, well, rather as if we never had all those good times. Like he forgot all of it in just one night, you know? And- and that bothers me very much, because I thought all of that meant something to him, and I hoped that maybe... you know, one day we could- I could-” Derek, who was now tripping over words and stuttering from all the stress, realised he got completely confused and stopped, trying to formulate in his head what he was trying to say. “It bothers me,” he repeated slowly, “because...”

“You love him,” she said simply.

The ringing silence hung between them. Derek stopped fiddling with his fingers, which he had been nervously entwining the entire time he spoke, and looked at her, bemused.

“Wha- How did you know?” he mouthed breathlessly, and she shrugged with a smile.

“I saw. When I came to the farmhouse, remember?”

Derek stared at her. The last time she was in the farmhouse was when James had his big match. She came, they were talking, and then she had a fit of some kind, that’s right. He looked at her, even more confused than before. “What do you mean? Can you see future or something?”

Margery shrugged vaguely. “More like ‘I occasionally have that gift waking up in me’. I can’t really tell. One moment I’m here, and the next moment I’m in the thickest fog, watching you two lover-boys kissing under that bridge.” She took out a piece of paper and began working the tobacco into it with an unbothered expression.

“And that was what you saw that day...” Derek whispered, still trying to put it all together in his head.

“Yeah! And boy, does it feel brutal to wake up from that sort of dreams! Head is cracking, everything’s spinning in your eyes... Ugh! You better tell me that kiss was good, kid,” she laughed, rolling the cigarette tight before striking a match and drawing the first smoke with a long exhale.

Derek smiled too. He didn’t want to, but somehow the memory of their first kiss with Titch felt so pleasant he just couldn’t help himself. “So you knew. All this time,” he stated, not knowing why his voice sounded so solemn. Margery saw their first (and maybe last, judging by the situation they were in) kiss months before it even happened. Back in those days Derek thoughts nothing could EVER happen. And Lady Margery knew. Just like that.

A sudden memory of him dropping the cup later that day, it slipping from his fingers as if it had a mind of its own, made him freeze. In all his years of cooking he had never broken anything before.

“The cup...” he whispered, pointing at her, “that- that was you too?!”

“Well fucking yeah!” she snapped, apparently irritated with his blank gaze and monosyllabic questions. “Honestly, you got a witch at your house and you wonder when weird shit happens? Look. Derek,” she said softer, because, apparently, he was looking absolutely destroyed. “I had to check if my vision was true, you see. It was all about reaction. Titch went nuts when he saw you injured; and I know it looked different to you because you were in pain, but I fucking saw it in him. The boy was in love for sure.”

“He was scared,” Derek pointed out, shaking his head. Titch grasping at his hand with his fingers trembling, whisper-scolding him for being so reckless, being so close, so soft to Derek– all that rose before his eyes in one sharp moment. He got lost in the sensations, in those warm touches and hot breath against his chest when Titch was whispering to him to be more careful. “When we got to the bathroom, he was so scared, Lady Margery. He didn’t know what to do, how to stop it – the hurting, I mean. And- and now he’s... acting as if he doesn’t care. He has to care, right? Right?” he kept asking her, his gaze clinging to her in a desperate hope. He wanted to her to say yes. He wanted to hear it from her, right in that moment. It felt like whatever she said next would solve everything.

The witch leaned closer, her face unreadable and her eyes sparkling in the mist of the tent. “Why do you think I know the answer, kid?” she asked quietly, as if weighing every word before saying it.

“You always do,” Derek whispered helplessly. “I- I mean, it’s you, Lady Margery, you- you know shit, right?” his lips twitched nervously, trying to form a smile, as he quoted her own words. “You tell me what I should do. If I should keep trying, or is nothing going to happen ever?” The thought of it possibly being true crushed him all at once, and he blinked quickly, as if the realization had physically struck him. “Just tell me, Lady Margery. Whatever you say – so be it,” he whispered barely audible.

The witch shook her head sadly. “It’s not how it works, child, not at all how it works. This must be your word. Your decision. I understand this might hurt,” she said, her voice soft and soothing, and reached for Derek’s arm, squeezing it gently. “But when it comes to things like this – you’re on your own. I can give you advice. I can listen. I can make you black out or forget things for a day or two, sure,” she nodded towards the countless alcohol and drug supplies she had in the corner. “But to shape your fate for you... that I cannot.”

Derek's eyes dropped to the ground. And here for just one short second he had hoped he would be given the answer. Of course it wasn’t that easy. How unbelievably stupid of him, really. His chest tightened, and a bitter ache crept into his heart. For a moment, he didn’t move, just sat there, the silence pressing in. His lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came out. He swallowed hard, blinking against the sudden sting in his eyes. Margery watched his silent struggles without saying a word, occasionally tapping the ash off her cigarette before taking another drag.

After a long heavy pause, Derek nodded slowly, his expression still tight with emotion. "I understand," he murmured, though the pain in his voice suggested otherwise.

“Mhm,” the witch hummed, leaning on the back of her chair, and measured him up and down with her dreamy sight. “So what will it be?” she asked quietly after a moment.

Derek stopped for a second. Every moment he had with Titch, flashed before his eyes: the three months of constant pining, and then the panic attack, and the kiss, and their conversation on the terrace. The ‘what is happening to us?’ and the pained ‘I’d like to keep this strictly professional, Derek’ just a few hours later. Just then Derek realised he told Titch he loved him so many times. He repeated it over and over during that night, he wanted to taste every word on his tongue and keep saying that until he was short of breath, and Titch... never said it back. Well... if that was what Titch wanted...

“I will keep it professional,” was all Derek said before getting up and leaving Margery’s tent. “Thankfully, I know hell about aubergines now.”

Chapter Text

“You don’t always have to be the hero.”
“I’m not doing it to be a hero!”
“Then why are you doing it?!”
“BECAUSE IT’S MY GODDAMN FAULT!”
~ Suits

Oh no. No, no, no, this could not be happening. Titch froze on his spot, slowly looking around the bedroom – not his bedroom, Derek’s bedroom, the one he haven’t been in since Derek moved into the farmhouse - and he was trying to recall how he even got here. One moment he was half-asleep, his mind struggling to wake up, and then a rush of memories flooded in, making him realize exactly what had happened.

Of course, he fully remembered last night. They were walking and ended up by the Troll Bridge – Titch probably headed there out of pure habit, because he was sad, and the quiet corner right by the riverside, hidden under the vines, was the only place that usually made him at least somewhat happier. He remembered their conversation – not a conversation even, just a quiet exchange of phrases in between long thoughtful pauses. He had been watching the water splash by his feet, while Derek gazed up at the sky—or at least, what little of it he could see through the grapevines.

And then those magical words swept the world away in a whirlwind of emotion. “I think I love you.” Titch couldn’t bring himself to move. He searched for words to respond, but there were none. He just sat there, staring, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. Derek’s gaze scanned Titch’s face, searching for any reaction, any sign of emotion, but Titch couldn’t summon the strength to make a sound.

...And then Derek’s lips crushed on his. It was a sudden and desperate kiss, a kiss of someone who has nothing else to lose. Derek’s lips were hasty and fervent against his, it felt like he was scared and yearning at the same time. And Titch suddenly realised he... wanted to kiss Derek back. That he has been wanting to kiss him from the very beginning, ever since their fingers brushed as he was bandaging Derek’s injured hand weeks ago. He had forbidden himself from even thinking about it, and- and-

He leaned in and kissed Derek back, tasting his lips in slow and gradual motions. He heard a ragged exhale as Derek grabbed him into a tight hug and buried his face in Titch's shoulder. Titch was feeling Derek’s rapid heartbeat, he heard the uneven breaths, and also hugged him back, barely understanding what was happening.

Derek kissed him. Derek was leaning into his touch, seemingly unaware that his fingers were tightly gripping Titch’s wrists, holding onto him so desperately it almost hurt. Yet, the thought of pulling away never even crossed Titch’s mind. He was trying to fully absorb that moment, to stay in it for as long as possible. He never wanted it to stop. For them to stop.

But he promised himself he would never allow those feelings to grow.

He did not care.

He had to stop now. This was wrong, and he would ruin it just like he ruined everything else.

He did not care.

He fucked up so many things before. He was wicked and he had no right to-

He did not care. He’s been aching to do this for so long. He hated himself for not being able to keep his feelings at bay, but he wanted this so damn much, and he had it now, and he was not going to waste it on some useless overthinking. Nothing mattered. Nothing existed for him anymore, except for Derek, and his soft touches, and his muffled breaths into his ear, and his silvery whisper: ‘I think I love you’.

Those words were still in Titch’s mind now that he woke up and looked around the room, realising what had happened.

“No,” his lips moved, but not a sound escaped. He flinched from his spot, sitting up on the bed, and froze, because the bed squeaked loudly under his weight. Next to him, Derek stirred slightly, shifting into a more comfortable position, and hummed quietly under his breath, still half-asleep. Titch slipped from the bed and reached for his clothes, lying in an untidy lump on top of Derek’s.

No, no, no, this was not happening, he thought frantically, trying to pull his trousers on and failing, because his hands just wouldn’t obey properly. Oh god. Oh god no, that was just too much to handle. Derek’s eyes, sparkling in the moonlight, filled with love and admiration, were before Titch’s sight when he was leaving the bedroom hastily and walking stealthily through the sleeping house.

Everything that happened that night was now running through his head in an endless tumble, and it was just so much emotions he was actually hurting. He rushed into his room, headed straight towards the bathroom and he leaned on the sink, eyes fixated on his own reflection on the mirror. For a few moments he just stared at himself, studying every inch of his face. You coward, a cold voice in his head commented, making him turn away from the mirror with disgust. What did you think was going to happen yesterday? You thought you could keep fucking up one good thing after another, and pay nothing for it? Look at yourself. You’re fucking scared.

He was. He was so scared, because this was new, and this was precious, and he was so good at wrecking precious things.

He never thought it was possible to feel so much hate in just one moment. But in that second, standing before the mirror and hearing his own frantic breaths echo against the walls of the bathroom, he hated himself so much it felt suffocating. He allowed himself to slip. He gave this whole ‘relationship’ a chance, knowing fully well he would break everything as soon as possible. He was now responsible for every bit of pain this mistake would cause Derek.

All Titch wanted to do was to drive his fist into the mirror, just to see that scared, unworthy person on the other side of it vanish beneath the surface of cracks. He turned on his heels sharply and left the room without looking back. He went across the hallway and into his office, already taking his phone from his pocket and opening his day-planner.

He wanted some responsibility? He thought he was good enough to start something so precious? Why doesn't he start by fixing the previous good thing he broke? The farm, all dust and ashes, stretched before his sight as he looked in the window, and Titch smirked bitterly, realising that this was all that was left from his previous attempts to make something worthwhile. That abandoned land, with weed progressing through it every day more and more, with dry, cracked irrigation pipes, scattered tools left half-buried in the dirt, and the faint rusting of the watering system where water no longer flowed - that was all he left after himself, and now he was doing something even worse, because one thing is to fuck up the land, and the other – to make another person dependant on him. Especially Derek. He could not do this to Derek.

It took him two hours to fully evaluate and plan out everything that needed to be done in order for the farm to rehabilitate. He calculated the exact amount of supplies, efforts and working hours, and he outlined the most important parts of that process. He had a whole farm to resurrect, and he had to do it in the shortest period of time. That was what he was going to focus on.

He had to forget about Derek, he reminded himself over and over throughout the day. Derek’s voice, broken and lost, asking him why he was doing this echoed in his head over and over long after their conversation on the terrace, and he kept driving it away and concentrating on whatever he was doing, because he had to. This was the only way.

At first he truly believed he could handle this. Whatever feelings those were that scared him so damn much, he could totally keep them at bay, if he just managed to create a certain distance. To be consistent. To plan this out. This was always about planning, wasn’t it? His whole life, outlined to the seconds.

Titch tried again and again. To maybe not spend so much time talking about Derek, thinking about him, in his head returning to the Troll Bridge and savouring every moment they had there. He thought if he would just work hard enough, those feelings would go away. It always worked like that. It had to work this time too. Except... it didn’t. He watched Derek from the distance, doing the things on the checklists Titch was still writing for him, or talking to his friends among the other workers – mainly to Philipp, - and he just couldn’t concentrate on literally anything other than that. And that aggravated him even more.

He changed his schedule and shifted his waking hour two hours earlier. He shoved some more responsibilities he had to take care of into his daily routine, and it became an endless race with time.

Get up. Work. Study. Sleep. Get up again. Do not think about Derek. Do not even look in his direction. You do not deserve him. Hands off that beautiful person.

Focus.

Work.

Work, you wimp.

Over and over. Until you can’t no more.

He was feeling more and more worn out with each day. He was the first one to get on the fields, and when he had the time to actually give it a thought, he would catch himself thinking that he alone was probably responsible for cleaning at least half of the territory. The employees worked fine, he gave them credit. But he was everywhere at once. He did not stop. He did not rest. He skipped the midday meals, because he was supposed to spend them with Derek, and he kept telling Derek he had to work.

By the end of each day he felt crushed. It was painful enough to just look at the land, which became miserable in those few weeks that nothing was growing there. Dust, bugs, seagulls, weed – all of that took over the earth. Forgotten and abandoned, with weed progressing over the perimeter with giant steps, it was absolutely destroyed, and Titch tried to ignore those vile little thoughts that flooded his head each time he stepped onto the land, telling him that it was his and only his fault. And then the working day was over, and he would return to his room and not think about Derek. Just like all the previous times he was busy not thinking about him.

For whatever reason, Titch was still scared to interact with him for too long. Of course, they saw each other every day, because Derek was still Titch’s assistant, and by that point he was actually really good at his job. They now had a simple system of delegating responsibilities. Titch would send Derek a checklist with everything he needed back-up with during the day. If necessary, they would talk over their strategies or plans. Titch could see Derek was watching him each time, closely and interrogatively, as if waiting for him to do or say something that would somehow change everything. Titch could not escape that gaze, locking on him and not leaving his side for the whole time they would talk.

Derek took into consideration Titch’s wish to keep this professional. Titch did not hear another ‘love’ from him since their talk on the terrace, and Derek became exceptionally careful with the touches. Now he seemed to pay attention to the exact distance between him and Titch, and if in their earlier days he could give him a pat on the back or touch his shoulder to draw his attention, now it was all... gone. Derek was indeed putting effort into keeping this professional, Titch realised after one of their morning check-ups.

There was just one time. They had to go to the crop management conference, and they spent almost the whole day there – Titch negotiating with the other farmers and Derek taking notes by his side and listening intently to every word of the conversation. He threw in some questions or remarks, just to let Titch know what he was thinking, which was a massive help to Titch, who was often so caught up in the technical details that he missed the bigger picture. When the meeting was over, Titch thought this was actually a very productive one.

“That went quite well,” Derek noted, confirming his thoughts. They had just left the office in which they had the meeting, and Titch established with a surprise that it was dark already.

“Yeah,” he said, looking around and wondering, how the hell they managed to make a meeting this long. An icy gust of wind made him shiver a little, and he felt Derek’s eyes scanning him up and down with quiet intensity. Without uttering a word, Derek took off his coat and draped it tightly over Titch’s shoulders. Titch already had his own coat on, but Derek’s covered him completely, and he felt his whole body respond to the warmth of Derek’s jacket enveloping him. He could just drown in that warmth and the quiet security it gave him, and the sense of being shielded from everything else, and... No. Fucking no. He went through this already, he will fuck up the whole thing, and he can’t have that. Not now.

“No, no, thank you,” he hurried to say, flinching away from Derek’s arm and avoiding the soft touch. “Cause, really... I- I don’t want you to be cold- I’m fine, Derek, we’re not too far from the bus stop, anyway-”

“Just take the damn coat,” Derek said quietly. It was then when Titch noticed a barely visible flicker of pain in Derek’s eyes. Derek didn’t try to do anything else that day, and the next day Titch found him sitting on their usual place, at the terrace, with a cup in one hand, watching the horizon. Another cup was settled on the coffee table, still steaming. Titch was just walking past the house, and he was still pretty far away, so Derek couldn’t see him. And that was for the best, because Titch was not ready to face him.

He turned around and walked away, his heart beating heavily in his chest.

He tried to be polite and warm to Derek, whenever it was appropriate. But he could see Derek was watching him twice as carefully now. There was no sorrow or regret in his sight, yet Titch occasionally could feel Derek’s cautious sight settling on him and not leaving for minutes, deep and thoughtful. Whenever Titch needed help, Derek was there. And within the few days he’d learnt to offer just that – no warm words, no hyperextended pleasantries. Just business. Just assisting. Just... caring. Still fucking caring, Titch realised, when he thought about it late at night, sitting with an open book in front of him and lying to himself that he was reading. Derek just found another way to be there for him, just in a little deformed way, in the way that suited the situation. But he was still there. Still by his side.

Those several days that Titch spent like that – trying to avoid his own feelings – took the hell out of him. With each day he was getting only more and more irritable with everyone around, himself included, and Derek was the only person, who was left untouched by that sudden change of mood.

He would wake up in the middle of the night, thinking about how he could be in a different bed now, in Derek’s bed, hugging him tightly and whispering things to him – beautiful things, the kind of things Derek deserved to hear, and he would end up clinging to the pillow and swallowing the frantic sobs, his face hot with tears.

This was stupid. He never stood a chance in this. Even if he decided suddenly to take that risk and put everything he had with Derek on the line... Titch still didn’t deserve him. Never did.

He walked down the spiralling stairs one night, cautious to not make the floorboards creak under his feet, and he sat at the kitchen table, staring into the darkness of the night house with just one corner lamp lighting everything with the misty yellowish colours, waiting for his glass of milk to be warmed up.

How did he even end up getting so close with someone like Derek, he kept asking himself over and over. He was obnoxious his whole life, no one could stand him, starting with the workers and ending with James. Lady Margery always said that fate gives people what they deserve. “No more, no less, you see,” Titch once overheard her saying to his father during dinner. “Fate is some tricky bitch, but she definitely knows what she’s doing. You get directly what you’re worth.”

Well, it didn’t seem like it so far, Titch thought, taking another sip of his warm milk which was supposed to finally make him sleepy at two o’clock in the morning.

“Brother?” he heard a quiet voice from the staircase, and looked up, squinting to get a better look at James in the dim light from the lamp.

“Why are you awake?” Titch whispered, because, not taking in account James’ footsteps, the house was still silent and sleepy.

“I thought I heard noises. Thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a look. Turns out, it was you,” James smiled, but his face became serious the very next moment. “Why are you awake, Titch?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Titch said and nodded at his glass of milk. “This helps sometimes, so...”

“Well, why can’t you sleep?” James asked, pulling up a chair and sitting next to Titch. “Come on, brother,” he added, seeing that Titch wasn’t eager to respond. “I can see that something’s wrong, alright? You haven’t been yourself recently, for the past week for sure. And I know you’re trying to hide it from everyone yourself included, but that is not the right way to- Hey, Titch!”

Titch felt James’ strong hand touching his shoulder and giving him a light shake, but it was too late: his eyes were prickling, and he was feeling a tight lump forming in his throat and making it difficult to breathe. He pressed his forehead into his hands and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m fine,” he managed after a moment, still not looking at James. “I’m fine, it’s just that- that- How’s Derek doing?” he asked all of a sudden, glancing at James with hope.

“Well, he was pretty sad the other day I talked to him,” James admitted and raised his eyes, apparently, trying to recall that interaction. “Told me you’re avoiding him. Did you two have a tiff?”

Titch dropped his head back into his hands, pressing his lips together. So that was what it was like for Derek. Derek thought Titch was... avoiding him.

“You know you can tell me everything, Titch, right?” James asked quietly, leaning a little to catch Titch’s sight. “Look at me. Come on. You CAN tell me anything,” he pressed, watching Titch with concern in his sight.

There. That was the moment it all broke. All that composure and self-control Titch was building for these past few weeks, wavered and crushed on him, and all that was left was... him. Small and alone, and hurting, and in love. “I can’t pretend I’m fine anymore,” he whispered, his lips trembling, and leaned into James’ hug helplessly, feeling hot tears rolling down his face.

James’ hold of him became stronger, and several moments passed in silence, with just the clock on the wall ticking steadily and Titch trying in vain to suppress convulsive sobs. “You want to tell me what happened?” James asked carefully after several minutes, his voice soft and quiet.

“I want to be with him,” was all Titch could say, clenching his fists together in a helpless despair. “I want to, I’m just... I’m just not worth him. And I'm fuckin’ scared,” he admitted, each word heavy with bitterness, “that- that- I will ruin it, and that I will lose him, because that’s all I do, I-” the lump in his throat became tighter, and he had to swallow hard in order to keep talking. “I destroy,” his voice cracked into a strained whisper, but kept pushing through. “I- I destroy, and then people get disappointed and hurt, like- like the last time, with the farm, and I can’t let that happen now. It can’t happen again. Not with him. So I have to- keep him away- like that.”

He kept talking even though he was stumbling on words more and more with each second. He had to speak before his wicked mind would shut from the whole world again, not letting him utter a word more and lock him into that protective shell of silence again. So he kept grasping at James’ hand and talking, trying to concentrate on his words and ignoring the uprising panic that was suffocating him alive.

“Are you... are you talking about Derek?” James asked slowly, his voice sounding a little muffled to Titch, who was still sobbing into his shoulder. Titch nodded.

“So you’re... in love with Derek?”

That question echoed in the kitchen without an answer, but there was no need for Titch to answer. James hugged him tighter, and for several moments just held, obviously trying to comb his thoughts together.

“It's weird..." James said at last, as if talking to himself. "See, I always wondered who it would be. And turns out it is Derek who broke my little brother’s heart...”

It was such a James thing to say Titch almost smiled.

“You know he waits for you there, hm?” James asked all of a sudden, making Titch flinch in his hold a bit. “On that terrace, I mean. Every day. Looks like he disagrees that you’re not worth him.”

Titch shook his head, still sniffling quietly and brushed his cheek against the fabric of his shirt, trying to wipe the tears away.

“I- I just don’t know how to- do this,” he uttered, still struggling to catch his breath as the air in the room seemed to shrink around him. “How to not be scared, and how to m-make him happy, and how not to wreck it the same way I wrecked the land.”

“I'm going to state the obvious here, Titch,” James said suddenly, lightly pushing him away, just enough for their eyes to lock. “Before the land went barren, it was fucking flowering. You made it great. Hell, this was the biggest and most successful farm in the entire region. You were making us all proud, you know that? And every time I would return from my trainings and see one of those huge billboards on the streets, with the name of our farm there, I thought to myself: that’s my little brother, right there. That’s all him. From the first to the last aubergine.”

“What’s your point?” Titch asked, although a weak smile touched his lips.

James held Titch’s gaze, his expression soft yet unwavering. “My point, brother, is that nothing can be perfect forever. There’s no foolproof recipe for not messing things up. But you? You gave that land life, and you kept at it for years. Maybe you think you broke it in the end, but it was alive first because of you. And Derek? He’s waiting on that terrace every day because he sees something worth waiting for. That’s all you, too.”

Titch swallowed, the lump in his throat still stubbornly lingering, but James’s words resonated, giving him a sliver of courage. The corners of his mouth quirked upward, however faintly. “You’re... saying I’m worth something. After all that happened,” he clarified for whatever reason.

“Not just worth something. Worth everything, Titch.” James gripped his shoulder, looking him dead in the eyes. “Everything.”

For a while, Titch simply sat there, absorbing it all. He may not have believed the entirety of those kind words James had told him there in the moment, but when he returned to his room twenty minutes later, he felt... at least somewhat better. He woke up much later than he usually did the next morning, and he lay in the bed for several minutes with his eyes closed, replaying his next moves over and over in his mind. He would probably have to talk to Derek. Tell him he never should have left. Explain to him everything that was happening. Hope Derek would understand.

He crossed the hallway and entered his office, looking through his phone notifications, so he didn’t even notice a piece of paper lying on his desk at first. Only a second later his gaze fell on the sign ‘Titch’ written in suspiciously familiar handwriting across the paper folded in two. Titch snatched the note from the desk and unfolded it, cold shivers running down his spine as his eyes scanned the letter from line to line.

“Dear Titch,

I don’t even know how to start this letter properly. I lot of things I have told you before, and those that I haven’t told you – you probably don’t want to hear them anyway, now that you’ve clearly shown me you do not want to have anything to do with me.

I fell in love with you since the first day I saw you. All this time you were the point of everything I was doing. I was trying so hard to be a good assistant, a good friend and then, when you gave me the chance – a good lover. I don’t know what I did wrong and where exactly I made the mistake that made you turn away from me after the Troll Bridge. I kept returning to that night, again and again, and I remembered every second of it like it was happening right before my eyes. I tried to understand when exactly had I ruined it all, and I still am not sure I know the answer. Maybe I was too pushy. Maybe I should’ve kept it slower. And maybe I am simply not enough for someone as wonderful as you.

I thought maybe I got it all wrong, maybe you just needed the time, you know, to think things over. I waited for you so many times, on our usual place at the terrace. I thought maybe if I were patient enough, you would show up one day, and we could sit and talk like we did before, that maybe I’d get at least that. But you never showed up.

Then I thought if you didn’t want me as a lover, I’d still be helpful as a friend. If you wanted to keep your distance, I was ready to do that. I really tried to respect your boundaries, give you as much space as you wanted and still be close enough to be useful. But I failed in that too. You keep overworking yourself, Titch, no matter how hard I try to make your responsibilities easier. You skip meals, you work nights, and I know it’s all because of me. Because I’m around all the time, and you... do not want me to be around anymore.

And so I have to resign from my position as your assistant. I just can’t have you treating yourself like that because of me. I’m so sorry I ruined it for us there under the Troll Bridge. God knows I tried to make you happy. Maybe I misinterpreted things, and found clues when there were none. But I genuinely thought you wanted me too.

Thank you for giving me a chance. I'm so sorry I blew it like that.

Please be happy.

Derek.”

The ringing silence in the room was so loud Titch’s eardrums began to hurt. His eyes kept darting from line to line, getting to the end of the letter and re-reading it again and again, and he just couldn’t believe he was actually seeing what he was seeing. He dropped the letter back on the desk as if it was burning his fingers and stormed out of the room, gathering the last bits of his composure to stay calm. He had to find Derek. He had to find him now. He didn’t know what he would say yet, but he had to at least see him. Oh god, he hadn’t even look at him properly for what, a week at least? Always busy, either in his phone, or buried in papers or books, or working on the fields. He needed to see him, to look him in the eyes, to let him understand-

He reached Derek’s room and didn’t bother with formalities, pushing the door open. Derek was standing by his bed, stuffing the last pieces of his clothes into his backpack. He flinched as the door opened and looked over his shoulders, their gazes locking firmly on each other.

“What,” Titch’s voice wavered, barely steady, “was that?”

Derek’s eyes were now shining, and he straightened, putting his backpack on the bed and meeting Titch’s sight bravely. “My letter of resignation.”

“Do you actually think I wouldn’t have done something already if I didn’t want you here?” Titch’s voice caught in his throat, tinged with disbelief and desperation.

Derek let his shoulders sink a little, and his gaze softened, holding Titch’s for a moment longer than comfortable. “I don’t know… But I can’t just keep going like this, Titch. Acting like everything’s normal.”

"And I do not accept it." Titch’s voice rose, desperation breaking through as he forced out each word. "The resignation, Derek, I do not accept it. I can't… I can't accept it, I— Please stay," he stammered, his tone cracking into a whisper.

“I can’t,” Derek whispered, his voice barely audible, and raised his hand to his face hastily, wiping away the single tear that was rolling down his cheek. “I can’t. Keep staying. Just an assistant. Because that’s all I will ever be to you, right? Just an assistant, nothing more.”

"Yes! Derek, yes, because that’s your goddamn job!" He almost spat the words out, not meaning them to sound so harsh. The moment they left his mouth, their gazes locked, and Derek’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he spoke.

“My ‘job’ is to take care of you! And I— I tried so hard, I wanted to make things easier for you from the start. All this time- I thought about how I cannot leave you because I admire you so much, Titch. But if you’re the one who doesn’t like having me around, then it’s done. Because I can see that now. It all work and business, and money for you. You will never choose me, will you?

Titch’s heart skipped a beat as the air stuck in his throat. "I choose you every fucking day," he whispered, feeling everything inside his heart shattering to millions of pieces. The words escaped his lips, unrelenting and unnecessarily loud in this now empty room, with no personal belongings around it and just Derek standing there with his hand on his backpack. And all Titch could think about were all those times he had to restrain himself, stop himself, because otherwise he would ruin it and-

All this time Derek was thinking work was more important to Titch. All this time. He thought Titch was simply choosing working on the field over being with Derek. This was it. He broke it. Again.

The phone vibrated in his hand, making him blink and swipe the screen without looking. Whatever that person wanted to say, they couldn't make it any worse. He heard a female voice saying his name on the other side of the phone, and he mechanically said “yes”, eyes still fixated on Derek.

“I’m calling from the Somerset Hospital, sir. I am sorry to inform you that your father had a heart attack while walking on Bluebell Avenue. Our team arrived and responded immediately, we did everything possible, but unfortunately... I’m so sorry, sir. He did not survive.”

Chapter Text

He had to keep going. That thought imprinted firmly in his mind and stayed there, echoing endlessly in the emptiness.

He had to keep going.

He heard his own voice, distant and strange, as he turned to Derek, whose eyes were fixed on him, a silent question etched within them. He said something, probably word to word repeating what the dispatcher told him from the other side of the line. He was saying the words without really understanding what they meant. He just heard questions and he responded to them because he had to. That was one of his responsibilities – to answer questions.

Another responsibility he had on himself now was to tell James the news. He clung to it, ignoring Derek’s words, which were echoing in his ears without really reaching his mind. Derek stepped towards him and tried to embrace him in a hug, but Titch gestured him to back away. He felt like he should say something, point out that this was nothing Derek did, that he just needed some space to think. There were no words in his head. The only pointless thing that kept bouncing off his brains was that stupid sentence “I have to keep going”.

Going. Going... Going where? He had nowhere to go. The only place he ever had was this farm, his father’s farm, and now the farm was over, and father-

He had to keep going.

Titch went across the house and slumped on the chair at his desk, digging his fingers into his hair and tugging on it, his fists clenched tightly together. His eyes darted across the documents on the table, and he grimaced, as his sight fell on the line “Somerset to Make-A-Wish”. The contract. That cursed contract, with which the downfall of the farm began. Titch grabbed it sharply and read a few more lines before tossing it away from him and watching it gliding slowly through the air and onto the floor. How many more reminders of his misery will he find, he wondered sardonically, looking around the room with cold perception. He destroyed everything he had, everything his father had earned and entrusted to him to carry forward. And he just needed some time to bring it all back, he JUST needed time. He was almost there. The resurrection of the farm had already started, and if they worked in the same rhythm for another month, the farm would be ready for the next harvest.

He would’ve shown father that he could actually do it right. Because he could. He just needed time.

The lonely ticking of the clock on the wall made him look up from the desk, his eyes narrowing furiously. He suppressed an aching desire to grab the first thing he had on the table and lob it directly into that useless clock. It was showing half past three and it was lying. Half past three usually meant he still had five hours to work.

He had no working hours anymore. He had no reason to have them.

He ruined the only thing father had ever trusted him with, and he was trying to glue it all back, and then he ruined even that, and now there was... nothing.

Father will never see that he was actually capable of something else rather than disappointing him.

Tick tack.

Shut up.

Tick tack.

Titch shot another look at the clock, imagining how he’d grab that useless record book from the table and toss it directly at the centre of that white clock face, making it crack and the web of fractures spread across the glassy circle.

He was... empty. There was nothing inside. He was numb. He was lost. And he had to keep going. He couldn’t stop and break, and throw things against the wall like he wanted to. He couldn’t allow himself that. He still had to wait for James, and then the two of them would have to go to the hospital and see it all with their own eyes, and then he would probably have to organise the funeral and all of that needed to be done during the next few days, and he was so tired already...

Everything swayed before him for a moment, and his numb fingers grasped at the edge of the table frantically, as he shifted in his chair, trying to shake off that feeling of dizziness. He would probably have to try and have some sleep today, he thought, barely understanding what he was even thinking. Everything was so distant and blurry.

He hadn’t slept properly in quite some time by now, with the whole farm rehabilitation process. Which was pointless now. Everything was pointless. Father was gone.

Titch clenched his fingers in a tight lock and blinked several times, trying to focus his eyesight on the things before him. He had to keep moving forward. He had to. There was no other choice. He was still responsible for so many things, and if he gave up now, there would be nobody left.

He had to wait for James, so that they could go to the hospital together. Titch wanted James to come. Titch wanted him to show up right the fuck now, and for him be by his side, because otherwise Titch would be left all alone, and he was so empty there was barely a shell of him left.

“Stop it,” he whispered to himself through the clenched teeth, without even realising he was saying something. He had to stop wallowing in self-pity right that second. He had to, before it was too late, otherwise there wouldn’t be any end to it. He blinked, feeling his eyes burning, but staying absolutely dry.

No tears. Interesting. One would assume he would at least cry when something like this happened.

He was not crying. There were no tears in him, he realized suddenly, though his eyes burned with that familiar dryness he’d feel if he stared at his phone for too long. Only this time there was no phone. There was just one phone call.

Tick tack.

Shut up, you liar. Simulating time like there was still a point. Titch looked at the clock, his face freezing in some kind of a mask – motionless and indifferent. He had no strength to show emotions with it. He was broken.

And the hospital’s visiting hours were over in sixty minutes. He would have to go by himself if he wanted to do this today. He would have to gather those pieces of himself that scattered all across the floor of Derek’s bedroom when the dispatcher’s voice reached his ears, he would have to glue them together and go outside. To the bus stop. And then to the Somerset hospital. To listen to all those people and to understand what they would say to him. Maybe sign something. Maybe organise something.

He had to keep going. He couldn’t break. Not now. Another five minutes passed, and James did not come. Titch got up from the chair heavily and headed towards the door. Derek was there once again, appearing out of what seemed to be thin air, asking him something, his voice soft and careful, and Titch even responded. Something about notifying him if James returned. He wasn’t sure.

Everything was so distant, and he was so tired he walked towards the bus stop barely acknowledging the world around him. His phone vibrated once or twice, but he didn’t react. It was all so blank that he was suffocating in that void, and he did not see any end to it. He walked into the hospital, the strong scent of sanitizers making him even more dizzy than he already was. He found the registry desk and talked to the person on the other side of the glass panel without really understanding what was happening around him. He knew what kind of questions he needed to ask, he knew he had to listen to the responses, but it felt like his whole body was shutting down.

He was lead into some other room, with a doctor there – a man about father’s age, in a white coat and with a pair of round glasses on his face, sitting in the chair by the desk and observing Titch from behind those glasses.

They talked. Well, the doctor talked. Titch... tried to. He responded two or three times absolutely incomprehensible, realising that he was saying absolute nonsense. A wave of rage flooded him as he braced himself sharply. Hadn’t he ruined enough? He had to keep going, he had to at least listen to all the information, and respond properly, and be responsible for once, FOR ONCE in his life. That was what his father always wanted from him and what Titch disappointed him in over and over until it became too late.

He felt his fingers going even colder, as he entwined them together so hard they began to hurt, and he looked directly at the doctor. He will fucking listen. He will listen intently, and he will respond to the questions and ask some of his own, and he will be fully present, because he owes it to his father and because that is his goddamn responsibility.

“When was the last time you had some sleep?”

The question was so unexpected Titch stared at the man before him, thinking he misheard. “Excuse me?” he asked, his lips stiff and as if frozen.

“The last time you slept,” the doctor repeated, furrowing his brow with concern. “You look very sleep-deprived. The symptoms are nearly all there.”

Why the hell did it matter how he looked, Titch thought, feeling his head spinning more and more from all that thinking. “Could we please get back to the main topic?” he asked, ice ringing in his voice. The doctor shook his head disapprovingly, but thankfully didn’t slide off their topic any more. Titch left his office, feeling so exhausted he had to stop by the closest coffee machine and buy himself a cup of espresso before proceeding further.

It probably looked so weird, if seen from the side, he thought to himself distantly. His father just died, and here he was buying himself coffee, as if it was just any other day. So what if it looked weird, he thought in the same numb way, taking a sip of the bitter beverage in his hand without as much as wincing. Nothing mattered to him anymore. He just had to keep going with his responsibilities, because there was no one else left to take care of those.

It took Titch two and a half hours to return home, and when the bus stopped at his station, with the endless fields stretching far to the horizon, he couldn't help but feel his heart skip a beat. There it was. His failure. And father never even saw him fixing it all. Father never saw he was capable of something. Titch was late to do even that.

He turned away from the land and headed towards the house, feeling his legs getting more and more numb with each movement. He had to sit down, he thought distantly, opening the door with his key and walking up the spiralling stairs.

“Um... Titch? Derek said you wanted to see me.”

What.

Titch froze in the doorway, just as he was – shoulders hunched, lifeless eyes fixated on something under his feet, fingers still clutching the keys. He looked up and stared at James, who seemed to have just gotten up from the chair in front of the desk. Right. James. He still had to tell James.

“I’m going to ask you to sit down, brother,” he said quietly, closing the door and gesturing at the sit behind James. James stared at him for a moment, then shook his head reluctantly.

“No,” he muttered, looking scared even though Titch hadn’t said anything yet. “Something happened. Tell me what happened.”

“Please, sit down first,” Titch pressed, covering his eyes and brushing his palm against them tiredly. His eyes were burning from exhaustion and he was so tired and lost, and alone in this huge mansion, and he just wanted to get this over with.

James haven’t as much as moved a muscle. “Tell me first.”

Titch approached the table, tossed the keys on top of the paper stacks and turned to James, finally meeting his gaze. He had to say it. He had to somehow put it into words. Maybe the same way the dispatcher did, when she called him.

His lips unclenched and he heard himself talking, his voice sounding distant and as if not his own. It echoed across the office several times, and everything went silent, and he just stood there, watching James’ face staying motionless for several moments, before his eyes suddenly went wide and he shook his head again, this time taking the actual step away from Titch.

“No,” he breathed out, his eyes getting watery in a matter of seconds. “No, no, no, this cannot be happening...” His voice broke into a whisper in the middle of the sentence, and their eyes locked again, James staring at him as if he saw him for the first time. “It- it has to be a mistake, Titch, it has to be,” he gulped and wiped a tear off his cheek, “...a misunderstanding, it can’t be happening, no... You have to be mistaken, Titch.”

Titch felt his heart aching when James looked at him again, his voice breaking into nearly whining. James was scared. He looked scared. And Titch didn’t know how to help him.

“James, please, you have to sit down now, as I had asked,” he asked quietly, feeling a tight lump already forming in his throat. He swallowed it down and forced himself to take slow breaths. He couldn’t allow himself to shatter. Not now. He had to stay calm. He had to keep going.

“I will not sit down!” James flinched away from Titch’s hand stretched towards him, as if his touch was poisonous. “I- This can’t be happening. It just can’t- Have you been to the hospital? Maybe- Maybe they misinterpreted things, maybe they got it wrong...” James’ voice was trembling more and more with each question and broke into a high-pitched whisper at the end, and Titch suddenly realised he wanted to cry too.

He had no right to do that. He had to calm James down, to talk to him, to tell him that it will be better. He wasn’t sure how exactly it would get better, but he had to say those pointless words anyway, because what else was there to say?

“Have you been to the hospital, Titch?”

“I’ve been to the hospital, James, yes. I’m sorry.”

James squeezed his eyes tightly, not caring about the tears streaming down his face anymore. He just froze for a moment, trying and failing to take the next breath.

“You need to calm down,” Titch whispered, making another attempt to reach out to him. “Please, just sit right here. Maybe,” he stumbled on words for a second, his voice wavering slightly, “maybe if we talked, you might feel better.”

“I don’t! Fucking want! To feel better!” Cold shivers ran through Titch from head to toe, because that was the first time he heard James screaming like that. “I want my father to be alive and well! And... and he was okay just this morning, we fucking talked during breakfast, and everything was fine,” he inhaled sharply, as if the very words were suffocating him. “And I return home, and I get this dropped on my head, and- and how the fuck do you stay so indifferent is beyond me!”

“Please,” Titch tried again, the whole room spinning before his eyes more and more, and he had to actually grab the edge of the table to stand firmly. “Please, I just want you to listen to me for a moment, that’s all-”

“You look like you don’t even care!” James spat suddenly, looking directly at Titch, his lips trembling and his face pale. “You look like it’s just another day, like... like you don’t care if he’s alive or dead.”

He could’ve just slapped Titch across the face. It probably still wouldn’t hurt as much. Titch flinched as he stared at James in disbelief, not sure he heard correctly. Something inside him ripped and rolled down-down to the depth of his soul, and he wasn’t sure what it even was, but he was so hollow it wasn’t even painful anymore.

It was just pointless. Everything was pointless. And yet he needed to keep going. He still had responsibilities. One of them was to try and make it easy for James. And he failed in that too, because James backed away from him a few steps more and stretched out his hand, searching for the door handle by touch. His eyes were still firmly on Titch, pain and disappointment splashing in them.

“I cannot believe you,” James whispered through his teeth, gulping down another sob and wiping his eyes with the back of his palm. “I- I can’t deal with you right now, Titch, I’m sorry. I’ll... Just don’t follow me.”

“James!”

The door slamming behind him was the response. Titch exhaled sharply, leaning on the desk with his hands, his head lowered as he closed his eyes tightly. He had to calm down right now. It wouldn’t help if he ran away too.

His eyes were pulsating with tears that were still not entirely there but were building up already. Stop it, he thought, blinking angrily and trying to stabilize his heavy breathing. He had no other choice but to keep standing. He still had tons of work, he had to contact the church, write messages to people who may have wanted to come to the funeral, and he still had the bloody farm, which needed to be returned to its previous state. Even though there was no point. And even though he was so tired.

His eyes darted across the desk, looking absent-mindedly at the documents that were scattered all over it. He created that chaos a few hours ago. He was sitting there, and he was supposed to concentrate, and he ended up tossing the papers as far from himself as possible. His gaze fell on long, flowing handwriting, which was all across the paper-blank, and Titch suddenly realized this was Derek’s letter of resignation. It just got buried under a heap of other documents, but it was still there, very real and inescapable.

That’s right. Derek wanted to leave. And then Titch stormed into his room, and they were fighting, and then the phone call happened-

The door creaked quietly behind him, and Titch heard light footsteps walking into the room. This was not James. James never walked like that. James’ steps could be heard from the other wing of the house because he was always so damn loud. Derek was the one who stepped so softly, and Titch knew it was Derek without even bothering to turn and look at him.

“Titch...”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, fighting the dizziness which was getting worse and worse with each moment.

“I swear to god, Derek, if you’re here to talk about leaving one more time-” he whispered through the clenched teeth, but a quick “No” cut Titch mid-sentence and hung between them, sharp and unyielding. “I’m not leaving,” Derek elaborated for whatever reason, his voice sounding rather loud in this suddenly empty and quiet room.

“And what about things you said earlier?” Titch asked, his lips smirking, but his eyes remained lifelessly fixated on the desk.

“I don’t care,” Derek said simply. “I don’t care what I said. I’ll stay and I’ll help. Whatever you need.”

Titch nodded silently. There wasn’t much he could say. He was tired, and his thoughts were tangling together, getting confused, appearing and disappearing before he could understand their meaning, and he gave up on the idea of actually concentrating. He slumped in his chair and began doing the bare minimum expected of him: contacting the church to arrange a funeral for tomorrow at noon. He tasked Derek with reaching out to the few relatives and even fewer friends his father had, as his father had lived a very private life, and there were barely enough people to notify.

The lines in the documents and text messages kept going blurry before his eyes, but he kept stubbornly re-reading the lines before him until he understood what they said. He had no right to give up. He had to keep going.

“I would-” he cleared his throat, because it was really dry all of a sudden, and he choked on the air the second he opened his mouth. “I would have to go into his room.”

Derek flinched when the first hoarse sounds escaped Titch’s lips and looked up at him from the phone, in which he was still sending out the notifications.

“He... He had documents there that I might need to see, now that...” Why was it so hard to say. Titch swallowed down the thick lump in his throat and forced himself to slowly breathe in and out. He had to focus. “...now that he’s gone, I mean,” he finished the sentence, feeling his fingers growing cold again. Derek watched him for once silent moment, watched him carefully, as if trying to catch something in his face. Titch didn’t know what Derek was looking for, his gaze so concerned. Tears? There were none and he didn’t care why. Pain? There was probably loads of that in his eyes. Grief? His face stayed motionless and stony. He had no energy to show anything that was going on inside him.

He was... a shell. And that shell had to keep living.

“Do you want me to go with you?” a quiet question rang in the room just when Titch got up from his chair, determined to do this one way or another. Derek also got up, ready to follow Titch, but stopped before taking another step, his eyes locking on Titch. Derek was waiting for permission, Titch realised way too late, when the silence once again started to grow on him. Right. Because Titch haven’t answered the question.

“Um... yes,” he managed finally, even though it was hard to pronounce even that simple word. “Yes, I want you there.”

This house was way too silent. And big. Why the hell did they need a house that big anyway, Titch thought irritably, listening to the sounds of his own footsteps against the wooden floor. That was a depressing and hollow sound, and he’d rather listen to anything else than that rhythmic step. step. step. across the hallway.

It felt like he was in one of those horror stories Lady Margery would tell him when he was little and would come to her tent late at night. She always had some sort of stories, about abandoned houses, with noises coming from the walls, and creepy neighbours crawling from under the beds – even though little Titch knew all the neighbours around, and they all were lovely people.

And now the farmhouse turned into one of those haunted mansions itself. Only this time there were no voices in the walls. The voices were entirely in Titch’s head. And they were telling him it was all his bloody fault.

Chapter Text

So it was one of those nights. The wind hit him in the face one more time, and Titch finally took his eyes off the river violently splashing in front of him. He didn’t even notice when the weather became so fierce, but it was impossible to as much as see the waves now. Instead of the usual stars in the sky there were only huge, bushy clouds with torn edges, driven forward by the sharp wind. The vines were wobbling around like tentacles of a huge octopus, neither pretty nor comforting at all in the darkness of the night.

Titch shivered and glanced around, watching the trees sway in the wind, their movements stirring the water into an even fiercer churn. Several big grapes fell into the river with loud splashes, and one of them hit Titch in the head, making him flinch and shriek quietly.

It wasn’t one of the warm nights, when he could stay by the Troll Bridge for as long as he liked, hidden from the whole world by the trees around, and watch the stars reflecting in the river, and enjoy the fresh air that was coming from the meadows. Those nights were calm and bathed in the light of millions of stars above, and if he was lucky, a massive moon would hang over the river, illuminating his path home.

There was no moon this time. It was just him. And the darkness. And the wind so sharp and freezing Titch was feeling colder and colder with each passing second. He shot another habitual look in the sky – usually he could tell what hour it was by the position of the moon, because father still hadn’t bought him a watch, no matter how hard Titch would whine for it.

Father said a boy Titch’s age had no business having a watch. And he was looking very tired and irritated for the past few days, so Titch didn’t dare to ask again. It was bad enough that all of the aubergines had disappeared from their farm, so he and James could no longer play among the bushes.

The farm seemed to be the reason father was constantly upset these days. Although he probably had different reasons from Titch’s. Father never played among the aubergine bushes – if anything, he scolded both Titch and James for that, because no matter how careful they were, they’d still demolish a good share of plants in the heat of their games.

So little Titch didn’t have a watch. And he had no idea for how long he’s been sitting under the Bridge this time. Not that he had any desire to continue being there, since it was one of those cold and stormy nights, and he was scared of those. Not to mention he could easily catch a flu, sitting on the ground with a wind like that. He sighed and crawled out of his hiding under the vines, zipping his jacket all the way up to his chin and shivering from the icy drops of river water the wind was whipping into the air.

He already knew how it would go. He would get up on the hill, look around and attempt to go directly towards home at first. Maybe he’d even walk half of the distance, barely alive from fear, before he’d realise it was not worth it and turn back. No matter how many times he tried, he still was never brave enough to make it all the way to the farm during the stormy nights, when everything was so dark, and he couldn’t properly see where he was even going.

James always mocked him for that, and each time Titch would swear to himself that the next stormy night he would return home by himself. Yet he never did. There was probably no point in trying that night either. He was cold, alone and afraid. Another blow of wind hit the ground and dragged a few vines along the grass with loud rustling. Titch climbed up the hill and shot a doubtful look in the direction of where the farm was supposed to be. During the calm nights he could sometimes even see the edge of it, because it was so large, even though at that time it was absolutely abandoned, and father was still trying to plant it with aubergines again.

But this time all he could see was darkness. And the dim outline of bushes right before him.

Titch turned into the completely opposite direction and went forward, slowly at first, and then faster and faster, until he was running. Usually if he ran fast enough, ignoring the wind hitting him in the face, howling in his ears and tree branches scratching his arms and neck, he didn’t even have the time to get scared properly before he’d get to the forest clearing where Lady Margery lived. Of course, he had to enter the forest and run for a few minutes along the overgrown, clearly abandoned animal path. But that was the shortest way. He only had to survive those few minutes, and then he would see her tent in the distance – it was always light inside, because, apparently, Lady Margery didn’t need rest.

It was a good thing Lady Margery’s tent was actually really close to the Troll Bridge. She’d laugh at him at first, and scold him lightly afterwards, but she always let him inside at the end.

And she had never done it before, but lately she began asking him if he was hungry whenever he visited her. He was happy that this time was no different, because he missed dinner and he obviously was late for supper, so all he really had was breakfast. And he wasn’t really acknowledging it, but the portions father was giving him and James were getting smaller and smaller with each day.

So, in about two minutes Titch slipped through the entrance to the tent and was now sitting in the corner by the cauldron, wrapping into a fluffy blanket Lady Margery had tossed at him. He was still breathing heavily and shivering a little from all the stress and cold, and he was so hungry his stomach growled loudly when Lady Margery asked him if he had dinner at home.

“Let’s see if I got anything for you today,” the witch muttered, smirking, and started looking through her multiple pots and pans on the counter. “Honestly, kid, you gotta stop going to that Bridge, otherwise I’ll run out of food by the end of the month.”

“So what?” Titch asked, wrapping himself into her blanket even tighter and shifting closer to the steaming cauldron, because it was warm. Also, he just loved it when Lady Margery brewed something in that cauldron. It was big and rusty, and whatever she had in there today was making funny bubbling noises. “You’re rich, you can buy more food, right?”

“Yeah, well, aren’t you a sweetheart,” she replied stiffly, dragging one of the pans closer to the light. “Sending me god knows where to buy groceries just so you could eat it all again... You up for some aubergine bake?” she asked suddenly, taking the lid off the pan and examining the food inside. “I recall cooking something like that this morning, so it’s gotta be fresh... Although I was absolutely wasted at the time to fully remember, so what the fuck do I know...” she shrugged.

The aubergine bake smelled so nice Titch even forgot about the cauldron for a second. “Sure, I’ll have that!” he agreed enthusiastically, trying to stand on his tip-toes and peek into the pan she was holding. Lady Margery shot him a disapproving look.

“Can’t be that hungry, kiddo. Wait a moment, why don’t ya,” she said, as her sight flashed demandingly, pinning him back to his chair. Titch pulled his head into his shoulders and sank back into his spot, his frown deepening as he shifted his focus back to the bubbling cauldron. The potion swirled inside, heavy steam soothing him a little, and he just listened to the quiet splashes coming from the cauldron and to the clinking of the plates from the counter.

“You are scary at times,” he said finally, his voice low and almost hesitant. His fingers found a ladle, sticking from the cauldron, and he carefully gripped it, making a few slow stirs. The potion splashed, its colour shifting gradually before his eyes, and Titch hastily placed the ladle back on its place, hoping that maybe Lady Margery wouldn’t notice.

“What do you mean, child?” the witch asked from the counter, still busy with his portion of the bake.

“It’s just that,” Titch shrugged, “sometimes you’re nice, and other times... it’s like there’s something dangerous in your sight,” he said finally, raising his eyes on her. “That when you look at me I feel small. Even smaller than I am now,” he clarified and paused for a moment, thinking it all over. The witch did not interrupt him, watching him wrinkling his forehead and rubbing his palm against it as his father usually did. A sudden beam spread across Titch’s face as a thought clicked in his mind. “I really hope I can be like you one day,” he said brightly, their eyes meeting—his full of triumph, hers - surprised. “When I’ll just look at someone – and they will not dare to even flinch,” he raised his eyes to the roof of the tent dreamily.

Margery’s silvery laugh echoed through the tent as she walked over and handed him his plate. “One day, kiddo,” she said with a teasing smile, pulling her phone from her pocket. “You eat, and I still need to text your father, let him know you’re staying here tonight,” she murmured, settling into a chair. Titch could hear the rapid clicking as she typed out the message.

“He’ll get mad,” Titch frowned, sticking a piece of bake on his fork. “He told me to not go to the Troll Bridge so many times... if I’m not home this late at night again, he’ll be really upset.”

Lady Margery shrugged. “Well, he’s gonna have to accept it. I’m not letting you go home with such a hurricane outside. And I’m not walking you there either. ’m too fuckin’ old for that shit,” she muttered more to herself than to Titch, but he heard.

“You’re not old, you’re sixty-two,” he argued indignantly, just the same way he did in school, when his classmates would start gossiping about her. Almost all of them – James being the first - called her ‘Old Lady Margery’, and Titch stood his ground firmly, saying that they would have to shut their mouths, at least when he is around. He even got into several fights, which ended with him winning only because James immediately took his side.

Lady Margery gifted him another smile, took the ladle from the cauldron and started stirring the potion inside, but the next second she stopped. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer to the cauldron and stared at the potion.

“This is different colour,” she pointed at it with her finger and turned to Titch. “You li’l rascal, you did that to my bluebell soup?”

“Nope,” he lied without blinking an eye and looking up at her with the most innocent expression.

“I know you did, so do not lie to me,” she snapped, tossing the ladle back into the cauldron with a loud clank. “It’s a bluebell soup, it’s supposed to be blue. You must’ve stirred it counter-clockwise, yeah? That’s the only way you could turn it into that hideous pink colour.”

A roar of thunder suddenly rolled over the tent, making Titch flinch under his blanket, in which he was still wrapped, even though he was not cold anymore. He watched her rummage through all the countless shelves she had in the tent, her lips thinned irritably and her movements sharp. She was mad at him, Titch was becoming sure of that the more he observed her. He never should have touched that stupid ladle, he thought, angry with himself, glaring from his corner as the witch lit a new cigarette and began placing the new ingredients on the table – probably to try and fix the potion. She chopped several roots, the knife hitting the board and the wind howling outside being the only sounds breaking the stiff silence of the tent. With a pestle, she crushed what looked suspiciously like animal claws into a powder and threw it all into the soup, and she did all that silently, without uttering a word.

When she was finished and just stood by the cauldron, stirring it clockwise with the most unreadable expression on her face, Titch finally dared to crawl out of his blanket and climb down the chair. He took a few small steps towards her and tugged on her sleeve carefully. “Lady Margery?”

“What?” she asked coldly, her eyes still fixated firmly on the potion and as if purposefully not noticing him.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked barely audible, and she nodded curtly.

“Yep,” was all she responded and resumed stirring the contents of the cauldron without looking at him. For several minutes Titch observed her work quietly, watching the ingredients she threw into the cauldron mixing with one another, forming a strong blue colour – almost the same as the potion had before he took the ladle.

“I’m really sorry I ruined your soup,” he said finally, bowing his head and picking on his fingernails guiltily. “I- I didn’t know it would- do that. And I won’t do that again, I will always ask you if I can touch it first, okay? Don’t be mad, Lady Margery,” he asked in a small voice, glancing up at her cautiously, his shoulders hunched as if bracing for her response.

For a moment there was just silence, and Titch didn’t even know if she finally chose to look at him or was she still pretending he was not in the tent at all. He still hadn’t dared to look up at her, his eyes fixated strongly on his own fingers. Why wouldn’t she say anything? Did he ruin it to the point it couldn’t be fixed?..

And then he felt her palm firm on his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s alright, boy,” the witch said, putting the ladle away and closing the lid over the cauldron, the potion in which was now looking exactly as it was before. “You didn’t ruin it. Just made it worse than it already was,” she muttered, giving him a light shake, and he finally raised his eyes at her, just to see if she was serious or not. She was looking at him with her usual mocking expression, and he was so happy to see it he beamed in response.

“So... it will be okay?” he asked just to make sure, and she nodded again.

“Sure,” she said lightly, ruffling his hair with her hand. “As long as we can fix it, yeah? And we totally fixed this, so,” she shrugged. “Just don’t fucking stir it counter-clockwise next time you want to make a potion behind my back,” she pinned at him and headed towards the armchair by the small tent window, which was now carefully closed, so that the raindrops wouldn’t get inside. “Right, so,” she declared, sinking into the chair and gazing at Titch interrogatively. “I suppose, after you’ve eaten my food and messed with my cooking, you want to listen to some stories?”

Her sight flickered with laughter, as Titch squeaked happily, tossing his empty plate on the counter with a loud clank and climbing on the arm of the chair next to her. He grabbed the blanket he was clinging to for the past hour and wrapped in it again, ready to listen.

Margery looked around the room with a dissatisfied grimace. “Too fucking bright here,” she muttered and snapped her fingers sharply. Another roar of thunder rumbled in the distance and the lights in the tent suddenly went dim, leaving just one source of light – a small candle on the counter. Titch smiled into the darkness: it was just as dark here now as it was outside. Yet he was not afraid this time. It was never scary in Lady Margery’s tent.

He closed his eyes and took a full breath, listening to the rustling of wind outside. And then Lady Margery began speaking. She always had a new story to tell, but tonight, Titch was too tired to keep track of the plot. This time, it was about strange noises in the walls—cursing and fighting, and calling for help, until one very brave boy decided that he wanted to help. There was a train, long and endless, that never stopped moving, and anyone who boarded would be trapped, becoming part of the train itself.

Lady Margery’s voice drifted on, and Titch found out how the boy, trying to help the children on the train, became trapped too, and soon joined its staff, just like all those who had come before him. But then his father arrived, stopped the train, and rescued him from the evil man who controlled it.

“What was his name, Lady Margery?” Titch asked sleepily in the end.

“Whose name, kid?”

“The bad guy.”

“Oh! His name was Locomotion,” she said confidently. Titch nodded into the darkness.

“He’s scary,” he said quietly, his voice sounding muffled in the stillness of the tent. “But not in the same way you are,” he added thoughtfully. “I mean... I’d never be friends with him, and I’m friends with you. You’re nice even when you’re scary.”

She chuckled under her breath. “So you’d probably stand up to him instead, hm? Be the hero of the story, like Benjamin?”

Titch shook his head, his sleepy mind still trying to think logically. “I probably wouldn’t be the hero,” he admitted sadly. “I’m not brave enough for that. I’m scared of darkness. And thunder. I’d probably just pretend I never heard the voices in the wall.”

“Is that what you do when you hear your classmates calling me old?”

He flinched and turned to her, even though he still couldn’t see her face in such darkness – just the silhouette, faintly outlined by the light of the candle in the corner of the tent. “How did you know that?” he whispered, his voice barely audible against the faint rustling of the wind outside. His wide eyes stayed locked on her shadowy figure.

“I’m a witch. That’s my job,” she said simply.

“And you know...?”

“About how you keep defending my honour, li’l knight? Yeah, I do.” Titch felt her fingers tangling into his hair and tugging on it jokingly for a moment. His head drooped, and he rubbed at his arms, suddenly wishing he could shrink out of sight. Of course, Lady Margery knew. She probably knew everything in the world – she was the best witch he has ever seen. Not that he saw a lot of witches throughout his lifetime, but still.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I- I know fighting is bad, and I can’t do it, but I keep hearing them calling you old, and- and it’s not true, because you’re not old! You’re sixty two,” he added stubbornly, crossing his arms on his chest and shooting her a glance from under furrowed brows.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Margery stopped him firmly. “First of all, who the hell told you that you couldn’t fight?”

“My father,” he admitted, his voice small again. He stared at the floor, fiddling with the edge of the blanket still draped around him.

“Well, did you win?”

Titch nodded into the shadows, the movement small and timid.

“Well then it’s alright, boy. As long as you win,” she said softly and cleared her throat with a hoarse cough. Sure thing, Titch thought, telling a story that long and scary as she had just told him was probably exhausting.

“Are you tired?” he asked her sleepily, but she dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

“ ’m fine, kid. You, on the other hand, are dozing off right now,” she commented teasingly. Titch murmured something incoherent, his eyelids growing heavier with each passing second. He nestled deeper into the blanket, the scent of her tent—a mix of herbs, smoke, and rain-soaked earth—surrounding him like a shield.

The tent fell silent for a moment, and Titch slumped against her side, barely even aware of his surroundings.

“You still gotta stop going to that Bridge this late at night,” he heard her remark quietly through the vague fog in his head. “You keep returning there just because you know my tent is near the river, don’t you, boy... If I moved from here, I bet you’d forget the path to that place once and for all.”

He shook his head and reached out without opening his eyes, clutching her sleeve tightly. “Don’t move from here, Lady Margery,” he muttered. The last thing he heard was her silvery laughter and a quiet “Fine, kid,” before everything around him blurred and he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

“Has he returned yet?”

Titch shifted his sight to Derek with a slow blink and shook his head silently. They both knew there was no point in asking: if James had walked through that door, the two of them would have heard, even though Derek went upstairs for a while.

But Derek asked anyway, as if something could’ve changed for those three minutes that he was upstairs. And Titch did not care. He was asked a question and he reacted without actually thinking, and then he switched his attention back to the door and froze again, staring at it numbly. He heard Derek’s steps rustling across the room, and Derek sat on the couch next to him, lightly patting him on the shoulder.

“He will be back,” he said quietly, as if those words could change something. “It’s almost midnight, he has to be here any minute now. Titch. You hear me?”

He did not respond this time. He just kept sitting motionlessly, lifeless sight fixated on the front door, as if it could make James come home faster. His numb fingers were still clutching the phone, which was no use now, since he made all the arrangements about two hours ago, and he tried to call James only for the call to be declined over and over again. Eventually, he just gave up on the idea of contacting him at all, and the phone now rested uselessly in his palm.

Several messages blinked on the screen, and Titch glanced at it quickly, just to read something like ‘condolences’, ‘I’m so sorry’ and similar platitudes and toss the phone away with a grimace of irritation. Something stirred in his heart, and for a moment, it felt as though the frost within him began to crack—a faint echo of what might have been an emotion. And he wasn’t even sure what emotion that was. Either anger or disgust. It appeared and vaporized inside him within seconds, leaving him just as he was: empty and numb.

He saw Derek shooting him a concerned look, because the phone fell on the pillows right between them, notifications still popping on the screen one after another. Derek’s eyes darted across them quickly, before a shadow of understanding brushed across his face and he slowly pushed the ‘off’ button on Titch’s phone. “Don’t read that,” he said quietly, placing the phone, screen down, on the coffee table before them. “If you want, I’ll go through all those messages a little later. Respond to them myself, say that you are busy or something.”

“Yeah,” was all Titch could manage before stopping his eyes on the front door again. Its edges were getting more and more blurry the longer he stared at it, and he had to blink two or three times to refocus. And he did focus on it enough to see it properly, but directly after that the whole room swayed to the side, and his stiff mind caught up to the fact that he was falling only when Derek’s strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Oh god, Titch, you absolutely need to sleep. Like, you really really do,” Derek whispered, still holding him firmly and leaning a little forward to see his face better. “You look like you’re about to faint. Come on. You can’t sit like that for the whole night.”

Titch turned to him and stared blankly for a moment, trying to figure out what was Derek even saying. It all just blended into one very long sound that he had to actually break into smaller words in his head. Sleep. Derek was saying that he needed sleep.

“Titch, you’re blacking out,” Derek said, his voice suddenly sharp and tense, as he flinched towards Titch and snapped his fingers before his eyes. Titch slowly leaned away, his reaction still a little delayed.

“I’m not,” he said quietly, blinking as he tried to fight off the spinning in his eyes. “I- I just need to wait a little more.”

The room began to tear apart and fade before his eyes, and he had to concentrate so hard his eyes started burning again. Not that he cared anymore. He was tired of pain, and it was eating him alive, and he just couldn’t find the strength to even think properly. Sleep. Derek. Funeral. It was all so distant and unimportant.

All he needed now was to talk to James. James walked out on him, and he couldn’t live through tomorrow without him. He couldn’t live through tonight without him. It was a dark and empty farmhouse, it was lonely and scary, because it was so quiet. It was dead. Yes, he could hear occasional rustling of the wind in the chimney and the sounds of movement whenever they stirred on the couch, but that didn’t change the fact that they were surrounded by darkness.

And he needed James. Maybe if he waited long enough, James would come. He still didn’t know about the funeral tomorrow. And someone needed to tell him. Titch wanted him to be there.

Derek’s palm covered his shoulder lightly and moved further, wrapping him in a hug from behind. “You do need to sleep, love,” he heard Derek’s voice murmur quietly against his ear, as Derek carefully dragged him closer, and Titch slumped against his chest. His eyelids were getting heavier and heavier for no reason, and he blinked slowly, trying to stay awake.

“But- I have to see him, Derek,” a helpless whisper escaped his lips, while his brain was shutting down so quickly he barely understood what he was even saying. Titch shook his head and made an attempt to straighten up, but everything swirled, and Derek’s hands grabbed him by the shoulders gently.

“Okay, love, you are so NOT moving from that spot,” he heard Derek muttering, as he sank into his touch again. “I’ll stay awake. Titch, alright? I’ll stay awake, if he comes, I’ll wake you up. How about that?”

He didn’t even have the energy to signal he understood. The room was getting bleaker and bleaker before his eyes, and he was falling into the void, and everything became distant for a while. Derek shifted slightly under his weight, probably simply to get into a more comfortable position, and he flinched also, his muscles moving involuntarily.

“It’s okay,” Derek whispered quietly, his hands loosening their grip a little, and Titch felt them rub his shoulders in gentle circles. “It’s okay, love, just try to relax a bit. It’ll get better.”

It won’t, Titch thought absently, still leaning into Derek’s touch and feeling the tension in his upper back easing up a little. It won’t get better, at least, not today, and certainly not tomorrow. He just wanted it all to be over.

He heard Derek murmuring a question – more to himself than to Titch, but he tried to say something in return out of pure habit. Even though he wasn’t even sure he understood the question correctly. He probably didn’t. Not that it mattered much.

His head rested against Derek’s chest, and he listened to Derek’s heartbeat absently, while his mind was already half-asleep. The quiet ticking of the clock in the living room – he’ll take down all the damn clocks once the funeral is over – did wake him up several times, because it felt like he was back to the start of the day, sitting in his office, staring at the big hand of his office clock showing half past three, like time still mattered.

The clock. Papers on the table. “Somerset to Make-A-Wish”. Hospital. James. The door to his father’s office, in front of which he stood for a good ten minutes before he finally dared to turn that doorknob and step inside.

The living room. The front door, staying closed right before him, as he sat on the couch, clutching the pillow in his hands and staring before himself motionlessly. His eyes were burning by the end, and he still couldn’t tear his sight off that door, because it was the last thing that kept connecting him to the world outside. To the life before... this. The life they had with James, when their biggest problem being whose side of land would be more successful.

And then he heard the clock ticking once again, and it would go in circles again. The clock in his office. The hospital. James storming out. Father’s room. Him making the arrangements. Talking to someone, agreeing to meet and sign something important. Making notes, giving reminders to Derek. His head was cracking. He wanted the pain to stop. And the only way it could stop was if he kept pretending it wasn’t there at the first place.

The clock was ticking again. He was in his office again. The time was lying. He had no time anymore. Otherwise none of this would ever happen. He was the reason the farm was fucked. Maybe father had the heart attack because of the farm. Because of him. Titch had simply disappointed him so many times throughout such a short period of time that-

He was gripping the doorknob to father’s room again. It was cold and smooth under his fingers, and all he needed to do was turn it and walk inside. He needed just a few documents, the ones that were about the Will, as his father’s lawyer told him. He couldn’t force himself to open that door.

He was lost. He wanted it all to stop. To be over with all of this, with the Wills, and the funerals, and the responsibilities, and the farm. He wanted to escape. Just like James escaped. To run away and never come back, never even remember this place, and the farm, and this death.

He was hurting.

He was standing before the door, pressing his forehead against the cool surface of the wood and breathing in and out, the inhales echoing loudly in his ears. The door went blurry and misshaped for a second, turning into the front door of the mansion, and he was suddenly far away from it, on the couch in the living room, just looking at it lifelessly.

He was trapped. He wanted to cry, and he could not. His eyes were burning so much he had to keep them squeezed tightly shut, but there wasn’t a single tear in them. They were dry and probably red – he’d know for sure if he bothered to look in the mirror once for the past few days.

For whatever reason it felt like if he cried he would feel better. But he could not. There simply was not enough tears. Just pain. And the clock on the wall. And the hospital. Then James. Then his father’s office-

He had to wake up, something in his tired mind was screaming. He could stop all this circling if he woke up. He didn’t have enough strength to do it. He was in a torpor. He was tired of fighting. He didn’t want to fight anymore. To have all these responsibilities on him, to have that farm, and to go to that funeral tomorrow, and to keep living with this pain.

Oh, but he had to, a small voice in his head argued. It was all on him. Father trusted him with all this. He had to keep going. Just like that clock on the wall. Going constantly.

Tick-tack.

Stacks of documents being tossed into the air.

“When was the last time you had any sleep?”

“I can’t deal with you right now, Titch.”

Him, making the necessary calls and arranging a funeral for tomorrow at noon.

That. He had to cling to that. He had to go to the church tomorrow. They all had to. James too. And he didn’t know what would happen after that, but he didn’t care. He just had to go through the funeral. For whatever reason it felt like if he could do that, it would somehow make all the other bad things go away.

The door creaked loudly, and he flinched from Derek’s hold, shooting up from his spot as everything rushed before his eyes. James stood by the door, his face white and his eyes red from tears, and he looked like he cried a lot. “Oh god,” he uttered, his eyes shifting from Derek to Titch and back. “Have you two waited here for the whole night?”

“Yes,” Titch heard himself whispering, his lips barely obeying. “James, please, I have to tell you-”

James’ eyes started watering once again, and shook his head sharply. “No, I can’t do this, I told you I can’t,” he muttered, storming across the room without listening further. “I’m sorry, Titch, I’ll just... be in my room.”

Like fuck he will.

Titch straightened up, ignoring the way his body was slowing his movements with each second more and more and got up to his feet firmly. “James, the funeral is tomorrow at noon,” he called after him, his firm voice ringing in the silence of the house. James froze in the doorway, and Titch could see his fingers clinging to the doorframe sharply. “If you do not want to talk to me, that’s fine. Will you at least come to the church?”

The movement was so small Titch wouldn’t have even noticed it if he wasn’t observing so closely. But it was definitely a “no” he just saw in that gesture.

“I don’t think I can,” he heard James’ voice, hoarse and on the verge of breaking. “I’m sorry, Titch.”

If time could ever go still, this was the moment. Titch stood there, watching the empty hallway before him and listening to the footsteps as James was slowly getting up the spiralling stairs, and he realised time became still for him in that moment. The clock kept ticking, but there was... nothing. It was just Titch, standing there in the middle of the room and feeling something inside him shattering and breaking to millions of pieces, pieces so small he knew he wouldn’t be able to glue them back together this time.

James won’t come to the funeral.

“I can’t believe him,” he whispered, slowly sitting down on the couch and feeling Derek’s interrogative gaze locking firmly on him. “I can’t fucking believe him...”

He had to close his eyes and brush his palm against them sharply, because they were stinging pretty badly once again.

“Maybe he’ll change his mind,” Derek said unsurely, even though it didn’t sound like he believed in it himself. Titch smirked darkly. Well, his lips smirked. He kept staring into the darkness of the hallway before him.

“He has. No. Right. To act like that,” he whispered under his breath, feeling the dull ache inside him growing more and more with each second. “After everything father did for him... He has no right to run away and pretend nothing is happening, Derek!” he turned to Derek as if demanding an answer from him, even though Derek looked just as shocked as Titch was. Even though Titch was more angry than he was shocked. Anger was burning through him, giving him energy to think, to feel, to act. And he fucking wanted to act now.

He got up from the couch sharply, making Derek flinch towards him involuntarily.

“Titch, careful-”

“I am fine, Derek,” he said coldly, his voice ringing crystal clear in the room. “I just need to talk to him. And I will not let him walk out on me. Not this time.”

Blood throbbed in his ears, as he crossed the house, and the walls swayed before his eyes when he made a particularly sharp turn on the spiralling stairs. He grasped the handrail and proceeded forward, towards James’ door, which he pushed without as much as a knock.

“What the fuck, Titch?” James, who stood by the window and probably was watching his side of the land, tuned sharply, wiping a tear off his cheek. “Who the hell do you think you are, barging in here like that-”

“Oh shut up,” Titch uttered, his voice so low it was slowly shifting into a growl. “I’ve had it up to here today with you running away at the mere sight of trouble, James.” James blanched and turned from the window entirely, his attention now fully on Titch. His eyes were sparkling. Titch did not care anymore. He tried to make this easier for both of them. Apparently, he failed again.

He approached James slowly and stopped before him, determined and unwavering. “I don’t care in what way you deal with your pain, James,” he whispered, the words hanging heavily between the two of them. “But I cannot let you mess with the funeral tomorrow. I cannot let you keep acting like a fucking child, while I’m expected to take care of every damn thing in this house. It’s different for everyone, I get it. But do not,” he whispered, his voice strained, “act like you’re the only one hurting in this house.”

Tick tack.

Oh look at that. The time was going forward again, Titch thought sardonically, listening to the soft ticking. He’ll destroy every single clock in this house. It’s so stupid to have a clock in each room, anyway. The one in the hallway can stay. He'll just get rid of the rest. Probably throw them out at the farthest corner of the farm. The only thing it still had in common with a real farm was the name.

Several moments passed in silence, James's eyes filled with more and more tears. “I’m not trying to be difficult,” he whispered shakily at last and pressed his lips together for a moment, visibly trying to calm down.

“Then why the hell won’t you come to the funeral?” How was he not screaming yet, Titch thought distantly, as his voice stayed firm and quiet, although the despair dripped from every word. “Out of all the people, James, you have to be there.”

“What the hell are you talking about?! I don’t have to—”

“Because you are his actual son!” Oh. So now he was screaming.

He did not care. He stepped towards James, who was now towering over him, also not wavering, eyes wide and lips trembling. “And you have to be there, you have to at least give him that! He... he would want you there, James. You are his son,” he repeated bitterly.

“So are you—” James started, but Titch waved his hand sharply.

“I’m a fucking stray, James,” he cut him off, feeling uneasy in this suddenly too small room. He turned away from James, who stared at him with disbelief written all over his face, and started pacing around the room.

“What are you talking about?” James asked, his voice faltering. “You weren’t a stray—hell, you were always father’s favorite!”

“Yes, and I had to fucking earn it!” he exclaimed, turning to James with a feverish sparkling in his eyes. “James, I had to earn every small smile from him! And every single day. I had to prove to him. That I was good enough to belong here. And sometimes…” He stopped mid-sentence, air catching in his throat for a moment. “Sometimes I feel like I have to earn it from you too.”

James blinked, his mouth opening, but no words came. Titch watched his gaze becoming distant, as if his mind was slowly going through everything Titch had just said. “That’s how I make you feel?” a question echoed through the room, and James raised his eyes back on Titch, their sights locking.

“Not always,” Titch hurried to clarify. “But sometimes – yeah. Like—like today, when you just walked away, and- and you didn’t have to go to the hospital, or listen to all those fucking ‘condolences’, or- or arrange stuff-” he was stammering, because thoughts were rushing through his head one before another, and neither stayed nor left his brain, and he didn’t know how to even formulate his feelings correctly. “I just—I just did all that because I am supposed to do that,” he whispered, throwing his hands in the air, “I—I thought maybe I if I did all the hard stuff, it would be easier for you to—to talk and to stay with me, but then you walked out on me again, and—and—” he clasped his palm over his mouth, realising that he was so close to actually shattering. He was not numb anymore. He was actually hurting. He gestured at the two of them helplessly. “...and here we are.”

His eyes were pulsating with tears, and he had to bite on his lower lip in order to stay calm at least on the outside. He couldn’t afford to cry. Not now. To cry would mean to admit that pain got to him. That he was just as crushed as the rest of the people on this farm. He could not have that.

James stepped towards him, and Titch reached out for a hug at the same time as James did. "I had no idea," James whispered into his shoulder, holding him tightly, while Titch had to close his eyes for a moment, because the room suddenly swayed again. If James weren’t holding him, he’d probably collapse.“I—I didn’t know, I didn’t mean to. You know I didn’t mean to, Titch, you know that, right?” he asked anxiously, backing off just enough to catch a glimpse of Titch’s face.

“Of course you didn’t mean to,” Titch muttered, his voice indignant and light at the same time. “You never mean to, James. But you have to listen to me this time,” he grabbed James by the shoulders and shook him slightly, making their eyes meet. “Please go to the funeral. I know it’s hard,” why the fuck was his voice breaking into those high notes. He paused to clear his throat and enforced his usual steady tone on himself. “I know it’s hard. But I also know you, and I know that you will regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t show up tomorrow.”

James nodded slowly, his face now absolutely pale, signs of tears still visible on it. “It would just be too hard,” he muttered, barely moving his lips, and the only reason Titch understood him was because he lived with him for his whole life. “Being there. Knowing that I will never see him again. That... that he’s actually gone, I mean, how can he be gone, Titch? How can this be happening?”

For a moment they just stared at one other, each of them trying to find the answer in each other’s eyes. Titch shook his head slowly, feeling his lips trembling again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered helplessly. “I have no idea.”

It was just the two of them now. They were both lost and broken, and scared, and abandoned in this huge farmhouse, that always seemed pretty small for three people living in it, but now that it was just two it felt unnecessarily enormous. The slow realisation wrapped Titch like a wave and crushed him completely, and the only reason he did not waver was because he still had no right to.

“I will be there for you,” Titch promised quietly, looking up at him. “I- I can’t force you to do as I say, and if you choose not to come tomorrow – I’ll understand. But just know that I will be there for you either way.”

Chapter Text

Я сделаю для тебя ночь.
~ «Тот самый Мюнхгаузен»

The faint buzzing of his phone pulled Derek out of a very disjointed dream he was having, and he hurried to fetch it out of his pocket and click the off button before it could wake half of the house. He blinked hard, his eyes still sluggish from sleep, and focused on the screen, trying to see the time. They still had two hours before the funeral, and considering that Titch went to bed about five hours ago, Derek was definitely not going to wake him up.

Although he wasn’t sure Titch was actually asleep, like he’d promised. Even Derek had spent two restless hours staring at the ceiling after they said good night and went to their bedrooms. And he doubted Titch had it any better, considering how sad he looked when he came back from James’. Derek tried asking how things went, but Titch brushed it off with a half-hearted reply.

“I don’t even know if he comes to the funeral tomorrow,” he snapped, and Derek had to drop further questions, because Titch looked more and more depressed with each one. And Titch was also the one who initiated them going to bed, which, Derek knew well by now, was simply his way of saying he did not have any further desire to keep talking.

“Fine,” Derek said reluctantly, casting him a wary gaze. “But you have to promise me you will actually try to sleep, and not be... well, you for the whole night.”

That was the first time throughout these two weeks that he saw Titch actually smiling. Not smirking, with his eyes staying glassy and distant, while his lips imitated some sort of emotion, but actually smiling at him. “You’re way too caring, for someone I screamed at just yesterday,” he noted, and even though his tone was light, his voice remained low and quiet. That was another thing Derek noticed that changed in Titch since last morning: he was now speaking with such effort, as if every word was a struggle to him. He was not raising his tone anymore – not that Derek knew of, at least. Most of the time he was almost whispering. And Derek had a feeling he knew exactly what was going on.

He saw it in Titch’s eyes the minute Titch accepted that call and raised the phone to his ear. He stayed motionless and silent, listening to the female voice on the other end of the line without saying a word, and to a person who didn’t know Titch it would’ve seemed like he didn’t care.

Not to Derek. Even though Titch stood firm, not making a sound, his pale face locked in a mask-like expression, eyes going glassy and cold, Derek could tell something had happened. Something was happening right that second, that made Titch’s eyes sparkle like this, and Derek was just standing there, unable to do anything to stop it.

Derek wasted a few hours just turning from one side to another, trying to finally get into the most comfortable position and fall asleep, and he kept finding himself rewinding the whole cursed day in his head. And then he had finally dozed off, and when he woke up it was ten thirty. He forgot to drape the window before he went to bed, so the sunlight hit him right in the face, when he opened his eyes properly. He murmured something and slid off the edge of the bed, massaging his temples and trying to wake up.

He shot a glance through the window, his eyes drawn to the fields stretching out before him. The grass and those rare seedlings that were still growing on the side of the land were lit with the golden colours of the rising sun all the way to the horizon. With the birds chirping quietly outside and the wind occasionally rustling against the tree leaves, it seemed like such a nice and quiet day. Not at all suitable for funerals. And yet they were going to have one. It felt so twisted that Derek tugged on the curtains, and then turned away from the covered window, scanning the floor for his shoes.

He pushed the door and walked into the hallway five minutes later, the cold draft of the house gusting at him and making the air catch in his throat. He never thought this house could be so... quiet. Usually, he could hear at least a few voices from downstairs—either Titch talking to the workers or Philipp popping into the house solely for the purpose of ‘seeing how everyone was doing,’ only to stay for a proper breakfast, which, of course, Derek could never deny him. Derek had never put much thought into it, but the farmhouse was always alive, always filled with people, with voices – either light and cheerful or determined and tense. The latter usually happened when Titch cornered someone in the kitchen to talk business and get reports and updates. But it was never this quiet. Not at half past ten.

Derek walked down the stairs, stepping as lightly as possible, since the doors to both Titch’s and James’ rooms were still closed. Overall, the house no longer felt suitable for loud noises. It seemed suddenly cold and abandoned, and that feeling was only emphasized by the cheerful weather outside.

Derek filled the teakettle with water, placed it on the stove and sat at the table, waiting for the water to boil. That was the moment he heard the floorboards creaking under someone’s footsteps, and Titch walked down the spiralling stairs a few seconds later, his tired sight stopping on Derek.

“Hi,” Derek greeted quietly, not sure if Titch even wanted to respond. Titch did nod silently and walked into the kitchen, shooting irritated glances at the window where sunlight poured into the room.

“Would you like some coffee?” Derek asked carefully, because the teakettle was starting to whistle, and he had just then realised he forgot to make something for Titch.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Titch replied, grabbing the filter basket and spooning coffee grounds into it. Derek just watched him, not really eager to start a conversation, but at the same time not willing to leave. He did not want to leave so much, he realised, because after those weeks of Titch ghosting and avoiding him, it felt unreal that the two of them could spend a morning together again. That he was allowed to stay in the kitchen, and Titch didn’t try to either find him a task or to leave the room himself as soon as possible.

Of course, Titch didn’t seem to care about that kind of things anymore. He was a shadow of his previous self, twice as emotionless and distant as he was before, and most of the time Derek was seeing him now, he didn’t even look like his mind was present in the room. Maybe it was because he was so tired.

“What the hell,” he heard Titch muttering, as he tapped the usual buttons on the coffee-maker, trying to adjust the brew strength. He tilted his head to get a better look at it and he studied it for a moment, then he pushed the button again. The coffee-maker did not react at all. Derek, on the other hand, furrowed, observing Titch with the uprising concern.

“It’s not on,” he said finally, thinking that Titch probably did not have any sleep that night after all. Even though Derek bloody asked him to at least try, just for a few hours. This was the consequence.

“What?” Titch looked at him, his gaze defocused and lost again. Derek got up from his chair, approached Titch and pointed at the button with his finger.

“The start button, love. It needs to be on,” he said softly, and Titch just stared blankly at where Derek was pointing, until a flicker of understanding crossed his face.

“Oh—for fuck’s sake,” Titch whispered, pushing the start button irritably, and then several others, adjusting the temperature and the strength.

“You didn’t even try to sleep last night, did you,” Derek commented quietly, crossing his arms on his chest and watching Titch with a distinct disapproval. He didn’t mean to say anything at all, because Titch looked crushed enough even without Derek getting on his nerves, but he just couldn’t hold it in. Titch shrugged, his discomfort so obvious Derek regretted opening his mouth at all.

“I tried,” he said finally, after a pause so long Derek thought he wouldn’t get a response at all. Titch leaned heavily on the table and just stared before himself for several moments, as if thinking how he should better put this. “I tried to sleep, and I woke up, multiple times, Derek. And... Fuck, I am so tired,” he muttered, shaking his head. The coffee-maker beeped right behind him, and he flinched, muttering a curse under his breath. “I guess the last few days were all just... too much,” he said, finally meeting Derek’s eyes. “With everything that kept falling on me lately, this was definitely... the last nail in the coffin. It’s a dark joke, so to say.”

Derek did not think twice before stepping towards him and embracing him slowly by the shoulders. “Hey. Love. It’s going to be fine,” he whispered, just now realising how tense Titch’s body was feeling under his fingers. And Titch bowed his head in defeat and closed his eyes, visibly trying to calm himself.

“I don’t see how,” he replied hoarsely after a moment. “I—I really don’t see how it can ever be the same. And to be honest, I don’t want to look for the ways to fix it.” Derek watched Titch’s hands clenching into fists, and his eyes sparkled feverishly, as he turned to Derek. “I’m not sad anymore, Derek,” he not whispered but mouthed, his lips white and trembling. “I’m not sad anymore, I’m angry, I’m so fucking angry, like you have no idea—”

“At whom?” Derek asked, and Titch growled irritably.

“I don’t know, Derek. At everyone, at this whole fucking world. Myself, probably, at how fucking worthless I am. And—and at father, because how could he—leave like that?! And at James, because after fucking everything I’m still not sure that he’s coming to the funeral today...” Titch was short of breath. He gestured Derek to back away a little, and for a few minutes Derek just observed him taking ragged inhales, throwing cornered glances around.

“Titch—”

“I’m okay,” Titch muttered, heading towards the table and practically tossing his steaming cup of coffee before himself. “I just need to get through today, Derek. That’s all. Just to get through it... Why the fuck is it so bright today,” he whispered suddenly, squinting from the sunlight that was still streaming through the kitchen window.

Without saying a word, Derek walked towards it and pulled down the curtains. The bluish shadows rose from the corners the second the window was shut, spreading like ink across the walls and swallowing the last traces of daylight. Titch gave a small distant nod to the void he was staring at, because his sight stayed glassy. “Better,” he muttered darkly, taking another sip from his cup.

The clock on the wall showed eleven, and the two of them left the house ten minutes after. Derek did suggest they wait for James or at least go to his room and ask him if he was coming or not, but Titch forbid him to even think about that. “He’s a big boy, if he decides to show up, he will,” he explained, locking the front door behind them and deliberately avoiding looking at the aubergine fields right before them. “To ask him now would feel like pressuring him, which is a direct way to fuck it all up. He’ll figure it out on his own, he still has an hour or so.”

Derek had never been to the local church before. He had heard about it a lot, but he just never happened to actually take the time and go in that direction. It was understandable, considering the church was located on the completely opposite side from both the Troll Bridge and Margery’s tent, which were the two main routes Derek would usually take during his walks. So when they finally approached it and Derek saw what it looked like, he couldn’t suppress a gasp of admiration.

Titch raised his eyebrow interrogatively. “What?”

“Nothing,” Derek hurried to say, waving it off. “It’s just... beautiful. The church.”

Titch’s lips curled with his usual “My mind is not present, but look, I’m still smiling” grin, and he nodded thoughtfully. “I guess it is. I’ve seen it so many times now I don’t really acknowledge it. And I would’ve guessed you’ve already been here, no? Considering your everyday walks across the area.”

“I’ve never been here,” Derek said, thinking that even if he did go here, he probably would not pay attention to the beauty of that place, because his mind was always so busy pining over Titch.

“Well... You’re here now,” Titch stated as they stepped on the porch, and a big black casket by the altar was the first thing that caught Derek’s attention. He threw a quick glance at Titch, who blanched so suddenly Derek felt shivers running down his back. “I guess this is it,” he heard Titch muttering, mostly to himself, and probably not even acknowledging it properly, as he stepped bravely over the threshold.

Derek looked around, people already gathering in the church, talking to each other in hushed voices. He saw several colleagues of his from the farm: at first Poppy, than Jonathan talking to some elderly gentleman Derek has never seen before, and then Jemima.

Of course Jemima would be here, Derek thought, walking further into this small crowd of people and catching little nods of acknowledgement from those who knew him. If Derek was Titch’s right hand on the farm, Jemima was definitely his left hand: she’s been on the farm the longest and was almost fully responsible for the whole East sector. When Derek first heard about it, he was amazed that Titch actually trusted someone else other than himself to take care of a whole sector, but soon enough he realised it was a well-evaluated decision. Jemima was almost as ruthless as Titch when it came to organising and giving orders, and she knew a lot about farming aubergines, so short after she was named the head of the East sector the only person who could still compete with her professionalism was Philipp, who did work on a different farm for three years before he came to Titch’s.

Titch shot a stiff glance at his watch before circling the crowd with his gaze. He stoically accepted two or three more ‘condolences’, which were all from people Derek has never seen before and who, he could only guess, were all Titch’s relatives. They probably haven’t noticed it, but Derek could see how with every next interaction Titch’s face would get more and more stony, until it was a pale mask without a muscle moving on it. “I can’t stand it,” Titch muttered, when the two of them were finally left alone. “This part of the day, where every person thinks it’s their obligation to stick it to me with their ‘sorry for your loss’. Do I look like I need those sorry’s?!” he asked, giving Derek a glance.

“They are just being polite,” Derek whispered in return, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “It will be over soon, okay? Just an hour more, and then we will probably be back in the farmhouse, and—”

“I don’t want to go back to the fucking farmhouse, Derek—!” Titch started, but before he could finish the sentence, his eyes stopped on someone behind Derek’s back, and that was probably the first time throughout the whole day that Derek saw Titch’s figure relaxing a bit.

“Lady Margery,” he whispered, nodding at that someone and making Derek turn. She was strolling between the rows of seats slowly, her gaze wandering solemnly among the people, and then it stopped on Titch, and a sparkle of acknowledgment flashed in them for a second.

She approached the two of them steadily and stopped before Titch without uttering a word. Derek would think Titch would try and say something first, but neither of them seemed to have that desire. They just watched each other silently: Margery’s eyes piercing through Titch with intense scrutiny, and Titch’s expression remaining as painfully numb as before.

Finally Lady Margery hummed quietly under her breath. “Look, child,” she said, their sights still locked firmly on one another. “I know that no words will make it any better, so why don’t I just keep that shit to myself.” Titch nodded sharply, probably much quicker than he intended to, and Lady Margery’s sharp eyes definitely caught that movement. “Just know,” she added, her voice softer, “that if I could take that pain away from you – I wouldn’t hesitate for a second.”

They seemed to understand each other without speaking, as her words were followed by a hollow silence again, yet Titch’s eyes were now sparkling, as his gaze remained firmly on her.

“Thank you,” Titch whispered after a second, and Derek suddenly thought that this was the first ‘thank you’ he had heard from Titch during the whole time they were here, talking to people. Titch did manage polite responses to everyone who reached out to him, but this was the first time his voice actually crushed from cold to actually grateful.

Margery nodded and turned, probably aiming to keep walking closer to the casket, but Titch spoke again, his voice hesitant. “Um... Lady Margery? While I remember,” he gulped, “and while there’s still some time before the funeral starts, I just have one more thing.”

Margery paused mid-step, her body stiffening slightly as her gaze flickered back toward Titch, and then gestured for him to continue.

“I... have been looking through my father’s papers. You know, checks and mail, and all that. And I know he had lots of debts... to you.”

The witch’s gaze flashed with greedy sparkles for a moment, but they dimmed just as quickly, and all she did was nod again, her face expression staying unbothered. “Yes, kid, I remember the numbers very well,” she noted calmly.

“I just wanted to... Fuck, why is it so fucking bright today,” he muttered, because a sunbeam streamed through the huge picture window and fell on his forehead, making him squint and take sharp step into the shadow. Lady Margery snapped her fingers nonchalantly, and a gust of wind rushed through the opened doors of the church. A huge cloud crawled across the sky the next second, swallowing the sun entirely and leaving the ground covered by its bushy shadow. Lady Margery watched it through the window for several moments, and when every single glimmer of sun was properly hidden by the cloud, she glanced back at Titch.

“How’s that?”

“Better,” he said quietly, watching the dry leaves, raised by the wind, swirling over the threshold. With the sun obscured, the church became thoughtful and quiet, with nothing but the muffled voices of people around and the quiet rustling of branches outside the window diluting the silence. Titch cleared his throat and continued. “So I was saying... I want to settle this, Lady Margery, from the very start. If you could just name a day when—” he was struggling with every damn word, Derek noticed, observing him. His voice broke in the middle of the sentence, and he had to pause and gather the strength to talk all over again. “...if you could give me a day when I could come and return to you whatever my father owed you, it would be great.”

“Mhm,” Margery murmured thoughtfully, thinking over that suggestion. “I’ll tell you what we're going to do, kid,” she said finally. “Considering the amount of unpaid checks I have sent to your father throughout all these years, there’s at least three zeros at the end of that majestic number you dare not to speak of aloud.”

“That sounds right,” the corners of Titch’s lips twitched into a smile, making Derek wonder if he saw correctly, because this was the actual smile again. Margery seemed to know exactly what she was doing, because her sight swept through Titch’s face too, noticing every little change in it.

“Well, if that’s the case... I want a computer centre. So you get me that - and we call it a done deal.”

It looked like even Titch was not expecting a proposal like this. “You want a computer centre?”

Derek also stared at the witch in disbelief. “Seriously? Where would it even go in your tent? You’d have to plug it into something...”

“Titch, your butler is talking again,” Margery’s icy voice cut him off, and Titch’s palm covered Derek’s hand softly, signalling him to be patient. God, he would take a hundred more of Margery’s little quips, if it meant Titch would hold his hand like that.

“So you want a computer centre,” Titch said, visibly calculating something in his head.

“And I want a new one, mind that,” she pointed out, furrowing. “I’ll fucking know if you drag something used to my tent.”

Titch’s smile got clearer. “Yeah, I definitely won’t.”

“So it’s settled,” Margery shrugged, now scanning Titch carefully with her eyes. “Anything else I can do for you, boy?”

“I don’t think so,” Titch said quietly, his face getting dark again. His eyes darted towards the casket and back, as if it was just then that he remembered where he even was. “I should probably go,” he noted gloomy. “I haven’t talked to the pastor yet. Um... thanks, Lady Margery.” She looked at him without a saying a word more, and he went further towards the altar, his posture as perfect and unwavering as always.

Derek and Margery watched him go silently, and just when Titch approached the priest and they started talking, Margery hummed something to herself. “Made of steel, that boy,” she muttered louder, nodding in the direction Titch left.

“He’s still hurting,” Derek said reluctantly, watching Titch being distracted by some elderly looking woman, who came to him with the familiar ‘I’m sorry’ face Derek knew so well out of personal experience. Titch paled so visibly Derek could see it even from such distance, but he remained as posh as ever, continuing the conversation and obviously adding something polite from himself.

Lady Margery proceeded to go forward, towards the front row, and Derek suddenly noticed the nervous glances Titch was throwing at the door from time to time. It remained wide open, and more people were coming inside every minute, and Derek realised that the one person Titch was waiting for was still not here. James.

They had ten more minutes before the start of the service, when Derek approached Titch, looking at him questioningly. Titch headed towards him, visibly so worn out it looked like an accidental blow of wind Margery summoned could swipe him off his feet.

“How you doing?” Derek asked in a hushed tone.

“My father’s friends are the worst to handle, I suppose,” Titch said irritably, shaking his head. “Relatives are okay, the guys from the farm are very nice. Poppy just gave me a pretty comforting speech, to that matter. But my dad’s high-school friends and of that sort – god, I just wish this whole thing was over already.”

“It will be over. We have, like, eight more minutes, and then about an hour more, and then we will be home,” Derek reminded him, even though they’ve been through their plan to the slightest details. Apparently, it calmed Titch down to know he had everything outlined up to minutes, and if that made him at least a little bit better, Derek was willing to repeat it infinitely.

“Well,” Titch shot another hopeful glance at the entrance, which was now empty. All the people who wanted to come were probably already here and were starting to take their seats. “I suppose there’s no reason to wait any more,” he noted bitterly, kicking the floor lightly with his toe. “Let’s go to our seats or what.”

He turned his back to the door and headed towards the front row, Derek following his example, and just when they were already sitting down, another figure appeared in the doorway, and Derek’s heart sank. “Titch,” he called quietly, and Titch stopped. And then he looked back slowly.

James stood frozen in the doorway, his breathing heavy and uneven, his chest heaving as if he ran all the way here. Derek glanced at Titch, whose face had shifted in a heartbeat. The exhaustion, the irritation, all of it melted away, replaced by something raw and unguarded. His lips parted, but no words came out.

James took a tentative step forward, then another, his movements unsteady, and then he crossed the aisle in a matter of seconds and stopped by their row, his sight locking with Titch’s.

“I...” James began, his voice cracked and barely audible. He swallowed hard, then forced himself to continue. “I thought I should come.” His eyes darted from Titch to the empty spot beside him, then back again. “You were right. I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t.”

Titch blinked at him, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, Titch shifted slightly, gesturing for James to sit down. James hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking the seat, his movements awkward and deliberate, like he was afraid to disturb something fragile.

Titch leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly and visibly relaxing a bit. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said finally.

“I didn’t think I could,” James admitted. He dropped his gaze to his lap, wringing his hands together. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said... and then I started thinking about father, and how I wouldn’t even have the chance to see him for one last time. And—” He broke off, his voice catching, and took a shaky breath. “I just couldn’t let that happen.”

The only time Derek has ever been to a funeral was when his mother died. And he was so devastated at the time he didn’t really remember much of it afterwards. He thought there was a church, just like this one, only bigger, because it was a city church. There probably were lots of people. Maybe even someone he knew. He wasn’t sure. It was all blurry and misshaped in his head later that day, when he returned home and sat in his mother’s room, staring blankly at her empty bed. That hour and a half that he spent listening to people talking, someone giving a speech, then prompting Derek himself to stand up and say something, then going to the cemetery – it was all in the backgrounds. And what he had in his head was white noise.

He glanced at Titch, who sat just next to him, listening to the pastor’s words with what looked like attention, but Derek knew it was just a mask to hide how defocused Titch actually was. Did he have the same white noise in his head? Just monotonous hum going over and over in the ears without stopping, making it hard to understand what the people around were saying and making it almost impossible to stay in the moment.

Derek saw Titch’s hand gripping the edge of the armrest frantically, when the priest talked about loss and letting go, and he dared to carefully place his palm over Titch’s wrist, squeezing it lightly. He felt Titch’s hand moving under his palm, and their fingers entwined together into a tight lock. Titch grasped at him, his hand trembling slightly, and Derek lost track of time again. He just felt Titch’s arm in his own, and the faint tremor that ran through it. The pastor’s voice droned on in the background, something about peace, about eternal rest, about the inevitability of loss and the solace found in faith. Derek couldn’t focus on the words. They sounded distant, like a recording played from far-far away. His world narrowed to the warmth of Titch’s hand, the slight dampness of his palm, the way their fingers fit together like they were meant to.

For a moment, he thought about pulling away. This was probably the most dreadful moment in Titch’s life. Maybe he didn’t want to be touched, maybe he, unlike Derek at his time, did not have the white noise humming in his ears, maybe he was actually present in the moment and wanted to be left alone... But then he felt the way Titch’s fingers tightened just slightly, a silent "don’t let go" encrypted in that small desperate gesture.

So he didn’t let go.

The pastor finished speaking, and the silence that followed was almost deafening. A rustle of movement spread through the room as people shifted in their seats, adjusting their jackets, clearing their throats. Titch exhaled shakily, the sound so soft Derek wouldn’t have caught it if he weren’t this close.

“You okay?” Derek whispered, his voice barely audible, leaning in so no one else would hear.

Titch didn’t answer immediately. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and gave the tiniest nod. But his hand didn’t unclench. If anything, his grip tightened, as if he were afraid Derek might disappear if he loosened his hold even for a second.

They sat like that through the rest of the service. Derek barely remembered any of it. He didn’t remember standing when everyone else did or filing out of the pew to follow the somber procession outside. The sky was overcast, the clouds hanging low and heavy, and it did look like it was going to rain any minute now. The air was getting colder with each moment, because apparently, for Titch's sake, Margery decided to keep the weather dark for the rest of the day.

They headed to the graveside, and that was the moment Titch unclenched his grip, letting go of Derek’s warm and slightly sweaty palm and taking a frantic inhale. “I have to go through this by myself,” he muttered, looking like every word was hurting his throat.

“Sure,” Derek whispered, stepping back into the crowd a little. Titch gulped heavily and searched through the people around to see James. James stood right behind him, just as pale and strained. He gave Titch a small nod and stepped to stand next to him at the front of the crowd by the grave.

Derek heard something like a whimper escaping James’ lips when the casket was lowered into the earth, and Titch grabbed him into a hug, whispering something to his ear. Derek couldn’t tell what Titch was saying, the rustling of his whispers being drowned out with hollow thunks of soil hitting wood.

Derek watched James cry, trying to remember how he acted at his mother’s funeral. Did he cry? He might have. He did not remember. He probably did, that sounded like a natural reaction. His sight slipped over Titch, who stood by the grave, still whispering something to James and holding him tightly in a hug. His eyes sparkled, but those were feverish sparkles, without a hint of tears. How did Titch stay so composed, Derek thought, watching the two of them, being so alike in some aspects, yet so different overall.

The grey sky seemed heavier now, the cloud Margery had summoned growing denser with each passing second. Derek lingered at the edge of the gathering, his hands shoved deep into his trousers pockets, watching Titch and James from a distance.

James was nodding in response to Titch's words and whatever Titch had whispered seemed to have steadied him, though Derek could see the effort it was costing Titch to maintain his own composure. James seemed to have calmed down at last, and just watched the coffin disappearing under a pile of earth.

Titch stood like a stone statue next to the grave.

The crowd began to disperse, murmuring condolences in hushed voices. Titch remained where he was for a moment longer, his shoulders stiff and his head bowed. Then he straightened, his eyes scanning the thinning crowd until they found Derek.

Without a word, Titch walked over, his steps measured and almost robotic. For a moment, they stood in silence, the cemetery eerily quiet now that most of the people had gone.

“Ready to go?” Derek asked softly, and Titch nodded, his voice barely audible as he replied, “Yeah.”

Derek was under an impression that the church was located quite far from the farm, but he didn’t even notice their way back home. Maybe because each one of the three of them seemed to be stuck in his own head, rethinking the day and returning to the service over and over in his mind. Derek surely did. Although, since he had spent half of the service worrying over Titch, he hadn’t gotten much out of it.

Titch unlocked the door to the farmhouse and glanced at James interrogatively. “You okay?” he asked, his voice muffled. “If you want, we can talk, or I can just stay with you for a few hours —”

“No, Titch, really, no need to do that,” James interrupted him, shaking his head quickly. “I just... need to be by myself for a while. You’ve already done enough.” His voice wavered slightly.

Titch studied him for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Alright,” he said finally. “But if you need anything—anything at all—you call me, okay?”

James nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I will. Thanks.”

He headed upstairs, his footsteps heavy on the creaking wooden stairs. The sound of his door shutting echoed through the farmhouse, leaving Derek and Titch alone in the quiet.

Titch lingered by the door for a moment, his hand resting on the frame, as if unsure of what to do next. Derek, leaning against the back of a worn chair, watched him, waiting. Finally, Titch exhaled and turned toward him.

“You want tea or something?” Titch asked, his voice flat, the offer automatic.

“Yeah, probably,” Derek replied, also not thinking much about it. He watched Titch depart towards the kitchen, his hand trailing the wall to keep him on his feet. He looked a mere shadow of himself on the graveyard: shoulders hunched, head bowed, his steps slow and unsteady.

Derek watched him turn the corner of the hallway and head toward the kitchen, and then he heard the soft clanking of cups being taken out of the cupboard. Derek had just shrugged off his jacket, reaching for his phone to check on his messages, when a sharp crash shattered the silence—a sound of a cup, maybe two, smashing hard against the floor. The sound barely settled before a heavy thud followed, reverberating through the house and making Derek’s heart go still.

Chapter Text

"If tomorrow this planet exploded, just think of all the time we would have wasted..."
~ ALF

Everything goes black before his eyes so fast that Titch doesn’t have the time to understand what is happening. He tries to grab the edge of the counter at the last moment, but his fingers slip, and he realises he’s about to hit the floor just before the world dims before his eyes.

He feels a sharp pain in his arms, searing through his skin and burning, but it seems distant and unreal, as though he’s trapped in one of those childhood dreams that always felt just out of reach.

He hears voices around, but they’re muffled and the heavy throbbing in his ears drowns them out, one by one. Everything is so dark it’s suffocating him, and he tries to see something, he tries to talk, because the voices around threaten to disappear any second now, and then he will be all alone again, one-on-one with the darkness. A sharp paralyzing pain pierces through his skull, and he can’t suppress a whimper, even though he isn’t really hearing his own voice. He just knows some sounds escape his lips, and then he keeps falling deeper and deeper into the void.

Everything swirls around him in a kaleidoscope of colours, he’s caught in a hurricane of lights, visions, noises, and it’s all so familiar and strange at the same time. He wakes up at some point, with his head spinning and his eyes trying unsuccessfully to see at least something besides the brightness so sharp his retinas sting. He passes out almost immediately after that.

He doesn’t know how much time passes after each instance he loses consciousness like that. There’s no time where he is. There’s only darkness and unstoppable pain in the back of his head. He wakes up and he passes out. Again and again. He can’t track the time, because he doesn’t know from where to start counting. And he’s in so much pain he simply can’t focus on counting.

He hears someone’s voices occasionally. Someone comes back to him, stays in the room with him, holding his hand, saying something, making him swallow some bitter drink that inflames his throat the moment it goes down it, and then that person whispers something calming while Titch tries to stabilize the breathing. Someone’s hands embrace him in a tight hug, and he leans in, because this too feels familiar and safe.

It's the only thing stable.

He has to cling to the only thing stable.

He has to. Before he passes out again. Because once he does, he may lose it all. What if he wakes up – and that person isn’t there?..

He grips at their hand and doesn’t let go for hours. Or minutes? Probably seconds. It’s seconds before the dark void swallows him back.

It all goes in circles again. He wakes up. He blacks out. Sometimes when he’s conscious, someone brings a spoon to his mouth and feeds him – at least, they try, because Titch can’t really stuff more than five gulps down his throat before he starts choking. He’s frustrated and lost, his head starts aching again, and he passes out before he can formulate a single coherent thought in his head.

Darkness. Unbelievably sharp light streaming from the wall right before him. Darkness again. He wallows between these two worlds again, until his thoughts feel absolutely tangled, and he’s unsure of what’s real and what’s imagined anymore.

The next time he wakes up, he doesn’t remember anything. It’s all so blurry, so demolished in his head, which is throbbing with pain every time he tries to open his eyes. And he tries so many times, because he feels like he has to keep fighting for whatever reason. The light cuts through his eyelids and he winces hurtfully, squinting from all that brightness.

He doesn’t understand where he is or what is happening. He doesn’t remember why he is so empty and lost. He had probably lost something. Someone. Someone important. There was a funeral. He just doesn’t remember who was buried.

He blinks a few times, trying to adapt to that piercing pain that keeps rolling from the back of his head in sharp waves, making everything pulsate before his eyes. He hears there’s someone else in the room with him, and he realises he’s not wrong, when the person sits on the edge of his bed and says something, obviously addressing him.

He shakes his head and makes an attempt to shift towards the wall, closer to the corner of the bed and away from the talking, away from that questioning tone. He doesn’t want to answer questions anymore. He probably used to do that a lot, but he can’t remember. He has lots of questions of his own, he just doesn’t have the strength to formulate them even in his head.

He remembers he had lost someone. There is this ache in his heart that he can’t confuse with anything. He remembers there was something. Right before the world became black, and then the sharp brightness cut through that thick darkness and blinded him to the point his eyes began to water.

There was a funeral. That’s the first thing that returns to his mind. He clings to that information and repeats it in his head. The world is spinning before his eyes. He can see some light just in front of him, and he thinks it’s probably the window. He is not sure. He can’t see that far.

Everything shifts before his eyes, and his fingers grip the side of the blanket, as if it can help. He doesn’t want to fall into the darkness again. He has to stay conscious. There was a funeral. He has to hold onto that. Funeral. He has to remember who died. Someone he loved. Someone he disappointed.

He wants to remember, but his brain is too sluggish for that, so he just stares blankly, and he tries to stay silent, even though his head is still hurting pretty badly. Probably because of all the thinking.

He wants to think and he can’t.

He is tired. He is hurting. And he is exhausted from all the pain. He wants it to stop. He wants everything to stop, and he can’t make it stop, because his head keeps throbbing, and his eyes hurt, and then he feels something prickling in them, as hot tears start to roll down his cheeks.

He hears someone’s muffled voices the very next minute, the voices talk and whisper to one another in scared tones, and then he hears a quiet order “Go get Derek” given by someone whose voice sounds so painfully familiar.

Derek.

Derek rushes through the door – Titch guesses that dark spot is a door the same way he guessed that the bright thing was a window, and Titch flinches towards him, ignoring the way his body responds with another wave of nausea, and the edge of the bed suddenly disappears from under his palm, and he almost slips off it to the ground, when Derek’s strong hands catch him.

“Sh-h-h, love, you have to calm down now,” he hears Derek’s soft voice right behind him, and he winces and clings tightly to his shirt with his entire hand, because it’s all rushing back to him. He remembers. The farm. Empty fields. The Troll Bridge. Weeks of silence. Father’s death. It was his father who died, Titch remembers, another wave of hot tears flooding his eyes.

No. No, no, no, he can’t return to that reality. He doesn’t want to think about funerals, and the farm, and how he has no right to be with Derek. He’s too tired, and he’s hurting, and he can’t start it all over again. He doesn’t want to. He whispers that he doesn’t want to, again and again, because he has no strength anymore. He just wants it all to be over.

“It’s alright, Titch, darling, it’s all fine,” he hears Derek’s soft whispering into his ear, as his grip on Derek's shirt becomes stronger and stronger, and he hides his face on Derek’s chest and squeezes his eyes shut as tight as possible, like it could protect him. “Titch. Love, listen to me. You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want, okay? I promise you, I promise you it’s okay, you don’t have to—Titch, do you hear me?” Derek’s cool palms cup his cheeks and gently take Titch’s face away from his chest, making him look up. “You don’t have to do anything. Nothing at all that you don’t like. You have to trust me on that, love.”

Titch gulps down another wave of tears seizing his throat and whispers – whispers? sounds more like a whine escaping his lips – whispers something, that makes Derek’s eyes go wide, as he embraces him even stronger than before.

“Stop it, Titch. Stop, that’s nonsense,” he argues, his tone gentle but firm. “Nobody here cares how ‘useful’ you are, okay?” he reaches towards his lips and leaves a slow kiss on his mouth, without really asking for consent, but also giving him enough space to back away. Titch doesn’t back away. If anything, he gives into Derek’s embraces even stronger, grasps at his shirt to the point his knuckles go white, and Derek notices it. “Sh-h-h, love, you don’t have to do that,” he mutters, covering Titch’s hand with his palm and rubbing slow circles around his knuckles with the tips of his fingers. “You have to try and relax for now, okay? We all in this house love you for you, not for how many tasks you take on yourself. Titch. You hear me?”

Titch listens to Derek hushing his frantic whimpers, whispering that it’s alright to cry, that he doesn’t have to be so tense, that he can, he really can relax now. That he doesn’t have to restrict himself from anything any longer. Titch breathes in and out slowly, as Derek guides him to do, but it’s all too overwhelming for him to calm down with a snap of a finger. He’s been drowning in the darkness for too long, he was lost and scared for so long, and then he woke up without really knowing who he was and what was happening around, and then he remembered everything.

Every. Little. Thing. The farm, ruined to the bone. He never should have taken that responsibility, if he wasn’t good enough to handle it.

Father. He let him down, and then he let him down again, and then he lost him, and it was all his fault.

Derek. He kept ditching Derek over and over, and then Derek wanted to leave, and—and—

He grasps at his shirt twice as hard again, not caring about how his wrist responds to that movement with sharp pain, and he feels he’s trembling again. He’s probably panicking. He isn’t sure. He can’t tell. He just can’t lose Derek again. He can’t deny himself that again, not for the second time. Not now. He needs him. He needs him. Please, he needs him so much—

“Okay, love, easy, easy,” Derek hurries to say, cupping his face with his free hand, because the other one is still trying unsuccessfully to ease the tension of his hold. “I’m not going anywhere, not this time. Not ever. I promise you, okay?” Derek’s fingers now massage his tightly clenched fists in circles. “I need you too—you have no idea how many times I wished for you to say it back to me... Love, you really need to relax a bit, it’s not good for you to be so stressed now...” Derek’s eyes shift to Titch’s hands, and his eyes go wide.

“Oh god, Titch, no, no, it’ll end badly if you don’t let those wounds heal,” he mutters, and Titch just then realises his hands are bandaged and the bandages are red with blood. His palms are already prickling pretty badly, and he unclenches his fist, trying to figure out for how long was it hurting and he didn’t notice. For a moment he just stares at his hands, still sniffling and blinking the tears away, and Derek takes the moment to get to the bathroom and back, with fresh bandages and a bowl of water in his hands.

“Come on, darling, let me clean those,” he sighs, taking Titch’s hands in his own and taking the plasters off. Titch watches him unwrap his wrist, and his eyes stops on his palm, all covered in miniscule cuts, which are almost all bleeding.

Titch watches Derek press a fresh piece of cloth to his palm, the warmth of the water seeping into his skin, oddly soothing despite the sting of it against the cuts.

“You didn’t even notice, did you?” Derek murmurs, his sight still visibly concentrated on Titch’s hands. Titch can’t find it in himself to respond. His throat feels tight, not with pain but with something heavier, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge. He just shakes his head slightly, barely a motion, and keeps his gaze fixed on Derek’s movements.

Derek dips the cloth into the bowl, the clean water almost immediately becoming pink with blood, wrings it out, and presses it to Titch’s skin. Then again. On the third touch, the wounds begin to sting, and Titch twitched slightly, causing Derek to look up at him hastily. “Sorry,” he says, pursing his lips and dipping the rag into the water again. “I’m so sorry, I just need to wash off the blood and bandage it, and then we simply won’t touch it again until it heals, love, okay?”

Titch nods reluctantly, watching Derek switch to his other hand, carefully leaving the cleaned hand lying on the blanket. The cuts are not too deep, but there are so many of them, and almost all of them are stinging now, and Titch has to bite on his lower lip in order to not let out another frustrated hiss. Derek’s expression is drawn tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. He doesn’t speak for a while, the room filled only with the soft sounds of water sloshing in the bowl and fabric brushing against skin. Titch’s eyes drift to Derek’s face, tracing the lines of his brow, the way his jaw sets and shifts. And Titch suddenly realises he isn’t sure if Derek is sad or angry with him, or just disappointed. Well, he certainly doesn’t look happy.

Titch opens his mouth to ask him, but the words don’t come. He exhales instead, shallow and uneven, and shakes his head hopelessly. Derek’s eyes were immediately on him, watching him interrogatively.

“What, love?” he asks, putting the bowl with water aside and scanning Titch’s face with his eyes. Titch feels his lips trembling again, tears stinging in his eyes for one more time, because apparently, once he lets himself be weak, he can’t gain his composure back. Derek hurries to sit beside him on the edge of the bed and carefully hugs him from behind. “Sh-h-h, Titch, Titch, talk to me,” he whispers, leaning a bit to the side to catch the sight of Titch’s eyes. “What’s wrong? You can say it.”

“Are you disappointed with me?”

The question is too sudden for Titch to even formulate it appropriately in his head. He just blurts it before he can think it through, and his eyes bore into Derek’s face, searching for any signs of confirmation. Derek furrows and stares back at him, as if not sure what to say. “Why... why would you think that?” he asks finally, his voice hesitant. “Did I do something to make you think...?”

“No, it’s just... You’re... I just thought – what if you don’t want to be here. I just don’t want to upset you,” Titch whispers in a small voice, his eyes locking on Derek. His hand move subconsciously towards Derek again, trying to take his hand, even though some of the small cuts are still prickling, and his hand is still a little bit wet. Derek catches his wrist gently before he can actually touch something with his uncovered palm.

“Gotta be careful, love, remember?” he says softly, making Titch put his hand back on the blanket and leaning to leave a soft kiss on his forehead. “I probably am not looking happy because you’re hurting, that’s all,” he adds quietly, his voice low and thoughtful. Titch presses into his embrace, resting his head on Derek’s chest and listening to the way his voice reverberated through him. “Don’t think it’s something you did, okay? I want you to feel better, that’s all. Come on, I still have to bandage your hands, those cuts have to finally heal.”

“What even happened?” Titch asks, because he realises he still has no idea why his hands are injured like that. He watches Derek placing the gauze on his hand and starting to wrap in around his palms, his face going dark for a moment.

“You... Well, you were probably holding the cups in your hands, and they must’ve slipped out,” Derek says finally, wrinkling his forehead and visibly trying to recall that moment. “And then you... sort of collapsed. I’m not sure. When I came to the kitchen, you were in some kind of shock. Not entirely unconscious, but not present either, um... And you probably hurt your hands when you fell, because there were broken pieces everywhere,” he furrows and shakes his head, as if trying to drive away those memories.

Titch doesn’t dare to ask further. He allows Derek to bandage his hands and then he leans back on the pillows, feeling that short conversation had drained all the strength from him entirely. He lies motionlessly for god knows how long, exhausted and numb, until Derek walks into the room with a steaming bowl of soup in his hands. It’s the moment that Titch realises he’s actually so hungry. He twitches, trying to get up on the bed a little, and he drops back on the pillows helplessly.

“Don’t move too much, love,” Derek says, placing the bowl on the desk and hurrying towards him. “That’s what I’m here for, I do all the moving around,” he adds, pulling Titch up by the shoulders gently. He adjusts the pillows behind him and helps him settle into a more or less comfortable sitting position, before he drags a chair closer to the edge of the bed and sits next to Titch with the bowl in his hand.

Derek hands him the first spoonful of soup, which Titch eagerly swallows. Then the second one. On the third, Titch chokes and coughs, and Derek puts the bowl aside and gently taps him on the back, waiting for Titch to stabilize his breathing.

"There's no need to rush, sunshine," Derek coaxes, bringing the napkin to his lips. "Let's try again, but go a little slower this time, okay?"

Titch continues to eat, and Derek watches his every move closely, noticing every little flinch and glance. At some point, Titch realizes that he can no longer eat. He glances at the bowl, which is not even half empty yet, but Derek catches this quick glance and puts the bowl on the table.

“You full? It’s okay, love, you can just say so,” he assures, adjusting the pillows so that Titch would be more comfortable. "I'll take the plate to the kitchen, and then we’ll see what else we can do, okay?"

All Titch really can do for the rest of the day is sit on the bed motionlessly, with his eyelids closed and his hands fidgeting with the corners of the blanket. He hears Derek moving around the room, probably replacing some of the things. Several times he leaves the room and comes back again, which is understandable, Titch thinks numbly. Derek can’t really spend every second of his day here with him, he must have a life of his own, right?

Titch is too exhausted to dig deeper into that thought. He just lies and tries to do exactly what Derek asked of him earlier: not think about anything at all. It’s impossible. In his mind, he keeps returning to the funeral, and the farm crashing, and everything before the farm crashing. He doesn’t know if he feels hurt, but he probably does, because what else can he call that hollow feeling inside him. He shoots a look towards where the window is supposed to be, and he sees it’s all dark there, which means it’s either evening, or night altogether.

Titch shifts uneasily on his spot. He doesn’t want to be alone in this room, not when it’s so dark and quiet around. Not for the whole night. He needs Derek.

He throws a wary glance towards the door, because Derek walked through that door about half an hour ago, and he still hasn’t returned. What if he doesn’t want to return. What if he’s just too tired of Titch. He has every right to be, with Titch just lying here all day, unable to do a fucking thing for himself.

He hears the door creaking, and Derek walks into the room with something in his hands. “Hey, love, I figured you might want to change into something fresh. You were out for four days at least, and I was probably panicked out of my mind to think about things like that earlier... What do you say?”

Titch doesn’t really understand how he can do it, but he nods, and tries to straighten up a little. Unsuccessful, just like all the previous times before. All he really manages is to get his head to start spinning even more than before, and he winces when one of his palms starts to prickle. “No, no, no, darling, don’t-” Derek’s hands are on his shoulders the next moment, steadying him and forcing him to stop moving. “You misunderstood me. You don’t have to do anything, okay? It can really affect your healing progress, according to the doctor. Just... let me take care of you for a bit, alright?”

Titch nods again and rests his back against the pillow, while Derek unbuttons his shirt and drags it off Titch’s shoulders almost without making him change his position.

“Okay, love, I’ll need you to move a little bit now,” Derek says, and Titch shifts forward a bit, letting him wrap the new shirt around his shoulders. It does feel refreshing, he notices, feeling the clean material against his skin. He lies back on the bed with Derek’s help, and he once again remembers that this is supposed to be night. So Derek will probably leave now, to go to his room. Titch doesn’t want him to leave. Titch needs him here, he doesn’t want to be without him—

“Could you stay?” he whispers, not entirely sure Derek can even hear him. Of course Derek hears him. He stops folding the old shirt and turns to Titch, his look both confused and tender.

“What, love?”

“For the night, I mean,” Titch adds, completely miserable now. “But if you don’t want to, it’s fine-”

Derek places the folded shirt aside and sits on the edge of Titch’s bed. Titch reaches towards him at the same time Derek embraces him in a hug, and he feels Derek tucking his nose into his neck, just above the collarbone and taking a sharp inhale. “Of course I will stay,” he hears Derek’s voice, suddenly shaky, and it scares him a little, because all this time Derek was so composed and calm.

When ten minutes later Derek turns off the lights and carefully slides under Titch’s blanket, Titch feels pleasant shivers running down his back. The last time the two of them were together in a dark room, cuddling under a warm blanket, it was after the Troll Bridge. They had the most majestic night, and then Titch fucked it all up because he was too scared.

“Derek?” he whispers into the darkness, because he can’t quite see him. All he can feel is Derek’s hand resting gently across his waist, as though he were afraid even the lightest touch might hurt him.

“Yeah?” Derek muttered into his shoulder, his breath hot against Titch’s skin.

“I—I just want you to know,” Titch gulps, his throat getting tighter with every next word, and he felt his lips trembling, because he’s been longing to say this since the very start, since that time Margery visited their farm in July, and Derek injured his hand, since that night when he lay in his bed staring at the silvery path the moon had drawn on his ceiling and realising he might actually be in love with Derek.

He just never dared to say it out loud. He always wanted to. He just never had the guts. Until it was too late, and Derek decided to leave. And then—then there was the funeral, and Titch got lost in the black hole of eternal darkness, and he couldn’t get out of it for so long, he just wallowed in it without really knowing where he was and how much time had passed—

He isn’t going to waste any more chances.

He reaches for Derek’s hand by touch, and their fingers entwine. Titch feels he’s trembling, and it’s especially noticeable now, because his body feels so fragile against Derek’s. He doesn’t care.

“Is—Is something wrong?” Derek probably also notices that something is not going according to the plan, but Titch tries to say something to stop him, because while he has the strength to think about it, to formulate coherent sentences, he just wants to say it, he needs to—

Derek falls silent, and while Titch still is not able to see him in the darkness, he just knows that Derek catches every sound.

“I love you,” Titch whispers, and he shifts closer to Derek, grasping at him and feeling his arms embracing him firmly and practically hiding him from the whole world. He can’t stop himself anymore, he is lost in Derek’s touches, in the feeling of them being like this, together, finally, and he just keeps whispering those three same words over and over again, until he’s short of breath, and tears start squeezing his throat again.

“I love you. I love you. I love you so much, I want you to know that, please know that, Derek—”

Derek exhales, and a small happy hum escapes his lips, as he hugs Titch even tighter. “For so long,” he mutters in between Titch frantic whisperings, “I’ve been dreaming about this for so long, Titch.”

Titch wants to explain it all, he wants to say that he was a fool, and he was scared, he just didn’t want them to lose what they already had, he thought he was protecting them—

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” is all he is actually capable of saying before his voice breaks into a whimper, and Derek makes a sharp movement and leans towards his face, trying to find his mouth by touch. He misses at first, and Titch feels Derek’s lips moving from his forehead, tracing a line against his nose and finally covering his mouth in a soft, calming kiss.

“Don’t be sorry,” Derek says quietly, when their lips finally part, and it is the softest order Titch has ever received in his life. Titch finds his mouth and draws the two of them into another kiss almost immediately, feeling that he’s drowning in Derek’s hold again.

Nothing matters anymore. It’s just the two of them, lost in the darkness, only this time it’s not a scary darkness. His head is not hurting anymore, and yes, his hands prickle a little, but it’s okay, Titch knows they’ll probably heal later. Right now he holds Derek in his arms, and he kisses him, wherever he can reach, wherever Derek allows him to reach, because there’s still so little he’s able to do on his own.

“Just don’t shut yourself off from me like that ever again,” Derek breathes out, and his voice shifts into trembling a little. “Please, Titch, please, I promise you we can handle anything, if you just trust me enough to share—”

Titch’s head starts spinning again, and he knows he’s tired, but he’s happy, and he tries to gather at least those miniscule bits of strength he still has in himself just to savour that moment.

Chapter Text

Derek never imagined he could go four days without sleep and barely feel it. Yet here he was, held together by some unseen force that kept him upright and alert. On the rare occasions he did drift off, it was only because the quiet and darkness of Titch's room made it impossible not to. But most of the time, he stayed wide awake, keeping a close watch on Titch and holding onto the hope that he'd catch those fleeting moments when Titch might wake again.

The doctor said Titch was just too sleep-deprived and overall physically exhausted, and that he should be fully awake in two or three days, and Derek kept repeating that to himself every time he felt like breaking. He couldn’t tell exactly what breaking felt like, even though he heard Titch using that word on multiple occasions, when he was referring to himself. But Derek imagined that if ‘being broken’ was really a thing – that was him during those several days.

He tried to stay calm at first, reminding himself that this was exactly what Titch would want him to do. Titch always believed in staying composed and thinking rationally. And the rational part of Derek’s brain spoke in the voice of that doctor James called into the farmhouse, who said that nothing lethal was happening, and Titch just needed some time to recover and hopefully not make his body and mind go through this kind of exhaustion again.

They just had to wait. So Derek was waiting. He sat by the bed for hours – although he never really kept track of the time – squeezing Titch’s hand in his fingers and simply watching the rise and fall of his chest, hoping that maybe he’d catch the moment when Titch would be awake again. He did wake up from time to time, just to circle the room with a hazy glace and black out again, often – without saying a word. Derek didn’t even have the time to say anything to try and see if Titch recognised his surroundings at all. He considered it a blessing to at least be present in the room when Titch would wake up like that.

The first day Derek couldn’t really tell if Titch was awake at some point and for how long. He refused to leave his bed for a second, but tears that were flooding his eyes were making it really difficult to see what was happening around him. The only thing Derek really managed to do that day was stuff half of the dinner into himself before going back to Titch’s room, and he mostly did that because James practically forced him to, arguing in a trembling voice that this kind of behaviour was exactly what had brought Titch to this point at the first place. That worked. At least Derek agreed that nothing terrible would happen if he left the room for ten minutes to have a quick snack.

Derek also didn’t remember at what point Titch was able to stay awake for more than a few moments. It just... happened. There was a moment when Derek raised his eyes from the book he was so stubbornly pretending to read just to get his mind off the constant dull ache in his chest, and he saw Titch’s eyelids fluttering weakly. Within seconds Derek was already by his side, taking Titch’s hand gently into his own and observing his face closely. Was he going to black out again? Or would he stay with Derek for a bit longer? Derek’s heart sank for a moment and continued beating, when Titch blinked slowly, looking around the room hazily. Derek just did what he did for the past few days: waited quietly, grasping at Titch’s hand. Just so that Titch would know that Derek was right there. All the time. That Titch actually had someone worth waking up for.

Derek didn’t know if Titch was even aware of it, but he hoped he was. And this was the time when Titch’s sight became at least somewhat comprehensible. At least, he kept staying awake and watching the room motionlessly, and then his eyes stopped on Derek, who was sitting on the edge of his bed, squeezing his palm nervously.

“Hey, love,” was all Derek could whisper, his voice barely audible as he smiled weakly. Hot tears were practically streaming down his cheeks at this point, but he didn’t care. Something flashed in Titch’s eyes, something that looked almost like acknowledgement, and he grasped at Derek’s hand sharply. Although Derek could only guess that this was supposed to be a sharp grip, because Titch’s hand was still too weak to actually hold on properly. Titch stayed silent, his face staying as motionless and unreadable as before, but this time his eyes were fixated directly on Derek, not shifting around the room anymore. He just watched Derek silently, the two of them being lost in that moment for... how long? It didn’t matter once Titch’s hand twitched and went limp in Derek’s hold, and Derek slid down from the bed onto the cold floor, clutching the now lifeless fingers and hiding his face in the blanket on the bed.

Why was he blacking out all the time, and how, how could Derek stop this?! He wanted to stop this cycle of waking up and passing out, he wanted Titch to actually return to his senses, to feel that he’s secure. Derek would make it secure for him. Not like it was before, not with all the responsibilities and problems being only on Titch to handle.

Derek would try so, so hard to make it safe, if Titch would only just... come back to him.

Derek didn’t remember crying so much ever in his life. He had probably cried a lot before, but never like this—kneeling on the floor by the bed, his lips brushing against Titch’s hand, while tears squeezed his throat so tightly it felt like he was suffocating. He just cried and cried, until he was absolutely drained, and even after that he sobbed a bit more, resting his cheek against the back of Titch’s palm.

That was how James found him, when he walked into the room to check on his brother. Derek didn’t really catch what James was saying in the hallway when he was approaching the bedroom, but he fell silent mid-sentence, walking into the room and seeing Derek on the floor by the bed.

“Jesus Christ, Derek-” James’ hands wrapped around his shoulders, and Derek turned away from him, wiping the tears off his face. “Come on- It’s not that bad, he’s gonna recover, Derek, you hear me?” James pulled him back to his feet, and Derek, however crushed he was, couldn’t help but notice how physically strong that man actually was. He could’ve probably lifted three Dereks at once is he wanted to.

Derek nodded to James’ hasty words, more on an automatic level than because he was actually listening. He felt another wave of tears making him gasp frantically and clasp his palm against his mouth, trying and failing to finally pull himself together.

“Come on, don’t-don’t be like that, Derek. I know what I’m talking about, I know my brother,” James squeezed his shoulder tighter, trying to look him in the eyes. “He’s gonna be okay. He is. Nothing is happening, you heard the doctor yesterday, we just need to wait.”

“I know,” Derek mumbled, sniffling one more time and blinking the tears away. “I just—I wish he knew I’m here with him every fucking step of the way.”

“Hey,” James finally succeeded in catching Derek’s eye and gave him a meaningful look. “He knows. I’m sure he knows.”

Derek didn’t know how he could’ve kept going if it wasn’t for James. Knowing James, one would have thought that he’d be the first one to freak out – and he did, at first. At least, Derek still remembered James’ face going pale in one short moment, when James came downstairs, probably to check on that loud thud that echoed all across the house and made the plates clank against each other on the kitchen shelves.

But James seemed to be able to pull himself together much quicker than Derek. At least James had enough common sense to call the hospital and speak to their family doctor, while Derek was... well, losing his shit. Even Derek himself wouldn’t describe it any other way: he was completely falling apart.

Thank god James was there, because Derek had been good for nothing during those first few hours after finding Titch and carrying him upstairs. Derek did that almost without thinking, he practically flew up the spiral stairs, Titch feeling absolutely weightless in his arms. He’d laid him gently on the bed, where Titch’s body swayed slightly against the pillows before going limp again, his chest rising and falling faintly with each fragile breath.

And then Derek just... froze. He loomed helplessly over Titch, clutching his wilted hand in both of his own, the emptiness inside him growing heavier with each passing second.

He had seen Titch in various different situations, he’d seen him being scared, crashed, tired, drained out to the point he couldn’t turn the coffee maker on – but never like this. Never unconscious, with his face so pale and grey with exhaustion that sometimes it looked like— like—

No, no, no—Titch was breathing. Derek knew he was. His eyes kept snapping back to Titch’s chest, locking onto the frail rise and fall, just to reassure himself, various times throughout the day.

Derek would have never gone through it if it wasn’t for James, who somehow managed to stay at least somewhat rational despite his sight getting darker and darker with each day. He was the one who practically shouted at Derek for denying food and staying in Titch’s bedroom twenty four per seven, and it felt like a slap in a face, but a refreshing one. At least, Derek did admit that this behaviour was not normal, and they had a very real example lying on the bed in front of them.

The next time Titch woke up was around midnight, and Derek’s eyes glued to him, when he decided to take a casual glance across the room and saw Titch was conscious. Just... staring before himself, somewhere into the wall, eyes misty and awfully still.

It was still something.

Derek’s heart missed a beat, as he got up from his chair, placing the book aside with a quiet rustle. He didn’t know why he was doing everything so slowly and carefully, as if he was in front of a skittish animal that could get spooked and run away at any moment. It did feel like it. He stepped towards the bed and perched on the edge of it carefully, making the bed creak and shift under his weight a little.

His palm rested lightly on Titch’s chest, tracing the slow, steady rhythm of his heart beneath his fingers. Titch’s eyes were again locked on him, absolutely hollow and lost. He wasn’t recognising him, Derek realised, falling deeper and deeper into the void of those grey eyes and feeling almost just as scared as Titch was probably feeling.

Titch’s hand twitched and moved towards Derek’s palm, which was still lying weightlessly on his chest. If he wasn’t recognising Derek, he still clung to him with a despair of drowning person grasping at the straw. “It’s okay, love,” Derek whispered, blinking away the heavy tears that slipped down his cheeks, clinging to his eyelashes and obscuring his vision. “It’s okay, it will all come back to you,” he swallowed hard, squeezing Titch’s hand lightly in return. “It will, I promise. Just... hang in there. Only for a few more days. It has to become better. It has to.”

He inhaled frantically, but forced himself to stay calm. For several more moments he watched Titch just... staring at him, eyes huge with either shock or confusion. They had around five more minutes before Titch was swallowed back by whatever void he was in for the past few days.

The next time Derek even succeeded in making him eat something. It was entirely spontaneous, Titch just wouldn’t “fall asleep”, as Derek was calling it in his head, for much longer than he had before. He kept grasping at Derek’s hand, still so obviously not knowing who Derek was, but remembering enough about him to know he was always around. It was hard for Derek to understand what was going on in Titch’s head in those moments when he was awake.

But fifteen minutes passed, and Titch... stayed awake. Motionless and silent, but awake. Derek gently squeezed his hand between his palms, drawing Titch’s discursive attention back to himself. “If you aren’t planning on blacking out again, love, let’s try to get you to eat something, what do you say?” he whispered, trying to place Titch’s hand back on the blankets and feeling his grip only getting stronger. Well, not stronger, because it would take Derek literally no effort to take his hand away from a hold that weak, but it was definitely frantic.

“Sh-h-h, darling, I’ll just go down to the kitchen and back,” Derek cooed gently, reaching with his free hand to brush a lock of hair from Titch’s forehead. “Just downstairs and back, I promise. You look well enough to at least try and eat something, right? We have to at least try.”

A few minutes later Derek returned to the bedroom with a plate of broth in his hands. If Derek hadn’t spent so much time in this room, watching Titch for hours straight, he would’ve probably thought nothing changed when he entered. But he practically lived in this room at that point, so he could see Titch’s eyes sparkling at the sight of him and his cheeks blushing slightly. Which probably meant excitement. Derek still hadn’t had enough opportunities to learn that new language they were communicating with.

“Okay, darling, let’s see what we can do here,” Derek commented, putting the plate down and adjusting the pillows behind Titch to ease him into a more comfortable sitting position. “Okay, does that feel better? Probably does. Let’s try this, just one step at a time, yes?” He sat on the edge of the bed and brought the first spoon to Titch’s mouth. Thin lips parted a bit, and Titch took a frantic inhale after swallowing that small bite. “Okay, okay, I’m pausing, love,” Derek muttered, watching Titch struggling with the new feelings. “Maybe catch your breath for a bit, yeah? We’ll continue when you’re ready, take your time.”

‘Ready’ happened about a minute and a half later, and this time Titch took it a bit easier. At least, he swallowed three more bits before he leaned away from the spoon and squeezed his lips tightly together, shooting guilty looks at Derek.

Derek put the plate aside and cupped Titch’s cheek with his palm, leaning closer and leaving a light kiss on his temple. “You did great, sweetheart,” he whispered against his skin, kissing him gently once again and pulling away. “I’m so proud of you. You will get better soon, just believe me, okay?” He brought the almost full dish downstairs and came back without even thinking about washing it or any other nonsense. Things like that stopped mattering a long time ago.

And then he sat by Titch’s side for a whole more hour, until Titch’s eyelids started to grow heavier, and his head just slumped against the pillow. Derek suppressed a sigh, adjusting the pillows to help Titch lie more comfortably. He sat there for another hour, his gaze fixed on Titch’s face—still and pale. Almost lifeless.

The moment Titch actually woke up—for good this time, not just to pass out again minutes later—was completely missed by Derek. It was the day Derek finally decided to listen to James embracing logic for once, and went downstairs to see if he could cook something and maybe to clear his head.

He made James promise to stay in the bedroom and not take his eyes off Titch for the entire time. He didn’t know what he would do if it wasn’t for James and Philipp, who also returned his tradition of occasional not-occasional visits of the farmhouse, and has been a huge help during those visits. This time Philipp also popped in the house, raising his eyebrow in surprise when he saw Derek in the kitchen.

“You’re cooking again?” he noted, walking into the room and watching Derek put lasagna into the oven.

“Not really,” Derek said stiffly. “I’m just taking a break, I’ll be back with Titch in no time. Just let me adjust the temperature for this,” he gestured towards the stove, fussing with the knobs.

Philipp hummed behind his back. “How is Titch, by the way?” Derek shrugged vaguely, and Philipp nodded sympathetically. “No changes, huh?”

“Well, there are some, but not a lot, yeah. James is with him right now, maybe he’ll have something new to tell you,” Derek proceeded to hide all the products he’d taken out for his cooking back into the fridge, and Philipp went upstairs, probably to check on James. Derek heard hasty footsteps on the second floor and down the staircase the very next moment, and he looked at Philipp over his shoulder, feeling his heart missing a beat.

“What?!”

“Derek, come upstairs, now,” Philipp called, pointing behind himself. “He’s-he’s-”

Derek’s head whirled as he closed the oven and rushed towards the stairs. “Tell me what happened,” he urged, passing Philipp, who seemed to be in too much shock to explain it properly.

“He’s-”

“Awake?!”

“Yes, and he is crying.”

The next moment Derek had already pushed open the door to the bedroom and rushed towards Titch’s bed, gesturing James to leave. He didn’t really have much time to explain it or to apologise, because Titch had already seen him and made a sharp movement towards him, threatening to slip off that bed for good. Derek had to practically grab him by the hands and move him away from the edge.

“Sh-h-h, love, you have to calm down now,” Derek whispered, stroking Titch’s head with his palm, as his heart sank somewhere deep-deep into his stomach and was thumping erratically from within. Titch was awake. Awake and alive, and, at last, recognising who Derek was, and yes, not just crying, but actually suffocating with tears. Derek hugged him even tighter, now almost fully on the bed and looming over him protectively.

“No, no, no, I can’t—I can’t—I don’t want to fucking do it—again, I can’t—think—about it and do it all over, please, I just can’t—”

Derek froze and stared at him, listening to that frantic whispering, so confused, with a plea etched into every word. Titch wrapped his hands around Derek tightly and hid his face on Derek’s chest, muttering those same words over and over. That he can’t. That he doesn’t want to. Not again. He can’t do it all again.

Derek pulled him tightly towards himself, hiding them from the whole world, and tucked his nose in Titch’s hair, leaving invisible kisses on top of his head.

“Titch, love, listen to me,” he whispered, his mouth closer to Titch’s ear. He felt the smaller man freeze in his arms at the sound of his voice. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay? I promise you, I promise you it’s okay. You don’t have to—Titch, do you hear me?”

Carefully, Derek touched Titch’s chin, guiding it upward so he could see his face. Titch obeyed the motion, lifting his head slightly as Derek encouraged him, but his eyes stayed tightly shut, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

“I know I have to,” he whispered, a frantic sob drowning out the words. He clung to Derek even tighter and shook his head feverishly. “I know I have to, but I can’t—think—about it anymore, I just want it be over, I’m sorry—I’M SORRY I’m not useful anymore—”

Jesus Christ. Derek’s fingers slipped through his hair as he dragged Titch even tighter towards himself. “Stop it, love.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—I should’ve— f-from the very start—I should’ve done better from the st-start, and n-now it’s all gone, and I d-don’t want to d-do it all over—”

Derek’s heart shattered to pieces as he leaned towards Titch and drew him into a long soft kiss, stopping that confused muttering. He probably whispered something in return, something that should’ve made sense, only he didn’t really remember any of it later.

He just lost himself in Titch’s eyes, filled with tears and still locking firmly on him, and the universe whirled away in a hurricane of emotions.

When he woke the next morning, finding himself curled into Titch’s frail embrace, the clock was showing half past eleven. Derek inhaled the fresh morning air with his entire chest and squinted, as the sun hit him in the face. He tried to carefully slip from under Titch’s hand, just to take a more comfortable position without waking him up, but Titch’s hand grasped the air frantically the second after Derek gently put it on the pillow.

“Derek—”

“Right here,” Derek whispered softly, shifting to his side and leaning for a kiss. His fingers entwined with Titch’s into another tight lock, and he brought their hands to his lips again, brushing them gently against Titch’s knuckles. “Right here, love, don’t worry.”

Titch blinked sleepily and almost immediately winced, turning away from the blinding sun.

“Is it too bright, love? I forgot to close the drapes yesterday, sorry,” Derek muttered, slipping from the bed and closing the curtains shut. “There,” he said, returning back to bed and he smiled happily as Titch’s arms immediately wrapped around his waist. “Well, look at that! Someone’s feeling better today?” he hummed under his breath, his nose tracing a path across Titch’s cheek.

Titch muttered something under his breath, and Derek shook his head with a soft smile. “Didn’t catch that, love,” he said, receiving a confused look from Titch. “It’s okay, just try one word at a time for now,” Derek prompted gently, giving him an encouraging nod.

“I—never want to— let go of you,” Titch uttered in a small voice, making Derek’s heart flutter in the depth of his chest.

“You’ll never have to,” he promised, smiling. “It’s just the two of us now, love.”

Titch looked at him doubtfully. “And we can just... stay here all day like this?”

“We can stay here all day if we want to. Well, we definitely want to, because you’re not getting up for two more weeks at least,” he added, giving Titch a serious glance. They lay like that, just listening to each other’s heartbeats, for a good hour more.

Derek could feel Titch drifting in and out of sleep, this time truly dozing off instead of slipping into unconsciousness. At times, his breath grew ragged, but it would steady whenever Derek whispered to him, gently rubbing his chest and shoulders in slow circles and placing light, tender kisses across his face.

At some point Titch flinched and jerked out of his half-dream with a frantic “no, I can’t—”, which faded away as he blinked and looked around, trying to remember where he was. Derek hurried to draw him into another hug, and Titch reached for a kiss, their lips meeting softly. Titch’s lips, still a bit cool and dry, probably, from all the stress, pressed against Derek’s mouth, as he exhaled frantically.

“Easy, easy, darling,” Derek whispered to him in between the kisses. “You don’t have to be so nervous all the time, okay? Sh-h-h, listen to me,” he soothed, because Titch indeed was very uptight all of a sudden. “Do not think of anything else, okay? All those dreams and scary things that you have in your mind, just let go of them, love. There’s no need for you to do anything now, I promise. I promise you,” he said firmly, their hands entwining together under the blanket. “It’s just you and me from now on. Just the two of us.”

“Just us,” Titch whispered after him and suddenly beamed at Derek with a happy little smile. "Just us... Finally."

Chapter Text

The first thing Derek had to come to terms with was that they needed to find new ways to communicate. Either that, or muster a whole lot of patience, because Titch kept mixing up his words almost every time he tried to talk.

At first, Derek just tried to follow his lead and guess whatever Titch was trying to say – mostly because he stammered a lot, and with his mind getting tangled over the simplest words it was pretty hard to get to the end of the sentence with him.

They tried nevertheless. Just because Derek thought – and Titch agreed – that in order to get things back to normal they needed to keep practising in them. If talking was hard, they’d have to do it little by little, but still do it, even thought it very clearly irritated the hell out of Titch when he was trying to form a sentence and would lose the trail of his own thoughts.

“Okay, love, remember what we decided?” Derek asked softly, as they lay half-reclined on the bed, watching the fading rays of the setting sun cast shades of red across the windowsill and walls and Titch was trying to explain what had happened to him during those four days of darkness. Derek could see him getting tired throughout the whole explanations, becoming confused with words again and getting visibly frustrated with that realisation. “Remember what we decided? If it gets difficult, you just think of one thing at a time, love.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say,” Titch hissed with his teeth clenched, dragging his hand against his forehead and visibly trying to comb his thoughts back together. “It’s me who is wrecked to the point he can’t form a thought even in his damn head.”

Derek hurried to pull him into a hug, brushing his nose against Titch’s cheek in circles. “Love. It will all come back to you. It takes focus, and you were exhausted to the point of passing out, of course it is hard now. Tell you what, let’s take a break, hm? What do you want to do?”

“I- I want to sleep,” Titch said quietly, nestling in Derek’s hold and frowning, obviously still disappointed with himself. “And you have to stay here too,” he added, his voice small and hesitant all of a sudden.

“Of course I’m staying,” Derek promised, pulling him closer and inhaling the scent of Titch’s hair, which was now tickling Derek’s chin. “I’ll probably just sleep too, that sounds like something we both might want to do after all those days of worrying.”

He leaned back on the pillows, Titch’s weight feeling warmly pleasant against his ribcage. Soon enough he heard Titch’s breathing stabilizing a bit, his body getting more relaxed in Derek’s hold. Derek couldn’t help but smile as he buried his face in Titch’s hair, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. Why the heck was he so damn small? Or was it Derek who was too gangly? Derek watched Titch resting in his embrace, thinking about it sleepily and tracing slow circles with his thumb against the back of Titch’s hand.

To an outside eye, they probably looked like complete opposites. Hell, they were two opposites. At least, Derek thought so, comparing their personalities and appearances and starting to sort them out in his head until he drifted off completely.

The other thing Derek figured out soon enough was that they clearly had a problem with eating. It didn’t look too suspicious at first, because if a person was unconscious for four days, it probably made sense to start with small portions. So Derek didn’t worry. But the days passed by, and the amount of food Titch was able to eat was not increasing at all.

“I’m sorry,” Titch would murmur, leaning away from the spoon Derek was bringing to his mouth, “I just can’t anymore. Even if I wanted to.”

“But you have to want to,” Derek argued, furrowing, although he did put the plate aside so that not to stress Titch even further. “Love, you need to eat if you want to recover. How about we try just a few more bites, what do you say?”

That was their first and last time they ‘tried just a few more bites’, and Derek was blaming himself for what happened after that for a long, long time after the whole story was forgotten.

Titch nodded hesitantly, obviously not in the mood to keep eating, but probably just so that Derek could stop worrying. He allowed Derek to feed him several more spoonfuls, and god, Derek should have noticed him getting even paler than he usually was for this past week. Thinking about it later, Derek didn’t know if he had noticed and decided not to pay too much attention, or if he was just so worried about the eating thing, and didn’t focus on anything else.

Either way, when he had placed the plate into the dish-washer downstairs and was returning to the bedroom, he heard the muffled sounds coming from there. In three sharp steps he’d crossed the hallway and stormed into the bedroom just in time to see Titch clutching the blanket frantically, almost sliding off the edge of the bed again and still choking on those bits of breakfast that weren’t all over the blanket and the floor yet.

Fuck.

Derek froze in the doorway for a moment, feeling a bit faint, as Titch kept trying to suppress the gagging and eventually still coughing it all up, the retching noises mixing with the frantic sobs. And then Derek was right there beside him, helping as he struggled to shift higher up on the bed, fragile shoulders convulsing with each next frantic inhale, which kept ending up in another wave of vomiting.

Titch froze, hands still grasping at the corner of the sheet that was probably the only part of it still clean, and took a few sharp inhales, weeping quietly and as if not daring to look up again.

An absolutely miserable “I’m sorry” escaped Titch’s lips along with the suppressed sobs, that were still quaking his whole body, as he hunched in Derek’s hold, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Jesus Christ, Titch, what are you talking about,” Derek whispered, still holding him gently in the uplift position and feeling his own hands trembling slightly. “We won’t do that again, I promise. You don’t have to force things on yourself, yeah? We’ll just take smaller steps, that’s all. Look at me, please,” he asked, his voice shaking, because Titch kept avoiding his sight. Titch inhaled feverishly again, his throat still visibly seizing with a non-existent gagging. And then their eyes finally met for a second, before Titch turned away, staring into the wall blankly.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered stubbornly, sniffling quietly. “I- I tried to- and then I got really dizzy, and then this happened... I hate myself,” he whispered under his breath, making Derek’s hold of him tightening.

“Don’t say that,” he said quietly, adjusting the pillows behind Titch and helping him rest his head against them for a bit. “Do not say that, you hear me? We’ll get through this. Let me just clean you up, and then you’ll have some rest, and the next time you’ll just eat only as much as you want. We’ll get there, love, okay? Let’s start with bringing you fresh clothes and all.”

Half an hour later Titch curled up into a protective ball under the new blanket and in fresh clothes, his breathing still a bit ragged – mostly from all the extra movements he still had to make in order to let Derek change him properly.

“ ‘m so tired,” he muttered, blinking sleepily and pulling Derek towards the bed by hand. “Could you- It’s just easier for me to sleep when you’re- holding me,” he shrugged, as if not sure Derek wanted to move to the bed.

“Of course,” Derek whispered, kicking off his shoes and getting under the blanket too, feeling Titch’s hands wrapping around him hastily. To his delight, this time Titch’s sleep was calm and relaxed for most of the time.

And then the two of them had to accept that Titch’s problem with eating got way worse since that last incident. Derek wasn’t expecting it himself, because when Titch woke up several hours later, he looked pretty relaxed and overall better than he’d looked before. But when Derek entered the bedroom with a tiny portion of oatmeal in his hands, Titch’s eyes darted towards that plate and flashed, as he shifted away from the door.

Derek furrowed, measuring him up and down with his sight. “What’s wrong, darling?” he asked slowly, putting the plate on the desk and still eyeing Titch. Titch just shook his head silently, moving closer to the wall and away from... Derek? Or that damn plate? Derek couldn’t tell, but Titch surely looked stressed enough for him to stop approaching the bed altogether.

“Titch. What is happening?”

There’s that cornered look of a wounded animal again. Titch’s lips trembled slightly, as he shook his head again, as if that was going to explain it all. Derek felt his heart sinking deeper and deeper into his stomach, and the only reason he made himself look calm was because there was no other choice. Titch was the one panicking. It was Derek’s turn to be firm.

“Love, I know it’s hard, but I will need you to speak to me this time,” he said slowly, their eyes locking on each other. Another quick wave of a head, followed by nothing but a watery gaze. “Do you not want me to come closer?” Derek threw the first testing stone, just to see if he was thinking in the right direction.

Another sharp wave, followed by a muffled exhale.

“You’re still not saying anything, love.”

Titch’s eyes flickered with somewhat of understanding, as his lips parted. “No, it’s okay, you can come closer-” he whispered, and Derek felt his chest loosen. Thank god.

“Then what is it, sweetheart?”

Titch gestured weakly at the plate. “I won’t eat that. I can’t. Not after yesterday’s. Don’t make me, please.” His lips were trembling, but his voice stayed at least somewhat calm. Maybe just too quiet to hear any emotions in it.

Derek sighed. “I’m not making you do anything. If you don’t want to eat, we’ll just leave for now, okay? Calm down, love, come on,” he asked softly, because Titch once again seemed to be on the edge.

His sight stayed alert until Derek put that damn plate of oatmeal away. When Derek slipped under Titch’s blanket again, at this point – out of pure habit than because they were actually going to sleep – Titch once again curled into a ball under his hands, feeling even smaller than he actually was.

“I’m sorry I’m being so difficult,” he uttered after a moment, resting his head against Derek’s shoulder and causing another wave of butterflies rushing all across Derek’s stomach. “I just need time. I promise I’ll try to eat better.”

“It’s okay,” Derek said, slipping his fingers between Titch’s hair and stroking it thoughtfully, his mind still brainstorming all the ideas of adjusting Titch’s ration so that he could eat something and actually hold it in later on. Because obviously whatever they were doing now wasn’t working. “We’ll figure it out eventually. You don’t have to do anything, darling.”

The first thing Derek tried was making the portions visibly smaller. All the normal sized plates went to hell from that day on, and Derek began using the small bowls that were usually reserved for cookies during family dinners. They were small enough to not look too intimidating, and at first Derek only filled half of a bowl with mashed potatoes. It looked like the smallest portion Derek has ever seen in his life, yet he still was not sure it would work.

“You don’t have to eat everything,” he warned Titch, sitting on the edge of the bed with the bowl in his hand and observing Titch’s reaction cautiously. Well, not so much of Titch’s reaction than his lack of reaction, really, because these days he was even more withdrawn than usually. “Just as much as you can. Deal?”

He waited for a hesitant nod before actually lifting a spoonful of potatoes and bringing it to Titch’s mouth. They went for another six spoonfuls before Titch suddenly shook his head. “No. No more,” he muttered, clenching the corner of the blanket in his fingers nervously.

Derek put the bowl away that very moment, feeling like this right there was at least somewhat of a victory. At least, Titch finally managed to eat something, and it didn’t make him nauseous, so that was something.

Even though Titch himself didn’t seem particularly happy with his improvements. “I just wish this whole recovery would go faster,” he explained to Derek once, his eyes fixated on his hands, that were fidgeting with the blanket again – something that he seemed to be doing a lot, as Derek noticed. “You keep doing things for me, and- and you really shouldn’t.”

There’s that guilty look again. Derek sighed and gently placed his palm over Titch’s fidgeting fingers. “Why not?”

Titch shifted his shoulder uneasily. “Because! You should have a life of your own, right? You were not supposed to waste it in this room twenty four per seven... Honestly, Derek, if you were to write another letter of resignation, I would’ve signed it just because of that.” His eyes sparkled with tears of despair, and Derek’s gaze darkened.

“Well, I don’t know any letters one could write to resign from a position of a boyfriend,” he noted quietly, and Titch’s eyes darted towards him, searching for something in his face. Derek smiled at him silently. “I know we haven’t officially said it to each other, of course,” he added, “but I think we’re quite there to say it now. What do you think?”

“Are you sure?” Titch asked, although it sounded more like a statement, because his voice rolled into a low whisper. “Are you absolutely sure, Derek, you want to waste your time on this,” he gestured at himself weakly, tears now shining in his eyes so visibly Derek couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss against Titch’s mouth just to make him stop talking.

“To quote you from earlier, darling, – if I didn’t want to be here, don’t you think I would’ve done something about it by now?”

That seemed to have convinced Titch. At least, since that conversation Derek has never heard him doubting their relationship again. What he did catch him doing was trying to do stuff by himself. Which would be okay if he actually had the strength for that.

He once walked in on Titch struggling to pull a fresh shirt over himself. Derek had left it on the bed while stepping out to grab something from his room, intending to return within five minutes to help Titch change into the fresh clothes. He came back to find Titch still struggling with the sleeve, his hand tangled in it as if caught by some cruel twist of fate.

Derek just stopped in the doorway, crossing his hands in his chest and giving Titch a look. “Love, you can’t even sit up by yourself yet, what in heaven’s name are you doing?”

“It didn’t look too hard,” Titch muttered, still trying to untangle the sleeve and get his hand through it. Derek couldn’t suppress a sigh, because Titch tended to get really aggravated with all the simple things he couldn’t do yet. That was mostly the problem with complicated conversations, especially when James would stay in the room with them, and they’d start talking. Titch did follow the first part of the dialogue – about ten minutes of it, before he would get tired. And when he got tired, he’d often drift out of the conversation, losing track thoughts – his own as well as of the person speaking – and get frustrated by that in no time.

James was usually too caught up in the conversation to notice all the little signs, but Derek could always see Titch’s eyes starting to sparkle with that feverish fire of frustration and his hands clenching tightly around the blanket he absentmindedly played with. He would pause the talking the moment he’d see Titch getting irritated with himself.

“Hang on,” he’d say to James, leaning closer to Titch and squeezing his hand in between his palms to stop the fidgeting. “What part did you not understand, love?”

Sometimes Titch could tell exactly from which point his focus had drifted off, and Derek would just repeat it slowly to him. There were times, when Titch was just ‘lost’, in his own words, and that was the clue for Derek and James to wrap things up, and let Titch sleep, because, as they established by that time, most of his problems with concentrating occurred when he was too tired. If he had enough sleep, he was almost okay again.

“How you see when he’s missing out on the dialogue – I’ll never understand,” James stated sadly when he and Derek were sitting in the kitchen talking. “I try to pay attention, but unless he tells me himself, I never see it coming.”

“Can’t you say when he’s getting aggravated?” Derek asked, not even trying to hide his surprise. “He told me he gets very angry at himself when he can’t understand something, so I usually just watch his face to know if everything’s alright or not...”

“It’s amazing. The way you get him,” James said quietly, bowing his head and looking rather miserable. “I was always bad at these kinds of clues.”

Derek didn’t know if it was because he was just naturally attentive or because he had spent so much time with Titch, but he did see when he would get irritated with himself. This time was no different.

“Love, you want me to help you now or do you want to keep battling that shirt on your own?” he asked, putting the rest of the clothes on the chair and observing Titch with a neutral expression. Titch just thinned his lips and continued with his struggles, until a minute later he finally succeeded to get his hand through that sleeve.

Derek watched him slump against the pillows behind his back, breathing heavily. “Now you see why I suggest I do that for you a bit more?” he asked, moving to the bed and brushing the fringe off Titch’s forehead with the tips of his fingers. “Love, you don’t have to rush this recovery, it will all come back to you naturally, okay?”

Titch didn’t really respond, giving him a blank look and crawling back into his embrace a few moments later.

Chapter Text

The wind hit the window frame lightly, causing Derek to open his eyes and blink several times before glancing toward it. Titch's bedroom was convenient because the windows here faced west, and therefore even on sunny days the sun never shone directly in their faces. Not to mention the winter days, like this one, when the sunrays were hidden behind the clouds, and the silvery light pouring from the window was the result of a billion snowflakes swirling right outside the glass.

Derek watched the snow hurling around the tree right in front of the window, sticking to the window glass from time to time and forming ornate patterns on it. The quiet howling of the wind from outside was combining pleasantly with the silence inside the house. All Derek could hear was the quiet ticking of the clock from the living room and the crackling from the fireplace, which meant that James was already awake. Of course he was awake, Derek reasoned, going over their plan for today in his head. James had his last training before Christmas today - and then he’d be on a small break for a couple of weeks. Well, good for him.

He switched his gaze back to Titch, who was still sleeping peacefully, his head resting against Derek’s chest and his hands still holding Derek’s arm, exactly the same way as eight hours ago, when the two of them were falling asleep, hands clasped together under the blanket. Titch’s slow breathing was rustling lightly against the fabric of Derek’s shirt, making him once again feel those hypnotizing chills running all over his body.

He carefully reached to Titch’s head with his free hand and slipped it through Titch’s hair, watching the blond locks stream between his fingers. Titch hummed something in his sleep, making Derek hush him gently and stroke his head in soft motions, trying not to wake him up. Titch still haven’t quite told him what his dreams looked like, but judging by those cases when he’d start randomly murmur something in his sleep, Derek could tell it was nothing good. And by that time Derek had already known that those kinds of dreams were the first ones to wake Titch up in cold shivers. With time Derek just learned to calm him down right in his sleep.

Titch shifted slightly upward, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. This made it even easier for Derek to tuck his nose into Titch’s hair, breathing in the familiar scent of the strawberry shampoo they had both been using for quite some time.

A quiet knock at the door made Derek turn toward it and whisper, 'Come in?' in a hushed tone. James peeked into the room, already dressed in his coat and with his backpack slung over his shoulder, clearly ready to leave. “I’ll be on my way,” he said quietly, keeping a close eye so as not to wake Titch. “I stoked the fire downstairs, but if you two want to sleep in late, I might dim it.”

“No, leave it,” Derek yawned, still massaging Titch’s head in slow motions and thinking over the suggestion lazily. “We’ll probably be up in an hour or so – well, I know I will, at least... So just leave it, it’s Christmas mood, anyway.”

“Right, I saw the side of the tree you guys said you’d decorate better than me, and I have to tell you, if that’s your way of ‘decorating’, we should’ve bet money.”

“We just haven’t finished it yet,” Derek explained with a smile. “That’s what we decided to do while you’re at your trainings. And we will. You won’t recognise that tree once you’re back, I’m telling you.”

James rolled his eyes. “It’s not for you to decide, anyway,” he said, returning Derek’s playful smile. “We agreed to let Old Lady Margery choose the winner, and-”

“-and you stand no chances, if you keep calling her old,” Derek pinned, moving slightly on the bed, because his back was starting to feel stiff. “Anyway, we’ll see once she gets here.”

James glanced at his watch. “And I should get going,” he muttered, placing a hot thermos he was holding in his hand into the backpack and zipping it. “I’ll be back in about four hours, hopefully, even before Margery. Tell Titch I said hi.”

The door got closed with a quiet thud, and Derek glanced back at Titch. God, he could just look at him forever. It felt so weird, remembering his first days working in this house, when he saw Titch sleeping for the first time. Although, who was he kidding, Derek was already madly in love with Titch at that point, so it probably wasn’t all that weird.

Another hour passed, and Derek decided to try and slip from Titch’s hold without waking him, just to go take a quick shower. He carefully got up on the bed and moved Titch onto the pillows gently, watching the man humming something in his sleep and turning on the other side. Wonderful.

Derek wasn’t sure how long it took for him to take that shower, because sometimes he enjoyed just staying under the hot water, letting the steam fill the small bathroom and ease the tension in his muscles. Still, when he walked back into the bedroom, tying up his robe, he saw Titch already sitting on the bed, blinking sleepily at the silvery light behind the window. “Well, Margery’s in a good mood today,” he said, gesturing at the window with a smile. “To summon a snowfall this pretty.”

“We’ll tell her when she comes,” Derek promised, also smiling and hugging Titch from behind. “Hi, love,” he drawled into his ear, feeling Titch completely melting in his hands.

“Hello,” Titch yawned, leaning back on Derek’s shoulder and earning another kiss on the forehead. “You smell strawberry, Derek.” He turned in his hold a little, inhaling the scent with his full chest. “God, I don’t even know if I’m still sleeping or does it feel this heavenly just because it’s you.”

“It’s the latter,” Derek said confidently with a chuckle, watching Titch’s eyelids closing again. “Woah, Titch, you want to keep sleeping on a day this bright?”

“Nah,” Titch drawled, still absolutely relaxed in Derek’s hold. “I’ll be up in a second.” He yawned again, wrapping his hands and legs around Derek’s waist like a koala bear.

“Okay,” Derek said, leaning back on the pillows and feeling Titch’s weight pressing pleasantly against him. “Also, James stopped by not so long ago.”

“And what’s he said about our Christmas tree this time?” Titch asked immediately, shooting Derek a look.

“Why do you think he said anything at all?”

“Because it’s James, and if he came here, he definitely criticized our side of the tree! Did you tell him we weren’t done?”

“I told him, yeah,” Derek nodded, barely able to suppress a smile, observing Titch’s indignation. “And we better get up and finish decorating our side, because Margery will be here in about two hours.”

“Oh, that’s right, Lady Margery...” Titch yawned once again and finally sat up on the bed properly, brushing the back of his hand against his eyes. “Right. I’ll just get dressed, I think,” he muttered, reaching the neatly folded set of clothes Derek left for him on the chair. “Um, Derek?”

“Yep?” Derek, who was heading towards the door, to grab some appropriate clothes for himself, stopped at the doorframe.

“Could I have your shirt today?” Titch asked, fumbling through the clothes.

“What’s so special about my shirts?” Derek asked a few minutes later, narrowing his eyes in a jokingly suspicious manner, as he watched Titch buttoning a ridiculously oversized shirt on himself. Titch shrugged, finally getting to the last button, adjusting the shirt on himself and now looking even smaller in it.

“They smell like you, for one,” he muttered under his breath. “And they’re big. I feel like being in a constant hug, you know.”

“That’s all the reasons I need to hear to give you every damn piece of clothing I own,” Derek smiled, his lips brushing against Titch’s earlobe lightly. “Um... hon? You look pale. Want me to help you with the rest of the clothes?”

It’s been almost three weeks, yet Titch still sometimes would catch himself feeling dizzy after moving too much, and by that point Derek had learnt to guess when he was feeling like that without the need for Titch to spell it out for him.

“Okay, love, let’s try going downstairs and finishing decorating that tree, yes?” Derek suggested when they were done with changing. He wasn’t sure where the paranoia was coming from—probably that time he’d walked into the kitchen to find Titch unconscious in the middle of shattered ceramic pieces—but every time they went on even the shortest walks, Derek made sure to stay right by Titch’s side. Especially with how pale Titch always looked whenever he tried to go somewhere.

“Derek, I’m fine,” Titch pointed out gently, when he stopped by the door, resting his hand on the doorknob, and Derek’s grip on his arm tightened. “I really am.”

“But- You’ll tell me if you’re not, right?” Derek asked in a small voice, feeling his heart sinking a bit.

Titch nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching up into something halfway between reassurance and exhaustion. “Promise.”

“Good.” Derek pressed a quick kiss to Titch’s temple, lingering for just a second longer than necessary before pulling back.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Titch hesitated for just a moment, his hand tightening on the railing. Derek was there immediately, his other hand coming to rest on Titch’s shoulder, grounding him.

“Easy,” Derek murmured. “Step by step, love.”

“I’m not a child,” Titch grumbled, but there was no real heat in his voice, just a quiet resignation. He let Derek guide him down the staircase anyway, and then he slumped heavily on the couch in the living room, watching the huge Christmas tree by the window with a picky look.

“Okay, now, about that Christmas tree,” Derek muttered with a smile. “I suppose in a moment you will ask me to fix that star James had already put on top?”

“Please do, it’s driving me mad,” Titch responded, probably, even quicker then he intended to, and Derek nodded, thinking that at this point he might as well just be reading Titch’s thoughts. He reached towards the top of the tree and moved the star a little, making it stand straight and not tilt to the side, the way James left it.

“Right, now let’s see what other things we have in that box,” Titch said, looking through their box with decorations and picking out the items he liked. It took them about an hour more to decorate their side of the tree. Titch told Derek to not even look at James’ side until they were done, otherwise they could subconsciously copy his ideas.

“Oh please, we have our own imagination,” Derek pointed out, but avoided looking at James’ side regardless. Only when they were done, he circled the tree with a demanding look, trying to objectively judge both sides.

“James’ side looks nice too,” he said thoughtfully. “His has more toys, but ours is more sparkly. Quick, Titch, if you were a two-thousand-year old witch constantly on cocaine, which one would you pick?”

“Nope, don’t even try to understand her logic,” Titch said, placing the wrappings back into the empty boxes. “She’ll still choose something else, it’s impossible to understand that woman. Just wait till she’s here.”

As if in response to his words, the doorbell rang demandingly, and Derek went towards the door. The first thing that caught his eye was a fluffy fur coat, glistening with snow and shimmering in the silvery light of the street. Then he saw Margery herself - a broad-shouldered, tightly built woman with a meticulous look and - of course, who would doubt it - a smoking cigarette in between her fingers. Derek waited for a smell of frankincense hitting him in the face, and he felt it only after letting Margery into the house.

“Hi, Lady Margery, how are you?” he asked, locking the door and giving her a small, amused smile.

“Hello, hello...” she chirped dreamily, squeezing the cigarette between her teeth and taking the coat off her shoulders. “I’m absolutely fine. Wouldn’t have it any other way, with Christmas Eve coming up... There you go, butler boy,” she switched the subjects suddenly, shoving her coat into Derek’s hands and making him almost snap in two under the weight of it.

“First of all – still not a butler, Margery,” he groaned, trying to hang it on the hook by the door. “Second of all, how the hell do you wear something that heavy-”

“Not a butler, huh,” Margery drawled, measuring him up and down with an absolutely hazy look. “But more than an assistant now, aye?”

She walked into the living room, still shaking the silvery snow off her dark hair, and Titch, who was still sitting on the couch, putting the last bits of wrappings back into the boxes, rose to his feet at the sight of her, “Hi, Lady Margery-”

Hers “You and your manners, boy, sit the fuck down” mixed with Derek’s “What the hell, Titch?!” when Derek left Margery’s coat alone and crossed the room in one step, just in time to embrace Titch by the shoulders and feel him swaying slightly under his palms.

“Yeah, real smart, jumping up like that in the middle of nowhere,” he scolded quietly, helping him sit back down on the couch. “What are you, ten? We’re trying to keep recovering here, not have another blackout.”

“How you feeling, kid?” Margery asked meanwhile, sitting on the couch next to him and still picking out snowflakes from her hair. “Better, I suppose? Want me to make something for you, like a strength potion of some sort? What the fuck is wrong with that tree?” Her eyes stopped on the tree right behind Titch’s back, one side shining with silvery and mostly snowflaky decorations, the other one – glowing with dozens of garlands.

“Oh, that’s the contest we texted you about,” Titch said, moving to the side a bit to let her get a better look. “Which side do you like better?”

For a moment she shifted her gaze from Titch to Derek, and then to the tree, and back. “You kids are going insane here,” she muttered finally, taking another drag of her cigarette.

“You’re the one who got so stoned you forgot why you are even here,” Derek pointed out, observing her and Titch and barely suppressing a smile. “Oh, by the way, would you like some eggnog?”

“Now we’re talkin’,” she muttered under her breath with an approving nod. “And throw some brandy in there, will you, boy?”

Derek stopped in the doorway. “How much?”

“Well, how much you have?”

“Got it,” he said, rolling his eyes, and went into the kitchen. Just when he returned back into the living room with a full glass, the lock on the door cracked, and James walked into the house, snow still glistening on his coat and hat. He closed the door and turned to the three of them, circling the room with his gaze.

“Damn,” he muttered, when his eyes landed on Margery.

“That’s the only correct reaction,” she commented, taking a sip of her eggnog and watching James with a relaxed eye. James shook his head.

“No, no, I just hoped I’d be here before you, that’s all. How do you like our Christmas tree? Especially my side,” he added, taking off his hat and coat and stopping for a moment, his sight stumbling over Margery’s mountain-like coat on the hanger. “Okay, that’s larger that our whole house,” he pointed at the coat, looking at Margery over his shoulder. “Is it yours?”

“Sure is,” she replied nonchalantly, setting her cigarette in the ashtray and finishing the last of her eggnog. “Now, about that tree. I still have no idea which side belongs to whom,” she visibly shifted her eyes from one side to another and back. “But I like... that one,” he pointed at James’ half with her finger. “Looks more colourful, and whichever one of you decorated it, I like how you did it all... chaotic. This one,” she pointed at the one Derek and Titch had finished decorating just half an hour ago, “looks nice too, but it’s all in similar colours and it has a fucking pattern, cannot believe I noticed just now- So Titch, a B+ for you,” she looked at Titch and received a slight smile from him. “And James, I hope you were betting money on this, because that’s an A right there.”

Titch shook James’ hand with a smile. “I should’ve known she wouldn’t like my taste in colours,” he told James quietly, although the whole room could hear it.

“Yeah, well, I like it,” James admitted, also studying Titch and Derek’s side of the tree. “I think that’s perfect.”

“Right, we should go have something to eat,” Derek suggested. “I have things being heated up right this moment, so... are you hungry, Lady Margery?”

“Yep, sure,” she said, without blinking an eye, and was the first one to get up from the couch. The kitchen greeted them with twilight, since this part of the house had only one window and was mostly hidden by trees. The silvery snow still swirled between the branches, illuminating the room with pearlescent light.

“Lady Margery,” Titch said in about an hour, when they were almost done with everything he and Derek prepared yesterday – that was, Derek was cooking and Titch was just around. “There is... one more item.”

“Oh, you mean, other than Christmas tree contests and fantastic dishes – thank you, Derek, I’d recognise your cooking style among a hundred of others - ?”

Derek beamed at her, shooting a “See, I told you she’d appreciate” look at James, who thought this was a waste of time yesterday, and they should go watch a movie instead.

“Right, um... It’s about the farm land,” Titch said finally, and Derek saw James also getting more attentive. They came up with an idea to ask Margery that also yesterday, during the movie, which none of them was really watching, because all three knew every Christmas movie by memory at that point. Derek poured himself another cup of eggnog and sat back on his chair, also observing the way this conversation would go.

“Me and James were talking yesterday. About how we ruined the farm, and how we kept having this rivalry. About this whole aubergine situation.”

“Ah. Fuck no. No, no, no,” Margery leaned back on her chair, crossing her arms on her chest. “Don’t start that shit again, kids. I know you two, you’ll ask me to flip the damn sides again, or something else of that sort. I’m not going through all that for the second time, nuh-uh.”

“No, wait, you misunderstood-”

“Lady Margery, that’s not it-” Derek and James cut into the conversation hastily, making her scan all three of them with an interrogative gaze.

“Surprise me,” she commanded, raising her eyebrow sceptically.

“We wanted to ask you if you could make a potion, that...” James looked at Titch warmly, and Derek saw their sights locking on each other. “...that could make both sides grow aubergines equally. Neither of them barren, neither unrelenting. Just... good. I mean, surely, this could be possible, right?”

Silence hung in the room for several moments, with Lady Margery’s gaze becoming serious and thoughtful for a while. “You know,” she said quietly, “this might be the booze talking, but I think there could be such a thing. I could even try and make it, you know... as a last favour.”

Derek felt his heart missing a beat. “What do you mean – last favour?” he asked quietly, looking at her seriously.

“Oh,” Margery said, raising her eyebrow and looking confused. “I haven’t told you? Damn, I should really get off that coke for a while... I’m moving from here.”

Bang. This time the silence was even thicker than the previous one, and Derek tried to process what he’d just heard for several more moment. It took ,uch longer for Titch and James.

“Wait, what?” James asked slowly, looking up at her with his eyes wide, and shaking his head reluctantly. “No. Wait. You can’t move. You’ve lived here for your- no, that’s not right- for my whole life!”

Familiar perky sparkles shimmered in Margery’s gaze. “Well, that’s a good enough reason, to hell with my plans, I’m staying! Actually, kids,” she said, her voice becoming serious, “the witch-finder general is back in town, and I could bet anything I owe that he knows where I live by now. I’ve avoided his scrutiny for two thousand years, and believe it or not, but I’d rather he wouldn’t put his clippers on me now too.”

“So where will you even go?” Derek asked hesitantly.

“Ah, to an old friend at first, Ascaroth. He’s been inviting me to his castle for quite a while now. That’s in Transylvania. Plus, I really have to visit Esmeralda, her castle is in the Vampire Valley, and I heard she got a new girlfriend or something... Really curious to see that girl, from what I’d heard, she slay-y-ys...” Margery looked around the table nonchalantly, her eyes stopping on Titch. “You haven’t said a word, boy.”

Titch bowed his head even lower, watching his entwined fingers thoughtfully. “You promised me you wouldn’t move from here,” he said finally, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. “Back in your tent, during that storm. You promised you’d stay.”

If Derek didn’t see it with his own eyes, he’d think he was hallucinating. But it was true: probably, for the first time in her life, Margery looked like she didn’t know what to say. For one long moment she just watch Titch fidgeting with his fingers under the table, and then she grabbed him by the hand. “Come with me, child,” she muttered firmly, dragging Titch from the table and into the hallway.

Why did she decide to move all of a sudden? And why didn’t she tell him anything before? All those questions swirled in Titch’s head, and he was quite tired already to actually understand them and start thinking logically. He just followed Margery into the hallway and to the picture window, where she stopped in front of him, crossing her hands on her chest. “What are you doing, getting so sad over nothing?” she asked demandingly, although her voice stayed soft. “Kid, look at me. What’s going on with you? I thought after finally getting the love of your life – Derek’s wardrobe looks awesome on you, by the way – and getting that aubergine potion, you’d be as okay as ever, yet here we are.”

“You don’t understand,” Titch said stubbornly, feeling his eyes prickling with tears and brushing his hand against them stubbornly. “You never told me you were here only until the witch-finder general found you again. I always thought you were staying here because you liked it here, not because... you were in hiding or something. And now you just- just move? Like that? That easy?”

Silvery waves of snow were rushing against the window and shattering against it into millions of sparkling pieces, and the two of them stood right under that snowfall, only on the other side of the glass. Lady Margery studied his face for a few more seconds, until shaking her head.

“Not that easy, boy. Not at all,” she said quietly.

“Well than explain to me,” Titch demanded from her, brushing another tear from his eye and blinking it away stubbornly. “Because with you it always feels like everything is so easy, like nothing in this world matters to you. And it’s okay, a lot of things don’t matter to me too... But you matter,” he gestured at her weakly, feeling his resolve shattering all over the place in the same way those snow waves were shattering against the glass.

He seemed to have angered her, Titch realised all of a sudden, because the witch’s eyes flashed with that familiar dangerous fire Titch knew so well. “You matter too,” she said, her voice ringing steely across the corridor. “Never fucking underestimate your value to me, Titch. You hear me? Never,” she placed her palm on Titch shoulder, making him glance at her quickly, and her voice grew softer. “It’s just something I have to do now. He found me, and I have to move before he sucks all the life out of me and my chinchilla, which I unfortunately snipped. But- ...Titch, come on, I deserve at least a look from you, what the fuck is going on with you avoiding my sight?” He hurried to look up and he froze, when he saw her eyes shining. “You matter to me, boy. I don’t want to move, but I fucking have to. That doesn’t mean I won’t visit, right? And I’ll keep an eye on you nevertheless. You hear me?”

“You won’t forget me, right?” Titch asked hesitantly, pausing. “ ‘Cause you’re on drugs so often you might quite easily.”

“Hey,” Margery cut him off, lifting his chin up with her bony finger. “They haven’t invented drugs that strong. And they never will. I promise you.”

“How are they doing back there?” Titch asked, still staring into the swirling chaos of snowflakes dancing just beyond the picture window. The glass was fogged at the edges, softening the storm’s fury, turning it into something strangely gentle and almost dreamlike.

Derek’s footsteps rustled quietly against the wooden floor, barely audible over the faint crackle of the fire from the living room. He approached Titch slowly, slipping his arms around Titch’s waist and pulling him back into the warmth of his chest, before finally responding.

“Well, James was pretty grim at first. And then she got him to start calling her ‘Old’ again...”

Titch tilted his head slightly, just enough to catch Derek’s reflection in the window. “Why don’t I hear any slaps, then?” he asked, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Derek chuckled, a warm vibration against Titch’s back. “Ah, she’s not slapping him today, apparently,” he informed him, turning his gaze to the snowstorm outside as well. The flakes seemed to waltz in pairs, spinning and careening against the darkening sky. “If anything, she seemed relieved. Said something like ‘finally.’ I can probably understand her—James seemed pretty depressed at first. And now they’re playing cards, while the potion is boiling, so...”

“She’s cheating for sure,” Titch commented, his smile widening as he shook his head slightly. It was a fleeting thing, but it lingered just enough to soften the tension in his posture.

“I suspected that,” Derek noted with a grin. “...And how are you feeling?”

For a moment, Titch didn’t answer. His gaze remained fixed on the window, as though searching for something beyond the snow. “Well, I mean...” he said finally, the words slipping out as though he’d been sifting through them before choosing what to say. “I suppose this should’ve happened. Sooner or later.” He turned his head just a fraction more, his cheek brushing Derek’s as he spoke. “She told me she would visit, and I believe her. Plus... she’s staying for Christmas.”

Derek pulled back slightly, eyebrows rising. “She is?”

Titch nodded without saying much more, leaning back into Derek’s hug and watching the snow behind the window again. Silence settled between them then, broken only by the distant sound of laughter filtering in from the kitchen and the faint hum of the fire from the living room. Outside, the snow continued its wild descent, whirling and tumbling like thousands of tiny dancers caught in the wind’s grip.

Derek’s arms tightened around Titch, and Titch allowed himself to melt into it. For a fleeting moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world, standing there in the amber glow of the room, watching the storm rage quietly on the other side of the glass.

The sound came suddenly—something muffled but unmistakably familiar from the kitchen. A clatter of dishes? A pot lid hitting the table? It broke the stillness like a pebble tossed into calm water.

Titch sighed, though the faintest of smiles still lingered on his lips. “Come on,” he said, pulling slightly away from Derek as he turned towards the sound. “She must’ve finished that aubergine potion.”

Billions of snowflakes spiralled up toward the grey sky, twirling in the air before cascading down like a waterfall of silvery shards onto the wide pane of the window. Their soft glow spilled into the corridor, now silent and empty.