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He jolted awake, struggling to recognize his surroundings. His chest heaved, his forehead was coated in a sheen of sweat, and he felt the familiar veil of dread washing over him. The phantom dripping of crimson from his fingertips clung to him like a second skin. He wasn't where he'd just been. He was in his room, in bed, at the Van Zieks' manor.
"Just a nightmare..." the apprentice sighed. As usual, he couldn't recall the specifics, but he knew it had been a horrible dream having to do with his forgotten past. Of who he feared he used to be...
Well, he thought, there was no way he was going back to sleep after that awful experience. He checked the clock on the far wall — a quarter past three. Six hours of sleep was sufficient. Time to start the... night? Day? Whatever.
After washing up and putting on his usual attire — a hooded cloak and a bone-white bird mask didn't count as "usual" now that he thought about it — he made his way to the ground floor. Today was an important day for the apprentice. Today, he would stand in court beside Lord Van Zieks in Odie Asman's (heh) trial. They'd gone over the case together several times, and there was no doubt in the apprentice's mind that they would win.
Most excitingly, it would give the apprentice a chance to observe in person how the courts in the great capital worked in person. This would be a fundamental part of his tutelage under his mentor.
Lord Van Zieks likely wasn't awake at such an ungodly hour, so the apprentice planned to get something to eat and find a way to pass the time while waiting for him to wake up.
What he hadn't planned on was walking into the kitchen to find a giant book and an empty plate sitting on the center counter, and his mentor standing in front of the oven. The air smelled strongly of fresh bread, the pleasant aroma amplifying the apprentice's appetite a thousandfold.
Van Zieks, just then noticing his student's presence, put something down on the counter and approached. Upon further inspection, the apprentice saw that he was wearing an apron over his casual clothing.
"You're up early," Van Zieks blatantly stated.
"I could say the same about you," the apprentice retorted. He looked past Van Zieks and into the kitchen. "What are you doing?"
"Making bread."
"At three in the morning?"
"Technically, I started around midnight. It just so happened that it took me three hours."
"Why were you making bread at midnight in the dark?"
"I couldn't sleep."
Most people would maybe read a book or have a glass of water if they had trouble sleeping, the apprentice thought. Then again, he had a habit of swinging a sword around in the courtyard in the middle of the night when sleep eluded him, so he was no better than Van Zieks.
"I didn't know you could bake," he said, following Van Zieks into the kitchen. "I mean, I know you cook meals and such, but still."
"It's just a hobby I picked up," he explained, carefully picking up the baking tin with a cloth and turning it over the plate. Out came a moderately sized loaf of bread, its perfectly golden brown outer layer encasing a fluffy interior. "Five years is more than enough time to learn new things."
"Can I have a slice?" the apprentice asked, finding himself already salivating. It wasn't anything special, just bread, but perhaps it was his empty stomach that made it look so appetizing.
"Unless you're interested in burning your mouth," Van Zieks replied, "I suggest letting it cool down first. I will prepare breakfast in the meantime." The apprentice nodded and left to wait in the dining room for him to finish their breakfast. Van Zieks allowed him to make his meals most of the time, but whenever the meal was for the two of them or the man himself, his mentor insisted on handling the task alone.
The two men partook of their breakfast as they reviewed their strategy for the trail one last time. The bread, airy and soft, paired with a sweet strawberry jam, turned out to be as wonderful as it looked.
. . .
The apprentice swung his sword at the makeshift wooden dummy with all his might, making another gash across its form. After a week's worth of abuse, the poor thing was hanging on by its splinters. He'd been at it for hours; it was far past midnight already, yet his fury persisted.
Their case had been perfect, they had everything down to the smallest detail! And yet, for whatever ridiculous reason, a not guilty verdict was passed. He couldn't understand how the jury could let an obvious criminal walk away scot-free! And those damn fireworks only served to twist the knife further...
"Argh!" Another slash, and the dummy finally lost its will, its wooden frame crumbling into pieces on the stone courtyard. Well, he could rebuild it later. He brought a hand to his temple, as if trying to will away the oncoming headache. The apprentice sheathed his blade, shoved the defeated dummy off to the side, and stormed back towards the manor.
The door to the courtyard was right next to one of the kitchen's two entrances. So when the apprentice passed by, he caught something moving in the corner of his eye. Van Zieks was at the counter doing something, a familiar book next to him. There was also a pan and what looked like a bag of... something. It was dark, and he couldn't tell.
The apprentice hesitated before approaching him. Maybe he should have announced his presence beforehand, because when he stepped into Van Zieks' line of sight, the man let out a surprised gasp and dropped what he was holding, a wooden spoon, against the bowl on the counter.
"For goodness' sake, man," Van Zieks said through gritted teeth, "are you trying to scare me to death?"
"Sorry," the apprentice bowed slightly, "I didn't think you would react that way. Are you making something?" Looking into the bowl, he saw a sticky-looking substance that smelled heavily of flour. "More bread?"
"It's scones."
"Ah." The apprentice watched his mentor resume mixing and folding the scone dough. Van Zieks then reached into the bag — it was flour, now that he'd seen it — and sprinkled and spread flour on the countertop. He took the dough and began kneading it with the skill that came with years of experience, mesmerizingly so. The apprentice thought it was funny that someone as intimidating as Van Zieks would have a hobby as cute as baking.
He found himself growing increasingly curious about the process. He could only make simple, okay-ish dishes himself, but baking sounded fun. Plus, seeing as his wooden dummy had surrendered, he could use something to distract himself right about now.
"Can I help?" he asked.
Van Zieks paused again, mid-fold. "What?"
"With the scones. I want to help."
Van Zieks' gaze flitted between the apprentice and the mass in front of him. He shifted uncomfortably in place, as if the apprentice's request had somehow disturbed him.
Finally, Van Zieks let out a breath and said, "I suppose... that would be fine." He pointed towards the sink. "Wash your hands, and you can help shape the scones."
After setting his gloves aside and rinsing his hands, Van Zieks split the dough into equal parts and handed the apprentice half.
"Shape the dough into three balls and flatten them slightly," Van Zieks instructed. He got to work immediately, tearing a clump of dough off his half and rolling it gently in his hands. The apprentice copied Van Zieks' method in shaping the dough. It felt soft and pliable, yielding to the force of his hands.
It would have been a nicer experience if he couldn't feel Van Zieks' intense gaze boring into him, watching his every move. The apprentice didn't understand why he was being observed so intensely. Sure, it was his first time baking — though with his lost memories, he couldn't be sure — but was it necessary? All he was doing was molding dough — surely he couldn't mess up THAT badly.
Van Zieks finished first, placing his balls on the baking pan, still scrutinizing the apprentice as he did so.
The apprentice risked a glance to discover that Van Zieks wasn't watching him, but what his hands were doing. Perhaps he was watching his technique in case he did something wrong? But, again, it was just dough. He swallowed around the lump forming in his throat and tried to ignore the pair of eyes staring him down.
Once he finished, the apprentice put his dough on the pan in a row under Van Zieks'. They weren't as perfectly circular as Van Zieks', a bit on the lumpy side, but he tried his best. After looking over the pan for a few seconds too long, Van Zieks went to a drawer to retrieve a sharp knife, scoring horizontal and vertical lines across each of the balls of dough.
"So, do you know how to bake other things besides bread and scones?" the apprentice inquired, attempting to break the tension.
Van Zieks moved to the ice box and got a container. Inside were what looked like small red berries. "Of course I do," Van Zieks replied coolly. He cut a berry, placed the halves onto the triangles of the scones, and repeated the process with the rest.
"Such as?" the apprentice pressed.
Instead of responding, Van Zieks slid the big book on the counter in front of his apprentice. "All of these."
"Everything in this book?!" The apprentice gaped at the thick book before him. The first page was blank save for 'L. Baskerville' written in black ink. It didn't match the name of the author. Someone must have bought the book before Van Zieks and scribbled their name in it.
Skimming through the pages, each chapter featured different dishes for various parts of the day; the dessert catalogue included cakes and puddings, while the tea-time pages contained simple sandwiches and cookies, and so on.
Van Zieks was already closing the oven when the apprentice lifted his head from the book. "You sound surprised."
"Well, yes. There must be a thousand recipes in here!"
"Five hundred and fourteen."
"That's still an impressive amount."
"If you say so." Van Zieks took the recipe book back. "The scones won't be ready for another twenty minutes. It's late, so I recommend you retire for the night. I imagine brutally murdering a man out of frustration would take a lot out of someone."
Van Zieks walked away before the apprentice could process what he said. It wasn't until he was already in his room that he realized Van Zieks was referring to the wooden dummy in pieces outside.
As he'd expected, the apprentice couldn't force himself to sleep no matter how hard he tried to clear his mind. His thoughts continued to drift to that day a week ago, having to watch Mr. Asman waltz out of that courtroom with the most infuriating smile on his stupid face — it was an affront to justice itself!
The sound of the judge's gavel still echoed faintly in his ears. The colorful bursts of fireworks flashed, as if they were oblivious to what had happened. The apprentice continued seething, burying his face into the pillows as if that would help.
After tossing and turning for who knows how long, there were a series of knocks at his door. On instinct, he reached for his mask on his nightstand and put it on before opening the door. Van Zieks was there with a tray that bore three scones crowned with berries, sides of jam and clotted cream, and a steaming cup of tea.
"It's a bit early for breakfast, don't you think?" the apprentice joked as he accepted the tray, the smell of warm scones and Earl Grey already wafting into his room.
"Forgive me for assuming you'd prefer them while they were still warm," Van Zieks replied.
The apprentice offered for Van Zieks to stay and chat a while, seeing as they both couldn't sleep. Sadly, Van Zieks declined. As he turned to leave, the apprentice thanked him for the scones.
"Don't take what happened last week too hard, okay?" Van Zieks said quickly. Again, before the apprentice could even start to process what he'd said, Van Zieks was already gone.
He knew he was talking about Mr. Asman's trial, but how could he NOT be upset about it? All their work and efforts, days poured into building their case, for what, just to lose because of foul play? He loathed failure more than anything else in the world; the sting of defeat hurt worse than any pain a physical wound could bring. It just... wasn't fair.
The apprentice sighed, sinking to the floor at his low table with his tray, trying desperately to redirect his thoughts towards anything other than his burning hatred for that ass of a man (it wasn't even funny anymore).
The scones were amazing; rich, savory, and just a tad sweet. The fragrant and earthy tea coated his mouth with a pleasant warmth that calmed his nerves, albeit slightly.
As he ate, he couldn't help but notice that all three scones were lumpy and misshapen.
. . .
It wasn't until the apprentice stood before the door to his mentor's room that he realized how ridiculous he must have looked.
Wracked with fear after waking up from another nightmare, the apprentice found himself scrambling for his mask, not even bothering to put it on, and running out of his room in a panic towards Van Zieks' bedchambers.
At worst, his nightmares would leave him breathless and uneasy for a moment. The looming dread was something he'd gotten used to. But this one had been worse. So much worse.
On their way back from the prosecutor's office that night, the two of them were attacked by a small group of men seeking to claim Van Zieks' life. The two quickly brandished their swords and stood back to back in a defensive stance. They fought well, Van Zieks having had to deal with attempts on his life for years, and the apprentice having trained for something like this to happen, but neither anticipated the assailants to wield more than just blades.
One of the men already on the ground reached into his coat and pulled out a pistol, aiming it shakily at Van Zieks' back. Not being permitted to speak, the apprentice frantically shouted to warn him, but the gun had already fired, the loud cracking sound ringing throughout the street. Luckily, the would-be killer missed by mere centimeters, the bullet whistling by Van Zieks' arm. His reaction was instantaneous, and he delivered a powerful kick towards the man's hand, sending the pistol clattering across the cobblestone. The apprentice was sure Van Zieks had broken all the bones in the attacker's hand, if the man's yelling was an indicator.
Both of them escaped the ordeal unharmed, the apprentice knew that. So why was he standing at his mentor's door, thinking Van Zieks somehow died, thinking that the bullet had hit its intended target? The apprentice had watched his mentor crumple to the ground and bleed out in front of him. And he stood there, powerless to do anything.
No... he'd CHOSEN not to do anything.
He chose to stay silent when he saw the man pull his gun. He chose to let Van Zieks writhe in pain on the ground, watching as the cobblestone road was stained with his blood. He didn't struggle for very long before going still, which disappointed the apprentice a bit, but he was satisfied nonetheless.
"Let him suffer," a horrid little voice resembling his own said. "It's what he deserves."
The apprentice shook his head as if to physically rid himself of that awful dream. He was already putting on his mask and opening the door to Van Zieks' room before he knew he was doing it.
Van Zieks wasn't in bed. Panicked, the apprentice checked the connecting bathroom. Empty. He opened the wardrobe, checked in the main room again, under the bed, behind the curtains, under the rug, and he even checked all the drawers of the dresser.
No one.
Where was he? Where was his mentor?! His mentor was dead. It was all his fault. He killed him. He was a terrible person. He had nothing. He had no one. He'd lost his only friend. His only constant in this unfamiliar place. He —
"What are you doing in here?"
He looked up — he didn't realize he was on the floor in the first place — and saw Van Zieks standing over him, arms crossed, and wearing an apron, no bullet hole in sight.
Oh. So he was downstairs. Baking, from the looks of it. That was why he wasn't in his room. He was alive. He...
"You didn't die," he'd meant to say in his head.
The apprentice felt a pair of hands on his own, pulling him to his feet. "Why would I be dead?"
He opened and closed his mouth, unable to form a verbal response.
"Another nightmare, I presume?" Van Zieks asked.
The apprentice nodded.
"It must have been quite the awful experience to have brought you to tears."
He brought a hand to his face under his mask and, sure enough, his fingers came away wet. When had he started crying? Was it when he came into the room? Or perhaps when he saw his mentor alive and well, he shed tears of relief? Or maybe he'd been crying since he woke up? The apprentice wasn't sure why it mattered.
He blinked, and somehow, he was in the kitchen watching Van Zieks plate him a piece of the tart he'd finished making. The whole room smelled strongly of chocolate, the sweet aroma a stark contrast to the whirlwind despair tearing his mind apart. The tart was nearly as big as the plate it sat on, which wasn't saying much as the plate was rather small. The apprentice couldn't be bothered to identify the little white specks sprinkling the top of the dessert. Van Zieks had even paired it with cut-up strawberries and a warm cup of chamomile for him.
How could he ever think to hurt this man?
"I could have chosen a lighter thing to make," Van Zieks' voice brought him back from... wherever he just was, "but when it's two in the morning, things such as that become trivial."
Van Zieks led him to the dining room, opting to sit in the seat beside him rather than across like he usually did. He pushed the teacup closer to him, encouraging the apprentice to drink it. Unsteady hands held the porcelain cup and brought it to the apprentice's lips, momentarily getting the rim stuck on the mask's beak before letting him take a sip.
"If you do not wish to speak about it," Van Zieks started, "I completely understand. I’ve had my fair share of night terrors that I would love to forget." The tension in the next several seconds was pronounced enough that one could cut it with a knife. "Perhaps after you've finished eating, we could spar together in the courtyard —"
"No!" The apprentice nearly spilled tea on the table when he dropped the teacup. He couldn't be trusted to swing a blade at Van Zieks, not after all this. What if that voice came back? What if he wasn't strong enough to fight it off? All it would take was one slip of the hand or Van Zieks letting his guard down for a mere second...
"Apprentice, what —"
"I don't want my memories," he blurted out.
"I'm sorry?"
"I killed you."
"What are you going on about?"
"My dream, you died... I watched and I let you die, the man shot you and I let him and I was happy about it and it was awful and I'M awful and —"
His mind went blank when he suddenly felt something resting atop his head. It moved slowly back and forth, occasionally threading its fingers through his unkempt hair. It felt... nice. It wasn't enough to loosen the crushing grip of anxiety and dread, but it grounded him back to reality for a bit.
The apprentice looked towards his mentor, which he regretted because Van Zieks withdrew his hand as soon as they made eye contact. He said something about overstepping, how the apprentice was in a vulnerable state of mind, and he shouldn't have touched him like that. The apprentice was too preoccupied with throwing his arms around the man to listen to whatever he was spouting.
Van Zieks made a noise caught between a gasp and a yelp, but remained still and silent, allowing the apprentice to lean against his clothed chest. How ironic for Van Zieks to think he crossed a line, only for the apprentice to do something so invasively intimate. He knew he'd likely regret this later, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He needed this.
How long had it been since he received — received wasn't the right word, considering that Van Zieks' arms were hovering awkwardly beside the apprentice rather than embracing him — physical affection like this? Not the fleeting shoulder pats that Van Zieks gave him once a blue moon after a job well done at the office or concluding an intense sparring session, but being fully enveloped in warmth and made to feel safe. A comforting gesture that made all his fears seem so small and insignificant that they could be carried away in the wind.
After closing his eyes and indulging in the rhythmic thumping of the other's heartbeat until he felt his own begin to settle, the apprentice reluctantly released Van Zieks. He would have held on longer if Van Zieks didn't look so... mortified? Shocked? Confused? He wasn't sure what that expression was — perhaps a mix of the three.
"I apologize, my lord," he said, "I don't know what came over me."
Van Zieks cleared his throat. "It's... fine." His voice shook, and he appeared as disoriented as the apprentice had been moments ago. Well, he WAS just hugged out of nowhere, and the apprentice knew that few in London were willing to go near a man they (wrongly) assumed was a serial murderer. It was entirely possible that Van Zieks hadn't experienced a non-threatening touch in years.
Stressing over a dream and possibly scarring one's mentor built up an appetite, the apprentice found, so he decided to focus on the dessert before him. It was the perfect mix of bitter dark chocolate and sweet caramel; the white specks, which he now recognized as sea salt, and alternating bites with pieces of strawberry served to enhance the taste further. The crust felt a bit overcooked, but it wasn't enough to deter him from finishing off the plate.
"You are not a bad person," Van Zieks said, looking less frazzled, “I hope you won’t think ill of yourself because of some nightmare.”
The apprentice shuddered. The sight of Van Zieks' lifeless body on the ground was still fresh in his mind. The twisted satisfaction he’d felt then made him want to vomit now. “It felt so real... I thought I’d let you die...”
“You didn’t, so it’s fine.”
“I’m scared that I will someday.”
“You won’t.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I know you.” Van Zieks said it as if it were the most obvious truth. “I may not have a name to put to the face... or, mask, I suppose, but my apprentice is an honorable man.” He paused, as if considering what he was about to say. “...and I trust him.”
The apprentice stared at him like he’d sprouted a second head.
“I know, it surprised me, too.” Van Zieks said, his expression distant as he reminisced. “I’ll admit, my initial feelings towards you were far from positive. After a decade of solitude, untrusting of everyone around me, I suddenly had this nameless, masked, Japanese stranger foisted onto me, following me everywhere. It was all so abrupt and jarring.” He sighed. “How ironic that that same stranger should be the one to bypass the walls I've spent years building around myself. In such a short amount of time as well.”
It might have been a rude question, but the apprentice asked anyway. "Do you not have any other friends?" As expected, displeasure flickered across Van Zieks' face. "I mean, surely you can't have gone your whole life without meeting someone you at least got along with."
"There was one," Van Zieks admitted, staring at the weaving patterns of the polished dining table. "An old friend from my university days, a physical science student. Though I doubt he would call us friends after being apart for so long."
The apprentice hummed, unsure how to continue the conversation, so he didn't. After cleaning up, he thanked Van Zieks for the snack, appreciating the comfort of food, and made for his bedroom, planning to lie awake staring at the ceiling for several hours, waiting for dawn to arrive.
"If you need anything else, do not hesitate to ask," Van Zieks called after him, his voice carrying an unexpected warmth that made the apprentice stop in his tracks.
He glanced back at the man behind him. He stood there, hands clasped behind his back, looking so prim and proper despite the apron and casual ruffled shirt and trousers. If someone were to see him for the first time as he was now, one wouldn't perceive him as a monster feared and despised by the masses.
He could admit that he was under a similar assumption when he'd first met Van Zieks. After arriving in this foreign place, not even knowing who he was or why he was there, he was all but forced to be mentored to be a prosecutor under the tutelage of this tall, scary stranger who hated him.
Now, after being around Van Zieks so often, finally catching a glimpse behind that stone-cold exterior, he had the better understanding of his mentor that he'd wanted. Now, rather than unbridled cruelty, he could see a gentleness in those eyes. Beautiful, crystal blue waters hidden beneath a wintery veil of ice.
The apprentice contemplated the request that so desperately wanted to pass his lips. After summoning all his courage, which wasn't much, he spoke.
"Can I have another hug?" His voice was barely above a whisper and trembled slightly. The apprentice watched as the other's expression went from its perpetually unamused resting face to looking like he'd just been struck.
It was a reaction he anticipated, but that knowledge did little to stop his face from feeling hot with shame. After the stunt he pulled earlier, how could he ask such a thing?
"If you don't... I mean... You don't have to if..." He tried desperately to remedy the situation, but each syllable only seemed to humiliate him further.
But, to his surprise, Van Zieks didn't respond with offense or anger. "No, no, it's alright. That wasn't what..." He didn't finish his sentence but held his arms open, beckoning the apprentice. The apprentice, not wanting to give the other a second to change his mind, rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Van Zieks.
The man drew a sharp breath, his body going rigid. But as the moments passed, Van Zieks relaxed, slowly exhaling and reciprocating the embrace. The apprentice didn't bother hiding the way he melted against his mentor's broad frame, feeling a sense of relief for the first time in what felt like ages as he nestled into the crook of Van Zieks' neck. He caught the smell of chocolate that clung to his clothes, along with the faintest yet comforting aroma of lavender.
The apprentice tightened his embrace, a plea for reassurance. Van Zieks returned the favor with a gentle grip, even rubbing soothing circles into the apprentice's back. They stayed like, basking in each other's presence, lost in a moment that simultaneously felt like forever and not long enough.
Even if he might never have his memories back, despite his fears of who he once was, despite the possibility of being permanently incomplete, he would be okay.
In the days to come, as long as he had his newfound friend by his side and vice versa, things looked much brighter. No matter the circumstances, whether in court, fighting for their lives in the streets of London, or the peaceful stillness of the Van Zieks manor, the companionship they offered each other would make it all worth every moment. Perhaps he could even convince Van Zieks to let them bake together frequently. The thought of sharing a hobby that his mentor put so much time and effort into and enjoyed filled him with a pleasant warmth.
But he was getting ahead of himself; they would get there when they did. For now, the apprentice would hold on to the notion that, whatever happened, he would be okay.
They would be okay.