Chapter Text
The apartment on Saturn Ave always smelled like three things in the morning: coffee, machine oil, and the suspiciously sweet tang of alchemical failure.
Twig was up first, as usual. The coffee machine, despite its protests, whirred to life under his gentle hands. He wore a beige apron over his hoodie and jeans, hair tied back in a loose knot. He hummed to himself while packing a tote bag with his lunch and a small sketchpad.
“Don’t forget your name tag this time,” mumbled a voice from the kitchen table.
Theodore, wrapped in a knitted throw and sipping lukewarm tea, was already scrolling through emails on his tablet. He hadn’t slept much, getting caught in a rabbit hole about urban folklore in the subway systems. There was a very compelling story in it, he was sure.
“I didn’t,” Twig said, proudly patting the “Twig” badge on his apron… only for it to clatter off and slide under the fridge. He looked down dejected. “Oh. I’ll get it later.”
The sound of a door opening down the hallway, and the scent of oil and warm metal swept into the kitchen with Theroux. He was freshly showered, still towel-drying his hair, a grease-stained jumpsuit tied around his waist over a faded T-shirt.
“Morning,” he grumbled, giving Twig a nod and Theodore a small wave. He opened the fridge, stared at it, sighed, and closed it again. “Who used the last of the eggs?”
“That,” came a voice from the living room, “depends on your definition of ‘used .’”
Abraxes padded in barefoot, still in his pajama bottoms and a white shirt, grin stretched wide across his face. His hands were streaked with a faint shimmer, some new residue from whatever had combusted in his workshop-slash-bedroom.
“Don’t tell me you dissolved them,” Theroux said flatly.
“For science!”
“They were organic free-range science,” Theodore added without looking up. “Twig walked ten blocks for them.”
Abraxes raised a finger. “And I am ten steps closer to the perfect edible hologram. See?”
He pulled a crinkled sheet of parchment from his pajamas pocket and held it aloft. A slightly flickering image of a poached egg hovered in the air, rotating slowly. “You could eat this,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Well, not yet , but theoretically —”
Twig clapped enthusiastically, trying to hide his disappointment about the lack of omelets they would be having. “That’s so cool!”
Theroux pinched the bridge of his nose and reached for an emergency granola bar in the junk drawer.
By 8am, the apartment was a blur of movement. Twig left with a cheerful wave, biking to the little café, Witchlight Espresso, where he worked as a barista.
Theroux headed out in his rusty truck to patch radiators, install shelving, and heroically rescue one elderly neighbor’s cat from a garage ceiling.
Theodore stayed at his desk by the window, furiously typing notes between phone calls to city archivists and sipping his sixth cup of tea.
And Abraxes? Abraxes went back to his room/lab, where he continued his noble quest to bring alchemy into the age of modern convenience. Today’s goal: an espresso machine that also dispenses anti-anxiety mist. ‘The Raith and Pestle’ would be a household name someday.
By dusk, they all returned home.
Theroux was the first one back. He fixed the leaky kitchen sink with a few muttered curses and a crescent wrench.
Theodore emerged from his study with ink smudges on his face and asked if anyone wanted to hear a dramatic reading of his new piece on haunted subways.
Twig brought home a bag of misshapen pastries the café couldn’t sell, declaring them “aesthetic in their own way,” and the roommates agreed unanimously over tea and slightly burned banana bread that they were delicious.
And Abraxes emerged triumphantly from his room just as they were finishing dinner. “Behold!” he declared proudly, producing a tiny canister.
“What does it do?” asked Twig.
“Press the button!”
Twig did, and the room instantly filled with the scent of lavender and a gentle fog of sparkles.
“Stress-reducing mist!” Abraxes said. “Also slightly hallucinogenic, but in a fun way. ”
Theroux was already opening the window. Theodore’s eyes glazed over. Twig giggled as the sparkles settled on his hair like fairy dust.
And for a moment, as the city buzzed outside their little apartment, everything felt warm and strange and good.