Chapter Text
"I just wanted to know your feelings better."
The young piper slowly opened his eyes, instinctively sweeping over his dark room, then stopped at the door. He sat up.
Hushed, droning murmurs seeping into his room, incomprehensible if not for how thin the walls were. Cavity of the family. He seethed, even if the mirror on the closet reflected only his disinterest. It was the same when he had been living with his birth parents back then, too.
"And what more could I possibly tell you? What more could you want, my dear? This is the issue with you sometimes. You are so...attached. Clingy. It's a bit much for us to be caught together in public, don't you think, hmm?"
Silence, but he knew whoever his master had been speaking to was sent reeling. That was the only reason for silence in these exchanges.
He peeled the covers off, inching towards the door. He was good at many things, he was even better at making himself undetectable. He almost yanked it open, but stilled his hand around the knob.
He waited.
"Clingy? Of course I would be attached! I love you. I simply wish you would-" collecting, wiping, steadying the glass. "S-Sometimes I think, and how terribly it is of me, really, to suspect that you have no faith in me at all. But I know this is not true. I know you trust in me. I'm not pushing you to share anything that you're uncomfortable with- "
"Well. You are pushing it."
The interval of silence was longer now.
Experimentally, the piper turned the handle. Right. Stop. Right. Down, down. He felt every push and spring laden in the frame, blinking when a strip of light filtered into the room, warmth painting over his left eye. Wider - he couldn't witness the drama in such a state. He pulled back the door some more, peering, searching, prying into someone else's bubble. He could see the stranger now. The label sorcerer jumped to mind, even if nothing in his appearance or cadence betrayed his identity.
Magic, he licked his teeth, glancing back at his shelf of tomes, magic that follows the stranger like a patch of grey clouds, simply waiting to rain. The better question was why his master convened a meeting with one if so.
The sorcerer stood up from his seat, sighing slightly as he pushed the chair back in place. The fireplace crackled gently, where his master stood with his back against the twisting flames, observing the other man, whom the piper suspected was his paramour. He shirked from the door's gap just as Quarastus looked his way, hoping the darkness in his room made it so he never saw. He had a feeling that the man had noticed him, yet did not bother to call him out.
He always felt small in his master's presence, even if the man also made him feel more worthy than anyone ever did.
"Let's just- Let's just call it a day here. You're right. It's my fault, so I'll take responsibility for it," the stranger inhaled deeply, a shuddering, unfired exasperation, "I shouldn't have pushed you, it's true. I'm sorry. I suppose I was simply a bit worried by your distance lately."
"Ah, but you like me even when I'm distant. "
A laugh. He sensed nervousness, well-concealed beneath genuine fondness, "I would love you in all your forms, Quarastus."
The boy cringed.
"As well," Quarastus hummed, "We need not discuss such unhappy things, my dear. How about a walk along the beach this full moon? Just the two of us. I know it's your favourite."
"I would like that very much. Yes." The stranger nodded, smiling.
He looks wonderful, the boy thought, in a way that made him wonder if there was a whole society of sorcerers walking around with such a sad, ancient air that preserved them in a graceful state beyond time. Magic was truly a gift upon mankind, but with it, he suddenly felt very self-conscious of his own appearance, of his overly short and hideously snipped hair, scarred palms, the inelegant tangle of his feet, a carved red apple that would one day rot and fill with worms; all that seemed so offensive when he compared himself next to this demure, ethereal figure.
Perhaps other Pipers felt the same way when they gazed upon sorcerers, and declared their dislike of them so explicitly. Envy had long poisoned the well.
"Wait here. I have something for you." He watched as Quarastus strolled out the door, inadvertently leaving him alone with the sorcerer.
The man stood in the centre of the living room, his head down as he played with his fingers. As though he were afraid that the room would shatter if he moved around. Or perhaps it had something to do with his cultural etiquette, he wouldn't know.
"Um. You can come out now, if you want."
It took him a second to realise he was being spoken to. The sorcerer had spoken quietly, glancing over where his room lined the hall.
How surprising. There was no reason to pretend, then.
"You're a sorcerer, aren't you?" He asked, not fully shutting the door behind him. He approached cautiously, keeping to himself a good distance away, hated greeting strangers, hated conversing with them on any meaningful level more so.
"That I am. Lar-Sennen, at your service!" The man responded with bonhomie, sticking his hand out for the boy to shake.
He did not, so the sorcerer awkwardly swept his hand behind his back, smiling even as the boy glared him in the eyes.
Lar-Sennen...what an odd name.
"You must be Quarastus'...son. I've heard a lot about you. Only good things, I promise!" He teased.
"Apprentice."
"Hm?"
"I'm his apprentice, not his son."
"Oh!" Lar-Sennen adjusted his glasses, circling the rim owlishly. "My apologies. Do you have a name?"
A name for a rose. A name for a boy. A name for the unseen trawling for family in the red underbelly of Piping society, praying and wishing to breach the surface and make himself heard.
"No," the piper said curtly.
"That's fine." The sorcerer strangely assured him, "And I am sorry for disturbing your sleep. I'm aware I was being a bit louder than usual. You must think me a horrible guest...Haha." He seemed sincere, at least, though that dismissive self-deprecation was a smidgen much for him. They were only strangers, after all.
He considered prodding what they were even arguing about in the dead of night, but ultimately dropped the idea. "Not at all," he practiced a smile which definitely failed to reach his eyes, "It is nice to meet you, Lar-Sennen."
He mirrored the sorcerer's demure behaviour, easing his arms in front of himself.
"So..." The man began, tilting his head, "How have your studies been?"
"Fine."
"Hm. What's the most recent Spellsong you've learned?"
The piper paused, making a show of searching his memories. He glanced at the windows, "It's a Song that allows me to fish things from the water without physically touching them. I can do it with a pebble, but not much else yet. The application is far too niche if you ask me. I cannot foresee myself trying to retrieve something out of water from a safe distance when I can simply chase the stream, and that's assuming I would be so careless to let something slip from my grasp. Pointless, but good to know it anyways."
He had spent an embarrassing afternoon practicing that, nearly kicking over the bucket he used. The pebble he cast would slowly rise to the surface, only to drift back down whenever he briefly lost concentration. He stared at his watery reflection on hours' end doing it, succeeding only when he performed the Song in one burst.
A kindly smile wrinkled its way onto Lar-Sennen's features. "I agree. A set of versatile skills is much more optimal. Who knows?" He mused.
"What about you?"
"Me?" The sorcerer rubbed the back of his head with a bashful grin. "I'm, ah, more of a researcher than anything else."
This held his interest, "What does your research entail, Lar-Sennen?"
"Oh!" The man instantly went still. He clutched the books he had came with closer to his chest. The boy narrowed his eyes.
"The theories were quite complex...and such. It is probably not appropriate for me to share them with you, yes. Truthfully, I am ashamed of the content from some of my past works...of course, there was a time where I was proud of them, very much so. Perhaps I'll elaborate when you're older?" An apologetic look came over the sorcerer's face, yet sorrow did not even begin to age him. He felt different though, undeniable sparks of magic brushing along his skin. This man was a walking bottle who housed lightning. He thought of that shrivelled apple again, and held his tongue.
It was what-ev-er.
"Do you love him?" He asked after while, stirring up dust from the dead conversation.
Lar-Sennen closed his eyes. "More than anything else. He is deserving of love, even if he doesn't see it sometimes."
"No one deserves love," he hastily refuted, and the sorcerer passed a strange expression, "It is not something given, just something that simply happens. That's why unconditional love doesn't exist."
"But it does! I love Quarastus very much."
He smiled again. It was colder this time, "Unconditional love would imply your devotion to his existence and excuse all his actions. Wouldn't that make you unprincipled? Believe me, you will see the truth soon enough."
"You...are a very odd child." Was all Lar-Sennen could muster up. "Did he teach you that kind of thinking?"
The piper got whiplash from how quickly he turned to look at the sorcerer.
"Oh, no. I learned it myself a long time ago. It's-"
Fwoop.
Hugged.
He was being hugged. Held. He remembered he had only been held at birth. Nowhere else.
"I'm sorry," the sorcerer murmured in his delicate voice. The gesture lasted only for several seconds, however torturous and unexpected, and he was not squeezing at all, and it was warm, his robes scented with unnamed flowers. "Perhaps I have spoken out of turn. It is easy to dismiss suffering, even if unintentional."
"What?" The boy stewed his mind. He had to restrain himself from physically lashing out, acutely aware that he was shaking all over from knees-up. In that moment, seconds to eternity, when he looked at him, Lar-Sennen seemed to hold nothing but compassion in his eyes, though he could scarcely bring himself to point it out, and even still his compassion could not fade out the sadness ever-present in their depths. Just what was wrong with this person?
What did his master invite home?
Why was this complete stranger acting as though he knew him? Like he actually cared?
Something hot and suffocating pierced the back of the young piper's throat, and he almost keeled over in anguish. It was hard to breathe. Had the sorcerer cursed him to feel this way? Did someone just hurt him?
Hurt...him?
He straightened himself and spat, rubbing his arms.
"Do not touch me again!" He shouted, as fiercely as he could, flinching at how shrill his own voice sounded when it bounced off the walls. He wanted to do so much more than just scream. He had never felt this way before, infected by whatever melancholy haunting the other man. He felt like ripping into a stack of straw, snapping every last stalk until his hands became burned from their dry, horrid texture, or until he gave way into exhaustion. This was not normal.
"I could care less about what you believe in," he continued, slightly relieved as the hot, angry air cooled into something much more sinister. He lifted his head slightly, a pearl, he rolled it in his mind, "I certainly did not come expecting pity from the likes of you. How dare you intrude and impose your ridiculous statements on me. I hope, for your own sake, that you are leaving soon."
Lar-Sennen said nothing, only looking at him with a mildly worried expression. He couldn't believe it.
"I shall." The sorcerer dipped his head slightly, as the strange trinkets hanging off his clothing tinkled like the stars in his eyes, "Forgive me. It is unlike me to act so impulsively."
"You will not be forgiven!"
"-But know that I do not simply pity you," the sorcerer sighed, "You are very hurt, I can see that now. I hope that Quarastus is taking good care of you."
To that, the boy kept silent.
"I'm not someone you should be concerned with. That is all," he told the man. He was angry still, trembling from the force of his own vitriol and disgust, but whatever barbed words he sharpened in his head evaporated on his tongue when he responded.
Truly, he felt nothing at all.
"Everyone needs someone to care about them." Lar-Sennen brushed out the side of his hair, "Even you. Even if you deny it, dread it."
"I didn't ask for it. Do not assume what's good for me." He stood his ground, "I alone will decide what is important for me."
"Indeed," the man smiled sadly, "So I hope you find someone important to cherish you someday."
"How utterly banal and presumptuous. I can't make any sense of you. You say that, but-" The piper stopped. He swallowed.
"It will be alright," Lar-Sennen pulled out a chair from the table, the one previously seated by him, "It will be alright."
"I don't want to sit right now."
The sorcerer shook his head, "You are tired."
"So what?"
"So rest." He invited.
The piper stared at him. He scratched the side of his shoulder, before begrudgingly fluffing down on the seat. He kept his head high, hoping to show this did not bother him.
"I am not a child," he bit out, "I don't need your pity."
"I won't pity you anymore," the sorcerer said, "But if you are to be an adult, you have to be good."
Scratch that. He had his own mounting ambitions. He wouldn't adhere to some half-baked advice from a nobody, even if he was a mysterious sorcerer.
"I will be the best of them all," the piper declared in a light, boastful tone, twirling his wrist. Lar-Sennen chuckled slightly.
The boy checked his face, then resumed, "I...apologise for my outburst. I just don't like when people touch me unprompted. As for my name, I don't really need one. It's redundant."
The man shook his head, "You do not have to apologise for shouting at me. It was uncalled for of me to simply hug you. Being overwhelmed is no excuse."
The boy sat in silence.
"And not having a name is...what, as they call it? Cool?" The sorcerer smiled.
"...I suppose."
He continued to feel nothing, but it was a serene emptiness now. Better than battering himself mentally into a husk.
It was almost nice to pretend that this stranger cared.
"Consider leaving my master," he said stiffly.
Lar-Sennen looked up at him in surprise at the sudden change in subject. "You seem awfully persistent on this matter," the sorcerer blinked.
"I have reasons to suspect he is not who he say he is," the boy traced a scar along the table, "I am deeply suspicious of people in general. You included. But I have been acquainted with him for far longer."
Lar-Sennen's gaze flicked to the side. The piper caught his look.
"I cannot reveal to you how I come to have such intuition. I do not know you, and you do not know me," the boy said, "We do not need familiarity to establish resistance against those who seek to harm us. Of course, this will risk betrayal from either side, but you seem like a good person. Good enough, anyways. Not that it is my concern, really, and it is your choice at the end of the day, but be careful. You might wound up being hurt in the end."
"I think you are very preoccupied with the notion of being hurt." The man pointed out, tilting his head, but the piper could tell he was thinking. Good.
"Heed my words," the boy stood up, just as the door creaked open and close. Quarastus had returned with a basket of assorted flowers. In that arrangement, they look hideous, the boy thought. Daisies tangled with roses' thorns, poppy clashing with the jarring lavender sticking out on the sides. He blanched.
"Still up, my boy? It's rather late!" His master chastised him, though they both knew he did not really care about his sleep schedule. The piper went to the land of dreams whenever he pleased. "And I see you have met my dear apprentice at last. I trust he has not been saying anything...unsavoury?"
"Not at all. He's a good kid," the sorcerer smiled.
"Glad to hear! Now, for you, my dear." his master brandished a bow, holding out the messy excuse of a bouquet.
But Lar-Sennen did not seem put-off, taking the basket from him, "Did you really run the mile to get these for me? I'm grateful. You're very kind." He sniffed them, his eyes practically beamed with appreciation, "I will be sure to sort and give them nice vases."
"Yes, do that."
The piper suppressed a scoff, finding the trinkets decorated along the sorcerer vastly more intriguing than their niceties.
"Well, it is late indeed," Lar-Sennen sighed, glancing at the boy, "I shall take my leave now. Goodnight. Ah, before I forget." He slipped his free hand into his pocket, pinching out something small towards the piper.
He closed his palm around it. It was a sweet. What kind, he did not know, though it seemed homemade.
"Say thank you, boy. Have some manners." Quarastus gave his shoulder a pat.
"Thank you," the piper mechanically responded. He did not like sweets at all.
"Stay safe on the way back," his master bid the sorcerer farewell, and the boy watched the man go.
"Will he visit again soon?" He asked, popping the sweet in his mouth, swallowing it whole without chewing. The less sugar he got on his teeth, the better.
"Probably. Now, go back to your bed, you little rascal," Quarastus gently ruffled his hair. He nodded, and did just that. He did not push about their relationship, did not voice his eagerness to speak to the sorcerer again. He didn't want to see that man again, a lie he hummed to himself as he laid dead on the bed.
That night, he spent his time silently replaying Lar-Sennen's words in his head, pausing at every frame to re-examine his expressions and gestures. He cut himself out of his memories, focusing only on the highlight and not the cavity, storing them like candy in a jar.
And in his dreams he saw only a sky full of stars.