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There's this one particular habit that Coco has, and it drives Agott crazy.
Not to say that her other habits aren't sufficient enough to have Agott’s mind running in circles–her habit of greeting Agott with the brightest smile, the way she prefers to curl up beside Agott when they're both reading, pressed to her side hearth-warm, how her hair always slips around her face when she's working even as her fingers tuck it back again and again–but this one is different.
This habit starts as a light scratch, mindlessly rubbing her own right wrist over and over till the skin reddens, and then when that's done, she starts pinching the thin skin, digging angry crescent marks into the flesh. Agott has seen her worry her wrist so much that it has started bleeding.
(What a terrifying night that had been–stepping into their shared workspace after dinner, a small plate of stuffed buns in one hand and a lamp in the other, she’d stomped over to offer some of the snacks to Coco. Only to drop them at the sight of red stains on the hem of her sleeve, the small scratches deep enough to squeeze blood to the surface. She’d fussed and cleaned it up and yelled at Coco. She hadn't known what to do when Coco had slumped onto her shoulder and started sobbing. Could only hold her and stroke her hair as gently as her ink-stained hands could manage.)
But the real problem with this habit is that it is the precursor to one of Coco’s spirals.
It's easy, to glance at her bright eyes, the even brighter smiles, and brush it off as a trick of the light. Coco has never been one to speak up when she's feeling troubled. She'd rather spend her nights drawing away at her desk, paper after paper after paper joining the crumpled pile at her side.
Agott would be a hypocrite if she told Coco to talk whenever she gets like this, and Coco is surprisingly elusive when confronted about it. She’ll assure Agott to hell and back that she’s okay, laughing all the while and directing Agott’s attention elsewhere. So that goes nowhere.
No matter how much she tries to hide it though, Agott can see it in the way the edge of her smile crooks the slightest bit, how her eyes cloud over when she thinks no one’s looking, and worst of all–the wrist.
Last night, after dinner, Agott had gone to Coco’s bedroom to ask her about the book she’d lent to her. The door had been open a fraction, and Agott had glimpsed Coco curled into herself beside her bed, right hand clutched in a vice grip. Agott had felt guilty for the moment she had froze, and watched her shoulders tremble.
As soon as she’d heard the door open, Coco had shot up into a sitting position and her lips had drawn to a smile at the sight of Agott.
Agott hadn’t slept all night afterwards. She’d kept thinking–Coco’s worried, she’s scared, she’s hurting, and there’s nothing I can do. She’d looked at the moon, at the cool strands of light dripping onto her floor through the window, and wondered if Coco felt the same comfort when the silver light hit her skin.
The shadows under her eyes are thankfully not too bad; a rare benefit of staying up late often is that her body is used to it, and so is everyone else. So they don't think twice about whether the darkness has sunk deeper into her skin.
Though, considering the glances Professor has been shooting at her throughout breakfast, she might not be getting off that easy this time.
Breakfast today is a sandwich of bread toasted in erbe butter till it's golden. Between the slices, there's a sauce made using honey nectar and mustard, peppery scrambled eggs, and cheese melted to perfection. It's as delicious as always.
Agott takes a drink of steaming halftea with her sandwich, the cup clinking softly as she puts it back on top of the saucer.
Coco's knee bumps into hers where she's sitting beside Agott, as she reaches forward to grab the pepper and sprinkle some more inside her sandwich.
“What's the date today, professor?”
Professor Qifrey tells her the date, and Coco’s mouth forms a round shape of surprise.
“It's that time, huh…” Coco mumbles under her breath, so low no one but Agott hears it. Her fingers inch closer to her right hand, and Agott’s thoughts blur together into thin red scratches.
With the hand she has underneath the table, Agott grabs Coco's wrist herself, before she can get to it. It's a risky thing–a while before, Coco had reacted badly to such an action, flinching and her face twisting into chilling despair, and no one could figure out what had made her so afraid of a simple touch–but thankfully, Coco doesn't jump.
She turns her head to look curiously at Agott, hair swishing around her shoulders and brushing Agott’s sleeve, but she says nothing, so Agott keeps her hand where it is, a gentle pressure on the wrist.
“Is today something special?” Tetia asks excitedly, her breakfast already finished.
“Ah…” Coco laughs lightly, “Sort of? There was this festival back in my hometown that always started on this date.”
Tetia gasps, and Agott winces at the flurry of movement as she pulls on Professor Qifrey’s cloak. “Professor!”
Qifrey seems to be taking a moment to recover from Tetia’s onslaught, so Agott says, “Don't you and Richeh have to go to Kalhn today?”
Tetia blinks, then frowns. Richeh nods her head, taking a bite out of her sandwich.
“Ah, of course,” Professor Qifrey says. “And if I recall correctly, that shop will be closed for the rest of the week.”
At Tetia’s stricken look as she wars over the festival or the shop, Qifrey chuckles. He smooths down her bangs over the side of her face. “It's alright, my sweet girl. Surely the festival will be there tomorrow as well?”
Coco nods, and leans over to grab Tetia’s hand.
“Don't worry! It’ll be there for three days.”
With Tetia’s excitement subdued and mulling down to gentle chatter, Agott lets her mind race. She glances at Coco, who's listening to Tetia and chattering along, but with a faraway look in her eyes.
She makes up her mind.
“Coco.”
Coco startles a little, and brushbuddy also wakes up from where it's sleeping on her shoulder, but upon seeing it's just Agott, it promptly falls back asleep.
She walks over to Coco’s side of the workspace, sitting down on the soft rug. Coco’s table is organized, her books stacked neatly and a stand to hold her pens. She’s going through a book on spells specially for creating and manipulating minerals, attempting to copy some of the spells onto a paper beside the book.
The early morning sun is soft and drowsy, light floating in through the glass to hang in the air. It touches everything with a gentleness that seems befitting for their atelier, including Coco, who seems like she's glowing as she turns around to face Agott properly. There's a smudge of ink on her jaw, underneath her scar.
Agott pulls a handkerchief out of her dress pocket to wipe it off, showing the stain to Coco after she's done.
Coco tilts her head, smiles. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Agott says, ignoring the heat in her ears. Coco moves to place a bookmark in her tome, closing it.
“Say, Coco?”
Coco looks up.
“That festival you mentioned earlier…”
Coco's eyes brighten, a prism-lemon-sparkle before it's snuffed out, and she dims. Agott fights the urge to frown.
“What about it?” Coco asks carefully.
“Did–” Get a grip, Agott. “Did you attend it every year?”
“Yes.” Coco doesn't meet her eyes, and with a jolt, Agott realises what this might be about.
More than a year ago, Coco would’ve gone to that festival with her mother. Her heart twists as she imagines the much younger Coco darting ahead while her mother calls at her to be careful, affection coloring her voice. From what Coco’s told them of her life in the village, her mother must've been a warm person.
She loved Coco with all her heart.
(There used to be a part of her that would flare in jealousy–why does she get to have what I didn't? What was so wrong with me that my mother couldn't love me?)
Coco still hasn't met her eyes, and she's fiddling with the end of brushbuddy’s tail.
She's still not sure if this is the best idea–what if it ends up making Coco feel even worse? What if Coco thinks Agott’s making fun of her? Agott could never recover from such a thing, hurting Coco again. Heaven knows she's done enough of it for several lifetimes.
Before she can overthink, she takes Coco’s hands in hers. The calluses of her fingers sit perfectly on Agott’s palm, the skin of her hands soft as Agott rubs her thumb over them.
“Do you want to go there, with me?”
Coco’s gaze shoots back to her immediately, lips falling open slightly in surprise. When she sees that Agott’s completely serious in the set of her mouth, the gentleness of her eyes, she leans forward, her knees touching Agott’s.
“You would do that?” Coco asks, so softly it might be a whisper.
Agott nods, and then adds, “Of course,” for good measure.
When Coco darts forward to pull her into a hug, her arms curling around Agott’s shoulders, it's surprising but not unexpected. Coco buries her face into her shoulder, as Agott’s hands come up to clutch her closer, fingers wrinkling the fabric of her dress.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, so close it's like she's pressing the words to her skin. Agott tucks her cheek in Coco’s hair, and pulls her even closer instead of replying.
Just before leaving, Agott glides over to Olruggio’s room. The door is closed, and the sign declaring a curse upon those who knock! glares down at her.
Agott pushes the door open. She steps inside carefully, keeping her footsteps light to not make a noise. The man is nowhere to be found in the workspace, so she taps her feet together and floats up to his loft.
All she can see of him is a tuft of dark hair sticking out from a cocoon of blankets.
Agott leans forward and pats around his head to find his pointy shoulder. She shakes him gently.
When Olly mumbles something unintelligible, Agott tells him, “Coco and I are going out. We’ll be back before dinner.”
“Have fun,” he grumbles, “Take some coins from my purse if you need any. And keep a vapor bubble. Remember to be home by time, and keep your link rings on you.”
Agott rolls her eyes, but still says, “Of course.”
When she flies back down to the entrance of the atelier, Coco is waiting for her with their bags. She's wearing a soft butter-yellow dress, sleeves puffed at the shoulders and a ribbon around her waist the color of an unbroken sky, ends hanging behind. The skirt flares out like the petals of a daffodil, swaths of linen swishing around her knees with every move.
She really does look lovely.
Agott herself has chosen a tunic with billowing sleeves and a hem that comes down to her thighs. She's paired it with a pair of cream trousers, the color in contrast with her night-ink shirt.
Coco smiles at the sight of her, and she holds out a hand that Agott clasps as she lands beside her.
“Shall we?” Agott says. Coco’s eyes twinkle.
“We shall.”
It's a bit of a flight to Coco’s village, but they spend the time speaking to each other about nothing and everything. Coco tells her about her life before, the deer that lived in the forest around them, how when the wind would get chillier everyone would make soup at home and share with their neighbours, so they would all get to try new flavors.
She twirls this way and that way while talking, and in the sky, framed by clouds and the beautiful expanse of blue, hair wisping around her face, she looks softer than the sunlight itself.
Her hand is still in Agott’s and she pulls Agott along as she spins in the air, and the smile on her face is so bright Agott forgets to even feign annoyance.
It's a bit past afternoon when they land, feet touching the grass. The sun’s starting to tilt towards the west, just barely off center.
Coco pats down her dress, picks off some dandelion fluff that had stuck to the skirt. Agott waits for her, and takes the time to fix her bangs back into place. They embark down the path once they're done, hand in hand.
The wind picks up slightly, tossing Agott’s hair around her face. Coco had the foresight to wear a headband, so her bangs at least stay put, the ends of her hair brushing her collarbones.
“It should be up ahead, closer to the village center!” Coco says.
They hear it first, the bright tones of a harp, mingling with thumping drums and violins. Coco’s face splits into a smile, and they start seeing the stalls appear.
There are a lot of vendors selling food–the smells linger in the air deliciously, the sweet honeyed pastries, seasoned meat grilled to perfection, effervescent colorful drinks. In usual Coco fashion, she's excitedly turning this way and that, clearly not sure what to get first.
Agott looks around and spots a stall with cups placed on the display, and inside each one there's a variety of diced fruit on top of some custard.
She tugs Coco along, and the stall vendor, a woman with her hair in two elaborate braids, greets them happily.
“Would you each like a serving?” She asks.
“Yes!” Coco nods. “Are these the ones with the edible shells?”
The woman laughs, “You’ve got it right! The cups are made from a special type of pastry that's thin.”
“That's amazing!” Coco exclaims, as Agott hands over coins in exchange for two of the cups.
It turns out there's layers of the fruit and whipped custard, the bright tartness of the fruits in contrast to the sweetness of the custard, and combined with the crunch of the shell, it's quite a treat.
“I wonder if we could take some home for everyone else,” Coco says. Agott’s just finished hers, and she's licking off the custard from her fingers.
“They’d probably melt, and the shells might break.”
There's a hand on her jaw, and a thumb swiping over the edge of her mouth. Coco pulls her hand back to stick the thumb into her mouth, smiling bashfully.
“Sorry,” she laughs, cheeks pink, “There was some on your face.”
Agott knows her face is coloring too. “Right.”
Suddenly, Coco’s gasping, her eyes sparkling like stars witnessed in the daytime. She points at something past Agott’s shoulder, and Agott turns to look.
“They're drawing on the path!”
A distance away from, there's a large clearing. The fountain in the center glints as the light hits the water flowing through it. A few people are crouched on the ground, heads bowed as they make large strokes using colored chalk, drawing across the paved ground. The chalk is pigmented and vibrant–it’s mesmerising, watching them work on the sprawling patterns across the yard.
Coco runs ahead and pulls Agott with her, stopping a bit away from where a pink lotus has been sketched, so she doesn't step on any of the art.
“Excuse me,” she asks the person about to color in the lotus, “Can we join?”
They glance up in surprise, dark eyes wide, but smile at the obvious enthusiasm on Coco’s face. “Of course. You can get chalk from her.” They point to a little girl sitting by the fountain, a large leather satchel beside her.
“Hello!” Coco says, as they approach her.
“I like your dress,” the child says. She can't be any older than eight.
“Thank you! I like how you put the flowers in your hair,” Coco tells her. Her hair does look pretty, flowers braided into a crown around her head.
The girl positively beams at the compliment. Agott understands.
“May we have some chalk?”
She opens her satchel, and takes out a pack of chalk. It's wrapped up in thin paper, a small ribbon tied to keep it close. Coco accepts it gratefully.
The dark red ribbon comes undone when she tugs at the end, and Coco pulls it off, handing the pack to Agott. She kneels down beside the girl, takes her small wrist and ties the ribbon around it.
She does it in a complicated manner, so that the bow it forms looks a little bit like a flower, and Agott notices how she leaves the ribbon loose so it's not too tight on the wrist.
If the girl was happy before, she's virtually glowing now, her smile wide and cheeks rosy. She thanks Coco an absurd amount of times, waving at them as they get to the edge of the mural.
The two of them sit down, knees pressed to the stone, and Agott opens the pack. There's several bars of chalk, all in different colors.
Coco picks out a sunny yellow one, while Agott takes a softer blue, the hue of the dawn sky.
They get to work immediately, and Agott focuses on what she wants to draw. With a large swipe of her arm, she draws a curve, the chalk smoothly leaving a trail of color. She adds another, smaller curve, and uses the flat part of the chalk to fill in the space.
Her crescent turns out good enough–considering how many circles she's drawn before, she’d hope so–and the chalk has stained her fingers, icy blue on pale skin.
The next color is dark, almost like conjuring ink but it's more blue. She uses it around the crescent, so it stands out more. When she's done making a circle, she curls out the ends into rays. There's dark patches of blue all over her cream pants, especially on her knees where they've rubbed on the ground.
Maybe some animals would look nice.
She takes a white chalk and draws a small bunny, using black to draw dots for eyes. A pink chalk, and she surrounds it with cherry blossoms, bunches of them with small flowers. Thin brown branches follow, along with little green leaves.
When she looks up, Coco’s adding swirls to the ends of sun rays, hair a meadowy curtain around her face. She picks up a purple chalk, and starts adding small flowers all around the sun. Her dress spills around her like melted honey butter, and the color sticks to the hem where it drags along the ground.
Agott tilts her head up higher so she can throw a glance around the festival, and–bingo!
She's spotted a stall selling headwear, but what Agott's focused on is the flowers braided together into s crown.
Making sure Coco is still there, Agott goes to the man behind the display. He himself is wearing all sorts of jewellery, rubies gleaming where they drip from his earlobes, silver rings catching the light with every movement of his hands.
“Why, hello there!” He greets her. Agott nods politely.
“May I get one of these?” She points at the flower crowns hanging on a rod.
The man pushes the display stand towards her, “Choose whichever one you like.”
After a moment of contemplation, she picks a simple one that has daisies and honeysuckle flowers weaved together, with small buds of lavender rose here and there.
When she points at it, the man smiles knowingly, and asks, “Is it for the girl with you?”
Agott’s nose scrunches in irritation, but she doesn't deny it, and the man laughs.
“Take another one, as a special gift,” he tells her, eyes twinkling. “You should match.”
“I will pay for it,” she insists.
The man shakes his head. “Do not worry about it–think of it as a temporary good luck charm.”
Agott frowns, but she chooses one for herself nonetheless, one with chamomiles, camellias and larkspurs. Both of them are handed gently to her, and after paying, she strolls back over to their drawings. She makes sure to hold them by the stem, so her fingers don't stain the petals.
Coco's still there, focused on the small purple flowers she's been drawing around the sun. So much that she's hunched even lower, her elbows and forearms resting on the ground as she adds details to the flowers with a lilac chalk, lips pursued tightly.
Careful not to smudge her artwork, Agott kneels beside her and drops the crown on her head. It's crooked, so when Coco lifts her head in surprise, a smudge of dark purple on her left cheek, Agott fixes it, smoothing down the hair around her ears.
Coco sits up, happiness blooming on her face. She spots the other crown in Agott’s lap, and takes it from her.
Agott lets her place it on her head, ignoring how Coco’s hands linger longer than necessary in her hair, fingers twirling around the curls gently. She gazes at the ribbon tied around Coco's waist, and hooks a finger in it as Coco continues petting her hair, tucking it behind her ears.
Once Coco seems satisfied, Agott looks at her, letting go of the ribbon reluctantly.
She has a smile on her face, but it's–it’s different. Softer than all of her other ones, more thoughtful, eyes twinkling honey-melt. The sun’s dipped lower now, closer to the horizon than before, and it washes her golden.
Maybe, Agott thinks, a little deliriously, the people of Romonon had a point when they draped themselves in gold.
The music swells louder, all of a sudden, like more instruments have joined in, and the people around them start chippering with joy. They all start gathering together towards the center.
Coco grins, “That's the dance!”
“There's a dance?”
“Yeah!” And Coco’s standing up, pulling on her hands till she follows. “Come on!”
Agott holds on tightly to Coco’s hand, as they jostle around to the edge of the crowd. Her fingertips brush Coco’s wrist, the warm pulse under the skin.
The music quietens, and it starts up again. A slow, bright melody floating up into the air like tangible joy.
Coco does a curtsy, and Agott laughs. Her skirt drops back around her legs, fabric stained purple and pink and green where she held it.
She accepts the hand Coco holds out to her, her breath hitching as Coco pulls her closer, her foot tapping lightly on the ground. Agott lets her lead, swaying and twirling around when she does. The wind is colder now, but Agott feels warmed from the inside and under her skin like she's swallowed one of Olruggio's snugstones.
They spin and clap to the music, Coco’s joy infectious enough that Agott feels herself smile, light bleeding out of every step they take.
When Coco notices her expression, she steps forward and puts her arms around Agott. Her head rests on Agott’s shoulder, hands linked at the small of her back.
Agott can feel her heart thump thump thumping against her own. She tucks her cheek on top of Coco’s hair, the petals of the crown poking her jaw, and holds her.
Coco picks her head up and gazes straight at Agott, hands coming up to her cheeks. Agott can feel her skin getting even hotter under Coco’s palms, hearth-warm.
Her eyes flick down, and she accidentally catches sight of Coco's wrists.
Particularly, her right wrist.
The thin scratches there are covered with colorful stains in the shape of Agott’s hands, pink fingerprints on skin.
“Thank you,” Coco whispers, eyes shining.
Agott leans forward to bump their foreheads together, feeling the ghost of Coco’s breath on her face as she laughs.
“Of course.”
They get home just after the sunset, as the sky’s turned the color of forget-me-nots. Their bags are weighed more by the food they ended up purchasing at the end, enough for themselves and everyone at home.
Inside the lamp-lit entrance of the atelier, they knock against each other as they take off their shoes, and muffle giggles into shoulders.
“Goodness, what happened to your clothes?” Qifrey exclaims when he sees them enter, eyes wide. He worries for a minute, and only that before he spots the unbridled happiness on their faces, eyes glowing star-bright.
His lips tug into a smile, and he gently presses a hand each to their heads, ruffling their hair.
“Go wash up,” he tells them, “Dinner’s about to be done soon.”