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The stream ran cold with meltwater and the wind swirled around them, gathering and spreading pollen from the first blooms of spring. Agott's fingers were uncharacteristically undisciplined that day, absently seeking to graze the tall grass as she moved through it. Coco walked behind her, watching those tender touches with ravenous curiosity.
Agott's eyes were on the distant mountains to their left as her right hand twisted and her middle and pointer fingers slid by either side of a wild flower's stem and plucked it so that the flower fell into her palm. Coco almost gasped at how effortless and casual the action was.
Agott often made her feel that way. She was like a storybook prince, or a knight from one of those poems Tetia liked so much: she moved with grace so precise it could only be practiced, yet did so with such nonchalance it could only be improvised. Just one of the many mysteries that would draw Coco's mind towards her roommate again and again.
Agott's left hand ran through her coal black curls as she took a deep breath. It was a familiar sight. There was something about the wind that called to Agott, Coco had learned. Something about the cold in her face and the promise of change. Something just beyond Coco's grasp, as usual.
The flower made it to Agott's lips, barely touching them, and, after a brief moment breathing in the scent with her eyes closed, Agott raised her arm and opened her hand, letting the breeze take away her prize.
And there Coco was, jealous of the wind.
Agott turned to look at her, clearly oblivious to how every little thing she did was being devoured by Coco's eyes. She smiled, not without some bemusement.
“Is everything alright?” She asked.
“Why wouldn't it be?” Coco asked, her heart ready to claw its way up her throat.
“You're being quiet.”
“Oh,” Coco said, hoping to sound casual, “I was just taking in the view.”
“Hm,” Agott said with a smile, “I know what you mean. I think Master Qifrey had the right idea, choosing a place like this for his atelier. The Great Hall might be the home of witches but,” she paused to take in their surroundings, the vast rolling hills and the endless sky, the babbling stream and the winding road, the copses and farmsteads that dotted the land, “this is really something else, isn't it?”
“It sure is,” Coco said, her eyes not even bothering to follow Agott's.
“It makes me wonder, sometimes,” Agott said, her smile fading somewhat.
“Hm?” Coco asked, hungry for more but too lost in what she already had to reach out for it.
“If it's worth it. Becoming a Librarian.”
That took Coco out of her reverie. There was a wistfulness to Agott's words she found herself needing to heal.
She approached Agott, held her arm, and rested her head on her shoulder. It was easier, when it wasn't for herself.
“You don't have to decide yet,” she said, “but for what it's worth, I know wherever you go, you will bring more than anyone could ask.”
Agott hummed, uncertain.
“The tower asks for quite more than a small atelier and the open sky,” she said.
“It could ask for twice as much as you think it does,” Coco said, “you would still rise to the challenge. I wish you could see yourself. The work you do. The things you teach all of us. What you bring wherever you go.”
Agott looked away from her, flustered. Coco smiled, feeling a thrill at getting that reaction. Gently, she reached for Agott's face and turned it back towards her.
“I'm not just saying it, you know,” she said, “but just because you can, it doesn't mean you have to. I know exactly what you mean. The life of a Librarian of the Tower, well, it doesn't sound like it leaves much room for more.”
“And I want so much more,” Agott breathed instantly, and was that longing in her voice? Coco felt her hunger return, that ardent need to know more, to know everything there was to know about Agott. But she pushed it down. Agott needed her right now.
“And what can the tower give you, if not all that?” She asked. Agott paused.
“It used to be such a simple answer,” she admitted, “honor. Redemption. Pride. Knowledge. Legacy.”
“That's quite a lot,” Coco said.
“And it all tastes like ash in my mouth,” Agott said, “I still feel like I should want it. I think I still do, in some way or another. But it all feels small, petty, unsatisfying.”
“Why strive for it, then?”
“Because,” Agott paused, then chuckled, “because it's my whole life. Because I don't know what else to do, who I am without it. Because I'm afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“That I'll give up everything I've ever known and all I'll be left with will be,” she gestured at the landscape before them, “a whole bunch of nothing.”
Coco understood. She knew where Agott was coming from, what she meant. She still could not help but feel small and wretched at that comment. What about her? It was a selfish, petty thing to ask someone who owed her nothing, but it took everything to hold back the question. What about her? Would Agott not have her, no matter what? Was that really nothing? How could it be? And really, how could it not? What could Coco offer to one such as Agott that Agott could not find a thousandfold elsewhere?
“Even if you were left with nothing,” she said instead, “it would not take you long to turn it into something. Something beautiful. You’re good with magic like that.”
Agott chuckled.
“I thought you’d learned by now,” she said, “you can’t draw a circle for everything, Coco.”
“Oh, I know,” Coco said, “but not all magic comes in circles.”
It was adorable, the way Agott’s nose scrunched up as she processed the words.
“You’re being poetic,” she concluded, “sorry. I should have realized. My mind isn’t really built for such things.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Coco said, “you can be quite poetic when you want. I remember–”
“Yes, I remember too,” Agott interrupted hastily, “no need to go there.”
Coco laughed.
“If you say so,” she said simply. But she took a moment to remember anyway, at least for herself. It felt like long ago, and like it had only just happened, that night when Agott made everything better, again, and again, and again. Just because she could tell Coco needed it. She’d never seen her like that before, so open and vulnerable, and she’d only caught a few glimpses since. But no matter how much Agott tried to hide, Coco would never forget the depths that hid beneath the stoic surface.
“What I meant to say,” Agott said slowly, “is that I admire it. The way you see the world. You find magic wherever you go. Which I suspect must mean you must be bringing it with you.”
“And she says she’s not a poet,” Coco joked.
“I’m merely building on your own ideas. No poet, but a cheap imitator.”
Coco huffed.
“And what if I told you,” she began, feeling the words get stuck in her throat, her heart batter her chest, her hands shake with terror. Was she really going to say it? Could she? “What if I told you that to me, everything you do is poetry?”
Agott looked at her. She looked at her with wide eyes and open mouth, with worry and confusion.
“I’d say you don’t know what you sound like,” she said eventually, with the same slow, careful precision she used in her spells. Coco wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. How hard was she going to make this?
“What if I told you I know exactly what I sound like?” she pressed, finding Agott’s hands with her own.
There was the song of wind and stream. There was the vastness of land and sky. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, but that look of wonder in Agott’s eyes.
“Coco, I–” she began, before stopping herself. Coco saw her have a brief inner debate, “I don’t think– you don’t–”
“Go on,” Coco said, letting some firm anger into her voice, “go on, tell me I don’t know again.”
Agott sighed.
“Fine. I don’t know. I don’t know what I am, what I’m supposed to be. Where I’m going or what I’ll do when I get there. How can I possibly be– anything? How can I promise anything?”
Coco rested her forehead against Agott’s shoulder and took a deep breath.
“And what if I made you a promise instead?” she suggested, before taking a step back so she could look at Agott properly, “Wherever you go, whatever you choose, whether you climb the ranks of the Librarians or wander out to some forgotten corner of the world, you will have me by your side, for as long as you want.”
“You can’t– what if you don’t like what you find, wherever we go?”
“I know you, Agott. Not all of you, not as much as I would want. But I know enough to know: wherever you go, that’s where I want to be.”
“Even if it’s a worn down hovel in the middle of nowhere? With no flowers or stream or rolling hills?”
“Even then.”
“Even if the tower is dark and stuffy and its libarians stuffier still?”
“Even then.”
“Even if–”
“Agott,” Coco interrupted, exasperated but amused, “yes. Even then.”
Agott stared at her again.
“So?” Coco asked, “what do you say?”
“I say,” Agott said slowly as she took one of Coco’s hands and brought it to her lips so she could place a kiss on Coco’s knuckles. And for all the strength Coco had gathered for that moment, she still felt herself shatter at the touch, “I say, I love you too.”