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As the clock hanging on the wall shuddered towards 1am, the light of street lamps crept through the second story windows, and a chill set in and around the tenement building, Feofan stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Despite the late hour on a Saturday (or arguably, the early hour on a Sunday), there were still sounds of life on the street below- workers only just on their way home from a late shift, drunks who had nowhere else to loiter, and those whose line of work could only be carried out by the cover of night. While his own value had appreciated enough to have seen him be sold for a second time only two years prior, Feofan still lacked the necessary wealth to live somewhere quieter, or at very least closer to his place of work.
Tonight’s insomnia was no great tragedy in the grand scheme of things. One of the benefits of working for a bank meant he could always rely on a Sunday morning in bed. Even his side-job as a certain madman’s personal accountant was currently on hold since that particular employer was away on a business trip to the other side of the globe. But a Sunday morning in bed was little comfort when plagued by noises both in and outside of one’s head. Feofan tore his eyes away from the shadows of snow that danced across his ceiling and buried his head under the duvet, silently willing the world to let him rest.
Alas, Feofan was not yet someone to whose whims the world would bend. There was a knock at the door.
Few people worth entertaining would visit at this time of night. The banker ignored it and pulled the duvet tighter around his ears. Another knock, this time louder and accompanied by a muffled call of “Mister Veksel, are you home?”
To his despair, the voice belonged to the one person who was worth entertaining at 1am- the aforementioned madman who also happened to be the second person to have bought Feofan; a high-ranking government official; and a man capable of making someone’s life more than simply miserable. Were it someone a little less terrifying than The Doctor, he would be content to leave them standing in the close like an idiot. But it was The Doctor. So, begrudgingly, he pulled himself out of bed and grabbed his house-coat, wrapping it around himself as he fumbled with the various latches and locks of the front door.
“Good morning, Doctor. To what do I owe the pleasure?” The banker yawned as he opened the door.
“Good morning, Mister Veksel,” The Doctor replied with a chuckle. Despite being half a head or so shorter, his employer still managed to loom over the doorway like some monstrous bird of prey. Dressed in a heavy fur-collared overcoat, and beaked mask that covered most of his face, The Doctor’s presence was nothing short of menacing. “I’m very fortunate to have found you awake at this hour- you see, I arrived back in Snezhnaya not long ago and only just missed the last train back to the city centre... may I come in?”
“Very fortunate indeed,” Feofan agreed, stepping aside and gesturing for the older man to enter. He couldn’t help but wonder at just how honest The Doctor was or was not being. To have returned from Inazuma, he must have travelled by sea. Feofan’s flat was only a half-hour’s train ride from Snezhnograd but well over an hour from the nearest port, meaning his guest must have ridden the train as far as this side of town, making his visit seem like less of an accident and more of an intentional late-night house call.
“How was your trip?” Feofan asked as he closed the door behind his employer.
Upon being asked, the great monstrosity before him deflated, now resembling something more akin to a grumpy, old jackdaw. “It certainly could have gone better.” he grumbled, taking off his overcoat and mask, and handing them to Feofan. He elaborated no further as he trudged through Feofan’s flat and dropped down onto the sofa like a dead weight. There was little colour in his exposed face- save for the deep dark circles about his eyes which lacked their usual dangerous glint in favour of a profound weariness.
“Would you like something to warm you up, or shall I just fetch the spare blankets?” Feofan asked the crumpled figure on his sofa, who brightened up a little at the question.
“Ah, a cup of tea would be much appreciated.” The Doctor sighed, leaning forwards and placing a hand on the small case he’d brought with him. “And if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like some privacy to get out of my travel clothes.”
“Of course.” Feofan tried to sound pleasant, but his words came out as another yawn. A caffeinated beverage with The Doctor’s customary three lumps of sugar was hardly a fitting drink for this time of night, but who was a mere accountant to argue with a Fatui Harbinger and medical professional? He left his employer alone in his room and busied himself in the kitchen with preparing two mugs of tea- it wasn’t as though he was getting much sleep anyway. If the usual insomnia or tea didn’t keep him awake, then sleeping in close proximity to The Doctor would. Feofan couldn’t help but consider the possibility that he might wake up with fewer organs. Or more organs. He wasn’t sure which would be worse. Perhaps he ought to take the sofa and let The Doctor have the bed. Unfortunately, in his single-room flat, there wasn’t much space between the two items of furniture.
For all that The Doctor was a frightening creature of a man, Feofan wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about him. The pair had met in the first place because The Doctor was the kind of person to purchase human beings on the black market and use them as test subjects for his various experiments. But there was a certain honesty with which two of them could talk, especially with regards to their mutual distaste for the gods and fate itself. In a cruel and unbalanced world such as Teyvat, the worth of someone with whom one could speak uncensored was beyond count. At any rate, the banker’s hands were hardly clean enough for him to pass any judgement upon his employer.
Upon returning to the living room with both cups of tea, his guest was now looking like less of a jackdaw and more of a scruffy pigeon, wearing nothing but a disarmingly plain nightgown. It was a good thing the man was already half asleep otherwise he might have taken some offence at his hosts’ jaw dropping and staring at the sight. He couldn’t possibly be warm enough in that. The Doctor had lived in Snezhnaya for over a decade now but he was Sumeran by birth, and had just returned from Inazuma where the weather, while nowhere near as hot as Sumeru, was downright tropical in comparison to Snezhnaya’s perpetual winter.
“Here you go, Doctor.” Feofan said, placing both cups on the table. “Yours is on your right- I’m going to go and get the spare blanket- you look freezing”. He couldn’t quite keep the disparaging tone out of his voice.
“Thank you. I probably should have packed more weather-appropriate clothes for my return trip.” he admitted with a wobbly grin. “But given we’re out-of-hours, there’s no need to use my title. Just call me Zandik.”
“Very well,” Feofan turned to get the spare blankets from his cupboard. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be on a first name basis with Zandik, but it was definitely a little bit difficult to take him seriously when he was slouching on his sofa in some of the worst pyjamas the banker had ever seen. “In that case, you can also drop the titles- just ‘Feofan’ is fine.”
Zandik hummed gratefully as his host draped the blanket over his shoulders. “Thank you, Feofan,” he said softly as though testing out how the name felt on his tongue. To Feofan’s surprise, he didn’t dislike how his name sounded coming out of The Doctor’s mouth.
The two sat in silence, sipping their tea for a few minutes. Often times, sitting around a silent Doctor was nerve-wracking- if he wasn’t rambling on about his latest theory or equally bizarre co-workers, he was watching those around him from behind his mask. Calculating how any companion may be used as part of some experiment or another. But at this time, his mask was gone and his tired face looked almost gentle in the way it was warmed up by the tea. Although, it was still Zandik who broke the silence.
“Oh, I almost forgot-” he perked up slightly, placing the half-finished tea on the table and reaching for his case. “While I was in Inazuma, I picked up some flavoured teas. They’re much more mild than what I’m used to, but still rather nice. I thought you might like some.” He placed two light, wooden boxes on the table while flashing a sleepier version of his usual ‘aren’t I so clever?’ smirk. The souvenir was certainly thoughtful, but this 1am visit was looking less and less incidental by the minute. Feofan sighed heavily while leaning back on the sofa.
“Zandik, while I’m grateful for the gift, did you really take a detour and visit me at 1am just to give me tea?” It was generally unwise to confront The Doctor like this, but the banker was confident in his usefulness and, frankly, the nightgown was more than a little bit disarming.
“Of course not!” He squawked with theatrical offence. “I told you, I missed the last train home, that’s all.”
“But the train goes straight from the port to Snezhnograd, passing through this part of town,” Feofan pressed. “You must have got on then train then got off at the local station.”
At this, Zandik just huffed, and hunched over his tea, facing away from his accountant. Suddenly the clock on the wall seemed much louder than it was, and the next two minutes of silence felt more like twenty. Feofan was just beginning to think that Zandik might spend the rest of the night sulking over having been caught until he spoke up again. “I did get off the train.” He admitted.
“So, you did wake me up just to-”
“No, I did not!” he interrupted. “I got off the train… because it was making me feel sick.” He continued on grumbling something about his ‘pathetic human weakness’ and experimental brain surgeries, but Feofan barely took any of it in. The entire situation was absurd.
The Doctor. Il Dottore. The second of the Fatui Harbingers. Was on his sofa, in a weather-inappropriate nightgown, drinking sweet tea, at half past one in the morning. Because he felt sick on the train.
“Right, well, we’d best be getting to sleep.” Feofan announced, breaking Zandik out of his ranting. “You can take my bed, and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“Now, don’t be ridiculous.” the harbinger snapped. “You’re much too tall to be sleeping on this sofa. You’ll get a crick in your neck and your feet will hang off the end- your health is bad enough as it is!”
“Doctor, it’s not a large sofa. Your feet will also hang off the end.” Goodness, Feofan was much too tired to listen to another one of his employer’s rants. “You’re half frozen, and you just said you’ve been sick-”
“I didn’t say I was sick, I said the train was making me sick.”
“And were you sick?” Feofan pressed, looking at the daft old crow as a teacher might look at an ill-behaved child.
“That’s not the point!” Zandik bit back, dodging the question as he threw himself lengthwise over the sofa, kicking Feofan off. “I know my limits and take better care of myself.”
Still being thoroughly not in the mood to argue with The Doctor (even though he was plainly lying), Feofan capitulated. “Alright, have it your way.” He sighed as he turned off the light before returning to his bed. “Goodnight, Doctor.”
“Goodnight, Mister Veksel.”
Even with the lights off, the room wasn’t particularly dark, given the street lights outside still flooded the room through the gaps in the curtains. From his elevated position in the bed, Feofan caught himself staring at Zandik whose eyes were scrunched closed. While he had managed to cram most of his body onto the sofa, his feet were dangling off the end over one of the arm rests. But with the blanket drawn tight around his shoulders and his knees and head folded towards his chest, the second harbinger looked strangely small. He looked nothing at all like the mad surgeon who towered over a destitute and broken businessman two years ago. He looked utterly human.
He also looked freezing cold, and very awake. Very well, thought Feofan, he’s the one who wanted to be cold and uncomfortable so badly. But in staring at the shivering harbinger for too long his thoughts began to drift dangerously- his wavy, powder blue hair falling over his face; his cheek squashed up against the armrest; his strikingly dainty waist; how they could both fit on the bed-!
The younger man huffed audibly and turned away from his employer as he mentally scolded himself. He is not cute, he is Dottore!
As the clock ticked loudly, punctuating each second of the following hour, and Zandik shuffled without rest, Feofan mused on the possibility of seeing an estate agent about the value of his flat some time soon. He had done the place up enough that its value must have appreciated somewhere close to enough that he could sell it at a decent profit. Then he could move somewhere with a separate living room for that damned clock. And the idiot harbinger on the sofa, he supposed.
He then mentally scolded himself a second time for even considering to settle for a mere “decent” profit. A lack of sleep did truly dreadful things to the mind.
“Feofan?” Zandik whispered, “Are you asleep?”
Feofan considered ignoring such a ridiculous question to hear from a 35 year old man before sighing and turning over. “No, are you?”
“No,” he continued to whisper. “It’s too cold!”
“Would you like to swap?” his host offered.
“No, then you’d be cold and I’d probably still be cold.” Zandik reasoned.
“Fine, Doctor, what do you suggest?” Feofan snapped, not bothering to whisper. The idea of sharing the bed ran across his mind once again.
“I really am grateful for your hospitality,” Zandik had now also given up on whispering and his voice betrayed a stuffy nose. “But I’m feeling much better now, and should be able to walk back to Snezhnograd from here-”
“Absolutely not.” The banker cut him off. Zandik opened his mouth to disagree, but Feofan continued, “You were just telling me off for not looking after myself, and you want to walk for several hours in the snow with an obvious cold coming on?”
“It can’t be helped! I need to get back to my properly heated quarters.” His guest spat.
“It’s not that cold.” Feofan huffed. “And anyway, you don’t do yourself any favours by wearing that pathetic nightie”.
“It’s perfectly serviceable sleepwear!”
“Perhaps in Inazuma, but not in Snezhnaya.”
Zandik grunted as he swung his legs off of the sofa, getting up with the blanket now draped over him like a cloak. He’s really going to go and freeze to death because I insulted his pyjamas, Feofan thought as the other man trudged towards his case.
“Zandik.” Feofan groaned, lifting up his own duvet. “There’s enough room for both of us…and I’ll take the train with you tomorrow if that helps.” This could end in him either loosing his job or his limbs, but Feofan was much too tired to care. And yes. The madman was cute.
For a moment, his head cocked to one side, like a crow weighing its options, before saying, “Ah, of course, with our combined body heat and two blankets, I should be absolutely fine.” In a tone similar to the one he uses to explain his experimental processes, before crawling under the duvet (his own blanket still about his shoulders) next to his employee.
Within mere minutes, the older man was asleep and though he made no attempt to share the second blanket, the bed was warmer with him in it. Feofan lay awake a few minutes longer, unable to help himself from taking in the view of the man in his bed. As Zandik warmed up by Feofan’s side, a soft blush of colour returned to his face, contrasting beautifully with his long, blue eyelashes. Being so close, Feofan could see some odd little scars that littered the man’s face. Weariness faded from his features, but the dark circles and creases around his eyes remained.
When he finally drifted off, Feofan found that he slept unusually well. He couldn’t recall the last time- if ever- he had been so comfortable sharing a bed with another person. He still wasn’t sure what it was he felt for Zandik, but even if his employer didn’t return those feelings, he certainly wasn’t uncomfortable sleeping next to his accountant. At very least, the doctor saw it as an exercise in practicality and even wound up sleeping in late.
The next morning, Feofan accompanied Zandik on the train to Snezhnograd- with the latter spending the journey looking like a sickly old pigeon. After saying their goodbyes at the station’s exit, Feofan gathered he might as well do some shopping while he was in town. In particular, he resolved to purchase a decent nightgown.