Work Text:
It was an unseasonably warm day when Alyosha finally said yes.
Arrell had arrived a little past noon, carefully slipping out of the shadows and onto the threadbare threshold of the building. He hadn’t warned his former student that he would be coming; his last letter, while written, had remained unsent. For some reason he found himself unable to bring himself to do it. So instead, he changed course - Rosemerrow would still be there in a few days. This was important.
Wavering slightly, he raised a single fist to knock. The hand clutching his staff was white-knuckled, and he shivered despite the warm sun and the heavy wool of his cloak. He knocked, more hesitantly than he would have liked, and waited for the door to creak open.
Arrell had always found Alyosha handsome in a boyish sort of way, but today he was radiant. He smiled brightly. “Now, how did I get the feeling it would be you gracing my doorstep today?” He said fondly. “Come in, Arrell. It’s good to see you.”
Arrell wordlessly followed Alyosha into a small and cozy kitchen. Long tendrils of greenery ran from the tops of cabinets and gently grazed the countertops, and small high windows illuminated beams of dust motes. “I know you’re busy, but please, stay a bit. Hungry? Thirsty?”
Arrell shook his head. “I’m back to talk about my current project. And offer to you again.”
Alyosha’s bright smile faltered and Arrell stuffed away the urge to take it back. “Oh… so not just a friendly house visit, then.” Neither man had taken a seat on one of the low stools and instead stood facing each other.
“You know I don’t want this,” Alyosha said softly, looking straight at Arrell, expression unreadable. Arrell glanced at the ground instead.
“I know. But it’s for the best.”
“Would you make me?”
“Never,” Arrell lied.
But Alyosha could always tell. “Really?”
Arrell swallowed and said nothing. That was enough for Alyosha. “What would you do, if I say no again?”
Arrell found the truth spilling out unbidden. “I would stun you briefly and do it anyways.” He finally met Alyosha’s gaze, trying to keep his own strong and unwavering. “Your safety is more important to me than your wants.” My wants, he added silently to himself.
“I see,” Alyosha murmured, shutting his eyes for a moment. “I don’t want to fight you.”
“Nor I you.”
“I accept.”
Arrell, already prepared to launch into more persuasive language, cut himself off. “What?”
“I said okay,” Alyosha said patiently. Defeatedly. Arrell already regretted this; he shoved the feeling aside. This was important. “I’ve been thinking about it, since you last asked, and - I think you’re right. I know that it won’t be forever, hopefully, and it’s the best chance I - we, all of us - have at maybe solving this. Stopping the Heat and the Dark. I hope.”
Arrell swallowed visibly. “I - yes, that’s right, I’m glad you’re finally - finally seeing reason. When … when will you be ready to go?”
“I don’t see why not right now,” Alyosha said, brushing his hands off and untying his work apron. There were crescents of dirt under his fingernails from his gardening earlier. Arrell felt the unconscious desire to reach out, to gently take the man’s calloused hands in his own and gently scrape the mulch out, kissing each finger as he went. Arrell shook his head to clear the thoughts.
“No? Later?” Alyosha’s normally soft voice was sardonic suddenly. Sharp.
“No! No, sorry that wasn’t - yes, now is fine, perfect even. I’m -” He swallowed again. “I’m pleased that you’ll be safe there,” Arrell said, his voice dropping to a murmur, avoiding eye contact with Alyosha until he felt hands on either side of his head forcing him to look up.
“Perhaps for a time,” he agreed softly. Alyosha’s eyes were clear and blue. “I hope I can do some good and make you happy.”
Arrell forced himself to step backwards from Alyosha’s hands, clutching his staff tightly, white-knuckled.
“If you’re ready?”
Alyosha inclined his head in agreement, and so it began.
The incantation, while difficult to get started, rolled off his tongue more naturally the further into the spell he got, viscous like honey. He felt the familiar tang of dangerous magic deep in the back of his throat, a threat barely kept in check by his own tenuous grasp. The bubble winked into existence at Alyosha’s feet, a technicolor swirling mass that doubled, then tripled in size as it swallowed him up. Throughout the spell, Arrell kept his bright eyes firmly fixed on Arrell’s face, as if memorizing every plane, every pore, every hair. Arrell realized he was dangerously close to choking up as he neared the end of the spell - the momentum kept him going, but only barely.
The line of the bubble crept up over Alyosha’s hips, then torso, then finally slipped over his focused gaze, and - he was gone.
Arrell realized that he was on his knees; he didn’t remember falling, but he could feel a dull ache that meant that it was certainly not on purpose. Shakily, he used his staff to pull himself to his feet. This had never taken this much out of him. The room was eerily silent. Cold sunlight streamed in through the high windows, dappling the leaves and branches of Alyosha’s small indoor garden studio. A cloud passed overhead. Arrell swallowed back tears, sat on a stool, and stared at the dust motes until his vision swam and his brain ached.
It was months before Arrell could bring himself to check.
It was small magic, really, at least for him, to peek into the bubbles of his friends and allies. Track their progress, make sure they were happy, safe. Last night before sleep he had quickly checked in with Hadrian’s son, just to be able to say that he had - the boy was happy, if a bit frantic and anxious under the surface, and he’d constructed a perfectly wonderful little life for himself and his two loving parents. As time went on he found himself caring more and more for the boy; Arrell had never had children, but he imagined this feeling was something like Hadrian and Rosanna felt for their young son.
For some reason, though, he found himself unable to check in on his protege, friend, more than friend. Every day he told himself that he would do it later; each later he pushed it off to the next day. It would be a distraction, he reasoned, for him to be there. He wanted Alyosha to be able to focus on his work and research for the Heat and the Dark, wanted him to be completely set on the task at hand. It was unreasonable to be distracting when so much was at stake, he told himself, and before he knew it, months had passed, and he finally rationalized to himself that he would simply not make contact with Alyosha. Just peek in, confirm that all was as it should be, and duck out. Easy. Quick. Painless for all parties, except maybe himself.
So he sat down, performed the spell, and slipped away.
The world that Alyosha had constructed for himself was lush and green, unsurprisingly. The sun was warm but not uncomfortably so, and the sky was the brightest blue that Arrell had ever seen. Not far from him was a cabin, quaint and woodsy and adorable. Arrell smiled to himself. Of course this is the kind of home that Alyosha would create. Stealthily, murmuring words to himself to ensure invisibility and non-detection, Arrell crept to a window and peered inside.
The room was a combination alchemical studio and library; papers were strewn in a way that was most unlike Alyosha, but the handwriting on them was undoubtedly his. Alyosha himself was bent over a desk facing the window. Arrell had to peer a bit through the leaves of whatever plant Alyosha had deemed appropriate for the windowsill, but had little issue seeing the room in its entirety. The far wall was dedicated entirely to a large ornate bookshelf, complete with a sliding ladder to reach the topmost shelves, and on the right wall looked to be a a workstation, with potential designs, sigils, and incantations pinned up on the wall. The side closest had a desk of smooth dark wood, with Alyosha’s curly head bent over a tome that was easily a few thousand pages thick. His hand hovered in a very familiar way over the page in preparation to turn it, and Arrell found himself smiling. The room was brightly lit and cozy, with a thick colorful carpet in emeralds and browns and a number of ornate candelabras for late-night work.
Arrell could feel his resolve wavering. Why didn’t he just knock on the door? They had all the time in the world here, more or less. What was two minutes for a cup of tea and good conversation? As Arrell came to the decision to simply say hello just for the hell of it, the door to the study opened outwards, blocking Arrell’s view as someone walked in. He watched, eyes wide, as Alyosha looked up from his notes, smiled widely, and embraced the stranger. Anger and jealousy rose up in Arrell’s chest; he bit it back down. As they broke apart, Alyosha laughing at something that the other man had said, Arrell squinted through the glass, silently willing the man to turn more towards the window. Who was this, that Alyosha had conjured to keep him company?
The man did turn to the window, after a moment, and Arrell’s heart stopped. He whirled away, breathing heavily, his back to the wall as he sank to a seat on the dirt.
Him. It was himself. Alyosha, when given the chance to live a perfect life, conjured up a dream version of Arrell to live and work with. Arrell forced himself to swallow his pride and rose again to peer back into the window, almost against his will, and sure enough, the alternate him was still there. Alyosha had gone back to his papers, and Arrell noted with a pang of - jealousy? Anger? Some sort of emotional cocktail that he was not familiar with - that the alternate him had started gently rubbing Alyosha’s shoulders from behind. They were talking; from the familiar gleam in Alyosha’s eyes, it was to do with the research he was doing. He looked frustrated but exhilarated. Alyosha had always enjoyed research, Arrell thought distractedly, and this was basically the opportunity to thoroughly research a subject with unlimited resources. Here, any book, any testimonial or study, was available for Alyosha to ponder over. Judging by the state of this study, ponder he did. Arrell felt faintly ill. This was Alyosha’s ideal home? A cozy cottage with a beautiful view, and… Arrell?
Not-Arrell was offering some sort of feedback, and Alyosha started scribbling something down furiously, presumably noting new ideas to look into, before leaning back with a visible sigh and stretching his arms up to gently graze the sides of not-Arrell’s face. For most of this Arrell felt as if he was looking in a mirror, but for a brief moment the man standing behind Alyosha looked like a stranger, and Arrell realized that he had never seen himself looking so… happy. Content. He watched, jealousy rising again like bile, as not-him tilted Alyosha’s chin up and kissed him, gently, softly. He continued to watch as the embrace deepened; Alyosha turned more fully, half-standing, and the not-him scooped the shorter man up and set him to sit on the desk so that Alyosha’s back was to the window, both ignorant of the real and horrified Arrell watching from outside. Arrell noticed for the first time that they were both wearing rings, simple bands of silver. Alyosha’s fingernails were clean, clutching at not-Arrell with almost desperation. Arrell looked in a daze at his own hands tangled in Alyosha’s hair, dark fingers interwoven in blond curls. He felt detached from himself; he knew from experience that if he forced himself to be more aware, he would be overwhelmed by emotion - in this case, it would be guilt, jealousy, a touch of wistfulness for flavor.
Fingers fumbled over buttons and catches and Arrell forced himself to look away, stumbling backwards, and wretched himself out of the bubble with more violence than was probably necessary. He opened his eyes back to the woodland cave where he was currently spending the night, just outside Rosemerrow, beyond the long sands. It was cold, and damp, and very, very lonely. It was here, alone and heavily quiet, that Arrell finally cried.