The last tea we shared

"Should I understand ye winnae have any problem accessing his mind now that he is weakened?" Edwin asked, rolling up his sleeves. 

"Who do you think I am, boy?" the eïthress chuckled, waving their four arms slowly, almost mesmerising. "Even if he were recovered, entering his mind and eating his whole self would be nothing but child's play for me." 

"I like the sound of that," Edwin chuckled. But there was something more in the darkness of his eyes. Laïnr noticed and wouldn’t hold themselves from asking. 

"But do tell me, my child." they approached, massaging his shoulders with two hands. "What is this whole comedy? I didn’t expect you to like illusions that much…" the eïthress mocked. 

"I never considered he would deserve an opportunity like that," Edwin answered calmly. "It’s true that killing him now is easy. Perhaps too easy." he paused, glancing at Laïnr over his shoulder. 

"Mh-hmm, smart boy. But still… you haven’t answered me. You know it, right?" Laïnr whispered in his ear, grinning. "I don’t want to think you are getting weak with him… I admired that elegant demeanour of yours." 

The pale man huffed, smiling. "That has an explanation," he said. "Initially, when I dragged Morrison here, I intended to attract Safis. But, ye see, perhaps my expectations of his love were way too high on him, as Morrison was left alone, to nowadays."

Laïnr hummed, pressing Edwin’s trapezius slowly. They seemed genuinely interested in the story. 

"Then," Edwin continued. "Even though I admit I dinnae have any regrets about what I have done to him, he indeed wisnae my point of interest. And as my main target didnae come, the leftovers are merely a waste to keep now." 

The eïthress nothing but purred. "Cruel." Laïnr licked their lips. "I like it. But what’s the meaning behind my part here, then?

Edwin took a long time to answer, making a slight face. He can be as acidic as poison if necessary, nothing to envy Laïnr. "Perhaps for the same reason ye are not erasing my father’s memory, Laïnr."

Laïnr’s grin widened to a crooked line from ear to ear, full of sharp teeth. "There’s nothing that I would like most but eating these crows’ heads, boy." the eïthress buried their fingers on his shoulders, somehow menacingly. 

"And still, ye leave him untouched, even if ye say so. So, who are ye to judge me now, love?" He wiped Laïnr’s hands off his shoulders, turning to face them. "Probably, we have the same reasons here. So, what do ye think about shutting our mouths out and skipping certain explanations, hm?"

Laïnr made a face, huffing. "How serious. I miss some fun here… but I suppose you are right. This is a waste of time. Just saying." 

"I agree, it is. But it’s the way I chose. So now let’s move to our positions, shall we?" 

"Aye-aye", Laïnr mimicked Ares’ voice and Highland accent with sinister perfection.

"Do ye have the photo?” he said. “Any questions?"

"Yeah. But I don’t know what his voice sounded like."

"That winnae be necessary."

"No more questions then, captain." Laïnr waved a hand. 

"Then let’s move on." 

—

Edwin walked through the cold hall to the cell, which opened with a wave of his left hand. His eyes mutated long ago to see with precision in the darkness. Far in one corner, he saw a curled body–Morrison’s severely starved frame. Edwin came closer slowly, extending a hand to Morrison’s forehead. Cold, extremely cold for a McTeine. Was he alive, even? Two fingers pressed against his carotid artery, causing Morrison to react with a weak sound.

"Oh, there ye are. Sweet dreams?" Edwin waited, but Morrison never raised his head. "Aye, I expected that. But dinnae be so sad; it’s yer big day, Morrison." He bent to pick up the thin man under the shoulders and pulled him onto his feet. Morrison wailed in pain, hunched, moving his shaking hands to his naked thighs in a useless attempt to soothe the pain of his injured legs. 

"Hold yer wheesht, Morrison. Ye dinnae want to make me change my mind now, do ye?" 

Morrison wasn’t doing anything but howling in pain, too weak to move by himself—too defeated to act recklessly. His charcoal eyes looked into Edwin’s, wondering what the torture would be that day. 

"Look at ye. Ye may be unable to sing, but ye are recovering yer voice. Sad enough, ye chose to swallow a bunch of glasses rather than dancing for me… pitiful, I might say." Edwin clicked his tongue. 

"Here, come. Let’s groom ye." Edwin walked him to an old wooden chair in the middle, right in front of the only square that allowed a thin line of sunlight during lucky days. Edwin deposited Morrison’s body, sitting him there. "What do ye think? Should I shave yer heid or leave yer hair this long?" Morrison remained quiet, terribly hunched. Edwin counted his vertebrae distractedly. "Hmm, I think he will like it longer, aye."

Morrison tilted his head. He? Who was he? There would be a new torturer? Is someone else to ridicule him? He didn’t understand. Edwin was as cruel as few people he knew—counting himself as one of them—but he wasn’t the kind of torturer who liked to expose this kind of action. 

"Dinnae move now. I’ll shave yer beard first." Edwin waved, and a barber’s knife materialised in his hand. "Remember: if ye bother me, I will bother ye too," he outlined the lonely scar on Morrison’s right cheek—a mere reminder. "Do we understand each other, mate?" Morrison nodded. 

Edwin shaved Morrison’s beard and fixed his hair over the shoulders. The man looked terrible but somehow better now. 

"Good, Morrison. Look at ye now," but Morrison made a face, staring at his damaged legs. "Ah, aye. I ken what ye think. What a foul smell... Let’s improve that." 

With a click of his fingers, Edwin made another wooden chair appear before Morrison, so a bucket filled with water, a lovely lavender-scented soap, and a sponge floating on it. 

"Take this first." Edwin retrieved a red pill from one of his pockets. Morrison wrinkled into the chair instantly. "Dinnae be a fool. This is a painkiller, and I recommend ye take it before I clean ye." 

Morrison didn’t seem to trust him, which was obvious enough. But he knew he had no other option but to take the pill. He opened his mouth and swallowed it with difficulty, unused to the sensation of using his throat for eating. 

"Sweet. Let’s clean ye now." 

Edwin sat in the chair facing Morrison, clapping his hands once. He had already rolled back his sleeves and rubbed his skinny leg, sighing. Morrison stared at that leg, drawing a thin line with his lips. 

"My father says lavender has relaxing properties," Edwin commented, squeezing the sponge into the cold water—also heating the water using his arm until some smooth vapour was visible. "What aboot this? Good?" he touched Morrison's arm. The shocked prisoner nodded clumsily, eyes fixed on Edwin. The warm water against his skin felt incredible. 

The fox man hummed, nodding. And like this, he started cleaning Morrison. From the head, descending to the rest of his body. When his hands reached Morrison’s thighs, he tensed notoriously. Edwin raised his gaze. "Dinnae worry. The painkiller was for this," he said. Then, he continued cleaning his legs. 

Morrison didn’t believe it at first; there was no pain. Yes, he could feel the odd sensation of something wrong with his bones, but completely painless. Edwin took his time cleaning him and even clipping his broken nails. 

"So, what are ye going to tell him, Morrison?" the pale man spoke after a while, fixing his left hand’s nails. "I dinnae ken if ye are aware, but it’s been a while since the last time ye both met." 

Morrison frowned in confusion. Again, who was he? He would only tilt his head, speaking for the very first time. "Who…?" His voice was harsh, still healing. 

Edwin faked surprise. "Dinnae ye ken? Come on, Morrison. Who is the only person that disnae hate ye? I expected ye to be more clever than this." he clicked his tongue. 

Morrison rolled his eyes to a side, making a face. Ah, yes, he knew. But that was a joke he didn’t like at all. 

"Do ye think I would take the time to mess my hands cleaning yer arse if this was a joke, Morrison?" Edwin’s sharpened eyes seemed oddly honest. Morrison’s lips trembled, staring at him, looking for a possible signal proving it was a joke. He found nothing but sternness. Morrison rushed to grab Edwin’s wrist desperately. 

"Do ye believe me now?" Morrison nodded; a mix of feelings caused his face to twist into different clumsy expressions, unable to choose the right one. 

"W-where… is h-him?" 

"Outside. Ye ken, he prefers to avoid stinky places like this."

"H-how…?

"We found a good agreement that would benefit both parties," he said. "Morrison, I am a grown-up man already; I can do that too." Edwin chuckled harshly, standing. 

The fox man clicked his fingers, and all extra items vanished, leaving only a black towel in his hands. Morrison was already shaking, possibly from the cold of his exposed wet skin and the shock. 

"Take my hand. Ye must do yer best effort to stand up," 

Morrison did it, falling on the chair several times before he could stand alone, still feeling no pain but that strange numbness. Edwin covered him with the towel.

"ye didnae answer me," he dried Morrison’s hair, causing him to bounce from side to side. 

"I-I…"

"What’s that, a smile? Come on, dinnae, be shy. I thought we broke the ice long ago," Morrison frowned, pressing his lips tightly. "Alright, mate. Let’s get ye dressed." 

Edwin retrieved his blackthorn wand from his left sock and waved it towards Morrison. Suddenly, the towel floated around and curled into itself, shrinking until it disappeared. "I am no tailor. But perhaps I can help ye." 

With a new movement of his hand, clothes appeared, dressing Morrison’s body; a long-necked white shirt with a black ribbon, a burgundy waistcoat of a velvety texture, straight trousers and polished black shoes. It was all fitting Morrison in size, but not even the clothes would hide how incredibly starved he was. However, Edwin waved his hand for the last time, and a long trench coat fell slowly over his prisoner’s shoulders. 

Morrison couldn’t believe it, looking at himself wearing clothes and smelling fantastic after who knows how long. Edwin even took his time to groom his white hair into a low ponytail.

Morrison raised both hands clumsily, touching his face and neck and then his hair, enjoying the clean sensation, smelling like the gentleman he once was. 

"Do ye think ye can walk?" Edwin asked, leaving Morrison with a flustered expression. "ye must walk unless ye want to ridicule yerself further, appearing into the scene in my arms." he paused. "Yers is the choice."

Morrison frowned slightly. He hated to admit it, but his muse must see him walking alone, still with some dignity left.

Edwin clicked his tongue, offering his left arm to Morrison. "Support yerself. I’ll help ye get used to walking." Morrison tossed him a sarcastic look. "Not like ye have any other choice, twally."

Again, Edwin was right, and Morrison knew it. He took several seconds until he grabbed his arm and followed him once he started moving forward. Morrison showed his upper teeth in disgust—he wouldn’t be sure if any broken bone remained, but he was confident that those broken were wrongly fixed. The sensation was awful but tolerable enough if the prize was to finally see the person owning his heart—his first and last love, and now his saviour. 

After a while, he got used to the sensation, although he wouldn’t walk for long without getting exhausted.

"That should be enough," he paused, staring at Morrison’s scarred features. "Are ye ready to go home?"

Morrison looked back at him, raising his eyebrows. "I… I am, Edwin,"

—

When the first rays of sun touched his skin, Morrison felt like falling on the floor and letting himself sleep on the evergreen grass. But no, that wasn’t an option. If that wasn’t the cruellest joke, his love awaited him somewhere within that idyllic landscape. 

"Edwin,"

"Hm? What is it?" he answered. 

"The… agreement…" Morrison didn’t miss that detail. What would have been so interesting for the warlock to agree to give him freedom, behaving, even so, caring about his appearance and wellness?

Edwin grinned. "His voice. He agreed to give me his voice in exchange," 

Morrison made a sound, opening his eyes wide, horrified. Safis’ beautiful voice? No… no, that wouldn’t be. Did he offer something so precious to free him from his prison? To be together again? Morrison’s head felt light now, dizzy, overwhelmed by such thoughts. For the first time, his heart raced, even inspired. Was that music what he heard in the far corners of his mind?

"Psst. Raise yer heid." Edwin whispered into his ear, and Morrison reacted, doing what he was told. 

Right before his charcoal eyes was an elegant ivory tea table and two chairs. Over the table, two teacups with golden filigree along the edges and handle and an elongated teapot following the same style. 

But most importantly, someone was occupying one of the chairs, sitting with his back to both men. His beautiful locks fell over his shoulders, raven locks mixed with snow. Morrison’s knees failed, bending his fragile body. 

Edwin had to wrap his arms around Morrison to stop him from falling. "Morrison, on yer feet. Ye are so close now. Ye dinnae want to mess it up, do ye?" 

Morrison gasped, exhausted in too many ways to be described, raising his head again. Was it true, then? Safis was there, waiting for him, finally. 

"Ye must continue alone from here, I’m afraid," Edwin said once Morrison regained composure. "Have a lovely noon." 

The now former prisoner wheezed, giving the fox man a deep look. At first, it seemed he wouldn’t say anything, but then he did. He hated Edwin, but years of imprisonment and torture were enough time to think about certain things. "I apologise," he mumbled, lowering his eyelids. "To your father." 

Edwin’s eyes widened when he heard that, watching Morrison go, limping and clumsy, destroyed, and still willing to crawl to reach the only person he had ever loved. The pale man clicked his tongue, his frame vanishing within the breeze. 

It felt like an eternity, and yet like the time stopped during his odyssey that was walking with his crooked legs. He was so close, just too close… but his knees bent, and he fell on the grass, groaning. 

His voice alerted the person sitting there, who turned his face to fix his eyes on the fallen man. His big, golden eyes almost caused Morrison’s heart to stop. 

"I-I stumbled. How st-stupid I am, right?" he pressed his lips firmly, grasping at the grass with impotence. His eyes soon filled with tears. 

The alerted, beautiful man stood on his feet and rushed his way to kneel before Morrison, checking the terrible status of his body with apparent worry. 

"I am fine, m-my love. I am fine now. Better than ever," he took both smaller hands and cupped them against his heart, then to his cheeks, and finally kissed his palms, with eyes closed. "Oh, my love… my dearest…"

The shorter man watched him that broken, and his expression waved from worry to pain so fragile that it seemed almost poetic. That, Morrison knew, was the perfect kind of art. 

"Oh, my love… Please, take me in your arms. J-just for a moment, let me feel you," Morrison begged. 

The warlock answered by wrapping his arms around Morrison’s skinny body and under his trench coat. Safis gasped, burying his face into his scarred neck. Morrison groaned in awe, covering his lover’s smaller body with his arms. 

They didn’t move for a while. The first to break the embrace was Safis, who glanced at Morrison’s face, caressing the new scar on his left jaw, and the white replacing the usual ginger of his hair. His eyebrows curled, eyes glassy with pain. 

"No, please… Please don’t look at me like that," he cupped Safis’s cheeks. "I will fix this. I will get better soon. I won’t look like this forever," he promised, though his lover seemed utterly damaged to see him like that, no matter what he said. "My muse, I swear to you…" but he was interrupted by a kiss filled with the many muted words resounding in his throat. 

The warlock kissed him deeply, wrapping his arms around Morrison’s neck, almost making him fall. 

Morrison was left breathless and with his heart pounding sweetly in his chest. Only love filled his wary dark eyes; he could only see the beautiful man before him. Safis took his hands and stood, pulling carefully not to hurt Morrison further. The exiled McTeine made his best effort and returned to his feet. Safis noticed the tremor in his knees attempting to make him fall again, so he rushed to help him sit on a chair. Morrison seemed utterly alleviated. 

"..." the warlock poured some warm tea on his teacup, offering it to Morrison.

"Oh, that smells… delicious," he said softly. 

His long fingers wrapped around the warm teacup, causing him thrills. And around his hands, Safis’ cupping them lovingly, reassuring. Morrison smiled warmly, so vast that his face hurt. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" 

The warlock clicked his tongue, rolling his glassy eyes. But he loved hearing that, especially from Morrison. He rubbed his hands in response.

Morrison lifted the cup of tea weakly, helped by his lover. He sipped once, humming, and then he drank the rest. "Oh, this is… this tastes like… cranberries, mint… honey, perhaps? Mmh…" his eyelids felt heavier. "My dearest, have you tasted it? It’s wonderful. Please, do it." He insisted, though his hands wouldn’t stop holding Safis’, who also seemed more interested in intertwining their fingers than serving a new cup of tea. 

"I… apologise. For cursing your name in my lowest moments…" Morrison said, staring at his empty cup with disgust. "I knew you were coming… I knew it deep in my heart. I always did." 

Safis pressed his hands in response, reassuring him. Morrison smiled back. 

"My everything…" he started. "I have so many things I would like to tell you…" he paused. "I can hear the music again,”

Throughout the afternoon and ultimately buried in that beautiful illusion, Morrison never noticed the coldness of Edwin’s pistol pressing against the back of his head.