第 41 页

I’m free for a couple hours tonight.

Caranthir hesitated. In the background, the laugh track roared.

No that’s ok. I think I’ve got a handle on it.

You sure? I’m happy to help. With the essay, or with anything else ;)

Caranthir chewed his lip. On the other side of the couch, Maglor was busily pulling the decorative fringe off his pillow.

Yea, I’m sure

thnks anyway.

Chapter End Notes

0. Disclaimer that while I know what three chapters from now will hold, I have no CLUE what will take place in the next chapter. Plan your stories, kids, don't be like me.

Little scream, little cry, little laughter

Maglor rang up the extra large coffee and blueberry muffin. “Let’s see, that will be,” he glanced over his shoulder, and covertly ran his employee discount card. “…three dollars.”

Maedhros grinned at him. “Thanks.”

Maglor glanced around once more, but Cuiviénen was relatively quiet and his boss was out of sight. He propped his elbows on the counter and slumped forward as Maedhros leaned next to him, picking blueberries out of his muffin and eating them absently.

“God, I’m tired.”

Maedhros handed him a blueberry. “Isn’t this like your third double shift this week?”

“I’m trying to make some extra money for that trip to New York.”

“Mm. To visit Daeron?”

“I suppose,” said Maglor reluctantly.

Maedhros nudged him. “C’mon, Kano, of course that’s why you’re going. He’s your best friend.”

“My best friend who hasn’t been in touch in months other than making blog posts about his ‘journey’ and his ‘recording sessions’ and his ‘opportunity’…” Maglor sketched the quotation marks in the air before dropping his chin to his hand. “Bleh.”

Maedhros didn’t say anything but reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “So,” he said, after a little while, a mischievous light in his eyes, “Tyelko texted me that you were…entertaining, the other night….”

“Oh, fuck that stupid yellow-headed…”

“…beloved brother of ours. You know the rules. I get regular updates on your lives, even if I don’t live with you anymore. Tyelko texts me about you, you text me about Moryo, Moryo texts me about Tyelko, and Curvo…”

“Curvo abides no one reporting on him, and in return promises to never hack our accounts ever again.”

Maedhros shuddered. “It took a lot of talking for me to explain to Finno why there were so many Canadian beastialists emailing me. And then it took even more talking to get him to stop laughing.” He took a long drink of his coffee. “Mmm. Did you add sugar to this already?”

“I know how you like it. And I believe you when you say you aren’t interested in intercourse with a wolverine. Truly.”

“Ha ha. Let’s get back to your guest from last weekend. Was it that girl from open mic night?”

Maglor turned away and made much of scrubbing at the espresso machine. His bandana slipped down over his forehead. “What girl?”

Maedhros rolled his eyes. “The pretty one, with the voice. The one who had you positively hypnotized the moment she opened her mouth.”

“Well, that’s a cliché,” muttered Maglor, retying the bandana around his hair with a certain amount of violence. “And hyperbole to boot.”

“Not actually. The whole time she was performing you were basically as non-responsive as that time you ate two pot brownies in a single afternoon.”

Maglor turned around, scowling. “You said you’d never bring that up again.”

Maedhros shrugged. “When needs must….”

“You’re being horribly unfair to me after I gave you your coffee 50% off.”

“I do so appreciate it.” Maedhros leaned over the counter and smiled winningly at his brother. “But Kano, tell me about what happened last weekend! Since when do you hide stuff from me?”

“I don’t…I don’t want…” Maglor began. “Look, I’m not…”

The bell on the front door jangled and Maglor straightened up, a look of relief crossing his face. He pushed his sleeves up and slid Maedhros’ cup of coffee and plate gently away from the register. “We can talk about it later, hm?”

Maedhros regarded him skeptically. “If you say so.”

“You heading to the bar now?” Maglor asked quietly, one eye on the customer who’d wandered in and was reading the tea list.

“No, actually.” It was Maedhros’ turn to look evasive. He shifted from foot to foot. “Actually, I’m going to a job interview.”

“No shit!” Maglor let out the exclamation louder than intended, and the customer looked over, alarmed. Maglor blushed, and ducked back down over the counter. “You got an interview? Where? Something you actually want?”

“Um, do you mind if I don’t tell you just yet?” Maedhros asked softly. “I’m…a little superstitious, I guess. But I feel like I don’t want to jinx it. Also, Kano,” his voice dropped further, “I’m terrified, and if I talk about it, it’ll make it real.”

“I know that feeling.” Maglor’s fingers brushed Maedhros’ sleeve briefly before he straightened up again. “Good luck with it, whatever it is. You will tell me more when it’s over, though, won’t you?”

“Maybe in exchange for some information from you.” Maedhros’ teasing smile was back. “But thanks, Kano. For the coffee, and the luck.”

* * *

Turgon rounded the corner, his phone pressed to his ear, arguing vociferously. “Why wouldn’t you just say that then, what’s all this ‘northwest on Luvailin’ nonsense? Why can’t you just say, ‘turn right’?”

On the other end of the line, Finrod let out a long breath. “I am simply reading out the map instructions,” he said evenly. “And I can resign as your Jarvis at any time, Turno.”

“No, no,” said Turgon hastily. “You’re being super helpful, really. Um, how far do I go on Luvailin?”

“About a quarter mile. Say, just because I’m curious, are you going planning on getting a smartphone any time soon?”

“No. My dumbphone is fine. And it’s still on my parents’ plan,” muttered Turgon. “I don’t need to be able to check email on the go…”

“But a gps might be helpful, yes? Instead of calling me and asking me to pull up directions on my computer?”

“Do the words ‘med school loans’ mean nothing to you?”

“I mean, god knows I enjoy this quality time with you, and I have nothing better to do, but…”

“Thank you, Ingo,” said Turgon loudly. “I’m here now. Bye.”

Finrod sighed again on the other end, but there was amusement in his voice as he said, “Call any time you require assistance. It was my pleasure aiding you, sir.”

“Oh, hush,” said Turgon, and hung up as Finrod’s laugh echoed down the line. He compared the number on the side of the building with the scrap of paper in his pocket on more time, then rang the buzzer. He ran a hand through his hair as he waited, the familiar, uneven metronome of anxiety ticking behind his ears. I could use a haircut. When do I have time for that? I need to study and go to the clinic and get a gift for mom’s birthday and that paper is due Tuesday… maybe I’ll just ask Irissë to cut it for me. And I need to find a new place to live by the 30th…

“Hello?” A staticky voice crackled over the intercom.

“Hi!” Turgon sprang forward. “Um, I’m here to look at the apartment for sublet; I exchanged emails with –”

“Oh good, yes, come on up!” the voice said. “The door should be unlocked.”

Turgon climbed the staircase and made his way to the apartment marked 4b. He knocked, and the door swung open.

“I’m so glad you made it! We’re kind of crunched for time on the whole sublet thing, because Elinel’s leaving so unexpectedly, so I’m really glad that – ” The speaker broke off, her eyes widening.

Turgon’s mouth shaped an oh that he didn’t actually say.

Amarië froze, her hand still on the doorknob, an expression of surprise on her face.

“You weren’t the person I emailed with,” said Turgon feebly, at last.

Amarië shook her head. She self-consciously tugged her overlarge pink sweater straight as she said, “Oh. No, right. That would have been my roommate. She’s technically the one looking for the sub-letter. She has to leave really quickly – her mom’s sick, and she has to go home for the semester – but she was going to be meeting with her advisor when you said you could come over, so she just asked if I wouldn't mind showing you the place…and screening you, since I’d be the one living with you after all…” She paused, blushing, seeming to realize she was rambling, and added, “But she did fail to mention your name.”

“Small oversight,” said Turgon, attempting a smile. “Did…did you just move here recently yourself? I could have sworn you lived on the other side of town.”

“Yeah,” said Amarië softly. “I moved at the end of last semester. Needed…a change.”

They looked at each other’s feet for a while.

“Well,” said Turgon, just as Amarië said, “So…”

They both broke off again and laughed, uncomfortably.

“Oh god,” said Turgon. “I’m sorry this is so weird. I’ll just head out, okay? No worries on the whole thing…” He was turning to go, but Amarië reached out and caught his arm.

“Oh screw this, Turno – we’re friends, aren’t we? We don’t have to be so awkward. D’you want to come in and have tea or something?”

“Sure,” said Turgon in relief, turning back. “That sounds perfect.”

He settled himself at the small table by the window, while Amarië put on the kettle and pulled a box of cookies out of the cupboard. He peered interestedly out the window – not a bad view, and gets good light…no, stop, you’re not actually scouting this place as a potential apartment, knock it off – and nearly upset a small spider plant on the sill. He righted it hastily.

“Nice plant you have here,” he said, to cover the moment, and felt stupid. You’re making small talk about florae? “I always liked spider plants, there was one – ” He caught himself again, turning red. – there was one in Finrod’s room I always liked. Probably a clipping from this one. Shut up, you idiot.

But Amarië, who was shaking the box of cookies onto a plate and looking crestfallen when only two fell out, didn’t seem to have heard. “…Oops. Um, I have carrot sticks too…”

“That’s fine,” said Turgon, overly jovial, and patted the spider plant once more before folding his hands on the table and trying hard to look nonchalant. So far this not being awkward thing is going brilliantly.

They perched together at the table, crunching on carrot sticks and trying to avoid burning their tongues on the rooibos spice tea Amarië had poured them. Turgon grasped for some decent, and if possible, even smaller talk.

“How’s the basketball season been?”

“Fine,” said Amarië brightly, but there was a false note in her voice. Turgon cocked his head at her, and she hunched her shoulders. “Lousy,” she admitted. “I got injured in practice last week.”

“Oh no.”

“Yes. So I’m out for the next three games.” She stared down at her clasped hands. “Everything's coming together really brilliantly. I can’t play, I can’t dance, I’m losing my roommate, and…” The trail of her voice left no doubt as to the final item – the final someone – she was leaving off her recitation of misfortune. Turgon shifted uneasily, shoving his phone to the bottom of his pocket as if by some chance Amarië would be able to tell whose voice had most recently come through it.

Amarië blew out a sigh, and shook her head. “Sorry, I don't mean to whine. This has just been the worst fucking year.”

Turgon found himself laughing.

Amarië looked up at him, frowning. “Is something funny?”

“No,” he said honestly. “It’s just that I was having that exact same thought this morning.”

Amarië smiled a little. “I’m glad it’s not just me.” She raised her mug, which had a faded image of a mouse in a tutu on it, and clinked it against Turgon’s. “Cheers.”

Turgon raised his mug in return. “Here’s to an infinitely better new year. Wouldn’t be hard to do, eh?”

“Amen.”

They drank.

-

Turgon had well overspent the forty-five minutes he’d allotted for an apartment tour, but had quite forgotten the studying, and the haircut, and the other pile of to-dos waiting for him at home.

He twirled his teaspoon between his fingers as he ruminated. “Honestly, I think this place is closer to the med school campus than it is to the main campus.”

“It totally is,” said Amarië, stretching one of her long legs out against the chair across from her. “It’s like a twenty minute bike ride for me to get to class, but come on, this place is great.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

Amarië grinned. “I’m glad you asked. I’ve totally been practicing my spiel all morning because I was nervous about giving this tour later.”

“…I would absolutely have done the same thing.”

“See, Elinel always laughs at me when she hears me practicing out loud, but I swear, it’s helpful. Anyway,” she squared her shoulders and folded her hands in her lap, affecting a pompous look. Turgon stifled a laugh.

“A corner unit with southern exposure and it’s own patio, this apartment is a two bedroom, two bath – ”

“Two bath?” Turgon interrupted almost immediately. “No.”

“Yes. Mine is the bigger of the two bedrooms, but the smaller one has its own bathroom.”

“And that one and the main bathroom both have showers?”

“Yes.”

“ARGH.” Turgon dropped back in his seat. “Do you know how long I’ve been dying for a place where I don’t have to share a bathroom, much less a shower? No more gagging over hair piles from where my roommate shaves his back…”

“Yes, I always make sure to shave my back in the privacy of my own bathroom,” said Amarië gravely. “You wouldn’t have to deal with it at all.”

“This is killing me. Okay, go on.”

“There’s tile in the kitchen, not linoleum, we negotiated for that last semester, and laundry is on premises – still coin-operated, but no Laundromat runs needed. Utilities are built in, and there’s garage parking.”

“I’m dying. Give me some bad news, please.”

“Uh.” Amarië thought. “I didn’t practice that part.”

“Improvise,” Turgon pleaded. “What’s terrible about this place? What would you NOT want a potential sub-letter to see? Mold under the sink. Your tendency to play loud dubstep after midnight. Birds in the walls.”

“Birds in the walls?”

“It happened to my brother.”

“Hmm. Oh! No pets allowed. Is that enough of a deal breaker for you?”

“Totally,” said Turgon, seizing on this in relief. “I have a cat and she’s absolutely non-negotiable.”

“But you could definitely get away with a low impact pet. Our neighbors have lived here five years and they have a rabbit.”

“A rabbit?”

“A huge one. It hangs out on their patio in plain sight and everything. It’s the size of a small boulder, and the property managers don’t seem to care at all. A quiet old cat, like yours is, right – ”

“Right…”

“ – would probably fly under the radar no problem.”

Turgon made a strangled sound. “And if the price your roommate was quoting is accurate, it’s still $75 less a month than I pay.”

“Yep.”

Turgon drummed his fingers on the table. “Okay, listen, are we sure it would be awkward for me to live here?”