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Nessa, the Nessa, who was elegance and grace personified; Nessa, who had gained the epithet fleet-footed during her European tour for her impossibly swift footwork; Nessa, who was beautiful and talented and lauded around the world; Nessa, whose skin was darker than Elenwë’s own.

“People will always find excuses to tell you no,” Nessa said to Elenwë once, in her soft, rich voice. “They told me my bust was too big, my hips too wide, my shoulders too broad. They hated the way I put on muscle, the fact that I would never look tiny or delicate. They told me no for countless reasons, not the least of which was the color of my skin. But I have learned that ‘not looking the part’ is never a good enough reason to quit something you love. Looking how they think a dancer should look has nothing to do with your ability to dance; you already look like a dancer, because a dancer is what you are.” She had smiled then, and laid a hand on Elenwë’s shoulder. “And you are one of the most technically gifted dancers in my studio, so I’d hate to lose you. Selfish of me, I know.”

Elenwë had stayed, and the Deer Hollow studio had become a second home.

She almost hadn’t come to class today, too overwhelmed by the luggage strewn across the floor of her apartment, the complaining cat wondering why everything looked different, and her gnawing anxiety about Aredhel. But Amarië, having received a stream of increasingly hysterical texts from her, had shown up at her door, pointed with surprising fierceness to her dance bag, and told her to get her ass in gear.

Now Nessa was pacing beside the barre as she led them through their warm-up, and Elenwë closed her eyes as she worked to focus on opening up her hips rather than all the worries crowding in at the edge of her thoughts. She tried to let Nessa’s musical voice drown out all her clamoring worries.

“Looser elbows, Amarië, soften your arms. You hold the tension at the base of your neck and it travels all the way down through your body and makes you stiffen up – let that go.”

Tension. Elenwë turned out her feet and thought about what she had found under Aredhel’s bed as she helped her back, feeling her throat close up with worry.

Tension. She thought about her carefully packed bags, and her carefully typed itinerary for her travel to Chicago. How she hated airports, how she hated travel, how she hated change. What would be waiting for her at the other end?

Tension. She thought of –

“Breathe, Elenwë.” A gentle voice at her ear. Elenwë jumped, and looked up. Nessa was beside her, looking down at her with kind amber eyes.

“What?”

“You haven’t drawn in a breath this whole movement,” said Nessa, and she laid a hand between Elenwë’s shoulder blades. Elenwë immediately exhaled in a rush and then tried to breathe in to Nessa’s light touch.

Tension.

“We must remember to breathe,” said Nessa, and there was understanding in how she looked at Elenwë. “Something too self-evident to need the reminder, one would think, but not so. Our instinct is to lock everything down when we feel we are losing control, but it is important to keep breathing and to stay open. Breathe into the knotted spots,” a hand on the back of her neck, “the tight spots,” a touch just below her ribs, “the fear.”

Elenwë felt tears prick in her eyes. She blinked them back fiercely and raised her arms, trying to capture the graceful defiance that Nessa always seemed to embody in her performances. She breathed, she breathed again. She felt a knot loosen. Tension uncoiled.

Amarië glanced back over her shoulder, and caught her eye, flashing her a brief, sympathetic smile.

Elenwë let herself open.

Nessa smiled, and paced on.

* * *

Curufin had the distinct feeling he was being watched. He looked over his shoulder and jumped. The skinny black cat with the large, pale eyes was sitting on his floor, tail tucked around its feet, eyes fixed on him. Well, not exactly on him. On the blinking lines of text streaming across Curufin’s computer screen.

Curufin tried to glare. “Stop it. Go away.”

The cat ignored him, eyes fixed on the computer.

“Er. Scat. Shoo.” Curufin waved an impatient hand. CLBRMBR was compiling and he was eager to troubleshoot the most recent set of additions, not deal with this unsettling creature sitting on his floor. TYLPE had been acting up, again, and he was already frustrated and short-tempered from the ongoing battle with his code. More than once he’d been tempted to abandon the project all together, convinced it wasn’t worth the trouble. And now, right when he thought he’d worked out the worst of the kinks, the least expected and most irritating side effect of Aredhel moving in was distracting him from his work. He glowered, and tried to remember what one did to frighten cats. He attempted to imitate Celegorm’s sharp, authoritative tone when Huan was misbehaving. “GIT. Get out of – ”

Lómion, completely ignoring him, crouched down, hindquarters wiggling.

“NO – ”

The cat launched himself full tilt at the computer screen.

-

Aredhel was in her room, opening boxes and trying to figure out how best to fit the contents of an entire apartment into one small bedroom. Carefully setting aside the few things Maedhros had left in the room when he’d moved out – a couple sweatshirts, some books, a framed picture of Fingon – Aredhel opened up the trash bags containing her clothes and started to hang things in the closet. From down the hallway came a sudden bang and crash, followed by a storm of swearing. Coming to the door curiously, Aredhel peered out just in time for Curufin to stomp across the hall, holding the cat at arm’s length.

“Take your creature.”

“Oops.” Aredhel held out her arms, wincing apologetically. “Sorry, I know he’s not supposed to be in your room…”

“IT HAS AN OBSESSION WITH MY COMPUTER AND IT IS NOT OKAY.”

“He just likes blinky thingies…”

“CLBRMBR IS NOT A BLINKY THINGY.”

“Uh. What’s a Celerberber?” Aredhel took Lómion, who was hissing silently. “And he doesn’t like being scruffed.”

Curufin made an outraged but noiseless sound, and Aredhel grinned. He’d looked, briefly, just like the flustered cat in her arms. “Doesn’t like – like I care about his – doesn’t like being scruffed, does he? Well, he can register his disapproval for how I handle him when he STOPS TRYING TO ATTACK MY TECHNOLOGY.” Curufin shook his hands, trying to get the cat hair off them. “He’s weird, Irissë, you have a very deranged animal there. He’s only been here a day and I’ve already caught him in my room twice – TWICE. Once asleep on my desk – and I’ll just tell you what havoc cat fur wreaks on a keyboard – and once trying to concuss himself on my computer screen. What is his problem? He hasn’t broken into Tyelko’s room, I’ll note.”

“That’s because of the dog,” Aredhel explained, as Lómion slunk up to her shoulder and buried himself in her hair. “Huan loves on him too hard and Lómion doesn’t like it.”

“Hah. Well, that I can understand.” Curufin looked briefly distracted. “But nevertheless, if I find him in my room rubbing himself on my computer equipment ONE MORE TIME, I will make him into something small, practical, and dead.”

“You could try mittens,” said Celegorm, who’d come up behind Curufin silently, making him jump. “You might want to wait until he’s bigger, you know, get more bang for your buck, but I think he’d make a decent pair of mittens. Or, like, a beret.”

“Berets are tacky.”

“Word. But for an animal that size you don’t get much from their furs, though there’s this technique Oromë showed me for skinning small – ”

Celegorm stopped talking abruptly as Aredhel advanced on him.

“This is all very amusing,” she said softly. “This talk of murdering my cat and turning him into clothing. But if either of you lay a single finger on him…”

“We were joking,” said Celegorm hastily, and as Aredhel rounded on Curufin, he echoed, “Joking!”

“Good.”

“But seriously,” Curufin said, very quietly, as Aredhel went back to hanging clothes. “Keep him away from my shit.”

* * *

Fingon very carefully shut off his computer. He tucked his laptop and a couple files into his briefcase, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, and had just texted Maedhros, ‘try not to faint babe but i might actually be home before dark tonight’ when there was a rap on his office door and one of the file clerks poked her head in.

Fingon waved frantically at her. “Nonono. I’m done for the day, I’m going home, pretend you don’t see me. Off the clock, off the clock, off – ”

“It’s a call from the Tirion office,” said the clerk apologetically, and Fingon groaned. “It’s Findis.”

“Findis? Really? Okay, I guess I better take it.” Fingon collapsed back into his chair and buried his face in his hands briefly before looking back up. “Patch her through.”

The clerk disappeared, and shortly thereafter, Fingon’s phone rang. He raised his head and picked it up, immediately banishing exhaustion for an easy and confident mien. He tipped back in his chair, spinning a pencil between his fingers. “Hey, how’s it going with my favorite CFO? That bastard Fingolfin making you work late, too?”

Half an hour later, Fingon hung up with a heavy sigh and the clerk came back into the room. “Anything you need me to do?”

“Ughh.” Fingon laid his head on his desk briefly. “They got the final versions of the contracts.”

“Let me guess,” said the clerk. “The manufacturer is happy with it, but the unions – ”

“Aren’t,” said Fingon. “To say the least. Can you – ”

“I’ll get Bëor on your schedule for first thing tomorrow,” said the clerk, making a note in her phone.

“Thanks. Let’s try to keep this off my dad’s desk if at all possible.”

Fingon finally escaped from the office and made it to the bus stop just in time to see his bus pull away.

“Oh goddammit.” Fingon considered yelling and throwing his briefcase into the bushes in frustration, but decided he was too tired. Instead he cast himself down on the bench, resigned to waiting, and in the meantime pulled out his phone.

sooo it is only now that i’m leaving the office…

sorry!

No worries, I know how it is there.

I can handle dinner, just get yourself home.

Are you good with…um, fish sticks and peas?

hahaha sure lay it on me .its good that theres at least one aspect of my life that is not at all adult or well managed

Are you calling me that part of your life?

no, just our eating habits.

oh but hey, my sister’s moving into your old room today! You’ve cleaned that out, right? She’s not going to stumble on anything that will scar her for life?

She should be fine.

Anything of an intimate nature that I didn’t move with me to your place I just threw away.

THREW AWAY? Mae. some of that was expensive!

I’ll reimburse you. there was no way I was ever going to use it.

um excuse me u looked super hot in the black leather

Disagree. I don’t feel comfortable with that many buckles, anyway.

>:-((((

I do just fine without the leather and straps, don’t I?

yeah….

Finno

If you insist on sounding so disappointed I’m going to be hurt

babe you know you do it for me no matter what ;)

i shall live without the black leather. SIGH

i’ll see u soon

The fish sticks and I will be waiting

Fingon was just about to put his phone back in his pocket when it rang. He looked at the number, grinned, and answered it.

“Hey, Káno, how’s it going?”

Fingon leaned back against the bench and draped his arm over it, loosening his tie with one hand and undoing the top button of his shirt. Outside the air-conditioned office it was already far too warm in his suit. “You caught me in home-work limbo, end of a ten hour day. Can you believe I’m such an office bitch? And that I spend my day actually fixing problems and being a damn diplomat? I swear the salary ain’t worth having to fake this much responsibility. I’m sorry, you’re right, that’s inconsiderate of me. I shouldn’t complain about my job when some people are off in the big city being starving artists, but dude, at least you’re having fun. I feel like I went straight from 25 to 40, complete with grey hair and a 401k. I’m not whining, I’m just spitting truth! Wait, hold up, why are you calling me?”

He listened for a moment, then laughed. “Ohh, hah, yep, the rumors are true. A Nolofinwion has successfully infiltrated Fortress Fëanorion. Yes, absolutely she’s reporting her findings back to me, high-level espionage, we anticipate a complete take over by the end of the summer. Yes, all your father’s worst fears will be confirmed. But don’t worry, she’s in Nelyo’s old room, not yours.”

Fingon paused as a truck roared past. “Sorry, traffic. Hey, how’s stuff going down there? I hear from Nelyo that it’s a bit exciting… What? No, of course I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. What? No, no, Maitimo would never betray your confidence – ” He winced, then made a face. “Yes, okay, okay, I know about the whole thing. He didn’t tell me, for the record, I overheard his half of his conversation with you, and he did say ‘THREEWAY?’ pretty effing loudly. I know, he’s really bad at secrets. Right? And the nerve of him, saying I lack all subtlety… So yeah, you and the other two music nerds, huh. That’s pretty hot to picture, not gonna lie.”

He held the phone away from his ear as Maglor’s voice raised. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to objectify you! Seriously. But is it weird now that’s it’s just the two of you? Uh huh. Yeah, I bet. But wait, was there really never any, like, tension between you guys before? Really? I always kinda got the vibe… Yeah, I know about the stories those groupies of yours used to write. I know it was mostly fictional but I still wondered… Hahaha, I’m sorry, sorry, I’ll stop. Wait, what? Really? So Ría leaves and – Oh, geez.”

Fingon ran his hand through his hair as he listened for a long while. “But seriously, it sounds kind of tense between you guys right now. You may be friends and part-time lov– fine, two thirds of a friendly threeway and one-time blowjob compatriots – but you were clearly never meant to be roommates. Like, fundamentally incompatible. Why don’t you come home for a bit? It sounds like you could use the break. See if Cuiviénen will take you back part-time. You can always go back for some recording later.”

He looked up as a rumble approached. “Hey, Makalaurë, I gotta go. I can call you back later, but you should totally talk to Mae about this.” He rummaged in his pocket for his wallet and bus pass. “Really? Naw, he wouldn’t judge… But look, you can call me if you need to talk to someone who’s not your brother. And I won’t tell if you don’t want me to. I’m better at secrets than Maitimo thinks.” The bus doors opened and he stepped on, swiping his card. “Take care of yourself, Káno. And really, you should come back for a bit, it’ll do you good.” He paused, shaking his head. “Dang, I sound like my dad. Okay, bye for real.”

The bus doors closed behind him, and Fingon collapsed in the first empty seat he came to, letting out a deep sigh. He dragged a hand through his hair once more and looked out the window. The setting sun painted long fingers of color across the darkening sky, and Fingon closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the glass.