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“Oh.” Maglor digested this, trying not to let his confusion show. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I…” Ríanellë sighed, and slumped a little lower on the bench. “I can’t always bring myself to get into it. I have spent so much time in the past trying to explain, or justify, or convince someone that no, this really is a thing – not just a ‘political stance’ or ‘feminist thing’, and I end up embarrassed and awkward and frustrated and defensive, and…I found it was easier to say something else. Like that I just got out of a relationship and need time to myself. Or that I only date men ten years older than me. Or,” she smiled faintly, “that I don’t date musicians.”

“So I never had a chance,” said Maglor quietly.

Ríanellë blew out her breath. “Isn’t it better to know that it doesn’t have anything to do with you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Not really.” Maglor stared at the ground. “I think I’m a little confused that you told Dai the real reason and not me.”

“Yeah, that happens sometimes.” Ríanellë swiped her bangs out of her eyes. “Sometimes I take myself by surprise and actually say it straight out, so to speak. I think I knew that Daeron would just immediately cross me off the list of girls he could date, and not ask many follow up questions. I like Dai, but he’s not the most curious of people, and is pretty self-involved, and he doesn’t ask about other people much. Honestly that felt pretty ideal, having someone who would stop caring once it became clear it wasn’t about him. He’s kind of easy like that.”

Maglor smiled crookedly. “That’s Dai.”

“I like you a lot, Maglor. You’re my friend, and I think you’re amazing, and I care about you tons, and I think you’re sexy and I’ve had a lot of fun with you. But I’m not interested in a romantic relationship - That’s not going to be something that happens between us. And if…if it’s too hard to be my friend and know that, I understand.” Her voice went very quiet at the end, but she seemed sincere.

“No,” said Maglor. “I – no, of course I want to be your friend. You’re awesome, and talented, and I don’t want to just lose you, right? It makes me a little sad, is all, to think…” He trailed off, and Ríanellë moved slightly away from him on the bench.

“If we’re going to be friends, Mags,” she said, very seriously, “I can’t do the ‘but maybe one day she’ll come around’ thing. I’ve done that before, and it sucks, and it’s not fair to me, or to you, and leaves me feeling guilty and pressured and shitty, and I promised myself I wouldn’t let that happen again.”

“That…makes sense.”

There was another long silence, and then Maglor looked over at her. “I’m sorry I was kind of a tool about all this. I think I might not handle rejection well. And some of this is kind of new to me.”

“What, rejection?”

“No, that I’m getting pretty familiar with. The whole…” He waved a hand helplessly. “No-romantic thing?”

“Aromantic.”

“Okay. Aromantic. Yeah.”

“I live to educate,” said Ríanellë, and dropped her head back on the bench.

Maglor tipped his head back next to hers. “While we’re confessing things…”

“Yes?”

“Daeron and I hooked up in the middle of a fight and also I don’t think we’re friends anymore.”

“And you say I keep important things from you?” Ríanellë threw her book at Maglor’s head. “Next time you stomp up to me, accuse me of things after you yell ‘I blew Dai’!”

“It was the other way around actually.”

“TELL ME EVERYTHING.” Ríanellë was grinning as she sat up and tucked a loose strand of hair back under her scarf, and Maglor could tell she was relieved to have the topic shift away from her. “Oh, Mags.”

* * *

Finrod was poring over his work, chewing the end of his pencil and mumbling, “Free will essays on the…24th… Quiz on the fifth…” when all of a sudden he shivered and sat bolt upright. All the hairs stood up on the back of his neck, and he had the distinct sensation he was being watched.

Very carefully, he laid down his pencil and got up. He pushed in his desk chair and crossed to the door. He opened it, and drew up sharply as he came nose to nose with the person standing on the other side of it.

“Hello, Nerwen,” he said cheerfully, after a moment. “Care to come in?”

He closed the door behind her and sat down again at his desk, waiting patiently as Galadriel prowled the room curiously, peering at everything but not touching anything, her hands linked behind her back. Once she had examined every book on his shelves and the folded clothes in the cubbies against the walls, she let out a long sigh and, very suddenly but elegantly, dropped to the ground and curled up on her side.

“Uh oh,” said Finrod. “You’re snailing.”

“I like what you’ve done with your room,” said Galadriel, addressing the carpet and picking at a thread with long fingers.

“Thank you.”

“That bedspread from Bubbe looks good in here.”

“I know.”

“Your plant needs watering though.”

“Shoot. Yes. I meant to get that earlier.” Finrod scanned his desk, eyes alighting on the little pot of water he’d been using for his watercolor brushes. “Do you think it will mind paintwater?”

Galadriel shrugged, still on the floor.

“I’ll get the watering can in a moment.” Finrod leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked down at his sister. “What’s up? I know you only snail when something’s bothering you.”

Galadriel briefly uncurled and recurled, scooting slightly across the floor.

“Even if it’s a moving snail. Do you want to talk?”

Galadriel made a small whispery sound, and Finrod slid off his chair to join her on the floor. He laid his head next to hers, his body stretched out in the opposite direction as Galadriel straightened her own legs and laid flat. Head to head, the two of them neatly bisected Finrod’s room.

They lay quietly, ear to ear for a while, and then Finrod said, “Was dad upset that you’re not planning on grad school?”

“Dad is never upset.” Galadriel stared at the ceiling. “He goes soft and quietly disappointed and takes your hand and looks you in the eye with deep sympathy and asks if everything’s all right, if something changed, and what your feelings are on everything from your love life to your career.” She closed her eyes. “I may be ungrateful for resenting a thoughtful father, but sometimes I’d rather he just get openly upset. I know he is.”

“Suppressing true feelings?” Finrod smiled ruefully. “Goodness, good thing that sort of behavior isn’t inheritable.”

“Hah. Yes.”

Finrod rolled over on his side, and so did Galadriel. They both tucked their knees in and lay there like commas, quietly thinking.

“You don’t need to jump into anything, you know,” said Finrod. “You’ve been working hard for 15 years – you graduated valedictorian a year early, for god’s sake.”

“Which is why I shouldn’t waste my potential.”

“Or why you deserve a break.”

“And lose my momentum?”

“More like keep yourself from burning out.”

“The point is moot, anyway. I have no idea what I want to do. None. Can you believe that, Ingo?”

“It is shocking; you know everything, always.”

“Stop teasing.”

“Only small teasing. You’ve done everything that’s expected of you, all your life, and exceeded expectations, excelled on every front. It’s tiring to keep that up, I know.”

“You would.”

“Yes,” Finrod said simply. “And look where I am.”

“Halfway through a doctorate…”

“And my social and romantic life a total disaster, because I decided to deal with my fear and exhaustion and need to shatter expectation by hurting people I loved.”

“Ingoldo’s vacation from perfection.”

“It would make a halfway decent movie,” said Finrod wryly. “If an unedifying one. On the whole, I’d advise doing what you can to avoid burn out before you lose control totally and turn to catastrophe as a coping mechanism. You were right, you know, when you said those things to me last fall.”

“I was cruel to you.”

“But not wrong.” Finrod reached out and tugged Galadriel’s braid, very lightly. “It’s okay not to know everything. It’s okay not to do everything. It’s okay to wait and see and maybe spend a year just…shitting around some.”

“ ‘Shitting around’? You’ve been spending too much time with Fëanorions.”

“Quite possibly. Do you object to the language or the concept?”

“Neither, actually.” Galadriel chewed her lip. “It’s just a new mindset to wrap my head around. And…” She swallowed, looking very young for a moment. “It scares me, a little. I’m not used to feeling directionless. I’m not used to disappointing dad.”

“I think I can say with total certainty that you could never truly disappoint dad.” Finrod pushed himself upright and held out a hand for Galadriel. “But I think you could maybe use a bit of fresh air. Maybe a bit of fresh, salt air… Do mom and dad still keep Le Cygne in the same place?”

“It’s at Grandfather’s mooring down east.”

“Then I think maybe a brief ‘vacation from perfection’ is needed for us both. Grandmother and Grandfather will be glad to see us, don’t you think?”

* * *

Fingon was in the kitchen trying to quickly drink coffee that was too hot to drink without burning his mouth, and spreading cream cheese on a bagel. He had just burnt his tongue again, stuck his cream cheese knife into his coffee cup, and said “DAMN” loudly, when Maedhros wandered in, looking ruffled and distressed.

“Help.”

“Help?” Fingon stuck out his burned tongue and tried to look at it with crossed eyes. “Sweet honey muffin, I think I can barely help myself. What’s up?”

“I can’t tie my tie,” said Maedhros faintly. “I don’t know if I should be wearing a tie, even, and I think these pants are too tight.”

Fingon set his breakfast down on the island and crossed the room to Maedhros, whose tie was rumpled around his neck and whose hands were hanging helplessly at his sides. “C’mere, let me take a look.”

“I’m freaking out,” said Maedhros in a monotone of dire calm, as Fingon straightened his tie and started to work on the knot. “Why am I freaking out? It’s not even the first day of classes, just orientation for the program, but…”

“It’s okay to freak out,” said Fingon soothingly. “But once you’re there, it’ll feel a lot less daunting. You’ll be meeting your mentor, right? And learning about the classroom you’ll be in?”

“Yes.”

“It’s going to be great.” Fingon finished with the knot and tugged the tie even, then tucked a kiss against Maedhros’ neck just above the collar. “You’re freaking out because you haven’t been on track for something you’re actually interested in since graduating, basically, so now the stakes feel higher, and new stuff is scary. Just remember that you’re brilliant, you’re hard-working, and you get to come home to me, where I will rip that tie off you and make those tight pants even tighter.” He grinned. “Want some coffee with cream cheese?”

“So you do think these pants are tight.”

“You might have gained an ounce or two since you were twenty three, but I like a man with more junk in the trunk. Just don’t bend over suddenly. Not until this evening, anyway.” As he spoke, he quickly undid and redid a button on Maedhros’ cuff that had been mis-buttoned, and settled Maedhros’ glasses even on his nose.

Maedhros laid his hands to Fingon’s hips and pulled him close for a grateful kiss. “What would I do without you?”

“Get laid a lot less.”

“Absolutely true.”

“Though I dunno, I suppose Azaghâl might help you out, there.”

“I will forever regret telling you that story.”

“It’s kind of hot!”

Maedhros kissed Fingon again and let him go. “Whatever you say. Can I borrow some of your ability to never be afraid of anything in addition to borrowing your blue tie?”

Fingon snorted and stepped away. “Mae, the reason I don’t get afraid about work shit is because I haven’t started a new job in four years. This is literally the only job I’ve ever had. And that job is working for my dad. It’s easy not to get scared when you don’t take risks.”

“Are you kidding?” Maedhros caught Fingon’s sleeve and pulled him back. “You think being an executive at a company like this one when you’re barely 26 isn’t taking risks?”

Fingon shrugged. “It’s nepotism.”

“But you’re good at it.”

“So were you.” Fingon looked at Maedhros seriously, and then winked, shaking off the moment and heading back into the kitchen. “Anyway, I get scared of new things plenty! I got scared about asking you to live with me. And then I got scared that you’d leave me when you found out how I do the dishes.”

“Well, sponges are foul, bacteria-breeding filth-grounds.”

“And washcloths aren’t?”

“They’re easier to clea – We’re not having this argument again.”

“No, because this time I will leave you for the scrubbie.”

“Not if I leave you first.” Maedhros leaned his elbows on the counter and watched Fingon pour his coffee down the sink. “Hey. Are you unhappy?”

“Whatph?” Fingon stared at him from above the bagel he’d just bitten into. He swallowed and raised his eyebrows. “You think I’m not happy with you?”

“No, not with me, but…”

“I’m unhappy that this bagel is stale.”

“I meant more generally – ”

“I’m unhappy that you look better in that tie than I do.”

“That’s not true. With your eyes – But what I’m saying – ”

“I’m unhappy I’m going to be late for work because my boyfriend is being a weirdo.”

“That. Work.” Maedhros gestured. “Are you unhappy with your job? I can’t remember the last time you talked about it as anything but a chore, and you don’t even think you’re there for a reason other than favoritism, which is crazy because you are good at this. Jokes aside, Finno…Are you happy at Finwë Corp?”

“Everyone bitches about their job.” Fingon rolled his eyes. “It’d be pretty reckless for me to quit just because sometimes I whine about it, not when other people can’t get a job half as good and I can make good money and help my family and all that. My dad needs the help.”

“I never really pegged you as someone who put duty above happiness…”

“Oh, really?” Fingon’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’ve got a monopoly on the martyr-to-duty thing? Think I’m a less dutiful son than, say, Fëanáro’s passel of totally obedient brats?”

“No!” Maedhros waved his hands. “No, that’s not what I meant! I just… If you’re unhappy, you shouldn’t stay in this job just because you think you should. That’s the kind of thing I do, and I end up miserable, and then you convince me I should actually take a risk and try something else, and I end up a lot happier…”

“Yes, well, you can do the living the dreams thing, and I’ll do the paying the bills thing.”

“Finno.” Maedhros took a step back. “Jesus. That’s not fair.”

Fingon looked at him expressionlessly for a moment and then the chill dissipated. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He reached over the counter and caught Maedhros’ hands. “Hey, no, come here, that was totally uncalled for. Sorry. This is just a little, uh, not what I want to be talking about right now. Kinda makes me tense. Can we shelve it?” He leaned across the counter and caught Maedhros’ chin, pulling him into a swift kiss. “I have to go to work. Good luck with everything today, okay?”