Adras

Winter hands me a croissant, humming softly to himself. I haven't seen him this happy before, and the fact that it's faerie holidays seems to play a part. But I know he hasn't taken time to rest.

He's eating breakfast, and for once he's down here early enough to eat with me. Morel isn't here this time, which is probably a good thing, because Winter would probably cease to talk in the best case, and steal a croissant and disappear again in the worst.

"Why did you ask me about Blood fae?" He asks. He's been awfully curious ever since I asked him. He's asked me a few  questions as to why, inquiring and overtly curious, like a child might be. But perhaps for not so innocent reasons such as pure curiosity.

"I just wanted to know what it was like, I guess. I wanted to know what differentiated them from the others," I say, around a mouthful of croissant. It's tasty. The cheese in the faerie courts is apparently to die for, and I can't say I disagree.

Winter huffs a brief snort of laughter, sipping his cold water. Then he whirls around, growling deep in his throat, eyes flashing a bright amber. His pupils seem to get smaller as he whips his head around, teeth bared.

Morel is standing in the doorway, and he seems to have gotten the fright of his life. He puts his hands up quickly. "Sorry! I didn't knock, I know. I'm sorry, Winter."

His eyes are all for the pale faerie. They rove across his frame, examining his toes to every strand of hair atop his head, every pale eyelash. They aren't afraid, I can tell. But they are sad. And they are slightly wary.

Winter narrows his eyes without speaking.

Morel startles. "Ah- sorry. I meant- I'm sorry, sir."

That takes me by surprise. Winter seems satisfied as he turns away, fiddling with his croissant again. He swallows hard, then stands, a pinnacle of regality, and leaves. It's so quick I barely have time to speak and ask him to stay. The hole he leaves at the table is shallow, empty. It feels strange without him.

Morel pauses at the door as Winter walks out the back. He looks like he's about to shatter, and I reach toward him feebly before he sits. But I retract my arm. I don't know if he wants my comfort. My fingers curl in against my chest, and I tap my skin gently. Perhaps not.

Morel sighs and rests his face in his hands. "When did I mess up this badly, Adras?"

His voice is a whisper. Gentle and sweet, but hovering on a breaking point. I don't know what to say to comfort him. So, instead, I ask. "What happened, Morel..?"

He swallows, looking at me. His eyes glisten, pale blue pigment that is suddenly pools of melting ice, glaciers falling into oceans. And I know that anyone who loved him would drown in their depths. "Adras, I... it's complicated."

"Clearly," I say, grabbing a croissant and shoving it toward him after putting some cheese in it. "Try some. It's to die for." I nibble on some cheese.

Morel looks at my hand and the croissant in surprise, his eyes wide. Cracking ice. And then, his face collapses into a smile. Bright and cheerful as always, but with a saddening undertone. Like he doesn't think he deserves to smile. "You truly are something, you know that?"

I've gotten used to their faerie smiles and their play on words. I don't shiver as much as I used to, I don't feel the thrill. But I still have the desire to hear more of it. More, I know I need it. But Morel is sad, and his words are broken up into pieces. They aren't like they were when I met him.

But the more I think about it, perhaps they are like when we met. And I just didn't notice it then.

Morel nibbles on the croissant and lets himself eat half before he sighs and drops it onto the plate. "Goodness. I feel like a mess, Adras..."

"I think we all feel like messes," I say with a small smile.

Morel snorts at that. He runs a hand through his hair, which is suddenly a pale shade of green. I'm so startled by the change of colour that I nearly choke on my cheese. But Morel doesn't seem fazed at all. In fact, it seems rather normal. Once again, it's just me being surprised by the antics of the fae.

"We were friends, you know." Morel sighs, rubbing his face and leaving a smear of croissant crumb on his eyebrows. I choose not to mention it. "And he lost someone close to him. And I wasn't sensitive."

It's strangely private information, this. Morel is trusting me with this, something I sense he hasn't told many people. But he seems relieved to say it. The tension in his shoulders eases with each word.

"We were young. And he had duties, because he was royalty. He was... important. And I worked here with no family to lay claim to me, except for a brother who had anger issues." Morel sighs again, running a hand through his hair. "I was young, stupid, and bold. I thought I was cool sometimes, even." He laughs, a bitter sound. "I let myself believe it."

"But you lost your friend." I say softly, repeating something he seems to have been yearning to say.

Morel doesn't look at me. He touches his fork to his croissant, flaking off some crumbs. "I lost much more than that."