Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"And you better stay out, human!" 

"Ugh!" Philip exclaimed as he fell back on his rear, his satchel falling to the side and dirt spraying up in a cloud around him.

He scowled, rubbing his neck as he glared up at the large, demon bartender who loomed above him for a few seconds before slamming the door to the tavern shut with a resounding thud. Along the street curious witches glanced his way, but he instead looked down at his feet and stewed, scowling beneath his scraggly beard.

How was he supposed to know that news of his exploits reached this town so quickly? Really, with the way he was looked at when he walked into that saloon, you'd think he was the witch and they were the hunters. Thankfully there was no irony in that statement that could make him introspect on it further, and instead he focused on his burning resentment for everyone who lived in this hellish place. 

Ahem. 

Damn it all ! Damn this- this demonic, accursed place, the devil-worshippers who lived in it, and his own brother for running off and- 

"My, that was a rough tumble you took there," Philip jerked at the voice and looked up to see you standing behind him and leaning over him. Your ears pricked up after a moment, and your eyes widened. "Say, aren't you that little human that's been running around the Isles and making messes in his wake? Here, take my hand." 

He subconsciously shrank away from the unfamiliar witch who was waving a hand quite aggressively in his direction, even if your smile was as buttery-sweet as a pile of sugar. He bit his tongue and slowly, painstakingly, took your hand, clasping your palms together with a noticeable tremble carrying through his muscles. 

"Up you go!" You said, and with a tug you pulled him to his feet with a surprising show of strength. He stumbled and you grasped him by the shoulder to steady him. "Woah, there, don't want you to go flying off the street! How're you feeling?" 

Philip gently cleared his throat and took a very pointed step away from you, establishing his bubble of personal space as he brushed off his shoulder. It was a bit more rude than he'd intended, but he didn't really care about taking a witch's feelings into account, of all things. 

"I'm fine," he said, and bent down to pick up his satchel. "Thank you for your help. I'll be on my way, if you don't mind-" 

He moved to step around you, and you stepped into his path. He frowned, and then stepped to the other side of you, to which you, once again, stepped in front of him. 

"Say-" you began, as he stepped to the other side with you simultaneously, "you are a human, right? I haven't seen one before. Everyone thought you were a hoax, you know, but it's quite interesting seeing you in person."

"Yes, quite. Could you perhaps just let me-" he moved his foot to the right, and you did the same, sticking your nose in his face and causing him to stumble away. 

"Wow, you even have round ears like one! Could I touch them? Ah, wait, no, that's a bit weird. Hey, is it true that you don't have a bile sack?" You shot out your questions quickly, your hands folded behind your back. "Do most humans have so much hair, or is that just you?" 

He backed off, and quickly turned his back on you to speed walk away. You walked faster than him and overcame him, looming over his shoulder like some sort of- of- well, he was all out of demonic analogies at the moment, but it was quite uncomfortable. 

"You know, if you're planning on staying the night here in the town, you're gonna be real unlucky," you conversationally said and he tried his best to ignore you. "I mean, everyone's heard of what you did… and what you supposedly did." 

Philip stopped in his tracks. He turned and stared at you dead in the eye, a grimace working its way across his face at your blissfully ignorant smile- one that was, as it was becoming apparent, very, very fake. 

"What do you want from me?" He demanded, and you grinned and stuck your hand in his face. 

You introduced yourself and gave him your name, before winking at him. "I'd like to be your personal tour guide of this town! I'd be a damn good one, too, since I can guarantee that I can keep you from getting kicked out of any building you'd like to give your patronage to." 

Philip's protests died on the tip of his tongue. That sort of deal… if you were telling the truth, that would be incredibly valuable. As much as he'd loath to admit it, he could really do with having a witch in his corner. 

"And what would you gain in exchange?" 

You simply beamed. "Why, you'd be my muse , of course!"

"I- your what?!" He exclaimed in surprise, taken aback by the proposal.

You shrugged and waved your hands enthusiastically from one direction to another as you explained yourself. "I'm a painter, and I've been having a rough time finding a source of inspiration lately, you see," you pulled out a leather bound book from the inside of your coat, and opened it up to reveal detailed charcoal sketches spanning the pages. 

They all seemed to be fairly similar to one another, and as you flipped the pages, he could see that they began to lack effort as more and more time passed. You shut the sketchbook and tucked it away, before reaching out to gently touch his shoulder and bring him in close. 

"You, however, you're new. A human, on the Boiling Isles? Why, it's bizarre! Unique! Spectacular! And," you slowly dragged him closer, until your noses were inches apart, " just the inspiration I needed for a new painting."

Philip hastily pushed you away, drawing away from you and clutching the strap of his satchel like a lifeline. He stepped back and you made no move to follow, instead tucking your hands behind your back and cocking your head like some sort of bird. 

He tried to catch his breath, caught between bewilderment and offense at the too-personal behaviour. If this were in any other context, he might have been flattered… maybe… sort of? He's never been one to sit still unless he was working on something, nor has he ever been amiable to being watched as intensely as it would require to have a portrait made of him. 

Portraits, too, took a very long time to finish. Days, maybe weeks if complications arise. It would mean being in an extended proximity with you for a while, which would mean being exposed to you being… well, you for that time. 

It wasn't that you were entirely unpleasant. Philip was sure that, if you weren't a witch, and you weren't so touchy-feely, and you weren't so loud, and you weren't so insistent on talking to him, then maybe the two of you could have had an amicable acquaintanceship that consisted of acknowledging one another with a nod of one's head after passing each other on the road. 

Of course, you happened to meet his exact criteria for "person he would very much like to stay away from him, please ," so, as unfortunate as it was, he would have to decline. 

He should decline. It wouldn't do well to further interact with one of your ilk , after all. 

He should. He will.

He was going to. 

"You can prevent me from being kicked out of any where?" He instead asked, unsure and more than a little suspicious but notably not declining your offer. 

You nodded in response. "Any place, anywhere, anytime! I've got a bit of a way with words, you see." 

"Right," Philip drily replied, recalling your almost terrifying display of insistence earlier. "And… what exactly does being your, ahem, 'muse' entail?" 

"Oh, nothing perverse. You don't need to strip down and pose for me in the nude, unless you really want to," you gave him a crude wink, to which he instinctively covered himself up with his arms, causing you to laugh lightly. "I'll show you around town, and then afterwards we'll go to my home, or wherever you're staying, and I'll make some sketches of you. When I'm ready, I'll start painting you. Does that sound good?" 

"Do we need to talk at all during this exchange?" 

You gave him a funny look. "Well, I think you'd need to communicate a little bit if you want to get the whole context behind places in this town, but during the sketching process… Well, no, if you insist." 

Philip's tongue darted out to wet his chapped lips, and his knuckles whitened at the strain of clutching onto his satchel so tightly. His gaze darted every which way, first searching your face for any sign of deception, before the area around you, as if you'd suddenly whip up a spell out of nowhere. 

Finally, he sagged. The benefits far outweighed the minor annoyance of having to deal with you for that long- he'd been having a somewhat rough time navigating different places in the Boiling Isles, since most of his tour guides were less than satisfactory (and, no, it was NOT because he was a bastard, or a jackass, or as unpleasant as the rear end of an Abomination, like they told him before ditching him). 

"Very well," he hesitantly said, and reached out a single hand. Your eyes lit up and he grimaced. "I accept this deal, and I hope our partnership continues… amicably."

"Wonderful!" You exclaimed, and grabbed his hand with both of yours, seeming to delight in him becoming off balanced at your vigorous hand shaking. "I'll see you here tomorrow, same time, same place." 

"Wait, tomorrow? Then- what am I to do today?" He questioned, and you gave him a sly grin. 

"Head to the inn down the street, and get a room there. If they don't let you, just mention me- I'm a little famous around these parts," you bragged, and he, doubtful as he was, parted ways with you and walked down the street. 

He looked down at his hand after dragging it away from you and noticed that it was covered in smudged charcoal, most likely having come from you.

Philip could only hope this wouldn't end up with him being run out of yet another town. 

You had misphrased something earlier, it seemed. 

You weren't famous. You were infamous.

The minute Philip had mentioned your name to a scowling witch running the inn, her eyes went wide and her skin went pale, and those curious, pointed ears that all witches seemed to possess drooped down as if they had a mind of their own. 

Just as quick as the fear came, indignant rage also swept her up, and then quiet resignation as she handed him a key and told him, "Second floor, third room on the right."

Out of curiosity, before he went up the stairs he stopped and turned to look at the witch, who had her face in one hand and the other on her hip as if she were experiencing a migraine. 

"Do you happen to know that witch?" He asked in reference to you. 

She grimaced, and waved a hand. "Let's just say that witch likes to stick a nose in everyone's business and keep it at that."  

His interest piqued even more, Philip decided to ask around in the morning about you, before he'd have to meet with you back where the two of you first encountered one another. To say the reactions were a little unique would be an understatement. 

The little demon who sold their wares down the street bugged their eyes out at your name and quickly picked up their junk-filled stand in their tiny arms and ran as fast as their diminutive legs would take them. 

Weird, but a lot of the things in the Boiling Isles were weird, so Philip couldn't yet exactly measure where this rested on the weirdness scale. 

The lanky and shy witch that was watering the flowers outside his house dropped his can and swiftly walked inside when Philip asked him about you, closing the curtains shut and locking the door swiftly.

A little more weird. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, and thrice… was something… not good, probably. In any case, Philip found morbid curiosity to be a motivating factor in this endeavour, and had sought out his last victim of the day right as he was about to turn into the road he would meet you at. 

An elderly witch exiting a rather large and marbled building was who he decided to accost next, but her reaction to your name was far more different than what the others were. 

She simply opened one of her three eyes from behind her thick spectacles and sighed. "Is that troublemaker up to no good again?" 

"Pardon?" Philip was taken aback. 

"That little witch," she looked weary, "getting involved with a human, now, of all things?" 

Philip was left scratching his head as she hobbled away, wondering just what kind of character you were to elicit such reactions. He'd seen a sliver of your true personality the other day- sly, cunning, mischievous- though you seemed to be fairly good at covering it up with good natured, if a bit annoying, cheer.

The mystery was an intriguing little thing, but Philip had better things to do than dig into some unimportant witch's personal affairs. He'd save that for something else that would be actually worth the effort and the risk of being labelled a stalker.

Honestly, you dig through someone's trash one time and suddenly you're "creepy" and "weird" and "need to obey the restraining order"...

He shook his head and got himself back on track. Right. Yes. The meeting, you, meeting you, tourism, art, social interaction. 

Philip adjusted the collar of his coat just as he rounded the corner and saw you in the distance, hands in your pockets as you plopped yourself down on the rickety steps of a dilapidated shop. You idly scuffed your boots against the cobblestone beneath your feet, and as his steps became louder your head perked up and your eyes immediately locked on him. 

"Philip, my good friend!" You exclaimed, your entire body leaning back before you used the momentum to leap up from your spot on the bench and onto your feet. Your bright, sharp smile made him regret accepting your deal already. 

"We are not that close," he rebutted your attempt at slinging your arm over his shoulder, and you simply shrugged in reply. 

"Whatever, whatever," you flapped your hand in response, and then folded your arms behind your back, examining him up and down. "Y'know, I wasn't actually expecting you to show up. I thought you would've hightailed it out of here before day breaks." 

"I'm hardly as adverse to… this, as you may have misconceived," Philip carefully said, eyes shifting elsewhere so you didn't see the lies within them."Besides. I have some things to attend to in Spleenside, and I've heard that there was much to offer me here." 

"Oh? Like what?" 

"Wherever you may keep your records, if you could. A library, even better, should this settlement have one," he said. "Even just plaques on statues would be adequate enough for what I need."

"That's an awful lot of stuff that doesn't seem to be connected," you said, but your feet began to move in a direction nonetheless and he followed you. "Luckily for you, we do have a library, though it's quite small. We've only been keeping records for a few decades, and most of our older books are from outside resources, I believe. Witches who were academics and wanted to donate their findings and whatnot." 

"I assure you, they're all essential parts of what I need," he replied, contemplating what you've told him. 

What his goal was, was to get an understanding of this place. If there was no library, then records and plaques would give him some insight on history and important events in time to get an idea of the culture in this town. He'd been kicked out of more settlements than he can count just for inadvertently insulting something very, very important right to the faces of its residents. 

It was for self preservation, of course, it wasn't that he really cared about their feelings. It just helped in the long run to be smart about what these witches did and did not like hearing him say. 

As for the library, well, even better. All of these short term goals- getting temporary approval from the witches around him before he inevitably discarded them, establishing an understanding of the systems in place, tolerating having to interact with others to gain what he wanted, doing what he must to survive- it was all for the sake of his long term goal. 

Leaving this damned place. 

From here he was only going to have to resort to more and more extreme measures. Deadly ones, even, and he certainly couldn't find it in himself to care about the consequences of doing so. It would do good to use resources at hand while people were somewhat amicable to him before they became outright hostile towards him. 

"What you need?" You asked, breaking him out of his rumination. You gave him a side glance. "Weird. It seems like what you're asking for is knowledge on our history, and I don't see how that really plays into what any human could possibly need ." 

"Can a man not just learn for the sake of learning? I'm in a foreign world with foreign customs. This is all new and fascinating to me," he blandly said, and the look you gave him was amused. 

"Come on, now," you said, a grin working its way across your lips. "We're both not stupid enough to believe that. If what you needed was as innocent as you said it was, then you wouldn't have been run out of so many towns, would you?"

He opened his mouth to answer, to rebut, to defend his innocence, but you abruptly stopped and held out an arm that knocked into his chest.

"Well, look where we are! Our little library, in all its glory," you gave him a wink and raised your arm like it was a gate, granting him passage to the building. "Just don't burn it down, okay?" 

Philip was beginning to really not appreciate your sardonic attitude. 

Your home was a mess. 

It was a little thing, on the outskirts of the town, but the town was small enough for that to not be completely isolating. It was plain, unassuming, which didn't fit with Philip's current assessment of your personality. 

Of course, upon entering it that thought had changed completely. 

'There's drawings on the walls,' Philip thought as you welcomed him inside, hurrying off to get your things ready as he stood in the middle of your little workshop, his hands once again having found their way around the strap of his bag and clutching to the familiar object tightly. 'And paint on the ceiling. How does one get paint on the ceiling?'

How someone could concentrate in  this environment was beyond him. The windows were large and open, allowing for light to filter in and a wide view of the outdoors. There were crumpled and torn pieces of parchment and canvas thrown to the wayside and shoved into corners and behind furniture, anatomical portraits pinned to the walls, and half-finished paintings ruined by furious and frustrated strokes of paint scribbling over their surfaces were piled off to the side in droves. 

It was the room of a mad mind. 

Suddenly you were back in his face again, balancing on the balls of your feet, and finally your manic expression made all-too-much sense as you tugged on his arm to lead him to a little chair by the window.

"Come along, watch your step, sit down," you hurriedly said, kicking aside a few vials of sparkling liquid as you manhandled him onto the seat. "There we go. We should do this before it becomes dark, else I'd have to light some candles and that'd throw off the lighting and composition entirely !" 

"How long is this going to take?" He asked. 

"Oh maybe one, two hours," you said, simply. "I need a few sessions to just study you, you see. Do you mind taking your satchel off?"

He hesitantly complied. "How much is a few?" 

"A few. My, so impatient. Are all humans like this?" You teasingly asked, and then examined his coat. "A very nice shade of blue. A little bulky, though, I would've liked to see the contours of your body better. Is it possible to have this removed as well?" 

"No," Philip immediately said, fighting the urge to hug the garment to his body. "The coat stays on." 

"Shame," you said. "Oh, and stay still, won't you?" 

Without his permission you reached out and grasped his face with both of your hands, your thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones in an almost gentle caress. Your fingers were calloused against his face, almost ticklish, and somehow were in that fine territory between firm and gentle. Your eyes were studying his own in a way that felt as if you were looking into his soul, and as you tilted his jaw this way and that he couldn't help but avert his gaze from your own piercing one. 

"Here we go, face this way- thank you. Back straight, if you will," you said, and then you were touching his hair and he didn't even need your instructions because his spine went ramrod straight as you ran your fingers through his brown locks. 

You picked through his hair, pushing it over his shoulder and stepping back before shaking your head and maneuvering it back to where it originally was. 

Then your fingers danced over his ears and lingered, and he shivered when they ghosted over the helix of one of them.

"Even from up close, it's still unbelievable to see. I'd imagine more than a few witches were even a little uncomfortable with them," you hummed, and finally stopped touching him and making him feel strange at that. "So similar to our own. It really does look like someone took a pair of shears to a witch's ears."

"And I assume you're uncomfortable with them, too?" 

You chuckled. "Far from it. But I can't say the same about your sensibilities and us witches, now, can I? There's some mixed feelings on either side of the coin."

Philip opened his mouth to say something, but you gently put your fingers underneath his jaw and closed it with a pop, settling into a seat in front of his own. You crossed your legs and pulled your drawing materials in front of you. 

"Now, my muse, that's enough talk," you said, and gave him a sly smile. "Just sit there and be pretty for me." 

… damn you. He was only glad that with him positioned to be looking out the window, you couldn't properly see the expression on his face. 

"Do I have to do this?" He hissed at you between his teeth, and you gave him an unimpressed look and crossed your arms. 

"If you want to get back into that bar? Yes, yes you will," you sighed. "It's just a simple apology. Really, for such a self identified 'pragmatist', you should know that there are some things you must do even if your pride doesn't want you doing it."

"It's nothing about my pride ," he insisted, even as you gave him an increasingly suspicious look. " It is not. I just don't see the point in giving an apology when I don't mean it."

"Who cares if you don't mean it? If you want to go back to that bar and have a source of socialization for whatever you're planning, you will need to stop acting like a child and play nice," you said, and he held back the urge to scowl. 

Yes, you certainly did act on your promise to get him into whatever establishment he wanted, but he wished the methods weren't so… so… demeaning . He'd rarely ever apologize for his actions, and not out of cruelness, mind you, but because his actions were rarely ever wrong. 

Well. Wrong to Philip, at least. To others, maybe, but what should he care about others outside of the short term? 

Apparently a lot, according to you, the witch who did something to make every other witch in your vicinity wary around you. Yes, he still hadn't forgotten about that, and no, he wasn't ever going to stop being a little wary of it. 

"Well?" You prompted, and he sighed and he entered the establishment with you, feeling a little suffocated as sound and heat and smells immediately washed over him. 

The merriment didn't necessarily stop upon his entering, but it certainly did falter. More than a few pairs of eyes flickered between his person and the startled bartender in the back, and people hesitantly continues their merrymaking as a tense air rose within the bar itself. 

You nudged him along and he sighed and made a straight line to the bartender at the front. The demon was tall and bull-like, with a large pair of dark horns extending from either side of his head and powerful hooves at the ends of his legs. His clawed hands were digging rivets into the wooden bar beneath him, and he glared down at Philip once he was standing before his might. 

"I believe I told you to stay away , human," he said, voice cold and more than a little annoyed. "And you-" he looked at you. "What are you doing here? Last I checked, I've done nothing to wrong you."

You gave him an innocent expression. "Why, I'm just chaperoning."

Philip inhaled briefly and exhaled once again. He had to do this as planned. 

"I'm sorry you were so sensitiv- OW!" He jumped when you gave him a harsh kick to his shins, before your hand abruptly clutched the back of his head and pressed his forehead into the surface of the bar in a bow. 

"I'm so sorry about him, Brock," you said, apologetically. "He's come to realize the errors of his ways, but he's a bit… socially inept."

The nerve! He wasn't-

"I can see that," the apparently named Brock drawled. "I certainly don't see him having learned manners at any point in his life."

The nerve! He was NOT socially inept. 

"Yes, he's a bit awkward around people. A little, well," your voice lowered and you leaned in as you let go of him, "a little stubborn, too. Please, find it in your heart to forgive him for being stupid. It's chronic, unfortunately."

Brock nodded and Philip once again found himself remembering why he hated the Demon Realm. 

This. This was the damnation he'd been subjected to during his time here. 

Heavens strike him down for taking the Lord's name in vain, but… why, God? Why? 

He looked up at the ceiling and found no answers, only cobwebs. 

"Well, I suppose I can exercise a little lenience," Brock allowed, but he hit Philip with a piercing glare. "But only if he apologizes, as genuinely as he can."

"Oh, he will," you amicably said. "Right, Philip?" 

Philip tried not to scowl at the patronization. He failed. 

The demon and you were both looking at him expectantly, so he took in a deep breath and let it out. 

"I'm sorry -"

"That went better than expected," you cheerfully said as the two of you entered your home. 

Philip felt emotionally and socially drained from all the talking he'd had to do with the demon. Ugh. He was forced to dig into the deepest recesses of his soul and drag out whatever genuine emotions he may have just to deliver that apology believably. 

It was unfortunate he couldn't swear off social interaction forever. It would bring more inconvenience than he'd like. 

"I will never forgive you for this," he said, even as he settled in that same chair he'd found himself sitting in for the past week. 

"Yes, yes, you're very intimidating with your flat teeth and your harmless nails and your certainly not noodle-like arms," you said, and his hands flew to clutch either arm at their biceps in a self-hug. 

"They're not-" he caught himself saying, and coughed. "And I hardly find that to be an insult, given that you have the same setbacks as I do." 

You gave him a wide grin, one that showed off most of your teeth, and from this range he could see that quite a few of them, especially your canines, were rather… pointy.  

"Would you like to bet on that?"

His blood ran cold, and then you laughed, clapping him on the shoulder before finding your place in front of him. "Ah, the look on your face… priceless. Philip, my good friend, you need to learn to loosen up a little."

Philip gave you a flat look. "I've been stuck in a world that is not my own for the past five years. That's just not possible." Not to mention, three of those five years were on his own after Caleb insisted on staying back in one of the towns they visited once he found a witch who caught his fancy. It was an ungodly thing, but ultimately out of his power. For now. 

"Well, have you ever had a taste of any of the drinks over here in the past five years?" And Philip couldn't really say he had, given the priorities at the moment… "Say, let's hit a tavern next week, after you get some of your boring business done and over with. My treat."

"Should this not remain a strictly professional relationship?" He frowned. 

The idea of ingesting any of the liquor here wasn't something he was too fond of, either, given a good chunk of the culinary options in this world were restricted from him due to him being human. And now he was to drink alcohol? Who knew if one swig of any of the swill you may give him would, say, burn a hole through his insides and melt him whole? 

"Pfft, we're going to be stuck together for at least a month. Maybe two, if I don't get my supplies on time," you waved his concerns off and flashed him a smile, twirling your charcoal utensil in your nimble fingers. "We might as well try to get used to one another, else your animosity towards me may cause you to explode."

"I don't have any-" 

" Please don't act like I'm a fool in my own home, my dear muse," you casually worked on yet another sketch of him, not even giving him one of your all-knowing looks. "You don't like me. You certainly don't like witches. That's fine, to an extent, because this arrangement is not contingent on you liking me but on us tolerating each other." You slyly glanced up at him. "Besides, it's not as if you have left the best impression on myself, either."

Philip's cheeks colored despite himself. He didn't look away, as your instructions had insisted, but he did stare at you, confusion clouding his mind. You had noticed? His… distaste towards you was something he certainly did not try to hide, but his adverse thoughts about the witches of this world was something he thought he was able to mask well. Was it that obvious? 

"Why work with someone like me, then?" He finally asked. 

Your smile returned, the smug thing that it was, and you simply turned the drawing over to show him what you made. 

It occurred to him in that moment that this was the first he'd seen of what you had drawn of him. Sure, he'd caught glances, but he hadn't been drowned in curiosity to see them. Now, however, they made him blink and go silent, and his jaw slacked at the sight. 

They were detailed. Incredibly so. The sketchy nature of it made some things a little hard to discern, but the precise strokes that carved out his face, followed the curve of his cheekbones a and the line of his mouth and the shape and emotions of his eyes, that drew his hair down to the stray strands waving in the air- they spoke of observation, intent attention to detail, attention to him , for such a product. 

You even drew the little furrow between his brows that came from his frustrated expression. 

He felt a little too seen. A little too known. A little too… well, not cared for, not exactly, but it must have been something sinister because why else would he feel a little flip in his stomach? 

"You hide your true face, but you're not quite that good at it. Not yet, at least," you commented, and flipped the sketch back around. "I'd say you're a natural liar, but I don't think it's something pathological. I think it's born of something deeper- a reason, perhaps. Maybe it's survival, maybe it's manipulation. Whatever it is, you're a talented amateur, and it's very fun to watch."

You went back to scribbling on the paper. "Certainly, it makes working with you interesting, if only because you're so bad at hiding your emotions that it's laughable. But regardless of that, I will choose to work with you, because once again, you are my muse. Why, you're the first thing in this place that's truly caught my attention."

"So to you, I'm simply a vessel for your art?" Philip asked. 

"In a way," you said, distractedly. "There's potential for more, but you certainly don't want that. In any case, your humanity is… unique. You're completely declawed and defanged, unlike everything else on the Isles. It has that certain… I don't know…"

Philip faintly recalled a foreign saying that was beginning to become popular back home. It took a while to recall it, but recall it he did, and it escaped his mouth without a single other thought put into it. "Je ne sais quoi?"

You stared at him. "I have no idea what that means." 

Philip had been wondering when he was going to regret ever meeting you. It was bound to happen- a witch and a human, spending an extended period of time together? Amicably ? It was inconceivable, but somehow the two of you were managing to make it work, for now. 

He thought he would have regretted it the moment he first sat on that little chair by the window, and when that didn't pass then the time when you forced him to, egads, apologize to the demon running the tavern, and yet, time and time again, you've somehow become a bit of a… fixture in his day-to-day life. 

He wrote it off as natural, unwilling attachment from spending nearly every day for two weeks straight in your presence. After all, one day you were going to slip up, and he was going to remember why, exactly, witch hunters existed in the first place. 

"I bet your human drinks won't even compare to what we've got here," you winked at him from your place on the floor, sitting cross legged with a bottle of unidentifiable liquid in your hand. "Ten snails you'll cry tears of joy by the end of today."

If only that time had come sooner, before he was lured into your very home.

"I don't gamble," Philip bluntly replied, examining his own bottle of… something that you gave him. The liquid was amber, similar to whiskey, but when it caught the light it looked as if flames were captured within its mass.

He also didn't drink, at least not often, but this month was one of firsts, it seemed. The first time he'd lasted longer than a week in a town, the first time he'd been a muse , and…the first time he had been inside a witch's home.

Your bedroom was less of a mess than the rest of your home, bug you still had to shove away more than a few stray objects on the ground before dropping cushions on the floor and sitting on them. It was… certainly not the first choice he'd make, but it was an almost thoughtful gesture on your part- you try to bring him to a tavern, he tells you in no uncertain terms that he's not comfortable with how crowded they were, and now the both of you were here. 

At night. 

In your bedroom. 

Alone. 

The implications were far more intimate than reality, however, and it would be ridiculous to assume otherwise. 

Ridiculous.

Philip popped off the cork of the bottle and took a swift swig to distract himself from his thoughts. 'Ugh,' was his first thought, followed by '...passable.' It surprisingly wasn't as bad as the drinks from back home- those ones had a hell of a kick, but while this drink was warm and tart, it had a strange, honeyish aftertaste. It zinged and popped at his tongue, all the way down his esophagus, warming his chest from the inside.

Once he had lowered the bottle and wiped the residue off his beard, he was pleasantly surprised to see the shocked look on your face. 

"Wow," you said, scratching your head. "Just getting right into it, huh?" 

"Isn't this supposed to be some 'drinks between friends'?" Philip drily answered. "You'd think it have to involve drinking in the first place."

"Wow, smartass," you scoffed, and opened your own drink with a casual and purposeful display of witchcraft. "I really don't know how you manage to pretend to be so nice all day."

"I don't pretend to be nice, I'm merely soft spoken. Unlike you, I can hold my tongue, and thus-" Philip held out a finger as he took another sip of the drink that was slowly growing on him, "-I carry a respectful appearance."

You let out a surprised laugh and dissolved into a fit of cackles, covering your mouth as you snorted. He gaped at you and threw you a scowl. 

"I'm not that- no, stop, stop laughing," he demanded, jabbing a finger in your direction in a way that only seemed to make you laugh harder. "Stop it. I am perfectly respectful."

You sat up and giggled into your drink, each breath blowing into the lip of the bottle with a flute-like whistle. "I'm- aha, my apologies, but-" you covered your mouth as your eyes curved in a smile. "You were quite literally knocked out on your ass your first day here, because you couldn't hold your tongue."

Philip's cheeks heated and he took another drink of the liquor, looking at anywhere but you as you heaved with every attempt to not devolve into cackles. 

"I never said I was good at it," he mumbled, much to your amusement. 

"Aww, I'm just goofing with you," you chuckled light heartedly and gently slapped him on the shoulder (or at least you tried, but it stung like a bastard). "What's a bit of jokes between friends?" 

"We're not-" 

"Ah, ah ah ah," you pointed at him. "You called this 'drinks between friends' earlier. You quoted me. There's no escape now. We're friends, bud."

"The horror." 

"And now you can't do anything else other than accept it," you flashed him a grin that was soon hidden by the lip of your bottle. You drew it away and smacked your lips with a satisfied expression. "And then we will do… bonding activities." 

He rolled his eyes as he nursed his drink, leaning back against the wall. "Let me take a guess: we'll be playing drinking games, divulging our secrets to one another, giggling about gossip on the street?" 

"I was thinking something different," you set the bottle down and laced your fingers together, propping your chin on top of them with wide eyes. "Tell me about yourself."

Philip gave you a blank look. "Pardon?"

"I've never met a human before! Trust me, these past two weeks, you've been a very lovely muse," here you winked at him, and he looked away quickly with a flustered expression, "but we haven't had much talk about what it's like to be human!" 

"It's not much different from being a witch. It's just that we cannot do magic, we are lacking in some of your bodily features, and…" humans are Godly creatures and witches are demonic ones, but that wouldn't serve the mood well. "... other things." 

"Okay, that I know, but what about… you know," you raised your eyebrows suggestively at him. 

Philip squirmed under your intense gaze. "I… don't know?" 

"The Human Realm," you prompted, "what is it like? Is it true that the rain doesn't boil over there? Or that you use coins and not snails? Or that-" 

Philip held up a hand to pause you, a little dizzied by your quick tongue. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, considering what to say to you. 

It's been half a decade since he had been thrown into this world. Half a decade since he last saw green trees and blue skies. Half a decade since he was able to roam the land with confidence, with security, with familiarity. 

Half a decade since he's seen another human other than his brother. 

Thinking of home brought a bad taste to his mouth; it was that of sadness and sickly sweet nostalgia. His only good memories, as sparse as they may be, were from the Human Realm, and thinking of it now only brought bitter defeat to his mind. 

But your gaze was so expectant, and your tone of voice was so genuine. He'd met a few people who'd asked him about the human realm before. Some were academics who picked his mind, some were folks trying to settle a bet. None really asked out of curiosity's sake, or, in your case, genuine passionate interest. 

Although, as time went on, Philip had soon come to recognize that you were a witch of passion. Everything else about you was a front perhaps, but that sort of emotion wasn't one you could fake. 

… he'd need to be more drunk to get into depth if he wanted to, though. 

Philip pulled up the bottle and tilted it back, letting the liquid run down his throat. You stared in awe as he chugged down at least half a bottle of mystery-liquid, in the process essentially throwing his self preservation instincts to the wind. If this burnt a hole through his stomach later, that was for his future self to worry about. 

Philip blinked as he pulled the bottle away, a pleasant buzz settling into his body. He swayed a little where he sat, and then he gently set the bottle down before folding his hands together. 

"In the Human Realm…" he mused, closing his eyes. "If you stepped into the water, it wouldn't boil you. Not a lake, or the ocean, or a storm. The rain, too, was safe. Peaceful. You could stand out there and feel it on your skin, and nothing would happen save for you getting awfully wet." 

"And it doesn't even burn?" You asked. "What about sea monsters? Don't you have those?" 

"It's far less lethal in the Human Realm than it is here," he huffed, pulling his knees up to his chest with a frown. "Things made sense back there. They were right. Here, everything is… wrong." 

You gave him a curious look. Folding your legs underneath you, you slightly leaned forward to examine him, looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite parse through his slowly fogging brain. 

"What do you mean by that?" You asked, curiously. 

"It just is," Philip's eyebrow crooked as he tried to find the right words to explain himself, his words slurring out. "It is- you cannot take a single step outdoors without being accosted by some sort of, some sort of affront to nature. And, everything wants to eat you, or kidnap you, or scam you with lies and trickery, and nothing makes sense, and-" Philip pulled at his hair, perspiration making its way down his face. "- and- and witches!"

You blinked. "... witches?" 

"They're everywhere!" He threw his hands in the air. 

"... you don't say." 

"It's not right," Philip suddenly felt a bout of weepiness overcome him, and he sluggishly leaned into his knees, hugging himself like a babe looking for comfort. "Those things aren't right. Witches, and demons, and monsters, and… all sorts of… barbaric things in the world…" 

"... uh huh," he couldn't see your face, but your tone shifted drastically. "What's your, uh, exact problem with them, though? I get that this place is a far cry from where you're from, but this place is our home, too."

"Yes, and from where I'm from, if any of you witches were there, they'd…" Philip drifted off, and put his face in his hands. "Oh, God."

"... what?" 

"I am never going to go home, am I?"

"I, uh…" you reached out your hand and patted him on the head when he began to weep. "There, there?" 

"I'm going to be stuck in this, in this- this insane land full of, of vile creatures and witchcraft and- and all sorts of terrible Devilry, and-" 

Your patting became a little more aggressive and he winced, quickly shutting up. After a few minutes your patting returned to being comfortable, and he closed his eyes at your light touch. 

"... I do not know what to think anymore," he finally admitted, removing his hands and looking up at you with puffy eyes. "My- my brother- I've an older brother, he's yeigh high, a bit of a silly hairdo, terribly stubborn-" 

You looked both amused and constipated, and you patted his head again in that very nice way of yours, and he leaned into the touch with a sigh. 

"Go on, take your time," you urged. 

"Where was I? Right. Brother," Philip muttered. "He left me three years ago. Ran away with a witch. Can you believe that! A witch!" 

"Scandalous," you mused. 

"Exactly!" He exclaimed. "And- and then, I was left. All on my own. What's so good about witches, anyways?" 

"Maybe I'm the wrong person for you to be asking that."

"Yes, yes, sorry. My head's a little… somewhere else at the moment. Maybe it… I…" he reached for the bottle of that sweet, honeyed sap, but you plucked it out of his grasp. "Noooo…"

"Sorry, bud, but that's enough for you tonight," you examined the label on the bottle with a squint. "Maybe it was too much for you." 

"Whatever," he huffed and tilted his head back, glaring a hole into the ceiling. "Still. I've got that conundrum, from earlier. I don't know what to think anymore. I've found myself in the company of a witch recently, you see?" 

"Oh? Do go on."

"Yes. Terribly annoying thing. But…" his nose scrunched up. Blegh. He thought he was going to be sick. 

Suddenly you were in his space, a wide smile on your face. "What is it? Was that witch charming? Perhaps roguishly good looking? Intelligent? Wise?" 

"A nuisance," he finally said, and your smile dropped. "But… if you promise not to tell this witch that I said this…" 

"On my honor," you playfully saluted. 

"Right. Well, between you and me," he leaned in, and so did you. "I've found myself quite… enjoying the company."

After almost a month in your care, Philip had come to realize that you had quite the flirtatious personality. It wasn't anything serious, but it was something you seemed to take great joy in poking fun at him with. 

Case in point… 

"Such pretty hair," you idly said one day, whilst doodling a sketch of him at a different angle from the usual. "It's a shame you don't take better care of it."

Two things happened at once. Firstly, Philip's face went aflame, and he hastily turned his head away from you towards the window despite your protests. Secondly, a frown crossed his lips and he immediately began another one of his wars of attrition with you. 

"I take perfectly good care of my hair for a man my age," he protested, and he could feel your blank stare boring a hole into the back of his head. 

"What, do you run a comb through it once, slather some oil in it if it's too tangled, and then call it a day?" You asked, and at his silence you audibly gasped. "No. You don't." 

"What I do with my hair is my business," he muttered, and suddenly you jumped out in front of him and he flew back in surprise, wobbling and then tipping from his chair and falling onto his arse. 

You perched yourself on top of the fallen chair, looking down at him with wide eyes. "That is a crime," you said, pointing at him. "Everything about that is a disgrace against proper self-grooming etiquette and I won't stand for it."

"Why do you even care?" He groaned, rubbing his back as he slowly got on his knees. 

"Listen here, my little muse," you were suddenly in front of him and jabbing a finger into his chest. "You are incredibly pretty. It's unfair. Incredibly unfair. And the fact that you do nothing with your hair? Tremendously unfair. It is terrible and I have to do something about it."

Philip lost track of what you were saying sometime around the second sentence, his face heating up to a terrible extent. He carefully leaned away from you and looked off to the side. "I… uh… uh huh."

You poked him again. "I'm going to be doing you a favor and braiding your hair. You will not escape this."

"But-" 

"You are my muse, if I say I'm doing something to your body for the sake of art, by the sky above I am doing whatever I want to your body for the sake of art, because your body is essentially mine during this time." 

"I. Uhm," Philip didn't know how to approach that unintended innuendo. There really was no point in a fight, so his shoulders slacked and he let out a sigh. "Very well. But no scissors."

"Not even for that dead animal you call a beard?" 

"No. Scissors." 

You shrugged and rushed away, off in a whirlwind of motion and chaotic energy to fetch whatever torture instruments you were going to use on him. Philip sighed, suddenly world weary as he lifted his chair back up and sat on it, crossing his legs. 

You were an unstoppable force, Philip had come to learn over time. If you had your sights set on something, you'd achieve it- though your methods of achieving it were dubious, at best. 

Yes, you made a good guide, but your attitude in juxtaposition to the attitudes of the other residents of the town was jarring, to say the least. Why, it almost seemed like they were scared of you, but that'd be preposterous. 

You were just a simple artist, after all. An enigmatic, pushy artist, but nothing like a threat compared to any other witch of more magical prowess. 

Philip contemplated this as he settled his hand on his knee, chewing on the inside of his lip. He thought about what you said earlier, about his appearance. You really were weird- at first it'd seemed like you had arranged this entire ordeal just because he was a novelty-  human in the Demon Realm!- but now, with you trying to hang out with him, paying him compliments, even trying to get him to admit the two of you were friends… It was strange. 

Plus, it was almost the end of the first month, and you were nowhere near done with your painting. Philip wasn't exactly experienced when it came to painting, so he couldn't quite say anything on the topic- maybe this was a normal part of the process and he was being paranoid- but that seemed far too long for one, simple painting to take. You did say it would take one-to-two months, but he hadn't really thought about it in depth until now… 

Were you extending the time it took on purpose, perhaps? But why? It couldn't be that you, maybe, wanted him to stay longer in your presence… could it? 

And that would imply…

Philip's cheeks heated and he bit his tongue, and he quickly reached up to pull his hair out of his ponytail. He shouldn't jump to assumptions like that. It would only cause problems. 

"I've got it!" You exclaimed, and he jolted when you appeared back in the room, a few items in your hands. "We don't really have the time to wash your hair, unfortunately, but I can still brush it out and tie it back. Now sit tight and face the window for me."

Philip shifted and you crouched down behind him, pulling his hair into your hands. You made efficient work in untangling his unkempt locks, combing through the ends of his hair before, slowly, moving upwards over time. 

He couldn't help but close his eyes at the feeling of bristles being pulled through his hair and brushing against his scalp. You were slow, methodical, and, above all else, caring in your technique. It was honestly relaxing, in a way. 

It made him feel cared for, even if he was a bit embarrassed from being manhandled into this position. 

"So," you casually spoke up, and he opened a single lazy eye as you peered over his shoulder. "You never told me more about the human realm. I'd still like to hear more about it."

He frowned, confused. "When did I tell you about the human realm?" 

"Just some weeks back, I asked about the rain over there," you flippantly answered, "but you didn't really elaborate more than 'it doesn't kill you'."

Philip was quiet for a few minutes. He certainly didn't remember answering such a question, but it probably wasn't important.

"The Human Realm," he began, slowly. "Some things there aren't too different from here."

"Oh?" 

"The plants are a little similar," he mused, before his tone turned a bit wry. "Though they certainly aren't as alive as the ones here. No teeth or acid pitchers to be found."

"Truly? But what ingredients do you use to make potions, then?"

"We don't…" Philip hesitated. He had heard stories of witches making elixirs to bewitch the children of the neighborhood, but living here has told him that some of the ingredients needed for those sorts of enchantments were ones only found in the Demon Realm.

Really the whole magic situation was just confusing. If one required a bile sack to do magic, then humans were entirely incapable of magic, which would then mean that either the witches being hunted would have to either have come from the Demon Realm somehow- which was proving to be unlikely- or just weren't witches in the… first… place. 

The idea disturbed him. If they weren't executing witches, if witches didn't pose a threat at all in the first place, then why was there such a scare? 

He decided not to mull on the topic for too long. "We don't make potions, exactly. Not the kind you are used to. Mostly things with medicinal uses, meant to help with infection and the like," he shrugged. "Certainly not as efficient as potions here." 

"How odd. But these mixtures do have an effect on the body, despite being made by a human with ingredients from the Human Realm?" You asked. 

"That's the sort of question to ask someone more experienced in this sort of field than I. Time goes on, intelligent people make more wonders, and regular men like me appreciate them but can't fathom how they work," he said. 

"Oh, you're not just any regular person," you dragged your fingers against his scalp and he shivered pleasantly. "You're my muse."

"Is that supposed to mean something?" He asked, and then had to stifle a chuckle when you gasped in false-offense. 

"Tell me of the wonders of your world," you demanded, separating his hair into three pieces. 

"The wonders?" Philip thought about it for a moment. "Well… let me think. The moon and the sun aren't too different from the ones here, as well as the sky. The clouds here are very thick, though. Yellowish. They billow out from the boiling sea like steam and rise into the sky. It's not the same from the Human Realm; the clouds there are white and drift across the sky naturally."

You were quiet, taking his words in. "So the Human Realm and the Demon Real aren't too different, then?" 

He laughed. "At a face value, but then I'd have to tell you that our country isn't built on the corpse of a Titan. There are no bones jutting into the sky or anything like that," he said, and glanced over his shoulder at you. "But if we talked about differences, we'd be here for a week chattering nonstop."

"Maybe I'd like to have you for myself all week long," you raised your eyebrows suggestively and he coughed out a laugh, quickly looking away. "Aww, are you a bit shy?" 

"Quiet, you," he muttered as he elbowed you, and you laughed. 

"So testy. You're a bit like one of those children who pull on the pigtails of the ones they fancy," you tugged on his cowlick with a teasing tone in your voice, and he slapped your hand away, much to your amusement. 

You tied off his braid and flipped it over his shoulder, clapping your hands in delight. "There we go, all done! Now just stay in that spot, okay? I want to get you at this angle." 

He was silent as you began scratching at your parchment. His feet nervously tapped against the floor, and he looked at you from the corner of his eye. 

"Why did you ask me about the Human Realm?" He finally asked. 

"Hmm," your pointed ears twitched, one at a time, before you looked him in the eye. "You seemed homesick. I was curious as to why."

Philip was struck silent. He stared into his lap, thoughts foggy as he tried to find a way to speak to you. "So you…" his words didn't feel like his own. "So you asked me of my home… therefore reminding me of my homesickness?" 

"I mean, it was not just that that I saw in you," you idly said. "You also seem like an awfully lonely person." 

"... huh?" 

"Five years in a world not your own, three without your brother as your companion," you began. 

"How do you even know that-?" 

"Plus, your winning attitude most likely didn't merit you a lot of friends beforehand," you pointed your charcoal at him with a raised eyebrow. "Admit it. I'm probably the first person who tolerated staying around you for this long." 

Philip's face heated in indignance, and he scowled at you. "I don't need to stand for this sort of disrespect. I can just leave, you know."

"Sure," you said. You leaned forward from your place across from him. "But before you do that, at least give me a bit of insight. Why do you despise witches so deeply?" 

Philip opened and closed his mouth. He felt as though he was caught, but in what, he didn't know. Should it be guilt he should feel, or fear, or righteous fury? Should it be that he should leave, both you, and this house, and this town, or should he stay and explain himself, for whatever reason? 

Was there even anything to explain himself for? He was obviously in the right. Clearly, what he believed in was natural, and nothing out of the ordinary. 

At least, it was back home. 

How does one explain to a witch from a foreign world with their own culture and customs that the very culture that they grew up in was sinful and wrong? 

Philip hated being confused, but it was seeming to be a more and more familiar feeling. 

"I… don't-" 

"You do," you said, staring him down. "It seems that our very existence is enough to set you on edge. It was cute teasing you the first two or three times, but now it's become tiresome. What has any witch ever done to gain such ire?"

"Perhaps it is that I keep on being tossed out on my ear by them?" 

You gave him an unimpressed look. "Before or after you insulted them in some way?" 

He was quiet, and you sighed. You stood from your place and walked over to him, before crouching down next to where he sat. 

"Listen," you said, slowly, "I'm not a big fan of making things right, but there's some things even I can't ignore. This weird, predetermined bias you've got against other folks living on the Boiling Isles? It's unacceptable." 

"But-" 

"They're just people living their lives, not harming anybody. Same as you humans living your lives back in the Human Realm. Why, I'm sure that if it was a witch in the Human Realm, they'd be just as lost as you are," you said. "Nobody here is really any more malicious towards humans than they are towards each other, if that's what you're worried about. It's how you treat them that changes how they treat you."

Philip was silent for a few moments. There was a part of him, a small, traitorous part, who knew what you said was true. His predisposition towards witches and demons was ridiculous. But everything else, everything he's known, everything he's been taught all his life… how could he just throw that away? 

"At home, there was a scare," he slowly said, "a worry, that there were things being practiced that went against our beliefs. A larger worry that these things would be dangerous, and that the cause of them were the root cause of all evil in the world."

"Were they?" You asked. 

"... no," he admitted, after a minute of quiet. "It was just… humans hurting humans." 

You hummed, and he felt drained. It hurt to admit something like that- to admit that there was such a flaw in what he'd believed all his life, but it felt necessary. 

Philip let out a shaky breath and slumped into himself, and you reached out and gently touched his hair. He leaned into your touch, saying nothing more as a quiet, if tense, air surrounded the two of you. 

"Perhaps we should end our session for now," you said, and gently directed him from the room and to the sitting room. "I'll make us some tea and you can go back to the Inn."

"..." he was silent, staring down at his shoes. Humans hurting humans. Damn it. Was that what it'd been all along? All of those hangings, burnings, executions- all of the things he'd seen since he was a child- all moot. 

Caleb really had been the one to realize it first. 

… Was he really that homesick? Or was he just lonely? 

"About that," Philip said, and you turned to look at him. He looked anywhere but at you. "May I stay the night instead?" 

Being around you had become detrimental to his physical health. It seemed like every time you touched him, talked to him, hell, even looked at him, he would suddenly be accosted by a bout of his new and spontaneous physical ailment. 

It was most troublesome, because quite a lot of his day-to-day life nowadays included having to spend time in close proximity with you (and he certainly didn't want to give that up). 

But, alas, every time your hand would so much as brush his own… 

"Philip, are you alright?" You asked, slightly concerned. 

He covered his face with one hand, turning away from you with an embarrassed grimace. He subtly stepped away from where the two of you were walking side by side down the cobbled road, following a path from the inn to the library. 

"I'm… I'm fine," he stammered out, breathing heavily in an attempt to banish the heat from his face. "Just a bit of a cold, is all."

"A cold?" You asked, confused. "I know one can get cold, but I didn't know one could have a cold…"

"It's a human ailment," he said. "It'll go away soon. Just, ah, keep y-your…" 

Philip peeked out from between his fingers to see you reaching out to touch him. Your fingers grazed his forehead for just a second, and his heart began pounding at an unhealthy rate. 

He practically jumped away from you and scrambled to cover his face, waving you away with his other hand. 

"Just! Keep your distance, it may be… it may be contagious, you never know," he fibbed, sweat trickling down the back of his neck. 

You hemmed and hawed nervously from behind him, but, eventually, allowed him to continue on his way in the most awkward of manners. He silently cursed himself, and his own body, for his foolish predicament. 

He probably looked much like a jester to you, what with his red face and nervous complexion. Maybe you were laughing at him right now. Maybe, maybe he…

… why was he so damn worried about how you thought of him? He banished the worries, shaking his head in a way that had you side eyeing him in concern. 

"Philip, if you aren't feeling well, maybe you should stay home today. We can postpone our session for later as well…" you jumped when his head snapped to face you with wide eyes. 

"No. No!" He hurriedly tried to reassure you, a nervous smile making its way across his lips. "It really is nothing, I am fine, we can… we…"

Can keep on going on with him acting a fool all day. 

He didn't like the idea at all. He felt… odd. As if his stomach was filled with fluttery little bugs trying to fight their way out of his body, and his body was losing. Violently. 

He wanted to throw up one moment, and then laugh with glee the next. He wanted to stay by your side, and then run for the hills in embarrassment. He wanted to hold your hand, and then… 

Philip bit the nail of his thumb in passive thought. 

No. That could not be right. 

Perhaps it would be best to… abandon such thoughts before they grew dangerous. 

"Actually," he said, distantly. "I may have to stay back at the Inn today anyways. I have… things to do."

You gave him a disappointed look, but wished him well on his way. Philip stood there in the middle of the road, feeling a little lost, though his resolve had only strengthened. 

It was almost the end of the second month. Despite all you had done to drag the time out, you were about finished with your painting. 

It was time for him to leave. 

Despite knowing it was inevitable, it didn't make it any less harder for him. 

Some part of him, at the back of his mind, told him that he could stay. He didn't have to go. He didn't have to move from place to place, because what would he be in search of now? 

There was no point in holding onto his prejudices towards the people of this world. Already befriending you would have branded him a hypocrite even without his revelation. 

Additionally, there was no hope of going home. He felt it deep in his gut as a universal truth, as something that he should have accepted but had stubbornly resisted against for years. 

It made him feel ill at ease, having no motivation, nothing to look for, nothing to do anything for. Philip supposed he could go crawling back to his brother- but what then? Just stay there as the awkward third wheel, with him and his witchy partner and no friends of any sort because God knew he was hopeless at that. 

Except, he also was not. He had you, in a way, but… perhaps that was in reverse. Maybe you had him, but he didn't have you. 

Maybe you'd be happy if he stayed, but over time you'd eventually drift away, and he'd be stuck in the same predicament as before, only then it would have been even more painful because he didn't get it over with the first chance he got. 

Philip was tied up, lost, confused. He didn't know what he really wanted. He didn't know what to look forward to. He supposed he somewhat liked his nomadic lifestyle… it was a bit of an adventure, going from place to place, uncovering new secrets and hidden facts and knowledge of the world. But it had been a means to an end. It was only meant to be a means to an end. 

So what should he do now, now that he was to do something that he'd enjoy, instead of something that was just… necessary? 

Philip looked down at the journal he'd been carrying his entire time here. One hand reached up to touch the short, though slowly growing, hair on his face in contemplation. 

What should he do? 

Two sharp knocks rung out in the room and Philip jumped, fumbling with the journal before throwing it to the side. It thumped soundlessly onto the pillow of his bed, laying there in a somewhat betrayed manner… if… if books could have expressions or look betrayed. 

Philip stared at the ceiling blankly. Maybe he was going crazy from all of this nonsensical thinking. 

Two more knocks sprung him out of his reverie, and he sighed and trudged over to the door. He'd really been dreading opening that thing- opening it meant leaving which meant facing reality which meant accepting the fact that he was going through a midlife crisis- but whoever was on the other side probably wasn't going to leave soon. 

He opened the door with his usual unimpressed expression, and blinked in surprise when you were there, nervously fiddling with the strap of a satchel of your own thrown over your shoulder. You flashed him a smile, and his heart jumped into his throat. 

"May I come in?" You asked. 

"I- ah- feel free," he eventually settled on saying, looking anywhere but at you. 

You graciously made your way in, and he closed the door behind you as you looked around the small room of the inn, a slight frown at your lips as you examined the practically bare space. The only place that really had any life was the bedside desk, covered in loose parchment, documents, and diagrams of all kinds.

"Cozy," you said, a little awkwardly, before gazing at him with a bit of resignation in your eyes. "So. This is it, then?" 

Philip's shoulders slumped and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Apparently so. This is where our time together ends, I'm afraid."

You sighed and wandered over to his bed, glancing at his discarded book before sitting down. You brought your satchel into your lap. 

"... are you positive that you want to keep going out there? On your own?" You asked, looking up at him from the corner of your eye. 

Philip wearily sat down next to you, the bed sinking slightly from your combined weight. It was small enough that the two of you had to sit knee to knee, and it brought a heat to Philip's cheeks that sparked and dimmed as he said his next sentence. 

"I've nowhere else to go. May as well return to the familiar," he said. 

"You could stay here. My doors are always open to you." 

"I don't want to be a bother," he shook his head. 

He also knew that living with you would be unbearable. Not exactly because of your personality (okay, maybe partly because of your personality), but because it would be painful to always be in reach of what he wanted but never could have. Living with someone who he felt so deeply for would be a cruel twist of fate, and he knew that if he accepted your offer he would never leave if he got another chance. 

He had to nip this in the bud. Now. 

"Besides, I do look forward to my adventures… sometimes," Philip said, which was partly true. 

You looked at him with an unreadable expression. You opened your mouth, hesitated, and then lifted a finger. 

"A moment," you said, and then turned to rummage through your satchel. 

His head turned as well, so he could look out the window of his room. It was midday, but it was soon to get dark- and he needed to be out of town by sunset if he wanted to reach the planned encampment on time. 

"Here!" You exclaimed from beside him, and he turned to face you at the same time you turned to face him and- 

He was treated to the image of your eyes, wide and surprised, looking into his own. The two of you were practically nose to nose, breaths intermingling hotly with one another. 

Philip was enraptured for a minute as he gazed into your eyes, as if he could see the stars within them. He wasn't focused on your lips, or your body, but moreso on the way your brows rose in surprise, and your ears twitched downwards along with them, and your mouth quirked up at one corner. 

Why couldn't he allow himself this? Just this once? Even if it was just staring from afar?

Your fingertips grazed his for a second, and he was jolted out of the spell and pulling away as if he were burned. He felt guilt at the hurt in your eyes, his stomach churning uncomfortably as he tried to will away the burning heat in his face. 

"... Philip," you said, placing a hand on his own, and he jumped to move away but you held on, clutching it tightly. He turned to look at you, and you had something in your hand. "I want to give this to you."

Philip reached out and gingerly took the small canvas from your hand, and then he stared at himself- or rather the portrait of himself. 

It was not from one of the many sketches of him staring out of the window seriously like you usually had him do so you could have a better viewpoint of his ears. Instead it was one of him facing you, a half smile on his face with his usually serene gaze crinkled with amusement. His hair was loose around his shoulders instead of being tied up in either a ponytail or a braid, and the entire painting spoke of slow, methodical care. 

Philip looked up at you, and he gaped at your suddenly flustered expression. This time it was your turn to look elsewhere. 

"... do you not want to keep this for yourself?" He asked, softly. "I thought this was…"

"Pssh, I've already got plenty of you to last a lifetime," you winked at him and patted your satchel knowingly, where your sketchbook probably was- most likely filled to the brim with sketches of him. "Just… take it. As a gift. And should you find yourself missing my illustrious company, you'll look at it for the memories." 

Philip's lips twitched into an unsure smile, and he put the portrait away. Now that his other hand was free- his first one was still held hostage by yours- he didn't know what to do or say. 

You shifted beside him, and in the peace of that moment you leaned in, close. His breath hitched as your free hand reached out and, ever so gently, brushed against his bristly cheek and then grasped a lock of his brown hair. You held it close to your face for a moment, and in a burst of absolutely embarrassed realization, he noticed that you were pressing your lips against it. 

His eyes widened and his stomach was assaulted by another plague of fluttery beasts once again, making him feel all gooey and fluffy on the inside in a manner that made him squirm. You looking up at him with half lidded eyes decidedly did not help that feeling subside. 

"I will miss you dearly, my muse," you muttered, and his hand rose to where his other was holding yours and clasped it tightly. 

He didn't draw it close to his chest, nor kiss the back of your hand despite him desperately wanting to. He sat there in peace with you as time passed by, as the sun slowly lowered to the horizon and the sky began to darken. 

He didn't kiss you. He didn't confess. He stayed painfully silent. 

"I will miss you too," was all Philip said, and then he clamped his teeth shut behind his lips and refused to speak any more.

It was inevitable, but that didn't mean he had to like it. 

Philip stood at the edge of the town, facing the wilderness ahead with a set brow and a frown on his lips. Having to part with you earlier felt as though he had to rip a part of himself away and throw it to the wayside. What had become familiar over the past two months was now something he had to abandon for the unfamiliar that lied ahead. 

His boots dug into the earth, toeing the ground beneath him nervously as he tried to will himself to walk forward and failed. Taking that first step would just mean he would have to take the next, and the one after that, and the one after that one. 

Taking the first step meant that he would have to follow through with leaving. 

And he was. Following through, that is. He just… needed some time. 

His eyes darted towards the horizon, towards the large skull of a creature long dead with its unsealing sockets tilted towards the sky. The sun dipped between the broken horns of the skull and the sky was darkening in the opposite direction of it. Soon, sunset would pass, and it would be dusk, and then night. 

He needed to move. 

Why can't he move? 

Philip's thoughts immediately strayed to the obvious- to the witch that lived within this town, the witch that for some reason was avoided by everyone else, the witch who'd call him pet names and compliments- but he did away with the thought. 

His lips pressed against each other, and feeling as though his heart was completely still within the confines of his ribs, he rose one foot and went to take the first step…

"WAIT!"

Philip stumbled, tripping over his own feet. He awkwardly twisted around to see who it was that yelled out so brashly. 

"For the love of- oh blithering son of a- WAIT, PHILIP, STAY RIGHT-" Your figure appeared between the buildings in the distance, and Philip's jaw dropped upon seeing you. 

He called your name in disbelief as you approached, and your smile in return was bright enough to startle his heart back into beating. 

You were panting, sweat dripping down your face and your pointed ears folded back as you leaned against your knees. You had two, heavy bags- one on your back and one on a strap across your front- and you held out a single hand as he stood above you, his own hands hovering above your body anxiously. 

He said your name again and you glanced up at him with a tired, but sincere, smile. 

"Philip," the way you said his name was with such relief that he almost wanted to swoop you into his arms and press his lips against yours then and there. "I'm so… so happy you didn't leave yet."

"I was just about… what are you doing here?" He asked, reaching out to help steady you on your feet. 

You settled your hands on his wrists and cocked your head, smirking despite the sweat slicking your skin. "What? You're leaving without me?" 

"I… I mean, that was the plan, yes-" you pressed your hand against his mouth and he blinked in surprise. 

"Yeah, no," you blankly said, eyes lidded. "Am I just supposed to let you go out there? Alone? Without having naught but a clue about anything that lies ahead?" 

"Well, I have some inclination…"

"Please," you rolled your eyes. "You've been living in this land for five years, perhaps, but I've been here for my entire life. Think of me as your long term tour guide, if that makes you feel any better." 

"It…" he sighed, and stepped back. "Are you sure you want to leave with me? You've a life of your own here." 

"I certainly don't have any friends and family who'll be missing me," you shrugged, and then gave him a wry smile. "But I do have someone I care for who'd miss me if I stayed instead." 

"Ah… well.." Philip's cheeks went red as you playfully flicked his cowlick aside. 

"You are the one who admitted it, my dear human," you said. "You would miss me, we are friends… we're bonded for life now. All we need is a blood pact." 

"Is that an actual thing?" Philip asked, slightly alarmed, and all you gave in return was a wink. "No, I'm serious. Is that-?" 

"Anyways, off we go, into the great unknown!" You slung your arm over his shoulder and pulled him close, and he stumbled to stay in pace with you as you took the first step forward. "It's just you and me. How do you feel about that?" 

Philip looked at the sunset, at the changing colors of the sky, at the thick clouds that swirled upwards from the sea at all sides of the Isles. He gazed upwards to where he could see but the faintest sliver of the moon started to peek over the horizon. 

His eyes crinkled into a smile. "... I believe it was meant to be." 

There were some things Philip didn't take into account when he decided he was going to share his nomadic lifestyle with you. One was… well, the incredibly close proximity between the two of you. 

Meaning he didn't realise the two of you would be spending literally every moment of every day together. You'd wake up together, go to sleep together, eat together, explore together- and all of this togetherness was really going to be the death of him someday, because sometime between the trip from the town to the first campsite the two of you would rest at, you had somehow upped the ante in terms of your playful flirting. 

You'd do touchy things- nothing he wasn't uncomfortable with, but things that would surely be taken as romantic if seen in a different context- such as holding his hand, playing with his hair, even going so far as to kiss his cheek and hug him. 

Really, he didn't know it was possible for friends to be this comfortable with each other, but knowing that you most likely didn't requite his feelings made it all the more painful.

And… well. Philip wasn't much better. 

"Did you know the human body runs cold?" He said by the fire one day, and you looked at him in surprise. 

Philip was sitting right beside you, of course. The two of you were pressed side-to-side, knees brushing against one another. 

"Really?" You asked, and he nodded. 

"You witches- quite a lot of you are hot blooded," he said, and gestured at himself. "But humankind is not so much. 'Tis why I wear so many layers and sleep by the fire; lest I catch an illness in the middle of the night from the cold."

"Well, that's no good, no good at all," you frowned and edged towards him with concern in your eyes. "And you've been cold every night?" 

"Yes. It's a bit of a problem, but nothing I can solve," he shamelessly lied. 

"Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"Well," he faked a contemplative look, and then snapped his fingers in false realization. "Ah. I have it!"

"What is it?" You asked. 

"Since humans run cold and witches run hot, it's natural that the two of us should sleep beside one another," he said. "Nothing untowardly, of course. Just back to back, and then we can share heat."

You took the idea with enthusiasm, and Philip did feel slightly guilty at tricking you- because while he did feel slightly cold at night, it was nothing that he wasn't used to. 

Sleeping by your side, even if it was the slightest, most chaste of touches, was just a bonus.

… Perhaps his problem in the making was being realized, because it was only when the two of you reached your next town did he realize that he was not a fan of crowds. 

Or perhaps he wasn't a fan of strangers? Either way, he pressed close to you, perhaps closer than necessary, brows set into a straight line as he stared (glared) at any witch who would dare touch him (or look at you). 

Eugh. He hated crowds. 

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, and then he felt something envelop his hand. He looked down and saw it was your own, your fingers entangled with one another. 

A warmth seeped into his chest and he leaned into your side, feigning his earlier discomfort from the crowds as he pressed against you. 

Perhaps areas such as these had their benefits. 

Philip blinked when he heard music being played in the distance. A pleasant hum set into his bones at the magical noise, and he stood at attention while you perked up. 

"It seems like it's a celebration of some kind," you said, glancing around at the town square. Decorations that he hadn't noticed before were strung up, and an air of merriment and alcohol was saturating the area. 

"Seems so," he flatly said. "Let's leave." 

He turned to go, but you just pulled him back with a disbelieving expression. 

"What? Why?" You squinted at him. "Don't tell me that you're an adventurer and you're somehow a shut-in at the same time. That's not how that's supposed to work."

"Apparently it is," Philip said, and he tried pulling you back. "These sorts of things are a waste of time. I've never bothered to attend one before-"

"Never?" You gasped and tugged him back with a sudden burst of strength, and he tripped and fell into your arms as you manhandled him. "Now that's no good, my dear friend, no good at all. How have you been living if your life's been devoid of anything new and exciting?" 

"I think being dropped into a different world entirely is 'new and exciting' enough to last me an entire lifetime," he said from where he was smushed into your side, and you just sighed and patted his head. 

"Oh poor, sweet, silly, dumb Philip-"

"Excuse me-"

"You say that like I'm going to let you remain as a shut-in," you gave him a dangerously excited look. "There is no way." 

"... please?"

"Your pleas have been heard and will be going unanswered," you bared your teeth in a sharp grin, and you dragged him towards where people were congregating as a thick throng of witches dancing and drinking in merry fun. "C'mon, we can just watch it if you're so nervous about it."

"... fine," he muttered, and squeezed out of your grip. Aren't artists supposed to be sad and dramatic, preferably with noodly arms to to along with them? How'd he get saddled with someone like you? 

The two of you settled on the sidelines of the merriment, and Philip crossed his arms as he watched the witches celebrate. He didn't know why or what for they were causing such a ruckus, nor did he have any inclination to find out. Honestly, he just wanted to leave, but you weren't going to allow that yet- especially after your gaze was taken upwards, where some witches had decided to use magic to cast images and patterns of colorful light in the sky, sending them twinkling down on the crowd below in shimmery balls of light. 

A ball of light drifted down onto Philip's shoulder and he was almost about to brush it away when his attention was caught by your surprised laughter. He looked up and saw you with a crown of lights on your head and a soft, amazed expression on your face, and suddenly his doubts about the celebration vanished into the air. 

He stared at your happy face for longer than necessary. Something about it seemed to make something in his mind click in some way, because he gently touched your hand to catch your attention with one goal in mind. 

"Philip?" You asked, confused, and he grimaced as he resigned himself to his fate. 

"Would you like to dance with me?" He asked, biting into the tender skin of his lip when you stared at him in shock. 

Were you going to say no? Maybe make fun of him? Or were you going to let him down gently? 

Instead of any of that, you gave him a great, beaming smile and grabbed both of his hands in your own. His heart jumped as you leaned in close with a grin. 

"Yes, of course!" You exclaimed. "Come on, I'm sure you haven't experienced a real party from the Boiling Isles and it'd be a shame if you missed out."

"I-" he was cut off as he was dragged from the fringe of the celebration into the thick of it, and suddenly the two of you were moving in rhythm, merry fiddles echoing into the night and reverberating within him in such a way that it managed to even lift up his own spirits. 

A smile slipped on his face despite himself when he saw the one on your own. He did that. That was him. That was his doing . 

Philip could make you happy. 

… perhaps he could also… do… other things. With you. Specifically. 

With that in mind, it solidified something deep within him. A resolve, perhaps. An inkling, a desire, a wish- something thought to be fantasy now being put in the realm of reality. 

Perhaps it was that resolve that encouraged him, as flat-footed as he was, to continue dancing with you merrily into the night. 

Or it was that resolve that had him glaring away at any witch who tried to interfere- whether to dance with either you or him, before swooping you away to a different part of the crowd to continue dancing. 

Either way, it gave him a sort of hope- one that he eagerly grasped with both hands, holding close, desperately believing in- in the future. 

You moved slightly, and suddenly your hands were on the small of his back and he was pressed against you. Your foreheads were gently resting against one another, and one of your hands reached up to touch the edge of his smiling lips with a thumb. 

Your own smile was soft and slight. "See? I knew you'd like it."

Philip immediately pushed your face away and you laughed good naturedly as he covered his own, feeling as though steam might erupt from his ears. 

At your laugh, his smile turned positively giddy. 

There it was, that hope again. The hope that he could be with you.

Over time, the two of you developed quite a lot of synergy with one another. You had grown comfortable enough with him that casually touching him had grown into being a part of your daily routine, just as he was to you. 

You seemed to like fixing things about him. Brushing and tidying his hair, straightening his collar, brushing wrinkles out of his jacket. Your hands always managed to skim his skin in this process, something he always had to pretend he was unaffected by. 

He was much the same, in a way. While he wasn't as… overt, he may have had a bit of an issue when it came to your attention. That is, your attention being directed to anyone else but him. 

Call it paranoia, call it jealousy, but any time you so much as looked at another, he immediately felt the slightest strain of fear that, maybe, you'd leave him behind for someone else. 

So he'd be a little petty. Perhaps he'd simply tug at your sleeve, or clear his throat, or just bump into your side, to remind you he was there. Or perhaps he'd escalate- sometimes he'd, ever so slightly, step in between you and other people, just to have himself be known. 

It was embarrassing, but his body seemed to move on it's own during those moments, commiting actions he couldn't quite control. 

Your hands were constantly covered in charcoal and paint, from drawing one thing or another. As an additional benefit to running off with him, you now had an endless outlet of new and interesting things to render in your sketchbook, and you took to it eagerly. 

This, of course, meant a lot of stains. Specifically, stains on him . He was no stranger to having charcoal rubbed off on his jacket, or paint on his cheeks, or even colorful splotches on his hands. 

Though it wasn't like he was any better. An unfortunate consequence of constantly having his nose in his journal all day meant that he has an abundance of ink stains on his fingers and his palms, ink stains that would constantly be found on your hands, or your cheeks, or on your shoulders or arms. 

Together, the two of you were a mess. 

"Damn," you said, and his mind quietly agreed with you as the two of you stared down at the bed below the two of you. 

Being caught in a storm in the middle of a larger than normal town wasn't ideal, but conveniently there was an inn nearby. Ignoring the double take he got from the innkeeper, it was honestly a very nice place. Good prices, clean rooms, and a quiet atmosphere. Sure, there was only one room remaining, but the two of you could make do. 

Not-so-conveniently was the fact that the witch didn't mention that the room only had one bed. 

And now the two of you had to decide who was going to use it. 

A tug at his hair brought him back to reality, and he looked at you in question. 

"Who's gonna have it?" You simply asked. 

A tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Philip briefly considered a ludicrous, if a little scandalous, thought: sleeping in the same bed as you. But though the two of you slept side by side at night, that wasn't the same as becoming near-bedfellows with one another. 

"I'll… I'll sleep on the ground," he immediately volunteered, and winced at your recognizably stubborn expression.

"I thought humans got cold easily?" You curiously asked, and he almost let out a quiet hiss at that. "Wouldn't it be inconvenient for you?" 

"Well… I couldn't possibly let you sleep on the-" 

You waved a flippant hand. "No, no. Let's just share it instead of arguing all night."

He gaped at your bluntness. "I- no, in no way will we be doing that!" 

You blinked. "... why not?"

"Well, it's…" he leaned in and whispered, deathly serious, "inappropriate."

You stared at him for a solid minute, and then snorted, covering your mouth with a hand as you hid your laughter. 

"Oh? Inappropriate?" You teased, poking him in the side. "From the flustered look on your face, one might think you're looking forward to something 'inappropriate' happening."

His face heated and he slapped your hand away. "This is no laughing manner!"

"You're right," you gave him a serious look. "This is an inappropriate manner."

"Oh for the love of-" he covered his face with a scowl as you bursted into raucous laughter. "How do I put up with you?" 

"It's my charming good looks and debonair air," you said, fanning yourself with one hand. "No wonder you're excited to hop into bed with me."

"I am not-"

You nudged him with your elbow and gave him a wink. "Hey, but no worries. I'll protect your chastity."

Philip bit his tongue and let out a harsh breath through his nostrils. He ran his hand through his hair, and then pointed at you.

"You won't stop until I agree, will you?" 

"That is how it seems to be panning out, yes," you shrugged. 

"... very well," he muttered, shoulders sagging in defeat. "You win."

"Yes!" You exclaimed, and then gave him a playful grin. "Lucky me, getting to sleep with a cute huma-" 

He threw a pillow at your face. 

Chapter Text

Deep into the night, he was snapped awake. The moonlight drifted in through the curtains on the window, but his attention was more on the entanglement of foreign legs and arms with his own. He shifted and sat up, looking down at where you were clinging to him. 

Philip didn't have the energy to be embarrassed about it. Instead, he sleepily blinked down at you, resting his hand on his cheek as he studied your sleeping form. 

He reached down and ever so gently grazed your cheek with his knuckles. Your elvish ears twitched in your sleep and your nose crinkled at the touch, but you leaned into it with a sigh of satisfaction. 

The image pierced his chest sharply, and he drew back quickly, leaning back against the headboard of the bed as he pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. 

How did it come to be like this? Sitting here, right by your side, pining so painfully but unable to let you go? A part of him regretted ever agreeing to have you tag along with him, but another part of him, a more selfish, possessive shadow of himself, delighted in it, in the casual contact, in the fleeting but tender moments, in the knowledge that he was the one monopolizing your time and nobody else. 

It was sickening. It was invigorating. 

He bit down on his knuckle and stared at the wall ahead of him. Could he go on like this? He was wandering the Isles with no plan in sight, going from town to town without even really paying much attention to the sights he was seeing. If anything, he was more focused on his time with you instead.

… he desired so many things. This emotion, this forbidden attraction, it was the first of it's kind that had blossomed within him. He'd never felt such a deep and magnetic pull towards any other person, but you, with your enigmatic personality and sharp mind, seemed to have dragged him in. 

He let out a huff of air. And look where he was now. Trapped in a situation of his own making. 

You shifted and stirred beside him, and Philip stilled when a hand reached up to wrap around his arm. You blearily blinked up at him in a slow, owlish manner that made him practically melt with fondness. 

"Philip?" You sleepily muttered, before pulling yourself up and rubbing your eyes. "'S the... middle of the night, what're you doing up?" 

"It's no matter," he muttered, and brushed you off. He looked away before you could see the desire within his eyes. "You should go back to sleep."

"You're acting a little strange, Philip," your voice started to gain clarity, and you leaned towards him, your chest barely pressing against his back. "Actually… you've been acting strange."

"I… don't know what you're talking about," he said. "Let's go to bed. It's too late to talk about this."

"You can't spare a bit of time for your favorite witch?" You muttered, and rested your chin on his shoulder. He shivered at the close contact. " I want to talk to you. I like hearing your voice."

"Well…"

"Can't you spare me some time?" You said. "I've been very patient on this trip, but now I cannot help but ask… what has been tearing at you so?" 

"It is nothing," he denied again. 

"Oh? Are you sure it's nothing?" You asked, and your tone turned amused. "I thought we already went over my intelligence, Philip. I noticed the way you act around me."

"I…"

"Those quick glances. The little touches. Your journal entries ," you cup his chin and turn him around to face your serious expression. "I know."

Philip's eyes widened, and he looked away ashamedly. "I'm- I apologize."

You laughed at that, sudden and abrupt, and then you squeezed his cheeks between your fingers. "Oh, Philip. I'm not mad at you. I'm going to admit, I thought it was very cute to see you all red faced and flustered all the time-" 

"You noticed ?" 

"Of course I noticed. Practically every time I'm a five foot distance from you you turn into a mess," you good naturedly pat his cheek. "It's very flattering, by the way."

He covered his face with his hands. "Oh." 

"And don't even get me started on how touchy you are," you mused. "Humans run cold? Seriously?" 

He peered up at you between his fingers, confused. "So you…"

"I knew."

"But… you did not…"

"I went along with it anyways, yes."

He stared at you, wide eyed. " Why ?" 

You gave him a confused look. "Why? Why else would you think?" When no recognition entered his eyes, you sighed. "Philip. Why do you think I've been flirting with you all this time?" 

"It's a part of your personality," he guessed. "Also I thought that that was just… the norm between friends."

"Philip," you repeated his name, a painful note in your voice. "I was flirting with you because I'm interested in you."

"... as in-" 

" Romantically ," you look like you were torn between laughing out loud and crying out in agony. "Yes. Exactly."

His world stopped for a second. Philip opened his mouth and floundered as his brain struggled to put your sentence together in contrast with his preconceived notions in his mind. 

But- you- he- what? He was so sure that you wouldn't have reciprocated. He was sure that you might've been a little appalled if he ever confessed to you, given how abhorrent his behaviour was towards you when you first met, and during the month following after. But instead, it was just him being in such denial that he didn't even consider the fact that you may have actually…

"Am I… goodness, am I really that stupid?" He put his hand on his forehead, and you let out a raucous round of laughter. "And I didn't even- oh, stop laughing! Stop it!"

"Y'know, I was planning on something a little more romantic when I thought of finally wooing you," you commented, and in the darkness it was hard to see, but it seemed like you maneuvered yourself so you were sitting in front of him. "But this is far more funny."

"For you, maybe," Philip rubbed his temples. "For how long did you…?" 

"Mmm, probably since before I left with you," you said, and he groaned and covered his face with his hands. "Maybe a few weeks before that."

"This this possibly the lowest point in my life," he muttered. "Right next to the fire bees."

You laughed and then, suddenly, you were holding his face between your hands. He blinked up at you, and then his face heated when he realized what this meant under the newfound context. 

"At least I can hold you like this and it'll mean something much more now," you smirked and leaned in, pressing your forehead against his. "Honestly, with all the hints I was throwing your way… are you just that dense?" 

"Maybe," he breathed out, eyes trained on your mouth. "But, now that I can ask… I'd like to kiss you, if you would."

"Oh, my muse," you traced his cheekbone with your thumb. "I've been waiting to hear that for a long time."

Philip was thrown into motion. In a swift action that was faster than any half-asleep person should ever do, he grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled himself into your lap. Your hands settled on his hips, and his heart rate picked up as he gazed into your eyes, an uncontrollable smile working it's way up his face. 

He didn't know how to process the reciprocation. He didn't even know how to address the new, uncharted land between the two of you. 

All he did know was that he'd rather like to have your tongue in his mouth, pretty please. 

He raised one hand to cup your cheek, and then he closed his eyes and leaned in. He fumbled, pressed a few sloppy kisses on your jaw and cheek, before finally finding your mouth. 

Perfection . He closed his eyes in sheer euphoric delight, his lips sliding into place against your own. His hand trailed from your cheek to one of your ears, and a long time curiosity of his spurred him into stroking the end of it. 

You let out a low, needy sound against his mouth and something within him ignited. He grabbed the collar of your shirt and pulled you closer to him, parting his lips as he gasped into your mouth. It felt as though he was breathing in your essence, becoming one whole being with you, like two puzzle pieces finally connecting. 

Your hand slid under the back of his shirt and magic sparked underneath your fingers and sent tingles up his spine. He cried out when you slid your tongue into his mouth, desperate for more, desperate for anything . 

You parted from him, lips smacking in a lewd way that made liquid fire swirl in his belly, and you panted audibly. 

"Philip-" you tried to say, but he kept on trying to kiss you, pulling you close and pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth, and then your actual mouth, and you had to push him away, a soft laugh escaping your lips. " Philip. Calm down."

He made a noise of dissatisfaction, and you just laughed harder, before giving him a kiss on the cheek. 

"Who knew such a prideful human would be this needy?" You tilted your head and ran your fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. A hand trailed down his front and strayed at the waistband of his pants, and he stilled. "Of course… Even prideful humans run terribly cold during the night. Isn't that what you told me?" 

Philip looked down at where your attention was, and heat flushed down to his neck when he realised that he was positively throbbing beneath his pants, pressed against the crook of your hip in such a way that sent shivers of pleasure into his groin. 

"You…" he muttered your name, and you pressed your lips against his neck, not minding his scraggly beard. " God , please…"

"Do you want me to warm you up?" You breathed, and he shivered when you gripped his hips tightly. "Do you want me to touch you?" 

" Please, " he pleaded, and you let out a chuckle. 

With a swirl of magic, his wrists were suddenly bound above his head and he was pushed into the bed. He stared up at you, wide eyed at the wild look in your eye as you crouched above him. 

"I quite like it when you beg," you slid your hands up against his hips, and then underneath him where you touched his buttocks. He twisted underneath your teasing hands, a strained sound leaving his mouth. "Can you do that again, my dear?" 

Philip's eyes glazed over. "Touch me- please, just- give me your hands, I beg of you." 

A smile twisted itself across your lips, and you swooped down to capture his own. He moaned when you gripped him through his pants, legs spreading around your own as your hand dipped underneath his pants and began to pull them off. 

You sat back to catch your breath, examining his cock as if you were admiring a piece of art. He shifted uncomfortably underneath your hungry stare, his wrists straining against the magical binds keeping them in place. 

"Are you going to- oh Hell !" He exclaimed in surprise when you grabbed him around his base, thumb caressing his underside and stroking along the veins. 

Philip's hips canted into your grip, and you held them down with your other hand as you slowly, tortuously, stroked him from his base to his head. Pearly liquid drooled from the slit, and you squished it with your thumb and spread it across his length with your next stroke downwards. 

"Would that I had oil on hand," you complained, examining him with a starved fervor. 

You leaned in and gave an open mouthed kiss to his neck, taking the skin in between your teeth and leaving a stinging, sharp nip. He keened when your pace picked up, squeezing his cock within your hand with every twist downwards. 

Philip thrashed underneath you, his inexperienced body alight with pleasure. He tilted his head to the side, lost in the sensation of your breath tickling his neck. Unbidden, a smile rose on his face. Perhaps it was the sheer absurdity of the situation, or the way you lovingly touched him, or even the fact that he was here with you . Regardless of the giddy glee that threatened to take him over, he was just so, sickeningly happy to just be with you that, for a moment, he began to think with his heart instead of his head. 

"Hnng, please- oh, your touch, you're so good, so sweet, you-" he arched his back when you gave him another bite. "Yessss, just like that, you're doing so well, please-"

"Philip," you let out a breathy laugh against his neck, and he whined when your pace slowed down. "You should save your breath before you run out of it."

He didn't listen, his mind overcome with dizzying lust. "You feel so good, you're perfect, absolutely p-perfect," he moaned out and his eyes slid shut. He was probably making a fool of himself, but he didn't care. Something in his brain told him to lavish you with praises, to compliment you as you deserved, to give you every thought he's ever had of you.

"I'm serious," you said, but your voice was filled with a gentle sort of humor as you kissed him, silencing him with your lips. 

He moaned into your mouth when your pace became dangerously fast, his cock pulsating in your grip as something within him tightened , and his breath began coming out harshly. 

"Are you going to come for me?" You muttered against his lips, and Philip cried out into your mouth at the heady tone in your voice. "I wonder if your face would look the same as it does in my dreams. Come for me, my dear muse."

Philip writhed, his toes curling into the sheets as he arched up into your grip. He opened his eyes and almost sobbed when his arousal reached a sudden peak and he saw stars . 

You continued to stroke him through his orgasm, your eyes zeroed in on his expression with a lidded gaze. He sleepily moaned, body falling limp into the bed and the magic around his wrists dissipating into the aether. 

"I was right," you finally said after a moment of quiet. "You are beautiful when you release."

Philip took one look at your enthralled face and immediately looked away, a helpless smile teasing on his lips. "You treated me so well. I'd like to…" he reached out, and you took his wrist and shook your head. 

"I'll be fine, my dear," you said, and kissed him for just a moment. 

He sighed into the kiss, a quiet whine escaping his mouth when you separated from him. Sweat slicked his heated body, and he could feel the sting of the bites on his neck start to intensify once the haze of pleasure began to leave him. 

"But you must be left wanting," he said when the two of you parted. 

"The only thing I want to do is admire you," you said. With a flick of a hand an orb of light hovered between the two of you, illuminating your features. "If I could, I'd keep looking at you all night."

Philip became a little breathless when you lifted up one of his arms and pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. His hand turned to cup your cheek, but you began to trail kisses down the length of his arm and then to his shoulder, making his stomach jump in flustered surprise. 

You pressed your lips against the shell of his ear and tugged at his shirt and he complied, lifting his arms over his head as you pulled the last remnants of his clothes off of him. 

With one hand trailing down his front, you leaned back to give him a look, examining him up and down. You stared at his flushed face, at his limp cock, at the pearlescent liquid dripping off his lean stomach, at the red marks on his neck, and smiled. 

"If you'd allow me, I'd like to immortalize this image of you forever," you said, and his eyes flickered over to where your bag lay discarded on the ground, your art supplies within. 

"You don't mean…" he began, and you grinned. He looked away, more than a little bashful. "Well, if- if you so insist. I don't see the appeal."

"My book is practically dedicated to you at this point," you shrugged, and leaned off the bed to grab your satchel. "What's one more image of someone I love?" 

Philip's attention turned to the orb of light bobbing in the air beside the two of you. His hand reached out and touched the bottom of it, watching the way it danced away from his touch. 

"Someone you…" he trailed off, a little disbelievingly, and you turned your sharp gaze onto him whilst you began to pull your things out of your satchel. 

Your eyes softened. "Oh, Philip," you cooed, and cupped his cheek. "Is it still so hard to accept? I love you."

He felt as though his heart had burst at that moment. He'd waited to hear those words for so long, and he was so convinced that his errors in his past with you would make that impossible. Philip wasn't one to get teary eyed or sappy (as much as you loved to mention the time the two of you found out he was sad when he got drunk), but his breath hitched in his throat, clogging it with an indescribable emotion. 

You sighed and pushed his hair back behind his ear. "Do you really have to look so disbelieving?" 

"I- I'm sorry," he was unused to apologizing, but here he felt like falling over himself with them. "I just- it feels a bit like a dream, don't you agree?" 

"A little," you leaned away, opening up your leather bound sketchbook in your lap and examining him intently under the light of the magic. "But it's the truth. Verily and all that."

"That's not how you use that word-" he shook his head and leaned back on his elbows as you began to scribble on your parchment. "Never mind that. I just hope I don't look like a mess."

"You're a hot mess," you sent him a wink and he gave you a flat stare in return. 

"I don't know what that means."

The night progressed slowly, only interspersed with the sound of your charcoal against your paper, and the quiet chatter between the two of you. He found himself lost in the familiarity of it all, comforted by your presence by his side. 

As he leaned back in the pillows, gaze drifting once again to the innocuous little light that illuminated the two of you, he called out your name. 

You looked up from your craft, brows raised and face having been smudged with charcoal sometime ago. "Hm?" 

Philip's eyes flickered to your own, and he delighted in the flustered expression that crossed your face when he said, "I love you, too."