They don’t talk about it.

Not in the next ten minutes. Not at dinner. Not before work the next morning.

In fact, they sat in silence on the couch, the air between them heavy with the weight of unsaid things. Emrys practically radiated frustration—directed at Marley, though he didn’t need to say it. His fingers drummed a restless beat against his thigh, jaw tight as if holding back words he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—let slip. Marley felt it all, the tension coiling between them, but neither made the first move to break it. Finally, the pressure became too much—whether it was Marley’s quiet presence or the storm brewing in Emrys’s head, he didn’t know. Without warning, Emrys stood abruptly and walked out, the door closing behind him with a sharp finality, harder than it had to.

Again, in his many attempts to make things better– Marley had made things worse.

He told Marley he wasn’t angry. But the lie hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

The two of them didn’t really fight—never have. But this felt close. Too close.

This felt different—like something’s fractured beneath the surface, a hairline crack threatening to widen. And neither of them ready to acknowledge it.

They didn’t talk about it. Maybe that was the problem.

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The soft hum of the kettle on the gas stove felt oddly discomfiting as it merged with the early morning light. It wasn’t out of the ordinary—just another day in his routine—but somehow, the warmth filtering through the windows did little to ease the cold shiver creeping down Marley’s back. He moved around the counter island, drying a freshly washed mug with a dish rag, feeling the quiet more acutely than usual.

Unlike most mornings, Emrys wasn’t home—not then, at least—so Marley didn’t need to tiptoe around, mindful of every sound. Yet, as he poured tea into his mug, letting the warmth seep through the ceramic, he remained silent anyway. The scent of chamomile filled the air—too sweet this time, with no lingering traces from last night’s potions to temper it. He took a sip of the tea and let it sit on his tongue, hoping it might calm him, though it didn’t.

Marley shuffled into his small workroom, mug in hand—just as always—his footsteps softer than usual in the early morning stillness. Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow across the room, yet the space felt smaller, more confining than it should have. The walls pressed in on him, just a little, the air a bit heavier with each passing second.

It was fine. Really.

He placed the mug down on his desk, the soft clink of ceramic barely registering as his fingers trembled faintly. The warmth from the tea did little to soothe the cold knot of unease twisting in his stomach. A part of him wished he didn’t have to work today—if only so he could mope around in his bedroom until he forced himself to get over it. But he knew distracting himself was for the best. Probably.

His thoughts kept circling back to the night before. He and Emrys didn’t argue; they never did. But that felt like an argument, didn’t it? The way Emrys had looked at him? The genuine frustration in his eyes? The way he backed Marley into a corner, only to storm out when their words devolved into silence?

The silence. That was worse than any anger—not that Emrys was angry.

Marley flipped through his files for the day and readied his to-do list. The familiar routine was supposed to calm him, but only in theory. He wrote about four lines, switched pens, and forced himself to focus. Each stroke was deliberate, too slow, yet harsh, as if pressing the letters into existence could somehow stop the flood of thoughts running through his head. But his mind refused to cooperate.

Typical.

Emrys wasn’t angry. Not only had he literally told Marley that himself, but they’d been best friends since middle school. He knew Emrys well enough to believe him—this wasn’t something he’d get angry about. At least, that’s what Marley kept telling himself.

He sighed, the sound small but heavy, as he glanced at the cooling tea on his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he stared out the window at the morning light that now seemed too bright, forcing him to squint. It highlighted the dust motes floating lazily in the air—normally a comforting sight, but today it felt oppressive, like a weight pressing down on his chest.

His hands flexed against his knees. He felt restless.

He wanted to move, to do something, anything, to break the spell of unease that had settled over him. But no matter how many times he adjusted in his seat, or how many steadying breaths he took, it didn’t change the gnawing anxiety simmering beneath his skin.

And it didn’t change the fact that Emrys wasn’t here. That Emrys had left because—

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The clock by the arch of his office door marked the time with its steady ticking, but the sound was distant, failing to break through the concentration Marley had finally forced himself into. He knew he should probably eat something, but the thought of leaving the comfort of his mindless focus brought a wave of anxiety he wasn’t ready to confront. Not now.

His desk had grown cluttered over the course of the morning—open files, messy parchments scrawled in his shaky handwriting, scattered across the wooden surface.

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His tea was cold and honestly probably a bit gross from how long it’d been sitting at the corner. He hadn’t taken another sip.

He barely noticed the cramp in his hand as he meticulously copied instructions from his workbook onto a patient’s file for the third potion of the day. His world had narrowed to neat rows of letters, the measured strokes of his pen, and the soft rustling of parchment as he shifted between documents. The quiet of his workroom, though less claustrophobic than earlier, still felt like a small bubble keeping the rest of the world at bay. A small mercy, really.

There was a sound—maybe the kitchen creaking, or the front door opening. Marley tilted his head slightly but didn’t bother to look. He wouldn’t have been able to see anything from his desk anyway. There was a clatter, followed by the fridge door opening and closing. A small clatter, the fridge door opening and closing– did they even have anything prepared right now?-- but it didn’t register fully.

The swell of guilt built in his chest and he swallowed it down, along with his unease, and continued wrapping parchment around the potion bottle, securing it with a strip of tape.

Footsteps, walking towards the office, stopping, then continuing down the hall. A shuffle in the bedroom across the way.

Despite the subtle awareness of eyes on his back, Marley remained focused, wrapping another set of instructions around a previously brewed potion.

“Hey.”

Marley jumped. Emrys voice was soft but broke through the quiet Marley had created regardless and so Marley turned to face him–keeping his face composed, giving his feelings.

He set the potion down with the other. “Hey.” No voice crack—a win. He opened his mouth, unsure if he wanted to comment on Emrys’s absence or apologise, but the words didn’t come.

Emrys gave him a small smile, watching him with an intensity that was both familiar and uncomfortably observant.

“Have you eaten yet?”

Small talk. That, Marley could handle. He shifted in his seat, fully turning to face Emrys and the archway of the door, glancing at the clock.

“Is it that time already?” He moved some of the papers aside and swallowed. “Not yet. I was just about to.”

Emrys just nodded at that, stepping farther into the room and glancing over at Marley's cluttered desk, taking in the scattered parchments and potion bottles. Then, his eyes settled back on Marley. “Busy day?” he asked, the casual tone masking something deeper, but Marley chose not to read into it.

Marley shrugged, offering a faint smile. “Yeah, just trying to stay on top of things.” He gestured vaguely to the clutter around him. “Lost track of time, I guess.”

Emrys didn’t comment, though the way he looked at Marley—like he could see more than Marley was willing to share—made him shift in his seat. There was a brief silence, not uncomfortable exactly, but charged in a way Marley couldn't quite put his finger on.

“You want something to eat?” Emrys asked after a moment, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I could make something.”

Marley blinked in surprise. It wasn’t often that Emrys offered to cook, but the idea was more comforting than he expected. “Sure, that would be nice,” he replied, a little too quickly, but it was enough to draw a small, genuine smile from Emrys.

“Alright,” Emrys said, pushing off the doorframe and heading back toward the kitchen. “I’ll see what we’ve got.”

As soon as Emrys left the room, Marley let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He rubbed a hand across his face, feeling the tension in his neck and shoulders.

He picked up the cold mug of tea and took a tentative sip, grimacing at the bitter, stale taste. With a resigned sigh, he set it aside, allowing his gaze to drift back to his desk. The potions and files lay scattered before him, waiting for him to dive back into his work, but his focus was already slipping—just as he had known it would.

He couldn’t shake the feeling—the undeniable awareness—that something had shifted between them, nor could he escape the weight of his own role in it. Marley had always been the steady one, but Emrys was his anchor, his calm amidst the storm. Yet today, there was a new intensity in Emrys’s gaze, an all-seeing scrutiny that felt almost invasive, as if he were peering through the carefully constructed facade Marley had spent so long perfecting. The thought sent a flutter of unease through him.

It shouldn't have bothered him. He wouldn’t– couldn't, really– say why it did.

Marley had always preferred to confront issues head-on, preferring the clarity that came from open dialogue. But this lingering tension felt different—poised to snap at any moment. It left him feeling exposed, as if Emrys could peel back the layers he wasn’t ready to reveal.

He wondered if Emrys was disappointed in him.

He would be.

Shaking his head slightly, Marley tried to dispel those thoughts. He didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on uncertainties—not now.

Marley carefully wrapped the final potion bottle in parchment, then bundled the entire set together with twine before placing it alongside the corresponding files.

Sounds of movement filtered in from the kitchen: pots clinking, cupboards opening and closing, the soft thud of the fridge door. It struck him as odd not to be the one creating that noise.

There was still so much to do, but the urgency that had driven him all morning had ebbed away, leaving him vulnerable to the feelings he had been desperately avoiding. He huffed in frustration.

Leaning back in his chair, he let his head fall back for a moment, closing his eyes. He didn’t have to think about anything right now—not work, not Emrys, not the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Just breathe.

He could do that.

A soft knock at the doorframe jolted Marley back to the present. He blinked his eyes open to find Emrys standing there once more, holding two plates—simple sandwiches that smelled warm and freshly made. Not that he would mention it, but Emrys certainly made more noise than a meal like this warranted.

“Lunch,” Emrys said, a bit unnecessarily, as he set one of the plates down on Marley’s desk. “You should take a break.”

Marley glanced at the plate and then back at Emrys. The look in Emrys’s gaze unsettled him—discomfort mingled with fondness and something unspoken. He chose not to press.

He smiled, letting it reach his eyes as he scooted his chair back a few inches. “Thanks.”

“You didn’t have to,” Marley added, although he didn't need to. “I would’ve been fine making something for myself.”

An uncomfortable expression flickered across Emrys’s face as he shrugged, pulling a chair from the corner of the office—the one Marley often forgot was there—and sliding it beside him.

Oh, huh

“I know, but I wanted to,” Emrys replied.

Marley nodded, moving his work items to the smaller desk nearby, the one that typically held his cauldron and ingredients in use, to keep them safe from crumbs.

“You don’t mind if I sit with you?”

Marley had only just wrapped his hands around the sandwich. “No, why would I?” He meant it.