> "Get your shit together, Morningstar" - Nord Morningstar

Whispers from lingering guests seeped through the walls, the restless tread of footsteps echoed down hallways, and doors creaked open and closed with almost predictable irregularity.

Nord was in what used to be Rosemary's room, now a storage of forgotten elegance. She fingered through the dresses, blouses, and more intimate apparel that still carried the ghostly imprint of their previous owner.

Satin nightgowns and lace negligées whispered secrets of a life once lived. Just as she began to slip out of her own clothing, preparing to try on one of Rosemary's silken nightgowns, the door burst open.

Adamastor stood in the doorway, his eyes widening in surprise. Nord instinctively scrambled behind a wooden dressing screen, her heart pounding like a trapped bird. She was clad only in her undergarments, and the situation was as delicate as it was awkward.

Adamastor flushed, shielding his eyes with a raised hand, though a furtive glance still escaped. "I didn't know someone was in here."

"Why would you come in here?" Nord's voice pitched high, almost a shout but not quite, teetering on the edge of decorum.

"Doing laundry," Adamastor mumbled, his gaze now fixed on the floor, yet he made no move to exit the room.

"You pick the oddest times for chores," Nord snapped, clutching a satin robe from behind the screen and wrapping it hastily around herself. "Couldn't this wait?"

"Apologies," Adamastor said, finally mustering the will to step back, though he lingered in the doorway as if glued there by some inexplicable force. "I didn't think anyone would be in here. This room's hardly ever used."

Nord emerged from behind the screen, now adequately covered but her eyes ablaze. "Maybe you should knock next time. Ever consider that?"

Adamastor looked at her, and for a moment, his eyes softened, a layer of his usual stoic veneer peeling away. "I will. I promise. Again, my apologies."

He retreated, closing the door behind him, but the tension lingered in the room, an unseen but palpable thing. Nord stood there, clutching the robe around her and looking around at the mess around her. Why was it so hard? It was just a new gown to sleep in. She was tired of hers, which made her feel like she was dressed in a potato sack.

She murmured a bitter "Get your shit together, Morningstar" under her breath, chastising herself as she tiptoed back to her own room. When she entered, she found Baal sitting on the bed, legs crossed, his hands cradling his forehead as if weighed down by thoughts far heavier than any she might have.

For a fleeting second, she felt absurd. Here was Baal, absorbed in matters that possibly touched on life and death—a mission that actually involved her—and what occupied her mind? The desire to feel pretty, the need to feel wanted, to simply get laid.

The self-reproach washed over her like a cold wave, leaving her shivering on the shore of her own vanity.

As if sensing her internal struggle, Baal looked up, his eyebrows drawing together in a puzzled frown. "What's wrong with you?"

"With me?" She crossed her arms tighter against her chest defensively to hide her unmodest nightgown. "Nothing. Why do you ask?"

"You're standing there instead of coming to bed."

"I'm not... standing. I was just..." Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of crimson, her voice faltering under the weight of her embarrassment.

"Are you okay?" In a swift motion, he rose from the bed and approached her, placing his hand first on her forehead and then against his own cheek as if checking for fever. "Weird, you're not warm."

Annoyed, she brushed him away, "What are you talking about? I'm fine!"

She quickly retreated to the bed and pulled the covers up, hiding herself as if the blanket could shield her from her own conflicting emotions.

He joined her under the sheets, dimming the oil lamp that sat on the bedside table. "Are you cold?"

"No, I'm fine," she insisted, her voice edged with irritation.

"Then why are you sleeping in your robe?" He looked genuinely confused, as if she were a riddle he couldn't quite solve.

"Because...I felt like it!" She could almost taste her own shame; it was acrid, like spoiled fruit.

"Are you mad at me for kissing you?" The words hung in the air, and for the first time, she heard a tremor in his voice, a vulnerability he rarely displayed. "Do you want to slap me? I can apologize, but I wouldn't really mean it."

"I'm not mad at you," she sighed, her defensive posture finally breaking, shoulders slumping as if admitting defeat.

"Then why are you being so weird? Is it because of Ursula? Are you sad?"

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"I'm not sad!" Her voice lifted, tinged with frustration. "Just...never mind."

"Nord?"

"What...Baal?"

His arm curled around her waist, his head finding its way to the nape of her neck. "Talk to me, please. What have I done?"

"Nothing. Sleep."

"I swear I'll never kiss you again, I just—"

Those words detonated within her like a misplaced spark in a room full of gunpowder. Now she was mad. Truly mad. Throwing the covers aside, she stormed out of the room, the door slamming behind her with a resounding, final echo that seemed to punctuate her mounting exasperation.

The kitchen, for some reason, seemed the most logical sanctuary at that moment. The cool tiles beneath her feet felt grounding, the lingering scents of spices and cooked food strangely comforting. Adamastor was there, rummaging through a cabinet. As she approached, she caught sight of the black box he was holding—the one that contained his venom.

"What are you doing?" she snapped, her eyes locking onto the box as he quickly returned it to its hiding place.

Adamastor turned, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of surprise and—was it guilt? "Nothing. I thought you were asleep."

"I can't sleep," she said, her voice shedding its earlier sharpness, now replaced by a more plaintive note.

"Seems we're both restless then," Adamastor conceded, closing the cabinet and leaning back against it. "Is everything okay?"

Nord sighed, finally allowing herself to feel the exhaustion that had been creeping around the edges of her emotional turmoil. "No, but I don't want to talk about it."

"Fair enough," he responded, pushing away from the cabinet and making his way to the kettle. "Tea? Might help you sleep."

"Sure," she said, realizing that if sleep was an elusive target tonight, a little comfort, even in the form of hot tea, wouldn't hurt.

As Baal stepped into the room, his bare chest starkly contrasted with the buttoned-up demeanour Adamastor maintained. His eyes scanned the kitchen, finally landing on Nord, who sat rigidly at the table, her arms crossed over her chest as if to shield herself.

Adamastor, seemingly unflustered, continued pouring tea into fine china mugs, filling the room with the scent of chamomile and mint.

"Would you like to join Miss Morningstar for tea?" Adamastor asked, sliding a mug of the freshly brewed drink in front of Baal. Without waiting for a response, he stepped back, giving the two of them space.

Caught off guard, Baal stared at the steaming mug and then shifted his gaze to meet Nord's defiant eyes. "I think you have booze in your office," he finally said, as if suggesting a truce.

"I do have a bottle of whiskey," she confirmed, her eyes not leaving his.

"It would be rude not to drink the tea..." Baal reluctantly admitted, looking back at the untouched mugs on the table.

Nord locked eyes with him, a sly grin forming on her lips. "I won't tell if you don't tell."

Matching her grin with one of his own, Baal picked up his mug and quickly poured the contents down the sink. "What tea?" he feigned ignorance, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

A silent accord settled between them. In a sudden burst of spontaneity, Baal made a dash for her office, Nord hot on his heels. They ran like two schoolchildren, giggling as they went as if Adamastor might chase them down the hallway to scold them for the high crime of rejecting his tea.

By the time they reached her office, they were both slightly breathless but grinning from ear to ear. Baal closed the door behind them, sealing them off from the world outside, if only for a few stolen moments.

She moved to her cabinet and pulled out the bottle of whiskey along with two glasses. The amber liquid glinted in the dim light as she poured, almost in rhythm with her still-rapid heartbeat. They clinked their glasses together, a silent toast to whatever strange truce or understanding had formed between them.

Baal sat at the edge of her desk, his fingers tracing the cool glass of the whiskey tumbler. The amber liquid glistened under the soft glow of the room's dim lights. With a smooth, practised motion, he poured the liquor down his throat, savouring its warmth, and then looked back at Nord.

"Speak to me," he urged, his voice low and inviting.

She took a sip of her own drink, her face contorting in a delicate grimace before she found the courage to speak. "I don't wanna play the Lake House anymore."

A faint smile curved Baal's lips as he teased, "You don't want me to be Keanu Reeves? I thought I was doing a fine role. I was working really hard for that Oscar."

She chuckled softly, but her eyes remained serious. "I don't want to roleplay anymore, either."

Baal's fingers toyed with the corner of the whiskey bottle's label as he tried to understand her words. "What does that mean exactly?"

Nord's gaze locked with his, and she replied cryptically, "What do you think it means?"

"Honestly, I don't know," Baal admitted. "I feel like I can't be truly close to you. There's this fragile bridge of eggshells between us, and I'm afraid that one wrong step could shatter everything. And in moments like these, I find myself questioning my priorities. What do I want? What do I really, really want?"

Nord leaned in, her voice soft and curious. "And what do you want? What do you really want?"

Baal sighed, his grip on the bottle tightening. "I want things to be like they were before. I miss that, I miss us, but I also know it can never be exactly the same. So, what I do know is that I don't want to lose you, not even as a friend. I have to come to terms with the idea that we might always be trapped within this label. And I won't lie; there are things I fucking miss."

He paused and then confessed, his voice tinged with nostalgia, "I miss that first kiss in the morning. I miss the words you said when coming back home, the way you used to lean your body on me for anything. I miss the cuddles. I miss you telling me you love me, your hand finding mine. I miss spooning. I miss feeling secure, knowing that I could do those things and you would love them. Even ask for more."

"Baal?" Nord's voice cut through his reminiscing.

Baal swallowed another sip of whiskey and looked at her, his expression questioning. "What?"

"I'm ready," she said, her words simple but laden with meaning.

Baal chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing. "The last time you told me you were ready, it was because you wanted to..." His eyebrow raised suggestively. "You know, like... do stuff."

Nord's eyes twinkled with mischief as she interrupted him. "I'm ready. I know it might be different for you, that it has to be special and unique. Love for you is something sacred and a one time lifetime experience, and I know you don't trust that I feel the same because I'm human. But when you are ready, you won't need to ask because I'm telling you now."

Baal lowered the bottle, his gaze fixed on Nord, "I don't know what to say."

Nord gave a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, her demeanour strangely composed. "Don't say anything. We've just hit a little bump in the road. Things might not be exactly as they were, but it doesn't mean our feelings have changed, does it?"

"No, nothing has changed... at least not for me," Baal replied, his voice still tinged with confusion. Nord's eloquence, her ability to speak as if nothing had happened, momentarily baffled him. He quickly pushed the thought aside, unwilling to delve too deeply into the mystery. "So, shall we go to bed?"

Nord's gaze met his, and she posed a question that caught him off guard. "Do you feel comfortable sleeping with me?"

Baal's eyebrows raised in surprise at her unexpected question. After a brief pause, he replied with a hint of playfulness, "Can we spoon?"