Morning, 6th February, 1890 — Jude’s Flat
Kieran Abernathy

It had been a full moon last night. And the full moon called for the ordinary routine: nights spent locking Kieran in the attic, and mornings in the kitchen making tea.

He had just finished the tea when he heard the pad of footsteps, Kieran coming down the stairs. He dreaded this moment, and was always anxious to see him again. Who knew what had happened up there during the night? There was a silencing charm on the attic, and a lock on the door. If Kieran had ended up hurting himself in there, who would know until it was far too late? So it was always a relief - no matter how worn he looked, how desperately tired - to latch onto Kieran in the morning light looking as he always should, with his mussed brown curls and patched up clothes, and try his best not to linger on any new bruises or scratches he’d suffered in the night.

Jude offered a careful close-lipped smile and slid one of the teas towards Kieran in greeting, wanting terribly to ask how he felt this morning but not daring to say anything just yet, because he’d only just woken up himself, and was still getting used to the mandrake leaf he'd put in his mouth last night. (Only a month of this to get through - though how he was going to manage drinking his tea without incident, he wasn’t entirely sure.)

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His bones ached. Kieran didn't know how he was always surprised by this, but his bones ached. He pulled on his shirt and trousers, cracked his wrists, and left the attic, taking account of the new purple bruises where his limbs had pulled against the chains. But having his bones ache and the shackles attached meant that he had not killed anyone last night - had not burst through the attic door and ruined Jude's life.

He trekked down the stairs, moving slowly, and sat in the chair across from Jude without really looking at him; they had a routine. He took a sip of the tea and then slid his gaze over as the warmth slid into his lungs.

"Morning," Kieran said, voice cracking. "I hope you slept last night."

He was never sure if Jude slept or not, during the nights; he always looked anxious in the morning, regardless.

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He had to refrain from looking at Kieran too long, no more used to the sight of raw wrists and dark circles than he had been the first time, his eyes liable to get caught on the sight of already-purpling bruises that they both knew Kieran had unwillingly inflicted upon himself. Hard not to look, hard not to frown at them.

So Jude turned away for long enough to set the beaten kettle aside, and shifted his own tea from table to counter to table again, a little too restless to just sit. He had only hummed in return of the greeting, but if he wanted to reassure Kieran that he had fared better in the night (which was true, clearly, but not by much), he would have to open his mouth. He propped himself against the counter in preparation. “Eventually,” he said thickly, pushing the leaf to the roof of his mouth to try and keep it there.

Best move on, swiftly. Besides, they had a pattern: Jude was the one who had been appointed (self-appointed?) to worry about Kieran, and not the other way round. “How do you feel?”

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Kieran took a sip of his tea. He was watching Jude out of the corner of his eye; no matter how many times they did this, he didn't know how to read Jude in the morning after. Other times, sure - he could practically track Jude's mood in meetings. But these mornings? He had no idea.

"Tired," Kieran said, "But other than that it's - fine. No different from usual." They were stuck in a constant routine, but Kieran had not hurt himself enough to require intervention this month - so it was a good month. He could handle the bruises; he hadn't bit himself. That was what scared him.

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Jude pushed the mandrake leaf around his mouth, trying to find a place for it where it would not making speaking, eating or drinking distinctly uncomfortable for the next month - or however long until he made it from one full moon to the next without accidentally swallowing it.

He’d get used to it eventually, he was sure. Besides, there was no use complaining about - well, anything - in comparison to the night Kieran had had. ‘Fine’, he called it, like it could ever be that. Like this was the best that could be hoped for. “Good,” Jude said, more brightly than he felt. He only wished - he could be more reassuring. Sometimes talking in the mornings here like this was easier, somehow. Sometimes they were both too tired to talk at all.

Jude swallowed, making sure the leaf stayed put, and settled on a subject that was the least likely to be divisive, especially at this time of the morning. “Do you want something to eat?”

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"If you have toast, I could go for toast," Kieran said. He didn't really want to eat, but if he didn't try to put something in his body now then he would just be more miserable later. These were the things you learned when you were a werewolf for over five years; the little tricks to make yourself a tiny bit less miserable.

Which, of course, reminded him. "How's -?" Kieran asked, with a vague hand gesture meant to indicate the mandrake leaf he assumed was in Jude's mouth. He thought it was a terrible idea, still, but had largely confined himself to being quietly furious rather than to trying to talk Jude out of it.

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“‘Course,” Jude said, giving himself something to do in putting the bread on the toasting plate. Sidelong, he spotted Kieran’s gesture. “Fine,” he answered, a little quick. “Well, weird, you know.” He glanced over into the sitting room at the clock on the mantelpiece, as if it could possibly read ‘seven hours down, just the rest of the month to go’ with only two hands. Still, it was an inconvenience at best - not something to complain about - and nor could he possibly wish the next full moon to come sooner.

(He felt guilty enough at the fleeting thought he caught himself having sometimes, on mornings like this, that he liked having Kieran here. As if it was only tea and toast, as if Kieran coming and going was as common as breakfast with Kingsley. Stupid: the pretence of pleasure couldn’t be extricated from the full moons and the attic and the reason Kieran had to be here, which was the very thing he wished Kieran didn’t have to face.)

“Ask me after the toast, maybe,” Jude said with a rueful smile. If he managed to get the toast down. (Although he didn’t mean it; better they talked about anything else.) “Have you got much to do today?”

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The leaf was weird. Of course the leaf was weird. But Kieran had no doubt that Jude would be successful in his aims, here - because it was Jude, and because Jude was smart and stubborn and determined to do this. Even though it might kill him.

"I have to do some follow-ups for some of my stories," Kieran said, glad for the change of subject, "But nothing intensive. Scheduling a few interviews, probably, and maybe a drop-by of the Ministry to get some records." He could usually shift some of his work around the full moon, as long as it wasn't a month he was on an unfortunately timed deadline - he was lucky, in that way.

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On a usual morning, he might have asked further - which stories, interviews with whom, et cetera - but he felt almost too awkward about talking at the moment for it to keep going. (But he could not go a whole month without talking, just as much as he couldn’t go a whole month without eating so much as a slice of toast or a drinking cup of tea - so he would have to figure it, and fast.)

Instead he nodded along in support, sliding the toast along to Kieran after he’d plucked it from the toasting plate and leaning against the counter for a moment meditatively.

“Good, take it easy today,” he agreed, knowing Kieran knew this well enough himself, but feeling better for instructing it outright. “Will I see you at the Augurey later?” It wasn’t the evening of their weekly meetings, though admittedly Jude had agreed to meet up with a couple of them there this afternoon; mostly he asked because he would be lying if he didn’t like to know where Kieran was going to be during the days between the full moon. The plan for their evening was always rather the same; but there was always a slim possibility it might go awry, and he might not show up at the flat at the usual hour, that he might get into... some kind of trouble.

Strange that this was an essential axis of his day-to-day life now. It seemed like a long time ago, if not another lifetime altogether, that he had lived obliviously to Kieran’s habits and movements. Now it was almost unthinkable.

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"Probably," Kieran said; he didn't want to commit, when he wasn't sure how the day would go. They didn't have a meeting. He took a bite out of the toast. Of course he wanted to see Jude later, and outside of this apartment - play at the way things used to be, when they were normal, even if Jude had not liked him then.

But he didn't want to commit, either. If he committed too much, if he was around Jude too much, then - Jude would catch on. And Kieran could not afford that, either.

"You'll be there today?"

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Kieran was non-committal; Jude thought he had best feign the same. He didn’t know if he was as good as Kieran at being casual.

“Just for a while,” Jude answered - he wouldn’t have asked if he hadn’t been... and if he hadn’t hoped Kieran would say yes - but he understood that it might be safer not to at this time of month. Their friends could only wave so much off as down to a bad hangover.

“It really doesn’t matter,” he added, rolling the mandrake leaf around in his mouth to adjust its place, and then taking a ginger nibble of toast. “I’ll see you later either way, I suppose.” Like this, in secret, as always. It was fine.

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wrap?

  

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