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Early mornings call for a specific type of precision one might say.
A proper schedule does well to ensure a day may run accordingly well. Without an error to be seen, or without a flaw to be noted, everything accords to as the schedule has been mapped out.
To follow the routine to the mark is a recipe to ensure systematic perfection throughout his day, running smoothly, keeping his spirits lifted up high, he may even find himself exchanging a brief conversation with the residents he takes refuge next to.
Every minute gone by, is one he has already predicted meticulously the day prior, each moment that passes him by, had been predetermined, and he expects it to come to fruition in due course.
From every exact placement of another’s foot, to a rather forceful arm wrapped around him as an offered friendly greeting by the locals, every word that is spoken out to him from afar, even to preplanned meetings with his otherwise bothersome colleagues.
And to the more familiar sensation of lips upon the tops of his head, ushering words he does not quite catch on to while within the depths of his work.
It is all to be expected.
But even so.. Not every day may go as he wishes it to.
To Espresso, mornings are not quite as ideal as one would prefer. Nor are they by any means his more favourable hours of a day.
There are times in which he wakes feeling much too light headed to so much as comprehend a thought, oddly spaced out, and away from reality entirely. And without the assistance of familiar specs upon his face, having to spend more than enough of his time in search.
He finds himself behind time, naturally struggling to get from one point to the other.
Bumping into another’s rather solid back more than several times in the process, eliciting a rather deep laugh from the recipient, laughing at his troubles, per usual.
Having to demand that he is to fetch them in his stead, as he was surely the reason for his lack of awareness of his belongings in the first place, the other complies after a few more rather audible laughs.
He dare not even glance towards the mirror, insisting more than several times to cover the damned thing, for he will only disapprove of what is displayed back towards him every time, the picture of a mess.
But one insisted it remain open, for he was far too conceited than one should ever be about themselves..
His hair, that does not seem to remain flat, that curls out in places that appear hideous to his calculated eyesight, he would have to forgo his work entirely if it would not cooperate.
And the heavy crescents beneath his eyes.. They.. Had surely not grown larger in the time between now, and the day before, right..?
The way he stumbles out of bed, with achy joints, and rather sore limbs from experiments he had spent one too many hours striving for nothing short of perfection on the day prior.
Often times he receives a rather heavy crash into the floorboards below him, his legs giving out entirely, tripping over things he does not believe were ever meant to be there, but had been left out by him just the same.
Though..
That is not to say that all his problems can not be solved by a perfectly thought out routine. One that is vital to him if he is to ever wish to have any hope to gain some sort of productivity from his day.
Of ways he can ensure he may never feel like that, or of.. A certain favourable substance, one that will make certain his mind may never wander away from concentration—
Coffee.
The substance had not only been his source of life as he knows it, but rather his lifeline entirely. Without it, what hope did he have to achieving what he wished to? None of his achievements would have blossomed so soon if not for the substance.
Would he immediately feel revived to his full senses without it? Absolutely not.
It keeps him feeling alive. Coursing throughout his veins, his muscles, his mind, providing him with the means to go on with his day without any further error, and without the chance he may give into closing his rather heavy eyes even for a moment.
Would his title still remain today if not for it?
Of course not. Hours, and hours of work, left wondering just if his efforts would ever fall short of enough. Time waited for no one, and sloppiness can not be afforded at his level of experience.
Even if it means he must forgo the woes of his mortal body. Refusing to eat, turning away from foods he may otherwise enjoy, for it may very well cause his stomach to turn uncomfortably these days, then so be it.
It was only ever a method to consume his time.
Declining every offer of assistance to his work, those who insist they could offer any form of aid, to lessen his load of work, to make it easier. He is flattered truly, but..
What did they know? They could not hope to have the same level of knowledge in his field as he, they would only merely get in the way, ruin his efforts, or attempt at talking him away from his duties.
It is.. Unhealthy.
He is.. Aware, of course.
But it is an impossible feat to live without the sole reason for his existence entirely, what he was created from, birthed from. Just how is he to be expected to forgo it?
Yes, once or twice he may have had a few scares..
In which he had been awake for well over several, long weeks, having delved into a more forbidden art he rarely dwells in, spells that had effects on his body, that had a price to been paid in return for results.
He had attempted to lay his head down upon the pillow, tossing and turning, he had even been lulled to sleep in many different methods, to burn his energy, tire him out. His eyes refused to close.
Times in which..
He had awoken within another’s arms, rather confused. Concern was eminent, and the heavy, elevated heart beat that’s aches into that of his own sore body, is enough for his own pulse to heighten in response.
As Espresso has to properly hold the other in close, ushering assurances that he was fine, that he was alive. As to calm him down from the tears that fall rapidly down his otherwise pale cheeks, and his unconsolable voice.
He had intended to bring attention to it sooner, he had promised he would.
Ah, and of course, that leads him to the now.
"This has gone too far, and you know it, Es."
Because only ever are his methods questioned by him.
The only one he has sworn to annoyance, the one thing that always seems to stand between him, and his natural productivity. A burden that should not be here at this moment, having arrived early by.. 5 minutes earlier than that of his usual time of arrival.
That should not be hindering his precise schedule at this very moment, arriving off time, whenever he pleases, as though others were not working. His perfectly thought out calculations, planned to the precision, so that they may never fall short from completion.
All seem shatter in light of the reality of a big, stupid.
Light Knight.
Madeleine.
"And I have told you, I am more than capable of handling this." The mage insists.
Espresso would not be able to count just how many times they have had this discussion on a single hand alone. The Knight’s tone becomes oddly serious in the face of it all each time, his expression strangely firm, and his usual cheerful nature, discarded immediately.
He has always been one who makes his concerns more than known if Espresso were to simply let one wrong breath escape from his lips, if he ever were to mention his slight weariness, then before he would so much as blink, he was already whisked off within his safe embrace.
His back reaching the comforts of.. Was it his bed? Or the Knights? At the time, he was unsure, for he would long since be departed away off into slumber the moment he fell into warm pillows.
Of times in which he reaches for a simple sip, only to have his mug stolen from him in an instant.
The Knight had insisted that coffee is not only a danger to his longterm health, but the root cause of every ailment he experiences each morning, he had mentioned it, once or twice, or of the multiple other times.
Heavy heads, and migraines that he can not seem to shake for the entirety of his day, drowsy, even several hours into the afternoon. In which he must forgo the rest of his work for the day in order to simply clutch at his head for unspeakable, wasted hours.
The other has witnessed every moment of agony that had been inflicted upon him, offering his concern, insisting to take a step away for a moment, to not reach for the substance as a supposed cure.
Of course, Espresso would never ever allow himself to admit that the Knight may very well be correct.
"Oh? Really?"
Madeleine moves up closer towards the Professor, straightening his posture out, as to further prove his stance, that it would make a difference..
"I have to admit Es, it certainly does not look as though you do."
He was utterly frustrating by every accord, Espresso despises this fact solely about him. In which he simply will not cease his nonsense until Espresso gives into whatever it is he is concerned about.
One wrong step, one where he even slightly trips over his feet, is enough to spark worry in the Knight’s eyes, ensuring if he is not hurt, encouraging him to sit, and allow him to take a look himself.
No amount of insistence would ever deter him away from making certain his own health was a priority above that of his own. Attempting to push him away, to not worry over such unimportant things.
He would never budge.
Unwavering, Irritable, Annoying—He is just—!
So terribly cute.
Espresso does not have the chance to witness the deeper tones of his voice often, the way his eyebrows furrow, and he makes a proper effort to hold himself up higher than usual. All for the sake of his worries, and his concerns for Espresso alone, no less?
Espresso finds himself struggling to conceal a rather fond chuckle from escaping him.
The concept of.. Love. Is something Espresso still finds himself learning about, and from. To be received, and given in so, so many different forms.
Physically, in which he has grown to yearn for the touch of his skin, to feel his rough, calloused hands, from years of suffering, and blood thirsty wars, glide across his skin, savouring him in ways that only he—Ahem.
Emotionally, of moments where they need only gaze into each others eyes to understand everything beyond meaningless words, and actions. To ways even he can not quite comprehend still.
Nor does he believe he is meant to for it was never something Espresso could imagine himself falling victim to, willingly so nonetheless.
But if time has taught him one thing, and the constant presence of the damned knight, then this fool would never have allowed him a chance to deny his burning adoration.
Not that Espresso would have ever denied it to begin with.
"Hm? Then what does it appear like to you then?"
Though shaky, he walks himself up closer to the other, bringing himself properly face to face with him, though their differences in height was to be undoubtedly noticed, it never fails to break Madeleine into a rather uncomfortable sweat.
His hands find themselves around either side of his cheeks, almost ushering his face closer until—He stops just short of his lips. "Ah."
"Are you.. Worried about me Madeleine?" He raises an eyebrow.
And the Knight dare not gaze into those all knowing eyes of his, in fear he may very well cave in that instant, and forgo whatever he was attempting to bring across to him, he knows just how to get under his skin.
Frustrating, as it is endearing after all this time..
It still does not deter him from voicing his worries just the same.
"Of course I am.."
And Espresso may only smile triumphantly.
Until Madeleine chooses to open his mouth again.
There comes a time in which loving affirmations may morph into something more fiery in nature, where a natural fondness must be replaced with a more serious tone. Where affection is replaced by a more fearful emotion, of concern. An otherwise calm emotion, until it grows overwhelming.
But perhaps there is a moment in which it may go too far.
"You are only harming yourself! I do not like seeing you in this state day after day!"
So when Espresso believes he does not quite like the tone Madeleine carries with that, his eyes sharpen, and he can almost feel as though the Knight retracts a few steps backwards.
And yet, he still does not seem to take the hint.
"Look at you!"
He gestures rather dramatically towards the way Espresso’s body sways which each second he must remain consciously upright, with each step he takes backward, he finds himself stumbling back over his own weakened feet.
He had overdone it today, sure, there were one too many things on his schedule that had to be completed no later than the day. But that is nothing out of the ordinary for Madeleine to witness, so why the sudden shift?
"I am over this, Es." He looks away.
"You are barely standing! You can not even take a few steps towards me without struggling to do so!"
His voice raises much too high with that, and even he realises much too late, just how loud his voice had come across. He never had an intention of speaking like that. He would never allow himself to speak against Espresso like this.
To even so much as speak to him in that manor compels against every promise has had made to him, of every moment he had sworn to never raise his voice, that he would never need to.
It makes him feel ill.
He opens his mouth, to immediately apologise—But instead—
"Look—I am just.. Concerned—" His tone softens.
And it is all that seems to leave him.
He averts his eyes away, wishing to look anywhere besides towards the mage, as a silence envelopes them both rather quickly. It was agonising, just as it was unnerving, and Madeleine finds himself struggling to find any further words.
A silence that they are commonly comfortable within, to be within each others company without the weight of what is to be further discussed.
Only when the silence does break, it is not what he had wished for.
"I see."
Unable to view his eyes, hidden behind his rather messy hair, he dreads that tone he carries, naturally deep, and unnerving, all the while holding that.. All knowing smile on his face.
"That is surely a first for you, Madeleine, no? Since you only ever seem to worry about yourself."
Knowing that he had only fuelled something within his beloved, something he only rarely has the opportunity to witness, and by no means would ever willingly choose to.
The way he seethes is to be feared, the way his eyes constrict further with each moment his thoughts run ramped throughout that gorgeous brain of his. Smoke emanates from his being as his magic takes ahold from his elevated emotions.
How he must take more than several steps back, as not to burn into the floorboards beneath them, and to ensure that he may never bring harm to Madeleine.
"Forgive me if I inconvenience the Holy Knight!"
He would only rather be burned by the fire that condemns him.
"Es—"
He attempts to move in closer to him, but when Espresso makes his point of begging for him to keep his distance, holding his hands out towards him, taking his own steps backwards, unsure of just what he may do if he were to come near him—
His voice still does not stop.
"No, no! If you are so concerned about assisting me then perhaps you can do me the pleasure of leaving me alone permanently!"
And he speaks something he regrets.
"Ah—"
He did not mean that—He knows he didn’t mean that.
The way he stops immediately, at the realisation of what had left his own lips, of how he could have ever even uttered such words towards him.
It is so, so unlike them to have quarrels, to even so much as raise a voice towards one another is unheard of. So why is it so different this time? Why had he been so defensive over something so pathetic such as this?
And why did Madeleine raise his own voice towards him?
Seething, he turns on his heel, to promptly leave off in a hurry, he dare not glance back towards the Knight, or to even hear what he has to offer him, or what he was currently speaking, he couldn’t hear him.
For he will only dislike what appears back towards him.
A man, that is so..
Irritatingly beautiful—Even when they do argue, who will still show his undeniable adoration in his every word, his every touch, one who glances back towards him, after his voice had cracked more than embarrassingly so.
With a fondness he does not deserve for the words he had spoken so cruelly.
His patience with him.. Always allowing him to speak whenever he may, to leave him to his own solitude if he wishes for it so. How a smile now suddenly replaces his previously angered features—Ah—Were they ever really angered?
Perhaps.. Not..
They by no means compliment his annoyingly gorgeous, handsome face anyway..
How he would reach out to hold him close if he would allow it, to immediately apologise for the words that were exchanged between them, more so for his own words, despite Espresso’s wrongdoings, he takes it all.
That it all suddenly didn’t matter anymore.
That they may go to sleep tonight, within each others heavy embrace, without any burdens weighing down on either of them, gentle kisses, and a warm embrace. None of it would matter.
It had all been long forgotten anyway.
But, perhaps not so simply.
When Madeleine returns back from his duties later that evening, utterly worn out from the days contents, and a rather occupied mind alike, he allows a rather heavy sigh to escape his lips, and to ease the tension that had remained troublesome from within his shoulders.
A quiet home is all that seems to greet him in return.
Cold, empty, barren he dare even say, as the silence almost becomes unnerving to him.
The lack the heavy scent of a rather bittersweet beverage he has grown to adore is to be noted absent to him immediately.
Ah— And without the familiarity of his beloveds voice, welcoming him back, soft lips upon his cheeks, lips, or wherever he wished to reach, and warm embraces, that last perhaps a bit too long for a simple welcome home—
Espresso was not home.
He may only assume he has crossed far over a line that he never should have.
Beginning to conjure up possibilities, of just how he plans to make this up to him, to apologise—To tell him he was only merely worried about how he was treating himself, and that none of it was worth the words they had spoken to one another.
And his hand brushes upon an item upon the counter he idly runs his hand along whilst in his own thoughts.
Only, when he does gaze down towards his hand, having to squint in order to properly recognise—A small piece of paper. A note? His eyes run slowly along what is displayed upon it.
Familiar hand writing, without a noticeable flaw, without an abnormality, smooth, and neatly kept, reaches his senses immediately.
Perfectly refined, a mastered craft to the likes of his love. Familiar, and fond, as memories of exchanged letters of loneliness, and longing, come flooding back to him with each syllable he reads further in.
It had been some time since he had written Espresso a letter, or vice versa, a mutual form of fondness, a language they are both quite well versed in. Of small bittersweet notes, to longer, more heartfelt letters.
It brings him back to a place, somewhere they both understand, and knew, to fall into each other.
Home.
By no means were they old, and aging away, but even Madeleine, the hopeless fool that he is, can not help but recall each moment in time, every underlined word, meant for him, wether it was bitter, or sweet, it was to be reminisced idly.
His beloved had always been the romantic type after all..
Only when he reaches the final letter, a smile replaces a previously regretful expression.
And he forgoes the note entirely, placing it down ever so gently upon where he had initially picked it up from, for he will keep it within his possession for years to go by, just as the rest.
And rushes immediately out the door with an ushered haste.
Even despite the twilight hours approaching rapidly, he could not care—
For the night had been when their love had first blossomed to fruition.
________
Dear Madeleine,
It has been awhile, hasn’t it?
I have had more than enough time on my hands to reconsider what you had said to me, and through much, much thinking, I have come to the realisation that I was wrong.
I wish to apologise for overstepping, for accusing you of something you have long since left behind you, that I should have never mentioned.
Your worries have always been well expressed to me since the moment I met you, and I have always been appreciative of that. I wish to be more heedful of what you suggest to me, and perhaps to come to an answer to this problem together?
You have always held my well being close to you, for that I am.. Flattered.. Still to this day. Our bond was something I did not.. Forsee, nor did I expect to feel the way it has.
By no means do I wish to hinder it over my poor lapse in judgement.
I do hope you are not upset with me.
I love you
E—