Myrrh, his half-asleep mind tells him, scent wafting through the air.

Vanilla. Paper. Butter. Metal. Ink.

He doesn’t need to look to know who it is, and soon enough, as the other’s aware that he’s awake, a hand finds its way to on top of his head, slender fingers running through soft golden locks.

‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning, Emrys. Did you lock the door this time?’

Emrys chuckles. ‘I always do, why do you ask? Get up, now, you have people waiting for you downstairs.’

He sighs and buries his head into the covers. ‘Already?’

‘It’s well past noontime. Stop sleeping late.’ He hears the disapproving tone in his voice, but he can’t be bothered to argue. With a grunt he heaves by him, and rolls off his bed to conduct his morning routine.

Emrys leaves the door open when he skips out. ‘I’ll sort out things down there first," he sings, "but don’t keep them waiting for too long!’

He groans and shouts ‘close the damned door!’ after him, but moves to slam the thing shut anyways, because Emrys has never even once turned back to do so, and he proceeds to trip on his way to the bathroom.

He curses.

As soon as he’s done with everything and double checks that the door is locked, he heads down the stairs to the store and can only pray for a less busy day than usual. But then, more work meant more income, more income meant less overdue bills. He sighs.

Emrys is chatting with with a purple-clad woman next to the Transfiguration shelf, and a few more guests are scattered around the aisles in search for whatever they need. Myrlin pushes back glass bead blinds and locks another door behind him before moving into the shop to help out his customers. He approaches a man in the Aqueous section of the Medicine sector first, since Emrys can keep the lady occupied and the others look half as confused as this man.

‘Good day,’ he dips his head in greeting, blond bangs brushing over golden eyes for a split second, ‘do you need help with finding anything?’

’By the gods, yes,’ the man reaches to pull down his scarf so that he can speak better. ‘I’m from London, you see — took me quite a while to find the shop. Heard the cures here do wonders.’

‘Glad to hear that. Did you come by from Windsor? Or by Silbury Hill?’

‘Eton, actually. Cold and rainy over there, but m’fraid that’s how winter in Britain is.’

’That’s just how weather works in Britain.’ The man chuckles slightly before Myrlin brings them back to the issue at hand. ‘What did you need help with finding, again?’

’The herbs section, actually. You have gynostemma and lemon balm, right? Common stuff, but I figured you'd also have the recipe for anti-petrification here. You don't charge extra, do you?'

Myrlin waves a follow me gesture at him and manoeuvres his way through the shop. 'We don't, as you said. This is an Apothecary for a reason, not a supplies shop — we're bound to be different from those in some way, aren't we? Oh, and,' he pauses in front of the glass back doors and turns back to the man, 'it's rather hot out there. You're welcome to leave your coat and scarf inside on the rack over there, Mister...?'

'Bell, but Richard is fine.' The customer smiles and complies, and Myrlin leads him out into the garden where summer is.

The cooler air of the Apothecary rushes into the garden as they step inside, but as he shuts the doors close behind them, the warm yet fresh air of the greenhouse hits them like a tide upon a beach. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ He comments, as Richard's jaw slackens for a moment before the hint of a smile forms. ‘It's quite the hassle to maintain, but it's definitely worth everything.’

‘Impressive. Construction must take up a lot of your mana.'

‘It’s a small price for it to automatically renew itself.’ He wants to add more to the statement, perhaps an explanation on how the whole process worked or something of the sort, but his cell phone buzzes against his thigh under his long, heavy robes, demanding for his attention. 'Excuse me for a moment,’ he mutters after seeing the caller ID and recognising its importance, ‘but I'll step aside for a moment.’

‘Take your time.’ Richard waves a faint hand at him and leaves him to his own devices. He taps on the green button and raises the device to his ear.

‘Blessings, Talma.'

‘Blessings,’ the woman greets from the other end, voice cracking with static. ‘Your assistance is required in the Northern Sector. Six-O-two in the evening, if you may.’

‘Got it. Anything else?’

‘No. See you there, then,’ she replies, and the line goes dead. He sees Richard eyeing one of his gynostemma plants suspiciously, and sighs while pocketing his phone and stepping towards him in long strides. ‘Yes, it's gynostemma. I'll wrap some up for you, if you may.’

A grin is flashed in his direction and he sighs again. 'Yes, yes. Lemon balm, anti-petrification recipe. Yes. Just don't touch anything, Mr. Richard.'