By the time Bartholomew gets home, it’s hard for him to accurately remember what he’s been up to. He stumbles to his front door, taking a moment to lean against it and collect his thoughts. Every moment spent bonding with Wicker, and the entire walk home, feels like a dream, despite Bartholomew knowing it happened.
He shakes his head, hoping to clear the fog from his brain but instead shaking his balance away further, then enters his house. The curtains are closed, leaving the open area dark.
His focus is drawn to the counter in the back of the kitchen area. He makes his way towards a small flickering light, which reveals silverware and a plate of food set neatly next to a flickering candle.
Bartholomew picks up the plate with quivering hands and sits himself on the cool floor. He stares at his food intently, slowly processing each item that was left for him.
The first thing he noticed was the meat; it was most likely the focus of the dish, but Bartholomew’s head was spinning too much to identify what the specific meat was. Next to it was a mix of orange and green smudge that claimed to be vegetables. It was difficult for him to pick apart any details other than that.
He was too hungry to put the plate down, too fixated by the blurry presence of his food to eat, and he couldn’t remember where he left his silverware.
Minutes- or hours- later, a bright light shone into Bartholomew's eyes, waking him from a sleep he did not know he was taking part in. He shifts under the covers of his own bed, squinting at the vague figure standing over him.
“You got home late,” his brother Horowitz sneered playfully, “You get the food Mom set out for you?”
Bart paused to try to sift through his blurred memories, piecing together facts from fiction. Luckily, it was easier when he didn’t have any dreams.
“Yeah... Yeah, it was good." Bartholomew blinks slowly, trying to formulate more of a response, "We’re lucky everyone here is so good at cooking we can eat it cold, huh?” He smiles awkwardly at his brother.
“You didn’t heat it up?”
Bartholomew laughs gently as his brother leaves the room snickering. Bartholomew simply looks at his paws to think. He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts more successfully than his first attempt, and drags himself out of bed.
After getting dressed and splashing water on his face, Bartholomew decides he’s as awake as he can be and leaves for work. He pushes his confusing thoughts away to get back to later. For now, he has a job to be doing.
Bartholomew opens the door to his workplace to see Percey sitting at their desk. They smile and wave as their employee enters.
“Glad to see you back!”
“Well, it’s kind of my job,” Bartholomew purrs with amusement.
Percey chuckles and scratches his head, “Unfortunately, once again, there isn’t much for you to do today.”
They gesture towards the wall, lined with empty boxes that are labelled with addresses. Bartholomew nods.
“Guess you get a day off then. On your second day of work too! You lucky duck.”
“Thank you, sir!”
“I’d thank everyone else for not writing letters!” Percey teases.
Bartholomew waves to Percey before walking back out the door, sighing with relief. He takes a moment to think of any plans for the day, then decides to journey back to Aedelbark.
Though the town still felt foreign and new, Bartholomew was able to navigate his way to Wicker’s house. He looked at the short distance between the path and door and hesitated, wondering if he should go back home for the day and check in another time. He shook his head. After making it all this was, why turn back? Bartholomew marches up to the door and knocks.
Before getting a chance to reconsider, the door cracks open. Wicker peeks out to see his friend.
“Oh, Bartholomew! Didn’t expect to see you back so soon!” he greets Bartholomew, pushing the door open in a more welcoming manner.
“I just wanted to stop by and say hello,” Bartholomew says, wondering if this was an appropriate decision.
Bartholomew is ushered inside and the door is shut behind him. He glances to the left, looking over the living room he’d hung out in the day before, then the right, where a counter which separated the kitchen from the rest of the room. Here, water in a pot was bubbling on a gas stove.
“I was just starting to make some breakfast for myself, you want some? It must’ve been quite the trip to make it here, how early did you leave?”
“Uh…” Bartholomew realized he didn’t even remember most of the walk to Aedelbark- it felt like he just left Percey’s a moment ago. “I was up early for work, but got a day off anyway.”
Wicker nods and smiles as he makes his way to the stovetop. He picks up a slotted wooden spoon and stirs a pot of water, eventually coercing the bubbles into calming down. Bartholomew stands nearby, patiently watching. Wicker turns to him.
“So what made you want to come down anyway? Ignoring the fact that it’s only 5th moon.”
“I kind of wanted to ask about last night,” Bartholomew shrugged sheepishly, “I probably could’ve waited until a little later, though.”
“For sure, I would have just gone back to sleep if I were you!”
Wicker casually hands Bartholomew the spoon to take over while he opens his fridge. He pulls out a container of chopped vegetables and herbs floating in a golden-brown broth. Two bowls are taken from a cupboard and placed on the counter alongside the pre-made broth. Wicker fishes a ladle out of a drawer, using it to pour the container’s contents into the bowls.
“What kind of soup is this?” Bartholomew asks as Wicker reaches over, turning off the stove.
“It’s a recipe my friend made,” the daemon replies, “Nothing specific, but it’s usually served cold.” He pauses before adding, “She doesn’t like adding noodles, but I think it’s better that way.”
Wicker uses the slotted spoon to drain the water from the short, spiral-shaped noodles, then scoops them into the bowls of broth. He sets the large spoon down, then opens a drawer for eating utensils. A spoon is put into each bowl of soup.
Bartholomew takes his bowl, “It looks really good!”
“Thank you, I try!”
The two take their soups into the living room, where they sit on the couch again. There’s no table, so they hold the bowls in their laps while they eat. They each take a couple bites before continuing their original conversation.
“I suppose I should’ve told you more about what we were smoking last night,” Wicker starts, “Do you know about Constellation Bluebells?”
“They’re the little blue flowers with yellow spots, right?”
“Yeah! Shaped like bells, like the name implies...” Wicker trails off.
Bartholomew nods along, “I don’t know much about them besides what they look like. I’ve only seen them once.”
“Probably because not many people grow them. They’re from the Wisparia Forest, and since no one ever goes there, the flowers are hard to get.”
“Woah. Did you go all the way out there, then?” Bartholomew tilts his head.
“Oh, gods no! I have a friend that grows them,” Wicker explains, “My soup friend actually. Not sure where she got them, but she has a knack for finding plants like that to grow.” He smiles to himself.
Talk pauses as the two continue to eat. After a moment of silence, Bartholomew speaks up, “What do your Bluebells have to do with smoking again?”
“Ah, yeah. If the petals are dry, they’re able to be ground up into a blue powder. That’s what we were smoking. Other Bluebells don’t do it, but the Constellation strain gets you a good high.”
Bartholomew listens intently as Wicker continues, “I help my friend, Cyren, with her drug business. We don’t have a shop or anything, but we host parties to sell them at. She doesn’t make anything dangerous, just the fun stuff.” Wicker looks at Bartholomew with a confident but comforting gaze.
“That’s really cool! Maybe someday I can stop by and let her know her soup recipe is really good.” Bartholomew laughs.
“We don’t have a party anytime soon, but I’ll let you know when we’re having another! Since you’re a friend, I’m sure we can get you in for free.”
“It costs money?”
“Well, we just sell tickets in advance to limit the amount of people who come in. It’s not like we get hundreds of people stopping by, but we don’t want it to get crowded.”
“That’s good, I’m not usually great with crowds.”
“Well, if you’re ever able to come, I’ll be there to keep you company.” Wicker beams.
Bartholomew nods in excitement. Wicker collects their now empty bowls and begins to clean up the rest of breakfast. Bartholomew gets up with him, offering to help here and there.
After cleaning up, he starts to fidget with the bottom of his shirt, “I don’t mean to eat all your food and bounce, but I should probably head home.”
“That’s alright,” Wicker laughs as he reassures him, “I’ll see you another day!”
Bartholomew waves and heads out the door. After closing the door behind him, he shakes his hands up and down to let out some energy, then starts to walk with a smile on his face.
Upon getting home, the house would have seemed empty, if had he not heard the muffled voices of his parents in their bedroom upstairs. Bartholomew makes his way to he and his brother’s shared room, picks a book up off the dresser across from his bed, and settles down to read.
After a couple chapters, he hears a knock and his mom standing in the doorframe. Apri holds a hand close to her chest and her tail twitches anxiously.
“What’s wrong, mom?” Bartholomew sets his book down next to him, focusing all of his attention to her.
Apri sighs, entering the room and sitting at the end of her son’s bed, “Your dad’s been getting sick, he wanted to tell you but I made him stay upstairs to rest.”
“Oh. Is he... Okay?”
“It isn’t really… normal sickness, if that makes sense,” Apri fidgets with her paws trying to put this easily for him, “His family has a genetic history of passing down bad stuff.”
Bartholomew’s face twists with worry, “Just bad stuff? What’s that mean?” He knew he probably didn’t need to ask. His stomach feels uneasy.
“They don’t entirely know themselves, but their bodies like to turn on them sometimes. That’s what happened when his mom was sick. She only had it for a week before she passed, but it usually isn’t that short, at least.”
“Is there a chance for him to get better?”
Apri’s silence is all Bartholomew needed as an answer. He shifts himself on the bed to hug her, having no good way to clear the silence.
“I probably won’t be able to work as much, I want to stay with him to make sure he’s doing alright.” Apri murmurs.
“It’ll be okay, Bartholomew assured, “Horowitz and I will be here to help.”
“Thank you. I’m so grateful for you two boys, do you know that?”
Bartholomew says nothing, only hugging her tighter.
After a moment, Apri pulls away and pushes herself up onto her feet. “I’m going back upstairs to check on him, then I’ll bring you some lunch if that sounds good.”
Bartholomew nods and watches her exit the room. He lays on his back and looks at the ceiling, letting his thoughts twist and contort with anxiety. He puts his pillow over his face and groans, barely resisting the urge to tear it up with his claws. He lays like that for what feel like hours, just cycling through his stress.
A knock comes from the doorway again, interrupting his festering thoughts.
Bartholomew sits up, holding his pillow to his chest. Apri hands him a sandwich, which he takes and thanks her for. She smiles softly, nodding at him before leaving with no other conversation. Bartholomew lazily eats his sandwich, not caring about the contents inside.
He stares at the wall between each bite. He sets his plate on the floor as he finishes, hoping a glass of water would somehow be there without having to put the energy into getting it for himself. After some wishing, he gives up and takes his book again, going back to reading to get his mind off things.
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