Return of Sebastian Sallow | 10 Yr After Hogwarts

Chapter 123: The Yaguar, Part 1*

Unable to sleep mid-afternoon, as I've been 'resting' quite avidly for one too many days now, I've resolved to spend my time baking. It's good for the soul.

From the distinct avoidance of intimacy – which Thiago chalks up to 'not trusting himself' to be 'gentle enough' – to the clever avoidance of some rather necessary subjects of conversation – such as the fact that I was paralyzed via dark magic at a centaur colony or, from what I have parsed together, the fact that my love and my former-and-possibly-once-again best friend all but tortured themselves to find a way to bring me out of my slumber.

I do feel it has become imperative to facilitate a dialogue. What better to do so than freshly baked biscuits?

Sugar biscuits have always been my favorite, though I've scuttled together some interesting ingredients in Thiago's kitchen that should make for a couple interesting flavor options.

Thanks to my wand and some other magical accouterments that I've stumbled upon, I'm able to navigate quite easily to produce something worth sharing over a glass of cold milk or, I suppose, coffee, if that bitter beverage is something one drinks with biscuits.

It certainly smells as though I've made something worth sharing. It's heavenly. And I trust the alluring scent of warm sugar, butter, and macadamia nuts rouses Thiago's mindfully hedonistic side soon.

Calm yourself, Ominis. Just because this is new doesn't mean it has to be scary.

Now – according to Sebastian, the only way to face pain of any kind is to go through it – right through it. And I am committed to doing so. It's only that nothing about Thiago has ever made me nervous. Well, nothing has made me nervous in a bad way, anyway, save for this. He's usually the brave one, able to voice the difficult things, to come right out and say what he's thinking and feeling – especially when I feel unable to do so.

But that hasn't been the case since that night in the forest. He's been attentive and present for me, yet so distant.

"Don't start with me, bird," I admonish the fwooper who's eyes I can feel boring into the back of my head. Thiago adores him and while I admit it seems the creature has a sense of humor all unto his own, I'm by no means prepared to see to any of its needs without Thiago by my side.

Calm yourself, Ominis.

I wouldn't have guessed a full eight-and-a-half minutes had passed while lost in my own thoughts, but the dinging of the oven timer proves just that, so I carefully 'accio' the final baking sheet of piping hot sugary delights to the cooling rack on the counter.

"Ominis?"

My heart leaps out from my chest at the sound of Thiago's voice. Sometimes I have to convince myself he is real. Really real. And mine.

"Why are you not in my arms and beside me?" he asks in a playful voice both melodic and croak-y due to his snooze. It melts me to my core.

"I've made you something, dear, wait there!" I call up to the bedroom whilst I put finishing touches on the little tray I've prepared. Plate of biscuits. Glasses of milk. Small cup of espresso from a magical machine that does all of the work. A little pitcher of amaretto liquor just in case. And a small vase of flowers from the greenspace we share between our quarters which are fresh enough to smell good.

"Levioso," I whisper, wholly unconfident in my ability to carry the thing up the stairs without tripping and making an utter fool of myself. I much prefer the way it trails just behind me so I can grip my way up the staircase.