hollow_moon | For Jag

Their time together at his grandfather's had been lovely, and spent mostly in bed. Eventually, however, Val had been forced to return to work, and he was certain Jag would have to do the same.

"I've a lot going on in the next week, but I swear I'll call you the moment I've got it all under control," he'd promised- And he'd been true to his word, inviting Jag to join him for dinner the first chance he got.

He'd considered restaurants, but Jag wasn't much for being spoiled in Val's experience. He'd have gladly cooked a meal for the man himself, but he hadn't had a chance to pick up groceries, and they'd never be delivered on time... So he'd settled on a catered dinner at the museum. Nothing too posh, but a nice mix of South Korean cuisine that he hoped Jag would like.

Meeting at the museum meant Val could work right up until the moment Jag arrived- Something he didn't find ideal, but was certainly necessary at the moment while they switched out several of the exhibits and went through various requests to lend out certain items.

"I'll leave the back door unlocked," he'd told Jag. "Just let yourself in, I'll likely hear you coming, but if i don't I'll just be in my office."

Threaded | Flat

From:

jageskro

It still felt like all of it had been a dream. Nightmare, at first, sure, but then dream, definitely. Of the idyllic variety. A few days away from everybody, with no obligation to put any clothes on. The perfect sort of getaway, where you could ignore real life.

Coming back to London had left Jag feeling both thankful and apprehensive. Thankful for what they'd had so far, thankful for being back in the squat with Em and the boys, thankful for going back to busking, to playing with his fire for an audience. But there was a fair bit of apprehension as well, given that he'd kept chickening out of bringing up some rather sensitive topics, unwilling to break the spell of those few days in the countryside.

Now they were back in the real world, and their issues would rear their ugly heads again, he figured. They really ought to talk, to give themselves a chance, before he hurt Val without meaning to or was thrown for another loop a day the wolf was more in control than not. And Val didn't call for about a week, which started Jag wondering whether it might not have been an actual dream. A hallucination. A mental break.

So when Val had called, he'd had to work hard not to sound as relieved as he actually was. Not a dream, they were real. He'd lifted a wallet off a busy City man, rather than go the uncertain route of trying to get enough busking, and he'd been in luck, finding a couple hundred pounds cash inside it. Serious bloody luck, and he was going to look at it as a good sign and not ask Em to have a look at the tarot for him. Best not to know what lay ahead.

So he'd been able to buy a very decent bottle of wine, this time, something that would hopefully even meet Val's tastes. That silenced Drina's voice in the back of his head, going on about the rules of hospitality and the symbolic importance of gifts. He'd made sure to find a t-shirt with no holes in it, and a pair of jeans that weren't ripped, before shrugging on his hoodie and battered old leather jacket to head on over.

The back door was unlocked, as promised, and Jag conscientiously closed it again behind him, before taking a few steps into the otherwise closed museum. "Val?" he called out, heading for where he thought he remembered his office being and pulling the beanie off his head to push it inside his jacket pocket.