Chapter Text
He was a sweet boy, and when he first entered the bed and breakfast, he was quiet, too.
Agatha was endeared to him at once, and beyond that, she was also sympathetic. From the moment he walked through the door, up to the desk, and asked softly if this was a place he could stay, she felt deeply protective over him—the child could not be any older than Ralph's young grandsons, but he operated with the weariness of someone who had seen centuries, and moved his limbs as if he had not been a human for a very long time. There were bags under his eyes and a paleness to his skin that looked almost unhealthy, and when he spoke, his voice trembled softly.
"I have money," was his immediate addition to the question, clumsily pulling a wad of paper out of his pocket and holding it out like a child trying to buy a bag of chips. His eyes, startlingly blue, darted nervously from Agatha's hands to her face, then away again, as if he was scared to make eye contact. His tongue darted to wet his lips.
Agatha was intentionally slow, careful, as she reached out and took the wrinkly bills, flattening and stacking them so she could count them. "Sure thing, sugar. How long do you need to stay?" she asked gently, filing away the amount on the bills in the back of her mind, as if it were of little importance.
The boy leaned backwards, to look past her at the rates board, woven with live flowers to fit the cottage-core atmosphere of the downstairs parlor—dark now, from the storm raging outside. He was silent for a moment, counting, and then leaned forwards again and mumbled, "Two nights."
That was the correct exchange for the money he had given her. Agatha had been willing to give him longer, based on how exhausted and alone he seemed, but something stayed her when she opened her mouth to mention this. He may not appreciate being patronized. She didn't, when it was her.
"Two nights," she agreed, reaching into the desk to look. "Any preference for what room you would like? We have three free right now, two with double beds, a single bed, and then one of the double beds has a little porch up on the second floor and the other has a walk-in closet—no extra charge."
"The single bed is fine," the boy mumbled, ducking his head onto his chin.
Agatha hummed and withdrew the correct key, noting its number and comparing it to the empty space on the white board sitting next to her. "Name?"
The boy blinked, as if this were an unusual question. "What?"
"Your name, sweetheart." Agatha lifted the whiteboard to show him, so he would know what she needed it for. "I need to put it down for the room key." She hesitated—"That'll get you signed up for daily meals, too. Breakfast and dinner, and we have lunch foods set out all day."
He exhaled through his nose. "Oh. Um—" His eyes unfocused. "N-Nox. Nox."
"Nox." She hummed and wrote it down with a swirl of quill. Nox watched the ink sink into the paper like he had never seen his name written before. The sharpness to the N, rounding into the O, and then the flourished X which trailed across the rest of the name like a frame—his eyes were deep, but unreadable. Agatha finished writing, then pulled another thing from the desk—a little piece of elegant paper, dyed magenta. She layered a piece of golden foil paper on top of the paper. "Now look," she chittered, her eyes glinting, trying to get something other than that numb look from his eyes, "you also —" She repeated the word here, pressing the pen, now unclicked, to the gold foil—"Have a little key tag! So you know exactly which one is yours, isn't that darling?" She held it up to show him. The gold flake had been imprinted on the purple tag, leaving the name flashing behind, making the whole tag feel as if it were something treasurable (even if Agatha was able to buy them in bulk).
Just as she had hoped, Nox's eyes seemed to brighten somewhat, even if his mouth still remained that thin, shy line. "Here you go," Agatha said, lifting his hand so that she could attach the tag to the key he was still holding. "All yours!"
All yours, he mouthed. He looked at it for a minute, unspeaking, and then something seemed to occur to him—his eyes darted up to meet hers, properly, for the first time. "Thank you," he whispered.
She smiled. "You are most welcome, dear! Now why don't I take you to your room—unless you wish to find it yourself?"
He glanced down the dark hallway, and in the absence of their voices, the rattle of the gutter and the drip of his clothes on the floor seemed particularly loud. He looked back towards her, and although he didn't speak, Agatha could tell quite clearly the question in his wide eyes. "Let's go, then," she said warmly, moving around the desk. "Oh and I can show you the new upholstery we put in, as well! It has little gnomes woven into the fabric! Doesn't that sound just precious?"
Nox looked undecided.
"If you decide you do want a larger room, or one with a balcony, you are always welcome to ask me, and I can check if we still have rooms free," she continued, flicking a lightswitch as they gained the hallway, so that one of the warm fluorescent bulbs fluttered to life in the ceiling. "We got a phone system put in a year ago. And anything else, as well—I'm always available! My family lives upstairs. Here, look—" she pointed. There was a staircase in front of them, carpeting spilled over it, branching off into two different at the landing. "Now the right side, that will take you up to two more floors. That's where the guests stay; I've got you on the second floor now. The left side is closed, seeing as that is where I sleep. My husband's around sometimes too, but really it's me running the place, since he travels so often! He's such a businessman. Watch your step here, the stair isn't even."
They climbed to the second floor, where Agatha took Nox down to the very last door. "Here we are now. I'll let you let yourself in," she said warmly, falling back a step.
Nox looked down at his tightly closed fist, opening it stutteringly to show the little key. He looked at her again, as if for confirmation, and then fumbled it into the lock. The door swung open to reveal the room; modest in size, but blooming with tapestries, soft upholstery, and live plants. Nox stood on the threshold, looking at it.
"Now I won't bother you if you don't want me too," Agatha said, flipping the light on here too to coax the storm into insignificance, "but we've still got some food left over from dinner if you haven't eaten, and I've got a kettle on as it happens, if you would like any tea. We've got only a few house rules here, otherwise you're left to your own devices—no loud music, be considerate in the hallway, and try to keep the telly down after ten. Oh, and if you need anything, ask." She watched as he crossed into the room and pulled aside one of the bed sheets, as if to confirm there was, in fact, a mattress underneath. "Oh, yes, we clean everything well. And if you spill, or something isn't as clean as you would like it to be, it's no bother at all. All I ask is that you be careful around those little ceramic fairies on the shelf!"
"Thank you," Nox said again, a little hoarse.
"Thank you, my sweet. Now would you like any tea? I'm a dab hand at company, too." She laughed. "In fact, why don't I insist. I'll bring it up for you with some food, you do look cold. Is everything else to your liking?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Ma'am!" Agatha laughed, waving her hand. "You don't need to—why, where is my head at today, I haven't even told you my name. You can call me Agatha, honey, or Mrs. G, whatever it is you would like. Even ma'am—I'll let that slide, for you."
Nox let out a shallow, polite laugh and sat down on the bed, which creaked, hospital and cozy. His hands darted along the silky top cover, feeling the softness against his skin. "Thank you," he said for a third time, letting his vision stray to the storming windows again.
"Let me go get that tea, then," she said warmly. "I'll go ahead and close this door for you." She turned the handle as she pulled it back towards herself, so that it clicked neatly into frame, instead of slamming. Then she turned and walked down the hallway, her mind half on the shy young man behind her, and half on the reflection in the dark mirror—the woman clutching the hand of an oblivious red-haired toddler, looking out a window at a dark storm just like this, but thousands of feet above the ground... hurtling in an aircraft across the ocean, to a life that hopefully held kindness, forgiveness, and color.
Nox sat on the bed and looked out at the storm.
He was very deep in thought.
This woman could kill or kidnap him, but this was the only tavern in miles based off of the crumbled map in his pocket, and he did not think her words were ingenuine. Absentmindedly, one of his hands lifted to rub against his arm. He was still soaked—oh, and he was making a mess of the bed sheets. He jumped up from the bed and backed away. They were only damp from his own rain-logged clothes, but his stomach turned guiltily, at the soiling of the warm sheets.
He took a deep breath through his mouth and then exhaled. The storm was still so loud, but somehow he did not feel quite as bad in this room as he had before—not as lonely, accompanied by the light and the trinkets spilling from every shelf. Even though she had told him making a mess wasn’t a problem, he still felt bad about all the water he had tracked in, even without luggage. He also felt bad about lying in the bed, but he didn’t have a change of clothes, and he couldn’t just remove them when he was waiting for her to come back.
He sighed and looked at the bed.
Oh but he was so tired.
"Here you are, now you can tell me to stop fussing, if you so wi—" Agatha stopped.
After a soft knock, she had let herself into the room, balancing the tray of pastries and tea on her hip—expecting the boy to be awake. As it was, he had evidently grown too tired—collapsed on top of the bed, fully clothed, his cheek pressed into the pillow.
Agatha clicked her tongue sadly and crossed to the nightstand, to leave the food for when he woke up. “You have a nice rest, kiddo,” she said to him, almost under her breath, as she replaced the cover on top of the food so that hopefully it would stay warm. Then she hesitated for a minute—looking deeper into her face than she had before, given she had not wanted to scare him.
His face was smudged with rain and dirt. His hair was tangled; she would need to remember to get him some toiletries, and a hair brush. He had not brought luggage with him, but she had intentionally not commented on it.
In his sleep his shoulders were curled inwards, and she realized he was, as if out of habit, curled around a necklace—a thick black cord and some sort of purple pendant only barely peeking over his shirt collar—cradling it like a loved one, clinging to it like a lifeline, and guarding it like something stolen.