Daydream

Ashenivir sighed under his breath and tapped his dry pen nib on his blank notes. His gaze, half-focused, trailed after the motions of Rizeth’s hands as they marked out runes on the blackboard. What if he just skipped his alchemy class and stayed here instead? He could clean up Rizeth’s classroom for him, organise his things—he didn’t have another class to teach after this, Ashenivir knew that. He’d memorised Rizeth’s schedule alongside his own.

That meant he could ask for something. To kneel by Rizeth’s desk whilst he read, maybe, to learn something more interesting than whatever his alchemy class might provide. That would be nice, he thought, finishing up his day at his Master’s feet, waiting on his orders.

Rizeth asked the class something; at least two apprentices were brave enough to raise their hands, so Ashenivir didn’t feel obliged to. His hand drifted to his collar. If he knelt for his Master and paid good attention, he could ask for something else afterwards. Rizeth would be in a good mood, he decided, since Ashenivir would have cleaned his classroom and knelt so well for him.

“Very well, Ra’soltha,” he would say, his tone indulgent, maybe with a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. “What would you like?”

And Ashenivir would ask for a kiss, and get his hair pulled for the request, because he knew such a thing was not allowed here. But he’d been good, and so Rizeth would look at him for a long moment, debating, and then he’d draw Ashenivir to his feet—by his collar maybe, or by his hair, either would be good—and one hand would settle on his waist to hold him close. He’d close the door, lock it even, and stroke Ashenivir’s hair the way he did sometimes after a scene, soft but firm. Then he’d tip Ashenivir’s head up with a finger and tell him how good he was, and he’d lean in close and—

“I see I am not engaging enough to hold your attention, apprentice Zauvym.”

Ashenivir dropped his pen—it rolled off his desk and skittered away across the floor. Master Velkon’yss stood over his desk, arms folded, eyebrow raised. A quick glance around told Ashenivir the class was long over, the last stragglers filtering out. His face heated.

“I—”

“—have shown a stunning lack of focus today.” Rizeth tapped a finger on his still-blank notes. The door thunked shut behind the last apprentice, leaving them in near-silence. The look Rizeth gave him then had so much weight that Ashenivir’s flush flooded his whole body. “You will need to make up for your lapse. You will attend this evening.”

“Yes, Master,” Ashenivir managed. What if he asked? What if he asked right now, just as he’d imagined, the door was closed, they were alone, he could ask, he could just ask—

“Very good, apprentice.” The corner of Rizeth’s mouth crooked up briefly. “You had best be on your way—you will be late for the alchemy class you are far too advanced for.”

Ask him! Ask him, ask him, ask him—

“Of course, Master.” Ashenivir gathered up his things as quickly as he could. As he turned to leave, Rizeth held out the pen he’d dropped. Someone shrieked out in the corridor, muted behind the thick stone walls—Ashenivir’s fingers lingered on Rizeth’s as he took the pen back. He had to swallow hard to find enough voice to say thank you.

Rizeth clasped his hands behind his back. He motioned towards the door with a nod, and somehow Ashenivir made it out of the classroom without tripping over his own feet.

He spent the entirety of his alchemy class wishing he’d asked for the kiss.