Money is like a fire to the rich—they keep throwing logs on it, but somehow it never gets warm enough.
I woke up to the front door opening. I blinked a few times, realizing that I had fallen asleep half-lying on the kitchen table and that I had a stiff neck. I walked out of the kitchen, only to catch the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut.
Fuck it. Alex could wait. I had a fucking headache, so I took an antipyrine and started rummaging in the fridge. Finally, I grabbed the four-pack of beer and went into the room.
Alex took a quick shower while I leaned against his bed and was killing pixel zombies. You'd never know how much fun killing idiot pixel zombies can be.
Alex staggered over to the bed, collapsing into the heap of quilt and pillows with a groan. He seemed determined to bury himself under the covers, whimpering faintly. I wordlessly extended a beer to him, and he grunted a reply. I was just about to start setting a world record when Alex sneezed loudly.
"At least not on me, you fucker," I swore, "I'm gonna be covered by snot."
His response was muffled by the pillow, but I finally caught on to what was happening.
"Hey Alex," I started, which got him to turn his head at least a little bit towards me. I slapped him on the forehead. "Fucking hell, you're burning up!"
"No shit..." he muttered through clenched teeth.
"What the hell did you do last night to get this sick?" I asked.
"I changed back in the morning and walked home like that," he muttered in a strong nasal voice.
My eyes widened. "My God, the neighbours didn't see you, did they?!"
He seemed offended by my concern and attempted to suffocate himself with the pillow again—unfortunately unsuccessfully, so I had to find out how to cure him. I took the beer from his hand before he forgot about it and dropped it. Instead of alcohol, I brought him an aspirin tea.
I couldn't decide whether to take advantage of the perfect opportunity until Alex's hyper-smell worked again or to spare myself from a miserable Alex. I finally decided on the lesser of two evils. There is nothing worse than a sick Alex, trust me.
"I'mgonnadieimgonnadieimgonnadie," he muttered.
"If you keep whining, I might help you with that," I joked, placing the mug in his hands.
He managed a faint grin, then gulped down the tea in one go and promptly fell asleep, snoring like a tractor. His face was very pale, and even for the illness he looked haggard—but at least he seemed to be past the worst of it.
(...)
The moment the fae doctor opened the door to his apartment, Ábel froze in the entryway. His mouth fell open, his eyes going round as saucers. Then, like a dam breaking, chaos ensued.
"Holy shit," he gasped, stepping inside like a man who had just discovered paradise. "You live here?"
The fae doctor sighed, already regretting his life choices. "Yes—"
"You have a chandelier! A real, shiny, rich-people chandelier!" Ábel pointed up in awe, spinning around to take in the high ceilings, the velvet drapes, the sleek marble floors. "And what is this?" He ran to the sofa, dramatically throwing himself onto it. "This is the softest thing I've ever touched! Shay has to sit on this. He's gonna die."
"I'd rather he didn't," the doctor muttered.
Ábel was already on the move again, rushing toward the bookshelves. He gasped. "You have books bound in leather?! Are these secret fae magic books?"
The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. "They are medical texts, and I expect you to read them."
"Wait—" Ábel spun around, eyes gleaming mischievously. "You have a whole study?! With a chrystal globe? Does it spin?" He rushed over, spinning the globe with gusto. "It does!"
"Please, don't break anything," the doctor sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
Ábel had just discovered the grand dining table. He pressed his hands against its smooth surface, looking deeply, emotionally moved. "This table… I could do surgery on this table."
"You will not."
"Could I eat on it?"
"Obviously."
"Could I slide across it like in the movies?"
"No."
Ábel pouted but was immediately distracted by the kitchen. "Holy—you have a whole island! It's bigger than Shay's whole kitchen!" He threw open a cabinet. "And so much food!" He turned to the doctor with scandalized delight. "You're rich-rich!"
The doctor, now thoroughly exhausted, pinched the bridge of his nose again. "I am a respected physician."
Ábel wasn't listening. He had flung open another door and gasped. "THIS IS A BATHROOM?!" He practically ran inside, flipping every switch. "There's a gold faucet! And— is this a heated towel rack?! The towels are warm!" He spun around dramatically. "I'm never leaving!"
"You absolutely are," the doctor said flatly.
"But doc, doc, listen." Ábel turned, gripping the doctor's shoulders with the seriousness of a man proposing a life-altering deal. "I'm your apprentice now. Your legacy. Your future. This means your home is my home. You wouldn't throw me out onto the cold, cruel streets, would you?"
The doctor narrowed his eyes. "It is seventeen degrees outside."
"Cold. Cruel. Streets," Ábel insisted, voice heavy with tragic despair.
The doctor exhaled sharply and rubbed his temples. "Just… go find your room. Before you give me a migraine."
Ábel fist-pumped the air in victory and took off running down the hall. A second later, his voice rang out: "Doc! DOC! I HAVE A BED BIGGER THAN MY FUTURE!"
The doctor groaned. He was never going to know peace again.
He inhaled deeply, summoning every ounce of patience he had cultivated over centuries of practice. He moved with slow, polished grace as he retrieved his finest porcelain teapot, setting it gently on the counter. His hands moved in a dance—elegant, precise, refined.
He poured the water into the kettle as if conducting a symphony, each motion measured. The soft clink of the teacup against the counter was a whisper of tranquility. He selected a rare blend of fae-grown herbs, letting the rich, earthy aroma fill the air. As the tea steeped, he allowed himself a moment of peace, exhaling as if all the chaos in the world could be muted by the simple ritual of tea-making.
Then, he turned around—
—and nearly dropped the entire tray.
Ábel was already sitting at the kitchen island, perched on one of the bar stools, elbows resting on the counter, chin in his hands. His legs swung back and forth like an overexcited child, and his eyes were locked onto the doctor with terrifying focus.
"You move like a fancy butler," Ábel announced.
The doctor's fingers tightened around the teacup. "How are you already sitting there?"
Ábel shrugged. "I got bored in my room."
"It's been three minutes."
"Exactly. Too long." He grinned. "But I like watching you. You're so… composed. Like, you probably fold your socks. Do you fold your socks?"
The doctor placed the teacup down with forced patience. "Of course I do."
"I knew it. You definitely color-code your closet too."
"Naturally."
"And—hold on—" Ábel squinted. "You strike me as the type to iron his bedsheets."
The doctor took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea. "Wrinkled sheets are unsightly."
Ábel smacked the counter in triumph. "I knew it! You're exactly the kind of person who wakes up at five just to have a 'morning routine.'"
The doctor exhaled sharply. "Do you plan to keep talking while I drink my tea?"
"Absolutely," Ábel said without hesitation. "This is fascinating. You're like a fancy, high-society guy, but also a doctor, but also kinda scary."
The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why would I be scary?"
Ábel leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Because you stare at people like you're diagnosing their entire life. It's freaky."
The doctor blinked. "I do not stare."
"You so do. You're staring right now."
The doctor looked away with a sigh. "I regret allowing this arrangement."
"No, you don't," Ábel chirped, grinning. "Shay paid a fortune to make sure I stay here. You're stuck with me now, doc."
The doctor closed his eyes, savoring the last moment of silence before the chaos truly set in.
He had, indeed, made a mistake.
Ábel squinted at the doctor, then glanced around the luxurious apartment—the gleaming marble floors, the massive crystal chandelier, the silk curtains that looked way too expensive to be actual fabric. Everything was polished, pristine, and clearly worth a small fortune. He drummed his fingers against the countertop, deep in thought.
Then, with the confidence of someone who had just cracked a great mystery, he leaned forward.
"Wait a second," he said. "If you're this loaded, what did you even need Shay's gold for?"
The doctor, who had just taken a sip of his tea, set the cup down with the composure of a man who had expected this question. "Donations," he answered smoothly.
Ábel squinted harder. "To whom? Yourself?"
The doctor lifted an elegant brow. "Are you suggesting I should refuse such a generous contribution to medical science?"
Ábel leaned back, crossing his arms. "You fae just like hoarding expensive, glittery things, don't you?"
The doctor didn't answer immediately.
Ábel gasped. "You totally do! You didn't need the gold, you just wanted it!"
The doctor didn't even look guilty. "It would be rude to refuse a gift."
Ábel pointed at him. "Oh my god, you're just a fancy dragon."
The doctor sipped his tea, utterly unbothered. "And you are exhausting."
"Yeah, but I'm right."
The doctor exhaled through his nose, then tucked the coin back into his pocket, where it clearly belonged. "You should be grateful," he said smoothly. "That gold ensures you remain in good hands."
Ábel grinned. "Oh, I am. I'm just also gonna tell Shay you totally scammed him."
The doctor's eye twitched, just barely. "Finish your tea."
He exhaled slowly, clearly weighing whether or not engaging in this conversation was worth his time. Then, with a resigned sip of his tea, he muttered, "He must have known."
Ábel blinked. "Know what?"
The doctor finally looked at him, the faintest trace of amusement flickering in his usually composed expression. "Somehow, Shay seems to know a lot about the fae. More than he should." He swirled the tea in his cup as if contemplating something deeper.
Ábel narrowed his eyes. "So you're saying he let you scam him?"
The doctor smiled—one of those elegant, unreadable fae smiles that revealed absolutely nothing. "I'm saying," he said smoothly, "that Shay is a sly one. If he gives something away, it's because he wants to."
Ábel groaned. "So you still lost?"
The doctor took another sip of tea. "Utterly."
A sharp knock at the door interrupted their conversation. The fae doctor frowned, setting his tea down with deliberate care. Ábel, still perched on the barstool, kicked his feet excitedly. The doctor gave him a dry look before gracefully rising to his feet and opening the door. Sure enough, I stood there, a bag slung over my shoulder. I didn't say anything at first, just held it out.
The doctor blinked. Then his eyes narrowed slightly. "How do you know where I live?"
I tilted my head. "Wasn't hard to figure out. You need more wards."
The doctor exhaled through his nose, massaging his temple. Then, after a beat, he just sighed and took the bag. "Of course."
Ábel snickered. "He always knows, Doc."
I gave him a look. "You settle in alright?"
"Oh yeah," Ábel grinned. "This place is insane! Have you seen his couch? It's like sitting on a cloud made of velvet and expensive regrets!"
The doctor arched a delicate brow. "What does that even mean?"
"It means I love it," Ábel declared, hopping off the stool.
The doctor closed his eyes briefly, as if calling on all the patience in the world, before stepping aside. "Fine. Come in. I assume you'd like to check that he has a good place?"
"Something like that," I said smoothly, stepping inside.
The moment I stepped inside, Ábel practically exploded with excitement.
"Shay! You have to see this place!" He grabbed my wrist, dragging me forward like an overeager puppy. "It's got heated floors, man! HEATED! I thought I peed myself for a second when I took my shoes off—"
"Wonderful," the fae doctor muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Truly the dignified presence I was hoping for in my home."
"Don't be so dramatic, Doc," Ábel waved him off. "Anyway, over here is the ridiculous chandelier that looks like a universe exploded mid-spin—"
"It's an imported piece from—"
"—And this is the couch. Sit on it. Go on."
I sat. My monster purred in approval. Damn. It really was comfortable.
Ábel beamed like he'd personally built it. "See? Velvet. Expensive regrets. I told you."
The doctor sighed deeply, as if reconsidering all his life choices.
Ábel wasn't done. He rushed to the far side of the room and flung open a set of double doors. "And this—this is my room! It's bigger than our entire house back home!"
I glanced inside. He wasn't wrong. The room was ridiculous. High ceilings, a massive bed, a balcony with a view that screamed money. The kid was practically vibrating with excitement.
"Doc, I love it here," Ábel declared. "I could die in this bed and be happy."
"Please don't," the doctor deadpanned.
Ábel ignored him. He leapt onto the bed, sinking into the plush sheets with a happy sigh. "Shay, I'm never leaving. This is my life now."
I snorted. "You say that now, but wait till the doc starts making you study late into the night."
Ábel popped one eye open. "You think he'll do that?"
The doctor crossed his arms. "I absolutely will do that."
Ábel groaned, burying his face into the pillows. "I take it back. This is a trap."
I smirked. "Too late. You're in too deep now."
The doctor exhaled slowly, giving me a look like this was somehow my fault. I just grinned back, entirely unrepentant.
Ábel flopped onto his back and pointed at the ceiling. "Shay, we need a house like this one day."
"We?" I echoed.
"Yeah! You, me, and a place with fancy floors and an unnecessarily big-ass chandelier!"
The doctor cleared his throat. "I am still right here."
Ábel waved him off again. "Yeah, yeah, don't worry, we'll visit."
The doctor looked at me like he was genuinely debating throwing us both out. I just chuckled, stretching out on that absurdly comfortable couch.
Yeah, this was fun.
The doctor was still rubbing his temples when I glanced over at him.
"You got cocoa?" I asked.
He blinked, clearly thrown. "Cocoa?"
"Yeah," I said, stretching out on the couch. "Hot chocolate. You got any?"
His expression turned into something between confusion and mild offense. "I have imported tea leaves, aged for decades in enchanted chambers, but you—*"you"—*ask me if I have cocoa?"
I shrugged. "So, do you?"
"No," he said flatly.
I clicked my tongue in disappointment. "Tch. You should stock up next time."
The doctor stared at me like I'd personally insulted his ancestors. "Why would I do that?"
I leaned back lazily. "Because I like hot chocolate. And you should have some next time. For me."
His eye twitched. "For you?"
Ábel, still sprawled on the massive bed, cackled like a man who had just witnessed divinity. "Shay, you're a legend."
The doctor exhaled slowly, like he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this moment. "Unbelievable."
"Next time, Doc," I repeated, smirking.
I pushed myself off the couch and walked over to Ábel, who was still grinning like an idiot. Ruffling his hair, I said, "Be a good boy, yeah?"
He swatted at my hand but was still laughing. "I'm always good."
I snorted. "Sure."
Then, turning to the doctor, I reached into my jacket and pulled out a small, gleaming gold coin. It caught the light beautifully as I flipped it toward him.
The doctor caught it instinctively, his long fingers closing around it. He glanced down, then back up at me, eyes narrowing. "And what is this for?"
"Consider it a tip." I smirked. "For your cocoa fund."
His lips parted slightly, his usual composed expression faltering. "You're insufferable."
I shrugged. "Yeah. What about it?"
The doctor exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple as if this entire exchange had drained years off his life. Ábel, meanwhile, was still beaming, clearly pleased with himself and everything around him.
"Well, I'll leave you to it," I said, adjusting my coat.
With a last amused glance between them, I made my way to the door. As I stepped out, I heard Ábel excitedly asking, "So, doc, how rich are you exactly?"
The doctor groaned. I smirked.
This was going to be interesting.