Together ⇢ P Martens (Patreon)

You stretch an arm over as you stir in your sleep. Usually your arm would collide with another, slip around the waist of the person sleeping next to you, but it just hits the cold mattress.

You open one of your eyes and really take in that there’s no one beside you. A tired groan escapes you, you rip the duvet off of your legs, let your feet hit against the laminated floor before leaving the bedroom.

You tip-toe down the stairs, avoiding the second one as it tends to creak and then turn into the living room. You find P sitting in there, a mug in front of them, the hint of dark circles under their eyes as they look up.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” they utter under the dim lighting, their expression twisting into guilt as you lean against the doorframe rubbing your eyes.

“No,” you reply. “I just noticed you weren’t in bed.”

P nods, their expression slightly more relaxed as they run their hands over their knees. “Did you want one?” they ask, pointing to the hot drink in their mug.

You respond with a nod of your own and P gets up without any hesitation. They move over to you, take your hand and lead you into the kitchen. Whether you wanted the drink or not, you know it’s the best way to find out why P is up at such untimely hours. The lack of sleep usually indicates something is bothering them.

You take a seat on the counter, watch as they take your favourite mug from the cupboard and turn the kettle on. For many moments, the only thing that envelopes the two of you is the rumble of the kettle and the steam that comes from it.

Your fingers lace together as they pour the hot water in the mug, the clinking of a spoon sounds next and you take the opportunity to ask the question that’s chipping away at you.

“Are you okay?” you blurt out.

There’s a pause in everything. In the stirring, in P’s slight movements, you swear you hear them suck in a breath before they clear their throat.

“I just couldn’t sleep,” they utter, walking over to you and sliding the mug over at the same time. They’re standing in front of you now, and you and P have been together long enough to know when something isn’t right. To know when something’s off. They place a hand on one of your knees to separate them so they can stand between them.

“Any reason why?” you push, your hand now over theirs now and despite their sadness, you can feel P’s warmth. “You can tell me things,” you whisper.

“I know,” they mumble, their blue eyes downwards, their thumb brushing over your knuckles as they swallow hard. “I’ve just been feeling a bit on edge, my magic has been a bit… out of whack.”

You turn P’s hand over, their palm facing upwards whilst you arch an eyebrow. “That’s strange.”

“I called my dad and asked him about it.”

“And?”

“It can happen to magical beings sometimes, it’s very rare, sometimes it’s genetic where magic doesn’t work as it normally does… or doesn’t come back at all.” The last of those words are said much more quietly than the rest, and you realise that’s what’s worrying P. “There are health side effects, physically, mentally…”

You meet their eyes. “But you’re worried you won’t be able to do magic at all at some point?”

It’s small, you barely notice it, but P nods.

Truthfully, you’re out of your depth. A golden birthmark with supernatural properties is something you’ll have to live with. It has come with its bad moments, more perks than you can care to count, brought you closer to a whole other world that you didn’t believe existed… but you weren’t born with that knowledge. P, their abilities have been a part of them from the very beginning.

You give them a small smile. “I’d still fancy you if you were human.”

They snort at that, your aim was to get a smile out of them and you do. “That is a very comforting fact. Thanks for telling me.”

“It’s only the truth.” The air turns serious after you say that, the happiness doesn’t fill P like it usually does, and if this is something they have to deal with you will too. “Not that I’m hoping you’ll never be able to do magic again but you’re so much more than a few spells.”

P heaves a sigh. “It’s not just that,” they utter. “Everyone in my family has some magical ability of some sort, it makes me feel connected to them. If I don’t have that then… I don’t know who I am.”

“Exactly as you are now,” you say without missing a beat. “You’re intelligent, kind, empathetic, confident.” You watch as P shakes their head at you, hints of frustration bubbling within them.

“That’s all well and good,” they begin. “But—“

“I know it’s not magic, that those are only personality traits that you’d say anyone can have but whether your magical abilities are there or not you’re always going to be your parents’ kid. Completely cliché, but you’ll be connected to your family no matter how far you are.”

You’re not sure whether your words lift P, they don’t give anything away, all they do is grip your knee a little tighter before taking a step back.

“It’s late,” they murmur. “We should go back to bed.”

You slip off of the counter. “If you want to stay up, I’ll stay with you.”

They shake their head. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you counter. Your hand is in theirs, you pull them to the sofa and within moments you find yourselves laying on it together, P’s head against your chest as your fingers go through their freshly dyed hair. “I know I’m probably the worst person to give you advice about all of this, and I’m probably not the most supportive—“

“You are,” P murmurs against you. “I’m lucky to have you.”

That forces a small smile out of you. “I just want you to know that I’m always here for you, no matter what. And worst case scenario, you never do magic again—“ You feel P tense at that, ”which I don’t think will happen! Then we’ll navigate through that together. Promise.”

P presses a kiss to your shoulder. You take it as a thank you of some sorts. “Yeah, together.”