"There's a lot more you aren't telling me."

Like how you came to be stuck in this body; did you age regress?

"I am beyond tired professor. How about we continue this tomorrow?" Syryn's eyes were heavy with sleep. The sharp edges that made him a dangerous enigma lay softened by sleep; by how utterly relaxed he was in the presence of Artemus. In his illusory silver black clothing, Syryn was very fetching and looked like he belonged amongst anti mages.

"Professor, take me to bed," he pleaded, voice thick with lethargy. Syryn had been running on fumes since the fight against Rowan. The contract work had used up every last drop of energy he had left in his tank. He could no longer sustain even the illusion of his old self.

"You can't just carelessly say such things without taking responsibility for how it makes me feel," Artemus half-heartedly grumbled at the mage that was boneless in his arms, head resting on his chest.

"I take.. responsibility," Syryn answered, much to the anti mage's amusement.

Artemus made a beeline to the guest room but was waylaid by a fire mage still wide awake and bushy-tailed.

"What's this? A flower thief skulking in my house in the middle of the night?"

Artemus levelled the mage with a bland look, "I'll take your flower if you're so eager."

"Arty, you should buy me dinner first," Magnus returned with a playful wag of his finger. The younger man's perceptive eyes then drifted to the picture of peace that was Syryn.

There was only so much disrespect Artemus could take from his students in one night. It was his fault for engaging in the fire mage's teasing.

"Goodnight Magnus," he slammed shut the door to Syryn's room so he wouldn't have to look at the annoying smirk that followed him.

Artemus was in a dilemma. The drowsy mage in his arms was a few breaths away from passing out completely. His state of clothing though, with all the mud from the grounds, persuaded the anti mage against tossing the boy into bed.

"Syryn, you can't sleep in these dirty clothes." The thought of getting into bed without a bath and a change of clean clothing was inconceivable to Artemus. He was used to sleeping inside bedrolls with the dust and grime of the road during his missions but this - this desecration of a clean bed was unacceptable.

"I'll get Alka to help you change if you're too tired," Artemus said to the mage who hadn't responded to his words.

"Just leave..it. S'okay. Tomorrow will clean bed." Syryn replied when he realised that Artemus was serious about changing his clothes.

"Syryn, it won't take much time," Artemus kneeled on the mat by the bed and murmured to his dust encased student.

The mage blearily opened his eyes and accused the innocent professor, "You just want to take my clothes off, don't you?"

Artemus' tired sigh conveyed a deep seated frustration that went beyond Syryn's light hearted teasing. "Where are your nightclothes, Syryn? At least get these off," he responded while the Alchemist was still awake enough to respond clearly.

"I was about to fall asleep Artemus. Couldn't you pick another time to nag?" Syryn, now mostly awake, matched the professor's frustrations.

Giving in to the silent judgement that radiated off the anti mage, Syryn pulled his tunic off and threw it at Artemus. Then with a shimmy, the pants came off next only to be left pooled on the floor next to Syryn's bed. "Anything else professor?" The sarcasm in his words cut like a knife.

"A bath, if you're amenable to the idea," the anti mage pushed a little more while the alchemist was being cooperative.

Syryn glared at him and then marched off to the bathroom. "Fine. Come with me Artemus. We'll suffer together," he all but snarled. His arm was slowly healing and the dull pain had receded, but there was a light throb that reminded him of his tender injury.

Syryn gingerly stepped into the warm bath that Artemus had run for him. Now that he was cosily settled inside clean water, Syryn was glad for the anti mage's insistence at taking care of the grime he was covered in after the day's exertions.

"Don't fall asleep," the voice from above him chastised without heat. Artemus' careful fingers were combing through the soapy mess that was Syryn's hair. The mage pouted and leaned back, getting shampoo suds and water on the anti mage's collar.

"Your hands are putting me to sleep," he languidly blinked up at the anti mage. Syryn just couldn't understand how the man looked this fresh and put together at the end of the day. Artemus had come a long way from the sick professor that Syryn had met, and all that rich creamy skin rivalled the glow of Salem's elven beauty. There wasn't even a bit of colour under his eyes anymore.

"Art, these looks are wasted on you." Syryn lifted a wet hand and ran a finger down the smooth side of the anti mage's throat where the flesh was softest.

"You're probably right."

Saying so, Artemus gently caught Syryn's wandering hand and directed it back into the water. It had been a terrible idea to get the mage into a bath. What was he thinking? This wasn't the first time that his excessively clean habits had gotten him into a tight spot, but this certainly had to be one of the worst.

Syryn was a canvas of dewy alabaster from his nape, all the way down his delicate shoulder blades where it met the water. The anti mage was filled with visions of the Syryn from the puzzle box; Inches upon inches of slick pearly skin in the same bath.

"Artemus? Are you on drugs that I don't know about?" The question appeared out of nowhere.

"No, why do you ask?" Artemus wasn't sure what this was about but it didn't bode well for his already distracted mind.

"Any eye injury that you haven't told me about?"

"Why are you asking?" Artemus responded with a touch of impatience. The questions were grating on his frazzled nerves.

Syryn closed his eyes and relaxed deeper into the water, a smile playing on his lips, "Your pupils are unbelievably dilated."

The industrious hands scrubbing his back paused for a beat and Artemus blinked away the annoyance he was feeling at his loss of self discipline. They were almost done but he was in a hurry to leave before Syryn -the master of escalation- pushed them into a pit of regrets. "I'll wait outside while you finish up,"

he informed the mage stiffly and walked out like he was being chased by a ghost.

When Syryn appeared after a short length of time, towel secured around his clean body, the anti mage was by a window - leaning on the sill and looking out into the dark horizon.

"Artemus, do you regret kissing me, knowing now that I'm a demon?" Syryn chose the words that would hit the anti mage hardest.

He observed the expression on Artemus' face but there was nothing that revealed what Syryn had expected to find. Could he be blamed? He had been proven time and again in the past that most humans could not look past his blood regardless of the attraction that existed. Syryn's good looks were nothing but honey that trapped annoying flies.

"I should- but I don't," Artemus replied. It was as honest an answer as Syryn could get, but, it wasn't the answer he had wanted to hear.

"I see," Syryn replied in the same neutral vein that Artemus often used. "Thank you, professor. I relieve you from active duty as my attendant."

The mage slipped out of his towel and climbed into bed, shivering when his skin came into contact with the cold sheets. Pulling the blanket over himself, he turned away from where Artemus stood puzzled - thinking, turning over his words, and wondering what had triggered Syryn.

The younger boy closed his eyes and waited to hear the sound of his door closing but was rudely startled by a hand that pulled the blanket off him.

"What the hell Artem-"

He was beset by determined palms cupping his cheeks, a chaste kiss on his cool mouth, the scent of Artemus, and a heart that jumped started. Syryn melted into the butterfly light kiss that the anti mage had placed on his lips.

"I'm not doing this again Syryn," Artemus whispered. Brushing a wet strand of hair off the mage's cheek, he rested his forehead against Syryn's and sighed, "I'm going to hell."

The alchemist was still dazed from what had just taken place. There was no way he could get sleep tonight after this beautiful display of whatever it was; Syryn was confused okay.

"You don't play fair Artemus. That's not enough," the alchemist breathed out against warm lips.

Artemus responded with a soft press of his lips against the edge of Syryn's mouth, then he murmured in a voice that was dark and tempting, "Syryn when I kiss you next time, it'll be when your body is all grown and ready for everything else I'll be doing to you."

It drew a tiny gasp from the mage. Heat pooled in his gut like molten lava, and Syryn never regretted it more that he was a tiny brat. Was there a spell to make him grow?

"Stop thinking so much. You'll need that energy to grow up into the breathtaking man I met in the puzzle box."

Artemus then slowly pulled away from the bed and withdrew all the ambiguous energy that surrounded them. Things had truly escalated, and even this time, it wasn't Syryn's doing. Artemus was an absolute failure to himself.

The mage exhaled and appeared reluctant but he acceded to the anti mage's words, knowing that there was a time for everything. "Thank you, Artemus."

"For taking advantage of you?" the older boy asked with a wry twist of his mouth.

"No," Syryn replied, warmth blooming in his chest, "for- not caring."

Artemus' confusion showed on his face but Syryn made it clear that the conversation had come to an end. "Good night Artemus."

"And don't forget your key again," Syryn reminded him.

"Key?" Artemus tilted his head in thought. "Oh, that's yours. I've asked Alka to explain that to you. Try and get some sleep Syryn, I'll drop by tomorrow- goodnight."

Artemus' exit left Syryn feeling more alone than he ever had. Rowan wasn't showing up in his dreams anymore and it felt like he had been abandoned.

As he fell asleep, Syryn grappled with the feelings that Artemus had sowed in his shrivelled up heart. He had been open to flirting and pushing the boundaries of the anti mage to see what curiosity he could satisfy.

Now - he was knee-deep in uncharted waters, clambering aboard a boat of feelings, and rowing towards an uncertain future. It felt bittersweet. Syryn pressed his face into the pillow and found an inexplicable feeling of betrayal that snuck in like a snake where his warm memories of Rowan lay.

"Vincent, do you ever think about what it's like to be in love?"

"It's past midnight Rowan," his friend replied, voice bleary with sleep. They were both tired but Rowan was besieged by a restlessness he couldn't understand.

"Is this about Lillith?" Vincent rolled over and looked at the anti mage whose bed was against the opposite wall.

"I wish.."

It wasn't right - this melancholy mood that pervaded Rowan's being. Vincent was worried, and rightly so.

"Is this about Syryn?"

The lack of sound from Rowan answered Vincent's query. Rowan had mentioned something about love but Vincent had missed out on most of what his friend had said. Syryn and love, two words that didn't belong together, coming out from his friend's mouth. Unusual.

"Ro, what's bothering you?" Vincent tossed in bed unable to sleep now that Rowan had opened a can of worms.

There was a note of uncertainty in Rowan when he began to speak, "I am to be Eos' champion, and to join in sacred union with her chosen priestess. It is the path that has been set for me..."

Rowan's heart squeezed painfully at the familiar future that he had welcomed once upon a time. He had been so sure of his acceptance of this fate; written down for him when the sign of Eos appeared for Rowan. Now It seemed a grey future, lacking the dazzling starlight that was Syryn.

Vincent stared at the ceiling wishing for Rain to switch places with him. Something had gone terribly wrong and he wasn't equipped to handle a Rowan who sounded like a one man funeral march.

"Ro, do you not want to be Eos' champion?" he asked, afraid of the answer he would receive.

"Do I have a choice?" The bitterness in Rowan's reply choked anything else Vincent had wanted to say.

Rowan could not explain to Vincent the chill that his heart endured when he thought about his future. There was an echo in him that told Rowan he had a promise to fulfil. He grasped at the emptiness and demanded an answer but it was the same feeling that grew like a tumour inside him. 'Remember, remember Rowan'- it insisted again, and again.

Remember what? Rowan was losing his mind- the only explanation as to why he was being chased by a sense of fear that something was slipping away from him.