Archive of Our Own ^beta

Coco wishes her mom could see her, wishes her mom could see how far she’s come, wishes she could give her a hug. Coco wishes she didn’t miss her so much these days, wishes she couldn’t still feel the ache in the pit of her heart.

Because they had temporarily reversed the magic. 

Her mother had been alive again—a living, breathing human pulled from the crystal that had seemingly damned her. Her mother had been back for over four months. One hundred and twenty-eight days. Coco had had one hundred and twenty-eight days of overflowing gratitude before it had all been lost, all over again. The magic had taken its toll; it didn’t matter that it had been reversed. The damage had been done, her life cut brutally short.

And that all happened when Coco was a teenager. She’s older now. She’s an adult, for heaven’s sake. She feels like her age should bring some sort of emotional strength with it.

It wasn’t like this grief was new, no, not in the least. And she could live with the feeling of loss, because she was happy, and she believed it. But the grief—it had resurfaced sickeningly ever since her and Agott had decided to take on apprentices; the chance that her future students would see her as a mentor figure, or even a parental one, while Coco didn’t have parents of her own to guide her? The way her mother will never get to see her as proud and happy as she was on the day that she’d passed the fifth trial?

If she’s too filled to the brim with guilt and grief to teach, what then?

And she’s going to tell Agott how she’s feeling, she is. She’s not going to let this transform horribly into one of those times where she keeps her worries shut in.

Coco knows it’ll be okay. She believes it with her whole heart, her whole being. She keeps coming back to that; it’s one of her lifelines. 

But having lifelines doesn’t make it any less stressful when things go wrong.

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Coco stirs awake but doesn’t open her eyes yet. 

She’s woken up feeling peaceful. It’s warm and bright under the low roofs of the shared atelier, and she decides not to bring it up with Agott quite yet.

It’s not a day in which grief needs to be discussed.

And besides, she’s comfortable this morning. Despite her odd position—upright, leaning slightly against something, having apparently fallen asleep in the living room of the atelier yet again—she isn’t sore at all. And Agott had dozed off next to her, too. They’d clearly both fallen asleep sitting up on the sofa, still wearing their formal robes and shoes; Agott’s cap is even sitting crooked on her head, ribbon astray.

The previous evening had been crammed full of paperwork and stress, hands clenched in anxiety, and frantic whispers; overall, the long hours at the Great Hall had been more than overwhelming. When they had come home, they’d crashed immediately on the nearest semi-comfortable surface.

But all that exhaustion was worth it because it had been finalized, properly and truly: they were going to accept apprentices, the two of them. 

The process is long; it’ll be months until they’re finally taking on students, but they’re one step closer. One step closer. They still need a watchful eye, they still have to sort out guidelines concerning two professors living in one atelier, they still have to navigate the Hall’s ancient rules, yes, but they’re getting close.

They’ve wanted this for years, and here they are.

Coco feels a jolt of excitement bolt through her, already mostly awake despite the workload of the past weeks. Yawning, she opens her eyes and shifts against Agott slightly, who’s leaning heavy on her shoulder. Coco’s gaze is immediately met by the late morning falling through the windows and onto the wooden floors, warm sunlight filling the room. Glancing across to the opposite wall, she checks the clock composed of tiny glowing sigils. 

Oops. They’ve slept in again. 

“Agott!” she whisper-shouts, putting her hands on her counterpart’s shoulders and shaking slightly at first, then getting progressively more frantic.

Agott opens her eyes and looks incredibly offended at having been woken up so abruptly. Almost lunchtime, and yet she looks rightfully exhausted, sleep lining her face. “Coco… let me sleep …” she grumbles, ready to drift right off again. 

Coco, however, is not about to let that happen. She’s decided that she’s ready to get on with the day. 

She feels okay this morning; she’s going to make the best of that.

“Nope! Wake up, wake up! I know you’re tired, but we have so much to do today, and I’m making you help me cook breakfast. Or is it lunch?”

Agott groans and stretches out, reaching her arms up towards the ceiling, before offering her hand to Coco. “Help me up. It’s too early to move and that’s your fault,” she says without an edge of honesty, because Coco doesn’t mind—has never minded—her rough words.

“Sorry!” Coco grins, not sorry at all. She twines her hand with Agott and pulls her up, meeting in the middle. As soon as she’s standing, Agott immediately drops her head onto Coco’s shoulder, shutting her eyes against the late morning light, apparently about to fall right back asleep in that position. Coco, however, grabs Agott’s hands, dragging her off to the tiny kitchen. Agott grumbles the whole way there.

But then she asks, because of course she does, “What do you want for breakfast?”

It is a question she likely would’ve never asked a twelve-year-old Coco, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Right now, today in the shared kitchen, it’s an old habit and a sign that the morning will unfold kindly.

And as they start cooking, they fall into their easy morning rhythm. It’s achingly easy. It’s the most natural thing, and it calms Coco’s lingering nerves.

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The two have shared their late breakfast: honeyed mountain apples on toast and fried eggs, accompanied by sweet tea. They now sit on the floor of the living room, surrounded by old letters and photos, dusty trinkets and crumpled notes. They’re trying to clean out the living room today, preparing to eventually restructure it to be more suitable for classes.

But in the middle of throwing away some old spell practice sheets, Agott spots it. The pieces of cream coloured paper tied together in a thin stack, the same kind of paper that Qifrey used to keep in piles for the girls to use for drawing practice. 

It’s the few letters she wrote as a 12-year-old; it’s the ones she never sent, instead penning them as a means of getting her feelings out. 

It’s been over a decade since then, somehow.

When she’d moved into the shared atelier a couple years ago, Agott had brought all her old belongings from when she was an apprentice; she now accredits this to a moment of nostalgia-filled weakness. And she hadn’t gone through any of it, not until now.

So she reaches across Coco’s lap and picks up the bundle of letters, untying the string securing them quickly. She may as well find out what exactly she wrote all that time ago.

Coco,

Respectfully (I don’t actually mean that), you do not deserve to be a witch. You can’t even cook a damn potato (Professor Qifrey says no swearing but he can’t read this so I don’t care), and you’ve been here for a few weeks now. Why would you ever come to this atelier? 

On second thought, maybe Agott should’ve saved the trip down memory lane for when Coco wasn’t in the room and in the process of looking curiously over her shoulder.

I’ve lived here for two years without needing to worry about my progress, and then you come along?

Sincerely (I don’t mean that either),

Agott Arklaum.

Agott runs her fingers over the dark letters on the white paper, the words from over a decade ago seemingly burning into the page. 

The irony in her preteen self being so insistent on not sharing a house with Coco isn’t lost on her. Because, of course, things are so different these days. Now that it’s been over ten years, she’s chosen to do exactly that; sharing a house with her closest friend is the best decision she's made in a long time.

“Coco,” Agott says, voice quiet. There are more letters, but she’s not sure she should even spare a glance in their direction. Not if they’re this grating. “I was such a little shit. How did you even put up with me?”

Coco, however, doesn’t look put off in the least. “Aw, Agott, you care what I thought about you?” She nudges her, laughing a bit while Agott’s face takes on a look of pure disdain. “I have to admit, this is—well, it’s funny!” 

Coco’s considerably too happy for the situation at hand, Agott decides stubbornly. 

“Your aside about swearing…look, it’s funny, Agott! Promise I’m not hurt by this,” Coco adds on, before asking, “Did you write these for yourself?”

“...Yeah, unfortunately,” Agott huffs. She begins to pick at the skin around her nails as she so often does. “I think I only kept a couple, though, from that first year you were an apprentice. I’m sorry.”

“Agott! Hey, take a breath if you can, okay?” Coco says softly, her tone of voice changing as soon as she recognizes Agott’s stress. She grabs her hand. “I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it until you believe it, ‘kay? I forgive you. I’ve forgiven you over the years, ‘n you’ve forgiven me. It’s in the past. I promise.” She pauses for a second, letting comfortable silence fill the space between them. 

This discussion is one they’ve had time and time again over the years, but Agott likes reassurance. Sometimes she feels like she needs those repetitive words, even. Whenever her mind wants to convince her that she’s been in the wrong her whole life, hearing someone else’s encouraging voice calms her.

And no, Arklaums do not get scared, but Agott has not cared about what Arklaums might consider right or wrong for over a decade.

Coco knows all of this already. She knows about Agott’s anxieties, and she takes them in stride. Coco’s willing to console Agott whenever she needs it, while also pushing her past her comfort zone when it’s what’s best.

Agott could not ask for anything more.

“You ask how I put up with you, and I know it was rhetorical, but you gotta listen to me again,” Coco says, not about to let Agott feel even a shred of self-doubt. She starts talking after a moment, just like she has other times before. “In the beginning—I just loved the spells you drew. They were so good, you know? Like, so good. And, well, you know that I thought good magic meant a good person, which was super naive of me.”

Agott smiles slightly but doesn’t say anything else. She’s hanging on to her every word; there is no universe that she can fathom in which she doesn’t care about what Coco has to say.

“‘Course, I found out that wasn’t true,” Coco continues. “But it didn’t matter, ‘cause you started caring for me, you know? You did little things, like leaving your lantern on for me when I stayed up late, and—oh man, you used those old sylph shoes I drew for you, you wore them until they didn’t fit! I don’t know why you let me draw the spells on your new shoes, by the way; personally, I wouldn’t have trusted my magic at that point. Oh, and anyway, that’s not what matters! Look, you were self-aware enough to apologize. Agott, you were twelve, and you knew to apologize without being told.” Coco now grasps both of Agott's hands with her own, and squeezes. “There was no putting up with you, there was just you.”

Agott has never been good at dealing with affection; both expressing it and receiving it still feel a bit foreign to her, even after a decade of re-learning how to love after moving away from the Arklaums. Living with Coco means she is showered with affection and warmth every day—it’s a little surreal. And Agott has to look away, face reddening even as she squeezes Coco’s hands in return.

They’re warm as always, and sometimes Agott gets scared that she’s too cold for them.

She pushes that out of her head, though. Coco had just said that it was okay, that it was all okay and good.  

Agott takes a breath, a proper one. After a moment, she pulls the next piece of paper out of the envelope.

Dear Ms. Arklaum,

I miss you and I also hope I never see you again. 

Sincerely,

Agott.

“…Oh,” Agott mumbles weakly, making to grab the next letter. She is not convinced she wants to talk about Adina Arklaum on such a nice day. “I forgot about these ones… I used to write letters to her every night when I first got to Qifrey’s. I think I burned most of them, though.” She tries to laugh, making to move onto the next letter as fast as possible. “So—”

Coco, of course, stops her. Clutches her hand again. “You didn’t even address it to Mom, or Mother?” she asks, her words striking deep as they seem to ring in Agott’s ears.

“Um, yeah. At the start, I addressed them to ‘Mother’, and then after a while it was ‘Adina’, because at least a first name was sort of familiar. Like maybe we could be related still. And then it was ‘Adina Arklaum’, and then ‘Ms Arklaum’, and… and then I stopped,” Agott says, looking away. Coco is still holding her hand that isn’t clutching the letter. “And I would sign letters with my last name if I wanted to seem—you know, better, but other than that, I dropped it. And a while after I met you, I decided I wouldn’t willingly go by Arklaum at all.” She’s staring at nothing, face almost blank. 

Coco looks stunned, almost as if she had been a former Arklaum herself. But she doesn’t stay in her surprise, instead asking tentatively, “Hey, what if we got rid of those ones? Only if you want to, but—I’ll draw a fire spell, and you can hold the letter above it?” She smiles softly. “Up to you. Might be kinda cathartic, though? And I know that Tetia and Richeh would second it.”

“Later. For now—I wanna know what else twelve-year-old me had to say,” Agott squeezes her hand, a silent thank you.

Professor Qifrey,

I have known you for two years, which means I know how bad you can be at hiding certain things. I know you like Professor Olruggio, and he likes you.

I have a question about that.

Maybe I’ll ask you about it later.

Thank you for being my teacher. You are very fair.

Sincerely, your apprentice,

Agott.

Oh, she knows where this one goes. Agott shakes her head, disbelief and nostalgia overwhelming her.

Professor Qifrey,

How do I know if

Is it okay if I am

If one witch liked another witch romantically, and they were both girls, would that be okay? This is related to my last letter.

Thank you,

Agott.

The two pieces of paper addressed to Professor Qifrey are folded together, clearly a pair. Agott reads them with a soft smile lining her face, a tug at her heart. It’s been so long. 

“I remember thinking I was so subtle. That he’d never pick up on—uh, you know.” Agott looks away, twenty-three years old and too flustered to even say the word crush. 

She coughs. “Anyway, I didn’t know how emotions worked and I needed help from someone that was not an adult. I didn’t know if it was… okay, you know? And like I wrote, Qifrey was fair. He was fair and sympathetic, and I knew he wouldn’t say anything. I mean, it’s not that I ever sent the letter, but it was good to know there was backup if I wanted it. I don’t know. Does that make sense?”

Coco smiles that sun-bright smile. “‘Course it does. It’s about knowing that you’ll have support should you need it. What’s the next letter say?”

She takes everything in stride, and Agott couldn’t be more grateful.

Tetia,

I know I don’t show it, but I really appreciate you. You know what you want and you go after it. You know right from wrong, and you have strong and fair ideas about being kind. And I hate to admit it, but you know a lot. More than me.

Anyways, I have a question.

Can witches like other witches, that is two girl witches? Also, what do crushes feel like? Are they supposed to make you feel really stupid? Is it normal to feel like you can’t do anything around that person? I really hate it. Because if so, that’s probably a very annoying experience.

Sincerely,

Agott.

Tetia,

Thank you for replying. 

I’m glad to know that I’m not the only one. I never heard about it, really, but Professor Qifrey and Professor Olruggio are very obvious, and I wondered if it could be like that but for girls. No one in my family ever talked about relationships, especially the more ‘uncommon’ kinds, so I didn’t know. And witches are sometimes not the best people. I just wasn’t sure, so thank you for telling me it’s all okay. I believe you.

I’m not very happy to hear that crushes always make you feel like this. That’s unfortunate. 

Thank you, 

Agott.

Her letters to Tetia also come in a pair, the matching pieces of paper folded tightly together just as the ones addressed to Qifrey had been. Agott recognizes the scribble in the corner of the page, remembering that her 12-year-old self had marked this particular letter as extra-private. She already knows what it says, really, but gives it a read over anyway. Coco has moved from trying to read upside-down (Agott truly does not understand her) to placing her chin on Agott’s shoulder, reading from there.

“So you actually sent these to Tetia?” Coco asks, ever curious.

“Yeah. Except—well, it was more like I handed it to her one night right before going to bed, and then ran away because I knew she wouldn’t come into my bedroom.” She covers her face in her hands.

“That’s sweet, though, Agott! I’m glad you actually gave that one to her. Kids… I don’t know. They’re not usually fully accepted in the emotions that they’re dealing with, so I’m happy you could tell her and get that reassurance. I know you didn’t tell Qifrey, but I’m glad you told someone.”

“…Me too.” Agott pauses, thinks for a second. She says the next words hesitantly. “She was like a sister. Especially since we were the first two to the atelier.”

Coco smiles, albeit a little sadly. “Me too.” She sighs. “I miss her so much, I mean, I know she’s still living on the peninsula, but we haven’t seen her in ages.”

This gives Agott an idea. “We should call her. Maybe. Invite her over?” she says hesitantly, which makes Coco laugh for some reason.

“Agott, you are so much sweeter than you let on, you know?” she teases.

This makes Agott’s serious expression fade away, just as it always does when she’s the subject of Coco’s jokes. “You—,” she stumbles, trying not to smile.

“Or, you’re super intimidating, I mean! Wait—don’t hit me with your cloak, Agott!” Coco laughs as she pulls away, before sitting straight up. “Oh! I remembered something. Speaking of Tetia, and telling people about stuff like this…”

Agott pulls the offending cloak back, relenting for a second.

Coco brings her laughter down. “Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever told you this. Or anyone, somehow?” But, hm—,” She cuts her words off for a second, wading in memories. She looks so pensive, taking a moment before hesitantly starting to talk again. “I told Qifrey first. He took me to Kalhn one of those days where we had breaks from lessons because I think I needed a new wand? And the point is that I told him then. I think I was thirteen.” The words come out in a rush.

And of course Agott knows what she means by “I told him”. It’s the same thing she’d wanted to talk about with him, the same thing she’d eventually brought up with Tetia first. She pauses for a second before asking, “Do you remember what you said?”.

“Yeah, actually!” Coco laughs. “I think I asked if he knew any women that liked women. Subtle, right? And I—I remember knowing as soon as I asked him that it would all be okay. Anyways, he told me about Alaira, and that she’d been open about being a lesbian ever since she was an apprentice, and then I told him. That I thought I was like Alaira, and did he get what I meant?

“And he said he was like Alaira too, but for men, and did I get what he meant? And I said I did, and he hugged me. And! He let me sit on his shoulders all the way back home—I remember that part especially, because he almost dropped me at one point, and I told him I wasn’t sure he should be carrying children, or anyone, really.” Coco smiles; it’s clearly a fond memory. “I was so thankful. I was… sad that I couldn’t tell my mom, and at the same time, like— I still had someone who was like a parent that I could tell, so it was okay. I don’t know. I didn’t know anyone who was gay when I was growing up, so just having him…” Her face is full of emotion.

Agott can’t help but notice how much Coco is capable of loving. She finds herself in awe all over again.

“I’m glad you had him too,” Agott says softly, brushing away her admiring thoughts. “I never asked him about anything related to that, at least not when I was his apprentice. But I could tell that him and Olruggio were more than friends, and that was enough. It’s like I said—I knew I’d be supported if I ever did bring it up.”

Coco nods. “It’s really about that reassurance, isn’t it,” she says, placing her chin back on Agott’s shoulder. “Hey, are there more letters?”

“Mm, yeah, I think there’s two more. Here,” Agott says, picking up the second-to-last piece of paper.

Dear Coco,

We’ve just passed our second test, which means it has been a long time since you came to Professor Qifrey’s atelier. Long enough for me to feel sorry and to want to say something about it to you. I’m not sure when to tell you this, I don’t even know how to apologize. My old family never did.

But you guys do. Professor Olruggio says sorry when he’s low on patience and gets frustrated at one of us, and Professor Qifrey says sorry when he doesn’t get enough sleep and forgets things in the lesson the next morning, and Tetia even said sorry that one time she was braiding Richeh’s hair and pulled too hard. You also say sorry. You said sorry over and over again when you sprayed water in my face when you were really new here. You guys say it all the time, so maybe I can too. I live in this atelier too so maybe I can be more like you. Even though you are very nice kind of annoying, you’re getting better at magic, and I really think that’s amazing believe that is respectable in a witch.

Sincerely sorry,

Agott.

“Hmm,” Coco grins. “You know, I think someone might’ve scribbled out some words there!”

Agott groans. “Yeah—okay, look, let’s ignore that,” she says, which just makes Coco giggle. She puts her arms around Agott’s shoulders, hugging her from the side.

“We don’t have to spend time on this one, ‘cause we already talked about it. But I still forgive you! And I also think you’re very nice—or, I mean, how’d you put it in the letter? Oh yeah, I mean kind of annoying.” Coco laughs, very proud of her quip. “That’s the one!”

Agott cannot win against her, truly. 

Dear Tartah,

You seem like a nice guy. I know you have a crush on Coco. I’m asking you politely to please not have one anymore.

Sincerely,

Agott Arklaum. 

Coco bursts out into giggles, leaning back and laughing for all she’s worth. She covers her mouth with her hand, trying to cover up just how much she thinks this is funny, but it’s too late.

“…This is great,” Agott says grumpily, covering her face with her hands, words coming out in a muffled groan. “So embarrassing.”

“Agott!” Coco exclaims, then falls into another fit of giggles. “Thank goodness you didn’t send this! Poor Tartah would’ve been so concerned, you know? I can picture what his face would’ve looked like if he’d read it.”

“I know, okay, don’t rub it in. Jeez,” Agott says, her voice filling with that characteristic edge. Coco, of course, does not care.

“I love that this was your way of dealing with your feelings! That’s so cute! Very 12-year-old, yeah, but adorable,” Coco grins.

Agott covers her face again, but can’t keep in her smile, because there’s something about having her younger self validated in this way. They can laugh at it, sure, but they can also talk about it honestly.

They can look back and see the happy memories, and Agott is endlessly grateful for that.

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“Agooooott!” Coco calls up the stairs, stretching her name out. She’s awake and bright eyed, already having changed out of pajamas and into her daytime robes, despite how early it is; her ridiculous morning routine never fails to confuse Agott. “I need a haircut! Can you help me?”

Agott, on the other hand, is barely awake. She trudges to the top of the stairs, eyes half-shut, hair going every possible direction and looking like a veritable nest of black curls. She has definitely not changed out of her pajamas. Not a single word leaves her mouth; instead, she gives Coco a look.

And of course, Coco smiles. 

Agott can tell that Coco knew she was already awake. Agott can tell that Coco knows her annoyance is false. 

“Meet me in the bathroom,” she says, voice rough from sleep.

She takes a minute to boil some water quickly with a spell, placing it within the tea straining contraption. Pouring the drink into her mug, she trudges down the hall to meet Coco, who’s already sitting on a stool in the bathroom, ready to go.

“Coco, couldn’t we have done this any other time?” Agott grumbles, but places a towel around Coco’s shoulders gently, smoothing out the wrinkles once, twice, before stepping back. She grabs the comb and hair ties out of the drawer, and positions herself behind Coco. “Just a trim, like usual?”

Coco nods. “Tell me if you need me to move my head or anything.”

Agott doesn’t reply, but hums in ackowledgment. She doesn’t need to verbally respond; sometimes just existing in the same room is all they need. 

Agott begins to section her hair, wetting the comb before brushing it through; there’s something about occasionally choosing not to use magic. There is something about just being with Coco, not surrounded by anything that holds grand connotations and powerful capabilities. Because right now, the room is filled with nothing but the snip-snip-snip of the scissors and their steady breathing, and something about that makes Agott’s entire being relax.

Minutes pass, room filling with a comfortable silence. It’s nice. 

She doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary. 

“Agott,” Coco says suddenly. "Thank you."

Agott would usually take this in stride; Coco loves to say thank you (she got it from Tetia, of course). 

But there's something wrong about the rise and fall of her usually-steady voice. There’s something that isn’t usually there, a waver that Agott was not expecting to hear.

She can't believe she didn't notice it sooner. Is she a terrible best friend? 

She takes a breath, recognizes that her thought isn’t true. She inhales again slowly, before beginning to speak.

"Coco," Agott says as she sets down the scissors, placing her hands on Coco’s shoulders kindly. "What’s up?"

Coco, however, shakes her head. She’s suddenly tense. "I'll tell you later. 'S that okay?"

Agott is not quite sure how to react. It's not that there's a problem with Coco keeping things to herself—she deserves privacy as much as the next person—but it's not like her to act in this way. There's something too distant about her demeanour all of a sudden.

Coco catches wind of Agott's uncertainty immediately. "It's okay, Agott—I want to talk about it with you later tonight, if that’s okay? For now, you can just cut my hair and not worry.” She smiles, thankfully. “Promise it’s all going to be okay, and you haven’t done anything wrong.” She tilts her head back, looking Agott in the eyes.

Coco always knows what to say, somehow. There’s a part of Agott’s brain that tells her it’s all her fault, that anything and everything wrong was somehow caused by her losing control. And Agott knows how to deal with it, she knows how to deal with those types of thoughts. She can recognize them and let the anxiety run its course, most days. But sometimes—well.

Sometimes it’s nice to have a bit of extra reassurance. She knows it’s the same for Coco. 

“Okay. I believe you. I—” Should she say these next very embarrassing words? “I like just being in the same room with you, even if you don’t want to talk right now. And let me know what you’re thinking so hard about later, okay?” Agott means every last word, and maybe they’re too emotional.

She doesn’t care, though. She hasn’t cared since she passed the second exam as an apprentice.

“Tell me what you think of the haircut?” Agott asks, decisively changing the subject because she can tell it’s what Coco would prefer. And sure enough, Agott hears her breathe out a sigh of relief.

There is so much that isn’t easy, but that doesn’t bother her quite so much anymore.

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The two of them are up late, like usual. Coco is breathing in the steam wafting off her mug of milky tea, and Agott is laying on the couch half-asleep, embroidered pillow pulled over her head. The curtains are pulled wide open, and stars are starting to show through the night sky, visible from their living room. It’s quiet except for the crackling of the fireplace and the sound of their slow, steady breathing.

It’s too peaceful for her to be sad, Coco thinks.

Because most days it’s easy. Most days, if she thinks back on her mother, it’s easy.

Because Coco remembers the way her mom would make blueberry pancakes from scratch every Saturday. Coco remembers the way she would sing bits and pieces of lullabies whenever Zozah’s summer thunderstorms would near the village. Coco remembers her mother teaching her how to cut and stitch fabric evenly. 

The pride in her eyes when Coco had successfully put together her first sewing project, the way she’d taught her how to separate eggs, the way she would weave two matching braids into Coco’s hair whenever they would go into town. She remembers, she remembers, she remembers.

And this usually makes her smile, ever grateful that she was spared her memories on all those past close calls.

But sometimes the guilt covers the fond memories, wearing them down until they’re nothing, until she’s left feeling far too small in a house that is now her own.

She knows it wasn’t her fault, not really. Everyone had told her so ever since she was twelve years old, and she believes them almost all the time. She knows that she was used, a tool for something far greater than her preteen self could’ve ever truly grasped onto, and that her mother was an unfortunate bystander in a situation that neither of them asked to be a part of.

But her grief and guilt has been cropping up more and more recently, now that she’s preparing to take on apprentices. She refuses to take this as a sign from the universe that she should give up on this, though. She’s stubborn enough for that.

Coco realizes too late that she’s been breathing in the steam from her tea for longer than is considered normal. She starts, setting down the mug and looking over at Agott. 

"You said you didn't wanna talk earlier," begins Agott. "How about now? You looked distracted, and I was wondering if… if you were thinking about whatever it was again.”

“Ha, yeah. I guess the staring-into-the-tea does get a little suspicious. I do wanna talk about it, though. I’m just…” Coco breathes. She feels so blank, which is somehow worse than if she were overflowing with gut-churning emotion. 

“I’m worried it’ll sound stupid. I don’t know why. But, like—Agott,” she continues before cutting her words off again. “Hmm. I just—,”

Agott stays quiet, giving her time to articulate her words. Coco is simultaneously grateful for her, and guilty that she’s made her worry. Because Agott is worried. Coco can always tell, and those telltale forehead creases are a vibrant red flag.

She decides to just get it over with.

“There’s—a lot, a lot I’ve been thinking of recently.” Coco says in a rush, looking away. “I’ve… I’ve been missing my mom a lot.” 

She sees Agott take a breath of relief, waiting for Coco’s next words. 

She figures that Agott is thankful it’s not something horrible, that it’s something she can even relate to.

“And—” she continues, taking far more pauses between her words than she usually would. “And it’s just been bothering me so much in the past few weeks. I don’t know, but… I think it’s because we’re approved, now, to take on apprentices. It’s like—I feel like I shouldn’t be allowed to become a professor if she’s not there to see it happen.” Coco can feel her chest tightening, can feel that sea of dreaded anxiety rising again, can feel the waves crashing. She should’ve known that the empty feeling wouldn’t last long. The words keep pouring forward. “And I’m scared! I’m scared that I’ll be a horrible professor, because—look, Qifrey and Olruggio were like dads, and if I don’t have any parents right now to base my own actions off of, what am I supposed to do? I can’t be someone’s mother figure—Agott, I don’t know how.” Coco’s hands are gesturing frantically at this point, and she feels like her chest could practically cave in from stress.

Agott’s face is holding that expression it always does when she wants to say something. But first, she grasps Coco’s hands, interlocking their fingers gently.

“Coco—” she flounders a little, but pushes on. “Can you take a breath?”

Agott chooses to start there, and maybe that explains everything, Coco thinks.

It’s why she likes Agott so much. It’s the fact that she would ask a question like that first, now. The fact that she’s grown so much since being an apprentice. There are so many words she could use to describe her best friend, but—well, maybe these split seconds are all she’ll ever need.

And so they take a deep breath together, before Agott starts talking again.

“Listen. I’m not going to pretend that I know exactly how you feel, but I am going to say that I think I generally get it. Coco, you’ve—you’ve gotten me through so much stress about my own mom. Even a few days ago, when we were going through those letters, you were helping, and so now it’s my turn. I want you to know that you can bring any of this up whenever and wherever.” Agott gets the words out a bit too fast, finds herself needing to pause to get some air back into her lungs. 

Talking is hard, sometimes, but she keeps going.

“When you first brought up the idea of taking on apprentices, I think that was my first worry too: that sometimes professors end up taking on parental roles, and how would I ever do that considering my biological mom? How much would she have affected my ability to be around kids? But… I think I realized that it didn’t matter.” Agott squeezes Coco’s hands. She means every last syllable.

“Because, like you said—we had Qifrey and Olruggio, didn’t we? And even though we don’t see them every day anymore, that doesn’t matter. We still saw how good people take care of kids. We still have people to base ourselves on, I think. And you—well, you still grew up with your mom, you had that time with her. Coco, I know. I know you don’t have her anymore, and I really know what that feels like. But you did at one point, and that’s what matters, I think. Tell me if I’m wrong, but… those memories still matter.” Agott is scared she’s overstepping, but she has to get these last few sentences out. 

“I still remember my mom braiding my hair before I would go to bed. And that doesn’t mean she was a good mom, but… I remember knowing she loved me, in moments like that, and—if I can make our students know that too, then that’s all I care about. As long as they know they’re loved, and—and as long as you do, too… isn’t that what matters?”

Agott doesn’t usually talk this much; it all catches up to her in a sudden burst of self-consciousness. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry,” she says, confidence leaving her words like the air from a popped balloon. She looks away as the worry that she’ll hurt Coco by saying the wrong thing overwhelms her entire body.

“No, no, Agott, it’s all okay!” Coco gently tucks a stray curl behind Agott’s right ear, leaning towards her, not thrown off in the least by the sudden change in her best friend’s demeanor. 

“Listen, I know I can’t change your thoughts, but I can tell you thank you. So, thank you! You deserve to hear that.”

“But I—”

“Agott, everything you said was right. No, listen! I think everything you said was right and true. And I think we should talk about this more. I’m sorry I didn’t bring it up earlier. You know—um.” Full stop. “You know I’m not great at talking about things that are bad. And I know how your brain works, Agott, so I’m gonna say again that that will never be your fault. This was just… one of those times I didn’t know how to say anything.”

Agott nods. “Thank you. And I know, Coco. Talking is hard.” She shakes her head, realizing she’d been thinking about this exact stressor just moments ago. “I think it’s not fair how hard it can be, actually. Who decided that?” she asks, letting out a small laugh.

Did she just make a joke?

It always surprises her, scares her, even, how much she’s changed in the past decade. And yet, it’s not the kind of fear she gets when she feels like she’s losing control. It’s the kind that feels like it could keep her going, somehow. Like she wants to show the fear that she is in control, actually, like she wants to show the fear that she won’t let it become tangible. 

Coco catches it right away, of course. “ Agott! Are you making a joke?” she asks, teasing her. “So proud of you.”

Agott protests, of course. “I’m plenty funny,” she says firmly, crossing her arms, which just makes Coco laugh. Abruptly, her face changes expressions, going serious again. “Wait, wait. Back to what we were talking about. What can I do to help?” 

Coco sighs pensively, again not caring about the change in Agott’s tone. “Nothing, right now. I think I just needed to get that off my chest, and… tomorrow, we can talk more. I wanna hear what else you have to say; I’m not the only one without a birth family, and what you think matters to me.” She opens her mouth, ready to keep talking, but pauses. Agott keeps silent. “Maybe I’ll take a leaf out of your book, ‘n write Mom a letter. I don’t know. Is that immature or something?” Coco asks weakly.

Agott, however, smiles. “Not at all. I think you should. I think—I think it’s a great start.”

Coco’s face visibly relaxes as her shoulders become less tense. “Okay, then I will.” She grasps Agott’s hand, which she hasn’t let go of this entire time.

–––––––––––––––

Grief is a landslide. Agott knows this fact too well. It’s slippery and hits you out of nowhere, leaves you bruised and aching, trapped in a horrible waterfall of feelings. It’s easy to recognize nowadays, she finds, especially when her best friend is its victim. This is why she gives Coco a blank piece of paper, a tight hug, and a few words of advice, as soon as she asks for them.

“Give it a try. If it doesn’t work, it’s okay. But—there’s something about writing it out and being able to see it on paper.”

So Coco does. She sits down at the table, looking at the paper for a few moments with her tired eyes before bringing the pen to it.

Agott leaves the room, giving her some time alone and heading to the living room. 

She waits anxiously, because all she wants is for Coco to feel okay.

A part of a clock mark later, she walks back in. She’s holding a newly written letter, saying “I read all your letters, so I feel like you deserve to read mine. And, also!” she amends, knowing Agott will protest. “I want you to read it.”

Agott would do anything Coco wanted her to, she realizes for the umpteenth time. She takes the letter from Coco’s outstretched hand and begins to read.

Dear Mom,

I used to think it was all my fault, everything that went down all that time ago. It took me weeks and months and years to realize that wasn’t true. It took kind words and gentle patience from the people in my life that I love, people you didn’t get to meet (and how I wish you could have).

But your words and patience that you gave to me as a child contributed to me being able to trust myself again. You’re just as much a part of me being okay as the rest of them.

Agott gave me this piece of paper and a pen—she used to write to her mother, without actually sending the letters, as a way to get her feelings in order. Today, she gave me a hug (she’s usually too flustered to initiate that, but today was different—she won’t admit it but I know I’ve worried her) and told me to give it a shot, that sometimes it helps to see it all written out on paper.

She’s lovely.

Agott doesn’t know if she should smile, or laugh, or worry, or sob. The emotions in the pit of her stomach are churning.

I don’t miss you too much these days, but I do think about you often. I think there’s an important distinction there. Recently, though, the missing-you feelings have been hitting me in the chest. So here I am, writing.

So much has happened. It’ll take years for me to start telling it all to you, so for now, just know that even though I’m sad today, I know tomorrow will be okay—me and Agott get to take on apprentices soon. We’re working on getting the atelier in order, so we’re doing more cleaning the rest of this week; this usually wouldn’t be fun, but things are different when it’s for such a big reason!

I love you to the moon and back, like you used to say.

Coco

Agott looks up at Coco, whose eyes are a bit red. The smallest edges of a smile are still apparent, though; she’s Coco, after all.

Agott, who is at a complete loss for words, gently grabs Coco's arms and pulls her onto the couch and into her side. She holds on tight. 

She knows Coco will be okay. She knows they both will be, and yet her brain is telling her otherwise, like it is wont to do. 

She knows that that thought pattern is wrong.

"'M not going anywhere, Agott. I promise it's going to be okay. I'm staying right here, with you, and we're gonna take on apprentices, and it’ll all be okay," Coco says firmly, as if she's read Agott's mind. She clearly means it, every last word.

"You believe that," Agott states, relieved; at the same time, she shouldn't have expected anything else from her. "I'm glad. And—I really think that too, you know."

Coco lays her head on Agott's shoulder, relaxing her body. She's clearly exhausted. 

Agott gets an idea. "Hey, I just remembered... Kalhn's summer festival is the day after tomorrow. I know we weren't planning on going, but—what if we did? We can just go for an hour. But the weather's supposed to be nice and stuff, and we can see Tartah, and..." She trails off, worrying she’s pressuring Coco.

She’s surprised by arms being flung around her. Coco presses a kiss to her cheek, smiling. 

Agott blushes, because of course she does. It’s such a simple act, but it never fails to make her heart feel like it could veritably float away, running on pure joy.

"Agott!" Coco says delightedly into her shoulder. “You read my mind! I was about to ask you if you wanted to change our plans and go anyway,” she smiles. She smiles, thank the heavens. 

(Agott used to silently judge Qifrey for saying all variations of “thank heavens”. Look at her now, she thinks.)

“It’s settled, then,” says Agott, arms tightly wound around her, not wanting to let go today or the next day or the day after that.

–––––––––––––––

The following morning finds Coco reading in the living room. She’d already eaten breakfast since she’d—as usual—been up since the very crack of dawn. There are a bunch of loud clunking noises coming from the kitchen: Agott’s been baking something for the past hour. Coco had offered to help, but had been rejected with an I’m fine, don’t worry about it, go read your book.

Coco had in return checked Agott’s forehead to see if she was feverish or hallucinating or something; Agott does not wake up early and she certainly does not bake. And yet Agott had shooed her away, saying that she was fine! So Coco had let her be, but is prepared to check on her soon since Agott tends to have bad luck with any and all kitchen appliances. 

So she’s sitting, reading her book as Agott had suggested, and keeping an ear out for any catastrophic kitchen-related sounds. The morning is cold today, a cloudless blue sky with remnants of sunrise visible through the windows. But the fireplace crackles on as usual, and it’s warm inside their house, through and through.

Coco hears steps walking towards the living room. She keeps reading, waiting for Agott to turn the corner and enter the room so she can tell her about the chapter she’d just completed. 

Agott clears her throat behind Coco, but she doesn’t come to sit like she usually would, so Coco turns around.

And Agott has made rose-shaped apple tarts. 

She’s standing hesitantly in the doorway, and Coco’s heart tightens. The tarts are golden-brown, arranged in a neat circle inside a basket Tetia had made and gifted to Coco years ago. They smell heavenly, and they’ve clearly been made with an overflowing amount of care. They’re all even, the crimps around the edges perfectly spaced.

And Agott isn’t even looking at her, cheeks red—though this could perhaps be attributed to her time spent in the warm kitchen?—but the edges of a smile are still visible even as she looks away. Agott’s proud of herself, Coco realizes. It’s a rare sight, her dark eyes shining and the dimple in her right cheek showing. And Coco’s already grinning, fully prepared to start rambling at a hundred words a second.

“Agott!” she says brightly, delightedly. She stands up quickly and meets her in the doorway, clutching Agott’s elbows. “What—these are so pretty! They’re practically glowing! Is that what you were doing in the kitchen all this time? You never bake! Is it a special occasion? If I forgot something…”

Agott’s smile grows. “Okay, slow down, jeez. First, thank you, and yes, this is what I was doing in the kitchen. I had to draw three extra spells to get these to cook enough; our oven hates me. And I know I never bake. It’s not a special occasion—I just… um.” She looks away, trying her best to appear stoic and nonchalant. “We were talking about Qifrey yesterday, and I remembered what he used to bake for Olruggio, and I…” She pauses, and despite her steady voice and demeanour, blushes. “I wanted to try making them. For you? I wanted to do something for you.” 

And Agott can’t act all serious anymore. She breaks into a full smile, eyes crinkling.

Coco swears up and down that her heart is literally lighting up. She’s bright and warm and feels like she could fly, sylph shoes not required. Instead, she grabs the basket of tarts from Agott’s hands, puts it on the floor quickly, and flings her arms around Agott. “Thank you, oh, thank you so much! Look, Agott, I know you hate to admit it, but you’re the nicest ever.”

Agott hugs her back, tucking her chin over Coco’s shoulder, her hands tangling together. “I’m not,” she mumbles. “I’m grumpy and I can’t even use an oven.”

Coco pulls back, holding Agott’s shoulders at arm’s length. “Well, clearly you can, because you baked these!” she exclaims. “And anyway, that oven is old. Don’t worry about it! Oh, but this is so neat. Can I try one?” 

“‘Course. They’re hot, though, so be careful. And you have to tell me your honest opinion. And—” Agott throws her arms right back around Coco, holding her tight. She breathes in and out steadily once. 

“—I love you,” she whispers. 

And it’s not like they don’t say it. It’s not like Agott doesn’t say it; she even signs her letters with words of love, now. But sometimes saying things out loud is an entirely different level of difficulty; it’s rare that Agott initiates direct spoken affection.

This doesn’t bother Coco in the least, anyway, because she knows. She knows that Agott still finds it hard, sometimes, to be in the proximity of love all the time. This isn’t new, this isn’t a deal-breaker, this isn’t anything big. It’s just how things are, and that’s not a problem for Coco.

She loves her too, so what does it matter?

Agott interrupts her thoughts by proceeding to leave the room hurriedly with a flustered “I think I forgot to turn the oven off!”, which makes Coco laugh as she picks up the basket and chooses a tart. It’s just like Agott to do that, she thinks affectionately as she bites into it. 

Oh, and it’s so good. The flavours are perfect and the texture of the crust is impeccable—it’s true that Agott doesn’t usually like to bake, but it’s certainly not because of lack of skill. “Agott!” Coco shouts happily around a mouthful of apple. “Get back here! Did you try one yet? You should, they’re amazing!” 

Agott yells back. “You better not be lying about that!” come her muffled words. 

And like always, Coco laughs. She picks up another tart.