Archive of Our Own ^beta

Horace Somnusson considered himself a decently reliable person. He occasionally forgot to do things, but if he was asked to do something, he could usually get it done in a timely manner. His personal agenda was almost always stocked with at least one request from his loopmates, and Miss Peregrine trusted him to decorate and make outfits for the others during holidays, which he took very seriously. It stressed him out sometimes, but such was life. It made any moments of peace feel more like resting than boredom. 

Horace was using one of those moments one morning to read his favorite novel under a tree in the yard when he heard crying a few meters away. He looked up, curious, and saw Olive running towards him, a worried look on her face.

“What’s going on?” he asked, trying to see what was happening behind her.

“Claire fell over a boulder!” Olive cried, pulling Horace up by the hand. “Wyn told me to come grab someone!”

Horace ran with Olive towards Bronwyn and Claire, his book abandoned in his spot. Claire was sitting on a decently large rock (presumably the “boulder” Olive mentioned) and didn’t appear too badly hurt, maybe a scrape on her knee or her elbow, but the skirt of her dress was torn almost in half. She was trying to hold back tears as Bronwyn checked her for injuries.

“Nothing looks broken or bruised, little dove,” Bronwyn told Claire. “Did the tumble spook you? Is that the problem?”

“Y-yes,” Claire said, her little voice trembling. “I feel m-mostly better now.”

Bronwyn pulled her in for a hug, then noticed Horace standing there. “Oh! Mr. Horace, did Olive bring you?”

“She did; she brought me here as fast as her lead shoes would let her,” Horace said, turning to Olive and nodding. She returned the gesture and went to sit down next to Claire.

Bronwyn stood up to meet Horace at eye level. “Claire probably just needs to be checked over by the Bird, but I’m sure she’s fine. She’s always been resilient. I’ll have to mend her dress, though. She stepped on it when she fell.”

“I could fix it,” Horace suggested. “All the sewing supplies are in my room and I still have the original pattern.”

“Would you please fix it, Horace?” Claire asked, standing up next to Bronwyn and holding the torn edge. “This is my favorite dress!”

Horace knelt down to Claire’s level and wiped a shed tear from her cheek. “You go change into something a little more appropriate for outside playtime than a princess dress and I’ll have that skirt mended for you so well you won’t even know it was ripped. Mark my words, it’ll be good as new!”

Claire’s face immediately brightened as she nodded excitedly and turned to run back to the house. Olive followed her, and Bronwyn laughed. Horace started back towards the house himself, then heard Bronwyn behind him call out, “Wait, Mr. Horace!”

“Yes, Wyn?”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “I’m no good at mending clothes. I know Claire will love it when you’re done.”

Horace smiled back at her. “Of course! Anything I can do to help.”

Bronwyn waved goodbye to him as he set off towards his tree, remembering that he still had to retrieve his book.

A few hours later, Horace was collecting Halloween costume requests from Emma and Bronwyn when Fiona came to find him. She had a few of Hugh’s bees trailing behind her, most likely Hugh being overprotective and nosy. She held a hand up and opened and closed it a few times where Horace could see—a gesture she’d adopted recently to get the other children’s attention.

When Horace turned to her she started signing, Are you busy? Hugh and I need your help with something if you’re not.

Due to his inexperience with sign language, it took a second for Horace’s brain to translate what she was asking. “Oh,” he said when he figured it out, “I was just asking everyone what they wanted me to make them for Halloween costumes this year. What do you need?”

We wanted to practice our show routine, she signed. I asked Miss Peregrine if we were going to start doing sideshows again since the wights are gone and Jacob and Noor are here to stay. I was going to ask if you could play “Flight of the Bumblebee” on your violin for me and Hugh.

“Sure,” Horace said. “Though, do forgive me if I’m a bit rusty. I haven’t exactly had time to practice recently given the whole going-to-war-with-the-wights thing.”

Fiona laughed, then led Horace down to the only room in the basement that Enoch hadn’t taken over with the stench of organs and formaldehyde. Miss Peregrine used it as half storage room, half music room with various holiday decorations in boxes stacked against the wall and a collection of instruments propped up in random places. Among them included a grand piano, an electric bass guitar Noor had brought from the present, and a musical saw that was so rusted Horace refused to touch it. Technically, it’d been one of his “war prizes” from a game of Raid the Village, though he honestly had no idea why he’d kept it.

He rummaged through a nearby closet and found his old violin case, dust and all. He wiped it off gently, remembering as he tuned the instrument how Enoch had once started an actual fight with him about if the viola was a better instrument. Enoch hadn’t spoken to him for a week after that, but now it was more something to tease him about than a sore spot. He wondered if Enoch knew of this idea to start doing sideshows again.

When Horace had gotten the violin tuned, he turned to Fiona to give her the go-ahead, but saw her talking with Hugh in the doorway. He was holding what appeared to be the remains of a hat with so much damage it might as well have been run over by a train—then Horace recognized it from their journey to London and realized it had.

“…Not really something I can mend with patches,” Hugh was saying, Fiona nodding somberly. He looked as pissed off as he had when the thing got torn apart, bees flying agitatedly around his head and his fingers drumming on the remains of the rim of it.

“What’s going on?” Horace asked. “Since when do you still have that hat?”

“Since always, and it’s ruined,” Hugh snapped. He seemed to realize his tone after the words came out of his mouth though, and he shook his head. “It’s stupid. I know how to patch up clothes, but this is beyond saving. No offense, but I don’t think even you could bring this back to life.”

Horace took the hat from Hugh, analyzing the damage. “It wouldn’t look completely new, but I could probably make it at the very least wearable. Or I could just take it apart and make you a new one from what I can gather of the pattern.”

Hugh looked like he was considering it, but shook his head again. “I’m not making you do that. I’ve got plenty of hats, and bird knows you already have a lot on your plate with Halloween coming up.”

“I insist,” Horace said. “It’s important to you, and I’m already mending one of Claire’s dresses after her fall this morning. I can handle two projects.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to help everyone who has a problem, Horace. You’ll only burn yourself out.”

“Positive.”

Hugh sighed, then gently ruffled Horace’s hair, softly enough not to mess it up too badly. “Don’t drown yourself in work, Horace.” He turned to Fiona, and she nodded in agreement. “Thank you—genuinely.”

Horace smoothed his hair back out and held up the hat. “I’ll go put this upstairs in my room, then I’ll meet you two outside at the stage to practice?”

“Sure!” Hugh said, and Fiona smiled and nodded. Horace smiled back, albeit a bit painfully, and ran up the stairs to add yet another item to his to-do list.

Because he had two pieces of clothing to fix and ten Halloween costumes to make, Horace put his to-do list on paper and asked Miss Peregrine to take him shopping. He’d have gone himself, but some of the fabrics he needed weren’t sold at the little clothing store in the village, and he most certainly was not comfortable traversing through the present or Devil’s Acre by himself. After thirty minutes of asking if anyone else wanted to go on a shopping trip, Horace, Miss Peregrine, and Millard set off towards the village to get as many things as they could from home.

“May we stop by any bookstores we find as well?” Millard asked, a floating straw hat the only indication of his presence. “The library needs some touching-up. Some of the books are falling apart.”

“In my memory, the last time we went to a bookstore outside this loop you nearly picked it clean grabbing the books you wanted to bring home. Isn’t that right, Mr. Nullings?” Miss Peregrine said, shooting a look in Millard’s direction.

“I left some books there. I had to put most of them back anyways because our library is too small.”

“You still have to leave some books for the other patrons, Mr. Nullings.”

“I will! I have a list this time. I know which books need to be replaced.”

Miss Peregrine smiled. “You may have three new books for the library. Any others come from your list. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss!” Millard chirped. Horace didn’t want to waste time looking for books of all things, but he just sighed and looked at his own list. He caught up to Miss Peregrine to show her as they walked.

“Princess dresses for Olive and Claire—not to mention the one I still have to fix—a modern police uniform for Noor, some video game character for Jacob; here, I have a picture somewhere…”

As Horace was looking for the image Jacob gave him, Millard looked over Horace’s shoulder at his list. “They make fake blood now?”

“According to Jacob, yeah. Enoch and Emma want it.”

“Why can’t Enoch use real blood? He’s got plenty of it.”

“And where would he be getting this blood, Mr. Nullings?” Miss Peregrine asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t ask me! I don’t know!”

Horace rolled his eyes. “As I was trying to say, most of them I don’t need a lot of, but I will need a bunch of different kinds of fabric.”

Miss Peregrine nodded. “I assume you left off any you already have?”

“Yes, Miss.”

Miss Peregrine skimmed through the list and hummed. “I’ll have to converse with Mr. O’Connor and Miss Bloom on their costume choices, but I suppose it is ultimately their decision. I know of four different fabric stores we can look for supplies at. If we can’t find everything we need, we’ll find more stores at a later date.”

“Are you dressing up for Halloween this year, Horace?” Millard whispered as the three of them walked into the singular clothing store on Cairnholm Island. He was fully invisible now, having handed his hat to Miss Peregrine.

Horace made a face. “I have more pressing matters than dressing in costumes, Millard,” he hissed back.

“What, too good to dress up? As per usual?”

“Mr. Nullings, that is enough,” Miss Peregrine said through her teeth, then took Horace’s list and went to talk to the woman standing behind the register. Horace took this opportunity to look at the fabric selection they had out for sale. It was always the same, but he enjoyed looking regardless.

“So what are these ‘more pressing matters’ preventing you from having fun with the rest of us?” Millard asked.

“If you don’t can it, I will personally see to it that your sweaters are sewn shut and your books thrown in the ocean, Nullings.”

Millard whistled. “Someone’s been spending too much time with his boyfriend.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Damn, you’re snappy today,” Millard said, earning a sharp glare in his direction from Horace. “I was only teasing you—didn’t know I’d get my head chopped off for it.”

“I’ll chop something else off if you don’t shut up. We’re in public, Millard, you aren’t supposed to be talking.”

“Eh, it’s the loop. No one’ll give a whit.”

Miss Peregrine returned with as much of the fabric as she could get from their loop, handing it to Horace along with his list. She took one look at Horace and her face immediately betrayed her concern and confusion. “Mr. Somnusson, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Horace replied, still glowering. “I’m just not in the mood to be teased today.”

Miss Peregrine frowned. “Perhaps we should continue this when you’re in a better mindset? Forgive me for saying so, but you do look quite stressed.”

“I said I’m fine,” Horace snapped, immediately regretting his tone. “You know what, sure. Let’s just go home. That way I can look for my stupid Halloween stuff later when it’s of convenience to everyone but me, the person actually putting in all the work,” he wildly gestured with his hands in the air, none of it making any discernable sense, “So let’s just go home! What a great idea.”

Miss Peregrine frowned. “If the costumes are stressing you out too much, you don’t have to make them alone. I’d be happy to help you.”

“I can do it myself. I always do, and I always can.” With that, Horace shoved the shop’s door open and stormed out, cursing himself the whole way home.

At dinner that night, Horace could barely stand the company of his loopmates. He had too many things on his mind and he had too little time to do those things. Then, during the meal, Olive had asked him to mend yet another thing: a stuffed animal she’d found a tear in that afternoon. When his best response was “sure, whatever,” he’d been chewed out for being impolite, and after that he just left. He didn’t finish his food, he didn’t help clean up, he just couldn’t do it that night. He marched up to his room, angrily scribbled the new request on his to-do list, and threw himself onto his bed to sulk into his pillow. There were too many things—too many requests, and he just wanted a break for a little bit.

Someone knocked gently on Horace’s door, making him nearly jump out of his skin. He hadn’t realized he’d been falling asleep until then.

“Come in,” he called.

Ever so softly, Enoch opened the door with his shoulder, a small box in his hands. The box was overflowing with tiny uniforms for his homunculi—he only ever put them back in their box when they were torn.

“Enoch, I love you. But if you ask me to fix those, I’m going to run your hand through my sewing machine.”

“I ain’t gonna, calm down.” He set the box down on Horace’s desk and shut the door. “I was there when the Bird got all up on your ass about the doll, I ain’t addin’ to that if I can help it.” He walked over to Horace’s bed and wiped his hands on his overalls, then ran one through Horace’s hair. Horace nuzzled into the touch, desperately needing the extra comfort. “What stuff do you have to fix?”

Horace sat up and sighed. “Well, there’s Olive’s toy, and Hugh found his old hat that got run over back in London and I said I’d make him a new one, and Claire ripped her favorite dress in half this morning, and don’t even get me started on Halloween costumes—”

Horace cut himself off to gasp in a breath of air.

“Sounds like a lot,” Enoch said. Horace sighed and let his head fall onto Enoch’s shoulder. Enoch wrapped an arm around him. “Is that all that’s stressing you out? You were glaring at Millard all of dinner.”

He made a face. “… Millard was making fun of me, and when I told him to stop it, he said I was spending too much time with you because I was being nasty.”

Enoch scowled. “Sounds like someone needs a sheep heart in his bed tomorrow.”

Horace laughed, leaning further into his boyfriend’s embrace. “If you do that, the Bird’ll have your head.”

“Not if she don’t know it was me.”

“How on earth could she not know a sheep heart was you?”

“I can be sneaky!”

Horace laughed more. “Love, anything involving any kind of animal organ would be the least subtle thing you could do.”

Enoch scoffed. “Well maybe I’ll have to be more creative then. You can help me scheme tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“You know I would never pass that up.”

“Good.” Enoch pressed a kiss to Horace’s forehead, and almost all of Horace’s stress melted away for the moment. Enoch stood up and grabbed his box of homunculus uniforms, taking a small sewing kit out of his pocket. “Anyway, I figured you were so upset because you had a lot of stuff to fix, or maybe you just really didn’t wanna make everyone’s costumes again. So I brought stuff to help you.”

“How are you helping by making me fix your uniforms?”

“I told you I wasn’t gonna make you fix those,” Enoch said, rolling his eyes. “I ain’t a liar. What I meant was, since you have a bunch of stuff to fix, I can sit with you and fix my stuff too.”

“Enoch, I mean this in the kindest way possible, you are horrible at fixing things that are not mechanical. Fabric included,” Horace deadpanned.

“Which is why I wanted to do it with you, so you can bitch at me about how I’m doing it wrong and I’ll do it better.”

“I do not bitch at you.”

“You so bitch at me. You bitch at me so often I could make you a list out of it.”

Horace laughed, rolling his eyes. “Bring me Hugh’s hat, I need to cut it apart.”

Enoch grinned. “Do I get anything in return for bringing you your things?”

“We can cuddle while we work.”

“Deal.”