The Night Court

Chapter Five

Olaf brought Mikolaj back to his room. The journey seemed over too quickly, he'd already drifted to the comfortable space between sleep and consciousness, where his eyelids were heavy and the crook of Olaf's arm pressed to his cheek. Where he could smell him, slightly salty with hints of floral perfume and the cleanliness of his clothes.

It was gone the moment Mikolaj's back slumped to his mattress. He groaned, hands reaching blindly to grip Olaf by the collar while he still leaned over his body. His eyes were half-closed, but even through his eyelids, he could see how dark the room was. Tiny Teresa likely too busy in Madame Kubas' shadow to leave a few candles flickering and the moonlight hit the room at an odd angle, only leaving pools of silver on the floor and barely touching the glint in Olaf's dark eyes. 

Olaf slipped when he tugged him, hand coming to rest beside Mikolaj's head to catch his fall as he chuckled under his breath. 

"It stinks."

His mind still spun. He still tasted acrid acidity in the back of his throat. It burned him. Burned like the harshest cold when he sank bare fingers into hard-packed snow, like the hiss of a bite from a wild animal, like the look in his father's eyes when he met him for the first time. Vermin. 

"Where are you from, Highlander?"

Mikolaj gave Olaf another tug and he slid body onto the bed. The sheets rustled and Mikolaj inhaled deeply once he could smell him again. His tongue felt so heavy in his mouth and he squeezed his eyes shut because he couldn't bear to see Olaf's face so close in the dark. To see the shadows the long strands of his hair made on his forehead, the curve of his top lip, the shape of his cheeks, those marvelously slender fingers of his. 

Did he think of Olaf because his stomach swirled and his mind slowly crawled back from its fog? Or had he always thought of him? 

His breath caught in his throat, he almost choked on it, as Olaf rubbed his thumb to his jaw and chin. "What's wrong, Miko?" His breath brushed his ear and Mikolaj tried not to snicker. "You know I can't stay. The Madame would be furious." 

Yes. Madame Kubas. Perhaps she wouldn't notice Mikolaj missing from the party, or perhaps she could excuse it because he at least had gotten paid once for the night, but Olaf? Their Duke? Their most popular attraction? He had to be there, whips and all. 

Mikolaj knew it and yet when his mouth opened he croaked, "Don't go."

Another chuckle, Olaf tilted his chin towards him. Their noses touched. "I wouldn't fret over a little puke. It happens to all of us."

Right. He vomited. His very spit still tasted sour. Mikolaj couldn't imagine how his breath must smell, how Olaf could stand to be so close to him. 

"It's not..." His words slurred. "I don't want to move in with the Wiechs." 

Olaf hummed thoughtfully. But what did he know of this confusing space Mikolaj occupied? It was every courtesan's goal to find a Keeper, to find someone willing to fund the rest of their life. No more wages given to a Madame, he'd have his own room in the Wiech estate, he could spend his days as he pleased, no more of Madame Kubas' parties, no more sharing meals with the others, no more Justyna and her tickling laughter, the warmth of Hugo's hugs when they told scary stories on the coldest winter nights, no more Stefan and his antics, no more Olaf.

No more Olaf. 

To think he wanted out of The Night Court the moment he stepped foot in Jelberok. To think he wanted this. To be cherished by someone else for the rest of his days so he wouldn't have to lift a finger and would still have more than enough money. And yet now when he closed his eyes and thought of living with the Wiechs his whole body shivered as if he was going to puke again.