Archive of Our Own

The first time he fell, Maeglin really had no one to blame but himself.

It happened as he was exiting the main building of Gondolin University, carrying an armful of students' papers and grant requests to fill out, which promised him a very tedious evening. Penlod was walking alongside him, talking his ear off about a disagreement he had with some colleagues at Nargothrond U, even though, as far as Maeglin could judge, the issue was absolutely pointless.

That was what he got, he supposed, for hanging out with people from the humanities ; Maeglin privately did not understand why linguistic studies were even a thing. You were supposed to learn how to talk when you were a baby, so that you could then move on to better things. Like geology. A pursuit which was both interesting and with many concrete uses.

But his uncle Turgon kept telling him that he needed to expand his social circle and that, if he continued to be rude to his colleagues (Maeglin prefered the term “frank” but that was neither here nor there), he would end up in trouble. Besides, Penlod was nice enough, even if his chosen field was objectionable; Maeglin did not want to get into a fight with him.

So he was doing his best making interested noises while trying not to leave a trail of half-assed essays behind them, when he saw Him.

It was like someone had taken all the rockers and metal singers casting dark, brooding gazes from the posters on the walls of a 17-years-old Maeglin's bedroom and made them into a single, gorgeous man, before dropping him on the front lawn of Gondolin campus. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with long dark hair tousled in a way that looked perfectly natural and effortless but had to be on purpose. When he turned slightly toward them, Maeglin saw that he had equally dark eyes, framed by long, thick eyelashes, and a mouth that would have driven anyone to distraction, even if it was currently turned down in a slight frown. As if this wasn't enough, he was dressed in a leather jacket, black jeans that might as well have been painted on and a pair of Doc Martens – which, conveniently, meant Maeglin would not even had to imagine a new outfit for him when he would fantasize about Mister Dark and Mysterious kidnaping him and riding away with him on his motorbike.

(Maeglin would have been the first to recognize that he did have extremely specific fantasies. So what? People liked weirder things.)

Blissfully unaware that he had just been offered a leading role starring in every single one of Maeglin's fantasies for at least the next six months, the stranger was currently absorbed in his conversation with Duilin, the professor of ornithology. Maeglin had never liked the guy, and now he had a reason why. Also, was someone whose area of interest somehow covered pigeons worth talking to? Nobody had ever been shat on by a piece of basalt so, there, point for geology. The new guy obviously did not know any better, or he would have come to talk to Maeglin.

So yes, at this point, Maeglin was not making that much sense anymore. In his defense, drinking in the stranger's gorgeous figure was taking up most of his brain processing power. Which also explained what came right after. Because, for a crucial moment, he forgot that he still had a couple of steps in front of him, and was only reminded of that fact when his foot encountered only emptiness where he had been expecting solid ground.

He toppled forward, waving his arms around in an effort to catch himself, which did nothing to slow his fall but sent the papers flying everywhere. The next moment, he found himself lying flat on the ground, right in the middle of the University main square. And of course, Penlod had to scream as loud as he could: “Oh my god, Maeglin are you okay?”, just in case anybody in the vicinity had somehow remained unaware of Maeglin's cartoonish levels of bad luck.

He lifted his head slightly: yes, Mister Perfect Stranger had definitely noticed him. At least, he was looking concerned, rather than laughing uproariously. Still, given the choice, Maeglin would have prefered for the ground to swallow him whole.

He would have happily stayed lying there, but unfortunately, Penlod grabbed him by the arm and lifted him up (and damn, the man was strong under his scholarly looks), making a whole production of checking him over and dusting him off. At this point, this was not just an unfortunate mishap but a full-on theater performance, Maeglin thought grimly.

Eventually, he managed to push Penlod off, and started to collect his fallen papers, shoving them into a haphazard pile that would probably take at least half an hour to go through and sort out. At the moment, he was just trying to get out of there as quickly as possible.

And then, suddenly, the mysterious stranger was right in front of him, handing him some of the fallen papers. It took all of Maeglin's self-control not to squeak and drop everything again.

“Here you are,” said the stranger.

And of course, he had to have a deep, slightly rough, utterly sexy voice, because someone up there hated Maeglin and wanted him to be miserable.

Duilin had also come up to him, holding the last of the papers. He should have just said thank you to the both of them, like a normal human being, and leave it at that. Instead, without knowing what had possessed him, he said:

“Oh, you should not have bothered: I'm always looking for a good excuse not to grade those.”

Duilin took an outraged expression (the hypocritical kiss-ass; like there was any teacher in the University who loved grading students' papers); but the stranger simply looked taken by surprise at first and then, to Maeglin's awe and delight, he smiled and let out a small chuckle.

He could have introduced himself and asked for the stranger's name. But really, this was way beyond his social skills (which most people would have said were non-existent) and he decided to just cut his losses before he embarrassed himself further. With a curt nod that would have to count for good-bye, he took off, walking as fast as he could, not even checking if Penlod was following him. And he definitely did not turn back to see if the stranger was watching him walk away.

**

The second time... well, Turgon would probably say it was to be blamed on Maeglin as well, except he was certainly not going to be told about this. Maeglin would have said it was simply an unhappy coincidence.

See, Maeglin kept a number of carefully labelled rock samples in his office, stored in a series of shelves that went up to the ceiling. Half of those, unfortunately, were out of his reach. Maeglin's father had been a very tall guy and his maternal uncle was even taller but somehow, Maeglin ended up with his mother's genes, a woman who had been barred from most rides whenever she tried to go to an amusement park.

Of course, there were ladders made available by the University. But they were stored at the end of the hallway and it was a hassle to go there, get one, drag it behind him, struggle to go through the door of his office, and then do everything in reverse, sometimes just to realise that what he needed was not even on the top shelf. So most of the time, whenever he needed to check one box, he just climbed on a chair. This was something Turgon had repeatedly asked him not to do, saying that he would break his neck one day and adding: “As your uncle, I would find it very upsetting, and as the Dean of this university, it would give me an awful amount of paperwork to fill”. But Maeglin knew that his uncle liked to be a bit dramatic, so he just nodded and kept doing it, telling himself that as long as he was careful, there would be no problem.

So just a few days after he had made a fool of himself by falling down the steps, he found himself in his office, perched on a chair as he rummaged through some boxes for a specific piece of quartz he knew was somewhere on that shelf. Before he could find it though, he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come on in!” he called before thinking a bit too late that if that was his uncle on the other side of the door, he was about to get an earful.

But it was not Turgon who opened the door and stepped in the office; it was the gorgeous stranger from the other day.

Maeglin almost dropped the box he was holding. The stranger was even more handsome than he remembered, if that was possible, and he was still wearing that damn leather jacket. He looked slightly taken aback to find Maeglin standing on tip-toe on the chair instead behind his desk as could be expected from a dignified professor.

“I am sorry,” said Mister Dark and Beautiful, “I was looking for the geology department. Is this a bad time?”

“No!” replied Maglin precipitately, before babbling on: “I mean, yes this is the geology department and no, this isn't a bad time. I'll be right with you.”

For a moment, he could not quite believe his luck. What were the odds that the stranger would actually be there for him? Maybe he could finally get his name and, if he was really fortunate, some way to contact him. He felt almost giddy with nerves.

And of course, that was just when one of the legs of his chair decided to snap clean under him, throwing him down at the stranger's feet.

Once again, he found himself lying flat on the ground without a clear idea of how he’d got there. The stranger was kneeling next to him, which made him both glad and mortified.

“Are you alright?” he heard the man say.

If he was being honest, Maeglin felt he was going to combust from embarrassment. Nevertheless, he did his best to keep a straight face, even if he knew he was probably turning the most unattractive shade of red.

“Yes, yes, I'm fine..”

The stranger put a hand on his back to help him stand up, commenting with a lopsided grin:

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

And because Maeglin was an idiot (and still a bit in shock), he did not understand right away what the man was getting at, giving him a confused look. The stranger's smile fell off his face.

“Remember, the other day... Nevermind, let's get you back on your feet.”

And he gently took Maeglin's arm to get him to stand up. Maeglin was about to tell him that yes, he remembered the other day, and that the man was truly his savior, but before he could get the word out, he put his left foot on the floor and felt a stab of pain go up his leg.

“Ow!”

Concern returned on the stranger's face.

“You must have fallen badly on it,” he said. “Sit down, here on the desk, I'll take a look.”

He helped Maeglin get on the desk and knelt before him to take a look at his ankle. Maeglin felt his cheeks start to burn at the picture: he had had a very similar fantasy just the day before, except that, in his mind, Mister Handsome's attention had been focused somewhat higher. He firmly took his mind out of the gutter before he further embarrassed himself and stammered:

“Really, there is no need.”

But when the stranger tried to gently rotate his ankle, he could not hold back a hiss of pain. This prompted a frown on the man's face (one that Maeglin was very tempted to kiss away).

“This is not good,” the stranger declared. “Not broken, at least, but it looks like it's already swelling. You need to get that checked-out. Is there an infirmary somewhere nearby?”

“It's on the floor below,” replied Maeglin through gritted teeth (now that the first shock was fading, it did hurt quite a lot). “I'll go there directly, as soon as I catch my breath.”

“You're going nowhere on your own,” said the stranger firmly. “I'll take you there.”

Maeglin thought he was going to offer him his arm to lean on (and was already looking forward to it). But instead, the man swept him off the desk as if he weighed nothing and lifted him in a firearm carry to take him out of the office and into the hall, as if that was a perfectly natural thing that he did everyday. Even in Maeglin fantasy, he had not been that smooth.

Maeglin did not remember much of the short walk to the infirmary. He was too busy not swooning (he was not completely sure of what swooning actually entailed, but somehow it sounded like it fitted the situation) or doing something even more embarrassing, like giving into the urge to bury his face in the enticing hollow at the basis of the stranger's neck to smell his perfume or just rub his cheek against the leather of his jacket. To make things worse, the man apparently mistook Maeglin's sudden muteness and flushed face for distress, and he did his best to comfort him by telling him that everything was going to be alright in a low, soothing voice.

It was all over far too soon for Maeglin, even though he had been tempted to give the stranger the wrong directions to the infirmary. Before he knew it, he was sitting on one of the examination beds while the nurse was putting ice on his ankle.

“You are in good hands now,” the stranger told him with another of his charming lopsided smiles.

And with a pat on Maeglin's shoulder, he was gone.

It took a few minutes after he was gone for Maeglin's brain to start working properly again. When he realised he had forgotten to ask the stranger for his name, he almost screamed in frustration.

**

As for the third time, Maeglin was fully blaming it on Tuor.

It started during their Thursday family dinner, at Turgon's house. Those weekly dinners had been Idril's idea when she had moved out of her father's house; they needed some ritual, she felt, to make sure they did not drift apart, especially since Maeglin soon got an apartment of his own. They had rarely missed a single week since then. After Idril had started dating Tuor, he had also taken to joining them and Maeglin had to admit he fitted rather well in their little circle, unlike what he had feared at first.

Most of the time, Maeglin looked forward to Thursday night. He had many opportunities to see his uncle during the week, since they worked in the same university. But Maeglin and Idril were not especially close, not having always gotten along in their teenage years (and alright, it was largely Maeglin's fault – although in his defence, he had been barely thirteen and recently orphaned when he had written that passionate love letter to his then sixteen-cousin, whom he had just met during a very traumatizing time of his life; anyway, he was long past that now); these days, they moved in different circles and rarely had other opportunities to see each other. Maeglin did actually appreciate having time to chat with his cousin. The same went for Tuor: even though he rubbed Maeglin the wrong way sometimes, it was difficult to really dislike him or stay sullen in front of his always-cheerful demeanour.

He did resent a bit the way Idril and Tuor sometimes made it seem like the dinner was their weekly good deed, checking up on Maeglin and Turgon and making sure they had regular social interaction so that they did not end up as one of those sad stories in the news, of people dying alone in their apartment and being eaten by their cats or something equally gruesome. Maybe Turgon liked to play to lonely widower to get his daughter to come more often, but Maeglin would have liked it to be known that he did have a very active social life; unfortunately, in his family's eyes, the fact that most of said social life took place on Discord and involved people he had never physically met, meant that it did not count. And Maeglin felt rather disgruntled that Idril and Tuor attending a friend's party counted as an excuse to push back their dinner but his joining a raid in an online game did not.

On that particular Thursday, Maeglin was not in a particularly good mood. He was still mulling over his last encounter with Mister Ridiculously Good-Looking two days ago. He had been hoping that the stranger would show up again, since he had said he was looking for the geology department, but it was entirely possible that he had since decided to redirect whatever queries he had to someone who was able to actually stand upright in front of him for more than five seconds. The only positive aspect he could find to his current situation was that his ankle was back to normal, so he did not have to answer any embarrassing questions about that.

So he did not felt very inclined to listen with an open mind when Tuor started, with the air of someone who was about to solve all of Maeglin's problems:

“So, Maeglin, my cousin Turin, who has just moved in town, is also bisexual!”

“Amazing,” Maeglin deadpanned. “Clearly we are meant for each other. When can I marry him?”

In front of him, Idril frowned, clearly more bothered than her easy-going husband by Maeglin rebuttal.

“That is not what Tuor meant, Maeglin. Just let him finish.”

Maeglin bit back something like “whatever”, which would have been quite childish, and looked down at his plate, doing his best to appear completely uninterested. He had absolutely no trust in Tuor's matchmaking abilities.

“Oh, no, that's not all,” said Tuor, not letting Maeglin's obvious reluctance get in the way of his idea. “I'm sure you'll get along great. He is very handsome and er... athletic and he likes... hiking and...”

Tuor’s floundering confirmed what Maeglin had suspected: that he had not thought further than : “Hey, my cousin and cousin-in-law are both bi, how exotic, I should introduce them”. Idril herself seemed a bit embarrassed which made him feel vindicated. He was even saved the trouble of commenting by Turgon's remark:

“That does not sound much like our Maeglin... Well, except for the handsome part,” he added fondly, “but he is not that shallow”.

Maeglin forced a smile toward his uncle, thinking privately that he would be perfectly happy being shallow, if only there were handsome guys out there willing to give him the time of day. He knew he was far from good-looking, too small, too skinny, too pale, with no fashion-sense. Either Tuor's cousin was actually ugly and Maeglin had no interest in bonding with him over hiking, or he really was handsome and he would take one look at Maeglin and move on.

“No, but he is a very nice guy!” insisted Tuor. “Had a rough couple of years lately, his last boyfriend died in a car accident. It would do him good to have someone again.”

“Maybe he should see a therapist then,” replied Maeglin, a bit too harshly maybe.

At the same time, Idril bent toward her husband and whispered in his ear:

“You are not selling this very well, my love.”

Then she turned to Maeglin with a bright smile:

“You know what, we are having a party at our house Saturday evening and Tuor's cousin should be there. Why don't you come, it will do you good to get out of your apartment and meet new people in any case.”

Maeglin felt his hackles rising at that, but he bit back a harsh retort. It would sadden Turgon if he made a scene, he knew. Instead, he made a non-commital grunt and focused once more on his plate.

Idril and Tuor wisely did not raise the subject again all evening, but did remind Maeglin of the invitation as they left. Maeglin stayed behind a bit to help Turgon with the dishes, as was his habit. He liked having some time with his uncle, who was the closest thing he had ever had to a dad (closer than his actual father had been at least), without Idril and outside of work. They stood next to one another for a little while in comfortable silence, Turgon washing and Maeglin taking care of the drying. Finally, it was Turgon that spoke first:

“The bursar office told me you requested a new chair for your office.”

Maeglin did his best to keep an innocent face, even though he knew that, with his complexion, he probably already sported a damning blush.

“Those people clearly have too much time on their hands,” he replied.

“They just mentioned it in passing,” explained Turgon. “But I was wondering what happened to the one you had. Was it too uncomfortable? Did it give you back pain? Maybe you need an orthopedic model...”

“Stop fussing, uncle, the other one just broke, that's all.”

At this, Turgon gave him a suspicious look.

“It broke? Were you standing on it? Again?”

“No!” lied Maeglin with as much aplomb as he could muster. “I was sitting perfectly normally, it broke out of nowhere.”

Turgon did not look fully convinced but he dropped the subject, only to turn to another one that Maeglin did not particularly want to discuss:

“You should go to that party your sis... your cousin invited you to.”

Maeglin made the same grunt as earlier. But Turgon was not as easily dismissed.

“Don't give me that, I know that means you won't go. Just give it a try!”

“You heard Tuor,” Maglin argued, “it did not seem that me and this guy have anything in common.”

“Just because you don't like exactly the same things does not mean you cannot get along. And we are not asking you to marry him right off the bat. Just go there on Saturday, see him for yourself and if you really don't like him, say you have a lot of work to do and leave. Best case scenario, you meet a nice young man; worst case, you lose thirty minutes of your life.”

“My time is very precious,” countered Maeglin, though he already knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“Come on, dear, it will be good for you, I am sure of it. And it is not by staying in front of your computer alone that you are going to give me grand-children.”

“I do not want to ruin your hopes, uncle, but there are at least three separate reasons why I won't be the one to give you grand-children...”

Turgon flicked playfully at his ear:

“You know what I mean, you insufferable brat. I want you to be happy.”

Maeglin wanted to respond that he was happy alone at home playing video games but he knew it would not win him this particular argument, so he sighed:

“Fine, I'll go. But only if I can come to your office on Monday to complain to you about it.”

“It's a deal,” replied Turgon with a smile. “I'll make us tea.”

**

And so it was that Maeglin ended up in front of Idril and Tuor's apartment on Saturday at nine, intending to make a cursory appearance, maybe exchange a couple words with Tuor's cousin and be out by nine-thirty at the latest. The music and the noise of the conversation that he heard through the door were already getting on his nerves and he had started composing in his head the complaints he would make to Turgon on Monday.

(Despite his total lack of hope regarding how the night would go, he had made some effort with his outfit: he was only wearing jeans and a plain dark T-shirt but they were the tightest he had in his closet; he had also put on his nicest pair of underwear, because you never knew, after all, and it couldn't hurt...).

Idril was the one to open the door when he knocked. She was holding a glass of wine full almost to the brim in one hand, and wearing a silly paper hat on her head.

“I'm not drinking that nor am I wearing this,” said Maeglin, immediately laying the ground rules.

“Good evening to you too,” replied Idril, rolling her eyes. “I was starting to think you chickened out.”

“Having a lot of work is not chickening out,” Maeglin pointed out with dignity.

“Whatever helps you sleep you at night. Now come on in. Turin is over there with Tuor.”

“Who?”

“Turin. Tuor's cousin. The guy we said we'd introduced you to. Try to keep up.”

Maeglin sighed with some exasperation. The place was crowded, and brightly lit, and noisy, and he was sorely tempted to just turn back to the quiet shadow of the stairs.

“Fine. Whatever. I can't even see Tuor, it's like the subway at rush hour here.”

“Over here, I told you,” said Idril, pushing him forward and closing the door behind him. “Next to the window.”

Maeglin stepped forward, finally spotting Tuor's golden head. And next to him, with his back to Maeglin, was a tall silhouette in a familiar leather jacket.

Maeglin froze in his tracks, heart stopping briefly then starting back again, hammering against his ribcage as he recognized his handsome stranger. Suddenly, he felt wholly unprepared: what were you supposed to say to the guy you were introduced to as a potential partner? And when it turned out you've already met him in awfully embarrassing circumstances? Should he pretend not to recognize Turin, or make a joke? Anxiety rose in his throat and when Tuor spotted him and started waving, prompting his cousin to start to turn, Maeglin just panicked and dashed toward the nearest exit, which happened to be the kitchen door.

Unfortunately, the kitchen was not even empty, and at least five people turned to look at him when he burst through the door. He tried to make a hand sign to signify: “Please carry on as if I'm not there”, as he leaned against the sink, trying to regulate his breath, but they kept sneaking him judging glances. To make things worse, Idril had followed him:

“Where are you going?”

“I'm hungry,” lied Maeglin through gritted teeth. “I haven't eaten yet.”

Before she could call him out on his lie, Tuor entered the kitchen, disgustingly cheerful:

“Hey Maeglin, good to see you!”

For a moment, Maeglin thought his heart was going to burst at the idea that Mister Dark and Handsome – Turin – was right as his cousin's heels but, thankfully Tuor had come alone.

“Why are you hiding?” he asked, far too perceptive for Maeglin's taste. “Come on, Turin is dying to meet you.”

Maeglin felt his worry go up a notch at that, and he could not help but lash out:

“What's wrong with you? Why would you introduce me to a guy like that?”

Tuor looked at him as if he had grown a second head:

“Like what? You've barely seen him!”

“Like what, like what?” parroted Maeglin. “Can't you see he is way out of my league or are you dumb?”

Tuor's expression softened:

“Oh, Maeglin, don't say that. First, there are no such things as leagues...”

“Just because you are insufferably lucky and managed to land yourself a wife that is way out of yours,” interrupted Maeglin who, in his panic, had apparently lost all inhibitions, “does not mean leagues do not exist for us normal people!”

“Maeglin, you need to calm down,” Idril intervened. “We told Turin about you and he wants to meet you. That's as simple as that, do not make a big deal out of this.”

But Maeglin had zeroed on one particular information:

“You told him about me? What did you tell him? Your exact words!”

“Well,” started Tuor who looked a bit shaken at Maeglin's intensity, “I told him you were clever and shy, and a bit of a nerd, and cute...”

Maeglin buried his face in his hands with a strangled cry, wishing for the ground to just swallow him.

“What, these are good things!” argued Tuor.

“You are the worst wingman in the history of... ever,” Maeglin managed to say between his fingers. “Why didn't you tell him that I had no chance of ever getting laid, while you were at it?”

“Okay, you are exaggerating, maybe shy and nerd can be negative, but I did say clever and cute also,” insisted Tuor.

“Nobody is actually interested in clever,” Maeglin bit back. “And cute is for puppies and babies.”

“Maeglin,”said Idril in a very reasonable tone, “I feel I have to tell you, that you are acting crazy right now”.

“Well, I'm leaving in any case,” said Maeglin, walking toward the kitchen door.

But before he could go through, Turin appeared in the doorway.

“Tuor, are you in here?”

Maeglin froze like a rabbit in headlights. Too late to hide. Already, Turin had spotted him. But, to his surprise, his first reaction was that lopsided smile of his:

“Oh, hello,” he said to Maeglin. “Fancy meeting you here.”

All Maeglin could do was nod. This was evidently not enough, because Turin frowned again:

“You remember me? The other day in your office...”

“No, I remember,” Maeglin managed to croak out. “Thank you, again. And er, yes, hello, hi. Nice meeting you here, again, I mean not again here, but again in general.”

He would probably have kept on babbling like that until Turin had fallen asleep from boredom if Tuor had not intervened, with some à-propos for once.

“Oh, Turin, it's good you're here. This is Maeglin. But... you already know each other?”

“Not really,” replied Turin. “We've crossed paths at the university.”

He turned his attention back to Maeglin who was really not sure he could handle it.

“You were okay after the other day? Sorry I had to leave you at the infirmary so quickly, I was expected for work. And I did not have time to check up on you again.”

“There was no need to bother,” Maeglin said precipitately. “I am fine. I was fine. Back on my feet the next day.”

Turin smiled:

“That's good to hear.”

But Tuor had heard the exchange and he put a protective hand on Maeglin's shoulder:

“What does he mean? What happened? Why were you in the infirmary? Were you hurt?”

“It was nothing, I just said I was fine,” said Maeglin in a tight voice, while trying to telepathically project: “Go away!”

But Tuor was not very receptive to his effort to push him off and he insisted:

“But Turin just said...”

Luckily, said Turin interrupted:

“Tuor, is it okay if I go on the balcony for a smoke?”

Tuor blinked, visibly confused:

“Er, yes, yes, just let yourself out.”

“Great,” said Turin. “Maeglin, would you come with me?”

Fortunately, Maeglin had just enough brain power left not to blurt out: “I don't smoke” and to say “sure” almost smoothly instead. He feared that Tuor would make the blunder in his place but from the corner of his eye, he saw Idril elbow her husband sharply in the ribs and for once, he was grateful for her intervention.

The balcony was small, just a landing in the fire escape stairs really, with a metallic railing for them to lean against. It was blessedly cool and empty and, once Turin had closed the window behind them, quiet.

“That's better,” said Turin, exhaling with his eyes half-closed. “I don't smoke, by the way. I just wanted to get rid of Tuor. He is a great guy, but sometimes, he just can't take a hint.”

Maeglin felt positively giddy with nerves, but somehow, it was not the mind-numbing panic he had experienced earlier.

“I do not smoke either,” he said, for lack of a better thing.

“That's good. That stuff is nasty.”

There was a brief silence, as both of them tried to figure out what you were supposed to say in such a situation. Finally, it was Maeglin who broke it with, for once, something semi-relevant:

“You said you wanted to see me the other day? In my office? I'm sorry, if you had questions, I was not very helpful, I'm afraid.”

“That's okay, it was not urgent or anything,” Turin reassured. “I was looking for information on the caves in the region where I could do some speleology, and I was told you were the expert.”

Maeglin had not thought Turin could get any sexier but apparently, he had been wrong.

“Oh,” he managed to say, his breath a little short. “You... hm, you do speleology.”

“As a hobby, not as an actual scientific pursuit like you,” replied Turin with a small apologetic smile. “I started a few years back, when I lived near Nargothrond – they probably had the best caves there, but here is pretty good too, I've heard. Anyway, I work for a programme that helps delinquent teens reintegrate society and I am trying to see what new activities we could develop, maybe in partnership with the university. I thought they may like exploring the caves around it.”

“They would be fools not to,” declared Maeglin with feeling. “We have some remarkable rock formations over here... and you may reconsider your opinion of Nargothrond too. They are more flashy, sure, but it does not sustain closer examination.”

Turin smiled again, not a lopsided thing this time but a full grin that showed bright white teeth and made Maeglin feel very warm.

“I see I have the right person then. I'd love to hear more about it.”

Maeglin pretended to consider that.

“How much time do you have?”

“I have an appointment tomorrow at 3pm, but until then, I'm free,” replied Turin, eyes sparkling.

Maeglin sighed:

“Well, since you are so pressed for time, I'll have to give you the short version.”

He was delighted to hear Turin actually laugh at that.

The more time they spent together, the more Maeglin was convinced that Turin could not possibly be real: not only was he unfairly handsome, but he was also apparently perfectly happy to listen to Maeglin rambling about caves and rocks and underground rivers, asking questions and making remarks that showed that he actually understood what he was talking about. The feeling was completely new, and very nice, and he could not even find it in him to worry. A whole hour went by and they barely noticed it, staying on the balcony despite the cool night air. Maeglin was leaning with his back to the banister while Turin rested his elbows on it and seemed to get imperceptibly closer, until Maeglin could feel his warmth against his side.

There was maybe one or two times where Maeglin almost thought that Turin was looking at his mouth a bit too intently, like he was going to kiss him, but he dismissed it as wishful thinking and launched himself into another tirade about some local geological anecdote. He was already very lucky to have such an eager audience; he would certainly never get it from his students.

After a while however, they were startled out of their conversations by a loud cheer from inside. The party had moved toward dancing and through the window, they could see that Tuor had just dipped Idril in a flowery tango move, prompting much applause from the guests. Maeglin rolled his eyes but Turin shook his head fondly:

“This one, I swear,” he said with a chuckle, “I wonder if he ever gets tired.”

Maeglin suddenly felt a bit self-conscious.

“I'm keeping you from the party,” he apologized.

Turin turned back to him.

“Don't worry about that,” he said lightly. “I'm really not much of a party guy.”

“You came to this one,” Maeglin pointed out.

There was a spark in Turin's eye at that and his smile took a teasing note.

“I was lured here by the promise of being introduced to a cute guy.”

Maeglin felt himself blush from head to toe; he must have looked like a lobster at the point. He really didn't know how to respond to that, so he tried to deflect it with a joke:

“Well, I'm happy to keep you company until he shows up then.”

Turin pushed himself off the banister to come and stand just in front of Maeglin, so close that their feet were almost bumping against each other.

“Don't put yourself down like that. You know you are very attractive, right?”

Maeglin tried to find something to say that wasn't a shocked squeak, but his ability to speak was definitely robbed when Turin lifted a hand to brush lightly against the short curly hair on the back of his neck, before stroking along the line of his jaw, sending a shudder down Maeglin's spine. Then, he took Maeglin's chin between two fingers, tilting it slightly up and bowing his head toward his.

For a moment, time seemed to stop. Maeglin could hear his own heart hammering in his chest and was acutely aware of being trapped between the cold metal of the bannister at his back and the warm strong planes of Turin's body at this front. He barely dared to breathe. Then Turin asked in a low voice : “Is this alright?” and miraculously, Maeglin found enough of his voice to respond : “Very alright.”

They kissed rather chastly, lips against lips, no tongues, just an exchange of breath, but Maeglin thought he was going to keen at the way Turin lingered and stroked the side of his neck with his fingers. They parted, looked at each other, and then Turin bowed his head once more.

But just as they were about to kiss again, there was a sudden crack and Maeglin felt the bannister on which he was still leaning give way, sending him falling backward before he had the chance to catch himself (for he had stupidly been keeping his hands at his sides). He had just the time to see Turin horrified expression before his vision was filled with stars.

**

Everyone kept telling him he was very lucky. Falling down two stories and ending up with only a broken leg, some bruised ribs and a few scratches on his face was nothing short of a miracle. If it had not been for the hedge breaking his fall before he hit the ground, he would be looking at paralysis at the very least.

Nevertheless, as he lay uncomfortably on his hospital bed the next day, Maeglin did not feel very lucky. His left leg was immobilized in one of those cartoonishly big cast, his pants and nicest underwear were in tatters in the garbage because the doctors had to cut them off with scissors to get them off him, he was wearing a crappy gown that looked made of paper and was drafty in the worst places, and on top of that, he had still an hour and twelve minutes to go before he could ask the nurse for more morphine. In fact, he felt definitely more inclined to brood miserably over his misfortune rather than to thank his very questionable guardian angel.

This was actually the first time since the accident that he got time to himself and a clear enough head to reflect upon his fate. At first, there had been a lot of people around, a lot of yelling and calling his name and then flashes of red and blue and the high pitched wailing of the ambulance. Maeglin did not remember this part very clearly. There had been no pain then, as far as he could recall, but he had not been able to move or speak, and everything had been blurred by a strange fog – shock the doctors had said afterwards. He thought that Turin had been there at some point, talking to him and holding his hand. But when he came back more fully to his senses in the ambulance, it had been Idril at his side. That had also been when the pain really kicked in and he may have had a few choice words about the way the driver was apparently going over every damn pothole on the way to the hospital.

And then, they had taken him into surgery and when he had woken up, Idril had been replaced by Turgon, looking uncharacteristically dishevelled, as if he had just jumped out of bed and put on the first clothes he could lay his hands on. Maeglin had been pretty out of it, and he had started crying and apologizing for standing up on the chair, and breaking it, and lying about it. He was not sure how much Turgon had understood of his explanations, but he had held him close and rubbed his back until Maeglin calmed down (and then he had held up the bedpan as Maeglin vomited into it, which was apparently expected after a general anesthesia but nonetheless pretty unpleasant).

Turgon was gone now; Tuor had come to take him home and to ask what Maeglin needed from his apartment so he could go and get it for him. He had seemed pretty sheepish, which was only fair, since it was because of his crappy balcony that Maeglin was there in the first place. It was going to take a lot of grovelling, and a substantial amount of top-quality dark chocolate, Maeglin had decided, before Tuor was allowed back in his favour.

He was thus fully prepared to be haughty and grumpy when he heard a knock on the door. But his frown was wiped from his face as soon as he saw that it was not Tuor on the other side.

Turin looked rough, as someone who had not slept a wink in the last fifteen hours. He seemed to be wearing the same clothes as the night before, all rumpled now, and his eyes were red, either because he was tired or because he had been crying. Despite all that, he was still unfairly attractive.

He walked into the room with some hesitation, as if he feared not being welcome.

“I hope I'm not disturbing you,” he said, almost shyly. “If you need to rest, I can come back another time... if you want.”

As he said that, he angled his shoulders toward the door, as if getting ready to turn around at the first sign of rejection. Maeglin answered precipitately:

“No, please, you can stay. You don't bother me at all.”

And he did his best to smile in a “I'm-completely-fine-and-really-happy-to-see-you” kind of way, even though only the second part of that was true. Turin finally closed the door behind him and went toward the bed, sitting next to it in the chair Turgon had recently vacated.

“Just tell me if you get tired, I'll be out of your hair,” he cautioned as he sat.

“Don't worry,” replied Maeglin, “I won't be able to get any rest in the next..”

He stopped briefly to check the clock:

“One hour and nine minutes now. In the meantime, I could use some distraction.”

Turin lifted one dark eyebrow:

“Almost five hours since they gave you morphine, I gather? I've been there.”

“Really? Do faulty balconies run in your family then? I could have used a warning,” said Maeglin, attempting to joke.

Turin pushed his hair back with a nervous gesture:

“Ah, no,” he replied in a strained voice. “Pretty bad car accident in fact. My fault too. I don't really want to talk about it.”

Before Maeglin could apologize however, he added, with a smile that felt a bit forced:

“I brought you something.”

And he put into Maeglin's hands a small pot in which a handful of dark purple flowers grew. He felt himself blush again.

“I didn't know if you liked flowers... I mean, I guess most people do, but I didn't know if you'd prefer cut flowers or live ones in a pot. I mean, some people find it sad and wasteful when cut flowers die but, on the other hand, taking care of a plant can be bothersome. Then, I figured that it is the thought that counts, right, and these... These reminded me of you, a little... They are dark... but in a good way!”

With some surprise, Maeglin realised Turin was babbling because he was nervous. For a moment, this threw him off: he was more used to being the one making a fool of himself. But, as confusing as that was, he had to admit it was quite flattering to be the cause of such flustering.

“Thank you,” he finally said, to Turin obvious relief. “I like them a lot.”

And then, with a sudden burst of confidence, he added:

“I also really liked last night. I mean, not the part where I fell off the balcony. But before that. Especially right before that.”

He knew he was blushing again, and his fingers were twisting so tightly in the sheets that they were close to poking a hole in the thin fabric. Turin smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes.

“Me too. But I'm... I'm afraid to do it again, to be honest.”

Maeglin felt a stab of deception so strong that it almost overshadowed the pain in his leg for a moment. He swallowed and did his best to take a light tone:

“No need to be afraid, I don't bite. Except when I'm asked very nicely.”

Turin let out a huff of laughter.

“It's not that,” he said, his smile apologetic. “It's just... I'm afraid I'll bring you bad luck.”

Maeglin was really not expecting that and he felt his eyebrows rise of their own accord.

“Alright, I've had my fair share of guys and girls turning me down, but as far as bullshit excuses go, this one is new,” he stated, perhaps a tad bitterly. “So, point for originality, I guess.”

“It's not... I'm not trying to make excuses,” replied Turin, leaning forward, his eyes bright and a bit desperate. “I've... I've been really unlucky this past couple of years, it's almost like a curse... And people I care about I've been hurt because of that. And I don't want that to happen to you! Every time we meet you seem to fall and...”

This time, Maeglin stopped him by taking his hand. In retrospect, he would have a hard time believing he'd been so bold but Turin looked suddenly so distressed that it came naturally.

“Turin,” he said in his most reasonable voice. “As a scientist, I feel I have to tell you that bad luck, and curses for that matter, are not a thing.”

Turin opened his mouth to respond but Maeglin did not let him, plowing on firmly.

“It's not. I assure you. One hundred percent not a thing. I mean, what's next, you are going to ask me what my astrological sign is to see if we're compatible? Seriously, I know you are better than that.”

As he spoke, he squeezed Turin's hand lightly, feeling the callous on the pad of his fingers. He did not know what worked best in the end, his speech or the contact, but Turin seemed to calm down. He even managed to shoot him half a smile:

“Spoken like a true Gemini,” he said finally, before adding precipitately when he saw Maeglin's horrified expression: “I'm kidding! I swear, I don't even know what a Gemini is supposed to be like. Or if that's your sign for that matter.”

“Good,” said Maeglin. “I'd have asked you to leave if you were really into that stuff. I'm a man of science, you know, I have standards.”

Turin chuckled and then lifted Maeglin's hand to drop a quick kiss on the back of it.

“Alright, let's give it another try then,” he said in a low voice.

“I'll hold on to the bed railing really tight so I don't fall over,” replied Maeglin.

And if he gripped it a bit too tightly to fight the nervous butterfly he suddenly felt in his stomach, it was his own affair.

He did not fall this time. Not during the first kiss, nor the second, the third or those that came after that. After a while, he realized that he had stopped holding on to the bed railing to wrap his arms around Turin's shoulders; and Turin had left his chair to sit directly on the bed and press Maeglin back on the pillows. It was even better than on the balcony. He could feel Turin's tongue teasing his own, the scratch of his stubble, the occasional scrap of teeth against his bottom lips. He was also suddenly very glad for the crappy paper-like hospital gown that he had hated a few minutes ago, because of the way he could feel Turin's hands caressing his sides through it, the warmth of his skin seeping easily through the thin material. It got even better when Turin found the gap in the gown at the back and started to stroke along his spine. Maeglin's head fell backward with a moan at that, and Turin took the opportunity to attack the side of his neck, leaving what would likely be an impressive row of hickeys.

Maeglin was just debating if it would be too forward to just grab Turin's arse at this point, of if he should first divest him of his jacket (although he would not have minded if the jacket stayed on, so this was a real dilemma) when the door burst open without a warning. The next moment, he moved from ecstasy to horror as he heard Tuor's voice:

“So Maeglin, I was not sure the underwear you had in your drawer would be enough, so I raided your dryer, I hope you don't mind... Oh, I'm sorry, you are busy!”

Maeglin did not see Turin's expression at being interrupted, because he had buried his face between his hands in shame, ardently wishing the earth to just swallow him. He did hear him say in a level, if a bit tight, voice:

“Hi, cousin, thanks for bringing Maeglin his things, though maybe knock next time?”

“Oh yes, of course, it's just I had my hands full with all of this. Won't happen again. Well, not on my end at least. Hope it keeps happening for you, I mean whatever you were doing, without the interruption, frankly it's been way too long for the both of you...”

“Please, leave!” cried Maeglin without lifting his head from his hand.

“Yes, yes, of course, no problem, just putting that there...”

There were still a few minutes of Tuor apparently dropping and pushing furniture around before the blessed sound of the door opening and closing reached Maeglin's ears.

“He is gone,” said Turin, his voice sounding amused against all odds.

Maeglin lifted his head again:

“For the record,” he said in a pained voice, “I have a perfectly adequate number of clean underwear ready, I don't know why he felt the need to go rummage in my stuff and then tell the world about it...”

He stopped talking when Turin laid a kiss on his cheek.

“You are very cute when you blush, you know that?”

“It's good you think so,” Maeglin grumbled. “At least I have that going on for me.”

Turin kissed him again, more softly this time. When the parted, Maeglin confessed:

“Okay, regardless of what I said earlier... I did feel pretty unlucky just now...”

Turin's hands had returned to his back however, making him shiver.

“Was what went before worth the embarrassment?” he asked in a low voice.

“Oh, definitely!” Maeglin replied precipitately.

Turin smiled again, that full smile that truly lighted his eyes.

“Good. Let's try to be cursed and unlucky together then.”