The teatime doesn't end all at once it slowly fades.
Conversation thins first, voices lowering as cups empty. The steady rain against the windows fills the gaps where words used to be, soft at first, then more noticeable the quieter the room becomes.
Chairs shift, someone exhales, ceramic taps lightly against wood.
Pierre is the first to stand, pushing his chair back with a muted scrape as he stretches his shoulders, rolling tension out of them. Johann follows a second later, rubbing at the side of his face where the bruise has already begun to darken beneath the skin. Richard rises without much sound at all, and Augustus lingers just long enough to finish what remains in his cup before setting it down with care.
"Appreciate the tea," Augustus says, glancing toward Maris as he straightens. "Didn't have to go through all that trouble."
Maris waves him off as she is already collecting the cups like it was nothing at all. "You brought my son home. That's more than enough reason."
Her gaze lingers for just a moment longer, taking in the small signs they didn't bother hiding. The stiffness in Pierre's movement, the swelling around Johann's eye, the quiet way Richard holds himself.
She doesn't ask and smiles at them after she gets all cups on a tray.
"Come again when it isn't raining," she says as she makes her way to the kitchen.
Pierre gives a short nod. Johann offers a faint smile. Richard inclines his head, and Augustus returns an easy grin as he steps back from the seating area while putting on his hat.
"See you," Pierre says, glancing once toward Quinn as he adjusts his cap and grabs an umbrella.
The door opens, letting the rain spill in for a brief second—cool air, the smell of wet stone and earth—before it shuts again behind them, cutting the sound back down to a distant, steady patter.
The house feels different once they're gone, quieter, but not in the same way as before.
Roran pulls out a chair and sits across from Quinn, the wood creaking under his weight as he leans forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees. He doesn't speak right away, he just watches him, not suspicious, just worried.
"You alright?"
Quinn gives a short nod.
"Yes."
The answer comes easily as he sips his tea and avoids eye contact with Roran, trying to avoid talking to him until he got more of Quinn's life figured out.
Roran studies him for another moment before leaning back, nodding like he accepts the answer.
"You smell awful," he mutters.
Quinn chuckles and glances at Roran for a moment before his eyes wander again. "I didn't drink that much."
"Mm."
A pause stretches between them, not uncomfortable, but weird.
Then Roran exhales through his nose and jerks his chin toward the stairs. "You've got work at the school in the morning. Go wash up."
There's nothing harsh in the way he says it, just simple expectation.
Quinn nods as he staggers to his feet and goes to the kitchen where Maris is washing the cups, he looks at her for a moment before attempting to help then she quickly takes the cup from him and gives him a smile. "Go get some rest, I'll take care of this, be careful not to wake Calder or Elin on your way up."
Quinn nods shortly and gives her a faint smile before making his way to the stairs.
The stairs creak under his weight as he heads up, each step familiar in a strange way. He gets upstairs and looks down the hall before entering his room.
It is untouched and quiet just like when he had woken.
He moves through it on habit alone, pulling a change of clothes from the drawer without thinking, before stepping into the bathroom across the hall and closing the door behind him.
He turns—
And pauses.
There's a shower.
Not a basin or a bucket which he had expected, but a full-on shower like he has used before.
He stares at it for a second longer as a relieved smile starts to form.
Thank God, I thought I was about to wash with a rag.
Quinn exhales and rubs a hand over his face, then starts unbuttoning his shirt, fingers working slowly as his mind drifts—back to the fight, the weight of the blade in his hand, the sound—
The door creaks open.
"Quinny?"
He jolts slightly, turning as he grabs the nearest towel and pulls it over his shoulders.
Calder stands in the doorway, small and half-asleep, rubbing at one eye as he squints into the light.
"Oh."
Quinn adjusts the towel quickly, making sure it covers his upper half before glancing down—his pants still fastened.
He steps toward him, lowering his voice. "Hey. What're you doing up?"
Calder blinks slowly, still waking. "It was loud," he mumbles. "Downstairs."
Quinn winces faintly. "Sorry."
Calder nods, already accepting the apology. "…I'm thirsty."
"Alright."
Quinn buttons his pants properly and steps out into the hall, resting a hand lightly on Calder's shoulder as he guides him downstairs.
The house has settled into sleep. The air feels cooler now, quieter, the rain the only sound left moving through it. Maris and Roran have already gone to bed.
In the kitchen, Quinn pours a cup of water, the sound of it filling the silence more than it should. Calder waits beside him, swaying slightly where he stands.
When Quinn hands him the cup, Calder looks at him for a moment before starting to drink it, quickly emptying half the glass and lowering it.
"…Can I have a cookie?"
Quinn huffs a quiet breath, he smiles and ruffles Calder's hair. "Yeah. You can have one."
He takes one from a jar and places it into Calder's hand before letting him finish his water and leading him back upstairs, not in much of a hurry.
They enter Calder's room and Quinn helps him into before tucking him in, pulling the blanket up and smoothing it down out of the bodies habit more than his own thoughts. Calder settles almost immediately, the half-eaten cookie already forgotten in one hand as his eyes start to drift shut.
Quinn watches him for a second longer, a faint smile forming before he turns to the door.
"Quinny?"
He pauses and looks back.
"…Yeah?"
Calder's eyes are open again.
"Why're you hurt?"
Quinn stills.
Calder shifts slightly under the blanket, lifting his hand just enough to gesture. "Those," he says quietly. "…the bandages."
Quinn's body locks.
For a moment, everything else disappears.
The rain against the window, the dim light, he warmth of the room.
All of it pulls tight around a single point.
He hadn't thought about them, not like this, not where they could be seen, not where they would need explaining.
His throat tightens slightly as he stands there, the answer already forming—and already failing.
What do I even say? How am I going to cover this up?
For the first time since stepping back into the house he doesn't know how to pretend or respond.