Jump start my kaleidoscope heart [Tolfrey]

"And so you see, unless we approve the Swedish Ministry's proposal to subsidise the market at these rates, we're looking at a 4 per cent inflation rate in import costs, which will, which will… ahem."

Jonathan paused for a moment, his eyes distracted by the ticking hands of the clock that hung above the board room. He noted the time, twitching slightly in annoyance. He'll be here soon. It wouldn't be good to be late for his first day back. He noted a shuffling motion from one of the wizards in attendance, and realised that a dozen pairs of eyes were still watching him, waiting for him to finish his analysis. He cleared his throat again and tapped his wand against a large sheet, changing the graphs to a series of bars with highlighted notes underneath.

"Which will be far too large a burden on several local shops, many of which are still recovering from two years ago. If the French Ministry agrees to extend the forbearance and cap the interest on duty charges, then with Germany's recent passing of the debt reform, I think we can stave off the sharp rise in costs for about ten months. Hopefully next season will bring a larger yield to balance out returns and put us back to a stronger rate of growth."

There was an echo of murmuring across the table, with the various officials turning heads and turning files, contemplating on the numbers they just heard. Jonathan's left eye twitched again, as he was getting impatient. At last, he was getting nods from the room. Perfect!

"So it looks like we're all on the same page here. I'll have my secretaries translate the Swedish proposal so you all can crunch the numbers yourselves, but you'll find that every arithmancer will come to the same range, give or take a hundredth of a percent. Now, if anyone has questions I'll gladly take--whoops!"

Jonathan cut his sentence short as he quickly began collecting his papers. He didn't even bother to look up as he told the others, "Meeting's over, ladies and gentlemen. It's been a long day, and you should all go out and enjoy the rest of the afternoon." The pace at which he spoke kept getting faster, as he was reaching for his attaché and the rest of his belongings. "Any questions, do direct them to my office and I'll get back to you shortly." He glanced at the clock again, and was now shoving things into his case rather than neatly arranging them. With everything relatively secure, he closed his attaché clasp with a decided Snap! and bolted for the door.

"Enjoy, folks!" he yelled out, already out into the corridor, his voice trailing off as he sprinted for the lifts. He weaved and pivoted like a footballer, avoiding other officials as he ran. He practically dived into the lift, making it just before it closed. He was heaving slightly, and clumsily chuckled at the people standing beside him with eyes wide open and brows arched. He pressed the button to head down to the Atrium, tapping his foot as he waited for the lift to head down. Every few seconds he would check his pocketwatch, hoping he wasn't late.

At the ding of the bell, the doors slowly opened, and Jonathan quickly made his way about the busy reception area. He had specifically instructed to meet by fireplace four, and had pulled a few strings to divert traffic to the other fireplaces. Because of that, there was no queue by fireplace four, and Jonathan stood there alone. He checked his watch again. Was he late? He didn't think he was. Perhaps they had gotten the time difference mixed up? What time was it in Greece? Maybe he should grab some Floo powder and check to see if--ah!

Jonathan's eyes squinted as the flames shifted color, signaling that someone was coming through. He put on his flashiest grin, clapping softly as a man in a wheelthrone was ushered onto the the Ministry's Atrium by two Greek Healers. He stopped clapping to shake hands with the Greeks before turning to the seated young man. In his smoothest, most saccharine tone, he  greeted his friend as if he were returning from a holiday, and not from months of long gruelling rehabilitation abroad.

"Mr Khandra, welcome to the London Ministry of Magic. Local time is 17:08 and the temperature is 22 degrees, with no forecast of rain on this slightly overcast day. For your safety and comfort, we ask that you please hand over any large belongings you may have brought onboard with you so I may carry them, and please use caution as heavy articles may have shifted around during your travel. On behalf of, of, well, me! I'd like to thank you for coming to our lovely destination. I hope you've enjoyed your trip and that you'll have a pleasant stay."

Jonathan grinned a little wider, slightly pleased with himself, just before he broke that air of professionalism, spreading his arms wide and going in for a tight embrace.

Tolfrey Khandra had not had the best of years. Okay, so that was an understatement, even though the war had been won, the wee scottish wizard had endured what was most emphatically his worst year of life so far. It had all started at the battle of Hogwarts where, whilst defending freedom and the rights of muggleborns and werewolves and generally the principles of good, he had been hit by a spell most vile. Thankfully the curse had been deflected somewhat by one of his own and so had lost a lot of its potency, but even still it had shattered the bones in both his legs and left in both with great pain and the inability to walk. The healers at St. Mungo's had tried their best, but it was a dark magic injury and it resisted all attempts at melioration.

To begin with, Frey took this in his stride, figuratively speaking at least. He was still his bubbly and energetic self and to make that point, he took to using a wheelchair so lavish that he jokingly referred to it as the wheelthrone. It was a high-backed, wing-armed occasional chair upholstered in velvet with a gilt frame into which were carved vines and other ostentatious ornamentation. It was great for diffusing the pity that came his way all too often, and it was fun to be wheeled about at his whim by some helpful stranger or eager friend. For a while.  It did not take long however for his mobility device to become a burden though. Actually getting around the place wasn't terrible, but his kitchen worktop, his laboratory stores and desks - anything more than about three feet off the floor in fact were difficult to see over or use for anything more constructive than hiding behind.

The one thing that Frey had found did work to give himself the ability to ambulate was polyjuice potion. When borrowing someone else's body, he was able to walk fine. Indeed one of his speciality potions was a partial polyjuice that let him pick and choose which parts of his body were modified and which parts remained his, so he took to consuming these potions on a regular basis. There were analgesic concoctions to suppress the pain that he felt as well. At the start, he would only imbibe these preparations when the pain was too much or he actually needed to walk about - somewhere with uneven ground that the wheelthrone wasn't practical. However necessity soon gave way to habit and the habit become a psychological crutch and returned to the category of necessity, obsession. Even in cases where Frey would be sitting for hours anyway and by no stretch of the imagination needed the ability to walk he would swig away at his polyjuice. It began to cloud his thinking and alter his mood. Pike started to pick up on this and expressed his concerns, but Frey dismissed them. "I can stop anytime I want". "I'm in pain - the polyjuice helps". "Don't be silly, it's just being practical". Needless to say, the problem got worse. But instead of facing the problem he began to hide it. When Pike was around he'd use the wheelthrone, even though he'd had the polyjuice anyway. He started to experiment with other potions too - ones to make him feel happier, ones to block out psychological pain, hallucinogens, felix.  When he had the mental capacity he would brew these himself but as the weeks became months the addict grew more and more impatient, more and more out of his mind and he'd start swiping a bottle of this or that from work, using all his cash in some of the less reputable potions stores around the country. Eventually of course, Pike found out and confronted his lover who, in a potion addled frenzy, Frey said some incredibly hurtful things that he will never forgive himself for. Pike left.

When Frey sobered up enough to recall what had passed, he quickly remedied the problem. The solution was obvious - a solution of ground phoenix feather, rose petals and agaric extract. Yes, more potions. He also decided to take a few days away from the apartment which kept reminding him of Pike and so making things worse, so took a transcontinental portkey to Italy and visited his old friend Zi.  At least there was someone that wouldn't judge his potions use - Zi was more likely hopped up on potions than Frey was - potions were his life.  Frey was obviously too far gone by this stage to realise that his ex, and fully trained potions master, was a lot more cognisant of the risks and contraindications in his chosen field. But poor confused Scot was at least right about about one thing - Zi was at least more accepting of Frey's choices and treated him like an free adult, not some stupid little child.

Zi even let Frey stay at his apartment and retained his services as a lab assistant. The permanent Italian resident was confident in his ex's ability even if he was indulging in a few mind altering potions. Besides, mind altering potions can be fun - the odd evening here and there the two of them would concoct something new and test it together. Frey began to enjoy life again, at least the present - living from one moment to the next. He avoided thinking about the past or the future - making life tolerable, distracting himself, having fun right here and now was what was important.

After a few months of this though, even Zi started to worry about his companion. Constantly popping potions was fine, but Frey was just getting reckless and more importantly was messing up in the lab and Zi having to constantly check over his shoulder was even more work that just doing things himself. When his host broached his concerns, despite it being done unusually diplomatically for someone with a panache for malevolence, the increasingly self-destructive Tolfrey flew off the handle and ran off with pocketfuls of rare and expensive potions ingredients to boot.

The supplies that Frey lifted from Zi's personal stores were worth a small fortune. There was ground unicorn horn, mokeskin blood, hairy mcboon venom, enough to keep Frey in a hotel for a good couple of years if he found the right buyers, more if he could be bothered to actually brew things from them.  He neither found the right buyer nor put any effort whatsoever into adding value to his wares. He just bummed his way across Europe for a couple of months selling the precious ingredients for a fraction of their worth - just enough for his next fix and a roof over his head for a few days. By the time it had reached his birthday in February (not that he had any idea of the passage of time by this point) he'd even given up on having a roof over his head. An energy tonic was dirt cheap and that way he could keep partying all night.  He always made sure he had polyjuice though - it was the utmost necessary. After leaving Neroli he'd given up on the partial polyjuice - the preparation just took so long that it wasn't worth it and out here no one needed to know who he was. In running away from his troubles, Frey had also lost sight of himself - quite literally. He had not worn his own face for months on end.

It was in Mykanos that Frey opened the mokeskin purse (another... acquisition from Zi's cupboards) and in a moment of dreaful clarity realised he was down to his last few sellable wares. His final purchase was as much polyjuice as he could afford, at this point not just trying to avoid the lameness and pain but unable to bring himself to look himself in the mirror, plus just a little something to take the edge off. He went on one last magnificent bender, partying and selling the only thing worth anything - whomsoever's body he happened to be wearing at the time. This only sustained him for a couple of extra weeks though and about halfway through April the polyjuice ran out. It had been so long since Frey had experienced the agony that his battle injury caused him that he didn't know what it was at first and thought he'd pulled something in his leg the night before. As it grew Frey tried to ignore it, but soon it was too much to bear and he collapsed, screaming more in horror and shame than pain (although that certainly contributed) as his body reverted back to its true form.

The cripple pulled himself into a side alley and found an archway to shelter under. The clothes he was wearing swamped him and he gathered them to make as best a blanket as he could and he wept. Forced to face reality, he realised that the last time he had seen his wand was somewhere in Germany. He'd been hitching rides or joyriding brooms to get from place to place since then. He had nothing. No way of calling for help, no way of getting himself anywhere and besides, nowhere to go. He had abandoned or actively alienated everyone who might otherwise pity him.

The alley wasn't so bad.  Sure, the bin near to where he had propped himself up didn't smell the greatest, but then it probably smelled better than Frey himself. Besides, tourists sometimes threw perfectly edible titbits in there and beggars can't be chosers. Begging didn't get him very far though as even if he received money, he had no way of getting himself anywhere to spend it. Occasionally a passerby would take pity and offer to go buy him something, but the homeless wizard trusted no one with his hard earned money and the offers of hospitality were soon recinded when the wretched creature snarled and gathered his monies up close.

Soon he gave up bin raiding. This meagre existence wasn't worth it. He resigned himself to his fate and tried to make himself as comfortable as possible. After weeks of malnutrition and a couple of days of self-imposed starvation, and the torment of constant pain, he passed out.

And, contrary to all expectations, woke up again. In a bed. Inside. Without pain. Or any idea where he was or who these strange people talking funny over him were. The wore green robes, but when he tried to ask them where he was he couldn't speak, his throat was parched. "Water..." he pleaded. Murmurs of "ah English" floated to his ears and some kindly sole held a glass up to his mouth while the others went off somewhere and more people came back, including someone that looked vaguely familiar. The friendly face whom he couldn't place seemed to know him too, and explained that he'd been found on the streets with some kind of protection charm around him. Some ministry enforcers had been sent to pick him up for breach of the International Statute of Secrecy but instead had taken pity on him and brought him to the hospital because he had clearly been savagely attacked. "No... that's not..." the patient tried to argue, to correct his saviour but was too weak.

Another familiar person came the next day. This one not dressed like the others but wearing a shirt and looking much more concerned. A name surfaced from the depth of some memories of a life that was locked away behind a heavy door in his mind. Jon. This Jon person came to visit regularly whilst he was recovering in hospital and once he was healthy enough to get out of bed, he even brought an artefact from this past life - his old wheelthrone, which took some getting used to but was comfier than the hospital wheelchairs. Evidentally the scotsman's parents had saved it when his landlord had evicted his belongings and Jon had been keeping them up to date on Frey's progress. They had been to visit too, a couple of times, but it had been so awkward, his mum spent most of it in tears and his father acting awkward, not knowing what to say.

No, Tolfrey Khandra had not had the best of years. And today, the people that had looked after him for the last six weeks, nursed him back from the brink were abandoning him. They were kicking him out and delivering him to the Ministry of Magic in London.  Frey was terrified. He did not want to go back to that life, to face the people he had wronged. And it was to the Ministry they were taking him, not to St. Mungos or to his parents. Were they putting him on trial at the Wizengamot? What was going on?

Frey was dressed in some robes from the hospital's lost and found since the ones he arrived in were so large and fetid that they had had to be destroyed. These ones were gaudy and itchy, with some kind of diamond pattern on them that hurt his head. He was then manhandled into his wheelthrone and taken to the fireplace. The scared little wizard tried to keep a stiff upper lip and not show his fear, resigned to meet his fate and accept the punishment for his actions (which were still somewhat hazy in his memory). As the floo network was activated and his chair started moving foward, Frey drew a deep breath and gulped.

Barely resisting the urge to vomit, he let go of his held breath slowly and took another. Yes, this was the Ministry, but the guards he was expecting weren't anywhere. Instead in their place was a beaming Jon, who was applauding for some reason. Frey couldn't concentrate on what Jon was saying - something about the weather - he was too busy looking around for the signs of security coming to pick him up. Maybe they were sidling in behind him in case he tried to make a run for it.  Whatever it was his friend was saying though, the voice was confusingly soothing and even in his morose state of mind Frey couldn't help but give a small and weak exhalation of amusement as Jon stumbled over his announcement.

Jon's smile could melt the ice fortress at Jukkasjärvi, and it certainly warmed Frey's spirits. He tried to smile in return, but his muscles couldn't seem to remember how to and his overwhelming sense of confusion didn't help either. The hug was most welcome though and the weedy little scot threw his own arms around Jon and clung on. "Ask them to go easy on me, Jon. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." His eyes were filling with tears and he was shaking with fear. His words caught in his throat, "I'll co-operate. Just see that I get a fair trial?" He was still holding onto Jon for security, but trying to look around, spot the guards coming to take him away. "Where are they - the guards? Did you arrange it to be more discreet? You really needn't have done." He pulled away a bit so that he could look Jon eye-to-eye. "Thank you."

As if suddenly yanked by a heavy weight, Jonathan's jubilee sank to anxiousness and pity for his friend. He had hoped that a light welcome would make Tolfrey's transition to life back in England a little smoother, but the frail young man barely seemed to register what was happening. Tolfrey's eyes wandered into the distance, his focus on something Jonathan could not discern. He had no idea what was going through Tolfrey's mind, either at this moment or at any point during the last year. Jonathan escaped the war with very few scars, and his naturally resilient nature allowed him to take the social changes in stride. He could not even fathom what it would be like to suffer a curse that would plague him all his life and bind him to a hollowed shell of existence. The word hollow felt like an apt word, as if Frey would shatter and crumple with the slightest touch.

But he didn't. And that gave Jonathan hope.

Somewhere in those distant thoughts and clouded eyes, Tolfey seemed aware of Jonathan's physical presence, and gripped the young Official with surprising strength, clinging to him like a lifeline. Tolfrey's words confused Jonathan. What was he apologising for? And what trial was he talking about? What guards?

They locked gazes for the moment, but Jonathan could make no connection. Tolfrey was looking straight at him, but they may as well be a world apart. Jonathan held him a tighter, calmly hushing his friend. Smoothly, softly, Jonathan stroked Tolfrey's nape and whispered, "Shhh. No one's come to put you on trial. No guards are here to take you away. You're with me now. You're safe."

Jonathan stole a glance at one of Tolfrey's chaperones, who only shook his head and kept a downward gaze. Jonathan sighed inward. He'd been too naïve to think that the short months Frey had spent rehabilitating in Greece would be enough to counter the long year spent drugged and depressed. He'd known enough Healers and been to St. Mungo's often enough to know that some would never recover from their wounds. But those were other people. Those types of stories always involved someone else. Not those Jonathan cared about. Not the people he held close in his heart.

Tolfrey still seemed agitated. Perhaps arranging the meeting at the Ministry had not been the best choice? Admittedly, people still had very raw feelings toward the Ministry and it's role during the final chapter of the war. How it hunted innocent wizards and witches. How it tore apart families. How it became the very menace that it was created to protect the world from. How did Tolfrey see this place? What did he think of Jon's deep connection to it? So many questions ran through Jonathan's mind, and not a single answer came to him. All he had was the stark reality of the present.

One of the Healers cleared his throat while the other extended his arm to pass the belongings they could identify as Frey's. It was a very delicate moment, but the Healers had other patients to attend do, and it was a sad fact that Tolfrey was not unique in his suffering in this world. Sighing again, Jonathan released himself from Tolfrey's grip, grabbing the bags that the Healers handed to him, and gave his solemn thanks as they made their way back to the fire.

With just the two of them, Jonathan weight his options. He had originally planned to take Frey up the lift and into the streets of London. He figured a stroll in the afternoon would help things along. But, based on his friends reaction to being in the Ministry, perhaps it wasn't good to prolong their stay here. He supposed travelling by Floo and heading home as quickly as possible would be best. The latter seemed like a better choice given his friend's current state. The more he had time to rest in more comfortable settings, the better.

"All right, Frey," Jonathan said softly, his deep baritone voice rolling his words like a bell echo. "We're heading back into the Floo network. Try to bear with it a little longer." He gingerly pushed Tolfrey back toward the fireplace and in a flash, emerald flames sucked the two you men in and just as quickly spat them out into a new location. Instead of the busy and intimidating atmosphere of the Ministry, there were greeted by complete silence in a large dining hall. White sheets were draped over the furniture, while rows of vases were lined up along the western wall, remnants of a party held earlier that month. How odd time worked, that one day Jon could be on such a state of pure bliss and a few days later he was wading through thoughts and feelings he could barely comprehend.

They were in the Emerson's Hyde Manor, a public guest home located just along the Serpentine in the royal parks. Jonathan wished they could have just gone straight to his home, but it was impossible to connect his private residence to the network. The Emerson's family homes were guarded with utmost secrecy, and Jonathan had neither the time nor the skill needed to reverse millennia of protective charms just for his friend's convenience. He watched Tolfrey carefully, ready to respond to whatever the young man needed. He slowly pushed him out into the grounds, allowing him to take sight of the Italian gardens and the path that would lead them onto Serpentine bridge.

"My house isn't much farther from here. In this spot, I can Apparate us to my front steps or if you feel you can spare fifteen minutes, we can take a stroll through the park to get there." Jonathan gently stroked Tolfrey's head. He tried his best to prepare for taking care of the man he'd known since his first year at Hogwarts, and from his research he learned that it was important to give Frey a sense of control. If he were to recover from his ordeal, mentally and emotionally if not physically, then Tolfrey needed to have a sense of agency, that he was still in charge of the direction his life would lead. The helpless expression he showed earlier in the Ministry showed how important that was.

"How are you feeling? It's all up to you."

The scared vagabond, having spent months in hospital and only being touched in a sterile, clinical way (and indeed before that where people were at pains to so much as look at him let alone touch him, shivered slightly at his protector's hand on the back of his neck and let out a small whimper that while still wretchedly pathetic had some harmonies of contentment among its subtleties. Frey tried to concentrate on Jon's words, but the soothing stroking and smooth voice were too pleasing for the scot to fully grasp that he was, at least legally and for now, off the hook. He let his cheek rest against the other man's, feeling his literal and figurative warm and letting them carry him to a safe place. Jon's scent, hints of masculine musk at the end of a long day with overtunes of stickysweet sugar and spice, filled his nose and added to the sense of safety that was starting to permeate the dreadful emptiness. "Thank you" he whispered in the ear by his lips, and he gave a weak attempt at intensifying the embrace that he willed to continue for just a few moments more.

When Jonathan started to pull away Frey just let him go and collapsed back into his seat. He went limp and let his arms trail off from around the taller man's shoulders as he stood up rather than actively removing them. He couldn't really see what was happening behind him - the back and wings to the wheelthrone effectively cut off his field of view, but he could see that Jon was still there, so didn't get too concerned. The official's presence was reassuring. And after a few seconds of plesantries Jon was back with him, and talking about taking him back into the floo network.  Frey figured that they were now off to St. Mungos - presumably this was some sort of cross-contamination prevention thingy - and he nodded passively to acknowledge the travel plans his friend had laid out. He shut his eyes as well as holding his breath through the floo network this time. If he hadn't wanted to vomit before, he certainly didn't now that it would end up all over the only friend he had left.

When he opened his eyes again (after the spinning feeling had subsided and he'd managed to gulp enough air down to supress the retch he could feel building in his throat) he was confused again.  This didn't look like the hospital. He hoped it wasn't the hospital, because the only thing he could think that would be occluded under sheets like that at a hospital was... no, the war had been over a long time. There couldn't be that many casualties. This wasn't the hospital. By this point Frey had given up on trying to follow what was going on. He'd given up trying to control his destiny back on the streets of Greece a few months ago, falling into a pit of helplessness, but this was all too confusing to even keep up. His face displayed his confusion with a mouth slightly agape and searching eyes, before he sighed weakly and looked up at Jon. The taller man was standing watching over him tenderly, and took him out into the gardens. The colours were pretty and even the smells seemed to work in harmony, although this analysis was somewhat beyond Frey who got about as far as 'tree pretty' in this thought process.

Jon was making conversation again. Frey concentrated in order to listen to what the nice man that had whisked him away from the mean guards at the Ministry had to say. He apparently needed to go home for something and was going to take the wee man in a wheelchair with him. The disembodied voice drifting to his ears from behind had stopped, and instead his shaggy overgrown hair was being ruffled gently. Feebly, he arched his head up into the reassuring sensation.  Wait, there was a question in there somewhere. "Uh..." Frey interjected to show he realised it was his turn to speak. He turned his head as best he could so as to see his caregiver. "Can we apparate?" he managed to get out coherently. "Outside...don't like... too many..." Whatever the greeks had given him to calm him down (apparently he'd made quite a scene when he'd been told they were returning him to London) had left him unable to access parts of his brain that processed the finer points of grammar. He made a sorrowful face at Jon in a non-verbal effort to apologise for not being the best conversationalist today, and reached up to where the large masculine hand was resting gently on him, and placed his own, considerably smaller, and rather more emaciated one on top, cupping his fingers over the edge of the main body of the hand.  He even managed to remember some manners after a slight pause. "Please?"

Jonathan stopped pushing Frey on his wheelthrone for moment, definitely not pleased with how things were turning out. He didn't like seeing his friend like this, or the gnawing fact that Tolfrey would likely remain in such a state for while. His psychological healing would definitely improve far more than his legs, but that didn't mean life would be a peach in the span of fortnight. The Healers back in Greece had been very clear about that. In fact, they advised him against taking Frey and privately caring for him. A wizard of his condition would be better off in a hospital ward, closely monitored and cared for by experienced professionals. What was the closest thing Jonathan had cared for? His pet cat was a poor comparison to the responsibilities he'd be undertaking with Frey. Admittedly, Jon knew they made a strong case. Jonathan wasn't someone that people would generally see in a caregiver role. In fact, many thought the man himself still needed a good babysitter or governess to keep an eye on him and his frequent antics. The Healers thought this case could be likened to giving a five year old the overseer position of the psych ward. Surely this would not bode well for either of them.

However, Jonathan remembered the day he met Tolfrey in Greece. Jonathan had just come home at a very late hour from a meeting in the Americas, sorely tired and desperately in need of a short holiday. But coming home, there had been a post for him. He recognised the hand immediately. It was written by Hayden, who'd been studying as a Healer-in-training in Greece. Being close friends--and at one point being something a little closer--the two kept up regular correspondence, especially since Jonathan had personally given his word that he'd keep an eye out for Hayden's sister as she was going to be a Hogwarts student. However, the letter was not about a check-up on Rosalie.

The note was hurriedly written, and before Jonathan even got to the last word he was already running up to his room and preparing to depart. He took the nearest sets of clothes his hands could grab from his closet and stuffed them into a bag, and with that he Apparated immediately to Greece. He quickly made his way to the hospital where Frey was admitted, but not being next of kin, his request was naturally denied. Luckily, Hayden was still working on the floor and Jonathan was able to hear about the details at length. Apparently Tolfrey was found by Ministry officials in the streets and brought to his hospital. The young man was still being detoxed from potion overuse and on nutritional elixirs. He wouldn't be well enough to receive anyone until the morning. He also seemed to have been crippled, and it was an injury of a cursed nature, unlikely to be healed by usual methods. All of these revelations were too much for Jonathan, a man used to living in a constant state of whimsical reverie. It was like being dragged back into the dark days of the war. The emotional weight of these news, coupled with his already overworked body, was enough to make the tall, grown man collapse. He sat on the hospital floor, dazed and lost. What would be the best thing to do in this situation? Luckily Hayden was there, and after waiting for Jon to regain his bearings, was able to talk him through some possibilities.

After a long talk with Hayden, Jonathan quickly wrote to Tolfrey's parents, urging them to come as soon as they'd read the letter. Meanwhile, Jonathan went back to discuss with Hayden possible treatment options, since Tolfrey's healers would not disclose anything except to the man's closest relations. He was, however, allowed to see Tolfrey under supervision. Seeing his old friend in that state nearly broke Jonathan to pieces. But breaking down would do little good to anyone. Instead, Jonathan set to work, trying to piece out what happened Frey. He stayed in Greece for a few days, spending with his friend for as long as visiting hours allowed. Tolfrey wasn't very communicative, but Jonathan thought he could sense a difference in Frey's mood when he was there.

Frey's parents came shortly after, just as shocked as Jonathan was. The healers told them that Tolfrey needed to remain in the hospital for at least a few weeks, and that there was little they could do for his legs aside from giving him potions to numb the pain. Also, because Tolfrey was not a Greek national with no ties to the Hellenic Republic, and since he did have relatives to claim him, they'd have to charge for his care. That fact seemed to just rub salt in their wounds, but Jonathan readily agreed to pay for whatever it took to heal his friend. After talking with Tolfrey's parents, they soon decided that Jonathan had the best means to care for their son. In the subsequent weeks, Jonathan was able to obtain Ministry permission to act as Tolfrey's guardian, charged with the man's affairs until Tolfey was of sound mind to assume personal responsibility. Jonathan visited his friend as often as he could, but worked kept him busy and often abroad. In whatever time he could spare, he also began buying books on how to care for a convalescent, and amassing any details he could on Frey's case.

When Tolfrey was well enough to leave the confines of his bed, Jonathan observed how his friend reacted to his surroundings. The sterile environment of the hospital didn't seem like it would be the best place for Tolfrey to recover. Seeing Frey's reaction to having his wheelthrone returned to him showed that the man would be better off in more familiar settings. Taking him back to England was best, as Jonathan and Frey's parents could not keep up the constant travelling to see him.

And so here they were now, facing the western grounds of the park, ready to Apparate to Jonathan's house. Jon peered over to check on Tolfrey, and frowned at the woeful look his friend gave. He felt the man's thin, frail fingers resting on top of his, and Jonathan shifted to hold them firmly. Without letting go of his hand, Jonathan walked over and crouched down, so he could face Tolfrey eye to eye. Jonathan's light grey eyes were twinkling as they caught the light, shimmering as tears glistened over them.

But he flashed Tolfrey his signature grin, and in the bright voice that he often had, replied, "Apparition it is!" And in a pop, they were now by Jonathan'd door, set in front of a warm stone building. Jonathan was still crouching by Frey, his hand holding those slight fingers. With his free hand, he reached for the door knob clumsily, as all of Frey's and his own bags hung off that arm. Jonathan felt the familiar pulse of runic magic within the doorknob as it recognised the master of the house, and the door opened to the bright interiors.

"Welcome to my home! Actually, scratch that. Rewind." Jonathan caught his words immediately, realising that wasn't quite the right thing to say. He tried again, moving to the right to allow Tolfrey a glimpse of the inside.

"Welcome home!"

With Jon's fingers closing around his own, Frey felt the slightest glimmer of hope. Hope wasn't something he had experienced in a long long time and the depressed and broken wizard wouldn't have been able to name it as such.  He'd spent the majority of the last year drinking, smoking, consuming potions and partying as hard as his little body (or, more properly, other peoples bodies) would cope just to avoid confronting the dread that reflection on his current situation engendered. He had forgotten how to relate to the future - that the future might indeed hold something better than the present - because the present contained so many woes that they had swallowed him and his foresight. Jon holding his hand was a small gesture, but it embodied a human connection, physical proof that he still did have people that cared about him contrary to his belief that he'd alienated everyone close to him. Lacking the energy or enthusiasm (for life in general, not for the action in particular) to maintain the exertion, Frey contracted his hand a fraction to hold onto Jon as he began to move, hoping he wasn't trying to escape.

Thankfully, he wasn't and was just coming round the wheelthrone. Jon was tall, and Frey most definitely was not and Frey's apathy and lethargy meant that craning his neck in order to face Jon was a chore, so when he crouched to bring himself level with the sedentary boy the latter was grateful. Away from the bustling crowds in the ministry and the clinical settings of the hospital and inside the Hyde Manor, Frey's attention was less divided between whatever was going on and watching for people coming to take him away and his eyes met Jon's properly. The scottish man's large green eyes which in his life that had gone before had been filled with a joie de vivre, goodnaturedness and  propensity for light-hearted mischief now appeared so much older and more muted, but looking into Jon's this closely was like a mirror into the past - a past of honesty, openness and optimism the recollection of and capacity for which made a fleeting pass into his own eyes before disappearing back down into the depths of a life the loss of which was too painful to bring into consicous thought.

Jon's smile was also infectious, and the boundless optimism that Jon exuded affected even Frey in his current mental state. Most other people would have just got a stony face in answer to a grin like that, or some pointed comment along the lines of 'at least you have a reason to smile', but Jon had stuck by him through his time at the Hellenic Healing House and besides, the ministry official just looked wrong if he wasn't smiling and Frey didn't want to deflate him. Instead of rebuffing the smile, he moved his arm to bring Jon's clasped hand to his busom and Frey's other hand came up to clutch the pair that were already there and bowed himself around this all as if to protect it and prevent anyone from taking it away. He even managed a fleetingly brief smile himself before they disapparated.

Appearing on the doorstep outside what Frey took to be a block of flats, his erstwhile travel agent opened the front door to reveal not a stairwell with lots of private residences leading off it but in fact, from what Frey could see of it around the bags hanging off Jon's arm, a palace. Jon shuffled round to reveal more and the sight of majesty was increased.  Frey gawped at the space, distracted from his self-pity by shock. He'd known Jon was fairly rich, but this was in a whole different league to rich. He said nothing for a few seconds, surveying what he could from the threshold. "You ... live ...here?" he questioned, oblivious to the implications of the correction that Jon had made to his initial welcome.  From the stoop Frey could see a massive spiral staircase winding its way up to the next floor in the middle of a living room that you fit his entire old flat in. The gilding on the mouldings that he could see alone was probably worth more than his parent's house. Frey's face showed just how taken aback he was - not envious, not doubting Jon's character, just flabbergasted - and had the most signs of life he'd shown since admittance to hospital. The mass of hands that he had been clutching onto for security was allowed to slide down his chest into his lap as he looked at the TV (covering approximately the same area as Wales) and furnishings so exquisite it was a wonder Jon hadn't broken them all with his frivolity. "But... you're so nice!"

Jonathan hadn't really thought of how Tolfrey would react to seeing his place, but he chuckled nervously as the convalescent just looked as if he were Stupefied. Was it not to Frey's liking? If so, Jonathan had just spent weeks of renovations for nothing. Jonathan tried to recall how other people took to seeing his place, then realised that there hadn't really been others. Hayden was probably the only other person aside from Jonathan's family who'd been to the house, and the two of them had been friends for so long that Jonathan couldn't recall the first time he had the Healer come over. It wasn't that Jonathan was ashamed of his place, but it was just far more convenient for him to be the one calling on other people's homes. The Emersons' personal residences were fiercely guarded for centuries, especially after centuries of being branded as blood traitors, so no one really knew where and how they lived. The wards and guards were far too troublesome to deal with if Jonathan were to regularly receive friends over for tea or supper. In any case, he much preferred hanging out in his mates' flats, enjoying the coziness and worn, lived-in warmth they exuded. And with Jon's personality, along with his natural ease in being in the most humble flats, it was easy to forget that he was an heir of a wealthy and influential family.

With Frey's expression, his subsequent question, and following comment, Jonathan arched a brow and cocked his head to the side, slightly puzzled. What did being nice have to do with living here? He tried to figure out the best way to respond, and as this thoughts fished for words to string together, his hand that Tolfrey had slightly released now absentmindedly stroking Frey's lap.

"I've lived here since graduating from Hogwarts. I'm quite fond of this place, but my parents consider it a little playhouse and I'm supposed to move on to a proper estate once I've mar-- er, once I've settled down a bit." He faltered at the last, still unable to put his name and that dread m-word in the same sentence.

He laughed again, but he still didn't know how to respond to Tolfrey's remark. Perhaps allowing him to see more of the place would put his friend at ease. Jonathan slowly stood up from his crouching position, gently sliding hand out of Frey's clasp so he could push the wheelthrone further into the living room. "In any case, I hope what you see doesn't lower your opinion of me. I also hope you'll like it here, since you're going to be living here as well!" Jonathan's voice brightened at that last bit, and a bit more emphatic as well, having sense earlier that Tolfrey may not have caught on before. He wheeled Tolfrey further into the living room, to give him a closer inspection of the floor as well as to reach the nearest chair so that he could set down their bags.

The release of the luggage was a welcome relief, but Jonathan's still hadn't fully shaken off his slight anxiousness. "That is, what I mean to say is that I'd like for you to stay with me while you get better. But, what's most important is that you'll be somewhere you won't mind calling home. If you've taken a look about and decide you'd rather stay elsewhere, we can work that out as well." Jonathan had been so excited in the days leading up to this moment, but realised that perhaps his plans had been all rather selfish. The final decisions ultimately laid upon the man aptly sitting on a throne of sorts.

The extent of Jon's wealth seemed to have crashed Frey's mental faculties. He was too occupied staring at the opulence in front of him to consciously register the hand in his lap, although on a deeper level the soothing action was definitely helping to placate the generalised anxiety that he had been running from for months. His eyes were surveying the property in front of him as Jon spoke, although at the word 'little' his head shot forward slightly, face frozen in a picture of incomprehension as he replayed the sentence in his had to make sure he hadn't just miseheard. He broke off from trying to look carefully at everything in view to give his friend a look of incredulity. If this was a little playhouse, then what in the name of Merlin was a proper estate like? This house itself struck Frey as fit for a prince and probably had enough room to accommodate all the wizarding population of Luxembourg. The scotsman's mind refused to produce any kind of image of where Jon's parents lived so he gave up on that idea

Bringing Frey here was a fantastic diversion which had displaced the thoughts that the troubled young wizard had been dwelling on for the months that he had been his own only company, at least for the moment, and so when Jon stood up and reclaimed his hand, his 'patient' didn't make any move to try to prevent him. It was clear from the tall man's movements that he was just going to bring Frey into the flat and the inquisitive wee man was very much up for a closer view. Closer up, the staircase was even more grand that Frey had grasped, its steps shining in their marble glory. As the swerved round it to the right, Frey was transfixed by the ceiling. It was so far away, and rather more elaborate than most ceilings he was used to. The massive crystal chandelier dominated, but golden stucco and mouldings meant that his eyes jumped from area to area as he tried to take it all in.

Displaying a surprising amount of energy given his recent lethargy, Frey placed his hands on the arms of his wheelthrone and pushed himself upwards so he could see over the wings and backrest of his seat to the billiards table, seating areas and curiously, a bed, as Jon carried on talking. He had hauled himself around so that was supporting himself over the top of the throne with the frame of his seat under his armpits, forearms crossed and supporting his weight when Jon mentioned his plans to have Tolfrey as his houseguest. He stumbled slightly at this and the chair teetered, for a moment looking as though it would tip backwards and spill its rider onto the floor, but thankfully it did not and Frey righted himself so that he could actually face Jon whilst he clarified his position.

"Jon, this place is amazing." Frey blurted out as soon as his friend had finished back peddling. "If you'll have me, I'll stay." He regained his composure a little. "Please." He even managed to conjure a smile. Being alone terrified the wheelchair-bound ex-ravenclaw just as much as large groups of people, and having Jon around would hopefully keep him occupied. "It'll be like at school, living with you," (the pair had both been sorted into the house of knowledge and wisdom nearly 13 years ago now) "You've even got the rug!" he added, noticing the aquiline shape on the floor.  He wheeled himself the short distance to his former housemate, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a hug. "I'm sure I don't deserve a friend like you, but I'm so grateful, I really, really am." Muscle memory took over from sense for a moment, incited by an embrace with a man that was tall and athletic, and, forgetting himself, Frey planted a light kiss on Jon's neck. He realised almost instantly (quite possibly from the unfamiliarly smooth skin) what he had done and fell back embarressed, averting his gaze. "Sorry...I...sorry".

Jon had been worried that he'd said the wrong things. As he kept speaking, Tolfrey's expression seemed to grow in bewilderment. Jonathan knew that most people didn't live the way he did, but he wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel guilty about it. A part of him noted that he shouldn't since he had no control over what family he'd been born into. He only felt bad at the moment since he thought his house would be a good place for his friend to get better, but Tolfrey's continued to look dazed, as if he were being stoned with mental bricks. Jonathan had been here for so long, and had grown up in an estate that dwarfed his current house, that he no longer paid attention to the minute details that made up the interiors. To the Englishman, he merely saw a sofa, the telly, books and records, with everything else faded into the background, as automatons in his daily routine. But for Tolfrey, Jonathan imagined that he needed to adjust to these new surroundings. He tried to follow his friend's gaze, hoping to see what Frey might see. Frey paused at the staircase, but when looked he only noted that he needed to finish reading his special edition of Beautiful on the Inside: Practical Home Improvement Charms. There was a chapter specifically devoted to stair enhancements for residents with limited mobility, and in a few weeks he could probably finish the stairlift charm to allow Tolfrey's wheelthrone to move up and down the various floors.

When the Scot gazed up at the ceiling, focusing on the chandelier, Jonathan simply wondered if it was more aesthetically pleasing to have a single or multi-tiered light fixtures, and whether it should give off a silvery or golden tone in the room. The ceiling was… a ceiling? It had looked very fussy when Jonathan first moved in, but he'd had the mouldings trimmed to the corners, mostly because all the gold gave everything an overly yellow cast that made him feel as if he were jaundiced.

He was brought back at the sudden jolt in the wheelthrone, and Jonathan immediately looked to see whether Frey had fallen. He swore he hadn't gone over any bumps. Their eyes met again, with Jonathan still as anxious as before. But Frey's words were a salve to his nerves. The relief that washed over Jon's face was clear, similar to the one he wore when he recovered Bibi, his oldest teddy bear that some of his Housemates had hidden from his for a week during his fifth year. The Scot's comparison to their school days was an apt one, hearkening back to that period of their lives when everything seemed so simple and fun--minus the toy thieving, of course.

"I was hoping you'd say something along those lines. The ceilings could be set a bit higher, but if you focus mostly by the windows and by the, er, well it's not really a fireplace anymore, but it should almost feel like being back in the Tower! I've yet to actually master the incantations, but we can probably even make our own riddle knocker at some point!"

Jonathan's spirits bounced back as Frey's own seemed to lift, and as his happiness rose, his body dropped to yield to Tolfrey's tug, glad to receive him in embrace. Jonathan scoffed at Tolfrey's self-deprecation, replying playfully. "Oh come off it, you're a fantastic guy! I'm just as lucky to call you a friend." Whatever else Jonathan wanted to add quickly left his brain as a very interesting sensation radiated from his neck and coursed through the rest of his body. Had that… had that been a kiss? That spot on his neck, moistened from the contact from Frey's lips, felt cool in the still air. And, for some odd reason, a peculiar scent wafted in the air. Perhaps it was being so physically close to Tolfrey, having never left the man's side since his return, that Jonathan was becoming more aware of the air between them. It smelled pleasant, with a tinge of something darker that Jonathan could not quite put a stamp on, forming a hazy image in his mind of someone masculine, but nothing more came of it.

Jonathan pulled back to look at Tolfrey, whose eyes flitted elsewhere. Jonathan chuckled and asked, "Is that how they say thank you in Greece? Quite the cozy people, then, aren't they?" He was still bent over, so he crouched back down for a more comfortable position. He pointed to the open space behind the sofa, where the foot of a bed peeked through, not having thought much more about what transpired.

"Perhaps it's not ideal, but your bedroom is supposed to be there. I know you've had a long day, so if you'd like to rest, just say the word. But if you can hold out just a bit more, we can also finish the little tour of the floor, and I can set up supper afterward." Jonathan's hands lightly rested on Tolfrey's knees, almost like an inverted image of a little boy supplicating to his father, except the boy here easily towered over the shorter man who lay upon a deep seated throne.

Frey's gaunt face had some colour in it now. Unfortunately that colour was the crimson of shame. Whatever had possessed him to kiss Jon's neck? Well of course, deep down, he knew full well what had, but he certainly didn't want to bring those memories to the surface.  Thankfully Jon had just laughed it off and dismissed it, rather than pressing the issue, so Frey just smiled a pathetic forced smile and shook his head dismissively, desperately trying to bury the subconscious images of Pike that had insinuated their way into his psyche. He willed Jon to change the subject before he started obsessing.

Thankfully, he obliged and seamless went on with the tour of sorts that they were halfway though.  Apparently the bed he had clocked earlier was for him. It looked quite lavish, like you could fit about 10 of Tolfrey in it. It wasn't a ridiculously sized bed, Frey's just very small. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in a real bed - at least one that wasn't an uncomfortable hospital issue cot that had a mattress so uncomfortable that a whole bag of peas underneath would actually make a princess sigh with relief. It would be weird to sleep in a double bed all alone, Frey would definitely need something, at least a spare pillow or something, to cuddle during the long, lonely nights. Not really the kind of thing he could ask Jon for though. He'd just repurpose one of the pillows actually on the bed. That would be fine.

"Jon, it's perfect. I couldn't ask for more. I couldn't have asked for this much." He took one of the hands that was resting in his lap and gave it a squeeze of thanks. Jon had clearly gone to quite a lot of effort planning this - it wasn't just some whim that had come over him. He'd realised Frey would need a bed downstairs, something that hadn't even really occurred to the poor lame wizard himself, and provided one. It sowed the seed of a feeling of belonging, concrete evidence of being cared for by someone, a place to call home even after the terrible way he'd treated his friends. It was a reason to stay in one place, a reason to stop running. His eyes started to well up a bit, tears of ... not quite joy, but something towards that end of the emotional spectrum, started to fill his eyes and he could feel the lump in his throat as it grew in size.

"I'm sorry" he managed to get out through some faint whimpers, "I don't know why I'm crying." It was clear it wasn't sadness from the tone of his voice. He tried to hold back the sobbing to stop embarrassing himself and be able to carry on a conversation. "I'm just a bit overwhelmed." He hadn't managed to hold back the sobbing in the slightest, so instead he was repeatedly wiping his eyes partly so that he could see but also to cover up some of his shame. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, blubbed briefly once more and repeated the breathing exercise, this time it working. "I'd like to stay up for a bit more, if that's okay? It's nice having real company, I don't want it to end yet." He looked imploringly at his friend. "Though I'm not sure I'll manage much dinner."

Jonathan smiled, although his expression was a little softer than normal, more subdued as he looked at his friend. He watched the young man's face flush with colour, and whatever had brought it about, Jonathan was quite happy for it. It hinted of the vitality and exuberance that lay dormant within Tolfrey, and of its possible return. Instinctively, Jonathan felt Frey's hand upon his and turned to hold it. Jonathan didn't realise it now, but it had been years since he'd been this close to someone, physically. Years since he'd held someone's hand for more than just a fleeting second. Years since he'd embraced someone intimately, desiring to physically convey his tender affections to another party. Perhaps later he could look back and figure out the layers of emotion he was experiencing and what they may all mean, but for now he was just reacting to the natural ebb and flow of the moment and whatever role Frey needed him to be: protector, pillar, pillow, he'd do them all.

His gaze never wavered Tolfrey gave his thanks, and had seen the Scot's eyes shine with tears, and heard his voice falter. Jonathan had the urge to pull Tolfrey's arm away from his face; he didn't need to be sorry or ashamed. But perhaps it was best to let those feelings run their course. To feel something--even if it hurt--was far better than to feel nothing at all. Tolfrey was going have long, hard months ahead of him where he had to own those feelings, to accept them all--the pleasures and pain of being human. The potions he took to numb himself of those may have been helpful at first, but there was a cost to using incantations and elixirs as an easy fix, and in the span of a year Frey seemed to have already paid a steep price. Redeeming a sense of his former self may cost even more, but Jonathan felt it would be worth it. And in Tolfrey's long road to recovery, at least he now had Jon by his side. Much of the hard work had to be done by Frey alone, but for everything else, Jonathan was there.

With his free hand, he reached to squeeze Tolfrey by his shoulder, waiting for Frey to regain his bearings. "We can certainly do that! And we'll figure out dinner when we get to it." Like before, Jonathan gently retreated so he could stand, sliding his hand away to be able to push his friend's wheelthrone and take him around the rest of the floor.

Jon strolled Tolfrey past the other side of the bed, toward the west wing of the house. "This side used to be a bunch of small rooms, but I hadn't any need for them, so I've had the walls taken down and just kept the supports." From their vantage point, another living sofa set was placed in one corner, but the main draw of the room was the snooker table placed right in the very centre. Looking at it, Jonathan noted, "No one really comes here except for family, so it doesn't get much use. I used to practise often on my own though, but work has kept me rather busy of late. And then there Papa's liquor cabinet, which I've sort of repurposed as a small potions lab."

Jonathan's eyes wandered over to the cabinet and the bar. Immediately, Jonathan regretted having brought Tolfrey's attention to it. For someone going through withdrawal, it probably wasn't good to have shelves fully stocked with potions ingredients. Jonathan made a mental note to place a few wards to keep it locked. He knew Tolfrey enjoyed making potions, and perhaps at someone he'd be well enough to brew a few things just for the joy of making something. For now though, as per his medical charts and treatment plans, Frey had to be kept away from the things that would make him relapse.

Jonathan pushed Frey toward the back of the house, a little quicker than before. He passed the dining room, seeing as he'd never used it except for the holidays, and turned instead to where the bathrooms were. Located in the very centre of the floor, the baths were easy to get from any of the rooms.

"There's two full baths on this floor, and if you notice," Jonathan paused slightly, flicking his wand to open the door. Aesthetically speaking, the door felt disproportionate in its space, but its recently modified width as done more for practicality. Frey, after all, needed to be able to wheel himself in there. "There are guard rails everywhere, so you can support yourself to do what you need to. I've also had the tub replaced and the sinks lowered, though I haven't had it properly tested. If you find yourself still struggling with the arrangement, let me know so I can have it properly adapted." Jonathan paused to let Frey survey the bathroom a little bit, to gauge whether everything was properly set for his sitting height, which Jon had to guesstimate as he had the renovations done.

"Aside from the kitchen, which is just a plain kitchen that you see in every other home, that's really about it. At another time, I can have you check out the upper floors, but hopefully you can make do with what's here." Jonathan had visited his friends' homes many times, and while he had a lovely time staying for dinner or even for a night, he couldn't imagine living in such tight quarters day to day. Even during his school years, from his Muggle boarding school to Hogwarts, there were expansive grounds to make up for their tiny bedrooms. Tolfrey would be spending most of his time cooped up here, and Jonathan wondered how the Scot would feel. As nice as this place was--Jonathan liked to think his house wasn't too shabby--psychologically, Tolfey may come to see this as a prison of sorts. Even Jonathan would feel trapped in his own home if he was forced to live in only one floor. Hopefully with the arrangements he was making at work and with the Healer's in St. Mungo's, Jon could make Frey's recovery as comfortable as possible.

Jon taking his hand made Frey feel more comfortable and at home. It was going to take quite a lot of getting used to, thinking of this massive house as his home, but his former classmate was making a good start. He was being so welcoming and patient. It was just that this place was so very... well, big. And empty. How Jon could live here alone? Wait, did Jon live here alone? There were so many rooms, and the living space alone was bigger than Frey's old apartment. Did Jon's parents live here too? Were they okay with their son having remodelled their billiard room to accommodate his invalid friend?  Frey's mind had clearly not put two and two together with all the talk of bigger estates and "playhouses", but at present he didn't want to ask awkward questions that might result in him getting evicted - he just wanted to feel safe and secure for a little longer before shattering the illusion.

The intensity of connection that Frey was feeling from Jon was so pleasant and warming. As Jon placed his hand on his shoulder, the scottish boy cocked his head to the side and brought up the shoulder slightly so that he could rest his cheek (which was slightly damp from where he had smeared away the tears, but smooth since the nurses at the Hellenic institute had shaved ) against his friend's skin. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing himself to revel in the closeness that was being displayed toward him. It was memories of this kind of feeling, of affection and tenderness, that Frey had been using over the past few months to try to avoid. In his low moments, in the rare times that he had been sober enough to think about any time but the present, he'd reflected on those times and how he'd never get them back. He couldn't blame Pike if he never wanted to see him again, Frey had been awful towards him, but equally he couldn't imagine anyone else wanting to get close to goods as clearly damaged as the little man in a wheelchair was. None of these thoughts came to the surface for now though - he was just allowing himself to get lost in the tender touch, a content smile spreading accross his lips.

As Jon's hands withdrew, Tolfrey came back to reality, opening his eyes again and being struck with the vast splendor that had all faded away into the background in the intimate moment he'd just had in his head. Being shown around the apartment, Frey's head moved from side to side trying to take in the various things that he was being shown, these movements rarely coinciding with whatever it was Jon was mentioning at the time, that was until the word 'liquor' at which point Frey's body betrayed his problem as he perked up to try to see the cabinet his host was referring to, catching sight of it just when Jon told him what its true purpose was now.

Frey was disappointed in himself. He'd been making progress and had been free of non-prescribed potions for a good few weeks, but he couldn't help it. He could feel the draw of the cabinet as his carer wheeled him speedily out of the room. He hated himself for it, but as the cabinet started to be obscured from view by the wings of his seat, he leant forwards and around, hands braced on the arms of the chair to give him leverage.  A few seconds after it had disappeared from sight even from that position he just collapsed back into the wheelthrone in shame and willed the world to swallow him up. Not only had the potions been taken away, but he'd shown himself up in front of Jon. He couldn't expect his friend to keep him here when he clearly had no self control. It wasn't fair. He took a breath to say something, to make his excuses and get out of this arrangement of his own accord before Jon told him that he'd changed his mind and perhaps it wasn't such a good idea for him to stay after all. Frey would rather save face and volunteer to leave than to have his last friend throw him out on the doorstep.

Before the poor wretched fellow had a chance to say anything though, Jon was continuing with the tour as if nothing had happened. Had he not seen the extent of Frey's problem? Or was he just chosing to ignore it. Either way, Frey released his breath relieved. He had to try to be better, stronger. He could do it for Jon. Jon had done all this for him (Frey felt himself welling up and tears trickling down his face again on seeing the bathroom, so very tailored to his needs), he could... no he would make the effort to stay away from that cabinet. Setting his jaw and pursing his lips, he nodded resolutely to himself, just the once, then sniffed, wiped away the tears and inspected the bathroom. "... I don't know what to say..." It was too much for him to take in. There was no real way he could appraise the bathroom - it was wonderful that Jon had gone to all this trouble and he didn't want to criticise it at all. Then the last thing his friend had said clicked in his head "Wait, the other floors are yours too? Who else lives here? They won't mind you've done all this will they?" Frey couldn't grasp quite how big this floor was, let alone that the other layers to the house were all part of the same property.

Frey took the wheels of his mobility aid in his hand and turned them so that he was facing Jon. A thought had struck him and he was worried His expression was one of timidity, in preparation for an awkward question. "I really appreciate all of this. Thank you so much," he paused, searching for the right word "but I don't have any money, or a job... I have no way of paying you any rent. I'm sorry you went to all this trouble for nothing." He was looking crestfallen. He'd been so blown away by Jon's hospitality, his warmth and his kindness that the question of payment hadn't entered his head until now, but there really was nothing for it - Frey had no savings to speak of, had just upped and walked out of his job one day and never returned, and his parents certainly didn't bring in enough to pay his way in such lavish accommodations. The little scottish man felt the hope of a better life that had crept up on him ebbing quickly away again and leaving the now familiar void that he'd carried around with him since his flight from life a year ago.