It was raining outside, a cold, windy rain that seeped into your bones if you were outside for longer than a minute. Andrew had taken you in a while ago, because you had no parents, and if he didn't take you, the priest would out of moral obligation.

The convent was no place to have a young person, he thought. So he had let you into his home, into his life.

It was nice, he had to admit.

Someone to listen to his stories and songs. Someone he could take care of, and teach them things.

And boy, did he teach you things.

There wasn't a day you weren't out in the forest together, be it hunting, fishing, befriending the faeries and nymphs, or simply collecting herbs for the simple spells and potions he taught you how to make. He had fond memories of his mother teaching him the same things, and it felt nice to pass it down.

Many things could be done inside too, of course. He was an avid painter and drawer, and liked to dabble in baking, although that never ended up exactly how he wanted it.

But today was calm; he had a headache, and was lying on the sofa in the cozy living room, the only light coming from the magical little flowers that blossomed along the walls. His long, somewhat messy brown curls were down and hung in his face, and his uncommonly long legs hung off the end of the sofa, clad in mismatched socks. Not because he was lacking in the sock department, just because he claimed matching socks were unlucky. His head throbbed with every small noise, and he could feel a sharp pain behind his eyelids when he blinked.

"Close the window, please," he said tiredly.

"I leave it open for two minutes, and suddenly it's a sad daddy long legs rave in here. Most tragic of all insects."