It was Roswaal's idea. Which explained everything.
Nobody else at the manor had that specific combination of too much money, too much time, and not enough regard for how the evening would end. He produced the bottle from somewhere — Subaru hadn't seen where, and at this point he'd accepted that Roswaal simply manifested things — and set it on the table with the satisfaction of a man who had already decided tonight was going to be interesting whether anyone else agreed or not.
"A vintage from the cellar," Roswaal announced. "To celebrate the festival~."
"The festival was four days ago," Subaru said.
"Celebrations need not be prompt, Subaru-kun."
"That's not — okay, fine." He looked at the bottle. Dark glass, no label he could read. "How strong is it?"
"Veeery~."
Subaru looked at Emilia, who was already reaching for her glass with the composed expression of someone about to demonstrate that she was a perfectly capable adult. He opened his mouth. Closed it.
He said nothing. She took a sip.
Rem set a glass of water next to his wine without being asked. He noticed. He didn't say anything because if he said anything she'd stop doing it.
Beatrice sat at the end of the table with her grimoire open and looked at the wine glass Roswaal had set in front of her like it had personally offended her ancestors.
"I don't drink," she said.
"Of course~," Roswaal said pleasantly.
The glass stayed where it was. Beatrice turned a page. Nobody touched it. That was how it was going to stay.
Twenty minutes later, Emilia was explaining snowflakes.
Not casually. In depth. Two glasses in, silver hair slightly out of place, violet eyes very bright — dinner was finally the right venue for it.
"Every single one is different," she said, leaning forward. "Out of all the snow from the hatsumaki. All of it. Not one was the same."
"That's actually true," Subaru said.
"I KNOW it's true, that's what I'm saying!" She pointed at him, not rudely, just with a lot of feeling. "You get it. You always get it."
"I try."
"Rem." She turned. "Isn't it amazing?"
Rem had been watching the whole thing with an expression that couldn't decide if it was fond or pained. Probably both. "Very amazing, Emilia-sama."
"See?" Emilia looked back at Subaru, vindicated.
Subaru glanced at Rem. Rem looked at her soup.
Rem was the quiet kind of drunk. She didn't get loud or silly — she just got softer at the edges. Her cheeks had gone pink early and stayed there. She'd stopped pretending she wasn't watching him every time he laughed.
Her short blue hair was neat as always. Everything about her was always neat. Except her eyes right now, which were doing something they usually kept better hidden.
"You okay?" Subaru asked, quiet enough for just her.
"Perfectly fine," she said.
"Rem. Your face is—"
"It's warm."
"It's the same temperature it always—"
"It's warm, Subaru-kun."
He dropped it. She went back to her bowl. But something at the corner of her mouth moved, just slightly, before she could stop it.
Beatrice did not drink. She sat with her grimoire and observed the table with the expression of a scholar documenting particularly chaotic wildlife.
When Emilia's snowflake speech hit its fifth minute, Beatrice turned a page. When Roswaal laughed too loudly at his own joke, she turned another. When Subaru said something ridiculous — which happened often — she looked up, assessed, looked back down.
"You're all being ridiculous," she said eventually.
"Probably," Subaru agreed.
"Definitely, in fact."
She turned a page. End of discussion.
Emilia had moved from snowflakes to Puck by the time Ram appeared and set a glass of water pointedly beside her wine.
"He's very wise," Emilia was saying. "People don't see it because he's small. And fluffy. But he is." A pause. "I miss him."
"He's been asleep for two hours," Subaru said.
"I know." She sighed like she was carrying something. "It's his only flaw."
Ram looked at the water. Then at Emilia. Then left without a word.
"You're very sensible, Ram," Emilia called after her.
"Yes," Ram said, already gone.
---
Stars
Getting to the terrace was Emilia's idea the way most of her ideas worked — sudden, enthusiastic, already happening before anyone could weigh in.
"The sky must look beautiful tonight," she announced, standing up. "Subaru, come see the stars."
Not a question. He was already getting up.
"I'll supervise," Beatrice said flatly, sliding off her chair with her grimoire tucked under her arm.
"You don't have to—"
"Someone has to make sure you don't do something stupid, I suppose."
"Fair."
Rem had started to rise — Subaru caught it, that small automatic way she moved whenever he or Emilia moved — and then she stopped herself. Reached for the nearest dish instead. Her face already arranged back into something calm.
"I'll clean up," she said. Quietly.
She was already stacking plates, her short hair falling forward with the motion, not looking at him.
"You don't have to," he said.
"I want to."
Probably true. Probably not the whole truth.
He stood there a second longer than he should have. Then Emilia called his name from the hallway.
"Thanks, Rem."
She nodded. Kept stacking. He went.
The cold outside hit sharp and clean. Subaru leaned on the stone railing and looked up and just — stopped.
The sky here was something else. No orange glow on the horizon, no haze. Just dark and more stars than he'd ever seen at once. He knew they existed back home. Just couldn't see them through the light and smog and the city that never went quiet.
Here it was quiet. Here you could see everything.
"Beautiful, right?" Emilia said beside him.
"Yeah," he said. Actually meaning the stars that time.
She leaned on the railing close to him, her breath coming out in small white clouds. The wine had taken the formal edges off her. She wasn't performing anything — just there, looking up, cheeks pink from cold, silver hair catching the moonlight in a way that was extremely unfair.
Subaru looked at the stars. Looked at her. Looked back at the stars.
Beatrice settled on the stone ledge behind them and opened her grimoire. She did not read it.
They were quiet for a while. Just the cold and the dark.
Then Emilia said, "Subaru. Can I ask you about your power?"
"Go ahead."
"When you transform — are they real? The alien forms." She looked at the Omnitrix, faintly glowing green at his wrist. "Do they have feelings? Does it hurt you?"
He turned it over in the dark. He'd asked himself the same at five in the morning in the garden, running forms alone, trying not to think about dying.
"They're real," he said. "Not a costume. When I'm Humongousaur I'm actually that strong. When I'm Big Chill the cold doesn't bother me because I'm not entirely me anymore." He paused. "And sometimes there's something underneath. A mood that isn't mine."
"Does it hurt?"
"Transforming? Not really. Chaining them fast is like standing up too quick — everything goes dark for a second. But worse the more I push it."
Emilia went quiet. The focused kind, actually taking it in.
"Thank you for telling me," she said.
"You asked properly." He shrugged. "Most people just stare at the watch mark."
From behind them, Beatrice said without looking up: "It's not like any Divine Protection I've read about, I suppose."
"Yeah. It's its own thing."
"Clearly, in fact." She turned a page. Didn't leave.
A while passed.
Emilia had her chin on her folded arms on the railing, looking out, and her face was open in the way it only got when Puck was around. Like she'd stopped keeping anything back.
"You've been through a lot since you got here," she said.
"Yeah. But I've also—" He stopped. Tried again. "I've met people worth going through it for."
He wasn't looking at the stars when he said it.
She turned and looked at him. Her cheeks may have gotten slightly pinker than the cold could account for.
"The view's really something from here," Subaru said.
"It is," Emilia agreed, looking out at the grounds.
"I wasn't looking at the grounds."
She turned. The furrow appeared between her brows.
"You were looking over here."
"Yep."
"But the view is—" She gestured at the landscape.
"You're beautiful, Emilia-tan." Too fast. A little too loud for the quiet terrace. His ears went slightly red. "That's what I'm saying. That's the whole thing."
Emilia blinked. The furrow cleared.
"Oh!" She smiled — genuine, open, no awareness of what it was doing to his blood pressure. "That's so kind, Subaru. Thank you." A small pause. "You're quite nice-looking too. When you're not making a face."
"When am I making a face?"
"Right now, a little."
"That's just my face—"
"It's a nice face," she said, and turned back to the stars. Done.
Subaru stood there. Looked at the stars. Looked at her. Looked at the stars again.
From the ledge behind them came a sound. Small. Quickly suppressed. Beatrice had her grimoire raised just high enough to cover the lower half of her face.
"Beako."
"I said absolutely nothing, in fact." Way too pleased.
Subaru closed his eyes and accepted what his life had become.
---
A Stupid Hour
Subaru had been staring at the ceiling for about ten minutes when the knock came.
Three taps. Small and neat.
He knew that knock.
"Open," he said.
Rem came in with a tray — tea, the last of the rice crackers from the village baker, a small candle in a glass holder she set on the bedside table like it was nothing. Lighter evening apron. Her short bob slightly less perfect than dinner, like she'd been moving fast and hadn't checked.
"You barely ate, Subaru-kun" she said.
"Two bowls of stew."
"You talked through most of it."
"I'm a growing boy."
"You're not growing, Subaru-kun," she said, pouring his tea. Not unkind. Just accurate.
She handed him the cup. He took it. She stood there a second with her hands folded, then he said "sit down" and she sat on the edge of the bed, and neither of them made anything of it.
The candle made the room smaller. Warmer. Cut it off from the rest of the manor so it felt like just this.
Her short hair framed her face differently in candlelight. The small bow at the end of her day had come undone at some point. She hadn't noticed.
They talked — she asked about his old world and he told her the stupid things he actually missed.
She listened fully, filing it somewhere. She remembered details from weeks ago and asked about them.
The candle burned lower.
At some point she'd stopped sitting on the edge and was just sitting. Turned toward him, relaxed, the bow completely undone now, her hair curving along her jaw. She didn't notice. He wasn't going to mention it.
She was saying something — he'd lost the thread — and then she stopped. Just looked at him.
Rem had a way of looking at him sometimes where she didn't guard it. Not asking for anything. Just looking, like she was fine with whatever he saw back.
That was always the thing that got him.
She leaned to the side slightly. Almost like she hadn't decided to.
Her shoulder pressed against his arm. Then her head came to rest against it, slow and easy, the way you'd rest against something you'd already decided was yours. The warmth of her reached him through his sleeve.
He didn't move.
Neither did she.
The candle didn't move either.
"Subaru-kun," she said. Quiet. Not a question, not quite a statement.
"Yeah," he said. Just as quiet.
Her hand found his on the bed between them. Not grabbing. Just — there. Her fingers resting over his, light as anything.
He could feel her breathing. Slow. Steady. The wine had softened the last of her edges and what was left underneath was just Rem, warm and close and not going anywhere.
She shifted. Just slightly. Turned her face up toward him.
And then her weight tilted — the wine catching up with her all at once — and she went sideways onto the bed with a soft sound, her head landing on the pillow, her hair fanned out around her.
Her apron had ridden up with the fall, the hem of her skirt following, and for one very long second Subaru got an eyeful of white lace before his brain caught up with his eyes.
He looked at the ceiling. Immediately.
Looked back, because he was only human.
Looked at the ceiling again.
She was watching him with half-lidded eyes, cheeks flushed, a small smile at the corner of her mouth like she was waiting to see what he'd do. Whether she'd meant to fall or not — he genuinely could not tell. That was maybe the most dangerous part.
Rem, he had learned, was capable of a great deal of quiet precision when she wanted something.
The candle flickered.
He was very aware of the distance between them, which had become significantly less than it had been at the start of the evening. Her hand was still near his. Her eyes hadn't moved.
"Subaru-kun," she said again, softer this time.
Something in the way she said it.
He opened his mouth.
"I need to use the toilet," he announced.
Silence.
The words just — left. Before anything could stop them. Out into the quiet candlelit room where they landed like a stone in still water.
Rem stared at him.
He stared back.
Then she laughed. A real one, startled out of her, her hand going over her mouth a second too late. Her shoulders shook. She turned her face into the pillow and it didn't help at all.
"I — it's urgent—" Subaru started.
She laughed harder.
"Rem—"
"Subaru-kun," she managed, muffled by the pillow.
"It's a genuine medical situation—"
She sat up, still laughing, already reaching for the tray. Efficient as always even like this, cheeks pink, eyes bright. She stood, smoothed her apron down with one hand, picked up the tray with the other.
At the door she stopped.
Turned back. The laughter had settled into something quieter in her eyes — warm, and underneath it something that wasn't going anywhere.
She leaned back through the doorway.
Her lips touched his cheek. Barely a second. Warm and light and deliberate.
"Goodnight, Subaru-kun," she said.
And left.
The door clicked shut.
Subaru sat in the dark with both hands over his face.
His cheek was warm.
He stayed like that for a while.
Outside, the stars were still there. Not helping at all.