Chapter Text
Life in the professor’s home, Clive decided, was going to take some getting used to.
The professor lived in a townhouse in central London, not too far from his place of work at Gressenheller U. The brown-brick building was three stories high, with bay windows lining the facade from the house’s basement to the second story ensuring that the professor’s home was never without sunshine. Ivy grew from the two plant pots perched on either side of the doorway, and the occasional houseplant dotted the rooms and hallways of the home itself. Out back was a tiny garden— Flora’s garden, overlooked by Clive’s bedroom on the second floor and the professor’s on the first.
“ There’s nothing like a bit of nature to liven up one’s living space ,” The professor had said, smiling at Clive when he first stepped into the entryway.
Two days had passed since then. On that day, Clive had finally been released, and was brought to London by the professor himself. As Clive looked out the window of his room at the blossoms populating Flora’s garden below, he folded his arms, fingers digging slightly into his upper arms as he frowned.
It was quiet here. Londoners milled about outside instead of guards shifting from post to post. There were no cries or screams from inmates down the hall; most of the time, the house was silent, save for the sounds of Flora and the professor moving between rooms. He could leave the house, Clive reminded himself, walk right out the door and feel the sun on his face. It had been months since Clive had known that, and it left him a thin, pale shadow of his former self.
Then again, Clive thought, perhaps that was for the better.
“I see you’re skipping breakfast once again, Clive.”
Blinking, Clive turned from the window towards the doorway to his room. Standing there was the professor himself, solemn as he spoke. He was already dressed for work, adjusting the brim of his signature top hat placed atop his head.
“Forgive me, Professor, but I’m quite fine as I am.”
“Fine is not the same as well, my boy,” the professor replied. Clive’s brow twitched at the nickname. “May I come in?”
“You may.”
With Clive’s permission, the professor entered the room, taking a seat in the chair next to Clive’s bed and crossing his legs. “Flora tells me you’ve also been skipping lunch, and dinner too. She’s getting all worked up over you not eating her cooking, you know.”
Clive scoffed. “I’d hardly call that cooking, Professor. Are you sure she isn’t just trying to take revenge on me for what I did?”
The words came out more harshly than he intended them to. Clive fell silent, averting his eyes from the professor’s to a corner of the room.
He was well aware of what the last few months had done to him. Clive gripped his upper arms somewhat tighter, his frown deepening when he felt bone just underneath his shirt; yet another byproduct of life in a cell. Unfolding his arms with a huff, Clive turned back to the window, resting one hand on the sill as he fixed his gaze on London’s skyline.
“I’m already rather worn out from my time at the asylum.”
“Yes… I’d noticed,” the professor frowned. “But Flora’s food could hardly make you worse. After all, every puzzle has a solution, and a warm meal shared with good friends could be just that,” At this, the corners of his mouth turned upwards into a smile. “We are friends, aren’t we, Clive?”
Clive said nothing in response, continuing to gaze out the window.
“Should you like to join us, Flora and I will be eating together at the dining table,” the professor added, the floorboards creaking as he stood up from the chair and began to step away.
“Professor,” Clive said suddenly.
The professor paused.
“Yes, Clive?”
“…I’ll be down in a moment.”