In Tom and Door's Bedroom
Tom stared into the mirror whilst he applied his shaving charm cream. It was a new and improved formula designed to moisturize the skin as it removed the whiskers. He was madly in love with it; the old kind did leave his skin dry (which then required yet another charm cream to compensate). No one could say that Tom Marvolo Riddle didn’t care about his appearance. Those closest to him might say he cared a little too much, but they said it quietly and with affectionate giggles, so he didn’t notice.
He had, however, noticed something of late. Something strange, but, perhaps, not a bad thing.
He gestured with his wand, and the cream disappeared from his face. He patted his skin with a hot towel and sighed happily. He always felt better once he was clean-shaven. He smiled into the mirror, looking for lines that were never there. Which, actually, was exactly what he’d been noticing. “Darling?”
“Hmm?” Door responded, not looking up from where she reclined on their bed with her laptop.
There were, technically, a few doors in the House of Arch. There simply weren’t many of them. They often occurred in suites, like the one that Tom and Door shared. He walked from the bathroom into the bedroom.
“I’ve been wondering something.” He had that far away sound in his voice he usually got when talking about theoretical magic experimentation.
Door glanced over, clicked save, and gave him her attention. They were both still in their pajamas and dressing gowns; work could wait on this lazy morning. “About what?”
“This sounds strange, I know,” he said, and he climbed into bed beside her, sitting back against the headboard. “I’m not getting wrinkles. Or gray hairs.”
Door snickered. “That’s because you use more beauty products than I do.”
“Oh, ha, ha,” he said, his voice wry. “It’s important to look one’s best.”
“I know, I know,” she said, and leaned over to kiss his smooth cheek. She was a fan of his new shaving whatsit, too. It smelled incredibly good on his skin. “I think you’re a bit young for wrinkles. You’re - what, thirty-one? Thirty-two?”
“I’m thirty-three,” he said. He acknowledged his birthdays, even though he’d long ago noticed that chronological age wasn’t relevant to adults in the Underside. Children kept track, but past the age of sixteen or so, people didn’t mention them much. When they did refer to the passage of time, Tom often got the distinct impression that they’d been alive much, much longer than they looked.
“Really? You’re ancient,” she said, and she bopped him on the head with a pillow. “Remember the rules: no long white wizard beards allowed.”
“You’re a heartless woman,” he said, snatching the pillow away with a grin.
She grabbed him by the lapels of his dressing gown and pulled him down to her. “You should know, since you stole it. You've kept it quite safe all this time.”
He smiled into the kiss and slid his arms around her. Lazy mornings were his favorite kind of mornings.
Door’s hands lifted to his face, her fingers tracing along his cheekbones and his forehead. “Tom, does it worry you? You’d be the last person I’d pick to be worried about not getting wrinkles, but-“ She bit her lip. He’d been a part of her life so long that she forgot he hadn’t always been a part of the Underside.
“No. I mean to say, I’m not concerned. I simply noticed, is all. And it’s- I suppose it’s a little more than that. I haven’t changed much at all in appearance over the years. Neither have you.”
Door didn’t look seventeen any longer, but she certainly didn’t look much older than that.
“What year is it in the Topside?” she asked, after a moment.
“It’s- erm.” He frowned. “I don’t know. I keep losing track. I have done for a while now.” He used to know right off, but now he had to calculate the year by using his current age against the age he was when he arrived at Milliways. Even with the weekly delivery of newspapers, he couldn't keep up with time like once he had.
“Time is different here, darling. That’s all. It doesn’t pass like you’ve been used to.” She kissed him again. “I wouldn’t worry about it overly much, or it will give you wrinkles.”
“We don’t live forever, though,” he said, frowning again. Because that would be ironic.
“No, of course not. We live as long as we live, and we change as much as we change. People grow old. We- I don’t know. It happens when it happens. I can’t explain it better than that.”
“Huh.” With an acquisitive mind like Tom's, he should be wishing to puzzle this out, find out the whys and the hows. He should feel driven to retreat to his study and research this phenomenon, to know more. Mostly, though, he thought - no, he knew, deep down - that what Door says was right and true, and it made perfect sense, really. He needed no further explanation.
He was of the Underside, and even if he hadn’t all the time in the world, he certainly had more than most get.
"I suppose I shan't worry about it, then," he said.
"I think that sounds like an excellent idea," she said, and she pulled him by the lapels of his dressing gown back down to her. Door always knew the best ways to shut Tom up.
A.N. Thanks as always to Lynne for the beta and the permission to borrow Door.
He had, however, noticed something of late. Something strange, but, perhaps, not a bad thing.
He gestured with his wand, and the cream disappeared from his face. He patted his skin with a hot towel and sighed happily. He always felt better once he was clean-shaven. He smiled into the mirror, looking for lines that were never there. Which, actually, was exactly what he’d been noticing. “Darling?”
“Hmm?” Door responded, not looking up from where she reclined on their bed with her laptop.
There were, technically, a few doors in the House of Arch. There simply weren’t many of them. They often occurred in suites, like the one that Tom and Door shared. He walked from the bathroom into the bedroom.
“I’ve been wondering something.” He had that far away sound in his voice he usually got when talking about theoretical magic experimentation.
Door glanced over, clicked save, and gave him her attention. They were both still in their pajamas and dressing gowns; work could wait on this lazy morning. “About what?”
“This sounds strange, I know,” he said, and he climbed into bed beside her, sitting back against the headboard. “I’m not getting wrinkles. Or gray hairs.”
Door snickered. “That’s because you use more beauty products than I do.”
“Oh, ha, ha,” he said, his voice wry. “It’s important to look one’s best.”
“I know, I know,” she said, and leaned over to kiss his smooth cheek. She was a fan of his new shaving whatsit, too. It smelled incredibly good on his skin. “I think you’re a bit young for wrinkles. You’re - what, thirty-one? Thirty-two?”
“I’m thirty-three,” he said. He acknowledged his birthdays, even though he’d long ago noticed that chronological age wasn’t relevant to adults in the Underside. Children kept track, but past the age of sixteen or so, people didn’t mention them much. When they did refer to the passage of time, Tom often got the distinct impression that they’d been alive much, much longer than they looked.
“Really? You’re ancient,” she said, and she bopped him on the head with a pillow. “Remember the rules: no long white wizard beards allowed.”
“You’re a heartless woman,” he said, snatching the pillow away with a grin.
She grabbed him by the lapels of his dressing gown and pulled him down to her. “You should know, since you stole it. You've kept it quite safe all this time.”
He smiled into the kiss and slid his arms around her. Lazy mornings were his favorite kind of mornings.
Door’s hands lifted to his face, her fingers tracing along his cheekbones and his forehead. “Tom, does it worry you? You’d be the last person I’d pick to be worried about not getting wrinkles, but-“ She bit her lip. He’d been a part of her life so long that she forgot he hadn’t always been a part of the Underside.
“No. I mean to say, I’m not concerned. I simply noticed, is all. And it’s- I suppose it’s a little more than that. I haven’t changed much at all in appearance over the years. Neither have you.”
Door didn’t look seventeen any longer, but she certainly didn’t look much older than that.
“What year is it in the Topside?” she asked, after a moment.
“It’s- erm.” He frowned. “I don’t know. I keep losing track. I have done for a while now.” He used to know right off, but now he had to calculate the year by using his current age against the age he was when he arrived at Milliways. Even with the weekly delivery of newspapers, he couldn't keep up with time like once he had.
“Time is different here, darling. That’s all. It doesn’t pass like you’ve been used to.” She kissed him again. “I wouldn’t worry about it overly much, or it will give you wrinkles.”
“We don’t live forever, though,” he said, frowning again. Because that would be ironic.
“No, of course not. We live as long as we live, and we change as much as we change. People grow old. We- I don’t know. It happens when it happens. I can’t explain it better than that.”
“Huh.” With an acquisitive mind like Tom's, he should be wishing to puzzle this out, find out the whys and the hows. He should feel driven to retreat to his study and research this phenomenon, to know more. Mostly, though, he thought - no, he knew, deep down - that what Door says was right and true, and it made perfect sense, really. He needed no further explanation.
He was of the Underside, and even if he hadn’t all the time in the world, he certainly had more than most get.
"I suppose I shan't worry about it, then," he said.
"I think that sounds like an excellent idea," she said, and she pulled him by the lapels of his dressing gown back down to her. Door always knew the best ways to shut Tom up.
A.N. Thanks as always to Lynne for the beta and the permission to borrow Door.