One
On the edge of the world, there is a tea shop.
No one can tell you where it is exactly (after all, it’s difficult to find the edge of a spherical planet), but they can tell you with certainty that it is there.
Descriptions of the tea shop vary. But every story had two constants:
1) A strange sense of familiarity
2) The sign above the door
It reads in peeling letters: MOONY’S FOUND AND LOST.
No mix up was made. Each word was painted with precision. This is something Moony takes pride in. Many of his projects take more time than any human has the patience or need for. But Moony is not a human, not really (And an abundance of time is something he finds himself with more often than not).
You would assume Moony lonely. How could he not be? He has not left the tea shop since he was nineteen, and there is no evidence a single customer has ever set foot on the premises.
But Moony is happy with his tea and his books and the less… widely known aspects of his job.
Yes, the amber eyed tea keeper is perfectly content, and wishes for nothing more.
So you can imagine his surprise when he finds a man with stars in his skin and blood on his clothes laying on his doorstep.
His long black hair splayed across the spotted earth reminds Moony of the stray dog he found on the edge of the garden.
The dog had a mangled leg and blinded eyes, something that hit his younger self a little too close to home. The canine was brought inside. It was the only living thing that ever cohabited the tea shop with Moony.
(it only made it nine weeks)
Moony’s always had a soft spot for strays.
It wasn’t difficult for him to carry the man up the stairs and into his room. The stranger was far to light, and Moony was fairly strong.
Maneuvering his bloodied shirt off was another story. After five minutes of struggling, he resorted to cutting the shirt off to assess the damage.
And the damage was painfully obvious. The area running from the top of his sternum to halfway down his stomach was littered with shards of jagged glass.
Moony let out a sigh. He put on the kettle, and prepared himself for a long night.
………
Somebody was whistling.
It was infuriating.
In the back of his mind, he can feel his chest screaming with every breath and a steady pounding in his head. Everything hurt. So, yes it was better to focus on the whistling.
A second whistle joined the first, this time the shrill sound of a kettle. Footsteps made their way towards him, and he heard the thud of something ceramic being set down near his head.
“I hope you don’t mind earl gray. I have others, but I wasn’t sure what you preferred.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a wheeze.
“Right, sorry. I should have expected that. You shouldn’t be trying to move too much.”
Then all at once a wave of panic crashed down on him. He became hyper aware of the fact that he couldn’t see anything, didn’t know where he was, didn’t know who was talking next to him, didn’t know his own name. He tried to sit up and open his eyes, succeeding in neither. A searing pain flashed through his chest.
(getoutofhere!Youknowwhatshe’lldoifsheseesyou-)
There was a yelp beside him.
“You idiot!” Large hands pushed his shoulders back onto the bed (was he lying in a bed?). “Did you not understand what don’t move means? It means DO NOT MOVE.”
“Where am I?” This time his voice came out in a rasping whisper. “Who are you?”
The voice sighed. “I’m Moony and you're in my tea shop.”
Tea shop? Maybe he wasn’t on a bed then. But shouldn’t tea shops have customers? He couldn’t hear anyone else. Maybe it just had really bad tea?
“What am I doing here?”
“Why should I bloody know? Your mess of a body was dumped on my porch by something, and I doubt it was by amazon.”
“Amazon?”
“Never mind. If you insist on stressing your vocal cords, at least give me your name.”
“My name?” He could feel a word forming on the tip of his tongue, but it slipped out of reach.
“You do have one don’t you?”
(I gave you your name and your blood you think you’re so different-)
“I… don’t know.”
There was a loud sigh beside him. “Poppy must have sent you then.”
“A flower?”
“Yes, I happen to take orders from an overrated plant.” There was a long silence. “Of course not, idiot.”
“That’s no way to treat a patient.” The man mumbled, though the corners of his mouth were twitching.
“Good thing I’m not a doctor then. Look, I’ll try to sort this out, but until then, you need to rest. And you need a name.” Moony paused to consider. “You have a tattoo on your left wrist that says Padfoot. How’s that?”
“What the fuck is a padfoot?”
“Ask the you that chose to permanently ink it into your skin. Now rest. I’ll be back in a bit.”