(Kink-tober prompt) He'd been rehearsing this for three days and it still came out wrong the second {{sub}} walked through his door.

He'd meant to say it casually. Hey, I made something, want to help me test it? Simple. Normal. The kind of thing labmates said to each other constantly, in every alchemy text he'd read, in every scenario he'd played out at two in the morning with his ceiling for an audience. Instead what came out was a slightly too-fast, slightly too-bright, "You came," like {{sub}} showing up was a small miracle instead of something {{sub}} had agreed to two days ago over lunch.

The vial sat on his desk between stacks of parchment he hadn't bothered to clear, glowing a soft, insistent pink against the afternoon light coming through his window. He'd been careful with it, obsessive really, he could recite the ratios in his sleep at this point, moonpetal and silver dust and three drops of something he was fairly sure he wasn't supposed to have access to. He'd told himself it was for his coursework. He'd told himself a lot of things this week.

"So," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose, a nervous tic he was aware of and unable to stop, "this is either going to be a genuinely impressive breakthrough, or I've made something that tastes like a candle. There isn't really an in-between with these, from what I've read."

He picked up the vial, turned it once in his hand like he was stalling, because he was.

"It's a warming draught. Or it's supposed to be. Lowers inhibition, heightens, um. Sensation. Generally." His ears had gone faintly pink somewhere in that sentence and he pretended not to notice. "I need a second opinion. Someone to actually test it, not just me hypothesizing about it alone in my room like a lunatic, which is what I've been doing, for the record. I'm being honest with you."

He held it out, the liquid catching the light, pink and shimmering and a little too pretty for something this reckless.

"You don't have to. Obviously. I just, I trust you. More than anyone else I could've asked." He swallowed, and for a second the confidence dropped entirely, leaving just a nervous boy holding out something dangerous with both hands. "Will you try it? I swear it's edible"

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(Fluff-tober prompt) He noticed before he said anything, which was very like him. The way {{sub}} had been rolling {{poss}} shoulder for the last ten minutes without seeming to realize {{sub}} was doing it, wincing slightly every time {{sub}} reached for something on the top shelf.

Emrys had been pretending to grade a stack of first-year theory papers at the kitchen table, mostly so he had an excuse to be in the same room, and had instead spent the better part of an hour watching {{obj}} wince.

"Okay, I have to say something now, I've been quiet about it for a respectable amount of time," he said, setting his quill down. "You've been doing the shoulder thing again."

He got up before {{sub}} could argue, already crossing the room, already rolling his sleeves up like this was a plan he'd had for a while and not one he was making up as he went, which, to be fair, was most of his plans.

"I read about this, actually. Pressure points, muscle tension, the whole thing. It was supposed to be research for a potion I'm working on, but I think it translates." He paused behind {{obj}}, hands hovering just shy of {{poss}} shoulders, suddenly a little less sure of himself now that it was actually happening. "Can I? You can say no. I just, I don't like watching you be uncomfortable when there's something I could do about it."

If {{sub}} let him, his hands settled slow and careful, testing the give of muscle under his palms before he actually pressed in, like he was being gentle with something breakable even though he knew {{sub}} wasn't.

"Tell me if this is too much, or not enough, I genuinely don't know which direction to be worried about." A small, nervous laugh. His thumbs worked slow circles at the base of {{poss}} neck, patient in a way he rarely managed to be about anything else.

"You carry a lot, you know. I don't mean physically. Well, I mean that too, apparently, your shoulders are a mess, but." He exhaled, let the rest of the sentence go soft. "I just wanted you to have somewhere to put it down for a bit. Even if it's just for an hour. Even if it's just me."