Chapter Text
“I’ll get it.” He hears through the door. The knot in his stomach doubles.
“Oh, you’re here.” Zombieman presses a quick kiss to his cheek as he invites him in. Amai silently takes his shoes off. “Can I at least get a hello?”
“Why are you acting so different?” He looks him straight in the eye as he slips into his house slippers. The really expensive ones that rest directly to the right of the door frame. “Being so friendly?”
“I have to set a good example.”
“I didn’t know you cared that much about being a good example, Mr. drunk every Monday.”
He lowers his voice. “Don’t say shit like that in front of them.” The way Zombieman’s breath tickled his ear was so intimate, so sweet, so trusting .
“Who’s them?” He shoves the giddy feeling down.
“They’re them.” He gestures to the couch. As far as Amai could see, there were two children sitting comfortably on the well used couch, but he could only see the smaller one because his chin was resting on his tiny hands. Otherwise, the somewhat taller one would have completely blocked him from his line of sight. She throws a piercing glare at Amai as soon as she notices both men looking at her. Maybe it’s her shoulder length onyx hair, or her almost black eyes, but this particular look holds power, especially from someone so young. Nothing Amai isn’t used to, but definitely a surprise.
He stares back at her, egging Zombieman for answers with a side glance or two. She alerts the other one, and together they lean in closer, squinting their eyes at him in almost perfect synch. The smaller one, with locks so gorgeous one would think they were plucked from the Golden Fleece, looks back at the TV for a split second and then back at him. And back at the TV. Then back at him. He leans over to her, and whispers something in her ear, not breaking eye contact with Amai.
“Daddy, is that the man in the TV?” The young girl points at the idol.
“Yes, yes it is.”
“Wait, did she just call you daddy?”
“Well little ones, introduce yourself.” Zombieman gestures to Amai.
The little girl clings to the arm of the couch, and looks him straight in the eye. “Hi, I’m Rock. Are you Amai Mask?”
“Yes I am.” He gives her a polite smile and wave. “What’s his name?”
“Oh, that’s my brother, he’s shy.” Rock reaches out her hand, and offers it to him to calm him down, but the men in the room could only tell from the movement of the two children’s eyes and arms.
“I’m Suzy.” His voice is barely over a whisper. That’s a boy’s name Amai’s never heard of, and he’s had to sign plenty of boy’s autographs.
“Wait, your name is Suzy?” Amai asks.
“Yes.” He nods with a smile.
“Are you a boy?”
“Yes.” His golden eyes finally make contact with Amai's hazel ones. “I’m Suzy the boy.”
“Okay, you are Suzy the boy.” He smiles and nods, his lack of interest starting to slip through. He doesn’t care, though. They’re kids, what do they know?
“Silas, can we talk?”
Amai only calls him Silas in two places: in the bedroom, or during serious conversation, (Zombieman just doesn’t cut it out in either of those situations, according to him) and Zombieman knows he’s not getting anything tonight.
“Let’s go to your room.” He says, putting a hand on his back to gently shove him. “We’ll be back in a moment, children!”
After the door closes, Amai’s expression changes on a dime. “What the hell are you thinking, Silas? What’s going on?”
“I introduced you to my kids.” He flops down on the bed, head resting on the stained pillowcase
“You couldn’t have given me a warning beforehand?”
“I feel like if I had given you one you wouldn’t have come.”
He uses his signature icy glare on him, specifically the one he uses on wealthy executives. One look, and he gets all the funding and support he needs. It’s one of the more shady reasons he still has a career.
“Yes, I would have.” He scoffs.
“But every interaction would have been scripted. You would have treated them more like your fans.”
“What’s wrong with treating them like my fans?” Amai’s eyebrow quirks. Silas definitely has ulterior motives. He just knows. “They’re both kids.”
“They aren’t your fans.”
Amai crosses his arms across his chest, resting all of his weight on one leg. He rolls his eyes and throws in a scoff for good measure.
“I wanted you to treat them genuinely.” He says.
Amai stands there in flabbergasted, yet deadpan silence. “Silas, have you met me?”
Silas knows this is his chance. He practiced this line yesterday, but in order to deliver it, he would have to diffuse the bomb. The sheets crinkle and the mattress squeaks as he sits up.
“Baby. Baby, baby, baby.” He cuts the correct wire. “What I meant was I wanted you to treat them the way Beaut would.” Zombieman relishes in the few seconds his gotcha line affords him.
“Well, they're just going to have to earn my trust like everyone else.”
Silas’s lips pursed together, blinking at the sheer stupidity of that statement. Beaut’s nose is upturned, his arms crossed, and his body facing away. For some reason, he’s acting more childish than the children watching TV (or eavesdropping, who knows?) just a door away.
“Just gonna remind you, Beaut.” He pauses for emphasis. “They’re eight and six. They aren’t trying to manipulate you or take advantage of you. Because they’re children.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m fairly sure I do.”
“Well, you didn't have to put on that whole “Hi honey, welcome home” show.” Silas knows he won.
“I figured you’d prefer it if I didn’t shove my tongue down your throat in front of them.”
“Yes, but I was a little weirded out by that act. Just letting you know.”
“I thought you liked domestic things.”
“Not in that context! I don’t need these kids thinking I'm their dad!” Beaut really is loose lipped today.
“Me neither.” Silas says. “I wanted to introduce them to you because one, we’re going to have to make some schedule and/or location changes, because they’ll be living here until I find them a suitable home. I didn’t want you to think something was up. Two, I wanted you to meet them because they’re a large part of my sad, lonely, existence. And whether you like it or not, so are you. I really want you guys to get along.”
“Yeah, what's the actual reason?” Beaut asks.
“I might need a babysitter.”
“Next time don’t waste your air.”
“Those are reasons though!”
Beaut waves his hand at him dismissively. “Whatever. I don't have time to babysit!” He’s about to walk out the door until Silas grabs him by the shoulder.
“You don’t have to.” he forces him to turn around and make eye contact. Silas absent-mindly rubs Beaut’s strong jawline with his thumb. He relishes in the touch. If either of them wanted to, they could lean in just a little bit and gently press their lips together, releasing the burden of the world for just a little bit. The thought only crosses Beaut’s mind because Silas's thumb brushes the corner of his lip.
“You have a lot more resources than I do, and I want to give them the best life possible. I was thinking maybe we could take them over to your place, and have one of your staffers watch them. Meanwhile,” He pulls him in to whisper in his ear, to be absolutely sure the kids won’t hear. Beaut prays his cheeks don't betray him and turn pink. “You can have me. You can have me in any way you want. You can have me over and over again, until you’re more than satisfied.” Silas lets out a low chuckle as he pulls away.
Beaut’s cheeks betray him just a little bit. Only enough that if Silas looks at him closely, he could see the tiniest dust of pink sprinkled across his face. Moments like these are the reason why he makes time for Silas. With him, he’s treated with genuine kindness, his emotional needs are considered, he’s listened to, his outbursts are tolerated (most of the time), and he’s treated like a person. Hell, he even plays hooky for him! Silas spoils him, and means he often falls right into his calloused hands.
Beaut takes a deep breath to calm down. “I will admit, that is a tempting offer. A very tempting offer.” Having two kids in his penthouse would throw so many wrenches into his plans. He’d have to lock up the wine fridge, move all the breakables onto hire shelfs, hire another staffer to watch them, make his chef’s work overtime to make their meals, make sure they have a place to sleep and play, all while dealing with the noise they would make. But Silas would be in his bed. He would be within arms reach, ready to wrap his arms around him tight, and give him a little kiss on the forehead. He would be able to smell the smoke on his coat, taste the ashes on his tongue, and feel his ice cold skin under his soft fingertips. He would finally rest his head where Silas’s beating heart would lie, wrapped up in Egyptian cotton sheets and satin blankets, while his heavy crown would be off to the side, freeing him from the weight of being the king of the world.
“I think we can do that.” He says. “It might take a little while to work out the details, but it’s doable.”
“That’s great, thank you so much.’ He presses a quick kiss to his temple. “You wanna watch a movie?”
“Let me text my manager to get him to see if he can move this stupid fucking thing.” He pulls out his phone.
“Language.”
He mutters out a sorry, but it falls over deaf ears as the door creaks open by the time he sends the text message. He doesn’t even wait for his manager to reply before he’s catching the squeaky bastard.
“I thought we were going to watch a movie.” Suddenly going to the recording studio sounds like a ton of fun.
“We are. Come sit.” The couch creaks as he slaps the cushion next to him hard enough that Beaut knows this isn’t a suggestion, but not so hard that the kids would be alarmed. He plops down with a neutral expression. He’s in no mood to watch some colorful characters with high pitched voices dance across a screen, he wants background noise for some time with Silas.
“Da-da, is he your friend?” Suzy asks, curling himself up under Silas’s trench coat.
“Yes, Suzy.” Silas’s lips pucker after he taps Beaut’s shoulder, which is met with a simple glance to his lips. When Silas's brows start doing the talking, Beaut rolls his eyes and presses his lips to his. They weren’t kissing, they were just touching lips, as if someone is taking a photo of them for a romance based advertisement, bu they didn't want it to be too scandalous.
“Beaut and I are very good friends.” Silas pulls away very quickly, turning his attention and affection to the young boy. He starts pointing and blabbering at the TV, and Silas is completely engaged in his incoherent nonsense. Beaut would be reluctantly smiling and engaging with the child, if not for the invasive breath barely reaching the side of his face. It kept moving all across his right side, until he’s distracted by a small hand grabbing his shoulder.
“Hey, what are you doing?” He asks.
“Why do you smell weird?” Rock gets right in his face and gives him a confused stare. (The same one she has been since he entered the room). She puffs like a bull at beaut's silence, black eyes boring into his face.
"Cologne." Beaut turns to the TV to avoid her gaze. He realizes his fate is sealed, however when he looks at the screen, and sees two dinosaurs, one purple and one green driving a minivan across a desert.