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“Are you sure you’re going to be alright here, Professor?” Luke had asked.
“I’m not completely out of sorts when alone, you know.”
“I’ll say,” Emmy had said.
“Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind. I’ll be back soon,” Luke had responded.
“Alright. Let’s go. I’m sure the professor’s busy, and I just know you love riding with me.” Luke had made a sound like he was going to be sick at the indirect mention of Emmy’s driving. Layton had laughed as they’d exited his office.
Layton had a few nights to himself while Emmy continued her work with Inspector Grosky and Luke visited his parents. At first, he’d spent his time relaxing and resting up before their return. By the third night, however, he’d grown curious about something. He wanted to answer a question that had never been answered in the two months he’d been tolerating his nightly intruder. Taking up some advice he’d been given, he laid a subtle trap before a particular window before heading to bed with a cup of tea and a few books. Flipping through the pages, he didn’t bother getting entirely undressed. He wasn’t going to bed anytime soon. Between the tea and the prospect of doing what a certain stalker said he couldn’t, there would be no sleep for Professor Layton.
His plan came to fruition much sooner than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t even ten at night when Layton picked up his tea to casually take a sip and was interrupted by a clambering for balance, a stumble, and a crash in the living room area. There was a cough and a rather loud exclamation before Layton smiled and laughed deep in his throat. Getting up, he went to greet his nonplused guest, taking with him his cup of tea. When he came to stand over his rival, who had face planted on Layton’s hard floor, he couldn’t help but take a slow, sarcastic sample of his cup. Somehow, the tea tasted better upon witnessing Jean Descole sprawled out on the floor of Layton’s home, surprised at having been caught in the act of breaking in.
Descole looked up to catch Layton drinking his tea. Before Layton could stop himself, he said, “The shortening was very effective, surprisingly.”
Descole’s face twisted into one of dismay before contorting again with rage. “Layton, you bastard!” he snarled.
“It was your idea,” Layton replied as Descole slid across the floor trying to get up. Descole slipped, his chin hitting the floor with a thud. He groaned, the sound turning into a growl as it progressed. Watching him struggle with the slicked floor, Layton eventually asked, “Would you like some he—?”
“No!” his rival cut him off. As he continued struggling with the slippery surface, he grumbled out, “Why now?”
“You weren’t expecting it. Plus I’m home alone. No one to hear the results.”
Descole scoffed as he latched onto a piece of Layton’s furniture, trying to steady himself enough to get back on his feet. He started slipping again, and had to rely on his upper body strength to keep himself from sliding back to the floor. Gasping, Layton couldn’t tell whether it was from frustration or exertion, Descole focused on the professor. “Alright, say it.”
“Say what?” Layton didn’t feel the least bit apologetic for the smirk he was wearing.
“Go ahead and explain how you figured out it was this window.”
“Ah, how do you know I haven’t set up similar traps at other possible entrances? You’re so sure it’s just this one?”
“Well, if we’re talking all possible entrances, you wouldn’t be able to leave your bedroom. What with the door and the window, you’d be sealed in your own room. And somehow, I don’t foresee you cleaning your floors as thoroughly as one should when trying to be rid of such a slippery surface.”
Layton’s eyes narrowed as Descole once again tried to get back on his feet. “Are you telling me I don’t know how to keep my place tidy?”
“I’m saying that even if you do, you don’t. Have you seen the layers of dust on the tops of your bookshelves lately? Not just that! I pull one book and I start coughing from—DAMMIT!” he shouted as he failed to stand up and wound up right back on the floor.
Layton wanted so terribly to laugh, but figured that would only upset Descole further. Instead, he set his cup of tea down on his coffee table, took a step closer to his rival, and offered him a hand. Though the mask obstructed the man’s true facial expression, Layton was one hundred five percent certain Descole was glaring at the offered limb. Were the man a tiger, Layton might actually fear for the loss of said limb. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Descole was growling at him. Hoping to alleviate the tension, Layton finally answered, “I found a scuff mark on this windowsill. That’s how I knew this was the one you were using to break in.”
Descole scoffed, glancing towards the window. “I don’t leave scuff marks.”
“Your shoe says otherwise.”
Descole actually glanced at the side of one of his shoes, where there was in fact a line indicating he’d scraped the material against something. He grumbled something to himself about having to get that fixed, then glared back up at Layton’s still outstretched hand. Huffing, he let loose another louder growl before reaching up and taking the professor’s hand at last. Rolling onto his side, he allowed the professor to pull him upright. As luck would have it, however, Descole stumbled again. This time, instead of landing on the slick patch, he cursed and fell forwards into Layton and wound up pinning the surprised professor to the floor. Their foreheads slammed together and, while Layton’s hat rolled across the floor, Descole’s slid down over his eyes and promptly knocked his mask off. The mask landed on Layton’s shoulder as he rubbed his now aching forehead. When he opened his eyes and looked up at Descole, however, he couldn’t help but feel curious. The man was using the hat’s placement to keep the top half of his head covered, but Layton could see how red his face was turning. Descole let out a hiss that clearly denoted his frustration, and Layton could feel a slight tremor go through the man as he struggled to remain calm. Sighing and carefully positioning himself so that he was straddling Layton’s waist, he held out a tentative hand and asked, “Do you mind?”
One would have thought someone was twisting his arm, the request sounded so pained. It occurred to Layton that he very well might not have to give him the mask back. He could discover his rival’s identity right then and there. However, there was something about how Descole’s mouth twisted in discomfort that made Layton hand the mask over despite his growing inquisitiveness. Before he placed the mask in Descole’s hand, he was able to note that there were lenses embedded in the eye slits. Once the mask was in Descole’s palm, Layton turned his head away respectfully so his rival could put the mask back on in peace. When the mask was secure, Layton stared back up at Descole and said, “So your eyesight’s not entirely perfect.”
Descole tilted his head and crossed his arms, and once again Layton was trapped beneath his rival. If Layton didn’t know any better, he’d say Descole liked straddling the professor’s waist. He tried to banish the thought, but wasn’t able to until Descole declared, “And here I was about to congratulate you on your gentlemanly manners.” A wry look crossed his rival’s face. Unfolding his arms, he revealed he’d been holding something in his hand while his arms had been crossed. Once Layton got a clear look at what it was, he sucked in an apprehensive breath. “I suppose you won’t mind me going through this, then. It’s a wonder I haven’t taken a look at it sooner.”
“Give that back.” Layton tried to keep his voice even, but he wasn’t doing a very good job. Descole had his wallet. Layton’s wallet was one of the few things the professor absolutely minded the other man snooping through.
“I can’t believe you didn’t notice me stealing it. You’re practically dead below the waist. How do you manage not to get pickpocketed?”
Descole was about to open it when Layton sat up, propping himself up with one hand while closing a fist around his property. He made eye contact with Descole, his expression stern while his rival looked intrigued. His jaw unlocked briefly so as to allow his plea, “Let it go.”
“What are you hiding in there, a prophylactic? That’s really not your style, Layton.”
“I gave you your privacy, now let me have this one thing,” Layton wasn’t above begging. Not over something as important as this.
Descole’s head tilted further, and Layton recognized his curiosity almost immediately. “What does one hide in a wallet that’s so precious? His I.D.? Loose change? A pictu—?”
“Give it back.” Layton realized he’d said that a little too quickly as soon as Descole gave him a triumphant, open-mouthed smile.
His face was frozen in a silenced ‘aha’ sort of expression. Then he uttered thoughtfully, “A picture.” Over the next few seconds, his expression fell. Staring at the wallet through his and Layton’s fingers, he almost looked like he’d seen a ghost himself. It was like he could almost guess what Layton might be hiding. After what felt like an eternity, Descole let go of the wallet. Layton held it for a moment, almost reacquainting himself with the object. Sighing, he pocketed it before Descole had time to recover. However, it didn’t seem like he would. There was no evidence that a smile had even crossed his pursed lips.
“Thank you,” Layton said, even though Descole had never thanked him for handing over his mask. Well, to be fair Layton hadn’t given him the chance to.
Descole shook his head. His response was so soft, Layton almost didn’t hear it. “No need. I understand.”
Layton didn’t pry. He knew well that that might only anger Descole. The two were silent for about another minute before Layton’s rival elected to attempt getting back on his feet for what likely felt like the hundredth time to him. He finally succeeded, but he had a noticeable limp. “Why don’t you sit down for a moment while—?”
“No thank you. I believe I’ve had enough of your help.” Even though he tried to play it off like he was walking perfectly normally, he wound up catching his foot on Layton’s coffee table and sit-falling onto the couch. He cried out in anger, but after huffing ill-temperedly amended his initial response. “Perhaps for just a moment.”
Layton found himself wanting to laugh again, but managed to hold back. “I’ll put on some water. Tea might make you feel less cantankerous.”
“I doubt that.” As he spoke, Descole watched the professor while placing his foot on Layton’s coffee table beside Layton’s cup of tea. Layton pretended he didn’t notice, because if he stared at Descole’s face long enough he really would start laughing. The man bore the expression of a petulant child miffed because he didn’t get his way, and it looked so ridiculous that Layton couldn’t help but chuckle. Descole heard him. “This isn’t funny.”
“It is, actually. It’s taking a great deal of self-restraint to keep myself from laughing at you.”
“Well thank goodness for your self-restraint, or else I’d have to find some way to silence you without tripping on my own foot.” His threat was earnest, but Layton was having the hardest time taking Descole seriously at the moment.
“I suppose you’ll have to exit through the front door like a normal individual, now,” Layton commented as he put the kettle on.
A quiet growl could be heard from across the room. “No.”
“Suit yourself.” As the kettle warmed, Layton searched for something to clean up the trap he’d laid. When he found some cleaning product and a rag, he set to work. At first, he was able to ignore the fact that his was watching almost every move he made. In fact, he’d almost forgotten Descole was there until he’d heard his rival scoff at something. “What?”
“You’re the last individual I would have expected to be domestic.” Layton stopped cleaning the shortening off the floor in favor of turning and giving Descole an annoyed glance. Descole snorted. “What, are you going to spew some rule for gentlemen and domesticity at me? Seriously, Layton. Are you even looking at yourself right now?” Layton continued cleaning, trying to ignore the man’s remarks. “Again, the dust on your bookshelves tells me it’s a surprise you even have cleaning product.”
“You pay an awful lot of attention to my bookshelves.”
“Well, knowledge is rather important, wouldn’t you say?”
“That’s not why you’re interested in what I’m reading.”
“Or rather, what you intend to read. I can’t imagine you’ve read every book in this place, or in your office.”
“You imagine incorrectly.”
“Oh really? You must have a lot of time on your hands.”
“I used to.”
Descole gave him a sarcastic grin. “Ah, then you got your assistant. And your apprentice. One would think having them around would free you up more and allow you more time to do your reading. Apparently that is not the case.”
No, it wasn’t. In fact, he spent more time discussing theories with Emmy and Luke than actually reading up on them. He couldn’t say he was displeased about it though. It meant he wasn’t internalizing all of his thoughts. It meant he had someone to share them with. It meant he could flesh them out and figure out where the loopholes lie. Standing up, Layton made his way back to the kitchen. “There are some benefits to having people to discuss your ideas with.”
“Yes, being social. I’ve heard it’s rather useful to listen to the opinions of others. I never cared much for that sort of thing.”
“Never?” Layton could help but ask as he washed his hands. Judging by the way Descole’s face reddened, he’d struck a nerve in the man in calling him a liar. As the kettle began to whistle, Layton began preparing the tea. Once the cup was ready, Layton brought it to Descole. His rival hesitated, staring at it like it might bite him. Slowly, he accepted the offering and held it in both hands. It was almost comical to see him analyze the cup of tea before actually settling down with it. Picking up his own abandoned cup, Layton sipped it before sitting across from Descole. “Now what do you have planned in the future? I can’t help but notice you’ve been rather inactive since the events in Misthallery.”
“My activities are of no concern to you,” Descole responded tersely. Changing the subject, Descole commented, “I can’t help but notice your collection of volumes are lacking in a few editions.”
Indulging him, Layton replied, “I don’t doubt that. I simply haven’t found the time to update some of my textbook series.”
“Shame. It pays to keep up on new information.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me you’ve read all the new editions.”
“Actually,” he blew across the surface of his tea, the steam flying at Layton, “I have.” He took his first sip of tea. Though he feigned disinterest, Layton did catch the hum he released upon tasting the warm liquid. “Very interesting discoveries and concepts, I might add.”
“Really? Interesting,” Layton said. As Descole spoke, it struck him how incredibly casual their discussion was. He could almost look past the fact that they were enemies and enjoy the conversation. It felt . . . normal.
Descole spoke long enough for Layton to drain the last of his tea. As the professor started to nod off, Descole smiled to himself. The man hadn’t even noticed him slip a sedative into the tea at his foot. Putting the professor to sleep was entirely too easy for Descole. However, his rival had fooled him this time. He was grateful he could get Layton to go to sleep before he started to get really suspicious of the professor’s motives.
Setting his tea down, he decided to leave. Testing his injured foot, he stood up slower than he typically would. It was painful, but more bearable now that he’d given it a moment’s rest. Not entirely trusting Layton’s ability to clean, however, he sought a new window to exit through. His gaze fell on the cup of tea Layton had prepared for him. Staring at it, he actually found himself wanting to polish it off. It was tea. How could one deny tea? Jean Descole certainly couldn’t.
Picking the cup back up, he stared at it a while longer. Then he drank the rest in one go, ignoring the heat on the roof of his mouth as he emptied the cup. Placing the cup back on the table, he had the idiotic idea that he should put the teabag on Layton’s head in place of the man’s beloved top hat. The thought made him smile again, but he didn’t go through with it. Instead, he hid the hat under the bed where that Triton child usually slept. When he sought his exit, he considered going back to the professor and sneaking a peak at his wallet while he wasn’t awake to protest. He didn’t, though. He couldn’t fathom why, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. Maybe it was because he knew what sorts of pictures one usually kept in their wallets. He himself carried one solitary picture with him. Knowing what he kept hidden, he could only imagine what Layton was hiding. Considering the lack of familial connection the man displayed, it wouldn’t be overstepping boundaries to assume the individual Layton kept a picture of was deceased. The thought, while intriguing, was also haunting.
Touching his mask, he realized Layton could have discovered his true identity if he’d wanted to. Was it really too much to ask for Descole to leave the wallet untouched? Thinking again of his own hidden picture, he didn’t think so. He could imagine letting anyone see those he had lost, especially someone who seemingly bore him ill will. To be fair, someone had already used their knowledge of Descole’s most sacred treasures to harm him. He didn’t doubt they would do it again.
With that in mind, he was grateful for Layton’s mercy. To show his gratitude, he would grant him that one peace of mind and avoid looking further into what the man was concealing in his pocket. Taking his leave, he stared at the professor for a little while longer. It disturbed him, the connection he felt to the man. Shaking his head and ignoring it, he fled the vicinity.
In the next few days, Layton received a pile of books in the mail. Unsurprisingly, they were the missing volumes Descole had spoken of. When questioned about them, he told Emmy that he must have forgotten that he ordered them. He also received tickets and a letter regarding the unwarranted invitation to a new opera featuring the fabled story of the kingdom of Ambrosia.