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It’s a noise of sheer disgust that slips from between his lips when his eyes find the absolute abomination that was Ardyn Lucis Caelum. The man was a disaster on a good day and he only grew more infuriatingly ignorant when technology became a topic—and luckily, that was not the issue this time.
“How is a man of your station such a damn mess ?”
That was the only dignified response he could offer when he walked back into the room he’d long ago left the Imperial Chancellor in to get ready for an event that had been planned for weeks now.
So coming back to what could only be described as a personal assault on the five senses, Verstael is not only tempted to turn on his heel and walk out, but it would be well within his right to do so.
His clothes are a problem that’s beyond fixing, given the time, and part of him wonders if the man has ever dressed himself at all, though the more logical side of him is quick to remind him that this very same man had been locked away for two millenia.
Rather than not knowing , it was far more likely that he’d just plain forgotten.
“Give me that ,” Verstael bites out after standing there for a solid minute, watching Ardyn disentangle himself from the tie that he’d wrapped around himself like a dog in its leash. He swats away Ardyn’s hands, pausing only to smooth fresh wrinkles from Ardyn’s shirt.
“Oh, Vers , you do care.”
Little needs to come out of Ardyn’s mouth for Verstael to figure out that he’s being taunted and his retort first comes in the form of a snort that would best be called “undignified” by most.
“I don’t,” he says, wondering for a moment if elaborating was even worth wasting time on. The man would just twist whatever came out of his mouth into something that better suited his intentions. Even his firm denial would have an alternate meaning once Ardyn got a hold of them, he was sure. It doesn’t matter, he knows, but he can’t keep himself from continuing, finding some semblance of self-satisfaction in making Ardyn very aware of his stance. “You’re welcome to embarrass yourself, but not me.”
“Oh, but I would so love to see you flustered,” Ardyn says, words stirring disgust in his stomach as much as they pique his interest.
“Unfortunately for you, I’m not interested in what an abhorrent man like you would fancy laying eyes on.”
But as with anything, Ardyn isn’t so easily put off. It’s a struggle on Verstael’s part, trying to determine what he does, whether in his body language or his tone, that tells Ardyn a story different from the one he weaves with his words.
“And what if I said I fancied you?”
“How unfortunate for you.”
Verstael finds Ardyn intriguing , sometimes in ways he’s loathe to admit, but that doesn’t keep him from denying the physical attraction he feels for him. Being attracted to Lucian trash that dresses and acts the part must run in the family.
“Must you be so unkind to me, Verstael?” Ardyn says, raising a hand to run a finger beneath Verstael’s chin in a way that’s far too intimate for his taste.
Verstael quietly pops his collar, looping the tie around it as he considers his response. Every word must be a careful construct to minimize the damage that Ardyn’s keen on doing. But when he opens his mouth, he doesn’t breathe a word.
It’s an infuriating, momentary weakness, not knowing how to retort to a man like Ardyn, one who finds a smirk in his silence. It’s difficult , having to choose every word carefully in an effort to minimize the damage that this man could do with them. It’s annoying to let him get the last word.
Ardyn’s hand drops from where he was tracing up his jawline, though his smirk remains almost perpetual in nature, showing no signs of doing the same.
He got the last word in, yes, but that’s hardly a victory. Verstael won’t let it be, not when the man’s already shown his incompetence by not being able to tie a tie of all things.
“You’re an interesting man, Verstael,” Ardyn says, even as violet blue eyes turn back to the task at hand, giving the tie a gentle tug to remind him that he could easily use it against him, if he so desired.
But it’s clear that he knows that it would be a pointless endeavor, judging by the way his lips twist further upwards. The man’s immortal, after all, strangulation would cause few problems.
Then again, maybe he’s into it. Verstael wouldn’t know nor does he want to know.
“Excuse me if I can't take that as a compliment from someone like you.”
Ardyn gasps, so dramatic that it takes every ounce of willpower he possesses to resist rolling his eyes at the man’s exaggerated antics. Verstael thinks for a moment—foolishly, he might add—that there's nothing Ardyn could say at this point that would make him wish he’d brought him back and immediately dissected him.
“Oh, you break my fragile heart, Verstael.”
Except for that, perhaps.
“I could remove it altogether, if you’d rather,” he says flatly, loathing that wrapping the tie too tight around his neck would do him no good.
“Going to play Doctor , are we?”
If the words weren’t enough, that abhorrent grin on his face certainly would be. Verstael can’t keep himself from blanching in response, lips drawing back and face contorting as he answers only with a scoff. Any normal or even just partway sensicalman would understand what that combination of things meant.
Ardyn was, unfortunately, neither of those things.
So Verstael hurries himself, easily looping the tie through its last knot and pulling away from the man before he can get any cozier than he already is.
“Don’t embarrass me,” he says, though outside of fixing his tie , there’s little that Verstael can do on such short notice, especially not where keeping him in line is concerned.
“And what do I get out of such an arrangement?”
“My undying gratitude—which you will likely outlive,” he says, the words out of his mouth as quickly as they come to mind. He doesn’t give a thought to this retort, trusts from the first word that Ardyn will fire it back at him as per usual. No matter how scathing the phrasing, Ardyn always found a way to return the quip with another.
This time, it’s a little different, a little alarming.
For a moment, gone is the familiar smirk and his exaggerated motions and gestures. But Ardyn leaves him no time to inquire, moving again a second later with a forced normalcy that serves to bolster his curiosity as much as it further breeds concern in the heart of a man who rarely feels it.
Part of him wants to ask, but the other fears opening his mouth, opening a door to something beyond their strictly-business relationship. More was terrifying, more was beyond the realm of Verstael’s knowledge.
“A paltry reward, but I suppose I can oblige you,” Ardyn says, but the words are distant, lacking the over-familiarity that Ardyn’s every word and motion usually bears. Even the return of his usual grin doesn’t settle the pit in Verstael’s stomach that’s opened up, leaving only discomfort in his wake.
It’s the only thing that separates what he’s just seen from being mistaken for a dream.