Chapter Text
"Apology accepted."
"First of all, I didn't come here for that. Secondly, what the hell are you talking about? Shouldn't you be the one apologizing?" Lucas corrected, vexed, while he sat languidly in the center of a 3-seater chesterfield sofa, one arm draped on the backrest, legs spread apart like he owns the place. He's actually in Ezekiel Alpheus' residence in Arlanta, in his office, and had waited for him for nearly an hour.
To amuse himself, Lucas went through his stuff. The room was dimly lit. There weren't enough windows as the books occupied the walls right up to the ceiling. A bunch of documents was piled on the desk, and he tried to pry open the drawers but they were locked. That didn't stop him from using his x-ray vision though.
After giving up in trying to find anything damning, Lucas lounged the rest of the wait. When Ezekiel finally arrived, the bastard didn't even give him a second glance. He closed the door with a click, placed more books on his desk, crossed his arms, and scrutinized him quietly. Whether he was surprised, perplexed, or thought him a nuisance, he did well not to show it.
Neither spoke, the clock's second hand filling the silence for probably a good 4 to 5 minutes, and they just naturally fell into a staring competition like it was some predetermined event, sizing each other up. Lucas won, as Ezekiel gave up with a sigh and an apology was the first thing he demanded.
"I already did. And that wasn't the offense I needed an apology for."
"I don't remember having wronged you though," Lucas remarked. I also don't give a shit.
"You'll remember." Ezekiel gave him a side glance and smirked as he sauntered towards the other side of the room, shrugging off his tan blazer and placing it on an armchair as he passed, then proceeded to roll his sleeves up his arms.
Lucas knitted his brow and clicked his tongue quietly. He had made a mistake. He had gone there in his immaculate black magician robes with his hair flowing to his waist thinking that would be enough to intimidate him. But his form was in the same age as Athanasia, and Ezekiel was years older than her, probably 21 or 22. And of all the stupid things he could've forgotten, it had to be the most important one! Ezekiel was taller than him right now.
"Tea?" The host offered, his back towards Lucas as he boiled water at a small corner pantry.
"Is it poisoned?"
"...That can be arranged."
He considered for a moment. "Alright. Sure."
"How is she?" He asked, nonchalant. The soft clinking of glassware filled the room.
Lucas forced a long, frustrated huff, and he thought he heard the man snort.
"She's fine. We're fine. I mean, we're together..." delivered in the most unnatural way that Lucas internally screamed.
"Good to hear. Give my regards." He turned to face the mage while the tea steeped. "News travels. I heard you're officially the Princess' consort now. Congratulations. Satisfied?"
"Yeah, expect some royal babies soon. We're going at it like rabbits." It was the lamest lie that had ever come out of his mouth and he's going to tear up his own tongue later for all the bullshit he's spouting.
"Her sorry excuse of a father can't wait to be a grandpa." God, he should stop.
Ezekiel raised his eyebrows, very much intrigued. He'd notice by now that something was up.
"Alright. Let me rephrase that. Are you okay?"
"Of course, I am. Why wouldn't I be? All's fine and dandy."
"Well, you should be on your way then. Nice of you to check up on me."
"I didn't come here for you," said the mage, nettled.
"What are you here for then? It's not like we're on speaking terms." Ezekiel crossed his arms.
His head started to hurt and he clutched it with both hands, elbows to his knees. "Athy she's... There's something wrong with her..." Shit. Am I really doing this?
"Are you sure the problem's with her and not you?"
"Hey! Nothing's wrong with me, I can at least tell you that part!"
"How about telling me the other parts, too?"
Lucas glowered and pondered if it was an error in judgment to seek him, and took too long to answer.
"Look, I'm not your therapist. I don't have time for you. You're gonna have to spill it."
Still, he didn't, and it left Ezekiel no choice but to probe. Beats him why he was so invested. Impressively though, and much to his annoyance, he kept hitting the mark. "I don't even know why I'm entertaining this... Did you come here for some love advice? That's not really my forte. Just do what you're good at. If there's competition, eliminate them. You've done it before."
"Tsk. I can't, dammit." Lucas blurted. Ezekiel went wide-eyed in disbelief that he got it right.
"Really, now. There's someone off-limits even for the Great Wizard of the Tower?" There's an unrestrained sarcasm and amusement in his tone that he wouldn't be able to hide even if he wanted to. "Who is it?"
"You don't need to know. It doesn't matter—"
"Of course, it does. Why can't you..." he paused as the puzzle fell into place. Lucas peered at him, a little nervous. Then— "Oh! You're definitely screwed!" Ezekiel laughed like he had a right to. "If it's the person who I think it is, well..." he gradually quieted down, "It'd be a little disturbing, and you're all the more screwed." He donned a somber smile. "This doesn't concern me anymore either way."
"Shit, why did I even come here." He stood poised to leave.
"Come on. You had me make tea, at least have some before you leave."
Whitey's boy seemed to be having so much fun that now he wants Lucas to stay. What had been his life choices until now that caused him to be reduced to this bastard's source of fun? This calls for some serious reflection before he goes to sleep tonight.
Ezekiel strolled towards him with a silver tray in hand, and on it was a plain, really unfancy, clear glass tea set, then placed it on the low table in front of him. The mage stared at it, curious, then sat back down. Ezekiel patiently watched his reaction, waiting.
It was red.
"This really poison?"
Stunningly red.
"It's hibiscus. With honey."
His stomach churned in unwanted anticipation.
"It's such a lovely color, isn't it? It goes with your eyes."
Fuck this shit!
He obviously planned this to miff him, the bastard! He fucking knew he'd point that out but what the hell was up with that disgusting compliment?! It gave him goosebumps. Gross.
"Well, whatever. I just thought it'll interest you," said this smug brat who had just given him the most annoying, satisfied smile like he just won against him— like hell he was gonna let him— and Lucas more than ever wanted to shove that smile up his ass— but he pretended not to be affected. His eyes were lovely, so not gonna deny that.
Ezekiel then proceeded to shift his focus on some paperwork, thank god, and so Lucas thought the timing was right to sneak a drink. He raised the cup to his lips, blew some steam, and whiffed— fruity, like cranberries— then took a cautious sip. The hot liquid stung his tongue but tolerable, and noted with dismay that the blend of sour and sweetness was just right for his taste and—
"You like it?"
The tea almost sprayed out of his mouth.
Jesus Fucking Christ! He just wouldn't let up!
The cup shook as Lucas placed it back on its saucer, fighting the urge to just hurl it at him.
Ezekiel chuckled and turned his attention back to him. "You ready to talk?"
Lucas contemplated, tried to find the words. Ended up with something vague. But he had to go through with it. If he had to spend another goddamn minute with him, one of them is gonna end up dead and it's not gonna be him. Let's get this over with so I can fucking leave!
"How did you do it?" He asked, mustering all the courage and seriousness he could convey to fit the topic he's broaching.
"What?"
"Forget." All this cringe talk, Lucas wondered how people stomach this.
"I didn't," he answered, his tone dropping the humor. "I moved on. I distract myself."
The mage pointed at the documents he's holding. "Like that?"
He tossed it back to the desk. "Yes, like that."
The air has become dour. Ezekiel stood behind the armchair across Lucas and leaned forward with his arms on the high back. "I teach now. There's not much you can do with being exiled. I was fortunate enough to be allowed this profession. At least I'm still able to make good use of what I know."
Lucas remembered how Princess Athanasia had written to Prince Dice to grant the Alpheus household the liberty to rebuild their businesses and be able to take up jobs in their nation. Despite their history of borderline treason to the Obelian Empire, the Arlantean Royalty had been kind to the Alpheuses with only their nobility stripped and their right to hold a post in office barred. Since Ezekiel Alpheus was primed to be a Duke, a Prince even, most of his education went into politics, governance, and ruling, add to that his exceptional intellect, suave demeanor, and undeniable good-looks, he's become a well sought-after person among the elites to tutor their spawn.
"You're heartbroken," he said it like it's a fact.
Is that what this is called? This miserable bleakness gnawing at him.
The former noble gave a burdened smile. "It gets better with time... Maybe. Did that answer your question?" He paused, contemplative, then frowned. "Or was that not what you needed to hear?"
Lucas was confused. He had gone there thinking that maybe this guy, who apparently seemed to have successfully moved on with his life after being repudiated, would have a solution for something akin to his predicament.
Distract myself? Like how? Level some mountains? Sink some continents? Get a pet??? He doesn't have much in terms of hobbies. Should I just go back to sleep? He didn't want to though.
"That's it?" Lucas finally asked.
"Yes, that's about it. I lost to you, remember. I accepted that," he said, a little bitterly.
"Yeah, 'cause you were such a stuck-up brat."
"And you're not?" Ezekiel retorted.
"You just complicate things. You're not good for her." Their voices getting louder, the vitriol surfacing.
"And who is, you? You're just—"
"Yes! She's mine to begin with! And she's mine still, isn't she?!" Lucas growled, stressing his perceived reality.
"You forced that on her. As powerful as you are, she didn't have a choice. She kept coming to me but then you just had to get in the way every single time!"
"Your position in this whole affair made it very difficult for her. You're not meant to be together. She'd just be misera—"
"You don't know that!" The usually composed young man shouted through gritted teeth as a fist slammed on the chair, his pronouncement harsh with suppressed frustration. "Just like how you didn't know you'd end up here."
The conversation had gotten heated rather expectedly given their history of antagonism. It should have happened earlier, but the awkwardness of them being alone stuck in a room delayed their discord.
He raked his fingers through his mop of silver hair and tried to control his rage. He closed his eyes and took a heavy breath. "You..."
The storm between them started to fizzle as they studied each other, trying to give an unimposing understanding. There was no longer a reason for this hostility, but their mutual repulsion keeps them agitated, ready to bite back at the slightest provocation, intended or not.
"Stop deluding yourself," Ezekiel spoke as calmly and innocuously as he could. "You kept acting on the assumption that she belonged to you."
She was mine. From the moment I saw her. Lucas wanted to protest but—
"But who owns who now?"
There was a mindful silence that came after, reserved for him to ruminate. Lucas hated that he didn't have anything smart to say to that, hated himself more as he recognized the truth in it, and hated it the most that this person he loathes just had to be the one to spell it out for him.
He's hollow and he's falling in. She always finds herself in trouble and I... I kept fixing her and her problems. Athanasia never wanted anything from him, and he never gave anything he couldn't give. Whatever he did for her, he did so willingly, effortlessly, and with no regrets. It's just... all this time he surmised that they were on to something deeper than just amity.
"Tea?"
The offer roused him from his thoughts. Lucas realized he'd been holding on to his empty cup, staring at it for who knows how long, and must have finished it while pondering his situation. He must have been out of it for some time as his host was already seated beside him, teapot in hand.
Lucas placed the cup back on the saucer and watched the liquid garnet swirl and mold as it gets poured. The smell of tangy berries permeated, and something else... Dried, burnt grass. Tobacco?
He saw Ezekiel's arm with the rolled-up sleeve in his line of vision, setting down the teapot in the middle of the table, and he's immediately conscious of how near he was. Is it coming from him? Does he smoke? I don't reme—
Lucas' thoughts were interrupted by a gentle pressure on his left cheekbone. He flicked his eyes to the source and met Ezekiel's honeyed irises. He had swiped the pad of his thumb under Lucas' eye, unrough but deliberate, the rest of his fingers almost cupping his face.
Like a threatened cat, Lucas jerked and whacked his hand away, stumbling backwards to the other end of the sofa. His leg hit the table in the process, knocking over the recently refilled teacup, its contents spilled on his trousers, and the cloth absorbed the hot liquid scalding the skin of his thighs.
"Aw! You shit-face!" He hissed. His eyes widened, his heart pounded, his breath held. "What the fuck?!"
"Ah! Sorry!" Ezekiel's apology was authentic. "I thought you had dirt on your face and I just tried to—" But then he's suddenly dead-serious. "We have to get you out of those pants." Then aimed for his belt...
"No, stop! Just stop! Argh!" He pushed his hands away and kicked his knee twice while he's at it, the sting on his thighs throbbed. Then the bastard started cracking up.
The soft noise of Ezekiel's laughter echoed through the room, his hand combed his hair as he looked genuinely entertained. The sight and sound of him both amused and irked Lucas and he analyzed that weird-ass combination for a good solid three seconds. Then he went back to narrow his eyes incredulously at him and recalled how this guy couldn't even keep his hands off Athy.
"Do you just touch people like that? The hell is wrong with you?"
"Well, you looked harmless enough." He shrugged, wiping a tear, trying to calm his snickering. "Tame."
Tame??? The injured mage rolled his eyes.
"I didn't know you'd be so... jumpy," Ezekiel said with annoying mirth and smirk.
"I'm not jumpy! It was reflex!"
"Right," cocking an eyebrow, he gestured at the mess. "Let's clean that up first."
This guy... "No. You're forgetting who I am." The Magician of the Black Tower snapped his fingers and let his host watch as his trousers dried, as well as the floor, table, and leather sofa, and the cup placed back on the table. And he could also have snapped this insolent brat to oblivion just to prove a point, or snapped himself out of there to escape this discomfiture, but voted against both. Athanasia would renounce him with the former, and for the latter...
He still felt something was lacking, his concerns unsatisfied, and he doesn't want to leave prematurely. It troubled him. He doesn't know what he needs, nor does he know how to ask for it. He doesn't know the words. What he's certain of was that this person is the most likely to be able to make sense of it all. It sucks hard that he had to seek him out for his issues, but he needed a sounding board, and his social circle was composed of cowering weak-asses lacking brain and common sense.
Ezekiel sat stunned beside him. Lucas thought it was in awe of his magical display, but then tension was building up, that familiar ominous cloud looming above them, the already ill-lit room getting even darker.
"I didn't forget. But you did make me remember things." Ezekiel spoke in a vicious, harsh voice and was staring him down maliciously, a complete polar shift from his jovial mood earlier. "Is this how you did it? How you kept me away from her?"
Lucas glared back. "What of it?"
"Look at you. The most powerful magician. The things you pulled just to get me out of the way. And for what?"
What is up with this asshole? He's at it again...
"She's got you wrapped right around her little fingers," Ezekiel goaded. A dam of blood broke and flooded Lucas' ears. "I bet you secretly liked it though, I know I would." He leaned into his ear and whispered, "I wonder what other parts of you she had wrapped her fingers on—"
With a guttural outburst, his fist flew and landed somewhere near Ezekiel's mouth, the impact collapsing him on the sofa cushion.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" His head was spinning, his vision blurring, his ears buzzing. Lucas hovered above him as the injured man laid flat on his back, a thin dark veil from the assaulter's shadow fell on his busted lip, his long black hair draped over him. He examined his pained expression and crunched his eyebrows.
I don't understand... "What do you want fro—?"
Then Ezekiel struck him, his knuckles chafing the skin of his left cheekbone. Lucas saw him lunge but wasn't able to react quick enough. The brunt force toppled him backward, his spine hit the armrest.
"I wanted to ruin you!" The professor snarled low, dark, and indignant. He spat and wiped the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand. "...But who am I before the Magician of the Tower?" Dilated pupils beneath long lead lashes bore raw hurt, hate, and his sheer powerlessness, and it unnerved the mage to his core. But Lucas was never one to yield.
You dumb fuck! Are you not afraid of me? I could do much, much worse than just punch you...
"I should have ended you!" Lucas lashed back as he seized the man by the collar. His crimson eyes glowed with murderous mana, reflecting the same resentment in his countenance.
Seething, Ezekiel grabbed the magician's robes by the neck, pulling him closer, their noses almost touching.
"Then why didn't you?!" Ezekiel growled loud and deafening. His jaw clenched and his fists trembled, struggling to breathe the same air, both of them panting hard and heavy.
Is this still about that?
Lucas was wrong about him. He thought he was moving on just fine, but it seems his visceral wound has not scarred yet, the one inflicted throughout the years of pining, punctured repeatedly each time before it got the chance to heal, now festering and reeking with rot.
"Why don't you?" The dare almost a whisper.
Because she didn't want me to... She got me wrapped around her fingers, didn't she?
"I didn't need to," Lucas muttered a half-truth. "But if you want me to..."
"...Ask me again in a couple of days. I want to write a will."
"What the..." They looked at each other dumbstruck, then Lucas snorted, breaking the tension, and the other man sniggered in turn, the both of them finding fault in the futility of this farce.
Resigning, Ezekiel released a deep, drawn-out exhale, his breath warm on Lucas' jaw, fanning his hair, then unraveled his grip from his collar. The mage followed suit and disengaged.
What the fuck's wrong with the both of us? Unbelievable. Only 30 minutes had passed since he got there and he's already this drained. It's like there's this energy-sucking black hole that gets conjured up whenever they're together.
Lucas sat back, exhausted. Something hard poked his behind, which was definitely not part of the furniture, and then a dead weight was on his lap. Apparently, sometime during their scuffle, Ezekiel had managed to fully lay down on the couch, with one leg behind Lucas and another on his lap, both still with wingtips on. Seriously? Such a dick...
He scooted forward so his ass doesn't hurt. Ezekiel folded his knee in turn, to make room for Lucas to recline.
It's weird, seated between his legs. You can't avoid that stupid innuendo there, but hey, no one's gonna comment and no one's gonna know, so it didn't bother him much. If it had been on another day, an earlier time, or at a different place, a different circumstance, he'd probably throw his stupid leg off along with the rest of his body, send him smashing against the wall, then punch him some more for good measure. But with what just happened, here they were, and Lucas was too tired to bitch.
The storm had passed. As the adrenalin wore off, his knuckles began to hurt and the struck part of his face throbbed, and he mused over the last time he had used his body to inflict pain. Probably never... As he had powers to do his bidding for as long as he could remember. And when was it that he was inflicted with physical pain? Not considering the playful slaps by Athy, but the ones that bled like now. Probably never... As people had been afraid of him for as long as he could remember.
He peeked over at the beaten man from the corner of his eyes. He had guts. I hate it, but gotta admire him for it. The left side of his chin and lower lip were swollen and bruised, forming red and violet blotches. He had one arm over his eyes and the other dangled, his chest was still heaving, and his shirt crumpled where Lucas had clutched it, almost ruined, one unbuttoned and the other one gone.
The sight of him unhostile and slacked inclined Lucas to also relax. He slouched, sliding sideways until his elbow reached the sidearm, and rested his head on his hand, not minding how there's a shoe on his knee and that they're tangled like that. He sighed, closed his eyes, and emptied his mind.
A quiet stupor fell over as the most unlikely duo mold into this disturbingly comfortable placement, lingering until their breathing settled, steadying into a slow rhythm, and even long after.
—
The clock struck 3.
"Hey," the professor called, his arm still covered his eyes. "Can you take me somewhere?"
Lucas nodded to no one. "Just think of the place," he commanded not unkindly. He didn't ask, he didn't need to know.
Let's just give it to him before I leave.
"Ready?"
"Yeah."
With a snap, the dim room blurred, and then it was suddenly light, blindingly bright. Lucas fell into a crouch. He looked around as his vision adjusted. White petalled flowers swayed with the breeze, some crushed beneath them.
Lucas knew this place, and he looked over at Ezekiel still supine, unmoving, just lying there on the dirt, his eyes like canaries fixed at the cloudless sky, caged in nostalgia. It was a poignant scene, seeing him like this, knowing their history, and despite himself, his heart clenched.
"You brought her to me here, like this."
He must be remembering their first meeting as his gaze remained upward, just like how she came falling from the heavens crashing onto him, then in his arms as he caught her on the second time. Disappointed that it wasn't the gods who had delivered her through fate, but by the devil in jest. Like it was some ruse to play at his emotions, a karma undeserved.
Lucas dithered at the edge of penitence. He was not a completely soulless creature devoid of empathy, and having the reason of their acrimony stripped, he now witnessed the aftermath of his impulsivity.
He sat beside him, bent over slightly, and their eyes met, pulling the once Young Master Alpheus out of his trance, the Imperial Mage's shadow darkening his features when he eclipsed the sun. Ezekiel must have been despondent that the image of the Lady Angel looking down on him was replaced by the madman who started it all.
"It's not completely hopeless," the young master murmured, as he raised his arm and played with the mage's untied hair, letting the long dark locks slide between his fingers as they swayed meekly with the gentle breeze. "Just be good to her. She'll learn to love you, eventually."
Love.
Having lived hundreds of years should have made him wise, but those hundreds of years were just wasted, caused by the complacency of immortality, the confidence of time. Everything came easy for Lucas, there was nothing he wanted that he couldn't have, nothing too difficult that he couldn't grasp. Except for that.
"That... I don't even know what that means," Lucas whispered it to the wind.
But was it his fault fully? Was he ever even given a chance to know that? Experience that? And how was Ezekiel able to say it so casually, when Lucas couldn't even bring himself to think it. The word was lost to him, and what he didn't understand, he feared.
Ezekiel reached out his hand and Lucas took it, the skin on their knuckles raw and broken. He pulled him up to sit, and they came face-to-face. Lucas flinched at the familiar proximity as the memory from earlier flashed before him. It was of the hibiscus tea being poured into the cup and how it molded into its shape, the scent of burnt berries and cigar, the touch of his thumb as it glided on his cheek, and how the rest of his fingers almost tickled his jaw. What he saw whenever their eyes met, his scarlet holding his golden ones a moment too long, the distance too near, and way too dangerous. Just like now. Unwavering, bold, and sincere.
He felt the grip on his arm loosen and it was only then that he realized he hadn't let go of him yet, and he released him as if stung.
"Lucas," a stern utterance, his voice deep and hoarse. The purple on his chin now prominent against his pale skin, and he stared at his broken and bloodied lip waiting for the next words to spill.
Then his pulse was in his throat. Lucas realized that it was the first time the guy referred to him by his name and the way it was uttered made this big revolting mush of conflicting and confusing emotions, his mind trying to handle all that just malfunctioned, and the smell of fresh grass was suddenly suffocating.
"You'll know," the young man continued, as if for certain. His snow mop disheveled, brushed by the zephyr, peppered with soil, grass, and daisy petals that dissolved with the color of his hair.
At one point, he might have known this love, but of a different kind. Filial. And he ended up broken and scarred.
"Here."
A warm weight pressed firmly against Lucas' chest. Ezekiel had splayed his hand on him, and as if not looking at it will make it any less real, he settled his sight on the amber of his eyes and started counting his lashes, hoping the diversion would help subdue the violent thrashing of that organ behind his sternum— which he was sure in his chagrin, Ezekiel could feel beneath his palm— and he wouldn't dare breath as the expanding of his lungs meant more firm contact from his touch. He was trapped.
Lucas suddenly felt his face heat up and in a split-second decision, he shoved Ezekiel before he could see the flush, vanishing him back to where he came from, disappearing before he hit the ground.
—
"Did that answer your question? Or was that not what you needed...?"
He replayed their conversation over and over, trying to filter the answers from the questions—
"Lucas, you'll know."
But they returned to him as doubts.
How Ezekiel, of all people, could read him like one of the hundreds of rotting books on his shelves, the pages crumbling in his touch, turning to dust...
Lucas fell flat on the earth, crushing the daisies with his weight, his hair tangling with the foliage, and insects were probably hiking up his body now but whatever.
I don't belong here.
The meadow was white and bright, and he worried he might corrupt the place with his darkness seeping and burying in the ground, seeding his desolation.
The sky was clear blue and dazzling. His eyes hurt. He looked away. He grazed his fingers on his birthmark and winced at the sore, bruised flesh and bone. He healed it.
Funny how gentleness and violence were inflicted on the same spot, by the same guy. Funny how he assumed it was some speck of dirt foreign to his face.
Haven't you seen this mole before?
Come to think of it, their encounters were so rare and them so busy antagonizing that they couldn't have been bothered with the details.
It's right under my eye. How could you not notice it?
But then Lucas, too, hadn't noticed until earlier how his amber irises have flecks of charcoal, how his lashes were long and his brows a darker shade of gray, and how surprisingly pleasant the sound of his laughter was... and why the actual fuck was he remembering it that way?
There's a weird sinking feeling in his gut and he wanted to puke. Must be something he ate. Or drank.
Must be the tea.