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Oddly affectionate, is what Joshua thinks of his new liege.
The Lord of Avillon, he’s… difficult to describe in his entirety. Something like soft blurry edges the first few moments after a surgery. Except without the throbbing ache, foreign feeling of yet another gut-wrenching artificial change made to his body.
Maybe it’s the feeling he gives off that is very specifically particular, a whole contrasting enigma unlike anyone he’s met in his near three decades of life. The very definition of chaos, so said the rabbitkin shamaness and he agrees wholeheartedly.
His previous emperor was like staring at a full moon close-up, intimidatingly beautiful and near oppressive aura that will consume you if you're not careful, always minding your steps or else. (And there was never an 'or else', Cesaire made sure of it.)
His new liege however, is a little bit more like basking in sunlight. Like a small ball of light to hold in your hands in a snowstorm. Not quite guiding but more like showing the way, more like clearing up the mist that has always plagued his mind.
Sometimes, he reminds him of an old nostalgia-invoking mansion in the recesses of his foggy mind, long buried under urgent orders that require fast action and faster thinking and even faster hands. He does not remember his childhood save for that vague piece, like grabbing at mist and smoke. Not the hands on his back pushing him away, not the faces of those who were once dear to him, not even a little bit of the particular twist of his gut at the time.
But then again the feeling of unease has always been there, hasn't it? He just got better at ignoring it.
Here in Avillon his job is still the same, he’s just stuck at a different colored desk, with different (louder) people and a slightly different palate of food and treats. Yet oddly enough he finds that it's a weird, very weird feeling, of being able to breathe easier here, even though nothing much has changed in reality.
What’s the difference? Back there it was just stretching files over an eternally messy desk, never emptied and snapped orders echoing down the halls all the way from the training fields. His desk is still piled high with documents, the echoing sounds of training haven't changed either, it’s still noisy as hell so why is there a difference between the two?
In a desk forever filled to the top with papers and documents, there’s a new fixture of a tea set for three, even if the office only ever has two occupants all the time. In a chair that was once standard issue, barely bearable on the best of days, is a chair modified to provide optimal support to his breaking back and a questionably cute cat plush pillow to accompany him through the wee hours of the night.
(It’s a lovely shade of lavender, smells like it too, ridiculously soft and for some reason made out of enchanted cloth that adjusts itself based on the surrounding temperature to be more comfortable, and for all that he’s grown fond of it enough to fight off any grubby hands, he will always still question what in gods’ names could’ve possessed the maker of this plush pillow to even waste such precious cloth to make this for him. That, and the fact that it had to be given the most smug filled face a cat could possibly have.)
Perhaps it’s the people here that changed the feeling? The Knights of Avillon are certainly a cheery bunch, much friendlier, laughter and joy all around and bonds glaringly stronger than most he’s seen in his little birdcage office. And perhaps, it was all made possible with him, the Lord of Avillon, in the center of it all.
It certainly does match the aura he gives off; charming like a soft lullaby, with words that touch your insides unhesitatingly, with eyes that look directly at you, into you, through you. As if seeing everything you are, and everything he sees is pleasingly loveable.
(Perhaps Joshua has always had a thing for god-like beings. Ethereal but corporeal, incomprehensible in nature, impossible in reality and so, so far away that he can't help but try to reach for them)
But being perceived so thoroughly… It unsettles him very much. Who are you to look at me like that? Why? What has he ever done for him to act like this? He furrows his brows with guarded second guesses, doubts, suspicion, a whole churning cocktail of unsettling distrust towards such openly obvious affections.
And yet, from the limited conversations he’s heard and seen of him, the most absurd thing was that the Lord of Avillon apparently thinks that he’s acting just like any other normal person would. As if loving strangers so wholly without exception, should be normal.
But Joshua is– was , a high ranking officer in the iron-fisted Gallus Empire for a reason. Reading body language is like breathing to him, next to his psychokinesis. He sees how stiff ingrained posture relaxes minutely around certain people, how his facial muscles loosen up and his eyes curve ever so slightly, how at ease he is around those people– around us , his knights.
And what a novelty it was. Us.
Joshua rolls the word around in his head like yet another foreign concept introduced when he was recruited. It still carries an odd air around it, “us”. Like holding a warm mug in winter, slowly diffusing into his weary hands. He thinks he likes this feeling.
It’s genuinely not hard to see his obvious tells of affections, and if Joshua has noticed the way he looks at him then many, many others of the Avillon Knights definitely have, given their time spent together has clued them in on Lord’s finer, more minute expressions. If any of them has noticed anything however, they haven’t said anything. Was it just limited to him? Or was he fooling himself into some narcissistic side he didn’t know about himself? Were his observations too biased? Why is there so much behind his gaze that it shook him to his core?
Surely.
Surely, it's only because he is useful, because that's the only thing anyone has seen or needed of him, no?
Gods above it hasn’t been so noisy in his head for so many long years, of course it had to start right after they unfurled the Magician Cesaire’s elaborate spells—
Life was simpler back then, when he never had to think about the consequences of his actions. When he was only part of the process, one segment in the most pointless chain of command known to man. "Follow orders," they said and he did and he did them perfectly. It was so much easier than second guessing his thoughts at every turn.
It’s already strange enough how they readily accept former enemies into their ranks that at this point it seems like they’re keeping a trade secret among themselves. It’s the only way they could ever be so friendly towards him, one of their strongest (former) enemies.
Weren’t they scared of him coming to spy on them on the Emperor's orders? Why aren't they more guarded and suspicious? Avillon is strong, very strong but does that really mean that they can afford the knife aimed at their backs?
…Perhaps it's an unfounded worry. It doesn’t matter when they have Rouin Meijer watching their backs.
In the end, Avillon won and Gallus lost and now the Emperor is just barely trailing behind his new liege like a lost puppy and isn’t that shocking? A former godlike figure whose shadow seemed to cover the continent, now obediently following another seemingly plain leader of a small nation building back their glory from declining days.
Joshua inhales the crisp air from his hiding spot in the bell tower, feeling like he’s forgotten to breathe, drowning from the ocean of thoughts in his head. By his side is a half eaten lunch box that Mikhail bought for him from a random supposedly famous bakery/restaurant down an alleyway from the main road that he didn't bother to remember the name of.
Maybe he should ask him to bring him there. It was good. Really good. Even if it did go cold from how long it's been up here. The situation was so quiet and peaceful from the usual bustle that he accidentally fell asleep (note: passed out) in the middle of their conversation though, he'll have to apologize. And return Mikhail's coat.
He picks at the dark ranger jacket, heavy and thick and surprisingly fits around his shoulders snugly. He'd been hiding from a stray puppy called Fram and it's about time Rouin sent someone to hunt him down for taking more off time than he's allowed. He reluctantly dusts off his sore ass just in time as the person he sensed climbing up the tower reaches the last few steps before the doorway. He bends down to collect the wayward items nearly blown off and turns to wave off the servant Rouin sent–
"Ah, Joshua," a strikingly familiar voice greets him, "so you were here all along." Lord propped himself against the doorway with a hand, slightly out of breath from the trip up.
Joshua jerks slightly in surprise, bewildered by how casual he was about to treat the Lord of Avillon as tidbits of information flows in about how Lord doesn't have much battle spirit which is why he mistook him as a servant. A rookie mistake, his senses has dulled so much–
"Rouin sent me, as you could probably tell- heh." Lord continues on, still trying to catch his breath, unknowing of his racing thoughts from his daydream of the exact person whom he didn't expect to see here, also finding him? Sent like an errand boy? What?
"...Lord," he greets almost hesitantly. He grinds down the ingrained instinct to follow up with the flowery lines molded into him from years in Gallus. He knows how much Lord dislikes it and the frown he makes is too much like a needle jabbed into his side without warning.
Lord walks up to peer at him, standing much too close for social norms to dictate is polite, to which Joshua has a full view of the slight downturn of his lips and furrowing of his eyebrows at whatever he reads in his face. Joshua almost can’t feel his face from the intensity in which he’s scrutinizing him.
Lord’s hand comes up to rub gently at his eyebags, and Joshua almost stops breathing right then and there. His touch is feather-light, barely there and unbearably warm under the glide of soft worn leather, yet Joshua feels as if his skin was peeled right off from how much Lord’s touch burns him. It doesn’t hurt in the way that he’s used to, but a whole new kind of rawness that he’s never experienced, how could a single touch nearly tear his heart out?
By Gallus, this can’t be happening. Someone, please send help.
"You're overworked again," Lord tuts, his tone of voice practically dripping with concern and slight exasperation. Joshua can’t help but try his darnest to keep his quiet sigh of relief from shuddering on the way out as Lord’s hand falls away, and finally averts the weight of his gaze to the other miscellaneous items that accompanied him strewn about the bell tower floor. He notes the branding of the take-away box and quirks a small grin at the familiar bright label.
“I’m glad Mikhail got you some lunch,” Joshua’s almost surprised that he knew who brought him food. Of course he’d know whose coat his hand belongs to, of course he’d know that specific brand is whose favorite. “-but have you eaten enough?” Lord turns his terrible, terrible gaze upon him again. “When’s the last time you slept a full 8 hours? A day without overtime?”
Yes, he’s eaten more than enough, the lunchbox may be a grown adult’s portion size but Joshua has always been someone who doesn’t eat much. And no, he can’t remember when he’s last slept 8 consecutive hours, even if he has been stealing sleep whenever possible he's never going to be off Rouin's radar. Honestly he's desperately protecting the 4 hours of sleep Rouin even lets him have at this point. Gods above knows how much he would love to sleep the day away. A day without overtime? Sounds like a myth, or a horribly played joke, would Rouin really let go of him that easily? He’s well aware of how much Rouin loves him due to his insane work efficiency, thank you very much.
But,
He can’t just say all these, can he?
Joshua… doesn’t quite know how to respond to his nagging. It’s… heart-warming? In a way that makes him feel like his guts are about to spill out into the open despite all his efforts to keep it in. Lord definitely has that effect on people. He struggles to string a coherent sentence together in reply as some internal disembodied ticking sound of a timer is yelling at him to respond quickly before things get awkward.
“...that,” He squeezes out barely, vehemently ignoring the crack in his voice. He clears his throat, “Thank you for your concern, my lord.” Was it concern? It was, right? Concern is the appropriate term to use here, right? “But I’m capable of taking care of myself.” He ends curtly, as if to shut his straying thoughts and winces at how it must’ve sounded to the other man.
There’s a flash of something in Lord’s eyes. Multi layered and the only ones Joshua could parse was disappointment and embarrassment before Lord notes the lack of distance between them and takes a step back with a sheepish smile. He seemed a bit flustered? No wait, come back. Did he do something wrong? It was probably better to–
“Ah, I’m sorry if I overstepped my boundaries.” Oh how easily he apologized. “I was… worried. You weren’t doing so well the last time I saw you.”
It took a moment to search his memories. Ah. Right, that time in the plaza after he pulled consecutive all-nighters with the demon.
“I know how much Rouin overworks you and I know how much you help around in the Administration department and so… Oh, what am I going on about, making excuses for,” Lord seems troubled, damn his big fat mouth, Joshua didn’t mean to make this awkward for them.
“The new administrators have just completed their training course so Rouin should be willing to let you off for a few days. Just ask, I’ll definitely approve your holiday application form before Rouin interferes. But even then I think Rouin would have no qualms in you taking a much needed break and-” Realizing that he was rambling a bit, Lord stops himself and gives him a heartfelt smile, albeit a little stiff from awkwardness, “I hope your workload lessens soon so you can take a break, Joshua.”
Holy Leviathan, I love you.
At this point, Joshua stares at him like his brain short circuited. Arguably it just did, shocked into silence by the sheer amount of reverence in the tone of that... thought. Perhaps it’s the distance between each other but his thoughts finally flatlined, it seems. Thank goodness.
“Joshua..? Are you alright?”
“...Lord,” Joshua starts slowly. Lord, ever so patient, only tilts his head and waits for him to finish his sentence.
“Would you… like to accompany me out on a-” Joshua nearly bites his tongue clean off in an effort to stop himself from saying date . He clears his throat, “a trip. To a restaurant. Ranger Mikhail highly recommended me? On my next break.” He sees pleasant surprise bloom on Lord’s face and embarrassment colors his own face as he hurries to explain himself, lest Lord gets the wrong idea.
(But wouldn’t that be nice?)
( No , shut up Levinth, you’re not about to date your boss’ boss .)
He has never felt more pathetic in his life.
Eventually, with little to no effort of convincing, Lord accepts the invitation and even laughs aloud at his joke of being able to dodge Rouin’s attempts at chaining him to his desk with Lord chaperoning him this time.
—--------
You’re insane Levinth. Utterly besotted , out-of-your-mind insane . He mentally strangles himself as he stalks down the hallways to his office, ears feeling like it’s on fire. He did not come to Avillon to find a spouse , god heavens above least of all the monarch of the nation that had bested his. He most certainly did not come here to chase after his shadow, hoping for some morsels of affection like an attention starved dog .
But, it didn’t change how elated he felt when Lord was around, didn’t it?
The thought sends him grinding to a halt in the middle of the hallway, roughly scrubbing at his face as if it’ll remove the vistages of the horrendous redness that permeates his cheeks.
It doesn’t.
He walks into the office he shares with Rouin and Joshua only gets half a beat to recognize the items on his desk before a bucket of full blown despair douses the heat burning his brain in the split second he looks up and locks eyes with the demon administrator of Avillon. Rouin greets him, and what welcomes him back to his personally made hell, other than his ever-present pleasantly droll smile, is a stack of documents piled higher than he can see the first page of the document on top.
Joshua tries very hard not to hunch his shoulders.
Predictably, he fails.
Rouin only flashes an unapologetic closed eye smile as his hands never stop scratching new words into parchment.
As Joshua sends his brain into overdrive killing the paperwork, Lord’s voice rattles in the back of his head. A teasing whisper into his ear, a parting phrase from where they split up after returning to the Citadel. An offer. An alternative to his pathetic invitation for a more personal, intimate setting. One that he knows full well the implications behind what Lord could only be suggesting when he said that.
What do you mean , think about it in your free time .)