Chapter Text
×
“Sir, I can’t be your assistant forever. I’m thinking of resigning… so it’s time for you to find someone else,” Ekaterina suggested softly, eyes shifting.
The next election term was right around the corner. Childe hummed. “If you so wish.”
Job listings were posted the very next day.
A Miss Lumine Viatrix found herself sitting in the stuffy waiting room: white walls, white chairs, a crisp 60 degrees temperature. White, white, white.
When she was to be inevitably hired, a pop of color would be the first thing on her to-do list.
×
A softer blonde striped the older man’s ginger hair; it fell in gentle waves that framed his face. Childe was not a kind man, the direct opposite of Lumine.
Lumine, dressed to the nines in a Versace branded pantsuit, vibrant and colorful sat excitedly in direct contrast to Childe’s simple black suit and tie, a placid expression lining his face.
She talked too fast, words tumbling out of her mouth faster than she could think, and Childe could sense from her tone that she desperately seeked approval, head tilted up at his every word.
“So… did I get the job?”
The man said nothing.
Alas, Lumine was hired out of obligation, out of necessity. A fire to her eyes, a spirit in her words; gentle, delicate—initially, Childe wasn’t expecting much of her as an assistant.
But Lumine had outdone herself.
Every task was done with great success, immaculate attention to detail, and all with a pearly white smile painting her face.
(She had a very pretty smile, as Childe loathed to admit.)
×
There were two things that Lumine noticed.
First, the very first thing she observed: Childe was not kind. Nice, sure, with platitudes and a considerate smile, with a bouquet of flowers filled with lavender and daffodils to his mother and sisters every Saturday, with manners and a respectable demeanor—holding doors open, and saying his please and thank you’s.
But he was not kind.
Lumine studied the man’s face, a wrinkle in his forehead, lips pulled into a thin line of frustration. “Tsarevich still hasn’t given up on his foolish campaign for senator. As if he could possibly win.”
“Against you, of all people,” Lumine added.
“The problem is that he’s winning over some support with the bigger businesses in the area… scamming them, no doubt. A coward,” Childe bit out.
“What do you propose we do about him?”
Dark eyes glinted as they rose to meet Lumine’s.
“I may have a few… suggestions.”
“And I will carry them out to the best of my abilities, sir.”
As always.
“Oh,” Childe shook his head, “but you need to do better than that.”
“Is my work not to your satisfaction?”
“I need him to be out of the running—completely.”
An air of arrogance.
“You doubt my talents.”
Childe’s jaw tightened. “I need you to crush him under your heel.”
Nice, but not kind.
Second, he only had one soft spot: his family.
An interesting contrast—a cut-throat Senator willing to give everything up for his family. Frequently, Lumine had to schedule in his family plans between meetings and speeches; he attended school plays for Teucer, anniversaries with his parents, fishing trips with his older brother, shoppings and outings with Tonia, the list goes on.
Truly, it was astounding how Childe’s gaze softened whenever he looked at even a single picture of them. His words, sweet like ripe apples and laced with love and adoration, just for them.
Praise for them spilled like honey and Childe never had a critique to the family name. And whatever any one of them wanted—Teucer’s toy factory, Anthon’s geology collection, Tonia’s preponderance for botany—Childe could conjure at the drop of a hat. The man loved each and every one of them dearly.
(If only I could experience such love, Lumine thought privately.)
×
“Your suits are so boring.”
“They’re not boring, they’re practical.”
“The people won’t vote for a stick in the mud with a practical fashion sense. You need to switch things up.”
“Are you suggesting we go on a ‘shopping trip,’ as the youths like to call it?” Childe sarcastically made air quotes.
“Youths? God, you sound like you’re a hundred!” Lumine laughed—an airy, twinkly sound—like wind chimes.
“I believe I’ve made the wrong choice with my assistant,” he grumbled.
Lumine continued nonetheless, “But sir, I think it is time for you to update your wardrobe.”
“What, are you going to dress me up in offensively neon colors and jewels?”
“No, but you’ve given me some ideas.” Lumine tapped her chin.
A sigh, a thought, a roll of his eyes.
Yes, he could shoot her down, no doubt. Childe looked up at Lumine’s face, shining and expectant. And so… he conceded.
“When do you want to carry out your schemes?”
Lumine grinned.
×
Lumine took great pride in her appearance. The golden hair curled to perfection, the exact shade of her lipstick, the careful taps of powdered blush on ivory skin; every adjustment was made with careful consideration.
She was good at her job; she should look the part too.
(And, perhaps Lumine enjoyed Childe's stolen glances—a stare that focused on her countenance a second too long, the feeling of his gaze on her back.)
She started to incorporate more blues and creams into her wardrobe once Childe complimented the shade of her flower pin.
×
Lumine walked into Childe’s office, an ornate gift basket in hand. “I have a present, just for you!
“You can quit with the ‘presents,’ I know that they’re gifts from random companies.”
“Well, I just think it’s nice to add some spice to life." Lumine waltzed up to Childe’s desk, studied the array (or lack thereof) of stationery in his office, and made the executive decision to monkey rip it open. Childe scrunched his face in disappointment at the display.
“What? It’s not like you conveniently have a pair of scissors.” Lumine laughed, and gingerly lifted the whiskey bottle from the confines of the basket. “They splurged, I guess. It looks expensive.”
Childe sighed, and opened up a drawer. Picked up two crystal clear glasses and set them right next to the decanter.
Two?
"Drinking on the job? Didn't take you for such a rule breaker," Lumine goaded the man.
"You're going to have a drink with me, so I suppose we're both making some poor decisions."
Oh.
A development, perhaps?
"Can't say I would want to reject your offer. Let's share a drink."
Childe poured out an ample amount, and handed Lumine a glass. Held her gaze and took a sip. Lumine allowed herself a taste, burnt oak and smoky vanilla drowning her senses.
Childe spoke first, "Tell me, are you a proponent for the intricacies of an alcohol's flavor or are you just looking for the easiest route to intoxication?"
"I'm surprised you have to ask the question. I'm always looking to get smashed."
He raised a brow at the easy admission.
"Kidding, kidding!" Lumine chuckled, tapping her fingers against the rim of the glass. "Despite my disposition, I do quite enjoy the finer things in life."
"I see we share one thing in common."
She pouted, feigning hurt. "Only one? And here I thought we were like two peas in a pod."
"Perhaps we are."
Heat flooded Lumine's face, a pinkish tinge staining her cheeks. She blamed it on the alcohol: loosened lips and warmed hearts.
She didn't choose her next words carefully. Spoke earnestly, without any ulterior motives, "I… didn't think you appreciated my presence."
"Well, of course I do. Who else could I trust to assist in my work?”
Lumine let out a breath. Felt the flush of embarrassment heat her face. She couldn't even express why the coils of disappointment curled in her chest.
Thus, the line was drawn.
×
“I’ve noticed that you haven’t filled out your slot on the office birthday list.”
“And it’s necessary because…?” Lumine barely looked up from her computer.
“Well, we like to celebrate every staff member’s birthday. I can’t leave my personal assistant out too, now can I?” Childe stated matter-of-factly.
“If you so desperately want to know, you can dig through my employment forms. I don’t quite like celebrations… though.” She left it at that.
So what? Lumine didn’t like birthdays; specifically, her own.
It fell on the same day of her twin brother’s—obviously—but he was… gone, at the moment. She felt sick to the stomach at the thought of him, of his disappearance.
She kept her birthdate close to her chest, and simply didn't celebrate; she didn't mind. As if it's a crime to be overly secretive over one small, minor detail.
But when Lumine strolled into the office on one innocuous Wednesday, she was met with a single wrapped box resting innocently on her desk.
She tilted her head at its presence, rushing to study its contents.
Tearing at the simple burgundy wrapping paper, Lumine was left with a black box and a cream card. It read:
It’s not a birthday gift. Just a random Wednesday pick-me-up – Ajax
Interestingly, he used his given name.
She lifted the top, shimmying it off. Her eyes widened in surprise at the gorgeous necklace that sat in the velvet interior. 24k gold, with a single diamond inset in the shining star pendant.
“How… stunning,” Lumine murmured, lifting the necklace and clasping it around her neck. It suited her.
Childe peered in momentarily, without her noticing, the faintest of a smile tracing his face as she admired the gift.
Perhaps he should invest in other unexpected pick-me-ups.
×
It became routine for the two of them to share drinks and cigars as the work day winded to a close—Fridays, at 6 O’Clock.
Sunset stained skies, the curtain of night fell in drizzles against the backdrop of the scene.
Quiet conversations, gentle fingers tapping oaken desks—Lumine became quite used to Childe's drinking habits.
He had a preference for expensive whiskeys, cognacs, and brandies. Could take them on the rocks or left plain, but he savored the taste. Childe created a flavor profile within seconds of a sip.
Lumine could never have the talent for Childe's attention to detail, especially with alcohols, but she enjoyed picking out the notes of flavor described in the man's heavy voice.
Took a drink out of her glass, eyes drifting to Childe's expression. Studied the slant in his azure eyes and the slope of his nose, the freckles smattering across his face and the stress lines that traced his forehead.
Childe had endless stories to tell, and Lumine didn’t mind listening for a while. His stories ranged from those of his family member’s, to clashes with fellow political opponents, and even tales of glory, of old myths and legends.
“Never thought I’d see you of all people staying silent,” he mentioned jokingly.
Lumine supplied, “I only tend to be chatty when necessary; also when it’s not late in the evening. Besides, I… like listening to your stories.”
“Well, why not tell me your own?”
“I’m not that interesting, you know. When I was younger, I traveled, visited almost every place I could with my brother. We would’ve traveled more, but then a…” She didn’t exactly want to unpack her emotional baggage with her boss. “… personal tragedy occurred. A bit of time passed, I was sick of grieving, I had to find a job, and now here I am.”
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.
“Don’t be sorry,” Lumine scoffed. “There’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Still, even if you don’t want to divulge your personal life, I’m sorry that you had to go through it.”
“Maybe I’ll talk about it,” Lumine said tentatively. “When I’m at least five shots drunk and about ready to knock out.”
They laughed at her small joke. Childe continued, “I’m sure you have so many things to tell me of your travels.”
Her smile glowed in the low light. “If you want to listen, I guess I can recount a few.”
×
A package arrived on the office doorstep. Childe opened it first, unwrapping the paper carefully; his eyebrows raised at the contents.
"A painting?"
Lumine peered into the room with a grin. "It's a classic, sir; you should recognize it."
"I take it that you're allocating the budget sparingly.”
“I only utilize it for what is best for the campaign.”
Childe studied the painting once more. “The Tempest … by the Italian master Giorgione”
Lumine clapped her hands. “I knew you could do it!”
“Don’t patronize me.”
With a flash, Lumine appeared by Childe’s side. Tapped his nose; too comfortable, too close.
“You’ll live.”
A look of shock, a quick turn, and Lumine was back to reorganizing the file cabinet in the next room over.
Warmth, fire, heat: it bubbled up in Childe's chest.
×
Lumine plucked the cigar out of Childe’s grasp, taking a short drag.
It was returned with a smear of glossy lipstick.
“Pricey, hmm?” Lumine murmured.
Childe scoffed, inhaling the lipstick stained cigar. “Your makeup ruins the taste.” Peach scented, peach flavored, a bright hue of orangey-red.
“Just a dash of me with every smoke,” Lumine supplied. “You love it, I can tell.”
She was toeing the line they dare not cross. The man simply did not have a response.
Instead, Childe studied the cigar, musings plaguing his mind. His life was too vibrant, too vivid. Colors burst out with every step whenever Lumine was around.
(The fear creeped up his throat; twisting, painful, vile. To form an attachment is to be vulnerable, to be vulnerable is to experience loss, and loss means…
nothing: empty, void, abyss.)
×
The suggestion of dinner was not planned.
“Tonight? What, did your dinner date flake on you?” Lumine mocked with a grin.
Childe frowned. “I don’t recall you having the authority to reject expensive meals with me, your superior.”
“Ah, so you’re using your position to threaten me into going out with you.”
Childe popped his collar and turned to the exit. “It’s not a suggestion, my Lumine.”
“My Lumine?” she questioned with a raised brow.
Childe looked back, stated, without any hesitation, “Come with me, my delicate Lumine.”
A beat, a thought, an upturn of her lips.
She goes.
×