Work Text:
Thursday
4:30pm
His last meeting had dragged. The target was maddeningly intractable, the client stubbornly unwilling to concede. Neither wanted to call the negotiation off, and Lucanis, caught in the middle, was left irritated and impatient.
It was the perfect time for his dose of sunshine and a bowl of risotto with osso bucco. He’d sampled every dish at La Piazza over the past month, but his favorite was the osso bucco. And he nursed a quiet hope that one day he’d be brave enough to order off-menu—preferably something bright, spicy, reckless, and named Xiqaa Laidir. Even now, with catering decisions finalized, he couldn’t stay away.
Viago was right; there was something special about the food here.
Maybe it wasn’t just the food.
“Oooh, scary expression today,” Xiqaa observed, reaching for a wineglass. “If your face were any longer, I’d be sweeping it up off the floor.”
“Work is…”
“A four-letter word, right?” Xi cut in. “If it were meant to be fun, the Maker would’ve called it something else.”
Lucanis sighed—not in frustration, as he had so many times that day, but in relief. Xiqaa never pressed, never pried. They just made a joke or an observation that put things back into perspective, walking him back from the edge of taking himself too seriously.
“Are you hiring here?” he teased.
“Something tells me you’d be a terrible service worker. No offense.” Xiqaa retrieved a bottle from the case beneath the far end of the bar—his reserved Castelo Montilyet—and uncorked it with practiced ease, pouring a generous glass.
Lucanis took his time swirling the wine, inhaling its scent before taking a long drink. The day’s tension melted with the taste of red berries, topsoil, and pink peppercorn.
“I don’t know how you enjoy those old reds,” Xiqaa said. “It tastes like the sole of a leather boot after stepping in dark cherries and walking through a particularly dank, leaf-strewn alleyway; then it’s left to ferment in a sock that’s seen things.” They grinned at Lucanis’ appalled expression. “Your face looks like someone’s giving you a blowjob every time you sip, though, so I know you’re not faking it. You like it. Pretty impressive.”
Lucanis swallowed hard to avoid spitting the wine back into the glass. He blotted his mustache with a napkin and composed himself. “If I had a functioning emotional interface, I might take that as a compliment. Or an invitation.”
Xiqaa leaned on the bar, chin in hand, eyes glinting. Pale lilac, rimmed in grey—unusual, arresting. Lucanis could contemplate them for an hour.
“Oh, I meant it as one. And I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”
He gave them a look that was half amused, half concerned. “You’re cruel.”
“Cruel? I’m honest. You’re the one who flirts like it’s a tax audit.”
Lucanis chuckled, low and reluctant. “I’m not trying to flirt. I’m just... responding poorly to stimuli.”
“Exactly,” they said. “And yet, here we are.”
Snagging a rocks glass from the bar sink, Xiqaa poured themself a splash of the same wine, lifted it in mock salute, and took a sip. Their face contorted instantly.
“Maker’s ass, it really does taste like alleyway boot leather. You’re a sick man, Dellamorte.”
“The only cure is risotto and osso bucco,” he said. He could think of something—or someone—else that might cure him, but he wasn’t ready to suggest it.
Xiqaa laughed. “I’ll tell the kitchen it’s an emergency.” They entered his order, smirking. “How are preparations for the company party going?”
“As well as might be expected. Viago, the colleague who recommended this place, is—”
“Wait. You work with Viago de Riva?”
“You know him?” Lucanis raised a brow. “I wasn’t aware he ever left the office.”
Xiqaa lowered their voice conspiratorially. “He’s a legend here. Not the good kind. Orders lunch for eleven at least once a week. Never comes in person. His own order hasn’t changed in at least five years.” They recited it from memory: “Half-order mushroom ravioli, salad with mustard vinaigrette, dressing on the side, no walnuts, allergy risk.”
“Have you seen him eat the salad?” Lucanis groaned, running a hand down his face.
“Eat is generous,” Xiqaa said with a laugh. “What’s his deal? OCD? Why does he examine every shred of lettuce with a flashlight? They tell me he used to borrow ours; now he brings one with adjustable beam width and a lettuce-specific lens.”
“No one knows,” Lucanis said, smiling ruefully. “I know two things about Viago for certain: he’s handsome, and my grandmother has complete trust in him.”
“Both redeeming qualities,” Xiqaa said. “Ever try to get with him? Or would that be a professional conflict of interest?”
Lucanis flushed bright red. Xi took pity and didn’t press. They reached across the counter and squeezed his arm, sending a jolt of something like electricity through him.
“Are you certain you don’t still have that lightning charge?” He hoped his deflection wasn’t too clumsy. “Residual static,” he murmured, flustered.
Before Xiqaa could reply, the front door slammed open.
“Lucanis?!” Illario’s voice rang out across the mostly-empty dining room.
Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose. Just the person he didn’t want to see.
He addressed Illario without turning. “How did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t. Not exactly, anyway. Aydenne got buried under some request from fucking Viago, so he sent me to ask the manager—”
“—Ask the manager what?” Xiqaa interrupted, eyeing Illario with skepticism.
Illario hesitated, recalibrating. “Something about the wine selection. I wasn’t really listening.”
Xiqaa crossed their arms, leaning one hip against the bar. “You came all the way here to not listen?”
“I came here to avoid Viago,” Illario confessed. “And now I’m regretting that decision.”
“My cousin, Illario Dellamorte,” Lucanis said, waving one hand in Illario’s direction. “Illario, this is La Piazza’s manager, Xiqaa Laidir.”
“A pleasure,” Illario said. “At least I don’t have to explain why I’m here. Do you happen to have a list of available wines for catering? We also need fifty additional meals.” To Lucanis, he added, “The Seekers.”
“Mierda. No wonder.”
“de Riva is out of his tiny mind since the news.”
Xiqaa watched the cousins curiously. “First off, fifty extra meals? Are you inviting a small army you didn’t know about?” Without waiting for an answer, they continued, “What in the Void is a Seeker? Do I even want to know? Your jobs sound very— Wait. You do work for a legit business, right? Kieran will kill me if I’ve accepted a catering job for the Carta or something. We had that incident a while back…” They trailed off.
“I work for myself,” Illario said, puffing out his chest.
Lucanis chuckled. “I work for Advanced Negotiation & Tactical International Vacancy Alignment. We negotiate corporate alliances and relocate talent to more advantageous roles.”
Xiqaa made a face and mouthed Boring!
“Our business is improving our clients’ business,” Lucanis said, delivering the tagline with the enthusiasm of a man reading his own obituary. He took another swallow of wine. “The Seekers are an independent auditory body. Anything that even hints at scrutiny sends Viago into orbit. He’s the… what was it, again?”
“Senior Vice President of Corporate Resource Optimization and Workforce Strategy,” Illario recited, deadpan.
Xiqaa gave a slow clap. “I have no clue how you keep this shit straight. It’s weirder than a necromancer who moonlights in HR.”
“Acronyms,” Illario said, nudging his sunglasses higher into his hair. “ANTIVA. CROWS. One of those things a marketing genius gets paid six figures to invent while mainlining caffeine and huffing corporate existentialism.”
“For someone who works for themselves, you know an awful lot of their titles. And you’re here with a request to change the catering order,” Xiqaa observed. “Does your cousin get a glass of wine, Lucanis?”
Lucanis shrugged, taking another sip. “If he wants.”
“I do,” Illario said, pulling out a chair and sitting with a dramatic sigh. “My boyfriend is de Riva’s assistant. I work in the office one day a week. Let’s call it penance for a past mistake.”
Xiqaa looked intrigued. “Boyfriend?”
Lucanis sputtered, “Mistake?”
Illario smiled. “Which of those would you like me to address, cousin?”
“Boyfriend.”
“Aydenne de Riva—and no, no relation to Viago. He’s an intern on Viago’s team, but rumor has it he’s being promoted to Division Director or something equally unhinged. I’m waiting for the absurd title with bated breath.” Illario sniffed the wine approvingly.
Lucanis picked up where Illario left off, giving Xiqaa the impression the cousins regularly finished each other’s sentences. They seemed more like brothers, really.
“Illario was involved in a corporate raid on our board of directors,” he said. “He’s no longer part of the day-to-day, but he’s still expected to help out. Family business.”
“Cousin. Can we not air my dirty laundry in front of the help?”
“Keep talking. I’ll help your ass right out the door,” Xiqaa said darkly.
“Apologies,” Illario said, chuckling. “If I’m reading the room correctly, we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future,” he added cryptically.
Xiqaa poured themselves another small slug of wine and held their glass up to the cousins. “Many happy returns. To catering, company parties and surviving the Seekers.”
Illario touched his glass to theirs. “To corporate diplomacy.”
Lucanis raised his own. “To risotto as a coping mechanism.”
“To the inevitable HR incident,” Xiqaa added. “The help always likes something to talk about.”
“To Aydenne’s promotion to Supreme Director of Synergistic Enlightenment,” Illario intoned solemnly.
They clinked glasses.
“Blech. Still tastes like boot leather and dread,” Xiqaa said.
Illario observed, “That feels appropriate, given that plans for ANTIVA’s 50th anniversary party are already well underway.”
Lucanis sipped his wine without answerintg, letting the bitter tannins coat his tongue. The toast was absurd, but not inaccurate. He had never wanted to take the reins of his grandmother’s company, and even this “little favor” she’d asked of him felt too large.
It hadn’t been all bad, though; he’d met Xiqaa. Perhaps when the function was over, he could—
“Cousin,” Illario’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
Lucanis hadn’t even noticed the arrival of his food, he’d been so lost in thought. He blinked at Illario, trying to shift gears. He wasn’t sharing his food with Illario, no matter how his cousin begged.
“I know Caterina asked you to plan this event. What I don’t know is why, but I’d be happy to help. It will give me an excuse.”
“An excuse? What for?” Lucanis asked, watching his cousin fidget with the salt shaker.
“I…really like Aydenne. I swore off the family business, and that hasn’t changed, but…”
“You need an excuse to see him more often,” Lucanis smirked.
Illario pouted in a way Lucanis hadn’t seen since they were children. “Don’t laugh. I didn’t laugh at you.”
“What would you laugh at?” Lucanis asked.
“Lucanis. Be serious,” Illario said, looking pointedly at the tall elf serving food to another table.
Lucanis sighed. Illario really did know him best.
“Fine. It will help me out anyway. I didn’t really want to plan the party.”
His cousin grinned. “I’ll even let you take credit.” He looked at Lucanis’ bowl and the one set of silverware on the table. “Can I have—”
“No,” Lucanis said, exasperated. “You always want what’s mine. Order your own .”
Illario smiled. “Here’s to risotto as an excuse, not just a coping mechanism—and to Aydenne’s promotion to Director of Spreadsheets and Office Boyfriends.”