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Luka wasn't unfamiliar with rapid, angry knocking at his door. The number of frustrated playthings he has running about is astronomical, after all. No, what was odd was the fact that the pounding didn't stop when he refused to indulge the temper tantrum and left the door firmly closed.
Imagine Luka’s surprise when the visitor kicked in the door. Luka actually put down his rubix cube. He refused, however, to get up from his living room chair, only turning his head ever so slightly to look at his impatient intruder.
It was not someone he had ever expected to see here.
“Ivan,” Luka said softly, the two syllables dripping in poisoned politeness, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Luka,” the black haired man replied in turn. His syllables remained as cold as the man himself, unreadable as stone.
Instead of answering Luka's question, Ivan approached as if he had been invited in, ignoring the busted door entirely. His cold gaze never left Luka's faux warm one as he got closer and closer. Only when the two were inches apart did Ivan stop moving. His mouth, a perfect neutral line, didn't betray a hint of whatever emotion or thought caused his initial destructive introduction.
Likewise, Luka refused to let a lick of his confusion or curiosity show. Ivan may have had the higher vantage point, looming with his full height to glare down at Luka, but he did not have the high ground when it came to conversations. That belonged firmly to the man seated comfortably in his chair. The two stared off for a long moment.
“What did you do to him?” Ivan finally asked.
Luka has never missed the opportunity to play with his food, and he wasn't about to start now. Ivan may wear the same role as Luka when the teachers or human RAs and assistants are looking, but it chaffs on the fanged devil like a cheap suit. Ivan hasn't learned to love it – he might never. Which made him all the more fun to mess with, as far as Luka was concerned.
“Be more specific, love.”
Not a crack showed through Ivan’s performance though. Not odd for the Rising Prodigy: of course, he would be too well trained to show obvious disdain.
“My roommate,” Ivan explained. “What did you do to my roommate.”
Luka clicked his tongue and posed in mock thought. “Who was that again? I don't keep track of everyone's room assignments, Ivan.”
There it was. A flicker of something akin to annoyance or hatred or animalistic violence danced across Ivan's face, gone in a blink. Even without perfectly identifying the feeling, its presence still brought a smile to Luka's lips.
“Till.” It looked like Ivan wanted to spit the syllable at Luka, yet he held back and kept his tone even. Someone less observant might even mistake Ivan’s behavior as normal.
Luka was almost impressed by his underclassman’s resolve. From what he knew, Ivan's weak spot was always his roommate, an Achilles' heel to an otherwise worthy rival. Ivan was too clever to ever get caught by anyone important, but the student body was too big to fully evade. And more importantly, students gossiped, and Luka always had an ear to the ground.
It's not like Luka hated Ivan. He just needed to make sure that in whatever comparisons teachers or faculty members made between the two of them, he always came out on top. That, and the fact that Luka needed to make his own fun in this hell, meant the underclassman was another random person caught in Luka's latest game.
“Till,” Luka repeated, as if he had never heard the name before. He rested a hand lazily against his chin for good measure. “Till… That's the guy with the gray hair, right? And that messenger bag full of papers and pencils?”
Ivan waited a full minute before imperceptibly nodding.
“I barely did anything,” Luka continued, struggling to contain a smirk. Finally, he took pity on Ivan, or perhaps he himself had tired of waiting and wanted to sink his teeth directly into his meal. Luka leaned forward in his seat, ready for the kill. “And nothing he didn’t want.”
The barb hit flesh like a butcher’s cleaver to a fresh slaughter. Something died in Ivan's expression, leaving only a hollowed corpse in its stead. Yet Ivan himself remained stone like – if Luka could just draw it out, break that granite facade—
With a quick shove from Ivan, Luka’s chair toppled over. Luka landed on the floor as gracefully as a newborn foal missing a leg.
Ivan pushed the empty furniture further away, letting it crash against one of the walls. Yet he seemed not to even hear the noise, having eyes only for his target. It only took one lunge for him to make up the distance, descending to the ground with purpose. Ivan’s hands pinned Luka’s shoulders in seconds, legs rendered useless under the underclassman’s weight as Ivan followed Luka to the ground.
Luka was well and truly trapped.
“Five seconds,” Ivan stated in an icy, clinical tone. “Answer me plainly, or I crush your windpipe. What. Did. You. Do.”
Hubris is a disease favored by mortals, and as much as Luka considered himself above his peers, he had yet to shed that particular affliction. So strong was this sickness that it was only as Ivan’s hands clamped around his neck that Luka realized that a) Ivan was not bluffing, b) Luka himself was in mortal jeopardy, and c) there was no way Luka could ever overpower his attacker.
Luka hated losing, but with Ivan no longer playing his game, there was no choice but to give up.
“W-wait,” Luka choked out.
“Are you going to answer me now?”
With no air left in his lungs, all Luka could do was hope his head spasmed into some approximation of a nod.
There must’ve really been a god, for understanding flickered across Ivan’s face. But the god must not be merciful (not that Luka ever thought otherwise), for Ivan hesitated for a long moment before letting go.
Upon his release, Luka himself wasn’t sure whether he was conscious or not. All he could focus on was restoring his breath.
As Luka’s coughing and spluttering slowed down, Ivan spoke with Luka's own brand of callousness. “Your answer,” he demanded.
It was unfair, truly unfair that an RA hadn’t come running over yet. Where was the old bastard? Maybe he was coming back from tutoring, or had a meeting with the faculty in the main building, or had just stepped out for a smoke? Was there a way for Luka to re-establish control, get Ivan in trouble or worse?
The underclassman’s hands reached forward, and any plan of justice left Luka’s head.
“Alright!” Luka shouted, his body unwillingly flinching away. How much must his frail, feeble form continue to betray him? Animalistic fear didn’t suit him. He was supposed to be in control, always in control.
Luka willed every nerve to obey, forcing a casual cadence between his lips.
“I didn't lie. He comes here often, you know. Asking for whatever I can spare. And… given my position, I have plenty to offer.”
Ivan usually operated at the level expected of a scholar, but impatience and anger were clouding his mind, making him dull. In any other position, Luka would've been overjoyed to see a rival struck low, but given Ivan's sudden preference for violence, Luka found the younger’s slow-wittedness irksome.
So much for subtly.
“Drugs,” Luka said very slowly. “That's what he wanted.”
“But Till’s not sick.”
Ordinarily, Luka might’ve scoffed, but he didn’t have the oxygen to spare for that now. “No more than the average student.”
Understanding was slowly trickling along Ivan's furrowed brow. “You… deal?”
How Luka longed to shrug, but the effect would be lost trapped here on the floor with little space to maneuver. That, and the fact Ivan might snap again, made the course of action a mere fleeting fancy.
“A little,” Luka said instead, trying to retain an ounce of his usual mystique.
The truth was Luka was very picky with his clients – he had to be, considering everything he was giving out came from his own personal stash, a list of pharmaceuticals meant to ease his own permanent medical misfortunes. Luka might like making a good impression, but he also still enjoyed having movement in all his fingers. Give away too much and his side hustle would become obvious as his body clearly shut down in some form or another. So, Luka reserved “sharing” his medicine to a select few, chosen for their ability to return the favor in some way and keep their mouth shut.
Ivan likely didn't want to hear the details though. He was enough of a powder keg already. As it was, tension was releasing from his brow and being redirected to his mouth, which drew into a deeper frown.
“Bullshit,” Ivan said, his tone wavering in conviction. “You did something else. He was almost dying – you poisoned him.”
“I didn't—”
Ivan pulled his fist back and aimed for Luka's jaw.
Luka braced for the impact, knowing that Ivan wasn't going to be convinced by anything he heard. The other student had decided what the narrative was. He was here only for revenge.
But the strike never landed. Ivan’s eyes had moved off Luka and to the doorway. More specifically, the figure in it.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Till asked.
Luka would've laughed if the past few minutes hadn't drained so much air and life out of him. This wasn't the cavalry Luka had expected, but he could work with it nonetheless.
It was joyous enough to see Ivan so thoroughly rattled. Perhaps their game wasn’t over yet, after all.
“You should be in bed,” Ivan said, rising to his feet and completely forgetting the other occupant of the room. “Let me—”
“I'm fine,” Till snapped as he stepped further inside.
That was debatable, Luka thought to himself. Till was looking paler than normal and a thin layer of sweat stuck to his exposed skin. His cheeks, too, were slightly flushed. Most of all, his normal steady and hard eyes lacked their usual heat and intensity, wavering in their soft lack of focus.
Till leaned to get a good look at the nearly passed out man on the ground. It provided Luka, even in his dazed state, to learn all that he needed to.
“You're alright, right?” Till asked, concern visible despite his casual tone.
“You're having a bad trip,” Luka stated plainly. The eyes always gave anyone away. “Something set you off, and your roommate jumped to conclusions when you couldn't explain properly.”
Till frowned, trying to hide his embarrassment. But the red of his cheeks stuck out like a sore thumb on his sickly skin tone. Till broke Luka's gaze, looking off to the side as he spoke. “More or less,” he muttered, his usual loud voice incredibly quiet and soft.
Luka never found Till to be particularly interesting, but he loved the way he brought out Ivan's ugliness. Even now, Ivan was stuck in place, watching his roommate with careful, haunted eyes. It was magnificent how want rolled off him in equal measure to the radiating hatred that Luka knew was aimed at himself. Till was a fantastic key, and Luka would make use of him until Ivan was out of locks.
“You could've stayed over,” Luka told Till. He spoke loud enough for Ivan to easily overhear. Or, more accurately, he spoke loud enough to not be ignored by Ivan. “I wouldn't have minded.”
It would've been better if Till’s cheeks had flushed and turned an even deeper shade of red. But his eyes stayed downcast, just barely peeking out from under his eyelashes. It was at least a view Luka could commit to memory and describe in great detail in front of Ivan (and witnesses) later.
“It's… fine,” Till said slowly. He spared a glance at his roommate. “I'll keep that in mind for next time.”
Luka smiled. What a wonderful word choice! And it had barely taken any prodding, too! Ivan’s gaze was on Luka now. But Ivan was also off to the side, all alone. Ignored. And no matter how much disgust Ivan tried to pour into his expression, it could not hide his grief—or jealousy.
“Next time then,” Luka said. He didn't bother to raise his head. In fact, he let it stay rested on the ground. He got comfortable.
Because as Till smiled back, small but genuine, Luka knew he had won.
Ivan might not have a scratch on him, but he looked as if he might fall apart at any second. Jealousy carved deep into that man’s normal rock-solid stoic exterior, leaving a mark that wouldn't be leaving any time soon. The golden little prodigy could be broken, and Luka would make sure it happened.
Till might've grabbed Ivan's hand and dragged him away, but Ivan’s eyes didn't leave Luka. His gaze was piercing, sad, angry, frustrated, despondent, and, most importantly, broken. What could be a better prize than seeing that raven haired imbecile knocked down a peg?
Maybe if Ivan’s grip didn’t leave bruises, or if Luka could find some plaything to fix his now broken door. But that could be dealt with in a few hours. For now, Luka merely enjoyed the rush of victory.