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Days had gone by since the little incident of Endmin falling asleep at his desk. Perlica and Fiona had brought it up with the Endmin in private, Chen even asking him bluntly if he was interested romantically in Camille, earning her a smack on the back of her head from a smiling Perlica.
Neither he nor Camille had mentioned it.
He had simply brewed a special blend of tea he came to use on special occasions, leaving it on the small table in front of the lounge where Camille always rested.
Camille had looked at him with something akin to a soft smile.
Then, they went back to their usual routine.
This evening was not much different from the usual evenings on the Dijiang.
It was quiet - as quiet as it can be aboard of a vessel of its size - but quiet in the way it had been after a successful day of paperwork and training. The engines thrummed steadily beneath the steel of the walls, somewhere deep within the ship. Crew members passed through the corridors in smaller numbers now, the nightshift having taken over a few minutes prior, conversations outside the office slowly died out after a long day aboard.
The Endministrator came to appreciate evenings like these.
Before, the silence would unsettle him - a lingering fear that something bad was brewing, that something could happen at any moment.
Perhaps it was the company he now had in his office.
But now, the silence felt comfortable, calm, warm, almost.
No emergencies.
No meetings.
No unexpected requests.
Just him and his paperwork, a mundane and routine task.
… Perhaps a little too much paperwork and too mundane.
He sighed, setting another completed report onto the ever-growing stack at the corner of his desk, before rubbing absentmindedly at the bridge of his nose, his mask sitting neatly on his desk. A habit he had slowly developed after his health stabilized.
“You have been sighing more often.”
The observation came from the familiar direction of the lounge he had requested all those weeks ago, the voice smooth, quiet, but loud enough.
Camille hadn’t looked up from the book resting in his lap.
The Endministrator smiled anyway.
“I didn’t realize you were keeping count.”
“I wasn’t.”, the Sarkaz retorted.
“You just happened to notice?” It was a challenge almost, friendly banter between them that he had grown fond of more than he’d like to admit.
“Yes.”
“I suppose that’s worse.”
“It depends on your perspective.”
The Endministrator chuckled under his breath, before reaching for his mug.
Empty.
He frowned at it as though he expected tea to materialize out of sheer optimism. He briefly wondered if there were arts related to brewing tea out of thin air.
Camille quietly closed his book.
“You forgot to drink it. The kettle is still half-full.”
“I did.”
“It is cold now.” Camille pointed out.
“... I know.” The Endmin’s frown deepened.
“You dislike cold tea.” It was more an observation, than a question.
“I do.”
Camille stood.
“I shall prepare another.”
The Endmin looked up at him with surprise, “You don’t have to.”
Camille didn’t stop in his movements. “I know.”
He crossed the room toward the small kettle tucked into the corner of the office.
The routine had become strangely familiar over the past several days.
The Endministrator worked.
Camille read.
One of them inevitably forgot about the tea.
Neither of them ever acknowledged that the office had quietly become their preferred place to spend these quiet evenings, accompanied by books, reports and the habit of sharing tea.
Steam soon curled gently into the air after Camille had emptied out the kettle, presumably in the coffee corner down the hallway, something the Endmin had barely noticed, as he returned to his reports.
For a time, the room settled once more into the silence they both seemed to prefer.
Then-
Camille’s head turned slightly towards the office door.
“... Someone is running.”
The Endministrator blinked as he looked up.
“What?”
“In the corridor.”
He listened. He heard nothing.
Camille tilted his head a little, such a small action that made something warm and fuzzy spread in the Endmin’s chest, before he focused back on the apparent sound the Sarkaz had heard.
“... Two people.”
Another pause.
“From the engineering department,"Camille added.
“... How can you tell?”
“The boots.”
The Endministrator looked towards the door, as if doing so might somehow improve his own hearing.
“I don’t hear anything.” He frowned, again.
“They are approximately thirty meters away.”
“... thirty….”, he stopped himself, “... you’re serious.”
Camille nodded once.
“The taller one has a slight limp.”
“... Camille.” The Endmin called out, Camille looked at him. “There’s no way.
The Sarkaz regarded him with mild confusion, “No way?”
“You cannot possibly know all of that.”
The slight frown on Camille’s face deepened, mirroring the Endministrator’s own. “I can.”
“... From footsteps?” The Endmin questioned again, still not convinced.
“Yes.”
He leaned back in his chair, thoroughly unconvinced and skeptical.
Before he could say anything else, hurried footsteps echoing became audible to his own ears.
A moment later, two engineers jogged past their office, one calling to the others about a malfunctioning relay panel further down the deck. The second man’s side dipped noticeably on his right leg. Both were wearing the engineering department’s official uniforms.
The Endministrator stared at the open door until the sound faded. Then, he slowly looked back toward Camille.
“... One of them was limping.” he pointed out dryly.
“So he was.” Camille hummed in agreement, pouring the tea for them.
“You knew.”
“I heard him.”
“... That’s absurd.”
Camille merely resumed settling the kettle back into its’ rightful place.
“It is normal.”
“It absolutely is not normal.”
“For me, it is.”
The Endministrator watched him for another moment, before curiosity finally won.
“Is it because you’re a Sarkaz?”, he asked rather bluntly. Yet, he knew Camille would not be offended. He was a man of directness as well.
Camille considered the question for a moment. “Partially.” He walked over to the desk where the Endmin sat, carrying two freshly brewed cups. Carefully, he set the Endmin’s down next to the seated man, before returning to his usual seat on the lounge with his own.
“My hearing has always been somewhat better than average.” Camille explained.
“... ‘Somewhat’?” The Endmin questioned him, taking a slow sip of his tea.
“For a Sarkaz, yes.”
“... Now you’re just making me more curious.”
A quiet hum escaped Camille, something halfway between agreement and amusement.
“It was honed further during my Keeper training.” He added to his explanation. It wasn’t quite enough to satisfy the commander, however.
“I thought Keepers specialized in investigations?”
“We do, but it helps.” Camille took a sip of his tea once more, leaning back slightly, face directed towards the Endmin.
“Most people underestimate how much information sound carries.”
“And you’ve learned to not underestimate it?”
“I cannot afford to underestimate it. Not in my line of work.”
Camille’s fingers absently brushed the pointed tip of one of his ears, like an afterthought.
The Endministrator’s gaze followed the small gesture, before he caught himself and politely looked away again.
Camille noticed anyway. He always did.
The Endministrator cleared his throat, looking faintly sheepish after being caught and taking a sip of his tea as his eyes averted Camille’s. “.... Sorry.”
“There is nothing to apologize for.”
“I was staring.”
“You were. It doesn’t bother me when it’s you.”
The Endministrator nearly choked on his tea at the words.
“You’re very direct.”, he pointed out after coughing a few times.
“I prefer honesty, yes.” Camille simply hummed.
“... So do I.”
A comfortable silence settled over the office once more.
The ship’s engines continued to thrum gently, barely audible at all to the Endministrator, and he faintly wondered how much of the noise Camille heard on the daily. As he glanced over to the man once again, Camille had already reopened his book.
Or rather, he held it open. His eyes lingered on the page long enough that he would’ve turned it by now, if he was reading.
“... Does it bother you?”, the Endmin asked quietly.
Camille looked up almost immediately. “When people look?”
“Yes.”
The Vampire considered the question longer this time.
“When I was younger, sometimes.”
“And now?”
“I’ve grown accustomed to it.”, his fingers rose almost unconsciously to brush along the pointed ear of one page of his book, like he wanted to add something.
“Curiosity is preferable to fear.”, he ended up adding.
The Endministrator’s expression softened. “I wish more people thought like that, sometimes.”
Camille met his gaze for only a moment. “I have found that most do not.”
The words carried no bitterness, only quiet acceptance. Neither felt the need to fill the silence that followed.
The Endministrator returned to his report, making it perhaps halfway through a paragraph, before giving up with another quiet sigh. Setting the pen aside, he rolled one shoulder experimentally.
A soft pop echoed through the room.
Camille looked up at the sound. “You’ve been sitting for too long.”
“I’ve been informed of that.” The Endmin brushed him off.
“Repeatedly.” Camille added.
“... By several people, yes.” The Endmin continued.
“I imagine so.” Camille hummed, his eyes narrowing slightly.
A smile tugged at the Endministrator’s lips.
Instead of returning to the report, he rose from his desk, stretching until another protesting pop escaped his shoulders. Camille watched the movement over the edge of his book, without speaking, but with the gaze he usually took on when he was analyzing something.
The Endministator wandered over to the lounge, then, a simple sofa that had, somehow, become just as much a part of their routine as the kettle in the corner.
He lowered himself onto one end with an extended exhale.
It was surprisingly soft, sitting on it for the first time. He could understand now, why exactly Camille liked spending his time here.
Camille glanced from the sofa to the abandoned desk.
“Your paperwork?”, he questioned.
“Will remain abandoned for another ten minutes or so.”, the Endmin finished for him.
Camille closed the book with a quiet sound, placing it on the coffee table. His gaze fell onto the Endmin with the same calm, unreadable expression, that somehow didn’t feel cold anymore.
“It seemed important.”
The Endministrator leaned back into the cushions, the sofa dipping slightly beneath his weight.
After a brief hesitation, Camille shifted as well - not away, but further into the corner of the sofa, so that they occupied opposite ends, rather than facing each other across the room.
It was a small thing. Weeks ago, the Endmin would’ve remained in the armchair. Now, it felt more… intimate, almost.
“... You know,” the Endministrator began, his voice softer than before, “I don’t think I’ve ever actually asked a Sarkaz about their ears.” Lord knows what had emboldened him so, suddenly. Perhaps it was the afterthought of Camille carrying him to his quarters, all those nights ago, or perhaps it was the way Camille always seemed to look at him.
“What about them makes you curious, Endmin?” Camille asked simply, head tilted slightly.
“They’re pointed.”
“They are.”
The Endministrator rubbed the back of his neck, searching for words, feeling a little warmer than before.
“I’ve never really thought about what that means.”, he didn’t even know himself what he meant with his own words, either.
A faint glimmer of something passed Camille’s expression. “They occasionally catch on clothing.”
The Endministrator let out a short laugh despite himself. “I suppose hats are difficult?”
Camille hummed, “They require alteration.”
“And sleeping?”
“I’ve learned which side is more comfortable.”
The Endministrator shook his head with quiet amusement. Camille mirrored the soft smile on his own lips.
“The cartilage is thinner than a human’s.”
“So they are more sensitive?”
“Yes.”
“To sound?”
Camille hummed again. “To touch.”
The Endministrator’s curiosity increased tenfold. “Does it bother you?”, he asked as he looked at the man, his eyes constantly glancing to the pointed ears half-hidden by Camille’s hair. This close, it looked softer than he expected, he noted absentmindedly.
“When unexpected, yes.” Camille lowered his head slightly, one hand lifting close to his own ear, before falling down again. His eyes met the Endmin’s with a steady look. “But trust changes that.”
The answer lingered between them, neither breaking eye contact. Endmin nodded slowly, choosing his next words carefully.
“I see.”
Another silence settled, more charged than before. Camille broke it, this time.
“You have been curious since we first met.”
The Endmin blinked, then smiled sheepishly once more, looking like a child with his hand in a cookie jar. “Was I that obvious?”
“You tend to look away whenever I notice.” Camille pointed out, amusement lacing his voice.
“... I thought I was being subtle.”, the other man mumbled.
“You were trying to be polite.” Camille retorted. The corners of his mouth softened, eyelids lowering just a fraction with something akin to fondness in his gaze. “If the curiosity remains…”
He turned slightly toward the Endministrator, enough that one pointed ear was now within reach. His gloved fingers reached up to brush the strands of his hair away, fully exposing it. “... I do not mind.”
The Endministrator didn’t move immediately. Instead, he searched Camille’s face. The twitch in his hand betrayed him to someone as perceptive as Camille, however.
A silent question hung in the air and Camille gave a slight nod.
“I don’t want you to offer just because you think I’d like to…”
“I do not mind, not if it’s you.”
The certainty and sincerity in Camille’s voice left little room for doubt. Only then did the Endministrator shift closer. Not much, just barely enough that he could reach comfortably.
His hand lifted with visible hesitation, slowing once more just before making contact. “Tell me if I’m doing anything wrong?”
“I will.”
His fingertips brushed the pointed tip first.
Soft.
Far softer than he’d expected, for some reason.
He traced lightly along the outer edge ,careful enough that the touch barely disturbed the strands of hair resting beneath the pointed ear.
Camille remained perfectly still. Only the slightest twitch of his ear betrayed that he felt every featherlight movement.
“Your hands are warm.” he pointed out.
The Endministrator hummed, fingers tracing the skin gently once more, before letting his hand fall back into his lap. “Thank you.”
Camille inclined his head.
The silence fell between them once more, though Camille looked at him thoughtfully. Endmin could tell he had something on his mind, but waited patiently for the other man.
“.... May I?”
The question was surprising and not at all what he had expected, as Camille pointed towards his ears.
“Me?”, the Endmin asked, tilting his head much like the Vampire had done before.
“I have never touched a human ear.”
The statement was delivered with such perfect seriousness that the Endministrator couldn’t hold back the soft laugh that bubbled up in him. “I suppose it’s only fair.”
He shifted a little closer, turning just enough to expose one ear. “There.”
Camille removed his red glove with practiced precision, folding it neatly beside him, before raising his now bare hand.
His fingers hovered for only a heartbeat, before settling gently against the rounded curve of the Endministrator’s ear.
Cool fingertips caused a shudder to run through him gently.
“Apologies if my hands are cool.”
“It’s fine.”
He explored the unfamiliar shape with the same careful curiosity the Endministrator had shown moments before, tracing its’ edge, before lightly brushing behind it, gently rusting the soft, black strands of hair.
The Endministrator inhaled a little sharply, a small shiver running through his shoulders - more noticeably than before.
Camille withdrew immediately. “Did I hurt you?”
“No…”, the Endministrator laughed softly, one hand instinctively rising to hide his reddening ear. “... it just tickled...”
Camille watched him for another second. He could see the exact moment the Sarkaz registered the faint pink on his skin, the reason for the shiver running down his spine. “... interesting.”
“Hm?”
“Human ears are… unexpectedly expressive.”
The Endmin’s eyes found Camille’s. “Expressive…?”
“They seem to be able to blush.”
“They do not.”
“They do. Yours are doing it right now.”
“... You’re imagining things.”
“They’re very pink, Endmin.”
The Endministrator reached for his other ear on pure reflex. Camille’s gaze followed the motion, his lips curling into a way too smug smile.
Endmin let out a resigned sigh, unable to suppress the shy smile tugging at his lips. “... I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”
Camille’s own expression softened ever so slightly, his hand twitching in his lap, just barely. “I suspect not.”
For the rest of the evening, the Endministrator did not return to his chair. And Camille did not put his glove back on.