Archive of Our Own

The Dijiang had returned to normal.

Or, at least, it had returned to what the Endministrator considered normal.

Perlica would have strongly disagreed.

“... No.”

The Endministrator looked up from the datapad in his hands, seeing Perlica standing in the entrance to his office, her own tablet in hand, and a stern expression on her face.

“No?”

“No.”, she repeated herself.

“... Would you care to elaborate?”

Perlica folded her arms with practiced composure, though the slight narrowing of her eyes betrayed that she had anticipated this conversation already, perhaps before the last 48 hours had passed. She almost looked similar to a mother scolding a child.

“You have been medically cleared for exactly three hours.”

The Endministrator simply raised an eyebrow. “I have…”

“You have been back in your office for two hours and forty eight minutes.”

“I wasn’t aware you were timing me.”

“I began timing you the moment you stepped out of medical.”

“Perlica…”

“No.”

“I haven’t even asked the question yet.”

“You were about to request today’s expedition reports.” Hook, line and sinker. Infuriatingly accurate once again.

“... Perhaps.” It was almost frightening how well Perlica knew his habits by now.

“No.”

The Endministrator sighed in theatrical defeat. “You know me too well.”

“I know your work habits.” And there was the confirmation.

Across the room, Camille quietly turned another page of his book. He did not look up, to know whether or not he had been listening remained impossible to tell. Perlica, however, noticed the nearly imperceptible curve at the corner of his mouth.

“Operator Camille.”

“Yes?” He looked up, then, serious expression on his face once more.

“Would you kindly ensure the Endministrator does not overwork himself today?” As much as it was posed as a question, it was clear to the two men in the room that it was, in fact, not a request.

The man in question could only stare between the two Operators teaming up against him - right in front of him, too.

“I shall.” Camille closed his book.

The Endministrator immediately protested. “Now hold on-”

“You have already demonstrated questionable judgement.” Camille interrupted him - when did he begin to do so more frequently?

“I had a fever!”

“You worked until you developed one.”

“... Those are technically different statements.”

“They are related and consequences of your own actions.” And now Camille was using the Endmin’s own words against him, too.

He looked between the two of them, eyes squinting. “... Have the two of you been conspiring while I was unconscious..?”

“No.”, Perlica answered far too quickly.

“... That sounded rehearsed.” 

“It was not.”, she insisted.

Camille spoke next. “We simply reached the same conclusion independently.”

“... That somehow worries me even more.”, the Endmin mumbled.

Perlica offered one final nod. “I have reduced today’s workload by sixtythree percent.” The ‘from the initial half’ went by unsaid.

“My reports?” 

“Tomorrow.”

“... My meetings?”

“Rescheduled.”

“... The… requisition approvals?”

“Fiona.”

“... The… What about the… Personnel evaluations?”

“I completed the preliminary review.”

The Endministrator stared. He didn’t know whether he should be impressed, or down right terrified. “When?”, was all he could ask.

“When you were asleep.” She gathered the remaining folders from his desk before he could protest further. “I expect to find you resting at reasonable intervals.”

“I always rest!”

Perlica looked at Camille.

Camille looked back at Perlica.

“He does not.”

“I know.”

“Hey!”

“I accepted the assignment.” Camille reminded him.

The Endministrator let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Alright, alright.”

Perlica smiled. It was the smile of someone who had won before the fight even began. Perhaps, the Endministrator mulled for a brief second, he should assign her to combat strategies. 

With her parting words, she exited the office. The office door slid close behind her, for once. Silence settled almost immediately.

The Endministrator waited until the footsteps disappeared down the corridor before leaning back in his chair. “... I think she’s becoming quite scary.”

Camille reopened his book. “I believe she always has been. It just did not warrant showing so far.”

“... You fit in remarkably well around here.”

“I have noticed.”

The Endministrator laughed softly at the curt agreement.

The sound lingered in the otherwise quiet office, before fading back into the familiar rhythm of turning pages and the distant hum of the Dijiang’s engines, if one focused enough.

Behind him, the nature display continued its soft trickle of water, the faux sunlight a gentle glow. The Endministrator found himself appreciating the view more often than usual, more aware of the silence and the small sounds around him than he had been weeks ago. 

“... Tea?” The Endmin ended up breaking the silence.

Camille looked up from his book. “I was about to ask the same.”

“Then it seems to be an appropriate time for a fresh cup.” Just as the Endministrator was about to push himself to his feet, Camille’s voice rang out.

“No.”

“... No?”, he echoed, stopping in his tracks.

“You are recovering.” The Sarkaz was already putting his book aside.

“Camille… I can still boil water.”

“I do not dispute that or claim you incapable.”

“Then-”

“You may sit.”

The Endmin simply narrowed his eyes further. He wasn’t sure if Perlica and Camille had, perhaps, somehow, through some weird Arts, swapped bodies for a brief moment. “You’re doing it too,”, he pointed out.

“Doing what?” Camille didn’t even turn around, though the subtle twitch in his ears showed that the Endmin had his full attention. A small detail he had picked up on.

“The Perlica thing.”

A sound akin to a snort left the Sarkaz, before he collected himself again. “I am exercising reasonable caution. I believe it is what you would call ‘consequences of your actions’.”

Unable to suppress the surprise, the Endmin laughed, a sound Camille found he wished to hear more of. 

“Alright, alright. Can’t exactly argue with my own logic, can I?”

“It would be unwise to do so.” The amusement was audible in Camille’s voice. Endmin could picture the smile on the vampire’s face.

Camille moved without haste, but efficient, practiced, as he prepared their tea. Something about the way the man carried himself became oddly relaxing to watch, every movement possessed the same measured precision. 

The kettle was filled exactly enough for two cups, the tea leaves measured without needing to look - never too strong, never too bitter, always just right.

The Endministrator rested one elbow on the arm of his chair, quietly observing. 

“I can feel your eyes on me, Endmin.”

“Mhm.”

There was the briefest of pause in his movements, a faint shake of his head, before Camille proceeded to fill their cups. When he turned around, the curves of his mouth were lifted ever so slightly.

“You’re as meticulous with preparing tea, as you are with organising.”, unable to resist teasing the man, the Endmin spoke.

“... Display racks are efficient.”, Camille simply responded, as he set the tea cup down on the Endmin’s desk. Instead of returning to his usual seat, he leaned against the corner of the desk with a certain type of elegance that reminded the Endministrator exactly why he had been pressured into modelling before. He definitely understood.

“There it is.”

“There is what?”

“The gear collection.”

Camille took a measured sip of his tea. “I suspected you would eventually mention it.”

The Endmin grinned, this time, unabashed in his amusement. “I’ve been dying to ask. Did you think I wouldn’t notice if someone reorganized the racks in my own office?”

“I know you’ve been meaning to ask.”, the vampire responded simply.

“You knew?”

“You have looked toward the display shelves on seven separate occasions.”

“... Seven?”

“You paused longest before the polearms.”, the part of where it was Camille’s weapon replica, specifically, went by unsaid.

“... Sometimes I forget just how observant you are.” 

“It is merely habit.”

“I don’t think ‘merely' applies anymore.”, a brief pause fell between them, before the Endmin continued. “Thank you for the tea, Camille.”

“You are welcome.”

Both continued drinking their tea in comfortable silence, looking at seemingly nothing. Yet, the Endministrator knew that Camille paid attention to his every move, involuntarily at times, though he found it didn’t bother him. If anything, it was almost comforting, in a way.

After a while, the Endministrator returned to the reports Perlica had been gracious enough to leave for him. He set down the porcelain cup with a soft clink. There weren’t many, only four. He almost felt offended, strangely missing the looming pile of paperwork he had gotten so used to.

“I suppose I should make myself useful.”, he hummed, as he picked up one of the papers.

“You already are.”

“Hm?”

Camille looked at him, then, something unidentifiable simmering in his eyes. “The Dijiang functions because everyone fulfills their role.”

The Endministrator smiled to himself. “You know, a few months ago, if someone had told me you’d voluntarily spend your afternoons in my office, I wouldn’t have believed them.”

A soft sound escaped Camille, sounding a lot like agreement and contemplation. “I would not have believed them either.

“Really?”

“I preferred solitude.”

“And now?”

Camille answered without hesitation. “The office is quiet. The company is… agreeable.”

Something unspoken passed between them. A heaviness underlying those words, a different kind of meaning that neither wanted to speak out loud just yet.

The Endministrator’s smile softened almost imperceptibly. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Camille inclined his head, before returning to his usual seat, then, letting the man work.

The silence that followed was the same comfortable blanket as usual, though, it had become… warmer. Familiar.

The scratching of a pen. The quiet turning of pages. The soft clinking of a tea cup. Occasionally, one of them would look up. Not because either had spoken - simply to take in the other person across the room.

It had become another habit, one that neither had noticed exactly when it started, more like a gradual increase in awareness, just like there had been a gradual increase in companionship, until it settled into something more than coworkers and friends. Something that simply did not need to be labelled just yet. 

The reports did not survive even half an hour, before the Endministrator quietly put his pen down.

Not because they were difficult - quite the opposite, actually. True to her word, Perlica had sorted and worked through them before. What remained on his desk was little more than routine approvals, equipment requisitions, expedition schedules and a handful of operator evaluations that required only his official signature.

It was… manageable. Strangely so.

The Endministrator leaned back in his chair. “... I feel underemployed.”, he huffed.

Without lifting his eyes from the page, Camille answered from across the office, “I imagine that is the intended effect, Endmin.”

“It’s unsettling.”

“It is healthy.”

“I’m beginning to suspect everyone aboard this ship has been discussing me behind my back.”, he huffed again.

A brief pause in Camille’s body.

Eyes blinking once.

Endmin’s eyes narrowed.

Camille finally looked up. “They have.”

Silence.

“... I appreciate the honestly.”

“I thought you would.”

The Endministrator laughed, shaking his head. “I walked into that one.”

“Mhm, you did.”

It seems his humorous side was rubbing off on Camille, after all. Even Perlica’s.

Endmin picked up the last report, signed it, and placed it onto the completed pile with perhaps a touch more enthusiasm than he usually did.

Camille’s eyes drifted toward the stack, attentive as always. “You appear pleased.”

“Of course, I finished something.”

“There were four reports.”

“There were four reports.”

Silence, again.

“... Congratulations.”

Another brief pause.

“... Was that sarcasm, Camille?”

“No… I was determining whether congratulations were appropriate.” This man-

“And what was your conclusion this time?”

“Praise seems to improve your mood.”

For a moment, the Endministrator contemplated whether or not he should simply keep quiet, sometimes. Then he was contemplating if he could somehow manifest his Arts enough to vanish into the ground, or perhaps encase himself in Originium.

“... You’re too observant, sometimes.”

Camille didn’t respond, but the smile that tugged on his lips - more visible now than just the curl of his mouth - was even more infuriating. The Endmin simply shook his head.

He will, most likely, never know what befell Camille to say the words he did next.

“You have done well, Endmin. A task completed meticulously, truly.”

Did… Camille just praise him? Outright? Ah- 

“T-Thank you, Camille.”, he tried to respond, without revealing just how warm the words had made him feel, yet, even when he hid his lower half of his face with his hand, there was no way Camille did not notice the red tint on his ears, the way he averted his eyes.

Camille, with his keen instincts and observation skills, noticed. Of course he did. It made him feel… happy. Amused. To cause such a reaction in the Endministrator. He filed the information quietly away in his mind for another time, when it would perhaps come in handy once more.

The office fell quiet again. The soft pattering of water filled the office from the little nature panorama behind the desk, the soft hum of the Dijiang now a little more profound in the silence. 

Absentmindedly, the Endministrator rolled the sleeves of his black turtleneck up his arms. He had already pushed them up further than usual, now they were rolled up to his elbows, neatly folded over the previous roll to make sure they stayed in place.

The room was warmer than usual, another small detail that Perlica had probably adjusted while he was recovering from his fever.

His coat already hung slung over the back of his chair, for once. And still, he felt warm, but not in a feverish way. He felt… comfortable. Relaxed.

Camille noticed. Of course he did.

Though not because the movement itself had drawn his attention. Rather… because the Endministrator’s hands had become more visible. More than they were usually, since the man rarely, if ever, wore gloves.

They rested loosely on the edge of the desk, while he reread another report. 

Long fingers.

Steady.

Calluses were present. Small ones, concentrated around the base of the fingers and across the palm, exactly where years of swordsmanship would leave them.

And yet… Something seemed… Unexpected.

Camille lowered his eyes to his own book again. He read perhaps three lines, none of them remaining in his memory.

He found himself looking back.

The Endministrator turned another page of a paper he held, his fingertips brushing lightly over the paper as he read a sentence printed on it.

Curious.

Camille frowned ever so slightly. 

He had seen those hands countless times. They wrote reports, held swords, prepared tea, repaired things when necessary.

And yet… He had never really looked. Not until today, at least.

“... Endmin.”

The Endministrator glanced up immediately. “Hm?”

Camille considered his words carefully. “I have a question.”

“I’m listening.”

“May I ask something… unusual?” Camille didn’t know where the sudden hesitation came from. 

The Endministrator simply smiled, that same soft smile that he seemed to have reserved for Camille alone lately. “You’ve earned the privilege several times over already.”

“It concerns your hands.”

The smile widened. “My hands? What about them?”

Camille closed the book upon his lap. “They are…”, he searched briefly for the proper wording, a way of conveying his mind. “... unexpected.”

The Endministrator blinked, though he was clearly amused by the exchange. “Unexpected?”

“... Yes.”

“You need to be a little more specific, Camille. I have absolutely no idea what that means.”, the response was accompanied by a soft laugh. 

“You wield a sword.”

“That I do.”

“You perform manual labor during expeditions.”

“When necessary, yes.”

“You assist Engineering.”

“I’ve been known to.”

“You maintain your own equipment.”

“I do try.”

Camille nodded once. “And yet…”, his gaze settled briefly on the man’s hands again. “... they appear remarkably soft.”

The Endministrator could only stare at the man. It was definitely not what he had expected. “... Sorry?”

“I had expected considerably rougher skin.” 

Silence.

Then - a laugh escaped the Endministrator before he could stop it. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about?”

Camille looked mildly confused. “I have.”

“I thought something was wrong, the way you were so hesitant to bring it up at first.”

“There is nothing wrong…”

The Endmin laughed again. Something about the way Camille was almost shy about asking before was incredibly endearing to him. “You’ve just been… wondering?”

“I have.”

The Endministrator leaned forward onto the desk, elbows on the surface, his chin resting on one palm. “Well. I don’t think anyone ever complimented my hands before.”

“It was not intended as a compliment.”

“I know.”

“... Though perhaps it should be one.” Camille inclined his head, “I merely found the observation inconsistent.”

“Hm, with reality?” The Endmin asked, curious now as well, always curious as to what was going on in the Sarkaz’s head.

“With expectations.”

The Endministrator looked down at his own hands, then, flexing them experimentally. “I suppose I do take care of them.”

Camille simply listened.

“When one spends as much time writing as fighting… dry skin becomes annoying. I need them in good shape, after all.”, he explained further.

“So you maintain them?”

“I have creams.”

Camille blinked once. He did not expect that, somehow, for some reason. “Creams.”

“The glamorous side of being the Endministrator, I suppose.” He looked at Camille again, amusement written across his face. “You don’t look convinced.”

“I did not realise swordsmen concerned themselves with moisturizers.”

The Endministrator laughed hard enough that he had to set his cup down before he spilled it, after being about to take a sip. “I promise we’re allowed to do so, don’t look so surprised.”

“I had assumed calluses were more present and preferred, somehow.”

The Endmin held up one hand. “These are quite enough. And I also don’t exactly swing a sword all day.”

“... You do not.”

“I mostly sign paperwork.”

“That, unfortunately, you do.” Camille nodded thoughtfully, apparently filing the information away with the same seriousness he reserved for mission briefings. Another habit, as the Endministrator observed, the vampire had developed, when it came to any information about him.

“... May I?”

The question came so casual that the Endministrator answered before realising what he was agreeing to. “Of course.” And even when he realised, he found he did not mind anyways.

Camille stood. He crossed the room with his usual measured pace, stopping beside the desk, rather than across from it, as he usually would. His gaze shifted toward the Endministrator’s right hand. “... Your permission remains?”

“It does.”

Only then did Camille extend his own hand. He did not wear his glove today.

The Endministrator placed his hand into it without hesitation.

Camille’s fingers were noticeably cooler than a human’s. The Endmin knew, of course, after those same hands had helped ease his fever, and yet, it was a pleasant observation. Even without consciously lowering his body temperature, the difference was immediately apparent, though not uncomfortable.

His grip was careful, never restrictive, in case the Endmin wished to retract his hand. Only supportive enough to hold the other’s hand while examining it with quiet, but burning, curiosity.

The Endministrator watched him with open amusement. “You really are investigating.”

“I voiced my curiosity.”

“You certainly did.”

Camille turned the hand over gently, his thumb brushed across the palm, pausing over one of the calluses. He could tell which specific ones were from what - the one on the palm of his hand from a steady grip on a sword, from years of practice and honing ones skills.

Another careful prass of his fingertips, cool against warm skin.

Camille seemed entirely absorbed by the task. “... Remarkable.”

“What is?”

“They truly are soft.” The words were spoken with quiet fascination and something akin to wonder.

The Endministrator smiled despite himself. “Would you believe me if I said you’re making this sound incredibly profound?”

Camille glanced up at him. “It feels important.”

“Does it?”

“It contradicts expectation.”

“I seem to be doing that rather often lately.”

“... You do.”

Their eyes locked in a different way, this time. Only for a moment.

Neither of them moved.

It was the Endministrator who eventually broke the silence, his smile growing just a little more playful. “You know, a few weeks ago you were curious about my ears.”

“I was.” Camille hummed in agreement, unashamed and honest as ever.

“Today, it’s my hands.”

“Correct.”

The Endministrator tilted his head slightly. “Should I be worried you’re slowly conducting a complete study of me?”

Camille answered with sincerity and without missing a beat. “I had not considered it in those terms,”

“Camille…”

“But it appears increasingly accurate.”

The Endministrator laughed again, warmth creeping into his cheeks for reasons he couldn’t - didn’t wish to - explain. “You’re impossible.”

“I have heard that before.”

“I somehow doubt people meant it quite like this.”

“... Perhaps.” Only then did Camille realise he was still holding the Endministrator’s hand. Gently, he released it. 

“Thank you for letting me satisfy my curiosity.”

The Endmin’s smile softened, looking down just briefly at the hand that had only just been let go. “I don’t mind doing so.”

“It is appreciated nonetheless.”

Camille returned to the sofa. Opening his book once more. He managed to read precisely one sentence, then stopped.

His eyes lifted - almost involuntarily.

The Endministrator had pushed his sleeves up even farther, while returning to what he was reading before.

For the first time since they had met, the cuffs rested above his elbows.

Pale forearms caught the afternoon light.

Old scars - long healed, faint enough that they almost disappeared beneath the skin - crossed one arm in thin, golden lines. They seemed to almost shine under the warm light of the office.

Camille looked away immediately. It felt as if he had just seen something he wasn’t meant to see just yet.

Then, despite himself… he looked back. His gaze wandered, just this once, he told himself.

It landed on the collar of the familiar black turtleneck that always remained perfectly in place. 

High enough to conceal his neck entirely.

For reasons Camille could not quite explain… he found himself wondering what lay hidden beneath it, just this once. 

Camille attempted to return to his book. He really did.

Though the ‘attempt’ seemed a little… futile.

The words remained perfectly legible, he simply found himself reading the same paragraph for the third time.

It was… unusual.

Ordinarily, once he had decided to focus on something, especially when it came to his books, the rest of the room ceased to exist, aside from the usual observations. It was a habit cultivated over decades of investigations, interrogations, and duty. He was a man of focus, after all.

The Endministrator, however, had become remarkably distracting to him.

Not because he was speaking or being loud - quite the contrary.

The quiet scratching of his pen drifted across the room, as it always did, punctuated every so often by the rustle of paper or the soft clink of porcelain against the desk. Despite finishing his reports, he still found ways to busy himself, things to re-write, to adjust.

Those were… familiar sounds. Comforting ones.

Camille had long since realised he enjoyed them.

His eyes drifted upward almost absentmindedly.

The Endministrator had leaned over another paper, one sleeve threatening to slide back down his forearm. Without thinking, he pushed it back up with the back of his hand.

The movement drew Camille’s attention in a way he couldn’t explain.

His forearms.

His wrists.

His hands.

Then… higher.

The familiar black turtleneck. It never changed. 

Whether on expeditions beneath the warmth of the sun, or aboard the comfortable temperature Dijiang, the Endministrator wore the same high collar without exception.

Camille found himself wondering why.

Not because he suspected anything, simply… because he had begun wondering about many things where the Endministrator was concerned.

The thought lingered perhaps a little too long.

“Camille.”

He looked up immediately.

The Endministrator had stopped writing altogether, his chin rested in one hand, amusement clear in those grayish-blue eyes. “You’ve looked at me four times in the last five minutes.”

“... Have I?”

“You have.”

Camille considered disputing the claim, even though he knew the Endmin was right. Instead, he nodded once. “I have.”

The Endministrator simply smiled. He had grown rather fond of the way Camille answered - honestly, direct, precise. Most people, once caught staring, instinctively denied it. Camille never did. “Something on your mind again?”

“... It would appear so.”

“Care to share?”

A brief silence followed. 

Camille appeared to weigh the question carefully. Just earlier, he had admitted his curiosity when it came to the Endmin’s hands, the man satisfying said curiosity with a simple smile and no hesitation. 

“... Earlier. You asked whether I was studying you. I believe… there was more truth in that statement that I first realised.”

The Endministrator blinked at him for a beat or two, then laughed softly. “I was mostly teasing, you know.”

“I know…” Camille hesitated.

“But?”

“... Curiosity has become… easier.”

The answer was surprising, to both. “Easier?”

Camille simply nodded. “I have spent many years teaching myself not to ask unnecessary questions. It was more efficient this way, easier to keep my mind honed and focused on things that mattered, especially as a Keeper.”

“And now?”, the Endmin hummed, interested in what had seemed to change.

“You indulge them…”

“I suppose I do.”

“You answer. Show me. You never make curiosity feel unwelcome.”

The room grew quieter around them, as if the Dijiang held its breath. Camille looked briefly down at his own hands, then back at the man across the office. “I find myself asking questions I would once have dismissed.”

Warmth crept into his expression as the Endmin smiled, genuine and understanding. “I don’t mind your curiosity, Camille. Actually… I rather like it. It suits you.”

Camille tilted his head in that way he had developed when it came to understanding the Endmin’s words better - wanting to understand them better, understand the man better. “You do?”

“Mn. It’s almost as if my habits seem to be rubbing off on you.”

“You are… difficult to understand.”

It elicited a laugh from the man, this time. “I’ve heard that before.”

“And you encourage questions.”

“I do.”

“You answer them.”

“I try to.”

“... Even unusual ones.”

That made the Endmin laugh again. He supposes that Camille did ask some rather… unusual questions, before. “Especially unusual ones, yes.”

Camille hummed thoughtfully, that small tug on his lips visible enough, like the Endmin’s laugh was infectious. If asked, he wouldn’t deny it.

The silence settled once more, thoughtful and soft. 

Endmin watched Camille glance up again, catching him at just the right moment.

Not towards his face.

Not towards his hands.

Higher than that.

To the collar of his black turtleneck.

This time, it got his own curiosity simmering beneath his skin. Rather than pretending not to notice, a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Camille.”

“Hm?” Camille looked up at him now, blinking, like he just caught himself staring.

“You mentioned my turtleneck before…”, instinctively, one of his fingers tugged ever so slightly on the collar of it. He could see Camille’s eyes following the movement, before focusing back on his eyes.

“I did.”

The Endministrator tilted his head ever so slightly, a trace of amusement in the gesture. Perhaps, if one looked closely, even the faintest hint of shyness. “Are you curious about my neck too?”

The question hung between them.

For perhaps a few seconds.

It was long enough for the Endministrator to start wondering whether he had embarrassed him, or if he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“... Yes.”

There it was.

Simple. Honest. Entirely sincere and so Camille.

The Endministrator stared. 

Camille, oblivious or simply ignorant to the effect his honesty had just produced - once again -, continued after a brief pause.

“You reveal very little skin.” His gaze settled briefly upon the high collar again. “Naturally…” Another quiet pause, like he was letting the meaning take hold between them, “... I have wondered.”

Silence.

Complete silence fell upon the room.

The Endministrator opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then, a soft laugh, embarrassed and flustered and amused all in one. “I really should have expected that answer.”

Camille frowned ever so slightly, eyes darting around the face usually covered by a mask, now adorned with a pink tint. “Was the question rhetorical?”

“No.”

“Did I answer incorrectly?”

“Camille- no…”, he rubbed one hand over his face, still smiling, feeling the warmth of his skin. “You answered perfectly.”

“I did?”

“It’s just…”, he looked back at Camille, amusement lingering behind his eyes. “I thought you might become embarrassed. I suppose I should know better by now.”

“... I see.”

“Or perhaps, that you’d deny it.”

“I would have been lying.” Camille simply stated, matter-of-factly, as he always does.

“Exactly.” Another moment passed, before the Endmin shook his head fondly. “You’re impossible.”

“It amuses me that you think that way.”

Now that made the Endmin chuckle now. “Only you could make admitting you’re curious about someone’s neck sound like you’re discussing expedition logistics.”

Camille thought about that, mulling the words over. “Should I have phrased it differently?”

“No, no.”

Blue-red eyes narrowed at the response. “Are you certain?”

“I rather like your way.”

Something soft crossed Camille’s expression, almost too fleeting to catch. “... I am pleased.”

The Endministrator rested his elbows on the desk, his full attention on the man now, as he finally put his pen down. “You know, when we first met…”, he looked thoughtfully toward the ceiling. “I’m certain we could barely maintain a conversation longer than five minutes.”

Camille nodded in agreement.

“And now…”, the Endministrator gestured vaguely between them, the space in the office. “... you’re asking whether you may examine my hands.”

“You permitted it.”

“That, I did.”

“You also permitted my curiosity.”

“Hm, I suppose I did, didn’t I?”

Camille looked down at the book resting on the table. “I had almost forgotten.”

“Forgotten?”

“... How pleasant curiosity can be.”

The words were so quietly spoken that the Endministrator thought for a second he had misheard.

“... When one is not punished for it.”, Camille concluded.

The smile faded from the Endministrator’s face. 

He understood. Perhaps not completely, not to the same extent, but enough. For someone who had spent decades hunting a blood relative, living more as prey than hunter now, every unnecessary question had likely carried risk. Every curiosity had required restraint. Every answer had come at a price.

Until now.

The Endministrator’s voice softened as he spoke. “You don’t have to hold yourself back here.”

Camille looked up at those words. “I know.”

“You can ask, I will answer if I can.”

“Even if it may concern something rather strange?” Camille added.

“Especially then.”

A quiet hum left Camille at that response. “II believe most of my questions would qualify.”

The Endministrator simply laughed. “They absolutely would.”

“May I ask another of my… strange questions, then?”

“Camille, you don’t even have to ask permission to ask me things anymore.”

“I would still prefer to.”

It elicited a soft shake of the Endmin’s head. “Go ahead, then.”

Camille hesitated - not out of discomfort, but from the familiar habit of arranging his thoughts before giving them voice, choosing his words precisely. His gaze drifted, almost unconsciously, toward the black collar once more. “... Does the turtleneck serve a purpose?”

The Endministrator looked down at himself, one finger absentmindedly touching the fabric once again. “This?”

“Yes.” Camille’s eyes followed the movement with an intense focus.

“Not particularly.”

“You wear it every day, even in warm weather.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“I suppose it’s comfortable. There isn’t some… grand mystery to it.”

Camille’s eyes narrowed once more, the answer not quite what he expected, not enough to satisfy that curiosity. 

“... No scars?”

“There are scars.”, the Endmin hummed.

“You simply prefer covering them?”

Another soft laugh. “Mostly. And honestly? After wearing them for years, it feels strange without one.”

Camille nodded slowly. “I understand.”

The Endmin’s eyes met Camille’s own. “You do?”

“I have worn the same style of belt for over twentyseven years.”

The Endministrator blinked. “Because you’re used to it?”, and with the hummed agreement of Camille, he added: “That might just be the most relatable thing you’ve ever said.”

The conversation fell silent after, the room once more basked in the quiet sounds of the ambience they had gotten used to, grown fond of.

The Endministrator found himself watching Camille with something akin to a quiet fondness.

Camille, in turn, looked at the commander with a curiosity he no longer felt compelled to suppress.

Neither of them could have pinpointed exactly when it had started, when conversations had stopped feeling professional. When evenings in the office had quietly become the best part of the day and when shared silences had begun to say more than most words sometimes could. Somewhere between cups of tea, paperwork, books and a new key, the nights spent watching one another… the line between colleagues and something else had blurred so gradually that neither had noticed themselves crossing it.

The Sarkaz had picked up his book once more, where he sat, read approximately two sentences and then put it down again in his lap. His fingers remained folded atop the cover of it, expression grown thoughtful.

“... Endmin.”

“Hm?”

“There is something I have been wondering.”

It surprised the man sitting in the office chair a little, how talkative the vampire seemed today, though it was appreciated. “I thought we’d establish that you no longer have to announce that.”

“I know.” Camille’s gaze drifted toward the screen projector in the office, then the Endministrator’s desk, before settling back on the man. “It concerns my people.”

“The Keepers?”

“Vampires.”

The Endministrator leaned back comfortably in his chair, almost as if he had been waiting for the conversation. “I’ve been curious myself.”, he admits.

Camille’s head moved again, ever so slightly, a genuine tilt of curiosity. “You have?”

“I’ve met Sarkaz before, but every branch has its own customs. It almost doesn’t seem enough of a word to describe such a variety of customs and branches.” He rested his chin on one hand, his sleeves still rolled to his elbows, pose relaxed but attentive. His smile became almost apologetic. “And, admittedly… the stories that people tell rarely distinguish myth from truth, when it comes to most of them.”

“I expected as much.”

“I was hoping you might.”

Camille nodded. “I shall answer if I am able, then. It seems only fair, after you had endured my curiosity so often today.”

The Endmin’s smile turned from apologetic into something more amused. “I suppose I can’t say no to such an offer, then.” One finger tapped slightly against the armrest of his chair. “The old stories, about vampires… they always portray them as creatures obsessed with blood.”

“... Mm.”

“They make it sound…”, he searched for an appropriate term, a way to voice what he tried to convey without making it sound offensive. “Instinctive?”

Camille’s expression did not change. “It is instinctive. But not in the manner those stories imply.”

The Endministrator’s interest sharpened immediately. “I suspected there was more to it.”

“There is.” Camille rested his gloved hand over his bare one. “Among my kin, blood is not merely part of the body. It is inheritance, memory, promise. It carries one’s lineage. And, as you know, it can carry power and be binding, often more severely than other times, depending on the Arts interwoven with it.”, Camille explained evenly. “It is why the corruption of blood is regarded with such gravity.”

The Endministrator listened without interruption, eyes focused, taking in every word.

“When a vampire speaks of blood…” Camille’s eyes settled upon the Endmin’s own, a gravity the commander had rarely seen simmering in them, “... we are seldom speaking only of physiology.”

The Endministrator nodded slowly. “So expressions like…”, his mind recalled one almost immediately, one that weighed the heaviest on him, “‘My blood will always be with you’.”

“... Precisely.” Camille agreed. “It isn’t simply poetic. It is a vow.”

The Endministrator smiled faintly at that, though he couldn’t deny the warmth that settled in his chest. “I thought as much.”

“You did?”

“I’ve learned to listen carefully when you speak. You hide your feelings remarkably well, but every now and then… you say something that makes me realise there’s far more meaning underneath.”

Camille grew quiet. He felt strangely exposed, after hearing that, gaining the knowledge that the Endministrator was paying such close attention to him, too. It felt.. Strange. Usually he was the one analysing. He contemplated his next words before he spoke. “Our customs are… old. Blood has settled disputes, forged families, established inheritance, bound oaths. It has been used in ceremonies, in mourning, celebrations.”

The Endministrator nodded along. “So your arts…”

“My arts stem from that heritage I speak of. It is valuable in my work as a Keeper especially, since it helps me track my targets more efficiently. It allows me to shape it into weapons, to traverse terrain easily in the form of bats. But my Arts themselves… cannot be separated from what blood signifies.”

The Endministrator folded his hands together. “You once mentioned you refuse to use your companions’ blood, it was noted in a report for combat evaluation.”

“I did.”

“Even with permission, you said.”

“Correct.” Camille had a feeling he knew what came next.

“Why?”

Camille answered immediately, his feeling proven right. “Because trust deserves restraint.”

A moment passed, before he continued.

“I could. But capability does not justify action.”

The Endministrator found himself smiling. “That sounds very much like you.”

“I…” Camille hesitated. It felt strange, to voice what he wished to voice, even though he knew the other man could probably already guess or read between the lines. “I also know what it means to have one’s blood misused.”, he ended up saying anyways.

The sentence was spoken quietly enough that it almost disappeared beneath the steady hum of the ship, the soft trickle of water.

The Endministrator did not ask him to elaborate. He already knew enough of Char, of betrayal and of wounds that had never properly healed. Instead, he simply nodded. “I understand.”

Camille appreciated that. The Endministrator could see it in the way his shoulders relaxed just the slightest bit. There were no further questions, no attempts to dig up memories better left untouched. There was only understanding and knowledge gained - it reminded them both exactly why they had begun speaking more freely in the first place.

The conversation drifted back to the original topic, then, back into safer waters.

“You know,”, the Endmin began, his gaze focused at seemingly nothing further away into the room across from him, yet a soft smile danced on his lips. “I think you unintentionally made vampires considerably more interesting.”

“I have merely explained.”

“You make it sound like blood is… almost sacred.”

Camille, once more, answered without hesitation. “It is.”

The Endministrator’s expression shifted into something more… playful, mischievous. “Well.”, he reached absentmindedly toward the collar of his turtleneck once again. “I suppose that explains why you’ve been looking up here.”

Camille followed the movement automatically, only belatedly realising that this is what the Endmin had meant in the first place. “... It does.”

A quiet laugh, “I probably shouldn’t ask this-”

Camille waited, patiently.

“But now I am curious.” The Endmin’s smile widened. “So…”, he tugged lightly at the collar, “If I took this turtleneck off…”, tilted his head ever so slightly, “... would you suddenly be tempted to bite my neck?”

Silence.

The Endministrator did his best to hold back the laugh threatening to spill at the expression Camille gave him.

The Sarkaz, in turn, thought about his next words very carefully. Not for a lack of understanding, rather because the question deserved an accurate answer. An honest one. But it was also a question he identified as rather full of mischief.

A second passed.

Then another.

A third one.

“... It would seem…” Another thoughtful pause, Camille’s eyes locking with Endmin’s. “... tempting.”

The Endmin froze.

Opened his mouth. Closed it.

Warmth spread on his cheeks.

Camille, believing he had merely answered the question presented to him, continued with complete composure. “But I would never do so.”

And the moment broke, the Endministrator finally breaking out of his trance. “Why not?”

Camille looked almost surprised by the question. “Because I respect you. To take blood without invitation… would be an unforgivable violation of trust.” His fingers folded together neatly in his lap and he convinced himself it had no deeper meaning, certainly not out of something akin to nervousness. “My blood is yours alone. I have no wish to claim yours for myself in return.”

The office became impossibly quiet. The Endministrator stared. Not because of the words themselves, rather because Camille had spoken them with such complete sincerity that every trace of humor had quietly dissolved, giving way to honesty once more. His ears felt strangely warm. A soft sound escaped him.

“... Have I said something inappropriate?” Camille, furrowed brow and tilted head, asked.

“No!” The answer came rather faster than intended.

Camille blinked once. 

The Endministrator covered part of his face with one hand, the shade of his fingers paler than the pink tinting his face, laughing softly in embarrassment. “No… You didn’t.” Another laugh escaped him. “I keep forgetting that teasing you…”, he looked at Camille over the tips of his fingers. “... produces entirely earnest answers.”

Understanding slowly dawned on Camille’s expression. “...Ah. I interpreted your question literally.”

“Yes… yes you did.”

“... Should I not have?”

“No, no.” The Endmin smiled warmly. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

Camille relaxed again. “I am relieved to hear that.”

The Endministrator lowered his hands, now, though his cheeks still felt warmer than usual. “Though next time… perhaps warn me before you answer something like that. Or perhaps I should prepare before I ask such things.”

Camille considered it carefully. “I shall attempt to recognise rhetorical questions.”

“... I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Mh. Probably not.”

They both smiled at that. 

The conversation dissolved as naturally as it had begun. Camille reopened his book, the Endmin returned to the documents on his desk.

The office once again filled with the familiar sounds of paper turning and a pen scratching quietly.

Yet, concentration came strangely slowly.

Almost unconsciously, the Endministrator’s fingers drifted toward the high collar of his turtleneck. He adjusted it, then adjusted it again. It was almost as if he had suddenly become aware of it.

Across the room, Camille had reached the bottom of the same page for the third time. His eyes had followed every line. His thoughts, however, remained elsewhere. On trust, on promises, on warm hands and soft ears, on a black turtleneck. And the realisation that, somewhere along the way, his curiosity had grown deeper and bigger when it came to a certain man.