previous part

The view was perfect (of course it was) and opera singers were astonishing (of course they were). Still, Hero couldn’t focus his attention outside of Villain. 

“Do you often come here?”

A smile hung from Villain’s lips. “If you want to get hold of me, stalking my box won’t do.” 

“I don’t have to stalk your box to know where you are,” Hero huffed. “I already know all there is to know.”

Villain turned his attention from stage to Hero. “Enlighten me.”

To be fair, Hero knew almost nothing. But he played a few rounds of poker in his life. And there was one piece of information he found out yesterday by accident. 

“The big things. The little. Do you often dine with the heir of Carter's at Ritz? Or was it a date?”

“Do I sense jealousy in your voice?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I only want to know if you got bored with superpowers and plan on destroying the nation’s economy, too.”

Villain put up his hands. “I’m done with economics since university. I hated it.”

“You studied economics?”

This could be valuable information. The number of personal details about Villain was close to zero. 

Villain only smirked. 

“We’re not old enough to reminiscent on the university days.”

“Then why were you–”

“I spent my dinners with whom I please, Hero.” This time, he sounded irritated. Defensive, even. He took a breath to calm himself.

“That night it happened to be Theo. For no other reasons than charming conversation and pretty distraction.”

Oh. Oh. 

Hero clenched his throat. “I’m glad Mr. Carter is not in danger then.”

“He wouldn't call you anyway.”

“Some guy knows the secret of how to get hold of you and I’m left to stalk your box?” Hero shook his head. “I might get jealous now.”

“Some guy is a multimillionaire who owns half of the land in this city. And an old friend.”

Hero raised his brew. 

“From university days? Did you study economics together?”

Villain stood up. “Theo did. Bet you can find an article. He made the Dean’s list.” 

Hero watched as Villain picked up his phone from behind the sofas. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a call.”

Hero hated how politely and genuinely-sorry Villain sounded. 

“It’s alright. I will order us some food. Champagne and caviar, was it not?”

Villain chuckled. “Sure. Make yourself at home.”

“You certainly did.” he gestured at the box. 

For all his act of being perfect-and-impeccable, Villain’s outdoor attire and all sorts of things laid carelessly all over the place. 

“I think I’m allowed to,” Villain shot him a smug smile before closing the door behind him. “I own the building.”

previous part

Hero touched up his tuxedo. Awful lot has happened  since the last time he wore it. But he put on the right cologne. He fixed his hair. He even dusted away the damn tuxedo and made sure it fitted just right. Still, among the golden chandeliers and cream of society he could not but feel like an imposter. 

He shot back to the last time he spoke with Thief. They took off middle-conversation, saying no more than He will be in touch. 

A staff member approached him. “Your box, sir?”

It was his biggest fear in those situations. Not knowing what to say. Saying the wrong thing because his childhood didn’t include opera outings with senators. Everyone eventually noticing that he doesn’t fit in.  

“Your box number, sir. You seem lost? I will show you to it.”

“Oh. Of course.”

He gave the staff member the slip of paper he found in his mailbox earlier. Mailbox. Had the Villain sent it himself? It was highly doubtful as he had people to do, well, anything for him. He should be more concerned about how Villaid had the address. Then again, it was not a bit surprising. 

The usher led him to a higher floor. He opened the doors with a key and disappeared. 

And there was the Villain. All high cheekbones, perfectly shining boots and the smug smile that never left him. Practically laying on the ancient chair, as if the box was his living room. 

“I’m glad you made it.”

“I wasn’t aware it was a no-option invitation.”

Villain laughed. At least one of them had a good time. 

With the tip of his shoe, he pointed at the seat next to him. 

“Take a seat. The show is about to begin.”

“You left me.”

The words echoed in the abandoned tunnel. Hero froze, then turned around to face Thief. 

"The cops would’ve got you if I took you with me. I saved you.”

Thief let out a dry laugh. “You let me stay there and burn. If not for Villain–” 

“Villain was the one who got you in that building in the first place.”

The words stung, sharp-edged against the damp air of the night. Thief touched their ragged scar, going from under their eye all the way down to the chin. The doctor (a discrete one, Villain assured) said the facial burn would stay. For good. 

“He was the one who saved me.”

“You don’t understand. He wants you to think that, to make you feel as though you owe him something, to turn you against me and-”

“Can you hear yourself?”

He met Thief’s disbelieved gaze, their jaw clenched hard. Too late, Hero thought. Congratulations. 

“He will not help you.”

Thief snickered. “Neither will you.”

Hero opened their mouth. He will hurt you, he will use you, he will use you against me, he will- 

“He asked me to give you his kindest regards.” 

Hero could feel his knees go weak. Something heavy fell in his chest.

“Did he threaten you?”

“He didn’t have to.”

 A fleeting memory of Villain’s careless laugh. He always loved cruel games. 

It was the night of the dead and the wicked when Hero found himself knocking on the black-wooden doors of Villain's mansion. Rain-soaked clothes, he imagined himself looking rather dishevelled. He shot back to the last time he saw Villain, bloody shirt, perched lips, and Hero’s name on his lips. I’ll get you next time. 

The whole situation felt as real as the two seconds before waking up, when awareness of a dream being just that creeps in. Not once in his late-night fantasies was it him asking for help - always the Villain, crawling back like a stranded dog, with no other place to call home. 

A whistle of the wind brought him back to the present moment, goosebumps covering his exposed skin. The door creaked and for a fleeting second, he toyed with the thought of running away. Then he met Villain’s eyes. 

His ridiculously hypnotising eyes, dark as ash beneath the fire, giving him you-are-the-last-person-I'd-like-to-see gaze. 

Unbothered by the cold, Villain took his time to soak in the view of Hero and the raving lightning above them. He stepped back inside, doors left ajar. 

"I did not expect to ever see you here." 

His voice was coming from the living room. It was grand, probably too grand to even be called a living room, with enough space for Villain’s wealthy ancestors to host some balls. He gravitated towards the centre fireplace and dark sofas lighted up by candlelight. The smell of flowers in the storm and burned wood filled his nostrils.    

He sat in an armchair, identical to the one Villain had sat on, both facing the fire. Fire's warmth wrapped around Hero like a blanket.

"I would not bother you if it was not an emergency," he blurted out.  

"And what exactly is that emergency of yours?"

"I was in the woods when the storm...it was not safe."

Villain made the low muffled sound again and Hero could feel his confidence slip away. 

“Why were you in the woods, alone?”

It was too soon for that.

"I miscalculated my chances. You- You said once you owe me one." He swallowed, hard. "If you meant it, and you could spare me a room for a night or two - that'd be my one." 

It must have been a minute before Villain looked his way. "Follow me." 

---

"Clothes, any item you find here, you may use." 

Hero stopped him mid-door. 

"Does it not belong to-" Did the Villain live alone? "Someone?' 

Villain gave them a funny look. "It's a guest room." He said as if that was the most obvious thing. "Dinner will be served in twenty minutes." 

---

Dinner passed in an awkward silence. Afterwards, Villain went back to the armchair and buried himself in the book. Only as an afterthought did Hero realised the delicious food laid out so politely before him might have been poisoned. Villain glanced at him from his book.

"If you want to, there are books. It's going to be a rather long storm." 

"I do not like to read." 

That got his attention. Villain closed his book, startled. "What do you mean you do not-" 

"I get detached easily. Distracted. I don't like the act of reading, not- It is the knowledge I am interested in. This sort of knowledge I prefer someone to tell me." 

“If that’s your way of asking me to entertain you, the answer’s no.”

"I did not mean-"

The Villain raised his brews.

"Okay, maybe I did," Hero huffed. "I hadn't had a pleasant conversation in ages. Or any conversation for that matter."

He stood up, facing Hero.

"And what makes you think," Villain hummed. "That I'd be a good company?"

Hero could feel the cold wall pressing against his back. Their faces were still inches apart. "Gut?"

"If a gut is what you rely on, Hero," Villain's cold hand touched his throat, "then you would not have come here."

He could feel his pulse quicken. He l could tell Villain felt that too.

"What were you really doing in here?" His lips were nearly touching Hero's ear. "Don't tell me you did not know woods are on my land."

Hero closed his eyes.

"Don't get closer, Villain." 

They managed to balance on one leg for a few minutes already. Surely they could keep up the appearance for a second more.

“You're scared I will see you blush?” 

Hero couldn’t play this game. Not now. "Why are you even here?” 

"You keep putting yourself in these situations." Villain studied them. "I think you're in trouble, come to help, and you just act like you fancy to sip tea in the middle of the night among ten unconscious criminals." 

Where was their Oscar for performance of the year? 

Villain made the first step anyway. Hero's natural reaction was to back up, their hand blindly finding the wall to support themselves. Only- 

"You are limping." 

"I put down ten criminals. You said so yourself.” 

“Congratulations,” the Villain snapped. “Again you risked your life to do something good. God, Hero. Are you suicidal?” 

The hero responded with a furious gaze. “Get out.”

“With pleasure. You’re coming with me.”

“What are you- don’t touch me!”

Hero’s protests did no good as Villain shoved them out of the room and into the parking lot. They put up a fight until Villain violently pressed them to the wall. They groaned out in pain. His warm breath tingled Hero’s ear. 

“It’s going to go my way whether you want it or not. You’re exhausting yourself. I only want to patch you up. Or do you have somewhere else to go?” 

They stopped wrestling then, partially because Villain was right and partially because there was fatigue in his voice that Hero never heard before. 

They got into the passenger seat, trying their best to hide the pain of a bleeding leg. The Villain started the car. 

Well, that’s awkward. 

You’re willingly getting kidnapped, dumbass. Of course it’s awkward. 

The Hero cleared their throat. 

“Fancy car.”

“Thanks,” the Villain answered bitterly. 

Half an hour later, Villain still looked on edge but the question was burning their tongue. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Villain didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the dark road ahead.    

“Why are you doing this? For me?”

Villain hit the brakes, tires squealing. He hid his head in his hands. 

“Who gave you the tip, Hero?”

They fell silent. 

“Exactly. No one. You were ready to go in with no backup, to…to…,”

Hero’s heart dropped. 

“I think you are safer with me,” he muttered, “then you are with yourself.”

“Can you just drive, please?”

Their voice was shaking. Villain glanced at them, opened his mouth, then shut it. 

“Oh darling, you did not know? [Lover] sold you out.” 

The Hero just stared. The Villain had done many monstrous things in the past, but lying was not like him. Their world was spinning, clothes clinging to their body, wound in stomach growing more painful and bloody. 

The Hero backed up until their back hit the cold-stone wall. 

Three steps were the farthest they could distance themselves from the Villain. 

“It’s sweet, really. How you never suspected anything. You’ve always been so loyal.”

“Fuck you.”

It came out weaker than the Hero meant it. 

“Later, perhaps.” He smiled and looked around the cell. “I wonder now, what if I left you here alone for some time?”

Their heart dropped. The Villain seemed to notice, his face brightening up at the idea. “A month? That’s not enough, I think. Half a year, what do you think?”

“You don’t have enough patience.”

“Touché.”

The Villain kneeled next to them, watching the paddle of blood grow bigger. “Your loyalty is childish.”

Just when the Hero was going to repeat another Fuck you, the Villain added, 

“Did you really think you were the only one here?”

Hero stopped, their body going perfectly still. 

The room was overtaken with darkness, oddly heavy in that full-moon light. Through open windows the wind crept in like a warning whistle, sending chills down Hero’s spine. They must have imagined that voice. Heard too many local tales today. Could they forget to close the windows? 

Shakily, Hero went up to figure out the mechanics of the centuries-old wooden frames. They tried to pull them down, but the damn thing would-

“Moving into someone’s home without their consent, that wasn’t very polite of you, was it?”

This time, the tense voice was coming from behind their back. Hero felt something heavy drop in their chest. 

“Turn around.”

Hero did, their knees weakening from dizziness. Vampire stood inches away, all skin, and startling blue eyes. His face did not look old, like the tales said, perhaps only a few years older than Hero’s. 

“Ah, what happened?” he asked, tracing the ragged scar on their left cheek, going all the way to the jaw.  

Hero swallowed hard. “Nothing, really.”

“I don’t like being lied to.”

“Just a… bad day to pick up a fight.”

His fingers, pale and smooth, were pressing the skin around the nasty mark. The touch was burning their skin alive. 

Hero pressed against the window ledge even more. Their breath hitched when the Vampire cupped their cheek with his palm, as if to see how much the mortal skin could take. 

“Please, I’ll-” Hero groaned. “I’ll make it up. I wasn’t aware-”

“Why’d you stay in the only room with a cross then?”

“...What?”

“What did I say about being lied to?” Vampire tightened his grip. 

“Fine! I- I was afraid in case the tales they say- about you- were true.”

Vampire chuckled and let them go. “Touché.”

Hero fell to their knees, breathing heavily. The moon was casting its light on their forehead, shining with sweat. 

Vampire reached for their arms as if to embrace when the world swirled around them and Hero found themselves on the same floor, but in a different, grander room. Higher ceiling, fancy finishing touches, all that jazz. Inhabited, too. 

Vampire saw them staring at the balcony doors and made a tsk sound. 

“I’m afraid no one knows I’m still alive. And I don’t plan to change that.”

He circled Hero, taking his time. 

Their memory shot back to the tales he kept hearing in town, of disappearing young people, of corpses with throats massacred. Everyone knew vampires were monsters. 

Hero’s hands were shaking now, eyes on the ground. 

“My, my,” he murmured, “What will I do with you now, dear?”

“I…” they broke off, their voices embarrassingly frail. “I promise, I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“You wouldn’t?”

He stopped now. His hand grasped their neck from behind. It was vulnerable, their throat on display. Hero could practically feel his eyes finding just the right spot to bite his teeth in. Vampire noticed and faintly smiled. 

“This handsome face of yours might convince regular people, but you’d have to try harder for me.”

Hero felt their throat go dry. “Please.”

Vampire only raised his brews. 

“I will leave town at once. Go far away. Change my name. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Just please- let me go alive.”

“You are quite convincing. And distracting. Whatever I wanted, was it?”

They dared to nod. Vampire’s piercing gaze considered their profile, his palm holding their jaw with two fingers. 

Hero pressed his body rougher against the rooftop, the landscape of the night city stretching out behind Villain’s back.

“I am literally trying to put you in cuffs.”

Villain titled his head, smirking. “I didn’t know you were into that.”

“Besides,” He freed his hand and idly brushed Hero’s jaw. “In my imagination, you’re rather the one in cuffs.”

Hero blinked.

He used the moment to twist from Hero’s grip, clutching their hands behind their back instead.

“...What the-” Hero let out a hissed breath. “You have a lot of confidence assuming you’d be the one I’d break the rules for.”

“Aren’t I already?”

They felt Villain’s hot breath against their neck. He kissed them, his hands finding their way to Hero’s hips. They startled. It had never been like that - the sweet, intoxicating feeling taking control over their body. Fuck. They didn’t want it to stop.

"Hold me closer, our time is running out."

"You know it's half past nine. I have to-"

He turned around to face Adrien."Can't you stop the time? Just put it in your pocket and…” he sighed, resigned. 

"You know I cannot stay. Edward, my duties, they await."

He placed a kiss on his cheek. "But I'll see you in just a couple of hours."

"Be careful with Henry. The whole situation has been odd lately."

"I will," he sent a soft smile and disappeared behind the doors.

"Fancy seeing you here."

Hero looked up at Villain, barely conscious. They were curled up, their back pressed to the cold wall of the alley. The drizzle was mixing their blood and tears in one pathetic mess on their face. All they were thinking of for the past hour or so was someone will kill me.

And here was the Villain. Oh, the unwanted wishes.

"No words this time? No monologues about-”

"Just go on with it,” Hero interrupted. 

Villain frowned. "With what?"

"Don’t tell me you just came here to say hello?"

Villain let out a chuckle but only now began to notice Hero's trembling hands, reddening eyes, arms crossed around their stomach too tightly.

"You're not well."

"Fuck you," they retorted. 

"You don't seem in shape for that either."

Villain stepped closer and kneeled next to them, his fingers running with a strange gentleness through their wet hair.

"Drugged, weren't you?"

When Hero dropped their gaze, he sighed, "I know the look, Hero.”

“I can’t-” Hero’s voice broke. “I can’t move,” they finished whispering. 

“Does it mean you need my help?” 

Hero snorted. “I’d rather stay here, thanks.” 

“You’d rather stay alone, unarmed, unable to move in the alley in this part of the town rather than accept my help? I might get offended, Hero.”

They gave him a tired look. “The chances I’ll end up alone, unarmed, unable to move in your lair if I let you help me?”

Pulling A Thread, snippet #2

His thoughts consumed him so utterly he barely noticed Elliot going in and out the quarters a couple of times. 

He thought of the first time they met (officially), of the last time he’d seen him (exactly two months and eleven days ago) and, most fearfully he thought of all reactions he could expect tomorrow: Theo angry, slapping his cheek before a hello can escape his mouth; Theo cold and distant, treating him like every other guest at the ball, like he’s invisible. 

Theo, the last time, clenching his palms around his collar so roughly his knuckles were white and it hurt but he wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t let go. Theo sobbing into his chest, Don’t go, Nate, please. Eventually, Theo, half-laying in wet grass, barely noticeable shaking from the cold (or fever? Nathan would never know), and his face, earlier full of anger, now grimaced in pain. The thought of causing it was so unbearable Nathan had to close his eyes. You’re a coward, he thought, glanced at him for the last time, turned around, and ran until he was sure the echoes of Nate, I’m begging you would reach him no more. 

They haunted him eventually, voicing itself in the worst moments, convincing him If you’d only stay, Nathan, if you’d listen, we would both be safe. He looked around the room he was a prisoner in. Why did he ever think separation was the solution? 

Theo never abandoned him, not completely; a shadow of his presence would linger in the worst and best of times. Often he’d look at something that amused him and liked to imagine sharing it telepathically, always adding I miss you and in those fantasies, Theo wasn’t mad. He’d say I miss you too, darling as if Nathan was a lover in exile. 

“What else?” he told himself once he’d realized he’s doing it again, “You expect him to spend hours looking out at the sea in melancholy?”

But finally, the day came. They had gotten into the palace with no problems and when the chamberlain announced them, Theo was in sight. His head turned around at the sound of his name and he coughed Nathan’s gaze past the bustling crowd. In the very moment he could read his eyes, Nathan instantly knew. 

Something was tremendously wrong. 

Pulling A Thread, snippet #1 

“You’re a hard man to find,” Elliot murmured.

Nathan froze as the back of his palm brushed his cheek; the touch was ghost-like: the cold glove sent shivers down his spine. 

“What- w-who are you?”

Elliot titled his head. “That’s sweet. But you don’t have to pretend, Nathan.”

He stared in horror. There was familiarity, of course, but he traveled a large part of the world, and met a great deal of people and it wasn’t uncommon. Then why...

“How do you know my name?” 

“You really don’t remember?”

Nathan shook his head, his eyes widened and so terrified Elliot could almost believe him to be another person. 

“You’re very…special,” he said circling him, his touch following Nathan's shoulder, clavicle, then throat. 

“I need your help.”

“Can I refuse?”

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question. You will help me.”

Nathan swallowed, hardly. “A threat then.”

Elliot tilted his chin before pulling back, abruptly. Nathan found himself reaching an inch closer to him as if his body longed for Elliot’s touch and he hated himself for it.

“You’re burning up, Nathan.”

He dropped his gaze, praying the flush on his face would fade quickly. He could almost feel the absence of Elliot's fingers and there were only a few people in the world who could touch him like this without getting burned. 

One was dead. The other wouldn't want to see him. The man before him was a stranger whose touch he remembered, somehow.

Winsted finally found him. In the middle of the bar, full of thieves and pirates, Ver looked different; a drunken smile hanging from his lips and half-opened eyes as if he just woke up from a pleasant dream.

"What do you think you're doing?" Winsted growled clutching his wrist so roughly Ver flinched and pulled back 

"Gathering information?"

"It looks more like getting the barista to sleep with you."

"You never named the methods."

Ver tried to sound casual, like everything was okay; like they were okay but he knew Winsted would see right through it. Yet he kept on pretending, hoping if he’d stand there long enough, Winsted said something. 

Tell me not to do it, tell me to stop this game right now and I’d listen, he thought but Winsted said nothing. 

“He woke.” 

The voice got to him before his eyes opened. He tried to get up but the black spots blurred his vision and he dropped onto his knees with a curse. 

He was on the ship he vaguely remembered from last night. It had to be an easy fight, the prince blamed himself. The only remains of it were some dry blood on the deck and he, bound and alone among the pirate crew.  

The pirate chuckled. “And speaks, too.”

It wasn’t until they made their way across the deck, eyes on no one but him, that he realized how much trouble he was in. 

“Elias. They didn’t tell me Vyan’s prince was so handsome,” they titled their head. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

He cleared his throat, “I wish I could say the same.”

Elias desperately tried to think of the right thing to say. The diplomacy lessons didn’t exactly cover encountering pirates. Powerful ones either.

“I believe- I believe a negotiation would be in place.”

The pirate hummed, considering the rope wrapped tightly around his wrist. 

“In private,” he added quietly. 

“My, my. So eager already? I must be careful with my charms.”

Before the prince had a chance to answer, the pirate nodded at their first mate. 

“Take him to my quarters. Gently. He’s quite precious.”

“You weren’t joking about it.”

The protagonist looked up. 

“It took you so long to figure it out, antagonist? What, you had a fixed deadline?”

The antagonist shuddered, his gaze falling all around the place. Something in his gaze the protagonist could even mistaken for pity if they didn’t know them better.

The protagonist stood up, their legs shaky. They moved the few steps the chains let them towards the antagonist. 

“What now?” 

“I didn’t really have a plan prepared for this…situation.”

The protagonist pouted. “Subtlety doesn’t suit you. Spit it out already.”

The antagonist finally met their gaze. 

“Why did no one come for you, protagonist?”

Two days after the deadline, the antagonist still hasn’t lost his hope. Maybe I made it too hard to find us, he thought, making himself coffee. Maybe they figured it’s all a trap, he tried to convince himself, closing windows, the smell of rain in the air. 

Week more and the antagonist got impatient. He craved answers, not nearly as much for his victory but because he was curious. 

“Perhaps I’m just lonely. Perhaps I did something unthinkable.” 

The antagonist shaken his head, “You have too high morals for that.”

“Funny to hear it from you.”

The antagonist gave them a frown so the protagonist continued. 

“You keep me here against my will, for some kind of trade or a trap, but it’s been, what, three weeks, no one showed up and you still didn’t hurt me.”

“Why would I want to hurt you?” The antagonist sounded genuinely surprised. 

“Cause- you- your-” the protagonist startled.