…

Kuja:

I have never seen someone like him. The only word for them would be resplendence. Always wrapped in finery and shining, always such a sight to behold. I feel like a rough beast compared to their grand beauty, but that makes it all the more thrilling. I want to be someone they can rely on. His highness could ask anything of me and I would see it done. I might even get a reward.

Xigbar:

Andrey hadn’t thought he’d been talking too much, that he was interrupting whatever this was that Kuja had brought him to, some important person or other’s voice droning on in the background. He hadn’t even thought the man was listening to him, not until Andrey had leaned over and down yet again to say something, when a well manicured finger was placed against his lips, startling him slightly.

Gaze flicking from Kuja’s face and, down and slightly cross eyed, to the offending finger, Andrey reaches up slowly. Lightly encircling a hand around the slender wrist, he pulls it away to speak.

“I was only making a suggestion as to how they could liven this thing up. Is this really that important? I’m sure there’s better things to do than listening to this.”

Truth be told, he was antsy. The walls and ceiling felt constricting, and there was a part of his mind that was painfully aware of just how much everyone was breathing. He clenches his fists rhythmically.

@areapermostcapricious

[Kuja is something new to him, something royal and fancy and he is torn between not wanting to get something so pristine dirty and wanting to drag him down and ruin him in all sorts of ways. Andrey likes to feel important and wanted, so being walked through fancy halls and events on the arm of someone like Kuja makes him feel worthy of the eyes that have always actually been on him.]

[naturally, part of Andrey feels and fears that he’s just a distraction, just a hunk of meat to bide the time with, something to be replaced when he isn’t found to be worth it. Kuja is an intoxicating being to him though, so even then he’ll allow it. It must be worth it, when he gets complimented or has a hand run through his hair. It must be.]

[Xigbar. ruh roh raggy, Andrey quite literally fucked around, found out, and caught feelings. He can tell the man is hurting, that something so, so heavy is weighing on him, can sense that same deep despair that thrums in his own bones. Something about the man makes something in his chest ache (as well as something in his… I mustn’t). It’s an awful feeling, wanting to reach out and hold someone but knowing you’ll never see them again afterwards.]

[messier feelings that can’t ever see the light of day aside, Xigbar is one of his closest and dearest friends. He would attack for him without hesitation. He wants to be wanted, but is thoroughly convinced as always that there’s a catch to be had. Andrey wants to make the man actually smile, not just a faux imitation and miming of joy]

Such a terribly abysmal place—but he’d not upset the politeness he’d been shown. Instead, to abate the boredom that threatens to peek over his current, semi-content mood, he rolls over, elbows planted on the ebony, fists cradling his chin, framing a perfectly-painted pout as he speaks:

“Sir Andrey, I do require some entertainment. If not here, then elsewhere,” and an exaggerated sigh of despair. “I would be ever-so loathe to leave you to languish without my company.”

Glancing over from where he had been intently sharpening the edge of a thin blade, Andrey cocks his head at his guest. Entertainment? He supposes not everyone can get their kicks from sitting and staring. Moving closer to the piano, he gets almost too close to Kuja, personal space never being something he could quite get the hang of.

“Is that so? Well, I do hate to be alone, I get agitated like that. Let me think...” he says with a hum, folding his arms and resting them on the piano top, pillowing his head on them as he peers up at the other.

There were only a few patrons in the bar, and not any of them being the more rambunctious ones. The floor was full of, albeit empty, chairs and tables, which would be too much work to move out of the way to show Kuja any flips. Andrey furrows his brow as he thinks, quirks his mouth to one side before speaking.

Despite his inhuman strength and massive pain tolerance, Xigbar could nonetheless admit that this sort of position is doing no favors for his bodily comfort, muscles and organs receiving quite the suffocating squeeze and joints bending at angles they hadn’t been particularly forged for accommodating. Thus, his next goal is to shake Andrey off—Andrey, whose fuse he can clearly sense is sizzling short.

“Alright then, just so ya know for future reference,” and he lifts his hands up, to encircle his palms around the arms that bind his neck, “I wasn’t goin’ easy on ya when I did this—”

The way in which Xigbar snaps his back from its painfully arched position forward is so sudden that every joint between his neck and hips crackle, but the result is successful: Andrey’s heft, hoisted onto his back, then intended to be catapulted into a frontward roll. The aim is to startle his opponent enough to loosen his grasp, allowing Xigbar’s escape and a recalculation of his next move.

The only question is: would Andrey actually let go?

Andrey does let go, arms moving to protect his head with something nearing a startled shriek as he is sent into a roll. Spinning as he comes to a stop, crouched down as though ready to pounce, that burning anger prickling the fine hairs on the back of his neck and twisting his face into a wordless snarl. Fury wasn’t all that he felt, but annoyance. He was annoyed at having been thrown so easily, annoyed at how easily every offensive move was handled and deflected as though they were nothing.

Annoyed at how predictably attractive these displays of talent and strength were to him.

Deciding to switch tactics, Andrey takes a few deep breaths before standing, circling Xigbar cautiously, looking for any openings. If direct wasn’t going to work, maybe an indirect attack could at least get him somewhere.

Xigbar isn’t one to feel discomfort so easily. It’s the sort of sensation he’s learned how to simply brush off as an unimportant notion, moving on as he can so easily utilizing all the experience he’s gained.

It’ll pass. It always does.

But here, in this space, it dawns on him that he is truly, undeniably filled with a dreadful discomfort. And perhaps it’s due to the fact that, underneath everything he’s built upon himself—these towers of confidence and disciplined nonchalance, all this skill and wisdom packed into pristinely-devised walls of impenetrable steel and iron—there are foundations that wobble balefully underneath the twining ivy of his despair.

Young Luxu. Lover of life and light. Swearing upon his Keyblade to protect the innocent, and oppose those that would harm them.

A gentle caretaker.

A naïve fool.

“Prob’ly not,” he responds—jumping over every single point that Andrey has said, allowing it all to linger without comment. Choosing instead the safest route, to reply to the question. “Though I could definitely try, if you’d want me to. ‘N’ maybe,” a sidelong glance cast towards Andrey—that breakthrough of eye contact proving that he is, indeed, capable of pushing through that discomfort, that it’s not important, that it is indeed ignorable— “I’ll let’cha touch ‘em if you’re good.”

“You let me touch plenty of things when I’m good,” he says with a loud laugh before quietly studying the mans face, his own clear of its usual stormy expression. Too many thoughts are going through his mind at once, and he reaches over to twirl a strand of the other’s long hair around a finger.

“I’m glad I know you,” he says in place of everything else, his voice almost a hushed whisper. He knows the man will hear him, but, well. The open possibility to pretend otherwise would probably be appreciated.

The said caretaker in Andrey hurts, a slight ache that always seems to make itself known when he’s said a few too many things to Xigbar and listened to the way the man often responds. Andrey knows that pain, that deflection, because it is as familiar to himself as breathing. It isn’t something that can be fixed, not something that can be wiped clear. It just... is.

Still, a part of him wants to reach out to the other, to tell him only good things, to try and fight off a familiar, endless pain. Another part of him wants to, not unlike a cat, selfishly knock his guns to the ground and lay his head on Xigbar’s lap, content to just rest.

Instead, Andrey sits up, choosing to lean heavily against the other, remembering for once that Xigbar can handle such with ease as he hunches to drop his head to rest on the mans shoulder. He makes a show of holding up a finger, licking it, and pointing at a random spot on one of the arrowguns, the offending appendage a hair away from its clean surface.

Andrey knew that Xigbar was going to try something, he could practically smell the smugness that had overcome him before he felt teeth against his neck, a sharp bite that forced a rather unaggressive noise from him.

"If you don't fucking quit," he manages to growl, grabbing a harsh handful of long hair and pulling, freeing his neck and giving a forceful shove to distance the other. "Try that again, see what happens, fucker."

The threat feels weak with how warm his face feels, so he bares his teeth, bouncing slightly in an easy fighting stance that is somehow both more tense and more relaxed than a moment ago.

"Are you so scared of losing that you have to bite? Poor little thing." Reaching up quickly to the skin of his neck, still stinging, he feels the indents left behind and curses just how easily he knows those teeth of his bruise skin.

A sharp intake of breath. Elrena felt her lungs clench at the warmth around her. She anticipated it, longed for it; she’d rarely admit this yearning outside of their private conversations. It did not matter, he was the the one allowed to know. He was the one who deserved more than bared teeth and claws.

With that, she exhaled, a calm surrender to the intimacy at play. Her hips and face moved in closer, greedily demanding to feel more, to close any space between their bodies.

“Need something, sweetheart? Or just admiring the art?”

“Cât de frumos ești. I’m always admiring you, you’re better than any art I’ve ever seen.” Tilting her head back and bending down slightly to bring his face to hers, Andrey plants a kiss on her lips, then against her cheek before dropping his other arm down to hold her against him with a hum.

“Let’s see, what do I need... I don’t need any fame or looks. I just had a good fight the other day, so I don’t need that. I don’t need to flee, seeing as I’m not currently on the run...”

Trailing off, he pretended to think for a few moments more before scooping her up in a quick motion, now better able to reach her face for another kiss.

The intention had been for Andrey to grab the other side in order to help him in moving the couch, but sure, he could do it on his own. Thus, from his upside-down position, Xigbar simply drags the piece of furniture across the floor, legs scraping with a grating screech along the wooden floorboards as he does so. At last, after what might have seemed like a lifetime of unbearable noise, he reaches the designated point that Andrey had gestured towards, dropping his side of the furniture with a dull thud.

Then swiveling his head towards the aforementioned “bug,” Xigbar dully responds, “Looks like a spider t’me.”

Walking across the ceiling, he kneels down to examine the little thing, adding, “Yup, definitely a spider. One’a them lil bitey ones,” then, casting his eye down towards Andrey: “You want I should get rid of it? I’ll need a cup and a piece a’ paper to do it.”

What did I fucking say. What did I fucking say, Andrey thought angrily, he knew he had told the man that he didn’t want to scratch the tiles, and what did he do? Make the worst noise that he had ever heard, tiles be damned.

The frustrated look on his face had dropped slowly into a blank expression the longer that screeching had gone on, beyond angry at his guest. Barely biting back a hissed I hope it fucking bites you, he instead lets out a huffing sigh, schooling on an easy smile and flashing it Xigbar’s way.

“You always help me out, how sweet.” Swinging his legs over to land and duck behind the bar, he emerges with a glass and an old pamphlet. Strolling over as non-threatening as he could, he extends his supplies with one hand, the other reaching up for the man to take.

“Xig,” Andrey called out in a soft voice. “Xig, can you come down here for a second? Let me see you? I want to see you.”

If Andrey was like her cats and could see clearly in pitch black, he’d witness Elrena rolling her eyes. Woe be it to those who can’t read between the lines. The mechanisms of her mind were an enigma.

“Hey stupid. I’m saying if you can’t see me then at least follow my voice!” Definitely not a difficult task, her voice was rarely at a low volume and now wouldn’t be an exception.

Elrena was uncertain about moving from the area. It wouldn’t be of help for Andrey too, who was doing his darndest to navigate through a deathtrap of cat toys to trip over and worst of all – cats. She was now leaning to what she believed to be a doorframe.

Andrey was clearly jesting, yet it didn’t stop Elrena from giving a sardonic chuckle.

“Like I’m scared of a little darkness. Or what’s running around in it.” Her fingers twiddled absentmindedly, emitting sparks of electricity to illuminate her location, if not a few seconds. “I can handle it fine. But looks like you need more help.”

The sound of her voice, something so lovely to him, helped to at least make sure he was pointed in the right direction. He played with the notion of actually running towards her, but the thought of a concussion from sprinting full tilt into a corner was less than appealing for a joke.

Sparks lighting the air caught his eyes, the light briefly illuminating Elrena and, admittedly, making him giddy.

“You’re so mean to little ol’ me,” he whined playfully, “I’m all lost, what if I cry? It’ll scare the babies, and then I’ll take them in the divorce.” Trying another little step forward, his foot brushed against something. What was that? One of the cats? Andrey couldn’t tell through the fabric of his socks, so he stayed where he was.

Something then brushed against his leg, and while he knew it had to be one of the cats this time, still every muscle in his body flinched.

Wiping a fake tear away from his eye while clutching his abdomen, Xigbar sighed as he came down from his fit of laughter, managing, “It’s just—you’re so damn jumpy for such a rough-n-tumble bloke, y’know? Had no idea your eyes could just—“ hands raising, fingers flaring out, “bulge on out like that.”

Then, slapping his cheeks a couple times with a hard exhale, mimicking one straightening himself after up after distraction, he sauntered to where his companion had so unceremoniously collapsed, extending his gloved hand for him to take—

“Oh, and by the way?” retracting his hand a fraction to point in Andrey’s direction, “Don’t even think a’ tryin’ to pull me in, bub.”

Growling wordlessly to himself, a shining example of inner stability, Andrey continued to try and pull himself out of the water.

“What a fucking showman you are, I sure hope you didn’t pull something with all that carrying on. Should I put on my little jester hat while I’m dying in here? Jumpy, I’ll show you jumpy...”

Soon enough, it became clear to him that, no, he couldn’t pull himself out of there. Almost frantically, he glanced over his shoulder, not sure himself why he did, before grasping Xigbar’s hand, staring up at him with what he hoped resembled a sweet smile.

“Pull you in? Why, I wouldn’t dare to try, cowboy.”

Sure, he wanted out of the water, but now he wanted the other man in the water just as much.

Yet again forgetting that the other was remarkably strong.

“Oh my god…” Elrena grimaced as an immediate reaction to Andrey actually looking up the godforsaken thing- because of course he would. But his hubris would soon be his downfall, and he was quick to pin the blame on her.

And that was it. She cracked. Elrena wasn’t sure if she was smiling out of discomfort or at the expense of the poor guy who will never unsee the things he saw. She erupted into a raspy, yet screechy cackle afterwards so it was mostly likely the latter.

“You idiot!” She exclaimed, gasping for air simultaneously. “I wasn’t even trying to bait you that time! Honest! You’re just a chump!” She managed to calm down, probably for the best lest she just rubs the wound deeper. “Andrey.. they’re mammals. That’s how they brea- How did you think they had milk in the first place?!”

At the sound of her laugh, his look of despair breaks into a soft, fond smile. Reaching forward, he lightly pushes at her shoulder with a hmph.

“There you go, bullying little me as usual. How mean you are, my frail little body can’t take it...” he says, flopping back in a dramatic swoon, blatantly looking to see if Elrena was watching him.

Noisily, he lets out a loud huff, then another, before giving up his act and addressing her again.

Andrey was not used to this. Well, he was, but it had admittedly been a while since he last had to play nice in polite company. For years, all that a crowded room meant to him was the higher possibility of a fight, a conditioned buzzing of danger in the back of his mind even now.

The first person to look at him weird, to put a hand on him for whatever reason, they were getting thrown.

Which is why he stays glued right to Kuja’s side, shoulders tense as they walk, the attention of everyone they pass nearly leaving him scowling.

The place he had been brought to for this excursion was beautiful, a grand and exquisite building, furnished lavishly and filled with people wearing fine clothes and sparkling jewelry. However dressed up he may be, Andrey still felt sorely out of place.

Xigbar always does his best not to let idle conversations turn sentimental, but for some reason, Andrey seems to prefer it that way. For underneath it all—under all that scarring and scowling and that stand-offish, tough guy exterior, Andrey has truly come to show that his center is just a gooey mess of loneliness and frustration.

It takes one to know one, doesn’t it?

“Look, dude—” a raspberry pffft, “I seriously dunno where you’re gettin’ that idea,” and the counter is oozing exaggerated dismissal. Shifting his legs criss-cross upon his current seating on the mattress, in order to better bear the weight of his arrowguns he’d aimlessly begun tinkering with—not that there is actually any tinkering to be done, but—he goes on: “Trust me, you’re prob’ly mistakin’ me for some other dude.”

Andrey stills from where he had been pacing about the room to give a hard, slightly annoyed stare, rolling his eyes before staggering dramatically over to the bed that Xigbar sat upon.

“Oh, how mistaken I am. There’s a guy that looks exactly like you, acts and talks the same and everything.” He all but throws himself down onto the mattress, no doubt rocking the other man and his guns as he flops over onto his back. “My poor, confused mind. I’m serious, you fucker.”

It’s easier to tamp out the rising frustration at being so quickly dismissed as usual, laying back and watching the ceiling like this. Plus, at this point, Andrey had gotten well enough used to Xigbar’s certain peculiarities. So, instead of continuing to bite back this time, he merely shrugs.

“What makes a person good, then? We’re all subjective creatures. You forget,” he adds as he knocks a hand against Xigbar’s knee, “we’re kindred spirits, you and I. If I’m good, then you must be as well. That just makes sense.”

Hypocritical, of course, as Andrey has yet to believe anyone who has said such a thing to him himself. Hearing it, though? Hearing it had an annoying way of getting into his brain.

“You’re nice to me, nice to others as well. You’re a caretaker just like I am. There’s a gentleness to you that you’ve let me see, one I wouldn’t have thought existed. I’ve told you before, you’re more than just your base features and outward appearance.” We’re more than our past. He shoots a glance at Xigbar before letting his eyes fall shut, relaxing against the mattress. Eye contact for this sincerity was never the greatest idea for men as flighty as he.