Sick Perfection

He was supposed to be invisible to monsters; he had no scent - that was the point of him being the hunter in the first place. Gods of whatever, he needed to lead this thing out of the city - he really hated Lycanthropes; they smell and they have annoying habits like snarling and scratching and biting.

Ｔｈｅ fair-haired loved how the silence pressed on his eardrums but it seemed like he had to forget the idea of hanging around the place a bit longer now that he felt what he thought was an eerie presence nearing. Nervousness pulled him into a tight embrace and his pace got slower as he figured that the being was moving fast. He was pretty sure it would drop into his sight soon, thus, he wended his way to the corner of a building, hid in the shadows and peeked around the wall to make sure that it was safe enough for him to run down the path that led to his home.

Flowers.

He turned to the shopkeeper, smiling and taking the other’s hand into his to give it a soft shake. “I was looking forward to today. I even considered leaving much earlier, but someone walked in before I finished the thought,” he said nonchalantly. Two hours was quite the while, even for him. Thankfully, he expected the visit to be a good one. Or so he said.

The florist set his things down on one of the wooden tables. The movement was careful, as though the flowers would be angered if they were handled in a different sort of way. That was, if they were capable of emotion. 

"Centerpieces first," his pale green eyes rolled to the florist while his smile faltered, "Soon, we'll tell you whether we want to decorate others or not." The Pasquiers had always hinted the customers about the anniversary with flowers, however, they had never wished for a floral smell to conquer the parlor so it was very rare for another area to be embellished when there were centerpieces. Everything depended on the flowers' odor, they might grace the place with more flowers as long as they did not affect the smell the sweets exuded.

Nico stared a beat too long as the other dropped his hands from his ears and asked his question. He cracked his neck with jerk of his head to the side before relaxing in the back alley of France where he, for once, played the gallant knight instead of the dragon and this was the part when he started lying. “I don’t know?” He tried for a confused look and shrugged off the inquiry, countering with his own, “You never answered me before, what are you doing out here?”

'Damn', the son of Aphrodite mouthed the word in frustration while he brought his skeletal digits to rub his eyes that were filled with tears. It was not often that the sprites came to haunt him and he recalled they had never left him with shrieks before, thus he figured it must be their other trick to make his fear worse. The boy did not understand why it was so difficult for him to get rid of the feeling that the male had something to do with the ᴋᴏʙᴀʟᴏs' vanishment, even though he did not think the lad had noticed the hideous being for he appeared bewildered.

The blond dropped his hand to his side earlier than he set his attention upon the other when the previous question was tossed back to him, "I was wandering and I thought I saw a..." he squeezed his eyes shut and shifted from one foot to the other as he tried to find a name, "... a wild thing running after me, so I rushed here," he opened his eyes, finishing with a weary exhalation before watching the man take a step closer. Once the dark-haired asked whether he was injured, he rubbed his aching chest, slowly then shook his head, "No, I'm fine." The pain in his chest was not a big matter, he was pretty sure it would fade by the time he breathed properly.

It was a very sweet trap, the devil in disguise that so very easily had Bryony under control. The devil would smother innocence once again. Bryony was simply far too trusting for his own good. He thought the best of others, did not want to even believe that there could be something darker in others. That there was something much, much darker within Lemmi’s beautiful, mirror image. A facade. 

Bryony was still, incredibly still, as Lemmi grew closer. He could feel the other, his gaze like fingertips, groping and touching, his breath soft, deceiving. His lips just an equal mixture of deception, of lust, of such a thinly veiled kindness. 

Bryony’s cheeks were a bright, bright red, flushed and blooming as he, startled, suddenly took a step backwards, away from Lemmi. Away from eyes that saw so much, from lips that wanted, desired. 

How could someone who looked so much like himself be so, incredibly different? Bryony was uneasy, but… but he realized, far too late, that it was something that Lemmi, quite possibly, was amused by. And, once again, Bryony tried to push these thoughts out of his mind. Was he only jumping to conclusions? Or was these something entirely different going on?

"My, my..." a sigh escaped his lips, "Poor angel," his frown deepened. It had been a while since sympathy was engraved upon his soul that he could not tell whether his voice was full of pity or not. He had forgotten what a face touched by mercy looked like after his father's death, thus, it became foreign for him to wear such mask. Even if his countenance now was near to what one would call fake, he would not pray to Gods to keep the winged being from feeling hurt. Sorrow had been residing in him for years and he was there to have fun, not to waste this precious time fathoming another form of sadness. Playing with the doll was probably the best way to distract himself from thinking of his wretched life, so be it if the male was not fond of him. No one gave a fuck about Lemmi, after all.

A soft voice seeped into the demigod's ears and his eyes darted to the lad, capturing a hazy picture of a slender figure walking towards the door. "Thank you," he shot those words at the male right before he exited the room, the utterance was so quiet that it nearly matched a whisper. Sweet silence then crept into the bedroom, yet its visit did little to soothe him when he figured that he would not be going home as soon as he desired. It was hard for him to accept the fact that he was too weak to use his divine ability for a quick return — Lemmi would have to call his driver and the thought of waiting for him to come and pick him up frustrated him to no end. Only Gods knew how bad he wanted to sleep.

Releasing a faint groan, the blond bent his body in order to rest his elbows on his knees. It had not been a minute since Edgar left to grab a glass of water, but the terrible ache in his bones made him feel like he was spending a lot of time. His eyebrows curved into a light frown as he raked his fingers through his hair and turned his head to contemplate the bed. Would the physician hate to see him, a person covered with dirt, lie on his bed? He stretched an arm to run his hand across the mattress, adoringly and here, he found the answer — No. If the man feared staining the fine sheets, he would not have settled Lemmi on the bed.