LEAVE ME ALONE.

     ”NO NEED to apologize. I think the last time I was here you weren’t an employee yet. I’m not really keen of showing my face around too much.“ Mostly because he knows James knows how to run this place without any help - as expected after doing the same job for almost two centuries - but also because social interactions are a necessary but unwelcome task for him most of the time. He can make an exception now for his own gain (and hunger, that trail of smoke coiled all around his insides that asks for more and more and more and he will never deny it a meal), and indirectly for James as well. They are nothing more than business partners , but maybe he will leave Peter in peace for a while if he does him this tiny favor.

     “Good! Just what I needed!” Now, if he were a fan of physical contact he’d wrap his arm around Elias’ shoulders and steer him away from James’ office, but that would be a bit too much to ask of him. Easy to replace it with a friendly, cheerful attitude.

     “See, Elias, as I said I haven’t been here in a while, and even if I trust James to run this place smoothly I would actually like to see it at work. See if there are any additional changes to make that might have escaped his notice.” Impossible. But the boy will never know. “I am sure he’d excuse you from your current tasks to give me a tour of Artefact Storage and the Archives.”

     Dʀᴇᴀᴅ sɪᴛs in deep and tight in his chest. He might not be all too well in anything, really, regarding social interactions, but he knows well enough to be aware that he’s in quite an awful situation. He’s not quite sure whether or not he’s meant to be doing anything like what the man suggested (it’s never been explicitly said, anyway, thus making it hard to tell), but he does know that he should be doing a lot of other things in fact that he will get into trouble for delaying too far. On the other hand, he wouldn’t know how to say no, no matter how uncomfortable the suggestion makes him. People don’t usually ask him for anything but basic mindless tasks or such that are busy work — either don’t seem to think him important or competent enough — and that’s how he prefers it. The idea of having to play host in any capacity —

     But he realizes with a start that he’s been mulling it over for too long, and there is no good reason why he could say no. After all, it’s already been established that he doesn’t currently have anything else (a long to do list, yes, but not a right now thing) and his mind draws a blank at trying to find a good excuse.

"I am sure there is! But, well, in my experience those are rarely the people that actually know how to navigate their workplace. Too focused on the big picture and their own goals to notice the cracks in the ceiling or the rats in the Archive. Even worse -" He lights up, as if he just had a brilliant realization. "They would pretend everything runs smoothly so they won't have to worry about problems being fixed and potentially ruining their own plans! No, who I want is someone who knows just enough to be honest about it."

He takes off his coat and folds it over his forearm, revealing strings of tattoos running over his uncovered skin. Lines and designs that could almost, almost seem to be pulsating and almost rolling like fog in the morning.

But even madness is something easily overcome if one lives just long enough, or rather, it's something so easy to fake to be void of, eventually. He's always been so good at playing pretend. Playing that he is who he claims through various lives; claiming to love someone; pretending to be human and sharing their interests.

However, of course, Peter is not wrong in that particular notion: he really cannot stand this wine. Lifetimes of money, indulge and too many men begging to please do refine someone's tastes, and this surely is far from them. He will not admit to this, though. Even if this is a peace offering towards his husband, he would never give the satisfaction of it, and his face barely twists when he takes a sip. Much more cautious than usual, though.

And then, despite his original plan, he remained seated. No sudden cold gust of wind, no static echo cracking between the walls - only two men looking at each other, as physical and human as both of them can be. It would be so easy to think of this as a domestic ritual, a tradition that settled throughout the course of years, when this is actually more likely to be a once in a lifetime event. Or perhaps said event will just refer to Elias' half empty glass.

"Touche. But you should try being wrong sometimes, really. It would be a humbling, if not eye-opening experience."

(Well, no. He can see how people dislike him. He’s arrogant, not stupid. He just usually makes sure that he holds them in his hand before they get option to do anything, be it secrets to unmake them, physical violence (though rare) or something else.)

It does curl his lips into a smile, a small and sinister thing, different from the one he usually aims at people, but not much. He just doesn’t hide the intent, and besides, it’s a brief moment before it vanishes because he really does not feel good. He feels more aware with each passing second, as if every single person in the world is paying attention to him and so does he to them, as if he has to look at them all at once, know them once, be aware of everything that happens.

(It’ll pass. His powers won’t reach anything like that for decades in reality, it just feels that way right now because he finally acknowledges it. It’s not a sudden shift. It’s just ripping off the band-aid. He’ll feel like absolute shit for a week or so, unable to do much but watch and listen and keeping the shreds of his sanity, but it will not be until he attempts the Crown that he really knows what Knowing feels like.)

"But, just as a warning, I suggest you keep yourself from any strenuous activities for a few days. You already look paler enough as is." He won't lie - he would love to witness the pathetic show of Jonah Magnus stumbling to get to his rooms, legs wobbly not so much differently from a sailor's during rough sea. He could offer to help him. He won't. Not solely because the younger man's pride will most definitely keep him from accepting any helping hand - physical or metaphorical.

But that’s not a moment he can put off for way too long, can he. One last bite of the sandwich he quickly made for himself (asking Elias to consider even just putting anything between two slices of bread would have been too much already), one last drop of coffee, and then he knows the treaty has come to an end. Well. It was nice until it lasted.

The second the cup comes to rest on the table, the very second does he flip out the comb and brush. It might be the one domestic task anyone (speak: exactly his husband) ever sees him do, and that is fully linked to his own vanity. He’s long given up on the fight about Peter dressing better more often, but on the rare occasions he gets him to, he will take full advantage. And it’s not, as one might think, an act of violence; he’s almost patient, careful, getting the knots out and lining it up, shaping hair and beard with product. (He even omits the scissors, for one, though it’s a near thing.)

In his defense he doesn't move more than required during their little makeover session. He is almost surprised by the gentleness of it all, but it truly just goes to show how important this all is to Elias. If he only wanted to annoy Peter he'd make sure he'd feel every pulled hair, prolonging the task beyond measure; there would be no trace of the care and light touches he is using now. Almost - almost - pleasant. No one will ever catch him alive saying that, though.

(It helps that he’s also attractive. He can appreciate the stature and the fact that one of the older man’s upper arms is nearly as thick as his own waist is. Doesn’t hurt anything to look.)

“For once, I tend to actually pay attention to my guests.” Even if he does turn a little bit away, leans on the railing more. As if he’s just casually enjoying the view, which, of course, is by this hour shrouded in too much darkness to really do so. But the light breeze is nice. Even if it feels much colder than it normally should. Perhaps he isn’t half as drunk as he thought he was, losing the warmth from that.

"As I said before, simply business. Catching up with a few partners after being at sea for several months." And he misses it already. He has a few issues to solve on dryland and the next planned voyage is a few months from now, but in his mind he is already standing on deck again, surrounded by nothing but the silent sea. How peaceful. Better than anything the rest of the world could ever offer him.