#adonis oc

The limo started moving again, and every blob of color was meshed together as they passed. He couldn’t tell any of them apart from each other if he wanted. Meine narrowed his eyes. Still blurry.

He turned forward and crossed his arms over his seatbelt. Fine, then. It was probably the movement’s fault. His father’s limo was quite fast, after all.

It was also kind of starting to make him a little nauseous. He opened the window to let in some fresh air and rested the back of his head against the cushion of his seat.

“Close the window, Meine,” he heard Father saying. He was sitting on the very back of the car, legs crossed. Meine groaned and did as he was told. As the glass wall rose up with a whirling sound, the last breeze from outside passed through the gap between glass and metal, and then it was gone. The air conditioner inside the limousine hit him in a blow of cool air.

Meine sighed, supressing a shiver.

He went back to looking out of the window. His eyes fell shut before he could stop them.

“Meine.”

Oh. He’d fallen asleep. Meine lifted his face off his hand—shit, it had probably left a mark—to notice his father was having his side of the door opened and they had arrived. He still felt way too tired.

But that didn’t matter.

He sucked it up and unbuckled his belt.

Meine almost tripped over his feet and fell face down on the stone path, but he managed to hide it by catching himself on the limo door. Emerith, the chaffeur, was holding it open for him.

“Mr. Meine?”

He shook his head and grit his teeth.

“I’m fine.”

Before the man could open his mouth again, Adonis called him.

“Emerith.” He appeard from behind the car, adjusting his lapel. “Wait in with the other servants. Expect us here by four to five.”

He shut his mouth and nodded. Adonis shot a glance down to Meine, ordering him to follow.

The manor was white and quite small, and the path to enter was a simple marble road. There was probably some river nearby, by the sound, and the gardens surrounding weren’t anything particularly impressive. Meine followed after his dad, trying not to get behind. His feet were way too heavy for his liking.

When he noticed, his father was ringing on the bell. The door was opened, and a butler came in and greeted them.

“Mr. Adonis Coronet,” she bowed her head. “Mr. Meine Coronet.”

The woman was quite old, graying hair tied into a tight bun. She had a warm and polite smile, but Meine could see that below it she was annoyed, distaste filling her moods to the brim, lips curled tight. She had an aura that was flippy, unpleasant and cold. He held back a flinch. “My master has been waiting for you. This way, please,” the butler held her hands, firm and stiff, over her uniform, gesturing them inside.

Meine saw his father scoff at the decoration inside, but he didn’t care to notice it much. His head was foggy, and the fierce headache from before had started to buildup behind his brow. That wasn’t good. He thought he’d had enough sleep last night.

But father had needed him earlier.

His mind flashed with the memories of swirling patterns and images only he could see, demanding voices of adults asking him about them and tuning up buttons and small levers on reading devices. His third eye was struggling to keep itself open. Meine hadn’t had that big of a load in months. That was probably what had drained him, he thought.

And there he had been, thinking he’d get a break after. Meine had almost whined out loud when a maid announced to him—who’d been laying down on his bed, trying to drown out the ache drumming on his head with the curtains closed to try and block out the afternoon sun, so bright it made him wince—that they were going out to meet a business partner or something. But at least he would be able to rest his eye. Or so he thought.

Father had told him to Look.

A few servants swooped the floors near a sofa set, emanating colors of both tiredness and sharp focus. Two maids dusted something that looked like a bookshelf—it was hard to be sure—camraderie and intimate mischief coming out of them. Their voices were low, but Meine could assume they were probably chatting. The red lacing their figures was so bright. He looked away. The woman was leading them to a large staircase on a corner.

Father was still annoyed in front of him.

Despiste himself, his body tensed up—it didn’t help the sore on his limbs. That wasn’t good. Meine had expected they were maybe here for someone he liked best, like the old man that would let him ramble endlessly or the young heir that looked up to him like some sort of god. Meine didn’t really knew or cared about what their roles were, but his dad was always in a good mood after discussing—or monologuing—to one of them. But not today. His aura was tensed up like a stretched out thread, waves of annoyance looming around his feet. It made him nervous. Meine gulped down and tried to swallow his nausea as he walked up the stairs.

The floor below him seemed to sway. He stopped for a second to catch his balance, breathing in deep.

“Meine?” His father questioned, a few steps above. The butler also looked over her shoulder, gloved hand tucked close to her body. He was annoying her. Meine unclutched his hand from the large handrail and shot up a small smile.

“Pardon. I was admiring the tapestry,” he lied. “It looks really beautiful from up here. I’m sure it must be quite a sight to live in such a well-kept manor of such good taste.”

Adonis didn’t look much convinced, but his answer satisfied the old lady. Meine saw her posture changing a bit, proud. She probably valued the old images hanging above the fireplace quite a lot.

Meine held back a groan and kept walking behind his dad.

He didn’t really remember this man. He was very skinny, like one of the models for the events Father would take him to. His shoulders were just as bony and his legs were just as tall, like a spider’s. He sat with a very straight posture on his comfortable chair, as if his back was stretched by a metal rod, and his hands gestured everywhere with barely contained excitement.

Adonis’s mouth, in contrast, was a tense and restrined line, his hands mindlessly revolving the sugar spoon inside his teacup. Meine sat up with his own untouched over the small table, and tried to listen. He wasn’t really suceeding. His attention shifted back and forth, at time noticing the evening sky beyond the tall windows, a weak breeze doing almost nothing to sway the heavy crimson curtains in front of them, and then snapping back to the man’s aura, excited and mischievous and plotting behind his smile, as if he thought he had some sort of advantage over his dad. Meine should probably look into if that was relevant or not. Maybe he was just arrogant. Or maybe he had something of value to justify that superiority. Meine checked on his fingernails, looking down. He’d been given a plate of biscuits by a pair of very professional and proper maids, who were playful and giddy under their respectful gestures, not letting any of it make past their stern and respectful masks. Neither Father nor his partner expected him to be paying attention—to the content of their words, at least—so he was free to move his attention wherever he pleased.

Meine forced his gaze back at the stick-man, respectfully like a little kid who was interested in the affairs of the two businessman. His eyes were threatening to fall shut, but he kept them wide open, fighting against the exhaustion slowly turning his bones to mush. His hands were carefully tangled over his lap.

A sharp sting on the back of his head made them shoot up to his temple.

“Little man?” Mr. Stick-man interrupted himself, fixing his attention on Meine. He supressed a grunt. “Are you feeling—”

“I might just have remembered something,” he cut him, because Meine really didn’t want to meddle in his dad’s affairs and hold back a convo like this. “Father, may I ask the servants for a cup of water, and some guidance? The plants down the river were really stunning. I would really like to take a closer look at them,” he forced out an excuse, trying to stop his voice from wavering.

Adonis restrained himself, but his glare sent a chill on to Meine. He avoided flinching, and kept the complacent, well-mannered smile on his face. His father ended up not scolding him or prohibiting him in front of company, and asked their host to call in something for Meine to do. When he left, accompanied by a boy in a valet suit that couldn’t be two years older than him, Meine heard Father apologizing with something silly like blaming his juvenile lack of restraint to keep still during a meeting for long.

He had the servant point him to the closest restroom and Meine didn’t waste a second dispatching him, allowing his legs to give out and catching himself over the marble sink.

His head was pounding. He could barely see anything now, and every shift of the warm light over the white tiles seemed to bright and made him wince. It hurt too much. Meine poured some water on his face, shaking. Shit. He panted, making his breath come in and out, and eventually knelt down on the floor, curling around himself with his hands up still in the sink.

He might have exceeded himself.

In what felt like hours, the bathroom door opened, silent enough to not further worsen Meine’s headache. He wanted so badly to go home.

Heavy, rhythmic footsteps approached him, and then the door closed again.

“Meine?” His father knelt beside him.

“...Headache,” he mumbled, so low Father might not even have heard him. “I’m—I don’t—worn out f-from earlier. I’m sorry, Father,” he tried to explain. God, it hurt to let the words out. His whole body was aching now. Meine couldn’t bring himself to get up on his feet.

Adonis didn’t say anything for a second.

“We are done here. I’d wish you had observed more,” he said. Meine tried to apologize again, but nothing came out. His eyes were a bit wet. He closed them, trying to bar out the light and noise. “You might need a doctor, son.” A pause.

“Come.”

Meine winced. He tried to support himself on the marble again to get up, but it hurt and it made he wanna vomit and he froze in place. Tears welled up on the corners of his eyes.

Father’s arms closed around him and helped him up.

“...th-thank you, dad,” he breathed out. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t answer, but put a hand on his forehead, adjusted Meine’s posture—which sent a shot of pain down his spine—and wiped off some dust from his clothes. His dad walked out of the room, and Meine didn’t need to be told to follow to push his body right behind him, forcing one trembling leg in front of the other.

He did his very best to hide the pain and nausea and exhaustion behind a decent face and politely waved goodbye to his dad’s partner, not being able to bring his mouth to open and form a thanks for hosting them. Father did that for him.

In the car, Meine collapsed.

When he woke up, he was being carried—he couldn’t tell by who—all the way up to his bedroom, and he bit back a whine. The vibrations from each step sent another wave of pain up his head and if he had the strenght to, Meine would have curled up tighter around himself.

Then, he was laying in bed. The sky started darkening behind his curtains and Father was walking into his room. He had his indoor clothes—wait, was Meine still on his? He groggily lifted his arm to see he was out of his coat, but was still wearing the clothes from the visit, and then let if fall limp on the mattress.

One side of the bed weighted, and he looked up to Adonis sitting on top of it.

Meine’s eye was closed. But he could tell how his father was feeling. At least a bit. The words buildup out of his mouth before he would think them through.

“Dad, did I—” he choked out, before Father could say anything. “I didn’t embarass you, did I? I did good, right?”

His father sighed. Meine felt like he was going to cry. He held it back. He should not cry..

“You did, Meine,” a weak smile, sending warmth down Meine’s body. He put a large hand over his hair, muffling it. “You did good getting out before making a scene.”

He sighed in relief.

“I need you to report what you saw from Lohart at dinner, though,” dad concluded, getting up, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves and walking up to the door. “You better take a bath and get changed until then. It’s six PM.”

Meine nodded.

When his father left, he allowed himself to close his eyes for one more minute. His head still hurt a bit, and he was still so tired. Meine didn’t want to eat. He wanted to sleep.

But he would. Eventually. He grit his teeth and dragged his body out of bed, so quickly his vision swayed for a second.

Meine just had to do good for the rest of the day. 6 PM, he remembered.

Today was almost over.

He just needed to hang in there for a few hours more.

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