#code 003: code mistake.

Unfocused pale eyes flick to focus on Rimbaud, not responding at first. Was he? Not even Verlaine was sure. His gaze averts, one brow furrowing.

"Lying to you about what?" Maybe it's a bit sharper than he means for it to be, pursing his lips with a slow breath out. "Don't worry about it. It's fine."

It was seldom that he ever went around the other Transcendents besides Verlaine. But Hugo was usually kind enough to let him sit in his office and do reports when things got too loud. They shared tea sometimes and Rimbaud was grateful for such a thing, but before he was able to thank him, the older man speaks first.

"Don't mention it."

For a moment, Rimbaud looks like a deer in headlights. He wasn't good at speaking to anyone outside of Verlaine — and even then, he wasn't good talking to even him sometimes. So he looks down at his hands, picking at his glove with a nod.

What else was he supposed to say to him then?

Pale eyes flick to the side at the half empty teacup before settling on Hugo again. "The tea was good." He guesses that was mentioning it, but it left off the thank you part. Good enough for now.

Nights after a particularly dangerous task were different. Verlaine was tired and found himself leaning into his partner a lot more. Their relationship was by far unconventional and he's sure Shakespeare would rather see Rimbaud with someone else, but... here they were.

At this point, he could care less what the rest of them thought.

his consciousness flits in and out, pale eyes struggling to focus. the familiar feeling of illuminations wrapped around limbs is the first thing that he recognizes so that must mean that he was bettered in this fight.

of course he was; it didn't surprise him that much. rimbaud had always been the one to match his strength, rival verlaine's own ability with something that could drag him back down to earth from space. brows furrow and his consciousness starts drifting back out until he hears the sound of soldier's voices.

and that's when he realizes that his partner is starting to use his ability on the child. his eyes flutter a bit and he can taste bile on his tongue, trying to force himself to speak.

"wait," everything feels like it's in slow motion. from the way that he spoke to the way he tried to lift his head. but words fall upon deaf ears. as the golden light that comes from illuminations glows brighter, he realizes what rimbaud's really trying to do ; he's going to make the boy his ability.

"rimbaud, wait! don't--"

"there's nothing you can say that will change my mind. we're going home."

pale blue meets gold and it's clear that there's he's serious this time. even as verlaine struggles to focus properly, he's seen that look in rimbaud's eyes before and he's heard that stern tone.

but then there's a sudden change. black flames erupt from the child that his partner now holds and their attention is torn away from each other. it only burns hotter and brighter until energy starts gathering around this child.

there's going to be an explosion. one that will change history forever.

the words take him off guard as he goes to hand the pipe back to rimbaud. the midnight breeze catches strands of gold, sweeping it out of his face. for a long moment, verlaine just stares at him in silence, eyes slightly widened before he turns his attention ahead once more. he decides to take one more puff from the pipe before passing it back to his partner.

"so did i," verlaine admits, but it's almost too quiet to hear. there were fantasies-- gentle ones. leaving all of this behind and going to the french countryside. hiding away with rimbaud and having days, basking in the warmth of the sun.

it's a rare moment but he shifts closer to share warmth, leaning some into rimbaud and some into the railing of the balcony. he doesn't voice that fantasy. rimbaud worried enough without him adding more onto it.

"...we have each other and that's all we need, isn't it?"

he doesn't want to be here with her, but he doesn't have a choice right now, apparently. but he knows what to do. smile and pretend like he does, for the moment, at least. "i'm guessing that shakespeare sent you to keep an eye on me. how thoughtful."

dangerous sentence prompts.

hearing such a thing does catch his attention fairly quickly; even if he doesn't move at first. he's fairly certain that he has an inkling of an idea what they're talking about. a deep breath is taken and he clicks his tongue twice with a shake of his head, pushing himself up from his seat.

" you really should watch who you're talking to. " a sickeningly sweet smile with a gaze to match it. he'd heard it multiple times from rimbaud.

control your emotions, paul. it's not worth it, paul. let it go, paul. how many times have we been over this, paul ?

but rimbaud wasn't around at the moment to enforce such teachings. it wasn't as if he wasn't aware that people found their bond to be sick either. that didn't matter; he'd make quick work of them.

" if there's one thing i hate about humans, it's the constant assumptions they make. " verlaine hooks one hand in his pocket while reaching out with the other, canting his head with a growing smile. " you could learn a thing or two by being quiet. "

he doesn't flinch when the output of his ability causes the body to break. it's over in an instant, which is more mercy than they deserved, he thinks. but if he didn't show them some kind of mercy, he's sure rimbaud would've talked to him about it later. he increases the output momentarily to make sure that they're thoroughly dead before he steps closer to drag the body along behind him, effortlessly.

he couldn't just leave trash out in the open.

he's a few drinks in by the time that rimbaud reemerges, but that doesn't stop him from standing to follow him. he would have to be blind to miss the way just how ill his partner looks. that feeling still burns in his chest, but he pushes it the rest of the way down for now.

he keeps pace with him, stepping in and he starts to ask if rimbaud is feeling alright. but that question is quickly answered for him. he carefully pulls dark locks back and holds them gingerly in one hand while the other occupies itself with rubbing between his shoulder blades.

it was just one of the many reasons he hated the transcendents.

whether verlaine realizes it or not, the concern he feels shines through his gaze; even if the rest of his expression remains as neutral as possible. " we're finished for the evening. " his voice is barely above a whisper, and hopefully soothing. " if you need, i'll inform them that you're not feeling well, but we're returning to the hotel. "

i hate seeing you like this.