continuation from this post with the unfortunate soul of @mpxinvidia
This is just a treat.
The metaphorical cherry on top.
The wicked grin on his lips matches the devious glint in his eyes, and Maxim takes a moment to relish in the momentary power the universe blessed him with. He crosses his arms, sucking in a breath through his teeth to at least feign deliberation over Invidia’s attempted bargain, before he ultimately refuses it with a shake of his head.
“Hm…” amusement sparks in his voice, and he makes sure his rival hears it, “unfortunately I don’t think that’s good enough.” Years of mischief have made Maxim quite a decent actor, so when he momentarily drops the smile and shrugs, the disappointment on his face is almost believable.
“Malea is expecting an edible arrangement today.” he takes his sweet ol’ time inching closer to the bed, never breaking eye contact with the sinner. Blackmail is one of his favorite tools to get what he wants, and it would be a shame to let it end so soon.
“In fact, she actually sent me to check if it’s been delivered. Which puts me in a tight spot since I just found out…” the smile widens when he steps onto the bed, close enough to unhook Invidia from the ceiling, if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. Not yet.
“…that you ate it.” He raises an eyebrow to accentuate the question that follows.
“Didn’t you?” Invidia didn’t. In Maxim’s defense, he didn’t know that the arrangement was supposed to be for Malea when he ate a good portion of it. And by the time he found out, the edible part of the arrangement was nearly gone.
But his boss doesn’t have to know any of that. In fact, all she needs to know is that his rival ate it. For all intents and purposes, Invidia could even say that it was a misunderstanding. After all, an escort mistaking an edible arrangement as a gift is far more forgivable than a security guard underestimating how noticeable a few missing fruit are.
♮
When Maxim starts talking again is when Invidia brings his gaze back to him. His eyes are tired and look just a little weepy still; the refusal to cry gives him the edge of bravery but a soft vulnerability too. He hates it when he gets like this. Absolutely hates it but this is what happens when he gets this drunk and hasn’t eaten first. The Russian Max speak buzzes around the sinner’s head and makes him just a little more sleepy, sinking itself down into that surreal feeling that tickles up his limbs.
He sounds better like this… Invidia thinks as he laughs a bit at what is said.
The cigarettes are offered and for a moment he just looks at the pack. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. He’s trying to stop and a full one would probably be enough to send him right back into that terrible habit again. Still, he takes one and slides it behind his ear for later as he watches the other light up. Smoke flirts with his senses and Invidia gives a little hum of approval. Still in that language he says, “Smells good.”
A pause passes between them that is comfortable and the sinner begins to wonder just a little bit if he misjudged his enemy just a bit. Probably not. He’s probably still a dumbass but for a little bit of time, Invidia can pretend they relate to each other and it won’t hurt, right?
“I think she sent you with me because she’s mad I threw up in the rose bushes two days ago,” he confesses. “That or she was just tired of the both of us fighting around her again.”
He watches the inhale and exhale of smoke from Maxim for a moment. It’s slow and asking as his hand comes up then and slides over Max’s, bringing the cigarette away from his enemy and to his own lips. He takes a pull, deep and lets it fill him with that sharp taste before the smoke rolls smoothly from his parted mouth and he’s letting go to sit back again. The rest of the exhale leaves in that cloud and after it does Invidia says, “I just wanted a taste. I’m trying to quit.”
He won’t though and he knows it. That taste is familiar and comforting.
The smile that’s creeping up to his lips halts and falters a bit when Maxim turns his head to meet the sinner’s gaze. Despite his perceived misfortune of seeing Invidia nearly every day, he has not witnessed this soft side of him until tonight and for just a second, he can feel the lock of the cage around his withered little heart jolt.
The moment passes with Invidia’s laugh, blending their familiar bickering with the newly established—and probably short-lived—truce.
Smoke paints his warm breath with faint patterns when it hits the cool air of the night, and Maxim looks up again in an attempt to find stars beyond slow-travelling clouds. He turns his head just enough to look at the sinner, comfortable in the silence that blankets them. A quick glance towards Invidia turns into two, and then three, and then another one that lasts a few seconds before Maxim finally looks away and takes another drag of his cigarette to comprehend his thoughts. Under the dim shine of the moon and what bit of light from the shitty streetlamp reached them, Invidia looks…different.
He doesn’t appear to be the cocky prick who loves to ruin Maxim’s day at every turn, or the bubbly social butterfly with sickening optimism and an itch to help whoever crosses his path. Right now, he seems to just be Invidia. The guy who got dealt an unlucky hand with a scornful ‘Fuck you.’ on top, but still manages to get out triumphant, hold his head up high and bluff his way to his damned happy ending just to spite non-believers.
And although he would never voice it, Maxim respects him for that.
A deep laugh makes his shoulders shake at the confession and the subsequent suspicion that it might just be because she got tired of them fighting.
“Fair enough. I actually think it’s a bit of both, and I can’t really blame her.” his eyes are fixed on the smoke in his hand when he flicks it just enough to get rid of the excess ash, “I don’t think I could stand being—” The words slow and eventually stop, already forgotten by the time the sinner’s hand slides over his own and his lips brush against Maxim’s fingers when he takes a drag from his cigarette.
Everything seems to move slower, except for his pulse that seems to quicken in what must be anger at Invidia. For what? No clue. But, at least for now, it’s the only explanation he is willing to be at peace with. Anything else would be ludicrous to even think of. His eyes are still fixed on the cigarette when Invidia speaks up again, trying to find traces of poison or some kind of trap on it, before he clears his throat and takes another pull as well.
“You should,” tiny clouds of smoke escape with every word before he eventually fully breathes out, “I don’t want to run into you on my smoke breaks.” A smile accompanies his words, the moment between them replaying over and over in the guard’s mind in the short silence that follows.
It’s not an uncomfortable silence, by any means—at least not to him. It feels more like the type of quiet that can only exist between two people who would rather enjoy the calm than fill it with useless small-talk.
“Believe it or not,” with a final drag he exhales deeply and flicks the cigarette away before he turns his head to look at the sinner, “tonight is probably still one of the most entertaining night-outs I’ve had in a while.” His lips curve upwards with the memory of the faces of the fools who imagined a happy life with Invidia after only as much as a wink thrown their way. They were pudding in his hands. It pains him to compliment the escort in any way, but if there’s anything that can’t ever be denied, it’s that he’s damn good at his job.
“Easily somewhere around Top Five… probably Top Three if you manage to embarrass yourself at least once before we reach Babylon.”
Of course, anyone were free to use their powers, demigods and gods alike. But where to draw the line ? Using skills that allowed someone to grow the most beautiful field of flowers wasn’t the same as forcibly enter others’ dreams and having fun with their trauma. She guessed it depended on everyone’s own sense of morality.
And was personal satisfaction worthy of losing one’s soul ? Wasn’t the price too high sometimes ?
As she waited for his answer, Athena found herself fascinated by the boy again. There was something mesmerizing in watching his face change as different emotions flowed through him. The pride, the happiness but also the depravation and the evilness she could see behind his smile. “Did you ever try to find someone at least ? A willing person maybe could control what you see and get out unscathed.” She tilted her head on the side, he eyes never leaving his. “But I do not think you would find this amusing. Am I wrong ?”
Powers were a dangerous thing and Maxim was the perfect personification of that. He showed no remorse, no compassion, only a bottomless thirst for chaos. « Of course you did. This was a silly question, I guess » she nodded, chuckling.
“Oh, I did” Athena admitted, he brows furrowing. Maxim had guts to provoke her on this subject and she had some appreciation for his bravery. “But fighting in wars or against monsters is different than what you do. It’s for the greater good. You just make people suffer for nothing.”
The goddess nodded, a softer smile appearing on her face. The whole thing promised to be interesting, to say the least. “I am willing” she answered. “However, you must be aware that I will not be soft on you, Maxim.” She was a perfectionist, just like him. She handed her unlocked phone to the young man. “Please, give me your contact informations so I can let you know when we will start.”
She needed to prepare the best program for him.
Something between a scoff and a huff merged into a smile on his face at the sound of her question. The words ‘Where is the fun in that?’ already loose on his tongue and eager to drop before he stopped himself when she asked him whether her assumption was wrong. He was sure he should feel at least an ounce of shame for using his powers so freely and recklessly, but try as he might, he couldn’t convince himself of such a lie. The world owed him nothing. Maxim knew that much. But in a twisted way, he felt free to get at least some pleasure out of his abilities and mask it under the pretense of practice; to get some vengeance was something he felt he earned.
“Well,” he shrugged, shaking his head, “I haven’t tried to find anybody willing yet. I don’t suppose many people enjoy their deepest fears plaguing their nights, but if you happen to have volunteers lined up…” To be fair, he didn’t ever put any effort into looking for somebody who would agree to let him haunt them. And why would he? When it was so easy to just turn into a dark hallucination without even as much as a physical touch. He let the silence in the room answer the rest of his statement.
There was a part of him that wanted to argue that ‘for the greater good’ was a very subjective matter and make a case to justify his powers; to tell her that his motive was vengeance and she out of all gods should understand.
But he didn’t.
Maybe it wouldn’t be the best idea to provoke the goddess, who was gracious enough to help him. That, and Maxim knew she wouldn’t have to put much effort to get rid of him for good.
Instead, he just reached over to take the phone from her with something that would turn into a triumphant grin if he’d just let it. Maxim pulled out his own phone out of his pocket to double-check the digits he entered. Memorizing his own phone number was quite low on his list of priorities. His head lifted before his gaze did and when he was sure everything was correct, he held out her phone for her to take.
“I never expected you to be, so that’s fine.” If the myths about her were even remotely true, she was a cruel but just mentor. Still, he was sure he would be able to handle whatever she threw his way.
He had to, if he wanted to master his powers once and for all.
“I’m ready whenever you are”
t/w: mentions of death, murder
[T/W: mentions of death and psychological terror]
Under the judging gaze of the god, Maxim could feel the tip of his ears heat up, and his palms get sweaty. Adrenaline rushed through his body, but he wouldn’t say it was fear he was feeling. It was something between excitement and the expectation to mess up in some way; a tightrope walk that might just end horribly with the smallest misstep.
He sat up straight, stretching his shoulders back before dropping them in an attempt to relieve some tension within him. It might’ve been the first time ever—most definitely the first time he remembered—that he noticed his powers spiking up inside him and the strain it took to keep them down. The last thing he’d want to do was to knowingly make the god, who could so easily smite him, anxious. But when he heard Arawn speak—compliment him even—it felt like a wave of relieve wash over him. Did he actually have a chance to come out of this unscathed? Might he be delusional enough to imagine getting a visa on top of that?
His lips tugged upwards despite his self-imposed command to keep the cold-faced mask up.
♮
Invidia only smiles when Maxim says that he is merely infuriating to him. Good then. That is as it should be. Those hazel eyes watch calmly as his security guard struggles with the hold on his pencil. The grip is shaky at best and utterly embarrassing at worst and were Invidia not so determined to have Maxim back to being useful at work for the sake of everyone there, he’d leave him to rot in that bed and very likely impale himself on the drawing tools.
His enemy makes the quip about him not needing an excuse to see him really and Invidia levels him with an icy glare. A glimpse of that same magic that had once sizzled up into Maxim’s arms in a heated debate in the library between them is there in his eyes as they flare gold then settle again, the smooth mask of indifference settling over those handsome features again. Once it’s there, the sinner breaks it again with a little grin and he leans just a little toward Max again and flicks the pencil out of his hands wickedly. It falls away from the other’s hold after he claims he hasn’t defaced himself and seems to be an extra insult to the matter.
“Well, someone has to pay for your foolishness.” Never mind that in his absence from Babylon, there had been a few random incidents with clients thinking that because the shadow of Maxim wasn’t there that the other security would be easy to toy with. This was not so— but the attempts had been bold ones. Invidia wears the mark of one such incident quietly just behind one of his ears. He chooses not to say these things, not to worry the other. “If it is not you then it is most certainly the staff here that surely has to put up with your cumbersome self.”
The sinner moves then, coming to scoot up further on the bed and reaching to bring the pencil back up and placing it in Maxim’s fingers— the right way. His hands steady the other’s single one then pull away when he is sure the hold is steady.
‘Guess I’ll have to find a willing victim next time.’
Invidia’s eyes lift to look at Maxim then, wide and searching. Someone who would be brave enough to endure the sweep of their own mind being tampered with? Someone bold enough to have those fears exposed to another and have nowhere to run? Invidia looks at Maxim, his mind reeling then going still in thought. Someone who would have to be open and who Maxim would have to see in ways that the regular eye never could. The sinner drops his eyes then.
“Focus,” he says and taps the sketch pad with a finger. “I didn’t come here to listen to your delusions of depravity. I came here to help you regain your ability to at least keep one of your jobs while Malea considers whether or not she will replace you. Now, write your name.”
His lips part slightly, still mostly hiding how he bites down on the very tip of his tongue in concentration, while his eyes are fixed on the pencil in his hand. It shifts around from feeling too unsteady to something that looks like a barbarian holding a weapon that is simultaneously too small and too big for his hand, and circles back to a wobbly grip. Only when he feels the sinner’s gaze focus on him does he look up. And would his usual expression not be such a practiced craft, Maxim might’ve flinched right then. That golden flare tugs at something within him, calling him with a silent song and telling him to forget everything he claims to know. He is sure he shouldn’t and yet, he almost does. It’s mesmerizing.
But just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone.
Maxim blinks, uncertain whether he might’ve just imagined it, and with the flick of the pencil he briefly glares at Invidia before breaking eye contact to look at it. As if it’s second nature, four of his now empty fingers fold up into a fist again, the one in the middle standing up to effectively flip his coworker off.
“Trust me,” he mirrors the sinner’s icy glare from before, putting his own wicked spin on it by adding the hint of a remorseful smile, “if I could, I’d get the fuck out of here right now.” As much as he hates to admit it, Maxim knows that his current position renders him pretty useless at either of his jobs. Not being able to hold a pen only solidifies that opinion.
Invidia scoots closer and Maxim can feel heat rise up his throat, shoot past his cheeks and over to the tips of his ears in what he assumes must be an irrational burst of rage at their proximity. Though he knows the feeling of rage and annoyance well and, it doesn’t feel like anything he’s ever experienced while being angry, he figures it must be a new level of frustration. Only able to be reached by the sinner.
Finally, he dares to shift his gaze from Invidia’s and down to his hand that is carefully adjusting the pencil between Maxim’s fingers. It would be such a sweet gesture if it weren’t done by the most infuriating nuisance to ever exist.
When he finally manages to hold on to it, he looks up, eyebrows twitching together before he raises them to wordlessly ask Invidia about the shock on his face. Did he say something he wasn’t supposed to? Is he missing something? Or maybe the sinner is just messing with him just for the hell of it?
He opens his mouth to question his reaction but cuts himself off right when Invidia speaks up again. Still confused, he doesn’t look away, studying the dancer’s features as if to search for a clue within eyes that aren’t meeting his gaze anymore.
What could possibly be going through this man’s undoubtedly mostly empty mind?
Maxim looks down at the sketch pad to follow Invidia’s line of sight, while the question burns on his tongue, craving an answer.
The pencil is not nearly as secure in his left hand as it would be in his dominant right one, but with Invidia’s guidance, he can at least apply pressure onto the paper without it slipping away.
He chuckles softly at the sinner’s words, knowing only too well that his statement is full of shit.
“You and I both know that if Malea wanted to kick me out, she’d have way better reasons to do it than me being unable to work due to injuries. And I doubt she’d find another fool wiling to put up with your bullshit.”
With way more effort than he’s willing to admit, he writes down his name at the top of the blank sheet of paper. It’s crooked, and if somebody would see it without knowing his name, they might assume it’s supposed to read ‘Maxi m’, but to be fair—it’s not that much worse than it usually is.
“When you first came over,” he pauses for just a fraction of a moment when he funnels his concentration to writing his name again, “I thought you wanted to play nurse or something.” He looks up with a teasing grin on his face, ignoring the pathetic second attempt to write his name. “With that ‘teacher’ act, you’re just being greedy, don’t you think?”
Despite the playful nature of his words, his mind reels with ideas of just what the look on Invidia’s face from before meant. Maxim wouldn’t openly question it—he wouldn’t want to feel the need to explain his every move either—but if it would happen to come up again during their conversation naturally, it wouldn’t hurt to ask, right?
Whispers of the Night
A little starter for the sweet cousin @mpxtheodora
Dreams don’t make sense.
As somebody who spent a considerable amount of time within the dream realm, Maxim knew that. Even those that repeat themselves over and over have at least one detail out of place. Be it a memory merging with another to create some absurd scenario or a dramatic turn that would completely change the tone of the situation. Everything was made up. And some people’s dreams were wilder than anything he could’ve ever imagined.
Despite being the son of the god of Nightmares—or perhaps precisely because of it—he was spared of illusions of such kind. Then again, maybe he just didn’t remember. Most of his dreams were forgotten the moment he regained consciousness. Would be a crying shame if he’d recall his father ever giving a fuck, wouldn’t it?
This particular night offered up a dream he’s had multiple times now. His backpack held the drawing supplies he’s gotten while he was in the hospital and Maxim knows that once he reaches his destination, he will struggle to open that damned tin case that held the pencils and sharpener. It might be his own brain’s way to make fun of him for not being able to open it when he first got it. A water bottle, a neatly packed lunch, a pack of cigarettes and—for whatever reason—a thick jacket further weighed his backpack down. Though some of those things would usually be either in a backpack or his pockets, some of them were almost too unrealistic to believe. Then again, he figured he could magically make anything come out of his pockets if he just concentrated on it hard enough.
The ground was still wet from the rain earlier, and little drops slid along leaves to land on dry wood. Maxim liked the forest for more than just his favorite spot—it was one of the few places where he could walk for a long time without seeing anybody at all. And although the awake version of himself was very aware that his favorite spot wasn’t a secret to anybody, he’s never really encountered anybody there.
A watchtower—or rather, the rusty metal scaffolding that’s left of it—overlooked a big part of the forest and allowed a beautiful view of the sunrise that would start as soon as he’d reach the top. Maxim has had this dream before. It stayed the same for the most part, with only some small additions he barely noticed now and then.
This time, however, the change was significant.
He wasn’t alone.
Not a word or even as much as a change in his expression gave any reason to believe that he even acknowledged her presence. But when he was standing in front of her, right next to the stairs of the tower, he couldn’t deny it any longer. A girl he didn’t recognize. How could that be?
“What are you doing here?” Warm breath made itself visible in the chilly hours of the early morning and mirrored his cold tone. “Who are you?”
♮
It’s just a little bit before Invidia is able to look at his phone again. He had taken just a bit to ask Malea some things about the new work website and employee app and then to interject into the conversation that Hunter, Dakota and Noel were having to say that he was just going to grab some fresh air for a second while they wrapped up.
When he’s outside, just near the main entry and happily leaning against the wall he remembers to check his phone again. There are a handful of messages from people, some inside at the dance, some who remained home, others are updates from apps telling him of the lives of others that are far from him now. He smiles as he opens and replies to each thing that he’s ready to and then makes a soft noise between a scoff and a laugh when he sees that Maxim has texted him again. His eyes scan the messages and he does laugh in not surprise but amazement at how bold the other man is. He adjusts something and then replies back.
{Txt: Maximum Pain}: You could have stayed longer. I don’t think anyone would mind much other than your paycheck really.
{Txt: Maximum Pain}: …..
He struggles to decide if he wants to tell Maxim that he got upset over seeing someone he cared about with someone else. It’s not like he’ll care but on the other hand, it’s not like he’ll probably know much about it if at all. At worst he’ll just tease him a bit and give a real voice to the thoughts that had swarmed his mind earlier. Invidia breathes out and writes.
{Txt: Maximum Pain}: No, falling on my face would have felt better. Saw someone I had a thing with once with someone else after a falling out. It stung a bit but I’ll be fine.
{Txt: Maximum Pain}: I’m not throwing hints, you delusional fuck. Those drugs are something. Share.
He rolls his eyes and looks up when he hears Dakota calling his name from the door. They’re done talking fully and the news of that makes Invidia smile. “I’ll just be a minute,” he tells his cousin before Dakota goes back inside the gala. The sinner types another message before he puts away his phone again.
{Txt: Maximum Pain}: I’ll tell Malea you’re not dead. I’m going back to the gala now. Good night asshole.
The cool air of the night mixed with the smoke of his cigarette are enough to make him finally forget about the dull throbbing of his shoulder or the burning sensation that creeps up along his leg whenever he feels too warm. Either that, or he is too distracted by the voice of his sister on the other end of the line, telling him about her day and updating him about news from the village. He is grateful for any diversion he can get.
His phone chimes again with the first message, and he briefly looks at the screen, letting her finish the last bit of her story before he cuts their conversation short with the promise to call her back in the morning. And although it might seem like it, his urge to end the call is not because of the messages. It’s because of the time difference between the countries they are living in. Surely, she should have been asleep long ago. With a quick goodbye and the repeated assurance that he will not forget to call, Maxim soon ends the conversation.
The huff turns into a smile when he rolls his eyes, the faintest shake of his head visible when he reads the first message. That prick.
{Txt: Invidia}: We both know I’m the only one who can be trusted to keep order at work.
{Txt: Invidia}: I fear that if I stay away any longer, you’ll snap and start collecting ears or something.
{Txt: Invidia}: Gotta be there to protect the innocent ones from you and keep you safe from the sleazy ones.
The sinner’s next message pops up at the same time as he sends his own off into their chat, and Maxim simply stares at it for a second. Despite his lack of experience regarding romance, he immediately recognizes the pain Invidia is talking about. With the emotional intelligence of a rabid raccoon, his comforting skills are usually subpar at best—he knows this—and yet, his thumbs glide over the touchscreen to type up a reply.
{Txt: Invidia}: Try putting on a mask and pouring a drink all over their outfit. Bonus points if you make it look like an accident. I promise, they’ll only think about you for days. Maybe weeks.
‘Maybe it’ll cheer him up.’ That hopeful thought is so distant and faint that Maxim would later question if it ever passed his mind in the first place. It is quickly drowned out by the chuckle he fails to stifle with the next message.
{Txt: Invidia}: Break your bones and get your own drugs, you dumb shit. I’m not sharing with you.
{Txt: Invidia}: Tell Malea that I’ll come by next week to talk to her. If In-Soo is there, tell him I said ‘Hi’.
{Txt: Invidia}: Go have fun, don’t get too drunk and for the love of everything holy, lose my number.
{Txt: Invidia}: Good night dipshit
&. 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬.
( this is basically just a very self indulgent list of various fluff, angst, and suggestive themed dialogue sentence starters. )
- ❛ i could keep you safe. they’re all afraid of me. ❜
- ❛ i’m trying to fix your hair, so hold still. ❜
- ❛ your heart is beating so fast right now. ❜
- ❛ promise me you’ll still be here when i wake up. ❜
- ❛ you’re not as bad as everyone says you are. ❜
- ❛ i thought you’d like some company. ❜
- ❛ clean yourself up. you’re getting blood all over the place. ❜
- ❛ here, give this a try and tell me what you think. ❜
- ❛ you can kiss me, you know. ❜
- ❛ come back to bed. ❜
- ❛ you look good like this. ❜
- ❛ working together again, it’s just like old times. ❜
- ❛ how is it you always know what i need, huh? ❜
- ❛ you’re lucky you got away with only a scratch. ❜
- ❛ i can’t imagine losing someone like that. i’m sorry. ❜
- ❛ you know you can always talk to me. ❜
- ❛ the only one who gets to kill you, is me. ❜
- ❛ so, what do i owe this pleasure? ❜
- ❛ ah, so you aren’t heartless after all. ❜
- ❛ may i have this dance? ❜
- ❛ it’s okay, you can touch me. i won’t break. ❜
- ❛ enemies make the best lovers, you know. ❜
- ❛ hold still. this might sting a little. ❜
- ❛ we can’t keep doing this. ❜
- ❛ you look like you’ve got something to say. ❜
- ❛ just relax and let me take care of you. ❜
- ❛ thought you’d be lighter without all that blood. ❜
- ❛ i had it under control. you didn’t need to do that. ❜
- ❛ everything looks so beautiful from up here. ❜
- ❛ you treat all your ladies like this? ❜
- ❛ well? how do i look? ❜
- ❛ can’t sleep? ❜
- ❛ do you mind if i smoke? ❜
- ❛ i’m scared of ending up alone. ❜
- ❛ i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile. ❜
- ❛ how long has it been since you’ve slept? ❜
- ❛ you are losing my interest, and that’s very dangerous. ❜
- ❛ i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight. ❜
- ❛ you look really pretty right now. ❜
- ❛ i’ve never cared for anyone the way i care for you. ❜
- ❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜
- ❛ just a few more stitches and you’ll be as good as new. ❜
- ❛ i’d say we make a pretty good team. ❜
- ❛ i want you to forget this ever happened. ❜
- ❛ i’m here for business — not pleasure. ❜
- ❛ if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were jealous. ❜
- ❛ you’d look better down on your knees. ❜
- ❛ fine, keep acting like you hate me. ❜
- ❛ kiss me again. ❜
- ❛ are you asking me out on a date? ❜
- ❛ just sit there and look pretty and let me handle this. ❜
- ❛ you okay? caught you staring off into space again. ❜
- ❛ well, i do feel better now that you’re here. ❜
- ❛ i’m not drunk enough for this. ❜
- ❛ why is it whenever we see each other, you’re covered in blood? ❜
- ❛ i was wrong about you. ❜
- ❛ the first time i met you, i had no idea you’d mean this much. ❜
- ❛ you gonna be a good girl / boy for me? ❜
- ❛ i’m not afraid of you. ❜
- ❛ books mean more to me than people anyway. ❜
- ❛ i just wanted to say thank you for protecting me. ❜
- ❛ how about a kiss goodnight? ❜
- ❛ i don’t have time for distractions right now. ❜
- ❛ you shouldn’t be out here by yourself. ❜
- ❛ if i have to think about one more thing today, my head will explode. ❜
mpxmalea:
☽༺𖤐༻☾
🔮
Maxim moves to follow Malea through the door, leaving only his snide comment behind with the escort who laughs before nestling back into the softness of pillows again. Malea can only imagine there will be an exchange of heated words between the oddball pair later that she would have to scold them for.
A typical Tuesday.
She remains focused as she moves down the halls and toward the grand staircase. They’re descending it when Maxim pipes up again to ask what might all this be about. Malea stops a few steps down from him and looks back. Her face is even with no hint of any particular emotion at all as her red lips open to say, “You prefer your dirty laundry aired out in front of others?”
It’s not really a question because she gives no real time for an actual answer from him. She says it and then continues down the stairs and toward her office. If she weren’t fully aware that she was just toying with him, Malea might think that she deserves an Oscar for her performance right now. “Keep up.”
The moment he’s out of the lounge, a river of thoughts crosses his mind while he walks a few steps behind her. It’s a respectful distance he keeps not only with her but with every employee and client that sets foot into the establishment. Plenty of room to allow personal space yet close enough to step in if need be. He briefly wonders if his powers to induce anxiety would have any impact on her; if she’d ever show signs of its effects, or if he’d be none the wiser either way. Not that he has any reason or intent to try it out, but the thought still hits him before it drowns out under the several thousands that run through his head.
When she stops, it’s abrupt and precise and distantly reminds him of military-like drills they did in school when he was younger. It’s all he can do to relax his face and look at her when she turns around. He knows she’s not asking him a real question, and yet he silently responds by pressing his lips together and shaking his head. ‘I’m good’, is what his body language is trying to say when she’s already continuing her descend.
He picks up his pace and with every step closer to that damned door to her office, he can feel his nails digging into his skin as he clenches his fists tighter in a nervous habit. A relatively new type of habit to substitute the one he’s more familiar with; pressing down on his fingers with his thumb to crack his knuckles. Something about Malea’s unreadable mood and the tension in the air tells him that this particular habit might just irritate her more.
Best not to test his luck.
By the time they reach her office, his expression is obscured by the unreadable mask he wears daily, and Maxim reaches forward to open the door for her. It’s not a gesture of kindness, but a sign of respect and professionalism—the very same amount he offers to everyone who walks these halls. It takes him more willpower than he’s willing to admit to keep his mouth shut and not inquire the purpose of their meeting any further. Something tells him that it wouldn’t play out in his favor if he’d ask again.