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| [ Life's become the sort of thing that Aether oozes through. Not stopping, not slowing, inexorable as sand moving between the bulbs or an hourglass — yes, he's moved, dispassionate, through life just like that, without direction or a plan for himself. He loves his sister and their younger cousin Paimon and their distant uncle Dainsleif, and he's made plenty of friends for himself, but when he really stops to think about what he feels passionate about, he doesn't have any answers.
In his youth, he'd entertained fantasies about being an android engineer, but somehow it hadn't happened — he didn't have the right connections to break into such a demanding industry, and in the end, he'd settled for a perfectly normal desk job working in the billing department of a travel agency, advising clients on vacations he'll never be able to take. Such is life in Sumeru City these days. Sometimes he wishes he were born just the barest bit richer.
But it is what it is, and things are what they are, and on the salary he's earning, Aether can't even afford a hobbyist android of his own to customize and exercise his elementary programming skills on —
— or at least, that's what he thinks until, one day, on his way home from work, he spots what appears to be a grown man collapsed in a pile of refuse.
At first, in all honesty, he thinks it's a drunk or a drug addict or an unhoused man before it even occurs to him that it might be an android. After all, androids are expensive. People would sooner kidnap them, steal them, before they left one out on the street like this. Any possibility of the "man" being some inebriated bohemian goes out the window, however, when Aether steps closer and realizes that he's dressed in office attire. They're almost mirrors of each other in that regard: white shirt, black shoes, pressed pants. The one difference is that Aether isn't wearing a tie, and also, the man in the trash pile is still wearing an ID card.
Aether steps closer, holding his breath. Then he realizes, mercifully, that the trash bags don't smell. It's more likely office refuse than discarded lunches. ]
Um... are you alright?
[ Is he responsive? If not, it won't deter Aether; he'll still draw closer, searching for the cause of the man's discomfort. ] | |
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| [ He's a little late, but he figures it doesn't really matter as he adjusts the brim of his cap so that it sits lower over his eyes and shakes his delicate wrists a little so that his bracelets fall into place. He pulls out his boxy shirt so that its oversized folds drape more sensually over his lithe, delicate frame. Despite everything they've been through together, Aether still feels like he has to look good for his boyfriend, much as he knows that his own definition of good isn't necessarily what people even expect of his partner's partner. Aether's always been a little rough around the edges, a little sporty, a little boyish. The fact that the Game happened while he was in his school uniform was a bit of a fluke — and sometimes he wonders if he would have seemed so pure and charismatic if he hadn't been in his collared shirt and his plain brown cardigan at the time.
As Aether nears the fountain where he and Alhaitham agreed to meet, he finds himself unsurprised to see that the man has once again won himself the attentions of whispering women with wandering eyes.
"You ask him if he's single," one girl titters, playfully pushing the other.
"No way! Come on, think about it — he's clearly waiting for someone!"
"This is your only chance with a guy that hot —"
"I have zero chance! I have zero chance to begin with!"
Part of Aether almost wishes he could have pity on these young women, but he knows Alhaitham well enough to know that they are, in fact, correct: neither of them have any sort of chance with the scholar on account of the fact that the man is very much taken, and they would be swiftly rejected if they tried.
Alhaitham himself is seated upon a bench as he reads near the fountain, his legs crossed one over the other at a distance respectable enough that his book won't get spattered by stray droplets from the artificial falls. The soundproofing on his headphones must be on, since he barely even pays the girls any mind — small wonder he always wears them when his face and body earn him so much scrutiny, each and every time he goes outside.
In his infinite mercy — he's magnanimous like that sometimes — Aether figures he'll put the girls out of their misery. Sate their wild curiosity. As he beelines straight for Alhaitham, bending low over his book, he lifts his cap just slightly so that it doesn't bump up against the man's forehead as the pretty young blond claims a kiss.
And there's always a lot of questions when people see the sporty blond and the bookish secretary together, but Aether doesn't think that they owe anyone any answers.
Besides, it's hard to explain that you met your boyfriend and forged an undying pact of loyalty with him after being kidnapped by a shadowy organization and forced to play a Death Game with your lives on the line.
Pulling away from his lover's lips, Aether smiles and tips his head slightly to one side. He's considerate enough to make sure that his shadow isn't falling over the creamy pages of Alhaitham's book. ]
Hey, baby. Five hundred and you can do whatever you want.
[ ...It's a joke. Though, the girls nearby can hear him, and they're gaping. ] | |
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