CHAPTER 105: CHAPTER 105: PICKY

Victor let the last sip of wine linger on his tongue before setting the glass down. "You’re being picky," he observed, the words smooth but carrying the same precision as if he’d said you’re lying.

"I’m being cautious," Elias corrected, pushing one of the edible flowers to the far edge of his plate like it might try to reclaim the center. "You don’t put green paste on a plate unless you’re trying to hide something."

"It’s basil purée," Victor said without looking. "I had them make it because I know you like basil. The meat is the cut you order whenever you think I’m not watching. And the wine," his gaze flicked to the glass by Elias’s hand, "is from the same vineyard that bottled the one you kept staring at in my cellar."

Elias’s fork hesitated over the purée but didn’t touch it. "And yet," he said mildly, "I’m still alive."

That pulled a genuine laugh from Victor, low and quiet, the kind that brushed warm over the edges of his words. "You could be sitting in front of the best meal you’ve ever had, and you’d still look at it like it owes you an explanation."

"Maybe it does," Elias said, finally cutting into another slice of meat. "You have a habit of making gifts look like traps."

Victor’s eyes glinted, amused and unoffended. "Only when they are."

Elias took a measured bite, chewed slowly, then set the fork down again as if granting a temporary reprieve to the plate. "So which one is this?"

Victor’s gaze lingered on him, the corners of his mouth curling. "That depends. Are you going to eat it and then try to sneak snacks later or enjoy it?"

Elias reached for his water instead of the wine, taking a sip like he meant to end the subject. "Snacks don’t argue back. They don’t come with strings attached. They’re reliable."

Victor tilted his head, watching him with that too-patient stillness. "Reliable," he echoed, setting his glass down with care. "Is that what you call the mint chocolates you keep in the top drawer of your desk?"

Elias’s hand stilled on the stem of his glass. His eyes narrowed a fraction. "...Excuse me?"

"Or the dried mango strips in your backpack," Victor continued, unbothered. "The ones you think are subtle because they don’t crinkle as much during lectures." A pause, deliberate, almost indulgent. "Or the off-brand crackers you buy in bulk. I had Ashwin check the ingredient list... he’s still offended you eat them."

Elias blinked once, then set his water down with exaggerated care. "You had him audit my snacks."

Victor’s mouth curved, slow and deliberate. "I like knowing what sustains you."

"That’s not sustenance, that’s survival," Elias muttered, stabbing at his plate as though the basil purée had personally betrayed him. "And I don’t remember consenting to a nutritional census."

"You didn’t." Victor leaned forward slightly, crimson eyes warm with the kind of quiet satisfaction that came from winning without raising his voice. "But I don’t need your consent to pay attention."

The muscle in Elias’s jaw tightened, though his expression stayed flat. "Obsessive isn’t the same as attentive."

Victor’s smile deepened, unbothered, and for once his voice carried nothing sharp at all, only genuine pleasure. "With you," he said, "it is."

"Don’t you have work to do? Or... I don’t know, something godly? Something other than obsessing over me?"

Victor’s laugh was quiet, the sound threading through the low hum of the restaurant like it belonged there. "Work is constant. You are... rarer."

Elias picked up his fork again, deliberately dragging a piece of meat through the basil purée without tasting it. "That’s a very poetic way of saying you’ve run out of hobbies."

"I have plenty," Victor said smoothly. "Collecting grudges. Breaking treaties. Rearranging the shape of nations. You’re just the one I actually enjoy."

"That’s supposed to be flattering?" Elias arched a brow, finally lifting the bite to his mouth, chewing with the suspicious precision of a man testing for poison. "I get to share a category with war crimes?"

Victor’s crimson eyes warmed, the faintest edge of mischief sharpening their glow. "War ends. And now I have a rather charming hobby of doting on my mate."

Elias set his fork down again, unimpressed. "Doting. That’s what you call having Ashwin catalogue my snack drawer?"

Victor’s mouth curved, deliberate. "It’s what I call knowing you better than you admit you want to be known."

"Or what you call surveillance with better table manners." Elias reached for his water, taking a slow sip as if to rinse the taste of Victor’s words away. "You do realize hobbies are supposed to be relaxing?"

Victor leaned back in his chair, long fingers tracing the stem of his glass as though the motion itself was indulgence. "It is relaxing. You are relaxing." His smile deepened, unbothered, a predator at rest. "Even when you bristle."

Elias stabbed the basil purée again, finally tasting it this time with a look that suggested he was still unconvinced. "You’re confusing obsession with entertainment."

"Am I?" Victor’s gaze lingered on him, dark and unhurried, the kind of attention that could turn a room into a cage if he willed it. Yet here, it softened into something close to delight. "Because from where I sit, I’ve never been more entertained."

Elias chuckled under his breath, low and unbothered, the sound slipping out before he could catch it. He didn’t dignify Victor’s words with an answer, just dragged another bite through the purée and ate it this time without comment.

Victor watched, lips curving faintly as if Elias’s silence was the loudest reply of all. He didn’t push, only sipped from his wine again, letting the quiet stretch until the servers cleared their plates and set down the next course, a delicate arrangement of seared fish with charred lemon and fennel, the fragrance sharp enough to cut through the heavy hush of the restaurant.

Elias regarded it with the same suspicion he’d given the last dish, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’d already decided whether or not it was guilty. He reached for his fork, finally breaking the silence. "You’re very confident for a man whose idea of entertainment depends on me not flipping this plate."

Victor’s laugh came easy, rich and low. "If you did, I’d only order another."

Ashwin’s shadow fell across the table a moment before his voice did, polite but edged with hesitation. "Master Victor."

Elias glanced up first, catching the faint stiffness in Ashwin’s shoulders and the way his gaze flicked anywhere but directly at them, as though interrupting the meal risked more than his job.

Victor didn’t move, didn’t even lower his glass, only let his crimson eyes slide toward him with slow, deliberate patience. "You’ve already decided it’s worth disturbing me," he said, calm as stone. "Say it."

Ashwin inclined his head with Victor’s phone already in his hands. "It’s NumenCorp. Samael is on the line. He insisted it cannot wait."

The faint curve of Victor’s mouth didn’t waver, but something in the air around him shifted, like the drop before thunder.

Victor’s crimson gaze held Ashwin’s for a moment, silent enough that the restaurant’s quiet hum seemed to recede. Then, without hurry, he extended a hand and took the phone.

He didn’t rise, didn’t retreat from the table. He simply leaned back in his chair, glass of wine still within reach, and pressed the call through, his voice silk and command all at once. "Samael."