Morning arrived without ceremony, pale light slipping through the curtains of Ellios's bedroom like a cautious visitor. He had already been awake for some time, lying still, staring at the ceiling as if the answers to his thoughts might be written there.
They weren't.
He rose eventually, moving through his routine with practiced precision—shower, suit, tie—every action polished by years of discipline. The man in the mirror looked exactly as the country expected him to look: composed, immaculate, untouchable. CEO of Blade Group. Heir in all but blood. A man who never faltered.
His phone vibrated on the counter.
Ellios froze.
He didn't need to look to know who it was from. His heart betrayed him instantly, leaping with an excitement that felt dangerously close to joy.
Hastur:
10 a.m. — XX Restaurant.
For a brief, reckless moment, Ellios smiled.
It was a small thing—barely there—but it felt like treason against everything he had trained himself to be. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, forcing the warmth in his chest to settle.
This ends today, he told himself. It has to.
His fingers hovered over the screen before he typed.
Ellios:
Ok.
The word felt heavier than any contract he had ever signed.
A knock sounded at the door. Judy entered, tablet in hand, already in work mode. Her presence grounded him, as it always did.
"Good morning, sir," she said. "Your schedule for today—"
She stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing slightly as she studied his face. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"I'm fine," Ellios replied automatically, then corrected himself.
Judy nodded, though concern lingered. She began listing his appointments, meetings stacked back-to-back like an unending staircase. When she reached ten o'clock, Ellios interrupted.
"Clear my schedule at ten."
Judy looked up sharply. "Sir?"
"I need an hour. No interruptions."
She hesitated, then nodded. "I'll take care of it."
As she turned to leave, Ellios glanced once more at his phone, then slipped it into his pocket like a dangerous secret.
The morning passed in a blur of discussions and decisions. Ellios performed flawlessly, as he always did, but his thoughts drifted despite his efforts. Every now and then, an image would intrude— eyes, a calm smile, the warmth of a hand on his arm.
When the final meeting ended, Ellios stood before anyone could stop him.
"I'm heading out," he said.
"Sir," Judy said quickly, stepping after him, "you shouldn't go alone. You've been—"
"I'll take Gabriel," Ellios replied.
"That's enough."
Judy searched his face, then sighed softly. "Please be careful."
The car ride was tense.
Gabriel drove in silence for several minutes before finally speaking. "You've been distracted all morning."
Ellios stared out the window. "Have I?"
"Yes," Gabriel said flatly. "Who are you meeting?"
Ellios exhaled slowly. "Just somebody."
Gabriel frowned. "You don't get this nervous over 'somebody.'"
Ellios didn't answer.
When they reached the restaurant, Ellios instructed Gabriel to wait in the car. Gabriel didn't like it, but he complied, eyes following Ellios until he disappeared inside.
The restaurant was elegant and understated, sunlight filtering through wide windows. Ellios scanned the room—and there he was.
Hastur.
He sat near the window, posture relaxed, presence commanding without effort. The moment his gaze lifted and met Ellios's, the world seemed to narrow.
All the words Ellios had prepared evaporated.
He had thought himself immune to such exaggerations, to poetry and sentiment. Yet in that instant, he understood what people meant when they said the heart could freeze and dance at the same time.
Hastur stood as Ellios approached
.
The freezing.
The dancing.
He had always thought such descriptions were exaggerated, poetic nonsense. Yet now his heart did both at once, stalling and racing, caught between fear and longing.
All the words he had prepared scattered like ash.
"You came."
"I said I would," Ellios replied, his voice steadier than he felt.
They sat close—too close. Ellios was keenly aware of the space between them, or rather, how little of it there was.
"What would you like to order?" Hastur asked.
Ellios blinked, caught off guard. "Ah—cofee. Pink."
"I thought you liked black coffee?" Hastur asked while ordered.
"And I noticed you don't like black." Said Ellios. He noticed how he left the black coffee on that restaurant. How he always seems off when he looked at black colour.
Hastur looked at him for a minute longer then replied "I'm not a racist."
"I, ..I didn't mean like that. I meant you just ah I mea..." It's time like this Ellios wonders what happened to his intelligent self Infront of this man. Unable to even form words. What kind of a magic is this.
"Relax I know what you meant." Replied Hastur smiling at the flustered Ellios. "It just remind me of someone." Just with this, Hastur remembered that damned sibling of his. Also known as The Black pharaoh. Just remembering this Hastur shake his head. He feels like that mad man see him every time he's close to black colour on objects. Racism is a stupid thing for him, After all, all humans in his eyes are evolved apes with no difference.
Ignoring this, Hastur ordered as well, his tone calm, unhurried.
Ellios watched him speak, watched how his eyes glowed faintly when he smiled, how effortlessly he held attention.
Conversation began slowly, cautiously. Small talk, polite exchanges. Ellios tried to focus on the words, not the man.
Then Hastur tilted his head slightly. "Are you angry with me?"
Ellios shook his head. "No."
"Then why the silence?" Hastur asked quietly. "It's been a week."
Ellios's fingers tightened around his cup. "I needed time."
Hastur studied him, then reached out, resting his hand lightly on Ellios's arm. The contact sent a jolt through him. It's impossible the way those hands fit perfectly on his.
"Why," Hastur asked softly, "when I thought we had a connection?"
His voice was low, intimate. The warmth of his hand was steady, careful, as if Ellios were something fragile. For a moment, Ellios felt exactly like that—glass held gently, precious and at risk of shattering.
His heart raced.
This feeling—this warmth, this being seen as something fragile to be protected. He liked it. More than liked it. He wanted to keep it, protect it, hide it away like a treasure.
But then he remembered. He remembered his sister who's life turned into hospital bed relying on magical green water. He remembered Marcus Blade. Even Hastur won't be safe from that man after all he's just a bar owner. What could he do to that powerful old man.
If this continues, it won't be only him who gets hurt but his closest ones would also get hurt. And he is not that selfish.
That was exactly why it had to stop.
With an effort that made his chest ache, Ellios pulled his arm free.
Ellios straightened, every inch the composed executive once more, even as his chest ached. "I would like for us to keep our distance, Mr. Hastur."
Silence fell between them, heavier now.
For a long moment, Hastur said nothing. Then he leaned back, studying Ellios with an intensity that made his skin prickle.
Even as his heart broke in protest.