Flambae is completely absorbed in something that demands absolute focus. Papers scattered all over the table, different types of fabric draped over the backs of chairs, sketch after sketch of possible new suit designs layered on top of each other. A small, controlled flame hovers lazily from one of his shoulders to the other. His brow is furrowed in that intense don’t talk to me or I bite expression he always wears when he’s working.
That look does not apply to Robert; it never applies to him.
Robert knows that, and he's bored too.
Which is a dangerous combination.
“Hey,” Robert says casually, appearing at Flambae’s side with a ceramic mug in hand. “Baby, can you heat this up a little?”
Flambae hums under his breath but doesn’t even look at him. He just wraps his fingers around the mug. The coffee inside begins to steam gently. “There.”
“Thanks.” Robert walks away.
One minute later, he’s back.
“And what about this?”
Flambae exhales sharply through his nose. “What is it?”
“A spoon.”
“…Why?”
“I just want it warm when I stir the coffee.”
“That's useless,” Flambae mutters, but he flicks his fingers against the spoon anyway. It glows faint red for half a second before cooling into a harmless warmth. “Happy?”
“Very.” Robert grins and leans over Flambae’s shoulder to peek at the sketches. “These are beautiful.”
“Mm-hm.” Flambae barely acknowledges him, already crumpling one rejected page and igniting it in his palm without looking.
Five more minutes pass.
Flambae adjusts a strip of fabric, a quiet flame now crackling lightly through his hair as he murmurs to himself about lengths and measurements.
A shadow falls over his work again.
“What, Bob?”
Robert is holding a pillow.
“No,” Flambae says immediately, catching sight of it from the corner of his eye.
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.” Robert pouts dramatically.
“You want me to warm up the pillow.”
“Just a little. It’s comfy.”
“No.”
Robert tilts his head. “You’re no fun.”
“I am extremely fun,” Flambae shoots back. “I’m just busy.”
Robert hums, unconvinced, and disappears again.
There’s blessed silence for nearly ten full minutes.
Flambae relaxes slightly.
Then—
“And what about this?”
He doesn’t look up. “Bobby, if that’s another pointless object, I swear—”
“It’s not.”
Flambae lifts his gaze.
Robert is holding a piece of croissant with both hands like it’s a sacred offering.
“…You’re unbelievable,” Flambae mutters.
“Please?” Robert gives him exaggerated puppy eyes.
Flambae rolls his eyes but sends a small, controlled spark toward the pastry. The dough warms instantly; the chocolate inside melts just enough to drip toward Robert’s palm. Robert quickly licks the mess off his hand.
Robert beams, mouth full. “Wow. Science.”
“Go clean yourself up.”
Robert obediently circles around and leaves the room.
Flambae tries to focus again. He really does. He reins in his flames, rolls his shoulders back, and studies the more promising sketches.
Footsteps.
He closes his eyes. “Robert.”
“It’s important this time,” Robert begins, with theatrical innocence. “She’s cold.”
Confused, Flambae lifts his head so fast he nearly strains his neck.
Robert is standing in the doorway, holding a small, giggling girl tucked under one arm like luggage. She has a toothy grin with a missing front tooth and looks entirely too pleased with herself.
Flambae blinks. “Why are you holding my niece?”
“She said she’s cold.”
“Hi, Uncle Bae!” the little girl chirps, waving enthusiastically before rubbing her hands along her arms in an exaggerated shiver. “It’s so cold in here.”
Robert smiles innocently.
“Okay. That’s enough,” Flambae hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose. He stands and crosses the room in three long strides. Carefully, he ushers both Robert and his niece out of the office. From the crack of the door, he mutters first to Robert, “You’re supposed to be a responsible babysitter.” Then to his niece, “You are not cold.”
Robert looks down at the girl. “Is he excluding us?”
“He is,” she says conspiratorially, grinning back at him. “I guess that means more croissants and donuts for us, right, Uncle Bob?”
Flambae’s niece runs off toward the kitchen in excitement. Robert follows her, smiling—but not before calling back down the hall:
“There won’t be any donuts left for you, Uncle Bae!”
Flambae sighs as he shuts the office door.
Alone again, he lets out a quiet laugh — just a little softer now, just a little more fond — because watching his boyfriend and his niece get along that well does something warm and dangerously distracting to his heart.
i like when characters have weird inexplicable intimate bonds but i don't understand romantic or sexual attraction so it's just weird bullshit instead #myweirdbullshit #ilovemyweirdbullshit #secretthirdthing
genuinely so upset that the fight club movie replaced boiling marlas mother with stealing from a liposuction clinic that part of the book was insane. it better highlights how tyler claims he doesnt need women in his life, then proceeds to manipulate women and profit off of their literal flesh. i think it foreshadows very well how good he is at playing people no matter how special they believe they are to him, and how theres no reason he wouldn’t manipulate the narrator as well.
Apple as a metaphor for shame, homosexuality, and the total consumption of your lover because you know that's the only way you'll ever be complete. Or something like that
