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@edgarquill
Hello, This blog is run by the award winning, academic scholar in occultism-science & angelology Edgar Quill. I am a traveling professor who works with universities across the globe to help people better understand the supernatural. This mission extends to my blog! If you have any questions that are better left to a professional in said field I am happy to help :)
Cheers <3
I love you (-🐁)
(You don’t have to answer this)
Love ya too :)
Now I hope you were serious about getting lunch sometime. I’ll be in New York teaching a class for about two months. I’d love to catch up! Be seeing you, pet :)
PS. I sent you a limited-signed copy of What Makes Pigs Fly, I’m not sure if you ever received it. Would love to know what you think about it? Yeah?
Hope you and the little one are doing fine.
- [ @edgarquill ]
This message finds Claude hunched over the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, wondering just what it was that he should be doing. More than the fact that his head was starting to spin with the second (full) glass of whiskey he'd just emptied into his gullet, Edgar's appearance against all this mess seemed like a cruel callback from the gods to when times were simpler.
And when he was still an utter fuck-up.
Oh how he missed him. The angel couldn't stomach looking up the professor after his wide acclaim, despite seeing news of his book plastered everywhere for the world to see, maybe if he was being delusional him to see, and still wondered aimlessly just how much Ed had changed. If his hair was any shorter, longer, got too rich and grew out of those glasses, or that voice. He'd forgotten how nice it was. He'd forgotten how nice everything was, really.
But John.
📱: Eve's doing fine, Eds. Let's meet up. You know where.
Just the thought of it made him sick. Though as Claude presses send on the first message, he knows he's digging his grave.
📱: Course we can talk about the book. Catch up. It'll be like old times.
Just smart enough to call it shelter.
📱I did not expect you to respond so soon. Late night? Work trouble? Whatever it is I know you’ll get through it. You always do, right? A Krueal is anything if not filled with Tenacity. Or is it Spite? Ha.
It was not very scholarly of the man to panic, squeal, and drop his phone on his face. Luckily said thing didn’t break his glasses. God that would be the 4th time he had to get it repaired in the last two months. Was he really that unlucky?
Then again, for him to adore such an angel Edgar must have the worst luck in the world.
It didn’t take long for him to second guess his little jokes. Had he grown too daring when outside the nest, fuck, would his newfound cockiness scare Claude away? How did he used to message him! It was so long ago. Ah! He hated this. It was far too early for him and far too late for that Attorney.
What WAS Claude doing up at 2 AM. Should he be worried?
📱I’m flying over tomorrow night. Have a little conference and then it’s smooth sailing. You can handle the wait I hope. Was thinking Wednesday we could meet? If that works for your oh so busy schedule of course.
….
📱i’d love to thank you for your many contributions to science.
This was a bad idea. He knew it was. There was a reason they hadn’t spoken. And it wasn’t because their busy, busy lives. Unfortunately the two were incompatible, a fact Edgar had come to terms with quite well. No use getting his hopes up. This would just be a friendly visit.
Even if the man wished it was anything else. How selfish of him.
At least that was his birthright. Selfishness.
There’s something about the relief that courses through his body that disgusts him. When Eddie doesn’t follow up with a string of curses wishing death upon his name, and though deep down he knew the man was never capable of such a thing, with what Claude did to him, it would be more than deserving of such a feat. Enough for him to fall back and turn over, clutching his sides like he’s a wounded animal.
If even Eddie’s found it in himself to be this kind to him. Oh, if only he knew. The professor had the unfortunate privilege to see what laid behind the mask, and though its contents were ugly beyond repair did he reach out and hold it against his face like nothing he’s seen before. Even if the glint in his eye could be mistaken for breathtaking novelty. But that’s what he was at the end of the day. To everyone. Meat. An animal. Just something interesting enough to pin on a table and study. He’s sure Eddie has his own guilt over the situation, perhaps Claude was sloppy at the end of their relationship and provided not much research to be founded from, though he’s not particularly blessed with the knowledge to differentiate between what he’s caused and what Edgar actually had to be remorseful over.
I mean, what kind of relationship could sprout out of their start anyways? Certainly nothing that warranted how cruel he was at the end.
Eddie doesn’t get a response till the morning, forged in deliberation and sleep interrupted by rays of sunlight shooting through the gaps in curtain blinds like daggers. Vengeful, as though Claude did not deserve to wake up. He slides a bottle under his bed with his foot, rubbing his neck.
📱: You don’t need to thank me. It’s your brilliant mind that made something of it. I’m just the pet.
Maybe that last one comes off more bitter than expected.
📱[Read.]
Okay… maybe leaving him on read wasn’t such a good idea. Hell, Edgar could go years without a real conversation with him again. Unfortunately the scholar didn’t know HOW to respond. If he argued there was a high chance Claude would just internalise his self-deprecating thoughts and no matter what he did after that point the man couldn’t argue with said things once they were safe in that angels pretty little head. Ignoring it was also out of the question! gah! Why was this so hard!
….
The brunette turned his phone off. Placing the discarded thing on the cold, wooden dresser he called a Nightstand. Sighing the professor got out of bed. Stretching in a way that made him ever so embarrassed by the pops of his starting-to-age back. Rummaging through a clothes pile that had developed into an impressive heap in the corner he found a dress shirt that smelt … decent. Edgar fumbled for the buttons, getting dressed in relative silence.
He struggled with his tie. Embarrassing.
How he wishes for soft hands laced in suede to wrap around his neck to help him.
…
It wasn’t until much later that Edgar found the courage to respond. A day in a half, quite literally on the way to the airport. That actually helped immensely… whatever Claude responded with he wouldn’t see while on the plane afterall.
📱that’s never been why I called you pet, luv. I’m sure you know that. At times you’re muchm ore clever than me.
📱that book wouldn’t have existed without your little contributions. Hell, you practically sponsored it with all those cute little lunches.
📱is cute an okay word for those rich things? Don’t want the blue in you to burn.
📱you will always be the prettiest specimen pinned on my wall. No need to be bashful about it.
📱flights loading. Text you later. Don’t do soemtging stupid.
Even if he had no reason for such thoughts … flying to New York made him feel as if he was travelling to the belly of the beast. Offering himself to a lions den as fresh meat to tear apart. Any analogy where Claude rips him to shreds and eats him whole, really.
Swallowing that anxiety he boarded the aircraft. Messy hair snagging into his headphones,, god he was glad no one he knew could see him like this. He was never caught unprepared while travelling.
As expected, the professor leaves him on read. A lesser version of Claude would crush his heart over that, the latest prize of fixation carrying the brunt between him and the glass veil of anxiety bubbling up in his throat. Though as of now, while such an emotion seems unpleasant, in the grand scheme of things, it was much better than the obsessive upset that grasped him once he realized that Edgar had moved on from such frivolous indulgence. It's granted that he wouldn't take his bait anymore.
He was still upset, in some capacity, though. From the years of compartmentalizing his feelings into neat little boxes he can push into boundaries and warm beds and cold people and the twitch of his wings at the doctor's when they said it was too late to fix anything, Claude is now half the man that Eddie had loved all those years ago. He's barely a man enough for himself. How would the professor react to being studied over something he could barely do himself? Poked and prodded over and over again, watching for reactions that wouldn't come through? His wings weren't fucking working. His magic wasn't fucking working.
Though, really, he couldn't bring himself to see him that way. Use him that way. Claude had loved him dearly. Enough to look back on what little memories they had before the text messages soured and trailed off into broken shards of their happy little relationship. He was a bad man. A bad person. It wasn't right that his Eddie's reconnection message was just under Claude's last to him all those years ago.
📱: I'm coming home for dinner.
Did Eddie think about it like he did? Agonize over what could have been, push it aside? How quickly it all had come to fall apart in his hands, how quickly love had turned into resentment, how quickly he made excuses to not ever see his professor again. His professor.
---
"you will always be the prettiest specimen pinned on my wall."
Edgar knew just how to make things worse whenever he was clearly trying to help. It's in a state of helplessness that it finds Claude as he's checking his phone at the crossing, and he's frozen in place. It's supposed to be cute. It's supposed to be comforting. He knows that.
He knows that.
But did that argument really get nothing through to him? Was he really just a little butterfly to be pinned in forever rigor mortis to him? The screams, the shouting, the wailing and the tears shed, were they for nothing in the face of the years past? He thinks past it by squeezing his eyes shut. All he can remember is Edgar's stone-cold face staring up at him.
---
The airport was loud as usual. Whispers of other pressing issues float around in the corner of his mind, but the attorney was only looking for one face in the crowd. Meeting him right at the entrance, briefcase in hand, waiting so patiently to spot that tussled head of hair flattened by headphone bars. Always on time. Picture perfect with his trenchcoat done (just calculatingly) loose, hair gelled the way he always does, with gloves to match.
It's like their first meeting all over again.
People hoarded many things. For some because it might hold value to others, For some because it might hold value to them. The items themselves don’t matter, variety bred from the humanity of it all. Keeping junk.
The garbage Edgar hoarded was not much different. If anything it was worse.
The professor hoarded memories.
Admittedly this flight was paid for by a voucher. The host of the conference offered to pay all expenses, let him even schedule his own flight. He could’ve pampered himself, drank expensive champagne with a reclining chair. All the stops! But… a part of him couldn’t handle potentially overwriting the experience in his head.
The experience of when a certain angel showed him the joys of first class. Nursing a margarita while Edgar laid against his chest, watching a show Claude swore on his life was good, even if he complained the whole time about the inaccuracy.
What if the next time he tried to imagine first class … the seats were a new texture. Or the shows not as convoluted. What stayed locked behind that curtain was one of the many bubbles that he’d created in the wake of a messy break up. Too afraid to pop it by indulging himself with reminiscing.
No, it was better to not think about it.
…
Even if he wanted to.
——
"…………"
By any normal standard the man was perfect. Ignoring the headphones his hair was well kept, styled cleanly. His face clean, his clothes following suit. Sure there was a few wrinkles here and there but hey, what can you really do.
Claude wasn’t a normal person. That was the biases of this relationship after all.
Edgar’s bangs pressed to his head, a habit of his hair he’d lamented over numerous signs. A indication that he’d sweat at least a little on the flight and hadn’t had a chance to freshen up. His piercings were cute, little cross ones shining in the light. However one was slightly rotated, meaning his Eddie had bit his lip and hadn’t noticed. A mistake. This wasn’t even mentioning the nicks along his chin, barely covered by shoddily placed concealer. Makeup was never the professors forte.
Not to say all the differences Claude noticed were bad.
He clearly had gained some meat on his bones, suit slightly tighter around his arms, shape different around his chest. His hair was longer, some of it tied neatly in a ponytail, no longer matted in the back. And, fuck, it was hard not to notice the new glasses when he was looking into his eyes. He chose thinner ones, met him look older.
He was older.
“Well … this is a surprise."
Gloved hands pulled his headphones to his neck. A few strands now poking out of place.
“You didn’t have to do this, Pet. Umh … Thank you. I mean it. This is very kind."
Which he didn’t deserve.
"I hope I didn’t keep you waiting."
He chose not to ask how Claude got his flight information. The joy of money, he assumed. Anything could be bought, really.
Pet. There's that nickname again. Fuck, did it always hurt the same?
"I came just in time for you." It's only fair.
There's that drawl the scholar missed. A melodic sort of twang with an unplaceable accent, airy enough in some places that reminds him of memories long past, tales of sprawling walls, horses in carriages and knights in shining armor, but unmistakable with that NYC drawl from decades spent in the unsleeping city. And there was Claude, standing right beside the crowd, spent from the years that had passed. Some part of the lawyer was grasped with this deep horror that everything changed beyond his intention, without his permission, as if it were the universe's purpose to bend to his will. And there was Krueal, shaking Edgar's hand. Even if the grip was firmer than he remembered so.
It's just enough for him to look the professor over and agonize at what had evaded him times past, in thinner frames and aged features jumping out to him as he's sure it jumped out to Edgar. Cheekbones just a little more sunken in, frown deeper and hair greying at the roots from places Ed realizes he hasn't filled in yet, ears fluffed up just enough but pointing just low enough from lack, or want of energy. Handsome features once full of life fraying at the edges of experiences he wasn't let in on anymore, those shoulders that once seemed so broad almost hiding in that trenchcoat that doesn't wear the same as it used to.
And his wings. God, his wings. Lost all their luster, their shine from years of neglect fading just as Edgar had managed to brush out the matting, and in its place his eyes stare down at him. Dark as ever, only this time more haunted.
He's a husk of a man standing before him, half alive, and barely angel.
And Krueal shakes his hand.
And Edgar Quill is still stunning.
"…lucky you did. Can you imagine? I got 'awff too early and you didn’t get to make a cool, dramatic entrance. I think that would kill you."
His tone held endearment. Some lost, nearly forgotten affection. There was a softness in his teasing.
However, Edgar’s eyes were a different story. Claude didn’t miss it, that flash of pity. Of horror. Oh how the angel (if you could even call him that) wishes they’d stop. Look at him with kindness. With affection. Anything but that. He’s smart, he can tell how much of a mess the man really is.
"Honestly I didn’t take you to still try this little prince act. I read a news article about you recently, they said something about you being a, ah, what was it… oh right: the cruelest bachelor in New York. Now what could you have possibly done to gain that title?"
…
Did he accidentally just admit to cyberstalking his ex boyfriend?
"Actually don’t tell me it’s funnier to imagine you pissed off the queen 'f America or something."
For a moment Claude was worried Edgar had somehow lost his voice hanging around upper crust snobs all day! He tried so hard to sound serious… yet he still had the accent of a dog no matter how he tried to spin it to work for him. It was cute. And, well, hearing anyone with a voice like that was nice right now. Let him close his eyes and try to remember a certain warlock. Of course there was small differences.
That felt like cliffs right now. Impossible to get over. He wasn’t a little distraction… he was a reminder. Fuck he always messed things up didn’t he.
Edgar’s hand hovered out. It’s funny. So much time together, Even more time apart but somehow he still hadn’t learned what to do with his hands. Dork. Maybe he wanted to run his finger down Claude’s ear like he used to. Unfortunately he remembered that wasn’t exactly behaviour he could get away with anymore. Fluttering around with embarrassment he shoved the limb into his pockets, glancing away at the crowd so that he wouldn’t lose face.
Not that it’d work. He was like a tomato.
"Luv, erm, Mr. Krueal, I assume you have me on a very tight schedule. We - uh - don’t need to waste time catching up here. Best to do it in the car, right?"
'Cahr’….
"I have questions for you that I .. hah, admittedly can’t ask in public. For your sake of course."
WHAT.
Well I guess in some ways he never changes.
"Oh Eds, you of all people know the entrances come naturally." Claude's not the type of person that practices in the mirror after all. It's all him. When no-one's looking. Of course. At least he wouldn't admit that to Edgar, air light enough that he could joke without it leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, chuckling just a bit as he rolls his eyes. Light enough for him to shrug off the weight on his shoulders, with his briefcase too heavy.
But the weight comes back with that flash in his eyes, tensing in the professor's jaw as Claude takes his luggage, wondering if he's too frail now by his standards. The difference wasn't as staggering as he hoped, trenchcoat done loose for a reason. There's the familiar rumble of wheels on airport tiles, and as he walks with Ed, that headline jumps out to him with an internal groan, though he only sees the arrogant little huff that ruffles Claude's feathers. "Act is a strong word. What if this cruel bachelor's just like that naturally, huh?" You of all people should know.
Yet his ears still tilt down. Like its instinct. It makes him kind of sick. to be honest, so he shakes himself off, grunting with the cold seeping into his bones. The professor seems to have gotten the message, embarrassed flush creeping into his face, and he shrugs it off like water.
It's hard still, he thinks. Wings twitching with discomfort as he walks with Eddie, wondering if that's all the professor knows of him. Cares about him. He's seen how people look at him now. Now that he was less, enough for all of the ugly parts to show without recollection, an endless comparison for what he should be, who he should be. Of course, it still hurts. Just knowing that Eddie's gaze, that momentary flash of horror, pity, was added to the collection of eyes to block out. It shows as much on his face, stormy countenance grasping him with gloves that never budged, all torn up and ugly, only getting worse when he hears Mr. Krueal from him. Him? Eddie? Edgar? When did that change? "C'mon I think we've been way past that several times." Claude wraps an arm around the professor's shoulder before he knows it, bringing him closer than horrible breakups should. But it's nice. He sways with Ed like the weight was always there, the only difference this time being that for once his shoulders seemed bolder without him. And for once, that's good. The thought actually makes him smile. "And I'll answer all the questions you want, you dirty dog. Just don't, ha leak it to the press this time, capische?"
Of course it hurts. But there were good times too. Cheap food in bowling rings and ice skating in lakes and warm hugs and bad cooking. Beyond the misery of changing under grief Claude for once found happiness in the version of Edgar Quill that had lived on without him. And that's good.
And the car's ready as always. Well. Cahr.
"What the hell have you been upto since we've been gone, huh? Tell me allll about it."
"'Dirty dog' m' not a mutt! If I was any animal id be a uhhh… a umh…."
…
"A wolf! Grrrrrr!”
Like that’s any different.
Edgar hummed, not exactly hating all of Claude’s little touches. Actually he quite enjoyed the intimacy. He missed it. Missed him. The professor found solemn comfort by the consequently much frailer arm of a man who desperately wished to despise him. It was pitiful in its own right.
Unfortunately he didn’t know the parameters of how to act with an ex-boyfriend. Especially in this context. Obviously that damned attorney didn’t help much. Was he supposed to hold him back? Hold his hand? Gah it’s all too complicated. There was something simpler, safer even, about starting over. Maybe a little cold, but this was for the better.
"What have I been up too…"
It was hard to focus on the present when his mind was constantly being overloaded with the past. A collection of vignettes, properly burned like a CD into his mind. Might be the best thing there in all honesty. Fancy cars, chauffeurs, oh it’s wayyyy out of his tax bracket. He’d really struck gold with Claude! Not that he was a gold digger. Those rumours always made the angel laugh. Made him laugh too. That stupid little rich boy one. How Edgar used to chase that sound. Tell him anything in the hopes of that cheap, performative sound.
"…I got offered a job after our book, umh, teaching people about angels. Simple stuff, really. ‘Ts like the gig I had while we were dating but my students paid more to attend. Did a few research exhibitions… nothing as interesting as you."
.
"Well. I did get to work with sea dragon bones. Not as cool as the dragon remains y' showed me in the domain but, ah, very cool for study."
So shy. In context it was sort of ironic. Almost Funny, with him as Bashful as a school-girl now you could forgive a man for forgetting this ‘coy, gentle mannered scholar’ had the ego to mail Claude every single interview, magazine, article or published work that referenced them. That the brunette could find at least. Much more cocky overseas apparently. Though he was always the timid sort.
It was hard to forget the time Old Eddie, used to fumble around every fancy dinner or gathering he was brought to like a baby deer. Like prey. Drinking wine with his pinkie out like it might please Claude. Well, it did all things considered. Wasn’t a complete waste of time.
"Move around a lot. Stayed in Gotham for a week. Scariest moment of me life. By god. Every crack I heard was like a warnin'. They couldn’t pay me to do that again. Well, actually yes they can… m' very easily bought."
"Shit. Uh," His voice fluttered in pitch, face ever so slightly flushed. When wasn’t it? …The man adjusted his glasses, looking at the window like that would relieve his awkwardness in anyway. If only. "You, uh, didn’t want my day by day rundown. Sorry. Got a few wires crossed preparin' my presentation."
“I’ve been doing well off, especially thanks to your support. Thank you. Is that what I’m supposed to say? Hm?"
"A wolf?" Claude starts, thinking of little bedroom play-fights and griffons flying around the place. "Sure, Eds. If anything you'd be aaaa bunny. Much less menacing and more cute." Oh, and hawks eat them. But that joke went sour a while back. The angel hums, looking over at Edgar, half-surprised at the lighter tone and half-relieved that their relationship wasn't completely shredded enough that he hadn't overstepped already.
To be honest, he's not quite sure what he's doing here. With him. Holding him. Laughing with him. Beyond the banter over the thinly-veiled tragedy that threatens to overcome them both, this shouldn't be happening. He shouldn't be entertaining this so early in the throes of whatever newest breakdown he was having, but he couldn't deny that even just at the sight of this professor smiling, his heart seemed to calm just a little. Perhaps with familiarity, an old spark that lasted as long as it could before Claude had to go and ruin it, but a dangerous indulgence nevertheless.
At least now Eddie wasn't his. And he wasn't Eddie's. Not for a long time anyways. It's clear in how tense they are despite the assumed comfort, the deliberation between how close he should stay and for Edgar, if he should reciprocate. Claude wasn't stupid. The dynamic had changed, obviously, and acting like this, like they hadn't stopped all communication after raging tears and a screaming match wasn't doing them any good. He owes Edgar something good in his life that wasn't just a series of walking on eggshells to the next big breakdown. But that's the consequence of getting close to someone like him. What laid under the mask wasn't always as illustrious, and the professor had experienced it first hand.
And yet he had still loved him.
Though, Claude pushes the thought down. Focusing more on those little nervous tics the professor indulges himself in when he's not cognizant of the fact, lip red from gnawing, hair disturbed twirled around fingers and his shaking gaze— just the same as they were all those years ago. The only difference being that Claude no longer had the right to hold him. It's hard to admit to him that he knows, with the few updates he's had on his life against his will with glamorous media plastering the man's name on every billboard and interviewers citing him as source for whatever perverted question they wanted to ask of Claude, and its even harder to admit that back then, he was jealous. Envious of that celebration, camaraderie he just seemed to gain overnight while the angel had to break his back working against a shadow of an image decided against his will. Though now, it was obvious that he'd gotten ahead of himself.
He's still so cute. As ever. Glasses scrunched up on his face as he goes on about dragon bones and harvesting data from things older than the ground beneath his feet and aggressive enough to wipe the both of them out in an instant. Hair all shaggy. Eyes all unfocused, jumping around from excitement the way he gets going when he starts. It’s real cute.
Claude hums as he leans on his suitcase, watching the chauffeur haul the rest of the professors belongings into the trunk, shifting onto his feet as the last was loaded up. "'Supposed' to say? Well I dunno about that. Course it's true that without me the book wouldn'ta got published but with your brilliant mind 'm pretty sure you woulda found a much better angel than me and got a better book done. It's all about luck, yknow? And your day was cute. Years were cooler. Can't say my life's been all that interesting since you've been gone so."
"Got Krueal and Co up and running well after the whole client debacle, remember that? And y'know, Eve got bigger, got himself a girlfriend actually can you believe that? And I got myself a—" boyfriend, he wants to say. But the words choke up in his throat before he shudders, wings shaking off the dread before that trenchcoat starts to billow in his mind's eye. The smell of cigarette smoke making his eyes water. "KitchenAid. Yes. I know, finally, but I only got into baking fairly recently after I uh." Was forced to stay home. "Got some time off. Yknow I got around to making those recipes you always sent me since I had nothing to do and that butterscotch crumble cake actually was worth its salt after all. Still wouldn't shill out 40 and a hour queue but, yknow." He's rambling. God, he never does this.
"Anyways, like I said, nothing interesting going on with me. Musta gotten a break since you got all the attention, ha. You should get in the car now before you start running late on that lecture."
"Cute? I’m not Cute. I’m Cool. Haven’t you played Animal Crossing? M' a man."
He had. Edgar made sure of it. Laying against his chest while picking weeds, all while the angel companied about his day. Always so much to complain about. Even in paradise….
‘Bunny’ was doing wonders for his imagination. Did he feel bad drowning out Claude’s rant at a point? Yes. Yet he’d known most of this already. Claude was so cute it was torture, something in his gut was properly wrenched as he was forced to process that he wasn’t allowed to reward that cuteness now. He was a dirty dog, wasn’t he? The attorney went out of his way to pick him up, check on him, get him a hotel… all while Edgar ‘repaid’ him by ignoring him.
What had happened to his manners?
Edgar was VERY lucky angels couldn’t read minds. That he made sure of! He did a full experiment! While Claude was a special case, from what he can tell, no angel had that power. Oh how this idea used to horrify him. Claude used to joke about it all the time. While the scholar— much more gullible then— was prone to believe him. Trying to monitor out any potential embarrassing or compromising theory. He didn’t need that Attorney questioning his academic integrity. Even if it was obvious he was always a little interested in that man for more than research. When wasn’t it?
———
"You’re thinking about it again."
"I AM NOT!"
"You areeeeee, I can tell because I’m magic! - hah! You wanna kiss me."
Fluffy, cloud like wings stretched out behind the bachelor to give them some privacy (as if that was even needed when alone in a fancy car garage). His suit crinkling ever so slightly as he stretched his arm out. Muscles visible in the fitted fabric as he pinned the other between the cool metal of his newest vanity buy.
A Bentley, in perfect condition, just for driving his boyfriend around.
"Yer unreal, Pet."
He rolled his eyes, glasses knocked askew as the younger’s head was tilted up to look at the very cocky angel currently waiting to see if his theory was correct. Of course it was. Who DIDN’T want to kiss Claude Krueal??? It was almost ALL Edgar thought about! Well that and his many, many theories about divinity. Very normal thoughts. Nothing wrong with that!
Gingerly the brunette moved his hair to the side, face flushed as he closed the distance between them to finally shut up his damned ‘Prince charming’ with a ‘magical’ kiss. Ok maybe it was a little bit magical. However it wasn’t the kiss itself that made him blush. It was that secret, hidden intimacy. How Claude moved his posture so that if he ever wanted Edgar could pull away. He was so gentle with him. So careful. Each dramatic step carefully discussed, even if they never said a word.
He wanted to continue this dance with him forever.
Claude was a good kisser. Well. No that was an understatement— Claude was a great kisser.
It’s an unfortunate, or fortunate more likely, fact about him popularized in Vogue magazines of the era and little interviews from the interested, but nothing more obvious than the fact that this man was a notorious skirt chaser. This much was evident in his gesturally obvious personality, that swanky way he held himself and spoke just low enough that girls fall in love with him at the blink of an eye just for one night.
It’s just obnoxious enough to make his whole persona work with the whole rich boy thing he leaned into all the time, but what was not present, and noticeable, by anyone who spent time with him in a context longer than a few mutually drunk hours, was what you would say was a soul beneath the surface. All that exaggerated swagger and fancy cars could only do so much to hide the fact that it was, and always would be, unnerving when you’d find out that plastic feeling you get when you think too long about him was real. Especially real once it’s clear he keeps this act up religiously.
Like an imitation of a bird.
Edgar didn’t have this problem. Or more so, was lucky enough to coax just some genuine feeling out of Claude with traces of his persona still lingering in the back of his mind— like glass shards swept under the rug. But the professor was lucky enough to see a side of the angel that wasn’t pre-planned in a kendoll factory, and was that side endearing. He’s sure Claude’s going to pull back and make some sort of little quip at him for the situation but the angel shivers into the kiss like it’s all he knows, before his hands run down his body to wrap around Edgar, just enough to be a small barrier between him and the car metal.
Hugging him, no, encompassing him completely as he tilts his jaw to kiss him better, ears tilting and fluffing up while a deep sound builds up in his throat, and Edgar thinks already? By the time his thought finishes (thankfully not read by Claude) it’s buzzing against them like an engine. He’s purring a minute into kissing. And he thinks this helps his reputation. But he’s so greedy, as always, pressing up against the professor to get as much mileage of the situation as he could, always an opportunist, chest against him with his heart beating wildly. The angel was surprisingly clingy for a no-strings-attached deal, and it shows through him whining when Ed pulls back for air, breathing desperately as Claude bends down to mouth at his neck, kissing softly all over his throat like a prize.
Like he’s never been forced to be patient once in his life, he climbs back up, nosing at his jaw before peppering little kitten kisses all over, mumbling nothings while Edgar catches his breath, grip on his shoulder while he watches his wings flap with barely contained excitement.
“Oh, yer something special.” Just light enough against his throat that he doesn’t have to gasp for more air. Claude hums against him, nibbling at his ear’s connection.
“Oh I know, that’s why you’re dating me.”
“Nooo— you know it’s not like that!”
“Pshh, I was just jokin’ handsome. Don’t worry.”
And Claude goes in for another. Nose bumping against his. This could last forever if he just closes his eyes…
The tabloids were right. Claude’s kissing was out of this world. Inhumanly good. Literally. Poor Edgar couldn’t keep up if he tried.
Vertigo. Dizziness. Those little blurs of light that dance across one’s vision. It was truly a shame the human brain was so needy when it came to maintaining itself. He wanted to look at Claude’s face, whining when he was too lightheaded to continue. While the attorney worked hard to mimic a human in moments of passion the man was quick to forget his partners limits. Air, mainly. That was intoxicating in its own regard though. Edgar nearly choking on his love, holding the others chest to stabilise himself so that he wouldn’t fall. Claude was an anchor. A purring, playful sod sure, but an amazing anchor.
Saliva bridged the lover’s mouths even when they finally parted for a brief (emphasis on brief) intermission. Only breaking when Claude went to kiss a certain ragged body like an animal ripping the flesh off the prey it had rightfully hunted. Edgar’s throat bobbed as he gasped under the angel, leaning back into his hands as his head laid against the car. Desperate uneven breaths escaped the scholar, only gaining any sort of rhythm when a clean, gloved hand brushed some hair aside from Edgars pretty eyes.
With as much composure the brit could manage the other leaned his smaller frame up into Claude, letting his greedy, broad arms finish the work. Edgar, flush against his chest could really feel the vibrations now. What a loud purr. Was that because he was so happy? Or a natural response to the stimuli. The sensation was comforting, even more so because how warm his little angel was. There was a trill in the others voice, so cute. It was only natural a man of science such as himself would try to get Claude to repeat this little noises. To make sure it was a common phenomenon. Right, Edgar?
Luckily he knew just the thing to get a few words from his cocksure research partner.
Bold, pale hands set their sight on the ruffled, feathery wings draped over his figure. There was great contrast between the two: Juxtaposed white calloused fingers against the brown, Hazelnut base as he massaged down towards Claude’s lower back. He wasn’t dumb, Edgar had seen how such a motion made the angel react behind closed doors. His favourite spot was right about … ah, here. It’s Funny actually. Those wings command such fear, when stretched out from afar however touching them ruins the illusion. Too soft for a bird of prey. And full of small little cuts, or scars, or peppered in greys. They weren’t divine in any way.
Unfortunately this just made the battle currently going on between their mouths more intense. Claude was overpowering, both in taste and in strength. The professor was trying to take control, other hand going up to play with a certain feathered ear as he pulled the man down to give him a more aggressive angle. There was a tactic to this, of course, even if Edgar was too lost in the warm heat of his mouth to remember it. He just wanted to be closer. Tongue grazing sharp fangs as he tried to gain footing. Fangs he felt momentarily pressed to his lip when the man let his guard down.
Intoxicating.
"Mf — Yer' so good at - at this. At everything. So talented."
.
"An— Thank you. The car was so nice. So considerate."
Compliments came in hoards, mainly muffled by the attorney as he wouldn’t let Edgar get a proper word in. Too impatient to wait. That didn’t stop him of course, he knew Claude loved praise. And so he’d supply it as long as the universe would let him. In breathless, silly words.
Because he loved him.
Now I hope you were serious about getting lunch sometime. I’ll be in New York teaching a class for about two months. I’d love to catch up! Be seeing you, pet :)
PS. I sent you a limited-signed copy of What Makes Pigs Fly, I’m not sure if you ever received it. Would love to know what you think about it? Yeah?
Hope you and the little one are doing fine.
- [ @edgarquill ]
This message finds Claude hunched over the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, wondering just what it was that he should be doing. More than the fact that his head was starting to spin with the second (full) glass of whiskey he'd just emptied into his gullet, Edgar's appearance against all this mess seemed like a cruel callback from the gods to when times were simpler.
And when he was still an utter fuck-up.
Oh how he missed him. The angel couldn't stomach looking up the professor after his wide acclaim, despite seeing news of his book plastered everywhere for the world to see, maybe if he was being delusional him to see, and still wondered aimlessly just how much Ed had changed. If his hair was any shorter, longer, got too rich and grew out of those glasses, or that voice. He'd forgotten how nice it was. He'd forgotten how nice everything was, really.
But John.
📱: Eve's doing fine, Eds. Let's meet up. You know where.
Just the thought of it made him sick. Though as Claude presses send on the first message, he knows he's digging his grave.
📱: Course we can talk about the book. Catch up. It'll be like old times.
Just smart enough to call it shelter.
📱I did not expect you to respond so soon. Late night? Work trouble? Whatever it is I know you’ll get through it. You always do, right? A Krueal is anything if not filled with Tenacity. Or is it Spite? Ha.
It was not very scholarly of the man to panic, squeal, and drop his phone on his face. Luckily said thing didn’t break his glasses. God that would be the 4th time he had to get it repaired in the last two months. Was he really that unlucky?
Then again, for him to adore such an angel Edgar must have the worst luck in the world.
It didn’t take long for him to second guess his little jokes. Had he grown too daring when outside the nest, fuck, would his newfound cockiness scare Claude away? How did he used to message him! It was so long ago. Ah! He hated this. It was far too early for him and far too late for that Attorney.
What WAS Claude doing up at 2 AM. Should he be worried?
📱I’m flying over tomorrow night. Have a little conference and then it’s smooth sailing. You can handle the wait I hope. Was thinking Wednesday we could meet? If that works for your oh so busy schedule of course.
….
📱i’d love to thank you for your many contributions to science.
This was a bad idea. He knew it was. There was a reason they hadn’t spoken. And it wasn’t because their busy, busy lives. Unfortunately the two were incompatible, a fact Edgar had come to terms with quite well. No use getting his hopes up. This would just be a friendly visit.
Even if the man wished it was anything else. How selfish of him.
At least that was his birthright. Selfishness.
There’s something about the relief that courses through his body that disgusts him. When Eddie doesn’t follow up with a string of curses wishing death upon his name, and though deep down he knew the man was never capable of such a thing, with what Claude did to him, it would be more than deserving of such a feat. Enough for him to fall back and turn over, clutching his sides like he’s a wounded animal.
If even Eddie’s found it in himself to be this kind to him. Oh, if only he knew. The professor had the unfortunate privilege to see what laid behind the mask, and though its contents were ugly beyond repair did he reach out and hold it against his face like nothing he’s seen before. Even if the glint in his eye could be mistaken for breathtaking novelty. But that’s what he was at the end of the day. To everyone. Meat. An animal. Just something interesting enough to pin on a table and study. He’s sure Eddie has his own guilt over the situation, perhaps Claude was sloppy at the end of their relationship and provided not much research to be founded from, though he’s not particularly blessed with the knowledge to differentiate between what he’s caused and what Edgar actually had to be remorseful over.
I mean, what kind of relationship could sprout out of their start anyways? Certainly nothing that warranted how cruel he was at the end.
Eddie doesn’t get a response till the morning, forged in deliberation and sleep interrupted by rays of sunlight shooting through the gaps in curtain blinds like daggers. Vengeful, as though Claude did not deserve to wake up. He slides a bottle under his bed with his foot, rubbing his neck.
📱: You don’t need to thank me. It’s your brilliant mind that made something of it. I’m just the pet.
Maybe that last one comes off more bitter than expected.
📱[Read.]
Okay… maybe leaving him on read wasn’t such a good idea. Hell, Edgar could go years without a real conversation with him again. Unfortunately the scholar didn’t know HOW to respond. If he argued there was a high chance Claude would just internalise his self-deprecating thoughts and no matter what he did after that point the man couldn’t argue with said things once they were safe in that angels pretty little head. Ignoring it was also out of the question! gah! Why was this so hard!
….
The brunette turned his phone off. Placing the discarded thing on the cold, wooden dresser he called a Nightstand. Sighing the professor got out of bed. Stretching in a way that made him ever so embarrassed by the pops of his starting-to-age back. Rummaging through a clothes pile that had developed into an impressive heap in the corner he found a dress shirt that smelt … decent. Edgar fumbled for the buttons, getting dressed in relative silence.
He struggled with his tie. Embarrassing.
How he wishes for soft hands laced in suede to wrap around his neck to help him.
…
It wasn’t until much later that Edgar found the courage to respond. A day in a half, quite literally on the way to the airport. That actually helped immensely… whatever Claude responded with he wouldn’t see while on the plane afterall.
📱that’s never been why I called you pet, luv. I’m sure you know that. At times you’re muchm ore clever than me.
📱that book wouldn’t have existed without your little contributions. Hell, you practically sponsored it with all those cute little lunches.
📱is cute an okay word for those rich things? Don’t want the blue in you to burn.
📱you will always be the prettiest specimen pinned on my wall. No need to be bashful about it.
📱flights loading. Text you later. Don’t do soemtging stupid.
Even if he had no reason for such thoughts … flying to New York made him feel as if he was travelling to the belly of the beast. Offering himself to a lions den as fresh meat to tear apart. Any analogy where Claude rips him to shreds and eats him whole, really.
Swallowing that anxiety he boarded the aircraft. Messy hair snagging into his headphones,, god he was glad no one he knew could see him like this. He was never caught unprepared while travelling.
As expected, the professor leaves him on read. A lesser version of Claude would crush his heart over that, the latest prize of fixation carrying the brunt between him and the glass veil of anxiety bubbling up in his throat. Though as of now, while such an emotion seems unpleasant, in the grand scheme of things, it was much better than the obsessive upset that grasped him once he realized that Edgar had moved on from such frivolous indulgence. It's granted that he wouldn't take his bait anymore.
He was still upset, in some capacity, though. From the years of compartmentalizing his feelings into neat little boxes he can push into boundaries and warm beds and cold people and the twitch of his wings at the doctor's when they said it was too late to fix anything, Claude is now half the man that Eddie had loved all those years ago. He's barely a man enough for himself. How would the professor react to being studied over something he could barely do himself? Poked and prodded over and over again, watching for reactions that wouldn't come through? His wings weren't fucking working. His magic wasn't fucking working.
Though, really, he couldn't bring himself to see him that way. Use him that way. Claude had loved him dearly. Enough to look back on what little memories they had before the text messages soured and trailed off into broken shards of their happy little relationship. He was a bad man. A bad person. It wasn't right that his Eddie's reconnection message was just under Claude's last to him all those years ago.
📱: I'm coming home for dinner.
Did Eddie think about it like he did? Agonize over what could have been, push it aside? How quickly it all had come to fall apart in his hands, how quickly love had turned into resentment, how quickly he made excuses to not ever see his professor again. His professor.
---
"you will always be the prettiest specimen pinned on my wall."
Edgar knew just how to make things worse whenever he was clearly trying to help. It's in a state of helplessness that it finds Claude as he's checking his phone at the crossing, and he's frozen in place. It's supposed to be cute. It's supposed to be comforting. He knows that.
He knows that.
But did that argument really get nothing through to him? Was he really just a little butterfly to be pinned in forever rigor mortis to him? The screams, the shouting, the wailing and the tears shed, were they for nothing in the face of the years past? He thinks past it by squeezing his eyes shut. All he can remember is Edgar's stone-cold face staring up at him.
---
The airport was loud as usual. Whispers of other pressing issues float around in the corner of his mind, but the attorney was only looking for one face in the crowd. Meeting him right at the entrance, briefcase in hand, waiting so patiently to spot that tussled head of hair flattened by headphone bars. Always on time. Picture perfect with his trenchcoat done (just calculatingly) loose, hair gelled the way he always does, with gloves to match.
It's like their first meeting all over again.
People hoarded many things. For some because it might hold value to others, For some because it might hold value to them. The items themselves don’t matter, variety bred from the humanity of it all. Keeping junk.
The garbage Edgar hoarded was not much different. If anything it was worse.
The professor hoarded memories.
Admittedly this flight was paid for by a voucher. The host of the conference offered to pay all expenses, let him even schedule his own flight. He could’ve pampered himself, drank expensive champagne with a reclining chair. All the stops! But… a part of him couldn’t handle potentially overwriting the experience in his head.
The experience of when a certain angel showed him the joys of first class. Nursing a margarita while Edgar laid against his chest, watching a show Claude swore on his life was good, even if he complained the whole time about the inaccuracy.
What if the next time he tried to imagine first class … the seats were a new texture. Or the shows not as convoluted. What stayed locked behind that curtain was one of the many bubbles that he’d created in the wake of a messy break up. Too afraid to pop it by indulging himself with reminiscing.
No, it was better to not think about it.
…
Even if he wanted to.
——
"…………"
By any normal standard the man was perfect. Ignoring the headphones his hair was well kept, styled cleanly. His face clean, his clothes following suit. Sure there was a few wrinkles here and there but hey, what can you really do.
Claude wasn’t a normal person. That was the biases of this relationship after all.
Edgar’s bangs pressed to his head, a habit of his hair he’d lamented over numerous signs. A indication that he’d sweat at least a little on the flight and hadn’t had a chance to freshen up. His piercings were cute, little cross ones shining in the light. However one was slightly rotated, meaning his Eddie had bit his lip and hadn’t noticed. A mistake. This wasn’t even mentioning the nicks along his chin, barely covered by shoddily placed concealer. Makeup was never the professors forte.
Not to say all the differences Claude noticed were bad.
He clearly had gained some meat on his bones, suit slightly tighter around his arms, shape different around his chest. His hair was longer, some of it tied neatly in a ponytail, no longer matted in the back. And, fuck, it was hard not to notice the new glasses when he was looking into his eyes. He chose thinner ones, met him look older.
He was older.
“Well … this is a surprise."
Gloved hands pulled his headphones to his neck. A few strands now poking out of place.
“You didn’t have to do this, Pet. Umh … Thank you. I mean it. This is very kind."
Which he didn’t deserve.
"I hope I didn’t keep you waiting."
He chose not to ask how Claude got his flight information. The joy of money, he assumed. Anything could be bought, really.
Pet. There's that nickname again. Fuck, did it always hurt the same?
"I came just in time for you." It's only fair.
There's that drawl the scholar missed. A melodic sort of twang with an unplaceable accent, airy enough in some places that reminds him of memories long past, tales of sprawling walls, horses in carriages and knights in shining armor, but unmistakable with that NYC drawl from decades spent in the unsleeping city. And there was Claude, standing right beside the crowd, spent from the years that had passed. Some part of the lawyer was grasped with this deep horror that everything changed beyond his intention, without his permission, as if it were the universe's purpose to bend to his will. And there was Krueal, shaking Edgar's hand. Even if the grip was firmer than he remembered so.
It's just enough for him to look the professor over and agonize at what had evaded him times past, in thinner frames and aged features jumping out to him as he's sure it jumped out to Edgar. Cheekbones just a little more sunken in, frown deeper and hair greying at the roots from places Ed realizes he hasn't filled in yet, ears fluffed up just enough but pointing just low enough from lack, or want of energy. Handsome features once full of life fraying at the edges of experiences he wasn't let in on anymore, those shoulders that once seemed so broad almost hiding in that trenchcoat that doesn't wear the same as it used to.
And his wings. God, his wings. Lost all their luster, their shine from years of neglect fading just as Edgar had managed to brush out the matting, and in its place his eyes stare down at him. Dark as ever, only this time more haunted.
He's a husk of a man standing before him, half alive, and barely angel.
And Krueal shakes his hand.
And Edgar Quill is still stunning.
"…lucky you did. Can you imagine? I got 'awff too early and you didn’t get to make a cool, dramatic entrance. I think that would kill you."
His tone held endearment. Some lost, nearly forgotten affection. There was a softness in his teasing.
However, Edgar’s eyes were a different story. Claude didn’t miss it, that flash of pity. Of horror. Oh how the angel (if you could even call him that) wishes they’d stop. Look at him with kindness. With affection. Anything but that. He’s smart, he can tell how much of a mess the man really is.
"Honestly I didn’t take you to still try this little prince act. I read a news article about you recently, they said something about you being a, ah, what was it… oh right: the cruelest bachelor in New York. Now what could you have possibly done to gain that title?"
…
Did he accidentally just admit to cyberstalking his ex boyfriend?
"Actually don’t tell me it’s funnier to imagine you pissed off the queen 'f America or something."
For a moment Claude was worried Edgar had somehow lost his voice hanging around upper crust snobs all day! He tried so hard to sound serious… yet he still had the accent of a dog no matter how he tried to spin it to work for him. It was cute. And, well, hearing anyone with a voice like that was nice right now. Let him close his eyes and try to remember a certain warlock. Of course there was small differences.
That felt like cliffs right now. Impossible to get over. He wasn’t a little distraction… he was a reminder. Fuck he always messed things up didn’t he.
Edgar’s hand hovered out. It’s funny. So much time together, Even more time apart but somehow he still hadn’t learned what to do with his hands. Dork. Maybe he wanted to run his finger down Claude’s ear like he used to. Unfortunately he remembered that wasn’t exactly behaviour he could get away with anymore. Fluttering around with embarrassment he shoved the limb into his pockets, glancing away at the crowd so that he wouldn’t lose face.
Not that it’d work. He was like a tomato.
"Luv, erm, Mr. Krueal, I assume you have me on a very tight schedule. We - uh - don’t need to waste time catching up here. Best to do it in the car, right?"
'Cahr’….
"I have questions for you that I .. hah, admittedly can’t ask in public. For your sake of course."
WHAT.
Well I guess in some ways he never changes.
"Oh Eds, you of all people know the entrances come naturally." Claude's not the type of person that practices in the mirror after all. It's all him. When no-one's looking. Of course. At least he wouldn't admit that to Edgar, air light enough that he could joke without it leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, chuckling just a bit as he rolls his eyes. Light enough for him to shrug off the weight on his shoulders, with his briefcase too heavy.
But the weight comes back with that flash in his eyes, tensing in the professor's jaw as Claude takes his luggage, wondering if he's too frail now by his standards. The difference wasn't as staggering as he hoped, trenchcoat done loose for a reason. There's the familiar rumble of wheels on airport tiles, and as he walks with Ed, that headline jumps out to him with an internal groan, though he only sees the arrogant little huff that ruffles Claude's feathers. "Act is a strong word. What if this cruel bachelor's just like that naturally, huh?" You of all people should know.
Yet his ears still tilt down. Like its instinct. It makes him kind of sick. to be honest, so he shakes himself off, grunting with the cold seeping into his bones. The professor seems to have gotten the message, embarrassed flush creeping into his face, and he shrugs it off like water.
It's hard still, he thinks. Wings twitching with discomfort as he walks with Eddie, wondering if that's all the professor knows of him. Cares about him. He's seen how people look at him now. Now that he was less, enough for all of the ugly parts to show without recollection, an endless comparison for what he should be, who he should be. Of course, it still hurts. Just knowing that Eddie's gaze, that momentary flash of horror, pity, was added to the collection of eyes to block out. It shows as much on his face, stormy countenance grasping him with gloves that never budged, all torn up and ugly, only getting worse when he hears Mr. Krueal from him. Him? Eddie? Edgar? When did that change? "C'mon I think we've been way past that several times." Claude wraps an arm around the professor's shoulder before he knows it, bringing him closer than horrible breakups should. But it's nice. He sways with Ed like the weight was always there, the only difference this time being that for once his shoulders seemed bolder without him. And for once, that's good. The thought actually makes him smile. "And I'll answer all the questions you want, you dirty dog. Just don't, ha leak it to the press this time, capische?"
Of course it hurts. But there were good times too. Cheap food in bowling rings and ice skating in lakes and warm hugs and bad cooking. Beyond the misery of changing under grief Claude for once found happiness in the version of Edgar Quill that had lived on without him. And that's good.
And the car's ready as always. Well. Cahr.
"What the hell have you been upto since we've been gone, huh? Tell me allll about it."
"'Dirty dog' m' not a mutt! If I was any animal id be a uhhh… a umh…."
…
"A wolf! Grrrrrr!”
Like that’s any different.
Edgar hummed, not exactly hating all of Claude’s little touches. Actually he quite enjoyed the intimacy. He missed it. Missed him. The professor found solemn comfort by the consequently much frailer arm of a man who desperately wished to despise him. It was pitiful in its own right.
Unfortunately he didn’t know the parameters of how to act with an ex-boyfriend. Especially in this context. Obviously that damned attorney didn’t help much. Was he supposed to hold him back? Hold his hand? Gah it’s all too complicated. There was something simpler, safer even, about starting over. Maybe a little cold, but this was for the better.
"What have I been up too…"
It was hard to focus on the present when his mind was constantly being overloaded with the past. A collection of vignettes, properly burned like a CD into his mind. Might be the best thing there in all honesty. Fancy cars, chauffeurs, oh it’s wayyyy out of his tax bracket. He’d really struck gold with Claude! Not that he was a gold digger. Those rumours always made the angel laugh. Made him laugh too. That stupid little rich boy one. How Edgar used to chase that sound. Tell him anything in the hopes of that cheap, performative sound.
"…I got offered a job after our book, umh, teaching people about angels. Simple stuff, really. ‘Ts like the gig I had while we were dating but my students paid more to attend. Did a few research exhibitions… nothing as interesting as you."
.
"Well. I did get to work with sea dragon bones. Not as cool as the dragon remains y' showed me in the domain but, ah, very cool for study."
So shy. In context it was sort of ironic. Almost Funny, with him as Bashful as a school-girl now you could forgive a man for forgetting this ‘coy, gentle mannered scholar’ had the ego to mail Claude every single interview, magazine, article or published work that referenced them. That the brunette could find at least. Much more cocky overseas apparently. Though he was always the timid sort.
It was hard to forget the time Old Eddie, used to fumble around every fancy dinner or gathering he was brought to like a baby deer. Like prey. Drinking wine with his pinkie out like it might please Claude. Well, it did all things considered. Wasn’t a complete waste of time.
"Move around a lot. Stayed in Gotham for a week. Scariest moment of me life. By god. Every crack I heard was like a warnin'. They couldn’t pay me to do that again. Well, actually yes they can… m' very easily bought."
"Shit. Uh," His voice fluttered in pitch, face ever so slightly flushed. When wasn’t it? …The man adjusted his glasses, looking at the window like that would relieve his awkwardness in anyway. If only. "You, uh, didn’t want my day by day rundown. Sorry. Got a few wires crossed preparin' my presentation."
“I’ve been doing well off, especially thanks to your support. Thank you. Is that what I’m supposed to say? Hm?"
"A wolf?" Claude starts, thinking of little bedroom play-fights and griffons flying around the place. "Sure, Eds. If anything you'd be aaaa bunny. Much less menacing and more cute." Oh, and hawks eat them. But that joke went sour a while back. The angel hums, looking over at Edgar, half-surprised at the lighter tone and half-relieved that their relationship wasn't completely shredded enough that he hadn't overstepped already.
To be honest, he's not quite sure what he's doing here. With him. Holding him. Laughing with him. Beyond the banter over the thinly-veiled tragedy that threatens to overcome them both, this shouldn't be happening. He shouldn't be entertaining this so early in the throes of whatever newest breakdown he was having, but he couldn't deny that even just at the sight of this professor smiling, his heart seemed to calm just a little. Perhaps with familiarity, an old spark that lasted as long as it could before Claude had to go and ruin it, but a dangerous indulgence nevertheless.
At least now Eddie wasn't his. And he wasn't Eddie's. Not for a long time anyways. It's clear in how tense they are despite the assumed comfort, the deliberation between how close he should stay and for Edgar, if he should reciprocate. Claude wasn't stupid. The dynamic had changed, obviously, and acting like this, like they hadn't stopped all communication after raging tears and a screaming match wasn't doing them any good. He owes Edgar something good in his life that wasn't just a series of walking on eggshells to the next big breakdown. But that's the consequence of getting close to someone like him. What laid under the mask wasn't always as illustrious, and the professor had experienced it first hand.
And yet he had still loved him.
Though, Claude pushes the thought down. Focusing more on those little nervous tics the professor indulges himself in when he's not cognizant of the fact, lip red from gnawing, hair disturbed twirled around fingers and his shaking gaze— just the same as they were all those years ago. The only difference being that Claude no longer had the right to hold him. It's hard to admit to him that he knows, with the few updates he's had on his life against his will with glamorous media plastering the man's name on every billboard and interviewers citing him as source for whatever perverted question they wanted to ask of Claude, and its even harder to admit that back then, he was jealous. Envious of that celebration, camaraderie he just seemed to gain overnight while the angel had to break his back working against a shadow of an image decided against his will. Though now, it was obvious that he'd gotten ahead of himself.
He's still so cute. As ever. Glasses scrunched up on his face as he goes on about dragon bones and harvesting data from things older than the ground beneath his feet and aggressive enough to wipe the both of them out in an instant. Hair all shaggy. Eyes all unfocused, jumping around from excitement the way he gets going when he starts. It’s real cute.
Claude hums as he leans on his suitcase, watching the chauffeur haul the rest of the professors belongings into the trunk, shifting onto his feet as the last was loaded up. "'Supposed' to say? Well I dunno about that. Course it's true that without me the book wouldn'ta got published but with your brilliant mind 'm pretty sure you woulda found a much better angel than me and got a better book done. It's all about luck, yknow? And your day was cute. Years were cooler. Can't say my life's been all that interesting since you've been gone so."
"Got Krueal and Co up and running well after the whole client debacle, remember that? And y'know, Eve got bigger, got himself a girlfriend actually can you believe that? And I got myself a—" boyfriend, he wants to say. But the words choke up in his throat before he shudders, wings shaking off the dread before that trenchcoat starts to billow in his mind's eye. The smell of cigarette smoke making his eyes water. "KitchenAid. Yes. I know, finally, but I only got into baking fairly recently after I uh." Was forced to stay home. "Got some time off. Yknow I got around to making those recipes you always sent me since I had nothing to do and that butterscotch crumble cake actually was worth its salt after all. Still wouldn't shill out 40 and a hour queue but, yknow." He's rambling. God, he never does this.
"Anyways, like I said, nothing interesting going on with me. Musta gotten a break since you got all the attention, ha. You should get in the car now before you start running late on that lecture."
"Cute? I’m not Cute. I’m Cool. Haven’t you played Animal Crossing? M' a man."
He had. Edgar made sure of it. Laying against his chest while picking weeds, all while the angel companied about his day. Always so much to complain about. Even in paradise….
‘Bunny’ was doing wonders for his imagination. Did he feel bad drowning out Claude’s rant at a point? Yes. Yet he’d known most of this already. Claude was so cute it was torture, something in his gut was properly wrenched as he was forced to process that he wasn’t allowed to reward that cuteness now. He was a dirty dog, wasn’t he? The attorney went out of his way to pick him up, check on him, get him a hotel… all while Edgar ‘repaid’ him by ignoring him.
What had happened to his manners?
Edgar was VERY lucky angels couldn’t read minds. That he made sure of! He did a full experiment! While Claude was a special case, from what he can tell, no angel had that power. Oh how this idea used to horrify him. Claude used to joke about it all the time. While the scholar— much more gullible then— was prone to believe him. Trying to monitor out any potential embarrassing or compromising theory. He didn’t need that Attorney questioning his academic integrity. Even if it was obvious he was always a little interested in that man for more than research. When wasn’t it?
———
"You’re thinking about it again."
"I AM NOT!"
"You areeeeee, I can tell because I’m magic! - hah! You wanna kiss me."
Fluffy, cloud like wings stretched out behind the bachelor to give them some privacy (as if that was even needed when alone in a fancy car garage). His suit crinkling ever so slightly as he stretched his arm out. Muscles visible in the fitted fabric as he pinned the other between the cool metal of his newest vanity buy.
A Bentley, in perfect condition, just for driving his boyfriend around.
"Yer unreal, Pet."
He rolled his eyes, glasses knocked askew as the younger’s head was tilted up to look at the very cocky angel currently waiting to see if his theory was correct. Of course it was. Who DIDN’T want to kiss Claude Krueal??? It was almost ALL Edgar thought about! Well that and his many, many theories about divinity. Very normal thoughts. Nothing wrong with that!
Gingerly the brunette moved his hair to the side, face flushed as he closed the distance between them to finally shut up his damned ‘Prince charming’ with a ‘magical’ kiss. Ok maybe it was a little bit magical. However it wasn’t the kiss itself that made him blush. It was that secret, hidden intimacy. How Claude moved his posture so that if he ever wanted Edgar could pull away. He was so gentle with him. So careful. Each dramatic step carefully discussed, even if they never said a word.
He wanted to continue this dance with him forever.
Now I hope you were serious about getting lunch sometime. I’ll be in New York teaching a class for about two months. I’d love to catch up! Be seeing you, pet :)
PS. I sent you a limited-signed copy of What Makes Pigs Fly, I’m not sure if you ever received it. Would love to know what you think about it? Yeah?
Hope you and the little one are doing fine.
- [ @edgarquill ]
This message finds Claude hunched over the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, wondering just what it was that he should be doing. More than the fact that his head was starting to spin with the second (full) glass of whiskey he'd just emptied into his gullet, Edgar's appearance against all this mess seemed like a cruel callback from the gods to when times were simpler.
And when he was still an utter fuck-up.
Oh how he missed him. The angel couldn't stomach looking up the professor after his wide acclaim, despite seeing news of his book plastered everywhere for the world to see, maybe if he was being delusional him to see, and still wondered aimlessly just how much Ed had changed. If his hair was any shorter, longer, got too rich and grew out of those glasses, or that voice. He'd forgotten how nice it was. He'd forgotten how nice everything was, really.
But John.
📱: Eve's doing fine, Eds. Let's meet up. You know where.
Just the thought of it made him sick. Though as Claude presses send on the first message, he knows he's digging his grave.
📱: Course we can talk about the book. Catch up. It'll be like old times.
Just smart enough to call it shelter.
📱I did not expect you to respond so soon. Late night? Work trouble? Whatever it is I know you’ll get through it. You always do, right? A Krueal is anything if not filled with Tenacity. Or is it Spite? Ha.
It was not very scholarly of the man to panic, squeal, and drop his phone on his face. Luckily said thing didn’t break his glasses. God that would be the 4th time he had to get it repaired in the last two months. Was he really that unlucky?
Then again, for him to adore such an angel Edgar must have the worst luck in the world.
It didn’t take long for him to second guess his little jokes. Had he grown too daring when outside the nest, fuck, would his newfound cockiness scare Claude away? How did he used to message him! It was so long ago. Ah! He hated this. It was far too early for him and far too late for that Attorney.
What WAS Claude doing up at 2 AM. Should he be worried?
📱I’m flying over tomorrow night. Have a little conference and then it’s smooth sailing. You can handle the wait I hope. Was thinking Wednesday we could meet? If that works for your oh so busy schedule of course.
….
📱i’d love to thank you for your many contributions to science.
This was a bad idea. He knew it was. There was a reason they hadn’t spoken. And it wasn’t because their busy, busy lives. Unfortunately the two were incompatible, a fact Edgar had come to terms with quite well. No use getting his hopes up. This would just be a friendly visit.
Even if the man wished it was anything else. How selfish of him.
At least that was his birthright. Selfishness.
There’s something about the relief that courses through his body that disgusts him. When Eddie doesn’t follow up with a string of curses wishing death upon his name, and though deep down he knew the man was never capable of such a thing, with what Claude did to him, it would be more than deserving of such a feat. Enough for him to fall back and turn over, clutching his sides like he’s a wounded animal.
If even Eddie’s found it in himself to be this kind to him. Oh, if only he knew. The professor had the unfortunate privilege to see what laid behind the mask, and though its contents were ugly beyond repair did he reach out and hold it against his face like nothing he’s seen before. Even if the glint in his eye could be mistaken for breathtaking novelty. But that’s what he was at the end of the day. To everyone. Meat. An animal. Just something interesting enough to pin on a table and study. He’s sure Eddie has his own guilt over the situation, perhaps Claude was sloppy at the end of their relationship and provided not much research to be founded from, though he’s not particularly blessed with the knowledge to differentiate between what he’s caused and what Edgar actually had to be remorseful over.
I mean, what kind of relationship could sprout out of their start anyways? Certainly nothing that warranted how cruel he was at the end.
Eddie doesn’t get a response till the morning, forged in deliberation and sleep interrupted by rays of sunlight shooting through the gaps in curtain blinds like daggers. Vengeful, as though Claude did not deserve to wake up. He slides a bottle under his bed with his foot, rubbing his neck.
📱: You don’t need to thank me. It’s your brilliant mind that made something of it. I’m just the pet.
Maybe that last one comes off more bitter than expected.
📱[Read.]
Okay… maybe leaving him on read wasn’t such a good idea. Hell, Edgar could go years without a real conversation with him again. Unfortunately the scholar didn’t know HOW to respond. If he argued there was a high chance Claude would just internalise his self-deprecating thoughts and no matter what he did after that point the man couldn’t argue with said things once they were safe in that angels pretty little head. Ignoring it was also out of the question! gah! Why was this so hard!
….
The brunette turned his phone off. Placing the discarded thing on the cold, wooden dresser he called a Nightstand. Sighing the professor got out of bed. Stretching in a way that made him ever so embarrassed by the pops of his starting-to-age back. Rummaging through a clothes pile that had developed into an impressive heap in the corner he found a dress shirt that smelt … decent. Edgar fumbled for the buttons, getting dressed in relative silence.
He struggled with his tie. Embarrassing.
How he wishes for soft hands laced in suede to wrap around his neck to help him.
…
It wasn’t until much later that Edgar found the courage to respond. A day in a half, quite literally on the way to the airport. That actually helped immensely… whatever Claude responded with he wouldn’t see while on the plane afterall.
📱that’s never been why I called you pet, luv. I’m sure you know that. At times you’re muchm ore clever than me.
📱that book wouldn’t have existed without your little contributions. Hell, you practically sponsored it with all those cute little lunches.
📱is cute an okay word for those rich things? Don’t want the blue in you to burn.
📱you will always be the prettiest specimen pinned on my wall. No need to be bashful about it.
📱flights loading. Text you later. Don’t do soemtging stupid.
Even if he had no reason for such thoughts … flying to New York made him feel as if he was travelling to the belly of the beast. Offering himself to a lions den as fresh meat to tear apart. Any analogy where Claude rips him to shreds and eats him whole, really.
Swallowing that anxiety he boarded the aircraft. Messy hair snagging into his headphones,, god he was glad no one he knew could see him like this. He was never caught unprepared while travelling.
As expected, the professor leaves him on read. A lesser version of Claude would crush his heart over that, the latest prize of fixation carrying the brunt between him and the glass veil of anxiety bubbling up in his throat. Though as of now, while such an emotion seems unpleasant, in the grand scheme of things, it was much better than the obsessive upset that grasped him once he realized that Edgar had moved on from such frivolous indulgence. It's granted that he wouldn't take his bait anymore.
He was still upset, in some capacity, though. From the years of compartmentalizing his feelings into neat little boxes he can push into boundaries and warm beds and cold people and the twitch of his wings at the doctor's when they said it was too late to fix anything, Claude is now half the man that Eddie had loved all those years ago. He's barely a man enough for himself. How would the professor react to being studied over something he could barely do himself? Poked and prodded over and over again, watching for reactions that wouldn't come through? His wings weren't fucking working. His magic wasn't fucking working.
Though, really, he couldn't bring himself to see him that way. Use him that way. Claude had loved him dearly. Enough to look back on what little memories they had before the text messages soured and trailed off into broken shards of their happy little relationship. He was a bad man. A bad person. It wasn't right that his Eddie's reconnection message was just under Claude's last to him all those years ago.
📱: I'm coming home for dinner.
Did Eddie think about it like he did? Agonize over what could have been, push it aside? How quickly it all had come to fall apart in his hands, how quickly love had turned into resentment, how quickly he made excuses to not ever see his professor again. His professor.
---
"you will always be the prettiest specimen pinned on my wall."
Edgar knew just how to make things worse whenever he was clearly trying to help. It's in a state of helplessness that it finds Claude as he's checking his phone at the crossing, and he's frozen in place. It's supposed to be cute. It's supposed to be comforting. He knows that.
He knows that.
But did that argument really get nothing through to him? Was he really just a little butterfly to be pinned in forever rigor mortis to him? The screams, the shouting, the wailing and the tears shed, were they for nothing in the face of the years past? He thinks past it by squeezing his eyes shut. All he can remember is Edgar's stone-cold face staring up at him.
---
The airport was loud as usual. Whispers of other pressing issues float around in the corner of his mind, but the attorney was only looking for one face in the crowd. Meeting him right at the entrance, briefcase in hand, waiting so patiently to spot that tussled head of hair flattened by headphone bars. Always on time. Picture perfect with his trenchcoat done (just calculatingly) loose, hair gelled the way he always does, with gloves to match.
It's like their first meeting all over again.
People hoarded many things. For some because it might hold value to others, For some because it might hold value to them. The items themselves don’t matter, variety bred from the humanity of it all. Keeping junk.
The garbage Edgar hoarded was not much different. If anything it was worse.
The professor hoarded memories.
Admittedly this flight was paid for by a voucher. The host of the conference offered to pay all expenses, let him even schedule his own flight. He could’ve pampered himself, drank expensive champagne with a reclining chair. All the stops! But… a part of him couldn’t handle potentially overwriting the experience in his head.
The experience of when a certain angel showed him the joys of first class. Nursing a margarita while Edgar laid against his chest, watching a show Claude swore on his life was good, even if he complained the whole time about the inaccuracy.
What if the next time he tried to imagine first class … the seats were a new texture. Or the shows not as convoluted. What stayed locked behind that curtain was one of the many bubbles that he’d created in the wake of a messy break up. Too afraid to pop it by indulging himself with reminiscing.
No, it was better to not think about it.
…
Even if he wanted to.
——
"…………"
By any normal standard the man was perfect. Ignoring the headphones his hair was well kept, styled cleanly. His face clean, his clothes following suit. Sure there was a few wrinkles here and there but hey, what can you really do.
Claude wasn’t a normal person. That was the biases of this relationship after all.
Edgar’s bangs pressed to his head, a habit of his hair he’d lamented over numerous signs. A indication that he’d sweat at least a little on the flight and hadn’t had a chance to freshen up. His piercings were cute, little cross ones shining in the light. However one was slightly rotated, meaning his Eddie had bit his lip and hadn’t noticed. A mistake. This wasn’t even mentioning the nicks along his chin, barely covered by shoddily placed concealer. Makeup was never the professors forte.
Not to say all the differences Claude noticed were bad.
He clearly had gained some meat on his bones, suit slightly tighter around his arms, shape different around his chest. His hair was longer, some of it tied neatly in a ponytail, no longer matted in the back. And, fuck, it was hard not to notice the new glasses when he was looking into his eyes. He chose thinner ones, met him look older.
He was older.
“Well … this is a surprise."
Gloved hands pulled his headphones to his neck. A few strands now poking out of place.
“You didn’t have to do this, Pet. Umh … Thank you. I mean it. This is very kind."
Which he didn’t deserve.
"I hope I didn’t keep you waiting."
He chose not to ask how Claude got his flight information. The joy of money, he assumed. Anything could be bought, really.
Pet. There's that nickname again. Fuck, did it always hurt the same?
"I came just in time for you." It's only fair.
There's that drawl the scholar missed. A melodic sort of twang with an unplaceable accent, airy enough in some places that reminds him of memories long past, tales of sprawling walls, horses in carriages and knights in shining armor, but unmistakable with that NYC drawl from decades spent in the unsleeping city. And there was Claude, standing right beside the crowd, spent from the years that had passed. Some part of the lawyer was grasped with this deep horror that everything changed beyond his intention, without his permission, as if it were the universe's purpose to bend to his will. And there was Krueal, shaking Edgar's hand. Even if the grip was firmer than he remembered so.
It's just enough for him to look the professor over and agonize at what had evaded him times past, in thinner frames and aged features jumping out to him as he's sure it jumped out to Edgar. Cheekbones just a little more sunken in, frown deeper and hair greying at the roots from places Ed realizes he hasn't filled in yet, ears fluffed up just enough but pointing just low enough from lack, or want of energy. Handsome features once full of life fraying at the edges of experiences he wasn't let in on anymore, those shoulders that once seemed so broad almost hiding in that trenchcoat that doesn't wear the same as it used to.
And his wings. God, his wings. Lost all their luster, their shine from years of neglect fading just as Edgar had managed to brush out the matting, and in its place his eyes stare down at him. Dark as ever, only this time more haunted.
He's a husk of a man standing before him, half alive, and barely angel.
And Krueal shakes his hand.
And Edgar Quill is still stunning.
"…lucky you did. Can you imagine? I got 'awff too early and you didn’t get to make a cool, dramatic entrance. I think that would kill you."
His tone held endearment. Some lost, nearly forgotten affection. There was a softness in his teasing.
However, Edgar’s eyes were a different story. Claude didn’t miss it, that flash of pity. Of horror. Oh how the angel (if you could even call him that) wishes they’d stop. Look at him with kindness. With affection. Anything but that. He’s smart, he can tell how much of a mess the man really is.
"Honestly I didn’t take you to still try this little prince act. I read a news article about you recently, they said something about you being a, ah, what was it… oh right: the cruelest bachelor in New York. Now what could you have possibly done to gain that title?"
…
Did he accidentally just admit to cyberstalking his ex boyfriend?
"Actually don’t tell me it’s funnier to imagine you pissed off the queen 'f America or something."
For a moment Claude was worried Edgar had somehow lost his voice hanging around upper crust snobs all day! He tried so hard to sound serious… yet he still had the accent of a dog no matter how he tried to spin it to work for him. It was cute. And, well, hearing anyone with a voice like that was nice right now. Let him close his eyes and try to remember a certain warlock. Of course there was small differences.
That felt like cliffs right now. Impossible to get over. He wasn’t a little distraction… he was a reminder. Fuck he always messed things up didn’t he.
Edgar’s hand hovered out. It’s funny. So much time together, Even more time apart but somehow he still hadn’t learned what to do with his hands. Dork. Maybe he wanted to run his finger down Claude’s ear like he used to. Unfortunately he remembered that wasn’t exactly behaviour he could get away with anymore. Fluttering around with embarrassment he shoved the limb into his pockets, glancing away at the crowd so that he wouldn’t lose face.
Not that it’d work. He was like a tomato.
"Luv, erm, Mr. Krueal, I assume you have me on a very tight schedule. We - uh - don’t need to waste time catching up here. Best to do it in the car, right?"
'Cahr’….
"I have questions for you that I .. hah, admittedly can’t ask in public. For your sake of course."
WHAT.
Well I guess in some ways he never changes.
"Oh Eds, you of all people know the entrances come naturally." Claude's not the type of person that practices in the mirror after all. It's all him. When no-one's looking. Of course. At least he wouldn't admit that to Edgar, air light enough that he could joke without it leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, chuckling just a bit as he rolls his eyes. Light enough for him to shrug off the weight on his shoulders, with his briefcase too heavy.
But the weight comes back with that flash in his eyes, tensing in the professor's jaw as Claude takes his luggage, wondering if he's too frail now by his standards. The difference wasn't as staggering as he hoped, trenchcoat done loose for a reason. There's the familiar rumble of wheels on airport tiles, and as he walks with Ed, that headline jumps out to him with an internal groan, though he only sees the arrogant little huff that ruffles Claude's feathers. "Act is a strong word. What if this cruel bachelor's just like that naturally, huh?" You of all people should know.
Yet his ears still tilt down. Like its instinct. It makes him kind of sick. to be honest, so he shakes himself off, grunting with the cold seeping into his bones. The professor seems to have gotten the message, embarrassed flush creeping into his face, and he shrugs it off like water.
It's hard still, he thinks. Wings twitching with discomfort as he walks with Eddie, wondering if that's all the professor knows of him. Cares about him. He's seen how people look at him now. Now that he was less, enough for all of the ugly parts to show without recollection, an endless comparison for what he should be, who he should be. Of course, it still hurts. Just knowing that Eddie's gaze, that momentary flash of horror, pity, was added to the collection of eyes to block out. It shows as much on his face, stormy countenance grasping him with gloves that never budged, all torn up and ugly, only getting worse when he hears Mr. Krueal from him. Him? Eddie? Edgar? When did that change? "C'mon I think we've been way past that several times." Claude wraps an arm around the professor's shoulder before he knows it, bringing him closer than horrible breakups should. But it's nice. He sways with Ed like the weight was always there, the only difference this time being that for once his shoulders seemed bolder without him. And for once, that's good. The thought actually makes him smile. "And I'll answer all the questions you want, you dirty dog. Just don't, ha leak it to the press this time, capische?"
Of course it hurts. But there were good times too. Cheap food in bowling rings and ice skating in lakes and warm hugs and bad cooking. Beyond the misery of changing under grief Claude for once found happiness in the version of Edgar Quill that had lived on without him. And that's good.
And the car's ready as always. Well. Cahr.
"What the hell have you been upto since we've been gone, huh? Tell me allll about it."
"'Dirty dog' m' not a mutt! If I was any animal id be a uhhh… a umh…."
…
"A wolf! Grrrrrr!”
Like that’s any different.
Edgar hummed, not exactly hating all of Claude’s little touches. Actually he quite enjoyed the intimacy. He missed it. Missed him. The professor found solemn comfort by the consequently much frailer arm of a man who desperately wished to despise him. It was pitiful in its own right.
Unfortunately he didn’t know the parameters of how to act with an ex-boyfriend. Especially in this context. Obviously that damned attorney didn’t help much. Was he supposed to hold him back? Hold his hand? Gah it’s all too complicated. There was something simpler, safer even, about starting over. Maybe a little cold, but this was for the better.
"What have I been up too…"
It was hard to focus on the present when his mind was constantly being overloaded with the past. A collection of vignettes, properly burned like a CD into his mind. Might be the best thing there in all honesty. Fancy cars, chauffeurs, oh it’s wayyyy out of his tax bracket. He’d really struck gold with Claude! Not that he was a gold digger. Those rumours always made the angel laugh. Made him laugh too. That stupid little rich boy one. How Edgar used to chase that sound. Tell him anything in the hopes of that cheap, performative sound.
"…I got offered a job after our book, umh, teaching people about angels. Simple stuff, really. ‘Ts like the gig I had while we were dating but my students paid more to attend. Did a few research exhibitions… nothing as interesting as you."
.
"Well. I did get to work with sea dragon bones. Not as cool as the dragon remains y' showed me in the domain but, ah, very cool for study."
So shy. In context it was sort of ironic. Almost Funny, with him as Bashful as a school-girl now you could forgive a man for forgetting this ‘coy, gentle mannered scholar’ had the ego to mail Claude every single interview, magazine, article or published work that referenced them. That the brunette could find at least. Much more cocky overseas apparently. Though he was always the timid sort.
It was hard to forget the time Old Eddie, used to fumble around every fancy dinner or gathering he was brought to like a baby deer. Like prey. Drinking wine with his pinkie out like it might please Claude. Well, it did all things considered. Wasn’t a complete waste of time.
"Move around a lot. Stayed in Gotham for a week. Scariest moment of me life. By god. Every crack I heard was like a warnin'. They couldn’t pay me to do that again. Well, actually yes they can… m' very easily bought."
"Shit. Uh," His voice fluttered in pitch, face ever so slightly flushed. When wasn’t it? …The man adjusted his glasses, looking at the window like that would relieve his awkwardness in anyway. If only. "You, uh, didn’t want my day by day rundown. Sorry. Got a few wires crossed preparin' my presentation."
“I’ve been doing well off, especially thanks to your support. Thank you. Is that what I’m supposed to say? Hm?"
Now I hope you were serious about getting lunch sometime. I’ll be in New York teaching a class for about two months. I’d love to catch up! Be seeing you, pet :)
PS. I sent you a limited-signed copy of What Makes Pigs Fly, I’m not sure if you ever received it. Would love to know what you think about it? Yeah?
Hope you and the little one are doing fine.
- [ @edgarquill ]
This message finds Claude hunched over the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, wondering just what it was that he should be doing. More than the fact that his head was starting to spin with the second (full) glass of whiskey he'd just emptied into his gullet, Edgar's appearance against all this mess seemed like a cruel callback from the gods to when times were simpler.
And when he was still an utter fuck-up.
Oh how he missed him. The angel couldn't stomach looking up the professor after his wide acclaim, despite seeing news of his book plastered everywhere for the world to see, maybe if he was being delusional him to see, and still wondered aimlessly just how much Ed had changed. If his hair was any shorter, longer, got too rich and grew out of those glasses, or that voice. He'd forgotten how nice it was. He'd forgotten how nice everything was, really.
But John.
📱: Eve's doing fine, Eds. Let's meet up. You know where.
Just the thought of it made him sick. Though as Claude presses send on the first message, he knows he's digging his grave.
📱: Course we can talk about the book. Catch up. It'll be like old times.
Just smart enough to call it shelter.
📱I did not expect you to respond so soon. Late night? Work trouble? Whatever it is I know you’ll get through it. You always do, right? A Krueal is anything if not filled with Tenacity. Or is it Spite? Ha.
It was not very scholarly of the man to panic, squeal, and drop his phone on his face. Luckily said thing didn’t break his glasses. God that would be the 4th time he had to get it repaired in the last two months. Was he really that unlucky?
Then again, for him to adore such an angel Edgar must have the worst luck in the world.
It didn’t take long for him to second guess his little jokes. Had he grown too daring when outside the nest, fuck, would his newfound cockiness scare Claude away? How did he used to message him! It was so long ago. Ah! He hated this. It was far too early for him and far too late for that Attorney.
What WAS Claude doing up at 2 AM. Should he be worried?
📱I’m flying over tomorrow night. Have a little conference and then it’s smooth sailing. You can handle the wait I hope. Was thinking Wednesday we could meet? If that works for your oh so busy schedule of course.
….
📱i’d love to thank you for your many contributions to science.
This was a bad idea. He knew it was. There was a reason they hadn’t spoken. And it wasn’t because their busy, busy lives. Unfortunately the two were incompatible, a fact Edgar had come to terms with quite well. No use getting his hopes up. This would just be a friendly visit.
Even if the man wished it was anything else. How selfish of him.
At least that was his birthright. Selfishness.
There’s something about the relief that courses through his body that disgusts him. When Eddie doesn’t follow up with a string of curses wishing death upon his name, and though deep down he knew the man was never capable of such a thing, with what Claude did to him, it would be more than deserving of such a feat. Enough for him to fall back and turn over, clutching his sides like he’s a wounded animal.
If even Eddie’s found it in himself to be this kind to him. Oh, if only he knew. The professor had the unfortunate privilege to see what laid behind the mask, and though its contents were ugly beyond repair did he reach out and hold it against his face like nothing he’s seen before. Even if the glint in his eye could be mistaken for breathtaking novelty. But that’s what he was at the end of the day. To everyone. Meat. An animal. Just something interesting enough to pin on a table and study. He’s sure Eddie has his own guilt over the situation, perhaps Claude was sloppy at the end of their relationship and provided not much research to be founded from, though he’s not particularly blessed with the knowledge to differentiate between what he’s caused and what Edgar actually had to be remorseful over.
I mean, what kind of relationship could sprout out of their start anyways? Certainly nothing that warranted how cruel he was at the end.
Eddie doesn’t get a response till the morning, forged in deliberation and sleep interrupted by rays of sunlight shooting through the gaps in curtain blinds like daggers. Vengeful, as though Claude did not deserve to wake up. He slides a bottle under his bed with his foot, rubbing his neck.
📱: You don’t need to thank me. It’s your brilliant mind that made something of it. I’m just the pet.
Maybe that last one comes off more bitter than expected.
📱[Read.]
Okay… maybe leaving him on read wasn’t such a good idea. Hell, Edgar could go years without a real conversation with him again. Unfortunately the scholar didn’t know HOW to respond. If he argued there was a high chance Claude would just internalise his self-deprecating thoughts and no matter what he did after that point the man couldn’t argue with said things once they were safe in that angels pretty little head. Ignoring it was also out of the question! gah! Why was this so hard!
….
The brunette turned his phone off. Placing the discarded thing on the cold, wooden dresser he called a Nightstand. Sighing the professor got out of bed. Stretching in a way that made him ever so embarrassed by the pops of his starting-to-age back. Rummaging through a clothes pile that had developed into an impressive heap in the corner he found a dress shirt that smelt … decent. Edgar fumbled for the buttons, getting dressed in relative silence.
He struggled with his tie. Embarrassing.
How he wishes for soft hands laced in suede to wrap around his neck to help him.
…
It wasn’t until much later that Edgar found the courage to respond. A day in a half, quite literally on the way to the airport. That actually helped immensely… whatever Claude responded with he wouldn’t see while on the plane afterall.
📱that’s never been why I called you pet, luv. I’m sure you know that. At times you’re muchm ore clever than me.
📱that book wouldn’t have existed without your little contributions. Hell, you practically sponsored it with all those cute little lunches.
📱is cute an okay word for those rich things? Don’t want the blue in you to burn.
📱you will always be the prettiest specimen pinned on my wall. No need to be bashful about it.
📱flights loading. Text you later. Don’t do soemtging stupid.
Even if he had no reason for such thoughts … flying to New York made him feel as if he was travelling to the belly of the beast. Offering himself to a lions den as fresh meat to tear apart. Any analogy where Claude rips him to shreds and eats him whole, really.
Swallowing that anxiety he boarded the aircraft. Messy hair snagging into his headphones,, god he was glad no one he knew could see him like this. He was never caught unprepared while travelling.
As expected, the professor leaves him on read. A lesser version of Claude would crush his heart over that, the latest prize of fixation carrying the brunt between him and the glass veil of anxiety bubbling up in his throat. Though as of now, while such an emotion seems unpleasant, in the grand scheme of things, it was much better than the obsessive upset that grasped him once he realized that Edgar had moved on from such frivolous indulgence. It's granted that he wouldn't take his bait anymore.
He was still upset, in some capacity, though. From the years of compartmentalizing his feelings into neat little boxes he can push into boundaries and warm beds and cold people and the twitch of his wings at the doctor's when they said it was too late to fix anything, Claude is now half the man that Eddie had loved all those years ago. He's barely a man enough for himself. How would the professor react to being studied over something he could barely do himself? Poked and prodded over and over again, watching for reactions that wouldn't come through? His wings weren't fucking working. His magic wasn't fucking working.
Though, really, he couldn't bring himself to see him that way. Use him that way. Claude had loved him dearly. Enough to look back on what little memories they had before the text messages soured and trailed off into broken shards of their happy little relationship. He was a bad man. A bad person. It wasn't right that his Eddie's reconnection message was just under Claude's last to him all those years ago.
📱: I'm coming home for dinner.
Did Eddie think about it like he did? Agonize over what could have been, push it aside? How quickly it all had come to fall apart in his hands, how quickly love had turned into resentment, how quickly he made excuses to not ever see his professor again. His professor.
---
"you will always be the prettiest specimen pinned on my wall."
Edgar knew just how to make things worse whenever he was clearly trying to help. It's in a state of helplessness that it finds Claude as he's checking his phone at the crossing, and he's frozen in place. It's supposed to be cute. It's supposed to be comforting. He knows that.
He knows that.
But did that argument really get nothing through to him? Was he really just a little butterfly to be pinned in forever rigor mortis to him? The screams, the shouting, the wailing and the tears shed, were they for nothing in the face of the years past? He thinks past it by squeezing his eyes shut. All he can remember is Edgar's stone-cold face staring up at him.
---
The airport was loud as usual. Whispers of other pressing issues float around in the corner of his mind, but the attorney was only looking for one face in the crowd. Meeting him right at the entrance, briefcase in hand, waiting so patiently to spot that tussled head of hair flattened by headphone bars. Always on time. Picture perfect with his trenchcoat done (just calculatingly) loose, hair gelled the way he always does, with gloves to match.
It's like their first meeting all over again.
People hoarded many things. For some because it might hold value to others, For some because it might hold value to them. The items themselves don’t matter, variety bred from the humanity of it all. Keeping junk.
The garbage Edgar hoarded was not much different. If anything it was worse.
The professor hoarded memories.
Admittedly this flight was paid for by a voucher. The host of the conference offered to pay all expenses, let him even schedule his own flight. He could’ve pampered himself, drank expensive champagne with a reclining chair. All the stops! But… a part of him couldn’t handle potentially overwriting the experience in his head.
The experience of when a certain angel showed him the joys of first class. Nursing a margarita while Edgar laid against his chest, watching a show Claude swore on his life was good, even if he complained the whole time about the inaccuracy.
What if the next time he tried to imagine first class … the seats were a new texture. Or the shows not as convoluted. What stayed locked behind that curtain was one of the many bubbles that he’d created in the wake of a messy break up. Too afraid to pop it by indulging himself with reminiscing.
No, it was better to not think about it.
…
Even if he wanted to.
——
"…………"
By any normal standard the man was perfect. Ignoring the headphones his hair was well kept, styled cleanly. His face clean, his clothes following suit. Sure there was a few wrinkles here and there but hey, what can you really do.
Claude wasn’t a normal person. That was the biases of this relationship after all.
Edgar’s bangs pressed to his head, a habit of his hair he’d lamented over numerous signs. A indication that he’d sweat at least a little on the flight and hadn’t had a chance to freshen up. His piercings were cute, little cross ones shining in the light. However one was slightly rotated, meaning his Eddie had bit his lip and hadn’t noticed. A mistake. This wasn’t even mentioning the nicks along his chin, barely covered by shoddily placed concealer. Makeup was never the professors forte.
Not to say all the differences Claude noticed were bad.
He clearly had gained some meat on his bones, suit slightly tighter around his arms, shape different around his chest. His hair was longer, some of it tied neatly in a ponytail, no longer matted in the back. And, fuck, it was hard not to notice the new glasses when he was looking into his eyes. He chose thinner ones, met him look older.
He was older.
“Well … this is a surprise."
Gloved hands pulled his headphones to his neck. A few strands now poking out of place.
“You didn’t have to do this, Pet. Umh … Thank you. I mean it. This is very kind."
Which he didn’t deserve.
"I hope I didn’t keep you waiting."
He chose not to ask how Claude got his flight information. The joy of money, he assumed. Anything could be bought, really.
Pet. There's that nickname again. Fuck, did it always hurt the same?
"I came just in time for you." It's only fair.
There's that drawl the scholar missed. A melodic sort of twang with an unplaceable accent, airy enough in some places that reminds him of memories long past, tales of sprawling walls, horses in carriages and knights in shining armor, but unmistakable with that NYC drawl from decades spent in the unsleeping city. And there was Claude, standing right beside the crowd, spent from the years that had passed. Some part of the lawyer was grasped with this deep horror that everything changed beyond his intention, without his permission, as if it were the universe's purpose to bend to his will. And there was Krueal, shaking Edgar's hand. Even if the grip was firmer than he remembered so.
It's just enough for him to look the professor over and agonize at what had evaded him times past, in thinner frames and aged features jumping out to him as he's sure it jumped out to Edgar. Cheekbones just a little more sunken in, frown deeper and hair greying at the roots from places Ed realizes he hasn't filled in yet, ears fluffed up just enough but pointing just low enough from lack, or want of energy. Handsome features once full of life fraying at the edges of experiences he wasn't let in on anymore, those shoulders that once seemed so broad almost hiding in that trenchcoat that doesn't wear the same as it used to.
And his wings. God, his wings. Lost all their luster, their shine from years of neglect fading just as Edgar had managed to brush out the matting, and in its place his eyes stare down at him. Dark as ever, only this time more haunted.
He's a husk of a man standing before him, half alive, and barely angel.
And Krueal shakes his hand.
And Edgar Quill is still stunning.
"…lucky you did. Can you imagine? I got 'awff too early and you didn’t get to make a cool, dramatic entrance. I think that would kill you."
His tone held endearment. Some lost, nearly forgotten affection. There was a softness in his teasing.
However, Edgar’s eyes were a different story. Claude didn’t miss it, that flash of pity. Of horror. Oh how the angel (if you could even call him that) wishes they’d stop. Look at him with kindness. With affection. Anything but that. He’s smart, he can tell how much of a mess the man really is.
"Honestly I didn’t take you to still try this little prince act. I read a news article about you recently, they said something about you being a, ah, what was it… oh right: the cruelest bachelor in New York. Now what could you have possibly done to gain that title?"
…
Did he accidentally just admit to cyberstalking his ex boyfriend?
"Actually don’t tell me it’s funnier to imagine you pissed off the queen 'f America or something."
For a moment Claude was worried Edgar had somehow lost his voice hanging around upper crust snobs all day! He tried so hard to sound serious… yet he still had the accent of a dog no matter how he tried to spin it to work for him. It was cute. And, well, hearing anyone with a voice like that was nice right now. Let him close his eyes and try to remember a certain warlock. Of course there was small differences.
That felt like cliffs right now. Impossible to get over. He wasn’t a little distraction… he was a reminder. Fuck he always messed things up didn’t he.
Edgar’s hand hovered out. It’s funny. So much time together, Even more time apart but somehow he still hadn’t learned what to do with his hands. Dork. Maybe he wanted to run his finger down Claude’s ear like he used to. Unfortunately he remembered that wasn’t exactly behaviour he could get away with anymore. Fluttering around with embarrassment he shoved the limb into his pockets, glancing away at the crowd so that he wouldn’t lose face.
Not that it’d work. He was like a tomato.
"Luv, erm, Mr. Krueal, I assume you have me on a very tight schedule. We - uh - don’t need to waste time catching up here. Best to do it in the car, right?"
'Cahr’….
"I have questions for you that I .. hah, admittedly can’t ask in public. For your sake of course."
WHAT.
Well I guess in some ways he never changes.
Now I hope you were serious about getting lunch sometime. I’ll be in New York teaching a class for about two months. I’d love to catch up! Be seeing you, pet :)
PS. I sent you a limited-signed copy of What Makes Pigs Fly, I’m not sure if you ever received it. Would love to know what you think about it? Yeah?
Hope you and the little one are doing fine.
- [ @edgarquill ]
This message finds Claude hunched over the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, wondering just what it was that he should be doing. More than the fact that his head was starting to spin with the second (full) glass of whiskey he'd just emptied into his gullet, Edgar's appearance against all this mess seemed like a cruel callback from the gods to when times were simpler.
And when he was still an utter fuck-up.
Oh how he missed him. The angel couldn't stomach looking up the professor after his wide acclaim, despite seeing news of his book plastered everywhere for the world to see, maybe if he was being delusional him to see, and still wondered aimlessly just how much Ed had changed. If his hair was any shorter, longer, got too rich and grew out of those glasses, or that voice. He'd forgotten how nice it was. He'd forgotten how nice everything was, really.
But John.
📱: Eve's doing fine, Eds. Let's meet up. You know where.
Just the thought of it made him sick. Though as Claude presses send on the first message, he knows he's digging his grave.
📱: Course we can talk about the book. Catch up. It'll be like old times.
Just smart enough to call it shelter.
📱I did not expect you to respond so soon. Late night? Work trouble? Whatever it is I know you’ll get through it. You always do, right? A Krueal is anything if not filled with Tenacity. Or is it Spite? Ha.
It was not very scholarly of the man to panic, squeal, and drop his phone on his face. Luckily said thing didn’t break his glasses. God that would be the 4th time he had to get it repaired in the last two months. Was he really that unlucky?
Then again, for him to adore such an angel Edgar must have the worst luck in the world.
It didn’t take long for him to second guess his little jokes. Had he grown too daring when outside the nest, fuck, would his newfound cockiness scare Claude away? How did he used to message him! It was so long ago. Ah! He hated this. It was far too early for him and far too late for that Attorney.
What WAS Claude doing up at 2 AM. Should he be worried?
📱I’m flying over tomorrow night. Have a little conference and then it’s smooth sailing. You can handle the wait I hope. Was thinking Wednesday we could meet? If that works for your oh so busy schedule of course.
….
📱i’d love to thank you for your many contributions to science.
This was a bad idea. He knew it was. There was a reason they hadn’t spoken. And it wasn’t because their busy, busy lives. Unfortunately the two were incompatible, a fact Edgar had come to terms with quite well. No use getting his hopes up. This would just be a friendly visit.
Even if the man wished it was anything else. How selfish of him.
At least that was his birthright. Selfishness.
There’s something about the relief that courses through his body that disgusts him. When Eddie doesn’t follow up with a string of curses wishing death upon his name, and though deep down he knew the man was never capable of such a thing, with what Claude did to him, it would be more than deserving of such a feat. Enough for him to fall back and turn over, clutching his sides like he’s a wounded animal.
If even Eddie’s found it in himself to be this kind to him. Oh, if only he knew. The professor had the unfortunate privilege to see what laid behind the mask, and though its contents were ugly beyond repair did he reach out and hold it against his face like nothing he’s seen before. Even if the glint in his eye could be mistaken for breathtaking novelty. But that’s what he was at the end of the day. To everyone. Meat. An animal. Just something interesting enough to pin on a table and study. He’s sure Eddie has his own guilt over the situation, perhaps Claude was sloppy at the end of their relationship and provided not much research to be founded from, though he’s not particularly blessed with the knowledge to differentiate between what he’s caused and what Edgar actually had to be remorseful over.
I mean, what kind of relationship could sprout out of their start anyways? Certainly nothing that warranted how cruel he was at the end.
Eddie doesn’t get a response till the morning, forged in deliberation and sleep interrupted by rays of sunlight shooting through the gaps in curtain blinds like daggers. Vengeful, as though Claude did not deserve to wake up. He slides a bottle under his bed with his foot, rubbing his neck.
📱: You don’t need to thank me. It’s your brilliant mind that made something of it. I’m just the pet.
Maybe that last one comes off more bitter than expected.
📱[Read.]
Okay… maybe leaving him on read wasn’t such a good idea. Hell, Edgar could go years without a real conversation with him again. Unfortunately the scholar didn’t know HOW to respond. If he argued there was a high chance Claude would just internalise his self-deprecating thoughts and no matter what he did after that point the man couldn’t argue with said things once they were safe in that angels pretty little head. Ignoring it was also out of the question! gah! Why was this so hard!
….
The brunette turned his phone off. Placing the discarded thing on the cold, wooden dresser he called a Nightstand. Sighing the professor got out of bed. Stretching in a way that made him ever so embarrassed by the pops of his starting-to-age back. Rummaging through a clothes pile that had developed into an impressive heap in the corner he found a dress shirt that smelt … decent. Edgar fumbled for the buttons, getting dressed in relative silence.
He struggled with his tie. Embarrassing.
How he wishes for soft hands laced in suede to wrap around his neck to help him.
…
It wasn’t until much later that Edgar found the courage to respond. A day in a half, quite literally on the way to the airport. That actually helped immensely… whatever Claude responded with he wouldn’t see while on the plane afterall.
📱that’s never been why I called you pet, luv. I’m sure you know that. At times you’re muchm ore clever than me.
📱that book wouldn’t have existed without your little contributions. Hell, you practically sponsored it with all those cute little lunches.
📱is cute an okay word for those rich things? Don’t want the blue in you to burn.
📱you will always be the prettiest specimen pinned on my wall. No need to be bashful about it.
📱flights loading. Text you later. Don’t do soemtging stupid.
Even if he had no reason for such thoughts … flying to New York made him feel as if he was travelling to the belly of the beast. Offering himself to a lions den as fresh meat to tear apart. Any analogy where Claude rips him to shreds and eats him whole, really.
Swallowing that anxiety he boarded the aircraft. Messy hair snagging into his headphones,, god he was glad no one he knew could see him like this. He was never caught unprepared while travelling.
As expected, the professor leaves him on read. A lesser version of Claude would crush his heart over that, the latest prize of fixation carrying the brunt between him and the glass veil of anxiety bubbling up in his throat. Though as of now, while such an emotion seems unpleasant, in the grand scheme of things, it was much better than the obsessive upset that grasped him once he realized that Edgar had moved on from such frivolous indulgence. It's granted that he wouldn't take his bait anymore.
He was still upset, in some capacity, though. From the years of compartmentalizing his feelings into neat little boxes he can push into boundaries and warm beds and cold people and the twitch of his wings at the doctor's when they said it was too late to fix anything, Claude is now half the man that Eddie had loved all those years ago. He's barely a man enough for himself. How would the professor react to being studied over something he could barely do himself? Poked and prodded over and over again, watching for reactions that wouldn't come through? His wings weren't fucking working. His magic wasn't fucking working.
Though, really, he couldn't bring himself to see him that way. Use him that way. Claude had loved him dearly. Enough to look back on what little memories they had before the text messages soured and trailed off into broken shards of their happy little relationship. He was a bad man. A bad person. It wasn't right that his Eddie's reconnection message was just under Claude's last to him all those years ago.
📱: I'm coming home for dinner.
Did Eddie think about it like he did? Agonize over what could have been, push it aside? How quickly it all had come to fall apart in his hands, how quickly love had turned into resentment, how quickly he made excuses to not ever see his professor again. His professor.
---
"you will always be the prettiest specimen pinned on my wall."
Edgar knew just how to make things worse whenever he was clearly trying to help. It's in a state of helplessness that it finds Claude as he's checking his phone at the crossing, and he's frozen in place. It's supposed to be cute. It's supposed to be comforting. He knows that.
He knows that.
But did that argument really get nothing through to him? Was he really just a little butterfly to be pinned in forever rigor mortis to him? The screams, the shouting, the wailing and the tears shed, were they for nothing in the face of the years past? He thinks past it by squeezing his eyes shut. All he can remember is Edgar's stone-cold face staring up at him.
---
The airport was loud as usual. Whispers of other pressing issues float around in the corner of his mind, but the attorney was only looking for one face in the crowd. Meeting him right at the entrance, briefcase in hand, waiting so patiently to spot that tussled head of hair flattened by headphone bars. Always on time. Picture perfect with his trenchcoat done (just calculatingly) loose, hair gelled the way he always does, with gloves to match.
It's like their first meeting all over again.
People hoarded many things. For some because it might hold value to others, For some because it might hold value to them. The items themselves don’t matter, variety bred from the humanity of it all. Keeping junk.
The garbage Edgar hoarded was not much different. If anything it was worse.
The professor hoarded memories.
Admittedly this flight was paid for by a voucher. The host of the conference offered to pay all expenses, let him even schedule his own flight. He could’ve pampered himself, drank expensive champagne with a reclining chair. All the stops! But… a part of him couldn’t handle potentially overwriting the experience in his head.
The experience of when a certain angel showed him the joys of first class. Nursing a margarita while Edgar laid against his chest, watching a show Claude swore on his life was good, even if he complained the whole time about the inaccuracy.
What if the next time he tried to imagine first class … the seats were a new texture. Or the shows not as convoluted. What stayed locked behind that curtain was one of the many bubbles that he’d created in the wake of a messy break up. Too afraid to pop it by indulging himself with reminiscing.
No, it was better to not think about it.
…
Even if he wanted to.
——
"…………"
By any normal standard the man was perfect. Ignoring the headphones his hair was well kept, styled cleanly. His face clean, his clothes following suit. Sure there was a few wrinkles here and there but hey, what can you really do.
Claude wasn’t a normal person. That was the biases of this relationship after all.
Edgar’s bangs pressed to his head, a habit of his hair he’d lamented over numerous signs. A indication that he’d sweat at least a little on the flight and hadn’t had a chance to freshen up. His piercings were cute, little cross ones shining in the light. However one was slightly rotated, meaning his Eddie had bit his lip and hadn’t noticed. A mistake. This wasn’t even mentioning the nicks along his chin, barely covered by shoddily placed concealer. Makeup was never the professors forte.
Not to say all the differences Claude noticed were bad.
He clearly had gained some meat on his bones, suit slightly tighter around his arms, shape different around his chest. His hair was longer, some of it tied neatly in a ponytail, no longer matted in the back. And, fuck, it was hard not to notice the new glasses when he was looking into his eyes. He chose thinner ones, met him look older.
He was older.
“Well … this is a surprise."
Gloved hands pulled his headphones to his neck. A few strands now poking out of place.
“You didn’t have to do this, Pet. Umh … Thank you. I mean it. This is very kind."
Which he didn’t deserve.
"I hope I didn’t keep you waiting."
He chose not to ask how Claude got his flight information. The joy of money, he assumed. Anything could be bought, really.
Now I hope you were serious about getting lunch sometime. I’ll be in New York teaching a class for about two months. I’d love to catch up! Be seeing you, pet :)
PS. I sent you a limited-signed copy of What Makes Pigs Fly, I’m not sure if you ever received it. Would love to know what you think about it? Yeah?
Hope you and the little one are doing fine.
- [ @edgarquill ]
This message finds Claude hunched over the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, wondering just what it was that he should be doing. More than the fact that his head was starting to spin with the second (full) glass of whiskey he'd just emptied into his gullet, Edgar's appearance against all this mess seemed like a cruel callback from the gods to when times were simpler.
And when he was still an utter fuck-up.
Oh how he missed him. The angel couldn't stomach looking up the professor after his wide acclaim, despite seeing news of his book plastered everywhere for the world to see, maybe if he was being delusional him to see, and still wondered aimlessly just how much Ed had changed. If his hair was any shorter, longer, got too rich and grew out of those glasses, or that voice. He'd forgotten how nice it was. He'd forgotten how nice everything was, really.
But John.
📱: Eve's doing fine, Eds. Let's meet up. You know where.
Just the thought of it made him sick. Though as Claude presses send on the first message, he knows he's digging his grave.
📱: Course we can talk about the book. Catch up. It'll be like old times.
Just smart enough to call it shelter.
📱I did not expect you to respond so soon. Late night? Work trouble? Whatever it is I know you’ll get through it. You always do, right? A Krueal is anything if not filled with Tenacity. Or is it Spite? Ha.
It was not very scholarly of the man to panic, squeal, and drop his phone on his face. Luckily said thing didn’t break his glasses. God that would be the 4th time he had to get it repaired in the last two months. Was he really that unlucky?
Then again, for him to adore such an angel Edgar must have the worst luck in the world.
It didn’t take long for him to second guess his little jokes. Had he grown too daring when outside the nest, fuck, would his newfound cockiness scare Claude away? How did he used to message him! It was so long ago. Ah! He hated this. It was far too early for him and far too late for that Attorney.
What WAS Claude doing up at 2 AM. Should he be worried?
📱I’m flying over tomorrow night. Have a little conference and then it’s smooth sailing. You can handle the wait I hope. Was thinking Wednesday we could meet? If that works for your oh so busy schedule of course.
….
📱i’d love to thank you for your many contributions to science.
This was a bad idea. He knew it was. There was a reason they hadn’t spoken. And it wasn’t because their busy, busy lives. Unfortunately the two were incompatible, a fact Edgar had come to terms with quite well. No use getting his hopes up. This would just be a friendly visit.
Even if the man wished it was anything else. How selfish of him.
At least that was his birthright. Selfishness.
There’s something about the relief that courses through his body that disgusts him. When Eddie doesn’t follow up with a string of curses wishing death upon his name, and though deep down he knew the man was never capable of such a thing, with what Claude did to him, it would be more than deserving of such a feat. Enough for him to fall back and turn over, clutching his sides like he’s a wounded animal.
If even Eddie’s found it in himself to be this kind to him. Oh, if only he knew. The professor had the unfortunate privilege to see what laid behind the mask, and though its contents were ugly beyond repair did he reach out and hold it against his face like nothing he’s seen before. Even if the glint in his eye could be mistaken for breathtaking novelty. But that’s what he was at the end of the day. To everyone. Meat. An animal. Just something interesting enough to pin on a table and study. He’s sure Eddie has his own guilt over the situation, perhaps Claude was sloppy at the end of their relationship and provided not much research to be founded from, though he’s not particularly blessed with the knowledge to differentiate between what he’s caused and what Edgar actually had to be remorseful over.
I mean, what kind of relationship could sprout out of their start anyways? Certainly nothing that warranted how cruel he was at the end.
Eddie doesn’t get a response till the morning, forged in deliberation and sleep interrupted by rays of sunlight shooting through the gaps in curtain blinds like daggers. Vengeful, as though Claude did not deserve to wake up. He slides a bottle under his bed with his foot, rubbing his neck.
📱: You don’t need to thank me. It’s your brilliant mind that made something of it. I’m just the pet.
Maybe that last one comes off more bitter than expected.
📱[Read.]
Okay… maybe leaving him on read wasn’t such a good idea. Hell, Edgar could go years without a real conversation with him again. Unfortunately the scholar didn’t know HOW to respond. If he argued there was a high chance Claude would just internalise his self-deprecating thoughts and no matter what he did after that point the man couldn’t argue with said things once they were safe in that angels pretty little head. Ignoring it was also out of the question! gah! Why was this so hard!
….
The brunette turned his phone off. Placing the discarded thing on the cold, wooden dresser he called a Nightstand. Sighing the professor got out of bed. Stretching in a way that made him ever so embarrassed by the pops of his starting-to-age back. Rummaging through a clothes pile that had developed into an impressive heap in the corner he found a dress shirt that smelt … decent. Edgar fumbled for the buttons, getting dressed in relative silence.
He struggled with his tie. Embarrassing.
How he wishes for soft hands laced in suede to wrap around his neck to help him.
…
It wasn’t until much later that Edgar found the courage to respond. A day in a half, quite literally on the way to the airport. That actually helped immensely… whatever Claude responded with he wouldn’t see while on the plane afterall.
📱that’s never been why I called you pet, luv. I’m sure you know that. At times you’re muchm ore clever than me.
📱that book wouldn’t have existed without your little contributions. Hell, you practically sponsored it with all those cute little lunches.
📱is cute an okay word for those rich things? Don’t want the blue in you to burn.
📱you will always be the prettiest specimen pinned on my wall. No need to be bashful about it.
📱flights loading. Text you later. Don’t do soemtging stupid.
Even if he had no reason for such thoughts … flying to New York made him feel as if he was travelling to the belly of the beast. Offering himself to a lions den as fresh meat to tear apart. Any analogy where Claude rips him to shreds and eats him whole, really.
Swallowing that anxiety he boarded the aircraft. Messy hair snagging into his headphones,, god he was glad no one he knew could see him like this. He was never caught unprepared while travelling.
Now I hope you were serious about getting lunch sometime. I’ll be in New York teaching a class for about two months. I’d love to catch up! Be seeing you, pet :)
PS. I sent you a limited-signed copy of What Makes Pigs Fly, I’m not sure if you ever received it. Would love to know what you think about it? Yeah?
Hope you and the little one are doing fine.
- [ @edgarquill ]
This message finds Claude hunched over the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, wondering just what it was that he should be doing. More than the fact that his head was starting to spin with the second (full) glass of whiskey he'd just emptied into his gullet, Edgar's appearance against all this mess seemed like a cruel callback from the gods to when times were simpler.
And when he was still an utter fuck-up.
Oh how he missed him. The angel couldn't stomach looking up the professor after his wide acclaim, despite seeing news of his book plastered everywhere for the world to see, maybe if he was being delusional him to see, and still wondered aimlessly just how much Ed had changed. If his hair was any shorter, longer, got too rich and grew out of those glasses, or that voice. He'd forgotten how nice it was. He'd forgotten how nice everything was, really.
But John.
📱: Eve's doing fine, Eds. Let's meet up. You know where.
Just the thought of it made him sick. Though as Claude presses send on the first message, he knows he's digging his grave.
📱: Course we can talk about the book. Catch up. It'll be like old times.
Just smart enough to call it shelter.
📱I did not expect you to respond so soon. Late night? Work trouble? Whatever it is I know you’ll get through it. You always do, right? A Krueal is anything if not filled with Tenacity. Or is it Spite? Ha.
It was not very scholarly of the man to panic, squeal, and drop his phone on his face. Luckily said thing didn’t break his glasses. God that would be the 4th time he had to get it repaired in the last two months. Was he really that unlucky?
Then again, for him to adore such an angel Edgar must have the worst luck in the world.
It didn’t take long for him to second guess his little jokes. Had he grown too daring when outside the nest, fuck, would his newfound cockiness scare Claude away? How did he used to message him! It was so long ago. Ah! He hated this. It was far too early for him and far too late for that Attorney.
What WAS Claude doing up at 2 AM. Should he be worried?
📱I’m flying over tomorrow night. Have a little conference and then it’s smooth sailing. You can handle the wait I hope. Was thinking Wednesday we could meet? If that works for your oh so busy schedule of course.
….
📱i’d love to thank you for your many contributions to science.
This was a bad idea. He knew it was. There was a reason they hadn’t spoken. And it wasn’t because their busy, busy lives. Unfortunately the two were incompatible, a fact Edgar had come to terms with quite well. No use getting his hopes up. This would just be a friendly visit.
Even if the man wished it was anything else. How selfish of him.
At least that was his birthright. Selfishness.
