Sebastian was, at his very core, a MASOCHIST. Which meant that no matter how he felt about something, about someone, inhibitions tended to ride at a constant low when faced with a dilemma. Including this, it seemed. He would meet Lucien. He would face the man he’d loved (he loves?), after all these years. What else is there for him to do, after all? James was gone. And Moran was working, though very little any more. Watching other people die was no longer the release it had once been. Not now that he knew how FUCKING HARD it was for him to expire.
For a long while, he sat at his flat, looking around the place as if it belonged to someone else. Someone from another life. Or maybe that was just him, settling back into the life he’d once known. A life with a play room, with gentle baths with his mate. A life where he’d felt all too often that he wasn’t good ENOUGH to even be considered for someone’s heart. And then he’d started to learn that none of them, not even the perfect, handsome, INSUFFERABLY stubborn Lucien was flawless.
When his phone buzzed, Sebastian considered (even for the briefest of moments), just tossing it out the window. He knew who it was. Of course he did. But if he tossed the phone, never saw the acknowledgement, then perhaps he could pretend like he’d never AGREED to such a meeting.
It was strange how separation could change someone in your mind. How it could transform them either into someone perfect, someone very akin to a god, or it could dwindle them down to… to what? An ex? Someone whose name was better left unuttered. Because if it was said out loud, that would make them real. Make them… corporeal. But the sniper knew that Lucien had always been real, had always been a very serious part of his past. And his relationship with Lucien had been a big part of making him into the man he was today. Or, rather, the VAMPIRE he was.
Sebastian showered, dressed in something casual – jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a jacket – and then headed for the door.
At the restaurant, Sebastian stood just outside the window for a long moment. He could see Lucien sitting there, drumming fingers, always the embodiment of potential energy. He was a coiled spring, a cocked bullet. Emphasis on the cocked. But he was still as beautiful as ever. Seb checked his watch and with a deep breath, he entered. He made his way past the host with a wave of his hand and through the crowd. “Lu,” he said softly, his head canting somewhat to the side. “You… You look good.”
Sebastian's SCENT overwhelmed the senses, bringing with it a plethora of emotions. Forbidden sentiment rushing to the surface, a vicious reminder that he was not immune. That buried deep he had the capability to love hard, that those tender moments had meant the world and that more than anything, he yearned for that simplicity again. ( It was wrong to feel so strongly for someone who he’d cursed to a life of damnation and yet before Sebastian, he had seen vampirism as wicked sin. ) Eternal existence, involuntary. Sebastian's request to become a creature of the night hadn’t shocked him to the core, but it had left an ill effect. Perhaps that was partially why they had drifted.
Guilt. Oh, it was a bitch wasn’t it?
He returned the soft greeting, his VOICE memorised for lonely nights, picture-perfect memories scattered all around the floor of an apartment he had abandoned; a place he had adored, left at a stand-still. God his heart ached, visibly flinching as a breath of laughter flowed from parted lips. ( Talk about a loss of control; moments of weakness having led him to desperately reach out to his progeny. ) That connection never having faded; he’d refused to let Sebastian go selfishly. Kept the bond they shared under lock and key; occasionally checking in to ensure he was alive… It sparked to life as he scraped the chair he hoped Sebastian would occupy back. Twisting and taunting him, almost. Fuck.
‘As ever the flatterer, darling. Though I don’t feel particularly good.’
A GHOST of a smirk crossed his lips, choked up truly at the sight of him. His undeniable creation, as healthy as could be expected. ( Drop dead gorgeous; aesthetically pleasing. ) He shook off that urge to reach out and grasp hold of him and instead gestured casually at the menu, a silent prompt for Sebastian to choose what he wanted, on him, of course. Wallet already resting on the table.
‘I’m glad to see you; apologises for my - well - I’ve picked up a rather thick Russian accent I’m afraid.’
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