he finds you alone in your room, the room he set aside for you in his home, as you’re putting jen back in her enclosure. “you know,” he starts casually, “i don’t like you spending so much time alone. a man should have friends in this world.”
“i do. i have void,” and it’s a stupid thing to say, you know it’s not the right thing to say by a long shot, because your master doesn’t even like void, and truthfully void is barely what you’d consider a friend either. you’re not even sure why he popped into your head. what made you say his name. it’s not like the two of you have talked in two or three months at this point, his name drifting farther and farther down your messages list until you‘d nearly forgotten about him.
and sure enough, your master’s frown only deepens a little further. you stare down at jen instead, the way she twists around and scurries about, your fingers still hovering over the edge.
“i know,” he says, and it’s the most loaded two words you've heard from him in years, “but…he’s only one person.” right. because that’s the problem with your relationship with void. “don’t you have more friends than that?”
“hood.” but he’s more of a work friend anyway, and he doesn’t really like your attitude towards the jobs you take on together. you feel a little bad whenever you’re around him and you don’t quite understand why. you’re not sure you want to; it’d probably just make things more complicated. make it harder to just do your job and go home.
“yes, i know about hood, too,” your master sighs, and there’s a twinge of disappointment in his tone that reaches your core and digs a little hole into it. like a needle guiding his thread into your conscience. “he’s good to you, and reliable, i appreciate that, but…you don’t talk to anyone else? you hardly speak with the friends you already have. psychic…” he reaches out and gently brushes your shoulder. there was a time you’d have tensed up and pulled away, but you don’t do that anymore. “i just don’t want you thinking you have to go through life alone.”
“i’m not alone, sir? i have you.”
something cracks faintly in your master’s eyes, and you feel a little guiltier. he has a good way of making you feel like that. making you love his approval like a child loves their father’s. a perverse form of getting to your heart. you can never make yourself cringe away. “i know. i— psychic, you don’t ever feel…lonely, then, do you?”
you hesitate, unsure if you should be annoyed or sympathetic or something else. what is lonely supposed to mean?
you like your quiet life, as quiet as it can possibly be. you like your solitude; it’s what you’re used to. you like having two friends you rarely talk to and your mouse who will live for maybe three years and your master’s family who all have their own lives to live. you have books, too, and your instruments and your journals; you can get over the silence quickly enough.
“no, sir.”
he doesn’t look satisfied, but he lets it go. you feel a tiny pang of disappointment of your own. “alright.”
psychic putting down certain interests and stuff for being stupid and childish but then turning around and defending gf for liking the same things because “it’s different”
Spirit: The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was changing his name to Psychic.
BF: Alright Psychic, what do you want?
Psychic: I want Dearest to disown you and adopt me!
Void: Can you keep a secret?
Psychic: Do you know anything about my life?
Void: No, I don't. Good point.
Psychic: When I first met you, I thought you were weird and annoying.
Myth: And?
Psychic: And you are.
Hood: The first time I ever got upset in front of Psychic, he put his arms around me and it was so awkward that I had to ask him if he was hugging me or reaching for something on the shelf behind me.
Psychic: I was doing both, for your information.
Void: The first time Psychic hugged me, it was such a disaster we didn’t make eye contact for, like, a week after.
Psychic: *sharpens knife* We've got ways of making people talk.
Psychic: *cuts piece of cake*
Darnell: ...Can I have some?
Psychic: Cake is for talkers.
The small paper bag, white tissue paper peeking out and masking the gift and card inside, feels unnaturally heavy as it dangles from his hand. Psychic tightens his grip and lets his arm fall to his side.
His master, only a few feet away, is awkwardly, cheerfully, graciously accepting his daughter’s gift. Psychic discreetly makes his way next to him, quietly taking in their smiles, her easy laughter, the way she hugs her father and leaves his office to find her boyfriend. His chest tightens. A little pang in his core whispers condescendingly, how out of place you are, how hopeless. How endearing.
It’s a bit late for that song and dance now. His master has already turned to him, with questioning eyes.
“It’s…nice to see you two smiling like that again,” Psychic begins awkwardly, not entirely sure why he has to start with that comment on the increasingly weird relationship between them. His master has all but given up by now on trying to get rid of the girl’s boyfriend, and though the previous anger has subsided into something smoother, Psychic can’t tune out the tension in the air. Still, today seems like proof that they’re getting better. It’s getting better.
His master smiles at him too, then, and the nervousness in his core doesn’t settle. It only spreads to his stomach and his legs like a virus. “I suppose. It’s nice to see her happy, if anything.” It’s resigned, almost tired.
“It is. Um—” Psychic tries not to stumble over his words, quickly lifts up the bag far too high before dropping his hand to what he thinks is a normal height. Hopes to God that he’s doing this right and that this is appropriate for him to do at all. That he can be allowed to partake in this little thing, just to show that he’s grateful. He is grateful. He gets to be here, serving his mentor, stuttering like a fool in front of the man who gave him everything, because he wants to show that he’s happy. That he knows he was taught well. “Um, I— I have something for you, as well. Not— not for any specific reason, I just…” He trails off, silently cursing his utter lack of grace. “I wanted to…give you something.”
He shifts and avoids looking up as his master, surprised, takes the bag. The weight, gone from his hand but not from his chest. His master glances inside and, Psychic thinks, silently puts it together.
It wasn’t that hard, anyway. There’s only one reason Psychic, who hardly celebrates anything, would go out of his way to give him something on this day. To the man who raised him. He briefly wonders if his master being able to read him so effortlessly really is out of pure skill and perceptiveness, or if Psychic has just always been this horribly awkward and predictable. Does it even matter anymore?
He braves a look at his master’s face, and a tiny bit of that weight eases, even as his core is still practically vibrating throughout his body. He’s a little relieved; his master at the very least isn’t as weirded out or uncomfortable as Psychic had feared he would be. He…he looks pleased, even. He’s still surprised, but…
His master touches his shoulder. “Psychic, thank you.” There’s a realer smile on his face now, unexpected joy.
“I— you’re welcome.” Psychic mutters, ignoring the way his stomach flips. “Happy… Happy Father’s Day, sir.” The sudden boldness of saying it leaves him even shyer, but he can’t stop an almost-smile, a psychomancer-smile from overtaking his face.
“Thank you, Psychic,” his master repeats quietly with all the more delight, a hand resting on his shoulder like it’s at home, and Psychic is fully, certainly a mess and his master knows exactly what this is supposed to be. And for now, for what it’s all worth, Psychic is okay with that.
