Work Text:
Click, click.
What were you doing again?
Click, click, click.
Was running away from this even a viable option? Surely they’d find you.
Click, click, click, click, click.
You could always lie, but he always seemed to know when the slightest hint of dishonesty snuck it’s way into your words.
Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick-
“Master Sage.”
You stop abusing the poor pen and look towards Shylock, his usual soft smile placed upon his lips. You’re really starting to despise that smile.
He continues once you acknowledge him, “I was wondering if you’d like to join me today for magic lessons with the others.”
Going anywhere with him is detrimental to your health at this point. If you’re not sick to your stomach seeing him act like a lovesick puppy over Murr, you’re blinded to your own obsession with the bartender. “I’ll pass. I’m not feeling up to anything today.”
He narrows his eyes slightly and takes a seat next to you. It takes all your willpower not to immediately leave the library with some half-baked excuse on how you suddenly have important matters to attend to.
“Master Sage, if I didn’t know any better, I’d have to assume you’ve been avoiding me recently.”
You try pathetically hard not to let any emotion show on your face, because Shylock would be able to take it and use it against you to prove his point. He was right, of course, because you can’t keep saying your trips to the bathroom to puke up your lunch was a total coincidence and had nothing to do with the fact it only happened when you see Shylock and Murr talking to each other.
“I’m not. I’ve just been busy.”
You want to say he’s getting annoyed, but Shylock is a master of keeping his emotions in check. “So busy in fact, you declined every offer Nero and Faust made to come visit the bar with them? And that you’ve been taking meals long after dinner finishes back to your room to eat in solitude?”
You wince at that one, because there’s hardly a way out that seems believable. You rack your brain for excuses and it suddenly goes blank when Shylock grasps your hand in his and looks directly into your eyes.
“I wish you would be honest with me, Master Sage.”
That’s enough for you to rip your hand away like he’d set it aflame and quickly get up to leave the library. He tries following you to figure out what the hell just happened but you refuse to let him see you any weaker than now.
“Don’t… follow me. Please.”
You walk away before he can offer a response and quickly make your way down the halls of the manor. This is ridiculous. You have a job to do, granted one you never asked for, and letting some foolish schoolyard crush interfere with it is just pathetic. Almost as pathetic as the fact that you’re thinking how he’s probably on his way to see Murr and talk to the shell that once was a genius, the one that still manages to hold Shylock’s heart in the palm of his hand and has no idea how fucking lucky he is to do so.
You almost walk directly into the doorframe of the kitchen trying to get water, and see Owen snacking on something from the pantry. You can’t tell what mood he’s in today, and your clouded judgement fails to take that fact into account when you speak to him.
“If I asked you to, would you kill me?”
He turns to you slowly with a bored expression on his face, like you’d commented on the weather outside. “Is that a request?”
He’s testing you. “And what if it is?
“No.”
Figures. When he’s given the opportunity to cause harm, he refuses to.
“Whatever it is you’re feeling that makes you want to die so badly,”
He makes his way to the kitchen door and finishes his sentence as he passes by you,
“I want you to suffer with it.”
The room feels simultaneously colder and warmer once he’s no longer there. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you should suffer for your selfishness. After all, it’s your fault that you fell for someone you could never have.
As he walks back to his room, Owen mumbles to himself. “Idiotic Sage. If anyone else were to ask…” he trails off.
“Regardless, I’ll force you to stay with me even if you’re miserable.”