Olivier had done some moderately mortifying things in his life—he didn’t really think anyone survived compulsory schooling without at least a few embarrassing stories, even if he had known people to deny having any, and the fact that he had graduated early? Been forced into classrooms where he was constantly the youngest and smartest person, even compared to his teachers? That he was an awkward non-dev on top of all that?
Yeah, he had plenty of stories that he really wished he could bury in the past, and to be fair, he was generally quite good at leaving the past where it was meant to be—it was part of why his mind’s insistence that he would regret not helping Emilia bothered him so much, as that certainly wasn’t the sort of thought he normally had.
That wasn’t to say his embarrassing moments didn’t come up. While he might rarely think of those moment himself, his cousins enjoyed bringing them up far too much—something about how he embarrassed himself so sporadically that if they didn’t bring up his moments of stupidity and ill-thought-out decisions they would always feel inferior to him—but he was generally quite good at letting them have their fun, especially since he had just as many stories about them he could bring up in recompense; despite their claims, the number of terrible, unforgettable things they’d each done over their decades of life were relatively comparable.
Olivier was never telling any of his cousins that he had absentmindedly followed his not-quite student—his younger, not-quite student—into the bathroom of the random restaurant they had crossed paths within. Then again, given who she was dining with and her reputation for killing creepy men, maybe they’d find out anyways. What a blow to his family’s reputation it would be for him to be killed by a set of Hyrat clones for weirding out their friend.
Fortunately, he really did need to pee, and he scurried into a stall, feeling very much like the naughty child he had virtually never been; rather, he had always been controlled, a result of his demanding upbringing and the severe rules his mother placed on him. The most he’d ever been
naughty
was in demanding to be allowed to supplement his education with teaching and studying at Yurndale, with the way he dressed there, knowing full well his bodyguards ed his clothing choices back to his mother for her disapproval.
For this brief period of time—for the few years it would take for him to complete his thesis, something he was already dragging out, eking out a little more freedom in exchange for more meetings with his advisor, more insufferable students, although he had come to be friendly with a few—he was free, and apparently that feeling of freedom was extending into other behaviour, at least when it came to this woman.
Lusting after her. Fighting with her in his classroom. Watching her from afar and then following her into a fucking bathroom.
Something was clearly quite wrong with him. Maybe he needed to get his knots checked? Certainly, he didn’t feel off in any other way, and nothing particularly traumatic had happened recently—although having Emilia show up in his classroom and offer him sex in exchange for help on her case had certainly been a shock to his system—and, well, you just never knew!
A message from his mother popped up as he was buttoning his slacks back up, asking where he had gone, as though he were his brother and liable to jump out the window—even one hundreds of floors up—attempting to evade their mother. As the woman was being even more insufferable than usual, Olivier sent back a message about stomach cramps and how he’d be a little longer. While that left him effectively trapped in the bathroom for a while—he figured he could get away with spending five to ten minutes hiding in there without her coming to personally check on him like he was a child in need of a stomach massage to help
get things moving
—it did mean he could both avoid his mother a little longer and reduce the risk of running into Emilia, and—
And someone was knocking on the stall door?
Olivier turned in place—just because he was hiding in the stall didn’t mean he was going to sit on the seat while he hid—wondering what to do, wondering who in the world was even knocking on the door? There were plenty of stalls, and Emilia had been the only other person in there when he entered.
“Olivier?”
Fuck.
Tentatively, and very much feeling like the naughty boy he apparently now was, Olivier opened the door. Bright purple eyes blinked up at him, the flecks of silver within them seeming to sparkle in the soft light of the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, skylights making way for the quickly blackening sky.
“Emilia,” he said, like an idiot.
Clearly, she had known he was inside the restaurant just as well as he had her, and why wouldn’t she have? If he and some low-devs could hear practically everything going on around them, filtering and cataloguing each conversation with perfect clarity, then why would she be any different?
He was an idiot, and she was going to tell him to stop being so creepy. Then, she’d stop showing up in his classroom. That was what he wanted—what he had been asking her to do for weeks—and yet, the mere thought of never seeing her again, of never glancing up to find her smiling down at him, sent a shudder of pain through him.
A small frown pulled at Emilia’s lips, and he wanted to kiss that concern away. Fucking stars did he want to do that; he wanted to tug her into the stall and press her against the door, lift her up and see if she was even wearing underwear under that tight little dress. Fuck the consequences. Forget the fact that they were in public and staff were likely to show up to remove them if they thought people were having sex in the bathroom.
“Are you alright?”
Olivier started at the sound of Emilia’s voice, so soft and kind compared to its usual teasing, occasionally angry, tone.
“I… yes. Why?”
The eyebrow Emilia raised at him was a silent reprimand—a silent remark that she was perfectly aware that he hadn’t followed her into the bathroom by accident, perhaps. Then again, maybe he was reading too much into it. He was probably reading too much into it? Was he panicking? Somehow, it felt like his brain was melting. Seriously, his cousins could never find out he had panicked over a simple eyebrow raise—that the beautiful, enchanting woman had reduced him to such a blubbering mess.
If Emilia knew he had followed her into the bathroom on autopilot, she said nothing of it, instead snorting and muttering about how insufferable his mother was. “I’d hide in the bathroom, too, if I had to listen to that.”
“You were listening—eavesdropping,” Olivier pointed out, heart aching when a smile spread over Emilia’s face, tugging her blush-pink cheeks higher, her eyes forming happy lines.
“And you were listening to me and the triplets?” she asked, leaning in closer. She must have been wearing heels, her nose far closer to his than the few times the annoying girl had stepped into his space before or after class, intent to preen up at him like she held all the secrets to the universe inside her.
Somehow, Olivier wouldn’t be surprised if she did.
Rocking back on his heels, Olivier raised his own eyebrow at the little brat, suddenly feeling much more grounded. Worried, nervous Emilia he didn’t know what to do with. Bratty, teasing Emilia he could handle.
“You know I’m a lawyer, right? And not yours.”
“Not yet.”
“Not ever.”
“We’ll see, but go on, go on.”
Huffing, stuffing his hands into his pocket so he wouldn’t reach forward and brush a stray lock of hair out of Emilia’s eyes—wouldn’t tug on one of those ribbons and see what she was hiding under that dress—Olivier started again. “I’m not your lawyer, and I am obligated to any knowledge of future crimes to SecOps.”
“Or The Black Knot.”
“I don’t think that would do me any good.”
“No, I don’t suppose it would. I’m quite sure they’d all support our temporarily discarded plan to kill off the Drydens.”
Olivier blanched. Previously, Emilia and the clones had spoken in vague terms, never using the family or their friend’s name. To now know it…
“Emilia!” he hissed, wondering if she would him to the dean if he strangled her. Dean Vickers might seem to have a soft spot for the girl, but surely he must know how insane she was? Certainly, he would understand if Olivier strangled her for daring to utter the name of people she and her clone friends
maybe
intended to kill in front of him!?
“Don’t feel too bad. They’re quite terrible people. The world will be much better off without them.”
“That isn’t the point!?”
“No? What is the point, then? That our social services system is shit? To have left my friend in their abusive home, because
it wasn’t that bad?
He’ll kill himself eventually if he stays there, and murdering his parents is just one option for getting him out—not the most sensible, I have to agree, but an option nonetheless. A… last resort sort of option, if we can’t get him out any better way.”
The pair of them stared at each other for a long moment, Olivier unsure what to say, Emilia staring up at him with that look she gave him and his students so often, the one that seemed to demand they try to argue against her—the one that made it clear she would burn the entire world down before changing her opinion.
“He can’t just leave?” Olivier finally asked, a hand running through his hair despite himself—his mother would be irate to see he had given into the habit of messing up his hair. He didn’t find he currently cared too much about her opinion.
Shrugging, Emilia reached out, slow, as though he were a dangerous animal. Cool fingers brushed his forehead, pushing a stray hair away from his face. How much he would give to be that comfortable with touching someone he barely knew, to be able to reach out and return the favour, that lock of silver hair still threatening Emilia’s eye, forcing blinks out of her. Why hadn’t she brushed it away herself?
“Simeon can try, but it's hard to leave the only home you’ve ever known, even if it's a shitty one. We’ll pay for him, of course—the Drydens have already made it clear they’ll strike him from the will if he dares leave, and we all have enough money, and it’s not like most of our parents wouldn’t pay for him—but he’s an ECC Dyad as well, and…”
“And learning to live by himself won’t be as easy as for the rest of you,” Olivier finished.
“It’s complicated—and he isn’t thirty yet, so he can’t even leave without their permission anyways, and the Drydens seem convinced they can
fix
him in these next few months. Simeon’s been trying to spend as much time away from home as possible, but there’s only so much any of us can do when SecOps knows he’s friends with various children associated with The Black Knot. It’s messy, and eventually, SecOps shows up to bring him home, constantly reminding him
things could be worse
.” Emilia rolled her eyes, muttering about how she’d grown up in a home, and knew those places weren’t great, but also,
the Drydens sucked.
That was messy. “Laws regarding Dyads are excessive,” he said, only realizing his accidental pun when Emilia burst out laughing.
“Oh… was that intentional? Either way, too funny. I’ll have to remember that one,” she managed between giggles, her entire body shaking with it because Emilia didn’t do anything by halves. No, Emilia was all energy and vibrance, making the world lovely just by existing within it.
Another message popped up, again from his mother, checking on him. Hastily, he sent back a reply that
things were moving along,
hoping that would keep her away a little longer. Unfortunately, given Emilia had been eavesdropping, she was liable to hear whatever terrible conversation about his diet was going to ensue once he returned to the table.
“Why do your friend’s parents want to
fix him?
Is it that he’s an ECC Dyad? I don’t know of anything that can
fix
that.”
Emilia’s amusement vanished, so much dark rage overtaking her that, had there been room behind him, Olivier would have stepped back. He had seen the woman angry before, of course. Topics came up in class all the time that ignited those who held vastly different opinions to argue, sometimes nearly coming to blows. Emilia had been involved in her fair share of those, but the anger and annoyance she had shown at those times was nothing compared to the fury that seeped off her now.
“There is nothing about Simeon that needs to be
fixed,
” she spit out, and for a moment, Olivier wondered if this was the woman she had been months earlier, before she had killed a man for threatening her and her friend.
The sort of woman who didn’t want to go to prison, but would do so, if only to keep her friends and loved ones safe.
The sort of woman who was glorious and powerful, terrifying and mesmerizing.
The sort of woman who wouldn’t regret the consequences for protecting her friends, and yet would be destroyed by those consequences all the same.
.
!
Arc 8 | Chapter 288: Hiding in the Bathroom is Always an Option (but not necessarily a good one)
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