Arc 9 | Chapter 324: Mine for the Evening

Over the long weeks of invading Olivier’s classroom and all but torturing the poor man, of their hours spent exchanging annotated notes in what might as well have been chatting but

just wasn’t,

Emilia had realized a few things about the man. The most important thing? He was awkward as fuck.

Considering how he spoke with his students, lecturing with a finesse that was almost intimidating to breach with a question or thought, it was a little surprising. It was no wonder she had just assumed the man to be standoffish. The truth was rather more endearing: he just didn’t know how to speak with people outside of the classroom and legal settings. With the exception of the conversation they had shared in the bathroom stall, even when she had managed to pull conversations out of the man—while standing in lines at the cafés that spotted the Yurndale campus, when approaching him after class, during their quickly ending first day of the trip—it was only when something came up related to law that he truly managed to relax a little and speak freely. Even then, he wasn’t really relaxed, nor completely free with his words.

During those conversations, there was at least a slight ease of tension in his shoulders as he struggled to say more than a few words in response to her questions, a loosening of his jaw, a release of strained energy from his voice. Those were all still there, just lesser; Emilia wanted to erase them—wanted to brush all his awkward tension aside and figure out a way to assure him he was fine.

If she laughed at him, it wouldn’t be malicious.

If she teased him, it was her personal brand of affection and friendship.

There wasn’t much he could do or say that would turn her off trying to be his friend—and it had been a small shock to realize she actually wanted to become his friend, something he clearly lacked. Olivier was nice, compassionate—so aware of her temper when it came to anything negative being said about her friends that every time he even edged up against issues he knew affected the ones he knew about, his words became impossibly more deliberate, chosen with specificity and meant to make sure she knew he didn’t mean anything by them.

It was endearing. She wanted to become his friend, and while Emilia was still convinced she could convince him to take her case, she would probably settle for just being his friend. House arrest would suck, but maybe he’d come visit? It would be awkward, what with her parents and siblings lingering about, waiting for her to make a fool of herself, but… but maybe that would be okay? Ten years of getting to know one another through annotations and the occasional visit, until she could finally get out and—

And that was getting way ahead of herself. Friendship first! While her relationship with Rafe had fallen apart, and the situation with the triplets was complicated, Emilia fully believed that friendship was the best base for

something more.

Did it make it a little awkward, knowing a friendship might fall apart if they dared take things further, her fractured

what the fuck is even happening!?

relationship with Rafe the perfect example of how love and sex could destroy a friendship? Yes, but that would sort itself out, eventually. She and Rafe would go back to being best friends—or maybe, just maybe, the little shit would tell her what was happening inside his sleep-deprived head, and they’d go back to what they’d been for those few, wonderful years.

Things would be fine.

Things would go back to being fine.

They had to.

Gaze flicking up to Olivier, Emilia analyzed the way his eyes skimmed over the menu, taking in the little furrow of concentration between his brows that she ached to smooth out with her fingers until she was pressing them higher and carding them through his deep brown hair, just the slightest bit of curl spiralling through the strands. It had been straighter, that night at the restaurant; did his mother hate his curls? This soft reminder, perhaps, of his Grey Sands heritage, hidden and barely there as it was?

That was both heartbreaking and yet another reason to hate the woman.

“Have you decided?” One white-blue, one green eye slipped up to hers, staring into her soul like

she

wasn’t the one capable of reading everything about his emotions, should her self-control shatter under the desire to learn more about him.

Humming, Emilia rattled off the few items she wanted. “The gurvo looks good, but it’s only on a share plate. I know I can pack a lot into my tummy, but even I can’t eat all that~” she sighed, faux despondency laced through her voice, a teasing smile tugging at her lips even as she pouted for the sake of pouting—really! She hadn’t meant to make the lawyer think she wanted to share the plate with him, but the next thing she knew, he was ordering all her food as share plates, plus the gurvo!

They were going to be sooooo fat.

“There is a fridge in my room,” Olivier commented when she bemoaned how much food they were going to have to eat.

“Why doesn’t mine have one?” It wasn’t that she needed one, it was just a little odd that his did and hers didn’t, given they were virtually identical, at least from the glimpses she’d seen of his room’s interior.

“It was an extra charge. I believe they moved it into the room, as it is not standard.”

“Stingy~”

Olivier hummed in agreement.

“And potentially wasteful. Depending on the cost, I can’t image many people pay the upcharge. Doesn’t matter that they’ll waste leftovers; it’s just more… acceptable to waste food rather than directly feel like you’re wasting money on a convenience, like a fridge? Which is stupid. Don’t waste food—unless it’s terrible, like that shuo bo. That deserved to be trashed!” Hopefully the Mhrinas would trash—or at least have a stern conversation—with the chef who had dared serve that monstrosity.

Another hum, and for a beat, his gaze sharpened.

“Something wrong?”

Yet another hum, hard with annoyance this time. This one was at least followed by an explanation that a couple of his students who had gone to relax by the pool had apparently decided that yes, actually, they did want to eat at the restaurant he had booked for them—booked and cancelled, after everyone had ditched him.

“They can’t join us,” Emilia said, her tone perhaps a bit darker than she’d intended.

“You were just saying we’ll have too much food.”

“Yeah,” Emilia replied, leaning back and crossing her arms to glower at the man. “

We

.

We,

as in, you and me. You and I have too much food. The people who ditched you don’t get any. You and the food are mine for the evening.”

Olivier, who had still been messaging his traitor students, refocused on her. Shocked—that was the only way to describe the look he was giving her, his eyes blown wide, that beautiful, kissable mouth slack, the pink of his tongue just barely visible.

Fucking stars was he attractive.

“Wh-what?”

Fuck. Did he just stutter?

“You heard me,” she replied, trying to throw a bit of teasing energy into her words, but still landing mostly on annoyed. “I get it. You’re their teacher, so there’s this power dynamic thing going on. At the same time, you’re basically the same age. I assume none of them even asked if you’d like to come relax with them? Or get food with the groups that snubbed your reservation?”

“No, but—”

“But you were waiting for me? Anyone could have messaged me. You could have contacted Grenner to have him make sure I got back, and even then, if I was left behind, so what? It’s not the end of the world. Plus, even if you would have declined because of me, they still should have asked! They’re just being rude.” Emilia turned away, huffing, her breath pushing her bangs up before they resettled on her forehead.

“Maybe it’s just a cultural thing, but in The Penns, we’re all sort of… I mean, we stick to our classrooms and age groups a lot, but we have friends older and younger than us. I’d go over to invite the triplets out for something, and they’d be gone—and yes, I realize I could have just messaged them, but sometimes it’s more fun to pop by unannounced! Their guardian—Loren—would be there sometimes, so he’d come with me. It didn’t matter that he was older, that in some ways he was like another parent to me. He’s my friend, so I’d invite him and he’d come.” Emilia turned her glare back on Olivier, who still looking shocked, and maybe a little appreciative? That might have just been wishful thinking on her part, unfortunately. “I went over to their house, looking for someone to hang out, and it never crossed my mind to say ‘Sorry, Loren! I’ll go find someone younger to hang with!’ He was the friend I found, so of course I’d invite him!”

“What would you do with him?” Olivier asked. He shifted in his seat, looking awkward as a broken constellation, but his eyes remained fixed to her—blinking rapidly, like he wanted to look away, but fixed nonetheless. A small sliver of him trying to talk with her—trying to overcome his inability to talk to people.

In no universe would Emilia let a chance like that slip by!

“With Loren? Lots of things, but, well…” Emilia bit her lip, trying to find a good way to describe what it was like to be friends with a black knot—to be this point of love and affection that could be so very obsessive.

It was awkward, but if Olivier was fighting through his awkwardness, she could too! Definitely, she could.

“Have you ever been friends with a black knot? Or even just read about the sort of relationship they have with the people they care about?”

There was that careful choosing of words again as Olivier explained what he knew from court cases about the obsessive, all-consuming love that often accompanied a black knot’s affection. “I only see the relationships that end up in court, however,” he acknowledged. The lawyer had reached out and grabbed a piece of cutlery as he spoke and was now shifting it through his fingers, all nervous, impatient energy that she knew all too well. “I assume there are plenty of relationships with black knots that are much… kinder.”

“Oh yeah~” she laughed, explaining in broad strokes the sort of

kindness

she had received from the black knots she had come to be irrevocably connected with throughout her life. “Mostly, I’ve been spoiled by them. Honestly, I can’t even remember the last time I bought myself clothes? And it's not because I’m cheap or anything! Things just show up! I have no closet space left! It’s ridiculous. Same with meals; it’s really rare I pay for meals, or spend one alone.”

“So, Loren would take me shopping or out to eat. After I started climbing, he’d take me to The Strats—and let me tell you, nothing clears that place out faster than a Hyrat clone! So much new wealth from out of The Penns, so they just ain’t used to see them.”

“They can be rather intimidating. What else did you do?”

Emilia told him about the time Loren had taken her out on a boat, the pair of them coasting along the shoreline and accidentally coming across a man so drunk he was seemingly trying to drown. “Dude wasn’t from The Penns, just visiting. The look on his face when he realized a clone was the one who saved him? I was only seventeen, but he still spent more time thanking

me

for saving him than Loren—and even when he did, he didn’t look at Loren! So rude.”

“Very rude, but unfortunately, not unexpected,” Olivier noted. While he had finally relaxed more fully into his chair, he was still fiddling with that utensil—some specialty item that Emilia couldn’t remember the name for, so many varieties of it existing in the southern Free Colonies it was impossible to suggest a name without risking offending someone.

Emilia wanted to replace it with something—what, she didn’t know. Just… something. Something meant to be shifted between his fingers, rolled between his palms. Just

something.

An image of that

something

formed in her head as she continued to share the various adventures she’d had with Loren since they’d met when she was six and first fallen into her friendship with his family.

There was Loren, helping her with the rare bit of homework she didn’t understand after she’d gone to ask Valor about it, only to find him off having freckles tattooed onto his hands to match the ones Taelor had acquired playing kyra in the sunshine that summer. Loren, carrying her to see Doctor Vickers after she’d fallen and sliced open her leg on the barnacles that glazed over the caves she’d talked him into exploring with her. All four of them watching movies and shows, Baylor and Valor curling into Taelor’s side in a way she now realized Loren must have noticed—must have known the implications of back when she just thought them cute—and her, snuggled into Loren’s lap as he combed her hair, braiding off each section until they could be pulled into a terrifyingly complicated arrangement on her head.

Then, there was Olivier, blushing from the peak of his chest up when she told him Loren had been the first person she had sex with after she escaped Baalphorian consent laws, a little over a year previous.

“Isn’t that… weird?” he managed to get out, every word a choke on his tongue that had Emilia forcing her laughter down. The man was truly scandalized. “You said he was like another parent to you, and I assume he is significantly older?”

“Mhm! Loren’s, like… in his late 100s now? Most clones take children when they’re in their mid- to late-100s. And… no? Not really? Maybe if I felt he had been looking at me as anything other than a friend before that—and fuck, did I have a few shit bag teachers who looked at me like that!” Emilia left out the part where she was pretty sure The Black Knot had disappeared those creeps. With good reason! Having creepy fuckers as teachers wasn’t good, but while she was sure Olivier would agree with that, she didn’t think he would approve of the organization stretching the laws primarily to protect her.

Emilia shrugged, assuring Olivier once more that it had all been consensual—that there had never been any pressure or seeming intent to make sure she let Loren, or any other older clone, into her bed when she was younger. “If anything, the few times I accidentally walked in on any of them having sex, they were more scandalized than I was,” she laughed, smiling growing wider as Olivier’s horror increased. “Probably had to do with the kinky sex they were having.”

“Please stop.”

“Don’t want to hear about the kinky sex the clones like?”

“No.”

“You sure? I have some pretty—”

“No.”

“—funny stories—”

“Emilia.”

Fuck did she like it when he said her name like that, all cold and demanding, promising punishment if she didn’t watch herself.

“Fine,” she shrugged, turning her gaze away from him and towards one of the towers of water that stretched through the restaurant, little kids pressing their noses to the glass and waving as fish meandered past, “but if you ever want advice on how to make me behave, the clones are

very

good at that.”

Emilia was pretty sure Olivier bent the utensil, just a bit.