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Norton knew what he was.
From the moment he had stepped into the manor, Norton knew. He was an outlier here, at this place. He was avoided as if he was the plague himself. As if even looking at him would contaminate others. Yet he found himself unable to blame them. Nor did he find himself craving attention as a regular person should. He was the slum of the streets. There was no-one else here worse off than him. He saw the pity in the eyes of others when they spoke.
Oh, poor Campbell, he deserves better. This was the image of him drilled into their heads. And no matter how hard these people tried, he could always see a hint of disgust outlining every conversation. There would be no way to change their minds. Lest he turned up one day with a fortune, which was impossible. His name was tainted, as was his skin, his face, his organs. Even in the midst of a famine, the rich folk would rather die than feast upon his corpse.
He had tried, tried so desperately to understand what it was like to be a normal person. As a child, he strived to be like the heroes and saviors spoken about in the stories he overheard as he had to steal to survive another night. If he feigned ignorance, begged and grovelled, and showed care for others even when he took, then whatever higher power there was would eventually take pity on him.
His faith was broken along with his bones.
So he would be greedy. He would continue to take and feed this body, even if it no longer had a purpose. He would take from others as they had taken from him. He would watch as they struggled to ignore his existence as he borrowed their oxygen time and time again, knowing that he was returning the disease festering inside his lungs.
A life sentence of being Norton Campbell.
Nothing made him more on edge than eating with others. Surrounded by people who looked as if they could afford to buy a new pair of shoes the moment they tore. The way they acted as if they had an image to keep, even for complete strangers. Feasting slowly and leaving half a plate. The type of people to request food purely for show. Food they didn’t appreciate. Words he couldn’t even pronounce. Yet they looked upon him with disgust for devouring more than all of them combined. Disgust for how he appreciated what was in front of him. Disgust for how he chose to stay alive.
On his own, the only person there to judge him was himself.
He’d exerted himself more than usual. Searching the manor while the others pretended to get along. A dull cramping feeling had begun to churn in his stomach in the last few hours. Even though it was nothing new, it pushed him to get a move on and cater to his internal complaints. Once the clock hit quarter past nine, he left his room and headed to the main hall, as he normally did. Dinner had ended the previous hour, meaning that the food should still be left on the table, cold or lukewarm at best. Even if the main dishes were taken away, he satisfied himself with the scraps left behind on the plates by the others. It wasn’t as if they planned to eat it anyway. There was a made up curfew at the manor, which a majority of the people followed. Norton found it to be amusing. Why make it easier for him to take what he wanted in peace?
Peace. Or whatever that feeling was when he plunged himself into the darkness again. That feeling of suffocation.
But as soon as he entered the dimly lit hall, a brilliant flash of white blinded him.
Norton knew what he was.
At surface level, Orpheus was a rich, prim and proper man. Dressed the part, acted the part. He’d speak politely, eat delicately, stand straight. Do everything Norton wouldn’t.
The others ate it up. They came to the writer with shining, curious eyes, asking him questions about his work, his life, his inspirations, his goals. And Orpheus would respond to each one with a smile, hands behind his back. When Norton was unfortunate to find himself bickering with the man, he could see that same glimmer in his eyes. That disgusted look. And the more he looked, the more Norton could tell what Orpheus was doing.
Watching the novelist put on such an obvious act, watching him try to relate to others, watching him fake that smile. Listening to the sound of that fake laugh. Hell, it was generous even calling it a laugh. That wheezed, disgusting thing coming out of his mouth couldn’t even be called genuine. Orpheus cackled like a crow. Seeing the man pretend to be human almost made Norton want to laugh himself.
A concept such as Orpheus must have given up his humanity to reach where he was now, yet he still tried so desperately to make himself look like something he wasn’t. It was embarrassing. It was laughable. It was familiar.
Norton knew what he was.
“Not joining us for dinner again, Campbell?” A sickeningly sweet voice spoke behind him.
Of course, Orpheus would want to torment the raven at this hour. Sometimes Norton swore that Orpheus waited for movement in the hall before coming out himself so he could bother whatever unfortunate soul was up and about. Was the novelist really that lonely?
“What’s it t’you?” Norton huffed out, throwing a glare over his shoulder. Orpheus just smiled in response, fiddling with his cuffs. Norton wanted to tear that fake expression off his face.
“Oh, nothing really. I was only curious.” Orpheus looked Norton up and down before smiling again. “Everyone else is rather colorful, would you not agree?”
Norton couldn’t stand him.
“What t’hell is your issue?” Norton scoffed, finally turning to face Orpheus. “D’you get off on botherin’ people like me or somethin’?”
Orpheus’ smile wavered. Good, was all Norton could think. This asshole deserved to be knocked down a peg or two. Be shown that not everyone ate up his noble act.
“No, not at all.” Orpheus cleared his throat. “I was just…making sure you had not forgotten.”
Norton barked out a laugh of disbelief. Of course, Orpheus would consider their agreement as trivial as something like a shopping list. As if it wouldn’t result with blood on their hands. Norton’s hands.
“I ain’t forgotten, your fuckin’ highness.” he spat out. “Just ‘cause I ain’t reportin’ back to you every five seconds don’t mean I ain’t doin’ nothing.”
“Then that is good.” came Orpheus’ gentle response. “You cannot blame me for wanting to speak with you, Campbell. If you want to work with me, it is only reasonable that we talk. And…” Orpheus hummed softly. “...I would hate for you to disappoint me. I have taken quite a liking to you.”
Norton couldn’t stand him.
“I’m not your fuckin’ pet.”
Orpheus’ blinked slowly. His eyes were soft, but his mouth was sharp. Brutal.
“You certainly act the part.”
Norton could not fucking stand him.
A million comebacks flashed through his mind. It was too easy to insult Orpheus’ wealth and fame. Much like Norton, he was probably used to being berated for his livelihood, even if they were vastly different.
He needed Orpheus to hurt. Even if it was for a second, he needed that stupid fucking smile wiped off his face. The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“M’jealous of your sister. She got t’forget you.”
Orpheus’ expression changed in an instant. A few fireworks went off inside Norton’s head, and it was his turn to smirk. He expected Orpheus to get angry. To fight him as they had done so many times before. For them to bite and scratch and tear at each other, even after they forgot why they were fighting.
For Orpheus to let those sweet, sweet curses slip off his tongue, for him to explode and reveal his true self.
Norton couldn't deny that it always felt good to watch Orpheus lose it. To watch such a privileged man return to his primal roots, to turn to violence when he didn't get his own way. He loved having that effect on Orpheus, infecting him with the same rotten behavior that infested Norton's mind.
All he got in response was a gentle bow.
“...goodnight, Campbell.”
With a final swallow, the man pushed the empty plate away and leant back in his chair. He entertained himself with a stain on the ceiling for sometime, letting his mind run blank. It was rare that Norton would have moments where he could do nothing.
Stretching his arms behind his head, he groaned, closing his eyes. The leftover plate he had eaten from hadn’t been touched when he arrived. It was something he had never seen before, and it didn’t look all that appealing, but in a world like this he couldn’t afford to be picky. Once he had taken a bite, his mind had been made up. He almost pitied whoever didn’t turn up to eat such a well crafted meal.
Reluctantly, Norton stood, collecting his things and making his way out of the hall. When he’d first started these late night habits, he’d take caution to move quietly in case someone heard. At this point in time, he no longer cared; there was no doubt everyone here knew about his antics. And just by looking at them, he knew none of them would have the courage to question him.
The familiar sight of his door put him at ease. In his mind, it was ‘home’. Somewhere he could hide without being interrupted. When he arrived here, the mere sight of a lock had amazed him. He’d only ever seen them smashed and stained with blood. Ones that he had broken fingers trying to pry open.
Norton dug his hand into his pocket. Then the other. He frowned, rummaging his hand around before pulling his trousers up, groaning when loose unwound thread greeted him.
“Shit,” he mumbled, fidgeting in place a little. He peered down the hallway, checking the floor for any sign of the key. Of course, there was nothing, leaving only one other option.
And as he re-entered the dimly lit hall, a dull flash of white caught his eye.
At first glance, Orpheus was a rich, prim and proper man. Dressed the part, acted the part. Yet here he was before Norton, slumped over the table, drowning his supposed sorrows away, his eyes drooping. Doing everything Norton would.
He wasn’t one to be caught off guard, but catching the novelist in such a depressing state made something brew within his gut. He looked devastated. He didn’t look up as Norton entered. He hadn’t even acknowledged his presence. Norton bit his lip.
Noticing what chair Orpheus was sat in, Norton resisted the urge to scoff. Why was this rich asshole skipping dinner now? What did he have to be so upset about? How fast had he come here after Norton left? Why was he playing with the scraps like a child?
Had the man hit his head?
“Hey,” Norton started, getting closer. As he did, his face scrunched up a little. The smell of alcohol was thick in the air, clinging to Orpheus’ clothes. It only made Norton want to get out of here faster. A drunk Orpheus was an unpredictable Orpheus.
Finally, Orpheus moved, looking the prospector in the eye. He looked so tired. His hair was a mess. At this point, Norton would have expected at least an insult or two to be thrown his way. A jab at his past. A mocking smirk or a roll of the eyes. But they continued to stare at each other in silence. And then Orpheus moved again, placing a small object on the table before hanging his head again, nursing his unidentified drink.
At least Orpheus made it easy.
Norton approached, albeit a little cautiously, and reclaimed the key off the table. It was warm, as if it had been in someone’s grasp for a long time. He turned it in his hand before looking back at the novelist.
If the other wasn’t wearing the flesh of Orpheus, Norton might have mistaken him for an entirely different person.
The feeling within Norton clawed at his insides. Surely, it had to be disgust, right? The same disgust that the man before him reserved for Norton. Was this what the others felt when they looked at Norton? Was this how embarrassed they felt?
He believed he understood. He understood how small and weak he must look to these people. Hunched over, downing liquor as if it was the richest elixir. Orpheus was an eyesore. A problem.
Did these people also feel the urge to fix it?
Fix it?
Norton froze. What was he thinking? Fix what? Orpheus was an unsalvageable situation. He didn’t deserve redemption. He deserved to rot for whatever sins he had committed, just like Norton. He never got shown any pity when he was struggling. Why would he waste time looking out for this stuck up brat? Why should he show care for others? For Orpheus of all people?
He wanted to leave. To walk out, and forget he ever saw the novelist in such a state. A state where his body was limp. Where he was frail and lost. With his cravat discarded onto the table, hands shaking as he took another sip. He looked defeated. He looked weak. Something compelled Norton to stay. He wanted to look at Orpheus more. He wanted to observe him the way others looked at Norton.
How hypocritical.
His instincts pushed his body to move before his brain had caught up. A scarred hand raised, hovering near Orpheus. Norton caught onto how the man before him flinched, and the feeling in his stomach twisted even more. He was probably wondering what Norton would do. Hit him? Punch him? Wasn’t that what Orpheus thought of him?
And it’s probably what Norton should do. Kick him while he’s down. Punch him for every insult thrown his way. Would anyone care if Orpheus didn’t turn up tomorrow? Or the day after that? Or the rest of the month? Norton should want to hurt Orpheus.
He placed his hand on Orpheus’ shoulder. The brunette went still.
“...y’okay?”
He wanted to pry into Orpheus, pull him apart piece by piece, and see if it was real.
His body was trembling slightly under Norton’s touch, and he remained silent. Great, now Norton looked like a fool. Showing concern or any form of vulnerability was the worst thing to do around an enemy. Orpheus must have been faking it, just to get a reaction out of Norton, and it worked. Any minute now, Orpheus would turn, laughing in complete mockery, like he always did.
A gentle patting sound caught Norton’s attention. Then another. And another. Small droplets on the table. Norton felt sick to his stomach.
Orpheus DeRoss, the world renowned novelist, was crying.
It was like watching a mountain crumble. Norton watched as the other buried his face in his hands, sobs wrecking his petite form. It didn’t feel real. It had to be an act. What the hell did he have to be so sad about?
Reluctantly, Norton took a seat beside Orpheus, watching as he continued to sob. The more he looked, the more he started to see the state that Orpheus was in; his once cunning smile was changed into teeth grit as he gripped at his hair, so full of anger at the world. So angry with things he couldn’t control, like a child having a temper tantrum. He looked fragile. He looked powerless.
He looks like us.
The thought flashed across Norton’s mind for a moment. No, Orpheus wasn’t anything like them. He was a monster. He wasn’t a real person. For whatever reason, he’d decided to come out at night to broadcast his struggles and gain sympathy. Of course, such a man would be too cowardly to face his troubles alone.
It wasn’t enough that Orpheus had control over Norton’s life. Now, he wanted control of Norton’s emotions.
“Hey.” Norton spoke again, shaking Orpheus’ shoulder. The brunette’s hands shook as he reached for the wine glass, still refusing to speak. With a groan, Norton took the initiative, putting his hand over it before Orpheus could reach it. He didn't need the man poisoning himself to death before their deal was complete. “Talk t’me.”
He saw Orpheus swallow, thick and heavy. Couldn’t he just talk already? What was wrong with him?
“I…I…”
Finally, the man spoke. But his voice was cracked like glass, unsure and scared. He was still shaking. Just how far was Orpheus taking this act? What was his end goal here?
“Everything’s bad…”
…was this really Orpheus? Or was the man so drunk that he wasn’t there anymore?
If he was looking for pity, he wasn’t going to get it from Norton. And Norton was fully prepared to tell that to this stuck up asshole. He opened his mouth, ready to tell the other to suck it up like the rest of them. To take it somewhere else. But the moment Orpheus’ turned to him, his voice caught in his throat.
Tears stained his cheeks, running down his face onto his nose, his chin, some getting caught on his lips. He’d move to wipe them off, using the cuffs of his jacket that he had always made sure to keep clean and neat. And then he’d bury his head in his hands again, his brown locks falling across his face, hiding the insecurities that Norton now knew were there.
He was so distraught. He was so weak. He looked at Norton as if he was all he had.
He looks like me.
“It’s all wrong…” the novelist slurred out, desperately pawing at the glass that Norton refused to let go of. “M’thought…everything would go well, it’s fine, that…we were…thought that, in the end…Alice…she’s…want to go home…”
Orpheus’ words turned into sounds. Norton couldn’t stop looking at him. Looking at the way his face scrunched up in anger, fear and worry. At the way he clenched his fragile hands into fists, hoping for some sort of power. Norton didn’t know what he was. He was different. He looked human.
And damn, he looked fine.
Eventually, the man wore himself out, his head resting on the table as he raked his fingers through his hair. From the way he was acting, he was either feeling sick, tired, or both.
Clearly, Orpheus couldn’t hold his liquor.
“Yeah, yeah…c’mon.” Norton mumbled, quickly pocketing the discarded cravat before helping Orpheus to stand as he continued to mumble. If there was any sign that either of them had been here together before the maids cleaned up in the morning, it would mean trouble for them both.
The entire weight of Orpheus rested on Norton as they attempted to walk back to their respective rooms. If he really wanted to, he could leave Orpheus on the floor, and let his image be tarnished as soon as the first person found him in the morning. The idea amused him. Maybe it would make Orpheus even more upset. Maybe he’d cry some more.
“Alright, c’mon. We’re here.” Norton mumbled, a few steps away from Orpheus’ door. The prospector was familiar with where his room was, which was something he wouldn’t like to admit.
Orpheus groaned in response, finally pushing himself off Norton and onto the door. He closed his eyes as he rested his head against the cold wood, lazily reaching in his pockets for the door key.
“Thank y…” Orpheus breathed out, trying to put the key into the lock. Even when intoxicated, the novelist still couldn’t even thank him properly.
“S’fine. Don’t mention it, ever.” Norton took the key from Orpheus, inserting it into the lock for him. It was too embarrassing to watch. “Listen, I ain’t goin’ back to clean up your shit. So if anyone-”
“M’sorry…’
Norton went stiff.
He wasn’t sure he heard that correctly, but his gut seemed to decide the answer for him, twisting and coiling until he thought he would snap. He looked over his shoulder, watching the novelist sway back and forth, staring back at him. He looked genuine, he looked distraught, and Norton wanted to throw up.
“M’sorry…Norton…”
Before Norton could speak, Orpheus was on him, arms wrapped tight. He had Norton trapped in his grasp, unable to move away. His tear stained face was buried into Norton's arm, gripping him like he was a lifeline.
Norton placed his hands awkwardly on Orpheus' arms, trying to peel the brown haired man off. He wasn't against being touched, and his body definitely craved it, but from Orpheus? Even thinking about being touched by Orpheus made his skin crawl, yet here they were.
“Orpheus…let go.” Norton finally mumbled. He pushed again, but the other only held him tighter, inhaling deeply as he buried his face further into the raven.
The prospectors body felt hot. It felt suffocating, and the use of his name hadn't helped. Is that what Orpheus was trying to do? Suffocate him? At this rate, it might even work.
“Nngmm…Norton…” Orpheus slurred out, gripping onto Norton's suspenders to balance himself, leaning back with half lidded eyes. “I think…bad start, mmhm…?”
“Mmhm.” Norton mumbled, tilting his head away. Orpheus was too close. He was planning something, he knew it. Any minute now, Orpheus would reveal some secret Norton thought he'd buried deep down. Or he'd make Norton beg for Orpheus to hold his end of the deal, just for entertainment. Or heck…
A finger slowly moved down his chest.
“Stay with me…want you…Norton…”
…Orpheus was going to kill him.
“No.” Norton bit out, forcing him off. He tried to ignore the whine from the other, and tried again to ignore Orpheus' hands wandering over his arm.
“Plu…please…” Orpheus whimpered, leaning his weight onto Norton. “It'll be…just you n’ me…”
“Orpheus. Y’drunk.”
“No, I'm…” the brunette trailed off, mumbling a few more words, breath heavy on Norton's neck. A stray tear rolled down his cheek, settling on his top lip. Norton wanted to taste it. “Want…”
“Y’don't know what you fuckin’ want. Y’pissed.” Norton firmly removed Orpheus from him, holding him upright as Orpheus' head rolled back, completely weightless. “Move.”
He forced Orpheus into his room, kicking the door shut behind them as they ‘fought’. Orpheus' hands weakly slapped at Norton's arms as he was manhandled into sitting on the bed, his eyes now closed. His resistance slowly faded as Norton removed his jacket, tossing it to the floor. The poor sod would probably wake up sweating buckets, and he didn't need Orpheus whining in his ear about a spoiled suit.
Letting Orpheus fall back onto the covers like an undignified acrobat, Norton backed off, observing the mess of the situation. He was sure Orpheus could handle things in the morning, and if he couldn't…then it was his fault for drinking like he was parched.
“Go t’sleep.” he commanded, not even knowing if Orpheus was still conscious, but he liked acting authoritatively over the man. Orpheus responded with another whine, slowly pulling his entire body onto the bed, shoes and all. He buried his face into the assumedly cold pillow.
Norton watched him for a few more seconds before taking his leave, closing the door quietly behind him. Not because he cared about waking Orpheus up, but getting caught leaving Orpheus' room would cause problems. His room wasn't too far away, looking at his shoes as he walked. A hole was starting to form in one of them.
As soon as he heard the familiar click of his door sliding closed, Norton's body relaxed. That was the signal that he was finally alone, finally somewhat safe in this hellhole. He undressed in silence, removing his shoes, his suspenders, his stained shirt. They were kicked and discarded onto the floor without a care, as usual.
Stretching his arms, he glanced at himself in the mirror, being careful to avoid his own gaze. He'd definitely gained some mass since arriving here, his ribs no longer trying to cut their way out of his flesh, but his spine still spiked out, purple bruises blossoming down his back. Most people would panic to be in such a state, but it wasn't anything new to him.
Finally, Norton was able to lay down, groaning as he lazily tossed the covers over himself. The moonlight illuminated his scarred body as he stared at the ceiling, highlighting his sins and making them known. It was later than he'd realized, and the exhaustion was finally starting to set in. His eyes felt heavy as he began to relax, letting out a deep sigh.
Orpheus wanted Norton to stay with him.
Norton's eyes snapped open.
The ebbing, queasy feeling shot into his throat all at once, making his body flush in a wave of heat. He wasn't fucking stupid, he knew exactly what Orpheus meant. With the way Orpheus was grabbing him, touching him, looking at him…the implications were obvious. But why? And why him? And how long had Orpheus been thinking about him like that and why? Why?
He stared at the ceiling, touches lingering on his skin and ghosting across his body. Was it because Orpheus saw him as an experiment? Because he was the only person there? Did Orpheus see him as a pretty face? That had to be it. He liked to act like a smartass, as if he was a regular drinker, but from his behavior tonight…Norton could tell Orpheus had never put himself out there. Maybe he was trying to prove something to himself by pretending he could handle a situation like that, as if it was nothing.
Comparing Norton to a cheap whore that he'd found after a successful night out. A situation all too familiar to Norton. The struggle of twisting and bending to suit the desires of someone who wouldn't look his way in any other scenario. His gut twisted in disgust.
But he'd said his name.
Not the spiteful ‘Campbell’ he heard daily. His name. And it had been spoken so sweetly, so genuinely, so unlike Orpheus. Falling out of wobbly, red, tear stained lips.
The image replayed in his mind over and over. Tears falling as he let Norton into that fucked up mind of his. His body shaking and giving away how weak he was. The feeling of Orpheus pressing their bodies together as the scent of alcohol drowned them both. Feasting upon the sight of this Orpheus.
And it had tasted so good.
Norton groaned, running a hand down his face. He needed to sleep. He needed to forget everything that happened. Nothing had happened. Orpheus was just drunk, trying to cling to the first person who could tolerate his bullshit long enough to stand near him. He needed to forget.
And he needed Orpheus to forget, too.
There was no sign of Orpheus the following morning.
From the state he left Orpheus in, Norton wasn't even surprised. The man couldn't even open the door, so the hangover had to be hitting him hard.
To say Norton was worried was pushing it. He barely even cared for his own health after drinking, finding himself in worse situations than the intoxicated novelist. And even then, when he was struggling to stand, struggling to breathe, he'd still push himself to work. If he didn't work, he wouldn't survive the night.
Those who rolled in wealth didn't feel the fear Norton felt when sickness took over his body. The fear of knowing that working would make him weaker, but resting would do the same. They'd never have to work as they coughed up mucus and blood, climbing through their own bodily fluids on their hands and knees.
Orpheus could die in his sleep for all he cared. He could choke on his own vomit, the final conscience of his actions. Norton hoped that a fly would worm its way into his room, and that he'd be found with maggots eating away at his flesh. Erasing all traces of him from the world.
But the raven held the glass to the tap, pushing the handle up and watching in silence as the crisp liquid filled it to the top.
Norton didn't care about Orpheus. But he wasn't going to let him get out of this that easily.
“Good morning, Mr Campbell.”
Norton's head shot up from where he stood at the dining table, in the exact same position he was the night before.
The blonde woman, the one he was supposed to be disposing of, stood warily at the opposite end. He could tell she was trying to make an effort to be friendly, to not be judgemental, but he knew she'd still step back if he approached her.
“Mm.” Norton grunted, quickly adding on a rushed “G’morning.”
She smiled sympathetically, as always, fiddling with her cuffs. Did she pick that up from that drunken fool?
“I didn't expect to see you up so early. Will you be dining with us today?” she inquired, her eyes drifting down to the glass in Norton's hand. His grip tightened.
“M’not hungry. Jus’ wanted a drink.”
“I see.” she responded, carefully pulling out her chair and taking a seat for herself. “I do hope you're not feeling unwell.”
As if his body wasn't rotting away with every breath he took.
“M’fine.”
With another grunt, he regarded the other once more before walking out, feeling her eyes pierce into his back.
She truly was a problem.
Once again, Norton found himself standing outside Orpheus' door. Like a dog waiting for his owner. This was probably what Orpheus wanted. Did he fake being intoxicated? Just to get a reaction out of Norton.
Norton knocked on the door.
Would Orpheus open up and laugh in his face, fully dressed as if nothing had happened? Of course he would, it's what he always did. Orpheus was always one step ahead, of course he was.
Oh, poor Campbell, he deserves this. That's what happens when you worry for others, Campbell. No-one matters but yourself, Campbell.
He knocked again.
Even when they're crying, shaking, trembling and begging for mercy, you should turn a blind eye to them, Campbell. Turn away before they leech onto you and suck you dry, Campbell.
Don't let them lure you into watching those beautiful tears fall, Campbell.
“Orpheus.”
What are you doing, Norton?
“It’s me.”
He stared at the door for a little longer, his shoulders eventually slumping. Orpheus wasn't there. Norton should have guessed, it was so obvious. He shouldn't have bothered coming here. The novelist was probably prancing about in the garden, cackling about how he'd deceived Norton again, about how weak Norton was, knowing that he could twist Norton around his finger the moment he let those tears slide down his cheeks, onto his wobbling lips, the moment he-
The lock clicked open, and Norton was greeted by a confused pair of eyes.
“Campbell…?”
And he looked so fucking good.
“Why are you here…?”
The two had entered Orpheus' room, wanting to hide away from prying eyes. Neither of them would call the environment safe, but it was safer than arguing in a hallway. As much as Norton didn't want to speak to this asshole, he felt like he had to.
“Well,’ Norton started, looking Orpheus over. “First of all, y’look like shit.”
A weak, ragged laugh escaped the novelist. It seems even he knew he looked a mess, like he'd been dragged through one of the garden bushes. His eyes were red with disregarded tears, his hair disheveled and knotted. Was he still acting? Was he willing to take the charade this far?
“Ah…so you came here to torment me?” Orpheus put on that fake smile again, but the rest of his expression gave it all away. He was tired.
“Are y’offering?” Norton smirked, looking down at the other. When the brunette didn't reply, Norton reluctantly approached, placing the glass on the nightstand. He saw Orpheus open his mouth, and quickly spoke again.
“I know a thing or two ‘bout feelin’ like shit.”
Orpheus' mouth slowly closed again, looking at the glass before laughing weakly.
“I see.”
With a shaking hand, Orpheus picked up the cup, somewhat inspecting the glass. He seemed to be satisfied or too parched to care as he accepted the silent offer, bringing it to his scarred, dry lips. He swiped his tongue over them before closing his eyes, attempting to take small sips but quickly succumbed to his thirst, greedily gulping the liquid down.
A drop of water rolled down Orpheus' chin, running over his collarbone. Norton grinded his teeth together.
Once finished, Orpheus held the glass in both hands, head down as he swiped the condensation off with his thumb. For once, he seemed at a loss for words. Good, Norton thought. He hoped this asshole’s mind was imploding. If he couldn't handle a small act of ‘kindness’, then it only further proved what a horrid man he was.
Maybe he'd cry again.
“I ain't gonna tell anyone, if that's what y’thinkin’.” Norton started, making the novelist look up. “Can't risk you gettin’ kicked out.”
Not until he held his end of the deal.
The brunette blinked slowly before flashing that smile, that annoying fucking smile again. Even now, he was still putting on that desperate act, probably pretending like he didn't want to hurl until his guts were sore.
“I see.”
An uncomfortable pause.
“...I appreciate it.”
“Like hell y’do.” Norton barked back. “Y’just love makin’ me clean up y’shit, don't you?”
Orpheus huffed out a muffled laugh. He fiddled with the glass in his hands, rhythmically tapping his nails against it, probably trying to write some kind of smartass response in his head.
“...our deal is a serious matter.” Orpheus began. “It is one I want you to commit yourself to fully, no matter how dirty it may be.”
The brunette slowly lifted his gaze, finally meeting Norton eye to eye. That look, that weak, scared, genuine, irritating look that Norton remembered was there again.
“...but that does not mean you should have to deal with…anything else. So, I…apologize.”
Norton didn’t know what he was.
“T’fuck are you apologizing for?” The words tumbled out of Norton's mouth before he could stop them, albeit a little harsher than he intended. But why was Orpheus sitting here, looking like that, acting as if they didn't want to tear each other's throats out?
“Ah, well…” Orpheus looked down, tracing the rim of the glass with his finger. “I cannot…seem to recall the events from last night very well.”
Great. Of course this asshole had to go and misunderstand. Of course he had to make everything worse. And of course he was still fucking smiling.
“Y’didn’t do anythin’ other than waste my time.”
And you were crying, Norton added on internally.
Orpheus wheezed out another tired laugh, still able to fake his amusement. “No different than normal, I assume.”
At least the asshole was self aware at what a plague he was in Norton's life. He was almost worse than the disease that riddled his body, clawing its way through his throat and digging into his lungs. Of course it was no different.
Wherever he looked, Orpheus was there. Looking at him, bothering him, wasting what little time Norton had left on this cursed earth.
Whether standing in a hallway or drowning his sorrows at a table, Orpheus was a waste of fucking time.
It was no different. It was the same as usual.
No fucking different.
“Not really. You were crying.”
The two of them fell into silence.
What are you doing, Norton?
“Found you drinkin’. You were cryin’ ‘bout your sister or somethin’. Said y’wanted to go home.” Norton couldn't stop. He couldn't stop talking. He needed to stop talking. “Brought y’back here. Y’tired to make me stay overnight.”
Orpheus physically cringed. Seemed like he wasn't as ignorant as he seemed.
“...I see.”
The brunette hung his head, staring into the empty glass. Normally, Norton enjoyed when Orpheus finally shut up, when he was put in his place. But he couldn't enjoy it this time. He couldn't feast on Orpheus' discomfort like it was the finest delicacy.
“Look.” Norton began, breaking the silence. “I don't give a shit ‘bout what goes on in that fucked up head o’yours as long as we finish this. Y’can see me as your pet. Y’can see me as a quick fuck, I don't fuckin’ care.” Norton saw Orpheus' eye twitch. “Y’won't ever be of value t’me, no matter what ‘appens. Y’can keep up that fuckin’ act all you want, but I know what you are.”
Orpheus' head slowly lifted, the smile hanging on for dear life.
“Act…?”
Norton wanted to laugh.
“If y’really wanna trick these people, stop fuckin’ lookin’ like that. It's fuckin’ weird, and it ain't makin’ you any less suspicious.” Norton said bitterly, folding his arms. ‘Heck, why don't you start cryin’ to them, too? Maybe they'll fall for it.”
Like I have.
Orpheus' mouth twitched, and just like that, the smile was gone. He was staring at Norton like he was the source of all his problems, like he hated him. Like he wanted him gone. For the first time, the true Orpheus sat in front of him.
And Norton saw him.
He looked tired.
“...are you offering?”
If you'd told Norton he'd find himself caring for the novelist that morning, he would laugh in your face. Probably punch you for good measure, just for having the audacity to suggest such a thing. He'd never give a shit about what happened to a man like Orpheus; these words played in his head on loop.
He'd never care about Orpheus, even when he showed him a crumb of kindness and Norton had to struggle not to lick it off the floor.
If you'd told Norton he'd find himself down the novelist's throat that night…he'd probably believe you.
It wasn't a sight he'd expected to see, at least not so soon. The sight of the novelist at his door, pushing him back into his room and dropping to his knees. Not even bothering to greet or properly undress the prospector. The sight of his eyes fluttered closed, long lashes on his cheeks as he engulfed the other.
He wasn't entirely inexperienced, but he was also nothing to write home about. From his behavior, it definitely wasn't the first time he'd dropped to his knees for another man.
Norton knew these types of people. The ones that would blush and shy away at a brief touch. The ones that would take the chance the moment it was offered to them. And if it was someone as disposable as Norton, it made it even more tempting. People like this were too easy.
They'd lay back and let him take control, too lazy to put in the work, even in bed. They wanted to be grabbed and thrown about. They were powerful, but powerless in the hands of others. They wanted to forget.
He's just like me.
Scarred hands found their way into Orpheus' disheveled hair, gripping it tight. It earned Norton a soft groan in return, the brunette swallowing around him before continuing. For a moment, Norton might have even considered him to look handsome.
He definitely wasn’t unattractive, Norton had to admit. He’d even call him beautiful under certain circumstances. There were times when the sun caught Orpheus just right, illuminating all his features and making him look like a God. Maybe that’s why Norton wasn’t necessarily opposed to doing this with him. It was one thing doing a sexual favor, but if his customer was pretty? That only made it a better.
He hadn’t even considered what Orpheus’ payment would be. There was no way the man would part with his money at this current moment. For everything he’d put Norton through, getting him off wasn’t enough. Maybe Norton would rip out a clump of his hair as his prize, and carry it around so everyone knew what a whore their idol was.
No, Norton knew what he wanted.
Without warning, the raven forced Orpheus’ head down, watching as his eyes snapped open in shock. He was struggling to breathe, his face twisted in discomfort as tears pricked at his eyes. He looked ugly.
Would he cry again? Would he sob as Norton gagged him, making him crave the taste of oxygen, making him see the true privilege of being able to breathe?
Part of Norton didn't want that. He wanted Orpheus to cry of his own accord. He wanted Orpheus to crumble from the inside, realizing just how alone he was in the world and how he had no-one to blame but himself. He wanted Orpheus to destroy himself, and Norton wanted to watch.
“Y’were made for this…” Norton spat under this breath, looking down at the brunette. The other now had his eyes closed, refusing to look back.
Pretending Norton wasn't there, probably.
So Norton continued, muttering words of degradation and disgust as the novelist put in the most work he'd ever done in his life. Convincing Orpheus that he didn't give a shit about him. Convincing himself.
He'd make Orpheus remember these words. He'd make the man leave in tears.
The tears never spilt.
Orpheus hadn’t bothered to stick around once they were done, leaving Norton cold and alone in his room. The prospector lay back on the bed, his clothes still messy and unbuttoned. He hadn’t bothered to clean himself up, either.
It didn’t make any fucking sense.
What had he done wrong? The novelist was as weak and fragile as a deer; he could have snapped his fingers and Orpheus would cry from fear. He’d said so much, so many vulgar curses, insulting his appearance, his behavior, his life…but Orpheus had refused to cry. What was so different from when he was sulking at the table, complaining about his choices?
Did he know? Did he know how desperate Norton was to see it again?
Of course he knew.
The cravat was still inside his pocket.
Things returned to normal after that night, or at least as normal as they could be. For the next few days, Orpheus made no attempt to get in contact with Norton, which Norton couldn’t really complain about. A day without the novelist in his ear was a day of peace as far as he was concerned.
So until Orpheus decided to show his face again, Norton would do as he pleased. He returned to the table every night, eating like it was his final meal. And everytime he returned, that same heavenly dish was there, untouched. As if it made for him instead.
Some nights, Norton would linger at the table for longer than usual. He wasn’t sure why himself. His body would feel sluggish, and he’d catch himself glancing at the hall, as if he was waiting for something to happen. If you asked him what, he wouldn’t be able to answer. Tonight was one of those nights. And so he sat, laid back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Thinking about everything and nothing. The plate in front of him was still left untouched.
What was he waiting for?
A pair of shoes clicked into the hall, and Norton was greeted by a confused pair of eyes.
“Norton…?”
He looked so fucking good.
“Why are y’here…?” The raven finally managed to croak out. Orpheus didn't respond, looking down at the bottle in his hands.
He came here to get drunk. Again. And Norton was getting in the way…again. So none of that mattered to Orpheus. Everything was going back to normal. With a sigh, Norton stood, pushing the untouched plate away from him.
“Y’forgot this last time.” Norton mumbled, digging a hand into his pocket and finally presenting the jade cravat. The brunette’s expression changed slightly, watching as Norton placed it on the table, exactly where Orpheus had left it so long ago. “Don't forget again, or we'll both be in deep shit.”
When he was rewarded with even more silence, the prospector huffed out another sigh, grabbing his gloves off the table. There was no point in even trying. It was embarrassing. He turned, beginning to make his way out of the h-
“Well…’ Orpheus started, making Norton halt. “First of all…I feel like shit.”
The two dined together in silence at first, sharing the bottle of Chardonnay that Orpheus had brought along. Orpheus poked at his lukewarm dish, while Norton nursed his almost empty wine glass. Clearly, neither of them really wanted to be in each other's company, but Norton was too prideful to leave. He guessed Orpheus was feeling the same.
There was too much to say, but nothing to say at the same time. Neither of them wanted to show the first sign of weakness. Norton couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it. No amount of wealth could ever make him admit to the twisting, crushing feeling growing inside him.
Norton felt like shit. And Orpheus looked like shit. A match made in hell.
He'd blinked. It felt like he'd blinked. They were sitting there in an uncomfortable silence, and now they were laughing, leaning into each other like they were lifelong friends.
They'd mindlessly tell each other stories, tales from their twisted pasts. They'd laugh over the pain they'd experienced, the disasters they'd seen. They'd lean forward when the other spoke, wanting to hear more about the stranger next to them.
When Orpheus spoke, when he genuinely spoke, it was almost a sight to behold. He'd wave his arms about enthusiastically, bringing his hand to his face to try and stifle his laughter, to hide that fucking smile. Norton could only lean forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand, closing his eyes as he listened to the man he hated the most. Knowing his smile, his genuine, beautiful fucking smile was reserved for this moment between the two.
Orpheus wasn’t human, at least Norton still wasn't sure. It could still be an act. But right now, Norton enjoyed being his audience. He liked it. He liked watching Orpheus' throat as he gulped down another mouthful of sweet liquor, wanting to lick the stray drops that ran down his chin and become even more intoxicated.
He wanted to take Orpheus apart. Gently, slowly, and watch each twitch of the novelist's muscles under him. He wanted to taste him, devour his very essence.
“You’re so beautiful.”
The moment was over. They were both plunged into silence.
What are you saying, Norton?
A blurred force hit Norton’s face, and he reeled back. He wasn’t surprised at Orpheus’ reaction. If anyone had the guts to try and call him beautiful, he’d probably lash out too. He’d told himself he was ugly all his life, and he wouldn’t stand for anyone trying to convince him otherwise.
He felt a trembling hand grabbing his chin. Norton lazily opened his eyes, trying to focus.
Cracked lips were pressed against his.
Orpheus DeRoss, the world renowned novelist, was kissing him.
And Norton Campbell, poor, unfortunate prospector, was kissing him back.
He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. Orpheus pushed into him harder, barely taking time to breathe as their tongues rolled together. He felt shaking hands desperately pulling at his shirt, a heavy weight settling in his lap as legs clamped around his weight. Norton's own hands settled on the other's thighs, sinking his dirty nails into the crisp material.
Was Orpheus trying to kill him again?
Something wet touched his cheek.
And just like that, Norton saw all of him.
Norton no longer knew what he was.