Chapter 21 – BELLS #4
Orion has moved closer to examine the cast, turning it carefully in his large hands. Those green eyes study the negative space my face left behind like he's reading a map.
"Lovely structure," he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. "The jawline especially. We'll want to emphasize that."
"We should try different liners," Jamie says, already pulling out what looks like soft fabric swatches. "Some people prefer silk, but it can get slippery. Velvet holds better but gets hot. There's this synthetic blend that breathes really well..."
He spreads the options in front of me like a color palette. Each one has a slightly different texture, different weight.
I pick up the velvet one first. It's soft, luxurious even, the kind of thing I'd usually gravitate toward. "This one?"
Jamie nods enthusiastically. "That's a popular choice. Feels nice against the skin."
Orion reaches over, his fingers brushing mine as he takes the swatch. The contact is brief, careful, like he's used to people pulling away.
"This will get itchy," he says quietly, his accent making the words softer somehow. "After an hour, maybe less. When you're performing under hot lights, sweating... it will drive you mad."
He speaks from experience. Years of it, probably. Wearing masks for long enough to know exactly which materials hold up and which ones become torture devices.
"Try this one instead." Orion picks up what looks like a thinner, less luxurious option. "It's not as comfortable at first. But for extended wear, for performances... you'll thank me."
I take it, running my thumb over the material. It's rougher, less immediately pleasant. But there's something practical about it, something that says this is built to last.
"Yeah," I say. "Okay. This one."
Jamie beams like I just passed some kind of test. "Perfect! I'll get started on the design. Rex said it needs to be as simple as possible, which is boring, but I'm going to play with the idea and see what I can do."
I turn slowly to look at Rex, who's still planted by the window like a gargoyle watching over his territory.
"Oh really?" I ask, ice dripping from every syllable. "As simple as possible?"
Rex's visible eye narrows slightly, but he doesn't respond. Just stares back with that flat, unreadable expression.
Jamie glances between us, clearly sensing the tension but not understanding its source.
"Anyway," he says brightly, probably trying to defuse whatever powder keg he just accidentally lit, "I was thinking maybe a half-mask?
Something that sits high on the cheekbones, leaves the mouth free for singing.
Clean lines, minimal ornamentation. Elegant simplicity. "
"Sounds perfect," I say, still glaring at Rex.
He has the audacity to look bored.
Jamie sets the cast aside carefully and starts sketching in a notebook, his pencil moving with quick, confident strokes. Orion leans over his shoulder, occasionally murmuring suggestions that Jamie either incorporates or playfully dismisses.
They work together with an ease that speaks of years of partnership. Not just romantic—though there's plenty of that, too, even in the soft touches and shared glances—but creative. Like they're two halves of the same artistic brain.
It's nice to watch. Almost makes me forget I'm standing in a tower full of masks and horror props while my blackmailer lurks in the corner like a shadow made flesh.
"So," Jamie says conversationally, not looking up from his sketch. "Do scars bother you? Aesthetically speaking?"
I blink, thrown by the sudden shift. "Scars?"
"Yes." He's still sketching, adding shading to what looks like the cheekbone area. "Do you find them... off-putting?"
I glance at Rex, who's suddenly gone very still across the room. Is Jamie trying to hook us up? Or is he asking because of Orion? Why would he be doing that, though?
“No,” I answer honestly, not sure where this is going. “Scars don’t bother me at all. Why?”
Rex’s eye narrows slightly.
Jamie’s face lights up like I just told him Christmas came early.
"Oh, that's wonderful! I was hoping you'd say that because… well, I think you're adorable, and I’m sure Orion agrees, and sometimes I like to have betas over for… bonding activities. We were wondering if you'd like to come over sometime for dinner or board games or… whatever else you’d like?”
My brain short-circuits.
I stare at Jamie. Then at Orion. Then back at Jamie.
"You're..." I’m too flustered to find words right away. "You're inviting me to… uh… fuck?"
"Eventually!" Jamie says, flustered now. "Not immediately! We could start with Scrabble! Or Monopoly! Though Monopoly ruins friendships, so maybe not that one. Catan? Do you play Catan?"
Orion runs a hand down his face, the golden skull mask catching the firelight. "What Jamie is trying to say—poorly—is that he likes you and would like to get to know you better. With no pressure or expectations beyond a game night."
"But also fucking," Jamie adds helpfully. "If you want. Eventually. After the board games. And dessert."
"Jamie," Orion says, voice strangled.
Jamie waves a dismissive hand. "Aaaanyway, some people have issues with scars, and I need to make sure potential... friends... are comfortable with that."
"Scars is the understatement of the century," Orion mutters.
Jamie spins on him, eyes flashing. "You’re hot as fuck, and if you talk about yourself like that one more time, I'm going to rub tuna oil all over that beautiful body of yours and feed you to Cheeto."
Orion lets out a long, half-hearted sigh.
“What happened to Cheeto being harmless?” I ask dryly, distinctly aware of the lazy tiger lifting his head to watch us boredly.
Jamie flashes me a bright smile. “He is, unless you’re covered in tuna oil. Are you?”
“No?”
“Then we’re good.”
I glance at Rex again. He's moved to examining a collection of vintage medical instruments hanging on the far wall, but his shoulders are tight enough to snap.
What the fuck is his problem?
"The mask should be ready in about two weeks," Jamie continues, oblivious to whatever silent war is happening across the room. "I'll text you when it's done. Or Rex can pick it up if you're busy."
"I'll come get it myself," I say quickly. "I'd like to see how it turned out."
I don't actually care, but I give Rex the sweetest, most grateful, hopeful smile I can possibly muster up so he gets to feel like shit about it if he's up to something. And I know he is. The fact he won't meet my eyes is further evidence of that.
Jamie's face lights up. "Great! And maybe we could grab coffee after? There's this amazing place in town that makes the best lavender lattes—"
"We need to go," Rex announces abruptly, already heading for the stairs. "Now."
Jamie and Orion exchange glances. Orion's brow furrows and his eyes track Rex's sudden exit with what might be amusement or concern. Hard to tell with the mask. He shrugs at Jamie.
"Well!" Jamie says brightly, clasping his hands together. "That was subtle."
"About as subtle as a brick to the face," I mutter, then louder. "Thanks for... all of this. I really appreciate it. It was nice meeting you."
"Anytime!" Jamie grins. "And seriously, let me know if you want to come over. No pressure. Just games and good company."
Orion nods, green eyes crinkling. "It was a pleasure."
"Thanks. And same," I say, meaning it. "Thanks for not being actual serial killers."
Jamie laughs so hard he has to lean against the workbench. "The bar is so low!"
I'm still grinning when I follow Rex down the endless spiral staircase. He's several steps ahead, taking them faster than he probably should given he fell on me. His boots echo sharply off the stone.
Is Rex… jealous?
No. There's no way Rex is jealous.
Rex hates my fucking guts.