4. Alexander #2
They sit at the oak-wood table nearest to the sea, and he breathes in the salt air deeply. He’s surprised that the smell of the ocean isn’t horrifying to him after, oh, right, almost drowning, but the sea is still the comfort it has always been.
He lets Eudoxos and Zeno chat amongst themselves and, with great effort, chokes down his bland meal.
That’s not to say food in the HAE was especially flavorful, but his mother raised them on the Brazilian food of her home state—one of a few dozen states inside Ivi Maraei, each clinging to whatever it was before the Fall.
This stuff though? It’s nearly inedible.
His gaze turns from the ocean when he sees that streak of gold from the hallway again. But this time the gold is connected to someone’s head, which is connected to someone’s body, which is…
Oh, Jesus Christ.
Alexander is gawking. He can’t help it.
That is undeniably the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life.
Like, not just hot. Or pretty. Or even angelic.
Perfect.
The boy walks up the spiral staircase in no rush, despite being late for food. It seems he already knows that missing dinner won’t be a problem, because the Priestesses, who had packed everything up, are pulling it all out again eagerly. They may like Zeno, but they love this guy.
Alexander doesn’t blame them.
“Don’t worry,” Zeno says. “It’ll wear off eventually.”
“What?” he asks. He doesn’t particularly care about the answer. Not if it means he has to look away from him.
“It’s the ‘Kallias Effect,’” Zeno responds. “The first time you see him you want to gouge your own eyes out because he’s so beautiful. And then you realize he’s a bit of a dick, honestly. Mostly he’s just quiet. Doesn’t really interact with people.”
“That’s his name, then: Kallias?”
“Is that all you got from my speech?” Zeno laughs, turning to Eudoxos. “What are the odds of Kallias beating the shit out of him when he inevitably makes a move, do you think?”
“Oh, there’s no doubt in my mind.”
Alexander disregards them as Kallias takes a seat a few tables away, next to the cave’s opening.
Kallias is facing him, so he can see when Kallias pulls out a book, puts on glasses—who the Hell looks hotter with glasses than without?
—and ignores everyone around him. They don’t try to talk to him either, to be fair.
He could probably wax poetic about Kallias’ golden hair and his eyes, so dark-brown they might as well be black, but more than any of that, he finds Kallias interesting.
There’s an air of power around him—the awed but wary glances people shoot him make it clear. Being beautiful doesn’t get you that kind of untouchable respect.
And no one is closed off and mean for no reason. It’s a defense mechanism. The question is: What does Kallias have to defend against?
What an intriguing mystery.
What a compelling challenge.
Kallias looks up from his reading, perhaps feeling the heat of Alexander’s gaze. He scans the room to locate the source, and, soon enough, he finds it.
His eyes narrow, and the little scowl that has been on his face since he arrived intensifies, his brows pushing together and nose scrunching up.
It should make Alexander feel threatened, but he just finds it cute.
He really does like trouble.
After a few beats Kallias tilts his head and raises an eyebrow, clearly communicating: What are you doing?
Alexander smirks, with a faux-surprised who, me? expression on his face, which does not seem to entertain his new friend. Any trace of emotion retreats from Kallias’ features except for that tiny scowl—his default setting, probably—but he doesn’t look away.
Alexander loves a staredown.
When Zeno finally notices Alexander staring over his shoulder, he asks, “What are you looking at?” and glances behind.
Then he whirls back with a speed Alexander wouldn’t think possible and whispers, “Alexander! Did you hear anything I just said?”
Eudoxos looks back and laughs. “Oh, it’s starting already. This is going to be great.”
Zeno grabs his shoulders and begs, “You have to look away. I’m serious. He never does anything unprovoked, but once you do provoke him, you’re in for it.”
Alexander desperately wants to beat Kallias at… whatever this is.
“This is not a fight you’ll win.”
He narrows his eyes at Kallias before sighing and looking back to Zeno.
“Oh, thank the Forms.”
“Don’t be dramatic. We were just looking at each other.”
“Well, don’t. Just stay out of his way.”
“Does he have any friends?”
“What?” Zeno pauses to think. “People tried when he got pulled up. We were… ten at the time? I never understood why they pulled him up so young. No one explained it. But, even then he was guarded. Barely spoke at all, actually. And if his walls were steel back then, now they’re made of thorns.
You can’t try to break them without getting hurt. ”
“Sounds lonely,” he muses, pushing the tiny remnants of his food around his plate.
Zeno gives him that sympathetic smile. “It’s nice of you to worry, but I think he’s okay. I mean, look at him; he could have anything he wanted in a heartbeat. Friends that worship him, just for a start. But he doesn’t. I think it’s best if you just drop it.”
“Yeah, okay,” he lies. Sorry, Zeno.
It’s just, he knows from years of experience what hidden pain looks like. But where his own hides behind smiles, Kallias’ is protected by that apathetic scowl. And for some reason, Alexander feels the need to soothe it.
Eudoxos stands to take their plates away, and Zeno pulls Alexander up from the bench. “Let’s go to our room,” he says, starting for the spiral stairs.
“What about Eudoxos?”
“He’s fine. We’re meeting to spar later and he’s got other stuff to do beforehand. You’re welcome to come train with us if you’d like.”
Anyone else would have invited him along begrudgingly, because they felt obligated to, but Zeno does it with such sincerity that he almost feels bad turning him down.
“I think I’ll stay in our room. I’m sure I have an unimaginable amount of work to catch up on.”
“Wise.” Zeno nods sagely. “I’m here to help whenever. The curriculum is rigorous, but you’ll catch on fast.”
Oh, God. This is school. Real school where he has to do work. He’s always coasted on being smart, and personal tutors don’t assign homework to princes if said princes tell them not to, so he’s not really used to… expectations.
He and Zeno say their goodbyes at the door to their room, but not without Zeno shouting over his shoulder, “We’re waking up at seven tomorrow for classes,” and laughing at Alexander’s groan of despair.
Alexander wants to go to sleep so badly. Like, his eyes are practically closing even standing here looking at his bed.
But, instead, he takes his cargo pants and shirt off and plops on the floor, surrounded by all of the books he found on his bed.
The glossy cover of The History of the Republic glares at him, and, with a long-suffering sigh, he cracks it open and starts to read.