Chapter Text
His age must be catching up with him. This is the only possible explanation to why this whole situation confuses Zephyr as much as it does. He is no stranger to this kind of attention; he is, apparently, conventionally attractive by human standards and is a desirable partner by ghoul ones. As Alpha once put it: Zephyr is ‘hot and old, full package.’ So the situation in and of itself is not that out of the ordinary. It’s the relentlessness that's most perplexing and, oh, is Ifrit ever relentless.
It’s a midday in winter, surrounded by cold stone walls and the scent of old parchment of the vast abbey library, when he's forced to no longer ignore what's been happening.
“Oh! There you are,” Omega says, as Zephyr accidentally backs into him while rearranging stacks of old manuscripts and binders. “Ifrit was looking for you.”
“Hope he’s turns up unsuccessful.”
The library is a safe space, to an extent. Tall, floor to ceiling shelves, filled with old books with yellowed pages, a hall that stands vacant for most of the time, only ever visited by the occasional sibling or ghoul runnings odd errands. Papa, for one, never comes here. Air ghouls, on the other hand, are ‘nerds’ — another one of Alpha’s much appreciated tenets. Zephyr is the oldest ghoul here, keeper of ancient knowledge, photographic memory, was deemed to be the perfect bookkeeper. All the more opportunity for Zephyr to spend time alone in the old dusty archives, being the ‘nerd’ that he is, content and calm.
Ifrit is not of age or of the right temperament to be interested in things that are even somewhat scholarly. A fire ghoul is what a fire ghoul always is — stubborn, possessive, needy, hyperactive, aggressively territorial in ways a feral alley cat would be and, most predictably, fiercely loyal. Ifrit fits these, admittedly archaic, clan traits to a T. Never a moment’s peace in his company; he’s driven by desire to cause mischief. He is covered in scars, and scuffs, and scratches, and it almost scares Zephyr, how alike he and Alpha are. Their eyes light up with the same infernal glow. Not with anger or wrath, but with a deceptively playfully destructive kind of madness. The eyes of havoc, chaos. It’s passion and it’s danger that Zephyr would much rather stay away from.
“I sent him off to the gardens,” Omega smiles, empathetic, but also slightly amused, “Knew you were avoiding him.”
“I am not,” Zephyr protests and becomes acutely aware of how big the risk of him sounding like a petulant child is. This is not going to go over well for him, this conversation.
He grabs the stack of papers Omega was holding — ritual accounts, quotas, reports. Here’s a good excuse to stay in the library and keep busy til he’s no longer being hounded.
“You might want to indulge him eventually.”
Zephyr must look very incredulous, because Omega barks a shameless laugh at him. Zephyr cannot and will not be blamed though; Ifrit’s… hedonistic tendencies of the intimate sort have become infamously known amongst the clergy. He’s been making his way through every willing Sibling of Sin and ghoul alike, enthusiastic consent and all. Not that there’s place for judgment in a church of Satan, of all places, but Zephyr is just not like that. Never has been. The preference for solitude is one that came naturally for him, he doesn’t take pity for it.
“I didn't mean it in that way,” Omega’s little smirk is infuriating. “I’m saying that he likes you, simple as that. He wants your attention.”
“I don’t have that much attention to go around.”
“You bitter hag…” Omega mumbles and immediately receives a light smack on the back of his head. “Ow!”
“You’d do well to remember, that not all of us are as well equipped to deal with fire kin on a regular basis,” Zephyr retorts and regrets bringing Alpha up like this immediately.
Unbecoming, to use a relationship so deep and genuine as ammunition in an argument, and someone else’s relationship, no less.
Thankfully, Omega only chuckles once again, before Zephyr has the chance to apologize.
“I’ll have you know, that dealing with Alpha isn’t all that easy for me either.”
“Doesn’t seem like his company bothers you that much,” Zephyr offers a brief gentle smile, grateful that Omega didn’t take the jab to heart.
“You’ll be leaving for tour soon and I’m gonna have to stay here with him all on my own. Not sure how long my patience will last without Papa here to mitigate, to be honest.”
“Satanas, the tour…”
It’ll be Zephyr’s first tour in years without Alpha, Omega, and the rest. Their replacements are the young ones and that includes Ifrit. Ifrit on a daily basis for several months. No libraries to hide in. He wanted to retire also, but he is, apparently, irreplaceable. No other ghouls with a knack for putting fingers to keys. He didn’t dare argue with Papa, not when the man was so apologetic in asking him to stay in the first place, but there is also something slightly gratifying, being the only band ghoul to last this long — three leaders-worth of history. That being said, Zephyr is very close to digging his way back down to Hell with his own hands rather than deal with any of this.
“You’re very strange about this, Zephyr," Omega suddenly states.
His gaze is narrowed, scrutinizing. It stops Zephyr in his tracks and his blood runs cold momentarily.
Omega is, by comparison, young; not as young as the new boys, but significantly younger than Zephyr nonetheless. And yet the quintessence magic that runs in him is ancient and powerful, more powerful than Zephyr has ever seen before. He cannot help but wonder, what kind of deal the third Papa made in order to summon ghouls this strong.
“Strange about?”
“About Ifrit.”
“How am I strange about Ifrit?” Zephyr is trying to be careful about this. Omega’s gaze glazes over in a way that makes him wary. He knows he’s about to hear things he doesn’t necessarily wish to.
“You’re afraid of getting close to him. That he, in the end, will not match the way you see him in your head. That you’ll discover things about him and there won’t be any going back. That you’ll no longer be able to hide like this and pretend. You’re scared that this is going to be like it was with—”
“Enough.”
Omega is perceptive, but his perception is driven by his magic. It’s divination. Zephyr momentarily understands, that he truly doesn’t need or want to hear this. This is unfounded, unreasonable. Omega is also correct. Nothing he sees is ever a lie. It’s an acute sense, a practiced skill, so it’s best for him to shut him up now before it gets out of hand. His blood’s still chilled even so. He hates having his head rummaged through.
Zephyr grits his teeth and manages a tense polite smile, “I think this discussion has turned far from productive, Omega.”
He puts a gentle but authoritative hand on Omega’s shoulder and directs him towards the door, making sure the message is clear. In a split second Omega’s vision focuses back onto reality. He smiles with something that looks like he knows something Zephyr doesn’t.
“The smugness doesn’t suit you,” he shakes his head as he escorts Omega out.
“And you’re too quick to reject help, old man.”
“I’ll deal with all that at my own pace, do not fret.”
“You may not get the chance to pace yourself.”
“Maybe,” Zephyr nods, “But if you run into Ifrit again, you haven't seen me.”
Omega laughs a final time and closes the door behind himself. The silence in the library becomes oppressive.