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Being perceived was always something Peter Lukas hated the most. It was something that made his skin crawl. Not crowds, not gatherings. You can be equally lonely among people as well as without them, but being watched, being seen . Seen as another being, truly seen for what you are. It terrified him.
And he appreciated that fear, he fostered it. Knowing fully well, that it’s not his master who is feeding on it. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to decline, so he indulged the Eye from time to time. To be precise, he indulged Jonah and that bastard was indeed smug about it.
True and deep loneliness exists only in comparison. So when fate, or simply when the Eye, placed Jonah Magnus on his path he knew he wouldn't be able to resist. Not able to hate him but in the same way not able to not hate him. He was like a moth, drawn into the flame that surely would mean his destruction.
And oh, how he hated that man, how he despised him, Jonah, James, Elias. No matter what his name was, Peter was not able to resist. Not able to resist his welcoming smile, his all-seeing eyes, his unconditional friendship offered out of pure spite, because Elias knew Peter would hate it. These empty gestures and polite words, that meant nothing and served only the purpose of railing him up. This polite, charming façade put on just to lull to sleep any naïve fool that Elias picked for dinner.
And Peter was not a fool, and he did not appreciate being treated as one.
And yet, every time, when he was looking into Elias’s eyes he could not turn his gaze away. He felt pinned. He felt seen, disgustingly, painfully seen , and he felt so unbelievably vulnerable. So overwhelmingly vulnerable that it made him sick, made him almost want to align himself with the Buried, crawl under the nearest rock, and stay there for the rest of his life, alone. After all, maybe he did not need the Buried to do that.
It was easy enough to summon the fog and vanish. Elias could not find him there, even his eyes were not able to penetrate the thick, heavy fog of the Lonely. One thing stopped him though, one excruciatingly painful detail.
Peter Lukas yearned , he was longing, deep down, he knew that in the entire world, there is only one person who will ever truly see him. See him for what he is, not what his money can provide, not who he serves, not his family, not the appearances, just him. And he was aware of the fact that Elias knew that as well and that it brought him endless joy. To look as Peter squirms under his watchful gaze, trying to decide if he wants to run or stay forever.
They never talked about it and they never will, but they were both aware of the connection, of that odd correlation between them. Because it was mutual. It was the only thing that allowed Peter to stand it, he knew that the one who watches is always alone, is always distant, is always deeply, crushingly lonely. And he was drunk on it, he was addicted to this pathetic excuse of a man that Elias Bouchard was. And it was killing him, and it was keeping him alive. Keeping him from fading. Keeping him connected.
But seeing this powerful, infuriating man in prison? Oh, that was indeed entertaining. Elias was reeking of loneliness and Peter was sure that he was pretty aware of that, and it only made everything better.
“Elias.”
“Peter.”
“Jonah.”
“Peter.”
“Mr. Bouchard.”
“Mr. Lukas, are you quite done?” Peter smiled, amused. “To what I owe the pleasure?” Elias straightened his prison uniform, glaring at Lukas. It was impressive really, how he carried himself in this uniform, as if he was wearing his best suit.
“How’s your solitary confinement?”
“The one you put me in? Lovely. What are you doing here, Peter?”
“You should be grateful, Elias. You wouldn’t stand a chance in a normal cell. They would tear you into pieces if not for my money.”
“They would not, I can and will defend myself. How’s Martin? Still resisting, hm?”
Peter pressed his lips together.
“Not much longer” he said after a short pause, making Elias snort. “What? Do you still think I won’t be able to align him with the Lonely? You can’t be that delusional.”
“No. But you still underestimate my Archivist.”
“Your Archivist is in a coma, Elias.” He spoke slowly and patiently as if he was talking to a really stupid child.
“He will wake up, eventually.” Elias said, and somehow Peter knew he was right. He shrugged, pretending he didn't care and they fell silent. Peter was comfortable with silence, always was, and being silent with Elias always felt… right, but somehow not today. Today was different and to his annoyance, Elias’s discomfort did not bring him any joy.
He glanced at the man across the table and for once in his life he was the one who watched. Elias was looking at the wall, and it was odd, and it was concerning. Peter watched him for a while. He tended to miss details, when it came to looking at others.
He usually preferred to focus on himself, not paying much attention, not maintaining eye contact, not looking at others at all when he spoke. But now he looked, and he saw. He saw Elias’s pale skin and dark circles under his eyes. He saw his arms wrapped around his body in an insecure need for comfort. He saw a bright, purple stain on Elias’s cheek.
A bruise.
“Are you done?” Elias hissed. “I know when I am being watched.”
“Look at me.” Peter said, surprising even himself. He probably never said these words before and he was certain he never will again and yet…. “Elias. Look at me .” Elias did not move. Peter sighed, stood up, and dragged his chair to the other side of the table. He sat down in front of him. “ I am not going to repeat it.” He said and waited, and waited, and waited, until... “ There he is.” He murmured when green eyes glared at him.
He touched Elias’s cheek carefully, looking at the offending bruise. He didn’t comment on it though, he valued his life. He froze when Elias leaned into his touch, yearning, longing, loneliness slipping from him and whispering to Peter, calling to him, feeding him.
Peter swallowed when Elias pressed his face into Peter's shoulder, clenching fingers on his arm, and drew a shaky breath. To say that he was not used to physical contact was to say nothing. He was usually repulsed by it, but this… somehow felt right.
The watcher was always alone, he was always looking, always on his watch. And of course the thrill of being able to see everything was exhilarating, but it was also exhausting. Elias could count on fingers of his one hand nights that he fully slept through, sleeping was a conscious effort at this point and even closing his eyes was too much of a challenge sometimes.
Peter touched his cheek again and the only thing Elias could see now was a thick, heavy fog. He blinked slowly, pushing through the fear and disorientation and leaned into it. Relaxed into Peter’s shoulders and sighed.
Peter wished it would last. Peter wished to stay like this forever. In quiet, white fog, with Elias pressed into him.
But it was not possible. Not with Elias. Not with this wicked, sly, thing Elias was.
“Elias.” Peter's voice shook a bit when the other man pressed a kiss under his jaw.
“My Archivist woke up.” Elias whispered into his ear. It was said with a certainty that comes only from simply knowing everything and Peter heard the smirk that appeared on Elias’s face. He sighed, looking at the wall annoyed, blaming Jonathan Sims for taking this moment of peace from him. Elias chuckled, moving back. “That’s petty, Peter.”
“He just woke up from a coma, it’s not like there is going to be any use of him.”
“But he is awake and that, my dear, means you lost.” Elias smiled and any trace of that seductive loneliness was gone. The Eye was looking at Peter with overpowering confidence and triumph. He wanted to hide again, he wanted to run, he wanted to freeze and never move again. He stood up and headed to the door, knowing well there was no guard behind them. Before he left, Elias’s voice stopped him.
“What did you do with the guard?”
“You know.” Peter answered, grabbing the handle.
“Why?”
“You know.”
Elias smiled.
“I do. I want to hear it.” Peter snorted and looked back at him, his eyes lingered on the bruise on his cheek.
“Don’t get in trouble again, Jonah” he said quietly and vanished.
Elias exhaled slowly and slacked on the chair taking a shaky breath. Suddenly the loneliness came back with a crushing force.
He snorted. He could appreciate the irony.