XIII. Danes Lobby I • it started with sin

Dimitri's view was pretty. It always was. After all, it always laid on him.

In the field outside the windows, he was tending to the Danes. He looked like the sun, and not just because he was surrounded by the flowers' yellow hues.

". . .tri. . . anything. . . add?"

Dimitri didn't realize he was smiling until his lips dropped.

"Dane to Dimi."

He exhaled as he forced his gaze away. His head was resting on his closed hand out of boredom. "What."

He was met with many looks, of irritation, amusement, or indifference, from those seated on a table longer in width and made of stone. On the wall ahead, laser-cut letters spelled Office of the Premier.

The LeRouge sat in no particular order—no one's position was higher than next—so of course Dimitri chose the spot with the prettiest view.

Irritated, Capucine repeated herself. "Is there anything you want to add? We're solidifying our plans to begin the Purging Game."

"It sounds good. I say we hurry up, though. Waiting a week is too long."

"Too long. . .?"

"I'm not opposed to that," Jacques added through a yawned out stretch. "I'm missing the feeling of blood in my veins."

"There's something else I'm missing," Marceau snickered. "I'm planning on doing more than just killing during the game. Why don't we team up? You hold them down, and I get to business."

"And have me watch? Fuck no."

"I think our start time is alright," Anaïs chimed in. "I haven't made up my mind on what strategies I'll use, yet."

"It's best to make it slow, Anaïs. Make them cry." "Know what I do? Act psycho. They're like what-what's going on, and you just fwip. Bullet through forehead." "No, you have to act normal. Inject someone with a spouse, or a close friend. They always doubt it. It's amazing."

The noise level increased with their cackles, save for the seat beside Dimitri. He tipped his head over.

"Sin, I can hear your teeth grinding," he mumbled.

His brother answered him quietly. "Guess I can't help it."

Dimitri hummed. "We're here because of you. That makes you as sick as we are."

"No, Mitri. If I had known you all became like this, I never would have betrayed Isla."

"That's too bad." It was no surprise where Dimitri's gaze flickered off to. "Everyone in that disgusting world deserves to die a shitty death."

Sinclair sighed.

Marceau hit the table twice, stealing their attention. "Get it? I'll make them come before they go."

They doubled over in laughter. Dimitri scoffed at the joke. Sinclair, however, got up and left.

"There he goes again."

"Geez, he never joins in on the fun."

"Not too harsh on my guy Sin," Jacques dismissed. "He's the reason we're Premier. We've gotta hand it to him, playing that Yäger like the bitch she is."

"Haha!"

"Hey, Dimitri, what's up with him, anyway?"

". . ."

"Fucking asshole . . . He's not listening again."

Fleur giggled. "We all know who he's focused on."

"Who he's too focused on."

"Who cares? It's not like we don't keep slaves, also. Well, except Sinclair, I guess. But it's all good 'cause he's the man that made this happen."

"Huh?" Dimitri's eyes had turned to lasers. He dropped his voice an octave. "Who the fuck is a slave?"

Jacques sat on the opposite side of the table. He exhaled. "That's just what we call people we bring here for our personal. . . pleasures. It's not a big deal. Calm the fuck down."

Dimitri rose, his chair falling as he did. "Call him a slave then. I fucking dare you."

Jacques scorned instead.

"That's what I fucking thought," Dimitri spat. "Personal pleasures? Don't ever warp me in with the rest of you when it comes to that."

"Tch. Whatever."

He went to leave. Someone else groaned. "Ugh. We still have other things to discuss."

~

It was instant the way his expression softened the moment he stepped outside. Their sun shined nicely like usual. His sun, too, shined nicely.

He passed rows upon rows of the bright flowers. The field of Danes spanned acres, with pathways here and there for aesthetics and ease of travel.

Dimitri approached the boy with long hair who was squatted and using a watering can gentler than necessary.

He stopped a couple meters away, watching him quietly before he advanced.

"You don't have to water them. We have people for that."

Evaughn glanced at his visitor, his lips gracing a smile. "I want to."

He offered a hand. "Take a walk with me?"

Holding the can midair, he stared at the palm before looking away. "I can. . . stand up by myself."

Dimitri laughed, noticing his ears turn red. He found it beautiful how they did that so easily. Once the pair was level, he brought his hand over and around the other's head to loop around his ponytail. "Why don't you let down your hair?"

Evaughn brushed away the intruding hand. "I will when I want to."

Surrounded by yellow, they started on their walk. "Are you upset because I took too long?" asked Dimitri who felt rather disheartened that Evaughn was two steps ahead rather than beside him.

"No. Oh, I talked to Sinclair for a bit. He's really nice."

Dimitri's steps hiccuped right before gaining speed. "You spoke to Sin? About what?" He made sure not to raise his voice.

"He just said hi."

"And nothing else? Are you sure?"

"I—." He halted and his brows furrowed. "Yes? Why're you getting worried?"

Dimitri made a mental note to speak with his brother. "I don't know. It's nothing. I guess I just. . . I missed you a lot, Vaughn."

"What—? We've spent every second of every day together so far. If anything, you should be tired of me by now."

"I missed that, too," he repeated. "Those cheeky responses."

Flushed, the boy huffed. "Again, that doesn't make any sense."

Dimitri chuckled as he took it all in. He must've been staring, because Evaughn slowly shifted his chin away.

"Goodness. If I didn't know any better, I'd call you a creep."

"Says the one who kissed me as I died." Dimitri teased, extending a hand to brush his. There was no resistance, so he moved it further back, landing when it cupped his waist.

"Dimitri. . ." Evaughn protested.

"Yes?" He pulled their bodies close.

"That was. . . it was the spur of the moment. I-I wasn't thinking."

"Really? You kissed me a second time." He reminded, this time with his lips close enough to blow the hairs near his ears out of place. "That one felt better since I wasn't, you know, in agonizing pain."

Dimitri was about to land himself a new milestone—giving Evaughn's ears a stroke—when there came a slap on his chest that pushed him out of his blurred fantasies.

Evaughn was straight-faced. "Don't talk about that day like it was anything good, Dimitri. Don't. . . Don't talk about it like that."

He pivoted, but before he could get away, Dimitri grabbed his arm. "Vaughn, I'm so sorry. That was insensitive of me."

"You're such a jerk. You know that my. . . my dad. . ." Evaughn let out a sob and turned around to tend to the tears that fell.

Dimitri cursed himself for forgetting so easily. For him, his father's suicide occurred ten whole years in the past, but for Evaughn, it was only three days ago.

"Vaughn, I—."

"I'm f-fine," he managed through convulsive gasps. "L-Leave me alone."

"I really am sorry."

He sniffled. "Then leave me alone."

Dimitri scrunched his lips.

"You're still h-here?"

"Alright. I'm leaving. . .I'll be close by." Pushing his hands in his pockets, Dimitri turned with his heart heavy.

Danes Lobby was centered around the flower field. On one end was the Office of the Premier. On another, there spanned a dining hall.

As soon as he stepped into the hall, a worker greeted him. He was an older man, clad in a signature black suit labeled Premier Works. "Welcome, Sir. What may I prepare for you?"

"Your best plate of sushi. That's all."

"As you wish," he bowed, then disappeared into the back.

Dimitri waited outside the building on a bench that, of course, overlooked the field. He saw that Evaughn was now squatted before the Danes. He was watering them again, but much slower this time. When he set the can down to rub a wrist over his eyes, Dimitri tapped his foot on the ground in frustration.

"How could I say something so stupid?"

"How stupid was it?"

Taken aback, he snapped his head over. His brother was sitting on the other side of the bench. "Were you there the whole time?"

Sinclair leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs. "Mitri, we've gotta talk about how you're going about this with Vaughn. Honestly, we should talk about a lot of things, but. . . let's start with him. What are you doing?"

"Huh? I'm doing what's best for him."

"You kept his soul locked up for a decade, and only released it three days ago," Sinclair stressed his words. "That's not right."

Dimitri's scowl returned.

"On top of that, you're not letting him interact with anyone. What'll happen when he gets bored of this world?"

He shook his head. "You don't get it, Sin."

"What don't I get? Love? I get love. Love makes you stupid. Right now, it's making you stupid."

"Ten whole years, all I could do was look at him sleep. Without his soul, he couldn't talk, or move or do anything, but it was enough," Dimitri admitted. "Now I can finally talk to him and-and hold him, and I can't contain myself. I can't mess things up."

Sinclair sighed.

"If I let him speak to those deranged dumbasses, one of them will spill something about the Game. If he finds out I killed Simone, he'll hate me. If I let him be conscious for too long, he'll start asking questions."

"Do you hear yourself, Mitri? You're trapping him."

"No," he countered. "No, I'm not, I'm doing what's best for the both of us."

"Like participating in the Game? Give me a break."

Dimitri closed his eyes. "When he was unconscious, I looked at every one of his scars, and I noticed all the slight bald spots in his hair, and I replayed over and over how Celine ruined his life, and how much his heart broke when his dad took his life and it makes me. . ." His fists were balled and restless, but he calmed himself down. "He deserved none of it."

"Of course not. But genocide?"

"I'll kill all of them, Sin. It'd be wrong not to."

Sinclair shifted. "Even Luka?"

Dimitri looked at his feet.

"Even him?"

The door beside them opened. Out came the suited waiter holding a tray of six rolls, plated beside a pair of chopsticks. "For you, Sir, the makizushi."

Dimitri received it, satisfied with the presentation. Before he left, he told his brother, "I trust that you won't tell Vaughn anything you aren't supposed to. But I won't hesitate if you do, Sin."

Sinclair's response came a mile away. He whispered, "I know."