Lily is my OC and Sinclair is that of a friend's in the RP server. There will be other ships such as Neskreia, Seuri, and other rareships.
Lily listened to the footsteps coming down the hallway, eyes closed, and sighed. Another hero? They were always the worst, preaching of good after beating up all his staff and blaming him for problems he didn't cause.
The giant white doors to his room opened, they weren't exactly silent but it's not like they creaked, and anyway, it was good to have them heavy. That way they took a while to open, so if he was asleep (which was often with how tiring this occupation of his was, added on to his already sickly body), he would wake up in that time.
Listening to the click of the hero's heels –how uncomfortable and unhealthy that must be to fight in– approaching him on the marble floor, Lily opened his eyes. Tilting his head to look at the hero, slowly because he felt fatigued and lethargic, he smiled softly. He didn't really want to because he didn't understand why she was dressed in such revealing clothing when she was a, hero, but it wasn't his place to ask such things.
"Do you want something?"
His voice resounded throughout the large room. It was clear despite how soft he spoke and it was probably because of Miss Anka who majored in something to do with noise. He's not sure who in particular designed this room to be so big and empty, aside from his nice couch in the middle of it where he's currently laying down, but it's not as bad as the news described it. Sure, his entire palace was white and grey and silver without any colour but he wished he'd stop getting criticised for it. It wasn't his idea.
Even his staff dressed without any colour. He used to think that maybe he just missed the memo and was supposed to dress like that too, but apparently he got excused from it. Wearing all black compared to everything else still felt weird though. Leather and a hat? Even weirder.
The hero glared at him, so hateful that he wanted to curl up, and said, "It would be nice if you stopped lounging around."
"As you wish," he said, and stood up. It seemed leisurely, but he already felt pain coursing through his body. Standing really wasn't something he should be doing, nor was it what he wanted. Yet it would be rude to ignore the hero.
Her hatred only intensified and he wanted to look away; he wanted to avoid her gaze. He couldn't though. Lily was an infamous villain, nobody knew it was him of course, and he knew heroes felt stronger if he displayed weakness. At least, that's what his staff said.
Then, she started talking. She continued on and on and on. It was horrible. Why did society always make fun of villains for long monologues if the heroes were the ones that actually did them? He hated to talk so how could he monologue in the first place?
As she talked, he saw one of his staff creep in through the open door, his gun aimed at her. He would be saved at last.
When he shot her, Lily covered his eyes quickly, but still jolted at the scene of blood that he hadn't been able to avoid seeing. His legs trembled, and he collapsed on his couch.
Why? He had witnessed this countless times yet it never stopped this terror of his. Never stopped how his eyes burnt and head went numb, or the way he shivered, alone.
He hated this.
Even as her body was taken away and the scene was cleaned up, he laid on the couch, eyes covered. One of his staff had come by and placed a cloth, white like everything else, over his face to calm him. It had worked somewhat, though it still hurt.
Later, when he left to meet his friend (Sinclair was normal and not involved in this convoluted sort of life in any way) he found himself avoiding the spot that she had fallen at. He'd forget her soon enough but, he only wished it would happen faster.
"Lily? Are you okay?"
Lily flinched as Sinclair reached out to him. It wasn't on purpose, he had been reminded of that hero, but the shock still made him regretful.
"I'm fine," he said, lying. "I'm sorry I just, I'm sorry I–"
Tears started to stifle the words in his throat. He couldn't apologise. He wanted to, oh he desperately wanted to kneel and apologise to that woman who had died but how could he? He didn't know why she had needed to be killed, or why she had really even come to him in the first place. He never did.
He once thought it was because of the atrocities he committed. Of the massacre in Borneo that he had overseen, or his recent activity in Milan. It never was. They'd speak of things he didn't know. They'd speak of things he didn't understand. They'd die for reasons he didn't hold any responsibility for.
Pitiful children who he wished he could help. Oh, such pathetic fools that he embraced. How he longed to repay their deaths. To get rid of his debts.
Fear filled him.
Sinclair removed his hands from Lily's wheelchair, and held him. He sobbed into his dear friend's shoulder, clutching his back like it would give him some sort of sweet relief from his guilt. As if it would prevent his descent to insanity from all the wrongdoing he carried out.
Perhaps it would. Lily calmed as Sinclair spoke to him with words of comfort. Maybe if he told him that he loved him, maybe if he had someone to anchor him, he wouldn't be driven mad. Because he did love him, because he did feel better whenever he was with him. Because he wanted to achieve his goal not for himself anymore, but so that he could live a peaceful life in his precious friend's company.
It would be nice to see Sinclair's eyes too, instead of inflicting pain upon himself. They were beautiful. Moreso than anything else that he had ever seen, and he knew them well.