Vexen stood motionless, staring at the chains which bound him the thing he dread most. Multiple rings of steel, keeping him restrained to this terrible thing, which he hated more that pathetic life itself. This thing had also become an annual event, repetitive and tedious. The thought of having to perform this painful task made his stomach churn. Despite the noticeable lack of a heart, this Chill Academic despised this one gloomy task with all the fury of an ex lover.
Cooking.
This mind-numbingly boring task, that Zexion appreciated so much, yet forced onto him, was almost worse than watching his most favoured and most recent project being destroyed by a certain Graceful Assassin. Watching those precious beakers and test tubes hit a marble floor, smashing, scattering and spilling their contents all over everything while said neophyte walked out of the lab, laughing that cocky, arrogant, annoying, selfish, conceited laugh of his and saying that 'he'd have to start again.'
He shook his head, trying to forget the painful memories that the mere thought of said assassin had the power to arouse.
Focus on the task at hand! He forced himself. Focus on your set task, keep your mind pre-occupied and get that damned man out of your head.
A burning sensation pulled him away from any rational thought at all. Following the trail of his arm, he realised, he had come to rest his hand on a hotplate. He slowly pulled it off, staring at it with a hint of concern, interest and annoyance, but mostly with the same cool indifference for which he was known.
"Zexion!" he heard himself cry blankly. "Lexaeus! Your meals are prepared!"
No reply.
"Damn Zexion!" he muttered. "Saying 'at least once a month' then 'at least once a week'. Constantly showing up late to my meals, and then having the audacity to not show up at all! I should cook his head on a silver platter…" he trailed on absent-mindedly, whilst putting the final touches on the plates, as well as mentally concocting the most painful way he could exact his revenge on a certain partner of his.
"Pretentious little nitwit…" he continued, placing the plates on the table. "Distracting me from my duties… making me cook… making me wait… I swear the day shall come when I-" a soft brushing sound made him stop mid-sentence. He turned to see Zexion walking hastily into the room, running a hand trough his dishevelled hair, and adjusting the zipper on a coat that was obviously a few sizes to big.
"Vexen…" he said breathlessly. "I apologise for my lateness. You see I was…reading." He sat at the table, tripping slightly and realising he wasn't wearing his coat. "Lexaeus will be in shortly. He is… washing up…"
His lie was crystal clear, for at the same moment those words left his lips, Lexaeus walked in, shirtless and muttering something about a personal project.
Vexen gave them both an annoyed glare, letting them know he knew exactly what they had been up to. Contrary to popular belief, Vexen had done it many times before.
An emotion close to embarrassment found its way across Zexion's face, as he frantically tried to think of a reason he an his comrade would be in such a state.
Vexen obviously didn't care, for he grabbed is own plate and threw it into a nearby garbage bin and stalked to the doorway. "I care not what acts of indecency you two may commit, however, when I take the time from my busy schedule to prepare a meal, I expect you two to be in a position of readiness to eat it." whilst speaking, his cool gaze shifted between the two.
The Chilly Academic was living up to his name.
"Vexen, we…" Lexaeus gave a sigh. "Yes, Number Four."
"Good! Now, I have lost my appetite, so I will busy myself laboratories!" Vexen walked out of the room without so much as batting an eyelash.
"Number Six...?"
"Yes, Number Five." Zexion answered, staring at his plate.
"I am beginning to think Number Four is not very fond of me."
Zexion gave him an annoyed stare and forcefully pushed a sushi roll into his mouth.