Feet were frozen, stuck to the ground, snow swirling around him. Staring up at the lit up sign for The Riverside, the restaurant had Valentine chosen. He'd given the girls the next day off, bid them have a good time. Wasn't every day they could go out and not have to worry about keeping their secret. That they could let loose and be themselves. Told them he had plans of his own, and to call if they needed him. Had chosen not to address the unveiled curiosity in their eyes. They would be distracted by their own plans soon enough.
They left before him, Bat and Duffy dropping by to pick them up, and he closed the shop early, to get ready and get across town. Probably no one had ever asked the valet to park a beat up pickup, judging by the look on his face, but Luke at least dressed the part: three piece suit, all in blue, white dress shirt and a gray tie. Brown leather shoes. Left his winter gear in the truck, didn't feel like checking it.
So once he unstuck himself from frosty pavement and stepped inside, he approached the hostess, giving her the name Valentine told him. She checked, nodded, then lead him through the double doors and into the dining room: gleaming wood floors, tight pressed tables with candles and white linen, all occupied. A string quartet playing off to the side.
Everything and everyone sparkling. It matched Valentine and his grand manor home and the kindjal he'd given him, that he could've sold for a small fortune. Valentine wasn't trying to unsuccessfully cover up the grime, gut a werewolf pack's headquarters, and the small inroads Luke had made were always washed away by some more pressing concern: basement flooding, some problem with the washing machine down there; falling through a floorboard, banged his knee pretty bad, but he'd known the floor boards there were rotting. Least the rats were too scared to be scurrying around.
He nervously adjusted his glasses, looking around for a table with an empty place setting, then noticed the hostess was aiming for a cordoned off stairwell, spoke a word to the attendant once they got there, who removed the velvet rope and let him up to the balcony, where he noted there were private booths with curtains and dimmer lights. Stopped in front of one, the hostess called out an unfamiliar name, excusing the interruption, then opened the curtain for Luke to step through only to find an unfamiliar face, but the eyes, the eyes were the same. He took a seat and the hostess advised them to ring when they were ready for the waitress. Wasn't sure what Valentine had done, what glamour he had cast to disguise his appearance, but trying to see through it was giving him a headache, his form not settling, glimmering and flickering, not settling on any one thing.
Reminiscent of the last time he saw Valentine: in the cell at Magnus'. He'd been aware Valentine was there, sometimes, then he'd be gone, and when he'd return Valentine was still there, a hulking shadow hunched in a chair. Had so tried to hang on to the sound of his voice, grip on to anything he was saying but it was all garbled, when he got anything at all. Understood why he was hiding himself now, but didn't like this, needed to see him, lifted his head to try again only for the world to start spinning, and he gripped his head to stop the dizziness.
Until a strong hand gripped his own, peeled his fingers away from his hair, and there he was, sitting in a black tux, platinum hair slicked back, with a rueful smile. "Apologies."
And he was so relieved that the world was now still and that this meeting was finally here, he thoughtlessly gripped Valentine's hand in turn and pressed a kiss into his palm, only to startle when Valentine's leg was against then under his, under the table, drawing it up onto his lap, only for Luke to hiss in pain – had to grab the banged up knee – and involuntarily blush, both at what he had done and what Valentine had done in turn, with only a curtain and a staircase dividing them from the crowd.
"What happened?" Valentine asked, letting his leg back down, and Luke shook his head. "Lost my balance, that's all. It will heal soon enough."
"It did not occur at The Hunter's Moon?" Valentine countered, yet with enough lightness to let Luke know he did not truly believe that, or Luke's explanation.
"Walked away from that without a scratch."
"I have assumed, but you are well?" Luke nodded, and Valentine continued, "Thank you for helping Jonathan that night. He is capable, however his arrogance often gets the better of him. I thanked you before, yet was unsure if you heard me. As you have most likely already surmised, that is why I had to leave as abruptly as I did. He decided to take matters into his own hands, hunt those demons on his own, and was injured in the process."
When the warding came down that night, Luke had been in control and decided to risk leaving – since he was no longer safely confined – to pursue whatever had caused the disturbance, hoping the mission would give him purpose, and the power to stay himself. He'd followed Amatis' trail, smelled demons, and from a distance saw the young man who could only be Jocelyn and Valentine's son in trouble, and there was no question in his mind about what needed to be done.
"He did seem to enjoy the thrill of battle," Luke recalled, and Valentine smiled. "Too much, I fear."
Luke knew the troubles Jocelyn was facing trying to reconnect with her son. Also knew he and Valentine were very much on unstable ground, but he could not stop himself from asking, "Is he here in town with you? Could I see him?"
"He is not. At his repeated request, I have attempted to grant him more autonomy. Even when things go awry, as they did last summer. Though he did ask me to send his regards, and I believe he would very much enjoy meeting you as well. He of course knows, we were once parabatai – by the way, speak freely. I have made sure we cannot be overheard."
"How?" Luke had decided to leave pack business out of this, and similarly, let Valentine's business by his own; nevertheless the glamour he'd disguised himself with did not compare to a relatively simple invisibility rune, and there were designs for silent feet, to silence your own voice, even another, but not to mute or distort the sound of an entire space. For that, you would need a specifically spelled artifact, or… and then the answer was obvious. Of course Valentine would study and try. "You've learned magic?"
"Something to pass the time," Valentine teased, yet also closed the subject, and Luke was more preoccupied with the dinner at hand, and what to do with flirtations he wasn't used to from Valentine, dressed to the nines. Picked up the menu, and nothing had a price; they'd come a long way, from when Valentine told him a werewolf fighting with a sword was the same as a dog eating with a fork, and felt frustrated that now they were together, he didn't know what to say, felt there was a distance between them that would never be covered, despite his earlier actions which still caused his lips to burn, wondered if Valentine's skin held any similar memory of him.
Since they were somewhere nice, he decided he was getting a steak – the appetite the girls kidded him about having not subsided – Valentine opting for seafood. Declined a drink – he'd drank with the pack at first to get in their good graces, and now that he was on top was putting a stop to it – after having more than he'd liked for awhile now, but Valentine got a glass of wine.
He noted the view from their private window: the river, snow still swirling in the air, yet over the water, fog was added to the mix, that did not advance onto the shore. Then back to their dim booth, their dark clothes, Valentine's dark eyes, his own comfortably shielded by glasses.
Scoured his mind and came up empty, felt a pressure he hadn't, during their first visits with each other. That was more fear of the unknown, of Valentine's intentions. He had told Valentine he wanted to see where this would go, that night so long ago, had in many ways since trusted his instincts, gone with what had presented itself to him: the pack; Maia and Malarie; fixing up headquarters; Gabriel leaving and him stepping forward. He'd accepted this invitation, layered himself in clothes he never wore, and was now dining on food he never ate, at a tier of venue he never frequented, all with someone he had once been able to speak freely with. Had even trusted enough to confront him, tell him his wife feared his behavior.
Yet now he was frozen in speech, only wanting to eat: garlic bread, buttered potatoes, roasted broccoli on the side – strawberry torte for dessert, whilst managing a stilted conversation with Valentine, regarding his book business and both the famous and the not so well known sights Valentine had passed through in his travels. He'd always wanted to travel, to explore and inadvertently created the perfect opportunity, practically forced himself to live on the go– or had Luke forced him? By destroying his well-laid plans, sending him fleeing Alicante and Idris. And the two discussions did not match each other – Luke's organization, by genre, then author, of his store – and Valentine's treks up mountains and across deserts, pounding the pavement in cities across the globe, to satisfy his wanderlust. Yet for some reason, Valentine remained interested, asking him what sold – romance – and what didn't – history, which Valentine lamented was a shame. Privately, so did Luke, but he also had to make a profit. Kept some on the shelf, all the same, but they tended to stay there a long time.
Except he couldn't handle his own history, particularly with the man in front of him, so maybe he had no right to judge. Too painful looking back, time never stops, keep going forward, except forward in this case made very little sense to him at the moment, had thought whatever future involving the two of them ended a long time ago, until Valentine appeared on his doorstep, walked through the door, then his bedroom door, and the thought made Luke's earlier headache return, along with obvious thoughts he should have considered before: was this a date? If so, it was the fanciest he'd ever been on. Took his wallet out, preparing himself for the check, however Valentine told him it was covered – which only made him more uncomfortable: he'd never been on a date where he hadn't paid, and in that discomfort he asked, "How did you get this table?"
"I was owed a favor."
"Did that favor include the meal, as well?"
"If it did?" Valentine returned, more amused at Luke's directness than offended, yet he was only trying to fit together the pieces. "I'd thank you, regardless."
"It is the least I could do." Now Valentine was saying it too, and even with the meal complete, Luke could still not figure out what it was they were doing, or what he wanted, until, as though he had truly blacked it out of his own memory, the burn on his skin and his lips returned, from grabbing Valentine's hand in his.
"It is belated, but I also wanted to wish you a happy birthday." Luke's vision threatened to go black, accompanied by a sudden ringing in his ears, however like a spotlight was on it, Valentine brought his hand across the table, opened his palm. Luke reached for it, and it became deadweight Valentine quickly supported, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles, which Luke observed like a hawk, only to belatedly realize Valentine was keeping an eagle eye on him. Yet only when Valentine had Luke's undivided attention did he speak again, veiled, "As you may have also surmised, I am sorry I left that night. Allow me to make it up to you."
They made their way past the shielding curtains, down the staircase, moving amongst the crowd until they were out of it, outside, snow still swirling, waiting for Luke's truck to be returned, and since Valentine had apparently walked, he hopped into the pickup as well, and gave the driver directions. With the passing lights, Luke kept getting distracted by the glint of a heavy bronze ring on Valentine's left hand. He had often worn a family ring when he was younger, but Luke doubted he would do so now, in the interest of moving about undetected. Luke had not been sure what the design was at first, a mass of crisscrossing swirls, until the shape had finally registered to him as a snake, wrapped and knotted around the finger, complete with an emerald eye and diamond tail.
Valentine caught him looking when they were stopped at a light, and answered his unspoken interest. "A reminder to myself. Of what I am capable of." Luke could not deny it, and also was not sure what that said about him, as he had followed along blindly with all of Valentine's plans for the evening, including now heading to Roosevelt Island, and once getting there, pulling up to the ruins of what looked to be an old school perhaps – Valentine told him it was originally a hospital.
The once grand stone walls were heavily glamoured, but unlike the headache Valentine's efforts had incited, the disguise was so complete he saw and sensed nothing amiss, even after Valentine informed Luke he'd already driven though it, his green truck covered by it for the duration of his stay.
Had to blink and stare, focus and channel the eyes and power of the wolf, to finally break the spell, for the ruins to take the form of a closed and solid structure, for him to locate the stone stairs, only a few steps, leading up to double doors. This was all beyond Valentine's doing, and Luke wondered what favor had been exchanged for him to be allowed to stay here, yet Valentine had assured him they were very much alone.
The inside was laid out like a luxury hotel, complete with lobby and lounge. Though he supposed that made some sense: the hospital would have needed a main entrance, was meant to house many people. It also reminded him of the Morgenstern Manor, though he would wager the furnishings here were even more valuable: this was a museum level collection. Someone very wealthy, or someone who had lived and acquired over a long period, and with the level of magic outside, Luke highly suspected this was a warlock's abode. Had half a mind to tell Magnus about it, next time he saw him. Talk about owing someone favors…
But he had not come here for a tour or an art exhibition, as Valentine led him towards a spiral staircase, up to the third floor and highest floor, then down a hall and through a door leading into a suite of sorts, the nicest Luke had ever seen: an enormous rug that was easily worth double the amount he'd paid for his truck, that caused him to automatically take off his shoes; an inlaid mosaic table in front of a blue velvet couch that they sat down upon, but not before Valentine lit the large fireplace supernaturally quick – but they weren't here to talk about Valentine's newfound ability, to bring forth into being literal fire, or to talk about anything, at least not immediately, not with the taste of mint on Valentine's breath pressing in against his own; his glasses removed and placed upon that inlaid mosaic; his suit jacket slid off his shoulders and waistcoat buttons undone.
Tried to catch his breath, which was leaving too quick, tried to steady his dizzy head, maybe that would stop his stomach flipping around, but only caught sight of Valentine's teeth glowing in the light when Luke pulled away slightly, fang-like, like the snake he wore on his ring, the charm and gifted tongue he could never control, and Luke wondered yet again if he was making a mistake. He was the leader of a werewolf pack, had other duties and responsibilities, yet also felt he had no one to blame but himself. Valentine had not forced or coerced, talked him into anything, Luke was here of his own choosing because he wanted to be with his parabatai, didn't want him to leave him again, even if it was only a fantasy that could be sustained a single night, no matter how pitiful it all made him feel. So he didn't put a stop to it when they stood, Valentine's jacket left behind, then entered a room Luke took little notice of except the four poster bed with heavy drapes, that he very quickly was laying upon, while Valentine very quickly took off his many layers of shirts, leaving only skin and runes on display, and Luke was surprised there were many more than last summer, making Luke feel a fool, that he had not considered sooner Valentine's motives for coming to the city at this time, what he would need runes for stealth and speed for, night vision, even if they were only precautions. Valentine had other business here, besides seeing him, but he shook his head, carried on, knew this would never be permanent, maybe he was seeking some substitute for what they'd once had, the rune that had not been as permanent as he'd hoped, the blank space it once occupied on Valentine's breast proof of that. Yet the marriage rune on his arm was also gone, just as Valentine had said it was. Nothing was permanent anyway, he'd learned that the hard way, so live for the moment, that's what he'd told himself so many times, when he was wandering on his own, don't think about yesterday, and don't think about tomorrow, and it was serving him in good stead tonight, to not get attached to something that would never be his. So when Valentine whispered in his ear that he had grown thin, and urged him to take better care, Luke took it as a piece of friendly advice. However, he wished the world would stop spinning, his throat was not constricted, and his stomach to settle down. And just when it dawned on him the feverish sweat he was breaking out in was not due to what they were doing, it was too late. Luke had forgotten the major change his skin displayed, the scar across his now uncovered thigh, his belt loosened and pants stuck around his knees, that Valentine was now staring at, stock-still and undeniably sad, saying nothing. Luke barely looked at it himself, however the wave of nausea would no longer be contained, and he was out of the bed in a surprisingly athletic movement, running for what he could only hope was the bathroom. Thankfully it was, as he shut the door behind him and proceeded to vomit what had to be hundreds of dollars worth of food, until his throat and abdomen stopped spasming, and bile was all he could taste. He cleaned up as best he could, saw he had sweated through his button down, nothing he could do about that, and prepared himself to open the door, only to find Valentine was no longer there, had left a light on by the bed, but had otherwise vacated the room, closing the door too.
So Luke continued retracing his steps, finding Valentine by the fire, along with Luke's jacket and tie. Valentine turned to face him, and Luke tried to say what he had planned, that he should go, except he couldn't spit it out, and when Valentine once again held out a hand to him, Luke took it, sat down next to him on the couch. Followed Valentine's suggestion: take a shower and stay the night. Didn't want to get back in his clothes afterwards, was confused, more than he should be, about what to do, ended up just keeping his shorts on, and laying down. Sheets were nice, better than his, so were the pillows. Valentine turned off the bedside light, and Luke's eyes closed involuntarily at the feeling of Valentine taking hold of a lock of his hair, wrapping it and pulling it through his fingers. Kept doing it, even as Luke felt himself involuntarily falling asleep.