Neon Lights

10

"Begun? Begun what?" Callisto wasn't sure what to make of what he had heard.

Draven glanced at him but he didn't reply, instead he walked away from him to a row of shelves past the fireplace. Right behind an intricately designed table with a deep rich brown colour, he reached for a cabinet with glass doors. Pushing it aside, soft clinks reverberated into the air as fingers shifted through bottles until he picked one. From where Callisto stood, he couldn't really see what the liquid sloshing in the weirdly shaped bottle was — not until Draven also picked out two glasses with his other hand.

Leaving the cupboard door open, the taller man made his way to his desk and placed the glasses on the table. Pouring what seemed like a darkly coloured liquid into two glasses, he placed the bottle down after a bit and took one glass, sipping at the drink. Immediately, Callisto was hit with a particular smell that had him wanting to scrunch his nose at. It was almost bitter with a hint of spice in the air — a weird combination if he was being honest and he wasn't sure how his brain conjured such a statement of the smell, but that was what it reminded him of.

"Want a glass?" Draven said, shaking the one in his hands a little.

Callisto didn't think this was the time to drink, but the words were more or less stuck in his throat. Swallowing past the dryness accumulating in his mouth, he took in a deep breath. Perhaps this was all a game to the man before him — waiting until he broke down before he would be picked up from the ground and toyed with. And knowing Draven from the days he had a chance to know him, he wouldn't past the other man.

"Begun what?" Callisto said, repeating the ignored question, this time with a bit more force in his voice than before.

"Guess not," Draven mumbled, taking another sip of the drink as he walked back to the couch near the fireplace. Sitting down, he leaned into the cushions. "Demanding things from me isn't really going to get you anywhere, Cal."

Cal. How long had it been since he had heard Draven call him that? And it took him off guard with how much familiarity was in the way he pronounced his nickname. Almost like a fool, there was a spark in his chest that made his heart skip a beat. As if he had been transported back to the time where he had given his everything to the man he loved and expected to be treated the same.

What an idiot he was being. Five years had passed, and he barely changed after all.

Anger bubbled in him, more so at himself than at anything else, followed by the frustration at his own weakness. If he could have saved Luna by himself, he wouldn't need to be here, asking for the help of this cruel man here — and he wouldn't have been gotten hurt when Rave decided to play to the tune of unfairness of the world.

Threatening to consume him was the thought of his own uselessness, and his father's drunken jeering that he grew up with almost made a comeback like a loud siren in his head. Before that dam could be broken and sink him into a depths of darkness, he narrowed his eyes at Draven.

There was nothing he could do right now, and while he hated it, his ex-lover was the only person who could tell him about Luna.

And that meant playing his tune just for a bit, no matter how much he didn't want to.

Stupid weak Callisto.

"I would like to know what happened to my sister, Draven," he said, trying to stop his voice from hardening and sharpening — not when the other man simple leaned further into his couch and continued to drink, eyeing him from the rim of his glass. "She's... my only family. So, if you know anything about where she is, I want to know."

A few seconds of silence passed before Draven moved to sit a little forward, placing his forearms on his knees. He dropped his gaze to the coffee table before him, not saying a thing. With each ticking of an imaginary clock in Callisto's head, the frustration increased by a notch until he was sure it would bubble out of him and make him act irrationally. For a few times, he opened his mouth to say something before he forced himself to swallow back the words — and in half of them, they were nothing but curses at Draven.