#so alucard's remark *feels* like the prelude of some sassy banter

[beevean]

🌹🌹🌹

Adrian shifts the sword until it’s in front of the quill and bottle of ink on his desk. The reflection is still blurry, and that won’t do, he won’t be satisfied until the blade can be used as a makeshift mirror.

(Not by him. He lifts the bottle an inch off the desk: according to the sword, it has started to levitate on its own. While he can handle it without harm, it must be imbued with too much holy power to recognize Adrian’s existence. He figures the reason Mother never introduced him to her parents.)

The pungent smell of polishing oil has invaded the entire workplace and Adrian’s nostrils, and it looks like he has spilled more of it on his gloves than on the sword he was meant to clean. With a huff, Adrian sets himself to continue his task, when a couple of knocks catch him by surprise – and then, a surge of happiness.

More than that sound, he would recognize that heartbeat anywhere.

After carefully setting the sword and removing the dirty gloves, Adrian springs to his feet to welcome Hector, after what seems to have been years: and his brother steps inside the room and wraps his arms around Adrian, pulling him close without hesitation, carrying with him the warmth of his smile… and the stench of sweat and blasphemy.

“You reek of sulfur,” are the first words that come out of Adrian’s curled lip. It is not the politest of greetings, he is aware: he does not need Hector’s frown or his arms falling dejectedly on his sides. It simply is hard to ignore.

“I Forged until I could no longer feel my fingers to buy myself some time,” Hector retorts, smoothing his uniform without need. “I apologize for my state, but I… I felt the need to see you. That is all.”

It is exactly how Adrian had been feeling, but hearing it from Hector, with such candid honesty, can’t help but touch him deeply. He’s at loss to express the swelling of fondness in his chest, so he sets for fixing Hector’s collar, again without need.

Hector opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say is lost when he peers over Adrian’s shoulder, attracted by something. “Am I interrupting you?”

Oh, it must be a peculiar sight, having a sword resting on a common desk. “No, it’s nothing urgent. I was simply doing something I had been procrastinating on for too long.”

“If you need help with weapons, I can help you…”

“You just said that you overworked yourself to the point of exhaustion only to visit me.”

Not loading even more responsibilities on Hector’s shoulders was only one of the reasons he did not think to ask him for help. That is his Mother’s sword, a rusty sword that he dared not touch ever since it was brought to him along with a shield and armor. He did not even know Mother was in possession of such regalia. Adrian may not know the most advanced spells to take care of delicate weapon, but it would not be right to delegate the job to any smith or even a trusted Devil Forgemaster: he can’t avoid his heirloom for the rest of his existence.

Even if his only accomplishment so far has been soaking himself in polish oil.