Caerulum (BL)

[two]

a/n: the cover song for this chapter is "blue moon" by troye sivan for cyril.

—

Aeton decides he must've gotten soft fighting against laboratory simulations all these years. Why else would Cyril's reveal shock him so much? The man was raised and bred to be a brilliant mind for a weapons tech organization, so it was blatantly obvious how important the country viewed its military.

Still, an all-out war's kinda extreme...

He hasn't seen any mention of it in the news besides reports of unrest from the borders. Most countries are at peace in the year 2146 G.E. (Global Era), with the Earth divided into six distinct nations based on the continents.

Dammit, I don't got time ta worry about this!

His eyes swivel towards the large double oak doors leading to the private study in Cyril's house—no, mansion. Greeting the parents had been a stilted affair, but now Cyril is shut up inside with his guardians talking about who knows what. Just as Aeton's imagination slips into ridiculous scenes of Cyril being house-confined or his mother offering Aeton a handsome check to leave her son alone, the doors creak open and Cyril steps out.

Aeton immediately rises from the white plush leather couch to meet him, anxious. "How d'ya go?" he asks, palms suddenly sweaty.

Cyril looks up at him, then back at the doors. Aeton follows his gaze and sees the pristine and proper couple of upper society walk out side-by-side. They're supposed to be in their fifties, but look remarkably well preserved. The mother could easily pass for 35 as she steps forward and opens her arms.

"Dear," she smiles as brilliantly as sharpened glass. "Welcome to the family."

Aeton gapes at her.

"Don't be shy, son," her husband steps up, looking coolly refined. "After all, you're one of us now."

Aeton stares at him too. Whatever happened to the prejudice of the rich?

"You don't like it?" Cyril's voice pipes up, subdued.

"I, uh," Aeton looks between the expectant parents and Cyril's sharp gaze. "It ain't the usual..." For me to have family like this.

Something must show on his face, because the next second Cyril grabs him by the sleeve and hauls him towards the foyer. "Good, because I don't either."

"Oh darling, you can't mean that!" the woman's voice rises to a screech as they reach the entrance.

"Cyril, at least stay for dinner," the man tries, but Cyril's already walking out the door.

"Cyril, wait! Cyril!"

Cyril doesn't stop. He keeps Aeton with him as the lab processes weapon after weapon, test after test. Aeton tries them out with simulations, against other soldiers, in field tests and the occasional VR pods. He's rarely given a moment to rest, but he hardly cares when Cyril seems to be skipping sleep, period.

During a rare lunch break, Aeton works his way into the researcher's observation room. "Cyril—"

"Don't bother me, I'm busy."

"Did ya eat yet?" Aeton demands.

The silver-haired genius doesn't look up from his computer screen. "I'll eat later. You should rest up before the next trial."

"But—"

"Stop distracting me!" Cyril slams the table. It's the first time he's shown such heat, and it throws Aeton off.