Beyond the Grave [ILLUMI X CHROLLO]

[24] Wrath

Illumi's voice had left the building. Pride's eyes weren't nearly as livid as he'd anticipated if caught, but that apathy was hardly reassuring.

Pride tipped his chin, eyes dipping down to the papers falling limply from Illumi's hand and into the box. "Those must be from Chrollo."

His only logical explanation for this came in the form of a whisper. "Wrath," Illumi said.

"He's with your brother," Pride said. After a beat of awkward silence, the couple sitting next to Illumi had had enough of overhearing Pride talk to himself and got up to leave. When the seat was emptied, Pride gestured to it. "May I?"

"Yes."

He sat.

Illumi could only stare at him, even as his hands floundered with the lid on the box. He tied the twine haphazardly back around the box as he watched Pride wave to the waitress amicably, like he hadn't just walked in on Illumi nearly two hours before their designated "custody switch" attempting a meet-and-greet with Wrath and his wings.

"You're angry."

"I'm not angry."

"Clearly there's a reason you're here—early, might I add."

Pride leant his chin against the back of his wrist, elbow to the counter. He tipped his head to the side, sparing Illumi one suspicious glance and then another full of mirth. He scoffed as the waitress deposited a menu before him and left.

Illumi's teeth churned against one another, jaw wrung tight. "Have you spoken with Wrath?"

"Have I indeed," Pride hummed, cheerily. "I think I'll order the eggs benedict."

Illumi slapped his hand down over the menu, which did little to obscure Pride's view of the grainy photos and prices. "Did you?"

"Clearly," Pride said, dropping the menu. He crossed his arms and leant back against the flimsy backing on the stool. The white cushion flushed with turquoise where Pride touched down. "And I see your reasoning. For going to him rather than me."

His eyes, however bright and scarlet, had a tense, squinty edge that tightened the longer Illumi stayed quiet. The radiance was palpable, and it curled the immaterial hairs on Illumi's arms—like raw, dry heat from a fire close enough to scorch his eyebrows.

"You are angry," Illumi said again.

Pride rolled his eyes. "I am not. Do not put words in my mouth."

But I've felt your anger before, Illumi wanted to say, and knew this was it.

"Fine," he said instead. "Why did Wrath tell you?"

"Now who am I to put words in his mouth," Pride remarked with yet another scoff, clicking his teeth. "He's become irritatingly good at hiding his thoughts. Such is adolescence."

"So he didn't say?"

"No. Only that you'd be meeting my wings here."

Frustration reared its ugly head. Illumi's shoulders tightened, boxes pushed onto the counter. He gripped the edge of the counter, sighed, and let his head sag between his arms.

The one thing he'd wanted to avoid, and Wrath had blundered it and hadn't had the foresight to consider what Pride being here meant to Itadori—to Illumi.

"I don't see why you're so upset," Pride sighed, bored.

Illumi glared up past the fringe of his hair, meeting Pride's scarlet gaze. "I'm surprised you aren't more upset," Illumi said. He straightened a fraction, took a deep breath, and said, "I could have handled Itadori, but his only agreement to continue meeting me and Wrath was if you never got involved."