Shit.
“Sorry,” Troy muttered, doing his best to reinforce his mental shields, but he’d never been particularly great at shielding his emotions.
“Don’t apologize,” Eridan said, looking at him curiously. “Are you really okay? You seem…” He trailed off, something like discomfort appearing on his face. “You seem—you’re unhappy. You’re yearning for something, something you think you can’t have.”
Troy opened his mouth to tell him to mind his own business but closed it when he saw Eridan’s gaze. There was sympathy in it—and understanding too.
Eridan dropped his eyes and smiled sadly, looking at his hands. “I can definitely relate… Did you at least tell them how you feel?”
Troy’s throat was tight. “No,” he said in a rough voice. “What about you?”
Eridan gave a laugh without looking at him. “Sort of. I told him that I want him. I know he wants me back. But he said he won’t be ‘a slave to his base urges’ or some bullshit like that. And that was the end of it.” He lifted his gaze, his violet eyes full of fire. “I hate it, but at least I know he wants me. If I didn’t confront him, I wouldn’t know even that much. And that’s something.” He gave Troy a steady look. “Talk to them. It may not work out, but at least you’d know. It’s better than the uncertainty.”
Troy just looked at him, feeling lost.
But before he could say anything, Eridan’s head whipped toward the t-chamber nearby. A smile tugged at his lips, so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him. It was hard to believe that the smile was directed at the stern, unemotional man who was heading their way.
“Your Grace,” Troy said, hurriedly sitting up straighter. But he shouldn’t have bothered: the Grandmaster didn’t even glance at him, his deep blue eyes fixed on his apprentice.
“Master,” Eridan murmured. The respectful term of address sounded weirdly like a term of endearment.
The Grandmaster didn’t say anything, his blank face betraying no emotion, but Troy could actually feel Master Idhron’s telepathic presence reach out and brush against his apprentice’s, wrapping around him in a rather proprietary manner. Eridan flushed, his eyes glazing over.
Feeling uncomfortable and awkward, as if he’d witnessed something he shouldn’t have, Troy looked back at his computer. He didn’t lift his eyes again until the Grandmaster and his apprentice departed together.
The residual telepathic marks that lingered in the room even after they left—the undeniable intimacy between the Master and his apprentice—made something inside him ache. Troy shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. He felt cold. It was chilly in the old monastery. The air conditioning probably needed to be adjusted again.
Talk to them. It may not work out, but at least you’d know. It’s better than the uncertainty.
Troy sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was getting too long, almost touching his neck. He should probably cut it. He’d been kind of lazy about getting a haircut in the past year because… because…
The memory of long, strong fingers threading through his hair flashed to the forefront of his mind.
Troy clenched his teeth, groaning quietly in frustration. No matter how hard he tried not to think about it—about him—he failed. No matter how busy he was at his new workplace, no matter how many new acquaintances he made, those thoughts kept coming back, and his breath caught in his throat every time he saw black Masters’ robes in his peripheral vision.
Fuck, why couldn’t he move on? He was supposed to have moved on with his life by now. At first he had tried to tell himself that he’d just gotten a little infatuated. Then he’d half-convinced himself that he was simply addicted to the telepathic merges and that was why he was so fixated. But the mind healer he’d seen discreetly a few days ago had disabused him of that notion. There was nothing wrong with him—neither physically nor mentally. He shouldn’t have felt so… so dissatisfied with his life. He had a nice job that didn’t involve putting his mouth on someone’s genitals, a nice little apartment, and he actually had time in the evenings to hang out with his friends. Life was good.
Correction: life should have felt good. He felt… not depressed exactly—but it felt like something was missing. Something essential he was waiting for. Something that would make his life complete. That something stubbornly kept taking the shape of a certain man in his mind, no matter how hard Troy tried not to think about him. The yearning in his chest that he’d stubbornly kept calling “want” for the past year was like an empty, hungry pit now, craving to be filled.
He could no longer deny it: he missed it. He missed him. So damn much. It was more than just want. He’d been fooling himself for months. He missed Andreas. These feelings… they weren’t going to pass.