Work Text:
The night was warm, unsuited for the season but perfect for the occasion. There were no cameras, no red carpets, no expectations to meet. Only the soft murmur of the fountain in the Al-Asim residence’s private garden and the distant clinking of crystal glasses.
Vil sighed, allowing his shoulders, usually tense from the perfect posture his career demanded, to relax millimetrically. They were in a secluded corner of the terrace, hidden by a cascade of bougainvillea that offered them a momentary sanctuary.
"The moon is exquisite tonight, don't you think, Roi du Poison?" whispered Rook, leaning on the stone balustrade. His voice held that soft tone reserved only for moments when no one else was around, far from the eccentric persona he usually projected.
Vil swirled the mineral water in his glass and looked at his partner. Rook wasn't wearing his hat tonight; his blonde hair shone under the dim garden lamps, giving him a more youthful air.
"It is an acceptable night," Vil conceded with a half-smile, placing the glass on a nearby table. "Although the company improves the scenery considerably."
Rook chuckled softly and moved closer, closing the distance between them with the confidence of habit. They had been doing this for years. Years of subtle touches, of glances that said ‘I love you’ in the middle of crowded sets, of sneaking in and out of apartments through back doors and service corridors. They were experts at being invisible in plain sight, masters of disguise. But here, in the safety of a private party with old school friends where the vast majority already knew about their relationship, their guard inevitably dropped.
Vil cupped Rook's face in his hands. His thumbs caressed the hunter's cheekbones delicately.
"You’re tired," Vil murmured, noticing an imperceptible tension in Rook’s jaw. "Is managing my schedule for Fashion Week a hunt that requires too much energy?"
"It is… let me recharge..." Rook replied, leaning into the touch.
It was a slow kiss, without the urgency of unbridled passion but with the deep familiarity of two souls who know every corner of the other. Rook wrapped his arms around Vil’s waist, pulling him close, closing his eyes and letting himself get carried away by the scent of lavender and luxury cosmetics that always radiated from Vil. The outside world ceased to exist for a few seconds.
However, about twenty meters away, near the snack table, the usual chaos was taking place, oblivious to the couple's intimacy.
"Jamil! Jamil, look! They’re serving coconut sorbet!" exclaimed Kalim, eyes shining like stars, pointing at the dessert table.
"Kalim, you just ate three plates of curry. You’re going to get a stomach ache," warned Jamil, crossing his arms, although his expression was more of resignation than actual anger.
"Just one! Come on, take a picture with me to remember the night! The lighting here is great!"
Kalim raised his latest-model phone before Jamil could protest. He extended his arm, searching for the perfect angle where the moonlight would hit their smiles and the festive atmosphere of the garden.
"Say 'banquet'!"
"Nobody says that..." sighed Jamil, but he looked at the camera out of pure muscle memory.
Click.
Kalim didn't even check the image. He was too excited about the sorbet.
"To Magicam! Everyone has to see what a great time we’re having!" His fingers flew across the screen, adding sun emojis, hearts, and sparkles before pressing "Post".
In the background, way in the background, among the out-of-focus shadows of the bougainvillea, two figures had just separated a centimeter after a kiss, totally ignorant that their secret had just been immortalized.
The calm remained during the night, but the storm came with the sunrise.
The next morning began like any other at Vil's Penthouse. The sun filtered through the automatic curtains at 7:00 AM sharp. Rook was already awake, of course, going through his morning ritual in the kitchen, cutting kiwis into geometrically perfect slices for Vil's smoothie.
The silence in the kitchen was comfortable, only broken by the sound of the knife against the board.
But the peace was shattered. Not with a scream, but a buzzing. Rook's phone, left on the marble counter, vibrated. Then it vibrated again. And again. In a matter of seconds, the buzzing turned into a continuous purr, aggressive and alarming when "Do Not Disturb" mode turned off exactly at 7:10.
Rook frowned, placing the knife down carefully.
"What creature is so restless at this hour?" he muttered to himself.
He unlocked the screen and the device's light illuminated his confused face. 99+ notifications from Magicam. 50 missed calls from press agencies. 12 messages from Jamil Viper. 783 messages from Kalim Al-Asim.
Rook arched an eyebrow; Jamil never texted unless it was a cataclysmic level emergency. He opened Jamil's chat first. There was only a link to a post by Kalim (already deleted according to the system), a screenshot, and apology messages.
Rook zoomed in on the image. His green eyes, usually sharp and calculating, widened with a mix of horror and fascination. There they were. Blurry, grainy, barely silhouettes in the corner of a cheerful photo. But unmistakable. Vil's posture, the way Rook tilted his head, the kiss.
"Oh, non..."
"Rook..."
Vil's voice sounded from the kitchen doorway, ice cold. He didn't sound angry; he sounded tired. Rook turned slowly. Vil was standing there, wrapped in his violet silk robe, holding his own tablet with two fingers as if it were an object contaminated by toxic waste.
"I assume you've already seen Kalim's work of art," said Vil, walking to the kitchen island and sitting on a high stool. His face was impassive, that perfect porcelain mask he wore when the world was crumbling around him.
"I’m sorry, Vil. I should have been more attentive to the environment. My radar failed," Rook apologized immediately, feeling a pang of guilt in his chest. He was the manager. He was the protector. He was supposed to see the danger before it saw them.
"Don't be ridiculous. We were at a private party. It’s not your fault Kalim has the situational awareness of a magic carpet," Vil set the tablet face down with a sharp thud. "'Vil Schoenheit kissing a mysterious man'. It’s the number one trend on three continents."
Rook looked out the penthouse windows toward the city. Down there, the world was waking up, hungry for gossip. He had always enjoyed watching people from the heights, like a hawk in its nest. Now, he felt like a thousand shotguns were pointing up, waiting for him to poke his head out.
Not even two hours passed when the building's intercom announced emergency visitors. Rook opened the door and, before he could say bonjour, a white and gold blur threw itself at his feet in an act of dramatic contrition.
"I'M SORRY! I AM SO, SO SORRY! I'M AN IDIOT!"
Kalim was practically on his knees in the immaculate marble foyer, hands clasped in a plea. Behind him, Jamil was massaging his temples with such force that he looked like he wanted to drill into his own skull to escape reality.
"Kalim, get up, you're wrinkling the rug," ordered Vil, appearing down the hall, already impeccably dressed though wearing dark sunglasses to hide any trace of stress or lack of sleep.
Kalim jumped up, eyes full of genuine tears.
"Vil! Rook! I swear I didn't see you. I was just so happy about the sorbet and the music and... Ugh! I’m terrible!" Kalim started frantically searching his pockets. "I can fix it! Do you want me to buy the magazine that ran the story first and shut it down? I can buy Magicam and wipe the photo from the servers! Or I can say it was me disguised as Vil!"
"Kalim, please stop," Jamil intervened, his voice heavy with ancient exhaustion. "You can't buy a social network in five minutes, and no one is going to believe you were Vil. Look at yourself."
"But I have to do something!" Kalim moaned desperately. "I've ruined your secret! I know how much you value your privacy. Rook always hides behind columns when we go to dinner…"
Rook, despite the tension knotting his stomach, couldn't help but smile slightly at Kalim's brutal honesty and clumsy kindness. He put a hand on the heir's shoulder to calm him.
"Monsieur Multi-millionaire, your heart is as big as your fortune. There was no malice in your action, only carelessness. We forgive you."
"Really?" sobbed Kalim.
"Really," confirmed Vil, crossing his arms. "But the next time you take out that phone, Jamil has express permission to throw it into the sea."
"THANK YOU SO MUCH! I will never take a photo again in my life…" said Kalim between tears and gratitude.
"Rook and I were going to watch a series to prolong the calm a bit. Will you join us?"
Although forgiveness was granted, the reality outside the Penthouse was not so kind. The true magnitude of the problem didn't hit Rook until three days later. They had stayed locked inside, letting Vil's PR team issue vague statements to buy time. But the fridge was empty of fresh produce, and Rook had an unbreakable rule: he selected Vil's fruit personally. No one else had the eye to distinguish perfect ripeness.
He put on a simple cap, dark glasses, and a nondescript beige jacket. The perfect urban camouflage to blend into the crowd. He left the building through the service door, feeling the fresh air like a blessing. He walked two blocks, breathing easy, feeling safe in his invisibility. He entered the luxury organic market, picked up an apple, inspecting its shine, its texture...
"IT'S HIM! THE GUY FROM THE PHOTO!"
The shout broke his concentration like a gunshot. Rook turned, instinctively looking for an escape route, but it was too late. Three flashes exploded in his face, blinding him momentarily.
"Sir! Are you Vil Schoenheit's partner?"
"Look here! A smile!"
"Is it true you've been living together for five years?"
"What do you think of the rumors that Vil supports you?"
Rook stepped back, bumping into a shelf of artisanal jams. The sound of jars clashing was deafening to his heightened senses. The normal people in the market took out their phones. They were no longer shoppers; they were observers. And he was not the hunter. He was the deer caught in the headlights.
"Please, I desire privacy," said Rook, his usually melodious voice sounding tense, metallic, and strange to his own ears.
"Just one photo! Sir!"
He felt a hand grab his sleeve. Instinct took over. He pulled away with a sharp, almost defensive movement, and the basket of apples fell to the floor, rolling down the aisle. The silence that followed was terrible. Rook saw his own reflection in the lens of a huge camera: scared, cornered, vulgarly exposed.
He ran out. He, Rook Hunt, who could stalk a leopard undetected, had to flee a grocery store like a fugitive.
That night, the atmosphere in the Penthouse was suffocating.
Vil was on the sofa, reviewing the photos already circulating on the internet with sensationalist headlines: "Vil Schoenheit's mysterious boyfriend causes scene at local market". Rook stood in front of the window, looking at the city, but this time with the curtains almost drawn, leaving only a slit of light.
"I can't do it, Vil," said Rook quietly. There was no drama in his tone, only crushing defeat.
Vil looked up immediately. "Do what?"
"This." Rook pointed outside. "I can't be a public figure. My nature... my entire being is based on observation. I am the one who watches, not the one who is watched. When those cameras point at me, I feel like they are stealing my soul, mon roi. I can't go buy you apples. I can't walk through the park to see the birds without someone analyzing my clothes… I… I can't…"
Vil stood up slowly. He put down the tablet and walked over to Rook, stopping a step away, respecting his space but offering his presence.
"You knew who I was when we started this, Rook."
"I knew. And I accepted being your shadow. But a shadow has no face. Now... now everyone knows who I am. I feel naked."
Vil pressed his lips together. He saw the genuine pain in Rook's eyes. Rook didn't seek fame; he actively loathed it. And Vil, who lived and breathed for public adoration, felt guilty for the first time about his own overwhelming success.
"Rook." Vil took Rook's hands in his. They were cold. "You’re right. It’s unfair. Now you are a public figure and there is nothing I can do to prevent it, except…"
"I don't want to leave you," Rook rushed to say, squeezing Vil's hands in desperation. "You are the muse of my life. But I don't know how to survive in your world without my invisibility cloak."
Vil sighed and rested his forehead against Rook's. He closed his eyes, thinking, calculating. There was always a solution. Vil Schoenheit never surrendered to an aesthetic or logistical problem.
"You can't go back to being invisible, Rook. That door closed. But... we can change the way they look at you."
"How?"
"If you hide, you are prey. The press smells fear; it feeds on evasion. They chase you because you are a mystery, an anomaly they don't understand." Vil opened his eyes, shining with that iron determination that had taken him to the top. "We have to bore them. We have to saturate the market."
"Saturate?"
"We are going to give them everything. Photos, stories, appearances. We are going to control the narrative. If I upload a photo with you having breakfast in high definition, the blurry photo they take of you on the street loses commercial value. If we speak, they shut up. I will teach you not to be prey. I will teach you to be a predator under the spotlights."
The process was slow but steady. At first, Rook felt stiff in every photo Vil uploaded; his smiles looked forced and his eyes searched for emergency exits. But Vil was patient, guiding him like a director with his star actor.
"Don't look at the camera as if it were a weapon, Rook. Look at it as if it were a rare bird you want to study," Vil instructed him one quiet afternoon on the balcony. "You have control. You decide what they see."
Little by little, it worked. Vil's social media filled with "everyday life". Rook reading French poetry aloud, Rook cooking with almost surgical precision, Vil putting a face mask on Rook while he laughed. The public calmed down. The novelty wore off. Rook stopped being "the scandalous mysterious lover" and became "Rook, Vil's aesthetic boyfriend".
Rook discovered that if he walked with his head high and projected his intimidating aura, people hesitated to approach. He regained a part of his control. He even accepted that joint modeling contract for Ovis when offered. He discovered that posing wasn't so different from drawing a bow: it required stillness, precision, breathing, and focus. Six months later, life was quiet again. They could go out to dinner. People greeted them, yes, but there was no longer hysteria. They had found a new balance in the eye of the hurricane.
Everything seemed to have returned to its course until that golden autumn afternoon.
They had attended a charity gala organized, once again, by the Al-Asim family. This time, Rook made sure to check every angle, every camera, every possible reflection. He was safe. The event was coming to an end and the guests were beginning to disperse into the gardens and adjoining halls.
Rook led Vil discreetly toward one of the side galleries, a quiet space with high ceilings and white columns overlooking the gardens. The sunset light streamed through the large open arches, bathing the marble floor in amber tones.
"Is everything okay?" asked Vil, noticing Rook stopping and taking his hand with unusual firmness.
"Better than okay," Rook replied. His heart beat with the force of a war drum, but his hands didn't shake. He had hunted dangerous beasts and faced storms, but nothing compared to this. He reached into his tuxedo pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box.
Vil turned completely, and upon seeing the box, his eyes went wide. He brought a hand to his chest, a totally genuine reaction devoid of any rehearsal.
"Rook..."
Rook went down on one knee. The movement was fluid, the culmination of years of silent devotion.
"Vil, you have been my light, my muse, and my king. We have survived the darkness and we have conquered the public light. Would you allow me to walk beside you, no longer as your shadow but as your equal, for the rest of our lives?"
Vil opened his mouth to answer, eyes shining with contained emotion. He nodded, unable to formulate words for a moment, and held out his left hand while covering his mouth with the other, holding back as much as possible to not cry and ruin his makeup.
It was a perfect moment. Private. Theirs.
Or at least, that's what they thought.
A few meters back, in the main hall connecting to the gallery, Kalim was euphoric. The party had been a resounding success and he wanted to capture the magnitude of the event.
"Jamil, look how beautiful the gallery looks with this light! I have to take a panoramic photo of the whole room before we go!"
Kalim raised his phone, backing up to frame as much space as possible: the chandeliers, the decorated tables, and the majestic arches leading outside. "There! Perfect!" he exclaimed, and pressed the shutter button.
Rook, who had just slipped the ring onto Vil's finger and was getting up to kiss him, heard the faint digital sound of a camera. It wasn't a flash; it was the sound of a simulated cell phone shutter. His instinct activated. He turned his head toward the hall.
Through the gallery arch, at a considerable distance but perfectly visible, he saw Kalim lowering his phone with a satisfied smile, totally oblivious to the two figures that had just been immortalized in the exact center of his panoramic shot, outlined against the sunset light.
Before Rook could say a word, Vil's phone vibrated in his hand.
Magicam Notification: Kalim_Al_Asim has shared a new photo.
Vil looked at the screen. The photo was spectacular, a wide and luxurious shot of the event. The caption read: "What a beautiful end to a perfect afternoon! Today's light is magical ✨ #Al-AsimGala #Sunset".
And there, in the background, perfectly framed under the central arch as if they were protagonists of a Renaissance painting, were them. The man kneeling. The man accepting. The unmistakable silhouette of engagement.
Comments started appearing in real time, sliding across the bottom of the screen at breakneck speed. "IS THAT...?" "HE'S PROPOSING!" "THERE'S A WEDDING!"
Rook looked at Vil, expecting to see panic, anger, or the frustration of the first time. But Vil was looking at the photo with a strange expression. Then he looked at Rook, and then at the ring on his finger.
"Well," said Vil, letting out a sigh that transformed into a soft laugh. "At least the composition of the photo is impeccable. The rule of thirds is perfectly applied."
Rook blinked, surprised, and then the tension left his body in an honest laugh.
"Kalim's eye is as sharp as it is innocent," said Rook, hugging his fiancé around the waist, no longer caring who might be watching from the hall. "I guess we don't have to worry about how to break the news anymore."
"Certainly not," Vil replied, resting his head on Rook's shoulder as he put his phone away. "Although I think Jamil is going to need a very long vacation when he sees this."
Rook kissed Vil's temple, accepting his fate. The hunt was over, and although there were no longer shadows to hide in, the light wasn't so bad as long as they faced it together.
.
.
.
.
.
EXTRA
The sunlight filtered through the cream silk curtains, not like an annoying intruder, but like a warm caress over the king-size bed.
Vil woke slowly. There was no alarm, no rush, no immediate mental list of tasks and skincare routines. There was only a delicious heaviness in his limbs and a solid warmth pressed against his back.
He shifted a little between the rumpled sheets, and the movement caused the arm around his waist to tighten slightly, in a possessive and protective gesture. Vil smiled against the pillow. He shifted slightly in the rumpled sheets, and the movement caused the arm around his waist to tighten gently, in a possessive and protective gesture. Vil smiled into the pillow.
"You've been awake for at least half an hour, haven't you?" murmured Vil, his voice still raspy from sleep (and other more pleasurable activities from the night before).
"Forty-five minutes, to be exact, mon roi," replied Rook's voice right in his ear, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. "The light hitting your eyelashes creates a spectacle that no museum in the world could replicate. It would be a crime to close my eyes before such beauty."
Vil turned slowly until he was face to face with Rook. The hunter had messy hair in a way that would normally make Vil want to fix it, but now just seemed endearing. There were faint marks on Rook's shoulders, silent evidence of last night's passion, the private celebration of their engagement.
Vil raised his hand to caress Rook's cheek. The diamond on his ring finger caught a sunbeam and cast sparkles all over the room.
"Flatterer," whispered Vil, although he leaned in to kiss the tip of Rook's nose.
"Just an honest observer." Rook captured Vil's hand and kissed the ring, then the wrist, and then the palm. "How do you feel, mon futur mari?"
"Like I got run over by a carriage... in the best way possible," Vil admitted, stretching like a satisfied kitten.
The moment was perfect. The outside world didn't exist. There was no press, there were no fans, there were no expectations. Only the two of them in their bubble of post-engagement bliss. Vil closed his eyes, ready to suggest ordering breakfast in bed and not leaving there until noon.
But the universe —and a certain heir— had other plans.
Vil's phone, which lay forgotten on the nightstand on a pile of clothes from the night before, began to vibrate with the violence of an earthquake.
BZZT. BZZT. BZZT.
Vil groaned, burying his face in Rook's chest.
"Ignore it. Whoever it is, is fired… Or dead."
"Mon beau, I think that is the custom ringtone you assigned to Monsieur Multi-millionaire," noted Rook with amusement.
Vil opened one eye, resigned. He reached out, felt around the table until he found the device and answered without looking, putting it on speaker.
"If there isn't a fire, Kalim, I swear that..."
"VIL! ROOK! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY AGAIN! I'M A DISASTER!"
Kalim's voice filled the room, so loud and full of panic that Vil had to pull the phone away from his ear. Rook let out a silent laugh, shaking the bed.
"Kalim... it's eight in the morning..."
"I know! I just woke up! Jamil brought me breakfast and asked if I had checked my Magicam, and I told him no, and then he showed me the photo and... AAAAAHH!" A sound of something falling was heard on the other end of the line, probably a lamp. "I didn't realize! I was so focused on the room lighting capturing the texture of the curtains that I didn't see the background! Jamil is looking at me with that 'I told you so' face and it's very scary!"
Vil rubbed his temples, but the smile on his lips didn't disappear. He looked at Rook, who winked at him.
"Kalim, breathe."
"I'm going to delete it! I'm deleting it right now! Even though it already has three million likes and people are making fanart, but I'll delete it!"
"No, Kalim," interrupted Vil calmly. "Leave it."
There was a three-second silence on the other end of the line.
"Huh? Really? You're not mad? You're not going to send me a beauty curse that makes me break out in pimples?"
Rook leaned toward the phone.
"Monsieur Al-Asim, your lens captured the happiest moment of our lives. Consider that photo your early wedding gift. Although, please... try to look at the background of your photos next time."
"Oh! Oh thank you! Yes! I promise! From now on, I'll only take selfies with white walls behind me! Congratulations! I'm so happy! I'm going to throw you the best engagement party in the world! I have to call the elephants! Bye!"
And he hung up.
Silence returned to the room. Vil let the phone drop onto the sheets and let out a long sigh.
"Elephants…" repeated Vil. "He said elephants."
"I think our quiet life is over for good, mon cher," said Rook, pulling Vil back into his arms.
"Perhaps." Vil settled into the crook of Rook's neck, closing his eyes. "But as long as I have my faithful hunter to capture everyone who bothers us, I think it won't be so bad. Will you be there for me, mon chasseur?"
Rook smiled and kissed the crown of his King's head.
"Always."