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It was early in the morning, and Spyder was already on his way to the Emperor's chambers. Schpood has requested his presence again. He doesn't know what on earth this time he wants this early in the morning, but he already dreads whatever is going to come out of Schpood’s mouth. He crosses the corridors, guards looking at him weirdly, but he's not surprised; he's been there more times than deemed necessary, Schopod requesting his presence at his every whim. He's used to it by now, although he would like some more sleep before dealing with Schpood.
He stops before the door, knocking on it before coming in.
“You wanted to see me, Emperor,” He says while closing the door behind him.
“Ah, Spyder, take a seat,” Schpood greets him, gesturing to the chair opposite him. “Did you have anything to eat yet?” He asks while Spyder goes to sit on the chair, he only shakes his head ‘no’ in response. “Well then, help yourself,” Schpood says with a smile, pushing plates with various treats towards Spyder, and his stomach growls at the sight.
“Surely you didn't call me just to have breakfast with me,” Spyder replies, but puts some fruit on his plate.
“What if I did?” the Emperor teases with a smirk all over his face. “But no, Blue Cross invited me to another pointless meeting, you will go in my place, hm? You know I hate meetings.”
“I will,” Spyder replies, focusing on the food in front of him. There's something in the way Schpood smiles, something in his eyes telling him that's not why he was called there. He pushes it deep down; he doesn't want to deal with it. Maybe it's his brain playing tricks on him.
They sit like this, Spyder avoiding Schpood’s gaze, pretending his hands are more interesting to look at, whatever ends up on his plate more important to focus on. Schpood seems to have had enough of this silence, standing up and going towards the window, turning his back to Spyder. “I was thinking,” He begins, “We make our prisoners fight to death, the winner being cleared of all charges, walking out as a free civilian, but that's a little boring, repetitive, don't you think?”
“What do you have in mind?” Spyder asks carefully, already dreading where this conversation is going.
“What if we make them compete in various projects, trials, or competitions? Who can survive the longest in the pool full of spiders? Who will be the last one standing in a cage with a hungry lion? Who can survive the longest in the boiling water? That is sure to be entertaining, isn't it?” Schpood exclaims, and Spyder knows that a wild smile follows, without looking back. It's an insane idea. Spyder understands fighting for honor, but that's unnecessarily cruel, not everyone deserves a fate like that. He doesn't voice it, of course, he doesn't want to displease Schpood this early in the morning. He chews on the apple, trying to think of what to say, when he feels an arm on his shoulder. “You can be honest, Spyder,” Schpood whispers before pulling away and sitting on the chair in front of him again.
“That's… an intriguing idea,” He replies slowly, unsure.
“So you don't like it,” Schpood states flatly.
“I didn't say that,” Spyder says quickly, defending himself.
“Mm, fear not, I said you can be honest.” He chuckles, the teasing voice coming back to him. “We will speak of it later. I have things to attend to, and you're going with me.”
Today is the trial day, a ‘performance’ in the colosseum as Schpood likes to call it. Prisoners are brought to fight for their honor. Schpood put his insane idea of hunger games on hold, so there isn't anything new to expect, or at least that's what Spyder thinks. He follows the Emperor, two steps behind. They climb up the stairs to the balcony, ‘Glory to Weshelm’ reaching their ears as soon as the Emperor steps onto the balcony, his hand extended upward in a wave, greeting people. As they approach their seats, Spyder notices that there are two chairs next to each other. He's deep in his own thoughts when he feels a hand on the small of his back. His thoughts come to a halt, his face heating up when he realizes it's Schpood's hand.
“Come on, they're waiting for us,” Schpood says, leading him to the edge of the balcony, where their seats are.
He only vaguely hears Schpood giving a speech, too absorbed in his own running thoughts, trying to regulate his heartbeat. He tells himself it's alright, it doesn't mean anything, Schpood is just overly touchy and doesn't get the idea of personal space.
It doesn't mean anything.
The fight begins, but Spyder is too busy trying not to think about how close Schpood sits to him, how their shoulders are practically touching, and how he could clearly see every detail on the other's face.
“Schpood, I don’t think you understand what the fuck you just did.” Spyder hisses, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary.
“Pray tell, what did I do this time?” Schpood asks, amused, leaning on the table.
“Can you be serious for one fucking second? You declared a war on Infernus, and I was the one who had to talk to them for five hours to make them understand you didn't mean it that way, and there isn’t a war happening!” He exclaims, frustrated. Seriously, Spyder is about to pull his hair out. Why is this man so infuriating? And he had the gall to pretend he's innocent!
“Well, it’s not my fault they’re a bunch of pussies who can’t take a joke,” He rolls his eyes, pouring himself some pomegranate juice. “You want some?” He asks lightly and doesn't wait for an answer before pulling out another cup.
“I’m seriously gonna stop cleaning up your messes one of these days and let your precious empire crumble because of your stupidity and carelessness,” Spyder threatens, voice sharp enough to cut through armour, but Schpood doesn’t even move a muscle, sipping his pomegranate juice, unbothered.
“You keep saying that, and yet, you’re still there,” Schpood replies calmly, walking up to the open window and lighting a cigarette. “It makes me wonder, you know, about the kind of man you are,”
“I’m the kind of man who is sick and tired of your careless attitude.” He spits, about to turn around and exit the door, hand hovering over the doorknob.
“More like a loyal one, a one who cares, even, but doesn’t want to admit it,” Schpood lets out a drag of smoke before continuing, “There’s a reason you are my second in command,”
“Looks like you’re gonna have to find someone else then,” Spyder replies, knowing damn well it’s a lie. He walks out and shuts the door.
He still hears a muffled “No, I don't think so, Spyder,” and if his hands curl into fits, no one is there to witness it.
Spyder is sitting in yet another meeting, this time with their council. It beats him how it even still exists, knowing Schpood doesn't give a fuck about what they have to say either way. Maybe he just wants them to think they have some power when they clearly don't, because at the end of the day, Schpood is gonna do what he wants.
Spyder has already learned his lesson and doesn't try to participate in the discussion. He's too deep in his thoughts to do so anyway. The words from their last fight were stuck in his head. The harder he tries to ignore it, the louder it becomes.
Why was he chosen as the second in command? Why him, when there are so many other people, maybe even better than him?
Don’t get him wrong, he knows he's not incompetent, but he isn’t that well-suited for the position either. He has a temper, Schpood being at the end of it most of the time, even as the Emperor. Spyder wonders how he hasn’t been executed for it yet. He isn’t nearly as agreeable and excited about his ideas as one would want.
He doesn’t want to lose his position, of course, but he can’t help but think, wander.
Does his existence amuse Schpood? That's what it is?
He doesn’t want to think about the other possibility. He doesn’t want to entertain his stupid brain.
He doesn’t want to get his hopes up for something that doesn’t exist.
Schpood is just unreasonable and somehow decided that Spyder is the one who will entertain him.
Because the truth is, Spyder has been pathetically in love with him for ages, and he keeps it buried deep within his being so Schpood never finds out about it.
Maybe that’s why, maybe Schpood just knows, maybe he knows Spyder won’t leave him. Perhaps he’s aware that no matter what he does, Spyder will always be there to clean up after him. Because what is love, if not undying loyalty?
Spyder doesn't like to think about it, doesn’t like what it implies.
And yet, it doesn’t change how he feels, even if Schpood will just use it to his advantage, his amusement. Who is Spyder to deny him that?
After all, love can be a sweet poison too.
Spyder is once again on his way towards the Emperor’s chambers, Schpood calling him in the late evening, claiming they need to discuss something.
“Oi, Spyder! If you keep sneaking into the Emperor's rooms this late in the evening, people will start to think you're his mistress or something!” One of the guards calls after him, laughing with his coworkers. Spyder gives him an awkward laugh, pretending it doesn't bother him, pretending the irrational part of him doesn't want it to be true. He should be used to it. It isn't the first time, nor is it the last, when the guards make jokes at him. He ought to get used to it someday, maybe.
He doesn't bother with knocking anymore, since Schpood doesn't answer them anyway. He walks in and sees Schpood sitting on the windowsill, smoking.
“You wanted to discuss something with me?” Spyder asks, closing the door.
“No, I'm bored,” Schpood replies, abandoning his smoke. He sits down on a chair, and pulling out a chessboard, “Play chess with me”.
To say Spyder is surprised would be an understatement, but at the same time, he's not surprised at all. It all sounds like something Schpood would do.
“I'm afraid I'm not very good at chess,” he says, sitting down opposite him. Truly, Spyder didn't even think Schpood would be interested in playing chess . One would assume it's a little boring for his standards.
“Doesn't matter,” Schpood replies with a glint in his eyes. He opens up the wine bottle, pouring it into two cups.
“Alright,” Spyder sighs, moving the first piece.
It's nice, he thinks, playing with Schpood. He's talking about taxes and his new ideas to boost citizen morale, but Spyder finds himself not minding this time. Maybe he's not the best drinker, feeling a little slower just after two cups, but it's okay. He feels good. He even feels himself smiling softly.
“Looks like I lost,” He says, looking at the board, checkmate it is.
“Mm, maybe we should play more often so you could learn,” Schpood suggests, pouring him more wine and lighting another candle. It's well into the night, stars shining, visible through the open window.
“Maybe,” Spyder finds himself agreeing.
“You're much more agreeable when you're drunk,” The other man notes, resting his head on his hand.
“Am I?” Spyder drawls, reaching for his drink.
“Mm, and less guarded, it's nice,” He adds.
And maybe Spyder drank too much, because to his horror, Schpood is right. He's smiling lightly and laughs at his stupid dad jokes. It's embarrassing to realize. His face flushes, but this time not from the alcohol he drank.
“Don't get used to it,” He says, avoiding Schpood's gaze, looking out the window instead.
“Too bad I already did.”
“Spyder, my dear right-hand man, it's good to see you,” Schpood exclaimed, walking up to him.
“What the fuck is happening in here?” He asked, gesturing to all the people scrambling around. The room looked like a mess, with fabrics lying around on the floor, tables overflowing with food, and people moving furniture back and forth.
“You see, while you were gone, I had a brilliant idea! We should hold a banquet, invite all the important people of the two Islands, get them drunk, and then watch from the sidelines as the drama unfolds!” He says, throwing his hand dramatically, smiling like a maniac.
And Spyder, Spyder doesn't know whether he should laugh or cry, because this is most definitely not a brilliant idea. It’s bound to end up a disaster.
“This is like the worst thing that we could do right now, Schpood.” He replies, trying to sound calm, assured.
“I think it’s quite the opposite, now, help me pick up the decorations,” Schpood says, already pulling him towards the various fabrics and sculptures. “We should invite that Saparata guy, heard there's quite a bounty on his head, he could be an honoured guest, just to mess with people,” He ponders.
“Maybe not, we don’t want a bloodbath there, do we?” Spyder asks, but already knows the answer as soon as it leaves his mouth, and he catches the Emperor’s expression. “Don’t answer that, actually.”
“Which one do you like the best?” Schpood asks instead. “The green one would suit your eyes,” He notes, unbothered by the choked-out cough Spyder could not hold down.
“Just go with the red one,” Spyder says quickly, trying to stop his face from turning embarrassingly red. Schpood only hummus, already walking towards the food table, Spyder sighs and follows him, already preparing himself for hours of food testing and dealing with Schpood’s good mood, which was even worse than his bad mood.
That’s what he keeps telling himself, of course.
They make it into another table, this time filled with different types of wine. Schpood talks to him, but Spyder can’t hear it over his thoughts. After all, the last time they drank wine was on that cursed evening, when they were playing chess.
“Hello! Spyder!” Schpood calls, snapping him out of his thoughts. “What’s got you so caught up? Here, try this one,” He pushes a cup into Spyder’s hands. The wine tastes nice. Spyder isn't an expert, he doesn’t know what makes the wine good, but he likes this one. The one they were drinking last time was goo-
No.
“It’s good,” He replies, focusing on the presence and not on whatever his stupid brain comes up with.
“It needs to be perfect, not just good.”
So that’s how they spent at least an hour trying to pick up the perfect wine. Spyder feels a little lightheaded after all that, probably drinking too much, but Schpood is happy, and by extension, tipsy Spyder is happy too.
“So, do you like it, Spyder?” Schpood asks, tilting his head to look at him.
Drunk people, loud music, loud chatter, probably a few brawls already. Let's just say, Spyder isn't a fan. He wasn't a fan of throwing this banquet to begin with, but Schpood had been so excited about it that he didn't want to spoil the fun, alright. The food is good, though.
“It's fine,” He replies, slouching further into his seat.
“Ah, Spyder, I need to breathe some more life into you. You should go dance, have some fun,” Schpood laughs, putting an arm around his shoulders. Spyder can already feel his face heating up, having Schpood this close to him, touching him.
“That's… a horrible idea, Schpood,” he replies, looking away.
“Oh?” Schpood pulls away from him, only to gently take a hold of his chin, tilting Spyder's head to face him, his heart skipping a beat. “Maybe you could find some lonely lady to entertain you for the night,” He whispers, his fingertips ghosting over Spyder's lower lip, “With a face as pretty as yours, it shouldn't be a problem,” He says before pulling away.
Spyder can't breathe, can't move a muscle. He's trying to process what the fuck just happened. He can still feel the light touch on his lips. Was this real? Did he just imagine that? Is he that drunk? He can't think of an answer to those questions before he shoves his seat backwards.
“I-I’m gonna do just that, yeah,” He stammers, standing up and practically running back to his own room.
What the fuck was that?
Spyder always knew Schpood had a thing for good music, even if he likes to pretend otherwise. They are on their way to a concert. The Island One band apparently wrote a few new songs. Schpood insisted they should go and listen to them to see if they are appropriate and good for the Weshelm citizens, but in reality, that's just his excuse to go and have fun.
As they were walking, Schpood animatedly talking about the band, Spyder began to have a feeling someone was following them. Of course, he knew that there were bodyguards following them at all times, but it was different. It just felt different; he couldn't explain it.
One second, he was laughing at something Schpood said, and the other, he heard something whirl through the air at them. His body reacted faster than his mind could even comprehend what was happening. He tackled Schpood to the ground and heard someone scream behind them, and an object flying above them.
He attempts to stand up, lying stacked on the ground makes them an easy target, but that was his first mistake. He extends his hand so he can help Schpood stand up as well, but he doesn't hear another object being sent flying at him above the ringing of his ears. He gets hit on the back of his head, knocking him out.
His second mistake was looking at Schpood. The fear and anger written all over his face will forever haunt Spyder’s dreams.
As he lies there, in the pool of his own blood, the last thing he hears is Schpood yelling and swearing at his bodyguards.
Spyder wakes up. His head hurts, his eyes hurt, basically everything hurts, and he wants to vomit.
But he wakes up.
He didn’t think he would.
He slowly opens his eyes, light blinding his vision, and worsening his headache.
“Fucking finally, I was thinking you'd never wake up,” He hears a familiar voice say, and it's none other than Schpood. He blinks twice, thinking what he sees is his imagination, but no, it's Schpood, he looks worse than usual, but it's still him.
“Sorry,” He grunts out, voice hoarse.
“You should be! You imbecile! Why did you let that axe hit you?!” Schpood shouts, agitated, standing up from his chair.
“As if I had a choice in that matter.” Schpood rolls his eyes, even on his sickbed he can't escape Schpood’s attitude.
“You should have stayed put on the ground.”
“Yeah, nag me more and I'll start thinking you care, Emperor Schpood.” He snickers, turning his head away from him.
There's a beat of silence before Schpood says calmly, “I do care, Spyder, I thought I made it obvious enough.”
Spyder's head snaps to meet his gaze, “Y-you don't care,” He stammers, eyes wide, “You don't care.”
“Of course I do,” Schpood replies gently. It sounds wrong, Schpood isn't gentle, he's fierce and fast, “I like you, Spyder.” He adds.
“You don't.” It's impossible. There is no way Schpood likes him. Schpood doesn't like anyone.
“Since when you're the expert in what I feel?” Schpood challenges him, “You wouldn't get away even with a fraction of your audacity if I didn't like- love you.” He snorts.
And Spyder just stares, because he just escaped death and his brain is a little slow, and he doesn't understand how Schpood can like- love him, and he still isn't sure if it's all not just a hallucination.
“You never said anything,” Spyder croaks out, still confused, and still in pain.
“Well, I thought you knew,” He states simply,
“You're making fun of me, I nearly died, you know, you can’t do that now,”
“How about a demonstration, hm?” Schpood leans closer to him, and suddenly Spyder can’t breathe again. Schpood’s face is impossibly close to his own, their noses nearly touching. He doesn’t know who is the one to close the distance, initiating the kiss. All the moments they spent together come down rushing to his brain, all the times Schpood was a little too touchy to be casual, his comments being just a little too teasing to be casual, all the meetings he requested just to spend time with him, all the mornings they spent eating together, the evenings they spent playing, drinking.
So it is real then.
Spyder was just too caught up in his own feelings to realize what was happening before him. It wasn’t his brain playing tricks, his wishful thinking. Schpood really just liked him, liked spending time with him.
“Believe me now?” Schpood says, breaking their kiss.
“I think I need more demonstrations,” Spyder teases, and Schpood does just that.
So there sure is a positive side to a near-death experience.