Owned by Him (rewrite)

42. The Consigliere

"Marvel, we need to talk."

Soon as the door was closed, Mikhail said to Marvel. It was just the two of them in the office room. When they were linked in an ingenuous gaze, the silence was unavoidable.

"Marvel is not here. Go away," Marvel told Mikhail nonchalantly.

"Don't give me that, brat!" Mikhail shouted in annoyance.

They were facing each other; Marvel was sitting on his swivel chair and Mikhail was standing across from him. Marvel's desk was in between them, volunteering to separate the dangerous moods of the two gentlemen.

The breezy wind of an early day and the heavy curls in the ashen sky hinted that the rain would soon follow. Mikhail looked at Marvel, studying his expression and waiting for a reaction toward his sudden visit, but Marvel had canceled his emotions before being read as he knew it might have been because of what happened lately that Mikhail came and for some reason, Marvel didn't like it.

Mikhail, though, didn't really seem to care about what Marvel was thinking about him. He just felt the need to meet the younger brother he cared about so much - not that he would ever admit it.

"Asta, right?" Mikhail underlined in a firm voice, starting the conversation with the name Marvel couldn't ignore. "Fire him now."

"What did you say?" Marvel snapped, narrowing his eyes in confusion and much more in irritation, though, he still kept his voice low at that point.

"I said I want you to fire that person named Asta now," Mikhail snapped back, repeating himself even if he knew Marvel could hear him clearly from the start.

If the table in between them were a person, it would have run away since the conversation began as it wouldn't turn any good.

"He's your type, right?" Mikhail confirmed, his sapphire blue eyes stayed unwaveringly at Marvel's steel blue ones.

There's no rule in the underworld when it comes to guilty pleasures, they said. Doing it with whoever you want - man or woman - doesn't matter, they said. But, to tell you the truth, it doesn't work that way.

Instead of an answer, the silence hung in the air. Marvel was crossing his arms above his chest, locking gaze with his uninvited guest who dared to question his personal choice.

"Don't just stare at me like that, you punk! I know he's your type!"

Marvel maintained a cool mien in the face of Mikhail's raised voice. The difference in their interest and effort only served to underscore the bad harmony in their way of communicating.

"I just saw him from meters away for a while, but I could clearly smell he reeked of your scent all over him! For fuck's sake, Marvel, what have you been doing?!"

Mikhail gritted his teeth when he spoke to suppress his loud voice as he couldn't contain his emotions anymore. Marvel, on the other hand, didn't look happy with what he heard.

"Mikhail, watch your mouth when you talk. Who do you think you're raising your voice at?"

"Give the damn formality a break! You're not even taking me seriously!"

In the end, Mikhail knew that Marvel didn't give a damn to any of the matters and even tried to avoid the most important thing. In Marvel's case, seeing Mikhail mad and troubled was satisfyingly amusing for him and so he kept doing it on purpose. It was visible on his face; how he didn't show sympathy at all while at the same time, teasing his elder.

"You can't expect a nice response after talking to your boss with such an attitude. You know that, right?" Marvel continued, still feigning upset.

"Whose fault do you think is that?!"