The first morning he'd woken up at Xen's place he heard the obnoxious sound of Xen's kettle. Which woke him up easily considering his uncomfortable sleeping position called "being shoved in the bathtub." He bet the tea in that kettle would taste bitter like dirt. Not an ounce of milk or sugar in it. He smiled feeling like he'd pinned down everything about the guy who was calmly solving crosswords as he waited for his tea. "Good morning" Maxciel greeted, feeling giddy, high on his illusion of love.
"Xen-" Maxciel began before quickly being cut off by a very annoyed Xenith.
"That is not my name, refer to me properly, Xenith" Xenith interjected firmly.
But Maxciel didn't want to comply, he wanted to call Xenith by some form of a nickname for his own selfish reasons. Even just the idea alone made Maxciel feel immensely closer to Xenith. And what Maxciel wanted more than anything else in the world was to be close to Xenith. He wanted to be so close to him that their skin would melt together and allow them to fuse into one monstrous abomination. He wanted Xenith's blood to run through his veins and his heart to pump blood through both their chests. He wanted to live in the hollow of his collarbone until the day he took his last breath. He felt a type of love he'd never felt ever before. "Okay Xen" Maxciel said with every intention of holding back his smile, but failing.
"How many times must I tell you, that's not my name" Xenith corrected one again.
"I know, I just like Xen better, it's cuter" he grinned, eliciting a blow to the stomach from Xenith's fist.
It was weak but not much force was needed to cause discomfort with dirty hits like those to the stomach.
"Bastard" Xenith cursed under his breath while glaring at Maxciel.
And despite his shame, Maxciel has to admit, he kind of liked it. Not so much the pain but just the fact that Xenith had willingly touched him (despite the fact it was literally to harm him). Thus was the power of love. A scary power isn't it?
Maxciel felt dizzyingly happy. In this moment he felt like him and Xenith were acting like an old married couple. He grinned at the thought as Xenith got up and added the finishing touches to his tea. Which instantly took him by surprise as Xenith poured in an excessive amount of honey. "That's how you drink it?" Maxciel asked in in a state of minor shock.
"Xenith simply nodded and stirred the honey into his tea with a spoon. "It's good that way," Xenith said. His eyes lit up like he'd had a spontaneous new idea. "I should make you a glass and poison it" he grinned and whispered that last bit, but Maxciel who is very much, not deaf, heard that and immediately declined. After all, he wouldn't be surprised if this guy seriously had poison on hand, I'm good."
He found it pretty funny, Xenith was really polite. Even towards people he hated. People such as himself. When Maxciel disliked someone, even just slightly, he'd never give them the time of day. And yet despite having millions of chances to kill him, for some reason Xenith refuses to do it 'unfairly.' He won't kill him until his normal state of mind has been restored he assured. But he was still always concocting ideas and new ways he thinks he might go about killing him. He wonders why this deeply feared villain, who's directly and indirectly caused countless deaths, is so insistent that he can only kill fairly?