#00aeef ....|..... outfit ............... #a8f9ff .....|..... prism ....|..... outfit ............... #995749 .....|..... brutus ....|..... outfit ............... descendant tower
It was hard to wash off feelings.
Magni rested his hands against the tile walls of the shower, scalding water burning his skin as if to wash away the disgust. His memory already felt fuzzy as he tried to understand what he had missed. He wasn't flirting, and he hadn't actually done anything. But he still felt awful. The only thing he could think to do was storm back to the penthouse and wash off. He kept eyeing the bathroom door, dreading the thought of having to face his partner. After everything she had shared, the last thing he wanted was to affirm her worst fears. Lying and hiding this was out of the question, though. Even if he could conceal the events in the gym, the thought of being deceitful was abhorrent. He had only one option, and he needed to just get it over with.
The demigod dried himself off and picked out the first shirt and pants at his disposal from the selection Imogen had bought him. He entered the main living space, making note of her slumbering form. He wanted to snuggle up beside her until she woke up, but it didn't feel right. He eyed a chair near the window a few paces from the bed, and set himself down there. He looked out towards the approaching dawn, stewing over the morning's events while he let his lover rest.
Imogen didn’t rouse for a few more hours, the exhaustion of training and Cerebro left her out cold for the better part of twelve hours. By the time she began stirring sunlight poured through the full length windows and bathed the bedroom in a golden light. First her hand extended, running along the bed beneath the sheets in search of his heavy warmth that she had already grown accustomed to being curled around her throughout the night. She pushed off against the bed, forcing herself to sit up with a quiet groan, followed by a yawn as she rubbed her eyes. At first she assumed he had already wandered off somewhere in the tower to work out or catch up with Tobias, but as her legs slipped over the edge of the mattress and her bare feet found the cool tile, she noticed him silent and still in a nearby chair.
The sight was sobering and concerning, sapping the tiredness from her in a single breath and waking her in an instant. She couldn’t help but wonder if he felt something similar when he found her the other night. That thought alone made her pulse quicken as she slowly approached, the soft sound of her bare feet padding across the ground filling the silence of the room. Her hand softly rested on his shoulder first like a silent warning that she was there so she didn’t startle him. Any other day she would have slipped into his lap without a thought, but it felt wrong, insensitive. Instead she slowly stepped in front of him, slotting herself between his knees so she could gently take his face in her hands and tilt his head back so she could look into his eyes. There was a temptation to seek answers without asking, to remain in silence and discover what disturbed him through his thoughts… but she didn’t, she couldn’t.
She stood there for a long moment, studying him as her thumb lightly stroked his cheek. After brushing some of his hair back out of his face and tucking it behind his ear, she finally asked just barely above a whisper. "What’s wrong?"
For the first time since their recent reconnection, the sight of Imogen's bare form failed to elicit any reaction. His hungry gaze did not linger on her curves, nor was there a joyful smile as he saw her face. His eyes remained unfocused as she tried to get him to look at her. His pupils seemed to focus just past her shoulder, knots twisting in his chest as he scrambled for words to the question he had been dreading. He closed his eyes, lifting his hands to gently tug hers from his face. When he answered, his words lacked the power his voice possessed. They were soft, nearly inaudible.
"My mind is open."
He took a breath, and played through the moments in the gym slowly, as if they were a movie. He guided Imogen through every feeling, every thought. He bore his confusion, his momentary arousal, his shock, his frustration… everything he could muster as honestly as possible. Underlying it all was a heavy layer of shame coating every shadow and word with another wave of regret. All the while, he sat with his hands in his lap as if awaiting a judgement.
Imogen’s body tensed, concern twisting across her face as he refused to look at her and pulled her hands away. She swallowed as the rising fear crept up her chest, stealing her breath and constricting around her throat. The panic set in deep and quick. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was her, if she had done something. She had no proof otherwise. Every second that passed felt like an eternity. She was desperate to know but did not want to rush him either. Magni had been honest with her thus far, that wouldn’t change in the span of a single night… Would it?
Once he gave her permission, she didn’t hesitate, didn’t need to be told twice… Imogen’s eyes slowly closed as she let herself slip into his mind effortlessly. She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected. The selfish part of her assumed it was about her, that Magni no longer wanted anything to do with her. It was vain and narcissistic… and entirely wrong.
She stilled, breaths coming in shallow bursts as he replayed the memories like a play that she didn’t want to relive in his place. She didn’t rush through it. She didn’t parse through the emotions and images to get her answers in two seconds, but let him reveal what happened at his own pace… piece by piece. Her blood ran cold the second the first implication left Ronnie’s lips, smooth like silk, sweet as honey, but its true meaning was lost on him. Imogen shifted uncomfortably as it all settled into her like a fever chill. Her mind raced trying to connect the dots, trying to skip ahead and predict the conclusion before she was forced to watch. She wanted to shut off her mind and block it out, not feel every conflicting emotion Magni felt along with the truths she saw that he didn’t.
The disgust, the anger, all of it twisted in her stomach, making her nauseous and tasted like bile in her mouth. By the time the memory ran its course, a single tear ran down her cheek. She wanted to hold him and comfort him but knew more than most not to touch someone after something like that, how it could be traumatic and scarring. She wanted to tell him everything would be ok, and apologize a million times for the cruelty of other people… but she couldn’t find the words or make a single coherent thought out of the maelstrom that stirred in her mind. Louder than all of her other screaming emotions combined was the heavy, deafening pain and frustration of not being able to comfort her lover when he looked so incredibly defeated.
They stole his light. Magni’s joyful brilliance was beaten into shame… and that broke her.
Imogen’s hands were trembling as she hesitantly held his face a second time. Her touch wasn’t affectionate and sure, but feather light and fearful of triggering something in him that he might not understand yet. She leaned forward slowly, placing a tender, lingering kiss to his forehead as her own gentle reassurance when words eluded her. She remained there for a long moment while her breaths came heavy and erratic through her nose. "I will be back," she whispered against his skin like a confirmation that she was still his, and a promise that she was going to handle it.
She said nothing else. She couldn’t form a sentence if she wanted to. Her hands slowly fell from his face as she stood upright, then made her way toward her closet with a furious determination. Imogen pulled on whatever clothes she found first, unbothered with her nappy bed head or how she looked, which was only further testament to the warring emotions that clouded her mind. She was still fastening her pants as she crossed the living room toward the elevator. Her hand trembled so violently from the anger and adrenalin that she missed the button to call the lift three separate times before giving up and heading out into the stairwell.
Magni rose to his feet when Imogen stormed towards her closet. He only knew her from the past few days, but he could tell what was to come. His movements were slow as he crossed towards the elevators, with his partner rushing past him. By the time she had given up on the elevator, he was at the doorway to the stairs. As she slammed the door open, Magni's movement was swift and firm. He grabbed her bicep, holding her just enough to stop her in her tracks. "They didn't know… we didn't… My reputation may have caused this." The words were jumbled and confused, clawing for accountability.
Imogen froze because his presence and touch requested it, but there was nothing he could say that would deter her. She turned to face him, bare feet pivoting against the cold concrete, chest heaving from the breaths she couldn’t calm. Her expression saddened as he attempted to defend them or blame himself. "No," she snapped. She winced the second she heard her venom echoing off the walls around them. She wasn’t mad at him. He didn’t deserve her anger. She inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm herself before reaching up to cup his cheek in her palm. "He knew." Her words were gentle, but resolute in her conviction. "They both knew. I heard it in their words. Saw it in their faces…"
She closed her eyes tight, turning her head away slightly as the disgust and anger boiled in her chest. Her hold on him tightened, just slightly, like a silent beg for him to trust her… For him not to make excuses for assholes who didn’t deserve his pity. Tears burned her eyes as she forced them open and met his gaze. "You are a good, compassionate, and trusting man, Magni." Every word came out clear, purposeful, and unwavering like they were being etched in stone. "It’s one of the many things I adore about you… But he took advantage of that trust… Played with it and you like you were some toy for his own sexual gratification." Imogen shook her head as a tear escaped, leaving a glistening trail down her cheek. "That’s not ok." Her voice cracked.
"It doesn’t matter if you’re a saint or a whore, they had no right." She could feel the anger rising, hear the way it made her words turn to acid. "He was supposed to be your friend..." Imogen sucked in a sharp breath, turning from him while gently tugging her arm free from his grasp. She took out her frustration on her eyes as she aggressively wiped away her angry tears until her face turned red. "Fuck!" she shouted before throwing her fist into the wall. Just as her knuckles hit the concrete her body became diamond and sent a crack splintering in several directions. "I’m sorry, Magni," she apologized, her words were quiet and trembling. "I won’t stand for someone treating you like that… Not while you’re with me."
With that, Imogen started down the stairs with haste, a sharp rhythmic tink tink following her with every step of her bare diamond feet against the cement. Magni lingered for a moment, his eyes focused on the damaged wall. He wasn't entirely convinced of her understanding of the scenario, but he was not going to argue with her further. She was on the warpath, and the least he could do was be there to prevent her from killing an ally. So, he followed after her.
It wasn’t the quickest, descending seventeen floors, but Imogen hardly noticed. Her mind was still racing, trying to piece together what she was going to say as visions of Magni’s memories played on repeat. She nearly missed Luke’s floor, going halfway down the following flight before she caught herself, turned around and walked back. It wasn’t until that moment that she noticed Magni had been following her. She stopped for a second to look up at him. There was a part of her that wanted to take him back to her room, if only to save him from facing Luke or seeing her like that, but the confused shame that still clung to his features erased the thought before it could take root. She brushed past him, letting her hand linger on him affectionately until he was out of reach.
She approached the door and had intended to knock normally, albeit with loud incessant bangs. But having forgotten she was still in her diamond form, Imogen’s first knock broke the door from its hinges and sent it flying across the living room until it collided with the opposite wall. There was too much building in her chest for her to pay it any mind as she stepped through the threshold into the familiar apartment that felt like a fever dream and deja vu collided into one. Then, forgetting any tact she might have once possessed, she shouted like a woman seeking blood. "Lucian Buchanan Rogers!"
The apartment had been too quiet since he returned. Luke had taken a shower first, longer than usual, standing beneath the spray long after the water had turned lukewarm, letting it beat against the back of his neck as though it might rinse something deeper than sweat from his skin. The gym clung to him in fragments: Ronnie’s laughter, Magni’s open trust, the moment when confusion had crept across the god’s face like a crack through glass. When he finally stepped out, the silence waiting for him in the penthouse felt heavier than before. So he stripped the bed next, tossing the sheets into the wash with the detached efficiency of someone trying very hard not to think.
But thinking came anyway.
By the time he poured the whiskey, his hands were steadier than they had been during his shower. The glass caught the dim light as he leaned against the kitchen island, staring through the penthouse toward nothing in particular. The first swallow burned in a clean, punishing line down his throat, and for a moment, small and traitorous, Luke considered something he had never allowed himself before. The idea of walking upstairs. Of finding the one person who might still look him in the eye without seeing the monster beneath the charm… and telling her everything.
The glass struck the counter with a hard thunk.
And then the door exploded.
Wood splintered across the marble floor as the hinges tore free, the ruined slab of it skidding across the room until it slammed into the far wall. Luke didn’t move immediately. He simply watched it happen, watched the quiet order of his floor collapse in a single violent breath. Then he turned slowly from the counter toward the diamond figure framed in the wreckage, the name she’d shouted still echoing faintly through the room.
His hands rose a little, not surrender, not quite, but enough to show he wasn’t reaching for anything. His jaw tightened, a frown pulling at the corner of his mouth before he spoke. "Look," he said, voice low and strained, tension coiled tight beneath the surface. "I already know, okay?" The words hung there, brittle in the space between them.
Imogen walked deeper into the penthouse with a slow methodical anger that permeated off her as the space between them diminished with each step. The apartment was silent aside from the settling wreckage of her entrance and the acute click of her diamond feet upon tile. She held up a single prismatic finger, stopping him before he spoke further as she shook her head. "No. No." Her voice tore through the tense vacuum as she came to stop on the opposite side of his kitchen counter. "Your guilt does not absolve you of what you did." The sharp edge of her carbon skin disappeared beneath its natural soft ivory as her hands rested upon the counter, choosing to shift out of her diamond form for no other reason than to save his room from further destruction… for the time being.
Her gaze was piercing and unwavering as it drilled through the strain behind his eyes into his mind. She did not ask for permission nor apologize as her invisible tendrils ensnared through his thoughts. Imogen wasn’t being kind or playing fair. She had no patience for whatever bullshit he’d spew to twist the narrative. She’d know the truth… one way or another.
Her fingers ran along the edge of the marble counter like she was pressing flat fabric, busying her hands as she tried to gather her thoughts and keep her emotions on a short leash. "If you already know," she started, her words were quiet and accusatory like a blade pressed to the ribs, where one wrong move could show the true edge to her resolve. "Then you knew what you did was fucked up, and did it anyway." Her hands trembled against the counter as the adrenalin and anger still coursed through her like venom.
"You took advantage of him…" Imogen’s voice cracked, revealing a fault in her strength as she hung her head and drew in an unsteady breath. She cleared her throat, blinking past the angry tears that burned her eyes like acid as she forced herself to meet his gaze once again. "You took advantage of his kindness, of his trust, and for what?" She practically spat the words at him as if they disgusted her for existing on her tongue in the first place. "You treated Magni like a pawn in your sick game, preying on his naivety… For what!?" she shouted, slamming her hands down so hard against the cool marble that she felt the sting of pain tingle along her palms and down her fingers.
Luke’s jaw tightened as her words struck him one after another, each accusation landing with the sharp precision of a blade. He didn’t interrupt her. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to, her anger filled the room like a storm front, heavy and electric, leaving no space for breath. Part of him, some smaller and inconvenient fragment buried beneath years of careful cruelty, did feel something like regret twisting under his ribs. But the larger part of him, the colder part that understood survival, that understood the mission, was already moving, already calculating, already searching for a way through the mess she’d just dropped at his feet.
And then the words were leaving his mouth before he had the faintest idea why.
"Because I love him," he said.
For half a second Luke actually forgot how to breathe. Oh Jesus Christ on a cracker, what the fuck was he doing. The thought crashed through his skull as he stared at her, realizing too late that the lie had already taken shape, already begun weaving itself into something almost believable. His hand dragged down his face as if the confession itself burned.
"I always have," he forced out, shaking his head like the admission was physically painful to carry. "Since the Academy… all these years apart."
He turned away from her slightly, shoulders tense as if the memory alone weighed more than he could hold. The penthouse suddenly felt too small, the air too tight in his lungs as he leaned back against the counter.
"It’s always been him," he muttered hoarsely. "For a long time I was just… too scared." His laugh was quiet and bitter as he rubbed the back of his neck. He was going to kill himself. "Even when I withdrew from the Academy, I looked for Magni in every thunderstorm."
The absurdity of the words almost made him dizzy. He could practically hear his father laughing somewhere in the back of his mind. Luke let out a breath that shook slightly before he looked back at her.
"I fucked up, okay," he said, voice tight. "I get it. I just—I don’t know, Imogen." His gaze flickered down for a moment before returning to her, something strained behind his eyes. "How could he ever look at me… when he has you?"
A short, broken laugh slipped from him. No, seriously. The top of the building would be the perfect place for him to pitch himself from. Would the fall kill him? Only one way to find out.
"I was desperate," he finished quietly. "It was fucking stupid. I get it. So go ahead, hit me, scream at me. I deserve it all, because I–I hurt him." His voice broke on the word hurt and Luke squeezed his eyes shut.
Imogen froze, like his words alone were enough to make her question if she had ever woken in the first place, because a dream could be the only logical explanation for what was happening. Her palms pressed into the edge of the counter, but her fingers lifted, curling and tense like she didn’t know what to do. The anger and disgust that had been burning white hot inside her went ice cold in a single beat, nearly sending a shiver of confused frustration as a different type of fury settled somewhere deep behind her ribs.
While Luke spoke, weaving and knotting his web tighter, she disassociated. Her psionic tendrils dove into his mind, sifting through every thought and emotion in search of the truth. Lies and truths were always presented differently. A lie was a story, a carefully curated tale composed of necessary fables interwoven with fact that gave just enough weight to what was being shared for it to stick. Truth was a painting, colored with emotions and memories, like a montage that gave every word meaning and credence. If this love was true she should have felt it, seen it through snapshots of their time at the academy. There should have been flashes of lingering glances, time spent together, or the small imperceivable things about Magni that sunk its claws into him.
But there wasn’t… It was just words and actions… scripted.
All expression slowly slipped away from her face as the realization sunk in like an anchor dragging across the pit of her stomach until it caught. Recognition flashed behind her eyes when he met her gaze. Checkmate. She was backed into a corner by a lie so unbelievably ridiculous that there was nothing she could do other than… accept it. What he did was wrong. She knew it, felt it in her gut, but the truth of that burden now lived silently between herself and a man she once thought she knew. She wanted to hit him, scream and shout until she was blue in the face, but she couldn’t. Every thought and action that came to mind would only back fire and make her look insensitive, possessive, jealous, or unhinged. Imogen couldn’t understand what she or Magni did to warrant it, but Luke outplayed them.
She drew in a long measured breath through her flared nostrils. Every muscle in her body was tense as she thought out her words carefully, like one misstep could set off a bomb. "It is still sexual assault, even if you love him." Her words were strained like it took all the control she had not to reach across the island and slam his face into the counter. "I should break every fucking bone in your body for that alone."
The elevator dinged. Brushed steel doors slid open and Ronnie stepped out, shoes crunching on the debris from the broken door. She whistled, looking around before her gaze settled on Luke. "What did I miss?"
Imogen’s body shifted at the sight of Ronnie. Diamond fingers curled into the lip of the counter until there was a loud snap and two large chucks of marble broke free into her palms sending splintered cracks along its surface. She threw the pieces across the penthouse hearing one lodge itself into drywall and another shattered something out of sight. "If it’s love, then why the fuck was she part of it?" Her eyes squinted, searching Luke for any shred of the man she once knew… But there was nothing. The man before her was a stranger. "I don’t know who you are anymore. Your father would be so disappointed in you."
Luke didn’t move while she spoke. His jaw flexed, teeth grinding together hard enough that a faint ache pulsed up through his temples. The anger in her voice scraped against something raw inside him, but he held his ground behind the counter, hands braced against the marble like he needed the solid surface to keep himself from doing something reckless. He could feel her inside his mind, feel the probing pressure of her psionic search the way one might feel fingers pressing into a bruise. It made the back of his neck prickle, but he forced his expression into something controlled, something almost weary.
When Ronnie appeared in the elevator, Luke didn’t even glance at her right away. The whistle, the crunch of debris beneath her shoes, the casual curiosity in her voice, all of it felt distant, like noise bleeding in from another room. His attention stayed locked on Imogen as the marble snapped in her hands and scattered across the penthouse. The accusation that followed struck harder than the debris ever could.
And then she mentioned his father.
For a moment, something ugly flashed across Luke’s face before he could stop it. His jaw tightened again as she turned away, as if the act of leaving severed whatever fragile thread had been holding the room together. The regret that had flickered in him earlier stirred once more, small and treacherous, but this time he grabbed it and shoved it deep down where it couldn’t reach the surface. It didn’t matter what she thought she knew about him. It didn’t matter what she saw when she looked at him now.
"You’re right about that part," he said quietly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried through the ruined doorway and fractured room with unsettling clarity. He finally pushed away from the counter, straightening slowly as he looked at the wreckage scattered across his penthouse floor. "You don’t know who I am anymore."
And the truth was, he barely recognized that person himself. There had been a time, long ago, before the academy fractured and before his father’s shadow swallowed everything, when Luke had believed something painfully naive. That he could be better. That he could carve out a different future for himself than the one waiting for him. The memory of that boy felt distant now, like recalling someone else’s life. The hope had been beaten out of him long before today.
Imogen was wrong about one thing, though. His father wouldn’t be disappointed. If anything, the man would probably be proud of how far Luke was willing to go to see their cause through. Proud that his son had learned how to manipulate, how to twist trust until it snapped in his hands like the marble she’d just broken. The thought crawled through Luke’s chest like something rotten. It disgusted him more than anything else had today.
She had nothing else to say… nothing else she could say. Imogen pushed off the counter with a crunch as more pieces of marble crumbled and fell to the floor. Her shoulder bumped into Ronnie’s as she passed, hitting it hard enough to make the woman wince as her shoulder dislocated. She reached the elevator as it was closing and quickly slipped her hand into the small space between the doors. Once they opened back up she stepped inside, dropping her diamond form before pressing a button to avoid breaking anything else. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t listen to any more of Luke’s lies or the way Magni would be kind and understanding. She would only draw blood trying to bite her tongue through it. Her attention fell to her bare toes that just barely stuck out from beneath the bottom of her pants, unable to force herself to meet anyone’s gaze as the doors closed and the elevator descended.
Magni remained frozen in the stairwell's doorway, his unfocused gaze seeming to settle somewhere in the back of the penthouse as the scene transpired. So many things swirled through his mind at the confession. He had always seen Luke as a comrade, but he did not believe there was anything romantic. They were friends, comrades, sparring partners, and teammates. They had not been particularly physically affectionate, in the way he had with someone like Blake Rasputin. Even then, it became very clear how incompatible they were on a level that could never be mended. With Luke… there was no history. There was never a particularly strong bond.
So… where did these feelings come from? His gaze, his actions, and even his words the day before had made no indication that there was anything beyond comradery. Even hours before, it seemed that Ronnie had initiated everything while Luke went along with it. It never felt like love, like it had with Imogen the night she woke him. But… the thought that Luke was outright lying never crossed his mind. It didn't feel like the truth, so it might have been confusion. As Magni took a breath to collect himself, he looked in Luke's direction.
"I… am sorry, Lucian." The words were soft and somber. He paused, letting the apology sink in as he searched for a proper explanation. "I… have viewed thee as a brother in arms. Thou have proven thyself a worthy ally… but…" Magni closed his hands into fists, the tension against his palms grounding himself in the moment enough to continue. "I do not feel the same for thee. My affections are Imogen's, and hers mine." The admission was simple, apologetic, and firm. He bowed his head, speaking the last words quietly. "I hope that we may still fight as allies, and that we may share drinks in Valhalla one day."
Magni’s words hung in the air like a quiet verdict, and for a moment Luke simply stood there with the weight of them pressing against his chest. His expression shifted almost imperceptibly— lips tightening, eyes narrowing just enough to suggest the sting of rejection. But the truth was far less romantic and far more mortifying. Somewhere in the middle of this disaster he had opened his mouth and turned a bad situation into something exponentially worse, and now he was trapped inside a lie so elaborate he could practically hear it creaking under its own weight.
Honestly, it might have been easier if Imogen had just hit him.
At least then the pain would have been clean and simple, diamond, bone, impact, consequence. The thought of her diamond fist crashing into his jaw made his teeth ache just imagining it, though. He had seen what her sort of power did to walls, to machines, to things that were supposed to withstand far worse than a human skull. No, on second thought, perhaps this humiliation was the lesser evil. He didn't ever want to be on the business side of her diamond fist.
Luke let out a slow breath and forced his shoulders to ease, dragging the mask back into place. When he finally looked up at Magni, there was a strained softness in his expression that hadn’t been there before, the kind that suggested someone bracing themselves for disappointment they’d already anticipated.
"It’s fine, Magni," he said after a beat, voice quieter now. "I understand."
The smile that followed was thin but sincere enough to pass. He rubbed the back of his neck like the whole moment had left him awkwardly exposed. "Of course we’ll always be allies," he continued. "I… I’m sorry."
Luke let the words linger, pouring just enough weight into them to make the apology feel genuine. Every ounce of the performer in him slipped neatly into place, shaping the lie with careful precision. If Magni believed anything from this mess, it needed to be that remorse. For now, that belief was worth more than any truth Luke could offer.
Magni offered a small nod, standing tall again as he took in Luke’s words. It still didn’t feel right, in a way he couldn’t quite place. The reassurance was enough for him, and it at least offered a good enough excuse to tend to his partner. The god sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. "That is… good." He wasn’t sure what else he could say in response. He lingered for a moment longer before just bowing his head again. "I will go now." He lumbered his way back up the stairs, making his way for Imogen’s penthouse at his own pace.
Magni rested his hands against the tile walls of the shower, scalding water burning his skin as if to wash away the disgust. His memory already felt fuzzy as he tried to understand what he had missed. He wasn't flirting, and he hadn't actually done anything. But he still felt awful. The only thing he could think to do was storm back to the penthouse and wash off. He kept eyeing the bathroom door, dreading the thought of having to face his partner. After everything she had shared, the last thing he wanted was to affirm her worst fears. Lying and hiding this was out of the question, though. Even if he could conceal the events in the gym, the thought of being deceitful was abhorrent. He had only one option, and he needed to just get it over with.
The demigod dried himself off and picked out the first shirt and pants at his disposal from the selection Imogen had bought him. He entered the main living space, making note of her slumbering form. He wanted to snuggle up beside her until she woke up, but it didn't feel right. He eyed a chair near the window a few paces from the bed, and set himself down there. He looked out towards the approaching dawn, stewing over the morning's events while he let his lover rest.
Imogen didn’t rouse for a few more hours, the exhaustion of training and Cerebro left her out cold for the better part of twelve hours. By the time she began stirring sunlight poured through the full length windows and bathed the bedroom in a golden light. First her hand extended, running along the bed beneath the sheets in search of his heavy warmth that she had already grown accustomed to being curled around her throughout the night. She pushed off against the bed, forcing herself to sit up with a quiet groan, followed by a yawn as she rubbed her eyes. At first she assumed he had already wandered off somewhere in the tower to work out or catch up with Tobias, but as her legs slipped over the edge of the mattress and her bare feet found the cool tile, she noticed him silent and still in a nearby chair.
The sight was sobering and concerning, sapping the tiredness from her in a single breath and waking her in an instant. She couldn’t help but wonder if he felt something similar when he found her the other night. That thought alone made her pulse quicken as she slowly approached, the soft sound of her bare feet padding across the ground filling the silence of the room. Her hand softly rested on his shoulder first like a silent warning that she was there so she didn’t startle him. Any other day she would have slipped into his lap without a thought, but it felt wrong, insensitive. Instead she slowly stepped in front of him, slotting herself between his knees so she could gently take his face in her hands and tilt his head back so she could look into his eyes. There was a temptation to seek answers without asking, to remain in silence and discover what disturbed him through his thoughts… but she didn’t, she couldn’t.
She stood there for a long moment, studying him as her thumb lightly stroked his cheek. After brushing some of his hair back out of his face and tucking it behind his ear, she finally asked just barely above a whisper. "What’s wrong?"
For the first time since their recent reconnection, the sight of Imogen's bare form failed to elicit any reaction. His hungry gaze did not linger on her curves, nor was there a joyful smile as he saw her face. His eyes remained unfocused as she tried to get him to look at her. His pupils seemed to focus just past her shoulder, knots twisting in his chest as he scrambled for words to the question he had been dreading. He closed his eyes, lifting his hands to gently tug hers from his face. When he answered, his words lacked the power his voice possessed. They were soft, nearly inaudible.
"My mind is open."
He took a breath, and played through the moments in the gym slowly, as if they were a movie. He guided Imogen through every feeling, every thought. He bore his confusion, his momentary arousal, his shock, his frustration… everything he could muster as honestly as possible. Underlying it all was a heavy layer of shame coating every shadow and word with another wave of regret. All the while, he sat with his hands in his lap as if awaiting a judgement.
Imogen’s body tensed, concern twisting across her face as he refused to look at her and pulled her hands away. She swallowed as the rising fear crept up her chest, stealing her breath and constricting around her throat. The panic set in deep and quick. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was her, if she had done something. She had no proof otherwise. Every second that passed felt like an eternity. She was desperate to know but did not want to rush him either. Magni had been honest with her thus far, that wouldn’t change in the span of a single night… Would it?
Once he gave her permission, she didn’t hesitate, didn’t need to be told twice… Imogen’s eyes slowly closed as she let herself slip into his mind effortlessly. She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected. The selfish part of her assumed it was about her, that Magni no longer wanted anything to do with her. It was vain and narcissistic… and entirely wrong.
She stilled, breaths coming in shallow bursts as he replayed the memories like a play that she didn’t want to relive in his place. She didn’t rush through it. She didn’t parse through the emotions and images to get her answers in two seconds, but let him reveal what happened at his own pace… piece by piece. Her blood ran cold the second the first implication left Ronnie’s lips, smooth like silk, sweet as honey, but its true meaning was lost on him. Imogen shifted uncomfortably as it all settled into her like a fever chill. Her mind raced trying to connect the dots, trying to skip ahead and predict the conclusion before she was forced to watch. She wanted to shut off her mind and block it out, not feel every conflicting emotion Magni felt along with the truths she saw that he didn’t.
The disgust, the anger, all of it twisted in her stomach, making her nauseous and tasted like bile in her mouth. By the time the memory ran its course, a single tear ran down her cheek. She wanted to hold him and comfort him but knew more than most not to touch someone after something like that, how it could be traumatic and scarring. She wanted to tell him everything would be ok, and apologize a million times for the cruelty of other people… but she couldn’t find the words or make a single coherent thought out of the maelstrom that stirred in her mind. Louder than all of her other screaming emotions combined was the heavy, deafening pain and frustration of not being able to comfort her lover when he looked so incredibly defeated.
They stole his light. Magni’s joyful brilliance was beaten into shame… and that broke her.
Imogen’s hands were trembling as she hesitantly held his face a second time. Her touch wasn’t affectionate and sure, but feather light and fearful of triggering something in him that he might not understand yet. She leaned forward slowly, placing a tender, lingering kiss to his forehead as her own gentle reassurance when words eluded her. She remained there for a long moment while her breaths came heavy and erratic through her nose. "I will be back," she whispered against his skin like a confirmation that she was still his, and a promise that she was going to handle it.
She said nothing else. She couldn’t form a sentence if she wanted to. Her hands slowly fell from his face as she stood upright, then made her way toward her closet with a furious determination. Imogen pulled on whatever clothes she found first, unbothered with her nappy bed head or how she looked, which was only further testament to the warring emotions that clouded her mind. She was still fastening her pants as she crossed the living room toward the elevator. Her hand trembled so violently from the anger and adrenalin that she missed the button to call the lift three separate times before giving up and heading out into the stairwell.
Magni rose to his feet when Imogen stormed towards her closet. He only knew her from the past few days, but he could tell what was to come. His movements were slow as he crossed towards the elevators, with his partner rushing past him. By the time she had given up on the elevator, he was at the doorway to the stairs. As she slammed the door open, Magni's movement was swift and firm. He grabbed her bicep, holding her just enough to stop her in her tracks. "They didn't know… we didn't… My reputation may have caused this." The words were jumbled and confused, clawing for accountability.
Imogen froze because his presence and touch requested it, but there was nothing he could say that would deter her. She turned to face him, bare feet pivoting against the cold concrete, chest heaving from the breaths she couldn’t calm. Her expression saddened as he attempted to defend them or blame himself. "No," she snapped. She winced the second she heard her venom echoing off the walls around them. She wasn’t mad at him. He didn’t deserve her anger. She inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm herself before reaching up to cup his cheek in her palm. "He knew." Her words were gentle, but resolute in her conviction. "They both knew. I heard it in their words. Saw it in their faces…"
She closed her eyes tight, turning her head away slightly as the disgust and anger boiled in her chest. Her hold on him tightened, just slightly, like a silent beg for him to trust her… For him not to make excuses for assholes who didn’t deserve his pity. Tears burned her eyes as she forced them open and met his gaze. "You are a good, compassionate, and trusting man, Magni." Every word came out clear, purposeful, and unwavering like they were being etched in stone. "It’s one of the many things I adore about you… But he took advantage of that trust… Played with it and you like you were some toy for his own sexual gratification." Imogen shook her head as a tear escaped, leaving a glistening trail down her cheek. "That’s not ok." Her voice cracked.
"It doesn’t matter if you’re a saint or a whore, they had no right." She could feel the anger rising, hear the way it made her words turn to acid. "He was supposed to be your friend..." Imogen sucked in a sharp breath, turning from him while gently tugging her arm free from his grasp. She took out her frustration on her eyes as she aggressively wiped away her angry tears until her face turned red. "Fuck!" she shouted before throwing her fist into the wall. Just as her knuckles hit the concrete her body became diamond and sent a crack splintering in several directions. "I’m sorry, Magni," she apologized, her words were quiet and trembling. "I won’t stand for someone treating you like that… Not while you’re with me."
With that, Imogen started down the stairs with haste, a sharp rhythmic tink tink following her with every step of her bare diamond feet against the cement. Magni lingered for a moment, his eyes focused on the damaged wall. He wasn't entirely convinced of her understanding of the scenario, but he was not going to argue with her further. She was on the warpath, and the least he could do was be there to prevent her from killing an ally. So, he followed after her.
It wasn’t the quickest, descending seventeen floors, but Imogen hardly noticed. Her mind was still racing, trying to piece together what she was going to say as visions of Magni’s memories played on repeat. She nearly missed Luke’s floor, going halfway down the following flight before she caught herself, turned around and walked back. It wasn’t until that moment that she noticed Magni had been following her. She stopped for a second to look up at him. There was a part of her that wanted to take him back to her room, if only to save him from facing Luke or seeing her like that, but the confused shame that still clung to his features erased the thought before it could take root. She brushed past him, letting her hand linger on him affectionately until he was out of reach.
She approached the door and had intended to knock normally, albeit with loud incessant bangs. But having forgotten she was still in her diamond form, Imogen’s first knock broke the door from its hinges and sent it flying across the living room until it collided with the opposite wall. There was too much building in her chest for her to pay it any mind as she stepped through the threshold into the familiar apartment that felt like a fever dream and deja vu collided into one. Then, forgetting any tact she might have once possessed, she shouted like a woman seeking blood. "Lucian Buchanan Rogers!"
The apartment had been too quiet since he returned. Luke had taken a shower first, longer than usual, standing beneath the spray long after the water had turned lukewarm, letting it beat against the back of his neck as though it might rinse something deeper than sweat from his skin. The gym clung to him in fragments: Ronnie’s laughter, Magni’s open trust, the moment when confusion had crept across the god’s face like a crack through glass. When he finally stepped out, the silence waiting for him in the penthouse felt heavier than before. So he stripped the bed next, tossing the sheets into the wash with the detached efficiency of someone trying very hard not to think.
But thinking came anyway.
By the time he poured the whiskey, his hands were steadier than they had been during his shower. The glass caught the dim light as he leaned against the kitchen island, staring through the penthouse toward nothing in particular. The first swallow burned in a clean, punishing line down his throat, and for a moment, small and traitorous, Luke considered something he had never allowed himself before. The idea of walking upstairs. Of finding the one person who might still look him in the eye without seeing the monster beneath the charm… and telling her everything.
The glass struck the counter with a hard thunk.
And then the door exploded.
Wood splintered across the marble floor as the hinges tore free, the ruined slab of it skidding across the room until it slammed into the far wall. Luke didn’t move immediately. He simply watched it happen, watched the quiet order of his floor collapse in a single violent breath. Then he turned slowly from the counter toward the diamond figure framed in the wreckage, the name she’d shouted still echoing faintly through the room.
His hands rose a little, not surrender, not quite, but enough to show he wasn’t reaching for anything. His jaw tightened, a frown pulling at the corner of his mouth before he spoke. "Look," he said, voice low and strained, tension coiled tight beneath the surface. "I already know, okay?" The words hung there, brittle in the space between them.
Imogen walked deeper into the penthouse with a slow methodical anger that permeated off her as the space between them diminished with each step. The apartment was silent aside from the settling wreckage of her entrance and the acute click of her diamond feet upon tile. She held up a single prismatic finger, stopping him before he spoke further as she shook her head. "No. No." Her voice tore through the tense vacuum as she came to stop on the opposite side of his kitchen counter. "Your guilt does not absolve you of what you did." The sharp edge of her carbon skin disappeared beneath its natural soft ivory as her hands rested upon the counter, choosing to shift out of her diamond form for no other reason than to save his room from further destruction… for the time being.
Her gaze was piercing and unwavering as it drilled through the strain behind his eyes into his mind. She did not ask for permission nor apologize as her invisible tendrils ensnared through his thoughts. Imogen wasn’t being kind or playing fair. She had no patience for whatever bullshit he’d spew to twist the narrative. She’d know the truth… one way or another.
Her fingers ran along the edge of the marble counter like she was pressing flat fabric, busying her hands as she tried to gather her thoughts and keep her emotions on a short leash. "If you already know," she started, her words were quiet and accusatory like a blade pressed to the ribs, where one wrong move could show the true edge to her resolve. "Then you knew what you did was fucked up, and did it anyway." Her hands trembled against the counter as the adrenalin and anger still coursed through her like venom.
"You took advantage of him…" Imogen’s voice cracked, revealing a fault in her strength as she hung her head and drew in an unsteady breath. She cleared her throat, blinking past the angry tears that burned her eyes like acid as she forced herself to meet his gaze once again. "You took advantage of his kindness, of his trust, and for what?" She practically spat the words at him as if they disgusted her for existing on her tongue in the first place. "You treated Magni like a pawn in your sick game, preying on his naivety… For what!?" she shouted, slamming her hands down so hard against the cool marble that she felt the sting of pain tingle along her palms and down her fingers.
Luke’s jaw tightened as her words struck him one after another, each accusation landing with the sharp precision of a blade. He didn’t interrupt her. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to, her anger filled the room like a storm front, heavy and electric, leaving no space for breath. Part of him, some smaller and inconvenient fragment buried beneath years of careful cruelty, did feel something like regret twisting under his ribs. But the larger part of him, the colder part that understood survival, that understood the mission, was already moving, already calculating, already searching for a way through the mess she’d just dropped at his feet.
And then the words were leaving his mouth before he had the faintest idea why.
"Because I love him," he said.
For half a second Luke actually forgot how to breathe. Oh Jesus Christ on a cracker, what the fuck was he doing. The thought crashed through his skull as he stared at her, realizing too late that the lie had already taken shape, already begun weaving itself into something almost believable. His hand dragged down his face as if the confession itself burned.
"I always have," he forced out, shaking his head like the admission was physically painful to carry. "Since the Academy… all these years apart."
He turned away from her slightly, shoulders tense as if the memory alone weighed more than he could hold. The penthouse suddenly felt too small, the air too tight in his lungs as he leaned back against the counter.
"It’s always been him," he muttered hoarsely. "For a long time I was just… too scared." His laugh was quiet and bitter as he rubbed the back of his neck. He was going to kill himself. "Even when I withdrew from the Academy, I looked for Magni in every thunderstorm."
The absurdity of the words almost made him dizzy. He could practically hear his father laughing somewhere in the back of his mind. Luke let out a breath that shook slightly before he looked back at her.
"I fucked up, okay," he said, voice tight. "I get it. I just—I don’t know, Imogen." His gaze flickered down for a moment before returning to her, something strained behind his eyes. "How could he ever look at me… when he has you?"
A short, broken laugh slipped from him. No, seriously. The top of the building would be the perfect place for him to pitch himself from. Would the fall kill him? Only one way to find out.
"I was desperate," he finished quietly. "It was fucking stupid. I get it. So go ahead, hit me, scream at me. I deserve it all, because I–I hurt him." His voice broke on the word hurt and Luke squeezed his eyes shut.
Imogen froze, like his words alone were enough to make her question if she had ever woken in the first place, because a dream could be the only logical explanation for what was happening. Her palms pressed into the edge of the counter, but her fingers lifted, curling and tense like she didn’t know what to do. The anger and disgust that had been burning white hot inside her went ice cold in a single beat, nearly sending a shiver of confused frustration as a different type of fury settled somewhere deep behind her ribs.
While Luke spoke, weaving and knotting his web tighter, she disassociated. Her psionic tendrils dove into his mind, sifting through every thought and emotion in search of the truth. Lies and truths were always presented differently. A lie was a story, a carefully curated tale composed of necessary fables interwoven with fact that gave just enough weight to what was being shared for it to stick. Truth was a painting, colored with emotions and memories, like a montage that gave every word meaning and credence. If this love was true she should have felt it, seen it through snapshots of their time at the academy. There should have been flashes of lingering glances, time spent together, or the small imperceivable things about Magni that sunk its claws into him.
But there wasn’t… It was just words and actions… scripted.
All expression slowly slipped away from her face as the realization sunk in like an anchor dragging across the pit of her stomach until it caught. Recognition flashed behind her eyes when he met her gaze. Checkmate. She was backed into a corner by a lie so unbelievably ridiculous that there was nothing she could do other than… accept it. What he did was wrong. She knew it, felt it in her gut, but the truth of that burden now lived silently between herself and a man she once thought she knew. She wanted to hit him, scream and shout until she was blue in the face, but she couldn’t. Every thought and action that came to mind would only back fire and make her look insensitive, possessive, jealous, or unhinged. Imogen couldn’t understand what she or Magni did to warrant it, but Luke outplayed them.
She drew in a long measured breath through her flared nostrils. Every muscle in her body was tense as she thought out her words carefully, like one misstep could set off a bomb. "It is still sexual assault, even if you love him." Her words were strained like it took all the control she had not to reach across the island and slam his face into the counter. "I should break every fucking bone in your body for that alone."
The elevator dinged. Brushed steel doors slid open and Ronnie stepped out, shoes crunching on the debris from the broken door. She whistled, looking around before her gaze settled on Luke. "What did I miss?"
Imogen’s body shifted at the sight of Ronnie. Diamond fingers curled into the lip of the counter until there was a loud snap and two large chucks of marble broke free into her palms sending splintered cracks along its surface. She threw the pieces across the penthouse hearing one lodge itself into drywall and another shattered something out of sight. "If it’s love, then why the fuck was she part of it?" Her eyes squinted, searching Luke for any shred of the man she once knew… But there was nothing. The man before her was a stranger. "I don’t know who you are anymore. Your father would be so disappointed in you."
Luke didn’t move while she spoke. His jaw flexed, teeth grinding together hard enough that a faint ache pulsed up through his temples. The anger in her voice scraped against something raw inside him, but he held his ground behind the counter, hands braced against the marble like he needed the solid surface to keep himself from doing something reckless. He could feel her inside his mind, feel the probing pressure of her psionic search the way one might feel fingers pressing into a bruise. It made the back of his neck prickle, but he forced his expression into something controlled, something almost weary.
When Ronnie appeared in the elevator, Luke didn’t even glance at her right away. The whistle, the crunch of debris beneath her shoes, the casual curiosity in her voice, all of it felt distant, like noise bleeding in from another room. His attention stayed locked on Imogen as the marble snapped in her hands and scattered across the penthouse. The accusation that followed struck harder than the debris ever could.
And then she mentioned his father.
For a moment, something ugly flashed across Luke’s face before he could stop it. His jaw tightened again as she turned away, as if the act of leaving severed whatever fragile thread had been holding the room together. The regret that had flickered in him earlier stirred once more, small and treacherous, but this time he grabbed it and shoved it deep down where it couldn’t reach the surface. It didn’t matter what she thought she knew about him. It didn’t matter what she saw when she looked at him now.
"You’re right about that part," he said quietly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried through the ruined doorway and fractured room with unsettling clarity. He finally pushed away from the counter, straightening slowly as he looked at the wreckage scattered across his penthouse floor. "You don’t know who I am anymore."
And the truth was, he barely recognized that person himself. There had been a time, long ago, before the academy fractured and before his father’s shadow swallowed everything, when Luke had believed something painfully naive. That he could be better. That he could carve out a different future for himself than the one waiting for him. The memory of that boy felt distant now, like recalling someone else’s life. The hope had been beaten out of him long before today.
Imogen was wrong about one thing, though. His father wouldn’t be disappointed. If anything, the man would probably be proud of how far Luke was willing to go to see their cause through. Proud that his son had learned how to manipulate, how to twist trust until it snapped in his hands like the marble she’d just broken. The thought crawled through Luke’s chest like something rotten. It disgusted him more than anything else had today.
She had nothing else to say… nothing else she could say. Imogen pushed off the counter with a crunch as more pieces of marble crumbled and fell to the floor. Her shoulder bumped into Ronnie’s as she passed, hitting it hard enough to make the woman wince as her shoulder dislocated. She reached the elevator as it was closing and quickly slipped her hand into the small space between the doors. Once they opened back up she stepped inside, dropping her diamond form before pressing a button to avoid breaking anything else. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t listen to any more of Luke’s lies or the way Magni would be kind and understanding. She would only draw blood trying to bite her tongue through it. Her attention fell to her bare toes that just barely stuck out from beneath the bottom of her pants, unable to force herself to meet anyone’s gaze as the doors closed and the elevator descended.
Magni remained frozen in the stairwell's doorway, his unfocused gaze seeming to settle somewhere in the back of the penthouse as the scene transpired. So many things swirled through his mind at the confession. He had always seen Luke as a comrade, but he did not believe there was anything romantic. They were friends, comrades, sparring partners, and teammates. They had not been particularly physically affectionate, in the way he had with someone like Blake Rasputin. Even then, it became very clear how incompatible they were on a level that could never be mended. With Luke… there was no history. There was never a particularly strong bond.
So… where did these feelings come from? His gaze, his actions, and even his words the day before had made no indication that there was anything beyond comradery. Even hours before, it seemed that Ronnie had initiated everything while Luke went along with it. It never felt like love, like it had with Imogen the night she woke him. But… the thought that Luke was outright lying never crossed his mind. It didn't feel like the truth, so it might have been confusion. As Magni took a breath to collect himself, he looked in Luke's direction.
"I… am sorry, Lucian." The words were soft and somber. He paused, letting the apology sink in as he searched for a proper explanation. "I… have viewed thee as a brother in arms. Thou have proven thyself a worthy ally… but…" Magni closed his hands into fists, the tension against his palms grounding himself in the moment enough to continue. "I do not feel the same for thee. My affections are Imogen's, and hers mine." The admission was simple, apologetic, and firm. He bowed his head, speaking the last words quietly. "I hope that we may still fight as allies, and that we may share drinks in Valhalla one day."
Magni’s words hung in the air like a quiet verdict, and for a moment Luke simply stood there with the weight of them pressing against his chest. His expression shifted almost imperceptibly— lips tightening, eyes narrowing just enough to suggest the sting of rejection. But the truth was far less romantic and far more mortifying. Somewhere in the middle of this disaster he had opened his mouth and turned a bad situation into something exponentially worse, and now he was trapped inside a lie so elaborate he could practically hear it creaking under its own weight.
Honestly, it might have been easier if Imogen had just hit him.
At least then the pain would have been clean and simple, diamond, bone, impact, consequence. The thought of her diamond fist crashing into his jaw made his teeth ache just imagining it, though. He had seen what her sort of power did to walls, to machines, to things that were supposed to withstand far worse than a human skull. No, on second thought, perhaps this humiliation was the lesser evil. He didn't ever want to be on the business side of her diamond fist.
Luke let out a slow breath and forced his shoulders to ease, dragging the mask back into place. When he finally looked up at Magni, there was a strained softness in his expression that hadn’t been there before, the kind that suggested someone bracing themselves for disappointment they’d already anticipated.
"It’s fine, Magni," he said after a beat, voice quieter now. "I understand."
The smile that followed was thin but sincere enough to pass. He rubbed the back of his neck like the whole moment had left him awkwardly exposed. "Of course we’ll always be allies," he continued. "I… I’m sorry."
Luke let the words linger, pouring just enough weight into them to make the apology feel genuine. Every ounce of the performer in him slipped neatly into place, shaping the lie with careful precision. If Magni believed anything from this mess, it needed to be that remorse. For now, that belief was worth more than any truth Luke could offer.
Magni offered a small nod, standing tall again as he took in Luke’s words. It still didn’t feel right, in a way he couldn’t quite place. The reassurance was enough for him, and it at least offered a good enough excuse to tend to his partner. The god sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. "That is… good." He wasn’t sure what else he could say in response. He lingered for a moment longer before just bowing his head again. "I will go now." He lumbered his way back up the stairs, making his way for Imogen’s penthouse at his own pace.
interactions ....|.... ronnie ............... mentions ....|.... tobias ............... collabs ....|.... @Sleepy Tani & @Mjolnir
1x Thank
1x Thank
