It's complicated

Ranthael woke up fully clothed with the worst of headaches. He was absolutely parched. Given that the Mansion of the Gods was located in the immortal realm, with no concept of day or night, he had no idea just how long he had been out. Well, given his previous antics, he probably wouldn’t know even with a sun cycle, but it gave him little clue if walking out of his bedroom for a glass of water would leave him pleasantly alone, or face to face with one of his nosy cohorts.

Wait, what was he doing? Ranthael magically reached out and found a carton of orange juice in the fridge, and teleported it directly into his hand. With little hesitation he gulped down the carton’s entire contents and leaned back, satisfied though not exactly relieved of his headache. Ranthael wasn’t sure if between then and when he regained full consciousness he dozed off again, but after a pleasant few moments of rest, he found himself staring at the ceiling and dreading the morning.

Ranthael had a low alcohol tolerance, comically so, but that didn’t stop him from partaking. He was normally good and kept it away, but sometimes, that one time out of ten, he’d say screw it and get himself absolutely wasted. Did that make him an alcoholic, he thought. Couldn’t be, he still said no nine times out of ten, and that ratio never seemed to change. So that didn’t count, right?

He grunted and rolled over to his side, but became suddenly aware of how uncomfortable and pathetic he felt on his bed still dressed in last night’s bar clothes. Disappointed, he pushed himself up and stripped down to nothing but his underwear, and then rifled through his dresser for a worn shirt and pair of slacks. Now, looking like half a mess instead of a complete one, he ventured out into the hallway of the mansion, down the staircase, across the lounge and into the kitchen. His thirst returned and there was only so much orange juice.

Surprisingly, the only person he met along the way to the kitchen was Lilith, dressed in an equally worn and comfortable nightgown as his slacks. He honestly could not remember what she had been up to last night, but based on her messy, unwashed hair, probably the same as him.

“Well well, he emerges,” she teased. Heavens, how long was he out?

“I need water,” Ranthael grunted back. He lazily grabbed a glass from the cupboard and began to fill it in the sink. He really didn’t even want to ask the specifics.

“You drank a whole glass of champagne last night, and more after that. Honestly I wasn’t even sure you’d survive it. How much do you remember?”

Ranthael weighed his response. “Not much.”

“Do you remember the part where you had your tongue in Lucina’s mouth?”

The glass slipped from Ranthael’s lips and drenched a streak down his chin, shirt, and pants. He stared out into space and savored the moment, that feeling of morning sweat mixed with his clothes clinging in awkward, cold places. It felt appropriate for the moment.

He had a plan. He would claim to not remember a thing, or at least nothing important, and Lilith would be coy with him. Give him some hints that something had happened. He’d demand to know, but not too hard, and make the rounds to the other gods and ask them what had happened. He’d start with ones that liked to gossip. It would double as both making him look like he was serious to know what had happened, and lower the chance of anyone actually telling him the truth. Because a good gossip had to keep the tease going. Had to keep it alive. Eventually he’d make his way to someone with more interest in keeping the peace than telling the truth. They’d tell him some plausibly stupid and embarrassing half-truth about the night that would suit Ranthael’s needs. The issue would be dropped, and everyone would be convinced that Ranthael really didn’t have any memory from the previous night.

But it wouldn’t work if Lilith was so goddamn honest about it from the beginning.

“I definitely do not remember that part.” Whatever his new plan was, he gained nothing by admitting the truth.

“Shame. You two were clearly enjoying it.”

Oh. Oh now he understood what was happening. Ranthael had been in a mood lately. A mood that had led him to pout, and sleep in long days, and distance himself from the others. A mood that’s solution was, to put it crudely, get laid.

As if his worries about Sunitha dramatically increasing activity lately, about Elias suddenly reappearing when he should be dead, about his recent string of weakness not being able to protect the universe he dedicated his very soul to, about his anxieties of potentially leaving his great power to an unknown heir of unknown worthiness, about his existential dread of reentering the cycle of life and death after being free of it for so long; Lilith acted as if all those worries could be solved by getting his dick stroked.

…Well it wouldn’t hurt, but a solution it was not.

“Does Lucina remember?” First thing’s first, anyway.

“Don’t know. Haven’t seen her yet.”

Unlikely. Unless Lucina had been drinking as much as he had, multiplied by their difference in tolerance, she should have been up before him. But if Lilith’s ultimate goal was to see the two of them together, then she should have said something like, “yes, and she tried to play it off just as cool as you, Ranthael. She likes to pretend she doesn’t care, but you can just tell.” Or well, maybe something less out of character, but Lilith would have had time to think it over.

Ranthael sipped on his water glass, rethinking just how far he wanted to push the subject. Maybe if he stopped talking about it now, it would just be his and Lilith’s little secret.

But of course, fate had quite the sense of humor.

“Lilith where the fuck is the toothpaste?” Lucina walked into the kitchen wearing nothing, literally nothing, but an oversized t-shirt, just long enough to be considered, in the loosest sense of the word, modest. Ranthael took a long sip, figuring the glass would obfuscate where he was looking.

“I told you, I’m hiding mine until you get your own. Just spend two minutes going to the store and buy more.”

“It’s just toothpaste it’s the same either way.” Lucina stumbled over to the fridge and looked inside. She frowned, apparently looking for something Ranthael may have stolen earlier, and then filled a glass with water like he did.

“Thirsty?” Lilith asked. Ranthael held his breath to see if Lucina picked up on her tease.

“Fuckin parched.” With the glass full, Lucina turned and left out the kitchen, gulping the water down as she did.

Ranthael waited a good, long minute to make sure she wasn’t coming back. “I don’t think she remembers,” he said.

“Nah she totally does.”

Ranthael tried to assess whether Lilith was being honest with him or not, but it was completely futile. The Goddess of Darkness wasn’t necessarily known to be a trickster, but obfuscation was in her element. But if Lucina wasn’t going to bring it up, then that was fine. He didn’t need to either.

Either way, he really needed a shower.