It demanded possession.
Shiru looked across the fire at Gu Zhiwei.
The Holy Son was still staring into the flames, a soft, incredibly fond, and undeniably pining smile on his face.
'He loves him,' Shiru realized with a jolt of clarity. 'That Zhiwei is entirely, hopelessly in love with the cook. And he is too innocent to even realize it.'
And then, a darker, colder realization followed.
'And so am I.'
The campfire crackled, illuminating the faces of the two geniuses.
They were supposed to be allies.
They were supposed to be forging a brotherhood that would unite their families; they always had been each other's dependable support.
But as they both sat in the dark, silently yearning for the same arrogant, gray-aproned boy, the seeds of a bitter, devastating rivalry took root in the ash.
They were no longer allies.
They were competitors for the same, oblivious prize.
***
