One in a Million

Calix was all of fourteen years old when he stepped foot into the Veres household. Though he trembled at the thought - as all of the other servants having been tossed out into the streets - he held his chin high and set his gaze hard. Determined. This was a job he was not going to lose.

And he certainly did not make such an endeavor easy on him.

Errands and paperwork, Calix was used to. He wasn’t the best with reading or writing, but he was good enough to get the job done. And, well, the Veres didn’t have much of a choice after Basileios kicked out the rest of their staff and none else would dare to look their way.

It was… the other tasks. Fetching the man bottles of wine, keeping him off of the streets, cleaning up whatever he managed to destroy, trying to comply with his drunken wishes. Thankfully he stuck to the top floor rooms, to which Calix often heard his heavy boots pacing over his head, but that didn’t stop the way his heart dropped anytime he heard his name called from the top of the winding staircase.

They paid him well. Well enough that he stayed. Not that he had anywhere else to go.

So it was with a bated breath that he had climbed the staircase when he was called again, not even a creak from a single floorboard announcing his presence. And when he stood in the doorway, he had to clear his throat to get the man’s attention, wincing as Basileios turned quickly to look at him.

“Gods, you are far too quiet.”

“Oh… Sorry?”

Basileios swayed on his feet, a bottle of wine held loosely between his fingers. He squinted against the ache in his head, his skin flushed from drinking all day. And his clothes. Calix wrinkled his nose at the sight of him. He wore nothing but a long cloak and pants, red dribbling down his chest from what the boy assumed to be spilled wine.

“Sorry? Why?” He took a step closer, his heel hitting the toe of his boot. No, walking would not do. Stumbling into the wall, he leaned against it and slid to the floor, hitting the ground with a deep sigh and another swig from his bottle.

Calix did not know how to answer, uncomfortably hovering in the doorway. He clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking, soft silver eyes turning to the floor. He only entered when Basileios waved him in, patting the floor beside him as an invite to sit.

“I tried to throw you out, too.” Basileios said as the boy settled beside him, tense and leaning away. The drunken man didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

“I know.” He pulled his knees to his chest, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

“And yet you’re still here.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

Calix considered this question as Basileios took another drink, his face scrunching at the scent of alcohol. He wished he could take the bottle away, but that had not been such a good idea last time. His fingers drummed on his shin.

“Why are you still here?”

Basileios paused, his head tipping as he looked towards the boy with slight surprise. Was that a challenge? A nervous challenge, but a challenge nonetheless. He scoffed. “Well, I don’t have many options.”

Calix smiled lightly, nodding. “Yeah. M'neither.”

“No family?”

The boy sighed, slowly stretching out his legs before him. “Faline is my family.” His lips pulled into a thin line as he thought of his life on the streets. Cold nights as he huddled up under bridges. Fighting to get even a day's worth of a job from employers who saw him as dispensable. Cowering under the boots of citizens who would not offer him but a second glance. Often, they were terribly mean to him. Him and the other kids.

That was what hurt him the most. That was why he shook when the Veres yelled at him or looked at him wrong. 

He was pulled from his thoughts as Basileios chuckled, his gaze narrowing in brief confusion as he turned to look at him.

“Well, your family is shit.”

Calix allowed the slightest hint of a smirk to find his lips. “So’s yours.” Immediately, his mouth snapped shut, regretting the words as soon as they left his tongue. He expected to get yelled at. Hit, even. Fired, for sure. He cowered as Basileios turned to look at him. But there was no anger on the man’s face. No hint of frustration or rage. Instead, there was a humorous glimmer.

And then a laugh.

“Yes. They are, aren't they?” He raised the bottle back to his lips. He would not pretend that the boy was not wrong. Stealing the last bit of wine from the bottom of the bottle, he leaned his head back against the wall as it slid down his throat. And then he shoved the bottle at the boy’s chest, dropping it without a care as to if he grasped it or not. “Get me more. And Calix?” His small grin faded as he closed his eyes. “Do not speak to me like that again.”

Calix scrambled to his feet, nodding furiously although Basileios could not see him. “Yes, sir.” He said quietly with a stiff bow, though the small smile did not leave his lips as he left, just as quietly as he had come.