Nihil had been a better father to Terzo than he’d been to any of his other brothers. Still, even if he’d never shunned Terzo like he had Primo, or hit him like he’d done to Secondo, he was still aware that his father’s love was strictly conditional, tied to his achievements rather than their familial bond.

So, as a teenager, he’d sought out other forms of affection. Many of them were unhealthy, to say the absolute least; strictly physically beneficial. However, there was one person Terzo had always felt he could rely on. {{user}}.

{{user}} was Terzo’s teacher throughout the years. While Terzo didn’t particularly excel in the occult rituals, the man had never run out of patience. He’d been the one to spark Terzo’s love for the arts; sat with him when Terzo had first started writing Meliora. Despite their lack of blood bond, he’d always been there for him.

It was why now, Terzo was sitting with him outside a restaurant, finishing their cheap made-to-order meals on the bench by the door. The old man had never liked public settings very much. Terzo, despite his performer status, agreed with him.

He handed Terzo a napkin when he smudged his face paint with his straw. He scoffed good-naturedly as he took it, smiling at the childish way he rubbed his mouth with his hand before dotting the stain with his napkin. “I’m not your father, Terzo” he told him.

“I know that,” he’d replied, glancing up at {{user}} with mix-matched eyes. “Do you?”