Vehicles had always been a sort of escape for the young captured boy, as much as they could be, that is. Though he was rarely allowed behind the wheel without Risque at his side, with the speed of those sleek vehicles he could almost forget about her constant, suffocating presence. After all, distinctly little harm came to the Were when he was the one in charge of the vehicle that might kill them both. It was only natural that in his freedom, he might still find some sense of tranquility behind the wheel of one of those sports cars. The drive through the countryside had been nothing short of pleasant, even if it had left him wanting for his Bugatti or continually favored Aventador. Matteo's Peugeot had been a suitable replacement, or so he had thought when he first saw the sleek shape of the vehicle. The interior, however, had left the man utterly baffled. Even now, he was almost eager to voice his disdain for those design choices, the inside of the car stripped of every defining feature to simply contain one singular flowing facet. Whoever had crafted the plans for the vehicle surely thought they were being edgy and hip and modern but Tetradore loathed it. His emerald eyes met the pearly hue of Matteo's own as he spoke with such a distinct and rare passion of his feelings on the car, only to be met with silence from the usually loquacious fae.

In the silence that persisted between the two men, Tetradore was all but content to return to the meal nestled within his bowl. His fork stabbed at the sausage with perhaps more force than necessary before he shoved that bite in his mouth. The sudden mischievousness upon Matteo's features, however, was the only hint he had to the words that followed. An audible snort left Tetradore's nose at the sheer idea of that particular vehicle in any way besting his favored Aventador. "Oh, fuck you. Your stupid Pero-whatever tops out at like ten extra kilometers an hour. My Bugatti would smoke you any fucking day." That fork was pointed quite purposefully at Matteo, as if he was challenging the fae to argue the specifications of those vehicles that he already knew all too well. He took the fae's almost eager return back to that macaroni as a silent defeat and yet, for now, he had no intention to gloat beyond what he had already, instead indulging in the nostalgic cheesy dinner he so adored. Tetradore was oblivious, for the most part, to the thoughts that weighed so heavily upon the Frenchman's mind, the man instead far more attuned to those slight displays of emotion upon the fae's features. The sheer suggestion that the pair had something to speak of, however, brought a ready weariness within the Were-King. He had so easily picked up on that shift, that nervousness within the fae so prompting a ready anxiety within Tetradore himself.

He was hardly prepared for that distinct turn of the conversation - from vehicles to those memories he all but loathed to dwell upon. A part of him still had some deep seeded bitterness towards his continual abandonment within that horrific dance club, even if he understood, perhaps the impossibility of all he desired. Still, some nights, escaping with the inevitability of death was far more promising than what he had endured at that vampire woman's hands. It was with a measurable effort that Tetradore strove to place some sort of emotional distance between himself and those old feelings that threatened to assault him. After several moments of cautious silence, his lips parted, only for the man to make some effort to simply wave off those memories of the past. He was hardly prepared for that almost despondent look that crossed Matteo's features, the very glance so pulling at his heart. Guilt all but seeped into his chest and, at that moment, Tetradore found himself regretting his actions, even though he had been a mere boy. As a child, he had been simply incapable of understanding that there was more to that situation he had found himself in beyond Matteo's unwillingness to whisk him away. He had thought that if he merely asked enough times, if he begged hard enough, cried hard enough, the Frenchman might give in. How utterly naive he had been.

A soft sigh left Tetradore's lips as Matteo swore that those early years were unforgettable. He had, perhaps, not considered how difficult of a situation he had placed the Frenchman within during those tender years till now. That empathy of a child was...strikingly different from the understanding of the man nestled within that armchair. A small frown crossed his features and yet, Tetradore still made the effort for Matteo - offering the fae words he had not spoken in relation to this particular topic. His emerald gaze darted back towards the bowl in his hands, considering those words before he uttered them. "Look, Matteo...I'm sorry about that, back then, okay? I didn't understand everything that was at risk." It was a distinctly difficult thing to speak of. For so long he had thought Matteo invincible, just as all children do their own parents. It had been a stark realization that had struck him over those years. His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly as Matteo merely continued on, telling him of all the reasons he couldn't have stolen Tetradore from that hellish place, much less all that Matteo would have eagerly given up if it had provided Tetradore with that life Matteo had wanted him to have. It was peculiar, in a way, to hear Matteo speak of those very things he wished he could give Tetradore. Though the pair had easily fallen into those roles of father and son, a part of the Were-King had always kept a distinct separation between Matteo and his own fallen father. It was that very segregation that caused Tetradore to remind the fae that this was certainly not his responsibility.

His insistence, however, seemed easily ignored by the Frenchman as Tetradore took that offered envelope, his own fingers slow to open it as they toyed with the edges of the folder. He remained relatively silent, however, altogether aware that any argument he might have had would have been pointless. Instead, Tetradore's attention turned fully towards the French documents he sluggishly pulled from the envelope, the foreign language printed on the page only served to baffle him as to what...exactly he was looking at....besides some sort of official looking government seal. It was Matteo's explanation that sharply saw his emerald eyes rise towards the man, that singular word leaving his lips almost abruptly. This was the very last thing he had ever anticipated to receive from the Frenchman. For several moments he merely thumbed through the packet of pages, stunned into silence. He was...touched, he supposed, that Matteo wished to formally adopt him. Admittedly, a part of Tetradore had been a touch...jealous at the discovery that his sister had near replaced their childhood family with one of her own with her adopted pack while Tetradore was continually left without. And yet, he was equally as repelled at the idea that he might gift another soul that title of 'father', in the official sense, as if it was a disservice to the man that had truly been his dad. All of that, however, was staunched even further by the realization that, with a paper trail, came the risk of that vampire mistress finding Matteo - Tetradore's own greatest secret.

He tossed that stack of papers on the coffee table, that physical act of distancing himself from them was perhaps more revealing than he realized. Tetradore's voice was distinctly candid as he pointed out each and every single reason on why this was a poor idea. The very mention of Dorian himself often prompted some overabundant protectiveness within the fae that caused, more often than not, the Frenchman to reconsider a fanciful notion such as this. His emerald eyes narrowed ever so slightly at that soft sigh that left his companion's lips and yet, the question that hung between them was one that Tetradore could easily answer, even if he chose to keep his own silence. Matteo would do nothing that might lead to any true harm coming to his son - his real son. Tetradore knew that well, though even such prompted a warring of emotions within him. Matteo's promise that he had looked into the future for a near decade, however, was hardly enough to persuade the Were. After all, how often did that future change from one shift in an action? The ripples, he was certain, were too great for Matteo to know with absolute certainty. His very stillness persisted all the same as Matteo spoke of those far more tangible precautions the fae had taken to ensure the safety of those papers, much less them falling into the wrong hands.

It was, as much as Tetradore hated to admit, a well-guarded secret, this adoption. The paper trail was distinctly small and guarded well enough and yet, his min was more than readily capable of presenting him with a whole new slew of possibilities that he was certain Matteo hadn't considered. Such considerations were hardly voiced, however, before the fae across from him so softly spoke of the future that danced before those silver irises. It was a nice sentiment, foolish though it may be, to consider birthdays and Christmases, the birth of Tobias' children, and his own potential freedom. How he had yearned for that very thing for years and how often it had been stolen from him. How he had thought he had seen Risque find a true death, only for this too to be little more than a lie. Though he would have liked to believe in that future Matteo spoke of, hope for such a thing was simply....hard to muster after so many years. Perhaps Matteo mere saw yet another attempt that led to the death of another illusion. Perhaps that necklace around his neck might keep him alive and kicking to be her pet slave for another several hundred years. Perhaps he might one day meet those very men he had been told of for so long and yet - what did it matter even if he did? What did this family matter? That promise that he had already been a part of Matteo's family for twenty years prompted a soft scoff upon his lips, his head shook ever so slightly. It was laughable, he was sure, that it was up to him, all of this had been orchestrated without him for long enough as it was. "It's already signed and sealed. It's not like you gave me much of a choice." Tetradore responded in a clear grunt of irritation though what irked him most remained a mystery to the Were-King, those emotions were almost far too great for him to consider. "Was there anything else?" He inquired, quite clearly conveying just how finished with the topic he was as he placed his bowl upon the same coffee table, leaving those papers precisely where they were.

aiden tetradore