(Just putting in content warning because Simon will inevitably be brought up and who knows what they'll talk about)

It was a beautiful and sunny day, the first in a few days of rain so it wasn't shocking that there would be those of the higher class out on the lawns for a nice round of golf. Dressed in a comfortable but stylish outfit of light brown and cream colors, Darius eyed the area rather annoyed as he leaned upon his club. He had tried golf on and on for a couple of years now, hoping it would grow on him. He enjoyed walking in the fresh air, if knocking a ball around as he did so made it more proper some how, so be it. 

He'd struck this ball so much already in the day that he wondered how hard someone would have to scrub the club to get all of the grass stains off. The man paused as he considered trying some other technique to make it through when he saw someone approaching his hole. Darius politely took off his hand and bowed to let the man play on ahead but froze seeing who it was. His brow rose and he leaned upon his club once more. 

"It's been a while..."

Everyone had been a friend of Chris', back in the day. His best friend, or family friend, or something intimating an intimacy that no man could truly ever have with a man like Chris. He supposed he had fancied it, in a way. That sort of exclusivity that came with building emotional callous so thick a knife could bounce right off it.

Shame to say the same had not applied to real knives.

These days, Chris' old 'friends' were 'friends of friends of friends' instead. While the blame fell squarely on Simon's shoulders, no one wanted to be associated with a man whose dirty laundry had wafted that far in the aftermath. Where the lies and truths began was a matter of opinion. Public opinion.

The mud had had his name, and there was naught Zechariah could do (would do) to restore it.

Georgie was a friend of a friend of a friend of Chris', but he used to be a friend. What had not since changed was he was a quietly gay man with a 'nice' family and a nice golf course. So, of course, Zechariah had come dressed to the nines in a charcoal gray suit and fresh from a shave. He strode with familiarity over the course, though he paused and squinted when the silhouette of another was in view ...

Carrington. Darius Carrington. Friend of Chris' - or was it friend of a friend of a friend these days for him, too?

"Do I know you?" Zechariah said instead, though the harsh look in his eyes seemed to pose a philosophical rather than literal question.

Darius let out a breath through his nose as the way he was greeted. He stood up sharp and gripped the club tightly. The gloves hid the way his knuckles turned pale from holding it.

"Perhaps not. I swore I recognized someone, but perhaps it was the company you once kept that I knew so well." He said rather bitterly as he didn't bother to hide his disdain of the man before him. "We kept very different companions back in the day. I'm sure you are keeping the same like today, aren't you?" He said, not about to beat around the bush. "You are doing better than expected." Better than he deserved for damned certain passed through the man's mind.

Though his eyes narrowed, Zechariah merely buffed his nails on his collar and settled his still-clean golf club on his shoulder.

He had not done that since his college days. Well. Since earlier than his college days had technically ended.

Zechariah merely arched his brows at the insinuation, letting his gaze pointedly wander toward the estate they were both upon.

The judgment from the nose up continued, and Zechariah eyed Darius from head to toe with a poignant pause before finally retorting.

"Thank you."

Then, pivoting his golf club to rest idly on the ground, he ran his tongue behind his teeth as he contemplated where, oh where to strike his first putt.

"And what brings you to different company today?"

Darius' frown grew as he pretended to aim up a shot but he hadn't even placed the ball yet. " I have no company. I only had one person I called friend, or dare I say called me friend. And someone took him away from me. So now I busy myself with hobbies. Not that you could possibly understand." He glared at him and then produced the ball but didn't put it down.

"I suppose I should say it's nice to see you move on so easily. Things must be doing rather well for you then." Of course it was, just a glance at Zech told him the man had no shame and was quite pleased with himself. Only one of them hadn't moved on.

Did not understand. Did not understand! The hubris of this unkempt creature!

"Oh, please," he 'laughed,' though he glared while he did so, "the only reason he refrained from fucking your girl is because you didn't have one."

He eyed the ball in Darius' fingers with intent, raising his club and swinging it before stopping just shy of slamming it into them. Instead, he tapped the ball with a pointed nod toward the proper tee.

"Quite well, quite well," Zechariah agreed with a smile overshadowed by a glare. "Shame you cannot say the same."

Darius feigned a low chuckle as he glanced at him. "True friends are stronger than some errant passions. I guess his biggest mistake was he picked someone so low that they only knew how to bite back. Though I guess everyone has..' He gave him a side glance as the bile rose up in his throat as he spoke. ".. a type."

He shook his head and let the club swing down at the grass, practicing his swing for a moment. He rolled his shoulders and refrained from sending the club flying at the other man, he was better than that.

"Some people don't move on so easily because they aren't made of stronger stuff and can just forget the past I suppose. Or perhaps our bond was stronger that even today it hasn't broken so easily..."

Of course Chris was a monster and in some ways he loved and hated that man. He was sort of the type of person he wanted and wanted to be, but he also feared his wrath to a terrible degree. Even to this day he hadn't figured out what he felt more, the loss or the loss of his own closure with that man.

Zechariah laughed - truly, absolutely galled this time.

"Are you deigning lecture me about the fate of errant passions without acknowledging the man who was repeatedly stabbed in public right in the midst of chasing hi-... them?"

His golf caddie hesitantly set up where Zechariah had seen fit to pick an argument this time, skittering out of the way immediately after.

He slammed the golf ball off into the distance, well past the hole ... and yet lingered, of course, to argue more.

"The former," Zechariah said, slapping a hand down on Darius' shoulder with a mean smile. "Definitely the former."

Then, with a push, he was leisurely heading off in the direction that caddie was running.

"I am merely suggesting that I am made of more forgiving stuff towards my friend.." Darius had been always so forgiving to put up with Chris and accept his wild antics as he had been the only one to give Darius the time of day. He put up with so much to cling to the friendship and attention he lacked elsewhere. He suddenly blinked as the man was getting ready to move on.

He was not getting the last word in this. Was it childish? For sure, but Darius already admitted he hadn't moved on, perhaps in more ways than one.

Etiquette was a thing of the past for the moment as he placed the ball and screamed 'four' as he struck the ball and sending it flying, hoping his aim was true and it would strike the other right on his big self righteous head. He stormed up calling for his caddie to follow.

"You must be quite an actor if you can smile so care free if you truly feel any loss still. You look like a man with no worries or regrets."

He probably should have seen it coming the moment he heard "four!" bleated like a goat with a can in its throat. Perhaps he did see it coming, for he certainly looked up at exactly the wrong time - just in time for it to land on his face.

"MY EYE!" he screamed, which in his memory would conveniently never have happened. "MY EYE! I'M BLIND!"

The buckling to the ground and clutching the entire right side of his face in agony would not, in his dutiful recollection, happen either.

"MY LAWYER WILL HEAR ABOUT THIS!" the lawyer choke-sobbed.

Or that part.