A break in the clouds
Over the next few days, routine began to take shape, the only successful way to reconcile his responsibilities on both sides of the valley. His time was split in two, with the morning period spent alongside angels, and the rest of the day spent at The Resort. Jean redirected his mail accordingly, while his coworkers either waited to speak to him the next morning or sent him a letter. That became the first thing he checked in the afternoon and quickly replied to before jumping into the reports.
Charmaine made a point to write to him almost every day now, nothing important. Her letters were just attempts to make him laugh, exaggerating her feelings for him; how terribly she missed him, how eager she was to see him again. It was dumb fun. On the other end of that spectrum, Ophelia had also begun to write, except her mail was important. Aiden had shown up for practice that week, and because of that one talk they’d had, she began to document their encounters.
She never went into too much detail, just pointed out some of Aiden’s behavior and noticeable mood swings. According to her, that week had started off well, with Aiden a lot more focused and on top of it, energetic, participating nicely. He didn’t tell her anything, or even talk much; it was all in his body language, which screamed with every movement and every step. As the week dragged on, though, there was a clear change in him, a decrease in energy and focus, something clouding his mind once again. She asked him about it, but he simply refused to open up. It was clear that he didn’t trust her, although Nathaniel was quick to tell her he actually didn’t trust anyone, so she wasn’t alone in that regard.
That change, that loss of excitement—Nathaniel noticed it too. When Aiden came back to the room late in the afternoon for a shower and some dinner, introspection befell him, eyes cast down, deep in thought, body moving slowly. His smiles faltered when they talked, not entirely honest, and a certain poignancy hung around him, squeezing Nathaniel’s heart in a tight fist, a knot around his throat, unable to bring it up. At the table, they drank some wine while Aiden had his dinner and the back of his throat itched, swollen with unasked questions, choking him where he sat. In silence, Aiden stared at the television, brown eyes bright under the glow of the screen, a small reflection moving over his pupils. With his heart bleeding, Nathaniel wondered if he was to blame.
Jean’s letter, in response to what he’d inquired last weekend, revealed that Aiden had actually asked about him that day: what Jean and the order of angels knew about Nathaniel. He didn’t understand what that entailed, but refrained from asking. Apparently, Aiden was still researching him, and the fact he hadn’t gone straight to the source—asking Nathaniel whatever he sought to know—put a scowl on his forehead. Maybe it was their opinions that truly mattered; what the others had to say about him, and not the truth of their statements. Sitting next to Aiden on the couch, cuddling him under an arm, his heart beat deeply, resonating across his chest, filling his lungs with cedar wood and cardamom. Nothing left his lips even as his world fell apart at the seams.
Every time he stepped foot in Court, more eyes seemed to watch him, whispers instantly filling the air. Jay began to greet him with the same remarks and concerns as the time before, always arriving at the conclusion that Nathaniel should get cleansed. Their interactions became a script that he followed without much thought, promising to visit the waterfall every single time only to never do it. At first, it’d been The Drowned, repugnant and vile, that had made him put off going for another day or two, but after so many nights spent with Aiden, sin no longer seemed to crawl under his skin. Rationally, he knew it was still there, but could no longer feel it. That probably wasn’t a positive development, but he didn’t care.
The daily visits to Narissa’s office remained fruitless. She only ever told him Blaz hadn’t been spotted yet. After the third time, he decided to do something about that. It was very clear that Blaz had been lying low to scheme and plot, already informed that they were on the lookout for him, probably by his friend Striker, who hadn’t been seen since the meeting. Convenient. To expedite things, Nathaniel sent out a search party looking for both of them on either side of the valley; soldiers patrolled the streets, searched businesses, and peeked under people’s hoods, leaving no stone unturned. It occurred to him, of course, that those two might’ve been hiding in someone’s home, but they didn’t have the authority to search every home, and would rather not do it, either way.
Day after day, the searches came up empty. While it was relieving to see every one of his men return to the military base safe and sound, it was also agonizing to know both Blaz and Striker were still out there, plotting together. It drove him up the wall, but there wasn’t much else to be done, except wait for one of them to slip up and give themselves away.
Both humans and angels alike loathed having soldiers clog up the streets, walk into their businesses and violate their personal spaces, but Nathaniel and Cosmo had signed off on the search party order together, leaving any disagreeing party to take matters to either Salus or Iussus, which deeply discouraged any further complaints. Aiden asked him about it when some of the soldiers searched The Resort and disrupted his music class, but refrained from pressing for any information Nathaniel would rather not share. Brown eyes squinted, suspicious, but nothing else left Aiden’s mouth. He’d been doing that a lot lately.
It seemed Aiden had finally learned to respect boundaries, although that had apparently come at the expense of his frankness. The open communication they’d achieved last week slowly vanished. Full transparency wasn’t necessary for an honest understanding of one another, as evidenced by what they’d had before, but the unspoken hung heavy in the air. Eyes watched and stared, but neither of them ever said anything. Instead of addressing what truly mattered, they took neighboring seats at dinner and asked each other about their individual days. Had Aiden gotten any better at painting? Had Nathaniel heard any good news recently? Clinking their wine glasses together, they drank, glancing at each other over the rim, holding the stare.
That weekend, Charmaine informed the board meeting of The Abyss’ silence. That wasn’t news to Nathaniel, but it was news to everybody else, whose brows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concern. Her informant, Dolion, who called her practically every day, had called only once this last week to let her know they were no longer interested in discussing what to do with the horses or reaching an agreement with Paradise. They were over it—let the next war decide on a fair judgment. Charmaine wasn’t sure what that entailed, but Dolion had refused to elaborate and didn’t pick up when she’d called him back.
The board’s biggest concern was when the war would break out. This time, they didn’t have an arrangement with the demons; their silence gave the board reason to believe in a surprise attack. The Abyss had never done that before—Justice would never allow it—but some of the Representatives were under the impression that failing to compromise was reason enough to justify an attack. Nathaniel disagreed; the weight of those two events were incomparable. It’d make far more sense for The Abyss to contact them and arrange the battle, like always. If they took too long, then Charmaine could contact them first.
“When would it be too long?” Cosmo asked, skepticism in the glint of his eye.
“A few days.” Nathaniel shrugged.
“Alright, four days,” Irene decided, speaking so confidently that her tone masked the arbitrary nature of that decision. “Let us give them exactly four days, then.”
A round of agreements circled the board.
“I’ll alert the troops and start preparing for combat,” Nathaniel announced.
“I’ll continue to search for Blaz,” Narissa chimed in.
“If The Abyss contacts me again, expect an emergency meeting,” Charmaine explained.
“Peace is my priority, but knowledge is a right,” Irene added. “When will we tell the others?”
“Tonight.” Charmaine stood up from her seat, hands splayed over the table. “To everyone in contact with the humans, do not tell them—this is their eternal vacation.”
Unsurprisingly, Striker didn’t show up for the meeting this time. Nathaniel hardly had to wonder why.
A war in less than four months of peace. Considering they usually took half a year between battles, three and a half months was a very short time. Starting the preparations right now, it’d take him at least another week to have the soldiers ready, which meant The Abyss would ask for two weeks, since every aspect of their management was terrible, so he had time. That didn’t mean he could kick back and relax, however; he’d have to be very smart about this. Stopping by the fort right after the meeting was a good way to start.
Ideally, he’d like to follow the preparations as closely as possible, the way he always had, but with Aiden hanging off his arm, achieving that would be difficult. He’d have to rearrange his entire schedule and replace one of his morning visits with the military base, but that wasn’t a priority at the moment; he’d think about it later.
Under the soft glow of the cove lighting that lined the outer corners of the ceiling, Nathaniel stirred his drink, watching the dark liquor swirl around the glass with a flick of the wrist. The quiet soundtrack of a movie filled the room, lost in the background of his mind. He stared at the glass in his hand, light catching in the ice.
This late into the night, Charmaine must’ve already told the angels about the war. Were their reactions much of the same that war usually caused, or was there something else this time, something new? Surprise, maybe, at the suddenness of it? At how quickly it had resumed? A hand touched his wrist, thumb swiping over his skin. He glanced up to stare at the concern on Aiden’s face, a slight scowl on his forehead.
“Is something bothering you?” Aiden asked softly, like a kiss on his heart. It hurt to have to say it.
“There’s going to be a war,” he explained, watching horror twist Aiden’s features, eyes wide, shining with tears. The hand on his wrist squeezed it, and a sudden urge to reassure Aiden compelled him to keep talking, faster, words spitting out of his mouth. “It’ll be fine—I’ll be fine, I always am. I always come home at the end; it’s been like this for years. You’ll be okay.”
Aiden turned away from him, hiding his grief.
“It doesn’t involve Paradise,” Nathaniel continued, words vomiting out uncontrollably. “It doesn’t even happen in Paradise; we have a battleground in between realms, so you’re not going to see or hear anything. You’re not even supposed to know about it, I just—I, well.” His heart skipped, punching him in the throat. “I felt like I had to tell you.”
It was going to affect their routine, after all.
“When are you leaving?” Aiden asked, small, barely audible, directed at the innards of the room.
“In a week or two, probably. We still don’t know.”
In the quiet between them, broken only by the soft dialogue in the background, Aiden moved, bringing a hand up to touch his own face, obscured by the way they sat. He couldn’t see what Aiden was doing, if he was wiping away tears or covering his mouth in shock, but placed a hand on the one that enveloped his wrist and inadvertently caused it to pull away.
“Can you just…” Aiden whispered, still refusing to face him. “Can you just lie with me for a minute?” Without waiting for an answer, he got up and walked toward the bed, prompting Nathaniel to do the same.
The canopy gave the bed some shade, shielded from the glow of the ring lights, but entirely susceptible to the moonlight that spilled in through the sliding door, curtains drawn. Aiden lay on his side to face the moon, silver shining onto his skin, head over Nathaniel’s bicep. A soft touch on the inside of his forearm, Aiden’s fingertips running lightly across his skin, circling his elbow, drawing invisible patterns on it. A lean and he buried his face into Aiden’s hair, a sentiment resonating in the center of his chest.
“What’s going on with you?” Nathaniel asked, low and tender. It didn’t occur to him then that he’d been trying to ask this for a week straight. In the quiet of the room, the words left him naturally. “You’ve been… quiet, like there’s a wall between us. Your body might be here with me, but you’re miles away. It’s been like this for days. What are you thinking about?”
The hand on his arm stopped tickling it, lying flat on the mattress now. “There’s always been a wall between us,” Aiden explained, louder than expected. “You’ve known that since the beginning. Nothing’s changed.”
“A lot has changed; you know it has. There’s something that’s not being said.”
“It’s always been there.”
“No, it’s something else. You know what I’m talking about.”
Aiden shifted. “I didn’t think you’d notice.” His voice was barely audible with none of the vexation from before. “I don’t know if it’s because I’m showing it too much, or if you—” Aiden cut himself off.
“If I what?”
“It’s stupid; I already know the answer to that.”
“Finish the question.”
Aiden shifted again, this time moving closer to him, pressing against him, face turned up in his direction. “If maybe you feel it too. You—you’re really… convincing sometimes. I don’t know when you’re faking it. I’m thinking, maybe the whole time, but that’s just—that can’t be right. You can’t—you can’t be faking the whole time; there’s some truth to what we have.”
His heart skipped, punching him in the mouth. “Of course I feel it. You know that; you’ve seen it on my face. You just refuse to believe it.”
Aiden turned away again, facing the sliding door. “You don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“Nothing’s going to crumble because of that. This isn’t a house of cards; we’re not destroying anything.”
“We.” Aiden scoffed. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“We, because you’re with me.”
Aiden turned to lie flat on his back, head resting comfortably on Nathaniel’s bicep, brown eyes like silver coins staring up at him, full with the moon. A hand came up to touch Nathaniel’s face, fingers splayed along his jaw. A thumb pressed against his chin, grazing his bottom lip.
“I can’t expect to hear anything in return if I tell you that I love you,” Aiden confessed, softer than a breath, making his heart beat deep in his chest.
“You know I can’t say it back.”
“You’re not going to.”
“I can’t,” Nathaniel emphasized, pointedly holding the stare, but the message had gotten through the first time around. It was on the slight smile that tugged at Aiden’s lips, eyes shining, playful. Aiden pulled him down and met him with a kiss.
There was a certain level of normalcy that resumed their interactions after that, plus a new and unspoken fact present every time their eyes met, and eyebrows bounced, and the hint of a smile curled the corners of Aiden’s lips. They didn’t talk about it; it was in the softness of their touches, and the comfort of each other’s company, and the fact that room 201 had started to feel a lot more like home than Nathaniel’s house. They didn’t call it that, though; it would’ve been too much.
Lying in bed with Aiden, holding him through the crashing of the waves and the shivering of their bodies, their eyes met, and held the stare, and filled him with the sort of warmth that sprouted from his chest and spread through his veins, making him breathe in deeper, heart resonating within its cage. A hand touched Aiden’s face, mirrored by one that touched his in return, and the kiss that they shared then, as the fire subsided and the adrenaline mellowed, was worth a million words. No, it was worth exactly three, etched into the very center of his heart.
There was no coming back from this. He knew it, that falling in love with a human was strictly prohibited and touching them the way he touched Aiden was a sin. Feeling no remorse for any of it was extremely concerning. The line between discipline and self-indulgence had blurred so badly that, at this point, he couldn’t even tell when he’d officially crossed it. Maybe when he’d stopped feeling guilty, or when he’d allowed the budding feelings in his chest to blossom, or when he’d tricked himself into believing that everything he did was for Aiden’s benefit despite his own reaping. Had he sabotaged this entire relationship? This deep into it, he really couldn’t tell.
The right thing to do was obvious: cut all physical contact with Aiden and only visit for a few minutes at a time, following protocol, but he knew he couldn’t do it. Not so much because of the ardent feelings in his chest, but because he didn’t think it’d make the situation any better. It’d make his actions lawful, yes, but a deteriorating relationship with a human assignment was usually a sign that he wasn’t doing a good mentoring job, and the last thing he needed right now was to turn into a problem. He didn’t want to disappoint Salus in any way, or cause him any trouble whatsoever, even if he needed help this time, unable to handle this case without breaking a few rules in the process. He’d just push through it; it’d be fine. In two weeks time, he’d ship off to war, wouldn’t see Aiden for about six months, or maybe a year, and hopefully, in the meantime, all of his feelings would die. He'd suppressed them once; he could do it again. Aiden would forget about him soon enough.
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