Brath scoffs in frustration, and he is glad he doesn’t have to meet his eyes. “Aleksander is watching me too closely. He interfered, again.”
“Naturally. So I assume that little cherub, Andrew, has been welcomed back with open arms in return for remaining a loyal little sheep.” Brath frowns at the thought and folds his arms, but his brother continues. “What are you going to try now?”
“Aleksander said I should remain on Earth to redeem myself.”
“Oh, then he knows you very little.”
“Very little indeed,” Brath confirms. “I always thought he knew me better. But I guess he thinks I am as he imagines me to be. And I’m not. I fell, and I changed, and I fear that wallowing in the same sphere as humans is making me ill.” He pauses, takes a deep breath and in spite of the darkness surrounding them, he can suddenly feel his brother’s eyes on him as if they were residing in broad daylight. “If Aleksander, if our Father, thinks that I will just sit and wait and pray for forgiveness—”
“Then they are mistaken?”
“Quite so,” Brath says.
There is a quiet, raspy chuckle. Brath has missed his humor. “So what now?”
“I’ve decided that I don’t want to redeem myself. I don’t need to redeem myself. And if they think I’d ever want to crawl back to them after what they did to me, then they’re delusional, and they are fools,” and he spits out the words like he wants to spit at his Father’s feet. “I’ve got other ideas.”
“Ah,” his brother says, “I knew there was a reason that you have always been my favorite. He wasted your mind. So creative, so shrewd and so delusive. It would be a true shame if you weren’t to reap your full potential.”
“See, I think so too,” Brath smiles, rubbing his hands together to chase away the numbness spreading from his fingertips.
Silence stretches out between them, and that is something else people mistakenly think about Hell. They think there are people burning and thus screaming for mercy, fire crackling and smoldering, the breaking of bones, the slicing of flesh, the splattering of blood. But there is nothing but silence. It’s so eerily quiet that it seems to be deafening Brath’s ears.
“So this is why you’re here.”
“Well,” Brath says, “after all this time, I thought you might appreciate me offering you an outing.”
He can’t see his frown, but Brath knows it’s there.
“You can’t free me, baby brother. Although I do appreciate the offer. Very thoughtful. But I fear you’d need your sword for that. And I doubt they would let you get your hands on it.”
“I doubt so too. But you’ve never underestimated me, so please don’t start now. I have someone else in mind who will get his hands on it for me.”
“And what might you do once you have it back?”
Brath feels his own smile growing. He inches closer and drops his voice a notch. “You know, this is the only variable in this idea of mine,” he explains. “I could break these chains after I’ve opened the abyss, which I am going to do anyway. But the thing is, you know me, and I know you, and I don’t like to get double-crossed. So I haven’t quite decided yet.”
Laughter echoes around him, almost suffocating and tightening the air. “Oh, you are beautiful,” his brother says. “Just wonderful. Such a beautiful soul. They really did make a mistake in letting you go, baby brother. And yes, you should be careful, because there is no guarantee I can give you now that will ensure absolute loyalty. But you know that already. So why even tell me?”
Brath shrugs. “Just to give you something to mull over. I don’t value loyalty or empty promises anyway, and I don’t care what you do once I’ve released you as long as you keep out of my way.”
“How do you know I won’t get in your way intentionally?” His brother questions just as Brath is preparing to leave again. His skin feels icy; his lips are chapped by frost.
“Because you want revenge. And you can go ahead, take it, and tear Heaven to shreds if you want. I told you I don’t want their forgiveness; I don’t want anything from them.” He turns around, brushes a fingertip across one of the chains spun around this prison like a majestic spider web. It cuts into his flesh, but Brath does not bleed.
“What do you want, if not revenge?” Lucifer calls after him.
“Chaos,” Brath replies quietly. “I want the world to descend into chaos. And I want to watch it while it burns.”
* * *
Brath returns before Mathieu wakes up. He feels cold and yet entirely rejuvenated, and he startles Mathieu awake by tugging at layers and dragging his teeth over the warm and soft skin. Hands languidly tangle in his hair, and Brath smiles to himself as he directs his lips to lower regions.
* * *
“You reek of him,” Gareth says with a frown, sniffing Brath’s neck. “I don’t like it.”
Brath pushes him away. “I don’t care.”
“We do,” Keith interferes. “It’s not good you keep talking to him. We might not remember everything anymore, but I do know it's his fault we are here. He’s evil.”
“What makes you think I’m not?”
“Because you’re not,” Gareth tells him. “You want to be, but he actually is. He is evil, and he is a liar, and he is manipulating you.”
Brath narrows his eyes at them. “What makes you think he’s in the position to manipulate me? What makes you think I’m as foolish as you lot? I won’t have you talking to me like this, so be careful. And don’t get in my way,” and he pushes past them into the kitchen, grabs a spoon from a drawer and empties a bowl of freshly made cream in defiance.
* * *
Brath decides that he likes the place Mathieu lives. He likes that it has high ceilings and a lot of windows and big rooms with sliding doors. He likes that the parquet is so old that it creaks with every step and that the walls are all painted in a soft gray. There isn’t a lot of color in it, but Brath finds that he prefers it that way because it’s calm and clear and without fuss, doesn’t cluster his already busy mind.
There are big leather sofas and shelves full of books, but what Brath likes most about the apartment is that lingering smell of Mathieu, that subtle scent of his soul in every corner of every room, deeply embedded.
Brath makes it a point of letting Mathieu know that he likes it, that he enjoys being there and that he prefers it over the coffee shop. He doesn’t mind the shop that much anymore, but he’s getting tired of Keith and Gareth throwing concerned looks in his direction. Always trying to tell him—him of all people—what to do and of reminding them that if it weren’t for him, they’d be decomposing like a rotten corpse in the darkest corners of Hell.
He probably should’ve known better than to expect gratefulness from two disturbingly useless demons.
Mathieu still insists on his coffee, and Brath is happy to keep stealing Gareth’s cakes, so they meet at the coffee shop and head to Mathieu’s apartment after, to spend the evening, mostly to spend the night.
It is not common knowledge up there, but Brath has always enjoyed seeking entertainment amongst people (it’s probably the only thing they’re good for anyway). And people used to have more faith back in the days and so most had worked incredibly hard to keep Brath’s attention, to keep his interest engaged, but eventually Brath had gotten bored with all of them. He’d disposed of them quietly enough, had made it part of his job to seek out traitors and punish them to his own liking so that his Father hadn’t had a reason to complain. Since Brath had fallen, he’d gone about as he pleased.
And Brath tells himself that this is exactly what Mathieu is; someone to occupy himself with while he waits for his plan to unfold and if he is turning out to be different than the others, then that’s not Brath’s fault, and it’s nothing he should worry about.
He wonders, absentmindedly, as he strokes his fingers up Mathieu’s bare back, tracing vertebra for vertebra, how long Mathieu is going to keep him entertained for. That is all.
Brath likes the attention Math
ieu gives him, likes the way Mathieu seems focused on him and the expression in his eyes.
There is just one problem.
“I’m meeting Jakob for dinner tomorrow,” Mathieu mutters into the pillow, blinking at Brath with one eye and he stills.
Brath doesn’t like to share. And he doesn’t intend to.
* * *
It’s risky business, and he’s perfectly aware of it. However, that will make it so much more satisfying when he succeeds in the end, which he will. He just needs to take some precautions and play out the right cards, keep some only for him to see. They are watching him closely, he is led to believe, which means nobody is keeping an eye on anyone else. Suits him just fine.
Brath has never liked clouds very much. They feel funny on his skin, odd and sticky, and smell sharp and lingering, and he always needs a few days to get rid of it after he’s gone up a sphere. It’s a bother, but it needs to be done after Brath’s change of plans. He could use Andrew, easily, and out of all the cherubim, he guesses Andrew is the most agreeable, simply because he is more than just a dull follower. He thinks for himself and is simultaneously clever enough not to shout it from the rooftops. And yes, he is naïve in thinking Brath is satisfied with the way his existence is playing out; but he is not stupid. And Brath would never underestimate him.
But this new idea of his is even more brilliant because Brath doesn’t even have to lie to get what he wants. Yes, of course, he doesn’t intend to tell the entire truth, but if he drops the right hints, he won’t have to get his hands dirty at all.
Brath puffs clouds away from his face and flops down, humming softly, feeling his lips twitch. He isn’t granted a proper greeting (not that he was expecting one), only a pair of skeptically raised eyebrows. Brath responds with a smile.
“Are you here to finish me off?”
“Finish you off?” Brath echoes. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, the last time I saw you, you looked like you wanted to steal my soul and take my place.”
Brath shrugs. “Surely you understand.”
“I don’t.”
His voice is much colder than Brath remembers, but that is not much of a surprise. And apparently he does know how to hold a grudge, always has been one of the more somber cupids, one of Aleksander’s favorites, naturally; responsible and obedient. Well, until Brath softly laughs.
“Oh, I think you do.”
Their eyes remain locked, their expressions motionless; the vastness of the sea below and the infinity of the upper spheres above. Brath remembers meeting him for the first time, so long ago that the memory has already almost faded against the backdrop of time, pushed away, nearly forgotten.
It had been in the very beginning, and their paths hadn’t crossed, interestingly enough, until a couple of thousand years ago, until both of them had strayed off. Brath guesses that perhaps, deep down, they are more alike than they seem at first glance. Two sides of the same coin; one redeemed, one damned until the end of time.
“What do you want?”
“I told you before,” Brath says. “I like you.”
“I’m flattered.”
Brath decides to ignore the sarcastic jab. “You should be. I don’t like many of you.”
“You seem to like the human, Mathieu.”
“Ah,” Brath smiles. “Were you told to keep an eye on me too? Or did you just accidentally notice while you were keeping both of your eyes on someone else down there?”
And there it is, this treacherous little brush of color across his cheeks, so easy to pick out in contrast to his otherwise unnaturally pale skin, a hint, an obvious clue that indicates small yet very deep cracks in his façade. Brath thinks he can see his soul shimmering beneath, twitching and distorted and so very broken. He knows that the archangels can do as much mending as they please; it is not going to go away. And Brath doubts he even wants it to.
“What else is there for me to do but watch?” He asks bitterly, and it’s all it takes for Brath to catch him in his carefully constructed trap.
“You would be surprised.” Brath lowers his voice. “You would be shocked.”
He huffs. “Come on, Brath. I’m not an idiot. After last time, Aleksander warned me to not even talk to you again.”
“And because you always listen to Aleksander you will be miserable for the rest of your existence.”
“I’m not miserable,” he says.
“You are,” Brath retorts. “You got misery gushing out of your buttonholes. Not that you have any. But if you did, there’d be misery coming out of them.”
He blinks irritably, moves and makes indications to get to his feet, but Brath links a gentle yet solid hand around the back of his neck, drawing him closer, studying the panicked twitch in his eyes. Brath strokes a thumb across his jaw.
“Don’t run away from me, brother. I’m here to help you. If you help me.”
“I won’t let you blackmail me into anything,” he says firmly, and Brath shakes his head with a gentle smile.
His skin feels warm beneath his fingertips, almost human, filled with their Father’s warmth and seemingly unshakable faith. But it’s all appearance. Because he is even smarter than Andrew, and he’s even better at hiding his true thoughts and that slowly growing shoot of doubt. Of greed.
Once they get a sniff of freedom, it’s impossible not to become greedy for more and Brath knows it better than anyone.
“Blackmailing is below me,” Brath answers, still holding his head in place. “It’s more a matter of you doing me a favor. And in return, I will help you out with your little… problem.”
Brath can practically see the string of thoughts set in motion behind his eyes.
“And what kind of favor would that be?” he asks, hesitantly, but his curiosity seems to be getting the better of him.
“Now we’re talking.” Brath loosens the grip of his hand, lets it slide lower onto his shoulder. “You see, they have something up there that belongs to me. And I’m quite keen to get it back.”
Understanding dawns on him quickly. “I won’t steal it for you.”
“And I won’t force you,” Brath replies. “So let’s just speak hypothetically here, all right?” And he waits for the other to nod before he continues. “I’m stuck down there, where you want to be. And you’re stuck up here, doing your job as a devoted little cupid, and I wouldn’t mind having my soul restored to its former glory. All I need is my sword.”
“How do I know you won’t try to steal my soul once I get it for you?”
“Very inquisitive, brother, that’s good,” Brath says. “But I won’t need your soul. My sword is all I need to restore my position as an archangel. And once that is done, I can easily grant you what you so secretly crave.” He gets up with a soft smirk and pats his shoulder. “But as I said, only hypothetical. I won’t force you. But think about it,” and he winks, waves a goodbye. “I’ll see you, Andrew.”
7
Mathieu
When Mathieu wakes up in the morning, he finds Brath stretched out on his couch with a book held up in front of his face; one of his books, Mathieu notices when he walks closer on bare feet, it's the third one he got published. Brath sees him instantly, but he doesn’t avert his eyes. He keeps reading and Mathieu takes a moment to appreciate the view, to take in the way Brath looks with a pair of his own sweatpants low on his hips and a t-shirt that’s ridden up to reveal pale, taut skin and he feels his throat run dry.
He tears his eyes away, heads to the kitchen to get himself a cup of coffee, doubting that he would function without it, and grabs a glass of cranberry juice that Brath seems to love.
Rounding a corner, he stops in the doorway, glass, and cup in hands and has a brief thought; Mathieu has known Brath for about a month, intimately for about two weeks (He's unsure because time blurs when Brath is around, and it becomes hard to tell). And yet Mathieu knows Brath resents the taste of coffee, that he lives on sweets and barely eats anything savory. That he also finds bright c
olors irritating and all these tiny little details, which usually escape his attention.
It took Mathieu a handful of months to remember Solomon had been allergic to shellfish and he’d known him much better than he knows Brath. He doesn’t know Brath at all if he's entirely honest to himself, but Mathieu doesn’t think he cares at all. He doesn’t care what Brath did before they met or where he came from.
It matters to him that Brath is here now and that Brath fits into his apartment like he’s been there since Mathieu had moved in.
There’s a slight flutter of panic running through his chest when Mathieu realizes he might have accidentally dragged Brath into some relationship they haven’t agreed on and he has no clue if that’s what Brath wants or if there’s some very painful miscommunication happening between them.
But it’s not something Mathieu wants to worry about just now because it doesn’t seem like Brath is worried about anything at the moment and he wants to preserve this air of tranquility, this surprising and quiet domesticity in which they suddenly find themselves.
“Why are you reading this?” he asks and crosses the room, sits down by Brath’s feet and places both drinks on the table.
“Because you wrote it,” Brath says, simple and straightforward, without looking at him. It simultaneously feels like the worst and the best reason.
“How far are you?”
“Last page.”
Mathieu splutters. “Last page? How long have you been up?”
“All night,” Brath answers.
“How come I didn’t notice? How come you don’t look the least bit tired?”
Brath shrugs. “You were asleep,” he says nonchalantly. “And I never sleep much.”
“Okay,” Mathieu says, grabs his coffee and takes a long sip, because he is still tired and Brath is a bit much for his brain without caffeine. “So what’s your verdict?” he asks and isn’t sure if he wants an honest answer.
“I like it,” Brath says, turning the last page. Mathieu knows this book by heart, wouldn’t ever confess that out of all of them, this is probably his own favorite, the one he’s most proud of; freed of the uncertainty of the first and relieved of the pressure of the second. He remembers letting go and enjoying himself and exploring new ideas. It’s not the one with all the prizes, and it’s not the one turned into a movie or even the most popular. But it feels most like it’s his and he tries not to read anything into the fact that Brath picked it out of a couple of hundred books that line his shelves.
The World Before: MM Romance Page 5
