Overwhelmed, Azrael's eyes widened. Pavel gasped as Azrael looked at him, the world falling apart as the ugly truth of who he really was got dragged into the unforgiving light of day. The way Pavel looked at had already changed. No, no, no, no.
A cold knife had been plunged into his ribs, right through the heart, and Azrael stumbled back from those piercing words. Pavel hated him, of course, he would – he was a good, innocent person and Azrael had blood-stained hands. Far more blood than the self-defence story he had confided in him. Azrael's voice was stolen from him. "I- I… I can't…"
"Don't deny it. Don't act weak. I've been looking for you for 19 years and I won't let you out of this." With how rattled Azrael was, she was suddenly upon him, her hands around his throat as he stared in terror at Pavel. His eyes never wandered from him, never straying as his gaze filled with unreadable thoughts. "Stop looking at him, you murderer."
Azrael choked out his words as Ben's long nails Dug into his skin, audibly cracking some of his scales. "Who… who was- was your… father?" His breath was a mere gasp he looked back down at the naga. Her gaze softened but her grip tightened, a confusing difference as it was clear she still wanted him dead. Sharp nails pressed further into the revealed flesh of Azrael's neck.
"Rapeepong Srisuwan. He was the head of the Srisuwan group and worked with your owner. You tore apart my family." The violent glow of Ben's eyes had dampened further, perhaps reminiscing over her father or her rage was tempered by looking at the red rimming Azrael's eyes. "Or have you killed so many that you have forgotten?"
Despite everything, her comment made Azrael bark out a laugh before he coughed, his throat bruising her fingers. A near-perfect memory was helpful in these situations. Azrael's words were a harsh, choking wheeze. "I've forgotten not one person I was forced to kill. I carry that guilt with me every day for innocent lives I took." He sucked in a rattling breath. "But I hold no remorse for what I did to your father."
The comment, callous as it was, reinvigorated Ben's rage and she slammed Azrael bodily against the wall. He grunted as his wings were crushed and he had to hope they weren't badly damaged. "And why is that?" Ben's face was impossibly close to Azrael's, so close he could see swirling silvery flecks in her eyes. "I'll take it as your confession before I kill you."
Azrael couldn't help but curl back his lips a little now, his teeth gritted, as he craned his neck forward and reached his hand up to grip Ben's shoulder. "I was 13. Thirteen years old! Why the fuck would I be in a room with your old man when he could be killed by my hand? I. Was. A. Child." He let a bear pass, and the constriction around Azrael's throat loosened. With no power at all, he pushed her shoulder and Ben's body fell away from him, motionless from the weight of the confession. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes were wide as her hands fell limp to her side. All of her aggression had drained out of her completely as it dawned on her what had been said.
"Liar." Ben's voice was barely a whisper. Her conviction was failing her, but she still fought to protect the idealised image of her father she had from her childhood. Even if she knew he had criminal dealings, the implications of what Azrael had said were something entirely worse. It made sense that she couldn't equate him to what Azrael knew. "That's not true."
Azrael's gaze dropped. The grief he held for his lost childhood and the innocence that had been wrenched from him threatened to spill out. He bit it back. "I am sorry… that you didn't have the father you thought you did. That is the only thing I feel guilty for." Azrael heaved a sigh as he took the plunge and finally looked back to Pavel.
His stare was locked on Azrael but his face was expressionless, devoid of anything readable. Before Azrael walked towards Pavel, he hesitated. Panic must have been clear on his face because Pavel spoke up for the first time since Ben had attacked Azrael.
"We should give Ben some space, I think. Come on." Pavel turned on his heel and exited the room, back into the main area of the restaurant. All Azrael could do was follow him in silence because that seemed to be all he wanted him to do. Azrael glanced over his shoulder as the door to the room they had been in swung shut and he met the sorrowful stare of the naga collapsed on the ground for a brief moment. He had not seen an expression of such hopelessness on someone else for a very long time.
Thud. The door closed.
They weaved through the chairs and tables until they were back on the street. Pavel still didn't stop or slow or even glance back to check if Azrael was there.
Onward they walked until they were outside Azrael's house again and then Pavel finally looked at him. He looked at him and looked at him and looked at him and, for the first time in a while, Azrael became uncomfortable under Pavel's weighty scrutiny. "Open the door, Azrael."
It was like the first day they met all over again. His words were cold, untrusting, and biting as he spoke to Azrael like a stranger, even as Pavel uttered his name. It felt sharp, almost a threat. Azrael nodded his head and unlocked the door. He was too petrified to make a sound.
Azrael held the door open for Pavel who swept past him, down the hallway and back into the kitchen, out of his sight. With a deep shaking breath, Azrael headed in after him, moving slowly to prolong the time between now and Pavel inevitably interrogating him. It felt like he was swimming through treacle. Finally, Azrael stood in front of Pavel as he looked up at him from his seat, his sins laid out, ready for him to take his pick. Azrael's eyes were firmly trained on the ground. He didn't deserve to look at Pavel.
It was as if Azrael was a child again. Like he was back in that house, with Master Lynch, being scolded, berated, tortured. He was insignificant. He was pitiable. He was nothing.
Pavel broke the silence. "Who areyou, really?"
As if his words were weapons, Azrael curled in on himself slightly, his head tucked further towards his chest and his hands clasped harder together. He will himself to become invisible, to melt into the floor, anything for all of this to end. "I'm Azrael. That's who I am." His name was all he could offer. The only kind thing Master Lynch ever gave him was a name. Some form of an identity.
This didn't satisfy him. Pavel let out a harsh exhale from his nose, perhaps irritated but maybe just disappointed. "You know what I meant. I want the truth – what have you done? Who were you?Use your words. A full sentence is the least you owe me, Azrael."
He flinched at the harsh tone Pavel took, thought he couldn't help but agree with him. At least he chose a better question.
"Nobody." Azrael's skin broke under the pressure of his talons, blood beginning to pool around them on the back of his hand. Soon it would drip down and puddle on the floor but he ignored it. He wasn't important, he would heal. Azrael allowed the questions Pavel asked to stew for a moment as he glanced up at Pavel before he found his words and looked back down at the floor. A whisper that was nearly lost to the air. "I was nobody. A body, a weapon… a toy. I did as I was told."
While Azrael had confessed to him before an infinitesimal piece of his life, he wasn't at all prepared to lay bare the rest of it. It was what he never, ever wanted Pavel to know and now Azrael had no choice but to tell him if he wanted him to trust him again. This fragile relationship and Azrael's confusing intensifying feelings towards Pavel made him want to cling to the man like he was a lifeboat.
"You're bleeding," Pavel stated that fact like Azrael hadn't spoken. His hands were suddenly holding his, separating them and observing the already healing wounds that were still dripping blood. "Sit down. I'll clean the blood off."
Pavel took hold of Azrael's upper arm and guided him to the stool before he vanished off into the main body of the kitchen. It hadn't been too long since Azrael had used the medical kit stored there on Pavel so it made sense he knew where it was. As much as Azrael wanted to follow him, to watch him, Azrael knew he didn't deserve to be near Pavel or gaze upon him. Staring at the warping reflection in the bloody puddle on the back of his hand, Azrael realised he'd seen this view of himself more often than he had a clear image in a mirror.
It was suddenly wiped away and a little plaster covered the deepest puncture wound. It was a waste, the wound would be healed within a couple minutes, but Azrael didn't say anything. "Tell me more." Pavel's golden hands cupped Azrael's again and he finally spoke. His hands were scolding with their heat, burning Azrael every second he held him. "I want to know who you are. Please."
"You know who I am. What I've done… what I have done isn't me." It was something Azrael didn't quite believe himself, but he didn't know what else to say. His voice was barely above a murmur, begging for Pavel to understand. Azrael could cool every single atom of his that was touching Pavel's; it was overwhelming, all-consuming. Too much, too much, too much but he couldn't wrench his hands away because Pavel's warmth meant he was still here. If he could touch these bloody hands with no worries, maybe what marred Azrael's past wouldn't stain him. "It's not me."
Pavel took on of his hands from Azrael and curled it into his messy, white hair. "Yeah, you're right but what you've done has shaped you. I want to know why you are like this now. Why… why you are so kind to me. I want to know your past so I can help you." Gently, Pavel patted Azrael's head and smoothed his hair, comforting him like he had once comforted Pavel.
Does he not despise me?
Finally, Azrael found the courage to look up at Pavel. As soon as their gazes met, the tears fell. He couldn't help but cry when Pavel looked at him with those eyes. To comfort himself, to steady the humiliating wobbling of his voice, Azrael brought their hands that had been clasped together on his lap up to his face. Azrael closed his eyes and rested them against his cheek. "I… I was born to parents I never knew. As soon as I was in the world, I was passed off as collateral for their debt for god knows what – my abnormality was the only thing of value that they had. I was different and different means expensive."
Pavel's hand brushed through Azrael's hair. He hummed softly and pulled his body closer to his until Azrael's head rested on his chest. "…I understand that."
The thick fabric of Pavel's turtleneck became damp as Azrael cried against him. Azrael hated that he was so pathetic that he was sobbing in Pavel's arms again. "I… do I have to tell you? It's… just- I've…. So many people have died by my hands, Pavel, I don't know how many anymore."
Pavel's breath hitched but he didn't pull away from Azrael. "No… no, I don't want you to tell me that. I can accept that you have killed, you had no choice. Tell me about your life outside of that, please." His hands had moved away from Azrael's face and hair until his arms had curled completely around his shoulders. Azrael felt the pressure of his head resting down on his, Pavel's face burying itself between his horns and into his hair. "I know it's hard, Azrael."
"Life… outside of that?" He scoffed through his tears, his lips curling back into a disgusted sneer. "I didn't get one of those. I only worked – I was the master's weapon, I kept the master's bed warm, I was passed around for money for the master. My life was the master's. All I could call mine was the empty room in the cellar that I never saw because I was never… a person." Azrael inhaled the smell of Pavel that was surrounding him, the only thing that made it possible to talk about this. He had never divulged this much about himself to another soul. Not even him.
"When did you escape?" Azrael could feel Pavel's lips moving and his hot breath against his scalp. His words vibrated through Azrael's skull, deep and richly melodic.
Azrael clicked his tongue at the memory. "I was barely 17. It was like any other day, really, but I… something snapped. I don't… remember what happened but I woke up, curled up in a cave, in a forest, in a form I didn't know I could be in. But I felt freer than I ever had." He felt a bitter smile dance across his lips. A metallic taste settled faintly in his mouth. "I knew I'd killed the master. His blood was thick on my tongue, a taste I can still remember to this day in the back of my throat.
But I was free."
"I'm glad you are. How long has it been?" Pavel was sombre still, not breaking the fragile quiet that blanketed them. He was much better at comforting Azrael than he had been for him. Soft, warm, and caring as if he had been raised by someone who loved him. He was everything Azrael wished he could be. Even when Pavel was prying into the darkest aspects of Azrael's life, there was no bitter aftertaste; his curiosity was innocent and gentle. It didn't even feel like curiosity, just a desire to know more about him as a person, something Azrael had only been for a brief time before.
"Over a decade." His hands had been on his lap but Azrael tentatively brought them up now, wrapping his arms desperately around Pavel's waist. Azrael wasn't ready for his warmth to leave. "Earlier, you asked why I am so kind to you… do you promise not to hate me if I tell you?"
Pavel took a deep breath. "I can't promise that." Honesty stung, but something about him softened the blow. He took a step back and Azrael almost fought him, but he allowed his arms to extend and follow Pavel's body. Standing in front of Azrael, his hands curled into fists over Pavel's hips in his despair for contact, they finally looked each other in the eyes again. "But I promise I will forgive you if I need to. Tell me."
Azrael inhaled, sucking in his bottom lip.
"An auction in 2005. A golden rabbit all alone under a spotlight as those beasts in the audience raised their paddles for the chance to own them." He exhaled. "That was my first time seeing you." Azrael danced his eyes away from Pavel's, not wanting to know if he could remember that particular day or if he would horrified about how it wasn't a complete coincidence that he knew him. "The master… hurt me that night as punishment because I had sighed when I saw you – I was supposed to be silent. Belongings don't talk. He taught me my lesson. For some reason, your fate in particular scared me but I quickly accepted I would never see you face-to-face, that you'd be dead long before adulthood." Words tumbled out of Azrael with no filter, all of his repressed feelings and experiences flooding the air. "Life went on."
There was no response to his words but Azrael wasn't ready to look at what expression Pavel was making yet so he continued his miserable story. "When I moved to London, a few years ago… I saw you, by sheer coincidence. At first, I wasn't sure – I hadn't had glasses on at the auction so all I could see was the gold of your hair but, that day when I saw you again, that same gold made me realise you were that child. You had survived all these years."
Now, Azrael did look back up at Pavel. Perhaps it was his silent pleas for mercy at his confession, but Azrael gulped when he saw the way Pavel was looking at him.
He wasn't angry.
I couldn't tell what he was thinking.
"Was our meeting two months ago intentional?" Ah. Parvel was suspicious, which made sense, considering the story he had just heard. His face didn't read as disgusted even when he asked that, staring at Azrael with his questioning eyes. "Did you plan it, Azrael?"
He shook his head hard, looking at Pavel with the most earnest expression he could muster. This confession would be the make or break of this relationship depending on how forgiving Pavel really was. "I never… I intended to watch from a distance. Never impose. To help a little without you knowing. Call it repenting or whatever words there are for it, for all the bad I've done."
"So… so you've watched more for years? Okay, alright." Pavel didn't sound alright. "What did you do to 'help'me, Azrael?" He was using Azrael's name when he spoke. He had learnt that Pavel seemed to only use it in moments of utmost seriousness when he was worried that Azrael would lie or evade. It was very effective – he was the only person that ever used Azrael's name these days anyway. "I've promised that I'll never forgive you no matter what it is, so tell me."
"I did the only thing I'm good for."
Pavel looked startled but unsurprised all at once. "And what is that, Azrael? What have you done for me, all this time?" He stared through Azrael as if he were trying to tear Azrael open, unpick the stitches at his seams and unravel him.
It was like drawing blood from a rock, what Pavel was doing. Azrael never intended to admit what he'd done, not to anyone, not to him, but he had to as Pavel stared him down with his piercing eyes. They were usually soft, boundless and welcoming, like soft earth warmed under the sun but now they felt harsh. Unforgiving and fruitless as the ground in winter. Everything thaws in time so Azrael hoped beyond hope that Pavel would stop looking at him like that as he clung to him like a child.
Azrael was drowning.
He swallowed back the fear. His voice was as light as air, impermanent in the hope those words wouldn't hurt Pavel, as Azrael continued to confess everything. "I could hear what they did to you. When you were really hurt, I could tell from the way you cried. Those clients… don't you wonder why they never came back, even to visit another worker?" His answer did dance around the question but he felt like, if he answered it properly, it would it the situation worse. It was obvious, even without stating it. "I did what I'm good for."
"You killed them?"
How plainly he speaks, so straightforward that it hurts. Azrael's chest was heaving as he bit back his guilty sobs, his panic, and the way his stomach pooled with a regret he hadn't felt for so many years. Remorse and shame flooded back into him after Azrael had run away so far away from it.
"Yes."
Silence.
Nothing.
So Azrael spoke again, to fill it.
"I know it didn't help all that much now. You're… you're still hurt even after all I've done." Azrael's voice cracked, hoarse with sorrow. He had long since stopped his unearned crying but the tears were beading in his waterline once more as he asked, no, I begged for Pavel to understand.
Azrael couldn't keep living if he didn't forgive him.
Desperately, he moved his hold from Pavel's hips and clasped at his hands that hung motionless at his sides, bringing them together in front of Azrael's face. His knuckles pressed firmly to his lips.
He was praying now.
Praying to him.
"Forgive me."