The world felt empty.
Silent
Dreadfully so.
All the warmth had been sucked out of the room, the only proof that either of them was alive was the heat of their hands as Azrael held them close to his face. The fur on Pavel's hand was soft against his skin.
A pose of prayer.
Of desperation.
Of a man on the edge.
"Forgive me."
If they were the last words Azrael would ever speak to him, Azrael at least wanted him to know that he meant them. Azrael meant them more than anything he had ever said before.
Cloying, sticky silence, Pavel's heavy stare and Azrael couldn't take it anymore. He slid off the stool he had been sitting on and fell to the floor, on his knees, with Pavel's hands still in front of his face. Making himself as small and harmless as he could, subservient in his body language; it was painfully reminiscent of his youth but it was all Azrael could do. His body was collapsing in on itself, imploding from the weight of what had been said.
Azrael's core, his secrets, had been wrenched from his and all he needed was to know the deep crimson stains on his so-called soul hadn't been in vain. Only now did he feel the ache of his bruised wings as they drooped to the ground.
Everything spiralled out of Azrael's control, his emotions painfully tempestuous through his body and he knew it would end terribly if he couldn't get a grip on himself. His skin felt like it was tearing apart and being stitched back together, his bones contorting and popping back into place. It sounded like the ceiling was crashing down onto the tiled floor but Azrael knew nothing was happening.
It was all in his head, the fear driving him mad.
"I beg of you, forgive me."
The words barely made a sound through the sobs racking Azrael's body. It was all too much. Too much. Too much. Why won't he speak? He promised.
You promised me, Pavel.
The golden hands that Azrael held in his pulled away and slipped out of his grasp without a sound. Frost surged into his loosely clasped palms.
Alone.
Alone.
I can't be left alone.
With the tether holding him together gone, it felt as if Azrael was about to crash down to the floor and never move again. His house was crumbling around him, the weeds would grow over and Azrael would fall through the decaying foundation until he was swallowed whole by the earth.
No one would remember him.
Only Pavel.
And Pavel didn't forgive him.
He didn't forgive him.
It was all over. Azrael's fighting was pointless, his killing was senseless, his feelings didn't matter and the reason he kept himself alive rejected him entirely. Regret flooded his senses, his blood heavy as lead.
Nothing had ever mattered.
"Azrael."
Pavel spoke but Azrael couldn't look up.
He could bear to see the hate in Pavel's eyes.
His shoulders shook as he sobbed.
"Look at me."
Azrael shook his head, trembling like a leaf in a storm. Any semblance of the murdered he was had been washed away by his tears. He was just a child with big claws and sharp teeth that had no say in what life he would live once more. Azrael was nothing. Nothing at all. He'd never been anything. His life was not his own.
"Azrael, look at me."
Pavel's hand was on Azrael's chin, tilting his face up. He was too weak to fight against Pavel so he allowed himself to be manipulated at his whim. Once Azrael's eyes were no longer trained on the floor, he saw, through the teary haze, that Pavel had sunk down too, kneeling in front of him. Pavel was looking at him with the most peaceful, gentle expression on his face as if Azrael was someone worthy of his affection. As if he wasn't bathed in an ocean of blood.
He was dirty.
Yet he still touched him.
He stared at Pavel, waiting for him to speak. Azrael needed it to be over so he could figure out how to deal with himself once he told him that he never wanted to see Azrael again. His breath was caught in his throat.
"There is nothing to forgive."
Warmth enveloped him as Pavel pressed his body around Azrael, his arms crushing him to his body the best he could, and all Azrael could do was stare over his shoulder into the expanse of the unlit house. Emptiness stared back.
"…What?"
Pavel reared his head back, his angelic face filling his vision again. "I can't forgive you because you haven't wronged me, Azrael.." As if Pavel couldn't find a way to prove his point, he leaned forward and pressed a feathery kiss to Azrael's forehead. It felt like what he would imagine the comfort of a parent was like. The motion should have startled him but Azrael was already rattled to his centre. "Get rid of your guilt. It's just weighing you down."
Breathless, Azrael asked, "Is that really alright?"
"Of course, it is." Another flutter of Pavel's lips against Azrael's forehead. The arms around his shoulders. tightened their hold and his fingers danced at the hairs on the nape of Azrael's neck. "You deserve to actually be free, alright? You've repented enough, Azrael."
Azrael's eyes were dry now, his tears spent. He gave Pavel a pitiful smile when their eyes met again. Weight lifted off Azrael's shoulders, cascading away like water.
Not all of it.
Azrael would never be free of everything he'd done.
He didn't deserve to be.
But he was at ease knowing Pavel didn't hate him.
With a sigh, Azrael raised his hands up to wipe away the drying traces of his breakdown. It was awkward to do, with the way Pavel was still cradling him on the floor, but Azrael managed. His breath had returned and his body no longer felt entirely hollow.
"Should… ah, sorry," Azrael's voice cracked as he tried to speak again. If it had been any other time, he would have found it in him to laugh, but he was still too shaken, "shouldn't you go check on Ben? She… I told her something horrible."
Pavel shook his head. His eyes shaded with sorrow at Azrael's comment, finally thawed from his mistrust. "No, she has her wife. I don't think she'll want to see anyone but her for a bit. I will… I'll leave her a message." The smile curling his lips was weak. "You told her the truth and it'll be hard for her to accept. But she will, eventually. Ben is a logical one, always has been." He looked down. "Though I doubt she'll forgive you, even then."
"She doesn't have to. She shouldn't." Azrael swallowed; his mouth dry from the fluids lost. "We should get off of the floor. I'll make us some tea unless you want something else?" It was a bid for a semblance of normalcy.
On his feet quickly, Pavel helped pull Azrael up off the floor. His soft hand curled around his forearm. "That would be nice." Azrael smiled to himself at the fact he still wanted to stay near him. As Azrael turned into the kitchen, Pavel spoke again. "I don't take milk but I do have two sugars- what the fuck?"
The exclamation at the end of Pavel's sentence was certainly a quiet one but it confused and intrigued Azrael all at once. With haste, Azrael turned around to face the man only to hear the banging, cacophonous sound of the stools nearest to him being knocked to the floor and a Dull ache from being him.
"What? Ah." Finally looking back, looking down, Azrael saw what had struck the stool, what ached and what Pavel was staring at with the most mesmerised eyes.
Azrael had thought he had hallucinated the contortion of his bones and the tearing of his flesh. However, it appeared that his torturous sorrow had manifested physically as Azrael lost control of his body. The whirling emotions had distracted both him and Pavel from what had happened.
For the first time since the day Azrael managed to leave that forest in a form that was finally humanoid again, he saw his tail. The scales lining it matched the white of the rest of his body, the spines blackened like tips of Azrael's horns and his talons. It was cumbersome, not prehensile, or easy to manipulate like a monkey, more like a cat's tail. Azrael could flick it, swish it from side to side, lift it to an extent but it held not much use beyond extra balance. Unpleasant nostalgia rooted itself in Azrael's mind.
"I didn't know you had a tail," Pavel said, his eyes affixed to Azrael's newly sprouted appendage. It was sweet to see him so curious about a part of him, but it felt almost embarrassing to have Pavel stare so unabashedly.
The seriousness of what had happened was beginning to fade. As Azrael allowed himself to move on, he finally found it in him to chuckle slightly. "Have you ever seen an image of a dragon without one?" He reached his hand back, rubbing the base of his tail lazily. It was a rougher texture than the scales that layered the rest of Azrael's body. Trying to smooth out the back of his shirt proved futile but he remained grateful that it hadn't ripped his trousers. They did now sit dangerously low on Azrael's hips, but it was a far cry from being completely exposed. It would just be a mild irritation until Azrael got a few pairs of trousers tailored to suit the change.
"I've never thought about it. I assumed you didn't have one because you had your wings out but not the tail. Is… that not a conscious choice?" Pavel's voice was boyish, endearingly curious. His affinity for knowledge and his desire to know everything was shining through though Azrael remained a bit uncomfortable at all of the questions. Today is a day for being truthful, so I might as well play along.
Azrael shrugged, flapping his wings with a hiss at the bruising ache coursing through them. He was appreciative that he could move them at all. "No. I've had my wings for as long as I remember and my horns grew as I aged. I've only been in my proper form once, many years ago." Azrael thought for a moment. "For my health, I should spend more time in it. Never mind. Either way, I'm hoping I can get rid of it soon. Too inconvenient."
"Can I touch it?" Pavel padded towards Azrael, though he kept a respectful distance as he waited for a response.
Face flickering with confusion, Azrael nodded. "If you want."
The words were barely out his mouth and Pavel had sunk to his haunches, his hands running down the scaled sides of Azrael's tail. It was an odd sensation, ticklish, torn between pleasant and unwelcome.
Azrael watched him quietly. Pavel's smile was subdued, the weight of their conversation still there for him too, but Azrael could see that he was enjoying himself. Unconsciously, the tip of his tail began to swish against the tiled kitchen floor, a light scraping rhythm sounding out. The corners of Azrael's lips quirked up slightly.
"I have a tail too."
"Oh?" It surprised Azrael that he didn't know that. He had seen the man's back when was mostly exposed the first time they had officially met but he couldn't recall seeing a tail. I was a bit preoccupied with him bleeding out.
Pavel stood back up, and before Azrael could do anything, he'd hiked up his jumper and wiggled down his trousers until a golden puffball poked out from the lowest point of Pavel's back. It wiggled slightly and Azrael's brain finally connected it as being an actual body part. "Cute, right?"
"Mhm. Why do you tuck it away – that can't be comfortable." Azrael was concerned for Pavel's health again, as he always was, even if it was just a little thing like this. Glancing back up at Pavel, he caught his gaze as he tucked that little tail back in his trousers.
"It doesn't bother me at all." It seemed the man was telling the truth so Azrael didn't push him on it. Azrael appreciated Pavel's soft, subtle form of bonding. It was unobtrusive but solid, obvious in his intentions. "How about that tea then?"
That comment reminded Azrael of how parched he was so he nodded in agreement. "I'll go make it."
All was well again.
Azrael had lain his soul bare and Pavel accepted it.
No more secrets. No more lies.
He looked at Pavel as the kettle boiled, the sun catching his golden hair. A halo formed around his head and it reminded Azrael of a morning, many moons ago. Choking back his reminiscing, he turned back to watch the bubbling of the water through the clear panel of the kettle. It felt like an eternity before it boiled.
One secret.
-
Azrael's broiling emotions had settled down and he was finally able to relax. Time had been a blur since the incident in the restaurant that afternoon and it felt like he hadn't taken a single breath since then. It had taken far longer than he liked to safely tuck away all of those weakening, polluting feelings into the further recesses of his mind. Azrael did not intend to let them out so carelessly any time soon but he couldn't remain hopeful that life would not push him again. It certainly seemed since Pavel had become close to him, he had lost his handle on the emotions Azrael always pretended he didn't have.
Sighing, Azrael curled his tail across his lap and looked at the golden rabbit, glistening in the setting sun, lounging on the sofa next to him, asleep. It still stunned him that Pavel had decided to stay in his house, with his guard down, even after what he had confessed. That face he could sit there, sleeping like a baby, while someone who couldn't even count how many he had killed watched him silently was unthinkable. Is he that trusting? Or… is it just for me?
As Azrael stared, taking Pavel's unconsciousness as an opportunity to do so unabashedly, he found himself finally able to think. He had been consumed by violence, aggression and sorrow, even, for far too long and only now, with some of it chipped away, could Azrael consider something other than his grief. It had weighed on him for so long he had come to sit at the bottom of the ocean, crushed under the pressure of everything. Alone with the rest of the world's discards.
But now he could breathe.
With breath comes life. Life breeds thoughts.
All Azrael could think was the same damn thing over and over and over again. It consumed him, eating him from the inside out as he observed Pavel twitching in his sleep. Every flutter of his eyelid, the rise and fall of his chest and the way he smiled a little burrowed its way under Azrael's skin. Even the glisten of spittle dripping from the corner of his mouth was charming, somehow.
But Azrael didn't hate it, even though it was new.
It was new and he liked it.
Two secrets. Just two.
Pavel needn't know that Azrael thought of him so deeply. He was already the man who had followed him and watched him for seven years – it was a miracle Pavel hadn't run for the hills as soon as Azrael had uttered the truth of what he had done. The man was generous with himself already and Azrael could not handle it if he pulled another stunt like he had the previous week.
"I really… tsk, I really am such a silly man." Azrael's voice was a whisper, bitter and irritated. While it should not be hard for him to keep this discovery, this development, to himself, it concerned him how easily he…
How easily I still fall to the pull of my heart.
The concept of basic goodness, kindness without expectation for repayment had been beaten out of Azrael when he was young and it hadn't been until he came into his life. The first bit of good, the first person to display empathy, the first person to not ask him for anything, he- please don't think of him, Azrael. It will only hurt.
Face the future. I need to face the future.
Azrael may have confessed his wrongdoings of youth and his wrongdoings for the cause of Pavel's life, but he couldn't bring himself to tell the man of his greatest guilt. While the weight he carried had been lightened by Pavel's understanding, it would take hell to freeze over for Azrael to be able to forgive himself for that negligence all those years ago. The world would end and his soul, if it really existed, would still stay because he didn't deserve the respite after what Azrael had allowed to happen.
Staring at Pavel, Azrael found himself wishing he could fold him up and tuck him away in the corner of his wardrobe, safe from those who wished him harm in the creases of Azrael's clothes. It was a futile thought, nothing more than a passing desire that stemmed from his fear – a justified fear – but it held Azrael by the throat for longer than he wished it to.
Unable to contain himself much longer, Azrael reached his harm across the gap between then and brushed the delicate strands of hair that had fallen across Pavel's face. He twitched at the contact but he didn't wake up, dead to the world.
Finally, Azrael smiled without forcing it. The first one in a long time that had come naturally. There was no one to see it but he knew, if he did, anyone could see it was genuine. As soft as a smile so sharp-toothed could be, as gentle as a mouth that was framed by growing frown lines could make it. If anyone saw it, they would say Azrael was a man in love.
A man completely and utterly devoted.
He needn't know that.