Notes: The poem in here is an excerpt from "La Belle Dame Sans Merci" by Keats.
Cherior scowled deeply. Yet another day of Miss Priss droning showing off for the class and Mikael-sama. This time Devecia was reading aloud a poem to the class. Cherior yawned indiscreetly into one hand.
"Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing."
The girls in the class and not a few of the boys were paying rapt attention to the student standing at his desk, reading from a slender volume of Keats. Cherior's lip twisted into a smirk and he slouched more determinedly in his chair, watching Devecia out of the corner of his eye. Devecia's voice rose and fell as he read the poem. It was pleasant sort of tenor - the kind that Cherior didn't so much mind listening to if he was forced to endure poetry.
Excluding his tolerable voice, Cherior felt the urge to throttle the pompous ass. Flipping his dark green hair over his shoulder, preening for the class and Mikael-sama - just who did the little peacock think he was? An arrogant, good-for-nothing sonuvabitch who needed to be taught a few lessons.
Cherior cracked his knuckles. Sign me up.
"And there we slumber'd on the moss,
And there I dream'd, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill side."
Mikael-sama was giving him the evil eye. Cherior smiled lazily and stretched a bit in his seat. Devecia had everybody eating out of his hand. Pansy ass. Poetry was for punks, and this was a stupid poem anyway. A knight gets tricked by some chick who makes him a ghost and blah blah blah blah. Cherior would have much rather been studying Shakespeare again. That, at least, was exciting stuff. Swordfights and tragedy and murders galore. That was the way literature should be.
Devecia delivered the last line of the poem and Mikael-sama thanked him in what Cherior felt to be an overly gratuitous manner. Fuck, it was just a stupid babbling poem. Not something to get emotional about, unlike Azrael's new Scythe, which was truly a piece of art. Deadly art, but art nonetheless. Cherior would have given just about anything to be able to be able to swing it, just once.
Devecia was looking at him again. Goddammit, he hated it when the freak stared at him, and it seemed like he was doing it all the time. "Quit looking at me," Cherior hissed.
The brat just raised one midnight green eyebrow. "I'm just facing the front of the classroom. You're the one sitting sideways in your seat."
Cherior also hated being spoken down to. "Well, fuck off. I can sit however I want. Just quit staring, pansy." Devecia's face remained impassive, much to Cherior's annoyance.
"A-HEM. Gentlemen, please save it for after class," Mikael-sama reprimanded in a quelling tone. Cherior made a half-hearted attempt towards being respectful. There was no use in getting Mikael-sama's pinfeathers in a twist this early in the week. If he got pissed off now, he might rescind Cherior's mentoring hours with Azrael this week. That was something that Cherior just couldn't stand for when there was a beautiful Scythe awaiting his adoration.
"You can sit however you want, hmm?" Devecia murmured, having leaned forward so close that Cherior could feel his breath in his ear. He shivered involuntarily and then did what was fast becoming a habit - he turned in his seat and yanked hard on Devecia's long locks, bringing his face forward so Cherior could glare at him at close-range.
"I do whatever I want, whenever I want, priss. Now shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you," Cherior growled, ignoring the excited murmurs of the classroom and Mikael-sama's icy glare.
That arrogant bitch had the nerve to purse his lips. "With a kiss? How sweet. Didn't know you liked it that way, Cherior."
Cherior punched him without a second thought, taking great pleasure on the altogether satisfying sound of his fist connecting with Devecia's jaw. Mikael-sama was there in a second, pulling Cherior away and yelling some very angry words.
Shit. There went Scythe adoration hours.
Devecia knocked on the door to the teachers' lounge. Mikael-sama had told him to come here to get some attention for what was already becoming a sizeable bruise on his jaw. He'd never been in the lounge before, though he'd heard the usual tall-tales about the teachers getting it on in there and other wildly improbable things. He never could see why people would spread gossip that was so obviously false.
The door opened as he was about to knock a second time, leaving him with his fist in midair, which was a rather stupid position to be in, especially when faced with the blonde vision who beckoned him inside. "May I help you, Devecia?" Suriel-sama asked, his tone reminding Dev of warm summer evenings and caramel apples.
Devecia suddenly felt quite bashful before the exceedingly beautiful Suriel-sama. "Well..I...you see, Mikael-sama sent me down. I think it would be good if I put some ice on this." He pointed to his bruised jaw and had to remind himself to breathe as Suriel-sama's eyes fluttered in shock.
"My dear, what happened to you this afternoon?" Suriel asked, not giving him time to answer. "Sit, sit, and I'll get something for your jaw."
Dev almost groaned. Oh, he had already gotten something for his jaw. He had had the dubious pleasure of watching Cherior smile in an altogether disturbing fashion after socking him. He didn't know if bad karma applied to not entirely mortal beings, but it seemed that he was cursed from the day he had walked into class and had sat behind the irritable redhead.
For one thing, Cherior was rather classically handsome. Still a bit gawky, perhaps, but possessing of absolutely beautiful flame red hair, which had started to curl quite becomingly after Cherior had apparently forgotten to maintain his crew cut. But pretty as Cherior was - and he was quite pretty - he still had some serious attitude problems. As if this afternoon hadn't made that one crystal clear.
He yelped a bit in shock as cold came into contact with his cheek. Suriel was looking at him a bit strangely, and Devecia hurried to wipe the dopey daydreaming smile off his face. "Thank you very much, Suriel-sama," he said politely.
Suriel-sama sat down right next to him, and Dev fought down the screaming impulse to scoot away. Long artist-fingers tangled with his, bring Devecia's attention to Suriel-sama with a firm squeeze of Dev's hand. "You didn't answer my question, my dear. What happened this afternoon?"
Dev closed his eyes in pain, both physical and emotional. "Cherior." He didn't really feel that needed elaboration.
Suriel-sama actually winced and Dev had the sinking feeling that he was really in trouble. After all, everybody loved Suriel-sama and Suriel-sama loved everybody. Well, almost everybody, it seemed. The golden-haired angel gently removed the ice pack from Devecia's cheek to check the swelling of the student's jaw.
Suriel tsk-tsked under his breath, his cornflower blue eyes soft with pity. "I hope this isn't indicative of the new semester, Devecia. Ardouisur is going to be quite upset with you when you get home. You'll be pulling weeds for a month when she finds out you got into a fight."
Dev groaned and rested the uninjured side of his face in one hand. "That's if I'm lucky. It's so unfair - it wasn't even a real fight. I just got slugged for talking back to Cherior instead of meekly going along with his temper." He felt even more morose, if that were possible, as another idea occurred to him. "Ari will probably make me clean out all the greenhouses...I'm doomed. All for one irritable redhead. So unfair."
Suriel-sama was giving him a weird look again, which strangely enough immediately transformed back into pity. If his face hadn't been throbbing, Dev would have thought about it more. As it was, his jaw hurt like hell and he politely excused himself from Suriel's presence. He needed to get some rest before Ari locked him in the nearest greenhouse with a broom.
Ardouisur, strangely enough, did not comment on the prominent and quickly purpling bruise. It made Devecia feel edgy...he waited for her furious outburst as he unpacked his school bag, but it didn't come. They made dinner together, and Dev felt more than a little skittish as Ardouisur cut up vegetables and meat with a very sharp knife, but she didn't reprimand him then, either. He felt certain that she would tear into him over dinner, but they ate in quiet peacefulness at the little table in the sunroom.
He just couldn't take it anymore. "Aren't you going to yell at me?" he demanded, thunking his water glass down at the table.
Ardouisur never missed a beat. "Yes. Be careful with that glass. It's part of a set." She continued to eat, seemingly unflappable.
Devecia was aghast and more than a little confused. Her lavender eyes held no reproach whatsoever, and he just couldn't figure it out. She ought to be breaking some sound barriers by now while thoroughly dressing him down for his idiocy. "You...aren't angry?" he asked tentatively.
Ardouisur flicked a purple strand behind her head, and continued to appreciate her chocolate mousse. "Suriel told me what happened. I fail to see why I should be upset."
Devecia dropped his fork and it clattered noisily onto the china plate. "Well, Ari, he only decked me. Nothing major, you know," he said sarcastically.
"Are you dead?"
"Excuse me?"
"Are you dead?"
"Well, no."
"Then you learned something important today. Don't irritate Azrael's protégé and you won't get smacked. Azrael and Cherior are two peas in a pod, and it's unwise to annoy either of them. Even if they're both quite lovely."
Dev slipped into dreamworld for an instant. Very lovely, indeed. He was jerked out of his daydreaming as he felt warm hands unbuttoning his school uniform. "Emergency," Ardouisur said shortly. "I'm sure you understand."
Devecia, a child whose conception had been aided and blessed by Ardouisur, could never say no to her. Not when there were other women like his mother, who had so desperately wanted a child of her own.
Though he would be the first to assert that making love to his landlady was somewhat disconcerting, it seemed alright as she straddled his thighs and whispered blessings in his ear. It seemed more than okay to give himself over to her softness and the blissful rapture of completion as she worked the most delicate of blessing - the creation of new life.
Hot and still panting, she collapsed against him, and he knew that she was merely catching her breath and would resist cuddling. He wondered if there was anyone for whom lovemaking was a pleasure and not a duty for Ardouisur. /Is there anyone you love?/ he asked gently, feeling pleasantly drowsy.
/Oh, I like the young ones with red hair and green eyes and horrible tempers./
It took him a minute to figure out that she was making fun of him. /I know it's a stupid idea, Ari, but I'm really sort of taken with him. Underneath all that macho bullshit he might even be a fairly decent person./
/Plus you want to jump him,/ she added, cocking an eyebrow at him and smiling.
/Plus I want to jump him,/ he agreed cheerfully. /But that's not going to happen until Cherior figures out why he hates me so much./
Which, he thought as his jaw began to ache again, would likely be no time soon.
Cherior stabbed the air with a fencing foil. It was late evening, with the sun low in the sky. Cherior really liked it here out on the hill behind the Dormitory. It was solitary and quiet, and alone was just how he wanted to be.
"Do you fence much?"
It figured that the Priss would intrude even here. "No, I never really got a chance to learn on Earth. I was signed up for lessons and everything but..."
"What happened?"
Blood everywhere. The sickeningly sweet, coppery smell clinging all around him.
Cherior looked over at Devecia. The setting sun burnished some of the green hair to olive. Cherior sank against the trunk of a nearby tree, the foil cradled in his arms. "Things happened. I came here."
Devecia sat down next to him, their shoulders and thighs touching. I'm not moving, Cherior thought. He'll have to move first. Dammit, this is my space.
"How did you become an angel student?"
Cherior snapped out of his languor and turned furious eyes on Devecia. "What kind of fucking personal question is that? For the darling of the class, you're pretty stupid when you put your mind to it."
Devecia didn't react, which only made Cherior angrier. Didn't anything faze this guy? "You don't have to tell me. I was just asking," Devecia said casually.
Cherior clenched his fists and thought hard about pummeling the boy. It could never be that casual. "Fuck you. You first."
Devecia glanced at him. "Pneumonia. My body didn't respond to the antibiotics. I died pretty quickly."
Cherior deeply envied the peace, the sheer uncaringness of the green-haired boy's words.
Blood. His parents slumped in gharish positions over the furniture. Gasping moans, gurgling sounds.
"When I was fifteen, I came home from boarding school for the holidays," Cherior began slowly, still doubting the wisdom of telling this to anyone. "The house was quiet, and I went to my father's study. My parents had been shot, and before I could do anything, a gun went off again. The bullet lodged in my chest, and all I could do was sit there and bleed and watch them die. And then I saw him."
"The murderer?" Devecia asked, his voice impossibly soft.
"In a manner of speaking. I saw an angel with black wings and black robes, holding a scythe in his hands. He ripped out my parents' souls and then he turned to me." Cherior's voice was cold and even. He heard the hitch in Devecia's breathing, and took a perverse pleasure in being able to get such a reaction out of the normally placid boy.
"But before he touched me, he stopped. He swore a lot, and I almost wanted to laugh, because here I was dying and Death himself was cursing like a sailor. And then..."
"Shit. You're an innocent. And Suriel isn't here. Fuck. Sorry, kid. Nobody else here to do this but me."
"And then?"
The cool metal of the scythe brushed his face and Cherior leaned forward, longing for the sharp edge, longing for a way to stop the pain.
"Are you really in such a hurry? Fuck, kid, your parents deserved this, but not you. There's nothing wrong with you except that they didn't love you."
His lips formed the words "I know." It was hard to speak...blood was trickling out of his mouth, and damn, it was just everywhere.
"Not just yet. I'll make you a deal."
Cherior looked up into the cold beauty's face. If he could gasp anymore, he would have. He never would have thought that Death could be so beautiful.
"How would you like to be like me?"
In that moment, with his lifeblood spilling out, inches away from death, he found that almost funny. "Why the hell not," he sighed.
"I wasn't supposed to be there. So Death made me a deal. He said that people who die in ways they shouldn't sometimes get another chance, if they have the courage to take it."
"That's the spirit. Okay, kid. Won't lie to you. This is going to hurt worse than anything you've ever imagined. But if you make it..."
"What?"
"You'll have eternity." And with that, the angel Azrael put his hand over the center of Cherior's chest and ripped out his soul.
Devecia stared at him with a mixture of pity and awe. The awe fed Cherior's ego, but the pity made him gnash his teeth. "It's a stupid story and you'd be just as stupid to go around repeating it anyone. Besides which, what the fuck are you still doing here? This is my place and I don't like people intruding," Cherior spat, the rush of remembered agony tearing him up inside and leaving only impotent anger in its place.
"You want to make Azrael-sama proud of you, don't you." It was a statement, not a question.
"Don't psychoanalyze me, okay? I get enough from the School shrink trying to figure me out. I don't need your shit," Cherior hissed, standing abruptly.
"Sorry," Devecia murmured, not looking away from the redhead's eyes.
They didn't love you.
They didn't love you.
"Like you care," Cherior mumbled, starting down the hill back the Dormitory.
Cherior sunk his face into his hands. There Nareba was up at the front of the room, spitefully tattling on him. It didn't matter whether or not he'd actually done anything - no one was going to believe him innocent. And Mikael-sama was going to take away his mentoring hours again. Dammit. He wished he had actually done something to warrant punishment instead of minding his own business and ignoring that annoying little slip of a girl.
A hand touched his shoulder. "It'll be okay," Devecia murmured. "I know you didn't do it." Cherior's eyes followed the gentle swaying of the Priss's dark green hair as Devecia strode up to the front of the room and respectfully informed Mikael-sama that despite Nareba's assurances to the contrary, there was no way that Cherior could have said the things she claimed.
Mikael-sama was quite clearly more open to what the green-haired boy had to say. "Why is that, Devecia?"
The Priss shrugged. "He was with me all morning. I can tell you that at no point in time did he harass Nareba as she says."
Mikael-sama looked distinctly weary. "Let's drop the matter for now. We have an assembly in half an hour, so until then, I want everyone to look over their mathematics homework for this afternoon."
Cherior, sitting sideways in his seat as usual, scowled at Devecia as the boy sat down. "What the hell did you do that for? It wasn't any of your business, priss."
Devecia raised one calm green eyebrow. "He would have taken away this week's mentoring hours."
"Why should that matter to you?" Cherior muttered, dragging a hand through his tousled red curls.
"We're friends, aren't we?" Devecia said matter-of-factly, laying a hand on Cherior's shoulder again.
"Classmates," Cherior corrected, shaking off Devecia's touch. Why was the boy always touching him, for crying out loud? "Who'd want to be friends with such a pansy-ass priss?" Even as the words tumbled out of his mouth, his mind was working furiously over the concept. Devecia had helped him…apparently out of the goodness of his heart. Listened to him, too. Cherior distrusted such kindness, but still…
Out of the corner of his eye, he mentally traced the soft waves of the green locks, the curve of the pale cheek.
Cherior swallowed and turned to face forward in his seat. I hate that posturing little priss. Always sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. Really, who would want to be friends with him?
Cherior made some pretense of checking over his math homework. Not me. Not me.
I…
Cherior found himself thinking about impromptu dance steps as he was walking down the hall. The sounds of a violin and flute threaded their way into the Azrael's dojo from the courtyard, and Cherior went to the window to have a peek at the musicians.
It just figured. The Priss (Cherior had started to capitalize that in his mind) was sitting underneath a tree playing a flute, and someone he vaguely recognized from the second-year class was accompanying him on violin. Giving credit where credit was due, they were more than competent and the redhead found himself tapping on the windowsill in beat to the music.
They started into a slower song, a wistful and romantic sort of melody that Cherior might have enjoyed had he allowed himself to do so. Without thinking much about it, he descended a staircase and waited behind a pillar, watching Devecia and the other student play together under the watch of twilight. It was quiet, as most everyone had gone home for dinner.
The last notes of the song faded away, and Cherior stepped out into the dying light of the evening. They apparently didn't see him, because the older student was being grabby with Devecia's person and the green-haired student was having none of it. "Stop it," Devecia hissed.
When the violinist refused to listen, Cherior cracked his knuckles slowly and deliberately, startling the pair. "Maybe you'd better leave," Cherior suggested in a less-than-amiable tone of voice. Apparently news traveled fast, because the boy turned tail and ran, violin in tow.
Devecia stood, and after a moment, gently touched Cherior's hand with his own. "Thank you. That was kind of you."
Cherior shook off his touch as if he were a repulsive insect. "I didn't do it for you, stupid."
Emerald eyes stared at him, unblinking. "So why did you do it?"
Cherior shifted from one foot to another. Stupid Priss always asked too many questions. "For the only worthwhile reason. Because I wanted to." He turned on his heel and strode out of the courtyard, never sparing a glance for the green-haired boy he left behind.
Devecia saw Raphael-sama's lips tightened as the Professor took in his injuries. Dev ached everywhere, it was true - but it had been worth it. He didn't really think that Raphael-sama would see it that way, though, so he kept his mouth shut.
"It was Cherior, wasn't it?" the Professor asked finally, his tone somber.
Devecia closed his eyes, willing his face to be serene. "No sir, I just fell down the stairs." A blatant lie - one didn't get bruises the size and shape of fingerprints on one's wrists from a banister. But it had been worth it, and his silence would be worth it.
He heard Raphael-sama sigh and the bed creaked as the Professor perched on the side of it. "You don't have anything to fear, Devecia. I promise you that if you name your assailant, I will expel him from the school and you'll never need fear again."
Which was exactly why Devecia couldn't tell him who had done it. He looked calmly at Raphael-sama. "It was just a simple accident, Professor. You can't expel a staircase."
Raphael-sama's lips compressed into a frustrated line and his amethyst eyes narrowed. "Why are you protecting him, Devecia?"
Love and hate are two emotions perilously close to one another, and Devecia's bruised body was a living testament to the strong emotions twined around Cherior's heart.
Naturally, it had all begun with an argument.
"What the hell are you wearing those for?" Cherior asked with disgust, indicated Devecia's speedos with a disdainful wave of his hand.
Dev rolled his eyes. "The less clothing you wear, the less drag you have, and the faster you can swim." He placed a hand on one hip, giving Cherior a challenging look.
"Puh-lease," Cherior scoffed, wrinkling his nose with those cute little freckles. "I could wear an evening gown and still beat you in a race. It's about your muscles, not your clothes. You could be naked and it wouldn't make any fucking difference with those girly arms of yours."
"Is that so? You're on. One back and forth to see who's right."
Cherior's eyes gleamed with competitive spirit. "Prepare for defeat, Priss."
They stood at the edge of the pool. "On three," Cherior said, crouching at the edge of the pool as Dev did the same. Dev allowed himself to glance briefly at the muscles Cherior boasted of. "1…2…3," Cherior counted out, and they both dove into the pool.
In the beginning, Cherior had the lead. He's stronger than I am, Devecia thought. But bulkier, too. I'm slim, I'm fast - I can beat him. He concentrated and tried to swim his best - he touched the end of he pool and turned around to head back to the starting point…
His fingers brushed the side of the pool seconds before Cherior's did. The redhead's eyes contained a little grudging respect, even as he said, "A fluke. But you won for today."
Devecia raised an eyebrow. "How generous of you," he murmured. He had started towards the locker room, still dripping with water from the pool, when he felt a tug on his swimwear. His hands instantly clapped to the sides and encountered another pair of hands. Dev cleared his throat. "If you were that eager, you could have just asked, you know." He stole a glance at Cherior behind him.
Were Cherior's ears…pink?
Yes, yes they were.
Cherior recovered quickly and scowled at him. "I was trying to pants you, Priss. Like anyone would actually want your sorry ass."
Devecia backed up against him, and the hard line of evidence told him otherwise. "You do," Dev said mildly. He turned to face the redhead, and deliberately ground his hips against Cherior's. "So what's stopping you?"
Cherior's breath was uneven, and Dev wondered how long he had until the redhead beat the living hell out of him.
Hands tightened on Dev's hips in a bruising grip, and Dev closed his eyes and waited for the first blow to land. His eyes flew open in shock as he felt lips touch his neck and teeth graze the tender skin there. He truly hadn't expected Cherior to give in so quickly to his hormones. But Cherior pressed Dev up against the wall, thrusting his hips forward, his lips busy at the green-haired boy's throat and his finger plucking at Dev's nipples.
Devecia threw his head back and gasped at the sensations. Cherior was rough with him, as Dev had always imagined he would be. For someone who had proclaimed distaste for his own sex, Cherior was uninhibited and very much in control. Cherior grasped Devecia's bottom and ground himself against the panting boy. Devecia couldn't help himself - it felt soooo good, and he'd been waiting for so long. "I want you, Cherior," he moaned helplessly.
Cherior stopped and shoved Devecia away from him. Cherior was panting as well, but the passion morphed quicker than he could blink into fury. Dev had just opened his mouth to ask what was wrong when Cherior's fist slammed into his face.
"I hate you," the redhead said in a guttural tone, his voice ragged. "This is all your fault, you pansy-ass whore. It's your fault I feel like this." Cherior's eyes grew bright with rage and afterward…
All Devecia could do was curl up into a fetal position, whimpering softly in pain, waiting for someone to find him.
Devecia really didn't think Raphael-sama would understand at all. The Professor couldn't understand that Dev truly felt something for Cherior. The red-headed boy was quite passionate, and often that passion was expressed as violence, as though the boy didn't know what else to do with it.
Dev could think of a few things. They might even relax the little bastard.
Raphael-sama sighed softly in defeat and pulled the covers up to Devecia's neck, tucking a lock of dark green hair behind the boy's ear. He froze, blinked and reached out to touch the skin at the place where the neck met the shoulder. Devecia blinked confused eyes at him - his injuries were mostly on his face and ribs, so what had captured Raphael-sama's attention so?
Raphael-sama traced a bit of skin with one finger, making a delicate circle. Abruptly he stood and strode forward to the door and paused. "Devecia."
"Yes, Professor?"
"Tell Cherior that hickeys are fine, but if I ever see any more bruises on you, I'll sic Azrael on him. Understood?"
Without waiting for an answer, Raphael-sama left the room.
The empty chair was a silent rebuke.
Cherior sat sideways in his chair, as usual. What was not usual was this pensive feeling. Actually, when he stopped to think about it, he could better name the emotion that made his stomach feel like lead and left a sour taste in his mouth.
Guilt.
One row in front of him, Sophia and Barchiel were not so quietly discussing the rumors surrounding Devecia's "accident". Sophia's normally cheery tone was blotted down to one of serious concern. "I heard that he was hurt really badly, like his whole face was covered with bruises and his ribs aren't in too good of a condition either. You don't get hurt like that from falling down stairs."
Barchiel nodded his agreement. "But I can't think of anyone who would want to beat the hell out of him like that. Devecia's a good guy, you know?"
Sophia frowned and clenched her fists. "Whoever did it should be ashamed of themselves. They ought to get beaten up and then see how they like it."
Barchiel turned around in his seat to look at Cherior. "Don't you think so, Cherior?"
Cherior shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn't like feeling guilty - not at all. Usually when he lost his temper and pummeled someone or something, he felt justified. Now he just felt like bastard. After all, what had Devecia really done to deserve his anger?
"Definitely," he said faintly, after pausing a bit too long. Barchiel's eyes narrowed and he held Cherior's gaze for a moment before facing Sophia again.
"They say Devecia won't tell Raphael-sama who did it, which I think is kind of weird, don't you, Barchiel? I mean, if someone beat me up, I'd sure tell the Professor so this guy couldn't hurt me again. Whoever beat Devecia up must be pretty important to him to cover up like that. After all, the only thing Raphael-sama needs to expel Devecia's assailant is the name." Sophia wasn't looking at him, but Cherior heard every word as if she were speaking directly toward him. And she must have intended him to take it that way - Sophia wasn't stupid.
Barchiel gave her a grim smile and looked at Cherior out of the corner of his eye. "Whoever it is, he doesn't deserve Dev's loyalty, not after that. There's no excuse."
Mercifully the bell rang and spared Cherior from further conversation. But it wasn't the last he heard of it, as everyone was buzzing with the news. Cherior spent the rest of the day thinking about Devecia. In the end, he could only conclude that the boy had done nothing to warrant such a loss of control. After school, Cherior didn't go back to the dormitory - instead, he took the long walk to Azrael and Suriel's homey little cottage on the outskirts of the City. In the early evening, warm lamplight lit the windows and cast golden shadows on the immaculate garden and the worn stone walls. After hesitating a moment or two on the doorstep, Cherior screwed up his courage and rapped on the door.
Suriel-sama answered the door. Cherior didn't have a very good track record with his mentor's lover, having mouthed off any number of times, which he still didn't quite regret. But tonight, offending Suriel-sama would serve no purpose, especially as he was here to ask a favor of Azrael. He had at least a rudimentary understanding of good manners, even if he didn't exercise them very often. "Excuse me for coming so late and unannounced, Suriel-sama," he said quietly, his tone respectful and his head bowed. "If Azrael-sama is here, may I please speak to him?"
Suriel-sama looked quite shocked, but motioned him inside. "Darling, Cherior is here to see you!"
Azrael was working on his laptop. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked somewhat absently, looking over a document.
Cherior shifted from one foot to another, trying to decide the best course of action. "I…I need some advice, Azrael-sama."
The honorific made Azrael's head snap up. "Well, what did you do?"
Cherior tried very hard to keep the wince off his face. "It's not me. It's…a friend of mine. You see, he..uh, well, he has this classmate, right, and they don't exactly get along but they're always around each other."
Suriel-sama nodded encouragingly and Azrael looked bemused.
Clearing his throat, Cherior continued, "Anyway, my friend and his classmate…well, one night, they…well, that's to say, they…um…"
"Fucked like bunnies?" Azrael supplied helpfully.
Cherior shook his head vehemently and hoped his ears weren't pink. "No…just…um, touching. Anyway, my friend realized what he was doing and he kinda….well, lost it. And he hurt his classmate pretty badly." He tried very hard not to hang his head. Even telling this in the third person made him horribly ashamed of himself.
"Why do you think he hurt him?" Suriel-sama asked gently, cornflower blue eyes soft with concern.
Cherior concentrated on his shoe. "I don't know."
Azrael shut his laptop with a click. "Sound like your friend had a thing for his classmate and just couldn't deal with it the way he should have."
"What should…he…have done?"
"Well, he shouldn't have taken his confusion and fear out on his classmate. He should have talked it out, one on one. Then none of this would have happened," Suriel said firmly, moving to sit on the sofa beside Azrael.
Cherior wrung his hands. "But it did happen. And my friend…he feels really bad. Really guilty, 'cause he knows he shouldn't have done it, and his classmate didn't deserve it. And now his classmate is covering for him, and my friend knows he doesn't deserve it. So what should he do now?"
Azrael looked at him, and Cherior shivered as the dark eyes bore into him. "You ought to think about what you really want. And then you need to apologize, sincerely and at length."
"I didn't say it was me!" Cherior protested, his cheeks turning a color approximating his hair. He watched Azrael and Suriel exchange knowing looks.
"You didn't have to, twit. Remind me to give you some lessons in lying, later. Now, you know what you have to do. Get going," Azrael said gruffly, turning back to his laptop.
Suriel saw him to the door. "Cherior," he called as the redhead had started down the path. "Maybe you ought to go see Ardouisur and pick up some flowers, ne?" Cherior nodded, then bowed low and bade him a good night. He wagered that no one had made Suriel's chin drop like that in quite some time.
The hospital was Raphael-sama's in name only. While the Professor was quite skilled in herbs and drugs, he had little interest in surgery and therapy and other such things. Fortunately, many angels had the ability to heal and had studied medicine during their life on earth. Cherior stopped by the front desk and got directions to Devecia's room.
He opened the door slowly, taking care to be quiet as the room was dark and he was almost certain Devecia would be asleep. Sure enough, the green-haired boy was sleeping, the moonlight highlighting the garish bruises and cuts on his face.
I did this.
Cherior carefully set the vase of tulips on the small table beside the bed and sat down in a chair, scooting it closer to the bed so that he could keep an eye on Devecia. He sat back in his chair and resolved to wait until the boy woke up.
Devecia woke in the middle of the night and felt something warm on top of his hand. He blinked and rubbed an eye with his free hand and looked down to see a very familiar head of red hair. Now what on earth was he doing here?
One hand atop Devecia's, Cherior was sitting in a chair and sleeping with his head on the bed. Fast asleep, Devecia thought that you could almost forget what Cherior was actually like, and be deceived into thinking him an innocent. Dev noticed the flowers on the bedside table and reached for them.
Cherior stirred with Dev's movement, and his eyes fluttered open. "Hmm..y'wake?" he said, his voice slurred with sleep.
Devecia nodded slowly. Cherior sighed. "I gotta tell you, I'm…really sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen, and…that's no excuse, but I feel pretty shitty about the whole thing and I want to make it up to you, though you don't have to let me and I totally wouldn't blame you because I.."
"Cherior?" Devecia interrupted.
The redhead looked up. "Huh?"
Dev reached out a hand and softly stroked Cherior's hair, as he had been wanting to do for quite some time. "I accept your apology. And you can make it up to me."
"How?" Cherior asked, sounding eager even to himself.
Devecia shifted over slightly in the bed and held out his arms. "Hold me?'
Cherior gulped, then slowly crawled into bed beside the green-haired boy. Hesitantly, he tucked Devecia into his arms and he felt the boy sigh with contentment. Not long later, he realized Dev was asleep and closed his eyes, just to nap for a while.
Devecia awoke to hushed voices, but feigned sleep.
"So that's what this was all about - I was right, after all. The kid had better behave himself."
"I don't think you need to worry now, Raphael-sama."
"…D'you think they already made it together?"
"Raphael-sama! They're surely not ready to do so!"
"Cherior missed Uriel's seminar on angel sexuality, you know. A shame, since he missed out on all that practical knowledge."
A pause. "I hope somebody tells him about lube. Poor Dev is probably still in pain as it is."
A chuckle. "You volunteering, Mikael?"
"Mmm…I think I need a refresher course first."
Devecia cleared his throat before opening his eyes. "Raphael-sama?" he called quietly. Somebody must have given him more drugs because he wasn't hurting anymore.
Raphael-sama and Mikael-sama walked over to the bed. "How are you feeling today?" Raphael-sama asked softly.
Dev wiggled a little in bed. "Pretty good, actually," he said, faintly surprised.
Raphael-sama grinned. "Excellent. I always knew Cherior had a hidden talent but I wasn't sure what is was until now." Devecia blinked uncomprehendingly, and Mikael-sama hastened to explain, "He healed all your injuries."
The green-haired boy looked at the sleeping Cherior with amazement, then touched his own cheek. No welts, no bruises, no cuts that he could feel. He slid his fingers through Cherior's dark red curls, trying to figure out how this had happened.
Raphael-sama fished a key out of his pocket. "You two have some talking to do. But after you're done, I think you might be able to use this." He pressed the key into Devecia's palm, who looked at it in bewilderment.
"What's it to?" the green-haired boy asked, puzzled.
Mikael-sama coughed delicately. "It's a nice little apartment in Ardouisur's Gardens that has been unoccupied since I was a student. But if you want it, you're welcome to it. After all, the Dormitory is hardly the sort of place for a serious couple, and Ardouisur won't keep two boarders in her house at the same time."
Devecia blushed. "Thank you," he managed to murmur.
Raphael-sama beamed at him. "You're most welcome. Now, Mikael and I have a…refresher course to attend. Dev, you're clear to go as soon as you want." He walked out the door, Mikael-sama in tow.
The shutting of the door woke Cherior, who rubbed his eyes and blinked several times. He looked momentarily uncomfortable as he realized just how his limbs were entwined with Devecia, but instead of bolting as Devecia saw him quickly consider, Cherior embraced him. "What happened?" Cherior asked, his finger tracing Dev's healed cheekbone.
"You happened, apparently. Better be careful with that or you'll be spending more time here," Devecia said, smiling gently.
Cherior didn't look shocked at all. Instead he rolled onto his side and supported himself by one elbow. "So…"
Devecia licked his lips anxiously. "Don't you think we should talk?"
Cherior leaned in, his eyes hungry as he watched that pink tongue flicker out over Dev's full lips. "Yeah," he breathed. "Talk…" Their lips met hesitantly, awkwardly, and then they smiled at each other, and tried again. And again. And again. And many more times.
In the end, Cherior proved that while Uriel's seminar might have been very useful, sometimes it was better to make it up as you go.