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It is quiet when Azriel awakens, the night hanging over him like a silent blade, shadows whispering insistently in his ears even as he shakes. The bed sheets under him are tangled up, soaked in his sweat, and a quiet sob wrenches itself from his aching chest.
He breathes, slowly, curling up as small as he can become, as minimal of a target as he can be, trying and failing to force himself to just stop. Darkness slithers over his skin, caressing him so thoroughly that at first he doesn’t even realise the new touch.
Azriel has a blade in his hand before he can even draw a breath.
Cassian withdraws his hand before he can be cut, a steaming mug in the other. Azriel lets out another of those pained sobs, knife dropping to their mattress with a resounding thunk.
Cassian doesn’t speak as he sits next to him, as he softly skates his fingers along his wet skin, and gently brushes away some of the hair plastered to his face. There is nothing but the sound of comforting shadow and terrified breathing between them for a long while. Cassian hands the still-warm mug to Azriel when his hands don’t shake badly enough to spill, and the sensation on his rough, scarred palms is dulled.
“I’m sorry.” Azriel says, swallowing thickly. He blinks away a few tears, shaking his head.
“You don’t have to be, my love.” Cassian reminds.
Azriel can’t meet his gaze as he stares down at the tea in his grasp. “Agree to disagree, I suppose.”
Cassian slowly places his hand on one of Azriel’s own and, seeing that he doesn’t retreat, leans his cheek on his shoulder, and sighs. His thumb strokes an absent pattern on the back of Azriel’s hand, and he trembles.
“I’m not going anywhere, Az. It’s my honour to be here for you.”
Azriel feels his vision fog, and looks anywhere but at their two hands, juxtaposed. His bedside table, filled with Cassian’s trinkets regardless. A painting Feyre had gifted them as a housewarming. Azriel’s failed attempt at pottery, which Cassian filled with Elain’s flowers and absolutely adored. Everywhere, reminders of the life they had together, and it makes Azriel shake, that familiar ache returning.
“Why?”
“Because I love you,” Cassian assures, “because you do the same for me.”
Azriel shakes his head.
“Sometimes… sometimes I feel so in love with you it hurts, Cas. But I’m so, so broken, I mean-” He gestures with a hand, his burn scars on full display, up to the forearm- “look at me! Mother above, Cas, how could you possibly want this? I mean- Cauldron boil me Cas, do you want me as much as I want you?”
His throat is hoarse, and he shakes. Cassian takes that hand, that awful, ugly thing, in his own, and tilts Azriel’s face so he looks at him; his stare is steady, iron, locked on his own- Azriel can tell that much even as treacherous tears gather in his view.
“Azriel,” Cassian breathes, “you’re the most beautiful person I have ever met.”
Cassian kisses him, then, full and earnest, and, Mother damn him, Azriel moans and kisses him back. Cassian pulls away, and Azriel chases him, stealing one kiss more, then two.
“Drink your tea, shadowsinger.” Cassian murmurs, eyes dark on his. “I’ll still be here after you’re finished.”
“I’ve spent so long waiting,” Azriel says with numbed lips, keeping his eyes on his love as he sets his tea down on his table, next to one of Cassian’s knives, “I don’t want to anymore.”
Cassian takes his face in his hands and smiles, the smile that makes Azriel’s heart flutter and his fears skitter out of sight, if only for the night.
“You’re lucky I’m so generous.” Cassian smirks, and Azriel’s answering laugh is swallowed up by the heat of his mouth, as he is laid gently down in the bed, amongst their pillows and blankets, bracketed by the man he loves.
The tea grows cold, and Azriel does not mind.