Archive of Our Own

Even though the words ‘I love you’ never escaped his lips, I knew it to be true. I knew from how he lowered his guard around me. I knew from the way he laughed, he cried, he sincerely smiled whenever we were together. He showed me the parts of himself that he wouldn’t dare show another. To be shown the vulnerabilities and weaknesses of a god is a rare feat, especially for one as sinful as I. Then again, the deity whom I worshiped was born of sacrilege.

Purity did not matter to us. He knew that I was tainted, and I knew that he was as iniquitous as myself. I would tell him my atrocities, and he loved me regardless. In fact, he rewarded me with sickly praise, the type that only he knew how to execute, and I bathed in each and every compliment that rolled off his tongue.

Yes, he loved my defiance. He indulged in it himself. He encouraged my acts of piety, regardless of how grim I was. To this day, I still have yet to understand his reasoning, though I have no need to. Someone like me could not begin to understand the complexities of someone like him. Yet, despite knowing this, I still found myself desperately grasping at every word he spoke, searching for the slightest indication of him offering me the key to unlock his secrets.

My hands always found their way back to him. I liked to keep them entangled in his hair every morning, running through waterfalls of darkness and weaving small braids that would unravel before we left. When the sun fell, my arms held him hostage and caged him in with me.

He showed his love in many different ways, though often unconventionally. He enjoyed examining every detail of my body when he struggled to sleep, tracing my skin with cold fingers, leaving goosebumps in their path. He’d lightly prick the tip of his finger on the edge of my nails, something he could not do with his own bitten ones. The soft lamplight lit his face ever so slightly, and I was always taken aback by the beauty in his tranquility; though he often wore an unbothered expression, it was rare to see him so vulnerable, and I drank it in while I could. It would be gone with the morning sun.

It was one of these nights that we both lay awake, unable to sleep for reasons unknown (or perhaps simply unacknowledged). It was unusual feeling him continuously shift from within the entanglement of my limbs, as his body usually remained still throughout the night. However, I didn’t dare move away from him. Instead, I pulled him closer to me.

“You’re awake,” he muttered, though I felt he had known that long before this announcement.

“Correct! But why are you?” I tried to add hints of my typical overenthusiasm, but the attempt fell flat due to my fatigue.

The man shrugged before tossing and turning until our faces were mere inches apart. Though he did not verbally respond, his forwardness was still very clear, and it caught me a bit off guard. Then again, unspoken agreements were commonplace between us. One look conveyed a thousand words, one touch millions.

My hands found themselves at home with the curves of his face, gliding over every mole and acne scar. How amusing it is that even perfect beings have their flaws. As my fingers moved down, I took note of the imperfections that adorned his skin. It wasn’t until our lips connected that I noticed that he was doing the same to my own.

The roughness of his lips contrasted the delicate passion of the kiss. I always found this odd, and kind of ironic. Despite his nature, he was a gentle lover, and I relished in the fact that I was the only one who got to see this side of him. While he had an iron grip, he often didn’t use it and instead opted for soft touches and tender kisses.

Every mark that he allowed me to make on that porcelain skin of his proved that he cared just as much as I. Each scratch and bruise left not just temporary scars, but permanent promises between us. I became more intoxicated every time my lips tarnished his holy frame, his entity wine that I continued to drink until the only thing I could think about was him.

That night was the first time that he had shown me the humanity buried deep within him. And for a moment, we forgot that we were two lovers rejecting love.

Before I knew it, I found myself anticipating his commendation. I began chasing these feelings of intimacy from him. Whenever he initiated affection, my heart skipped eight beats at once. His words plagued my thoughts, his venom seeping into every aspect of my being. The euphoria made my skin crawl.

Despite the happiness, I couldn’t continue to ignore the obvious. Every time he kissed me, I would lay awake later that night, confused and contemplating it all. These feeble emotions only chained me down more. If I sat and pondered them, my cage would grow smaller, but the same outcome would happen if I chose to ignore them. I was no longer a bird, but a butterfly; a short-lived beauty, who still remained trapped in a silver cage. I could’ve easily slipped through the bars and set myself free, but if I did, would I have ever been admired by him again? Of course not.

If the promises had not been made, would I still feel the same love for him that I feel for him now? There was a fleeting thought that I did not have to uphold them, nor did he. A selfish belief, but one that temporarily soothed my illness until another flare-up.

“Make a decision,” he demanded, almost as if speaking directly to my soul, like he knew of the war waging within me. I hadn’t spoken, yet he knew that the clock was ticking. If he knew so much, why did he continue to hurt me so? And yet, every time he did remind me of our contract, needles plunged into my heart. While I never admitted it to myself, something in me still wanted to be saved.

“I’m trying to,” I retorted, and my voice came across as more pained than I would’ve liked. So much so that I earned a glance from my lover, who was previously lost in thought himself as we walked down the snowy sidewalk. However, instead of speaking, he simply threw me a knowing look.

“Do not fret, my love!” I tried to backpedal the emotions  presented in my previous tone, “You will know the answer soon enough!” Again, silence. In a fit of joking annoyance, I threw my arms over him to seize his attention, though I should’ve known better. You see, he was a frail man. The force from my advancement made us both topple over and fall into the coldness below, though at least the snow softened our impact.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the situation, his annoyed look from underneath me only fueling my entertainment. I buried my face into his neck and felt his hands undoing my braid. When I lifted my head again, my hair flowed down my back, spilling over my shoulders and onto the man below. The look on his face was unfamiliar to me. I had a vague idea of the emotion, but it was foreign to his features.

“Why do you look like that?” I asked.

“Hm? Are you surprised by it? I would’ve thought that you, of all people, would’ve known me better,” he teased, and this time, I was the one to fall silent. I think that this was when I realized that it wasn’t as one-sided as I thought it was. For the expression that he wore, the one that he was intentionally showing me, was one of devotion. Pure devotion. A god devoted to an angel, just as his angel was devoted to him. Just as crazed with love.

Now, when our lips met, I was the one carrying the ardency. I needed him to know that I understood, that I saw what he was trying to convey. I needed him to feel the fervor that I had for him, the heat of the flame of desire that burned my soul. And while his touches still remained benign, they were overpowered by the avidity of my own.

When I broke the kiss and leaned into his neck again, I felt his chest heaving against my own, from my weight or the passionate exchange, I did not know. But the sound of his frenzied breathing filled my ears, which both enticed me, yet also concerned me, as I did not want to hurt him. However, when I began to stand up, he yanked me down by the hair that he had so carefully unbraided only a few seconds before, and I fell back onto him with a yelp.

“Stay,” he ordered, and so I obliged, letting the moonlight course over us as we lay together in serenity, the only sound being that of our own breath. Snowflakes decorated our figures, covering us in a thin layer of white. An odd sight, yes, but an experience I’d never forget. The realization that he felt comfortable enough with me to do something as nonsensical as this filled me with joy. And after all, we were an unconventional romance ourselves.

I’m not sure how long we stayed lodged in the snow. By the time we found ourselves back inside our bedroom, it was an ungodly hour of the morning. And as I waited in bed for him to finish showering, I let my mind wander again, though not too far. It coasted back to the promise that I had made him all that time ago.

Make a decision. Hm. I’d decide when the day finally came. Until then, I was content with frolicking in naivety.

And now, the snow paints a different scene before me.

The day of judgment has come, and for a moment, I feel it. I feel the freedom that I so desperately desire. It adds to the chill of the winter breeze, freezing me in place as I observe the corpse beside me. It’s a cacophony that smells of sick putrescine. It’s nauseating and burns my tongue, scattering my mind and leaving my body struggling to do anything more than exhale unstable breaths.

And then it all comes crashing down in waves. Waves of guilt. Waves of sorrow. Waves of all of these emotions that I should no longer be confined by. I want to tell myself that I’m just getting the last of it out of my system, but I know that it’s a lie. Deep down, I know that this was all a lie.

I feel everything, and it’s all too much. The whishing of the wind, the coldness of the snow, the spotlight of the sun, the tears streaming down my face, the screaming in my head. And worst of all, his silence. Before, I would find comfort in his silence. But now that it’s permanent, I can’t stand the quiet. I break it with my own torturous wails.

His skin feels colder than usual under my touch. I immediately shirk my hands away. And despite how many times they had intimately embraced every aspect of his form, I can’t bring myself to graze them over his eyelids one last time. Instead, I watch his unwavering eyes gaze up at the sky above. I watch the faint smile on his face, so slight that most wouldn’t even notice it’s there. I watch the snow fall onto the ground beside us, only to be stained crimson from the ever-growing pool of blood.

I sit here and watch him until time seems to stop.