Archive of Our Own ^beta

A starry night sky welcomed the gleaming white silhouette, gazing down and illuminating them underneath. The flowers were in full bloom year round, pastel purple petals swaying against the gentle breeze. Each brick wall is carefully crafted and placed symmetrically, and each wall built and constructed for as far as the eye can see. Enveloping and embracing. Just like how His arms would.

Now, where were they…

He could obviously sense another presence nearby, however, it would be impossible to tell where the other could be in such an endless maze. The best thing was to hope that they were nearby, and that the resting area was where they usually lingered.

Hopping across a wall and to the next level, he was met by His lettering.

‘ I missed you ’

The sinner’s stone cold face would be warmed slightly, a smile cracking on his lips. It sure has been quite a bit since he arrived at the Garden willingly, knowing what had happened the last time. If anything, he wanted to avoid this place, if he were aware of where the consequences of his actions could take him.

A few steps forward and he approached a gate, and upon creaking it open, was finally able to hear the other sinner nearby. Humming a sweet tune. Immediately, their ears were glued to it, the wings replacing them flapping frantically. A bit excited now, are we?

Their running speed quickened and they opened one door after the next, until finally reaching his destination.

“Reprieve-!”

The more purple sinner called out, shut eyes widening at the sight of another person practically ramming into the door to open it. It was true, the caped sinner was out of breath, indicated by his chest heaving up and down. The other noticed, and the once surprised look turned into a soft smile. They gestured to the open space next to them on the wooden bench they sat on.

“You didn’t have to RUN all the way, y’know?”

They chuckled, pushing up their broken glasses up their nose. They were a priest, just like him. A sleek white cassock that matched the two, the only things different were the colors of their stoles and other accessories. The fighter wore a coated cape, edges torn from battles it had fought, and the more peaceful of the two wore glasses and a flower on their head. A tattoo on their forehead, too, to match the patterns that ruled the sky.

They also had a pair of gloves on, though it was never cold in the Garden.

The two knew each other well, and were as close as two people could get. They knew their strengths, their faults, secrets, too.

Reprieve gazed at Zen with softened eyes, crossed pupils dilating. Like a moth to a flame, he approached, and perched next to Zen. His hands clasped together and tapped awkwardly, unsure of how to start any conversation. He wasn’t much of a talker, and Zen knew. Which is why they were always the one to begin any discussion.

Zen’s eyes were staring at them, brows lowering.

“Reprieve,”

He turned his head faster than he should have, being met with a very curt looking Zen in front of him.

Oh, here we go…

“May I?”

Though it was meant to sound friendly, he couldn’t help but notice that there was a bit of a disappointed undertone in their voice. Along with the question, the priest’s hands laid out between the two, as if awaiting an offering. Then their eyes, upon meeting gazes, would glance down at Reprieve’s hands, then back at him. Staring intently.

The fighter groaned and looked away, before obediently pulling his wrists over to the pacifist for them to inspect. In the corner of his eye, he saw that the curt look returned to a small smile, pleased. They held his wrists up caressing the back of his palms slowly with their own thumbs.

Reprieve’s hands were tattered. Rough and coarse, one could even compare it to stone. Armor that has seen bloody wars, but these hands were ones of the cleansed. Zen, however, doesn’t appreciate how reckless this knight can get. From all the battling, the hands were used as nothing short of tools, the tips of his fingers fading into a red before a pitch black. Like burn marks, even. Visible red veins were trailing down from them, too. A remnant of what remains, and what he tries to clean himself of.

Sin.

“Can’t you be more careful? And you’re SURE you don’t like all the fighting?”

No answer. Zen puffed a low sigh, squeezing his fingers in both hands tightly. Reprieve visibly tensed up from the unexpected pain, and upon notice, Zen loosened their grip, continuing to massage the soles of his hands.

Moments of silence passed, as both priests sat still to enjoy the peace. At least, one was. Reprieve was unknowingly glaring down at Zen. There was nothing wrong with being treated like this, in fact it was a common occurrence, almost like a ritual, whenever Zen wanted Reprieve to visit the Garden with them. It was how Zen had always spoken about his recklessness that pissed him off. How they talk like their hands haven’t touched anything dirtier than the entrails of the Entities. How they speak as if their hands aren’t worse. How their brows and eyes twitch slightly at every press and squeeze they give HIS hands.

They knew what was underneath those gloves of theirs.

Reprieve was once like them. They ran through this Garden and maze before. Embraced by Him and His guidance being the light he followed. But he had lost to temptation. Something wicked, something evil beckoned him to approach it, and with each step, he slipped out of His grasp, until fully shoving Him away. Drowning in pain, in sin, and being too far from Him to even gasp for help.

He couldn’t imagine going through the unbearable loneliness and pain. Or worse, seeing His tears again.

“Yours are worse though…”

“…Pardon?”

The words slipped from his tongue, and from that surprise alone, his headwings shot straight upwards. Zen heard what Reprieve uttered, and looked at him with blank eyes. They remained undaunted, until Reprieve was the first to look away again. His expression contorted from regret, to contemplation, before looping back to anger. Or was it concern? His brows furrowed and he turned his head to Zen, who then looked puzzled.

“…Yours are worse.”

He grumbled, with a full stop. There was a short pause between the two, before Reprieve suddenly yanked himself away from Zen’s grasp and grabbed at their own wrists. Zen yelped and protested against him.

“What are you— hey-!!”

He let go of one, and pulled the glove off of the one he still had his clutches on. They both stared at the deteriorated and scarred hand. Zen looked away in shame, continuing to gently tug away from Reprieve. Instead, Reprieve just raised Zen’s hand up so the moonlight would display the scarring and rot on their hand even more.

Zen’s hands were painful to even look at. You’d expect the hands of someone as sweet and kind as them to be soft like an angel’s. Fingers going from a purple, pink to black fade, all the poisonous sin that coursed through their veins causing the tips of their hands to slough. They were sharpening up like claws of a demon’s. The rot wasn’t progressing, but it certainly didn’t seem to be healing, either, keeping them in a constant state of stinging pain. And Zen said HIS hands looked bad?

Reprieve was furious, and Zen was terrified that he was.

“I-I’m sorry. Just—”

“Let you go?”

Zen bites their lip to stop themselves from protesting further, knowing now it was no use arguing with such a force as Reprieve. The muscles on their face tensed and they lowered their head, defeated. And as they relaxed, a smile began to form on their lips. Then, a giggle arose.

“You won't, will you?”

Reprieve would hear that and his grip would gently loosen, though not enough so that Zen can escape. Instead, like how Zen had done to him, they held their hands and admired them. Well, not quite admire, but these were the hands of the one he most adored. The ones he most treasured, even though their owner barely took care of them. …Perhaps Zen and Reprieve had the same amount of selflessness, and they just never noticed.

Both surprised and flustered at the sudden softness from Reprieve, their wings fluttered lightly, cheeks flushing and glowing a light purple. Their eyes were glued onto Reprieve and Reprieve only, how he would momentarily flip their hands over just to inspect their palms. They flustered further, instinctively tugging away again.

“Don’t… stare so much, please.”

Reprieve looked up from his gaze, now having it be locked onto Zen’s face, instead. They faltered for just a moment, thinking of his next move. A thought came to mind, and Reprieve visibly blushed from it, wings flapping all over, too. Zen stared on intently, wondering what could have possibly come to Reprieve’s mind, before yelping in surprise, and maybe pain, too.

Reprieve brought their hands up to cup his face, eyelids lowering shut, relaxed. Zen’s heart pounded in their chest at such a gesture, both from embarrassment and maybe even a bit of fear. These were the same bare hands that touched the fruit of sin, the same bare hands that had rotted. They thought none could even dare love those hands of theirs, but by Reprieve, each time they were proven wrong.

Both sinners would only hear their own heartbeats in their ears, Reprieve having been unbelieving that he would pull such a bold move, but it was quite late to turn back, now. He wanted the pacifist to know that he loved every piece of them. That they were beautiful, even the worst, ugliest parts of them. He turns his head to the side and kisses one of Zen’s palms, practically making Zen squeal. God was still here, right? He knew what these two were doing here, in his Garden, right-?!

“Do you take care of yourself, love?”

He mumbled through sealed lips. Zen’s mind scattered to gather their own thoughts, eventually calming down from the fluster and instead embracing the pure moment. They let out a shaky sigh, before shrugging. Their headwings folded in near their face, still a little embarrassed.

“…Do you think I say those words for myself, too?”

The fighter intertwined their fingers with the pacifist’s, leaning against them once more. The warmth from his face was passed onto Zen’s cold hands. His love, so tender. They loved him as much as God. Reprieve’s wings flutter one last time before answering, with a subtle, adoring smile.

“I pray you do.”