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The mornings weren't the worst, but then again, they weren't anyway. Mornings could always be better. Waking up alone wasn't something he was used to, the routines from even just a few weeks ago still engraved in his brain.
Sometimes, when he'd just awakened and the first rays of sunshine caressed against his face, he'd still feel the arms wrapped strongly around his waist; secure but gentle, and he longed for that feeling again.
Truthfully—shamefully in his mind—he'd gone to some of the others, the strongest bulk of the group, to see if it might spark the same kind of safety and companionship he'd been craving since they'd returned. But even Mountain's gentle grip couldn't satisfy the ache in his heart.
Now that he was really thinking about it, mornings were terrible.
With heavy limbs and a heavier head, Copia slithered out of bed; his bed, in his room; in his Abbey, controlled by his Clergy. For the past however many years, Copia had spent many more nights occupying Aether's bed than his own. It felt strange, foreign to have slept in his own room for a change. He felt a bit embarrassed if he was being honest; like he was doing something wrong and was about to be caught.
Maybe a slow start to his day would dampen the deepest grief clawing its way to the surface. Yes, that should do it.
Copia had been withdrawn for the past few weeks, mourning his lover in the solitude of his chambers and office. While he didn't necessarily seek out his companions, Copia didn't discourage their presence in his room either. Though, they could all sense the quiet desire to be alone. The younger ones were more reluctant to abide by that, but the older ones—Dew particularly—tended to leave a wide berth for their Papa.
However, Dew—despite sharing that same need for space as Copia did—began to stop by early in the mornings to lay out the man's clothing and skincare. His small little gesture of home.
Aether used to do that; lay out both of their outfits. Mainly when there was a particular occasion, but Dew always appreciated it anyway; and he knew Copia did too. Something to remind him of better times. Despite his otherwise slightly prickly exterior, the ghoul was surprisingly perceptive.
Shucking off his pajamas felt therapeutic in a way, ridding himself of nightmares and the deeper thoughts of the early early mornings—when he'd sometimes catch Dew scampering inside with a freshly pressed suit for him. Once in a while, he'd beckon for the ghoul to join him, burn away the guilt of not being there for any of them.
The suit was still foreign to him, the overly expensive fabrics still constricting like a new leather shoe. Copia wondered what Aether would think of it; what he would say while fixing the lapels to his liking, buttoning the back silk shirt underneath. Maybe he'd comment on the familiarity of the glittering collar, complementing the blood cross affixed around his neck; from his mother's collection.
Or maybe he'd say nothing at all, just help him into his clothes with the same practice he had getting him out of them.
How odd it was to paint on his face without the usual chattering of his ghouls in the background, running through their schedules; figuring out times to meet up during their day. It was empty then, silent.
Copia used to love silent.
Maybe one day he'd learn to love it again. But he supposed that day wouldn't come for quite a long time.
Copia thumbed over the inside pocket of his jacket, shoulders tense as he fingered the edge of a paper. He watched the crease of his brow deepen as he carefully pulled the small card stock free.
It was a photograph; a bit of a loved one—the corners were worn, one missing entirely; stained with various splashes of coffee or tea or some other liquid he'd been consuming over the years. Though, then it had stained with inky tears as they slid over Copia's cheeks; splattering over the laminated image, soaking into the white bevel.
It was labeled near the bottom left corner with a date, 01/06/2018.
Copia mused for a moment about that day. He'd thrown together a small album release party with his ghouls; separate from the actual one scheduled for a few days later. It was a frugal event with the eight of them all stuck together in Copia's sitting room, record on the turntable and alcohol distributed generously between them.
He'd felt an immense sense of pride hearing his voice over the speakers, his baby, he supposed; nursed from the very day he was born.
Aether had called for him late into the night with a gentle caress over his shoulders. Copia had been in a generally riveting conversation with his lovely Cirrus, curled up against the arm of his loveseat, glass of wine abandoning the occasional red droplets as he gestured wildly about whatever topic Cirrus had him on at that time.
“Ah, scusi, amore,” Copia smiled brightly over at her, standing at Aether's insistence. He leaned down and pressed a delicate kiss against her cheek, caressing a horn gently before Aether had tugged him out the door.
Copia had always been affectionate when he drank and he noticed that had been rubbing off on the quint—if the way the ghoul's arm circled his waist was anything to go by; the tightening press of guitarist hands over his hips. Copia swore he heard the subtle purring rumbling from Aether's chest.
“So then, Etere,” Copia began. They'd reached one of the side doors of the Abbey, the one that led out to the lake. “What would you like from me?” Turning to face the ghoul in question, Copia set his hands at Aether's chest, admiration present in his mismatched eyes as he gazed up at him.
Aether leaned down, lavender casting dimly across the sharp angles of his Cardinal's cheeks and nose, highlighting the more rodent-like features he possessed. Though Aether had always thought any part of him was something to muse about. And muse he most often did.
“Just wanted to tell you how proud I am,” Aether murmured. There was a boyish sort of sheepishness that Copia caught in his eye, and he cracked a small smile without thinking about it. The Cardinal felt his face flush gently, and he lightly knocked against the ghoul’s chest.
“And you couldn’t tell me this in front of the others because…?” The remark was gentle, teasing, and was accepted by the golden-toothed grin Copia had become so enamoured with.
“It's just different this way,” Aether hummed and tilted the Cardinal's face into a small stream of moonlight, grinning at the cascading light across his freckled skin.
“Perhaps,” Copia muttered and leaned up to capture the ghoul's still smiling lips.
Copia thought of that moment often, more so after Aether had gone away. It was a good one, although Copia felt it had been tainted by the ghoul's absence; stained, and not just by the years of pocket-ware.
If he thought hard enough, Copia was sure he'd be able to conjure those arms around him again.
However, he had time to dwell on that later as a knock sounded at the door. It was insistent and loud in the otherwise silence of the room and Copia felt himself jump at the vibration of it.
He attempted to conjure any memory of a meeting or phone call he'd missed or something like that; some thing that would warrant such an insistent knock. But nothing came up. He wouldn't be left in suspense long, as the door pushed open with a hesitancy he'd only found in himself—and sometimes Phantom if he recalled correctly.
“Ehh, who is it?” Copia tried, turned away to wipe at the still flowing tears across his cheeks. Futile, as upon turning back around they'd started up again at the figure standing in front of him.
Scarred and visibly more fatigued than the last time they'd actually spoken to each other in person—face to face and not just Copia at his bedside—, was Aether. In his room. In front of him. Aether.
Copia couldn't describe the feeling that hit him so suddenly; like a train barreling through a tunnel; or perhaps more accurately a meteor strike. All at once, and he found himself reeling against the side of the vanity.
“Swiss if this is you, this isn't funny,” He warned, though even he didn't believe that; voice wavering at the absurdity of the situation.
“Not Swiss,” Aether grinned, and the light from the window glinted off the golden canine in his mouth. “Aether,”
And Copia could've collapsed had he not already been sitting down.
“Aether?” Copia breathed. Already, he could barely form words around the thick lump in his throat, squeezing tears from his eyes as he stood on shaking knees. The ghoul's name felt oddly foreign to him. Copia had avoided talking to anybody about him; avoided thinking about the coldness of his bed at night, the missing notes tucked into his desk drawers or under his pillow. It had been painful enough without mentioning him, but even just the thought of him brought those feelings back harder. Though, Copia supposed he hadn’t been doing a very good job of that.
The ghoul met him halfway—closer to the full way, but he'd never mind—roughened hands grasping at Copia's covered ones. Copia hadn't realized how badly he'd missed the chips and scuffs across his claws until he got to see them again. The quint pulled him to his feet and into the tightest hug he'd had in a while. It felt different, stronger, but familiar.
“Aether,” Copia repeated. He felt tears sliding down his cheeks then, soaking into the fabric of the ghoul's shirt. It was new, he noted, pressed and velvet black; something he'd always thought the quint might wear. “Aether, Aether,” Copia called it out to the room like the crowds at his rituals; as if it might solidify that moment in his brain harder than just standing there looking at him.
“Yes, Copes,” Aether whispered, nose pressed firmly into hair salted with age—whispered as if something louder would damage the serene moment. “I'm here. It's okay now,” Aether nuzzled closer, hoping to hide his own set of tears that rolled in fat streams over the various cuts and scars across his cheeks.
They'd multiplied after the nine of them came back, stretching like lightning over the planes and valleys of his body, converging to a point in his chest. Where he'd been…
Aether didn't think about that anymore. He barely remembered it even looking at them in the mirror, or taking the extra steps the infirmary ghouls had mentioned to ensure his chest wound wouldn't infect itself with something like the echo.
“Why didn't you come back?” Copia whined into his shoulder, grip slackening as the last dregs of tears squeezed themselves dry. “To me?” He finished and they parted enough to match gazes.
It was then that Aether noticed how different he looked.
The wear of stress had greyed his hair significantly, white strands poking through at his temples; and the lines across his face had deepened significantly, undereyes overworked from too many hours staying awake. However, that wasn’t what Aether had been focusing on.
“You have wings,” he marvelled; and yes, he did. They sat curled into his back, feathers stained red and a strange gold that pulsed in time with Copia’s rapid heartbeat. The singer laughed breathlessly against him and, with a flick of his tail that echoed the crack of a whip in the silent room, they unfurled. And they were brilliant, lighting up the room like the sun had risen high in the sky.
“I do,” Copia whispered and tucked them away again, but the impression lingered. “You got a new shirt,” Aether’s laugh rumbled against Copia’s pointed ear.
“Happy to see you too,” He teased and leaned back just enough to catch the singer’s eye. “Wanted something to match,” He explained, clawed hands tracing the lapels of Copia’s jacket. He fiddled with them, and Copia snorted at how predictable Aether could be.
“Well, you’ve certainly succeeded in that, my ghoul,” He stepped away to glance over the ghoul’s form. Though he was standing and laughing and appeared otherwise perfectly healthy—albeit a bit older—Copia just had to be sure. So under the microscope he went; or, he supposed, micro…eye? No matter, as his clawed hands made deft work of the ghoul’s buttons; however, not without at least one remark.
“You know, Papa,” Aether began and Copia rolled his eyes. “All you had to do was ask,” The singer scoffed at the obvious smirk adorning the ghoul’s features.
“I’m not even going to respond,” Copia conceded and pressed open the velvet shirt. The bandages had long since been removed, but the wound still stood proud, shining in muted shades of lavender and casting that glow across Copia’s gloved hands.
The fingertips had been long ago sliced off of that particular pair. It had been the most well worn pair he’d owned, so obviously he’d gone for them. It had just been easier to chop them at the base than to have an entirely new pair tailored with his claws in mind. Or even to have to glamour himself daily just to complete his duties as leader.
“Oh…Aeth, I’m…” Copia gaped and the touch of his fingertip over the dip in the ghoul’s chest made Aether shiver. “So sorry,” It was delivered wetly, the sound of tears not lost to the quint. A perfect circle decorated his chest, jagged and angry lines, like the veins that thrummed with renewed life adorned it like a crown.
“Hush, amore,” Aether murmured. “It’s healed now, mostly. I’ve been cleared on pretty much everything,” He exhaled overdramatically at Copia’s insistence otherwise. “I’m o-kay, Copia,” He finished and swatted away the still fiddling hands to refasten his shirt. “And you,” He began, and Copia noticed the confidence in his tone then; perhaps with a bit of mischief added as well. “Are coming with me today,” And he secured a finger over Copia’s lips at the first signs of protest. “I’ve cancelled your meetings. We haven’t been able to talk to each other in weeks, so I figured it’d be good for us,”
Copia snorted and stepped back to grab his key, flashing it up to Aether’s nose. “Well, lead the way,”