S M A World of Glass Edges [Closed]

[Ezrihel]

Content Warning: Light BDSM (Choking; Rough)

“It sounds like a dreadful planet.” Ezrihel was little more than a dismissive grouch at the tentative news that Aurora Meng was sharing with him and the other commanders on behalf of Grand Admiral Stratos.

“General Althaus, it would be a good idea to give the crew a bit of a break from the inside of this ship.” She stood with her hands clasped behind her back, rigid as ever as she addressed him with exquisite mannerisms.

“On that wretched place? Remind me what you said about it then, please darling.” Meng was a woman of uncertain pedigree but of unquestionable loyalty, skill and tact. The nobleman found that he was quickly surrounding himself with deeply interesting people in this armada. She was promising.

“Opealon is an ocean planet. Its skies are dotted with numerous floating islands varying in size. The biggest of these floating islands house large, technologically advanced, cities. From the reports I’ve seen they seem to have a cultural divide-”

“Althaus, is it really necessary that we re-listen to what Commander Meng reported again?” Tzalel von Saerhaus, lord of the long running and uniquely blessed House of the Night Gods, was rapidly running out of patience. He sat beside his sister Ruedlen, a shrewd and blunt woman who sought no solace and gave equally little to her foes, a beautifully efficient warrior who kept her composure no matter the suffering.

“Yes, my dearest Tzalel~”

Ruedlen rolled her eyes, “and why is that then, Althaus?”

“Lord Althaus, General Althaus, B-less’ed Paladin of the Sacred Living Flame, Keeper of the True Ways, Light of Anva, Beautiful Psion of Vadehi... Bastard Rakefiend, Corruptor of Minds, Accursed King of the Forsaken... You and your ilk could use any of my bastard titles but you use nothing but my last name, oh you wound me so much with your cruelties.” The noble swished his lithe fingers through the air and spoke as if he were endlessly bored of them all.

Matron banged her armored paw palm down on the table. “Quit playing around, what’s your game Ezrihel?”

He scoffed, “Meng, sweetie, one more time?”

The room groaned as Aurora followed her orders, again Matron erupted, “Ezrihel!”

“What?” His hissed answer had the hulking soldier grinding her jaw, but remaining silent. The blonde took the chance to continue talking, his rich voice dominating the enclosed space of the room.

“Did you all forget the obvious, glaring issue with Opealon? Tell me that I am not the only one of my kind annoyed and worried about the idea of being around crumbly-wumbly ledges floating an entire half kilometer above an abyssal ocean! I mean we all know that Andromedas are chronically un-good at swimming-”

“Althaus-” Tzalel attempted, pinching his dark brows. The aristocrat had a habit of getting on tangents and derailing things for what felt like hours or days if he didn’t like the topic.

“And I for one do not want to make a week long marathon jaunt across the abyssal plane of some backwater world’s awful ocean-

“Althaus!” Ruedlen asserted her loss of grace. He loved that fire in her, wanted to catch it on her lips and tame her nature.

“Look I don’t want to get chewed on by whatever is down there. I don’t like the deep dark cold ocean. That’s reasonable given the circumstance.” He dramatically rubbed his arms as if to warm himself up.

“We can not expect to sacrifice the comfort of the entire armada because one man worries.” Meng had spoken up, out of turn. How uncharacteristic of the semi-mousey woman, he thought. How interesting and bold of her to talk up and push her own morality in a room of nobility and power. How bold of her to dare to be right in such a way in front of him.

He smirked. “No? What if that man thinks that he knows best, Meng?”

“Then I would have to say that he’s wrong.” The Saerhaus duo watched with bated breath as the drama began to unfold.

“How do you know who’s right or wrong? You have lived the blink of an eye compared to me. Your wealth of knowledge is a single coin to a treasury.”

“What good is wealth if it’s locked away where no one can use it?” Isra interjected. He’d been watching silently from the shadows of the sidelines after having stepped back in. “Do you have a reason besides being scared of deep water?”

Ruedlen laughed, her short dark curls bouncing, “if that’s your only reservation then you can stay on the ship. I'd be happy to jump in the ocean if it meant taking a break from this boring grey place.”

Ez scrunched his nose. He hated that she had a point, and he loved that she talked back, but he felt a sore annoyance that she seemed to enjoy mocking him in front of Isra. Ruedlen was an obnoxious, complicated hot mess. She was a beautiful disaster in his heart and mind. He sighed and groaned in his labored exasperation before conceding with, “this ship does boast the most awful interior decorating I’ve seen in a while, nothing but grey. And white.”

“Yes yes, truly dreadful- but have we come to an agreement, Althaus?” Tzalel’s dark eyes studied the blonde with a keen focus.

Ez rolled his eyes. “Ugh, I guess if it will make you all quit interrupting my conversations then yes. Yes, I give my approval. You can have fun on your clammy, wet, miserable little beach planet. You are dismissed.” A sudden ease came over the room, as if grateful he’d finally given ground. It didn’t escape him that he could be a total pain in the ass, or that he had a reputation for being tedious.

He just didn’t care.

He was tired of caring about other people and their irrelevant opinions and feelings.

The man kept his cloak of boredom about him as his peers filed out of the meeting room. No one could understand the weight of the burden resting on his shoulders. No one else had their bloodline marked for executive eradication. They couldn’t possibly understand the suffering he’d experienced.

It’s not like they wanted to, either.

His keen green eyes snapped up to the last person to leave the room: Ruedlen.

Beautiful, coarse Ruedlen Saerhaus, she was like an uncut gemstone- full of jagged edges and sharp to the touch. He didn’t mind bleeding, it made him feel something. “Saerhaus.”

“Yeah Althaus?” She paused before the doorway and cast a look down her nose at him from across the empty room.

“Do you get off on disrespecting me in front of our peers?”

A smirk played on her black lips. “I’m not sure what you mean, General.” Of course she played coy with a backhanded show of respect, he expected no less. In a flash he was in front of her, a hand on the wall to either side of her pretty head. He leaned in close as she stared up at him, her excitement was palpable in the air.

“I don’t have the patience to play coy games with you, Ruedlen.” His voice was firm and low, but not exactly dangerous. There was a certain, different, threatening edge to it.

“What do you have the patience for th-” Her grin widened with the taunt before it was silenced with his mouth on hers. Her breath was audible as he pulled away, a fire in her eye.

“I have patience for nothing, especially when it taunts me.”

She grinned up at him and bit her bottom lip, “you have no temperance, Ezrihel? How unbecoming of an aristocrat like yourself. I thought you had better breeding and manners than a common barfly.”

He caught her pointed chin in his hand and brushed his gloved thumb over her full lips. “Manners and temperance will be the last things on your mind with me, I promise my lovely Rue. You already know that though.” He pulled her back in and punctuated his intentions with another kiss, this time deeper and more needy, more excitedly as she reciprocated by leaning into him.

She twined her arms around him as he lavished fluttering kisses and nips on her long neck. He could feel the steady beating pulse of her heart rushing just under her marless skin, she was filled to the brim with life and positively humming with warmth. His fingers snaked through her short curly black hair and yanked her head back to inspect her dreamy expression.

How satisfying. She complied with his roughness like he owned her and he felt a wicked grin pull at his maw. In one smooth motion his hands trailed down from her head until he cupped her firm rear and hoisted her onto his lap, letting her long legs wrap around his waist.

They were a beautiful disaster together. They always had been. The two of them pulled each other back and forth in a crashing sway of need and passion. They clashed like opposing waves because she was an imperfect fit for what he craved. He respected her wit and ability to play games with him, respected her audacity to stand up and challenge him, her bravery to burn him when he played with her fire for far too long.

She was breathy as she gave encouragement, her quiet affirmations seeming deafeningly loud in the stillness of the grey room. It was only after her robes slipped down her toned arms that she said anything substantial.

“We’re going to your office, right?” There was a slight apprehension in her tone, a reservation at the idea of this particular indulgence, and she was only rewarded with a snorted chuckle from her paramour as he set to giving her chest his attention.

“What if someone comes in?” She gasped between words. He loved to hear her composure slipping away before that burning desire. He wished that he could drink her down in all her vulnerable weakness but he knew he’d never feel sated. “Ezrihel- I’m a noble-”

“Let them see then.” He groaned dismissively, hands working over her in place of his mouth he’d freed to answer her keening.

“I don’t think the scandal-” The aristocrat silenced her concern with a welcomed rough kiss and a hand clamped under her jaw just hard enough to cut her off. He was tired of talking and worrying and stressing. He was over the constant, dreadful tension of every waking moment. He was sick of being alone.

“Darling I live for the scandal! I’d love to see someone try to interrupt.” His voice growled with hot-blooded desire before it softened playfully. “What, what happened to all your fire and flame, love~? I thought you liked being put in your place~”

Ez’s murmur cut straight to the core of her truth, and she found herself nodding in agreement with his lovely words. She loved his stern arrogance, his haughty ambition and flaring temper. She loved prodding the sleeping dragon and feeling the sting of his punishment in penance.

Ruedlen constantly walked a razor edge between the living and the dead; pain helped her remember where she was.

He let up off her throat and she sucked a breath in, panting with soft huffs of indignancy as he pulled away. “Then why don’t you be a good girl and get ready for me on the table.”

~ * * * ~​

Israphael was consumed by a spread of holographic screens littering the archive table before him. Ezrihel had, for once, made an actual point deserving of serious consideration. Taking a fall from a floating island into an ocean (who knows how many kilometers deep) would be more risk than worth for any andromedan incompetent enough to wander near a thin ledge or suffer a tragic accident.

As a medic it was his duty to keep his fellow soldiers alive and well. He didn’t like the idea of having absolutely no real safeguard. He found himself deep in the archival sector of the armada’s fragmented database, scanning for whatever entries he could get his hands on.

To no great surprise, it was apparent that his people disliked settling ocean worlds. There were hardly any records of cities or battles on any such planet, and he held little in terms of personal memory. Often they skirted past water worlds, avoiding them outright. Often they weren’t worth the risk, especially if any inhabitant species present lacked space-fairing capabilities.

Water worlds were tedious to extract materials from, his research had led him to believe. A long line of shallow scout reports indicated how boring and tedious his people had found the endeavor in other prior attempts.

They also didn’t know if they were still being tracked, though Isra had heard no more new updates on that front. He wasn’t Information, or Communications, or a Commanding Officer of any relevance to such intel. If it didn’t concern him and he had no use for knowing, he didn’t tend to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. He enjoyed his life more when it lacked the exhaustion of dramatics and silly court-ordered hand-slappings.

His blue eyes scanned over another line of text.

Isra needed to find a solution for the problem before it ate him up. Why couldn’t his ancestors have engineered them to be less dense?

He took a moment to glance down at the sleek communicator on his forearm. He blissfully noted the lack of any medical alerts stacked on his home screen, and the silence of its pager in his pointed ears reassured him that he was relatively free to continue his studies.

Dhir’lous preserve him, he hoped he’d be left alone until they arrived.

He swiped across a hologram in front of him and pulled up what he could about this Opealon planet that Meng had informed them of earlier. It was a beautiful blue orb marbled with striking swaths of cotton white clouds and blotted with relatively large splatters of vibrant green. He assumed the green was the aforementioned floating islands and spun the diagram around to study it in closer detail.



What a beautiful world.











“I thought that I’d find you here, Isra.”

The raven haired man nearly jolted out of his skin in surprise at the familiar voice. He turned to see Meng standing at the end of his table (how long had she been standing there? Time must’ve slipped away from me in my focus), holding a few archival discs in her hand. (Perhaps the presentation and data from earlier? Those would be useful if they were about this Opealon place.)

“Ah, Meng. What are you doing here?” He was careful to soften his tone. He wanted to show that he liked and respected her well enough to be nice. Maybe she would notice and appreciate the gesture and approve.

“I’m returning a few entries I used for the presentation today.”

He cocked an eyebrow and raised two fingers in a point, “that, actually, would be very useful for me. If they aren’t classified information above my security grade, that is.”

She looked him over keenly and rolled her eyes, giving a soft scoff before handing the copies over to the man. She did her best to hide the small smile she felt on the furthest edges of her lips as he thanked her. He was always buried in his work or his projects, she’d been very quick to find out. The intelligent doctor had a mind that never seemed to rest, a mind that raced and tended to strike as true as any academy trained marksman.

Aurora could appreciate the determination and drive, she figured. He was also handsome... If not overly formal, though she could hardly blame him for his endless talent towards professionalism... She just found herself wondering if the dry and sarcastic man was actually capable of having fun, because she swore that every single bone in his body was gravely serious.

She liked how sharp he looked, with his military jacket hanging off his shoulders like a cape and his sleeves rolled up in neat, pressed folds. Simple and immaculate, there was an easy pleasure in embracing such an aesthetic.

Then she realized she’d been staring at him, and knew that he’d noticed because he asked, “... um, yes, Meng?”

Her skin blushed a pale purple as she quickly averted her eyes. “Ah, I’m sorry for staring. How rude of me... I should-”

“You’re fine, Meng. I just uh... I’m trying to figure something out about this ocean planet we’re going to be landing on.” He gestured to an empty seat across from him. “If you’re not preoccupied I could appreciate another set of sharp eyes and ears.”

She moved to sit in the chair and folded her hands on the table, looking at the holograms he had open. “What are you trying to figure out about Opealon? Everything that I know is on those two archives I gave you.”

He smirked, “my eyes aren’t perfect, I’ll admit. I just want to make sure I’m not missing anything... Helps to talk stuff out like this sometimes I think. Four eyes are better than two, hm?”

 

[Ezrihel]

The City of Hope was a resplendent gem in the skies of Opealon, no one in the group of military officers and high-command could or would dare to argue otherwise. Skyscrapers towered in elegant spires, catching the glint of the sun like the entitled sleek white fingers of a technological giant. It was absolutely gorgeous, and it reminded the wayfaring troops of their long departed home in another galaxy on the far end of forever.

And just like home, customs had been an absolute bitch to get through.

Truly, the amount of times their pointed ears had gotten them touched on and frisked by overzealous law enforcement officials at this point could fill a tome with sexual harassment complaints. Not that Ezrihel minded, if the police couldn’t keep their hands off his lovely form, who was he to argue? He didn’t have much on the outside to grab anyways.

He just hated that people compared Andromedans to elves of all things. He supposed that he could see the artificial resemblance if he squinted, but it only ran skin deep at best. They did not ‘hug trees’ or sing to fuzzy little woodland creatures. They did not run barefoot through the groves of immortal trees or commune with nature spirits. Ezrihel loved Opealon’s City of Hope because he was a child of innovation and advancements, a son of the perfect melding of technology and organics.

He cared little for fey magics and curses and the illogical movements of Magi. He’d fluently told the city’s enforcers that any time they moved to bother him. Really, all the touching and petting was flattering and all, but after a point the interrupting ground upon his nerves. Ez had never met such tedious levels of prejudice in his casual travels, though he supposed that he hadn’t gone traipsing through the street level of a city in quite a long time either.

The war had changed him. His soul prison had changed him more. He could feel the individual threads of his soul pulled taunt until they snapped with a plunk, one-by-one, and peeled back like the wilting petals of a strangled blossom. The ache had been eating a hole in his spirit over the months they’d been running from the Empire.

He stared right through an elegant set of robes in a store’s window display, modeled by a graceful android worker, as if she were invisible. Where he’d expected to see his own face he instead saw his Lilith reaching out to him. A single bejeweled tear fell to the damp cobbled sidewalk at his feet.

It took almost all of his strength to not breath in a ragged gasp of air at the sting of his spiritual anguish, as sharp as if he’d been pierced straight through his heart.

“Come on Althaus, let’s not cry over clothes now.” Israphael whispered low enough so that only the blonde heard as he studied his face in cold curiosity. He was wondering why the man had lingered so long on this particular set of hoity-toity robes when they’d already seen countless others at competing boutiques. Ez had even passed some of them by with quiet hums of disapproval; Isra saw nothing notable about the new gown in this window by comparison.

The aristocrat composed himself quickly and turned away from the display to continue their walk. Damn Isra for noticing every wretched detail about him. Damn that doctor for reading him like a book. “Ah, I apologise... They’re just such beautiful robes. Have you ever seen threads so lovely?”

Isra’s eyes raked over the nobleman. Was he really crying over clothes? Just how vain was Ezrihel? “Weren’t you boasting about how you could buy everything in the garment district if you wanted? Why don’t you just go buy those robes if they’ve got you weepy-eyed like an infant.”

The blonde snorted, his voice turning dismissive. “I’d ruin them Israphael, like I always do.”

The medic shot the man an incredulous expression. Certainly he was joking with him. They both knew how much time and effort the noble spent on his appearance, it was no small feat the amount of energy he doled over himself. Now it was Isra’s turn to scoff, “what are you talking about?”

“I am a ruiner.”

“Why does this feel like some sort of admittance?”

Ez chuckled, vexing his travelling buddy to no end. “It is what it is, Isra. I am that I am, and I am a ruiner of things. Therefore, I ruin~!”

The doctor smirked back at him. It was clear that the aristocrat was keen on playing some sort of game with him, that much he assumed outright. ... He just hated playing the game of politics and theatre. He wasn’t a gambler, he was cautious, that’s why he worked a desk job filled with paperwork and red tape, and not a blazing battlefield if he could help it.

He couldn’t help but wonder just what Ez was asking from him in this little game. The Noble was a manipulator. He specialized in saying a whole lot of nothing and wasting everyone’s time for (what felt like) the simple sake of it and little more. He supposed he was thankful that Ezrihel had finally agreed to begin talking more openly with him, but he knew better than to think that he’d be told everything, or even anything at all at any substantial rate.

Isra could only fathom a glimmer of what the man had been through.



They walked on in silence as they explored the tailors’ and garment makers’ and fitters’ decadent shops, filled to the brim with bolts of fine fabrics of all weights and textures.



It all felt incredibly trivial and frivolous to the doctor, but if it helped his patient relax he could stand to tolerate it.



As if Rilo and Anva had converged to give him a distraction, the alert of his communicator pinged in his ear. He opened his optical overlay with a flick of his wrist, thankful for the utmost privacy Andromedan technology allowed.

Are you still window shopping with
the diva?
received 14:16 -​

---

Yes, I am. Why? Has something
happened?
- sent 14:16

---

You worry too much. Don’t you ever
relax?
received 14:16 -​

---

Not while on call.

Do you need something while I’m here?
I can bring you back something if
you’d like.
- sent 14:16

---

I was thinking we could get a hotel
room and relax for a few days while
we’re on shore leave.
received 14:17 -​

---

Of course, Rue. I’d love to. Send me
the address if you find a place you
like before I do.
- sent 14:17

---

Isra gave a soft sigh and flicked the overlay out of his vision. At least he’d get to spend time with her, maybe unwind some in a place away from it all. Just forget about his work and his job and his ceaseless projects that all begged for his limited attention. At least, he figured, he had all the time in the world to get around to his infinite knowledge cravings. Right now, a pretty big part of his mind was being taken up by the idea of her, he’d confess.

Ruedlen was cold and dripped with a murky calmness that comforted the deeper aches of his soul. She was quiet, collected and strong. Sharp like that pure blue-hued ice at the very heart of a glacier. The long caresses of her touches helped to keep him grounded, the bite of her personal poison woke him up to the moment without a doubt.

He glanced back at his charge, who’d dipped into a store to acquire a few new lengths of silken ribbon- Doc figured it was for his impractically long wavy hair. Ez seemed the most enthused by a sample strip of cloth that shifted between hues in undulating, cryptic waves.

“Do they also carry spools of invisible yarn and cloth here too?”

The aristocrat chortled. “Isra, you wouldn’t know good fashion sense even if you were elbow deep in it for an operation.”

“Oh, I’m just dying to learn about it.”

“You should. It might help you get some action so you can finally loosen up.”

Israphael shook his head and sighed loudly. “I’m not going to tell you about my love life, Althaus.”

“That’s because you don’t have one to talk about in the first place, dearest medic.” Ezrihel paid for his accessories and led them from the boutique. “You’re so preoccupied with your endless work tasks that you forget how to enjoy things like aesthetic and pleasure- two very important aspects to a fundamentally good life.”

“And what if work and accomplishment are my deepest pleasures and aesthetic?”

“Then you have a simple and boring life. How dull. Case in point, you need to learn how to have fun and live a little bit. You’re a reclusive hermit, you never talk to people, or leave your office or room Isra.”

“Hey, I do leave my room-”

“Yeah, to go hide in your work office like a skittish mimtam. You grab your food from the canteen and slink back into your quarters before anyone even realizes that you’re there. It’s like you hate everyone.”

“And you don’t?”

Ez turned to glare at Raphael, but he’d barely managed to raise a finger to point in protest when he exhaled. “Fine. You have a point there, I’ll admit. But at least I come out of my room and socialize- when I’m allowed to, oh gracious keeper.”

“Oh come off it now, that hasn’t been the case in over two months, Althaus, and you know it.”

“Ah yes, you have been keeping me prisoner on my own ship, now it’s just with less restrictions than before.”

Raph scoffed. “Yes, how tragic for you, Ezrihel. So deeply tragic that you’re being cared for by the best medic in the fleet and just have to listen to his advice. Imagine taking orders seriously in your life for once, ‘oh the horror’, right?”

“Love, I was made to break the rules and defy. It’s in my very nature.”

He’d earned a particularly sassy and sarcastic sounding, “Mhmm?” from the doc as they crossed a bridge to the other side of the mag-tracks, one that he opted to ignore for now.

“Tell me, dear Isra, do you think that these floating city folk have food that hasn’t been dredged up from that dreadful ocean?”

“Uhm... Maybe? Don’t you know just as much about this place as I do, Althaus? I’m a doctor, not an exotic tour guide for whatever city we make port in.”

“Ah, well, I figured that you were just so smart and always chronically prepared... I thought maybe you’d know a bit more about this place than I did.”

“Always with the backhanded compliments, aren’t you? Maybe you should have asked one of the people in Reconnaissance, if you wanted to know so badly.”

“I just want something to eat that hasn’t come out of the canteen. I would easily rend someone apart for a hot fresh meal.”

“As long as it’s not a meal made of curse’ed ocean meat?”

The blondie snorted. “Yes, my darling Isra. Come, let’s find something to eat... Aren’t you craving anything?”

Raph thought for a moment, “honestly, I could go for something fried, and I am curious about this ‘forbidden’ and scandalous seafood.”

Ez reeled back, clearly put off by the idea.

“What, Althaus? New world, new city, new cuisine. There’s nothing wrong with at least trying some if it smells appetizing enough-”

“Yeah, if you say so, cretin.”

“... And I’m the one who doesn’t know how to ‘live a little’?”



It hadn’t taken them long to wander into a very nice looking, upscale restaurant in the City of Hope. It’d taken them even less time to get seated once Ezrihel had laid on the charm. It’d been a good day. Point blank, this had actually been an enjoyable experience for both the nobleman and the medic. They found themselves both hoping that their catty camaraderie would continue to improve.


The aristocrat still didn’t want to try this aforementioned ocean-based food, though.


“What if it tastes as slimy as ocean-dweller fish feel?”

“Then I wouldn’t be eating it. I’m even more sensitive to food textures than you are, Althaus.”

The blonde looked down at the small appetizer plate of fried calamari rings Isra had offered him. They didn't seem unappealing, at least.

In fact, they smelled absolutely delicious.

That didn’t make him un-nervous though. What if it was actually awful and made him retch in public? What if he just didn’t like it and had to spit it out? Ugh, he couldn’t imagine how embarrassed he’d feel if it was a trial of bad food. He grimaced slightly and poked at one of the deep fried loops with his fork.

Doc sighed with a smirk, “come on. It’s not that bad. Here, I’ll eat one with you.” He plucked a ring from the plate and held it up. When the aristocrat continued to hesitate, he continued, “don’t tell me that you’re going to allow me to be braver than you in this endeavor of culture, your elegance.”

Ez pursed his lips, eyes narrowing at the medic. Finally he plucked a bit of calamari from the plate and- almost spitefully- popped it into his mouth and chewed. Isra couldn’t help but watch on, near excited to see how the noble would react to this new food-item.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm. Mhmm.” Ez patted at his mouth with a neatly folded cloth napkin and sipped at his fruity drink.

“See? Sometimes I am right. You just have to learn to trust me.”

The noble popped another piece in his mouth, chewed and swallowed before bothering to answer. “Okay, I’ll admit, sometimes even monkeys can manage to write poetry.”

“Aw, give me a bit more credit. You were scared to try this Calamari, but you like fried foods as much as I do.”

“Are you insinuating that we’re similar, dear doctor?” A playful smile lightened his expression.

Raph smirked, “maybe, maybe not. I am more perfectly composed than you, that’s certain.”

“More perfectly composed? Hun, you don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

“Sure I don’t, Ezrihel. Sure I don’t.”

 

[Ezrihel]

The cool and calm serenity of the dozing suite helped Raphael relax as the rain drops beat against the hotel window. Surveys had reported that it would rain late in the night and into the early morning. He’d spent the last four hours just listening to the sounds of the pit-it-tat-tat-plat rain drumming away.

He’d honestly forgotten what rain sounded like.


His heart wrenched at the idea that he could forget the sounds of rain. He had used to love it back home, the constant drizzle helped to lull him into peaceful dreams and deep reflections. Now it gave him nothing but twitchy anxiety and insomnia.

At first that near-static noise made his skin prickle and jolt. All he could think of was the crackle of a wheezy busted comms system and his weary brain played dirty tricks on him. He thought he caught the distorted warbles of voices more than once and it set his soul on edge. The rain made him uneasy, because he was still waiting to hear their voices.

He stared off past the bouquet of morbidly colored potted lilies he’d gotten her as a gift last night. He’d worried that flowers were a little too cliche of a gift, but Rue had loved them. He had felt a flicker of pride that he’d made the right choice when she spent extra time doting over each of the six flowers. All she had to do was remember to water them and the techie pot would handle the rest.



In his arms his dear Rue stirred in her sleep. Her fair purple-grey skin was lovely in the pale cloudy light streaking through the blinds. She was lovely, everywhere, anywhere, all of the time and without effort. She was a beautiful portrait; regal, reposed and flawless. Holding her felt like holding a secret treasure, and it filled the inside of his chest with sharp hot pin-pricks.

(Does she even feel the same way?) A shock of discomfort shot from the pit of his stomach up to his teeth. (That would be stupid, Isra, what are you thinking?) He sighed quietly and grimaced in the freedom of being the only conscious individual in the suite. He didn’t want to wake her with his immature emotional waffling. (You’re just convenient for her, it’s not like you were that hard to convince into this.)

She had originally begun seeking him out for help in her studies. Her air of mystery had lured him in, made it hard for him to turn her away. In return, she had passed along tidbits of information- knowledge about life and death that he could not refuse. There was a stillness and sureness in her. Like a crystal clear, bottomless lake there was a dark vastness to her that he knew he did not yet understand.

But he wanted to. By the gods, he really wanted to. Especially when she’d planted that first kiss on his lips almost a year back.

He found himself burning away with the desire to hear her reactions and thoughts to things. He wanted to pick her brain and listen to her opinions- perhaps he sought a similar perspective for the world. What he did know was that he spent hours turning the idea of her over in his head, replaying her words over and over again, backwards and forwards until the shape of her personality was formed in mind’s eye.

He tried to not think of the future, though.

So instead, he forced his brain to only dwell on the physical, on the moment, with her. (She doesn’t care about your personal feelings.) He wasn’t very good at it, and it yanked his stupid heart around as he wrestled internally. (But what if she does?) Ruedlen made him feel wanted because she took the effort to reach out to him first. She didn’t walk away thinking he was strained or weird or overtly-morbid. She listened to him talk without seeming bored.

She liked his morbidness, she’d reassured him of that countless times in her flirtations. She loved his intelligence, she had told him a hundred times while climbing onto his lap after a long work shift. Rudy thought he was interesting and she claimed that she loved interesting people. He’d repaid her compliments by giving her what she wanted: stress relief. (That’s all you are to her, be honest with yourself.)

Interesting. That was the word she had used, but what would happen when he stopped being interesting to her and her infinite politicking? What if he was just a chip in a long-con play?

He closed his eyes and pushed the thought away. Pushed her away in his heart.

It didn’t matter. There was nothing he could do about it. What mattered was here in the moment. At least he would enjoy being played for an idiot if it all went to shit.

He moved away on the bed, rolling over before sitting on the edge of the mattress. She hurt too much to touch, like a weight crushing his chest. He wished he could just sleep. Sleep decent for once. (A shower would help you feel better.)

Isra glanced up at the bathroom door. A shower would make him feel much better. Hopefully the heat and steam and the sensation of water pouring over his exhausted shoulders would help to reset his overworked, racing brain.

Maybe a nice hot shower in a nice getaway would help him sleep.

The medic drug his feet across the floor as he groggily shuffled to the bathroom and cut on the shower.

Isra wasn’t meant to be a good boyfriend, or a good husband or a good teacher. He wasn’t supposed to care about the morality of anything. He was only meant to be a good scientist. His intelligence was the only thing he was praised for. His only trait worthy of recognition. It was the only thing worth working on and improving because at least he was good at it.


He pulled the shower curtain back and climbed in.



What was the point in trying to be anything other than a good scientist?



What was really the point of anything, he wondered. Everything he’d ever loved had been lost to him because of a morality call. These days he more-often-than-not found himself wondering if those morals were worth the sacrifice he’d been through.

Their expressions of rejection were etched into his brain.




He shoved the intrusive thoughts of his parents and their ‘opinions’ to the back of his mind. He knew what they would say about his rebellion, how disappointed and disgusted they’d be at his apparent ‘fall from grace’, about his lack of progress and all this loss of potential. They would say that he was ungrateful and that he had been a waste of their time and resources.

The dark haired man grimaced and turned the heat of the water up. He wanted the steam to seep in and crack his tension, he wanted his skin to burn a pleasant fluster, he wanted to drown in the physical pain so he could let out the pressure building in his chest.

First he was standing...



Then he slumped against the wall...






Eventually he slunk all the way to the bottom of the tub...


He was exhausted.

Physically,
Mentally,
Spiritually.

He was tired through every damn fiber of his body.


Utterly...




Drained...…….












“Hey, Isra- babe!”

His eyes shot open as Ruedlen shook his shoulder, her white eyes boring into him. “ ..Huh?” He managed through his confusion. He was fuzzy, where was he? He shifted a bit and suddenly noticed the hot water splattering down on him and felt a shade of embarrassment overtake his face.

He’d fallen asleep in the shower. (Ugh, I’m such a loser.)

“Are you okay? Did you sleep at all last night?”

He looked away and was silent for a moment before standing and cutting the water off. “Not really, no.”

She scoffed, “what, was it that bad last night?” Her attempt at humor fell flat on him. He wasn’t awake enough to interpret tones and emotions like some sort of wizard-linguist.

“Last night was fine, Rue.” He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.

“I know. I’m just trying to lighten the mood, Raph.” Her deadpan method of emoting caught him off guard sometimes. He still didn’t know how he felt about her calling him that yet. Something about it felt hollow and insincere.

“I couldn’t sleep because of the noise of the rain.”

Ruedlen looked up as a droplet of water plonked on the tip of her upturned nose and saw that the ceiling was covered in a blanket of condensation, ready to rain down on them as the room cooled. “... Hun, how long were you in here?”

“What time is it?” Isra asked as he started drying his hair.

“The clock in the room says it’s almost 10 in the morning.”

He groaned.

“What? You weren’t in here for hours now were you.”

He poked his head from the towel and moved it down to his waist. “At least I slept some, I guess.”

She snorted at him. He was adorably weird, she’d found. He always had such a weird way of processing the world like the ticking, clicking inner-machinations of a clock. “Maybe I can throw you back on the bed and wear you out until you can’t keep your eyes open.”

He couldn’t help but smirk slightly as his brain woke up a bit more, but his tone was still pretty flat. “I certainly wouldn’t argue with it, dear Rue.”

They were quiet for a moment while he finished drying himself off. She only spoke again once he plodded from the bathroom to get his clothes in order for the day.

“So did you have any dreams?”

He plucked his belt and tie from the floor and folded them in neat loops. “Dreams? Hmm...” He thumbed through his pack for a clean set of under and over shirts. “More like nothing but nightmares these days.”

“That’s why you have trouble sleeping. Do you worry a lot, my dear Israphael?”

Isra snorted as he folded a pair of pants and laid them on the nightstand with his other clothes. “Why do you ask me such obvious questions, Rue?”

“Because I like hearing your answers, dummy.” She reached forward and grabbed his wrist, pulling him to her spot on the bed. “You’re always so worried. Relax, Isra. Relax with me.”

He gave a soft huff and sat down next to her. “It just feels wrong to be relaxing when there’s always so much to do.”

She rolled her eyes and he rolled his in response. “What, Rue. I’m restless. You know it’s hard for me to sit still for long.”

“And you need breaks.”

“I don’t think the universe has any breaks planned for me soon, honestly.”

“So are you gonna work yourself to death, Isra, because you feel like the gods want to break you via fate?”

“I’ll work until my job is done.” That wasn’t the answer she was looking for.

“And what job is that.”

He studied her sharp and delicate features. “... You know what my job is, don’t play silly.”

“My only concern is playing silly with you, darling.” She smiled and leaned forward to kiss him, tangling her fingers in his well-groomed beard as she held his face.

It wouldn’t hurt to stop thinking for a little bit, he supposed. Anything was fine when she kissed him like that and made his heart quicken.