40. Thirty-Nine

Weeks passed in a similar fashion. Six days a week, I was at the tattoo studio, carrying out my apprentice duties. I spent every spare moment drawing, trying to improve my craft.

Shepherd and I went to a few different munches around the city, which were apparently social gatherings for kinksters. I was surprised to learn that most munches happened in vanilla spaces like cafes or restaurants. I met a lot of people on those days and was always surprised at how kind everyone was, and how many people seemed to know and look up to Shepherd.

As the Thanksgiving break approached, Shepherd became busier at work, preparing for exams. We didn’t get to spend as many evenings together on the couch as I would’ve liked, but we were always exchanging small touches and spending as much time together as we could.

There were a few days that Dex came out, but it wasn’t often, and he never wanted to leave the house when he was out. I was glad for that because I wasn’t sure how I’d explain to people that the big man next to me was actually a six-year-old obsessed with dinosaurs.

On the days Bryce was present, we sat around and played video games or watched movies. We made out another time, but decided that sex, if we ever got that far, wasn’t something we were ready for.

As for Azreal, I didn’t see him again until the first Saturday in November.

The November chill bit at my nose as I hurried inside after a morning at the studio. I’d gone in on a rare Sunday to continue work on a piece for a client. Gavin had come to pick me up so Shepherd could get some work in, and I’d decided to swing by his favorite Chinese place to surprise him. Shepherd had texted earlier and said he had a headache. Nothing was better for a headache on a rainy fall day than wonton soup and garlic chicken.

All the way up to his apartment, I was planning the rest of the day in my head. I thought it might be a good night to ask him to take me to The Playground for a night of real play. We’d gone there for a munch hosted by The Playground, but hadn’t been back since and I was itching to go when things were in full swing, even if we didn’t do anything. I wanted to be there and have fun, enjoy the space.

But when I went to open the door, it swung open from inside. As soon as I saw him standing there, I knew it wasn’t Shepherd who’d answered.

He held himself rigidly, his shoulders squared and his chin tilted up slightly, giving him an air of cold arrogance. His eyes, usually warm and inviting when Shepherd looked at me, were hard as flint, narrowed and assessing.

Azreal. I recognized him immediately from the one other time we'd met. Fuck.

My stomach sank as I remembered what’d happened the last time Azreal was fronting.

“What do you want?” Azreal asked, his tone clipped and harsh. He made no move to let me inside.

I swallowed hard, trying not to let my unease show on my face. “I live here.”

“So?”

“So can I come in?”

“Shepherd's not here,” he said flatly. “And he’s not going to be here. Neither are the others. I’m going to be here all night and I have plans.”

The announcement hung between us, sharp and heavy, but it wasn’t an outright rejection. If Azreal didn’t want me there, would he say so?

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, the takeout bag crinkling in my grip. “Well, um, can I still come in? I brought Chinese.” I held up the bag lamely. “Wonton soup is good for headaches.”

Azreal's jaw tightened and for a long moment he stared at me, his eyes boring into mine like he was trying to see into my soul. Finally, he stepped back, pulling the door wider. “Fine. But I'm leaving in an hour.”

“Cool, thanks, man.” I stepped inside, toeing off my sneakers by the door. The living room was dim, the curtains drawn against the gray November sky outside. I flicked on a lamp, casting a warm glow over the leather couch and walnut coffee table.

In the kitchen, I unpacked the takeout containers, the rich scent of garlic and ginger rising in the steam. “You want a plate or the container?” I called over my shoulder.

“I told you, I'm not staying,” Azreal said from right behind me. I startled, almost dropping the wonton soup.

“Fuck, wear a bell or something,” I muttered. I turned to face him, leaning back against the granite countertop. “So, what are these big important plans you got tonight?”

Azreal's dark eyes flashed with something I couldn't quite read. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, the fabric of his black henley stretching taut. “If you must know, I'm going to church.”

I blinked at him, sure I must have heard wrong. “Church? Like... with pews and shit?”

A muscle ticked in Azreal's chiseled jaw. “Yes. With pews and shit.”

“Huh.” I scratched the back of my neck, trying to wrap my head around it. After all the fucked up stuff Shepherd went through with that cult, I couldn't believe any part of him would still want anything to do with religion. “I didn't take you for the church-going type.”

“There's a lot you don't know about me.”

I paused, tilting my head to one side. That almost sounded like an invitation. “Like what?” I asked cautiously.

Azreal stared at me, his expression unreadable.

When he didn’t say anything, I decided prompting him was the way to go. “Who’s your favorite Bible character?”

“Esther,” he answered without hesitation.

I blinked at him, surprised. I’d been expecting him to name Job or maybe Paul, some long-suffering character with deep Biblical significance. I wasn’t even sure I remembered who Esther was.

Azreal's eyes took on a distant look, like he was seeing something far beyond the kitchen walls. “Esther was a Jewish woman living in Persia. She was beautiful and clever, and she caught the eye of the king. The king made her his queen, but he didn't know she was Jewish. Esther kept that secret, even from her own husband.”

I busied myself spooning wonton soup into a bowl, letting the story wash over me. I didn't know much about the Bible, but I could tell this meant something to Azreal.

Azreal leaned against the countertop. “Then the king's vizier, Haman, convinced the king to sign a decree that all the Jews in Persia should be killed.” Azreal paused, his jaw working. “Every last one of them, down to the women and kids.”

I set the soup on the counter in front of him. “That's fucked up.”

Azreal agreed with a slight bob of his head. “Esther had a choice. She could keep her mouth shut, let her people die, and save her own skin. Or she could risk everything—her position, her privilege, even her life—to try to stop it.”

Azreal picked up the soup spoon, turning it over in his long fingers as he spoke. “Esther ended up telling the king that she was a Jew. She risked it all to save her people. And you know what? It worked. The king tore up the decree and hung Haman.”

He took a sip of the soup, his dark eyes flickering shut for a second like he was savoring the flavor. When he opened them again, he fixed that intense gaze on me. “I've always admired that—her willingness to put everything on the line for what was right. Even if it cost her everything. That fearlessness.”

I leaned my hip against the counter, folding my arms across my chest. “Sounds like a badass lady. Kinda surprising they let that story stay in the Bible, with the way they're always trying to keep women down.”

One corner of Azreal's mouth quirked up. “I think you'd be surprised by a lot of the stories in the Bible.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” I grabbed my own container of garlic chicken and popped it open.

Azreal set down his spoon, his brow furrowing in thought. “There's the one about Jael. She was this woman who lured an enemy general into her tent, let him think he was going to get some, then drove a tent spike right through his skull.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded slowly. “Seriously. It’s in Judges.”

Damn. I'd never heard that one before. I shoveled a forkful of garlic chicken into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Maybe there was more to the Bible than all that turn the other cheek bullshit.

“So like, is that what you're into? Badass chicks who take out the bad guys?” I asked around my mouthful of food.

His lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smile. “I'm into justice. However it has to happen.”

I set my food down, wiping my hands on my thighs. “Is that why you go to church? For the justice?”

“No, I go for the music,” he said, deadpan.

I raised my eyebrows. “You mean like the hymns?”

“Hymns. Gregorian chants. Requiems. There's something about it that just...” He shook his head, like he couldn't quite find the words. “It clears my head. Helps me focus on what matters. Like you and your drawings and Shepherd and his…” He waved a hand. “Sex…things.”

I almost smiled at the way he said the last part, but I somehow managed to keep a straight face. I cleared my throat. “Everybody's got their thing.”

Azreal grunted in agreement, taking another sip of soup. We lapsed into silence for a minute, him drinking his soup while I picked at my garlic chicken.

It was weird hanging out with Azreal. He’d nearly choked me out last time, and now here we were, talking Bible stories over Chinese takeout like it was nothing. But something about him seemed... more human than before.

I glanced at the clock on the microwave. If he was serious about going to church, he'd have to leave soon. “So,” I said, breaking the quiet. “This church thing. How come this is the first time you’ve decided to go?”

Azreal set down his empty soup bowl with a soft clink. “It's not always possible for me to... be present.”

Right. Because he was always busy protecting Dex inside their system.

I nodded, chewing on my lip. “That's gotta be rough, man. Not being able to do your own thing whenever you want.”

Azreal shrugged one shoulder, the motion stiff. “It is what it is. My purpose is to protect Dex. Everything else is secondary.”

There was something about the way he said it, so fucking matter-of-fact, that made my chest ache. I wondered what it must be like to have your whole existence revolve around keeping one person safe. To never get to live for yourself.

I set my food down and took a step closer to him, slowly, like I was approaching a skittish dog. “But what about what you want, Az? Don't you ever just wanna say 'fuck it' and do your own thing?”

His eyes narrowed at the nickname, but he didn't correct me. “What I want is irrelevant.”

“Bullshit,” I said, surprising myself with my own vehemence. “You're a person too, you know. You've got needs.”

“I'm not a person. I'm an alter in a system. My purpose is my only reason for existing.”

“Still. You're real, aren't you? As real as Dex or Shepherd or any of them?” I searched his face, looking for some kind of tell. “Seems to me like you should get a say in how you spend your time, too. I get the feeling Dex wouldn’t mind sleeping in one or two Sundays a month so you could get to church.”

Azreal stared at me for a long moment, head tilting to one side as if he’d never even considered the notion.

His jaw worked like he was chewing on my words, tasting them to see if they had any flavor. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough. “I…have to go soon. But if you wanted to do some extra tidying up…I’m sure that would…please Shepherd.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Are you okay with me staying in your space when you’re not here?” I didn’t voice it, but he had to know that meant he was trusting me. Azreal and trust went together about as well as oil and water.

“I don't make a habit of leaving near-strangers unattended in my home,” he said finally, his voice flat. “But Dex trusts you, so I will extend that trust. For now.”

I nodded solemnly, even as a grin threatened to break out on my face. Gaining Azreal's trust, even a sliver of it, felt like a victory.

Azreal turned on his heel, stalking toward the front door. “I’ll be back before ten,” he announced, shrugging on a white jacket I’d never seen Shepherd wear before.

The front door opened and shut, the lock clicking into place.

I started in the kitchen, washing the handful of dishes in the sink and wiping down the countertops until they gleamed.

I moved on to the living room next, straightening the throw pillows on the couch and folding the soft fleece blanket that was draped over the back. I grabbed the feather duster from the hall closet and went to town, running it over the walnut bookcase filled with thick psychology textbooks and the framed art on the walls.

As I worked, my mind kept drifting back to my conversation with Azreal. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than the cold, hard exterior he projected. Underneath all that ice, I'd caught a glimpse of something else. Something almost... human.

In Shepherd's bedroom, I stripped the sheets off the king-size bed and tossed them in the hamper. I remade the bed with fresh sheets, the soft cotton cool and crisp under my hands. I plumped the pillows and tucked the comforter tight, making sure it was smooth and wrinkle-free.

The bathroom was my next stop. I scrubbed the sink and toilet until they sparkled, the sharp scent of bleach burning my nose. I hung fresh towels on the rack, making sure they were perfectly aligned.

By the time I finished, my arms were sore and my eyes were heavy. I glanced at my phone—almost 9:30. Azreal would be back soon.

I trudged back to the living room and flopped down on the couch, my body sinking into the buttery soft leather. I'd rest my eyes for a minute, I told myself. Just a quick power nap before Azreal got home.

I woke to the sound of the front door opening, the jingle of keys in the lock. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The clock on the wall read 10:02. Shit.

I sat up slowly, my neck stiff from sleeping at a weird angle on the couch. I blinked blearily as Azreal walked in, shrugging off his white jacket and hanging it by the door.

He looked different from when he'd left—his shoulders not quite so rigid, his jaw not clenched quite so tight. There was almost a softness to him, a sort of quiet peace that I'd never seen on him before.

“Hey,” I croaked, my voice rough with sleep. “How was church?”

Azreal glanced over at me, his dark eyes unreadable in the low light of the living room. “It was fine.”

He moved further into the room, his gaze sweeping over the spotless kitchen, the neatly arranged living room. I held my breath, suddenly nervous.

But Azreal gave a small nod, almost to himself, and said, “Well done.”

I felt a flush of pride at the words, warmth blooming in my chest. Praise from Azreal felt like a rare and precious thing, and I found myself wanting to chase that feeling, to do more, be better, just to hear him say it again.

Without another word, Azreal turned and headed down the hall toward the bedroom. I heard the door open and close before I fell back against the couch cushions, beaming. Maybe there was hope that me and Azreal could get along after all.