25 Staring Contest

Bel

It was the most beautiful place he’d ever seen.

The sun had set behind distant mountains, the last vestiges of twilight fading on the horizon. Lights from other houses dotted the hills like golden stars, while fireflies danced among them and in her lush fenced-in garden. Laughter floated up the hill from the little village, along with strains of jaunty music, while out on the smooth waters of a fjord, the lanterns of rowboats twinkled. The light from Lily’s home illuminated the garden and stone path leading to a round front door cracked open just enough to explain the presence of the cat sitting on the doorstep. The drool-worthy scent of cinnamon rolls wafted temptingly into the cooling air.

It felt like home .

The small palace he’d spent his whole life in was comforting in its familiarity and precious for the memories it held, but something about Lily’s Paradise sank into his bones, filling him with a sense of peace both familiar and foreign.

“Initial thoughts?”

Was she nervous? He tried to find the words, wishing he had his sister Annika’s talent for eloquence, and deciding that simple honesty would have to do.

“It feels like you,” he said quietly. Her lips parted in surprise. “Not the version of you that works at the Hellp Desk, but the real you. I like it. A lot.”

So very much.

His heart rate kicked up, but he was spared from waiting for her response by something brushing against his ankle. The cat had emerged from the house to sniff at his sweatpants, its long fur glossy and well kept.

“Max?”

Lily nodded fondly. “For the record, I left the door shut so that I could give you a warning before the little turd decided to introduce himself.”

“That’s okay.” He crouched down, ignoring the protest of his aching muscles. Max bolted away to hide behind Lily’s legs, which only drew Bel’s attention to the smooth, tantalizing stretch of skin, the intricate black-and-gray tattoos on her thigh, the athletic lines of her calves leading down to—

He barked out a laugh, glanced at her footwear again, and had to put a hand on the ground to balance while he dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Her clog-like shoes were the ugliest piece of footwear he’d ever laid eyes on, and the glittery black surface did nothing to assuage that fact.

“Those are,” he managed once he caught his breath, “not something I expected you to have.”

Lily held out her leg like a model showing off couture footwear. “Aren’t they hideous?” She beamed. “They’re so stupid, I love them. Plus, they’re comfy. Now shoo, go make a new friend.” She said the last bit to the cat, who had already begun creeping out to inspect him once more.

A cursory sniff of Bel’s extended hand resulted in an enthusiastic mashing of his head against Bel’s palm.

Success.

He lavished attention on Max, who purred so hard that Bel wondered how he managed to stand, until Lily scooped the cat up, shaking her head.

“You can schmooze him later,” she told the cat, kissing its head and smiling at Bel. “Come on, big guy, let’s get you onto a couch.”

“Well, damn.” Bel grinned, pushing to his feet. “At least buy me dinner first.”

Lily bumped his hip with hers. “What do you think the cinnamon roll is for?”

“In that case, lead the way.”

Hanging flowers draped around her round door, their light perfume lingering in the air. Lily pushed the door fully open, depositing the cat onto the floor, and Bel was delighted to realize that he didn’t have to duck to follow her. Tidy and clean without being sterile, the whole place was lived in and cozy, with elegant touches that somehow fit perfectly.

His eyes snagged on a large picture by the door, and everything in him stilled.

Lily stood with two young men who shared similar features and red hair in different shades. Her brothers. They had to be. They stood on a cliff overlooking a crashing sea, laughing and wild. Lily’s features were softer, younger, but her beautiful eyes still drew him in, an unfamiliar caution in their hazel depths.

Lily came to stand beside him, and the silence stretched.

“That was a good day,” she murmured, a waver in her tone that he’d only heard once before. “We had no business being there, and we all promised to never tell our parents how reckless we’d been, but it was a good day.”

Bel could see that. There was a joy there that couldn’t be faked. “What were their names?”

“Are. Their names are Tommy, the taller one, and Ryan. I was the oldest.” The quiet pain in her voice tore his gaze away from the picture. He didn’t know the exact kind of grief spilling over her face, but he knew all too well how choking grief could be.

He slipped his hand into hers, only momentarily surprised by the strength of her grip. She studied the picture while he studied her, memorizing the delicate slope of her nose and the sweep of her wet lashes.

He didn’t overthink it, simply reached up with his free hand to brush his knuckles down her satiny cheek, smoothing away the track of wetness.

“I left them,” she said softly. “I didn’t want to, and I hope they know that.” She chuckled wetly and without humor. “I lied to them when I was sick, you know. Especially towards the end. It was stupid, and I knew I was making promises I couldn’t keep, but they needed something to hold onto to make things…easier.”

“How did you lie?” It took every ounce of control not to wrap her in his arms and soothe, but the moment felt important. What she was feeling and sharing was important.

“Lots of ways. They’d ask me how I was feeling or ask if I wanted to watch a movie with them. All I wanted to do was lay in bed and cry, but I’d go watch whatever they wanted. I knew I couldn’t make it easier to watch me die; all I could do was leave them with memories.”

She smiled a little. “I told them I’d steal their socks from the other side. I figured that every time they did laundry and one of their socks went missing, they’d think of me. I said it as a joke, but they made me promise, even though I knew I was lying. We were supposed to watch each other get old. Mourn our parents together. Annoy the shit out of each other for another few decades at least. Teach their kids how to swear and tell them stories about when we were kids. We weren’t particularly close, but we were always there for each other. I’m the oldest; I was supposed to look out for them. I haven’t even looked them up on MortalTube since I got here. I…I can’t,” she said, referring to the video site that many souls used to check in on living loved ones or keep up with current events.

Bel brought his hands up to cradle her face, the picture forgotten. He’d been wondering where they stood. Perhaps the fatigue and stress and worry of the last few days had worn away his caution, or perhaps it was him deciding the bounds of friendship were simply not enough, but he ran the pad of his thumb over the arch of her cheekbone soothingly, watching for her reaction. If she was surprised or shocked by his closeness, she didn’t show it…or reject it. Instead, she held his gaze as if it were a lifeline.

“Grief isn’t linear. There’s no formula to it, and sometimes you feel guilty for feeling or not feeling a certain way. That’s okay.” He paused, battling hundreds of years of habit and pain. Lily needs to hear this. I need to say it. “In the equation of grief, as one of the people who has been left behind and had to mourn, I promise you that your brothers know. You loved them. You still love them. If they know nothing else, they know that, princess. Just like they know that you did the best you could while you were there.”

He saw the exact moment that sharp mind of hers processed that he’d once lost someone dear to him, and he waited for the pity. He knew he wasn’t giving her the full story, wasn’t telling her the how or why and the complications of both in his heart. But he did know the pain of that kind of grief, of being left behind, and he could give her this comfort. Because no matter how raw it was for him, he understood that you could know someone loved you and tried their best, even as you grieved their leaving you.

His heart raced and stuttered. Few beings he knew in the Afterlife could understand, and he’d never before been close enough with a mortal soul to bring it up. Part of him braced for her pity or her scorn, but he didn’t want Lily to see him as weak. He wanted her to see his weakness and not think less of him for it.

Didn’t everyone want the same?

The moment stretched, a precious juncture of intimacy between two people. It scared the shit out of him, all while hope made his heart ache. Lily looked up at him, not with pity or scorn.

With understanding.

Fear loosened its hold on his lungs.

She stepped forward, holding him as if he were the precious one, and he wrapped her in his embrace, burying his nose in the curve of her neck.

A paw batted the tip of his tail, followed by a long, plaintive meow.

They laughed. He loved her laugh, loved the way her body moved against his when they laughed.

It felt right to have her in his arms. Felt right to be in hers.

Neither of them let go.

Max meowed again.

“It’s a conspiracy to drive me insane. First the house, now the cat,” Lily said into his chest.

“What’s the house done now?”

The house groaned, and adrenaline jolted up his spine. He stared at the nearest wall. Okay , so it was different than the row of showers, and slightly disconcerting to stand inside the thing making all the conversational noise.

“Yeah,” Lily sighed, “that was about my reaction too.” She grimaced up at the ceiling. “I’m sure you’re being helpful, but it doesn’t always sound like it.”

The house groaned again.

“Maybe it’s trying to tell you something?” Bel suggested, eyeing the coat hooks warily.

It was Paradise, so it wouldn’t hurt anyone. Right?

Just in case, he began cataloging everything that could be used as a weapon or shield.

Just in case.

“That’s a journey of discovery that’ll have to happen another day. I’m tired, you’re exhausted—don’t lie to me, Beleth, I see how you’re moving and the bags under your eyes.” She held up a warning finger. “I called you hoping we could have a chill evening being dorks and watching movies. So, here.” She scooped up the cat winding between her legs and handed it to him. “Take the fur ball, let the power of purring heal you, and get your butt on the couch. We’re going to get at least one cinnamon roll in you before we pick a show and pass out.”

Bel adjusted the cat so that he held it like a baby, running a finger through the soft fur of its belly. Max closed his eyes in ecstasy. Bel smiled, wondering what the two of them had been like as mortals.

A flicker of movement was his only warning before Lily’s hand cupped his cheek. He looked up in surprise.

“If or when you are ready to tell the story, or if you just need someone to listen, I’m here.” Her smile was soft. “I see you, big guy.”

Lily

Bel had inhaled half a dozen cinnamon rolls, then nibbled on a seventh as they turned the living room into a cozy nest. The couch had morphed before their eyes, the back shifting to accommodate Bel’s wings, and the seats growing deeper so that they could both stretch their legs. The little wince as he eased onto the couch, as well as the sigh he tried to hide, told her everything she needed to know.

Armed with notepads, ensconced in a few of her softest blankets, and cradling mugs of tea, they settled next to each other a safe distance apart, as usual. But she’d never felt that distance so acutely. They’d held each other in the entryway. He’d cradled her face. She wanted that closeness back desperately, even as her mind warred over it.

Being brave and opening up to a friend was one thing. Moving beyond friendship? No matter how much she wanted him, wanted all of him, and even with her resolution to no longer shackle herself with fear, it wasn’t just her fear that was the problem.

It was that the time she could give Bel was limited.

Lily swallowed a sigh. Max, looking cartoonishly fluffy and small, seemed to have decided that Bel was simply a large heating pad with the ability to give attention, and remained perched on his lap while they watched a docuseries on sharks.

As some point, Bel got up to use the bathroom, something Lily no longer had to deal with. The house conveniently sprouted a bathroom with a toilet in the hallway by their bedrooms. When he sat back down, their shoulders brushed. Later, Lily pulled her blanket up and shifted to a more comfortable position, and their thighs touched. Neither of them commented on it or made any move to get away.

The bare skin of his arm seared against hers. As she made a note about the sleeping habits of reef sharks, she caught herself writing rest close together under hot, smooth— and hurriedly scribbled out the last two words. — under caves and ledges.

Lily gave up on taking notes, her focus zeroed in on each point of contact. They were innocent, casual touches, but she burned . The temptation to straddle his lap and see if he knew how to kiss in a way that was distinctly outside the bounds of friendship was so intense that she mentally shoved herself.

I should really move away.

She didn’t.

The heavy grittiness of her eyes saved her from the dilemma altogether. She caught herself nodding off a few times, the fight back to consciousness only growing more difficult each time.

She woke up at some point to find her head propped on Bel’s shoulder, the weight on her hair dimly registering as his cheek. Every muscle in his body had grown lax, his breathing deep and even. The lights had dimmed themselves and the TV had gone dark.

His mostly empty mug tilted precariously in his loose grip, but before she could do more than raise her arm, it disappeared. She murmured a drowsy thank-you to the house, snuggled into Bel’s side, and let sleep pull her under.

* * *

Waking up was like swimming through honey, a heavy, slow approach to consciousness that resulted from a deep rest.

Lily cracked an eye enough to register the golden light diffusing through the windows, wondered why her room was so bright, then snuggled back into the delicious cocoon of warmth she’d found herself in. She pulled her body pillow closer, pleased that it seemed firmer than usual. Something thudded steadily under her ear, as reassuring as a heartbeat. She nuzzled into her body pillow—

Her body pillow that was breathing.

It all came back. Bel’s silly bat slippers, the revelations in the entryway, the gradual progression of cuddling on the couch. She couldn’t bring herself to regret a second of it.

Her eyes eased open as she took a catalog of their bodies. They must have shifted to lay lengthwise on the couch, which seemed to have morphed again to make them more comfortable.

She lay between Bel and the back of the couch, one of her legs between his, an arm thrown over his side, fingers brushing the hot skin of his back where his shirt had ridden up. Her other arm was folded between them, hand resting by her cheek, one finger hooked in the collar of his shirt. Bel lay on his side with his back to the room, one arm resting heavily over her waist, his hand pressed to her back like he held her to him even in sleep. She could feel his other arm beneath the pillow both their heads rested on, guessing that the spot of heat on her upper back was his hand.

Something warm and smooth was coiled around her calf of the leg resting between his. His tail, maybe? She didn’t want to move to find out. A gentle bulge pressed against her thigh, sending liquid heat trickling through her veins. His chin and lips were pressed into her hair, each exhalation ruffling the half- loose strands. Her nose was barely an inch away from the strong column of his neck, and all she could smell was his warm, slightly musky scent, touched with the clove soap he’d showered with the night before. She’d never been so attracted to anyone before.

She ran her fingertips over the satiny skin of his neck, wondering what it would be like to trace the hollows and lines with her lips.

Dangerous. Dangerous and selfish.

He was sweet and kind and sly and funny, with a bone-deep steadiness to him that soothed a part of her she hadn’t known needed soothing. Not only did each moment in his presence feel like a breath of fresh air, he made her already healthy sex drive threaten to go into overdrive. It wasn’t just his heavy, solid body that she absolutely appreciated; it was him . She’d been attracted to his mind long before she’d ever laid eyes on his body.

She followed the line of his collarbone with the faintest of touches, a familiar, hollow ache yawning open in her chest. Even if they ended up together—an idea that sent a quiet thrill through her—she couldn’t offer him anything beyond companionship and love, and she would have to surrender part of a dream.

She’d always, in all of her lifetimes, wanted to be a mother. She’d known the effects that pregnancy would have on her body. Known about the exhaustion, known that she wouldn’t be a perfect parent, but damn, she would have tried. She would have loved her children, just as she already loved Sharkie.

She’d kept the desire quiet in her last life. Motherhood had seemed so…limiting when she’d been growing up in the church. In her church, it had been considered the pinnacle of achievement for all women. No matter how much she’d wanted to be a mother, she’d always thought that idea was horseshit. Had they met women? Had they listened to and seen the glorious ideas and dreams and stories and drive they had? The pinnacle of a woman’s achievement was determined by each woman themselves. Who was the church to limit them to a reproductive role?

Even after she’d left religion, she’d kept her desires close. Out of spite at first, then out of pain. When she’d hit thirty without a single serious relationship, friends and family had stopped making pitying, “helpful” comments, and started giving her somber looks. Then, once she’d found out about the cancer, she’d hoped that it would happen for her in a future lifetime, if such a thing existed.

The longer she was in the Afterlife, the muddier her desire became. She loved her Paradise, her work, and now Sharkie. Then there was everything she felt for Bel. However, she hated her silent chest, the nagging sense of something missing, the guilt of failure. The mortal world, fucked up though it could be, was full of wonder. Beautiful things and moments were made all the more special because of the ephemeral nature of mortality. She still thought about going back. But her series of short, painful lives were a testament to the fact that nothing in life was guaranteed, and that had cooled her urgency for another try.

Bel had a heart that, even in the Afterlife, was rare and incandescent. He’d once joked that he didn’t half-ass anything, he full-assed it or no-assed it. He full-ass loved his family, his friends, his work as a general, his life . Bel had already lost someone once, somehow, and it had clearly devastated him. He didn’t deserve any more of that pain, and that was exactly what would happen if she let things progress and someday left to reincarnate.

Bel shifted, pulling his head back and moving down so that their faces were even and their noses nearly brushed.

It wouldn’t be fair to him, to either of us, she tried to rationalize, to resist the spell that settled over them.

The understanding and desire in his silver eyes had the whole room, the whole Afterlife, falling away. His hand left her waist to cradle her face and neck, thumb running over her cheek in a tantalizingly slow motion.

She could feel his want, pulsing as strongly as her own. Her fingers moved of their own accord, running up to his chin, touching the blunted spikes there and making his eyelashes dip.

There would be no coming back from this moment, she realized. After this, neither of them could pretend their feelings were completely platonic and they were just friends anymore.

“I’m a mortal soul, Bel,” she whispered. Maybe he could help her be reasonable. He knew what her being a soul meant.

“I know,” he murmured back.

“I…I’ll reincarnate someday.”

His eyebrows twitched together for a moment, but his eyes remained soft, his thumb still moving maddeningly over her skin. “I know.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. You don’t deserve that.”

He looked at her steadily. “Do you think I deserve to be happy?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

His nose brushed hers, and her breath caught in her throat. He was right there . His fingers ghosted over the sensitive spot on her neck, and she bit back a whimper. “I want to be happy with you, princess. For as long as you’ll let me. Whatever time we have together will be a greater gift than I deserve. And when you go back to the mortal world”—his voice grew raspy—“I will be cheering for you every step of the way, honored that, even for a short time, I got to call you mine.”

She swallowed. “I’d be being selfish.”

“Why? Because you know it will end? If I’ve learned anything from grief, it’s that we should all love like mortals.” He paused, breath fanning over her lips, his fingers soft on her skin. “Forever is never guaranteed, not even here, princess.”

She pulled back slightly to scan his eyes, to see the honesty there, the heat, and the powerful feelings she was too scared to identify, even if she knew he saw them mirrored in her own eyes.

“Love like mortals?” she asked quietly, cautious hope blooming in her chest.

“Yes,” he murmured.

Lily eased forward, brushing his lips with hers. Her eyes drifted shut at the ecstasy of even that simple touch. His hand tightened on her cheek, lips parting on a gasp.

There was a brief moment when they both seemed to reorient themselves to the new paradigm of the Universe, then Bel’s lips were on hers again, gently, the faint taste of the cinnamon rolls a heady companion to the taste of him .

The kiss was sweet, tender in a way that made her fears vanish entirely, even if just for the moment. His lips softened, and hers parted ever so slightly. It didn’t need to build to anything now. No, that would come later. Nor was it the time for any great exploration of each other. This incandescent moment was for them . The simple, perfect intimacy of sharing their breath, of softly touching lips and gentle caresses, of being together.

When they eased apart, Lily smiled softly at him. Bel’s expression was wondrous.

“This better not be a dream,” he rumbled, fingers tracing aimless, soothing patterns on her back.

“Not a dream,” she murmured, brushing a loose strand of his hair back and running her fingers over the rugged line of his jaw.

“What are you doing?” Sharkie asked.

They froze, the world rushing back in. Sunlight. Couch. Birds. Morning. Kid in a shark onesie home from a field trip. They locked eyes.

Busted.

I think?

“Staring contest,” Lily said, proud that her voice sounded even and nonchalant.

Bel’s eyes crinkled and gleamed with new mischief. “I’m winning,” he said without looking away.

“Why are you lying down though?” Sharkie sounded skeptical.

Lily could hear the funny, scrunched-up expression that Sharkie made when she wasn’t buying whatever she was being told.

“We were sitting up, but we got tired,” Lily explained. It wasn’t technically a lie…

“That’s a long staring contest. Can I shower and then can we have breakfast? I don’t like yogurt and granola.”

Bel snorted, not looking away.

Well now we really are having a staring contest. And I’m going to win.

“Is that what they were serving on the trip?”

“Yeah.” Sharkie sounded disgusted. “Luci brought me home because we have cinnamon rolls here, so why would I eat granola ?”

Lily chuckled. “Fair and valid. Go shower. I’ll have the cinnamon rolls heated up and waiting by the time you’re done.”

She heard Sharkie scamper away, but remained focused on Bel’s eyes, gleaming with competition.

“You gonna go get those cinnamon rolls started?” he asked.

“Sure. Once I’ve won this staring contest.” She grinned.