Between one blink and the next Asterius’s world shifts abruptly.

The once sunlight-filled room is pitch dark, the only light the faint glow from the angels slowly circling his head. There’s not enough light to see anything, and the sudden oppressive darkness is haunting. The only thing he can make out is the solid square in front of him, the closed front door.

‘What happened?’ He thinks, thoughts molasses slow as he slowly starts to come back into himself. ‘How long…?’

A small dark evergreen textbox blinks to life in the dark, despite being an illusion only he can see, the tiny message window glows with a dim light as well, [It is 10:13 pm Host].

He was fairly sure it was somewhere around 7 last he checked, so there is a few missing hours where he can’t remember anything. Fear would be the normal response, but Asterius is still fuzzy around the edges. The last thing he remembers…

A shudder works itself down his back, as he pushes the thoughts of Sanctus as far away as he can manage.

He’s still sitting on the living room floor, propped up with a strength that is not his own. Asterius tries to adjust, everything feels numb, like it isn’t really a part of his body. The disorientation causes him to tilt, almost sending him crashing back to the floor, if not for the arm that loosely grabs his shoulder, steadying him.

He startles at the sudden movement; turning to face a set of red-silted eyes that glow faintly in the dark.

Cadeyrn looks… tired would probably be the best word. A wariness and a tense unease, a slight hunch to his shoulders, that makes him look a bit smaller than he really is. Asterius watches still a bit dazed as Cadeyrn takes a deep steadying breath, some of the tension bleeding away as he softly smiles, leaning in a bit closer and giving Asterius’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Welcome back master.”

Asterius makes a noise somewhere between a huff and snort, just a puff of faint amusement, too tired to really feel any sort of joy.

He hums back in answer, positive his voice will betray him if he tries to speak. Throat scratchy and itching, he doesn’t remember it feeling so terrible before- Again he shoves the thoughts as deep as he can.

Shamelessly he leans a bit more on Cadeyrn, the demon is quick to adjust, moving a bit closer and allowing Asterius’s back to lean onto his chest. His left hand comes up to clutch his opposite shoulder, while his left tangles with Asterius’s own hand – or rather it tightens its grip, as it would seem they were holding hands the entire time.

A faint rush of something trickles down his back at that thought, but he’s more preoccupied with the sudden awareness that his left hand is moving. He stills his hand, jerkily stopping the motion he had unconsciously been doing.

There’s a low chirping whine, and Asterius tilts his gaze down, landing on a ball of white snuggled into his lap. Pluma whines again, more insistent, tail lashing hard against his thigh, little wings ruffling in annoyance. Before he’s really able to wrap his head around what’s happening, his hand is moving again. Purring in his sleep, Pluma’s tail gives a few happy swishes through the air, before he curls up even tighter, little beak and talons pushed right up against Asterius's stomach in only a mildly uncomfortable way.

He keeps carding his fingers through the almost fur-like feathers along Pluma’s back, letting his mind drift once more, though now far more aware of his surroundings.

There is much they need to discuss. The fragile peace they had all worked for is now broken beyond repair, the plot twisting into something darker, but staying enough on course to not cause an infraction big enough to terminate him. (Or at least he assumes so, he’s fairly sure the System would have pulled the plug if things went too far off track.)

[Plot is currently within allowable ranges. Nothing that would affect the major plot points has been detected. Host is cleared to continue.]

He nods at the message, some of the lingering fear washing away with the System’s confirmation.

There’s still the issue of whatever Sanctus was planning of course, of his newfound role as a “tyrant,” but in the dark, it is easy to pretend that those worries belong to a different Asterius and he can just sit here in peace.

Listening to the familiar little noises that prove everything is oaky, the gentle almost-chirps of Pluma, the steady soft breath of the demon next to him, the faint chime of angels ceiling around him, and the rhythmic sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. He focuses on each sound that confirms he’s safe, that he's home, and lets them lull him into slumber.

----------------------------------------

Asterius startles awake. Holding himself very still, keenly aware that he’s being picked up-

His body relaxes before he fully registers why, all of the fear popping like a balloon. The arms that are gently cradling him are familiar, just like the cool chest his head is leaning on, Cadeyrn. He lets his eyes slip back closed, allowing the demon to do what he wants.

There’s the soft thud of footsteps, the gentle rustling of fabric, and the creak of a door. And Asterius is lowered onto a soft surface.

‘Oh,’ he thinks distantly, ‘He brought me to bed.’ Cadeyrn had done it so carefully that Pluma hadn’t even stirred, still happily asleep curled up in his lap.

There’s a pang of disappointment as the callused hands slip away, allowing Asterius to fully settle onto the bed. He’s genuinely thankful to not be sleeping on the floor, but he mourns the loss of that familiar touch more.

A presence still hovers by the bed, most likely a worried Cadeyrn, double-checking to make sure he’s okay. He forces his eyes to blink open, rousing enough coherent thought to assure the demon he’s fine, but whatever he is going to say dies on his tongue as the bed dips.

Cadeyrn sits on the edge of the bed, and with steady hands, starts to gently pull the various ornaments from Asterius's hair. Carefully untangling each one and setting them on the bedside table, where a flower with small white petals and large barbed thorns rests in a silver vase.

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It looks just as beautiful now as it did this morning, a Divinus Vigil, Cadeyrn’s note had said in that familiar scrawling handwriting.

Named after a priest who was endlessly devoted and so genuine in his reverence, that he used his own life to protect the young god he was sworn to. But his god could not bear to let the priest go, so granted him immortality in the form of a flower. A flower that would only be able to bloom and flourish if given something to protect.

He had never gotten around to asking Cadeyrn what that had meant, thankfully he doesn’t need to say anything because Cadeyrn catches his stare, smile growing a tad as he glances over at the flower himself.

“The Divinus Vigil only blooms in the presence of the divine,” he explains softly, voice a deep whisper. Hands still busy untangling more pieces of silver from Asterius’s hair, “The god in question that the priest gave his life for has been lost to time, one of the first gods I would guess. Gehennan I know, for I remember the flowers blooming there, soft and yet dangerous if handled improperly.”

‘A flower from his homeland,’ and even though he had no part in the Godly War, guilt starts to gnaw at him, a sadness and a too-late apology aching on his tongue.

Asterius shifts his eyes back to the blossom, tries to imagine it growing among the fiery pits of the hells, but the image doesn’t work. Despite its thorns, the flower is delicate, with soft white buds, and a toothpick-like stem. ‘Is it fire resistant or something?’

[The Divinus Vigil has no fire resistance]

Before he can think up what exactly to say to the System now, Cadeyrn continues, never taking his eyes away from Asterius’s hair as he works, “I’ve seen it a few times in your fate vision, there’s a tiny sprig of the flower outside of the temple Maria grew up in. I don’t know if it was there before her arrival. In Gehenna the flowers are purposely placed around the dwellings and domains of young demons,” he pauses, something aching leaking into his tone, before he coughs; the emotion quickly buried, “But in Celestia, I’ve only ever seen the flower here.”

The twinge of regret and guilt grows, but Asterius knows Cadeyrn would only take it for pity, so he lets the sadness run its course but does not act on it. Distracting himself by focusing on the latter part of Cadeyrn’s explanation. ‘Why does he sound surprised it grows here?’ he thinks, casting a glance once more at the flower, ‘This is the Garden of Tranquil Day, where every plant in all three realms blooms. Why wouldn’t it grow here?’

Cadeyrn shakes his head, seemingly able to read the question on Asterius’s face. Tugging the last hair ornament from his hair, and begging to carefully comb the silver strands with his fingers, “It is more than just this is the Garden of Tranquil Day.”

Asterius turns his attention back to the demon, Cadeyrn must feel his inquisitive stare and continues, “I would not claim I have explored every inch of this ring, but the only place I’ve ever seen Divinus Vigil grow is around this house. Have you not noticed master? That this is the flower that crawls like ivy over the walls?”

He had noticed that there was a flowering vine on the side of their little cottage, but he had never really paid it much mind, more focused on the plants Cadeyrn had deliberately placed and toiled away for.

The unspoken, “Why here?” hangs in the air, and Cadyern’s hands still. His eyes meeting Asterius’s own.

Suddenly Asterius is hyper-aware of just how close they are, of how Cadeyrn is hunched protectively over him, his hands still tangled in his long silver hair, eyes bright and glittering in the dark. Some of his own dark black curls cascade over his shoulder to tickle gently at Asterius’s face. There is a tension, so heavy and thick, Asterius finds it a bit hard to breathe, lungs stilling in anticipation-

“Because here, they have something precious to protect.”

Asterius gasps, the breath catching in his throat at those words. A painful longing tightens around his heart, so violent he nearly chokes on it. He’s not sure he isn’t dreaming, because this scene feels like one ripped straight from his own fantasies, a world in which both of them could be free from heavenly forces, just two people, finally able to speak the unspoken things that hang above them both, able to love-,

He must make some sort of face because Cadeyrn recoils as if just slapped; eyes downcast and apologetic. The guilt almost really chokes him this time, Cadeyrn shouldn't need to apologize for Asterius’s own misplaced heart.

He jerks up, latching onto the first thing he can; Cadeyrn’s hand, still partly tangled with his own hair. It is messy and awkward and more than a little desperate, but Asterius has never been very perfect.

“Stay,” he forces his lips to say, the words croaking and wheezy.

Asterius freezes, brain short-circuiting, as he hears the more put-together part of himself think a quiet, ‘Fuck, that was not what I meant to say.’

Cadeyrn tenses, quickly turning back around to stare in open shock, hesitation clear in his tone, “Master I should not-,” he cuts himself off, taunt as a bow string, a rapid mix of emotions flicking across his face, obviously at war with himself.

Asterius goes to let go of his hand, ready to just laugh it off, and roll over in shame, when a little text box blinks to life before him, [Tell him to stay].

‘what?’ he thinks, blinking at the message, ‘wouldn’t that be OOC?’

[It is what Host wants.] It types as if it were that easy, [It is what Cadeyrn wants. System will look away for a bit.]

Realing, he almost misses the tiny follow-up window, [System just wants Host to be happy].

Confused, and maybe a tiny bit (more like a large amount) pleased by that, he hardens his resolve. If the System said it was fine, then it was fine (his nerves said otherwise, but he wasn’t listening to them right now).

Asterius shuffles over, careful not to dislodge Pluma. A quiet invitation, one that makes Cadeyrn visibly pause, face twisting a tiny bit more. The dark thought that System is wrong begins to form, swimming around in his brain like a waiting shark. For every second he hesitates and Cadeyrn stays still the shark swims closer, ready for the kill. ‘This is a mistake,’ he thinks as all of the courage leaves him at once. He goes to let go, and just drop the whole thing, but Cadeyrn tightens his grip.

Despite the demon’s natural chill, it still feels warm, feels alive. There’s a rush of something heavy and warm at that thought, at the knowledge that he’s alive, at the fact that all of them are alive. They were so close to this story ending far too quickly. Perhaps it is just relief, but it feels like something more.

He tugs gently on their joined hands, pulling Cadeyrn a few inches closer to the bed. He wants to ask him to stay again, to explain that he’s not expecting anything, and apologize for springing this on him, but his voice only comes out as a choking whisper.

There’s a long moment where Cadeyrn just stares, completely flabbergasted and pondering, before he nods jerkily, lowering himself onto the very edge of the bed. He lays down a bit unnaturally, mostly in part to the fact he’s still holding Asterius’s hand. He tries to let go, but the demon holds fast, even as he settles; stiff as a board and staring pointedly upward.

Asterius moves to pull him closer, afraid the demon will fall sitting so close to the edge, but he catches the gentle flinch and this time Cadeyrn lets his hand go when he pulls back.

‘This is good enough,’ he tells himself, even if the dark swirl of guilt is gnawing at him, convinced that he’s somehow forcing Cadeyrn into this, but he needs another person here, someone real and alive, breathing and proof that Asterius isn’t going mad.

“Thank you,” he tries to say but the words are lost, somehow by the flinch of a smile, he likes to think Cadeyrn hears them anyway.

He turns away from the demon, hyperaware of his presence at his back, it causes his heart to squeeze, a misplaced adrenalin thundering in his ears, and a giddy smile to slip onto his face. The twisting regret of guilt keeps it from truly taking effect, but he rests happily in the feeling.

Gently pulling Pluma into an embrace, reaching a hand up in a silent gesture. His angels rush at the offer, and with soft little chimes, they clamber to nuzzle into his hand, twirling around his fingers and clutching at his sleeve, before they spill out and nestle themselves back along the crown of his head. A few even drift down and bury themselves in Pluma’s fur.

Sleep calls gently in his ear, playing a melody in time to the faint bells of his angels and the quiet chirping snores of his Seraphim. It is comfortable and dark, and he can’t help but think of the demon, less than a foot away. He willingly slips into its dark embrace.