Night, at last, descended upon Fairy Hills like a dark, star-spangled cloak, bringing with it a welcome silence, broken only by the distant chirping of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves in the garden trees.
I, Azra'il Weiss, after a bath that probably consumed all the dormitory's hot water and hopefully washed away the smell of desperation and public embarrassment, and after employing all my considerable, underutilised ancestral stealth skills to sneak through the house like a hungry ninja – avoiding unwanted encounters with other curious residents with a special talent for gossip – successfully managed to raid the kitchen for some strategically selected late-night snacks (read: all the chocolate I could find), and return safe and sound (and with my edible treasures) to the impenetrable sanctuary of my room.
Now, there I was, gloriously sprawled on my soft, comfortable bed, wearing my favourite pyjamas – a faded grey sweatsuit and a ridiculously childish T-shirt with a print of little fire-breathing dragons (an ironic gift from Erza on some past birthday) – and feeling a peace that was almost suspicious. The tranquillity, however, was only superficial. My mind, as always, was a whirlwind. I was still thinking about Erza.
The way her eye had blazed with jealous fury, but also with a hurt that struck me unexpectedly. Behind all her indignant Titania act, I saw, with uncomfortable clarity, a genuine feeling of having been hurt, of having been… sidelined. And, much to my growing, increasing annoyance, I knew that, unintentionally but still very real, I had hurt my little, stubborn redhead. And this uncomfortable feeling, this pang of something dangerously resembling remorse, settled in my chest like a cold stone. I didn't like this feeling. I didn't like being the cause of her sadness one bit.
I knew, with a certainty born of years of careful observation and forced cohabitation, of Erza's increasingly intense, confused feelings for me. But, for me, an ancient entity with a perspective of time that made mortal life a mere blink of an eye, it all seemed just a reflection of her attachment, the neediness of a child who had found in me, by some whim of fate, her only companion who knew the scars of her past, the pains of her soul, the fears she tried so hard to hide.
I, as a matter of self-preservation, perhaps cowardice disguised as wisdom, preferred to feign complete, total ignorance of Erza's turbulent feelings. At least until she grew up more, matured a little, could, by herself, understand the complexity of what she felt, that confusing mixture of friendship, admiration, dependence, and something more… something not even the mighty Titania, with all her strength and determination, could yet name or fully comprehend.
All that jealousy because of Mirajane… it was more than just the fear of losing a 'best friend'. And I knew it. And pretended not to know. It was easier that way.
Tired of my own circular thoughts and mentally arguing with Eos, who insisted on giving me 'relationship advice' based on compatibility algorithms and relationship statistics from other dimensions (advice that was invariably useless and hilariously inappropriate), I decided I desperately needed a night of deep sleep and, if possible, without dreams of teasing albino demonesses or jealous redheads.
So, with a sigh of resignation, I switched off the room lights with a snap of my fingers, snuggled under the soft, warm covers, ready to surrender to oblivion's embrace.
But tranquillity, as always happened in my chaotic life, didn't last long. I had barely closed my eyes and begun to count cosmic sheep, when I heard three light, hesitant knocks on my room door. And then, a low, slightly hoarse, unmistakable voice came from the other side: "Azra'il? It's me, Erza. Can… can I come in? I need to talk to you."
I sighed, a long, weary sigh that carried the weight of millennia of interpersonal dramas. Honestly, I didn't want to see Erza right then. Not after having hurt her, even if unintentionally. Not when I was still trying to understand my own, muddled feelings about it all. But the hesitation in her voice, the implicit vulnerability in her request… damn it. I was a soft touch.
"Come in, Erza. The door's open," I replied, my voice sounding more tired than I intended, but with a resignation that was already second nature to me. Fighting the inevitable was a waste of precious energy.
The door opened slowly, with a small creak echoing in the room's silence, and Erza's figure appeared in the gap, hesitant. She entered rather shyly, almost guiltily, her normally so straight shoulders now slightly slumped, her brown eye, which would normally face a furious dragon without a single blink, stubbornly fixed on the wooden floor as if the pattern of the floorboards were the most fascinating thing in the universe.
She was wearing simple bluish flannel pyjamas, with a subtle pattern of little golden stars that seemed to mock the seriousness of the moment, and which, to my secret amusement and growing discomfort at my own, sudden wave of sentimentality, made her look even younger, more innocent, and surprisingly vulnerable.
Her long red hair, normally tied in an impeccable, battle-ready plait, was loose, falling in untidy, slightly wild waves over her shoulders, and her face, illuminated only by the faint, silvery moonlight filtering through the ajar window like a curious visitor, wore an expression of genuine sadness, palpable regret, and an anxiety that caused an uncomfortable, entirely unexpected, profoundly irritating pang in my chest.
She looked like a small child who had broken her grandmother's favourite vase and was deathly afraid of the inevitable, likely very loud scolding sure to come.
"Azra'il… I… I need… can we talk for a bit? Please?" she asked at last, her voice low, hesitant, almost a whisper lost in the room's silence, her brown eye finally meeting mine with a silent plea, a disarming vulnerability, an urgency that was almost painful to behold.
In reality, in the purest, most crystalline, selfish truth, I absolutely did not want, under any circumstances, with any amount of strawberry cake bribery, to talk. I just wanted, with all my ancestral strength, the devotion of a monk on his deathbed, to sleep. Soundly. For about three days straight. And, ideally, to complement my perfect plan of self-indulgence and laziness, I absolutely did not want to leave my comfortable, safe, warm, now dangerously tempting bed.
But, after looking with a resigned sigh at the lamentable, almost pathetic, entirely out-of-character state of my little, stubborn, proud, now visibly shaken redhead, at the genuine, almost palpable sadness in her large, expressive brown eye, and the way she nervously wrung her small, calloused hands from so much training and holding swords, something ancient, almost forgotten, profoundly irritating, terribly inconvenient within my ancestral heart – that stubborn organ I had long, long ago supposed to have turned into a cold, hard, indifferent, entirely feeling-proof stone – clenched in a painful, uncomfortable, utterly unexpected way.
Damn my selective, utterly irrational empathy with its terrible sense of timing. And damn that irritating brat and her disconcerting ability to make me feel… unwanted things.
With a sigh that was a complex mixture of deep, total resignation to my fate as a babysitter for a troublesome teenager, a weariness that seemed to come from millennia of unresolved interpersonal dramas, and, to my growing horror and secret, undeniable affection, a genuine concern I steadfastly refused to admit aloud, I patted the empty, inviting space beside me on the large, soft, now dangerously shareable bed.
"Sigh… alright, Erza. You and that kicked-puppy look of yours have won. Again. Come closer, sit down, pour out your existential angsts. But, please, for the love of all forgotten gods, my precious, increasingly rare eight hours of beauty sleep, and my already frayed sanity, be relatively brief, yes? Some of us, mere mortals with a youthful appearance and a pressing need for rest to maintain flawless skin and a minimally functional patience with dramatic, overly sentimental teenagers, need to recharge our batteries. Otherwise, my morning grumpiness can be… legendary."
I attempted a smile I hoped was casual, amused, perhaps a little threatening, but which, in all probability, considering my state of exhaustion, likely looked more like a grimace of deep pain, internal suffering, and a desperate craving for coffee.
Erza then approached the bed with hesitant, slow, almost dragging steps, a nervousness almost palpable in the room's air, as if walking on a thin, treacherous layer of ice about to crack beneath her feet and swallow her forever into the cold, lonely darkness.
And when she, shyly, hesitantly, with a reluctance almost comical, was about to sit formally and uncomfortably on the edge of my bed, like a polite but unwanted visitor at a particularly tedious funeral, I, in an entirely irrational, completely unexpected impulse that defied all my rules of social distancing and probably startled us both, pulled her arm with a strength that was both gentle, firm, and utterly surprising, causing her to lose her balance for an instant and fall awkwardly but safely, lying on the bed, right beside me, with a small, sharp, utterly surprised, and perhaps slightly indignant yelp.
"What… Azra'il! What are you doing?!" she exclaimed, her cheeks instantly flushing a vivid red rivalling her hair, her brown eye wide with a mixture of shock, confusion, and perhaps a slight trace of… interest?
"What? Is there a problem with my hospitality?" I replied in a tone of pure, innocent mockery, as I casually adjusted the soft covers over both of us, creating a small, cosy fortress of sheets.
"I'm terribly tired, as you can see, to sit in a formal, uncomfortable pose, listening to your existential dramas like two Victorian ladies at a particularly tedious afternoon tea. I much prefer to chat like this, lying down, comfortable. It's more… conducive to sleep. And considerably more comfortable for someone with back problems like myself. Now, please, spit it out once and for all. What troubles you so, my little, dramatic, now surprisingly close Titania?"
Erza, now lying beside me under the same, warm covers, in a physical proximity that was both strange and unexpectedly comforting, seemed a small, adorable, walking bundle of repressed nervousness, almost palpable shyness, an embarrassment making her shrink, and a mental confusion almost visible in her eye.
But, beneath all that facade of awkwardness and anxiety, I could also feel, with surprising clarity, a sudden, inexplicable, and almost contagious wave of pure joy, genuine relief, emanating from her like a gentle warmth.
She began, as she always did when nervous or trying to articulate something important, to stumble over her words, stammering a few disjointed, utterly meaningless phrases about Mirajane, about the intensive training, about… well, about absolutely nothing in particular that made the slightest logical or coherent sense.
After a few frustrated attempts, some dramatic pauses to take a deep breath and gather courage, and a few quick, guilty glances in my direction, she finally seemed to compose herself a little, her shoulders relaxing minimally. And then, with disarming sincerity, a vulnerability that caught me completely off guard, and a courage I deeply admired, an apology finally emerged, clear as crystal, a little embarrassed, and entirely genuine.
"Azra'il, I… I wanted to apologise again," she began, her voice low, hesitant, but firm. "For the way I acted earlier today, at the entrance to Fairy Hills. When you arrived with Mirajane. I was… I was horrible. Hostile, jealous, childish… I know I shouldn't have said those things, nor acted that way. I'm sorry. Truly."
With a small, almost imperceptible smile, which she probably didn't see in the growing dimness of the room, but which I hoped she could feel in my voice, I gently covered her with a little more of the soft sheet, nestling her, almost instinctively, a little closer to me. It was… surprisingly comforting, in a strange, familiar, entirely unexpected way. Having her there, so close, so vulnerable.
"It's alright, Erza. Or nearly alright. I understand… more or less," I said softly, my voice surprisingly devoid of any trace of sarcasm or mockery, as I looked at the tense profile of my stubborn, proud, now surprisingly repentant little redhead, at the soft gleam of her scarlet hair under the faint, silvery moonlight filtering through the ajar window, illuminating her face with an almost ethereal light.
"Anyway, as I've said before, teenage dramas, fierce female rivalries, a good, generous, and frequently chaotic dose of uncontrolled hormones and confused emotions are, from what I've observed with almost scientific interest and sadistic amusement over the years in this particular guild, an incredibly explosive, highly volatile, entirely predictable, and comically prone combination for catastrophic misunderstandings, exaggerated reactions, and a worrying, expensive amount of property destruction. It's part of the 'being a troublesome teenager with magic powers in the Fairy Tail Guild' package, I suppose. And you, my dear, dramatic Erza, fit that profile perfectly, with flying colours."
I tried to maintain a light tone, almost as if sharing some universal, entirely harmless folk wisdom, and not some arcane, deep knowledge acquired firsthand over countless, frequently painful ages of attentive, participatory, and often amused observation of the inherent stupidity and emotional complexity of most sentient species in the vast, indifferent universe.
"But," I added, with a slightly more piercing, direct, perhaps a little more serious gaze, "you still have something else to tell me, don't you? Some other deadly sin to confess, some other grievance to air? Because, if my ancestral intuition, which rarely, if ever, fails when it comes to detecting particularly noisy, tear-filled human dramas with a high potential for emotional speeches, isn't completely and shamefully misleading me – and it rarely, if ever, does – I felt, with an almost painful clarity and an uncomfortable certainty, that there was something more, something considerably deeper, something perhaps a little more… serious and personal, behind your… shall we say, spectacular, Oscar-worthy, and entirely convincing performance of an indignant Titania, mortally jealous and ready to declare thermonuclear war over a simple conversation about music."
Erza fell silent for a long, tense moment, her small, agile fingers now nervously tracing the almost invisible and probably very old patterns on the soft, slightly worn fabric of the sheet. And then, in a low voice, slightly choked with restrained emotion and filled with a sadness that, once again and to my growing discomfort, hit me squarely like a well-aimed punch to the gut, she finally confessed, with painful honesty, disarming vulnerability, and almost palpable sincerity, the true, deepest, and most distressing reason for having been so upset, so irrationally irritated, so absurdly jealous, and, yes, so deeply hurt.
And I, Azra'il Weiss, the ancient entity with a patience usually measured in milliseconds when it came to mortal dramas and a heart that I, with much effort, had long, long ago supposed to have turned into a cold, hard, and entirely indifferent stone, listened with unexpected attention, surprising patience, and an empathy I rarely, if ever, showed for any living being in any of my many and varied disguises throughout the ages.
"It's just… it's just that you simply vanished, Azra'il! Disappeared for a whole month! And you… you didn't tell me!" Her voice started low, almost a trembling whisper of accusation and hurt, her eye, even in the dimness, filling with stubborn tears that she, with her usual stubbornness, futilely tried with all her might to hold back.
"You told me absolutely nothing! Didn't leave a farewell letter, didn't send a single note, not even a stupid, quick 'oi, Erza, your weird, antisocial friend with a terrible sense of humour here is taking an extended holiday from your constant nagging, maybe, who knows, go fight some dangerous demons, or cultivate some magic, hallucinogenic mushrooms in the forest for a while, so please, try not to blow up the guild or kill yourself while I'm away, back soon, perhaps'. Nothing! Absolutely, utterly nothing!"
She took a deep breath, as if struggling to control the wave of emotion threatening to overflow and drown her, and the genuine hurt, the pain of absence, and the fear of loss in her voice were so palpable they made me feel like the worst, most selfish, and most unfeeling monster in all creation.
"At first, I confess, in the first few days when you simply didn't show up at Fairy Hills or the guild, I… I really didn't worry too much, to be perfectly honest with you," she continued, her previously pale cheeks now flushing slightly with an almost childlike shame at her apparent, initial lack of concern.
"I even thought, with a certain amusement, that you'd just, as always and with your usual eccentricity, gone for a 'stroll' to clear your complicated mind in some of your dark, dirty, and suspicious Magnolia alleyways, as you, irritatingly, tend to do when you're in a particularly black, unbearable mood, or when Natsu and Gray annoy you beyond the limits of your patience. In search of dubious information about some cursed artefact, some rare ingredient for your strange potions, or perhaps, which was more likely, just for some peace, blessed silence, and well-deserved quiet away from the infernal noise, constant confusion, and my rather… intense company, from the guild."
She gave a small, weak, and sad smile as she remembered some of my more… peculiar and antisocial habits.
"Or perhaps, I even came to think, you were just, solely hidden in some strange, bizarre, utterly improbable, and possibly illegal place in the city, like that unbelievable, entirely inexplicable time when we, after much searching and desperation, finally found you fast asleep, snoring like a small, adorable dragon with breathing problems, and completely oblivious to the general panic, on top of the pointed, slippery roof of the imposing Kardia Cathedral, just because, according to your own, lucid words, you 'wanted to be alone, in peace, and in silence, to be able to observe the distant stars and contemplate the vast, glorious, and utterly depressing insignificance of mortal existence'." A small, almost imperceptible, and terribly melancholic smile played on her lips at the memory of that little, memorable philosophical quirk of mine.
"But afterwards… ah, Azra'il, after you didn't show up at Fairy Hills for over a whole week, a long, endless week," her voice trembled visibly on the last phrase, and she swallowed hard with palpable difficulty, the memory of fear and uncertainty still fresh and painful in her young mind. "And without giving any, absolutely any, measly news, without leaving any daft note, no sign of life, nothing… I… I finally started to really worry about you, Azra'il. Truly. With a fear I'd never felt before. I started to think, to fear, that something terrible, something really dangerous, something perhaps even… fatal, might have happened to you, my best, my only, my strangest, and most irritating friend… The one who, despite all her mysteries, all her sarcasm, and all her apparent indifference, always, always came home, always appeared when I needed her most, but who, this time, for some unknown, dark, and terribly frightening reason, had given no, absolutely no, measly sign of life or that she was still on this confusing and dangerous plane of existence."
She then recounted, her voice a little louder now, but still laden with raw emotion, disarming vulnerability, and a deep sadness that struck me squarely and made me feel a tight knot in my throat, that she had gone, desperately, anxiously, several and several times a day, to the noisy and chaotic guildhall to ask, to beg, for someone, anyone of the members, however drunk, distracted, or simply uninterested they might be, to tell her if they had seen me around, if they knew of my mysterious whereabouts, if I, by any chance, had taken some particularly dangerous, long-term secret mission without telling anyone, or if I, in one of my eccentric and unpredictable impulses, had simply decided to move to Mars or some other equally distant and inconvenient dimension without bothering to leave a farewell note. And she received, to her growing, agonizing, frustrating, and almost unbearable despair, only and solely vague, negative answers, condescending looks of pity that made her want to draw her sword and cut something, and a few utterly useless, incredibly irritating, and deeply insensitive comments about how I was 'strange and mysterious anyway', 'unpredictable as a summer storm and probably mad as a hatter', and 'almost certainly just up to some of my usual and infamous antics somewhere distant, inconvenient, and probably illegal'.
"Until finally, Azra'il, after much, much, and tiring insistence on my part, and perhaps, I confess, a few small and not-so-subtle veiled threats involving the strategic use of a training sword on certain sensitive body parts of some particularly stubborn, uninformed, and irritatingly useless guild members," she admitted with a small, guilty smile that didn't reach her eye, "little, sweet, gentle, and usually very well-informed Lisanna Strauss, with an air of one about to reveal a state secret of extreme importance, danger, and with the potential to start a war, finally gave me the bombshell news, utterly unexpected, and, for me, deeply painful: her older sister, the great, powerful, feared, and now surprisingly musical Mirajane Strauss, had, according to her, mysteriously and without much explanation left the city, to 'train intensively, secretly, and in a totally isolated, unknown, and probably very dangerous location for a whole month'… with none other, no one else, than my best friend, the enigmatic, powerful, irritatingly sarcastic, and apparently very much in-demand Azra'il Weiss, in some remote, isolated, secret, and probably very romantic and amusing place in the vast and impenetrable forest."
Her voice, when pronouncing Mirajane's name, was laden with a bitterness and a jealousy that were almost palpable.
Erza then confessed, with an honesty so raw, so painful, so disarming, and so genuine it literally tore my heart into a thousand pieces and made me feel like the worst, most selfish, most unfeeling, and most monstrous of beings in all the vast and indifferent creation, that, upon hearing that, upon finally processing that utterly unexpected, shocking, and deeply disturbing information, she felt, instantly, overwhelmingly, uncontrollably, and utterly inexplicably, profound, intense, irrevocable, and utter bitterness. Terribly hurt. And, somehow strangely, illogically, utterly irrationally, deeply painfully, and perhaps even a little childishly, completely and totally betrayed.
Even, she admitted with almost palpable confusion and a deep sadness in her tear-filled, shining eye, not knowing exactly, not remotely, why she felt all that with such, such, and overwhelming intensity. It was just… just a dull, persistent, uncomfortable, inexplicable, and utterly incomprehensible ache that had settled in her young, confused, and now terribly wounded heart.
In an entirely irrational, completely unexpected impulse that defied centuries, perhaps millennia, of careful, arduous, and painfully constructed emotional detachment and all my detailed, precise, logical, and usually infallible internal programming of 'maintain a safe, healthy, professional, impersonal, and utterly insurmountable distance from fragile, noisy, unpredictable, and excessively, dangerously, and utterly inconveniently sentimental mortal beings', I hugged her.
Simply, impulsively, and perhaps a little awkwardly, I hugged her. Gently at first, with a hesitation that was entirely unusual, almost alien, to me, pulling her with almost reverent care and a tenderness that frightened me, closer to me on the large, soft, and now surprisingly welcoming bed.
Much to Erza's total, absolute, and almost comical surprise, who, upon feeling my thin but surprisingly strong arms around her, tensed completely, rigid, motionless, and probably in a state of shock for an instant that seemed to stretch for a frozen eternity, like a newly sculpted ice statue caught off guard by a warm and utterly unexpected hug, before, slowly, hesitantly, almost reluctantly, and with a small, trembling, and almost inaudible sigh that sounded like a frightened animal finally surrendering to exhaustion and safety, she completely relaxed in my arms with a trust and a surrender that warmed me inside in a way I hadn't known was still possible.
"I'm sorry, Erza. I'm truly sorry, from the bottom of my ancient, dusty soul," I whispered with difficulty into her red, soft, silky hair, which now smelt of a comforting, rather addictive mixture of soap, salty tears, genuine concern, and perhaps, just perhaps, a faint, almost imperceptible hint of strawberry cake, my voice surprisingly hoarse, a little choked, and laden with a sincerity I didn't know, or remember, I still possessed or was capable of feeling with such intensity. What in the blazes was happening to me lately? I was becoming dangerously soft, sentimental, and entirely out of character.
"I'm truly sorry for not telling you before I disappeared, for not telling you absolutely anything about my secret, entirely improvised training plan with Mirajane. I… I honestly didn't think properly about the possible consequences. I didn't want to worry you unnecessarily with another of my problems, with another of my harebrained schemes, or with another of my inexplicable absences. And I, definitively, in no way, under no circumstances, and as much as I hate to admit it, never, ever wanted to hurt your feelings in such a stupid, insensitive, and utterly unnecessary way. I was… I was a terrible, dreadful, selfish, and entirely thoughtless friend. And I am so sorry for that."
And, to my growing, absolute, and total existential horror, and to the probable and secret delight of Eos, I really, genuinely, deeply, painfully, and undeniably meant every single one of those words. May the forgotten gods and bored demons forgive me for such cheap sentimentality, such exposed vulnerability, and this sudden, worrying ability of mine to feel… guilt.
Erza, still visibly surprised by my sudden and unexpected display of physical affection – something I avoided like a vampire avoids garlic – took an instant to process. But then, slowly, almost hesitantly, she relaxed in my arms.
With a nervousness that was both adorable and entirely out of her usual ruthless warrior character, she wrapped her strong arms around my waist, holding me against her with surprising strength. An almost palpable need emanated from her, a trust that, even amidst her hurt, she placed in me. It made my ancient heart, that cold, cynical stone I supposed I carried in my chest, give a strange, almost painful lurch.
And her smell… ah, Erza's smell. It was an irritatingly pleasant combination of something like polished metal from her numerous armours, a hint of honest battle sweat, and, surprisingly, a light, sweet aroma of fresh strawberries. Not the artificial perfume, but that vibrant, almost solar scent of ripe fruit, which made me briefly question if she carried a secret stash in some compartment of her armour. It wasn't bad.
Not at all. It was… comforting, in an entirely unexpected and dangerously familiar way. Dangerously comforting, to be exact. A fragrance that, somehow bizarrely, seemed to promise safety, the simplicity of a happy moment, and a kind of genuine warmth I hadn't felt in countless ages.
[Proximity alert with Homo sapiens specimen, Titania variant. Risk of developing unprogrammed, potentially catastrophic feelings for your facade of ancient indifference: Elevated, approaching critical levels,] Eos commented mentally, with her usual tact of an elephant in an ice crystal shop. I solemnly ignored her, as I always did when her analyses came uncomfortably close to the truth.
I, Azra'il Weiss, the entity who had seen the universe sneeze and create new galaxies, the master of indifference and acidic sarcasm, was… sleepy. A heavy, almost irresistible sleepiness. And, what was even more alarming and entirely out of my 'how to be an ancient, detached creature' manual, I was feeling strangely at peace. Almost content. There, in the arms of that stubborn redhead brat with a disturbingly pleasant strawberry scent. What a cosmic joke of terrible taste the universe was playing on me.
In an impulse I would certainly blame on extreme tiredness, low cosmic blood sugar, and, possibly, some magnetic anomaly of that damned island later, I hugged Erza even tighter, burying my face in her scarlet hair which, besides the sweet scent, also carried the aroma of recent battle – a curious mixture of sweat, metal, and indomitable determination. Enveloped in her embrace, which was surprisingly firm and safe, a strange feeling of… protection enveloped me. Like an old, slightly mended blanket, yet one that still warmed on a cold night. It was a hug that needed no words to say 'you are safe'. Which was ridiculous, as I was usually the one ensuring others' safety, generally with an excessive amount of violence.
[Oxytocin levels detected in both subjects… Interesting. Proceed with observation,] Eos continued with her unsolicited analyses.
(Shut it, Eos,) I thought, with a laziness that barely allowed me to form a complete sentence.
And as we remained thus, two unlikely figures embraced in the dimness of my room, the silence broken only by our breathing and Eos's occasional irritating comments, we ended up, almost in a mute, utterly exhausted agreement, falling into a surprisingly peaceful sleep. Nestled against each other like two lost pups who had found unexpected warmth amidst a storm.
And, for the first time in many, many countless ages of cosmic boredom and occasional genocides, I, Azra'il Weiss, did not dream of anything involving the destruction of planets, ancient demons, or the quest for a decent cup of tea. I dreamt of ridiculously simple things. Of the smell of baking strawberry cake. Of childish laughter that wasn't entirely irritating. And of a pair of stubborn, surprisingly gentle brown eyes, looking at me with an admiration that was both embarrassing and… pleasant.
May the gods in this universe, if they even existed and had any particularly sadistic sense of humour, have mercy on my cynical soul. Because I was, to my growing, absolute horror, beginning to like that irritating brat. A lot. And Eos, I was sure, would never, ever let me forget this momentary, entirely inappropriate human weakness of mine. My life, I sensed with a shiver down my spine that wasn't from cold, was about to get much, much more complicated. And, perhaps, just perhaps, a little less… empty. Damn it.