Heaven's Most Forgotten

Lovers was never a term he’d use, let alone apply, in his life. Kemuel laughed and shook his head quickly, “No, no! I don’t find myself having any. I never had one to begin with,” he trailed off, circling the pad of his index against the granite countertop. It’s a relief that the topic changed from imaginary lovers to the witch’s shoes, of all things. Shoes were palatable over Kemuel’s nonexistent sex life.

“I appreciate that, thank you. Moving in might be easier on the wallet. I’ll, well, have to think about it. I wouldn’t mind splitting the bills to help out.”

Kem’s cheeks warmed up against the cool air as he ascended the steps and felt Kil nuzzle and bury into his dark locks of hair. The warmth was pleasing, but something he yet grew accustomed to. This constant trek of theirs proved to be fruitful in more than just after work chatter. He got to know Kil and Kil got to know him, mingled in with touches and warm breaths to Kem’s head.

The ride ended with Kem slowly stooping, easing Kil off onto the ground. The concept of lover loomed over head and he frankly coughed out a laugh to fight off the reddening of his cheeks, “I don’t think that will happen for some time, I’m afraid,” he said while following Kil further into the place, walking along the carpeted floor instead of the concrete sidewalk. He slipped off his black shoes and followed around in socks.

Kemuel.

He paid no mind as the rain spattered and flecked him in cold specks, slowly building upon each other until clothes light as feathers grew leaden and taut along his tone form, while socks swam in water and hair fell flat to his head. He ambled along regardless. Ever timely, ever lost.

Kemuel cocked his head aside and chuckled, “Trouble? I’m an awfully good person, mind you,” he tutted softly as he clipped along the sidewalk. It felt like only he and Kilian were around tonight, surrounded by glass and light and darkness alike as Kemuel traveled the road all too familiar to him. The mention of their bond slowed his steps, allowing for more thought to go to their conversation.

He felt the same, admittedly. Kemuel found himself time and again peering into the club for Kilian’s sake, whilst he felt the witch’s own eyes on him during large crowds or rowdy customers. They had a relationship that Kemuel needed and he didn’t know how to explain it. The feeling was still new to him. Not unwelcome, however. 

“I appreciate that, you know. This whole world is much to take in...even for someone like me,” he spoke softly, laughing gently into the night. Kemuel rolled his head aside, adding, “I try to look out for you, as well. The city’s a lot more dangerous than most.” As he walked along, the distance to Kil’s place grew shorter and shorter. At this point, it was three blocks away with glistening sidewalk to guide them on.

Hearing that Kil purposely had their shifts arranged in a fashion did pique his interest. He thought it was a game of chance, when in fact it was planned. “It is better to go home in numbers this late at night. Even as a witch, some people can make the best of their opponents.”

“That’s it. Thank you for your time and enjoy your night,” he replied with a quirked brow. Kemuel stepped aside and opened the door for Adonis. The loud music became clear in its lyrics and beat alike, no longer a dull thump against club walls. A sea of people were already dancing and buzzing away to the energy, alcohol, and drugs intermingling the population.

Take a Stand | Starters

trail :   my  muse  watches  as  your  muse  traces  one  of  my  muse’s  scars,  asking  them  about  it.

(reversing for funsies)

There was no movie to watch nor gossip to talk about this night. Kemuel instead rest against Ricky in the silence of the demon’s apartment, listening to his heartbeat and the slow breaths that accompanied it. Ricky’s fingers wandered on Kem’s flesh, running along the jagged ridges and discolored lines that marred his form from thousands of years of war, 'hunting’, and training alike. 

One particular scar drew Ricky’s attention. A long and deep mark that ran from Kemuel’s shoulder down to the middle of his back, crossing ribs in the process. Touching the mark itself was enough to tense up Kem; his throat tightened and the demon ripped his eyes away. He trusted Ricky, letting him even look at the scars affirmed it.

But, when Ricky asked where he got it, Kemuel’s mind hesitated. 

Trust was what would bring the two closer in their friendship and likewise the tool Ricky used to forge the fallen into a “proper demon” as he put it. Not answering or even lying to Ricky would damage that.

“I got it from another angel. He was trying to cut one of my wings off when we sparred. I thought he’d stop when the training ended...I had to burn his face and arm to escape. I’m lucky enough to be in one piece, as is,” his voice softened and wavered, words marred by hesitation and hurt. He gripped Ricky’s bicep, squeezing it to ground himself.

“Can we do something else?”

Take a Stand | Starters

bloody :   my  muse  coming  to  your  muse  with  blood  stains  on  their  clothes  and  hands,  shaking.

Kemuel wasn’t at work nor was he at home. He, instead, wandered the streets on the cusp of dawn, watching the light at last toy with the city’s streets and buildings. His gaze drifted from towering skyscrapers to a trembling man with sharp puffs of air trailing his lips like clouds of smoke. The brisk winter singed at Kemuel’s hands, but the same couldn’t be said to the witch nearing him.

“Are you hurt?” Kemuel asked, hands out in front of him when the two closed their distance. Brown eyes were weighed down in concern and worry fluttered in his heart, cooling his blood as it spread throughout his body. He was in a similar state, not too long ago. 

“Please, tell me what happened? Is there anyone else involved?” He further asked, hand gently resting on John’s bicep as he steered him off to the nearby bench.

Take a Stand | Starters

embrace :   my  muse  abruptly  throwing  their  arms  around  your  muse,  hugging  them  tightly.

Kemuel wasn’t sure what prompted it--either his arrival, drugs, alcohol, or pure emotions were at play. All he knew was that the moment he opened the door to let Robert in, the human lunged himself atop the demon with arms tight around Kemuel’s sides and his head buried into the fallen’s navy shirt. 

He stumbled back a step and gathered himself and Robert, closing the door with his free hand as one combed through the scientist’s curls. Fingers ran along the waves of brown until he met soft flesh of Robert’s neck, only to wander lower and cup his cheek. He hugged Robert’s waist, tilting his head as worry blossomed and proliferated within him.

What had happened? Was something wrong?

“Robert?” he asked out, voice soft and trailing off as a nervous smile appeared. 

The bouncer folded his arms unconsciously, the weight of fingers in muscle brought him back to the reality of Adonis and the crowd. Adonis was a tough man by sound alone; however, the gold chains adorning his neck in a flash of power and presumed wealth supported it. One more gaze of brown eyes to brown flesh and he secured himself soon enough.