Long Ago, Yet Too Close To Forever

it was your one and only job for the ministry; for sister imperator; the siblings of sin. find a place and time for the wishes and duties of each member—papas included—and lucifer willing, you have done your service. of course, you pledge yourself to a number of other volunteered activities when you see fit, but your sole provision was calendaring and organization.

it shouldn't be such a hard task, and some days came easier than others. but with the promise of a new tour for papa, beltane festivities, and the introduction of many new siblings, your work was piling on top of itself quickly, and the weight was becoming too much to carry alone. it also didn't help that you would do it alone and shut down any consideration from fellow siblings. if you couldn't take on matters so simple, then what right did you have to sit at black mass and worship every day, asking for good health and love? what worth could you promise the reigning lord below? you were no more deserving than a sewer rat feeding off crumbs from city streets.

your mind stutters as a rap comes from the front door of your small apartment, connected to the rest of the ministry in a back alley of ones similar to yours. its quiet. you wait for another knock, unsure if you had only imagined it. if it were your roommate, she would have come inside. it was too late now for visitors. very few ever strayed to you this close to midnight.

to your surprise, the knock comes again. it's a little louder this time, more insistent, and you discard the multitude of papers under the crook of your arm to a small coffee table sitting across from the couch. whoever it was would come face-to-face with your mild irritation, and finding time to apologize later would only be another chore on your plate for you to squeeze into your schedule.

again, surprise overtakes you as you're met with a familiar face. copia stands at the foot of your door with a friendly smile. it is the last person you're expecting to see—especially so late—but not an unwelcome presence. he's still dressed in his papa makeup, but his robes are tucked neatly under his arms and he wears a black button-up and a matching set of plain black pants. his greying hair is smoothed back, and you drink in the sight while a sense of comfort washes over you.

your relationship with copia was difficult to explain. it had been nurtured and cared for over the years as friends, and had sustained itself into his papacy. for a while, you were prone to believe he would have dropped you after his promotion, but he proved those suspicions wrong. the years you'd spent laughing and working hand-in-hand with him as his previous role as cardinal were not easily tossed aside, but instead relished. the remainder of leftover time copia had after piles of paperwork and rehearsal was sparse, yet he often found himself entangled in personal lunches with you by his own request. sometimes he would offer a walk around the chapel or a chat in primo's garden, and you happily accepted every time.

even so, you had trouble believing everything. you coordinated many of his outings, including his tours and meetings with various a-tier celebrities. part of you was inclined to think he was only making an effort to keep himself on your good side and help raise spirits, as any papa was supposed to. the boundary between copia and papa was always shifting, and you were beginning to see him mainly as the clergy's papa instead of the copia you grew to know and care for.

you knew well enough where your sulky thoughts originated from. even now, seeing him in person with his silly smile draws out an unwarranted longing from deep inside of you. you could only admit it under the covers of your bed, alone amongst the dark, that copia evoked a strong feeling of attraction from you. love seemed too delicate and estranged, but it resided somewhere between there and peace. you know he could never feel the same, and perhaps that brought out unpleasant worries that left you restless in his absence. you were hardly worth any effort as a sibling of sin, and even less so a friend of copia; of the papa. it would only be in dreams you dare act upon your desires.

reality comes back to you once more as copia clears his throat, smile faltering as he examines your disposition. he can practically hear the thunder of your heart, and your eyes fail to hide the exhaustion you feel. when he says your name, you know you've been caught. copia won't let you suffer, even if you feel its just.

"eh," copia starts, his voice particularly rough tonight. "may i come in? if that's okay with your roommate. . ." he peers past you and into the dimly lit rooms, looking for her presence.

"she's not here," you tell him, a little embarrassed. she's not here tonight and it is your fault, but copia doesn't need to know. the less of a burden you can be, the better.

you shuffle to the side and give him room to enter, propping the door open for him. copia thanks you with a nod, and you shut the door behind him. he stands there for a moment, breathing in the different scents of vanilla you've burnt, and then hobbles over to the couch. you follow him instinctively and sit down beside him.

"every day you settle in more and more," he says, conversationally. you can't remember the last time he visited your apartment. perhaps a few weeks ago, if you recall correctly. more changes had been made since you first moved in months ago, and admittedly, you feel more at home here than you ever had before. time brought the accumulation of clutter, and with that some sense of belonging, like you had a place here—a memory here, written into the pieces of life around you.

"it's a little messy," you comment, shyly. "there's been so much to do. i've been so busy lately."

"capisco. you are bad at hiding it," he remarks, and you shrink into the pillows a little more. copia gazes down at you, his lips setting into a thin line. "you are sleeping still?"

you nod. "i am. i don't think i would be managing at all if i weren't getting at least a little bit of sleep."

copia still isn't satisfied, and he prods at you again. "so, you are, ugh. . . overworking yourself still." he says it as a statement rather than a question, and you can't bring yourself to answer. you could lie and tell him you've only been busy because of the nearing festivities, but you know better than anyone else how easily he would see through you like a sheet of glass. your lack of response only works him up, and he sighs. "we talked about this."

it was a brief conversation had over pasta during one of your lunch outings. you promised him to take more breaks after he noticed how swollen your eyebags had become. he was so adamant, you felt the only way to appease him was to say yes and promise to be better. you had almost entirely forgotten about it.

"i—" immediately the words get lost on your tongue. there's nothing for you to say that will excuse your ignorance. copia knows this, and soon he's leaning closer, using the pad of his thumb to smoothe over your eyebags. they're still swollen and puffy.

"sii gentile con te stessa," copia tsks. his hand, although gloved, is warm as it brushes against your cheek, and you hope its dark enough to cover the heat spreading across your face. "be kind to yourself. if i have to, eh, use my papa authority to make you. . . i will."

you raise an eyebrow at him.

"you don't think so?" he questions, fixing his hands to rest against his lap. your eyes flit over his figure, sitting lazily against the couch in his semi-formal clothes, and you let out a long sigh.

"i didn't say that."

a smile brandishes his features, raising dimples in its wake. your heart stutters. "then we are peachy, hmm?" he chirps. you feel a hand against your shoulder, and he's patting it softly, making contact with you once more. the tension broiling in your body succumbs to his touch and you relax.

"okay," you say finally, allowing yourself to smile with him. he seems content with this and turns his attention to one of the loose papers atop the coffee table. curiosity getting the best of him, he reaches over and picks it up without you being able to deny him.

after a few moments of silence, copia's eyebrows have furrowed and his smile is replaced with pursed lips. "sister is forcing you to plan out my entire tour . . ?" he asks in disbelief, as if the idea is too baffling to comprehend. you know not to be offended by his question, but it stings a little anyway.

"she trusts me, i guess," you answer back. you're a little unsure of what to tell him because it's not like you know why she picked you of all the siblings, but you hope your response is satisfactory enough. copia waves a hand at you, dismissively.

"no, no. that is not what i meant," he huffs, placing the paper back into the pile. you swallow thickly and avert your gaze elsewhere, unable to meet his stare. "are you doing this alone?"

"copia," you say, lowering your voice. a frown settles into your features and you shake your head. "it doesn't matter. i can do this on my own just fine. i need to."

the look on copia's face is enough to make you groan, frustrated that he's poking in all the wrong places. there was no reason for him to be here in the first place, infiltrating your mind and telling you how to live your life. you could hardly understand why he put so much effort into you, after all.

but then, you do catch his gaze and all your grievances falter. there's a flicker of your copia beneath the papa get-up, sitting there patiently, awkwardly awaiting for you to say something to him—anything at all—and your walls begin to crumble. he was irresistible in many ways, and there were a mixture of feelings you had yet to address about how easily he loosened the restrictions you'd set up for yourself. all it took was the disheartened look in his eyes, his downcast smile, and you are suppressing a quivering lip, trying not to spill your insecurities like a tidal wave.

eventually, you do. copia takes your hand in his, still gloved, and squeezes it, quietly saying, "cara, it is only me, eh? lousy old copia. . ." the pet name gives you a rush of adrenaline, a sweet sugary feeling, but the tenderness in how he touches you, and the softness in the way he speaks to you tugs and tugs at your heart until you break.

copia gasps seeing the tears slowly well up and slide down your cheeks. he had seen you cry on occasion, but it had been a long time. his duties as papa (and the ones he had kept from his days as cardinal) really were time-consuming. he knew you were always so stressed, but never had he imagined it would be this bad.

you watch as he plucks his gloves from his hands and casts them aside so that he may caress your cheek gently and feel his skin on yours. he hopes it will ground you, and he is right. you lean into his touch as if you have been starved of it for years. your warm tears melt against his fingers, slipping past and reddening your cheeks.

"i'm sorry," you winced, wiping fruitlessly at your face. "i don't know why i'm crying."

you do know, but everything is so overwhelming that the words cannot find you. your mind is muddled with so many things that nothing makes sense, and it is why you press closer to him now. copia lets you, outstretching his arms around you to pull you in. your head settles against his chest and you bury your face into him, the choked sound of sobs muffled against his dampening shirt.

his embrace is warm and reassuring, a rationalizing presence amongst the chaos of your mind. he shushes you, one of his hands finding your head to stroke through your hair, tenaciously, while he whispers affirmations and praise only for your ears to hear. your shaken body slowly calms, and your cries simmer out shortly after. part of you wishes to part from copia if only to save yourself from the shame, but you are too far gone now. the urge to linger in his tight grasp is stronger than ever.

after the storm has passed, and copia has willed you back to your senses, you notice his ashy fragrance mixed with his usual cologne. you breathe in deep, briefly closing your eyes in hopes of savoring the moment, and open them as you exhale slowly.

“there you are, cara mia,” he coos, his hands coming down to massage circles into your back. you could fall asleep like this, tangled in copia’s arms. but you blink away the thought, suddenly aware of how he’s cradling you so dearly. cara mia. warmth flutters across your ribcage, and tears prickle up on your lashes again. you try to focus on how he holds you, but it only brings up more worries, and you’re letting go, dragging yourself out of his arms and into the biting cold. copia is reluctant to let you, and it takes immense effort not to crawl back.

“tell me, per favore,” he begs, still reaching out for you, lingering by your side. “what is it that. . . what are you bothered by?” when you don’t answer, he pushes again. “i will not judge you. this you know, yes?”

you reluctantly nod.

“okie dokie. then, let us be honest.” he grabs your hand, and this time you don’t pull away, letting him intertwine his fingers between yours. he licks his lips and starts again. “why are you so upset? you are scaring me, you know.”

your eyes widen, briefly, and guilt seeps through. perhaps you weren’t doing him any favors by withholding everything. copia was a genuine man above all else. he had never once been dishonest with you, and if he truly cared as much as he let on, maybe it was your turn to let him in a little, to soothe whatever ache you were giving him.

copia can see the cogs working in your mind. he gently squeezes your hand once. twice.

“why are you here right now?” you ask him. your voice is so soft he’s not sure he hears you at first. the way you sound so weak, so feeble, all he wants to do is bring you back into his arms. but you stray further from him on the couch and he lets you, shoulders deflating.

“ma che dici?” his italian speaks for him, since he fears the words will bite at you and scare you away. his whole chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath, eyes still fixed on you as if he’s afraid he’ll look away and you’ll disappear. “i, ugh, do not understand. . . i am here to see you, yes.”

“but why?”

you’re fighting the crave to let yourself fall back against him again when his face saddens as he realizes the intent behind your question. the confidence he once had is gone and he, too, stutters over his words, loosely carding a hand through his hair. “well—eh, because you—you mean a great deal to me, cara. ugh, it is. . . we are friends, no?”

you look up, furiously blinking in an attempt to hold back the tears. they do not stop, and copia cannot keep his hands to himself any longer. since you have only gone further from him, he moves forward, cornering you on the couch until he can scoop you into his arms again. the feeling hits you immediately, intoxicating you, and you’re pressing your forehead into the crook of his neck while he rests his chin atop your head. the sensation of his hands tracing along your shoulders and back is enough to lull the tears, and your hammering heart begins to calm.

“you think i do not care about you?” he says your name and its the most heavenly sound, so gentle and sweet, you can feel the heat pooling in your gut. “è questo vero?” he murmurs.

you find the strength to respond, and your voice does not waver now. “i thought i might be burdening you. or now that you’re papa, that maybe. . .” your voice trails off, but the message was spoken clearly. copia hums disapprovingly, moving his chin to look down at you. one of his hands come to your face and he lifts your chin with his thumb. you cannot help but look into his eyes, beautiful and inviting as they look back unto you.

“dolcezza,” he murmurs, and he calls you it with such heart that you feel stupid for ever questioning your relationship with him. his hands cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks and ridding you of any leftover tears. he looks so handsome, cradling your face and cooing reassurances to you. warmth crawls back into your cheeks, and you bring your hand up to hold one of his. “did you know that you are my favorite person? hmm?”

you shake your head and your lips curl up enough for a smile to peek through. copia returns the expression with one of his own and he nods, too. “i have to see you from time to time. . . or else the weight of the world would be too much for me to, ugh, bear.” he sniffs, his fingers still caressing your face. “you help make it better.”

with every word, copia draws out the longing from inside you, and with every touch he alights a fire that burns tenfold the passion you feel for him. he renders you breathless, lost in the way he holds you like a treasure he cannot lose. you find yourself growing drunk off of his smell, and your heart fires again like a drum in your ears, but this time it’s not because you are afraid. you press your hands against his chest. you can feel the roar of his own heart thundering back at you. you would have never imagined that beneath his boldface he would be just as nervous as you.

copia’s eyes soften as he gazes down at you, asking you, urging you. at first you don’t understand what it is he wants, but it only lasts so long before you recognize what he’s asking for. your eyes widen and you answer him with a soft nod, so soft he almost does not see it at all. but he does. he lifts your chin higher and leans forward, closing the gap between you.

his lips are chapped with heavily-done makeup, almost mushy as they press against your own. its not the feeling you were expecting, but it drives you hungry still. you can feel his breath against yours, the sliver of tongue that peaks through his lips, and one of his hands travels down to firmly grasp your waist. he groans when you push against him, and you cannot help but let a breathy sigh slip through in turn.

when copia finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against your own, panting heavily. one of his hands still cups your cheek and he resumes massaging your skin. you’re still hot and pent-up, so whatever feelings of disgrace or frustration were brewing would not be seen for a long time.

copia’s makeup is completely ruined around his lips, and you can make out subtle mixtures of white and black on your face. you smile and huff out a laugh. copia looks at you and, feeling much more fulfilled than before, he smiles, too.

“may i tell you something, cara mia?” he asks, his voice light. it’s significantly different from the roughness it had when he first said hello, as if all he needed was your touch to make things right. you pull your head away only to nod. “tu sei perfetto per me,” he tells you, breathlessly. “no other woman. . . eh, really no one at all. . . could take you from me. not sister, not papa, nessuno. mia bella ragazza."

my beautiful girl. you wriggle under his hands, unable to sustain your composure with his sweet talk.

"you understand?" you nod again, a little more vehemently than you meant to. copia's hands squeeze your waist, one of them dipping just below the hem of your shirt. it catches you off-guard. you still and blink a couple times, feverishly, but then you settle into the rhythm of things again and urge him to continue. "then, bella mia, do you promise?"

"promise?" you repeat, unsure. his fingers brush against the skin of your tummy and you emit a quiet gasp.

"promise me you will not think such silly things again," he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head. "i only want you, cara mia. you see, eh?"

you do not understand how you got here, but you know it is all you have ever dreamed of. perhaps another day, you would struggle grasping what this meant for your future and other insecurities left unseen.

for now, you soak in his delicate touch and savor the taste of his ruined lips. you were right where you wanted to be.