moft

It was late in the evening when he climbed up the stairs to the apartment that Tharra and the Council had made available to them while they remained in Skovos. It was a modest place, and it served well enough as their temporary home. There was a lit lantern hanging outside the door, and the sight of it made Nico smile. The light was unnecessary here in the city, but it was the same sign Lorath used to light Nico’s way to his cabin during his visits.

Nico let himself in quietly. It was late, but he heard voices in the drawing room. Lorath and Tyrael must still be awake. Nico paused at the doorway, taking a moment to observe the scene. 

There was a bottle of wine on the table which looked almost empty. Lorath and Tyrael were sitting on the couch talking. Lorath was clearly tipsy, gesturing with his hands as he spoke and Nico could see, even in the dim candlelight, the flush on his face from the wine.

It was a rare occasion to see Tyrael dressed down in casual clothes. Even now, the three living together in relative safety, Nico could count on one hand the times he had seen Tyrael without his armor. It seemed that tonight, with Lorath’s company, he relaxed enough to let himself be vulnerable. There was something so strangely intimate about seeing the former angel so at ease. Nico hesitated in the doorway, feeling almost as if he was intruding.

Tyrael caught sight of him first, “Nico. You’ve returned.” The warmth and relief in his voice was clear.

“Nico!” Lorath stumbled to his feet, Tyrael catching his arm briefly to steady him, and crossed the space in a few quick strides to take Nico in his arms, pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips.

Oh the man was far past tipsy. Nico could taste the wine on his lips.

Tyrael said, “We heard you would likely be returning this evening. We saved dinner for you.” 

It was then that Nico noticed the food still untouched on the table, the plates still set for three. 

Oh.

It felt almost overwhelming, this aching warmth in his chest. It made him take in a shaky breath. Lorath gave him a soft and knowing look, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. 

Tyrael looked alarmed, “Is everything alright? Is the food not to your liking?”

“No, it’s…” Nico let Lorath lead him to the table, “This was rare for me, growing up.”

The three sat down to eat. The meat, vegetables and potatoes were cold but still delicious. Nico found himself telling Tyrael about his childhood, or at least the bits that were returning after the mess that Lilith and Mephisto had made of his soul and his memories. 

“I grew up in Caldeum. It was just me and my mother and she wasn’t… one for cooking.” He faltered. Even now, decades later, he struggled to talk about the woman who had later abandoned him. They had happy times once, before his father left them and his mother fell apart. And when he had been left behind in Scosglen in the wake of the Days of Ash, it had been Kashira who found him starving and had taken him in as a brother. Chieftain Erideon who had welcomed him into her home, despite the famine plaguing the glen. He had no right to complain, not really. 

Still, Nico had been too jaded, too bitter and full of anger to let himself trust again for a long time. He had not been an easy teenager, he remembered. It was hard to bring up these memories again but still it felt… important to share this with Tyrael. 

Lorath listened attentively, despite already having heard this before, and brought up the time Nico had managed to talk him into leaving his cabin and travel to Scosglen with him.

Nico blinked, the memory blooming in his mind once again, another connection he thought lost returning. “That’s right you met my family.”

Lorath nodded and raised his hand, the green emerald embedded in the ring gleamed in the candlelight, “Your mother, the Chieftain, is actually the one who gave me this gem.”

Nico blinked, confused, “Wait. On that trip?”

Lorath hummed in affirmative.

Nico stared at him. “Wait… Lorath, that was years ago. You kept it with you all this time?”

“Of course I did.” Lorath said, “It was a gift. And, well, I thought it might prove useful one day.” He busied himself with collecting the now empty plates and bringing them to the kitchen. The tips of his ears were red.

Nico glanced over at Tyrael, intending to point out how flustered Lorath looked, when he was caught by the expression on Tyrael’s face. He looked… 

Sad. Wistful.

Nico, acting on impulse, reached out and laid a hand on his arm. 

A much younger Lorath asks him what it feels like to be mortal. Lorath rests a hand on his back as Tyrael grapples with nausea for the first time, “I think you ate too much.”

Lorath, flustered as Tyrael curiously asks him why he keeps glancing at Kadala. Lorath, flushed with drink, looking up at him through long eyelashes, asking him if he was curious about mortal sex.

Lorath, leaning against his polearm, “I needed no aid—”. Fear driving Tyrael to interrupt, “That is not the point!” You could have gotten hurt. You could have gotten killed. Tyrael has to take a breath to calm himself when he sees Lorath tense at his outburst.

Lorath, facing away from him, bitter and angry, “In a world this broken, I’m not sure there’s a difference.”

The flashes came faster, almost too fast to pick apart.

Quiet moments on the road. In inns. In the Vault. When Lorath is plagued by nightmares and Tyrael avoids sleep, they keep each other quiet, wordless company. Each memory is so fleeting and yet all the more precious for it. Tyrael doesn’t realize how precious it has become to him until they are established in the Vault and find their footing and Tyrael doesn’t want to leave.

It’s what he’s always done, he might help support and guide the Horadrim through the ages but it has always been humanity at the heart of it. He knows that if he stays then he denies them the chance to grow. And there is so much suffering in the world. But he wants… he wants…

He wants. 

It is this desire that gives him the final push he needs to leave. He cannot afford to be selfish. Sanctuary cannot afford for him to be selfish. 

He leaves almost abruptly. He knows it catches them by surprise, Donan wonders if everything is alright. Lorath watches him with worry in his eyes that he will not confess to aloud, “Stay alive, alright?”

“What good are the Horadrim if not to stop this kind of evil?” Lorath’s words haunt him, following him all throughout the West as he busies himself with the chaos Malthael left in his wake. And there is so much chaos.

He had not intended to stay gone for so long. 

The years slip by like days. Lorath’s voice is ever present in his head, following him from town to town, grumbling at his strategies, prodding him to intervene even when faced with suffering of humanity’s own making.

Tyrael is lost and yet somehow, still, a bird finds him. It carries a letter from an incredible woman he will never get the chance to meet.

Then, finally, there is Lorath again. Beard now fully grey, harsh lines in his face, eyes clouded with despair and hatred. It is only now, when faced with his return, that Tyrael admits to himself how deeply the absence had weighed on him. Lorath hugs him and… The feeling in his chest aches like heaven’s fire and Tyrael… Tyrael…

“Nico? Are you alright?” Tyrael gazed at him with concern.

Nico blinked the visions out of his eyes. His hand was still on Tyrael’s arm. Did Tyrael not realize what had happened?

Actually, what had happened?

“I’m fine.” He shook his head, “Just… tired from the journey, I think.” 

He got to his feet to help Lorath clean up. Nico began to wash the plates in the basin, already filled with water (Lorath might have been content to leave it until the morning, but Nico would not). Lorath nudged him gently to the side to make space and focused on the utensils. Nico flashed him a smile.

“It is late,” Tyrael agreed, “We should all get some rest.” He hovered beside them, curious at the domesticity. 

Nico tilted his head, “I thought you didn't like to sleep?” He nodded his head at the towel hanging off a hook on the wall and offered the wet plate to Tyrael, who took it with a little hum and dried it off before placing it in the cabinet. If he was at all offended at being put to work, there was no sign of it in his expression. 

Tyrael furrowed his brow, “I… admit it is the one mortal habit I still struggle to get accustomed to.”

“Still never quite got the hang of sleeping, hm?” Lorath’s voice was fond. 

Nico glanced between them. Was the vision he saw accurate? “Did you two often stay up late together?” 

Tyrael nodded, “I slept only when my body demanded it and Lorath…”

“Nightmares.” Lorath said, “Nico’s familiar with them.”

“Ah,” Tyrael nodded, “Of course.” That strange look flashed on his face once more.

“Company helps,” Nico said, offering… what, he wasn’t sure. 

“I am glad you have each other.” Tyrael said softly. He rubbed his thumb at a spot on the fork in his hands.

That wasn’t… quite where Nico had intended to go with that statement. 

Tyrael had stayed with them that one night before they went to the Horadric vault. Nico’s hallucinations had been getting worse and he worried that he might end up hurting Lorath. That Mephisto would trick him with a false vision as he had Lorath in Temis. Or that demons would erupt from him like Neyrelle in Nahantu. Yet somehow, between Lorath’s warmth beside him and Tyrael’s reassuring presence nearby, Nico somehow found himself lulled to a dreamless sleep.

But before he could clarify, Tyrael finished putting away the last of the utensils and stepped back. 

“It is late. Good night Nico. Good night Lorath.” He nodded at them and left, retreating to his room, alone. 

Nico glanced back over to Lorath. Lorath watched Tyrael leave with a furrowed brow. 

Nico gently nudged him, “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Something’s been bothering Tyrael though.” Lorath glanced over at him, “Has he said anything to you?”

Technically no. He hadn’t said anything. And Nico wasn’t sure what those images he saw meant. Maybe he was tired and just imagined it.

“Why would he tell me?” Nico asked instead, “You’re his closest friend.” 

“He told you about losing his memories of being an angel.” Lorath pointed out.

“That’s because he doesn’t want to disappoint you. He cares a lot about your opinion.”

Lorath sat on the couch again. He picked up the wine bottle and began turning it over in his hands. Nico sat beside him, close enough for their shoulders to touch.

There was a long pause. 

“...does he think I would be disappointed in him?” Lorath asked softly. He kept his eyes on the bottle slowly spinning in his hands. 

Nico chewed his lower lip, unsure if he should push but… 

“Are you? Disappointed, I mean.” He asked.

Lorath didn’t respond.

Nico took in a breath and continued, “He left. There wasn’t a lot of time to deal with that since, well, the world was ending.”

Lorath forcefully put the bottle back down on the table with a resounding thump. “It’s fine. He’s back now, that’s what matters.”

Nico stared at him, “He was gone for… decades. With no word. You’re not upset about that?”

“No.” 

“Well, you sound upset.”

“Well, I’m not.” Lorath bit out through clenched teeth.

“Lorath–” Nico was cut off as Lorath rose to his feet. 

“I’m going to bed.” And he left.

Nico sighed and slumped back against the couch.