“It’s like a painting by Dalí, only in words,” Brath continues, and it’s an oddly fitting description. “And it sounds like you,” and he puts it down, finally sets his eyes on Mathieu, dark orbs mercilessly piercing through his skull.
“Okay,” rolls off Mathieu’s tongue again, the only word he can currently form in his head and one of his hands settles on Brath’s ankle automatically, strokes over the soft and delicate skin stretched over protruding bones. “It’s the only one I like.”
“Why don’t you like the others?” Brath questions, drawing his eyebrows together and he sits up swiftly, suddenly so close that Mathieu feels his breath hitch. “You wrote them.”
“I did. And—I don’t know. I’m not a huge fan of self-praise.”
“You shouldn’t be so modest,” Brath comments and drops his eyes to where Mathieu is almost absentmindedly running his hand up Brath’s shin. “Too much modesty is just as bad as too much arrogance.”
“Hard to find the balance though, isn’t it?” and he lets his fingers come to rest on Brath’s knee for a moment, puts a tad more pressure on them and scoots closer.
A soft smile starts to tug on the corner of Brath’s mouth, making him look young, making him look like he’s far out of Mathieu’s league and what the hell is he getting himself into? Brath hums quietly, tilts his head, and a strand of hair falls across his forehead.
Without a second thought, Mathieu leans forward and brushes it away from Brath’s face. He stills, fingers hovering right above Brath’s cheekbone and all air has long been sucked out of Mathieu, out of this room, the entire apartment even, and how he is still able to breathe is beyond him.
“Can you kiss me again?” Brath breaks the silence and Mathieu—yeah, he disconnects after that.
“Jesus,” he breathes, already leaning in. “Do you even have to ask?”
It surprises Mathieu because Brath hasn’t been too big on kissing in general for reasons unknown (he sure is good at it) but Mathieu would curse himself to Hell and back if he didn’t seize this opportunity and he wants Brath to like it, love it even. He fits his palm to the hollow of Brath’s neck and twists his upper body, so they fit together with ease, slides his lips over Brath’s as languidly as he can manage with this persistent and burning urge surfacing in his belly. Mathieu lets his teeth graze softly across Brath’s lower lip, gives it a delicate tug before welcoming the heat of an open mouth, an unashamed tongue.
“Do you have to drop by the shop today?” he asks breathlessly when they part again and the sheer sight of Brath, wet lips and tousled hair, sends a load of boiling blood straight to the lower regions of his body.
“They’ll manage,” Brath replies, slowly sliding his hands up Mathieu’s chest, crossing his arms behind his neck to slowly but determinedly pull Mathieu down with him.
“Good,” Mathieu comments before he shifts, fitting his body right over Brath’s, and he presses a lingering kiss to the hollow of his throat. “Because it’s another ten hours until I have to meet Jakob for dinner.” Another kiss, another scrape of teeth and another subtle shudder that goes straight to his head and jumbles his thoughts. “And I don’t have any work to do either.”
“Ten hours,” Brath says quietly, raking his nails up Mathieu’s back underneath his shirt. “Sounds ambitious.”
“Always set the bar high,” Mathieu retorts, frames Brath’s head with his arms, and brushes their noses together.
“No rest for the wicked,” and he can feel him laughing against his lips.
* * *
Jakob and Solomon had never liked each other much. Neither had admitted this to Mathieu, but Mathieu had known nonetheless, from the way they acted around each other, from the way they reacted when he mentioned their respective names and how they had never mentioned the other’s name themselves.
Up to this day, he has no idea why it had been like that; Solomon hadn’t been the jealous type, and Mathieu had just met Jakob, but somehow it didn’t work. When he stops and thinks about it, he realizes that none of his (short-lasting) boyfriends had gotten on with Jakob. Or rather, they hadn’t understood Jakob’s place in Mathieu’s life. Not that Mathieu has a good explanation for that either.
So considering his track record, there is no logic to him asking Brath to come along to have dinner with his unfortunately momentarily depressed best friend. But he does ask Brath.
To be fair, Mathieu is probably still in a post-coital daze, and his brain isn’t functioning properly yet, sticky with sweat and in desperate need of a shower—or several. But maybe Mathieu knows exactly why he wants to take Brath along, and it’s nothing like showing off his new—whatever Brath is to him, or getting his best friend’s blessing for anything; they’re grown-ups. They’ve grown out of this stuff, and Mathieu has never needed Jakob’s approval for anything (there is a difference between needing and wanting, but Mathieu isn’t going to bother with the small print now).
Jakob these days is just difficult to be around, difficult to spend time with, just overall difficult and Mathieu doesn’t blame him for it, because there is obviously something wrong and Jakob is equally unhappy, so Mathieu doesn’t want to add to it and make him feel even worse.
Taking Brath is kind of a way to lighten the atmosphere, in a way, to force Jakob into making more of an effort than he would make with Mathieu being on his own. It’s to give Jakob someone else to talk to, someone who is an equal match to Jakob’s intellect, someone who could perhaps tickle something out of him.
The plan isn’t well thought out, but Mathieu doesn’t care for now because Brath agrees to go with him without a moment’s hesitation.
In the late afternoon, they have a shower (and they do get side-tracked, because apparently, Brath turns him into a hormonal teenager), make themselves presentable, and Mathieu is hoping Jakob is doing the same and not building a fort out of his blankets and pillows.
It’s still freakishly cold when they step outside, and Mathieu can’t think of a winter in Barcelona that’s ever been this cold; winters in Asturias are an entirely different caliber, but Barcelona usually has a mild climate. That’s why Mathieu tells himself it’s instinct, savoring body warmth, that he walks very close to Brath, arms brushing together the entire way.
He has a key to Jakob’s place, has had the second key since Jakob moved into this apartment, but Mathieu still rings his bell, wants to force Jakob to get up and open the door for him. He waits a few good minutes, rings it a couple of times until he knows he has to be annoying Jakob—or rather he would be if Jakob were still the same.
Hell, he would’ve probably ripped off Mathieu’s finger by now. But nobody buzzes them in, and nobody opens the door, so Mathieu begrudgingly uses his key. He ascends the staircase, Brath closely behind him and because he is a polite person and a good friend, Mathieu knocks on Jakob’s front door and waits for any response before he, again, with a sigh, unlocks it and lets himself and Brath in.
He finds Jakob in his living room. It’s progress, Mathieu has to admit, not as big of progress as he’d hoped for, but progress nonetheless. Jakob is sitting on his couch, dressed in jeans and a dark sweatshirt (again, a definite plus), a pair of shoes on the carpet in front of him, and he is leaning against the backrest, head tipped back and eyes glued to the ceiling with an absent stare. And perhaps this is even less of an improvement than it seems at first glance.
“Ready?” he asks, trying to get a quick reaction out of Jakob.
It fails miserably, because all Jakob says is, “what?”
“Dinner,” Mathieu responds with a sigh, feeling Brath shift next to him and the brush of his fingers on the back of his hand. “Jakob, you promised. We’re going out for dinner. I’ll even let you pick the place, we can drive if you don’t want to walk, but you need to get out. So...” He takes a breath. “Are you ready?”
“No,” Jakob says and makes Mathieu groan inwardly, patience wearing thin already although he wants to try so hard to help Jakob in any way. “No, I don�
��t think so.”
“Brilliant,” Mathieu mutters to himself rather than to the other two people present. “Oh, by the way, this is—” and Brath is already pushing past him, walking towards Jakob. “Brath. Remember? I told you about him.”
Brath stretches out his hand with a soft smile and only then does Jakob move his head slowly, twisting it just at the right angle to have a proper look. He doesn’t grab Brath’s hand though, just keeps staring and there is a soft twitch to his brow, to the corners of his mouth, and he seems frozen to the spot. Brath keeps smiling, brightly, with his hand still stretched out. Mathieu is starting to think this wasn’t a good idea after all.
“Okay,” he sighs. “We don’t need to go out, but you’re not getting rid of us. You want me to grab some takeaway? And yes, I will force you to eat if I have to.”
“That’d be great,” Brath is the one who answers, and Mathieu feels strange about this, he does, but something is pulling him back by his spine with a certain force, and before he has realized that he’s moved, he finds himself outside the building, on an empty street.
8
Brath
“You know me,” Brath tells Jakob, still frozen to the couch, looking up at him Brath knows there is something hidden in Jakob’s mind. He reads human thoughts like a book, and Jakobs book is locked. “You know who I am, don’t you? You just can’t remember.” He moves closer until his legs almost touch Jakob’s and he leans forward. “There is an itch in your head, isn’t there? It doesn’t hurt, but it’s there, and it doesn’t go away, driving you mad, like insects crawling through your brain. That itch is even stronger now than it is usually, huh? Because your mind, in its deepest and darkest depths, is screaming for attention.”
“I have no idea who you are,” Jakob says tightly, but he blinks multiple times against the images his subconscious is suddenly starting to cough up.
“You do. That’s why someone has locked your mind. Only an angel could do something like that. Now let’s see who’s hiding in there.” Brath replies and then he crawls onto the couch, knees digging into the seat on either side of Jakob’s legs. He places his hands on Jakob’s shoulder, whose eyes are suddenly wide with panic, and he pushes him deeper into the cushions. He sees the tightness of his throat, the curve of his jaw and the dip of his collarbones and Brath traces their outlines, runs his hands around Jakob’s throat and across his chin to let the tips of his fingers rest delicately against Jakob’s temples. “Just think.” And then he presses down.
Brath senses the scream wallowing up in Jakob’s chest, can feel the agony suddenly throbbing in his bones and his mind painfully thrashing about and before a single sound can escape Jakob’s lips, Brath slides his open mouth over them and silences him.
Jakob writhes beneath him, fights with all the strength he can muster without knowing what he’s fighting, and it’s not like it does anything against Brath; it’s not like Jakob could ever stand a chance.
If Brath wanted, he could easily snap his spine like a feeble twig. But he is of no use dead, so Brath just holds him in place, uses his lips to keep him quiet. But Brath quickly realizes, being this close, that there is something odd about Jakob’s soul, and he doesn’t have the time to get behind it.
Hands push at his chest, and they shouldn’t do anything, they shouldn’t even as much as tickle Brath, but he finds himself being forced back, quite solidly and there is a rush of something surging against his sternum, making him fall back. Brath falls to the ground, back hitting the carpeted floor and he can faintly see Jakob scrambling to his feet, legs giving in and then he is tumbling over the back of the couch, and they’re both lying there, and Brath—Brath has to laugh. He throws his head back and laughs like he hasn’t laughed in a very long time because isn’t this just brilliant? What a turn of events, he muses, what an excellent, deliciously surprising turn of events indeed.
Brath distractedly wonders why Aleksander didn’t just end Jakob’s existence with a flick of his wrist. It would’ve been easier for everyone, surely, just to get rid of all traces than to manipulate his mind and Aleksander always has reasons, always thinks about the big picture of things and the course of the universe and shit like that.
Brath pushes himself up to his elbows, body still softly shaking in amusement and he watches as Jakob stutters to his feet, hands encircling his chest, then his head, white as a sheet and a shimmer of sweat on his forehead. He curls his body forward and coughs, keeps one hand tightly buried in his hair while blindly fumbling for support with the other.
“Fuck,” he rasps with a labored voice. “Oh fuck, I think I need to throw up.”
“Feel free to do so,” Brath smirks, satisfied. “It might help relieve some of that tension. I can’t speak from experience, but I’m sure having your mind pieced back together in the right way is painful.”
That makes Jakob stop short, and although he is still awfully distressed, still shaking, he keeps impressively still.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Brath says. “I did you a favor. And may I add: My, my. What a surprise.”
“What,” Jakob chokes out with another cough. “What the hell—”
“Come on,” Brath drawls and sits up. “Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you. Because this was a smart move. Everyone thinks you’re dead. Hell, I bet even our Father thinks you’re gone.” Jakob is still staring at him, and when Brath gets to his feet, he takes a step back, as if that would ever be enough to keep Brath away. “How did you do that? Must have been fucking painful. It’s probably why Aleksander didn’t just kill you, huh? Because he couldn’t.”
Jakob takes a ragged breath. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Brath takes that as a sign he finally remembers.
Brath tilts his head in thought, rounds the couch, floorboards creaking with every step. “How does it work?” He muses. “Do you cling to them like a parasite? How many times have you changed hosts? To how many souls have you clung? Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t notice you.” He squints, and Jakob tries to move away, but Brath grabs his wrist. “He has no idea, has he?”
Brath presses closer again, backs him up against the wall and leans in, looks deep into his eyes, searching for this familiar glint while Jakob’s pulse is racing beneath his fingers. He tries to wiggle out of Brath’s grasp, but that surge of power is drained now, all evidence of its existence buried deep and yet Brath is still trying to dig it up. He remains unsuccessful and huffs in frustration, lets go of Jakob again and brings as much space between them as Jakob deems comfortable.
“What’s this all about?”
Brath shrugs. “I was just going to do Andrew a favor.”
“Andrew,” Jakob repeats, eyes suddenly going bright with remembrance and recognition and a sudden burst of desperation. “Where is he?”
“He’s gone,” Brath answers nonchalantly. “Had to return to Heaven and all, resume to be a good little cupid. After your brief and immoral love affair, Aleksander punched a hole into your memory to make you forget Andrew ever wandered into your life. You were an empty shell for the past two months. Quite pathetic. So I restored your mind.” He smiles. “You’re welcome.”
“Welcome?”
“You heard me,” Brath says, growing impatient. “So can we speed this up? I’m here to help.”
Jakob opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before he finds his words. “But why? Why are you here?”
“Because I want to help you,” he explains.
“You’re evil.”
“No, I’m not. What would give you that idea? Andrew told you about me, didn’t he? Just because I was created to kill people doesn’t mean I’m evil.”
“Still,” Jakob insists, and Brath senses his pulse getting back to normal, which is probably a good thing. “Why would you help us?”
“Because,” Brath drawls, “Andrew is doing me a little favor. And I want to repay my debt.”
“What are you making him do?”
Brath winks. “Not important.
The only thing you need to know is that I intend to help you get reunited with your lost love. You don’t have to thank me yet. But a little gratitude would be appreciated.”
All right, perhaps Brath enjoys this a little bit too much, but he can’t help it. Andrew probably has no idea who he is getting involved with, and it’s even better because not even Jakob has any clue and now Brath is holding all the cards. He is tempted to rejoice loudly and send a hallelujah to the heavens, but that would give him away, and Brath doesn’t want to become complacent.
“Then what do you want with Mathieu?”
Ah, Brath thinks, another sore point. “Nothing. It turns out he has taken a liking to me, and I do enjoy his company.”
“Stay away from him,” Jakob says, thinking that he can threaten Brath and Brath has to laugh again, quietly this time, softly shaking his head to himself.
“Or what? You’ll tell him who I am? I doubt he’d care. He’s kind of in the thick of it already.”
“You sure?” Jakob asks, and Brath decides he doesn’t like him when he gets cocky. “Well, we’ll see about that.”
9
Mathieu
Mathieu returns to the weirdest face-off he has ever witnessed. Any comment about slow waiters and vegetarian dumplings dies on his tongue when he enters the living room and finds Brath and Jakob standing in front of each other, staring as their lives depended on it, locked in some quiet conversation Mathieu isn’t part of. Maybe Jakob isn’t the only one off his rockers; maybe they’re just all insane.
The World Before: MM Romance Page 6