The World Before: MM Romance

by Primrose, Ella

  “I guess I just—I like you,” Mathieu says eventually after a silence has stretched on for far too long. “Do with that whatever you want. But it'd be good for you to say something too.”

  “Oh,” Brath responds. “I wasn’t aware you wished me to say something.”

  “Well, not before I got all of this out, but I do need some comment from you.”

  “I can do that.” But Brath stops, and he seems to be thinking hard, and he doesn’t say anything for a while, and Mathieu is growing increasingly uncomfortable. “Okay.”

  Mathieu raises his brows. “Okay, what?”

  “Okay to this,” and he gestures between them, a little inept, and it occurs to Mathieu—with a weird airy feeling in his head—that Brath is even worse at this than he is.

  He breathes a sigh of relief and smiles. “Good. So let's just pick up where we left off? Although I would appreciate it if you’d keep the supernatural stuff to a minimum because it freaks me out. No weird stuff.”

  “Okay,” Brath repeats, and now he is smiling too, and Mathieu feels incredibly lighter because it wasn’t as difficult as he thought it would be. It could probably turn problematic if they ever got serious, but it’s not like either of them had that in mind. It’s almost a relief not to have to think too far ahead.

  “Just one last question. I can still kiss you, right?”

  “Please,” Brath answers, and it’s all Mathieu needs to push forward and take hold of Brath’s jaw. He lingers for a brief moment, stares into the abyss that is Brath’s eyes and there’s a quiet voice in his head asking him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but Mathieu can’t be asked to care. This might top the list of crazy things he’s ever done, but he’s a writer; he can allow himself some eccentricity.

  So he kisses Brath, because it’s apparently no issue, with his lips already parted and it’s only been a week without kissing Brath, but it’s still so intense his toes curl and heat explodes behind his sternum as if he’d just driven a knife into his chest.

  12

  Brath

  It’s an unexpected turn of events. In fact, there has been a fair amount of unexpected turns, but Brath isn’t about to complain about that. He didn’t plan for a lot of these things to happen, but they’re a fortunate change for the better, and it seems that after millennia of screwing with him, fate has finally started to bow down in front of him and let things go his way. And with fate on his side, and Mathieu warm and pleasantly writhing beneath his fingertips, Brath is happy to be patient a little longer and wait for Andrew to make up his mind.

  He licks a wet trail down Mathieu’s chest, outlines the softly protruding ribs with tongue and drags his nose over the flat and taut expanse of his stomach. He watches the goose-bumps rise and listens to the shortened puffs of breath, and when Brath lifts his gaze and meets Mathieu’s, darkened with arousal—he finds he’s quite happy to wait for a little while longer. There is no rush; he will succeed, either way, so he might as well enjoy himself a little before shit starts to go down.

  Hands tangle in his hair and urge him back up, and there is always something about the way Mathieu’s frames his face, cradles his head like he’s delicate and precious. It makes Brath’s chest feel tight, and maybe he doesn’t know what all of this is about and maybe he doesn’t even care in the slightest, but he doesn’t mind at all.

  “This is surreal,” Mathieu breathes against his lips, and Brath silences him, lets his mouth swallow down any possible doubts or protests. Mathieu has made his choice and Brath will not have him change his mind.

  But it doesn’t appear as Mathieu is ever going to reject Brath again. Brath feels his shoulders being seized and finds their positions turned, their hips forced together by sheer gravity. He winds his bare legs around Mathieu’s sides and lets their naked chests stick together with sweat, lets Mathieu become very aware of his burning desire. Brath wants to lick up the flowering sparks of his soul, bright and shining with life and warmth and he wants to keep them locked up in his chest and cradle them like Mathieu cradles his head. He wants to have Mathieu close, body, and soul, and Brath refuses to let go of him.

  * * *

  Sometimes, when the mood takes him, Brath will vanish and get a different sniff of air. He will sit on mountain tops and wade in the shallow water of a hidden lagoon. Or feel the scorching sand of a desert beneath his toes, listen to the ever-present noises of the rainforest or lie on his back on cold and rough stones in some long forgotten temple and remember what it was like to be worshiped.

  Brath has spent many decades, many centuries, haunted and restless, never once feeling like he belonged anywhere; never once wanting to stay still and let his thoughts catch up with him.

  Now he returns to Mathieu every time, following some silent call that nevertheless echoes through his chest and pulls him back towards him.

  * * *

  Every other day, Brath finds himself with a little time on his hands, and he doesn’t feel like going anywhere or doing much, so he spends it in the coffee shop, watches Keith flirt unashamedly with customers and takes in Gareth’s random curses when he once again burns something in the kitchen. Brath has also taken a liking to Keith’s first creation; melted chocolate thinned out with foaming milk and lots of caramel syrup stirred in and drizzled over the top. Brath licks the sticky amber substance off his thumb and throws one of his cards onto the table.

  “You’re much more pleasant than you were last week,” Perry tells him from across the table, chewing on his lips in an absentminded fashion, poking out his tongue as he shuffles his deck and considers. “Not that I’m complaining,” he quickly adds after Brath throws him a look. “Just good for you, you know.”

  Brath shrugs, he doesn’t have anything to say to that and waits for Perry to make his move. It doesn’t matter what card Perry puts down, he’s been losing all morning, and he will keep losing because Brath can read his thoughts and the cupid is far too trustworthy.

  Honestly, Brath hasn’t the faintest idea why Perry is still showing up, why he comes down just to play a losing game of cards with Brath or attempt to entertain him in some other way. They haven’t struck a bet, and there are no favors to ask, no debts to pay, no assignments with which Brath could be of assistance.

  So he can’t help himself but ask, “Why do you bother?”

  Perry’s bright eyes shoot up to meet his. “Why do I bother with what?”

  “Why do you keep coming back here?” Brath elaborates, tries to sound entirely indifferent instead of curious, because it’s not like he cares, it’s not like it matters.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Perry replies, and Brath puts down his cards and sighs.

  “Because this is of no benefit to you.”

  “But you’re my brother,” and Brath stops short, stunned, and stares as Perry continues. “You’re my brother, and we’re family. And in a family, you look out for each other, right?”

  “Right,” Brath repeats numbly and almost spills his hot chocolate.

  * * *

  Brath knows it’s not a good idea and that for now; there is no real need for it. But it is just an opportunity so tempting that Brath can feel the allure prickling beneath his fingertips.

  There are few things that remain mysterious to him; Brath has been around since the beginning, and he knows origins and reasons for almost everything in existence. Seen it all, done it all, which is why Brath gets bored so easily. He guesses that for people, life is exciting just because they are fools and they know nothing. Even those who assume to know a lot can only grasp a fraction of reality which is so minimal, it might as well be nothing at all.

  “What do you want?”

  Brath takes a few steps into the dark room, casually glancing about as if he were observing it. “What makes you think I want anything at all?”

  “I’m not an idiot,” Jakob replies. He is cast in shadows; only a spark of light being reflected in his eyes and his soul is so alive that Brath finds it hard not to get too close.


  “Andrew told me about you. I might not know what it is exactly you’re playing at, but you’re sure as hell up to no good.”

  Brath smiles. “Again, Jakob. Why do you think I’m the bad guy in this? I didn’t make the rules. I didn’t decide to be dropped onto this wretched earth. I didn’t take Andrew away from you. I didn’t erase your memory,” he says, walking towards Jakob with a slow but steady pace. He sees the tension in Jakob’s shoulders, but he does not move back. “In fact, I’m the one who wants to help because I believe everyone should be allowed a choice. So maybe you need to re-evaluate your opinion of me.”

  “Even if it were true,” Jakob says, there is doubt in his words, and it all smells so sweet. Brath finds himself drawn even closer. “You’re fallen. You can’t do a thing.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong as well.” Brath drops his voice, drops his eyes to Jakob’s throat, pale and delicate and fragile and maybe Brath could just snap his neck and swallow down the warmth hiding inside Jakob’s body. He wonders if that would explain how this angel is living inside of a mortal body. But for now, Brath is content with cornering Jakob in his bedroom, smiling down on him, and letting him know without room for error that he is the one who is and will remain in charge of this situation. “In fact, you’d be surprised as to what I could do for you.”

  “I don’t want anything from you, not even your so-called help,” Jakob grits out, shifting on his bed as Brath sits down on its edge.

  “Don’t lie to me, Jakob. I find it unbecoming,” Brath tells him with a tilt of his head, a quirk of his brow. “And you might even call me an expert on truth. After all, it was my duty to find those who were dishonest.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Yes, you are,” Brath insists. “It is seething from your bones. Perhaps you don’t know it; maybe you tell yourself that you want me wiped off the face of this earth. But the truth is,” and Brath crawls onto the bed, predatory, framing Jakob’s body with his own, and he watches as Jakob pulls away but can’t—can’t because his subconscious is drawn to the words falling off Brath’s lips. “The truth is: your core, the deepest abyss of your soul that sees no light, calls out to me. It calls out to me much like it still calls for your little cupid sitting high up in the sky, watching you; lovesick, sad, pathetic. And you don’t know why, do you?”

  He lets his fingers trail over Jakob’s jaw and loosely encircle his neck and Brath sees his eyes go wide and feels his heartbeat pick up a pace. “It irks you, that you cannot find out what it is that makes you different, but you’ve always known, haven’t you? There’s always been an invisible burden weighing down your mind; a burden that does not allow you to seek and find happiness, that even lets you fall in love with the impossible simply because it is doomed to fail. Almost as if you had to punish yourself.”

  There’s a flicker in those dark eyes, barely a shadow creeping over them, turning them into pools of black ink that swallow up any light that hits their surface. So far from ordinary, Brath muses, and wonders absentmindedly how nobody sees this. But then again, most are blind and ignorant and refuse to dig deeper than the outer layers. The intrigue is always hidden, even to Jakob who has hardly any idea what kind of secret he is carrying. He brushes a hand over Jakob’s forehead, skin twitching and senses tingling as he picks up loose threads and starts to weave them together.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jakob presses.

  “And that is a good thing,” Brath suggests, resting his hands on Jakob’s temples with a soft but firm pressure. “But I wonder where you left it; where you tossed it down when you decided to disappear. They told us stories, you know? Many nightmarish tales of your existence being torn to shreds by the bluntness of mortality. They used it to scare the cherubs, I think. Never scared me, of course, but I still believed, and I had no reason not to. Come to think of it now though, it didn’t make sense then, and it doesn’t make sense to me now.”

  Jakob laughs dryly, tries in vain to twist away from Brath’s grasp. “Well, that makes two of us, doesn’t it? Because none of this makes sense to me either.”

  Brath sighs. “You were always the most honorable of us all, dear brother. You were fulfilling your duty. Why would you feel the need to punish yourself?”

  “Get off me.”

  “Did it pain you so much,” Brath continues unperturbed by the hands pushing against his chest, “to see him fall by your own hands? After all, you loved him as we all did. As I still do.”

  “I said get off,” Jakob repeats with a hiss and lands his fist against Brath’s collarbone that would have seen any normal being pushed away, yet for Brath, it is a mere brush of air. He still takes in the slowly growing panic in Jakob’s appearance, takes it into consideration and moves back, sits down at the foot of the bed and watches as Jakob scrambles up and presses his shoulders against the wall as if he intended for it to absorb him whole.

  “Apologies,” Brath says. “I do get carried away.”

  “No shit,” Jakob utters and brushes a hand over his pale face, still softly trembling like quivering branches and leaves in the calm breeze. “Can you really get Andrew to come back to me?"

  Brath stifles a smile.

  "Yes."

  "Then if you want me on your side, you need to stop freaking me out. I can’t remember everything. Just little things.”

  “I’ll try."

  “I’m serious. I don’t care who the hell you think I am, or what’s in me.”

  “If you say so.”

  It doesn’t fully satisfy Jakob, but Brath can see his expression and stance relax, tension draining from his shoulders even if just slightly.

  “Okay,” he says, with lingering hesitancy to his voice. “Why would you even want to help me? What’s in it for you? And don’t give any bullshit like wanting justice done. There is something in this for you, and I want to know what.”

  “Fine,” Brath answers with a twitch of his shoulders. “I want to go home.”

  “Why don’t you just do it then? What’s keeping you?”

  “I am fallen, you fool,” Brath bites back. “I am broken. This merciful God you all believe in doesn’t allow shattered souls into Heaven. Andrew is going to fix it for me. And when he has, I will have the means to elevate your soul, and you and he can be together forever.”

  “You mean you’re going to kill me.”

  “I think by now you’ve figured out that it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

  Jakob eyes him skeptically, but Brath has no trouble keeping a straight face. “And that’s supposed to be it? Come on. There’s got to be a catch.”

  “No.” Brath shakes his head. “That’s the deal. Plain and simple.”

  “Yeah, I don’t believe you,” and Brath has to bite back a frustrated groan, but honestly, he could have suspected this wasn’t going to be easy. He doesn’t need Jakob’s approval for anything, but he’d rather have him as a temporary ally than an enemy. “And even if you were telling the truth, which I don’t think you are, plans have a tendency not to go as intended. Are you just waltzing back into Heaven like nothing’s happened? Let us just pretend you're honest, and all works out in favor of us; what about Mathieu? Would you leave him alone?”

  It would be easy for Brath to spin another lie, to hide the truth, to feed Jakob any answer that would satisfy him enough to consider Brath’s offer. But he finds himself saying, “I would take him with me.”

  13

  Brath

  Brath doesn’t know why he does the things he does. Sometimes he thinks he’s angry, and sometimes he guesses he’s tired. Sometimes he knows he’s lost.

  And he doesn’t want to be anymore.

  He’s listening to Mathieu’s heartbeat, calm and steady while he sleeps. Brath doesn’t need to sleep and never does and yet it’s become a habit to watch Mathieu in this seemingly most vulnerable state when his face relaxes, and he looks young and at peace with the world. Brath then drops his ear to his chest and takes i
n the repetitive thumps, a constant reminder of the most significant difference between them, and although Brath finds himself so close to it, it is simultaneously the one thing that truly has the power to keep them apart.

  Brath might not have a real heart, but when he thinks about Mathieu’s stopping, about his soul slipping from his grasp to be returned and reborn when the time is due without a hint of a memory of their shared time—it hurts. It hurts somewhere deep inside of him, and it doesn’t matter how many nights Brath lies awake and wrecks his mind for an answer; he cannot locate the pain and is thus entirely unable to do anything against it. Only when he listens to Mathieu’s heart, only when Mathieu opens his eyes in the mornings and looks at him and smiles—only then is that burning sting reduced to a dull ache and Brath can forget when he feels warm lips descend on his.

  The sun has not yet risen, but Mathieu stirs awake. Careful fingers start to thread through Brath’s hair, and he shifts, and finds himself scooting closer, tightening his arms around Mathieu’s waist.

  “If I were gone,” Brath mutters into Mathieu’s neck, “would you miss me?”

  “I already missed you when I was trying to come to terms with the fact that you're the Angel of Death.” His voice is heavy with sleep, still gruff and slightly muffled by a pillow.

  “Was...but I was still there,” Brath disagrees. “You could’ve seen me if you wished to. I mean, if I were to disappear now and never return—would you mourn? Would you feel sad for my loss?”

  The hand in his hair stills. “What are you—of course, I would. But you can’t die, right? You can’t just disappear like that.”