The Dogs Of War: Chapter 14

That weekend, Dooku was a bit on edge - even though he'd planned things carefully with handling Seth, he knew there was still a small chance Seth would risk going to the police, or would flat-out just show up himself and try to raise hell. So every time a car drove through the neighborhood, Dooku jumped a little. It got to the point where on Sunday evening, Sören noticed enough to say something about it.

Dooku wasn't ready to tell him yet why he'd been late getting back on Friday, wanting to wait to make sure Seth was well and truly gone before he'd deliver the news. So he told Sören a half-truth. "I keep wondering if Seth will come back."

"Jæja, me too." Sören sighed.

"I bet." Dooku felt that sharp ache again; he could only imagine what kind of hell Sören had been through the last while. "We could both use a distraction, I think."

Sören nodded.

Dooku thought then about bringing out the little gift he'd picked up for Sören at Powell's City of Books on Friday. But not only would he have to explain to Sören that he'd been at Powell's recently - which would raise questions about his activity - he didn't know if Sören would think it was stupid or perhaps even insulting, getting him a coloring book of mandalas and a box of crayons.

And he felt painfully self-conscious around the younger man. He'd lived a very solitary existence, only occasionally entertaining guests over the years, and since Qui-Gon had retreated into himself after his wife's death, it had been some time. It wasn't simply that he wasn't used to having a houseguest staying with him, he didn't know how to be a host anymore, apart from ensuring Sören was well-fed and that his bed was warm enough.

Not to mention that he wasn't used to being in such close proximity to someone he was increasingly finding very, very attractive. Helping Sören take his clothes off and put them on was a special kind of torture; on Friday night when he'd gotten back from beating the hell out of Seth he'd helped Sören change his bandages and he'd been so keyed up from the adrenaline that touching Sören, seeing him fresh from the shower, in his underwear...

...well, he was a man, and he had needs, and yet, he didn't want to make Sören feel uncomfortable by being inappropriate in any way. So when Dooku had gone to bed, not able to sleep, he took some time for "stress relief". Something he hadn't done in years, and certainly not to a real live person that he actually knew.

He'd done it again last night, after helping Sören undress and get his nightclothes on.

He was reminded of that now, sitting across from Sören, feeling so sad for the younger man whose art was so full of life and energy and passion, and seemed so withdrawn and empty. The fantasy he'd had of pleasuring Sören, bringing out his wild side, hearing Sören beg for more...

Sören cut into the remembrance of that forbidden fantasy, glancing around the living room. "So, when are you going to decorate for Christmas?"

"I..." Dooku scowled. "I don't."

"Oh. Sorry. Are you Jewish? Muslim?"

"Um... no. I'm Orthodox... well, I was raised Orthodox, I'm rather lapsed now." Dooku gave a small, bitter laugh. He thought about telling Sören he was also a gay man and that was part of why he was lapsed, but he decided not to broach that subject now. "I celebrate Christmas, I just... haven't decorated in, well... I can't remember the last time."

"What?" Sören's eyes widened. "Why not?"

"As you know, I'm usually alone for the holidays, as I told you. So I haven't seen the point, when it's just me and my cat."

"I still decorated when I lived alone," Sören said.

Dooku looked down, feeling a bit guilty even though there was no reason to.

"We should decorate this place for Christmas." Sören started giving him the sad puppydog eyes. "You won't be alone this year, after all."

"I haven't any decorations -"

"I've got some, in my hall closet, back at my place."

They went out to Sören's house. Once inside Dooku and Sören's nostrils twitched - the smell of spoiling food came from the kitchen.

"Oh, shit," Sören said. "There was the accident, then I cleared out to stay with you and was in such a panic about Seth I didn't think to clean out the fridge -"

"It's... it's all right, Sören. These things happen."

Sören gestured to the arm in a sling. "I'm not exactly of much use right now, like this. As it is you'll have to do most of the decorating -"

"I don't mind cleaning your kitchen, Sören. You've been through a lot, so even if you weren't all banged up, I'd offer to do this for you. Sit down and relax, I'll take care of things."

Sören sat in the living room and put on the stereo - putting on the classic rock station they both liked. Dooku set to work throwing out what was spoiled in Sören's fridge, giving it a wipe down, and took out the garbage bag and rolled the bin out to the curb. When he came back in Sören jumped, and Dooku sighed. It wasn't surprising that Sören was startled, even though he knew Dooku was going out and would be right back, it was just sad.

It also broke the dam - Sören started to cry. Dooku came over and gently put a hand on the non-injured shoulder. "It's all right, Sören."

"No, it's not all right. I can't clean out my own fridge, I jump at everything... I'm a fucking wreck, Nicolae. I'm sorry you have to see me like this."

Dooku found himself touching Sören's face, even though it was like playing with a live wire, getting shocked, burned. His cock stirred uncomfortably. "You're in a bad way, and you can't help it. If you'd been paralyzed from the accident, would I tell you to get up and walk? No. What he did to you... you can't just get over it." Dooku gave a small, sad smile. "My parents were awful to me and I'm still not over it. I hardly expect you to be over your own abuse."

Sören blubbered again, and Dooku put an arm around Sören, pulling him close, letting Sören lean on him, even as his cock was aching. He didn't want to lust after this man - that wasn't his motivation for helping, he wasn't a "Nice Guy" who expected sex in return for decent behavior. But oh, even in his tears, Sören was beautiful, like an angel fallen to Earth.

"I'll get the decorations and then we can leave, yes?"

There was a small metal cart in Sören's hall closet as well, which he sometimes took grocery shopping, "when my ADHD can be arsed to remember to bring it," Sören said with an eyeroll. Dooku loaded the cart with the cardboard boxes labeled CHRISTMAS. Then Sören turned off the stereo and the lights and they were out, on the path back to Dooku's house next door.

Dooku put on the classic rock station again when they got inside, but then Sören found one of the cable company's music stations that was playing all Christmas music and put it on to make things more festive. Dooku made hot chocolate, and he and Sören sat in the kitchen, with Sören staring at the ceramic bowl with the dwarf purple prickly pear cactus in disbelief.

"I still can't believe you saved my art and you've been taking care of Álfhildur for me," Sören said.

"...Álfhildur." Dooku raised an eyebrow.

"That's her name." Sören gestured to the cactus with his good arm.

Dooku facepalmed, laughing. Sören managed to smile too.

Though Sören couldn't do much, he still wanted to do what he could, which involved deciding what hung where, and when the small fake Christmas tree was put up in the center of the mantle above Dooku's fireplace, Sören passed over ornaments to be put on the tree.

Most of the Christmas decorations were fairly generic - solid-colored stockings, balls for the tree, the obligatory fairy lights - and some were odd. There were thirteen strange-looking gnomes in different poses. Among them, one had a bowl of porridge, one had a sausage, one had a leg of mutton, one had candlesticks.

"Those are the Yule Lads," Sören explained.

There was an evil-looking black cat, and a troll couple, male and female. "Those are Grýla and Leppalúði, the parents of the Yule Lads. They're cannibals who eat naughty children, they turn them into stew... and that's their cat, the Christmas Cat. He eats you if you don't get at least one new item of clothing for Christmas."

Dooku raised an eyebrow. "That's... interesting." He frowned. "Do they teach that to children in Iceland?"

"Jæja, I was scared shitless of them as a kid, it was great." Sören actually grinned. "It's no worse than Halloween here in the States, people dressing up as, like, Dracula, around kids, or letting their kids be Dracula."

"I wouldn't know. I don't celebrate Halloween, either."

Sören glared. "That's one of my favorite things about living in America, mate. You guys have some ridiculous holidays."

"Do they not have Halloween in Iceland?"

"It's becoming more of a thing now, from what I hear, but it wasn't really a thing when I left. People are getting more into having parties in Reykjavik and whatnot. Anyway..." Sören took a few steps back, standing beside Dooku, looking at the mantle with the stockings hung, the fairy lights, and the Yule Lads, Grýla and Leppalúði and the Christmas Cat gathered around the little trimmed tree. "That's good."

The next step was hanging a wreath with bells on the front door, and a swag of garland over each door in the house. There was actually a sprig of mistletoe in the box with the wreaths and garland, and Sören said, "Jæja, you should hang that up... between the kitchen and living room."

"I..." Dooku frowned at it. I want to kiss you, and I don't want to kiss you.

"It's good luck."

"I don't believe in luck."

"Neither do I. It's still an old habit."

Dooku hung the mistletoe, and as he was standing under it, Sören came over and there were a few seconds where Dooku thought Sören was going to kiss him and his mouth went dry, heart racing, stomach fluttering. But instead Sören booped his nose. Dooku blinked.

Sören smiled, and walked into the kitchen.


_


On Monday, there was no school, as winter break had started. Dooku went to Krav Maga class and then took care of grocery shopping in the morning, and when he came back in the afternoon Sören was so startled by the door he dropped the book he was reading, and broke down crying. Dooku's first instinct was to go to him, to remind him "you're here with me. You're safe now."

Then Beowulf climbed up on Sören, and Dooku let the cat soothe him as he put away the groceries.

Dooku came back with egg nog, which he'd bought at the store for both of them. Sören's face lit up when he saw it. "Takk," Sören said.

Dooku noticed then what Sören was reading - he'd given Sören carte blanche with his extensive library. Sören was reading one of the Earthsea series by Ursula K. LeGuin, and this made Dooku smile.

"Ah, LeGuin," Dooku said.

"Jæja, she's my favorite author next to Stephen King."

Dooku raised an eyebrow. "Mine too."

"Oh, jæja?" Sören held out his right fist.

Dooku looked at it. "Er?"

"You're supposed to..." Sören grabbed Dooku's hand, curled it into a fist, and then he bumped Dooku's fist with his fist. "There. Fistbump. We're nerd bros now."

Dooku narrowed his eyes. "Indeed." Millennials. His nostrils flared before he sipped his egg nog. "Ah, this is better than I expected. I can put whiskey in it if you like though -"

"Takk but no thanks - I have to be very moderate in my drinking with the meds I'm on and I don't want to risk it while I'm still taking pain meds for the rib fracture, even though that's tapering down. Actually that was what I needed to ask you about - I have an appointment with my psychiatrist on Thursday and I'll need a lift there and to the pharmacy to get a med refill."

"All right," Dooku said, nodding.

"It's really routine, I see him once every three months for med management. He only fills my scripts for two weeks at a time, so I have to get refills every two weeks, but." Sören shrugged. "I've been stable on my meds for awhile. Though..." Sören made a face. "He's probably going to want to raise my anti-anxiety medication." Sören rubbed his beard nervously and looked down. "I shouldn't be boring you with all of this."

"No actually, it's relevant while you're living here, in case you have a reaction or something."

Sören frowned. "Seth gave me a lot of shit about being on meds. He was trying to make me go off them when he, ah, moved himself in. It's dangerous to quit cold turkey..."

Dooku felt a flare of anger again. That also reminded him that he needed to go check to make sure Seth Robinson had left Portland - in addition to the hired thugs he had on standby, he'd hired a private investigator to monitor things, as well as do a background check to see if any dirt could be dredged up to use against Seth if he went to the police, and unsurprisingly there was.

But first, Dooku felt the need to be reassuring. "That was heinous of him," Dooku said.

Before he could go on, as if on cue, Sören's cell phone rang, and Sören froze, looking like a deer trapped in headlights. When Sören pulled the phone out of his pocket, he saw the number and swore. "Skítur. Mömmuriðill hóru sonur..."

"Seth?" Dooku narrowed his eyes.

Sören nodded, breathing harder.

"Let it go to voice mail," Dooku said.

Sören did, and a couple of minutes later Sören checked the voice mail.

"OK, you little bitch," Seth's voice snarled. "I did what your new boyfriend told me to do and I'm leaving the state, gonna go stay with my uncle in Florida for awhile. I don't need your new daddy kicking my ass again. And when he finally gets sick of you and your whiny, pathetic loser ass, well... look me up. I'll leave you alone till then. But mark my words, he won't want you for long. Nobody does, do they? Have fun, Sören. You pathetic little bitch."

Sören was shaking, his eyes tearing up. He put the phone down and began to rock himself, staring off into space.

Dooku came over and sat on the couch next to him. For a couple of minutes Sören just rocked himself, staring, shell-shocked, and then he broke down crying again. Dooku gently put an arm around him.

Finally Sören looked at him and said, "You..." He swallowed hard. "You went after him?"

Dooku wordlessly retrieved his own cell phone, went to the photo gallery, and handed the phone to Sören. "I roughed him up a bit, yes."

"When was this? Where was this?"

"Friday. I went to his job, made him get in my car, drove him out to the middle of nowhere, beat the hell out of him, made him take his clothes off, took his cell phone and wallet, and left him there to find his own way back to Portland with the risk of hypothermia, since as you know it was quite cold that evening.  And I gave him an ultimatum - an even worse fate would befall him if he didn't do as he was told - and I had things in place to back it up. I'll be doublechecking with the PI that I hired to make sure he's really gone..."

"You hired a private investigator?"

"I did. Look, Sören, as you know, the law isn't really going to help you in this situation, so... I became the law. I did what I felt was necessary." Dooku set his jaw. "I'd do it again."

With his good arm, Sören gave him a tight hug, sobbing. "Thank you."

Dooku returned the hug - cock twinging again - and then he gently patted Sören. "On that note, I'm going to make a few phone calls."

He did, and confirmed that Seth had quit his job at Apple and gotten an airline ticket to Orlando, Florida. When he came back and relayed that information to Sören, the dam broke and Sören cried even harder, curling up on the couch in the fetal position, or as close to it as he could muster with his injuries.

"He's gone," Sören sobbed. "He's gone... he's gone... thank god.... thank god. Hann er farinn. Guði sé lof. Hann er farinn. Guði sé lof..."

"He's gone now." Dooku felt tears burn his own eyes, wishing he could have made Seth go away long before this. "And now you're safe. It will be all right."

Sören continued to whisper "Hann er farinn. Guði sé lof," under his breath until the chant died down, and finally his eyes met Dooku's. Dooku reached out and took Sören's good hand.

"All right," Dooku said. He wasn't one for spontaneity, but then, he wasn't one for houseguests either, something that had shaken up his usual routine. "We both could use another distraction."

"Jæja, I'm sorry for crying so much." Sören made a face. "Seth's right. I really am pathetic..."

"You're not. And it's fine, Sören. You need to cry. But I'd like to help you feel better." Dooku fought back the mental image of giving Sören a massage, one that would lead to kissing him everywhere... "You liked decorating yesterday, yes? Getting in the Christmas spirit makes you happy?"

Sören nodded. "It reminds me of my mamma. She always went all out for Christmas, I guess it was her way of coping after my pabbi died. My aunt and uncle, after my mamma died and they took us in, they put up some nominal decorations but Christmas was an excuse to get drunker than usual, for them." Sören cringed. "Sorry. There I go being whiny again -"

"You're not." And now Dooku saw how a beautiful, talented person like Sören could end up with such an asshole like Seth. "Would you like to go see lights in Portland this evening? Now that Seth's not there?"

"Oh... that would be really nice."

"We can go out to dinner. I'll treat." Dooku paused. "I'm not expecting anything in return." He left the meaning of that ambiguous, but he didn't want Sören at any time to feel like there was pressure or obligation for sexual favors. As much as Dooku was starting to long to take Sören into his bed, Sören's safety and recovery was priority here, and he couldn't feel safe and recover if he felt like Dooku was only helping him because he expected sex. Even if Sören had been less attractive, or female for that matter, Dooku would still want to help, because it was the right thing to do. Bullies like Seth needed to be knocked down.

"All right. I should probably get sort of dressed up, then."

That meant a shower, and when Sören was fresh from the shower and in his underwear, Dooku helped change his bandages again. It was torture, touching Sören's bare flesh, looking at his beautiful body - the soulful chocolate brown eyes, so sweet in their sorrow, looking at him like Sören was a lost puppydog and Dooku was his new owner. Dooku tried to keep it clinical, keep his touch chaste, nothing inappropriate. But even the most innocent touch was driving him mad with lust, and after Dooku helped Sören put on black trousers and buttoned up a black shirt, Dooku let himself in the bathroom and spent a bit longer there than necessary, giving himself some relief.

You are almost sixty-eight, not sixteen. And he is young enough to be your son. Stop this madness.

Sören put on a black leather duster, which made him look a little tough, dangerous and sexy. Dooku donned his wool greatcoat and put on a fedora. They got in Dooku's Jaguar and listened to classic rock on the hour and a half drive north on I-5 from Corvallis to Portland. By the time they got to Portland the sun was setting.

Dooku took them to the waterfront, and for a few minutes they sat on a bench and watched the sun fade into the Columbia River, a last blaze of gold amid melancholy blues, and a few streaks of rebellious orange and pink. It would have been terribly romantic if they were dating - Dooku thought about what it would be like to kiss those full, soft lips - but they weren't dating, of course. Though strangers might have mistook them for a couple with Sören leaning on his shoulder, and Dooku took his hand, a comforting gesture. A friend comforting a friend.

They went to Salty's on the Columbia, which served surf-and-turf and had a nice view of the river. Sören's eyes gawked at the upmarket prices on the menu, but it had been why Dooku insisted on treating. They started with an appetizer trio of crab cake, coconut-crusted prawns, and fried calamari. After being reassured he could order whatever he wanted, Sören decided on the smoked steelhead which was local from the Columbia River, served with fingerling potatoes, snap peas, turnips, and pickled peaches. Dooku had the usual - not that he came here often, as dining alone in public was awkward - which for him was the seafood cioppino, served with grilled sourdough. He had a glass of pinot gris from Oregon, while Sören had a cranberry ginger limeade "mocktail".

"I feel like such bad company," Sören said over their meal. "I should be asking you things about yourself, like how you ended up here in the States, how you got into teaching..."

"It's all right, Sören. I'm too socially awkward to be offended." Dooku gave a small, rueful smile. "It's been a long time since I've gone out of my way to make friends, I think I've forgotten how."

"Do... do you have any friends? Sorry if that's a stupid question."

"Joaquin Gonzalez, the environmental sciences professor."

"The longhaired hippie guy who drives the van?"

Dooku nodded. "Qui-Gon, is his nickname. He used to be one of my students."

"Really."

"Yes. He majored in ancient history... and then he didn't. He switched his major. I wasn't pleased, initially - he had so much potential - but it was also my job as his mentor to support his choice anyway. And that paid off, because we became friends. I was best man at his wedding. We rather... fell out of touch, the last few years. He had personal tragedy and sank into a depression." Dooku didn't specify that it was Tahl's death, out of respect for Qui-Gon's privacy.

"Oh." Sören frowned. "That's too bad. But you know, sometimes people with depression... you gotta be the one to chase them down." He nibbled on his fish. "That's what my brother had to do with me, when I was living with him in Toronto and I'd go into one of my depressive episodes and withdraw. There's the need for space and then there's just unhealthy isolating."

"You lived in Toronto?"

"Jæja, that's where I got my doctorate. Well... my second one."

Dooku's eyebrows shot up.

"I was in med school," Sören said. "I made it through school, then I was practicing as an intern... and I had a breakdown when I lost a patient around the anniversary of my mamma's death. I fucked off for awhile, and then my brother Dag, who's a scientist, had me go stay with him in Toronto, where he lives... but me staying with him was contingent on going back to school. He pushed me to get my doctorate, and, well, here I am. Teaching preserves what's left of my sanity. It's how I can still do art and make a reasonable living. Well... used to do art." Sören cringed. "Seth kind of destroyed that."

"It's still there, Sören." Dooku looked into his eyes. "Nothing is ever ended. That fire is still in you." Dooku gave himself chills - it felt like the words came through him, as if it was himself but something more, like a higher or deeper version of himself. If he believed in such things. He wasn't really sure what he believed.

"Well..." Sören looked down. "You say that, but... it feels gone."

"It's not gone."

Sören sipped his drink. "So now I will ask about you, since I told you a bit about myself."

"Parents were born in Romania, came to London after World War II. They were counts in the old country. I was... a disappointment. My father was a strict disciplinarian. My mother was dealing with what I now recognize as serious mental illness. They were unhappy with each other but they were especially unhappy with me. Boarding school was an escape, but I was bullied there, too. Teachers were the only people who were nice to me, and that stuck with me, and after I got my doctorate from Oxford that was what I decided to do with my life, how I thought I could make the most difference. Doing so across an ocean, away from my parents."

"What do they think of you now?" Sören pursed his lips.

"They don't, because they're quite dead. I lost them when I was on the young side - not as young as you, but in my thirties. My father had a few choice words to say after my graduation, namely that I wasn't 'a real man'. I was 'soft' for going into academia."

"I really hate that 'real man' shit," Sören said.

"Mmm, I know your generation has progressed on those views, which is nice to see, but in my generation... well... we have a lot to unlearn." Dooku sighed and sipped his wine. "I've been trying, with my decades of activist work, but I'm not perfect."

"I'm sorry that your parents gave you such a hard time. Your parents sound like they were cut from the same cloth as my aunt Katrín and uncle Einar. My uncle Einar had a lot of that 'real man' macho thinking, and well..." Sören gestured to himself with his good hand. "Did not meet his expectations."

"If 'real men' are like my father, I'm proud to not be one," Dooku said.

"Change that to my uncle for me and... hear hear." Sören lifted his glass. "Skál."

They clinked glasses, and drank.

After their meal they got in the car. Dooku had a route planned of the commercial districts, which would be all lit up, as well as residential neighborhoods that had a reputation for putting on spectacular light displays. It was dark now, and for a few minutes they admired the view of the waterfront at night, watching in silence.

"Why history?" Sören asked when they were on the road.

"I was an avid reader as a child. Fictional worlds helped me escape. I got to see glimpses of history through them, and it piqued my curiosity. So I started reading about the history that inspired fantasy and science fiction, and found it just as interesting as the stories, if not moreso. And as I got older, and got into civil rights activism of different kinds, it wasn't just my intellectual curiosity, but a belief that those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. It's important for us as a species to celebrate what has made us great, going from the caves to the stars - the greatness of every culture, color and creed, what should unite us... and it's also important for us to understand how we failed, and try to do better. Things like the current state of US politics become even more disturbing framed through a historical lens, for example... there is nothing new under the sun. New boss... same as the old bosses. Knowledge is power, and history is a potent weapon that we need if we will ever truly make progress as a society."

"Wow. Shit. That's deep." Sören laughed. "I like you."

Dooku smiled, his face flushing. "I like you too, Sören."

After a moment of silence Dooku asked, "How did you get into art?"

"Same as you? It was an escape. I wanted to become a doctor, after I found my mamma's dead body, I wanted to save lives... but I couldn't handle it when a patient died. So I had a bit of an existential crisis..." Sören rolled his eyes. "I've got the right name for it." He laughed sheepishly.

"I got that reference," Dooku said. "You were named for Kierkegaard?"

Sören nodded. "Also for my great-grandfather, who was... kind of looney tunes, in a good way. He was a farmer but he, like, built a hot-air balloon and sailed around Iceland on it. He was always inventing weird shit, like he was trying to make a bicycle that was also a pipe organ." Sören laughed and Dooku smiled indulgently - he loved that laugh. "My mamma loved her grandfather very much. But jæja, there goes my ADHD again. My mamma studied philosophy and Kierkegaard was one of her favorites."

"Your mother sounds very interesting."

"She sang all the time. She embroidered. She liked to read philosophy, mythology, poetry. She encouraged me drawing when I was small. And when I had my breakdown... that was what I went back to, the art that had given me comfort in my childhood. And it resonated with other people. People need beauty in their lives. And I see the beauty in everyone, and everywhere, and when I paint people, and places, I try to bring that out. The deeper truth beneath the surface. The magic. I don't just paint the person, or the place, I paint the soul. The spirit."

"That, too, is deep." Dooku's stomach fluttered, and he felt like he had been hit in the chest, in a good way. His eyes burned.

"I don't think too much about it, honestly. I just feel. I see, and I feel. And I try to give that to the world. I got myself through the darkest times with that - it isn't so bad to be here. Still trying to find the goodness around me." Sören closed his eyes and gave a shuddery sigh. "Now you might understand why I feel like I've lost it."

Dooku did understand that, after the horror of Seth, and that was just what he knew about; Dooku got the sense it was far worse than he knew. But again he said, "You haven't lost it... because that goodness, that beauty, is still inside you."

Sören's jaw trembled, and Dooku quietly handed him tissues from the glove compartment. But what he really wanted to do was pull over and kiss Sören's tears.

Thankfully, for both of them, they were coming up on the first round of Christmas lights. Trees and buildings strung with warm golden-white fairy lights, even sculptures made of lights - angels, snowmen, reindeer, penguins, polar bears. Sören's breath caught as Dooku slowed down and Sören watched from the car window, taking it all in.

Year after year, seeing holiday displays had made Dooku sad, had been a painful reminder of his own loneliness at Christmastime. But now, seeing Sören's wonder at the lights, Dooku was glad for it. He, too, could appreciate their beauty now.

And nothing seemed more beautiful or bright than the man sitting next to him.

chapter 15 | return to Under The Rose | return to index