Arun Armaan

  Five Years Ago

  I don’t really remember the journey here. Not fully, at least.

  There was too much blood in my mouth, too much pain pressing against my ribs and far too many disgusting smells lingering on my skin. I do remember being cold and shivering like a small child despite a warm red cloak being placed gently over my shoulders. I also remember the warmth of velvet pressed against my face when I was lifted into a carriage.

  A quiet voice says my name. Wait…

  No. Not my name.

  It’s a name that’s just been given to me.

  Armaan.

  The name feels more like a bandage trying to cover an open wound. I stumble out of the carriage as we arrive at… um…

  I don’t really know where I am right now.

  Where are we?

  I look up and see a palazzo standing like an absolute dream against the sky. The moonlight highlights a trail of vines wrapped around a few of the windows. The marble glows almost… gold under the firelight. The scent is very different here. Instead of the putrid smell of sweat, incense and vomit, I smell citrus and something rather spicy. Unlike myself, this palazzo seems like it’s never been touched by cruelty. The man from the carriage turns and offers his hand to me. I don’t know anything about him except that he took one look at me in one of the brothel’s smoke filled rooms and couldn’t even take his eyes off me.

  What did he see when he looked at me besides some broken tiefling, desperate to just… die right then and there?

  When he touched my chin and shoulder, it felt like someone was gently handling a page from some kind of sacred text. Now, he stands in front of me with his long red cloak that drifts in the breeze and his blond hair tied back.

  “I will give you a place to sleep without fear,” he says.

  I take his hand. The palazzo is warm inside and I can smell that typical old parchment scent that I’ve missed so much. I never thought I would smell it ever again. The doors shut behind us and it takes me a while to adjust to my new setting. Soft drapes cover every window and candlelight catches the silhouette of the statues standing in the main hallway. The walls are practically covered with paintings. Some of the paintings show beautiful deities draped in veils with their hands outstretched. It feels like they’re reaching out for me. I can’t help but want to reach out to them too. Others show different scenes of a battle as men covered in heavy armor run through a battlefield.

  The more I look at the paintings, the more I realize that I’m being told a story of devotion and despair.

  “You are safe here,” the man says. It feels… truthful.

  I notice he’s walking beside me now to give me time to admire the paintings. It makes me realize that I’m not being led around like a pet here.

  “Do you enjoy art, Armaan?” he asks as we pass by an enormous tapestry. I gasp softly as I see all the embellishments of stars and serpents entwined.

  I don’t answer, but only because it feels like my voice has curled up somewhere, too shy and small to come out. He doesn’t mind. He only smiles down at me like maybe he understands. He goes on to show me a library with more books than I’ve ever seen in my entire life and a small sunroom where beautiful little orchids have bloomed.

  “I assume you will likely enjoy these two areas of the palazzo the most,” he finally says. I feel his fingers gently caress mine as we keep walking.

  We make our way to a heavy wooden door with little carvings of flowers and a few different kinds of vines. When he pushes it open, the scent of beeswax candles greets me. Inside, I see soft wine red sheets spilling over a bed framed by mahogany posts. There’s a wardrobe near the wall and I can see from here that its filled with silk clothing that doesn’t stink of sweaty strangers.

  Is this where he sleeps?

  This room is absolutely massive.

  Further in the room, I can see a tub carved from stone. It’s surrounded by candles and it almost feels like it’s a separate secret word within the room itself.

  “This is my bed chamber,” he says softly. “Well… now it is ours. I had it prepared for you. I was not sure what you needed, but I had hoped this would be more than sufficient for you.”

  I look up at him then.

  He’s not beautiful in that very specific way boys like me are trained to see. His beauty is more like an oil painting, I guess. Maybe even like poetry that seems too difficult to really understand. His blue eyes hold kindness but also… a lot of sadness too. It feels like they hold secrets and I assume that I’ll likely never know this man fully like he’ll know me. His smile seems more watchful than earlier, but I notice it holds sadness too.

  “My staff will see that you are bathed properly before supper. Please make yourself comfortable until then.”

  The Master’s hand gestures toward the far end of the room where a velvet armchair sits near the hearth before turning to leave the room. I slowly drift through the room and lower myself into the chair. My muscles ease a bit. This feels like the first real bit of comfort that I’ve had in… years now. Eventually, an elven woman stands at the archway of the door. She’s dressed in soft blue linen and her hair is wrapped in silk. There’s kindness in her eyes.

  I feel… safe right now.

  She bows her head out of respect rather than that performative way I saw in different brothels. A man stands behind her, with his long blond hair braided with silver threads. He approaches with his hands clasped.

  “The Master would like for your first night to begin in comfort. We will draw the bath for you.”

  “I… I can bathe on my own…”

  “Of course,” the woman says understandingly. “But you don’t have to worry yourself today, yes?”

  I nod, but it’s more because I’m just too uncertain to refuse.

  When they guide me further into the room and to the bathing area, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen in my life. Beautiful candlelight fills the entire space and I watch as my shadow dances along the polished mosaic floors. The basin of the stone bathtub curves up almost like an open shell that I found at a beach one time as a child. The scent of rosewater and sandalwood fills my nose and as the servants let the water run, I see them pour oils that make the surface shimmer like glass that’s been hit by sunshine. A tall shelf stands near the tub, carrying a few folded towels and glass bottles full of bath oils. The entire area feels like pure serenity. I don’t think the purpose of this bath is just to clean my body. I think he also wants me to cleanse my mind of the cruelty done to me.

  “We’ll see to your comfort now,” the man says, stepping forward to place a folded robe on a small stand near the bath.

  Truthfully, I really want to refuse out of shame and habit, but I’m too tired and a part of me kind of wants to see if this is truly happening.

  I say yes.

  The staff are incredibly gentle with me. Absolutely nothing about how they help me is like the handlers I’ve known before. They help me out of my filthy tunic and into the hot water. There’s no leering or commenting on my small, bruised body when the woman pours warm water over my shoulders while the man brushes out my hair softly with his fingers. They speak to each other softly and their voices almost begin to feel like a lullaby.

  “You have beautiful hair,” the man says as he combs carefully through the ends. “The Master will likely want it left unbound so it will dry nicely.”

  I don’t even know what to say to that. It has been years since someone called any part of me beautiful without wanting something in return. The soap feels like silk on my skin and I can’t help but to just close my eyes, letting myself feel like if I’m almost floating. The herbs and oils of the bath seem to be helping with aches I didn’t know I still carried. The staff finish bathing me and help me rise, wrapping me in a warm towel before leading me to a marble bench where a finely woven robe embroidered with small golden leaves waits for me.

  “These are mine?” I ask quietly.

  “Yes,” the man replies. “We thought the blue silk would suit your eyes. The Master would agree.”

  I hesitate, but eventually let them dress me. A golden tie is carefully wrapped around my waist to keep the robe in place. When they finish, they take a few steps back and bow again.

  “If you’d like to explore the house, you may. You can also rest if you’d like. The choice is yours.”

  I stand there confused. I’m clothed in silk that I didn’t earn and I’m clean in a way that I haven’t been in years.

  I don’t know what to do.

  The woman senses my confusion and smiles gently.

  “You really are safe here, Armaan.”

  I don't believe her. Not yet, at least.

  --

  The silence in his place is completely different than what I’ve been forced to get used to. I don’t mean that in a bad way. It’s not like the pause between the cries in the brothel halls and certainly not the silence of those locked rooms. The silence here is comforting. A few of the windows have been left open and I watch as the night air drifts gently through the curtains. The silk robe I wear feels like water and it moves like it too. I catch my reflection in a mirror and realize that I hardly know myself anymore. My skin is clean, my face is unbruised. Is this what I actually look like? It’s hard to remember. As I make my way downstairs, I see a golden glow coming from a door at the end of the hall. Something in me tells me he’s in there.

  This… Master.

  The door is half-open when I walk over to it and beyond it, I can see a large room with incredibly tall shelves stretching up toward the ceiling. Every wall is lined with books and a beautiful glass chandelier casts light over everything. I see the Master seated at a long table underneath that very chandelier with a glass of something dark near his hand. A book is open in the other hand and I see that he’s changed into a red robe trimmed with gold. The lighting from the chandelier makes his hair look like pure sunlight. It’s unbound now and falls to his shoulders. He looks up the moment I step inside the room.

  “You could not sleep?” he asks.

  His voice is softer now that we are truly alone. No staff… just us and the audience of hundreds of books around us. I shake my head no and watch him lift the glass near his fingers, but he doesn’t drink.

  “Some nights ask for stillness, I suppose. Would you care to join me, Armaan?”

  I’m not sure what his “rules” are yet so I stay silent. I’m assuming there are rules here and I just haven’t really learned them yet. I say yes anyway and he gestures to a small couch beside his chair. The silk of my robe caresses my skin as I walk to it. When I sit, I realize that I don’t really know what to do with my hands. The Master watches with patience.

  “You look lovely,” he says.

  “Because I’m clean?”

  What a blunt thing for me to say right now. He smiles politely anyway.

  “Because you are yourself again. You are a person in your own body once more.”

  “I… sorry,” I whisper.

  “Do not be.”

  He turns his attention back to his book, not looking away from it as he continues speaking to me.

  “This library is yours now too. You are welcome to come here at any time. Every book is available to you. If you would like for someone to read to you, that can be arranged.”

  “I can read.”

  Another blunt and defensive comment. He glances at me and I see his smile widen to my surprise.

  “Then perhaps one evening you will read to me.”

  His words feel so… harmless.

  “What are you reading now…?” I ask quietly, desperate to get out of the habit of answering this man from a defensive position.

  He tilts the book slightly, but I can’t make out the title. I’m not familiar with the language it’s written in, but the pages are covered in strange diagrams. Possibly celestial symbols?

  “Philosophy. It is a text from Chondath written over 400 years ago. It is horribly dry. I would hate for you to suffer through it.”

  “That doesn't feel like suffering to me,” I say far too quickly.

  Rather than seeing amusement in his face at my comment, I see grief. Is it for himself… or for me?

  The candlelight shifts as the night breeze blows through an open window. He leans back in his chair and looks over me for a few moments.

  “I mean to wait until tomorrow night to speak with you further,” he says. “I wished for you to have the night to yourself, but I would be lying if I said I am not pleased that you found your way to me.”

  “You wanted me to come?”

  “Well… I hoped you would,” he says softly.

  I inhale carefully, desperate to not break this moment. The moon rises even higher outside and an owl lets out a small hoot somewhere in the distance. I don’t really know this Master yet, but even then, I feel seen here rather than completely ruined. I feel like myself.

  --

  We speak softly to each other for a while before he returns to reading again. I just… watch him now. I watch the way his blue eyes move over the page as he continues and how the candlelight highlights his sharp jaw. He almost looks like he’s been sculpted from marble. I didn’t mean to stay so long. Honestly, I thought he would send me away eventually, but he hasn’t. After an hour or more of silence, he finally closes the book and he looks over at me.

  “It is quite late,” he says. “You must be tired.”

  Gods, I am, but I still haven’t moved.

  The Master watches me for a bit longer and then he stands, smoothing the velvet of his robe as he steps closer to me.

  “Allow me to do this for you,” he whispers.

  Before I can even respond, he slides one arm beneath my knees and the other behind my back. I’m lifted up like I weigh absolutely nothing at all. I gasp sharply, but his body is cool against mine. He carries me through the hallway and up the stairs to his… our… bedroom. The soft candlelight surrounding us twinkles against the walls as we walk. I can hear the soft brush of his footsteps on the marbled floor too. I curl up closer into his chest and rest my head beneath his jaw, letting the scent of close and old wood calm my senses.

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  I feel… safe.

  The Master pushes the door open with his shoulder and brings me into our bedroom. The bed looks as soft as a cloud and he lowers me so very slowly. My body sinks into the bedding and he follows me down, drawing the covers up around me like he wants this to be my sanctuary.

  --

  When I wake up, the sheets beside me are cold and the sun coming through the curtains blares into my eyes. I sit up slowly, covering my eyes from the sunlight peeking in from the curtains. The bedroom still feels like a safe zone for me, but it does feel changed without him. As I get out of the bed, my feet find the cold marble floor and I realize I miss him.

  I think I even smiled in my sleep?

  It’s foolish to miss him as much as I do, but I really do feel the consequence of his absence right now. I guess a man like him probably needs to be available to not only his work but to the household before the sun comes up. A tray full of bread, figs and hot tea has been placed on a table near the hearth. A small silver bell is resting beside it. Instead of eating anything, I walk through the house, keeping my eyes out for the Master. The hallways feel so different in the morning. It’s much brighter and alive with staff movements. I pass by a staff member dusting while another arranges a few roses in a vase. No one speaks unless I do.

  “Have you seen the Master?” I ask an older servant who’s arranging fresh towels outside one of the bathing rooms.

  She offers a polite smile and bows her head.

  “I apologize, he’s attending to business for the day.”

  “Do you know where he went?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” she replies sweetly. “But he always returns after sundown.”

  “Oh,” I say quietly, trying to hide my disappointment.

  I nod my thanks and walk on. Everywhere I go, he isn’t. He’s not in the music room or even in the rose garden. The palazzo is beautiful and luxurious, but without him, it really does feel slightly off. Without him, I feel like I was given one evening of peace and now I’m wondering if it wasn’t real. I make my way to one of the gardens again and sit on the bench, wrapping my arms around my knees as I admire a few of the laurel trees. My robe slips off one shoulder, but I don’t care to pull it back up. I don’t want him to regret letting me stay here. I know the staff said he is just attending to business, but I can’t help but wonder if he left the bed early because maybe my presence is a mistake.

  The day goes by without a single trace of him and I keep myself entertained with a few of the books in the library. One of them immediately catches my attention. The leather of the book is cracked but I still feel drawn to it regardless of its condition. The section I choose to read is about ancient ones who withdraw from the world and pale figures who sleep beneath tombs for hundreds of years so their names are eventually forgotten. The author writes like she’s uncertain that these immortal beings exist, but the way she describes those that choose to hide among mortals stays with me even after I’ve closed the book and placed it back in its spot on the shelf. Eventually, I make my way back to the bedroom. I tell myself I’ll just lie down for a moment so I curl up where the sheets are still pulled from last night and I wait…

  And when I wake, I know I’m not alone.

  The room is quite dim since a few candles have gone out by now, but thankfully the moonlight is spilling through the window. I blink sleepily toward the sound of the door opening and I gasp quietly when I see the Master. He’s already halfway inside and I see a tiny leaf clinging to his blond hair like he’s been walking outside for a while. When he looks at me, he doesn’t seem displeased.

  “I did not mean to wake you from sleep,” he speaks quietly.

  I sit up quickly and rub the drowsiness from my eyes.

  “I’m so sorry… I… I shouldn’t have…”

  “Armaan, I am not upset.”

  He steps closer to me. I want to explain that I waited and how my day felt oddly hollow without him, but…

  “I… missed you,” I whisper instead.

  He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me. He’s staring at me like an artist would look at a painting that’s maybe half-finished but still just as beautiful.

  “Your presence was missed as well,” he speaks.

  He steps to the edge of the bed and brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. The touch is so gentle that it startles me a little bit. The Master turns away and strips off his robe… and then his shirt. I can’t help but admire the way the candlelight complements his pale skin. I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until he turns around to look at me again. He catches me looking, but I don’t look away.

  I should. I really should, but something keeps me locked in on him.

  “May I…?”

  My voice sounds so incredibly shaky right now. He takes another step forward and I raise a hand toward him before pressing it gently to his chest.

  He feels… cold.

  Well, cooler than he should be at least. Almost like a stone that’s been left in the shade for a very long time. I can’t pull away. His skin... it's so smooth beneath my palm and as I move my hand over to where his heart is, I realize I can’t really feel his heartbeat.

  It’s there, right?

  Maybe it’s just too faint for me to feel with my hand like this. The Master keeps watching me as my fingers trace his ribs.

  “You are welcome to touch me whenever you would like, do you understand?”

  I nod slowly. I should be frightened, but I’m not. I don’t feel fear. I feel safe with this stranger who I barely even know.

  Maybe that’s the strangest thing of all.

  I close my eyes, keeping my fingers stay right where they are. He lifts his hand and covers mine. The touch is so light like he knows I’m somewhat fragile still. We don’t speak again. When we lie down in bed together, I can feel the chill of the sheets between us, but I fall asleep anyway.

  His presence is somehow enough.

  --

  I wake up again after a few hours to see that the moon’s still up and that he is still beside me.

  My Master.

  I can feel the coolness of his skin and I can’t keep myself still. My thoughts won’t stop racing and my fingers twitch softly beneath the sheets. I feel alive now and strangely aware of every inch of myself and him. I shift under the covers again and that’s when I feel his eyes move to me. He seems curious right now. The moonlight outlines the edge of his cheek and a few rogue streaks of his blond hair.

  “Armaan,” he whispers. “Would you like for me to hold you?”

  The question catches me off guard. I don’t answer because I still simply don’t know how to answer his questions yet. Wanting is still so new to me. Are these touches really without consequence, price or obligation?

  It feels like an absolute myth. But I know that right now, I do want. It’s not out of duty or even fear. It’s just because it’s him.

  “I don’t really know what I want,” I whisper. I think I’m almost ashamed of the truth. “But I know that I want it to be you.”

  He smiles gently and nods. Then slowly… he moves closer to me. The back of his fingers brush the side of my face and then the base of one of my horns. I don’t flinch. Instead, I lean into it like it’s almost instinct. His hand flows over my cheekbone and down the line of my jaw before eventually moving down my throat to trace the spot where my pulse flutters. The gentleness of his movements makes me feel like I might die from attention alone.

  My robe slips down my shoulder a bit and bares my chest. His hand glides over to the exposed skin before pausing just over my heart.

  “I can feel all of you,” Master says. “You are so alive.”

  I.. don’t know if he is talking about my heartbeat or something else, but I can’t speak either way.

  I probably look helpless to him right now. After a few moments, I lift my hand and find his wrist, but it’s not to stop him.

  I want to hold him too.

  I move his hand to my lips and kiss him fingers slowly. He seems surprised by my actions as his head tilts and the moonlight captures his piercing blue eyes. When he gathers me into his arms, I fold into him immediately. I never expected to feel peace in another man’s bed. His arms are strong, but never tight, and he told me like I’m fragile, but not in a broken or weak way. I feel… precious. I can’t remember the last time someone ever touched me like this or if anyone actually has in the first place. One of his hands rests on my lower back while the other rests against my chest like he’s trying to feel every breath I take. I let myself sink into it. His lips gently sweep the top of my shoulder.

  “Armaan,” he breathes. He makes my name sound almost sacred.

  I tilt my head back to look at him and he kisses me, igniting me with want. My robe slips even further as he eases me back on the bed, careful to make sure my head is resting against the pillow. His hand glides down my ribcage and I feel his finger graze an old scar there. He doesn’t ask what caused it. He just kisses beside it. There’s nothing but the sound of my breathing before we eventually fade into the quiet of the night together.

  --

  The next night, he’s painting in our bedroom. One of the windows in the room is open to let in the night breeze, just how we like it. I can hear the gentle sway of cypress trees swaying in the wind.

  The Master sits in front of his canvas with his sleeves rolled up and his blond hair tied up loosely. He has a palette in one hand a brush moving in beautifully delicate strokes. I can’t really see the painting clearly from where I’m sitting on the bed, but I bet it’s gorgeous. It seems like everything he touches is. He gifted me a thick leather sketchbook earlier this week and its pages are just breathtakingly creamy and smooth. He placed it in my hands with that warm smile of his, telling me he wanted to see the world through me.

  I’ve barely put it down since then.

  I choose to sketch the lines of his back as he paints. He has a particular tension in his shoulders, but the curve of his spine is still so elegant, just like the rest of him. I draw his hand too, focusing on the way the veins move through his long fingers. He glances over his shoulder at me and I spot a little smudge of blue paint on his thumb.

  “Are you watching me… or drawing me, Armaan?”

  “Um… both,” I admit, smiling without even meaning to.

  He smiles too and it makes my world feel oh so safe.

  “Good,” he whispers before turning back to his canvas.

  The quiet between us is comfortable, but something stirs inside. A specific question has been growing with every kiss and every night spent in our bed. I just can’t help myself.

  “Master,” I say quietly.

  “Yes, cherub?”

  “What… are you?”

  The brush immediately stops moving and I’m certain that I definitely shouldn’t have asked that. I see that tension in his shoulders ripple through his back. This pause is too… deliberate to be casual. Unfortunately, I keep talking even though I know I should shut up immediately.

  “You’re just…” I falter. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met. Your skin is cold and it seems like you don’t even breathe or have a heartbeat.”

  Master sets the brush aside and turns to me slowly before walking over. As he gets closer to me, I get even more anxious.

  “Does it frighten you?” he asks.

  “No. I just… I want to understand. I want to understand you.”

  He doesn’t look away from me and I swear I can see at least a thousand years’ worth of memory in those eyes of his. He doesn’t answer, he just lifts my chin with two cold fingers and leans down. He kisses me and it feels almost desperate. I immediately drop the sketchbook on the bed and my hands go to grasp at his robe to pull him closer as he kisses me again and again. His mouth moves to my cheek, my jaw and my neck.

  “Master…”

  “Shh,” he whispers against my throat. “Let me answer you like this, Armaan.”

  He continues kissing my collarbone as his hands slide under the thin silk I’m wearing. I can’t help but arch into him instinctively. He kisses me until I forget what I asked.

  What did I even ask?

  Why did I even need to know in the first place?

  Every kiss feels like it’s pulling me apart at the seams and I want to give him something back, but not because I owe him or that I’m afraid. I genuinely want to. I am relearning what it means to want. He’s lit a fire inside my soul and I just need somewhere to put it. My fingers slide into his hair, curling into gentle golden waves. He lifts his head and kisses my lips again.

  Whatever he is… he’s mine.

  And I am his.

  --

  The sheets are twisted around our legs as we lie tangled in each other. My head rests on his chest while my hand is gently at his stomach. His skin is still so cool against mine, but I find that I really don’t mind.

  I love the contrast.

  He runs his fingers gently through my hair and I listen to the silence of his body. I swear there’s not a single heartbeat or even a breath. I just know it.

  What is he?

  I lift my head up to look at him.

  “You’re quiet. Did I do something wrong?”

  “I am thinking,” he says gently.

  “About what, Master?”

  He pauses.

  “Do you think I’ll see you as a monster if I know what you are?” I ask.

  He looks me over for a very long time. Gods, I want to know what’s going on in his mind right now.

  “Lie back for me, Armaan.”

  I obey and he shifts over me as his body presses lightly to mine. He braces himself with one arm while one hand cradles my face.

  Then his mouth is at my neck, just hovering. I can feel the burning heat of my pulse and I wonder if he can to. Does it sound like music to him? He gently kisses the edge of my jaw first and then lower to the skin just above my collarbone. Each of his kisses are incredibly soft and intimate so I move my head back to give him more. He groans against my skin, trailing his mouth further down my neck. I feel his tongue gently touch before withdrawing before I can even whimper.

  “Master…”

  “Let me show you, Armaan.”

  His lips press deeply against my neck and then…

  There’s a sudden and incredibly sharp sting.

  I gasp.

  Does he have… fangs?

  The electric feeling startles something inside me, but I realize it’s not just pain.

  It’s pleasure too.

  “M-Master…”

  He holds me tighter with one hand at my back and the other sliding down to the dip of my waist. I should ask what he’s doing, but I can’t think right now. I can only feel. When I whimper, he answers it by leaving kisses along my throat. I realize I’m a hot mess right now. It’s too much but somehow not enough. Suddenly, the kisses stop and he pulls back to admire me. I feel something wet on my neck and before I can question what just happened, he kisses me and I taste it. My lips part and his tongue meets mine.

  I taste him, but there’s also a… metallic flavor too. It’s like blood, but sweeter somehow?

  Rather than pull away from him, I kiss him back even harder. I’ve never felt more wanted and seen until now. When he pulls his lips away, he presses a gentle kiss to one of my horns and brushes a thumb against my cheekbone then over my lips.

  “You… are absolutely radiant, Armaan,” he breathes out.

  I try to speak, but the words are gone from my mind. All I can do is just helplessly cling to him. I realize that whatever mystery he truly is, I think I want to feel him like this again and again. He catches my hand gently and kisses each of my fingertips.

  “Sleep now,” Master says softly. “You have given more than enough tonight.”

  I look at him and my eyes are heavy with something more than just exhaustion. After a few moments watching me, he finally slides into bed and wraps one arm around my waist. I bury myself against his chest. He’s making it seem like I’ve truly done something for him tonight.

  --

  I wake up slowly and I can’t help but notice how incredibly heavy my limbs are. It’s not with exhausting, but more like… residue, I guess? I think parts of last night are still clinging to me. The bed is empty and his side is cold again, of course. It doesn’t feel like absence anymore though. It feels more like he’s just stepped away. I know he will come back. I bring a hand to my neck and feel the tenderness from his teeth… or fangs… I don’t know anymore, to be honest.

  He kissed me…

  Touched me…

  And bit me.

  I remember the coolness of his mouth and that wave of pain to pleasure. I close my eyes and press my face into his pillow. It smells just like him and the memory of him makes my heart clench. My body doesn’t understand that he’s gone. It just remembers his hands and mouth, and how he looked at me like I was art work. I’m left alone with the ache of something… unfinished?

  All I know is that it’s just begun.

  --

  A few nights later, I roam the hallways of the palazzo, admiring the silence that only truly falls after midnight. I couldn’t stay in bed, especially not with the empty side of the sheets where my Master sleeps. I move through the hall expecting to be stopped, if I’m being honest.

  Thankfully, no one appears.

  The door to the gallery is open and I can see candlelight leaking out of the doorway. I approach quietly and see him sitting on a stool in the center of the room. Master’s robe is open at the chest and his beautifully soft blond hair is gathered a bit loosely at the nape of his neck. There’s a canvas in front of him and I realize he is focused in hard to whatever he is painting. I don’t think he’s noticed me yet. If he does, he hasn’t said anything to my surprise. When I look closer at the painting, I see a boy reclining in bed. He looks caught in that moment between sleep and just waking up. He’s wearing what looks like silk that curves over beautifully delicate red skin. Shadows fall over his collarbones and the dip of his waist. The sunlight dances along his cheekbones and makes him look almost divine.

  I gasp quietly.

  I think… I think this is me.

  Well, not exactly me as a portrait but maybe a vision of me.

  This is how he sees me.

  Devoted.

  Exposed.

  His.

  He finally turns his head to look at me.

  “Now you can see yourself how I see you, yes?” he asks.

  He puts the brush down without looking away from me.

  “I… you weren’t in bed when I woke up,” I say. “I just missed you, that’s all.”

  “The morning is not mine. You of all people should know that by now, Armaan.”

  He rises from the stool and steps towards me.

  “Yeah, but you never explain why.”

  He doesn’t respond to that, just like always. He stands in front of me now and his hand rises, fingers brushing a strand of my curly hair behind a horn.

  “You looked divine in sleep,” he says simply. “I did not wish to wake you.”

  I bite my lip softly and look over at the painting again.

  “Why are you painting me?”

  He smiles at me, but I don’t think it’s a true smile. It feels more like grief and sorrow.

  “Because I want to remember you like this, Armaan. Before you know too much.”

  I don’t think his words are meant to make me worry, but they do regardless of his purpose. He kisses the tip of a horn and lets his thumb rest just under my lip.

  “Then you will understand why I cannot let you go.”

  My heart speeds up and I know he can hear it. I just know he can. He kisses me and in that kiss, I feel it again and I’m certain now…

  There isn’t a single breath leaving his mouth or even a heartbeat calling out to me. Before I can question him further on it, one of the staff steps in and asks to speak with him privately.

  “I will return shortly,” he says right before kissing the tip of my horn again. “Please… stay as long as you wish.”

  The door closes behind him and I’m all alone now. I shouldn’t be nosey, but I don’t think I can help it right now. The gallery is eerily quiet now and the only sound I can hear is the oil lamp and my racing pulse. I look over at the unfinished painting of me, my eyes lingering on how my skin looks like it’s glowing. He’s painted me in such a soft and fragile way. Does he truly see me as something precious and meant to be worshipped?

  But there’s also something a bit unnerving about how he’s captured me. He must have watched intimately enough to paint me like this. I turn from it and begin to wander through the room. Other canvases lean along the back walls. Some are covered with cloth, but others have been turned away to face the wall. I move closer to them, aware I probably shouldn’t touch anything.

  I can’t help it though.

  One of the cloths has partially fallen off anyway so I reach for the cloth and pull it away. When it falls off, I see that the painting isn’t actually finished. It’s just the bare outline of a man with broad shoulders, turned away and caught mid-gesture. The rest is just some shadows and emptiness, but I do see small strands of hair that have been painted black. They trail down past the man’s shoulders and down his back.

  Whoever he is, it feels like he’s standing before something… unseen. The rest of him seems to be lost to the artist’s hesitation.

  Is this one of my Master’s pieces too?

  Then I see a small streak of red too. There’s a smear of it across his left shoulder blade. It looks too real to be paint.

  Something about him feels…

  Mournful.

  I cover the painting again as my own image waits on the easel just behind me. I realize that I’m staring at it with a different perspective now. Master returns a few minutes after and he doesn’t apologize for the delay. His expression looks rather heavy. To my surprise, he doesn’t ask if I touched anything while he was gone. Knowing him, he probably already knows that I did.

  We don’t speak much, but he does gesture for me to sit on a cushion near the hearth. Soon after, he brings over a bottle of wine and pours two glasses. I take mine, nodding a quick thanks as I try not to stare at the red stain on the cuff of his robe.

  It’s just wine. It must be wine.

  Eventually, he moves closer to me and we hear the fire crackle between us. I watch the fire cast beautiful gold light across his face and I realize it’s the first warmth I’ve seen actually cling to his skin, but I know it’s just the fire itself doing it. It’s not really him. Now that I’ve spent more time with him, I see that he never really looks alive like others do.

  He’s always a little too still and too timeless.

  “You are quiet tonight, cherub,” he whispers.

  “Just… thinking, I guess.”

  “Would you like to talk with me about it?”

  I could ask right now who the other man in the painting is and why he never completed it, but when I open my mouth, the question falls flat on my tongue.

  “The painting of me,” I say instead, very carefully. “I don’t think I’ve ever been looked at like that.”

  He smiles softly as he takes my hand in his and places a soft kiss on the back of mine.

  “And how is that?”

  “I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “It’s like you see me as a memory you’ve already lived, I guess?”

  “Does it frighten you, Armaan?”

  “No,” I lie.

  “Good,” he answers. “Because I intend to know every part of you.”

  I nod slowly and stare into the fire as he puts his glass down, makes his way over to me and begins untying the front of my robe.

  Whatever he is…

  I don’t think I want to know anymore.