When Avelos didn’t come — unlike yesterday and today — Uriel’s work itself wasn’t particularly difficult. Maintaining and cleaning within the imperial palace was nothing new after all this time. And the Emperor’s personal library was mostly handled by its dedicated librarian and attendants anyway.
To say it once more: as long as Avelos didn’t show up.
“Uriel.”
“…You’re here.”
Uriel’s flat response drew a laugh out of Avelos. He seemed to take Uriel’s visible discomfort as nothing more than an endearing little sulk. Avelos set down what he’d brought on the reception room table without much thought.
“Aren’t you being a bit too obvious about disliking me?”
“If that’s how it came across, I apologize. It isn’t like that.”
Uriel said this in a tone that made it entirely clear it was exactly like that. Not in the least put out by Uriel’s continued stiffness, Avelos approached with an unbothered ease.
“You’re wearing a black shirt today. It suits you.”
Avelos looked down at Uriel with a meaningful smile. He reached out and gently brushed aside the strands of hair that had fallen loose from Uriel’s work, then let his hand drift further. His fingers landed, naturally, on the hem of the shirt he had given as a gift. The time spent on the hair had clearly been brief — a pretext — since that had never been his real intention.
The fingers that had been subtly rubbing at the hem of the shirt grazed against Uriel’s stomach. Uriel flinched at the unfamiliar warmth against his skin. The smile on Avelos’s face deepened. The fingers toying with the hem slipped inside the shirt without warning, and his index finger began tracing lazy circles around Uriel’s navel as if tickling him.
“W-wait a moment—”
The feel of Avelos’s index finger circling his navel felt less like a finger and more like something else entirely. The roving touch that seemed to be searching for an opening — Uriel grabbed Avelos’s wrist with both hands.
Avelos tilted his head at the hand blocking his. Unlike Uriel, who was clearly flustered, the corners of Avelos’s lips held a smile — the sly, knowing kind, the sort that said he understood everything perfectly and was enjoying it.
“How long do I have to wait?”
He had said wait a moment, but the real meaning was closer to stop rather than any actual request to wait. The question caught Uriel off guard, and he hesitated, unable to answer immediately. Avelos looked down at him with that unhurried ease, so unlike Uriel.
That expression — as if he’s prepared to wait for my permission. It was baffling. He felt like a different person from just two days ago. Until recently, Avelos had only occasionally come to see Uriel — perhaps once a month. His behavior had been the same: prodding and teasing, like goading someone for sport, and then disappearing.
Right now he was similar, and yet different.
To put it more precisely — where the previous Avelos had seemed to have no particular aim, the Avelos of now felt like someone working toward a specific purpose.
“No — no. I’d prefer you didn’t.”
He stated his refusal and pushed Avelos away by the wrist he was already holding. It wasn’t a forceful push. The usual Avelos would certainly have let himself be nudged back by Uriel’s hand — but his broad, solid frame didn’t yield at all this time.
The palm Uriel had pressed against him to push him away ended up stuck awkwardly against his chest. Compared to Uriel’s thicker shirt, Avelos’s was extremely thin. Because of that, the muscle beneath the palm of Uriel’s hand came through clearly — settled and defined.
He didn’t know exactly what level Avelos had reached in the present timeline as opposed to the original, but it was widely known that he had become the empire’s second Sword Master some years ago. Being a Sword Master — a knight who works with mana — I’d half-assumed the physical training might take a back seat. Apparently not. The sharply defined lines of his muscles spoke to how grueling his training regime must be.
He’s an emperor — you’d think he wouldn’t have enough hours in the day just for his duties. The idea that he had time for swordsmanship training on top of his work, and still managed to come here and do this — it was strange to think about. Uriel was so caught up in these wandering thoughts that he was just standing there with his hand still pressed to Avelos’s chest, staring blankly, when Avelos let out a quiet, amused breath.
“You say not to, and then you show this much interest in my body — how am I supposed to take that?”
“…I was trying to push you away.”
Uriel belatedly lifted his hand. The moment his palm left Avelos’s chest, Avelos eased himself a step closer. As if he’d forgotten just how large his own frame was, he moved in with that unselfconscious ease — and Uriel stepped back several more paces.
For every step Uriel retreated, Avelos advanced the same. This went on two, three times.
Thud —
Had the wall been this close? Of all the moments for a wall to be right there — Uriel’s eyes wavered at the sensation of solid stone meeting his back.
Avelos let out an openly delighted laugh at Uriel’s startled reaction.
To think I’d ever see this from Uriel — someone who once felt as absolute and terrifying as a god. He was glad he hadn’t killed him outright that day after all.
The low, warm register of Avelos’s laugh rippled through the air around them. The easy laughter of a man fully at his leisure, fully confident — and somehow it didn’t grate. It fit.
“Sometimes Uriel seems like an entirely different person.”
“…Pardon?”
The eyes that had already gone wide at the wall grew a fraction wider. Avelos had probably said it without any real meaning behind it — but hearing it, Uriel was a different matter. It could have been nothing more than an offhand remark. It could also have been the kind of thing someone said when they already knew and were testing the waters.
Avelos dipped his head toward the flustered Uriel. Along with a soft trace of jasmine, his warm breath settled against the nape of Uriel’s neck. Avelos spoke in a low, murmured whisper.
“…Shall we eat?”
“Pardon? Your Majesty, what are you—”
At Uriel’s question, Avelos lifted his head.
Meeting Uriel’s eyes, he added — What are you imagining? I meant drink — and the expression on his face was that of an innocent, guileless young boy.
“Uriel. I’d like to drink with you again sometime.”
“…….”
The second time he said it, he used drink properly instead of the more ambiguous eat — which made it clear the first one had been deliberate.
“That day, I rather enjoyed myself.”
“Your Majesty. Did I do something embarrassing that night?”
When Uriel asked, meeting his gaze directly, Avelos smiled again — eyes curving softly.
“You didn’t seem to remember. It wouldn’t be any fun if I just told you.”
The closeness between their bodies eased away. He turned and walked to the sofa in the reception room, settling naturally into the seat of honor. He gave a languid wave of his hand toward Uriel, who was still standing there staring blankly at him.
“I happened to come across this today as well.”
“…….”
“I don’t care much for sweet things, so this is rather inconvenient for me.”
It was that same basket of bread from before. When Avelos slowly reached out and lifted the cover of the basket, the warm, rich smell of freshly baked bread spread to every corner of the reception room. He gestured toward the basket — which no one in their right mind would believe had been happened upon — and smiled at Uriel with perfect composure.
It seemed he wasn’t giving any thought to the possibility that Uriel might refuse.
Uriel looked quietly at the bread basket. He wasn’t even particularly hungry, and Avelos’s unfathomable behavior sat uneasily with him. He wanted to decline — but he worried that declining might awkwardly provoke Avelos’s curiosity, his competitive streak, or something else he couldn’t quite name.
The golden eyes that had been stirring with quiet unease at Avelos’s inexplicable behavior gradually settled. After a brief, drawn-out pause, Uriel finally opened his mouth.
“…Thank you. Your Majesty.”
“Is there something else you like?”
“Pardon?”
“You don’t seem to particularly enjoy it.”
It was a remark offered without any preamble — but it wasn’t difficult to understand. Uriel set down the bread he’d been holding with care. He did like meat, but he had no desire to say that out loud.
At some point, Avelos had taken to coming every time with bread in hand. He didn’t insist Uriel finish everything he brought, but he always made sure Uriel ate at least a few pieces right in front of him. And while Uriel did, Avelos watched him — thorough and searching, as if taking stock of every detail.
