Chapter Text
The stars dance slowly across the sky, creating wayward wisps of light that weave in and out of Abrams vision, a movement orchestrated and executed by nothing and everything all at once. A movement he knows in the depths of his soul, where the little truths that make up his being hide. The stars are meant to whirl across the universe, as Abram is meant to run in their wake, at once chasing what he cannot catch, while running from monsters constantly in pursuit.
These are the truths fate has given Abram; death and running, and the stars he helped place in the sky, but can never actually reach.
And then there is Andrew, a truth Abram has chosen to keep for himself.
The moon, and the stars, and the vast nothingness that exists between them will always be theirs. This Abram knows, like he knows the night.
Andrew is the moon, and protection, and healing, and trust, and Abram is not letting go of him again.
He can’t.
“What are you thinking about?” Abram turns his head to find the moon watching him, cold silver eyes only separated from his own by a truly insignificant amount of space.
“You,” Abram says it quietly, voice still rough from the damage it took. Andrew’s eyes narrow each time he hears it, like he’s angry at himself for the permanence of the injury. He doesn’t listen to Abram when he reminds the god it wasn’t his fault.
“Stop that,” Andrew deadpans, a pale hand coming up to cover Abram’s eyes, encasing his vision in darkness.
Abram huffs moving to push Andrew’s hand away. “No.”
Andrew moves and Abram is faced with a full view of the scowl the man is wearing. He lets out a small laugh, and Andrew shifts where he lays beside Abram, glare intensifying.
Abram presses closer. “I think you like it.”
“You’re delusional.”
“I think you like that too.”
Andrew rolls on his side to better face him. “You know nothing, Abram.”
There is something like a smile on Abram’s lips when he replies, “I know you.”
Andrew lets out a sigh, breath ghosting thin against Abrams skin, and it is all he can do to stop himself from bridging the remaining distance between them.
The temple around them is quiet with night taking reign, and even the spirits that normally haunt this place have been strangely absent since Abram woke up. Jean says it’s only to be expected, but Abram doesn’t know what he means, spirits are not under any of their jurisdiction. They have never left the temple alone before and Abram doubts that had changed in the time he’d been gone. He supposes it could be due to the number of gods gathered here at the moment, that perhaps the spirits retreated to safer waters while they were here. But it could be something else, and Abram doesn’t like the fact that he can’t know for sure.
“What’s wrong?” Andrew asks into the quiet.
“The spirits,” Abram responds, “What happened to them?”
Andrew looks around them, eyes narrowed. They are truly alone, nothing else stirs. Even the wind seems to be holding its breath. “They’re gone.”
“Entirely?” Abram raises an eyebrow.
Slowly Andrew nods, eyes still casting their faint light as they examine the temple that surrounds them. “Yes, they moved on.”
“Why?”
“Because things have changed, this place isn’t dead anymore.”
“It never was.”
Andrew rolls his eyes as he turns to look at Abram. “You’re wrong.”
“No, just because you were doesn’t mean this temple was, the memory still lived.”
Something contemplative passes over Andrew’s face before he shakes his head. “You’re impossible, Abram.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Yes, I do.”
Andrew watches him for a long moment, the stars overhead twirling in unison with the spin of the earth. It still amazes Abram how it all ends up so intertwined and connected. Even the littlest things were bound to one another, influencing the other in an intricate pattern weaved by fate.
Abram had once not believed in such a thing, back in a time before he was ever a god, when Andrew had first found him, back when he was only a scared boy running from monsters that hunted him from the shadows. Looking back, it seems like things haven’t changed much. Time seems to repeat itself at first glance, but things aren’t the same. Abram’s second life is much unlike his first in many different ways, but there are similarities. Abram thinks that might be due to his own horrible luck, however.
“Stop thinking,” Andrew says, reaching over and placing a cool hand to trace the thump thump thump of Abram’s heart. It speeds up at the gods touch, so telling, and so very very mortal.
Abram has found himself fixing on it recently, how he is stuck like this, what happened to him in the centuries after he got captured looking for Jean. He still doesn’t really remember that part. Isn’t sure whether he should be grateful for that or not.
“I don’t want to die a mortal,” Abram admits quietly. The night takes his words and molds them into the shadows the surround the temple.
“You’re not going to die, ” Andrew’s voice is low, and the fingers on Abram’s neck still.
“Mortals age and die, Andrew.” Abram finds he can’t look at him, gaze instead, captured by the stars he feels he will never roam again.
“You can’t.” Andrew flicks him on the jaw, then slowly turns his head so Abram is facing twin moons again. “I won’t let you.”
“Andrew, I don’t know if that’s your choice to make.” Andrew narrows his eyes at Abram’s words, but can’t disagree.
“We’ll change that.”
Abram smiles slightly. “Want to get revenge, Andrew?”
“That too.” He presses close, resting his forehead against Abram’s own. “Don’t leave.”
“I won’t.” And Abram doesn’t feel like he needs to make it a promise, for he already knows it’s true. He won’t leave, and once he figures out a way to become immortal again, he’ll run amongst the stars with Andrew at his back and freedom at his front.
This is what Abram wants…. And perhaps to kiss Andrew again.
It’s the second want he voices, and with a roll of his eyes Andrew obliges, leaning down and pressing into Abram as the moon and stars watch over them. Abram won’t let this be all they have; it will not be the end. Not as long as the stars and moon exist side by side.