A third cigarette from a new pack was down to the filter by the time the gates were ready to start boarding. Isotta was waiting inside of the terminal while Walter paced outside, breathing the burning smoke into his mouth and wishing the soothing effect the smoke used to have would come back. What he wouldn't give for something harder.
The cigarette was smashed out with an annoyed look from Isotta through the window and Walter sighed, hands running through his hair. He stepped through the automatic doors and looked over the girl who he was, decidedly, making the worst mistake in his life with.
"I need to stay," he said as apologetically as he could manage. "I got into a fight with my brother and I need to go back and fix it."
"You're not coming back?" Her arms that had been folded across her chest dropped to her sides and she looked around the airport as if the answer to why would pop up on the flight lists.
"I'll be back in time for finals." The words were noncommittal and he turned from her without another word, heading back out into the night. He stepped out into the rain that hadn't stopped falling and jogged his way over to some cabs that were idling.
When the cab reached the flat about twenty minutes later, Walter dug through his wallet from some cash and paid before he found the hidden staircase that led to the flat. He raced up the steps two at a time and stopped at one of the doors on the corridor, turning the door handle. He wasn't surprised to find it locked, not with the people who lived behind it.
He knocked and waited, bouncing lightly on his feet with a nervous energy winding through his system in the same way it did before a game. His body was ready to run until his legs wouldn't carry him any further, giving all he had.
Footsteps made Walter's heart tick up and the click of the lock sounded before the door was slowly opened. Walter was greeted with a confused look and a tip of a head.
"Dad, I messed up. I need to talk to Morgan."
Will slowly stepped back and opened the door for Walter to step through. Walter entered the home, shaking out his wet hair.
"Where's Isotta?"
"Went home." There was no guilt in the words. Walter couldn't bring himself to feel any. "Can I stay the night?"
"Of course," Will answered with a nod as he locked the door again. "You can have the second door."
Walter glanced around the small room that was shrouded in darkness, the only light from the hallway. He bit his bottom lip with a breath. "I didn't mean to wake you," he apologized. Will smiled and shook his head to dismiss the worry. "I'm sorry."
"There's nothing to be sorry for," Will assured, pulling Walter into a tight hug. "I'm glad you came back. I've missed you. You don't visit enough." Walter gave a huff of laughter and hugged his dad back tightly. "Stop smoking. Hannibal's going to smell it on you a mile away."
"Yeah, yeah," Walter excused, patting Will's back and letting him go. "He can be as mad as he wants. I'm planning to quit when finals are over. I think switching from writing papers to grading them will be a much easier task."
"That's what you think," Will said, stepping back with a kind smile. "We're both very proud of you all the same. We've both seen the hard work you're putting in."
"Will?" a voice called from the hall and both turned to see Hannibal appear in the entrance. His eyes glanced over Walter for a moment, something disheartened in the gaze and Walter suddenly felt so very small under his father's judgment. Hannibal knew. Morgan wouldn't have had to say anything to Hannibal. Hannibal would just know. He had always been that way, as if he could summon the information from the air whenever he wanted to. "Are you coming back to bed?"
"Yes," Will answered with a nod. "Just helping Walter get settled."
"The boy is old enough to settle himself if he thinks he can keep smoking," Hannibal said, though Walter knew that wasn't where the anger lied. Hannibal cared far more over the boy who hadn't appeared from his room than he did over whether or not Walter's lungs were working correctly. Especially if it was self inflicted harm that could ruin his scholarship. "Come to bed, my love."
Will looked between Hannibal and Walter for a moment before he followed Hannibal's beckoning, always obedient. Hannibal kissed Will, an arm slipping pocessively around Will's waist, but his eyes stayed trained on Walter who held his father's gaze.
"Goodnight son," Hannibal excused them, leading Will down the hall.
"Night," Walter muttered, waiting until they had disappeared before he went for the second door that Will had mentioned.
He opened it and found a small room, something that reminded him of his room back in Wolf Trap. He closed the door behind himself, pulling his damp shirt over his head and setting it out to dry at the foot of the bed.
Walter collapsed onto the bed, pulling everything from his pockets and tossing them onto the bedside table. Morgan must have already been asleep if he hadn't come to the living room with the noise. Walter would have to wait until morning to speak with him.
But Morgan couldn't sleep. The moment Hannibal had pulled him off of the floor and metaphorically dusted him off with words of encouragement, Morgan had gone to bed.
He lied in bed, feeling marginally better after a shower. He could only stare up at the ceiling in relative silence, though he had been able to hear shuffling and talking from who he had assumed were his parents outside of his room, which was normal. Both of them didn't sleep often, if they did at all.
Morgan had, on more than one occasion, walked out to get a glass of water and found the two of them tangled on the couch with glasses of wine, talking in hushed voices or reading. They never seemed upset with Morgan's interruptions either. Sometimes he was instructed to go back to bed and Hannibal would bring him whatever he needed and other times they would ask Morgan to join them. And more times still, they would be stitching each other up, from what, Morgan never wanted to ask.
Music wasn't abnormal either. Sometimes a piano lulled him to sleep, but the music he could hear now was different. Harsher than whatever Hannibal played around the house. Morgan sat up, curiosity stricken. It didn't sound like Will's music either. Not the old country that he only listened to when Hannibal was out of the house.
This was... Rock? Classic rock.
Morgan climbed from his bed and opened his door, looking across the hall at the door in front of him. That bedroom had been empty since the moment they had moved into the flat, but there was music there now. And light.
Morgan stepped across the hall and reached for the doorknob to the room. He pushed the door open and was greeted with a cloud of bitter smelling smoke. Through the haze, he stared at the man who was meant to be on a plane and not laying on a bed in a flat in Scotland. But there he was, lit cigarette in his lips with his phone blasting a guitar solo.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Morgan asked before he could stop himself, the words sticky feeling just like whatever goo was in his chest.
Walter jumped upright, startled, but he relaxed with a sigh the moment his eyes found Morgan. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, letting a breath out. The smoke filled the room, making it clouded and muggy and Morgan coughed as he tried to wave the assault away.
"At least open the window, you dipshit," Morgan hissed, walking past the bed to push open the dusty curtains and unlatch the window. He opened the panes of glass and the sound of rain filled the room, muting the music slightly. Morgan inhaled deeply of the night's rain that held a hint of oil in it from the streets. "Father's going to have your head if he knows you're smoking in the house."
"Long live the king," Walter taunted, taking a deep drag before letting out another cloud.
"That's disgusting," Morgan grumbled, keeping his back to Walter.
"You're still here though," Walter pointed out in a gentle voice, the sarcasm missing.
"You didn't answer." Morgan leaned out of the window with an outstretched arm, letting rain fill his hand before it slipped from between his fingers like a damn breaking. "What are you doing here?"
"Come sit?"
Morgan shook his head. He honestly wasn't sure what he was still doing in the room after everything that had just happened. It was all shoved aside as if it had never taken place. Morgan bit his lip at the realization that this was normal between the two of them. A silent forgiving no matter the sin. A silent agreement to ignore the bad so that they could continue to enjoy the good; Morgan despised how even though his chest was aching with a laceration in it, he still wanted to be by Walter's side.
Walter rose from the bed and cautiously placed himself next to Morgan, the summer night air cool from the rain. Walter flicked out the finished cigarette and both watched as the embers broke apart into orange, glowing sparks when it hit the sidewalk below before slowly going out from the rain.
Morgan's eyes finally left the street and took in Walter who was placing a new stick between his teeth and clicking a lighter until a spark ignited the flame. The pack was closed and returned to a pocket with the lighter.
"Put it out," Morgan ordered, causing Walter's brows to rise in challenge. "Do you have a death wish? There are better ways to kill yourself. Ways that will make people weep instead of rolling their eyes."
A muddy fog was blown directly into his face and Morgan did his best not to react despite the desperate want to cough. He blinked, eyes watering, but kept all the insults behind his teeth. His eyes met Walter's who looked like he was waiting for some sort of reaction or discourse, and a faint disappointment covered his face when none came.
Instead, Morgan snatched the cigarette from Walter's lips and placed it between his own, taking a step back when Walter reached for him.
"Don't," Walter warned.
"Do as I say, not as I do?" Morgan sneered. He inhaled deeply, unsure what exactly to expect but the taste of a mixture of asphalt and vanilla was not what he thought would be there. It was like a road had been used to bake cookies and Morgan had licked the road. He slowly released the held breath, ignoring the burning in the back of his throat and the instant desert on his tongue. Walter looked slightly impressed.
"I choked my first time," Walter said, this time holding out his hand instead of reaching. "Give it back Morgan."
"No," Morgan argued, frown on his face. Walter lowered his hand. "For every one you smoke, I'm going to smoke one. You're not giving up seven minutes without me. Now, where's your pack?" Morgan held out his hand, palm up. "I have a lot of ground to make up. We'll have to stop at the store and pick up more tomorrow after we discuss how long you've been doing this."
Walter pinched the bridge of his nose, with a heavy exhale. "Alright. You've made your point." Morgan shook his head and took another drag, the heat in his mouth and lungs unpleasant. "Morgan, stop that."
"I told you," Morgan stated firmly, jumping back when Walter tried to grab him again. "I'm not letting you waste your seven minutes. You give that up, then I do too."
"That's not funny, Morgan."
"I'm not trying to be funny." Morgan inhaled again and Walter finally seized the cigarette from Morgan's fingers, tossing it out the open window. He turned back to Morgan with a clenched jaw. Morgan didn't feel one ounce of guilt as he simply blew his mouthful of smoke at Walter like Walter had done earlier. Walter blinked through the onslaught. "Get rid of the rest of the pack. I'm not kidding," Morgan said. "I will start smoking if you don't stop."
"You're such a fucking stubborn ass." But Walter pulled the pack from his pocket all the same, holding it out to Morgan who snatched it up. Morgan stepped back to the window and opened the pack, pulling one out to snap it in half. "Why are you always like this?"
The question was ignored as Morgan pulled out the next one, giving it the same fate as the first before tossing it from the window and out into the wet street.
Morgan's eyes fluttered shut as a hand slid across the small of his back and Walter's hand took his hip. It was a touch that Morgan was used to, nothing new between them, but it lit up his chest as if he had still had the cigarettes. Morgan shook his head to clear it and elbowed Walter's bare chest.
"Don't touch me," Morgan snapped harshly, breaking the last cigarette in two and letting it fall to be with the others. "I'm still mad at you." He turned to see Walter's head tipped to the side, an emotion in Walter's eyes that Morgan couldn't exactly place. But he didn't like how it made his hands tremble. He had to break up the tenseness that was filling the space between them. "When did you get your tattoos?"
Walter blinked at the shift in subject before he turned and held out his arm so that Morgan could better look at the ink there. Morgan hesitated, but slowly reached out and took Walter's arm in his hands, fingers tracing the designs there. Now that Morgan could pay full attention, the swirling black designs continued shamelessly over Walter's shoulder and across his chest and his back.
Directly above Walter's heart was where the ink came from, engulfing Walter from a twisting vortex. It appeared to be tearing through Walter's skin, as if a portal to another dimension had been violently ripped open. The edges of the vortex were jagged and raw like broken glass. Dark scrollings of shadow poured out from the opening, curling and twisting as they spread across Walter's chest.
The tendrils of shadow weren't uniform. Some were thick and powerful, like the arms of a dark creature reaching out, while others were thin and wispy, almost like smoke. They stretched out in all directions, flowing over pectoral muscles and creeping up over his shoulder and neck, as if the darkness was alive and intent on consuming everything in its path.
Morgan stepped around Walter, fingertips following the greys and blacks, and Walter let him explore silently. Beneath rested blues and purples and Morgan instantly knew what they were from, but didn't dare say a word about the bruising the ink was hiding. The bruising gave the tattoos a supernatural, ethereal quality, creating a stark contrast against Walter's natural skin tone, making the darkness appear even more ominous and overwhelming.
Down his back the shadows formed intricate patterns, like the curling, twisting roots of an ancient tree or the chaotic lines of fractured mirror, adding depth. The only really clear shapes were the skull on Walter's arm and the floral on his hand.
The darkness trying to consume him had reached his other arm as well, as if it had jumped and was trying to eat him from the ruins on his wrist. As it spread, it seemed to corrupt whatever it touched, as if the light were being sucked away. Some of the coils slunk up Walter's forearm, following his veins, giving Morgan the impression that Walter was being poisoned slowly from the inside out.
Morgan knelt down, finding that the ink continued down onto Walter's left hip where the darkness was the most concentrated, the tendrils forming into sharp, jagged shapes, almost like claws or teeth, as if the darkness is trying to physically devour Walter.
Morgan's chest ached with an overwhelming, inescapable doom, as though he was watching Walter being leisurely consumed by an unstoppable force of darkness.
The markings down Walter's legs within the swirling darkness consisted of faint, ghostly images, barely visible but adding to the eerie atmosphere. Faces, hands, and eyes appeared to emerge from the shadows, as if lost souls or dark spirits were trapped within, trying to escape or drag the wearer into their abyss.
"A few months ago," Walter answered, finally breaking the silence that was going too deep between them. "Took quite a few sessions."
"What does it mean?" Morgan asked softly, afraid that if he spoke any louder Walter would somehow go up in the smoke eating him. He rose back to his feet, tracing the circus tent stripes.
"I don't need to explain that to you, Einstein, do I?" Walter gave a small chuckle, eyes flickering shut as the feather light touches from Morgan as he continued to trace the details back up Walter's abdomen. "I think it's self explanatory."
"Are you using it to hide the abuse?" Morgan glanced up at the feeling of being watched and was met with browned butter eyes, eyes Morgan hadn't realized he had missed looking at.
"Yes." Walter reached for Morgan and the shift in movement snapped Morgan back to where they were. He wasn't about to let this happen again. Not after everything Walter had said.
"I should let you rest," Morgan excused, releasing his hold on Walter's arm and turning towards the door. "I'm sure you're tired."
"Hold up, Einstein," Walter said with a teasing lint to his voice. Morgan stopped and glanced over his shoulder to be met with a dazzling smile. "The night is still young and it's still your birthday for at least another few hours. Let's go out, do something. Celebrate."
"Everything's closed," Morgan pointed out with a frown, slowly turning back.
"There has to be something still open," Walter argued, heading to the bed to grab his shirt. "We're in Scotland, surely a pub is open."
"I'm not old enough to get into a pub."
Walter pulled his shirt over his head and didn't miss the feeling of Morgan's stare, Morgan unable to look away from the muscles that flexed and moved across Walter's abdomen until they were covered by black fabric that might as well have been cling wrap.
"They won't stop you. Nowhere checks ID and you're nearly eighteen. They're not going to care." Walter received an incredulous look from Morgan. "If you're that worried about it, I can get you in." Walter shot Morgan a smile and Morgan's stomach flipped painfully.
"Father will-"
"We can worry about Father in the morning." Walter stepped closer and took Morgan's hand. Morgan pulled his hand free and stepped back, jumping as his back hit the door, having not noticed he was so close to it. "Let's go have some fun."
Morgan's brows furrowed and his mouth tipped down. "And if they do check my ID?"
"Where does Father keep the safe?" Walter asked, gently guiding Morgan out of the way of the door.
Morgan's body went icy at the suggestion and he shook his head, trying to ignore the strength in the hands on him. "No."
"Yes."
"Wally," Morgan groaned. "Father will know if we get into his safe. If we can get into his safe. I don't know the combination."
"I do, Einstein." Walter's smile only grew and he ruffled Morgan's hair. "Where is it?"
"How do you know the code?" Morgan asked in astonishment as the door was opened and Walter stepped out. Morgan quickly followed after him, voice lowering so that they didn't wake their parents. "Wally."
"It's in the classroom, isn't it?" Walter made his way down the hall and Morgan raced to catch the older's hand to pull him back. Walter glanced behind him at Morgan who shook his head with a pleading look. "Will you live for once?" Walter pulled Morgan closer, voice so low that Morgan had to lean even closer to hear him. "Get out of your head for a little while. No rules. Let them go. Let them float away down the Thames."
Morgan's brows knitted together and he shook his head. "I think you mean the Water of Leith," Morgan said. "The Thames is in England and the-"
"Morgan," Walter scolded teasingly, hand taking Morgan's cheek and silencing the boy. "Can you not be correct for two seconds?" Walter gave a low chuckle and could feel the flush rise to Morgan's skin beneath his palm. "Just two seconds?" His fingers brushed through Morgan's light waves. "You want that Tristan and Isolde drawing still, or was that just to piss me off?"
"A bit of both," Morgan admitted with a small shrug, enjoying the sharpness in Walter's eyes. "She doesn't know the story, Wally. How can you-"
"Not everyone grows up like us," Walter reminded kindly, his free hand's index finger tapping against Morgan's temple. "Think, Einstein. Not everyone likes the same books as you." Walter's eyes lowered to the frown on Morgan's face and he couldn't stop the pad of his thumb from tracing the outline of Morgan's cupid's bow. Morgan inhaled sharply and Walter gave a small smile. "I'll draw you that picture if you come out and have drinks with me."
"Haven't you already had enough tonight?" Morgan's tongue brushed against Walter's thumb, tasing the salt and smoke from his skin.
"Not nearly enough." The words were a whisper, a breath against Morgan's lips and Morgan's mind reeled, trying to pull him from that moment before another mistake was made.
"It's in the classroom behind the chalkboard," he offered, the words getting stuck somewhere in his throat.
Morgan could feel the hesitation as Walter pulled back with a nod. He left down the hall without another word and Morgan raced after him. When he entered the classroom, he stopped and could only stare at the wall he had been shoved against earlier that evening, a mixture of pain and pleasure clawing at his chest. But Walter had come back. That had to mean something.
The chalkboard was moved out of the way and Morgan took a deep breath before standing beside Walter.
"Father's a bit sentimental," Walter explained, looking over the pin key on the large black safe that was always everywhere they had moved. It was the one thing consistent in all places. A key to get to wherever they needed to. "6926. He uses the same code for everything."
"What does it mean?" Morgan asked as Walter pressed in the numbers on the keypad. His heart raced at the idea of what Hannibal would do to them when he caught them. It wasn't a matter of if, just the time passing of when.
"The numbers stand for letters. M, W, K, and M," Walter explained. There was a happy little beep and the red light turned green, letting Walter pull the door open. "Mischa, Will, kleiner hase, and mangustėli."
Walter dug through the safe, pulling out a box and setting it on top of the safe. He opened it and raided it until he found what he was looking for. He held out a small card to Morgan who took it. He stared down at a picture of himself that said he was nineteen. It looked new and Morgan wondered how recently it had been updated.
"How did you know these were in here?"
"Father makes new ones all of the time. He was bound to have some new ones from the move. He's careful." Walter closed everything back up and turned with a satisfied smile. "Alright, you have to know what is open this late."
"The Royal Mile Tavern is probably our best bet," Morgan explained, a hand running through his hair. "Most places close around ten."
"Alright. Lead the way."
Morgan gave a small nod and left the classroom with Walter in step behind him. They wound their way to the front door and Morgan pulled on a Jacket, adjusting the hood over his head. He grabbed his keys and slipped on his shoes before quietly unlocking the door and stepping down onto the staircase. Walter followed and Morgan closed the door, locking it once more before finding his way out into the rain.
It sprinkled lightly, something more of a mist than actual rain, but it still wet their clothes nearly immediately. Morgan pulled Walter by his hand through the cobblestone streets that a few people still occupied, past shops and apartments until they reached a rather open space. It was a lovely courtyard full of benches and trees but that was still lined on either side by the shops and pubs.
Morgan came to a stop in front of brightly colored green doors of a rather tall building. Across the front, hidden behind a hanging light were the words The Royal Mile in an odd yellow color that Walter was sure was meant to be gold. There were two empty tables outside of the door with chairs picked up, no one wanting to be out in the rain. But the inside was busy and warm looking with muffled music trapped behind the closed door.
Walter opened the door, the heat and sounds of the bar bright as they were released into the night. He glanced over at Morgan who stood with a weary expression on his face and Walter smiled.
"Come on. Live for once in your life. You're already this far."
Morgan shot him a disapproving expression, but he stepped into the bar. The chatter was light and happy amidst the music from the band that was playing. The whole room was made of wood that the dim lights made look warm and homely against the faded wallpaper the walls were dressed in.
Walter pulled Morgan's further in by his hand and through the crowded tables to the bar. Morgan climbed up onto a bar stool and Walter sat beside him, leaning close until their shoulders were touching.
"Let me order for you?" Walter asked, though it wasn't a question or a suggestion. Walter was going to order for Morgan and Morgan gave a small nod. It wasn't like he knew anything about alcohol other than wines and then he only knew which ones to cook with. He was never allowed to drink them.
Morgan blinked as a kiss was placed against his temple, something hesitant and uncertain, as if Walter knew he was pushing a boundary. His chest clenched painfully.
"Two tennent's lagers," Walter called out to the girl who was behind the bar.
She looked tired but immediately put on a good face. She eyed the two of them, something appreciative in her look over Walter, something a bit questioning when she reached Morgan.
"Coming up," she said, seeming satisfied.
"What did we get?" Morgan asked, leaning his elbows on the bar.
"You know how father likes to sample wines from all the places we visit?" Walter asked and Morgan gave a small nod. "I have found that I enjoyed that sort of experience, but with beer over wine. Wine tastes like the dye they use in those easter egg dying packets."
Morgan breathed out a laugh, his mind thinking back over the hazy memories of doing such strange crafts in his childhood. "You drank plenty of it with dinner," he pointed out.
Walter gave a shrug. "Anyway," he pushed on, effectively dismissing Morgan's comment. "Italy is known for its campari, Ireland for guiness and when I am not in a whiskey kind of mood, I like beer. Scotland just happens to be known for tennent's lager."
"And what is a whiskey kind of mood?" Morgan questioned as a tall glass with golden liquid was placed in front of him, the glass already covered in condensation from being chilled.
"When I want to forget something." Walter picked up his own glass and took a decent sized drink from it.
"What did you want to forget about tonight? You drank that at dinner too."
Walter gave a frown, nose scrunched up, once more avoiding the inquiry. "Just try the beer. Stop asking so many questions." When Morgan didn't move, Walter nodded his head at the drink and Morgan inhaled deeply. "It's going to be bitter, fair warning."
Morgan picked up the glass and scented it. It held a sweet note that reminded him a little of honey. He brought it to his lips and sipped at it, drinking more at a sharp look from Walter. There was something citrusy at the beginning, maybe lemon or grapefruit, but it quickly became a more aggressive taste that made Morgan want to gag. Walter smirked with a chuckle before drinking another decent amount of his pint.
"That would be the hops," he said, biting his bottom lip.
"This is awful," Morgan grumbled, pushing the drink away from him. "Don't they have anything that tastes good?"
"It's an acquired taste." Walter reached out and pushed the glass back to Morgan. "It gets better the more you drink. I promise."
"I don't know if that's worth it." Morgan eyed the glass wearily before picking it back up. "Father is going to kill us." Before Walter could argue, Morgan put the glass back to his lips and drank more, chugging it down.
"Hey Einstein," Walter warned sharply, pulling the glass from Morgan's hand. "You're going to make yourself sick if you do that." Morgan was breathing hard and used his jacket sleeve to wipe at his mouth, the pint now nearly empty. "You're not going to be happy in the morning if you keep going like that."
"I don't care."
Walter looked over Morgan curiously. "You already drunk?' he teased, leaning over the bar and towards Morgan. "What do you mean you don't care?"
"Isn't this what you wanted?" Morgan leaned his head into his hand, a finger circling the top of his glass. "Me to loosen up?"
"Well, yeah, but..." Walter trailed off, unsure of the words he was searching for. His hand ran through his hair, mind settling more on an insult as his only answer. "Don't be stupid, Einstein. You want to be buzzed, not hungover."
"Don't think a single beer could do that," Morgan grumbled. They fell into a small silence as Walter continued on his drink, denying a refill for Morgan who continued to circle the rim of his glass. "Were we going to talk about what happened?" Morgan asked, breaking the quiet.
Walter shifted in his seat, shoulders tensing up. "Did you want to talk about what happened?" The words were slow and cautious. Morgan shook his head and Walter let out a breath. "Then we won't talk about it."
"Why did you come back?"
Walter inhaled through his teeth and set down his now empty glass, turning fully in his chair to look over Morgan whose cheeks were a lovely shade of pink that made Walter smile lightly.
"I couldn't leave your birthday on such bad terms." Walter's hand reached out and the back of his fingers traced over the color in Morgan's cheeks. "How are you feeling?"
"I feel light and a bit fuzzy."
"Good." Walter gave a small nod. "Should we go back?"
"Can we walk around for a bit? Maybe go see St. Giles Cathedral?" Morgan asked, a lazy smile pulling at his lips. Walter was about to argue that maybe they should be in bed before Hannibal found them missing, but he couldn't find the words at Morgan's endearing, "Please."
Walter ruffled Morgan's hair and Morgan was more than happy to let those strong fingers tangle in his locks. "Sure thing, Einstein." Walter pulled his wallet from his pocket and dropped a few bills onto the counter before getting to his feet. Morgan followed and Walter ushered them back out and into the rain. "Where do we go?"
Morgan's fingers laced through Walter's as he pulled him along down the road. "Come with me." The road inclined and turned. "You'll like it," Morgan assured, voice a little louder than he probably meant it. "It's from the 15th century, gothic. You like gothic architecture."
Walter grinned and held tightly to Morgan's hand as he was led through the drizzling rain and up the cobblestone street. "I do like gothic architecture," he agreed with a small laugh.
Walter smiled and held tightly to Morgan's hand as he was led through the drizzling rain and up the cobblestone street. "I do like Gothic architecture," Walter agreed with a small laugh.
"And eight flying buttresses," Morgan continued and Walter could only laugh harder.
"Wow, eight of them." The words were sarcastic and made Morgan stop and look over at Walter with a glare.
"We don't have to see it."
It was nearly a threat and Walter chuckled, a hand reaching out for Morgan's damp waves that had become more curly in the rain. He brushed back Morgan's hair from his face and shook his head.
"I want to see it." Morgan shot Walter a distrusting look, only causing Walter to smile more. "Show me, Morgan." His thumb caressed Morgan's cheek and Morgan pulled his bottom lip between his teeth before dragging Walter along once more, his movements becoming lazy and more relaxed than Walter had ever seen them.
The cathedral was lit up like daytime and shone brightly against the rainy night sky. No one was outside, but that didn't bother Walter much. He preferred to be alone and his time with Morgan was no exception. Morgan was a special creature who needed absolute attention nearly every moment of the day and Walter was more than happy to play into that, spoiling the kid just as much as he had always been spoiled.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Morgan muttered as they stopped in front of it besides a green statue of no one that Walter could even begin to guess the name of. But Morgan didn't seem interested in pointing out the owner of the image. The kid looked far more content with staring up at the three large stained glass windows.
When Walter didn't answer, attention far more focused on Morgan than the cathedral, Morgan shrugged, with a: "I think it's beautiful."
"You're beautiful."
More blushed filled Morgan's cheeks if that was possible from the flush of the alcohol that was already there. Morgan shook his head and tried to pull his hand free from Walter's but Walter held tightly, bringing Morgan's hand up and placing a kiss to Morgan's knuckles.
Morgan's mouth went dry, something behind his ribs aching. "What happened to being brothers?" he asked as a dizziness was beginning to settle in that he couldn't exactly place as the beer, or something more natural. Walter stepped closer with a simple shake of his head. "Being sick and wrong?" Walter's honey eyes met Morgan's and his lips stayed tight against Morgan's knuckles. "You're not gay."
"I'm not?" Walter finally asked, letting Morgan's hand return to his side, but their fingers stayed intertwined. Morgan shook his head with furrowed brows. "Are you?"
"I kiss you," Morgan reminded. "I think that speaks for itself."
"I kissed you back."
A hand rubbed across Morgan's face and he groaned. "I thought we weren't discussing this." He took a step back, but Walter's other hand reached out, snatching at Morgan's coat and pulling the boy back towards him. "And you're getting married and you're going to have two little kids named Elio and Marzia and grow old as a teacher in the middle of a city slowly sinking back into the sea."
Walter didn't comment. He slowly wrapped his arm around Morgan's waist and pulled him closer until their foreheads were touching, skin wet with rain, breath dancing together in the chill of the night.
"Fold your arms round me close," Walter whispered, calling Morgan's eyes to his own. He blamed Morgan for the book being brought to his mind. If he hadn't made those stupid little comments at dinner, then Walter wouldn't have been mentally rereading the entirety of the book in his head all night. "And strain me so that our hearts may break and our souls go free at last."
Morgan licked his lips, the rest of the quote leaving him before he could stop it. "Take me to that happy place of which you told me long ago. The fields whence none return, but where great singers sing their songs forever." Morgan's fingers trailed up Walter's chest before resting around Walter's neck naturally. "Are we cursed like them? Will we be buried together, side by side?"
Walter breathed out a laugh. "In coffins of chalcedony and beryl," he agreed, his head nodding against Morgan's. "To the right and the left of a chantry."
"And you'll climb over the chantry with a green leafy briar, strong in branches and in the scent of its flowers to root by my tomb?"
"And come back stronger each time they cut me down."
Morgan wasn't certain what snapped him from his haze, but he jumped back and out of Walter's grip when Walter leaned down. Morgan shot a smile to his face, breathing hard, his hands rubbing against his thighs as he nervously stepped further back.
"You didn't even comment on the flying buttresses," Morgan teased, voice wavering. Walter glanced between him and the church for a moment before shaking his head with a small smile. "There's eight of them."
Walter gave a laugh and turned to face the cathedral completely, motioning to it grandly with a wave of his hand. "That's quite the engineering feat," he said, though he knew Morgan already knew all of the details. "They said it couldn't be done. Said it would be impossible like painting the Sistine Chapel." His voice was teasing. "No one had ever made more than seven."
This still wasn't a big enough distance for Morgan. They had to leave. They had to get out of here before they ended up doing something stupid.
"Do you want another drink?" Morgan asked, causing Walter to turn around with a questioning expression, his hand falling back to his side. "I was not impressed with the beer." He hoped the clarification was enough of a distraction. "And there's this place that I wanted to try. My friends say it's good."
"Friends?" Walter teased, trying to close the distance between them again. "Don't make me jealous, Morgan."
"You've been doing that to me all night!" Morgan looked shocked as the words came from him and Walter gave a small smirk at the admittance. Morgan shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, doing his best to cover his mistake with a weak voice. "They're supposed to have really good whiskey."
"I'll forget things."
Morgan closed his eyes for a moment with a deep breath, when he opened them again, he grabbed a fistful of Walter's shirt and pulled him closer. He stood on his toes, placing a quick kiss to Walter's rain-covered lips. "I think," he whispered, lips still pressed to Walter's, "you'd remember me if you wanted to." Morgan released Walter's shirt and turned, starting back up the street with his hand clasping behind his back as his heart raced. He didn't want to wait for Walter, and wasn't sure if he could face the reaction. "It's still my birthday, hurry up!"
Walter gave a huff of laughter and raced after Morgan.