Chapter Twelve #2
I could kiss Seb and Thio for their reaction. Like it isn’t a big deal, like it’s any other life update; none of the shouting accusations or anger Bel was clearly expecting.
“They did,” I promise. “Come on. Let’s have a seat.”
I tug him toward the matching white armchairs by the window, but when he goes to take his own chair, I pull him into my lap.
As Thio cooks, Seb tells me about a project at his lab, and the mundanity of it has Bel relaxing into me, bit by bit.
By the time Thio serves us each a bowl of steaming fettucine alfredo, the concrete-level tension in Bel’s muscles has bled out and he’s nestled back against me.
Seb catches my eye when he notices, and I shoot him a grateful smile that he returns.
“So.” Seb swallows a bite of food and shoves his glasses up his nose. “Galaxrien Vossen, huh? That sucks.”
It’s a testament to the empathy in Seb’s tone that Bel doesn’t stiffen.
He stares down into his bowl, stirring the noodles. “It really, really does,” he whispers. His gaze locks with mine and his face softens. “Less so recently, though.”
Thio smiles, his shoulder resting against Seb’s where they sit side by side on the couch. “Sounds like there’s a story.”
Bel gnaws on his lower lip, a question in his eyes. I smile encouragingly.
He blows out a breath and tells them everything that’s happened the past twenty-four hours.
Well, the PG parts, from the cultist attack in the news to the visit from Ilbryen, Gulus, and Tem.
Bel also gives a brief summary of what living with Tem was like, but he’s quick to gloss over any actual details, maybe sensing the way it’s my turn to stiffen at the mention of Tem.
When the story’s done, our bowls are empty, and Bel seems to be, too.
“This was really good pasta,” he murmurs, drained, as he gingerly sets his empty bowl on the coffee table. “Thank you, Thio.”
Thio’s smile is cockeyed but sweet. “My pleasure. Sounds like it’s the least I could do after the day you’ve had. Hell, the past few years you’ve had.”
Bel sags into me on a sigh that’s tinged with disbelief, like he still can’t reconcile the calm way they’re accepting all this information.
But I can practically hear Seb’s brain spinning.
“The most pressing part of that story,” Seb starts, and his analytical gaze goes to me, “is that people are trying to kill him?”
“That’s why I texted you,” I say, rubbing a hand up and down Bel’s side.
“We need the apartment warded. Like, airtight. And maybe a few warded charms he can wear at all times, in case I’m not with him.
And can you make some illusion counter-potion, if I get you the components Bel’s adventure party uses? ”
Bel twists to look at me, surprise and confusion in his tired eyes.
“So you can be in your own form around the house,” I tell him. “If you want?”
He smiles, eyes shiny. “I’d like that.”
My own smile stretches. “Good.”
“Consider it done.” Seb claps and jumps off the couch. “First, one magical Fort Knox, coming up. Baby?”
Thio’s already tugging a bag onto the couch while Seb gets to work unloading stuff from his component belt.
Bel’s head lists into my neck and he lets out another disbelieving sigh. “It’s that simple?”
Is it that simple?
I stare at the side of Seb’s face as he works, but he doesn’t look at me now.
Neither he nor Thio said much of anything through Bel’s story. No real questions, no prodding. Just easy acceptance.
Too easy.
“Yeah.” I press a kiss to Bel’s hair. “How about you get some rest? These spells could take a while.”
He lifts his head on a pout. “You have to be tired, too.”
“I’ll be right behind you.” I nod to the hall straight off the kitchen. “My room’s through there.”
“And you—” He swallows. Licks his lips. “You want me there. Not the guestroom.”
“This is real, remember? I want you there.”
Part of Bel relaxes slightly. But he seems to realize that when he leaves, a deeper conversation will be had; he’s not able to hide the shimmer of panic before he drops his head and pushes out of my lap.
“I’ll just—”
I grab his hand and tug him until I can claim his mouth with mine. “It’s all going to be okay now. I promise.”
“We promise, too,” Seb offers. “Ain’t no one getting past my wards. We’ll take care of you.”
Bel turns to Seb and Thio, who are still setting up items on my coffee table, our discarded dishes moved to the floor.
“Thank you,” he says to them, hands worrying at each other. “This isn’t at all what I expected, but—thank you. Really. I don’t know how to tell you—”
Thio waves him off. “You don’t have to.”
“I told you it was a nuthouse,” Seb says with a grin. “You’re part of it now.”
Bel lingers, shifting on his feet, but bobs his head in reluctant acceptance.
I want to assure him again, promise it’s really, truly fine, but my focus goes back to Seb and I feel unsaid things hanging over us like a storm cloud.
Everything will be fine. I have to make sure of it.
Bel keeps his head down as he gathers our dishes, puts them in the sink, and makes for my room, and it isn’t until the door clicks shut that I let myself breathe.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s hear it.”
Seb kneels by the coffee table as he arranges a stone, a lock, and a string. “Hear what? Thio, hand me the beeswax candle.”
Thio digs in the bag. “For a protection ward? You want the soy candle.”
“No—beeswax. It’ll be stronger.”
“Soy will be stronger.”
Seb glares at Thio, who’s holding out what’s probably a soy candle.
“Seriously.” I bend forward, elbows on my knees. “I know you’ve got opinions. So, say them, especially now, while Bel’s not around to hear. He already thinks you two will blame him.”
Seb gawps at me. “Why would we blame him?”
“For bringing me into this? I don’t know, he feels bad. I told him it’s nonsense.”
“Of course it’s nonsense. He didn’t choose to be part of a crazy family. We all know how that is.”
Thio grunts. “Genetics. Fucking brutal.”
“If he feels bad because he coerced you into protecting him,” Seb says, “then I’d hate him. But from the way he described it, that’s not what happened, and you both have an even playing field of reasons to distrust each other, so you’re kind of at a weird stalemate.”
My face scrunches. “What?”
“He could’ve been playing you this whole time to get you to become his handler—but it didn’t seem like it occurred to him that you were an option until you offered and the adventure party people agreed, and wow, that would’ve been a serious long game to play.
You, on the other hand, could be planning to turn over Galaxrien’s descendant to the Urzoth church, because I’m sure they’d love being able to eliminate a tool of their god’s enemy. ”
A stab of nausea bolts through me at the thought of people like Reverend Drach finding out who Bel really is. It isn’t just cultists I have to keep him safe from.
“But,” Seb continues, “even though you and I both know you’re not doing that, Bel doesn’t—”
“He does.”
“It’s still a big risk for him.” Seb shrugs. “So, stalemate. You both could be screwing each other over. But you’re not. Because I think, not so secretly, neither of you are maniacal psychos. You’re two big ol’ saps with hearts in your eyes.”
“I like him,” Thio adds. “I like him for you. He’s exactly who I always pictured.”
“Right?” Seb knocks Thio’s thigh with his fist. “A sweet little pink-haired amalgamation of Timothée Chalamet and Troye Sivan.”
“Timothée Chalamet!” Thio snaps his fingers. “That’s who he reminds me of, thank you.”
I blink at Thio, then Seb. “You don’t have anything else to say?”
“What more should we say?” Seb asks.
“That I rushed into this!” I hiss, fighting to keep my voice down. “It’s only been, like, a month, and it started as a PR stunt, and I have to commit to Urzoth indefinitely to keep him safe, and his entire life is dependent on me now, and this isn’t healthy.”
I’m panting like that storm cloud unleashed and all the things I’ve been ignoring are crashing down on me at once.
Maybe the unease I felt wasn’t from Seb.
Maybe it was from me.
Seb’s expression falls. He knee-walks closer to me and takes my hands. “O. I know you don’t believe this, because you’ve kind of made it part of your personality, but there’s nothing wrong with you. You aren’t broken.”
I grimace. “I have not made being broken my personality.”
“To be fair, we were broken for a very long time. And I’m not saying we’re both perfectly functional, wholly healed adults—gods, no.
But I think you see healing as a straight line, and any symptoms mean going backward, but I’ve found healing is more of a …
squiggle.” He draws his finger in the air, making a convoluted, twisting shape that, even so, progresses from left to right.
“Sometimes we loop back on something we thought we’d gotten over.
Sometimes we spiral around something we know how to overcome.
But we’re always a little further away from where we started, even if it doesn’t feel like it.
That’s healing: recognizing that what hurt us can never have us in that exact situation again because we’ve chosen to keep moving forward. ”
My brows pinch in some strangled mix of hope and horror. “How—what the fuck, Seb?”
He frowns. “What?”
“I’ve been going to a therapist for almost a decade now, and he’s never said anything as concise as what you just said. Where the hell did that come from?”
Thio, back to setting out components for the wards, looks up with a grin. “He reads self-help books before we go to bed.”
My jaw fully distends. “What? Since when?”
“Since he—”
Without looking back, Seb kicks his fiancé, who grumbles when it makes him knock over a jar of herbs.
“Hush, you,” Seb says. “That’s not important right now.”
But Thio’s face gets kind of dreamy and dopey, and Seb clears his throat forcefully.
I narrow my eyes at Thio. “Since when?” I repeat.