"andy, come back to bed," he heard the voice of his lover mumble from the hotel room behind him, the person he was proud to call his wife. he was sat on the windowsill, legs dangling dangerously over the edge. they were several floors up, and he could've plummeted to his death at any moment, but he was too tired of everything to give a shit.
sighing, andy took a long drag of his cigarette, holding it in his mouth and letting the calming sensation flow over his bones before he exhaled the deadly smoke.
"i'll be there in a minute."
a lie.
he couldn't sleep, as per usual, and he knew that if he went back to bed, he would only find himself in this very same spot mere minutes later.
shuffling of blankets sounded, his wife joining him in the dark a second after, the two of them looking out towards the city that seemed more like a curse than a home.
"i don't want to be here anymore, em," he whispered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear, as if he were afraid the draft in the air would carry his words to someone else's ears. the tender words made him feel vulnerable, and vulnerability made it easy for others to take advantage of such words.
her cold hand found his shoulder, thumb rubbing slow circles into the fabric of his shirt, like a mother would do to comfort a child. it didn't do anything to comfort him, or ease the tenseness in his muscles
"why not, andy?" she asked.
her words, however, were lost in the cool night breeze, floating away like clouds before vanishing from the air. they returned to silence, neither of them wanting to say anything else in fear of another fight. they were both so tired of fighting. not one of them had forgotten the years they had to spend apart, alone in their own separate beds because even the sight of each other made them sick, heads spinning with anger and hurt. emotions were something not easily controlled, even when you've lived far beyond human years.
he responded, anyways, throat croaking in response as if he were holding back tears. andy had never been good at concealing what he was feeling, especially when what he felt was vulnerable and open. but still, he tried.
"they'll never accept us here. you know that."
"andy-"
"don't even try to deny it," he sighed, taking one last, long drag of his cigarette before he put it out and threw it into the small black pot set out. there was a faint urge to keep it lit, throw it out the window and hope the city went up in flames and everything burned to the ground, including the people. it wouldn't happen, though, knowing that it was impossible and he would be punished further for it, so he resorted to tensely folding his hands in his lap and looking out at the world in front of him.
what a lonely world it was.
"andy, not everyone here hates you," she tried to reason. "please come back to bed."
he shook his head. "can't sleep."
"andy, please don't do this," she pleaded, holding on to his arm as if he were going to fall out any moment, "not tonight."
"em, i don't wanna be here," his voice shook. there was no hiding the angry red rings around his eyes anymore, tears wanting to spill through, not even in the dimness. "i don't wanna be here."
"i know!" she cried. "i know, andy! damnit, just go back to bed. we can talk about this at a reasonable hour when you're not dangling half your body dozens of feet above the ground."
"i want to talk about it now," he bit back cursing her, his own wife.
"no, andy."
"if not now, then when?" he turned to her, raising his eyebrows with cold expectancy. his anger too often replaced his grief, they both knew, both expected it. "when will there ever be another time to talk about this? we both know you're going to end up ignoring the subject and never talk about it again."
his wife huffed, resting her hand on her hip. "fine. if you don't want to be here, we can just move. we have the money, don't we? if you don't want to be in los angeles, we don't have to be. if the people here don't accept us, then damnit, just find somewhere with people who do, it's not that hard, andy."
"there is nowhere!" he roared, knocking over the pot that held his finished cigarette and barely registering when it flew off the windowsill and down to the street below.
"there. is. nowhere. everywhere we go, we will be cursed. that is his point, emelia!" he snapped at her, quieter than his outburst before, filling with a rage not for her, but for the ones who damned him, damned them both.
"andrew..."
she had stepped back from him, andy realized. he had frightened her. her gaze was soft, with a harshness that only came with fear. not of him, never of him, but rather for his life.
without realizing it, he had almost thrown himself off the edge of the building as well.
once upon a time, that wouldn't have mattered, but now it was a very real, very dangerous situation. and he almost wanted to do it, if it wasn't for his knowledge that he would be trading one kind of suffering for another; a worse alternative he knew all too well, as he had once been the one inflicting it.
"can i see them?" emelia asked quietly.
andy exhaled almost painfully, the ache in his heart reminding himself of the loss he still had not forgotten.
he nodded and, without further word, gently removed his shirt and tossed it back into the room.
"come back into the room," she requested, "please don't argue. just this once."
he didn't move for several seconds, stubbornness wanting to take over until, with resignation, he swung his legs so his feet were firmly planted on the carpet again, arms holding on to the side of the window for support as he crawled back inside towards his wife.
"better?" he asked softly. she nodded, looking him over with gentle, tired eyes.
then, andy turned away from her, displaying his back. she often asked to see it, an act not of sexual or humiliating intent, but of care and concern.
yet no matter how many times this same exact scene has repeated, no matter how much she meant to him or the decades they had spent together, unraveling each other's very souls, he still winced when her cool fingers traced the outlines of his wounds, barely healing over.
"it's been ten years," she murmured, "why haven't they healed?"
andy ignored her question. they both knew well that it would take decades to form their permanent scars.
"they were the biggest piece of me," he said absently, eyes staring off into nothing. "they were the last of me that reminded me of my father and they stripped them away."
"andy-"
"that's not my name, emelia, and you know that."
though he didn't see it, he could practically feel her rolling her eyes.
"lucifer is a little outdated, isn't it? seeing as they cast you out of heaven and hell."
"i hate them," he growled lowly, "i hate them all. both these humans and my brothers."
his wife kissed the top of each wound before turning him around, burying herself in his warmth.
"your father's death is not your fault," she reminded him, arms circling around his biceps. "do well to remember that. it's been ten years, don't you think it's time to start over? and you have me. we're in this together, no matter how much of the world is against us."
"now please, come back to bed."
andy finally nodded, and then dipped down to kiss her, mouth fitting perfectly over hers, the way it was always intended to. the way his father intended it to. nothing and nobody would ever change that, not even the brothers that damned his soul, and then damned hers, too.