JERICHO WAS NOT USED TO dead things being this still. The dead things he knew tempted priests by day and danced in underground clubs by night.

Abel was too still.

He kept waiting for something to happen. For a twitch of a finger, for a slight mumble, for a furrow of Abel's brow, anything if it meant he would come back.

It was hard to fit Abel's body in the bathtub with wings this large. They were limp enough to be malleable and pushed out of the way, but they were bizarrely heavy. Jericho did what he could to be gentle as he tucked them behind one side of the claw foot tub, though the sheer weight of them proved to be quite challenging.

Using one of his claws, Jericho carefully cut Abel out of his bloodied clothes. The blood soaked down to the bandages binding his chest flat, but Jericho left those alone. He felt he would be no different than those bastards if he removed them, if he saw Abel's chest without consent, violating him even in death. He could cover the bloody bandages up with fresh clothes once Abel was clean.

Jericho's tears joined the water from the faucet in filling the bath. His sobs echoed through the small room as his hands so carefully scrubbed the blood away from Abel's golden skin.

He was so cold.

He was so, so cold.

It was hard to see through the ocean of tears welling in his eyes and spilling over his cheeks. The tears came too fast for him to blink away.

Washing Abel's legs and stomach was easy enough. He'd wash his hair later, too afraid it would stain red if he dipped the fine white strands in the bloody water. Even after draining and refilling the tub twice, there was too much red.

At last, Jericho came to the part he dreaded. Abel's throat was cut down to the bone, frayed muscle and flesh sticking out from the brutal wound. Jericho couldn't stand to look at it, but that was where most of the blood was.

His hands trembled, but he pushed through. This time, he was grateful for the blurry vision as he ran a rag gently over the marred skin of Abel's neck.

It felt like an eternity since he'd marked that beautiful neck with his mouth.

Jericho couldn't take it anymore. A heavy, violent sob wracked his body, and he collapsed against the side of the tub. He didn't know it was possible for him to cry anymore after he'd cried in the arena. And yet, there he was, sobbing into his own arm until his chest hurt.

Abel was too still.

He'd never kiss him again.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into an eternity of Jericho's sobs tearing him apart from the inside. Soon, though, he managed to get them to settle into whimpers. Only then could he finish cleaning the blood from Abel's neck.

After the task was complete, Jericho unplugged the drain and washed Abel's hair under the running water of the faucet. Red stuck stubbornly to the white, turning it a faint pinkish hue that wouldn't leave no matter how hard he tried. He had to force himself to stop before he ruined Abel's hair.

The frustration of his failure only made him break down again.

By the time Jericho calmed back down, Abel was already air-dried, giving Jericho no need to pat him down with a towel. He scooped his body up into his arms, cradling him to his chest. For a moment, he paused and wept into Abel's hair. All he wanted to do until the end of time was hold him, but it felt so wrong to hold something so still and cold.

It didn't feel like Abel.

Jericho took him to the room. Instead of laying Abel down on the bed, he sat down himself, curling up as he held him. He clutched Abel to him like his body would vanish into nothing if he didn't, weeping into his soft, white hair.

"Wake up, Abel. Please. You can't leave me like this."

The night carried on, and Jericho lost track of how many times he cried. Somehow, he gathered up the strength to lay Abel down and wrap a bandage around his neck. It helped not to look at it. His hands were tender as he dressed Abel in whatever clothes he could fit around his wings, making sure it wasn't too revealing or form-fitting. They weren't fancy burial clothes by any means, but at the very least, Abel was covered as he would've wanted to be.

Jericho cried over his body for the rest of the night, and then some. He had no desire to part from his side.

It was around noon when Jericho lifted his head from his arms, which were now stained with dried tears. The sudden presence of light through the windows assaulted his eyes, brighter than he was used to. Every morning that followed the Dead Moon was bright, as the thick clouds that normally obscured the sky had not yet returned. There was still a layer of red shielding the city from the harsh sun, though, covering it in an eerie red filter that the clouds often subdued.

There was a single custom shared by the demons and the citizens of the Holy City. Bodies were not buried for three days, allowing for a period of mourning. This was the first of three days Jericho had left with Abel.

He did not leave his side for a second of it.

Jericho spent the first day crying. That was all he could do. Every sob ripped him apart, every whimper pierced him through the chest all over again. Hell itself could not compare to this, to the torture of seeing his love and knowing he would never have him back.

His tears left patches in the sheets of his bed where his angel lay peacefully, silently, lifelessly.

The next morning was no less bright than the one before. By now, Jericho was numb enough to wonder why the clouds had not yet returned. He was numb enough to leave the room for once, though he only went as far as the kitchen to pour himself a bowl of stale cereal.

Ever since the day that Abel finished Mother off, taking Jericho's hunger with it, he had no desire to eat anything. Part of it was fear, that if he ate anything, he'd feed Mother and she'd come back. The other part was his simple aversion to eating people. He never liked it.

He hadn't ever thought to try regular food.

It tasted like shit. He didn't care. He ate it anyway.

While he was out of the room, he took a bath. Dust and blood filled the water and turned it a murky brown. It took three full tubs of water to get it all off.

The second day was a dull, empty one. Jericho didn't cry. He tried to be normal, but it didn't work very well. He gave up by evening.

"You're an ass, Abel, you know that?" Jericho whispered as he knelt down beside the bed. "Making me have to deal with this shit alone. Can you just come back already? Please?"

No response.

Jericho took his hand. There was an eye on the center of his palm, wide open but lifeless. Most of the eyes scattered over Abel's body could close, though this one could not. After long enough, it got too unnerving to look at, and Jericho turned Abel's palm down. He settled for stroking his soft, cold knuckles, and he continued well into the night.

Foolish hope lingered in Jericho's heart. He squeezed Abel's hand once and waited. For what, he didn't know. For him to squeeze back? No, that was impossible. Still, he wanted to hope. He needed to.

Jericho cried again after that.

By the third morning of no clouds, Jericho couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. For better or for worse, he wasn't sure.

"This is the last day," Jericho said. "I'm meant to bury you tomorrow. Shit, angel, where am I supposed to bury you?"

There were cemeteries all over the city. Jericho knew them well. He wished he knew which one Abel's father was buried in, but he didn't know the first thing about the man. Abel told him the story in vague detail one hazy night when they both stumbled home drunk. His mother was possessed and Abel's father was her first victim. Abel was saved by exorcists, and his mother was sent off to God knows where.

It was a painful story to think about. Jericho lifted his hand to his lips and kissed his frigid skin. "You deserved a happy life," he whispered. "You deserved to feel joy."

This time, his tears were gentle as they slipped down his cheeks.

"I know you said I could be happy someday. You said... you were giving me the freedom to let go. To live on, find something else to make me happy. But I don't-" A sob cut through his words. "I don't want to love something else, Abel. I just want to love you."

Jericho's cries were not painful this time. They were soft, mournful, deep. More tears dripped down onto Abel's skin.

"I've got an eternity after this. Right now, it feels like an eternity of mourning." He laughed bitterly. "If I outlive everyone I ever love, how is that freedom, Abel?"

He brought his knuckles up to his lips again, crying against the back of his hand. Jericho didn't want to live forever. He just wanted to live with Abel for the time he had left. In the short time he knew him, he'd never felt so happy.

"Maybe you're right," he whimpered. "Maybe I will... maybe you will become just a brief flicker of my already ancient life. Maybe one day, I'll look back on the memories we made and it'll make me smile. They'll warm me on a rainy day, but the pain will be gone. But I don't want you... to be right. I don't want that to be all you are, Abel. We could've had so much time... we could've been everything to each other."

More sobs shook him. He held Abel's hand to his chest and wished so badly that it would hold him back.

"You were going to be my eternity, Abel. You were my salvation."

Jericho spent his last night with Abel crying again. It was a different kind of grief he felt, knowing this was the last he'd ever seen of Abel. Maybe if he wasn't the one to bury him, this wouldn't have felt so final. But he was going to have to get up eventually, he was going to have to find a place to lay him to rest, he was going to be the one to lower him to the ground, to cover him in dirt and let him go forever.

And he would do it alone.

The morning came too quickly for Jericho. He wasn't ready, but it wasn't his decision. Abel couldn't rot away on his bed forever. Though, he'd noticed Abel hadn't changed at all in the three days he'd been dead. There was no discoloration or foul stench. Abel's body did not reek of death like Jericho would've expected it to. He knew it was only because of his angelic properties preserving his body.

If anything, it was comforting. Even in death, Abel was so beautiful. Before he went off to search for a place to bury him, Jericho studied Abel, drinking in his beauty.

Any creature with the privilege of gazing upon his angel was a lucky one. It was the best thing that ever happened to Jericho, that he was blessed enough to know him the way he did. No one would ever be so fortunate as him.

Jericho took a shaky breath and stood. It was time, whether he wanted it to be or not.

He leaned over and pressed his lips to Abel's forehead. "I'll be back, angel," he whispered against the skin. "I'll find you a good place. I promise."

Three words lingered on his tongue. He considered, almost thinking better of it, but they spilled out before he could stop it.

"I love you."

He tore himself away after that. Tears streaked down his face as he stepped out onto the street. The sun shone brightly, not a cloud in sight, painting the world around him a bleary red. It was a beautiful shade of red, but the world was not meant to be this color. It never was.

Jericho searched every cemetery he knew. He couldn't find a marker that said Atherton anywhere, despite his best efforts, nor could he find a corner quiet enough. He didn't want to bury Abel somewhere where those who wanted to disgrace him could visit him. He didn't want them to give their false condolences, to pretend to mourn him when this was all their fault.

That's when it struck him.

In a quiet corner of a quiet street sat that small, quiet church house where Jericho danced for Abel, where Abel looked at him with eyes that made his stomach turn. At the time, the flowers in the front of the church were wilted. By now, they were completely dead.

Abel would not be disturbed here.

Maybe Jericho could plant new flowers here. He could tend to the gardens, he could water them every day and give them life until the city inevitably fell. It would give him something to do, it would give him an excuse to see Abel every day.

Jericho stood before the church house, a gentle, solemn smile raising the corners of his mouth.

He cleared his head with a deep breath and made his way back to the house. Grief followed him as he walked, but for the first time, he felt some semblance of comfort in knowing that Abel would be undisturbed in his rest. That for once, Abel might be able to find some peace.

Jericho unlocked the door and stepped through the threshold. His feet dragged on his way to his room. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Abel, but because he knew that when he did, that would be it. He'd scoop him up into his arms one last time to take him to the church house. Then he'd dig a hole in the ground, and he'd never seen him again.

Eventually, though, his feet carried him to the room. He paused in the doorway, hesitating. This was it. This was goodbye.

When Jericho stepped into the room at last, his heart dropped to his stomach.

Abel was gone.