I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope you're all having a wonderful day. Thank you for 9k reads and all the votes, make my heart swell tenfold every time I see a notification. You're the sweetest readers. All my love to you.

I attempted to write something unfamiliar to me a bit in this chapter, so bare with me and give feedback if you'd like. Hope this isn't all too rubbish. xx

Song: Cold Coffee, by Ed Sheeran

Angels POV

"Your lungs ought to be black by now, Zanthus." Maxim shakes his head at Zanthus, who is currently pulling out a small box reading 'Treasurer'.

"Oh fuck up, Maxi. You're just behind him." Hades retorts, though the tone in his voice surely isn't serious.

"You're outright fibbing and you know it," Maxim replies quickly.

"I do." Hades shoots back quickly, "I hate to let you down mate, but you've by far taken title as the worst of us when it comes to the habit." He gestures to the box which Zanthus is holding dormant in his right hand, a few steps away from me.

"Hear, hear." Xander emerges from the foyer and makes his presence known amongst the lot of us in the kitchen. "Oi, don't give me that. You know it's the truth." He shoots at Zanthus who is quite obviously not appeased with the banter going around at the moment.

"Embrace it Z!" Jax encourages as he attempts to sling an arm around his shoulders, but he gets bluntly shoved off in return.

Zanthus grumbles under his breath before he makes his way out of the room, heading the direction Xander had just come from. The frown upon my face isn't purposeful, though I can still feel it.

"He's not as bad as we make him out to be, cherry," Xander reassures as he brings himself to stand in front of me.

"Haven't heard that one in a bit." I raise my eyebrows at him, all with a good heart of course.

"Was giving ye time to settle in, you know. Manners and that. Think it's appropriate for the name to continue on its' legacy now." He taunts lightly with a smile, and I just roll my eyes and focus on keeping my face from flushing.

"You can go out with him, you know?" Hades tells me after a few seconds of comfortable silence go by amongst us all.

"I don't want to impose on his personal space," I begin, which receives me a fair share of pointed glances from the lads around me. "Right then," I mumble and nod, more so to myself than the others and begin to make my way down the same place Zanthus had disappeared from.

I can't will myself to appreciate the interior of the house with my nerves so on edge. I try and remind that there's nothing to get worked up about. I myself said that we're just friends.

Friends. Just friends. I'm alright with that. I want that.

I do.

The heavy door is silent when I pry it open, and I do my best to close it with the same result. Zanthus turns his head my direction, which proves my attempts were of no avail. I almost consider turning back around and going inside to hide from the embarrassment that's taken over me, but wisely decide against bottling tonight before it's begun.

"Erm, yeah, hi," I stumble over my words ungracefully.

His eyes stay locked on mine, not straying anywhere in the slightest. I feel my stomach do a somersault and my cheeks begin to burn like an ember.

"Sorry." I offer bashfully after a fair few moments of silence.

Zanthus just shakes his head to excuse my apology before waving me over to him. He's not far, but he's a decent distance away as he's a few steps down. I immediately comply with his unspoken order and make my way down the steps until I'm one above him.

For some reason, it seems more intimate like this, possibly due to the fact that we are closer in height this way, my face closer to his contrasting to where it sits below per usual.

"I'm sorry if I'm intruding, I just..." I trail off as the dark-haired boy in front of me stares with an unreadable expression sat upon his face. "I can go?" I offer, the silence only keeps. "Right," I let out softly, trying to hide my disappointment as I turn on my heel.

I feel a hand capture my own, Zanthus being the only possible culprit of this. I turn back around quickly as I can and face him. His eyes are almost weary and his stance is almost pleading. His appearance speaks for him while he chooses not to. My heart skips a few at this sight with me wanting to do nothing more than hold him close.

I feel his fingers knock against my own before he interlaces them completely. His hand is cold to the touch, but the feel of it against mine warms me. I am compliant with his actions of course, as I bring my own fingers to wrap against the back of his hand. This will have to suffice for my previous wish.

"S-stay," His voice is just above a whisper, almost wavering with emotion but it's so slight I can't tell if I imagined it or not. "P-please, Angel." He tacks on after I don't respond to his previous statement, too wrapped up in trying to decipher his state of being.

I nod, attention predominantly caught up by the fact that he's just directly asked me to stay with him. We're friends, so I assume that shouldn't be so odd or feel devoted, but it does. It does and it makes my blood run quicker, my heart pound faster and the air seems thicker, and my palms are surely sweating.

I feel him tug at my hand a bit drawing me from my thoughts, and he seems a bit more at ease but not entirely. I'm not sure what's wrong. Just the same, I'm not sure if I should stay quiet or if I should ask. With the way his grip tightens on my own under my puzzled gaze, I decide against the latter.

I finally muster up the courage to slip down the step I was stood on and place myself in front of Zanthus. The height difference wasn't detrimental-due to it just having been a one stair difference between-but is surely noticeable.

I look at him a bit longer before I take a seat on the stair were both stood upon. He looks at me almost incredulously before he takes a seat beside me. I feel his hand squeeze mine tighter as he takes in a sharp breath.

I stay silent. I'm still not certain whether or not he'd like me to speak, but with the way, he's responding I feel he doesn't. I don't mind it at all really. I like being this way with him. At first, I thought it would be difficult for the two of us to get along well without talking much, but I was far from correct with that hypothesis.

If anything, things have felt more intimate, not flourishing our relationship by conversing. Friends, we're friends of course, but that doesn't hinder the familiar warmth all our interactions bring me. It's the quiet smiles and shared glances. The small actions that make it all mean so much more and speak louder than any words ever could.

It's Zanthus silently scolding me while he places his jacket on my shivering shoulders in the morning before we get in the car. It's me playing the music that I've been able to conclude we both enjoy by paying notice to the way he sways his head to some tunes and scrunches his eyebrows up distastefully to others.

It's Zanthus texting me at two in the morning to tell me he's read the book I spoke a sentence about in one of my pointless rambles that inform he's listening and he cares even if he's not conversing with me directly. It's the two of us agreeing not to pay mind to the lack of verbal communication and have our own approach.

It's Zanthus and I using cold hands and bright eyes and soft smiles to get along.

I feel him inch closer to me and will myself to blame it on the cold air around us. When I feel his arms settle against my own and his posture stiffens I must admit to myself it's not the cold air. I curl my fingers tighter to his in an offer of reassurance, which proves of benefit as I feel him slack more comfortably against.

He draws a deep breath and I take the opportunity to cuddle-for lack of better word-myself against him. A bold move, but I feel pulled to and decided to trust myself for once. He freezes for a second at this action, or he doesn't. He was already so eminently still that I'm not sure if he really stiffened at my actions or not.

I hesitantly drop my head against his shoulder, it now being my turn to hold my breath and wait for his reaction. To my disbelief, he doesn't react to my action, only relaxes into it. I smile to myself as I feel his head hesitantly come to rest atop my own. I run my thumb over the back of his hand as a form of further solace.

Neither of us makes a move to speak, both aware that it would break the unspoken environment that's settled amongst us at this moment.

Friends.

We're friends. Friends can surely hold hands. Friends can surely rest a head on the others shoulder. Friends can surely share soft moments that are the most intimate because there silent and nothing needs to be spoken for them to understand. Friends can be us, we can be friends, we are friends.

More than friends.

That's a thought I shan't press at the moment.

I feel Zanthus's fingers tighten against mine in a nearly unbearable manner but I don't say a thing about it. I simply clasp his hand firmer to mine and bring myself closer to him. I think I feel a slight tremor come from him, though I don't move to look in his direction or analyze any further.

I feel Zanthus's leg begin to rise and fall at a rapid pace beside me. At first, I decide to ignore it, but it becomes more pressing over the course of a few minutes and soon enough I can't ignore it. It's not the fact that it's bothersome to me, not at all. It's more so that I know something bothering him to have him act as such, and holding it in doesn't seem to be much aid to him at the moment.

"Zanthus?" I try with him, getting no response to my displeasure. "Zeze?" I falter soon after, my own cheeks turning red at the nickname I'd given him earlier today.

It's not that there's anything wrong with it, just more so that it sounds incredibly personal, possibly one someone in a relationship with him may call him. Though it seems to please him, both at lunch and now as I feel him raise his head from mine, so I keep a note to not rid the name.

"Are you alright?" I ask, trying not to sound too cautious that it's patronizing.

His head nods quickly, and I feel him falter a bit before he pulls the same box he had pulled out in the house and sets it on his knee that's adjacent to mine. I stare at it, albeit puzzled. Not that I'm not sure what it is, the style of the box and the label reading 'Treasurers' giving a clear idea of what it holds inside. I'm confused as to why he's now got it sitting between us, not moving to open it or anything of the sort.

"What?" I incline vaguely though confident that I know he's sure what my indirect question is alluding to.

"I-" He stops himself quickly and I watch as he brings his hand not adjoined with mine to pinch his thigh, a bit too firm for my liking. Though I let it go for the moment.

"You can tell me whatever you'd like. You can not tell me whatever you'd like as well. I won't judge you regardless. Whatever you're up for." I affirm softly with a small squeeze to his hand.

"I j-just," An angry huff of breath emits from his nose, leading me to grasp his hand tighter again but keep my tongue quiet. "I-I ha-haven't, I-" He shakes his head roughly as he lets out a frustrated groan and turns his head to where I'm left looking at the back of his neck.

"Do you..." I trail off, not quite knowing if my conclusion is correct and not wanting to upset him more so to how much he already is. "Do you need a smoke?" I hesitate. Zanthus is still before he nods in response to my statement. "Alright," I start., "That's alright then. You can, I'm not-" I wave off the end of my ill-worded statement, hoping he receives what I'm trying to get across.

I'm sure he wasn't expecting that from me by the way his face contorts into one of incredulity, disbelief more to say. I respond with a reassuring smile to ease his confusion. Soon enough his face returns to its previous states, distressed but somewhat neutral.

"You're su-sure?" He prods, but his restless fingers pinching the cloth of his jeans firmly let it be clear he doesn't want me to say no.

It's quite endearing he'd let himself be so unfulfilled if I can put it that way, just due to my disapproval.
I reach for his hand that's assaulting his thigh and take hold of it, so I'm left with both of his hands under my grasp. I'm the one this time to slip my fingers through his and to squeeze his hand with confidence.

"I'm sure, Zanthus. Don't let yourself become so distressed over it, I really don't mind at all. Thank you for being so respectful of me though." I say honestly.

Although I may not particularly enjoy smoking I'm not going to try and change him, he's got to do that for himself. Especially not with how we've just begun to build a solid relationship over the past two weeks, albeit it's been a bit complicated. I would hate for him to think I'm coming into all this and viewing him as some sort of project to fix up and polish.

"Th-thank you." His appreciation is a bit rushed as he drops both his hands from my hold and reaches one towards the box and the other towards his pocket. I hinder myself from emitting the small protest that bubbles in my throat at the loss of contact because that would just be pathetic really.

I watch as he fidgets with the lighter, hands practically shaking as he flicks the top off and works to get the flame up. I reach out and grab the lighter from his shaky hand and light it up myself. He murmurs a small essentially inaudible 'thank you' as he brings his other hand up and lets the cigarette meet the flame for just long enough. I close the lighter securely and hand it back to him, and he uses his free hand to slip it into his back pocket along with the box.

It's not that I'm condoning his smoking cigarettes overall, but I pick and choose my battles. For the time being, I'll leave it be. Small steps, one foot at a time and all that. We have to work our way up to the point where I could appropriately confront him on the habit. But I have got to make it clear I really don't judge him for it because that is true.

He's Zanthus without a cigarette in hand and he's still my Zanthus with one.

I observe as he takes a drag from the white end of the stick, the gold being lit given. He takes it from his lips and I gather that he's inhaling it back into his lungs. He leans back a bit and tilts his head upwards, accentuating his jaw and his adam's apple in the most enthralling manner.

His lips part and he rids the excess smoke into the air above him. He stills suddenly, almost as if he's frozen, but the scrunching of his eyebrows inform me he's not. I scrunch my nose a bit at the smell and scoot a bit away from him to get a higher ratio of fresh air while hoping it goes unnoticed.

It doesn't, of course.

Zanthus shakes his head as he opens his eyes and levels his head again. He brings his arm with it in hand to rest on his knee, other hand dropping between the two of us palm flat against the cement.

"M-my mum." Zanthus starts, tone dithering.

I know better than to tell him he doesn't have to tell me. While of course, that's a normal reaction, I know I've made it clear to Zanthus he doesn't have to talk if he doesn't want to. I don't want to risk him taking the generic suggestion as one that's telling him I don't want him to talk.

"Sh-she's got, d-doesn't-" I watch him squeeze his eyes shut tightly with his head still kept facing straight forward. "My, m-my mu-mum." His sentence isn't fluid and it doesn't make too much sense to me, but I'm aware it makes perfect sense to Zanthus and whatever it means is important.

It's quite obvious that he's having trouble talking about whatever he's got on his mind, but the attempt is all that matters. The start. The fact that he's willing to even to begin to trust me with something that appears like it holds great power over him makes my insides flip.

I reach my hand out to his for the nth time, which he takes with great pleasure and it's less than a blink before he's got our fingers tangled and my hands in his lap and he's squeezing it like a lifeline. He drops his head so it's facing his lap, and I've got the urge to run my hands through his hair and ease him from whatever thoughts have got him so wrought-up.

I bring myself closer to him, so the side of him is pressed almost entirely against my own. I hear his breathing begin to grow heavier and quicker and I feel unease bubble within my own chest. His shoulders rise and fall at an unnatural pace, this at fault of his currently wrecked breathing pattern of course.

I cautiously reach over and take the barely gripped cigarette from his trembling hand and let it drop to the step below us, crunching it with my shoe. I stretch my left hand, letting it settle atop Zanthus's head softly, just barely running my fingers through his hair. He seems to appreciate the physical comfort as he leans further into my touch, head almost resting on my lap by his action.

"My brother would always tell me stories about poppy fields when I was little." I impart softly. "Anytime I'd come to him crying. Whether I missed my parents or I thought there were monsters hiding under my bed, it was all the same to him." I feel Zanthus grip me tighter, his head now resting delicately against my legs, face away from me.

His breaths still aren't admirable. If anything they've seemed to have gotten worse, and I feel like losing the plot myself at this but I know that me doing so would only make things worse. I take a deep breath myself and root my fingers more prominently in his hair, hoping that this will serve as a soothing tactic for Zanthus.

"It always helped me feel better. Gave me a safe haven. I think about it, I go there when things get too much." I twiddle a piece of his fringe between my fingers, "Would you like me to tell you about the poppy fields?" I prod daintily. Zanthus nods his already shaky head just enough for me to gage an answer.

So I take a deep breath, still paying close attention to Zanthus's unruly ones. I cradle his head closer to me, so the back off it is adjacent to my stomach. I'm taken back a great deal when Zanthus flips his head, so his face is nuzzling into the front of my sweater.

His eyes are sealed tightly, and he's got a worrisome crease in his eyebrows along with strictly defined jaw from anxious clenching I gather. With his form facing my way, I can see just how distraught he is.

There are a few stray tears tracking his cheeks that he's obviously doing the most to hold in. His chest is heaving and he's flushed red, but not the adorable crimson he turns per usual. My own heart clenches as I take note of all the wary details of him, from his tottering fingers to his against my own to his nearly inaudible whimpers.

"Have you ever been to a poppy field? They're exquisite." I begin. "Just picture a field for me. Grass, endless. Can you do that?" I query, not expecting an answer in return.

Zanthus curls into me further, his hand squeezing mine that's still in his grip tighter to himself. Though despite this action, one of almost desperation, his breathing has made slight improvements to before. He's surely not alright, but he's not in a state as wrecked.

"Poppies. Think of poppies. Red's, White's, Pink's, Yellow's, whatever colours you'd please. Tons and tons of poppies. It's quiet, but not too quiet. Birds are chirping, a stream is running, there's a slight breeze in the air. It's calm, serene. Far away from here, it's far away. Almost like it's another world, a dream." I go on, hoping that my attempts to help bring him back down from whatever wave of distress he's riding on arent of no avail.

"Just picture that for me alright? It's so beautiful, so beautiful. It can be just you, or I can be there with you. Xander, Jax, it's all up to you. Whatever you'd like." I propose, keeping my tone light. I'm hesitant to go on, not quite sure if he's really gaining anything from my words.

"P-please." Zanthus chokes out, quite literally, his lack of stable air and silent sobs causing his voice to crack a bit. His demand is vague, but by the way, he clutches me tighter-if possible-I can infer what he's attempting to say.

"I'm here. I'm with you yeah? Do you still see it?" I maneuver my left hand to nurse the hair at the nape of his neck. "It's beautiful, innit? Endless tranquillity, stillness." I go on, "The white poppies have always been my favourite. They represent peace, dreams, imagination. Hope and placidity. They're so intricately beautiful." Zanthus's grip on my hand becomes a bit less prominent, though I'm still very aware it's there.

"I always imagine fields of white poppies. Just me and the flowers, nothing else. No worries, no stress, nothing of the sort. Sometimes I'm alone, and sometimes William's there with me. Sometimes it's sunny, and sometimes there rain. But it's never unpleasant. It's just so repose." I thread my fingers up through his hair, only applying a feather-like pressure when I halt to tend to certain alluring pieces.

The dark haired boy who's half in my lap has seemed to have gotten some sort of hold on himself now. His chest is rising like he's just finished a marathon, but the actual stressed state of his being seems to have left him. It's only the aftermath now.

"I always loved, love, to picture butterflies. They're so delicate, just seems fit. Butterflies and birds in the sky, the field below the white poppies green as can be and the sun beaming down making the river sparkling in the golden light. The airs fresh, everything is just so natural, safe. Imperfectly perfect." I bring my hand to almost still in his hair, and the slight jerk of his head tells me to keep going.

"That's how things are meant to be, I believe. Natural, flawed, that's where the beauty emits from. The imperfect is what makes things perfect." I move my hand from Zanthus's hair to wipe a few tears that are falling down his cheeks. "The grass may be itchy, the poppies may be unevenly placed, the butterfly's wings may not be symmetrical and the birds chirping may eventually become displeasing, but it's perfect. It's all so perfect because it's pure, and that's what makes it so serene. That's what makes it my safe haven." Deep brown eyes now connect with mine, making my breath hitch.

I wipe a few more tears from Zanthus's cheeks, letting my hand rest atop his cheek once I've done so. I receive no objections from him at this. Instead, I feel him bring his hand that's not intertwined with mine to rest on top of my own softly. My heart beats almost out of my chest at this.

It feels incredibly private, personal. Though I can't help but take note of how no objections cross my own mind. I assume he takes my stillness as a positive response, as he entangles our fingers, his hand essentially wrapping mine. My other hand is still interlocked with his, resting against his chest.

I reckon looking in on the two of us from an outside perspective would be confusing. The incredibly tall boy is curled in a ball with almost half of his form resting on my lap and both of our hands tangled together. And even if the position is classifiable as awkward, neither of us comment.

Judging by the setting of the sun in front of us and the air growing a bit cooler, I'm certain we've been out here for a while. Zanthus doesn't seem to mind this though if he takes not of it. He doesn't seem to mind anything but me, as his eyes haven't wavered from my form once.

"Do you want to head inside?" I offer softly, forcing myself to keep a composed tone as he runs the pad of his thumb over the back of my hand.

Zanthus is quiet in return to this proposal, though I don't push him to answer immediately. I'm positive he'll give me some sort of response on his own time, and I'm in no rush. None at all. I feel him tighten his holds on both of my hands, and soon enough there's a pint-sized smile gracing his lips.

"I-I," He starts, shutting his eyes and taking a firm breath before refocusing his gaze upon me.

"You..." I trail off, a teasing smile of my own meeting my lips, part in an attempt of lightning in the mood and part because I can never quit my own smile once he showcases one of his own. No matter how big or small his may be.

His grin stretches further across his lips, cheeks now flushing that flattering crimson I had found myself missing just a bit ago. I will myself not to protest when he begins to move off of me, seating himself upright and brushing out his scrunched shirt. He messes about his hair a bit, settling himself.

He turns his head up so the tip of his nose is pointing to the sky and draws a deep breath. As he relieves the air from his lungs, his form relaxes and he turns to me. The smile on his face is still there, but now almost ghosting as he reaches his right hand to take up my own again, hesitating a bit before squeezing it softly.

"I th-think I'd l-like to s-stay here f-f-for a b-bit."