Elias wasn't sure what changed after the observatory.
Varian didn't stop being a demon—didn't stop being possessive, dramatic, infuriating. But there was a new restraint in him. A hesitation. He still kissed Elias sometimes, but there was no pressure now. No magic. Just… want.
And Elias, to his own quiet horror, stopped flinching when it happened.
It was as if Varian had cracked something open in him—and now the silence between them was heavier than any fight.
Late that night, Elias found himself walking toward the tower, the one Varian had forbidden him from entering since day one. But there was no one around now. No guards. No fire runes. Just a cold iron door and a pull in his gut.
He opened it.
The room was filled with paintings.
Hundreds—maybe thousands. All scattered, leaning against the walls, tacked to ceilings, some still unfinished. Some were grotesque, demonic. Others abstract. But most…
Most were him.
Elias's breath caught.
His face in different angles. His hands holding a dagger. His eyes lit by fire. One of him asleep on a chair, another brushing snow from his coat. So many images, so many moments. Ones he didn't know Varian had even seen.
In the center of the room was a painting still wet, half-finished.
It was Elias—smiling.
A smile he'd never given Varian.
"You weren't supposed to find this," a voice said from behind.
Elias spun.
Varian stood in the doorway, no charm, no mask. Just him.
"You painted all of these?" Elias asked quietly.
"I remember everything you do. So I put it somewhere I could see."
"That's obsession."
Varian nodded. "I know."
Elias turned back to the smiling painting. "I never smiled like that."
"I know," Varian said again. "But I wanted to remember what it might look like… if you ever did."
Elias didn't answer.
He stepped around the room slowly, taking it all in. The devotion. The madness. The longing. And he hated himself for the warmth that sparked in his chest.
Because part of him—a small part—was touched.
"I still don't trust you," Elias said, facing him again.
"You shouldn't."
"I still want to leave."
"I'll let you."
"…Eventually."
Varian smirked. "Eventually."
Elias crossed the room slowly. "But until then…"
He reached out and gently touched Varian's face, fingers skimming his jaw.
Varian stilled.
"Don't kiss me unless I ask," Elias said.
"I won't."
"Don't touch me unless I let you."
"I'll wait."
Elias nodded. "Good."
Then, quietly, almost too soft to be real—
"…You can kiss me now."
And Varian did.
Gently. Reverently. Like a prayer.
Like Elias was the only god he'd ever worship.
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