Satanas Chapter 10.1 - Side Story 1. The Way They Live

The following year, spring. Exactly one year and two months later, London remained unchanged.

Quiet, intense, brimming with romance, yet harboring a strange danger, the vast city. The Thames River, as if printed from an etching, and the tangled alleys reborn from an artist’s hand. The landscape, trapped in fog and crowds, resembled a painting of exquisite detail. Kensington Gardens, where they had settled, was no exception.

“Bell, I want to eat meat.”

An early morning moment. The weather, as if entering the equatorial doldrums, lacked even a breeze. The sky was sealed with a gray ceiling, and pale skins, long untouched by light, flooded the streets. Creak, creak. As a milk cart rolled away, Tadeo emerged from the room.

“Meat?”

“Yeah. Cooked… rare.”

Bell, standing by the window, turned around. He had thought Tadeo could barely open his eyes. They were that swollen. All he wore was underwear and a red tartan robe, with blotches around his collarbone from being sucked raw.

His gaze, sliding down from the nape, stopped at the center of a nipple. Wild thorn vines embroidered across the chest stretched up to the throat. They had grown more brazenly than before, almost piercing the Adam’s apple, but thankfully, they were concealed by the Roman collar.

“You wouldn’t eat it; it’s too bloody.”

Bell tilted a glass of red wine. The last time he unleashed his power flashed through his mind. The battle with Lucifer had left marks that ate away at Tadeo’s vitality. The wine he swallowed, looking at those marks, tasted different. Bitter, heavy, astringent.

“No. I really want it like that.”

Really want it like that? Bell couldn’t ask again. Not because he swallowed the wine, nor because the astringent taste roughened his tongue. Was change always this sudden? Tadeo, who ate most things but never had a strong appetite, pinpointing a craving right after waking was, without a doubt, a first.

Moreover, wasn’t his palate one that preferred meat well-done, even if it turned tough? Bell quietly pursed his lips at the lingering acidity. He was the one who preferred near-raw food.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Tadeo asked, lifting the hand pressing his swollen eyelids. He blinked until his hazy vision cleared. As it sharpened, he saw Bell staring at him oddly.

“…No reason.”

Bell shook his head, giving a delayed response.

“Get dressed. We’re going to the market.”

Before the words finished, Tadeo retreated to the room. Even then, Bell didn’t look away. He couldn’t move, even after setting down the wine glass.

“But we’re not going to a restaurant?”

Tadeo’s voice drifted through the half-open door. “I washed, but it’s so hard to keep my eyes open.” Only then did Bell move, drawing closer to the murmured self-talk.

Tadeo’s dressing was intermittently visible. The two-inch gap in the door couldn’t hide him. It narrowed the view, focusing it. All he had to do was move.

Bell leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. He didn’t open the door further. The gap was narrow yet sufficient. The sight through it, so mundane, pleased him. Tadeo dressed carelessly but tied his cravat meticulously. He’d probably cover his neck even in the heat. No, he’d have to.

The bitter taste of the wine resurfaced, and Bell, staring at his reflection, pursed his lips.

“What’s that? You were standing there?”

Tadeo must have turned because there was no reply. Even the sudden sight through the gap brought a bright smile. Surely, Bell thought, even a demon would smile at that.

“Can’t we go to a restaurant, Bell?”

“The British can’t cook meat.”

“I don’t want to do dishes.”

Tadeo pouted at the curt reply. He now wore a beige raincoat.

“Who said you’d do dishes? I’m not asking you to.”

Bell’s scowl reflected in the full-length mirror. It was true. He’d never scolded Tadeo, who knew nothing of tidying, not even when the table became a trash bin or dishes piled up for days.

Of course, returning to London, Tadeo took on roles himself. Bell would cook, and he’d clean. The reason was the dust accumulated over a year in Kensington Gardens.

The house, frozen since Christmas Eve, was perfectly preserved in its grim state. Too ordinary for a haven of those who’d faced unspeakable events. Or rather… filthy, as a house of two men would be.

Tadeo saw the space he’d left in disarray, momentarily speechless. Mrs. Morita’s claim that it was too dirty for anyone to live in made him glance sheepishly, though laughter followed, earning him a smack on the back.

“That’s not what I meant, Bell.”

Finally, he tightened his belt and turned. His grumbling lips were now wide with a smile.

“I meant let’s eat out. Somewhere nice.”

🦇

April in London was cooler than Hanseong at this time. With large temperature swings, a light coat was necessary, yet only Bell kept saying, “It’s hot.” Walking side by side, Tadeo glanced at him. Today, Bell wore a cravat with a deep amethyst hue, a gift from Tadeo.

He didn’t loosen it despite the heat. Feeling oddly pleased, Tadeo shrugged. Just then, a steam bus bound for St. Paul’s Cathedral via Trafalgar Square approached. Bell, unbuttoning his jacket with one hand, lengthened his stride. He reached out, but the bus passed, leaving only acrid exhaust.

“What are you doing?”

Tadeo had pulled Bell’s hand down.

“No need for the bus, Bell.”

The golden hair, tousled by the exhaust-laden breeze, hadn’t settled. Watching it float, Tadeo felt himself lift too.

“Just two more blocks.”

He gestured to a small restaurant two blocks away.

Crunch. Their shoes stopped before a shabby building. At the alley’s turn, marked by an old tenement, a grim morning fog lingered. Young literati might walk miles through this polluted, enchanting street for inspiration, but Bell had no taste for faded aesthetics.

A ground-floor restaurant with six worn tables. The bar table was cluttered with knife marks and strewn items. Whether they felt no need to clear it without customers or it had become a multipurpose surface was unclear.

The red awning outside bore grotesque clown faces in a row. The curtains on the windows were grimy, and the once-white frames had yellowed. An old man by the window had just stubbed out a cigarette on the frame.

“Hello, Mazzy.” This was a restaurant that had stood in Kensington Gardens for twenty years.

“You think this place… has a nice atmosphere?”

“Yeah. Hello, Ms. Mazzy. Good morning.”

Ding. Tadeo nodded and entered. Bell, holding the closing door, glanced at the exterior again.

There was a reason he dressed formally. To eat out, somewhere nice. His hand itched to loosen the cravat. But at the whispered urging to come in, he silently clenched his fist.

“The meat smell here was amazing recently.”

“Sure.”

“And it’s the only place open at this hour.”

“You’d find others if you looked.”

They sat, scanning the menu, continuing their banter.

“We need to stop by St. Paul’s later.”

“You’re leaving the priesthood.”

“Yeah, I’m leaving.”

Tadeo pointed to the steak on the menu. Bell, resting his chin, leaned back and spoke.

“Oh, after you die of old age?”

His tone was mocking. Tadeo looked up from the menu.

“Speak nicely.”

Ms. Mazzy approached, tying her apron. Handing over the loudly folded menu to order, Tadeo kept his eyes on Bell’s face.

“Until the Vatican sends an exorcist priest. I’m the only one in London.”

“Right. You’re saving the world alone.”

Bell sneered again, and Tadeo frowned.

The conversation stopped. The old man by the window wet his finger to turn the newspaper. The smell of oil-soaked paper and lingering tobacco. Thwack, thwack, the knife hitting the cutting board, the sound of meat sizzling in a greased pan. Tadeo rested his chin quietly. He was grateful for the mundane, despite the unpleasant elements.

His blinking black eyes now glanced at Bell. Staring intently at the window, Bell was an easy target for Tadeo’s gaze. Bell, you hate London. So where will we drift to next? Tadeo tapped the table softly.

Over the past year, had our journey, swept along like waves, truly ended? Was returning to London… really the right choice?

The old man by the window rummaged through his cigarette pack. “Odd, I’m sure there was one left…” He crumpled it, muttering.

“Hey, Bell…”

“Only a priest would order steak at this hour.”

The sound of heels on the wooden floor stopped, and a plate with a slab of beef was set before Tadeo.

“Oh, thanks, Mazzy.”

“And only a priest would drink whiskey.”

Ms. Mazzy said, placing a whiskey glass before Bell. He’d just passed fifty and had a son Tadeo’s age. When Tadeo mentioned his age, Mazzy had laughed heartily, saying, “My son’s much younger!” with a flourish.

But when Bell tilted the whiskey without a glance, Ms. Mazzy pouted and turned away. Bell treated everyone but Tadeo like they were invisible. Still.

“Be friendlier.”

“Why are you like this today? Why should I be friendly to strangers?”

“It’s nice to get along. I wish you’d learn to live with people.”

Tadeo, picking up his knife and fork, replied casually. Bell furrowed his brow but, hating prolonged arguments, sipped his whiskey quietly.

“Thanks for the meal. Wait, isn’t this my cigarette?”

Scrape. Tadeo looked up from cutting his meat. The old man by the window was folding his newspaper and standing. Picking up a cigarette from the floor, he tilted his head, puzzled.

“Must’ve dropped it there!”

Ms. Mazzy shouted, leaning over the bar table, and the old man scratched his balding head. The paused knife resumed cutting. Tadeo glanced at Bell, who sat elegantly, sipping whiskey.

The last cigarette was likely taken by Bell. He knew exactly what Tadeo liked and disliked. Except that, to Tadeo now, everything seemed as beautiful as a sun-scorched beach.

“Stop smoking in the shop!”

“You smoke too, Mazzy.”

With hands on her hips, puffing air, Ms. Mazzy watched the old man leave. Bell’s gaze followed him outside. The morning fog had lifted slightly. Tadeo offered a piece of meat on his fork, but Bell refused.

“He never eats willingly…” The rejected meat went into Tadeo’s pouting mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh… Nothing.”

After craving it so much, he had no reaction once it was in his mouth. Bell, pursing whiskey-wet lips, tilted his glass again. Through it, he saw Tadeo, holding fork and knife, sitting still.

“Maybe I should’ve listened. Rare is… too much.”

He chewed for a while, swallowed, and quietly set down his utensils. Swallowing a laugh, Bell raised his hand.

“Here, cook the meat again. Medium.”

“Medium-rare.”

“Medium.”

What’s with the stubbornness? You can’t eat it bloody. Bell’s piercing stare spoke for him. As Tadeo opened his mouth to retort, Ms. Mazzy approached, wiping wet hands on her apron. His lips pursed, but Bell coldly handed over the plate.

The meat, oozing blood when cut, revealing red flesh, came back a deep brown. Sniffing it, Tadeo muttered, “Yeah, this is the smell.” Bell bit back a laugh, holding his empty glass.

But the face that took a bite soon shifted subtly.

“…I can’t eat this.”

“What?”

Clang. The knife and fork hit the plate. Bell had just taken his first sip of the newly ordered whiskey. Tadeo’s face was completely stiff.

“My stomach… feels sick.”

🦇

By afternoon, the fog began lifting from the docks. Sparse clouds formed, and soon raindrops fell. The drizzle, like seagull droppings, quickly thickened. Londoners, used to fickle weather, reflexively opened umbrellas.

London’s rain carried a faint oil scent. It seeped into brick crevices. Bell, sitting on a single sofa, leapt up and approached the window. The loud clatter of horse hooves splashing water echoed.

Outside, not even a rat was visible. Only a sinister carriage raced down the street. Drawn by four black horses, all wide-eyed and nodding, it entered the small village of Kensington Gardens with menacing muscle.

“Still as grim as ever.”

Muttering briefly, Bell turned from the window.

For the first time, he swiftly climbed the creaky stairs. Certainly not out of joy for the visitor. Absolutely not.

“Who are you to summon me? Are you even worthy?”

The carriage door opened. An irritated voice cut through the rain to the front door, where Bell greeted the guest without an umbrella. He didn’t step forward, wary of getting wet. He’d called them, yet begrudged even rain splattering his shoe tips.

“Seems you’re no longer a fugitive.”

Bell, holding the door, offered a dry greeting.

“That’d be you.”

“Weren’t you exposed to Hadad?”

“Not at all.”

The pale purple robe, soaked upon stepping from the carriage, turned a deep lavender.

“Are you insane? Calling me out in this weather?”

Under the hood, a shadowed face ground its teeth.

“Hoo…”

With a long sigh, the stranger stepped inside. Bell’s light gesture swung the door shut, locking it with two clicks.

“By the way, you?”

“What.”

“No strange signs around?”

The robe regained its original color, dry as if sun-baked, fluttering as they climbed the stairs.

“Well.”

Bell, ascending alongside, glanced at the living room door. The vague reply didn’t linger. A slanted mouth formed an arrogant smile toward the guest.

“Who’d dare touch the demon that sealed Luciel?”

As they faintly reflected in a small stained-glass window, a slightly raised chin cast a downward gaze. “Arrogant bastard. Should’ve let Baal kill him.” The hooded face ground its teeth again.

“Don’t act superior. It’s annoying.”

“Haha.”

Two shadows, brushing moldy wallpaper, stopped at the door. Bell’s hollow laugh marked their entry into the living room.

“What’s so urgent you called me?”

A fuzzy red carpet tripped them. The muted furniture, in dried rose hues, matched the mahogany side table. Ashes spilled from the fireplace, books overflowed the shelves. The pale purple robe surveyed the room. A long sleeve slid back, revealing a hidden hand.

“Bell, who’s here?”

Removing the hood and turning, the stranger locked eyes with Tadeo emerging from the room. Instantly, their eyes widened, freezing in place.

“My… God.”

Skin so pale veins were visible peeled away. The groaning face bloomed anew with lush cheeks. A face whiter than lilies, with thick golden curls cascading to the chest, like roasted barley grains rustling.

The same face that announced the Virgin’s conception, Gabriel.

“Bellred… You, no way…”

“Yeah.”

The stiffly turned head faced Bell. While the face slowly contorted, Bell nodded calmly,

“Looks like Tadeo’s pregnant.”

Adding a bombshell.

The rain, as cunning as the weather, thinned and thickened repeatedly. It marked the passage of time. A time unknowable from the window. In the darkness-stirring hours, with an empty whiskey bottle between them, Bell and Gabriel sat.

“Haa…”

Gabriel’s occasional sighs nailed the silence. A glimpse of tangled thoughts in a sigh. Sitting opposite, their postures and shadowed forms were similar. Gabriel, one leg over his thigh, staring at the ceiling, touched his forehead.

“Why the hell did you do this?”

Bell quietly clasped his hands. Like praying, he brought them to his lips, eyes floating.

“Hey, don’t think.”

“….”

“I said don’t. Hey!”

Gabriel shouted, pointing, but Bell only closed his eyes.

So, it was a month ago.

🦇

They combined their bedrooms. Decided to share one room. Neither initiated it. Returning to London, they naturally sought one room, one bed.

No longer did anyone need to lie alone in bed, listening to the sound of falling water. As a result, the bathtub overflowed with water. The tub was so narrow that when facing each other, one had to fold their legs, but they learned to sit back-to-chest instead.

Because of this, bathing took longer. When the gentle steam rose to the bathroom ceiling, Tadeo said it felt like looking at a whale’s belly swimming through waves. Each time, he rested his head on Bell’s shoulder, and Bell would spread his legs.

A time when the only thing to lose was each other. Rounded knees rose above the water’s surface. A lightly lifted hip parted, and the soles pressed against the tub lifted off. When slender ankles emerged above the water, whether it was fingers or a firmly erect organ, something filled the space.

“Ah…”

Afterward, Tadeo parted his lips instead of closing his eyes.

The bathwater grew cloudy, as if milk had been spilled. It was filled with what was poured in and what spilled out. Similar but distinctly different. The simple difference of who poured into whom and who received from whom.

As the water grew more opaque, Tadeo let his head fall back comfortably. He disliked seeing his own delighted face reflected in clear water, so he strained his neck even while being taken from behind. Only when the water was too murky to reflect his face did he stop worrying about holding his head up, and Bell was well aware of this.

“Ah! Uh, hng… Too, too much, ngh, wait, Bell…!”

“Haa, hoo…”

The bed was wet. The pillow was wet. It was because they had rubbed their naked bodies, fresh from the bath. Water dripped from clumped hair, and damp backs wiped against the sheets.

“Ngh, ah, slow, slowly…! Please, hng, ngh!”

“Lift your hips properly, yeah?”

Each thrust sounded like crushing overripe fruit. The inner walls, forcibly spread and opened, trembled softly. Bell, parting the flesh gripped in both hands, looked down. He saw his shaft moving in and out of the quivering hole. When he plunged in like an anchor and pulled out without hesitation, the veined, arm-thick organ emerged soaked.

Long hair fell over the bulging flesh between his fingers. Sweat dripped too. Hotter than scraped elbows and knees, Tadeo’s belly and tailbone burned, so he pulled the pillow closer. Biting the pillowcase, he shuddered, burying his wet hair. Ugh, ugh. His moans, muffled, sounded like a choked throat.

“I’m lifting my hips properly…!”

Tadeo shouted, pushing Bell’s chest with his soles. Worried about suffocating, he turned his body, but the rough handling must have felt irritable.

“No need for that now.”

His spine glistened, and his hips, slick with moisture, slipped. His upturned face was the same. Bell felt a throbbing in his nape at the sight of that crying, angry face.

“Damn… you, slow…!”

Kicking did nothing. He knew it, but experiencing it was worlds apart from expecting it. Would it hurt to yield just once? As he opened his mouth to shout again, a different sound came out.

“Ah! Too, deep…!”

Bell knew better than anyone how to tame him, especially in moments like this. He grabbed the ankle pushing his chest and slung it over his shoulder. Lifting the hips from the heels, he rose on his knees, and the semen-soaked hips spread wide.

“Haa, keep talking back, quick.”

“Ngh, uh, ah, aaah, something’s, weird…”

“Hoo, hoo… Come on, Jinha.”

Holding the pelvis, he pressed on relentlessly. Toes, no longer touching the sheets, dangled, and the flushed face reddened. Tears streamed, wetting earlobes, and compared to Bell’s, his underdeveloped organ swayed limply. No sooner had it stiffened than it spurted semen up to his chest.

“Haa, hng, look…!”

“Please…!”

Stop. Stop. No, a little more. Just a bit more. A clamor raged within. But seeing the convulsing jaw, Bell couldn’t stop. Perhaps he couldn’t bear to miss that pleading face. Seeing thin mucus splattered on the black cross, he pressed it with his large palm. It quieted his own clamor a little.

“Mm, ahh, Be, Bell, ngh, your, eyes…”

“Eyes, what.”

Tadeo barely gasped, like someone being strangled.

“Your eyes, they’re weird, ngh, I said!”

“What…?”

Even in the frenzy, he reached out to point at his eyes. Following Tadeo’s gesture, Bell turned to the mirror by the bed.

Bell’s eyes widened. The dawn-sky eyes had turned a blazing red, like polished rosary beads, vivid blood-red. Bell swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed, his jawline sharpened and settled.

His frozen gaze dropped to the hand pressing his chest. He was tense. Bewilderment, shock, and a strange regret for a time devoid of reason showed on his face.

Lifting the hand from his chest felt like opening a forbidden box.

“What’s this… Since when?”

A rose, untouched by railroads, bloomed most lushly on the cross. It seemed to have drunk blood the same red as Bell’s eyes.

“…Just now.”

“What?”

“I’ll wash it off. Get up.”

His voice trembled. Bell might have thought he’d gloss over it, but Tadeo had no such intention. Years of living entwined mocked such a thought. It was infuriating that Bell could leave him in this state, unscathed himself, and turn away first.

That’s the one thing you hate most, isn’t it?

“Who said to turn away?”

“I said get up.”

“No.”

Bell slowly turned. His gaze met Tadeo’s, lips pressed tight in a glare. The door wasn’t closed; he could look away again. But he felt inexplicably anxious. Guilt for doing something wrong crept in, and Bell wet his dry lips. The problem was that his words never matched his heart.

“When I told you to talk back, now you do?”

“Yeah. You’ve had your fun, haven’t you?”

“What?”

“So what you’re doing now is right? Making me leak like this…! You just want to do this with me, don’t you?!”

His shrill voice echoed to the empty attic. Heavy breathing followed, and Bell’s face remained impassive. As the panting grew louder, Bell suddenly leapt onto the bed. He looked like a beast pouncing, and Tadeo nearly screamed.

He belatedly pressed against the headboard, but his ankles were pulled, laying him flat. His hands slipped from the headboard, failing to grip the sheets. He struggled with elbows, clutching the pillow, but was dragged back again.

“W-Wait, I, I spoke too harshly!”

“Smells good, Jinha…”

“What, what did you say?”

“Scream more… yeah? Quick, Jinha. You smell good.”

The sniffing climbed from his instep to his shin. Not a ravenous sound of devouring, but like rustling through gentle foliage. Through the fallen hair, only a high nose and eyelashes were visible, but he was as deliberate as a male sniffing a mate before coupling.

“Haa, I’m going crazy… How do I make you scream, Jinha…”

“I-I said I was wrong… ahh!”

The nose, buried in his inner thigh, dug deep into his side. Lifting an arm, he licked up to the hollowed armpit. Tadeo shrank his neck, shuddering. Among countless caresses, this act felt uniquely intense now.

“Need me to thrust again to make you scream…?”

The face at his chest lifted abruptly, as if realizing something. Before Tadeo, covering his mouth with trembling hands, could reply, his legs were spread. Even if he’d pushed, they’d have parted wide.

Bell, lying flat between the parted legs, slowly pushed Tadeo’s thighs, lifting them as in the tub. Toes curled in the air, and sweat beaded in the folded knees.

“This… we call it nourishment.”

Bell said, staring at the glistening inner hips. The red folds, ripe as a burst fig, were tightly woven. With each rapid breath, they opened and closed. It felt like peering into the flesh of a fruit bearing tiny flowers without splitting it.

A long index finger, coated in white mucus, circled the quivering rim. It drew wide circles, gradually narrowing. Slowly, slowly.

Tadeo couldn’t see it, only Bell’s crown. Bell’s hand counted the folds. Hup, Tadeo inhaled unwittingly, and the hole shrank. Then the extended finger slipped into the gap.

“Ah, ah!”

“When a human in a master-servant ritual abnormally receives semen…”

“Don’t, bend, ahh… ah! Ngh!”

“The cross that feeds on nourishment blooms.”

Squelch, squelch. The sound clung, even unseen. It stuck to eardrums and corneas, shameful. Tadeo wanted to cover his ears. When two fingers emerged, warm, melted mucus dripped, and Bell pushed it back in repeatedly.

“…A sign of fertility.”

He murmured, capturing the sign in his red eyes.

“What… did you say? I didn’t hear…!”

Tadeo tried to focus, but the last words were unclear. When he asked again, Bell rose, bringing his lips to Tadeo’s flushed earlobe.

“I mean.”

“Ahh, hng, ah…!”

“If we keep going, you might bear my child.”

The fingers moved faster. The once-stiff sound turned to wet squelching.

“You, while, now… hng! Fingers, ngh, keep…!”

A place that wouldn’t moisten without lubricant was now wet with something else. Not Bell’s, but Tadeo’s bodily fluids. Lukewarm, almost watery, they flowed endlessly.

“See? Swallowing my fingers.”

“Ngh, I don’t, don’t know… too, hot…!”

The change wasn’t just physical. Tadeo raised both arms, wrapping Bell’s neck, burying his nose and philtrum in his nape, whispering.

“Not that… no fingers, Bell… Please, I beg, ngh, please…”

“Where’d you hear my words, Jinha? Hm?”

“Please, please, Bell… hng, please…”

Both were out of their minds, bodies connected. No red signal warned of danger. In a state devoid of reason, their contract-bound relationship erupted instinctively.

Tadeo, face a mess beyond his hips, pleaded.

“Put it in, Bell…”

In that moment, they firmly believed they transcended demon and human, master and servant.

🦇

“So… this is the mess?”

Gabriel snapped up, retorting sardonically. What a spectacle. A human bearing a demon’s child was rare; a male human was unprecedented. He rubbed his temples, a chronic headache from meeting these rule-breakers.

First, he thought step by step. Report to Heaven, report, report…

“Not just one or two things! You trash! You should’ve restrained yourself!”

Gabriel finally stood, unable to hold back.

“How do you restrain in that situation?”

“That hideous thing between your legs, who controls it if not you?!”

“As you know, when fertility signs appear, demons and humans lose reason…”

“I know! I get it!”

Bell sat, posture unchanged, recalling the events. Raising his chin, his fingertips slid from philtrum to jaw. Gabriel’s rising anger cooled under his calm gaze.

Raising both hands and feet in surrender, Gabriel slumped back. Only then did Bell blink. Though not shown, he was steeped in worried thoughts.

“For now, a demon’s fetus grows very fast in a human womb.”

Gabriel spoke, calmer now.

“I know.”

“But the human body can’t withstand it.”

Bell’s face hardened at the next words.

“Three months at the earliest.”

“….”

“Four at the latest.”

Seeing him, Gabriel sighed, shaking his head.

“They might endure while it’s inside.”

“….”

“The problem is delivery.”

Delivery, exactly. Who knows if it’ll tear through! Trying to shout quietly, a rusty hinge creaked.

“Um… excuse me…”

Gabriel and Bell’s eyes widened. Shuffling slippers emerged from the opened bedroom door. Bell leapt up, staring at the figure behind him, faster than sparks from a fireplace.

“Shouldn’t I know about this first?”

Tadeo, adjusting his red robe, closed the creaky bedroom door softly.

The rain stopped, but fog poured through the large window. London’s smog, dense as woven fabric, gave no chance to see a clear sky. Half a day passed like that.

“Tadeo, are you listening?”

“Yes, I’m listening.”

Tadeo sat in an armchair, wrapped in a blanket. The blanket was littered with scone crumbs he’d eaten. Still hungry, he held bread in both hands, tearing and eating alternately. Nodding with a mouthful, he looked happy. Before swallowing, he bit into a cream bun.

Gabriel, by the armrest, raised an eyebrow at Bell.

“…Obsessed with bread?”

“No, I’m really listening.”

Sugar-dusted lips smiled brightly. Bell silently handed Tadeo milk. Gabriel touched his forehead again.

“This lunatic… Think I meant give him milk?”

Is love overflowing because he’s worried? His actions were like a loyal dog. “Look at him. Even his eyes are different.” Gabriel couldn’t even click his tongue at Bell’s transformation. Simply put, calling him a demon now would make a passing dog laugh.

“Aren’t you scared? You could die, they said.”

Gabriel asked, hand still on his forehead. No easy reply came. That’s natural. A human wouldn’t bear the fear of death or awe of new life. The choice was Tadeo’s, and the answer was singular. Gabriel hoped he’d “give up” before it was too late.

“I’ve faced death plenty of times…”

As Tadeo spoke, both gazes turned to him. Surprisingly, he was calmly chewing, lips moving.

“I’ve experienced plenty of scary things.”

“….”

“Something growing inside me doesn’t even rank as scary.”

The bread stuffed in one cheek went down with a gulp. In the deathly quiet house, only Tadeo’s breath, cooling hot milk, echoed. Gabriel looked stunned.

“Above all…”

“….”

“I want to have the baby.”

In London’s late afternoon, the stubborn smog vanished, leaving even the sound of a milk gulp clear.

🦇

Three moons waxed and waned, and August arrived in London.

Factories moved London, run by fern-like hands. A broken violin string echoed through the district, drowning out nearby dock seagulls. The smell of cosmetics cloaked the dawn today. The sixth clear sky in a handful of days appeared.

A woman, adjusting a scarf over her face, ran. Her worn dress billowed as she entered Kensington Gardens. After two blocks, a metallic taste rose in her throat, and her legs trembled before a two-story building.

Bang, bang, bang. She knocked urgently, breathless.

“Anyone there?”

Too early for breakfast. She knew it was impolite but couldn’t help it. Counting seconds, she knocked harder.

“No one? Is anyone there?”

Her voice grew louder, and neighbors began peering out windows.

“Hey, is this…!”

The door flung open, as if by a gust. No sound came from within. Yet the figure greeting her was undeniably human. A man so handsome, he might be the finest she’d ever seen.

“Is this Father Tadeo’s house…?”

“You’ve come to the wrong place.”

The cold voice cut sharply.

“But… I was told it’s here…?”

Despite her desperate expression, Bell didn’t blink. His gesture, brushing back long hair, conveyed annoyance and displeasure. The woman seemed ready to cry. He needed to shut it down fast.

“No such person.”

“Please…! It’s urgent!”

As he moved to close the door, a worn shoe wedged in.

“Save my child! They said a priest is here…!”

“I said leave.”

The face, hidden by the closing door, rushed forward with a gust.

“Need me to say it directly?”

Lips in the narrow gap muttered through clenched teeth. For a moment, a lion’s face seemed to flash. “Eek!” The woman flinched but couldn’t back away. Her fear-widened pupils trembled like aspen leaves. Then, footsteps sounded on the stairs.