alexdraven | Kael and Jem

Light late into the evening and breezes that carry dry ripe scents of the world outside into the cramped little flat.

Kael is always careful to count his blessings, even when the long days are full of concentration-thwarting heat, short tempers, raised voices that crash through open windows and a hundred and one things that had to be done, and more that will have to be done tomorrow.

The simple fact that some of those tasks are done, completed and put away, is one.

Jem turned the lock on the shop door hours ago and came upstairs to find a cold supper and iced mint tea ready, and Jem had smiled and his hand fitted around the back of Kael's head to perfection. Other commitments had separated them to their work rooms for the evening, but even a few moments standing hip to hip by the table, sharing space and words and breaking bread together. Only a few minutes and enough to make his heart sing and give them both a second wind to work on.

The dry heat helps the oil to dry, and the last piece of Barnabus' order -–a gift for his lady that will be presented tomorrow – has finally been polished to perfection and wrapped in soft cotton to protect the delicate carved pieces. The box is sealed and sitting by the door. Kael plans to deliver it in the morning. He has swept his work room and sharpened his knives and all the while, he realises, he was humming under his breath and the tune fitted with the murmur of Jem reading or reciting next door.

Even after a solid day of work, there is laundry to be done, cleaning, more orders waiting, the paint on the shop door has blistered in the sun and needs sanding down, re-painting with thick red gloss, and the windows are thick with dust, slowing the last rays of sun to syrup. His hair sticks in whisps to the back of his nack and pulls, irritates and reminds him that he is sweaty and that the boiler needs adjusting before they can have more than luke warm water.

Kael puts all these thoughts aside.

The sun is setting, the breeze is rising as the temperature cools, and the familiar prickle of energies along his skin means that Jem has almost finished for the night and is setting his wards in place. The glasses are cold and heavy in his hands, the clinking ice attracting slick condensation, and in a minute or five his lover will duck through the open window and swing up to join him on the roof.

Today is a good day.