peace_inthe_violence | For nickysnotmybf

A Catholic priest and a Muslim walk into a bathhouse.

Edited 2020-08-13 00:29 (UTC)

Time was a fickle thing. It allowed two men who were opposites in almost every way to know love. It allowed two others to know friendship. Time took the harsh sting of jealousy out of wounds that had never really known blood, but that still ache like they had. It slowed down the night so that laughter over dinner could linger, and sped up the days to make the hours in hiding more tolerable. Time was an old friend.

Time also took old friends away.

Malta was a balm for Nicolo's heart. He hadn't seen the bustling island and it's varied population since he'd ran from it all nearly half a century before. It had grown since then, it's open borders and accepting people making it a safe haven for those who were trying to deny the hate that the world around it was selling. It wasn't perfect, of course, but it was the closest thing that any of them had found.

The day had been a long one, hot and busy for the docks on which Nicolo now worked. If he were any other man his entire body would have ached but he wasn't and so he didn't. He did, however, stop by the markets on his way from the docks to the little villa he and his heart shared on the outskirts of town. When he finally made it home, there was something heavy in the small bag he wore across his body and he was carrying a cloth wrapped stack of matlouh in his hands.

"I brought dinner. Forgive me, habibi, I will cook tomorrow. When the stench of fishermen and their wares is less invasive to my nose."

Edited 2020-08-13 00:29 (UTC)

Yes, sir

For nickysnotmybf

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