Chapter Text
Solomon had a ritual. Once every week, he would pull out the shaving kit he kept in the bathroom at Purgatory Hall. The mirror in that bathroom had excellent lighting, which was helpful for spotting the pale stubble against his skin.
He would start the process after showering, usually with a towel around his waist to avoid the risk of staining his sorcerer's robes with shaving cream. He had done that once before . . . Asmodeus had a field day about the “suspicious white stains” on his clothes.
Despite the convenience of magic, there remained a small number of things that Solomon preferred to do the good old-fashioned way. He had owned a straight blade razor since shortly after they came about in the late 1600s. They were a vast improvement over the sharpened bits of bone and shell of a more ancient era. The witty sorcerer had tried safety razors in the early days of their invention too, along with the modern multi-blade razors with disposable cartridges. The latter irked him especially; people had an awful habit of keeping them in the shower, where the damp conditions ruined the blades faster than ever. Between the closer shave offered by a cut-throat razor, and the ritual of blade care, Solomon felt that other variants lacked a certain charm.
He had replaced his open blade razor and other shaving apparatus as needed over the centuries. However, the set he owned presently had been a gift. It was a joint effort from Barbatos and Asmodeus, shortly after he had arrived in the Devildom for the exchange program. Solomon felt the lather brush he had arrived with had a few more years of use in it; however, Barbatos had vehemently asserted that its condition was woeful. Meanwhile, Asmodeus had fretted over the fact that his kit was a mishmash of different sets—none of the handles were the same material or colour, and the bag he kept it all in was apparently “fugly”. The sorcerer would have described it all as eclectic, but Asmodeus insisted that it was simply “not cute”.
He did suppose they had a point . . .
His demons had done their research and he was bestowed with a brand-new shaving kit they had sourced from the human world soon thereafter. Solomon couldn't fault them on their taste, despite having no use for such things themselves. The shaving kit they had gifted him might be his favourite yet. The handle of the straight razor and the shaving brush were made of a heavy deep brown wood with a decorative pattern carved into them. The lather bowl was made of the same material, and the kit was homed in a high-quality bound leather pouch.
Having said all that, Solomon did not grow facial hair as fast as other men might. Once upon a time, that had not been the case. He'd kept a beard in the past, and even styled himself with various moustaches over the years, depending on the fashion and his fancies. But there was nothing like a smooth, freshly shaved face to help him maintain the visage of eternal youth. Never mind the grey hair . . .
He had kept with his routine for the entire first and second exchange term at RAD. But something had caught his attention since the start of his third stay at Purgatory Hall. At first, he chalked it up to one of his dormmates accidentally opening his bathroom drawer instead of their own. Maybe Raphael had run out of toothpaste and helped himself to Solomon's. Or maybe Luke had accidentally overfilled the sink and had checked to make sure there was no water in the sorcerer's drawer.
But it kept happening.
The shaving kit would not be quite how he had left it. He could have sworn he had put it in the drawer the other way around like he always did, but one morning he had needed to rotate it ninety degrees to open it. Other times, the kit seemed further forward or further back in the drawer, but perhaps these were unimportant details.
That morning, he thought it was a little further to the left of where it ought to have been. Then, when he untied the bound leather pouch and laid it out on the bathroom benchtop, he could no longer deny that something strange was going on.
The brush used to spread shaving cream over his face was upside down.
“Hm.” He took the brush out of the kit and held it up in front of him. “Somebody has been using my shaving kit.”
__________
“Maybe Fido finally hit puberty,” Mammon joked.
He dropped into the seat next to Satan in the RAD cafeteria. The Avatar of Wrath scowled at his brother.
“Angels don't go through puberty the way humans do,” Solomon explained, pushing his empty lunch tray aside. “Besides, he hasn't gotten any taller.”
Mammon crowed a laugh, loud enough to annoy Satan into shoving him off the chair. He hit the cafeteria floor with an oof, and jumped up again with indignant protest while some nearby students giggled at his expense.
“You were one once. You should have known that,” Satan snapped.
“Oi! It was a joke! And what's the big idea droppin' me on my ass like that, huh?!”
Satan ignored him and turned back to Solomon. A small furrow appeared on his brow. Solomon had become familiar with that look. It was Satan's detective look.
“You live with three angels. None of them would need to borrow the shaving kit,” Satan contemplated aloud, tapping his chin.
“Hey, don't ignore me!” Mammon shouted.
“And you haven't noticed this happening in previous terms here.” Satan hummed as he considered the facts, then, after a dramatic pause, he clicked his fingers and looked triumphant. “However, there is also a new addition to the dorm: Raphael!”
“That's very true.”
The sorcerer could not help a smile. Satan was oddly charming when he treated a small mystery like a big case to be solved. He looked quite pleased with himself. Solomon let him enjoy the victory for a moment before he spoke again.
“But why would he be interested in my shaving kit?”
Satan shrugged.
“Maybe he's just curious. It's a very human thing to have, after all.”
Mammon growled something about not getting any respect as he huffed off. A gentle laugh from behind drew Solomon's attention to Simeon.
“What was that all about?” he asked, inclining his head after Mammon.
He took the seat next to Solomon.
“Mammon's just being an idiot,” Satan said with a dismissive wave. “Solomon and I are trying to figure out why someone might be secretly using his shaving kit.”
Simeon paused for a moment, his fingers grasping the edge of his lunch tray.
“Oh . . . Well, I wouldn't know anything about that.”
The sorcerer regarded the angel beside him. Simeon had looked strangely tired as of late. Solomon suspected he had developed a more significant taste for caffeine while he and Luke were running their Human Realm cafe. Sometimes, though, he got a sense that there was more to it. Presently, the angel looked exhausted.
“Want to get a coffee before our next class?” Solomon asked. “My treat.”
Simeon was taken aback by the offer. A small grateful smile touched the corners of his mouth.
“I'd like that.”
Solomon tilted his head and ignored the way his heart rabbited within his chest. Unbeknownst to them both, Satan rolled his eyes.
__________
“Are you alright, Simeon?”
“Hm? Oh, yes. I'm fine.”
Simeon drew his attention back to the sorcerer and leaned his forearms on the desk. He had finished his coffee already, but kept the disposable cup in his hand. He’d started bouncing his leg intermittently beneath the table while they sat, waiting for class to start. Solomon thought he looked even more tired since finishing the coffee. The only difference the beverage seemed to have made was that Simeon had become restless, too.
“I'm sure you're bored of me prattling on about my research,” Solomon chuckled.
It was true that he had been prattling. He'd caught himself doing that many times in Simeon's company. The habit, he realised, had increased in frequency since their third term of the exchange program began.
I guess I just enjoy talking to him. I can’t seem to help myself, haha!
“Not at all. It's nice to listen to someone share something they're passionate about. I'm just not all with it today.”
Simeon pursed his lips, frowning at himself as if he hadn't intended to make the admission. He tried to take another sip from his coffee cup, but it was still empty. Frustration pinched the angel's brow for a second before it smoothed away.
Curious, Solomon thought.
“Is something on your mind? You seem distracted and tired.”
It was not the first time Solomon had attempted to have this conversation with him. He had started to notice unusual patterns in his friend's behaviour a while ago, but had not made any progress in pinpointing the cause.
Simeon closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He let it out with a sigh and managed a smile.
“There's no need to worry about me, Solomon. I'm just a little sleepy.”
The sorcerer watched him rotate the lid of the coffee cup with one hand while holding the base still with the other. Simeon didn't meet his eyes when he spoke.
“Simeon,” he tried, taking a tone both firm and gentle. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
He placed a hand over Simeon's, startling the angel. The anxious fiddling paused. There was uncertainty in Simeon's gaze, hesitation that lingered in bright blue.
“I . . .”
The teacher entered the classroom with thunking footsteps and began announcing instructions on their way to the front of the room.
“Alright class! Open your textbooks to page 394 and read the chapter introduction that starts there.”
Simeon cleared his throat. He turned his hand to fold his fingers over Solomon's and gently squeezed the sorcerer's digits before he pulled his hand away.
“Thank you, Solomon. But I really am fine.”
Simeon turned his focus on leafing through his textbook. Solomon frowned at his hand, distracted from what he suspected was a lie by another observation.
He's usually so warm. But his hand was cool to the touch. Curiouser and curiouser.
__________
“Maybe he just didn't sleep well last night,” Raphael shrugged.
Solomon was plating up dinner for the two of them. He had made enough for Simeon and Luke to join, but when he told them that dinner would be ready at six, Simeon had looked very apologetic and a little nervous as he explained they were having dinner at the House of Lamentation. But that was fine. Raphael enjoyed his cooking with enough enthusiasm to make up for their absence.
Solomon had brought up his concern for Simeon as they'd set the table. The archangel's body language became more closed off as soon as Solomon expressed his worries.
“I don’t think so. I have been noticing things like this since . . . Hm, I was going to say since this term of the exchange program began, but now that I'm thinking about it, there were things that felt a bit off when I caught up with him at the Angel's Halo too. I think I must just notice more now that we're living in close quarters again.”
Raphael made a non-committal sound as he poured two glasses of the cloud wine he'd brought with him from the Celestial Realm. Solomon was looking forward to trying that. He brought their plates to the table and they sat across from one another. The archangel said a blessing over their food and tucked in with gusto.
“You really think there's nothing to worry about?” Solomon asked, swirling the honey-coloured wine in his glass.
Raphael smacked his lips as he chewed a mouthful of food. He sat back and levelled Solomon with an unreadable expression.
“If Simeon wants you to know his business, I'm sure he will come to you.”
Solomon watched the angel scoop up another spoonful of his basilisk liver risotto. Something about the way he said it made the sorcerer think that Raphael knew something that he wasn't sharing. By the same token, he had a point.
“You really pay a lot of attention to Simeon, don't you?” Raphael commented.
He raised an eyebrow at Solomon. A small, knowing smirk graced his lips as he took a sip of wine. The sorcerer's cheeks pinkened. He cleared his throat with a chuckle.
“I suppose I do.”
__________
After fluffing his hair so that it stopped dripping water all over his back and shoulders, Solomon wrapped his towel around his waist. He stood in front of the sink and ran a hand over his chin and throat, tilting his face to better see the light facial hairs against his skin. He could feel them more than he could see them, prickling his chin.
The ritual began. He opened his shaving kit and arranged the pieces around the sink. He filled the lather bowl with warm water and sat the bristles of the brush in to soak. Solomon opened the razor and eyed the edge of the blade before stropping. His arm moved in unhurried motions as he dragged the blade along the length of leather, up and down, while the badger-hair brush hydrated.
Setting the razor aside, he wet his face anew with warm water and massaged his favourite pre-shaving cream over his light stubble. Then he emptied the bowl and lathered the shaving soap. He hummed contently as he worked the lather to the right consistency. It reminded him of the freshly whipped meringue that Luke often prepared when making various desserts for everyone. The absurd image of Luke smearing meringue all over his little face flitted through the sorcerer’s head and he couldn’t help but chuckle.
Now that I think about it, the pre-shave cream and the aftershave were the wrong way around in the pouch. Someone has tampered with my kit again, methinks.
Solomon couldn’t make heads or tails of this particular mystery. Why in the three realms would any of the angels residing at Purgatory Hall suddenly be interested in his shaving kit?
Perhaps Satan was right. Maybe Raphael is just enjoying the novelty of something so very human.
He brushed the lather onto his face, covering the skin evenly for the first pass.
He strikes me as being a bit more direct about something like that though. And why would he keep coming back to it?
He began to shave. He started with his upper lip, pinching his nose to keep the skin tight. Stroking along the grain of hair growth, he had barely finished that first area when the bathroom door opened and Simeon stumbled in, skidding to a halt when he spotted Solomon standing in front of the sink.
“Ah— I’m so sorry!”
Solomon laughed kindly. Beneath the shaving cream, his cheeks were pink.
“It’s alright, I’m wearing a towel. What do you need?”
The angel cleared his throat apologetically.
“I was about to head out but I haven't brushed my teeth. I can wait though.”
Simeon backed himself against the door as he spoke and fumbled to find the handle while glancing at Solomon.
“Come brush your teeth, I don’t mind. I’m just shaving, so I’ll be a little while.”
“Oh . . . you really don’t mind?” Simeon checked, smiling awkwardly as he hesitated between the door and the sink.
To make his point, Solomon shuffled to one side of the sink and dragged his shaving apparatus across with him.
“Be my guest.”
After another moment, Simeon approached the bathroom sink, murmuring a soft thanks as he grabbed his toothbrush and the toothpaste from his drawer. A silence settled between them as Simeon brushed his teeth, disturbed only by the sound of bristles against enamel and the drag of the razor blade through lather and whiskers. Solomon had to take a deep breath to keep himself focused on the task at hand. If he nicked himself now, he might drop his towel . . . that would be two hits to his ego in front of Simeon. He tilted his head to one side and his eyes wandered to the other man’s reflection in the mirror. He paused, a little surprised to note that Simeon seemed to be watching him. A moment later, the angel realised he had been caught.
“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” he said around his toothbrush.
Solomon laughed it off. Truly, he didn’t mind the idea of Simeon checking him out in the mirror, but as he passed the razor down his cheek, he realised that probably wasn’t Simeon’s intention. He kept the blade steady, alternating between using the toe and the heel of the edge depending on which part of his face he was shaving.
After a few minutes, Simeon spat his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth. He fiddled with his toothbrush for a moment, continuing to glance at Solomon in the mirror.
“How do you make sure not to cut yourself?” he asked.
Solomon was shaving along the contour of his jawline. When he hummed thoughtfully, he felt the vibration through the razor. It tickled his fingers.
“It’s about the angle and the pressure. I still nick myself occasionally, if I’m not paying attention or if I move too fast without adjusting how I’m holding the razor. I enjoy the process though, so I try not to do this if I’m in a hurry.”
“I didn’t realise how time-consuming it could be,” Simeon admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
Simeon watched a little longer as Solomon tilted his head back and ran the blade down the underside of his chin, towards his Adam’s apple. The sorcerer glanced at the other man’s reflection, stilling his hand as he did so. Simeon appeared to be searching for the words to say something, but then his shoulders slumped and he stepped back from the bathroom sink.
“Sorry again for disturbing your bathroom time. I’ll get out of your way now.”
Solomon watched the angel’s retreating reflection in the mirror. With his cheeks free of shaving cream, he could see the blush that had crept up his face while Simeon had stood beside him. He shook his head at himself as he lowered the razor, ready to lather again for the second pass. He sighed at his reflection.
“I’m in real trouble with that one, aren’t I?”
When he had finished shaving and cleaning his equipment, Solomon placed all of the pieces of his kit back into the bound leather pouch. He double-checked that everything was the right way up and in the correct position before he tied it closed. Maybe nobody had been touching his shaving kit and he had just been careless or forgetful. He slipped the pouch into his drawer and positioned it in the back left corner. If it hadn’t moved, if nothing inside his kit was misplaced by the next time he used it, then perhaps the previous times he thought something was amiss were due to his own absentmindedness.
__________
It was unusual to hear an argument in Purgatory Hall. Solomon had always considered the friendships between the dormmates to be quite trusting and open. So, when he emerged from his study late in the evening, expecting that the angels would have already retired to bed, he was doubly surprised to hear the tone Simeon and Raphael were taking with one another. Their hushed voices drifted to him from the dining room.
“—just worried about you, that’s all.”
“Well, I have told you, there is nothing to worry about. I’m fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
“Where are you going?”
“For a walk.”
Solomon paused in the hallway, perplexed by the abruptness of Simeon’s voice.
“Simeon, you know it’s too dangerous for you to go about the Devildom alone right now.”
“I do not need a babysitter, Raphael.”
“You are struggling with this.”
“I am not struggling with anything,” Simeon asserted, though his voice quivered. “But I am becoming quite cross. Will you please leave me be now?”
The sorcerer took quiet steps towards the dining room doorway. He heard Raphael emit a sigh of resignation and then Simeon all but stormed around the corner and ran straight into him. His ire seemed to deflate immediately as they caught each other.
“Ah . . . Solomon. Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he said, eyes turned to the ground.
Solomon raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t think of any reason why Raphael would not want Simeon to go for a walk at night, except that the angel appeared sorely in need of sleep and was evidently upset.
“Heading out?” he found himself saying, noticing the coat Simeon had slipped on over his shirt. “I was about to head to the Royal Library. Why don’t you come with me? I could use the company.”
For a moment, Simeon bristled. It wasn’t a look Solomon fancied on him. Raphael appeared in the doorway to the dining room, regarding the pair quietly.
“The library. Sure,” Simeon said, surprisingly blunt. “Let’s go.”
He was out the door before Solomon could utter another word. The sorcerer lingered in the hallway long enough to frown at Raphael in silent question, but the archangel only shrugged and indicated towards the front door.
Solomon wasn't much of a jogger. He was fit enough, but he did not make a habit of working out. He was puffing slightly by the time he caught up with Simeon, who was striding away from Purgatory Hall with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Hey,” Solomon managed, falling into step beside him. “It's a nice night for a stroll, isn't it?”
A weak laugh was Simeon's only response, but Solomon's casual words calmed him enough that he slowed his pace. The night was cool, and Solomon noticed that Simeon was out of breath too. Each exhale puffed out of his mouth in a tiny cloud of fog. Despite the coat pulled around him, he seemed to be feeling the cold. He rubbed at his arms through the layers as they walked. Solomon remembered how strangely cool Simeon's hand had been when he touched it in class. Concern pinched his brow for a moment before he smoothed the expression away.
There was a small takeaway coffee van set up near the library entrance, serving warm beverages to the trickle of night owls on their way to and from the Royal Library or The Fall. Solomon steered them in the van's direction and ordered them each a hot chocolate. He passed a takeaway cup to Simeon as they entered the quiet library.
“Thank you, that's very kind of you,” he murmured, blowing the liquid through the little opening in the lid.
Simeon spread his fingers around the warm little takeaway cup as Solomon led them through the building. The sorcerer had intended to go to bed, but there was always research to be done. Besides, spending time with Simeon was something he realised he often looked forward to. If Solomon actually looked for a book, perhaps Simeon would let his guard down some more.
After locating a couple of texts he had intended to revisit for his research, Solomon led them to the back of the library. At such a late hour, few people were still there. The building would close in an hour and they'd need to face the cold night once more. Until then, they would be comfortable.
They found a vacant couch in one of the nooks at the back of the building. They sat with their hot chocolates and Solomon began leafing through one of the books, skimming the sections he wanted to refresh himself with. Beside him, Simeon's drowsiness was taking its toll, especially with the sweet warmth of the hot chocolate settling in his stomach. The sorcerer watched him in his periphery for a moment. He looked exhausted.
“Solomon?”
“Would you like to head back to Purgatory Hall?”
“Not yet,” Simeon murmured. “But . . . would it be alright if I rested my head on your shoulder?”
Solomon regarded the angel with mild amusement then adjusted his position on the couch to better serve as a pillow.
“Go ahead,” he smiled.
The weight of Simeon leaning against him was gentle. The angel was timid, but relaxed into the closer proximity as Solomon continued to read. Or pretending to read, as it were. Because with Simeon's head resting on his shoulder, Solomon couldn't help the accelerated beating of his heart and the distracting warmth that spread through his chest. Quietly, he took a deep breath to steady himself, only to feel his cheeks flush as the scent of Simeon's shampoo and cologne filled his lungs. Each breath was decorated with those notes that suited the angel so well. But in addition to the scents Solomon would normally associate with Simeon, there was another smell. He frowned to himself as he placed the scent.
It smells like . . . my aftershave.
He glanced at Simeon's face from the corner of his eye. The angel had nodded off, as Solomon had suspected he would. There was still a frown pinching at his brow, residual irritation from whatever disagreement he was having with Raphael. Solomon looked at him closer, the slow rise and fall of Simeon's chest an assurance that he had slipped into a much-needed deep sleep.
It felt a little wrong, but Solomon inhaled the angel's scent deliberately, dipping his nose closer to Simeon's face.
Yep, that's definitely my aftershave. On Simeon's face. I guess I know who's been touching my kit.
He was perplexed. Simeon had feigned ignorance when Satan had mentioned the mystery shaving kit meddler in the cafeteria. And of the three angels residing in Purgatory Hall, he had suspected Simeon the least.
What reason could he possibly have?
He thought back to how he had noticed Simeon's eyes on him while they stood in the bathroom together. Simeon had taken a long time to brush his teeth while Solomon was shaving. He'd asked a question: How do you make sure not to cut yourself?
Solomon looked closer at the other man's face. It took a few moments to notice, but he found the signs he was searching for: nicks and cuts from a razor blade. There were quite a few if he looked closely, particularly around the contour of Simeon's jawline. The skin beneath his chin was irritated, as if the blade had dragged over the area too many times, without enough shaving cream, or against the direction of hair growth.
The longer he watched Simeon's sleeping face, the more oddities he noticed. There was a wrinkle forming in the corner of each eye. Solomon had never seen a wrinkle on Simeon before. A line had appeared across his forehead too, faint for now. He may not have even spotted it in different lighting.
His confusion turned to dread when he realised one more thing.
Perhaps it's just a trick of the light.
He carded his fingers carefully through Simeon's soft brown hair, but instead of dispelling what he hoped to be an illusion, the action brought more of the same detail to his attention. In among the lush brown locks, he spied strands of silver hair.
There was a sinking feeling in his stomach. He returned his attention to his book, but reread the same page five times over without taking it in. He let Simeon sleep until the library closed, and they walked home together slowly.
“Solomon?” Simeon said once they were home.
The sorcerer had walked him to his bedroom door, but Simeon hovered outside the room. His eyes were on the floor. The sorcerer waited patiently for him to continue.
“Thank you for just being there tonight.”
Vulnerability tainted the sentence. Solomon caught his hand and squeezed it gently. Simeon's skin was cold. Far too cold for an angel. Solomon did not let his concern show on his face. He gave Simeon a smile.
“Any time. Sleep well, Simeon.”
“Goodnight . . .”
When Solomon brushed his teeth that night, he checked on his shaving kit. It was not pressed right against the back corner as he had left it. The string of the pouch was tied with a different knot to the one he used. The lid of his aftershave was not facing the same direction as the lid to the pre-shaving cream.
He put the shaving kit back in its place and went to bed. His heart felt heavy with the knowledge that there were only two angels in the house tonight, and he did not know why.
__________
He observed Simeon quietly over the following days. The longer he watched his friend, the more signs he noticed that indicated that he had fallen. But it was not a fall in the typical sense. He had not been damned. He had not been forsaken. He was not a demon. No, that was not the change that had occurred. If that had been the case, there would have been no keeping that quiet.
If that had been the case, Simeon wouldn’t be ageing.
Solomon threw himself into a new vein of research.
How does an angel fall without falling? How else can I phrase that question?
He dared not broach such a question with anyone, lest he raise suspicions and prompt somebody else to look too closely at his friend. The sorcerer wanted to uncover this secret, but he suspected there was a wound upon Simeon’s soul, filled with guilt and shame. He would tread carefully. He would treat Simeon’s situation, whatever it was, with the sensitivity his friend deserved.
However, the texts Solomon found all described the typical fall of an angel.
The sin.
The judgement.
The casting out.
The corruption of the angel’s blessing that mutates it into something Infernal.
“But this isn’t what’s happened to Simeon,” he murmured as he closed another tomb.
He considered the words he’d read and reread and hummed in thought.
“If it’s the corruption of the angel’s blessing that creates a demon from an angel . . . what happens when the blessing is simply taken away?”
“Then they would become human,” a familiar voice answered.
Solomon was not easily snuck up on, but Lucifer of all demons knew how to make the sorcerer put his money where his mouth was. He reclined in his chair and turned to Lucifer with a mysterious smile.
“Is that so?”
Lucifer nodded once in confirmation.
“Maintaining the virtue required to keep an angel’s blessing can be precarious. The Celestial Realm does not like working in grey areas, and they dislike half-measures when it comes to punishments of a higher order. If an angel has committed a crime that requires a judgement, they will almost always fall into damnation.”
Lucifer leaned a hand on the back of the chair next to Solomon’s and considered the thick tome before the sorcerer.
“I’m sure you speak from experience,” Solomon quipped.
The demon levelled him with a scathing look but did not validate the comment with a response.
“On the rare occasion that the Celestial Realm grants an angel facing judgement a chance at redemption, they sever that angel’s blessing. Can you tell me, Solomon, why that might be?”
Lucifer arched an eyebrow and waited for the sorcerer’s response. Solomon touched his chin as he considered the possibilities. He thought for a long moment before he gave his answer.
“If the blessing has been taken away, then it cannot become corrupted like in the typical style of a fall. And if the blessing can be taken away, then I assume it can be returned at the Celestial Realm’s discretion. In other words, it prevents one from becoming a demon and gives them something to work towards–a motivation to earn their redemption and regain their blessing.”
The Avatar of Pride smirked and gave an amused huff of laughter.
“But in the meantime, that person is human,” Solomon stated. “That leaves them quite vulnerable, does it not?”
“Indeed. Perhaps more so than a being who has been human their entire life. An angel stripped of their blessing has no magic for protection against disease or physical harm and must tread carefully. What else can you tell me about the typical human condition, Solomon?”
The sorcerer kept eye contact with the demon. He thought of the faint signs of wrinkles around Simeon’s eyes, and the silver strands of hair amongst the soft brown locks.
“We grow old,” he said. “And in most cases, after we’ve grown so old, we die.”
They stared at each other for a long time before Lucifer spoke again.
“Look out for him, Solomon. But do so on his terms.”
__________
The next day, Solomon made a trip to the Human Realm. He had a plan, though there was no guarantee that it would work.
He entered a boutique that carried a brand of razors he had used in the past. There were more options than he remembered. He hummed in contemplation as he browsed.
“Shopping for yourself?” the sales clerk asked, approaching the sorcerer.
“No, for a very dear friend.”
“A gift, then?”
“Indeed.”
The sales clerk considered the mysterious man in flowing robes.
“Is your . . . very dear friend a seasoned wet shaver, or new to the art?”
Solomon chuckled and turned his attention to the clerk. He had shoulder-length dark brown hair, swept back in what he believed was referred to as a “man bun”. His face was cleanly shaven. One thick eyebrow rose to the man's hairline as he considered the sorcerer's light grey hair in a futile attempt to guess his age. Solomon gave him a cool smile.
“He's just starting out.”
The sales clerk hummed and then waved for Solomon to follow him across the shop. He stopped in front of a cabinet displaying a brand Solomon was familiar with.
“This set is what I recommend for beginners. They're good quality and the blade is more forgiving than some while he gets the hang of it.” He pulled a small product information sheet from a pile next to the display. “There are a few options for the handle materials, either wood or resin.” He handed the sheet to Solomon and then stooped to pull out a drawer of samples from beneath the display. “These are the ones we've got in stock right now.”
Solomon looked over the selection. He tended to prefer wood handles over other materials. It felt more natural in his hand. But he was not shopping for himself.
A blue resin handle, marbled and swirling with different shades and veins of white, caught his attention. He lifted it from the sample box and held it up, feeling its weight in his digits as he inspected it. He caught himself thinking of Simeon's eyes. He ran a thumb over the smooth contours and turned to the store clerk.
“May I see the set with this type of handle?”
__________
He left the new shaving kit on top of his own with a note.
Simeon,
I think I've worked it out.
When you're ready, I'll teach you how this is done. We don't need to talk about what you're going through if you'd prefer not to. Just know that I am here for you.
Whenever you're ready.
Solomon.
__________
He waited.
Simeon seemed to avoid him for a week after the gift disappeared from Solomon’s bathroom drawer. He didn't see his friend in classes. It left him feeling heartsick. He'd grown used to Simeon's presence in his day-to-day life so easily once they began this term at RAD. It felt wrong not to see him.
Perhaps this was the wrong approach.
Lucifer had suggested looking out for Simeon on Simeon's terms. Perhaps that meant feigning ignorance until Simeon said something to him. But that felt wrong. Solomon had worked out his dear friend's predicament and chose to let him know without pushing for information that Simeon may not be ready to share. That felt, to him, as close to “on his terms” as he could manage without pretending to be oblivious.
That afternoon, when he returned to Purgatory Hall, Simeon's bedroom door was open and the room was vacant. He found Simeon awaiting his return, sitting on the end of the sorcerer's bed with the gifted shaving kit in his lap. He appeared unsure of himself as Solomon closed the door.
“Would you like me to show you how?” Solomon asked softly.
Simeon stared up at him with damp bright blue eyes. Solomon approached and sat beside him on the bed. Simeon stared down at the pouch on his lap and leaned his head against the sorcerer's shoulder.
“Please,” he whispered.
Solomon rested his cheek on top of Simeon's head for a moment. He took the other man's hand and stood, leading him to the bathroom. He sealed the door with magic so they would not be interrupted. That would not be ideal given the sensitivity of Simeon's situation.
There was a chair in one corner of the room, where they often left their fresh change of clothes while showering. He repositioned it in front of the mirror and set his hands on the backrest.
“Take a seat,” he said. “And it’s probably best if you take off your shirt.”
He felt his cheeks burn as he realised what he’d said. He averted his gaze, giving Simeon a moment of privacy as he unbuttoned the dark blue piece he had started wearing since he and Luke opened their cafe in the Human Realm. Simeon hung his shirt over the towel rack. Solomon handed him a clean towel to drape over his lap to keep his trousers clean. Once he was seated, Solomon opened the pouch of Simeon’s new shaving kit and began to explain the pieces. Simeon was quiet. He was listening, but he couldn’t look the sorcerer in the eye.
Solomon knelt in front of the other man and lay a hand on his cheek.
“I’ll take you through the process now. Is that okay?”
Simeon closed his eyes and leaned his face into Solomon’s touch.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Solomon dampened a face cloth with hot water and wrung it out.
“Hold this over your face. It’s to help open the pores before we start.”
Turning back to the shaving kit, Solomon began his ritual. Except this time, as he hydrated the brush and demonstrated stropping the blade, there was a sombre feeling in his stomach. He whipped the shaving cream into a lather, then guided Simeon’s head back and smoothed his hair away from his face. The strands of silver that were hiding among the dark brown locks caught the light.
“Try to relax. You can close your eyes if you’d like. I’m going to start by applying some pre-shaving cream to your face, and then I’ll spread the lather with that little brush.”
Simeon did close his eyes as Solomon’s hands travelled along his face, feeling the direction of hair growth. His skin was nice to touch, still relatively smooth despite the facial hair that was beginning to sprout. Solomon kept his voice low and even, explaining each step as he went. He stood behind Simeon as he brushed on the lather. Unconsciously, his free hand rested in Simeon’s hair. His fingers slotted into the strands like a gentle anchor. Simeon’s eyes peeked open when Solomon set the brush down and took up the razor instead. The sorcerer noticed the other man’s fingers tighten around the material of the towel in his lap. He rested his free hand in Simeon’s hair again and brought his mouth close to his ear.
“If you want me to stop, you can let me know,” he said. “But I promise to be careful. I won’t hurt you.”
Simeon managed a sad smile. He turned his head to meet Solomon’s gaze.
“I trust you.”
He began to shave Simeon’s face. He pulled the skin tight and worked with small blade strokes, adjusting the angle and the pressure and the part of the blade in use as needed. He went slow, slower than he would normally go to savour the process, to make sure Simeon felt safe. All the while, he spoke softly to Simeon, letting him know what he was doing and explaining techniques.
“Now, tilt your face right up. I’m going to shave beneath your chin.”
Simeon’s fingers clenched tighter in his lap as the blade scraped down over his throat, collecting shaving cream and facial hair. Solomon saw the man’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. The sorcerer lightened the pressure, moving his free hand to cradle the side of Simeon’s head. He could see Simeon's lips trembling. Solomon’s heart wanted to shatter. He set the blade down next to the sink.
“Simeon, do you want me to stop?” he whispered, stroking his hair.
A pair of tears escaped from the corners of his eyes. His lips parted and he took a steadying breath.
“No . . . I just need a moment.”
“That’s alright. Why don’t you sit up while you get your bearings.”
He supported the back of Simeon’s head and guided him into an upright position.
“I think today we leave it at the first pass. I can teach you how to do a second pass next time.”
He held Simeon’s face between his hands, dragging his thumbs beneath his eyes to smudge away the tears. There was only a small area left to shave down his neck. It would not take much longer, but Solomon was in no hurry. He never was when committing to a shave.
“How did you work it out?” Simeon asked, without looking Solomon in the eye.
The sorcerer gave him a gentle smile.
“I knew something was wrong. You haven’t been yourself for a while. But you weren’t ready to talk about it. So, I just kept looking out for you, kept watching you. Then when I added everything up, I realised.”
Simeon’s eyes shifted to his.
“Thank you. I feel like you’ve been watching over me, like a guardian angel. Isn’t that a silly thing to say?”
Solomon chuckled.
“Perhaps, but that’s okay with me.”
He smiled at Simeon, a gentle and warm and patient smile. After a moment, Simeon’s lips quirked into a smile, too.
“Shall we finish your shave?”
Simeon nodded and tilted his head back again. His hands were relaxed, folded in his lap as Solomon dragged the razor along the delicate skin over his throat. He wiped the excess foam from Simeon’s face and stood behind him to massage in the aftershave. Solomon had selected a product that was more appropriate for sensitive skin, considering how new Simeon was to shaving. The scent was more fitting with the other products Simeon tended to use. Having said that, Solomon wouldn’t mind at all if Simeon wanted to use the same aftershave as him in future.
When he was done, he let Simeon stand up and helped him back into his shirt.
“Thank you for the shaving kit, by the way,” Simeon said, tentatively grasping the front of the sorcerer’s robes. “It’s beautiful.”
“So are you,” Solomon responded.
He spoke without thinking. A blush crept up his neck to his cheeks as Simeon met his gaze. The marbled resin handles had nothing on the bright blue of his eyes. Solomon did not take back what he had said. Instead, he watched the shy smile that stretched across Simeon’s mouth. The sorcerer bowed his head, bringing his face a little closer to the other man’s. His hands were on Simeon’s cheeks. Clutching the front of Solomon’s robes, Simeon leaned close and pressed his lips to the corner of the sorcerer’s mouth. He pulled away enough to peer at the other man from beneath his hair.
“Can I ask you to hold me for a while?”
Solomon rested their foreheads together.
“For as long as you need.”