He didn't know why he brought him here.

But when Jibril had woken up, swearing he had simply dreamt all that had happened, he looked down only to find the most endearing sight he'd ever seen. Loki had been curled up at his side, ever so faithful looking, hair in his face with Jibril's arm curled around him. How could he leave him? It almost broke the Angel's heart to see the other there, pale and beautiful, for he carried much of Jibril's past.

So for about half an hour, Jibril has mearly sat and stared down at him, contemplating on what to do. Finally, when sunrise was only a little away, Jibril picked Loki up gently as not to wake him, and took him to his apartment. Why he didn't know, but he couldn't leave him to face the sun or simply abadon him seeing as the other laid beside him after he fainting. Weakness.

Jibril made it just in time to set the other on his bed and put up his heaviest curtains, envoloping his room in darkness. The curtains surrounding his king sized bed were pulled back, and Jibril had been able to witness the other's soul leaving the body - as they say happens with vampires when it reaches day time. Jibril had watched, amazed, and then set about, cleaning the other up and taking his shoes away.

All through the day, Jibril had left his door shut, only looking in every hour to check on the other. He took a shower, ate something, listened to music, ate two cartons of ice cream, napped, and finally he found himself even more bored than he usually was.

Dressed in simply a pair of loose, gold, silk pajama bottoms, he went into the bedroom to lay on the other side of his enormous - and very comfortable - bed and simply spent his time thinking, reading, and watching Loki. He found himself entertained acutally, Loki was after all, someone very pleasing to the eyes. He restrained himself from trying to get a closer look, after all, that is most rude.

Just to describe the bed a moment. It is abnormally large, even for a king sized bed. It is firm but comfortable, and is covered with pillows. His sheets are silver and black, with shades of blues, and whites decorating all around. The sheets were soft and the pillows squishy, all in all it was quite the comfortable bed. Hence why Jibril loved it.

It would be sunset any time now. Jibril contened himself with finishing up his book, waiting until the other wakes up.

Boots. The shoes were boots that were lower on the legs then the old pair but the same sort of style. Yngvi did love his boot.

Loki’s soul went God only knows where when he slept in the day. Not even he himself knew exactly where it went in it’s been at the nasty habit of leaving for six thousand years now. But he knew, somewhere inside of him, something he couldn’t quite explain. When his soul left, something stayed. Something that kept him aware that his soul was in fact gone. That’s why they call them the living dead, you know. Their souls are gone during the day, leaving them really dead. No life in the body. But at night, their dead bodies got a living soul.

At any rate, he slept, or died, dreamlessly through out the day. It neared sunset and many vampires rose only after the sun had sank. But Loki rose sooner. There were two reasons he might have rose earlier. The first because he was old. Very old. The second being because even in life he’d waken early and went to sleep late. Most people of his time did this and maybe he simply never left that habit.

Whatever that reason might be, his soul came skipping back a quarter of an hour before the sun was gone. The silvery fluid came from no where really, and had no purpose for being visible, but it formed around the ceiling in the room, lighting that corner with a faint light, almost like seeing a ghost. Fluid, because as it drifted it seemed to flow and leak with the consistency of spilled milk. It didn’t slip into his mouth like most would think but came to rest on his chest, then spread over the rest of his body and sank inward.

And his eyes are open but he isn’t breathing and he hasn’t moved. Darkness. But he could not recall waking and leaving Jibril, he couldn’t recall returning to the room that he’d spent years digging under the ground to build. And this certinally was a comfortable bed but it was not his feather filled cushion of a mattress.

He could see instantly and sat up, put his legs over the edge and stood, walking a circle of the room before seeing Nafi. His heart grew heavier and he didn’t say a word, only walked the room three more times, taking in every detail before returning to the foot of the bed and standing there, looking down at Nafi. Jibril.

“You brought me here?” Apparently.

His long hair was not messy and hung in the braid still, because he did not move when he slept. Or died. And his clothing was not wrinkled. His blue eyes noted the pajama pants but more so the bare chest.

"Yes."

Jibril had finished the book and closed it, setting it on the bedside table before looking up at Loki. He gave a small nod, and an almost smile, before pushing some of his precious pale blonde curls out of his face. Did you notice his scars Loki?

The four across his face, one directly under the eye, two inbetween, and the fourth right next to the corner of his mouth. He didn't have those back then, no, these were what happened after Yngvi left Nafi, when Nafi killed the woman he despised most. It added a sort of charm to him though.

His lip was peirced, ears peirced, nose peircing was always there, and of course his tongue was peirced as Loki had found out earlier. His bellybutton was peirced, and his torso was covered with scars, and right below the bellybutton, along that hip bone, and around his bellybutton, was a new tattoo.

New additions to this beautiful, ancient body. Jibril's eyes were partly closed and he let himself lean back slightly, not bothered by the other's eyes on his chest. He simply looked at the other and then patted the spot besides him.

"Come join me."

He had noticed the sacrs, earlier. But it hadn't envoked my curiosity. His own body had earned a number of new markings. And keep in mind, his kind does not scar, save for the scars that were there before turning and scars made by anything holy. He's encountered a few disgruntled church goers in his days since Nafi. Call it carelessness and call it vampire-hystarias. He personally blames people like Peter Plogojowitz, Arnold Paole, Bram Stoker for his misfortunes.

The new tattoo had caught his eyes more then any new addition. It was there. His tattoo was on Jibril's back. His. And the new one was there. Did someone else put it there? Did Nafi...or Jibril let someone else do that?

He drew his eyes back up and didn't look embarassed for staring, when Jibril pat the bed. Yngvi took a step towards the bed Nafi sat on and Loki stopped and shook his head, striaght hair falling over his shoulder.

"I can't," he replied softly.

Jibril blinked once, Nafi blinked twice.

No? It struck him odd for some reason, that the other wouldn't do it, but Jibril didn't know why. He simply nodded and let himself lay back fully, hands resting atop his diaphram and curls falling once more into his face.

"Fine."

Not a snobbish whine or even a hint of dissapointment or even annoyance at the other refusing to join him. Just a simple reply, saying 'okay, whatever' without the whatever part. Of course he was slightly hurt by the other's refusal, but didn't give a hint about that. He pulled his knees up against his chest, arms slipping in between them for his fingers to grab ahold of the soft sheets beneath him. Slowly he changed positions, stretching out, down the bed so he was on his stomach.

His hair had fallen to either side of his neck, revealing his back with the other's tattoo, and that other design around it. The design was beatiful, swirled and elegant, yet at the same time it gaves others the feeling of horrid and made the whole thing look horrible and hideous. After all, it is a curse in physical form.

He simply rested his hand on his palm, looking up at the other softly.

This was hard.

"Why can't you?"

He's still curious.

Loki hadn't been afraid to be hit. His first instinct was to prepare to dart away but after a second he knew it was rediculous. Jibril wasn't like Nafi. Nafi might have punished him for disobeying (he'd never tested the theory) or at least be shocked that Loki refused, but Jibril wasn't like Nafi.

Too bad.

He couldn't make his eyes turn away as he watched the angel stretch out and roll to his stomach. Cold fingers, suprise!, touched the back suddenly. Without permission but then, he'd never needed permission to touch. Only the wings, but after the first time touching those he was allowed from that point on whenever he'd wanted.

His cold finger started to trace the tattoo, the one he'd put there, and then, slower, the unfirmiluar one around it. It was some how...it was almost like he knew what it was, somewhere in his mind, but couldn't grasp it. Like a word on the tip of your tongue. Nafi hadn't had this when he left but somehow he thought he might know what it was.

Words made him stop touching, pull his hand back, step back even.

"I just can't. I...hurt you." And I can't do it again. And you can't be hurt again. Not like that. "It can't be the same. I can't invade your life."

Jibril relaxed at the other's touch. He couldn't help himself or stop himself. It was just something natural, yet still, somewhere he felt tense. When the other pulled away he looked up at the other and then away when the vampire spoke. He didn't deny what the other said. He was more afraid than anything else.

"You make me feel so many things."

He swallowed thickly, looking back at the other with glowing, pulsing eyes. It was true, and for a split second all those overwhelming emotions were visible. It was almost too much. Its amazing he hasn't gone insane.

"I don't know what I feel. I want you, I feel like I need you, and underneath is a mixture of anger, lust, loathing, confusion...love...so many things..."

His eyes flashes.

"I should be angry at you, shouldn't I?"

Another flash.

"You already are involved in my life. You always have been, somehow or some way, if what you said about this whole thing being your fault is true. Then why don't you do a thing to fix it?"

His voice was acidic, then he stopped, looking away. Ashamed.

"Sorry. So many emotions. I don't know what to think of you."

He sighed, looking tired. He hadn't gotten any sleep save for that little nap. He never really does anyways.

"Of course I do," he replied softly, Jibril was Nafi, no matter what he acted like, and he still made him feel so many things too. "We were in love and I left. It's only expected." He tried to sound brisk, mater of fact, but it didn't work. I want you. I want you too, he thought. I shouldn't but I do. Love. Love....his chest tightened. So Nafi, underneath his anger and rage, underneath this Jibril with no memory, Nafi still loved him right?

I should be angry at you, shouldn't I?

"Yes," his eyes had been cast to the floor at this and his answer was soft, very soft, and weak. His eyes flashed and Loki's eyes widened, fearful and hopeful, while Jibril's tone was Acidic. He backed away slowly, coming to stand in the corner of the room, his back pressed into it, watching, hoping, fearful.

Then why don't you do a thing? But then, Sorry. So many emotions. I don't know what to think of you. Jibril. It wasn't Nafi, it was still Jibril without any memory. Hope faded, fear faded. Nafi would have been angry, frightening. Nafi didn't tolerate insubordinance on any level. Not even from Yngvi.

He liked his lips, left a long silence from shock. "Because your not Nafi." He frowned. "I can't...ask your forgivness and expect peace at knowing Nafi forgave me."

"Then don't ask. You have to earn forgiveness."

Jibril had gone paler than he normally was. It was like a slap across the face. Your not Nafi. He knew that, he knew he was different than the person he had been, but it hurts to hear that. He had bitten his lip hard and a little droplet of blood appeared on his lip before the wound healed shut in the blink of an eye. It really hurt. Blink. He hurt. Everywhere. He couldn't remember things becuase he ran from them, he ran from fear of remembering everything he wanted to forget.

He wasn't Nafi.

He wouldn't ever be Nafi.

The thought made him shake, and he didn't even know why. It just hurt so much. His eyes filled with tears again, yet his expression was angry as he looked at the other. It was hurt, accusing.

"I know that. But it isn't my fault. You are the one who did this to him. Caused all of this to happen, didn't you?"

Earn forgivness. He knew that. But how do you earn forgivness from soemthing you can't take back?

You are the one who did this to him.

Bitterness filled his chest and a sour, foul taste rose on his tongue, or maybe it didn't since he has not real need for taste aside from blood. But you get the point. His narrow eyes narrowed more into flaming green slits of anger that could see right through you.

He'd never fixed Nafi with those eyes. Never. He never had to. Even when he was yelling and angry about those children and what had happened. That was bad but this, this was for himself, not Nafi. Even partly for Jibril, but not Nafi.

You are the one who did this to him.

"You think I do not know this!" he screamed, his accent was so thick it dripped and bounced on the line of being un-understandable. "You think I havn't realized it's my fault! All this time I knew it was my fault I left! My fault that I hurt you...him..." he faultered in anger, took three dangerous steps towards Jibril and stopped. "I knew he would be angry. I knew he might not love me. I didn't know he'd turn into you." The last was whispered and hoarse and filled with venom and hate and said in a tone that says I hate you and I love you and I can't figure out what I should do about it.

Jibril's brilliant green eyes flashed and he was sitting up. Harsh glare and he was moving again, jumped off the bed this time but wasn't up to Loki. He was simply standing in front of the bed. His pupils were narrowed and his mouth was raised up in almost...a sneer. Gods know how /Jibril/ is able to pull off that look, let alone be angry at this person.

"Do I care?"

That acidic voice again. Not Nafi's, but is it really Jib's? It sounds so...alien coming out of this beautiful person.

"You know its your fault. You've come to terms with it, have you?"

A disgusted look.

"But you haven't done anything to try to fix it, have you?"

He was stepping closer to the other, slowly but surely, his eyes held a rather...demented look in them. He isn't in his right mind. Sure Nafi might not have been, but this is simply downright insane. He opened his mouth.

"And I'm sure you'd love to-"

Silence.

Jib's mouth is closed, and his eyes are closed. He's shaking. He's stopped himself from saying whatever he or whoever was going to. He would have regretted it. He simply stood there, then pivotted on foot, back over to the bed, sinking onto it and look pointedly everywhere but Loki.

"It can't be fixed! I can't fix this! I can just make it..." He stared at Jibril. He'd been trying to shout over whatever else Jibril would say, trying not to hear whatever else would hurt and anger him. But he heard it, the trailed off sentance. "Better," he finished softly. "I can't fix this. You were so..." he stopped, watched Jibril stare fixedly every but him and so he stared at him. Hard. He tried to make Jibril look at him by moving closer, eyes fixed.

"What?" The word was almost acid. "I'd love to what?"

"Nothing."

He snapped. He didn't mean to. But it sounded defensive. He still continued to refuse to look at Loki, it must be mildly frusterating. The other staring at him hard didn't bother, the fact it was Loki probably bothered him somwhere, but right now it didn't. He was numb.

In fact he turned on the bed, his slim, tattoo covered back to the other.

"Nothing you need to know."

Loki moved over at that. Only Nafi can turn his back on him. Only Nafi.

He had half a mind to prod Jibril roughly between where his wings should be but decided not to. He's not so terribly mean that he'd do that, even in a fight. Nafi's, Jibril's, wings he knew were sensitive before, why wouldn't they be now?

Instead he put his smaller hand on Jibril's shoulders and pulled, making him roll over and stared at him, put his hands on either side of him so he couldn't roll away.

Only Nafi was allowed to treat him with anything like superiority.

"I'd like to what?" Each word was diliberate, his accent carfully pronunciated, not so thick with anger.

Jibril was quite surprised to find this change of scenery. He only glared up at Yngvi, eyes burning with a relentless stubborness. His teeth were bared.

It was Jib's turn to grab Loki, and he did. His strong arms grabbed the other's arms, gripped, and well, flipped. Pulling and pushing the other up and onto the bed, under him as he pinned the other's hands above his head and straddled the other's hips.

"None. Of. Your. Business."

His words were mixed with growls, it was obvious that this subject was dangerous.

Danger never stopped Loki. Fire was dangerous but Loki lit one every night. Nafi was dangerous. But Yngvi had loved him anyways.

He was flipped onto the bed, which strangly felt quite naturally with the strong hands gripping his arms like that, and straddled. He didn't struggle. It would be senseless. He'd played the struggling game with Nafi too many times to not know that while there was chance of him being equal strength to the angel, it was slim to none if the struggle started on his back. It's harder to beat someone whose already got you lying down then it is to fight standing up.

He lay still but his eyes danced back and forth between Jibrils.

"It is," he said bitterly, no, he doesn't just give up, "if it's about me. I would what, Jibril. What?" He almost spat the words into the others face.

"Its not about you."

He glared.

"You might want to know about it, I'm sure you'd love to hear it, but it isn't about you."

He lowered his face, such an angry expression, but it wasn't one of loathing, he still had the confusion and hurt. It made him angry.

Yngvi returned the glare and didn't budge when Jibril lowered his face.

"Of course I want to know!" he shouted in Jibril's face, eyes flashing wild green colors, fangs flashing when his mouth opened. He shut his mouth, pressed it tightly togather. That drop of blood on Jibrils lip was taunting him. He's not fed remember?

He spoke with gritted teeth in a low voice, "Don't. Keep. Secrets from me. It's ruined things once already."

"Exactly, but I'm not going to tell you."

Jibril frowned when the other spoke. Secrets?

"Secrets?"

A sneer.

"Whatsitmatter anyways? I'm not Nafi, remember?"

Got that thrown right back at you Loki.

Oh that's right. He did say that didn't he?

He stared at Jibril for a long, silent moment. Then lifted his hands off the matress where they were and pulled them down, holding Jibril's wrists so he had nothing holding him up.

"Doesnmatter. Nafi's not who he was suposed to be either. Maybe you havn't changed so much after all." His words chocked somewhere between 'haven't' and 'much' and it's his turn not to look at the other. And begin the pointless struggling to get out from under the angel.

He's stronger then he used to be damnit. But then...so if Jibril huh?

Pointless struggling.

But he might as well try, yes? Jibril smirked, more like sneered, and continued on doing his best to push the other down on the matress, doing all he could to keep the other down on the matress and under him. It was rather like a struggle for dominance really, in this case.

Nafi never had this problem with Yngvi, but Jibril isn't Nafi now is he?

Jibril is Nafi, no matter what Loki says. He knows that, he just said it to be spiteful. He’s gotten good, over time, at being spiteful when it was needed. But no, Nafi never had this problem. Of course not. Loki, Yngvi, loved him too much to be so defiant. And Nafi never said things like that to him. Nafi never kept secrets from him. Until the first one that created the end for them.

He struggled anyways, strong enough to keep resisting, to keep his hands up off of the mattress but not strong enough to both keep his hands up and get up. So he didn’t try.

When he and Nafi played games, he was never strong enough, just touching the line. If he were just a little stronger he’d be as strong as the angel. But he’d never wanted to win, he liked being defeated. So he didn’t use other methods of winning. Now he was not enjoying himself. Now, Loki’s calculating mind (Nafi did always call him smart) set to work.

He stopped trying to struggle to push Jibril off of him and simply rolled over until their positions were switched and he was on top of Jibril, pushing the angel down into the mattress. Keep in mind he was a sailor 70 percent of his life. He planted his feet in a position that would make it near impossible to toss him around.

Damnit.

Jibril was frusterated to find himself once again /pinned/ under Loki, and unable to squirm or get out from this. This was not what he was used to, only Verkur has gotten him underneath him. This, this was completely different. And thus he was objecting in near everyway possible.

His legs were raised as high as he could get them, pressing up against the other to push back as far as he could, and he still struggled no matter what. His face was flushed pink from all these movements, and his curls fanned out around his head. It must be a rather interesting sight to Loki, seeing as he'd never been on top of Nafi, save for laying atop him when they cuddled.

His growls were mixed in with words of different languages, jumbled together and lost in the rough growl.

He's also never defied Nafi or fought like this with Nafi. It's a night of a whole bunch of firsts.

He tried not to look at Nafi...he means Jibril....no this was more like Naf...this was Jibril and it was pissing him off.

He tried not to look at the angel, whoever he may be, but kept the wrists pinned down to the matress, even though the other's legs were longer then his, resulting in a struggle between being lifted with the legs and his feet staying so firmly planted.

"It wasn't all my fault! I'm not the only mon...." no....that had caused too many problems before. But... "M....m." He glared. "It's not all my fault! And it's not my fault you can't remember!" That's the bitter part. That Nafi doesn't remember him...I mean, it's good he can't remember his leaving but...he couldn't even really remember him. How could he have really loved him and forgot him?

He thrust his hips against the other in a manner that would probably bruise all of Jibril's bum and inner thighs, and had her blood at the moment, probably all of his own pelvic area.

"Your n-not the only wh-at?!"

Jibril bucked the other up, only to come in when the other thrust his hips, creating an even more painful affect that left Jibril slightly shocked for a moment and he fell back against the bed, eyes blank for a second before they took on another glare and the struggling began once more, slightly more...frantic.

He didn't want to be right here, not now, not ever, yet he was stuck right here. And his hips hurt, and they were no doubtedly going to bruise.

Ow.

"Its not my fault either!"

That part is true actually, but we won't disscuss it now.

"It was your fault! It's not all me! It wasn't all...I didn't want...you didn't have to...." He let out a fierce, very un-Yngvi and very un-loki like grow and suddenly Jibril is free. Yngvi's not even on the same side of the room. In the speed that the eye can't follow he'd moved to stand near the window in a stance saved for sailors about to fight and pointed a stiff arm and finger at the window.

"Is it day light out there?" he demanded. Don't mind him if his internal clock is suddenly messed up.

Yeah...he's trying to run away again.

Jibril looked away as the other lept off him, running to the window. He frowned and then shook his head.

"No. Its dark. Running away are you?"

The voice was bitter, how could he not help but be bitter? Yngvi expects answers from him ,to remember everything, yet he tells nothing, and isn't even trying to help him remember, how is he supposed to remember if no one helps him?

Dark was good.

"Yes. It's the only thing that..."

He stopped and stood there looking as helpless as he had the night he'd left, when he had the most powerful Angel in Arabia, and who knows where else, kneeling at his feet and begging. His chest clenched and he put a hand on it. He just stood there, looking like a kicked puppy and wilting slowly towards dieing puppy look, staring at Jibril who looked so much like his Nafi.

He could run away. He could leave if he just shoved the window up and jumped out he'd be fine. It was the shoving of the window that was the hard part.

"It's not daylight? You wouldn't do that? Right?" Hey! It's a reason to stay there with out looking so confused. Only....he just looks confused.

Jibril hardly looked like the person he had been. Physical appearnce is noted of course, pale skin replaced the healthy blonde, pale blonde replaced white gold that had once hung about his hips, and the way they moved. Nafi had been confident, a leader, a General, someone who people had literally worshiped. Jibril was a shadow, meak and quiet, not at all like the stunning General Loki had known.

His pale blonde curls fell in his scarred face, eyes large and despite his emotions, just as forlorn's as Loki's.

"No. I wouldn't do that."

He sighed, and turned his head away slowly, trying to not focus on or look at the other. It hurt right now.

Loki took a step.

Then another.

The first was towards the window, the second towards Jibril.

Whimper.

Literally. Loki made a soft whimpering sound in his throat. He didn't fight with Nafi! He obeyed him. He didn't...want to do this all over again. He didn't want to leave like this again, even if Nafi was different.

"ÉG er hryggur," he mumbled so quietly that only an angel or something with supernatural abilities /might/ have heard it.

The whimper made him look back up, almost too quickly. The whimper the other emitted alerted him immediately, depsite his attempts to cover it. He looked sorry and bit his lip. Fighting with Yngvi left a bitter taste and feeling in his stomach, it was something he didn't want to do.

He hears the other, didn't recognize the words, but understood the tone of voice and nodded, looking back up at the other. He knew the other didn't want to come to him, but he did just want a hug, so he had opened his arms slightly, wanting the other to come over and accept that invitation he had so easilly refused earlier, just after he woke up.

His eyebrows dropped sdaly. "ÉG ge...I can't." The words were, again, very very soft. "I can't." But he was.

His feet were shuffling slowly across the room towards the open arms but he didn't quite make it before topping with in reach but not within the circle of arms. He looked down at him, scowled sadly. "ÉG geta e..." Yeah, when he's too emotional English slips his mind.

"I ca...I shouldn't." But he wants to. He just wants Nafi, Jibril, Nafi's body....Jibril's body now, to hold him.

Jibril's hands reached out and brushed along the other's arms. Fingers gently rubbing as he ran the hands up and down the other's arms. Its funny isn't it, fighting one moment, and wanting to hold one another the next moment.

"Why can't you?"

He looked up.

"What's stopping you?"

Pride? Hate? Fear? His fingers slowly wrapped around the upper arms, instead of pulling him onto his lap or into a hug, he pulled only a little, so that he could rest his blonde head against the other's strong chest. Eyes closed.

Yeah they are just a little...bipolar aren't they? It's all the emotional baggage that he's drug around all of this time.

And the nightmares.

And the inspiration, the sudden invasion in his memory, on his art.

"I just can't." He is not going to admit fear, but it's there. Rejection, lik ehe rejected him. What was stoping him? He would sigh but he didn't have to. "Guilt." He looked the other way, at the wall. Touching his arms he closed his eyes. "Need." Need was stopping him. He didn't want to need, he shouldn't need. He was the one that left when Nafi said 'need'. "Your life. Your new life." He couldn't. Wouldn't. Couldn't inject himself into the middle of whatever Jibril had going for him.

He took a step back when the head touched his chest, but it was so small it would hardly matter. Then hands were resting on Jibril's shoulders, one hand petting, yes petting, his hair. His eyes stayed closed.

They both have nightmares.

Jibril's are from emotions he's kept bottled up, stress, and many other things. Unpleasant things. He doesn't sleep becuase he doesn't want to face them in his dreams. He doesn't want to live becuase he has things to deal with. He doesn't want to die either, becuase there are people who do or may need him. He's comepletely unselfish. Which is why its so odd he wants something so badly. Possible needs it, but right now we can safely say want.

His hands didn't try to touch the other, in fear of more backing away, and so he simply let his hand fall beside his torso, limp as his head rested against the other's chest. He still wanted to feel that body.

He didn't want felt.

Ok, so he did, but he wasn't sure if he'd run at the touch or not. He should. He knows that, but would he?

Why didn't Yngvi ever kill himself anyways? Well, in his original religion it had been a sin. Then when he dropped all religion but studied them, it was a sin to christians, budists, jews, catholics, everyone. The only religion he found that was current that didn't mind suicide was in Iraq and Iran, but that was because a man had said it. There was no evidence that god existed, or that he didn't.

Yngvi wasn't willing to take that final risk.

Besides, he didn't want to die really. He wanted to keep living for Nafi, even if Nafi wasn't there anymore. He needed to keep living until Nafi did not care anymore. Then he could die.

He took his step closer, then shifted from one foot to the other, then wrapped his arms around the other's shoulders and head, partly bending and laying his head against Jibril's back.

Jibril doesn't believe in God anymore, and he no longer pays any heed to the Gods. He sighed as he buried his face into the other's chest. It was to much to bother, he had his own life to worry about without any supreme beings wandering about.

This time, his hands did come up, lossely resting above the other's hips as he rested even more against the other, whp happened to take a step forward. The air between them warmed up slightly, an improvement.

Cuddling, in a sort of not so intimate way. During the days with Nafi though, this was considered highly intimate. Along with time, so much has changed,

Then what exactly were Nafi and Yngvi doing if this was intimate? Having sex? And on that note, if their cuddling had been equal to sex...what were they doing when....ah nevermind.

Loki could remember what cuddling so long ago was supposed to look like. This. But today, and even to him back then, this was careful avoidence. This wasn't cuddling it was....touching.

He didn't run. His body was riged. Stiff. But he didn't run. Maybe he couldn't.

"Forgive me." At least Jibril can forgive him for acting childish if he can't forgive him for so many years ago.

One would think that it was essentially a sin, yes?

Jibril enjoyed it nonetheless. He was shivering slightly and his arms almost fell off the other's hips. His face, if seen, held a blank expression with a hint of a frown, he was thinking yes.

"I cannot forgive you, if I really don't know what I'm forgiving you for..."

He looked up. He couldn't let Loki get away. His arms tightened, pulling him against him.

"You said you left Nafi. Why?"

Loki looked confused for just a fraction of a second. Then worried.

What for? "For being childish. I should have left when I woke but I couldn't. I wasn't strong enough. I should not have fought with you, nor said what I did." He wasn't talking about so long ago. Jibril couldn't forgive him for that, only Nafi could. Jibril could only forgive him for what he'd done to him now.

Arms tightened and he paniced breifly. Trapped. He couldn't leave, not that he was going to just walk out but...now he was trapped and with that question hanging in the air.

Back to lieing, or rather telling only half of the truth.

"Because." He was silent and still, no shivering because his body just didn't function like that. "Because I was nieve and too quick to leave." beating around the bush. "I was too judgmental. He...failed to meet one of my expectations and I left before I thought about it." He wasn't looking at Jibril now, anywhere but. "It doesn't matter. Your right. You can't forgive what you can't remember."