[A risky gambit indeed. Made all the worse by the feeling that Rafael could see him, even hidden in darkness as he is - he was still exposed and vulnerable. Each syllable carved themselves into his skin, tracing the ghost of a hundred kisses, a thousand heartfelt stares. Forget a knife to the throat. He felt like he was being lit on fire.

Every cell in him wants to run away. Every atom wants to be held again.

The conflict is visible, his demeanor like a cornered feral animal. He can't deny the truth that this stranger in front of him... he knows Rafael in return. He knows his rage and his devotion. His contrary nature, his arrogance and dryly dark humour. The kindness underneath it all. He sleeps nude and hates yes-men and loves Aracha more than anything.

But Aracha was a lie, wasn't it? But was it any more of a lie than what he actually was?

Haltingly, he mutters,]

It was supposed to be Peter.