āI knew about the pipe,ā Cal admitted with a ghost of a smirk. But then, did it count as an admission when he wanted Oliver to find out? This wasnāt the first minor disaster Cal had allowed to happen after he realized this tiny box of an apartment simply would not do for their ā what were the ridiculous straights in the suburbs calling it these days? For their forever home. As if those ludicrous HGTV addicts even knew what forever was. But Cal did, if only secondhand. For the time being, at least.
Forever was a word that actually held meaning for Cal now, when it never had before. A shorter lifespan was the cost of being a Price, and the idea of anything past 50, if he was lucky, seemed not only distant but rather excessive when heād first become the reincarnate of a celestial being blessed (or was it cursed?) with immortality. He avoided thinking about it, more often than not. It wouldnāt matter until it did. Forever would be far away until it wasnāt.
And then, very suddenly, it wasnāt.
The meaning of forever became quite clear to Cal first upon meeting Oliver, then getting to know Oliver, and then, finally, kissing Oliver. The future stopped being a gray fog threatening an eternity without purpose or companionship and instead started looking brighter. Promising, even. Happy. It took Oliver a little bit longer to get used to the idea, but Cal had been patient. What they had now, and what they would keep having for years to come, was worth the wait.
For Cal, forever was simply Oliver.
But there was no way in Hell he was going to let his angel spend it in this apartment.
And so, the minor disasters. The matter of space and the lack of it was a point Oliver could talk around no matter how tall his towers of unshelved books became, but a wobbly shelf nudged magically over time into a full tilt? A bloom of water damage growing slowly right above the spot where Oliver laid his head every night? A leaky pipe checked every morning and gently encouraged to burst, preferably when Oliver was home alone? Eventually one would convince Oliver that their living situation was untenable, and Calās plan to move them somewhere bigger and much less disaster-prone or landlord-beholden would finally come to fruition. The poor angel had to get past his moral misgivings himself, Cal knew that, but there was no law against the demon helping things along and having fun in the process.
The smile Cal was holding back broke through by centimeters at Oliverās sudden turn of lament for his precious Shakespeare. It always came back to Shakespeare with him ā partly because it was his job, of course, but more because Oliverās love for Shakespeare ran deep into his soul. Cal, never one for the arts, should not have found this as charming as he did when theyād first met, and yet, here he was, still reading through the complete works behind Oliverās back in an effort to catch up on all heād missed growing up learning the basics of intimidation and racketeering. The things we do for love.
āThatās because thereās a difference between reading Hamlet and seeing Hamlet,ā Cal commented offhandedly while very deliberately rolling up his shirtsleeves, one fold at a time. He waved a hand dismissively, then meandered over to the counter where heād left an unopened bottle of wine that heād swiped from his fatherās private reserve a few days ago and pulled out two glasses from the cabinet above. āTake them on a field trip or something. Someoneās always doing Hamlet. Iāll pay," he added, sending a knowing grin over his shoulder. A running joke, of sorts.
Cal poured the wine, still grinning, and handed a glass to Oliver. āSo.ā He took an innocent sip. āWhose turn is it to call the landlord this time, mine or yours?ā