money

“So I’ve never asked you because I always thought it was too personal but I’m just too curious, I don’t know why honestly.” Yael’s voice is quiet, thoughtful really as he sits quietly in the living room, yarn on either side of him as he actually knits. The idea of jewellery had never taken off though he had tried his hand at little sculptures, those worked better.

Quentin, sitting next to him, reading one of his favourite old books, cants his head, curious as to the question. He puts a bookmark on the page he was at and closes the door, setting it away for the time being. He watches his companion a moment more, making sure he finishes the row he had been working on then gently tugs it all away from his finger. A ‘too personal’ question required all attention.

“Err, okay.” Yael does let go of the knitting he is working on and sighs. “I work. I mean, I’ve sold some artwork and recently I’ve been completely blocked on that subject and I haven’t been bringing in any money. You’ve had this place fixed up, it’s huge, I’ve never honestly seen you step out of this place to go out there and work so I was wondering.” He pauses, looking uncertain to no end, like he’s just stepped into something he shouldn’t have, “Where is all the money to essentially take care of us coming from?”

His words are so soft, a little afraid. He doesn’t want Quentin to believe that he’s prying though they’ve been living together for nearly a year and a half. Money is a personal sort of subject and while Yael has no reason to hide about his income, he cannot help but feel that Quentin keeps his information very much to himself.

To his surprise, Quentin chuckles softly, his head canting to the side. “Is that the question? The question that makes it seem as if you’re doing all you can to hide away because you’re afraid I might take offence you ask?”

He shakes his head, lips still quirked into a slight smile.

“I admit, the story is a bit unbelievable.” He breathes the words, canting his head back to lean to the back of the couch. He closes his eyes, as if trying to remember how an old story really started.

“One of the kind, giving souls I met while I was struggling to get away from Siberia, while I was trying to make my way here to France was an old man. His name was Maurice. He really was old, he lived in a house that was falling apart. I stayed with him longer than I did anyone else while on the move to come here.” He pauses and sigh, a sad smile finding his lips.

“He needed more help than I did. I don’t know why I felt so comfortable at his side. He died not long before I finally had decided to leave. You know those old stories that some folks are rich but they don’t live their lives showing it off? I guess I should have followed his advice but this place is home and I don’t care what people think.” He knows he’s drifting away from the subject and he shakes his head lightly as if to clear the memories.

“When he died, these folks in classy suits all showed up. I mean when he died I call the hospital and told them that he had gone in his sleep and then these folks showed up and things just moved really quickly. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of this guy in this classy little office and he said that Maurice had left me everything. It made no sense to me, I mean why? Because I helped him? He’d told me he didn’t have any other family, that what little money—his words that—he had would likely end up going to orphanages and whatnot.”

Shaking his head again, Quentin pauses again and Yael moves closer to him. He carefully puts the knitting off to the side and he settles against his lover, head to his shoulder. He knows his presence gives Quentin strength in some strange ways.

“A good chunk of what the old man had, which was a lot, went to an orphanage in the little town. The rest, this suited guy told me, was in an account that I couldn’t touch until I was twenty five. Though details are important, he also told me that until then I would receive a monthly amount, enough to get me by. I had a hard time believing it really. Still I had all the bank information they had given me and I went on my way, still not really believing what I had been told.”

He rubs his face a moment and shakes his head before he keeps on with his story. How when he reached the next town over he called the number he had been given and made sure to pretty much update his living address as he had been told so they could send the cheque. Not so much with the online banking thing as it happens now just yet. He did get a cheque once a month, an amount that allowed him comfortable enough living though he didn’t spend it all. He didn’t want to.

By the time he turned twenty five, the man in the suit spoke to him once more, told him he now had unlimited access to the account. Gave him all the necessary information but still Quentin kept on living with the basic of necessities. He didn’t want to be ‘rich and famous’.

Until, at least, he found the warehouse in need of repairs and then starting living his life a little more comfortably.

Their silence is comfortable, there is nothing to make it uncomfortable though now Yael feels somewhat like he is abusing a good thing. He tries to bring in money, it simply isn’t easy. Though he knows he doesn’t live extravagantly. His needs are simple and he knows they almost spend more on the cats than they do on him, that’s how he wants it until he had himself a steady income and money to spare.

He nuzzles Quentin’s shoulder gently. They had fallen to silence once the story had been completed and Yael wondered if his lover hadn’t fallen into a slight doze. As he nuzzles that shoulder he feels the motion returned lightly to the side of his head. He chuckles softly but sighs and rubs his eyes.

“Do you know where he’s buried?” the question is soft and thoughtful. Yael straightens to look up to Quentin, curious as to his answer. The other demon nods, a half-hearted smile to his lips.

“Do you think it would be okay if we visited him one of these days? I know he probably lived far away and we’ll have to be out of the house for a day or two but it would give us an excuse to travel a little?”

Thoughtful, Quentin looks out towards the window once more before nodding somewhat. “I guess we could. It’s about time I go and thank him for what he’s done for me, after all.”

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