Two Candles
Title: Two Candles
Description: The veils between worlds are thinner than we think.
A/N: For apsaraqueen - it’s not Joaquin and Rosalía yet, but it’s R/J with a hint of A/J.
So long as we keep two candles burning
One in your window and one in mine
We will find each other again
Beloved, this I swear.
It had been a crappy commute compounded by even crappier weather, the kind of driving rain that made an umbrella not only entirely useless but a hazard in and of itself. His only remaining pair of clean trousers was soaked through, and he was sneezing continuously in a way that boded ill for the efficacy of the flu shot he’d gotten at Analiese’s insistence.
As he tried to find a spot in the cramped kitchen to prop his rain-saturated umbrella, he glanced toward the other bedroom. To his relief, he heard only female voices - Ana’s soft, light voice that always reminded him of early morning sunlight flashing silver off a brook trout’s scales, and an unfamiliar voice that sounded smoother and richer than dark chocolate with hazelnut notes.
Good. That meant Ana’s on-again, off-again boyfriend was still out of town on business. He wouldn’t be cluttering the bathroom counter with his countless essential hair products - although Joel was fairly certain he’d spotted a few of them lurking in the back of the cupboard - or indulging in stomach-turning displays of affection over breakfast. Zeke was the kind of asshole who could tell that his girlfriend’s roommate had a hopeless crush on her, and he would make sure she knew about it, too. Of course, this was a purely hypothetical scenario. Purely hypothetical.
Joel couldn’t tell what Ana saw in the guy, but at least they didn’t see each other very often between his business trips and her on-call schedule. He wasn’t in the mood to make small talk, so he defrosted his meager dinner and escaped to his room with microwaved shrimp pasta and a glass of wine.
The wine and the latest episode of Mad Men mellowed him out considerably, to the point where he actually cracked a smile when he heard Ana’s friend Starlight Hope (actually his friend now, too - that was just the way she was) arrive, tripping over his shoes on the way to Ana’s room. She went by Serenity, which Joel thought was a definite albeit insufficient improvement over her given name, but it was her way of appeasing her hippie parents. Nothing was ever peaceful when Serenity was around, so he put on his headphones and opened Saturday, wishing the titular day was not at the end of the week and hoping it wouldn’t turn out to be absolute drivel.
Around midnight, he roused himself to get a glass of water. Joel put the book down on his desk and shoved his chilled feet into his worn navy slippers before easing the door open. It seemed quiet enough, and the absence of Serenity’s glittery pink heels indicated that she had gone home. The scent of pomegranate, sandalwood, and gardenias mixed with fresh smoke tickled his nose, and he turned to look for the source.
Two candles burned on the living room end tables, one squat and square, the other a thin and slender taper. Twin hot, bright flames flickered in the draft from the balcony door, straining towards the dark waterfall they framed. He had never seen hair so long or so thick, draped over the battered leather couch cushions like diamond earrings set on a cork coaster. The ebony strands glittered with more colors than he had names for, although they were definitely clustered at the indigo-violet end of the spectrum.
The dry whisper of a turned page brought him out of his trance, and he hurried back into his room, hoping he hadn’t been caught staring. He had forgotten about the water, which was a pity since his throat was as parched as if he’d spent hours kneeling by a crackling bonfire instead of taking a thirty-second glance at Ana’s guest, reading on the couch with her knees drawn up and her back to the kitchen.
That night, he dreamed long and deep, and his dreams were colored by the sparkling crimson hues of the taper’s glass base. He was in a moonlit garden filled with red roses and white gardenias, but the secret smile of the woman who guided him through the maze was headier than the floral perfumes. He was in a lush orchard and the sun beat down on him fiercely. He shaded his eyes as he offered the first, glowing seed to the woman. Her lips closed delicately around his finger, and the taste of the moans she had uttered in his bed the night before was more potent than pomegranate nectar. He was in an open-walled temple and he fell to his knees before the altar, barely able to discern the fragrance of sandalwood over the sharp tang of blood and smoke. They tended his wounds with scented water and soft rags, but on his abraded skin, they felt unbearably rough compared to the softness of her fingers against his cheek. It was the sound of her voice that brought him out of the fevered sleep they’d feared he would never awaken from.
The next morning, he couldn’t remember any of the dreams, but when they were introduced for the very first time, Joel already knew Raya Owen’s face.