The Lost Angel [BxB]

ignacio

Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.

'Frankenstein'
[Mary Shelley]

♡ ♡ ♡

8: IGNACIO

Rory's kitchen prep area was a mess. Silver pots and pans cluttered the counters, spilt ingredients dripped onto the tiled floors, and wet tea towels were hung from hooks by the windowsill. Wax dribbled from burnt out candles and glowing lanterns flickered in the evening breeze which crept through the open window.

Lalo was sitting at the wooden table they had dragged up from the cellar, as the house's original layout included a separate room with an elegant dining table, overlooked by a grand chandelier. They craved something a little more humble, so made do with the creaky desk that gave them splinters. With his knees pulled to his chest, Lalo watched Rory curse over a steaming pan that was spitting and bubbling over the surface. He wished the moment could last forever, because in a few hours, he wouldn't be there anymore. Memories of sunny days and stone angels would be all that remained.

"So, I was talking to Ignacio at the bakery today." Rory plated the food up, transferring it onto a couple of white plates with navy flowers delicately painted onto the edges. "He gave me this. I was going to show it you earlier, but with the letter..." He trailed off, and pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, sliding it across the table to Lalo.

Lalo frowned as he unfolded the scrap of paper, flattening it out to reveal a faded map of the country. There was a thick bold line that jaggedly ran through a small section of the map, starting from where they were and ending at the coast. "What is this?"

"It'll take a couple of hours to get there by bike, and some of it is uphill, but I think we can do it." Rory grabbed some cutlery and took a seat opposite Lalo. "So, what do you say? Fancy a trip to the beach tomorrow?"

"I don't know." Lalo said softly. There was no future for them, no 'tomorrow', this was it.

"C'mon, you gotta get out of here. Just for one day."

"There's a lot of work to do."

"You're ahead of schedule. You haven't even taken any time off since you started working here."

Lalo sighed heavily, picking up his knife and fork and beginning to eat, "The beaches in Spain are hotspots for tourists."

"It's off season, Lalo." Rory argued, "And anyway, Ignacio gave me this map to help us get to the most secluded places. Only locals even know how to get to these spots."

Lalo wanted to cry all over again. He would give anything for one last day with Rory. A day at the coast, alone where nobody could find them, hidden from the world itself. It sounded perfect. "I can't." His voice nearly broke.

"Why not?" Rory moaned. "Is it that you can't swim? Because we don't have to go in the water..."

"I can swim, I just..." I just won't be here by then. "I can't. I'm sorry."

Rory nodded slowly in understanding, trying to hide his disappointment. They ate in silence for a few moments, their faces flickering in the candlelight. "We used to have this little cottage by the beach in France." He said dreamily, his elbow resting on the table, his face propped up in his hand, "I know what you're thinking; spoilt rich kid." He laughed quietly. "But it wasn't like that. My uncle left us the place when he died."

Lalo watched him talk, a feeling of bitter melancholy consuming him as he tried to savour the softness in Rory's voice and the vibrance in his eyes. "That sounds nice." He said, looking down at the meal in front of him, playing with his fork mindlessly.