Chapter 4 THEIR FIRST MET

Arkael leaned against the cool, polished wall near his private elevator. A deliberate distance from the bustling activity of the hotel lobby yet close enough to keep an eye on the main entrance.

He wasn't planning on going to the sixth floor. Not yet. He needed time to think, to process the emotional earthquake that had just struck him. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the ambient noise.

The polite chatter of guests, the clinking of glasses, and the soft murmur of music – and focus on the image that had seared itself into his mind: Zadkiel Axton Mortel. His brother.

How many years had he spent yearning for this? How many nights had he prayed for a sign, a clue, anything that would lead him back to the little boy he'd lost? How many tears had he shed, silently, privately, mourning a bond broken too soon?

The ache of that loss had been a constant companion, a dull throb beneath the surface of his carefully constructed life.

Two decades. Two decades since their lives had been ripped apart. And now, here he was. Grown. Successful. Cold. The memory of Zadkiel's furious glare, the icy disdain in his voice, sent a fresh wave of pain through Arkael. His brother had changed. He was no longer the scared, lonely little boy Arkael had found in the park. He was now a stranger. A powerful, guarded, attractive stranger.

Arkael's lips curved into a wry, self-deprecating smile.

Even amidst the emotional turmoil, his body and instincts had responded to Zadkiel's presence. The sharp intake of breath, the quickening of his pulse, the… tightening… he'd felt. It was undeniable. And profoundly confusing. He was attracted to his brother. Not in an incestuous way, he quickly reassured himself, but… as a man is attracted to another man. A man he barely knew, a man who despised him.

A playful smile replaced the wry one as his mind drifted back to their first meeting, a memory he held sacred, a treasure buried deep within his heart.

He'd been eight years old, a rambunctious, energetic boy escaping the clutches of his older sister, Elise. He'd snatched her favorite doll, a porcelain-faced beauty with long, blonde curls, and made a run for it.

"Mitchy! Give it back!" Elise had shrieked, her voice filled with the righteous fury of a teenage girl. "You little brat! I'll tell Mom!"

"Catch me if you can!" he'd yelled back, waving the doll tauntingly, his nickname "Mitchy," a shortened, childish mispronunciation of "Mitchel" that only his sister was allowed to use.

He'd run until his lungs burned, finally stopping to catch his breath near the village clubhouse, a sprawling structure with manicured lawns and towering trees that provided welcome shade. He'd glanced behind him, expecting to see Elise in hot pursuit, but she was nowhere in sight. He sighed in relief, clutching the doll triumphantly.

He'd turned, intending to head back and perhaps, return the doll (after thoroughly teasing Elise, of course), when he heard it:

"Mommy…?"

A small, fragile voice, tinged with fear and loneliness.

Arkael had squinted, peering into the shadows. He'd scanned the area, searching for the source of the sound. He'd longed for a brother for years. His parents' divorce had left him feeling isolated, and Elise, while he loved her, wasn't exactly the playful companion he craved. She preferred her dolls and her friends to his boisterous games.

'How wonderful it would be to have a little brother,' he'd thought, his imagination already conjuring images of shared adventures and whispered secrets.

"Mommy…?"

The voice came again, closer this time. It seemed to originate from a cluster of benches nestled beneath a sprawling oak tree.

Arkael had crept forward, his heart pounding with a mixture of curiosity and a strange, nascent protectiveness.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

The voice was louder now, laced with a growing desperation. He'd quickened his pace, rounding the corner of the tree, and there he was…

A small boy, pale and thin, huddled on one of the benches, his face buried in his hands. He looked younger than Arkael, maybe five or six years old. He was lost and terrified.

Arkael had hesitated for a moment, a sudden shyness overcoming him. But the sight of the boy's trembling shoulders, the sound of his muffled sobs, had spurred him into action. He'd felt a surge of… something… a protective instinct he hadn't known he possessed.

"Hey…" he'd said softly, approaching cautiously.

The boy had lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen with tears. "Who are you…?" he'd asked, his voice choked with sobs.

"I'm your superhero," Arkael had replied, improvising wildly, trying to lighten the mood. He'd glanced around, as if expecting to find some hidden danger, then flashed the boy a reassuring smile.

Pfft!

"Hahaha…"

The boy had burst into laughter, a surprisingly loud sound considering his small frame.

Arkael had stared, wide-eyed and bewildered. He'd been trying to be comforting, not hilarious. 'What's so funny?' He was genuinely confused.

"Hey, why are you laughing so hard?" he'd asked with a mixture of curiosity and slight offense in his voice.

"Ahem! Ahem!" The boy had choked and his laughter turned into a coughing fit.

Arkael had rushed forward, patting the boy's back gently. He'd felt a jolt, a shock of empathy, as his hand connected with the boy's thin frame. He could feel the sharp outline of his ribs, the fragility of his bones.

"There… there… that's enough…" he'd murmured, his voice instinctively soothing. He'd continued to rub the boy's back in a comforting and rhythmic motion.

"Why are you rubbing my back? Aren't you here to bully me?" the boy had asked, flinching slightly and his eyes filled with a wary suspicion.

"Come on, I'm not a bully," Arkael had protested, genuinely hurt by the accusation. "I want to be your friend… if you'll let me." He'd offered his hand, a tentative gesture of peace.

"A lot of kids told me that they despised me for I am looking so ugly..." the boy had said, his voice dropping to a whisper and his eyes downcast. He looked like he was about to cry again.

"No! No! No! Don't cry again, please," Arkael had pleaded, panic rising in his voice. "I don't know how to stop you!" He was being completely honest. He had no experience with younger siblings and no idea how to comfort a crying child.

"Don't you have a little brother…?" the boy had asked, tilting his head, his curiosity momentarily overriding his sadness.

"Don't have one," Arkael had replied, a wistful note creeping into his voice. "Would you like to be one?" The words had tumbled out before he could even think about them. He'd sat down on the bench beside the boy, a hopeful anticipation building in his chest.

"A-are you sure? Y-you want me to be your brother?" The boy had stammered, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and longing.

"Yeah, of course!" Arkael had replied, his enthusiasm genuine. "Don't you want me to be your brother?" He'd turned to face the boy, studying his face with a newfound intensity. His hand itched to touch the boy's cheek, to reassure him, to comfort him.

"O-of course! I wanted to have one, but my mommy said that she couldn't give me one, so… so…" the boy had trailed off, his face flushing crimson.

"So? What? Come on, finish what you are saying," Arkael had urged, captivated by the boy's shy, hesitant manner.

"So, I…I won't refuse your offer to be… to be your brother…" the boy had whispered, his gaze fixed on his lap.

"Hahaha…" Arkael had laughed, a loud, joyous sound that startled the boy.

"You…were you just bluffing me?" the boy had asked, his eyes filled with a renewed fear.

"Ahem! No! Don't think that way," Arkael had quickly reassured him. "I'm just…I'm just happy. I finally have a brother." He felt a warmth spread through his chest, a feeling of connection and belonging that he'd never experienced before.

The boy had nodded vigorously, a shy smile finally gracing his lips. He was no longer alone. He now had a brother.

Arkael had studied the boy's features: the dark brown hair, the furrowed eyebrows, the striking blue eyes, the perfectly shaped nose, the slightly parted lips, the smooth and pale skin.

He'd raised his eyebrows. A puzzled expression marred on his face. He remembered the boy's earlier words: *"A lot of kids told me that they despised me for I am looking so ugly…" *

'When did a beautiful child become ugly in their eyes?' he'd wondered.  A surge of protectiveness rose within him. 'Were they blind?'

He had wanted to ask his new little brother his name.