Zamael sat today in Paradise Garden, making a mental list of all the plants to be found there.

Flowers and all that--it seemed like a frivolous activity, especially for someone as glass half-empty as the elder Keil brother was. But truth be told, flowers were the only stable thing in his life. Relationships came and went, homes changed, even the weather was different from day to day. . .but flowers sprang up, oh-so-reliably, every spring. They had never failed him.

Add that constancy to the fact that they were just. . .pretty. A nice distraction from whatever shit life decided to throw at him next. And they were useful, too. There was a plant for every malady; hell, there were even plants to kill a motherfucker, too, which Zamael thought was intriguing. Even if you wanted a little touch of color here and there, a clump of wildflowers would do the trick.

Flowers = better than wolves. Zamael would gladly fight someone on this conclusion.

A familiar, not-flower scent wafted through his nostrils, and it was the one wolf that might be forgiven for disturbing his peace, here. If flowers were better than wolves, Alarian was better than flowers, which put him above pretty much anything, really. He returned his brother's touch, leaning back against him, though not so hard as to send Alarian tumbling into the thicket. They sat in contented silence for a moment, Zamael's attention focused on a busy bee, buzzing around the marigolds.

"Hey, who decided we were lucky enough to get this place?" Zamael asked, wrapping his tail around Alarian's haunches. He sighed with a bliss that was uncommon for him, zen in this garden of delights. "It's a nice getaway from all the shit that's happened. Quiet, pretty. . .wish we could move our dens out here." He was half-joking, but sometimes he did feel a bit cramped inside the boulder with all those tunnels. To sleep in the open, under the stars. . .

He looked over at Alarian, eyes questioning. "What's up?" he asked, skipping the usual "How are you feeling?" for now. He was sure Alarian would appreciate the chance to not talk about his health and happiness, for once.

Zamael mock-groaned at Alarian's joke, but obliged him with a chuckle seconds later, cuddling up against his brother. It took him a while to get an answer out of Alarian, and when it finally came, it was vague, incomplete. His ears perked forward, waiting for the Governor to share his thoughts without prodding. When no words came, he nudged him, head cocked in inquiry.

"Spill it," he said casually, a half-smile quirking his dark lips. "It'll feel better once you get it off your chest." He shrugged, giving Alarian an expression that was almost--but not quite--a wink. "And who knows--I might be able to help you with it. Big brother advice, right?"

These vent sessions should have been more common. Zamael thought it was good for Alarian to bring his thoughts out into the open, especially to a trusted set of ears. So often, his brother kept himself shut off from everyone, keeping all his emotions bottled up to himself. Other people might not be able to drag the shit from his brain, but Zamael thought he had the best chance of doing so--

Not to get cocky, or some shit.

Everything Alarian added seemed to make the story more and more ridiculous. Zamael hadn't ever heard someone get it so. . .wrong. Jesus. He sucked in a breath once his brother had finished, resisting an astonished burst of laughter. Thus composed, he leveled his fiery stare onto Alarian, one corner of his mouth lifting, the only tell to betray his amusement.

"Queenie had kids with a gay dude?" he asked, one brow lifted. That was all it took to break his facade; he broke into gentle chuckles that shook his chest, vibrating against his ribs. Goddamn it. "Alarian, do you see how he looks at you? How he treats you? Delight likes you a lot. Digs you. Thinks the sun shines out of your ass, probably. And it's a very good thing."

He let out a snort as he pondered the one wrinkle in the situation. "Fuck Queenie, anyway. Not literally," he added, voice wry. "That's what got your boy in this mess in the first place. But jeez, Alarian. . ." Zamael pressed his muzzle against his brother's shoulder, preening at the unkempt hair there, if he'd allow. He took a moment to breathe in his scent, at once happy. . .and terrified, for Alarian. And Delight, too, in a small way.

He'd found that sort of connection, once. Lost it a moon later. Since then, there was nothing at all that had convinced him that love was anything more than a temporary burst of joy, destined to be destroyed and converted into sorrow. A way to make unforgettable memories, and feel like you could fly--and all you had to do was lose your heart and soul in the process.

"I'm happy for you," Zamael whispered, a lump in his throat the size of his forepaw. "You need to be happy for you, too."