I don’t own Angel Sanctuary, yadda yadda, blah blah blah

He never really gets drunk, but sometimes it suits him to choose to be drunk, while Katan, who accompanies him, remains steadfastly sober, no matter how much he drinks. Heaven, of course, is like Katan, and it always remains exactly as it is, exactly as it has always been. That pristine, calm perfection, faintly Mediterranean looking from this terrace, where he and his cherub share the pitcher of beer, has undone stronger nerves than Lord Rosiel's.

"You must get drunk, Katan." The High Angel has already been drunk himself. And he's tired of it, and returned to sobriety, and he's only drinking beer now, because it suits him to pretend the day is too hot in Heaven. It's never too hot. It's never too cold, or too sunny, or too cloudy. Smiling coaxingly, he pours a glassful. He sets it on a drinks napkin, and slides it across the table. He has one hand wrapped around the glass, moisture beading, wetting his perfect, white fingers. The other strokes Katan's face gently.

"It's just the two of us," he says, "there's no one here to see you. You have no duties, no work you need to perform except to please your Master. I'd like to see you drunk, Katan. You're too tense when you're sober."

He's too controlled. He wears his control like a shield, like the heavy coat he wills onto himself before he begins his angelic duties. Is he protecting himself from Lord Rosiel? Maybe it's just better that only one of them be out of control at a time.

His Master can read minds, though Katan forgets it sometimes. "What do you mean?" he says now, "I am in perfect control, Katan." His voice is very light, a playful, teasing voice, to go with the cool beer and the Mediterranean sunlight. "How can you think otherwise?" Lord Rosiel asks him.

Katan takes the beer and drinks it. He pretends it doesn't taste perfect, the way everything in Heaven does. He pretends it's just ordinary, mortal beer, because that's what Lord Rosiel wishes. He drinks it, and he sets the glass down, and he eyes his Master warily. "Thank you, Lord Rosiel," he says, "that was very good."

Rosiel corrects him. "It was very refreshing."

"It was very refreshing, thank you, Lord Rosiel."

"And you want more."

With a sigh, "and I want more." He holds out his glass. "Thank you, Lord Rosiel."

Another glass is poured. Katan drinks it quickly. He swallows in fast, nervous gulps. He isn't quite sure what it means to be drunk, he's not mortal, how can he tell? He doesn't think Lord Rosiel knows either though. Maybe a pretense will be good enough to please him. Resolutely, he holds out his glass for more beer.

The smile on Lord Rosiel's face is his reward for the pretense. It's enough reward, Katan tells himself so. His lips curl upward, and there's a sparkle of delight in his eyes. He looks like a child who's been given a present. "Are you drunk?" he says, in a voice that's almost laughter, "are you drunk, Katan?"

"I'm drunk," he tries, but he cannot keep all of the heaviness out of his own voice. It's there, like the heavy coat that still hangs from his shoulders, "I'm drunk, Lord Rosiel, give me more beer, being drunk is fun. Watch me dance on the table," he says, and he carefully removes the pitcher and glasses so they won't get broken.

"In vino veritas." Rosiel's smile doesn't go, but it changes. There's no look of offense, for the trickery, but there's a calculation to it. He returns everything to the table. "Being drunk makes people tell the truth. Come, Katan, you must drink until you tell me the truth."

It is the Word of God to him, he would no sooner disobey it. He doesn't know if Lord Rosiel remembers what will come out when the truth comes, but he knows himself, oh yes, he knows.

And the perfect light of Heaven shines down on them, though Rosiel chooses to call it sunshine. "The sunshine is hot today." He frowns slightly, looking upward. "You must take your coat off, Katan." He himself is barely clothed at all, the sleeveless top and loose pants faint whisps of garments that he has willed to cover his nakedness. "Shall I choose your clothes?"

Katan shakes his head. He unbuttons his coat and thrusts it away from himself quickly. The full-dress uniform underneath would not have been much cooler, even if the sunshine had been real. "Please give me more beer," he says.

Rosiel smiles. He's a cat, playing with his favorite mouse, a cat, strangely, who needs his mouse more than he knows. He pours. "But certainly, Katan."

In vino veritas. He, who was a voiceless thing, he learned to keep his secrets inside when he was a lowly gringol, how is he to speak them out loud now? How could he, even if the beer were real, and him a mortal to be affected by it? And why does Lord Rosiel need to hear? He can read the cherub's thoughts, isn't that enough?

In the end it is for his Master's sake that he speaks. He speaks, as Lord Rosiel's perfect brows begin to knit together, as his lips draw down slightly into a frown. Why? Why does he do it? Does he really think he can save him from worry, or from anything that might happen to him?

He does it to make his Master smile, to make his eyes brighten again, and his face relax. "I've always loved you," he says, "I love you as a father, Lord Rosiel, and as more than a father. I love you as a man loves a woman." He thickens his voice as he says it, that is how drunkards talk.

"Hush," his Master chides, "those are mortal things, you mustn't speak of them." He lays a perfect finger against Katan's lips. "And now," he adds brightly, "now that you have been drunk, you must sleep it off. That's what drunken people do." His voice changes. It changes very slightly, and he gives a sidelong glance at the cherub. "Would you like to lie with me while you sleep it off, Katan?"