There was not a universe in existence in which Malachi would have refused to witness Arthur’s ascension. It was a given, as set in stone as the fact that he would always be his, always love him, no matter what happened to them both.

The hands holding his own were warm. They reminded Malachi of the way he had always greeted his parish, enveloping their hands between both of his own, overpowering in such a subtle and infrequently noticed fashion.

It was meant to comfort as much as it was to remind them that he was in control.

On the other end of it, with Arthur, he could hardly find the words for how it made him feel. His other hand came to rest on the back of Arthur’s.

“I love you too.”

Together, they had the power.

Something that he suspected neither of them had come by easily, for the world had been cruel to them both. Malachi wanted desperately for them to show cruelty back, a thousand times worse than either of them had seen.

“I will witness you. I – I will baptize you,” he insisted, pushing their hands close to Arthur’s chest.

“In our name. You are the only thing I have ever truly believed in.”

His voice shook with emotion, even as his face remained unchanged. Malachi forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down before he could say, or do, anything more. With what sounded almost like a sniffle, he gave a nod, squeezed Arthur’s hands, and let go.

“Be-… be careful with her teeth,” he mentioned, looking back towards the house. He motioned vaguely for Arthur to follow. “If you hit her face. They can do a lot of damage to your hands. I will patch you up, of course, but if you do too much it will tear every time you touch me.”