Chapter 133 Heart of the Storm (20)
◎Snuggle◎∞
Outside the bedroom was a living room connected to a lounge. The circular living room was dotted with several sofas of different sizes. Ferrante waited until Raphael on the bed was completely quiet before dimming the lights and quietly choosing the longest sofa to lie down on.
He closed his eyes, but did not forget to pay some attention to the quiet bedroom. At the same time, a lot of things were running through his mind. The changes in Florence had shocked people so much that even Ferrante could hardly believe that the betrayal of the Papal States would come so suddenly.
However, judging from the information that has been received so far, it is only the upper echelons of the Papal States that are in chaos. These power struggles have nothing to do with the common people and gentry. The little people also have their own wisdom. They huddle in their homes to protect themselves, waiting for this chaos to pass.
The most ironic thing is that when the parade and square banquet were held when Pope Titus VIII ascended the throne, the number of people participating in Florence could not even fill up one street, which was incomparable to the spectacular scene during the reign of Pope Sixtus I.
This may be due to the current turbulent situation and people not daring to show up, but it also indirectly shows their disapproval of the new Pope.
Raphael did not seem to be that worried about the chaos, and Ferrante was not very nervous either. He had been in Florence for so many years and knew best how Raphael had pulled the city out of the gutter bit by bit, cleaned it up, and dressed it up in comfortable clothes. It would be so easy for Tyn VIII, who was hiding in the dark and plotting, to snatch Florence from Raphael in person, but he would never dream of it being so easy.
It was a city associated with the name of Saint Sistine I, and as long as Raphael lived, it would always obey his edicts devoutly.
The current chaos is just the final pain of completely cutting out the rotten flesh.
Even so... Ferrante turned over, looking at the furniture whose outlines were only vague in the darkness, and thought calmly that he still hoped that this chaos would end as soon as possible. It might be the sequelae of the assassin, and he had been a little uneasy recently.
He was lost in thought when he suddenly heard a knock in the bedroom, like the sound of a cupboard door closing. It was very light, but to Ferrante, who was deprived of his vision in the dark and whose hearing was more acute, it was still clearly audible.
The head of the Arbitration Bureau, who was good at stealth, had his nerves tense. He sat up suddenly and stared in the direction of the bedroom. The lights there were turned to the dimmest. All the furniture could only be seen as a hazy outline. The big bed was covered tightly by layers of floor-to-ceiling satin curtains. He could not see anything. Ferrante wondered if he had heard it wrong. After hesitating for a while, he asked softly, "Rafa?"
His voice was lower than normal. He knew that Raphael's sleep quality had been poor recently and he could not fall asleep again once he woke up. He was afraid that something had happened and he didn't hear it, and he was also afraid that Raphael would be awakened by his call. He listened nervously for a long time, but the bedroom was still quiet, without any sound.
After a long silence, Ferrante felt relieved and slowly fell back on the sofa. He draped the thin blanket, which was better than nothing, around his waist, not caring that the other end was dragging on the carpet, and continued to daydream with his eyes closed.
An unknown amount of time had passed before Ferrante, half asleep and half awake, remembered the strange sound again. It replayed in his mind over and over again. Perhaps it was a hint of something. Ferrante thought vaguely, there was no wind in the bedroom, so what on earth was that sound? Or was he really hallucinating?
This confusion lingered in his mind, making him sleep uneasily. After the voice repeated hundreds of times, he sat up suddenly, his deep blue eyes staring in the dark like a hunting leopard. He lifted the blanket that was about to slide off, slid off the sofa lightly, and walked to the bedroom holding his breath.
He walked very carefully. Although the ground was covered with thick carpets, Ferrante's movements were as if there was a sleeping lion in front of him. Once he made a sound, the lion would open its bloody mouth and swallow him whole.
net.
The man with messy black curly hair on his shoulders gently opened the tightly covered curtains. He said to himself in his heart, just take a look to make sure Raphael is sleeping well, just take a look -
The curtain embroidered with gorgeous flowers opened a crack, and a thin light couldn't wait to pour in, outlining the soft quilt and fluffy pillows, as well as the empty bed.
When he found that it was empty, Ferrante felt for a moment that all the blood in his body rushed to his head and quickly froze into ice. The huge fear made his sanity collapse in an instant, and everything in front of him went dark.
He gripped the curtain tightly and opened his mouth to call Raphael's name, but his dry throat and tense muscles blocked the flow of air, and he was unable to make any sound for a while.
However, it was also during this brief traction that his gaze touched the decorative cabinet on the wall. The cabinet was designed with shutters, and the downward-sloping wooden bars made it impossible to see what was inside. However, one of the cabinet doors was not completely closed, revealing a tiny gap. Ferrante seemed to see something white passing by as he moved his sight away.
Because it happened so fast, the white spot still remained on his eyeball, and he suddenly remembered the voice that seemed like an illusion before.
A strange feeling invaded his mind. It was not the fear and worry of discovering that Raphael was not in bed, but another kind... It seemed like a warning before he was about to face something even more painful and tormenting. The cabinet with the door loosely closed became a magic box, tempting those with weak minds to release the plague inside.
Ferrante walked over slowly, squatted down, reached out and grasped a corner of the cabinet door, and slowly opened it. He didn't even realize that he was holding his breath while doing these actions.
The mahogany closet was small, only enough to accommodate a teenager or a thin adult. The person he thought was missing was curled up inside. Except for his limbs being too long and cramped, the rest of the room seemed to be more than enough. He leaned against the wooden board, his light golden hair covering his cheeks. Shadows of varying depths cast on his face, making his already pale face almost blend into his snow-white robe.
He sat there quietly, like the Son of God in the oil painting falling into eternal sleep. The scene shocked Ferrante's heart to the point of stopping. The blood in his body rushed backwards. He didn't know what he had done. When he came to his senses from this insane confusion, he was already sitting on the carpet, holding Raphael in his arms. The other's head rested on his neck, his cold hair rubbing against the skin there. He pressed one hand on the artery in Raphael's neck, felt the faint beating under the skin, and suddenly a layer of cold sweat broke out all over his body.
When he slowly regained control of his limbs, he felt the muscle pain caused by excessive tension. He fell back on the carpet, panting. Raphael in his arms was like a thin piece of paper, floating in his arms as he moved.
Ferrante was seized by another kind of fear. With such a big movement, why didn't Raphael wake up?
He hurriedly looked down, lifted the scattered golden hair, and found that the beautiful lavender eyes were already open. He didn't know when Raphael woke up, maybe when he opened the cabinet, maybe when he grabbed Raphael's waist and pulled him out, or maybe... he had never fallen asleep.
The last guess made Ferrante stiffen. He couldn't help but think of the pipe he had taken away a few days ago and Raphael's strictly controlled tobacco and drug intake.
When did Raphael start to have trouble sleeping? And when did you start hiding in the closet to sleep? Doesn’t sleeping in bed give him a sense of security? Even if he is guarding not far away?
Ferrante believed that Raphael was not someone who would easily expose his weaknesses. He slept outside the bedroom. If Raphael could still tolerate such a close distance, he would rather stay awake until dawn than get out of bed and hide in the closet. But he not only did so, but the meticulous person did not even close the door...
What kind of pain, what kind of unbearable torture could make even the strong-willed Raphael so hasty and panic?
Ferrante hugged Raphael tightly. The Pope was like an exquisite doll. No matter how he touched him, the Pope did not move. There seemed to be a layer of mist floating on his clear lavender eyes that never melted all year round. He looked very sleepy and not very talkative.
"Rafa...are you okay?"
Ferrante moved his Adam's apple, and his dry throat made his voice strangely hoarse. He instinctively knew that he should say something now, but don't mention the cabinet or ask why.
"It's a bit cold today. I think I hear it raining outside. Can you feel it?" He touched Raphael's hands exposed outside his robe. The limbs had been curled up in the closet for a long time, and the blood circulation was poor. They were already as cold as ice. Ferrante gritted his teeth and rubbed the two hands gently, stuffing them under his clothes, against the skin of his chest, and at the same time, he did not forget to whisper in Raphael's ears.
"Hey, this is the first rain we've seen together since we came to Calais. The garden maze outside was trimmed two days ago, and they planted new flowers. I've been wanting to ask if you'd like to go play with me. Holy Lord, that's a garden maze! I've never seen such a big maze in my life!"
Ferrante deliberately used an exaggerated tone to say these meaningless words. Damn the rain, damn the garden maze, he was not interested in these things at all, but if Raphael could respond to him a little, at least not be trapped in this silence that frightened him, he would be willing to hang a portrait of Francis IV in that damn maze to express his gratitude!
Ferrante didn't know how long he had been blabbering on and on. In the end, he was almost racking his brains to say something that made no sense. As the night gradually passed and the palace slowly woke up from its deep silence, Raphael, who had been leaning on Ferrante, finally made some movement - he quietly turned his face to the side and nudged his head into the crook of Ferrante's neck.
The cold hands slowly recovered their warmth under the body temperature of another person, the sore bones and muscles were also massaged regularly, and every inch of the body was humming comfortably. Raphael heard those words, but he just didn't want to respond.
This is not a big deal, the Pope, who has always been very strict with himself, whispered to himself that he just wanted to rest for a while.
So Ferrante's words flowed past his ears like running water, making a gurgling sound like water hitting rocks outside his eardrum, which made Rafael feel relaxed. He leaned on Ferrante's chest and heard the other's heartbeat rising and falling strongly and steadily through muscles and clothes. This sound fascinated Rafael, so he rubbed it slightly upwards.
This action is a bit like a cat, sneaking up to its owner in the early hours of the morning, rubbing its furry body against the person's skin, sniffing to see if the sleeping human is still breathing, and after waking the person up, it walks away as if nothing happened.
When his cold face touched Ferrante's warm neck, Rafael seemed to hear the sound of blood flowing in Ferrante's veins. Unlike his own morbidly low body temperature, Ferrante's body temperature was relatively high. Just sticking together made people feel so comfortable that they seemed to melt.
“It’s so warm…”
Raphael uttered an inarticulate sigh.
Ferrante didn't say anything more. He was silent for a while, stroking Raphael's hair from top to bottom like a cat, and asked in a low and gentle voice: "Are you feeling uncomfortable? Do you want to sleep a little longer? We talked all night, maybe you can give yourself a day off today."
He chose to ignore the fact that he had been talking to himself the entire night.
Raphael was still lying there in the same posture, the mist in front of his lavender eyes disappeared, and he looked exactly the same as every time he sat in a high position and strategized, calm, rational, and shrewd, making people fear from the bottom of their hearts that he could see through their deepest secrets at a glance.
The exquisite doll that was held in someone's arms and coaxed foolishly has disappeared. Maybe it was buried in the night, or maybe... who knows.
Raphael supported himself on Ferrante's chest and sat up. He naturally looked at the disheveled man who was pressed on the carpet by him. The adult male with a gloomy and charming face had a tight waist and abdomen and long and powerful legs. He lay there openly, which was enough to shake the hearts of every noble lady in Florence.
However, for Raphael who has seen more...
The cold-blooded pope ignored the temptation of the Arbitration Bureau Director's beauty, patted her thigh and ordered: "Get up and change your clothes."
He had no intention of explaining his unusual behavior at night, and Ferrante knew very well that Raphael's failure to mention it was a side warning to him not to ask.
This made Ferrante a little depressed. The man sat up, his loose hair hanging on his chest and shoulders. The fluffy curly hair was not well-groomed, making the tall man look like a big dog that had been wronged.
He sat there cross-legged, neither getting up nor moving. This childish silent resistance made Raphael speechless. He subconsciously wanted to curse, but the harsh words came to his lips, but he blocked them again.
"I'm just a little tired and don't want to talk. It's no big deal." Raphael explained vaguely.
After a moment, as if to avoid Ferrante's suspicion, he added: "I'm fine."
The man sitting on the ground looked at him. In his blue eyes, which were as bright as gems and as deep as the ocean, there flashed a hint of deep sadness that even Raphael couldn't see clearly.
Ferrante seemed to believe Raphael's unconvincing explanation.
“Next time… I mean, if, next time you are tired, what should I say to wake you up?” The powerful adult man looked at Raphael. He was no longer the stubborn and sensitive slum boy who humbly sought the Pope’s mercy and help. Time had endowed him with wisdom and courage beyond most people. He knew how to face the bloody battlefield and the dangerous politics. But at this moment, he seemed to have broken away from the identity of being called “the Pope’s wolfhound” and turned back into the weak and bullied boy.
There was a long silence in the room. Tiny dust particles danced irregularly in the light column. The warm golden light of the early morning fell on Raphael's face, causing him to squint slightly.
"…Just say you love me."
Raphael seemed to smile, but his tone was so casual that others couldn't tell whether this was a joke or not.
The love he received was so rare and precious that he was willing to crawl back from hell to the world for everyone who loved him.
The author has something to say:
This chapter is a brief transition. Don't worry, Rafa will be fine. He will live a long time and reach the top of the world!
Just a little note that he's not in a very healthy mental state right now...but good dogs will drag Rafa out! And Raphael is a good boy. No matter how much hurt he has suffered, he is willing to keep going for the love of others. His mother loves him so much, and Julius has also proved his love for him, so Raphael is invincible! ! ! ! [Hoarseness]
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
