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Night by the Water
The path loosened by the lakeshore.
It had not truly ended.
It simply thinned — toward a place where footsteps naturally dispersed, where people no longer felt the need to pass.
The water was still.
There was no wind.
No distant artillery.
For a moment, it felt as if the war had been placed on hold here.
Peter stopped first.
“…Ah.”
Abel lifted his head at the sound — and only then noticed the lake.
“Here,” Peter said.
“This is nice.”
Abel glanced around. No people. No traces. It was the kind of place that required no permission to remain.
“We could rest for a moment—”
Before he finished, Peter had already taken off his shoes.
“Peter?”
Peter turned, smiling.
“Abel. Watch.”
And stepped forward.
There was no splash.
Only a soft ripple spreading outward beneath his foot.
Peter stood on the surface of the lake.
“….”
Abel’s thoughts stalled.
“I can do this,” Peter said casually.
“Convenient, right?”
For a long moment, Abel said nothing.
His mind caught up belatedly.
“…No— wait.”
He pressed a hand to his forehead.
“You walked on the water—”
The rest of the verse surfaced in his memory with alarming clarity. He covered his face.
“Why,” he muttered faintly,
“does Scripture come to mind so vividly in moments like this…”
Peter laughed from where he stood above the water.
“Ah. That one.”
“Mm. Yes. Exactly that.”
Abel chose not to ask further. He sensed, instinctively, that demanding explanations would not be good for his mental health.
“Aren’t you coming in?” Peter asked.
“I like the water.”
“I’ll remain here.”
“Suit yourself.”
Peter took a few more steps across the surface — then paused.
“Oh. This too.”
“What do you—”
Peter bent down, plunged a hand into the lake.
A flash of silver broke the surface.
In the next instant, a fish lay caught in his hand.
“….”
“I can do this too,” Peter said.
“Catching fish.”
“Are you boasting?”
“Yes.”
He nodded solemnly.
“It’s worth boasting about.”
The fish barely struggled.
“…Is that a miracle?”
“Yes.”
“This one’s mine.”
Peter glanced down at it briefly.
“It reminds me of home.
Not quite the sea — but close.”
Abel hesitated.
“Are there… other abilities? Exorcism, perhaps. Healing.”
Peter shook his head.
“No.
I gave those away.”
“…You gave them away.”
“To the popes,” Peter said easily.
“They’re all rather adorable.”
Abel’s thoughts halted for a moment.
“…Adorable?”
“They try so hard,” Peter said.
“Even when they don’t have to.”
Abel had never heard anyone speak of the papacy in that tone before.
“Let’s eat,” Peter said.
“It’s been a while.”
They built a fire.
Dry branches caught quickly, smoke drifting slowly across the lakeshore. Peter cleaned the fish with practiced ease, his hands steady.
“Have you done this often?”
“Mm.”
“It used to be my trade.”
The fish roasted quietly over the flames.
It was the sound of something without war in it. Without exorcism.
Abel sat near the water, watching Peter wade and play in the shallows.
Then—
Peter deliberately kicked water toward him.
A splash.
“…Peter.”
Another splash.
The third came without warning.
Abel’s sleeve darkened.
“….”
He paused.
Then removed his shoes.
“…Very well.”
He stepped into the lake.
The first step was fine.
The second—
The ground disappeared.
“…!”
He pitched forward, plunging beneath the surface.
Peter’s expression changed instantly.
“Oh—”
The foot that had been walking on water stopped.
“Abel— wait.”
This time, Peter jumped in properly.
With a splash.
Not above the surface.
Into it.
He grabbed Abel’s arm.
“It’s fine. I’ve got you.”
They stumbled back toward the shallows, both thoroughly soaked.
“I didn’t realize it dropped there,” Abel muttered.
“I didn’t either,” Peter admitted honestly.
“I’m usually walking above it.”
Abel had no response to that.
“But,” Peter added with a grin,
“it was fun, wasn’t it?”
“…I will not deny it.”
After that, there was no time left for thought.
Water splashed. Laughter followed. By the end of it, they were completely drenched.
The fire burned long into the night.
Their wet clothes hung near the flames. They sat close together beneath a single blanket.
It was warm inside.
Not only because of the fire.
Peter watched the flames. Abel followed the light at first.
Then he looked up.
Moonlight reflected off the lake and spilled across Peter’s hair. Firelight softened it further.
Abel did not look away immediately.
Not because he was an apostle.
Not because of miracles.
Simply—
Because in that moment, in that place, Peter seemed to belong there with impossible ease.
Abel inhaled once, quietly.
Peter turned.
“…Hm.”
Their eyes met.
“Is something wrong?”
Peter studied him for a moment.
“In the firelight,” he said slowly,
“you look sturdier than I expected.”
Abel blinked.
“…I’m not certain what that means.”
“Nothing complicated.”
Peter shrugged lightly.
“It means I don’t mind you beside me.”
Abel did not answer.
He only pulled the blanket slightly closer.
Their shoulders touched.
Peter did not move away.
The warmth settled quietly between them.
They said nothing more.
The fire lowered. The lake remained.
Neither of them knew when they fell asleep.
Abel woke first.
It took him a moment to recognize morning.
The fire had died completely. The lake whispered softly.
Then he felt it.
An arm around his waist.
A forehead resting near his chest.
The steady rise and fall of breath.
Peter had curled into him completely, as if warding off the cold.
The blanket was still one.
Their bodies overlapped naturally beneath it.
Abel remained still.
If he moved, the moment would break.
Peter slept deeply. Peacefully.
The apostle truly did sleep well.
Their warmth had not yet faded.
Not cold. Not burning.
Simply human.
Abel breathed carefully.
And drew the blanket just a little closer.
That night was never recorded.
There was no miracle.
No exorcism.
No choice to be made.
Only a fire beside the lake.
One blanket.
And the warmth of two people.
It did not halt the war.
It did not change the road ahead.
But when Abel would later remember that night,
for the first time—
He thought not of an apostle.
But of a man.