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Yharnam was cold that night.
No beasts stirred, and no cheers rained, the city’s ravenous streets were strewn with nothing but the dead and frenzied.
Prior to the meeting with the vicar, Gehrman believed that tonight’s hunt would be like every other; swift and painless as he and his hunters scoured the streets for their prey.
Yes, it was a tiresome task, but the pay was good and the camaraderie better. The old man often, despite his shyness, viewed his colleagues as family, and in some cases, his children too. They were all young, naive, and full of spirits to fight for their home.
But the burning of Old Yharnam was too costly for any glory.
From beasts to those who had lost their mind, not a single soul was safe from the church’s flames. The hunters, all of whom were led by Gehrman, cleansed the streets of the district without any regards towards those they fought. It was a bloody day, and the present’s silence was worse.
Gehrman fell further into his chair with a sigh of humiliation. He could still hear their screams.
“Laurence…” The man groaned. “What have you done…?”
Were he present, the vicar’s mind would be too far gone to hear him. Gehrman could hardly recall the days when Laurence was himself anymore.
The door behind then swung open.
“You’ve been out long, you old sod.” laughed a voice. Its tone was mockingly familiar, but soon shifted into something more genuine. “What’s wrong?”
Shifting his seat round with an uncomfortable shudder, Gehrman faced the intruder with weary eyes.
“Patches…” He groaned, leaning forwards with a sigh. “I thought I told you not to come here.”
The man in question smiled, though only thinly. He had a look of concern upon his face which only Gehrman ever knew.
They were the only person to ever see him this weak.
“It went tits up, didn’t it?”
Though his choice of words was humorous, Patches said this with the utmost care.He had a way
“You needn’t let it get to you, mate. The blokes up top say you’ve done your bit, you can rest easy now.”
Gehrman looked up. His face was pale and his expression was pained.
“And what about you?” He asked. “What if the church figures out what you’ve done? They’ll kill you aswell, then what’ll I have left?”
The hunter’s hand was now wrapped tightly around Patches’ arm. He was begging for him to stay, pleading in a manner that made him appear genuinely pathetic.
Patches didn’t care. He only loved him more for it.
“Those preaching idiots won’t lay a hand on me, Gehr, I promise you that.”
He held the man by the chin, looking keenly into his sullen green eyes. They told a tale of strife, a tale of hardship, but most of all, a tale of love.
Patches planted a soft kiss upon the hunter’s lips, sharing the moment only briefly before admiring him again.
“You know I cannot stay long.” he said.
Gehrman nodded and looked to the side, awkwardly averting his gaze to hide the colour that crept up his cheeks.
“I understand.” He uttered. “But you’ll visit again, won’t you?”
Their hands were closed like an eclipse.
“I promise.”